As to your injunction not to trouble you with farther communication rest assured, Sir, that I will most religiously observe it. When I parted from you—at the steam-boat, I knew that I should never see you again.
As regards Sergt. Graves—I
did
write him that letter. As to the truth of its contents, I leave it to God, and your own conscience.—The time in which I wrote it was within a half hour after you had embittered every feeling of my heart against you by your abuse of my
family
, and myself, under your own roof—and at a time when you knew that my heart was almost breaking.
I have no more to say—except that my future life (which thank God will not endure long) must be passed in indigence and sickness. I have no energy left, nor health, If it was possible, to put up with the fatigues of this place, and the inconveniences which my absolute want of necessaries subject me to, and as I mentioned before it is my intention to resign. For this end it will be necessary that you (as my nominal guardian) enclose me your written permission. It will be useless to refuse me this last request—for I can leave the place without any permission—your refusal would only deprive me of the little pay which is now due as mileage.
From the time of writing this I shall neglect my studies and duties at the institution—if I do not receive your answer in 10 days—I will leave the point without—for otherwise I should subject myself to dismission.
Hurt by Allan’s failure to contact him during his recent visit to New York City (for the purpose of remarriage), Poe blames both his predicament at West Point and his debacle at the University of Virginia on Allan’s parsimony while simultaneously begging permission to resign from the academy and threatening to neglect his military duties. Sgt. Graves was Poe’s hired substitute in the U.S. Army; explaining the delay in paying Graves, Poe had remarked in a letter that Allan was “not very often sober.”
Baltimore April 12
th
1833
It has now been more than two years since you have assisted me, and more than three since you have spoken to me. I feel little hope that you will pay any regard to this letter, but still I cannot refrain from making one more attempt to interest you in my behalf. If you will only consider in what a situation I am placed you will surely pity me—without friends, without any means, consequently of obtaining employment, I am perishing—absolutely perishing for want of aid. And yet I am not idle—nor addicted to any vice—nor have I committed any offence against society which would render me deserving of so hard a fate. For God’s sake pity me, and save me from destruction.
Two years after his court martial and discharge from West Point, now living in abject poverty and ill health with relatives in Baltimore, Poe here appeals forlornly to Allan (who would die eleven months later) for a handout.
[April 30, 1835]
I noticed the allusion in the Doom. The writer seems to compare my swim with that of Lord Byron, whereas there can be no comparison between them. Any swimmer “in the falls” in my days, would have swum the Hellespont, and thought nothing of the matter. I swam from Ludlam’s wharf to Warwick, (six miles,) in a hot June sun, against one of the strongest tides ever known in the river. It would have been a feat comparatively easy to swim twenty miles in still water. I would not think much of attempting to swim the British Channel from Dover to Calais [. . .] to what you said concerning [MS. torn, missing text]
A word or two in relation to Berenice. Your opinion of it is very just. The subject is by far too horrible, and I confess that I hesitated in sending it you especially as a specimen of my capabilities. The Tale originated in a bet that I could produce nothing effective on a subject so singular, provided I treated it seriously. But what I wish to say relates to the character of your Magazine more than to any articles I may offer, and I beg you to believe that I have no intention of giving you
advice
, being fully confident that, upon consideration, you will agree with me. The history of all Magazines shows plainly that those which have attained celebrity were indebted for it to articles
similar in nature—to Berenice—
although, I grant you, far superior in style and execution. I say similar in
nature
. You ask me in what does this nature consist? In the ludicrous heightened into the grotesque: the fearful coloured into the horrible: the witty exaggerated into the burlesque: the singular wrought out into the strange and mystical. You may say all this is bad taste. I have my doubts about it. Nobody is more aware than I am that simplicity is the cant of the day—but take my word for it no one cares any thing about simplicity in their hearts. Believe me also, in spite of what people say to the contrary, that there is nothing easier in the world than to be extremely simple. But whether the articles of which I speak are, or are not in bad taste is little to the purpose. To be appreciated you must be
