

















  [Illustration: EDGAR ALLAN POE

  [REPRODUCED FROM A PHOTO GIVEN TO MRS. WEISS BY POE THREE DAYS BEFORE
  HE LEFT RICHMOND]]




  THE HOME LIFE OF POE

  BY SUSAN ARCHER WEISS

  BROADWAY PUBLISHING COMPANY NEW YORK 1907

  _Title Page by Wm. Lincoln Hudson · Cover by Stephen G. Clow_


  Copyright, 1907,
  BY
  SUSAN ARCHER WEISS.

  All rights reserved.




  CONTENTS


  CHAPTER I.                                   PAGE.
  First Glimpse of Edgar Poe                       1

  CHAPTER II.
  Poe's First Home                                 9

  CHAPTER III.
  The Allan Home                                  13

  CHAPTER IV.
  Poe's Boyhood                                   20

  CHAPTER V.
  Schoolboy Love Affairs                          36

  CHAPTER VI.
  Rosalie Poe                                     41

  CHAPTER VII.
  The Unrest of Youth                             44

  CHAPTER VIII.
  In Barracks                                     52

  CHAPTER IX.
  Poe and Mrs. Allan                              57

  CHAPTER X.
  The Closing of the Gate                         61

  CHAPTER XI.
  Mrs. Clemm                                      64

  CHAPTER XII.
  A Pretty Girl with Auburn Hair Whom Poe Loved   70

  CHAPTER XIII.
  Poe's Double Marriage                           74

  CHAPTER XIV.
  The Poes in Richmond                            82

  CHAPTER XV.
  In New York                                     88

  CHAPTER XVI.
  The Real Virginia                               90

  CHAPTER XVII.
  Poe's Philadelphia Home                         94

  CHAPTER XVIII.
  Virginia's Illness                             102

  CHAPTER XIX.
  Back to New York                               108

  CHAPTER XX.
  Poe and Mrs. Osgood                            119

  CHAPTER XXI.
  At Fordham                                     127

  CHAPTER XXII.
  The Shadow at the Door                         137

  CHAPTER XXIII.
  Mrs. Shew                                      145

  CHAPTER XXIV.
  Quiet Life at Fordham                          148

  CHAPTER XXV.
  With Old Friends                               154

  CHAPTER XXVI.
  Mrs. Whitman                                   169

  CHAPTER XXVII.
  Again in Richmond                              179

  CHAPTER XXVIII.
  A Morning with Poe--"The Raven"                184

  CHAPTER XXIX.
  Mrs. Shelton                                   194

  CHAPTER XXX.
  The Mystery of Fate                            203

  CHAPTER XXXI.
  After the War                                  212

  CHAPTER XXXII.
  Poe's Character                                219

  Appendix                                       227




TO THE READER.


In considering this book, will the reader especially note that it is not
a "Life" or a "Biography" of Poe, of which too many already exist and to
which nothing can be added after the exhaustive works of Woodbury and
Prof. Harrison. I have not treated Poe in his character of poet or
author, but confined myself to his private home-life, domestic and
social, as I have heard it described by Poe's most intimate friends who
knew him from infancy--some of them my own relatives--and from my own
brief knowledge of him in the last three months of his life. The book
may therefore be considered as a _supplement_ to the more complete
"Lives and Biographies," showing Poe in a character as yet wholly
unknown to the public, but which should be known in order to enable us
to form a correct judgment of his character. I have corrected various
misstatements of writers which, repeated by one from another, have come
to be received as truth.

I have made no attempt at producing an artistic work, but have treated
the subject as it demands, in a plain and practical manner with regard
to facts apart from idealism of any kind.

                                                         THE AUTHOR.




HOME LIFE OF POE.




CHAPTER I.

FIRST GLIMPSE OF EDGAR POE.


It may be regarded as a somewhat curious coincidence that the first
glimpse afforded us of Edgar Poe is on the authority of my own mother.

This is the story, as she told it to me:

"In the summer of 1811 there was a fine company of players in Norfolk,
and we children were as a special treat taken to see them. I remember
the names of Mr. Placide, Mr. Green, Mr. Young and Mr. Poe, with their
wives. I can recall Mrs. Young as a large, fair woman with golden hair;
but my most distinct recollection is of Mrs. Poe. She was rather small,
with a round, rosy, laughing face, short dark curls and beautiful large
blue eyes. Her manner was gay and saucy, and the audience was
continually applauding her. She appeared to me a young girl, but was
past thirty, and had been twice married.

"At this time," continued my mother, "we were living on Main street, and
my uncle, Dr. Robert Butt, of the House of Burgesses, lived close by, on
Burmuda street. The large, bright garret-room of his house was used by
our little cousins as a play-room, and was separated from that of the
adjoining house by only a wooden partition. One day, when we were
playing here, we heard voices on the other side of the partition, and,
peeping through a small knothole, saw two pretty children, with whom we
soon made acquaintance. Mr. and Mrs. Poe had taken lodgings in this
garret with a little boy and girl and an old Welsh nurse. Sometimes this
woman would say to us, 'Hush, hush, dumplings, don't make a noise,' and
we knew that some one was sick in that room. Most of the time she had
the children out of doors, and in the evenings we would play with them
on the sidewalk. The boy was a merry, romping little fellow, but hard to
manage. One day, when he would persist in playing in the middle of the
street, a runaway horse came dashing around a corner, and I remember how
the nurse rushed toward him, screaming: 'Ho! Hedgar! Hedgar!' snatching
him away at the risk of her own life.

"This nurse was a very nice old woman, plump, rosy and good-natured. She
wore a huge white cap with flaring frills, and pronounced her words in a
way that amused us. She was devoted to the children, who were spoiled
and wilful. The little girl was running all about, and the boy appeared
about three years old."

Of this old lady it may be here said that she was really the mother of
Mrs. Poe, whom she called "Betty." As an actress of the name of Arnold,
she had played in various companies in both this country and Europe,
taking parts in which comic songs were sung. Her pretty daughter,
Elizabeth, she had brought up to her own profession, and had married her
early to an actor named Hopkins, who died in October, 1805. Two months
after his death his widow married David Poe, who was at that time a
member of their company; and mean while her mother, Mrs. Arnold, had
bestowed her own hand upon a musician of the romantic name of Tubbs, who
soon left her a widow. Thenceforth she devoted herself to her daughter's
family, remaining with the company and occasionally appearing in some
unimportant part.

When in the summer of that year of 1811 Mr. Placide's company left
Norfolk to open a season in Richmond, Mr. David Poe was too ill with
consumption to accompany them, and his family remained in Norfolk. He
must undoubtedly have died there; for from that time in all the affairs
of his family his name is not once mentioned, nor is the remotest
allusion made to him. He was probably buried by the city in one of the
obscure suburban cemeteries. By his death the widow was left penniless,
and Mr. Placide, to whose company she still belonged, and who was
anxious to have her services in his Richmond campaign, sent one of his
employees to bring the family to Richmond at his own expense. A room and
board had been engaged for them "at the house of a milliner named Fipps
on Main street," in the low-lying district between Fifteenth and
Seventeenth streets, still known as "_Bird-in-hand_." This room was not
by any means the wretched apartment which it has been described by some
of Poe's biographers. It was not a "cellar," not even a basement room,
but one back of the shop, the family residing above, and must have been
comfortably furnished, for this neighborhood was at this time the
shopping district of the ladies of Richmond, and Mrs. Fipps was probably
a fashionable shopkeeper. Damp Mrs. Poe's room must have been, since
this locality was the lowest point in the city, where, when the river
overflowed its banks, as was frequently the case, the water would rise
to the back doors of the Main street buildings and at times flood the
ground floors. In this room Mrs. Poe contracted the malarial fever then
known as "ague-and-fever," which proved fatal to her.

Owing to her illness Mrs. Poe, though her appearance was constantly
advertised, did not appear on the stage more than a half dozen times, if
as often. Mr. Placide wrote to her husband's relatives in Baltimore in
behalf of herself and children, but received no satisfactory answer, and
the company kindly gave her a benefit performance. Also, one of the
Richmond papers, the "_Enquirer_," of November 25th, made an appeal "to
the kind-hearted of the city" in behalf of the sick actress and her
little children. This brought to their aid among others Mr. John Allan
and his friend, Mr. Mackenzie.

Both these gentlemen were engaged in the tobacco business, and being of
Scotch nationality, the feeling of clanship led them to take a special
interest in this family, whom they discovered to be of good Scotch
stock. Everything possible was done for their comfort, and Mrs. Allan
herself came to minister to the sick woman. On her first visit she found
Mrs. Tubbs feeding the children with bread soaked in sweetened gin and
water, which she called "gin-tea," and explained that it was her custom,
in order to "make them strong and healthy." This was little Edgar's
initiation into the habit which became the bane and ruin of his life.

It soon became evident that Mrs. Poe was very near her end. Pneumonia
set in; and on the 8th of December, 1811, she died.

The question now was, what was to be done with the children? After a
consultation among all parties, it was agreed that Mr. Mackenzie and Mr.
Allan should take charge of them at their own homes until they should be
claimed by their Baltimore relatives.

It was a sad scene when the little ones were lifted up to look their
last upon the face of their dead mother, and then to be separated
forever from the grandmother who had so loved and cared for them. In
parting she gave to each a memento of their mother; to the boy a small
water-color portrait of the latter, inscribed, "For my dear little son,
Edgar, from his mother," and to the girl a jewel case, the contents of
which had long since been disposed of. It was all that she had had to
leave them, and with this slender inheritance in their hands the little
waifs were taken away to the homes of strangers.

On the day following a small funeral procession wended its way up the
steep ascent of Church Hill to the graveyard of St. John's church,[1]
crowning its summit. At that day it was no easy matter to get one whose
profession had been that of an actor buried in consecrated ground; yet
Mr. Mackenzie succeeded in effecting this. The grave was in a then
obscure part of the cemetery, "close against the eastern wall," and
here, after the brief service, the mother of Edgar Poe was laid to rest.

  [1] In this historical church it was that Patrick Henry
  thrilled the hearts of his hearers with the memorable words,
  "Give me liberty or give me death!" and sent them forever
  "ringing down the grooves of time."

Mrs. Tubbs remained with Mr. Placide's company, and doubtless returned
with them to England and to her own family.

Six weeks after the death of Mrs. Poe occurred that awful tragedy and
holocaust of the burning of the Richmond theatre, which shrouded the
whole country in gloom. On that night a large and fashionable audience
attended the performance of "_The Bleeding Nun_," eighty of whom
perished in the flames. Mrs. Allen had expressed a wish to attend, with
her sister and little Edgar, but her husband objected and instead took
them on a Christmas visit to the country; so they escaped the tragedy,
as did also the members of Placide's company.




CHAPTER II.

POE'S FIRST HOME.


Mr. and Mrs. Mackenzie, on taking charge of the Poe children, entered
into a correspondence with their grandfather, Mr. David Poe, of
Baltimore, in regard to them. He was by no means anxious to claim them.
He represented that he and his wife were old and poor, and that already
having the eldest child, William Henry, upon his hands, he could not
afford to burden himself with the others. Finally he proposed that the
children should be placed in an orphan asylum, where they would be
properly cared for, on hearing of which Mrs. Mackenzie declared that she
would never turn the baby, Rosalie, out of her home, but would bring her
up with her own children; while Mrs. Allan, who was childless and had
become much attached to Edgar, proposed to her husband to adopt him.

Mr. Allan demurred. His chief objection was that the boy was the child
of actors, and that to have him brought up as his son would not be
advisable for him or creditable to themselves. It required some special
pleading on the part of the lady, and she so far prevailed as that her
husband consented to keep and care for the boy as for a son, but refused
to be bound by any terms of legal responsibility as either guardian or
adoptive parent, preferring to remain free to act in the future as he
might think proper. Mr. Mackenzie pursued the same course with regard to
Rosalie, though each bestowed on his protege his own family name in
baptism.

There has been much useless discussion among Poe's biographers in regard
to the ages of the children at this time. Woodbury "_calculates_,"
according to certain data obtained from a Boston newspaper regarding the
appearance of Mrs. Poe on the stage. "At this time," he says, speaking
of her prolonged absence in 1807, "William Henry _may have_ been born;"
and accordingly fixes Edgar's birth as having occurred two years later,
in 1809.

Wishing to satisfy myself on this point, I some time since decided to go
to the fountain-head for information, and wrote to Mrs. Byrd, a
daughter of Mrs. Mackenzie, who had been brought up with Rosalie Poe.
Her answer I have carefully preserved and here give _verbatim_:

"Dear S----.--You ask the ages of Rose and Edgar. He was born in 1808,
Rose in 1810. A remark of his (in answer to an invitation to her
wedding) was that if I had put off my marriage one week it would have
been on his birthday. I was married on the 5th of October.... Their
mother died on the 8th Dec., 1811; and on the 9th the children were
taken to Mr. Allan's and our house.... Their mother was boarding at Mrs.
Fipps', a milliner on Main street. She was Scotch and of good family;
and my father and Mr. Allan had her put away decently at the old Church
on the Hill.... Mr. Poe died first."

This account of the children's ages is entitled to more weight than
those of his biographers, based upon mere calculation and
"_probabilities_." When the children were baptized as Edgar Allan and
Rosalie Mackenzie, their ages were also recorded, though whether in
church or family records is not known; and it is not likely that Mrs.
Byrd, who was brought up with Rosalie Poe, could be mistaken on this
point.

Were Woodbury correct in assuming that William Henry, the eldest child,
"_may have_ been born" in October, 1807, and Edgar, January 19, 1809,
it would follow that the latter, when taken charge of by the Allans in
December, 1811, was less than two years old; an impossibility,
considering that his sister was then over one year old and running about
playing with other children. As to Mr. Poe's claim to October 12 as his
birthday, it is not likely that, howsoever often he may have given a
false date to others, he would have ventured upon it to the daughter of
Mrs. Mackenzie, the latter of whom would have detected the error.

It must be accepted as a final conclusion that, as Mrs. Byrd states,
Edgar was born in 1808 and Rosalie in 1810.[2] Her positive assertion is
proof sufficient against all mere calculation and conjecture; and in
this book I shall hold to these dates as authentic.

  [2] The official date of Rosalie Poe's death, on June 14, 1874,
  represents her as 64 years of age. This would make her a year
  and a half old when adopted by the Mackenzies, in December,
  1811.




CHAPTER III.

THE ALLAN HOME.


Mr. Allan was at this time thirty-one years of age--a plain, practical
business man, or, as some one has described him, "an honest, hard-headed
Scotchman, kindly, but stubborn and irascible." His wife, some years
younger than himself, was a beautiful woman, warm-hearted, impulsive and
fond of company and amusement. Both were charitable, and though not at
this time in what is called "society," were in comfortable circumstances
and fond of entertaining their friends.

There was yet another member of the family, Miss Ann Valentine, an elder
sister of Mrs. Allan; a lady of a lovely disposition and almost as fond
of Edgar as was his so-called "mother." She was always his "Aunt Nancy."

The Allans were at this time living in the business part of the town,
occupying one of a row of dingy three-story brick houses still standing
on Fourteenth street, between Main and Franklin. Mr. Allan had his
store on the ground floor, the family apartments being above. This was
at that time and until long afterward a usual mode of living with some
of the down-town merchants; though a few had already built handsome
residences on Shocko Hill.

Little Edgar, bright, gay and beautiful, soon became the pet and pride
of the household. Even Mr. Allan grew fond of him, and his wife
delighted in taking him about and showing him off among her
acquaintances. In his baggy little trousers of yellow Nankin or silk
pongee, with his dark ringlets flowing over an immense "tucker," red
silk stockings and peaked purple velvet cap, with its heavy gold tassel
falling gracefully on one shoulder, he was the admiration of all
beholders. His disposition was affectionate and his temper sweet, though
having been hitherto allowed to have his own way, he was self-willed and
sometimes difficult to manage. To correct his faults and as a counter
balance to his wife's undue indulgence, Mr. Allan conscientiously set
about training the boy according to his own ideas of what was best. When
Edgar was "good" he was petted and indulged, but an act of disobedience
or wrong-doing was punished, as some said, with undue severity. To
shield him from this was the aim of the family, even of the servants;
and the boy soon learned to resort to various little tricks and
artifices on his own account. An amusing instance of this was told by
Mrs. Allan herself. Edgar one day would persist in running out in the
rain, when Mr. Allan peremptorily called him in, with the threat of a
whipping. He presently entered and, meekly walking up to his guardian,
looked him in the face with his large, solemn gray eyes and held out a
bunch of switches. "What are these for?" inquired the latter. "To whip
me with," answered the little diplomat; and Mr. Allan had to turn aside
to hide a smile, for the "switches" had been selected with a purpose,
being only the long, tough leaf-stems of the alanthus tree.

Another anecdote I recall illustrative of the strict discipline to which
Edgar was subject.

My uncle, Mr. Edward Valentine, who was a cousin of Mrs. Allan, and
often a visitor at her house, was very fond of Edgar; and liking fun
almost as much as did the child, taught him many amusing little tricks.
One of these was to snatch away a chair from some big boy about to seat
himself; but Edgar, too young to discriminate, on one occasion made a
portly and dignified old lady the subject of this performance. Mr.
Allan, who in his anger was always impulsive, immediately led away the
culprit, and his wife took the earliest opportunity of going to console
her pet. As the child was little over three years old, it may be doubted
whether the punishment administered was the wisest course, but it was
Mr. Allan's way, who apparently believed in the moral suasion of the
rod.

Edgar had no dogs and no pony, and did not ride out with a groom to
attend him, "like a little prince," as a biographer has represented. At
this time the Allans' circumstances were not such as to admit of such
luxuries. As to his appearance in this style at the famous White Sulphur
Springs, that is equally mythical.[3]

  [3] Lest my mention of these little anecdotes and certain other
  matters should lead the reader to conclude that I am quoting
  from Gill, I would refer them to Appendix No. 1 of this volume.

There was, however, at least one summer when Edgar was six years of age
in which the Allans were at one of the lesser Virginia springs, and in
returning paid a visit to Mr. Valentine's family, near Staunton. This
gentleman often took Edgar out with him, either driving or seated behind
him on horseback; and on receiving his paper from the country
post-office would make the boy read the news to the mountain rustics,
who regarded him as a prodigy of learning. Thus far he had been taught
by an old Scotch dame who kept an "infant-school," and who then and for
years afterward called him "her ain wee laddie," and to whom as long as
she lived he was accustomed to carry offerings of choice smoking
tobacco. He also learned from her to speak in the broad Scottish
dialect, which greatly amused and pleased Mr. Allan. The boy was at even
this age remarkably quick in learning anything.

Mr. Valentine also delighted in getting up wrestling matches between
Edgar and the little pickaninnies with whom he played, rewarding the
victor with gifts of money. But there was one thing which no money or
other reward could induce the boy to undertake, and this was to go near
the country churchyard after sunset, even in company with these same
little darkies. Once, in riding home late, Edgar being seated behind Mr.
Valentine, they passed a deserted log-cabin, near which were several
graves, when the boy's nervous terror became so great that he attempted
to get in front of his companion, who took him on the saddle before
him. "They would run after us and pull me off," he said, betraying at
even this early age the weird imagination of his maturer years.

This incident led to his being questioned, when it was discovered that
he had been accustomed to go with his colored "mammy" to the servants'
rooms in the evenings, and there listen to the horrible stories of
ghosts and graveyard apparitions such as this ignorant and superstitious
race delight in. It is not improbable that the gruesome sketch of the
"_Tempest_" family, one of his earliest published, whose ghosts are
represented as seated in coffins around a table in an undertaker's shop,
and thence flying back to their near-by graves, was not inspired by some
such story heard in Mr. Allan's kitchen.

Undoubtedly, these ghostly narratives, heard at this early and
impressionable age, served in part to produce those weird and ghoulish
imaginings which characterize some of Poe's writings, and to create that
tinge of superstition which was well known to his friends. He always
avoided cemeteries, hated the sight of coffins and skeletons, and would
never walk alone at night even on the street; believing that evil
spirits haunted the darkness and walked beside the lonely wayfarer,
watching to do him a mischief. Death he loathed and feared, and a corpse
he would not look upon. And yet, as bound by a weird fascination, he
wrote continually of death.

Edgar Poe, like every other Southern child, had his negro "mammy" to
attend to him until he went to England, to whom and the other servants
he was as much attached as they to him. Indeed, a marked trait of his
character was his liking for negroes, the effect of early association,
and to the end of his life he delighted in talking with them and in
their quaint and kindly humor and odd modes of thought and expression.

Edgar had been about three years with the Allans when he was again
deprived of a home and sent among strangers. Mr. Allan went on a
business trip to England and Scotland, accompanied by his wife, Miss
Valentine and Edgar; the latter of whom was put to school in London,
where he must have felt his loneliness and isolation. Still, he came to
the Allans in holiday times, and was with them in Scotland for some
months previous to their return to Virginia. Little is known of them
during this absence of five years.




CHAPTER IV.

POE'S BOYHOOD.


The Allans returned to Richmond in June, 1820, Edgar being then twelve
years old. Having no house ready for their reception they were invited
by Mr. Ellis, Mr. Allan's business partner, to his home on Franklin,
then as now the fashionable street of the city.

Mr. Allan at once put Edgar to Professor Clarke's classical school,
where he was in intimate association with boys of the best city
families.

At the end of this year the Allans removed to a plain cottage-like
dwelling at the corner of Clay and Fifth streets, in a quiet and
out-of-the-way neighborhood. It consisted of but five rooms on the
ground floor and a half story above; and here for some years they
resided.

Of Poe as a schoolboy various accounts have been given by former
schoolmates, with most of whom he was very popular, while others
represent him as reserved and not generally liked. All, however, agree
that he was a remarkably bright pupil, with, in the higher classes, but
one rival, and that he was high-spirited and the leader in all sorts of
fun and frolic.

Mrs. Mackenzie's eldest son, John, or "Jack," two years older than
Edgar, though not mentioned by any of Poe's biographers, was the most
intimate and trusted of all his lifelong friends. The two were playmates
in childhood, and schoolmates and companions up to the time of Poe's
departure for the University. Poe always called Mrs. Mackenzie "Ma," and
was almost as much at home in her house as was his sister.

I remember Mr. John Mackenzie as a portly, jolly, middle-aged gentleman
with a florid face and a hearty laugh. This is what he said of Poe after
the latter's death:

"I never saw in him as boy or man a sign of morbidness or melancholy;
unless," he added, "it was when Mrs. Stanard died, when he appeared for
some time grieving and depressed. At all other times he was bright and
full of fun and high spirits. He delighted in playing practical jokes,
masquerading, and making raids on orchards and turnip-patches. Oh, yes;
every schoolboy liked a sweet, tender, juicy turnip; and many a time
after the apple crop had been gathered in, we might have been seen, a
half dozen of us, seated on a rail-fence like so many crows, munching
turnips. We didn't object to a raw sweet potato at times--anything that
had the relish of being stolen. On Saturdays we had fish-fries by the
river, or tramped into the woods for wild grapes and chinquepins. It was
not always that Mr. Allan would allow Edgar to go on these excursions,
and more than once he would steal off and join us, though knowing that
he would be punished for it."

"Mr. Allan was a good man in his way," added Mr. Mackenzie, "but Edgar
was not fond of him. He was sharp and exacting, and with his long,
hooked nose and small keen eyes looking from under his shaggy eyebrows,
always reminded me of a hawk. I know that often, when angry with Edgar,
he would threaten to turn him adrift, and that he never allowed him to
lose sight of his dependence on his charity."

Edgar, he said, was allowed a liberal weekly supply of pocket money, but
being of a generous disposition and giving treats of taffy and hot
gingerbread to his schoolmates at recess, besides being generally
extravagant, this supply was always exhausted before the week was out,
when he would borrow, and so be kept constantly in debt. He was,
however, very prompt in paying off his debts.

Mr. Robert Sully, nephew of the distinguished artist, Thomas Sully, and
himself an artist, was through life one of Poe's firmest friends. A boy
of delicate physique and a disposition so sensitive and irritable that
few could keep on good terms with him, he was always in difficulties. "I
was a dull boy at school," he said to me; "and Edgar, when he knew that
I had an unusually hard lesson, would help me out with it. He would
never allow the big boys to teaze me, and was kind to me in every way. I
used to admire and in a way envy him, he was so bright, clever and
handsome.

"He lived not far from me, just around the corner; and one Saturday he
came running up to our house, calling out, "Come along, Rob! We are
going to the Hermitage woods for chinquepins, and you must come too.
Uncle Billy is going for a load of pine-needles, and we can ride in his
wagon." Now, that showed his consideration; he knowing that I could not
walk the long distances that most boys could, and therefore seldom went
on one of their excursions."

In one of Poe's biographies is an absurd story to the effect that Mr.
Clarke, his first teacher, once on detecting him robbing a neighbor's
turnip-patch, tied one of the vegetables about his neck as a token of
disgrace, which the boy purposely wore home, when Mr. Allan, in a fury
at this insult to his adopted son, called on the teacher and threatened
him with personal chastisement. It is scarcely necessary at this day to
deny the truth of that story; but the following is what Mr. Clarke
himself says about it in an interview with a reporter in Baltimore some
years after Poe's death, he being at that time nearly eighty years
old.[4]

  [4] This account, clipped from a Baltimore paper, was given by
  Professor Clarke's son to a Richmond reporter in 1894.

