I went out to buy letter writing paper the other day and was thwarted by iphone covers and such like crap, and absolutely no writing paper anywhere. Then it happened: A light bulb moment. I had an epiphany. No one writes letters any more. What’s up with that?! My friends went to boarding school, and I remember writing thousands of letters to them. My first boyfriend went away and I remember penning my thoughts on paper with a pink flower-filled border, and signing off with a heart broken in two by Cupid’s arrow. I was thirteen. Still, I felt fulfilled by the whole experience of total abandon on a page. When did it all change?! Why did it all change?!
We’re all a bit paranoid about writing things down on paper, because recent history has shown that this is the stuff that comes back to bite you in the ass. People have a record of what you’ve written. It’s not hugely different with the technology that’s replaced paper, however; emails and texts are just as traceable, though I suppose there is an element of plausible deniability i.e. someone stole my phone or broke into my email. My solution to this argument is we probably shouldn’t write down things that we will regret. Don’t get me wrong, I know that life is a learning process and we change our opinions, which is nothing to be embarrassed about. What I mean is there are things that we shouldn’t say, things that need a little bit more thought before we write them down. An occasional slip up is good as it keeps us real, but if it’s a frequent habit, it suggests that someone needs to keep their impulsiveness in check. Anyway, massive side track. Back to letters.
In order to recapture the essence of letters and restore my battered faith in humanity, I started to re-read ‘Love Letters of Great Men’, the only good thing to come out of Sex and The City, The Movie, I (the bit where Carrie reads a letter to Bigg). This is a book that anyone with any romantic sensibility should invest in. It’s brutal, it’s funny, it’s obscure, and it captures real life in ways that we want to, but don’t know how. Here are a few excerpts that I think we can all relate to.
The first is by Richard Steele, a journalist, writer and politician, who was married to Mary, though their marriage was secret for a while. This is a letter he wrote on 7/10/1707, and has one of the best post-scripts ever:
You may assure yourself I value you according to your merit which is saying that you have my heart by all the ties of beauty, virtue, good nature and friendship.... Write me word you are in good humour which will be the highest pleasure to your obliged husband,
Rich. Steele
I shall want some linen from your house tomorrow.
It reminded me of sending a text to a boyfriend or girlfriend, and adding a cheeky little ‘put the dishes away tonight’. It’s so honest, so not romantic, and yet so very sentimental.
Alexander Pope was a miserable bastard, in as much as he was an amazing poet, critic, satirist and artist. He fell in love with two sisters, Teresa and Martha, and made the effort to tell them both how he felt! I suppose Teresa was the meaner of the two, and in one letter he told her exactly what he thought:
“All I mean by this is, that either you or I cannot be in love with the other: I leave you to guess which of the two is that stupid and insensible creature, so blind to the other’s excellence and charms.’
He was clearly a modest person, as we all often are.
He was clearly a modest person, as we all often are.
Napoleon Bonaparte was afflicted with a hefty dose of ‘crazy’. He married Josephine, and wrote her many letters in their early marriage. The authors argue that he was clearly in love with her, but as a member of the fairer sex, I think I would be a little confused if I received such missives.
Excerpts from one letter sent on 13/11/1796 from Verona:
‘I do not love thee any more; on the contrary, I detest thee. Thou art horrid, very awkward, very stupid, a very Cinderella.
...What do you do then all day, Madame? What matter of such importance is it that takes up your time from writing to your very good lover?
...I hope before long to press you in my arms and shall shower on you a million burning kisses as under the Equator.
A letter sent also in 1796 to Josephine, though the context is unclear:
‘If I rise to work in the middle of the night, it is because this may hasten by a matter of days the arrival of my sweet love. Yet in your letter of the 23rd and 26th Ventose, you call me vous. Vous yourself! ... Ah, my love, that vous, those four days make me long for my former indifference.’
I particularly love this letter because it shows that no matter how many wars or battles you fight, sometimes one feels helpless...and ‘you’re stupider’ seems like the only appropriate retort. Vous yourself! What a genius comeback.
John Keats was in love with Fanny Browne, so much so Hollywood made a film (Bright Star). He adorably ends one of his letters with:
‘Remembrances to your mother- Your affectionate, J. Keats’
Every time I read this, I think it takes a wise man to remember a girl’s mother. It reminds her that he is worth fighting for.
Mozart says to his wife in one love letter that ‘whoever gorges a lot, must also shit a lot’. I never thought shit and love would go together quite so well, but he wasn’t called a great composer for no reason. Letters are fun, it’s a time when we can be ridiculous, and he acknowledges this as he signs off the very same letter:
‘Listen, I want to whisper something in your ear – and you in mine- and now we open and close our mouths – again – at last we say: It is all about Plumpi – Strumpi – Well you can think what you like, that is just why it’s so convenient. Adieu. A thousand tender kisses’
I am pretty sure he just called his wife fat, and even he regrets writing Plumpi Strumpi. In the age of email deletion, we would have been denied the pleasure. I’m just saying...
My all time favourite thing about letters though, is when you get something in the post that blows you away. Opening up a letter is an experience; I often get horrible paper cuts, and shake especially when I think it’s my phone bill. But then you get moments of brilliance: pain and joy so beautifully expressed, the sentiment of which can only be adequately described by this letter from Beethoven (cliché but it is brilliant, and you can see why they used it in SATC):
Even in bed my ideas yearn towards you, my Immortal Beloved, here and there joyfully, then again sadly, awaiting from Fate, whether it will listen to us. I can only live, either altogether with you or not at all. Yes, I have determined to wander about for so long far away, until I can fly into your arms and call myself quite at home with you, can send my soul enveloped by yours into the realms of spirits- yes I regret, it must be.
You will get over it all the more as you know my faithfulness to you; never another one can own my heart, never- never! O God, why must one go away from what one loves so, and yet my life in W as it is now is a miserable life. Your love made me the happiest and unhappiest at the same time. At my actual age I should need some continuity, sameness of life- can that exist under our circumstances?
Angel, I just hear that the post goes out every day- and must close therefore, so that you get the L at once. Be calm- love me- today- yesterday.
What longing in tears for you- You- My life- my All- farewell. Oh, go on loving me- never doubt the faithfullest heart
Of your Beloved
L
Ever thine.
Ever mine.
Ever ours.
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