Taming the 'King of Terrors': ritual and death in Schenectady, New York, 1844-1860.

Death is certainly the most universal and, perhaps, most terrifying of all human experiences.(1) Those dying know that all will eventually follow them, but they have only faith to guide them about their fate. Survivors must re-establish their lives in the midst of loss and mourning. Ritual, however, provides both the dying and the survivors with aid and comfort in passing through their times of crisis. Ritual reduces stress by offering acceptable routines which emphasize the commonality of death, instead of isolation and loneliness. Ritual also gives meaning to many of the stages of dying, if not to the ultimate experience. Finally, ritual allows the expression of emotions that would otherwise be proscribed, and defines appropriate forms of behavior. Not surprisingly, rituals, especially those associated with major transitions such as death, often reflect the most fundamental values of a society.

Anyone who undertakes even the most cursory cross-cultural comparison of death rituals quickly learns that specific customs surrounding death vary greatly from one society to another, though there are often similarities in the purposes behind them.(2) Here the focus is on the rituals mid-nineteenth-century Americans used to aid themselves through this most significant transition. Nineteenth-century Americans often referred to death as "the King of Terrors," although they appear from the modern perspective to be both familiar and comfortable with death. This study is based on the extraordinarily full and reflective diaries of Thomas Palmer and Jonathan Pearson, both of whom were middle-aged professionals, who lived in Schenectady, N.Y., in the middle of the nineteenth century. Although both Catholics and Jews lived in Schenectady at that time, the rituals of death described below are Protestant. Other sources make it clear, however, that Palmer and Pearson differed not in the patterns they describe, but only in the fullness of their accounts. In both cases, the author is a survivor, and not the person dying. Both diaries are by fathers and heads of families; there is no equivalent source reflecting a woman's perceptions.

If death rituals tell us much about a society, what can we learn from Palmer and Pearson about nineteenth-century America? In all, seven themes will emerge in what follows. 1) Family was intimately involved with all stages of the rituals of death, providing aid and comfort for both the dying and survivors. 2) The community often played an important role in death rituals, from the presence of friends during sickness and death, to the larger congregations at funerals. 3) Religion stressed the need for preparation and the hope of salvation for those facing death, within the context of family and community. 4) At times, however, religious beliefs led to moral judgements about personal worth, especially when the dying was suspected of not attending to the state of his soul at an appropriate time. 5) Although death rituals reaffirmed communal values, individual circumstances made each death unique and special to both the dying and survivors. 6) Gender and age both had an effect on which of the rituals would receive emphasis. 7) The personalities of the individuals involved, whether dying or diarist, affected the response to death, perhaps most clearly through the relative importance placed on family or community.

We will begin by examining Thomas Palmer's account of the illness and death of his daughter, Mary Palmer Duane. To the extent that there was an ideal way to die, Mary Duane fulfilled all the expectations of the good death. In considering her death, I intend not only to describe what happened, but also to suggest how her death fits broader patterns of Christian ritual that have existed since about A.D. 900.(3) Table 1 provides a useful summary of what I see to be the basic stages of the rituals of death.(4) The death of Henry Pearson, son of Jonathan Pearson, is the first of four other deaths which will be used to indicate how personal circumstances and the accidents of death altered not only what parts of the rituals were emphasized, but also whether the full ritual could be realized. In the case of Henry Pearson, death was sudden and shocking, thus preventing the attainment of an ideal death. Although the deaths of Palmer's son, and of Pearson's brother-in-law and sister were not as unexpected as that of Henry Pearson, each was enough different from the ideal to provide insight in how the importance of various parts of the ritual was affected by individual circumstances.

On November 12, 1845, Mary Palmer Duane, and her husband Benjamin arrived in Schenectady from the country to spend the winter with her parents.(5) The reason became clear on December 10, with the birth of Mary's first child, a daughter, also named Mary. But all was not well. Mary was apparently already ill with tuberculosis, and the birth of her daughter marked the beginning of nine months of deteriorating health that would culminate with her death on September 13, 1846.(6) Within a week, Palmer recorded that Mary was suffering from a cough and pain in her side, "like a Pleurisy," and that she had been blistered and bled twice. The onset of danger, in which the outcome may or may not be certain, marks the first of nine separate stages in the ritual of death.

As Palmer recorded Mary's ups and downs over the next two months, he never despaired of her health. By February 8, 1846, he noted that she was "able to sit up & walk about the room," even though four days before the tartic emetic ointment on her breast had been, "excessive painful." On February 22, Mary and her daughter received visitors upstairs. At the end of April, Mary progressed sufficiently to come down stairs and take tea with the family, although, "still very weak and delicate in health." By May, Mary was out riding in carriages, in spite of being "feeble," and on June 17 she was able to walk to their minister's house with her sister.

At this point, death intruded from an unexpected side. On June 26, Mary's little daughter, now six months old, became sick. She had her gums cut and received teething medicine, but to no avail. She died on July 29 with an, "inflammation on her lungs." The month of little Mary's illness is informative in several ways. It is possible that as Mary recognized the dangerous condition of her daughter, Thomas began to prepare for his own daughter's death. On Sunday, July 5, he was much surprised when Mary arrived in church, part way through the service, to take communion with the family. It was her first time in church in nine months, and would be her last. Palmer described the family at the communion altar as, "an affecting scene to all." But the effort was hard on Mary. She was, "Much fatigued when she got back home." Palmer understood that he would soon lose Mary. He sadly observed, "Her dark black, bright Eyes contrast forcibly with her pale & wan cheeks. She is a dear child, but Providence claims her for his own--may I be resigned to his will."