"Edgar had a very sweet disposition. He was always cheerful, brimful of
mirth and a very great favorite with his schoolmates. I never had
occasion to speak a harsh word to him, much less to make him do penance.
He had a great ambition to excel."

He spoke with pride of Edgar as a student, especially in the classics.
He and Nat Howard on one vacation each wrote him a complimentary letter
in Latin, both equally excellent in point of scholarship; but Edgar's
was in verse, which Nat could not write.

"Whenever Poe came to Baltimore he would not forget to come and see me,
and I would offer him wine. It was the custom, you know. When he became
editor of Graham's Magazine and could afford it, he sent wine to me,
gratis.... I think that as boy and man Edgar loved me dearly. I am sure
I loved him.... Yes; he was a dear, open-hearted, cheerful and good boy;
and as a man he was a loving and affectionate friend to me. I went to
his funeral."

The old Professor said that Poe's sister, Rosalie, he had seen when her
brother was a pupil of his. "She was at that time about ten years old,
was pretty and a very sweet child."

Poe, after leaving Professor Clarke's, entered Dr. Burke's classical
school in 1832, where he remained until he went to the University. Here
one of his classmates was Dr. Creed Thomas, a noted Richmond physician,
who died so late as in 1890. In his reminiscences of Poe, published in a
Richmond paper not long before his own death, he says:

"Poe was one of our brightest pupils. He read and scanned the Latin
poets with ease when scarcely thirteen years of age. He was an apt
student and always recited well, with a great ambition to excel in
everything.

"Despite his retiring disposition he was never lacking in courage. There
was not a pluckier boy in school. He never provoked a quarrel, but would
always stand up for his rights.... It was a noticeable fact that he
never asked any of his schoolmates to go home with him after school. The
boys would frequently on Fridays take dinner or spend the night with
each other at their homes, but Poe was never known to enter in this
social intercourse. After he left the school ground we saw no more of
him until next day."

Dr. Thomas spoke of Poe's fondness for the stage. He and several other
of the brightest boys held amateur theatricals in an old building rented
for the purpose. Poe was one of the best actors; but Mr. Allan, upon
learning of it, forbade his having anything to do with these
theatricals, a great grievance to the boy.

"A singular fact," proceeds Dr. Thomas, "is that Poe never got a
whipping while at Burke's. I remember that the boys used to come in for
a flogging quite frequently--I got my share. Poe was quiet and dignified
during school hours, attending strictly to his studies; and we all used
to wonder at his escaping the rod so successfully."

He adds that Poe was not popular with most of his schoolmates; that his
manners were retiring and distant. Doubtless there were boys with whom
he did not care to associate, feeling the lack of a congeniality between
himself and them. Then there were the prim and priggish class who looked
with virtuous disapproval on the robber of apple orchards and
turnip-patches, and who in after years never had a good word to say of
Poe, whether as boy or man.

It will be observed from Dr. Davis' account that the "quiet and
dignified" manner which distinguished Poe in manhood was natural to him
even as a boy.

As regards his never inviting his schoolmates to accompany him home to
dinner or to spend the night, this would not have been agreeable to
Edgar, who would have preferred having his time to himself for reading
or writing his verses, a volume of which he now began to make up. But he
was by no means deprived of company at home. The Allans, as has been
said, were fond of entertaining their friends, and at their "sociables"
and "tea parties" Edgar was generally required to be present, with one
or two young friends to keep him company, and often he was treated to a
"party" of his own--boys and girls--where a rigid etiquette was
required, though dancing and charades were indulged in. This was Mrs.
Allan's idea of affording him enjoyment and cultivating in him elegant
and graceful manners; but to him it was most distasteful. Throughout his
life he detested social companies. Mrs. Mackenzie, in speaking of the
social restraint under which the Allans at this time sought to keep
Edgar, said that it was very distasteful to the boy, who liked to choose
his companions, and who now, at the age of fifteen, began to be
dissatisfied and to think that he was subject to undue restraint at
home. She often heard him express the wish that he had been adopted by
Mr. Mackenzie instead of by Mr. Allan; and she would talk to him in her
motherly way, endeavoring to impress him with a sense of what he owed to
the latter. His disposition, she said, was very sweet and affectionate,
and he was grateful for any kindness, and always happy to be at her
house as much as he was allowed to be from home. Her son John could
never be persuaded to visit Edgar at his home, so strict was the
etiquette observed at table and in general behavior. She believed that
Mr. Allan, in taking charge of Edgar, had been influenced more by a
desire to please his wife than any real interest in the child, though he
had conscientiously endeavored to do his duty by him. She had once heard
him say that Edgar did not know the meaning of the word _gratitude_; to
which she replied that it could not be expected of children, who were
not able to understand their obligations; and that she did not at
present look for gratitude from Rose, but for affection and obedience.
Mrs. Allan was devoted to Edgar and he was very fond of her. It was she,
Mrs. Mackenzie thought, rather than her husband, who so extravagantly
supplied him with money, seeming to take a pride in his having more than
his schoolmates. She was a good and amiable woman, fond of pleasure
generally, and less domestic in her tastes than either her husband or
sister.

Mr. John Mackenzie, in speaking of Edgar, bore witness to his high
spirit and pluckiness in occasional schoolboy encounters, and also to
his timidity in regard to being alone at night and his belief in and
fear of the supernatural. He had heard Poe say, when grown, that the
most horrible thing he could imagine as a boy was to feel an ice-cold
hand laid upon his face in a pitch-dark room when alone at night; or to
awaken in semi-darkness and see an evil face gazing close into his own;
and that these fancies had so haunted him that he would often keep his
head under the bed-covering until nearly suffocated.

The restrictions sought to be placed upon Poe's associations and
amusements served only to render him more democratic. He, with two or
three of his young friends of congenial tastes, were fond of stealing
off for a bath in the river near _Rocketts_ or below _the Falls_, in
company with the hardy, adventurous boys of those localities, who were
known as "river rats." It was from them that he learned to swim, to row
and, when the river was low, to wade across its rocky bed to the willowy
islands and set fish-traps. When in Richmond in after years, he told how
he had met with some of these former companions, and how much he had
enjoyed talking with them about "old times" on the river.

As regards religious influences and teachings in the Allan home, it does
not appear that Edgar was especially subject to these. Mr. and Mrs.
Allan were members of St. John's Episcopal church and punctilious in all
church observances, and they required of Edgar a strict attendance at
Sunday school and his presence in the family pew during divine service.
But in those days it was not thought necessary for professed Christians
to deny themselves social pleasures. On Sundays luxurious dinners were
provided, to which friends were invited from church, and rides and
drives were indulged in. Edgar was sent to dancing school, and Mrs.
Allan had her dancing entertainments and her husband his card parties,
which were attended by some of the most prominent professional men of
the city; amusements which, as is well known, exposed Episcopalians to
the charge of worldliness by other denominations. At all these
entertainments wine flowed freely.

I have an impression, too vague to be asserted as fact, that Edgar Poe
was confirmed at the same time with his sister and Mary Mackenzie, at
St. John's church, and by the clergyman who had baptized them. To any
inquiry as to his religious denomination, he always answered, "I am an
Episcopalian." But it was often remarked upon by their friends in
Richmond that neither he nor Rosalie had ever been known to manifest a
sign of religious feeling or of interest in religious things. It was
noticeable in both that, phrenologically considered, the organ of
_veneration_ was so undeveloped as to give a depressed or flat
appearance to the top of the head when seen in profile. And it was known
to Poe's intimate friends that, while he believed in a Supreme Power, he
had no faith in the doctrine of the Divinity of Christ. Hence he was as
a bark at sea with a guiding star in view but no rudder to direct its
course. His eager seeking for truth was ever but a groping in darkness,
with now and then a faint, far-away ray of the light of Truth flashing
upon his sight--as we see in _Eureka_.

Yet Poe was careful to offer no disrespect to religion, and he was a
frequent attendant at church and a great lover of church music.

Great injustice has been done the Allans by Poe's biographers in
representing them as responsible for his early dissipation. By all the
story has been repeated of how the child of three or four years was
accustomed to be given a glass of wine at dinner parties and required to
drink the health of the company.

It was no unusual thing for little children to be taught this trick for
the amusement of company, as from my own recollections I can myself
aver. But the liquor given them was simply a little sweetened wine and
water. As Edgar grew older he was, like other boys in his position--as
the Mackenzies--allowed his glass of wine at table; but no word was ever
heard of his being fond of wine until his return from the University.

I have heard a Richmond gentleman who was Poe's chum at the University
speak of the latter's peculiar manner of drinking. He was no
_connoisseur_, they said, in either wine or other liquors, and seemed to
care little for their mere taste or flavor. "You never saw him
critically discussing his wine or smacking his lips over its excellence;
but he would generally swallow his glass at a draught, as though it had
been water--especially when he was in any way worried." In this way he
would soon become intoxicated, while his companions remained sober. "He
had the weakest head of any one that I ever knew," said this gentleman,
who attributed his dissipation while at the University, not to a natural
inclination, but to a weakness of will which allowed himself to be
easily influenced by his companions.

Hitherto we have seen in Poe, the schoolboy, only what was amiable and
lovable; but now, in his sixteenth year, he began to show that beneath
this were springs of bitterness which, when disturbed, could arouse him
to a passion and a power hitherto unsuspected.

I never heard of but one authentic instance of his being subject to
slight or "snubbing" while a boy on account of his parentage or his
dependent position in Mr. Allan's family, although several writers have
taken it for granted that such was the case. What effect such treatment
would have had upon him is evinced in the instance in question, in which
a young man, a sprig of an aristocratic family, chose to object to
association with the son of actors, and not only made a point of
ignoring him on all occasions, but made offensive allusions to him as a
"charity boy." This last being reported to Edgar, aroused in him a
resentment which found expression in a rhyming lampoon upon "_Don
Pompiosa_," so brimfull of wit, sarcasm and keenest ridicule that it was
circulated throughout the city for some time, though none knew who was
the author. The young man in question could not make his appearance upon
the street without being pointed out and laughed at, with audible
allusions to "_Don Pompiosa_," and was, it was said, at length actually
driven from the town, leaving Poe triumphant. This was the forerunner
of those keen literary onslaughts which in after years made Poe as a
critic the terror of his enemies.




CHAPTER V.

SCHOOLBOY LOVE AFFAIRS.


That Poe was, both as boy and man, unusually susceptible to the
influence of feminine charms has been the testimony of all who best knew
him. "I never knew the time," said Mr. Mackenzie, "that Edgar was not in
love with some one."

Nor was it unusual for me, when a girl, to meet with some comely matron
who would laughingly admit that she had been "one of Edgar Poe's
sweethearts." Neither did he confine his boyish gallantries to girls of
his own age, but admired grown-up belles and young married ladies as
well; though this was probably in a great measure owing to the playful
petting with which they treated the handsome and chivalrous boy-lover.

But this was a trait which did not meet with the approval of Miss Jane
Mackenzie, sister of the gentleman who adopted Rosalie Poe. This lady,
noted for her elegant manners and accomplishments, kept a fashionable
"Young Ladies' Boarding-School," patronized by the best families of the
State; and many a brilliant belle and admired Virginia matron boasted of
having received her education at "Miss Jane's." As I remember her, she
was tall and stately, prim and precise, and was attired generally in
black silk and elaborate cap and frizette, a very _Lady-Prioress_ sort
of a person. She had the reputation of being exceedingly "strict" in
regard to the manners and conduct of her pupils, and was a contrast to
the rest of her family, all of whom were remarkably genial.

When Edgar was about fifteen or sixteen he began to make trouble for
Miss Jane. Repeatedly she would detect him in secret correspondence with
some one of her fair pupils, supplemented on his part by offerings of
candy and "original poetry," his sister Rosalie being the medium of
communication. The verses were sometimes compared by the fair recipients
and found to be alike, with the exception of slight changes appropriate
to each; a practice which he kept up in after years. He possessed some
skill in drawing, and it was his habit to make pencil-sketches of his
girl friends, with locks of their hair attached to the cards.

Poe himself has told of his boyish devotion to Mrs. Stanard, which made
so deep an impression upon the mind and heart of the embryo poet. The
story is well known of how he once accompanied little Robert Stanard
home from school (to see his pet pigeons and rabbits), and how his heart
was won by the gentle and gracious reception given him by the boy's
lovely mother, and the tenderness of tone and manner with which she
talked to him; she knowing his pathetic history. In his heart a chord of
feeling was stirred which had never before been touched; and thenceforth
he regarded her with a passionate and reverential devotion such as we
may imagine the religious devotee to feel for the Madonna. He calls this
"the first pure and ideal love of his soul," and possibly it may in time
have been increased by the knowledge of the doom which hung above and
overtook her at the last--the partial shrouding of the bright intellect,
the effect of a hereditary taint. Indeed, it is probable that on this
account Poe saw very little if anything of Mrs. Stanard in the two
succeeding years, in which time she led a secluded life with her family,
dying in April, 1824, at the age of thirty-one. But the impression had
been made, and remained with him during his lifetime, forming the one
solitary _Ideal_ which pervaded nearly all his poems--the death of the
young, lovely and beloved. This experience was probably the beginning of
those occasional dreamy and melancholy moods about this time noticed by
some of his companions. The living friend of his boyhood's dream became
the "lost Lenore" of his maturer years.

But though Poe deeply felt the loss of this beloved friend, the story is
not to be accepted that he was accustomed to go at night to the cemetery
where she was buried "and there, prostrate on her grave, weep away the
long hours of cold and darkness." No one who knew Poe in his boyhood,
with his horror of cemeteries, of darkness, and of being alone at night,
would believe this story, first told by Poe himself to Mrs. Whitman, and
by her poetic fancy further embellished. Besides this is the practical
refutation afforded by the high brick wall and locked gates of the
cemetery, with the strict discipline of the Allan home, which would have
made such midnight excursions impossible.

Another account connected with Mrs. Stanard, and repeated by Poe's
biographers until it has become an article of faith with the public, is
that the exquisite lines "To Helen" were inspired by and addressed to
that lady. If written at ten years of age, as Poe asserts, it will be
remembered that he was at this time at school in London, and it was not
until two years after his return, and when he was thirteen years of age,
that he ever saw Mrs. Stanard. He might have altered the lines to suit
her--his "Psyche," with the pale and "classic face"--and I recall that
the "folded scroll" of the first version was afterward changed to "the
agate lamp within thy hand," as more appropriate to Psyche. Poe never
made an alteration in his poems that was not an improvement.

Those who knew Mrs. Stanard describe her as slender and graceful, with
regular delicate features, a complexion of marble pallor and dark,
pensive eyes. A portrait of her which was in possession of her son,
Judge Robert Stanard, represented her as a young girl wearing--perhaps
in respect to her Scottish descent--a _snood_ in her dark, curling
hair.




CHAPTER VI.

ROSALIE POE.


Of Edgar Poe's sister, Rosalie, it may be said that all accounts
represent her as having been, up to the age of ten years, a pretty
child, with blue eyes and rosy cheeks, and of a sweet disposition.
Though evincing nothing of Edgar's talent and quickness at learning, she
was yet a rather better pupil than the average; and it had been Miss
Mackenzie's intention to give her every advantage of education afforded
by her own school, so as to fit her for becoming a teacher.

But when Rosalie Poe was in her eleventh or twelfth year, a strange
change came over her, for which her friends could never account. Without
having ever been ill, a sudden blight seemed to fall upon her, as frost
upon a flower, and she drooped, as it were, mentally and physically. She
lost all energy and ambition, and thenceforth made little or no progress
in her studies, growing up into a languid and uninteresting girlhood.
Still, she was amiable, generous and devoted to her friends, who were
generally chosen for their personal beauty, and for this reason my
sister was a great favorite with her. To Mrs. Mackenzie she was always
dutiful and affectionate, but her great pride and affection centered in
her brother. She felt painfully, and would often allude to, the
difference between them. Once she said to me, "Of course, I can't expect
Edgar to love me as I do him, he is so far above me."

A peculiarity of Miss Poe is worth mentioning, because it is one shared
by her brother, and must have been hereditary. She could not taste wine
without its having an immediate effect upon her. She would, after
venturing to take a glass of wine at dinner, sleep for hours, and awaken
either with a headache or in an irritable and despondent mood. As is
well known, the same effect was produced upon Edgar by a moderate
indulgence in drink, such as would not affect another man; and this
hereditary weakness should go far in accounting for and excusing those
excesses of which all the world is unfortunately aware.

Of the elder brother of Edgar, William Henry, I have heard scarcely any
mention until after Poe's death, and few seemed to know that there was
such a person. It seems, however, that in the summer, when Edgar was
preparing for the University, this brother came to Richmond on a visit
to himself and Rose. Edgar took him around to introduce to his young
lady acquaintances, by one of whom he has been described as handsome,
gentlemanly and agreeable. He died a year or two afterward, leaving some
poems which show him to have been possessed of unusual poetic talent.
Had he lived, he might have rivaled his brother as a poet.




CHAPTER VII.

THE UNREST OF YOUTH.


In the summer of 1825, Mr. Allan, having come into possession of a large
fortune left him by an uncle, purchased and removed to the handsome
brick residence at the corner of Main and Fifth streets, built by Mr.
Gallego, a wealthy Spanish gentleman, and which became known as the
Allan House.

To own such a residence had long been the desire of Mrs. Allan, and upon
taking possession of the house she furnished it handsomely and commenced
entertaining in a style which rendered them conspicuous in Richmond
society. It was even said that they lived extravagantly; and Edgar, with
abundance of pocket-money, became the envy of his companions.

But he was not happy. The impatience of restraint of which the
Mackenzies spoke, and the dissatisfaction of which was to him, despite
its luxuries, an uncongenial home, rendered him discontented. The heart
of the boy of fifteen began to pulse with the restlessness of the bird
when it feels the first nervous twitchings of its wings, and his great
desire now was to get away from home and enjoy greater freedom. He would
often, when particularly dissatisfied, speak to the Mackenzies of going
to sea or enlisting in the army. At present, however, he contented
himself with requesting Mr. Allan to send him to the University.

Mr. Allan did not see the use of a higher education for one whom he
destined for a commercial business, but finally yielded; and Edgar left
Mr. Burke's school and, under a private tutorage, commenced fitting
himself for the University. This period, from June to February 14, 1825,
was the only time, with the exception of two brief intervals, that he
resided in the Allan House.

On another point, however, he did not so easily have his way. He was
very anxious that his youthful poems should be published in book form,
and importuned Mr. Allan to that effect, but this was a thing with which
the latter had no sympathy. He did consent to go with the boy to hear
what Mr. Clarke's judgment of the verses would be; but finally concluded
that Edgar was too young to publish a book; and so the latter's eager
and ambitious hopes were for the time frustrated.

Still, this must have been a pleasant summer for him, in the enjoyment
of his new home, with its fine lawn and garden, in place of the cramped
cottage on Clay street, and especially in the knowledge that he was
breaking away from his schoolboy days and assuming something of the
independence of youth. It was at this time that he made the famous swim
of seven miles on James river, from Warwick Park to Richmond, which has
been so much commented upon--showing with what fine athletic powers he
was gifted.

It was on the 14th of February, 1825, that Poe entered the University;
inscribing on the matriculation book the date of his birth as January
19, 1809, making him sixteen years of age, when he was really seventeen
(born in 1808). This date, it will be observed, agrees with no other
that he has given.

Of his course at the University his biographers have informed us, on the
authority of professors and students, some of whom credit him with
almost every vice of dissipation, while others defend him from such
imputation. But when he returned home, at the end of the first year,
with a brilliant scholastic record, it became known that Mr. Allan had
been called upon to pay his gambling and other debts, amounting on the
whole to over two thousand dollars. Mr. Allan went on to Charlottesville
to investigate the matter, and scrupulously paid all that he considered
honest debts, refusing to notice the gambling debts.

Poe, having paid little attention to his personal affairs, was almost as
much surprised as was Mr. Allan at the amount of his indebtedness. He
appeared truly penitent, and frankly so expressed himself to Mr. Allan,
offering to repay the latter by his services in his counting-house. It
was agreed that after the Christmas holidays he should take his place in
the office as clerk.

This was the beginning of the declension of Poe's social and personal
reputation. By his elders he was severely condemned, while the good
little boys who had formerly looked doubtfully upon the robber of
orchards and turnip-patches now passed him by with sidelong glances and
pursed-up lips. And yet, good cause though Mr. Allan had to be angry--as
he was--we have the following account of Edgar's reception at home when
he returned from the University for the Christmas holidays, a reception
for which he was doubtless indebted to his devoted foster-mother:

A former schoolmate of his, Charles Bolling, writes to the editor of a
Richmond paper that Mr. Allan, when on a visit to the country, having
given him a cordial invitation to call on him when in Richmond, he, one
evening, near Christmas, went to his house, where he was kindly
received. After sitting awhile, he perceived certain signs as of
preparation for the entertainment of company, and at once rose to leave,
but his host insisted upon his remaining, saying that Edgar had just
come home from the University, and some of his young friends had been
invited to meet him. Bolling replied that he was not in a suitable dress
for company, when Mr. Allan said: "Go up to Edgar's room. He will supply
you with one of his own suits." He found Edgar lying on a lounge
reading, who welcomed him cordially, and, throwing open his wardrobe
doors, placed the contents at his disposal.

This was a room which, on their removal to their new home, Mrs. Allan
had chosen for Edgar's occupation, furnishing it handsomely, with his
books and pictures arranged in bookcases and on the wall. He took great
pleasure in this apartment, and had always passed much of his time
there.

When the two youths had attired themselves to their satisfaction, they
repaired to the drawing-room, where Poe did his duty in welcoming his
guests. But after awhile he took Bolling aside and proposed that they
should go down the street and have a spree of their own. To this the
latter very properly objected, saying: "Oh, no; that would never do."
But being urged, finally consented; and they stole away from the company
together.

This was an assertion of independence which one year previous he would
not have ventured upon. But he was now no longer a schoolboy, but a
University student and, as he claimed, nearly eighteen years of age.
This past year had wrought a great change in him; and he was already in
his heart prepared to break away from the restraint and authority which
he had found so irksome and assert his independence.

In due time Poe was installed in Mr. Allan's counting-house as clerk,
but had occupied that position but a short time when it became
intolerable to him. He begged Mr. Allan to give him some other
employment, saying that he would rather earn his living in any other
way. Mr. Allan, still angry about the University debts, told him that
he was his own master, and could choose what employment he pleased, but
that henceforth he was not to look to him for assistance. After an angry
scene between the two, Poe packed his traveling bag and, leaving the
Allan house, did not return to it for the space of two years.

It will be observed that this was no runaway act on Poe's part, as
asserted by biographers. He took an affectionate leave of Mrs. Allan and
Miss Valentine--who supplied him with money--and neither of whom
believed but that he would be back in a few weeks.

He went to take leave of the Mackenzies, who, all but his friend "Jack,"
advised him to return and submit himself to Mr. Allan; but this he would
not, could not, do. He claimed that Mr. Allan had spoken insultingly to
him, and declared that he would no longer be dependent on him. And so he
went forth, as he said, to seek his fortune.

He made his way to Boston, where the first use to which he put his money
was in publishing a cheap edition of his poems. They were not of a kind
to attract attention, and he never realized a dollar from them.
Ambitious to have them known, he sent a number to his friends in
Richmond and other places South, and the rest turned over to his
publisher, an obscure young man of the name of Thomas, in part payment
of the expense of publishing.

Then followed a season of wandering in search of employment until, his
money all gone, he had no resource but to enlist in the army, which he
did on May 2, 1827, being then, as he claimed, eighteen (really
nineteen) years of age, but representing himself as twenty-two.




CHAPTER VIII.

IN BARRACKS.


In the year 1829, my uncle, Dr. Archer, then Post Surgeon at Fortress
Monroe, was one day called to the hospital to attend a private soldier
known as Edgar A. Perry. Finding him a young man of superior manners and
education, his interest was aroused, and his patient, won by his
sympathy, finally confessed that his real name was Edgar A. Poe, and
that he was the adopted son of Mr. John Allan, of Richmond; and also
expressed an earnest desire to leave the army, in which he had now been
for two years, the term of enlistment being five years.

Dr. Archer informed the commanding officer of these revelations, and as
Perry, _alias_ Poe, had proven himself in all respects a model soldier,
interest in his case was at once aroused. It was suggested that, with
his education and the social position which he had enjoyed, a cadetship
at West Point would be more suited to him than the place of a private
at Fortress Monroe. Poe, in his anxiety to be rid of the army, was
willing enough to accept this proposal, and by the advice of his new
friends wrote to Mr. Allan, informing him of his wishes and asking his
assistance.

For some time he received no answer; but at length there came a letter
which must have caused his heart a pang of real sorrow. It was from Mr.
Allan, informing him of the death of his wife, and directing him to
apply for a furlough and come on at once to Richmond, where he arrived
two days after her burial.

