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

exertions were fruitless. Poe’s place of abode has not been discovered from the time he left Richmond in 1831 until the autumn of 1833, when he is again heard of as in Baltimore, and in apparently very straightened circumstances. It has been stated* that Poe was at this time residing with Mrs. Clemm in Cove Street, but, according to the Baltimore Directories — which are far better evidence than any personal memory — that lady resided in Wilks Street in 1831-2, and thence removed to No. 3 Amity Street, whilst extant correspondence proves that her nephew did not reside with her then, and, apparently, that he never lived with her until after his marriage. During this mysterious interval in the poet’s life, it is claimed that he wrote the earlier versions of some of his finest stories, and even had some of them accepted and published, but not paid for, by contemporary editors. He himself stated in a note to the “MS. Found in a Bottle,” that that tale was originally published in 1831, but the last figure is probably a misprint for 3. In the autumn of 1833, the proprietors of the Saturday Visiter, a weekly literary journal, started in Baltimore the previous year, and then under the editorial charge of Mr. L. A. Wilmer, offered prizes of one hundred dollars and fifty dollars respectively, for the best story and the best poem. This offer coming to the knowledge of Poe, he selected six of his tales, and some lines — which he christened “The Coliseum” — out of a drama he was writing, and sent them to the committee appointed to inspect the manuscripts. After a careful consideration of the various contributions received, the adjudicators, three wellknown gentlemen, unanimously decided that those by Edgar Poe — a stranger to them all — were entitled to both premiums, but subsequently were induced, it is stated, to award the lesser prize to another competitor, in consideration of Poe having gained the larger amount. Not content with this award, the adjudicators even went out of their way to draw up and publish the following flattering critique on the merits of the writings submitted by Poe, and published it in the Saturday Visiter, on the 12th of October 1833: — “Amongst the prose articles were many of various and distinguished merit, but the singular force and beauty of those sent by the author of ‘The Tales of the Folio Club’ leave us no room for hesitation in that department. We have accordingly awarded the premium to a tale entitled the ‘MS. Found in a Bottle.’ It would hardly be doing justice to the writer of this collection to say that the tale we have chosen is the best of the six offered by him. We cannot refrain from saying that the author owes it to his own reputation, as well as to the gratification of the community, to publish the entire volume (‘Tales of the Folio Club’) — These tales are eminently distinguished by a wild, vigorous, and poetical imagination, a rich style, a fertile, invention, and varied and curious learning. (Signed) JOHN P. KENNEDY. J. H. B. LATROBE. JAMES H. MILLER.” From Mr. Latrobe’s reminiscences of the award and its result, written to a correspondent soon after the poet’s decease, it is learned that he, Mr. Latrobe, was the reader of the manuscripts adjudicated upon, and that the little volume of tales submitted by Poe proved to be so enthralling, and so very far superior to anything else before the committee, that they read it through from beginning to end, and had no hesitation whatever in awarding the first prize to the author. Our only difficulty,” says Mr. Latrobe, “was in selecting from the rich contents of the volume.” Mr. Kennedy, the author of “Horse-Shoe Robinson,” and other popular works, was so interested in the successful but unknown competitor, that he invited him to his house. Poe’s response, written in his usual beautiful, clear caligraphy, proves into what a depth of misery he had sunk. How his heart bled to pen these words, few probably can imagine: “Your invitation to dinner has wounded me to the quick. I cannot come for reasons of the most humiliating nature — my personal appearance. You may imagine my mortification in making this disclosure to you, but it is necessary.” Impelled by the noblest feelings Mr. Kennedy at once sought out the unfortunate youth, and found him, its he records in his diary, friendless and almost starving. Poe’s wretched condition inspired the kindhearted author with pity, as did his palpable genius with admiration, and henceforward he became a sincere and disinterested friend. So far from contenting himself with mere courtesies, Mr. Kennedy assisted his new protégé to re-establish himself in the world, and in many respects treated him more like an esteemed relative than a chance acquaintance. In his diary he records, “I gave him . . . . . . free access to my table, and the use of a horse for exercise whenever lie chose; in fact, brought him up from the very verge of despair.” Aided by such a friend, Poe’s affairs could not but begin to improve. On the 27th March 18 Mr. Allan died, in the 54th year of his age, and was interred beside his first wife in Shockoe Hill Cemetery. If Poe retained any lingering hope of inheriting any portion of his godfather’s wealth, he was at last undeceived, as his name was not even mentioned in the will. Aided, however, by his new — made literary friends, and the reputation of his recent success, the young poet now began to earn his own livelihood. Mr. Kennedy relates that he set him “drudging upon whatever may make money,” but Poe, as the moth to the candle, could not altogether refrain from the still “forbidden things” of poesy, and “when an hour with calmer winos” intervened, returned to work upon his long commenced tragedy of “Politian.” The incidents of this drama were suggested by real events connected with Beauchampe’s murder of Sharp, the Solicitor-General of Kentucky, the facts of which celebrated case are fully as romantic as the