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" his most famous book. Ewers combines this story with the science of our times and creates a tale of a strange passion. of their colors and all sounds. which he shares with the masters of times. a French the dramatic poem. but the literature of France. The actions in his books take place in the human of soul —that land of dreams which unites our soul to the world-soul. "Le Joli Tambour" and set to Yeux Morts. antedates Pythais a fable of the plant that shrieks when plucked." now music by d' Albert. in bringing out some French fairy tales. where Ewers with lived for years and where he collaborated Marc Henry. . The conception goras. It the "Alraune" or "Man- dragora. His instinct leads him toward the strange. "Les modernist. This book has affected not only the literature of Germany. with no intent to intoxicate but rather to explain. the unexpected.TRANSLATOR'S INTRODUCTION One fluence of the reasons for Hanns Heinz Ewers' is in- upon German verse and prose his wonder- ful sense of the value of words.

vi new . 55 in a manner so simple as to be almost ingenuous. A simple peasant girl is hypnotized into believing herself a savior and taking the sins of the world upon her shoulders. Ewers was born at Dusseldorf in 1871. the Devil Hunters is a powerful performance. All these are given her idols and her fakirs.INTRODUCTION I cannot quote from any of his poems for they are as yet untranslated. in India lived in almost all the countries of the I 55 His "India and is a record of his life is and that land herself presented to us. A commun- ity of peasants in an Italian mountain village re- peat among themselves the whole of the passion of Christ until the final crucifixion. Of is this work we can truly say that is nothing that human alien to it. mother is a woman of great force of character who translated several English books into German son. he has declared in exquisite lan- guage that universe it if the rose is the flower of love in all it the to is because this thought caused become what it is. her brown-faced dancers with swaying limbs and open arms. father was a painter of no His His mean ability. her incense. Her holy their temples. and who has always deeply influenced her Ewers has world. His "Sorcerer's 5 ' Apprentice. or. In the scries called "The Soul of Flowers.

His conclusion is that the occult is so deeply is rooted in our spiritual natures that the mind our actual body. little his attitude is essay. Poe.INTRODUCTION expression as seen through the doubting yet loving and always personal eyes of Hanns Heinz Ewers. out of Time. Both are at home in "the misty mid-region of Weir. He is able to mirror the soul intellectual Poe because they are kinsmen. vu . In fact. 1916. Ewers has gone beyond Poe because to him was revealed the mystery of sex. to Poe sex always toward was a sealed book." both dwell "out of Space. as shown in this a worshipper." Both have explored the realm of Horror. At a time when Poe was comparatively little understood Ewers was his most sympathetic Ger- man of interpreter. New York December. However. and the imagination our real mind —that as a phenomenon of nature there exists nothing more holy or more spiritual than the carnal. almost that of Adele Lewisohn.


opens wide to sires flee to es- my ardent deinto the so gently does one wander land of dreams. where from out of the laurel bushes hundreds of nightingales sing. there I can best think of poet. where the fountains babble. One is sure to be disappointed how can the dominie speak of God? One must go about it carefully. behind which I cape from time.EDGAR ALLAN POE IN THE ALHAMBRA LIGHTLY grey my feet tread over the stairs of the old path that I had bra's so often followed to the Alhamof the sacred groves. The Gate Pomegranates. very. Really not. * * * One ought not to do it. One ought not read any mere book about the artist one loves. —where the elm trees murmy mur. — very carefully. .

sit know Tom you know that judgment on your I have some I did not do it in that way. stars of the first magni- and if the poet you love is altogether a tiny speck of nebula do not read them! Do not read them before you until in and Dick absolutely. From a sort of sense of duty. they have a right to artist. Never read what about the artist Tom and Dick write you love. you absolutely understand the man who writes about j^our favorite. I thought.— EDGAR ALLAN POE It ought to be done in this way: You love Firdusi — Goethe wrote about him. only then decide whether you will read what he has to say about him —In this way you will not be dis- appointed. before writing of the poet . even if Tom and Dick happen to be tude. and then onljr after . drops of a heavy fluid in my blood from some source or another. unbearable German thoroughness. You do not know Goethe? Very well. First read everything Goethe ever wrote before you read what he has to say about the Persian poet.

he who moulded works of imperishable beauty out of alcohol and laud- anum! * # # all Now said. was only Charles Baudelaire. ish. "He drank. There was only one whose mind could comprehend him. Baudelaire. he drank!" the still And by more horrible Ingram. who created art out of hash- How could he do otherwise than com- prehend Poe. who saved my Poet's honor stammering. I must for- get this fool." Quickly before I forget them. he drank. phew. I must mark down me: the dates which they have given .— EDGAR ALLAN POE you love. and I am —so very There much disappointed. he did not drink at all. biography of Poe outburst of is whose else ^jvhole nothing than an venom. "He did not drink. I must forget that the others I must forget the dreadful Griswold. really. read what others before you have written about him —I thought—perhaps so disappointed Thereupon I read much about Edgar Allan Poe.

1826 studied at Rich- mond. Norman. 1809 . 1827 went tures: Europe with unknown adven1830 Cadet at West Point— 1834 ediSouthern Literary Messenger in tor of the Richmond." says Gris- badly with him. Anglo-Saxon and to Italian blood. these are the most insignificant dates. # # it # is. long ancesCeltic. Things went very drank. In 1816 he went England with his foster-parents. He wrote — He lived al- ternately in New York. Rich- mond and wold. He died October 7th in the hospital for the poor at Baltimore.EDGAR ALLAN POE Edgar Allan Poe— born on January * 19. Philadelphia. Vir- Clemm. forty years of age. A few years at boarding school in Stoke-Newington —1822 returned to America. Now I can forget them also. ginia 1836 married his cousin." says Ingram. then in on a trip to Charlottesville. Yet how difficult walk through the avenue of Very slowly I the elms up to . "He "He did not drink. So. Irish family. try. in Boston. Fordhctm.

