1774. EBB to Mary Russell Mitford
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 9, 249–255.
[London]
Nov. 30. 1844–
Ah my dearest friend, .. I begin to breathe again in writing to you. What a long parenthesis of life this has been, without a single line from you or a word to you! & what a dull style it does make! Well—I will not reproach you. You have been busy—& pleasantly busy, I hope—and then, you secure an absolution by talking of coming to see me again!– What a bribe that is, paid down!– So I say nothing—I am placid as a lamb .. just such a “Ba ba blacksheep” as I used to be at three years old. And the similitude’s holding, in any sort of form, after all my reading of Balzac, you will be pleased to remark is extraordinary.
Is it possible that you can fancy any analogy between Miss Pickering as a writer, & Frederica Bremer—Mary Howitt’s mediatrixship being apart from the question? If you can, I, who am impertinent, take leave to assure you that it comes from your not having read Frederica Bremer. As to Miss Pickering, if there shd be anybody in the world who makes a Miss Austen of her, or a Scott of her, that body cannot be famous for his or her literary judgement. Miss Pickering was a good & pure novelist for the circulating libraries—& could tell a story to an end—without letting it fall. But her very appreciators wd not think of anticipating the continuance of her reputation much beyond the burning of the candle they read her by. Did she ever dream of such a claim herself? Now Frederica Bremer … but you ought to know yourself what Frederica Bremer is, and I am confident that if you took courage & read her ‘Neighbours’ or ‘Home’ through, you wdnt mix up her name with Miss Pickering’s. [1] She is not a George Sand, I grant to you. She is not, in artistic power & consistency, a Charles de Bernard. But an original writer of the most purifying & elevating tendencies, she is,—and I do earnestly wish you to confess her to be such.
Enough of Fredericas. Now, to turn to the wicked ones! I would gladly do anything for Mr Lovejoy’s library that I could, but it is a difficult thing to disentangle one’s knotted recollections & answer, like a godmother, for the innocence of a French writer. As I told you, I am more than half afraid of trying. Madame Gay, is, I think, pure, as far as I know her, and might furnish a subject for your translating friend. Oh no! Dont let her try Balzac. None but a practised writer, could do it,—& something more than practise too is necessary. For yourself, you wd do it too well. That is my objection. You have power for something better, & (without taking up the pen & ink cry) for something more desired. Consider my dearest friend, that under the circumstances of general education now a days, nearly everybody, if not really everybody, who cd appreciate your translation as the admirable performance it would certainly be, could also read Balzac in the original—so that you wd probably be neglected by those most capable of appreciating you. To return to your friend, you might find what you want for her in the works of Madme Gay—the ‘Marriage sous l’Empire’ for instance [2] —but a better choice might be made. Why not the Souvenirs de Madme de Crequy if never yet translated,—which I dont know. [3] I have read some of the romances of Madme d’Abrantés,—but her memoirs & personal recollections have outgrown them all in my memory. Yes—she is delightful. I believe in her truth too—which is saying more than many wd say. Have you read the eighteen volumes of her Memoires, inclusive of the ‘Restauration,’ and the “Ambassade” into Spain? And do you not know (you who “should like to know her”) that she is dead—died in a hospital in Paris, so ending all her inherited & acquired glories, as a daughter of the Comneni and wife of Napoleon’s friend? [4] & talking of memoirs (to you who do not mind a little naughtiness) did you ever read the Memoires d’une Contemporaine? [5] If not, I pray you to read them. The lady is no better than she shd be, but the book is a romance, & helps one to live some stirring hours. To go back, Madme Bodin née Jenny Bastide is neither very pure nor at all powerful. ‘Savinie’ has some good points in it, but ‘Stenia’ did me to the death of dulness. [6] Madme Reybeaud [7] is by no means clean—but she is often striking, & I would willingly know her better than I do. Of Sandeau, I have read very little. His ‘Marianna’ has power in its way, [8] —& no ordinary power—but acclimatation is a necessary precaution—for the passion of the book exceeds the comprehension of an Englishman by leagues of extravagance. It’s a melancholy, desecrating book<—not to say abominable!