Text: Eugene L. Didier, “Edgar Allan Poe in Society,” The Poe Cult and Other Poe Papers (1909), pp. 241-258

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Although more than a dozen lives of Edgar Allan Poe have been published, as well as innumerable magazine and newspaper articles, very little has been said of one of the most charming and interesting phases of his life. I refer to the subject of this article — Poe in society. Sixty-five years ago, fashionable American society was not frequented by poets any more than it is at present, but Poe was a welcome guest in the most cultured circles which New York could then boast. After the publication of “The Raven,” in the American Review, in February, 1845, Po became, not only the talk of the town, but the talk of the nation. His presence was much sought in the best society of the metropolis, where he was the object of universal attention, as Lord Byron had been in the most exclusive London society after the publication of Childe Harold's Pilgrimage.

It is admitted, even by Poe's worst enemies, that he possessed all the qualifications that make a man shine in society. His manners [page 242:] were graceful and refined, his voice was low, musical, and exquisitely modulated, his eyes were large, dark, luminous, and wonderfully expressive, and there was about him that air of unmistakable distinction, which ordinary men cannot assume, and which few men ever have. Friends and foes agree as to the singular fascination of Poe's conversation. It was my privilege to receive many letters from Mrs. Sarah Helen Whitman in the last years of her life. During her brief engagement to the poet she had the best opportunity to form an opinion of his conversational powers. She said she had heard Walter Savage Landor, who was pronounced the best talker in England; had listened to George William Curtis talk of the gardens of Damascus till the air seemed purpled and perfumed with its roses; had heard the Autocrat's trenchant and vivid talk, had heard the racy talk of Dr. O. A. Brownson in the old days of his freedom and power; had listened to the brilliant and exhaustless colloquial resources of John Neal and Margaret Fuller, and the serene wisdom of Alcott; but, unlike the conversational power of any of these was the earnest, opulent, unpremeditated speech of Edgar Allan Poe. The charm of his conversation was in its genuineness — its wonderful directness and sincerity. What added [page 243:] to the charm of his presence in society was his simple, natural, unconventional courtesy and the perfectly sincere grace of his manner. Mrs. Whitman said that his proud reserve, his profound melancholy, and his entire unworldliness added to the fascination of his personal presence in society.

Poe, unlike his distinguished contemporary, Hawthorne, really enjoyed society, and in whatever city he lived he was a favorite in the most cultivated circles. In his boyhood he was early introduced to the most exclusive society of Virginia's capital. When just emerging from obscurity he made the acquaintance of John P. Kennedy, the Baltimore author, whose novels. Horseshoe Robinson, Swallow Barn and so forth, were very popular in the first half of the nineteenth century. Mr. Kennedy was a lawyer as well as a writer, and was a member of Congress and Secretary of the Navy under the administration of President Fillmore. His social position was the best in Baltimore at the time when the society of the Monumental City was the most exclusive in America. It was at that time N. P. Willis pronounced Baltimore “The Social Athens of America.” Mr. Kennedy invited Poe to his table, gave him a horse to ride, and did everything, as the poet always gratefully remembered, [page 244:] to raise him from the depths of despair. There are few persons now living who knew Poe, but when I first became interested in the poet, I had the good fortune to meet several who were acquainted with him at the most interesting period of his life. The first of these was his aunt and mother-in-law — “more than mother” he said she was to him — Mrs. Maria Clemm. I visited her at the Church Home in Baltimore, where she spent the last years of her life, and where she died on February 16, 1 87 1, it being the same building where Poe died on October 7, 1849. Mrs. Clemm never tired of talking about her “darling Eddie,” as she always called the poet. She was fond of speaking of his beautiful manners, of his exquisite taste in dress, and above all things, she loved to tell of the many ladies who admired him. Their friendship was the chief comfort and solace of a life of sorrow, suffering and song. Poe was a worshipper of beauty, and of all beauty, he thought a beautiful woman was the supremest. His sentimental feeling for woman was the delicate, poetical Greek worship of an ideal beauty, so exquisitely personified by Nausica in the Odyssey. Proud, solitary, and ambitious, he found in his female friends the sympathy which his mind and heart longed for. [page 245:]

In the winter of 1845-46, Poe was the most distinguished visitor in the circles that gathered at the houses of the Honorable John R. Bartlett, Dr. Dewey, Miss Anne C. Lynch, afterward Mrs. Botta, and others who held weekly receptions of the best intellectual society of New York. Mrs. Whitman, in speaking of Poe's social prestige, relates an anecdote showing his habitual courtesy and good nature, which was noticeable to all who best knew him in domestic and social life. The incident occurred at one of the soirees above mentioned. A lady who prided herself on her knowledge of languages, ancient and modern, wished to expose the ignorance of a pretender to classical knowledge, and proposed inviting him to translate a difficult passage in a Greek author, of which language he was profoundly ignorant, although in his writings he was in the habit of sprinkling Greek quotations very profusely. Poe was present upon the occasion, and when he heard of the lady's malicious intention, he remonstrated with her so earnestly that she was induced to forego the embarrassing test.

