Act 2

Scene 1:
Peter Doyle, "Yes, I will talk of Walt"

DOYLE SPEAKS AS A VITAL OLD MAN

REMINISCING ABOUT THE YOUNG MAN

HE WAS WHEN HE MET WHITMAN;

TO THE AUDIENCE AS SYMPATHETIC INTERVIEWERS

WHO HAVE COME TO ASK ABOUT WHITMAN

DOYLE: Yes, I will talk of Walt,
nothing suits me better.

How we met

is a curious story.

We felt to each other at once.

I was a street car conductor

in Washington.

The night was very stormy --

he came down to take the car --

the storm was awful.

Walt had his blanket --

it was thrown around his shoulders --

he seemed like an old sea-captain.

He was the only passenger,

it was a lonely night,

so I thought

I would go in and talk to him.

Something in me made me do it

and something in him

drew me that way.

He used to say

there was something in me

had the same effect on him.

Anyway, I went into the car.

We were familiar at once --

I put my hand on his knee --

we understood.

He did not get out

at the end of the trip --

in fact

went all the way back with me.

From that time on

we were the biggest sort of friends.

WHITMAN: TO DOYLE

I think of you very often,

dearest comrade,

and with more calmness then when I was there--

I find it first rate

to know I shall return,

and we shall be together again,

Dear Boy.

I don't know what I should do

if I hadn't you to look forward to.

Here in New York

there is pretty strong enmity

among certain classes

toward me

and Leaves of Grass --

that it is a great mass of crazy talk

and hard words,

all tangled up,

without sense or meaning

(which by the by

is, I believe,

your judgment about it).

But others sincerely think

that it is a bad book,

improper,

and ought to be denounced

and put down,

and its author along with it.

DOYLE: TO AUDIENCE.

Yes, Walt often spoke to me of his book.

I would tell him

DIRECTLY TO WHITMAN.

I don't know

what you are trying to get at.

TO AUDIENCE

And this is the idea

I would always arrive at

from his reply.

WHITMAN: All other peoples in the world
have their representatives
in literature;
here is a great big American race
with no representative.

DOYLE: He would furnish that representative.

WHITMAN: DIRECTLY TO DOYLE

Dear Pete,

I have made a change of base,

from tumultuous, close-packed,

world-like New York,

to Providence

this half-rural,

third-class town.

At both places I stop

we have plenty of ripe fresh fruit

and lots of flowers.

Pete,

I could now send you

a bouquet every morning,

far better than I used to,

of much choicer flowers.

GIVES DOYLE BOUQUET;
DOYLE HOLDS IT IN HIS ARMS

In the evening

I went by invitation

to a party of ladies and gentlemen --

mostly ladies.

I made love to the women,

and flatter myself

that I created

at least one impression --

wretch and gay deceiver that I am.

You would be astonished,

my son,

to see the capacity

for flirtation with the girls --

I would never have believed it of myself.

Fortunate young man --

ain't you --

getting such instructive letters.

DOYLE: TO AUDIENCE

I never knew a case

of Walt's being bothered up

by a woman.

His disposition was different.

Women in that sense

never came into his head.

I ought to know about him

in those years --

we were awful close together.

Towards women generally

Walt had a good way --

he very easily attracted them.

But he did that with men, too.

It was an irresistible attraction.

I've had many tell me --

men and women.

He had an easy, gentle way

no matter who they were

or what their sex.

WHITMAN: DIRECTLY TO DOYLE.

My darling boy,

if you are not well

when I come back

I will get a good room or two

in some quiet place,

and we will live together,

and devote ourselves

to making you healthier than ever.

I have had this in my mind before

but never broached it to you.

My love for you

is indestructible.

LIGHTING/MOOD CHANGE;
WHITMAN'S SEXUALLY UNCONSUMMATED

PURSUIT OF DOYLE HAS LEFT HIM
DEPRESSED AND HUMILIATED.
HE DECIDES TO END THE PURSUIT;
GRABS BOUQUET HE GAVE DOYLE
AND FLINGS IT ON FLOOR.

LOOKING INTENTLY AT DOYLE:

It is imperative

that I remove myself

from this incessant,

enormous

PERTURBATION.

SPEAKERS FOCUS ON DOYLE

SPEAKER 1: To GIVE UP ABSOLUTELY

SPEAKER 2: and for good,

SPEAKER 3: from this present hour,

SPEAKER 4: this FEVERISH,

SPEAKER 1: FLUCTUATING,

SPEAKER 2: useless,

SPEAKER 3: UNDIGNIFIED

SPEAKER 4: pursuit of P.D.

SPEAKER 1: so humiliating --

SPEAKER 2: (It cannot possibly be a success)

SPEAKER 3: LET THERE BE NO FALTERING

SPEAKER 4: avoid seeing him,

SPEAKER 1: and meeting him,

SPEAKER 2: or any talk or explanations

SPEAKER 3: or ANY MEETING WHATEVER,

SPEAKER 4: FROM THIS HOUR FOREVER,

SPEAKER 1: FOR LIFE.

SPEAKER 2: Depress the adhesive nature.

SPEAKER 3: It is in excess --

SPEAKER 4: making life a torment.

WHITMAN: All this diseased, feverish, disproportionate adhesiveness.