To the left I turn in and stride through the mighty Tower Gate of Justice. How my * five difficult it is to forget. Quickly through the courtyard of the myrtles. wards on° evil. lookThere are ing out upon the old cypress trees. hand graven on the arch of this gate. priests gigantic walking in the garden. I know very well where I wish to go. Two whose the A fingers designate the principal commandments of creed of Islam. and which. through the Sisters. according to a legend. Two and through that of the ajimezes I go. Now. + "Ajimezes" is a Spanish term for small arched windows supported by central pillars. Hall of the — t to the left. I think my priests will remain outside. through the Hall of the Mocarabians into the courtyard of the Twelve Lions. — in the balcony of Lindaraxa's Tower. I have reached the top — alone in these familiar rooms. lifted above am delighted with the hand * me to ward off the spell of the I evil eye. I arrive. where Boabdil's mother Ayxa I sit on the windowsill. . Now lived. he probably refers to one of the smaller courts famous for the symmetry of these win- dows.= - EDGAR ALLAN POE the King's palace.

no. alone again! I am # # # He way poets." hisses one. short pipes. "Away.EDGAR ALLAN POE English hypocrites. black hands. they steal his whole life's work from Shakespeare. of course. drank. you is —away. with Baedekers in their "He other. round hats. "O. drank —he did not drink. I would like to shout to them. They delve into Byron's and Shelley's famwith crooked fingers they calum. ily histories niate Rossetti into prison and Swinburne. rats. lock Wilde their finger at Charles and point Lamb and Poe —because they drank! . he really did not drink" pipes the I would like to knock their heads together. That is the the Anglo-Saxons dispute about their They permit Milton to starve. 5 ' Here sits ! one who dreamin ing of the artist he loves He sang your of language — and you know nothing him— Presently they are gone. coats.

. however. he simply says: "Later investigation has proved that not at all the man was —he was In highly moral. I am happy that I am a Ger- man. it is unalterable." could Kingsley morality England —that offensive preacher of —have uttered that remark about Heine. He does not renounce his hypocrisy." If. quite pure and innocent. tions all sides acknowledge and love the speak "immoral" English poets. not quite exactly as class moral as the good middle priests. and the The German says: "Goethe was our great poet.EDGAR ALLAN POE After all. which has become a familiar quotation — "Do on not speak of him." this fashion the English have "saved the It will not be long ere honor" of Byron. The Englishman Only in says: —"Byron was immoral. —he if was a the na- wicked man. therefore he cannot have been a great poet. to be Germany's great men were permitted immoral —that is. lies. the Englishman is at last forced to —then he immoral." He knows that he was not so very moral but he does not take that fact too much to heart.

who make not to middle class morality. the slightest claim But we. .EDGAR ALLAN POE they turn a Saul Wilde into a Paul. may silently look on —only they can Wilde tells the fairy tale of the marvel- ously beautiful rose which blossomed from the heart's blood of the dying nightingale. Thus in the ease of Poe. no. since it is officially attested that he was a moral being. he really did not drink. if —we love him. Yes. an Ingram followed a Griswold with the "Oh." The English are now permitted to appreciate Edgar Allan Poe. because just from this poison which destroyed his body pure blossoms shot tic forth. even more we love him because of his drink. tell. artis- worth is imperishable. or even pass judgment on a Only the few whom he permits a glimpse into his mode of creating because they love him. —that is the affair of the artist alone —no one may venture a word final sentence. even we know whose that he drank. art are created is How works of not the affair of the layman.

We marvel at the Odontoglossum grande. A time for those to whom intoxica- tion and art are inseparable ideas. Baudelaire. only scantily lighted by the melancholy lamps of alcohol. beautiful because it it Is it less feeds on insects which slowly tortures to death in the most fear- ful manner? in the We Park does rejoice at the splendid lilies of Cintra.EDGAR ALLAN POE The student who plucked . will be culed. it looked and won- dered never before had he seen such a won- drous blood-red rose. to Hoff- mann. by intoxica- Then only will one give to these path- finders the high places they deserve. who. Poe —the artists who . We marvel. with selected artificial manure? The time will come when the highroads ridi- of our sober art. but with guano. as a matter of fact will only recognize the distinction in the art brought forth tion. —we white. have never seen them so large and What it matter that the crafty- gardener does not water them with natural water. the most splendid of all orchids. But he knew not how it had originated.

so that his blood is not. tobacco. poisoned. coffee. Nature and Art are the deadliest enemies. he in other ways. For ways. are always opposed to A man who lives a purely abphysically and mentally. whose ancestors for many generations have also lived just as abstemiously. But those also act as a poison upon the spirit. unless can never become an divine tions. Let us be honest! who can entirely abstain from the use of all in- toxicants? Do they not take their little poisons: tea. as it is with all of us. beer. there are quite a number of other Art and Nature one another. or what- ever it may if be? Must not is the mind be "poisoned" in order to produce works of art? Because the artist is not poisoned by means of his body. where one reigns the other becomes impossible.— EDGAR ALLAN POE were the first to work understandingly with Is there any artist intoxicants. artist. stemious life. some sensa- power provides him with other capable of awaking ecstasy. 10 .



meaning of the word


in its truest sense?

A pioneer of culture in

the newly discovered land of the unconscious.


few are worthy to be called
lofty definition of that




E. T. A. Hoffmann deserves


Jean Paul and
and certainly

and Baudelaire


Edgar Allan Poe;

much even

the Griswolds must concede to

the artist who, in so


of his stories, en-

tered that secret country of the soul, of which

no one before him, and

least of all the scien-

had the

slightest presentiment.



land of our longing


dreamily before us in grey misty clouds,
the vast land of the


The beggar

huddled in the



—the con-

tented town folks

their fire places.


there are people whose tormenting

desires are so great that they

must emerge from the realm which we know. JRobur et must protect
their breasts

ces triplex


they leave the sunny land of the known,

when they

through the grey murder11

ous floods to Avalon.

And many, many
Only a

perish shamefully without having cast even

a single glance behind the clouds.

few can complete the journey.
cover a



— accept



They disthe name of



culture; they have extended the borlittle

ders of consciousness a





After them come the hordes of expeditions
of discoverers in order to survey



gate the country

—land registrars

and rent

collectors—men of science.

Now it is certain that the so-called poisons,
which we
call narcotics,

are as potent as


to lead us

beyond the threshold

of the conscious.

