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

also, arrive at the conclusion that Poe has, if possible, in this instance, made “confusion worse confounded.” The study of his own harmonious verse will afford better instruction than all the prosodies ever published. For the forthcoming year the poet agreed to contribute a further series of “Marginalia” to the Southern Literary Messenger and Graham’s Magazine, and to write the literary notices for a projected publication, to be called the American Metropolitan. Of the last named magazine only two numbers were published, and to one of them Mrs. Whitman sent a poem entitled “Stanzas for Music.”* From these verses, which were intended to meet Poe’s eyes and, in all probability, did come under his notice, their authoress firmly believed the poet was induced to write, as some kind of a response, his beautiful ballad of “Annabel Lee.” Mrs. Whitman’s lines are as follows, the words italicised being those supposed to have more directly suggested Poe’s presumed reply: — “Tell him I lingered alone on the shore, Where we parted, in sorrow, to meet never more; The night wind blew cold on my desolate heart, But colder those wild words of doom, ‘Ye must part!’ “O’er the dark, heaving waters, I sent forth a cry; Save the wail of those waters there came no reply. I longed, like a bird, o’er the billows toffee, From our lone island home and the moan of the sea. “Away — far away — from the dream-haunted shore, Where the waves ever murmur, ‘No more, never more;’ When I wake, in the wild noon of midnight, to hear That lone song of the surges, so mournful and drear. “When the clouds that now veil from us heaven’s fair light, Their soft, silver lining turn forth on the night; When time shall the vapors of falsehood dispel, He shall know if I loved him; but never how well.” With whatever feelings Poe may have regarded these lines, he certainly evinced no desire to respond to them, unless “Annabel Lee” be deemed a reply, and during the short remainder of his career omitted all mention of their writer’s name. About this time he sent a somewhat revised version of “The Letter found in a Bottles’ published in “Eureka,” to Mr. Godey’s Lady’s Book, in which publication it appeared in February 1849, as a tale, under the title of “Mellonta Tauta.” It was accompanied by the following letter: — “To the Editor of the ‘Lady’s Book:’ — I have the honor of sending you, for your magazine, an article which I hope you will be able to comprehend rather more distinctly than I do myself. It is a translation by my friend Martin Van Buren Mavis (sometimes called the ‘Toughkeepsie Seer’), of an odd-looking MS. which I found, about a year ago, tightly corked up in a jug floating in the Mare Tenebrarum — a sea well described by the Nubian geographer, but seldom visited, nowadays, except by the transcendentalists and divers for crotchets. Truly yours, EDGAR A. POE.” It is now necessary to return to the correspondence with “Annie,” to whom Mrs. Clemm is found writing on the 11th of January (1849): — “The match is entirely broken off between Eddy and Mrs. Whitman. He has been at home three weeks and has not written to her once. . . . Dear Eddy is writing most industriously, and I have every hope that we will, in a short time, surmount most of our difficulties. He writes from ten till four every day. . . . We have found out who wrote those verses that we attributed to Grace Greenwood: they were written by Mrs. Welby, of Kentucky. Have you a copy of them? If so, Eddy says he will be so much obliged to you for them. . . . Eddy wrote a tale and sent it to the publisher, and in it was a description of you with the name of the lady, ‘Darling Annie.’* It will be published about the 20th of next month, and then I will send it to you. Did you see the lines to Eddy in a new magazine just come out, called the Metropolitan? They use by Mrs. Osgood, and very beautiful. . . . Have you seen Lowell’s satire, and Mrs. Osgood’s letter about the lineal Something about Eddy in both.” Enclosed in Mrs. Clemm’s letter was a lengthy epistle from Poe himself, and from it the following extracts may be made: — “It seems to me so long since I have written you that I feel condemned, and almost tremble lest you should have evil thoughts of Eddy. . . . But no, you will never doubt me under any circumstances — will you? It seems to me that Fate is against our meeting soon. . . O ‘Annie,’ in spite of so many worldly sorrows — in spite of all the trouble and misrepresentation (so hard to bear) that Poverty has entailed on me for so long a time — in spite of all this — I am so, so happy. . . . I need not tell you, ‘Annie,’ hour great a burden is taken off my heart by my rupture with Mrs. W.; for I have fully made up my mind to break the engagement. . . . Nothing would have deterred me from the match but — What I tell you. . . . “Write to me whenever you can spare time, if it be only a line. . . . I am beginning to do very well about money as my spirits improve, and soon — very soon, I hope, I shall be quite out of difficulty. You can’t think how industrious I am. I am resolved to get rich — to triumph. . . . When you write tell me something about Bardwell. Has he gone to Richmond? or what is he doing? Oh, if I could only be of service to him in any way! Remember me to all — to your father and mother and dear little Caddy, and Mr. R. and Mr. C. And now good-bye, sister! Annie! “’ Again, on or about the 23rd of January (the letter is not dated), Poe is found inditing the following communication to his friend: — “Faithful ‘Annie!’ How shall I ever be grateful enough to God for giving me, in all my adversity, so true, so beautiful a friend! I felt deeply wounded by the cruel statements of your letter and yet I had anticipated nearly all. . . . From the bottom of my heart I forgive her all, and would forgive her even more. Some portions of your letter I do not fully understand. If the reference is to my having violated my promise to you, I simply say, Annie, that I have not, and by God’s blessing never will. Oh, if you but knew how happy I am in keeping it for your sake, you could never believe that I would violate it. The reports — if any such there be — may have arisen, however, from what I did, in Providence, on that terrible day — you know what I mean: — Oh — I shudder even to think of it, That . . . her friends will speak ill of me is an inevitable evil — I must bear it. In fact, ‘Annie,’ I am beginning to grow wiser, and do not care so much as I did for the opinions of a world in which I see, with my own eyes, that to act generously is to be considered as designing, and that to be poor is to be a villain. I must get rich — rich. Then all will go well — but until then I must submit to be abused. I deeply regret that Mr. R. should think ill of me. If you can, disabuse him — and at all times act for me as you think best. I put my honor, as I would my life and soul, implicitly in your hands; but I would rather not confide my purposes, in that one regard, to any one but your dear sister. “I enclose you a letter for Mrs. Whitman. Read it — show it only to those in whom you have faith, and then seal it with wag and mail it from Boston. . . . When her answer comes I will send it to you: that will convince you of the truth. If she refuse to answer I will write to Mr. Crocker. By the by, if you know his exact name and address send it to me. . . . But as long as you and yours love me, what need I care for this cruel, unjust, calculating world? . . . In all my present anxieties and embarrassments, I still feel in my inmost soul a divine joy — a happiness inexpressible — that nothing seems to disturb. . . . “I hope Mr. C. is well. Remember me to him, and ask him if he has seen my ‘Rationale of Verse,’ in the last October and November numbers of the Southern Literary Messenger. . . . I am so busy, now, and feel so full of energy. Engagements to write are pouring in upon me every day. I had two proposals within the last week from Boston. I sent yesterday an article to the Am. Review about ‘Critics and Criticism.’ Not long ago I sent one to the Metropolitan called ‘Landor’s Cottage:’ it has something about ‘Annie’ in it, and will appear, I suppose, in the March number. To the S. L. Messenger I have sent fifty pages of ‘Marginalia,’ five pages to appear each month of the current year. I have also made permanent engagements with every magazine in America (except Peterson’s National) including a Cincinnati magazine, called The Gentlemen’s. So you see that I have only to keep up my spirits to get out of all my pecuniary troubles. The least price I get is $5 per ‘Graham page,’ and I can easily average 1 1/2 per day — that is $7 1/2. As soon as I returns’ come in I shall be out of difficulty. I see Godey advertises an article by me, but I am at a loss. to know what it is. You ask me, Annie, to tell you about some book to read. Have you seen ‘Percy Ranthorpe’ by Mrs. Gore?* You can get it at any of the agencies. I have lately read it with deep interest, and derived great consolation from it also. It relates to the career of a literary man, and gives a just view of the true aims and the true dignity of the literary character. Read it for my sake. “But of one thing rest assured, ‘Annie,’ — from, thus 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. . . . Kiss little Caddy for me, and remember me to Mr. R. and to all. “I have had a most distressing headache for the last two weeks.“. . . The above unsigned letter was succeeded, early in February, apparently, by the following communication simply dated Thursday —— 8th: — “DEAR ‘ANNIE,’ — My mother is just going to town, where, I hope, she will find a sweet letter from you or from Sarah; but, as it is so long since I have written, I must send a few words to let you see and feel that Eddy, even when silent, keeps you always in his mind and heart — I have been so busy, ‘Annie,’ ever since I returned from Providence — six weeks ago. I have not suffered. a day to pass without writing from a page to three pages. Yesterday, I wrote five, and the day before a poem considerably longer than the I Raven.’ I call it I The Bells’ How I wish ‘Annie’ could see it! Her opinion is so dear to me on such topics — on all it is everything to me — but on poetry in especial And, Sarah, too. . . . I told her when we were at W ——, that I hardly ever knew any one with a keener discrimination in regard to what is really poetical. The five prose pages I finished yesterday are called — what do you think? — I am sure you will never guess — ‘Hop-Frog!’ Only think of your Eddy writing a story with such a name as ‘Hop-Frog!’ You would never guess the subject (which is a terrible one) from the title, I am sure. It will be published in a weekly paper, of Boston. . . . not a very respectable journal, perhaps, in a literary point of view, but one that pays as high prices as most of the magazines. The proprietor wrote to me, offering about $5 a c Graham page,’ and as I was anxious to get out of my pecuniary difficulties, I accepted the offer. He gives $5 for a sonnet, also.; Mrs. Osgood, Park Benjamin, and Mrs. Sigourney are engaged. I think ‘The Bells’ will appear in the American Review. I have got no .answer yet from Mrs. Whitman. . . . My opinion is that her mother has intercepted the letter and will never give it to her. . . . “Dear mother says she will write you a long letter in a day or two, and tell you how good I am. She is in high spirits at my prospects and at our hopes of soon seeing ‘Annie.’ We have told our landlord that we will not take the house next year. Do not let Mr. R., however, make any arrangements for us in ——, or W ——, for, being poor, we are so much the slaves of circumstances. At all, events we will both come and see you, and spend a week