_'Non ebur neque aureum
Mea renidet in dono lacu ar,_' etc.
"I remember that Poe was also a very fine French scholar. Yet, with
all his superiorities, he was not the master spirit nor even the
favorite of the school. I assign, from my recollection, this place to
Howard. Poe, as I recall my impressions now, was self-willed,
capricious, inclined to be imperious, and, though of generous
impulses, not steadily kind, nor even amiable; and so what he would
exact was refused to him. I add another thing which had its influence,
I am sure. At the time of which I speak, Richmond was one of the most
aristocratic cities on this side of the Atlantic.... A school is, of
its nature, democratic; but still boys will unconsciously bear about
the odor of their fathers' notions, good or bad. Of Edgar Poe," who
had then resumed his parental cognomen, "it was known that his parents
had been players, and that he was dependent upon the bounty that is
bestowed upon an adopted son. All this had the effect of making the
boys decline his leadership; and, on looking back on it since, I fancy
it gave him a fierceness he would otherwise not have had."
This last paragraph of Colonel Preston's recollections cast a suggestive
light upon the causes which rendered unhappy the lad's early life and
tended to blight his prospective hopes. Although mixing with members of
the best families of the province, and naturally endowed with hereditary
and native pride,--fostered by the indulgence of wealth and the
consciousness of intellectual superiority,--Edgar Poe was made to feel
that his parentage was obscure, and that he himself was dependent upon
the charity and caprice of an alien by blood. For many lads these things
would have had but little meaning, but to one of Poe's proud temperament
it must have been a source of constant torment, and all allusions to it
gall and wormwood. And Mr. Allan was not the man to wean Poe from such
festering fancies: as a rule he was proud of the handsome and talented
boy, and indulged him in all that wealth could purchase, but at other
times he treated him with contumely, and made him feel the bitterness of
his position.
Still Poe did maintain his leading position among the scholars at that
Virginian academy, and several still living have favored us with
reminiscences of him. His feats in swimming to which Colonel Preston has
alluded, are quite a feature of his youthful career. Colonel Mayo
records one daring performance in natation which is thoroughly
characteristic of the lad. One day in mid-winter, when standing on the
banks of the James River, Poe dared his comrade into jumping in, in
order to swim to a certain point with him. After floundering about in
the nearly frozen stream for some time, they reached the piles upon
which Mayo's Bridge was then supported, and there attempted to rest and
try to gain the shore by climbing up the log abutment to the bridge.
Upon reaching the bridge, however, they were dismayed to find that its
plank flooring overlapped the abutment by several feet, and that it was
impossible to ascend it. Nothing remained for them but to let go their
slippery hold and swim back to the shore. Poe reached the bank in an
exhausted and benumbed condition, whilst Mayo was rescued by a boat just
as he was succumbing. On getting ashore Poe was seized with a violent
attack of vomiting, and both lads were ill for several weeks.
Alluding to another quite famous swimming feat of his own, the poet
remarked, "Any 'swimmer in the falls' in my days would have swum the
Hellespont, and thought nothing of the matter. I swam from Ludlam's
Wharf to Warwick (six miles), in a hot June sun, against one of the
strongest tides ever known in the river. It would have been a feat
comparatively easy to swim twenty miles in still water. I would not
think much," Poe added in a strain of exaggeration not unusual with him,
"of attempting to swim the British Channel from Dover to Calais."
Colonel Mayo, who had tried to accompany him in this performance, had to
stop on the way, and says that Poe, when he reached the goal, emerged
from the water with neck, face, and back blistered. The facts of this
feat, which was undertaken for a wager, having been questioned, Poe,
ever intolerant of contradiction, obtained and published the affidavits
of several gentlemen who had witnessed it. They also certified that Poe
did not seem at all fatigued, and that he walked back to Richmond
immediately after the performance.
