Correspondence

1039.  EBB to Mary Russell Mitford

As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 6, 132–134.

[London]

Novr 2– 1842–

It is late—but I must write a few minutes away to you, my beloved friend, to tell you that my heart is with you constantly, and––yes! more tenderly than ever. To love you more when you are suffering, is natural,—and to love and admire you more when you are acting your painful part so nobly, is natural too. Bear up a little while longer, my dearest dearest friend! these memories will be sweet to you presently!—and the sweetness will be proportionate to the present bitterness, and enduring to the end of life. For you will live,—you will not die my dearest suffering friend,—you will not die, but live, and your future days will be blessed by the past. Blessed, happy, remembrances have been earned by you during these laborious days,—and you will not miss that fruit. And you will not be alone—do not think that you will. Mrs Niven is very kind in what she says—but I am but one of many who love you dearly. You should have heard Mr Kenyon speak of you when he came to see me yesterday,—how anxiously he spoke,—how he mentioned the anxieties of your friends & dwelt on those prospects which you can have no courage yet to think of & which I wd not for the world intrude prematurely on your consideration, but which all those who love you half as well as I do, must be turning constantly in their minds—how he spoke of you & all your excellences—how feelingly, how truly! But may God comfort you my beloved friend! ‘miserable comforters’ [1] indeed shd we be to you without Him.

For that unhappy girl—and I hope that she is at this moment an unhappy penitent girl, .. I hope for human nature, that she was over-excited, over-warm with the wine or whatever she took, and acted so thro’ temper, rather than hardness of heart. Do not think of her, my dearest friend! Do not let one thought of her distress you farther. I will speak in a hurry of Mr Kenyon, so as to draw as deep a shade as possible, over her wicked cruelty. And she a woman! [2]

He is looking well—so well! and seemed to me delighted instead of disconcerted about his brother’s marriage. ‘Indeed’ said he, “I brought it to bear. I [3] settled it all. I approve of it heartily.” He went on to tell me that the lady was devotedly attached to the gentleman as she cd not fail to be, from so long an association with him, & the constant witnessing of generosity & highmindedness. He on the other hand, I understood, loved her & took pleasure in her society. They had lived together for years in her father’s house,—but the father died, and “then came the social question,” said Mr Kenyon, as to how that state of things could continue. It was decorously impossible. Impossible too sentimentally was the separation,—and impossible physically beyond all impossibilities was it for Mr Edward Kenyon to live near his lady in Germany & at the same time near his brother in England. So his brother solved the problem by pressing the marriage: and now bride & bridegroom are coming in the spring to settle as an English family on English ground, to our Mr Kenyon’s natural & deep delight. “In what part of England” is still a question. The bridegroom leans to Torquay; and his brother said yesterday that he shd propose giving him his house in Harley Place & take another, perhaps opposite, for himself. The lady is something younger, he told me, than might be preferred—but she is very sensible & highly cultivated, & he thanked the Gods, not accomplished. Still, she plays on the piano & sings with a voice which Mr Bezzi approved, and she speaks French, English, & Italian,—& writes a pretty German note,—& is an authority as an historian & a general-information person,—is never heard to talk nonsense,—& with a great deal of shyness in general society, is a most agreeable fireside companion. Morally she is admirable & highminded!—and altogether, I think, no bride can be praised better. And now, what do you think? He may be very happy surely?. I hope so earnestly.

Mr Kenyon (ours) is going away again to Dover & Torquay for a week or two, & then he returns for ever & the season.

Oh but I must end here–

neverendingly your EBB.

The grapes go today– And will you tell me which kind of chocolate you like best? and whether you like that folded in lead, at all?

May God bless you my dearest friend!

Publication: EBB-MRM, II, 65–66.

Manuscript: Wellesley College.

1. Job, 16:2.

2. EBB apparently refers to Miss Mitford’s servant, previously found to be drinking (see letter 1024, note 3), although the nature of her “wicked cruelty” is not made clear.

3. Underscored twice.

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