Cold Open

It’s the early hours of January 19th, 1950 at Westminster Burying Ground in Baltimore, Maryland.

A journalist from the Baltimore Sun blows into his hands, trying to keep his fingers warm. It’s a bitterly cold night, and he should be tucked in his warm bed. But tonight, he’s on the trail of a story.

The journalist has heard rumors of odd happenings that take place overnight in this graveyard. Every year, on the anniversary of author Edgar Allan Poe’s birth, some unknown person sneaks into the cemetery and leaves behind the same objects on Poe’s grave: a partial bottle of cognac and three roses. Tonight, the reporter wants to witness exactly what happens so he can reveal it to all in his newspaper column.

The journalist holds his breath as a figure appears out of the gloom carrying a flashlight. The figure is dressed in a long, black coat, black wide-brimmed hat, and white scarf. And as the journalist ducks behind a tree, the black-clad figure heads straight for Poe’s grave. He kneels and then carefully arranges three roses on the gravestone.

Then he stands, pulls a bottle from his coat and pours some of its contents into a glass. Then he raises his glass and clinks it against Poe’s headstone, as though toasting the dead author. He tips his head back, downs the cognac in one gulp, and then puts the bottle and empty glass on the grave.

Then the dark figure turns and walks away without a backward glance. The journalist emerges from his hiding place with his brow furrowed as he struggles to understand exactly what he just witnessed.

Years will pass and no one will ever uncover the identity of Edgar Allan Poe’s annual birthday visitor. But the story that the journalist writes for the Baltimore Sun will name him the Poe Toaster, and the odd ritual will continue for the next sixty years. The arcane ceremony is a fitting tribute for an author who pioneered detective fiction, and whose manner of death seemed to come straight from one of the pages of his books, just days after Edgar Allan Poe was discovered delirious in the street on October 3rd, 1849.

Introduction

From Noiser and Airship, I’m Lindsay Graham and this is History Daily.

History is made every day. On this podcast—every day—we tell the true stories of the people and events that shaped our world.

Today is October 3rd, 1849: The Mysterious Death of Edgar Allan Poe.

Act One

It’s January 1831, at West Point Military Academy in New York, eighteen years before Edgar Allan Poe will die under unusual circumstances.

An officer shouts an order for cadets to assemble on the parade ground, and the young men hustle to leave their dormitory. As they exit, they cast quizzical looks toward 21-year-old Cadet Edgar Allan Poe, who’s still lying in his bunk and making no effort to join them.

Poe is a troubled young man. After being orphaned at the age of two, he was taken in by a prominent Virginia merchant. Though he grew up in an affluent household, Poe fell out with his foster father. And with no other means of supporting himself, he was forced into the army.

But Poe doesn’t want to be a soldier. He wants to be a writer. He’s already had two volumes of poetry published. Neither sold more than a handful of copies. But even so, Poe has come up with a convoluted plan to get himself out of the army, so he can pursue his dream of literary fame.

A few minutes after the dormitory has cleared, the door opens and an officer enters. He asks Cadet Poe why he isn’t on parade with the rest of his classmates. Poe just shrugs. The officer, puzzled by the sudden insubordination from one of his best students, warns Poe that he faces a court-martial if he refuses orders. Poe nods, indicating that he understands. But he still refuses to join the parade. So with a resigned sigh, the officer declares that Poe is under arrest. The young cadet offers no resistance as the officer escorts him out of the dormitory, past his ogling classmates, and into military custody.

At his trial a few days later, Poe pleads not guilty to insubordination. Although the evidence against him is overwhelming, Poe doesn’t want a benevolent court-martial panel to allow him to remain at West Point. He reasons that if he pleads not guilty and shows no remorse, he’s more likely to be discharged.

His plan works. By the end of the day, Poe is released from service with a dishonorable discharge. But now, he has no place to go and no means to live. Recognizing that the discharged cadet is undergoing some kind of personal crisis, the West Point authorities allow him to live in the camp for another month before he must leave. Poe spends this time persuading his former West Point classmates to place orders for his third volume of poetry. But when the book finally arrives, few are impressed by Poe’s serious and dour writing.

