I have made up my mind not to die

Edgar Poe watched his wife slowly die over about five years. Virginia Eliza Clemm Poe was no longer the "child-bride" incessantly referred to by Poe biographers and middle school teachers. She was twenty years old when she had her first major tuberculosis-induced coughing fit. She had been married to Poe for over six years. She and Poe were quite in love... And Poe watched her deteriorate at what should have been the prime of her life.

After the final stage of his wife's illness was made public, several literary friends tried to make an appeal for her support. It wasn't entirely clear what was happening, but most people would have likely known the death sentence of "consumption." It was reported that Poe himself was also suffering from his own illness. Poe took it upon himself to write a letter in response to the great but perpetually convalescent Nathaniel Parker Willis (pictured at right) on December 30, 1846: "I am getting better... The truth is, I have a great deal to do; and I have made up my mind not to die 'til it is done."

At this stage in his life, Poe had published several books, become well-known as a fierce literary critic, had become one of the most well-known (yet underpaid) poets of his generation, had watched the Broadway Journal fail under his leadership, but he was determined to start a new journal, The Stylus, and become financially stable. He had every reason to be resolute and optimistic.

Nevertheless, exactly one month after his letter to Willis, Virginia Poe died in New York. The Stylus was never produced. And Poe himself died less than three years after he made his conviction not to die.

For the love of God, Montresor!

What, another Friday the 13th? Well, in that case, here's a story about bad luck.

"The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could, but when he ventured upon insult I vowed revenge." Thus begins Poe's November 1846 tale "The Cask of Amontillado." These "insults" are never specified, nor are the "thousand injuries." Poe makes us focus not on the reasons for revenge, but on the revenge itself.

The narrator, Monstresor, strikes at Carnival, while his friend/enemy is dressed as a jester. He knows that Fortunato has two weaknesses: pride and wine. He uses both.

I said to him — "My dear Fortunato, you are luckily met. How remarkably well you are looking to-day. But I have received a pipe* of what passes for Amontillado, and I have my doubts."

Fortunato, being a wine expert, could help Montresor identify whether or not a good purchase was made. But, what really convinces Fortunato to help is when Montresor suggests he could just ask Luchresi, who knows just as much about wine as Fortunato. Well, of course, the jester-clad Fortunato is insulted — "Luchresi cannot tell Amontillado from Sherry."

Montresor tricks Fortunato into coming down into his wine cellar, which is also the family catacombs. Surrounded by the dead, Montresor enacts his plan to "not only punish but punish with impunity." At the end of the tale, we are told that Montresor's final act of cruelty has not been discovered for a half century.

There are two important ways to read this story. For one thing, it's based on true events. Poe really was punishing with impunity after a thousand injuries and an insult (or two). Thomas Dunn English inspired Poe's act of literary revenge and, like the story says, his final act of cruelty (replacing English with Fortunato) is not discovered for decades. Many of the odd elements (the strange hand signal Fortunato gives, the odd family crest Montresor describes) were direct references to English's novel 1844, or the Power of the S. F. Poe was a character in this novel and was depicted, well, not nicely. So English, in response, was buried alive in a vault wearing a jester's outfit.

But, just looking at the story itself, it's very, very complex. As is often the case with Poe, we should question everything that is presented to us. Did Fortunato really injure or insult Montresor? The two seem to carry on a very convivial relationship through the vaults. There are a couple moments when Fortunato questions Montresor's sincerity (and we should too). Fortunato is suspicious at how far down into these crypts he's going and, doubtless, wondering how Montresor so quickly bought the (100+ gallons of) Amontillado, rushed it down here and came all the way back, to find his wine expert. But, perhaps, that is the most pressing question of all: Was there a wine expert in this story?

Fortunato notes that his competitor, Luchresi, cannot tell Amontillado from Sherry. Well Amontillado is Sherry. Fortunato comes onto the scene already drunk — it's hard to appreciate fine wine when drunk. When we do see him drink, he does not seem like a connoisseur. Presented with De Grâve, an expensive French wine, he doesn't seem to savor it. Instead, "he emptied it at a breath. His eyes flashed with a fierce light. He laughed and threw the bottle upwards with a gesticulation I did not understand." So, is Fortunato truly an expert on wine, or just an expert on drinking, if you know what I mean?

