Fan Favorite: Great American Authors | Edgar Allan Poe: Master of Macabre | 1

Imagine it's the evening of October 16, 1845, and you're in Boston, Massachusetts. You're a reporter, sitting in a dimly lit hall in the Boston Lyceum, where Edgar Allan Poe has just finished performing to a crowd of writers, editors, and literary critics. You were excited for this assignment, a chance to watch the famous literary star in person, but his performance has left you and others in the crowd stunned. He delivered a long, nonsensical poem that caused most of the audience to leave in frustration. As you try to process what you've just witnessed, you see Poe heading for the drinks table. You seize the opportunity to follow him. Mr. Poe. He turns to face you, his dark eyes glinting with mischief. Yes, my dear. I'm here tonight with the evening transcript. What was that poem you just read? It's called Al Araf. Would you believe I wrote it when I was just ten years old? Ten years old. But you were asked to perform a brand new original poem. You realize you've left your audience bewildered. Poe's lips curl into a bitter smile. Perhaps that was the point. You stare at him in disbelief. You were invited here to showcase your talents, not to mock your audience, sir. I don't care about the opinions of a Boston audience. Are you not a native son of Boston? Yes, I was born in Boston, much to my eternal shame. Their pumpkin pies are delicious. Their poetry is not so good. How charming to refer to your hosts with such contempt. I understand you were paid fifty dollars to perform here tonight. Yes, a measly fifty dollars, and that tells you what the Boston literati think of my work. If they're going to insult me like that, then my childhood scribblings are all they deserve. Mr. Poe, you have many admirers, myself among them, but you are not above reproach. Some are even saying your talents are wasted. Stunts like this will only damage your reputation and alienate your supporters. There's a glimmer of pain in Poe's eyes, and he takes a deep sigh. I don't expect everyone to understand my work, so let them scorn me. I welcome it. His defiant gaze bores into you, and you struggle to find words. Mr. Poe, you are a talented poet. I believe if you're not careful, your behavior will overshadow your work. You walk away feeling astonished by Poe's arrogance. It seems to you that whatever he thinks of the Boston literary elite, he's just given them the ammunition to doom his faltering career. From Wondery, I'm Lindsey Graham, and this is American History Tellers, our history, your story. On our show, we'll take you to the events, the times, and the people that shaped America and Americans, our values, our struggles, and our dreams. We'll put you in the shoes of everyday people as history was being made, and we'll show you how the events of the times affected them, their families, and affects you now. In October 1845, the Boston Lyceum invited Edgar Allan Poe to recite a new original poem. Instead, he deliberately insulted his elite audience by reciting an incomprehensible poem from his youth. The performance sparked anger and ridicule in the Boston press. It was one of several acts of self-sabotage that contributed to Poe's mixed reputation. Many years would pass before he claimed his standing as one of America's greatest writers. Poe emerged on the scene at a time when American literature was considered inferior to British and European works. In 1820, a British literary magazine famously sneered, In the four quarters of the globe, who reads an American book? A chorus of writers across the Atlantic insisted this new nation had no real literature. But over the next century, a diverse array of writers would craft a distinctly American literary tradition, putting pen to paper to reflect America and to shape it. From Gothic mansions to the banks of the Mississippi River, from the California coast to a small-town Alabama courthouse, American literature has traversed a landscape as vast and varied as America itself. Throughout history, American authors have explored the unique struggles and aspirations of a young nation. Their words have challenged convention and inspired change. They have forged a shared narrative among a diverse people, and they have chronicled the American experience in all its contradictions and complexity. But of all the authors who left their mark on the American literary landscape, one stands out for channeling his turbulent life into unforgettable tales plumbing the depths of the human psyche, Edgar Allan Poe. We're presenting a six-part series on great American authors, exploring their lives, their work, and their impact on a growing nation. This is Episode 1, Edgar Allan Poe, Master of Macabre. On January 19, 1809, Edgar Poe was born in a humble Boston boarding house. His parents were traveling stage actors. They soon relocated to Richmond, Virginia, where Edgar's father abandoned the family, leaving