In Which Undine Actually Has a Good Word For Someone

"History is full of calumnies, of calumnies that can never be effaced."
-Henry Hallam

S.S. Osgood self-portrait

Frances S. Osgood's husband has been as unfairly slandered as she has been unjustly championed. Samuel Stillman Osgood has, in recent years, acquired a reputation as a philanderer whose affairs with other women and careless neglect of his wife drove the couple into estrangement, and Frances herself into the waiting arms of Edgar Allan Poe.

There is not a word of truth to any of it. Sam's unpleasant reputation all stems from "scholar" Thomas O. Mabbott, a man who, throughout his long and influential academic career, was to Poe studies what the Black Plague was to the 14th century. It is largely thanks to Mabbott and his ilk--and those biographers who blindly repeat everything they wrote--that so much of what passes for Poe "scholarship" is, in fact, unfounded gossip-mongering. According to Mabbott, Mr. Osgood had a fling of some sort in 1842 with a Providence, RI woman named Elizabeth Newcomb. The ever-creative "scholar" built upon that claim to imagine that Sam continued his womanizing ways, and pointed to an 1844 poem Frances published, "Lower to the Level"--which Mabbott misquoted--as proof that she was then separated from her husband. (Even though the poem did not even imply anything of the sort, Mabbott imagined this gave him the right to picture the worst about her relationship with Poe, which commenced soon afterwards.) John Evangelist Walsh later took the wheel from Mabbott's fantasy vehicle and ran it straight into a roadside ditch with his infamous 1980 "book," "Plumes In the Dust," where he made the astounding (and completely undocumented) claim that since the Osgoods were, as Walsh's friend Mabbott claimed, estranged during 1845, who else but Poe could have fathered the child Mrs. Osgood conceived in the autumn of that year?



History is full of fallacies, but one seldom sees a case where so much has been built upon such a completely nonexistent foundation. In fact, when closely studied, the entire process of how the modern-day Poe/Osgood legend was built takes on an air of deliberate misrepresentation that looks positively sinister. To begin with, Samuel Osgood was no philanderer. The Elizabeth Newcomb story--which is the sole basis for the claim--rests upon an 1842 letter written by her mother to the girl's brother, Charles King Newcomb. In this letter, Mrs. Newcomb mentions that Mr. Osgood, who (along with his wife) was then living in Providence, was frequently visiting her daughter. As Elizabeth Newcomb was then a tubercular invalid, these calls could hardly have been of an amorous nature. And Mrs. Newcomb's letter makes it clear that her reference to her daughter's married "gentleman callers" was of a casually facetious nature. That is the first and last we hear of Mr. Osgood and Miss Newcomb. No one has uncovered any valid hint that during his marriage, Sam Osgood took the slightest interest in any woman other than his wife.

To put it simply, no evidence exists to show the Osgoods were ever estranged, during 1845 or any other time. Sam's work as a painter caused him to travel frequently to execute commissions, but "separation," does not automatically translate into "marital trouble." In fact, his wife and children occasionally accompanied him on his travels, (it is documented that he was with his wife in Connecticut during May 1845 and probably in Providence in the summer and fall of that year,) and he and Frances kept up (from the examples we have) an extremely affectionate correspondence during his absences.

Samuel Osgood may have been a bit dim (and a truly awful poet,) but all the evidence we have shows him to have been a decent and likable person who was a devoted husband and father.

A further note about the Osgood's marriage: Nearly all of the poetry Frances supposedly wrote "to" or "about" Poe has gained that attribution purely through modern-day unsupported guesswork. (It is grimly amusing how Frances Osgood's biographer Mary De Jong can calmly write that Osgood's poetry "appropriated conventions from literary annuals and magazines," describe her "skill in creating personae," comment that "even some of the writings presented as non-fiction incorporate fictive elements and veils," and note how many of her later poems followed "the central story of nineteenth-century literature, the affinity of lovers who cannot share their lives on earth but whose souls will be forever united in heaven," and then--urge us to see Osgood's late-1840s poems as a way of gaining insights to her relationship with Poe!)

Seen clearly and objectively, Osgood's writings tell us nothing about Poe. However, if we wish to interpret all of Frances' verses and short stories as expressions of her private life, as Mabbott, Walsh, De Jong, et al, are so anxious to do, the following poem should be noted. Unlike her alleged "Poe poems," this is open autobiography, a clear statement of her true feelings, and it tells a story that is, as the lawyers say, dispositive. It demolishes the commonly-held belief that she was deeply emotionally involved with the famous poet.

