Text: Jennie E. Sprague, “The Real Annabel Lee,” The Kit-Kat (Columbus, OH), vol. V, no. 3, September 1916, pp. 101-115

[page 101:]

IN a Kingdom by the sea, a maiden there lived, whom all men knew by the name of Annabel Lee. This maiden was the wife of Edgar Allan Poe, the beautiful Virginia Clem [[Clemnm]], daughter of Poe's aunt, Mrs. Maria Poe Clem [[Clemnm]]. Mrs. Clem [[Clemnm]] was the sister of the “ Dreamer's” father, David Poe, of Baltimore, Maryland. She was tall, with clear cut, strong features, and handsome, deep-set gray eyes, which had the expression of one who has loved and sorrowed much. She had been called stately before her proud spirit bowed itself in submission to the chastenings of grief. Since then she had borne the seal of meekness. However, there was a distinction about her, which neither grief nor poverty could destroy; she was so unmistakably the gentlewoman. In her simple white cap with its flowing strings, the plain black dress and prim collar fastened with a mourning pin, she made a reposeful picture of the old-fashioned conception of a “widow indeed.” At the time when our interest in her life begins, she was living with her little daughter, Virginia, in [page 102:] Baltimore, where, upon the death of her husband, she had established herself and was earning a living for Virginia and herself by the skillful use of her needle. As she sat at work with her own little girl at her feet, her thoughts were often filled with wonderings and anxiety concerning the orphaned boy of her brother, David, whom she had never seen, but of whom she knew much and divined more. Since his leaving West Point, she had been unable to learn anything of his whereabouts. When the door of the Allan mansion had been closed upon him he stepped, as it seemed, from the edge of a world in which he was not wanted, into the great unknown. At last she heard a strange tale from an acquaintance of Poe, who thought he had glimpsed him among the laborers in a brickyard. After searching for days in the slum district of the city, she found him — all the mystery that had surrounded him stripped of the last thread of its romance. He lay upon a bed of straw, in a dark corner of a tenement room, tossing with fever. She removed the apparently dying youth to her home and gently laid him on her own immaculate bed. The little Virginia, her soft eyes filled with wonder, had followed her mother on tip-toe — “Who is it, Muddy?” she questioned in an awed whisper. Mrs. Clem [[Clemnm]] gathered the little girl to her breast, saying gently: “It is your brother, darling, for God has given me a son.” Overwhelmed with a realization of her human helplessness, she sank upon her knees at Poe's bedside crying, “O God, do not let him die; I have just found him; spare him to me for a little while. Amen.”

Then followed many days of skillful, patient nursing. At last Poe's great gray eyes opened [page 103:] clear as the sky after a storm; but their lucid depths were filled with wonder, for they opened upon a cool, light, homelike chamber. The four-post bed upon which he lay was canopied; large, bright windows were curtained with snowy dimity, drawn back, so that he could look out and see the trees and sky, rosy with the hues of evening. Before him, in a deep armchair, a little girl with the face of a Madonna sat curled up stroking a large white cat, which lay purring in her lap. Upon the child the eyes of the sick man lingered long. Impelled by the steadiness of his gaze, she lifted her own dark eyes and let them rest a moment upon his. In an instant she was across the room crying, “Muddy, Muddy, the new buddy is awake!” Then, still carrying her pet, she walked to his bedside, gazing earnestly into Poe's face. At length he spoke, “Who is Muddy?” “She's my mother, and you are my new brother, who has come to live with us always. “A radiant smile illumined his face. “Thank Heaven for that,” he said.

Poe's convalescence was slow but steady; even in his weakness he felt a peace and happiness such as he had never known. This frugal, restful home, with the ministrations of “Muddy” and “Sissy,” as he playfully called his aunt and little cousin, who had adopted him, were to him after his struggle with fever and death like the “harbor under the hill” to the storm-tossed sailor.

