Collected Works of Poe by Edgar Allan Poe (the red fox clan .txt) 📖

_(_letting fall his sword and recoiling to the extremity of the stage_) Of Lalage! Hold off -- thy sacred hand! -- avaunt, I say! Avaunt -- I will not fight thee -- indeed I dare not.

_ Pol_. Thou wilt not fight with me didst say, Sir Count? Shall I be baffled thus? -- now this is well; Didst say thou darest not? Ha!

_Cas. _I dare not -- dare not -- Hold off thy hand -- with that beloved name So fresh upon thy lips I will not fight thee -- I cannot -- dare not.

_ Pol_. Now by my halidom I do believe thee! -- coward, I do believe thee!

_Cas. _Ha! -- coward! -- this may not be! (_clutches his sword and staggers towards POLITIAN, but his purpose is changed before reaching him, and he falls upon his knee at the feet of the Earl_) Alas! my lord, It is -- it is -- most true. In such a cause I am the veriest coward. O pity me!

_ Pol_. (greatly softened.) Alas!- I do- indeed I pity thee.

_Cas. _And Lalage-

_ Pol_. Scoundrel!- arise and die!

_Cas. _It needeth not be -- thus -- thus -- O let me die Thus on my bended knee. It were most fitting That in this deep humiliation I perish. For in the fight I will not raise a hand Against thee, Earl of Leicester. Strike thou home -- (_baring his bosom._) Here is no let or hindrance to thy weapon- Strike home. I _will not_ fight thee.

_ Pol_. Now, s' Death and Hell! Am I not- am I not sorely- grievously tempted To take thee at thy word? But mark me, sir, Think not to fly me thus. Do thou prepare For public insult in the streets -- before The eyes of the citizens. I'll follow thee Like an avenging spirit I'll follow thee Even unto death. Before those whom thou lovest- Before all Rome I'll taunt thee, villain, -- I'll taunt thee, Dost hear? with cowardice -- thou wilt not fight me? Thou liest! thou shalt! (exit.)

_Cas. _Now this indeed is just! Most righteous, and most just, avenging Heaven!

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{In the book there is a gap in numbering the notes between 12 and 29. --ED}

NOTE

Such portions of "Politian" as are known to the public first saw the light of publicity in the "Southern Literary Messenger" for December, 1835, and January, 1836, being styled "Scenes from Politian: an unpublished drama." These scenes were included, unaltered, in the 1845 collection of Poems, by Poe. The larger portion of the original draft subsequently became the property of the present editor, but it is not considered just to the poet's memory to publish it. The work is a hasty and unrevised production of its author's earlier days of literary labor; and, beyond the scenes already known, scarcely calculated to enhance his reputation. As a specimen, however, of the parts unpublished, the following fragment from the first scene of Act II. may be offered. The Duke, it should be premised, is uncle to Alessandra, and father of Castiglione her betrothed.

_Duke. _Why do you laugh?

_Castiglione. _Indeed

I hardly know myself. Stay! Was it not On yesterday we were speaking of the Earl? Of the Earl Politian? Yes! it was yesterday. Alessandra, you and 1, you must remember! We were walking in the garden.

_Duke, _Perfectly. I do remember it-what of it-what then? _Cas. 0 _nothing-nothing at all. _Duke. _Nothing at all ! It is most singular that you should laugh 'At nothing at all! _Cas._ Most singular-singular! _Duke. Look you, _Castiglione, be so kind As tell me, sir, at once what 'tis you mean. What are you talking of? _Cas. _Was it not so? We differed in opinion touching him. _Duke. _Him!--Whom? _Cas. _Why, sir, the Earl Politian. _Duke. _The Earl of Leicester! Yes!--is it he you mean? We differed, indeed. If I now recollect The words you used were that the Earl you knew Was neither learned nor mirthful. _Cas. _Ha! ha!--now did I? _Duke. _That did you, sir, and well I knew at the time You were wrong, it being not the character Of the Earl-whom all the world allows to be A most hilarious man. Be not, my son, Too positive again. _Cas. 'Tis _singular ! Most singular! I could not think it possible So little time could so much alter one! To say the truth about an hour ago, As I was walking with the Count San Ozzo, All arm in arm, we met this very man The Earl-he, with his friend Baldazzar, Having just arrived in Rome. Hal ha! he is altered! Such an account he gave me of his journey! 'Twould have made you die with laughter-such tales he told Of his caprices and his merry freaks Along the road-such oddity-such humor-- Such wit-such whim-such flashes of wild merriment Set off too in such full relief by the grave Demeanor of his friend-who, to speak the truth, Was gravity itself-- _Duke. _Did I not tell you? _Cas. You _did-and yet 'tis strange! but true as strange, How much I was mistaken ! I always thought The Earl a gloomy man. _Duke._ So, so,_ you _see! Be not too positive. Whom have we here? It can not be the Earl? _Cas._ The Earl! Oh, no! 'Tis not the Earl-but yet it is-and leaning Upon his friend Baldazzar. AM welcome, sir!

