Text: John Grier Varner, “Chapter 07,” Sarah Helen Whitman, Seeress of Providence, dissertation, 1940, pp. 251-265 (This material is protected by copyright)

[page 251:]

In all of her intellectuality, Sarah Whitman was a woman of singularly feminine characteristics, although she herself felt that the positive side of her nature was represented by masculine qualities. Physiologists, declaring the brain duel, had pronounced the left side of a person's head to be the positive side; and Sarah Whitman was convinced that this side of her head was masculine.(1) She did possess obvious traits which the world of her day might have pronounced masculine. She had a masterful intellect, and she sought eagerly for truth, regardless of convention, and without fear of utterance. She commanded the respect and the attention of the most profound thinkers of her day, and she came to speak with some masculine authority. But in spite of whet she and her contemporaries might have looked upon as masculine accomplishments, Sarah Whitman was, as George William Curtis styled her, “singularly feminine”.

Mrs. Whitman had failed to inherit that beauty with which her aunts in the Power family had been so splendidly endowed; however, she was dainty and handsome, and she possessed numerous qualities of physical charm. A mass of brown hair shaded her light complexioned face, from which peered deep-set, blue eyes — eyes which are said to have looked beyond, never at a person — dreamy, seeking eyes, which because of their sensitivity she usually screened from the glare of the light with a fan. Tall [page 252:] slender, and “straight as an Indian”, she had a flitting spirit-like way of coming softly and disappearing suddenly, of half concealing herself behind a curtain, and peeping out as she joined in a conversation, She brought with her a dreamy, other-world atmosphere “which subdued noisy laughter or idle talk”; and when she spoke in her low, soft, flute-like voice, talking in a quick eager way while her mouth quivered with the motion it held in check, others listened.(1)

Mrs. Whitman was strictly unconventional in the matter of clothes. She usually wore white in the summer and black in the winter, but regardless of the season her dresses were cut low in the neck and short in the sleeves. She always appeared to be lightly shod. She loved silken draperies, fleecy lace scarfs and veils, and she made the cut of her dresses more noticeable by the fact that “she also wore, thrown over her head and fastened under her chin, a soft, loose, white ‘Shetland’ shawl, completely covering her head — save her face — and shoulders, and which she kept continually pulling forward — over her arms as every movement betrayed then to view”. Once when asked why she wore the shawl, she replied that her head and ears were always cold, while her neck and arms were always warm.(2) Eccentric to a degree, Mrs. Whitman at one time wore constantly around her throat a black velvet ribbon pinned with a tiny coffin which a friend had carved for her out of some dark-colored wood; and this funereal badge she [page 253:] apparently prized more than diamonds or pearls.(1)

Possessed of great vanity, Mrs. Whitman was always careful concerning her personal charm. When she was a young woman, she took pains to see that it was the pretty part of her am or neck, which showed; and when she had reached an age which left uncertainty far behind, she took care always to appear at her best physical advantage, hiding those tell-tale marks with a veil, or lowering a rose-colored lamp to give herself the flush of youth. In a dimly lighted parlor, decked here and there with scarlet, she usually sat with her back turned to the light, thus throwing a discreetly tinted shadow over her face. Here in an atmosphere of French chalk and often ether, she would recline in her chair, surrounded by young girls and posing as a seeress.(2)

The fact that this woman of delicate and feminine features was a poet added to her attraction, and this further enhanced by the fact that she was a woman [page 254:] who had suffered, both because of ill health, and because of the tragedies connected with her life. But in spirit of her sorrows Sarah Whitman could be merry and both witty and sarcastic, whether she were writing of her friend's wedding train which seemed “as long as that of the wonderful comet of fifty-six”,(1) or of the honorable Wilkins Updike, an elderly Rhode Island widower whose amorous feelings for the attractive poetess made him sometimes eager to “sit up close”.(2)

