urban studies

year, George R. Graham, proprietor of The Casket, bought th Gentleman's from Burton, and under Graham's editorship Poe's story appeared in both The Casket and the Gentleman's for De- cember. Both issues carried the new heading "Graham's - Magazine on the first page of text, but each retained its individual title page and serial number, and the Gentleman's had eight additional pages concluding a continued story begun some months before. Othe wise, the two issues were identical. Each, however, served to com- plete a volume. With the issue for January 1841, Graham began publishing Graham's Lady's and Gentleman's Magazine (The Casket and Gentleman's United), numbered in sequence with the old Casket, and within a few months he added Poe to his staff.

TEXTS

(A)The Casket for December 1840 (17:267-270) and [Burton's] Centlernan's Magazine for December 1840 (7:267-270), both captioned on first page of tex "Graham's Magazine"; (B) Tales (1845), pp. 219-228; (C) J. Lorirner Graham copy of the last with one manuscript correction; (D) Works (1850), II, 39 8-407, PHANTASY-PIECES, title only.

Text (C) is followed. The Lorimer Graham correction is merely insertion of a period at the end of the final footnote — something done independently by Griswold or his printer in Works (D). The spelling decrepid was a recognized variant. There were five printer's end-of-line dashes in the first printing (A); two were eliminated for Tales, but three were allowed to remain. In B and C and in our text they fall within the line.

THE MAN OF THE CROWD. [C]

Ce grand roalheur, de ne pouvoir e'tre seul. La Bru3Qre.

It was well said of a certain German book that "er lasst sich nicht lesen" — it does not permit itself to be read. 1 There are some secrets which do not permit themselves to be told. Men die nightly in their beds, wringing the hands of ghostly confessors, and look- ing them piteously in the eyes — die with despair of heart and con- vulsion of throat, on account of the hideousness of mysteries which

will not suffer themselves to be revealed. Now -and then, alas, the conscience of man takes up a burthen so heavy in horror that it can be thrown down only into the grave. And thus the essence of all crime is undivulged.

Not long ago, about the closing in of an evening in autumn, I sat at the large bow window of the D Coffee-House in Lon- don. 2 For some months I had been iii in health, but was now con- valescent, and, with returning strength, found tnyself in one of those happy moods which are so precisely the converse of ennui — moods of the keenest appetency, when the film from the mental vision departs — the axXvs o irpcv Eirrit-v and the intellect, electrified, surpasses as greatly its every-day condition, as does the vivid yet candid reason of Leibnitz,a the mad and flimsy rhetoric of Gorgias. 4 Merely to breathe was enjoyment; and I derived positive pleasure even from many of the legitimate sources of pain. I felt a calm but inquisitive interest in every thing. With a cigar in my mouth and a newspaper in my lap, I had been amusing myself for the greater part of the afternoon, now in poring over adver- tisements, now in observing the promiscuous company in the room, and now in peering through the smoky panes into the street.

This latter is one of the principal thoroughfares of the city, and had been very much crowded during the whole day. But, as the darkness came on, the throng momently increased; and, by the time the lamps were well lighted,b two dense and continuous tides of population were rushing past the door. At this particular period of the evening I had never before been in a similar situa- tion, and the tumultuous sea of human heads filled me, therefore, with a delicious novelty of emotion. I gave up, at length, all care of things within the hotel, and became asborbed in contemplation of the scene without.

At first my observations took an abstract and generalizing turn. I looked at the passengers in masses, and thought öf them in their aggregate relations. Soon, however, I descended to details„ and regarded with minute interest the innumerable varieties of figure, dress, air, gait, visage, and expression of countenance.

