Short Fiction Edgar Allan Poe (books for men to read .txt) đ
- Author: Edgar Allan Poe
Book online «Short Fiction Edgar Allan Poe (books for men to read .txt) đ». Author Edgar Allan Poe
âI would be an ungrateful villain if I did,â I replied with enthusiasm. âYour generosity is boundless. I will repay it by making you the father of a genius.â
Thus ended my conference with the best of men, and immediately upon its termination, I betook myself with zeal to my poetical labors; as upon these, chiefly, I founded my hopes of ultimate elevation to the editorial chair.
In my first attempts at composition I found the stanzas to âThe Oil-of-Bobâ rather a drawback than otherwise. Their splendor more dazzled than enlightened me. The contemplation of their excellence tended, naturally, to discourage me by comparison with my own abortions; so that for a long time I labored in vain. At length there came into my head one of those exquisitely original ideas which now and then will permeate the brain of a man of genius. It was this:â âor, rather, thus was it carried into execution. From the rubbish of an old bookstall, in a very remote corner of the town, I got together several antique and altogether unknown or forgotten volumes. The bookseller sold them to me for a song. From one of these, which purported to be a translation of one Danteâs Inferno, I copied with remarkable neatness a long passage about a man named Ugolino, who had a parcel of brats. From another which contained a good many old plays by some person whose name I forget, I extracted in the same manner, and with the same care, a great number of lines about âangelsâ and âministers saying grace,â and âgoblins damned,â and more besides of that sort. From a third, which was the composition of some blind man or other, either a Greek or a Choctawâ âI cannot be at the pains of remembering every trifle exactlyâ âI took about fifty verses beginning with âAchillesâ wrath,â and âgrease,â and something else. From a fourth, which I recollect was also the work of a blind man, I selected a page or two all about âhailâ and âholy lightâ; and although a blind man has no business to write about light, still the verses were sufficiently good in their way.
Having made fair copies of these poems, I signed every one of them âOppodeldocâ (a fine sonorous name), and, doing each up nicely in a separate envelope, I despatched one to each of the four principal magazines, with a request for speedy insertion and prompt pay. The result of this well conceived plan, however, (the success of which would have saved me much trouble in after life,) served to convince me that some editors are not to be bamboozled, and gave the coup-de-grĂące (as they say in France) to my nascent hopes (as they say in the city of the transcendentals).
The fact is, that each and every one of the magazines in question, gave Mr. âOppodeldocâ a complete using up, in the âMonthly Notices to Correspondents.â The Hum-Drum gave him a dressing after this fashion:
âââOppodeldocâ (whoever he is) has sent us a long tirade concerning a bedlamite whom he styles âUgolino,â who had a great many children that should have been all whipped and sent to bed without their suppers. The whole affair is exceedingly tameâ ânot to say flat. âOppodeldocâ (whoever he is) is entirely devoid of imaginationâ âand imagination, in our humble opinion, is not only the soul of Poesy, but also its very heart. âOppodeldocâ (whoever he is) has the audacity to demand of us, for his twattle, a âspeedy insertion and prompt pay.â We neither insert nor purchase any stuff of the sort. There can be no doubt, however, that he would meet with a ready sale for all the balderdash he can scribble, at the office of either the Rowdy-Dow, the Lollipop, or the Goosetherumfoodle.â
All this, it must be acknowledged, was very severe upon âOppodeldocââ âbut the unkindest cut was putting the word Poesy in small caps. In those five preeminent letters what a world of bitterness is there not involved!
But âOppodeldocâ was punished with equal severity in the Rowdy-Dow, which spoke thus:
âWe have received a most singular and insolent communication from a person (whoever he is) signing himself âOppodeldocââ âthus desecrating the greatness of the illustrious Roman Emperor so named. Accompanying the letter of âOppodeldocâ (whoever he is) we find sundry lines of most disgusting and unmeaning rant about âangels and ministers of graceââ ârant such as no madman short of a Nat Lee, or an âOppodeldoc,â could possibly perpetrate. And for this trash of trash, we are modestly requested to âpay promptly.â No sirâ âno! We pay for nothing of that sort. Apply to the Hum-Drum, the Lollipop, or the Goosetherumfoodle. These periodicals will undoubtedly accept any literary offal you may send themâ âand as undoubtedly promise to pay for it.â
This was bitter indeed upon poor âOppodeldocâ; but, in this instance, the weight of the satire falls upon the Hum-Drum, the Lollipop, and the Goosetherumfoodle, who are pungently styled âperiodicalsââ âin Italics, tooâ âa thing that must have cut them to the heart.
Scarcely less savage was the Lollipop, which thus
Comments (0)