The little Virginia from the first claimed him as her own. There never were such stories as he could tell; such games as he could play; and he took her cat to his heart with gratifying promptness. When they walked out together, the world seemed turned into fairyland, as with her hand in [page 104:] his, he told her wonderful secrets about the clouds, the trees, the flowers, the birds and even about the stones under her feet. It was fascinating to listen to him as he talked and read with her mother. She was not old or wise enough to understand all they said, but at night as she lay tucked in her little bed he would read aloud from a book or from the long strips of paper upon which he wrote, and his voice made the sweetest lullaby.

With the return of health, energy and the impulse for life's battles began to return to Poe and with them a new incentive. He awakened to the fact that Mrs. Clem [[Clemnm]] was very poor; that his presence in her house was making them poorer; that he must arise and add what he could to the widow's earnings with her deft needle. Again he turned his attention seriously to literature, and in spite of many disappointments from the literary world, he did his part towards keeping up the little home. These years were the happiest of the “Dreamer's” life — a lull in the tempest. This little family circle was unique; the three lived indeed for each other only — in a dream valley apart from and invisible to the rest of the world. Their dreams piled beautiful mountains around this valley, through which peace flowed, as a gentle river, while love and contentment spoke to their hearts of the love and goodness and glory of God.

The next few years marked many changes in the little Virginia. She grew rapidly into a slight and graceful girl; a “rare and radiant maiden,” with the tender light of womanhood dawning in her vel- vet eyes and sweetening the curves of her lips-a maiden far lovelier than the child had been, but with the same divine purity and innocence. All her [page 105:] beauty and purity were still for Poe alone; as was her companionship, of which he never wearied. Under his guidance her mind unfolded like a flower . She was learning to speak fluently both French and Italian. How he loved the musical, Southern accent of her tongue! She was developing an exquisite voice, which was her crowning grace. It was his delight to listen to her singing and to feel that this lovely flower was his little Virginia. It made his heart ache to think that any desire of hers would ever be denied.

Then came to him the gratifying offer of the assistant editorship of The Southern Literary Messenger at Richmond, Virginia, with a salary of five hundred and twenty dollars a year. The salary, small as it was, seemed to Poe almost like wealth. But its acceptance would mean, for the time at least, separation — a break in the home circle, where with all its deprivations there was so much of joy. To the young poet and the little maid who lived with no other thought than to love and be loved by each other, a month, a week, a day apart, seemed an eternity.

In the midst of their woe at the prospect of the separation, a miracle happened — a miracle and a discovery. The knowledge burst upon them like an illuminating flood. How or whence it came they knew not, nor did they question. There had been growing in their hearts the red rose of romance; the love between man and maid of which poets sing. They knew that the rose had burst into a glorious flower, and they trembled in the presence of this sweet miracle. A divine silence fell upon them and they slowly took their way, hand in hand, to tell the mother. [page 105:]

To Mrs. Clem [[Clemnm]] the disclosure came as a shock. Then she realized their earnestness, and seeing that the situation was serious, knew that she must deal with them in a tactful manner. Still, she could hardly believe what she saw and heard. Was it possible that this young girl, talking to her of love and marriage, was her little Virgina [[Virginia]], her baby? That these two should have thought of such a thing, cousins, almost brother and sister, with such a difference in ages, twenty-six and thirteen? She had lived long enough, however, to know that love is governed by no rules; that this was too sacred a thing to be lightly handled. Quite a different view was taken by members of the Poe family, who positively refused to regard the affair as anything but sentimental nonsense. Their protests only succeeded in sending Virginia flying to Poe's arms, vowing she would never give him up.

The new work seemed very promising. Poe's friends in Richmond received him with open arms. He felt that, if he had not reached the end of his rainbow, the goal was at least in sight. Yet he was not happy. He was sick with longing for the home and invigorating presence of the mother; for the sight, the sound, the touch, the daily companionship of the child Virginia, who losing none of the charm of childhood had so suddenly, so sweetly, become a woman. For the first time since Poe had opened his eyes in the home of the widow Clem, and upon the little Virginia, the old dissatisfaction with life was upon him. The “ Blue Devils” had him again in their clutches. He sat at his desk in the “Messenger” office, with paper before him, but his brain refused to work. He was seized with terror. [page 107:] Had his gift of the gods deserted him? Better death, than life without his gift of Poesy.

