Kitabı oku: «The Home Life of Poe», sayfa 10
CHAPTER XXIX
MRS. SHELTON
Poe's first visits on his arrival in Richmond had been to Mrs. Shelton, and it soon became known that an engagement existed between them, although they were never seen together in public, and Poe on all occasions denied the engagement. Yet morning after morning the curious neighbors were treated to a sight of the poet ascending the steps of the tall, plain, substantial looking brick house on the corner of Grace street, facing the rear of St. John's church, and had they watched more closely they might at times have seen another figure following in its footsteps. This was Rosalie Poe, who, delighted at her brother's engagement, and being utterly without tact or judgment, would present herself at Mrs. Shelton's door shortly after his own arrival, as she said, for the pleasure of seeing the couple together. Once she surprised them at a tête-à-tête luncheon at which "corned beef and mustard" figured; but on another occasion Mrs. Shelton met and informed her that Mr. Poe had a headache from his long walk and was resting on the parlor sofa, where she herself would attend to him, and so dismissed her, to her great indignation. Not alone to Mrs. Shelton's were these "shadowings" of her brother confined, but if she at any time knew of his intention to call at some house where she herself was acquainted, she would as likely as not make her own appearance during his visit; or, in promenading Broad street, he would unexpectedly find himself waylaid and introduced to some prosy acquaintance of his sister. It required Mrs. Mackenzie's authority to relieve him from these annoyances. There was, however, something pathetic in the sister's pride in and affection for a brother from whom she received but little manifestation of regard. He treated her indulgently, but, as she herself often said, in her homely way, "Edgar could never love me as I do him, because he is so far above me."
About the middle of August Mrs. Shelton's interested neighbors observed that the poet's visits to her suddenly ceased; and then followed a report that the engagement was broken, and that a bitter estrangement existed between the two. Mr. Woodbury, Poe's biographer, doubts this, and declares that, "We have no evidence that such was the case;" but we, who were on the spot, as it were, and had opportunity of judging, knew that the report was true. Miss Van Lew, the famous "war postmistress" of Richmond, once said to me as, standing on the porch of her house, she pointed out Mrs. Shelton's residence: "I used at first to often see Mr. Poe enter there, but never during the latter part of his stay in Richmond. It seemed to be known about here that the engagement was off.... Gossip had it that Mrs. Shelton discarded him because persuaded by friends that he was after her money. All her relatives are said to be opposed to the match."
From Poe's own confidential statement to Mr. John Mackenzie, who had first suggested the match with Mrs. Shelton, it appears that money considerations was really the cause of the trouble. Mrs. Shelton had the reputation of being a thorough business woman and very careful and cautious with regard to her money. Poe was at this time canvassing in the interests of the Stylus, in which he received great encouragement from his friends, but when he applied to Mrs. Shelton it is certain that she failed to respond as he desired. She had no faith in the success of his plan, neither any sympathy with its purpose. Also, in discussing arrangements for their marriage, she announced her intention of keeping entire control of her property. Poe himself broke their engagement. Next there arose a difficulty concerning certain letters which the lady desired to have returned to her and which he declined to give up, except on condition of receiving his own. Possibly each feared that these letters might some time fall into the hands of Poe's biographers. If they were written during his courtship of Mrs. Whitman, and when still uncertain of the result, he appears to have been keeping Mrs. Shelton in reserve.
Mrs. Shelton, during a few days' absence of Poe at the country home of Mr. John Mackenzie, came to Duncan Lodge and appealed to Mrs. Mackenzie to influence Poe in returning her letters. I saw her on this occasion—a tall, rather masculine-looking woman, who drew her veil over her face as she passed us on the porch, though I caught a glimpse of large, shadowy, light blue eyes which must once have been handsome. We heard no more of her until some time about the middle of September, when suddenly Poe's visits to her were resumed, though in a very quiet manner. It seems certain that the engagement was then renewed, and that Mrs. Shelton must have promised to assist Poe in his literary enterprise; for from that time he was enthusiastic in regard to the Stylus and what he termed its "assured success." He even commenced arranging a Table of Contents for the first number of the magazine; and Mrs. Mackenzie told me how he one morning spent an hour in her room taking from her information, notes and data for an article which he intended to appear in one of its earliest numbers. He was in high spirits, and declared that he had never felt in better health. This was after an attack of serious illness, due to his association with dissipated companions. Tempted as he was on every side and wherever he went in the city, it was not strange that he had not always the strength of will to resist; and twice during this visit to Richmond he was subject to attacks somewhat similar to those which he had known at Fordham, and through which he was now kindly nursed by his friends at Duncan Lodge.
