Text: Anonymous, “Rev. Dr. Griswold and Edgar Poe,” Daily Illinois State Journal (Springfield, IL), vol. X, no. 117, October 29, 1857, p. 1, cols. 1-2

[page 1, column 1, continued:]

A decent regard for our own heretofore expressed opinions, as well as a high respect for the source from which it is supposed to emanate, leads us to notice an article which appeared in the Journal of the 20th under the above caption.

Upon the announcement of the death of Dr. Griswold, some time since, we took occasion to allude to his unfortunate connection with Mr. Poe, and to comment with some freedom upon the biography which he saw fit to prefix to the works of that misguided but brilliant genius; and although we have read the article over the signature of “Bluffdale” with care and attention, we are compelled to say that the arguments therein contained, have utterly failed to change our sentiments upon their subject, and that, with all due deference to this talented author, we must decline to yield our position. Regarding the matter as a mere difference in taste, but believing our taste upon this point to be decidedly better than his, he will pardon us for saying a few words in our own behalf.

We are accused of “abusing Dr. Griswold like a pickpocket.” Our article is not before us, and a treacherous memory fails to recall all its parts, but we are quite certain that no allusion was made to that gentleman's personal character, except to say that it was “by no means immaculate.” A single slip which we cut from the New York Times of the 20th will show that this sentence would hardly have exhausted the unpleasant theme, had we been as maliciously disposed as seems to intimate; as the facts to which this ominous paragraph alludes, were perfectly well known when we penned our former article:

We had no desire then, have none now, to disturb the silence and sanctity of the grave with a record of his sins, be they great or small, and we are glad to dismiss this part of our subject; but we did then and do now strongly reprobate his wretched “memoir,” and with renewed emphasis we do not hesitate to characterize it as bad in taste, bad in feeling, and as bearing upon its face the evidence of a heart sadly wanting in many of the noblest traits of genuine manhood. Let us look at the plain facts in the case. Edgar Allan Poe was undoubtedly very fur from a good man, his faults and crimes we have spoken of heretofore, and it as needless to repeat them but it is certain that he lived miserably, and died in the very depths of poverty, disgrace and wretchedness. His last expressed wish was that Dr. Griswold should collect and edit his scattered compositions, but he did not, nor did any of his friends so far as we are aware, desire that Dr. Griswold or any one else should write his life; it was his works, the pure creations of his intellect which he wished to preserve, not the record of an unhappy existence. Dr. G. himself, says in the defense which public opinion compelled him to attempt — and it was only an attempt —

The italics are our own and we would call particular attention to the passages marked by them. The Reverend gentleman confesses that “the duties of his office were simply the collection and publication of his works” — in other words, that the memoir which he prefixed to them was entirely voluntary, unasked for by Poe, unsought for by his friends, undertaken from his own free choice. Now the question we wish to put, not to “Bluffdale,” only, but to each kind reeder who is following our pen-in view of the facts which we have thus set forth in his own language is this -Was Dr. Griswold justified in writing such a life of Poe as he did? Was he not bound by every principle of honor, of generosity nay of common decency, to perform his self-appointed task in a spirit of charity and pity. If truth would not allow him to pass over the blemishes in Poe's character and life, where was the necessity of ascribing to ‘him every attribute of a devil incarnate without a single feature of redeeming manhood? Poe was certainly not destitute of every spark of goodness; Mrs. OSGOOD discerned them, so did Mr. WILLIS and Mr. LOWELL; Dr. Griswold alone was blind to all but the evil. What cool sarcasm there is in the last clause of the paragraph which we have copied from his “Defense” — “in a form and manner most agreeable to his own wishes!” We sincerely hope for the sake of humanity that no “friend” of Dr. Griswold in editing his works may manifest the same kind or degree of consideration.

Lest it be thought that our views are singular we will state, what is already well known to the majority of readers, that the publication of Poe's works with the “memoir,” brought down at once a storm of indignant remonstrance.

GEO. R. GRAHAM and JOHN NEAL criticized the biography and its author in the severest terms, and their articles together with the comments of the public press, drew from him an exceedingly ill reply which did not assist his cause.

We now willingly take leave of him believing that as he was certainly the first man in American literature who over stooped to so ungenerous a deed, so he will also be the last.

