Text: Eugene L. Didier, “Portraits of Poe,” The Poe Cult and Other Poe Papers (1909), pp. 191-202

[page 191:]

One of Mrs. Whitman's most striking poems was inspired by a portrait of Edgar A. Poe, received many years after the death of the poet:

The eyes of her poet-lover made an indelible impression upon her mind and heart, and twenty-five years after their sad separation, in recalling the poetic beauty of his face, she thus described them:

The picture that inspired these remarkable verses was taken at Providence, R. I., at the time of Poe's engagement to Mrs. Whitman. It represents the poet in the full maturity of his manly beauty, before his fine mobile mouth had become disfigured by the habitual sneer which so plainly marked his “lonesome latter years.” One of the last pictures of the author of the Raven, of which the vignette upon the title page of Mr. E. C. Stedman's dainty little work, “Edgar Allan Poe,” is a reduced copy, was from a daguerreotype of the poet, owned by Dr. H. S. Cornwell, of New London, Conn., who thus describes it: “The aspect is one of mental misery, bordering on wildness, disdain of human sympathy, and scornful intellectual superiority. There is also in it, I think, dread of imminent calamity, coupled with despair and defiance, as of a hunted soul at bay.” [page 193:]

Mr. Stedman, whose brochure on Poe, as revised and corrected from the Scribner Monthly article, is one of the finest and most appreciative critiques on the life and genius of the poet that has ever been written, devotes considerable attention to his portraits, and thus characterizes the man from his early and later pictures:

We see one they describe as slight but erect of figure, athletic and well molded, of middle height, but so proportioned as to seem every inch a man; his forehead and temples large and not unlike those of Bonaparte; his hands fair as a woman's — in all, a graceful, well-dressed gentleman — one, even in the garb of poverty, “with gentleman written all over him.” We see the handsome, intellectual face, the dark and clustering hair, the clear and sad eyes, large, lustrous, glowing with expression — the mouth, whose smile at least was sweet and [page 194:] winning. We imagine the soft, musical voice (a delicate thing in man or woman), the easy, quiet movement, the bearing that no failure could humble. And this man had not only the gift of beauty — but the passionate love of beauty — either of which may be as great a blessing or peril as can befall a human being stretched upon the rack of this tough world.

But look at some daguerreotype taken shortly before his death, and it is like an inauspicious mirror, that shows all too clearly the ravage made by a vexed spirit within, and loses the qualities which only a living artist could feel and capture. Here is a dramatic, defiant bearing, but with it the bitterness of scorn. The disdain of an habitual sneer has found an abode on the mouth, yet scarcely can hide the tremor of irresolution. In Bendann's likeness, indubitably faithful, we find those hardened lines of the chin and neck that are often visible in men who have gambled heavily, which Poe did not in his mature years, or who have lived loosely and slept ill. The face tells of battling, of conquering external enemies, of many a defeat when the man was at war with his meaner self.

The “Bandann” likeness above alluded to, is said to be copied from the last daguerreotype [page 195:] taken in Richmond, just ten days before Poe's untimely death. A photograph of this daguerreotype forms the frontispiece to the Memorial Volume of the ceremonial attending the unveiling of the Poe Monument in Baltimore, November 17, 1875. Mrs. Whitman, in a letter to the present writer, dated Providence, July 2, 1876, thus alludes to another copy of the same portrait:

In another letter Mrs. Whitman says:

One of the earliest pictures of Poe was a [page 196:] miniature once owned by Duval, in Philadelphia, from which was copied the lithograph published in the Saturday Museum in 1843, which may still be seen (in proof) in the Pennsylvania Historical Society Collection of lithographs. Next in order of time may be mentioned the engraving in Graham's Magazine in 1845, accompanying the now famous article on Poe by James Russell Lowell. One who knew the poet at this period of his life says:

