File:Frances (Appleton) Longfellow to Isaac Appleton Jewett, 26 August 1838 (b08f43bf-9072-41e4-9c60-c5e369bc977e).jpg

Manuscript letter

Archives Number: 1011/002.001-008#003

Pittsfield. Sunday P.M. Aug 26th – 1838.
This holding converse across the Alleghanies, dear Jewett is a dot & go one’ process & reminds me of some absent old gentleman whose wits are a “slow march” & after expending a joke on them & witnessing now result suddenly in a grave subject you are startled by their electrical ill-timed hilarity. So in letters – our friend is constantly catching our mind by the skirts – or rather clothing himself benevolently in our cast-off inner garments – for the mind changes its ‘nuance’ every moment & the acme of letter-writing would be to prophecy by calculations from its previous phases what mood our friend thoughts will show at the time the ambassador of ours knocks at his door. The moment this white-robed messenger – your latest thought-full letter was red by me it kindled many responses – on which delay & circumstances putting the extinguisher to the next day or week that were faintly flickering ashes which I could or would not re-Fan so lend me our mosaic of intention for Acherontic pavement – those of maidens I trust at least are marble pure, literary ones lapis lazuli; old maids jaune-antique &c. Now, your mental spectacles may have shifted from the somber purple or grey they then wore to couleur de rose & an echo of what was may be unrecognizable or it would be very like that guessing game “what’s my thought like” or the Edinbro’ & London clubs game of chefs alternate “moves” travelling post. I have a vague remembrance I thought of preaching you a slight homily on contentment – having practical knowledge of the causes of the disease. Par parenthese I will say you have put yourself in the worst atmosphere for a cure Nature rejects violent reactions – fever & ague contrasts - & to the mind Italy & Cincinnati are a most ill-mated couple to inhabit & influence the temple of our thoughts – if not at once – before it has been swept clean & garnished ‘by older associations & gradual shifting of its furniture; - no Yankee papering on the walls with frescos on the ceiling! (like Aunt Sam’s drawing-rooms.) The first Protestanized Cathedral I remember I saw in Switzerland after crossing the Simplon & its bare despoiled look shocked one dreadfully – but what would it have [p. 2] been if I had entered instead a Yankee meeting-house! so America saxon-plain as are its best pretentions why seek the outskirts of civilization – the raw material – why weave your web – (out of compliment to your pet simile) of tow – since you cant [sic] have ‘cloth of gold’-? silk & satin are better – if not so wearable at least allow yourself a fringe or some embroidery thereof (you see how I feminize {coining words is next to coining ideas} the ‘stuff your dreams are made of.’ Therefore we rejoice as would all your well-wishers that you remove to N. York - & if you can win a spinster to weave for & with you ‘tant mieux’ for your mental tapestry! Will American-Michael Angelos-to be – paint Fate at a distaff or a greasy loom, steam-turned think you? If I were an upholsterer’s daughter I could not garnish my letter with more woollen [sic] drapery; as I am a manufacturer’s it is excusable I hope. From this beautiful valley – I look down upon – with its graceful mountains – reflecting every smile & frown of Heaven-, its brooding quiet, its elms of untaught grace, its fresh young atmosphere, its republican loud-chirping crickets - & luxuriant vegetation form under a free sky I dare not think of Europe & sigh that all here is barren. Thank God Nature is partial to no country – there is more beauty everywhere than life can fathom or exhaust - & what are Cathedrals & pictures & music but Man’s poor imperfect mockeries of God’s glorious forest-arches, - living, ever-out-Clauding Claude – creations & orchestras – (to this scene-shifting) which angels lean to hear. Grisi is one nightingale applauded by a world; millions. unapplauded but by God’s heavenly choir are covered by forest-leaves – these leaves – composing better dirges than Beethoven – the trees they covered operas to which Rossinis are as ‘squeeking [sic] of a wry-necked fife. Allyne Otis trotting with me on Nahant beach looked at the eternity of waters & sighed over them for the Italian Opera with Nature’s La blache, the sea, thundering in his ears! So our mind dwarfs itself [crossed out: instead] to art instead of listening to immortal teachers. I fancy Art is more to you than Nature – (this is a polite sequitur to the foregoing!) I know you call that God’s art – but if we are to become god-like we must learn to love that divine workmanship – looking on meanwhile with pleasure but not all-engrossing adoration upon Man’s infantile strivings – to create – Frankenstein-men ombres-Chinoises – idols of brass whose feet are clay. To me such Nature as I now enjoy is an equivalent & teaches true content – especially the nature of refined minds & noble hearts such as beat 6 miles from me now & under the same roof a few nights since. Miss Sedgwick is now my Rome, my Raphael my Italy – her mind is a better gallery than the Louvre – her heart – a purer fountain than the Trevi – a more abiding sunlight than haunts Pausillippo! Her [p. 3] character in its winning simplicity – spiritualized-perfection & St John-like love for all humanity – is a world in itself & worth all this rhapsody. My homily has nearly swallowed up my letter – so il faut emballer les mots skillfully. – I hope you consider all this raving nonsense on t’other page a compliment; - duty-letters have no nonsense! We are whiling away August under my Grandmamas roof a fine old lady with as step elastic as a chamois’ - & “a fresh young heart, Sir” – driving in a broken backed carriage & steed somewhat the worse for wear – through these lovely valleys. which are very like Wales – or Baden Baden - Having no old castles however to explore I build glorious Spanish ones – more habitable & less melancholy. Father at my especial boon is about to purchase some ground for a summer villa – in Stockbridge valley – one particular site there having struck my fancy, combining – an exquisite view – the verdure-fringed Housatonic winding below the lawn & a noble grove behind – fine mountain outlines - & at a mile distance – the best society – the Sedgwicks. This project delights me infinitely – for a railroad – which in a year or two desecrates these retired valleys links them conveniently with town & yet at a safe distance from afternoon bores. Mary hints we shall represent the romantic spinsters of Llangollen! Have you seen any thing of Mr Slocum or is he upon his Quixotic expedition? A new engagement has come out that might naturally have been prophecised – Ledyard to the youngest Miss Cass. Tom had a few particulars of poor Payne’s death from Mr Lovering – The buxom Miss Carnes’ have the bulk of his property. I think you read Carlyle too exclusively & are unconsciously tainting your good honest style with his diseased combinations! Am I not a terrible little précheuse? I am just following the muffled death-march of Sir Walter Scotts – healthy (till crushed out)-noble, Saxon mind – What a wreck of solid masonry! I read that article on the Miserere you mention, but found it somewhat too scientific for my uninitiated comprehension – it was by Cleveland, the lucky spouse of Miss Perkins’ – money-bags. If my letter was pitched on the penseroso key it proves it written without effort – for all natural sound is I think plaintive – even a hyena’s laugh is a sorry joke & a cat’s mew most pitiful – not to mention Eolian-harpings – whether played in stript forests, - ship-shrouds – or window-cracks. There were some poetical ideas in that review – about Nature’s various tones. They are inexhaustibly wonderful & in our young untamed woods – run thro’ the whole gamut – gloriously. There are 3 – “interesting” Italian exiles – in the suite of our friends the S’s - & the other day – we had a most romantic scramble with them – up the thickly wooded banks of one of those wild truly American streams – called the “Roaring brook” very appropriately – for its deeply amber-tinted waters rush & roar – with that reckless glee to know life – in the plains below down [p. 4 bottom] a dark ravine. Two of these poor exiles spent the glory of their youth in prison-walls – we have many nice chats together about cara Italia.
Sept 3d – This rambling-spun-out letter – is not worth seafing – but I never re-write letters. so take the ‘will for the deed’ – that it should have been merrier. We are passing a week at Lenox – with Mrs Butler [??]dergoing the accomodations [sic] of a country inn & enjoying – the constant – flashings forth of her extraordinary mind. The features of the mountains are already sharpening with the death pangs of summer & look like steel shields against the twilight sky. Have’nt [sic] you a horror of this first-hinting of winter? Do you know we are to have Coomb the great phrenologist to lecture in Boston this winter? ---
[p. 4 top] I hope you are getting over the first shock of American rawness - & falling resignedly back into the old nits. Your magnificent visions of what we are to be are but Job-comforters for present rudeness. [crossed out: our] In so large a city as N. York you will find many at rest from the mill-round of daily toil - & many cultivated people to talk with. Mary Tom & Fanny Wright send their kind greeting as do I hoping to hear from you again when it so pleaseth your to leave drug-concocting for mental pill-balls! With this savoury simile – I courtesy out – Yrs condolingly Fanny A.
ADDRESSED: I.A. JEWETT ESQ. / COLUMBUS- / OHIO –
POSTMARK: LENOX / SEP 6 / MASS.
ENDORSED: ANN / OCT 30TH 1840

• Keywords: correspondence; frances elizabeth (appleton) longfellow; isaac appleton jewett; pittsfield; ma; Correspondence (1011/002); (LONG-SeriesName); Letters from Frances Longfellow (1011/002.001); (LONG-SubseriesName); 1838 (1011/002.001-008); (LONG-FileUnitName)