The poet is generally remembered at this part of his career to have been
slight in figure and person, but to have been well made, active, sinewy,
and graceful. Despite the fact that he was thus noted among his
schoolfellows and indulged at home, he does not appear to have been in
sympathy with his surroundings. Already dowered with the "hate of hate,
the scorn of scorn," he appears to have made foes both among those who
envied him and those whom, in the pride of intellectuality, he treated
with pugnacious contempt. Beneath the haughty exterior, however, was a
warm and passionate heart, which only needed circumstance to call forth
an almost fanatical intensity of affection. A well-authenticated
instance of this is thus related by Mrs. Whitman:
"While at the academy in Richmond, he one day accompanied a schoolmate
to his home, where he saw, for the first time, Mrs. Helen Stannard,
the mother of his young friend. This lady, on entering the room, took
his hands and spoke some gentle and gracious words of welcome, which
so penetrated the sensitive heart of the orphan boy as to deprive him
of the power of speech, and for a time almost of consciousness itself.
He returned home in a dream, with but one thought, one hope in life
--to hear again the sweet and gracious words that had made the
desolate world so beautiful to him, and filled his lonely heart with
the oppression of a new joy. This lady afterwards became the confidant
of all his boyish sorrows, and hers was the one redeeming influence
that saved and guided him in the earlier days of his turbulent and
passionate youth."
When Edgar was unhappy at home, which, says his aunt, Mrs. Clemm, "was
very often the case, he went to Mrs. Stannard for sympathy, for
consolation, and for advice." Unfortunately, the sad fortune which so
frequently thwarted his hopes ended this friendship. The lady was
overwhelmed by a terrible calamity, and at the period when her guiding
voice was most requisite, she fell a prey to mental alienation. She
died, and was entombed in a neighboring cemetery, but her poor boyish
admirer could not endure to think of her lying lonely and forsaken in
her vaulted home, so he would leave the house at night and visit her
tomb. When the nights were drear, "when the autumnal rains fell, and the
winds wailed mournfully over the graves, he lingered longest, and came
away most regretfully."
The memory of this lady, of this "one idolatrous and purely ideal love"
of his boyhood, was cherished to the last. The name of Helen frequently
recurs in his youthful verses, "The Pæan," now first included in his
poetical works, refers to her; and to her he inscribed the classic and
exquisitely beautiful stanzas beginning "Helen, thy beauty is to me."
Another important item to be noted in this epoch of his life is that he
was already a poet. Among his schoolfellows he appears to have acquired
some little reputation as a writer of satirical verses; but of his
poetry, of that which, as he declared, had been with him "not a purpose,
but a passion," he probably preserved the secret, especially as we know
that at his adoptive home poesy was a forbidden thing. As early as 1821
he appears to have essayed various pieces, and some of these were
ultimately included in his first volume. With Poe poetry was a personal
matter--a channel through which the turbulent passions of his heart
found an outlet. With feelings such as were his, it came to pass, as a
matter of course, that the youthful poet fell in love. His first affair
of the heart is, doubtless, reminiscently portrayed in what he says of
his boyish ideal, Byron. This passion, he remarks, "if passion it can
properly be called, was of the most thoroughly romantic, shadowy, and
imaginative character. It was born of the hour, and of the youthful
necessity to love. It had no peculiar regard to the person, or to the
character, or to the reciprocating affection... Any maiden, not
immediately and positively repulsive," he deems would have suited the
occasion of frequent and unrestricted intercourse with such an
imaginative and poetic youth. "The result," he deems, "was not merely
natural, or merely probable; it was as inevitable as destiny itself."
Between the lines may be read the history of his own love. "The Egeria
of _his_ dreams--the Venus Aphrodite that sprang in full and supernal
loveliness from the bright foam upon the storm-tormented ocean of _his_
thoughts," was a little girl, Elmira Royster, who lived with her father
in a house opposite to the Allans in Richmond. The young people met
again and again, and the lady, who has only recently passed away,
recalled Edgar as "a beautiful boy," passionately fond of music,
enthusiastic and impulsive, but with prejudices already strongly
developed. A certain amount of love-making took place between the young
people, and Poe, with his usual passionate energy, ere he left home for
the University had persuaded his fair inamorata to engage herself to
him. Poe left home for the University of Virginia, Charlottesville, in
the beginning of 1825. lie wrote frequently to Miss Royster, but her
father did not approve of the affair, and, so the story runs,
intercepted the correspondence, until it ceased. At seventeen, Elmira
became the bride of a Mr. Shelton, and it was not until some time
afterwards that Poe discovered how it was his passionate appeals had
failed to elicit any response from the object of his youthful affection.
