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A detailed account of the life of Edgar Allan Poe, from his early childhood to his literary career. The narrative follows Edgar's relationships with his foster parents, his foster siblings, and his childhood sweetheart, as well as his struggles with poverty and his eventual success as a writer. The document also includes various vocabulary words and scene headings.
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Narr 1: Months later in the Allan home in Richmond, friends gather for a party. Dressed in a new velvet suit, 3-year-old Edgar wanders among the adults. Narr 2: He would have preferred to stay with the Allans’ butler, Dabney. Old Dab tells such scary stories of haunts and spirits. Mrs. Petrie: Is that the child? Such large gray eyes and curly black hair. Mrs. Lawrence: His mother was that beautiful actress who died last autumn of—what was it? Pneumonia? Mrs. Petrie: Consumption. The boy’s father was also an actor and a drunkard! One day
1 READ January 19, 2009
Narrators 1, 2, 3 Mrs. Usher Mr. Usher Edgar Poe Frances Allan, Edgar’s foster mother Mrs. Petrie Mrs. Lawrence John Allan, Edgar’s foster father Rob Stanard, Edgar’s boyhood friend Jane Stanard, Rob’s mother Master Clark, Edgar’s teacher Mr. Royster, Elmira’s father Elmira Royster, Edgar’s childhood sweetheart Z. Collins Lee Ebenezer Maria Clemm, Edgar’s aunt Virginia Clemm, Edgar’s cousin Dr. Snodgrass
By Catherine Gourley
January 19, 2009 READ 2
Mrs. Usher: What will become of the children? Narr 1: Mr. Usher gazes up the stairwell, dimly lit by wall sconces. On the top stair, gazing down at the visitors through the spindles, is a 2- year-old boy. Mr. Usher: Hello, Eddie. We’ve come to see you. Narr 2: Mr. Usher whispers to his wife as they climb the stairs. Mr. Usher: Surely some good family will take the children. Mrs. Usher: Eliza told me there are relatives in Baltimore. Perhaps— Narr 3: The sudden sound of a woman’s racking cough stops Mrs. Usher on the top step. She gazes down the narrow hallway to a partially open door. Mrs. Usher: Poor, beautiful Eliza. Narr 1: Mr. Usher picks up Edgar in his arms. Mr. Usher: All this rain has kept
you from playing outside, hasn’t it, lad? Well, it will soon end. Narr 2: A few evenings later, the rain does end. Edgar stands at the foot of his mother’s sickbed and stares at her waxen face and at her black hair streamed across the soiled pillow. Edgar Poe: When will Mama wake up? Mrs. Usher: Not for a long, long time. She wanted you to have this so you should never forget her. Narr 3: She hands him a miniature portrait of Eliza. Mrs. Usher: Throw her a kiss now and say good-bye. You must kiss your little sister, Rosalie, too, for she is going away just like you. Edgar: Can’t she come with me? Mrs. Usher: No. She is going with Mrs. Mackenzie. Narr 1: Outside in the hall wait a man and a woman, John Allan and his wife, Frances Allan. Mr. Usher: Come here, Eddie, and say hello to your new ma and pa. Narr 2: The woman kneels and holds out her arms, but the man remains standing stiffly, distressed by the sour odors of sickness that fill the place. Frances Allan: I have no chil- dren, Edgar. You shall be my own little boy from now on. Narr 3: Edgar glances over his shoulder toward the sickroom, but Mrs. Usher has already softly shut the door.