The death of little Mary highlighted a complex web of family and social support that flowed in several directions. The Palmer family was frequently visited by Mrs. Mumford and her daughter Harriet Mumford Paige, who lost a loved one of their own in March, and had been comforted by the Palmers. Four days before the child's death, one of Thomas's oldest friends, Archibald Craig, died. Thomas served as a bearer at his funeral, and then wrote Craig's obituary in the midst of his own personal loss. The day before Craig's funeral, Rev. Williams, who had once boarded with the Palmer's, came to their house to baptize little Mary. Her mother, "stood up and went through the responses," for the sake of her child. When the infant Mary died, LaRue Craig, Archibald's son, was a bearer of her coffin.

Although Thomas was over sixty at the time, and had attended numerous funerals, he was still moved by the death of his granddaughter. The day of her death, he appreciated the presence of six female friends who were, "all very kind." The next day, as the body was laid out, waiting for burial until family could arrive, Palmer observed, "It is the most beautiful piece of flesh I ever witnessed. It has a smile on its lips, & seems asleep." A day later, at the funeral, he was affected when, as, "the coffin was being let down in the grave, a Robin perched on the branch of an Elm, overshadowing the grave--commenced its sweet notes--thus performing a Requiem at the gave."

With the child buried, concern for the mother again surfaced. Twice in early August, Mary was able to venture out on short trips with family, but the end was nearing. Palmer apologized to the Craigs, on August 11, for his imperfect efforts composing Archibald's obituary, noting that, "It was done in the moment of family bereavement, and in the prospect of still further sorrows. . . ." The day before, Palmer ordered an inhaling tube for Mary from New York City, but such medical attention was probably to alleviate pain, not a sign of hope.

Rituals associated with the second stage of death dominated the week before September 13, when Mary died, as she made her last reconciliation with God and her family. On Sunday, September 6, Palmer observed, "Our Mary is fast declining--and we hope prepared." The family surrounded her bed, praying and reading the Bible. After the morning service, Rev. Williams came to the house and administered communion to Mary, her husband, and her parents, providing to Thomas what, "seemed to be a foretaste of that Heavenly communion, reserved for us in a happier world." On Tuesday, the family knew Mary was feeble, but were, "cheered in the belief that her faith is strong, and that she is prepared for the great event that awaits her." The remainder of the week, Palmer spent much time at home, attending only to the necessary business of his law partnership, as the family emphasized spiritual activities.

The day before she died, Thomas knew his daughter had but little time, as did she. Mary was apparently reconciled to her death. Palmer was pleased that, "she seems prepared to meet her savior--she is patient as a Lamb--never complains. . . . She is meek, humble resigned, strong & unwavering in her faith--Anxious to depart--and placing her reliance on the merits of her Savior."

Early on Sunday, September 13, Mary died, "without a struggle. She gently slept in the arms of the redeemer." Having made her peace with God, Mary used her last few hours to do the same with her family. It is clear that Mary knew how she wanted to die, and organized the family to meet her wishes during her last hours. Palmer tells us, "We kept our solemn vigil around her dying bed all night. Bright were her hopes, and glorious her prospects. She prayed & we prayed. She told us not to mourn for her, for she would be happy & hoped & trusted, that we should all meet in Heaven and be a happy family there. She bade us all farewell, separately, clasping her arms around our necks, and saluting us--and now said she 'let us once more unite in prayer,' & she began the Lords prayer, went through taking the lead--then a pause--& she pronounced the blessing 'May the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Ghost be with us all forever more. Amen'" To her father, "Hers was the triumphant death of the humble christian. She has left a bright example." For Mary, the third stage of her death was uneventful, as she died with ease and anticipation.(7)

Curiously, Palmer tells us nothing of the fourth part of the death ritual, the preparation of the corpse. When little Mary had died in late July, he had not only reflected on its sweetness in death, but had noted that the family had, "kept Tubs of Ice around the little infant to keep it from decay, or alterations." Perhaps the family chose not to have Mary's body available for viewing, since the day before she died, her father had lamented that she was, "reduced to a skeleton."

The rituals associated with Mary's funeral clearly stressed the symbolic transferal of the body from the world of the living to the world of the dead. Mary's funeral commenced at 3 PM, on Tuesday, September 15, from the home of her parents. "A large assembly," met there, composed of family and friends, and prayers were offered by Rev. Williams. As was common at the time, this fifth part of the ritual, services before the grave, took place only at home, with no church service. The procession from home to graveyard marked the sixth part of the ritual, and a major transition. Palmer duly recorded the names of the eight bearers, and the fact that, "The Ladies accompanied . . . the gentlemen." The family in the procession included Thomas, his wife, five of their children, and visiting relatives. Graveside rituals were formal. Rev. Williams read the Episcopal burial service, which Thomas thought, "beautiful," after which Mary was laid to rest next to her babe and her brother William. Family and friends then returned home.

