2887. EBB to Mary Russell Mitford
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 16, 224–228.
Florence.
November 7 [1850] [1]
I meant to cross your second letter, and so, my very dear friend, you are a second time a prophetess as to my intentions, while I am still more grateful than I could have been with the literal fulfilment. Delightful it is to hear from you—do always write when you can. And though this second letter speaks of your having been unwell, still I shall continue to flatter myself that upon the whole “the better part prevails,” [2] and that if the rains dont wash you away this winter, I may have leave to think of you as strengthening and to strengthen still. Meanwhile you certainly, as you say, have roots to your feet. Never was anyone so pure as you, from the drop of gypsey blood which tingles in my veins and my husband’s, and gives us every now & then a fever for roaming, strong enough to carry us to mount Caucacus [sic] if it were not for the healthy state of depletion observable in the purse. I get fond of places—so does he. We, both of us, grew rather pathetical on leaving our Sienese villa and shrank from parting with the pig. But setting out on one’s travels has a great charm,—oh, I should like to be able to pay our way down the Nile, & into Greece, and into Germany, & into Spain! Every now & then we take out the road-books, calculate the expenses, & groan in the spirit [3] when it’s proved for the hundredth time that we cant do it. One must have a home, you see, to keep one’s books & one’s spring-sofas in; but the charm of a home is a home to come back to .. Do you understand? No—not you! you have as much comprehension of the pleasure of “that sort of thing” as in the peculiar taste of the three ladies who hung themselves to a French balloon the other day, operatically nude, in order, I conjecture, to the ultimate perfection of French delicacy in morals & manners. [4]
But now, seriously … is it wise of you, dearest friend, to wait in that house till the chimneys fall in? One cant .. even you cant .. live altogether in Woodcock Lane, [5] if one loves it ever so: it is necessary to have chimneys, and a roof, and dry walls & floors. Now, if you should suffer this winter from that house, I shall be very severe to the aforesaid roots in the feet, I tell you, because it does seem to me that if they wont move of themselves, somebody should dig them up with a spade—somebody .. say, your editor! or Mr Harness! somebody who has leave (through friendship) to be impertinent & troublesome. As for me, I can do nothing across these Alps. Paper loses the electricity of the will before it reaches you, let me charge it ever so with that kind of fire. Only tell me how you are, how you keep, .. and light fires & be warm this winter as far as the house admits of it—do!–
I long to see your papers & dare say they are charming. At the same time just because they are sure to be charming (and notwithstanding their kindness to me .. notwithstanding that I live in a glass house myself, warmed by such rare stoves!) I am a little in fear that your generosity & excess of kindliness may run the risk of lowering the ideal of poetry in England by lifting above the mark the names of some poetasters. Do you know, you take up your heart sometimes by mistake to admire with, when you ought to use it only to love with? & this is apt to be dangerous, with your reputation & authority in matters of literature. See how impertinent I am! But we should all take care to teach the world that poetry is a divine thing, .. should we not, .. that it is not mere verse-making, though the verses be pretty in their way. Rather perish every verse I [6] ever wrote, for one, than help to drag down an inch that standard of poetry which for the sake of humanity as well as literature, should be kept high. As for simplicity & clearness, did I ever deny that they were excellent qualities? Never, surely. Only, they will not make poetry; & absolutely vain they are, & indeed all other qualities, without the essential thing, the genius, the inspiration, the insight, .. let us call it what we please—without which, the most accomplished verse-writers had far better write prose, .. for their own sakes as for the world’s—dont you think so? Which I say, because I sighed aloud over many names in your list, & now have taken pertly to write out the sigh at length. Too charmingly you are sure to have written! and see the danger! But Miss Fanshawe is well worth your writing of (let me say that I am sensible warmly of that) as one of the most witty of our wits in verse, men or women. [7] I have only seen m∙s. copies of some of her verses, & that years ago, but they struck me very much, .. & really I do not remember another female wit worthy to sit beside her, even in French literature. Motherwell is a true poet. [8] But oh, I dont believe in your John Clares, Thomas Davises, Whittiers, Hallecks [9] .. and still less in other names which it wd be invidious to name again. How pert I am. But you give me leave to be pert, and you know the meaning of it all, after all. Your editor quarrelled a little with me once & I with him, about the ‘poetesses of the united empire’, [10] in whom I could’nt or would’nt find a poet, though there are extant two volumes of them, & Lady Winchelsea at the head. I hold that the writer of the ballad of Robin Gray [11] was our first poetess rightly so called before Joanna Baillie.