> [9] You must know more of Soulié. Read his ‘Conseiller d’Etat,’ & Vicomte de Beziers without recommending either to Mr Lovejoy. And do you know his ‘Serpent’ & the “Confession Generale” [10] —neither of them for the library, mind. Jacob le Bibliophile who writes his recollections as if he were an octogenarian, is quite a young man I understand, & assumes a certain class of characteristics as warlike accoutrements for the nom de guerre. Another name of his is Paul La Croix. [11] His romances have occasionally vividness & interest, but he is far below the crowned names such as you counted once. Masson is below him—yet not without merit. Viel Castel too is worth your acquaintance: and you ought to know Charles Nodier. [12] To go back a sentence, send for (for your own reading) ‘Le Maçon’ by Raymond Brucher & Michel Masson. I have not read it, but have heard good of it—and also if you do not know Alphonse Royer (and I do not know him) send for ‘Les Mauvais garçons’ & ‘Venezia la bella’. [13] And do answer me—have you read ‘Le Salamandre’ & ‘Le Pecheur d’Ouessant’ & ‘Les Cadets d’Hothon’, .. all by Eugene Sue. [14] I have sent to the library for them again & again—all in vain. Do you know Gozlan? The same who wrote a drama on the loves of Queen Victoria & Albert, the representation of which was not permitted by Louis Phillippe. [15] Well—I am writing up & down & backwards & forwards until you wont know where anything is finished or anything begun. Beware, my dearest friend,—you and Mr Lovejoy, .. of collections, .. called selections, .. of G Sand’s works & others. Romances are not published so on any principle of selection at all .. & least of all on any moral principle. It is just a cheap way of dispensing an author’s books. Oh yes! I can understand that a Brussels catalogue must be very superior indeed to that of any library here. It is at Brussels that all these works are reprinted in cheap forms for the use of the world,—& our English booksellers get at the Paris publishers only through the Brussels republishers, much to the injury of the Parisians,—as French authors (who feel the blow in vibration) reasonably complain.
I read Don Juan D’Autriche [16] —& looked into a good deal, .. or perhaps not a good deal, .. of Casimir Delavigne[’]s other plays—but he seemed to me to pine after Racine & the (French) classic abominations of desolation so obviously that I turned back. Victor Hugo has a grand torch of genius which glorifies with lights & shadows, whatever form he approaches. A hovel in a blaze is as fine a sight as a palace .. as far as it goes. The Delavignes leave me cold—but perhaps I was not patient enough with Casimir—& I will not hold out my position against you, very perversely.
Ah—the pure list for Mr Lovejoy! What can I do? What is it possible for me to do? I cannot remember, & I dare not write, without remembering. My dearest friend, you know far better than I do,—& there will be books enough if you consult only your own memory. Is it possible that Zizine [17] is irreproachable all through?– It may be—only I cd not, of myself, have answered for it. For Madme Dudevant,—‘Les Maitres Mosaistes’ I will answer for—it is perfectly pure, & very beautiful: and so also is “Les Sept cordes du lyre”—a prose poem which delighted me: & then there are travels in Italy which everybody reads blamelessly. [18] Think of the Westminster Review, (which by the way praises me for almost everything), commending me for “moral courage” on account of the sonnets to Madame Dudevant—for daring to say what I do, “in the face of opinion.” [19] I was half afraid while Papa was reading the passage. I observed that he made a little impatient movement—& I am sure he thought it equivocal praise for a woman, to have moral courage against opinion.! ‘That’s capital’ he said—just in the tone of .. “That’s very impertinent.” But the Westminster Review is so gracious, & says so many kind things of me & my poetry, that the emotion was swept away like a cobweb,—and he forgot to ask me any searching questions. Dearest Papa! Yes—it is quite as well that I did not throw myself headlong into Madme Dudevant’s arms. Evil might have come of it—not from the pipe exactly .. but from Papa.
Well—and now I am going to tell you some news. I have seen Mrs Jameson. Did’nt I tell you in my last letter, that I had had a note from her dated fifty one next door, to the effect, that being so near she cd not help writing to ask after me. The note was so kind,—as I told you, .. didn’t I?—that I said in reply, .. if it had been an hour earlier I shd have asked her to come & see me. It was six oclock—& she had brought the note to the door.
