Eugene Field, a Study in Heredity and Contradictions Volume I Part 8

In fact the series began October 10th, 1881, and ended December 19th of the same year. Edward B. Morgan, of Denver, in an introductory note to a few of the sketches omitted from the original "Tribune Primer," printed in the Cornhill Booklet for January, 1901, gives the following version of how the skits began:

Of the origin of these sketches a story is told-although the writer cannot vouch for it-that on the Sunday evening preceding their first publication the "printer's devil" was dispatched post-haste to Field's home for copy which his happy-go-lucky manner of working had not produced. We may perhaps picture him engaged in what was always nearest and dearest to his heart, the amus.e.m.e.nt of his children, and perhaps reading to them or more likely composing for them primer sketches which he on the spur of the moment parodied for older readers. He has probably expressed his own feelings in the third one of the skits which he then wrote:

THE REPORTER ON SUNDAY

Is this Sunday? Yes, it is a Sunday. How peaceful and quiet it is. But who is the man? He does not look peaceful. He is a reporter and he is swearing. What makes him swear? Because he has to work on Sunday? Oh no! he is swearing because he has to Break the Fourth Commandment. It is a sad thing to be a Reporter.

According to Mr. Cowen, however, the inspiration of the primer compositions was a libel suit brought against the Tribune by Governor Evans. In ridiculing the governor and his action Field three times used the old primer method-with ill.u.s.trations after the fashion of John Phoenix-and the success of these little sarcasms undoubtedly encouraged him to elaborate the idea. Field also had a column of unsigned verse and storyettes in the Tribune under the heading, "For the Little Folks."

Mr. Morgan discredits Field's statement that the whole number of the Primers issued did not exceed fifty, because of the unlikelihood of printing such a small edition of a book to be sold for twenty-five cents and advertising it daily a month in advance, with a foot-note, "Trade supplied at Special Rates." Which merely shows that Mr. Morgan applied to Field's acts the same rule of thumb that would be applicable to ninety-nine out of a hundred reasonable publishers. But Field was a rule unto himself, and he could be counted on to be the one hundredth and unique individual where the other ninety-and-nine were orthodox and conventional. The fact that only seven or eight copies of the original Primer are known to book collectors tends to confirm Field's statement, which receives side light and support from his suggestion to Francis Wilson that the first edition of "Echoes from the Sabine Farm," which Mr. Wilson issued in such sumptuous form nearly ten years later, should consist of only fifty copies, and that each of the two should reserve one and that they should "burn the other forty-eight."

I have not the slightest doubt that the same disposition was made of all copies of "The Tribune Primer" over the first fifty, which were supplied to the favored few at "Special Rates." This was just such a freak as would have occurred to Field, and in Denver there was no restraint upon the act following upon any wild thought that flitted through his topsy-turvy brain.

The jocose spirit in which Field at this time viewed the methods, duties, and responsibilities of journalism may be gleaned from the following specimens taken at random from his "Tribune Primer" sketches:

THE REPORTER

What is that I see? That, my Child, is the News Interviewer and he is now interviewing a Man. But where is the Man? I can see no Man. The Man, my Child, is in his Mind.

A RECHERCHe AFFAIR

This is a recherche Affair. Recherche Affairs are sometimes met with in Parlors and Ball Rooms. But more Generally in the Society Department of newspapers. A Recherche Affair is an Affair where the Society Editor is invited to the refreshment table. When the Society Editor is told his Room is Better than his Company, the Affair is not Recherche.

THE STEAM PRESS

Is this not a Beautiful Steam Press? The Steam is Lying Down on the Floor taking a Nap. He came from Africa and is Seventy Years Old. The Press prints Papers. It can Print Nine Hundred papera an Hour. It takes One Hour and Forty Minutes to Print the Edition of the Paper. The Paper has a circulation of Thirty-seven thousand. The business Manager says so.

It was indeed a happy departure from the ruder fooling of the newspaper paragrapher of that day to clothe satire on current events and every-day affairs in the innocent simplicity of the nursery. But the vast majority of these Primer paragraphs were by no means as innocent as those quoted. Many of them had a sting more sharp than that of the wasp embalmed in one of them:

See the Wasp. He has pretty yellow stripes around his Body, and a darning needle in his tail. If you will Pat the Wasp upon the Tail, we will Give you a nice Picture Book.

Very many of them seemed inspired by an irrepressible desire to incite little children to deeds of mischief never dreamed of in Baxter's Saints' Rest. Here are a precious pair of paragraphs, each calculated to bring the joy that takes its meals standing into any home circle where youthful incorrigibles were in need of outside encouragement to their infant initiative:

THE NASTY TOBACCO

What is that Nasty looking object? It is a Chew of Tobacco. Oh, how naughty it is to use the Filthy weed. It makes the teeth black, and spoils the Parlor Carpet. Go Quick and Throw the Horrid Stuff Away. Put it in the Ice Cream Freezer or in the Coffee Pot where n.o.body can see it. Little Girls you should never chew Tobacco.

