547. EBB to Mary Russell Mitford
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 3, 207–209.
74 Gloucester Place.
Decr 14th 1836.
I dare to hope that all this silence has been put to its right account by dearest Miss Mitford, & that nothing has been said in her heart about inattention,—which would be in the present case, but another name for ingratitude. There are two notes for which to thank her—both of them so very kind & so very welcome!—neither of them in danger of being forgotten, for all the silence.
But when I read of your occupation, & thought of it the more, that it rendered yet more emphatic the kindness of writing to me in the midst of it,—I had not courage, or rather I was not so unreasonable, as to lay on you the other burden of reading my letters, as well as answering them. And so has day after day past on, until this day—from whose verge I can just see Christmas, the promised time of liberty! But to wait another fortnight! No! I cannot let this sun go down on my silence. [1] Forgive me dearest Miss Mitford, if I trouble you much—if I break much upon your engaged time. I have at least, made a covenant with my words [2] that they may be few—until Christmas come.
It was very kind—how kind—in you to read my ‘Poet’s vow’ & write to me on the subject of it so indulgently: particularly as I felt in my conscience, just as the critic of the Athenæum has said, that the cloudy faults for which you had before reproved me, were hanging densely about me still. [3] Lay the blame of some of them on my subject—or rather, continue to think patiently of both of us. One of us may improve—& the other cant be worse.
But to speak of this, when I might speak of what I have lately heard .. that a tragedy is going to arise, after the novel! [4] one, to rule the day, & the other, the night!– [5] When I heard it, straightway I saw two visions—& one was, the reading of the tragedy,—& the other, the seeing of its writer!—because she cant help coming to London, to gather up her own glories from “Gods men & columns”. [6] But how did I hear it, seeing that the columns know nothing of it yet? From whom could I, except from Mr Kenyon—who spent ten days in London lately, & returned to Mr Curteis, [7] the invalid I am sorry to say, at Bath,—& does not settle in London again until Christmas time. Perhaps you have heard of poor Mr Curteis’s illness—a tendency to, or rather, a modified form of paralysis: & Mr Kenyon, true to his own nature, would not let him remain at Bath alone & dispirited, altho’ there is nothing positively dangerous in his state.
Mr Boland, my cousin! No!—but his half sister Mrs Trant, is. [8] I know him far better by your few touches of description than by the connection or any sight or words occasioned by it—for I do not think—as far as I can see backwards,—I ever saw him. And the “picturesque faith” is embodied in him—is it? And the picturesque faith is a right name for the faith of Rome. Picturesque—not poetical! Too sensual, & therefore defined, for the imagination in its purest & highest faculty.
How much ignorance I have to confess in sackcloth, with respect to the old dramatists!—for indeed I have had little opportunity of walking with them in their purple & fine linen. [9] Only extracts from Bea[u]mont & Fletcher—& Ford,—have past before my eyes!—but I know Massinger, & Ben Jonson, [10] —& the latter’s Sad Shepherd has left an eternal echo in my imagination & my heart. For that Shepherd’s sake, as well as for Catiline’s, [11] I never could call out with the multitude, on the dead unpoetic pedantry of Jonson. He was almost worthy to look upon the face of our Shakespeare!–
You must not ask any questions about my love for the drama. Is not the drama, a form, & a very noble one, of poetry? and poetry is more to me than I often dare say, for fear of the Cain-brand [12] of affectation—not more than I dare say to you—only, if I begin, farewell to my covenant with the few words. Perhaps you think I am breaking it already! Well, then, farewell to you my dear friend—& to the much besides I had to say to you. Only dont think that I have no love for the drama—dont,—even when you hear that I never go to the theatres & never shall,—from causes unconnected with, & uncontradictory of, that strong love. There is a temptation to me to say something of Mr Knowles’s ‘Daughter’, which I read not many days ago <***>
Publication: EBB-MRM, I, 20–23.
Manuscript: Wellesley College.
1. Cf. Ephesians, 4:26.
2. Cf. Jeremiah, 34:18.
3. See letter 540, note 4.
4. Miss Mitford’s ill-fated Otto of Wittelsbach, never performed, and not published until 1854.
5. Genesis, 1:16.
6. Byron’s “Hints from Horace,” line 588.
7. Probably John Curteis, the brother of Kenyon’s second wife; Kenyon was subsequently the principal beneficiary under Curteis’s will.
8. Mr. Bowland was Mary Trant’s half-brother, being the son of her mother, Mrs. Anna Maria Barrett, by her first husband. He was thus not related to EBB.
9. Cf. Esther, 1:6.
10. Francis Beaumont (1584–1616) and John Fletcher (1579–1625) collaborated on many plays. John Ford (1586?–1655?) is best known for The Broken Heart and ’Tis Pity She’s a Whore. Philip Massinger (1583–1640) wrote The Maid of Honour and A New Way to Pay Old Debts. Ben Jonson (1572–1637) left an unfinished pastoral drama, The Sad Shepherd, published in 1641.
11. Catiline His Conspiracy (1611), by Jonson.
12. Cf. Genesis, 4:15.
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