If one succeeds in getting

a firm footing in this "other world," ex-

changing the metaphysical for something

one creates a new work of



in the noblest sense,





be necessary here to accentuate


wisdom which



course, that there can be
in intoxication.

no idea of creation

Or, on the other hand, that
in the

no intoxicant

world can develop





which he does not possess.

The Griswolds and the Ingrams could take any amount of wine, could smoke any amount of opium, eat any amount of hashish,

nevertheless they



be unable

to create works of art.


the intoxication caused



is liable,

under certain conditions, when

companied by other causes, to create a
of ecstasy later on,



in this state of ec-

stasy every one produces the highest that
his intelligence

capable of conceiving.

Edgar Allan Poe drank.


as with

of us, his

body proportionately reacted

unfavorably against the poison of the

deadened as


was by the drink-habits

of generations of ancestors; so he drank

He got drunk.

But he got drunk

purposely, he did

in order to get the

drunkard's understanding, from which he
later on,

perhaps years


could create


art values.

Such intoxication

no de-

light, it is

an unbearable torture consciously by him on whose brow the

desired only




of art


the only condition this ecstasy is demanded by And always a torture. of Germany. through the meadows blooming with 14 many . who bore the right through the mighty portico. So may the weekly contributor the Gotham Gazette. even when —in rare cases—the cause which was one of rapture. which art. that it produced it.EDGAR ALLAN POE Is there a more shameful lie than' that reis mark work peat of the banal: it is "Artistic creation not — it. so may the versifier of a "Berlin by Night" sheet. up through the long avenue of white blooming acacias. a pleasure?" He who says this re- and the great public which thoughtlessly have never is felt the breath of ecstasy. They say is with joy that the mother cat brings forth her young offspring are only poor blind —but the to little kittens. —a work of art # * is never born # I wandered forth again jestic palace of the fifth —through the maRoman Emperor name of Karl. put his lines on paper with joy without pain.

that sadly fading away. came to a tryst with the handsomest of the fatal. . Back below the Tower cave. A sits pair of black goats graze on the green slopes. of the Prisoners. Deep below which leads up in the valley lies the road to the City of the Dead. I glance at the garden of I can clearly see the the Generalife. Zorayda. —seven and already robbed of crest for the tail feathers. and Zorahayda at the window knights. peck about the ground or 15 each other. Hamet. is Abencerrages. impending fly at battle. where one time the Sultan's daughters Zayda. roosters. many hundred year old cypresses. secretly over- heard the songs of the captured Christian I gaze at the valley beyond the hill from which Boabdil at parting sent his to lost last sigh Granada. which was to prove so Here each stone relates a legend. The Tower of the Princesses I had unlocked for me. under whose shadow the last Moorish king's wife. a tattered toll-taker in front of his dirty Long-eared rabbits graze about him.EDGAR ALLAN POE thousand blue irises.

. How he would have dreamed. Edgar Allan Poe should have sat here. as she certainly never was in life. red. —another shoulders the very simple. many gay flowers the dead child reposes in such fresh blossoming fra- How ! good that they did not close her eyes Now she looks forth. how the gay * ' ' — " • — 16 — - ' * * —— — * •- -"' . ' — EDGAR ALLAN POE and far Sierra in the East the snow of the wild red. not even father nor mother are in the procession— six tattered so But among grance. Nevada glows purplish A troop of ragged lads travel through the Valleycoffin — Two The lie are carrying a little child's on their shoulders —open according to But the Spanish custom cover. yel- coffin is low boards and two smaller ones. no relatives. lads. three yelflowers. within flowers. No priest. interestedly from out of the variegated flowers old Moorish King's the colored splendor. the satisfied —up to the of girl so Palace—peers out little dead and happy. many low —and white and blue flowers— from little under which the waxen pale face framed in black hair looks forth.

He would probably not have drunk. was there soul in But he New England. ema- nate from Lord Lytton or Irving's mind? O. that model of English conventionality.EDGAR ALLAN POE legends would have flown about his brow on light wings! And in he would have built a new Alhambra. was allowed to dream under the magic spell of Alhambra moonshine! the And his "Tales of Alhambra" became world renowned! after Day day I see strangers enter the sacred places. of the Moorish fairy palace poured 17 . the Nasserites words of bronze. no. which undeniably exist. a breath from the Roman City of the Dead. in their hands Baedekers. Here then means perhaps would have created for him a state of ecstasy. while at the same time Washington Irving. which would have outlasted the mighty towers of by many other centuries. his poor poet's penned in between realist prose writers. in their coat pockets copies of Irving's book. Just as they read the "Last Days of peii" Pom- in the Dionysos! House of Did the few Vettii or that of beauties contained in these books.

# # of to Poe's glowing longing all this. Neither Bulwer nor Irving created these beauties. as unholy and fiendish. awaken within him an ecstasy which could transport him from all the familiar surroundings which shut him in. For the artistic values less which are brought forth by these are no splendid. May the Moralist call this intoxication holy. that is not of interest to us. Aside from very unlittle calculated to induce ecstasy. The godly ecstasy. there remained for him but one medium. then from opium. may he call the Poet's other ecstasy. however. his beautiful beloved wife. but peii Pom- and the Alhambra # in spite of them. which resulted from the use of alcohol. this most unfortunate of poets once only received from the outer world the Muse's Kiss through . important happenings. knew nothing To emerge from his own self. Virginia Clemm.EDGAR ALLAN POE through their souls even though they were not poets. 18 was hardly . even though they were only little middle class scribblers. godlike.

