University of Virginia - Corks and Curls Yearbook (Charlottesville, VA)

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w1si . A.,-. mug: v.3 -u-opun.w-wv n...- m- hrJv-vgav a... Inuit; we axe ,-.......-..k .. A w w. win .mq-m ' . e 'A .wi a v t. I i I 5X -..-. .A- i- .ahe.... ..4 v. arm-w-r .7... m'ttrerA-sI-s ,I y'; CORKS AND CURLS HAT shall we say here of liilgar Allan Poe? All the'faets antlelet us hopeeall the falsehoods concerning this inex- plicable and outre being have hitherto been given to the Worl 1. Yet is it not meet that here, where he is most loved, we should, in this year 1909, spare no energy in letting the world understand that he is an elder brother of ours, with whom we are well pl lasetl. and whose meme ory we shall Cherish till the last syllable of our University's history is written? We have indeed a fortunate heritage. Thomas jePfei-son wrote our Decla- ration of Political independence and founded this University; Edgar Poe was a student at this University and wrote onr Declaration of Intellectual Independence. We have just celebrated the hundredth anniversary of the birth of this distinguished alumnus. Messages from the four corners of the earth were received, landing his wonderful genius. Distinguished men came to pay tribute to this man who once so shocked the souls long eoffinetl in indolent conventions. The January magazines were as replete with stories and criticisms of the sad and melancholy Poe as were the February magazines charged with aneee dotes and estimates of the sail and melancholy Lincoln. How alike these two geniuses! Poe. the'genins; hating all literary shains. his guiding star, the lleautiful. which is Truth, his soul too big for any one section of his country. Lincoln, the genius, hating all political shains. his guiding star, the Right. which is Truth. his heart too big to heat for any one section or race. Poe was an idealist with a passion for artistic integrity, whose heart-strings were tuned for perfection of form and rhyme and he wrote America's greatest poem. Lincoln was an idealist with a passion for political integrity. whose heart-strings were tuned for the delicate earlenee of proseeand he wrote Aniericais greatest oration. Pods death was tragic. the result of unscrupulous politicians. Lineolnis death was tragic. the result of political fanaticism. The

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4 CORKS AND CURLS VOLXXII spirits of both these men soared far above the grovelling bread-and-butter getters of their times. And each had his llLost Lenore V There is little need to repeat here the prosaic facts of Poeis life. The summaries given in the old books read about as follows: EDGAR ALLAN POE 0809-18491, from Virginia, writer of weird tales, and a poet. Talesw HThe Gold Bug? 1gThe Black Cat? lilHans Pfaalf, llThe Purloined Letter? HThe Tale of the Ragged Mountains? detective and ghost stories. Poems-- llThe Ravenfl llAnnabel Leef llThe Bellsf lillsrafel;U and 1 Po Helen? Wrote criticisms, most original of all our writers, of wonderful imagination, has a strange Charm not easy to explain. A sad, bad life, ending in a hospital, etCu February the fourteenth, eighteen and twenty-six, Edgar A. Poe matricu- lated at the University of Virginia. He was at that time seventeen years old, llsomewhat short in stature, thick-set, compact, slightly bowelegged, with the rapid and jerky gait of an English boy; his face, clustered about by dark, curly hair, wore usually a grave and melancholy expression; his natural shy- ness had become a fixed reserve. Many of the teachers at that time were Englishmen, and that fact caused the session to be one of internal commotion. The boisterous, free-hearted young Southerners had little respect for those staid old pedagogues from across the sea. Then, too, from 1812 to 1826 is no long time. Yet in all the records of the trials of that eventful session the name of Edgar PoeeEdgar Poe, lithe inordinate drunkardf wthe reckless and unprin- cipled gambler? glthe wildest and most reckless student of his classllaappears but once, and then as- a witness and not as a defendant! 1 It is now well settled that Poe's room, after leaving the Lawn, where he had had a fisticuff with Miles George, his room-mate, was Number 13, West Range. There he spent the remainder of the session, writing youthful verse, revolving some weird tale, charcoaling the walls, andewe may well imagine- longing for some kindred spirit with which to commune. It is not probable that his outward life here was noticeably different from that of his fellows. He excelled in French and Latin, he was good at jumping, boxing and other athletic sports, though he seemed to take such sports as seriously as life itself. We may believe with reason that Poeis student days here were not happy. llNo one knew him? it is said. Who knows the unutterable, inward longings of that soul, even at the age when a different nature would have been happy and care-free? For sadness is often a very part of ones nature r......-'w;e:::ax