Poe gave but one public lecture on this visit to Richmond—that on "The Poetic Principle" —and of this most exaggerated accounts have been given by several writers, even to the present day, they representing it to have been a great financial success. One recent lecturer remarks upon the strangeness of the fate when, just as the hitherto impecunious poet was "about returning home with five thousand and five hundred dollars in his pocket, he should have been robbed of it all." The truth of the matter is that but two hundred and fifty tickets were printed, the price being fifty cents each, and, as Dr. William Gibbon Carter informed me, there were by actual count not more than one hundred persons present at the lecture, some being holders of complimentary tickets. Another account says there were but sixty present, but that they were of the very elite of the city. Considering that from the proceeds of the lecture all expenses of hall rent had to be paid, we cannot wonder at Poe's writing to Mrs. Clemm, "My poor, poor Muddie, I am yet unable to send you a single dollar."
I was present at this lecture, with my mother and sister and Rose Poe, who as we took seats reserved for us, left her party and joined us. I noticed that Poe had no manuscript, and that, though he stood like a statue, he held his audience as motionless as himself—fascinated by his voice and expression. Rose pointed out to me Mrs. Shelton, seated conspicuously in front of the platform, facing the lecturer. This position gave me a good view of her, with her large, deep-set, light-blue eyes and sunken cheeks, her straight features, high forehead and cold expression of countenance. Doubtless she had been handsome in her youth, but the impression which she produced upon me was that of a sensible, practical woman, the reverse of a poet's ideal. And yet she says "Poe often told her that she was the original of his lost Lenore."
When Poe had concluded his lecture, he lightly and quickly descended the platform and, passing Mrs. Shelton without notice, came to where we were seated, greeting us in his usual graceful manner. He looked pleased, smiling and handsome. The audience arose, but made no motion to retire; watching him as he talked and evidently waiting to speak to him; but he never glanced in their direction. Rose, radiantly happy, stood drawn up to her full height, and observed, "Edgar, only see how the people are staring at the poet and his sister." I believe it to have been the proudest moment of her life, and one which she ever delighted to recall. This occurred during the period of estrangement between Poe and Mrs. Shelton.
Quite suddenly, in the latter part of September, Poe decided to go to New York. His object was, as he himself declared, to make some arrangements in regard to the Stylus, though gossip said to bring Mrs. Clemm on to his marriage.
It is difficult to get a clear idea of the relation between Poe and Mrs. Shelton, owing to the contradictory statements of the two. Undoubtedly they must have met during Poe's first visit to Richmond, and he tells Mrs. Whitman that he was about to address the lady when her own letters caused him to change his mind. And yet Mrs. Shelton speaks of their meeting on his last visit as though it had been the first since their youthful acquaintance. As she entered the parlor, she says, on his first call, "I knew him at once," and, as the pious and practical woman that she was, she adds, "I told him that I was on my way to church, and that I allowed nothing to interfere with this duty." She says also in her Reminiscences, "I was never engaged to him, but there was an understanding;" and yet, on his death, she appeared in public attired in deepest widow's weeds. That she was devoted to him appears from her own letter to Dr. Moran when informed by him of Poe's death, "He was dearer to me than any other living creature." Poe himself, writing to Mrs. Clemm, says: "Elmira has just returned from the country. I believe that she loves me more devotedly than any one I ever knew." He adds, apparently in allusion to his marriage, "Nothing has yet been arranged, and it will not do to hurry matters," concluding with, "If possible, I will get married before leaving Richmond."
On his deathbed in Washington he said to Dr. Moran, "Sir, I was to have been married in ten days," and requested him to write to Mrs. Shelton.