" It was a dying woman who kissed his lips. lasting for years. and Ligeia. He knew that she had consumption. —was doomed that the that before she had given her hand to the Poet. —a well beloved. this most unhappy of 19 . Berenice and Lenore. but the flames of which nevertheless scorched. the beloved locks he knew: "So many days yet she will live. a visible slow fading of the be- loved — this was the only "happiness" of all poets." and the next morning again "Another day less. the cold drops on her brow. a dying woman. whose lovely head rested next to his at night. —to whose dying eyes we are indebted for Morella. glowing red of her cheeks lied. For Virginia. a lingering death. the sweat of death. When he awoke disturbed by the coughing and rattling in her panting lungs to —the white linen seemed him a shroud. knew from the depth of her liquid shimmering eyes the inexorable sickness grinned forth. is infernal A Hell was to him what Paradise to others. a blessed Hell.EDGAR ALLAN POE less torturing for the inspired one than the one. When at night he stroked.

and the silent the grave. Before the last threads of life were torn asunder. a Paradise of Torture. and the state of ec- stasy which brought forth this poem. called forth emotions. will readily recognize those parts of "The Raven" which sprang certainty. terpiece woman lowered into Edgar Allan Poe wrote his mas"The Raven". fear. you will feel a breath of the unspeakable torture in which they were born. Each alienist who has specialized in the effects of intoxication. of silent —but they were emotions of repressed pain— of despair in tales a laughing disguise. low intoxication of the wine cup. which has no equal in the whole literature of the world. (I would like to shout this fact into the faces of the English hypocrites). from delirium with absolute It is quite simple for the psychologist to trace the other rapture which the artist owes to 20 . was caused by the despair of his bleeding heart for this dying one. as well as by the com- mon.EDGAR ALLAN POE Yes. this beautiful doomed wife. Read the most beautiful Virginia sowed in his soul.

Certainly as a guide the Philistine cannot use it. of one master piece. almost as though he w anted r to demonstrate a geometrical prob- lem. the ecstasy. A veritable text book of poetry.— mentioned by any word. — This essay written for the was New England readers of magazines. his "lost Lenore. such very unholy. —how —the could they have underof ecstasy? technical stood a poet who spoke The part. is workmanship purely that which signifies the art. each it is creation of line. He may learn from it that godlike intoxication alone does not create an absolute 21 work of ." And here let us compare the sincere. intoxication.— EDGAR ALLAN POE Virginia. he motivates in lingly simple logic. that which supported by knowledge —that was never demonstrated by any Poet as clearly and convincingly as in this essay. it is the most important book of instruction existing. It may be true that the main sub- ject. marvelously clear essay which this Poe wrote about the poem. Each stanza. however. for the artist. and its origin in holy is and not — O. each start- single sound of words.

of work alone. at the threshold of modern thought.— EDGAR ALLAN POE art. Per- haps his if he had written for other readers in magazine. Edgar Allan Poe was the craftsman's the first poet who and spoke with such candor of literary labor. Masons. who speaks only of technique and with no word mentions intuition which the amateur always carries on his tongue. the technique. probably only in of the American. the despised polishing. and have told them about the tech- nique of intoxication. this. In this. he might have gone one step further. gardeners. 22 . and filing. his little and —each brought part to bear. painters. that the common work. Not the mighty mind alone of the Arabian architect created the glorious Alhambra. mule-drivers. his attitude was that As such he stood. the reflection weighing and able for its are quite as indispens- perfection. and what is more. he ranks as the pioneer —a brilliant this demonstration of the intrinsic value of Artist.

immaculate children of so pretty. "Drunk with godliness" was said of the Thracian poet. its This thought. All the beautiful phrases of the Knights of Olympus. and. That was certainly so comfortable. even were he as sober as Socrates. like so it many other clear thoughts. of the Kiss of the 23 . artists that some of the great would gladly have believed in this secret consecration. and dissect to its divine breath dictated by the Bible haunts the faith of the masses until our very day and the artists by the "grace of the Lord. they —composed.EDGAR ALLAN POE Never before him did any one ber his last so dismemit own work The shred. of art. — and gave birth to more or spirit. less wrote poetry. according to the later point of view. touched them. received the Lord's anointment. which to obscure. was able was taken up life in the Christian conception of with great en- thusiasm." were careful not to destroy this fable of inspiration. When the Holy Ghost swooned. which in coincides with our tion Dionysic origin intoxica- modern view of and ecstasy.

The eye tastic is never surfeited with these fan- harmonies. can wise draw the sublime glance falls do nothing against this perfection. required courage to dissipate these sparkling mists . The ordinary mespirit that in- dium exhales the breath of the 24 . of the divine ecstasy. he could risk such a step. The decomposition. laughable. petty. ! —how —just compaltry. so finished. the ridiculous and absurd. My this on the wall coverings of style hall. few. Heaven be It praised. the Arabesque and Coptic sentences become entwined. are no longer impressed! — have their origin in this.EDGAR ALLAN POE Muses. In the of Mudejar. which otherinto the dust. is Now this marvel of Arabic art composed of plaster mon plaster. very few myths about world's literature can stand such a relentless But because Poe in his Raven created a work of art so clean. of the divine predestination of artists —by which we. how how absurd nothing of erable plaster its But though composed of misthis colossal work of art loses sublimity.

did not need this time-honored coat He saw that it was threadbare and aside. and superfluous. modern This shows the gigantic spirit of this foremost being en- dowed with a modern mind. 25 still is he. Art triumphs over nature. the ro- a worshipper . whom he disputes makes allowance for latter denies. While the Poet-philosopher therefore in opposition to the so-called "Intuition" of philosophy pecially in reference to Aristotle. its which the he at the same time determines tjieological value in a limited unsense. this art is so great that the recognition of the common medium is Poe of lies.EDGAR ALLAN POE spired it. — es- and Bacon. torn and boldly threw it In the few words with which he characterizes the understanding of intuition in "Eureka" as "the conviction arising from those inductions or deductions of which the processes are so shadowy as to escape our consciousness. with this. the dreamer. that manticist. or defy our capacity of expression" tion of the —there was a clearer recogniartistic creation ways of than any of his contemporaries had. elude our reason.

