Correspondence

1817.  EBB to Mary Russell Mitford

As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 10, 27–30.

[London]

Jan. <18>. 1845. [1]

Well, my dearest friend—it shall be Charles de Bernard’s soul instead, ‘an it please you.’ [2] Indeed it remains doubtful whether that Paul who is not the apostle, has a soul of any kind, even ‘so much as to swear by.’ [3] But what sets me thinking is, that your remark brings a gradual budding suspicion of mine into full blow at once, & makes me sure of your having given him up in a comparative degree, .. of your not caring for him the least in the world, in comparison with what you once did. And now I want you to tell me the reason honestly, if not analytically. Do you find him “un peu fort” [4] as to nastiness—he who is nasty ‘for fun’, just as an ill bred schoolboy is? Tell me. You know you bore him wonderfully at first. You did not bear Balzac—you did not bear George Sand—the “taint” of both stank in your nostrils. [5] But Paul de Kock, you forgave, for his broad laughter,—you thought him a capital fellow—you know you did!—you even tried to get up a moral scheme for his grisettes, & thought he might be translated (with a very little trans) into excellent moral reading for “prude Angleterre.” [6] And now, what a change! I have been observing the change this long time. You never talk of him—you drop him out of your list of men of genius—& you stop me when I fancy I hear you swearing by him.

And now .. understand .. that I am not saying all this, critically, but curiously—I want to know the reason of what I observe. Tell it to me. Is it his want of art? or is it his want of decency?– Bernard,—your St Bernard, .. is far completer as an artist, .. indeed the thing is beyond any sort of comparison,—& from his power in character & general artistic consistency, he stands on infinitely higher ground as a writer of comedy, than Paul does. Paul is the writer of farce, .. broad farce ..: and for impulsive gaiety, he has not his peer. I think the more of him just now, because they sent me, a few days since, by a mistake for another work, from the library, “Mon ami Piffard,” [7] which is not his best work, & yet set me laughing most cordially. It’s a farce rolled out into the narrative form,—neither more nor less– A little nasty of course, to mark, not exactly the hoof of Paul, but his snout.– But what particularly struck me, in this, as in other works of the same writer, was the impulse, the cant-help-myself joyousness of the book—he does not smile in it, nor laugh in it—he roars. And then, (tell me the reason, for I dont know) I, who hate to hear the Irish Lever ‘roar like a sucking dove’ [8] innocently, .. I, who get a headache with all that smell of punch & rattling of glasses in Lever, [9] can get through certain parts of Paul who is not the apostle, most wonderfully well. After all, he is less jovial than Lever & more gay .. or I fancy so. I hope it is’nt the indecency which I take to so kindly in him,—although ‘by your smiling, you may seem to say so.’ [10] I wish you wd tell me what you think—for really & truly I want to know.

My dearest friend, of all confiding persons in the world (and I have a theory, that confiding persons are less liable to be deceived than all other persons) you are the most unhappy. Stony hearts must the people have, [11] to be proof to your kindness & trust, & repay you so! This gardener! And you, on the point, you say, of coming, or thinking of coming, to London for several weeks!– And we are all to suffer for this abominable gardener—you, first, in your goods—I next & not least, in my joys!– Well—I do not say .. ‘come & live in a town’– I say nothing. I would not persuade you in any case, to come & sacrifice, so, one habit of life or one privelege of freedom. Oh no—your happiness is far too dear to me—& far too delicate a thing in my eyes, .. for me to touch it with rough fingers!

But .. for the present, .. why must I give up the hope you just let me see over the head of the gardener?—which (par parenthése) I could cut off—!? You will come .. (wont you?)—when you get the new gardener .. well-recommended & honest in prospect,—when you get him, you will come? And you will get him soon, .. directly—? I do want to see you so. I thirst to see you.

Yes—indeed & indeed, I do think that you are severe on poor Miss Martineau. [12] She may have acted inexpediently & imprudently,—but her high intentions in doing so, do appear to me above these suspicions. She may love notoriety—I have no personal means of knowing whether she loves it or not. But I do not see the proof of such a love in this act, nor in any previous act of her life which ever came to my knowledge. Her love of truth is proverbial among her friends, & even among such as are averse from her present views. One friend says .. “I always was of opinion that Harriet Martineau was at once the most veracious & the most credulous person of my acquaintance,” .. and a chorus takes up the chaunt. As for me, I do not recall the expression you quote,—& indeed I feel the sentiment more & more strongly day by day. But then .. I do not admire myself for either sentiment or expression. I do not take myself to be heroic in either feeling or speaking. It was my confession, & not my profession. Do tell me all about the case. Mr Kenyon speaks in parables concerning it, & I ruffle my fancy in fancying how it can be so bad. [13]

I mean to buy Delavigne—but as to ever thinking him equal as a lyric poet to Lamartine, I promise you I never will do it. Beranger I admire as much as you can—& Victor Hugo, more.

But .. for Mr Chorley .. it was only an exchange of letters .. or scarcely more; & although I went so far as to say that I shd always be glad to hear from him, I could not very well ask him for the comedy. [14] He will send it if he wishes me to see it,—& if not, … I do not like to ask for it.

And I have had two delightful letters from Mr Browning .. (did I tell you?) and I (you know) believe in Mr Browning as a man of genius & an original poet, worth just fifty of the Delavignes.

Oh—I do like to teaze you a very little bit …

And I go on .. & on! I sometimes mean to write briefly to you & begin with somebody else, but I never can end, so as to begin. I have a multitude of things to say to you now—now after all this writing.

May God bless you, my dearest friend! For your two delightful letters, thanks upon thanks! My letters never can deserve them except by being responsive—& I abjure your ‘soliloquies’.

Your ever affectionate

EBB.

Address: Miss Mitford / Three Mile Cross / near Reading.

Publication: EBB-MRM, III, 56–59 (as 16 January 1845).

Manuscript: Wellesley College.

1. The date is blotted on the manuscript, but the London postmark of 18 January suggests this reading.

2. Cf. The Merchant of Venice, II, 4, 10.

3. Cf. Richard III, III, 4, 76. Doubtless a reference to Paul de Kock.

4. “A little strong.”

5. Cf. Amos 4:10.

6. See letter 1815.

7. Mon Ami Piffard; et Chipolata (1845) by Paul de Kock.

8. Cf. A Midsummer Night’s Dream, I, 2, 82–83.

9. Charles James Lever (1806–72) whom EBB had dismissed as “unreadable” (see letter 1336). Horne dealt with Lever in his chapter on Irish novelists in A New Spirit of the Age.

10. Cf. Hamlet, II, 2, 309–310.

11. Cf. Ezekiel 11:19 and 36:26.

12. See SD1222 for Miss Mitford’s comments to Emily E. Jephson regarding Harriet Martineau’s experimentations with mesmerism.

13. EBB is referring to the Medical Report published by Miss Martineau’s brother-in-law; see letters 1794 and 1815.

14. Presumably Old Love and New Fortune (1850), a play by Chorley mentioned in letters 1634 and 1648.

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