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by Berenice Cazalet Most of his contemporaries would not have had to think twice about their answer: ”Madness, pure madness” they would have uttered, “and far too much alcohol and drugs of all kinds. Strange person, this Poe. Such a nice family background, do you remember righteous Mr. Allen and his late wife Frances? So generous, they offered this poor orphan a home , both parents were actors.” “Hah, a child of actors, what can you expect? Not even Mr. Allen nor his lovely wife would have been able to raise him to be a normal person”. This is probably what you would have heard if you had listened to some upright Baltimoreans in 1849, talking about a man who had just been found dying and delirious in the streets of Baltimore. Even though he was taken to a hospital, he died in the early morning hours of October 1849, taking the secret about his death with him to the grave. So who was he, this man who died in such a mysterious way and who his fellow citizens looked at with suspicion, with anger or with fear? Edgar Poe was born in 1809 the second son to David Poe and Elizabeth Arnold. Both parents were actors. Poe’s mother was the more successful one and the rumour went David Poe left her and the three children William, Edgar and Rosalie because he was jealous of Elizabeth’s “triumphs” on stage. That was in 1810 Only 1 year later, Edgar’s mother died of “consumption”, of tuberculosis. The family was poor and could only afford a little room to live in. The daily suffering of the mother, the fading away of this delicate person, was sure to have left a strong impression on the three little children – Edgar stated later in one of his essays, that the “Death of a beautiful woman was the most poetic topic he could imagine”. Who does not see the connection between this statement and his childhood? After Elizabeth’s death, the children are taken by several well meaning families. The Allan family is one of them. John Allen, a rich Scottish merchant in Virgina, is convinced by his wife Frances to give little Edgar a new home. They never officially adopted him, but he was from then on known as Edgar Allan Poe. Frances loved and adored the little boy, so did John at the beginning and it looked as if there were going to live happily ever after. As Edgar grew up, the problems with his stepfather became more and more evident. Allan was not known to be the most generous man. He sent Edgar to the University of Virginia where he was going to study languages. Edgar was an intelligent student but soon became involved in gambling. Edgar accused Allan to have not provided him with sufficient funds to cover the fees, buy books or furnish his dormitory. He claimed that this was the reason why he had started gambling. He hoped to win enough money to sustain himself, without Allan’s help. Of course, he lost – and ended up begging for more funds at his foster father. Just like any other student, he had a drink of alcohol from time to time. But he soon found out that alcohol had a stronger effect on him than on most of his fellow students. Only a few sips of wine were enough to make him look as if he was delirious and totally drunk. It came as it had to come: The arguments between Edgar and Allan became more and more frequent, they were mainly about drinking, gambling and money. Edgar left the University after only about a year and went to Boston, because he had no reason to return to Richmond – he did no longer feel welcome in the Allan family. Edgar was only 17. He tried to sustain himself by taking up some odd jobs like clerk or newspaper writer, but they would not pay well enough. He enlisted in the United States army with a false name and pretending to be 22. In those days, he already released his first book “Tamerlane and other Poems, by a Bostonian”. He had 50 copies printed and did not sell a single one of them. He was discharged honourable from his military service, tried to reconcile with John Allan and entered the Military Academy of West Point where he only survived about one year . He left West Point by purposely getting court martialed for gross neglect of duty and not obeying orders. Frances Allan had died and John Allan had got married again. This lead to the final quarrel between Edgar and Allan, the former accusing the latter of adultery (Allan had several illegitimate children Frances did not know of). In New York, Edgar published another book called “Poems”. He returned to Baltimore and lived with his aunt Maria Clemm and her daughter Virginia Eliza Clemm, his first cousin who he finally married secretely, him being 26 and her 13. Poe had several jobs at several different newspapers, he kept publishing his own poetry and short stories, but those were left unnoticed by his contemporaries. He travelled between different cities, always hoping for the one chance to show the world his talent, his abilities. This chance never came. The only time he was able to show his world his genius was when he published his poem “The Raven” which was more or less the only success in his entire life. That was is 1845. Only two years later, Edgar’s beloved wife Virginia died of tuberculosis. Poe never married again and lived his last, lonely years fighting the stubborn “pioneers” of those days, trying to convince them about his “Poetic Principles” or his “Philosophy of composition”. Only very few would listen. With his thought, with his ideas and with his topics, Edgar Allan Poe was far ahead of his time. He and the delicate, translucent beauties who always die during his stories, he was so totally against the atmosphere of departure that could be felt all over the young United States. There was no room for lingering illness, for spirits or the supernatural: A whole continent had to be reclaimed, and certainly not by means of ink, feather and some weird spirits that were born of a bleary mind. He was simply not understood by his contemporaries, most of them did not even try to understand him. He and his literature creatures did not fit into the world view of the “normal” American citizen. Nevertheless, Edgar Allan Poe WAS as genius, and he had great influence on quite a few of the modern authors. Poe was able to show in the first sentence of a short story or a poem, what type it was going to be: A story of terror ( I was sick – sick unto death with that long agony – The Pit and the Pendulum), a rational detective story (The mental features discoursed of as the analytical, are, in themselves, but little susceptible of analysis. – The Murders in the Rue Morgue) or a story that is driven by madness (TRUE!-nervous-very,very dreadfully nervous I had been and am, but will you say that I am mad? – The Tell Tale Heart). Poe was able to let the readers hear bells ring while reading his poem “The Bells” when he first talks about the little silver sleigh bells, then about the mellow golden wedding bells, the brazen alarum bells that speak of the destroying fire and finally the iron bells that toll at a funeral. His way to play and juggle with words is amazing, still, at every moment of writing he is in total control of his words. Nothing of what he writes is coincidence. In his “Philosophy of composition” he makes it quite clear where an author has to start writing: At the end of the story! First of all, he has to be sure about how he wants the story to end, then he slowly works his way towards this end. Maybe today we have enough analysts and courses and spare time to agree with him, but when Edgar Allan Poe was still alive, hardly anybody understood (or wanted to understand) what he was trying to tell us. Today, Edgar Allan Poe even has a presence in Second Life. You can visit a small museum about him at Montclair State CHSS 156, 158, 0 (PG) – it is called the Edgar Allan Poe Classroom. Even some Poe like fashion has found its way into Second Life, but it remains arguable if Edgar would have liked that. We, who adore him and his writing, are left with his grave in Baltimore. We can go there, and ponder weak and weary about what people have done to this man….wouldn’t we have done the same if we had lived 150 years earlier? And wonder, who is this person who leaves a red rose on his grave every October 7th, the day Edgar Allan Poe died.
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