his mother Eliza to care for three children on her own. But when Edgar was only two and a half, Eliza contracted tuberculosis. Over the next several months, Edgar and his siblings watched the disease take hold of their mother and plague her with a relentless, rasping cough. She died at age 24, before Edgar's third birthday. Eliza was a beloved actress on the Richmond theater scene, so local society women took it upon themselves to find homes for her orphan children. Edgar and his two siblings were separated and sent to live with strangers. A wealthy woman named Frances Allen persuaded her husband John, a successful merchant, to take in Edgar. The Allens never legally adopted him, but they gave him a home as well as their name. He became known as Edgar Allen Poe. The Allens provided Edgar with an elite education, including a five-year stint abroad attending English boarding schools. He was an athletic child and an enthusiastic student, and he showed a talent for poetry at a young age. But John Allen was inconsistent in his parenting approach, alternating between indulging the young Edgar and scolding him. By his teenage years, Edgar was brooding and lonely. At age 15, he became despondent over the death of a friend's mother. He suffered from terrible nightmares, and increasingly he clashed with his hard-nosed foster father who complained that Edgar was miserable, sulky, and ill-tempered. He wrote, The boy possesses not a spark of affection for us, not a particle of gratitude for all my care and kindness towards him. Edgar felt that Allen did not support his poetic ambitions, and their relationship soured, leaving a lasting mark on Edgar. He would later write, The want of parental affection has been the heaviest of my trials. In 1825, at the age of 16, Edgar became secretly engaged to his neighbor Elmira Royster. That same year, his foster father, Allen, inherited a vast fortune. The Allens had no other children, so Edgar assumed the money would one day pass to him. Then at age 17, in February 1826, he entered the University of Virginia. Edgar was slender, with jet-black hair and dark, expressive eyes. Classmate noted that he wore a sad, melancholy face always. He was prone to intense mood swings and began drinking excessively. Despite his volatile behavior, though, Poe was a talented student, and he excelled at ancient and modern languages. But he arrived at university with just a fraction of the total cost of his tuition. John Allen refused to give him more money, despite his large fortune. Poe turned to gambling to fund his studies, but he racked up large debts that Allen refused to pay off. During his university years, he continued writing to his fiancée, Elmira Royster, but Royster's father disapproved of the relationship. After two months, he started intercepting Poe's letters. Thinking Poe had abandoned her, Elmira became engaged to a successful businessman instead. Edgar was heartbroken over the loss of Elmira, believing she had spurned him. Adding to his troubles was his financial strain. Although Poe was doing well academically, his lack of funds forced him to leave university after just a few months. He was bitterly disappointed by the abrupt end of his college career and resentful of his foster father Alan's harsh treatment. He had been raised in a world of privilege, only to suddenly find himself sinking into poverty. So in the spring of 1827, he moved to Boston, the city of his birth. To support himself, he enlisted in the U.S. Army for a five-year term. He continued writing poems in Boston and soon self-published his first work, Tamerlane and Other Poems. But he quickly became fed up with the low wages and monotonous routines of military life. His commanding officer told him that because he was a minor, he needed his guardian's permission to leave early, so he begged his foster father Allen to help him out. But Allen refused. Then, in February 1829, Poe's foster mother, Francis Allen, also died of tuberculosis. Loss led to a brief reconciliation between Poe and the grieving John Allen. And it was during this period that Allen helped Poe leave the regular army and secure admission to the U.S. Military Academy at West Point. Poe entered West Point in July 1830, but once again he quickly became restless. Allen continued withholding money, and later that year, Allen's mistress gave birth to twin sons, making it even more unlikely that Poe would inherit his fortune. Poe resented his financial circumstances and the rigid discipline at West Point. He desperately wanted to launch a writing career, but he could not leave West Point without his guardian's consent, and Alan refused to give his permission So Poe came up with a desperate plan Imagine it January 1831 in West Point New York You a cadet at the U Military Academy After a long, freezing morning of guard duty, you walk into the cramped, sparsely furnished quarters you share with two of your fellow cadets. You're greeted