2733. Mary Russell Mitford to EBB
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 15, 80–81.
[Three Mile Cross]
May 11, 1848 [1]
I have been miserably ill all this winter, dearest love. For above three months I do not think that I was three times out of bed at eight o’clock; and to any one who knew my late habits, that says enough. If I went out for a little walk (and I have been now so lame for a twelvemonth that I can only walk a very little way), or even if a friend came to see me, I became so exhausted as to be compelled to go to bed, hardly able often to get up stairs. And with this entire loss of power came total loss of spirits. Mr. May said the only remedy was air without fatigue, and ordered me to go out every day in an open carriage. In consequence, we bought a high-priced, highly-recommended pony—the vendor, a very rich man, and supposed to be respectable, knowing that it was for an elderly invalid lady and her maid, and answering for it as sound and right. Ben drove it ten miles and it went beautifully (we suppose it was starved for the occasion). The next day K_____ and I set forth to go to Reading, and at the bottom of the hill leading to the town it kicked the carriage to pieces with me in it; and afterwards kicked another carriage to atoms into which it was put, to try if two vigorous and experienced coachmen could manage it. Under Providence I owe my life entirely to the courage and fidelity of my brave and faithful little maid. She got off (we neither of us knew how) and flew to the head of the furious animal, holding on to the bit and bridle, at the peril of life and limb for many minutes, until a sufficient number of men was collected to draw me out (pretty much as a plant might be drawn out by the roots) and carry me across the road. Five or six men were afraid to hold the vicious beast that she had held. Does not this justify affection by affection—for that was her strength? Her left hand was much sprained, and her right side strained by her efforts; but I am sure that she would have held on until she was dead or I rescued. The two people (strong men, used to furious horses all their lives) who afterwards got up behind the pony, both escaped from the carriage and left it to work its will. The vendor knew perfectly the beast he was selling. This accident has shaken me much. My health and strength seem gone altogether. In short, dearest love, I am full ten years older than before my lameness last year.
Who told you, my dear love, that William Harness praised ‘The Princess’ in MS.? When he was with me in August, and the poem was printing, he had not read it. His friend, Mr. Dyce, [2] who accompanied him, had, and spoke of it sweetly and indulgently, as he speaks of all things, but on the whole very truly, as an imperfect work with very fine bits. Heaven bless you, my beloved friend!
Ever most faithfully and affectionately yours,
M. R. Mitford.
Text: L’Estrange (2), III, 214–216 (as 11 March 1849).
1. We have altered L’Estrange’s date of this letter, as it is clearly a response to EBB’s of 15 April [1848] (letter 2727).
2. Alexander Dyce (1798–1869), scholar of English Renaissance literature, is best known for his 1857 edition of Shakespeare.
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