Woodbury is mistaken in saying that in all this time Mr. Allan had not
known of Edgar's whereabouts. According to Miss Valentine, Poe never at
any time ceased entirely to correspond with Mrs. Allan, who never, to
her dying day, lost her interest in the boy whom she had loved as a son,
and neither ceased her endeavors to reconcile himself and her husband,
urging Edgar to return and Mr. Allan to receive him. In anticipation of
such result, she kept his room as he had left it, ready for his
occupation at any time that it might suit his wayward fancy to return.

Mr. Allan talked to Poe seriously, and, finding that his great desire
was to get a discharge from the army, promised to assist him; but only
upon condition of his entering West Point, by which there would be
secured to him an honorable and independent position for life, and Allan
himself be relieved from all responsibility concerning him. But that he
had not entirely forgiven Edgar was evident from a letter to the
latter's commanding officer, wherein he exposes, unnecessarily, perhaps,
the youth's gambling habits at the University, declaring that "he is no
relation of mine whatever, and no more to me than many others who, being
in need, I have regarded as being my care." Poe must have felt this
latter as a humiliation; and it was certainly not calculated to increase
his regard for the writer.

Poe's career at West Point is well known. At first all went well. One of
his Virginia comrades, Col. Allan Magruder, describes him as of a simple
and kindly nature, but, by reason of his distance and reserve, not
popular with the cadets, and that he at length confined his association
exclusively to Virginians. But the old discontent and impatience of
restraint returned upon him, and after some months he wrote to Mr. Allan
that he wished to leave West Point--a step to which the latter
positively refused his assistance.

Finding nobody inclined to help him, he resolved to force his discharge.
He purposely neglected his studies and military duties, deliberately
violated the rules, engaged--it was said by some--in all sorts of
disgraceful pranks; and finally was tried by court-martial and, on March
7, 1831, dismissed from the institute.

It has been naturally inferred that Poe's object in this voluntary
self-sacrifice was simply to free himself from the irksomeness of
military duties which, on trial, he found so opposed to his taste and
inclination. But perhaps the real motive was one which has never yet
been suspected.

Some time after Poe's death I was informed by a lady that, being in
company where the conversation turned upon the poet and his writings,
one who did not admire the latter remarked that Edgar Poe could have
been of more use to both himself and others by remaining at West Point
and adopting the army as a profession. To this an old army officer,
Capt. Patrick Galt, replied that he had been informed by one who had
been a classmate of Poe that the latter had been driven away from West
Point by the slights and snubs of the cadets on account of his parentage
and his bringing up as an object of charity. West Point, this officer
declared, had in Poe's time been a very hotbed of aristocratic prejudice
and pretension, and, Poe's history being known, these young aristocrats
held themselves aloof, while the more snobbish among them, probably by
reason of his reserve and acknowledged superiority in some respects, did
not hesitate to attempt to humiliate him on occasion. Poe, he said,
probably knew that this odium would in a measure attach to him
throughout his whole military career, and he acted wisely in declining
to expose himself to it.

Hence the shyness and reserve of which some of his fellow-cadets speak,
and his exclusive association with Virginians, who generally stand by
each other.




CHAPTER IX.

POE AND MRS. ALLAN.


In the meantime Mr. Allan had contracted a second marriage, the lady
being a Miss Louisa Patterson, of New Jersey. She was thirty years of
age; not handsome, but of dignified and courteous manners, with large,
strongly-marked features, indicative of decision of character and, as
was said, of a will of her own. Nevertheless, she was amiably inclined,
and as a society leader very tactful and diplomatic. One marked
characteristic of hers was that she never forgave the least slight or
disrespect to herself, though the offender were but a child; and of this
I remember some curious instances in my own acquaintance with her, many
years after the time of which I speak.

It does not appear how Poe received the news of this marriage; but one
thing seems certain--that, strangely enough, the idea never occurred to
him that it in any way affected his own position in Mr. Allan's house.
He had never received from the latter any word to that effect; Miss
Valentine (his "Aunt Nancy"), with the old servants, who had known, and
served, and loved him from his babyhood, were still there, and doubtless
his room was still being kept, as ever before, ready for his occupation.

It was therefore with perfect confidence that, upon being dismissed from
West Point, he proceeded to Richmond, having barely enough money to pay
his way, and, sounding the brazen knocker of Mr. Allan's door, greeted
the old servant pleasantly, handing him his traveling bag to be carried
to his room, at the same time asking for Miss Valentine.

The answer of the servant astonished him. His old room had been taken by
Mrs. Allan as a guest-chamber and his personal effects removed to "the
end-room." This was the last of several small apartments opening upon a
narrow corridor extending on one side of the house above the kitchen and
the servants' apartments. It had at one time been occupied by Mrs.
Allan's maid.

On receiving this information, Poe was extremely indignant, and,
refusing to have his carpet-bag carried to that room, requested to see
Mrs. Allan.

The lady came down to the parlor in all her dignity, and answered to his
inquiry that she had arranged her house to suit herself; that she had
not been informed that Mr. Poe had any present claim to that room or
that he was expected again to occupy it. Warm words ensued, and she
reminded him that he was a pensioner on her husband's charity, which
provoked him to more than hint that she had married Mr. Allan from
mercenary motives. This was enough for the lady. She sent for her
husband, who was at his place of business, and who, upon hearing her
account of the interview, coupled with the assertion that "Edgar Poe and
herself could not remain a day under the same roof," without seeing Poe,
sent to him an imperative order to leave the house at once, which he
immediately did. It was told by himself that as he crossed the hall Mr.
Allan hastily entered it from a side-door and called harshly to him, at
the same time drawing out his purse, but that he, without pause or
notice, continued on his way.

This account of the rupture between Poe and the Allans I heard from the
Mackenzies and Mrs. Julia Mayo Cabell, wife of Poe's schoolboy friend,
Dr. Robert G. Cabell, to whom Poe himself related it. The friends of the
Allens gave a much more sensational account of the affair, which was
much discussed, and went the rounds of the city, with such additions and
exaggerations as gossip could invent, until it culminated at length in
the dark picture with which Griswold horrified the world.

It was to this incident that Poe alluded when he told Mrs. Whitman that
"his pride had led him to deliberately throw away a large fortune rather
than submit to a trivial wrong."




CHAPTER X.

THE CLOSING OF THE GATE.


When Poe, after leaving Mr. Allan's door, crossed the lawn and passed
out of the gate, can any one realize how momentous was the instant of
time in which the gate closed after him, or what a woeful human tragedy
was in that instant inaugurated? The closing of the gate meant the
shutting out forever of his past life; the clang of the iron latch was
the knell of all that had been bright and pleasant and prosperous in
that life, now lost to him forever. There he stood, homeless, penniless,
friendless, utterly alone in the world, with a pathless future before
him, shadowy, dim, no hand to point him onward and no star to guiden.
From this moment commences the true history of Edgar A. Poe.

       *       *       *       *       *

On leaving the Allan house, Poe went directly to the Mackenzies, the
only place to which he could turn, and spent several days with these
kind friends, discussing what would be best for him to do, now that he
had his own way to make in the world. They advised him to begin by
teaching, until he could see his way more clearly; but Richmond was at
present no place for him, and he decided to go to Baltimore, where his
relatives, knowing the city so well, might be able to assist him. The
Mackenzies gave him what money they could spare, and Miss Valentine, on
hearing where he was, sent more.

But in Baltimore Poe found himself coldly received by his relatives.
Since his miserable failure at West Point, when his prospects had seemed
so bright and all conspiring for his good, they had lost all faith in
him, and did not propose to trouble themselves on his account. On his
last visit, Neilson Poe, at whose house he was staying, had obtained for
him a place in an editor's office, which after a brief trial Poe threw
up. He now again applied for that place, but failed; as also in his
application for the position of assistant teacher in some academy. And
now commenced that wretched life of wandering, and penury, and,
according to Mr. Kennedy, of actual starvation, which is as sad as any
other such history in literature, with the exception of that of poor
Chatterton. His days were passed in roaming about the streets in search
of employment--anything by which he could obtain food and at night a
miserable place where to rest his weary limbs. He wrote a few stories
which he endeavored to dispose of to editors, but met with no success.

Many stories have been told in regard to this unhappy period of Poe's
life. One, related by a Richmond man, stated that, being in Baltimore
about the time in question, he one day had occasion to visit a
brick-yard, when there passed him by a line of men bearing the freshly
moulded bricks to the kiln. Glancing at them casually, he was amazed to
recognize among them Edgar Poe. He could not be mistaken, having been
for years familiar with his appearance. Whether Poe recognized him, he
could not say; but when he returned next day he was not there, nor did
any one know of the name of Poe among the laborers. It was the opinion
of this man that he had merely picked up a day's job for a day's need.

He was said to have been recognized in other equally uncongenial
occupations, but relief was at hand in the time of his sorest need.




CHAPTER XI.

MRS. CLEMM.


His father's sister, Mrs. Maria Clemm, who had for some years been
living in a New York country town, supporting herself and little
daughter by dressmaking, about this time returned to Baltimore, and
hearing from the Poes of the presence of her brother's son in the city,
commenced a search for him. She found him, at length, ill--really ill;
and at once took him to her own humble home, installing him in a room
which had been furnished for a lodger, and from that hour attended and
cared for him with a true motherly devotion.

Those who believe in the spirit of the old adage, "Blood is thicker than
water," may imagine what a blessed relief this was to the weary and
almost despairing wanderer. Here he had what he needed almost as much as
he did food--rest; rest for the weak and exhausted body and for the
anxious mind as well. Here, in the quiet little room, he could lie and
dream, in the blissful consciousness that near him were the watchful
eyes and careful hands of his own father's sister, ready to attend to
his slightest want. And from the day on which he first entered her
humble abode Poe was never more to be a homeless wanderer. To him it
proved ever a safe little harbor, a sure haven of refuge and repose in
all storms and troubles that assailed, even to his life's end.

Mrs. Clemm was at this time a strong, vigorous woman, somewhat past
middle age, and of large frame and masculine features. Her manner was
dignified and well-bred, and she was possessed of abundant
self-reliance, ready resource, and, as must be said, of clever artifice
as well, where artifice was necessary to the accomplishment of a
purpose. Her abode, though plainly and cheaply furnished, was a picture
of neatness and such comfort as she could afford to give it; but her
means were only what could be derived from dressmaking, taking a lodger
or two, and at times teaching a few small children.

This state of affairs dawned upon Poe as he slowly recovered from his
fever-dreams; and he again became aware of the strong necessity of
further exertion on his part. Mrs. Clemm would not allow him to go to a
hospital. Probably she feared to lose him. In some degree, isolated from
her other kindred, she had in her loneliness found a son, and the
pertinacity with which she thenceforth clung to him was something
remarkable.

Poe soon resumed his weary search for employment, but for some time
without success. In his hours of enforced idleness at home he found
employment in teaching his little cousin, Virginia, a pretty and
affectionate child of ten years, who, however, was fonder of a walk or a
romp with him than of her lessons. She was devoted to her handsome
cousin, and having hitherto lived with her mother and with few or no
playmates or companions, soon learned to depend upon him for all
pleasure or amusement. They called each other both then and ever after,
"Buddie" and "Sissy," while Mrs. Clemm was "Muddie" to both.

Of this period of Poe's life in Baltimore, Dr. Snodgrass, a literary
Bohemian of the time, has given us glimpses:

"In Baltimore, his chief resort was the Widow Meagher's place, an
inexpensive but respectable eating-house, with a bar attached and a room
where the customers could indulge in a smoke or a social game of cards.
This was frequented chiefly by printers and employees of shipping
offices. Poe was a great favorite with the Widow Meagher, a kindly old
Irish woman. On entering there you would generally find him seated
behind her oyster counter, at which she presided; himself as silent as
an oyster, grave and retiring. Knowing him to be a poet, she addressed
him always by the old Irish title of _Bard_, and by this name he was
here known. It was, "Bard, have a nip;" "Bard, take a hand." Whenever
anything particularly pleased the old woman's fancy, she would request
Poe to put it in "poethry," and I have seen many of these little pieces
which appeared to me more worthy of preservation than some included in
his published works.

It happened that Poe one evening, in his wanderings about the streets,
stopped to read a copy of _The Evening Visitor_ exposed for sale, and
had his attention attracted by the offer of a purse of one hundred
dollars for the best original story to be submitted to that journal
anonymously. Remembering his rejected manuscripts, he at once hastened
home and, making them into a neat parcel, dispatched them to the office
of the _Visitor_, though with little or no hope of their meeting with
acceptance.

His feelings may therefore be imagined when he shortly received a letter
informing him that the prize of one hundred dollars had been awarded to
his story of "The Gold Bug," and desiring him to come to the office of
the _Visitor_ and receive the money.

It was on this occasion that Poe made the acquaintance of Mr. J. P.
Kennedy, author of "_Swallow Barn_," who proved such a true friend to
him in time of need. Mr. Kennedy says he recognized in the thin, pale,
shabbily dressed but neatly groomed young man a gentleman, and also that
he was starving. He invited him frequently to his table, presented him
with a suit of clothes and, seeing how feeble he was, gave him the use
of a horse for the exercise which he so much needed. He also obtained
for him some employment in the office of the _Evening Visitor_, whose
editor, Mr. Wilmer, accepted several stories from his pen; and it was
now, evidently, that Poe decided upon literature as a profession.

Under these favoring conditions Poe rapidly recovered his health and
spirits. Mr. Wilmer, who saw a good deal of him at this time, says that
when their office work was done they would often walk out together into
the suburbs, generally accompanied by Virginia, who would never be left
behind. At the office he was punctual, industrious and his work
satisfactory. In all his association with him he never saw him under the
influence of intoxicants or knew him to drink except once, moderately,
when he opened a bottle of wine for a visitor.

I once clipped from a Baltimore paper the following article by a
reporter to whom the story was related by "a lively and comely old
lady," herself its heroine. I give it as an illustration of the easy
confidence with which Poe, even in his youth, sought the acquaintance of
women who attracted his attention:




CHAPTER XII.

"A PRETTY GIRL WITH AUBURN HAIR WHOM POE LOVED."


"The old lady commenced by saying that she had known Poe quite
intimately when she and her mother were residents of Baltimore, about
1832. She was then seventeen years of age and attending a finishing
school in that city. She confided to me, laughingly, that she was
considered a very pretty girl, with dark eyes and curling auburn hair.

"The first time she noticed Poe, she said, was once when she was
studying her lesson at the window of her room, which was in the rear of
the house. Looking up, she saw a very handsome young man standing at an
opposite back window on the next street looking directly at her. She
pretended to take no notice, but on the following evening the same thing
occurred. He appeared to be writing at his window, and each time that he
laid aside a sheet he would look over at her, and at length bowed. This
time a school friend was with her, who, in a spirit of fun, returned the
bow. That evening, as the two were seated on the veranda together, this
young man sauntered past and, deliberately ascending the steps of the
adjoining house, spoke to them, addressing them by name. He sat for some
time on the dividing rail of the two verandas, making himself very
agreeable, and the acquaintance thus commenced in a mere spirit of
school-girl fun, was kept up for several weeks, some story being
invented to satisfy the mother.

"'Of course, it was all wrong,' said the old lady, 'but it was fun,
nevertheless; and we girls could see no harm in it. But one evening,
when Mr. Poe and myself had been strolling up and down in the moonlight
until quite late, my mother desired him not to come again, as I was only
a school girl and the neighbors would talk. So our acquaintance ended
abruptly.' She added that, although they never again met, she always
felt the deepest interest in hearing of him, and had never forgotten her
fascinating boy-lover.

"Asked if she had ever seen Virginia, she replied: 'Yes, several times,
when she was with her cousin;' that 'she was a pretty child, but her
chalky-white complexion spoiled her.'"

Mr. Allan died in March, 1834, leaving three fine little boys to inherit
his fortune.

Some time before his death an absurd story was circulated, which we find
related in the Richmond _Standard_, of April, 1881, thirty-one years
after Poe's death, on the authority of Mr. T. H. Ellis, of Richmond. It
appears that a friend of Poe wrote to the latter that Mr. Allan had
spoken kindly of him, seeming to regret his harshness, and advising him
to come on to Richmond and call on him in his illness. Acting upon this
advice, he, one evening in February, presented himself at Mr. Allan's
door. The rest, as told by Ellis, is as follows:

"He was met at the door by Mrs. Allan, who, not recognizing him, said
that her husband had been forbidden by his physician to see visitors.
Thrusting her rudely aside, he rapidly made his way upstairs and into
the chamber where Mr. Allan sat in an arm-chair, who, on seeing him,
raised his cane, threatening to strike him if he approached nearer, and
ordered him to leave the house, which he did."

Woodbury asserts the truth of this story, because, as he says, "Mr.
Ellis had the very best means of knowing the truth." But Ellis was at
this time only a youth of 18 or 20, and had no more opportunity of
knowing the truth than the numerous acquaintances of the Allans' to whom
they related their version of the incident, with never a mention of the
cane. Poe, they said, accused the servant of having delivered his
message to Mrs. Allan and, creating some disturbance, the latter called
to the servant to "drive that drunken man away." Mr. Ellis should have
remembered that Mrs. Allan, to the day of her death, asserted that she
had never but once seen Poe; consequently, this story of the second
meeting between them and of Poe's "rudely thrusting her aside," and
being threatened with the cane, is simply a specimen of the gossip which
was continually being circulated concerning Poe by his enemies.




CHAPTER XIII.

POE'S DOUBLE MARRIAGE.


How it was that Poe, when a mature man of twenty-seven, came to marry
his little cousin of twelve or thirteen has ever appeared something of a
mystery.

As understood by his Richmond friends, it appeared that when, in July of
1835, he left Baltimore to assume the duties of assistant editor to Mr.
White of the _Southern Literary Messenger_, Virginia, deprived of her
constant companion, so missed him and grieved over his absence that her
mother became alarmed for her health, and wrote to Poe concerning it;
and that in May of the following year the two came to Richmond, where
Poe and Virginia were married, she being at that time not fourteen years
of age. For this marriage Mrs. Clemm was severely criticised, the
universal belief being that she had "made the match."

Of any other marriage than this these friends never heard; since it was
only from a letter found among Poe's papers after his death, and the
reluctant admission of Mrs. Clemm, that it became known that a previous
marriage had taken place.

The marriage records of Baltimore show that on September 22, 1835, Edgar
A. Poe took out a license to marry Virginia E. Clemm. Mrs. Clemm, when
interviewed by one of Poe's biographers, admitted that there had been
such a marriage, and stated that the ceremony had been performed by
Bishop John Johns in Old Christ Church; though of this there is no
mention in the church records. Immediately after the ceremony, she said,
Poe returned to Richmond and to his editorial duties on the _Messenger_.
She vouchsafed no explanation, except that the two were engaged previous
to Poe's departure for Richmond.

A possible explanation of the mystery may be that Mrs. Clemm, having set
her heart upon keeping her nephew in the family, could think of no surer
means than that of a match between himself and her daughter. When he
left Baltimore for Richmond, in July, she doubtless had her fears; and
then came reports of his notorious love affairs, one of which came near
ending in an elopement and marriage. It was probably then that she
wrote to him about Virginia's grieving for him; following up this letter
with another saying that Neilson Poe had offered to take Virginia into
his family and care for her until she should be eighteen years of age.
This brought a prompt reply from Poe, begging that she would not consent
to this plan and take "Sissy" away from him.

This last letter is dated August 29. What other correspondence followed
we do not know; but two weeks later, on September 11, 1835, we find Poe
writing to his friend, Mr. Kennedy, the following extraordinary letter,
in which he clearly hints at suicide:

"I am wretched. I know not why. Console me--for you can. But let
it be quickly, or it will be too late. Convince me that it is worth
one's while to live.... Oh, pity me, for I feel that my words are
incoherent.... Urge me to do what is right. Fail not, as you value
your peace of mind hereafter.

                                                 "EDGAR A. POE."

This production, which, in whatever light it is viewed, cannot but be
regarded as an evidence of pitiable weakness. Some writer has chosen to
attribute Poe's anguish to the prospect of losing Virginia. But it does
not at all appear that such is the case; for, even if Neilson Poe did
make such an offer, Poe knew well enough that neither Mrs. Clemm nor her
daughter would ever consent to accept it. The whole thing appears to
have been simply a plan of Mrs. Clemm to bring matters to the
satisfactory conclusion which she desired. She possessed over her nephew
then and always the influence and authority of a strong and determined
will over a very weak one; and we here see that in less than two months
after Poe's leaving her house she had carried her point and married him
to her daughter. Having thus secured him, she was content to wait a more
propitious time for making the marriage public.

There is yet a little episode which may have influenced this affair and
may serve further to explain it.

When Poe first went to Richmond, Mr. White, as a safeguard from the
temptation to evil habits, received him as an inmate of his own home,
where he immediately fell in love with the editor's youngest daughter,
"little Eliza," a lovely girl of eighteen. It was said that the father,
who idolized his daughter, and was also very fond of Poe, did not forbid
the match, but made his consent conditional upon the young man's
remaining perfectly sober for a certain length of time. All was going
well, and the couple were looked upon as engaged, when Mrs. Clemm, who
kept a watchful eye upon her nephew, may have received information of
the affair, and we have seen the result.

Does this throw any light upon Poe's pitiful appeal, "Urge me to do what
is right"? Was this why the marriage was kept secret--to give time for a
proper breaking off of the match with Elizabeth White? And it is
certain, from all accounts, that Poe now, at once, plunged into the
dissipation which was, according to general report, the occasion of Mr.
White's prohibition of his attentions to his daughter. It was she to
whom the lines, "_To Eliza_," now included in Poe's poems, were
addressed.

When I was a girl I more than once heard of Eliza White and her love
affair with Edgar Poe. "She was the sweetest girl that I ever knew,"
said a lady who had been her schoolmate; "a slender, graceful blonde,
with deep blue eyes, who reminded you of the Watteau Shepherdesses upon
fans. She was a great student, and very bright and intelligent. She was
said to be engaged to Poe, but they never appeared anywhere together. It
was soon broken off on account of his dissipation. I don't think she
ever got over it. She had many admirers, but is still unmarried."

Recently I read an article written by Mrs. Holmes Cumming, of
Louisville, Kentucky, in which she spoke of persons and places that she
had seen in Richmond associated with Poe. Among others, she met with a
niece of Eliza White, who, when a child, had often seen Poe at the
latter's home. She remembered having at a party seen him dancing with
Eliza, and how every one remarked what a handsome couple they were. She
had never seen any one enjoy dancing more than Poe did; not but that he
was very dignified, but you could see in his whole manner and expression
how he enjoyed it." Perhaps it was because he had "little Eliza" for a
partner.

Previous to Poe's first marriage, he had boarded with a Mrs. Poore on
Bank street, facing the Capitol square, and with whose son-in-law, Mr.
Thomas W. Cleland, he held friendly relations. A few weeks after his
first marriage (which was still kept secret) he removed to the
establishment of a Mrs. Yarrington, in the same neighborhood, where,
being joined by Mrs. Clemm and Virginia, they lived together as
formerly, he--as he informed Mr. George Poe--paying out of his slender
salary nine dollars a week for their joint board. This continued until
May of the next year, when the public marriage of Poe and Virginia took
place.

On this occasion Mr. Thomas Cleland was obliging enough to consent to
act as Poe's surety, and he also secured the services of his own pastor,
the Rev. Amasa Converse, a noted Presbyterian minister. Late on the
evening of May 16, Mr. Cleland, with Mrs. Clemm, Poe and Virginia, left
Mrs. Yarrington's and, walking quietly up Main street to the corner of
Seventh, were married in Mr. Converse's own parlor and in the presence
of his family, Mrs. Clemm giving her full and free consent. The
clergyman remarked afterward that Mrs. Clemm struck him as being
"polished, dignified, and agreeable in her bearing," while the bride
"looked very young." The party then returned to their boarding-house,
where Mrs. Clemm invited the lady boarders to her room to partake of
wine and cake, when it was discovered that it was a wedding
celebration.[5]

  [5] A letter to Mrs. Holmes Cumming, from a son of the Rev.
  Amasa Converse, 1905.

It will be observed that, according to the marriage bond, Virginia was
married under her maiden name of Clemm, thus ignoring the former
ceremony; and that Poe subscribed to the oath of Thomas Cleland that she
was "of the full age of twenty-one years," when in reality she was but
thirteen, having been born August 16, 1822. Thus is shown how pliable
was Poe in the hands of his mother-in-law; and as regards Mr. Cleland,
who was a very pious Presbyterian, it can only be hoped that he never
discovered in what manner he had been imposed upon.




CHAPTER XIV.

THE POES IN RICHMOND.


When Poe went to Richmond as assistant editor to Mr. White, it had been
with the expectation of resuming his old place among his former friends
and associates--a prospect which, as he himself stated in a letter to
that gentleman, had afforded him very great pleasure. He had no idea of
the altered estimate in which he was held by some of these, and of the
general prejudice existing against him in consequence of the exaggerated
reports concerning his rupture with the Allans and the later story of
his attempt to force himself into Mr. Allan's presence. It is true that
the Mackenzies, the Sullys, Dr. Robert G. Cabell and his wife, with some
others of the best people, remained his firm friends; but he found
himself without social standing and with but few associates among his
former acquaintances. It was even said that when a leading society lady,
enjoying a literary reputation--the mother of Mrs. Julia Mayo Cabell
and Mrs. General Winfield Scott--gave an entertainment to which she
invited the talented young editor of the _Messenger_, two of the most
priggish of these gentlemen declined to attend rather than meet their
former schoolmate, Edgar Poe.