by the sight of your roommate, Edgar Allan Poe, lying in bed, scribbling feverishly in a notebook. You shrug off your coat and sit down on your own bed to face him. There you are. Why didn't you report to guard duty this morning? Major Roberts kept asking me where you were. I didn't know what to say. I was sick. Poe doesn't look up from his notebook. You shake your head. What about yesterday? You were nowhere to be seen at roll call. You failed to attend church. You seemed perfectly healthy then. Poe points to the books scattered across his bed. I was occupied. With what? You can't simply neglect your duties whenever you feel like it. I had more important work to do. You step closer to him and detect the faint scent of alcohol in his breath. He has dark circles under his wary eyes. He's only 22, but you realize how much older he looks. And exactly what are you working on? My poetry, of course. Aren't you studying mathematics and French this semester? I don't recall poetry being part of the curriculum. This isn't for class. It's for myself and my true vocation. I need more from life than scratchy uniforms, endless roll calls, and repetitive drills. This place is oppressive. Poetry is my escape. Well, what you call oppression, others call rules. They're trying to instill discipline in us. How else are they supposed to mold us into future officers? Poe's expression is inscrutable. You check your watch. Well, class starts in 15 minutes. I don't want to have to cover for you again. You should wash up. No, go without me. You can't be serious. If you don't put the poetry down and start doing your duties, you're going to be court-martialed. They'll throw you out of the academy. Poe shrugs and crosses out a sentence in his notebook. He's completely immersed in his writing, and it dawns on you that he has no intention of remaining at West Point. Being kicked out is exactly what he wants. He's willingly jeopardizing his future for reasons you fail to understand. In January 1831, Poe began skipping his classes and failing to report for roll calls and guard duty. He was court-martialed on charges of gross neglect of duty and disobedience of orders. After refusing to defend himself, he was found guilty of all charges and dismissed from service. Foster father John Allen was furious when he heard the news, declaring that Poe possessed the blackest heart and deepest ingratitude, and that he was destitute of honor and principle. But Poe didn't mind being discharged. He was determined to achieve his literary ambitions and find financial independence. He set off for Baltimore, where he moved into the shabby home of his Aunt Maria Clem, the widowed sister of his biological father. After being rejected by his foster father, he became close to Maria and her nine-year-old daughter Virginia. And there in Baltimore, Poe shifted his focus from poetry to prose. He submitted several short stories to a newspaper competition. He failed to win the cash prize, but the newspaper published five of his stories throughout 1832. Poe's writing hit the public as short stories were emerging as a distinct art form. American writer Washington Irving had popularized the short story with his 1820 tale The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, featuring a ghostly, headless horseman. Irving drew from the English Gothic tradition and contributed to American interest in the supernatural. Poe followed in Irving's footsteps with his first published story, a Gothic tale about the power of evil entitled Metzengerstein. It featured a gloomy castle and an ancient family feud and combined the real and supernatural worlds. Like Poe, the hero was orphaned at a young age, and though it failed to attract much attention, the story set a pattern for much of Poe's future work. Still, despite making progress in his writing, Poe was desperately in need of money. Once again, he appealed to John Allen, declaring, I am perishing, absolutely perishing for want of aid. For God's sake, pity me and save me from destruction. But Allen refused to respond. So in February 1834, Poe turned up on his doorstep. Upon receiving his foster son, Allen threatened to strike Poe with his cane and threw him out of the house. But Alan was seriously ill and died a few weeks later. He left Poe nothing in his will. It was a horrible setback, but Poe was finally on the verge of a turning point in his literary career. In March 1835, a new monthly magazine, The Southern Literary Messenger, published his story Berenice. It depicted a man's descent into madness as he becomes fixated on the perfect teeth of his dying cousin and fiancé, Berenice. She is accidentally buried alive. And at the climax of the story, the narrator awakes from a trance and hears screams, realizing that he has opened Berenice's grave and extracted all 32 of her teeth. The story's violence prompted multiple reader complaints, but Poe disagreed with the criticism. He believed that whether or