File:Frances (Appleton) Longfellow to Isaac Appleton Jewett, 3 October 1840 (a22217b4-9bc1-4f26-a0b7-e22f5da7b5fe).jpg

Manuscript letter

Archives Number: 1011/002.001-010#024

Boston. October 3d 1840.
Dear Jewett, I am much obliged to you for giving me such decided proofs that our correspondence is in a flourishing state of health; your last, agreeable letter has thrown off the feverish symptoms. Nothing like frightening a patient into recovery. I promise to do my best to make it as long-lived as Methusaleh. So dont alarm my nerves with hints of ghosts & winding-sheets. I have none of your grave fancies; prefer warm flesh & blood to “dead, damp, disagreeable bodies” & prefer to moralize in a comfortable arm-chair rather than by a cold grave-stone. À propos to tombs you would be enchanted with one recently erected at Mt Auburn. a girl of 11 well sculptured reposing in open air – shielded from descending rain but free to the gaze of birds & trees & mourners; sleeping there in cold but beautiful death like the poor lost child of the wood. Autumn is now dropping showers of golden tears upon her thick & fast as from her Mother’s eyes - & the flowers about her feet are dying like Cleopatra’s women, unable to survive her – a nobler flower. “Jeune fille et jeune fleur”!
I am glad you are getting ‘Kanted over’ into religious faith tho’ Aunt Barrett (good idea of yours by the way that such labours of the spirit as hers deserved another life expiès) would think pure Reason was not the road to it, for however much she opens wide her eyes when travelling commonly, hither par example, blindness she considers a great help on that journey. I speak chiefly of her sect which have done more to create skepticism, I believe, among sensible, thinking people than atheists can have. For they cry out against any illumination of their beloved gloom like moral owls & through a want of self-love, incomprehensible to me, would be miserable to discover that their nature, invigorated by divine aid, prompted them the way & was simply acting itself out. How they make [p. 2] converts I cannot imagine for they supply no wings & then say – fly - Catholicism even gives gorgeous Icarian ones which float one very well in the atmosphere of this earth tho’ speedily melted when the flight is heaven-ward. But a truce to theological discussions. I hate them. I eschew them always. Thank God I have a strong hope – cast anchor in a “better land” whether attained by the inspirations of conscience, the deductions of pure reason, the flatteries of the imagination, [crossed out: or] the imperative ‘hunger of the soul’ or the blind obedience of the catechism matters little. Faith is an immense blessing – hope perhaps a greater of which I have alas! much less & charity I fear the least tho’ it is declared best of the 3. excuse all this egotism. I hope you wont set out for Niagara trusting to meet us there for that project, alas, is one of those pretty castles in [crossed out: the] the air which seldom become inhabited içi bas. Threat’nings of fever & ague have already undermined its airy battlements but I fret so much in the harness of town-life after the free & vagarous life at Newport that I shall try to lure Tom away with me somewhere (to Berkshire I hope) to see this Joseph of the Year before stripped by his envious bretheren [sic] of his gorgeous raiment – You always tempt me to indulge my mania for comparisons. The Professor robbed me of my Lear – nobody can deny this to be original. It is my darling month of the Year, hence I think the simile compete!! Rogers always praises his own poetry. Uncle Sam believes every-body wishes his own puff – so you will forgive this little out-break of a common failing. Happy-man to have an excuse to go to N. Orleans this winter for there you will see the ravishing grace of Fanny Elssler! She leaves us to-day – the heavens are weeping, Allyne is probably tearing his hair & stamping his French heels through his Papa’s best carpet & groaning for any magical scarf which could retain this vanishing [p. 3] Sylphide. Eventful day – this morning a new Appleton was born, Sam’s eldest hope a girl & to-day the long renowned Miss Anna Barker the beautiful, the intellectual, the graceful, the modern Corinne (as your merry friend Boott calls her) ceases to exist –giving away herself & name to the enthusiastic, long love-sick, youthful Sam Ward her junior by several years. I have never known her but like him so much that I am truly glad he is made happy at last - & hope she will well supply the place of the many nice damsels we have lost of late from our society. Fanny Elssler has excited all the enthusiasm which always leaps up here to welcome first-rate excellence. She has had crammed houses, selling tickets always by auction & more discriminating applause, she says, than in any other city. In the warmth of her good German heart has actually insisted upon bestowing a thousand dollars for Bunker Hill Monut This latter noble & generous proceeding has not a little worried some of our proprietors & patriotic dames who dislike receiving such a sum from a foreigner for such a national purpose & especially from a pirouetter of doubtful (or rather too well known) character. I was present at the performances by which she gained the sum. She never ‘cast her glamour’ over me so completely in Paris having there such a rival as Taglioni & being comparatively lost in the bewildering magnificence of the Diable Boiteaux. Our small theatre & miserable corps de ballet are god foils to her enchanting grace, beautiful dressing & finished steps. She began that ev’g with the Sylphide which is so created for the sublime spirituality of Taglioni & her pensive manner (prophetic in this prettiest of French poems of the sad finale) that she of course clings a little to much to Earth but danced it admirably too & floated me back to Paris on her Psyche wings; then came the majestic Cachucha in which she is unrivalled (for Taglioni has not the weight & coquetry to dance it) [p. 4] & then the Craciovienne, a spirited military dance in which her joyous German smiles & coquettish grace, [crossed out: surtout] when she makes the military salute to the audience or when clicking her golden spurs, would drive you crazy. She finaled with the prettiest little speech (imagine a dancer with a voice in Paris – our atmosphere draws out speeches like corks) pronounced with a sweetly timid accent ending thus: “There are two monuments which will rise together = one of granite on Bunker-‘ill the other of gratitude in my heart.” which word was emphasized with a distinct energy as if straight therefrom. “A touch of nature makes the whole world kin” as Shakespeare beautifully says & the thunders & thunders of applause which followed this bon-mot seemed to break down the patriotic demurring. I should hardly like to have my remembrance of Taglioni brought to such a near test of the senses & I think she would not be half so well appreciated as this fair German here but it is possible she may come. Wikoff says she is growing old & stiff – Quelle idée! As well might Arial change parts with Caliban. No mortal ever appeared to escape the cumbersomeness of this fleshly inheritance as she has & it would be a sorry sight – her acknowledgement of it – I was talking last night with your friend Edward Austin about her & was amused with his raptures, not being of the enthusiastic sort. So much for the enjoyment my eyes & imagination have been favored with since I left dancing waves & pirouetting porpoises – my mind has been equally feasting. I have been reading Macaulay’s magnificent Reviews published here in 2 nice volumes. I think I have never read any prose which so fully satisfied me. After Carlylian Bacchanalian processions of intoxicated words the grand measured tread of his style alone excites such admiration & respect. So harmoniously & nobly it flows along bearing with it [p. 5] such argosies of learning, such brilliant but good-natured satire. & such admirably apt illustrations which latter you know always delight me particularly, when complete. Then his judgement is so profound, so much impartiality such a fair balance of praise & blame. I suppose you have read many of these reviews in the Edinburgh, to me they are nearly all new.
As you have a most useful memory will you please ask it (for I am sure you were present at the negotiation) whether Mr Lovering receives from us at Stockbridge the money for a commission we gave him there concerning some hair bracelets or whether, not being able to calculate what the sum might be, the poor man yet remains unpaid? The bracelets arrived early this Spring but we have heard or seen nothing of Mr L. & being both completely oblivious of the matter are anxious to know the state of the case & not defraud the gentleman. [crossed out: as] Such treacherous memories put one in awkward dilemmas, especially with modest folks who wont demand their right à haute voix. So I trust you can assist us at this emergency – rake up the ashes of your Stockbridge souvenirs & see if this fact wont come to light. I would write & ask him knew I in what part of the world he was to be found. We received yesterday by the Caledonia (how fast these steam shuttles are knitting us to the old world) letters from Mary announcing their arrival in London & that she was comfortably established at house-keeping near Regent’s Park having taken a mansion there for 3 months. She writes so voluminously & the passages are so short that I can hardly believe she is farther off than Philadelphia. We have had another British hero here since I wrote you about Genl Miller (the man as full of bullets as a dindon aux truffes of tufftes, left 3 times dead on the field! et cetera) Sir James M’Donald who it is said [p. 6] tho he modestly denies it, was presented after the battle of Waterloo with some thousands pounds by Wellington as due to the bravest of the brave. He loomed up (for he is a huge dome of a man) at a very pretty party Aunt Sam gave t’other night for Mrs Wiggin & was like an embodying of “the red planet Mars” among the feeble drawing-room satellites. That chiffonnée English dowdy the Countess of Westmorland has been here too with a suite – chiefly consisting of a litter of puppies the sight of which forced from me another sigh to the memory of that Essler [sic] of dogs Picciola.