Letters from home drove him into a rage and spurred him to action, which made him forget his troubles. Their cousin, Neilson Poe, was bringing to bear every argument to induce Virginia to break her engagement. Poe went at once to Baltimore and found Virginia and Mrs. Clem [[Clemnm]] discussing the situation. When he opened the door, Virginia, with a cry of delight, ran to him. She began to tell him that cousin Neilson was going to take her away, and she would never see her darling Eddie again. With a warmth of tenderness for her and rage against their cousin, he kissed the trouble from her eyes. “Don’t be afraid, sweetheart, he shall never take you from me; for I have come back to marry you. “ ”To marry her? At once, do you mean?” exclaimed Mrs. Clem [[Clemnm]]. “At once,” said Poe, “ for I must be back in Richmond as soon as possible. Don’t you see that this is just a plot of Neilson to separate us? We will outwit him. We will have to keep it secret at first, until I am able to provide a home for my little wife and our dear mother in Richmond. I will return to my work with peace of mind; for, once she is mine, only death can take her from me. “ Virginia joyfully agreed to this plan, to which Mrs. Clem [[Clemnm]] finally consented.

It was a unique little wedding, which took place next day in Christ Church, when a youth, with intellectual brow and classic profile, and a lovely maiden half his age plighted their troth. There was no music, there were no flowers, no witnesses, save the mother and aged sexton. But in the dim, still, empty church, the beautiful words of the old rite seemed to this strange pair of lovers to take [page 108:] on new solemnity, as they fell from the lips of the white- robed priest.

Poe returned to his work in Richmond a new man. His heart and mind were filled with the sweet presence of her, who lived with no other thought than to love and be loved by him. The consciousness of the secret he carried in his heart flooded his nature with sunshine. His happiness was apparent in his work. At last the day came when he could arrange to bring Virginia and Mrs. Clem [[Clemnm]] to Richmond; could begin plans for divulging the secret marriage, for publicly acknowledging their marriage. But how was this to be done? Poe knew too well the construction the world puts upon secret marriages. His sense of refinement and the sacredness of the marriage tie made him shrink from talk. At last a solution offered itself to his mind; not for one instant did he regret the ceremony in Christ Church, Baltimore; but of this exquisite, spiritual marriage, the world was in ignorance. The affair was most simple-a second ceremony in the presence of a few friends, a brief announcement the next day in the papers; then life would begin with dignity and the prestige of public marriage. This second marriage in Richmond was like a wedding in Arcady. Edgar Poe looked every inch the bridegroom, as with his girl-wife upon his arm, he stepped forth from the boarding house opposite the green slopes of Capitol Square. With this sweet pair came the happy mother, and the little train of close friends. It was a simple ceremony which announced to the world that Edgar Poe and Virginia Clem [[Clemnm]] were one. On the return of the party to the boarding house, a cake was cut, [page 109:] the health and happiness of the young couple was drunk in wine — of Muddy's own making; the modest festival was over.

How happy the young lovers were in their homemaking! Their housekeeping and furnishings were the simplest, but love made all things beautiful and sufficient. How delightful to receive their friends in their own home and at their own table! Virginia found it great fun going to market with Muddy, with a basket upon her pretty arm. The tradespepole watched daily for the face of the exquisite maid, whom it seemed comical to address as “Mrs. Poe,” and who rewarded their admiration with a smile and kindest words of greeting. In the meantime Poe worked hard. Two years went by and then he decided to leave Richmond for New York. We cannot follow closely his struggles in the literary world; the supply of literature exceeded the demand. It was a desperate struggle to keep their three souls in their bodies, and their bodies decently covered.