— I . if — let us say a Romance I be not urging too lofty a claim. c so that die. sets up his Art for Art's Sake princi- ple. constituting true.' " So Poe. it will rise again to the Life Everlasting. as a Poem. To these I present the composition as an Art-Product alone. but for the Beauty that it abounds in its Truth. the few And this same Edgar Allan Poe wrote in his preface to Eureka who love me and whom I love to those who feel rather than to those who think to the dreamers and those who put "To — — faith in dreams as in the only realities. is true: —thereit cannot die or if by any means it be now trodden down. — offer this book of Truths. — greater than Gautier who only saw 26 . or. his feet. not in its charac- ter of Truth-Teller. who never lost the ground beneath one openly Edgar Allan Poe was the first to acknowledge the technique of thought and anticipated Zola's "genius tion" is applica- by decades. absolutely independent of Gautier. "What fore it I here propound . EDGAR ALLAN POE of logic.

first a pathfinder —and the one to disclose what is called "Modern Thought. dreams to him are the only realis the greatest and he denies Here. he places his demand. he bridged the gap of half a cen- tury and that. too. The fertility of the literature of the culfirst tured peoples will through Poe's spirit attain full development in this century. all real value to active is Poe is the Romanticist. to And he whom the is also deeper than outward form alone was a manifestation of beauty. — This ity. first Beauty creates truth for him into truth —whose right to existence without beauty he denies. made spirits a demand so ultra-modern even today. life. only a small part of the advanced understand it in its whole radical magnitude. set he furthermore up the Parnassian art principle independ- ent of this." if If he anticipated Zola's coined expression of technical production. The past one judged him by a few outward 27 .EDGAR ALLAN POE beauty with the eyes of the painter. and as this demand can be fulfilled only in desires. demand ever made of Art. Gautier.

so real. certain that the starving poet only wrote these things for his daily bread. hunger." were certainly called into existence only by the desire to have warmth. a hawing and hemming. and lay those of Poe is aside? Nothing easier to understand. The Sea and Moon Journeys of Gordon etc.. For Poe knew and worked at all Therefore he wrote those things. lous detective stories with enthusiasm. possible sorts of scientific books. several of his detec- tive stories as. so holds 28 . even the weakest. each single story. far surpasses any adventure of the eminent Sherlock Holmes. for instance "The Murder The Rue Morgue" "The Purloined Letter" "The Gold Bug. food and drink. swallow Doyle's ridicu- and especially the English speaking public. —Why does the great public. in spite of all this. also Pym and in Hans Pfaal. as he also did translations. his composition is so faultless.EDGAR ALLAN POE trivialities. the fortunate It is imitators. which certainly brought a fortune to Jules Verne and Conan Doyle. Poe's characters are like those of Dostoevski's. Surely.

grasps the reader. so that the poor simpleton loses all sense of hearing and seeing. One sees that class. in this case he standing This is the author's in- Poe. murderous shudder. prefers the stage hero of Baker Street. is this nothing more than a pleasant sensa- which not for one moment permits the reader to doubt the outcome of the farce. even when he desired to be middle where he desired to write for the great masses.EDGAR ALLAN POE the imagination of the reader without possibility of escape in its nets. which resembles a cruel nightmare. precipice hurls him down the and flings him into hell. an agonizing. that this is is all stupid nonsense. Therefore the good citizen who wants to sleep quietly. his aim is still too high. that even the bravest cannot resist a shudder. He ad- dressed middle class intellect and imagined himself to be speaking to his equals: To . tention. and is com- pletely at sea. The reader always knows above the narrator. and draws the line at Poe's gigantic nightmares. In the works of popular imitators fear tion. however.

A. do so and believed he had accomplished The great masses English working Spain know absolutely as little of Velasquez and Cervantes as the man 30 does of Shakespeare and Byron. * * But a future time Poet's gifts. as the French do of Rabelais and ." and yet almost every in artist desired to this. of Latin or Jewish nationality. the which leads from Jean Paul and E. T. This art will no longer be confined within national bounds. No alone.EDGAR ALLAN POE carry his brain to market he ran about from publisher to publisher to — to those who wanted * will be ripe for the buy straw. We already recognize the path and Edgar Allan art. self as it It will be conscious of it- was Edgar Allan Poe conscious that does not exist for "its own people" but alone for the thin ranks of cultured taste. can take ! outcome of Already we have several efforts in this direction. the only path which culture. be these of Germanic or Japanese. artist ever worked for "his people. Hoffmann to Baudelaire Poe.

as the Hollander does of Rem- brandt and Rubens. his misinter- The artist who wishes to create for own people and for alone attempts the imposthis sible. Edgar Allan Poe expressed it even more distinctly. however. . man of Germany whom he meets daily in the street a nothing —a canal—separates in him from the cultured element Heine felt this America. that unto this day is Horace's fine "Odi Profanum" preted. and the learned and cultivated of all nations had such a slight understanding of this. The German masses have not the slightest notion of Goethe and They do not even know the names The series of quesof Heine and Burger. A world divides the cultured from his countrymen. Most artists.EDGAR ALLAN POE Moliere. to the questions put to the soldiers of certain regiments: "Who was Bismarck? Who was Goethe?" should at length open whole the eyes of the most optimistic. . tions or the answers made by the soldiers Schiller. openly and preached this to the people of Frankfort. purpose he very often neglects something attainable 31 and greater.

and to the few who are qualified to absorb these beauties. to these shrubs. ish Above German. The nation is To create for that alone worthy of the artist. above the of culture I Brit- and French. Here but on this soil Poe was sense. this garden of dreams belongs to me. equally conscious. whose path I avoid by ten paces at least? O. no! This palace.EDGAR ALLAN POE the possibility of creating for the whole the world. whose breath brings life to these rocks. Among the turreted towers I walk in the luxuriant vale of the Alhambra. modern # # # Very slowly I pace about in the park of the Alhambra under the old elms which Wellington planted. To whom does this magic palace. On all sides their fountains murmur. there stands a higher na- tion. 32 Whose . at home even as Goethe though less in a different. mingling voices with the sweet songs of hundreds of nightingales. this garden of dreams belong? To the Spanish nation of beggars which I despise? To the mob of strangers with their guide-books in their hands.

