Text: Gilberta S. Whittle, “Susan Archer Talley Weiss,” Richmond Dispatch (Richmond, VA), whole no. 16,103, November 30, 1902, p. 11, cols. 2-5

[page 11, column 2:]

Susan Archer Talley Weiss.

Referring to Griswold's estimate in his “Female Poets of America” of Miss Susan Archer Talley (now Mrs. Weiss), Edgar Allan Poe says:

The printed page containing this prophecy is time-stained: the hand which penned it is dust, but its subject, now a helpless invalid, still lives, and, seated by her bedside. In her room Richmond, its low windows looking out upon a garden gay with bloom. we go back In fancy to scones in which the hapless poet was chief figure, and through eyes once familiar with him as through spyglass, see him with telescopic nearness across the intervening years. The poems which impressed him were printed surreptitiously ir. the Southern Literary Messenger by the proud father of the gifted girl. who rhymed from her earliest recollection, covering Her schoolbooks with couplets in printed characters before before [[sic]] she had learned to write.

During her school life she stumbled upon Poe's lines beginning:

and the musical rhythm took a strong hold upon her childish fancy. It seemed very wonderful, therefore. to learn from her mother that their author had lived in Richmond, and that Mr. Allan's house, which she visited the day before, had been his home, and from thenceforth the piazza in which he played as a child and the trees on the lawn which he had climbed were objects of deep interest to her.

WHEN SHE FIRST MET POE.

Before her first meeting with him, in July, 1849, when he came to Richmond in the interest of the “Stylus,” the magazine which was to bring him fortune and fame, his sister and herself had become neighbors. Mrs. Mackenzie, who adopted Rose Poe, had removed to Duncan's Lodge, near the site of the Baptist College, and Talleyverro, the suburban home of the Talleys, on the spot where the Lee monument stands, being only a quarter of a mile distant, an intimacy had sprung up between the two families.

Upon his arrival the poet took lodgings at Swan's Tavern, rambling frame building on the corner of Eighth and Broad streets, then a fashionable resort, kept in the old Virginia style and redolent of historic associations, but now abandoned to Armenians and negroes and an object of vigilance to the police. His flattering notice of Miss Talley's poems had appeared some time before, and, hearing of her whereabouts. he came at once years to old, see and her. He was then about 40 years old, and of his appearance Mrs. Weiss says:

“He was of medium height and perfectly erect; out, although distinguished looking, I should not have called him — except for his eyes — a handsome man. This he might have been when younger, but at that time he was pallid, careworn, and haggard, and beneath his well-kept dark moustache was visible an occasional twitching of the lip, resembling his eyes, however. unlike any a sneer. His eyes, however, unlike any I have ever seen, possessed a wonderful beauty and charm. Large, and shaded by long, black lashes, they were steel gray color and of crystalline clearness. in the pupil and contracting with shade of thought or emotion. Their every gaze was full. open, and unshrinking; their usual expression dreamy and sad. Now and again, however, he a Way them ashance and fixing them of turning upon some unsuspecting individual, as though taking his calibre. Nothing escaped him, and in his requirements of caped women he was peculiarly fastidious, often lamenting that slight things repelled him against his better judgment.

WAS CHIVALROUS TO WOMEN.

“As I came into the parlor on the occasion of his first visit to us, he was seated in an easy, graceful attitude, near window, quietly conversing. He rose as I entered, and, other guests being present, stood with his hand resting on the back of his chair, awaiting my greeting. His dark hair was thrown back from his broad forehead, and everything about him, to the smallest detail of his simple black dress, bespoke the gentleman. His manner to women was chivalrous. I use the expression as distinct high-breeding and distinct from polish or quality which, while instantly perceptible, was too subtle for description. With strangers he was reserved and dignified, and, young and shy, I instinctively recoiled and I saw his eyes brighten as he extended his hand. Then the barrier between us melted and we were friends.”

FREQUENT VISITS TO TALLEYVERRO.

Their acquaintance covered only three that time months, but during that time they met constantly, while between them existed the sympathy which draws kindred natures together with the instantaneousness of a magnet and steel, establishing in a moment a nearness in feeling, which life-long association without it cannot produce.

“Young as I was,” Mrs. Weiss says, “I seemed to recognize intuitively the finer nature of the man. He was never the inexplicable being to me that others pronounced him.” While he said ro her, near the beginning of their acquaintance: “I cannot express the pleasure, the more than pleasure I feel in finding myself so completely comprehended by you. It isn’t often that I am so understood.”

In coming to Tallyverro his habit In his entering the shade to remove carrying it behind him, of the avenue, walking lingeringly, as if enjoying and On one of these occasions, the and being told that his coolness. arriving had retired, he late, said. young “I will go into the garden. Perhaps friend I may see her shadow’ He did, finding silhouetted upon her chamber wall, [column 3:] brushing her long, dark hair -hair still luxuriant and untouched by time.

SCARED THE SABLE AUDIENCE.

