290. EBB to Elizabeth Moulton & Mary Trepsack
An amended version of the text that appeared in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 2, 116–119.
Hope End,
March 17th 1828.
My beloved Granny & Trippy,
Why dont we hear from you?– If you could guess (& I think you almost might) how very anxious we are about the health of one so very dear, I am sure you would let us have a few lines without delay. I do think that if my own Granny were not so well, we should certainly hear—but “no news is good news” is a sorry motto for anxious hearts to lean upon! Therefore dont let us hope for good news,—let us be sure of them.
I have a long & most romantic story to tell you; & before I enter upon it, Trippy will probably guess the name of its hero––Mr Boyd!. Last Thursday, James [Trant] proposed driving us to Malvern in the Phaeton, for the purpose of paying a visit to Mrs Trant. Within a hundred yards of her house we met & passed a lady & gentleman—& Henrietta & Arabel, who had seen him before, exclaimed to me … “Mr Boyd.”!! My first impulse was to stop the carriage—but my courage gave way! I could not introduce myself then! We accordingly went on, & meeting Mrs Trant in the garden, she told me that Lady Knowles, her neighbour, was on the point of setting out for Hope End. Mama had not been quite so well as usual that morning,—so I hurried into Sir Charles Knowles’s, to intercept our visitors & to beg them to defer their drive our way, to another time. On our return home I was good deal laughed at, on account of my being uncomfortable about the morning’s meeting– “How could he know it was you”? said Papa—“& if he did, how could he dream of your introducing yourself to him in the public road?” I persisted in believing that Mr Boyd would find out who I was, & that he wd mention the circumstance in his next letter. On the very next day, Friday, my prophecy was accomplished. I received a letter of eight foolscap pages, and a half—the latter part of which was dated “Thursday Morning.” Here is an extract! “I suppose it was you who passed me this morning near Sir Charles Knowles’s, and afterwards went into his house!! Whether it was you or not, it awakened within me feelings and reflections which for several months have been somewhat repressed! Mrs. Boyd is tired of this place and wishes to leave it. If I should do so, I shall probably write you a letter the day before, to tell you more fully what I think and feel! I am now nearly forty seven, but, if I recollect right, this is the longest letter I ever wrote in my life.”
I cannot say how pained and uncomfortable I felt about this letter: for although personally unknown to its writer, I could not help entertaining friendship and gratitude for one, with whom I had had such close intercourse,—and from whom I had received such repeated kindnesses during the course of a year. I took the letter to Papa, and accompanying it with a running commentary of my own feelings and wishes, I gained his kind permission “to do as I liked.” I therefore wrote a note to Mr. Boyd to say that I should be with him on the earliest day I could—and to explain how my courage, not my inclination, was in fault when I passed him without speaking. On Monday Bro was persuaded to go with me—and I begged Henrietta and Arabel to keep up my spirits by driving with me as far as Mrs. Trant’s where I proposed leaving them till our return!– You may imagine how desperately alarmed I was!– I trembled at the idea of making such a visit with only Bro—at seeing my unknown correspondent for whose learning and talents I had much respect—and in whose nearness and conversation, I expected something particularly awful and abrupt. Every body condoled with my terrors—and we set out!– Now for it! now comes the tug of war! When we arrived at the top of that precipitous hill where we begin to descend into Worcestershire, [1] Bro said to me—“Is it safe to go down hill without a drag chain”– “Oh yes!” I replied—“James did it very well on Thursday—and at any rate, you know, as there is no drag chain, there is no use talking about the matter.” Bro made the poney walk, and we went on gently for a little distance; at last it began to trot: “Don’t go so fast” said Henrietta who was sitting in the back seat with Arabel—“I can’t help it”—said Bro—“the poney will go.” And the poney would go!—the pressure of the carriage on the hind legs frightened him. He kicked violently, and sprang madly down the tremendous descent. Imagine our situation!– Bro said “Hold tight– Don’t touch the reins!”– But I in my terror lost all presence of mind, and without knowing what I did, seized one rein. Bro disengaged it from my hand! Round the corner we whirled– I grasped the rein again, and in three minutes, we were all precipitated upon the bank. To tell you the truth we all thought we were dead, and when poor Bro had lifted us all up—and found that no harm was done—except a bump on Henrietta’s forehead and a strain in her ancle, [2] our feelings of gratitude to God were fervently expressed!