Class_£5LilJ_% Book iJN_k__ Copyright N"_ 4_a. CCBDRIGHT DEPOSIT. FiLsoN Club Publications: No. 30 The Story of a Poet: Madison Cawein His Intimate Life as Revealed by His Letters and Other Hitherto Unpublished Material, Including Reminiscences by His Closest Associates ; also Articles from News- papers and Magazines, and a List of His Poems BY OTTO A. ROTHERT Secretary of the Filson Club Author of Local History in Kentucky Literature, A History of Muhlenberg County, A History of Unity Baptist Church, etc. WITH MORE THAN SIXTY ILLUSTRATIONS JOHN P. MORTON & COMPANY Incorporated Louisville, Kentucky 1921 ^6 Copyright, 1921 By otto a. ROTHERT m 2B 1921 g)C!,A6l71.45 Dedicated To MADISON CAWEIN II There are fairies; verily; Verily; For the old owl in the tree, Hollow tree, He who maketh melody For them tripping merrily, Told it me. There are fairies; verily. There are fairies. CONTENTS Pages The Purpose of this Book i^-^^ I A Picturography of Madison Cawein 1-68 II The Youth of Cawein 69-81 III Cawein's Life as Recorded by the Louisville Press.. . 82-119 IV Cawein's Questionnaire 120-125 V Cawein as I Knew Him 126-137 VI The Death of Cawein 138-164 VII The Cawein Family 165-166 VIII A Posthumous Autobiography 167-329 IX Letters Received by Cawein 330-339 X Published Comments and Reviews by Cawein 340-353 XI Estimates of Cawein's Poetry— By Five of His Contemporaries 354-38i XII Cawein and Some of His Kentucky Friends— By Bert Finck •• • 382-395 XIII Reminiscences of Cawein — By Eleven of His Associates 396-454 APPENDIX A. List of Cawein's Books 457-466 B. Index to Poems in Cawein's Books 467-510 C. Bibliographical References 51 1-524 Index 525-545 THE PURPOSE OF THIS BOOK The purpose of this book is to tell the life-story of Madison Cawein, the poet. The material is presented as a complete biography and in the form of a source book. The greater portion of the story is history as printed by his contemporary press and as revealed through his letters and the reminiscences and the recollections of his friends. Cawein preserved very little material touching upon the history of his life or of his works. That such data might some day be sought evidently never occurred to him. The little he saved bearing on his life was saved by mere chance, and most of it was either de- stroyed or widely scattered before this attempt to compile a biography was contemplated. Cawein died December 8, 19 14, and shortly thereafter his widow expressed her intention to write a book on his career. She was in poor health the greater part of the time after his death and therefore made no preparations to carry out her plan. Shortly after her death, which occurred in April, 1918, I made an investigation, expecting to find considerable Cawein material and to deposit it in the archives of the Filson Club for the benefit of persons who desired to do research work on that subject. All that then remained in the Cawein home was unhesitatingly placed at my disposal The bulk of it, not including the remnants of the poet's library, consisted of his high school diploma, an early scrap-book and about five hundred newspaper (not magazine) clippings pertaining to some of his books, about two hundred recent letters and a few poems in his own hand. If I am not mistaken, the quantity was even less than when I glanced over it one day during the last year of the poet's life — the year I knew him. The small collection of sundries turned over to me was too in- complete to serve any definite purpose. It was evident that the gathering of material could be done under less disadvantage if be- gun at once. Believing that some day the world would be greatly interested in the life-story of the poet I assumed the work of collecting material for and compiling a volume, regardless of the time and expense required. My plans were announced through the press; Louisville friends and other Kentuckians were interviewed; pil- ix Madison C aw e in grimages were made to most of his haunts; letters were sent and received, and about four hundred that had been written by Cawein were submitted; research work was done in various private and public libraries; visits were made in the East to some of his friends, including William Dean Howells, Clinton Scollard, Miss Jessie B. Rittenhouse, Henry Van Dyke and Harrison S. Morris. This book — a memorial to my friend — is the result of the undertaking. It is in every sense a labor of love; a task which has been more than compen- sated by the pleasure it has given. An attempt is made to show the esteem in which Cawein's works were held by his contemporaries. Like Poe and Keats and many other true poets, Cawein did not receive a general recognition while he was still writing. He now awaits the wide and deserved recognition which time alone bestows. That the number of appreci- ators of Cawein's works never decreased but slowly increased during his life-time points toward an enduring fame. Two years before he died. The Poetry Review of London in its issue for October, 1912 — a number devoted to Modern American Poetry — said, "He appears quite the biggest figure among American poets; his return to nature has no tinge of affectation; it is genuine to the smallest detail." Cawein's greatest hope was that his poetry would live. By publishing his poems in book form, after they had appeared in news- papers and magazines, he did much toward preserving it. During the course of his career he issued thirty-six volumes. He published a greater number of books of poems than did any other American poet. Some of the critics expressed the opinion that he wrote too much. The same critics declared, sooner or later, that notwithstanding the unusual quantity of his poetry most of it was of unusual quality. Six of his books consist chiefly of selections he made from previous volumes. It is generally admitted that a poet seldom knows his best work. To what extent this is true of Cawein must yet be de- termined. Miss Jessie B. Rittenhouse, of New York, is now engaged in making a Selection, which will be a step toward this end. Miss Rittenhouse has long been familiar with Cawein's poetry and has many times written of it with sympathetic insight and ap- preciation. The article upon Cawein in her book. The Younger American Poets, published in 1904, indicates that she entered into and divined many of the moods of his genius. That she, herself, is a poet is evident throughout her volume of poems. The Door of Dreams. In her well-known compilations of American poetry — The Little Book of American Verse, The Little Book of Modern Verse, and The Second Book of Modern Verse — she has raised the difficult task of anthology-making to a fine art and has shown that she is a poet worthy to select another's best work. It is peculiarly fitting and singularly fortunate that Miss Rittenhouse should undertake the making of a Selection which will take the form of a definitive edition. Mad is on Caw e in In the preparation of this volume on the life and the works of Cawein all material that was submitted to me or found after personal research was carefully considered. Every item which, in my opinion, bore on the poet's career was used. Should the reader possess any other letters, documents or data, or prepare for print his recollections of Cawein, the Filson Club will receive such material for deposit in its archives where it will be available to students, and from which collection parts or all may be selected for another publication. I am indebted to the many men and women who supplied me with material used in this book, especially to the correspondents of Cawein who submitted their Cawein letters. I am also greatly in- debted to the staff of the Louisville Free Public Library and to the friends of Cawein who, at my suggestion, wrote their reminiscences of him. Above all, however, I am indebted to Miss Anna Blanche McGill and Young E. Allison who aided me in many ways. Louisville, Kentucky March 23, 192 1. XI A PICTUROGRAPHY OF MADISON CAWEIN Madison Cawein as seen through sixty-three half-tone reproduc- tions of photographs, paintings and documents bearing on his life and works, which, with their explanatory texts, present a brief biography of the poet. List of Pictures Page Madison Cawein — Alberts, 1914 3 Dr. William Cawein — about 1865 4 Mrs. William Cawein — about 1865 5 The Herancour Coat of Arms 6 Site of Madison Cawein's Birthplace 7 South Fork of Harrod's Creek 8 The Old Stone Milk House, Rock Springs 9 The Cawein Cottage on the Indiana Knobs 10 View from the Cawein Cottage 11 Madison Cawein and his Brothers — about 1881 12 Madison, Charles and Fred Cawein — about 1884 13 Madison Cawein — 1885 14 Madison Cawein — 1887 15 Commencement Program — second page 16 Commencement Program — third page 17 Diploma Received by Madison Cawein 18 Louisville Male High School Building 19 The Cawein Residence, High Avenue 20 The Cawein Residence, Market Street 21 The Newmarket Pool Room 22 Publishing House of John P. Morton & Company 23 The Babbit Home — Fred W. Cawein 24 Ruins of Babbit's Mill — Wm. C. Cawein 25 A Beech Grove, near Brownsboro 26 An Old Home, near Brownsboro 27 1 Madison C aw e in Page A Glimpse of the Indiana Knobs 28 Madison Cawein — about 1893 29 An Old Barn, near Jefferson town — Fred W. Cawein 30 Madison Cawein — 1900 31 Madison Cawein in the Woods — 1902 32 Frog Pond, near Kenwood Hill 33 The Cawein Walk, Iroquois Park 34 The Bowl, Iroquois Park 35 The Enchanted Tree — Plaschke 36 The "Gossamer Thread — Alberts 37 Bluets and Springtime in Iroquois Park — Patty Thum 38 Central Park and St. Paul's Church — Patty Thum 39 The Announcement of Cawein's Wedding 40 Madison Cawein's Residence, Burnett Avenue 41 Mrs. Madison Cawein and Son — 1904 42 Madison Cawein and Son — 1905 43 Madison Cawein's Residence, St. James Court 44 Madison Cawein's Library 45 Shawnee Park and the Ohio River 46 Cherokee Park and the Old Mill 47 Madison Cawein — 1910 48 Madison Cawein^ — 1912 49 Madison Cawein — King, igi2 50 Madison Cawein — Plaschke, 1912 51 Silver Loving Cup Presented to Madison Cawein 52 Madison Cawein, Bronze Bust — Roop, 1913 53 The St. James Apartment House 54 Unitarian Church and Louisville Free Public Library 55 Madison Cawein — King, 1914 56 Grave of Madison Cawein 57 Death-mask of Madison Cawein — Roop, 1914 58 Facsimile of Two Pages of a Note Book 59 Facsimile of Unfinished Manuscript — first page 60 Facsimile of Unfinished Manuscript — second page 62 Facsimile of Unfinished Manuscript — third page 64 Facsimile of Manuscript of "Proem" 66 Facsimile of Manuscript of "Caverns" 67 The Thirty-six Books by Madison Cawein 68 A P icturo gr aphy From an oil painting by J. Bernhard Alberts, 1914 Madison Cawein was born March 23, 1865, in Louisville, where he lived nearly all of his Hfe, and where he died December 8, 1914. 3 Madison C aw e in From a daguerreotype, about I860 Dr. William Cawein was thirty-eight years old when his son Madison, the poet, was born. Dr. Cawein was a practical Herbalist. A Picturography From a daguerreotype, about 1865 A/T J^^'^' f''^^'^"^ ^^w^i" was twenty-six years old when her son Madison, the poet, was born. She was interested in Spiritualism. Madison C aw e in From a sketch The Herancour coat of anrs. Dr. William Cawein was a de- scendant of Jean de Herancour who left France in 1685 for Miihlhofen, near the Rhine, Germany. There the poet's father was born in 1827. A P ictur gr a p hy From a photograph by Hesse. 1920 Madison Cawein was born in Louisville in a house that stood opposite the Court House, and near Fifth Street. On its site now stands a brick building three stories high with a width of four windows. Madison C aw e in From a photograph by Fred W. Cawein, 1894 When Cawein was nine years of age his parents moved to Rock Springs, a resort east of Louisville, near Brownsboro, on a hill over- looking the South Fork of Harrod's Creek. Many years later the poet said, "There for the first time I came in contact with wild nature." 8 A P ictur gr a phy From a photograph by Otto A. Rothert, 1920. The Rock Springs Hotel was managed by Cawein's father in 1874 and 1875. Nothing remains of this once well-known resort except an old stone milk house from which there flows, now as then, a clear water spring. The poet often returned to the Rock Springs country. Madison C aw e in From a phuluyraph by Utto A. Ruilurt, I'JJO Cawein was in his eleventh, twelfth and thirteenth years when his parents lived in a cottage on the Knobs, near New Albany, In- diana. "Here I formed my great love for nature," said the poet in his comments on his youth. In 1879 the Caweins returned to Louisville. 10 A Picturography From a photograph by Hesse, 10 JO The Cawein cottage on the Knobs was in the center of a pano- rama of beautiful landscapes. On the Kentucky side, in the dim distance, can be seen Iroquois Park and Kenwood Hill. In later years the poet spent much time on these two hills near Louisville. 11 Madison C a w e i n From a photograph, about 1881 Madison Cawein and his three brothers. Madison, the young- est, then aged about sixteen, is standing with his right hand on William's shoulder; John is holding a hat, and back of him is Charles. 12 A P ictur gr aphy From a photograph, about 1884 Madison Cawein, and his brother Charles, and cousin Fred W. Cawein. Madison is standing in the center; Charles is at his right and Fred is sitting at his left. Fred was one of the poet s closest friends. 13 Madison C a w e i n From a photograph by Doerr, 1885 Cawein as he appeared during his last year as a high school boy. 14 A Picturography From a photograph by Doerr, 1887 Cawein was twenty- two years old when he pubh'shed his first book. 15 Madison C a w e i n MUSIC. PRAYER; BV REV. T. T. EATON, D. O. MUSIC. SAU'TATOHY with ORATION — I'ltisoN liKKOKM, .... W. K. VANDIVKU. rOEM—TiiK Class op '8(), ......... M. J. CAWKIX. MUSIC OKATION- I'Ki.KiiAi, Aii>Ti> K.DitcATloN, . - -■ . . . n. M. .lAUVIS. OKATION— Stkikks AND Strikkkk, H. 10 SIKVKUS. ATirEN.EUM OHATIOX— Kkntkckv and KKNTururANS, .... s. M( KRE. MUSIC. ORATION— TiiK Ghowth (IK MtrsiOAi, Tartk IN Louisviu.E ... (i. A.WEISS. OU.VTIOX— UK.l'dtil.IfAM.SM IN Eunoi'K, Willi ,VAI,EI)1(T0UY, M M. WALLER. MUSIC ALUMNI ADDRESS, - - AuiRKT S. liHANDEis, ("i.as.< or 1K75. Facsimile of second page of Commencement Program Madison Cawein graduated from the Louisville Male High School on June ii, 1886. As shown on the Program, he was the Class Poet. 16 A P i ctur gr a p hy MUSIC. |^PGSGr)faIi6r) oj j'rri^cs. Alumni Prize, Faculty Prize, English Literature Prize. Shakspere Prize. Ci0r)[crrir)q oj Ueeirczs, BY F. C. LEBER. M. D, President of the Louisville School Board. BENEPICTinN, MUSIC. CANDIDATES FOR DEGREES .M.\l)ISON J.C.WVEIN. K.M.KKK LATIMK.K. .1. MILKS (il.KA.SON, , .s.V.MlKL, .McKKK, .IK. .JA.MK-; li. HKIiDKN. CHUrU'dlLL TALBOT .SCHAUC'K ALKKKD IIKRR IIITK. KORKKT KLWOOD SIKVKIJS. UIOU.MAN IIOKPPNKK. .MATllEW .MASON WALLKIi. KOIiKirr MUIUIKLL .I'AUVl.S. (JKOROK A. WKI.SS. WILLIAM KNOX VANDIVKIt. CERTIFICATE OF PROFICIENCY. GKOIKilO JOHN UKKWKY. Facsimile of third page of Commencement Program The Class of '86 consisted of thirteen boys of whom Madison Cawein was the oldest. All received the degree of Bachelor of Arts. 17 Madison C aw e i n S ^: .,r /^ //, ,u,/A,»/y ////.//// ^./^. /y//, / , ■-„///, y ^f, »/„,/,/. /m,, //„.j,//,/ ,r »/,,>, /uyn Padison |. (ftaincitt, '/■'"""/^ y"'"'/ LITEIiATORI5, JKND SCIENCE'.. /ICiii //y/i /,/,„/„„. '.,„/„/,.,//, //,. „../.y//„ i',/ //„,/„ »^„jy/li, 1 1 ,/.yy /„,„ ,.i 'I ,„ //„ /,/.,,/ /,^„// ..,„/l'', „..„.......,///, y A,„A.-/f, .k ^i"- . r_i--Jiv* . X Greatly reduced facsimile of Diploma Madison Cawein's diploma was signed by Dr. F. C. Leber, President, and Wm. J. Davis, Secretary, of the Louisville School Board; and by R. H. Carothers, Principal and Prof, of English Language; E. M. Murch, Prof, of Mathematics; H. W. Eaton, Prof, of Physics and Chemistry; Hugo R. M. Moeller, Prof, of Modern Languages; Marcus B. Allmond, Prof, of Ancient Languages; R. P. Halleck, Prof, of Logic, Psychology and Rhetoric; W. T. St. Clair, Adj. Prof.; and H. A. Gooch, Adj. Prof., the members of the faculty. 18 A P ictur gr aphy From a wood cut, aboiU 1860 In 1886 the Louisville Male High Shool Building, Ninth and Chestnut streets, appeared very much as it had many years before Madison Cawein's school days. When Cawein attended this school it represented the academic department of the University of Louisville. 19 Madison C aw e i n fp^e^w rff: -- - ■**«<.. From a pfioloyraph by Fred W. Cawein, about 1890 Cawein lived on the south side of High Avenue, near Thirteenth Street, from 1882 to March 1886. The house was torn down many years ago. A Httle more than the front is shown on the extreme right. 20 A P ictur gr ap hy From a photograph by Hesse, 1920 Cawein made his home with his parents at the south-east corner of Nineteenth and Market streets from 1886 until June, 1903, when he was married. He wrote nineteen of his books while living in this house. 21 Madison C aw e i n From a photograph by Hesse, 1020 In 1887, and for about six years thereafter, Cawein was a cashier in the Newmarket pool room, on Third Street, where betting on horse races was the business transacted. The building is now occupied by the Caxton Printing Company, indicated by the swinging sign. 22 A P i ctur gr a phy From a photograph by Hesse, 1920 Cawein's first book, Blooms of the Berry, was printed in October, 1887, by John P. Morton & Company, Main Street, which published eleven of his thirty-six volumes, and, among other books, twenty-nine of the Filson Club Publications — including this volume. Number 30. 23 Madison C aw e i n From a water color by Fred W. Cawein, 189S During his high school years, and for many years thereafter, Cawein often returned to the Brownsboro country where he was the guest of the Babbits, whose old farm and home are near Rock Springs. 24 A P i ctur gr a p hy From a water color by Wm. C. Cawein, 1893 In 1914, Cawein wrote: "The old water mill [Babbit's Mill] in the Valley of Rock Springs has played an important part in my poems of this locality, which I have celebrated in verse now for thirty years." 25 Madison C a w e i n From a photograph by Fred W. Cawein, 1894 Sometimes Cawein wandered alone through the beech groves, over the fields, and along the streams in the Brownsboro country, and sometimes he was accompanied by the Babbits and other friends. 26 A P ictur gr a phy From a photograph by Fred W. Cawein, 1894 This picturesque old home near Brownsboro, and many other old homes and human haunts elsewhere, appealed to Cawein no less than did the forests and fields and the hills and the hollows. 27 Madison C aw e i n "g^^i^ag iy«iii~"Tni'iTimiTninaram^ From a photograph by Hesse, 1920 Cawein made many pilgrimages to the Indiana Knobs, near New Albany, where he had spent three years of his boyhood on a farm. 28 A P ictur gr aphy From a photograph, about 1893 ^<2^-.*z^^-c. / 'Ca-^^.^1^^^ At times Cawein left Kentucky for his health or to promote his art; but no place appealed to him as did the country around Louisville. 29 Madison C aw e i n ^'Vv/cs:::^!^?- ..,„.^.,. From a water color by Fred W. Cawein, 1893 From 1891 to 1903 the poet's father owned a small farm near Jeffersontown and about twelve miles from Louisville. Its principal features were an orchard, a vineyard and a garden. The poet often visited the place, although the Caweins never used it as a home. The largest building was an old barn, "low, swallow-swept and gray." 30 A Picturography From a photograph by Fred W. Cawein, 1900 The poet in his study. Cawein Hved at Nineteenth and Market streets during the first seventeen years of his Hterary career. Shortly after publishing his first poems he was encouraged by the Louisville press. His works attracted the attention of eminent critics in the East and in England, and he soon gained an international reputation. 31 Madison C aw e i n From a photograph by Fred W. Cawein, 1902 Madison Cawein spent much of his time in the heart of nature. 32 A Picturography From a photograph by James S. Escoll, lilK The Old Frog Pond near Kenwood Hill was one of Cawein's haunts. 33 Madison C a w e i n From a photograph by Hesse, 1920 What is now known as the Cawein Walk was, in Cawein's time, and still is, a very secluded path in Iroquois Park. Its old stone steps were one of the poet's favorite "solitary places" for writing, 34 A Picturography photograph by Hesse, 1920 Lying just beyond the southern end of the Cawein Walk is The Bowl, one of many beautiful scenes in Iroquois Park. This large, natural park — also known as Jacob Park — was an Elysium for Cawein. 35 Madison C a w e i n From an oil painting by Paul A. Plaschke, 1919 "The Enchanted Tree," was painted in memory of Cawein who fre- quently lingered under this old sycamore on Silver Creek, near New Albany and the Silver Hills. For him it was another haunt of Pan. 36 A Picturography From an oil painting by J. Bernhardt Alberts, 1918 Cawein suggested to his friend J. Bernhard Alberts, in November, 1914: "If you'll paint a picture showing a faery wearing a necklace of dewdrops on a gossamer thread, I'll write a poem on it." Cawein died a few weeks later. In 1918 the artist painted "The Gossamer Thread," inspired by the Poet of the Fairies, and the Poet for Poets. 37 Madison C a w e i n From an oil painting by Patty Thutn, 1915 "Bluets and Springtime in Iroquois Park," painted in memory of Cawein who often went to Iroquois Park to see the bluets in bloom. 38 A Picturography From an oil painting by Patty Thum, 1908 "Central Park and St. Paul's Church" showing church in which Mr. and Mrs. Cawein were married, and park near which they lived. 39 Madison C aw e i n aitnuwrtvr iUe mttwia^ of titfivhiti^Ubn: to iHr. illai&iiioM 31. (jCrtfeiriit €httraitnv, 3i»n«r lije fanrHt ntttrtrrn Jtuniyri unit ki^vei^ nfti^r x^lxilti tfrtth 103 Weiit ^&uvuett Facsimile of Wedding Announcement Madison Julius Cawein and Gertrude Foster McKelvey were married in Louisville, Kentucky, on Thursday morning, June 4, 1903. 40 A P i c tu r o g r a p hy From a photograph by Hesse, 1920 Mr. and Mrs. Cawein lived on tha north side of Burnett Ave- nue, between First and Second streets, from June, 1903, to June, 1907. .41 Madison C a w e i n From a photograph by Doerr, 1904 Mrs. Madison Cawein and son, Preston Hamilton Cawein. The boy_born March i8, 1904— is the only child of Mr. and Mrs. Cawein. 42 A P i ctu r gr a phy From a photoyraph bu Daerr, 1905 Madison Cawein and son, Preston Hamilton Cawein. After the death of the poet, the son's name was changed to Madison Cawein II. 43 Madison C a w e i n From a photograph by Hesse, 1920 Mr. and Mrs. Cawein lived in a beautiful residence — center of picture — in St. James Court from June, 1907, to January, 1914. This house, owned by them, is now the property of their son. 44 A P ictu r gr a p hy From Book New? Monthlij, \oumhti, 1!J09 Cawein's private library contained about fifteen hundred volumes. Its bay window over the porch faced the Fountain and Court. Every room in the house was expressive of his artistic taste. 45 Madison C a w e i n From a photograph by James Speed, 1912 Cawein frequently strolled through Shawnee Park, Louisville's park on the Ohio River, watching the sunset behind the Indiana Knobs, or the moonrise, or the river glittering to the stars. 46 A P i ctu r gr a p hy From a photograph by James S. Escott, 1912 Among Cawein's haunts in Cherokee Park was the ruins of Ward's Old Corn Mill, on the Middle Fork of Beargrass Creek, where Pan and Faun, and wood and water nymphs held rendezvous. 47 Madison C a w e i n From a photograph by Steffens AU^ "i «?^(a.«v^^' 48 A P i c tu r g r a p hy \ From a photograph by Cusick, 1912 A tOtyS'C^^G''^^^^ 49 Madison C a w e i n Cartoon by Wyncie King, Louisville Herald, March 26, 1912' Cawein as seen by Wyncie King when the many Louisville ad- mirers of the poet presented him with a Silver Loving Cup on the twenty-fifth anniversary of the publication of his first volume of poems.. 50 A P ictur gr a phy Cartoon by Paul A. Plaschke, Louisville Evening Post, March 30, 1912 Cawein as seen by Paul A. Plaschke when the public presen- tation of the Silver Loving Cup took place in the Louisville Free Public Library on March 25, 1912, the poet's forty-seventh birthday. 51 Madison C a w e i n The Silver Loving Cup presented to Madison Cawein, March 25, 1912, is ten and one-half inches high and bears the following inscription : To Madison Cawein by the Literati of Louisville under the Auspices of the Louisville Literary Club. To Commemorate the Twenty-fifth Anniversary of the Publica- tion of his First Book, Blooms of the Berry. March Twenty-fifth, 1887— 191 2. 52 A P iciur gr aphy The inscription on the Bronze Bust of Madison Cawein (by James L. Roop) presented to the Louisville Free Public Library reads: Madison Cawein, a Kentucky Tribute to a Kentucky Poet, Presented by The Louisville Literature Club, April 25, 1913. 53 Madison C aw e i n From a photograph by Hesse, 1920 The Caweins, in January 1914, moved into the right hand apartment on the third floor of the St. James Apartment House, in St. James Court. There the poet died of apoplexy, December 8, 1914. 54 A P i c tu r g r a p hy From a photograph by Hesse, 1920 Cawein was buried from the First Unitarian Church, Fourth and York streets. Opposite that church stands the Louisville Free Public Library where the poet spent many hours reading books and magazines. 55 Madison C aw e i n Cartoon by Wyncie King, Louisville Herald, December 9, 1914 The Louisville press devoted many columns to Cawein at the time of his illness and death. The Louisville Herald published this cartoon by Wyncie King: "In Avalon, The Fairy Isle in Fairy Seas." 56 A P i c tu r o g r a p hy From a photograph by Hesse, 1920 Cawein was buried in Cave Hill Cemetery, Louisville. At the head of his grave is that of his father, marked by the tall stone. At the side of his grave is that of his wife who died on April i6, 1918. 57 Madison C a w e i n Death-mask of Madison Cawein, made by James L. Roop. 58 A P ictur gr aphy . / ' Ok.ccI-^ Cawein filled many note-books, but as far as known, preserved very few. The two pages here shown were printed, after some changes were made, in 1906, in Nature Notes and Impressions in Prose and Verse. 59 Madison C aw e i n /A .\.£/J'l'-^T^^' U: ' U^J)L''^^^<<^-^, i^-;-S i«^: /^^.K .1,^ *---;7 Facsimile of the second of three pages in a note-book used by Cawein. 62 A P i ctur gr a phy Upon my nuptial night (It bade me know of heaven The rapture and deHght) The angel hosts of heaven Know no more of delight (It bore me up to heaven And bade me see the white Of dawn that on that height Still holds me with its light. The third one, filled with laughter And youth with joy abrim No kiss shall follow after To make my senses swim. A transcription of the lines shown on the opposite page. 63 Madison C aw e i n U/-^i^-^ ■~.J.^.^ ._. e ^ /-i? ^=:f- .v«^.^'t::-"*^ ■•:'•'-■■'♦,■ f--.'-> ■ .-w^.^. ^^1... V. -X ;^^- ^• ■M Facsimile of the third of three pages in a note-book used by Cawein. 64 A P i c tu r g r a p hy (Its joy can never dim — With joy that cannot dim — Young as the new moon's rim- Gold as the new moon's rim — One with the cherubim — Born of a moment's whim — No time can ever dim — Born of a girl's wild whim — Its joy can never dim) A transcription of the lines shown on the opposite page. 65 Madison C a w e i n /4/ u '^Y' ^^ ";^''^' C ■'yt J,./ -^r -"■ ^^-'^r' ^V^'^ a c^ z--'-^' ^^ ^-''^""^ '^"^ f ^^i<^rf>i^ Reduced facsimile of a completed manuscript. This poem was first published as the Proem to Myth and Romance, 1899, and a few years later republished in two of Madison Cawein's other books. 66 A Picturography /fn y-'ffy^yK. C-C*!-i -K C-A-M„v ^y /c->^^^f^^ yy'e^:^. UcL'si^ ( a Xjj^ / (i-My^-ci, Reduced facsimile of a completed manuscript. "Caverns" was written in 1898 and shortly thereafter printed in a newspaper or maga- zine. It was later republished in three of Madison Cawein's books. 67 Madison C a iv e i n The thirty-six books by Madison Cawein contain about 2700 poems; about 1500 are distinct originals and about 1200 are either unchanged reprints or changed versions. His original versions com- prise the greater part of twenty-five books. The Poems of Madison Cawein, in five large volumes, is a Compilation of his poems — in the original or in a new version — written before 1907. Six books consist chiefly of Selections he made from previous volumes. The Compila- tion and the various Selections cause many of his poems — some in the original, others in a changed version — to appear two or more times. 68 II THE YOUTH OF CAWEIN Madison Julius Cawein — Madison Cawein, the Kentucky poet — was born in Louisville, Kentucky, March 23, 1865, in a two- story frame house on the south side of Jefferson Street, opposite the Jefferson County Court House. The old store and residence was torn down many years ago, and on its site now stands a three- story brick building, numbered 506 West Jefferson Street, and at present occupied by W. C. Priest and Company. In the Louisville City Directory for 1865 the entry pertaining to his father reads: "William Cawein, confectioner, 176 West Jefferson; residence same." The directories indicate that the Caweins had lived in this house a few years previous to Madison's birth and that in 1866 the family moved to "477 West Jefferson, between Twelfth and Thirteenth." From 1870 to 1872 the Caweins occupied a house on the "North side Broadway, between Thirteenth and Fourteenth," and there conducted a bakery and confectionery. As early as about 1864 William Cawein began a "root business" in the rear of his store, where he bought and sold medicinal roots and herbs, and made a patent medicine known as "Panavera." In those years he was frequently called upon to act as chef at the Gait House, then one of the largest and most famous hotels in the South. In the spring of 1874, William Cawein accepted the post of manager of Rock Springs Hotel, a resort some twenty miles east of Louisville, near Brownsboro, on a hill overlooking the South Fork of Harrod's Creek. The place was built in 1870 and about six years later was destroyed by fire. Nothing remains of this short-lived, but well-known resort, except an old stone milk house, from which there flows, now as then, a clear water spring. William Cawein was fully qualified to conduct the business affairs of this hotel, for he was not only an experienced confectioner and chef, but also had the advantage of having acted as caterer at many celebrated banquets served in Louisville. The Caweins, however, remained only a year and a half in the country for during their entire stay Mrs. Cawein was in poor health and the family therefore decided to_ return to Louisville. The stay at Rock Springs gave William Cawein a better 69 Madison C aw e in opportunity than he theretofore had to study medicinal plants. And, as to the effect this Hfe in the country had. on his son Madison, then a boy aged nine years, the poet himself many years later wrote in his Questionnaire, a document quoted in full in another chapter of this volume: "There for the first time I came in contact with wild nature. Beautiful and majestic was nature there, of rocks and trees and waters. The old water mill [Babbit's Mill] in the valley of Rock Springs has played an important part in my poems of this locality, which I have celebrated in verse now for thirty years." It was the poet's first glimpse of Avalon. At Rock Springs Madison Cawein first met Mr. and Mrs. George A. Babbit and their children, Harry A., Roy E., and Carrie May, who lived on a nearby farm. All of them are represented by characters in The Poet and Nature. Later, during his high school years, he began a long series of visits to the Babbits. The first of these was in 1884 when, as we shall see, he and his cousin Charles G. Roth spent part of the summer there. From that time on down to about 1908 the poet was the guest of the Babbits nearly every year and was frequently accompanied by his brothers and sister and some of his cousins. His brother William and his cousin Frederick, both of whom were artists, made more of these visits with him than any other of his kinsmen. All of the Babbits are now dead; the old mill dis- appeared many years ago, the Babbit house is falling into ruins and the fields and forests have undergone many changes; but their in- fluence over the poet in his youth and later years has immortalized the Babbit neighborhood as the heart. of the Cawein country. In the fall of 1875 the Caweins came back to Louisville and for about six months lived at Franklin and Buchanan streets, in a house still standing and still known as The Barnes' Slate House. The poet, later pictured that place in "The House of Shadows," a ghost story in prose: "I had never liked the house with its grey slate roof and its two peaked gables; its sodden and grassless yard, shadowy with sickly smelling eucalyptus trees; its sad garden of weedy flowers, general neglect and damp odor of decay." In the spring of 1876, or as Cawein once expressed it to me, "the spring of the Centennial," the family moved up on the Knobs near New Albany, Indiana, in the hope that the mother, who had been in poor health about two years, would be benefited by the change. There Mrs. Cawein regained her strength within a few months and the family continued to live on its twenty-acre, hill-top farm until the spring of 1879. Charles G. Roth, of St. Paul, Minnesota, cousin of Madison Cawein, and a native of Louisville, writing to me on the childhood days of the poet says: "My recollections of my days on the Knobs are not very distinct, for I was a boy of only about eight years when I lived there for a short 70 The Youth of Cawein time with the Caweins. I remember, however, that Madison enjoyed playing with his 'company' of lead soldiers. He kept them in the pink of condition, and I was always admonished to be careful not to break them when he got them out of their hiding place. They were exceedingly frail, and some disaster invariably happened when I joined him in putting them through 'maneuvers.' "I can visualize the old 'haunted house,' across the road from the one in which the Cawein family lived, but I more especially remember the 'tub nights' when every one of us boys took turns in a scrubbing under the auspices of Aunt Ana, Madison's mother. This tub feature was particularly distasteful to me as a child, because of an incident that never ceased to bring out the utmost mirth when- ever it was related; and it was related as late as 1907 by Madison himself, the last time I saw him, at the funeral services of my grand- father John Cawein. "The circumstances were these: I was 'billeted' with the family on the Knobs for the benefit of my health. A part of the treatment was frequent herb baths. One day while I was immersed in the bath, a storm began to rage. The entire family was diverted and gave vent to their various emotions from sundry points of ob- servation. It was absolutely impossible for me to extricate myself from that tub, for I was securely covered with a strong waterproof cloth. I shrieked and begged to be released so that I might see the storm. "The situation appealed to Madison's sense of humor; he teased me about it on every possible occasion, and took delight in telling others — giving gesticulations of my frenzied efTorts and wails of disappointment." The cottage the Caweins occupied on the Knobs has undergone few changes, but the garden of old-fashioned flowers and some of the trees that stood on the hill have disappeared. The family did not pretend to do any real farming, although the place was well supplied with poultry, cows and horses, and buildings such as are usually found on a farm. A large vegetable garden was one of its features. Going for the cows and working in the garden were among the duties of young Madison and his brothers. At night when the children were busy with their school lessons and story books, the mother was occupied with literature on psychology and spiritualism. In the meantime the father, who had already become known as Doctor Cawein, was studying anatomy, pharmacy and botany. Dr. Cawein was especially interested in medicinal plants and during his three years on the Knobs gathered many roots and herbs, not only for experimental purposes, but also for use in the medicines he made and sold. All sections of the Indiana Knobs ofifer beautiful landscapes; but none is more majestic than the one seen from the Cawein 71 M adis n C aw e in cottage. Standing in the yard on the east side of their house young Cawein undoubtedly often paused over the view that lay before him, and must have been much impressed with its grandeur. Across the Ohio River and in the distance beyond the valley he could see two forest covered hills which later became known as Iroquois Park and Kenwood Hill. He could not have realized that in these very places lay a great part of what was soon to become his Avalon and Elysium. The poet spent his eleventh, twelfth and thirteenth years in the hills of Southern Indiana. Later, in 1914, in his comments on this period of his life, he wrote in his Questionnaire "My recollections of our home in the Knobs are among my most vivid and pleasant; though poor, we were happy." In a letter to Hubert G. Shearin, written in November, 1907, he sums up his life near New Albany. The facts then furnished to Mr. Shearin were first published in the Library of Southern Literature, from which they have been quoted by a number of writers: "Afterwards we moved to Indiana — back of New Albany among the hills — on what is called the Knobs. Here I formed my great love for nature. For nearly three years we lived there in a small farmhouse on the top of a hill, surrounded by wooded hills and orchards, meadows and cornlands. If ever a boy and his brothers and sister were happy they were happy there. We walked to New Albany to school, a district school, every school-day from fall to spring, a distance of two and a half miles, but we enjoyed it. At least I know I did. I used to love to walk along by myself making up won- derful stories of pirate treasures and remarkable adventures which I continued from day to day in my imagination. It was a serial usually that I could continue unendingly — and which was dependent upon no publisher for future installments." In the early part of 1879 the Caweins returned to Louisville. After living at Twenty-fourth and Main streets a few months, they moved to High Avenue, between Twelfth and Thirteenth streets, near Thirteenth, first on the north side and shortly thereafter on the south side of the street. The house on the south side was a two-story brick overlooking the Ohio River. The city directory for 1880 notes William Cawein as "physician, 98 Seventh Street, near JefTerson; residence 51 High Avenue, near Thirteenth." The entry for 1881 reads: "William Cawein, patent medicines, 98 Seventh Street, near Jefiferson; residence, 40 High Avenue, near Thirteenth." In 1882 the numbering system throughout the city was changed and the entry for William Cawein became, "patent medicines, 332 Seventh; residence 1224 High Avenue." Dr. Cawein's classification remained as "patent medicines" until 1887 when it was changed to "physician" and continued as such until the time of his death. It was while living on High Avenue that Dr. Cawein began to devote practically all his time to the making of medicines. He was not 72 The Youth of C a we in a graduate of any school, but his self education was so thorough that he was permitted to practice medicine without a license. He main- tained a well equipped office and laboratory where he manufactured a number of remedies. He advertised them as "Dr. Wm. Cawein's Vegetable Family Medicines." Four of his patent medicines appear on his price-list printed in i88i: "Dr. Wm. Cawein's Halesia — For all Malarial and Contagious Fevers. Price $1.50;" "Dr. Wm. Cawein's Pannecia, or Blood Purifier. Price $1.00;" "Dr. Wm. Cawein's Chill Cure. Price $1.00;" "Dr. Wm. Cawein's Panavera — For all disorders of the Stomach and Bowels. Price $1.00." His oldest and best known medicine was "Panavera" — a remedy he began manufacturing about 1864 and patented on February 13, 1866. He claimed that his "Vegetable Family Medicines" or "Remedies" were cures for certain ailments only and guaranteed them as such. Unlike many other men in the same business, he did not advertise any preparation as a "cure-all." During the years the Caweins lived on High Avenue, young Madi- son attended school and often found time to help his father compound roots and herbs and barks and leaves into remedies. He was ever devoted to his mother, and seldom lost an opportunity to assist her in the work around the house, especially in her flower garden. Mrs. Cawein had always had more or less of a predilection for spiritualism, but about the time the family moved from the Knobs back to Louis- ville she began to take a greater interest in the subject. When Mrs. Cawein realized she possessed the power of medium- ship she sometimes lent her services in that capacity to some of her friends, who were interested in spiritualism. Among them was Edward Shippen, of Louisville. From April, 1879, to February, 1880, Mr. Shippen took down verbatim a number of messages received through her from certain spirits while she was in a trance. These messages consist principally of comments on this life and on the hereafter, and were printed twelve years later (1892) in Boston in a volume of 182 pages entitled Woman and Her Relations to Humanity. No author's name is given; the preface is signed "Reporter." Mr. Shippen was the "Reporter" and also the compiler of the book, but there is nothing on the title page or in the preface to indicate that it was he who pre- pared the MS. for print. The volume is "Dedicated to Mrs. Annie C. Cawein." Her picture and a facsimile of her signature, "Christiana Cawein," serve as the frontispiece. It may be well to explain that Mrs. Cawein was known as "Aunt Ana" among her relatives and her most intimate friends. Madison Cawein was present not only when some of these messages were transmitted through his mother to Mr. Shippen, but also before and after that time when other seances took place. It is probable that Mrs. Cawein's spiritual conception of material things had a prenatal or a postnatal influence in the forming of the poetical 73 Madison Cawein visions of her son Madison, and that his mother's love of flowers and her interest in spiritual communication played a part in his early artistic development. The neighborhood on High Avenue where the old Cawein home was situated no longer exists. The ground was cleared many years ago and converted into a railroad yard. Miss Emily F, Bass, of Louisville, a friend and former neighbor of the Caweins, in a recent letter to me touching on this period of the poet's life, says: "In the early eighties our family and the Caweins were next door neighbors on High Avenue, between Twelfth and Thirteenth streets. Madison Cawein — or Mat, as everyone in the neighborhood called him — was a high