(main characters in boldface)
friends of Eliza Poe’s
Narrator 1: The year is 1811. A dismal November rain is falling over Richmond, Virginia. A horse-drawn carriage splatters through the puddled streets. The driver reins the horse to a stop in front of a weathered boarding house on lower Main Street. Narrator 2: Mr. and Mrs. Usher step out of the carriage and hurry to the door. The horse—its body wet and steaming—hangs its head in the downpour. Narrator 3: The elderly couple enter the boarding house, a temporary home for actors traveling through the city. Mrs. Usher carries under a damp towel a dish of cold, greasy chicken legs. Mrs. Usher: Do you think she’ll be much improved today? Mr. Usher: ( gravely ) My dear, our Eliza is never going to get well again.
he simply walked out and was never seen again. Frances: Good evening, ladies. Mrs. Lawrence: Dear Frances, we were just commenting on what a beautiful child Edgar is. Frances: He can recite rhymes! John Allan: He sings and dances like his mother. Here. Off with your shoes, lad. Frances: John just loves to show Edgar off. Narr 3: The foster father undoes the shiny buckles of the boy’s shoes, then lifts him in his stocking feet onto the
DISMAL: gloomy or sorrowful RACKING: wrenchingly painful CONSUMPTION: an outdated term for tuberculosis
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dining room table. The room grows silent as the guests turn. Narr 1: Edgar begins to sing and dance in an elfish way. When the dance ends, John pours sweet-smelling wine into a teacup, which Edgar lifts in a toast. Edgar: To your fine health, one and all. Narr 2: Charmed, the guests applaud. Mrs. Petrie: He’s such a precious pet! Mrs. Lawrence: Will you be adopting him? Narr 3: Frances looks at her husband, now helping Edgar from the table. Frances: Of course, Mr. Allan loves children as much as I do. He has sworn to provide
Edgar with an excellent education. Mrs. Petrie: Then surely Mr. Allan has given the boy his name. Frances: Actually, no. I have not yet persuaded him to adopt Edgar. Mrs. Lawrence: Perhaps Mr. Allan simply requires more time to grow accustomed to the idea. Frances: Yes. A little more time.
Narr 1: So begins the second childhood of Edgar Poe. The first was brief and tainted with the pain of his mother’s illness. But life in the Allan home is all books and learning and velvet suits.
Narr 2: Frances Allan coddles the dark-eyed boy. John Allan praises him for excelling in his studies of Latin and Greek. Narr 3: As the years pass, Edgar learns to shoot and to box and—somewhat annoying to John—to write love poems to pretty girls. Narr 1: Then in the spring of 1823, Edgar’s life changes once again. Narr 2: A crowd of boys clamber onto Ludlow’s Wharf on the James River. Edgar, now 14, strips off his shirt and shoes. Beside him, his competitor—a boy named Mayo—also undresses. Rob Stanard: Six miles? Who can swim that far? Poe’s not afraid of anything. Not anything!
Narr 3: The two swimmers dive into the muddy river and strike out against the current for Tree Hill, 6 miles upstream. Two rowboats, full of boys, follow, ready to pick up the swimmers should their strength fail. Narr 1: The boys on the river- bank also follow, shouting encouragement. Narr 2: At 3 miles, Mayo gives up. The boys haul him into a boat. Amazingly, Poe keeps swimming. Narr 3: That night, Rob pleads with his mother. Rob: Don’t scold me for being late. I couldn’t leave! Oh, you should have seen him. By the time he crawled out of the river at Tree Hill, his back was covered with water blisters! Jane Stanard: What is this boy’s name? Rob: Edgar Poe. Let me bring him home one day so you can meet him. He writes poetry and has good manners. Narr 1: Across town, in the library at the Allan residence, an entirely different conversa- tion is going on. John: Showing off, that’s what he’s about. Frances: The other boys like him. He’s rather popular. John: Where is he now? Frances: In his room, writing. He wants you to publish a book of his poems. Will you, John? Narr 2: He hesitates. He is not a poor man, but neither is he wealthy.
John: I was an orphan myself. Nobody gave me all the things I have handed to Edgar— clothing, a good home, an education. He shows no grati- tude. Narr 3: Frances does not remind her husband of the one thing he has yet to give Edgar—the legal name of Allan. Narr 1: A few days later, a visitor arrives at the apart- ment of Master Clark, Edgar’s schoolteacher. Master Clark: Mr. Allan! How can I serve you? Narr 2: John sets a small bundle of papers on the master’s desk. Master Clark: What is this? Verses? John: Edgar’s work. What is your opinion of the rhymes? Are they any good? Master Clark: They are indeed good. Edgar is a born poet. John: He wishes to have this bundle published into a book. I vowed to see what I could do—upon your approval, that is. Master Clark: I must be frank. I like the boy very much, but you have spoiled him. He is an excellent pupil but arrogant and mischievous. That 6-mile swim made him quite a hero in the eyes of the boys. John: So my wife tells me. Master Clark: In short, sir, to publish a book when he is but 14 would excessively flatter his self-esteem. Narr 3: Allan clears his throat, then stands.
