BACK TO NEW YORK.
Poe, discouraged, and with the old restlessness upon him, suddenly
resolved to leave Philadelphia. On the 6th of April, 1844, he started
with Virginia for New York, leaving Mrs. Clemm to settle their affairs
in general.
Most fortunately for Poe's memory, there remains to us a letter written
by him to Mrs. Clemm, in which he gives her an account of their journey.
It is of so private and confidential a nature, and speaks so frankly and
freely of such small domestic matters as most persons do not care to
have exposed to strangers, that in reading it one feels almost as if
violating the sacredness of domestic privacy. But I here refer to it as
showing Poe's domestic character in a most attractive light:
"NEW YORK, Sunday morning, April 7,
just after breakfast.
"MY DEAR MUDDIE: We have just this moment done breakfast, and I now sit
down to write you about everything.... In the first place, we arrived
safe at Walnut street wharf. The driver wanted me to pay him a dollar,
but I wouldn't. Then I had to pay a boy a levy to put the trunks in the
baggage car. In the meantime I took Sis into the Depot Hotel. It was
only a quarter-past six, and we had to wait until seven.... We started
in good spirits, but did not get here until nearly three o'clock. Sissy
coughed none at all. When we got to the wharf it was raining hard. I
left her on board the boat, after putting the trunks in the ladies'
cabin, and set off to buy an umbrella and look for a boarding-house. I
met a man selling umbrellas, and bought one for twenty-five cents. Then
I went up Greenwich street and soon found a boarding-house.... It has
brown-stone steps and a porch with brown pillars. "Morrison" is the name
on the door. I made a bargain in a few minutes and then got a hack and
went for Sis. I was not gone more than half an hour, and she was quite
astonished to see me back so soon. She didn't expect me for an hour.
There were two other ladies on board, so she wasn't very lonely. When we
got to the house we had to wait about half an hour till the room was
ready. The cheapest board that I ever knew, taking into consideration
the central situation and the _living_. I wish Kate (Virginia's pet cat,
'Catalina') could see it. She would faint. Last night for supper we had
the nicest tea you ever drank, strong and hot; wheat bread and rye
bread, cheese, tea-cakes (elegant), a good dish (two dishes) of elegant
ham and two of cold veal, piled up like a mountain and large slices;
three dishes of the cakes, and everything in the greatest profusion. No
fear of our starving here. The land-lady seemed as if she could not
press us enough, and we were at home directly. Her husband is living
with her, a fat, good-natured old soul. There are eight or ten boarders,
two or three of them ladies--two servants. For breakfast we had
excellent flavored coffee, hot and strong, not too clear and no great
deal of cream; veal cutlets, elegant ham-and-eggs and nice bread and
butter. I never sat down to a more plentiful or a nicer breakfast. I
wish you could have seen the eggs, and the great dishes of meat. I ate
the first hearty breakfast I have eaten since we left our little home.
Sis is delighted, and we are both in excellent spirits. She has coughed
hardly any and had no night-sweat. She is now mending my pants, which I
tore against a nail. I went out last night and bought a skein of silk,
a skein of thread, two buttons and a tin pan for the stove. The fire
kept in all night. We have now got four dollars and a half left.
To-morrow I am going to try and borrow three dollars, so that I may have
a fortnight to go upon. I feel in excellent spirits and have not drank a
drop, so that I hope soon to get out of trouble. The very instant that I
scrape together enough money I will send it on. You can't imagine how
much we both miss you. Sissy had a hearty cry last night because you and
Catalina weren't here. We are resolved to get two rooms the first moment
we can. In the meantime it is impossible that we can be more comfortable
or more at home than we are. Be sure to go to the P. O. and have my
letters forwarded. It looks as if it were going to clear up now. As soon
as I can write the article for Lowell, I will send it to you and get you
to get the money from Graham. Give our best love to Catalina."
(Signature cut out here.)
In this letter, written as simply and as unreservedly as that of a child
to its mother, we see Poe himself--Poe in his real nature. Not the poet,
with his studied affectation of gloom and sadness; not the critic,
severe in his judgment of all that did not agree with his standard of
literary excellence, and not even the society man, wearing the mask of
cold and proud reserve--but Poe himself; Poe the man, shut in from the
eyes of the world in the privacy of his home life and the companionship
of his own family. Who could recognize in this gentle, kindly and tender
man, with his playful mood and his affectionate consideration for those
whom he loved--even for _Catalina_--the "morbid and enigmatical" being
that the world chooses to imagine him--the gloomy wanderer amid "the
ghoul-haunted regions of Weir," the despairing soul forever brooding
over the memory of his lost Lenore? And how readily he yields himself to
the enjoyment of the moment; how cheerful he is in a situation which
would depress any other man--a stranger in a strange city, just making a
new start in life, with "four dollars and a half" to begin with! Surely
there is something most pathetic in all this as we see it from Poe's own
unconscious pen; with the purchase of the twenty-five-cent umbrella to
shield "Sissy" from the rain, the two buttons and the skein of thread,
and, ever mindful of Sissy's comfort, the tin pan for the stove. The
picture is invaluable as enabling us to understand the true characters
of Poe and his wife and the peculiar relations existing between
them--Virginia, trustful, loving and happy, and Poe, all kindness and
protective tenderness for his little "Sissy." We look upon it as a
life-like photograph, clear and distinct in every line; Poe with the
traces of care and anxiety for the time swept away from his face, and
Virginia--as she is described at this time--a woman grown, but "looking
not more than fourteen," plump and smiling, with her bright, black eyes
and full pouting lips. It is Poe himself who reveals her character as no
other has done, when he says that, though "delighted" with her new
experience and situation, she yet "had a hearty cry," childlike, missing
her mother and her cat.
