My mother’s portrayal was greeted with the intense, the unbridled enthusiasm characteristic of the responses that her acting invariably evoked. My father, too, in his exceptionally fleeting appearance, elicited a reaction that typified his effect on theatrical audiences. In his case, however, this reaction was not one of approbation but of its diametrical opposite—a fervent outpouring of the most vociferous and heartfelt disdain for the utter incompetence of his acting. I shall quote from the relevant portions of the review. After perusing this passage, the reader will readily understand why—upon my discovery of this document—I leapt from my chair in a veritable frenzy of astonishment, excitement, and awe. Here is what Montague wrote:

It must be reported that—while Mrs. Poe performed the part of Amelia with her customary authority and grace—her husband’s exceedingly brief appearance in the rôle of a foppish courtier in the service of the Duke was painful both to witness and to hear. In addition to his physical shortcomings—his muffin face and excessively slender frame—Mr. Poe seems inordinately susceptible to that debilitating nervous condition which occasionally afflicts even the most experienced stage-actor but which, in his case, operates so acutely as to deprive him of nearly all his powers of speech and exertion.

On Saturday evening, Mr. Poe’s part in the production required him to deliver but a single line. The Duke of Cornwall—his marital proposal having been rejected by the beauteous Amelia—dispatches his man, Belmore (Mr. Poe), to convey his sense of extreme disappointment. The line in question went thusly: “I am bid to say: Your ‘nay’ hath made my lord so sad that he shall nevermore be glad.”

This speech comprises fewer than twenty words, all but one of them consisting of a single syllable. And yet, the hapless Mr. Poe managed to deliver it in so faltering, so egregious a manner, that he could scarcely be comprehended by the audience, among whom were some of our city’s most eminent citizens: Mr. Samuel Ogden Asher, Mr. and Mrs. Junius Macready, Mrs. Josiah Nicodemus, and others. His stammering attempt to enunciate the polysyllabic word “Nevermore” would have been positively comedic, had it not occasioned such intense embarrassment in both the actor and his audience. (Indeed, at least one member of Mr. Poe’s own company troupe could be seen snickering openly at the poor man’s bungling efforts. This was the ever-amusing Mr. Thorowgood J. Kemble, in the rôle of Amelia’s clownish servant, Tom Crackskull.)

At the conclusion of the play, the audience rewarded Mrs. Poe with a loud, prolonged, and richly deserved outburst of applause. Upon Mr. Poe, however, it lavished nothing but a veritable torrent of catcalls, hoots, and insults. “Nevermore return to Baltimore!” shouted one incensed theatregoer, and soon the jeering cry of “Nevermore!” echoed throughout the auditorium.