Photographer Roger May was born in the Tug River Valley on the West Virginia/Kentucky border. His soon-to-be published "Testify" is, he says, "a visual love letter to Appalachia, the land of my blood. This is my testimony of how I came to see the importance of home and my connection to place."
Zizzie answered this call. Many of the letters were sent by mail from Chicago where Zilphia worked to Fort Williams in Cape Elizabeth where Harry was stationed as a sergeant in the United States Army. The two eventually married in 1943.
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The promise to keep the box sealed was held, the contents of the love letters remaining a secret until the date the Lunds indicated they would like them released. Exchanges between the two, often handwritten but sometimes made with a typewriter, span about two decades, eventually including letters from Harvey Lund, their son (born in 1945), to his father.
The Marginalian has a free Sunday digest of the week's most mind-broadening and heart-lifting reflections spanning art, science, poetry, philosophy, and other tendrils of our search for truth, beauty, meaning, and creative vitality. Here's an example. Like? Claim yours:
My dear true good little Nora do not write again doubtfully of me. You are my only love. You have me completely in your power. I know and feel that if I am to write anything fine or noble in the future I shall do so only by listening at the doors of your heart.
I have lost your esteem. I have worn down your love. leave me then. Take away your children from me to save them from the curse of my presence. Let me sink back again into the mire I came from. Forget me and my empty words. Go back to your own life and let me go alone to my ruin. It is wrong for you to live with a vile beast like me or to allow your children to be touched by my hands.
Leave me. It is a degradation and a shame for you to live with a low wretch like me. Act bravely and leave me. you have given me the finest things in this world but you were only casting pearls before swine.
I have been in the room where she passed so often, with a strange dream of love in her young heart. My God, my eyes are full of tears! Why do I cry? I cry because it is so sad to think of her moving about that room, eating little, simply dressed, simple-mannered and watchful, and carrying always with her in her secret heart the little flame which burns up the souls and bodies of men.
I have loved in her the image of the beauty of the world, the mystery and beauty of life itself, the beauty and doom of the race of whom I am a child, the images of spiritual purity and pity which I believe in as a boy.
Her soul! Her name! Her eyes! They seem to me like strange beautiful blue wild-flowers growing in some tangled, rain-drenched hedge. And I have felt her soul tremble beside mine, and have spoken her name softly to the night, and have wept to see the beauty of the world passing like a dream behind her eyes.
I have your letters of the 16th and 21st. There are many days when you don’t write. What do you do, then? No, my darling, I am not jealous, but sometimes worried. Come soon; I warn you, if you delay, you will find me ill. Fatigue and your absence are too much.
You must come back with him, you understand? — hopeless sorrow, inconsolable misery, sadness without end, if I am so unhappy as to see him return alone. Adorable friend, he will see you, he will breathe in your temple; perhaps you will even grant him the unique and perfect favor of kissing your cheek, and I shall be alone and far, far away. But you are coming, aren’t you? You are going to be here beside me, in my arms, on my breast, on my mouth? Take wing and come, come!
I have received your letter, my adorable friend. It has filled my heart with joy. I am grateful to you for the trouble you have taken to send me the news. I hope that you are better today. I am sure that you have recovered. I earnestly desire that you should ride on horseback: it cannot fail to benefit you.
Since I left you, I have been constantly depressed. My happiness is to be near you. Incessantly I live over in my memory your caresses, your tears, your affectionate solicitude. The charms of the incomparable Josephine kindle continually a burning and a glowing flame in my heart. When, free from all solicitude, all harassing care, shall I be able to pass all my time with you, having only to love you, and to think only of the happiness of so saying, and of proving it to you? I will send you your horse, but I hope you will soon join me. I thought that I loved you months ago, but since my separation from you I feel that I love you a thousand fold more. Each day since I knew you, have I adored you yet more and more. This proved the maxim of Bruyere, that "love comes all of a sudden," to be false. Everything in nature has its own course, and different degrees of growth.