All this leads up to one of the best parts of this story: its humor. For a revenge tale and a horror story, "The Cask of Amontillado" is funny, and not just from the irony of the "unfortunate" victim's name. When Fortunato is affected by the damp air in the vaults, Montresor expresses concern over his health. "The cough is a mere nothing," he says. "It will not kill me. I shall not die of a cough." Montresor knows this: "'True — true,' I replied." When Fortunato asks if Montresor is of the Masons, Montresor says yes, and produces a trowel to prove it — the trowel he will use to bury his enemy alive. Now, that's funny.

*A "pipe" is over 100 gallons. This is a huge purchase.

**The picture at the top is by Harry Clarke, creator of some of the greatest Poe illustrations, circa 1919.

The libel suit, cont'd

Frequent readers of this blog may recall that Poe had brought a libel suit against Hiram Fuller, editor of the New York Mirror and the Evening Mirror. The trial was originally scheduled for September 7, 1846, though it would be postponed. Poe's lawsuit was in response to Fuller publishing a letter from Thomas Dunn English, though English himself was not named in the suit (likely because English didn't have money, but the publication did). Perhaps because of this, English assumed he was safe — so he continued his attacks on Poe.

On September 5, 1846, the Weekly Mirror included the seventh installment of English's serialized novel 1844, or, The Power of the "S. F." This seventh installment introduced a character named Marmaduke Hammerhead, a man described as:

a very well known writer... who aspires to be a critic, but never presumes himself a gentleman. He is the author of a poem, called 'The Black Crow,' now making some stir, in the literary circles... He never gets drunk more than five days out of the seven; tells the truth sometimes by mistake; has moral courage sufficient to flog his wife, when he thinks she deserves it.

In other words, as a trial inspired by English's libelous actions against Poe was about to begin, English continued libeling Poe. Most notably in this excerpt is the accusation that Poe was a wife-beater (at this time, Virginia Poe was an invalid in the last few months of her life).

The Mirror continued as well, apparently unconcerned about the libel suit and even made light of it. A filler published on September 10 included an epigram:

P— money wants to "buy a bed," —
His case is surely trying;
It must be hard to want a bed,
For one so used to lying.

Vindication for Poe would not come for a long time. The trial was delayed until February 1, 1847 (the day that Virginia Poe's obituary was published). Finally, on February 17, the Superior Court returned a verdict in Poe's favor, awarding him $225 in damages and additional court fees. These results were a bit controversial, with various newspapers taking one side or another. Hiram Fuller later published a defense in his own newspaper. But, what about Poe?

To him, it was more important for him to know that he was right, not to broadcast it to others. He left no public response to his victory nor to his shame caused by English and Fuller.

Or did he? Perhaps he left his last jest with no intention of ever taking credit for it. After all, true vindication for Poe was not merely to punish, but to punish with impunity, as he relates in a short story published a couple months after Marmaduke Hammerhead is introduced in English's novel 1844. That last example, readers might note, features a man taking revenge for unspecified insults. At the end of the tale, the narrator admits (boasts?) his revenge has not been discovered for 50 years.

The libel suit, cont'd

Edgar Poe sued editors of the Weekly Mirror and its supplemental Evening Mirror, alleging libel. Poe had been accused of forgery and borrowing money under false pretenses. The defendants, editor Hiram Fuller and assistant editor Augustus W. Clason Jr., put in a plea of "not guilty" at the preliminary hearing, held August 4, 1846 at New York City Hall. The judge ordered a trial, scheduled for the first Monday in September.

The real source of the allegations against Poe was Thomas Dunn English, a trained medical doctor and licensed lawyer who would later go on to become a politician in New Jersey. In fact, the Mirror had only re-published English's accusations; his letter was first published in the Morning Telegraph. Sidney Moss, an expert on Poe's literary battles, conjectured that Poe was advised to go for the deepest pockets and win legally not for revenge but for vindication.

When Hiram Fuller heard Poe was considering bringing a lawsuit against him, Fuller actually challenged him to do it. He lied and said that English's letter was, in fact, a paid advertisement over which he had no responsibility (also untrue).