It is not strange that a woman of Mrs. Whitman's personal charms should have attracted serious attention from men; and throughout her life, though she always commanded a great deal of masculine awe and respect, she found herself at the same time flattered by men whose intentions were often matrimonial. Both her friends and relatives had urged a second marriage for her after her husband's death;(3) but Mrs. Power had offered opposition to a second alliance, and Mrs. Whitman herself, though at times encouraging coquettish with her suitors, had apparently given none any hope for a feeling more serious than that of mere friendship. She still bore an affection for John Winslow Whitman, and she either sincerely believed or labored under the illusion that her health would not permit the burdens of another marriage. Love having become a purely spiritual matter to her, she was quite content to go on through life idealizing the past and pouring forth her feelings upon the objects or her memories. This should at least be the case [page 255:] until she met someone with intellect powerful enough to stir within her a renewed affection. She perhaps waited for the man “‘whom, not the fickle will, but the deep heart within her yearned to fold to its embrace”, and she doubtless sincerely believed that this friend should “seek her out through the realms of space”.(1)

Nevertheless in 1845 Mrs. Whitman, though nearing middle age, was a widow endowed. with sufficient charm and fortune to surround herself with masculine admirers, perhaps the most serious of whom was the Hon. Wilkins Updike, Rhode Island senator and author of The History of Narragansett Church. Mrs. Whitman regarded this gentleman's attentions lightly, but her indifference was never sufficiently discouraging to persuade him that eventually there would be no hope. Consequently, for several years he remained sanguine and confident that she would someday consent to a marriage; and regardless of the almost kindly discouragements of some of his intimate friends, he pursued her with ardor. Mrs. Whitman made the acquaintance of Updike possibly through her friend, Albert Gorton Greene, who was soothes a guest in the Updike home at Kingston.(2) Again, she was doubtless drawn to him because of their mutual interest the release of Governor Dorr.(3) By April of 1845 Updike's feelings for her had reached the stage of serious declaration, and in this month she received from him, the following amorous note: [page 256:]

Reports occasionally reached Updike which might have cooled his ardor, but be seems not to have been seriously disturbed and to have felt confident that eventually Mrs. Whitman would accept his proposal. In July of 1845 he wrote Mrs. Whitman that he had just missed seeing her at the office of Burgess, and Mr. Burgess had offered more discouragement.

July of 1245 was a month of intense heat, and Updike, fearing for the health of Mrs. Whitman, urged her to visit him at his home near the beach; when his pleas failed, his daughters joined n a hearty invitation. Three of the daughters sent their invitations, and Updike himself again urged her to come, promising that a trip to the beach [page 258:] “would do her more good than all of the Dr. Oakies, Persons and Tobeys in the world”.

Updike had gone to Providence to see Mrs. Whitman but had failed to do so because of the intense heat.

Mrs. Whitman might later have noted with some interest that the intense heat of these July days which drove Updike away from her, back to his hone in Kingston, was responsible for her casual yet unknown first meeting with that immortal poet who recorded the incident in his lines “To Helen”.

It was about the middle of the month of July, 1845, when Edgar Poe caught his first glimpse of the Providence poet.

Mrs. Whitman had given as one of her excuses for not chooses a second husband the matter of health, but Updike did not regard this as a circumstance that could not be overcome. Nevertheless, he was concerned over her health, [page 259:] and during the severe heat of 1845, as well as later, was solicitous concerning her, offering his services to assist the Powers in obtaining a maid, and begging them to go so far as to obtain Irish help from either Boston or New York rather than run the risk of illness.

Mrs. Whitman had suggested to Updike that he shift his affection to one who might be more favorable, and he now answered:

In November of l845 Updike wrote Mrs. Whitman of a dinner which he had given for a few of his friends, saying that it was hourly in his mind that only Mrs. Whitman's presence was wanting to make things as they ought to be. Her place was not filled, but only she was to blame for that. [page 260:]

Updike then mentioned that their friend Mr. Burgess had given him the pleasure of his company for a day and night.

The Burgess family were close friends of Mrs. Whitman, and, apparently aware of her true feeling for the sentimental widower, had humorously sought to lessen his hopes. Bat there were additional sources of discouragement for Updike, for by 1845 Mrs. Whitman had other admirers whose attentions to her were serious enough to cause him concern. Among these friends was William J. Pabodie, a young lawyer who combined his legal practice with occasional literary [page 261:] work. He as a well-known poet locally, and had received some recognition in other cities, chiefly because of his poem “Calidore.” Updike disliked Pabodie and made no efforts to conceal this dislike from Mrs. Whitman. Whether his antipathy arose from a feeling of jealousy or from a justified or instinctive distrust of the man one cannot say. At a rate by 1845 Updike had become open in his warnings against Pabodie. By this time Pabodie had attained some influence with the Providence Journal, and Updike felt that some of his criticism voiced through the pages of this paper were not to be trusted. On July 25, 1845, he wrote Mrs. Whitman:

Hazard himself had expressed his delight that both Updike and Mrs. Whitman admired his article, saying that that was all that mattered.

