“THE END OF HIS DAYS”
As soon as a death had been announced to the dwellers in any
little town in colonial New York, by the slow ringing or tolling
of the church-bell, there went forth solemnly from his home the
_aanspreecker_, or funeral-inviter (who might be grave-digger,
bell-ringer, schoolmaster, or chorister, and who was usually all four),
attired in gloomy black, with hat fluttering long streamers of crape;
and with much punctilio he visited all the relatives and friends of
the deceased person, notified them of the death, advised them of the
day and hour of the funeral, and requested their honorable presence.
This inviting was a matter of most rigid etiquette; no one in these
Dutch-American communities of slightest dignity or regard for social
proprieties would attend a funeral unbidden. The _aanspreecker_ was
paid at regular rates for his service as living perambulating obituary
notice, according to the distance travelled and the time spent, if he
lived in a country town where distances between houses were great.
In 1691 the “inviters to the buryiall of deceased persons” in New York
were public officers, appointed and licensed by the Mayor. Their names
were Conradus Vanderbeck and Richard Chapman, and they were bidden
to give their attendance gratis to the poor. A law was passed in New
York in 1731, setting the fees of “inviters to funerals” at eighteen
shillings for the funeral of any one over twenty years of age; for a
person between twelve and twenty years, twelve shillings; for one under
twelve years, eight shillings. For a large circle of friends these
sums seem small. The Flatbush inviter in 1682 had twelve guilders for
inviting to the funeral of a grown person, and only four guilders in
addition if he invited in New York,--which was poor pay enough, when we
think of the long ride and the row across. In 1760 we find the New York
inviter, Evert Fels, advertising his change of residence, and that he
can be found if needed next King’s Stores. It is easy to imagine that
the _aanspreecker_ must have been a somewhat self-important personage,
who doubtless soberly enjoyed his profession of mortuary news-purveyor,
and who must have been greeted wherever he went with that grewsome
interest which in colonial days attached to everything pertaining to
death.
This public officer and custom was probably derived from the Romans,
who used to send a public crier about, inviting the people to the
solemnization of a funeral. In the northern counties of England each
village had its regular “bidder,” who announced his “funeral-bidding”
by knocking on each door with a great key. Sometimes he “cried” the
funeral through the town with a hand-bell. In New York the fashion
was purely of Dutch derivation. In Holland the _aanspreecker_ was an
official appointed by government, and authorized to invite for the
funerals of persons of all faiths and denominations who chanced to die
in his parish.
In New York, ever bent on fashions new, the _aanspreecker_, on mournful
mission intent, no longer walks our city avenues nor even our country
lanes or village streets; but in Holland he still is a familiar form.
Not, as of old, the honored schoolmaster, but simply a hired servant
of the undertaker, he rushes with haste through the streets of Dutch
towns. Still clad in dingy black of ancient fashion, kneebreeches,
buckled shoes, long cloak, cocked hat with long streamers of crape, he
seems the sombre ghost of old-time manners. Sometimes he bears written
invitations deep bordered with black; sometimes he calls the death
and time of funeral, as did the Roman _præco_; and sometimes, with
streamers of white, and white cockade on his hat, he goes on a kindred
duty,--he bears to a circle of friends or relatives the news of a birth.
Before the burial took place, in olden times, a number of persons,
usually intimate friends of the dead, watched the body throughout
the night. Liberally supplied with various bodily comforts, such as
abundant strong drink, plentiful tobacco and pipes, and newly baked
cakes, these watchers were not wholly gloomy, nor did the midnight
hours lag unsolaced. The great _kamer_ in which the body lay, the
state-room of the house, was an apartment so rarely used on other
occasions than a funeral that in many households it was known as the
_doed-kamer_, or dead-room. Sometimes it had a separate front door
by which it was entered, thus giving two front doors to the house.