Whereupon a week having passed, I had another note. She was about to spend two whole days at fifty one the next door again, .. and at any hour if I cared to see her, she wd come. So I fixed an hour,—& saw her—though my heart almost broke itself to pieces with bumping, during the process. Not to see her after all, wd have been too ungrateful—and now it is all over I am glad. She was with me nearly an hour, & was cordial & kind to a degree that I shall always thankfully remember. And .. observe, .. that I do not think her pedantic,—although she seemed to me to be a little deficient in that impulse & spontaneity which help to make up the charm in a certain quarter known to me .. & not quite beyond your guessing. Her conversation is critical & analytical as far as I can divine its character—but how can I divine after a first interview’s reserve?
Tell me what you think of Harriet Martineau’s mesmeric experience as expounded in the Athenæum? I hear that Mr Milnes has paid her a visit, & professes a full belief in the agency, of which he has seen instances during his Eastern travel (referring probably to the Ægyptian prophets) but regards the whole subject “with horror”. Horror too, is my feeling. And Mrs Jameson talked of “the awfulness”, .. & of the difficulty of knowing where to stop in one’s degrees of belief. [‘]‘If there is anything in it” she said, “there is so much, that it becomes awful to contemplate”. Now this is precisely what I have long felt. Mr Kenyon on the other hand, waives the “horror,” & expresses a willingness to follow every development of the agency,
“Bring with it airs from Heaven or blasts from Hell” [20]
with his observation. Beyond his observation, he stops,—admitting that he wdnt for the world be a subject himself, or see a subject in any near friend. Which comes precisely round to my point, after all his bravery.
I have heard that Miss Martineau’s connections are greatly vexed by the publicity given to the case, & that an intimate friend of hers went from the south of England to Tynemouth, on purpose to arrest her hand. In vain, of course. The medical men who attended her in the course of her illness, are said to be both furious & incredulous. Most unpleasant of all is, they have put her medical case in very bare hideous language, I hear, into the Medical Gazettes from whence it has been copied into some Evening papers. [21] Papa who saw it, was lamenting it much. “No man wd like it” he observed,—“much less a woman. They quite turn her inside out.” Now when you consider the locality & character of her disease, you may fancy the sort of details which are given. Well– We must praise her for “moral courage”—as the Westminster Review does me. By the way, I have received some copies of my American edition, .. very well & expensively got up—& one or two cordial American reviews. I must tell you that the Democratic Review asks in referring to a word of mine concerning you, quoad [22] Flush, .. “and, in a wider sense, whose dear & admired friend is she not?” (Miss Mitford?) [23] – And then Mr Moxon gives me good news of the sale—he is “happy to say that the poems sell very well”—and this, not in reply to any enquiry of mine—I was afraid to enquire. My critics have helped me by their goodnature—and now I begin to hope that my American friends may not suffer materially by that large compliment they pay me, of a large edition.
During the last week, I have been very uneasy about dear Mr Boyd, who has had symptoms of a paralytic tendency, & complains still of a most uncomfortable weakness about the knees. My regard for him is the stronger, I think, for our long separation. He said to Arabel the other day .. (such a strange thought! but he never grew quite out of the simplicity of his childhood!) “I wonder whether if I were to see your sister after all this absence, she would kiss me! Or would she be too prudish? I have been thinking of it for several days. Women are so prudish. But then again, I have not seen her so long, and I am such an old friend of hers, and older than her father, that I think she really might kiss me”!–
Said as innocently, as a child wd say it—and as gravely!– Arabel told me that she cdnt have kept her countenance if she had died for it—but she answered as collectedly as possible that she cd not venture to give an opinion on the subject.
Have I not tired you into wishing to see a Finis—?
May God bless you. How is the “Greek Column?”—put for Mr Reade. Still in your neighbourhood? As for the “pyramids,”—we have had happy letters from my brothers, dated Cairo. I write in the dark.
Do, do think of coming, that I may dream of it!