Title: In the Table of Contents this is (B, C) listed as The Man in the Crowd. Motto: French unaccented (A)

• 5 o 6 •

Combe, (A) b litten (A)

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By far the greater number of those who went by hadT a satisfied business-like demeanor, and seemed to be thinking only of making , their way through the press. Their brows were knit, and their eyes rolled quickly; when pushed against by fellow-wayfarers the evinced no symptom of impatience, but adjusted their clothes and hurried on. Others, still a numerous class, were restle$s in their movements, had flushed faces, and talked and gesticulatedto thera selves, as if feeling in solitude on account of the very denseness öf the company around. When impeded in their progress, thes people suddenly ceased muttering, but redoubled their gesticula tions, and awaited, with ån absent and overdone smile upön th lips, the course of the persons impeding them. If jostled, the bowed profusely to the lostlers, and appeared overwhelmed wiih confusion. — There was nothing very distinctive about these tW large classes beyond what I have noted. Their habiliments be longed to that order which is pointeclly tenned the decent. The were undoubtedly noblemen, merchants, attorneys, tradesmen stock-jobbers the Eupatrids 5 and the common-places of society men of leisure and men actively engaged in affairs of their own conducting business upon their own responsibility. They did not greatly-excite my attention.

The tribe of clerks was an obvious one and here I discerned two rerharkable divisions. There were the junior clerks of fiash houses — young gentlemen with tight coats, bright boots, well- oiled hair, and supercilious lips. Setting aside a certain dapperness of caxriage, which may be termed deskisane for want of a bett word, the manner of these persons seemed to me an exact fac simile of what had been the perfection of bon ton about twelve eighteen rnonths before. They wore the cast-off graces* of=the try; — and this, I believe, involves the best definition of the clås

The division of the upper clerks of staunch 'firnis; or o "steady old fellows," it was not possible to niistake. These we known by their coats and pantaloons of black or brOWn,'Inade to si comfortably, with white cravats and waistcoats; bräälsolid-lookin shoes, and thick hose or gaiters. They had' all slightly b al heads, from which the right ears, long used to pen-holding, had a _

THE MAN OF THE CROWD

odd habit of standing off on end. I observed that they always re- moved or settled their hats with both hands, and wore watches, with short gold chains of a substantial and ancient pattern. Theirs was the affectation of respectability; — if indeed there be an affecta- tion so honorable.

There were many individuals of dashing appearance, whom I easily understoodd as belonging to the race of swell piek-pockets, with which all great cities are infested. I watched these gentry with much inquisinveness, and found it clifficult to imagine how they should ever be mistaken for gentlemen by gentlemen themselves. Their voluminousness of wristband, with an air of excessive frank- ness, should betray them at once.

The gamblers, of whom I descried not a few, were still more easily recognisable. They wore every variety of dress, from that of the desperate thimble-rig bully, 6 with velvet waistcoat, fancy neck-

, erchief

: giit chains, and filagreed buttons, to that of the scrupu- lously mornate clergyman, than which nothing could be less liable to suspicion. Still all were distinguished by a certain sodden swarthiness of complexion, a filmy dimness of eye, and pallor and compression of lip. There were two other traits, moreover, by

Inch I could always detect them; — a guarded lowness of tone in coriversation, and a more than ordinary extension of the thumb in a direction at right angles with the fingers. — Very often, in com- pany with these sharpers, I observed an order of men somewhat

ifferent in habits, but still birds of a kindred feather. They may be defined as the gentlemen who live by their wits. They seem to

ey upon the public in two battalions — that of the dandies and at of the military men. Of the first grade the leading features are ng locks and smiles; of the second frogged coats and frowns. •Descending in the scale of what is termed gentility, I found

er and deeper themes for speculation. I saw Jew pedlars, with awk eyes flashing from countenances whose every other feature

re only an expression -of abject humility; sturdy professional eet beggars scowling upon-mendicants of a better staMp, whom

despair alone had driven ,forth into the night for charity; feeble and, ghastly invalids, upon whom death had placed a sure hand, and d set down (A)