Ah! I entreat you to permit me to see some of your faults. Be less beautiful, less gracious, less affectionate, less good, especially be not over-anxious, and never weep. Your tears rob me of reason, and inflame my blood. Believe me it is not in my power to have a single thought which is not of thee, or a wish I could not reveal to thee.
Seek repose. Quickly re-establish your health. Come and join me, that at least, before death, we may be able to say, "We were many days happy." A thousand kisses, and one even to Fortuna, notwithstanding his spitefulness.
I write you, me beloved one, very often, and you write very little. You are wicked and naughty, very naughty, as much as you are fickle. It is unfaithful so to deceive a poor husband, a tender lover! Ought he to lose all his enjoyments because he is so far away, borne down with toil, fatigue, and hardship? Without his Josephine, without the assurance of her love, what is left him upon earth? What can he do?
TULARD: What is extraordinary is that in this passion we have Napoleon's letters to Josephine that she kept, but we don't have her letters to Napoleon. So either he didn't keep them and that would make his passion a little more lukewarm in a way or maybe Josephine didn't write to him or would write just very neutral letters. The latter version is the one I would adopt.
CHEVALLIER: Contrary to popular opinion, Josephine is submissive. Very calm and gentle and she was Bonaparte’s haven of peace. Her only defect was she was a bit jealous and sometimes she would cry for nothing, but he would be able to come here to his wife and find a home and tranquillity. She was always ready to serve him. Sometimes she would be dressed in her best and she would be there with her entourage and wait for him to finish work. She was very soft and very gentle, which was important for Napoleon because she was the contrary of what he was.
During the First Italian Campaign Napoleon began to hear the rumors that Josephine was being unfaithful to him in his absence. He denied these rumors, even to himself, and his letters became even more passionate in response.
Six days later he returned to her apartment in Milan, only to find it empty. Josephine had left for Genoa — most probably with army officer Hippolyte Charles, with whom she was suspected of having an affair. He waited nine days for her return, but the wait began to arouse his suspicions.
In mid-March 1798 Joseph's brother finally tells Napoleon outright of the rumors surrounding Josephine. Yet when he confronts her she denies everything, angrily suggesting that if he believes such lies he should divorce her. Privately she fumes against the Bonaparte family, who she believes are in league against her:
Following this "day of the catastrophe," as she referred to it, Josephine must have contemplated what life would be like if Napoleon did divorce her. Her behavior from this point forward was much more amiable and loving towards Napoleon, and she appeared more willing to accompany him on his campaigns despite an overwhelming fear of carriage travel.
CHEVALLIER: I think that then passion becomes a little more dormant in Napoleon, and he doesn’t write these absolutely passionate letters to her. He writes wiser, calmer letters and from then on they become accomplices, very close and intimate because while he is in Egypt, she has prepared the coup. She invites the directors and leads them to admit that the return of her husband would bring about a new situation in France, and she has played an important role so, in fact, they grew up together in a way. Of course their relationship changed. They had no more couple relationship.
He took a mistress in retaliation: Pauline Bellisle Foures, wife of a junior officer. She became known among his troops as "Napoleon's Cleopatra." Tired and discouraged, he wrote to his brother Joseph:
Unfortunately, this letter was captured by the British, who gleefully published it in the London papers. Now all of France knew of Napoleon’s changed feelings for Josephine. Mortified, she hid herself at Malmaison.
Napoleon finally returned to France in October 1799, after a year away. Josephine tried to intercept him on his return journey, but they missed each other in travel and when he arrived at her house she was not there. He ordered servants to take her possessions away. When she finally arrived she was at first refused entry, but she pushed past the servants and ran to Napoleon’s room, where she collapsed outside his locked door, weeping. The accusations, pleas and shouting lasted for hours, but by dawn they were in each other’s arms again. Josephine would never take another lover, but from that point on Napoleon felt free to do as he pleased with other women.
In February 1800 Napoleon became First Consul, and the couple moved into the Tuileries Palace. Napoleon began to flaunt his mistresses. "I am not a man like others and moral laws or the laws that govern conventional behavior do not apply to me. My mistresses do not in the least engage my feelings. Power is my mistress." 152ee80cbc
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