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Frances (Appleton) Longfellow to Isaac Appleton Jewett, 30 July, 1839
Manuscript letter
Stockbridgeiana. 30th July 1839.
Most hearty thanks, good coz, - first for the welcome literary food you have so bountifully been to market for – good, solid Carlyleian sirloins - & piquante Boz entremets – (which I hope won’t give us mental indigestion after our thin dilutions of newspaper broth) - & next for your letters setting forth your discreet resolve “to take to the bush-“ while the dog star rageth. The Lee scheme I should think very practicable if the interior of the inn corresponds with the outward neatness & attractiveness & you could not have a lovelier neighbourhood to influence your dreams & reflections for which the world is to be so much the wiser! Flippant things you could not write with that amphitheatre of living-trees standing on each other’s benches – all gazing down upon you with their green eyes – many so venerable; nor wholly visionary things with that prosaic mill-dam talking sense in your ears & yet you have that poetical forest to enact the “melancholy Jaques” in if you will or the invisible, pathetic serenade of the “Mari d’une dame de Choeur” – on your way to the spinster farm. Your vanity will save me the pains of suggesting how agreeable to us is the plan or how deeply we appreciate the heroic self-denial worthy your Father Abraham which determines you to limit your visits to the “dear, dangerous” &c to one per diem. Our lazy, passive life has been doubly so for the last week – lacking books, lacking converse, - for Tom drove Fanny Wright back to Pittsfield on Saturday - & has been “vexing” the limit- [p. 2] books there ever since – the gate creaks – le voilà cane in air speak of the devil” &c. Our spinster tête à tête – after our merry quintette – has given us no heart to draw any corks but the innocent rotten ones of the comely negress – whose cot, by the way, I have sketched as a grateful souvenir of the refreshing sparkle of her bottles & smiles. The claret & champagne await your coming to be freed from prison. Carlyle also I reserve not being exactly in the mood for his profundity - & partly from that puzzling contradiction in our nature to be coy – venturing upon what we know will give us pleasure – we are like to be drowned now in a black Sea – of print – I as yet “hug the shore” – for I can read very little profitably here somehow – Nature’s green-letter blurs my eyes & distracts my brain – like an opiate. Yesterday I skimmed over some of Boz’ sketches reading aloud to Mary in wicked defiance of the brook’s more musical voice – thus recalling thoughts of the harsh, sadly-comical – parts men act – which good, dame Nature has been teaching me to forget here for my soul’s good. So you see – I look with different eyes on this soothing, - lull-a-by life you scorn - & doubt the wisdom of pouring vinegar into the oil. Mere activity seems the breath of life to you – cheerful passivity mine – so chacun à son gout. I am very glad you have found Milnes. I shall beg leave to decline the honor of accepting “Pickwick” if that brobdingnag-display of my Christian name on the blank page implies it is for me, for, frankly, I dont want it – having the English edition at home, sanctified by the fresh laughs impressed, like dried flowers, between every leaf – at the, then, fresh jokes – read in London & all across the Atlantic. So, gratefully for the wish to give me pleasure, I beg you to accept it – or dispose it where it will be better appreciated. We lionized Mr Franklin Dex- [p. 3] ter thro’ the Ice Glen Monday, - who being an artist & a man of taste admired properly that petrified battle = à propos of that, my bump of comparison would be better satisfied if Goethe had christened the Gothic – petrified, - not frozen, music, - (perhaps crystallized would be better than either) – that producing such forms; it would be truer & as poetical Je pense. We will discuss that. Our complexions [written over other words] & dress presented on returning the usual motley wear of soils & mosquitoe’s malice. They beset one, like so many harpies, on taking a few sketches. Last night – “white-cravated Gaffin” was over flowing with visitors – Poor gradually foundering Mr Sullivan, & family – the pretty Mrs Newton - & the “gorgeous Hessy” - & neigther you or Tom there to see! We drank tea languidly at Mrs Theodores & after listened to Mrs N. (never looking younger or lovelier & so like her husband’s pictures) singing with her sweet, winy voice – Moore-ish, plaintive, songs for an hour or two to a guitar. After no vocal music but books & winds for so long a time these quite imparadised me. Droll, sepulchral-voiced Mr Watts insisted upon piloting us home – tho’ the bargain was only for moonlight nights, he being a veteran – mid way – the flushed Moon rose & tossing arms in air, he shouted forth – “behold my heavenly witness.” Moreover offered to lend Mary his shoes to keep her’s on! Gallantry beyond Sir W. Raleigh’s in this simple-hearted valley! On arriving at our Temple of the Winds – a goodly pile of letters welcomed us yours looking very contented in the excellent society of Mrs Butler, - Miss Sedgwick, - Father & an Albion! Mrs B. is to be here tonight or sometime before September. Miss Sedgwick writes kind thoughts from the very