Text: James A. Harrison, “Mrs. Clemm, Mainstay of Poe's Household,” Times Dispatch (Richmond), January 17, 1909 (special Sunday section), pp. 1 and 4

[page 1, column 6:]

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I.

The Guardian Angel.

In the lives of literary men influences that seem incidental, but that are frequently vital, are often over-looked or pushed aside as not worth noticing, whereas they really constitute in many cases the foundation stone of the whole edifice, the keystone of the human life concerned, the fundamental thing whereon the entire structure rests. This is particularly the fact in the case of agitated existences like that of Poe, moving as it were on so many pivots, circling about many interests, tossing to and fro in search of mere subsistence, enveloped in the toil and tumult of the world around. After Poe married his fourteen-year-old wife, first in Baltimore, and later in Richmond, what was it that held the little family together? Was it the frail, delicate wife already touched with the seeds of consumption, from which she ultimately died? Was it the harassed poet, himself almost as frail as his girl-wife, with a thousand cares weighing on him, a thousand stories and poems and plans germinating in his fertile brain, absorbing time and attention and demanding constant care?

The world, perhaps, never suspected it, but it was Maria Poe Clemm, “my more than mother,” the poet called her, Poe's aunt and mother-in-law, the mother of Virginia Clemm, his wife. Behind all the scenes of this intellectually tumultuous existence, back of all the unrest, the fever, the flitting to and fro, the changing from one domicile, from one city to another, stood this calm and benign figure, a true Niobe with hand uplifting protecting her dear children, the “dear Muddie” of letters Innumerable, guarding the hearth-stone like an angel, the house-door like a faithful dog, the sweetness and intimacy of the household life lie the dragon of the mythologies, a strong, virile, powerful nature made to take care of simpler existences, a born guardian of the power and the helpless. Day and night this admirable woman stood at the door of the Poe cottage, the Poe boarding-house, or wherever the dwelling-place of Virginia and “Eddie” in Richmond, Baltimore, Philadelphia, Fordham, happened to be and did what she could to protect her children against the “slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.” Her life was spent in serving, in cooking, in marketing, in housekeeping, in working in every imaginable way for the young couple under her charge — the nurse, adviser, friend, ever-constant sympathizer and counselor, ready to help at any moment, encouraging the gifted son-in-law and nephew

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Maria Poe Clemm.

Maria Poe, daughter of General [column 7:] David and Elizabeth Cairns Poe, was born in Baltimore, Md., March 12, 1799. She was married at old St. Paul's Church, Baltimore, July 13, 1817, bu the Rev. William E. Ingatt, to William Clemm, Jr., son of Colonel William and Catherine Clemm, of Mount Prospect (now Walbrook), Baltimore. She was his second wife. His first wife was Harriet Poe, daughter of George Poe, and Maria's first cousin. They had children:

1. Henry, born September, 1818. He died unmarried.

2. Maria, born August 22, 1829; died November 5, 1822.

3. Virginia, afterward wife of the poet. Edgar Allan Poe, born August 13, 1822, baptized by Bishop Kemp November 5, 1822; died at Fordham, N. Y., in the now celebrated cottage, January 30, 1847.

William Clemm, Jr., died in Baltimore February 8, 1826. Maria, second wife and widow of William Clemm, Jr., died in Baltimore February 16, 1871. She was first buried in her father's lot — No. 27 — in Westminster Church yard, Green and Fayette Streets, and her remains were transferred at the same time as that of the poet, Edgar Allan Poe, and they both now lie buried under the Poe Monument in that churchyard.

Virginia, died at Fordham, N. Y., January 30, 1847. Her remains were brought from there and buried alongside of her husband and mother January 19, 1885.

(From Miss A. F. Poe's Family Record.)

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The author of this paper has printed fifteen or twenty of Mrs. Clemm's letters — among them some valuable genealogical letters — in his “Life and Letters of E. A. Poe,” and in the number of the Century Magazine for January, 1909. These are not reproduced here, with the exception of one short one from Mrs. Clemm to Neilson Poe, describing their life at Fordham. Poe's worship of his mother-lin-law, completely overthrows the tradition of the hated Roman noverca. Here follows a selection of her letters:

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Mrs. Whitman to Mrs. Clemm.

My Dear Mrs. Clemm, — I was gratified to learn from my friend, Miss Carpenter, that she had the pleasure of seeing you while in Lowell and to receive through her a kind message from you.