Initially, it appears that Thomas Palmer performed the rituals of the eighth stage of the death, remembering the dead, in a perfunctory manner. As visiting family members returned home, Palmer settled in to write letters to members of the family who had not been present, describing Mary's death and funeral. Such letters were common, and indeed expected, practice in the first half of the nineteenth century. Two days after the funeral, he was back at work. He also went riding in a carriage with one of the family's close friends, Harriet Mumford Paige. Curiously, he does not mention whether Mrs. Palmer accompanied them. A week after Mary's death, Thomas reflected that, "she spends this Sunday in Heaven with all her departed relatives." The following Sunday he blessed her memory; then mention ceases. Not even the first anniversary of her death received note, although he had mentioned her brother William's death the year after he died.(8)

On reflection, however, Palmer may have been less cold than he appears. He had, after all, been prepared for Mary's death since July 5. The last week of her life had been one of sustained and intense mourning and preparation, with extensive support from family and friends. Both Mary and her father seemed to take as much comfort from Christian teachings about death and salvation as possible. She was clearly prepared to die, and Thomas was hopeful for her future. Under these circumstances, it is not surprising that Palmer was able quickly to resume a normal life. Thus, he completed the final stage of the rituals of death, reintegration of survivors into the community, quickly and easily. In fact, since friends were present from the very start of Mary's illness, Palmer was never detached from his social circle. Death had, in fact, made the circle closer, as the Palmers had both offered and received support during the preceding year.

Mary Palmer Duane died well, according to nineteenth-century standards, at least in part because she and her family had ample opportunity to prepare. The sudden death of Henry Pearson, as recorded by his father, Jonathan, provides a contrast of remarkable similarities and striking differences.

On July 16, 1858, Henry Pearson, then approaching his sixteenth birthday, went rowing on the Mohawk River after dinner with two of his friends. He was carried home several hours later, dead by drowning. Unlike Thomas Palmer, who had ample time to prepare for Mary's death, Jonathan Pearson was utterly shocked by the loss of Henry. The rituals surrounding the treatment of the dead helped him get through the first few days, but then he had to face the loss. For months after, Pearson grieved over his first-born child.

The day Henry died brought only a brief mention in Pearson's diary, but the next day was a time for reflection. Pearson and his wife had been married seventeen years, with three sons, during which time, "God spared all."(9) But now, in Pearson's words, "in his wise Providence He has called one home & filled our hearts with desolation." Jonathan felt compelled to record the accident in some detail, before reflecting on his son's character. Henry, according to his father, was not "a brilliant youth," but "had good natural talents, . . . a natural loveliness of disposition, gentleness, kindness to others, respect for his parents & regard for the feelings of his associates." Most comforting of all was the fact that Henry had been preparing to become a member of the Presbyterian Church. Pearson believed, "Such a consolation as this can alone console us for our loss. The sympathy of friends is valuable but vain is all that man can do if the love of God be wanting. . . . We feel confidant that it is well with our dear boy & that our loss is his gain."

The funeral was on Sunday, July 18. Pearson's diary for that day and the next tells us that Henry was laid out in their parlor, "where he lay as if sweetly sleeping." After scriptures, a short address, and prayers, the body was taken to the front yard where, "the multitude assembled . . . passed by it, to take the last look." Then, accompanied by about 3,000 sympathizers, the family proceeded to Vale Cemetery to bury Henry. Pearson was touched by the fact that, "no event . . . has so moved the city as the death of our son," as well as by the, "substantial & visible tokens of sympathy from our numerous friends and neighbors." In spite of the support of the community, Pearson still lamented, "Oh what a gap we do find in our little family. The light of our eyes--the pride of our hearts the joy of our house,--is gone, nothing but the consolations of the Gospel & the hope we have of his blessed reception in another world can reconcile us to our loss."

The next few days were difficult for Jonathan. Union College, where he was both professor and assistant treasurer, was to commence that week, and he had trustees' meetings and other business to prepare. This was at a time when he felt, "How does the world recede & eternity draw nigh when death enters our dwellings. All the vain things that please us most lose their interest. . . . It is hard to go back to the world and commence the hard routines of every day business. The world has a less lovely aspect, and the worth of earthly things has fallen very much out of my esteem." In the midst of this, however, Pearson found comfort in riding with his wife, noting that she bore, "with Christian resignation & fortitude our afflicting loss."

From Henry's death on July 16 until Jonathan visited his grave on August 1, there were only three days when he did not make some mention of the loss. Then, on August 4, he and his wife left on a long-planned trip to the Massachusetts seacoast.

By the time they returned, on September 6, Pearson's mourning had moved to a new stage. He no longer needed to record his sense of loss daily. But, there are at least eight instances when some circumstance of life would awaken the memory of Henry, occasionally painfully. This is in striking contrast to Thomas Palmer, who, once he had buried his daughter, quickly ceased to mention her. On September 25, Pearson and his wife deliberately visited Henry's grave. On October 14, while attending another interment, the memory of Henry came upon him, "with crushing effect." Two months then elapsed without mention of Henry, but on December 20 Pearson lamented that, "Time is a healer of the wounded spirit--yet there [are] some wounds which are never healed--which break out afresh & trouble the afflicted heart. . . . I find but little abatement of that yearning & longing for his dear face." Then, in a passage which clearly explains why Henry's death was so difficult to accept, Pearson wrote, "A sudden death is particularly awful--it gives no time for preparation--no time for adieus, & parting with friends. Is not also the death of a young person more bitter than the loss of an old friend because the latter we know must die." On February 20, 1859, he still thought daily of Henry, and for the father, "the wound bleeds afresh."