Poe's short university career was in many respects a repetition of his
course at the Richmond Academy. He became noted at Charlottesville both
for his athletic feats and his scholastic successes. He entered as a
student on February 1,1826, and remained till the close of the second
session in December of that year.
"He entered the schools of ancient and modern languages, attending the
lectures on Latin, Greek, French, Spanish, and Italian. I was a member
of the last three classes," says Mr. William Wertenbaker, the recently
deceased librarian, "and can testify that he was tolerably regular in
his attendance, and a successful student, having obtained distinction
at the final examination in Latin and French, and this was at that
time the highest honor a student could obtain. The present regulations
in regard to degrees had not then been adopted. Under existing
regulations, he would have graduated in the two languages above-named,
and have been entitled to diplomas."
These statements of Poe's classmate are confirmed by Dr. Harrison,
chairman of the Faculty, who remarks that the poet was a great favorite
with his fellow-students, and was noted for the remarkable rapidity with
which he prepared his recitations and for their accuracy, his
translations from the modern languages being especially noteworthy.
Several of Poe's classmates at Charlottesville have testified to his
"noble qualities" and other good endowments, but they remember that his
"disposition was rather retiring, and that he had few intimate
associates." Mr. Thomas Boiling, one of his fellow-students who has
favored us with reminiscences of him, says:
"I was 'acquainted', with him, but that is about all. My impression
was, and is, that no one could say that he 'knew' him. He wore a
melancholy face always, and even his smile--for I do not ever remember
to have seen him laugh--seemed to be forced. When he engaged
sometimes with others in athletic exercises, in which, so far as high
or long jumping, I believe he excelled all the rest, Poe, with the
same ever sad face, appeared to participate in what was amusement to
the others more as a task than sport."
Poe had no little talent for drawing, and Mr. John Willis states that
the walls of his college rooms were covered with his crayon sketches,
whilst Mr. Boiling mentions, in connection with the poet's artistic
facility, some interesting incidents. The two young men had purchased
copies of a handsomely-illustrated edition of Byron's poems, and upon
visiting Poe a few days after this purchase, Mr. Bolling found him
engaged in copying one of the engravings with crayon upon his dormitory
ceiling. He continued to amuse himself in this way from time to time
until he had filled all the space in his room with life-size figures
which, it is remembered by those who saw them, were highly ornamental
and well executed.
As Mr. Bolling talked with his associate, Poe would continue to scribble
away with his pencil, as if writing, and when his visitor jestingly
remonstrated with him on his want of politeness, he replied that he had
been all attention, and proved that he had by suitable comment,
assigning as a reason for his apparent want of courtesy that he was
trying 'to divide his mind,' to carry on a conversation and write
sensibly upon a totally different subject at the same time.
Mr. Wertenbaker, in his interesting reminiscences of the poet, says:
"As librarian I had frequent official intercourse with Poe, but it was
at or near the close of the session before I met him in the social
circle. After spending an evening together at a private house he
invited me, on our return, into his room. It was a cold night in
December, and his fire having gone pretty nearly out, by the aid of
some tallow candles, and the fragments of a small table which he broke
up for the purpose, he soon rekindled it, and by its comfortable blaze
I spent a very pleasant hour with him. On this occasion he spoke with
regret of the large amount of money he had wasted, and of the debts he
had contracted during the session. If my memory be not at fault, he
estimated his indebtedness at $2,000 and, though they were gaming
debts, he was earnest and emphatic in the declaration that he was
bound by honor to pay them at the earliest opportunity."
