the works of edgar allan poe-1-第4部分

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his　poems。　

The　great　masters　of　imagination　have　seldom　resorted　to　the　vague　
and　the　unreal　as　sources　of　effect。　They　have　not　used　dread　and　
horror　alone；　but　only　in　combination　with　other　qualities；　as　means　
of　subjugating　the　fancies　of　their　readers。　The　loftiest　muse　has　
ever　a　household　and　fireside　charm　about　her。　Mr。　Poe's　secret　lies　
mainly　in　the　skill　with　which　lie　has　employed　the　strange　
fascination　of　mystery　and　terror。　In　this　his　success　is　so　great　
and　striking　as　to　deserve　the　name　of　art；　not　artifice。　We　cannot　
call　his　materials　the　noblest　or　purest；　but　we　must　concede　to　him　
the　highest　merit　of　construction。　

As　a　critic；　Mr。　Poe　was　aesthetically　deficient。　Unerring　in　his　
analysis　of　dictions；　metres　and　plots；　he　seemed　wanting　in　the　
faculty　of　perceiving　the　profounder　ethics　of　art。　His　criticisms　
are；　however；　distinguished　for　scientific　precision　and　coherence　of　
logic。　They　have　the　exactness；　and　at　the　same　time；　the　coldness　of　
mathematical　demonstrations。　Yet　they　stand　in　strikingly　refreshing　
contrast　with　the　vague　generalisms　and　sharp　personalities　of　the　
day。　If　deficient　in　warmth；　they　are　also　without　the　heat　of　
partisanship。　They　are　especially　valuable　as　illustrating　the　great　
truth；　too　generally　overlooked；　that　analytic　power　is　a　subordinate　
quality　of　the　critic。　

On　the　whole；　it　may　be　considered　certain　that　Mr。　Poe　has　attained　
an　individual　eminence　in　our　literature　which　he　will　keep。　He　has　
given　proof　of　power　and　originality。　He　has　done　that　which　could　
only　be　done　once　with　success　or　safety；　and　the　imitation　or　
repetition　of　which　would　produce　weariness。　

~~~~~~　End　of　Text　~~~~~~　

　

DEATH　OF　EDGAR　A。　POE　

BY　N。　P。　WILLIS
　


THE　ancient　fable　of　two　antagonistic　spirits　imprisoned　in　one　body；　
equally　powerful　and　having　the　complete　mastery　by　turns…of　one　man；　
that　is　to　say；　inhabited　by　both　a　devil　and　an　angel　seems　to　have　
been　realized；　if　all　we　hear　is　true；　in　the　character　of　the　
extraordinary　man　whose　name　we　have　written　above。　Our　own　
impression　of　the　nature　of　Edgar　A。　Poe；　differs　in　some　important　
degree；　however；　from　that　which　has　been　generally　conveyed　in　the　
notices　of　his　death。　Let　us；　before　telling　what　we　personally　know　
of　him；　copy　a　graphic　and　highly　finished　portraiture；　from　the　pen　
of　Dr。　Rufus　W。　Griswold；　which　appeared　in　a　recent　number　of　the　
〃Tribune：〃｛*1｝　

〃Edgar　Allen　Poe　is　dead。　He　died　in　Baltimore　on　Sunday；　October　
7th。　This　announcement　will　startle　many；　but　few　will　be　grieved　by　
it。　The　poet　was　known；　personally　or　by　reputation；　in　all　this　
country；　he　bad　readers　in　England　and　in　several　of　the　states　of　
Continental　Europe；　but　he　had　few　or　no　friends；　and　the　regrets　for　
his　death　will　be　suggested　principally　by　the　consideration　that　in　
him　literary　art　has　lost　one　of　its　most　brilliant　but　erratic　stars。　

〃His　conversation　was　at　times　almost　supramortal　in　its　eloquence。　
His　voice　was　modulated　with　astonishing　skill；　and　his　large　and　
variably　expressive　eyes　looked　repose　or　shot　fiery　tumult　into　
theirs　who　listened；　while　his　own　face　glowed；　or　was　changeless　in　
pallor；　as　his　imagination　quickened　his　blood　or　drew　it　back　frozen　
