1091. EBB to Mary Russell Mitford
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 6, 227–229.
[London]
Dec. 17. 1842
To stand in a sheet behind a door, [1] is only too good for me, my beloved friend! To think of not writing to you for two days—& just now! The first day’s silence came of a headache: the second’s, by somebody beginning to talk to me at the precise moment when I ought to have begun to write, & talking on to the edge of post-time. But you have not fancied that I forgot you!—oh no! That wd be a kind of punishment beyond my offence .. which was worthy only of the penance in the sheet––& perhaps of a light sprinkling of ashes.
I thank God that the sign of what was once an earthly life, is removed from your eyes [2] —& that it was done gently & with so general & soothing an expression of grateful respect towards him, & affectionate sympathy with you. The real separation was before—and I rejoice that you retain unshaken your composure & open your heart (as he wd have had it open—or wd have it open, .. for we cannot possibly as Mr Merry wd prove to us, define or limit the degree of consciousness of earth, left to departed spirits) [3] .. to the sunshine & cheerfulness of God’s creation. I do trust that this lovely, unduly warm weather, this Christmas June, may last, so as to admit of your taking long delightful drives & walks & whatever may be good for you. There is a little sitting-room next to your bedroom—is’nt there? & this is the room you occupy? I sometimes dream to myself of that “vision of delight” [4] of which I cant yet be exorcised, at Hampstead or Kensington .. of taking an unfurnished cottage at either place with a strip of garden where you might live as still as a “country mouse” [5] & yet have access to the city cheese. What an idol wd in such a case be set up for the citizens, to the sound of harp sackbut & dulcimer & all manner of instruments! [6] How you wd hold in your hand, the golden Key, to the best society—artists, poets, & the canaille of Dukes! And yet how free you wd be from the pressure of the ungovernable mob, who have afflicted your leisures so, at Three Mile Cross!, & deluged you with curious eyes. [7] No place so quiet as London, if one pleases to be quiet!– Both the matter & the manner of society becomes here a matter of choice.
And yet .. & after all this advocating, .. I dont mean to be an advocate: I am not retained, whether by others or mine own wise self,—I only wish you to consider our side of the question justly & in detail, before you decide against us. A farmhouse lodging, you wd not find bearable out of an idyll .. that is my persuasion. The smell & the noise, are in the nostrils & ears of my Imagination! And then, if you resolved upon remaining at Three Mile Cross .... ah! sometimes I fancy that you may—& I know that not one of us can decide for another upon what are called matters of feeling—still I shd fear, I shd fear. Emotions do, I know, recur with such terrible strength under those circumstances—I have suffered so unspeakably myself under certain of them—&—altho’ to be sure my case was a very distinct one, .. I cannot help believing from personal experience that you wd be easier & happier anywhere in the world than there. And now I have teazed you enough, & been impertinent more than enough.
You will see a slight notice of your pretty Bijou in today’s Athenæum, [8] which says little further than that it appears under the protection of Miss Mitford, & that the critic is too old to judge of the engravings & that he leaves the reader to judge of the letter-press—upon which the Introductory Stanzas are extracted—two lines from the Prince of Wales, & some six from Adelaide Kemble. It all seems to be written with a benign critical brow.
I do hope that you have received some paper which was sent from hence two days ago. [9] The reason is a riddle—but certainly, things do linger most unnaturally on that railroad.
I sent Pêre Goriot, with the three novels of Mdme Dudevant—because it is my belief that I never mentioned to you the name of Balzac, [10] & that he is, nevertheless, the most powerful writer of the French day next to Victor Hugo & George Sand! that he completes the triumvirate. Pêre Goriot is a very painful book—but full of a moody reckless power, dashed with blood & mud. It appears to me the most powerful work of its writer, I have read—& also the most open to tenderness. I like it the best—& also admire it the most. He is less a poet than either Hugo or George Sand—less ideal—less eloquent—nearer to the ground, .. deeper in the mire & sinning less by permitted passions, than by the influence of social corruptions. To me, he is very revolting—cold & bitter with the sight & slough of evil .. to be shrunk from, as at the touch of a worm. Yet many of the Scenes de la vie priveè [11] besides Pere Goriot & others of his books, are fine & ineffaceable—and I hope that you will think those words of Pêre Goriot. <***>
Publication: EBB-MRM, II, 123–125.
Manuscript: Wellesley College.
1. i.e., as penance.
2. Dr. Mitford was buried on 15 December in the churchyard at Shinfield, one mile N.E. of Three Mile Cross.
3. See The Philosophy of a Happy Futurity (1839), pp. 63–65.
4. Wordsworth, “The Sparrow’s Nest” (1815), line 4.
5. Cf. Æsop’s fable about the country mouse visiting his city cousin.
6. Cf. Daniel, 3:5.
7. Cf. Romeo and Juliet, I, 4, 31.
8. The notice began by saying: “This prettiest of literary trifles comes forth this year under the protecting patronage of Miss Mitford” and later quotes in full EBB’s introductory stanzas, without, of course, being aware that she composed them (The Athenæum, no. 790, 17 December 1842, p. 1085).
9. i.e., mourning stationery.
10. Balzac’s Le Père Goriot was published in 1834–35. See letter 1094 for details of the three George Sand titles.
11. Balzac published Scènes de la Vie Privée in 1830.
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