This state of things must undoubtedly have served to irritate and
embitter one of Poe's proud and sensitive nature, and may have partly
led to the dissipated habits in which he now for the first time began to
indulge--besides, in some measure, influencing the extreme bitterness
and severity, or, as it has been called, _venom_ of the criticism for
which the _Messenger_ began to be noted. Never before had he been
accused of unamiability of disposition, but his temper seems suddenly to
have changed, and he was called "haughty, overbearing and quarrelsome."

A great and, it is to be feared, irreparable obloquy has attached to
Poe's name through the utterance of a single individual--a Mr. Ferguson,
who was employed as a printer's assistant in the office of the
_Messenger_ at the time of Poe's editorship of that magazine. Not many
years ago, Mr. Ferguson, who is still living, said, in answer to some
inquiry concerning the poet: "There never was a more perfect gentleman
than Mr. Poe when he was sober," but that at other times "he would just
as soon lie down in the gutter as anywhere else." And this assertion has
been taken up by one and another writer until it appears now to be
received as a fixed fact.

I have often heard this statement indignantly denied by persons who knew
Poe at this time. Howsoever much under the influence of drink he might
be, he was, they say, never at any time or by any person seen staggering
through the streets or lying in a gutter. On the contrary, he was
extremely sensitive about being seen by his friends, and especially
ladies, under the influence of drink.

Poe himself, long after this time, while denying the charge of general
dissipation, confessed that while in Richmond he at long intervals
yielded to temptation, and after each excess was invariably for some
days confined to his bed. And now, in addition to other charges against
him, was that of neglecting his wife and being frequently seen in
attendance on other women; a point on which his motherly friend, Mrs.
Mackenzie, more than once felt herself called upon to remonstrate with
him. He would be, for a week at a time, away from his home, putting up
at various hotels and boarding-houses, and spending his money freely,
instead of, as formerly, committing it to the keeping of his
mother-in-law. Mrs. Clemm, descending from the dignity of a boarder,
tried to open a boarding-house of her own, but failed; and she now
rented a cheap tenement on Seventh street and went back to her
dressmaking, letting out rooms, and probably taking one or two boarders.
But it was seldom that her son-in-law was to be found here; though
always, after one of his excesses, he would seek its seclusion until fit
to again appear in public.

Mr. Hewitt, who was about this time in Richmond, says that he heard a
great deal of gossip about Poe's love affairs; and describes him as, at
this time, of remarkable personal beauty--"graceful, and with dark,
curling hair and magnificent eyes, wearing a Byron collar and looking
every inch a poet." An old gentleman, a distinguished lawyer, once
undertook his defence, saying: "Poe is one of the kind whom men envy and
calumniate and women adore. How many could resist the temptation?"

The Mackenzies spoke of Virginia at this time--now fourteen years of
age--as being small for her age, but very _plump_; pretty, but not
especially so, with sweet and gentle manners and the simplicity of a
child. Rose Poe, now twenty-six years of age, would sometimes take her
young sister-in-law to spend an afternoon at the Mackenzies, where she
appeared as much of a child as any of the pupils, joining in their
sports of swinging and skipping rope. On one occasion her
husband--"Buddy"--came unexpectedly to bring her home, when she
scandalized Miss Jane Mackenzie by rushing into the street and greeting
him with the _abandon_ of a child.

Nearly twenty years after this time there were persons living on Main
street who remembered having almost daily seen about the Old Market, in
business hours, a tall, dignified looking woman, with a market basket
on one arm, while on the other hung a little girl with a round,
ever-smiling face, who was addressed as "Mrs. Poe"! She, too, carried a
basket.

Whatsoever was the cause of Poe's discontent, he never appeared happy or
satisfied while in Richmond. His dissipated habits grew upon him, with a
consequent neglect of editorial duties, which sorely tried the patience
of his good and kind friend, Mr. White, to whom, it must be admitted,
Poe never appeared sufficiently grateful. Whether Mr. White was
compelled at length to reluctantly discharge him, or whether, as Mr.
Kennedy says, Poe himself gave up his place as editor of the
_Messenger_, thinking that with his now established literary reputation
he could do better in the North, is not clear; but in the summer of 1838
he left Richmond and, with his family, removed to New York.

Mrs. Clemm, at least, could not have been averse to the move; for it
seems certain that there was a general prejudice against her on account
of her having made or consented to the match between her little daughter
and a man of Poe's age and dissipated habits.




CHAPTER XV.

IN NEW YORK.


Of Poe's business and literary affairs in New York, and subsequently in
Philadelphia, his biographers have fully informed us, but with little or
no mention of his home life or his family. All that we can gather
concerning the latter is that never at any time were their circumstances
such as would enable them to dispense with the utmost economy of living,
and that, as regarded the practical everyday business affairs of life,
Poe was almost as helpless and dependent upon his mother-in-law as was
his child-wife. But for this devoted mother, what could they have
done?--those two, whom she rightly called her "children."

Poe was sadly disappointed in his hopes of obtaining literary employment
in New York, and but for Mrs. Clemm's opening a boarding-house on
Carmine street, an obscure locality, the family might have starved.
Here, however, he seems to have turned over a new leaf, for one of the
boarders, a Mr. Gowans, a book-seller on the next street, declares that
in the eight months of his residence at Mrs. Clemm's, and a daily
intercourse with Poe, he never saw him otherwise than "sober, courteous,
and a perfect gentleman." Being a stranger in New York, he was removed
from the temptations which had assailed him in Richmond, and this fact
should be noted as a proof that, when left to himself, he showed no
inclination to indulge in dissipation. Of Virginia, Poe's wife, then
fifteen years of age, this gallant old bachelor says, in the exaggerated
style of flattery common in those days: "Her eyes outshone those of any
houri, and her features would defy the genius of a Canova to imitate.
Poe delighted in her round, childlike face and plump little figure."




CHAPTER XVI.

THE REAL VIRGINIA.


As regards the nature of Poe's affection for his wife, I have often
recalled an expression of Mr. John Mackenzie when, after the poet's
death, a group of his friends were familiarly discussing his character.
One doubted whether Poe had ever really loved his wife; to which Mr.
Mackenzie replied: "I believe that Edgar loved his wife, but not that he
was ever in love with her--which accounts for his constancy."

I have heard other men say that it was impossible that Poe, at the age
of twenty-seven, could have felt for the child of twelve, with whom he
had played and romped in the familiar association of home life and the
free intercourse of brother and sister, aught of the absorbing and
idealizing passion of love. At most, said they, there could have been
but the tender and protective affection of an elder brother or cousin;
which, as Mr. Mackenzie remarked, was in one of Poe's temperament the
best guarantee for its continuance.

Apart from the disparity of age, there was no congeniality of mind or
character to draw these two into sympathy. Virginia was not mentally
gifted, and Poe once, after her death, remarked to Mrs. Mackenzie that
she had never read half of his poems. When writing, he would go to Mrs.
Clemm to explain his ideas or to ask her opinion, but never to Virginia.
She was his pet, his plaything, his little "Sissy," whose sunny temper
and affectionate disposition brightened and cheered his home.

"She was always a child," said a lady who knew her well. "Even in person
smaller and younger looking than her real age, she retained to the last
the shy sweetness and simplicity of childhood."

It would certainly appear that Poe's child-wife never attained to the
full completeness of the nature and affections of a mature woman. She
was never known to manifest jealousy of the women whom he so notoriously
admired; neither did scandals disturb nor his neglect estrange her. Mrs.
Clemm would sometimes, as in duty bound, take him to task for his
irregularities, but no word of reproach ever escaped Virginia. She
regarded him with the most implicit and childlike trust; and certainly
it seems that Poe, of all men, knew how, by endearing epithets and
eloquent protestations, to win a woman's confidence--as will presently
appear.

But, naturally, this was not the kind of affection to satisfy one of
Poe's impassioned and poetic nature. He craved a woman's love, and the
sympathetic appreciation of talented women, in whose companionship, as
Mrs. Whitman assures us, he delighted. What he did not find in Virginia
he sought elsewhere. In special he missed in her that understanding and
appreciation of his genius which he found in some other women. She loved
and admired her handsome and fascinating husband, but never appeared to
take pride in his genius or his fame as a poet.

The accounts of Virginia's beauty, say those who knew her personally,
have been greatly exaggerated by Poe's biographers, who, taking their
impressions from the description of Mr. Gowans already mentioned, have
painted the poet's child-wife in the most glowing colors. The general
idea of her is like that which Mr. Woodbury expresses: "A sylph-like
creature, of such delicate and ethereal beauty that we almost expect to
see it vanish away, like one of Poe's own creations."

But the real Virginia was neither delicate nor ethereal. She is
described by those who knew her at the age of twenty-two as looking more
like a girl of fifteen than a woman grown, with, notwithstanding her
frail health, a round, full face and figure, full, pouting lips, a
forehead too high and broad for beauty, and bright black eyes and
raven-black hair, contrasting almost startlingly with a white and
colorless complexion. Her manner and expression were soft and shy, with
something childlike and appealing. "She was liked by every one," says
Mr. Graham. A decided _lisp_ added to her child-likeness.




CHAPTER XVII.

POE'S PHILADELPHIA HOME.


Poe, disappointed in his hopes of success in New York, left that city
and, in the summer of 1839, removed to Philadelphia, then the literary
center of the United States.

Of his business experiences while here--his successes and
disappointments--his quarrels with certain editors and literary men and
his friendly relations with others, his biographers have informed us.
But it is in his home and private life that we are interested.

Their financial circumstances at this time must have been deplorable,
for they had to borrow money to enable them to remove to Philadelphia.
Under the circumstances, to take board was impracticable; and it appears
from the reminiscences of certain neighbors, that they for some time
occupied very poor lodgings in an obscure street in the vicinity of a
market. But Poe was much more successful here than in New York, and we
find them in the following spring established in a home of their own in
a locality known as _Spring Garden_, a quiet suburb far from the dust
and noise of the city.

Some one has recently taken pains to hunt out with infinite patience and
perseverance this house, which the Poes occupied for nearly five years.
It was an ordinary framed Dutch-roofed building, with but three rooms on
the ground floor, and under the eaves little horizontal strips of
windows on a level with the floor, which could scarcely have admitted
light and air. But there was, when they took possession, a bit of grassy
side yard which had once been part of a garden, and a porch over which
grew a straggling rose-bush. This latter Mrs. Clemm's skillful hands
carefully pruned and trained, thus winning for the humble abode the
title still applied to it of "The poet's rose-embowered cottage," to
which some enthusiast has added, "Where Poe and his idolized Virginia
dreamed their divine dream of love."

To a lady who was at this time a resident of Spring Garden we are
indebted for a glimpse of the Poes in this their quiet and half-rural
abode.

"Twice a day, on my way to and from school," she said, "I had to pass
their house, and in summer time often saw them. In the mornings Mrs.
Clemm and her daughter would be generally watering the flowers, which
they had in a bed under the windows. They seemed always cheerful and
happy, and I could hear Mrs. Poe's laugh before I turned the corner.
Mrs. Clemm was always busy. I have seen her of mornings clearing the
front yard, washing the windows and the stoop, and even white-washing
the palings. You would notice how clean and orderly everything looked.
She rented out her front room to lodgers, and used the middle room, next
to the kitchen, for their own living room or parlor. They must have
slept under the roof. We never heard that they were poor, and they kept
pretty much to themselves in the two years we lived near them. I don't
think that in that time I saw Mr. Poe half a dozen times. We heard he
was dissipated, but he always appeared like a gentleman, though thin and
sickly looking. His wife was the picture of health. It was after we
moved away that she became an invalid."

Mrs. Clemm, she added, was a dress and cloak maker; and she thinks that
Mrs. Poe assisted her, as she would sometimes see the latter seated on
the stoop engaged in sewing. "She was pretty, but not noticeably so. She
was too fleshy."

This account refers to a time when Poe was assistant editor of _The
Gentleman's Magazine_, and the family were enjoying a degree of peace
and prosperity such as they never subsequently knew.

Poe lost this position, according to Mr. Burton, the editor-in-chief, by
indulgence in dissipated habits. In replying to this charge, he wrote to
a friend, Mr. Snodgrass, that "on the honor of a gentleman" he had not,
since leaving Richmond, tasted anything stronger than cider, and that
upon one occasion only. In this he was borne out by the testimony of
Mrs. Clemm, who asserted, "I know that for years he never tasted even a
glass of wine." Mr. Burton, in making the charge, adds: "I believe that
for eighteen months previous to this time he had not drank." Still, the
severity and, one might say, almost cruelty of his personal criticisms
continued, and nothing could exceed the bitterness of his vituperation
against those by whom, as he conceived, he had been wronged or unjustly
treated. Mr. Burton, in replying, in a forbearing and even kindly
manner, to a very abusive letter from him, advised him to "lay aside
his ill-feeling against his fellow-writers, and to cultivate a more
tolerant and kindly spirit." He even proposed that Poe should resume his
place upon the magazine, but this he proudly declined, and continued to
contribute his brilliant stories to other periodicals. These attracted
the attention of Mr. Graham, who had just established the magazine which
bore his name, and who offered him the editorship, which Poe accepted,
and gave to it his best work. Under his management it prospered
wonderfully, and soon became the leading periodical of the country.

Still, with a good salary and a brilliant literary reputation, Poe was
dissatisfied. The old restlessness and discontent returned. What he
desired was a magazine of his own, for which he might be at liberty to
write according to his own will. His independent and ambitious spirit
revolted at being limited to certain bounds and controlled by what he
considered the narrow views of editors. We find him as early as June 26,
1841, writing to Mr. Snodgrass: "Notwithstanding Graham's unceasing
civility and real kindness, I am more and more disgusted with my
situation." It ended at length in his resigning the editorship of
_Graham's_ and devoting himself to writing for other publications, a
step which was the beginning of a long period of financial and other
troubles.

From Col. Du Solle, editor of "_Noah's New York Sunday Times_," who as a
resident of Philadelphia about that time knew Poe well, I gained some
information concerning him. His dissipation, the Colonel said, was too
notorious to be denied; and that for days, and even weeks at a time, he
would be sharing the bachelor life and quarters of his associates, who
were not aware that he was a married man. He would, on some evenings
when sober, come to the rooms occupied by himself and some other writers
for the press and, producing the manuscript of _The Raven_, read to them
the last additions to it, asking their opinion and suggestions. He
seemed to be having difficulty with it, said Col. Du Solle, and to be
very doubtful as to its merits as a poem. The general opinion of these
critics was against it.

The irregular habits of this summer resulted in the fall (1839) in a
severe illness, the first of the peculiar attacks to which Poe during
the rest of his life was at intervals subject. On recovering, he devoted
himself to the realization of a plan for establishing a magazine of his
own, to be called "_The Penn Magazine_," and wrote to Mr. Snodgrass that
his "prospects were glorious," and that he intended to give it the
reputation of using no article except from the best writers, and that in
criticism it was to be sternly, absolutely just with both friends and
foe, independent of the medium of a publisher's will." In these last
words we read the whole secret of his past dissatisfaction and of his
future aspiration as an editor.

The _Penn Magazine_ was advertised to appear on January 1, 1841, but
this scheme was balked by a financial depression which at that time
occurred throughout the country.

But who will not sympathize with Poe and admit that, considering the
disappointments to which he was continually subject, and the constant
humiliation and drawback of the poverty which met him on every hand,
balking each movement and design--together with the ill-health from
which he was now destined to be a constant sufferer--his faults and
failures should not be treated with every possible allowance? If he were
naturally weak, and lacking in the strength and firmness of will to
determinately resist obstacles and discouragements, we see in it the
effect of the heredity, apparent in his sister; and consequently so much
greater is his claim to be leniently judged.




CHAPTER XVIII.

VIRGINIA's ILLNESS.


In all this time of which we have spoken, embracing a period of several
years, Mrs. Clemm and her daughter continued their quiet life at the
cottage, the former doing what she could toward the support and comfort
of the family. But a great affliction was to befall them, in the
dangerous illness of Virginia, now in her twenty-first year, who had the
misfortune, while singing, to break a small blood-vessel. She had
already developed signs of consumption, and from this time forth
remained more or less an invalid, subject to occasional hemorrhages,
but, from all accounts, losing none of her characteristic cheerfulness
and light-heartedness.

Poe was at this time still engaged in the editorship _of Graham's
Magazine_, and it is now that we begin to hear of him in the character
of "a devoted husband, watching beside the sick bed of an idolized
wife," with which the world is familiar. Certainly the condition of the
helpless creature who so clung to him, and the real danger which
threatened her, was calculated to awaken all the tenderness of his
nature.

"She could not bear the slightest exposure," wrote Mr. Harris in _Hearth
and Home_, "all needed the utmost care and all those conveniences as to
apartment and surroundings which are so important in the case of an
invalid. And yet the room where she lay for weeks, hardly able to
breathe except as she was fanned, was a little place with the ceiling so
low over the narrow bed that her head almost touched it."

Mr. Graham tells how he saw Poe "hovering around his wife's couch with
fond fear and tender anxiety, _shuddering visibly_ at her slightest
cough;" and mentions his driving out with them one summer day, and of
the husband's "watchful eyes eagerly bent on the slightest change in
that beloved face."

Another literary friend of Poe's who visited the family in this time of
trial, Mr. Clarke, tells of his once taking his little daughter with
him, knowing Virginia to be fond of the companionship of children; and
as a proof of the latter's light-heartedness relates how the little girl
was induced to sing a comic song, which Virginia received with "peal
after peal of merry laughter."

The reminiscences of these kindly gentlemen who, at Poe's own request,
called upon him, regarding the poet and his family, are of the most
flattering character. Poe in his own home was the perfection of graceful
courtesy, and Mrs. Clemm amiably dignified, with a countenance when
speaking of "her children" almost "saint-like in its expression of
patience and motherly devotion." Of Virginia, Mr. Harris says, "She
looked hardly more than fourteen, was soft, fair and girlish." He says,
furthermore, that Mrs. Poe, whom he had not known previous to her
misfortune, had up to that time "possessed a voice of marvelous
sweetness and a harp and piano," which leads an English writer to
represent the poet's wife as "an accomplished musician, with the voice
of a St. Cecilia." This is a specimen of the exaggeration to which
"biographers" sometimes lend themselves, to be taken up by those who
follow and received by the public as fact.

Poe now again interested himself in getting up a magazine, to which he
gave the name of "_The Stylus_" and there seemed an even more brilliant
prospect than before of its success. He wrote a prospectus, and went to
Washington to obtain subscriptions from President Tyler and the
Cabinet, but was taken ill, the result, it was said, of his meeting with
a convivial acquaintance; and Mrs. Clemm being notified thereof, on his
return to Philadelphia met him at the railroad station and took him home
in safety from further possible temptation. Owing partly to this
indiscretion, _The Stylus_ was again a failure; and the matter being
known throughout the city, did not add to Poe's personal reputation.

Now, also, just as for the first time, Poe began to be mentioned in the
character of a devoted husband, there arose a widespread scandal
concerning a handsome and wealthy lady whom, it was said, he accompanied
to Saratoga, and who was paying his expenses there. But while the story
appears to have been so far true, it certainly admits of a different
construction from that given by the gossips. Poe was at this time in
wretched health, hardly able to attend to his literary work, and in
consequence the financial condition of himself and family was
deplorable. What more probable than that some kind friend of his, seeing
the absolute necessity to him of a change, should have invited him to be
her guest at the quiet summer resort near Saratoga to which she was
going? It was a more delicate and, for him, a safer way than to have
supplied him with money on his own account. The lady, it was said, had
her own little turn-out, in which they daily drove into Saratoga; and
this exercise, with the mineral waters, the nourishing food and other
advantages of the place, doubtless secured to him the benefits which his
friend desired.

It is impossible to believe that Poe could so have defied public opinion
as to have voluntarily given cause for a scandal of this nature, for
which the gossip of a public watering place should alone be held
responsible.

Poe now again applied himself to his writing, but, for some reason, with
but little success. In desperation he hastily finished the manuscript of
_The Raven_ and offered it to Graham, who, not satisfied as to its
merits as a poem, declined it, but expressed a willingness to abide by
the decision of a number of the office employees, clerks and others,
who, being called in, sat solemnly attentive and critical while Poe read
to them the poem. Their decision was against it, but on learning of the
poet's penniless condition and that, as he confessed, he had not money
to buy medicine for his sick wife, they made up a subscription of
fifteen dollars, which was given, not to Poe himself, but to Mrs. Clemm,
"for the use of the sick lady."

This account, given in a New York paper by one of the office committee
many years after the poet's death, has been denied by a Mr. William
Johnston, who was at that time an office-boy in Graham's employ. He says
that he was present at the reading of the poem, and that no subscription
was taken up. This may have been done subsequently, without his
knowledge. Of Poe, he spoke in the most enthusiastic terms of admiration
and affection, as the kindest and most courteous gentleman that he had
ever met with; prompt and industrious at his work, and having always a
pleasant word and smile for himself. He never, in the course of Poe's
engagement with Graham, saw him otherwise than perfectly sober.




CHAPTER XIX.

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.




CHAPTER XX.

POE AND MRS. OSGOOD.


It was a fortunate day when Mrs. Clemm, hunting about the suburbs of the
great city for a cheap place of abode, discovered the little cottage at
Fordham, a country railroad station some miles from New York.

It was but an humble place at best, an old cottage of four rooms, in
ill-repair; but the rent was low, the situation--on the summit of a
rocky knoll--pleasant, affording fine views of the Harlem river; and
there was pure air, plenty of outdoor space, and that famous cherry
tree, now, in the month of May, in full and fragrant bloom. A few
repairs were made, and Mrs. Clemm's vigorous hands, with the assistance
of soap and water and whitewash, soon transformed the neglected abode
into a miracle of neatness and order. Checked matting hid the worn
parlor floor, and the cheap furniture which they had brought with them
looked better here than ever it had done in the cramped and stuffy
rooms of the city. Outside a neglected rose-bush was trained against the
wall, supplying Virginia with roses in its season. Her room was above
the parlor, at the head of a narrow staircase; a low-ceiled apartment,
with sloping walls and small, square windows; and it was here at a desk
or table near his wife's sick bed that most of Poe's writing was now
done.

In the preceding winter Virginia's health had apparently greatly
improved, and her illness was not of so serious a nature as to confine
her entirely to the house or to interfere with the social or literary
engagements of her husband, who was, as poet, lecturer, editor and
critic, at the zenith of his fame. In this time he had attended the
_soirees_ of Miss Lynch and others of the literary class, once or twice
accompanied by his wife. At these he made the acquaintance of Mrs.
Hewitt, Mrs. Elizabeth Oakes Smith and Mrs. E. F. Ellet, with others of
the "starry sisterhood of poetesses," as they were called by some
poetaster of the day, with each of whom he in succession formed one of
the sentimental platonic friendships to which he was given. All these,
however, were destined to yield to the superior attractions of a sister
poetess, Mrs. Frances Sergeant Osgood, wife of the artist of that name.

Mrs. Osgood, at this time about thirty-years of age, is described by R.
H. Stoddard as "A paragon--not only loved by men, but liked by women as
well." Attractive in person, bright, witty and sweet-natured, she won
even the splenatic Thomas Dunn English and the stoical Greeley, whose
approval of her was as frankly expressed as was his denunciation of the
"ugliness, self-conceit and disagreeableness" of her friend, the
transcendentalist, Margaret Fuller.

Poe, who had written a very flattering notice of Mrs. Osgood's poems--in
return for which she addressed him some lines in the character of
_Israefel_--obtained an introduction and visited her frequently. Also,
at his request, she called upon his wife, and friendly relations were
soon established between them. To her, after Poe's death, we are
indebted for a characteristic picture of the poet and his wife in their
home in Amity street; and which, though almost too well known for
repetition, I will here give as a specimen of his home life:

"It was in his own simple yet poetical home that the character of Edgar
Poe appeared to me in its most beautiful light. Playful, affectionate,
witty, alternately docile and wayward as a petted child, for his young,
gentle and idolized wife and for all who came, he had, even in the midst
of the most harassing literary duties, a kind word, a pleasant smile, a
graceful and courteous attention. At his desk, beneath the romantic
picture of his loved and lost Lenore'[6] patient, assiduous,
uncomplaining, tracing in an exquisitely clear chirography and with
almost superhuman swiftness the lightning thoughts, the rare and radiant
fancies as they flowed through his wonderful brain. For hours I have
listened entranced to his strains of almost celestial eloquence.

  [6] A pencil sketch of Mrs. Stanard by Poe himself.

"I recollect one morning toward the close of his residence in this city,
when he seemed unusually gay and light-hearted, Virginia, his sweet
wife, had written me a pressing invitation to come to them, and I, who
never could resist her affectionate summons, and who enjoyed his society
far more in his own home than elsewhere, hastened to Amity street. I
found him just completing his series of papers called "_The Literati of
New York_." 'Now,' said he, displaying in laughing triumph several
little rolls of narrow paper (he always wrote thus for the press), 'I am
going to show you by the difference of length in these the different
degrees of estimation in which I hold all you literary people. In each
of these one of you is rolled up and fully discussed. Come, Virginia,
and help me.' And one by one they unfolded them. At last they came to
one which seemed interminable. Virginia laughingly ran to one corner of
the room with one end and her husband went to the opposite with the
other. 'And whose linked sweetness long drawn out is that?' said I.
'Hear her,' he cried; 'just as if her little vain heart didn't tell her
it's herself.'"