John: The women in the house have spoiled him, not I. As for the poems, I shall do as you say and forget them. Master Clark: Forget them? Oh, I should not go that far. Your son is a credit to you, sir. One day he— John: Edgar Poe is my ward, not my son. Good day. Narr 1: With that, John Allan leaves in a huff.
Narr 2: Dressed in white muslin , Jane Stanard is in the garden feeding pigeons. In a shaft of golden sunlight, birds flutter above her. The vision stuns Edgar, and he whispers just loud enough for her to hear. Edgar: This is Rob’s mother? No, she is Helen, a goddess. Narr 3: Jane, startled, turns around. Jane: Oh, so you are Edgar Poe. Rob has talked about you. Narr 1: Edgar stares as if in a trance. Her dark eyes are like the eyes in the miniature portrait of his mother that Edgar has treasured all of childhood. Jane: Rob tells me you are a poet. When you come to visit again, you must bring some of your poems and read to me.
WARD: a person who is under protection or control of another MUSLIN: a woven cotton fabric used for clothing, bedsheets, and a variety of other uses
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Edgar: I don’t much like the taste. Narr 3: Suddenly the room is very warm. The liquor flushes his face. His hearts pounds. Narr 1: The boys gather their cards and begin to gamble. Narr 2: Edgar excels at his studies but not at cards. Each night, his debts mount. One afternoon, charged with a 60- cent fine at the library, Edgar counts out the coins in his pocket. Edgar: Fifty-four cents. That’s all I’ve got. Narr 3: The librarian takes it. Z. Collins Lee: You ought not to drink, Eddie. You can’t carry your liquor. And why do you play cards if you always lose? Edgar: How else am I to get some money? Pa has aban- doned me. Z. Collins Lee: What of the girl you left behind? Have you heard from her? Edgar: I am too busy studying to worry about Elmira just now. Narr 1: That is not quite the truth. He has written letters, many letters, and not one has she answered. Narr 2: In Richmond on a February evening, Elmira appears at the door to her father’s library. Elmira: Is that the mail you are reading, Father? Mr. Royster: Were you expecting some correspondence? Elmira: Edgar Poe promised to write to me. Has no letter come?
Mr. Royster: I told you he was unreliable. Narr 3: Disappointed and confused, Elmira returns to her room and gazes out the window at the Allan resi- dence, where once Edgar had signaled to her. Elmira: Eddie, why have you betrayed me? Narr 1: Downstairs, Mr. Royster opens a drawer and removes a bundle of letters. One by one he drops them on the fire in the hearth. Narr 2: Meanwhile, 60 miles away, in room No. 13... Z. Collins Lee: Read us the story, Eddie. Narr 3: Tonight the cards and the wine are forgotten. The young men have gathered in No. 13 to hear Edgar read another of his stories. Narr 1: He reads with passion, and his friends listen. They are spellbound. When the story ends, Edgar looks up expectantly. They do not always understand Edgar’s stories. Now one boy breaks the mood. Ebenezer: There’s just one thing wrong with it, Edgar. The hero’s name—Gaffy— comes up too often. Narr 2: A roar of laughter erupts. Ebenezer: Get rid of Gaffy and you’ll have quite a story. Narr 3: Enraged that they have not taken his work seriously, Edgar tosses the entire manu- script into the fire. Z. Collins Lee: No! Stop! Don’t
do that! They were only teasing you! Edgar: Get out! Get out! Narr 1: The students file from the room as the flames crackle and snap, devouring Edgar’s words.