This appears to have been Poe's last night at the university. He left it
never to return, yet, short as was his sojourn there, he left behind him
such honorable memories that his 'alma mater' is now only too proud to
enrol his name among her most respected sons. Poe's adopted father,
however, did not regard his 'protégé's' collegiate career with equal
pleasure: whatever view he may have entertained of the lad's scholastic
successes, he resolutely refused to discharge the gambling debts which,
like too many of his classmates, he had incurred. A violent altercation
took place between Mr. Allan and the youth, and Poe hastily quitted the
shelter of home to try and make his way in the world alone.
Taking with him such poems as he had ready, Poe made his way to Boston,
and there looked up some of his mother's old theatrical friends. Whether
he thought of adopting the stage as a profession, or whether he thought
of getting their assistance towards helping him to put a drama of his
own upon the stage,--that dream of all young authors,--is now unknown.
He appears to have wandered about for some time, and by some means or
the other succeeded in getting a little volume of poems printed "for
private circulation only." This was towards the end of 1827, when he was
nearing nineteen. Doubtless Poe expected to dispose of his volume by
subscription among his friends, but copies did not go off, and
ultimately the book was suppressed, and the remainder of the edition,
for "reasons of a private nature," destroyed.
What happened to the young poet, and how he contrived to exist for the
next year or so, is a mystery still unsolved. It has always been
believed that he found his way to Europe and met with some curious
adventures there, and Poe himself certainly alleged that such was the
case. Numbers of mythical stories have been invented to account for this
chasm in the poet's life, and most of them self-evidently fabulous. In a
recent biography of Poe an attempt had been made to prove that he
enlisted in the army under an assumed name, and served for about
eighteen months in the artillery in a highly creditable manner,
receiving an honorable discharge at the instance of Mr. Allan. This
account is plausible, but will need further explanation of its many
discrepancies of dates, and verification of the different documents
cited in proof of it, before the public can receive it as fact. So many
fables have been published about Poe, and even many fictitious documents
quoted, that it behoves the unprejudiced to be wary in accepting any new
statements concerning him that are not thoroughly authenticated.
On the 28th February, 1829, Mrs. Allan died, and with her death the
final thread that had bound Poe to her husband was broken. The adopted
son arrived too late to take a last farewell of her whose influence had
given the Allan residence its only claim upon the poet's heart. A kind
of truce was patched up over the grave of the deceased lady, but, for
the future, Poe found that home was home no longer.
Again the young man turned to poetry, not only as a solace but as a
means of earning a livelihood. Again he printed a little volume of
poems, which included his longest piece, "Al Aaraaf," and several others
now deemed classic. The book was a great advance upon his previous
collection, but failed to obtain any amount of public praise or personal
profit for its author.
Feeling the difficulty of living by literature at the same time that he
saw he might have to rely largely upon his own exertions for a
livelihood, Poe expressed a wish to enter the army. After no little
difficulty a cadetship was obtained for him at the West Point Military
Academy, a military school in many respects equal to the best in Europe
for the education of officers for the army. At the time Poe entered the
Academy it possessed anything but an attractive character, the
discipline having been of the most severe character, and the
accommodation in many respects unsuitable for growing lads.
The poet appears to have entered upon this new course of life with his
usual enthusiasm, and for a time to have borne the rigid rules of the
place with unusual steadiness. He entered the institution on the 1st
July, 1830, and by the following March had been expelled for determined
disobedience. Whatever view may be taken of Poe's conduct upon this
occasion, it must be seen that the expulsion from West Point was of his
own seeking. Highly-colored pictures have been drawn of his eccentric
behavior at the Academy, but the fact remains that he wilfully, or at
any rate purposely, flung away his cadetship. It is surmised with
plausibility that the second marriage of Mr. Allan, and his expressed
intention of withdrawing his help and of not endowing or bequeathing
this adopted son any of his property, was the mainspring of Poe's
action. Believing it impossible to continue without aid in a profession
so expensive as was a military life, he determined to relinquish it and
return to his long cherished attempt to become an author.