Another evening Poe engaged in an intellectual controversy with the aggressive and self-opinionated Margaret Fuller. This lady, in her usual “lofty and autocratic style,” was annihilating a young author with merciless [page 246:] scorn. Poe came to the rescue of the vanquished author, and in a few sharp, trenchant remarks destroyed all the effect of the learned lady's eloquence, and completely discomfited her. This was accomplished by Poe in the most polished manner. Some one present whispered, “The Raven has perched upon the casque of Pallas, and pulled all of her feathers out of her cap.”

Sometimes, but not often, his child-wife, Virginia, accompanied her husband to these weekly assemblages. She took little or no part in the evening's conversation, but her pride in the poet's brilliant social success illuminated her sweet, girlish face. Mrs. Clemm told me that Virginia, Eddie, and herself formed an ideal family, and that the poet and his young wife were perfectly devoted to each other. In spite of this, it has been cruelly and recklessly asserted that Poe neglected his lovely wife and caused her early death. A shallow English writer, Gilfillan, even went so far as to say that Poe caused the death of his wife that he might have a fitting theme for “The Raven.” Mrs. Whitman, commenting upon this horrible and wicked assertion, sarcastically says that a serious objection to this ingenious theory may perhaps be found in the “refractory fact” that the poem was published more than a year before [page 247:] the event which it is assumed it was intended to commemorate.

Another of Poe's friends, Mrs. E. Oakes-Smith, who met him during this time of his greatest social success, at the houses mentioned above, says his manners at these reunions were pleasing and refined, and his style and scope of conversation that of a gentleman and scholar; that he delighted in the society of superior women, and had an exquisite perception of all the graces of manner and shades of expression; and that he was an admiring listener and an unobtrusive observer.

So much abuse has been heaped on Poe's head by ignorant or malicious persons that it is not only a pleasure but a duty to let the world know how he was regarded by those who had the best opportunity of seeing him. There was only one woman in all his social experience who disliked him, and she disliked him because he, very naturally, resented her attempt to destroy his friendship with Mrs. Frances Sargent Osgood, who was one of the loveliest and most accomplished women of her time, and the object of the poet's enthusiastic admiration. In her society he found a never-failing nepenthe for his sorrows and troubles. The poet and poetess were congenial spirits, and celebrated [page 248:] their devoted friendship in Hnes worthy of the most exalted affection.

Mrs. Osgood addressed the following lines to Poe:

These verses inspired the following delicate response:

Poe possessed that best of all social qualities — he was a good listener. When he took his pen in hand he was sometimes fierce and aggressive, but in society he was conspicuous for his quiet dignity, his unobtrusive manner, his [page 249:] elegant reserve. He was more impressive and infinitely more agreeable than the tiresome, loquacious, so-called good talkers who often eclipse the gaiety of drawing rooms, and make listeners long for a “few brilliant flashes of silence.”

Poe was extremely fortunate in the “lonesome latter years” which followed the death of his wife to be admitted to the intimate society of Mrs. Annie L. Richmond, of Lowell, Massachusetts. It was this lady to whom the poet addressed his well-known poem, “For Annie,” beginning:

At Mrs. Richmond's house he met the best society of Lowell, and a gentleman, Mr. Heywood, who was a member of the family, spoke with great enthusiasm of the poet's demeanor and the grace of his conversation. “I have never seen it equalled,” he said. A lady who was present at Mrs. Richmond's one evening when Poe was there differed from the poet upon some subject that was under discussion [page 250:] and expressed her opinions very strongly. He listened to her objection with the most perfect deference, and replied to her with the utmost politeness. His conversational tone was low but distinct; he never showed the least excitement even when discussing the most animated subject.

It is the consensus of all who met Poe in society that while he was gentle and refined and seldom attacked any person's opinion, and maintained his own with modest confidence, he took every opportunity to defend any person who was attacked, especially when such person was dead or absent, protecting him or her with the tender grace of charity — that charity which has so seldom been exercised in his behalf, either during life or since his early death.

On rare occasions Poe was persuaded to recite “The Raven” when attending social gatherings in New York, especially when his wife added her request to the entreaties of his host or hostess. It was the opinion of those who heard him that it was a thrilling, an enthralling, an overpowering exhibition of fervid frenzy and mental exaltation. Once heard it was never forgotten.

In the last months of the last year of Poe's unhappy life, a gleam of light like that which cheered Sinbad in the Cave of Death, brightened [page 251:] the poet's gloomy existence. This was his return to his early home in Richmond, reviving dead memories, and resuming his place in that fine old Virginia society which threw open its hospitable doors to welcome back its most gifted son. But it was the last flicker of life's candle, soon to be extinguished forever by the mournful tragedy of his mysterious death in Baltimore on that fatal autumn morning of October 7, 1849.