So the former cadet spends the next few years in poverty. After leaving West Point, he travels to Baltimore and moves in with his aunt — the only member of his family prepared to take him in. Poe works a series of mundane jobs by day and writes by candlelight at night. He earns a few extra dollars for poems and stories published in literary magazines, including a $50 prize from a local short story competition.

But Poe quickly discovers that it’s almost impossible to maintain a living as a writer in the United States in the nineteenth century. Many American book publishers engage in dubious business practices, preferring to rip off copies of British works, so they don’t have to pay royalties to American writers. There are thousands of literary magazines, each seeking stories, poems, and articles, but they tend to pay poorly and are frequently late settling their bills, often slipping into bankruptcy before they’ve paid their writers.

But four years after his discharge from West Point, Poe gets a break in the publishing industry. He’s appointed assistant editor of one of the literary magazines he writes for—the Southern Literary Messenger, based in Richmond, Virginia. But Poe is unable to capitalize on this opportunity. He’s lonely in his new city, and he falls into a depression when he doesn’t receive letters from a cousin who he’s developed romantic feelings for. As it all gets too much for him, Poe begins drinking heavily. And within weeks of securing his first full-time job in publishing, he’s fired for being drunk at work.

But Poe will refuse to give up on his aspirations for a literary career. He will return to Baltimore and marry his cousin. Next, he will persuade the editor of the Southern Literary Messenger to give him another chance, and this time Poe will not throw it away. After years spent learning his craft, he’ll start building a reputation as an esteemed writer. And eventually, Poe will even be catapulted to the fame he’s always sought—but he’ll find that his dream soon sours.

Act Two

It’s early 1841, in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, six years after Edgar Allan Poe was fired and then re-employed by the Southern Literary Messenger.

The now, 31-year-old Poe knocks on the office door belonging to his new employer—George Graham, the editor of a new periodical, Graham’s Magazine.

After getting a second chance in publishing, Poe threw himself into writing full-time. Two months after resuming his career with the Southern Literary Messenger, he was made literary editor of the publication and increasingly praised by critics. But Poe continued to drink, and his frequent binges ended with him being relieved of his duties at the Messenger a second time.

So, he moved to Philadelphia and worked as an assistant editor at another magazine, but he was fired from there too after falling out with his boss. Poe’s talent though, was too great for him to be out of work for long. It was only a matter of time before he was offered another assistant editor job, this time at Graham’s Magazine, where his new boss asked Poe to contribute a short story every month. Today, Poe is about to turn in one of his first pieces.

George Graham answers his office door and ushers Poe in. Poe takes a seat and hands over his handwritten manuscript. George flicks through, checking the number of pages, then puts his spectacles on his nose and reads the title: “The Murders in the Rue Trianon.” He asks Poe what the story involves. And Poe replies that it follows a Parisian who solves a double murder in Paris. George nods and places the manuscript on his desk, promising he’ll read it by the end of the day.

Later, when Poe is summoned back, George has a beaming smile on his face. He proclaims that the story is wonderful and asks Poe how he came up with the idea. Poe shrugs, and says he took a few different literary styles and mixed them together.

George chuckles and declares that the story will go straight into the April issue. He has only one alteration, and suggests changing the name of the story from “The Murders in the Rue Trianon” to “The Murders in the Rue Morgue.” He thinks it sounds more ominous and suits the story better. Poe agrees, and he's pleased that his new editor is happy with his first piece of work.

But George is not the only one impressed by Poe’s newest story. It’s widely reviewed in other magazines and newspapers, and every critic gushes with praise about its inventive plot. With “The Murders in the Rue Morgue,” Poe has essentially invented a new genre: detective fiction. Never before has a story been designed around the process of solving a crime. But although he’s pioneered a new literary style, Poe will rarely return to detective fiction in the future. He sees little ingenuity in unraveling a complex plot which was written purely for that purpose. Nevertheless, Poe does welcome the $56 bonus that George pays him after “The Murders in the Rue Morgue” helps Graham’s Magazine increase its circulation eight-fold over the next year.