not the story was in poor taste was less important than the intention it received, declaring to be appreciated, you must be read. In August of that year, The Messenger's owner, Thomas Wills White, hired Poe as a staff writer, literary critic, and editorial assistant. Poe moved to Richmond, Virginia to begin work, but before long he became lonely and depressed. White was shocked by the dark moods of his new employee, writing, I should not be at all astonished to hear that he has been guilty of suicide. That fall, Poe confessed his love for his cousin Virginia, and persuaded her and his aunt Maria to come live with him. He married his cousin shortly afterward. Poe was 27. Virginia was just 13. A witness to the ceremony, though, swore that she was 21. Poe's spirits improved once Maria and Virginia joined him in Richmond. He proved to be a talented employee, leading White to promote him as editor of the magazine. Poe continued writing fiction, but he devoted most of his time to writing scathing book reviews for The Messenger. His reputation as a harsh critic earned him the nickname Tomahawk Man. Poe's efforts boosted the messenger's circulation, and during his tenure as editor, the magazine became nationally known. But his salary was meager. It frustrated him to profit so little from his ideas and work, and he resented the menial tasks White asked him to perform. In a letter to his great-uncle, he complained, The drudgery was excessive. The salary was contemptible. My best energies were wasted in the service of an illiterate and vulgar, although well-meaning man, who had neither the capacity to appreciate my labors nor the will to reward them. Seeking release from his inner turmoil, Poe began drinking again. And when he did, he drank for days at a time, becoming angry and combative. In the 1830s, alcoholism was considered a moral defect rather than a disease, and by December 1836, White had seen enough and fired Poe. Jobless and destitute once again, Poe was still determined to break through as a writer. His experiences at The Messenger had launched his literary career, but it also established a pattern of self-destructiveness that would continue for the rest of his life. Once again, he plotted his next move, deciding to seek his fortunes in the center of the publishing world, New York. In February 1837, Edgar Allan Poe moved to New York City with his wife Virginia and his mother-in-law Maria Clem. But his move was ill-timed. Just three months later, the Panic of 1837 began, sparking one of the worst economic depressions of the 19th century. Poe struggled to find work, and the family lived in poverty, subsisting on nothing but bread and molasses for weeks at a time. In the summer of 1838, Poe decided to try to make a fresh start, and the destitute family moved to Philadelphia. Soon after, Poe published his first and only novel, a South Pole adventure story called The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym. In an attempt to attract a wide audience, he included murder, mutiny, cannibalism, and exploding ships in the novel. He called it a very silly book. Critics agreed with his assessment. Sales were modest, and Poe sank deeper into his financial abyss. But in the summer of 1839, publisher William Burton hired Poe as an assistant editor at Burton's Gentleman's Magazine. Burton's offered Poe a new outlet for his work, and in September of that year, he published a gothic horror story called The Fall of the House of Usher. In it, an unnamed narrator visits an eerie, decaying mansion and watches as the Usher family descends into madness and death, culminating in the collapse of the mansion itself. With the fall of the House of Usher, Poe transformed the horror genre. In the past, horror writers had focused on external monsters, but Poe delved into the dark recesses of the human subconscious with lurid detail and dramatic flair. He used an unreliable, first-person narrator to create a sense of unease, and he explored taboo subjects such as insanity and incest. Usher established his reputation as a serious writer and led to the publication of his first collection of short stories. But he earned little money for these efforts, and he resented the low salary and menial duties of his role at Burton's. Here, too, he clashed with his boss over his heavy drinking and his scathing book reviews. In one review, Poe accused the beloved author James Fenimore Cooper of irreparable mental leprosy, declaring that Cooper's recent works were a flashy succession of ill-conceived and miserably executed literary productions, each more silly than its predecessor. In May 1840, Poe announced his plans to start a rival magazine, and Burton promptly fired him. Poe stormed out of his office in anger, then followed up with a furious letter declaring If you think that I am to be insulted with impunity I can only assume that you are an ass But Poe failed to obtain the financial backing needed to get his