Narr 2: In Richmond, letters of debt for Edgar Poe have begun to arrive at the resi- dence of John Allan. Furious, he calls for his carriage and travels to the university. Z. Collins Lee: Is that your foster father? Edgar: At last! Narr 3: Their meeting takes place in No. 13. The room is cold and damp. John paces, his hands behind his back. John: Why do you not burn a fire? Edgar: I’ve no money for wood. John: Because you have gambled it away. Edgar: If you had provided the funds that you knew I required when you sent me here, I would not have been forced to try to win a few coins to feed myself and clean my clothes. Narr 1: In the hallway, Z. Collins Lee and the others overhear the heated argument. Narr 2: John flashes several debt notices in Edgar’s face. John: Two thousand dollars! Do you suppose that I will pay these? Edgar: I supposed you would
honor your word and provide the education you promised on the day my mother died. John: You forget yourself, sir. I am not your father and there- fore not legally responsible for these notes. Narr 3: The words sting, but what John Allan says next cuts deeper. John: You will return to Rich- mond and work for me in the counting house and in that way clear your debts. Edgar: Leave the university? But I have placed at the top of my classes. I intend to be a man of letters. John: You, sir, are an idler , a gambler, no better than a thief!
Narr 1: Once Edgar returns to Richmond, he calls upon Elmira. Mr. Royster does not invite him inside. Mr. Royster: Elmira is in North Carolina with relatives. Edgar: She’s gone? Surely you will give me her address so that I— Mr. Royster: Elmira is engaged to be married to Mr. Shelton. She has quite forgotten about you. Edgar: But we were engaged. We made a vow to each other! Mr. Royster: How would you support her? I understand you were dismissed from the university— Edgar: Is that what my foster father has told you? It’s not true!
Mr. Royster: —for gambling and for drunken behavior. Narr 2: Edgar feels a rage building inside him. He has been unjustly treated, abused by the very person who had sworn to protect him. Narr 3: Weeks pass. Edgar works in the counting house, as required, but his relation- ship with his foster father is strained. Narr 1: At last, Edgar rebels. One morning, reminded again by John Allan of his worth- lessness, Edgar storms out of the house. He leaves with nothing, not even a hat or a coat. Narr 2: For one day and night, he wanders the streets. On the second day, angry words flow from his pen in a letter to his supposed protector. Edgar: ( writing ) Sir! My deter- mination is to leave you and find some place in this wide
world where I will be treated—not as you have treated me. I request that you send me at once my trunk containing my clothes and books. Send also money enough to book passage to the northern cities. If you will support me for one month, I shall then be able to care for myself and live my life according to my own wishes. Narr 3: He signs the letter Edgar Poe, purposely omitting the name Allan. Narr 1: He receives no answer. On the third day, still without money and warm clothing, he reconsiders and writes a second, softer letter.
HEARTH: the floor of a fireplace SPELLBOUND: enchanted, entranced IDLER: an inactive person
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Edgar: ( writing ) Dear Sir, Be so good as to send me my trunk with my clothes—I am in the greatest necessity. Narr 2: Still, no trunk, no books, and no money arrive. Edgar: ( writing ) I have not tasted food since yesterday morning. I have nowhere to sleep at night but roam about the street. I am nearly exhausted. I beseech you. I have not one cent in the world. If you do not answer my plea, I fear for the conse- quences. Narr 3: No word reaches him. Desperate, Edgar persuades the captain of a coal barge to allow him to work for his passage north. He flees Rich- mond in the night, an orphan still.
