Text: John C. Miller, ed., “Entry 091: Review of R. H. Stoddard's ‘Original Memoir’ of Poe, by John H. Ingram, Apr. 3, 1875,” Poe's Helen Remembers (1979), pp. 271-274 (This material is protected by copyright)

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91. Review of R. H. Stoddard's “Original Memoir” in Poems by Edgar Allan Poe, by John H. Ingram, London Civil Service Review, Apr. 3, 1875

ANOTHER SO-CALLED “Original Memoir” of Edgar Allan Poe has just been published in New York. It is mainly a republication of a sketch, which appeared in Harper's New Monthly Magazine in 1872, anonymously, the authorship of which, however, is now acknowledged by Mr. R. H. Stoddard. This memoir would not have been noticed by us had it not been expressly submitted “to English readers” by its author, probably in the belief that they have no means of detecting his shortcomings. The book is heralded by a Preface, in which Griswold, who has, of late, been so severely handled by Mr. Ingram and others, is held up to scorn for the “serious literary offense” he committed in writing of Poe in the manner he did; but the animus which Mr. Stoddard himself exhibits towards the memory of his great countryman — for it is presumed that Mr. Stoddard is an American — proves that he is as little qualified to write the poet's life as was his predecessor. That Griswold's work was compiled in a way to be avoided by “all right-minded biographers” most people will be ready to admit, as also that it “abounds with blunders;” but that the worst of these blunders, or indeed any one of them, have been corrected in the present memoir, as claimed by Mr. Stoddard, we fail to see. Mr. Stoddard accuses Griswold of having neglected to inform himself thoroughly in regard to the particulars of Poe's life, he having, amongst other offenses, misstated the time of the poet's birth: and yet, strange to relate, this “right minded biographer” himself gives an incorrect date. That Poe was not born on the 19th of February, 1809, Mr. Stoddard might easily have discovered had he only taken that trouble which he accuses his predecessor of having shirked: reference to a file of Boston papers of the date stated would have afforded him information by means of which he might have avoided, at least in this one instance, the fate of Griswold.

A complete analysis of the eighty pages of twaddle and quotation which constitute this “Original Memoir” is, of course, out of the question; but an examination of some few of its reckless assertions may not prove altogether unprofitable “to English readers.” Mr. Stoddard's remark that “I need not say that I have tried to write impartially” is, indeed, a needless one, as no one will charge him with that; but when he asserts, “I have passed no judgment upon this singular man,” his words need confirmation. In our perusal of Mr. Stoddard's short account of this [page 272:] singular man, we noted, ad passim, the following autorial comments, and as they really constitute the thread upon which are strung the quotations — acknowledged and otherwise — forming this original work, we think our readers will agree with us that the author need not have been so modest about not having passed any judgment. All the accusations which he levies at Griswold may safely be transferred to Mr. Stoddard himself: were they as true as they are false they would still prove that he misused his testimonies “by using them to Poe's disadvantage solely,” and that “the fact is, he took no pains with his work, which abounds with blunders.” Even from the preface onwards, this impartial biographer endeavours to prejudice his readers against Poe by sneers, innuendoes, and direct accusations of dishonesty. He remarks, with the proviso “it may be said,” that the poet gave two false dates of his birth; but we defy him to adduce evidence of his having given one: he alleges that the note to Poe's “Poems written in Youth” is “mendacious,” but omits to give any proof of its mendacity: he strives to discredit Poe's statement that “Tamerlane” was printed in 1827, whereas, if he has that bibliographical knowledge of the subject he pretends to, he must know that the poet's assertion was correct: he repeats a puerile story of Griswold's with a view of proving Poe bad even as an infant, and parades his own ignorance, either of scholarship or of the poet's writing, by remarking that Poe's works show little trace of a classical education, adding, “for my own part I believe that his acquirements were rather in the direction of mathematical than classical learning, and that they were not remarkable in either.” On the authority of “a lady” whom Mr. Stoddard, as usual, leaves unnamed, he states that, when a schoolboy, Poe's “inordinate self-esteem often led him to fancy affronts when none were intended,” and that parents would not allow their children to play with him as “he was such a bad boy.”