maelstrom of London dissipation - & a whole Sahara desert of “lions” - & Father tells of his domestication at Nahant for all August (alas! For our kitchen garden!) & the consternation [p. 4 bottom] caused by the apparition of the wronged D’Hauterville with a lawyer at his heels – ominously hinting at claiming his own – wife & child! Your flute’s crack resembles sadly a yawn, & now I look at it its visage is more bilious & elongated than usual. It does’nt like being laid upon the shelf” more than other folks & in spite of Boz’ close friendship is growing sentimental for certain sweet echoes’ – sympathy. Mr Webster has the sobriquet of the “great Western” abroad, so the Carneal must yield it – they find him rather of the low-pressure order, however in conversation, & too fearful of letting off his steam. The cautious Yankee too much. But Miss S. says they are in profound admiration & [p. 4 top] wonderment that such moulds are cast in this country. Her letters are almost a Dictionary of the present great-men – Carlyle she admired particularly for his striking looks & racy converse; he is to be in America by Autumn so we can admire him likewise. Think of him sitting by our side in the alcove instead of his old thoughts! How can Field be so green as to leave his business all August – his very name ought to refresh him in hot, dusty streets. A propos of names perhaps it is yours gives you such a penchant for old clothes as you say you have. Monmouth St [p. 1 cross] & Sartor Resartus I know you profoundly admire. I suppose you will give Sam a cousinly God-speed now – tho’ you cannot appreciate the magnetic attraction that is drawing him over the ocean. Pray send Longworth on a wild goose chase after humility – tho the poor West loses thereby her best champion – but it is a sin to leave him longer a prey to such a monomania all uncharitableness apart. You & Milnes & the cocoa nut will be very (I dont say equally welcome –
Yours till the gate creaks & the dog barks.
Fanny.
My letter runs like the spruce beer with a particularly bad cork. The weather corked me; moi Je n’en sais rien.
Addressed: I. A. Jewett Esq. / 50 Walker St / N. York
Postmark: STOCKBRIDGE/ AUG 1 / MS
Most hearty thanks, good coz, - first for the welcome literary food you have so bountifully been to market for – good, solid Carlyleian sirloins - & piquante Boz entremets – (which I hope won’t give us mental indigestion after our thin dilutions of newspaper broth) - & next for your letters setting forth your discreet resolve “to take to the bush-“ while the dog star rageth. The Lee scheme I should think very practicable if the interior of the inn corresponds with the outward neatness & attractiveness & you could not have a lovelier neighbourhood to influence your dreams & reflections for which the world is to be so much the wiser! Flippant things you could not write with that amphitheatre of living-trees standing on each other’s benches – all gazing down upon you with their green eyes – many so venerable; nor wholly visionary things with that prosaic mill-dam talking sense in your ears & yet you have that poetical forest to enact the “melancholy Jaques” in if you will or the invisible, pathetic serenade of the “Mari d’une dame de Choeur” – on your way to the spinster farm. Your vanity will save me the pains of suggesting how agreeable to us is the plan or how deeply we appreciate the heroic self-denial worthy your Father Abraham which determines you to limit your visits to the “dear, dangerous” &c to one per diem. Our lazy, passive life has been doubly so for the last week – lacking books, lacking converse, - for Tom drove Fanny Wright back to Pittsfield on Saturday - & has been “vexing” the limit- [p. 2] books there ever since – the gate creaks – le voilà cane in air speak of the devil” &c. Our spinster tête à tête – after our merry quintette – has given us no heart to draw any corks but the innocent rotten ones of the comely negress – whose cot, by the way, I have sketched as a grateful souvenir of the refreshing sparkle of her bottles & smiles. The claret & champagne await your coming to be freed from prison. Carlyle also I reserve not being exactly in the mood for his profundity - & partly from that puzzling contradiction in our nature to be coy – venturing upon what we know will give us pleasure – we are like to be drowned now in a black Sea – of print – I as yet “hug the shore” – for I can read very little profitably here somehow – Nature’s green-letter blurs my eyes & distracts my brain – like an opiate. Yesterday I skimmed over some of Boz’ sketches reading aloud to Mary in wicked defiance of the brook’s more musical voice – thus recalling thoughts of the harsh, sadly-comical – parts men act – which good, dame Nature has been teaching me to forget here for my soul’s good. So you see – I look with different eyes on this soothing, - lull-a-by life you scorn - & doubt the wisdom of pouring vinegar into the oil. Mere activity seems the breath of life to you – cheerful passivity mine – so chacun à son gout. I am very glad you have found Milnes. I shall beg leave to decline the honor of accepting “Pickwick” if that brobdingnag-display of my Christian name on the blank page implies it is for me, for, frankly, I dont want it – having the English edition at home, sanctified by the fresh laughs impressed, like dried