school boy. In our family were my sister and my- self, about the ages of Mat and his sister Lilian. My recollections of the Caweins and the time we spent with them are most pleasant. "The homes occupied by the Caweins and by us were two story brick houses. Our back yard, where we children spent most of our time, terraced down to the river. From this vantage point we could see Corn Island, much worn and always alluring, the Indiana shore beyond it, and in the distance, the Knobs. The blue sky overhead, the river's wide stretch of tawny yellow, and the small island in the foreground presented a scene ever inviting and interesting to us. On the terraced ground near the river or on the island, Mat often sprawled at our feet, reading or telling stories. Many times he spoke of a mystical woman in white, on a snow-white steed, galloping before and beckoning him, so he said, to follow to the land of fairies. In winter our terraces were used as coasting places. The Cawein boys would steer for us, and Mat made up jingle after jingle as we coasted toward the river or trudged back to the starting point. He loved the open, especially the frosty, invigorating air. "His father was an herb doctor and personally gathered many of the roots and herbs he sold. Mat frequently accompanied him in his wanderings through the country in search of medicinal plants. Upon his return he gave us glowing accounts of the birds and flowers he had seen or of the fairies and ghosts and haunted places he said he had fallen in with on the excursion. "The supernatural, as well as the world of nature, made a strong appeal to him. I can still hear him reciting to us from 'Macbeth' quotations beginning 'Thrice the brinded cat hath mew'd,' or 'Thou canst not say I did it: Never shake thy gory locks at me.' We read and re-read Don Quixote, and also many other books and poems. He often stood on a box or barrel and read or recited to us as a professional would address a large and learned audience. "Mrs. Cawein was always kind to us children. She was interested in spiritualism, and Mat suggested to us that perhaps the equestrian lady he so frequently saw and described was her control. One day he brought a letter to my mother. It was from Mrs. Cawein and per- 74 The Youth of C awe in tained to an invalid baby brother of ours. She expressed deep sympathy for us and concluded with a declaration that an Indian spirit had urged her to suggest the use of certain roots and herbs for the sick child. We never tried the prescription, but we kept the letter for many years. "We children felt that Mat was not the everyday kind of a boy. In his absence we frequently commented on the characteristics that made him seem different. His love for reading and telling wild tales, his many visions, his gentleness and his unusual deference to his mother and sister set him apart from the other boys we knew. Little did we dream that this high school boy would some day rank as one of the great nature poets of the world." Miss Bass' statement that young Cawein frequently accompanied his father on his wanderings through the country in search of medic- inal plants agrees with the recollections of a number of other persons who knew him in his youth. Dr. Cawein was an herbalist and an "herb doctor," and also a close and appreciative observer of nature. That the poet regarded his father a naturalist is shown in the poem he wrote of him after his death: "One Who Loved Nature." It must have been from his father, during these rambles in the country, that the embryo poet began to learn the names of trees and flowers and birds and insects he saw in the woods and fields and was able to use afterward so beautifully as symbols and in similies. Probably Cawein's wonderful knowledge of nature can be attrib- uted to his association with his father who was an "herb doctor," just as his supernatural fancies can be attributed to his mother's psychic experience. These were probably the greatest influences which in the youth of Cawein molded his poetic nature. Charles G. Roth, whose reminiscences of Madison Cawein's childhood are quoted on a preceding page, gives the following per- taining to the life of the young poet while a high school boy: "What an interminable distance it seemed for my young legs to walk from our home on Hancock Street down to my cousins on High Avenue — two miles! Madison was the magnet around which we boys and girls vibrated. This may have been due partly to his attractive powers, and partly to the fact that we were pretty certain to find him just where we expected him to be. I recall the great interest Madison took in a certain periodical, the name of which I have since forgotten. It was a publication for boys older than those who read The Youth's Companion. Madison read it over and over, and often aloud to us; and when he had finished he laid the copies away in a most precise manner, pile on pile. "During the few years the Caweins lived on High Avenue some of us children spent the greater part of the summers of 1884 and 1885 on the BablDit farm, adjacent to Rock Springs and near Browns- boro. About ten years previous the Caweins had lived at Rock 75 Madison C awe in Springs and Madison had then, and during a few visits shortly there- after, become familiar with the surrounding country. He knew the swimming holes, the best springs, the picturesque views and the places of silence, and he took a delight in guiding us to them. "The first summer four of us went to the Babbits: Madison, his sister Lilian, my brother John and I. In those early days Madison had begun to rhyme. Many an hour was spent in scribbling poems. Sometimes these were inspired wholly by descriptions of the school teacher of the previous winter given us by Harry Babbit, the eldest of the Babbit children. Those were memorable vacation days. Lilian would stand on a rock at twilight, silhouetted against a young moon, singing 'By the Blue Alsatian Mountains,' while Madison was a-moon gazing, and the rest of us cavorted about, as children will, at approaching bed time. "When bed time came we took our lamp, Madison, John and I, and ascended to our room, the only up-stairs room in the house. The Babbits were a very religious family, and there were always evening prayers before retiring. We boys had a pack of cards and sometimes we set the lamp on the floor and indulged in a game of casino, strain- ing our ears for every approach of steps that might reveal the scandal- ous proceedings to the Babbits. "In the second summer two more visitors were added to our party: Rose Cawein and Charles L. Cawein. Charlie was already addicted to the practice of medicine. He administered doses of an excellent herb concoction, prepared by his father, and I personally can testify, and so could Madison, to its efficacy as a preventive of cholera morbus. "In 1913 when Madison was preparing The Poet and Nature, he wrote to me for some of my Babbit reminiscences. I offered a few facts that I thought might be helpful. Many an hour have I spent with this book and through it wandered back to my first visits to the country. I often wondered whether Madison's memory was at fault in some of the details or whether he intentionally exercised poetic license with some of the characters he used in the prose parts of this work. 'Mary' was Carrie May Babbit. Harry, not Roy, was the elder of the two Babbit boys. 'John' and 'Charlie' may be my brother John and my- self — at least I like to think so. The incident regarding the baseball and the bees, described in prose on page 82, is absolutely true; I was one of the participants. [This incident, like many others narrated, took place on the Babbit farm.] " 'The Ruined Mill' is the mill on the Babbit farm. Every time I saw Madison in the old place it was apparent that he was dreaming and wandering in the realms of romance. Every poem in The Poet and Nature appeals to me. This is especially true of the one on page 39, beginning, 'Where the path leads through the dell.' And so with some of the poems in his other books. His 'Standing-Stone Creek,' first 76 The Youth of C a we in published in Shapes and Shadows, must have stirred his soul every time he recalled it, for in it he described what he regarded from early- youth as one of his favorite haunts around Brownsboro. ''The Poet and Nature is set amid surroundings that witnessed the adolescence of Madison Cawein. I can scarcely realize that I was present when he wrote some of the rhymes that were among the first outward expressions of his inner development. Many of the poems in this and his other volumes hark back to his boyhood days at Babbit's. It was there that Nature made not only its first, but also its most indelible impressions on the boy who became the greatest nature poet of his time." Madison Cawein attended the Louisville Male High School from September, 1881, to June, 1886. Thirty-four years later his friend and classmate, James B. Hebden, of Louisville, submitted to me the following regarding the poet and his school days: "Madison was a quiet, studious boy and a model pupil. We fellows, however, did not regard him as an exceptionally brilliant student. I first knew him at the ward school at Thirteenth and Green streets. He and some of the other boys of that neighborhood later went to Center and Walnut streets where the higher grades, preparatory to entering high school, were taught, and I went to Seven- teenth and Madison for the same purpose. In those years most of us were somewhat rough, but Madison, although frequently a spec- tator, never participated in our pranks. He was orderly, but not timid, and never indulged in practical jokes. "Having lived in the country and in various parts of the city he missed much class work and saw very little of any one school until he entered high school, and as a consequence was the oldest in our class by at least one year. On entering high school he was less quiet and became more like the other boys. He was among the few who did not play ball, but he often took part in the stunts performed on the playground swings and ladders. "Any one could get along with him, although he seemed to prefer the companionship of a certain few. Every member of his class liked him. One of his most intimate friends during his Junior year was Walter N. Burns. Many of us had nicknames. We called him 'The Poet Ike' because of the shape of his nose, and McKee was 'Rakey,' Gleason was 'Dago,' Hite was 'Tobe,' Hoeppner was 'Hop,' Drewry was 'Reddie' and I was 'The Hibernian.' "Madison read a great deal, and even spent some recesses with books. One day when some of the boys were making confessions about reading Beadle's Half-Dime Novels on the sly, he told us he had 'a whole loftful' of them at home and had read every one. "Even before he entered high school he impressed me as a lover of nature. He often went down to the Portland Ferry to look at the river, and from there sometimes crossed over to New Albany and 77 Madison C awe in wandered up into the Knobs where he had lived a few years before. It was shortly after his sophomore year that he began writing poetry. One of his first efforts had some lines in it to the effect that he would like to live and die like Keats. [For the poem see Nature Notes and Impressions, page 2.] When this poem was published in a local paper, some of us boys teased him about it. I remember we told him that if he lived and died like Keats, his literary career would be over 'a macadamized road to a graveyard' — a hard road and its end soon reached. He did not resent our nonsense about his writing of poetry, but on the contrary took it in good part. He knew we were not serious, for when we arranged our literary programs, we never failed to include Cawein, and, furthermore, any and all ridicule we might have tried on him would have been outweighed by the encouragement he received from Professor Halleck. "I remember on one occasion the Alethean Society of the girls' high school and our Athenaeum Society held a joint meeting. We brought out Madison as one of our choice products. George Drewry, the master of ceremonies, in a humorous speech introduced him and referred to him as 'Our Poet Ike.' This led many to infer that Madison was going to read something of a humorous character, but he came prepared to read a serious poem of his own, and although it was a long one, everybody enjoyed it, and our Society felt proud of him. "Madison's word could always be depended upon and, furthermore, he was very considerate of his parents. During our senior year 'Rakey' McKee and I frequently rowed up the river in a skiff. On one occasion we invited 'The Poet Ike.' The time set for the trip had about arrived, but Madison was not yet in sight. A few moments later we saw him coming down the river bank. When he got to the boat, he said, 'Boys, you'll have to excuse me. My parents have a prejudice against the river. I'd like to go with you, but I'll have to beg off.' He always pronounced 'prejudice' as though ending with the word 'dice.' He had walked over a mile to keep us from waiting for him, and gave up this river trip to please his parents. He was always sincere and reliable and considerate of others. "Two weeks before our commencement exercises an all day picnic was held in Central Park. The girls and boys of the graduating classes and their teachers ate dinner at one table. All of us were in the best of spirits. I can still hear Professor Halleck call, 'Madison, can you see pentameters in the movements of our jaws?' and our poet's answer, which was to the effect that everybody seemed to be working in 'gastronomic meters.' "The Louisville Female High School commencement took place in Macauley's Theatre on the morning of June 10, 1886. There were thirty-six graduates. Our class of thirteen served as ushers. Madi- son was assigned the seats near the stage and performed his task in 78 The Youth of Cawein Chesterfieldian style. If I am not mistaken, it was then that he first began to pay special attention to young ladies. I sat near him while the program was being rendered. Viewing the two semi-circles of girl graduates and listening to their recitations apparently impressed him more than a grand theatrical performance. "The next night was our turn on the stage. When Madison was called upon, he stepped forward, made a dignified bow and proceeded to read the Class Poem slowly and distinctly and very seriously. The applause was great; our class was prouder than ever of its poet, and our pride has increased ever since. He and I often met in later years, and our school days were usually the principal topic of our talks. I like to look back on him as a perfectly fine human being, a person who was just natural, a regular fellow, with all his genius." Professors Reuben Post Halleck and Robert H. Carothers were among the high school teachers of the young poet. Professor Hal- leck's reminiscences of Cawein's last years in school are given elsewhere in this volume. Professor Carothers in a letter to me writes: "Madison Cawein as a student displayed the same qualities that marked his after life. He was the same quiet, refined, studious and observant individual as in his maturer years. He enjoyed the sports of the boys, but as an onlooker rather than a participator in their games. Oftentimes, however, during the recess he remained in a class room engaged in study. He was not what is called a brilliant student, but had to labor in order to obtain his information. As always in such cases, he retained what he learned and could use it discriminat- ingly. "He was deeply interested in the study of English, in which I had the privilege of being his instructor for a while. Even then he delighted in poetry, and it would not be a difficult task to trace in his writings some influences derived from his study of Hale's Longer English Poems which was used as a text book. One of these is his fondness for unusual words, largely old English, which are found throughout his poems. One exercise he delighted in was the study of synonyms which he used with great discrimination. His success in the use of pure English shows that he kept up his studies in this respect during his life. An incident of this is shown by what he related to me after his return from a visit to Boston. Among others he met was Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes, who, in the course of their conversation, asked Mr. Cawein where he had studied English. Mr. Cawein told the Doctor, and then added that the class had studied one of his books, which greatly pleased the genial Doctor. " 'The boy is father of the man,' and Cawein the student fore- shadowed Cawein the poet." For many years, including the time Cawein attended school, the Louisville Male High School was the academic department of the 79 Madison Cawein University of Louisville with full authority to award the degree of Bachelor of Arts. The only academic degree ever conferred upon Madison Cawein was the A. B. he received in Louisville, June ii, 1886. That day — his Commencement Day — may be regarded as the real beginning of his literary career. While a school boy he had written a number of poems, but not until after graduation did he have anything like a semblance of freedom to exercise his rapidly developing gift. Cawein's literary activities covered a period of twenty-eight years. The first six years of his literary life were spent in the New- market, a pool room, where, as assistant cashier, he worked amid un- congenial surroundings; the twenty-two years that followed he devoted to poetry, although his health was poor the greater part of the time. The Newmarket — named after the celebrated race-course in England — was an establishment in which was transacted a legalized business of betting on horses and selling auction pools on races. Commenting on his connection with this gambling house Cawein said to me: "I was a priest in the Temple of Mammon and was obliged to mingle with those who worshiped there." He was well qualified to fill the position, for he was honest, quick and reliable, and did not gamble. His salary was a good one from the beginning, and was frequently increased. This employment made it possible for him to pay for the publication of his first books and also permitted him to accumulate some money. His savings were judiciously in- vested in lands in eastern Kentucky, which soon thereafter paid a good profit. He lived on his income from poems sold to newspapers and magazines and the profits made later through stock speculations. Practically all his time in his early manhood was taken up by clerical work in the pool room, literary work at home and rambles in the country. He, nevertheless, frequently found a few hours for his young lady friends. Shortly after he finished high school he began calling on a number of girls living in Portland, a western division of Louisville. In a recent interview one of the girls who knew young Cawein in those days, said to me: "Madison often brought a book, a box of candy or a bouquet to the girls on whom he called, but he usually hid the present in the shrubbery or in a tree near the house, and after ringing the door bell and greeting his hostess, he would ask her to hunt for the hidden gift. And when she found it, she also found a few lines of original verse. Madison took an active part in the candy pullings, parlor dances, musical entertainments and such other amusements in which our little Portland club indulged. He differed from the other boys in that he was more quiet and seldom spoke of himself. Most of us had more or less to say about where we had been and what we had done since our last meeting. Madison, however, said very little on such subjects. He told us ghost stories. 80 The Youth of Cawein "I remember one night eight or ten of us had gathered at the home of one of our friends then Hving in the Colonel Carr house, an old mansion-like residence said to be haunted. Madison was telling us a ghost story, and about the time we girls began to feel the presence of the ghosts that he pretended to see in the room, one of the boys quietly slipped down into the cellar and slowly turned off the gas. While the light was fading away, we clustered around Madison, assuming that if there was to be any protection from ghosts, it must come from him. The instant the room was in total dark- ness all of us, shrieking and trembling, rushed upon Madison. He was completely lost in our embraces, but dramatically continued his story until some one brought in a lighted lamp and restored order. After we had recovered from the fright, Madison simply said: 'Many a caress, but not a kiss; let's try it all over again.' "In a few years our Portland group began to scatter, and Madi- son, who was then about twenty-three years of age, drifted, like the rest of us, into circles in other parts of the city." Cawein always enjoyed impromptu and unceremonious gather- ings and avoided formal social functions whenever possible. One of his greatest pleasures from early youth was to wander through fields and forests and to loiter around old homes. He spent about four years of his boyhood in the Brownsboro country and in the New Albany Knobs, and ever thereafter made pilgrimages to these scenes. Sometimes he went alone and sometimes with friends. He severed his connection with the Newmarket in order to devote all his time to literature and to the exploring of the near-by country, and he soon became familiar with every hill and valley near Louisville. He loved them all, but the scenes that were always dearest to him were the hills and valleys amid which he spent his youth. 81 Ill CAWEIN'S LIFE AS RECORDED BY THE LOUISVILLE PRESS The following clippings present the life of Cawein as recorded in his own time by the Louisville press. Reviews of Cawein's works are not included in this chapter, except an advance notice of his first book: 1886, June 12, Courier- Journal. [A column devoted to the Com- mencement Exercises of the Louisville Male High School held in Macauley's Theatre on June 11, contains the following relative to Mr. Cawein] : "The Class of '86" was the subject of an original poem ["Mari- ners"] of metrical and intrinsic excellence, by Mr. M. J. Cawein. It is a dangerous compliment, always, to speak of a young man as having poetic genius, but the vigorous thought as well as the rhyth- mical beauty of Mr. Cawein's poem forced that opinion from those who listened to him. 1886, June 12, Louisville Commercial. [From a column report on the Commencement Exercises] : An original poem, "The Class of '86," was next read by M. J. Cawein. The vividness of imagination and command of language shown by the young poet indicate that he has wooed the muses with great success. 1887, September 18, Louisville Commercial. A Louisville poet. Writings of Madison J. Cawein. His book of new poems — Blooms of the Berry. [The first press notice of Mr. Cawein's first book] : Madison J. Cawein, whose name is in a degree already familiar to the newspaper-reading public as a writer of some clever verse, has in the hand of John P. Morton «& Company, a volume of his poems, which will be ready about the first of October. 82 As Recorded by the Louisville Press The book will contain about ninety per cent, of poems heretofore unprinted, and those who have only read his contributions to the local press will be surprised at the especial excellence of many poerns of his work. Cawein is very young, and most of the verse in his maiden book was written before he was twenty years of age. He is but twenty-two now, and is a Louisville boy and a graduate of the High School. With characteristic modesty, Mr. Cawein, in his "Proem" says: Though the grander flowers I sought, But these berry-blooms to you, Evanescent as their dew. Only these I brought. Of course, the modesty of a poet is characteristic, if not worse, but these lines are very ingenuous. His themes are as varied as the rainbow, though the title of the book. Blooms of the Berry, would indicate principally pastoral poetry. The titles show for themselves the range of subjects, as they are pretty well chosen, for instance: "By Wold and Wood," "Antici- pation," "A Lament," "Distance," "Spring Twilight," "Stars," "Ghosts," "The Tollman's Daughter," "Harvesting," "The White Evening," "The Jessamine and the Morning-glory," and "The Dream of Christ." A few extracts will serve as material from which the reader may form an opinion of the merit of the work. They are made at random; the last verse of the first poem, a very melancholy piece, by which, however, the reader's mind should not be prejudiced, and runs thus: The lone white stars that glitter; The stream's complaining wave; Gray bats that dodge and flitter; Black crickets hid that rave; And me whose life is bitter, And one white head-stoned grave. Perhaps the most pleasing of the shorter pieces, here given in full, is "Distance": I dreamed last night once more I stood Knee-deep in purple clover leas; Your old home glimmered thro' its wood Of dark and melancholy trees. Where ev'ry sudden summer breeze That wantoned o'er the solitude The water's melody pursued. And sleepy hummings of the bees. 83 Madison Cawein And ankle-deep in violet blooms Methought I saw you standing there, A lawny light among the glooms, A crown of sunlight on your hair; Wild songsters singing every where Made lightning with their glossy plumes; About you clung the wild perfumes And swooned along the shining air. And then you called me, and my ears Grew flattered with the music, led In fancy back to sweeter years. Far sweeter years that now are dead ; And at your summons fast I sped, Buoyant as one a goal who nears. Ah! lost, dead love! I woke in tears; For as I neared you farther fled ! Of his love poetry, "In the Gardens of Falerina" is good, al- though an imitation. In the description of the garden the poet says : The bee dreams in the cherry bloom That sways above the berry bloom; The katydid grates where she's hid In leafy deeps of dreary gloom: The forming dew is globing on the grasses, Like rich spilled gems of some dark queen that passes. And then concludes with the following invocation to her for whom said scene was evidently inscribed: Bow all thy beauty to me, love. Lips, eyes, and hair to woo me, love. As bows and blows some satin rose Snow-soft and tame, that knew thee, love. Unto the common grass, that worshiping cowers, Dowering its love with all her musk of flowers. In blank verse is "The Punishment of Loke," the most preten- tious piece in the volume. The giant Thor is thus described as he joins the undertaking: Then great-limbed Thor sprang wind-like forth: — Red was his beard forked with the livid light. That clings among the tempest's locks of bale, Or fillets her tumultuous temples black, 84 As Recorded by the Louisville Press And drops with wild confusion on the hills; And thro' his beard, like to the storm's strong voice, His sullen words were strained, and when he spake The oldest forest bowed their crowns of leaves, And barmy skulls of mead half-raised were stayed Within Valhalla, and heroes great were dumb. 1888, August 26, Courier- Journal, Editorial: Some recent poetry: William Dean Howells has in Harper's Magazine for September an article on recent poetry devoted chiefly to Madison J. Cawein and Robert Burns Wilson. Mr. Howells is liberal in his quotations from Mr. Cawein's new volume. Blooms of the Berry, and gives entire Mr. Wilson's poem, "In September," from Life and Love. The writer has been most fortunate in his selections from Mr. Wilson, but less so, we think, in what he has chosen from Mr. Cawein. But a critic sees what he likes, and Mr. Howells wants little of the flesh and blood in his poetry, or prose either. The last two stanzas of "In September' give to it a meaning, a suggestion, something be- yond a picture, and so the reader takes a profound interest in it. In Mr. Cawein's verse imagination runs riot; his language is rich, bold, free — at times his images are redundant, but the impression is always vivid. Poetry, to satisfy the senses, must have in it the personal element. One finds it to some extent in Mr. Wilson's verse; not prominent, not obtrusive, but present by hint or suggestion throughout, though in the main his is "the harvest of the quiet eye." Mr. Howells' praise of and quotation from Mr. Cawein may lead the reader to suppose that his work lacks dramatic force, that it wants the human element, and that Mr. Howells' praise is due to this. On the contrary, Mr. Cawein's poetry lacks only, or chiefly, self-restraint. A little more care in composition; a little more pains to make the reading easy; a little more appreciation of the value of silence; a recognition of the fact that the world is not always entitled to our thoughts hot from the furnace — these, with a severer judgment of his own work, will give Mr. Cawein an eminent place in poetry. Mr. Cawein's style is his own. Notwithstanding Mr. Howells' disappointment at not finding any evidence of Tennyson's influence in his work, we hold it to be apparent. In subject, in treatment, in language, Tennyson's influence can be traced, but only for good. There is no slavish imitation, no mere echoing of any subject, but familiarity of Tennyson and Swinburne is easily seen. Now if Mr. Cawein will choose as his master in the workshop, not Swinburne but Tennyson, we will have fewer poems, but better, and later when new editions are called for there will be less reason for his sober judgment omitting or regretting some of his indiscretions of youth. 85 Madison C aw e in One of the most noticeable poems of Mr. Cawein appeared in The Courier- Journal a few weeks ago [July 22, 1888], and was entitled, "The Mood O' the Earth." Here are some of the stanzas: My heart, my heart is high, my sweet, And the sense of summer is full; A sense of summer, — full fields of wheat, Full forests and waters cool. To live high up a life of mist With the white things in white skies. With their limbs of pearl and of amethyst, Who laugh blue humorous eyes! Or to creep and to suck like an elfin thing To the aching heart of a rose ; In the harebell's ear to cling and swing And whisper what no one knows ! To live on wild honey as fresh as thin As the rain that's left in a flower. And roll forth golden from feet to chin In the god-flower's Danae shower! Or free, full-throated curve back the throat With a vigorous look at the blue. And sing right staunch with a lusty note Like the hawk hurled where he flew ! God's life! the blood of the Earth is mine! And the mood of the Earth I'll take, And brim my soul with her wonderful wine, And sing till my heart doth break! We find in his new volume few things better than this, but in this one sees the need of revision and labor. 1889, January 27, Louisville Commercial: A Poet's Life — Sketch OF THE early HISTORY AND THE PRESENT SURROUNDINGS OF Madison J. Cawein. A young man just making acquaint- ance WITH Fame and to whom Fortune is yet a stranger. The unfavorable conditions under which he has hitherto LABORED. His forthcoming work. Madison J. Cawein was born in Louisville on March 23, 1865. Though no records exist that any wizard, learned in the quaint, starry science of the olden time, cast his horoscope it is safe to say 86 As Recorded by the Louisville Press that at his birth good planets were in conjunction shooting earth- ward sweet influence and happy benedictions. For four dark, mur- derous years of civil war were drawing to a close, and the troubled heavens had already kindled with the dawn of a deep and prosperous peace. His family was originally French. It may be traced backward to a fountain-head of noble blood. Jean de Herancour was its founder. He was a Huguenot nobleman who flourished during the reign of Louis XIV. Little is known of him except that he owned a strong chateau and large estates in the Champagne country to the east of Paris and was able to muster at his pleasure a goodly force of vassals and retainers. The arms of this nobleman were three black mallets on a field argent. What significance attached to this device is not known. The poet has in his possession a family tree traced out on an antiquated scroll of yellow parchment, which is stamped with these armorial bearings of the family. For more than a hundred years before the time of De Herancour the Huguenots had been a sect in France. Humble followers of the religious tenets of John Calvin, at first barely enough in point of num- bers to form a congregation for divine worship, they became a powerful and dangerous political party, which threatened division in the king- dom. They clung to their faith with martyr-like devotion through fair and evil fortune. They were flouted, branded as outcasts, hunted and shot down like beasts of the forest. Through all the dark period of their dire persecution their sublime courage and heroic patience shine out in the history of those stormy times like the morning star glimpsed through the rack of the tempest. As a sect and a party they lived through the butchery of St. Bartholomew and survived the plots of the wily Richelieu. Proof against massacre and designing state- craft, they fell at last, prey to a woman. When the Grand Monarque rounded into the autumn of his days, he bethought him to make some atonement for a past that had been given up almost wholly to volup- tuous vice. Drawn away from the path of wisdom by the trains of his mistress, he resolved, at her instigation, to banish the heretical Huguenots forever from his realm. In 1685 Louis adroitly made his peace with God and de Maintenon by the revocation of the Edict of Nantes. This foolish coup of senile royalty exiled thousands and tens of thousands of Huguenots from France. The De Herancours were in the consequent exodus that poured the best laborers and the best blood of the kingdom pell-mell across its borders. They settled in the German provinces along the Rhine. The descendants of the old stock are to be found there to this day. The blood was gradually transmitted by a subtle natural chemistry from French to Teutonic as the successive generations inter-married with the German people. Dr. William Cawein, the father of the poet, now a venerable gentle- 87 Madison C aw e in man but still a practicing physician of the West End, came of this transplanted stock and emigrated to this country from the Rhine provinces. Cawein, as a school boy, passed through all the grades of the ward schools. He entered the Male High School in 1881, and graduated from that institution in 1886. In all the departments of his studies he was a good scholar. In certain of his classes he was a fair scholar from a sense of duty and diligent application ; in others he was a fa- mous one from a love of the subject. He hated mathematics with poetic heartiness; natural science, with all its glamour of pleasing experiment and scholarly speculation, he passed by as only tolerable. Latin he delighted in. He followed with unflagging and enthusiastic interest the wanderings and adventures of the "pious yEneas." The rest of his classmates took that redoubtable and classic hero to hell \n the sixth book and left him there; nor would they have hauled him back to earth and sunlight again for a month of holidays. But Cawein, more kind-hearted and more indefatigable than the rest, waded on alone through Virgil's tough but sonorous hexameters till he saw the happy period put to the toils and tribulations of the great Trojan. Horace's Odes, with their classical beauty of expression and their largess of sensuous thought, were even more to his liking. Above all his studies, however, he loved English literature. In his early youth he was an insatiable devourer of novels, and with the reading of the standard authors he mingled a great deal of trashy, flashy fiction. Up to his eighteenth year he had scarcely read a good English poem, and had never even dreamed of inditing one. In his Sophomore year his class took up as a text-book a work styled Longer English Poems, and in studying the excellent _ selections of this little volume he first gained a conception of the variety and rich- ness of English poetry, and the fine delight there is to be got from it. From the first nipple-draft of Castalian waters his swaddling genius grew apace. All of a sudden the passion of song came to him. He began to read and write poetry with the same savageness and voluptuous fury which thrills the veins of a tiger whelp, which weaned from its dam's milk has for the first time tasted blood. He wrote his first verses in imitation of Milton's L'Allegro and II Penseroso. Afterward, keep- ing pace with his class in the progress of its studies, he imitated Dryden, Goldsmith, Keats, and others. He scribbled incessantly. Within a few months after his initial dash into the realms of Poesy he had a bureau drawer, at home, stuffed full of rhymes as proof of his poetical prowess. There were odes, elegies, lays, lyrics, and in fact every sort of poem known — all in manuscript, and, happily, destined to remain so. In after years, the poet offered these firstlings of his genius as a hecatomb on the altar of the Muses and toasted his feet by their sacri- ficial blaze. As Recorded by the Louisville Press Soon after Cawein began to scribble in verse, the disastrous fact became bruited about gradually among his classmates. It hurt his reputation. He was looked on ever afterward with suspicion. A moon-struck bard was an anomaly among the rollicking blades of the school. It was his wont to make short sallies into the country every week or so, on Saturday holidays, and of a Sunday, to drink inspiration from the landscape and life of the country. These solitary poetic ramblings furnished his companions infinite amusement. He was wont, in pleasant weather, to spend whole days in wandering alone through the fields and woods. His heart, in these happy early years, was like a full-toned harp. Every sight or sound of beauty struck a chord of music from it. He could sit for hours in luxurious contentment in the shade of some pasture oak, when the sun was pouring its trembling flood of ethereal gold over the meadows, and the bees, those sum- mer revelers, were tippling nectar among the clover blossoms. But his observations of nature were not confined to pleasant seasons. He might be found at his lonely studies in the country when incendiary autumn had fired the forests with its blazing colors, and when winter had desolated all the landscape. From his rural ramblings he learned a philosophy of nature. It was not a new or original philosophy, but an old philosophy to which his soul fitted itself naturally. It shows itself in all his later writings. He does not look upon the universe as Wordsworth did, filling it with a spirit of thought and sympathy; nor as Shelley did, with a pervading spirit of love. He thinks of it as Keats thought of it, as a thing of living beauty. He loves it for its loveliness. The delight he takes in its contemplation is a delight germane to that the art connoisseur has in a striking canvas or a fine marble. During his school-boy days Cawein was lord of one splendid and favorite air-castle. It was his idea, when school-books should be put aside, to possess himself of some rural retreat, and there, in pleasant solitude, live the life and dream the dreams of a poet. It was his pur- pose to let pass the material things of this world, and to devote the energies of his nature to the writing of verse. His ideal of life in those days was such a life as Wordsworth lived at Grasmere. He wished to pass his days in sweet and constant communion with nature, with a good library to his hand and a coterie of friends who should be of con- genial spirit to his own. But alas for the rosy dreams of youth! A poet's schemes like the schemes of ordinary men and mice "gang aft agley." When he left school he started indeed to devote himself wholly to literature. He wrote one story in prose which was published in The Chicago Current and brought him $25. ["Paul Herancour's Sacrifice." Current, Chicago, Vol. 6, 1886, 959-60.] But he came finally to the conclusion that a young writer's pen, however brilliant, was a poor thing to depend upon for meat and bread. So he cast about for something else to do. 89 Madison C aw e in No other opening presenting itself, he secured a position through the influence of his brother, as assistant cashier in Waddill's New- market pool-rooms. He has held this position for the past two years. In the unhealthy moral atmosphere of the gambling-house and amid the feverish bustle of its life, he has worked day in and day out. The crowds that constantly throng the establishment would furnish excellent material for a novelist to study; but where is the poet that ever sang, who could suck inspiration from such an olio of humanity? The house is daily swarmed, till its hours of closing, with gamblers, horsemen, plungers, jockeys, swashbucklers, flash gentlemen and sharpers. Its crowds are no worse and certainly no better than the crowds that frequent such places elsewhere. The house, in fact, is one of the finest of the kind in the South or West. Its proprietor, Mr. A. M. Waddill, is one of the wealthiest and most famous gamblers south of the Ohio. He is, withal, a typical gambler. He was born down in Alabama in '48, of a rich and aristocratic parentage. He had opportunities for a splendid education, but books with more than fifty-two pages in them had no charms for the wild youngster. He learned to gamble early in his youth, and made gambling his profession while yet in his teens. He did not gamble for that sport and tingling excitement whose siren pleasure draws most hot-blooded youths to the gambling table; passionless and shrewd and calculating, he gamed only for the silver it put into his pocket. In the palmy days of the South before the war, he won a small fortune as a gambler on the river. He located in Louisville after the war, and soon became the king of the gamblers here. There was scarcely a paying faro house in town in which he did not have an interest. He owned the controlling interest in the Crockford, which in the old days was one of the most famous gambling houses in the South. Around its tables the big players and wealthy men were wont nightly to try their fortunes, and thousands of dollars were won and lost at a single sitting. In these autumnal days of his existence he lives in princely fashion in an elegant home on Chestnut Street, where he has sur- rounded himself with all the comforts of life. He is as true as steel to a friend; implacable and relentless to his enemies. Contrary from what one would expect from such a man, he is generous to a fault and princely in his charities. The words of the brave old Scottish toast might be applied to him as fittingly descriptive of his character: "A man who never turned his back on friend or foe." Such is the house that our poet works in, and such a man is his employer. Surely a poet never breathed a more uncongenial air. But his surroundings have not tainted his nature. He himself never gambles. When he first went into the house he made several bets on Apollo and Pegasus. He thought they ought to win by virtue of their mythological names, but Apollo's classic legs wouldn't work 90 As Recorded by the Louisville Press fast enough, and Pegasus had lost his wings. After several small losses he rested on the laurels he had won as a plunger and concluded to stick to poetry. That Cawein has risen superior to the circumstances into which necessity has apparently placed him is proof of his genius. Sordid worldly and exciting pleasures have time and again proved silken jesses to hinder falcon spirits from their flight. But Cawein's airy fancies and dreams breathing of woods and fields and steeped in beauty have no bare suggestion of the poet's daily surroundings. Indeed, he has written some of his sweetest songs at his desk in the Newmarket. Cawein's home is at the corner of Nineteenth and Market. It is a large, painted brick house. It sits in a yard of comfortable size, and is half embowered among trees and shrubs. It is probably the handsomest residence in that portion of the city. His home is very home-like. Its atmosphere is one of refinement and culture. It is furnished with a rare degree of good taste, which has happily failed to sacrifice comfort to elegance. The library is a well-selected and extensive one. It was formed largely by the poet, who from boyhood has exercised a principle which every one would do well to adopt — viz.: to buy every book that he reads. Cawein does all of his literary work in his bed-room in the rear of the second story. It is a snug little apartment. Its eastern window is high enough above the contiguous dwellings to take the dawn ; its western window commands a prospect of suburban landscape which is not altogether unattractive with its background of smoky Indiana hills. On the walls are two unpre- tentious pictures. One is a picture of a pretty girl reclining, with a wealth of blonde hair streaming down in luminous masses over her shoulders. It is called "The Dreamer." The other is an engraved portrait of Amelie Rives, whose warm type of beauty the poet admires extravagantly. Cawein gets ofi from work at 9 o'clock at night. There would be little time left for literary effort if he cared to work. But he never writes at night. He fears, he says, that he might weave the somberness of the night into his verses. He works in the morning. He rises at 6:30 and is at his desk till 8. He is an indefatigable worker. When the creative ecstacy is on him, he can scarcely write fast enough to put on paper his crowding thoughts and fancies. Afterwards he criticizes his verses coldly, lops off unmercifully, changes a word here, elaborates an idea there, and keeps up this laborious polishing until the manuscript leaves his hands. At times he spends an hour upon a single line in endeavoring to turn it in the happiest way. Cawein has published two books — Blooms of the Berry and The Triumph of Music. Both were published by John P. Morton & Com- pany, of this city. Mr. William Dean Howells gave both productions the most flattering notices in Harper's Monthly. In the same number 91 Madison Cawein in which he reviewed The Triumph of Music, he reviewed a collection of poems by Robert Burns Wilson. He drew no comparison between the two poets; he praised them both in unstinted measure; but he dwelt longer upon Cawein and, as it seemed, more relishingly and lovingly. One impartial would infer, he set the young singer above the older bard, who had already won his laurels. This might be laid to the critic's knightly generosity which with kind preference chose to give the greater meed of praise to the unrecognized genius who stood in the stronger need. It is probable, however, that no such motive actuated him. It is no unnatural deduction that he considers Cawein the greater and more promising poet of the two. Cawein has, indeed, more power than Wilson; his imagination is stronger, freer, wilder, richer; he is the mightier wizard with the English language, which yields unwonted music beneath his magic spells; he is greater in his mastership of metre; greater in his versatility. Wilson is a singer, whose best work is already done; Cawein is a poet, whose present is a dawn and earnest of yet greater things. The former's songs, while still sweet, are losing their freshness and variety. He still sings, but he sings to the old tunes. Cawein 's music is always sweet and varied always. Wilson is a shepherd swain piping music from his oaten reed, that breathes of the beauty of pastoral landscapes and mingles with the music of summer brooks and singing birds. Cawein is a minstrel who plays upon a harp of many strings and twangs sweetly upon them all. A few of the poems in Cawein 's last book were severely censured for their broadness. In their warmth of passionate feeling they trenched upon the furthest borders of the poet's elastic license. This fact and the strictures which were passed upon them should have been enough, it would seem, to make the book take in these prurient days, when any production which is ofif color morally is snapped up eagerly by the public. But this case was an exception; the author lost money on both his publications. He will publish another volume early in the coming month. His work is already in the hands of Houghton, Mifflin & Company, the celebrated publishing firm of Boston. [Should read John P. Morton & Company, of Louisville.] The proof sheets have already been sent to the author for correction. In this new book, Accolon of Gaul, the poet leaves song and makes trial in a new and more ambitious field. The principal poem of the collection is a metrical romance, sixteen hundred lines in length, which goes back for a subject to the witching and legendary days of the good King Arthur — those dim days of early chivalry whose charm still lives in the writings of Tennyson and Swinburne. This is a dangerous undertaking for so young a writer. Great geniuses have been at work amid the golden fertility of this delightful field ; and he must indeed swing a golden sickle who gleans a sheaf there which will reward him for his labor. 