591. EBB to Mary Russell Mitford
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 3, 286–289.
[London]
Septr 29th [1837] [1]
It has been a hard thing for me my dearest Miss Mitford to resist answering your kind letter instantly—but a frank is the only excuse for a much ado about nothing by the post, so I had no excuse at all. It has just come into my head to send for one into Herefordshire. [2] That will be easier than following the pilgrims of the Rhine—& anything is easier than letting any more time go by without giving a sign of being touched & obliged by your kindness & indulgence.
Dearest Miss Mitford, every word you say of any part of yours in that unlucky business, is so unnecessary! It was only my fear lest you shd from some possible representations, esteem me or those connected with me, ungrateful & unkind, that led me to trouble you at all on a subject beneath your attention. Vexed I was—but principally for this reason .. lest such a representation shd be made to you. I can never let you think me ungrateful to you—or Papa ungrateful & insensible to all the affection you have shown to me. It was just Mr Moyes’s inattention to the note recalling permission to use the name, which excited Papa! [3] And dearest Papa & I have not seen the matter quite in the same light—inasmuch as I see no reason for doubting that the recalling note did arrive in Mr Moyes’s absence & too late for its purpose just as he said—and we shd all remember that a distinct permission was given in the first place. And so the truth seems to me, that nobody was in fault except my own self—by a fault of ignorance, & thoughtlessness superadded. How cd you be a means direct or indirect of vexing me?– You never vexed me in your life, except with a consciousness of not deserving all your kindness, & with a fear of displeasing you.
To turn to a better subject—you certainly shd write Dash’s memoirs! My youngest brothers, to say nothing of my eldest, were delighted with the memorabilia, I read to them out of your letter. They have an exalted opinion of dogs, & as deep a contempt for doves. There is our brown & yellow terrier called Myrtle, whose noblest qualities lie in his mind, & who can therefore be trusted to walk out by himself—and he does it with an exemplary slowness & gravity, as if revolving in his altered soul [4] the various turns of rat to hole (oh! that Myrtle shd be a confessed rat catcher!) without any risk of being stolen. The London dog stealers are no discerners of spirits!– [5] But in the esteem of both my brothers, Myrtle is a “first good, first perfect, & first fair” [6] —& so they are very jealous of the doves usurping the praise & attention due to him. The doves indeed! My boast of their accomplishments is always interrupted by “Myrtle does just the same,” or “Myrtle can do much better”—but then there is a triumphant clench for my argument in “the doves can fly, & Myrtle cant![”—]a position I half expect to be contested some day. And once, two or three years ago, I overheard a soliloquy of Octavius, he sitting upon the stair case, & holding that ugliest dog of all christendom, in fast embraces—“Oh: belovèd Myrt! How I do love you!!” And so all your witnessings to Dash’s genius were received—I much suspect—as an indirect homage to Myrt!—and you will easily make out the logic of it.
Do give Dr Mitford with my kind & thankful regards, my condolence about the Jays. If kindness & care do really kill, woe to my doves & me. But the little dove is quite well so far—& a thorough cockney—being known to manifest fear of only two things—first of a bottle fly—& secondly, of the wind in the leaves!! He was put out into the balcony among the flower pots—& in he came, tumbling & trembling. It is a dreadful degeneracy for a dove, is it not? But this London brings us all to a level. And in regard to it, I must not forget to tell you that Papa has concluded,—except some legal formalities attending a distinct contract,—the purchase of a house in Wimpole Street—number 50,—nearly at the top, & towards the Regent’s Park. We are likely to get thro’ the paint & plaster into it, before Christmas—& then we shall call ourselves settled—a foolish word after all, for any disposition of earthly things upon this earth of ours. One might as well talk of being settled in a parachute.
