The Home Life of Poe

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 biographers7 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?

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" teacakes 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 scintillantVenuses; 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."