1080. EBB to Mary Russell Mitford
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 6, 211–213.
[London]
Decr 9. 1842.
My dearest dearest friend I almost fear to write to you—and yet I cannot help doing it. Your letter prepares me for seeing you in the midst of the grief which so long has threatened you. May God prepare you—and I think, I see, that He has. Human nature & especially your nature which is so tender & sensitive will shrink back from the bereavements inseparable from its condition. And yet, oh my beloved friend, you will not repel the suggestions of your excellent sense & strength of mind,—& you will look & consider & admit that a prolongation of so suffering a state cannot be desirable for him, and is so to you simply from the blind instinct of your clinging filial love. Let him go my beloved friend, meekly & without a struggle, whenever the Divine Will shall call him. The pleasantness of earth has long been over for him!—do not try to hold him back from the blessedness of the spiritual world. In love & in prayer as you represent him, he goes softly & blessedly,—& by the help & virtue of the sacrifice of Jesus, into blessing. Only a thin veil separates, perhaps, the two states of being—of those in the body & those who have left it. The parting may be less a parting, in point of distance, than we fancy. At any rate it is temporary—and if we separate in the name of Christ, that name will re-unite us soon & certainly. “I wd not have you to grieve” said the apostle “as those without hope.” [1] Neither shd you grieve, nor can you, my dearest admirable friend, as those without memory. You have acted out nobly, yes, & tenderly, every filial duty,—& the sweet satisfaction of fulfilled affections must sanctify & soften whatever wound shall befal them. These words of mine are vain perhaps. It is vain, I know too well, to build arguments against grief. Yet I pray for you in hope, my beloved friend that God’s comforts will be speedy, even as His stroke has long depressed you.
But there may be a delay—still! It is possible from the calm sleep you speak of! And I will answer what you say of Tennyson .. & if my answer reaches you when you are too sad to care for such things, you can throw it aside—I shall do no harm by writing.
Well then, I will tell you how I earnestly agree with you in your admiration of that great poet, & also, of the poems you select for praise. Still, I have more chief favorites than you have—I seem to see more heights of mountains. That grand … (oh I forget the name .... something Hall .. it is! Oh—Lockesly! Lockesly Hall!) that is burning & fierce & powerful poetry! And the ‘Two voices’ … is not that great? And the Morte d’Arthur ..! And the ballad “A fair Earl is he”!– And your idyll .. the Dora! They are all poems of a true, divine poet! just as those of Wordsworth which you mention, are—and to them I wd add the Ode upon Recollections of childhood, which is a high favorite with me, and the Ode on Sound, & some of the sonnets .. the bloom & flower of that species of composition. Wordsworth has finished his course & deserves the crown. Often unequal, dull, dry & hard, .. he is always a consistent poet—& these seven volumes manifest a high full consistent poetic identity. He has out-lived the adversity which I believe to be a condition of the existence of every great poet,—& he stands clear out in the sunshine & the royalty, & no one dares to scorn the gesture or contest the place. I do not fancy that he is much commended for the Borderers—and yet, while I know it to be a tragedy manquè [2] I do not think it a Wordsworth manquè as you seem to think it—neither can I fancy that he has raised himself even in the thing called ‘popularity’ by its production. No! the truth appears to me, that he has outlived his trial, his ordeal—& that ‘fashion’ means reaction.
‘The two voices’ & also ‘Lockesly Hall[’] are both to my mind greater as poems—(that is, I wd rather as a poet have produced them) than any separate poem of Wordsworth’s! And yet, let Wordsworth be king!—for the sake of his great consistent poetical identity, & because he has conquered & the other is only conquering. Wordsworth has the crown & deserves it.
I must explain to you my dearest friend, (talking of deserts) that Mr Tennyson did most assuredly acknowledge the origin of the idyll, & that you will find the acknowledgment in a note somewhere at the end either of the poem or the volume. Look for it. I remember distinctly reading the acknowledgment—& the word ‘idyll’ is used in it, & your name mentioned. [3] How angry I shd be if it were not so! Now, look! And you never until now saw those poems!—& I had understood from Mr Kenyon that he sent both Tennyson & the new volume of Wordsworth to you long since. Surely he meant it!
My dearest friend I have desired some more oysters to be sent to you today, because since you liked the last I have a hope that you might like others—& it is necessary for you at present to take a great deal of nourishment—I am sure it is!– May K & Ben & Mr May continue to take care of you! May God’s care be manifest to yourself & very precious in the receiving.
Oh that I cd be with you! Wd to God I could!–
Your ever attached
EBB–
Address: Miss Mitford / Three Mile Cross / near Reading.
Publication: EBB-MRM, II, 113–115.
Manuscript: Wellesley College.
1. Cf. I Thessalonians, 4:13.
2. “Defective; abortive.”
3. See letter 963, note 5.
___________________