I believe she told me that you had some thought of writing to me in relation to some manuscripts of Edgar's which you supposed to be in my possession. I think she must have misunderstood you, and that you must have referred to the copies of the Broadway Journal, which he left with me.

With the exception of “Letters and Notes” I have no manuscripts of his saving two pages of a lecture which he delivered at Lowell in the summer of 1848. He brought it to Providence when he was here in September. On one of these pages was a notice of my own poetry as compared with that of Mrs. Osgood and Miss Lynch.

The notice being very complimentary, I naturally wished to obtain from him a copy of it. He replied to my request by tearing out the leaf and presenting it to me, saying that he would replace it by a more elaborate notice. These pages I retain, and I have often thought that I should like to see the remainder of the lecture. Can you tell me what has become of it?

I saw Miss Carpenter soon after her return to Providence, and I intended at the time to write to you immediately, but I have been so much engrossed in the strange spiritual developments (which have, I believe, been more frequent in our city than elsewhere) that I cannot readily turn my attention to any other subject. I have been for several months fully convinced that these wonderful and interesting manifestations are from the spirits of our departed friends, and every day has brought with it some additional confirmation of this assurance.

The experiences of the last year have shed a glory over my life, transcending the sublimest dreams of the imagination, and I believe that more glorious and more beautiful revelations are yet to come.

It would give me great pleasure, my dear Mrs. Clemm, to hear from you, and I hope that I may have the pleasure of seeing you if you return home by the way of Providence. In the meantime believe me,

Very truly your friend,

SARAH HELEN WHITMAN.*

Providence, February 3. [no year.]

* From manuscripts belonging to Miss A. F. Poe.

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Brooklyn, Nov. 28, 1854.

My Dear Friend, — So long a time has passed since you have written to me I greatly fear you have entirely forgotten me. If this is the cause., I will indeed regret it. Why have you not answered my last two letters? I [page 2, column 1:] know this is false. I wish you to write to me so I can show it to them. Oh! if you only knew how dear his memory is to me, and always will be. I suppose you have seen by the papers that Mr. and Mrs. are divorced. I had a most uncomfortable home there for a long time. I left her house before they were divorced. I am with kind friends here. Please write directly, and direct to me, care of Reuben Johnston, Esq., Alexandria, Va.

Affectionately your friend,

MARIA CLEMM.

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Mrs. Whitman to Mrs. Clemm.

Direct to me at Providence.

New York, Nov. 27, 1859.

My Dear Mrs. Clemm, — Since I received your last letter I have been very busy attending to the publication of the little book of which you wrote. I have been several times to New York for that purpose, and shall remain here for a week or more.

I shall request Rudd & Carleton to send you a copy as soon as it is out. The publication of the book (involving, as it has done, much expense and trouble, has occupied all my time for the last few months. I hope you will like it. It is not, you know, in any way intended as a literal and special refutation of Dr. Griswold's fabulous stories, but simply as a pleas for a suspense of judgement. I have introduced it by a brief preface, which will give you an idea of the place of the work. It is as follows:

“Dr. Griswold's ‘Memoir of Edgar Poe’ has been extensively read and circulated. Its perverted facts and baseless assumptions have been adopted into every subsequent memoir and notice of the poet, and have been translated into many languages.

“It has been assumed by a recent English critic that ‘Edgar Poe had no friends.’ As an index to a more equitable and intelligible theory of the idiosyncrasies of his life, and as an earnest protest against the spirit of Dr. Griswold's unjust memoir, these pages are submitted to his more candid readers and critics by one of his friends.”

My literary friends think that that will give as good an idea of the purport of tghe work as anything I could have said.

I am sorry to hear that you have been suffering from neuralgia. I think the preparation of iron, of which you speak, will help you. Iron in other preparations, and especially the simple carbonate of iron, has given me great relief in the suffering incident on organic enlargement of the heart, from which I have endured, and while I live must continue to endure, such great discomfort and unrest.

I will be sure to have a copy of the book sent to you. You must write and tell me how you like it. It will doubtless stir up elements of discord in many quarters, but I do not write for popularity of present success. The [column 2:] statements I have made will have their influence in due time.

Your affectionate

SARAH H. WHITMAN.**

* “Edgar Allan Poe and His Critics.”

** From manuscripts belonging to Miss A. F. Poe.

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Mrs. Whitman to Mrs. Clemm.

February 28, 1860.

