once declared his Leaves of Grass to
be ‘the most personal of all books ever published.’
This is no book;
Who touches this, touches a man.
Thus he fits Hazlitt
's description of Montaigne
as one who dared to set down as a writer what he thought as a man. This being the claim of the volume, it becomes highly important to determine the character of the author.
was not, in any conventional sense of the term, that ‘average man’ whose praises he sang, else even his novel form of expression would hardly have sufficed to keep his poetry so long a time from the masses.
He was a man and a writer who could be hated as an impostor or adored as a Messiah but who was in any case a challenge to discussion.
Much light is thrown on his character, of course, by the autobiographical parts of his writings; but here it is frequently difficult to determine which incidents belong to his outward and which to his inner, or imaginative, life, so deftly do his vicarious mystical experiences blend with the sublimations of his own deeds, and so carefully have many of those deeds been mystified or concealed.1