As Sterne was making love to women throughout his entire life, we
suppose he may be considered as an authority on how a love-letter
should be written, and here is a specimen of his style:--
'MY DEAR KITTY,--If this billet catches you in bed, you are
a lazy, sleepy slut, and I am a giddy, foolish, unthinking
fellow for keeping you so late up--but this Sabbath is a
day of rest; at the same time that it is a day of sorrow,
for I shall not see my dear creature to-day, unless you
meet me at Taylor's, half-an-hour after twelve; but in this
do as you like. I have ordered Matthew to turn thief and
steal you a quart of honey--what is honey to the sweetness
of thee, who art sweeter than all the flowers it comes
from! I love you to distraction, Kitty, and will love you
on so to eternity. So adieu, and believe, what time will
only prove me, that I am,
Yours.'
Sir Richard Steele had for his second wife a woman who was difficult
to please, and the collection of his letters to her give us a curious
insight into his domestic life. They are mostly short, but filled
with excuses. The following are three of them:--
'DEAREST BEING ON EARTH,--Pardon me if you do not see me
till eleven o'clock; having met a school-fellow from India,
by whom I am to be informed in things this night which
immediately concern your obedient husband.'
'MY DEAR DEAR WIFE,--I write to let you know I do not come
home to dinner, being obliged to attend some business
abroad, of which I shall give you an account (when I see
you in the evening), as becomes your dutiful and obedient
husband.'
'DEAR PRUE,--I have partly succeeded in my business to-day,
and I inclose two guineas as earnest of more. Dear Prue, I
cannot come home to dinner. I languish after your welfare,
and will never be a moment careless more.
'Your faithful husband.'
These are natural and real; but let us look into 'The Enemy of
Idleness,' 1621, and see there what the author thought a lover should
write to his mistress:--
'A Lover writeth unto his Lady.
'To expresse unto thee (my deere) the inward griefes, the
secret sorrowes, the pinching paines, that my poore
oppressed heart pitifully endureth, my pen is altogether
unable. For even as thy excellent vertue, beautie,
comelines, and curtesie farre surmounteth in my conceipt
that of all other humane creatures, so my pitious passions
both day and night are no whit inferiour, but farre above
all those of any other worldly wight. So excell not thy
giftes, but as much exceede my griefes. Therefore (my
sweete) vouchsafe of thy soveraigne clemencie to graunt
some speedie remedie unto the grievous anguishes of my
heavie heart; detract no time, but wey with thy selfe, the
sicker that the patient is--the more deadly that his
disease is deemed--so much the more speede ought the
physitian to make--so much the sooner ought he to provide
and minister the medicine, least comming too late his
labour be lost. But what painefull patient is hee that
sustaineth so troublesome a state as I, poore soule, doe,
except thou vouchsafe to pittie me? For the partie patient
being discomforted at thy handes can have recourse unto
none, but still languishing must looke for a lothsome
death. Consider, therefore, my deare, the extremitie of my
case, and let not cancred cruelty corrupt so many golden
gifts, but as thy beauty and comelinesse of body is, so set
thy humanity also and clemency of minde. Draw not (as the
proverb saith) a leaden sword out of a golden scabberd. And
thus hoping to have some speedy comfort at thy handes, upon
that hope I repose mee till further opportunity.'
The fair fame of Mrs. Piozzi (Dr. Johnson's Mrs. Thrale) has been
injured by an attempt to represent her as in love with a young actor
in her old age and some letters of hers to William Augustus Conway
were published a few years ago as the 'Love Letters of Mrs. Piozzi.'