Then Philadelphia, the city of Brotherly Love, seemed to call the “Dreamer.” So again they sought a new home. They found a small Dutch-roofed cottage just to their minds, large enough for the three of them and their possessions. At the magic touch of Virginia and Mrs. Clem [[Clemnm]] the cottage was soon converted into a real home. One bright spring day, as they sat at lunch, the door being left open to let in the sunshine, an unexpected guest entered — a handsome, tortoise-shell kitten, which strayed in to ask a share in their meal. All gave her a warm reception. Edgar regarded her coming as a good omen; Virginia was delighted to have a pet, and “Catalina [[Catarina]],” as they named her, [page 110:] became a favorite member of the family. This tiny cottage was big enough to shelter love, happiness and genius. Night and day Poe's brain was busy and periodicals teemed with his work. The time slipped swiftly by and all seemed going well. They made many friends and a number of the great literary people of the day enjoyed the simple hospitality of the Poes.

On the occasion of Poe's birthday, they celebrated with a modest but merry party. “ My wife and mother thought that you Pennsylvania people might like to sit down to a Virginia supper,” said Poe as he led his guests to the table and stood, while Virginia designated the seats to be taken. Virginia presided over the tea things, while Mrs. Clem [[Clemnm]] had the seat nearest the door to the kitchen, so that she might slip out as unobtrusively as possible and back again when necessary. Such a feast! There were oysters and turkey, salad and ham, hot rolls and batter bread, a “Sally Lunn,” plenty of hot waffles, delicious pickles and preserves. In the center of the table was a pound cake frosted by Virginia's own dainty hands, and brilliant with its thirty-three lighted candles. After supper Virginia's harp was brought out and she sang to them. With adorable sweetness and simplicity she gave each one's favorite song, as it was asked for, filling the cottage with her sweet voice. The company sat entranced; all eyes were upon the lovely girl from whose throat poured this stream of melody. Her husband bathed his senses in her beauty, while his soul soared with her song.

“O Muddy, look at her! There is no one so beautiful as my little wife — no voice so sweet as hers, outside of heaven!” But what was the matter? [page 111:] Was Virginia ill? Even as he spoke her voice broke upon a note and stopped; one hand clutched the harp-the other flew to her throat. Terror was in her eyes and deathly face. Many days the Angel of Death spread his wings over the cottage, “in the valley of the many-colored grass. “ In the chamber upstairs, Poe's heartease blossom lay broken and wan upon the white bed. Beside her knelt her husband, with his lips pressed upon her tiny white hand. At the foot of the bed sat the silver-haired mother. Little by little the shadow lifted, for Virginia was to be permitted to remain with them a little longer. Sunshine fell where the shadow had been.

Then came serious financial troubles. Often they were miserably poor. Virginia's attacks continued to come at intervals. Each time it came, the shadow hung longer over the house where Love dwelt. Poe's thoughts were constantly upon these scenes, until the “dirges of his hope one melancholy burden bore of never, never more.” Under this influence a new poem began to take shape in his brain. A poem of the death of a young and beautiful woman, and the despair of the lover left to mourn her in loneliness. The composition of this became an obsession with him. At last it was done-he told them while they sat at the evening meal, “I have something to read to you two critics after supper.” The two “critics” were all interest. Virginia exclaimed: “I knew you were doing some- thing great, for you have been in a trance, and Muddy and I were almost afraid to speak, for fear of waking you up too soon.” Poe then brought forth the manuscript and Virginia read aloud the two words which appeared at the top of the page — [page 112:] “The Raven.” Then the author began slowly to recite — his voice filling the room with the sonorous melody. When the last words, “and my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor, shall be lifted never more,” had been read, after a minute's silence, Virginia cast herself into his arms in a passion of tears: “O Eddie, it is so beautiful, but so sad. I feel as if I were the ‘lost Lenore’ and you the poor lover — but when I leave you, you must not break your heart like that.”