You must write one of your dutiful letters to Uncle Sam speedily for he was asking yesterday news of you from me – whether you were going to N. Orleans &c. We found Mrs Welles here (Louisa Appleton) when we returned from Newport & as she continues loco-foco, tho’ her husband I believe has turned, Uncle S. poured out the vials of his wrath upon her in no measured quantities & enjoyed the triumph of the Convention doubly because she was here to witness it! He is amusingly vehement upon politics just now. What a mere stump orator Mr Webster is making himself wandering all over the country stirring up dormant Whiggery – talking with such undignified egotism, tho’ sometimes with much wit & effect. He has been censured so much for coldness & formality that this seems a hard push for popularity. This Harrison fever as you say is a ludicrous piteous spectacle. Youths behind counters wearing log-cabin brooches & gold cider barrells upon their shirt-bosoms & infants in Whig cradles squalling to the tune of Tippecanoe. My old nurse’s child I found decorated with a Harrison medal & exclaiming thereat she said all the girls at school wore them. This approaches the loyalty to Royal Charlie – but this seedy, military veteran is only worshiped as [p. 7] the visible representative of Whig principles I conclude & his individual claim is as secondary as that of the ass in La Fontaine’s fables who carried the Madonna & thought himself the cause of the adoration of passerby. The Convention must have been a stirring sight however; however much you may sneer at gatherings together [crossed out: it is] they are always thrilling & exciting to one’s noblest feelings. One impulse – one enthusiasm swaying many hearts knit men into the brotherhood all humanity should attain. Never is Catholicism so ennobling when from the balcony of St Peters a pair of feeble mortal hands cover one with one paternal blessings the mightiest congregation which bows its knee to one shrine. I love multitudes of people; one man alone seems a worthless, insignificant creature (I mean in that class of non-intellects which seem but half created) but a good many feeble brains & warm hearts excited in unison satis[fy] our hopes of humanity better. But it is a discouraging contem[pla]tion the slow, slow growth (if any) of mankind toward common sense let alone virtue, knowledge, Christianity. How very very long the weary world must roll round if it is ever to witness a Millennium I wonder if God is not tired of beholding our miserable failures & foolishness & has never repented of his promise not to blot us again out of being. The last number of the Dial is out – more absurd if possible than the other – tis like reading thro’ cobwebs but I will send you them both if you like. Sam Ward’s (of N. York) brother is dead the cousin & friend of the happy bridegroom, fiancé of his sister! so, like changeable silk, the dark & bright succeed & mingle – in this “roaring loom of Time.” These rustling leaves are giving me sombre thoughts. I must dash thro’ this elastic air over the dam with Em in the golden atmosphere of this golden afternoon. Cloth of gold tapestries the trees; dust of gold floats, like incense from the high altar, around [p. 8 top] the mellowed hills. The Earth looks happier than I thought & surely God has not despaired of us since he showers down such blessings as days like these. Perhaps au contraire he has so much goodness in heaven he is curious to see how bad men can be. What a thought! You see I give you whatever strange idea pops up its head. I write you the most careless slip-shod stuff. Have such a horror of formal, etiquettical letters [p. 8 bottom] that I tumble rather too far into the other extreme with you - Mind my ps & qs better with more particular people so my crazy letters you must consider as a sort of compliment! –
Dont forget the Lovering remembrance. This quantity must make up for my long pauses. Yrs very truly
Fanny E.A –
All send kind remembrances, Tom especially.
[notes in IAJ hand on address page]
ADDRESSED: I. A JEWETT ESQ. / SCIOTO HOUSE. / COLUMBUS. OHIO.
POSTMARK: BOSTON / OCT 5 / MS
ENDORSED: AND OCT 11TH 1840

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