He with chatted with all all the seven sages. tain bubbles A founthe up before me I —and falls into round marble Oh. know quite well why the Sultan sat here alone in the twilight: it is so very sweet to dream here There was once a Poet who recorded nothing but conversations with the dead. I sit stone bench on which Aboul Haddjadj once dreamed. he had no desire left to At any last speak with living being. and is which beautiful on this earth. That the true ruler. priests and with gen- Egyptian and Thessalian witches. the To to understand world. The dead are so much . who stand above Nation is all other nations. basin. and the kings of Nineveh. means to understand the first Edgar Allan Poe was on the do this.! EDGAR ALLAN POE spirit can transform all this beauty into all else truth? Everything about me. the true possessor. with erals Roman and with King Arthur's Round Table. is No other master this tolerated by beauty. is the sacred inviolable property of the cultured people. with Athenian singers.

sings from out of the throats of the nightingales and rustles in the leaves of the old elms. against the elm. "Only ask me. never seen by mortal eye? Now he stands here beside me." I do not remove with which to tear through the world. "Question Goethe who six stallions was a prince and could afford was alone. through the halls of the Palace ? Did I not reveal to the dead Poet part of the beauty of the world. So says wise are the dead. "Tell those love." he He seems to feel how my eyes caress and question him —and he speaks. I my love eyes from him. At times the words drop clearly from his voice ripples his lips." who you and whom you 34 . as in the them. Oh. leaning says. certainly. "Do not touch upon my poor life. Did I not wander today with him I love." Edgar Allan Poe. one can speak with All dreamers can do so believe in dreams.EDGAR ALLAN POE more and interesting. all those who only reality. at times it from the fountain.

not only since my death. a sweet cool breeze fans my Certainly the : life of his dreams it was very well known pageant of to me. —My my the life of dreams. you know. only not over one —the other Wilson. himself. he gave to me as well as to the world.— EDGAR ALLAN POE "The said. the morrow. the youth and the man into a vagabond. * * # it is William Wilson. . I have forgotten. how real could I have continued to live? life . . So Poe that the dominie Griswold calmly gives the year of Wilson's birth as that of the Poet's. as the to small mortals think —each day I forgot Otherwise remember though. cannot rid himself of his conscience. And he whose inherited frivolous tastes again and again turned the boy. ground a through the evening. truly Of course Poe." he "O. his creations And slowly this which represents his life glides past me." light mist glides From brow. . — 1813 The boy rules in the old boarding school of Stoke-Newington all his over fellow students. of that other 35 Wilson —himself. life I lived.

the flames of hell. the Rev. evil His inherited sense of good and so overstrong in which had been more strongly developed his by education is him his that he cannot disentangle himself conflicting emotions. become a reality in his dreams. Each little wrong he has com- mitted takes on colossal proportions in his dreams and plagues and torments him. nevertheless remarks. sins of conscience. How the elm trees murmur.EDGAR ALLAN POE In spite of his conscience his tendency to crime tosses him about the world. from and is almost wrecked by them. # . Still more.* the poet's Thus boyhood and his youth were poisoned. Frederick of Metzengerstein in his he himself rides through all own story. And I * His biographer. that in all literature there is no other instance in which one so utterly misses every vestige of conscience. Mr. Griswold. on his devilish steed. entertaining the idea of evil alone. as in the case of Poe. 36 . He sees himself as the hero of all his terrible tales. and over and over again he convicts himself. # # . The sins of the fathers are avenged like upon the last scion of the race. .

is which were his only ac- not only the murderer.EDGAR ALLAN POE hear the voice of the accursed from out of the winds: "Had I not been a poet. because he must. this. is —he buries him under is the planks. I probably should thief. still He in.") He murders. have become a murderer. a cheat." a The leaves of the elms sing and again a voice whispers: "And pier." perhaps I would have been hap- And I think. the man with the eagle eye. below deed. but also the victim. immures his enemy while alive in a cellar. a robber and a trickster. life. is And it is he himself who walled ("The Cask of Amontil- lado. —who can him such tell? —Has there Poet felt for ever been a criminal whose deeds created a martyrdom for as the crimes which he had never committed? For Poe tual in his dreams. and the heart which beating and which at last discloses the again his own. 37 ("The Tell-Tale .

") We find the double of William Wilson everywhere. Jean van Bosch and Goya emptied unto the dregs. all he never stood entirely outside of good and soul evil. his life would have been poverty-stricken and miserable —but not as arise terrible as fields it was. and from which he could never entirely free himself. a moral- Frenchman would have more pated himself from ity. life Only later in could he assume an objective attitude. this poor had to endure all the maddest tortures of hell. had he ended his days on the gallows instead of in the charity hospital. The old English curse oppressed him. last Had he been a criminal in reality instead of in thought. But temples from 38 strewn with . however.EDGAR ALLAN POE Heart. no torture was spared him. A German. the cup of which Brueghel. never did one so live within his works. Rarely has an side of that artist stood so little out- which he created. by inheritance and education suffered from a piety which enslaved his soul. easily emanci- this fatal idea of The Poet.

in him. Merry ! little brooklets that murmur and as the gurgle In their narrow peb- bled beds they hurriedly flow past.— EDGAR ALLAN POE skulls. —the price # # * The brooklets ripple through the park of the Alhambra. of his soul. he teaches Miss Zenobia 39 . In this delightful little story. —those which he could be innocently happy. Then he would dream a merry dream. perhaps. much more natural) no ostentation of wordplay. or minutes. perhaps of the man with the wonderful big nose which charmed the whole world. as quickly happy hours in the poet's life glided by hours. And we joy the wonderful flowers which grew out of the Poet's poisoned imagination. fields of lilies blossomed from bloodblessed ones en- stained meadows. which in its bizarre style is a forerunner of Mark Twain's (only that with Poe appear much there is the grotesque exaggerations finer. He laughs at the poor man's meals which the weekly papers dish up to their good natured readers. which artists painted and princesses kissed.

Just as social little can we find one strain of sentiment in his works. And seems soul. and so ingratiating is the Poet's wit.! EDGAR ALLAN POE how to write a clever article for Blackwood's Magazine. dreams of longing. — like the little springs which merrily gurgle through the park of the Al- hambra # # # he sobs forth his his voice But like the nightingale. so amiable. Saint Cecilia would and Apollo shatter his lyre. ThingTim Bob of the "Lantern" to gossip entertainingly about his literary adventures. To no other poet was cism as foreign as to Poe. find one In none of Poe's works do we one little allusion based upon eroti- sexual love. songs of beauty. which longs for 40 . so spotless. fain break her violin with envy. If the Poet found no hell too deep for his dream of crime. formed from out of the nightingale's so pure. is And yet there a heart in his breast. no heaven his was too high for sentence. except possibly Scheerbart. permits the most worthy Mr. So light.