Poe made a manly struggle to get on — to coin his brain into gold, to bring comforts, conveniences, delicacies, to the cottage, that his precious invalid needed and must have. Sometimes the editors took his work paying him small sums and often they did not. A day came when he realized that he must move on; so placing mother Clem [[Clemnm]] and Catalina [[Catarina]] with friends, accompanied by Virginia, he set forth to seek, for the second time, a home in New York. It was their first “little journey in the world”-just together. Much as they loved the dear mother, it was very sweet to be alone. The star of hope shone bright above their horizon. Their faces reflected its light. Poe noticed with delight the fresh color in Virginia's cheeks. They were successful in finding a comfortable boarding house for a reasonable price — a nice room with a bright fire burning. “What would Catalina say to this solid comfort, Sis?” Poe was taken with a “writing fit” — for days he wrote incessantly. “ This will earn us the money to bring Muddy and Catalina to New York,” he said with confidence. The mother came and they established themselves in two rooms in a dingy old house on East Broadway. Mrs. Clem [[Clemnm]] made the rooms bright and spotless. The wolf passed by [page 113:] their door, and the three, who lived only for one another, dreamed again of the “valley of the many-colored grass.”

In New York “The Raven” was accepted — giving to the author the place among literary men of the day which he coveted. Then came an invitation to a real party, where Poe and his wife were the center of attraction. The girl wife wore a little frock made by her own fingers of some crimson, woolen stuff — without ornament save a bit of lace yellow with age, at the throat. Her hair, parted above her brow, looped over her ears and twisted in a loose knot, at the back of her head, gave her a most quaint and charming appearance. Her husband's coat had long seen service, but it was neatly brushed and darned, and the ability to wear threadbare clothing with distinction was not the least of Edgar Poe's talents. Every one wanted to have a word with him. It made Virginia happy to see her Eddie appreciated, and she chatted blithely with all; her spontaneous laugh bearing testimony to her enjoyment. At the evening's close, from out this warmth, light and luxury, stepped Poe and Virginia. She was wrapped in a Paisley shawl, which had been one of her mother's, while Poe wore the military cape, which he had used at West Point, and which ever since had served him as a great coat.

“The Raven” had brought its author laurels, but only ten dollars in money. As spring came on, Mrs. Clem discovered in the suburb of Fordham a tiny cottage at extremely low rent. It stood upon a hill half buried in cherry trees. When the trees were in blossom, it was like a small Paradise. In a few days, they and their possessions, including [page 114:] Catalina [[Caterina]], were well established. Summer passed and winter drew near, filling the dwellers in Ford- ham cottage, with a fear of they knew not what miseries. There had been ups and downs, happiness and woe, but now the time approached, of which they knew, but tried not to think.

The shadow had come again. Upon the bed the girl-wife lay, nearly as still and white as the snow outside. Over her wasted body, in addition to the thin bed clothing, lay her husband's military cape; against her breast nestled Catalina, purring contentedly, while she kept the heart of her mistress warm a little longer. At the foot of the bed her mother sat, chafing the tiny cold feet; at the head sat Poe, bending over her, warming her hands. Through the window, gaining brilliance from the ice-laden branches outside, fell the rays of the setting sun — glorifying the room and its inhabitants. In the room adjoining, not to intrude upon the sacred grief of the stricken mother and husband, sat several of the good women, whose friendship had been their mainstay. Scarce a word was spoken, but upon the request of the dying girl for music one of these kind friends sang in low sweet tones the beautiful old hymn, “Jerusalem the Golden.” To the man, bowed beneath his woe, they were a knell. To the dying wife they were a promise. The smile upon her lips showed that she was already beholding the glories of which the old hymn told.

And so her spirit took its flight, out of the cold, the want and gloom, which had darkened “the valley of the many-colored grass,” into the regions of bliss beyond compare. But the husband left behind was as the man in his own story, “Silence,” [page 115:] who sat upon a rock, the gray and gashtly rock Nevermore would he hear the of “Desolation.” sound of her low sweet voice; nevermore hear her merry laughter; nevermore her light footstep, for his Annabel Lee had been wrapped in the Silence — the last great Silence of all.

As in his early griefs the sorrow of the “Dreamer” was not all pain; there was an element of beauty and poetry in it, which made it possible It became his happiness to wonder and to endure. dream — his whole existence had become a dream and the realities were mere shadows. From out this state of being, a ballad suggested by the thought of Virginia and his life with her came to his mind. It was no dirge, but a song of a fair kingdom by the sea: