Poe, Edgar Allen - The Complete Works of Edgar Allen Poe

by Volume 01-05 (lit)

  remember him but with admiration and respect; these descriptions of

  him, when morally insane, seeming to us like portraits, painted in

  sickness, of a man we have only known in health.

  But there is another, more touching, and far more forcible evidence

  that there was _goodness _in Edgar A. Poe. To reveal it we are

  obliged to venture upon the lifting of the veil which sacredly covers

  grief and refinement in poverty; but we think it may be excused, if

  so we can brighten the memory of the poet, even were there not a more

  needed and immediate service which it may render to the nearest link

  broken by his death.

  Our first knowledge of Mr. Poe's removal to this city was by a call

  which we received from a lady who introduced herself to us as the

  mother of his wife. She was in search of employment for him, and she

  excused her errand by mentioning that he was ill, that her daughter

  was a confirmed invalid, and that their circumstances were such as

  compelled her taking it upon herself. The countenance of this lady,

  made beautiful and saintly with an evidently complete giving up of

  her life to privation and sorrowful tenderness, her gentle and

  mournful voice urging its plea, her long-forgotten but habitually and

  unconsciously refined manners, and her appealing and yet appreciative

  mention of the claims and abilities of her son, disclosed at once the

  presence of one of those angels upon earth that women in adversity

  can be. It was a hard fate that she was watching over. Mr. Poe wrote

  with fastidious difficulty, and in a style too much above the popular

  level to be well paid. He was always in pecuniary difficulty, and,

  with his sick wife, frequently in want of the merest necessaries of

  life. Winter after winter, for years, the most touching sight to us,

  in this whole city, has been that tireless minister to genius, thinly

  and insufficiently clad, going from office to office with a poem, or

  an article on some literary subject, to sell, sometimes simply

  pleading in a broken voice that he was ill, and begging for him,

  mentioning nothing but that "he was ill," whatever might be the

  reason for his writing nothing, and never, amid all her tears and

  recitals of distress, suffering one syllable to escape her lips that

  could convey a doubt of him, or a complaint, or a lessening of pride

  in his genius and good intentions. Her daughter died a year and a

  half since, but she did not desert him. She continued his ministering

  angel--living with him, caring for him, guarding him against

  exposure, and when he was carried away by temptation, amid grief and

  the loneliness of feelings unreplied to, and awoke from his self

  abandonment prostrated in destitution and suffering, _begging _for

  him still. If woman's devotion, born with a first love, and fed with

  human passion, hallow its object, as it is allowed to do, what does

  not a devotion like this-pure, disinterested and holy as the watch of

  an invisible spirit-say for him who inspired it?

  We have a letter before us, written by this lady, Mrs. Clemm, on the

  morning in which she heard of the death of this object of her

  untiring care. It is merely a request that we would call upon her,

  but we will copy a few of its words--sacred as its privacy is--to

  warrant the truth of the picture we have drawn above, and add force

  to the appeal we wish to make for her:

  "I have this morning heard of the death of my darling Eddie. . . .

  Can you give me any circumstances or particulars? . . . Oh! do not

  desert your poor friend in his bitter affliction! . . . Ask -Mr. --

  to come, as I must deliver a message to him from my poor Eddie. . . .

  I need not ask you to notice his death and to speak well of him. I

  know you will. But say what an affectionate son he was to me, his

  poor desolate mother. . ."