92 As Recorded by the Louisville Press As a man, Cawein's character is distinguished by simpHcity, sympathy and glowing enthusiasm. He has read widely and talks entertainingly. He is withal a frank and generous companion. He is overflowing with spirits and has an abounding interest in everything around him. There is not a stain of dark melancholy, either real or feigned, in the weft of his nature. He is too full of health and interest and bright dreams to have room for hypochondria. If he ever shows a darker mood in his writings, his sadness is tender rather than bitter. If the unborn day may be presaged from the signs of the dawn, Cawein's future will be bright as his own strong spirit, bright as his friends' hopes for his success. He has won already a modicum of fame; fortune will come later, and fuller fame with the fuller life into which the years are gradually ripening him. — Walter N. Burns. 1894, January 21, Courier- Journal. A Louisville Poet. A Sou- thern SINGER BETTER KNOWN ABROAD THAN AMONG HIS OWN PEOPLE. How Madison Cawein's worth was discovered by William Dean Ho wells. High School graduate of whom London literary papers speak with enthusiasm. Future histories of American poetry will contain the name of Anderson M. Waddill. A soaring ambition. Some devoted scientist, the story goes, made a pilgrimage to the shrine of a great prophet of science. Who the pilgrim was matters not, but the great scientist was Charles Darwin. The pilgrim thought he would like to know how the country folk in that Kentish hamlet regarded the great man who made his home among them ; so he asked a cottager. "Master Darwin, sir?" was the answer. "Aye, we all know him. Indeed, yes, sir, and we think a deal of him, too, sir. He's the kindest-hearted old gentleman in these parts, sir." A large part of a century devoted to observation, to the classification of innumer- able facts, to intricate problems of induction, all tending to advance the greatest abstract discovery of the era, and Charles Darwin had earned for himself the reputation in his own home of "the kindest- hearted old gentleman in these parts." The story is recalled by the position in Louisville of Louisville's poet; not that there is any parallel as to aim, or age, or achievement between the cases of Madison Cawein and the prophet of evolution, but only that here is a man whom all the literary world knows as a poet, while Louisville only knows him as a young man who writes poetry. The Market Street cars going west take you past rows of houses with all kinds of exteriors except the poetical kind, and at the corner of Nineteenth there is a swinging shingle with the inscription, "Dr. Cawein." The house distinguished by this sign is the home of the young poet. The man himself would never pass for a poet with any 93 Madison C aw e in one not accustomed to read physiognomies. Browning looked like a prosperous Englishman of business and beef; Cawein at first looks like any other Louisville young man, only a little older than he really is. He wears the conventional clothes and the conventional mustache. You must scrutinize his face before you will see in it anything out of common, and then it will strike you that the nose is large and sharp, and nose and eyes together have the look of quest. He seems to be seeking something eagerly. As for the languorous air of one who dreams luscious beauty, that may come when the dreams are in prog- ress, but the general cast of his features is almost harsh. On the whole, speaking for myself, I would have said, after a conversation with Cawein, as with a stranger, that he was an uncommon man, with a strong character and a keen mind, but never that he was a poet. Look at his picture and see if you recognize the man of whom William Dean Howells wrote: "It is as if we had another Keats, or as if that fine, sensitive spirit had come again in a Kentuckian avatar, with all its tremulous hunger for beauty," or the author of these lines: Some frail lady white As if of water moonbeams, filmy dight Who waves diaphanous beauty on some cliff That drowsing purrs with moon-drenched pines. Madison Cawein — and the name is properly pronounced "Kah- wine," with the accent on the second syllable, not "Kay-wine" — is another illustration of the American theory that the intermingling of different races results in intellectual vigor. His father's family is of that wonderful Huguenot stock that gave America the Bayards and England the Romillies, but on the mother's side he is of German descent. In 1886 he graduated at the Louisville Male High School, but had already taken to that pursuit of stringing verses which has been the ruin of many a good man. Nobody seems to have objected very strongly to this juvenile weakness, but nobody encouraged it. Not content with writing these verses, he wanted to see them in print, and ten or twelve years ago sent a short piece to The Courier -Journal for publication, and when Madison Cawein first saw himself in print it was in The Courier- Journal' s type. What the name of this effusion was he has now entirely forgotten, but he says "it was the first of my verses I had ever seen in print, and I was very happy." [See Courier-Journal clipping, pages lOi and 102.] He never thought of making a living by literature, but, without a murmur, walked into the first occupation that offered a prospect of providing him with bread and cheese. Future handbooks of English literature will have to record that this occupation was in the pool-room then kept by Messrs. Waddill & Burt, and thus shall those well-remembered "sports" attain a celebrity of which neither ever dreamed. As a curiosity of literature this employment in a gam- 94 As Recorded by the Louisville Press bling-den of a man who was destined to become prominent in a new school of American poetry is as interesting as anything recorded by the elder Disraeli. New York has her stockbroker-poet to match the instance, but, apart from Edmund Clarence Stedman, Cawein prob- ably stands alone as a man who has been in the thick of the degrading scramble and yet carried out of it still brightly burning the sacred torch to whose flame its atmosphere is generally poisonous. Not only this, but Cawein wrote poems while he was employed in that pool-room. Best of all, perhaps, it was his success in the pool-room that enabled him to deliberately say farewell to all mere money-getting pursuits and settle down to writing verse as his one and only serious employment. Louisville can never claim the honor of having discovered Cawein ; the information that she had a poet must needs be conveyed to her between the covers of Harper's Magazine. Blooms of the Berry was published in a limited edition by John P. Morton & Company in 1887. William Dean Howells was then doing "The Editor's Study" for Harper's, and Mildred Howells, his twelve-year-old daughter, was one day rummaging about in a heap of books that had been sent in for notice. Presently in came Miss Mildred, running to her father with a book she had found in the heap. "Papa," she exclaimed in great glee, "here's a poet." Howells knew his daughter Mildred for a precocious girl in all that appertained to literature, and gave his attention to her find. It was Blooms of the Berry, and it had the dis- tinguished honor of an approving notice in the magazine for May, 1888. This, as the author says, "surprised the home people," as it well might, for many of the short poems in the volume had already appeared in The Courier-Journal without attracting any special attention. Two years ago Cawein was Howells' guest at Lynn, Massachusetts. The young Louisvillian delights to talk of his Yankee discoverer. "Howells," he says, "is not at all the sort of man you would imagine him to be from his writings. He is a whole-souled, kind, genial man." This invitation was sent and accepted just after Howells' second notice of Cawein, the book this time being Accolon of Gaul, still its author's favorite and at that time the most ambitious work he had attempted. Another memory which will always be a bright one for Madison Cawein is that of James Whitcomb Riley's early appreciation of his work. Whatever triumphs the future may hold for the Kentucky poet, he can never forget the flush of pride which came over him when his elder brother-singer published in Green Fields and Running Brooks that beautiful little lyric in his honor, "A Southern Singer," and again when he dedicated to him his Flying Islands of the Night. But the time has come when the praise of other poets make but little difference to this man's position in the literary world. His fame has passed beyond the limits of his own country. His works are no 95 Madison Cawein longer published by a Louisville firm, but simultaneously in London and New York by George Putnam Sons. His name recurs again and again in the review columns of metropolitan literary papers. The London Spectator, Athenaeum and Speaker, to say nothing of The Times, seemed to take it for granted that Madison Cawein is acknow- ledged in his own country as one of its very foremost verse-writers. If he can only keep up the supply, and keep it up to the standard he has already reached, his position in the world of letters is secure. The chances are that he will do much more than this. One dark cloud, however, still hangs over the successful poet, and to dispel it is quite beyond his power. Long ago when he was at the High School, he made a sonnet and entitled it, "Our Wedlock." The editor of Lippincott's Magazine accepted the sonnet and paid for it, but the sonnet has never appeared. Cawein has written implor- ingly to the editor to send him back that early sonnet and take double the price originally paid for it, but the editor is obdurate. Some day the sword will drop: that crude piece of work, of which its author now thinks with horror, will appear over the same name which is printed on the title page of Moods and Memories, Days and Dreams and Red Leaves and Roses. This, and to attain his ideal of versification, appear to be his two great anxieties. The comparative indifiference of his native city can not be said to weigh heavily on his soul. But for this he has only himself to thank; if he had taken the trouble to buy himself a loose cloak, like that in the picture of Tennyson, and to keep his hair long, people would have known that a poet was among them. As it is, he has only gone on, regardless of surroundings, pursuing the highest ambition of a mortal — the ambition to be divine and to make a beautiful thing. 1897, October 5, Courier-Journal: Henry Clay's Mother. Mr Zachary F. Smith read [before the Filson Club, October 4] an admirable sketch of The Mother of Henry Clay. . . . This was followed by an original poem on Nicholas Tomlin's and Thomas Bell's ride during the siege of Bryan's Station, August, 1782. The poem was by Madison Cawein and was read with fine effect. He styled the poem a description of "How They Brought Aid to Bryan's Station." It was a great poem and one that should win the author a warm place in the hearts of patriotic Kentuckians. [Mr. Cawein became a member of the Filson Club in 1892. He was then one of the youngest men in the Club. He took part in many of the general discussions of Kentucky history that followed the reading of the paper scheduled for the meeting, and every year or two, read by request, one of his poems before the Club.] 96 As Recorded by the Louisville Press 1899, April II, Louisville Times: Queer Club formed in Louis- ville, Members limited to thirteen in each chapter. Only those eligible to "The Bleaters" who have never been truly loved. A unique club, which has been in existence in this city for over two years, will shortly be regularly incorporated under the name of "The Bleaters." The membership of a single chapter is limited to thirteen, and the sole qualification necessary for the eligibility of an applicant, beyond that of being desirable to the other members, is that he must be able to take soul-scorching oaths to the effect that no woman has ever seriously cared for him. If after he becomes a member and it is discovered that he has falsified in regard to the mat- ter, or if he becomes the object of serious affection on the part of any woman, he is ignominiously expelled. The order originated with Dr. A. Harris Kelly, Henry Coolidge Semple and J. Wallace Vaughan, who, on comparing notes one day, found that each had been the victim of a woman's wiles. They adjourned to a neighboring wet goods emporium to tell their troubles, and during the course of the evening resolved to band themselves together and formulate certain resolutions for future guidance and retaliation upon the fair sex. A little later, George S. Lowe found himself in a predicament similar to that of the first three and craved admission. It was accorded, and so the order grew. So many ap- plications for admission were received that it was decided to limit the membership to thirteen, chosen, of course, as being emblematic of the hard luck of the members. The origin of the name "The Bleaters" is one of the secrets of the order and cannot be divulged to the profane. Some months ago a regular organization was effected, by-laws formulated and a ritual adopted. The club now has ten members, three having been ex- pelled in disgrace for breaking over the restrictions. The following well-known young men are now members: Dr. A. Harris Kelly, J. Wallace Vaughan, Henry Coolidge Semple, Madison J. Cawein, Bert Finck, George S. Lowe, Dr. Harry S. Lee, James B. Brown, Allison Graves and T. Rodman Cartmell. Henry Coolidge Semple is the Hierarch. The following singularly appropriate names have been selected for the other officers: Cyclonic Windjammer, Dr. A. Harris Kelly; Melancholy Builder of Hard-Luck Poems, Madison J. Cawein; Exalted Handler of the Timid Grapes, J. Wallace Vaughan; Mild Excoriator of the Elusive Female, Dr. Harry S. Lee. The badge of the club is as unique as the club itself and is held sacred from woman's touch on pains of immediate expulsion of the pin's owner. The club has no regular meeting nights, but convenes whenever rumors of a member about to fall from grace need to be investigated. Meetings are not very far apart. Sometimes during 97 Madison Cawein the coming month a box party, followed by a dinner, will be given by the club. Each member will take the girl for whom he has striven hardest but cannot win. It is feared that the efforts of the young lady friends of the members to get invitations for this occasion may lead to numerous investigations of their disinterestedness. 1901, January 2y, Courier-Journal: Madison Cawein. Infinite WORK, infinite PATIENCE. KeNTUCKY's PoET SINGS OF THE LANDSCAPE, WOODS, FIELDS AND STREAMS ABOUT US. MaKES TRUE AND GOOD SONGS THAT BRING HIM LAURELS AND AN INCOME. Of the few Louisville writers who are known to the world of letters, Madison Cawein, the poet, takes first rank in the minds of the critics. In fact, his work is of such quality that he is accorded three pages in Edmund Clarence Stedman's American Anthology, an honor which many an American poet much more popular in his time, is denied. In addition to this, Mr. William Dean Howells, whose critical faculty is not to be impugned, thus speaks of Mr. Cawein in "A Hundred Years of American Verse," an article in The North American Review for January: "What Bryant did was to make American nature habitable to American imagination, and in this way he doubtless pioneered what may be called, for want of a better word, the bucolic school of the West, whose spirit is most, though it was not earliest, recognizable in the work of John James Piatt, and which has found, in the tender humanity of James Whitcomb Riley and the sensuous susceptibility of Madison Cawein, diverse ultimations alike oblivious of their source." Mr. Madison Cawein belongs to Louisville as thoroughly as a man can. ^ He was born in the city and has resided here save a few years of his early life. These were passed on a farm beyond Pewee Valley near the South Fork of Harrod's Creek, and later he lived on a farm back of New Albany. His present residence is in a pleasant brick home on the corner of Market and Nineteenth streets, a house where comfort reigns and in which could easily be written poems that indicate a mind at ease and a good digestion. Mr. Cawein is easily ac- cessible and he makes an admirable host. His appearance does not at all suggest the poet. It is, in short, his conversation, when the light that comes into his face, that at once suggests what a theoso- phist would call "a dominant influence." Mr. Cawein was asked whether his poetic tendency was an in- heritance. He at once answered that he thought it was ; that, although his grandmother never wrote a line, she was fond of improvising poems in German to her delightful old-world garden, a place in which she loved to stay; that his mother was a great student, not of fiction, but of philosophy and theosophy_ and that she is a theosophist now. 98 As Recorded by the Louisville Press The impressions made by such environments on Mr. Cawein's mind have been very lasting and he also says that his poems invariably reflect some scenes connected with his childhood, the beautiful pastoral country about Harrod's Creek and the Southern Indiana knobs and valleys. Mr. Cawein's education began in a "little red schoolhouse" in Indiana and was finished in the city schools in Louisville. He graduated from the Male High School, now the Boys' High School, and since studied literature as a pleasure. Until he entered the Male High School he had not read much poetry, but when he came in contact with it he read Milton and Walter Scott — "beloved of boys" — and at once began to imitate these poets. His first published poem appeared in The Courier- Journal while he was in the Sophomore class of the High School, and between seventeen and eighteen years of age. It was called "Heat Lightning On the Ohio." [See the republished cHpping, page 102, from The Courier-Journal of July 12, 1885.] This was followed by other poems in the local papers which attracted attention and aided the young poet by the encouragement they gave him. While in the High School Mr. Cawein wrote a great deal, attempting epics and ballads. His study of Milton made him resolve ere he had read Tennyson, to throw the Arthurian legends into verse. He accomplished one, "Parsifal." It was written, however, after the metre of Scott's "Marmion." Be- fore going on, Mr. Cawein read Tennyson and at once burnt all his efforts. After Tennyson he took up a study of Shelley, and this re- duced him to despair. He compared his own work at eighteen with "Queen Mab" and it killed his ambition for a long time. In the meantime he studied Keats' poetry, but he resents any imputation that Keats' poetry influences him. He thinks that the poems of Shelley exercise a much more potent influence over him than those of Keats. If he has masters he declares them to be Shelley, Tennyson, and Browning. Mr. Cawein is one of the few men who have had the determina- tion to follow literature — and the worst paying branch of it — as a profession. He would not become a hack writer or achieve notoriety by newspaper verse. He wanted to be a poet and a poet he is. He says that at one time he held a clerical position and saved some money, which, by judicious investment, has made some more. In addition to this he has made poetry pay. His returns from his magazine verse for the year 1900 were about $100 per month. The magazines from which the checks came were the best in the country, representing Harper's, The Century, The Atlantic, The New Lippincott, Saturday Evening Post, The Smart Set, etc. While many writers, such as Munkittrick and several others, may make as much from verse in a year, their work is not poetry — and it is probable Mr. Cawein re- ceives more in cold cash for his elegant and artistic verse than any other American poet of the present hour. He writes what he desires 99 Madison Cawein to write. His Muse dictates to him and he fo'lows her sweet will. He expressed an honest scorn for any other method of writing. The song comes out of the soul which Mr. Madison Cawein fills with nature's secret lore during long, long walks over the fields and down by the creek ways, across the knobs and through the valleys of Kentucky and Southern Indiana. This is not the time or place in which to write a critical opinion of Mr. Cawein's verse. Better than that is a glimpse of the way he works and whence he draws the intricate knowledge of living, palpi- tant Nature, her smiles, tears, caprices, moods and secrets. There are many people who have passed Mr. Cawein in his quests, rambles, walks and never suspected that there went a singer whose heart was attuned to melodies unheard by others; whose eyes noted a thousand things others overlooked and in whose soul beauty dwelt and set its seal and glory on commonplace scenes. Mr. Cawein walks a great deal and there are few picturesque spots within twenty miles of Louis- ville that he does not know intimately and often. So that he is no house poet, but seeks his inspiration in the very scenes he so well paints. How does a poet work? Mr. Cawein believes in the dictum that "genius is the capacity for taking infinite pains." He is a great stickler for form. No poem goes out from the red house to the post box that does not represent careful labor. Mr. Cawein rises at 6:30 o'clock each morning and reads some solid book for an hour or two. After breakfast he goes to his desk, in the privacy of his own room, and no one is allowed to disturb him. He writes slowly. Some lines are rewritten ten or twelve times. When a poem is finished he puts it away and lets it mellow. When he takes it out again he regards it with a cold and calculating eye and revises it. He then puts it aside for the second time. Every lovely lyric, seemingly so free, fresh and spontaneous, has had at least three rewritings before it goes out, carefully typewritten, to the publisher. Mr. Cawein has issued, since 1887, including compilations, re- vised editions, etc., some fifteen volumes of verse. He has written some prose, but has never offered it for publication. His publishers for the first volumes of his poems were John P. Morton & Company, and while these volumes netted him nothing financially, they placed him before the public, and aided him to that high place he now occupies. To one of these volumes, indeed, his present success is due. One of them, "Blooms of the Berry," was, in 1888, sent to Mr. William Dean Howells, who then had the "Editor's Study" of Harper's Magazine. Mr. Howells has since told the story of how his daughter. Miss Mildred Howells, then a mere girl, was rummaging over the books sent in, and by chance dipped into Mr. Cawein's modest little volume. She ran to her father all in a glow, exclaiming, "Here's a poet, here's a poet!" Such an introduction won Mr. Howells' careful attention and a most 100 As Recorded by the Louisville Press enthusiastic review. It was the first round in the ladder of fame, and Mr. Cawein has had at least a respectful consideration from critics ever since. Mr. Cawein best loves his longer poems, "Intimations of the Beautiful" and the long dramatic effort, "Accolon of Gaul," the Arthurian legend that somehow escaped the eagle eye of Tennyson. He also professes a tender attachment for a little lyric in his new volume [One Day and Another] to be published at once by Richard Badger, of Boston. In making a choice for the American Anthology, Mr. Stedman has chosen of Mr. Cawein's poems, "To a Wind-Flower," "The Rain Crow," "Ku Klux," "Proem of Myth and Romance," "The Creek Road" and several others Mr. Cawein's new book is to be "a lyrical eclogue," a love poem in five parts. It wi 1 be of peculiar form and composition, inasmuch as it will be composed of a number of lyrics, each complete in itself, but all having a connection. While no mention is made of Kentucky, it is a Kentucky poem; in fact, an idyl of Kentucky life. There are no titles to the lyrics, but stage directions at the top. It is a simple thing, Mr. Cawein says, but he considers it artistic. Anyone who has a sympathy with literary work will find Mr. Cawein a delightful companion. He believes in it as a species of divine mission. About him in his library are photographs and books and souvenirs of literary friends and coworkers. There are many well-known faces and autograph volumes. Mr. Cawein looks at them affectionately and smiles: "Yes, I have good friends everywhere," he says, "and some of them tell me I stand in my own light because I do not follow Thomas Nelson Page and John Fox, Junior, and James Lane Allen and go to New York. But I do not think I do. I am in my element here, where I know my Kentucky woods and fields and landscapes. I think I belong here, anyhow I am going to stay here. Let others go, but I am going to stay in Kentucky." — Elizabeth Cherry Waltz. Summer Lightning O'er The Ohio By Madison J. Cawein {Courier-Journal, July 12, 1885) [In the sketch quoted from The Courier -Journal of January 21, 1894, is a statement to the effect that Mr. Cawein had entirely forgotten the name of his first published poem. In the article dated January 27, 1901, the title is given as "Heat Lightning on the Ohio." "Summer Lightning O'er the Ohio" is the earliest Cawein poem found 101 Madison Cawein in the old files of The Courier-Journal. He was twenty years old when this was published. It is probable that a few of his poems were printed in some other paper before this date.] Now Night, in purple pall, All dusty with white stars, Thro' Heaven's moonlit hall In pensive state her solemn march begins. Within the Western summer sky, Where turns yon lonely orb Of flame, a splash of fire, A crystal bud, its petals white expanding. The atmosphere domed, bubble clouds thick spins Of grotesque shapes, that form and die. Moon-flooded with a pearly garb ; Or grow a stately mosque, with spire on spire, In which aerial sylphs their worship make. And there, within those halls of vapors form'd. The dumb, white lightnings dance; As if the soul of Day, with fair Night charm'd, Sends forth swift glance on glance. Thus seem the speechless lightnings in the night, When Summer stamps the earth With mellow winds, that bring the Spring's delight Into a fruitful birth. To pulse within the dark blue skies. Where crystal mountain clouds arise In solemn state, cathedral-Wise, Beneath the dome of stars; Thro' which the astral-belted Night In Moon-wheel'd car swift takes her flight, With swarthy wand and dark bedight. And rules the dome of stars. 1903, February 7, Louisville Times: A Kentucky Man of Letters. The personality of a poet is as interesting to the public as his songs. It wants to know something about him in private life — his looks, manners and habits. The poets of the good old times ran things wide open — everything went — to-day they wear straight jackets and walk on eggs. In George D. Prentice's day poets flourished in Kentucky like rabbits in Australia, and the Legislature was called on to offer a 102 As Recorded by the Louisville Press ^ bounty for their scalps. The whole State was so congested with them that in Frankfort you couldn't throw a bootjack out of the window at a cat without hitting at least a hundred "sweet singers." That's the name they go by in the little town amid the hills. But Prentice died and the poets were treated like the old straw hat when the fall sets in and people begin to get cold feet. It was just prior to the death of Mr. Prentice that Colonel Will S. Hays asked him: "Mr. Prentice, how did you like my last poem?" He said fervidly, "I thank God, Will, that it is your last." Time again, however, in this brazen age of song I have been asked: "What of Madison Cawein? Tell us something of the man personally." The sketches of him always tell where he was born and when he was born, but as to giving us any real notice of him, nixy. Now, be it understood, that I am his friend, and I am not going to tell anything mean on him. Sit still, Madison, I don't know anything mean. Even though a woman and having a friendship of years' standing I can swear I don't. Now! Some years ago, poems by an unknown writer made an occasional appearance in The Courier-Journal, that nest for incubating poets. The folks who knew a good thing when they saw it began asking: "Who writes these songs?" They found he was a modest, gifted young poet, whose heart was in his work. He lived in a lovely home at Nineteenth and Market and was as unassuming as one could well be. Like others of the guild, he had to bear the slings and arrows of adverse fortune by some of these hidebound Philistines who knew as much about poetry as a hen does of a hawk's nest. One of this class approached him one day. "I say. Mad," he began, "my sister is going to celebrate her birthday soon. Write me some jingles" — ye gods, jingles! — "and I'll pay you in bananas." I have won- dered since if Admetus paid Apollo in garden truck for herding his Shorthorns? But Cawein, though he did not write the jingles, wrote on. His first book. Blooms of the Berry, appeared in 1887. The public yawned. It didn't sound like "Casey at the Bat." There was no tidings of "How Salvator Won" or "Curfew Shall Not Ring To-night," so it was tabled like a resolution. But women are always discoverers. A perfect halo of petticoats hangs over Cawein's fame. The daughter of a big Eastern writer, who has immortalized the land of codfish and baked beans, unpacking some new books, came across Blooms of the Berry. "Oh, father," she cried, "only read this, it's lovely." He did read and then there came a big editorial on the book, which brought Mr. Cawein right down to the baldhead row of poets. The writer's daughter was to him what Isabella of Spain was to Columbus. Louisville woke up and chalked down the odds against him. Society sent cards and lion hunters got 103 Madison Cawein their guns, but Cawein was unmoved by all this. Unlike Lot's wife his head was never turned and from that day on he has continued to reside in his old home among his old friends and new. That same year he was the guest of Mr. Howells at Boston. One night, as he retired, he heard a knock at the door and saw an arm thrust in with a whisky bottle attachment. "No, thanks," said the poet, "I never drink whisky." He might as well have hurled a bomb outside. "Not — drink — whisky," gasped his host, "and from Ken- tucky!" Then the novelist came in the room and gazed long and anxiously on the face of the son of the "dark and bloody ground" who turned down his corn juice. This is authentic, and affidavits can be had about it. Heart failure was also one of the things that threatened his native city when he went to a bank to buy stock. As he handed over the money some one in the bank remarked: "That's Madison Cawein, the poet." Nuff said. The receiving teller called for help. Who ever heard of a poet in the State having money enough for a haircut, much less to buy bank stock? Some gold brick transaction was feared and there was an active demand for nerve tonics at the nearest drug store. Mr. Cawein is one of the few Southern poets who has been made much over in the East. As a rule, the Southern brother who goes on to the place from which only three wise men came (and that proved their wisdom) is asked to sit on the mourners' bench as a horrid example or go way back and sit down. Cawein shared a different fate, but he loathes the noise and glare of a big city. As he once said to me when he went to Chicago: "I got out in front of my hotel on the following morning, heard all the roar of the wild beasts of the mart, held my head in my hands and took the next train home." What he loves is nature. He is her sweetheart, so to speak, for the old girl has had more than you could shake a stick at. She is one of those flower-faced coquettes who smiles on all alike and has a kiss on her lips for every fellow who comes down the boulevard. He has courted her in the woods where the wild flowers hold their annual convention of light and sweetness. He knows the Indiana knobs by heart, though the gang of sweethearts who go over there and pre-empt the ground has nearly driven him away. He has written of the old cemetery on Jefferson Street — of its dim walks, freckled with sun and shade, its moldering tombs and the memories of rose and rue, history and romance, all the pathetic tragedies of life and love its limits enshrine. He has immortalized the old farm home near Jeffersontown owned by his family [i 891 -1903] and there is an ancient haunted house in the Indiana green gloom of woods that has inspired some of his most charming poems. His has been the friendship without envy of all the poets of the country. Ahem, some of the Eastern gentlemen are a little bit sour 104 As Recorded by the Louisville Press at present because Mr. Edmund Gosse has said he never heard of them, but here in the South, Riley, Wilson, Rule, O'Malley, Stanton, Rice, Allen — all the lay-out, long on brains and short on cash — have laid a rose of love at his feet. He is just a kindly, lovable gentleman, unaffected by flattery, the same good friend as of old, loyal and true, but the cap stone is still lacking to his success. No racehorse has been named for him in Kentucky. Perhaps, it is as well — racehorses named for poets generally take to their beds and have to be sold to pull drays. — Elvira S. Miller. 1903* June 5, Courier- Journal: McKelvey-Cawein. The marriage of Mr. Madison Cawein and Miss Gertrude Foster McKelvey took place at 7 o'clock yesterday morning at St. Paul's Episcopal Church, in St. James Court [adjoining Central Park]. The ceremony was performed by the Reverend Dr. Reverdy Estell. The wedding was an unusually impressive one. The church was softly lighted. There was no music and no attendants. Only the near relatives of Mr. Cawein and Miss McKelvey were present. The bride was dressed in a dark blue traveling dress, with a white silk blouse, and wore a black pattern hat with gold trimmings. The bride and groom left at 8.20 o'clock for Denver and Manitou Springs where the honeymoon will be spent. They made a brief stop in St. Louis last night where they were entertained at the Planter's Hotel by Mr. and Mrs. R. E. Lee Gibson. Mr. and Mrs. Cawein will return to Louisville in a month. 