flowers, between every leaf – at the, then, fresh jokes – read in London & all across the Atlantic. So, gratefully for the wish to give me pleasure, I beg you to accept it – or dispose it where it will be better appreciated. We lionized Mr Franklin Dex- [p. 3] ter thro’ the Ice Glen Monday, - who being an artist & a man of taste admired properly that petrified battle = à propos of that, my bump of comparison would be better satisfied if Goethe had christened the Gothic – petrified, - not frozen, music, - (perhaps crystallized would be better than either) – that producing such forms; it would be truer & as poetical Je pense. We will discuss that. Our complexions [written over other words] & dress presented on returning the usual motley wear of soils & mosquitoe’s malice. They beset one, like so many harpies, on taking a few sketches. Last night – “white-cravated Gaffin” was over flowing with visitors – Poor gradually foundering Mr Sullivan, & family – the pretty Mrs Newton - & the “gorgeous Hessy” - & neigther you or Tom there to see! We drank tea languidly at Mrs Theodores & after listened to Mrs N. (never looking younger or lovelier & so like her husband’s pictures) singing with her sweet, winy voice – Moore-ish, plaintive, songs for an hour or two to a guitar. After no vocal music but books & winds for so long a time these quite imparadised me. Droll, sepulchral-voiced Mr Watts insisted upon piloting us home – tho’ the bargain was only for moonlight nights, he being a veteran – mid way – the flushed Moon rose & tossing arms in air, he shouted forth – “behold my heavenly witness.” Moreover offered to lend Mary his shoes to keep her’s on! Gallantry beyond Sir W. Raleigh’s in this simple-hearted valley! On arriving at our Temple of the Winds – a goodly pile of letters welcomed us yours looking very contented in the excellent society of Mrs Butler, - Miss Sedgwick, - Father & an Albion! Mrs B. is to be here tonight or sometime before September. Miss Sedgwick writes kind thoughts from the very maelstrom of London dissipation - & a whole Sahara desert of “lions” - & Father tells of his domestication at Nahant for all August (alas! For our kitchen garden!) & the consternation [p. 4 bottom] caused by the apparition of the wronged D’Hauterville with a lawyer at his heels – ominously hinting at claiming his own – wife & child! Your flute’s crack resembles sadly a yawn, & now I look at it its visage is more bilious & elongated than usual. It does’nt like being laid upon the shelf” more than other folks & in spite of Boz’ close friendship is growing sentimental for certain sweet echoes’ – sympathy. Mr Webster has the sobriquet of the “great Western” abroad, so the Carneal must yield it – they find him rather of the low-pressure order, however in conversation, & too fearful of letting off his steam. The cautious Yankee too much. But Miss S. says they are in profound admiration & [p. 4 top] wonderment that such moulds are cast in this country. Her letters are almost a Dictionary of the present great-men – Carlyle she admired particularly for his striking looks & racy converse; he is to be in America by Autumn so we can admire him likewise. Think of him sitting by our side in the alcove instead of his old thoughts! How can Field be so green as to leave his business all August – his very name ought to refresh him in hot, dusty streets. A propos of names perhaps it is yours gives you such a penchant for old clothes as you say you have. Monmouth St [p. 1 cross] & Sartor Resartus I know you profoundly admire. I suppose you will give Sam a cousinly God-speed now – tho’ you cannot appreciate the magnetic attraction that is drawing him over the ocean. Pray send Longworth on a wild goose chase after humility – tho the poor West loses thereby her best champion – but it is a sin to leave him longer a prey to such a monomania all uncharitableness apart. You & Milnes & the cocoa nut will be very (I dont say equally welcome –
Yours till the gate creaks & the dog barks.
Fanny.
My letter runs like the spruce beer with a particularly bad cork. The weather corked me; moi Je n’en sais rien.
Addressed: I. A. Jewett Esq. / 50 Walker St / N. York
Postmark: STOCKBRIDGE/ AUG 1 / MS
Archives Number: 1011/002.001-009#008
U. S. National Park Service
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Correspondence (1011/002), (LONG-SeriesName)
, Letters from Frances Longfellow (1011/002.001), (LONG-SubseriesName)
, 1839 (1011/002.001-009), (LONG-FileUnitName)
, Letters from Frances Longfellow (1011/002.001), (LONG-SubseriesName)
, 1839 (1011/002.001-009), (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
Latitude: 42.3769989013672, Longitude: -71.1264038085938
NPS Museum Number Catalog : LONG 20257
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
URL: https://www.nps.gov/long/learn/historyculture/archives.htm#FEAL
2016/01/30
07/30/1839
Manuscript letter in Frances Appleton Longfellow Papers, Series II. Correspondence, A. Outgoing, 1839. (1011/002.001-009#008)
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Organization: Longfellow House-Washington's Headquarters National Historic Site
Address: 105 Brattle Street, Cambridge, MA 02138
Email: LONG_archives@nps.gov
Address: 105 Brattle Street, Cambridge, MA 02138
Email: LONG_archives@nps.gov
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