A Gift Like No Other: Letters, Love, Valentines, and Culture

A Valentine's Day postcard from The Household Journal's set in 1911. Public Domain

On my desk at the moment are two collections of love letters.

The first is an illustrated anthology, “Love Letters,” selected by British writer and historian Antonia Fraser. The second is “The Book of Love,” edited by Diane Ackerman and Jeanne Mackin, an 800-page tome of fiction, poetry, essays, excerpts from memoirs, and about 50 letters.

Some of the letters in both collections are quite old, others relatively new. The doomed 12th-century lovers Heloise and Abelard appear in both volumes, but here too are names more familiar to many readers: Robert Browning, Charlotte Brontë, Zelda Fitzgerald, Jack London, and others.

These letters run the gamut of love. Some beg for understanding and companionship, others explain the failure of a relationship, and many celebrate the joy and comfort of being in the presence of a beloved. Husbands and wives write sweet and often eloquent notes to one another, extolling their marriage. In a 16th-century letter to her husband, the governor of Nagato, Lady Shigenari writes: “For the past few years you and I have shared the same pillow as man and wife who had intended to live and grow old together, and I have become as attached to you as your own shadow.” Most of us may have probably never heard of Lady Shigenari, yet that sentence she wrote reveals the soul of a poet.

The approach of Valentine’s Day had directed my thoughts to these particular books. Browsing these collections, and some online letters of love, in turn raised some questions about the value of this epistolary writing and the state of our technology-driven culture.

Beauty and Brokenness

"Love Letters" by Antonia Fraser features the ill-fated lover Francesca da Rimini from Dante's "The Inferno," 1837, by William Dyce. Oil on canvas. Scottish National Gallery, Edinburgh, Scotland. Public Domain

As Ms. Fraser explains in the introduction of her book: “As a love letter is—or should be—the most personal form of document most of us write, this is a highly personal anthology. I chose the letters in it for reasons of personal predilection, and following my fancy, I have gone for the heart on the sleeve, or at any rate on paper, the heart that shows.”

On page after page of both books, that heart can appear as vivid and bright as sunshine in July or as dark as January’s iron-shrouded skies, and sometimes both, especially when we know the personal histories of the lovers. In a tender premarital exchange of letters between Effie Gray and English writer John Ruskin, for instance, Ruskin calls her “my friend—my queen—my darling.” Yet their six-year marriage was unconsummated and eventually annulled, with the reasons for its failure still shrouded in mystery.

On the other end of the spectrum of marital love, we have this letter, which is not included among Ms. Fraser’s selections: a simple tribute that Sonya Houston paid to her husband and New Jersey policeman Uhuru Houston ten years after he died during the 9/11 attack on the Twin Towers.

“The children keep me young, and they remind me every day of you. You live on through them. Hasani’s disposition and mannerisms are all you. Hannah looks like you but is very feminine and girly. They both are kind and compassionate children. I can’t wait to see who they become as they grow up. I know you are looking down on them and smiling. You would be so proud.

“Love always and forever,

“Sonya”

An illustration of an American soldier writing a love letter, 1911, by Wladyslaw Theodore Benda. Library of Congress. Public Domain

Another beautiful farewell is 39-year-old Vilma Grunwald’s last letter to her husband, Kurt. In 1944, the Grunwalds and their sons, John and Misa (Frank), were imprisoned at Auschwitz. When S.S. physician Josef Mengele noticed that John was lame in one leg, he ordered the youth to be taken to the gas chamber. Unable to watch her son make that journey alone, Vilma accompanied him on this journey to death, but first composed a note to her husband, who was working in another part of camp. A kind guard delivered this last message to Kurt. The younger son, Frank, who as a youth had never wanted to read his mother’s final words, found the note 22 years later among his father’s possessions. Here is that communication in full:

“11 July 1944

“You, my only one, dearest, in isolation we are waiting for darkness. We considered the possibility of hiding but decided not to do it since we felt it would be hopeless. The famous trucks are already here and we are waiting for it to begin. I am completely calm. You—my only and dearest one, do not blame yourself for what happened, it was our destiny. We did what we could. Stay healthy and remember my words that time will heal—if not completely—then—at least partially. Take care of the little golden boy and don’t spoil him too much with your love. Both of you—stay healthy, my dear ones. I will be thinking of you and Misa. Have a fabulous life, we must board the trucks.

“Into eternity, Vilma”

Treasures in Ink

"Birthday Greeting," circa 1880, by Raimundo de Madrazo y Garreta. Oil on canvas. Prado Museum, Madrid. Public Domain

These heart-on-the sleeve letters from the past and so many others like them are gold and gemstones waiting to be mined. A student of psychology, for example, could analyze the two collections mentioned here and find a trove of subjects worthy of study. Historians and biographers resort frequently to correspondence for their research. Literary critics delve not only into writers’ work but also into their letters, and have devoted entire books to their findings.

In addition, many of these love letters are exquisite compositions in and of themselves—the result of the correspondent’s deliberation and care—impressive in their descriptive powers and their poignancy. Most of the writers were educated, and many were artists of one sort or another. The sophisticated thoughts and emotions contained in the letters they left behind celebrate our humanity and the vagaries of the heart.

Having read some of these letters, however, we are left to wonder whether men and women living a century from now will find similar notes of love extant from our own time.

Love Letters in the Age of Harried, Hurried, and Hasty

A Valentine's Day postcard from The Household Journal's set in 1911. Public Domain

Unfortunately, that prospect seems dim given the abundance of greeting cards and, even more, our use of email, texts, and other electronic communications. Rather than write two or three pages to a beloved in a faraway place, we text “love you” over our morning coffee, shoot out a heart meme at noon, and dispatch a laconic email before going to bed. Our written affections are often more succinct than a battlefield dispatch.

This predilection for “be brief, be blunt, and be gone” has ramifications for our society at large. The nuances found in so many of these letters, and the signs of a mind working through a pen to express thought and desire, are indicative of a culture radically different from our own. As is the case with our dress and our manners, the grace and elegance of a not so distant past are all too often absent in our written words—a sea change in our culture that has yet to be fully understood as to its positive and negative effects. Time will tell.

Civil War envelope with poem "I love but thee," between 1860 and 1870, by .A. Howells & Co., publisher. Library of Congress. Public Domain

And yet, while this tidal wave of brevity appears at present irreversible, we as individuals can always swim against it. If we have the will and the desire, we have the means at hand—pen, paper, and envelope—to put together a love letter of our own for a spouse, a sweetheart, a parent, or a child.

Add such a note to the customary flowers and candies of this Valentine’s Day, and you may just wind up giving someone a gift like no other.

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