451. EBB to Ann Lowry Boyd & Hugh Stuart Boyd
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 3, 18–20.
Hope End.
May 17th 1832
I am grateful to you my dearest friend; for writing to me, & for writing so kindly. I fancied that you would write,—and I felt rather more comfortable than I had felt, when I had read your letter,—the last letter I shall ever receive with your signature, from dear Malvern– Even now it seems to me like a dream. It seems to me scarcely possible that if I were to go there, I should find nothing but even more painful recollections than I find here, that I shall never go there again to see you, & that perhaps I may never again see you or read to you or write for you or hear you repeat Greek, anywhere. Forgive me for saying so—I say perhaps, at the same time. I have had the dread upon my mind for three years, that you would go at last,—and the feeling, that if you once went away, we should meet no more– The dread is gone—but the feeling remains with the reality. And yet you desire me to hope that it may be otherwise. God grant that it may. I try to hope that it may—and if I did not succeed sometimes, I should be less able to bear this present pain.
Your letter was read by me with many tears. They would have been bitterer, if it had not been read. I thank you for looking back with pleasure to our past intercourse—& for retaining throughout it, as I believe you have really done, some degree of regard for me. Is there nothing else to thank you for? Ought I not to thank you for all the knowledge I have derived from you, for all the happy hours I have spent with you, & for all the patience & indulgence & confidence I have met with from you, as your pupil & your friend? Oh Mr Boyd! I thought it would all end in some way like this way. I deserved it to end so—because when under the pressure of those heavy afflictions with which God has been pleased to afflict me since the commencement of our intimacy,—I often looked too much for comfort to you, instead of looking higher than you. No help that is merely human, is stronger than a reed—and it is rightly ordered that the reed should pierce. But recollect, always recollect, that altho’ I have deserved to be pained on your account, I have not deserved to be pained by you. I have not deserved—and I think, never can deserve, that you should forget me or neglect to write to me, or withdraw your friendship from me. And therefore I entreat you, never never, as long as you live, to do so. Tho’ you cannot save me from other griefs, you can save me from that, and I have a right to expect that you should save me from it. I have a right—because I know well that while you may become acquainted with many persons who are superior to me in most things, & happier than I am, in all, yet you will never never have another friend whose regard for you can be stronger or truer or more incapable of change than mine. I have said, “stronger truer & more incapable of change”, because I was speaking of possibilities: if I had been speaking of probabilities, I would have said, as strong, as true, & as incapable of change!——
When you observe that you never had a single quarrel with me, you observe besides that you have not often spoken to me crossly or peevishly. Often! You never did,—& I believe I assured you so before. Do you think, if you had, that I should not have perceived it or recollected it? that the pain of hearing you speak crossly to me, would not have forced me to perceive & recollect it? Indeed it would. You have found fault with me sometimes, & justly,—but you never spoke unkindly to me in your life, except in my dreams. Therefore do not, because your nature will not let you be cross to any body else, be cross to yourself! and do not call yourself “grateful” to me about anything. If ever I was useful to you for a little time, & in little things, was I not pleasing myself? If you wish me to be pleased now, you will sometimes give me something to do for you; and tho’ that something must be done at a distance from you, I shall be pleased in doing it.
I am glad I am not obliged to live last Monday over again. I guessed then that you thought of going the next day or the day after,—and if I had had courage to talk to you about it, I would have begged you to write as soon as ever the journey was at an end, & say how you bore it. Perhaps you may think of doing so, which will be kind. Pray write as often as you can & as fully,—& tell me of everything which you do & think of, & about all your new acquaintances. You know you cannot say now as you used to do, in your letters .. “but we will talk of this”. Therefore you ought to talk to me upon paper as you used to at Ruby Cottage,—if it is not very disagreeable to you. This is a dull letter.
I should congratulate you upon Lord Grey’s return to office, [1] which was reported currently at Ledbury yesterday. It is a proud triumph for the minister & the people, and a glorious proof of the omnipotence of public opinion. You see,—no anti-Grey government dared to form itself—and after all the success of the base intrigues, Tories could do nothing with their pulverem Olympicum, [2] except bite it. The bishop of Lichfield & Coventry [3] does not seem to have suffered so much from the populace as your informer reported,—tho’ all the bishops are in bodily fear. If you had been at Malvern yesterday, I would have sent an express to you about the reported changes. I suppose you past thro’ Ledbury on Tuesday, & went within a mile & a half of this house!! Well!—it is all over now! I have heard nothing more on the subject of our leaving Hope End,—but I earnestly hope that we may go soon. You praised me once for feeling naturally, because I desired to stay here under any circumstances as long as I could. You were at Malvern then. Now it is my turn to feel unnaturally,—and in the apprehension of these events, I have felt so, for some months: <…> [4] My paper is at an end. I cannot conclude this letter as I have done others, by saying “I shall see you soon”—but I can still say, May God bless you! Do you remember the day when we met first & without speaking, on the Malvern road? From that time, I have prayed for you every day,—except two or three days in the October of 1828, when the suddenness of a great calamity, [5] stupified my faculties & made me incapable of praying for myself. Once more may God bless you & make you happy——& me happier by hearing of that happiness.
I have changed my mind, & will write a few lines to Annie. My reason for meaning to be silent, was my dislike of entering at all upon the subject; but if I am quite silent she may imagine me to be angry with her, which I am not. She wrote only in the heat of the moment!
When shall I hear from you?—& how often? Think of me sometimes, & always as your attached friend,
EBB.
I have written so much my dear Mrs Boyd, that I have hardly left myself room to assure you & to beg you to believe, that I do not “think of you unkindly” from any cause. On the contrary I shall retain a grateful recollection of the kindness & attention you always shewed me when I was at your house—always & undeviatingly. I am quite aware that in your late removal I had no right or shadow of right, to be considered; & I sincerely hope that both you & Annie may gain from it as much happiness as you expect,—& as I have lost. Believe in my remaining ever
Affectionately yrs
E B Barrett.
Address, on integral page: H S Boyd Esqr / Post Office / Frome / Somersetshire.
Publication: EBB-HSB, pp. 169–171.
Manuscript: Wellesley College.
1. After Grey’s resignation on 9 May, the Duke of Wellington was invited to form an administration, but failed to do so, and Grey was recalled, with written authority from the King to create peers, if necessary, to ensure passage of the reform bill by the House of Lords.
2. “Olympic dust” (Horace, Odes, I, i, 3).
3. Henry Ryder (1777–1836), elected Bishop of Lichfield and Coventry in 1824. He was the brother of the Earl of Harrowby, and an opponent of parliamentary reform.
4. About half a line obliterated, apparently by EBB.
5. i.e., the death of her mother.
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