In 1862 the original correspondence was placed in the hands of the
editor of the _Athenæum_, and in an article in that journal her
character is vindicated, and the letters are proved to have been
garbled in order to infer a sexual love. Mrs. Piozzi formed an
intimate friendship with Mrs. Rudd, Conway's mother, and the two
ladies passed much of their time together, consulting how to help the
young actor. Conway was in love with a young lady who jilted him, and
Mrs. Piozzi tried to comfort him. In consideration of all her kindness
he calls her 'his more than mother,' and she calls him 'her youngest
adopted child.' The following is one of Mrs. Piozzi's letters to
Conway:--
'You have been a luckless wight, my admirable friend, but
amends will one day be made to you, even in _this_ world; I
know, I feel it will. Dear Piozzi considered himself as
cruelly treated, and so he was by his own friends, as the
world perversely calls our relations, who shut their door
in _his_ face because his love of music led him to face the
public eye and ear. He was brought up to the Church; but,
'Ah! Gabriel,' said his uncle, 'thou wilt never get nearer
the altar than the organ-loft.' His disinclination to
celibacy, however, kept him from the black gown, and their
ill-humour drove him to Paris and London, where he was the
first tenor singer who had £50 a night for two songs. And
Queen Marie Antoinette gave him a hundred louis-d'or with
her own fair hand for singing a buffo song over and over
again one evening, till she learned it. Her cruel death
half broke his tender heart. You will not wait, as he did,
for fortune and for fame. We were both of us past
thirty-five years old when we first met in _society_ at Dr.
Burney's (grandfather to Mrs. Bourdois and her sisters),
where I coldly confessed his uncommon beauty and talents;
but my heart was not at home. Mr. Thrale's broken health
and complicated affairs demanded and possessed all my
attention, and vainly did my future husband endeavour to
attract my attention. So runs the world away.'
Among the letters quoted in the _Athenæum_ is the following amusing
one:--
'While there was so much talk about the town concerning
maladministration, some of the Streatham coterie, in a
quibbling humour, professed themselves weary of
_male_-administration, as they pronounced it emphatically,
and proposing a _fe_male one, called on Dr. Johnson to
arrange it. "Well then," said he "we will have
Carter for Archbishop of Canterbury.
Montague, First Lord of the Treasury.
Hon. Sophia Byron, Head of the Admiralty.
Heralds' Office under care of Miss Owen.
Manager of the House of Commons, Mrs. Crewe.
Mrs. Wedderburne, Lord Chancellor.
Mrs. Wallace, Attorney-General.
Preceptor to the Princes, Mrs. Chapone.
Poet Laureate, Hannah More."
"And no place for _me_, Dr. Johnson?" cried your friend.
"No, no; you will get into Parliament by your little silver
tongue, and then rise by your own merit." "And what shall I
do?" exclaims Fanny Burney. "Oh, we shall send you out for
a _spy_, and perhaps you will get _hanged_. Ha, ha, ha!"
with a loud laugh.'
Having thus noted what may be said about love, let us turn to the
opposite feeling, and see what may be written under the influence of
hate.
'Ungracious offspring of hellish brood, whome heavens
permit for a plague, and the earth nourisheth as a peculiar
mischiefe, monster of mankinde and devourer of men, what
may I tearme thee? With what illsounding titles maie I
raise myselfe upon thee? Thou scorne of the world, and not
scorne but worldes foule disdaine, and enemie of all
humaine condition, shall thy villanies scape for ever
unpunished? Will the earth yet support thee, the clouds
shadow thee, or the aire breath on thee? What lawes be
these, if at leastwise such may be tearmed lawes, whereout
so vile a wretch hathe so manie evasions? But shalt thou
longer live to become the vexation and griefe of men? No;
for I protest, though the lawes doe faile thee, myselfe
will not overslip thee. I, I am hee that will plague thee;
thou shalt not scape me. I will be revenged of thee. Thinke
not thy injuryes are so easie that they are of all to bee
supported; for no sooner shall that partched, withered
carkasse of thine sende foorth thy hatefull and abhorred
lookes into anie publicke shew, but mine eyes shall watch
thee and I will not leave thee till I have prosequuted that
which I have intended towardes thee, most unworthie as thou
art to breath amongst men, which art hated and become
lothsome even in the verie bowels and thoughtes of men.
Triumph, then, in thy mischiefes, and boast that thou hast
undone mee and a number of others, whom with farre lesse
despight thou hast forced to bende unto thee; and when by
due deserte I shall have payed what I have promised thee,
vaunt then (in God's name) of thy winnings. For my
part--but I will saie no more, let the end trie all. Live
wretchedlie and die villainouslie, as thou hast deserved,
whome heavens hencefoorth doe shunne, and the world denieth
longer to looke upon.'
This is the model that Angel Day, in his 'English Secretary' (1590),
thinks suitable for 'a hot enraged spirit' to write to his adversary.