magazine off the ground, and in February 1841, he took another publishing job, this time as the editor at the newly launched Grams magazine. It was a higher-paying and more fulfilling role than his previous job at Burton's. Poe contributed a short story to Grams every month, and that April he published The Murders in the Rue Morgue. The story featured an eccentric amateur sleuth who relied on his intellect to solve murders and is now widely recognized as the first detective story. But while Poe's work life improved, his home life suffered. In January 1842, 19-year-old Virginia Poe was singing and playing piano at home when she suddenly broke a blood vessel and began hemorrhaging blood from her mouth. It was a sign of tuberculosis, the same disease that killed Poe's mother and foster mother. As time wore on, Poe's mood fluctuated with the ups and downs of Virginia's health. But under Poe's direction, Graham's magazine became a success, with circulation growing from $5,000 at its launch in December 1840 to $40,000 just a year later. During that time, publisher George Graham earned a profit of $25,000, while Poe's annual salary was just $800. In characteristic fashion, Poe quickly grew weary of the job. He resented not sharing in the profits of his work and felt the position was stifling his artistry. So in April 1842, he quit the magazine. But soon, anxiety over his finances and Virginia's health drove him back to alcohol. In June, he went on a drinking bender. After several days, he was discovered wandering in the woods near Jersey City. Poe decided he wanted a comfortable job that would grant him financial security and the time to write. So in the fall of 1842, he tried to secure a role at the Federal Custom House in Philadelphia. The position would require the approval of the administration of President John Tyler. He had the support of a friend who was close to the president's son, Robert. And in September, Poe traveled to Washington, D.C. to interview with Tyler. But in his anxiety over the meeting, Poe got drunk on port wine and rum coffee. Robert Tyler turned him away before the meeting could take place. Amid these setbacks, Poe continued publishing some of his most famous short stories. Death was a recurring theme in his work. In 1843, he published The Black Cat and The Tell-Tale Heart, both horror stories. They featured unreliable narrators confessing to the murder of an innocent. The Black Cat mirrored Poe's own life in its depiction of an impoverished alcoholic with a devoted, long-suffering wife. Although Poe gained a reputation from writing horror, the majority of his stories were comedies. Some of these also drew from his own life. His story Never Bet Your Head was a satirical tale spoofing literary critics who insisted that all literature should have a moral. Poe was the first major American writer to try to support himself entirely through writing, but this meant his life was one of constant financial struggle. International copyright law did not exist until the 1890s, which allowed American publishers to pirate material from overseas. During Poe's lifetime, American publishers had little incentive to pay American writers when there was nothing stopping them reprinting the work of popular British authors at no cost. Writers like Poe were at a disadvantage. Poe had difficulty selling his work, and he was poorly paid for the work he did sell. He frequently resorted to begging friends for money. In April 1844, Poe and his family returned to New York. Despite poverty and family illness, his six years in Philadelphia were the most productive of his life. He had edited two significant magazines and published more than 30 short stories. He looked forward to finding greater opportunities in New York, but financial stress forced him to return to editorial work. In January 1845, Poe became the assistant editor of the Broadway Journal, a highbrow literary magazine. That same month, he published The Raven, the poem that would make him famous. It depicted a man sinking into madness and despair while talking to a raven that reminds him of a lost lover. Poe wrote the poem to appeal to popular tastes. He insisted that nothing about it was accidental, and later described the choice of subject, declaring, The death of a beautiful woman is unquestionably the most poetical topic in the world. The raven in the story repeats the word nevermore because Poe liked the combination of the long O and R sounds, calling them the most sonorous vowel and the most producible consonant. The raven was an overnight sensation. Though he only earned $9 from the sale of the poem, it made him a household name and the toast of fashionable New York literary salons. Poe gave dramatic public readings, dressing in raven black and turning down lamps to suit the poem's moody atmosphere. Audiences were mesmerized. But at the very moment he achieved his greatest success, Poe fell back to his old self-destructive habits. In