University of Virginia Library

IV

IN CABELL HALL—THE RAVENS

THE Raven Society, in its celebration of
the Poe centenary, endeavored to emphasize
primarily Poe's life and influence from
the viewpoint of the poet's alma mater.

The speaker of the evening was an alumnus
of the University, the poems were by alumni,
and the evening was closed by a sketch of
Poe's connection with the University of Virginia,
illustrated by a set of stereopticon views.

Mr. H. H. Freeman, organist and choirmaster
of St. John's Church, Washington,
D. C., was in charge of the music programme.
A very fitting beginning was his rendition of
Chopin's "Marche Funèbre" as a memorial to
the great poet.

Mrs. Charles Hancock sang Oliver King's
arrangement of "Israfel."

Professor Willoughby Reade, of the Department
of English and Elocution in the Episcopal

High School, near Alexandria, Virginia, recited
"The Raven" and "The Bells."

In interpretation of Poe's purpose in writing
"The Raven," Mr. Reade said:

It was with great pleasure, ladies and gentlemen,
that I accepted the invitation of the
Raven Society to take part in its exercises
to-night. To others, however, I shall leave it
to pronounce encomiums on the genius of the
man whose centennial we are here met to commemorate,
and shall pass at once to the reading
of his greatest poem.

I hold it to be a hopeless task to give an
acceptable reading of a piece of literature
which one does not understand, or in which
one sees no more than lies on the printed page.
And so I offer you, before I read the poem, my
interpretation of "The Raven." It may not be
the correct one—I do not claim that—but it
is the poem as I see and feel it.

Many theories have been advanced in attempts
to prove why Poe wrote "The Raven."
Most of us are familiar with the explanation
which the author himself gives of its origin.
He says that he sat down and composed it
deliberately—as he might have played a game

of chess—that it was a poem of the mind rather
than of the heart; a statement which even his
most ardent admirers can hardly credit, knowing,
as they do, his dislike for poetry made by
rule. Indeed, it has been stated that he afterward
said that this explanation was but a hoax!
To say that it is a mere jingle of rhymes is
folly: no man ever wrote such a poem as this
without meaning something. Published two
years before the death of his wife, it could
not, as some who are not careful as to dates
have said, have been inspired by her loss.

I believe that he wrote the poem because he
could not help writing it; and, that we might
not read his heart's dearest secrets, he hides
this cry of his soul in the wonderful diction,
the haunting rhyme and rhythm, and the vague
mystery of this remarkable composition. At
the time it was written, Poe had travelled far
on the downward road. The spirit of hopelessness
had taken up its abode in his heart.
All his nobler feelings, however, were not
dead, and although he seemed to realize that
this life held but little of good for him, there
was still, deep in his heart, a hope of something
better in the hereafter.

What is this "ancient, grim, and ghastly
raven" but the spirit of evil which has entered
the soul of this unhappy man—the spirit of
Remorse, of Despair? It is never to leave
him again—the bird itself tells him that this
is the case in reply to his statement, "On the
morrow he will leave me." Near the close of
the poem he tries to drive it away, but the
effort is a useless one, the last line tells us that.

And what is this "lost Lenore" but his own
lost life? Never again on earth will he find
it young and pure as once it was, but what of
the hereafter—ay, the hereafter? Summoning
all his courage, he asks of this evil spirit the
great question which every human being asks
at some time in his life, "Is there, is there balm
in Gilead?" Is there any hope in the hereafter?
Driven almost to madness by the bitter
negation, he asks a second question:

and when the same mocking "Nevermore"
falls upon his ear, see how all his nobler
feelings assert themselves, how strong his

belief in God, in something better beyond this
life, as he exclaims:

O mighty genius! O blasted life! O weary
heart in darkness struggling! God show thee
mercy in the day of thy judgment, and for
thy faith grant thee "surcease of sorrow" in
"that distant Aidenn" where, clasping again
thy pure young life, thou shalt know the healing
of that balm of Gilead, and where thy soul
shall be forever lifted from the shadow of that
"Nevermore."

Dr. James Southall Wilson (M. A., 1905),
professor of History in William and Mary,
read his poem

Dr. Edward Reinhold Rogers, headmaster
of The Jefferson School for Boys, Charlottesville,
read his tribute

Dr. Herbert M. Nash (M. D., 1852), of
Norfolk, Va., was the speaker of the evening.
Dr. Nash's remarks were of peculiar interest
since he was the only speaker during the Centenary
who had known Poe personally. Poe,
not long before his death, was visiting a family
in Norfolk, at whose home Dr. Nash was a
frequent visitor.

Dr. Nash said:

Little did I think that the visits I was paying
to a beautiful, rosy cheeked, and golden
haired girl of sixteen, who lived in my neighborhood
some fifty years ago, would eventuate
in my appearance here this evening, on the eve
of the centenary of Edgar Allan Poe.

Professor Kent, who seems to absorb and
appropriate information of all sorts, and to
make use of it to suit himself, seems to have
learned in some way, I know not how, that
I had been personally acquainted with the poet.
He probably communicated this information to
the president of the Raven Society, and a few
days ago, I received an invitation from that
gentleman, backed by a very persuasive note
from Dr. Kent himself, to be present on this

occasion and to address you upon my reminiscence
of Poe.

Now I had determined before the receipt of
the invitation to be here if possible, not to take
an active part in the celebration of his centenary,
but only as a looker on, and to enjoy
what should be said by those more competent
than myself to do honor to the memory of that
wonderful man.