Pearson and his wife continued to visit the grave, and the anniversary of Henry's death resulted in a brief mention. On Sunday, August 7, 1859, the Pearsons were unable to attend church, but a visit to Henry's grave offered, "a most impressive and profitable sermon." Memories of botanical excursions through the Vale woods taught, "sad . . . lessons of severed ties, broken hopes, and departed joys!" That was the last mention of Henry until the next summer, when Jonathan's sister died. Three days after her funeral, in Hudson, Pearson, "bought flowers for Henry's grave." On the second anniversary of Henry's death, the body of Pearson's sister was brought to Schenectady for burial. In addition to describing the midnight interment of his sister, Pearson noted Henry's death two years earlier. He tells us, "I have thought much about him, and the exceeding desire to see him which sometimes seizes me is very painful." Thereafter the diary is silent regarding Henry.

The lengthy illness of Mary Palmer Duane, with its outcome obvious to all long before her death, allowed both her and her family to follow, all the accepted rituals for death, and to use three rituals to ease the pain and give meaning to the uncertainty of death. For Jonathan Pearson, the death of his son was so abrupt and unexpected that rituals were of less use to him. The days surrounding the funeral were clearly times when the family and community acted according to expected patterns, and found comfort in so doing. But for the better part of a year after, Jonathan Pearson struggled to accept the loss of his son, perhaps using his diary to aid both memory and healing. Even two years later, Henry's death was still painful, although no longer prominent in Pearson's daily existence.(10)

However clear and effective the rituals of death were, individual circumstances could constrict the full range of behavior, limit the benefits to be gained from customary actions, and alter the emphasis on various stages of the ritual. Three other deaths, recorded in some detail by Palmer and Pearson, allow us to pursue these points.

The rituals associated with the death of Thomas Palmer's son, William, on January 11, 1845 were both similar to and different from those of Mary's death. Even though William died before his sister, her death was considered first because it approached more closely and defined more clearly the ideal death.

The most obvious similarity was in the first stage of the rituals of death, since William, like Mary, died a lingering death from tuberculosis. The onset of William's illness took the family by surprise, and at least initially they hoped for a speedy recovery. As 1843 came to a close, William was making arrangements to become the Cashier of the Schenectady Bank, much to his father's satisfaction. Then, on January 11, 1844, Palmer reported, "William while meeting with the Directors of the Schenectady Bank, was taken with bleeding from his Lungs. Doctor Dunlap bled him copiously. He has now retired to bed." William died exactly one year later.

The month of January was a time of optimism, as the family maintained the belief that William was getting better. By early February, however, it was clear that William was seriously ill. On the 8th, Palmer noted that his son had walked outside for the first time since taken sick. He also cautiously observed that, "William appears no worse, but we hope is better." Blisters and salves applied by the family to ease a stricture on his chest on the 18th did not help. Until June, Thomas remained hopeful, yet realistic about his son. On May 26, for example, Palmer reported, "William is yet feeble. But we hope he yet may Recover."

During the spring, William travelled some in an effort to bolster his health and spirits. A three week trip to northern New York was planned for the summer, but by then Thomas had doubts about his son's recovery. As the touring party set forth on June 28, Palmer worried that there was little that could be done for William. He sadly noted that, "our prayers go with him, that the jaunt may recruit him, and that his life may be spared. But gods will be done." When the family returned on July 17, all Thomas could write was that the effects of the trip were uncertain, not what he had hoped.

During August and September, Thomas referred regularly to the state of William's health, charting his ups and downs. Twice, however, his tone reflected more than his usual concern for his son. On August 10, Palmer reported that the Mumford family had let him gather apples and plums for, "poor sick William." A similar remark that went beyond a simple note of William's status was recorded on September 19, when Palmer stated, "My son William I regret to say is not as well as usual he is quite feeble, and his health very precarious." Palmer no longer expected William would recover.

A three-week trip to New York City by William and his mother in October brought brief hope to the family. Thomas received letters from both wife and son reporting that the change of scene and "a better kind of Naphtha," had improved William's condition. When they returned to Schenectady on October 20, Palmer thought William looked better. But three days later he knew differently, as he noted, "William is no better." The conflict between Palmer's desire that William get better and his realism about tuberculosis is reflected in his diary on October 28. Initially, Palmer wrote, "William did not cough last night as much as usual he appeared to sleep well." But he later crossed out some words and interlined others to say, "William coughed last night as usual he appeared to sleep well only a short time."

As the weather turned colder, William's health continued to decline. The family sought assistance from doctors in New York and Albany, as friends and family attended William and his parents. On November 13, Harriet Paige brought a chemical paste for William, which drew from Thomas the observation, "This Lady has been ever kind to us, and is a most valued friend." But chemical pastes had little effect. On December 17, the Palmers received a letter from William's doctor in Albany including medicine, and depressing news. Palmer said the doctor, "speaks very discouraging of him, thinks all he can do will be to alleviate his distress."

With the end so obviously in sight, the time had come for final preparations and reconciliations. In this case the preparations seem to be more the father's than the son's. On December 27, as Thomas sat with William in his room, where, "the stove shed a faint and glimmering light," on William's pale face, Thomas thought to himself, "where will he be another year?" On New Year's Day, the Palmers avoided community festivities, neither receiving nor making customary calls. Until January 10, Palmer and his wife tended to their work and went to church, even as William declined. On January 10, however, Palmer knew William was "weak and faint. His end seems to be drawing nigh." Thomas was pleased that Rev. Williams was attentive, and that he gave them hopes William had "made his peace with God and prepared to die." Palmer prepared himself for his son's death with the thought that, "A few days will in all probability translate him to a better and happier world, where his sorrows and sufferings will cease." He also noted that Mrs. Paige had sent a bowl of jelly for William, as well as the presence of several friends.