March 1845, he launched a series of unprovoked attacks on the revered poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, unjustly accusing him of plagiarism. Poe resented Longfellow's financial stability, and he considered his poetry shallow and overly sentimental. The attacks did little to change the public opinion of Longfellow, but they damaged Poe's reputation. That summer, Poe began binge-drinking again, after abstaining from alcohol for 18 months. Then, in October, he was offered $50 to compose an original poem and perform it at the Boston Lyceum. Poe hated Boston's literary elite, believing their work to be pretentious and preachy. But Poe accepted the offer, deciding against composing a new poem. Instead, he recited Al-Araf, a long and unintelligible work he said he wrote when he was just 10 years old. The audience was baffled, and the press denounced him. Poe then published an article bragging about his deliberate attempt to insult his hosts. But by then, Poe's magazine, the Broadway Journal, was barely solvent. In October, he managed to obtain full ownership of the magazine on borrowed money, but from the start, he struggled to keep it afloat. Imagine it's October 1845 in a New York City boarding house. A cold wind rattles the windows of your room. You're hunched over your desk, working feverishly on a new cone. A knock on your door interrupts your concentration. You put your pen down and open it to find your housekeeper struggling to support an unsteady figure. It's your friend, Edgar Allan Poe. Poe, what are you doing here? I'm sorry about this man. I'll take him from here. With a look of disgust, your housekeeper pushes Poe into the room. You close the door behind him, and he plops himself down in an overstuffed chair in the corner. You take in his disheveled appearance. You look worse for wear. Perhaps you should go home and sleep this off. How can I sleep at a time like this? My dear friend, I need your help. Poe stares at you intensely with bloodshot eyes. You take a deep breath, bracing yourself for what you are sure will be another plea for money. What is it? I've managed to purchase the Broadway Journal. I am determined to make it a success. Well, congratulations. I'm happy for you. But you see, I need more funds to keep it going. Nothing much. Just $50 to pay for paper, printing, and postage. Just $50, huh? Edgar, when was the last time you had a drink? Poe shakes his head indignantly. I am as sober as a judge. It was only a month ago that I had to carry you home in a stupor. I hate seeing you waste your God-given talents. So help me with the journal. You know it's my lifelong dream to own my own magazine, and there will be plenty of room on the page to showcase your work, too. Edgar, I care about your welfare and happiness. You know I do. But I can't lend you any money, at least not until you conquer your demons. Ho's expression darkens. If you're sincere about caring for my welfare and happiness, you'll do me this small favor. Edgar, you are the most talented writer I know, but we both understand you are not a businessman, especially in this state. Any money I loaned you now, you'd just spend on drink. You've never believed in me. This is a deliberate attempt to ruin. Poe stumbles toward the door, rushing past you without a backward glance. You watch him leave, your heart heavy with the fear of losing a friend. But you can't ignore the reality of a man drowning his talent in self-destruction. Poe had long dreamed of owning his own literary magazine. But his alcoholism and lack of business acumen hampered his efforts. He once again resorted to begging friends for money with little success. The magazine folded in January of 1846, less than six months since he took it over. Bitter and depressed, he began publishing a series of essays attacking New York literary elites. He lost friends and publicly feuded with other writers. He was deep in poverty, and in the spring of 1846, he started suffering from chronic fever. Late that year, he poured his resentment into a haunting revenge tale entitled The Cask of Amontillado. All the while, his wife, Virginia, was wasting away. Poe was furious with himself for failing to provide her with decent food or a warm home. And in January 1847, she finally succumbed to her disease, dying of tuberculosis at the age of 24, the same age as Poe's mother. Poe's grief was like nothing he had ever experienced. He sank into a severe depression, one that would plague him for the few remaining years of his life. In 1847, Edgar Allan Poe turned to alcohol to escape his grief and guilt over his wife Virginia's death. One friend recalled, He did not seem to care after she was gone, whether he lived an hour, a day, a week, or a year. She was his all. Poe's own health was declining rapidly. His chronic fever worsened and a doctor noticed that he had an irregular heartbeat But even as he grieved he was desperate to find a new wife with