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INTERLUDE: r8 4 o

who sidled and tottered through the mob, looking every one be- seechingly in the face, as if in search of some chance consolation, some lost hope; modest young girls returning from long and late labor to a cheerless home, and shrinking more tearfully than nantly from the glances of ruffians, whose direct contact, even, could not be avoided; women of the town of all kinds and of all ages — the unequivocal beauty in the prime of her womanhoods putting one in mind of the statue ine Lucian, 7 with the'surface o Parian marble, and the interior filled with filth — the loathsom and utterly lost leper in rags — the wrinkled, bejewelled and pain begrimed beldame, making a last effort at youth — the mere child of immature form, yet, from long association, an adept in the dread- ful coquetries of her trade, and burning with a rabid ambition to be ranked the equal of her elders in vice; 8 drunkards innumerabl and indescribable — some in shreds and patches, reeling, inarticu late, with bruised visage and lack-lustre eyes — some in whole . al- though filthy garments, with a slightly unsteady swagger, thick sensual lips, and hearty-looking rubicund faces — others clothed in materials which had once been good, and which even now were scrupulously well brushed — men who walked with a more than naturally firm and springy step, but whose countenances were fear- fully pale,,whose eyes hideously wild and red, and who clutched with quivering fingers, as they strode through the crowd, at every object which came within their reach; beside these, pie-men, porters, coal-heavers, sweeps; organ-grinders, monkey-exhibfter and ballad mongers, those , Who vended with those who sang; ragg artizans and exhausted laborers of every description, and all fu of a noisy and inordinate vivacity which jarred discordantly upnn the ear, and gave an aching sensation to the eye.

As the night deepened, so deepened to me the interest;df t ii

scene; for not only did the general character of the crowd nr, terially alter (its gentler features retiring in the gradual 'wit drawal of the more orderly portion of the people, and its vharsh ones coming out into bolder relief, as the.late hour brought fo every species of infamy from its den,) but the rays of the gas-lam feeble at first ui their struggle with the dying day,

e of (A) f and;Still -(A)

THE MAN OF THE CROWD

length gained ascendancy, and threw over every thing a fitful and arish lustre. All was dark yet splendid — as that ebony to which as been likened the style of Tertullian. 8

The wild effects of the light enchained me to an examination of ndividual faces; and although the rapidity with which the world f lightg flitted before the window, prevented me from casting ore than a- glance upon each visage, still it seemed that, in my en peculiar mental state, I could frequently read, 'even in that

rief interval of a glance, the history of long years. With my brow to the glass, I was thus occupied in scrutinizing

he mob, when suddenly there came into view a countenance (that decrepid old man, some sixty-five or seventy years of age,) — a

untenance which at once arrested and absorbed my whole atten- on, on account of the absolute idiosyncracy of its expression. Any mg even remotely resembling that expression I had never seen

efore. I well remember that my first thought, upon beholding it, as that Retzsch,h had he viewed it, would have greatly preferred

it to his own pictural incarnations of the fiend.le As I endeavored, during the brief minute of my original survey, to form some analy-

s of the meaning conveyed, there arose confusedly and paradoxi- ly within my mind, the ideas of vast mental power, of caution, of

enuriousness, of avarice, of coolness, of rnalice, of blood-thirsti- ness, of triurnph, of merriment, of excessive terror, of intense — of

reme despair. I felt singularly aroused, startled, fascinated. w wild a hiftory," I said to rayself, "is written within that

som!"il Then came a craving desire to keep the man in view — know more of him. Hurriedly putting on an overcoat, and

izinglny hat and cane, I made my way into the street, and pushed rough",. the crowd in the direction which I had seen him take; for

ad already disappeared. With some little difficulty I at length e within sight of hirn, approached, and followed him closely, cautionsly, so as not to attract his attention.

ad now a ,good opportunity of examining his person. He ort ui stature, , very thin, and apparently very feeble. His

enetalfy,,)were filthy and ragged; but as he came, now

corrected editorially

- 5 1,:ö=

INTERLUDE: 1840

and then, within the strong glare of a lamp, I perceived that his linen, although dirty, was of beautiful texture; and my vision de- ceived me, or, through a rent in a closely-buttoned and evidently second-handed roquelairei which enveloped hira, 12 I caught a glimpse iboth of a diamond and of a dagger.i These observations heightened my curiosity, and I resolved to follow the stranger whithersoever he should go. 13