Expelled from the institution that afforded board and shelter, and
discarded by his former protector, the unfortunate and penniless young
man yet a third time attempted to get a start in the world of letters by
means of a volume of poetry. If it be true, as alleged, that several of
his brother cadets aided his efforts by subscribing for his little work,
there is some possibility that a few dollars rewarded this latest
venture. Whatever may have resulted from the alleged aid, it is certain
that in a short time after leaving the Military Academy Poe was reduced
to sad straits. He disappeared for nearly two years from public notice,
and how he lived during that period has never been satisfactorily
explained. In 1833 he returns to history in the character of a winner of
a hundred-dollar award offered by a newspaper for the best story.
The prize was unanimously adjudged to Poe by the adjudicators, and Mr.
Kennedy, an author of some little repute, having become interested by
the young man's evident genius, generously assisted him towards
obtaining a livelihood by literary labor. Through his new friend's
introduction to the proprietor of the 'Southern Literary Messenger', a
moribund magazine published at irregular intervals, Poe became first a
paid contributor, and eventually the editor of the publication, which
ultimately he rendered one of the most respected and profitable
periodicals of the day. This success was entirely due to the brilliancy
and power of Poe's own contributions to the magazine.
In March, 1834, Mr. Allan died, and if our poet had maintained any hopes
of further assistance from him, all doubt was settled by the will, by
which the whole property of the deceased was left to his second wife and
her three sons. Poe was not named.
On the 6th May, 1836, Poe, who now had nothing but his pen to trust to,
married his cousin, Virginia Clemm, a child of only fourteen, and with
her mother as housekeeper, started a home of his own. In the meantime
his various writings in the 'Messenger' began to attract attention and
to extend his reputation into literary circles, but beyond his editorial
salary of about $520 brought him no pecuniary reward.
In January, 1837, for reasons never thoroughly explained, Poe severed
his connection with the 'Messenger', and moved with all his household
goods from Richmond to New York. Southern friends state that Poe was
desirous of either being admitted into partnership with his employer, or
of being allowed a larger share of the profits which his own labors
procured. In New York his earnings seem to have been small and
irregular, his most important work having been a republication from the
'Messenger' in book form of his Defoe-like romance entitled 'Arthur
Gordon Pym'. The truthful air of "The Narrative," as well as its other
merits, excited public curiosity both in England and America; but Poe's
remuneration does not appear to have been proportionate to its success,
nor did he receive anything from the numerous European editions the work
rapidly passed through.
In 1838 Poe was induced by a literary friend to break up his New York
home and remove with his wife and aunt (her mother) to Philadelphia. The
Quaker city was at that time quite a hotbed for magazine projects, and
among the many new periodicals Poe was enabled to earn some kind of a
living. To Burton's 'Gentleman's Magazine' for 1837 he had contributed a
few articles, but in 1840 he arranged with its proprietor to take up the
editorship. Poe had long sought to start a magazine of his own, and it
was probably with a view to such an eventuality that one of his
conditions for accepting the editorship of the 'Gentleman's Magazine'
was that his name should appear upon the title-page.
Poe worked hard at the 'Gentleman's' for some time, contributing to its
columns much of his best work; ultimately, however, he came to
loggerheads with its proprietor, Burton, who disposed of the magazine to
a Mr. Graham, a rival publisher. At this period Poe collected into two
volumes, and got them published as 'Tales of the Grotesque and
Arabesques', twenty-five of his stories, but he never received any
remuneration, save a few copies of the volumes, for the work. For some
time the poet strove most earnestly to start a magazine of his own, but
all his efforts failed owing to his want of capital.
The purchaser of Burton's magazine, having amalgamated it with another,
issued the two under the title of 'Graham's Magazine'. Poe became a
contributor to the new venture, and in November of the year 1840
consented to assume the post of editor.
Under Poe's management, assisted by the liberality of Mr. Graham,
'Graham's Magazine' became a grand success. To its pages Poe contributed
some of his finest and most popular tales, and attracted to the
publication the pens of many of the best contemporary authors. The
public was not slow in showing its appreciation of 'pabulum' put before
it, and, so its directors averred, in less than two years the
circulation rose from five to fifty-two thousand copies.