The next day, January 11, William died, though with less drama than his sister, Mary. The scene was crowded, with his parents, three sisters, including Mary, two ministers, and three other friends present. William was clearly the center of attention, and to some extent in control of his last moments. Around midnight, he, "received the communion, . . . expressed a wish to depart, . . . [took] an affectionate leave of . . . all, [and] yielded up his soul to God." He was twenty-nine years old.

The next two days were spent preparing for William's funeral, including notifying family and friends. Palmer wrote little these days, but the day of the funeral received full comment. The funeral itself was briefly described. Prayers were held at the house; the Episcopal service was read at graveside. What interested Palmer the most, and what separates William's funeral from Mary's most clearly was the "very large concourse of Citizens," present at his son's burial. William, like many men of the time, was accompanied to his grave by members of social organizations to which he had belonged. The Schenectady Artillery Company, the directors of the Schenectady Bank, and the Young Men's Association all were well represented. Palmer also was pleased with the presence of family and friends during and after the funeral. William's death had called forth significant and valued responses for the family from the community.

The days after the funeral were spent in bidding farewell to visitors, writing other family and friends about William's death and funeral, and gradually resuming a normal life. Within a week, each of the organizations that had attended the funeral published long resolutions of sympathy and regret in the local newspapers, and Thomas copied each into his diary in full.(11)

Although Thomas did not dwell at length on the loss of William, he did mention it longer than Mary's. Twice in February he noted correspondence that referred to William's death. On March 4, he declined an invitation to a party at his good friend Mrs. Paige's, since he, "did not feel in a mind to attend since the death of William." He had resumed calling on her, but was not in the mood for a festive gathering. Three days later, Mrs. Paige sent mourning dresses for two of his daughters and his wife. Thereafter, Palmer made no mention of William until January 2, 1846, when once again he turned down an invitation to a Paige party, not only became of William's death, but now also because Mary was sick. On the anniversary of William's death, Palmer noted, as he would not for Mary, "One year ago to day our Son William died. It was a sad mournful day--we have ever since mourned and sorrowed--and now poor Mary is very sick." This was a rare reflection of his personal sense of loss.

Unlike Jonathan Pearson, who expressed his personal loss at the death of his son, Palmer commented more on how William's death had affected his relations in the community. Palmer's concern for the social meaning of William's death also differed from his emphasis on family when Mary died. Although both family and community were involved in the deaths of men and women, the emphasis was clearly more on family for females and community for males, especially when the latter were adults.

The death of Jonathan Pearson's brother-in-law, Mahlon Hosford, often useful comparisons both to the community reaction to William Palmer's passing, and to Pearson's heart-felt response to the death of his own son Henry. The entire mention of Hosford's death is covered briefly, from August 30 to September 11, 1855, but is none the less informative.

Unlike the deaths that we have examined so far, which involved close personal relations, Pearson's attachment to Hosford was minimal, and the report of Mahlon's death has a detached quality unobserved to this point. Pearson and his wife were in New York City, in late August, visiting a sister of hers who was ill. While there, they stopped to visit Hosford, and, "found him sick with consumption--weak and emaciated--and made arrangements to take him home. . . . "Apparently this was their first intimation of Mahlon's illness. Back in Schenectady on September 2, the Pearsons' doctor examined Hosford, indicating that his illness was, "of settled consumption, and [would] probably terminate fatally soon." Pearson saw Mahlon, who was failing daily, as "altogether . . . in a sad state." Perhaps of greater concern to Pearson was the state of Hosford's soul, for he wondered if his brother-in-law was, "prepared for his last and great change."

Because Hosford died on September 8, the family had little time to prepare for his death, though the end was undeniably close. From September 4, until Mahlon died, Pearson daily recorded his rapid decline, terminating in a state of drowsy stupidity, which rendered him mostly incoherent on the day he died. Because Hosford was a stranger in Schenectady, the Pearsons had to take care of him without the assistance of family and friends that would otherwise have been forthcoming. This clearly wore on them, so by the day before Mahlon died Pearson described both himself and his wife as "nearly exhausted." The stress may have been enhanced by the fact that this was the first person Pearson had ever seen die, even though he was then over forty years old.(12) He was pleased, however, that Mahlon died, "easy and without struggle."

The imminence of Mahlon's death and his isolation from the community meant that the demands on the Pearsons were clear, and they provided the family support expected. The main doubt in Jonathan's mind was the state of Hosford's soul, for he seemed dangerously unprepared for his final judgement. On September 4, Pearson was encouraged that in spite of the fact Mahlon was, "no professor [of faith] he now sees and feels the necessity of a preparation for his last change." The Pearsons hoped, "the Good God will at least spare him for such a change." The next day Mahlon thought "much upon religious matter." But Jonathan could not resist commenting on, "the folly of putting off a preparation till the dying hour when the pains of dissolving nature are quite enough to distract the thoughts from serious subjects." To Pearson, "A death-bed repentance is surely better than none yet it wants one important mark of genuineness a well ordered life and a godly conversation." On September 6, Mahlon expressed "his trust in the merits of Christ and his willingness to die," but believed himself to be "a great sinner." The day before he died, Mahlon, much to Pearson's satisfaction, "particularly felt his situation--prayed much . . . [and] expressed his willingness to die and his reliance on Christ's merits." Mahlon's death provided a worthwhile lesson to Pearson, taking his mind "from the vanities of this life," and redirecting it to "the realities of eternity."

