for one moment, that my own Annie would keep her sacred promise—But I had not calculated on the strength of the laudanum, for, before I reached the Post Office my reason was entirely gone, & the letter was never put in. Let me pass over, my darling Sister, the awful horrors which succeeded—A friend was at hand, who aided & (if it can be called saving) saved me—but it is only within the last three days that I have been able to remember what occurred in that dreary interval—It appears that, after the laudanum was rejected from the stomach, I became calm, & to a casual observer, sane—so that I was suffered to go back to Providence—Here I saw her, & spoke, for your sake, the words which you urged me to speak—Ah Annie Annie! my Annie!—is your heart so strong?—is there no hope!—is there none?—I feel that I must die if I persist, & yet, how can I now retract with honor?—Ah beloved, think—think for me & for yourself—do I not love you Annie? do you not love me? Is not this all? Beyond this blissful thought, what other consideration can there be in this dreary world! It is not much that I ask, sweet sister Annie—my mother & myself would take a small cottage at Westford—oh so small—so very humble—I should be far away from the tumults of the world—from the ambition which I loathe—I would labor day & night, and with industry, I could accomplish so much—Annie! it would be a Paradise beyond my wildest hopes—I could see some of your beloved family every day, & you often—oh VERY often—I would hear from you continually—regularly & our dear mother would be with us & love us both—ah darling—do not these pictures touch your inmost heart? Think—oh think for me—before the words—the vows are spoken, which put yet another terrible bar between us—before the time goes by, beyond which there must be no thinking—I call upon you in the name of God—in the name of the holy love I bear you, to be sincere with me—Can you, my Annie, bear to think I am another’s? It would give me supreme—infinite bliss to hear you say that you could not bear it—I am at home now with my dear muddie who is endeavoring to comfort me—but the sole words which soothe me, are those in which she speaks of “my Annie”—she tells me that she has written you, begging you to come on to Fordham—ah beloved Annie, IS IT NOT POSSIBLE? I am so ill—so terribly, hopelessly ILL in body and mind, that I feel I CANNOT live, unless I can feel your sweet, gentle, loving hand pressed upon my forehead—oh my pure, virtuous, generous, beautiful, beautiful sister Annie!—is it not POSSIBLE for you to come—if only for one little week?—until I subdue this fearful agitation, which if continued, will either destroy my life or, drive me hopelessly mad—Farewell—here & hereafter—
Forever your own
EDDY—
In part Poe pursued his romance with Mrs. Whitman (as this letter makes clear) because Mrs. Nancy “Annie” Richmond, his muse and confidante, had encouraged him to do so. Here Poe virtually begs Annie to reverse herself and oppose the courtship; indeed, his account of the bizarre episode in which he ingested laudanum (opium) implies that he meant to create a crisis that would bring Annie to his bedside. One cannot know whether this was a genuine suicide attempt or a desperate ploy for Annie’s attention, or both. Poe seems to have no sense of impropriety in writing a love letter to Mrs. Richmond, a married woman, or of speaking of his own marriage to Mrs. Whitman as “another terrible bar” (my underscoring, Poe’s italics) to a relationship with Annie. Tellingly, several romantic phrases in this letter also appear in the preceding letter to Mrs. Whitman. Understandably, Annie may have urged Poe’s courtship with Mrs. Whitman to redirect his amorous attentions.
EDGAR ALLAN POE TO FREDERICK W. THOMAS
Fordham, near New-York Feb. 14—49.
My dear friend Thomas,
Your letter, dated Nov. 27, has reached me at a little village of the Empire State, after having taken, at its leisure, a very considerable tour among the P. Offices—occasioned, I presume, by your endorsement “to forward” wherever I might be—and the