CHAPTER XXX
THE MYSTERY OF FATE
One evening—it was Sunday, the 2d of October—Dr. John Carter was seated alone in his office when Poe entered, having just paid a farewell visit to Mrs. Shelton before leaving in the morning for New York. He remarked to Dr. Carter that he would probably stop for one day in Baltimore, and perhaps also in Philadelphia, on business; would like to remain longer, but had written to Mrs. Clemm to expect him at Fordham some time this week. He would be back in Richmond in about a fortnight.
While talking, he took up a handsome malacca sword-cane belonging to Dr. Carter and absently played with it. He looked grave and preoccupied; several times inquired the hour, and at length rising suddenly, remarked that he would step over to Saddler's restaurant and get supper. He took the cane with him, Dr. Carter understanding from this circumstance and his not taking leave, that he would presently return on his way to the Swan, where he had left his baggage. He did not, however, reappear; and on the next morning Dr. Carter inquired about him at Saddler's. The proprietor said that Poe and two friends had remained to a late hour, talking and drinking moderately, and had then left together to go aboard the boat, which would start at four o'clock for Baltimore. He said that Poe, when he left, was in good spirits and quite sober; though this last may be doubted, since he not only forgot to return Dr. Carter's cane but to send for his own baggage at the Swan Some persons have insisted that Poe must have been drugged by these men, who were strangers to Mr. Saddler, and there was even a sensational story published in a Northern magazine to the effect that Poe had been followed to Baltimore by two of Mrs. Shelton's brothers, and there, after having certain letters taken from him, beaten so severely that he was found dying in an obscure alley. This story was first started by Mrs. Elizabeth Oakes Smith in one of the New York journals, though it does not appear from what source she derived her information. No denial was made or notice taken of it by Mrs. Shelton's friends, and the story gradually died out.
For over forty years the mystery of the tragic death of the poet remained a mystery, strangely and persistently defying all attempts at elucidation. But within the last few years there has appeared in a St. Louis paper a communication which professes to give a truthful account of the circumstances connected with the poet's death, and which wears such an appearance of probability that it is at least worth considering.
This letter, which is addressed to the editor of the paper, is from a certain Dr. Snodgrass, who represents himself to have been for many years a resident of Dakota. He says that on the evening of October 2, 1849, being in Baltimore, he stepped into a plain but respectable eating-house or restaurant kept by an Irish widow, where, to his surprise, he met with Poe, whom he had once been accustomed to meet here, but had not seen for some years. After taking some refreshment, they left the place together, but had not proceeded far when they were seized upon by two men, who hurried them off to some place where they were, with several others, kept close prisoners through the night and following day, though otherwise well treated. It was the eve of a great municipal election, and the city was wild with excitement. Next evening the kidnappers, having drugged their captives, hurried them to the polls, where they, in a half-conscious condition, were made to vote over and over again. The doctor, it appears, was only partially affected, but Poe succumbed utterly, and at length one of the men said, "What is the use of dragging around a dead man?" With that, they called a hack, put Poe within it, and ordered the driver to take him to the Washington Hospital.
Dr. Snodgrass says positively: "I myself saw Poe thrust into the hack, heard the order given, and saw the vehicle drive off with its unconscious burden."
Thus—if this account may be relied upon—ended the strange, sad tragedy of the poet's life; none stranger, none sadder, in all the annals of modern literature.
Dr. Snodgrass intimates that his reason for so long a delay in making this story known was his unwillingness to have his own part in the affair exposed, and with the notoriety which its connection with the poet would render unavoidable. But now, he says, in his old age, and having outlived all who knew him at the time, this consideration is of little worth to him. If the story be not true, we cannot see why it should have been invented. At least, it cannot, at the present day, be disproved, and it certainly appears to be the most probable and natural explanation of the poet's death that has been given. It agrees also with Dr. Moran's account of Poe's condition when he was received at the hospital, and with the latter's earnest assurance that he himself was not responsible for that condition, and also with his requesting that Dr. Snodgrass be sent for. The kidnappers had probably exchanged his garments for others as a means of disguise, intending to restore them eventually. They at least did not take from him the handsome malacca cane which was in his grasp when he reached the hospital; and which which would tend to prove that he was not then altogether unconscious. This cane was, at Dr. Carter's request, returned to him by Mrs. Clemm, to whom Dr. Moran sent it. His baggage, left at the Swan, was sent by Mr. Mackenzie to Mrs. Clemm, disproving the story that it had been stolen from him in Baltimore.
