Edgar Allan Poe: His Life, Letters, and Opinions — John H. Ingram, 1880, volume II — reading text

Virginia (there being some left of the first package, which I will put away for any emergency). The wine was a great blessing to us while she needed it, and by its cheering and tonic influence we were enabled to keep her a few days longer with us. The little darling always took it smiling, even when difficult to get it down. But for your timely aid, my dear Mrs. S., we should have had no last words — no loving messages no sweet farewells, for she ceased to speak (from weakness) but with her beautiful eyes! . . . Eddie has quite set his heart upon the wine going back to you, thinking and hoping you may find it useful for the sick artist you mentioned ‘as convalescent and in need of delicacies.’ God bless you, my sweet child, and come soon to your sorrowing and desolate friend, “MARIA CLEMM. “P. S. — We look for you in an early train to-morrow, and hope you will stay as long as possible. What we should do without you now is fearful to think of Eddie says you promised Virginia to come every other day for a long time, or until he was able to go to work again. I hope and believe you will not fail him; and I pray that every blessing may be yours, and may follow you in life, as your angelic tenderness and compassion deserve. “Mr. C —— will tell you of our condition, as he is going to call for this note in an hour’s time; and, until we see you, farewell.” For a few days, Edgar Poe, under the careful nursing which he received, appeared to recover, and during this short period of temporary convalescence indited the lines “To M—— L—— S——” (Marie Louise Shew). In this overflowing of an intense gratitude to her to whom he owed “The resurrection of deep-buried faith In Truth — in Virtue — in Humanity,” the poet poured forth his thanks with all the vehemence of his impassioned nature, and all untrammelled by the ordinary conventionalities of that everyday life which he so hated and so despised. The poet’s convalescence was of ’short duration, and was terminated by a vain attempt to grapple with the difficulties of his position. He endeavoured to resume his correspondence, which involved him in all kinds of worries and distressing themes. On the 16th of February he replied to a correspondent who had informed him of a gross charge of plagiarism, which had been set afloat during his disabled condition.* On the 17th of the same month, his suit against the Mirror for the publication of the Dunn-English libel terminated in the poet’s favour, the jury awarding Poe $225 for defamation of his character, and this, notwithstanding the intemperate reply he had published. Of the award it appears probable that he never received a single dollar, the amount, if ever paid, apparently finding its way into the pockets of those who carried on the case for him. Meanwhile, Poe suffered a relapse, and for some time his life was in danger. Mrs. Shew, however, did not forget her promise to his dead wife, and still con tinued her friendly exertions on the poet’s behalf Naturally, this kind lady could not provide for all the poet’s requirements, she wrote, therefore, to a friend in the New York Union Club on the subject, and he brought the matter under the notice of some of the members, many of whom were personally acquainted with Poe. General Scott, who was present at the time, gave his five dollars, saying, “I wish I could make it five hundred,” adding, that he believed “Poe to be much belied; that he had noble and generous traits, which belonged to the old and better school,” concluding what was quite a speech for the old, hero, that “true-hearted Americans ought to take care of her poets as well as her soldiers.” General Scott, it should be pointed out, was uncle to the second wife of Mr. Allan, Poe’s adoptive father; had known the poet from his childhood, and had obtained him his nomination to the West Point Military Academy. A private collection of about one hundred dollars was made, and with this, and certain amounts sent by “Stella” (Mrs. Lewis), and other literary friends, old debts were paid of, and all urgent necessities provided for. During the height of this last attack Mrs. Shew, who was a doctor’s only daughter, and had received a medical education, nursed the invalid herself, alternating her nights at the bedside with Mrs. Clemm. The diary which she kept at that time she generously placed at our disposal, so far as it related to Poe, and from it the following interesting particulars are extracted: — “I made my diagnosis, and went to the great Dr. Mott with it; I told him that at best, when Mr. Poe was well, his pulse beat only, ten regular beats, after which it suspended, or intermitted (as doctors say). I decided that in his best health he had lesion of one side of the brain, and as he could not bear stimulants or tonics, without producing insanity, I did not feel much hope that he could be raised up from brain fever brought on by extreme suffering of mind and body — actual want, and hunger, and cold having been borne by this heroic husband in order to supply food, medicine, and comforts to his dying wife — until exhaustion and lifelessness were so near at every reaction of the fever, that even sedatives had to be administered with extreme caution. . . . From the time the fever came on until I could reduce his pulse to eighty beats, he talked to me incessantly of the past, which was all new to none, and often begged me to write his fancies for him, for he said he had promised so many greedy publishers his next efforts, that they would not only say that he did not keep his word, but would also revenge themselves by saying all sorts of evil of him if he should die.” The jottings taken down by Mrs. Shew at that time refer chiefly to Poe’s early life, and have already been made use of in a former portion of this narrative. As soon as the poet was enabled to get about again — for nature gradually reasserted her influence — he began to resume his wonted