Lives Like Loaded Guns_ Emily Dickinson and Her Family's Feuds - Lyndall Gordon [188]
Hampson then protested against acknowledgement of Millicent’s help with a forthcoming edition of the poet’s letters to the Hollands.42 Weak and furious, Hampson signed his protest ‘yours for Emily and Martha’. He was still spluttering three months later when he discovered seven remaining references to Mabel Todd’s pioneering work - ‘a person convicted of a criminal offence . . . who was saved from prison only by clemency’ - in the editor’s revised preface. He exploded as though this editor had been co-opted by the enemy: her credits should not ‘pander to parasites’. Yet, again, Hampson’s claim to Dickinson rights proved ineffective in banning publications. These setbacks made him more susceptible to McCarthy’s advice and help.
The portrait of the three Dickinson children, first published by Mabel Todd in 1894 and re-published in Face to Face, had become dingy with the passage of time. Parts of it were obscured. McCarthy offered to fetch it from The Evergreens and take it to the Fogg Art Museum at Harvard for restoration. Afterwards he was jubilant: cleaning revealed a book and flower in Emily’s hand and a picture of a cat in Lavinia’s. McCarthy raved over the ‘fabulous’ auburn of Emily’s hair after its ‘shampoo’. ‘I know that however uneasy you may have been, you will be glad you trusted me with it.’ Would Hampson like him to bring the portrait back to Amherst or, better still, permit the Houghton to exhibit it on the same basis as Melville’s portrait, which they had on loan from his granddaughter?
McCarthy homed in on the fear of fire at The Evergreens. It was Hampson’s habit to go abroad in the winter, and fear for ‘Emily’ (his code for her papers) had led him to pack ‘Emily’ in his suitcase and cart her about Europe.
Hampson was beset by other worries too: the peeling interiors of The Evergreens, the piles of unsorted papers, his proneness to hepatitis (probably alcoholic cirrhosis of the liver) and the burden of what Mattie expected of him, which he feared he was not fit to carry out. These considerations, and perhaps others, encouraged him to marry Mary Landis in 1947 when both were in their fifties.
From Hampson’s point of view it was all gain. Mary was well educated, a graduate of Smith College. She would share the burden of the papers, would manage the house and would be there in sickness and in health - and in truth, there was little left of health. Best of all, she shared his regard for Mattie (‘Martha’, as they both now called her), whom she’d known separately.
Mary had been attracted to Hampson back in 1931 when he was not disposed to marry. His life, then, had been taken up by Mattie and their joint projects. Mary called this a turning point, for she’d turned to someone else and made a brief marriage, and by the time Hampson claimed her, all that was left for her was to prolong his existence. In short, she was to be more nurse than wife.
Nine months after the marriage Hampson was ill enough to be in hospital. He came home, pottered about, travelled again the following winter, but the precariousness of his condition brought the couple up against another problem, medical expenses. In April 1948 they resolved to do what Mattie had done occasionally in times of ‘necessity’: sell off a few of Emily Dickinson’s letters. Where Mattie had acted through a Philadelphia dealer, the Hampsons turned to their understanding friend, McCarthy, who was so willing to help with what Mary called ‘such staggering wealth’.
McCarthy warned