I rejoice to hear of the musical destiny of dear Mr Kenyon’s Anacreontic, & should be so glad to hear the music! [7] —— Is there any hope of the air being printed—or wont it sound anywhere but in the neighbourhood of the village where dwell ‘all sweet airs that give delight & hurt not’.– [8] And one principle of association being contrast, the village reminds me of the Vicar of Wrexhill—at least of the extracts I have seen from it! [9] – What a lamentable book—& to be written by a woman—who from the weakness & softness of her nature should so feel the need & the beauty of that strength & surpassing tenderness found in the religion of Jesus Christ, & only there!– It is very ill to hold up to scorn the most unsecular portion of the Church of England—but to do so by misrepresen[ta]tion & perversion is most ill! And the manner in which scriptural perversions are put into the mouth of such who never do so pervert Scripture, in this book is revolting in the extreme. I have much respect for those who are called the Evangelical clergy—tho’ I am myself, with every loathing of sectarian spirit, a dissenter—from strong impression. And the aim of this book seems to be the casting of scorn upon all warmth & earnestness in religion!—as if enthusiasm shd be felt for only the works of God & fall short of God,—& love, which is confessedly beautiful when fixed upon man, be withered into hideousness whenever upturned towards the divine face of God the crucified. Oh! that talents given by Him, shd so rise against Him! May we not apply the pathos of “Et tu Brute[’]’ [10] in the Roman Senate house, & with a broader & deeper pathos!?——
Dont think me in a great passion! And I just remember that you call her “your accomplished friend!”– Ah! but she cant be a friend of yours in the real strict sense. Mrs Trollope cant be Miss Mitford[’]s friend!
I shall have put out your eyes with all this writing. Do forgive me! You do not say how you are. Pray pray dont work yourself ill, with the novel. Mr Kenyon has not returned & was last heard of at Bridgewater!
Dearest Miss Mitford’s ever affectionate
EBB.
Addressed and franked by Lord Somers on integral page: Tewkesbury Septr Thirtieth / 1837 / Mrs [sic] Mitford / Three Mile Cross / Reading / Somers / [and in EBB’s hand on reverse when folded:] Miss Mitford / Three Mile Cross / <n>ear Reading.
Publication: EBB-MRM, I, 45–48.
Manuscript: Wellesley College.
1. Dated by the frank.
2. i.e., to Lady Margaret Cocks, asking for a frank from Earl Somers (see previous letter).
3. James Moyes, of Leicester Square, was the printer under contract to produce Findens’ Tableaux. It would seem from the context that EBB originally agreed to allow her name to appear with her contribution, but that her father objected, and the permission was withdrawn. The poem appeared with only her initials appended.
4. Dryden’s “Alexander’s Feast” (1697), line 85.
5. Cf. I Corinthians, 12:10.
6. Pope’s Essay on Man (1732), II, 24.
7. From the context, Kenyon’s poem had evidently been set to music by one of Miss Mitford’s neighbours. In connection with this poem, Miss Mitford later wrote: “The spirited and original anacreontic, entitled ‘Champagne Rose,’ was composed under very peculiar circumstances. Having improvised, while looking at the bubbles upon a glass of pink champagne, the exceedingly happy line that begins the song [‘Lily on liquid roses floating’], Mr. Kenyon was challenged to complete it on the spot. He undertook to do so within twenty minutes, and accomplished his task” (Recollections of a Literary Life, chapter XXIX). She included the poem in her story “The Wager” in Findens’ Tableaux.
8. The Tempest, III, 2, 136.
9. The Athenæum of 23 September 1837 (no. 517, pp. 707–708) reviewed The Vicar of Wrexhill by Frances Trollope, calling her “a clever woman … though she seems, from choice, to delight in subjects which are painful and repulsive. … here, again, she is up to the neck in another kennel of corruption … showing up the errors (as she esteems them) of … the Evangelicals.” The article included extracts from the book.
10. Julius Cæsar, III, 1, 77. The comparison between Brutus’s attack on Cæsar and Mrs. Trollope’s attack on the Evangelicals was doubtless prompted by the fact of her being the daughter of a clergyman.
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