456. EBB to Hugh Stuart Boyd
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 3, 33–37.
Hope End.
Tuesday. July 10th 1832.
My dearest friend,
You desire me to transcribe & send to Mr Curzon, a passage in your letter to me,—supposing that in my opinion, any disadvantageous statement with regard to you, has been addressed to him from another quarter. Now I have no reason for believing any such thing. Mr Curzon did not show me Miss H Mushet’s letter to him, nor did he speak of it as if it contained any charge against you. In his letter to me, he considers Miss H Mushet to be lying under an accusation of yours, & pleads in her behalf that she should not “lose the place in my esteem & regard which she is by grace fitted for.” If I had known of any charge being brought against you, you should have heard of it. Mr Curzon does not say one word against you, in any way.
My reason for writing to him was my fear, not my belief. I did not know what Miss H M had said, and I did not choose him to suppose you capable of bringing forward an unjust & unprovoked charge against a woman. I explained everything just as you would have explained it, except that unfortunate word “indelicate” in your letter,—which I imagined you to have used in Miss H M’s uncommon sense. But now, pray do not make me correct my explanation. My letter did you full justice,—and supposing (a bare supposition) that Mr Curzon had been prejudiced against you before he read it, he cannot be prejudiced now. When I heard from him first, I felt in such an alarm, that, tho’ I was not very equal either to a long drive or even a short controversy, I was on the point of going to Ledbury & speaking to Mr Curzon myself. I would have done so, but was withheld by another fear. Papa would or at least might have wondered, & asked questions. Three weeks have past since my letter of reply was received by Mr Curzon, and indeed it is much better to be quiet & silent & take no more notice on the subject. Now do trust me for once. You may trust me,—for you cannot reasonably believe that I would ask you to be silent, & be silent myself while I supposed that your conduct stood with any person in an unfavourable light.
From your having delayed to write, longer than usual, I had taken it into my head that you thought my letter to you on this subject, presuming & interfering. I am glad I was mistaken. You must,—as I am mistaken,—allow me to say in addition, that I don’t think you are quite Mr Boyd, in delaying to forgive until amends is made to you for the offence. Do not even the publicans the same? [1] I maintain that you ought to forgive at once. If you wait for an apology you may wait for ever; and even if the apology comes, you will not have the same self-satisfaction, in forgiving then. Besides you have expressed to me much esteem for many parts of Miss Mushet’s character, and,—until this unfortunate business,—for all parts of her conduct. You have felt & expressed much regard & friendship for her, & she has been useful & attentive to you. On every account therefore, I maintain that you should make an effort,—if an effort is necessary,—& say & feel “I forgive her”. It is not right, altho I am afraid it is natural, to have a so much shorter [sic, for longer] memory for what has been offensive to us, than for what has been pleasing & valuable to us. Even I say this,—and you who profess to feel pleasure more strongly than pain, will be very inconsistent if you do not agree with me. You will write a person’s faults whether of conduct or character, “in water”, [2] now & then; and in this particular instance, for the sake of what you must have felt towards Miss H M when you wrote to her those flaming letters of which you told me, among other better reasons, you will try to soften down what you feel respecting her now. But I do not wish to preach to you. The impropriety & injustice of Miss H M’s letter you cannot be more sensible of than I am,—yet it was written a long time ago—and if there were nothing for you to forgive, there would be no need of your forgiving. Do not think that Mr Curzon has asked me directly or indirectly, or even seemed to wish me, to interfere in Miss H M’s behalf. What I have written, has been written entirely & solely, because I was interested in you—& perhaps a little in myself,—for altho’ I never could knowingly offend you, such things as misunderstandings have been heard of, and if I find you quite unbending to those for whom you have felt much regard, what hope can remain to those for whom you have felt a little?
And now with respect to your letter. You did not mean to give me pain. I know you never did. I believe you incapable of meaning to give any person pain. You only meant to vindicate yourself. But who brought any charge against you? I do assure you, I never thought of doing so. Being angry with you for fixing your residence at a distance from me, would be much more flattering to you than it would be becoming in me; and do not imagine that I had any intention of paying you such a compliment at such an expense. You have of course done what is most likely to make you happy,—& that is all that I wish. As to my asking Papa about going to see you, you think that you have me there in a dilemma—which dilemma appears to me resolvable into some such position as this—that if Papa loves me, he must do exactly what you think reasonable. Papa certainly does love me, & I believe would make any sacrifice for what, he believed, my happiness,—but it would not be reasonable either in you or me, to expect him to take our opinions as the criterion of his conduct.