From this account--the exaggerated phrases of which will be noted--it
would appear that a great degree of intimacy existed between Poe and his
fair visitor, when he could in his own home--the two tiny rooms in Amity
street--write "hour after hour" undisturbed by her presence. Virginia
was delighted with her new friend, but Mrs. Clemm, noting these frequent
and lengthy visits, regarded her with a suspicious eye. Too well she
knew of the platonic friendships of her Eddie; but there appeared
something in this affair beyond what was usual, and, in fact, gossip
had already begun to link together their names. Mrs. Osgood herself
seems to have relied upon Mrs. Poe's frequent invitations and fondness
for her society as a shield against meddlesome tongues, but in vain--for
not only were the jealous and vigilant eyes of Poe's mother-in-law bent
upon her, but those of the "starry sisterhood" as well. There was a
flutter and a chatter in the literary dovecote, and at length one of the
starry ones--Mrs. Ellet--concluded it to be her bounden duty to inquire
into the matter. Calling at Fordham one day, in Poe's absence, she and
Mrs. Clemm, who had probably never before met, engaged in a confidential
discussion, in the course of which the irate mother-in-law showed the
visitor a letter from Mrs. Osgood to Poe (one wonders how she got
possession of that letter), the contents of which were so opposed to all
the latter's ideas of propriety that it was clear that something would
have to be done. Eventually two of the starry ones--of whom one was
Margaret Fuller--waited upon Mrs. Osgood, whom they advised to
commission them to demand of Poe the return of her letters, which,
strangely enough, she did, though probably only as a conciliatory
measure. Poe, in his exasperation at this unwarrantable intermeddling,
remarked significantly that "Mrs. Ellet had better come and look after
her own letters;" upon which she sent to demand them. But he meantime
had cut her acquaintance by leaving them at her own door without either
written word or message; very much, we may imagine, as Dean Swift strode
into Vanessa's presence and threw at her feet her letter to Stella.

This was either in May or early June, shortly after their removal to
Fordham. Poe had no idea of allowing this episode to interfere with his
visits to Mrs. Osgood, and the gossip continued, until, to avoid further
annoyance, she left New York and went to Albany on a visit to her
brother-in-law, Dr. Harrington.

On the 12th of June we find Poe writing an affectionate note to his
wife, explaining why he stays away from her that night, and concluding
with:

"Sleep well, and God grant you a peaceful summer with your devoted

                                                        "EDGAR."

A few days after this, toward the end of June, he was in Albany, making
passionate love to Mrs. Osgood. In dismay she left that city and went to
Boston, whither he followed her; and again to Lowell and Providence,
giving rise to a widespread scandal, which caused the lady infinite
trouble and distress. But Mrs. Osgood, brilliant, talented and virtuous,
was also kind-hearted to a fault, and where her feelings and sympathies
were appealed to, amiably weak. Instead of indignantly and determinately
rejecting Poe's impassioned love-making, she says she pitied him, argued
with him, appealed to his reason and better feelings, and, in special,
reminded him of his sick wife, who lay dying at home and longing for his
presence. Finally, she returned to Albany; and Poe, ill at a hotel,
wrote urgently to Mrs. Clemm for money to pay his board bill and take
him back to Fordham.




CHAPTER XXI.

AT FORDHAM.


It was at this time, in the summer of 1845, that Poe's sister, Miss
Rosalie Poe, went on a visit to her brother, whom she had not seen in
ten years. On her return home, and for years thereafter, she was
accustomed to speak of this visit; and it was a curious picture which
she gave of the life of the poet and his family in the humble little
cottage on Fordham Hill.

Poe was away when she arrived--presumably in his insane pursuit of Mrs.
Osgood. Miss Poe told of "Aunt Clemm's" distress and anxiety on his
account, and of how she "scraped together every penny" and borrowed
money from herself to send to Edgar, who, she said, had been taken ill
while on a business trip. There were no provisions in the house
scarcely, and she herself, both then and at various other times, would
purchase supplies from the market and grocers' wagons which passed; for
there were no stores at the little country station of Fordham.

Miss Poe told of her brother's arrival at home, and of how she overheard
Mrs. Clemm administering to him a severe "scolding." He was so ill that
he had to be put to bed by Mrs. Clemm, who sat up with him all night
while he "talked out of his head" and begged for morphine. After some
days he was better, and walked about the house and sat under the pine
trees crowning a rocky knoll within calling distance of the house--ever
a constant and favorite retreat of his, affording fine views of the
river and neighboring country.

One day, still weak and ill, he sat at his desk and looked over his
papers. Mrs. Clemm then took his place, and wrote at his dictation. Aunt
Clemm, said Rosalie, could exactly imitate Edgar's writing. On the
following day she filled her satchel with some of these papers and went
to the city, whence she returned late in the evening, quite after dark,
with a hamper of provisions and medicines to Virginia's great delight,
who had feared some mishap to her mother and cried accordingly. Miss Poe
believed that this hamper was a present from some one, but Aunt Clemm
was very reserved toward her in regard to her affairs. She knew, she
said, that Mrs. Clemm had never liked her, but Edgar and Virginia were
kind.

From this time Poe wrote industriously, seldom going to town, but
sending his mother-in-law instead. Several times Mrs. Clemm gave her
niece some "copying" to do, but this was not to her a very gratifying
task, and when, on her return home, she was asked what it was about, had
not the least idea! She always insisted that _Anabel Lee_ was written at
this time, as she repeatedly heard Edgar read it to Mrs. Clemm and also
to himself, and recognized it when it was published two years afterward.
A curious picture was that which she gave of the poet's reading his
manuscript to his mother-in-law while the latter sat beside his desk
inking the worn seams of his and her own garments; or of Poe, seated on
a "settle" outside the kitchen door, also reading to her some of his
"rare and radiant fancies," while she presided over the family laundry.
He seems to have been constantly appealing to her sympathy with his
writing, but never to Virginia.

According to Miss Poe, Mrs. Clemm was at this time dependent for her own
earnings on her sewing and fancy knitting, with pretty knick-knacks,
which she disposed of at a certain "notion store." Virginia, too, when
well enough, liked this kind of work. They had few visitors, for Mrs.
Clemm, too busy for gossip, made a point of discouraging calls from the
neighbors, with the exception of two or three families of better class
than most of those surrounding them. These latter were a half-rural
people, keeping dairies and cultivating market gardens.

Miss Poe spoke of Virginia's cheerfulness. Nothing ever disturbed her.
"She was always laughing." She liked to have children about her; and
they came every day, bringing their dolls and playthings, with little
offerings of fruit and flowers from their home gardens. She taught them
to cut out and make their dolls' dresses, and would sometimes be very
merry with them. She did not appear to suffer, said Miss Poe--did not
lose flesh, and had always a hearty appetite, eating what the others
ate, though very fond of nice things, especially candy. Her mother and
Edgar petted her like a baby. "Aunt Clemm and Virginia," declared Miss
Poe with conviction, "cared for nobody but themselves and Edgar."
Virginia was at this time twenty-four years of age.

It was not to be wondered at that, as Miss Poe said, her brother,
immediately after his return, remained at home, seldom going into town,
but sending his mother to dispose of his manuscripts. It has been said
that when he did make his appearance in the city and among his usual
business haunts, he found himself everywhere coldly received, in
consequence of the notorious episode with Mrs. Osgood, for whom it was
known he had left his sick wife. His literary enemies, of whom he had
made many by his keen criticisms, made the most of this charge against
him, in addition to that of dissipated habits, to which he now gave
himself up with a recklessness which he had never before shown.

Poe afterward attempted to defend himself against this reproach and the
whole scandal of this season by attributing its excesses to his grief
and anxiety on account of his wife, whom, he says, he "loved as man
never loved before," a phrase the extravagance of which betrays its
insincerity. He describes how through the years of her illness he "loved
her more and more dearly and clung to her with the most desperate
pertinacity, until he became insane, with intervals of horrible
sanity.... During these fits of absolute unconsciousness I drank." And
thus he endeavors to explain away his pursuit of Mrs. Osgood!

It cannot but be noted that in all Poe's accounts of himself, and
especially of his feelings, is a palpable affectation and exaggeration,
with an extravagance of expression bordering on the tragic and
melo-dramatic; a style which is exemplified in some of his writings, and
may be equally imaginative in both cases.

Mrs. Osgood also, in her "_Reminiscences_," after Poe's death, sought to
clear both him and herself from the scandal of that summer by writing of
the affection and confidence existing between himself and his wife--"his
idolized Virginia"--as she saw them in their home, and declares her
belief that his wife was the only woman whom he had ever really loved.
In this we do not feel disposed to question her sincerity. Touching the
slander against herself, she wrote to a friend:

"You have proof in Mrs. Poe's letters to me and Poe's to Mrs. Ellet,
either of which would fully establish my innocence.... Neither of them,
as you know, were persons likely to take much trouble to prove a woman's
innocence, and it was only because she felt that I had been cruelly
wronged by _her mother_ and Mrs. Ellet that she impulsively rendered me
this justice."

Of course, the letter of Mrs. Poe here referred to was written at the
suggestion of her husband, but it is curious to observe how frankly and
_naively_ Mrs. Osgood--not now writing for the public--expresses her
real opinion of Poe and his wife.

Mrs. Osgood goes on to say: "Oh, it is too cruel that I, the only one of
all those women who did _not_ seek his acquaintance, should be sought
out after his death as the only victim to suffer from the slanders of
his mother."

From this it would appear that _after Poe's death_ the old scandal was
revived, and by Mrs. Clemm herself. About this time she was having
frequent interviews with Dr. Griswold in regard to Poe's papers, which
she had handed over to him for use in the _Memoirs_ upon which he was
engaged. Naturally, Mrs. Clemm, who seems never to have forgiven Mrs.
Osgood for the troubles of that unfortunate first summer at Fordham,
would express herself freely to Griswold, who was a warm friend and
admirer of Mrs. Osgood. Was it on account of such utterances that
Griswold wrote to Mrs. Whitman:

"Be very careful what you say to Mrs. Clemm. She is not your friend or
anybody's friend, and has no element of goodness or kindness in her
nature, but whose heart is full of wickedness and malice."

Mrs. Osgood was a lovely and estimable woman, and if she did allow her
admiration of Poe and her warm-hearted sympathy with one of a kindred
poetic nature to impulsively carry her beyond the bounds of a strictly
platonic friendship, it was in all innocence on her part, and did not
lose her the good opinion of those who knew her. The blame was all for
Poe and the feeling against him intense.

Undoubtedly the impression which she made on Poe was something beyond
what he ordinarily experienced toward women. In my own acquaintance with
him he several times spoke of her, and always with a sort of grave and
reverential tenderness--as one may speak of the dead, or as he might
have spoken of the lost friend of his boyhood, Mrs. Stanard. Although,
as Mrs. Osgood says, Poe and herself never met in the few remaining
years of their lives, yet several of his poems, without any real attempt
at disguise, express his remembrance of her. It was to her that the
lines "_To F----_" were addressed, after their parting:

  "Beloved, amid the earnest woes
     That crowd around my earthly path--
   (Dear path, alas! where grows
   Not e'en one thornless rose)--
     My soul at last a solace hath
   In dreams of thee--and therein knows
   An Eden of calm repose.

  "And thus thy memory is to me
     Like some enchanted far-off isle
   In some tumultuous sea;
   Some ocean throbbing far and free
     With storms--but where meanwhile
   Serenest skies continually
     Just o'er that one bright island smile."

In "_A Dream_" he thus again alludes to her:

  "That holy dream, that holy dream,
   When all the world was chiding,
   Hath cheered me like a lovely beam
     A lonely spirit guiding.

  "What though that light through storm and night
     Still trembles from afar?
   What could there be more purely bright
     Than truth's day-star?"

About the same time he wrote the lines, "_To My Mother_," the only one
of his poems in which he alluded to his wife, concluding with the
couplet:

  "By that infinitude which made my wife
   Dearer unto my soul than its own life."

It will be observed that the sentimental things, in both prose and
verse, which Poe has written concerning his love for his wife--and they
are but two or three at most--were written immediately after his affair
with Mrs. Osgood and the universal charge against him that he had
deserted a dying wife for her sake. It is impossible that at this remote
period of time it could be understood how seriously--from all
contemporaneous accounts--Poe's reputation was affected by this
unfortunate episode; especially at the North, where it was best known.

When Miss Poe left Fordham, in July, she carried with her a letter from
Mrs. Clemm to Mr. John Mackenzie, soliciting pecuniary aid for Edgar on
plea of his wretched health. Mr. Mackenzie was at this time married and
with a family of his own, but he never lost his interest in his old
friend or ceased to assist him so far as was in his power.




CHAPTER XXII.

THE SHADOW AT THE DOOR.


During the winter and succeeding summer matters did not improve at the
cottage. Poe, with health completely shattered and spirits horribly
depressed, remained at home with his sick wife for the most part, only
occasionally arousing himself to write. A lady, who was at this time a
little girl and one of Virginia's visitors, afterward told a reporter of
how she would sometimes see Mr. Poe writing at his table in the upstairs
room, and how as each sheet was finished he would paste it on to the
last one, until it was long enough to reach across the floor. Then she
would venture to roll it up for him in a neat cylinder, taking care not
to disturb him. Sometimes, when he was not employed, he would tell the
children blood-curdling stories of ghouls and goblins, when his eyes
would light up in a wonderful manner. "I lost my heart to those
beautiful eyes," she said.

Mrs. Clemm continued to make the rounds of the editors' offices with
these manuscripts, but met with little success. Poe's mind was not at
its brightest. He was not in a writing mood; and, as has been since
observed, he was reduced to the expedient of rewriting and altering
certain smaller articles and offering them to the more obscure papers
and journals. Mrs. Clemm, in the midst of her manifold duties, could do
but little with her sewing in the way of support for the family. So her
furniture went, piece by piece, the furniture which Miss Poe had so
often described--the parlor box-lounge upon which she slept; the
dining-table, which stood in the midst of the room, ready for the meal
which was so seldom placed upon it; the large engraving above the
mantelpiece, and the collection of sea-shells--all disappeared, until
the once cosey little apartment presented a bare and poverty-stricken
appearance. Mrs. Gove, one of the literary women of the day, described
it as being furnished with only a checked matting, a small corner-stand,
a hanging-shelf of books and four chairs.

Years afterward, when strangers would visit the cottage at Fordham, they
would hear from the neighbors pathetic accounts of the family during
this summer of 1846.

"We knew that they were poor," said one, "but they tried to keep it to
themselves. Many a time I have wanted to send them things from my
garden, but was afraid to do so."

One old dame said to a New York reporter: "I've known when they were out
of provisions, for then Mrs. Clemm, who always seemed cheerful, would
come out with a basket and a shining case-knife and go 'round digging
greens (dandelions). Once I said to her, says I, 'Greens may be took too
frequent.' 'Oh, no,' says she, smiling, 'they cool the blood, and Eddie
likes them.'"

Thus poor Mrs. Clemm, with her assumed cheerfulness, would seek to
produce the impression that their dinner of wild herbs was a matter of
choice instead of necessity.

Another neighbor said to a visitor: "I never saw checked matting last as
theirs did. There was nothing upstairs but an old cot in a little
hall-room or closet, where Mrs. Clemm slept, and an old table and chair
and bed in the next room, where Mr. Poe wrote. But you could eat your
dinner off the two floors."

The testimony of still another was: "In the kitchen she had only a
little stove, a pine table and a chair; but the floor was as white as
the table, and the tins as bright as silver. I don't think that she had
more than a dozen pieces of crockery, all on a little shelf in the
kitchen. The only meat I've ever known them to have was a five-cent bone
for soup or a few butcher's trimmings for a stew; but it seemed Mrs.
Clemm could make a little of anything go twice as far as other people
could."

In the early part of this summer Virginia's health appeared better than
usual. A neighbor who lived nearest them said to a visitor to Poe's old
home: "In fine weather that summer--the summer before she died--we could
sometimes see her sitting at her front door, wrapped up, with her
husband or mother beside her, Mr. Poe reading a paper and Mrs. Clemm
knitting. Most times there would be one or two children along, and Mr.
Poe would play ball with them while his wife laughingly looked on. She
looked like a child herself, hardly taller than they were. Well--no; she
wasn't exactly pretty. She looked _too spooky_, with her white face and
big, black eyes; but she was interesting looking, and we felt sorry for
her--and for them all, for that matter. You could see they had known
better days."

As the summer wore on, and the first autumn breezes shook the leaves
from the cherry tree, a change came over Virginia. Mrs. Clemm wrote to
Miss Poe that unless she could go to her relations at the South--a thing
not to be thought of--she would not live through the winter. Eddie's
health was completely broken, and unless she herself remained strong
enough to take care of them both, all would have to go to the
poor-house. These letters were generally indirect appeals for pecuniary
aid. Through similar pathetic accounts given by Mrs. Clemm to editors to
whom she offered manuscripts, the condition of the poet and his family
became known and was commented upon by the public papers, to Poe's great
indignation, who took occasion in an anonymous communication to deny its
truth. But that it was no time for pride to stand in the way of dire
necessity is evident from the account of Mrs. Gove on her first visit to
the cottage late in that fall. One can hardly realize a condition of
things such as she described--the bare and fireless room, the bed with
its thin, white covering and the military cloak--a relic of the West
Point days--spread over it, and the sick woman, "whose only means of
warmth was as her husband held her hands and her mother her feet, while
she herself hugged a large tortoise-shell cat to her bosom." And the
thin, haggard man, suffering like his wife from cold and the lack of
nourishing food, but who yet received his visitor with such courtly
elegance of manner, was the author of _The Raven_, with which the world
was even then being thrilled!

It was a blessed day for the distressed family that on which, about the
last of October, Mrs. Shew came to the now bleak little cottage on the
hill and, like a ministering angel, devoted herself to caring for and
comforting them--not only as regarded their material wants but with kind
and encouraging words as well. With a sufficient competence and the
medical education given her by her father, she was enabled thus to
devote herself to the service of those who could not afford the
attendance of a regular physician.

Not only did she supply them with medicine, but with careful nursing and
proper food prepared by her own hands in Mrs. Clemm's little kitchen.
Mrs. Gove collected sixty dollars, with which their other wants were
supplied; so that during the months of November and December the family
were more comfortably situated than was usual with them. But meantime
Virginia rapidly declined, until it became evident that her frail life
was very near its close.

On the day before her death Poe, in mortal dread of that awful _shadow_
which had been so long in its approach and now stood upon their
threshold, wrote urgently to Mrs. Shew to come and pass the night with
them. "My poor Virginia still lives, though failing fast." She came, in
time to take leave of the dying wife.

One of Poe's biographers[7] has stated that on the day previous to Mrs.
Poe's death she requested Mrs. Shew to read two letters from the second
Mrs. Allen exonerating Poe from having ever caused a difficulty in her
house. To those who knew Mrs. Allan and had heard from herself and her
family the frequent accounts of that occurrence--accounts never
retracted by her to her dying day--this statement is not worth a
moment's consideration. The only question is, Who wrote those letters,
and how is it that they were never made public or again heard of? And
who could have imposed upon the dying woman a task such as this, instead
of themselves taking the responsibility?

  [7] Ingraham.

From this incident, if the account be true, it would appear that
Virginia was gentle, obedient and submissive to the last. On the day
following--January 3, 1847--her innocent, childlike spirit passed away
from earth.

She was in the twenty-sixth year of her age.




CHAPTER XXIII.

MRS. SHEW.


With the death of his wife a great horror and gloom fell upon Poe. The
blow which he had for years dreaded had at length fallen. That which he
had feared and loathed above all things--the monster, Death--had entered
his home and made it desolate. As a poet, he could delight in writing
about the death of the young and lovely, but from the dread reality he
shrank with an almost superstitious horror and loathing. It was said, on
Mrs. Clemm's authority, that he refused to look upon the face of his
dead wife. He desired to have no remembrance of the features touched by
the transforming fingers of death.

Mrs. Shew still kindly ministered to him, endeavoring also to arouse him
from his gloom and encourage him to renewed effort. But it seemed at
first useless. He had no hope or cheering beyond the grave, and it was
at this time that he might appropriately have written:

  "A voice from out of the future cries
     'On! on!' but o'er the past--
   Dim gulf--my spirit hovering lies,
      Mute, motionless, aghast."

Mrs. Shew, a thoroughly practical woman of sound, good sense and
judgment, and with so little of the æsthetic that she confessed to Poe
that she had never read his poems, nevertheless took a friendly interest
in him and felt for him in his loneliness. To afford him the benefit of
a change, she took him as her patient to her own home and commissioned
him to furnish her dining-room and library according to his own taste.
She also encouraged him to write, placing pen and paper before him and
bidding him to try; and in this way, it is claimed by one account, "_The
Bells_" came to be written, or at least begun. Under the influence of
cheerful society, comfort and good cheer, Poe's health and spirits
improved, and on his return home he again commenced writing. Soon,
however, a relapse occurred, and his kind friend and physician found it
necessary to resume her visits to Fordham. For all this Poe was
grateful, but, unfortunately, he was more; and at length on a certain
day he so far betrayed his feelings that Mrs. Shew then and there
informed him that her visits to him must cease. On the day following she
wrote a farewell letter, in which she gave him advice and directions in
regard to his health, warning him of its precarious state, and of the
necessity of his abandoning the habits which were making a wreck of him
mentally and physically. She advised him as the only thing that could
save him to marry some good woman possessed of sufficient means to
support him in comfort, and who would love him well enough to spare him
the necessity of mental overwork, for which he was not now fitted.

It may be here remarked that of all the women that we know of to whom
Poe offered his platonic devotion, Mrs. Shew was the only one by whom it
was promptly and decidedly rejected.




CHAPTER XXIV.

QUIET LIFE AT FORDHAM.


The beginning of this year was a dreary time at the cottage at Fordham.
The resources of the family, which had been generously contributed to,
mostly by strangers and anonymously, were now exhausted, and Poe, still
ill and in wretched spirits, was not capable of the exertion necessary
to replenish them. In the preceding summer he had by a severe criticism
of Thomas Dunn English aroused the ire of that gentleman, who revenged
himself in an article for which Poe brought a suit of libel, recovering
damages to the amount of two hundred and fifty dollars--a welcome boon
in a time of need. He remained at home, applying himself to his writing,
and, mindful of Mrs. Shew's advice, abstained from stimulants and took
regular exercise on the country roads about Fordham. His frequent
companion in these walks was a priest of St. John's College, near
Fordham, who, being an educated and intellectual man, must have proven
a most congenial and welcome acquaintance. This priest, who seems to
have known Poe well, declares that he "made a superhuman struggle
against starvation," and speaks of him as a gentle and amiable man,
easily influenced by a kind word or act.

Most of his time, said Mrs. Clemm, was passed out of doors. He did not
like the loneliness of the house, and would not remain alone in the room
in which Virginia had died. When he chose to write at night, as was
sometimes the case, and was particularly absorbed in his subject, he
would have his devoted mother-in-law sit beside him, "dozing in her
chair" and at intervals supplying him with hot coffee, or Catalina, his
wife's old pet, perched upon his knee or shoulder, cheering him with her
gentle purring. Virginia's death seemed to have drawn these three more
closely together. They could thenceforth often be seen walking up and
down the garden-walk, Poe and his mother, arm-in-arm, or with their arms
about each other's waists, and Catalina staidly keeping pace with them,
rubbing and purring. Mrs. Clemm told Stoddard how, when Poe was about
this time writing "_Eureka_," he would walk at night up and down the
veranda explaining his views and dragging her along with him, "until her
teeth chattered and she was nearly frozen." It is to be feared that he
was not always sufficiently considerate of his indulgent mother-in-law.

Poe soon experienced the benefits of his restful and temperate life.
Health and spirits improved, and he began to take an interest in the
everyday things about him. As spring advanced, he and Mrs. Clemm laid
out some flower beds in the front garden and planted them with flowers
and vines given by the neighbors, until when in May the cherry tree
again blossomed the little abode assumed quite an attractive appearance.
Upon an old "settle" left by a former tenant, and which Mrs. Clemm's
skillful hands had mended and scrubbed and stained into respectability
and placed beneath the cherry tree as a garden-seat, Poe might now often
be seen reclining; gazing up into the branches, where birds and bees
flitted in and out, or talking and whistling to his own pets, a parrot
and bobolink, whose cages hung in the branches. A passer-by was
impressed by the picture presented quite early one summer morning of the
poet and his mother standing together on the green turf, smilingly
looking up and talking to these pets. Here, on the convenient _settle_,
on returning from one of his long sunrise rambles, he would rest until
summoned by his mother to his frugal breakfast.

I have at various times heard persons remark that in reading the life of
a distinguished man they have desired to know some of the lesser details
of his daily life--as, how did he dress? what did he eat? We have all
been interested in learning that General Washington liked corn bread and
fried bacon for breakfast; that Sir Walter Scott was fond of "oaten
grills with milk," and that Wordsworth's favorite lunch was bread and
raisins. As regards Poe, we must go back to his sister's account of what
his morning meal consisted of while she was at Fordham--"a pretzel and
two cups of strong coffee;" or, when there was no pretzel, the crusty
part of a loaf with a bit of salt herring as a relish. Poe had the
reputation of being a very moderate eater and of preferring simple
viands, even at the luxurious tables of his friends. He was fond of
fruit, and his sister said of buttermilk and curds, which they obtained
from their rural neighbors. But we recall his enjoyment of the "elegant"
tea-cakes at the Morrisons on Greenwich street and the fried eggs for
breakfast.

A lady who as a little girl knew Poe and his mother at this time said to
a correspondent of the _New York Commercial Advertiser_: "We lived so
near them that we saw them every day. They lived miserably, and in
abject poverty. He was naturally improvident, and but for the neighbors
they must have starved. My mother sent many a thing from her storeroom
to their table. He was not a man who drank in the common acceptation of
the term, but those were days when wine ran like water, and not to serve
it would seem niggardly. I remember that one day 'Muddie,' as Mr. Poe
called Mrs. Clemm, came to our house and asked us not to offer wine to
Edgar, as his head was weak, but that he did not like to refuse it."

As an illustration of the fascination which Poe possessed, even for
strangers, is the following letter from Mr. John DeGalliford, of
Chattanooga, Tenn., to this same New York correspondent:

"I am drawn to you by your defense of Edgar A. Poe. I love him, though I
met him but once. It was in September, 1845. I was sitting on a pile
watching our bark that was moored to the pile. A quiet, neatly-dressed
gentleman came up to me and asked me numberless questions in regard to
our seafaring life. He was so lovable in his conversation that I never
forgot him, and I prize the memory of those few hours of his sweet talk
with me and hold it sacred to his memory. He could not have been a
drinking man, for his looks did not show it. On my telling that I was a
runaway boy from Kentucky, he took some scraps of paper from his pocket
and took notes, saying that he could make a nice story of what I had
told him. I took him aboard the bark and showed him a pet monkey I had
brought from Natal. He ate a piece of biscuit and drank some cold
coffee, and said he would come again and see me and get acquainted with
my captain. This was years ago, and I am now an old man, seventy-three
years old, but I can remember, word for word, all that passed."




CHAPTER XXV.

WITH OLD FRIENDS.


It must be admitted that Poe, after his affair with Mrs. Osgood and the
severe illness which followed, was never again what he had been. With
health and spirits impaired, his intellect had in a great measure lost
its brilliant creative power--its inspirations, as we may call it--and
thenceforth his writings were no longer the spontaneous and
irrepressible impulse of genius, but the product of mental effort and
labor. In special had his poetic talent in a measure deserted him, as is
evident in his latest poems, with one or two exceptions. Recognizing
this condition--and with what a pang we may imagine--he recalled Mrs.
Shew's advice in regard to a second marriage, and, admitting its wisdom,
began to look about for a suitable matrimonial partner. Finally his
choice fell upon Mrs. Sarah Helen Whitman, of Providence, Rhode Island,
one of the "poetesses" of the time, and the most brilliant of them all.

A consideration which doubtless chiefly influenced him in this choice
was that Mrs. Whitman, being a lady of literary taste and independent
means, would be likely to take an interest in the _Stylus_, the hope of
establishing which he had never abandoned, and would assist him in
carrying out his plans in regard to it.

Of Mrs. Whitman, at this time about forty-five years of age, I have the
following account from a lady--Mrs. F. H. Kellogg--whose mother was an
intimate friend and near neighbor of hers in Providence:

"She was considered very eccentric--impulsive and regardless of
conventionalities. She dressed always in white, and on the coldest
winter evenings, with snow on the ground, would cross over to our house
in thin slippers and with nothing on her head but a thin, gauzy, white
scarf. She probably thought this æsthetic--and perhaps it was. There was
one thing which I must not omit to mention, because it was a part of
herself--_ether_. The scent accompanied her everywhere. It was said she
could not write except under its influence, but of this I do not know."

As an illustration of her impulsive ways, Mrs. Kellogg says:

"I was one evening, when a little girl, sitting on the front steps when
she and her sister, Miss Powers, crossed over to our house. They went
into the parlor, and I heard Mrs. Whitman ask my sister to sing for her
_The Mocking Bird_. She appreciated my sister's beautiful singing, but
on this occasion, while she was in the very midst of '_Listen to the
Mocking Bird_,' suddenly a cloud of white rushed past me like a tornado,
and I heard Mrs. Whitman's voice exclaiming excitedly, '_I have it! I
have it!_' Of course, we were all astonished and could not understand it
at all, until Miss Powers afterward explained it to us. It seems that
the beautiful music and singing had excited in her some poetic thought
or idea; and, regardless or forgetful of conventionalities, she had
impulsively rushed home to put it in writing, or perhaps in poetry,
before it should vanish away."

Miss Sarah Jacobs, one of Griswold's "_Female Poets_," and a friend of
Mrs. Whitman, describes her as small and dark, with deep-set dreamy eyes
"that looked above and beyond but never _at_ you;" quick, bird-like
motions, and as being a believer in occult influences, as Poe himself
professed to be. "For all the sweet, poetic fragrance of her nature, she
took an interest in common things. She was wise, she was witty; and no
one could be long in her presence without becoming aware of the sweet
and generous sympathy of her nature."

Up to this time Poe and Mrs. Whitman had never met, though Mrs. Osgood
says that the lady had written to him and sent him a valentine, of which
he had taken no notice. This was against him in his present venture, but
he was not discouraged. He set about his courtship in his usual manner,
by addressing to Mrs. Whitman (June 10) some lines--"_To
Helen_"--commencing:

  "I saw thee once--once only;--"

supposed to commemorate his first sight of her as, passing her garden
"one July midnight," he beheld her robed in white, reclining on a bank
of violets, with her eyes raised heavenward.

  "No footsteps stirred; the hated world all slept,
   Save only thee and me. Oh, heaven--oh, God!
   How my heart beats in coupling those two words--
   Save only _thee and me_!"

So, he continues, he gazed entranced until--the hour being past midnight
and a storm-cloud threatening--the lady very properly arose and
disappeared from his sight; all but her eyes. These remained and
followed him home, and had followed him ever since:

        "----two sweetly scintillant
  Venuses; unextinguished by the sun."

All this must have been very gratifying to Mrs. Whitman--if she believed
in it--but, remembering her neglected valentine, she was in no haste to
acknowledge the poetic offering, and Poe, after waiting some weeks, had
his attention drawn in another direction.

He had written to his friend, Mr. Mackenzie, concerning his matrimonial
aspirations, and he now received an answer, suggesting that he come to
Richmond and try his fortune with an old-time school-girl sweetheart,
Miss Sarah Elmira Royster, now a rich "Widow Shelton," who had several
times of late inquired after him and sent her "remembrances."

Animated by this new hope, he, late in the summer of 1847, proceeded to
Richmond, where he visited among his friends and called upon Mrs.
Shelton, but especially paid attention to a pretty widow, a Mrs. Clarke.
This lady, when a resident of Louisville, Kentucky, many years after
Poe's death, gave to the editor of a paper some reminiscences of him at
this time.

"The good lady was deeply interested that the world might think well of
Poe, and grew warm on the subject of his wrongs. She claimed that the
poet was a Virginian, and, like most Virginians, she is very proud of
her State. She wondered where Gill had gotten the material for Poe's
vindication. She had first met Poe at the Mackenzies, when he was editor
of the _Southern Literary Messenger_, and he afterward boarded at the
same hotel as herself; but she saw most of him on his visit to Richmond
previous to his last. He was then at her house daily, and sometimes two
or three times a day. He came there, as he said, to rest.

"If there happened to be friends present he was often obliging enough
to read, and would sometimes read some of his own poems; but he would
never read _The Raven_ unless he felt in the mood for it. When in
Richmond he generally stayed with the Mackenzies at _Duncan Lodge_, and
would drive in with them at any time. One day he came in with his sister
and two of the Mackenzies and stopped with me. There were some other
people present, and he read _The Raven_ for us. He shut out the daylight
and read by an astral lamp on the table. When he was through all of us
that had any tact whatever spared our comments and let our thanks be
brief; for he was most impatient of both."

Of Poe's reading, Mrs. Clark spoke with enthusiasm. "It was altogether
peculiar and indescribable," she said. "I have heard _The Raven_ read by
his friend, John R. Thompson, and others, but it sounded so strange and
affected, compared with his own delivery. Poe had a wonderful
voice--rich, mellow and sweet. I cannot give you any idea of it. Edwin
Booth sometimes reminds me of him in his eyes and expression, but Poe's
voice was peculiar to himself. I have never heard anything like it. He
often read from Shelley and other poets. One day he pointed out to me
in one of Shelley's poems what he considered the truest characteristic
of hopeless love that he knew of:

  "'The desire of the moth for the star,
    Of the night for the morrow.'

"I enjoyed a good deal of his society during that visit in 1847. On his
last visit I saw less of him. He was then said to be engaged to a Mrs.
Shelton. Some said he was marrying her for her money. There was a good
deal of gossip at that time concerning Poe. His intemperate habits
especially were exaggerated and made the most of by those who did not
like him, while his companions in dissipation escaped unnoticed. When he
was in company at a party for instance--you might see a little of him in
the earlier part of the evening, but he would presently be off
somewhere. Then his eccentricities; I think that when a very young man
he imitated Byron."

Mrs. Clarke said she had seldom seen a good likeness of Poe. The best
she had cut from an old magazine. "This engraving," she said, showing
it, reflects at once the fastidiousness and the virility characteristic
of his temperament. All the others have an expression pitiably weak.
His worst calumniators could hardly desire for him a harder fate than
the continual reproduction of that feeble visage. When he had money he
was lavish and over-generous with it. He was always refined. You felt it
in his very presence. And as long as I knew him, and as much as I was
with him, I never saw him in the least intoxicated. I have seen him when
he had had enough wine to make him talk with even more than his usual
brilliancy. Indeed, to talk in a large general company, some little
stimulant was necessary to him. Dr. Griswold says he was arrogant,
dogmatic and impatient of contradiction. I have heard him engage in
discussions frequently; oftenest with diffidence, always with
consideration for others. In a large company it was only when
exhilarated with wine that he spoke out his views and ideas with any
degree of self-assertion."

Mrs. Clarke said that his sister, Rosalie, was rather pretty and
resembled himself somewhat in appearance, but "was as different as
possible in mental capacity. She was amiable, patient and
sweet-tempered, but as a companion wholly tiresome and monotonous. She
seemed to have had little or no individuality or force of character. She
thought a great deal of her brother, but during the greater part of
their lives they had seen nothing of each other. The family of Mr.
Mackenzie treated her affectionately and kindly, and until the breaking
up of the household she remained with them, and then went to Baltimore
to her relatives, the Poes. I don't know what became of her afterwards."

Mrs. Clarke speaks of Poe's reading and lectures during his first visit
to Richmond; but these were mere small social entertainments at the
houses of various acquaintances. He really gave but one public lecture
during this visit to Richmond. One evening at Mrs. Mackenzie's she said
to him: "Edgar, since people appear so eager to hear you repeat _The
Raven_, why not give a public recital, which might benefit you
financially?" Being further urged, he finally yielded. One hundred
tickets were advertised, at fifty cents each, and the music hall of the
fashionable Exchange Hotel engaged for the occasion. On the appointed
evening Poe stepped upon the platform to face an audience of _thirteen_
persons, including the janitor and several to whom complimentary tickets
had been presented. Of these was Mrs. Shelton, who occupied a seat
directly in front of the platform. Poe was cool and selfpossessed, but
his delivery mechanical and rather hurried, and on concluding he bowed
and abruptly retired. One of the audience remarked upon the unlucky
number of thirteen; and Mrs. Julia Mayo Cabell commented indignantly
upon the indifference of the Richmond people to "their own great poet."
Poe was undoubtedly in a degree mortified, not at the indifference
manifested, but at the picture presented by the large and brilliantly
lighted hall and himself addressing the group of thirteen which
constituted the audience. But his failure may be explained by the fact
that in this month of August the _elite_ and educated people of the city
were mostly absent in the mountains and by the sea-shore; and the
weather being extremely sultry, few were inclined to exchange the cool
breezes of the "city of the seven hills" for a crowded and heated
lecture room, even to hear _The Raven_ read by its author.

During this visit of Poe to Richmond, I, with my mother and sister, was
away from home, in the mountains, and we thus missed seeing him. On our
return shortly after his departure, we heard various anecdotes
concerning him, one or two of which I subjoin as illustrative of his
natural disposition.

One evening, quite late, an alarm of fire was raised, and all the young
men of Duncan Lodge, accompanied by Poe, hastened to the scene of
disaster, about a mile further in the country. Finding a great crowd
collected, and that their services were not required, they sat on a
fence looking on, and it was past midnight when they thought of
returning home. Gay young Dr. "Tom" Mackenzie remarked that it would
never do to return in their immaculate white linen suits, as they would
be sure to get a "wigging" from the old ladies for not having helped to
put out the fire, and, besides, they were all hungry, and he knew how
they could get a good supper. With that he seized a piece of charred
wood and commenced besmirching their white garments and their hands and
faces, including Poe's. Arriving at home in an apparently exhausted
condition, they were treated by Mrs. Mackenzie herself, who would not
disturb her servants, to the best that the pantry afforded, nor was the
trick discovered until the following day. Mrs. Mackenzie laughed, but
from Mrs. Carter, the mother of two of the culprits, and who was gifted
with eloquence, they got the "wigging" which they had been anxious to
avoid. And from accounts, Poe enjoyed it all immensely.

A lady told me that one evening, going over to Duncan Lodge, her
attention was attracted by the sound of voices in the garden, where she
beheld all the young men in the broad central alley engaged in the
classic game of "leapfrog." When it came to Mr. Poe's turn, she said,
"he took a swift run and skimmed over their backs like a bird, seeming
hardly to touch the ground. I never saw the like." Mr. Jones, Mrs.
Mackenzie's son-in-law, who was rather large and heavy, came to grief in
his performance, and no one laughed more heartily than did Poe.

Was this the melancholy, morbid, "weird and wholly incomprehensible
being" that the world has pictured the author of _The Raven_? Among
these youthful spirits and his old friends, the depressing influences of
his late life and home--the poverty, the friendlessness--seemed to
vanish, and his real disposition reasserted itself. Pity that it could
not have been always so. I am convinced that a great deal of Poe's
unhappiness and apparent reserve and solitariness was owing to his
obscure home life, which kept him apart from all genial social
influences. At the North, wherever seen out of his business hours, he
appears to have been "alone and solitary, proud and melancholy
looking," says one, who had no idea of the loneliness of spirit, the
lack of genial companionship, which made him so. With a few he was on
friendly terms, but of intimate friends or associates he had not one so
far as is known.

Of the Mackenzies, so closely associated with Poe during his lifetime,
I may be allowed to say that a more attractive family group I have
rarely known. Beside those I have mentioned were the two youngest
members, "Mr. Dick" and Mattie or "Mat"--wayward, generous, warm-hearted
Mat, indifferent to people's opinion and heedless of conventionalities.
She cared for nothing so much as her horse and dog, and spent an hour
each day in the stables, while her aunt, Miss Jane, would exclaim in
despair: "I don't know what to do with Martha. I cannot make a lady of
her;" to which she would answer with a satisfied assurance that nature
had never intended her to be a lady.

But about this time--in October--Mat was married. There are ladies
living who have heard from their mothers, at that time young girls,
accounts of this famous wedding. The festivities were kept up for full
two weeks, with ever-changing house parties, and each evening music and
dancing, with unbounded hospitality. Miss Jane Mackenzie, upon whom the
family chiefly depended, and whose fortune they expected to inherit, was
gone on a visit to her brother in London; but she had given Mat a
liberal sum wherewith to celebrate her wedding. Sadly my thoughts pass
from this gay time over the next ten years or so to the time of "the
war" and the changes which it brought to this family and to us all.




CHAPTER XXVI.

MRS. WHITMAN.


Poe was still in Richmond, presumably courting the widow Shelton, though
in so quiet a manner that it attracted little or no attention, when he
unexpectedly received from Mrs. Whitman, who seems to have repented of
her silence, a letter or poem of so encouraging a nature that he
immediately left Richmond and proceeded to New York. Here he obtained a
letter of introduction to Mrs. Whitman, which he on the following day
presented to that lady at her home in Providence. The next evening he
spent in her company, and on the succeeding day asked her to marry him!

Receiving no definite answer, he, on his return to New York, sent her a
letter in which, alluding to his previous intention of addressing Mrs.
Shelton, he says:

"Your letter reached me on the very day on which I was about to enter
upon a course which would have borne me far away from you, sweet, sweet
Helen, and the divine dream of your love."

A few weeks later, when he had obtained from her a conditional promise
of marriage, he again wrote--a letter in which he clearly alludes to his
still cherished design of establishing the _Stylus_, from which he
anticipates such brilliant results. Thus he artfully and apparently for
the first time seeks to interest her in the scheme.

"Am I right, dearest Helen, in the impression that you are ambitious? If
so, and if you will have faith in me, I can and will satisfy your
wildest desires. It would be a glorious triumph for us, darling--for you
and me ... to establish in America the sole unquestionable
aristocracy--that of the intellect; to secure its supremacy, to lead and
control it. All this I can do, Helen, and will--if you bid me _and aid
me_."

Aware of her belief in occult and spiritual influences, he tells her
that once, on hearing a lady repeat certain utterances of hers which
appeared but the secret reflex of his own spirit, his soul seemed
suddenly to become one with hers. "From that hour I loved you. I have
never seen or heard your name without a shiver, half of delight, half of
anxiety. The impression left upon my mind was that you were still a
wife." (No such scruple had disturbed him in the case of Mrs. Osgood and
others.) He goes on thus artfully to explain the incident of his
declining Mrs. Osgood's offer of an introduction to Mrs. Whitman while
in Providence. "For this reason I shunned your presence. You may
remember that once, when I passed through Providence with Mrs. Osgood, I
positively refused to accompany her to your house. I dared neither go,
or say why I could not. I dared not speak of you, much less see you.
_For years_ your name never passed my lips, while my soul drank in with
a delirious thirst all that was uttered in my presence respecting you."

It will be observed that he is here speaking of a time when his wife,
whom he "loved as man never before loved," was yet living; and also when
he was giving himself up to his unreasoning passion for Mrs. Osgood,
whom he had followed to Providence.

After this, who shall undertake to defend Poe from the charge of
insincerity and dissimulation?

Mrs. Osgood calls Poe's letters "divinely beautiful." We cannot tell how
Mrs. Whitman was affected by them, but certainly her whole course
exhibits her in a constant struggle between her own inclination and the
influence of friends who desired to save her from the match with Poe. As
early as January 21, 1848, it was known to the public that an engagement
existed between the two, and I have the authority of Mrs. Kellogg for
the statement that during the summer of that year Mrs. Whitman three
times renewed this engagement and was as often compelled to break it,
owing to his unfortunate habits. The last engagement was made on his
solemnly vowing reformation; on which a day was fixed for the marriage
and the services of a clergyman bespoken by Poe himself, who thereupon
wrote to Mrs. Clemm desiring her to be ready to receive himself and his
bride--at Fordham!

One may imagine the dismay of poor Mrs. Clemm when she read this letter
and looked around the humble home with its low-ceiled upstairs room,
which had been Virginia's; the pine kitchen table and her dozen pieces
of crockery. For once her strong mind and resourceful talent must have
failed her. How was she to accommodate the fastidious bride of her most
inconsiderate son-in-law? How even provide a wedding repast against
their arrival? But happily she was spared the horror of such an
experience, for on the appointed day Poe arrived at Fordham alone,
though in a state of nervous excitement, which necessitated days and
even weeks of careful nursing on the part of his patient and
long-suffering mother-in-law.

This final separation between the two--for they never again met--was
caused by Poe's intemperance at his hotel in Providence on the day
previous to that appointed for his marriage. He had delivered a lecture
which was enthusiastically applauded, and on his return to the hotel he
found himself surrounded by an admiring crowd, whose hospitalities he at
first resolutely declined, but with his usual weakness of will, finally
yielded to. Of the stormy scene when, on the following day, Mrs. Whitman
finally and decisively refused to marry him, she has herself given an
account, representing Poe as alternately pleading and "raving" in his
unwillingness to accept her decision. But there can be no question but
that he was at this time either in some degree mentally unbalanced or in
such a state physically as that the least excess would serve to excite
his mind beyond its normal condition and render him partly
irresponsible. Of this we have proof in the fact of his intention of
taking his proposed bride to Fordham.

That Mrs. Whitman was really interested in her gifted and eccentric
suitor is evident, and in her heart she was loyal to him, as is shown by
her defence of him after his death, and also by the lines which she
addressed to him some months after their separation, entitled, "_The
Isle of Dreams_." Most of her poems written after this time had some
reference to him; and it is worthy of note that no woman whom Poe
professed to love ever lost her interest in him. The fascination which
he exerted over them must have been something extraordinary.

As regards Poe's feelings toward Mrs. Whitman, it is evident from the
beginning that there was no real love on his part. He expressed no
regret at the ending of his "divine dream of love," but seems rather to
have experienced toward her a degree of resentment which thus found
expression in a letter to a friend:

"From this day forth I shun the pestilential society of literary women.
They are a heartless, unnatural, venomous, dishonorable set, with no
guiding principle but inordinate self-esteem. Mrs. Osgood is the only
exception I know of."

This tirade was doubtless excited partly by a scandal just now started
by one of the literary set in question concerning Poe and a young
married lady of Lowell. While delivering a lecture in that city he had
been hospitably entertained at her home, where he spent several days,
with the usual result of contracting a sentimental friendship with the
charming hostess, whom he calls "Annie." During the latter part of his
engagement to Mrs. Whitman his visits and attentions to this lady did
not escape the notice of the "literary set," and a scandal was at once
started by one of them, who drew the attention of "Annie's" husband to
the matter. He accepted Poe's explanation and his proposal rather to
give up the society of these friends than to be the cause of trouble to
them, saying:

"I cannot and will not have it upon my conscience that I have interfered
with the domestic happiness of _the only being on earth whom I have
loved at the same time with purity and with truth_."

Certainly an extraordinary avowal to be made to the lady's husband; and
we ask ourselves to how many women had he made a similar declaration?

We have seen that when Poe for the last time left Mrs. Whitman's he went
direct to Fordham, where, said Mrs. Clemm, he raved about "Annie," and
even sent to her, reminding her of the "holy promise which he had
exacted from her in their hour of parting, that she would come to him on
his bed of death," and now claiming the fulfilment of that promise.
Whether or not she complied does not appear; but it is more than likely
that the lines, "_For Annie_," were suggested by his fever-dreams of her
presence, first written while still half-delirious, and subsequently
slightly altered to their present form. This piece, with the lines, "_To
My Mother_," after being declined by all the more prominent magazines,
finally appeared in the cheap "_Boston Weekly_," and must have been a
surprise to "Annie" and her husband.

But there was one woman of the "literary set" who showed that she at
least was not deserving of the sweeping condemnation wherewith the irate
poet had visited them. This was Mrs. Anna Estelle Lewis, a young poetess
who, with her husband, was on friendly terms with Poe, and whose poems
he had favorably noticed. Poe was still, mentally and physically, in a
state which rendered him incapable of writing, and the condition at
Fordham was deplorable. Suspecting this state of things, Mrs. Lewis and
her husband invited Poe to visit them at their home in Brooklyn, and Mr.
Lewis says that thenceforth they frequently had both himself and Mrs.
Clemm to stay with them. It was this kindly couple that R. H. Stoddard
so sharply satirizes in his "_Reminiscences_" of Poe, while accepting an
evening's hospitality at their home after the poet's death. On this
occasion he met with Mrs. Clemm, of whom he has given a pen picture of
which we instinctively recognize the life-likeness. We can see the good
lady seated serenely among the company in her "black bombazine and
conventional widow's cap," lightly fingering her eye-glasses, as was her
company habit, and with her strongly marked features wearing that
"benevolent" smile which was characteristic of her most amiable moods.
"She assured me," says Stoddard, "that she had often heard her Eddie
speak of me--which I doubted--and that she believed she had also heard
him speak of the stripling by my side--which was an impossibility....
She regretted that she had no more autographs to dispose of, but hinted
that she could manufacture them, since she could exactly imitate her
Eddie's handwriting; and this she told as though it had been to her
credit."

Deeply chagrined at the ending of his affair with Mrs. Whitman, and
consequent disappointment in regard to the _Stylus_, Poe now, encouraged
by his mother-in-law, again turned his thoughts to Mrs. Shelton.

It was in July that he and Mrs. Clemm left Fordham, he to proceed to
Richmond, and she, having let their rooms until his return, to stay with
the Lewises. Mr. Lewis says that it was at his front door that Poe took
an affectionate leave of them all; Mrs. Clemm, ever watchful and careful
against possible temptation or pitfalls by the way, accompanying him to
the boat to see him off. In parting from her he spoke cheeringly and
affectionately. "God bless you, my own darling Muddie. Do not fear for
Eddie. See how good I will be while away; and I will come back to love
and comfort you."[8]

  [8] Ingram.