Early in 1849, Samuel Osgood, like so many people, traveled to California hoping to bolster his shaky fortunes by striking it rich in the Gold Rush. His absence, coupled with Frances' close personal and professional relationship with Rufus W. Griswold, unsurprisingly fostered some very ugly gossip. Soon after Samuel's homecoming a year later, his wife published a poem titled "The Return":

"No summer came while he was gone; but sooner than I thought,
The blissful balm and bloom of Spring, his sunny presence brought.
Worn, weary, wasted with long grief--the Faith that never died
Through all that suffering, glows again, now he is by my side.
My brave, beloved wanderer! he came to make me light,
And with a sudden morn of joy, flushed all the fearful night.
Ah! Pain, Misfortune, Care, no more your flying steps I fear;
His love has drawn a magic ring--ye cannot enter here!

Mean Envy! while your serpent speech winds hissing from those lips.
The pearls and flowers, Affection speaks, your keenest words eclipse;
Wild Hate, the child of Love disdained, yet mourned with pitying tears,
You cannot harm or fright me now--go rave to other ears;
False Slander, turn and sting yourself!--ours is a charmed sphere;
His love has drawn the magic ring--ye dare not enter here!

Sweet friends! beloved and loving ones--the gifted, pure, and true!
To heart and hearth a welcome warm!--we still have room for you,
When, scared by evil eyes--too frail to cope with coarser foes--
Your cherished one shrank mutely back, in Truth's unreached repose,
Ye did not shrink--but shamed them down to coward Falsehood's fear;
Come, enter Love's enchanted ring--you're always welcome here!"

These touching, pitiful lines--which have a realism and sincerity absent from any of her so-called "Poe poems"--singlehandedly destroy the idea that she ever had any serious extramarital entanglement, with Poe or anyone else. Aside from this poem's demonstration of her deep love and emotional need for her husband, it shows how sensitive Frances Osgood was to public opinion. She was by all accounts an immature, fragile, deeply insecure, and dependent personality who could not bear being the target of gossip or criticism. (It is a curious thing that some modern writers, such as De Jong and John May in his contemptible novel "Poe & Fanny," have tried to portray Frances as a bold proto-feminist heroine, when in truth, the poor woman was a high-strung bundle of neuroses.) Such a person, especially one who was a literary celebrity, would never purposefully risk getting the worst possible censure for a woman of her time and position--the accusation of being a morally "loose" female.

In "The Literati of New York City," Poe said of Mrs. Osgood that "Her character is daguerreotyped in her works--reading the one we know the other." If that was the case, Frances Sargent Locke Osgood was superficial, with some sprightly charm that was merely skin-deep, histrionic, childishly careless, clever rather than truly intelligent, fanciful rather than imaginative, mawkishly sentimental, intensely conventional, concerned with building a beautiful private fantasy world rather than dealing with ugly reality, and pathetically anxious to favorably impress. All those qualities undoubtedly sometimes led her into situations that, to the outside world, could appear suspicious or incriminating. They were also qualities that made her the last woman in the world to be deliberately disloyal to a loved and loving husband.

Rating Poe Biography: The Good, the Bad, and the Simply Insane (Part Three)

I attacked with great resolution the editorial matter, and, reading it from beginning to end without understanding a syllable, conceived the possibility of its being Chinese, and so re-read it from the end to the beginning, but with no more satisfactory result."
-Edgar Allan Poe, "The Angel of the Odd"

The Simply Insane:

*John Evangelist Walsh, "Plumes in the Dust," and "Midnight Dreary." These two books present a sordid alternate universe where Poe fathers Frances S. Osgood's youngest child, Fanny Fay, and dies as a result of a beating administered by brothers of Sarah Elmira Shelton. I have read many poorly-done historical works in my time, on many different subjects. Walsh, however, is in a league all to himself. I do not believe I have ever encountered any books daring to present themselves as legitimate history that contain so many errors, indulge in so many unfounded speculations posing as facts, depict so many fictional scenarios, have so many examples of the deliberate omission of evidence that directly disproves the stated thesis (such as a letter, which Walsh must have seen, which suggests that at the time Fanny Fay was conceived, Mrs. Osgood was in Providence--with Mr. Osgood,) and commits so many sins against common sense as these two volumes. Astounding stuff.