In regard to the accusation of “saying harsh things against the man we are endeavoring to defend,” we could reply that although we spoke of Poe's faults unreservedly, we endeavored to do so, kindly and charitably, and we think that no candid reader of that article can doubt our friendship and sympathy for him, our appreciation of the good, our pity for the evil, any more than he who reads the “Life” we have been [column 2:] discussing, can doubt that the man who wrote it was Poe's enemy, gratifying a petty malice a the expense of the dead.

Here is something more serious. We ventured, in our former communication to remark, perhaps too enthusiastically, that the noble tribute to Poe's memory by the dying poetess, Mrs. OSGOOD, “was fitting passport to the Heaven already opening before her.” “Bluffdale” with wholesome orthodox zeal demands “our authority” for the declaration. While we humbly beg his pardon for thus trespassing unwittingly upon his religious scruples, we must also confess with shame and confusion of face, that we had no “authority for the it was only an opinion of ours, which nevertheless cling to still. We have always thought though we fear to be “fustian” we must never — may we not yet think so? — that a pure-minded gentle woman, in whose nature genius and goodness were sweetly blended — who fulfilled faithfully and well the duties of wife, mother and friend, was at all times very near heaven: so near that the gates of paradise seemed already to fan her brow and its glories to shine in her countenance, and when such a woman upon her dying bed spends a portion of her fleeting moments in writing down words of. loving, pitying charity, for a poor misguided Brother has stumbled and fell upon the dark mountains of sin — it may be rank heresy to say so, — but we believe that such one is a saint already that her “passport” is secure, that the harp of praise and the crown of reward awaits her coming in the better land.

We regret that we can give no better apology for the very grievous error we have committed, and being fully determined to sin no more, we are naturally desirous to bring other offenders to justice. One only occurs to us at this moment. A certain Mr. LAURENCE STERNE, in the “Adventures of Tristam Shandy,” wherein a somewhat notorious character, Uncle becomes slightly profane, states this fact:

Here is a statement which demands, we think, the attention of “Bluffdale;” and as Mr. Sterne is, unfortunately, dead, we hope he will make immediate application to the literary executors of that gentleman and ascertain by what authority such an important and astounding revelation is made.

One other word of reply, and we have done. We are told that our maxim is that only flattering things should be said of the dead,” and that biography, as we wish it would be a one-sided revelation.” We certainly meant no such thing, and either our his perceptions are at fault when he understood us to say any such thing. Bluffdale indorses the peculiar style of biography adopted by Dr. Griswold — a style which we have already sufficiently commented upon — his judgment erring therein, as we think, very widely. He says, Doctor was placed before the world as a witness.” Granted; but was he to be only a witness for the prosecution, not for the defense? Here is our point of difference — we think that a biographer, in the highest sense the term, should not be a witness on one side or the other, but a calm, impartial judge, surveying the whole field, carefully weighing the evidence, not concealing the evil or refusing to see the good — “naught extenuating nor setting down aught in malice.” We think we might go further and say, the biographer should be, and generally is, an impartial friend of subject of his memoir; that he should be more willing to dwell upon the pleasant than the painful in the character and career of that subject.

SWIFT was not only one of the greatest of human intellects, but undoubtedly one of the worst of the human species; yet the standard life of him, by no less a person than SIR WALTER SCOTT, is written in an exceedingly kind and charitable manner, fully recognizing the few good qualities which he possessed, and evidently admiring but not loving the great Dean. And in what a genial spirit has THACKERAY written upon the same man — with what tenderness and respect does he speak his “immense genius, his awful downfall and ruin.” So great a man — Swift seems to him — “that thinking of him is like thinking of an empire falling.” How beautifully, too, has the same author criticized STEELE! Dear, delightful, drunken Dick Steele, whom we have learned to love in the “Tattler” and “Spectator.” He was a sad vagabond; he borrowed money of his friends, and never returned it; he ran in debt, and never paid; he that, most devout work, the “Christian Hero,” while he was playing high, drinking deep, and engaged in all the follies of the town; and yet, read Thackeray's sketch, and frown upon him if you can.

THOMAS MOORE wrote the life of Byron — a man remarkable for every thing else rather than virtue — yet he is there represented as by no means an objectionable character and Mr. MACAULAY pronounces Moore's work to be “one of the best biographies he ever read.”

We may be pardoned, in conclusion, for hoping that the day will yet come when a man with head to appreciate and heart to feel, shall write a worthy life of that poor child of genius and misfortune — EDGAR ALLEN [[ALLAN]] POE.

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