1908, November 14, Courier-Journal: The Louisville Literary Club. [The Louisville Literary Club was founded September 3, 1908. At its first regular meeting Mr. Cawein was elected an honorary mem- ber. He attended many of the meetings, and frequently took part in the general discussion that followed the scheduled lecture on the read- ing of a prepared paper. He appeared on four set programs : November 9, 1908, "Modern Poetry;" November 27, 1911, "Nicholas Lenau's Life and Works;" February 24, 1913, "Some Kentucky Poems;" April 13, 1914, "Poets Symposium." Reports of the second and fourth programs are printed elsewhere in this chapter. The following per- tains to his first appearance before the Louisville Literary Club] : The Louisville Literary Club is a new organization in Louisville and one which has a reason for its existence. Its present limit of membership is 200. Men of all professions and ranks, as well as pro- fessed men of letters, are eligible. While its name is "Literary Club," 105 Madison Cawein its range of topics is by no means confined to literature, but may embrace anything that affects the welfare of the city of Louisville, of the State of Kentucky, or the country at large. This club is a sort of safety-valve where, without cut-and-dried programmes but under intelligent and orderly method, men may voice their opinions. It is not a board of trade; it is not a commercial club; it is not a political club, but it is an assemblage where any of the topics proper in such organizations would not be out of order. It may deal, too, with music and the arts, legal reforms, political movements, matters affect- ing general health and welfare. In fact, its scope might be stretched to cover as many things as the commerce clause of the United States Constitution. Such bodies as this exist in other cities and it has been found to be a mark of a thriving and vigorous community to have them when supported by a live interest so that free and public expression may be afforded to the citizens. On last Monday evening, however, the meeting confined itself to a strictly literary programme, dealing with poetry. The president, Mr. Ed. J. McDermott, presided, and not only happily introduced the speakers of the evening, but showed himself in no small degree acquainted with the subject for discussion. The first speaker was Mr. Madison Cawein, Kentucky poet and world poet. While the appearance of Mr. Cawein is familiar to his fellow-citizens of Louisville and to numerous acquaintances in New York and the East, some present notes concerning him may be of interest to those who do not know him among his contemporaries, as well as to those who, coming after us, shall also love poets. Mr. Cawein is of medium height or less with rather broad shoulders, though slender. He has a well-marked aquiline nose and prominent features. His not abundant hair is grayer than it should be at his years; his brows are well marked and his eyes are dark and full of a brilliant gentleness. He reads his own poems with an elocution not al- ways perfect, yet in a more interesting way than anyone else could read them. His voice is sonorous and pleasing and full of expression. When he reads those delightful, droll poems for children, of which he is about to publish a book, one gets the very human, humorous father and elder brother of his own little boy. When he reads those poems that deal with the sublimated essence of beauty he seems to embody the ideal poet as he pours forth winged words that carry one far toward beauty's inaccessible home. Prefacing his article by the very true observation that no one can hope to keep up with all the literature of the day, Mr. Cawein went into a short discussion of the comparative permanency of lyrics and poetic dramas, giving the palm decidedly to the former, although he noted the immediate and current revival in the poetical drama, so well exemplified in the work of Stephen Phillips and other modern writers. Mr. Cawein quite well sustained his proposition, but whether 106 As Recorded by the Louisville Press it would meet with general agreement or not, it cannot be denied that his ideals were stated with clearness and force. His paper is well worth printing. He then read a few unpublished poems, dealing with not only outer nature, but with human subjects. He also read four or five poems for children, among others notably the one con- cerning the little girl who was too good, and one which contains the utterances of the little boy who wondered where he went when he went to sleep. Judge Charles Seymour, having been called on by the president, made a short address, humorous and appreciative, sustaining by quotation and example Mr. Cawein's theory of the greater immortal- ity of the short lyric over other forms of poetry. Professor Marcus Allmond, the well-known educator, also read with animation several short poems of his own, written with spirit and interest. The next regular speaker upon the programme was Dr. Henry A. Cottell, the laborious, learned physician, who rests himself with music and poetry. He drew a parallel between the poets of the classic age of England and the poets who write in English in the present day. He selected the sonnet in order to illustrate his address and with an astonishing memory recited sonnets from the time of Sidney and Spencer, Shakespeare, Milton and Wordsworth, down to the present day, delivering his favorite sonnets with great feeling and dramatic force. The meeting, which was an open meeting and well attended by both ladies and men, adjourned shortly after lo o'clock, according to the rules of the club. 1 910, October 2, Louisville Herald: Madison Cawein, a poet and A HUMAN MAN. He WRITES CLASSIC POETRY BETTER THAN ALMOST ANYBODY ELSE. He LOVES HIS HOME AND FAMILY. The Stock Market interests him — he works, tirelessly AND systematically, GETTING HIS INSPIRATIONS FROM FIELD AND FLOWER — KeNTUCKY's FOREMOST NATURE PAINTER. "A man's a man for a' that," said Burns, but somehow the poet has always been out of count. Poets are so unmistakably different! Men? Perhaps. The mere word suggests antics, disheveled hair, wild eyes and collarless throats! Those who are born to interpret the stars and the writing on the wall — who are bound, if they are to sustain the title, to starve, suffer, yearn, seek and toil up the mountain of truth all the days of their lives — small wonder that they form a class apart and that ordinary men are distrustful of them. In Louisville there is a poet today. Beware! In spite of his collar, his tranquil eye — in spite of the conventions he observes and the garnishings of civilization he wears — he is a poet. Even at this 107 Madison C aw e in late day there is a man about who prefers the woods to an automobile and a fire-fly to an electrolier! Collar or no collar, he must be a poet! Madison Cawein, the nature-poet of Kentucky, whose new book, The Shadow Garden, has recently created a stir in the world of litera- ture, has never considered himself as a man apart. He is easy to approach, and quite ready to talk of poetry, to explain how he writes it, to discuss it as a man of skill might discuss his profession. This is unusual for a poet. They have all been more or less "stand-ofifish" about bringing the Divine Fire into the light of day. Not so Mr. Cawein; to hear him talk is to realize that poetry, like everything else, depends on system, industry and a clear head. "Every morning at half-past six," he says, "I begin work. There is something in the freshness of the air and the bright sunlight that makes work easy then." "But you can't write poetry every morning, can you?" Mr. Cawein smiled indulgently. "Why, no! I shouldn't try it; it depends. Now, this morning, I am translating Lenau." Mr. Cawein rose, went over to the typewriter and rolled off a sheet. "I've always been partial to translation — and it's the best possible exercise for a poet. To be able to interpret the mood of a poem in another language, to catch the very breath and color of the words — I regard it quite as much a work of art as an original poem." The following is a sample of Mr. Cawein's translation; the ex- quisite little poem of Lenau has been, as it were, breathed upon and intensified: Sombre A gloomy thought, a dream of dread and doubt, One sombre cloud the face of Heaven crosses ; Within the wind the bush is whirled about As on his couch the sick-in-spirit tosses. Then Heaven mutters low one word of thunder, Her moody lashes winking rainy grey. As wink dark eyes when teardrops gather under, And from the storm's wild eyelids darts one ray. Now o'er the moor creeps up a chilly shower, And stealthy mists steal down the forestland ; Dark Heaven, lost in grief, like some sad flower, Lets fall the red sun wearily from her hand. The remaining portion of Mr. Cawein's day is also systematically mapped out. Immediately after breakfast, he returns to the library, 108 As Recorded by the Louisville Press where he corrects proof, or copies poems on the typewriter for an hour. Mr. Cawein, Hke all modern men of letters, has realized the necessity of doing typewriting "at home." At sharp half-past nine, after a brief romp with Preston, the boy of the house, Mr. Cawein walks to town to have a look at the "market." There are people, of course, who will wonder why a poet should be interested in stocks and bonds. Bulls and bears, fluctuations in cola, copper or wheat, what have they to do with cobwebs and moonshine? Possibly nothing, and yet modern writers like modern people of all professions have realized that an adjustment to life is somehow necessary and that even an artist may work better if he has plenty to eat. So, Mr. Cawein watches the "bobbing up and down of the stocks" with a lively interest. "A poet has to make a living, too," says Mr. Cawein, "and, of course in these days, poetry hardly does it alone. I know a doctor who finding his son writing poetry one day tore up the sonnet on the spot, with the admonition: 'Idiot, don't ever let me catch you writing this stuff again — do you want to end in the poor-house?' You see, that father had an understanding of the roads that lead to prosperity. As a matter of fact, the explanation is simple enough. People — that is, the broad majority — people that walk on the streets and go to the picture shows, are not interested in poetry. Too many easy things are at hand, too many distractions and diversions. You see, poetry is not a diversion — and it is not easy. You cannot substitute 'Paradise Lost' for an automobile ride, nor 'The Ring and the Book' for a vaude- ville performance. They want 'something doing.' In the competi- tion between the flying machine and pentameter verse, I'm afraid the victory for the machine would be overwhelming." After an hour or so spent at the Exchange, Mr. Cawein goes over to the Pendennis Club, answers his letters, reads magazines and papers, chats with his friends on politics and interesting questions of the hour. In the afternoon, however, he does his real work. This is his favorite time of the day for composition. To a lover of nature no hours are more inspiring than the drowsy ones of the afternoon, and in summer Mr. Cawein invariably spends them in the woods. This is perhaps not due to inclination alone; like all students of his subject, he has realized that one must live with nature to know her. "So every afternoon I go out to the 'Haunts of Pan,' " says Mr. Cawein. "I call my favorite bit of woodland by this name, although it is only a stretch of wonderful forest on Kenwood Hill a few miles south of the city. But the moment I enter it, it is so deep and green and still, I could believe that all the satyrs and sprites in the world were alive and hiding about in the trees and shrubbery." On being asked if he really wrote poetry in the woods, Mr. Cawein took out a note book of miniature proportions, and turning pages full of indistinguishable hieroglyphics, paused at one on which the title "To a Dragon Fly" could be made out. 109 Madison C aw e in "Yes," he went on. "It is easier for me to write in the woods; somehow it all comes to me. When you are indoors it is different. I have always worked in the open air from the time I was a young boy." Mr. Cawein is fond of telling an amusing incident that happened one day, when he was writing in the "Haunts of Pan." "It had been a sultry afternoon," he said, "and the West had been looking so gloomy, that it gave me the idea of writing a poem to the storm. I decided on my metre and started to work. I was just in the right mood, and in a short while had several stanzas done. Suddenly I felt someone touch me on the shoulder. Now, all the while I had been working in this spot no one had found me out — so I was a bit startled. I turned about and there was the park guard, looking mightily concerned. " 'Why, mister,' he said, 'I seen you come up, and I wasa-waitin' for you to come down. Can't yer see there's a hard storm comin' — you'd a better be gettin' down, stid a-waitin' here to be struck by lightning.' "I told him I wasn't at all afraid of the storm, but he would stand there talking until finally I had to go away. And I've never been able to finish the poem," concluded Mr. Cawein. "That guard snuffed it right out, the mood would not come back." It has always been a matter of interest to the laity to know just how poets, painters and sculptors do their work, and what methods they employ. As a rule each man has a different way, characteristic of him and nobody else. Some writers, as, for instance, Byron, must toss things off at a white heat, others, like Hawthorne, are unmerci- fully slow. Again, a poet will be found who must finish a poem at one sitting, or else lose the thread of it forever. Mr. Cawein does not belong to this latter class. Although the peculiarity of writing his poetry in the woods is decidedly charac- teristic, still he can work on a poem for a long time and in many different places. In fact all of his poems have been polished and rewritten in his own study. The sketch — the rhythm and idea are all thrashed out in the forest, but the slow polishing, and careful chang- ing of phrases, is a process that goes on for many weeks after the poem has been struck off. Mr. Cawein has a lively appreciation of anecdotes, and will occasionally tell stories of his debut into literature, which are full of humor and charm. There never has been, since the world began, a writer of note who has achieved success at once, and Mr. Cawein was no exception to the rule. Although LippincoU's Magazine accepted a sonnet of his on "Wedlock," while he was still a boy in the High School, subsequent efforts were frequently rejected. "It is impossible for a young writer to get into the magazines until he has obtained some kind of notice," says Mr. Cawein. 110 As Recorded by the Louisville Press "I had no success whatever until I brought out my first volume of poems in 1887. This was entitled The Blooms oj the Berry, and it was fortunate enough to attract the favorable criticism of William Dean Howells. In a review of it published in Harper's he called attention to several lines and ideas that pleased him greatly. So then I had an entry into Harper's after which other magazines accepted my poems also." When he was asked if these early poems were still to be had, Mr. Cawein seemed much amused. "No, indeed," he said, "I bought up every copy I could find and burned it. Package after package I brought home from the book company, and fed with relish to the flames. We kept the house warm for a month on poetry." [The publishers, however, laid aside a number of copies.] If it is an unusual thing for a poet to be honored in his own land, it is even more unusual for him to be respected in his own family. Poets are apt to be black sheep, until some good hundred years after they are dead. Once again Mr. Cawein is unusually blessed. In honor of Mrs. Cawein, whose beauty is well known and whose ardent cultivation of the muses has won her many literary friends, he has written some of his loveliest poems, while the boy, Preston, now six years old, has been the occasion of the whole series of delightful fairy tales published in The Giant and the Star. "At first," said Mr. Cawein, "I had no intention of writing these down. But Preston pestered me so for stories, — 'make-up-stories, father,' — that I had to invent a whole cycle. One day I was speaking about it to Dr. Henry Van Dyke, who said he had the same experi- ence with his daughter. We exchanged part of these fairy tale series, and he advised me to write mine down. "I began the work in prose, just as I tell them to Preston, but finally I had such a desire to put them into verse that I did so. Now Preston has ideas of his own about stories. He is one of the severest critics I have. He knows at once if a story is worth anything. So, as the fairy tales were finished I submitted them to him. If he failed to be interested in a story, I would leave it out." The Giant and the Star, as it stands today, is a book for all children, because it has been proven and tested by a real child. Preston's attitude to the book, when it was finally printed, was unique. He declared that it was his book, and that Mr. Ralph T. Hale, of Small, Maynard & Company (the publisher), was not to give them to boys he did not know. But finally, after distributing some twenty copies among his friends, Preston consented to let Mr. Hale offer the others for sale. The house of Mr. Cawein, in St. James Court, is in many respects characteristic of the poet, and the library, the sanctum sanctorum, with its well-chosen books, good paintings and comfortable "lived-in" 111 Madison C awe in atmosphere, is a delightful place to spend a morning. Mr. Cawein himself is a great reader, and the books that surround him speak the man of cultivated, literary tastes. "But I am reading a book now that has been getting me stirred up regularly twice a day," said he. "In the very title the author, Hudson Maxim, writes himself down seven times a fool. Now, listen to this, 'The Science of Poetry.' Just what is the world coming to, I wonder? It isn't possible to speak of the science of poetry. But do you know what this man claims? He says that any person of fairly good intellect, who has the patience and desire, can write poetry that will equal Milton's or Shakespeare's. Well, it isn't worth getting excited about. Poets cannot be made," Mr. Cawein said, "they must be born, and the man who talks about the science of poetry as if he were talking of an engine or a gun, is utterly ridiculous." Perhaps in the city of Louisville today, there is no man of letters who has achieved wider fame than Madison Cawein. Only recently he has been made an Oversea's Member of the Authors' Club of London, an organization including the most famous authors of today. Thomas Hardy is now the President, having succeeded the late George Meredith. Mr. Cawein is also a member of the National Institute of Arts and Letters in New York, an organization similar to the London one, but with headquarters in America. People of the most varying individualities have taken an interest in his poems, and the most exacting critics of nature-poetry, including Theodore Roosevelt, have expressed their unreserved approbation of it. To quote Mr. Roosevelt's own words [from The Outlook, July 23,1910]: "Today there are many who delight in our birds, who know their songs, who keenly love all that belongs to out-of-door life. For instance, Madison Cawein and Ernest McGaffey, have for a number of years written of our woods and fields, of the birds and flowers, as only those can write, who join the love of nature, the gift of observa- tion, and the gift of description." In The Thrush, a London magazine devoted to poetry, the following is to be found : "Mr. Madison Cawein's New Poems is far the most important in our group. His former volume, Kentucky Poems, shows that he seeks inspiration in his native land. He is undoubtedly a poet; there is grave fancy and a distinctive charm about his work, and often a serious depth of feeling, which is not passionate, but always calm and restrained. His subjects and metres are very varied; he is always a careful craftsman, with an ear for the music of words." Mr. Cawein's new volume of plays. The Shadow Garden, is a rarely beautiful illustration of the spirit of modern poetry. Com- bined with the old and eternal virtues of truth, strength and sim- 112 As Recorded by the Louisville Press plicity, there is a subtle, delicate atmosphere of other-world beauty, peculiarly characteristic of Kentucky's poet. The volume has met with such high praise that Mr. Cawein feels encouraged to continue his work in the dramatic field. — Hor tense Flexner. 191 1, November 28, Louisville Herald: Madison Cawein thinks NiCHOLAUS LeNAU RANKS NEXT TO HeINE AS POET ReADS SOME OF HIS TRANSLATIONS IN LECTURE TO LiTERARY ClUB. Nicholaus Lenau, Germany's nature poet, ranks next to Heine in the opinion of Madison Cawein who made an address on Lenau's life and works before the Louisville Literary Club, at its regular meeting last night in the Assembly Room of the Louisville Free Public Library. Despite the rainy weather more than 150 members were present. Mr. Cawein read more than twenty translations he had made of the poet's works and said that they contained more metre than those of any other German poets. Lenau was born in 1802 and died in 1850. Following Mr. Cawein, Judge Charles B. Seymour read a translation of one of Lenau's poems. Edward A. Jonas also par- ticipated in a discussion of his works. 1912, March 26, Louisville Times: Poet is honored by many FRIENDS. Anniversary of Blooms of the Berry basis of tribute TO Cawein. Loving cup is presented. Offerings of verse come from all points, and here also. Vivisected, analyzed, rehabilitated, rejuvenated by hundreds of friends and admirers at an open meeting of the Louisville Literary Club, held at the assembly room of the Louisville Free Public Library, last evening, in honor of the twenty-fifth anniversary of the publi- cation of his first volume of poems and also of his forty-seventh birthday which was last Saturday, Madison Cawein enjoyed — if that is the term — an experience that seldom has been the lot of a maker of verses worth while, in his lifetime. The celebration was made the occasion for the gift to Mr. Cawein by the members of the Louisville Literary Club, and Mr. Cawein's friends, of a handsome silver loving cup suitably inscribed. The presentation was made by Horace C. Brannin, president of the Club. After four hours of adulation, not unmixed with gentle fun- making at his expense, by his more intimate friends, it is not surprising that Mr. Cawein should have said, when there was no longer any opportunity for escape : "I feel just like the little boy who, having done something for which he feared to be punished, tried to hide himself in the attic or 113 Madison C aw e in some place, but, being discovered, and unwillingly brought before all the company, instead of meeting with punishment was treated to ice cream and cake and presented with some wonderful toy. Speech is so inadequate to express all that one feels on an occasion of this sort that I can not attempt to put into words the gratitude which is due the Literary Club and all the participants in the symposium ex- tended me this evening in honor of my work. Let me say, merely, that I am simply overwhelmed by your consideration and the praise bestowed upon my poetry, and by this beautiful gift, which, as it were, crowns the event. All that I hope for is that in the years to come I may never disappoint one of you and always write up to the standard of excellence which you have proclaimed for me. I thank you." Dr. Henry A. Cottell presided as chairman last evening and many tributes from friends of Mr. Cawein among the distinguished writers of the day were read in addition to the numbers contributed by Louisville people. Interspersed with the verse, readings and ap- preciations were musical numbers — songs written by the poet and set to music by his wife or other musicians. In all, the programme comprised forty-two items and beginning at 7:45 o'clock did not end until nearly midnight. "The religious element in Mr. Cawein's poetry" was the subject of the first offering by the Right Rev. Charles E. Woodcock, who said that Mr. Cawein has two elements which qualify him as a preacher; first, that "he need not be ashamed of his tools," and next, "the ornament of a meek and quiet mind." He said that no man can preach more inspiring sermons than are to be found in Mr. Cawein's verse. "Rain," was read by former Governor Augustus E. Willson, as illustrative of Mr. Cawein's powers of description and as indicative of the spirit inspiring the work. Judge Charles B. Seymour read one Greek and one German poem with Mr. Cawein's translations to show his versatility and merit as a linguist. Albert S. Brandeis told how as a realist, Mr. Cawein takes the simple things of nature and makes them glow with inextinguishable beauty. As expressive of "the divine discontent" characteristic of great- ness, Lieutenant Govenor Edward J. McDermott read Mr. Cawein's "Ambition," and went on to say that Mr. Cawein is loved and honored as a citizen and patriot as well as a poet. Rabbi H. G. Enelow, speaking on the "Witchery of Poetry," said that it really is Mr. Cawein who "discovered Kentucky in revealing to blinder eyes her beauties of dawns and sunsets, her forests and her streams." Dr. Charles Ewell Craik read "A Prayer for Old Age," and declared that if all sermons breathed such spiritual beauty and inspiration there would be no need for a "Religion Forward Movement." The Reverend Charles S. Gardner discussed the Grecian feeling for the beautiful as revealed in Mr. Cawein's poems, saying that it 114 As Recorded by the Louisville Press was in no way inconsistent with his Christian consistency. Dr. W. Francis Irwin and Reverend Dr. Aquilla Webb told of personal as- sociations with the poet and his human side. Mrs. Evelyn Snead Barnett, Judge George Du Relle and Professor Reuben Post Halleck also spoke. Professor Halleck held in his hand a little, red-bound volume from which, he said, Mr. Cawein, as a pupil in the Male High School, had his first larger glimpse of poesy. William J. Dodd, humorously discussed "Praeterita," which, he said, he had read after being assured the title was not a lady's name. Cale Young Rice expressed his deep appreciation of the work of Mr. Cawein, saying that he had lived the poetic life for twenty-five years at a time of the world when it was most difficult. Other speakers were the Reverend Dr. Edgar Y. MuUins, Miss Margaret Steele Anderson and Dr. Fred L. Koontz. Musical numbers were con- tributed by Miss Sarah McConathy, Miss Josephine McGill and Miss Elsie Hedden. Among the contributions of friends read by Secretary Charles A. Lehmann, of the Literary Club, were the following: James Whitcomb Riley, William Dean Howells, Robert E. Lee Gibson, Lucien V. Rule, Charles Hamilton Musgrove, Edward A. Jonas and Daniel E. O'SuUivan. 1912, March 27, Louisville Herald — Editorial: A Happy Occasion. The splendid and spontaneous tribute paid to Madison Cawein by hundreds of his fellow-citizens Monday night was worthy of its object and a credit to those who participated in it. In these days of politics and commercialism we are too prone to neglect those who minister to the mind and soul the things of beauty. We allow our singers and our artists to live among us unrecognized until their sudden passing leaves a sense of loss that awakens us to the sin and folly of our indifference. That Louisville has voiced in some adequate measure its appre- ciation of one of its sons, whose name is known throughout the world as an interpreter of nature's manifold charm, is an occasion for thank- fulness. It discloses to us the fact that we have the spirit and the disposition to set store by the finer things of life, and to honor those who, in the voice of poetry, speak to heart and imagination. Madison Cawein has done much for Kentucky. He has given us a right to hold up our heads in the congregation of the elect. Where beauty is loved for beauty's sake; where the soul kindles at the thought of sunrise and bird-song, burgeoning trees and April-flooded brooks, where fancy wings its flight and revels in the dreamland of poesy, the name of Kentucky is loved and spoken softly for the sake of Cawein, 115 Madison Cawein this child of magic vision who has opened so many eyes to the hidden joys, so many ears to the secret music of the wonder-world by which we are surrounded. We are glad that Madison Cawein should know, now in the prime of his manhood, at the very acme of his strong, sweet singing, that Louisville loves and honors him. It is good for him to know it. It is good for us to have told him so. 1913, April 26, Louisville Herald: Many see Cawein bust un- veiled. Library halls are crowded as bust of Ken- tucky POET IS presented BY LOUISVILLE LITERATURE ClUB. Writer's work given high praise by speakers. Reverend E. L. Powell, acting for Mayor Head, receives gift for city. The rotunda of the Louisville Free Public Library was trans- formed for an hour yesterday afternoon into a chapel, while the Louisville Literature Club presented a bronze bust of Madison Cawein to the Library and the people of Louisville. The hall was filled with the literary public of the city, and the stairways on either side of the rotunda, as well as the upper gallery, were crowded with appreciators of the Kentucky poet. At the base of the eastern stairway stood the veiled bust surrounded by spring flowers. A piano in front of the catalogue completed the transformation of the Library for the time. Work was suspended and the employes grouped themselves behind the central desk while the exercises were being held. Miss Alice Bouche, vice president of the Literature Club, acting for Miss Florence Danforth, president, who is now in New York, was in charge of the program. Two poems by Madison Cawein were read by Miss Ethel Allen Murphy, after which John Peter Grant sang two of his lyrics which have been put to music. Mrs. John L. Woodbury made the speech of presentation. "This is not the time nor place for a detailed appreciation of Mr. Cawein's work," said Mrs. Woodbury. "The people who are here today, as well as the Literature Club, are aware of the contri- bution Mr. Cawein has made to modern poetry. The appealing beauty of his work has won for him a place among the distinguished poets of this country and Europe. "Nothing just like this we are doing here today has ever been done in Louisville, and I do not know that it has been done in any other city. The poets, as a rule, have gained scant praise while they were living. But we wish to honor our own prophet, and so prove the exception to the old proverb. We wish him to knowhow deeply we appreciate what he has brought to us, and to tell this to him — not say it about him. 116 As Recorded by the Louisville Press "We have met with a great deal of helpful criticism, and some that has not been helpful, while we have been working together to make our dream come true. I have brought with me today some letters from the distinguished people who have been glad to co-operate with the Literature Club." Mrs. Woodbury then read a number of letters from well-known American men of letters, praising the poetry of Madison Cawein. William Morton Payne, of The Dial, James Whitcomb Riley, Harrison S. Morris, Wilbur Dick Nesbit and many others testified to their high opinion of the Kentucky poet, and spoke in approbation of the Liter- ature Club's project. A letter from the late Albert Brandeis, who was deeply interested in the plan, was also read. The bust was then formally presented, and unveiled by Preston Cawein, son of the poet, and his small niece, Katherine Girdler. It is in bronze, the work of J. L. Roop, of Indianapolis, an interesting and striking piece of portraiture. The Reverend E. L. Powell, acting for Mayor Head, received the bust. "It is embarrassing to accept this beautiful gift," said Dr. Powell, "the more so, since I am not prepared. The reason that the Mayor is not here to speak for himself is a simple one. Plain, un- adulterated fright has kept him away. An extempore speech is not fit to express the gratitude of the Library for this gift of the Literature Club. I was thinking, as I listened here, of the eminent fitness of this setting. It is right that this man, who has come into the royalty in his beautiful ministry, should be crowned in this place. Rather the laurel for his brow than the epitaph for his tomb. The latter has usually been the reward of the poets. "Could anything be sweeter than the approval of one's friends and neighbors for the work that is well done, for noble effort suc- cessfully made in spiritual things? Mr. Cawein is a poet because he could not help it. His work has won nation-wide — world-wide — fame for him. Truly, he is not a prophet without honor in his own country. I congratulate Mr. Cawein on having come into his kingdom here and now. We are living in a precedent-breaking age — and this precedent we break today is broken magnificently and gloriously. "Why should we wait until a man has died to bestow the crown? Why should we withhold the reward until too late? I think there is no reason — and I am glad the Literature Club has taken this op- portunity to do the beautiful and appropriate thing. The poet is the finest man in the world — we could not get along on this prosy, every-day earth without him. He is bound to be good — bound to see the white presences among the hills. We need him. "And so, in behalf of the Public Library and the City of Louisville, whose mayor I represent, I accept with gratitude and deep appre- ciation, this bust of Madison Cawein, our neighbor, friend and fellow citizen — our greatest living poet of America, and perhaps of the world." 117 Madison Cawein Following the exercises an informal reception in honor of Mr. Cawein was held while the bust was examined by those to whom it had been presented. [The Louisville Literature Club was organized in October, 1882. Its membership is confined to women. It is an afternoon club, and a charter member of the Kentucky Federation of Women's Clubs.] 1913, April 26, Courier-Journal: Mr. Cawein in Bronze. Yesterday's unveiling of a bust of Madison Cawein in the Public Library of his native city was in many respects the most important event in the literary history of the city of his loyal afifections. Of course, some may debate the point in favor of the fact of his birth in Louisville — an event at least happily preliminary to any justification for such a bust. However, quibbles and quiddities aside, the bust is a praise- worthy tribute and one highly merited by a poet who while voyaging afar in realms of ideal beauty has been so fondly and faithfully aware of our Kentucky loveliness at his door. Meanwhile as the bust now takes its place reminding those who enter that Louisville has produced this poet it has been pleased thus to honor, it should more remind younger and older readers of the other monument to Mr. Cawein within the Library. On the shelves his books stand — aere perennius. The bust revealing the outer sem- blance of the man, recalls the poet; the books are the poet, the man at his best; to them young Louisvillians and unknowing elders should be directed for further and genuine acquaintance with the poet whom the citizens yesterday so signally honored. In making this recommendation one restriction may be ventured upon — not at all in the humorous vein. All millionaires should be energetically piloted away from the shelves whereon Mr. Cawein's books rest — they should be headed toward one of the local book- shops and persuaded to purchase a volume by their fellow-citizen. (This is no subtle advertisement of Mr. Cawein, who fortunately needs no advertisement.) One remembers with pious horror seeing and hearing a local plutocrat step up to the Library desk and ask to take away a soiled, much-read volume of Mr. Cawein at a time when this poet's fame was sufficiently established to have made it perfectly safe for cautious Croesus to spend a dollar and a quarter for a nice, clean, personal and private copy of the Vale of Tempe or Kentucky Poems, or whatever it was. On this special text much might be said. Perhaps it may be wiser to shift to a general exhortation or — if you will — excoriation. (Certainly no offense is directed at certain local and alien patrons of poetry and of Mr. Cawein's in particular.) Why, it may be asked, 118 As Recorded by the Louisville Press will people expend hundreds and thousands of dollars on pictures, music and other worthy forms of art and be so penurious toward the modest, inexpensive, intimate art-poetry? Multitudes there are who feel disgraced if they do not punctually buy their two-dollar seats to concerts, to the drama, but who seem to have no compunction about evading the purchase of works of art in poetic form. They are, of course, not so decorative to a room — save indeed to the knowing eye. They make little concession to ostentation. For which reason all the more should they be purchased to furnish the inner chambers of the heart, the high mansions of the spirit. Gobelin, William Morris, or any other decorators offer furnishings so rich, so satisfying, in- spiring and delighting as Cawein's poesy, which — well, aere perennius! 1914, April 14, Louisville Herald: Interest in poetry appears in- creasing. Selections from verse of Louisville writers ARE READ. MaDISON CaWEIN PRESIDES AT A POETS' SYMPOSIUM. Evidence of an increasing interest in current poetry was seen at the Public Library last night when several hundred men and women of literary tastes gathered in the Assembly Room to hear readings from the verse of living poets of Louisville and Kentucky. The meeting, characterized as a Poets' Symposium, was held under the auspices of the Louisville Literary Club, which has long been striving to awaken public interest in meritorious current verse. Madison Cawein acted as chairman. The program consisted largely of selections from the works of Louisville writers, read, in most cases, by the writers themselves. In addition, extracts were given by readers of the Club from the works of Kentucky poets now dead. The poets whose verses were read at the meeting are: Madison Cawein, Cale Young Rice, Charles Hamilton Musgrove, Young E. Allison, Edward A. Jonas, David Morton, Reverend U. G. Foote, Reverend Lucien V. Rule, Reverend T. M. Hawes, Lewis A. Walter, Herman Rave, Dr. Henry A. Cottell, Howard Miller, George Lee Burton, Omar W. Barber, E. S. Hopkins, Bert Finck, Judge William H. Field, Thomas Walsh, Augustus E. Willson and Ingram Crockett, and the late Robert Burns Wilson, Isaac T. Woodson, Will S. Hays, and Charles J. O'Malley. [During the course of the program Mr. Cawein read "The Derelict" by Young E. Allison, "A Little Further On" by Robert Burns Wilson," "What- ever Befalls" by Ingram Crockett, and "Worthiness" by Charles J. O'Malley and a few selections from The Poet, the Fool and the Faeries.] [Madison Cawein died December 8, 1914. The details of his death are given in Chapter VI.] 119 IV CAWEIN'S QUESTIONNAIRE Mr. Cawein frequently stopped in the law office of his old friend William W. Thum, of Louisville. During one of his calls, in the fall of 1914, Mr. Thum suggested that the poet write a short autobio- graphy, or at least prepare a few notes pertaining to his life and works. Mr. Cawein replied that he had neither the time nor inclination to write an autobiographical sketch, but would answer any questions asked. Mr. Thum then wrote a number of questions and presented them to the poet. Mr. Cawein took the questionnaire laughingly, and in the course of an hour or two wrote the answers and gave the docu- ment to Mr. Thum who preserved it. The poet, of course, presumed that his statements might serve some one as a basis for an article, but neither he, nor any one else, could have surmised that the original notes would some day be published. The questionnaire is here given in full: Trace the race and nationality of your father and mother; also state when and where they were born. My father, William Cawein, was born in the Rhine Palatinate, in a little German town on the Rhine, near Mannheim, about the year 1827. He was a descendant of Jean de Herancour, who was a Frenchman, coming from Paris, France, in 1685, a Huguenot, evicted as so many Huguenots were that year by the revocation of the Edict of Nantes. My father came or rather emigrated, to this country and Louisville in the forties. He met and married my mother in Louisville. My mother, Christiana Cawein, was born in Louisville, the middle of the last century [1839]. Her maiden name was Stelsly. Her father and mother were from Germany. Her father [John G. Stelsly], had served under Napoleon Bonaparte in his later wars. Both my father and mother died in the early beginning of this century. [Dr. William Cawein died in 1901, and his wife in 191 1.] 