avocations. As yet, he was still unable to execute any continuous literary work, but, as a beginning, he attempted to pay off his epistolary debts. Upon the 10th of March he wrote to Mrs. Locke, of Lowell, Massachusetts, who, upon the publication of the newspaper paragraphs referring to his illness and poverty, had sent him some verses,* and a sympathetic letter proffering to assist him: — “In answering your kind letter permit me in the very first place to absolve myself from a suspicion which, under the circumstances, you could scarcely have failed to entertain a suspicion of discourtesy towards yourself, in not having more promptly replied to you. . . . I could not help fearing that should you see my letter to Mr. Willis — in which a natural pride, which I feel you could not blame, impelled me to shrink from public charity, even at the cost of truth, in denying those necessities which were but too real — I could not help fearing that, should you see this letter, you would yourself feel pained at having caused me pain — at having been the means of giving further publicity to an unfounded report — at all events to the report of a wretchedness which I had thought it prudent (since the world regards wretchedness as a crime) so publicly to disavow. In a word, venturing to judge your noble nature by my own, I felt grieved lest my published denial might cause you to regret what you had done; and my first impulse was to write you, and assure you, even at the risk of doing so too warmly, of the sweet emotion, made up of respect and gratitude alone, with which my heart was filled to overflowing. While I was hesitating, however, in regard to the propriety of this step, I was overwhelmed by a sorrow so poignant as to deprive me for several weeks of all power of thought or action. Your letter, now lying before me, tells me that I had not been mistaken in your nature, and that I should not have hesitated to have addressed you; but believe me, my dear Mrs. Locke, that I am already ceasing to regard those difficulties or misfortunes which have led me to even this partial correspondence with yourself.” The New England lady was only too delighted to have elicited a response from the famous poet, and such a confidential one too — for Poe, like Byron, Burns, and other brother bards, was ready to bare the secrets of his heart of hearts to the veriest stranger — and at once drew him into a correspondence that grew into personal acquaintance, and, eventually, entangled him in one of the most troublesome imbroglios of his life. On the day following that on which the letter cited from above was written, the poet sent this little note to the representatives of the “Philosophical Society” of Wittenberg College, Springfield, Ohio, in acknowledgment of their letter informing him of his election, on the preceding 9th of February, to the honorary membership of that institution: — “NEW YORK, March 11, 1847. “GENTLEMEN, — Very serious illness has hitherto prevented me from replying to your most flattering letter of the 24th ult. “May I now beg you to express to your Society my grateful acceptance and appreciation of the honour they have conferred on me? — With respect da esteem, I am, gentlemen, Yo. Mo. ob. St., EDGAR A. POE.” This fair specimen of autograph hunters’ success in “drawing out” a distinguished contemporary having been disposed of, the poet is also found writing on the same date to an esteemed correspondent, on various topics already referred to, such as the Philadelphia Saturday Evening Post’s charge of plagiarising Captain Brown’s book on Conchology; the result of the suit against the Mirror; the projected Stylus magazine; the “Valdemar Case,” and other matters. He remarks, “I am still quite sick, and overwhelmed with business — but snatch a few moments to reply to yours of the 21st ult. . . . I cannot tell why the review of Hawthorne does not appear — but I presume we shall have it by and by. He (Mr. Godey) paid me for it, when I sent it — so I have no business to ask about it.” During the remainder of 1847 the poet led a secluded life with his mother-in-law, Mrs. Clemm, receiving occasional visits from his friends and admirers, but rarely forsaking the precincts of his sorrow-hallowed cottage. Mrs. Shew continued to visit Fordham at such intervals as her active life allowed, and on certain yet unfrequent occasions her patient went to New York. In her diary of this year Mrs. Shew has the following interesting reminiscence: — “Mr. Poe came to town to go to a midnight service with a lady friend and myself. He went with us and followed the service like a churchman, looking directly towards the chancel, and holding one side of my prayer-book; sang the psalms with us, and to my astonishment struck up a tenor to our soprano; and got along nicely during the first part of the service, which was on the subject of the sympathies of our soul with our wants. The passage being often repeated, ‘He was a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief,’ he begged me to remain quiet, and saying he would wait for us outside, he rushed out, too excited to stay. I knew he would not leave us to return home alone (although my friend thought it doubtful), and so, after the sermon, as I began to feel anxious — as we were in a strange church — I looked back and saw his pale face. As the congregation rose to sing the hymn, ‘Jesus, Saviour of my soul,’ he appeared at my side, and sang the hymn without looking at the book, in a fine, clear tenor. He looked inspired. . . I did not dare to ask him why he left, but he mentioned after we got home that the subject ‘was marvellously handled.’ ” Poe rarely forsook Fordham, however, during the year following his lost Lenore’s death, but spent his time in mourning over her memory, and in thinking out the plan of the great and crowning work of his life — his great philosophical “prose-poem” “Eureka.” Whilst engaged upon this work, records Mrs. Shew, he was quite certain of success. She endeavoured to curb his over sanguine