Mr Lever is in Florence I believe, now, and was at the Baths of Lucca in the summer– We never see him– It is curious. He made his way to us with the sunniest of faces & cordialest of manners at Lucca; and I who am much taken by manner was quite pleased with him, & wondered how it was that I did’nt like his books. Well—he only wanted to see if we had the right number of eyes & no odd fingers. Robert, in return for his visit, called on him three times, I think, and I left my card on Mrs Lever. But he never came again—he had seen enough of us—he could put down in his private diary that we had neither claw nor tail, .. & there an end, .. properly enough. In fact, he lives a different life from ours, .. he, in the ballroom, and we, in the cave .. nothing could be much more different, .. and perhaps there are not many subjects of common interest between us.–
I have seen extracts in the Examiner from Tennyson’s “In Memoriam,” [12] which seemed to me exquisitely beautiful & pathetical. Oh—there’s a poet—talking of poets! Have you read Wordsworth’s last work .. the legacy? [13] With regard to the elder Miss Jewsbury, do you know, I take Mr Chorley’s part against you, .. because, although I know her only by her writings, the writings seem to me to imply a certain vigour & originality of mind, by no means ordinary. For instance, the fragments of her letters in his “Memorials of Mrs Hemans” [14] are much superior to any other letters almost in the volume, .. certainly to Mrs Hemans’s own. Is’nt this so? And so, you talk, you in England, of Prince Albert’s “folly,” do you really? Well—among the odd things we lean to in Italy .. not weaning babies till they are a year & a half old & the like .. is to an actual belief in the greatness & importance of the future exhibition. [15] We have actually imagined it to be a noble idea,—& you take me by surprise in speaking of the general distaste to it in England. Is it really possible? For the agriculturists, I am less surprised at coldness on their part; but do you fancy that the manufacturers & free traders are cold too? Is Mr Chorley against it equally? Yes, I am glad to hear of Mrs Butler’s success .. or Fanny Kemble’s .. ought I to say?– [16]
Our little Wiedeman, who cant speak a word yet, waxes hotter in his ecclesiastical & musical passion. Think of that baby, (just cutting his eyeteeth), screaming in the street till he is taken into the churches .. kneeling on his knees, to the first sound of music, & folding his hands & turning up his eyes in a sort of ecstatical state. One scarcely knows how to deal with the sort of thing: it is too soon for religious controversy. He crosses himself, I assure you. Robert says it is as well to have the eyeteeth & the Puseyistical crisis over together. The child is a very curious, imaginative child, but too excitable for his age .. that’s all I complain of. It is not safe to wean children early in this climate, and many are weaned later than he has been. So disappointed poor dearest Arabel was about the house, which was taken & never used. [17] God bless you my much loved friend. Write to
Your ever affectionate
EBB.–
What books by Soulié have appeared since his death? [18] Do you remember .. I have just got Les enfants de l’amour, by Sue. [19] I suppose he will prove in it the illegitimacy of legitimacy, & vice versa. Sue is in decided decadence, for the rest, since he has taken to illustrating socialism.
I have not a wide experience yet of Chapman & Hall—our affairs are managed by others. But this I know—they have offered us not a single copy to give away—. They print for us, taking themselves all the risk, & dividing the profit—those are the terms.
Address, on integral page: Miss Mitford / Three Mile Cross / near Reading.
Publication: EBB-MRM, III, 312–316.
Manuscript: Wellesley College.
1. Year provided by postmark.
2. We have been unable to trace the source of this quotation.
3. Cf. John 11:33.
4. The following report appeared in The Times of 17 October 1850: “On Sunday an ascent, which exceeded in wanton folly anything that has hitherto been attempted, took place from the Hippodrome [in Paris]. The Uranus, the balloon belonging to M. Poitevin, rose in the air, carrying, in addition to the aëronaut, three young women belonging to that establishment, who were suspended from the car. They had wings affixed to their shoulders, and appeared as if flying in the air. Their ascent was hailed with shouts by the immense concourse of persons assembled, but a feeling of terror seemed to predominate at seeing the women suspended in mid-air, without anything apparent to support them. After being about an hour in the air they alighted in safety on a plain near Villejuif” (p. 6).
5. A country walk described in Recollections of a Literary Life; it is illustrated in W.J. Roberts, Mary Russell Mitford: The Tragedy of a Blue Stocking (1913), facing p. 210.
6. Underscored twice.
7. Catherine Maria Fanshawe (1765–1834), some of whose verses were published in Joanna Baillie’s Collection of Poems (1823), is best known as the author of the riddle on the letter “H,” once attributed to Byron.
8. William Motherwell (1797–1835), Scottish author of Minstrelsy: Ancient and Modern (Glasgow, 1827) as well as Poems, Narrative and Lyrical (Glasgow, 1832).
9. Fitz-Greene Halleck (1790–1867), American satirical and romantic poet. John Clare (1793–1864), rural poet of Northamptonshire, had been in the county asylum at Northampton since the early 1840’s; he remained there until his death. Thomas Davis (1814–45), Irish poet and politician, was co-founder of The Nation (1842). John Greenleaf Whittier (1807–92), American abolitionist and poet, had published, among other works, Lays of My Home (Boston, 1843) and Voices of Freedom (Philadelphia, 1846).
10. EBB refers to an exchange with Chorley on this subject in early 1845; see letters 1804 and 1809.
11. Anne Barnard (née Lindsay, 1750–1825), was the author of the popular ballad “Auld Robin Gray” (1771).
12. A review of In Memoriam appeared in The Examiner of 8 June 1850, pp. 356–357.
13. i.e., The Prelude, published posthumously in July 1850.
14. Published in two volumes in 1836. Chorley’s treatment of Maria Jane Fletcher (née Jewsbury, 1800–33), elder sister of Geraldine Jewsbury (1812–80), appears in the first volume, pp. 163–182.
15. The Great Exhibition, mounted in Hyde Park, ran from 1 May to 15 October 1851. Prince Albert headed the commission responsible for its financing.
16. Following her divorce from Pierce Butler in 1848, Fanny Butler (née Kemble, 1809–93) resumed her maiden name, but she was generally known as Mrs. Kemble. She was at this time in the United States delivering readings of Shakespeare to wide acclaim.
17. See letter 2881, note 12.
18. See letter 2738, note 12.
19. Serialised in Le Siècle from 26 March to 17 May 1850.
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