In addition to the above, we find another and very similar account, apparently by the same Dr. Snodgrass, in the "San Francisco Chronicle of August 31," the date of the year not appearing on the clipping from which I make the following extracts:
"You say that Poe did not die from the effects of deliberate dissipation?" asked the Chronicle reporter.
"That is just what I do mean; and I say further that he died from the effects of deliberate murder."
The author of this assertion was a well-known member of this city's advanced and inveterate Bohemia; a gentleman who has long since retired from the active pursuits of his profession and spends his old age in dreamy meditation, frequenting one of the popular resorts of the craft, but mingling little in their society. When joining in their conversation, it is generally to correct some errors from his inexhaustible mine of reminiscences, and on these occasions his words are few and precise.
"Then you knew something of the poet, Doctor?"
"I was his intimate associate for years. Much that biographers have said of him is false, especially regarding his death. Poe was not an habitual drunkard, but he was a steady drinker when his means admitted of it. His habitual resort when in Baltimore was the Widow Meagher's place, on the city front, inexpensive, but respectable, having an oyster and liquor stand, and corresponding in some respects with the coffee shops of San Francisco. Here I frequently met him."
"But about his death?"
"The mystery of the poet's death had remained a mystery for more than forty years when there appeared in a Texas paper an article from the pen of the editor, in which he gave a letter from a Dr. Snodgrass professing to reveal the truth of the matter.
"About the time that this article was published there appeared one in the San Francisco Chronicle by a reporter of that paper, telling of an interview which he had with this same Dr. Snodgrass, of whom he says: 'He was a well-known literary Bohemian of this city who long ago gave up his profession and is spending his old age in a state of dreamy existence from which he is seldom aroused except to correct some error concerning people and things of past times, of which he possesses a mine of reminiscences.'"
The Doctor, denying that Poe had died from dissipation, gave an account of the manner of his death as he knew it, corresponding in all particulars with that given by him to the Texas editor. In conclusion, he said:
"Poe did not die of dissipation. I say that he was deliberately murdered. He died of laudanum or some other drug forced upon him by his kidnappers. When one said, 'What is the use of carrying around a dying man?' they put him in a cab and sent him to the hospital. I was there and saw it myself."
"Poe had been shifting about between Baltimore, Philadelphia and New York for some years. Once he had been away for several months in Richmond, and one evening turned up at the widow's. I was there when he came in. Then it was drinks all round, and at length we were real jolly. It was the eve of an election, and we started up town. There were four of us, and we had not gone half a dozen squares when we were nabbed by policemen, who were looking up voters to "coop." It was the practice in those days to seize people, whether drunk or sober, and keep them locked up until the polls were opened and then march them to every precinct in control of the party having the coop. This coop was in the rear of an engine-house on Calvert street. It was part of the plan to stupefy the prisoners with drugged liquor. Next day we were voted at thirty different places, it being as much as one's life was worth to rebel. Poe was so badly drugged that he had to be carried on two or three rounds, and then the gang said it was no use trying any longer to vote a dead man and must get rid of him. And with that they shoved him into a cab and sent him away."
"Then he died from dissipation, after all?"
"Nothing of the kind. He died from the effects of laudanum or some other poison forced on him in the coop. He was in a dying condition when being voted twenty or thirty times. The story told by Griswold and others of his being picked up in the street is a lie. I saw him thrust into the cab myself."
And Mrs. Clemm?
When she received Poe's letter bidding her to expect him at Fordham that week, she hastened thither to set her house in order for his reception. Day after day she watched and waited, but he did not come. And at length, when the week had passed, she one evening sat alone in the little cottage around which and through the naked branches of the cherry tree the October wind was sighing, and in anguish of spirit wrote to "Annie":
"Eddie is dead—dead."