read
, and these things are invariably sought after with avidity. They are, if you will take notice, the articles which find their way into other periodicals, and into the papers, and in this manner, taking hold upon the public mind they augment the reputation of the source where they originated. Such articles are the “M.S. found in a Madhouse” and the “Monos and Daimonos” of the London New Monthly—the “Confessions of an Opium-Eater” and the “Man in the Bell” of Blackwood. The two first were written by no less a man than Bulwer—the
Confessions
[illegible] universally attributed to Coleridge—although unjustly. Thus the first men in [England] have not thought writings of this nature unworthy of their talents, and I have good reason to believe that some very high names valued themselves
principally
upon this species of literature. To be sure originality is an essential in these things—great attention must be paid to style, and much labour spent in their composition, or they will degenerate into the turgid or the absurd. If I am not mistaken you will find M
r
Kennedy, whose writings you admire, and whose Swallow-Barn is unrivalled for purity of style and thought of my opinion in this matter. It is unnecessary for you to pay much attention to the many who will no doubt favour you with their critiques. In respect to Berenice individually I allow that it approaches the very verge of bad taste—but I will not sin quite so egregiously again. I propose to furnish you every month with a Tale of the nature which I have alluded to. The effect—if any—will be estimated better by the circulation of the Magazine than by any comments upon its contents. This much, however, it is necessary to premise, that no two of these Tales will have the slightest resemblance one to the other either in matter or manner—still however preserving the character which I speak of.
Mrs Butler’s book will be out on the 1
rst
. A life of Cicero is in press by Jn° Stricker of this city—also a life of Franklin by Jared Sparks, Boston.—also Willis’ Poems, and a novel by D
r
Bird.
Yours sincerely
EDGAR A POE
The letter was torn, perhaps by White, who printed a portion of it (the first paragraph here—through “Calais”) in the
Southern Literary Messenger
. Poe notes a recent story, not of his composition, that alludes to his famous swimming exploit. More significantly, in the unpublished body of the letter he defends his tale, “Berenice,” from White’s imputation of “bad taste” and articulates bold goals as a writer of magazine fiction.
EDGAR ALLAN POE TO MARIA AND VIRGINIA CLEMM
[Richmond] Aug: 29
th
[1835]
My dearest Aunty,
I am blinded with tears while writing this letter—I have no wish to live another hour. Amid sorrow, and the deepest anxiety your letter reached—and you well know how little I am able to bear up under the pressure of grief. My bitterest enemy would pity me could he now read my heart. My last my last my only hold on life is cruelly torn away—I have no desire to live and
will not
. But let my duty be done. I love,
you know
I love Virginia passionately devotedly. I cannot express in words the fervent devotion I feel towards my dear little cousin—my own darling. But what can I say? Oh think for me for I am incapable of thinking. All of my thoughts are occupied with the supposition that both you & she will prefer to go with N. Poe. I do sincerely believe that your
comforts
will for the present be secured—I cannot speak as regards your peace—your happiness. You have both tender hearts—and you will always have the reflection that my agony is more than I can bear—that you have driven me to the grave—for love like mine can never be gotten over. It is useless to disguise the truth that when Virginia goes with N.P. that I shall never behold her again—that is absolutely sure. Pity me, my dear Aunty, pity me. I have no one now to fly to. I am among strangers, and my wretchedness is more than I can bear. It is useless to expect advice from me—what can I say? Can I, in honour & in truth say—Virginia! do not go!—do not go where you can be comfortable & perhaps happy—and on the other hand can I calmly resign my—life itself. If she had truly loved me would she not have rejected the offer with scorn? Oh God have mercy on me! If she goes with N.P. what are you to do, my own Aunty?