120 - A Quest ionna ir e When and where were you born? State where you first lived, and so on, chronologically. What about your schools, teachers, mode of educa- tion, etc.? Give the names of your brothers and sisters — older — younger, etc. I was born March 23, 1865, in Louisville, Kentucky, on Jefferson Street opposite the Court House. The house has long ago been torn down. My earliest recollections are of living on Broadway [between Thirteenth and Fourteenth streets, north side], in a cottage, where my father conducted a confectionery and bakery. We were very poor; mother did all her own work and made all our clothes. I was about six years old, I remember, when I was sent to school. The first school I ever attended was the Ninth and Magazine Street School. My father removed [in 1874] from Broadway near Thir- teenth Street, to accept the management of a hotel, a country water- ing place, named Rock Springs, three miles from Pewee Valley [also three miles from Brownsboro], in Oldham County, Kentucky. There for the first time I came in contact with wild nature. Beautiful and majestic was the nature there, of rocks and trees and waters. The old water mill [Babbit's Mill] in the valley of Rock Springs [the valley of the South Fork of Harrods Creek], has played an important part in my poems of this locality, which I have celebrated in verse now for thirty years. From there we moved [in 1875] to Louisville again, to the [north-west] corner of Franklin and Buchanan streets; thence [in 1876] to a farm in the Indiana Knobs, on the Georgetown Road [Old Vincennes Road], back of New Albany, some two or three miles. I walked with my brothers and sister to the New Albany school every day, while school was in session, and back again — in snow and sun, heat and cold, for something like three years; that is, during our stay in Indiana. This was beginning in 1876. My recollections of our home in the Knobs are among my most vivid and pleasant; though poor, we were happy. It was there I began to read. Poe's "Raven" was one of the first poems I ever read. I recited it, at the age of about ten, at the district school [West Union School, now Jackson Street School]. I had three brothers, John D. Cawein, William C. Cawein and Charles L. Cawein, and two sisters, both dead, Lula R. and Lilian L. Cawein. [Lula was born in 1857 and died in infancy. Lilian died in 19 12, aged forty- five years.] When did you graduate? What books had you been reading, etc.? What did you do to make a living? How long employed at the pool-room? What next? I graduated from the Male High School, Louisville, in June, 1886, at the age of twenty-one years. I had been reading everything under the sun I could lay my hands on. Books were few and high, and we were poor. I had managed to get hold of Spenser's "Fairie 121 Madison C aw e in Queene" and Sir Walter Scott's poems, and was wild about them. Professor Reuben Post Halleck was my teacher in Philosophy and Literature, and he encouraged me to write. Keats and Shelley and Tennyson then got me, and I haven't been able to break away from their influence yet, and hope never to do so. It is a good influence; along with that of Shakespeare's, it makes for great things. In 1887 I went to work with my brother, John D. Cawein, in a pool-room on Third Street, between Market and Main streets. It was called The Newmarket. It was owned and conducted by Mr. A. M. Waddill and Mr. Joe T. Burt, both of them gamblers of the old type, affable, agreeable gentlemen, and proud of having a poet in their employ. I remained with them seven or eight years [1887 — 1892] and left them to engage in the writing of literature, which I have devoted myself to ever since. It was while there, an accountant and assistant cashier, that James Lane Allen, John Fox, Jr., and James Whitcomb Riley looked me up and made my acquaintance. I was "behind the bars," as it were, the brass bars of the cashier's desk, and they thought it a curious place to find a poet. It was. At the time Allen had written his "White Cowl," published in the Century; Fox had written a few brief stories of little significance, and Riley several books that had made him famous. I had just begun writing and publishing. When did you become interested in poetry? Any special occurrence leading to it? How did it happen? When did you begin to write? Early influences in writing? What books have influenced you? What poetry have you read? What prose? I became interested in poetry in my junior year at high school. We had been reading Hale's Longer English Poems, and I was fas- cinated by Keats and Shelley, and Goldsmith and Spenser, I commenced writing poems in imitation of others. Coleridge took hold of me also — like a terrible spirit. His "Ancient Mariner" and his "Christabel" haunted me, as also did Shelley's "Prometheus Un- bound" and "Queen Mab." Then came Tennyson and Browning. I removed my furniture into their attics, as it were, and dwelt ador- ingly with them, but never forgetful of my earlier masters, Keats, Coleridge and Shelley. Byron was too noisy for me, too rhetorical. Then there were others I liked greatly. Not until later years did Wordsworth have any weight with me. I like him better now than I did Keats and Shelley in my youth, when I cared nothing for him, considering, at that time, his great poem "Intimations of Immor- tality" a bore, a great bore, not to be compared with "Adonais" of Shelley, or the "Ancient Mariner" of Coleridge, or "Eve of St. Agnes," or "La Belle Dame Sans Merci" of Keats. But now Wordsworth 122 A Que s t io nna i r e brings me rest and quiet, and I love to sit in his company. He gives me peace; the others agitation and unease of soul, and longings that can never be satisfied. What preference have you among novels? Poems? Plays? Cervantes first of all. Don Quixote was my first love. I in- troduced myself to him when I was eleven years old. I have read this immortal book through at least four times. Thomas Hardy among modern novelists is my favorite. Between Cervantes and Hardy there is a host of others: — Bulwer Lytton, Sir Walter Scott, Thackeray ; and before these, SmoUet, Dickens and Fielding. Near to Hardy, a favorite of mine, is Meredith. My favorite poem would be hard to enumerate. Here are a few: Keat's "Eve of St. Agnes;" "Endymion;" Shelley's "Sensitive Plant;" Tennyson's "Oenone," "Lotus Eaters," "Idylls of the King;" Browning's "In a Gondola," "Pippa Passes," "Count Gismond," "Child Roland to the Dark Tower Came" and countless lyrics of many other poets, ending with the "Fairie Queene" of Spenser, the last but not the least. Among the plays: "Hamlet" and "Othello," "Tempest" and "Midsummer Night's Dream" by Shakespeare; "Faust" by Goethe; "Prometheus Unbound" by Shelley; Maeterlinck's "Blue Bird" and "Death of Tintageles;" Stephen Phillips' "Paola and Francesca," "Herod" and "Nero;" Percy Mackaye's "Canterbury Pilgrims." What poets have you met? When, and under what circumstances? I have met all the poets that are poets at present in the United States. In the nineties I met at his home, in Boston, through William Dean Howells, Oliver Wendell Holmes; a few days later, James Russell Lowell, at his home in Cambridge, Massachusetts. I have been the guest of James Whitcomb Riley frequently in Indianapolis; also of Richard Watson Gilder and Robert Underwood Johnson in New York City. Have hobnobbed with the younger generation for years, William Vaughan Moody, Frank Dempster Sherman, Clinton ScoUard, to mention a few. In Boston I was the guest of Thomas Bailey Aldrich, and of William Dean Howells. Joaquin Miller at one time [February, 1897], came through and stopped in Louisville to see me. It would take too long to enumerate all the writers who have been my guests. What of people, your nature poetry; peace and war; great men you have met at home and abroad? I am greatly interested in people, and always have been; but I get more credit for being interested in nature than in men and women, 123 Madison C aw e in because I have recognized the fact that I can interpret nature better than I can people. And yet, many of my poems are full of human nature; even the nature poems are full of human nature. Peace. There never has been peace in the world. As long as we have kings and emperors and czars we are bound to have war. There is no escape from it. The world is working around to that end — the elimination of monarchies and the establishment of democracies, republics, all over the world. Then will be the millennium, much to be desired, much to be hoped for, I have met two Presidents; one whose like I shall never see again, Theodore Roosevelt; after him, William Howard Taft. I have met many artists, sculptors, novelists, all famous in their own line of work. In my state I have met many of the men who have helped to make its history and added to its honor and glory. I have never been abroad, and so have met no great foreigners in their own country. I have, however, corresponded with a number, among them Edmund Gosse, Andrew Lang and Arthur Christopher Benson, What of religion? Has it touched your life? What of history, philosophy, science, travel, friendship? Also love and loves? Law? Politics? Religion as expounded by the modern preacher from the pulpit has never touched me. The pathos of the life and death of Christ as described in the Bible has moved me to tears. I do not believe Christ to have been the Son of God, nor immaculately conceived. He was a wonderful man, and one who was beautiful in his life and most noble in his death. I feel cold when it comes to religion, because the world does not seem to have been benefited by Christianity; altho pretending to believe in the teachings of Christ, the world remains skeptical and barbarian — as the ages that preceded Christ's coming were, I have read and enjoyed history — the history of my country and that of Europe and Asia. I have read many histories: The History of the World, by John Clark Ridpath, whom I knew personally. Gibbon's History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, Macaulay's History of England, etc, etc, I have traveled only in the United States; never have been abroad. My friendships have been many, but mostly among men. Women seem to be afraid of a poet, I have had several love affairs, some of a more or less shadowy nature. One supreme one alone, with her I married — Gertrude Foster McKelvey, who became my wife June 4, 1903, We have one child, Preston Hamilton Cawein, born March 18, 1904, I take no interest at all in Law or Politics, 124 A Questionnaire Your poetical works — give name and date of each publication. My first volume, Blooms of the Berry, was published in 1887. Then followed in order named: The Triumph of Music, 1888; Accolon of Gaul, 1889; Lyrics and Idyls, 1890; Days and Dreams, 1891 ; Woods and Memories, 1892; and so on. A list of some thirty books — named and each dated as to year of publication — is in Who's Who in America, a correct list down to the present year. Poet and Nature is now being published. 125 V CAWEIN AS I KNEW HIM Madison Cawein and I were personal friends for only one year, the year 1914, the last year of his life. He was my senior by six years. During the time I knew him I had many opportunities for gathering material relating to his life and his works. Unfortunately I did not then dream that I would some day write my recollections of him, much less undertake the compilation of a book on his career, and therefore made no notes whatever. Prior to the summer of 191 3 we had met a number of times, but most of the meetings took place on the street and were little more than formal greetings. He was a writer who had gained an interna- tional reputation, while I was known simply among a few as one interested in compiling history. This difference, however, meant nothing to him. Cawein was a man who greeted any and all persons he remembered, unless, as was frequently the case, his mind was occupied to the exclusion of all who passed him on the street. Both of us were busy men, and up to the time of the beginning of our friendship I was little concerned about poetry or the life of any poet. In July, 1913, my History of Muhlenberg County was printed, and soon thereafter Mr. Cawein saw a copy of it at the publishers, John P. Morton & Company. A few weeks later we met by chance, and he asked me if I was the "bird" who wrote the "Muhlenberg book." He evidently had read part of it, for he commented on the few poems quoted and manifested an interest in some of the local traditions I had recorded. One day in late September of that year, he stopped me on the street and told me it was his intention to look into the early history of Kentucky with a view to using some incidents as bases for poems, and would like to talk with me on the subject. A day or two later I sent him a copy of my history with a note saying I would spend the month of October in the country and, upon my return would look him up. About the time I came back, I received the following note from him: 126 As I Knew Him Louisville, Kentucky, October 30, 191 3. My dear Mr. Rothert: I have been reading in your History of Muhlenberg County on and off for some three or four weeks now, and with a great deal of interest. I find your descriptions of Kentucky most vivid, and the incidents and facts stated and described as fas- cinating as fiction. You have a direct, terse style, and the episodes narrated, such as those of the Harpes and the Story of Lonz Powers, are graphic, to say the least. The poems quoted by you in this history are pieces of literature and should be perpetuated in some Kentucky collection of verse. The one entitled "God's Plow of Sorrow" is a little masterpiece which I thank you for introducing me to. All in all the work is a most interesting one with its data of citizens and events. I thank you for the copy you so kindly sent to me. Very sincerely yours, Madison Cawein. It so happened that beginning about this time we met on the street more frequently than before, and also made it a point to sit together at the meetings of the Filson Club and the Louisville Literary Club. By the first of January I had called his attention to every incident in Kentucky history known to me which I felt might serve as a subject for a poem. Strange as it may seem, it was not until after that time — that is, not until the original object of our getting together had been accomplished — was there, as I recall it, anything like a semblance of intimacy between us. One day, some months later, he remarked, "Well, Otto, ours wasn't a case of love at first sight; was it ?" During the course of the year I knew Cawein, we ate together a number of times at his home and mine; also in restaurants. I ac- companied him a few times to Iroquois Park; made a pilgrimage with him into the backwoods of Muhlenberg County, and was present at every sitting while his portrait was being painted by J. Bernhard Alberts. These minglings and some of my other associations, together with a few personal observations, are here set forth. In February, 1914, the Caweins moved from their residence in St. James Court into the St. James Apartments on the opposite side of the Court. Shortly thereafter Mr. Cawein and I began to call on each other and continued these visits up to the time of his death. He came to my home more frequently that I went to his. He realized that my mother was old and feeble, and for that reason I remained at home as much as possible. Furthermore, during the summer of 1914 Mrs. Cawein and their son Preston spent about six weeks at Chau- 127 Madison Cawein tauqua, New York. Mrs. Cawein had gone there for the purpose of continuing her preparations as a dramatic reader and concert singer by giving readings and appearing on some of the programs. Our house was a large old fashioned one and Mr. Cawein was glad to come there, especially while his wife and son were away. He seemed more relaxed in our spacious rooms than in any place I ever saw him, except in the woods. His poetry and my efforts in history were some- times referred to, but seldom, if ever, discussed. There were, how- ever, many other subjects which formed the topics of many of our chats: literature, art, science, religion, travels, current events, writers, artists, some of his personal friends and mine — life in general. As just stated, I accompanied him a few times to Iroquois Park. This park, about two miles south of the city limits, contains 675 acres. It was originally called Jacob Park, and is still so designated by many who frequent the place. Except for the winding and well kept roads it is a natural park, made and maintained by nature, or as Cawein once expressed it to me "It's an ungroomed park." Its many secluded nooks appealed to the poet. The road winding up and down the hillside offers a succession of grand landscapes, several of which are views of Louisville in the distance. On one occasion we wended our way to the top of the hill indulg- ing, as we walked, in nothing other than seemingly idle conversation. When we reached the point where a view of the city is best presented, I casually remarked that Louisville, in time, would spread and reach the outskirts of Jacob Park, and in doing so all the natural beauty now in the scene would be obliterated and become a part of a pano- rama of flats and factories. He paused a moment and then replied, "Yes, that's quite probable, but you and I can always come back, in memory, and through all eternity see it as we now see it." This re- mark probably would have been forgotten by me had I not read, after his death, his "The Poet, the Fool and the Faeries" and reflected on the speech beginning, "When I am dead, my soul shall haunt these woods." This is only one of many instances in which I heard what I re- garded as nothing more than a casual comment on a casual subject. After I began reading Cawein's poetry — I read very little of it during his life — I realized more and more that many of the remarks I heard him make in conversation with me were but reflections of some of his poems, and that notwithstanding his financial reverses and other troubles he continued to see poetry in everything. Judged by his conversation he seemed to be nothing more than a modest man, but in his poetry there is, as I see it, abundant evidence that he was an inspired man. In his poems he describes the things he saw with his own eyes and also gives expression to the inspired thoughts that flowed from his own soul. 128 As I Knew Him Most of his poems were written, as it were, in the first person; very few are an expression of the third person. The more I read his poetry the more I realize how truly autobiographical it is, and how truly it presents his own poetic adventures. It reveals every one of his characteristics. His modesty, for instance, is shown in the proem to Myth and Romance: There is no rhyme that is half so sweet As the song of the wind in the rippling wheat; There is no metre that's half so fine As the lilt of the brook under rock and vine; And the loveliest lyric I ever heard Was the wildwood strain of a forest bird. If the wind and the brook and the bird would teach My heart their beautiful parts of speech. And the natural art that they say these with, My soul would sing of beauty and myth In a rhyme and a metre that none before Have sung in their love, or dreamed in their lore. And the world would be richer one poet the more. That Cawein was a Pantheist is apparent in many of his poems. The day he presented me with a copy of Woman and Her Relations to Humanity he gave me a brief history of his mother's connection with the book. In answer to my question as to whether or not he, like his mother, was a Spiritualist, he then said in substance: "I am what might be called a believer in Spiritualism and have been for many years, but I never practiced it nor seriously tried to in- vestigate it. I believe in a hereafter and that the soul retains its identity and that then, as now, it forms a part of the Great Whole. My mother herself could not account for nor explain her power as a medium, nor could anyone else who tried to do so. All I know and all she knew was that when in a trance she transmitted messages from the departed to the living. I sometimes believe we are controlled more by the departed than by the living." On another occasion he told me, as he had told others before, that he believed in fairies and spirits. In answer to my question whether or not he had ever seen any fairies or ghosts, he hesitated a moment and said that he had not. In the spring of 19 14 I invited Cawein to take a trip to Muhlenberg County with me. I felt that he needed a diversion and that getting into a country he had not yet seen might interest him. I knew he was looking for incidents in Kentucky history, and having friends in Greenville and other parts of Muhlenberg County and being somewhat familiar with its history I had reason to believe that he would be benefited by the trip even if it did not supply him with new 129 Madison C aw e in material for poems. He cheerfully accepted the invitation. "Yes," he said, "I would like to ramble through the wilds of old Muhlenberg and hear some of its traditions as told by the people themselves." For one reason or another, the trip was postponed again and again until fall. In the meantime we often discussed the contemplated pilgrimage and invited our friend Young E. Allison to join us. Cawein looked forward to this outing with a boyish interest. This proved to be the poet's last trip to the country and included his last public reading, and I shall therefore give some detailed account of the pilgrimage. On October 8, Cawein, Mr, Allison and I left Louisville, and in the afternoon were met at the Greenville Station by a "reception committee" consisting of several of my old friends to whom I had written that we were coming. Our plan was to go at once to the home of Alvin L. Taylor, six miles in the country, but "the committee" urged us to remain in town over night and invited Cawein to give a reading the following morning before the high school. He cheerfully consented. We were escorted in royal style to The Old Inn where we were the guests of Orien L. Roark, editor, Harry M. Dean, prose and verse writer, and Alvin L. Taylor, farmer. The next morning we were given a breakfast in the James L. Rogers home by Mrs. Felix Rice, musician, and Miss Amy M. Longest, county superintendent of schools. The Rogers were out of town, but had invited the two ladies to use their spacious dining room for the occasion. The table was profusely decorated with blooming morning- glories. Cawein later told me that he had been wined and dined often, formally and informally, but never before had any decorations touched his heart as did this display of one of his favorite flowers. The Rogers residence stands on the site of the log house built about 1800 by Captain Charles Fox Wing, who was one of the founders of Greenville, a soldier of the War of 181 2, and who had served as county clerk from the county's beginning down through a period of more than fifty years. A number of traditions regarding Captain Wing were told at the table. The one that seemed to impress Cawein most was the story of the flag: On every third day of July from 1800 until his death in 1861, this patriot planted a tall pole in the court house yard and early on the Fourth, sunshine or storm, hoisted the identical flag; and when he died, the old banner was placed on his breast and buried with him. "It's a fine story," said Cawein later, "and now that I have been on the ground, Captain Wing's life has given me some history to think about." After breakfast we walked to the auditorium of the public schools. The poet was greeted by the pupils of all grades and about one hundred men and women of Greenville. It fell to me to "introduce the speaker." From those of his own books that were available 130 As I Knew Him he read "Topsy Turvy," "Ballad of Low-Lie- Down," "Mound Men," "So Much to Do," also "A Boy's Heart," and one or two other poems. The audience was very attentive and gave him long applause. On our way out he whispered to me, as though confiding a secret, that he was pleased with the audience's manifestation of appreciation. I thought he had read unusually well and therefore congratulated him: "Madison," I said, "you did 'bully'. If the readings for which you are now preparing are as good as this one, then your hoped-for success as a platform reader is an assured thing." He replied somewhat seriously, "The way you 'slung the bull' about me as the greatest poet that ever came down the pike, it was up to me to do my darnedest to try to save your face." The remark amused me for he very rarely indulged in slang or the vernacular; and it also embarrassed me, for the tone of his voice indicated a disapproval of a statement I had made in the introductory remarks before the school: "Mr. Cawein is America's greatest poet and the world's greatest nature poet." Immediately after the reading we drove in a surrey to the farm of James Pannell, about three miles from Greenville. I had written to Mr. Pannell and suggested that he prepare an old-fashioned dinner for us and serve it in pioneer style. This he did with great success. Mr. Pannell knew many of the county's traditions and could tell them in an interesting way. While at dinner and while rambling over his farm, he recalled local stories of all kinds, from the gloomiest of tragedies to the funniest of "fairy-tales." Mr. Pannell is the "Jim Hanna" in J. Caldwell Browder's Nisi Prius, published in 1912. We drove through a heavy rain to the Alvin L. Taylor farm where we arrived a little before dark. "It took you five months to get here, and I hope you will stay at least five weeks," was Mr. Tay- lor's greeting. I had known Mr. Taylor for many years in both a social and a business way. I had visited him often and was almost as much at home in his home as in my own. Before we sat down to supper Cawein and Mr. Allison felt like they, too, were in the hands of an old friend. Mr. Taylor's family consisted of himself, his daughter Mrs. Edith Taylor Cornett, and her husband Earl Cornett. Mrs. Cornett was a good looking, modest, intelligent young wife and one who knew how to meet guests under any circumstances. She was with her father and husband when we alighted from the surrey. After we had chatted a few minutes Cawein took from the lapel of his coat a beauti- ful yellow rose that had been given to him by one of the girls at the Greenville school, and presenting it to Mrs. Cornett said, "Mrs. Cornett, may your life ever be as bright as this rose is now." When Cawein and I were getting ready to retire, I remarked that I hoped he had seen and heard enough during the day to supply him with sufficient material for a dozen volumes. 131 Madison C aw e in "I don't know what will stick," he said, "but I do know that Mrs. Cornett has given me something for reflection." I asked him what it was and he simply murmured: "Not Yet." The answer puzzled me. I presume I showed signs of some disappointment in not being taken into his confidence, for he ex- plained, "The thought is this: not yet a mother; not yet a mother's love; not yet a mother's tears." The next day we wandered around in the woods, visited an old graveyard, inspected the ruins of a long abandoned iron furnace and examined a few Indian mounds. That night we went fox hunting with Peter Cornett and a number of men and boys who had met for the purpose of taking us out. It was a dark and a more or less rainy night. We walked many a mile. At intervals we sat on rail fences or old logs and exchanged stories while listening to the occasional bark of our dogs running in the distance. Our dogs — fox hounds and coon dogs — found no trail of a fox or coon, but "treed" a 'possum; and the 'possum was soon bagged. Mr. Taylor, knowing that Peter Cornett had the reputation of being one of the best fox hunters in the county, invited him to call the next morning and relate some of his experiences to the poet. Cawein and I were still in bed when, about 6:30, the hunter arrived. Mr. Taylor urged him to enter our room and raise "Cain" about sleeping "after sun up." I was awake when "Peter the 'possum chaser" opened the door, and from all appearances Cawein was still asleep. "Hey there," shouted Cornett at the top of his voice as he walked toward the bed occupied by the poet, "Hey there, you lazy Possum Hunter, the sun's done up, the feedin's done and breakfast's come and gone and over with! What do you think!" Cawein opened his eyes, gazed at the fox hunter and his hunting garb, and answered with a smile, "I was thinking about the various kinds of barks of your dogs." After breakfast we sat on Mr. Taylor's front porch where, for more than three hours, Peter Cornett gave us an interesting account of his experiences as a fox-chaser and coon and 'possum hunter. He explained the difference in the barks of a hound ; these he designated "struck a trail," "on the chase," "treed" and "holding the tree." He described the nature of the fox and the coon — the sly fox and the cunning coon — and told how through close observation he learned to know their habits. He related the details of many of his hunts and commented on the actions of the dogs (and some of the men) that had gone with him. Cawein evidently was greatly interested in the hunter's knowledge and experience and the manner in which he talked. During the narrative he asked many questions, but made no notes. Although I did not recall ever seeing Cawein use a note book, it occurred to me that in this instance he might have been so absorbed as to have overlooked making notes. Later, when he and I were alone, 132 As I Knew Him I brought up the subject, and he answered in substance: "The hunter's talk was exceedingly interesting, but too long and varied for note- making; and, besides, what I'll forget of it will be forgotten because it failed to make an impression on me. And why should I have notes on things that did not impress me." The next morning — Sunday morning — found us in Greenville. While the church people were attending services, we leisurely walked around and viewed some of the historic homes and then rambled to the old graveyard. It was a beautiful autumn day. The town is always orderly and interesting, but during the solitude of the church hour it seemed like a "deserted village." The old graveyard is near the Court House. It was begun in the early part of last century and used until about twenty-five years ago. The age and the half-care and half- neglect of the place make it a solemnly picturesque spot. The old oaks and evergreens shade many of the mounds and stones — mounds hidden by myrtle, hone^'suckle or briar, and headstones erect, leaning or fallen. We read aloud many of the inscriptions. Cawein seemed particularly interested in the stone slabs that had fallen and were partly hidden by vegetation. There was nothing in the poet's words or actions to indicate that he had more than the idle curiosity of any person who leisurely wanders around in an old graveyard he had never before heard of nor seen. Up to that time, as already stated, I had read very little of Cawein's poetry. Now in reading his poems, especially those pertaining to burial places, I ponder over the strange fact that a man who wrote such beautiful lines about graveyards could wander around in one and not reveal some evidence of his ecstasy. Every grave must have beckoned to his poetic soul. Evident- ly I saw and heard only the visible man, but did not feel the presence of the invisible poet. We were the guests of Mr. and Mrs. Eugene Lovell for dinner. Large bouquets of dahlias, zenias, asters, cox-comb and golden rod had been placed in the hall, parlor and dining-room in honor of the poet. Besides Cawein, Mr. Allison and myself there were two or three other guests. Everybody felt at home. Commenting on this little festivity Cawein said to me: "I enjoyed the dinner party very much; there were no foolish formalities. It was a good Sunday dinner — home food and garden flowers. I enjoy unpretentious affairs far more than formal dinners." And so I always found him during the year I knew him — more touched by little informal attentions than by formal functions given in his honor. Bayles and James Oates drove us to their farm ten miles west of Greenville and at the foot of Harpes Hill, one of the most picturesque and historic hills in the county. The four Oates brothers had ar- ranged an after-supper trip to Pleasant Hill Church, a country church where a revival was in progress. They explained that the place was on a high hill and the road to it a rough and rocky one, and for 133 Madison Cawein that reason the surrey would be used. When the surrey and the two best horses were brought out, it occurred to me that a rough ride in an old farm wagon would be quite a novelty. Cawein agreed and an old wagon drawn by two old mules — Dock and Daisy — was placed at our disposal. Our crowd of about ten filled the chairs and board seats that had been provided. Singing was one of the features of the ride, especially during our return in the moonlight. The church was very crowded, but by working a way through the men and boys massed near the door, we managed to find standing room in a rear corner. The corner happened to be one that sometimes is occupied by certain boys who, as we were told, "congregated there to devil the preacher." We were late and heard the last of the sermon only, but witnessed all the other revival features that followed. Shortly after the sermon, and while a number of men and women were attending to the mourners at the mourners' bench, the preacher, imploring others to come forward, pressed his way through the crowd toward the corner in which we stood. He did so, it seemed, for the purpose of ascertaining whether or not we were persons whose conduct was likely to interfere with the meeting. When the preacher stood face to face with Mr. Cawein, he sudden- ly grasped the poet's hand as though he had found a long lost friend, and asked: "Brother, what are you — you a preacher — doing in this corner?" Discovering he had taken a stranger for Preacher Kennerly, he bowed apologetically saying, "Pardon me, I thought you were a preacher." Cawein politely replied, "Well, perhaps I am a preacher — I preach the Gospel of Nature." The preacher smiled, moved on, continued his supplications, and soon regained his position near the pulpit. That he should have been taken for a Baptist preacher amused Cawein very much. After we returned to Louisville I, on one or two occasions, called him "Preacher Cawein," and his response was in- variably to the effect that he felt more like a boy the night we were at Pleasant Hill Church than he had since the days of his youth, and he hoped that the next time he was taken for a country preacher, he would be asked to "do" a little expounding of the Gospel of Nature. The Oates farm, as already stated, is at the foot of Harpes Hill. Near the top of the hill is a small cove in which Big Harpe and Little Harpe, two dreadful outlaws and their three wives, camped for a short time in 1799. Not far from this lair Big Harpe was captured, and his head cut off and stuck on the end of a pole and displayed on the main road as a warning to other murderers. We visited the cove and other nearby places associated with the Harpes and heard many of the traditions pertaining to these outlaws of pioneer times, in all of which Cawein was greatly interested. 134 As I Knew Him The view from Harpes Hill is beautiful, especially in fall when the leaves are turning. "Yes, it is beautiful," said Cawein, "I have seen more majestic and more awe-inspiring scenery, but not since my visits to John Fox, Jr., in the Cumberland Mountains of Kentucky, some twenty-five years ago, have I seen any landscape more beautiful than the view from this hill. But the knobs near Louisville and the hills near Brownsboro have fascinated me from my early boyhood and they still appeal to me more than any other hills." While we were walking around on Harpes Hill looking at some Indian mounds and taking in the scenery from various points, Mr. Gates gave us an account of how the fox hunters use the top of the hill as their stamping ground. He explained that because of its height, form and location, the hunters watching and waiting on the summit can hear their dogs for miles around — sometimes ten to twenty hounds chasing one fox. "When these fox hunts take place," declared Mr. Gates, "there's music in the air, often continuing from dusk to dawn. No music is more thrilling than the horn of the fox hunter and the bark of his running hounds." Cawein had often heard a few dogs on a chase, but never, as he expressed it, "A full orchestra of fox hounds." The brothers Gates invited us to remain two days longer, and assured us that in the meantime they could get together the fox hunters of the Harpes Hill country and their seventy-five or more hounds. Cawein had an engagement in Louisville the next day and therefore was unable to extend his stay in the country. The boys promised him that a meet- ing of the fox hunters would take place at any time he might set. He thanked them very politely. In this instance, as in a number of others that came under my personal observation, Cawein's thanks seemed, on the surface, more formal than heartfelt. I judge that his few words of thanks were sometimes interpreted as an expression of more or less indiffer- ence, when in reality he felt very grateful. The comments he made later on this invitation to the proposed fox hunt and on other at- tentions that had been given during the time I knew him, convinced me that he appreciated from the bottom of his heart any and all interests shown in him or in his efforts to write poetry. A few weeks after we returned from Muhlenberg County Cawein accepted the invitation of J. Bernhard Alberts to pose for a portrait. Cawein, knowing that Alberts had a number of commissions to keep him occupied for many months, asked, "Why waste your time on me when you can get others who pay for your work?" The invitation nevertheless pleased the poet, for he realized that the portrait was proposed as a mark of appreciation. During the last year of Cawein's life nothing occurred in which I was directly or indirectly i'nvolved that seemed to affect him more thah this manifestation of interest in him and his work. 135 Madison C awe in The time for the first sitting was arranged, and at exactly two o'clock in the afternoon, the hour set, the poet walked into the studio and laying down some fish wrapped in paper said, "Well, boys, here I am, your victim, and ready for business. I bought these fish to take home with me, and not for a fish fry in your studio. I like to carry things home for the kitchen; often the carrying makes them taste better." The canvas was ready and the artist soon decided upon a pose for his subject. I occupied a chair near the poet and he and the artist and I chatted while the painting was being done. Literature and art and current events were among our topics. There was no restraint of any kind. We talked freely on all subjects, and usually in a more or less jovial spirit. I can not now recall many of the details, but I remember distinctly that no matter of whom Cawein spoke it was never in uncomplimentary terms. The only callers admitted into the studio were Mr. Alberts' two brothers, Bruno and Gisbert, who were artists and often joined us in our rambling talks and also at the dinners after the sittings. There were seven or eight sittings. I was present at every one. Cawein 's friendly eyes showed more than his words that he appreciated the artist's efforts. On several occasions we discussed the bronze bust of him that had been placed in the Louisville Free Public Library. He said no honor bestowed upon him touched him as did that recog- nition by his home people. He told us the bust was made in Indian- apolis and was based chiefly on three photographs taken for the purpose. Mrs. Cawein and many others did not consider it a good likeness, and I am inclined to think that he agreed with them. Yet in our discussions of this subject he never expressed himself on that point. He, however, very modestly, and in a tone of voice that indicated deep appreciation, declared that "It is a thing to be proud of; I am elated." Mrs. Cawein was very much pleased with the portrait. "It is a perfect likeness," she said to us in the studio. "You have painted him 'warts and all', for although Madison is only forty-nine, I am sorry he looks like a man of sixty, and I fear that when he reaches that age, he will look like a man of eighty." A few days after the portrait was finished Cawein gave me a copy of his book The White Snake, and in it he wrote: "To Otto A. Rothert, in memory of artistic hours passed in company together at the Alberts' Studio when discussing with 'Ben,' Bruno and Gisbert Alberts my portrait in process of completion. The Victim, Madison Cawein, November, 1914." The White Snake made a total of twenty-one books autographed by Cawein for me. A few months after we had become friends I began assembling his books with a view of making a Complete Collection and having every copy autographed. I had been searching for some 136 As I Knew Him weeks for the thirteen out-of-print volumes required to complete the Collection and had succeeded in procuring all except four when the poet died. His plan was to autograph all thirteen volumes at one time and thus avoid similarity of inscriptions. What proved to be his last call at my home took place two days before he suffered the apoplectic stroke that resulted in his death. Some time during his last call I incidentally remarked that by Christmas I probably would have procured the four missing volumes and we would then be ready for the inscriptions. Picking up three of his brochures that were lying on the table — Christmas Rose and Leaf, Whatever the Path and The Days of Used To Be — he suggested, "Let's dispose of these now, for I suppose you want them inscribed also." He wrote a Christmas greeting to me in each of the three and dated every one "December 25, 1914." Little did we realize that he would be dead and buried before that approaching Christmas day. I have thus in effect some- thing curious — three of the poet's booklets autographed after his death. During the last week or two of his life he and I commented, more than once, on the suddenness and seriousness of apoplectic and paralytic strokes. It was a subject that naturally presented itself, for my mother, aged eighty and with whom I was living, was then in a hopeless condition as the result of a fatal stroke received a few weeks before. He called my attention to the fact that his father and two of his father's brothers and his mother and two of her sisters died im- mediately after, or in consequence of, apoplectic strokes. "So you see," he added, "it is somewhat likely I'll die the same way; but no matter how and when I go, I hope I'll be at home at the time, and not on one of the reading tours for which Gertrude and I are now preparing." Cawein had often told me he would like to purchase a few acres of forest land near Brownsboro and there live in a "woods home" the rest of his life. So in replying to his observations on the time and place of his death, I remarked: "You'll live long in your long-dreamed-of woods home. The kinspeople to whose deaths you referred were in good health before stricken. You have never been in good health, and since poor health often means a long life, you are very likely to reach your four score and ten. By that time the whole English speaking world will be appreciating your work, and through your poems and your readings you will have made an independent fortune." He answered cheerfully as he walked out of the house, "You may be right. At any rate, I'll see you again in a day or two." I saw him "in a day or two"; he was at home, upon his death bed, the victim of apoplexy. The mind that had seen so much beauty was enveloped in darkness. He never knew consciousness again. 137 VI THE DEATH OF CAWEIN The Louisville papers devoted many columns to Cawein at the time of his illness and death. When he died the national dailies pub- lished news items to that effect, and literary journals commented on his life and works. The clippings here reprinted tell the story of his death, and indicate the esteem in which he was then held at home and throughout the country. 1914, December 4, Louisville Times: Madison Cawein seriously STRICKEN. Famous poet is felled by a sudden stroke DURING THE EARLY MORNING. Madison Cawein, Kentucky poet, whose works have gained recognition throughout the literary world, lies seriously ill at his home, No. six St. James Apartments. Without the slightest warning he was stricken by a vertiginous attack at nine o'clock this morning and since has been unconscious. His condition is such as to cause apprehension. Apparently the celebrated poet has been in his usual health, and news of his sudden illness comes as a shock to his friends and admirers. He arose at the customary hour this morning and took breakfast, after which he went into his study for a time. He then went to the bathroom to shave preparatory to a visit to the central section of the city on business, when he was stricken. As was his custom he had locked the bathroom door, and it was necessary to force in the door to reach him, after the noise of his fall to the floor had alarmed his mother-in-law. His brother. Dr. Charles L. Cawein, of 1316 South Second Street, and Dr. Henry A. Cottell, of 1424 South Fourth Street, a lifelong friend, were hastily summoned. Efforts to revive the patient have been unavailing. Mr. Cawein was born in Louisville March 23, 1865, and is a son of the late Dr. William and Christiana Cawein. He received his 138 The Death of Cawein education at the graded school and the Male High School in this city. He has a wife, Mrs. Gertrude Foster McKelvey Cawein, a daughter of John F. and Jane Sproule McKelvey, and a son, Preston Hamilton Cawein. He is a member of the Louisville Literary Club, Filson Club, Pendennis Club, Louisville Country Club, the National Institute of Arts and Letters, the Poetry Society of America, Cliff Dwellers' Club of Chicago, and the Authors' Club of London, England. 1 9 14, December 7, Louisville Herald, Editorial: Madison Cawein. [By Edward A. Jonas.] By the bedside of Madison Cawein watches, not only the Commonwealth of Kentucky, but the Commonwealth of Letters. If, as has been said, the verdict of other lands is as the voice of a con- temporaneous posterity, then does Madison Cawein o'ertop all others in American literature of today. England, not as a rule too kind to our writers, has not hesitated to acclaim his genius and surrender to his charm. Critics as competent and as careful as Edmund Gosse find in his work all the notes of permanency, all the attributes of a great and genuine gift. A singular felicity of phrase; an unusual sense of restraint; the simplicity of the master, the witchery of a well- stored mind ; perfection of form ; a real inspiration — all these and more belong to this son of Kentucky stricken before his race was fully run. At such a time words seem empty things. The sympathy and the sorrow are very real. We do but voice an earnest and widespread sense of loss. 1914, December 8, Courier-Journal: Madison Cawein answers CALL. Poet's death after eighty-seven hours of uncon- sciousness. William Dean Howells among those who HONORED him. MaNY NOTED VOLUMES FROM LoUISVILLIAN's PEN. Family at his bedside. Madison Cawein, one of the world's greatest poets, died at 12:25 o'clock this morning at his home. No. 6 St. James Apartments, in St. James Court. Death came after eighty-seven hours of unconsciousness and was said to have been due to a blood clot at the base of the brain, caused by a blow in falling against a bath tub. Dr. Charles L. Cawein, his brother, and Dr. Henry A. Cottell were in constant attendance, and no investigation will be made of the accident by the coroner. 