904. EBB to Mary Russell Mitford
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 5, 222–224.
[London]
Jany. 20 [–21]. 1842
Oh my dearest friend, how you frightened me with the inscription on the back of your letter “The opium has failed—& now there is no hope”! Thank God it is not as I fancied! But indeed you electrified the handle of your letter .. & I cd scarcely get it open.
Well—but how did you try this opium. I quite agree in the wisdom & propriety of giving it a fair trial, & I venture to suggest another attempt by way of morphine. The muriate of morphine is what I take—what I call my elixir, & I take it in combination with æther & something else. Æther is highly anti-spasmodic. I suggest a mixture of the morphine with the æther—only of course you wdnt think of giving either without a direction as to quantities from your medical adviser. Do speak about it—do try it, if it is not advised against. My elixir has a sort of ubiquitous influence upon all parts of my system—quiets my mind, calms my pulse— warms my feet—spirits away any stray headache—gives me an appetite— relieves my chest—to say nothing of the bestowment of those sudden pleasant feelings belonging by right to better health & extreme youth—to say nothing of causing me to grow all at once, as young at least .. as Miss Pardoe!! [1] Now I recommend my elixir.– You know I never tried it upon cramp—but I believe in its ubiquitous infallibility, & recommend it. I chalk it up upon your walls, wherever there’s a blank one from creepers, at your village of Three Mile Cross!—as my elixir! [2]
Ah my beloved friend, how too kind you are—how extravagant in kindness! How you squander it, all gold as it is, among the beggars! Well!. I shd certainly be spoilt, ruined, lost for ever, to all intents & purposes of modesty, if I did not feel your love through your praise,—but as I do, there will always be something that I must care more for than for the last!– May God bless you! You shd not speak so, however, indeed!
As to Mrs Niven, gratifying as it must be to me to have the too high appreciation of a woman so singularly accomplished & gifted as you describe her to be … she smells of the rose, she has been near you; and you have ––– oh no! my dearest friend! That is all too much to believe! My vanity sinks down overpowered, both hands full, & unable to hold any more! Let me love you—and above all things, do not depreciate yourself! Now do consider—! How can praising me & depreciating yourself encourage me, as your kind words mean to do, to any exertion? Do you not see how the depreciation must be a sign of fallacy somewhere? how it turns like a hazel bough in the hand of a diviner? [3]
Ever your grateful
EBB–
Mr. Kenyon, I have not seen since. He was going, as I think I told you, down to Hastings,—& may not have returned.
Do you really think that Æschylus or Chaucer or your Fletcher ever did “adapt their writings to the public taste[”]? I doubt—nay, I disbelieve! Did Milton? Did Coleridge? Did Wordsworth? Did not the public go to all of them? It seems to me that the poet has to do, has to think of doing, rather with humanity which is grand world-wide & time-wide, than with that limited changeful capricious thing, called a public, & subject to all the base uses of a self made fashion.
All this was written yesterday, laid aside to be sealed & so forgotten. Your letter, this morning, comes in therefore for its share in the answering!
When did you ever “teaze” me? If the solicitude of your affectionateness be teazing, do think me worthy of being grateful for such. Dearest kindest friend!
But do not fancy that I am over-worked by the Athenæum. Oh no—I am pretty well supplied with the books I wanted; .. & the actual writing is the least thing—& I think now that I shall not go into chronological & historical detail quite as much as I proposed. It will be best to keep cl<ose to> [4] the poetry. And really the body of the poetry of the first centuries, is not worth a great deal.
My love to dear Dr Mitford. He is a little better .. & I am so glad!
Papa has just sent up the new Athenæum number by Mr Flush! He ran up stairs, struck his fore paws against my door, sprang dancing with triumph upon the bed, & gave it into my hands with a kiss! He is quite well—& vivid in spirits & affections—but not fat like your Flush, the paternal!
Publication: EBB-MRM, I, 336–338.
Manuscript: Wellesley College.
1. EBB’s prior comment on Miss Pardoe’s age (see letter 897) suggests that Miss Pardoe’s pursuit of Chorley was causing her to behave in a more immature manner than one of her years would generally be expected to do. Apparently, she would never admit her age, and, in 1856, strove to be as vivacious as she was at eighteen (DNB).
2. EBB used capitals, underscored once.
3. The movement of a forked hazel branch in the hands of a diviner indicated the presence below ground of water.
4. Conjectural reading, due to ink smudge.
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