THE MUCILAGE

The Bottle is full of Mucilage. Take it and Pour some Mucilage into Papa's Slippers. Then when Papa comes Home it will be a Question whether there will be more Stick in the Slippers than on your Pants.

But whoever wishes to learn of the peculiar side of Child life that appealed most strongly to Eugene Field when his own earlier born children were still in the nursery age, should get a copy of "The Tribune Primer" and read, not only the sketches themselves, but between the lines, where he will find much of the teasing spirit that kept his whole household wondering what he would do next. In these sketches will be found frequent references to the Bugaboo, a creation of his fancy, "With a big Voice like a Bear, and Claws as long as a Knife." His warning to the little children then was, "If you are Good, Beware of the Bugaboo." In later life he reserved the terror of the Bugaboo for naughty little boys and girls.

His first poem to his favorite hobgoblin, as it appeared in the Denver Tribune, was the following:

THE AWFUL BUGABOO There was an awful Bugaboo Whose Eyes were Red and Hair was Blue; His Teeth were Long and Sharp and White And he went prowling 'round at Night.

A little Girl was Tucked in Bed, A pretty Night Cap on her Head; Her Mamma heard her Pleading Say, "Oh, do not Take the Lamp away!"

But Mamma took away the lamp And oh, the Room was Dark and Damp; The Little Girl was Scared to Death- She did not Dare to Draw her Breath.

And all at once the Bugaboo Came Rattling down the Chimney Flue; He Perched upon the little Bed And scratched the Girl until she bled.

He drank the Blood and Scratched again- The little Girl cried out in vain- He picked her up and Off he Flew- This Naughty, Naughty Bugaboo!

So, children when in Bed to-night, Don't let them Take away the Light, Or else the Awful Bugaboo May come and Fly away with You.

It is a far cry in time and a farther one in literary worth from "The Awful Bugaboo" of 1883 to "Seein' Things" of 1894. The s.e.x of the victim is different, and the spirit of the incorrigible western tease gives way to the spirit of Puritanic superst.i.tion, but there can be no mistaking the persistence of the Bugaboo germ in the later verse:

An' yet I hate to go to bed, For when I'm tucked up warm an' snug an' when my prayers are said, Mother tells me "Happy Dreams!" and takes away the light, An' leaves me lyin' all alone an' seein' things at night!

Sometimes they are as black as ink, an' other times they're white- But the color ain't no difference when you're seein' things at night.

In all that Field wrote, whether in prose or rhyme, for the Denver Tribune nothing contributed to his literary reputation or gave promise of the place in American letters he was to attain, save one little bit of fugitive verse, which was for years to justify its t.i.tle of "The Wanderer." It contains one of the prettiest, tenderest, most vitally poetic ideas that ever occurred to Eugene Field. And yet he deliberately disclaimed it in the moment of its conception and laid it, like a little foundling, at the door of Madame Modjeska. The expatriation of the Polish actress, between whom and Field there existed a singularly warm and enduring friendship, formed the basis for the allegory of the sh.e.l.l on the mountain, and doubtless suggested to him the humor, if not the sentiment, of attributing the poem to her and writing it in the first person. The circ.u.mstances of its publication justify its reproduction here, although I suppose it is one of the most familiar of Field's poems. I copy it from his ma.n.u.script:

THE WANDERER Upon a mountain height, far from the sea, I found a sh.e.l.l, And to my listening ear this lonely thing Ever a song of ocean seem'd to sing- Ever a tale of ocean seem'd to tell.

How came the sh.e.l.l upon the mountain height?

Ah, who can say Whether there dropped by some too careless hand- Whether there cast when oceans swept the land, Ere the Eternal had ordained the day?

Strange, was it not? Far from its native deep, One song it sang; Sang of the awful mysteries of the tide, Sang of the restless sea, profound and wide- Ever with echoes of the ocean rang.

And as the sh.e.l.l upon the mountain height Sang of the sea, So do I ever, leagues and leagues away- So do I ever, wandering where I may, Sing, O my home! sing, O my home! of thee!

I have seen it stated that Madame Modjeska regarded the liberty taken with her name in this connection with feelings of displeasure, and Hamlin Garland has reported a conversation with Field, during the summer of 1893, when the latter, speaking of his work in Denver, and of "The Tribune Primer" as the most conspicuous thing he did there, said: "The other thing which rose above the level of my ordinary work was a bit of verse, 'The Wanderer,' which I credited to Modjeska, and which has given her no little annoyance." In his note to Mrs. Thompson's ma.n.u.script copy of "The Wanderer," Field says:

These verses appeared in the Denver Tribune credited to Helena Modjeska. They were copied far and wide over Modjeska's name. Modjeska took the joke in pretty good part. The original publication was June, 1883.

