self-torture- propounds them not altogether because he believes in the prophetic or demoniac
character of the bird (which reason assures him is merely repeating a lesson learned by rote), but
because he experiences a frenzied pleasure in so modelling his questions as to receive from the
expected "Nevermore" the most delicious because the most intolerable of sorrows. Perceiving
the opportunity thus afforded me, or, more strictly, thus forced upon me in the progress of the
construction, I first established in my mind the climax or concluding query- that query to which
"Nevermore" should be in the last place an answer- that query in reply to which this word
"Nevermore" should involve the utmost conceivable amount of sorrow and despair.
Here then the poem may be said to have had its beginning- at the end where all works of art
should begin- for it was here at this point of my preconsiderations that I first put pen to paper in
the composition of the stanza:
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! prophet still if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us- by that God we both adore,
Tell this soul with sorrow laden, if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the Raven- "Nevermore."
I composed this stanza, at this point, first that, by establishing the climax, I might the better vary
and graduate, as regards seriousness and importance, the preceding queries of the lover, and
secondly, that I might definitely settle the rhythm, the metre, and the length and general
arrangement of the stanza, as well as graduate the stanzas which were to precede, so that none of
them might surpass this in rhythmical effect. Had I been able in the subsequent composition to
construct more vigorous stanzas I should without scruple have purposely enfeebled them so as
not to interfere with the climacteric effect.
And here I may as well say a few words of the versification. My first object (as usual) was
originality. The extent to which this has been neglected in versification is one of the most
unaccountable things in the world. Admitting that there is little possibility of variety in mere
rhythm, it is still clear that the possible varieties of metre and stanza are absolutely infinite, and
yet, for centuries, no man, in verse, has ever done, or ever seemed to think of doing, an original
thing. The fact is that originality (unless in minds of very unusual force) is by no means a matter,
as some suppose, of impulse or intuition. In general, to be found, it must be elaborately sought,
and although a positive merit of the highest class, demands in its attainment less of invention
than negation.
Of course I pretend to no originality in either the rhythm or metre of the "Raven." The former is
trochaic- the latter is octametre acatalectic, alternating with heptametre catalectic repeated in the
refrain of the fifth verse, and terminating with tetrametre catalectic. Less pedantically the feet
employed throughout (trochees) consist of a long syllable followed by a short, the first line of the
stanza consists of eight of these feet, the second of seven and a half (in effect two-thirds), the
third of eight, the fourth of seven and a half, the fifth the same, the sixth three and a half. Now,
each of these lines taken individually has been employed before, and what originality the
"Raven" has, is in their combination into stanza; nothing even remotely approaching this has
ever been attempted. The effect of this originality of combination is aided by other unusual and
some altogether novel effects, arising from an extension of the application of the principles of
rhyme and alliteration.
The next point to be considered was the mode of bringing together the lover and the Raven- and
the first branch of this consideration was the locale. For this the most natural suggestion might
seem to be a forest, or the fields- but it has always appeared to me that a close circumscription of
space is absolutely necessary to the effect of insulated incident- it has the force of a frame to a
picture. It has an indisputable moral power in keeping concentrated the attention, and, of course,
must not be confounded with mere unity of place.
I determined, then, to place the lover in his chamber- in a chamber rendered sacred to him by
memories of her who had frequented it. The room is represented as richly furnished- this in mere
pursuance of the ideas I have already explained on the subject of Beauty, as the sole true poetical
thesis.
The locale being thus determined, I had now to introduce the bird- and the thought of introducing
him through the window was inevitable. The idea of making the lover suppose, in the first
instance, that the flapping of the wings of the bird against the shutter, is a "tapping" at the door,
originated in a wish to increase, by prolonging, the reader's curiosity, and in a desire to admit the
incidental effect arising from the lover's throwing open the door, finding all dark, and thence
adopting the half-fancy that it was the spirit of his mistress that knocked.
I made the night tempestuous, first to account for the Raven's seeking admission, and secondly,
for the effect of contrast with the (physical) serenity within the chamber.
I made the bird alight on the bust of Pallas, also for the effect of contrast between the marble and
the plumage- it being understood that the bust was absolutely suggested by the bird- the bust of
Pallas being chosen, first, as most in keeping with the scholarship of the lover, and secondly, for
the sonorousness of the word, Pallas, itself.
About the middle of the poem, also, I have availed myself of the force of contrast, with a view of
deepening the ultimate impression. For example, an air of the fantastic- approaching as nearly to
the ludicrous as was admissible- is given to the Raven's entrance. He comes in "with many a flirt
and flutter."
Not the least obeisance made he- not a moment stopped or stayed he,
But with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door.
In the two stanzas which follow, the design is more obviously carried out:-
Then this ebony bird, beguiling my sad fancy into smiling
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no
craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore-
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore?"
Quoth the Raven- "Nevermore."
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door-
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."
The effect of the denouement being thus provided for, I immediately drop the fantastic for a tone
of the most profound seriousness- this tone commencing in the stanza directly following the one
last quoted, with the line,
But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only, etc.
From this epoch the lover no longer jests- no longer sees anything even of the fantastic in the
Raven's demeanour. He speaks of him as a "grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of
yore," and feels the "fiery eyes" burning into his "bosom's core." This revolution of thought, or fancy, on the lover's part, is intended to induce a similar one on the part of the reader- to bring
the mind into a proper frame for the denouement- which is now brought about as rapidly and as