Hosford died on a Saturday, and with family arriving and funeral preparations to make, the Pearsons stayed home from church on Sunday. Pearson thought that they, "needed no other Sermon than the silent, breathless body in our house. . . . It is eloquent good to us all."

With few family and fewer friends in town, Hosford's funeral was a modest affair. Pearson recorded an "impressive" prayer by Dr. Nott, the President of Union College, followed by Hosford's interment in the Presbyterian churchyard, where his grave still may be seen alone amidst the markers of those with greater ties to the community.(13) Then, in a passage which accurately anticipated how quickly Mahlon disappeared from his diary, Pearson observed, "How soon will all this solemn scene be forgotten in the busy rush of life! How soon will poor M. pass out of remembrance of all on earth. . . ." Aside from noting departing family on the following day, Pearson never mentioned Hosford again.(14)

The only ritual of importance in this whole episode was the effort to ensure that Hosford had reconciled himself with his God, and so was properly prepared to die. With minimal ties to family and community, there was apparently no need to utilize the full range of the rituals of death. For Pearson, Mahlon's death brought his first intimate experience with the "King of Terrors," a temporary weariness, and a moral lesson to memento mori. But with little emotional attachment to his brother-in-law, there was no great sense of grief that had to be relieved with appropriate rituals of mourning. In ways we have not seen before, Pearson remained in this case more an outside, objective observer, and less an emotionally involved participant.

The death of Pearson's sister, Marianne Magoun, in May 1860 also placed Pearson in the role of observer, but in this instance, with a much greater sense of attachment. On December 10, 1859, Pearson noted that he had been told sometime before by his brother-in-law that his sister suffered from breast cancer. Perhaps he had refrained from mentioning this earlier in his diary, in the hopes that she might be cured. But faced with a cancer "the size of a pint bowl, hard and painful," and the unanimous opinion of many doctors that her case was "hopeless," he finally had to admit that his sister was dying. Pearson attempted to reconcile himself to what he saw as an untimely death of someone who still had "promise for long and useful life," by referring to the mysterious working of providence, and desiring that, "God reconcile us to his Afflictive dispensations."

Because the Magouns lived in Hudson, Pearson did not see his sister regularly, and so made no mention of her illness for several months. Then, on May 8, 1860, he received a telegram from Marianne's husband, Edward, saying that her death was imminent, and requesting the presence of Pearson's mother, who lived in Schenectady. Jonathan remarked that although Marianne had been aware of the cancer for two years, she could no longer hide it from her friends.

That evening, Pearson and his mother took the train to Hudson. Marianne survived until May 12, but during her last few days, Pearson made several train trips between Schenectady and Hudson, and while he was in Schenectady was in constant touch by telegraph. A revolution in communication had clearly altered the role played by family who expected to attend the funeral, but did not have to participate in the final watch.

Because he and his mother had arrived in Hudson late in the evening on May 8, Pearson did not see his sister until the following morning. Her condition shocked him. Her physical decline was evident, and her mind affected. She lay "in a stupor," recognizing no one. The impending loss of a "kind and affectionate sister," whom he had known for forty-three years, led him to muse that "our hopes and joys" soon fade. At the same time, he took comfort that "they may bloom again in a better world where no such pains and sorrows invade our peace."

In spite of the doctor's prediction that Marianne might not live another day, Pearson found it necessary to return to Schenectady. Back home on May 10, he twice received news of her condition, including the fact that without morphine she had finally recognized their mother. Isolated from the actual events, and struggling to accept the transition in progress, Pearson chided himself that it was "a selfish and shortsighted philosophy which sorrows without comfort in the parting of friends." He reminded himself that, "the christian view draws consolation from the grave. Oh how sweet the thought that they have only gone before to welcome us home. Death is only the narrow bridge that separates loved ones for a brief space."

When the next day brought word Marianne was still lucid, Pearson decided to return to Hudson to bid her farewell. He arrived in time to see her die on May 12. Her death was easy, "without a pang or struggle." Faced with an unrelenting and painful affliction, death was also a blessing. She was now a "happy soul in the bosom of her Heavenly Father." Since Marianne's death reminded Pearson of the uncertainties of life, he hoped "all be prepared to follow." Henry's death also came to mind. With no responsibilities for arranging the funeral, which was to be on May 15, Jonathan and his mother returned to Schenectady.

On the 14th, Pearson and his wife travelled to Hudson for Marianne's last rites. The day was a gorgeous spring effusion of sunlight and flowers, which Pearson found "little in harmony . . . [and] a sad contrast" to his feelings. Upon arrival, Jonathan was impressed with the warm circle of friends that the Magouns had acquired, all of whom were eager to assist the family in its time of trial. It comforted him to know that his sister had, "earned so decided respect and love."

If the length of the diary entry is any indication, Marianne's funeral was an important part of the rituals of her death for Pearson. Since his involvement so far had been minimal, this was the time for him to accept his sister's death. Pearson began with a description of her body laid out in a mahogany coffin, with head and bust visible, dressed in a dark robe, and white roses in her hair and on the coffin. He observed, "This arrangement is new to me, yet the effect is good." The funeral service at the house commenced with scripture, followed by prayer, a short address, and a final prayer. Then a procession of carriages accompanied her body to the cemetery, where her body was deposited in a vault, pending arrangements to ship it to Schenectady, where she wanted to be buried.