And over the next five years, Poe’s writing career goes from strength to strength. Two years after “The Murders in the Rue Morgue,” a short story called “The Gold-Bug” earns Poe a $100 prize in a writing contest, the biggest single fee he’ll be paid for writing in his whole life. Two years after that, Poe is paid only $9 for a poem in the New York Evening Mirror—but it’s a poem that finally achieves Poe’s dream of fame. “The Raven” is an instant success—readers love its musical composition and its constant refrain of “nevermore.” It’s reprinted in newspapers and magazines across the country—usually illegally, with no payment to its author—but such widespread circulation makes “The Raven” one of America’s most famous poems, turns Poe into a household name.

But despite striving for literary recognition for years, Poe is still unsatisfied. He begins drinking more heavily. One of his well-connected friends tries to get him a government job to give him more mental stability and financial security. Poe is given the opportunity to apply for a political position in the administration of President John Tyler. But he’s unable to secure the job after failing to show up for his appointment at the White House.

Poe’s unreliability means that he struggles to hold down other positions too. He tries to set up his own magazine, but it closes after only a year, and Poe engages in unseemly spats with other authors, criticizing their works and accusing them of plagiarism.

It will become clear that Poe is on a downward spiral, and soon his life will hit rock bottom. In 1847, his wife will die from tuberculosis at the age of 24, and Poe will be inconsolable. His health will deteriorate and his behavior will grow increasingly erratic. And then just two years after his wife’s passing, he’ll be found slumped in a Baltimore gutter, and four days later, he’ll be dead, leaving the literary world struggling to solve the puzzle of exactly how and why Edgar Allan Poe met his end.

Act Three

It’s the evening of October 3rd, 1849 at Gunner’s Hall, a tavern in Baltimore, Maryland; four years after Edgar Allan Poe’s poem “The Raven” was published to great acclaim.

Joseph Walker nurses a drink and relaxes at the bar. He’s had a long day of work at the nearby print works, and he's just finished casting his vote in a city election. Before he headed home, he couldn’t resist a quick drink in the tavern next door, to let the day's stress and anxieties slip away. But the pub’s peaceful ambiance is interrupted when the front door bangs open. 

Two men enter, dragging a delirious man between them. One of the newcomers calls out that they found the man slumped in the street outside. To Joseph, the man looks like a vagrant. His clothes are dirty and ill-fitting, and his speech is slurred and unintelligible. Joseph assumes that the man collapsed outside after drinking too much, but the tavern owner says he’s never seen him before.

As the bar’s patrons pull the man over to a chair, Joseph realizes that the stranger looks familiar. In fact, he’s not a stranger at all. With a shout, Joseph calls out that it’s Edgar Allan Poe—the famous author of “The Raven.”

Quickly a doctor is summoned and Poe is whisked off to a hospital, where he dies four days later, having never returned to lucidity. Exactly how Poe died, and why he ended up in a gutter in somebody else’s clothes, has never been adequately answered. Some suggest Poe suffered a stroke, had rabies, or suffered from some other medical condition. Others think he succumbed to drink or drugs. More imaginative theories include the idea that Poe was beaten up by conspirators who wanted him to cast false votes in the city election, or that he committed suicide after a battle with depression, or even that he was murdered.

But none of these possibilities have been proven. In the end, Edgar Allen Poe will leave the world a real-life mystery. His death will remain an unsolved puzzle, even over 170 years after he was discovered in a Baltimore street on October 3rd, 1849.

Outro

Next on History Daily. October 4th, 1957. The Soviet Union launches the first satellite, Sputnik 1, into orbit, sparking the Space Race with the United States.

From Noiser and Airship, this is History Daily, hosted, edited, and executive produced by me, Lindsay Graham.

Audio editing by Muhammad Shahzaib.

Sound design by Mischa Stanton.

Music by Lindsay Graham.

This episode is written and researched by Scott Reeves.

Executive Producers are Alexandra Currie-Buckner for Airship, and Pascal Hughes for Noiser.