  To hedge round a grave with respect, what choice is there, between

  the relinquished wealth and honors of the world, and the story of

  such a woman's unrewarded devotion! Risking what we do, in delicacy,

  by making it public, we feel--other reasons aside--that it betters

  the world to make known that there are such ministrations to its

  erring and gifted. What we have said will speak to some hearts. There

  are those who will be glad to know how the lamp, whose light of

  poetry has beamed on their far-away recognition, was watched over

  with care and pain, that they may send to her, who is more darkened

  than they by its extinction, some token of their sympathy. She is

  destitute and alone. If any, far or near, will send to us what may

  aid and cheer her through the remainder of her life, we will joyfully

  place it in her bands.

  ~~~~~ End of Text ~~~~~~

  ==========

  The Unparalleled Adventures of

  One Hans Pfaal {*1}

  BY late accounts from Rotterdam, that city seems to be in a high

  state of philosophical excitement. Indeed, phenomena have there

  occurred of a nature so completely unexpected -- so entirely novel --

  so utterly at variance with preconceived opinions -- as to leave no

  doubt on my mind that long ere this all Europe is in an uproar, all

  physics in a ferment, all reason and astronomy together by the ears.

  It appears that on the -- -- day of -- -- (I am not positive about

  the date), a vast crowd of people, for purposes not specifically

  mentioned, were assembled in the great square of the Exchange in the

  well-conditioned city of Rotterdam. The day was warm -- unusually so

  for the season -- there was hardly a breath of air stirring; and the

  multitude were in no bad humor at being now and then besprinkled with

  friendly showers of momentary duration, that fell from large white

  masses of cloud which chequered in a fitful manner the blue vault of

  the firmament. Nevertheless, about noon, a slight but remarkable

  agitation became apparent in the assembly: the clattering of ten

  thousand tongues succeeded; and, in an instant afterward, ten

  thousand faces were upturned toward the heavens, ten thousand pipes

  descended simultaneously from the corners of ten thousand mouths, and

  a shout, which could be compared to nothing but the roaring of

  Niagara, resounded long, loudly, and furiously, through all the

  environs of Rotterdam.

  The origin of this hubbub soon became sufficiently evident. From

  behind the huge bulk of one of those sharply-defined masses of cloud

  already mentioned, was seen slowly to emerge into an open area of

  blue space, a queer, heterogeneous, but apparently solid substance,

  so oddly shaped, so whimsically put together, as not to be in any

  manner comprehended, and never to be sufficiently admired, by the

  host of sturdy burghers who stood open-mouthed below. What could it

  be? In the name of all the vrows and devils in Rotterdam, what could

  it possibly portend? No one knew, no one could imagine; no one -- not

  even the burgomaster Mynheer Superbus Von Underduk -- had the

  slightest clew by which to unravel the mystery; so, as nothing more

  reasonable could be done, every one to a man replaced his pipe

  care
fully in the corner of his mouth, and cocking up his right eye

  towards the phenomenon, puffed, paused, waddled about, and grunted

  significantly -- then waddled back, grunted, paused, and finally --

  puffed again.

  In the meantime, however, lower and still lower toward the goodly

  city, came the object of so much curiosity, and the cause of so much

  smoke. In a very few minutes it arrived near enough to be accurately

  discerned. It appeared to be -- yes! it was undoubtedly a species of

  balloon; but surely no such balloon had ever been seen in Rotterdam

  before. For who, let me ask, ever heard of a balloon manufactured

  entirely of dirty newspapers? No man in Holland certainly; yet here,

  under the very noses of the people, or rather at some distance above

  their noses was the identical thing in question, and composed, I have

  it on the best authority, of the precise material which no one had

  ever before known to be used for a similar purpose. It was an

  egregious insult to the good sense of the burghers of Rotterdam. As

  to the shape of the phenomenon, it was even still more reprehensible.

  Being little or nothing better than a huge foolscap turned upside

  down. And this similitude was regarded as by no means lessened when,

  upon nearer inspection, there was perceived a large tassel depending

  from its apex, and, around the upper rim or base of the cone, a

  circle of little instruments, resembling sheep-bells, which kept up a

  continual tinkling to the tune of Betty Martin. But still worse.

  Suspended by blue ribbons to the end of this fantastic machine, there

  hung, by way of car, an enormous drab beaver bat, with a brim

  superlatively broad, and a hemispherical crown with a black band and

  a silver buckle. It is, however, somewhat remarkable that many

  citizens of Rotterdam swore to having seen the same hat repeatedly

  before; and indeed the whole assembly seemed to regard it with eyes

  of familiarity; while the vrow Grettel Pfaall, upon sight of it,

  uttered an exclamation of joyful surprise, and declared it to be the

  identical hat of her good man himself. Now this was a circumstance

  the more to be observed, as Pfaall, with three companions, had

  actually disappeared from Rotterdam about five years before, in a

  very sudden and unaccountable manner, and up to the date of this

  narrative all attempts had failed of obtaining any intelligence

  concerning them whatsoever. To be sure, some bones which were thought

  to be human, mixed up with a quantity of odd-looking rubbish, had

  been lately discovered in a retired situation to the east of

  Rotterdam, and some people went so far as to imagine that in this

  spot a foul murder had been committed, and that the sufferers were in

  all probability Hans Pfaall and his associates. But to return.

  The balloon (for such no doubt it was) had now descended to within a

  hundred feet of the earth, allowing the crowd below a sufficiently

  distinct view of the person of its occupant. This was in truth a very

