Walt Whitman in Mickle Street

XX CONCLUSION

"Which makes her story true, even to the point of her death."—Shakespeare (All's Well That Ends Well).

"A virtuous and a Christian-like conclusion."—(Richard III).

IF, profiting from past experience, Mrs. Davis had learned to realize that into all lives there comes a time when self has the right of consideration, she could have avoided further complications. But the early precepts were too deeply implanted, and before she had left the Mickle Street house a selfish uninteresting woman had in some insidious way fastened upon her. This burden she carried to the end.

Nor were money troubles wanting, grave and crippling, and due of course to the same fatal habit of helping others at her own expense. One day there came to her in great agitation an admirer of her late friend and patient, saying that he was threatened with financial ruin, even defamation of character, unless a certain sum of money was at once forthcoming; simply a loan for a few months; it would be faithfully repaid. Mrs. Davis had long contemplated purchasing a small home; she had the means of doing so, and this money was at once offered and accepted, but never returned. Warren's death followed, and her one strong prop was gone.

Mrs. Davis was not much of a correspondent; but notwithstanding this, she and the nurse, Mrs. Keller, occasionally exchanged letters, and the most friendly relations existed between them. After there had been a longer silence than usual, Mrs. Keller wrote to Dr. McAlister, asking him if their friend still lived in Berkley Street (the house she went to from Mickle Street, and the only one she lived in after that), and if so, requesting him to call and learn why she did not write. He did so, and replied that he had found Mrs. Davis about as usual, that she had sent much love and the promise of writing soon. Another long interval of silence followed, and finally came this letter—the last communication that passed between them.

"434 Berkley Street, Camden, N. J.
October 16, 1908.

"Dear Mrs. Keller,

I am just in receipt of your letter. Yes, Dr. McAlister did call last spring and I told him I would write you in a few days, which I fully intended to do, but it so turned out that I went to France with a friend, where I spent the summer; I have been home about three weeks. My going away was entirely unexpected, and I had but a few hours to get in readiness; left everything at loose ends, and one vexatious oversight was I forgot my address book. I thought about you many times, and would have written to you from over there had I had your address. I was delighted to hear from you—will write to you in a few days. I am wrestling with a bad cold. Hope you are well.

"Lovingly,
"M. O. Davis."

Mrs. Davis had always wished to see Niagara Falls, and Mrs. Keller, whose home was near that city, hoped that the long looked-for and talked-of visit was at last near at hand; would take place in the following summer. Instead, at the expiration of a month she received a black-edged envelope, the contents reading:

"Yourself and family are respectfully invited to attend the funeral of Mary O. Davis on Monday, November 23, at 3 P. M., from the son's residence—H. M. Fritzinger, 810 State Street, Camden, N. J. Interment at Evergreen Cemetery."

On November 20, 1908, the following notice appeared in several papers.

WHITMAN'S LAST NURSE DEAD

Woman Who Cared for Poet Succumbs Too.

Mrs. Mary L. Davis, who nursed Walt Whitman, the "Good Gray Poet," during his last illness, and was with him at his death, at No. 328 Mickle street, Camden, died last night in Cooper Hospital of intestinal troubles. She was the widow of Levin J. Davis.

After the death of Whitman Mrs. Davis resided for a short time at No. 432 Clinton street, Camden, and then she went to live with a wealthy family in New York City. About a year ago she developed intestinal troubles. The family she was living with took her to Paris for treatment by eminent specialists. She returned a month ago and went to Camden to visit Henry M. Fritzinger, of No. 810 State street. There Mrs. Davis was taken ill with the affliction from which she suffered so much, and was removed to Cooper Hospital.

The nurse who had cared for him in his last illness!—not his "faithful housekeeper, nurse and friend." But the brief report, it will be seen, had more than one error.

Perhaps the best way of giving a clear picture of the concluding stages will be to quote a letter from her son—as he was always called; Warren's brother Harry. It is a very human document.

"Dear Friend,

I am convinced that you think this letter should have been written long before, but on account of how things have gone I can assure you that I was taxed to the utmost. Mother died on the 18th of November; buried on the 23rd. You would be surprised how people who were her friends through money have changed....

"When Mother moved from Mickle Street to 434 Berkley Street she lived there until she died, although I tried for years to get her to come and live with me, as she would have been company for my wife when I was away. She had a party living with her by the name of Mrs. H——, a big lazy impostor. She waited on her, carried coal and water upstairs, ashes and slops downstairs, until she worked herself into the condition which she died from.

"About eighteen months or two years ago, there was a family by the name of Mr. and Mrs. Mailloux, and Dr. Bell of New York, admirers of Walt Whitman, who came on and got acquainted with Mother. They took a great liking to her and offered her a home with them, but she still stayed on in Berkley Street. Mother paid them several visits, and at last was persuaded to accompany Mrs. Mailloux to Paris on their regular trip, as a companion. She left America feeling as well as ever. My wife and I saw her aboard the train at Broad Street, and she was met in Jersey City by her friends.

"While she was in Paris, this woman who was living with her started the devil going, when I was compelled to go down and take charge of the house. It warmed up until I was compelled to write to Mother and ask her to send me authority to protect her interests. This spoiled her visit; she returned to America before the rest of the party. When she arrived she came directly to my house; was suffering with a severe cold. She was with us about six weeks. In the meantime my wife had her fixed up in fairly good shape. She told me that she was going to break up and come to live with us, but could not do it in a day or two.

"After she was home about a week she was sick. She fooled along until I became dissatisfied and sent my doctor down to her. He attended her two days, and ordered her to the hospital, as an operation was the only thing to save her. After she was opened they found the bowels separated, also a cancerous tumor. She lived five days after the operation.

"All this trouble was not felt until two weeks before she died. Where the report came from about her ill health and going to Paris for aid I do not know, but you always find newspaper reports wrong.

"Well, there is one thing that I feel thankful for: that she died before I did. If such had not been the case, she would have been buried in a pauper's grave, or gone to the dissecting table.

"Mother has been a friend to many; they have handled what money she had, amounting to hundreds of dollars. When she died all debts were cancelled as far as they were concerned, and not one would say: 'Here is five cents towards putting a good and faithful servant away.' But Mother was laid away as fine as anybody...."

Little more need be said. Mrs. Davis was comparatively a young woman at the time of Walt Whitman's death,—being then in her fifty-fifth year,—and in the sixteen years that followed, his friends passed away one by one, and she almost passed out of the memory of his life, as though she had never taken part in it. But the part she did take deserves remembrance.

Harry Fritzinger's letter speaks for itself, and I have tried, poorly as I may have done so, to speak for one whom I valued and value as a good woman and a loving friend.

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