Had the subject to be discussed been a
medical one, I could not have excused myself
for not complying with a request for an address;
but to enter at so late a day upon a
field so entirely new to myself required my
sense of duty to my alma mater to be pricked
to the very quick, that I might even attempt
to say a few words here to-night as to the
impressions made upon my youthful nature
by the impressive countenance, the dignified
yet cordial manner, the cadence of the voice,
and the pressure of the hand of Edgar Allan
Poe.

It was in September, 1849, that fortune
threw me into his presence. The poet visited
Norfolk, then a comparatively small city, to
deliver his celebrated lecture on "The Poetic

Principle;" and while there was the guest of
Mrs. Susan Maxwell, whose daughter Helen,
was the attractive nymph before referred to,
whom I often found it convenient to visit
and to engage with in the then popular game
of checkers.

So here I met and was introduced to the
distinguished visitor and had the privilege of
listening to his interesting conversation and
of hearing him recite some of his favorite
poems, among them "The Raven," "The Bells,"
and "Annabel Lee."

I was also present upon the occasion of Poe's
lecture delivered at the Norfolk Academy, to
a very fair and delighted audience, and was
much impressed by the artistic rendering of
his selections.

There was nothing that I observed in the
poet's appearance that indicated excessive
gloominess or sadness. There was an air of
dignified repose, which lightened, when speaking
to one, into a pleasing smile. But the
expression changed quickly and varied with
the theme that engaged him. I did not notice
the least awkwardness in his demeanor.

I trust I have not thus far described an

imaginary Poe, and that my recollection of
him on that occasion is essentially correct.

I have since then met with but one person
who reminded me, in person, manner and
bearing, of Poe, and that was the late Dr.
Marion Sims, whose face was somewhat
broader, but who was as inventive in another
field, and as distinguished in his chosen profession,
as was Poe in the domain of literature.

In enumerating the studies of Poe, while a
student in this University, stress has been laid
upon his extraordinary proficiency in the languages;
but I have suspected, from the readiness
he evinced in the solution of the enigmas
and curious problems submitted to him, that
either he must have been almost as familiar
with the calculus of probabilities as the great
La Place himself, or that he was the most
ingenious guesser the world has ever seen.

I shall not attempt to dwell upon the poet's
genius, which has been analyzed and so justly
praised here by Mr. Mabie on a former happy
occasion, and which has been written of everywhere
that his matchless creations have been
read and felt; nor of his contemporaries of
the nineteenth century, which were legion, in

every branch of human thought, and of every
degree of fame in science, in speculative
thought, in art and literature.

Now, what must have been the energetic
interaction of the cells of his amazing brain
when engaged in the invention of his marvelous
tales and his unique verses? Like a volcano
in action, throwing out fire and smoke,
light and darkness, the weird phenomenon attended
by the very quaking of the earth
around; so that great brain, and body little
more than frail, so buffeted by the rude fortune
that seemed almost inseparable from his personality,
his alter ego, must have quailed at
times under the stress of his efforts.

It is confidently asserted that Poe never
wrote a line while under the influence of alcoholic
stimulants; on the contrary, when so
influenced, he was sick almost unto death! No
impurity stains his record.

Byron has written,

But Poe's love was distinctly feminine in

nature, not to be thrown off as an outer garment.
It was true.

I may be pardoned in taking a physician's
view of his not infrequent mental states. In
my humble opinion, Poe at such times was the
victim of an abnormal psychology. There are
conditions known as the psycho-neuroses of
exhaustion, during which there is a more or
less complete paralysis of the will.

Attacks may ensue similar to, but not identical
with, epileptic mania. We know that even
hysteria is sometimes characterized by a dissociation
of consciousness.

Prof. Janet has defined dipsomania as "in
reality a crisis of depression in which the subject
feels the need of being excited by means
of a poison, the effect of which he knows only
too well; by alcohol."

But Poe was certainly no dipsomaniac. As
a medical man, I have seen cases analogous
to his, though none possessing even an approach
to his scintillating intellect.

They were not drunkards, in the usual acceptance
of the term. They, also, were the
victims of psycho-neuroses, morbid, irresistible
impulsions.

Mr. Neff then introduced Dr. Charles W.
Kent, who, in calling attention to the interest
attaching to Poe's connection with the University
of Virginia, stated that, while it was
true that Poe had not made any direct references
to his alma mater, it was also true that
a number of his earlier poems were in
all probability either prepared or revised at
the University of Virginia and that he certainly
cultivated during his session here the
art of short-story writing. Perhaps, too, he
was influenced by the surroundings, as well
he might have been by the new and strange
life of the young institution. Such thoughts
as these made pictorial representations of
the time in which Poe lived at the University
of especial interest. Following these general
introductory remarks, ten or a dozen views
of the early University and the men connected
with its history were thrown on the
screen and explained one by one. Among
them were pictures of Dr. Dunglison, who
was chairman of the faculty during Poe's session;
Madison, Monroe and General Cocke,
members of the Board of Visitors, before
whom the young poet must have stood his

final oral examinations; the Rotunda and Lawn
in the early days; the exterior and interior of
No. 13 West Range, where Poe roomed the
greater part of the session he spent at the
University, and the Colonnade clubhouse,
which was in those days the Library; William
Wertenbaker, the librarian appointed by
Mr. Jefferson, and a scene from the Ragged
Mountains.

Mr. H. H. Freeman, organist and choirmaster
of St. John's Church, Washington,
D. C., played during the evening Chopin's
Funeral March from the G minor Sonata, arranged
for the organ[1] by Sir John Stainer;
Bohm's Staccato in D flat, arranged for the
organ by Mr. Freeman; Lemare's Andantino
in D flat, and Schubert's Military March in D
major, arranged for the organ by W. T. Best.