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184. Rose Peckham to John H. Ingram. Item 337
59 Snow St.
Providence, R.I., U.S.A.
July 3, 1878
My dear Mr. Ingram,
I have neither time nor heart to send you this morning the answer your kind letter merits. Still I feel that I ought not to postpone any [page 501:] longer telling you the sad news that will probably have reached you before this does of the death of our dear friend, Mrs. Whitman.
She called to see me the day after we reached home. It was the last time she went out. I saw her twice afterward, spending two most delightful afternoons with her, when she threw off her illness entirely — talked, chatted, laughed, gossiped, and brought her various treasures from hidden nooks for my inspection. When I first went in she was troubled for breath, almost suffocated, but that passed off and she became more herself than I ever remember her.
Of course she talked much about you, and I am sure you occupied a great place in the thoughts of her latter days. When I last saw her, I was to return to her as soon as I should receive a letter from you, as she had something to say to you which she wished me to write in reply.
Your letter came Tuesday. Father was so ill, I did not go that day. Next day a gentleman called to tell me she was failing fast, but she spoke so earnestly of wishing to see me that he came to tell me to go at once. I went home from my studio to carry out his injunction when I found sister Grace just returned from Mrs. Whitman who was then dying and could see no one. Next day she was gone.
I cannot express to you my regret at not seeing her again. It will always be a grief to me. Father gained nicely for five weeks after our return, but we have had excessively warm weather of late which has been very trying for him. He became well enough to enjoy talking with us over varied experiences and took such a quiet satisfaction in seeing us about him that it will always be a blessing to me to remember it. I cannot write even to you my dear friend of the anguish of hope and fear we live in from day to day, with the dread certainty always in the background that there is no hope. It is heartbreaking. It seems an era of suffering and affliction for everyone we know, and we seem to live in an atmosphere of death and desolation.
Thank you for your kindest of letters. Is there no hope that you will come to America this summer? I am sorry to think that you have any cause for bitterness toward American critics, but I am glad you do not include me in your resentment. If you go to Paris, I hope you will call on Mrs. Rein, my friend of whom you have heard me speak. I enclose a card — also clipping from the Journal in regard to Mrs. Whitman.
I am sorry to trouble you about the pictures. I pray you not to do anything at present, just keep the “Little Bess” for me until I have a clearer mind to decide what to do to relieve you of it.
I know this letter does not deserve an answer, but I hope you will find time to write me a line. Kate joins in kindest regards.
Believe me as always, yours truly,
Rose Peckham
The first I knew of Mrs. Whitman's funeral was from Mr. Thomas Davis who called to see us and told us about it after it was all over. I could not help feeling hurt that no word was sent me, as I am sure Mrs. W[hitman] had very few friends nearer or dearer to her than I was. I thought I should see some notice in the Journal, but it seems she requested it should not be printed till after her burial. It seems as if I was fated to be deprived of all pertaining to a last look or word.
Mr. Davis wanted to marry Mrs. W[hitman] about 35 years ago. He said she looked like a woman in the prime of life, after her death. She did not long survive her sister. She told me that her greatest fear was that she might die first.
[Enclosures: Newspaper clippings from the Providence Journal. Item 739]
Mrs. Sarah Helen Whitman died last night at half-past nine o’clock at the home of Mrs. Albert Dailey, 97 Bowen Street, of affection of the heart, complicated by other ailments. Although for some weeks it has been evident that her tenure of life was feeble and uncertain, her friends were beguiled by her cheerful, uncomplaining manner into the hope that not quite yet was she to be called to the great change which she contemplated with entire complacency and satisfaction. We will not this morning speak of the lovely life just closed, nor of the rare intellectual gifts now lost to earth. At some fitting time, the memory of Mrs. Whitman will receive the tribute of appreciative affection that her elevated character and gentle manners have inspired in the hearts of all who enjoyed her acquaintance. [June 28, 1878]
By Mrs. Whitman's special request, the formal announcement of her death was not sent to the papers until after her funeral, and no invitations to the funeral were sent out. But the affection of friends supplied the place of the usual means of communication, as was shown by the spontaneous gathering of so large a number. An account of the touching exercises appears in another column.
The Funeral of Mrs. Whitman
The remains of Mrs. Sarah Helen Whitman were laid to rest Saturday afternoon towards the closing of the day, at the North Burial Ground. The funeral exercises were held at the residence of Mrs. Albert Dailey, and were strikingly impressive and beautiful. There was a strict avoidance of all ostentation, and the obsequies were in a certain sense private. Only those who knew Mrs. Whitman best, or who admired her rare gifts and kindly character most, were present. The remains lay in a casket, covered with a cloth of white. The features were placid and natural. The hands pressed to the breast a bunch of beautiful roses. On the casket lid lay a wreath of green leaves, from which sprang a few heads of [page 503:] ripened wheat. Beautiful flowers were arranged in beds upon stands, one at the head and one at the foot of the coffin.
The exercises were conducted by Miss Anna C. Garlin. After reading a selection from the Scriptures, Miss Garlin, in graceful language, spoke of the personal qualities of the deceased ...
At the close of her remarks, Miss Garlin offered up thanksgiving for the beautiful life passed away. She then read from the works of Mrs. Whitman her ode to the Angel of Death [....]
It was then announced that the casket was about to be closed, and that an opportunity would be given to all who wished to take a parting look at the features of the deceased. And while the people were gathering about the casket, Hon. Thomas Davis, standing near-by, paid a tribute to the memory of her whose mortal remains lay within it [....]
Mr. Davis spoke very feelingly, but his remarks could not be heard distinctly, save by those who were in the room with him [....]
At the Cemetery
The grave was completely lined with branches of laurel and evergreen so that the naked earth was nowhere seen. It was appropriate that the grave of Sarah Helen Whitman should be the first one in Providence thus simply and beautifully embowered with emblems of immortality. After the casket was lowered, friends tossed upon it sprays of laurel and evergreen, and then each one scattered flowers. [July 1, 1878]
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Notes:
None.
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[S:0 - PHR, 1979] - Edgar Allan Poe Society of Baltimore - Bookshelf - Poe's Helen Remembers (J. C. Miller) (Entry 184)