1053. EBB to Mary Russell Mitford
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 6, 157–159.
[London]
Nov. 18. 1842–
I am so tired! Which is scarcely a word to begin a letter with—and yet it is so true that it comes out of its place of peroration! I wish I had written to you first of all,—and then I might write to you delightedly as usual. But Adam’s curse [1] waits even upon the letter-writer, & I was obliged to answer those three letters of Mr Boyd’s in one of mine, for he was very angry .. is [2] .. will be perhaps in spite of all! and why?—why because I wont agree with him that Wordsworth is at best, a third rate poet, & cant in fact write poetry in the true sense, the least in the world. I asked him to read the sonnet on Westminster bridge, among other passages––but the only thing that struck him in it, was ‘the profanity’ of the “Dear God”. [3] So he & I must talk & agree in Greek alone, for the remainder of our lives.
Talking of Greek, Mr Haydon has sent me lately a translation of the Gorgias of Plato, prepared for the press by his son in law. It is an excellent & spirited translation,—but I venture to think it inelegant & have said so. [4] Plato uses music as we do air for articulation,—and it does not do to translate him into discords. Suppose Mr Haydon shd be offended at my saying my thought about it!– But then what cd I do? I was asked—and I always make it a point of speaking the truth upon every such occasion. It is the only means left to me (besides the moral motive) of giving any value to so poor an opinion.
My ever dearest friend, how I rejoice that the day has past. [5] I quite dreaded it for you. Ah those birthdays!– Mr May is very very right. They burn our sorrows deeply in—that is the most obvious use of them. For my own part, not even my stupidity about remembering dates & numbers, which is so complete that I remember no birthdays except one or two or three out of all the multitude we commemorate, there are just one or two which prick me to the heart every year & make me wish to forget myself. As to my birthday, nobody lately has spoken to me of it, on the day of it, .. it is so impossible for me who am not given to much weeping, to repress the tears & deep emotion, which are excited by the remembrances of past joys & holidaytimes & family unwounded affections. Oh—Mr May! how right he is. Mr Boyd’s faculty of remembering dates .. I believe he has a recollection for the anniversary of every day in the year, forty years backwards, … I would not possess on any account. I prefer my stupidity. And to be sure, I am stupid par excellence where there is anything to be done with numbers. I could not tell you the age of one of my brothers or sisters .. unless it were my younger brother’s,—& when I told you his once I discovered afterwards that I had made a mistake by a year less or more. Nay, you may open your eyes,—but I could not tell you off hand & without reference to my books, as they ‘calculate’ over the Atlantic, how old I myself am. Now nobody wd believe that! They wd think it was a convenient Ladylike oblivion of a disagreeable thing. But, no!—it is simply a part of the idiosyncrasy of my stupidity! I shd probably be wrong by a year or two or three, if I attempted to say off hand how old I am—having only the intimate conviction that I am not eighteen nor a P. [6]
My beloved friend, you had a happier day than I feared, & I thank God for it. You do not answer my question—you do not say what I may send more with the grapes. I beseech you to tell me what.
Unkind, ungrateful, hardhearted Marianne! It is difficult to understand the want of shame which exposed the want of feeling! Do not you care for it, my beloved friend! Do not suffer it to affect you painfully. Certainly I wish she were away from your sight, & agree with you quite that Mr May took a wrong view of that matter. [7]
Mr Kenyon has not returned yet from Dover, where he is visiting I believe, Mr Curtis. [8] As to the hankering after Torquay, why Mr Bezzi is there, & the Garrows are there, .. & then he says, ‘my brother thinks of living there & I must explore the ground a little’. Mr Edward Kenyon aspires to a warm climate & likes Devonshire. But he may settle in London after all.
Would that I could see your face for one moment.
May God bless you ever,—& from Heaven & earth—my beloved friend!
Your EBB.
Publication: EBB-MRM, II, 81–82.
Manuscript: Wellesley College.
1. i.e., the necessity of working “in the sweat of [his] face” (Genesis, 3:19).
2. EBB has printed this word for emphasis.
3. Wordsworth’s place in the pantheon of poets was a recurrent theme in the correspondence with Boyd. In letter 982, EBB had described Wordsworth as “king-poet” and in letter 1036 had ascribed to him depths of soul “to which poor Byron could never reach.” Boyd’s only extant letter on the subject, no. 1050, holds Byron to be superior to Wordsworth. EBB had asked Boyd to read the Westminster Bridge sonnet, and other poems, in letter 1036.
4. EBB had agreed to read Haydon’s stepson’s translation in letter 1045; her reply, commenting on its literary worth, is not extant.
5. i.e., Dr. Mitford’s birthday, 15 November.
6. Julia Pardoe. EBB had made several prior references to Miss Pardoe’s reluctance to admit her real age (see, for example, letter 904).
7. In letter 1027, EBB had suggested that discharging Marianne would not adversely affect Dr. Mitford; Mr. May had apparently held that the sudden absence of a familiar face might distress him.
8. Presumably John Curteis, Kenyon’s brother-in-law.
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