breaking tragic news...

I ran across a blog post from Letters of Note, and I was struck by a letter Charles Dickens wrote back in 1851 to his wife, notifying her of their daughter's death. His wife was away from home at the time, and, during her absence, their eight-month-old baby became ill and died. The following is the letter included in the post:

Devonshire Terrace 

Tuesday Morning
Fifteenth April 1851

My dearest Kate.

Now observe. You must read this letter, very slowly and carefully. If you have hurried on thus far without quite understanding (apprehending some bad news), I rely on your turning back, and reading again.

Little Dora, without being in the least pain, is suddenly stricken ill. She awoke out of a sleep, and was seen, in one moment, to be very ill. Mind! I will not deceive you. I think her very ill.

There is nothing in her appearance but perfect rest. You would suppose her quietly asleep. But I am sure she is very ill, and I cannot encourage myself with much hope of her recovery. I do not—and why should I say I do, to you my dear!—I do not think her recovery at all likely.

I do not like to leave home. I can do nothing here, but I think it right to stay here. You will not like to be away, I know, and I cannot reconcile it to myself to keep you away. Forster with his usual affection for us comes down to bring you this letter and to bring you home. But I cannot close it without putting the strongest entreaty and injunction upon you to come with perfect composure—to remember what I have often told you, that we never can expect to be exempt, as to our many children, from the afflictions of other parents—and that if—if—when you come, I should even have to say to you "Our little baby is dead", you are to do your duty to the rest, and to shew yourself worthy of the great trust you hold in them.

If you will only read this, steadily, I have a perfect confidence in your doing what is right.

Ever affectionately, 

Charles Dickens

I thought, wow, I can't even imagine having to break that sort of news to my spouse! In my wonder, though, I was also struck by his approach with his wife.

Did he know her tendencies to jump to conclusions and need to be slowed down in her reading? Or, was he oblivious to the maternal drive that would not be slowed by words in order to reach the information of her child's plight?

It was a curious thing to read his "reassuring" words.

"There is nothing in her appearance but perfect rest.
You would suppose her quietly asleep. 

But I am sure she is very ill... I do not think her recovery at all likely."

As if to give her a picture of a perfectly restful baby, yet at the same time, in an irreversible crisis. What a fearful thing it must have been to receive this letter!

I also wondered if, as he was concluding the letter, he was struck by the fear of his wife coming home and becoming completely undone. Knowing that it must have been unspeakably difficult to wrap his mind around how to "prepare" her, I can't help but sense an insensitive thread throughout his last paragraph, as if the fear of her losing herself prompted him to scramble to give her something to focus on. 

Was he being selfish and insensitive or was he guiding her toward a focal point through the horrendous storm that lay ahead? Did "perfect composure" mean something reassuring in the mid-1800s? Would she have really found that reassuring and helpful?

Would it not have added more pain and guilt to reassure her of his "perfect confidence in your doing what is right"? 

Such a tragic story. It must have been so painful.

As an aside... I found it a curious thing that the blog facilitator considered Dickens' approach "gentle" and "delicate." I would be interested to know how he concluded that. Maybe the "my dearest" and the "ever affectionately" were enough for him...

Some answers we will never get; nevertheless, my heart went out to this woman from so long ago, as if holding my breath for what awaited her.