Finding a French love letter is a rare feat. Understandably, who’s gonna let go of a love letter? A French legal document from the 1600s sure let those go- but a love letter?
Recently, I came across a small bundle of 19th-century letters- folded, yellowed, and edged with delicate embossing, written by children to their grandparents, parents, aunts, and uncles. Each one made my smile larger- ornate paper, soft colors, floral illustrations, and handwriting so careful it could only have been practiced dozens of times before landing on the page.
These sweet endearments are more than pretty antiques; they are windows into a world where affection was formal, gratitude was taught, and letters carried communication.
In the 19th century, especially in France, children were raised to be polite. Handwriting was practiced daily in schoolrooms, and a properly written letter was a sign of both good education and character.
It was expected, for children to write notes to their elders during holidays, birthdays, or important family events. These weren’t tossed-off messages. They were part of the ritual of respect: neat lines, fountain pen, dipped ink, and words chosen with sincerity.
The paper was part of the magic. Such letters were framed with embossed borders that rose like lace under your fingers, decorated with chromolithographs—flowers, garlands, angelic children—tiny sweet works of art.
And then there was the symbolism woven into every image. Victorians adored meaning in their illustrations: roses whispered affection, forget-me-nots promised remembrance, pansies carried thoughtful love, and cherubic children stood for innocence. These « chromos » helped express endearments.
Reading these letters I hear echoes of childhood from more than a century ago— tender, meaningful, polite…loved – expressed with decorative paper, and delivered with intention.
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