to　his　heart。　His　imagery　was　from　the　worlds　which　no　mortals　can　
see　but　with　the　vision　of　genius。　Suddenly　starting　from　a　
proposition；　exactly　and　sharply　defined；　in　terms　of　utmost　
simplicity　and　clearness；　he　rejected　the　forms　of　customary　logic；　
and　by　a　crystalline　process　of　accretion；　built　up　his　ocular　
demonstrations　in　forms　of　gloomiest　and　ghastliest　grandeur；　or　in　
those　of　the　most　airy　and　delicious　beauty；　so　minutely　and　
distinctly；　yet　so　rapidly；　that　the　attention　which　was　yielded　to　
him　was　chained　till　it　stood　among　his　wonderful　creations；　till　he　
himself　dissolved　the　spell；　and　brought　his　hearers　back　to　common　
and　base　existence；　by　vulgar　fancies　or　exhibitions　of　the　ignoblest　
passion。　

〃He　was　at　all　times　a　dreamer…dwelling　in　ideal　realms…in　heaven　or　
hell…peopled　with　the　creatures　and　the　accidents　of　his　brain。　He　
walked…the　streets；　in　madness　or　melancholy；　with　lips　moving　in　
indistinct　curses；　or　with　eyes　upturned　in　passionate　prayer　（never　
for　himself；　for　he　felt；　or　professed　to　feel；　that　he　was　already　
damned；　but）　for　their　happiness　who　at　the　moment　were　objects　of　
his　idolatry；　or　with　his　glances　introverted　to　a　heart　gnawed　with　
anguish；　and　with　a　face　shrouded　in　gloom；　he　would　brave　the　
wildest　storms；　and　all　night；　with　drenched　garments　and　arms　
beating　the　winds　and　rains；　would　speak　as　if　the　spirits　that　at　
such　times　only　could　be　evoked　by　him　from　the　Aidenn；　close　by　
whose　portals　his　disturbed　soul　sought　to　forget　the　ills　to　which　
his　constitution　subjected　him…close　by　the　Aidenn　where　were　those　
he　loved…the　Aidenn　which　he　might　never　see；　but　in　fitful　glimpses；　
as　its　gates　opened　to　receive　the　less　fiery　and　more　happy　natures　
whose　destiny　to　sin　did　not　involve　the　doom　of　death。　

〃He　seemed；　except　when　some　fitful　pursuit　subjugated　his　will　and　
engrossed　his　faculties；　always　to　bear　the　memory　of　some　
controlling　sorrow。　The　remarkable　poem　of　'The　Raven'　was　probably　
much　more　nearly　than　has　been　supposed；　even　by　those　who　were　very　
intimate　with　him；　a　reflection　and　an　echo　of　his　own　history。　_He　
_was　that　bird's　

〃　'　unhappy　master　whom　unmerciful　Disaster　
Followed　fast　and　followed　faster　till　his　songs　one　burden　bore　
Till　the　dirges　of　his　Hope　that　melancholy　burden　bore　
　　　　　Of　'Never…never　more。'　


〃Every　genuine　author　in　a　greater　or　less　degree　leaves　in　his　
works；　whatever　their　design；　traces　of　his　personal　character：　
elements　of　his　immortal　being；　in　which　the　individual　survives　the　
person。　While　we　read　the　pages　of　the　'Fall　of　the　House　of　Usher；'　
or　of　'Mesmeric　Revelations；'　we　see　in　the　solemn　and　stately　gloom　
which　invests　one；　and　in　the　subtle　metaphysical　analysis　of　both；　
indications　of　the　idiosyncrasies　of　what　was　most　remarkable　and　
peculiar　in　the　author's　intellectual　nature。　But　we　see　here　only　
the　better　phases　of　his　nature；　only　the　symbols　of　his　juster　
action；　for　his　harsh　experience　had　deprived　him　of　all　faith　in　man　
or　woman。　He　had　made　up　his　mind　upon　the　numberless　complexities　of　
the　social　world；　and　the　whole　system　with　him　was　an　imposture。　
This　conviction　gave　a　direction　to　his　shrewd　and　naturally　
unamiable　character。　Still；　though　he　regarded　society　as　composed　
altogether　of　villains；　the　sharpness　of　his　intellect　was　not　of　
that　kind　which　enabled　him　to　cope　with　villany；　while　it　
