536. Mary Russell Mitford to EBB
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 3, 188–189.
Three Mile Cross,
August 16, 1836.
My dear Friend,
Did Henry Chorley call himself? He told me that his heart had failed him. The nosegay was a very shabby one—I was myself in all the grief of parting from this same Henry Chorley, one of the most affable companions I have ever known, and I was besides befraddled by the eternal visitors, morning and evening visitors, who make this cottage during the summer and autumn months a sort of tea-garden, or rural Beulah Spa [1] —then, John, [2] the lad who manages my geraniums, was, on his part, in the joyful agony of preparing for the Reading Horticultural Show. For my own part, my vanity goes rather to the beauty of the flowers in a mass, or in that great nosegay my garden, than to the mere points of growth, and bloom, and sorts, by which the judges at flower-shows decide their merit. Nevertheless, as John loves to get prizes, and I have no objection, why we take the thing in very good part; only it certainly (joined with my grief at losing a pet visitor) spoilt your posy; at least made that shabby which ought to have been splendid.
You should take my venturing to criticise your verses as a proof of the perfect truth of my praise. I do not think there can be a better test of the sincerity of applause than the venturing to blame. It is also the fault, the one single fault, found by persons more accustomed to judge of poetry than myself; by Mr. Dilke, [3] for instance (the proprietor of the “Athenæum”), and Mr. Chorley (one of its principal writers). Charles Kemble [4] once said to me, with regard to the drama: “Think of the stupidest person of your acquaintance, and, when you have made your play so clear that you are sure that he would comprehend it, then you may venture to hope that it will be understood by your audience.” And really I think the rule would hold good with regard to poetry in general, as well as tragedies. My Dash sends his respects to your doves; faithful and gentle they are both.
Ever, my dear friend,
Most affectionately yours,
M. R. M.
Address: Miss Barrett, Gloucester Place.
Text: L’Estrange (2), III, 57–58.
1. The Royal Beulah Spa was a tea-garden in London, available for picnics and parties. It may have derived its name from Beulah-land in Bunyan’s The Pilgrim’s Progress, which was a place of joy where pilgrims lingered while waiting for entrance into the Celestial City.
2. John Lediard, Miss Mitford’s gardener.
3. Charles Wentworth Dilke (1789–1864), antiquary and critic, had become chief editor of The Athenæum in 1830 and had considerably enhanced its reputation by his policy of scrupulous independence of view.
4. The actor-manager (1775–1854), who had appeared as the hero in Miss Mitford’s play Foscari in 1826.
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