My Dear Mrs. Clemm. — I received your kind letter of the 17th, and should have answered it sooner but for my increasing suffering from the symptoms of heart diseas, of which I have spoken to you. I have been very unwell during the whole of the present month.

I am very glad that you like my little book. I hear very kind things said of it.

I would gladly send you some of Edgar's writing if I had not already parted with nearly everything but his letters, and these I cannot lose.

I will hope that your health will improve with the coming spring. I think of you with sincerest sympathy and interest, and am ever affectionately

Your friend,

SARAH WHITMAN WHITMAN.

I will write again soon.

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Providence, Feb. 28, 1860.

I was disappointed, dear Mrs. Clemm, in my wish to send you what you needed for immediate use. Since I wrote you last we have sustained still further losses through the withholding of customary bank dividends on account of Western rail loans.

If what I inclose can be of use to you it is most heartily at your service Do not trouble yourself about repayment.*

* From manuscripts belonging to Miss A. F. Poe.

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Alexandria, March 17, 1860.

My Dear Friend, — With much gratitude I acknowledge the reception of your lasst. If you could only know of the comfort your inclosure has afforded me. My health is very miserable, and I often need medicine, and little comforts, that I always furnish myself. The kind friends I am with I am certain would supply me if it were in their power, but it is not. Mrs. J. has a large helpless family, and very limited means. I endeavor to be as little expense and trouble as possible. As an equivalent for my board I teach three children from 9 until 12; the rest of the day I devote to sewing for her. About 5 I retire to my own room, and oh! how I do enjoy being there with my sad, sad, sad memories. It is then and there I hold communion with my dear lost ones. Then I review my thoughts and actions of the day. This is our Lenten season, and we have church every day. I enjoy this blessed privilege as often as my health will admit of it. This is my birthday. I am seventy to-day. I so greatly miss my dear ones on this occasion. There is no one now to bless and congratulate [column 3:] me. Oh! how sad and lonely I am, and with what rapture I will hail the time when I will go to meet all my loved ones. I earnestly pray to God to make me submissive to His will. I was in Washington last week. I went to meet a literary friend from Boston. He and many others spoke so highly of your beautiful book. It is not for sale here, or in Lowell. Why is this? I hope your health is better; I do so much hope to see you yet. I still expect to go to Louisiana next fall. It is a long journey for one of my age, but I cannot help it. If i could avoid going I would do so. Miss Fletcher often inquires for you. She has recently lost a very dear niece, Mrs. Fletcher Russell, of Washington. She is in great distress, poor thing. With sincere thank to you for all your kindness, and with prayers for your happiness, I remain most affectionately your friend.

M. CLEMM.

Please write soon and tell me of your health.

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Mrs. Clemm to Neilson Poe.

(Ingram.)

August 19, 1860.

Oh, how supremely happy we were in our dear cottage home! We three lived only for each other. Eddie rarely left his beautiful home. I attended to his literary business, for he, poor fellow, knew nothing about money transactions. How should he, brought up in luxury and extravagance?

He passed the greater part of the morning in his study, and, after he had finished his task for the day, he worked in our beautiful flower garden, or read and recited poetry to us. Everyone who knew him intimately loved him. Judges pronounced him the best conversationalist living. We had very little society, except among the literati but this was exceedingly pleasant.

(Signature missing.)

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Annie to Mrs. Clemm.*

October 5, 1862. Sunday Eve.

Dear Darling Muddie, — I must write a few words, although you have not answered my last. This month brings you always so near to me. It seems as if I loved you better in October than at any other time. Oh, Muddie, why did he die? I feel more and more unreconciled ever year I live to his untimely death. One reason is that I become more and more convinced of his superiority to all other men the longer I live, and the more I see of the world. There is just one thought that comforts me. He is at rest; poor, dear, darling Eddie, thy sorrows are ended, while our burden is increasing. But, Muddie, we will soon see him, and our tears will be dried — till the we must mourn. To-morrow I have visitors coming for a week or so — Mrs. —— and two children. My time will be taken up, but my heart will be with you, Muddie. I always wish I could be alone in October. I would not ask to see one human being (unless I could see you) until the month [column 3:] is ended. Do you know that I think I shall die in October? Unless some accident before me at some other time I am sure I shall leave this world in that same sad season that he left it. I often think lately that it will not be but a very few years ere I shall follow him, and were it not for my child I would it were this. The world is so full of sorrow. It is not my individual sadness that oppresses me, but everything looks so dark and gloomy in the future. Our country (breaks off*)

* From manuscripts belonging to Miss A. F. Poe.