Most persons at some time in their lives are called upon to write
letters of condolence, but it is usually found to be a difficult task.
However well the writer may succeed, he must feel how inadequate words
are to give relief to a troubled spirit, and it is only insomuch as he
shows his own heart and sympathy that he is successful in his
attempt. When Alexander Lindsay, Earl of Balcarres, died, a few months
before the Restoration, Charles II., who was then at Bruxelles, wrote
the following kindly letter to the widow, Lady Anna Mackenzie:--
'Madame,--I hope you are so well persuaded of my kindness
to you as to believe that there can no misfortune happen to
you and I not have my share in it. I assure you I am
troubled at the loss you have had; and I hope that God will
be pleased to put me into such a condition before it be
long, as I may let you see the care I intend to have of you
and your children, and that you may depend upon my being
very truly, madame,
'Your affectionate, CHARLES R.'
Letters of thanks are frequently difficult things to write well, as it
is a hard matter to appear grateful for the present of something that
we do not want. Talleyrand made a practice of instantly acknowledging
the receipt of books sent to him; for he could then express the
pleasure he expected to enjoy in reading the volume, but if he delayed
he thought it would be necessary to give an opinion, and that might
sometimes be embarrassing. A celebrated botanist used to return thanks
somewhat in the following form:--'I have received your book, and shall
lose no time in reading it.' The unfortunate author might put his own
construction on this rather ambiguous language. When Southey published
his 'Doctor' anonymously, he gave directions to his publishers to send
all letters directed for the author to Theodore Hook, and the
following letter from Southey himself was found among Hook's papers:--
'SIR,--I have to thank you for a copy of the "Doctor," &c.,
bearing my name imprinted in rubrick letters on the reverse
of the title-page. That I should be gratified by this
flattering and unusual distinction you have rightly
supposed; and that the book itself would amuse me by its
wit, tickle me by its humour, and afford me gratification
of a higher kind in its serious parts, is what you cannot
have doubted. Whether my thanks for this curiosity in
literature will go to the veteran in literature,[59] who of
all living men is the most versed, both in curious and fine
letters; whether they will cross the Alps to an old
incognito,[60] who has the stores of Italian poetry at
command; whether they will find the author in London,[61]
surrounded with treasures of ancient and modern art, in an
abode as elegant as his own volumes; or wheresoever the
roving shaft which is sure to reach its mark may light, the
personage, be he friend, acquaintance or stranger, to whose
hands it comes is assured that his volumes have been
perused with great pleasure by his obliged and obedient
servant,
'ROBERT SOUTHEY.'
One of the most elegant letters of thanks we have met with is now
before us. It was written by Lord Lytton soon after the publication of
his 'Zanoni.'
'DEAR SIR,--I am extremely pleased and flattered by the
attention with which you have read, and the marks of
approval with which you have honoured, "Zanoni." Allow me
to wish to yourself a similar compliment from some reader
as courteous and as accomplished as yourself, you will then
judge of the gratification you have afforded to your very
truly obliged,
E. B. LYTTON.'
Begging letters are hardly a branch of literature, although great
ingenuity is frequently exhibited in their composition; but a
sufficient number of them can be seen in the 'Mendicity Society's
Reports.' W. F., the author of the 'Enemy of Idlenesse,' 1621, gives
the following directions how to ask a favour:--
'As concerning the manner how to demand temporall things,
as a booke, a horse, or such like, the letter must be
divided into foure partes. First, wee must get the goodwill
of him to whome wee write by praising his liberality, and
specially of the power and authority that hee hath to grant
the thing that hee is demanded. Secondly, wee must declare
our demand and request to bee honest and necessary, and
without the which wee cannot atchieve our determinate end
and purpose. Thirdly, that the request is easie to be
granted considering his ability, and that in a most
difficult thing his liberality is ordinarily expressed.
Fourthly, to promise recompence; as thankes, service, &c.'
Some men have very obdurate hearts, and will not be moved by any such
language. Jeffrey had a form of refusal which must have been very
tantalizing to his correspondents. He managed to bring the sentence 'I
have much pleasure in subscribing' to the end of the first page, and
then added, on the opposite side, 'myself, yours faithfully, F.