A great deal of this success was due to Poe's weird and wonderful
stories; still more, perhaps, to his trenchant critiques and his
startling theories anent cryptology. As regards the tales now issued in
'Graham's', attention may especially be drawn to the world-famed
"Murders in the Rue Morgue," the first of a series--'"une espèce de
trilogie,"' as Baudelaire styles them--illustrative of an analytic phase
of Poe's peculiar mind. This 'trilogie' of tales, of which the later two
were "The Purloined Letter" and "The Mystery of Marie Roget," was
avowedly written to prove the capability of solving the puzzling riddles
of life by identifying another person's mind by our own. By trying to
follow the processes by which a person would reason out a certain thing,
Poe propounded the theory that another person might ultimately arrive,
as it were, at that person's conclusions, indeed, penetrate the
innermost arcanum of his brain and read his most secret thoughts. Whilst
the public was still pondering over the startling proposition, and
enjoying perusal of its apparent proofs, Poe still further increased his
popularity and drew attention to his works by putting forward the
attractive but less dangerous theorem that "human ingenuity could not
construct a cipher which human ingenuity could not solve."
This cryptographic assertion was made in connection with what the public
deemed a challenge, and Poe was inundated with ciphers more or less
abstruse, demanding solution. In the correspondence which ensued in
'Graham's Magazine' and other publications, Poe was universally
acknowledged to have proved his case, so far as his own personal ability
to unriddle such mysteries was concerned. Although he had never offered
to undertake such a task, he triumphantly solved every cryptogram sent
to him, with one exception, and that exception he proved conclusively
was only an imposture, for which no solution was possible.
The outcome of this exhaustive and unprofitable labor was the
fascinating story of "The Gold Bug," a story in which the discovery of
hidden treasure is brought about by the unriddling of an intricate
cipher.
The year 1841 may be deemed the brightest of Poe's checkered career. On
every side acknowledged to be a new and brilliant literary light, chief
editor of a powerful magazine, admired, feared, and envied, with a
reputation already spreading rapidly in Europe as well as in his native
continent, the poet might well have hoped for prosperity and happiness.
But dark cankers were gnawing his heart. His pecuniary position was
still embarrassing. His writings, which were the result of slow and
careful labor, were poorly paid, and his remuneration as joint editor of
'Graham's' was small. He was not permitted to have undivided control,
and but a slight share of the profits of the magazine he had rendered
world-famous, whilst a fearful domestic calamity wrecked all his hopes,
and caused him to resort to that refuge of the broken-hearted--to that
drink which finally destroyed his prospects and his life.
Edgar Poe's own account of this terrible malady and its cause was made
towards the end of his career. Its truth has never been disproved, and
in its most important points it has been thoroughly substantiated. To a
correspondent he writes in January 1848:
"You say, 'Can you _hint_ to me what was "that terrible evil" which
caused the "irregularities" so profoundly lamented?' Yes, I can do more
than hint. This _evil_ was the greatest which can befall a man. Six
years ago, a wife whom I loved as no man ever loved before, ruptured a
blood-vessel in singing. Her life was despaired of. I took leave of
her forever, and underwent all the agonies of her death. She recovered
partially, and I again hoped. At the end of a year, the vessel broke
again. I went through precisely the same scene.... Then again--again--
and even once again at varying intervals. Each time I felt all the
agonies of her death--and at each accession of the disorder I loved
her more dearly and clung to her life with more desperate pertinacity.
But I am constitutionally sensitive--nervous in a very unusual degree.
I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity. During these
fits of absolute unconsciousness, I drank--God only knows how often or
how much. As a matter of course, my enemies referred the insanity to
the drink rather than the drink to the insanity. I had, indeed, nearly
abandoned all hope of a permanent cure, when I found one in the
_death_ of my wife. This I can and do endure as becomes a man. It was
the horrible never-ending oscillation between hope and despair which I
could _not_ longer have endured, without total loss of reason."