*Joseph Wood Krutch, "Edgar Allan Poe, A Study In Genius," Marie Bonaparte, "The Life and Works of Edgar Allan Poe," and David M. Rein, "Edgar A. Poe, the Inner Pattern." These are all (with emphasis on the first two syllables) psycho-biographies. The two former books use psychological analyses of Poe's stories and poems to come to the conclusion that he was an impotent basket case who married Virginia (who is depicted as a childlike imbecile) only in order to shield himself from a "normal" relationship with a "normal" woman. The latter uses psychological analyses of Poe's stories and poems to come to the conclusion that he was a frustrated basket case, hopelessly scarred by the loss of Sarah Elmira Royster when he was a teenager--a loss that overshadowed his entire life--who married Virginia the childlike imbecile only because, uh, her mother told him to.

I have used psychological analyses of these three books to come to the conclusion that these authors really, really should have found other lines of work and given poor old Poe's psyche a break.

A postscript: I was thinking of adding some commentary on the many novels that feature Poe as a character, but the subject is too depressing. Except for Harold Schechter's highly enjoyable series of murder mysteries that star Poe as an amateur detective, I have yet to find one fictional work about Poe that is even readable. I've probably seen every novel there is about Poe, and trying to classify them all into various levels of "godawful" is just too much for me. Suffice to say they all seem to fall into three categories. In the first, Poe is Roderick Usher come to life, a dark, tormented character out of his wildest fiction, and bearing not the least resemblance to any human being who ever lived. (I'll never forget--although I sincerely wish I could--the novel that included a scene where Poe has an orgasm over Jane Stanard's corpse.) The second category are the novels such as Rudy Rucker's "The Hollow Earth," and Stephen Marlowe's "The Lighthouse At the End of the World," that feature a character bearing Poe's name, but otherwise are works of open fantasy that have no connection with his actual life, or oddities like Matthew Pearl's "The Poe Shadow" (a perfect example of what Poe would call "easy writing and hard reading.") The third--which are perhaps the worst of the lot--present themselves as straight biographical novels. They inevitably depict Poe as a perennially drunken, sexually frustrated, deeply unlikable, bumbling, and rather pitiful creature. To top it off, not one of the books in any of these categories ever portray Poe as someone intellectually capable of writing a shopping list, let alone "The Raven" or "Eureka."It's amazing how the only thing more painful to read than a typical Poe biography is a typical Poe novel.

The Fluttery Frances S. Osgood

In the 1830s and 1840s, Frances Sargent "Fanny" Osgood was a prolific and well-known magazine poet, but she is mainly remembered today for her controversial and debatable relationship with Edgar Allan Poe.

Osgood, a married woman of thirty-four with two young daughters, met Poe in March of 1845. (She later claimed he sought out the introduction, but a letter she wrote soon after their meeting seems to cast doubt on this story.) Osgood, an impetuous, rather infantile personality, who was--as Poe later ungallantly observed in print--"in no respect" beautiful--became immediately fascinated with Poe, who was then at the peak of his literary and social popularity. (It has been suggested--not unfairly--that Osgood's interest in promoting her own writing career had something to do with her very public infatuation with the influential writer and critic.) She soon commenced writing a series of gushy poems for Poe's magazine, the "Broadway Journal," that modern-day writers assume were addressed to him. (This is, however, purely supposition.) Poe responded to this alleged "literary courtship" by re-dedicating to her two rather bland poems he had published years earlier (a curious variation of "re-gifting,") and writing a Valentine poem to her where her middle name is misspelled and she is called "a dunce." (More on this odd poem later.)

It has often been claimed that Osgood was separated from her husband, a well-known portrait painter named Samuel Stillman Osgood, at the time she knew Poe. There is absolutely nothing to support this belief. Poe scholar Thomas O. Mabbott was the first to suggest they were separated during 1845, solely on the basis of a poem Mrs. Osgood published in late 1844, "Lower To the Level," where she chided a nameless "you" for neglecting her in favor of others. Since Mabbott's theory was published, other writers have repeated this claim as fact, evidently without bothering to examine whether there is any truth to the statement. The nature of Samuel Osgood's work led him to travel frequently to execute commissions, but not so much as a hint exists--even among the letters and memoirs of their gossipy and catty literary set--that the couple was ever estranged. Many letters written to Mrs. Osgood during this period indicate that she and her husband were often together. There is even a note of Fanny's to Samuel that is believed to have been written in May 1845--exactly when her presumed infatuation with Poe was at its height--where she addresses him as "my darling love," and goes on to say, "I have only a few minutes to say how dearly and fondly I love you." (This letter shows that either Fanny's assumed love for Poe was a complete fraud, or she was the biggest hypocrite and liar on two feet. In any case, it is clear evidence against an estrangement in her marriage.) Osgood's modern biographer, Mary De Jong, wound up admitting--with obvious reluctance, as she was eager to make as much hay out of Mrs. Osgood's relationship with Poe as possible--that there is no reason to believe that the Osgoods were ever estranged, or that either partner had been unfaithful.

