the works of edgar allan poe-1-第5章
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extraordinary man whose name we have written above。 Our own
impression of the nature of Edgar A。 Poe； differs in some important
degree； however； from that which has been generally conveyed in the
notices of his death。 Let us； before telling what we personally know
of him； copy a graphic and highly finished portraiture； from the pen
of Dr。 Rufus W。 Griswold； which appeared in a recent number of the
〃Tribune：〃｛*1｝
〃Edgar Allen Poe is dead。 He died in Baltimore on Sunday； October
7th。 This announcement will startle many； but few will be grieved by
it。 The poet was known； personally or by reputation； in all this
country； he bad readers in England and in several of the states of
Continental Europe； but he had few or no friends； and the regrets for
his death will be suggested principally by the consideration that in
him literary art has lost one of its most brilliant but erratic stars。
〃His conversation was at times almost supramortal in its eloquence。
His voice was modulated with astonishing skill； and his large and
variably expressive eyes looked repose or shot fiery tumult into
theirs who listened； while his own face glowed； or was changeless in
pallor； as his imagination quickened his blood or drew it back frozen
to his heart。 His imagery was from the worlds which no mortals can
see but with the vision of genius。 Suddenly starting from a
proposition； exactly and sharply defined； in terms of utmost
simplicity and clearness； he rejected the forms of customary logic；
and by a crystalline process of accretion； built up his ocular
demonstrations in forms of gloomiest and ghastliest grandeur； or in
those of the most airy and delicious beauty； so minutely and
distinctly； yet so rapidly； that the attention which was yielded to
him was chained till it stood among his wonderful creations； till he
himself dissolved the spell； and brought his hearers back to common
and base existence； by vulgar fancies or exhibitions of the ignoblest
passion。
〃He was at all times a dreamer…dwelling in ideal realms…in heaven or
hell…peopled with the creatures and the accidents of his brain。 He
walked…the streets； in madness or melancholy； with lips moving in
indistinct curses； or with eyes upturned in passionate prayer （never
for himself； for he felt； or professed to feel； that he was already
damned； but） for their happiness who at the moment were objects of
his idolatry； or with his glances introverted to a heart gnawed with
anguish； and with a face shrouded in gloom； he would brave the
wildest storms； and all night； with drenched garments and arms
beating the winds and rains； would speak as if the spirits that at
such times only could be evoked by him from the Aidenn； close by
whose portals his disturbed soul sought to forget the ills to which
his constitution subjected him…close by the Aidenn where were those
he loved…the Aidenn which he might never see； but in fitful glimpses；
as its gates opened to receive the less fiery and more happy natures
whose destiny to sin did not involve the doom of death。
〃He seemed； except when some fitful pursuit subjugated his will and
engrossed his faculties； always to bear the memory of some
controlling sorrow。 The remarkable poem of 'The Raven' was probably
much more nearly than has been supposed； even by those who were very
intimate with him； a reflection and an echo of his own history。 _He
_was that bird's
〃 ' unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never…never more。'
〃Every genuine author in a greater or less degree leaves in his
works； whatever their design； traces of his personal character：
elements of his immortal being； in which the individual survives the
person。 While we read the pages of the 'Fall of the House of Usher；'
or of 'Mesmeric Revelations；' we see in the solemn and stately gloom
which invests one； and in the subtle metaphysical analysis of both；
indications of the idiosyncrasies of what was most remarkable and
peculiar in the author's intellectual nature。 But we see here only
the better phases of his nature； only the symbols of his juster
action； for his harsh experience had deprived him of all faith in man
or woman。 He had made up his mind upon the numberless complexities of
the social world； and the whole system with him was an imposture。
This conviction gave a direction to his shrewd and naturally
unamiable character。 Still； though he regarded society as composed
altogether of villains； the sharpness of his intellect was not of
that kind which enabled him to cope with villany； while it
continually caused him by overshots to fail of the success of
honesty。 He was in many respects like Francis Vivian in Bulwer's
novel of 'The Caxtons。' Passion； in him； comprehended …many of the
worst emotions which militate against human happiness。 You could not
contradict him； but you raised quick choler； you could not speak of
wealth； but his cheek paled with gnawing envy。 The astonishing
natural advantages of this poor boyhis beauty； his readiness； the
daring spirit that breathed around him like a fiery atmospherehad
raised his constitutional self…confidence into an arrogance that
turned his very claims to admiration into prejudices against him。
Irascible； enviousbad enough； but not the worst； for these salient
angles were all varnished over with a cold； repellant cynicism； his
passions vented themselves in sneers。 There seemed to him no moral
susceptibility； and； what was more remarkable in a proud nature；
little or nothing of the true point of honor。 He had； to a morbid
excess； that； desire to rise which is vulgarly called ambition； but
no wish for the esteem or the love of his species； only the hard wish
to succeed…not shine； not serve …succeed； that he might have the
right to despise a world which galled his self…conceit。
〃We have suggested the influence of his aims and vicissitudes upon
his literature。 It was more conspicuous in his later than in his
earlier writings。 Nearly all that he wrote in the last two or three
years…including much of his best poetry…was in some sense
biographical； in draperies of his imagination； those who had taken
the trouble to trace his steps； could perceive； but slightly
concealed； the figure of himself。〃
Apropos of the disparaging portion of the above well…written sketch；
let us truthfully say：
Some four or five years since； when editing a daily paper in this
city； Mr。 Poe was employed by us； for several months； as critic and
sub…editor。 This was our first personal acquaintance with him。 He
resided with his wife and mother at Fordham； a few miles out of town；
but was at his desk in the office； from nine in the morning till the
evening paper went to press。 With the highest admiration for his
genius； and a willingness to let it atone for more than ordinary
irregularity； we were led by common report to expect a very
capricious attention to his duties； and occasionally a scene of
violence and difficulty。 Time went on； however； and he was invariably
punctual and industrious。 With his pale； beautiful； and intellectual
face； as a reminder of what genius was in him； it was impossible； of
course； not to treat him always with deferential courtesy； and； to
our occasional request that he would not probe too deep in a
criticism； or that he would erase a passage colored too highly with
his resentments against society and mankind； he readily and
courteously assented…far more yielding than most men； we thought； on
points so excusably sensitive。 With a prospect of taking the lead in
another periodical； he； at last； voluntarily gave up his employment
with us； and； through all this considerable period； we had seen but
one presentment of the man…a quiet； patient； industrious； and most
gentlemanly person； commanding the utmost respect and good feeling by
his unvarying deportment and ability。
Residing as he did in the country； we never met Mr。 Poe in hours of
leisure； but he frequently called on us afterward at our