The poet at this period was residing in a small but elegant little home,
superintended by his ever-faithful guardian, his wife's mother--his own
aunt, Mrs. Clemm, the lady whom he so gratefully addressed in after
years in the well-known sonnet, as "more than mother unto me." But a
change came o'er the spirit of his dream! His severance from 'Graham's',
owing to we know not what causes, took place, and his fragile schemes of
happiness faded as fast as the sunset. His means melted away, and he
became unfitted by mental trouble and ill-health to earn more. The
terrible straits to which he and his unfortunate beloved ones were
reduced may be comprehended after perusal of these words from Mr. A. B.
Harris's reminiscences.
Referring to the poet's residence in Spring Gardens, Philadelphia, this
writer says:
"It was during their stay there that Mrs. Poe, while singing one
evening, ruptured a blood-vessel, and after that she suffered a
hundred deaths. She could not bear the slightest exposure, and needed
the utmost care; and all those conveniences as to apartment and
surroundings which are so important in the case of an invalid were
almost matters of life and death to her. And yet the room where she
lay for weeks, hardly able to breathe, except as she was fanned, was a
little narrow place, with the ceiling so low over the narrow bed that
her head almost touched it. But no one dared to speak, Mr. Poe was so
sensitive and irritable; 'quick as steel and flint,' said one who knew
him in those days. And he would not allow a word about the danger of
her dying: the mention of it drove him wild."
Is it to be wondered at, should it not indeed be forgiven him, if,
impelled by the anxieties and privations at home, the unfortunate poet,
driven to the brink of madness, plunged still deeper into the Slough of
Despond? Unable to provide for the pressing necessities of his beloved
wife, the distracted man
"would steal out of the house at night, and go off and wander about
the street for hours, proud, heartsick, despairing, not knowing which
way to turn, or what to do, while Mrs. Clemm would endure the anxiety
at home as long as she could, and then start off in search of him."
During his calmer moments Poe exerted all his efforts to proceed with
his literary labors. He continued to contribute to 'Graham's Magazine,'
the proprietor of which periodical remained his friend to the end of his
life, and also to some other leading publications of Philadelphia and
New York. A suggestion having been made to him by N. P. Willis, of the
latter city, he determined to once more wander back to it, as he found
it impossible to live upon his literary earnings where he was.
Accordingly, about the middle of 1845, Poe removed to New York, and
shortly afterwards was engaged by Willis and his partner Morris as
sub-editor on the 'Evening Mirror'. He was, says Willis,
"employed by us for several months as critic and subeditor.... He
resided with his wife and mother at Fordham, a few miles out of town,
but was at his desk in the office from nine in the morning till the
evening paper went to press. With the highest admiration for his
genius, and a willingness to let it atone for more than ordinary
irregularity, we were led by common report to expect a very capricious
attention to his duties, and occasionally a scene of violence and
difficulty. Time went on, however, and he was invariably punctual and
industrious. With his pale, beautiful, and intellectual face, as a
reminder of what genius was in him, it was impossible, of course, not
to treat him always with deferential courtsey.... With a prospect of
taking the lead in another periodical, he at last voluntarily gave up
his employment with us."
A few weeks before Poe relinquished his laborious and ill-paid work on
the 'Evening Mirror', his marvellous poem of "The Raven" was published.
The effect was magical. Never before, nor, indeed, ever since, has a
single short poem produced such a great and immediate enthusiasm. It did
more to render its author famous than all his other writings put
together. It made him the literary lion of the season; called into
existence innumerable parodies; was translated into various languages,
and, indeed, created quite a literature of its own. Poe was naturally
delighted with the success his poem had attained, and from time to time
read it in his musical manner in public halls or at literary receptions.
Nevertheless he affected to regard it as a work of art only, and wrote
his essay entitled the "Philosophy of Composition," to prove that it was
merely a mechanical production made in accordance with certain set
rules.
Although our poet's reputation was now well established, he found it
still a difficult matter to live by his pen. Even when in good health,
he wrote slowly and with fastidious care, and when his work was done had
great difficulty in getting publishers to accept it. Since his death it
has been proved that many months often elapsed before he could get
either his most admired poems or tales published.