Madame Modjeska not only took the joke in "pretty good part," but esteemed its perpetrator all the more highly for the light in which it placed her before the public, which she was then delighting with her exquisite impersonations of Rosalind and Mary Stuart. For years after its publication Madame Modjeska, wherever she appeared throughout the country, was reminded of this joke by the scores of letters sent to her room, as soon as she registered, requesting autograph copies of "The Wanderer," or the honor of her signature to a clipping of it neatly pasted in the autograph hunter's alb.u.m. Nor were autograph hunters the only ones imposed on by the signature to "The Wanderer." In August, 1883, Professor David Swing, writing in the Weekly Magazine, gave it as his opinion that the alleged Modjeska poem was indeed written by Modjeska, and concluded: "The conversation and tone of her thoughts as expressed among friends betrays a mind that at least loves the poetic, and is quite liable to attempt a verse. The child-like simplicity of this little song is so like Modjeska that no demand arises for any outside help in the matter." And Field, like the true fisherman he was, having secured a fine rise, proceeded to remark: "It will, perhaps, pain the Professor to learn that Madame Modjeska now denies ever having seen the verses until they appeared in print."

But not until Field reclaimed his child and published "The Wanderer" as his own, in "A Little Book of Western Verse," was the verse-reading public satisfied to give the Polish comedienne a long rest from importunities concerning it.

CHAPTER X

ANECDOTES OF LIFE IN DENVER

No story of Eugene Field's life would be true, no study of his personality complete, if it ignored or even glossed over "the mad wild ways of his youthful days" in Denver. He never wearied of telling of the constant succession of harum-scarum pranks that made the Tribune office the storm-centre for all the fun-loving characters in Colorado. Not that Field ever neglected his work or his domestic duties for play, but it was a dull day for Denver when his pen or his restless spirit for mischief did not provide some fresh cause for local amazement or merriment. His a.s.sociates and abettors in all manner of frolics, where he was master of the revels, were kindred spirits among the railway managers, agents, politicians, mining speculators, lawyers, and doctors of the town. Into this company a fresh ingredient would be introduced every week from the theatrical troupes which made Denver the western limit of their circuits or a convenient break in the long overland jump.

Field's office was a fitting retreat for the genius of disorder. It had none of the conveniences that are supposed to be necessary in the rooms of modern managing editors. It was open and accessible to the public without the intermediary of an office-boy or printer's devil. Field had his own way of making visitors welcome, whether they came in friendly guise or on hostile measures bent. Over his desk hung the inhospitable sign, "This is my busy day," which he is said to have invented, and on the neighboring wall the motto, "G.o.d bless our proof-reader, He can't call for him too soon." But his crudest device, "fatal," as his friend E.D. Cowen writes, "to the vengeance of every visitor who came with a threat of libel suit, and temporarily subversive of the good feeling of those friends he lured into its treacherous embrace, was a bottomless black-walnut chair." Its yawning seat was always concealed by a few exchanges carelessly thrown there-the floor being also liberally strewn with them. As it was the only chair in the room except the one Field occupied himself, his caller, though never asked to do so, would be sure to see in Field's suave smile an invitation to drop into the trap and thence ingloriously to the floor. Through this famous chair, on his first visit to the Tribune office, "Bill" Nye dropped into a lifelong friendship with Eugene Field. When the victim happened to be an angry sufferer from a too personal reference to his affairs in the paper, Field would make the most profuse apologies for the scant furnishings of the office, which he shrewdly ascribed to the poverty of the publishing company, and tender his own chair as some small compensation for the mishap.

I have spoken of Edgar W.-more familiarly known as "Bill"-Nye's unceremonious introduction to Field's friendship. This followed upon what was virtually the discovery of Nye by Field. The former was what old-time printers described as "plugging along" without recognition on the Laramie Boomerang. His peculiar humor caught the attention of Field, who, with the intuition of a born journalist, wrote and got Nye to contribute a weekly letter to the Tribune. At first Nye was paid the princely stipend of $5 a week for these letters. This was raised to $10, and when Field informed Nye that he was to receive $15 per letter, the latter promptly packed his grip and took the first train for Denver, to see what sort of a newspaper Croesus presided over the order-blank of the Tribune. When he appeared before Field he was whiskered like a western farmer and his head had not pushed its way through a thick growth of hair. He was altogether a different looking personage from the bald-headed, clean-shaven humorist with whose features the world was destined to become so well acquainted.