It is not clear how much of a personal friendship she and Poe had. They evidently saw each other occasionally at New York's literary "salons," but Osgood spent much of 1845 away from New York City, and she herself later admitted that whatever relationship they had was largely through correspondence. (Her claim--made only after Poe's death--that his wife Virginia encouraged her to befriend him so that her influence would help keep him sober should be treated with the scorn it deserves.) The only letter between Poe and Osgood still in existence is a brief note believed to have been written by Poe to her in October 1845. It is a courtly, but extremely formal letter, addressing her as "My Dear Madam." He thanks her for the "sweet poem" she sent him for the "Broadway Journal," as well as the words of "flattery" which accompanied it, and says that the demands of his work compel him to turn down a social invitation from her until later. Poe biographer Sidney P. Moss commented that Poe addressed Osgood "gingerly" in this note. It certainly does not indicate Poe felt any real personal warmth towards her.

A still-mysterious scandal erupted around the two early in 1846. All we know for certain is that, in January of that year, Virginia Poe confronted Elizabeth Ellet (another "literary lady" with designs on Poe) with a letter written by Osgood. This letter (the contents of which are unknown) evidently contained some damaging information about Ellet (that lady later described the letter as containing "fearful paragraphs" that "haunted me day and night like a terrifying spectre.") This led to Ellet feuding with the Poes and Osgood, with Poe himself claiming to possess letters Ellet had written of an unspecified but clearly damaging nature. (The version of the scandal that Sarah Helen Whitman later claimed to have heard--that Osgood had used Ellet as a go-between to retrieve presumably indiscreet letters she had written to Poe--is universally accepted by historians, but there is no evidence whatsoever for this in contemporary references to the feud.) Both Anne Lynch and Elizabeth Oakes Smith--two other members of New York literary circles--later implied that Ellet and Osgood had gotten into a jealous rivalry for Poe's attentions, and their mutual plotting against each other caused Poe himself to unwittingly get caught in the crossfire. That seems as much as we'll ever learn for certain about the whole ugly business.

Whatever the truth was about the incident, Poe permanently broke off all contact with Osgood afterwards (a letter he later allegedly wrote to Sarah Helen Whitman commented enigmatically that the "one thing he could not forgive Mrs. Osgood was her reception of Mrs. Ellet.") She, however, continued to publish yearning, if ambiguous, poems that have been thought to have been directed to him, rather in the manner of a modern-day "obsessed fan." (In actuality, these poems follow the same trite lost-love themes she used throughout her entire career. Kenneth Silverman was even fooled into assuming a poem she had published long before she met Poe was one she wrote about the end of their relationship!) Osgood also tried to extricate herself from the uproar by trying to persuade Ellet that the letter Virginia had shown her was a forgery devised by Poe himself. (This can be seen as a sign of how insincere her loyalty and devotion to Poe truly was.)

Her third daughter, Fanny Fay, was born soon afterwards, in June 1846. A writer named John Evangelist Walsh published a very strange book in 1980, "Plumes in the Dust," arguing that Poe was this child's father. He presented no evidence whatsoever for this startling theory, and no serious Poe scholar gives the idea any credibility. Indeed, Walsh ignores (I can only assume deliberately) a letter written to Mrs. Osgood in late September 1845--just at the time that Fanny Fay would have been conceived. This letter suggested that Frances was then in Providence, R.I.--with her husband.

Soon after the Ellet controversy, Osgood's health, which was always poor, began to decline further, and she died of tuberculosis less than a year after Poe's demise. Eerily, her two surviving daughters (Fanny Fay died in 1847) both followed her to the grave the year after her death.

Osgood's letters and published writings reveal her to have been a deeply unhappy, neurotic character who hid her private torments under a histrionic, almost hysterical, show of outer childlike gaiety. Her best poetry showed a certain melodic talent, and occasional flashes of wit, but her prose works are poorly-written, psychologically peculiar, and uninteresting, and all are cliche-ridden and superficial. It is an irony she would not have appreciated that if it was not for her literary pursuit of Poe--a pursuit that brought her nothing but personal trouble--she would be almost forgotten today.

(Image via New York Public Library)