Correspondence

1126.  EBB to Mary Russell Mitford

As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 6, 287–290.

[London]

Jany. 14. 1843.

My dearest friend I seem as if I had been holding my breath since I wrote last to you,—& certainly I shd not have failed to write yesterday if I had not been crying instead. Dont be afraid—there was no reason for the crying! at least, no new reason. I am not fretful in general,—but when I once begin to cry, for something or nothing, I cant stop myself—and it was just so with me yesterday, until Flush, dear little thing, grew quite uneasy & set himself to administ[e]ring a series of medecinal kisses on my lips & eyes which made me laugh again in spite of the world & Mr Varley’s stars. [1] I cdnt get up spirits, nevertheless, to write to you. And even today you wont think me worth much as a correspondent. The philosophy of crying is, to be sure, an even more foolish thing than Philosophy generally, very often is. We never have got anything by it since the moon was first cried for by a fine baby.

My dearest friend if I never said a word to you about the dear hair, it was because its being there, in its place, seemed to me a necessity of the ring .. like its roundness. Of course it is there—& very distinctly plaited—& I prize it sacredly. Mr Mortimer [2] might well say what he did respecting the combination of the onyx & the pearl, & I am delighted that it originated with you since the more of you in it the better; & the thought of yours well becomes the gift of yours. It is a very tasteful combination—far more so I shd imagine, than the diamond & onyx—and altogether there never was a prettier ring given or received. That is my complaint against you. It is far too pretty!—a hundred times too pretty for me.

In the matter of my most excellent modesty & humility in which (O santa Maria!) I exceed so infinitely certain of my contemporaries, I am almost afraid, if I say what is in my mind, that I may fall from the third “story” of this high reputation in your esteem of me—and yet I must speak .. like others of womankind, .. at whatever risk– Well then!—my dearest dearest Miss Mitford—you will try to be patient with me & I will try to take courage & altogether disagree with you on the subject of originality. What! I am never original—Tennyson is not original—nobody is original now! And you dont tell me to destroy every word I ever wrote—and you hold Tennyson to be a poet—& you consider the world not at an end?– My dearest friend, I do disagree from you with all the powers of my understanding. Voltaire said—(did he not somewhere?) that there are only eight distinctive comic characters in the universe of humanity, [3] & that they had been written out. But you are not Voltaire. But in this matter, you write Voltaire .. a little!

 

“So she sets up to be original—does she?—this modest EBB”!–

 

Ah, be merciful! She wd not “set up”—she admits your right to set her down, if she did. And yet she acknowledges freely that any single poem of hers which was to her conviction, not original—that is, which did not express a direct impression from nature to the mind of the writer unintermediately received & which did not convey to the reader’s mind a fresh breath or new aspect of nature, intermediately received,—such a poem I wd destroy willingly, gladly, righteously, & never look back upon its ashes. Perhaps this proves a want of modesty in me: for certainly it proves my convictions of what Poetry ought to be to assume the name, & of what poets ought to be to assume the name. And now, dont let us talk any more about me– I only aspire.

But Tennyson .. not original!– Ah my beloved friend!—what is genius—but the power of expressing a new individuality? Wd all the finishing in the world move [4] the soul into another attitude, as certain of those poems do? Surely, surely not! No more originality now? Have we seen to the bottom of that infinite of Nature, which reflects God’s! Surely, surely not! If I thought so; I wd throw away all these poems, & “walk softly all day long” [5] as in a universe worn out & annulled. Art & literature shd be names of memories to me, for evermore—mocking an impossible substance–

But my hope & belief are, that to be “original” is as possible & not harder now, than in the first days of the creation—& that every writer who is at once true enough & strong enough to express his own individuality, is original as Shakespeare was. I hold Tennyson to be, strictly speaking, original—& Browning!—& Milnes, in a less degree. Passing to prose, your own Village & Belford Regis are original—& if others write in your manner, they Mitfordize. Grant to me, my dearest friend, that originality has not perished from the world—for if you wont, I shall fancy that you have been to school to Mr Darley & learnt hopelessness. [6] You too, who are always so full of hope & strong with it! Who wd think that I shd preach such a long sermon on such a point to convert you, oh my dearly beloved Rogers!? [7]