It was now fully night-fall, and a thick huraid fog hung över the city, ksoon enclingk in a settled and heavy rain. This change of weather had an odd effect upon the crowd, the whole of which was at once put into new commotion, and overshadowed by a world of umbrellas. The waver, -the jostle, and the hum increased in a tenfold degree. For my own part I did not much regard the rain — the lurking of an old fever in my system rendering the moisture somewhat too dangerously pleasant. Tying a handker- chief about my mouth, I kept on. For half an hour the old man held his way with difficulty along the great thoroughfare; and -I here walked close at his elbow through fear of losing sight of hirn. Never once turning his head to look back, he did not observe me. By and bye he passed into a cross street, which, although densely filled with people, was not quite so much thrönged as the main one he had quitted. Here a change in his derneanor became evi- dent. He walked more slowly and with less object than before — more hesitatingly.-He crossed and re-crossed the way repeatedly without apparent aim; and the press was still so thick that, at every such movement, I was obliged -to follow him closely. The street was a narrow and long one, and his course lay within, it for nearly an hour, during 'which the passengers had gradually diminished to about that number which is ordinarily seen at noon in Broadway near the Park so vast a difference is there between a Londo populace and that of the most frequented American city. A second turn brought us into a square, brilliantly lighted,m and overflowing with life. The old manner of the stranger re-appeared. 'His thin fell upon his breast, while his eyes rolled wildly from under h" knit brows, in every direction, upon those who hemmed hirn

THE MAN OF THE CROWD

He urged his way steadily and perseveringly. I was surprised, how- ever, to find, upon his having made the circuit of the square, that he turned and retraced his steps. Still more was I astonished to see hirn repeat the same walk several times — once nearly detecting me as he carae round with a sudden movement. 15

In this exercise he spent another° hour, at the end of which we met with far less interruption from passengers than at first. The rain fell fast; the air grew cool; and the people were retiring to tfi'eir homes. With a gesture of° impatience, the wanderer passed nto a bye-street comparatively deserted. Down this, some quarter

of a mile long, he rushed with an activity I could not have dreamed of seeing in one so aged, and which put me to much trouble in pursuit. A few minutes brought us to a large and busy bazaar, with the localities of which the stranger appeared well acquainted, and where his original demeanor again became apparent, as he forced his way to and fro, without aim, among the host of buyers and sellers.

During the hour and a half, or thereabouts, which we passed in this place, it required rauch caution on my part to keep hirn within reach without attracting his observation. Luckily I wore a pair of caoutchoud> over-shoes, and could move about in perfect silence. At no rnoment did he see that I watched hirn. He entered shop after shop, priced nothing, spoke no word, and looked at all objects with a wild and vacant stare. I was now utterly arnazed at his be- haviour, and fiindy resolved that we should not part until I had satisfied myself in some raeasure respecting hirn.

A loud-toned clock struck eleven, and the company were fast deserting the bazaar. A shop-keeper, in putting up a shutter, ostled the old man, and at the instant I saw a strong shudder come ver his frame. He hurried into the street, looked anxiously

around him for an instant, and then ran with incredible swiftness through many ,crooked and people-less lanes, until we emerged once more upon the great thoroughfare whence we had started —

e street of the D — Hotel. It no longer wore, however, the me aspect. It was still brilliant with gas; but the rain fell fiercely,

i roquelaire (A) j . j either of a diamond, or of a dagger. (A)

k . . k threatening to end (4) 1 street way (A) m litten, (A)

about ah (A)' of Whäi seeMedto be petulant (A) . ,

gum (A)

• - 5 1 2

- and there were few persons to be seen. The stranger grew pale He Walked moodily some paces up the once populous avenue, then; with a heavy sigh, turned in the direction of the river, and, plun ing through a great variety of devious ways, came out, at length, in view of one of the principal theatres: It was about being closed, and the audience were thronging from the doors. I saw the old, man gasp as if for breath while he threw himself amid the crowd but I thought that the intense agony of his countenance had, in some measure, abated. His head again fell upon his breast; he a peared as I had seen hirn at first. I observed that he now ,took the course in which had gone the greater number of the audience but, upon the whole, I was at a loss to comprehend the waywar ness of his actions.