139 Madison Cawein Until the last, the poet's wife, Mrs. Gertrude McKelvey Cawein, his only child, Preston Hamilton Cawein, and Mrs. Cawein's step- mother, Mrs. Anna M. McKelvey, watched at the bedside, hopeful for a return to consciousness or some slight sign of improvement. Dr. Henry Van Dyke, Minister to The Netherlands; William Dean Howells and other literary friends and Mr. Cawein's brother, William Cawein, of Spokane, Washington, were notified. John Cawein, his only other surviving brother, arrived last night from Newport, Kentucky. Mr. Cawein was stricken Friday just after he entered the bath- room of his apartment to shave, preparatory to a visit downtown. He had breakfasted with his family and spent a few minutes in his study. As was his custom, Mr. Cawein locked the door after passing into the bathroom. A moment later Mrs. McKelvey heard him fall. Assistance was summoned and the door was forced open. Mr. Cawein, fully dressed, was lying in the dry bath tub. Blood trickled from a wound on the left side of his head. His shaving accessories had not been removed from a cabinet, which led to the belief he suffered the vertiginous attack immediately after stepping into the room. All efforts to rouse the patient into a return to consciousness proved futile. It was thought at first that he had suffered a stroke of apoplexy, but development of a clot of blood at the base of the brain indicated, according to the physicians, that the state of coma was due to the injury to his head. Besides his widow, little son and Dr. Charles L. Cawein, the poet leaves two other brothers, John and William Cawein. Mr. Cawein was forty-nine years old. He was a member of the Louisville Literary Club, the National Institute of Arts and Letters, the Poetry Society of America, the Cliff Dwellers of Chicago, Authors' Club of London, England; Louisville Country Club, the Filson Club and the Pendennis Club. Mr. Cawein was hailed throughout the literary world as a remark- able "poet of nature," and while all critics ranked him with the great- est versifiers of this vein, not a few of them placed him at the very top. Mr. Cawein was known to Louisville people pretty generally as a poet; to a broader circle as "Kentucky's poet," and in New York and London literary reviewers reckoned him among the greatest of nature poets of all time. The magic of his nature landscapes was drawn from the Knobs back of New Albany, where as a boy, trudging along the road to school, while his brothers ran ahead, the beauty of things about him began to dawn for him. The inborn gift of the genius received development in the woods and hills and meadows of the country adjacent to Louisville, in the bluegrass regions of Central Kentucky and the Cumberland Mountains. 140 The Death of C awe in "The solemn books of history tell us that Kentucky was discov- ered in 1769 by Daniel Boone, but he first discovers a country who sees it first, and teaches the world to see it. No doubt some day the city of Louisville will erect, in one of its principal squares, a statue to 'Madison Cawein, who discovered the beauty of Kentucky,' " wrote Edmund Gosse, a noted English critic, several years ago. Louisville friends of the poet who long knew him as a nature poet-painter found cause for comment in the rather singular signifi- cance of one of his last poems, "At the End of the Road." It found Mr. Cawein in a new vein, "singing not of young apple trees, but of old vagabonds; not of the gate into the meadow, but of the end of the road." This poem, "At the End of the Road," was selected by William Stanley Braithwaite, of Boston, for his Anthology of Magazine Verse for IQ14, being selections from all magazine poetry of the year. It follows: This is the truth as I see it, my dear, Out in the wind and the rain; They who have nothing have little to fear — Nothing to lose or to gain. Here by the road at the end o' the year, Let us sit down and drink of our beer, Happy-Go-Lucky and her Cavalier, Out in the wind and the rain. Now we are old, oh, isn't it fine, Out in the wind and the rain? Now we have nothing, why snivel and whine? What would it bring us again? When I was young I took you like wine, Held you and kissed you and thought you divine — Happy-Go-Lucky, the habit's still mine, Out in the wind and the rain. Oh, my old Heart, what a life we have led. Out in the wind and the rain! How we have drunken and how we have fed ! Nothing to lose or to gain. Cover the fire now; get we to bed. Long was the journey and far has it led. Come, let us sleep, lass, sleep like the dead. Out in the wind and the rain. 141 Madison Cawein In one of his lyrics ["Intimations of the Beautiful"] Mr. Cawein asked : The song-birds, are they flown away, The song-birds of the summer time, That sang their souls into the day, And set the laughing hours to rhyme? No cat-bird scatters through the hush The sparkling crystals of her song; Within the woods no hermit-thrush Trails an enchanted flute along. To this inquiry, the answer of Mr. Gosse was : "The only hermit- thrush now audible seems to sing from Louisville, Kentucky. America will, we may be perfectly sure, calm herself into harmony again and possess once more her school of singers. In those coming days history may perceive in Mr. Cawein the golden link that bound the music of the past to the music of the future through an interval of comparative tunelessness." "The virgin timber-forests of Kentucky, the woods of honey- locust and buckeye, of white oak and yellow poplar, with their clearings full of flowers unknown to us by sight or name, from which in the distance are visible the domes of the far-away Cumber- land Mountains — this seems to be the hunting field of Mr. Cawein's imagination," said Mr. Gosse. "He brings the ancient gods to Kentucky and it is marvelous how quickly they learn to be at home there." [Introduction to Kentucky Poems.] Madison Julius Cawein was born in Louisville, March 23, 1865. His father. Dr. William Cawein, came to this city early in the nine- teenth century from the Rhine Palatinate, where the family, who were Huguenots, had resided since their flight from Paris after the revoca- tion of the Edict of Nantes in 1685. His mother was Christiana Stelsly, the daughter of a German cavalry ofificer in Napoleon's army, who, after the defeat at Waterloo, came with his wife to the United States, remained for a time in Ohio, but eventually settled in Louis- ville. Here William Cawein met Christiana and married her; to them were born four sons and a daughter. In 1874 the family moved to Old- ham County ; thence, after a year, to the "Knobs" back of New Albany. "Here," said the poet himself, "I found my first love of nature. For nearly three years we lived there in a small farmhouse on the top of a hill, surrounded by woods and orchards, meadows and cornlands. If ever children were happy they were happy there. We walked two and a half miles every school day from the fall to the spring, to the New Albany district school; but we enjoyed it. I used to walk along by myself making up wonderful stories of pirate treasures and adventures, which I could continue serial-wise from day to day in my imagination unendingly — dependent upon no publisher." 142 Madison C aw e in The family returned to Louisville about 1879. The young genius was sent to the public schools and later, in 1881, entered the Male High School. At this age the favorite reading of Cawein con- sisted in tales of the Wild West. When he was 16 years old, legends of chivalry attracted his attention. He secured and read "The Fairie Queene," and liked it so well that he wrote to the publishers for the remaining six books, only to be chagrined to learn that Spenser never had completed the poem. It was under the inspiration of Professor Reuben Post Halleck, then instructor in English and elocution at High School, Cawein was led to walk with the masters. He was especially interested in Scott, Shelley, Tennyson and Keats, and wrote many lengthy and bombastic imitations of them. These he used to declaim from the rostrum of the old school chapel. He was graduated in the class of 1886, pre- paring the class poem "Mariners," which he published nineteen years later in Nature Notes. Longing of the young poet to begin a collegiate course was ungratified, due to circumstances. He considered also entering the Navy or West Point, but found these, too, impracticable. His first employment was as an accountant for his brother, who was cashier in the Newmarket, a pool-room on Third Street. For nearly eight years the poet toiled in the rather unsympathetic atmosphere of tobacco smoke, auctioneering and betting. When not exchanging money for the tickets of the winning betters, he was snatching chances of pursuing his favorite studies, Ovid and Heine, natural science and the English classics. On Sundays, Cawein roamed the wooded hills along the Kentucky shore of the Ohio River or about the falls on the Indiana banks, or else among the knobs, the playmates of his childhood, prying into the lives of tree, flower, weed, bird and insect. Here he strolled, composing in his mind, stopping now and then to set down in his note-book the completed stanza. [The foregoing account of Mr. Cawein's death is followed by about a column devoted to brief comments on his various books.] 1914, December 8, Louisville Times, Editorial: Madison Cawein. [By Charles Hamilton Musgrove.] Madison Cawein, Nature's poet and priest, Kentucky's poet, our poet, is no more. In the language of another, gifted also with the poetic vision, "he had reached that spot where manhood's morn just touches noon, and the shadows still were falling toward the West." With his rare powers fully ripened and at the zenith of his fame, honored and loved by the literati of two continents and enraptured 143 Madison C aw e in with the glittering vistas which stretched before him in the Land of Song, darkness fell suddenly upon his path, the hand of Azrael was laid upon his harp, and it is mute. Madison Cawein was the apostle of Nature. He adored her in all her moods. He was her humble worshiper and loyal interpreter. Like Hugo, he was awed by her "enormous gearing whose first motor is the gnat and whose last wheel is the zodiac." He was a friend of the chipmunk, the interpreter of the thrush, the companion of the eagle. Sea and sky, wind and rain, heath and heather, "twilight and evening star," all had a message for his soul, all spoke in symbols that he understood. Now he is gone. One melodious voice between the silences is still. In this commercial age when there is such a dearth of the pure poetic art, when the "homely, slighted shepherd's trade" carries with it little more than the recompense of a mission faithfully fulfilled, of a heart consecrated to the divine ideals of beauty, the world can ill spare a singer like Mr. Cawein. It is particularly saddening to know that as much as he had accomplished, much more is left undone. Even on the day that he was stricken with his last illness, he was busy with many plans for the future, glowing with the rapture of creating, thrilled with the inspiring fervor of kindling dreams. Now he is gone. Poesy stands beside his bier with a wreath of immortelles. Nature in mourning garb murmurs a requiem. His sorrowing wife and little son have lost a devoted husband and father. The world has lost a poet. 1 914, December 8, Louisville Post, Editorial: The death of Madison Cawein. [By Richard W. Knott.] The death of Madison Cawein will carry regret to thousands who knew him only through his books; and that regret deepens into grief to all who knew him well. There was with this poet of the quiet paths no separation from the round of daily duties and pleasures. All he saw added to the joy of life, and made him a delightful com- panion, unworldly in many ways, but in all things generous and in all ways welcome These hills and streams, these meadows and open roads, and winding paths, held messages for him alone, calling him every year to new visions and to new desires. Here in Kentucky the old legends came to him trailing clouds of glory and lived again. Through the shadows and silence of the beeches, oaks and maples, through the tangled underbrush, out through the hanging honeysuckles, ivies and trumpet vines, he looked as through a casement, into a world 144 The Death of C awe in peopled by that mighty host called into existence by the poets and oracles, the sages and dreamers and myth-makers who lived and wrought when the race was young. By these streams, known to all of us, over the knobs north and south of the Ohio, along every by-path and no-path of Cherokee, he wandered joyously, and ever-new beauties blossomed at his feet. Here he felt that same presence which disturbed Wordsworth along the banks of Wye, "with the joy of elevated thoughts and brought to him a sense sublime, of something more deeply interfused." The end has come. The book, the wonderful book of visions and of beauty, is closed forever. In vain will frost write its magic call to him over the winter landscape; the eye of the seer is closed, and the wand with which he summoned the unseen inhabitants to their festivals has fallen, broken, from the hand of the master. 19 14, December 9, Courier- Journal, Editorial: Madison Cawein. [By Harrison Robertson.] Madison Cawein lived all of his too-short life in or near Louisville. As boy and man he was our associate and neighbor. We knew well his personal worth and we took pride in his literary achievement and reputation. Certainly he was not "without honor in his own country." Rather it was our delight to honor him. Indeed, such has been our admiration of him, so intimate have been our relations, that our perspective is perhaps too short for an accurate judgment as to his rank as a poet. But we can rest assured that he will not suffer before that world tribunal which assays and stamps mankind's product of pure gold. The feature of Madison Cawein's career that especially impressed The Courier- Journal was his rare and unfaltering consecration to his ideals. He saw and felt the poetry of Nature, and it was his un- swerving purpose to give it voice. He kept to that purpose from first to last. In an age of materialism, of business, of practical and scientific activity, rather than of esthetic inclination and atmosphere, an age of fallow art and tailor-made poetry, he turned his back to Mammon and his face to Pan, steadfast, through every vicissitude of environment or fortune, to his inspiration. Nothing short of such an inspiration could have buoyed him through to triumph. In his youth, confined by day to the drudgery of an uncongenial clerk's desk, giving his Sundays and holidays to his beloved fields and his evenings to composition, he persevered long with little encouragement except that received through the publica- tion of his verses in The Courier- Journal. For several years nearly all 145 Madison C aw e in of his shorter poems first reached the public through the colums of this paper, and, unknown beginner though he was, so unmistakable was its quality that The Courier -Journal cannot recall that any of it ever shared the fate of the great mass of "unavailable" versification which pours into a newspaper office. Readers of The Courier -Journal soon came to realize that a genuine poet was among them, and the appreciation he won in those early days followed him ardently to the last. Gradually the circle of his recognition and the field of his pub- lication widened, and the acclaim of such authorities as Howells and Aldrich and Gosse opened the way for the international reputation which ultimately he won. Perhaps the chief criticism which has been urged against Cawein's poetry is that it lacked in appeal to the human heart — that it has struck not those simple elemental chords of feeling which move man- kind and die only with mankind. But the heart of man is only one manifestation of the heart of Nature, and from the heart of Nature who that survives Cawein so happily has sought its secrets or so richly has given them tongue? While refraining, as already explained, from attempting now any comparative appraisement of Cawein even we, his home folks, may say so much without inviting disagreement in any court of competent criticism. 1914, December 10, Louisville Herald: Pay last tribute in simple SERVICE. Numerous friends gather at church where FUNERAL OF MaDISON CaWEIN TAKES PLACE. SIMPLICITY MARKS SETTING TYPICAL OF POET's NATURE. The body of Madison Cawein, Kentucky's famous nature poet, was laid to rest yesterday in Cave Hill Cemetery, following brief but impressive funeral services at the Church of the Messiah. The funeral was private, but a large number of friends gathered at the church to pay their last respects. Floral offerings were banked about the altar and on the casket was laid a spray of fir and a branch of russet red leaves, indicative of the simplicity of his life and of his love for the works of nature. The last services were conducted by the Reverend Maxwell Savage, pastor of the Church of the Messiah [Unitarian] and the Very Reverend Charles Ewell Craik, rector of Christ Church Cathedral. [Episcopal]. "Dreams" and "Requiem" written by Mr. Cawein, were read by Dr. Savage. The order of the services follow: Organ — "Dead March" in "Saul" (Handel). Scripture Read- ing — The Reverend Maxwell Savage. Funeral Chant — Choir. 146 The Death of Cawein Invocation — The Reverend Maxwell Savage. Hymn — "Nearer, My God, to Thee" — Choir. Reading of Poems by Mr. Cawein — The Reverend Mr. Savage — (a) "Dreams," (b) "Requiem." Anthem — "Lachramosa," Requiem Mass (Mozart) — Choir. Hymn — "Friend After Friend Departs" (Mr. Cawein's favorite hymn) — Montgom- ery. Prayer — The Very Reverend Dr. Charles Ewell Craik. Eulogy of Mr. Cawein — The Reverend Maxwell Savage. Hymn — "Lead, Kindly Light" — Choir. Funeral March — "Song Without Words" (Mendelssohn) — Played by Miss Louise Hollis, organist. A brief, but touching tribute to Mr, Cawein was paid by Dr. Savage. "Great is he who loses not in manhood his childlike heart was said long ago," said Dr. Savage, "and this was Madison Cawein." [The active pallbearers were William W. Thum, Cale Young Rice, W. T. H. Howe, R. P. Halleck, John Peter Grant and John L. Patterson. The honorary pallbearers were George DuRelle, Henry Watterson, Richard W. Knott, Dr. Henry A. Cottell, Edward J. McDermott and George T. Settle.] 1914, December 11, Louisville Herald: Madison Cawein's last VOLUME WILL BE RELEASED TODAY. The Poet and Nature and the Morning Road, Madison Cawein's last volume, will be released to the public today by the publishers, John P. Morton & Company. A few days before Mr. Cawein's death, he made arrangements with the Kaufman-Straus Company to feature the work. A large painting of Madison Cawein sitting at his desk will also be unveiled today in the "Cawein Window" of the Kaufman-Straus Company. The protrait is by J. Bernard Alberts, the young Louisville artist, who finished the picture two weeks ago. The painting has been greatly admired by friends of Mr. Cawein who have seen it. Mr. Cawein's final volume is dedicated to John Burroughs, naturalist, poet and philosopher, "with the greatest admiration for the work he has done and is still doing for the True and Beautiful." A fly leaf carries an appreciation of Cawein's work by Dr. E. Y. Mullins, of Louisville, in which Dr. Mullins says: "If the world would read Mr. Cawein's exquisite nature poems more generally and appreciatively, can any one doubt that our love of our great Commonwealth would be purified and elevated? There is a hoard of glorious gold, although not of the ordinary sordid kind, awaiting those who heed the 'Call of the Road.' As we follow we shall visit the tents where the tribes of beauty dwell, and see the wild-eyed girl of Spring awakening." 147 Madison C aw e in 1914, December 11, Courier -Journal: Will bequeaths bulk of Cawein estate to widow. The will of Madison J. Cawein, dated July 7, 1910, and probated in the County Court yesterday, bequeaths the bulk of his estate to his widow, Gertrude McKelvey Cawein. The widow is bequeathed all stocks, bonds and cash, with the exception of $1,000, which is left in trust to her for the benefit of their son, Preston Hamilton Cawein. [The $1,000 here referred to had been deposited in a bank about 1910, and at the time of the poet's death was drawing interest for the son; and it is still doing so in 1920.] Besides the personalty, including life insurance, the widow is bequeathed the copyright to all books of the testator published in this country and England. The testator carried an accident insurance policy of $11,500 and life insur- ance amounting to $5,000. [This is an error. Mr. Cawein carried a $10,000 accident policy and no life insurance.] The widow is named guardian of the son and literary executrix by the testator, while the Louisville Trust Company is named executor of the will. Madison Cawein's Will [Mr. Cawein's will is written in his own hand. It has heretofore not been published: (Louisville, Ky., July 7, 19 10. I, Madison J. Cawein, being of sound mind desire that in the event of my death all my prop- erty, personal and otherwise, to-wit: (all stocks and bonds and monies, including monies that at the time of my death may be margined on stocks, also stocks themselves if so desired) is to go to my beloved wife, Gertrude McKelvey Cawein, with the exception of $1,000 which I bequeath to my beloved son, Preston Hamilton Cawein, to be held and kept in trust for him by his mother, Gertrude Cawein, whom I appoint his guardian. To Gertrude McKelvey Cawein I bequeath also the copyrights to all my books published both in this country and in England, also all interest in them of whatever character. I appoint her my literary executor. The Louisville Trust Company, of Louisville, Kentucky, I appoint executor of this my last will and testame^it. Madison J. Cawein. Witnesses: J. M. Eddy, A. C. Mead Board)]. 1914, December 15, Courier -Journal: Eulogy on poet. Friends' LOVE FOR Cawein voiced at literary meeting. Want favorite path and oak to bear his name. Original poems and selections from his own works read. Res- olutions ARE adopted, Madison Cawein, the man and the poet, was eulogized last night by his friends at a memorial meeting held in his honor by the Louisville Literary Club in the assembly room of the Louisville Public Library. 148 The Death of C awe in A bust of the poet, presented to the Library last year by the Louisville Literature Club, rested on a pedestal on the speaker's stand, having been taken there from the main corridor, where it was placed December 8, the day of the poet's death. It was draped with two laurel wreaths, one from the Libary staff and one from the poet's associates of the National Institute of Arts and Letters. President Thomas M. Gilmore, of the Literary Club, presided, and the Assembly Room was filled with literary and personal friends of the poet. Letters regretting their inability to be present were read from Miss Margaret Merker, the Reverend Dr. C. R. Hemphill, Henry Watterson, Richard W. Knott and Robert W. Brown. The exercises consisted of original poems, talks of appreciation and read- ing of select passages from the poet's works. The club adopted a resolution, prepared in the form of a letter to the Board of Park Commissioners, asking that a winding wild-like path in Iroquois Park, where Mr. Cawein delighted in strolling, and a towering oak, which was his favorite tree, be christened with his name. If the board accedes to this request the path will be known as "Cawein's Walk," and the oak tree as "Cawein's Rest." The path leads from the foot of a hill in the park and meanders through an unimproved part of the park about three-quarters of a mile. The letter to the board, written by Professor Reuben Post Halleck, recited the fact that Mr. Cawein loved the path because it led through an unimproved woods, and that he wrote many beautiful poems under the shade of the big oak tree. Formal resolutions reciting the history of Mr. Cawein, and con- taining a tribute to "a successful citizen and a poet of deserved renown," were reported by a committee of which Judge Charles B. Seymour was chairman, and adopted. Madison Cawein's love for his fellow man, a passion excelling all his other qualities, was the prominent feature, as well as the underlying theme of all the addresses. All the speakers emphasized the truth of the characterization usually applied to him, that of nature poet, but each stressed the idea that he was something more, that he was a lover of mankind. "Madison Cawein," a sonnet by Robert E. Lee Gibson, of St. Louis, was read by Dr. Henry A. Cottell. The Reverend Dr. E. Y. Mullins, president of the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary, spoke on the subject, "An Estimate of Mr. Cawein as a Poet." Miss Ethel Allen Murphy read an original poem entitled "Wed Not His Name To Death." Lewis A. Walter gave reminiscences of the poet. Following a tribute by Miss Sallie Smyser, George Lee Burton spoke on "Madison Cawein, the Glorifier of the Commonplace." The Reverend Dr. U. G. Foote, pastor of the Methodist Temple, read two original poems, "In Memoriam" and "Gethsemane." Bert Finck, speaking to the subject, "A Few Remarks," eulogized the 149 Madison Cawein democracy of the poet, his sincerity and modesty. Miss Marion Forster Gilmore read an original poem. The Reverend Dr. W. W. Landrum, pastor of the Broadway Baptist Church, read selections from Mr. Cawein's works and made a few comments. He said Mr. Cawein was not only a poet, but prophet and a preacher as well. Miss Margaret Steele Anderson read an original poem. Miss Anderson was followed by Miss Anna Blanche McGill who spoke on "Human Elements," emphasizing, as the other speakers did, Mr. Cawein's democratic nature. Dr. Henry A. Cottell read a sonnet, "In Memoriam," and in a short talk said he had lost his nearest and dearest friend. Herman Rave, of New Albany, who published his first book of poems when Mr. Cawein published his first, spoke on "A City Walk with Mr. Cawein." The walk was taken through a Louisville park when the two of them had just published their first works. "Even then," Mr. Rave said, "Mr. Cawein showed he was a lover of his fellow man. I think this talk about his being a nature poet and nothing more is all a mistake. There can be no nature poet without human love and sympathy. Mr. Cawein had the great gift also that makes all great men — inventors, poets, prophets — he had vision." Miss Nannie Lee Frayser read several selections from Mr. Cawein's latest book. "All of them," she said, "possess an appeal to children as well as grown-ups." She predicted that Cawein would in the future be considered a great children's poet as well as a great nature poet. "You who are here tonight know him through his memories," she said, "but he will live in the future through our boys and girls as they shall come to know him, especially through his last book." Professor Halleck paid a tribute to the literary excellence of Mr. Cawein's poetry, and noted with pleasure the profound regret which his taking off occasioned in Louisville, saying, in part: "Lovers of poetry in Louisville were gratified to see that its newspapers gave more space to the passing of Cawein than is usually accorded to the obituary of the very greatest financier, local or national. Years ago a prominent Southern newspaper boasted that it would not publish poetry at less than a dollar a line. Today no section of the country surpasses our Southland in honoring poets." Dr. C. S. Gardner read a sonnet. A. H. Woodson, speaking on the subject, "More Than a Nature Poet," said: "Cawein was a real poet, therefore a great poet, because there is no mediocrity in the real poet." William W. Thum, in a few appreciative remarks, said: "As a poet, that which characterized Madison Cawein was that which characterizes the poets of all the ages, imagination." Judge George DuRelle, with the subject, "At Sunset," paid the last tribute to the poet. 150 The Death of Cawein 1914, December 18, Louisville Post: Cawein's death due at APOPLEXY. Conclusion reached by physicians who held AUTOPSY ON poet. SkULL NOT FRACTURED. BlOW ON HEAD DUE TO FALL IS BELIEVED TO HAVE CAUSED THE STROKE. Ten Louisville physicians reached the conclusion that the death of Madison Cawein was due to apoplexy, upon holding an autopsy at the undertaking establishment of Schoppenhorst Brothers. The autopsy had been demanded by the Fidelity and Casualty Company when counsel for the widow of the poet made request for payment on an accident insurance policy for $11,500, [for $10,000] payable to Mrs. Cawein. Three physicians who had attended Mr. Cawein had given sworn testimony to Coroner Ellis Duncan, and on this Coroner Duncan had found that the death of Mr. Cawein was due to apoplexy. It was claimed for the widow, through counsel, that Mr. Cawein had suffered a stroke of vertigo or apoplexy, and that his skull was injured when his head struck a bathtub. The post-mortem examination showed that the skull was not fractured, as had been reported, but that there was an abrasion on the head and a large blood clot on the brain. The body had been exhumed for the purpose of the autopsy, which was conducted by Dr. F. S. Graves, pathologist of the University of Louisville and of the City Hospital. Dr. Charles L. Cawein, brother of Madison Cawein; Dr. Henry A. Cottell, his intimate friend, and Dr. Simrall Anderson had signed the death certificate to the effect that death was from apoplexy. However, the family of Mr. Cawein have authorized the statement that, in their opinion, the cerebral hemorrhage found was such as would have been caused by an external blow, as would result when a man would slip and cut his head. It was stated that an external wound was on his head when he was picked up unconscious in the bathroom at his apartments. According to Dr. Cawein, he and other physicians at the examina- tion were of the opinion that the blow on the head was the cause of the apoplectic stroke. Present at the autopsy were: Dr. Ellis Duncan, Dr. Charles L. Cawein, Dr. Henry A. Cottell, Dr. Simrall Anderson, Dr. John K. Freeman, Dr. Lee Baldauff, Dr. James R. Cottell, Dr. F. S. Graves, Dr. C. H. Harris, and Dr. Horace H. Grant. Attorneys E. C. Roy and William W. Thum represent Mrs. Cawein, and the insurance company was represented by Fred Forcht and H. N. Lukins. [The physicians not being unanimous in their opinion as to which came first — the fall or the stroke — the case was compromised and $7,500 paid to the widow.] 151 Madison C aw e i n 1914, December 27, Courier-Journal: Cawein Path and Bridge IN Iroquois dedicated by High School Alumni. Simple exercises incident to the dedication of the Cawein Log Bridge and Cawein Path in Iroquois Park, where the late poet found inspiration for much of his verse, featured the annual midwinter walk of alumni of the Louisville Male High School yesterday afternoon. Icy walks and the cold weather deterred many of the older alumni from joining. Judge Shackelford Miller and Lieutenant Governor Edward J. McDermott sent letters of regret to Professor Reuben Post Halleck, former principal of the High School. Professor Halleck was the originator of the reunion plan and leader of the band of students which started from his home, 11 54 South Third Street, yesterday. From Senning's Park the alumni walked to the top of the hill in Iroquois Park and then through the beech woods, habitual haunts of the poet, to the log bridge, one mile southwest of the hill. In the absence of Mr. McDermott, the address of dedication was delivered by Professor Halleck. He spoke briefly and closed his remarks by reading two verses of Cawein 's "The Whippoorwill." From the bridge the walkers went to the Cawein Walk, located about a mile away. This stretch of walk extends about a half mile through one of the prettiest sections of the park property, and the Board of Park Commissioners has been asked to commemorate the poet's memory by placing signs and notices along its course. Stand- ing beneath an old white oak tree, Norvin Green, vice-president of the alumni association, delivered the dedication address. When he finished the party traversed the entire length of the path. "All of those who went along today were enthusiastically in favor of having another reunion walk next year, and we will seek to select a date when snow and ice will not be around to frighten away the older members," said Professor Halleck last night. [Since 1915 a pilgrimage, under the leadership of Reuben Post Halleck and of Miss Ethel Allen Murphy, leader of the Lyric Club of the Girls' High School, has been made every year, in September, over the Cawein paths. On Sunday, December 12, 1915, the services of the Church of the Messiah were conducted with special features in honor of Mr. Cawein. The Louisville Literary Club, as already shown, set aside its regular program for December 14, 1914, and devoted the evening to paying tributes to the dead poet. On March 21, 1915, the Adath Israel Sisterhood gave a Cawein Memorial Meeting. Since Mr. Cawein's death the Louisville Literary Club has held a Cawein Memorial Meeting every year: December 13, 1915; December 11, 1 916; December 10, 1917; December 13, 1918; December 12, 1919, and December 10, 1920. The meeting in 1920 was held in the Music Room of Mrs. J. B. Speed; the other took place in the Louisville Free Public Library.] 152 The Death of Cawein 19 14, December 18, The New York Times: Editorial in Review of Books. In his brief span of life Madison Julius Cawein, whose death at his home in Kentucky was announced last week, contributed much that was of permanent value to American letters. He was only forty-nine years old when he died, but in his short career^ his fine aims, his practical labors for the cause of letters stimulated the large circle of his personal acquaintances, and formed an appreci- able factor in the literary progress of his generation. Mr. Cawein's first book. Blooms of the Berry, appeared in 1887. Since then he has been a prolific writer, both in prose and verse, the first collected edition of his poems, published in 1907, filling five volumes. In his own particular province, the poet of what has been called the twi- light mood of nature — the mood of moonlight, of whippoorwills, of fireflies, of fairy rings — Mr. Cawein was supreme, touching the reali- ties of this enchanting world of his with a deeper skill and human sympathy than one finds in the more fantastic muse of the author of "The Culprit Fay." For a time, in The Republic, Mr. Cawein wandered from his rightful domain, but in his next volume of verse. Minions of the Moon,. he returned to it with no lessening of his old-time spirituality and delicacy of touch. It is as the poet of nature that he will long be remembered. In this connection it is interesting to learn that his last book, partly prose, partly verse, will soon be published under the title The Poet and Nature. 1914, December 17, New York, The Nation: A Western Nature Poet. The distinction of Madison Cawein, whose death is announced from Louisville, was as the best poet of nature the West has pro- duced, and one of the best in the last generation in America; it was his limitation that he was little but a nature-poet. Of the fact that his work lay virtually in one field the critics have indeed made too much. It is true that his volumes. Myth and Romance, Weeds by the Wall, A Voice on the Wind, Kentucky Poems, Days and Dreams, are all chiefly of nature, often its mythological or romantic associa- tions, but more often purely descriptive — written to render an aesthetic picture. But his descriptions are not purely external or wanting in poetic insight, and their recurrence is far from tiresome. Invited to estimate Cawein's poetry, Mr. Howells tells us he asked, "Why always nature poems? Why not human-nature poems?" "But in seizing upon an objection so obvious that I ought to have known it was superficial, I had wronged a poet who had never 153 Madison Cawein done me harm in the very terms and conditions of his being a poet. I had made his reproach what ought to have been his finest praise, what is always the praise of poetry when it is not artificial and formal. I ought to have said, as I had seen, that not one of his lovely land- scapes in which I could see no human figure but thrilled with a human presence penetrating to it from his most sensitive and subtle spirit until it was all but painfully alive with memories, with regrets, with longings, with hopes, with all that from time to time mutably con- stitutes us men and women, and yet keeps us children." And it could be pointed out that the poet at times stepped suc- cessfully outside the narrower circle. "The Feud" is a dramatic episode of Kentucky; "Ku Klux" is as graphic; there are one or two real dramas, and lyrics in numbers — for Cawein was over-prolific — full of a rather pensive interpretation of youthful romance, with its incidents chosen impartially from Greece, England, the Germany of his ancestors, or Kentucky. To analyze the qualities which made Cawein unique in his des- criptions of Western nature, and discover why, among the Hays, Hoveys, Rileys, Piatts, Fieldses, Maurice Thompsons, he should hold his own place, is an interesting inquiry. No other had either his taste for nature or his exact eye. In this scientific age, when Maeterlinck makes an exhaustive study of the bee an illustration of his poetic philosophy, and Tennyson's successors know not only that ash-buds are black early in March, but many other botanical facts, he was our one distinctive poet-naturalist. Of dittany and the yellow puccoon he has written exactly, of mallow, ironweed, bluet, and jewel-weed, the cohosh, the bell-flower, the oxalis, the Indian-pipe; from his books a manual of Kentucky flora and fauna might be made. He is helped by a sense of the atmosphere of place that pervades his larger landscapes; and by a knack for the felicitous epithet — an in- spiration, Howells remarked, "for the right word, and the courage of it, so that though in the first instant you may be challenged, you may be revolted, by something you thought uncouth, you are pres- ently overcome by the happy bravery of it." Both appear in "The Rain-crow:" Can freckled August — drowsing warm and blonde Beside a wheat-shock in the white-topped mead, In her hot hair the oxeyed daisies wound — O bird of rain, lend aught but sleepy heed To thee? When no plumed weed, no feathered seed Blows by her; and no ripple breaks the pond. That gleams like flint within its rim of grasses. Through which the dragonfly forever passes Like splintered diamond? 