Word spread quickly of this public literary feud. Southern novelist William Gilmore Simms was concerned for Poe. A few days before the hearing, Simms wrote to Poe: "These broils do you no good—vex your temper, destroy your peace of mind, and hurt your reputation." Nevertheless, Poe's "Literati of New York" series kept getting published and Poe continued to make sometimes harsh judgments on his fellow writers. Hiram Fuller was kind enough to continue criticizing Poe, even as the trial for libel was pending. Fuller published in the Evening Mirror later in August that "Mr. Poe will go on with his pedantic skethces of our literati. His remarks on Mrs. [Lydia Maria] Child are evidently well intended. He describes her personal appearance with a flippant inaccuracy; it is possible that he has never seen her... His remarks about Mr. [Lewis Gaylord] Clark of the Knickerbocker are probably intended to be sarcastic, but sarcasm is Mr. Poe's weakness."

In the meantime, Thomas Dunn English (who, ultimately, was responsible for all this bickering) continued writing something of his own — a novel which would be published before the end of the year. More on that another time.

Poe sues for libel

Editor Hiram Fuller and his associates at the Evening Mirror had a bit of back and forth on Poe, accusing him of being "a poor creature... in a condition of sad, wretched imbecility" (July 20, 1846) as well as having a "habit of misrepresentation... and malignity is so much a part of his nature, that he continually goes out of his way to do ill-natured things" (July 23, 1846). Finally, Poe had enough. On July 23, 1846, he filed a lawsuit at the Superior Court of the City of New York against Hiram Fuller and his assistant Augustus W. Clason, Jr.

The Evening Mirror's continuous, unwarranted focus on Poe was one thing, but what likely really set him off was a writer named Thomas Dunn English. A provocateur all his own, English was known for satire and for getting on the wrong side of literary figures. He had a duel with Henry B. Hirst in Philadelphia and was kicked out of the office of John S. Du Solle of the Spirit of the Times, for just a couple examples.

Poe himself, of course, was not without fault. In a series of essays called The Literati of New York City (trashy celebrity gossip pieces, really, though more indicative of the period than of Poe personally) Poe referred to English as "a man without the commonest school education busying himself in attempts to instruct mankind in topics of literature" (certainly inappropriate, considering English had both a law degree and a medical degree). English responded with a vitriolic letter that he put into the hands of many, many publishers and editors.

English particularly latched onto the line that Poe's narrative persona wrote in The Literati of New York City: "I do not personally know Mr. English."

Of course the two knew one another. As English wrote in his reply, Poe tricked him into loaning him $30 to help the Broadway Journal in 1845. English also apparently gave Poe legal advice and set him up with a lawyer in June 1845 to defend charges of forgery (unsubstantiated). Most interestingly, English must have been surprised that Poe did not remember the fistfight the two fell into, thanks to the meddlesome Elizabeth F. Ellet. During that scuffle, English punched Poe directly in the face while wearing a large pinky ring. What appear to be bags under his eyes in Poe's later portraits is, in fact, the remnants of the scar. English concludes his letter with the characterization of Poe as a drunk who is "thoroughly unprincipled, base and depraved... not alone an assassin in morals, but a quack in literature."

The Mirror printed the reply, along with an introduction by Hiram Fuller himself in which he acknowledges its "severity" with "a twinge of pity." Other editors refer to English's reply as "most caustic and fearful," another notes it as "one of the most savage and bitter things we ever read," and one refers to English's "literary meat-axe" (in lieu of a tomahawk, perhaps?). Even Rufus Griswold, Poe's greatest enemy, noted English's attacks were in poor taste. Another publication expected Poe would "muster his intellectual forces, and give his adversary another battle."

Poe's response was relatively light, but his letter (published in a number of periodicals) does hint at legal action. He particularly blames Hiram Fuller for publishing it, noting he has "prostituted his filthy sheet to the circulation of this calumny." Fuller responds, "Let him institute a suit, if he dare." English responded as well, daring Poe take up a lawsuit.