As he proceeded, the company grew more scattered, and his öl uneasiness and vacillation were resumed. Sor some time he lowed closely a party of some ten or twelve roisterers; but from thi number one by one dropped off, until three only remained 't gether, in a narrow and gloomy lane little frequented. The stranger paused, and, for a moment, seemed lost in thought; then with every mark of agitation, pursued rapidly a route whiCh brought us to the verge of the city, amid regions very differen from those we had hitherto traversed. It was the most noisome quar ter of London, where every thing wore the worst impress of -the most deplorable poverty, and of the most desperate crime. Byr dim light of an accidental lamp, tall, antique, worm-eaten, wooden tenements were seen tottering to their fall, 16 in directions so män and capricious that scarce the semblance of a passage was discern- ible between them. The paving-stones lay at random, clisplaced from their beds by the rankly-growing grass. Horrible filth festered in the damrned-up gutters. The whole atmosphere teemed With desolation. Yet, as we proceeded, the sounds of human life reVived by sure degrees, and at length large bands of the rnost abandone of a London populace were seen reeling to and fro. The ipirits o the old man again flickered up, as a lamp which is near its" death hour. Once more he strode onward with elastic tread. Sifddenl corner was turned, a blaze of light burst upon our sight; and we

q deadly pale. (A)

5 1 4

1Y.L £1.1.‘ 1. 11 ■■-.1 LN. VY

stood before one of the huge suburban temples of Intemperance — one of the palaces of the fiend, Gin. 17

It was now nearly day-break; but a number of wretched ine- briates still pressed in and out of the fiaunting entrance. With a half shriek of joy the old man forced a passage within, resumed at once his original bearing, and stalked backward and forward, without apparent object, among the throng. He had not been thus long occupied, however, before a rush to the doors gave token that

.the host was closing them for the night. It was something even more intense than despair that I then observed upon the counte-, nance of the singular being whom I had watched so pertinaciously. ,et he did not hesitate in his career, but, with a mad energy, re-

traced his steps at once, to the heart of the rnighty London. Long and swiftly he fled, while I followed him in the wildest amazement, resolute not to abandon a scrutiny in which I now felt an interest all-absorbing. The sun arose while we proceeded, and, when we

ad once again reached that most thronged mart of the populous town the street of the D Hotel, it presented an appearance of human bustle and activity scarcely inferior to what I had seen on the evening before. And here, long, amid the momently increasing confusion, did I persist in my pursuit of the stranger. But, as usual, he walked to and fro, and during the day did not pass from out the urmoil of that street. And, as the shades of the second evening

came on, I grew wearied unto death, and, stopping fully in front of he wanderer, gazed at him steadfastly in the face. 18 He noticed me

not, but resumed his solemn walk, while I, ceasing to follow, re-, mamed absorbed in contemplation. "This old man," I said at ength, is the type and the genius of deep crime. He refuses to be one. He is the man of the crowd. It will be in vain to follow; for

I shall learn no more of hirn, nor of his deeds. The worst heart of e world is a grosser book than the 'Hortulus Anincm;* r and per-

aps it is but one of the great mercies of God that 'er lasst sich icht lesen.' "

e "ITortutus Animw cum Oratiunculis Aliquibus Superadditis" of unninger.

Footnote added first irt- B. The end of the footnote. A is dated at the

Lorimer Graham (C) correction, is end November, 1840. merely the addition of a period at the

• 5 1 5 •

INTERLUDE: 1840

NOTES

Motto: "That great evil, to be miable to be alone," is from L -2. Bruyere'S'

Les CaracQres, section 99, "De l'homme." It is also quoted in "Metzengerstein."

