Delphi Complete Works of H. P. Lovecraft (Illustrated) (270 page)
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Authors: H. P. Lovecraft
Prospect Street, Providence — Lovecraft’s final home, from May 1933 until March 10, 1937
Although H. P Lovecraft never wrote a complete autobiography, he did write numerous pieces regarding his life in his personal correspondence.
In this section, readers can explore a range of extracts and documents taken from his journals and letters to friends, which reveal a remarkable insight into Lovecraft’s life and his ability as an intelligent and humorous writer.
Lovecraft, 1922
The Brief Autobiography of an Inconsequential Scribbler
Within the Gates by “One Sent by Providence.”
Autobiography of Howard Phillips Lovecraft
Lovecraft, 1934
LOVECRAFT, HOWARD PHILLIPS. Was born of old Yankee-English stock on August 20,
Weird Tales
regularly since 1923. Conservative in general perspective and method so far as compatible with phantasy in art and mechanistic materialism in philosophy. Lives in Providence, Rhode Island.
The Brief Autobiography of an Inconsequential Scribbl
er
Since the earthly career of a secluded and non-robust individual is seldom replete with exciting events, my readers must not expect the following chronicle to possess much which will hold their attention or awaken their interest. But for the mandate of a relentless editor, they would have been spared this affliction.
I was born in Providence, of unmixed English ancestry, on August 20, 1890. During the first few years of my existence, my mode of expression was more often oral than written; and my tastes much more modern than at present. It is indeed worthy of note, that my utterances prior to the summer of 1891 betray a marked kinship to the vers libre of today.
In the year 1892, from which my first genuine recollections proceed, my literary career began in earnest. Having mastered the art of connected speech, and assimilated the alphabet, I was an inveterate reciter of poesy, delivering such pieces as “Sheridan’s Ride” and selections from “Mother Goose” with true declamatory finesse. I also dabbled in poetic imagism, with the aid of alphabetical blocks.
By the close of 1893, I had added another accomplishment to my catalogue — that of reading. My tastes ran to polysyllables, of whose pronunciation I was not always certain. About this period I began to supplement the fairy tales hitherto related to me, with individual research in the pictureful pages of Grimm, and developed a marked penchant for everything pertaining to myths and legends. The close of 1894 revealed still another accomplishment — that of writing.
The years 1895 and 1896 were uneventful, and although I was constantly scribbling both crude prose and crude rhymes, no specimen survives. The leading event of this era was my change of interest from Teutonic to Classical mythology, induced by perusal of Hawthorne’s
Wonder Book
and
Tanglewood Tales.
In 1897 I composed my earliest surviving attempt at authorship, a “poem” in forty-four lines of internally rhyming iambic heptameter, entitled “The Poem of Ulysses; or, the New Odyssey”, whose opening four lines are as follows:
“The night was dark, O Reader, hark! and see Ulysses’ fleet; All homeward bound, with vict’ry crown’d, he hopes his spouse to greet; Long hath he fought, put Troy to naught, and levell’d down its walls; But Neptune’s wrath obstructs his path, and into snares he falls.”
In 1898 I commenced a school career, much interrupted by ill health, and supplemented by home reading and private instruction. It was my favourite diversion to spend hours in the midst of the family library, browsing chiefly over books over a century old, and insensibly forming a taste for eighteenth-century style and thought which will never leave me.
In 1899 I became interested in the sciences, and established my first enduring amateur publication,
The Scientific Gazette,
which ran continuously until 1904. It was published successively by pencil, pen, and hectograph, and afforded me infinite pleasure and pride.
In 1903 astronomy became my chief interest, and I established the hectographed magazine,
The Rhode Island Journal of Astronomy,
which survived until 1907. All this time I knew nothing of organised Amateurdom, and the reams of old-fashioned miscellany I had been evolving remained mercifully unpublished till 1906, when I made my debut in print by commencing a series of monthly astronomical articles in a local paper.
From 1906 to 1914 I was a contributor to sundry publications of no importance, veering about 1911 from pure science back to
belles lettres.
