Correspondence

400.  EBB to Hugh Stuart Boyd

As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 2, 282–284.

Hope End–

Tuesday. [8 February 1831] [1]

My dearest friend,

I must begin my letter by telling you what a fright the beginning of yours gave me—i.e. “I am sorry that when I gave the promise of going to your house—”! I could not think what was coming, & dreaded lest it should not be you,—in which case, you never could have expected (with any kind of modesty) to hear from me again, in spite of the acrostic & epigram. Could whole hecatombs of verses, supposing you took the trouble to write them, propitiate me? No indeed! So “think of that!” (You know you sometimes direct my thoughts to particular subjects!). But as the acrostic came in such far better company than you led me to suspect, I cannot delay a moment longer, thanking you for dedicating its elegance & harmony to me. If one fault (the fault of inappropriateness) is obvious, I [2] at least ought not to complain of it: and you have my best wishes for more disinterested critics to lay whatever blame they may be inclined to lay, rather on your good nature than on your bad taste. The epigram sounds nearly as well in English as in Greek. It has been truly said that, laudari a viro laudato [3] is a pleasure; but there is a greater pleasure—and it cannot but be very very pleasant to enjoy the greater & the less at one moment!——

I am glad that you did not think of making “conditions” before promising to come here,—for my philosophy could not have helped yielding to them,—& then I might have been Sangrado-d [4] into a far worse condition than I am in now. Your charge against me is a grave one, & is enough to make me grave, as I did not expect it from you—et tu Brute—then fall Cæsar! So I give up the argument,—(which, you once told me, a woman never would do if she could help it),—and after clean orthodox sprinkling of dust & ashes, do acknowledge myself at the feet of you, my ghostly confessor, to be guilty of the mortal sin of recovering my health & strength without the aid of Physician, Surgeon, or Apothecary. Well! I am very sorry for it, of course—but what can I do now? Can you suggest any remedy? Think of that. I went down stairs twice today, & have begun to look as well as I usually do,—& indeed drove down to our last gate this morning, without being in any way, the worse for it. Think of that. As I had not been out of the house for nearly two months before, I enjoyed it very much; and as it rained nearly all the way, am likely to profit from it. There are however some misgivings in my mind, as to whether or not I shall be able to go to Malvern this week. If possible I will,—for, besides other motives, I am anxious to talk to you & to hear you talk about coming here—to “enter into the details” as they say in the House of Commons.

By the way, I saw in the paper yesterday, a notice of the death of Mr Hope [5] the celebrated author of Anastasius. Did you ever read that book? I never did, the whole,—because Papa’s censorship would not let me; but from what I have heard respecting it, it must be a wonderful production. Your fragment of your translation of the Agamemnon has of course interested me very much,—& not the less so, from the circumstance of its being so strikingly inferior to the one you afterwards finished & published. I mean to return it to you, myself. As you send back Foster’s essay without any remark, I suppose you dont “think (much) of that”.

Ever yours affectionately

E B Barrett.

On the death of Thomas Hope Esqr

 

Lamenting age! whom Genius could not save

From heavier ills than those Pandora [6] gave!—

When all that wrings the heart & clouds the mind

Escapeth thus—nor Hope remains behind!–

 

On the same,

 

Afflicted Genius veils her drooping head—

For what averts despair, when Hope is dead?– [7]

Wednesday [9 February 1831]

Will you give my love to Mrs Boyd & Annie,—& thank the former for her note. The birds are singing this morning, as if not only the snow, but the winter had gone. I did not receive your letter until yesterday,—for, not expecting to hear from you, I did not send to Ledbury on Monday which is not a day for London letters.

Address, on integral page: Hugh Stuart Boyd Esqr / Great Malvern.

Publication: EBB-HSB, pp. 117–119.

Manuscript: Wellesley College.

1. Dated by the mention of Thomas Hope’s death, which occurred on 3 February; 8 February was the following Tuesday.

2. Undescored twice.

3. “To be praised by one who is himself praised” (Cicero, Ad Familiares, 12, 7).

4. Dr. Sangrado was the quack physician in Histoire de Gil Blas de Santillane (1715–35), the novel by which Alain René Lesage (1668–1747) is best remembered.

5. Thomas Hope (1770?–1831). His best known work, Anastasius, or Memoirs of a Greek Written at the Close of the Eighteenth Century, was published anonymously in 1819, and was intially thought to be by Byron.

6. In Greek mythology, the first woman, to whom each of the gods gave some power detrimental to man. When the box containing these gifts was opened out of curiosity, all the evils that flesh is heir to flew out.

7. These lines were unpublished until included in Barbara McCarthy’s book.

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