448cd63c-819f-4292-9783-95c41d19a9e8

Frances (Appleton) Longfellow to Emmeline (Austin) Wadsworth, 18 July 1841

Manuscript letter

[p. 5, marked “2”] I passed a day lately in London to do a little shopping & had a rich treat at the Opera; a memorable ‘potpourri’ but almost oppressive for one ev’g. Robert got for himself & me (Mary having remained at Woolwich & not being up to such things often) two nice seats just behind the orchestra, the best in the house for ease & position, & here we sat from 7 till 1 – feeding our souls tho’ eye & ear-mouths with such ‘morceaux’ as these. The overture & 1st act of the Barber, Grisi’s liquidity, Lablache’s organ-pipes & Tamburini’s sparkling brilliancy & finish (he was born for Figaro) never so more relished by me, - then Mario (the Marquis de Candia,) looked such a handsome Count & sang admirably. After this came ‘Les Horaces,’ – Rachel as Camille much more beautiful & touching than in the 2 other fierce characters in which I saw her but which could not be surpassed in their kind. Her delicately formed head, simply bound with a white fillet, her grace of motion & attitude increased by snowy classic folds, made her acting so many statues - & she seemed the very embodiment of Psyche to me, bending, shuddering beneath mortal woes but firm & upheld withal by the strength of purity & divine aid. One fainting scene where she hears of the death of her lover or brothers, I forget which for I could not always follow the elaborate French speeches, & dissolves upon a seat was nature itself – inexpressibly touching & graceful; in the last act she threw the audience into groans of wonder & admiration by the inspired energy & passion of her tones & attitudes & her extreme youth adds great effect to this. Inspiration is to me the startling quality of her acting; - no stage tricks of tone & gesture by the uncontrollable ‘outcome of a noble soul’ as Carlyle would say. A most interesting creature with her former life & present destiny; her Jewess blood & look, so young, yet having had power to resurrect [p. 6] this long defunct drama, &, what is more, bring it over to London & retain breathless listeners there for a whole season. What a triumph for the French! I hope sincerely she wont be the victim of her success – but one shudders for her. Soothingly after all this thrilling scene & the shock of her barbarous murder, (a long knife stuck into her bosom by her brother, quelle horreur!) came a pretty ballet of fairyland – the Titania thereof Taglioni! A lovely little dancer floated with her thro’ some exquisite pas de deux but it would not do. She soared away beyond her as she must beyond every thing mortal proving distinctly just the difference between talent & genius-, Pegasus, & a horse of the best earthly breeding. Diamond bracelets glistened on her snake-like arms (the way they bend throughout can be compared to nothing else) which I conclude were her Russian spoils. Would not this do for one ev’g? but still we had an act of Mose in Egitto – Rubini ravishing therein & Lablache bearded into great majesty - & the prayer to famous which I had never heard before & which was next to the Miserere for devotional fullness & solemnity. This was as much as I could stand – so we left unseen, Cerito in la Gianta! Need I say how impatient I was to lend youmy ears. for I dont deserve these things twice - & you – someday you shall have as much. Why cant you come now with your brother to return with me? It would be something, & yr father could spare you 2 months with me as last year & mind it not. I wish you had been any where but to Virginia again – for I have so long hoped for that journey but shall never undertake it without you. I had such a lovely view of dream-land yesterday from a hill-side here, escorted thither by Mr Scott talking delightfully of pictures, German literature, Nature &c into all which he has as spiritual an insight as in to religious matters. The rich Thames valley with its various shades of green, turf & trees, was bathed in mist of various textures like muslin [p. 7] screens of divers thicknesses; the river with its ghost like burdens vanishing as into eternity – then, near by, a country seat of stateliest, richest lawns & groves fit for Boccaccios idlers – ah it was England poetisised [sic], become transcendental, most exciting to the imagination as a misty country always is, tho’ this usually is less so from its quiet, comfortable, unsentimental air. I remarked this to Mr S. & he quoted a saying of a friend of his about different counties in Scotland, “One looks like a ghost – another like a prophet – another looks you in the face like a sheep & says nothing.” This is rather sheepish on the whole I think but yesterday was (if it is not irreverent to say so) the Lamb in the Apocalypse. There is another view here I love much, from Bosnell Heath; a wild foreground of gorse, sheep & gypsies & the shadow swept valley of soft green, with ships sailing over the meadows, river invisible, far, far, below & beyond. But I shall weary you with my scene-painting. Mrs Rich breakfasted lately with Bishop Doane & his tail at Sir Robert Inglis’ - & was amused at their congratulating her that so many converts to Episcopalism or High Churchism were increasing. Sir Robert, the best natured soul with a profound respect for Bishops, was enchanted with all these Americans & the Bishop especially - & they were so charmed with every thing English. The good people here were amazed that this revival of Popery, Puseism, was growing in America – dead forms in other things soon dying in republican atmospheres – This double dying sounds like Tom Thumb. It can be but a re-action, the world is too active & sensible nowadays to endure such an ‘old man o’ the sea’ on its shoulders. “Sceptre & crown must tumble down.” À propos of crowns, we had the promise here lately of a peep at a crowned head, the King of Belgium, & Queen likewise – they got up a beautiful Review for them which we had, ‘the part of Hamlet omitted.’ Bomb-shells were fired across the parade-ground – in graceful curves – ploughing up the earth famously at breaking, but the prettiest display was the manouvreing of the horse-artillery, a noble body of men & horses – at the trumpet’s sound dashing over the turf, dragging light cannon with them [p. 8] at great speed, in a moment un-yoking them, firing them, & galloping off again with the order of machinery. Beautiful the grouping & relief or horses & men in the smoke against a background of green hills & an imposing Castle, their Academy – also the glistening & prancing of a body of officers among men whom Lord Cardigan & a son of the Duke of Wellington were shown me. My reverence for the latters Papa has been sadly dimmed here by facts of his cruel treatment of his wife after small-pox had marred her beauty & who died quite broken-hearted in consequense. That was so shocking in a hero & a soldier who are supposed to retain the little chivalric feeling existing now-adays. I have enough Hero-worship in me to be quite miserable when their clay turns out as fallible as other men’s. It is rash to approach too near as one must here & se the cracks & not the huge grand outline alone which looms so well with the Atlantic as a magnifying medium. Macaulay, par exemple, I hear spoken of with the contempt we bestow on a Bancroft. He is, it seems, a thorough Utilitarian (as his review on Bacon testifies) & thinks mankind a regulatable machine to grind corn for daily bread & spirituality a chimera & quackery. His own mind they say is a steam engine of great force & finish but only capable of moving in a straight, narrow line & that he cannot appreciate power or use off that dead level. How I get such proof of the tiresome vanity of these would-be great men which is a quality so peculiarly that of little ones (tho’ I don’t go to Carlyle’s length about unconsciousness) that I feel quite vexed to hear so much of them at all & begin to agree with Van Artevelde that “the world knows little of its greatest minds.” Naturally, when I see such a mind & soul as this Scotch parson’s here, so modest in its strength, so free of sham thoughts cooked up to suit men’s diseased palates or the age but flowing from the reality of severest experience & sore trial, consuming its oil in such a narrow space as this. But you will think my hero-worship is run mad if I make any more fuss about him. I like the Scotch I confess. They have less conventionality, less high external breeding, less worldly wisom (I dont mean as regards penny-saving) than the English but so much the more ease simplicity of character & openness to truth come where it may. Have much affinity with us in many ways – in customs, in turn of thought, in kindliness to all men but if I had seen the Calvinists I should probably think otherwise – that is a Procrustes bed in all countries worse than our “public opinion.” | [p. 9] July 18th. God bless you, my darling, for your last dear letter which made me too happy to sleep night before last. That ‘Heaven’s armfu’ of love at the end penetrated to the marrow of my heart enriching the blood as Balzac’s says of another passion. I feel very proud that I can be so loved by you, very very happy, for I should be desolate indeed at home without it & here it is no less welcome. It has become so the habit of my soul to turn to yours for sympathy in every thing that I feel often oppressed here because there is such an intermittent unsatisfactory flow. Ah in October there will be a torrent-rush the fresher & fiercer for this damming up! Prepare yourself for a deluge or rather a joyous ‘meeting of the waters.’ & I hope mine will return purer, stronger than they left, at least as little stained as may be by the “slimy banks of Time.” I am reading Miss Sedgwick’s book, happy to look at Europe again thro’ her loving eyes & yet sad to do so in print. I fear it will turn out a very meagre performance, too thread-bare a story even for her fresh heart, better “hushed up among her friends” who love her best in manuscript next to speech & act revelation. Mary has a letter from Lizzy Oelricks in her old humorous vein, doubtful whether her state will turn out à la Lady Hora or something better. She says poor Sophia is with Sally Anne & is soon to return to America; is more comforted & has never been told a word against her husband. Tis perhaps better for it would be doubtful consolation for her loss. She now has the Past as a comfort. I saw yesterday the Iron Mask at the Repository here – a steel visor with a window to open at one eye. Of course I did not doubt, a travellers’ worst enemy! Also Naps funeral car, a bare iron frame stripped, like his name, of its temporary trappings; a sorry sight to me but once shown to his brother Jerome by the Officer who escorted me with a nice Miss Maclean to these lions! It was a divinely fair day (thank you for putting your Solomon’s seal on it & sending it across the water; yr letters always bring one!) & the officers were all cricketing here in their shirt sleeves. I wish you could see my ‘laddie of the lint-white locks’ (Ronald) dance a horn-pipe as he does ‘on instinct’ with frog-like activity. He is developing all manner of droll gurglings & half-sounds by way of speech & is the most joyous little creature, so intent & observing – in short a “little genius” already out of compliment to yr prophecy. I throw him sky high & he is so white, frock, hair & skin that in such process he looks a floating cloudlet. But enough of Auntly enthusiasm tho’ you request it. God envelop you with blessings my choicest one, & keep you in all peace & joy now & ever – My love to those you know I should send it to - & may your poor eyes receive no pain from this infliction. Mary & Robert send warmest good wishes. I expect Tom back tomorrow & then we shall depart hence, whither we know not yet. ever & ever yr most faithful & fond | Fan – | [p10, address page] Mary hopes to be able to write you soon. She feels more comfortable about herself as do I, she having seen a physician who thinks her bones will soon recover the horrid wrench they underwent at a certain time. Such delicious strains are swelling up hither from the distant band (best in the kingdom) “the vale is overflowing with the sound’ & the birds are all silent listening. I take a child’s delight in looking at the sodzers’ sometimes especially on Sunday mng when they all solemnly march before Lord Bloomfield & so on to church. | ADDRESSED: STEAMER “ACADIA”. / MISS AUSTIN. / CARE OF SAML AUSTIN JR ESQ. / BOSTON, MASS, / U S A. | POSTMARK: PAID / 19 JY 19 / 1841