Jeffrey.'
Charles Lamb wrote upon books that are not books, or those that 'no
gentleman's library should be without.' In the same way there are
letters that are not letters, and of such are the political letters of
Junius, Pascal's 'Provincial Letters,' Swift's 'Drapier's Letters,'
and all essays, disquisitions, and satires which are merely thrown
into the epistolary form. Some historical letters are in the same
category; because, although the letters of such men as Cromwell,
Marlborough, Nelson, Franklin, Washington, and Wellington must always
interest us, we read them more for the matter that is in them than
for the form in which they are thrown. The following letter from the
Princess Mary (afterwards Queen of England) to the wife of the
Protector Somerset, is an exception to the above rule, and exhibits
its writer in an amiable light, as interceding for two poor servants
who were formerly attached to her mother's household, and who had
fallen into poverty:--
'To my Lady of Somerset.
'My good Gossip,--After my very hearty commendations to
you, with like desire to hear of the amendment and increase
of your good health, these shall be to put you in
remembrance of mine old suit concerning Richard Wood, who
was my mother's servant when you were one of her Grace's
maids; and as you know by his supplication, hath sustained
great loss, almost to his utter undoing, without any
recompense for the same hitherto; which forced me to
trouble you with this suit before this time, whereof (I
thank you) I had a very good answer; desiring you now to
renew the same matter to my lord your husband, for I
consider that it is in manner impossible for him to
remember all such matters, having such a heap of business
as he hath. Wherefore, I heartily require you to go forward
in this suit till you have brought it to an honest end, for
the poor man is not able to lye long in the city. And thus
my good Nan, I trouble you both with myself and all mine,
thanking you with all my heart for your earnest gentleness
towards me in all my suits hitherto, reckoning myself out
of doubt of the continuance of the same. Wherefore, once
again I must trouble you with my poor George Brickhouse,
who was an officer of my brother's wardrobe of the beds,
from the time of the king my father's coronation; whose
only desire it is to be one of the knights of Windsor if
all the rooms be not filled, and if they be, to have the
next reversion; in the obtaining whereof, in mine opinion
you shall do a charitable deed, as knoweth Almighty God,
who send you good health, and us shortly to meet, to his
pleasure. From St. John's, this Sunday at afternoon, being
the 24th of April.
'Your loving friend during my life,
'MARYE.'[62]
The duchess to whom the above letter was written was very haughty, and
held her head higher than the Queen-dowager, who had married the
Protector's brother, Lord Seymour of Sudeley, the Lord High Admiral.
Lloyd says, 'Very great were the animosities betwixt their wives, the
duchess refusing to bear the queen's train, and in effect justled her
for precedence, so that between the train of the queen and long gown
of the duchess they raised so much dust at court as at last to put out
the eyes of both their husbands.'
Men of position and fame must often groan under the affliction of
letters and other applications that are constantly besetting them. Sir
Walter Scott was frequently victimized in this way, and once he was so
unfortunate as to have to pay £5 postage for a large packet from New
York, which contained a MS. play, by a young lady, intended for his
perusal, and accompanied with a request that he would read and correct
it, write a prologue and epilogue for it, procure it a good reception
from the manager of Drury Lane, and make Murray or Constable bleed
handsomely for the copyright. A fortnight after he received another
packet, for which he paid the same amount, which contained a second
copy of the 'Cherokee Indians,' with a letter from the authoress
stating, that as the winds had been boisterous she feared the first
packet had foundered.
The managers of theatres are peculiarly troubled with applications
that they are unable to accede to, and authors often think that those
who do not rate their productions as highly as they do themselves must
be actuated by unworthy motives. The following letter from F. Yates
exhibits some of a manager's troubles:--
'MY DEAR SIR,--I this moment have received your letter,
which has given me more pain than I can describe to you. I
do assure you that, from the little I have known of you,
you are the last man in the world whose feelings I would
wound. Your note came to me yesterday at rehearsal; I
answered it, enclosing two orders, stating that I could not
afford more, and explained myself in the following manner
about "Love at Home," viz:--That, as there was no chance of
our being able to produce such a piece for some time, I
thought it better to return it to you, or words to that
effect. This note I put in the person's hands who gave me
yours; who it was I can't recollect. You know what last
rehearsals are to a manager sitting at the prompter's
table. This morning, when I was in bed, the servant came
with your card, and in answer to your note I could only
fancy you wanted your piece, and desired her to wrap it up
and give it the messenger. I confess I should have seen to
its being properly enveloped, but you can make excuse for a
fatigued man, who hears of nothing but manuscripts from
morning to night. I am most anxious that you should acquit
me, and believe me with truth to be yours,
'With much esteem,
'FRED. YATES.'