1. This quotation recurs at the end of the tale, and is discussed in , note 19.

2. Poe's descriptions frequently echo Dickens' language. The most strikin' parallels are quoted in the notes below; others, less important, might be found.t. Hervey Allen in Israfel (1926), II, 515, thought Poe's story "reveals impressions of the visit to London with the Allans," but while a schoolboy of tw \elve, o refined Arnerican family, rnight observe large crowds in London streets by daY he would know nothing of gin-shops at first hand.

3. The Greek Phrase rneans "the rnist that previously was upon [them]." It is adapted from the Iliad, V, 127, where Athene reinoves the haze from the eyes of Diornedes, to permit him to distinguish the gods in battle. Poe used the sarrie words in his "Arnerican Novel-Writing" (not collected by Harrison) in the PittS- burgh Literary Examiner and Western Monthly Review for August 1839.

4. In a review of Mrå. Sigourney's Letters to Young Ladies (Southern Liter- ary Messenger, July 1836), Poe accuses Leibnitz of "a multiplicity of errors' on the subject of the faculty of Memory, but in another review quotes him approvingly. However, the philosopher named at this point in the earlier versints of this tale is George Combe (1788-1858), now chiefly remembered as a phrenol- ogist. He was also a moral philosopher, advocating the study of the natural world as a guide to hurnan conduct. He visited America in 1838. Poe referre to hirn favorably in a review of Amos Dean's Philosophy of Hurnan Life in

Burton's, February 1840, and as "George Combe — than whom a more candid never, perhaps, wrote or spoke," in a review of Macaulay's Gritical an

Miscellaneous Essays in Graham's, June 1841. Gorgias of Leontini, on the othe hand, was a statesman and sophist of the time of Plato, who gave his name to Socratic dialogue on rhetoric. His style was elaborate, to the poin\t of absurdit He is narned -also in "How to Write a Blackwood Article."

5. Eupatrids are persons belonging to the noblest farnilies.

6. ThiMble rig is the shell game.

7. The passage referred to in Lucian of Samosata is in the twenty=fo section of his Somnium ("The Dfeam," also called "The Cock") and is mS »e. Poe in a review of Lord Brougham's Historical Sketches of Statesme'n Flourished in the Time of George III in Burton's, September "Fifty Suggestions," number 21.

8. One source of the description of the prostitutes is in "The Pawbb Shop" in Sketches by Boz:

In the next box is a young female, whose attire, miserably poor, --but tremely gaudy, wretchedly cold, but scrupulously fine, but too plaifil <Ybes e her station in life. The rich satin gown with its faded trimmings the out thin shoes, and pink silk stockings — the sumrner bonnet the sunken face where a daub of rouge only serves as an'inde -X7r-o- :the,raya:gesk of squandered health ... and where the practisefl rnileis awretched mocke of the misery of the heart — cannot be mistaken.

THE MAN OF THE CROWD 9. Jean-Louis Guez de Balzac (1594-1655) said this of the style of Tertullian

(A.n. 16o-23o); according to Menagiana (second edition, Paris, 1694), p. 86. Poe probably used it at second hand.

ro. Friedrich August Moritz Retzsch (1779-1857) was a German painter and engraver, noted especially for his illustrations of Goethe's Faust. In his long review of Henry F. Chorley's Memorials of Mrs. Hemans (SLM, October 1836), Poe notes that "Retzsch and Flaxman were Mrs. H's favorites among modern artists. "

11. Compare "To Helen Whitman," line 42: "What wild heart-histories seem to lie enwritten."

12. A roquelaire (usually spelled roquelaure) is a knee-length cloak, men- tioned also in "The Cask of Amontillado."

13. This is an echo of St. Luke 9:57, "I will follow thee whithersoever thou goest."

14. City Hall Park in Poe's day was the center of life in New York City.

15. The source of much of the description of the old man and his behavior in Dickens' "Thoughts about People," which describes at St.,James's Park a

man who "walked up and down before the little patch of grass on which the chairs are placed for hire, not as if he were doing it for pleasure or recreation, but as if it were a matter of compulsion."