After the incident of the chair nothing would do Field but a dinner at the St. James Hotel, given in honor of Bill Nye. The affair started after the Tribune had gone to press and lasted all night. At five o'clock in the morning the company escorted their guest to his room and departed, with elaborate professions of good-will. They waited in the hotel office long enough for Nye to get to bed, and then sent up cards, requesting his presence down-stairs on immediate business. But Nye was equal to his tormentors, and the bell-boy returned, bearing a shot-gun, with the message that it would speak for him. When Nye first visited Field in Chicago, his presence in town was heralded with the following paragraph:

The latest news from Bill Nye is to the effect that he has discovered a coal mine on his little farm near Hudson, Wis. Ten days ago he was spading over his garden-an exercise recommended by his physician-and he struck a very rich vein of what is called rock coal. Nye paid $2,000 for this farm, and since the development of this coal deposit on the premises he has been offered $10,000 for five acres. He believes that he has a great fortune within his grasp.

As ill.u.s.trative of how impossible it was for Field to keep money, it is related that on one occasion he coaxed F.J.V. Skiff, then business manager of the Tribune, to advance "just another" $10 to meet some urgent domestic demands. Scarcely had Mr. Skiff time to place the order in the cash drawer, ere Field stood before him once more, pleading in forma pauperis for "another X." He was asked what had become of the ten he had just received.

"Just my luck, Fred," Field replied. "As I was leaving the office whom should I meet but one of my old printer boys, dead broke. The X was all I had, and he told me he had to have it, and he had to." It is needless to say that Field got the second advance and succeeded in dodging all impecunious "old boys" on the way home.

I have said that Denver at that time was the centre of all the railway interests of Colorado and the far West. Being also the capital, it was the place where legislators and railway agents wrestled with problems of regulating tariffs and granting privileges to what may be called their mutual benefit. It was from his experience in Denver that Field learned that two-thirds of the business of a western legislature consisted in causing legislative hold-ups, of which the transportation companies were the victims, and the most vociferously impeccable statesmen the chief beneficiaries. The secret service funds of the railway companies doing business in Colorado paid out a hundred dollars for protection from notorious sandbagging bills and resolutions to every dollar they spent for special favors in grants and franchises.

This by way of preface to a story in which Eugene Field and a railway official, who, as I write, holds a high position in the transportation world, figure. This official was at that time the superintendent of the Southwestern Division of the Pullman system, with head-quarters at St. Louis. In those days every session of the Colorado legislature saw its anti-Pullman rate reduction bill, which Wickersham, as I shall call him, because that is not his name, was commissioned to checkmate, strangle, or make away with in committee by the aid of annual pa.s.ses, champagne, and the mysterious potency of the national bank-note. As was remarked by E.D. Cowen, to whose notes I am indebted for refreshing my memory of Field's tales, Wickersham never failed in generalship, princ.i.p.ally because he was bold in his methods and picturesquely lavish with his munitions of war. The Pullman Company did not then enjoy the royalty and defensive alliance which now protects it against rate legislation throughout the West, and so Wickersham was kept continually on the go, making alliances and friendships among legislators and journalists against the days of reckoning.

Field, as the managing editor of the Tribune, was a special favorite with Wickersham, as he was of every professional and commercial visitor having an axe to grind at the capital of the state. Pullman's representative had the wit to appreciate Field, both for his personal qualities and the a.s.sistance he could render through the columns of the newspaper. Field reciprocated the personal friendship, but, so far as the Tribune was concerned, took a grim satisfaction in giving Wickersham to understand that though he could use its freedom he could not abuse it or count upon its aid beyond what was strictly legitimate. Field's stereotyped introduction of Wickersham-one calculated to put him on a pleasant business footing with every practical politician, was "He's a good fellow and a thoroughbred." So his coming was invariably celebrated by a general round-up of all the good fellows in Denver, and his departure left the aching heads and parched recollections that from the days of Noah have distinguished the morning after.

After one of Wickersham's calls, Field determined that the sobriety and severe morality of Denver were being scandalized by these periodical visitations, and he issued orders to the Tribune staff that when next the "good fellow and thoroughbred" appeared on the scene he should be given a wide berth, or, as Field put it, should be left to "play a lone hand in his game." So when Wickersham next swung around the legislative circle to Denver, not a man about the editorial rooms would go out with him, listen to his stories, accept a cigar at his hands, or a.s.sociate with him in any of the ways that had been their cheerful wont. The coldness and loneliness of the situation excited Wickersham's thirst for revenge and also for what is known as the wine of Kentucky. Having succeeded in getting up a full head of steam, he started out for an explanation or a counter demonstration. Arriving at the Tribune office, when the desks were vacated at the evening dinner-hour, he interpreted it as a further affront and challenge, which he proceeded to answer by destroying every last sc.r.a.p of copy in sight for the morrow's paper. He then converted himself into a small cyclone, and went through every desk, strewed their litter on the floor, broke all the pens and pencils, and, in the language of an eye-witness, "ended by toning the picture of editorial desolation with the violet contents of all the ink bottles he could find."