Narr 1: From here, Edgar’s life story twists and turns, tumbles down blind alleys, then retraces its steps and strikes out in new directions, as if the poet were lost in a labyrinth. Narr 2: In a way, he was. Narr 3: In Boston, Edgar manages to publish his first book of poems. But it is a thin volume that earns not a single cent—a blind alley. Narr 1: He turns another corner, enlisting in the Army. With his athletic abilities and his intelligence, he soon rises in the ranks. But an enlisted man can go only so far. Another dead end. Narr 2: Swallowing his pride,
Edgar begs his foster father’s forgiveness and asks for his help in securing an appoint- ment to West Point. John Allan gives in. Yet after only a few months, Edgar is dishon- orably discharged from the academy for failing to attend drills. Narr 3: Edgar leaves West Point as he left Richmond, with nothing much but his pride and his imagination. He wends his way downriver to New York City, attempting to find work and to sell his stories. Narr 1: Bouts of drinking stall him, but eventually he finds his way to Baltimore. There, he meets the mother and daughter who will change his life forever—his aunt Maria Clemm and his cousin Virginia. Maria Clemm: Of course you must stay with us. You are family. I’ve not much money and food is often scarce, but you can live in the garret. Narr 2: In this tiny room, among his own people at last, Edgar writes of murders and morgues, madness and menace—in short, of people’s predisposition to evil.
Narr 3: Day after day, his affection deepens for Maria— whom he calls “Muddy”—and for 11-year-old Virginia— whom he calls “Sissy.” Maria: Perhaps one day even yet Mr. Allan will reconcile with you.
Edgar: Should that happen, I won’t forget you, Muddy. Or Virginia. Maria: Someday Virginia might make you a devoted wife. She’s awfully fond of you, Eddie. Edgar: Sissy is just a child. Maria: She won’t always be so young. As her mother, I must think of her future. Her uncle would like her to come live with him. Edgar: Muddy, don’t send her away from me! I couldn’t live if I lost her. You and Sissy are all I have in the world! Narr 1: One day, word reaches Edgar that his foster father is dying. Edgar: How often has he mocked my dependence on him and my failure to earn a decent living? Maria: Surely on his deathbed he will find it in his heart to forgive you! Narr 2: Edgar scrapes up enough money for the journey. But in Richmond, he is refused entry to the house. Narr 3: Edgar pushes past old Dab, the butler, bounds up the stairs, and enters his foster father’s bedroom. Narr 1: The man’s eyes are sunken, and his skin is sallow. When he sees Edgar, he explodes in a rage. John: Get out! Get out! Edgar: Sir! Please allow me to make amends before it is too late. Narr 2: John reaches for a cane and swings it overhead.
John: Get out, you black heart! Narr 3: Without surprise a few days later, Edgar hears of John Allan’s death. He has died a wealthy man and has willed his estate to his two illegitimate sons. Narr 1: The will makes no mention whatsoever of Edgar Poe.
Narr 2: It is a cold night 11 years later, 1845. The years have been both kind and cruel to Edgar. He has married Virginia, and for years they have been devoted to each other. Narr 3: Yet—cruelly—like so many of the people Edgar has dared to love, she is dying of the very illness that killed his mother. Narr 1: He has published stories and poems, and admi- ration for him as an author has grown. Narr 2: However, his work earns him little money with which to live comfortably. Narr 3: In the parlor of a home in New York City, a fire burns brightly. All eyes turn to the dark-haired man sitting in the corner. Narr 1: “We would be so honored,” one of the guests begins, “if you should read your poem to us.” Edgar: Very well, but I prefer that the lights be dimmed. Narr 2: Edgar stands. Gone are the velvet coats and shiny buckles of his youth. His
clothes are well-worn and out of style. Gone too is the lean, athletic body. Years of poverty have beaten Edgar. Narr 3: Still, his voice is strong and hypnotic as he recites the verse that has brought him respect at last. Edgar: Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,/Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore... Narr 1: The fire’s flames cast long, birdlike shadows across the floor. The guests listen breathlessly. Edgar: Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;/ And each sepa- rate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Narr 2: As they listen, each guest wonders, Who is the woman Lenore of whom the poet has written so passion- ately? They know nothing of Eliza, Jane Stanard, Elmira Royster, or even of Fran ces Allan, who had died years earlier. Edgar: And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting... Narr 3: Late that night, Edgar makes his way home to his
LABYRINTH: a place constructed of intricate passageways WENDS: directs one’s course GARRET: a room or unfinished part of a house just under the roof PREDISPOSITION: natural tendency SALLOW: of a sickly, yellowish color
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