<…> [3]
He may think it better for me to remain quietly with him than to go to you or any other person; and indeed tho’ you may be angry at my saying so, & tho’ I know very well that if I could go to you I would go,—I am not sure that he is not right. I sometimes feel that for the rest of my life, I would barter almost every kind of pleasure for the loss of every kind of pain, & consent to be only tranquil instead of pleased. For a long time my powers of feeling pleasure & pain have been clashing against each other—& neither my body nor mind can bear it any longer. It has been my misfortune to expect to be too happy & too much pleased with everybody,—every string of my imagination has been tuned to happiness, & when first one breaks & then another, the ear of my mind cannot bear, without shrinking, the loss of harmony. We are now expecting every day, to hear of our immediately leaving this place. Supposing Papa consented to my going to you on our way, as you proposed, what would be gained by it? That I should be pleased by seeing you, & sorry again to leave you. Is it worth while?– I say “is it worth while”,—to reconcile myself to not visiting you; but my saying so, is not the obstacle to my visiting you. That obstacle I need not dwell upon. I do not think it is to be overcome.
Now do tell me, dear Mr Boyd, about your book,—and why you have not told me before, about it. Have you settled anything with any bookseller? You cannot think how glad I shall be to see the title-page in print, or how much I wish you not to delay the printing. There is one thing at the close of the preface which I have a hundred times resolved to mention to you,—but it always went out of my head. Do you not speak of certain religious persons who would exclude profane literature from their studies, and call them narrow-minded? Now I wish you would modify that expression by calling them “narrow-minded in one respect”,—or else omit it altogether. I do not think it is quite just as it stands; [4] and besides Papa who has, you know, several narrow-minded friends, might not like it. One word for justice, and one word for me!!——
I was very glad to hear of Mr Spowers’ having been with you. Did he read to you? I supposed you talked politics most radically together, and threw the third stone?—— [5] After that allusion, I ought to imitate your prudent example, & leave out the signature at the end of this letter, to which you will be so glad to come. But I am safer than you are. No one would think of laying any treasonable charge to me, after my poem in the Times newspaper, which you admired so much!!– [6] While you have nothing but a pun to rely upon, and a palinodia afterwards!——
I have read Miss Fanny Kemble’s tragedy; [7] & should like you to read it,—if it were only to know whether my judgment of it, is a right one or not. It seems to me to be a very clever & indeed surprising production as from the pen of a young person; but I think that from any other pen, it would not find readers. The dialogue is sometimes very spirited, & ably done; but the poetry is seldom good as poetry,—and scarcely ever original or harmonious. There are however some beautiful passages,—and I should like you to find them out for yourself. The play would not cost you much time in reading; and it would certainly interest you.
Mr Croker has lately published an edition of Boswell’s Life of Johnson. [8] I have been looking over it, and do not think his additions & notes of much value. But he is impartial,—which is a wonderful merit in an editor.
My Hebrew is going on very well. I have done with Genesis, & I shall be in Job tomorrow, where you ought to be the day after, when you receive this letter. Tell me seriously & candidly, dear Mr Boyd—do you like or dislike such long letters? It is a temptation to me to go on writing, when I am writing to you—it is more like talking to you than anything perhaps which I shall ever do again: and yet if I thought I tired you, my pen would stop very quickly. I wish that when you write, you would tell me more about yourself than you do,—tell me what you are thinking about, & talking about, & making epigrams about. Have you a good place to walk in,—and many new visitors? Do write like Richardson, [9] —& recollect that you never can tell me anything which will not interest me. Therefore fancy that I am sitting near you,—& let your dictation be only conversation.
Mrs Boyd’s headache could not have lasted long, I think, when Annie was with her. I hope Annie looks & is quite well,—& send my love to both of them. How could you think that anyone would bind me to secresy, & at the same time, make any serious charge against you? I have been—I could not have been otherwise—quite sincere with you. You know I need not have told you at all, of Mr Curzon’s letter to me, or of mine to him, if I could have borne to have concealed anything of the kind from you.
Ever yours affectionately
E B Barrett.
I must have found a frank for this packet if Eliza [Cliffe] did not give me an opportunity of sending it as cheaply.
Address, on integral page: H S Boyd Esqr / Bath Hampton / Bath.
Publication: EBB-HSB, pp. 183–187.
Manuscript: Wellesley College.
1. Matthew, 6:46.
2. Cf. Beaumont and Fletcher, Philaster, V, 3, 82–83.
3. About two lines obliterated, apparently by EBB.
4. It is assumed that EBB is referring to an early draft of the preface to Boyd’s The Fathers Not Papists. When it was published in 1834, the expression she objected to did not appear.
5. Cf. John, 8:7.
6. “The Pestilence,” published on 13 January 1832.
7. Francis the First, an Historical Drama (1832) by Frances Anne Kemble, afterwards Butler (1809–93).
8. John Wilson Croker (1780–1857) published his edition of Boswell’s Life of Johnson in 1831.
9. Samuel Richardson (bapt. 1689, d. 1761) was the author of Letters Written to and for Particular Friends (1741).
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