With "the last sad tokens of respect and love for our dear friend--an only sister" completed, Pearson took time to reflect privately on her character. He memorialized her by noting her "good plain common sense, honesty of purpose, sincere friendship, a consideration for others and a consequent forgetfulness of self: She was a notable housekeeper, neat, orderly, and precise almost to a fault. . . . Her Christian character was the loveliest of her virtues, . . . fulfilling in every station all the requirements of a true disciple of Christ . . . with a well ordered life and conversation." Pearson and his family returned to Schenectady that evening.

Although he did not mention Marianne often after the funeral, she did not slip from his attention as thoroughly as Mahlon Hosford. Three days after her last rites, Pearson discussed her conversion to Christianity in 1834 with a Schenectady minister, perhaps reflecting his relief that there was no doubt about her preparation. When Marianne's body was brought to Schenectady for burial, arriving on the train at midnight between July 16 and 17, Pearson ruminated on what he described as the first midnight funeral at Vale. Apparently no service was performed, for only Pearson, Edward Magoun, and the sexton were present. Memories of Henry came flooding back painfully as they buried Marianne near him, "Under the deep shadows of the dark pines [where] now sleep our dead to await the resurrection."

On two later occasions, circumstances brought the memory of Marianne sufficiently back to Pearson so that he made note of her in his diary. On February 23, 1861, his forty-eighth birthday, Pearson paused to reflect on the past year, one which had "witnessed one loss never to be made up--a beloved sister." He was still perplexed that she of all the family had been the one to die, since she had appeared so healthy. Faced with the, "inscrutable . . . ways of Providence," and the uncertainty of who would be next, Pearson drew a lesson from his sister's death when he hoped that "all be prepared for the call and leave triumphant over sin and death." Two and a half years later, on October 12, 1863, a visit from Edward Magoun and his new wife led Pearson to lament over Marianne not being able to see her husband's prosperity or her grown son. He concluded, however, that, "A Kind Providence knew what was best for her." Thereafter, his sister's memory required no more written reenforcement.

Because the rituals described by Thomas Palmer and Jonathan Pearson are only a minute part of the experience that nineteenth-century Americans had with death, it is important to consider how exceptional they might have been. Similar studies for different parts of the country; other economic, ethnic, or religious groups; or from a woman's perspective would certainly be welcome, whether they conformed with the patterns described for Schenectady or differed substantially. The seven themes outlined at the start of this study will be reviewed here, in order to suggest areas where such comparisons might produce differences or similarities.

Family certainly played an important role in the rituals of death. Mary Palmer Duane died surrounded by family, as did her brother William and Marianne Magoun. Even Mahlon Hosford was assisted by his immediate family in his last days, even though he had apparently been reluctant to call on them for help. Only the accidental death of Henry Pearson occurred outside the circle of the family. Surely this would be one of the most common aspects of death rituals in America. Migrants, however, whether international or domestic, may have found themselves sufficiently isolated to prevent them from involving family in their last hours.

The community was also involved. Thomas Palmer gratefully recorded the support he and his family received from the Mumfords and Craigs. Jonathan Pearson was impressed by the number of friends who aided in his sister's funeral. On a wider level, the 3,000 citizens who attended the funeral of Henry Pearson, and the various social organizations who participated in William Palmer's last rites demonstrate that a significant part of the community was affected by the death of certain individuals. It is clear that both families had deep roots in Schenectady, and called forth a wider response than a recent arrival might. Likewise, the deaths of members of ethnic groups on the fringes of a community probably did not elicit much concern among the majority.

The need for spiritual preparation for death and the comfort that brought was both obvious and important. Both Palmer and Pearson took comfort in the fact that their children were properly prepared to die, and so would, presumably, go to heaven to await reunion with family members who still lived. Pearson fondly recalled his sister's religious conversion, just as he worried over his brother-in-law's lack of conviction. Certainly the emphasis on conversion and conviction was basically a part of Protestant theology, but Catholics would have understood the need for a soul to be prepared to meet its maker. Jewish conceptions of judgement and resurrections were less clear-cut and formal than Christian, but were strong enough to have produced an interest in the state of one's soul.(15)

Moral judgements about the state of a dying soul were occasionally made. Pearson, for example, worried over the state of brother-in-law's soul, and was pleased that Mahlon had a brief time to reflect on religious matters; it is also clear that Pearson believed Hosford to be at fault for his unprepared state, and judged him harshly for that failing. Presumably more forgiving personalities or theologies would have offered hope rather than judgement as the end approached.

One of the most striking conclusions to emerge from this study is the way personal circumstances could alter which rituals which were used and which received emphasis. Perhaps the most obvious example is the contrast between Mary Palmer Duane and Henry Pearson. Mary's long, slow death emphasizes rituals leading up her demise, and reduced need for the family to mourn afterwards. The unexpected tragedy which took Henry's life forced the Pearsons to work through their sense of loss in the year after he was buried. Mary had time to bid her family farewell, and Henry had not. The importance of this is suggested by Pearson's relief that Marianne emerged from her drugged stupor before she died and was able to speak intelligently to him and their mother. Regardless of one's status and affiliations, accidents of death must have influenced choices of rituals.

Gender and age also affected the rituals which would be emphasized. This was notable in the contrast between Mary Palmer Duane's family-oriented funeral and William's last rites which-included several male social organizations, much to his father's satisfaction. Recall, also, Pearson's reflection that the death of a young person was harder to accept because it was unexpected. No doubt such distinctions were common place in nineteenth-century America, although cultural preferences regarding age and sex roles may have made the differences more or less pronounced.