He did. Poe hired Enoch L. Fancher as his counselor and, with his suggestion, sued the Mirror rather than go after English directly. Poe asked to be awarded damages of $5000 for two libelous remarks: that he obtained money under false pretenses and that he committed forgery. The suit was filed on July 23. The next day, the Mirror suddenly notes that "we do not hold ourselves responsible for Mr. English's charges against Mr. Poe," claiming English's letter was a paid advertisement (not true!). "But," Fuller writes, "if the latter gentleman chooses to take the matter into Court, we shall not shrink from the trial."

This post is long enough, I think. The results of Poe's libel suit, and English's continued provocations, will likely be continued at a later date.

Hawthorne writes to Poe

From Salem, Massachusetts, the now well-known American author Nathaniel Hawthorne wrote to Edgar Poe about his book, Mosses from an Old Manse. In the letter, dated June 17, 1846, Hawthorne asked Poe if his publishers had already sent him a copy to review. He also noted his respect for Poe as a critic. As he wrote:

"I have read your occasional notices of my productions with great interest — not so much because your judgment was, upon the whole, favorable, as because it seemed to be given in earnest. I care for nothing but the truth, in regard to my writings, than a sugared falsehood."

"Sugared falsehoods" were something Poe tended to avoid by this time, certainly known as a "Tomahawk Man" since well before Hawthorne's letter was written.* Today, Poe is occasionally dismissed as a critic (in part for his caustic nature) but, clearly, at least Hawthorne respects him for this line of work.

Nevertheless, Hawthorne makes it clear that he prefers Poe as a fiction writer more than as a reviewer. "I admire you rather as a writer of Tales, than as a critic upon them," he wrote. "I might often — and often do — dissent from your opinions, in the latter capacity, but could never fail to recognize your force and originality, in the former." In 2009, that should ring like a pretty decent endorsement from a heavy hitter in American writing.

Poe did get his review copy of Mosses from an Old Manse and wrote a lengthy critique, which was published in Godey's Lady's Book in November 1847. He praised the writing, but worried about how New England culture was influencing the book's author. He warned Hawthorne particularly of the Transcendentalists. In his review, Poe wrote: "Let him mend his pen, get a bottle of visible ink, come out from the Old Manse, cut Mr. [Bronson] Alcott, [and] hang (if possible), the editor of 'The Dial.'" Interesting words, but Poe might not have realized that not only was The Dial already canceled, but also that Hawthorne was already out of the Old Manse. By this time, he was living once again in Salem while famously holding a government-appointed job at the custom house.

This letter from Hawthorne and Poe's review of Mosses from an Old Manse will both play a salient role in my upcoming lecture, Dark Romantics: Hawthorne and Poe. The talk is kindly hosted by The Wayside, Hawthorne's former home, today part of Minuteman National Park in Concord, Massachusetts. We will celebrate both Poe's bicentennial year and Hawthorne's birthday (a couple days off). The talk is free and takes place on the side lawn of The Wayside on July 2 at 6:30 p.m. The staff there is worried that neither Hawthorne nor Poe will draw a large crowd — let's prove them wrong!

*A recent discussion begs the question: When is the earliest reference to Poe and his "tomahawk"? We found as early as 1840, thanks to Poe's friend Thomas Holley Chivers.

A Poe scandal in France

June 11, 1846 marked one of the earliest translations of Poe's work into French — without his permission. From June 11 to June 13, La Quotidienne published a serialized translation of the world's first modern detective story, "The Murders in the Rue Morgue." Their title was "Un Meurtre sans exemple dans les Fastes de la Justice: Histoire trouvée dans les papiers d'un Américain." Poe did not grant permission for this, nor did the translation include his name in the byline.

Pirated international works are nothing too surprising in the 19th century but what makes this one different is what happens next.

Shortly after this translation, another French translation appeared. "Une sanglante énigme" was published in Le Commerce, listed by critic E. D. Forgues. Like the June 11 translation, this one did not mention Poe's name. A third newspaper, La Presse, noticed the similarity between the stories in Commerce and the Quotidienne and cried foul. In fact, this newspaper accused Forgues of plagiarism.

In the scandal that followed, Forgues revealed that both publications relied on a prior work, "les Contes d'E. Poe, littérateur américain." La Presse refused, however, to retract its accusation of plagiarism and Forgues sued for libel. The controversy became a national headline due to the strange court case — and "Poe," the American writer, became a household name in France. Forgues's libel suit was tossed out, but he ended up writing a 20-page critical review of Poe's Tales (1845) and gave ample praise to the writer that inspired his scandal-inducing translation.