SPEAKER 1: TO WHITMAN

Remember Fred Vaughan.

LIGHTING/MOOD CHANGE

WHITMAN: We parted there,
you know, Pete,
at the corner of 7th Street,
Tuesday night.

Parting though it was

something in that hour

left me pleasure

and comfort for good --

I never dreamed

you made so much

of having me with you

nor that you could feel

so downcast

at losing me.

I foolishly thought

it was all on the other side.

I now see clearly,

that I was all wrong.

Love to you,

dear Pete,

my darling boy.

LIGHTING CHANGE. NIGHT. STARS.
A PAINTED, CARDBOARD MOON
MIGHT DESCEND ON A VISIBLE WIRE

DOYLE: TO AUDIENCE

How different Walt was then
in Washington
from the Walt of later years!

TO WHITMAN

I knew him to do wonderful lifting,

running, walking.

TO AUDIENCE

I would go up to the Treasury building

and wait for him to get through.

Then we'd stroll out together,

going wherever we happened to get.

This occurred days in and out,

months running.

TO WHITMAN

We went plodding along the road.

Walt always whistling

or singing.

We would talk of ordinary matters.

He would recite poetry,

especially Shakespeare

he would hum airs

or shout in the woods.

He was always active, happy.

Many of our walks

were taken at night.

TO AUDIENCE

He never seemed to tire.

When we got to the ferry

opposite Alexandria

I would say,

TO WHITMAN

"I'll draw the line here
I won't go any further."

TO AUDIENCE

But he would take everything for granted --

we would cross the river

and walk home

on the other side.

TO WHITMAN

Walt knew all about the stars.

He was eloquent when he talked of them.

WHITMAN: TO DOYLE

Dear Pete,

Dear son,

I can almost see you

drowsing and nodding

and I am telling you something deep

about the heavenly bodies

and in the midst of it

I look around

and find you fast asleep

and your head on my shoulder

like a chunk of wood --

an awful compliment

to my lecturing powers.

Good night, Pete --

Good night,

my darling son

here is a kiss for you,

dear boy --

on the paper here --

a good long one --

I will imagine you

with your arm around my neck

saying

DOYLE: QUIETLY, TO WHITMAN

"Goodnight, Walt" --

WHITMAN: and me --
"Goodnight, Pete."

LIGHTS OUT ON DOYLE.
WHITMAN CONTINUES, ADDRESSING AUDIENCE.
WHILE WHITMAN SPEAKS
A SERIES OF PHOTOS OF HIM MAY BE PROJECTED,
TRACING IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER
HIS CHANGING IMAGE
FROM YOUTHFUL, EFFETE, BOHEMIAN DANDY
TO OLD, POET PROPHET.

Scene 2:
Walt Whitman, "Publish my name"

WHITMAN: Publish my name and hang up my picture
as that of the tenderest lover,
The friend the lover's portrait,
of whom his friend his lover was fondest,
Who was not proud of his songs,
but of the measureless ocean of love within him,
and freely poured it forth;
Who often walked lonesome walks
thinking of his dear friends, his lovers;
Who pensive, away from one he loved,
often lay sleepless and dissatisfied at night;
Who knew too well the sick, sick dread
lest the one he loved
might secretly be indifferent to him;
Whose happiest days
were far away through fields, on hills,
he and another wandering hand in hand,
they twain apart from other men;

DOYLE JOINS WHITMAN,
PUTS HIS ARM AROUND WHITMAN'S SHOULDER;
WHITMAN PUTS HIS ARM AROUND DOYLE'S SHOULDER

Who oft as he sauntered the streets,

curved with his arm the shoulder of his friend --

while the arm of his friend

rested upon him also.

BLACKOUT.

ANOTHER OF WHITMAN'S MEN,
JOHN ADDINGTON SYMONDS, APPEARS AGAIN,
IN THE SPOT VACATED BY DOYLE.
SYMONDS' PHOTOGRAPH MAY BE PROJECTED

SCENE 3:
John Addington Symonds, "I fear"

SYMONDS ADDRESSES WHITMAN DIRECTLY,
AS IF THEY ARE IN THE SAME SPACE;
WHITMAN IS SEATED WITH HORACE TRAUBEL.

SYMONDS: I fear that the last time I wrote
I spoke something amiss.
I then asked you
questions about Calamus.
Since that time I have kept silent,
fearful I was ill-advised
in what I asked.

WHITMAN: TO TRAUBEL

He harps on the Calamus poems again --
always harping on "my daughter."
I suppose you might say:

TRAUBEL: Why don't you shut him up by answering him?

WHITMAN: TO AUDIENCE

There is no logical answer to that.

But I may ask in my turn:

TO SYMONDS

"What right has he

to ask questions anyway?"

TO TRAUBEL

Symonds' question

comes back to me

almost every time he writes.

He is courteous enough about it

that is the reason

I do not resent him.

But it always makes me a little testy

to be catechized about the Leaves --

I prefer to have the book

answer for itself.

SYMONDS: TO WHITMAN.

The reason why

I have not published

more than I have

about your poems

is that I cannot get quite

to the bottom of Calamus.

I wish I had your light upon it.

SYMONDS REACHES OUT TO WHITMAN, BESEECHING.