In March, 1914, I learned through Mr. Edward F. Daas of Amateurdom’s existence, and soon joined the United; a connexion likely to subsist till my death, since it has furnished me with more enjoyment than any other I have experienced.
In the United it has been my privilege to become a frequent contributor to the press, and to hold several offices, including the Presidency and the Chairmanship of the Department of Public Criticism. I have endeavoured to support the most purely literary and progressive elements in the Association, and to aid in a revival of that conservatism and classicism which modern literature seems dangerously prone to reject. To this purpose is my individual publication,
The Conservative,
devoted. These various activities have doubtless gained for me the reputation of being an insufferable old pedant; yet I cannot wholly complain of my fate, since Editor Samples deems it fit to waste good white paper upon these overlong annals of Boeotian mediocrity.
Within the Gates by “One Sent by Providence.
”
Mr. Toastmaster, Ladies, Gentlemen, and Politicians: —
Although not called upon by name, I have been informed that the reference to Providence is my cue; hence believe that this is the proper time to make myself ridiculous by attempted oratory. Providence is notable as a dispenser of both blessings and afflictions; the former to be hailed with gratitude, the latter to be borne with patience. I am one of the latter, and can but hope that your patience will prove adequate. Remember, at least, that this oration is not voluntary; and visit your wrath upon Providence — or the Toastmaster — rather than upon me!
The subject of my sermon is announced as “within the gates” — presumably referring to the presence of a strictly United man in the midst of the National’s Babylonish revelry — more or less “alien and alone”, as it were, to quote from a famous poem dear to the heart of the
Zenith’s
scholarly editor. Accordingly I have taken as my text that not unknown line about a gate which appears in the celebrated epic of my fellow-poet Dante —
“All hope abandon, ye who enter here.”
I will omit the context — not only because I do not remember it, but because it would perhaps offend some loyal Nationalité by suggesting a certain comparison which I have with truly Heinsian delicacy suppressed.
Having thus introduced my remarks as artistically and verbosely as possible, let me dispense with further preliminaries and confess that I have not the slightest idea of what I should say this evening. This, however, is probably nothing unusual for a post-prandial Cicero or Demosthenes, hence it need cause me no anxiety. I may add, in extenuation, that this is only my second public oration. Having escaped alive after my first, in February, I may venture to hope for similar clemency now — in spite of the representation of the “Sun Group” on the jury.
Since I have nothing in particular to say, it behoves me to say it as tastefully as possible — allowing the appropriateness of my remarks to compensate for their vacuity. Within the gates of — the National, what could be more appropriate than a reference to that institution’s chief interest — politics? I could say much of politics, but in a Puritanical city might not be able to say all that recent politics deserves; hence will confine myself to one point — a defence against a recent attack upon me, basely launched by an exceedingly eminent and heretofore respected amateur.
In
Views and Reviews
there appears an outrageous accusation, which although mentioning no names, affects me too obviously to permit of doubt. It is charged that I, as so-called Rhode Island Chairman of some “intensive recruiting drive”, employed the backs of National application blanks to write “poetry” on. I take this opportunity to refute so unjust a charge, relying for absolute vindication on Mr. Dowdell; who will, as in the past, assure you all that I never could and never can write a line of genuine poetry! But I will go even further, and vow on my own responsibility that I did not even
attempt
to write verses on those blanks. My waste-basket contains the proof — for what I did write on them was a descriptive prose article for
Tryout,
which you may read for yourselves in the very next issue — if you are good at puzzles.
Mr. Houtain, noting my weight and elevation, once wrote in
The Zenith
that my voice is seemingly out of keeping with my size. This may or may not be true. If, however, I do not soon conclude, these remarks are likely to be sadly
in
keeping with my elephantine magnitude. I could say much of the honour and pleasure I feel at being present at this momentous conclave, but am reluctant merely to repeat the obvious.
As a text for this long and sonorous intellectual silence I quoted an epic. Let me, therefore, follow the example of the epic poets, and instead of tapering off with a grandiloquent peroration, cease abruptly and dramatically. I have held you within the gates of infernal dulness.
“Thence issuing, we again behold the stars!”