Diedrich Knickerbocker says the front door of New York houses was never
opened save for funerals, New Years, and such holidays. The kitchen
door certainly offered a more cheerful welcome. In North Holland the
custom still exists of reserving a room with separate outside entrance,
for use for weddings and funerals. Hence the common saying in Holland
that doors are not made for going in and out of the house.
Men and women both served as watchers, and sometimes both were at the
funeral services within the _doed-kamer_; but when the body was borne
to the grave on the wooden bier resting on the shoulders of the chosen
bearers, it was followed by men only. The women remained for a time in
the house where the funeral had taken place, and ate _doed-koecks_ and
sipped Madeira wine.
The coffin, made of well-seasoned boards, was often covered with black
cloth. Over it was spread the _doed-kleed_, a pall of fringed black
cloth. This _doed-kleed_ was the property of the church, as was the
pall in New England churches, and was usually stored with the bier in
the church-vestibule, or _doop-huys_. In case of a death in childbirth,
a heavy white sheet took the place of the black pall. This practice
also obtained in Yorkshire, England.
Among the Dutch a funeral was a most costly function. The expenditure
upon funeral gloves, scarfs, and rings, which was universal in New
England, was augmented in New York by the gift of a bottle of wine and
a linen scarf.
When Philip Livingstone died, in 1749, his funeral was held both in
New York and at the Manor. He had lived in Broad Street, and the lower
rooms of his house and those of his neighbors were thrown open to
receive the assemblage. A pipe of wine was spiced for the guests, and
the eight bearers were each given a pair of gloves, a mourning-ring,
a scarf, handkerchief, and a monkey-spoon. At the Manor a similar
ceremony took place, and a pair of gloves and handkerchief were given
to each tenant. The whole expense was five hundred pounds. When Madam
Livingstone died, we find her son writing to New York from the Manor
for a piece of black Strouds to cover the four hearse-horses; for
a “Barrell of Cutt Tobacco and Long Pipes of which I am out;” for
six silver tankards and cinnamon for the burnt wine; he said he had
bottles, decanters, and glasses enough. The expense of these funerals
may have been the inspiration for William Livingstone’s paper on
extravagance in funerals.
A monkey-spoon was a handsome piece of silver bearing the figure or
head of an ape on the handle. _Mannetiens_ spoons, also used in New
Netherland, were similar in design. At the funeral of Henry De Forest,
an early resident of New Harlem in 1637, his bearers were given spoons.
A familiar and extreme example of excess at funerals as told by Judge
Egbert Benson was at the obsequies of Lucas Wyngaard, an old bachelor
who died in Albany in 1756. The attendance was very large, and after
the burial a large number of the friends of the dead man returned
to the house, and literally made a night of it. These sober Albany
citizens drank up a pipe of wine, and smoked many pounds of tobacco.
They broke hundreds of pipes and all the decanters and glasses in the
house, and wound up by burning all their funeral scarfs in a heap in
the fireplace.
In Albany the expense, as well as the rioting, of funerals seems to
have reached a climax. It is said that the obsequies of the first
wife of Hon. Stephen Van Rensselaer cost twenty thousand dollars. Two
thousand linen scarfs were given, and all the tenants were entertained
for several days.
On Long Island every young man of good family began in his youth to
lay aside money in gold coin to pay for his funeral; and a superior
stock of wine was also saved for the same occasion. In Albany the cask
of choice Madeira which was bought for a wedding and used in part, was
saved in remainder for the funeral of the bridegroom.
The honor of a lavish funeral was not given to the wealthy and great
and distinguished only. The close of every life, no matter how humble,
how unsuccessful, was through the dignity conferred by death afforded a
triumphal exit by the medium of “a fine burying.”
In the preceding chapter the funeral of a penniless Albanian is noted;
in 1696 Ryseck Swart also became one of the church-poor of Albany.