the means to take care of him and finance a literary magazine Over the course of 1848, he courted three different women. Each courtship ended in disaster due to his heavy drinking and his guilt over the thought of remarrying. But despite his emotional turmoil, he continued writing, and he returned to a familiar theme, the death of a beautiful woman. In May 1849, he completed Annabelle Lee, a poem about a love so profound it transcends death. In this work, Poe mixed romantic and Gothic themes, beginning the poem with imagery reminiscent of fairy tales, before vengeful angels kill Annabelle Lee out of jealousy. By the spring of 1849, Poe was spending most of his time traveling up and down the East Coast lecturing, raising funds to start a magazine, and drinking. He told one friend, I am full of dark forebodings. Nothing cheers or comforts me. My life seems wasted. The future looks a dreary blank. On June 29, 1849, he left New York to travel south to Richmond, where he planned to deliver a lecture and raise money for his magazine. The next day, he stopped in Philadelphia to drink. He became so intoxicated that he lost his suitcase and was thrown in jail for public drunkenness. While imprisoned, he suffered from terrifying hallucinations that seemed to come out of his own stories. In one vision, he narrowly escaped being boiled alive. In another, he watched his Aunt Maria Clem be dismembered. He was released after being recognized as the famous Edgar Allan Poe and spent the next two weeks recovering in the home of a friend. Poe eventually made it to Richmond, where he delivered his lecture to wide acclaim. He remained in his hometown for the next two months, which gave him the time to rekindle his romance with his childhood sweetheart, Elmira Royster, now a wealthy widow. He wasted little time in proposing to her. But her children strongly opposed the match, and she stalled on giving him an answer. Poe even joined a temperance society to try and persuade her to marry him. On September 27th, he set off for New York, where he planned to settle his affairs before bringing his Aunt Maria Clem back to Richmond with him. The next day, he stopped in Baltimore to drink. No one knows how he spent the next five days. On October 3rd, a young printer discovered him outside a tavern, drunk and delirious. Poe gave the printer the name of a Baltimore acquaintance named Joseph Snodgrass, who was summoned to the scene. Snodgrass later wrote, Poe's face was haggard, not to say bloated, and unwashed, his hair unkempt and his whole physique repulsive. He also noticed that Poe seemed to be wearing someone else's clothes. He assumed that Poe had either been robbed or sold his clothes to pay for alcohol. He took Poe to a local hospital, where Poe drifted in and out of consciousness over the next few days. Once again, he suffered from hallucinations. His doctor wrote that he engaged in a vacant converse with spectral and imaginary objects on the walls. His face was pale and his whole person drenched in perspiration. Early in the morning of October 7, 1849, Poe died at the age of 40. His last words were, Lord, help my poor soul. He was buried in Baltimore in a cheap coffin, and his precise cause of death would remain a mystery. Many assumed he drank himself to death. Others believed that Poe was the victim of a type of voter fraud known as cooping. In the 19th century, gangs would kidnap unsuspecting victims, force them to drink, and change their clothes multiple times so that they could cast multiple votes. Other popular theories of his death include hypoglycemia, cholera, syphilis, and even rabies. Poe's personal reputation shaped his legacy. Two days after his death, the editor Rufus Griswold published an anonymous obituary in the widely read New York Daily Tribune. Poe, the famous tomahawk man, had criticized Griswold's work years earlier, and Griswold never forgave him. Now he would get his revenge. Griswold began the obituary by declaring that few would grieve Poe because he had few friends. He vilified Poe as a man without honor, who was consumed by madness. He declared, He walked the streets in madness or melancholy, with lips moving in indistinct curses. Poe's friends challenged Griswold's account, but the narrative stuck. Making matters worse, Griswold convinced Maria Clem to give him control of Poe's literary estate. She was well aware of Griswold and Poe's personal disagreements, but her desperation for money won out. She knew Griswold was an influential editor, and she badly needed the profits that would come from the publication of her son-in-law's works. Griswold threw himself into publishing a collection of Poe's life works, which he brought out in four separate volumes. For the third volume, published in September 1850, Griswold expanded on his obituary with a 35-page introductory biography of Poe, depicting him as a depraved lunatic and prompting some of Poe's fellow writers to come to his