Poe, of course, was still living at the time (and dealing with a libel suit of his own). It is unclear how much he knew about the controversy but a sudden burst in interest in his work in France led to many new translations in a short time, including "A Descent into the Maelstrom," "The Black Cat," and "The Conversation of Eiros and Charmion." "The Gold-Bug" was translated from a recent translation to Russian. "The Murders in the Rue Morgue" and "The Black Cat" in particular caught the attention of French poet Charles Baudelaire.

Soon, Poe became more appreciated in France than in his home country... a situation which arguably still is true today.

A Poe Valentine's Day

As you spread love, chocolate, and flowers this February 14, keep in mind that Poe got into the spirit of Valentine's Day himself. Here are a few examples:

-An acrostic poem written by Poe's wife Virginia, February 14, 1846

Ever with thee I wish to roam —
Dearest my life is thine.
Give me a cottage for my home
And a rich old cypress vine,
Removed from the world with its sin and care
And the tattling of many tongues.
Love alone shall guide us when we are there —
Love shall heal my weakened lungs;
And Oh, the tranquil hours we'll spend,
Never wishing that others may see!
Perfect ease we'll enjoy, without thinking to lend
Ourselves to the world and its glee —
Ever peaceful and blissful we'll be.

(These are the only surviving words written by Virginia. If it's not enough of a tearjerker, check out this musical rendition by an acquaintance of mine.)

Knowing that his wife was dying, Poe kept up flirtations with other women. The same day Virginia presented the above poem, Poe wrote this to Frances Osgood:

-A Valentine February 14, 1846

For her this rhyme is penned, whose luminous eyes,
Brightly expressive as the twins of Leda,
Shall find her own sweet name, that nestling lies
Upon the page, enwrapped from every reader.
Search narrowly the lines!- they hold a treasure
Divine- a talisman- an amulet
That must be worn at heart. Search well the measure-
The words- the syllables! Do not forget
The trivialest point, or you may lose your labor
And yet there is in this no Gordian knot
Which one might not undo without a sabre,
If one could merely comprehend the plot.
Enwritten upon the leaf where now are peering
Eyes scintillating soul, there lie perdus
Three eloquent words oft uttered in the hearing
Of poets, by poets- as the name is a poet's, too,
Its letters, although naturally lying
Like the knight Pinto- Mendez Ferdinando-
Still form a synonym for Truth- Cease trying!
You will not read the riddle, though you do the best you can do.

This next one was written to Marie Louise Shew, a woman who had served as a volunteer nurse as Virginia was dying. It is likely meant platonically.

-To M. L. S.--, dated February 14, 1847

Of all who hail thy presence as the morning-
Of all to whom thine absence is the night-
The blotting utterly from out high heaven
The sacred sun- of all who, weeping, bless thee
Hourly for hope- for life- ah! above all,
For the resurrection of deep-buried faith
In Truth- in Virtue- in Humanity-
Of all who, on Despair's unhallowed bed
Lying down to die, have suddenly arisen
At thy soft-murmured words, "Let there be light!"
At the soft-murmured words that were fulfilled
In the seraphic glancing of thine eyes-
Of all who owe thee most- whose gratitude
Nearest resembles worship- oh, remember
The truest- the most fervently devoted,
And think that these weak lines are written by him-
By him who, as he pens them, thrills to think
His spirit is communing with an angel's.

Poe was surprised in 1848 when he heard that a poem was dedicated to him at a Valentine's party that year. The author, Sarah Helen Whitman, was very, very close to becoming Poe's second wife. Here is the Valentine poem she wrote for him:

-The Raven, February 14, 1848

Raven, from the dim dominions
On the Night's Plutonian shore,
Oft I hear thy dusky pinions
Wave and flutter round my door—
See the shadow of thy pinions
Float along the moon-lit floor;

Often, from the oak-woods glooming
Round some dim ancestral tower,
In the lurid distance looming—
Some high solitary tower—
I can hear thy storm-cry booming
Through the lonely midnight hour.