On another evening, when a number of persons were present, happening to say that be had never heard the “Raven” correctly rendered, even by the best readers, he was asked to recite It, and, complying. held the company spellbound by his delivery. A faint sound of falling rain blended harmoniously with the melancholy music of the rythm [[rhythm]], the gathering darkness forming an appropriate stage setting. Meanwhile, the servants about the place, dimly aware that something of interest was going forward, and a little uncertain as to the genus to which a poet belonged, had assembled outside the veranda window, the whites of their eyes showing in strong relief against the surrounding gloom. At this moment, the speaker, who had grown more and more impassioned as he proceeded, extended his hand in the direction of the portico, exclaiming:

An eloquent pause followed this electrical outburst. Then the gleaming eyeballs, thrown out upon the canvas of the vanished like on dissolving view. There was a scuttle feet down the gallery and the sable audience was gone.

Of this incomparable production — for which the author received $10 Poe said Mrs. Weiss: “I was years writing it, tearing it up over and over again, in despair of giving it utterance.” The last verse, in particular, in which the line occurs:

cost him infinite trouble. When, too, she reminded him that the light must behind the object to produce that result, he was nonplused.

HIS LECTURES IN RICHMOND.

He was an ardent admirer of Hawthorne, pronouncing him the best prose writer in America, beside whom Irving was commonplace, and, while admitting that some of Longfellow poems were perfect of their kind, declared that there was more real genius in Hawthorne's prose than in all of his poetry.

The “Stylus,” which was to change the whole complexion of his life, was naturally his frequent theme, and as ne talked of it “he held his head erect, his eyes flashed, and a glow overspread his face.” It was to leading literary periodical of the country, in which only products of genius were to be given a place. To secure such contributions its terms would be more liberal than those of other magazines. This would require capital, and almost all of his old friends in Virginia promised him their support. In furtherance, too, of the enterprise he gave a course of lectures in Richmond, and the first of these — “The Poetic Principle” — meeting an enthusiastic reception, he was feted by the smart set and discussed by the press. Ceremonious functions were little to his taste, however. He preferred a quiet talk on the veranda, or a stroll about the lawn with a friend.

ONCE WHEN HE WAS DEPRESSED.

“When pleased,” Mrs. Weiss says, “nothing could exceed his charm of manner: and in the evenings at Talleyverro and Duncan's he joined in the light-hearted chat of the young people, replying to it in humorous repartee, tinged with playful sarcasm.” Indeed. he seems never to have appeared to the melancholy being’ that one might fancy him, and asserts that she never saw him depressed but once. This was during a visit with some friends to the Hermitage. the deserted seat of Mr. John Mayo. the father of Mrs. Winfield Scott. On reaching the place the party separated, Poe and herself strolling slowly the grounds. Observing him silent and abstracted, and supposing him absorbed in old memories, his companion forbore to disturb him.

“As we passed ‘Lovers’ Seat,’” she gays, “a mossy bench between two trees, where General Scott woed his brilliant bride, he paused for a then turning towards the garden said: ‘There used to be white violets here.’ We searched among the tangled shrubbery, and, finding a few late blossoms, he placed them in his note-book. Entering the house, and passing into the saloon, he removed his hat as though in the presence of the assemblies he had seen there, then seated himself in a window overgrown with ivy. The setting sun, shining through the drooping vine, streamed over him, resting on the tattered, mildewed paper beyond, with its faded tracery of roses. There was an indescribable eeriness in the place, and as he repeated the lines:

The first look of real sadness I had ever seen upon his face stole over

JUST BEFORE HIS DEATH.

Some matters connected with the “Stylus” called Poe to New York. “He would only be gone two weeks. however. Upon his return he would settle in Richmond and, casting his vexatious past hind him, would begin life anew.” He had often alluded to his three months there as the happiest he had known for year: and at Talleyverro on the before his departure, when she had two [column 4:] hours of almost uninterrupted conversation with him, Mrs. Weiss describes him as full of enthusiasm and a youthful hopefulness. He was the last among the guests to say good night, and as he stood, hat in hand, upon the veranda steps, a meteor flashed across the heavens and disappeared in the east.

“We commented laughingly upon the incident,” Mrs. Weiss says, “but we afterwards recalled it sadly.”

The next day, as she was hurrying to the bedside of a dying friend, she met Rose Poe, who gave her a package from her brother. In it was a volume of Mrs. Browning's. poems, with one of Hawthorne's stories, and in the accompanying note he asked that she would annote them, saying that “the mind of author and reader, coming together like flint and steel, would make them more valuable.” There was also a manuscript copy of “Annie,” Poe's last poem, awful then almost unknown. “and in the shadow of Death she read the sadly prophetic lines.”

Three days afterwards some one handed her a Richmond paper, silently pointing to the head-line “Death of Edgar Allan Poe in Baltimore. The pathetic attendant circumstances accentuated the shock felt throughout all Richmond, where he had so lately been a vivid, central figure.

SHE WROTE NO MORE POETRY.

Ten years later the verses which ne had praised under the title of “Poems” were brought out in book form. The little volume was well received. its 250 copies being quickly dissensions disposed of.

The sectional dissensions which tore the country asunder were rapidly culminating, however, and it was thought until best to postpone a second edition quiet had been restored. Then the war clouds burst, devastating her native Southland and sweeping from her home [column 5:] and property. A long successful career in journalism in New York followed, where she contributed, too, to the prominent monthlies.

“But I had lost my wings.” Mrs. Weiss says, “and wrote no more poetry.”

GILBERTA S. WHITTLE.