It would have been well for them could they have remained at this model
"cheap" boarding-house, where they were so well provided for. But it was
beyond their means, with board for three persons; and so they look about
for "two rooms," and when ready send for Mrs. Clemm and Catalina. Two
rooms for the three; in one of which Mrs. Clemm must perform all her
domestic operations of cooking and laundering, for, as we afterwards
learn, Poe was indebted to his mother-in-law for that "immaculate linen"
in which, howsoever shabby the outer garments, he invariably appeared.
And despite the threadbare suit, he was always, it was said, as well
groomed and scrupulously neat as the most fastidious gentleman could be.
That in New York Poe did not at first succeed according to his
expectations is rendered evident by the fact that in the following
October, he being ill, Mrs. Clemm applied to N. P. Willis for some
employment for him, who gave him a place in his office as assistant
editor. Willis says that Mrs. Clemm's countenance as she pleaded for her
son-in-law was "beautiful and saintly by reason of an evident complete
giving up of her life to privation and sorrowful tenderness" for those
whom she loved. Of Poe, he says that he was "a quiet, patient,
industrious and most gentlemanly person, commanding the utmost respect
and good feeling of every one." He also says, in speaking of a lecture
which he delivered about this time before the _New York Lyceum_, and
which was attended by several hundred persons: "He becomes a desk; his
beautiful head showing like a statuary embodiment of Discrimination--his
accent like a knife through water."
It was now--in January, 1845--that _The Raven_ was published in the
_Evening Mirror_, taking the world by storm. Probably no one was more
surprised at its immediate success than was Poe himself, who, as he
afterwards stated to a friend, had never had much opinion of the poem.
He now found himself elevated to the highest rank of American literary
fame, and with this his worldly fortune should also have risen, yet we
find him going on in the same rut as before, writing but little for the
magazine and for that little being poorly paid--too poorly to enable the
family to live in any degree of comfort. From one cheap lodging to
another they removed, with such frequency as to suggest to us the
suspicion that their rent was not always ready when due.
But after some time the old discontent returned upon Poe. Willis and the
_Mirror_ were too narrow for him; and he sought and was fortunate enough
to obtain a place on the _Broadway Journal_, at that time the leading
journal of the day, and of which he was soon appointed assistant editor.
With a good salary, the family were now enabled to live in more comfort.
They rented a front and back room on the third story of an old house on
East Broadway, which had once been the residence of a prosperous
merchant, but had long ago been given over to the use of poor but
respectable tenants. It was musty and mouldy, but here they were
elevated somewhat above the noise and dust of the street, and had
sunlight and a good view from the narrow windows.
It was here that, late one evening, Mr. R. H. Stoddard, whose sarcastic
pen is so well known, called on Poe instead of at his office, to inquire
the fate of a certain "_Ode_" which he had sent to the _Broadway
Journal_ for publication. Necessarily he was received in the front room,
which was Virginia's. The following is his account of the visit:
"Poe received me with the courtesy habitual with him when he was
himself, and gave me to understand that my _Ode_ would be published in
the next number of his paper.... What did he look like?... He was
dressed in black from head to foot, except, of course, that his linen
was spotlessly white.... The most noticeable things about him were his
high forehead, dark hair and sharp, black eye. His cousin-wife, always
an invalid, was lying on a bed between himself and me. She never
stirred, but her mother came out of the back parlor and was introduced
to me by her courtly nephew."
Stoddard is here mistaken in his description of Poe's eyes. They were
neither sharp nor black, but large, soft, dreamy eyes, of a fine
steel-gray, clear as crystal, and with a jet-black pupil, which would in
certain lights expand until the eyes appeared to be all black. Stoddard
continues:
"I saw Poe once again, and for the last time. It was a rainy afternoon,
such as we have in our November, and he was standing under an awning
waiting for the shower to pass over. My conviction was that I ought to
offer him my umbrella and go home with him, but I left him standing
there, and there I see him still, and shall always, poor and penniless,
but proud, reliant, dominant. May the gods forgive me! I never can
forgive myself."
In April, five months after this time, Poe's old habits unfortunately
returned upon him. Mr. Lowell one day, in passing through New York,
called to see him, when Mrs. Clemm excused his "strange actions" by
frankly stating that "Edgar was not himself that day." She afterward
made the same statement to Mr. Briggs, whose assistant editor Poe was,
and who writes, June, 1845, to Lowell: "I believe he had not drank
anything for more than eighteen months until the last three months, and
concludes that he would have to dispense with his services. The matter
was settled, however, by Poe's proposing to buy the _Broadway Journal_,
hoping to make of it in a measure what he had desired for the _Stylus_.
The prospect seemed to promise fair enough for its success, and Mr.
Greeley and Mr. Griswold each generously contributed a sum of fifty
dollars; but the plan finally failed for want of sufficient funds,
George Poe, to whom Edgar applied, remembering his former unpaid loan,
making no response to his appeal. This was another great disappointment
to Poe, just as on former occasions his hopes seemed on the point of
realization. Thus, in whatsoever direction he turned, grim poverty faced
and frowned him down. Surely, it was enough to discourage him; and yet
to the end of his life he eagerly followed this illusive hope.
Mrs. Clemm, too, who had in this time been trying to support the family
by keeping a boarding-house, also met with her disappointments. For some
reason her boarders never remained long with her, and the family, who
had removed to obscure lodgings on Amity street, now found themselves in
one of their frequent seasons of poverty and distress.