Then Updike spoke of having mentioned to Hazard what he termed the “singular littleness” of “Pabody”. And this apparent lack of confidence in Pabodie seems to have increased as the months passed, for in December, 1846. Updike again [page 262:] warned Mrs. Whitman against allowing Pabodie to review her poems.

Apparently Mrs. Whitman regarded these warnings against Pabodie lightly, for the warmth of her friendship for this man of peculiar mind and habits remained unabated until his tragic death many years later. Furthermore, she refused to discourage the attentions of other “rascals” as Updike styled then, and he now increased his pleadings that she should not allow Thomas Davis and Gamaliel Dwight to “cut him out”. In 1846 he wrote concerning the too frequuent visits of Thomas Davis to the Power home,(2) and again in 1847 he complained that Davis had taken as much time to capture her as it had taken to conquer Mexico, and that Dwight crowed excessively of his progress in her favor. Then he warned that if he did not succeed in his suit, he would shut himself in his den forever.(3)

So the Honorable Wilkins Updike continued in his persistent adoration of the charming widow, meeting her at her Sunday evening receptions, or at the Athenaeum; escorting her to President Wayland's lectures; inviting her to his home in Kingston for riding, bathing, and social events; praising her as a poet and Transcendentalist; and offering [page 263:] comfort for her sorrows — but always pleading for her hand in marriage. Mrs. Whitman, however, had been equally persistent in her refusal and by 1847 Updike had become somewhat discouraged. In October of this year he wrote of having been at Providence several tines, saying that he had not called because of a rheumatic affliction which had drawn his head and neck forward so that he was disfigured. He did not mind others seeing him because their regard or estimation did not trouble him, but hers was all that he wished to retain, and he was reluctant that she should see him in this disfigured state. He was fearful that if she saw him he would appear so altered and so broken that it would not only surprise but impress her so unfavorably that he should lose all the hold he had upon her affections

Updike was disturbed by Mrs. Whitman's friendship for Mrs. Walter S. Burgess, for he was beginning to feel that he lacked the sympathy of Mrs. Burgess. Writing to Mrs. Whitman in 1847, he told of his desire not to meet Mrs. Burgess in the Power home, because of the effect he feared such an interview night have on the intimacy which existed between the two ladies, Then humbly he added that [page 264:] his own occasional visits could not possibly provide the pleasure that Mrs. Whitman received from the frequent calls of Mrs. Burgess. Poor, miserable Updike! Even Davis tortued [[tortured]] him now with sly questions as to why he no longer spent nights in the city as he formerly did, and he was aware that Davis’ questions sprung from no source of personal interest. So he complained to Mrs. Whitman that his only pleasures were in thinking over the happy times he had experienced in her company — the visits they had made together to the Greenes’, the Burgess’ and other places; the repeated conversations they had held. Retrospection. was now his sole enjoyment.(1)

The close of the year 1847 found Mrs. Whitman still a charming widow besieged with suitors, but there is no evidence that she felt for any of her admirers affection warmer than that of mere friendship. It is quite possible that had she done so, she would have been discouraged from marriage by the complications within her family. Mrs. Whitman felt a great responsibility for her family, and the eccentricities of her sister Anna had increased — so much so that in 1845 she had been committed for a period to a physician's care. And now there was the continual fear that another outburst on the part of Anna might result in her permanent mental derangement.(2) Furthermore, Mrs. Whitman's own health would have discouraged a second union; for she was really ill, and she now felt that she had not much longer to live. Nevertheless, the coming months were to [page 265:] witness a rising interest on Mrs. Whitman's part in a man whom she was later to designate as one whom mysterious occult forces had predestined for her — a man whose personality and dominating character proved sufficiently strong to subdue for at least a time some of those objections which she had offered to former suitors. In less than a year she met Edgar Poe.