Archives Number: 1011/002.001-011#017

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Courtesy of National Park Service, Longfellow House-Washington's Headquarters National Historic Site; Archives Number 1011/002.001-011#017

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Correspondence (1011/002), (LONG-SeriesName)
, Letters from Frances Longfellow (1011/002.001), (LONG-SubseriesName)
, 1841 (1011/002.001-011), (LONG-FileUnitName)

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Longfellow House - Washington's Headquarters National Historic Site, Code: LONG

Longfellow House - Washington's Headquarters National Historic Site, Middlesex County, Massachusetts
Latitude: 42.3769989013672, Longitude: -71.1264038085938

NPS Museum Number Catalog : LONG 20257

Frances Appleton Longfellow Papers (1011)

Title: Finding Aid to the Frances Elizabeth Appleton Longfellow (1817-1861) Papers, 1825-1961 (bulk dated: 1832-1861)
URL: https://www.nps.gov/long/learn/historyculture/archives.htm#FEAL

2021-06-16

07/18/1841

Manuscript letter in Frances Appleton Longfellow Papers, Series II. Correspondence, A. Outgoing, 1841. (1011/002.001-011#017)

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Fanny (Appleton) Longfellow (1817-1861)

Emmeline (Austin) Wadsworth (1808-1885)

Organization: Longfellow House-Washington's Headquarters National Historic Site
Address: 105 Brattle Street, Cambridge, MA 02138
Email: LONG_archives@nps.gov

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Wednesday, November 9, 2022 6:45:44 PM

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