She was not wholly penniless; she had a little silver and a few
petty jewels, and a little strip of pasture land, worth in all about
three hundred guilders. These she transferred to the church, for the
Consistory to take charge of and dole out to her. A good soul, Marritje
Lievertse, was from that time paid by the church thirty-six guilders
a month for caring for Ryseck. I do not doubt she had tender care,
for she was the last of the real church-poor (soon they had paupers
and an almshouse), and she lived four years, and cost the parish two
thousand two hundred and twenty-nine guilders. She died on February
15, 1700, and, though a pauper, she departed this life neither unwept,
unhonored, nor unsung. Had she been the cherished wife of a burgomaster
or _schepen_, she could scarce have had a more fully rounded or
more proper funeral. The bill, which was paid by the church, was as
follows:--
g. s.
3 dry boards for a coffin 7 10
³⁄₄ lb. nails 1 10
Making coffin 24
Cartage 10
Half a vat and an anker of good beer 27
1 gallon Rum 21
6 gallons Madeira for women and men 84
Sugar and _cruyery_ 5
150 Sugar cakes 15
Tobacco and pipes 5
Grave digger 30
Use of pall 10
Wife Jans Lockermans 36
-------------
232 guilders.
Rosenboom, for many years the _voor-leeser_ and _dood-graver_ and
_aanspreecker_ in Albany, sent in a bill of twelve guilders for
delivering invitations to the funeral,--which bill was rejected by the
deacons as exorbitant. But the invitations were delivered just the
same, for even colonial paupers had friends, and her coffin was not
made of green wood held together with wooden pegs, which some poor
bodies had to endure; and the one hundred and fifty _doed-koecks_ and
Madeira for the women very evenly balanced the plentiful beer and wine
and tobacco for the men. Truly, to quote one of Dyckman’s letters from
Albany, “the poor’s purse here was richly garnisht.”
An account of Albany, written by a traveller thereto in 1789, showed
the continued existence of these funeral customs. It runs thus:--
“Their funeral customs are equally singular. None attend them without
a previous invitation. At the appointed hour they meet at the
neighboring houses or stoops until the corpse is brought out. Ten or
twelve persons are appointed to take the bier altogether, and are not
relieved. The clerk then desires the gentlemen (for ladies never walk
to the grave, nor even attend the funeral unless a near relation) to
fall into the procession. They go to the grave and return to the house
of mourning in the same order. Here the tables are handsomely set and
furnished with cold and spiced wine, tobacco and pipes, and candles,
paper, etc., to light them. The house of mourning is soon converted
into a house of feasting.”
In New York we find old citizens leaving directions in their wills that
their funeral shall be conducted in “the old Dutch fashion,” not liking
the comparatively simpler modern modes.
The customs were nearly the same in English families. At the funeral of
Hon. Rufus King at Jamaica, Long Island, in 1827, which was held upon
an exceptionally hot day in April, silver salvers holding decanters
of wine and spirits, glasses and cigars, were constantly passed, both
indoors and out, where many stood waiting the bearing of the coffin to
the grave.
The transition of the funeral customs of ante-Revolutionary days into
those of our own may partially be learned from this account written in
1858 by Rev. Peter Van Pelt, telling Domine Schoonmaker’s method of
conducting a funeral in the year 1819:
“The deceased had, many years before, provided and laid away the
materials for his own coffin. This one was of the best seasoned and
smoothest boards and beautifully grained. As I entered the room I
observed the coffin elevated on a table in one corner. The Domine,
abstracted and grave, was seated at the upper end; and around in
solemn silence, the venerable and hoary-headed friends of the
deceased. A simple recognition or a half-audible inquiry as one after
another arrived was all that passed. Directly the sexton, followed by
a servant, made his appearance with glasses and decanters. Wine was
handed to each. Some declined; others drank a solitary glass. This
ended, again the sexton presented himself with pipes and tobacco. The
Domine smoked his pipe and a few followed his example. The custom
has become obsolete, and it is well that it has. When the whiffs of
smoke had ceased to curl around the head of the Domine, he arose
with evident feeling, and in a quiet subdued tone, made a short but
apparently impressive address. I judged solely by his appearance and
manner; for although boasting a Holland descent, it was to me an
unknown tongue. A short prayer concluded the service; and then the
sexton taking the lead, followed the Domine, doctor, and pall-bearers
with white scarfs and black gloves. The corpse and long procession of
friends and neighbors proceeded to the churchyard.”
