1259. EBB to Julia Martin
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 7, 148–150.
[London]
May 26. 1843.
I am very sorry my dearest Mrs Martin that you shd be suffering so much, and trust nevertheless, that some good may have come to & settled with you by the grace of this delightful change of wind & shining of sun. For your letter I thank you as I ought to do– You are always kind, and even pain does not put kindness out of your head.
I heard from poor Bummy again yesterday; and the symptoms continue in a state of abatement or suspence, & she begins to fancy that dear Cissy’s face is fatter. Now I think we may argue from this, that she is not thinner: and as Mr Shaw calls her both better, & looking better, there is a good deal to thank God for– She takes her three mutton chops & large glass of porter a day with appetite, & no increase of fever; is able to go out in her chair for an hour & a half at a time, & enjoy it; & sleeps perfectly well without perspirations. Now this sounds very well to me: it argues at least strength to bear with & work upon—& the sleeping well at night proves that there cant be much night-fever & agitation about the heart. I who used to suffer so, from want of sleep,—&, at the time of my attacks, resisted all influence of opium,—lying wide awake from evening to morning, .. cannot help hoping more than ‘a little’ from this feature of undisturbed sleep. Still, there are or have been, very bad symptoms—it’s a bad case, I very much fear—only not by any means hopeless, as Mr Shawe declares to Bummy. She is revived & far better satisfied. My dearest Mrs Martin, it does as you observe or seem to observe, strike one as a natural common charity, that Henrietta or Arabel shd go down to Cheltenham & be useful to Bummy—and I am sure that presently, if there shd be any change for the worse or sudden danger apprehended, Papa wd not make any objection to such a plan. But now–– dearest Mrs Martin, you love Bummy I know—but you do not, quite know her. I believe that if Henrietta went tomorrow, she wd be felt to be a little in the way. Dear Bummy cannot bear the least shadow of interference; & the more active she is in love, the happier she is—and for another hand to cross her’s in nursing, wd be the most unwelcome species of interference possible. This illness may be very long; and it is not of a nature yet to confine her to the house—and Arlette (poor Arlette! it makes me sigh to think of her!) is old enough now to be a companion––and their father [1] is expected very soon– Altogether if I had full liberty & powers to send one of my sisters (and you know how far that is from fact!) I should hesitate a good deal & fear to do harm by acting hastily. We have letters every few days—& their tone is decidedly more cheerful, & great trust is placed in Mr Shaw: we must watch I think, & see how we shd act. Do you not think so?
I thank you for your part in the gaining of my bed, dearest Mrs Martin, most earnestly; & am quite ready to believe that it was gained by Wishdom—which believing is wisdom! No—you wd certainly never recognize my prison if you were to see it—the bed, like a sofa & no bed—the large table placed out in the room—towards the wardrobe end of it—the sofa rolled where a sofa shd be rolled—opposite the armchair: the drawers crowned with a coronal of shelves fashioned by Sette & co (of papered deal & crimson merino) to carry my books—the washing table opposite turned into a cabinet with another coronal of shelves—& Chaucer’s & Homer’s busts in guard over these two departments of English & Greek poetry!—three more busts consecrating the wardrobe which there was no annihilating—and the window .... oh, I must take a new paragraph for the window—I am out of breath.
In the window, is fixed a deep box full of soil where are springing up my scarlet runners, nasturtiums & convolvoluses [sic]—altho’ they were disturbed a few days ago by the revolutionary insertion amongst them of a great ivy-root with trailing branches so long & wide that the top-tendrils are fastened to Henrietta’s window of the higher story while the lower ones cover all my panes. It is Mr Kenyon’s gift– He makes the like to flourish out of mere flower-pots & embower his balconies & windows—& why shdnt this flourish with me? But certainly .. there is no shutting my eyes to the fact that it does droop a little. Papa prophecies hard things against it every morning ...... “Why Ba, [2] it looks worse & worse.”!—& everybody preaches despondency– I, however, persist in being sanguine, looking out for new shoots, & making a sure pleasure in the meanwhile by listening to the sound of the leaves against the pane as the wind lifts them & lets them fall—well! what do you think of my ivy? Ask Mr Martin if he is’nt jealous already.
Have you read ‘The Neighbours,’ Mary Howitt’s translation of Frederica Bremer’s Swedish? Yes, perhaps. Have you read “The Home,” fresh from the same springs? Do, if you have not– It has not only charmed me, but made me happier & better: it is fuller of Christianity than the most orthodox controversy in Christendom; & represents to my perception or imagination a perfect & beautiful embodiment of Christian outward life from the inward, purely & tenderly. At the same time I shd tell you that Sette says … “I might have liked it ten years ago—but it is too young & silly to give me any pleasure now.” For me however, it is not too young—and perhaps it wont be for you & Mr Martin. As to Sette, he is among the patriarchs, to say nothing of the lawyers [3] —and there, we leave him!
May God bless you both! I have seen Lady Margaret [Cocks] once, twice,—& am going to see her thrice. She was kind, & I, ungrateful—but that is all in the way of the world– [4]
Ever your affectionate
Ba–
Did I tell you that Miss Mitford stood on the threshold of Devonshire, & took fright & came back, home, to Three Mile Cross—saying that travelling in Devonshire at this season & for women, had its dangers.? She is, I fancy, a very little bit piqued because I answered that she was scarcely qualified for Yucatan– [5] Dear Miss Mitford! But she was not well—and often, ‘out of health’ brings ‘out of heart’ along with it.
Address: Mrs Martin / Colwall / Ledbury.
Publication: LEBB, I, 143–144 (in part).
Manuscript: Wellesley College.
1. The Rev. Richard Pierce Butler.
2. The balance of this paragraph has been overwritten in an unidentified hand with large, sweeping loops, apparently in an attempt to delete it.
3. Septimus had turned 21 on 11 February and was studying law in the Middle Temple.
4. Congreve’s 1700 play.
5. See the previous letter.
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