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Annie to Mrs. Clemm.*

November 4, 1864.

My Darling Muddie, — I have just mailed a long letter to you, which I hope you have got ere this, but I hope you have got ere this, but I cannot delay sending you the inclosed paragraph from a Kentucky paper, which I received from Dr. Curtis last eve. I am so delighted that some one has at last come forward in earnest to see that the so long talked of monument is erected to the memory of the noblest and best man God ever gave to the world. Isn’t what Willis says of him beautiful. Just like what he has always said. I shall love Willis as long as I live for what he has done and said in behalf of my dear Muddie and her precious Eddie. If you can get me a copy of the paper this article is copied from you will confer a great favor on your Annie. Have you heard from the lady? It seems she has something for you, and God grant you may receive it, and that it may prove a substantial token of Kindness and good will. Do let me hear from you at once, and believe me ever your true and loving

ANNIE.

* From manuscripts belonging to Miss A. F. Poe.

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Baltimore, Sept. 27, 1870.

Dear Neilson, — With much gratitude I acknowledge the $10 I received from you on Saturday last. It has been the means of procuring me many little comforts, which I so much needed. I do, indeed, thank you most sincerely for all your kindness to me since I have been here. You are the only relative I have (except your kind wife) that has done anything for me. You have been a dear, kind son to me, and God I know will reward you. I am too much indisposed to write any move to-day, but I wish you when God calls me to see to my burial. Give my love to Josephine and the girls and Charlie. Come soon and see me.

Affectionately yours,

MARIA CLEMM.*

* From manuscripts belonging to Miss A. F. Poe.

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The Sister.

Another remarkable member of the Poe family — never, however, constituting a part of it — was his sister, Rosalie McKenzie Poe, “adopted: at the time of Mrs. Poe's death by the McKenzies, of Richmond, who later kept a fashionable girls’ school in the Virginia capital [column 4:] This strange girl possessed little of the talent attributed to the two Poe boys, except the gift of exquisite chirography. In which Edgar was an adept. The reminiscences of her here given were communicated to the writer by the Chevalier E. R. Reynolds, of Washington, D. C., for six years a clinical medical student, who was permitted to visit the hospitals and “homes” there in pursuit of his professional work. The present writer hopes that these reminiscences of an unfortunate woman, devoted to the memory of her brother, may call forth other recollections, from contemporaries who knew the lady, and may paint her portrait in a more gracious lines.

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Chevalier Reynolds says:

Of Rosa, the only sister of the poet, little can be said from my own personal knowledge of her while in this city. My acquaintance with her, if such it can be termed, was confined to one interview of less than three minutes, while standing in the dark hall of the Epiphany Church Home, of which Rosa was then an inmate. This was the old H Street Home; the date, March 1874.

At the time of Rosa's admission Mrs. Margaret Ritchie Stone was secretary of the “home.” This lady was the widow fo Dr. Stone, of this city, and sister of Anna Cora Mowatt Ritchie, an eminent actress and authoress, who was well and favorably known during the first half of the century.

From Mrs. Stone I learned that Rosa had continued to reside in Richmond, Va., until 1874, at which date she took up her residence with her cousin, Neilson Poe, of Baltimore, Md. She remained with Judge Poe's family for several months, but as her eccentricities made her company “more than objectionable” Mrs. Stone brought her over to this city, and after much trouble and formality, succeeded in getting her admitted to the home, which was established and maintained for the exclusive use of the Epiphany Church.

The records of the home, which I have personally examined, state as follows: “Rosa Poe, admitted March 4, 1874. Sister of Edgar Allan Poe. Received from Baltimore. Died July 22*, 1874. Buried at St. John's Cemetery, Rock Creek, D. C.”

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* The burial records show that Rosa died July 21^st, and was buried July 22d. — E. R. R.

When Rosa died Mrs Stone telegraphed Neilson Poe, who came from Baltimore and took part in the final ceremonies, the entire expense of which were defrayed by himself.

A day or two before her death the postman left a letter for her at the “home.” She went down and received it, after which she returned to her room, tossed it unopened on the bureau, and listlessly threw herself upon the bed. Mrs Stone opened the envelope at her request, and found that it contained a courteous note and a $50 bill from Mr. George W. Childs, of Philadelphia. [column 5:] She then informed Mrs. Stone that she had written to Mr. Childs notifying him that she was an inmate of the “home,” and in destitute circumstances.