And so, smiling and hopeful, the devoted mother stood upon the pier and
watched to the last the receding form which she was never again to
behold.




CHAPTER XXVII.

AGAIN IN RICHMOND.


When Poe came to Richmond on this visit, he went first to Duncan Lodge,
but afterward, for sake of the convenience of being in the city, took
board at the old _Swan Tavern_, on Broad street, once a fashionable
hostelry, but at this time little more than a cheap, though respectable,
boarding-house for business men. Broad street--so named from its unusual
width--extended several miles in a straight line from Chimberazo Heights
and Church Hill on the east, where Mrs. Shelton had her residence, to
the western suburbs, where Duncan Lodge and our own home of "_Talavera_"
were situated. This was the route which Poe traversed in his visits to
Mrs. Shelton. There were no street cars in those days, hacks were
expensive, and the walk from "the Swan" to Church Hill was long and
fatiguing. Poe would break his journey by stopping to rest at the office
of Dr. John Carter, a young physician who had recently hung out his
sign, about half-way between those two points.

During the three months of his stay in Richmond we saw a good deal of
Poe. He appeared at first to be in not very good health or spirits, but
soon brightened up and was invariably cheerful, seeming to be enjoying
himself. I do not know to what it was to be attributed, unless to his
increased fame as a poet, but certainly his reception in Richmond at
this time was very different from what it had been two years previously.
He became the fashion; and was _fêted_ in society and discussed in the
papers. His friend, Mrs. Julia Mayo Cabell--a first cousin of Mrs.
Allan--inaugurated the evening entertainments to which people were
invited "to meet Mr. Poe." It was generally expected that at these
gatherings he would recite _The Raven_, and this he was often obliging
enough to do, though we knew that it was to him an unwelcome task. In
our own home, no matter who were the visitors, we would never allow this
request to be made of him after he had on one occasion gratified us by a
recital. I remember on this occasion being disappointed in his manner of
delivery. I had expected some little graceful and expressive action,
but he sat motionless as a statue except that at the line,

  "_Prophet! cried I, thing of evil!_"

he slightly erected his head; and again, in repeating:

  "Get thee back into the tempest and the night's plutonian shore!"

he turned his face suddenly though slightly toward the outer darkness of
the open window near which he sat, each time raising his voice. He
explained his own idea to be that any action served to attract the
attention of the audience from the poem to the speaker, thus detracting
from the effect of the former. I was told how, at one of these
entertainments, Poe was embarrassed by the persistent attentions of a
moth or beetle, until a sympathetic old lady took a seat beside him and,
with wild wavings of a huge fan, kept the troublesome insect at a
distance. This mingling of the comic with the tragic element rather
spoiled the effect of the latter, and though Poe preserved his dignity,
he was perceptibly annoyed.

I never saw Mr. Poe in a large company, but was told that on such
occasions he invariably assumed his mask of cold and proud reserve, not
untouched by an expression of sadness, which was natural to his features
when in repose. It was then that he "looked every inch a poet." In
general companies he disliked any attempt to draw him out, never
expressing himself freely, and at times manifesting a shyness amounting
almost to an appearance of diffidence, which was very noticeable.

A marked peculiarity was that he never, while in Richmond, either in
society or elsewhere, made any advance to acquaintance, or sought an
introduction, even to a lady. Aware of the estimation in which his
character was held by some persons, he stood aloof, in proud
independence, though responding with ready courtesy to any advance from
others. Ladies who desired Mr. Poe's acquaintance would be compelled to
privately seek an introduction from some friend, since he himself never
requested it, and it was observed that he preferred the society of
mature women to that of the youthful belles, who were enthusiastic over
the author of _Lenore_ and _The Raven_.

Mr. Poe spent his mornings in town, but in the evenings would generally
drive out to Duncan Lodge with some of the Mackenzies. He liked the
half-country neighborhood, and would sometimes join us in our sunset
rambles in the romantic old Hermitage grounds. Those were pleasant
evenings at Duncan Lodge and Talavera, with no lack of company at either
place.




CHAPTER XXVIII.

A MORNING WITH POE AND "THE RAVEN."

(A Leaf from a Journal.)


One pleasant though slightly drizzly morning in the latter part of
September I sat in our parlor at Talavera at a table on which were some
new magazines and a vase of tea roses freshly gathered. Opposite me sat
Mr. Poe. A basket of grapes--his favorite fruit--had been placed between
us; and as we leisurely partook of them we chatted lightly.

He inquired at length what method I pursued in my writing. The idea was
new to me, and on my replying that I wrote only on the impulse of a
newly conceived idea, he proceeded to give me some needed advice. I must
make a _study_ of my poem, he said, line by line and word by word, and
revise and correct it until it was as perfect as it could be made. It
was in this way that he himself wrote. And then he spoke of _The
Raven_.

He had before told me of the difficulties which he had experienced in
writing this poem and of how it had lain for more than _ten years_ in
his desk unfinished, while he would at long intervals work on it, adding
a few words or lines, altering, omitting and even changing the plan or
idea of the poem in the endeavor to make of it something which would
satisfy himself.

His first intention, he said, had been to write a short poem only, based
upon the incident of an _Owl_--a night-bird, the bird of wisdom--with
its ghostly presence and inscrutable gaze entering the window of a vault
or chamber where he sat beside the bier of the lost _Lenore_. Then he
had exchanged the Owl for the Raven, for sake of the latter's
"_Nevermore_"; and the poem, despite himself, had grown beyond the
length originally intended.

Does not this explain why the Raven--though not, like the Owl, a
night-bird--should be represented as attracted by the lighted window,
and, perching "upon the _bust of Pallas_," which would be more
appropriate to the original Owl, Minerva's bird? Also, we recognize the
latter in the lines:

  "By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore."[9]

  [9] As by also:

        "And its eyes have all the seeming
         Of a demon that is dreaming."

Poe, in adopting the Raven, evidently did not obliterate all traces of
the Owl.

Of these troubles with the poem he had before informed me, and now, in
answer to a remark of mine, he said, in effect:

"_The Raven_ was never completed. It was published before I had given
the final touches. There were in it certain knotty points and tangles
which I had never been able to overcome, and I let it go as it was."

He told how, toward the last, he had become heartily tired of and
disgusted with the poem, of which he had so poor an opinion that he was
many times on the point of destroying it. I believe that his having
published it under the _nom de plume_ of "_Quarles_" was owing to this
lack of confidence in it, and that had it proven a failure he would
never have acknowledged himself the author. He feared to risk his
literary reputation on what appeared to him of such uncertain merit.

He now, in speaking of the poem, regretted that he had not fully
completed before publishing it.

"If I had a copy of it here," he said, "I could show you those knotty
points of which I spoke, and which I have found it impossible to do away
with," adding: "Perhaps you will help me. I am sure that you can, if you
will."

I did not feel particularly flattered by this proposal, knowing that
since his coming to Richmond he had made a similar request of at least
two other persons. However, I cleared the table of the fruit and the
flowers and placed before him several sheets of generous foolscap, on
which I had copied for a friend _The Raven_ as it was first published.
He requested me to read it aloud, and as I did so, slowly and carefully,
he sat, pencil in hand, ready to mark the difficult passages of which he
had spoken.

I paused at the third line. Had I not myself often noted the incongruity
of representing the poet as pondering over _many_ a volume instead of a
single one? I glanced inquiringly at Mr. Poe and, noting his unconscious
look, proceeded. When I reached the line,

  "And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor;"

he gave a slight shiver or shrug of the shoulders--an expressive motion
habitual to him--and the pencil came down with an emphatic stroke
beneath the six last words.

This was one of the hardest knots, he said, nor could he find a way of
getting over it. "_Ember_" was the only word rhyming with the two
preceding lines, but in no way could he dispose of it except as he had
done--thus producing the worst line in the poem.

We "pondered" over it for awhile and finally gave it up.

(But I may here mention that I have since, in studying the poem, made a
discovery which, strangely enough, seems never to have occurred to the
author. This was that in this particular stanza he had unconsciously
reversed the order or arrangement of the lines, placing those of the
triple rhymes first and the rhyming couplet last. Thus all his long
years of worry over that unfortunate "_ember_" had been unnecessary,
since the construction of the verse required not only the omission of
the word as a rhyme, but of the whole line of

  "And each separate dying ember;"

when the succeeding objectionable words,

 "Wrought its ghost upon the floor,"

could have been easily altered; and the addition of a third line to the
succeeding couplet would have made the stanza correct.)

Our next pause was at the word "_beast_," through which he ran his
pencil.

 "Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above my chamber door."

"I must get rid of that word," he said; "for, of course, no beast could
be expected to occupy such a position."

"Oh, yes; a mouse, for instance," I suggested, at which he gave me one
of his rare humorous smiles.

Leaving this point for future consideration, we passed on to a more
serious difficulty.

        "This and more I sat divining,
         With my head at ease reclining
  On the cushion's velvet _lining_, with the lamplight gloated o'er."

The knotty point here was in the word "lining"--a blunder obvious to
every reader. Poe said that the only way he could see of getting over
the difficulty was by omitting the whole stanza. But he was unwilling to
give up that "violet velvet" chair, which, with the "purple silken
curtain," he considered a picturesque adjunct to the scene, imparting to
it a character of luxury which served as a relief to the more sombre
surroundings. I had so often heard this impossible "lining" criticised
that when he inquired, "Shall I omit or retain the stanza?" I ventured
to suggest that it might be better to give up the stanza than have the
poem marred by a defect so conspicuous. For a moment he held the pencil
poised, as if in doubt, and I have since wondered what would have been
his decision.

But just here we were interrupted by the tumultuous entrance of my
little dog, Pink, in hot pursuit of the family cat. The latter took
refuge beneath the table at which we were seated, and there ensued a
brisk exchange of duelistic passes, until I called off Pink and Mr. Poe
took up the cat and, placing her on his knee, stroked her soothingly,
inquiring if she were my pet. Upon my disclaiming any partiality for
felines, he said, "I like them," and continued his gentle caressing.
(Was he thinking of _Catalina_, his wife's pet cat, which he had left at
home at Fordham, and which after her death had sat upon his shoulder as
he wrote far into the night? Recalling his grave and softened
expression, I think that it must have been so. But at that time I had
never heard of Catalina.)

But now came the final and most difficult "tangle" of all--the blunder
apparent to the world--the defect which mars the whole poem, and yet is
contained in but a single line:

  "And the lamplight o'er him streaming casts his shadow on the floor."

Poe declared this to be hopeless, and that it was, in fact, the chief
cause of his dissatisfaction with the poem. Indeed, it may well excite
surprise that he, so careful and fastidious as to the completeness of
his work, should have allowed _The Raven_ to go from his hands marred by
a defect so glaring, but this is proof that he did indeed regard it as
hopeless.

       *       *       *       *       *

When Mr. Poe left us on this September morning he took with him this
manuscript copy of _The Raven_; which, however, he on the following day
handed to me, begging that I would keep it until his return from New
York. I found that he had marked several minor defects in the poem, one
of which was his objection to the word "shutter," as being too
commonplace and not agreeing with the word "lattice," previously used.

He remarked, before leaving for New York, that he intended having _The
Raven_, after some further work upon it, published in an early number of
the _Stylus_. I do not doubt but that, had he lived, he would have made
it much more perfect than it now is.

After his death his friend, Mr. Robert Sully, the Richmond artist, was
desirous of making a picture of the _Raven_, but explained to me why it
could not be done--all on account of that impossible "shadow on the
floor." Of course, said he, to produce such an effect the lamplight must
come from above and behind the bust and the bird. No; it was
impracticable."

This set me to thinking; and the result was that I, some time after,
went to Mr. Sully's studio and said to him: "How would it do to have a
glass transom above the door; one of those large fan-shaped transoms
which we sometimes find in old colonial mansions, opening on a lofty
galleried hall?"

It would do, he said. Indeed, with such an arrangement, and the lamp
supposed to be suspended from the hall ceiling, as in those old
mansions, there would be no difficulty with either the poem or the
picture. And we were both delighted at our discovery, and thought how
pleased Poe would have been with the idea--so effective in explaining
that mysterious shadow on the floor.

Mr. Sully commenced upon his picture, but died before completing it.

       *       *       *       *       *

This manuscript copy of _The Raven_, with all its pencil-marks, as made
by Mr. Poe on that September morning, remained in my possession for many
years. It is yet photographed upon my memory, with all the details here
given from an odd leaf of a journal which I kept about that time--the
quiet parlor, the outside drizzle, the books, the roses, and the face
and figure of Mr. Poe as he gravely bent over that manuscript copy of
his immortal poem of _The Raven_.

Had he no premonition that even then a darker shadow than that of the
_Raven_ was hovering over him? It was one of the last occasions on which
I ever saw him.




CHAPTER XXIX.

MRS. SHELTON.


Poe's first visits on his arrival in Richmond had been to Mrs. Shelton,
and it soon became known that an engagement existed between them,
although they were never seen together in public, and Poe on all
occasions denied the engagement. Yet morning after morning the curious
neighbors were treated to a sight of the poet ascending the steps of the
tall, plain, substantial looking brick house on the corner of Grace
street, facing the rear of St. John's church, and had they watched more
closely they might at times have seen another figure following in its
footsteps. This was Rosalie Poe, who, delighted at her brother's
engagement, and being utterly without tact or judgment, would present
herself at Mrs. Shelton's door shortly after his own arrival, as she
said, for the pleasure of seeing the couple together. Once she surprised
them at a _tête-à-tête_ luncheon at which "corned beef and mustard"
figured; but on another occasion Mrs. Shelton met and informed her that
Mr. Poe had a headache from his long walk and was resting on the parlor
sofa, where she herself would attend to him, and so dismissed her, to
her great indignation. Not alone to Mrs. Shelton's were these
"shadowings" of her brother confined, but if she at any time knew of his
intention to call at some house where she herself was acquainted, she
would as likely as not make her own appearance during his visit; or, in
promenading Broad street, he would unexpectedly find himself waylaid and
introduced to some prosy acquaintance of his sister. It required Mrs.
Mackenzie's authority to relieve him from these annoyances. There was,
however, something pathetic in the sister's pride in and affection for a
brother from whom she received but little manifestation of regard. He
treated her indulgently, but, as she herself often said, in her homely
way, "Edgar could never love me as I do him, _because he is so far above
me_."

About the middle of August Mrs. Shelton's interested neighbors observed
that the poet's visits to her suddenly ceased; and then followed a
report that the engagement was broken, and that a bitter estrangement
existed between the two. Mr. Woodbury, Poe's biographer, doubts this,
and declares that, "We have no evidence that such was the case;" but we,
who were on the spot, as it were, and had opportunity of judging, _knew_
that the report was true. Miss Van Lew, the famous "war postmistress" of
Richmond, once said to me as, standing on the porch of her house, she
pointed out Mrs. Shelton's residence: "I used at first to often see Mr.
Poe enter there, but never during the latter part of his stay in
Richmond. It seemed to be known about here that the engagement was
off.... Gossip had it that Mrs. Shelton discarded him because persuaded
by friends that he was after her money. All her relatives are said to be
opposed to the match."

From Poe's own confidential statement to Mr. John Mackenzie, who had
first suggested the match with Mrs. Shelton, it appears that money
considerations was really the cause of the trouble. Mrs. Shelton had the
reputation of being a thorough business woman and very careful and
cautious with regard to her money. Poe was at this time canvassing in
the interests of the _Stylus_, in which he received great encouragement
from his friends, but when he applied to Mrs. Shelton it is certain that
she failed to respond as he desired. She had no faith in the success of
his plan, neither any sympathy with its purpose. Also, in discussing
arrangements for their marriage, she announced her intention of keeping
entire control of her property. Poe himself broke their engagement. Next
there arose a difficulty concerning certain letters which the lady
desired to have returned to her and which he declined to give up, except
on condition of receiving his own. Possibly each feared that these
letters might some time fall into the hands of Poe's biographers. If
they were written during his courtship of Mrs. Whitman, and when still
uncertain of the result, he appears to have been keeping Mrs. Shelton in
reserve.

Mrs. Shelton, during a few days' absence of Poe at the country home of
Mr. John Mackenzie, came to Duncan Lodge and appealed to Mrs. Mackenzie
to influence Poe in returning her letters. I saw her on this occasion--a
tall, rather masculine-looking woman, who drew her veil over her face as
she passed us on the porch, though I caught a glimpse of large, shadowy,
light blue eyes which must once have been handsome. We heard no more of
her until some time about the middle of September, when suddenly Poe's
visits to her were resumed, though in a very quiet manner. It seems
certain that the engagement was then renewed, and that Mrs. Shelton must
have promised to assist Poe in his literary enterprise; for from that
time he was enthusiastic in regard to the _Stylus_ and what he termed
its "assured success." He even commenced arranging a _Table of Contents_
for the first number of the magazine; and Mrs. Mackenzie told me how he
one morning spent an hour in her room taking from her information, notes
and _data_ for an article which he intended to appear in one of its
earliest numbers. He was in high spirits, and declared that he had never
felt in better health. This was after an attack of serious illness, due
to his association with dissipated companions. Tempted as he was on
every side and wherever he went in the city, it was not strange that he
had not always the strength of will to resist; and twice during this
visit to Richmond he was subject to attacks somewhat similar to those
which he had known at Fordham, and through which he was now kindly
nursed by his friends at Duncan Lodge.

Poe gave but one public lecture on this visit to Richmond--that on "The
Poetic Principle"--and of this most exaggerated accounts have been
given by several writers, even to the present day, they representing it
to have been a great financial success. One recent lecturer remarks upon
the strangeness of the fate when, just as the hitherto impecunious poet
was "about returning home with five thousand and five hundred dollars in
his pocket, he should have been robbed of it all." The truth of the
matter is that but two hundred and fifty tickets were printed, the price
being fifty cents each, and, as Dr. William Gibbon Carter informed me,
there were by actual count not more than one hundred persons present at
the lecture, some being holders of complimentary tickets. Another
account says there were but sixty present, but that they were of the
very _elite_ of the city. Considering that from the proceeds of the
lecture all expenses of hall rent had to be paid, we cannot wonder at
Poe's writing to Mrs. Clemm, "My poor, poor Muddie, I am yet unable to
send you a single dollar."

I was present at this lecture, with my mother and sister and Rose Poe,
who as we took seats reserved for us, left her party and joined us. I
noticed that Poe had no manuscript, and that, though he stood like a
statue, he held his audience as motionless as himself--fascinated by
his voice and expression. Rose pointed out to me Mrs. Shelton, seated
conspicuously in front of the platform, facing the lecturer. This
position gave me a good view of her, with her large, deep-set,
light-blue eyes and sunken cheeks, her straight features, high forehead
and cold expression of countenance. Doubtless she had been handsome in
her youth, but the impression which she produced upon me was that of a
sensible, practical woman, the reverse of a poet's ideal. And yet she
says "Poe often told her that she was the original of his lost
_Lenore_."

When Poe had concluded his lecture, he lightly and quickly descended the
platform and, passing Mrs. Shelton without notice, came to where we were
seated, greeting us in his usual graceful manner. He looked pleased,
smiling and handsome. The audience arose, but made no motion to retire;
watching him as he talked and evidently waiting to speak to him; but he
never glanced in their direction. Rose, radiantly happy, stood drawn up
to her full height, and observed, "Edgar, only see how the people are
staring at the poet and his sister." I believe it to have been the
proudest moment of her life, and one which she ever delighted to
recall. This occurred during the period of estrangement between Poe and
Mrs. Shelton.

Quite suddenly, in the latter part of September, Poe decided to go to
New York. His object was, as he himself declared, to make some
arrangements in regard to the _Stylus_, though gossip said to bring Mrs.
Clemm on to his marriage.

It is difficult to get a clear idea of the relation between Poe and Mrs.
Shelton, owing to the contradictory statements of the two. Undoubtedly
they must have met during Poe's first visit to Richmond, and he tells
Mrs. Whitman that he was about to address the lady when her own letters
caused him to change his mind. And yet Mrs. Shelton speaks of their
meeting on his last visit as though it had been the first since their
youthful acquaintance. As she entered the parlor, she says, on his first
call, "I knew him at once," and, as the pious and practical woman that
she was, she adds, "I told him that I was on my way to church, and that
I allowed nothing to interfere with this duty." She says also in her
_Reminiscences_, "I was never engaged to him, but there was an
understanding;" and yet, on his death, she appeared in public attired in
deepest widow's weeds. That she was devoted to him appears from her own
letter to Dr. Moran when informed by him of Poe's death, "He was dearer
to me than any other living creature." Poe himself, writing to Mrs.
Clemm, says: "Elmira has just returned from the country. I believe that
she loves me more devotedly than any one I _ever_ knew." He adds,
apparently in allusion to his marriage, "Nothing has yet been arranged,
and it will not do to hurry matters," concluding with, "If possible, I
will get married before leaving Richmond."

On his deathbed in Washington he said to Dr. Moran, "Sir, I was to have
been married in ten days," and requested him to write to Mrs. Shelton.




CHAPTER XXX.

THE MYSTERY OF FATE.


One evening--it was Sunday, the 2d of October--Dr. John Carter was
seated alone in his office when Poe entered, having just paid a farewell
visit to Mrs. Shelton before leaving in the morning for New York. He
remarked to Dr. Carter that he would probably stop for one day in
Baltimore, and perhaps also in Philadelphia, on business; would like to
remain longer, but had written to Mrs. Clemm to expect him at Fordham
some time this week. He would be back in Richmond in about a fortnight.

While talking, he took up a handsome malacca sword-cane belonging to Dr.
Carter and absently played with it. He looked grave and preoccupied;
several times inquired the hour, and at length rising suddenly, remarked
that he would step over to Saddler's restaurant and get supper. He took
the cane with him, Dr. Carter understanding from this circumstance and
his not taking leave, that he would presently return on his way to the
_Swan_, where he had left his baggage. He did not, however, reappear;
and on the next morning Dr. Carter inquired about him at Saddler's. The
proprietor said that Poe and two friends had remained to a late hour,
talking and drinking moderately, and had then left together to go aboard
the boat, which would start at four o'clock for Baltimore. He said that
Poe, when he left, was in good spirits and quite sober; though this last
may be doubted, since he not only forgot to return Dr. Carter's cane but
to send for his own baggage at the Swan Some persons have insisted that
Poe must have been drugged by these men, who were strangers to Mr.
Saddler, and there was even a sensational story published in a Northern
magazine to the effect that Poe had been followed to Baltimore by two of
Mrs. Shelton's brothers, and there, after having certain letters taken
from him, beaten so severely that he was found dying in an obscure
alley. This story was first started by Mrs. Elizabeth Oakes Smith in one
of the New York journals, though it does not appear from what source she
derived her information. No denial was made or notice taken of it by
Mrs. Shelton's friends, and the story gradually died out.

For over forty years the mystery of the tragic death of the poet
remained a mystery, strangely and persistently defying all attempts at
elucidation. But within the last few years there has appeared in a St.
Louis paper a communication which professes to give a truthful account
of the circumstances connected with the poet's death, and which wears
such an appearance of probability that it is at least worth considering.

This letter, which is addressed to the editor of the paper, is from a
certain Dr. Snodgrass, who represents himself to have been for many
years a resident of Dakota. He says that on the evening of October 2,
1849, being in Baltimore, he stepped into a plain but respectable
eating-house or restaurant kept by an Irish widow, where, to his
surprise, he met with Poe, whom he had once been accustomed to meet
here, but had not seen for some years. After taking some refreshment,
they left the place together, but had not proceeded far when they were
seized upon by two men, who hurried them off to some place where they
were, with several others, kept close prisoners through the night and
following day, though otherwise well treated. It was the eve of a great
municipal election, and the city was wild with excitement. Next evening
the kidnappers, having drugged their captives, hurried them to the
polls, where they, in a half-conscious condition, were made to vote over
and over again. The doctor, it appears, was only partially affected, but
Poe succumbed utterly, and at length one of the men said, "What is the
use of dragging around a dead man?" With that, they called a hack, put
Poe within it, and ordered the driver to take him to the Washington
Hospital.

Dr. Snodgrass says positively: "I myself saw Poe thrust into the hack,
heard the order given, and saw the vehicle drive off with its
unconscious burden."

Thus--if this account may be relied upon--ended the strange, sad tragedy
of the poet's life; none stranger, none sadder, in all the annals of
modern literature.

Dr. Snodgrass intimates that his reason for so long a delay in making
this story known was his unwillingness to have his own part in the
affair exposed, and with the notoriety which its connection with the
poet would render unavoidable. But now, he says, in his old age, and
having outlived all who knew him at the time, this consideration is of
little worth to him. If the story be not true, we cannot see why it
should have been invented. At least, it cannot, at the present day, be
disproved, and it certainly appears to be the most probable and natural
explanation of the poet's death that has been given. It agrees also with
Dr. Moran's account of Poe's condition when he was received at the
hospital, and with the latter's earnest assurance that he himself was
not responsible for that condition, and also with his requesting that
Dr. Snodgrass be sent for. The kidnappers had probably exchanged his
garments for others as a means of disguise, intending to restore them
eventually. They at least did not take from him the handsome malacca
cane which was in his grasp when he reached the hospital; and which
which would tend to prove that he was not then altogether unconscious.
This cane was, at Dr. Carter's request, returned to him by Mrs. Clemm,
to whom Dr. Moran sent it. His baggage, left at the Swan, was sent by
Mr. Mackenzie to Mrs. Clemm, disproving the story that it had been
stolen from him in Baltimore.