Managers are not the only persons who are troubled by the application
of authors, and the following letter from Liston (dated 1833) shows us
how he refused to perform an unpleasant task:--
'SIR,--The repeated annoyances I have been subjected to, by
undertaking to read pieces at the desire of authors and
managers, have determined me to avoid for the future so
unpleasant a task, and I therefore trust you will not take
offence, if, in pursuance of that determination, I feel
myself compelled to decline a compliance with your request.
Mme. Vestris will, I have no doubt, pay every attention to
your production should you feel disposed to entrust it to
her, and in the event of my having a character assigned me
you may be satisfied that I will do my duty, both to you
and to the theatre. I would have answered you earlier, but
I have not had five minutes at my own disposal for the last
three weeks.'
Besides the trouble of reading new plays, managers have to bear with
the offended dignity of the actors. The following irate letter of
Elliston (Charles Lamb's Elliston) shows what they have occasionally
to put up with:--
'SIR,--Your information respecting the "School for
Scandal," which I received last night, is happily imagined
to fill up the measure of disrespect which seems to have
been studiously offered to me since I have been in the new
Drury Lane Theatre. You cannot be ignorant that I have
always played the part of "Charles" with the Drury Lane
company, and Mr. Arnold, when I met him on Kew Bridge
previous to the opening of Drury Lane, and when it was in
contemplation to open the new theatre with Mr. Sheridan's
brilliant play, distinctly told me in answer to a question
I put to him, that I should be expected to play "Charles."
Under these circumstances I cannot but conceive the cool
mode in which I am asked, without request, to be ready for
the eldest brother, to be an insult. To oblige the
committee and to serve the interests of the concern, I
think I have already sufficiently manifested [my desire] by
the acceptance of a very inferior part in the tragedy, and
by my suppression of complaint where complaint was almost
peremptorily called for; but there are bounds beyond which
it would be contemptible for patience to show itself; I
enter, therefore, a decided protest against this your last
proceeding, and expect that for the future it may
constitute a part of yours and Mr. Arnold's management to
show me a little more good manners than your natures have
hitherto permitted.'
Although a great number of letters have been printed, there must be an
immense mass of unprinted ones that ought to see the light, and would
add much to our information. We should like to see all the known
correspondence of the world overhauled, re-arranged, and extracted
under heads. By this means we should gain new views of the characters
of men, and the high and dry description of action would be
supplemented by vivid touches of feeling that would breathe life into
the dry bones of history. Some such scheme as this was hinted at by
Dr. Maitland, in his work on the 'Dark Ages.'
We must now, however, bring our subject to a close, ere we have
exhausted the patience of our readers; but we do so with reluctance,
for the number of letters that we should like to quote are numberless.
We think that there is a peculiar pleasure in being taken into the
confidence of the great ones of the earth, of those who are great by
birth, by genius, and by worth; and we can imagine few greater
literary treats than to turn over a well-arranged collection of
autograph letters, which have been selected for the interest of their
contents as well as for the celebrity of the writers. We feel suddenly
taken out of ourselves and transplanted into a brilliant society, and
we rise with the feeling that our list of acquaintances and friends
has been enlarged by some of the best and greatest that have walked
the earth. We have only left ourselves room to say a few words on Mr.
Seton's book, but those words must be in its praise. The author has
succeeded in putting together some very interesting and amusing essays
on 'Letters and Letter-writers;' but as the subject is a large one,
and the illustrations for it are peculiarly rich, we have preferred to
make a selection of our own instead of using those that Mr. Seton has
collected.
In conclusion, we cannot but express the pride we feel in the belief
that our countrymen and countrywomen have added so many charming
chapters to this branch of the great literature of the world: chapters
that will bear comparison with those produced by the writers of any
other country.