Mrs. Stone is a niece of Mrs. McKenzie, of Richmond, Va., who adopted Rosalie on the death of her parents, at the time Mr. Allan adopted her brother Edgar, the poet. Mrs. McKenzie, who was a Scotch lady, kept a ladies’ seminary, and employed Rosa as writing mistress.

Mrs. Stone herself was a student at this academy, and a room-mate of Rosa, her foster-sister, and informed me that she had considered Rosa an old maid as far back as her memory went. She had a vivid recollection of her as she used to go round the school-rooms daily after the classes were dismissed, collecting the quill pens, and wiping them untidily on her apron, after which she would resharpen them for the next day's exercise. This task finished, she would stand for a long time — for hours — at a certain window, nervously combing her hair with her fingers, as she silently gazed down into the busy world.

In personal appearance Miss Poe was of medium height, perhaps a little below it; only slightly gray considering her years; at times dull in conversation, and at times spirited, if interested; generally, however, her intellect was slow to act, which may possibly have arisen from her advanced years. She was quite untidy, even slovenly, in her attire, although clad in the prim, inexpensive and economical garb of the “home”; her slippers were always down at the heels.

During the half year that Rosa was an inmate of the “home” she was generally as happy — or contented — as her nervous, ever-shifting disposition would permit — contented provided she could have her own way, rules or not rules. While here she probably fared as well, and perhaps better, than at any previous period in her always dependent and uneventful life — all leisure here, and no exacting, laborious duties. Whatever she may have been in her earlier years she exhibited no trace of her brother's intellectuality during the final years of her life. She seemed to possess no brilliant, unusual or characteristic traits; she was not a conversationalist, although at times “an immense talker,” especially when in a pleasant mood. She had a habit of going out in all sorts of weather, notwithstanding the fact that “promiscuous” gadding was severally interdicted by the rules of the “hone.” Her chief mission when she managed to escape, was to ride in the street cars and sell her brother's portrait to the passengers, telling each and every purchaser that she herself was “the sister of the distinguished poet, Poe, and in destitute circumstances.” Mrs. Stone tried to prevent this really unnecessary and humiliating exposure, but with small success, because, if hampered in the matter, “Rosa would sulk, or ‘carry on’ dreadfully.” [column 6:]

To aid me in my quest for further memorials of Rosa Poe, Mrs. Stone gave me a letter of introduction to her niece, Mrs. Colonel Harris, widow of an ante-bellum commandant of the marine corps. This lady was also one of Rosa's pupils at Mrs. McKenzie's academy, but was unable to throw much light on the subject, pleading advanced age and defective memory. The only distinguishing features of Rosa that she could remember were that she was quick-tempered, irritable, indolent, and an unagreeable companion. To offset these sunless qualities, which were naturally developed in her state of “bondage,” let me add that, had not Rosa been dependent, had her earlier life developed under loving parental care, other and sunnier qualities might have presented themselves. The golden tints of life are not usually developed while “making brick without straw,” in an alien home.

All of the inmates of the “home” who were physically able were required to attend divine service at Epiphany Church, on G Street, about two squares distant, these dependents having several pews assigned for their use facing the altar over against the wall at the extreme end of the church. Rosa's pride rebelled at being compelled to sit among her soberly-garbed associates of the “home,” and during the service she would slip from her pew, steal forward, “nearer the throne,” and drop into any vacant place she could find, telling the other, and sometimes astonished, occupants of the raided pew that she was “the sister of Poe — Edgar Allan — the distinguished American poet, and couldn’t bear to sit among the miserable paupers in the home pew.”

When Mrs. Stone related this incident, she added: “of course, such grave conduct on Rosa's part was perfectly awful!”

“Perfectly awful?” There are different ways of viewing such matters, and for my part I courteously entreat that none may laugh at this quaint and pardonable characteristic of this forlornly desolate lady, for the “weird sisters” had jealously foredoomed that she should learn “how hard it is to climb the stairs of others, and eat the salt of others on her bread.”

“Perfectly awful!” Well I am very proud to differ. I am proud that this frail little woman's memory was properly dowered with the fact that she was the sister of one of the most phenomenally graceful and enchanting poets in the laureled royaume of literature; that this glorious but solemn memory steadfastly abode with her as an imperial heritage, so that even in God's temple it troubled her prayers when the were offered up from the pew of the meek dependents “over against the wall.” What would Poe himself have done under similar circumstances? Needless to say, but well to remember, that the same blood still lingering in hapless Rosa's veins.