WHITMAN: TO SYMONDS

That question,

he does ask it,

again and again:

asks it, asks it, asks it.

TO SYMONDS, TENDERLY.

Anyway,

Symonds is a royal good fellow.

Look at the fight

he has kept up with his body --

his consumption --

yes, and so far won.

I have had my own troubles

but Symonds is the noblest of us all.

TO TRAUBEL

Symonds has a few doubts

yet to be quieted

not doubts of me,

doubts rather of himself.

One of these doubts

is about Calamus:

SYMONDS: TO WHITMAN, PLEADING FOR A RESPONSE

What does Calamus mean?

WHITMAN: That is worrying him a good deal --
my poems' involvement,
as he suspects,
in the passional relations of men with men --
the thing he reads so much of
in the literature of southern Europe
and sees something of
in his own experience.
He is always driving me about that:

SYMONDS: is that what Calamus means?

WHITMAN: because of me
or in spite of me,

SYMONDS: is that what Calamus means?

WHITMAN: TO TRAUBEL

I have said no,

but no does not satisfy him.

He is very shrewd,

very cute,

in deadliest earnest:

he drives me hard --

almost compels me --

is urgent, persistent:

he sort of stands in the road and says:

SYMONDS: I won't move
till you answer my question.

WHITMAN: TO SYMONDS

He is still asking the question.

SYMONDS: What the love of man for man
has been in the past
I think I know.
What you say it can and shall be
I dimly discern in your poems.

But this hardly satisfies me

so desirous am I

of learning what you teach.

Some day, perhaps,

in your own chosen form --

you will tell me more

about the love of Friends.

Till then I wait.

Meanwhile

you have told me more than anyone.

TRAUBEL: TO WHITMAN

That's a humble letter enough.

I don't see anything in it

to get excited about.

WHITMAN: CLEARLY EXCITED

Who's excited?

TRAUBEL SHAKES HIS HEAD,
PUZZLED BY WHITMAN'S VEHEMENCE

TO SYMONDS

That question,

he does ask it.

Anyway,

I love Symonds.

Who could fail to love

a man who could write such a letter?

I suppose he will have to be answered,

damn, 'im!

QUIETLY, TO HIMSELF

Sometimes I wonder

whether Symonds doesn't come under

St. Paul's famous category --

men leaving the natural use of women.

SYMONDS, MOVES TO A PODIUM
AND ADDRESSES AUDIENCE
AS A SYMPATHETIC CONFIDANT

SYMONDS: In February 1877
I gave three lectures
on Italian history and culture
in the theatre
of the Royal Institution, London.
One day,
an old acquaintance
asked me to go with him
to a male brothel
near Regents' Park Barracks.

A BRAWNY YOUNG SOLDIER APPEARS

There,

moved by something stronger than curiosity,

I made an assignation

with a brawny young soldier

for an afternoon

in a private room at the house.

Naturally,

I chose a day

I was not wanted

at the Royal Institution.

SYMONDS STOPS TALKING,
TURNS TOWARD THE SOLDIER
WHO UNDRESSES SLOWLY,
WATCHING HIMSELF IN A MIRROR.

SYMONDS WATCHES THE SOLDIER

WATCHING HIMSELF IN THE MIRROR.

THE AUDIENCE WATCHES A MAN

WATCHING A MAN WATCHING;

THEN SYMONDS
DRAWS A CURTAIN OVER THE AREA WITH SOLDIER
AND TURNS BACK TO THE PODIUM

For the first time

I shared a bed

with one so ardently desired.

He was a very nice fellow

as it turned out:

comradely and natural,

regarding the affair

from a business-like

and reasonable point of view.

For him

it involved nothing unusual,

nothing shameful;

and his simple attitude,

the not displeasing vanity

with which he viewed

his own physical attractions,

and the genial sympathy

with which he met

the passion they aroused,

taught me something

about illicit sexual relations

I had never before conceived.

Instead of yielding to any brutal impulse,

I thoroughly enjoyed

the close vicinity

of that splendid naked piece of manhood.

Then I made him clothe himself,

sat and smoked and talked with him,

and felt,

at the end of the whole transaction,

that some of the deepest moral problems

might be solved

by fraternity.

Within the sphere

of that lawless, godless place,

human relations --

affections,

reciprocal toleration,

decencies of conduct,

asking and yielding --

concession and abstention --

find a natural expression:

perhaps more

than in the sexual relations

consecrated by middle-class matrimony.

Meanwhile,

I was giving my lectures.

Very dull lectures they were,

for my soul was not in them;

my soul throbbed for the soldier,

for escape

from that droning lecture desk

into a larger, keener existence.

Little did I care

what the gentlemen in frock coats

and ladies in bonnets

thought of my lectures.

I knew

the real arena was not

in the theatre of disputations

and explications of theories.

It lay in a world each penetrates

when the voice of the lecturer

is no more heard

in the theatre.

SYMONDS TURNS AND JOINS SOLDIER,
BEHIND CURTAIN.
LIGHTS UP ON WHITMAN
WHO STEPS UP TO THE PODIUM SYMONDS VACATED:
THE VOICE OF THIS LECTURER IS HEARD IN THE THEATER

Scene 4:
Walt Whitman, "It is to the development"

WHITMAN: It is to the development,
identification,
and general prevalence
of that fervid comradeship,
the adhesive love
of man and man
at least rivaling
the amative love
of man and woman,
if not going beyond it,
that I look
for the counterbalance
to our materialistic,
vulgar American democracy,
and for the spiritualization thereof.

Many will say

it is a dream,

and will not follow my inferences;

but I confidently expect a time

when there will be seen,

running like a half-hid warp

through all the myriad

worldly interests of America,

threads of manly friendship,

fond and loving,

pure and sweet,

strong and life-long,

carried to degrees

hitherto unknown --

not only giving tone

to individual character,

making it unprecedently emotional,

muscular,

heroic,

and refined,

but having the deepest relation

to general politics.

I say democracy infers

such loving comradeship,

as its most inevitable twin,

without which

it will be incomplete,

in vain,

and incapable

of perpetuating itself.

LIGHTING/MOOD CHANGE.

Scene 5:
Walt Whitman, "City of Orgies"

SPEAKER 1: give me now libidinous joys only!

SPEAKER 2: Give me the drench of my passions!

SPEAKER 3: Give me life coarse and rank!

WHITMAN JOINS HIS SPEAK

WHITMAN: Today I go consort with nature's darlings --
tonight too.

SPEAKER 1: I am for those who believe in loose delights,

SPEAKER 2: I share the midnight orgies of young men.

SPEAKER 3: I dance with the dancers, and drink with the drinkers,

SPEAKER 4: The echoes ring with our indecent calls,

WHITMAN: I take for my love some prostitute --
I pick out some low person for my dearest friend,

SPEAKER 1: He shall be lawless rude, illiterate,

SPEAKER 2: he shall be one condemned by others for deeds done;

SPEAKER 3: I will play a part no longer --
Why should I exile myself from my companions?

SPEAKER 4: o you shunned persons!
I at least do not shun you,

WHITMAN: I come forthwith in your midst --
I will be your poet,
I will be more to you than to any of the rest.

EDWARD CARPENTER
RESPONDS TO WHITMAN'S LAST LINES, INSPIRED.
PHOTO OF CARPENTER MAY BE PROJECTED.
HERE, CARPENTER IS 30-YEARS OLD

Scene 6:
Edward Carpenter, "There are many"

CARPENTER INTRODUCES HIMSELF TO WHITMAN

CARPENTER: There are many here in England
to whom your words
have been the waking up to a new day.

When I say "many"

I do not mean a multitude

(I wish I did)

but many individuals

each himself

(or herself,

for they are mostly women --
fluid, courageous, tender)

the centre of a new influence.

Yesterday, there came

(to mend my door)

a young workman

with the old divine light in his eyes,

and perhaps,

more than all,

he has made me write to you.

See, you have made the earth sacred for me.

Because you have given me

the ground for the love of men

I thank you continually in my heart.

(And others thank you

though they do not say so.)

For you have made men

not ashamed

of the noblest instinct of their nature.

It is a pleasure to me

to talk to you,

for though I am a teacher,

and speak publicly

on issues of the day,

there are many things

I find it hard to say

to anyone here.

WHITMAN: I wish to infuse myself among you
till I see it common for you
to walk hand in hand.

CARPENTER: Friend,
you have so infused yourself
that it is daily
more and more possible
for men to walk
hand in hand
over the whole earth.
My work is to carry on
what you have begun.

WHITMAN: TO CARPENTER

The best of Carpenter

is in his humanity:

he was a university man,

yet managed

to save himself in time.

So many university men

sympathize with the struggle of the people

but only see the battle from afar.

Carpenter manages

to stay in the middle of it.

Carpenter is a radical of the radicals:

a come-outer:

one of the social fellows

who stir up thought.

He is a youngish man.

What will come of his life

is yet to be developed.

CARPENTER: On June 30, 1884,
in the morning,
I paid my last visit
to Whitman's small house
at 328 Mickle Street,
in Camden, New Jersey.

We had a long and intimate conversation.

He was very friendly and affectionate:

sat by the open window

while he talked about his book.

WHITMAN: What lies behind Leaves of Grass
is something that few, very few,
one here and there,
perhaps oftenest women,
are at all in a position to seize.

It lies behind almost every line; but concealed,

studiedly concealed;

some passages

left purposely obscure.

There is something in my nature

furtive like an old hen!

You see a hen

wandering up and down a hedgerow,

looking apparently unconcerned,

but presently

she finds a concealed spot,

and furtively lays an egg,

and comes away

as though nothing had happened!

That is how I felt

in writing Leaves of Grass.

I think there are truths

which it is necessary

to envelope

or wrap up.

TWO TRUTHS STEP FORWARD.
THROUGHOUT THE NEXT EPISODE
STAFFORD, CATTELL, AND WHITMAN
MOVE AROUND EACH OTHER
IN ANOTHER TRIANGULAR DANCE
OF ATTRACTION AND RETREAT

Scene 7
Walt Whitman, Harry Stafford, Ed Cattell, "The hour, night"

PHOTO OF STAFFORD MAY BE PROJECTED.
STAFFORD AND CATTELL
INTRODUCE THEMSELVES TO WHITMAN

STAFFORD: Harry Stafford, eighteen-years-old.

CATTELL: Edward Cattell. Twenty-five.

STAFFORD TURNS AWAY FROM WHITMAN.
CATTELL MOVES CLOSE TO WHITMAN
AND KISSES HIM

WHITMAN: The hour, night.
Ed Cattell and I
at the front gate
by the road.

WHITMAN TURNS AWAY FROM CATTELL
TO STAFFORD, WHO MOVES CLOSE TO WHITMAN

Talk with Harry, gave him ring.

WHITMAN GIVES HARRY RING:
BRIDE AND GROOM TABLEAU.
WHITMAN, PUTS HIS ARM AROUND STAFFORD,
BOTH TURN STAGE FRONT;
WHITMAN ADDRESSES JOHNSTON,
INVISIBLE IN THE AUDIENCE IN FRONT OF THEM

Thanks, my dear Johnston,

for your invitation.

to stay at your house.

My (adopted) son,

INDICATES STAFFORD

a young man of eighteen,

is with me now,

sees to me,

and occasionally transacts my business affairs;

I feel somewhat at sea without him.

Could I bring him with me,

to share my room?

WHITMAN, ARM STILL TIGHT AROUND STAFFORD,

REFOCUSES ON JOHNSTON, IN AUDIENCE

My dear Johnston, my nephew

INDICATING STAFFORD

and I when traveling

always share the same room

and the same bed,

and would like best

to do so there.

I want to bring on a lot of my books --

that is what my young man is for.

WHITMAN SMILES CONTENTEDLY AT STAFFORD;

STAFFORD SMILES BACK;

THEN, WHITMAN TO HIMSELF:

Evening.

Sitting in room,

had serious inward revelation

about Harry.

Saw clearly what it really meant.

Happy and satisfied

that this may last now

without any more perturbation.

WHITMAN TURNS TO CATTELL

Ed, Don't . . .

Do not call on me

any more

at the Stafford family,

and do not call there at all

any more.

Don't ask me why.

There is nothing in it

that I think I do wrong,

nor am ashamed of,

but I wish it

kept entirely

between you and me --

As to Harry,

you know how I love him.

Ed,

you too

have my unalterable love,

and always shall have.

I want you to come up here.

When will you come?

WHITMAN TURNS TO STAFFORD

WHO SITS PRACTICING HIS WRITING.

WHITMAN SITS OPPOSITE, READING --

A HAPPY PAIR.

STAFFORD: It is now a fine evening,
with an occasional gust of wind,
and the moon at times
shines out brightly.

Mr. Whitman and I

are sitting here

in the room together;

he is reading The New York Herald,

and I am writing these lines

for exercise

for exercise.

STAFFORD REFOCUSES

It is a beautiful morning

and you and I

are feeling well and hearty.

PRACTICING WRITING AGAIN:

My friend and I,

he says,

have had a happy night and morning.

LIGHTING/MOOD CHANGE;
STAFFORD JUMPS UP,
POUNDS WRITING TABLE IN ANGER.

THEN, CONCILIATORY:

It makes me feel so bad,

Walt,

to think how we spent

the last day or two;

and all for my temper.

I will have to controle it

or it will send me to the states prison

or some other bad place.

I know how I have served you

on many ocassions before.

I know it is my falt

not yours.

Can you forgive me

and take me back

and love me the same?

I will try

by the grace of God

to do better.

I cannot give you up.

You may say

I don't care for you,

but I do,

I think of you

all the time,

I want you to come up tomorrow night.

I hope you will not disappoint me.

You are all the true friend I have,

and when I cannot have you

I will go away someware,

I don't know where.

WHITMAN: TO STAFFORD

Not a day or night passes,

Harry,

but I think of you.

Dear son,

how I wish you could come in now,

even but for an hour

and take off your coat,

and sit down in my lap.

I want to see the creek again

and I want to see you,

my darling son.

STAFFORD: TO WHITMAN

I will be up to see you on Thursday

to stay all night with you,

don't want to go to any bars then,

want to stay in

and talk with you,

when I sar you,

did not get time

to say anything to you,

did not have time

to say scarcely anything.

I want to get up to see you

and have a good time

for I can't let myself out here

they are too nice for that.

WHITMAN: TURNS FROM STAFFORD TO CATTELL

Meetings --

Ed Cattell

by the pond

at Kirkwood moonlight nights.

STAFFORD: DEMANDING WHITMAN'S ATTENTION:

I want you to have some place to go

when I come down,

some place where there is plenty of girls,

I want to have some fun

when I come down this time.

STAFFORD IMPULSIVELY STRIPS OFF HIS SHIRT,
READYING HIMSELF FOR WRESTLING

The fun I had last night

was with a fellow

that has been thinking for a long time

he could throw me,

so last night

him and I came together

and down he went.

STAFFORD WRESTLES
WITH ANOTHER BARE-CHESTED YOUNG MAN,
THE IMAGE IS THAT
IN A THOMAS EAKINS PAINTING;
THE WRESTLERS FORM
A BRIEF, MOTIONLESS EMBRACE;
THEN, STAFFORD TRIUMPHS,
WRESTLERS BREAK APART;
STAFFORD PUTS ON HIS SHIRT

When I am not thinking of my business

I am thinking of what I am shielding,

I want to try to make a man of myself,

and do what is right.

WHITMAN TURNS AWAY FROM STAFFORD,
REFOCUSING ON CATTELL

WHITMAN: Edward Cattell with me.

STAFFORD: DEMANDING WHITMAN'S ATTENTION

I was very lonely Saturday night,

I wanted to come up to see you.

WHITMAN TURNS AWAY FROM CATTELL,
REFOCUSES ON STAFFORD

I wish you would

put the ring on my finger again,

it seems to me

there is something wanting

to complete our friendship.

I have tride to study it out

but cannot find out what it is.

You know how you put it on --

there was one thing

to part it from me

and that was death.

I wish you would put the ring on my finger again.

WHITMAN TURNS AWAY FROM STAFFORD TO CATTELL,
WHO SPEAKS TO HIM AFFECTIONATELY

CATTELL: i was glad to har from you
my loving old friend.

i would com up to see you.

But i cant get off a day now

we ar so Bisse Husking Corn.

i went to the pond to day

and seen your old chir

floting down the streem.

I think of you old man.

Think of the time

down on the Creek.

It seems an age

since I last met with you

down at the pond

and a lovely time

we had of it too

old man.

I would like to see you

and have a talk.

Would like to com up some Saterday

and stay all night with you.

i love you Walt

and all ways will.

i know my love is returned too.

WHITMAN STAYS FOCUSED ON CATTELL.
STAFFORD SPEAKS TO WHITMAN,
DEMANDING HIS ATTENTION

STAFFORD: I cannot enjoy myself
any more at home,

WHITMAN TURNS FROM CATTELL TO STAFFORD

if I go up in my room

I always come down feeling worse,

for the first thing I see

is your picture,

PHOTO OF WHITMAN MAY BE PROJECTED

and whenever I do anything,

the picture

is always looking at me,

STAFFORD PUTS ON WHITE SLOUCH HAT

I have been thinking

about fifty times

since you spoke of it

of the suit of clothes

I am to have

like yours;

I have had myself all picture out

with a suit of gray

and a white slouch hat on --

the fellows will call me Walt then.

I will have to do something

great and good

in honor of his name.

What will it be?

LIGHTS ON WHITMAN, WHO ADDRESSES STAFFORD

WHITMAN: My darling boy,
I want to see you very much.

STAFFORD: Times have become settled,
and our love sure
(although we have had
very many rough times together)
but we have stuck to each other
until we die,
I know.

WHITMAN: 62-YEARS-OLD; REMINISCING

The occasional ridiculous little storms of the past

I have quite discarded from memory --

and I hope you will too --

the other recollections

overtop them altogether,

and occupy the only permanent place in my heart --

as a manly loving friendship for you does also,

and will while life lasts.

Of the past I think only

of the comforting things --

I go back to the times at Timber Creek

beginning most five years ago,

and my hobbling down the old lane

and how I took a good turn there

and commenced to get healthier,

stronger.

Hank,

if I had not known you--

if it hadn't been for you

and our friendship

and my going down there summers

to the creek with you --

and living with your folks,

and cheering me up --

I should not be a living man today --

I remember these things

and they comfort me --

and you,

my darling boy,

are the central figure of them all.

Scene 8:

Horace Traubel, "Whitman asked me"

PHOTO OF TRAUBEL PROJECTED

HORACE TRAUBEL,
GAZING AT STAFFORD AND WHITMAN,
HEARS WHITMAN'S LAST LINES.
TRAUBEL INTRODUCES HIMSELF TO AUDIENCE.

TRAUBEL: Horace Traubel.

Whitman asked me

about last night's meeting,

which sat till after 12

in Philadelphia

about a dozen men present.

"Calamus" had been much discussed --

Sulzberger questioning the comradeship

there announced

as verging upon

the licentiousness of the Greek.

Whitman took it very seriously:

WHITMAN: 70-YEARS-OLD

He meant the handsome Greek youth

one for the other?

I can see how

it might be opened

to such an interpretation.

But in the ten thousand

who for many years

have stood ready

to make any possible charge against me,

none has raised this objection.

"Calamus" is to me indispensable--

LIGHTS UP ON JOHN ADDINGTON SYMONDS WHO,
HEARING WORD "CALAMUS, STANDS UP,
LOOKING AT WHITMAN WITH GREAT ANTICIPATION

not there alone

in that one series of poems,

but in all.

It could no more be dispensed with

than the ship entire.

SYMONDS MOVES FRONT.
TWENTY YEARS AFTER HIS INITIAL INQUIRY ABOUT WHITMAN, HE IS STILL HOTLY PURSUING HIS QUESTIONS
ABOUT WHITMAN'S CALAMUS THEME.

Scene 9:
John Addington Symonds,
"In your conception of Comradeship"

PHOTO OF SYMONDS PROJECTED

SYMONDS SPEAKS DIRECTLY AND INTENSELY
TO WHITMAN, READY, FINALLY,
FOR A SHOWDOWN WITH WHITMAN
ON THE SUBJECT OF SEX IN THE INTIMACIES
OF MEN WITH MEN.

SYMONDS: In your conception of Comradeship,
do you contemplate
the possible intrusion
of those semi-sexual
emotions and actions
which do occur between men?

I do not ask

whether you approve of them,

or regard them

as a necessary part of the relation.

But I should much like to know

whether you are prepared

to leave them

to the inclinations

and the conscience

of the individuals concerned?

For my part,

I hold that the present laws

of France and Italy

are right.

They protect minors,

punish violence,

and guard against

outrages of public decency.

They leave individuals

to do what they think fit.

These principles

are in open contradiction

with English and American legislation.

It has frequently occurred to me

to hear your "Calamus" poems

objected to

as praising

and propagating

a passionate affection

between men

which might "bring people into criminality."

I agree that some men,

having a strong natural bias

toward persons of their own sex,

the enthusiasm of your "Calamus" poems

is calculated to encourage

ardent and physical intimacies.

I do not agree

that such a result

would be absolutely prejudicial

to social interests.

SPEAKERS ALL REPEAT WHITMAN'S EARLIER WORDS.

SPEAKER 1: I do not press my finger across my mouth.

SPEAKER 2: I am for those who believe in loose delights

SPEAKER 3: All themes stagnate in their vitals,
if they cannot publicly accept
and publicly name,
with specific words,
those things on which
all that is worth being here for depend.

SPEAKER 4: It is to the development
of that fervid comradeship,
the adhesive love
of man and man,
that I look
for the counterbalance
of our materialistic,
vulgar American democracy.

IMAGE PROJECTED: WHITMAN WITH SYMONDS' PHOTO IN BACKGROUND

Whitman: SPEAKING DIRECTLY TO SYMONDS.

Your questions

about my Calamus pieces

quite daze me.

That the Calamus part

has opened --

even allowed --

the possibility

of such construction as mentioned

is terrible.

I am fain to hope

that the pages themselves

are not to be even blamed --

mentioned --

for such gratuitous

and quite

at the time

undreamed

and unreckoned

possibility

of morbid inferences --

which are disavowed by me

and seem damnable.

My life,

young manhood, mid-age

have all been jolly

and probably open to criticism.

Though always unmarried

I have had six children.

IMMEDIATELY, WHITMAN'S SIX "SONS"
APPEAR AROUND HIM:
PETER DOYLE, THOMAS SAWYER,
LEWIS BROWN, DOUGLASS FOX,
HARRY STAFFORD, EDWARD CATTELL.

THEN SYMONDS RESPONDS TO WHITMAN,
WITH A NOTE OF DISBELIEF AND IRONY.

SYMONDS: I am sincerely obliged to you
to know so precisely
that the "adhesiveness" of comradeship
has no interblending
with the "amativeness" of sexual love.

SYMONDS TURNS AWAY FROM WHITMAN
TO SPEAK TO EDWARD CARPENTER:

Whitman did not quite trust me perhaps.

Afraid of being used

to lend his influence

to "Sods."

CARPENTER: TO SYMONDS

Personally,

having known Whitman fairly intimately,

I do not lay great stress on that letter.

Whitman was

in his real disposition

the most candid,

but also

the most cautious of men.

TO AUDIENCE

An attempt was made

on this occasion

to drive him

into some sort of confession

of his real nature;

that very effort

aroused all his resistance

and caused him to hedge

more than ever.

TO SYMONDS

If Whitman took

the reasonable line

and said that,

while not advocating

abnormal relations

in any way,

he of course

made allowance

for possibilities in that direction

and the occasional development

of such relations,

why, he knew

that the moment he said such a thing

he would have

the whole American press at his heels,

snarling and slandering.

TO AUDIENCE

Things are pretty bad here in England,

but in the states

(in such matters)

they are ten times worse.

Scene 10
Gavin Arthur, "In spite of his 80 years"

ARTHUR: ADDRESSING THE AUDIENCE AS A CLOSE FRIEND.

In spite of his 80 years,

Edward Carpenter's eyes

were a vivid sky-blue;

his face was copper,

his hair shining silver.

TO CARPENTER

I was twenty-two.

CARPENTER: Welcome, my boy!

HE EMBRACES ARTHUR,
HOLDING THE HANDSOME YOUTH
ONE SECOND TOO LONG,
KISSING HIM WARMLY ON BOTH CHEEKS

ARTHUR: TO AUDIENCE

He smelled like leaves

in an autumn forrest.

A sort of seminal smell.

CARPENTER MIMES INTRODUCTIONS

He introduced me

to his comrade George

and George's comrade Ted.

We talked about Walt.

Carpenter said

CARPENTER: Walt would have loved you

ARTHUR: the others agreed
and my heart beat hard.

After supper Ted suggested

a walk in the moonlight.

ARTHUR AND TED WALK OUT TOGETHER

We talked about Carpenter.

Then Ted said:

TED: Why don't you spend the night?
It would do Eddy so much good
to sleep with
a good looking young American.

ARTHUR: I would like nothing better,
I said.

We approached the fire,

before which the Old Man was sitting.

Ted looked down at him lovingly:

TED: Gavin wants to sleep with you tonight, Eddie.
Ain't you the lucky old dog?

ARTHUR: The other two went up to bed.

The old man and I sat by the fire.

We talked again of Walt.

I blurted out,

half afraid to ask:

"I suppose you slept with him?"

CARPENTER: Oh yes --
he regarded it
as the best way
to get together with another man.

He thought

people should know each other

on the physical and emotional plane

as well as the mental.

The best part of comrade love

was that there was no limit

to the number of comrades one could have.

ARTHUR: "How did he make love?"
I forced myself to ask.

CARPENTER: I will show you.

ARTHUR SITS STAGE CENTER;
CARPENTER IN BACK OF ARTHUR,
HOLDING HIM;
WHITMAN SITS IN BACK OF CARPENTER.
NO SEXUAL ACTIVITY IS ENACTED,
THE WORDS ARE POWERFUL ENOUGH.

ARTHUR: We were both naked.
We lay side by side
on our backs
holding hands.

Then he was holding my head

in his two hands,

making little growly noises,

staring at me in the moonlight.

"This is the laying on of hands,"

I thought.

"Walt.

Then Edward.

Then Me."

The old man at my side

was stroking my body

with the most expert touch.

I lay there in the moonlight pouring in at the window,

giving myself up

to the loving old man's marvelous petting.

Every now and then

he would bury his face

in the hair of my chest,

agitate a nipple

with the end of his tongue,

or breathe in deeply from my armpit.

I had of course a throbbing erection

but he ignored it

for a long time.

Very gradually, however,

he got nearer and nearer,

first with his hand

and later with his tongue

which was now

flickering all over me

like summer lightning.

I stroked whatever part of him

came within reach of my hand

but felt instinctively

this was a one-sided affair,

he being so old

and I so young,

and that he enjoyed petting me

as much as I enjoyed being petted.

At last his hand

was moving between my legs

and his tongue

was in my bellybutton.

Then he was tickling my fundament

just behind the balls

and I could not hold it any longer,

his mouth closed over the head of my penis

and I could feel my young vitality

flowing into his old age.

He did not waste that life-giving fluid.

As he said afterward:

CARPENTER: LECTURING A BIT, EVER THE TEACHER

It isn't the chemical ingredients

which are so full of vitality

it's the electric content,

like you get in milk

if you drink it

direct from the cow --

so different from cold milk!

ARTHUR: I fell asleep
like a child
safe in father-mother arms,
the arms of God.

SPEAKING OF RELIGION; LIGHTING/MOOD CHANGE.

Scene 11
The New York Times, December 17, 1955

SPEAKER 1: Roman Catholics of the Camden diocese
opened a campaign today
to prevent the naming
of a new Delaware River bridge
after Walt Whitman.

PHOTO OF WALT WHITMAN BRIDGE POSTCARD PROJECTED

SPEAKER 2: When asked
why Whitman was objectionable,
the Reverend Edward Lucitt,
director of the Holy Name Society,
cited a recent biography of Whitman
by Dr. Gay Wilson Allen
who had called the poet

ALLEN: a "homo-erotic."

SPEAKER 3: But Dr. Allen said last night
that he had no intention
of implying that Whitman
was a homosexual:

ALLEN: I used the term "homo-erotic"
rather than "homosexual"
because homosexual
suggests sex perversion.

There is absolutely no evidence

that Whitman engaged

in any perverted practice.

Whitman's writings show

a strong affection for men.

Many saints

show the same feeling.

SPEAKER 4: Children of fifty-eight parochial schools
in the Camden diocese
are being asked
to submit essays
on "great men of New Jersey"
in the hope
of inspiring another name
for the bridge.

LIGHTING/MOOD CHANGE.
PETER DOYLE TO FRONT CENTER OF STAGE

SCENE 12
Peter Doyle, "I have Walt's raglan here"

DOYLE SPEAKS TO THE AUDIENCE
AS A GOOD FRIEND.
HERE, DOYLE IS ABOUT 50

DOYLE: I have Walt's raglan here.

PUTS THE OVERCOAT ON

I now and then put it on,

lay down,

think I am in the old times.

Then he is with me again.

It's the only thing I kept

amongst many old things.

When I get it on

and stretched out on the old sofa

I am very well contented.

It is like Aladdin's lamp.

I do not ever for a minute

lose the old man.

He is always near by.

When I am in trouble --

in a crisis --

I ask myself

"What would Walt have done

under these circumstances?"

and whatever I decide

Walt would have done

that I do.

Towards the end

he continued to write to me.

He never altered his manner toward me;

here are a few postal cards,

HOLD UP POSTCARDS

you will see

they show the same old love.

He understood me --

I understood him.

We loved each other deeply.

Walt realized

I never swerved from him.

But I have talked a long while.

Let us drink this beer together.

HOLDS UP A BOTTLE

It's a fearful warm day.

You take the glasses, there;

Now, here's to the dear old man

and the dear old times --

and the new times, too,

and everyone that's to come!

Scene 12
Walt Whitman, "No labor-saving machine"

WHITMAN SPEAKS TO AUDIENCE AS COMRADE AND LOVER

WHITMAN: No labor-saving machine, Nor discovery have I made,
Nor will I be able to leave behind me
any wealthy bequest to found a hospital or library,
Nor reminiscence of any deed of courage for America,
Nor literary success nor intellect,
Nor book for the bookshelf,
But a few carols vibrating through the air I leave,
For comrades and lovers.

BLACKOUT - END