Some who knew Poe personally say his forehead retreated. This feature is brought out only in the Graham picture. In all the others [page 197:] he is so posed as to give the effect of great fullness to the brows. Mrs. Whitman, who remembered Poe as distinctly as any person who had seen him in life, said the engraved portraits of the poet have very little individuality; that prefixed to the volumes edited by Dr. Griswold suggests, at first view, something of the general contour of his face, but is utterly void of character and expression; it has no sub-surface. The original painting, now in possession of the New York Historical Society, has the same cold, automatic look that makes the engraving so valueless as a portrait to those who remember the unmatched glory of his face, when roused from its habitually introverted and abstracted look by some favorite theme or profound emotion. Perhaps, from its peculiarly changeful and translucent character, any adequate transmission of its variable and subtle moods was impossible. By writers personally unacqauinted [[unacquainted]]with Poe, this engraving has often been favorably noticed. Hannay, in a memoir prefixed to the first London edition of Poe's Poems, calls it an interesting and characteristic portrait:

A fine, thoughtful face, with lineaments of delicacy, such as belong only to genius or high blood — the forehead grand and pale, the eye dark and gleaming with sensibility and soul — [page 198:] a face to inspire men with interest and curiosity.

In the Winter of 1855-56, Mrs. Whitman was an occasional visitor at the house of Alice and Phoebe Gary, which formed a “sort of fragrant and delicious clovernook” in the heart of New York. The home of the gifted sisters was at that time the favorite resort of poets, artists, and men of letters. In their little drawing room then hung the portrait of Poe by Osgood, now in the New York Historical Gallery (already mentioned). Mrs. Whitman relates that she heard one of the party say of the portrait that its aspect was that of a beautiful and desolate shrine from which the genius had departed, and that it recalled certain lines to one of the antique marbles:

Near this luminous but impassive face, with its sad and soulless eyes, says Mrs. Whitman, was a portrait of Poe's unrelenting biographist, Griswold. In a recess opposite hung a picture of the fascinating Mrs. Frances Sargent Osgood, whose genius both had so fervently admired, and for whose coveted praise and friendship both had been competitors. Looking at the beautiful portrait of this lady [page 199:] — the face so full of enthusiasm, and dreamy, tropical sunshine — remembering the eloquent words of her praise, as expressed in the prodigal and passionate exaggerations of her verse, one ceases to wonder at the rivalries and enmities which the grave itself could not cancel or appease.

Of the portrait prefixed to the illustrated poems, published by Redfield in 1859, N. P. Wills says:

Nine lives of Poe have been published, each of which contains a portrait, more or less different, [page 200:] but all claiming to be the “best” likeness. Ingram's ambitious but egotistical Memoir contains a photographic copy of a daguerreotype belonging to Mrs. Estelle Anna Lewis. It is a very forbidden likeness, and must have been taken when

We turn away with a shudder from this “sorrow-laden” face, wondering what had wrought the terrible change in him whose early beauty had won the highest admiration of both men and women. Was it his own hand that struck the fatal blow that destroyed at once his beauty and happiness? Was the change caused by retributions of conscience, which he had described with such awful fidelity in William Wilson, the Tell-Tale Heart, and The Man of the Crowd? The rapid descent in crime as delineated in William Wilson reminded Mrs. Whitman of the subterranean staircase by which Vathek and Nouronihar reached the Hall of Eblis, where, as they descended, they felt their steps frightfully accelerated till they seemed falling from a precipice. [page 201:]

In Gill's quixotic Memoir is a portrait copied from a daguerreotype taken from life, which the biographer says “represents the poet in his youthful prime, and by one, a near friend of Poe, who has seen all his pictures known to be in existence, is pronounced the best likeness extant.” The same portrait is in the Red Line edition of Poe's Poems. An idealized engraving of the Osgood portrait accompanies the Life of Poe by the writer of this article. It recalls the striking face of the poet to the few now living who knew him in his better days. The portrait in Mr. George E. Woodberry's Life of Poe, recently published, is from an original daguerreotype, from which the engraving in the English edition of the complete works was taken. It is owned by Mr. Stedman, and was a gift from Mr. Benjamin H. Ticknor.

The likeness known as the “John Thompson” daguerreotype has been reproduced life size in crayon, and has been pronounced the most satisfactory likeness of Poe. The two engravings made by Sartain, of Philadelphia, were very good in proof, but less successful in their completed state. In the rooms of the Long Island Historical Society, Brooklyn, is a curious portrait made from memory after Poe's death by Gabriel Harrison, author of the [page 202:] Life of John Howard Payne. I have never seen it, but it has been warmly praised by some who have.

When we remember the strange diversity of character displayed in the portraits of Edgar A. Poe, we are more and more inclined to believe that