I had procured a sweet little house in a retired situation on Church Hill—newly done up and with a large garden and every convenience—at only $5 per month. I have been dreaming every day & night since of the rapture I should feel in having my only friends—all I love on Earth with me there, and the pride I would take in making you both comfortable & in calling her my wife. But the dream is over. Oh God have mercy on me. What have I
to live for
? Among strangers with
not one soul to love me
.
The situation has this morning been conferred upon another. Branch T. Saunders. but White has engaged to make my salary $60 a month, and we could live in comparative comfort & happiness—even the $4 a week I am now paying for board would support us all—but I shall have $15 a week & what need would we have of more? I had thought to send you on a little money every week until you could either hear from Hall or W
m.
Poe, and then we could get a little furniture for a start for White will not be able to advance any. After that all would go well—or I would make a desperate exertion & try to borrow enough for that purpose. There is little danger of the house being taken immediately.
I would send you on $5 now—for White paid me the $8 2 days since—but you appear not to have received my last letter and I am afraid to trust it to the mail, as the letters are continually robbed. I have it
for
you & will keep it until I hear from you when I will send it & more if I get any in the meantime. I wrote you that Wm. Poe had written to me concerning you & has offered to assist you asking me questions concerning you which I answered. He will beyond doubt aid you shortly & with an effectual aid. Trust in God.
The tone of your letter wounds me to the soul—Oh Aunty, Aunty you loved me once—how can you be so cruel now? You speak of Virginia acquiring accomplishments, and entering into society—you speak in so
worldly
a tone. Are you sure she would be more happy. Do you think any one could love her more dearly than I? She will have far—very far better opportunities of entering into society here than with N.P. Every one here receives me with open arms.
Adieu my dear aunty. I
cannot advise you
. Ask Virginia. Leave it to her. Let me have, under her own hand, a letter, bidding me
good bye
—forever—and I may die—my heart will break—but I will say no more.
EAP.
Kiss her for me—a million times.
For Virginia,
My love, my own sweetest Sissy, my darling little wifey, think well before you break the heart of your cousin. Eddy.
I open this letter to enclose the 5$—I have just received another letter from you announcing the rect. of mine. My heart bleeds for you. Dearest Aunty consider my happiness while you are thinking about your own. I am saving all I can. The only money I have yet spent is 50 cts for washing—I have 2.25 left. I will shortly send you more. Write immediately. I shall be all anxiety & dread until I hear from you. Try and convince my dear Virg
a.
how devotedly I love her. I wish you would get me the Republican wh: which noticed the Messenger & send it on immediately by mail. God bless & protect you both.
Poe despised his cousin Neilson Poe (then a successful newspaper publisher) and feared that if Neilson became Virginia’s protector, he would thwart her marriage to Edgar. Poe notes that the teaching position he sought had been given to another man but assures Mrs. Clemm that his salary from White will support her and her daughter in Richmond.
Philadelphia Sep. 21
rst.
1839.
My Dear Sir:
I recd. your letter this morning—and read it with more pleasure than I can well express. You wrong me, indeed, in supposing that I meant one word of mere flattery in what I said. I have an inveterate habit of speaking the truth—and had I not valued your opinion more highly than that of any man in America I should not have written you as I did.
I say that I read your letter with delight. In fact I am aware of no delight greater than that of feeling one’s self appreciated (in such wild matters as “Ligeia”) by those in whose judgment one has faith. You read my inmost spirit “like a book,” and with the single exception of D’Israeli, I have had communication with no other person who does. Willis had a glimpse of it—Judge Tucker saw about one half way through—but your ideas are the very echo of my own. I am very far from meaning to flatter—I am flattered and honored. Beside me is now lying a letter from Washington Irving in which he speaks with enthusiasm of a late tale of mine, “The Fall of the House of Usher,”—and in which he promises to make his opinion public, upon the first opportunity,—but from the bottom of my heart I assure you, I regard his best word as but dust in the balance when weighed with those discriminating opinions of your own, which teach me that you feel and perceive.