(Enter Politian and Baldazzar.) My lord, a second welcome let me give you To Rome-his Grace the Duke of Broglio. Father! this is the Earl Politian, Earl Of Leicester in Great Britain. [Politian bows haughtily.] That, his friend Baldazzar, Duke of Surrey. The Earl has letters, So please you, for Your Grace.

_Duke. _Hal ha! Most welcome To Rome and to our palace, Earl Politian! And you, most noble Duke! I am glad to see you! I knew your father well, my Lord Politian. Castiglione! call your cousin hither, And let me make the noble Earl acquainted With your betrothed. You come, sir, at a time Most seasonable. The wedding-- _Politian. _Touching those letters, sir, Your son made mention of--your son, is he not? Touching those letters, sir, I wot not of them. If such there be, my friend Baldazzar here-- Baldazzar! ah!--my friend Baldazzar here Will hand them to Your Grace. I would retire. _Duke. _Retire!--So soon?

Came What ho ! Benito! Rupert! His lordship's chambers-show his lordship to them! His lordship is unwell. (Enter Benito.)

_Ben. _This way, my lord! _(Exit, followed by Politian_.) _Duke. _Retire! Unwell! _Bal_. So please you, sir. I fear me 'Tis as you say--his lordship is unwell. The damp air of the evening-the fatigue Of a long journey--the--indeed I had better Follow his lordship. He must be unwell. I will return anon. _Duke. _Return anon! Now this is very strange! Castiglione! This way, my son, I wish to speak with thee. You surely were mistaken in what you said Of the Earl, mirthful, indeed!--which of us said Politian was a melancholy man? _(Exeunt.)_

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End of Poems of Manhood

POEMS OF YOUTH

INTRODUCTION TO POEMS--1831

LETTER TO MR. B--.

"WEST POINT, 1831.

"DEAR B . . . . . . . . . Believing only a portion of my former volume to be worthy a second edition-that small portion I thought it as well to include in the present book as to republish by itself. I have therefore herein combined 'Al Aaraaf' and 'Tamerlane' with other poems hitherto unprinted. Nor have I hesitated to insert from the 'Minor Poems,' now omitted, whole lines, and even passages, to the end that being placed in a fairer light, and the trash shaken from them in which they were imbedded, they may have some chance of being seen by posterity.

"It has been said that a good critique on a poem may be written by one who is no poet himself. This, according to your idea and _mine _of poetry, I feel to be false-the less poetical the critic, the less just the critique, and the converse. On this account, and because there are but few B-'s in the world, I would be as much ashamed of the world's good opinion as proud of your own. Another than yourself might here observe, 'Shakespeare is in possession of the world's good opinion, and yet Shakespeare is the greatest of poets. It appears then that the world judge correctly, why should you be ashamed of their favorable judgment?' The difficulty lies in the interpretation of the word 'judgment' or 'opinion.' The opinion is the world's, truly, but it may be called theirs as a man would call a book his, having bought it; he did not write the book, but it is his; they did not originate the opinion, but it is theirs. A fool, for example, thinks Shakespeare a great poet-yet the fool has never read Shakespeare. But the fool's neighbor, who is a step higher on the Andes of the mind, whose head (that is to say, his more exalted thought) is too far above the fool to be seen or understood, but whose feet (by which I mean his everyday actions) are sufficiently near to be discerned, and by means of which that superiority is ascertained, which but for them would never have been discovered-this neighbor asserts that Shakespeare is a great poet--the fool believes him, and it is henceforward his _opinion. _This neighbor's own opinion has, in like manner, been adopted from one above him, and so, ascendingly, to a few gifted individuals who kneel around the summit, beholding, face to face, the master spirit who stands upon the pinnacle.

"You are aware of the great barrier in the path of an American writer. He is read, if at all, in preference to the combined and established wit of the world. I say established; for it is with literature as with law or empire-an established name is an estate in tenure, or a throne in possession. Besides, one might suppose that books, like their authors, improve by travel-their having crossed the sea is, with us, so great a distinction. Our antiquaries abandon time for distance; our very fops glance from the binding to the bottom of the title-page, where the mystic characters which spell London, Paris, or Genoa, are precisely so many letters of recommendation.

"I mentioned just now a vulgar error as regards criticism. I think the notion that no poet can form a correct estimate of his own writings is another. I remarked before that in proportion to the poetical talent would be the justice of a critique upon poetry. Therefore a bad poet would, I grant, make a false critique, and his self-love would infallibly bias his little judgment in his favor; but a poet, who is indeed a poet, could not, I think, fail of making-a just