Perhaps least evident in what was described above, yet of undeniable influence, was the personality of the individuals involved. Anyone who reads the diaries of Palmer and Pearson must be impressed by the congenial, outgoing, and basically unreflective nature of Thomas Palmer. Jonathan Pearson was, in contrast, less social, more detached from the community, and more prone to concern about the state of his soul. Certainly circumstances played a role in determining the relative importance of rituals in the deaths described here, but it is also probable that Pearson had a personal inclination which led him to stress family and a more private view of death, whereas Palmer was more interested in receiving the support of friends and neighbors, and was more eager to return to their company when the rituals were completed. They were not unique. To the extent that personality correlates with culture, then we might expect to find broad patterns of preference regarding death rituals distinguishing one group from another. But within any group individual characteristics would be common.

From the perspective of the present, the deaths we have examined are unfamiliar. Although Schenectadians would eventually participate in the transformation of the American funeral described by James Farrell, they remained, in the middle of the nineteenth century, attached to older, familiar customs regarding death.(16) The rituals they relied on, calling on traditions perhaps a thousand years old, are remarkable for the centrality of the dying and the survivors in determining how the final act would be played. In contrast, as death has been relegated to hospitals, and funerals have been taken over by professionals, those most concerned have either had the script written for them or have been reduced to extras.(17) The remarkable performance, and the theatrical reference is apt, directed by Mary Palmer Duane, with the willing cooperation of her family and friends was clearly shaped by community expectations and constrained by the rituals available. Nevertheless, within this framework, Mary and others found meaning and opportunity to confront and control one of life's most profound transitions. This is clearly part of the world we have lost, and we are diminished for that.

Department of History Schenectady, NY 12308-2365

ENDNOTES

1. This paper is an expanded version of one by the same title given at the meetings of the Social Science History Association, New Orleans, 1991. It is part of a larger study of how a community deals with death.

2. See, for example, Richard Huntington and Peter Metcalf, Celebrations of Death: The Anthropology of Mortuary Ritual (Cambridge, Eng., 1979).

3. The emergence of a Christian ritual of death by A.D. 900 is the subject of Frederick S. Paxton, Christianizing Death: The Creation of a Ritual Process in Early Modern Europe (Ithaca, NY, 1990). The broad pattern of this ritual was still evident in Schenectady in 1850.

4. The nine basic stages and their subdivisions reflect various rituals and prayers that were developed by the early Christian church, as described in Paxton, Christianizing Death. The three broad stages represent more general patterns found in a variety of cultures world-wide. These are taken from Huntington and Metcalf's, Celebrations of Death, which summarizes the pioneering work of Robert Hertz and Arnold Van Gennep.

5. All references are to the Diary of Thomas Palmer, Union College, Special Collections. The dates in the text provide reference to the relevant passages.

6. There is no specific diagnosis of tuberculosis, but Mary's symptoms of cough and gradual wasting away are certainly consistent with that disease. Her brother, William, of whom more later, died of the same disease in January, 1845.

7. Mary's final hours would have been familiar to readers of nineteenth-century fiction, where similar scenes were common, as indicated in Mary Ryan, Cradle of the Middle Class: The Family in Oneida County, New York, 1790-1865 (New York, 1981), p. 87. Such scenes could have lasting and powerful effects on people's memories as is evident in Joy Day Buel and Richard Buel, Jr., The Way of Duty: A Woman and Her Family in Revolutionary America (New York, 1984), p. 187, which describes a seventy-nine year old man recalling such a scene which he witnessed at the age of four.

8. Thomas Palmer Diary, January 11, 1845.

9. All quotes are from the Diary of Jonathan Pearson in the Union College,

Special Collections. Material on the death of Henry is in volumes six and seven. The deaths of Mahlon Hosford and Marianne Magoun, to be discussed below, are in volumes five and seven, respectively.

10. Mary Ryan suggests that as early as 1829, a, "more urban, secular, and privatized culture," in Utica, New York led to the indulgence of more solitary, individual grief, see, Cradle of the Middle Class, pp. 219-221. She does not consider, as I have here, the particular circumstances of the death.

11. Although several tributes to Henry Pearson were published, Jonathan Pearson did not copy them into his diary.

12. Pearson also noted this was the first death within what he perceived to be the family circle, "for many years." This is in keeping with the observation of Maris Vinovskis that nineteenth-century Americans may not have been as familiar with death as their rhetoric would suggest. See, Maris Vinovskis, "Angels' Heads and Weeping Willows: Death in Early America," American Antiquarian Society, Proceedings 86 (1976): 273-302.

13. The Pearsons are all buried in the Union College plot in Vale Cemetery, which was opened two years after Hosford's death. Unlike other families, however, the Pearsons did not move Mahlon's remains to join the rest of the family. His isolated grave, thus, symbolizes his isolated death.

14. When Henry died three years later, Pearson commented that this was the first death in the family circle in many years. He had either forgotten or was not including Hosford as part of the immediate family.

15. Hiroshi Obayashi, ed., Death and Afterlife: Perspectives of World Religions (Westport, CT, 1992).

16. James J. Farrell, Inventing the American Way of Death, 1830-1920 (Philadelphia, 1980).

17. See, for example, the descriptions of how the dying are denied the right to define their own death in Myra Bluebond-Langer, The Private Worlds of Dying Children (Princeton, 1978), and D. Sudnow, Passing On: The Social Organization of Dying (Englewood Cliffs, NJ, 1967).