154 The Death of Cawein Drought weighs the trees, and from the farmhouse eaves The locust, pulse-beat of the summer day. Throbs; and the lane that shambles under leaves Limp with the heat — a league of rutty way — Is lost in dust; and sultry scents of hay Breathe from the panting meadows heaped with sheaves — Now, now, O bird, what hint is there of rain. In thirsty meadow or on burning plain That thy keen eye perceives? And this brief quotation gives little hint of Cawein's fidelity as a naturalist. Something like this zest for nature we have had from the Merrimac and Hudson — why not more from the Wabash and Mississippi? In explanation of Cawein's narrow vein, the natural theory has been the thinness of the social world about him ; he was driven to nature- verse by the same want of background and history of which Hawthorne complained at an earlier period in the East. But so great is the modern Western solicitude for a poet to express its native social ideals and spirit that the theory hardly holds. What is the glory that is attributed to Riley? That his very sentimentality is the expression of a sectional attribute, that his verse is rooted in the soil by its dialect and content. Piatt's Western Windows were acclaimed because they looked out on real Western life. Hay's Pike County Ballads had historical truth. In reality. Western poetry has been less inclined to neglect history and life for nature than to do the opposite ; and this tendency is today as strong as ever. 1914, December 19, Boston, The Transcript: The impress left UPON American Literature by the late Madison Cawein. By Edward J. O'Brien. The sudden death last Monday of Madison Cawein represents a loss to American literature greater in some respects than the actual poetic merit of his work might seem to merit, for he occupied a significant position as interpreter to the rest of America of certain aspects of life and nature in Kentucky which are rapidly becoming part of a lost tradition, though in their day they did much to influ- ence our national letters. The work in poetry of Madison Cawein is the most successful interpretation of the Middle South's feeling for nature that we have, if we except the novels of James Lane Allen, and they embody a spirit of imaginative fantasy which Mr. Allen's work does not always possess. It is now many years since Mr. Edmund Gosse hailed an English selection of Mr. Cawein's Kentucky Poems as one of the finest 155 Madison Cawein portrayals of landscape that our letters could show. These poems, which probably represent Mr. Cawein's best feeling and expression, are the fine interpretation of a literary pantheism, which may have lacked subtlety, but which never could be said to be insincere in mirroring nature in its most shy and elusive moods. The beauty of wood life to Mr. Cawein meant a return to the old Greek feeling of nature worship, passionately voiced in the wind and in running streams. He felt the sympathy of trees, and made the reader feel the essential wood magic in all its secrecy, in a life peopled with dryads, nymphs and satyrs, cruel and kind alternately as nature is cruel and kind, and jealous of human challenge and invasion. In all his work, implicit in his earliest volumes as well as in the very latest of his fairy plays and poems, the reader was conscious of a childish simplicity which forebore to question nature, and in the continuous search for reality in silent places tended to repudiate, perhaps unhappily for his creative vision, the human passions of his race and time. When these touched him as a man they seldom flowered in infectious poetry, for the contagion of his imaginative persuasiveness was ever reserved for wild life and quiet, secluded haunts. If Mr. Cawein always sought fairyland, it cannot truthfully be said that he found it completely. The fairyland of his poetry is one of doubt and questioning, and the scientific spirit in its earlier manifestations which he never outgrew raised barriers of fact which he never succeeded in penetrating to his satisfaction. I remember a letter to me in which he said, apropos of a poem which he enclosed, that he believed in dryads and fairies but that he had never seen one, as if some apology were necessary for what he had seen imaginatively. He always desired to touch objectively the imaginative beauties of which he had so real a subjective experience. This accounts for the sadness of incomplete achievement which is never absent from his best poetry, a kind of spiritual nostalgia which made him feel that he was born out of his age in a materialistic environment where the old gods might not live and fact continually warred on fancy. Mr. Cawein never revealed a creative imagination which could pierce satisfactorily through the mists of material sub- stance to the essential verities which lay behind them. But his fancy was incomparable and well-nigh inexhaustible in its romantic fecundity. In Kentucky he found an individual landscape which he could people with his fancy, and in this kind of creation he was assisted by an absence of self-conscious environment which is now almost impossible of attainment in the populous countryside of the older countries, by reason of which the passionate nature-poet is so rare in England and our own eastern seaboard today. His peculiar service to our literature was two-fold; he represented our wood-life adequately and sympathetically in charming landscape with a fine 156 The Death of Cawein sense of proportion and detail and he stood to the Middle South as a cultural symbol of attainment, which prompted poetic ambition and inspired in many others notable poetic fulfilment. In the latter capacity, his life in Louisville made him the chief spokesman of Kentucky's literary aspiration, and his comparatively recent election to the National Institute of Arts and Letters reaffirmed this distinction happily and in no uncertain terms. That it was his desire, if not his happy achievement, to express adequately the human striving of our national consciousness toward an adequate democratic fulfilment, the ode published this year in the Proceedings of the National Institute bears conscientious witness. Mr. Cawein's poetry was woven compact of illusion. But it was an illusion of the poet's weaving rather than of the nature which he sought to glorify. He was always a little self-conscious in his attempts at imaginative persuasion. As his work grew older with the years, from the early volumes of a quarter of a century ago to the volume entitled The Poet and Nature and the Morning Road, issued this month, it would almost seem a pageant of the seasons, opening with the fresh, confident pipings of spring, maturing with the growth of the season into the fine luxuriance of summer, which insensibly ripened toward the end into the mellow, calm and thought- ful beauty of Indian summer, suggestive in its fine poetic flavor of much the magic of his early spring. One could never place his poems in a New England setting. They are too accurate in their landscape features for that, and they possess a luxuriance of growth which is alien to the hardihood of our northern climate. His poetry is the poetry of Kentucky, and when he would desert it for fairyland, we find that his fairyland has a Kentucky landscape. Although he saw beauty lightly if lovingly in his earlier work, in his later volumes there was manifest a striving toward a deeper reading of earth than American poetry had previously produced, so that his work took on qualities of reflection and so- briety which made it seem all the more actual in its poetic expression of natural relations. Nature was alive with personalities for him always, but latterly these personalities were invested with their peculiar God-like attributes in a manner which suggested no longer the early blind worship of his heart. The poet's animistic feeling was closely akin to that of nature's other passionate interpreter in our day, Algernon Blackwood. Like Mr. Blackwood, he felt a passionate need of expression for the wor- ship of beauty which possessed him, and this perhaps accounts for the unhappy facility and frequency of his work. Few American poets suffer more from overproduction, and demand so rigorous a selection of poems to define their position. His Complete Poetical Works were issued a few years ago in five large volumes, and since then he has added several volumes to them, all possessing qualities of high distinc- 157 Madison C aw e in tion, and all suffering from indiscriminate inclusiveness. It will be a service of considerable importance to American poetry to cull the best of his poems in a single volume, and thus give his work a chance of a much wider audience than it has hitherto been able to achieve. This is to be said in spite of the previously edited volume of selected poems, which is now obsolete, though entirely adequate for the period which it represents. No estimate of Mr. Cawein's personality and achievement would be complete which neglected to call attention to the poet's fondness for children, whom he endowed with much fairy poetry written from their point of view. His sympathy for children was evinced in his very latest volume, which is entitled The Poet and Nature: What He Saw and What He Heard. It is designed to encourage a love of poetry in children by appealing to their natural sensibilities as they walk through the woods and fields. Madison Cawein earned well the esteem of his generation, and was ever a generous friend to poets and poetry, as well as to litera- ture in its other many-sided aspects. He aimed to be representative, and achieved leadership. Of the many poets Kentucky has produced, some of whom are of considerable distinction, he is the man who will be longest remembered in association with his native State. For he occupied as definite a relation toward it as Whittier occupied toward New England or Joaquin Miller toward California. His imaginative spirit was akin to Keats' in its sensuous appre- hension of reality, but it had qualities of American homeliness which were essentially individual to him, and he never outgrew the fine adventurous self-reliance of the pioneer. Seen in critical perspective by the generation which follows ours, he will probably be adjudged one of the fine interpreters of a vanishing spirit in an otherwise materialistic age. 1914, December 26, London, Athenaeum: Mr. Madison Cawein, whose death is announced in the New York Nation of the tenth instant, was one of the most prolific American poets of the day, and produced over twenty volumes. His work was especially appreciated in his own State of Kentucky. His Kentucky Poems were introduced to the English readers by Mr. Gosse in 1902, and recently his own selection of his verse was published with a foreword by Mr. W. D. Howells. 1914, December, New York, The Poetry Society of America Bulletin: Since the publication of the last Bulletin the Society has suf- fered a great loss in the death of one of its truest poets and most distinguished charter members, Madison Cawein. Mr. Cawein was 158 The Death of Cawein distinctly the creator of his own field. From the publication, in 1887, of his first little volume, Blooms of the Berry, he had made himself the intimate, almost mystic comrade of nature. "God has a few of us whom He whispers in the ear," might be said of him as of Abt Vogler. He had the ecstatic sense of the visible world; the mystery of it, the marvel of it, never left him. Beauty was his religion and he spent his life learning the ways and moods of nature and declaring them in poetry rich with imagination. He had the naturalist's eagerness for truth and one might explore the Kentucky woods and fields with a volume of his poetry as a handbook and find the least-regarded flower minutely and exquisitely celebrated. In his most affluent fancy his eye never left the fact and the accuracy of his observation gives his nature work a background which adds greatly to its value. Not only the phenomena of nature absorbed him, but the tiniest creatures shared in his sympathy and love. The tree-toad and the rain-crow inspired his two most perfect poems, unless it be the twilight moth, gnome-wrought of moonbeam-fluff and gossamer, a poem catch- ing in words that delicacy which words almost profane. Mr. Cawein was in New York for the recent session of the National Institute of Arts and Letters and attended the last meeting of the Poetry Society. His evident ill health was a matter of concern to his friends but no one was prepared for so speedy a termination to a life so rich in beauty and service. For Mr. Cawein's character was one with his art; he had a genius for discovering excellencies and nothing gave him so much joy as some fine achievement on the part of his fellow poets. Indeed a gentler, truer, more generous spirit than that of Madison Cawein could hardly have been found and his life will always be a cherished memory to his friends. The Executive Committee of the Society passed the following resolution: Whereas, the death of Madison Cawein, a charter member of this Society, has brought grief to all friends of poetry, be it there- fore. Resolved, that the Poetry Society of America express its deep regret for this great loss to literature and the personal grief of its members at the departure among them of a man whom they loved. 1915, January i, Chicago, The Dial: Madison Cawein, who died December 8, 1914, at the age of forty-nine, was a poet richly endowed with the gift of interpreting nature in verse. The aspects of nature presented in his verse were those of his native State of Kentucky, where he lived all his life. Exuberantly productive from his early manhood to the time of his premature death, Cawein published more than a score of books of verses. Eight years ago a Complete Edition of his poems, which was published with an introduction by Mr. Edmund Gosse, required 159 Madison Cawein five substantial volumes. Since then the additions to his poetic produce have been considerable. A selection of his poems with a sympathetic preface by Mr. William Dean Howells was recently published. 191 5> January 2, New York, Collier's Weekly: Kentucky has LOST HER POET. In the passing of Madison Cawein, one of this country's sweetest voices is hushed. Cawein shared the lot of earlier Southern poets in never achieving a nation-wide popularity. Sweet Sixteen did not paste his verses in her scrapbook, ardent undergraduates did not quote him, clubs of idle women never searched for his concealed meanings. Neither did national topics nor pulsing human passions move him to such quick response as did Nature — the world of birds and bees, of apple blossoms and wood violets. He was a child of the Wordsworthian tradition. But, as Mr. Howells once said, though his landscape might contain no human figure, it "thrilled with a human presence." In seven lines Cawein summed up a large part of his own philosophy [From "Epilogue" Minions of the Moon]: Could we attain that Land of Faerie, Here in the flesh, what starry certitudes Of loveliness were ours! what mastery Of beauty and the dream that still eludes! What clearer vision ! Ours were then the key To Mystery, that Nature jealously Locks in her heart of hearts among the woods. In the flesh he came close to attainment of that enchanted domain. In the spirit he still leads on toward those starry certitudes. 1915, January, Chicago. Poetry — A Magazine of Verse: The death of Madison Cawein, which occurred on the eighth of December in Louisville, is a deep grief to his many friends and admirers. Born at Louisville in 1865, he was still a young man when Mr. Howells' warm greeting of his first book of verse gave him an authoritative introduction to American readers. Since then he has published many small volumes, which were united in 1907 in his Complete Poetical Works (five volumes). Three years later Mr. Howells reaffirmed his early praise of the poet in an introduction to a volume of selections. 160 The Death of Cawein This is not the moment to attempt a critical review of Madison Cawein's work. Many of his poems have been much quoted and dearly loved, and time, no doubt, will select a few for permanent honor in the anthologies of American song. Meantime we can only regret his too early death, and recall the gracious charm, the fine gentleness of his character. Poetry is fortunate in being able to offer to its readers one of his most recent poems, "The Troubadour." 1915, January, New York. The Writer's Bulletin: Madison Cawein. One day in the early past summer, the editor of The Writer's Bulletin came to her office to find two poets awaiting her — Clinton Scollard, an old poet friend, who had brought Madison Cawein, of Louisville, Kentucky, to make a call while visiting in the city, being briefly in New York to attend a gathering of poets. It was pleasant to meet Madison Cawein, a man of small, slight stature, with eyes that twinkled as though a sense of humor was not lacking in the poet's make-up, a face of sweet expression, a hand-clasp sincere, and a friendliness for all who followed his craft that showed itself plainly as he chatted of his work and the work of other poets. Now Madison Cawein has left us. Since the last issue of the Bulletin went to press we have received news of his passing on. Madi- son Cawein did not live to see a bound copy of his latest book of verse, just now come from the press, bearing the double title of The Poet and Nature and the Morning Road, the latter part of the title being that of a poem which first appeared in the May, 19 14, issue of The Writer's Bulletin. In this last book of Madison Cawein's there are poems representing his earlier work as well as those of his riper art, and so much that is personal as to constitute a poetic autobiography. Madison Cawein was one with the spirit of nature, following her understandingly everywhere, loving every living thing, seeing with eyes eager for truth. In "The Morning Road" perhaps the poet shows more of that subtle sense of things half hidden from mortal eyes than in any of his poems. It is the very essence of the mysticism of nature. We here reprint this lovely poem for the benefit of those true poetry lovers who may not have seen the poem when we first presented it: The Morning drew a shawl Of rosy lace around her, And by the wood's high wall Stood smiling, bright and tall. When I, who heard her call, Went forth and found her. 161 Madison C aw e in Upon the sun-kissed hill, And in the vale below, She laid a daffodil, Golden and chaste and still. And on the water-mill A rose of snow. She said: "At last you've come, And left the world's carouse. The palace and the slum ; No more shall soul be dumb; I'll show you your new home, A pleasant house." She took me by the heart. And led a magic way. By paths that are a part Of Faeryland, and start From the forgotten mart Of Yesterday. And when we'd gone a mile. She pointed me a place Where overhung a smile; And on its sill and stile A promise, without guile, As of a face. And in the doorway there, A baby at her breast. One stood, quite young and fair, Peace, with the golden hair. Peace, that knows naught of care, But only rest. I knew at once 'twas she, For whom all mortals long. Who with Simplicity, And Faith, that's sweet to see, Dwells, guarding constantly Her child named Song. She bade me enter in ; Sit by her quiet fire; Forget the world of din. And, safe from hate and sin, With her and Song to win My heart's desire. 162 The Death of C awe in 1914, December 12, Louisville Evening Post: [Current Opinion, New York, February, 191 5: "There are gains for all our losses." The death of Madison Cawein is a distinct loss to America — he was still in the forties — but a death that inspires such a beautiful elegy as the following, by Miss Anderson, published in the Louisville Evening Post, cannot be viewed as a total loss.] "Madison Cawein, 1865-1914," by Margaret Steele Anderson. The wind makes moan, the water runneth chill; I hear the nymphs go crying through the brake; And roaming mournfully from hill to hill The maenads all are silent for his sake! He loved thy pipe, O wreathed and piping Pan! So play'st thou sadly, lone within thine hollow; He was thy blood, if ever mortal man. Therefore thou weepest — yea, and thou, Apollo! But O, the grieving of the Little Things, Above the pipe and lyre, throughout the woods! The beating of a thousand airy wings. The cry of all the fragile multitudes! The moth flits desolate, the tree-toad calls, Telling the sorrow of the elf and fay; The cricket, little harper of the walls, Puts up his harp — hath quite forgot to play ! And risen on these winter paths anew. The wilding blossoms make a tender sound; The purple weed, the morning-glory blue. And all the timid darlings of the ground! Here, here the pain is sharpest! For he walked As one of these — and they knew naught of fear, But told him daily happenings and talked Their lovely secrets in his list'ning ear! Yet we do bid them grieve, and tell their grief; Else were they thankless, else were all untrue ; O wind and stream, O bee and bird and leaf. Mourn for your poet, with a long adieu! 163 Madison C aw e in 1914, December 16, New York Sun: "In Memory of Madison Cawein," by Clinton Scollard, [In a letter to me Mr. Scollard, commenting on the following poem, wrote: "As we bade one another good-bye in New York Madison said 'Till Spring, Clinton, Till Spring' * * * and a few days later I heard of his death."] Ah, who, ah, who may understand The secrets veiled from mortal eye? But yesterday I held his hand, And said, "Goodbye!" "Goodbye till Spring!" And now, and now, When no flowers bloom, and no birds sing, And wild winds sway the barren bough, For him 'tis Spring. Beauty he worshiped as a creed. Of life the ever vital part; He held to it in word and deed. In aim and art. His spirit was as pure as air; His nature tender and yet strong; And all things lovely, all things fair. Live in his song. But yesterday I held his hand. And said "Goodbye!" Ah bitter sting! And yet I know, in some far land, With him 'tis Spring! 164 VII THE CAWEIN FAMILY Dr. William Cawein, father of Madison Cawein, was born in Miihlhofen, Rhenish Palatinate, Germany, December ii, 1827; about 1853 he came to Louisville, direct form Germany, and died in Louisville, March 7, 1901. He was a son of Daniel Cawein and Catherine Bangert. Catherine Bangert was a daughter of Jacob Bangert and Anna Maria Herancour. Anna Maria Herancour was a daughter of William Herancour, a granddaughter of Paul Herancour and a great-granddaughter of Jean de Herancour who emigrated, in 1685, from Paris, France, to Miihlhofen, Germany, where many of his descendants still live. Daniel Cawein and his wife, Catherine Bangert, were the parents of eight children, all of whom were born in Miihlhofen, and all of whom, except Jacob and Anna Maria, emigrated to America: 1 Jacob Cawein, who married Minnie Nutzloch. 2 Anna Maria Cawein, who married Henry Bantz. 3 John Cawein, who married Louise R. Stelsly, and among whose children were Mrs. Louise (Charles G.) Roth and Mrs. Ida K. (George W.) Bardin. Charles G. Roth was the father of Charles G. and John C. Roth. 4 Dr. William Cawein who married Christiana Stelsly, and among whose children was Madison Cawein, 5 Philip Cawein, who married Lena Miller. 6 Daniel Cawein, who married Julia Stelsly; they were the parents of Frederick W. Cawein and Mrs. Rose (William) Osborne. 7 Eva Cawein, who never married. 8 Elizabeth Cawein, who married Robert Rissie. Mrs. William Cawein, mother of Madison Cawein, was born June 22, 1839. She lived in Louisville practically all of her life, and died in Philadelphia, March 19, 191 1. She was a daughter of John G. Stelsly (or Stelsley) and his wife, Rosina, natives of Swabia, Wur- temberg, Germany. The National Cyclopedia of American Biography, 165 Madison C aw e in published in 1898, says: "Madison Cawein's maternal grandfather was a German officer of cavalry who served in Napoleon's later campaigns, and afterwards, when the last determined effort was made to lift the French yoke from the neck of Europe, under the King of Wurtemberg. On his honorable discharge from the army, he emigrated to America, with his wife, and lived first in Ohio and Indiana, and later in Louisville, where Mr. Cawein's mother was born." Mr. and Mrs. John G. Stelsly were the parents of seven children. It is said by some of their descendants that the oldest of the Stelsly children was born in Germany, and the others in Ohio or Indiana. Another version has it that all of the children were born in America and that the younger ones were born in Kentucky. According to Madison Cawein's version his mother was born in Louisville : 1 Catherine Stelsly, who, after the death of her first husband, George F. Sigel, married William M. Walker. 2 Louise R. Stelsly, who married John Cawein. 3 Carrie Stelsly, who married John Kohlepp. 4 Christiana, or Christina, who married Dr. William Cawein, and among whose children was Madison Cawein. After the death of Dr. Cawein she married J. Henry Doerr. 5 Jacob Stelsly, who died in 1854, aged eleven years. 6 Julia Stelsly, who married Daniel Cawein. 7 John Stelsly, who married Carrie Wunch. Dr. William Cawein and Christiana Stelsly, the parents of Madison Cawein, were married in Louisville, November 22, 1855, by Reverend Charles L. Daubert, with George Jacob Stork and Josephine Freyhoefer acting as groomsman and bridesmaid. Thus three of the Cawein brothers married three of the Stelsly sisters. Dr. and Mrs. William Cawein were the parents of six children: 1 Lula R. Cawein, born February 16, 1857, and died in infancy. 2 John Daniel Cawein, born 1858, married Laura Hickson, died 1916; no children. 3 William Conrad Cawein, born 1861, never married, died 1919. 4 Dr. Charles Lee Cawein, born 1863, who married Emily Girdler, and who are the parents of Charles G. Cawein. 5 Madison Julius Cawein, born March 23, 1865, died December 8, 1914; married June 4, 1903, to Gertrude F. McKelvey who was born December 8, 1873, and died April 16, 1918. They were the parents of Preston Hamilton Cawein who was born in Louisville March 18, 1904, and whose name was officially changed, in 191 7, to Madison Cawein — Madison Cawein II. 6 Lilian Louise Cawein, born 1867, married John F. Behney, died 1912; no children. 166 VIII A POSTHUMOUS AUTOBIOGRAPHY In his letters to his friends Cawein reveals intimate glimpses of his personality and of his life and works. Those here published — some quoted in full, others in part — are arranged in chronological order and presented under the arbitrary caption, "A Posthumous Autobiography." Cawein kept no copies of letters he wrote, nor preserved any data pertaining to them. Furthermore, having destroyed, given away or otherwise disposed of practically all of the letters he received, there remained very little to indicate with whom he had corresponded. In order to procure some written by him an open appeal was made through the columns of the Louisville press, The Bulletin of the Poetry Society of America, Poetry — a Magazine of Verse, and The Mississippi Valley Historical Review. These published notices, supplemented by personal inquiry among his friends or their literary executors, resulted in the submission of more than 400 of his letters. A perusal of them showed that they touched on practically every important act and angle of his life known to me through other sources. The letters submitted may be far from the total number written; they neverthe- less offered ample material for the compilation of an autobiography. It is quite probable that more letters would have served simply to add to the sidelights, or to verify and amplify some of the facts here quoted. Cawein little suspected that by writing a little news to this or to that friend, or by giving some comments on this or on that subject, he was, month after month and year after year, for twenty-eight years, recording material, much of which would be assembled and some day published. No one, as far as is known, preserved all of the letters received from Cawein. Robert E. Lee Gibson, of St. Louis, kept about 200, but it is evident that he did not save all. Their correspondence began in July, 1893, when Mr. Gibson wrote regarding some of his own poems. A few years later the two men met for the first time, and thereafter frequently visited each other. They carried on a more or 167 Madison C aw e in less active correspondence up to the time of Mr. Cawein's death — a period of about twenty years. They were the truest of friends. Mr. Cawein had many admirers, but if any one among them may be said to have set him upon the highest pedestal, Mr. Gibson is that one. Mr. Gibson was a native of Missouri and spent most of his time in St. Louis. He was born in 1864 and died in 1917. For many years he was an official of the St. Louis City Insane Asylum. He wrote several books of poems. Many of his poems were submitted to Mr. Cawein before they were offered for publication. The discussions pertaining to them form a considerable part of their correspondence. Only a few of Mr. Cawein's criticisms and comments on Mr. Gibson's poems are here quoted; these are typical of the many others. Had Mr. Gibson preserved all of his letters and kept notes on his conversa- tions with the poet, a complete life of Cawein, in all probability, could have been compiled based on these two sources alone. More than one-half the correspondence here quoted was written to Mr. Gibson. Mr. Gibson's collection of Cawein letters contains not only the largest number, but is also the most complete in the sense that he saved a greater percent than any other person. Less than about one- third are missing. From the standpoint of completeness every col- lection known to me has its own peculiar features. The John Fox, Jr. collection extends from 1888, its beginning, down to about 1894, although the two men exchanged many letters after that year. On the other hand there are no letters to James Whitcomb Riley earlier than 1897, or about five years after Mr. Cawein began writing to the Hoosier poet. The intimacy that existed between Mr. Cawein and the persons to whom he wrote can be judged by the contents of the letters, but not by the numbers here noted — except in the case of Mr. Gibson, to whom he wrote the greatest number and the most intimate letters. For example, Clinton Scollard, of New York, one of his best friends, is represented by only one letter, Dr. Henry Van Dyke, Eric Pape and Edmund Clarence Stedman by only a few, and Edmund Gosse by none at all. Mr. Cawein seldom wrote to his friends in his home town, for spending most of his time in Louisville and its immediate vicinity, he saw them often. Nor are there any letters to Mrs. Cawein, before or after her marriage. Before he met or began to court the girl who became his wife, he sent a number of love poems, or rather letter-poems to some of his young women friends. It would seem quite probable from his ardent imagination and poetry that he also wrote a few love letters in prose. None, however, has been submitted. Furthermore, no person in- terviewed by me recalled ever receiving from the poet what might be termed an attempt at a love letter in prose. A number received letter- poems that evidently were intended as love notes expressing personal 168 A Posthumous Autobio graphy admiration for the persons to whom they were sent. Telephones were not in general use until about the year 1895, and the writing of long and short messages, on any and all subjects, was therefore a common practice. During the ten years following his graduation from high school, 1 886-1 896, he called on many of his girl friends. His calls, I infer, were about as numerous as those of any other normal young man, but his written messages were either an expression of admira- tion in the form of verse, or a serious letter in prose on the subject of literature. No early notes or letters, other than the few here quoted, are known to have been preserved. One is led to surmise that most, if not all, of his early notes were prompted far more by an interest in the promoting of poetry than in the making of love. The adage that "every man has had more than one love affair" applies to Mr. Cawein. He himself wrote in the Questionnaire prepared for Mr. Thum that he had had "several love affairs," but only "one supreme one." The indications are that it was in his poems and letter-poems — not in his prose notes or letters — that he gave expression to the love that dwelt in his heart. Many of his early published poems show he had more than a passing acquaintance with Cupid. With the exception of a few there is nothing to indicate to what persons these love poems were dedicated. Mr. Cawein was thirty-two years of age when, in 1897, he began his first courtship with Miss Gertrude F. McKelvey, a girl eight years younger than himself, and to whom he was married in 1903, after overcoming various rivals. If she received any letters from him — other than a few notes relative to engagements — they were not pre- served. She, however, saved eighteen of the poems that were written on his personal stationery, in his own hand and dedicated "To Ger- trude." All were published in his books within a year or two after they were presented to her. For the benefit of the reader who may wish to study the poet as a lover through the poems that are definitely identified as some written to the girl who became his wife, their titles and dates are here given. 1897: November 16, There Was a Rose; December 7, Carissima Mea. 1898; January 29, Why Should I Pine? February 2, When Lydia Smiles; March 29, Witnesses; April 20, The Artist; April — , Will You Forget; May 6, In May; May 13, Restraint; May 26, Words; June ii. Reason; August 26, Evasion; September 21, Her Portrait; October 3, Transubstantiation; My Lady of Verne. 1900: March 12, Reed Call for April; August 20, Love and Loss. 1901: Meeting and Parting. All of Mr. Cawein's early letters and some of his later ones are signed "M. J. Cawein" or "Madison J. Cawein." His first four books and his poems published in newspapers and magazines previous to about 1891 include the "J" in his name. When he was about twenty- 169 Madison C awe in six years old he discontinued using the "J" i" ^is name as a writer. This change was made at the suggestion of WilHam Dean Howells who called his attention to the fact that there would be more euphony and a stronger brevity for the public effect in the name "Madison Cawein" than in "Madison J. Cawein." He always retained the "J" in his signature to business documents. This posthumous autobiography is compiled from letters selected from among those written by Cawein to the following persons: Thomas Bailey Aldrich, Boston; John F. Behney, Philadelphia; Mary E. Cardwill, New Albany, Indiana; Frederick W. Cawein, Louisville; [Indianapolis, temporarily]; Madison (formerly Preston H.) Cawein II, Louisville; Dr. Henry A. Cottell, Louisville; Mrs. Lillian Sweet Ditto, Louisville; Mrs. M. P. Ferris, New York; Bert Finck, Louisville; John Fox, jr.. Red Oak, Ky. and Big Stone Gap, Virginia; Robert E. Lee Gibson, St. Louis; Leigh Gordon Giltner, Eminence and Lexington; J. Russell Hayes, Swathmore, Pennsylvania; William Dean Howells, Boston and New York; Thomas S. Jones, Jr., New York; * Mrs. Richard W. Knott, Louisville; Anna Blanche McGill, Louisville; Walter Malone, Memphis; Harriet Monroe, Chicago; Harrison S. Morris, Philadelphia; Ethel Allen Murphy, Louisville; Charles Hamilton Musgrove, Louisville; Eric Pape, Gloucester and Manchester, Massachusetts; John L. Patterson, Louisville; Harvey Peake, New Albany, Indiana; Cale Young Rice, Louisville; James Whitcomb Riley, Indianapolis; Jessie B. Rittenhouse, New York; Jenny Loring Robbins, Louisville; Theodore Roosevelt, Washington, D. C; Algernon Rose, Authors' Club, London; Charles G. Roth, St. Paul ; Lucien V. Rule, Goshen and Louisville; Clinton Scollard, New York; Hubert G. Shearin, Lexington and Los Angeles; Mrs. Elvira Sydnor Miller (Wm. H.) Slaughter, Louisville; Mrs. Fanny Stone (F. V.) Smith, Louisville; 170 A Posthumous Autobio graphy Edmund Clarence Stedman, New York; Mrs. Laura Stedman (George M.) Gould, Atlantic City; Ivan Swift, Little Traverse Bay, Michigan; Edmund W. Taylor, Frankfort; Charles Hanson Towne, New York; John Wilson Townsend, Lexington; Mrs. Alicia Keisker (Albert) Van Buren, Louisville; Henry Van Dyke, Princeton, New Jersey; Mrs. Charlotte O. (J. L.) Woodbury, Louisville; Stark Young, Austin, Texas. It may be well to record the names of persons who in response to the open appeal or a personal note reported that they had received a few letters from Cawein, but had misplaced, lost or destroyed them. In their notes they praised Cawein and manifested an interest in this effort to compile a book on his life: J. Bernhard Alberts, Louisville; Henry Mills Alden, Metuchen, New Jersey; James Lane Allen, New York; Young E. Allison, Louis- ville; Margaret Steele Anderson, Louisville; Matthew Page Andrews, Baltimore; William Archer, London; George A. Babbit, Brownsboro (si:: miles from Crestwood), Kentucky; Mrs. Emma Hanson Bartmess, Yonkers, New York; Robert W. Brown, Louisville; Mrs. Ida Cawein (George W.) Bardin, Louisville; Mrs. Evelyn Snead (Ira S.) Barnett, .Louisville, Henry Adams Bellows, Minneapolis; Arthur Christopher Benson, Cambridge, England; Mrs. Samuel J. Boldrick, Louisville; John Burroughs, Roxbury, New York; George Lee Burton, Louisville, Richard Burton, Minneapolis; Mrs. Emma N. Carleton, New Albany, Indiana; Dr. Charles L. Cawein, Louisville; Florence Earle Coates, Philadelphia; Irvin S. Cobb, New York; Mr. and Mrs. Charles Dou- ville Coburn, New York; Timothy Cole, New York; Josiah Henry Combs, Hindman, Kentucky; Ingram Crockett, Henderson, Kentucky; Mrs. Katharine Whipple Dobbs, Louisville; J. Marvin Eddy, Louis- ville; Maurice Francis Egan, Brooklyn; Edmund H. Eitel, Indianapolis; Mrs. Sara Teasdale (E. B.) Felsinger, New York; William H. Field, New York; Mrs. Lida Waters (Charles Alexander) Fiske, Louisville; Hamlin Garland, New York; Marion Forster Gilmore, Louisville; Mrs. Hester Higbee (William) Geppert, New York; Abbie Carter Goodloe, Louisville; Edmund Gosse, London; John P. Grant, Louisville; Charles T. Greve, Cincinnati; Edith H. Griffiths, Ocean Springs, Mississippi; Louise Imogen Guiney, Oxford, England; RalphT. Hale, Boston; Credo Harris, Louisville; Mrs. Theodore Harris, Versailles, Kentucky; Will S. Hays, Louisville; Anna Logan Hopper, Louisville; W. T. H. Howe, Cincinnati; Robert Underwood Johnson, New York; Edward 171 Madison Cawein A. Jonas, Louisville; James B, Kenyon, New York; Joyce Kilmer, Larchmont, New York; Mrs. Hortense Flexner (Wyncie) King, Louisville; Dr. Henry H. Koehler, Louisville; Andrew Lang, London; Richard le Gallienne, Rowayton, Connecticut; Mark H. Liddell, Louisville, and Lafayette, Indiana; Edwin Carlisle Litsey, Lebanon, Kentucky; Amy M. Longest, Greenville, Kentucky; Sam McKee, New York; Mrs. Anna M. (John F.) McKelvey, Louisville; Edward J. McDermott, Louisville; Josephine McGill, Louisville; Isaac F. Marcosson, Louisville and New York; Edwin Markham, New York; Virginia May, Louisville; George Meredith, London; Mrs. AHce Meynell, London; Joaquin Miller, Oakland, California; William Vaughn Moody, New York; David Morton, Louisville and Morris- town, New Jersey; Meredith Nicholson, Indianapolis; Alfred Noyes, Princeton, New Jersey; Thomas Nelson Page, Washington, D. C; H. H. Peckham, Hiram, Ohio; Herman Rave, New Albany, Indiana; Lizette W. Reese, Baltimore, Maryland; Mrs. Abby Meguire (Neill) Roach, Louisville; Edwin Arlington Robinson, Peterboro, New Hampshire; Harrison Robertson, Louisville; Henry C. Semple, Louisville; George T. Settle, Louisville; Frank Dempster Sherman, New York; Frederick F. Sherman, New York; Mrs. Hattie Bishop (J. B.) Speed, Louisville; R. C. Ballard Thruston, Louisville; Adrienne Thum, Louisville; Patty Thum, Louisville; William W. Thum, Louisville; Ridgely Torrence, Xenia, Ohio and New York; Mrs. Jessie Lemont (Hans) Trausill, New York; W. P. Trent, New York; Mrs. Rose M. de Vaux-Royer, New York; W. H. Venable, Cincinnati; Lewis A. Walter, Louisville; Henry Watterson, Louisville, and Robert Burns Wilson, Frankfort, Kentucky. It may be well to record also the names of persons to whom personal notes were written asking for letters and other data, but from whom no replies were received: Bliss Carman, New Caanan, Connecticut; George H. Ellwanger, Rochester, New York; Nicholas Vachel Lindsay, Springfield, Illinois; Edgar Lee Masters, Chicago; Edward J. O'Brien, Bass River, Massachusets; Arthur Symons, Wittersham, England, and Sir William Watson, London. Only such letters, or parts thereof, that in my opinion bore directly or indirectly on the poet's history and his interest in literature, were copied. The selections made are presented verbatim. Personal and trivial matters are omitted. With few exceptions no letters contained statements of a strictly private character. Subjects pre- sented are given in full; omissions do not bear on what precedes or follows. All letters are in Cawein 's own hand, and, unless otherwise indicated, were sent from Louisville. 172 A Posthumous Autobiography They are in the form of chats written in a free conversational style; and, being a serious-minded man, he treated practically all subjects, in a more or less serious manner. In their simplicity of style and sincerity of purpose they are unique. They reveal the story of his aspirations and achievements and of his realized and un- fulfilled hopes, and show that his life was one of hard and constant work linked with joys and sorrows. They bring many of his friends to us. They tell the story of his life. Among many other things they are evidences of his interest in and encouragement of other writers, especially unknown writers, who submitted their MSS. and books of poems to him. It is not purposed to discuss any of Cawein's letters, nor the various bypaths into which they lead. It may be well, however, to comment on the fact that his earliest, so far known, was written about two weeks before he finished high school, and that in it he reveals the poetic within him and consciously or unconsciously charted the literary life he actually pursued up to the day of his death. 1886, May 30. Miss Fanny Stone: You may have some dim recollection of a certain youth, who, after undergoing the form of an introduction, was kindly granted the enjoyment of your company for some few hours. That youth, whether his face remains pleasantly or unpleas- antly in your mind, whether his memory be agreeable or otherwise, takes the liberty of addressing to you a few lines(?) challenging the censure of a frown, or the approval of a smile, but in hopes that it may be the latter. My dear Miss Stone, after enjoying the harmony of your company at the before-mentioned picnic [High School picnic in Central Park] and being pleased with the gentleness of your manners, the openness, I might say the frankness, of your countenance, in an idle moment, contrary to all the forms of etiquette, I have undertaken the writing to you of a sort of social letter, perhaps, as I have remarked, to while away an hour, or to make an acquaintance so happily begun more enduring. I am trusting to the gentleness of your disposition for the pardon of my boldness in this, as I remarked, breach of etiquette, and for the smothering of all censure which may arise. After having made such excuses and begged the indulgence of your kindness to what may appear merely dull and trite I launch into the body of my letter. From the neighboring church I hear the hymn swelling Godward in all the holiness of devotion. It is Sunday. A languor steals over my senses, such a languor as that was that hushed the brooding soul of the mighty Byron when on Lake Lemon mid the Alps in the storm and in the night, when "from peak to peak the rattling crags among 173 Madison Cawein leapt the live thunder" he cried out to the angry tempest, the bellow- ing mountains and the rainy night, — "Most glorious night! Thou wert not sent for slumber! let me be a sharer in thy fierce and far delight — a portion of the tempest and of thee!" That last line [eight words] is majestic, beautiful and sublime. Think of being a portion of the war of the elements and riding on the living lightnings, mid the shoutings of the thunder. But such is not for me; my feeling is quite different, one of an indescribable listlessness, the opposite of that given by the bard just quoted: I seem floating on the odor of the roses, honeysuckles and syringas that quiver around me as I write at the open window. Such I feel a mere portion of the universe a dancing sunspark wand'ring mid the million leagues of profound space, a pulse of existence, an atom in a world of ether, a grain on the far rolling shores of a majestic sea. Has it ever been your lot. Miss Stone, when beholding the mighty sun slowly setting behind the purple hills of the West through long ribs of clouds that bar the horizon, how gorgeously they become tricked in glorious and fanciful raiment of airy hues — gold, burning gold and silver, opal, ruby, emerald, topaz, onyx and jasper on a wide flashing slope of sapphire — emblem of the transit from the darkness of one world to the beauty and light of another? Of course I am not a preacher and never intend being such; do not for a moment suppose from my letter I make any pretensions to the clergy, I am but a youth who is the devout worshiper of a god that plants his footsteps on the waters, and breathes in the tempest; I am one who knows but the church of nature, whose dome is the everlasting forests, whose columns are the columns of mighty trees, and whose aisles are the far and fair vistas of wild flowered woodlands. With me the clash of parties and the world's confusion pass unheeded. I am a disinterested spectator. You read and think I am strange; I suppose I am, but I am a lover of solitude, and hence I despise baseball, etc., and can you blame me? Nature has few enough worshipers, don't you think so? Some must turn aside from the wordly pleasures to the pleasures scattered profusely at the feet of man and cull ; shall nature waste the fragrance of all her roses on the desert air? I hear your faint "no," — and bow submissive. Watch nature and you will learn to love her, to marvel, as I do — at her workings from her passage as the daisy- spangled beauty of Spring fresh in her new green gown to the spotless ermine of ice-bearded Winter. But stay — you must excuse me again, for I have spoken such as I have spoken in reverence of the day. You deem me peculiar, and so I am. I have my fits of melan- choly and happiness, perhaps, just as you have, only they may be more decided and bold in my case than yours. For instance, I do not think that you would weep at hearing a soft, sad and haunting piece of music breathing sorrow, despair and death in its every note; I do not think that you would weep, at least 174 A Posthumous Autobiography not materially but spiritually, as I would — my soul might weep whereas the rhythmic passion would have but little effect on the ex- ternal physical body. Music is one of the greatest pleasures or passions with me, as, perhaps, it may be with you. I have often picked up a shell from the sea-side and laying the delicate pinky labyrinth of its pearly mouth to my ear listened to the rush of a "mystical melody," and at such a time my brain has shaped its song to such a rhyme fashioning love, disappointment and despair, despair such as finds rest only in the grave : A nymph rose from the sea, Dim, oozy locks had she Pushed back by diadem of sparkly foam, Wherein there shone three pearls Full moony mid her curls; She saw full fair thro' ocean's moonlit gloom — Ah, woe and woe is me! My lover wantonly This dripping syren stole to her deep home. Thus spake my shell to me, and you if you care may take up any chambered nautilus of your collection of shells and hear the same sad refrain if you choose. The verse is original with me, for I thought why should this shell murmur unless there was some sorrow unspeak- able, inexpressible, that weighed down the dim recesses of its soul and waned the blush that tinged the beauty of its lips; and so I unconsciously wrought the rhyme which I subject to your decision whether it is appropriate or not, and you must let me know, verbally or writtenly. I cannot say why I have written to you. Perhaps it may be simply to unburden my thoughts, and that you would be the most fitting receptacle for them. My letter, I hope, will find favor in your eyes now that your school is closed and there is nothing to mar the serenity of the soul. I hope that it will serve you the pleasure of a few moments as it has served me the happiness of a half hour, and that under favorable conditions you will reply. Sincerely yours, Madison J. Cawein. [Mrs. Fannie Stone Smith in an interview with me, said that when this letter was written she was too young to receive boy callers and therefore did not answer it, but thanked Mr. Cawein when, a few weeks later, she met him by chance on the street.] 