which cause for love's him on to refuse the hand held out caresses. like that the angel Israfil of the his heart. Koran." it in which he em- phasizes his love of animals. and says that he "derived from one of If it my principal sources of pleasure. is "The Black Cat." was one of the "principal sources of pleasure" in a poor life. turns his longing to do good towards animals feeds the —pats is the dog. and to silence the flattering word his lips. that did not mingle pleasure with pain. — for the pure him joys Roderick is love for his dying wife but caused mingled only with frightful tortures. and his lute sang 41 When he looked at his beloved wife. Then he cat. because he sees the faults which repel him on all sides. a lute in place of sobbed. it was certainly one of the few. hungry and thankful for a faithful look. only that he canlittle not love man. to which love's communications are an It is absolute necessity. his heart : it sang pure songs . for a satisfied purring. The Edgar Allan Poe Usher had. How seen in conscious the Poet was of all this his tale.EDGAR ALLAN POE love.

who have the 42 the power to of The by consciousness of his art brought forth intoxication. and which is perhaps the highest in Art. and Berenice —of Lenore and The same inner music w hich r throbs through the Raven.EDGAR ALLAN POE of longing'. Poe's value as a poet has not at any time been greater than in our OAvn. whose tones sound in one's ears with sweetest thrills — it sang pure tales of Morella Ligeia. and Ulalume." Yes. he lies has become a personality. they have eternal worth. or if by any means they now trodden down so that they die. human being can even in all times to come. which before all clearly see. which. they will rise again to the Life Everlasting. however. particularly in our period. for in our time. and the words w ith r which the Poet accompanied the Universe" is his "Song of meant also for these tones: "They cannot be die. emphasizing the . the highest to which even a attain. he can teach us much. echoes through these poems in prose. they will live through the short space of life which we is mortals call everlasting. Poe those is no longer a problem.

This may be said of all poets. the powerful demonstration of the high value of the inner all rhythm of poetry . but to penetrate into his innermost necessary to read him in the origi- being. all these are moments. the study of the more gratifying to the artist and to the ed- ucated layman than any other.EDGAR ALLAN POE meaning of technique. * * still # sing. but of none more than of Poe. nal form. One can grow know and admire it is the artist through trans- lations. That it is impossible to promote these studies by means of translations to is obvious. been accentuated by many in their though in their entirety. the clear recognition of the Parnassian principles of art in their broadest meaning. they have been rec- ognized by no land poet artist as by this New Eng- —and as these moments represent works of Poe is that which can be called the furthering of the modern spirits in the art of culture in their entirety. which have individually others. and penetrating relation. The nightingales and from out 43 .

the red quarry stones —the purple glowing peaks of listening floats the too : snow capped mountains are an endless sigh It is through the great is garden from out of the west. Through hundreds of years these sweet sounds have ers at eventide sung these old towtoo. The trees twilight breathes through the elm rise and filmy shadows of fog from the laurel bushes. and today. The park of the Alhambra listens to the songs of the nightingales.ii 44 • . .. •. A dead Poet's luteand his soul's songs little birds. but dif- ferent —very different.•••. like heart is beating. . are the same confiding notes. . they rise from out of the spirits. . they and walls still to sleep. =^ . are sung by the So the brook and the trees are harkening listen. .EDGAR ALLAN POE of their little throats bursts forth the voice of the Poet I love. ' Moorish palace of In a long train • . which the glow sadly taking leave of a Poet's sublime song. their The the soft winds fold wings —the leaves of the elms cease their rustling. of the setting sun. Even drizzling little rivulets stop their whisperings..

and Ibn Hundreds of dead Poets are all Batuta. and penetrates fills of the world creating breath. Ouald who has awakened ghdliba ill' all these tones. the grey little birds are sing- ing — so do the dead understand. Allahta 'aid —murmur the misty and a great long- shadows of the Alhambra. and Arabs. They all sing of the beauty which only turns truth into reality. silently listen- ing to the song of the nightingales. They hear the heart of the angel Israfil. And ing the nightingales sing of dark secrets. 45 . then Very me sits Ibnu-1-Khattib —and Ibn Esra and Jehuda ben Halevy and Mo- hammed Ibn Khaldun. I know very close to well who they are —they are poets of Granada. life. —Jews Gabirol. of the dreams which only make life real. of the pure sources of fills my soul. and praise God. and seat themselves about on the marble benches. They know what today.EDGAR ALLAN POE they file past us. They sing of that secret all thought which created all. which the whole universe with unending love. of whom the Koran speaks.

lips fall again the ancient words — Ouala gfaaliba ill' Allahta 'ala — so grateful are the # dead. Here once. was hard by the dim lake of Auber. through an alley Titanic Of I cypress I roamed with my soul — . know full well that it is I who speak 46 . In the misty mid region of Weir It was down by the dank tarn of Auber In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. and the east wind over the Sierras then the filmy shadows disappear. soul of a great artist. again I am alone in the magic garden of the Alhambra. . nightingales are silent .— —— EDGAR ALLAN POE Poe's soul is singing —and a hundred dead And from their poets listen to the refrain. The skies they were ashen and sober. . The leaves they were crisped and sere The leaves they were withering and sere It was night in the lonesome October Of my most immemorial It year. * * And The rises night descends more deeply upon us. —Alone as the with the and wind drives through the leaves the old elms rustle and sing of "Ulalume" strange ballad of the Poet's awful dream.

Fright teaches us to —I know. I against a low gate. of the innermost sense of nature it is a sur- render of the soul to the universe. in ages dim as fairy land are born again. my lips repeat to my 47 . I feel —I feel —that is it is the sad October song of the howling winds which a poet's heavenly longing has absorbed crystallized into words. I know whose grave this is. My foot errs. That a slight proof of the poet's highest law of "unity as the origin of all things. see in the dark." My the lips repeat the secret words carries to —which which I wind my ears. Fear over- comes me in this gloomy solitude. want to escape from the valley of the Alhambra. And soul against my will. and loses its way. but I feel that my lips say noth- ing else than that which the elm trees whis- per there. and as I reach the end of strike a lane of mighty cypress trees. the primitive form of all exis istence.— EDGAR ALLAN POE these lines. and at the same time a penetration which is into the uni- verse. and It the absorption . gropes in the dark.