In some parts of his really original work this “right minded biographer,” emulous of Griswold, assumes an intimate knowledge of Poe's innermost thoughts, and assures us that, when a youth, the poet “was clever enough to feign repentance if he did not feel it,” and that, “having quickly detected the weak points of his adopted parents, he “took advantage of them, so much so that dissimulation and evasion became habitual with him.” In support, apparently, of this charge Mr. Stoddard relates an anecdote that is certainly new to us, and which, it is presumed, is derived from one of those sources ‘he states he can authenticate, but which he almost invariably forgets to. The story runs to the effect that when Poe returned from the University, and just after “an enormous sum of his debts” had been paid, the youth incurred “a bill for quantities of champagne and seventeen broad-cloth coats, which he had gambled away;” and, showing off his habitual evasion, had the audacity to say to his adopted mother, and before a stranger, “I went to see [page 273:] how much of the old man's money I could spend, and I have done it.”

Returning to the editorial comments of our impartial biographer, we find his declaration, twice repeated, that Poe “was nothing if not critical;” that he “was too idle to take much pains with anything;” that he “was not a good editor. He lacked catholicity of taste and sweetness of temper;” that “he was dogmatic, insolent, impracticable, and always squabbling;” that “he had the genius of a Celt for creating a row,” but that “a revolution was beyond his powers;” that “he provoked literary quarrels;” that “he had no settled standard of criticism, except that he was infallible, even when contradictory,” and so on, to the end of the Memoir.

A very natural question is, Whence Mr. Stoddard's enmity for Poe — an enmity apparently extending to, and even including the poet's friends? Almost of necessity this must be a mystery to us; and, did not our original biographer vouchsafe some kind of an explanation himself, one might almost deem this memoir published in the hopes of gaining its author a little temporary notoriety. Mr. Stoddard, according to his own account, had a weakness common to young men: he “wrote verse and thought it poetry.” With becoming naiveté, he confesses that a perusal of Keats's “Ode on a Grecian Urn,” inspired him to indite an “Ode on a Grecian Flute.” This effort of genius was sent to The Broadway Journal, then under the editorship of Poe, who actually declined to publish it, under the frivolous pretext that some portions of it were “so bad” (vide vol. 2, p. 63), although Mr. Stoddard's memory, being somewhat faulty, causes him to assign a different reason. Utterly astounded at the poet's lack of “catholicity of taste,” the young versifier called upon him for an explanation, succeeded in penetrating into the editorial sanctum, when, according to his own story, being threatened by Poe with personal chastisement unless he left at once, he very prudently retired. After this episode one can scarcely be surprised to find Mr. Stoddard deeming the publication, which, like Paradise to the Peri, was “for ever closed to him,” “the Saturday Review of Billingsgate” — a foreign locality evidently known to this writer — nor need we be surprised that he believed its editor “determined to make it as atrocious as he could,” and that his critiques “possessed little or no value as criticisms.” Neither time nor inclination permit us to reprint any more of Mr. Stoddard's autobiographical adventures, although they will doubtless be valuable when the time arrives for his life to be written; but we cannot take leave of this volume without drawing attention to its editor's unmanly and utterly uncalled for behavior towards his distinguished countrywoman, Mrs. Whitman. After using several pages of that lady's work on Edgar Poe and his Critics, but without the slightest acknowledgment, he deliberately, and in the face of her direct assertion — an assertion she confirms by Poe's written testimony — proceeds to question the fact that the poem [page 274:] beginning “Helen, thy beauty is to me” — a poem, by the way, not included in this complete edition — was inspired by the memory of a Mrs. H. S———. Probably Mr. Stoddard, in expressing his doubts as to the veracity of Mrs. Whitman, does so upon his usually well authenticated evidence, although without any of that courtesy which foreigners deem accorded to ladies by Americans. But we are sick of this “Original Memoir.” we had intended to expose more of its many misstatements as to facts, its garbling and misquotations of testimony in Poe's favour, its manifold impertinences and absurdities; but to do so is needless. Not nearly so cleverly constructed as its prototype, Griswold's libel on a dead man's memory, it is far less likely to injure Poe: it carries its antidote with it, and will be forgotten as speedily as read.

The illustrations, it should be noted, are less original than the memoir, having already done good service in Messrs. Routledge and Sons cheap edition of Poe's poems, and in the above mentioned sketch in Harper's New Monthly Magazine.