In addition to the above, we find another and very similar account,
apparently by the same Dr. Snodgrass, in the "_San Francisco Chronicle_
of August 31," the date of the year not appearing on the clipping from
which I make the following extracts:

"You say that Poe did not die from the effects of deliberate
dissipation?" asked the _Chronicle_ reporter.

"That is just what I do mean; and I say further that he died from the
effects of deliberate murder."

The author of this assertion was a well-known member of this city's
advanced and inveterate Bohemia; a gentleman who has long since retired
from the active pursuits of his profession and spends his old age in
dreamy meditation, frequenting one of the popular resorts of the craft,
but mingling little in their society. When joining in their
conversation, it is generally to correct some errors from his
inexhaustible mine of reminiscences, and on these occasions his words
are few and precise.

"Then you knew something of the poet, Doctor?"

"I was his intimate associate for years. Much that biographers have said
of him is false, especially regarding his death. Poe was not an habitual
drunkard, but he was a steady drinker when his means admitted of it.
His habitual resort when in Baltimore was the Widow Meagher's place, on
the city front, inexpensive, but respectable, having an oyster and
liquor stand, and corresponding in some respects with the coffee shops
of San Francisco. Here I frequently met him."

"But about his death?"

"The mystery of the poet's death had remained a mystery for more than
forty years when there appeared in a Texas paper an article from the pen
of the editor, in which he gave a letter from a Dr. Snodgrass professing
to reveal the truth of the matter.

"About the time that this article was published there appeared one in
the San Francisco _Chronicle_ by a reporter of that paper, telling of an
interview which he had with this same Dr. Snodgrass, of whom he says:
'He was a well-known literary Bohemian of this city who long ago gave up
his profession and is spending his old age in a state of dreamy
existence from which he is seldom aroused except to correct some error
concerning people and things of past times, of which he possesses a mine
of reminiscences.'"

The Doctor, denying that Poe had died from dissipation, gave an account
of the manner of his death as he knew it, corresponding in all
particulars with that given by him to the Texas editor. In conclusion,
he said:

"Poe did not die of dissipation. I say that he was deliberately
murdered. He died of laudanum or some other drug forced upon him by his
kidnappers. When one said, 'What is the use of carrying around a dying
man?' they put him in a cab and sent him to the hospital. I was there
and saw it myself."

"Poe had been shifting about between Baltimore, Philadelphia and New
York for some years. Once he had been away for several months in
Richmond, and one evening turned up at the widow's. I was there when he
came in. Then it was drinks all round, and at length we were real jolly.
It was the eve of an election, and we started up town. There were four
of us, and we had not gone half a dozen squares when we were nabbed by
policemen, who were looking up voters to "coop." It was the practice in
those days to seize people, whether drunk or sober, and keep them locked
up until the polls were opened and then march them to every precinct in
control of the party having the coop. This coop was in the rear of an
engine-house on Calvert street. It was part of the plan to stupefy the
prisoners with drugged liquor. Next day we were voted at thirty
different places, it being as much as one's life was worth to rebel. Poe
was so badly drugged that he had to be carried on two or three rounds,
and then the gang said it was no use trying any longer to vote a dead
man and must get rid of him. And with that they shoved him into a cab
and sent him away."

"Then he died from dissipation, after all?"

"Nothing of the kind. He died from the effects of laudanum or some other
poison forced on him in the coop. He was in a dying condition when being
voted twenty or thirty times. The story told by Griswold and others of
his being picked up in the street is a lie. I saw him thrust into the
cab myself."

And Mrs. Clemm?

When she received Poe's letter bidding her to expect him at Fordham that
week, she hastened thither to set her house in order for his reception.
Day after day she watched and waited, but he did not come. And at
length, when the week had passed, she one evening sat alone in the
little cottage around which and through the naked branches of the cherry
tree the October wind was sighing, and in anguish of spirit wrote to
"Annie":

"Eddie is dead--_dead_."




CHAPTER XXXI.

AFTER THE WAR.


In the fall of 1865--the year which saw the conclusion of the unhappy
war--I returned to Richmond and to my old home of Talavera, which I had
not seen in four years.

What a shock to me was the first sight of it! In place of the pleasant,
smiling home, there stood a bare and lonely house in the midst of
encircling fortifications, still bristling with dismantled
gun-carriages. Every outbuilding had disappeared. All the beautiful
trees which had made it so attractive--even the young cedar of Lebanon,
which had been our pride--were gone; greenhouses, orchard, vineyard,
everything, had been swept away, leaving only a dead level overgrown
with broom-straw, amidst which were scattered rusted bayonets and a few
hardy plants struggling through the trampled ground. The place was no
longer "_Talavera_," but "_Battery 10_."

In this desolate abode I remained some time, awaiting the arrival of
our scattered family, and with no protectors save a faithful old negro
couple. Each evening we would barricade as well as we could the entrance
to the fort, as some slight protection against the hordes of newly freed
negroes who roamed the country, living on whatever they could pick up.

One evening when we had taken this precaution, some one was heard
calling without, and, mounting the ramparts, I beheld a forlorn looking
figure in black standing upon the outer edge of the trench. It proved to
be Rosalie Poe; and when I had brought her into the light and warmth of
the fire, I saw how changed and ill she appeared. She told me of the
Mackenzies. Mrs. Mackenzie was dead. "Mat" (Mrs. Byrd) was a widow, with
a beautiful young daughter, and her brother, Mr. Richard, was in
wretched health. Miss Jane Mackenzie had died in England, leaving her
fortune to her brother, residing there, and the destruction of the war
had completed the poverty of the family. They lived on a little place in
the country, with a cow and a garden as their chief means of support.
"They have to work for a living now," Rose said, forlornly; "but I am
not strong enough to work. I am going to Baltimore, to my relations
there, and see what they can do for me."

I inquired after young Dr. Mackenzie, gay, handsome, genial "Tom," whom
everybody loved.

"Tom is dead," said Rose, sadly. "He died of camp-fever and bad food.
When he came home he had only the clothes which he wore, and a neighbor
gave us something to bury him in."

With a pang I thought of the gay wedding at Duncan Lodge, and the happy
faces that had been there assembled.

When Rose left me, I could but hope that she would be kindly received by
her relatives in Baltimore. But some months thereafter, being in New
York, I received from her a number of photographs of her brother, which
she begged of me to dispose of for her benefit at one dollar each. Mrs.
M. A. Kidder, of Boston, kindly interested herself in the matter, but
wrote me that she met with but poor success, at even the reduced price
of twenty-five cents, people saying that they had not sufficient respect
for Poe's character to care to possess his portrait. I found it to be
nearly the same in New York. And meantime Rose wrote me every few days.

"DEAR S----: Haven't you got anything for me yet? Do try and do
something for me, for I am worse off now than ever. I walk about the
streets all day" (trying to dispose of her brother's pictures), "and at
night have to look for a place to sleep. I feel like a lost sheep."

Thus the sister of Edgar A. Poe, in the year 1868, wandered homeless and
friendless through the streets of Baltimore, as more than thirty years
previous her brother had done.

We heard long afterward that, through some kind Northern lady, she
applied for admittance to the _Louise Home_, in Washington, which Mr.
Corcoran was willing to grant, but that certain of his "guests"--ladies
who had formerly occupied high social positions--were of opinion that,
considering Miss Poe's eccentricities, she would be better suited and
better satisfied in a less pretentious establishment. Finally she was
received into the "_Epiphany Church Home_," in Washington, where she
seems to have enjoyed a good deal of liberty, being often seen riding on
the street cars and visiting the offices of wealthy business men, who,
if they did not care to possess a photograph of Poe, were yet willing to
assist his penniless sister. It was never known what she did with the
money so collected; but from a letter to Mrs. Byrd, it would appear
that her intention was to purchase a grave for herself near that of her
brother. Mrs. Byrd wrote to me: "I think Poe's friends might lay Rose in
a grave beside him. It has always been her dearest wish."

Rosalie Poe died suddenly, with a letter in her hand but that moment
received, and which, when opened, proved to be from Mr. George W.
Childs, enclosing a check for fifty dollars; doubtless in answer to an
application for aid.

They gave her a pauper's grave in the cemetery of the Epiphany Church
Home. The record of her death by the Board is:

"_Rosalie Poe. Died June 14, 1874. Aged 64._"

Some years after the death of Rose Poe, I received a visit from Mrs.
Byrd, whom I had not seen since the war, and we talked over times past
and present. It had been Rosalie's own choice, she said, to go to
Baltimore. She did not like the country or the hard life which they were
leading. She must have collected considerable money, but never told
where she kept it; nor was it ever found.

She told me about her family. Her pretty daughter had married a poor man
in preference to a rich one who had offered, and they had two beautiful
babies and were very happy. Her brother Richard was infirm and able to
do but little work. They had a little place in the country, where they
raised their own vegetables, and sent poultry and eggs to market. She
and her son-in-law did all the hard work about the place. "I wash and
cook for six persons," said she, cheerily. "Yes," she continued, in her
old quaint way, "we are poor, but respectable, and I am more content
than ever I was at Duncan Lodge. I feel that I have something to live
for, and the working life suits me. Yes, we are happy; although there
are not two tea-cups in the house of the same pattern."

She spoke of Poe, whom she considered to have been always unjustly
treated. Everybody could see what his faults were, but few gave him
credit for his good qualities--his generous nature and kindly and
affectionate disposition, especially as exemplified in the harmony
always existing between himself and his wife and mother-in-law. While
giving the latter full credit for her devotion to Edgar, her impression
was that, except in the matter of his dissipation, her influence over
him had not been for good. Her mother and brother, John, believed that
the marriage with Virginia had been the greatest misfortune of his
life, and that he himself, while patiently resigning himself to his lot,
had come to regard it as such.

Some ten years after the death of Poe I received from Mrs. Clemm a
letter giving a pathetic account of her homelessness and poverty. But,
she added, she had been offered a home with her relatives at the South;
and she appealed to me, as a friend of her "Eddie," to assist her in
raising the money necessary to pay her expenses thither. A similar
appeal she made to other of Poe's former friends; but we heard of her
afterward as an inmate of the Church Home Infirmary in Baltimore, where
she died in 1871, having outlived her son-in-law some twenty-two years.
It is a curious coincidence that the building in which she died was the
same in which, as the Washington Hospital, Poe had breathed his last.

Her grave is in Westminster cemetery, and in sight of Poe's monument.




CHAPTER XXXII.

POE'S CHARACTER.


In order thoroughly to understand Poe, it is necessary that one should
recognize the dominant trait of his character--a trait which affected
and in a measure overruled all the rest--in a word, _weakness of will_.

"Unstable as water," is written upon Poe's every visage in characters
which all might read; in the weak falling away of the outline of the
jaw, the narrow, receding chin, and the sensitive, irresolute mouth.
Above the soul-lighted eyes and the magnificent temple of intellect
overshadowing them, we look in vain for the rising dome of _Firmness_,
which, like the keystone of the arch, should strengthen and bind
together the rest. Lacking this, the arch must be ever tottering to a
fall.

To this weakness of will we may trace nearly every other defect in Poe's
character, together with most of the disappointments and failures in
whatsoever he undertook. He lacked the resolution and persistence
necessary to battle against obstacles, to persevere to the end against
opposition and discouragement, and to resist temptations and influences
which he knew would lead him astray from the object which he had at
heart. In this way he lost many a coveted prize when it seemed almost
within his grasp.

The accepted opinion is that Poe's dissipation was his chief fault, as
it was that to which was owing his ruin in the end. But even this was
the effect chiefly of weakness of will. He was not by nature inclined to
evil, but the contrary; and we have seen that, when left to himself and
not exposed to temptation, he was, from all accounts, "sober,
industrious and exemplary in his conduct." But he lacked firmness to
resist the temptation which, more than in the case of most men, assailed
him on every side.

Dr. William Gibbon Carter has told me how, when Poe was in Richmond on
his last visit, and doing his best to remain sober, he would in his
visits and strolls about the city be constantly greeted by friends and
acquaintances with invitations to "take a julep." It was the custom of
the time. Poe, said Dr. Carter, in one morning declined twenty-four such
invitations, but finally yielded; and the consequence was the severe
illness which threatened his life whilst in the city. The effect of one
glass on him, said the Doctor, was that of several on any other man.
Often he was tempted to drink from an amiable reluctance to decline the
offered hospitality.

A marked peculiarity of Poe's character was the restless discontent
which from his sixteenth year took possession of and clung to him
through life, and was to him a source of much unhappiness. It was not
the discontent of poverty or of ungratified worldly ambition, but the
dissatisfaction of a genius which knows itself capable of higher things,
from which it is debarred--the desire of the caged eagle for the
wind-swept sky and the distant eyrie. He was not satisfied with being a
mere writer of stories. He believed that, with a broader scope, he could
wield a powerful influence over the literary world and make a record for
strength, brilliancy and originality of thought which would render his
name famous in other countries as in this. His desire was to set
established rules and conventionalities at defiance, and to be fearless,
independent, dominant in his assertion of himself and his ideas and
convictions. As an editor writing for other editors, he found himself
trammeled by what he called their narrowness and timidity. He must be
his own master, his own editor; and hence his lifelong dream and desire
took form in the conception of the Stylus--that _ignis fatuus_ which he
pursued to the last day of his life--uncertain, elusive, yet ever
eagerly sought, and always ending in disappointment and bitterness of
soul. Time and again it seemed within his grasp, and, as he exultantly
proclaimed, "his prospects glorious," when, by his own weakness of will,
it was lost to him.

Undoubtedly, one of the chief factors in the non-success of Poe's life
and its consequent unhappiness was his marriage.

Setting aside the poetic imaginings which have been and doubtless will
continue to be written concerning this marriage as one of idylic mutual
love and "idolatry," the story, in the light of established facts,
resolves itself into a very prosaic one.

Mr. John Mackenzie, Poe's lifelong and only intimate and confidential
friend, never hesitated to say that had Poe been left to himself the
idea would never have occurred to him of marrying his little
child-cousin. In no transaction of his life was his pitiable weakness
more manifest than in this feeble yielding of himself to the dominant
will of a mother-in-law.

Had Poe remained single or have married another than Virginia, his
regard for her would have continued just what it had been in the
beginning and what it remained to the end--the affection of a brother or
cousin for a sweet and lovable child. But no one can believe that Poe's
nature could have found its satisfying in such a marriage; and, in fact,
whatsoever sentimental things he may have written concerning it, his
whole conduct goes to prove its insincerity.

Poe was of all men one who most craved and needed the love and sympathy
of a woman of a nature kindred to his own--a woman of talent and
qualities of mind and heart to appreciate his genius and all that was
best in him; one who would be to him not only a congenial companion, but
a "helpmeet" as well. Had he married one of Mrs. Osgood's tender
sensibilities and feminine charm, or Mrs. Whitman, with her talent and
strong character, or even a woman of the practical good sense and
judgment of Mrs. Shew, who knew so well how to care for him mentally and
physically--Poe would have been a different man.

But his imprudent and, as it has been called, unnatural marriage, cut
him off from what would probably have been the highest happiness of his
life, with its accompanying worldly and social advantages, and bound him
down to a life of unceasing toil, penury and helplessness. It deprived
him of a social position and social enjoyment; for his poverty-stricken
"home" was never one to which he could invite his friends; and he
himself seems never to have found in it any real pleasure, but to have
regarded it merely as a haven of refuge in seasons of distress. But as
the years went by and, despite his incessant toil, his life and his home
grew more cheerless and poverty-stricken, he became hopeless and in a
measure reckless. It is to be noted that it was only after the death of
his wife that he appeared to recover anything like hope or energy. Then
his prospects suddenly brightened in the love of a good and talented
woman who could have made his life happy and prosperous, when, owing to
his miserable weakness of will in yielding to temptation, for which
there was no excuse, it was all at once swept from his grasp.

Mr. John Mackenzie might well have said, as he did, that Poe's marriage
was the greatest misfortune of his life and as a millstone around his
neck, holding him down against every effort to rise. But perhaps not
even this close friend knew how keenly the poet must have felt the
narrowness of his life, the sordidness of his home, and the humiliation
of his poverty. Patiently and uncomplainingly he bore his unhappy lot;
and it is to be noted to his credit that howsoever he might at times go
astray, no word or act of unkindness toward the wife and mother who
loved him was ever known to escape from him.

It will be seen from all that has here been written, in the light of
prosaic truth, that Poe's real character was one very different from
that which it has pleased the world in general to ascribe to
him--judging him as it does by the character of his writings as a poet.
The folly of such judgment, and the extent to which it was until
recently carried, is simply surprising. It is true that he appeared to
have but one ideal--the death of a woman young, lovely and beloved--and
that ideal in the imagining of the world resolved itself into the
personality of his wife. She, they concluded, was the original of all
the Lenores, and Anabel Lees, and Ullalumes, which inspired his
melancholy and despairing lyre; and in its gloom and hopelessness they
could see nothing but the expression of the poet's own nature. As well
have accused Rembrandt of being gloomy and morose because he painted in
dark colors. Like the artist, Poe loved obscure and sombre ideas and
conceptions, and he delighted in embodying these in his poems as much as
Rembrandt did in transferring his own to canvas.




APPENDIX.


NO. 1.

Lest the reader should be under the impression that much of what I
relate concerning Poe's childhood and certain circumstances connected
with his early youth is taken from Gill's _Life of Poe_, I will make an
explanation.

At the time when the first edition of Gill's work was issued I was
engaged in writing what I intended to be a little book concerning Poe,
compiled from my own personal knowledge of him and what I had been told
by others. In some way Gill heard of this, and wrote to me, coolly
requesting to be allowed to see my manuscript, which I, of course,
excused myself from doing. Again and again he wrote, saying that he
"merely wished to see exactly what I had written." In self-defence,
I finally sent him the first part or chapter of the manuscript, he
promising to return it as soon as read. After some weeks it was returned
to me, without a word accompanying; and at the same time a second
edition of Gill's "_Life_" was issued--the first having been
suppressed--in which, to my surprise, I found copious extracts from my
manuscript. All those little anecdotes of Poe's childhood were thus
appropriated, with more important matter--such as Poe's dissipation when
in Richmond and his enlisting in the army, both of which Gill had in his
first edition positively denied; and this he made use of as though it
had been his own original material. My book was, of course, ruined, and
all that I could do was, some years after, to write "_The Last Days of
Poe_," published in _Scribner's Magazine_, though even from this Gill
made "_Notes_" for the Appendix of his second or third edition.

Some of the material thus appropriated by Gill I have reclaimed and
inserted in this work. A comparison between the first and second edition
of Gill's "_Life of Poe_" affords a curious study, since in the second
he has carefully corrected the misstatements of the former from my
manuscript.

My friend, Gen. Roger A. Pryor, late Judge of the Supreme Court of New
York, brought suit against Gill in this matter, but met with so much
trouble and annoyance by reason of the latter's persistence in evading
it, that it was finally, at my own earnest request, abandoned.

Mr. Gill, I am informed, is still living.


NOTE 2.

A strange fate was that of the poet's family, all of whom were indebted
to charity for a last resting place.

His father, David Poe, died in Norfolk in the summer of 1811. His grave
is unknown.

His mother was buried by charity in Richmond, December 9, 1811.

His wife was indebted for a grave near Fordham, in New York, to
charitable contributions of friends.

His sister, Rosalie Mackenzie Poe, died July 14, 1874, and was given a
pauper's grave in the cemetery of the Epiphany Church Home, in
Washington.

Mrs. Clemm, his mother-in-law, died an inmate of the Church Home
Infirmary, Baltimore, and was buried by the charity of friends in
Westminster churchyard of that city in 1871.

Poe himself, whose last days were passed in a charitable institute, was
indebted to relatives for a grave.

Truly a record unparalleled in the annals of Literary History.

       *       *       *       *       *




BOOKS YOU MUST READ

SOONER OR LATER


_Reuben: His Book_

BY MORTON H. PEMBERTON.

Cloth, Gilt lettering, 12mo. Postpaid, $1.00. Portrait in Colors.

One of the funniest, cleverest, uniquest volumes of the day, it has won
spontaneous and unanimous approval from reviewers the country over.

Just hear what a few of them say:

CHAMP CLARK.--"I haven't laughed so much since I first read Mark Twain's
'Roughing It.'"

GLOBE-DEMOCRAT.--"This little book has the merit of brevity, variety and
humor. It is safe to say that the book will have many readers and that
it will afford much amusement."

ST. LOUIS REPUBLIC.--"The book is already heading the list of 'best
sellers,' and deserves to go. It is GOOD. It is the sort of thing which
might move the provincial journalist to say, 'Reub, here's our hand.'"


_A Scarlet Repentance_

BY ARCHIE BELL.

Cloth, 12mo. Price, $1.00.

One Review: "The history of one night and one day's flaming passion
between a beautiful Italian woman and a handsome youth--strangers--who
meet upon a Pullman car. There comes into the story all the elementary
passions, hatred, jealousy, desire and--sorrow.

"It is a story that will appeal to those who prefer novels in which
red blood is throbbing madly. It is not for prudes, nor for parsons,
nor poseurs. It's a book for men and women who have lived."--The
Club-Fellow.


Broadway Publishing Company,

835 Broadway, New York.




Sam S. & Lee Shubert


direct the following theatres and theatrical attractions in America:

  Hippodrome, Lyric, Casino, Dalys, Lew Fields, Herald Square
          and Princess Theatres, New York.
  Garrick Theatre, Chicago.
  Lyric Theatre, Philadelphia.
  Shubert Theatre, Brooklyn.
  Belasco Theatre, Washington.
  Belasco Theatre, Pittsburg.
  Shubert Theatre, Newark.
  Shubert Theatre, Utica.
  Grand Opera House, Syracuse.
  Baker Theatre, Rochester.
  Opera House, Providence.
  Worcester Theatre, Worcester.
  Hyperion Theatre, New Haven.
  Lyceum Theatre, Buffalo.
  Colonial Theatre, Cleveland.
  Rand's Opera House, Troy.
  Garrick Theatre, St. Louis.
  Sam S. Shubert Theatre, Norfolk, Va.
  Shubert Theatre, Columbus.
  Lyric, Cincinnati.
  Mary Anderson Theatre, Louisville.
  New Theatre, Richmond, Va.
  New Theatre, Lexington, Ky.
  New Theatre, Mobile.
  New Theatre, Atlanta.
  Shubert Theatre, Milwaukee.
  Lyric Theatre, New Orleans.
  New Marlowe Theatre, Chattanooga.
  New Theatre, Detroit.
  Grand Opera House, Davenport, Iowa.
  New Theatre, Toronto.
  New Sothern Theatre, Denver.
  Sam S. Shubert Theatre, Kansas City.
  Majestic Theatre, Los Angeles.
  Belasco Theatre, Portland.
  Shubert Theatre, Seattle.
  Majestic Theatre, San Francisco.
  E. H. Sothern & Julia Marlowe in repertoire.
  Margaret Anglin and Henry Miller.
  Virginia Harned.
  Mary Mannering in "Glorious Betsy."
  Mme. Alla Nazimova.
  Thos. W. Ross in "The Other Girl."
  Cecelia Loftus.
  Clara Bloodgood.
  Blanche Ring.
  Alexander Carr.
  Digby Bell.
  "The Girl Behind the Counter."
  "The Light Eternal."
  "The Snow Man."
  Blanche Bates in "The Girl from the Golden West."
  David Warfield in "The Music Master."
  "The Rose of the Rancho," with Rose Starr.
  HARRISON GRAY FISKE'S ATTRACTIONS.
  Mrs. Fiske in "The New York Idea."
  "Shore Acres."
  Louis Mann in "The White Hen."
  "The Road to Yesterday."
  Henry Woodruff in "Brown of Harvard."
  "The Secret Orchard," by Channing Pollock.
  De Wolf Hopper in "Happyland."
  Eddie Foy in "The Orchid."
  Marguerite Clark, in a new opera.
  "The Social Whirl," with Chas. J. Ross.
  James T. Powers in "The Blue Moon."
  Bertha Kalich. "Leah Kleschna."
  "The Man on the Box."
  Cyril Scott in "The Prince Chap."
  "Mrs. Temple's Telegram."
  "The Three of Us."

You cannot go wrong in selecting one of these play-houses for an
evening's entertainment in whatever city you may happen to be.




Books From Our List of Religious Character


THE SINNER'S FRIEND

By Col. C. G. Samuel

New (4th) Edition with alterations and additions in text and
illustrations

Postpaid $1.00


ST. JOHN IN PATMOS

By (late) Rev. Peyton Gallagher

$1.00 Postpaid


A BROTHER OF CHRIST

By Ingram Crockett

$1.50 Postpaid


These and other Religious Works fully described in circulars, gladly
mailed

BROADWAY PUB., CO. 835 B'way, N.Y.