Not only were materials for the coffin secured and made ready during
the lifetime, but often a shroud was made and kept for use. Instances
have been known where a shroud was laid by unused for so many years
that it became too yellow and discolored to use at all, and was
replaced by another. Sometimes a new unlaundered shirt was laid aside
for years to use as a _doed-hemde_. Two curious superstitions were rife
in some localities, especially on Long Island; one was the careful
covering of all the mirrors in the house, from the time of the death
till after the funeral; the other the pathetically picturesque “telling
the bees.” Whittier’s gentle rhyme on the subject has made familiar
to modern readers the custom of “telling the bees of one, gone on the
journey we all must go.”
Both an English and Dutch funeral fashion was the serving to the
attendants of the funeral of funeral-cakes. In New York and New
Netherland these were a distinctive kind of _koeckje_ known as
_doed-koecks_, literally dead-cakes. An old receipt for their
manufacture is thus given by Mrs. Ferris: “Fourteen pounds of flour,
six pounds of sugar, five pounds of butter, one quart of water, two
teaspoonfuls of pearlash, two teaspoonfuls of salt, one ounce of
Caraway seed. Cut in thick dishes four inches in diameter.” They were,
therefore, in substance much like our New Year’s cakes. Sometimes they
were marked with the initials of the deceased person; and often they
were carried home and kept for years as a memento of the dead,--perhaps
of the pleasures of the funeral. One baker in Albany made a specialty
of these cakes, but often they were baked at home. Sometimes two of
these _doed-koecks_ were sent with a bottle of wine and a pair of
gloves as a summons to the funeral.
In Whitby, England, a similar cake is still made by bakers and served
at funerals; but it is sprinkled with white sugar. In Lincolnshire and
Cumberland like customs still exist. “Burial-cakes” were advertised by
a baker in 1748 in the Philadelphia newspapers.
It is frequently asserted that funeral rings were commonly given among
the Dutch. It seems fair to infer that more of them would have been
in existence to-day if the custom had been universal. Scores of them
can be found in New England. There is an enamelled ring marked “K. V.
R., obit Sept. 16, 1719,” which was given at the funeral of Kileaen
Van Renssalaer. One of the Earl of Bellomont is also known, and two
in the Lefferts family, dating towards the close of the past century.
I have heard of a few others in Hudson Valley towns. Perhaps with
gifts of gloves, spoons, bottles of wine, _doed-koecks_, scarfs, or
handkerchiefs, rings would have been superfluous.
It will be noted in all these references to funerals herein given that
the services were held in private houses; it was not until almost our
own day that the funerals of those of Dutch descent were held in the
churches.
Interments were made under the churches; and, by special payment, a
church-attendant could be buried under the seat in which he was wont
to sit during his lifetime. The cost of interment in the Flatbush
church was two pounds for the body of a child under six years; three
pounds for a person from six to sixteen years of age; four pounds for
an adult; and in addition “those who are inclined to be permitted
to be interred in the church are required to pay the expense of
every person.” I don’t know exactly what this ambiguous sentence can
mean, but it was at any rate an extra charge “for the profit of the
schoolmaster,” who dug the grave and carried the dirt out of the
church, and was paid twenty-seven guilders for this sexton’s work for
an adult, and less for a younger person and hence a smaller grave.
Usually the domines were buried in front of the pulpit where they had
stood so often in life.
After newspaper-days arrived in the colony, there blossomed in print
scores of long death-notices, thoroughly in the taste of the day, but
not to our taste. In the “New York Gazette” of December 24, 1750, we
find a characteristic one:--
“Last Friday Morning departed this Life after a lingering Illness the
Honorable Mrs. Roddam, wife to Robert Roddam, Esq. Commander of his
Majesty’s Ship Greyhound, now on this Station, and eldest Daughter
of his Excellency our Governor. We hear she is to be Interred this
Evening.