Your most affectionate
EBB.
Address: Miss Mitford / Three Mile Cross / near Reading.
Publication: EBB-MRM, III, 23–29.
Manuscript: Fitzwilliam Museum.
1. EBB refers to The Neighbours: A Story of Every-Day Life (1842) and The Home: Or, Family Cares and Family Joys (1843), which were Mary Howitt’s translations of Fredrika Bremer’s Grannarna (1837) and Hemmet (1839). Ellen Pickering died in 1843, and her last novel, The Grandfather, appeared posthumously in the following year.
2. Marie Françoise Sophie Gay (née Nichault de Lavalette, 1776–1852) wrote Un Mariage sous L’Empire (1832).
3. Souvenirs de la marquise de Créquy de 1710 à 1803 by Maurice Cousin comte de Courchamps (1783–1849). Evidently, EBB was not aware that the first two volumes had appeared in English in 1834.
4. Laure Junot (née Permon, 1783–1838), Duchess d’Abrantes was nicknamed “petite pest” by Napoleon. Her Mémoires (18 vols.) were published 1831–1834. See also letter 1793.
5. Published in eight volumes, 1827–28, by Elzélina Tolstoy van Aylde Jonghe (1778–1845) who used the pseudonym Ida Saint Elme; she was also known as “La Contemporaine.”
6. Pascaline et Savinie (1835) and Sténia et l’abbé Maurice (1837).
7. As previously noted, Henriette Etiennette Fanny Reybaud (née Arnaud, 1802–71).
8. This work by Léonard Sylvain Jules Sandeau (1811–83) was published in 1839. He collaborated with George Sand on Rose et Blanche.
9. EBB inserted the bracketed material as an afterthought, apparently changing the period after “book” to a dash.
10. Soulié’s Le Conseiller d’État (1835), Le Vicomte de Béziers (1834), Le Serpent (1839), and Confession générale (1840–46).
11. Jacob Paul La Croix (1807–84), who used the pseudonym “Le bibliophile Jacob,” was a bibliographer and editor of scholarly works, known for his romantic novels and short tales, e.g., La Danse macabre, histoire fantastique du xve siècle (1832) and Contes du bibliophile Jacob à ses petits-enfants (1831).
12. Charles Nodier (1783–1844) novelist and poet wrote Le Peintre de Salzbourg, journal des émotions d’un cœur souffrant (1803) and Jean Sbogar (1818). Perhaps EBB refers to René Richard Louis Castel (1758–1832).
13. Le Maçon, roman de mœurs populaires by Raymond Brucker (1805–75) and Michel Masson (1800–83). Alphonse Royer (1803–75) wrote Les mauvais garçons (1830) with Auguste Barbier (1805–82). Royer’s Venezia la bella was published in 1834.
14. As previously mentioned, La Salamandre was published in 1832; however, we have been unable to identify the other two works (see letter 1764, note 13).
15. Gozlan’s Il était une fois un roi et une reine was scheduled to open on 9 January 1840. Because of the objections of the English ambassador, Lord Granville, that certain references were offensive to Queen Victoria and Prince Albert, Louis Philippe’s censors suppressed the play. Gozlan was allowed to make revisions that satisfied the censors; however, they learned that a group of students and political activists intended to use the presentation of the play to forward their political aims. Unwilling to risk a politically embarrassing situation, Louis Philippe ordered the theatre closed only hours before the performance (Martha Katherine Loder, The Life and Novels of Léon Gozlan, Philadelphia, 1943, pp. 21–24).
16. Delavigne’s play was published in 1835 (see letter 492, note 19).
17. Charles Paul de Kock’s novel was published in 1836.
18. Sand’s Lettres d’un voyageur, a work describing her Italian travels, was published in 1834. Les Maîtres Mosaïstes appeared in 1837 and Les sept cordes de la lyre in 1840.
19. From the review of Poems (1844) in The Westminster Review; for the text, see pp. 374–378.
20. Cf. Hamlet, I, 4, 41.
22. “With respect to.”
23. From The United States Magazine, and Democratic Review; for the text, see pp. 340–345.
___________________