When the moon is at the zenith,
Thou dost haunt the moated hall,
Where the marish flower greeneth
O'er the waters, like a pall—
Where the House of Usher leaneth,
Darkly nodding to its fall:

There I see thee, dimly gliding—
See thy black plumes waving slow—
In its hollow casements hiding,
When their shadow yawns below,
To the sullen tarn confiding
The dark secrets of their woe:—

See thee, when the stars are burning
In their cressets, silver clear—
When Ligeia's spirit yearning
For the earth-life, wanders near—
When Morella's soul returning,
Weirdly whispers "I am here."

Once, within a realm enchanted,
On a far isle of the seas,
By unearthly visions haunted,
By unearthly melodies,
Where the evening sunlight slanted
Golden through the garden trees—

Where the dreamy moonlight dozes,
Where the early violets dwell,
Listening to the silver closes
Of a lyric loved too well,
Suddenly, among the roses,
Like a cloud, thy shadow fell.

Once, where Ulalume lies sleeping,
Hard by Auber's haunted mere,
With the ghouls a vigil keeping,
On that night of all the year,
Came thy souding pinions, sweeping
Through the leafless woods of Weir!

Oft, with Proserpine I wander
On the Night's Plutonian shore,
Hoping, fearing, while I ponder
On thy loved and lost Lenore—
On the demon doubts that sunder
Soul from soul forevermore;

Trusting, though with sorrow laden,
That when life's dark dream is o'er,
By whatever name the maiden
Lives within thy mystic lore,
Eiros, in that distant Aidenn,
Shall his Charmion meet once more.

The Death of the Broadway Journal / The Birth of The Stylus

On January 3, 1846, the final issue of the Broadway Journal was issued in New York. Edgar Poe had been its editor and sole proprietor for its final few issues after his partners, Bisco and Briggs, backed away from the project. It was the only journal that Poe ever owned, though it did not deter him from what was arguably the biggest goal in his life: producing his own journal, The Stylus.

Reasons for the failure of the Broadway Journal are manifold and the truth is that Poe inherited a journal which was already struggling in a periodical-saturated market. It's hard to blame him for its demise (though, feel free to argue by leaving a comment to this entry).

It is tempting, however, to speculate on Poe's skills as a publisher. First and foremost, Poe was not a businessperson and we certainly can't remember him as one (much of his business moves were guided by his personal adviser and mother-in-law Maria Clemm, and it would be an interesting debate to discuss whether she was a help or a hamper). Assuming Poe was able to bring in a partner to The Stylus, which isn't unlikely considering the many he courted to aid him in the endeavor (including Thomas Holley Chivers), I would argue that Poe would have brought a hefty journal into the world.

He seems to have proven himself in his many editorial roles. With Graham's Magazine in Philadelphia, for example, he often corresponded with contributors and potential contributors; he solicited for new material; he engaged in finding illustrations; he even helped contributors track down money that they were owed from his boss, George R. Graham, who very often was behind in paying his bills for one reason or another. Of course, as a critic, Poe had established himself as a substantial "name" bordering on celebrity status - his contributions of literary reviews alone would have driven many subscribers to his doorstep.

More than this, I like to believe that Poe was able to dig deep into all the nitty-gritty details of publisher. Presumably, he knew about illustrations and woodcuts and the like. He knew about ink, publishing machinery, distributing to subscribers, and setting type (a very basic knowledge would have been needed for him to write his hilarious story "X-ing a Paragrab"). Certainly, by the end of the Broadway Journal, he was a one-man show who must have been involved with all of these aspects.

It's certainly fun to think what The Stylus might have been, had it ever come to fruition. What really would have made its success such a challenge, however, was how high Poe was aiming. Purposely avoiding the tendency to cater to the mainstream "unwashed masses" of readers, The Stylus would have been high brow, to say the least. Poe's goal was nothing less than advancing the state of American letters to create a higher quality literary canon on this side of the pond. In a world where gift-books thrived, and the coming "feminine fifties" promoting sappy poetry about flowers and the like, The Stylus would have struggled to find an audience and, I think, would ultimately have disappeared as fast as the countless other journals that never thrived in the 19th century.

Why was The Stylus never born? My guess is that it would have been, had Poe not died in October 1849.