“Good Mr. Parker--Dont let the Character of our Deceased Friend, Mrs.
Roddam, slip through your Fingers, as that of her Person through those
of the Doctors. That she was a most affable and perfectly Good-Natured
young Lady, with Good Sense and Politeness is well known to all her
Acquaintances, and became one of the most affectionate Wives.
“Immatura peri, sed tu felicior, Annos
Vivi mens, Conjux optime, vive tuos
were the Sentiments of her Later Moments when I had the Honour to
attend her. As this is intended as a small Tribute to the Manes of my
dear departed Friend, your inserting of it will oblige one of your
constant Female Readers and Humble Servant.”
Another, of a well-known colonial dame, reads thus;--
“Last Monday died in the 80th year of her Age, and on Thursday
was decently interred in the Family Vault at Morrisania: Isabella
Morris, Widow and Relict of his Excellency Lewis Morris, Esq., Late
Governor of the Province of New Jersey: A Lady endowed with every
Qualification Requisite to render the Sex agreeable and entertaining,
through all the Various scenes of Life. She was a pattern of Conjugal
Affection, a tender Parent, a sincere Friend, and an excellent
Oeconomist.
She was
Liberal, without Prodigality
Frugal, without Parsimony
Chearful, without Levity
Exalted, without Pride.
In person, Amiable
In conversation, Affable
In friendship, Faithful
Of Envy, void.
She passed through Life endow’d with every Grace
Her virtues! Black Detraction can’t deface;
Or Cruel Envy e’er eclipse her Fame;
Nor Mouldering Time obliterate her Name.”
The tiresome, pompous, verbose productions, Johnsonian in phrase and
fulsome in sentiment, which effloresced on the death of any man in
public life or of great wealth, need not be repeated here. They were
monotonously devoid of imagination and originality, being full of idle
repetitions from each other, and whoever has labored through one can
judge of them all.
It does not give us a very exalted notion of the sincerity or value of
these funeral testimonials, or the mental capacity of our ancestors, to
read in the newspapers advertisements of printed circulars of praise
for the dead, eulogistic in every aspect of the life of the departed,
and suitable for various ages and either sex, to be filled in with the
name of the deceased, his late residence, and date of death.
Puttenham in the “Arte of English Poesie,” says: “An Epitaph is an
inscription such as a man may commodiously write or engrave vpon a
tombe in few verses, pithie, quicke, and sententious, for the passer-by
to peruse and judge vpon without any long tariaunce.”
There need be no “long tariaunce” for either inquisitive or irreverent
search over the tombstones of the Dutch, for the dignified and simple
inscriptions are in marked contrast to the stilted affectations,
the verbose enumerations, the pompous eulogies, which make many
English “graveyard lines” a source of ridicule and a gratification
of curiosity. Indeed, the Dutch inscriptions can scarcely be called
epitaphs; the name, date of birth and death, are simply prefaced with
the ever-recurring _Hier rust het lighaam_, Here rests the body; _Hier
leydt het stoffelyk deel_, Here lie the earthly remains; or simpler
still, _Hier leyt begraven_, Here lies buried. Sometimes is found the
touching _Gedach-tenis_, In remembrance. More impressive still, from
its calm repetition on stone after stone, of an undying faith in a
future life, are the ever-present words, _In den Heere ontslapen_,
Sleeping in the Lord.
Not only in memory of those dead-and-gone colonists stand these simple
Dutch tombstones, but in suggestive remembrance also of a language
forever passed away from daily life in this land. The lichened
lettering of those unfamiliar words seems in sombre truth the very
voice of those honored dead who, in those green Dutch graveyards, in
the shadow of the old Dutch churches, _in den Heere ontslapen_.