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

a cruel insult! No one to console and comfort him but me; no one to nurse him and take care of him when he is sick and helpless! Can I ever forget that dear sweet face, so tranquil, so pale, and those dear eyes looking at me so sadly, while she said, I Darling, darling Muddy, you will console and take care of my poor Eddy — you will never, never leave him I Promise me, my dear Muddy, and then I can die in peace.’ And I did promise. And when I meet her in heaven, I can say, ‘I have kept my promise, my darling.’ . . . If Eddy gets to Richmond safely and can succeed in what he intends doing, we will be relieved of part of our difficulties; but if he comes home in trouble and sick, I know not what is to become of us.” The most reliable account of Poe’s deeds for some time after his leaving his Fordham home is that derived from Mrs. Clemm’s letters and papers. It was the poet’s misfortune that he had to visit Philadelphia on his journey south. There he was either beguiled into taking stimulants, or sought relief from pain in narcotics; whatever may have been the active agent, its influence upon his debilitated frame was most deplorable. For a few days he was utterly insane, and had he not fallen into the hands of friends, would, probably, have ended his days then and there. There is no need to repeat the details of this episode, as they were furnished to Mrs. Clemm; it suffices to repeat her assurance that during his frenzied wanderings, while he deemed himself pursued by some fearsome foes, — “while he was so deranged, he never did aught that was ungentlemanly, much less, that was disgraceful.” The unfortunate man speedily recovered his reason, and resumed his journey to Richmond. . Mrs. Clemm states that she received a letter from him on the 23rd of July, and she remarks, “He writes he is better in health, and rather better in spirits. He is going from Richmond in a few days, to stay with a friend in the country for a short time. A very dear friend in Richmond, Mrs. Nye, wrote to me last week, and promised me to make him stay at her house, and says she will take every care of him; she is a dear kind-hearted creature. But I meet with so little sincerity in this world that I can scarcely trust any one.” When Poe reached Richmond he renewed his acquaintanceship with many old friends, by whom he was introduced to several new ones. He was generally the guest, it is stated, of Mrs. McKenzie, by whom and her husband his sister Rosalie had been adopted. Among the new acquaintances he made at this time was a Mrs. Weiss; who has published some interesting particulars of the “Last Days of Edgar Poe,”* but, in some instances, where not dependent upon her own personal knowledge for facts, she has been greatly misled by erroneous report. ‘“I was surprised,” writes Mrs. Weiss, “to find that the poet was not the melancholy person I had unconsciously pictured. On the contrary, he appeared, except on one occasion, invariably cheerful, and frequently playful in snood. He seemed quietly amused by the light-hearted chat of the young people about him, and often joined them in humorous repartee, sometimes tinged with a playful sarcasm. Yet he preferred to sit quietly and listen and observe. Nothing escaped his keen observation. . . . Though in the social evenings with us, or at Duncan’s Lodge, Poe would join in the light conversation or amusement of the hour, I observed that it had not power to interest him for any length of time. He preferred a seat on the portico, or a stroll about the lawn or garden, in company with a friend. . . . “Among other things, Poe spoke to me freely of his future plans and prospects. He was at this time absorbed in his cherished scheme of establishing his projected journal, the Stylus. Nearly all his old friends in Virginia had promised to aid him with the necessary funds, and be was sanguine of success. He intended to spare no pains, no, effort, to establish this as the leading literary journal of the country. The plan of it, which be explained in detail, but of which I retain little recollection, was to be something entirely original; and the highest I genius, distinctive from talent,’ of the country was to be represented in its pages. To secure this result, he would offer a more liberal price for contributions than any other publisher. This would, of course, demand capital to begin with, which was all that he required; and of that he had the promise. To establish this journal had been, he said, the cherished dream of his life, and now at last he felt assured of success. And in thus speaking he held his head erect, and his eyes glowed with enthusiasm. ‘I must and will succeed!’ he said. . . . Poe, among other plans for raising the funds so sorely needed, decided to give a series of lectures in Richmond. The first of these (‘The Poetic Principle’) brought him at once into prominent notice with the Richmond Public. The press discussed him and the élite of society fêted him. With the attention and kindness thus shown him he was much gratified. Yet he did not appear to care for the formal parties, and declared that he found more enjoyment with his friends in the country. “I can vividly recall him as he appeared on his visits to us. He always carried a cane, and upon entering the shade of the avenue would remove his hat, throw back his hair, and walk lingeringly, as if enjoying the coolness, carrying his hat in his hand, generally behind him. Sometimes he would pause to examine some rare flower, or to pluck a grape from the laden trellises He met us always with as expression of pleasure illuminating his countenance and lighting his fine eyes. “Poe’s eyes, indeed, were his most striking feature, and it was to these that his fate owed its peculiar attraction. I have never seen other eyes at all resembling them. They were large, with long, jet-black lashes, — the iris dark steel grey, possessing a crystalline clearness and transparency, through which the jet-black pupil was seen to expand and contract with every shade of thought or emotion. I observed that the lids never contracted, as is so usual in most persons, especially when talking; bat his gaze was ever full, open, and unshrinking. His usual expression was dreamy and sad. He had a way of sometimes turning a slightly askance look upon some person who was not observing him, and, with a quiet, steady gaze, appear to be mentally taking the calibre of the unsuspecting subject. ‘What awful eyes Mr. Poe has!’ said a lady to me. ‘It makes my blood run cold to see him slowly turn and fix them upon me when I am talking.’ “Apart from the wonderful beauty of his eyes, I would not have called Poe a very handsome man. He was, in my opinion, rather distinguished-looking than handsome. What he had been when younger I had heard, but at the period of my acquaintance with him he had a pallid and careworn look, — somewhat haggard, indeed, — very apparent except in his moments of animation. He wore a dark moustache, scrupulously kept, but not entirely concealing a slightly-contracted expression of the mouth, and an occasional twitching of the upper lip, resembling a sneer. This sneer, indeed, was easily excited — a motion of the lip, scarcely perceptible, and yet intensely expressive. There was in it nothing of ill-nature, but much of sarcasm.” Among the old friendships Poe now renewed was that with Mrs. Shelton, the Miss Royster of his boyhood’s love. He had not been long in Richmond on the occasion of this last visit, before he called upon Mrs. Shelton, now become a widow. “I was ready to go to church,” says Mrs. Shelton, “when a servant entered and told me that a gentleman in the parlor wished to see me. I went down and was amazed at seeing Mr. Poe, but knew him instantly. He came up to me in the most enthusiastic manner and said, ‘O Elmira, is it you?’ . . . I then told him that I was going to church; I never let anything interfere with that, and that he must call again. . . . When he did call again he renewed his addresses. I laughed; he looked very serious, and said he was in earnest, and had been thinking about it for a long time. When I found out that he was quite serious, I became serious also, and told him that if he would not take a positive denial, he must give me time to consider. He answered, ‘A love that hesitated was not a love for him.’ . . . But he stayed a long time, and was very pleasant and cheerful. He came to visit me frequently, and I went with him to the Exchange Concert Room, and heard him read.” Twice the poet appeared in public on thus final visit to Richmond, and delivered lectures on “The Poetic Principle,” to large and appreciative audiences. Professor Valentine, brother of the famous sculptor, well remembers the profound impression made by Poe’s recitations — especially of Hood’s “Bridge of Sighs,” — on these occasions, as well as by his personal appearance. He speaks of the pallor which overspread his face, as contrasted with the dark hair that fell on the summit of his forehead. “His brow,” he says, “was fine and expressive; his eye, dark and restless; in the mouth, firmness mingled with an element of scorn and discontent. His gait was firm and erect, but his manner nervous and emphatic. He was of fine address and cordial in his intercourse with his friends, but looked as though he rarely smiled from joy, to which he seemed to be a stranger: that might be partly attributed to the great struggle for self-control, in which he seemed to be constantly engaged. There was little variation and much sadness in the intonation of his voice, yet this very sadness was so completely in harmony with his history, as to excite on the part of this community a deep interest in him both as a lecturer and a reader.” This lecture on “The Poetic Principle” was a worthy setting for the sun of Poe’s genius: in it he embodied the theories and dicta on Poetry that he had preached and practised ever since his boyhood, illustrating the one and demonstrating the other by recitation of some of the finest specimens of the verse of Shelley, Tennyson, Byron, Hood, Longfellow, Motherwell, and others. It is one of the best of his critical productions, containing the condensation of his most noteworthy remarks on Poesy, and those most worthy preservation. Twice during this stay in Richmond the poet is said to have succumbed to the temptation which embittered the “lonesome latter years” of his life. Upon each occasion, it is declared that he was tenderly watched over and waited upon, especially upon the second occasion, when, says Mrs. Weiss, “during some days his life was in imminent danger.” Assiduous attention saved him, but it was the opinion of the physicians that another such attack would prove fatal. This they told him, warning him seriously of the danger. Dr. Carter relates how, on this occasion, he had a long conversation with him, in which Poe expressed the most earnest desire to break from the thraldom of his besetting sin, and told of his many unavailing struggles to do so. He was moved even to tears, and finally declared, in the most solemn manner, that this time he would restrain himself, — would withstand any temptation. He kept his word as long as he remained in Richmond.” The unfortunate man did, indeed, strive to emancipate himself from the terrible thraldom in which he was held, even to the extent of subscribing to the rules of a local Temperance Society. He sent the printed slip which was given him on that occasion to Mrs. Clemm, and the poor desolate woman, on the day following its receipt, wrote to an ever-steadfast friend, “The dark, dark clouds, I think, are beginning to break. . . . God of His great mercy grant he may keep this pledge.” Bravely and earnestly the poor fellow strove to keep to his determination, spending his time chiefly among such friends of his childhood as were willing and happy to enjoy his society. “Especially did he enjoy his visits to the Sullys,” says Mrs. Weiss, “where, he