Poe left the 'Evening Mirror' in order to take part in the 'Broadway
Journal', wherein he re-issued from time to time nearly the whole of his
prose and poetry. Ultimately he acquired possession of this periodical,
but, having no funds to carry it on, after a few months of heartbreaking
labor he had to relinquish it. Exhausted in body and mind, the
unfortunate man now retreated with his dying wife and her mother to a
quaint little cottage at Fordham, outside New York. Here after a time
the unfortunate household was reduced to the utmost need, not even
having wherewith to purchase the necessities of life. At this dire
moment, some friendly hand, much to the indignation and dismay of Poe
himself, made an appeal to the public on behalf of the hapless family.
The appeal had the desired effect. Old friends and new came to the
rescue, and, thanks to them, and especially to Mrs. Shew, the "Marie
Louise" of Poe's later poems, his wife's dying moments were soothed, and
the poet's own immediate wants provided for. In January, 1846, Virginia
Poe died; and for some time after her death the poet remained in an
apathetic stupor, and, indeed, it may be truly said that never again did
his mental faculties appear to regain their former power.
For another year or so Poe lived quietly at Fordham, guarded by the
watchful care of Mrs. Clemm,--writing little, but thinking out his
philosophical prose poem of "Eureka," which he deemed the crowning work
of his life. His life was as abstemious and regular as his means were
small. Gradually, however, as intercourse with fellow literati
re-aroused his dormant energies, he began to meditate a fresh start in
the world. His old and never thoroughly abandoned project of starting a
magazine of his own, for the enunciation of his own views on literature,
now absorbed all his thoughts. In order to get the necessary funds for
establishing his publication on a solid footing, he determined to give a
series of lectures in various parts of the States.
His re-entry into public life only involved him in a series of
misfortunes. At one time he was engaged to be married to Mrs. Whitman, a
widow lady of considerable intellectual and literary attainments; but,
after several incidents of a highly romantic character, the match was
broken off. In 1849 Poe revisited the South, and, amid the scenes and
friends of his early life, passed some not altogether unpleasing time.
At Richmond, Virginia, he again met his first love, Elmira, now a
wealthy widow, and, after a short renewed acquaintance, was once more
engaged to marry her. But misfortune continued to dog his steps.
A publishing affair recalled him to New York. He left Richmond by boat
for Baltimore, at which city he arrived on the 3d October, and handed
his trunk to a porter to carry to the train for Philadelphia. What now
happened has never been clearly explained. Previous to starting on his
journey, Poe had complained of indisposition,--of chilliness and of
exhaustion,--and it is not improbable that an increase or continuance of
these symptoms had tempted him to drink, or to resort to some of those
narcotics he is known to have indulged in towards the close of his life.
Whatever the cause of his delay, the consequences were fatal. Whilst in
a state of temporary mania or insensibility, he fell into the hands of a
band of ruffians, who were scouring the streets in search of accomplices
or victims. What followed is given on undoubted authority.
His captors carried the unfortunate poet into an electioneering den,
where they drugged him with whisky. It was election day for a member of
Congress, and Poe with other victims, was dragged from polling station
to station, and forced to vote the ticket placed in his hand. Incredible
as it may appear, the superintending officials of those days registered
the proffered vote, quite regardless of the condition of the person
personifying a voter. The election over, the dying poet was left in the
streets to perish, but, being found ere life was extinct, he was carried
to the Washington University Hospital, where he expired on the 7th of
October, 1849, in the forty-first year of his age.
Edgar Poe was buried in the family grave of his grandfather, General
Poe, in the presence of a few friends and relatives. On the 17th
November, 1875, his remains were removed from their first resting-place
and, in the presence of a large number of people, were placed under a
marble monument subscribed for by some of his many admirers. His wife's
body has recently been placed by his side.
The story of that "fitful fever" which constituted the life of Edgar Poe
leaves upon the reader's mind the conviction that he was, indeed, truly
typified by that:
"Unhappy master, whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden
bore--
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never--nevermore.'"