– It was a miraculous preservation! Some men who were working in the road were despatched after the carriage, for though it had upset us, it recovered its balance, and was whirled off by the poney. The Coach was going by,—and as they very kindly offered us an inside place as far as Mrs. Trant’s, we deposited Henrietta in it, and we followed on foot. It was a long way to walk—so that when we met the carriage, I got into it again—but soon got out, for my natural courage was quite extinct. Bro in his kindness, fastened the poney to a tree, made me get in again, and began dragging me along the road. It was not however to be endured that he should fatigue himself long by such exertion—and while I was preparing to get out again—who should appear but .. Mr. Boyd! There was no choice! My frights of all descriptions made me tremble from head to foot—but I actually went up to him, with Bro—and held out my hand. I could not speak—but Mrs. Boyd said “Miss Barrett”– Mr. Boyd shook hands with me in silence. Bro explained the nature of our accident—which I am sure it must have been quite necessary to explain—for I was covered with dust—my pelisse and bonnet, bent and torn in all directions—and my face, I dare say, as white as a sheet!– Mr. Boyd said “Are you hurt—are you sure you are not hurt?” and when I assured him I was not, in any way, he never spoke but walked on in silence! Mrs. Boyd wished “Miss Barrett would allow them to take charge of her”—which however I declined for that day. “As my sister had hurt herself a little and was gone to Mrs. Trant’s, I thought it best to go there for the present, and afterwards to return home.” “At any rate then,” said Mrs. Boyd, “we will walk with you as far as Mr. Trant’s door.” So on we walked.—You cannot think how awed I was by Mr.Boyd’s silence– At last he said “I cannot help thinking that I was the cause—I was the cause.” “A most innocent cause, certainly”—I observed. “But this is ominous, Miss Barrett—I hope you do not believe in omens.” I assured him that “a merciful preservation could not be considered a bad omen.” Then came another pause—“I only received your note,” he began again—“a few minutes before we met”– There was another silence. I was too frightened and nervous for conversation. At last we arrived at Mrs. Trant’s, and after shaking hands with Mr. and Mrs. Boyd, and receiving a most emphatic “God bless you” from the former, this extraordinary interview terminated. My eccentric friend is a rather young looking man than otherwise, moderately tall, and slightly formed. His features are good—his face very pale, with an expression of placidity and mildness. He is totally blind—and from the quenched and deadened appearance of his eyes, hopelessly so!– His voice is very harmonious and gentle and low—and seems to have naturally a melancholy cadence and tone!—which is affecting when you look at his quenched and deadened eyes—totally and hopelessly blind. I did not see him smile once. Before I left Mrs. Trant’s I received a note, a part of which I must give you .. “Dear and excellent Miss Barrett– It has always been my habit to express what I feel at the moment whether it be judicious or not. I afterwards felt sorry for the severity of what I had written on Thursday, and I wrote a letter on Saturday to say so. I hope you will receive it safely. Your note was given to us, only a few minutes before we met you. I thought it most probably was to say, that the correspondence must be broken off. You may therefore form some idea of what I felt when it was read to me![”]————(Here follow some uncopiable compliments.)
Docket, in EBB’s hand: Meeting with Mr. Boyd. / When I had written it, I thought I wd. keep it.
Publication: HUP, II, 87–93.
Manuscript: Armstrong Browning Library.
1. The Wyche was a pass, about 900 feet above sea-level, in the Malvern Hills between Hope End and Boyd’s house. A contemporary guide-book described it as “not eligible for carriages in general, more especially such as are not accustomed to the country. But from the Wytch … the view is grand, extensive, and beautiful beyond description. On a clear day, with the naked eye, fifteen counties in England and Wales, four cities, and the shore of the Irish channel … are clearly distinguishable” (Paterson’s Roads, ed. Edward Mogg, [1832?]).
2. Henrietta appears to have hurt her hand as well. Brother Sam wrote to her from London on 23 March (SD650): “I really am completely disappointed at not again hearing from you but as you have a very good reason, for it, I cannot blame you. Tell Bro that Grany says it is his fault; but I am certain by what I hear that it is Ba’s fault, alias Mrs. Robert Price’s fault, tell her that next time the horse kicks, to jump out, and not to take hold of the reins for I am sure she cannot drive without she has learnt to drive since my season in London, or rather my fashionable stay in Town; I hope your finger or thumb is not seriously injured, so as not to be able to write to me by Saturday, if you cannot write, get some of your scrubs, or clerks to write instead, surely one of the little Brats can write. … what would Ba do if it had been her Thumb that had been hurt tell her Treppy is very angry for being such a coward.”
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