continually　caused　him　by　overshots　to　fail　of　the　success　of　
honesty。　He　was　in　many　respects　like　Francis　Vivian　in　Bulwer's　
novel　of　'The　Caxtons。'　Passion；　in　him；　comprehended　…many　of　the　
worst　emotions　which　militate　against　human　happiness。　You　could　not　
contradict　him；　but　you　raised　quick　choler；　you　could　not　speak　of　
wealth；　but　his　cheek　paled　with　gnawing　envy。　The　astonishing　
natural　advantages　of　this　poor　boyhis　beauty；　his　readiness；　the　
daring　spirit　that　breathed　around　him　like　a　fiery　atmospherehad　
raised　his　constitutional　self…confidence　into　an　arrogance　that　
turned　his　very　claims　to　admiration　into　prejudices　against　him。　
Irascible；　enviousbad　enough；　but　not　the　worst；　for　these　salient　
angles　were　all　varnished　over　with　a　cold；　repellant　cynicism；　his　
passions　vented　themselves　in　sneers。　There　seemed　to　him　no　moral　
susceptibility；　and；　what　was　more　remarkable　in　a　proud　nature；　
little　or　nothing　of　the　true　point　of　honor。　He　had；　to　a　morbid　
excess；　that；　desire　to　rise　which　is　vulgarly　called　ambition；　but　
no　wish　for　the　esteem　or　the　love　of　his　species；　only　the　hard　wish　
to　succeed…not　shine；　not　serve　…succeed；　that　he　might　have　the　
right　to　despise　a　world　which　galled　his　self…conceit。　

〃We　have　suggested　the　influence　of　his　aims　and　vicissitudes　upon　
his　literature。　It　was　more　conspicuous　in　his　later　than　in　his　
earlier　writings。　Nearly　all　that　he　wrote　in　the　last　two　or　three　
years…including　much　of　his　best　poetry…was　in　some　sense　
biographical；　in　draperies　of　his　imagination；　those　who　had　taken　
the　trouble　to　trace　his　steps；　could　perceive；　but　slightly　
concealed；　the　figure　of　himself。〃　

Apropos　of　the　disparaging　portion　of　the　above　well…written　sketch；　
let　us　truthfully　say：　

Some　four　or　five　years　since；　when　editing　a　daily　paper　in　this　
city；　Mr。　Poe　was　employed　by　us；　for　several　months；　as　critic　and　
sub…editor。　This　was　our　first　personal　acquaintance　with　him。　He　
resided　with　his　wife　and　mother　at　Fordham；　a　few　miles　out　of　town；　
but　was　at　his　desk　in　the　office；　from　nine　in　the　morning　till　the　
evening　paper　went　to　press。　With　the　highest　admiration　for　his　
genius；　and　a　willingness　to　let　it　atone　for　more　than　ordinary　
irregularity；　we　were　led　by　common　report　to　expect　a　very　
capricious　attention　to　his　duties；　and　occasionally　a　scene　of　
violence　and　difficulty。　Time　went　on；　however；　and　he　was　invariably　
punctual　and　industrious。　With　his　pale；　beautiful；　and　intellectual　
face；　as　a　reminder　of　what　genius　was　in　him；　it　was　impossible；　of　
course；　not　to　treat　him　always　with　deferential　courtesy；　and；　to　
our　occasional　request　that　he　would　not　probe　too　deep　in　a　
criticism；　or　that　he　would　erase　a　passage　colored　too　highly　with　
his　resentments　against　society　and　mankind；　he　readily　and　
courteously　assented…far　more　yielding　than　most　men；　we　thought；　on　
points　so　excusably　sensitive。　With　a　prospect　of　taking　the　lead　in　
another　periodical；　he；　at　last；　voluntarily　gave　up　his　employment　
with　us；　and；　through　all　this　considerable　period；　we　had　seen　but　
one　presentment　of　the　man…a　quiet；　patient；　industrious；　and　most　
gentlemanly　person；　commanding　the　utmost　respect　and　good　feeling　by　
his　unvarying　deportment　and　ability。　

Residing　as　he　did　in　the　country；　we　never　met　Mr。　Poe　in　hours　of　
leisure；　but　he　fr