16. Compare Gray's "Impromptu," line 14: "Turrets and arches nodding to their fall." There is a similar description of dilapidated streets and houses m Poe's "King Pest."

17. This paragraph and the next owe much to Dickens' sketch of "Gin- Shops" which Poe adrnired enough to reprint in full in his review of Watkins Tottle (SLM, June 1836). Pertinent parts are:

The filthy and miserable appearance of this part of London can hardly be imagined by those who have not witnessed it. Wretched houses, with broken windows patched with rags and paper, every room let out to a different family, and in many instances to two, or even three filth every where — a gutter before the houses and a drain behind them — clothes drying at the windows, slops emptying from the ditto; girls of fourteen or fifteen, with matted hair, walking about bare-footed, and in old white great coats, almost their only covering; boys of all ages, in coats of all sizes, and no coats at all; men and wornen, in every variety of scanty and dirty apparel, lounging about, scolding, drinking, srnoking, squabbling, fighting, and swearing.

You turn the comer. What a change! All is light and brilliancy. The hum of many voices issues from that splendid gin-shop....

It is growing late, and the throng of men, women, and children who have een constantly going in and out, dwindles down to two or three occasional

stragglers — cold wretched-looking creatures, in the last stage of emaciation d disease. The Imot of Irish laborers become furious in their disputes; . Some) of the party are bome off to the station-house, and the remainder

mk home to beat their wives for complaining, and kick the children for dar- to be hungry.

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INTERLUDE: 1840

18. Compare "Silence — a Fable": "And the lynx lay down a't the feet of the Demon, and looked at him steadily in the face."

19. The German quotation appears also (applied to a book by "Mr. Mathews") in the forty-sixth of Poe's "Fifty Suggestions." The Latin work here mentioned is certainly the Ortulus anime cum oratiunculis

printed at Strass- burg by Johann Reinhard GriMinger, January 31, 1500 (no. 8937 in Hain's Repertorium Bibllographicum, Stuttgart, 1826-38), of which there is a copy in the British Museum. Poe's spelling of the title and the printer's narne are retained here as given in all his texts. They are those of his probable source, Isaac D'Israeli's "Religious Nouvellettes" in Curiosities of Literature.

D'Israeli there

describes the book as having indecorous illustrations. Poe presumably had s, some

other source for his German sentence, which has not yet been found. I have no

emended er because, although Buch is neuter (calling ior es), the word hortulus

is rnasculine. At the beginning of his story Poe translated the German literally, "It does not permit itself to be read." Here he took this to mean that the book was too shocking for a reader to peruse it cornpletely; but the meaning of his source may have been that the book referred to was exeCrably printed, or that no copy was available. It will 'be recalled that in 1837 Poe boarded with the learned bookseller William Gowans, who took an interest in incunabula, of which Griin- inger's "srnall octavo in Gothic type" is an example.

TALES: 1841-1842 tolit

Selteamen tochter Jovis Seinem sehosekinde Der PhantaSie.

GOETHE.

IN TWO VOLUMES.

VOL. J.

PHILADELPETA

• LEA. AND :- BLANCHARD.

1840.

T ALES

GROTESQUE AND ARABESQUE.

BY EDGAR A. POE.

2. COLLECTED WORKS OF

Edgar Allan Poe

TALES AND SKETCHES 1831-1842

EDITED BY

THOMAS OLLIVE MABBOTT

with the assistance of Eleanor D. Kewer and Maureen C. Mabbott

THE BELKNAP PRESS OF

HARVARD UNIVERSITY PRESS

Cambridge, Massachusetts

London, England

1978

124"1"V'e Mreen, InIrrror