—that grow filled I cannot but I do not guard myself strange. mount the Ghafar. the mighty watch tower of the Moorish princes. the Gates of the Vines to the Square of the Algibes. sweet sister. which little gurgled out of the filled brooklets and which the wind's sad song. I go into the Alcazaba. Slowly the small fears of mortals disperse. am —so quiet that I completely with it.— EDGAR ALLAN POE "What is written. On Tis the door of this legended tomb?" She replied —"Ulalume—Ulalume The the vault of thy lost Ulalume !" My Poet terror grows. escape from against it it. — it takes posses- sion of me —of me. The old sign of Arabic greatness. I know that this thought will annihilate me. I quiet —and. soul of the dead —which fluttered in the trees. * * * I go through Now I find my way again. — which no God or Christ can wipe 48 from . the A brilliant crescent of moon glows between two hurrying clouds. which sounded in the song of the nightingale. of an atom of the dust it is with which saturated.

lies the enchanted Palace of the Alhambra. —how .EDGAR ALLAN POE Heaven. and to the other gleam side. liv- make peace again —and no ing soul raises an eye —nobody glances upThe Darro roars ward to the glory here. Down dreams there the small life of this century is noisily goes its — way up here and that down there 49 — the land of distant. the sombre park lies deep in the valley. rich in churches. Farther back. shining shoes. emerge from the Caves of the Gypsy Mountain. night I glance down into Granada. court- yards upon courtyards. the snow-capped Sierras silvery in the moonlight. In the back I hear the Bright rays of flame rushing of the Xenil. to the right of me. with its halls upon halls. reading newspapers. Be- tween the watch towers on which I stand and the purple towers of the Moorish Mountain. quarrel and They cry and hoot. They look in into show windows. and having shoes well-lighted cars shined. ride tram- — their water carriers crying out and gathering cigar butts. with its noisy life swarming — its people running to coffee houses.

—so was Edand his gar Allan Poe. They are branded with the brand of Art. did How —one must believe in then there is their personality. that does not sense that blind life below ? Am I not a part of all these dreams Here is ? Almighty Beauty turns these dreams verities. Reality right of ugly —and to the ugly Dreams denied all existence. Deed is nothing —thought is is all. fore I believe in ity. his step light. life into blossoms and the truth below becomes a shadow play. So was Oscar Wilde. it One it is is not conscious what consists of. 50 . and therereal- dreams as in the only # # # Edgar Allan Poe look? There are men who radiate a special charm.EDGAR ALLAN POE distant how from me — and infinitely it is the land up here — is not each stone a part of my soul? Am I alone in this world of spirits. His figure was tall. They attract without wanting to. and a certain quality which repels. are beautiful. but there. and are true because they are beautiful.

they were beautiful. To it see him was as great a pleasure as to listen to him. The was high. He mer.— EDGAR ALLAN POE bearing always harmonious. and an experi- enced fencer who often challenged an op- ponent in a fit of anger. an indefatigable swim- who swam from Richmond miles. He was always the donor. the clear dark grey eyes had an odd self-conscious forehead violet sheen. with all reserved. and of woncomplexion was pale. to toe He his was a gentleman from top in manner company was fascinatingly amiable. He was tender and gentle. Edgar Allan Poe was mind. He was a scholar who possessed an almost universal education. with- Warwick. — always noble in spite of his poverty. it derful proportion — his and the locks that framed were black. and 51 was his curse that . against the rapid tide. His proud features were regular. a trained athlete —a very fine rider. beautiful in body and His gentle voice sounded like music. yet earnest and firm. yet. more than seven out tiring. to was very supple and strong at one time — skillful in all athletic sports.

his nobility of soul in- as women always do. 52 . and above all. so everything that surrounded to be beautiful.— Baude- laire and the two Brownings —but they lived over there in Europe and he never met in his solitary. life. but also in his few of all those on whom he lavished his rich gifts understood or appreciated them. in which he lived at the side of the doomed wife. every day nies. lofty them. real. in which he had to count the pen- he knew how to create an atmosphere about him which called forth the admiration of the richest people. were In them he costly country house or on the splendid estate at Arnheim. to him. And him had ficent as he was beautiful. loved beauty. So the Poet was alone dreams. which. He created magnilived in Landor's beauties in dreams. Three ability persons to who lived in his time comprehend him completely. His little cottage at Fordham. A few beautiful women —understood had the him? — Xo.EDGAR ALLAN POE . but they sensed stinctively.

during the long night. early little the morning song-birds enticed the Poet to the nearby pine woods. cliffs shaded by old and dreamed he there. criminal vagrant they picked street him from the His his and buried him the next day. caressed his tired eyes. which charmed all visitors. Now rests —somewhere. on the green meadows. or to the rocky cedars. is grave supposed to be close to that of 53 . He went to the high bridge over the Harlem River. him in after his death they buried The day the WestLike a minster Churchyard in Baltimore. was per- meated by a wonderful harmony. Dilapidated furniture it stood about. yet even thus seemed pleasing and beautiful. It was a miserable hut on but blooming cherry in the peak of a trees stood little hill. The gentle morning breeze kissed his damp brow. paced among his Then he in- gay dahlia bushes and haled the sweet perfume of the mignonette and heliotrope. gazing out on the landscape.EDGAR ALLAN POE though a Paradise of Torture. his which had kept watch at the couch of slowly dying beloved.

— EDGAR ALLAN POE grandfather's — General know David Poe. exactly arises no no gravestone on the place it. he drank. does not the spot. — no human being bothers about His countrymen have other cares. who made lie. — "He died in a fit of drunkenness! — He drank." it —Then so. at this time. his they forgot him. the envious whom he had mercilessly torn the to pieces. All of the which are still cir- culated about him originated lion. monu- 54 . what have they in a dead Poet? interest —For about a dehis week they talked of the unfortunate parted —to besmirch —to lies calumniate memory. Thereabouts he is supposed to One cross. a name for himself in the War of In- dependence. he drank. A whole flood of poisoned ink was poured All the mediocrities little scribblers over the dead fell on him. to ap- Are they able to recognize him today? After a hundred years they will gather the rotting bones they will erect a mighty . and was better countrymen had not matured enough preciate their great Poet. concurred in war cry of the lying clergyman Gris- wold.

Let them keep the bones We soul. * * * THE END 55 . (in Europe) will listen to the Poet's which lives in the nightingales' throats in the Alhambra.— EDGAR ALLAN POE merit and its write thereon — "The United States to great Poet" in America.



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