973. Mary Russell Mitford to EBB
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 6, 8–10.
Three Mile Cross,
June 10, 1842. [1]
My dear Love,
It is now half-past one, and my father has only this very moment gone into his room to bed. He sleeps all the afternoon in the garden, and then would sit up all night to be read to. I have now several letters to answer before going to bed. At present, I write to say that on Saturday next (the very day on which you will receive this) we shall send you some flowers. Oh, how I wish we could transport you into the garden where they grow! You would like it—the “entourage,” as Mrs. Mackie [2] calls it, is so pretty: one side (it is nearly an acre of show flowers) a high hedge of hawthorn, with giant trees rising above it beyond the hedge, whilst all down within the garden are clumps of matchless hollyhocks and splendid dahlias; the top of the garden being shut in by the old irregular cottage, with its dark brick-work covered with vines and roses, and its picturesque chimneys mingling with the bay tree, again rising into its bright and shining cone, and two old pear trees festooned with honeysuckle; the bottom of the garden and the remaining side consisting of lower hedgerows melting into wooded uplands, dotted with white cottages and patches of common. Nothing can well be imagined more beautiful than this little bit of ground is now. Huge masses of lupines (say fifty or sixty spiral spikes), some white, some lilac; immense clumps of the enamelled Siberian larkspur, glittering like some enormous Chinese jar; the white and azure blossoms of the variegated monkshood; flags of all colours; roses of every shade, some covering the house and stables and over-topping the roofs, others mingling with tall apple trees, others again (especially the beautiful double Scotch rose) low but broad, standing in bright relief to the blues and purples; and the oriental poppy, like an orange lamp (for it really seems to have light within it) shining amidst the deeper greens; above all, the pyramid of geraniums, beautiful beyond all beauty, rising in front of our garden room, whilst each corner is filled with the same beautiful flower, and the whole air perfumed by the delicious honeysuckle. Nothing can be more lovely.
<…> [3]
subjects—& have not time to think of the figure we cut ourselves—a very comfortable thing in my case—for if I did my homeliness & awkwardness would stare me in the face after a fashion that would make me run away. Shall I confess that the only thing that does most disconcert me is a table with 10 or 12 people—or 6 or 8—& I talking & the rest silent?– I felt a little conscious when in Wimpole Street how very very poor & countrified I must seem– I have often felt so at W. Harnesses who has upon system parties of 8—how that does for professed talkers—but, I, used only to 2 or 3 or 4 in the domestic circle, like a large party where except for ones next neighbor sotto voce there is no talk at all. This confession will make you laugh– But I was an only child remember– So that I have been only used to very small [illegible word] parties & great dinners—& I confess that (in spite of the Muses & Graces maxim [4] —the [illegible word] more than the one & [illegible word] less than the other–[)] I rather question its success—at least I never yet liked a dinner of 8 where every body was expected to talk & to listen—that is to say where every body was to hear every word that was spoken– I like talking quietly to a pleasant neighbor better. —What is your opinion? But then you have been always used to that happiest thing a large family party– May it please God my precious love to restore you this summer to more social evenings– If the heart continue troublesome do pray pray see Dr Chambers. —I cannot help thinking that he would put you into some very good way. When he sent you to Torquay he did not expect that you would pass a winter comfortably in London–
Address: Miss Barrett / 50 Wimpole Street / Cavendish Square / London.
Docket, on envelope, in unidentified hand: Description of her Garden. Slip. Does not like large dinner parties.
Publication: L’Estrange (2), III, 149–150 (in part, as 20 June 1842) and Caroline M. Duncan-Jones, Miss Mitford and Mr Harness, London, 1955, pp. 24–25 (in part).
Manuscript: Envelope and enclosure with Mrs. E.E. Duncan-Jones.
1. That L’Estrange misread Miss Mitford’s dating is shown by the docket on the envelope, together with the postmark of 10 June 1842; his error is confirmed by EBB’s reply, dated 13 June (no. 974).
2. Not identified.
3. To this point the text comes from L’Estrange’s edition. Some material presumably is missing, since there is no signature. Written on the flap of the original envelope, in Miss Mitford’s hand, is the following: “The long slip seems to belong to some past letter to you– Heaven bless you my ever Dearest–” We present the text of the “long slip” as the final portion of this letter.
4. “The Muses & Graces maxim” refers to an old proverb, “Not fewer than three, nor more than nine,” quoted by Erasmus, in his Adagia (1500). Miss Mitford apparently disagrees, and herself dislikes dinner parties with between three and nine guests.
___________________