poet’s fiction. Poe appears to have written a portion of ‘Politian” as early at least as 1831, and to have first published some fragments of it in the Southern Literary Messenger of 1835-36 as “Scenes from an Unpublished Drama.” From the poet’s manuscript copy* is seen the fact that this tragedy had been nearly, if not quite, completed, and although youthful niaiseries in some parts of this — the first draft, apparently — might have been justifiably excised, it cannot but be a subject for deep regret that the entire drama was not eventually published. As a rule, it must be conceded that the scenes selected and published by Poe were decidedly the most poetical, yet there are several very interesting and even meritorious passages in the manuscript that need not have been discarded. The omission of the humorous characters was no great loss, But the transformation of Politian from “a young and able Roman,” and “his friend,” Baldazzar, into English noblemen, was in no way necessary to, and certainly did not increase the vraisemblance of, the play. That “Politian” has attracted less attention than its author’s other poetical works is not strange; unequal in execution, a fragment, and a mystery, the public naturally passed it by. Monsieur Hughes, it is true, when he translated it into French, spoke of it as a tragedy “où vivent des caractères vraiment humains,” but he appears to have been the only person who has had a good word to say for it. This same author, moreover, draws attention to the noteworthy fact that the hero of the drama is, to some extent, and in some of his idiosyncrasies, a reflex of the author himself; “comme tons les grands ecrivains,” he remarks, “Edgar Poe prete aux personnages qu‘il met en scene ses sensations et ses sentiments personnel.” In the third (of the published) scenes occur the following words of Politian’s, which M. Hughes draws attention to as words that might well stand for Poe’s own response to advising friends: — “What would’st thou have me do? At thy behest I will shake off that nature Which from my forefathers I did inherit; Which with my mother’s milk I did imbibe, And be no more Politian, but some other.” “Give not thy soul to dreams,” is the counsel of Baldazzar, and he bids him seek befitting occupation in the court or camp. “Speak no more to me” responds Politian, “of thy camps and courts. I am sick, sick, sick, even unto death!” he exclaims, “of the hollow and high-sounding vanities of the populous earth!” And further, when intimating that he is about to engage in a hostile encounter, Poe himself is seen clearly through his hero’s words when he cries — “I cannot die, having within my heart So keen a relish for the beautiful.” And in a later scene are words so intensely Poësque that it needs no stretch of fancy to deem the poet speaking on his own behalf: “Speak not to me of glory I hate — I loathe the name; I do abhor The unsatisfactory and ideal thing. . . . Do I not love — art thou not beautiful What need we more? Ha! glory! now speak not of it: By all I hold most sacred and most solemn By all my wishes now — my fears hereafter By all I scorn on earth and hope in heaven There is no deed I would more glory in, Than in thy cause to scoff at this same glory And trample it under foot.” One of the most interesting facts connected with this early draft — almost as fine a specimen of Poe’s exquisite caligraphy as is his latest manuscript — is that it contains, in the form of a soliloquy uttered by Politian, the lines published as “The Coliseum.” In August of 18 4, the Southern Literary Messenger, a publication soon to be connected with Poe’s fortunes, was started at Richmond, Virginia, by Mr. Thomas W. White, an energetic and worthy man. Such a magazine was a very hazardous speculation for that time; it was started in opposition to the advice of its promoter’s friends, and, but for a fortunate accident, might have caused his ruin. After the magazine had passed through an erratic existence of some few months, its proprietor appealed to various well-known writers for literary aid, and amongst others, Mr. Kennedy was solicited; but he, being otherwise engaged, recommended Poe to send something. Acting upon this suggestion, our poet sent his manuscript “Tales of the Folio Club,” and Mr. White’s editor, Mr. James E. Heath, it is believed, greatly pleased with their style, alluded to them in very flattering terms in the Messenger. In March 1835, “Berenice,” Poe’s first contribution, appeared in the new periodical, and the editor called marked attention to it and its author in these words: “Whilst we confess that we think there is too much German horror in his subject, there can be but one opinion as to the force and elegance of his style.” This editorial idea of “Berenice” was not far from the truth, as regards the mere literary value of the work; but although its horrible denouement is too disgusting for even the genius of Poe to render palatable, for those who have obtained an insight into its author’s mental history it is one of the most remarkable, as it is also one of the earliest, of his tales. No writer of repute has more thoroughly unbosomed the secrets of his imagination, and more clearly disclosed the workings of his brain, than has Edgar Poe, and in none of his writings have these autobiographic glimpses been more abundantly vouchsafed than in this story of “Berenice;” indeed, it may be better described as an essay on its author’s idiosyncrasies than as a tale. Among the various peculiarities of the early draft of this work — some of which disappeared in the later versions — it will be noted by his readers, is the first development of Poe’s assumed belief in metempsychosis, a doctrine that, in subsequent writings, lie recurred to again and again, and which, it is scarcely assuming too much to say, at times lie evidently partially believed in. One of the suppressed passages alludes to its hero’s “immoderate use of opium,” a drug which Poe occasionally resorted