defense. Imagine it's September 1850 in New York City. You're mingling with your fellow writers at a literary salon. You're one of the few women in attendance. After a long evening, you set your glass down on a table, preparing yourself to leave when you spot the editor and literary critic Rufus Griswold. He's standing in a corner, surveying the room with a glass of red wine in hand. You weave your way through the crowd to approach him. Good evening, Mr. Griswold. I hope you're enjoying the salon. Griswold smiles politely. It's delightful, as always. And how, may I ask, are sales of your latest editorial effort? This is the third volume of Poe's Collected Life Works, is that right? The book is doing quite well. My publisher is pleased. I read your biographical essay. It was full of information I found surprising. I imagine your reaction is widely shared. It was my goal to add context for the readers, to help them understand the artist behind the art. I see, but as a friend of the artist, I'm afraid I have to disagree with your portrayal of your subject. Griswold's smile fades. I am sure we all have our own interpretations of the man. Yes, but many of your so-called interpretations are just plain wrong. I don't know what you mean. Griswold takes a sip of his wine. You're trying to control your frustration, but his disingenuousness is grating. You said he was expelled from the University of Virginia. You claimed he deserted the army. You said he was addicted to drugs. You even went so far to suggest that he seduced Maria Clem. I have plenty of evidence for these incidents. Evidence that you forged? I can't believe you spread the lie that Edgar showed up on my doorstep so drunk that police had to carry him away, because I can tell you right now that is untrue. I stand by what I wrote. I'm sure you do. It sounds as though you're profiting handsomely off Edgar's talents, all while denigrating his character. Your account is completely self-serving. You suggest that Edgar admired you. You know as well as I do how false that is. We were not friends, I admit, but I haven't let that cloud my account of his life. You feel your face flush with anger. Not friends. That is an understatement if I've ever heard one. You hated him. You envied his talents. You knew you were a little more than a hack despite your success, and you're now taking your revenge by printing these malicious lies. I won't let you assassinate his memory. You turn away quickly, a fire kindling deep within you. You vow to do whatever you can to salvage your friend's reputation against the editor who has allowed his personal grievances to get in the way of the truth. For years, Poe's friends fought to defend his legacy. In 1860, poet Sarah Helen Whitman published a book entitled Edgar Poe and His Critics, in which she criticized Griswold's perverted facts and baseless assumptions. Her book defended Poe's unique artistic genius, his innate goodness, and his devotion to his wife. Nevertheless, it was Griswold's account that became authoritative. It influenced generations of readers to associate Poe with his evil and insane fictional characters. But Griswold also ensured that Poe's work would continue to attract interest. Poe's reputation fared better in Europe, where his personal controversies were less widely known. In France, the renowned poet and critic Charles Baudelaire exalted Poe as his literary soulmate and published widely read translations of his work. But in the United States, it would take another century before Poe's reputation as a great writer was rehabilitated. Despite his short life, Edgar Allan Poe had an extraordinary influence on literature and culture on both sides of the Atlantic. He pioneered some of the most popular genres of modern fiction. He directly inspired Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes and laid the groundwork for modern fictional detectives. He changed horror by probing the inner psyche and the fears that can be found in everyday life. And by delving into universal human themes such as death, love, grief, fear, and madness, he ensured his work would endure. From Wondery, this is episode one of our six-part series, Great American Authors from American History Tellers. On the next episode, in Concord, Massachusetts, Louisa May Alcott turns to writing as an escape from financial hardship. After decades of struggle, she achieves a breakthrough with her semi-autobiographical novel, Little Women. American History Tellers is hosted, edited, and produced by me, Lindsey Graham, for Airship. Audio editing by Christian Paraga. Sound design by Molly Bach. Music by Lindsey Graham. This episode is written by Ellie Stanton. Edited by Dorian Marina. Produced by Alita Rozanski. Coordinating producer is Desi Blaylock. Managing producer is Matt Gant. Senior managing producer, Ryan Moore. Our senior producer is Andy Herman. And executive producers are Jenny Lauer-Beckman and Marshall Louis for Wondery.