  droll little somebody. He could not have been more than two feet in

  height; but this altitude, little as it was, would have been

  sufficient to destroy his equilibrium, and tilt him over the edge of

  his tiny car, but for the intervention of a circular rim reaching as

  high as the breast, and rigged on to the cords of the balloon. The

  body of the little man was more than proportionately broad, giving to

  his entire figure a rotundity highly absurd. His feet, of course,

  could not be seen at all, although a horny substance of suspicious

  nature was occasionally protruded through a rent in the bottom of the

  car, or to speak more properly, in the top of the hat. His hands were

  enormously large. His hair was extremely gray, and collected in a cue

  behind. His nose was prodigiously long, crooked, and inflammatory;

  his eyes full, brilliant, and acute; his chin and cheeks, although

  wrinkled with age, were broad, puffy, and double; but of ears of any

  kind or character there was not a semblance to be discovered upon any

  portion of his head. This odd little gentleman was dressed in a loose

  surtout of sky-blue satin, with tight breeches to match, fastened

  with silver buckles at the knees. His vest was of some bright yellow

  material; a white taffety cap was set jauntily on one side of his

  head; and, to complete his equipment, a blood-red silk handkerchief

  enveloped his throat, and fell down, in a dainty manner, upon his

  bosom, in a fantastic bow-knot of super-eminent dimensions.

  Having descended, as I said before, to about one hundred feet from

  the surface of the earth, the little old gentleman was suddenly

  seized with a fit of trepidation, and appeared disinclined to make

  any nearer approach to terra firma. Throwing out, therefore, a

  quantity of sand from a canvas bag, which, he lifted with great

  difficulty, he became stationary in an instant. He then proceeded, in

  a hurried and agitated manner, to extract from a side-pocket in his

  surtout a large morocco pocket-book. This he poised suspiciously in

  his hand, then eyed it with an air of extreme surprise, and was

  evidently astonished at its weight. He at length opened it, and

  drawing there from a huge letter sealed with red sealing-wax and tied

  carefully with red tape, let it fall precisely at the feet of the

  burgomaster, Superbus Von Underduk. His Excellency stooped to take it

  up. But the aeronaut, still greatly discomposed, and having

  apparently no farther business to detain him in Rotterdam, began at

  this moment to make busy preparations for departure; and it being

  necessary to discharge a portion of ballast to enable him to

  reascend, the half dozen bags which he threw out, one after another,

  without taking the trouble to empty their contents, tumbled, every

  one of them, most unfortunately upon the back of the burgomaster, and

  rolled him over and over no less than one-and-twenty times, in the

  face of every man in Rotterdam. It is not to be supposed, however,

  that the great Underduk suffered this impertinence on the part of the

  little old man to pass off with impunity. It is said, on the

  contrary, that during each and every one of his one-and twenty

  circumvolutions he emitted no less than one-and-twenty distinct and

  furious whiffs from his pipe, to which he held fast the whole time

  with all his might, and to which he intends holding fast until the

  day of his death.

  In the meantime the balloon arose like a lark, and, soaring far away

  above the city, at length drifted quietly behind a cloud similar to

  that from which it had so oddly emerged, and was thus lost forever to

  the wondering eyes of the good citiezns of Rotterdam. All attention

  was now directed to the letter, the descent of which, and the

  consequences attending thereupon, had proved so fatally subversive of

  both person and personal dignity to his Excellency, the illustrious

  Burgomaster Mynheer Superbus Von Underduk. That functionary, however,

  had not failed, during his circumgyratory movements, to bestow a

  thought upon the important subject of securing the packet in

 
question, which was seen, upon inspection, to have fallen into the

  most proper hands, being actually addressed to himself and Professor

  Rub-a-dub, in their official capacities of President and

  Vice-President of the Rotterdam College of Astronomy. It was

  accordingly opened by those dignitaries upon the spot, and found to

  contain the following extraordinary, and indeed very serious,

  communications.

  To their Excellencies Von Underduk and Rub-a-dub, President and

  Vice-President of the States' College of Astronomers, in the city of

  Rotterdam.

  "Your Excellencies may perhaps be able to remember an humble artizan,

  by name Hans Pfaall, and by occupation a mender of bellows, who, with

  three others, disappeared from Rotterdam, about five years ago, in a

  manner which must have been considered by all parties at once sudden,

  and extremely unaccountable. If, however, it so please your

  Excellencies, I, the writer of this communication, am the identical

  Hans Pfaall himself. It is well known to most of my fellow citizens,

  that for the period of forty years I continued to occupy the little

  square brick building, at the head of the alley called Sauerkraut, in

  which I resided at the time of my disappearance. My ancestors have

  also resided therein time out of mind -- they, as well as myself,

  steadily following the respectable and indeed lucrative profession of

  mending of bellows. For, to speak the truth, until of late years,

  that the heads of all the people have been set agog with politics, no

  better business than my own could an honest citizen of Rotterdam

  either desire or deserve. Credit was good, employment was never

  wanting, and on all hands there was no lack of either money or

  good-will. But, as I was saying, we soon began to feel the effects of

  liberty and long speeches, and radicalism, and all that sort of

  thing. People who were formerly, the very best customers in the

  world, had now not a moment of time to think of us at all. They had,

  so they said, as much as they could do to read about the revolutions,

  and keep up with the march of intellect and the spirit of the age. If