Reading Emily Dickinson's Letters: Critical Essays

Messages of Condolence: “more Peace than Pang”

100 Jane Donahue eberwein Messa�es o� Condolence “more Peace than Pang” “What shall I tell these darlings,”Emily Dickinson wondered at the start of her January 1863 letter to Louisa and Frances Norcross shortly after their father’s death left her cousins orphaned at ages 20 and 15 (L278). This had to be an earnest question, not just a rhetorical one; though her foregrounding the challenge she faced in conveying solace on paper to loved ones so overwhelmingly bereaved suggests that she approached this delicate task with artistic sensibility. Within Dickinson’s social culture, to write a prompt letter of condolence was obligatory. Nineteenth-century guides to etiquette left no doubt that “all who can should write to a bereaved person” (Sherwood 204) and that such letters should be “sent immediately” (Tomes 269). When one shared in the grief, the work of condolence proved even harder:“If the affliction which calls for [such letters] is one which touches you nearly, really grieving and distressing you, all written words must seem tame and cold, compared with the aching sympathy which dictates them” (Hartley 122). Yet even if Dickinson had turned to one of many booklets providing models for social and business correspondence, she would have found few examples of letters of condolence. Instead of providing examples of that delicate yet routinely necessary epistolary sub-genre, editors often made the puzzling choice to reprint the letter an English nobleman wrote on the eve of his execution even though purchasers of their guides would be most unlikely to face imminent Messages of Condolence 101 beheading. Such books often neglected to provide models for expressions of sympathy that might help someone seeking the right words or tone when reaching out to a bereaved friend.Yet women, especially, bore a Christian duty to act as agents of comfort. In William Buell Sprague’s Letters on Practical Subjects to a Daughter, Dickinson could have read of her obligations to that vast majority of the human race who“at some time or other, become the objects of sympathy from being openly buffeted by the storms of adversity” (211). Her friend Josiah Holland recommended piety as the prerequisite for women who believed, as all should, that“you carry within your own bosom light for the dying, hope for the despairing, consolation for the bereft” (161).¹ It was also widely acknowledged that women tended to excel men in epistolary skills because of their deeper social sensitivities and skill in conversation.² Although compilers of the ubiquitous letter-writer guides avoided providing any formula for condolences, they warned of likely pitfalls.³ Beyond the usual faults of misspelling, poor grammar or punctuation, and blotted pages, there was danger of reopening the mourner’s wounds or even raising doubts about the eternal prospects of the deceased.⁴ Mrs. John Sherwood, who wrote on etiquette for Harper’s Bazar late in Dickinson’s lifetime,dismissed efforts to justify afflictions by second-guessing God’s perspective as “the wine mixed with gall which they gave our Lord to drink; as He refused it, so may we” (209).⁵ Goals the writer should strive for included brevity, sincerity, and that combination of performative skills that Karen Halttunen sums up as“controlled communication of proper sentiments” (121). Ideally, such a letter could become an instrument of mercy. Sherwood reminded her Gilded Age readers that “often a phrase on which the writer has built no hope may be the airy bridge over which the sorrowing soul returns slowly and blindly to peace and resignation” (212). The odds must have been better and the duty to try even more imperative for that “truly accomplished woman” Dr. Holland characterized in Titcomb’s Letters as “one whose thoughts have come naturally to flow out in artistic forms, whether through the instrumentality of her tongue, her pen, her pencil, or her piano” (112)—all of which were Dickinsonian tools. Fully aware of her gifts by 1863 and trusting that the afflicted“will weep less, if we weep on [their] account” (Taylor 108), Emily Dickinson followed up her question,“What shall I tell these darlings,”with varied attempts at solace (L278). In non-theological language, she reminded Loo and Fannie of Christian hope, suggesting the comfort their wearied father would find in heavenly reunion with his wife. Beyond that, she showed them how their family in Amherst wept with 102 Jane Donahue Eberwein them and offered them at least“half ”a home...