1051. EBB to Mary Russell Mitford
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 6, 154–156.
[London]
Novr 16th 1842.
My beloved friend,
By some strange hocus pocus (the Herr Dobler cd scarcely do more!) you have taken my place as criminal, .. & I hear you pleading at the bar instead of passing judgment from the bench. The illusion under such circumstances, must be great—so great, that we wont talk of it any more! Only be very sure, my very beloved friend, that I never for a moment thought you either unkind to me, or inclined to accuse me of vanity or of anything else bad in the world. As to my deserts, they form a question apart into which it may not be advisable for me to enter. Vanity, vanity! [1] Ah—in my quiet way I have had more than enough, & it is not whipt out of me yet. We will put off therefore the classing & specification of my faults to another occasion,—just leaving one fact clear, that they cant comprise an injustice to you, a want of tender grateful love to you, or any defect of sensitive appreciation of all your kindness towards me, on literary points & others beyond numbering.
What is of more consequence than all this, is, your apparent, obvious state of depressed feeling. My beloved friend, what can you mean to say, or imagine, about ‘charity’ .. about your being an object of charity & compassion!!? You are out of spirits, & do not know what you say, nor understand what you imagine. It is true indeed, that you, who have been accustomed to a position of power—for after all intellectual power, the power of a writer, is the most actual of all—to a position of power & a privilege of giving pleasure & of acting for pleasure & good upon other minds, … must feel this pause of life, elapsing in passive suffering & visited by a thousand sympathies from those whom you formerly benefitted, .. as a dreary change & reaction into evil. Still, what you suffer, my beloved friend, is no peculiar humiliation, .. it is nothing beyond the part of human sorrow, of which all humanity partakes. We all in some portion of our life, eat dust like the serpent, [2] —& bitterer dust than he—we all become dependent on each other for sympathy & little kindnesses, & so become mutually dearer in the universal bond. And as for anybody in the world excepting yourself, & as for your thinking, except when you are very sad indeed, that you are not as much admired & looked up to, & considered on a height, now in your sadness, as when the theatre shook to the plausive welcome of your Rienzi, [3] … you know that is not true. For my own part, .. & everybody who knows you thinks the same, .. you are more admirable in this struggle with pain for duty’s sake, in this noble labor of love, than in any other position,—and I may answer for others in myself, that when I think of you once with pity, I do so twice with admiration. Contend therefore my dearest admired friend, with this depression—do not let it gain on you. Christ is our saviour “perfect through suffering” [4] —& by suffering he works out peace & health for His saved. Suffering was good for us in His sacrifice—and is good, in our own experience. A little while, & this trial will pass from you—and your remembrances are safe & holy—and you will return to your place in literature, with increased power to act by, & wisdom to teach by!
And after that prophecy, I scarcely know what is worthy of being written. Of Mr Westwood I know nothing in the world. His first letter to me was in black & grief. He had read my poems with beloved beings from whom he was parted—& the poems had grown dearer from tender associations. Upon which my impression was that he was a widower at least—bankrupt in heart & hope. The last letter, however, speaks of friends restored, & delightful social evenings spent between them & the poets—and the black wax has dissolved away, & my imaginations with it. Perhaps he has married again! But then, there must be two wives living, at least, to account for the plural number! In the summer he sent a volume of his poems here by a gentleman who was desired, he said, to deliver it into no hands but mine, & pertinaciously insisted upon obeying his instructions. In vain one of my brothers represented that I was unwell & saw nobody: “He wdnt keep me a moment, but he really must see me.” They came up stairs laughing, & told me that they had quite given up, at one time, the hope of keeping him down,—since he appeared resolute to walk straight thro’ the opposition into my bedroom. Mr Westwood’s letters are pleasingly written,—as a gentleman might write: & that is all I know of him.
Yes! I am sorry that Mrs Partridge shd not say ‘I am happy’. [5] I do not like the omen any better than you do—& the less so, that almost all brides without exception write & talk as if they lived in Eden & with Adam before any rumour of the fall. A friend of mine used to say that she corresponded with two newly married women, & grew so confused between the ‘absolute perfections’ [6] of the two Georges (each husband being called George) that she lost all particular idea of either, in the common angelhood. ‘George’ seemed to stand as ‘George’, for the genus angel, I suppose. Poor, dear Mrs Partridge! Sometimes I image to myself what that stroke must be—the consciousness of the unworthiness, or unsuitableness of an husband, in the mind of a wedded wife! What bitterness of soul can be bitter as that? I cannot think of any.
My dearest dearest friend, I did not hear from you today! Which does not mean “write to me tomorrow”,—because if it is an effort for you to write I would not ask or suffer it.
If you knew how continually I think of you!– And you do know it surely!
May God’s dearest blessings be with you & yours!
Ever your own
EBB–
I hope Mr Chorley’s bottle reached you safely. I wrote a little note, to thank him for the Quaker information.
Remember my last question—(about what I may send—) & answer it graciously & as if you loved me–
Publication: EBB-MRM, II, 78–81.
Manuscript: Wellesley College.
1. Cf. Ecclesiastes, 1:2.
2. Cf. Genesis, 3:14.
3. Miss Mitford’s Rienzi was given 34 performances at Drury Lane in 1828. The Athenæum spoke of “great and unexpected pleasure” and said “we were not prepared to expect … any thing so good as the play we have just beheld” (no. 51, 15 October 1828, p. 812).
4. Hebrews, 2:10.
5. A further reference to Miss Mitford’s fear that her friend’s marriage was not proving all it should be (see letters 1013 and 1016).
6. Cf. Shakespeare, The Rape of Lucrece, 853.
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