Three days ago, Mr Kenyon brought a picture for me to see—a painting in oils—an ecce homo [8] —by a young artist yet unknown. The crown of thorns is there, & the blood-drop falling from the temple, as in Guido [9] —but the face has a distinct character. The broad brow is knit between the eyes, losing nothing of its majesty in the anguish—& they, with the serene will burning in them, look divinely onward, until your own eyes seem to fall before their look. It is a divine picture to my feeling. We had a candle to throw the right light upon the face—& really that light appeared to startle it into projection & actual life. And this was painted in a garret! Genius has not withered from the world, let us be very certain. You will hear more of this picture, since it is to be exhibited, & better than from me– [10]

For the chapeau de paille, I never saw that celebrated work & do homage to the extract from it in your portrait. Still, I do venture to maintain that it was injudiciously extracted—that it is a vile anachronism as employed by Mr Lucas,—& that his likeness of you wd be by many times in better taste if he had painted you without thinking of Rubens– [11] But it is like you—oh, how like! It is very, very like. Are you aware, by the way, that Chalons has painted you, [12]  .. & that an engraving is being taken from his picture now, while I am writing?

Forgive my various impertinences—do! forgive me for the sake of my crying-fit yesterday. I may have cried away the greater part of my modesty & my sense, without knowing it–

Your own

EBB–

I have read the Letters from Palmyra. They are as you say, classical, what is called classical & with a better sense than the popular one—powerfully written, in an elevated style which rises, not unfrequently, into eloquence! Still there does appear to me a coldness—oh I may be very wrong—but I read the book sometime since, it struck me so. Aurelian I have sent for again. [13]

Address: Miss Mitford / Three Mile Cross / Reading.

Publication: EBB-MRM, II, 158–161.

Manuscript: Wellesley College.

1. See letter 843, note 1.

2. From the context, probably one of the principals of Mortimer & Hunt, gold- and silversmiths and jewellers, of 156 New Bond St.

3. In “The Polite Arts,” Voltaire had written “there are not in human nature above a dozen characters truly comic and highly marked” (The Works of Voltaire, ed. William F. Fleming, 1901–03, XVI, 109).

4. EBB has added “move” above the line, without deleting “touch,” her original thought.

5. Cf. Isaiah, 38:15.

6. A reference to EBB’s remark regarding Darley’s “doctrine about the absolute extinction of English dramatic literature” (see letter 927).

7. Although Samuel Rogers was admired for his generous patronage of writers, DNB mentions “the acerbity of his sarcasms” and “his habitually censorious attitude.”

8. “Behold the man,” the words with which Pilate showed the crowd Christ crowned with thorns.

9. Guido da Reni was one of many artists inspired by this subject. His sketch, “A Head of Christ, Crowned With Thorns,” now in the National Gallery, was owned by Rogers.

10. “Ecce Homo” was included in the British Institution’s 1843 exhibition; it was by J. Tovey of Bristol. Despite EBB’s use of “genius,” no other work of his was ever shown at the Institution, and he never exhibited at the Royal Academy. A letter dated 16 March 1843 gives Haydon’s opinion of it.

11. Miss Mitford had referred to an engraving by Lucas of this portrait by Rubens in letter 857. Susanna Fourment’s pose, and her large hat, suggested the composition of Lucas’s portrait of Miss Mitford.

12. Alfred Edward Chalon (1780–1860), Painter in Water Colours to Queen Victoria, first exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1810. We have not traced any other reference to his painting of Miss Mitford.

13. In letter 897, EBB mentions having sent twice to Saunders & Otley for William Ware’s The Last Days of Aurelian (1838). His Zenobia: or, The Fall of Palmyra was published in 1837.

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