1886, September 28. Miss Elvira Sydnor Miller: Your unexpected letter was indeed a surprise to me — an agreeable surprise — to say nothing of the pleasure 175 Madison C aw e in afforded in its perusal. I must thank you again and again for the kind wishes expressed, and feel only too happy to know that my poor verses have, perhaps unmeritingly, found approbation in your eyes, an approbation of which they well may feel proud. But in your letter, you, I think, expressed somewhat of displeasure, or not so much pleasure, in my verses on the myths of ancient Greece and Rome, as in my latter two. Such a dislike is not unnatural; as these myths have been so hackneyed that the trituration of centuries of authors has about worn the fabric to a tissue through which one may behold the baseness. To all Americans, however, poems or sketches of their own country, their own manners, customs, etc., their own men and women, as you have remarked, are more preferable, for the bare reason that such are more original in a novelty which is alien to the Old World. That which is most original will survive the longest; and the sources of wild beauties of our own country are myriad, hence, why should we, like mendicant friars, trudge begging among the misty abodes of Europe, gathering up the same old materials gathered up a half cen- tury ago to combine them in the same old use in which they were combined fifty years ago? This is absurd! We may turn to the rising — or rather risen — poet of Kentucky — Robert B. Wilson : — here we may behold the subtleties that lie dormant all around us as they appear when laid upon the anvil of his intellect and subjected to the sledge of genius. But, however this may be, one, who has delved in the classics as I have — surely, it is true, super- ficially — may find them at times very enticing and fascinating, and wielding a power over you like that of the wand of Prospero. Hence at times I have found myself seated scribbling about the same old worn-out pitiable puppets that Homer and Virgil wrought at, and about which a hundred successive bards have written, especially the English, of whom we may mention Dobson, Lang, Gosse, etc. Tenny- son and Longfellow touched them occasionally, but not to sully the whiteness of the Parian as many, myself included, minor bards after them have done, but to add additional beauty and grace to their pureness. But enough. I suppose you weary of my lengthy letter, but I somehow forgot myself and have run on farther than I intended. I have found much to admire in every poem you have written and much to think over, and it is always a pleasure to me to happen upon one of your productions which I can enjoy as much as any poem of Ingelow, Browning or Rossetti, for "like angel visits few and far between" they are the more welcome and the more to be appreciated. Hoping that your literary life, already so auspiciously entered upon, may develop beyond the expectation of your dreams — for what poet has not his dreams — I am, most sincerely yours, Madison J. Cawein. 176 A Posthumous Autobiography 1887, June 20. Miss Lillian Sweet: Forgive me if I again embarrass you with the present of a book; however, the mere fact that I wish you to enjoy the beauties of Tennyson as I have, will afford sufficient justification for the action. Read him and you will love him, for every poem is a precious gem. I glanced over the volume to refresh my memory a little; it is not complete, as you will perceive, but contains all of his happiest lyrics. The serenade in "Maud" haunts me still, especi- ally that verse, — I have it by heart, — that says: "Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls. Come hither, the dances are done; In gloss of satins and glimmer of pearls, Queen Lily and Rose in one; Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls. To the flowers and be their sun." * * * 1887, June 28. Miss Lillian Sweet: I am afraid that I astonished, if not offended you last Sunday with the vapidity and stupidity of my talk, and therefore must tender you an apology and crave forgiveness. I do not often get that way, believe me, and when I do it may be ascribed to obvious causes producing diverse effects — e. g. the atmospheres, especially when impregnated with a great amount of dust, or ozone, the aroma of trees or flowers, ideas which have just originated through recent readings, music and, last and most potent, by the presence of the other sex. You will admit, after this free and fraternal confession, that I am a most peculiar being, one who is not worthy of the favor conferred upon him in acquaintanceship, being, unwittingly however, not appreciative of it. Considering the circumstances, you, I know, will not wonder at this, ascribing much to the poetical temperament, if I have any, and to the ebullitions of a person who is rapidly becoming aged and grey-haired. "A thing of beauty is a joy forever," Keats says in his "Endy- mion," and in juxtaposition to this we may say that a thing of horror is a horror forever; so must it have been to you in my persistent return to the conversation concerning — shall I say it — yes, though it may astonish you as much as a shock from a Leyden jar might — frogs; you will forgive me though the word be as a sounding cuff on the hearing of your ears. Yet, I am foolish, you must admit this, Miss Lillian, I am exceedingly foolish, if not fantastic, at times. "Dear me! what a world we live in," I hear you exclaim; but don't you believe it, for seriousness isn't often a part of myself. I may not be serious now, for all you know, but merely oscillating between two 177 Madison Cawein moods, sunshine and shadow, or fun and fear. You say you do not know how to take me, understand me? Well do not attribute any- thing I say, in any wise, to a philosophical mood, but to a poetical, that is to a mood of folly and senselessness. Now, I know we will understand each other perfectly, that is deo volente as Horace says, "God being willing." But to come to the gist of this my letter after so much circumlo- cution in getting at what I wanted to say at first, but was afraid to; — you have no idea what a timid and fearful insect I am; — could I see you Sunday evening to church if you desire to go and the weather is clear; anyway could I see you Sunday evening, no preengagement precluding the pleasure? That is what I wished to say all along, but couldn't somehow, and it is out now like a gasp, and I am relieved, and suppose you are too. Sincerely, Madison J. Cawein. 1887, July 12. Miss Lillian Sweet: * * * j took a long ride last night, at about half past nine, along with a few gentlemen friends from the Newmarket out Third, to the House of Refuge, in an open barouche and enjoyed the air and the starlight hugely. They twitted me somewhat, merely in fun, "pennyworth of wit," on my publishing a book — making me gray and my not finding time in the rush of busi- ness to attend properly to the proof. I have a tendency already to grow gray, but do not think that publishing will promote that tendency, although mother, some nights ago, dreamed that I left home and after remaining away for some time, returned white-headed remarking that I had published my book. Amusing! The volume is now in the publishers' hands and I shall have it copyrighted today, and yours truly will by the first of November, perhaps, air his plumes as a knight of the pen before the public. If the work takes, it will be well; if it does not, I am content; for, as Aldrich says, I hold that "The sole reward of song is song." * * * 1887, December 12. Miss Elvira Sydnor Miller: You were kind enough at one time — not so far back — to write me concerning some verses published in The Courier- Journal. You do not know how I appreciated the favor and the motive which influenced you. My poor verses won your commendation; kindly accept the volume [The Blooms of the Berry], 1 mail you, in which, I hope, you may find much to please and more to make you remember one, who, if he has not as yet attained to anything that will wake a sympathetic chord in the breasts of human- ity, at least possesses that largeness of poetical aspiration, but not inspiration, which, if only fostered with proper encouragement, might attain to such, but lacking it — failed. Sincerely, Madison J. Cawein. 178 A Posthumous Autobiography 1888, April 25. William Dean Howells: I did not dream when I sent you my volume of verses, together with the letter which served, as it were, as an introduction of myself — that it would meet with such a favorable reception. Although I have remained silent to your note, believe me, it was from no lack of a desire to thank you, but from an idea, mayhap false, of my own unworthiness. Do not think me unappreciative! On the contrary, it has been a comfort to me in that dearth of literary encouragement which a young author's first work — especially in the line of verse — must undergo. I do not know what made me forward you the volume ; unless it was my admiration for yourself, which impelled me to grope out, as it were, instinctively towards and after one whom I thought could and would understand me and my aspirations. Yet, to speak the truth, I confess that I did not expect to make more than a transient impression on you. Now, to infuse into my soul new zeal — that ichor of my inspira- tion — comes your most appreciative review in Harper's for May. I would love fondly to grasp your hand and thank you ; thank you for your generous encouragement, not with words, for I am sure I could not, but by that magnetic discourse which soul holds with soul, so that you would not only understand but should also feel my gratitude. Sincerely yours, Madison J. Cawein. 1888, May 19. William Dean Howells: You will forgive me for inscribing this my second volume of verses [The Triumph of Music] to you, although it is but a poor way of showing my gratitude for the generosity extended by you to my first endeavor. For I can imagine how contemptible to an author must appear all that false flattery of sycophants (among whom, heaven be praised! I am not), who would be literary. My former volume was merely the ofifering of a school boy, written while yet attending High School and published after gradua- tion, written between the ages of nineteen and twenty-two. Almost any one can perceive in it its youthfulness, hence my non-publication of an introduction explaining; such being entirely uncalled for. For I thought, why should I explain the earliness of these poems? Merely that I may win unmerited praise if unpraiseworthy ! and avoid merited criticism as many do by printing a preface setting forth sedulously and painfully (to me I know) the precocity of their productions? The volume I now forward you, and which is dedicated to you and your genius, Mr. Howells, with the exception of the first poem, 179 Madison Cawein "The Triumph of Music," written at the age of nineteen or earlier, and which then consisted of from five to six hundred lines, — has been composed at odd moments, of nights and Sundays principally, when my position afforded me an opportunity of wooing the bashful Pieris. Working as I do — an assistant in a large betting establishment here in Louisville, in other words in a gambling house, you can imagine what encouragement in associates and surroundings is mine to the encouragement and inspiration of poesy. God! how I have longed for a change, and to this end have toiled, crushing down from eight A. M. to nine and ten P. M. sometimes, that aspiration which will struggle uppermost and will not let me be; but to give entire way to its caprice were to sink into want and perhaps into beggary; so I try to parcel my time between work and poetry, and you have here the result of my last Winter's work. Read it and see what there is in it, but always remember that he who wrote it, wrote it, as it were, in "between races" and on "off days." Yours sincerely, Madison J. Cawein. 1888, June 16. Edmund Clarence Stedman: In the overabundance of poetry it was with trepidation that I forwarded you those two volumes which you — generously, contrary to all my anticipations — received so kindly. I allude to Blooms of the Berry and The Triumph of Music. You have been so kind! and I can do nothing to thank you but tell you I am thankful. You can see that I am very ambitious; and I fear that my aspira- tions are at best too lofty to attain that culminating success, which will make me a poet. For, despite the general tendency and concern of the present in the direction of prose, when there is not so much attention and less remuneration given to one who devotes his time to verse, I am determined to continue in the latter during my life. Do you think that in aspiration prayer is well, when the desire of the soul is like an insistent and persistent prayer? Yet, I have prayed and continue to pray for that influx of inspiration which God alone can grant. This may be a confession. I think trust and faith and prayer are well. I have tried to make my life such even this early in youth, for I am but 23 years of age and you see I have at least done something. Do not think me melancholy. I am not. On the other hand I am often, I fear, too buoyant, although subject at times to morbidness and melancholy of short duration, occasioned principally by my surroundings and my position which tends by the association of low instincts, ideals and passions to wear the poetry out of me and leave 180 A Posthumous Autobiography me nothing but despondency and weariness and that unutterable longing which only those who aspire know of. The clamorousness of nature and art with all their beauties calling out to me for attention and the interpretation of such cannot be easily unheard and set aside. I have hastily attempted somewhat, too much, perhaps, not in writing, I mean, but in publication; but you have said it is well, and for this encouragement let me thank you again; and if, as you say, there be anything in me that, with something to say, in time must sift upper- most haec olim meminisse juvabit. Most gratefully yours, Madison J. Cawein. 1888, June 19. Miss Elvira Sydnor Miller: I think that you do yourself an injustice in not admiring your first volume of verse. Songs of the Heart, which I have read with not a slight degree of pleasure. How- ever, I suppose it is the same with all authors of rhymes, at least I have found it so. For often that first work of mine has become so distasteful to me that I have been again and again tempted to destroy the entire edition. Such moods were most frequent before the work had attracted any slight attention. I have discovered the unremun- erativeness of verse, yet, with that discovery, have determined — indeed, it were an impossibility to do otherwise, since poetry is as much a purpose as a passion with me, — to continue in verse during my life. A poet need not care an iota for recognition during his lifetime; he ought to be more than satisfied if that recognition is allotted to him after death, — that is, a true poet. I myself have entered upon a position in an occupation which is wholly alien to my nature and temperament; in fact, were it not for strongly exerted will power, a position that, through surroundings and influences would soon tend to annihilate all of the poetic in me, — simply to be able to publish my works by which I am certain to lose hundreds. No one will ever know, or could understand if known, the trying circumstances under which that last volume was brought forth. Yet it behooves all those who wish to rise above mediocrity, to aspire in the face of Fate and mount through work to that pinnacle of success which is granted to — how few! Sincerely, Madison J. Cawein. 1888, June 21. John Fox, Jr.: Walking on Fourth Avenue yesterday morning I saw in the window of a certain studio the photograph of a painting that struck me as something embodying that idea of my ideal of 181 Madison C aw e i n which I have written, and of which I have, at times, also spoken to you. A beautiful female head crowned with a heavy tumultuousness of hair, reclining on perfect arms; such a face as one might endow an Oread with, wild and lovely, blending the immaculate elements of the spiritual with the virginal graces of the human. I purchased it; and it has usurped the place of honor, — heretofore occupied by that comely Virginia authoress, whose works I have admired — above my desk. I would not have mentioned this to you had I not had somewhat in mind: The association of the poetical conception with the artistic; poetry sans philosophy; that is, simply as a thing of loveliness, pleasing the senses the same as a beautiful painting; color in poetry as in art; that school of which Keats was the founder; of which Tennyson is the master; to which effect I have endeavored in all I have written. For I hold that, where in poetry we are compelled to dig and delve after the secret thought and subtle beauties, — such poetry approaches more the domain of the philo- sophical prose, and pleases the poetic palate less than that which, clothed with an exquisiteness of words, surprises the ear with unex- pected beauties and touches the soul with pathos. When I saw the picture it was as if I had created it myself, as an illustration of my idea of my "Lalage," or of what that creature, which sang the youth on to death in "The Triumph of Music," was; leaning forward, godly, immortal, beautifully triumphant, wondering "with cold commemorative eyes" if such was sleep or death; vaccil- lating between tears and smiles, hope and fear; a creature of air, a sylphide being of dreams, substantialized in thought. This leads me on to tell you that, in the tendency of illustration in the creation of the beautiful through words as built up in poetry, every poem I have written has its illustration or illustrations in my mind, distinct, separate as in a gallery. The Triumph of Music I have embodied in a hundred paintings too ungraspable for the brush, too indefinable for word-description. One simple, but pathetic sketch for "Pax Vobiscum" and one for each line of "In Mythic Seas," etc. Perhaps Dante had some such ideal conception of his Beatrice; Landor of his Aspasia in his "Pericles and Aspasia;" Spenser of his "Fairie Queene," ignoring the influence of Elizabeth; Swinburne of his Atalanta in "Atalanta in Calydon", with her cold, proud classic grace; Rossetti, of his Blessed Damosel; Tennyson, Enid, etc. I think it is only this influence of ideals that master the highest poetry; in such exists that divine afiflatus which it is useless to endeavor to acquire if not innate, the influence of which develops that ethereal fascination which elevates the soul in the perusal of verse. Yet, I have at times wished that this desire of song were not of me; for, truly, it is at times as much of a devil of hell as, at others, of an angel of heaven; intractable and compelling, irresistible and assuaging; but, I am determined — nay, rather bound — to accompany, to wor- 182 A Posthumous Autobiography ship this duality to the bitter end. That is the beauty which buoys up a true devotee of song — the inabihty to abandon its cruelty or its kindness. My regards and remembrances of friendship to my very dear friends, your brother and Mr. Allen. Always believe me, sincerely, Madison J. Cawein. 1888, September 12. John Fox, Jr.: Your ardor anticipates your anticipation, for I see by your last letter that you are expecting me Sunday or Monday [at Red Ash, Whitley County, Kentucky]. This is how I am situated. The Louisville Races commence Tuesday the eighteenth, and according to contract our pool-room closes promptly at noon. This allows me the remainder of the day to myself, and I have so managed with my brother John, that he has permitted me one week of unadulterated leisure, which you know how I desire to utilize. I shall leave Tuesday the eighteenth by the morning train and arrive — well you know when. I wish to see some of Kentucky and that is why I prefer the day for traveling. I am thrilled to start. Your very letters seem to bring me a snufT of the mountain winds * * * j ggg^n to be there with you already. My loins girded for the storming of enormous heights, a pilgrimage up, up, through bars and belts of mist to frowning bluffs and ardent cliffs. * * * However, until I grasp your and your brother's hand I must say farewell. * * * 1888, October 32. [November i.] John Fox, Jr.: [Mr. Cawein was Mr. Fox's guest for one week. The following is from his second letter after the visit.] I can imagine how mournful and lonely the mountains are now. I can imagine the gloomy melancholy stamped on their Indian visages; the sadness of their weighty syllables when the wind moves them with gladless conversation. I suppose all those many torrents with which we, in our rambles, became familiar, and which we made the highways of our pilgrimages to those exalted shrines of worship — those castled rocks — have become murmurers of water that stammer and scramble through damning leaves and choking weeds. I have been over on the Indiana Knobs every available Sunday and so have had an opportunity to study recondite nature in its most mournful and delight-instilling beauty. * * * 1888, November 28. John Fox, Jr.: I am utterly thoughtless at present; having drained my brain as dry as hay, naturally I have to doze and wait for the rains of imagination to sodden this again ere I dare to subject it to another process of compression and drain. 183 Madison Cawein I have finished my prospective volume of verse [Accolon of Gaul] — that is not finished it exactly, but have completed it to that perfec- tion which my precocious mind fancies finished. To speak plainer — I have done all at my present age [twenty-three years], that I can hope to do, or ought to hope to do, with thfe subjects handled. The MS. is now ready and at any time I am so disposed I may place it in the hands of a publisher. So I hestitate. No one knows its defects as well as I know them; no one could remedy them better than myself, but, to confess, this is beyond my intellectual ability. It stands as it stands. If it is good it is good ; if it is bad it is still good. I have worked very hard and have done my best; I have no fault to find with my- self. Art for art's sake. Art is its own reward, say I. I am also utterly worn and tired out, and want to rest — to rest for at least a time — to read as a relaxation to my labor. * * * How is our realistic romance progressing — almost ready for the publisher, I expect? John, why not put something into it that skips the Ten Commandments, eh? Your friend, sincerely, M. J. Cawein. 1888, December 14. John Fox, Jr.: * * * This for you: The only way an author can keep those blue devils from devouring him is by fighting them — by fighting I mean hoping and working. You are not naturally of a lymphatic temperament, are you? Then hang it!— Why don't you hope? Put faith in your effort, and in faith you will certainly find consolation, hence energy and ambition. If you have no faith in your work now, work on it and infuse it with your own unquenchable ego and so develop faith and then tandem victoriam. Sometimes I think I am too hopeful. My sanguine disposition humps itself too often to do and dare too much. And do you know that often I can hardly believe a moiety of the good that those emi- nent critics have said about my poetry, — for, if so, why are my manuscripts still returned from the magazines? I am led to believe myself a scribbler far overrated and praised. * * * 1889, May 15. Frederick W. Cawein: Stick to your ideals through thick and through thin and if — as all of us poor worldlings are compelled to do — you have to slave for a little pelf, why the mere subdued pursuit of something above the minds of ordinary humanity makes one super- ior to them, and the lowly mind is always humble and conceding to the soul that has aspirations. Again, you know the mere creation of the beautiful, totally regardless of all remuneration, recompense or 184 A Posthumous Autobiography reward, is sufficient reward to the acolyte. Enough! you know all this or ought to. The material is always more egotistical than the spiritual and is always presuming with the ideal which it tends to drag down and soil in the quagmire of necessity. The races are here and I hardly have time to think of, much less write of, things that I should like to write and think about, and even while I am writing here I am interrupted again and again. How is the landscape about your new abode [Indianapolis]? Artistic, dreamy, pastoral, idyllic? I cannot write a line more now, the importunities of the "betters" are increasing. Sincerely your cousin, M. J. Cawein. 1889, May 21. Edmund Clarence Stedman: My last poetical venture, which you so kindly spoke of in your letter, had already met with so much caustic criticism, on the part of the critics from Boston to San Fran- cisco, that I despaired of hearing anything at all, and especially of anything good of the work, on the part of the foremost critic. Let me thank you for your letter which has alleviated, somewhat, these tribulations and that disgust for my art which, naturally, accrued to me through the conflicting reception of this last publica- tion — also has turned the damper put upon my spirit and given flue to a renewed energy. If I was aware of the mistake I was making by publishing Accolon of Gaul before publishing it, I proceeded in an uncertain hope and a dogged determination either of succeeding or failing utterly: in that spirit of sed quid temptare nocebit? and have done neither one nor the other. I, however, still possess youth, which is something; though there is time yet — much time to turn my pencil in the direction you suggest — the American field. Your friend, Mr. Howells, who has, as you say, bestowed upon me the accolade of literary knighthood, has been, perhaps, too kind and considerate of me as well as you have been. When I was laboring obscurely at verse making, with alternate fits of feverish hope and despair, I often envied those who were so fortu- nate as to possess such literary advisers and experienced friends as you and Mr. Howells are, and had any one foretold that, in time, I should claim you as such, I am certain I should have smiled at it as at a chimera; but, behold the whirligig of time has actually brought in its revenges and in my confusion I can only repay you with thanks. Most sincerely, M. J. Cawein. 1889, August 23. Frederick W. Cawein: Your letter was most interesting from the fact, that you had something interesting to me to write about; I mean Whitcomb Riley whose acquaintance I really do envy you. 185 Madison C aw e i n When you happen to see him again tell him that I am one of his greatest admirers and a new volume from his happy pen is always a treat to me. * * * You must try to get in with such persons as Riley, if possible, Fred, and it is possible for you. * * * j know you will make something out of yourself, because you have that energy and settled seriousness of purpose which that Power who gave will not suffer to go unrewarded. You must, if you will it, compel attention. And when you are worthy of recognition, as surely as the stars are eternal, you will get it. You are a great deal [two years] younger than I am, and through application towards a fixed point which [in your case] is art, who shall say that you may not even be higher than I am when you have attained the age of twenty-four. ||i& I make frequent trips to our old haunts among the Indiana hills and always miss you. * * * xhe season of racing is in full swing East and West and consequently I have to suffer. * * * 1889, September 16. John Fox, Jr. : * * * I have made the acquaintance of Young E. Allison lately, he whose story, as you are probably aware, is to ovature, through an early number of the Century ["The Longworth Mystery," Century Magazine, October, 1889], the gestic ability of another Kentucky champion's pen in the difficult list of modern literature, and I found him most interesting — particularly his conver- sation, which has a flavor entirely its own, and the ability of its wit is remarkably sparkling. My friend, Miss Elvira S. Miller, has been quarreling with the Muse lately, and, in revenge, sits vis-a-vis to Prose who is whis- pering fairy tales in her ears. She intends to bring out through a Louisville publisher a book, I think called "Fairy Tales For Chil- dren" [''The Tiger's Daughter and Other Stories,'' 1889], somewhere about the holidays. * * * As for yourself — what? As for myself — you know that my art is always aching in me and that I must work and not permit it to starve. It is my life. If the public escapes from the infliction of another volume of lyrics by Madison JelTerson (as the New York Sun is pleased to style me) Cawein next year I shall want to know why. * * * 1889, October 21. John Fox, Jr.: * * * You could not have rendered me a greater favor than you did in bringing Wilson [Robert Burns Wilson] around. You should have prepared me beforehand; naturally I was a little embarrassed and perhaps showed it. I was more than charmed 186 A Posthumous Autobiography with him. I like him very much. He is nobly made — physically as well as mentally; morally — I know nothing of him; however, if one be permitted to gauge that by what he has written, in that respect also he must be irreproachable. He more than satisfied my mental photograph of him. I had pictured him as somewhat older looking and found, on comparison, he was just the opposite. So sorry that you did not bring him around a little earlier. I can hardly forgive either of you for leaving as abruptly as you did. * * * 1889, December 7. John Fox, Jr. : * * * I suppose you have read Miss Higbee's [Mrs. Hester Higbee Geppert] story, "In God's Country," in the November Belford's Monthly Magazine, as every one seems to have read it. However, if you have not, procure the magazine at any price and peruse, and you will be amply repaid. The story is simply yet powerfully told, and is artistic. This novelette is simply beautiful. * * * Although a personal acquaintance of Miss Higbee I had never given her credit for so much talent. * * * You ought to know Miss Higbee and Miss Elvira Miller. * * * 1889, December 23. Frederick W. Cawein: * * * Art and literature are about at a standatill at present in Louisville; just the same old sing-song hocus-pocus it was at the time you left for Indianapolis. You are actually well out of it. A prophet is never appreciated in his own country; he has to gain admiration elsewhere before his own people acknowledge him. Really, I think you have improved wonderfully in your drawing. That little pen sketch of your room is excellent, and I do think that that room would not only make a studio, in all the artistic meaning of the word, but I do imagine that a poet might be able to dream wonderful dreams in it. I suppose you prevaricated somewhat on the decorations, etc. of the chamber, but at the same time hope that it really is as you pictured it. All that is necessary to success, you know, is energy, hope and health, and with these three friends there is nothing that cannot be accomplished with time. I hope you have them. I enclose a V bill; it is a Christmas gift to you from me. Do not hestitate to accept it, and do not attempt to retaliate. I can afford it, you can not. Some day it may be vice versa. * * * 1890, February 10. John Fox, Jr.: I have been suffering from rheumatism in my hand, hence my delay in answering yours of two weeks past. * * * I should indeed like to be with you where you are [Big Stone Gap] 187 Madison C aw e in but you know how I am situated. As it is at present, I shall not be able, even if you should discover some good investment, to invest. You will readily understand why. The publication of my present volume [Lyrics and Idyls] will require a great part of my bank account. You know already that it is only for this that I am a slave. Such is my passion — it would be impossible to philosophize one contrary wise. I am doomed or fated to it; it is more of a curse than a blessing — this fever of ambition! It was well for Cardinal Wolsey to charge and exhort Cromwell "to fling away ambition." — Could Wolsey have flung it away so easily previous to his fall as he admonished his friend to do after his fall? "By that sin fell the angels!" What of man then, crawling between heaven and earth? * * * 1890, March 12. Frederick W. Cawein: * * * j gh^ll mail you a copy of Lyrics and Idyls as soon as it is out — that is if you wish one. I think it will be out this week. I do not want to compel you to read poetry, for, as you know yourself, the age is most unpoetical ; in fact, according to many English and American wiseacres, the Age of Poetry is past or rapidly passing, and that of sophistry and science about to usurp it. Alas! and woe are we! whenever the world comes to such a pass! Poetry is the balm of life. Without it all artistic temperaments are what? What, art? What, music? What, love? The most beautiful being that we have they would exile from the earth, and erect in her place an image of subtlety, scorn, cynicism and pedantry! What a defilement of the flower-strewn temple, the incense-breathing altar of the goddess of youth! What a profanation of our rose-bound divinity of light, truth and purity! Well, if it is to be so — so be it! But may I be dead, buried and forgotten when it is so! * * * 1890, March 19. John Fox, Jr. : You talk about me being a gentleman of "infinite leisure" as compared with yourself at present! You are wrong, my dear John. For the last three weeks and more I have been a slave of infinite toil, and am suffering at present from the effects — neuralgia in my face — which is very painful. My brother John was taken down sick in February and it is only now that he is able to do his work. During the time that he was in bed all the work of this office, which is no small amount, devolved upon yours humbly. I have not written a thing for upwards of three months and do not intend to, until I feel capable of doing anything I may be moved to write on, at full and free justice. That acceptance of your story 188 A Posthumous Autobiography ["A Mountain Europa" accepted by The Century Magazine, but not published until fall 1892] should have certainly inspired you with the fiery energy of a new endeavor. I know how I should have felt, and how I should have worked in the exultation of knowing that my first piece of work had proved available to and had been accepted by one of the foremost magazines in the United States. * * * 1890, March 25. Frederick W. Cawein: I was very much gratified to hear that my last work pleased you. * * * The poem that you especially mention, "Among the Knobs," is commemorative of one of those many delightful trips we used to take among the Indiana hills, and I suppose you did not fail to recognize the locality which I have attempted to describe. Charlie [his brother. Dr. Charles L.] and I visit the place frequently and always find something new to admire or to bring away — flowers or fancies. * * * You are denied the broadening influence of the hills, the valleys and the woods, where you are now; for, if I understand you correctly, there are no such appealing beauties of nature in the vicinity of Indianapolis. Will [his brother William] is doing some very fine work in the way of water coloring. It is aston- ishing how much good one can get out of one's self when one is forced to apply one's self. He has not done any work in this way for years. * * * 1890, March 31. John Fox, Jr. : In the first place you must know that everything is all right and all are safe at my house. The newspaper reports might lead you to believe otherwise. The tornado [in Louisville, March 27,] was horrible and the effects terrible. I send you by mail today my last volume of verse — my last, may be, for some years. As I am disposed at present, it seems to me as if I shall never write another line. Why! Not because I am dis- couraged in any way, and not because I am satisfied with what I have done. It is because I am never satisfied with that which I have done; that my hope is not sufficient to my desire; my ambition overleaps itself. In other words, try how I will, work how I may, I shall never be able to attain to the eminence of those ideals which are ever illusory, not at my present age. Although I feel that I have not done sufficient serious work in poetry for one of my age, I feel again that I should cease writing for a while and permit my brain and nerve fibres to adjust themselves to a new endeavor. Many a man with less expenditure of energy and endeavor, not to speak of 189 Madison C aw e in vitality, with equal ambition, has made himself famous at twenty- five. I have not even made reputation enough after seven years or more of toil and hope, to get one of my poems into a third class maga- zine, not to speak of a second or a first class. Yet I believe this work. Lyrics and Idyls, is my best book. You might read it care- fully and let me know if you agree with me. If you can, try to call on Mr. Howells. I know that he would be pleased to meet you and that you would be delighted with him. He is about the only friend that I have there. He is my literary lather. Let me hear from you as soon as convenient. I shall await a reply with impatience. Always sincerely, M. J. Cawein. 1890, July 18. John Fox, Jr.: If you have not yet been introduced to Rudyard Kipling as India, England and America, the last partially only, have, permit me to make you acquainted What do you think of a young Englishman raised in India being able to produce a work like these "Forty Tales?" A young man of twenty-four only, whose fame has been rapid in its rise, and from his work, I should say is liable to remain fixed, and most probably placed higher. Perhaps you have read the poem of "Yussuff" in Macmillans or reprinted in the dailies; poems with a wealth of barbaric coloring and orientally dramatic to a degree — a great degree — well, that individual also is this twenty- four-year old Kipling. Directly after you left Louisville — or probably a week after you left — J. W. Riley was here as the guest of Young E. Allison. I had the pleasure of meeting him, through the kindness of Mr. Sherley, at a dinner given in his honor at the Sherley Place. Riley is an original and I like him immensely. He, too, is carried away with this young Englishman from the land of the Brahmin and the faquir. Has the heat suppressed you or are you writing another novel- ette? As ever, sincerely, M. J. Cawein. [A facsimile of this letter appears on pages 192 and 193.] 1890, July 26. William Dean Howells: The "Study" of the August Harper's has interested me more than usual this month. Heretofore, I do not hesitate to say, the newspaper and other reviews have worried me not a little, but with time have gradually grown hardened to them. I often wonder why certain papers seem especially hostile to works of mine; and why they incessantly persist in lugging your name (as 190 A Posthumous Autobio graphy a kind of indulgent et praesidiiim et duke decus meum individual), insulting you and me at the same time — with a notice of a volume, which you had not even dreamed existed, much less seen; all this because you were audacious enough to speak well of some previous book of mine. Thanks to the kindness of the "Study" I now under- stand. The pleasure to them, it appears, lies in the bald fact that not being able to control and dominate the ideas and the true literary acumen of a far higher authority, they still possess the power to disagree openly with that authority, making that difference public and of weight through the columns of some large city daily. Enough! — I have been enjoying your last two volumes, A Hazard of New Fortune, and The Shadow of a Dream, very much — very much. Especially the latter appealed to and impressed me; containing, as it does, happy flights of poetry beyond me; pastel paintings in delicate prose far more vibrant with moral beauties and sensitive to a degree with color than much of the highly praised modern poetry. Your touch is felicitous and pregnant with exquisite pathos in such a description as that of the neglected garden by the sea; then again dramatic to suspense, anxious suspense and fear, in such a death scene as you make it the tragic stage of. I do not know of any one of your later books which does not portray this same peculiar poetry expressed in your own masterful way, and preaching and teaching at the same time something better. Most sincerely yours, M. J. Cawein. 1890, September 9. William Dean Howells: I will take the liberty of seeing you within the next week or so, perhaps — that is, if I am so fortunate as to find your residence. I have desired so much to meet and to know you better; and, if nothing prevents shall start on the fifteenth or the sixteenth of September for Boston, as I presume you reside there. My journey, of course, owing to business matters here — must be very brief; and should I not meet you I shall be more than disappointed and have to regard my trip accordingly of no use. Believe me, ever sincerely yours, Madison J. Cawein. 1890, September id. Miss Mary E. Cardwill : Your more than interesting letter to hand. I regret that I shall not be able to see you personally soon, as I intend starting Monday or Tuesday on a short trip to Boston and New York. In the meanwhile I opine your article [on me now being written for the Indianapolis News] will be completed and perhaps published. 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