665. George Barrett Hunter to EBB
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 4, 86–91.
Ax[mins]t[e]r
Sept. 26th/38
Dearest & ever dearer Friend—. If I thought you would be grieved by telling you that I am, I would not tell you so. In every other case than this, I believe I know that your kindness & sympathy would make you sorry with me in my sorrows– Yet in this case let me presume that you will not be grieved, because I am so, for having grieved you. To give you any pain at any time, is a thought exceedingly distressing—how much more exceedingly so, must the thought be of in the least degree grieving you now! [1] Be most assured my dearest Friend that I was most utterly unconscious of having written in my last anything unkind– And I am at this moment quite unable to remember or imagine to what you refer by “hard thoughts” and “silence” called “ingratitude”. Dearest Friend there must be some mistake here. Have I left out, in hurried writing, some word or words, and by such an omission, entirely altered the intended expression or did I write so unintelligibly that you have mistaken some word, for it’s very opposite? I beseech you to tell me from what you derived the impression that I had “hard thoughts”—and was “angry”—and deemed your silence “ingratitude”! for my most laborious recollections do not furnish me with the slightest surmize. All was the contrary! As to silence there was none—and if there had been, I should have ascribed it to your fatigue & feebleness—and to your kind effort to comply with a repeated request of mine, not to write, when doing so would in the least degree fatigue you—— And for such a silence (out of its cause) I should have been grateful—as one wh. spared you from an injurious exercise. O, my ever kindest & dearest Friend! how could I ever associate “ingratitude” and you? It is in many ways utterly impossible—and I am altogether bewildered & astonished. Had I ever made such an association—my very consciousness would become a shuddering self disgust—and I should wear away in the wretchedness of having impaired—yea, of having deservedly & for ever forfeited a regard wh. is dearer to me than that of all the world besides– Did you think me angry when I was but joking about the Dr or at least very nearly joking? The only expressions wh. I can remember as giving occasion perhaps to the view you took of my temper in my last letter, are those about “Aristocracy.” Could my dearest Friend, imagine that they referred, even in the remotest manner, to Her?! Does She remember having once jocosely but truly applied the term to the moral or mental temperament of a certain friend of Her’s? He took the application, as he felt it, to be a true one—and regardd it as one proof that She knew him– And the knowledge wh. it intimated, from some cause or other, pleased him. He does not know that he ever referred to the matter, before he did so in a late letter, in wh. he said something wh. some foolish sensitive imagination suggested, but wh. could not in any possibility refer to Her.– But after all, I do, on several accounts, most sincerely & painfully regret that I ever used those expressions—and I do most anxiously & affectionately ask your forgiveness. I assure you—that I had no feeling while writing them that suggested they would grieve you—if I had had, would they have been there! O. no! Will you pardon them for the motive’s sake? I wanted to see you. I fully understood, just as I do now, the suggestion about delaying a certain journey—I fully understood it in all its gentleness & kindness—and it was as wise as it was kind & gentle—but if it were so, that I foolishly imagined an obstacle (altogether apart from your own wishes) and wrote nonsense, Aristocracy—forgive it, my dearest Friend—for I wanted to see you.– But I am sure you will wish me to leave this subject—and I will do so.–– I need not inform you that I received your parcel this morning. I cannot tell you—therefore imagine, how I thank you—and prize the unwearied kindness wh. sent it. I am almost reluctant to touch on its contents now I have so little room left. That “Sabbath on the Sea” is most beautiful & dear—and it too is mine. I cannot, may not tell you how & what I intensely feel of your kindness—while I call that and others—Mine—and the feeling is so intense as it is because you taught me to call them so– “The Romaunt”—if there could be brighter & warmer and purer tears than Miss Mitford’s—or admiration more worthy than that of Walter Scott’s most intimate friends—it is worthy of them—and would give more honor than it would receive .. (Do expressly and affectionately thank dear Henrietta, for me, for having written out the former) The Reviews– It was like Bulwer to perceive “sublimity,” “natural grace” and “etherial beauty”—and to tell of “pure & lustrous gems” and “perfect models.” [2] — “Christopher’s Cave” was a little too gloomy when he wrote of “Our Elizabeth”!!! [3] – Critics of Her Seraphim should be judges in Eyre [4] (ie in one, perhaps the least correct etymology of the term) (I appeal to the Templar). To write of Seraphim in a Cave! I am vexed to find that Christopher uses some expressions like—nay the very same as those of the Atlas. Yet he has written some things truly & beautifully. His predictions have now their beauty— may the future give them truth. You know what predictions I mean– One of them is of “conspicuous splendour.” [5] Besides he writes with a certain devoutness wh the rest of your critics want.– (By the way—the spirit of our poor “Sea-mew” will be jealous of “The Doves.”–) [6] ––––– This is Weddy evening and it is probable that I shall see your Brother. Yet I fear the probability is not much for there will be no coach from Exeter till 1/2 past eleven. I shall meet it however. How glad I shall be to meet him. I heard from Mary to day. You shall see her letter. She says “Papa is going to Newcastle” &c and talks about the house being “turned onto its chimneys” before he comes back again. She tells me of “a beautiful Polar Bear” in the Z. Gardens—and asks permission to ride on the Elephant the next time she goes.– She says of Miss Trepsack that she likes her (Miss T.) very much indeed—and that she is “a kind lovely old lady.”– She has a very poetical passage about the Harrow cemetary—part of it runs thus. “I wish Carissima-Ba could see it. I am sure she would write such eloquent Poetry—as well as yourself.” [7] I commend the compliment & the Grammar to your especial admiration.– “The dear little Doves have had a young one—and all are doing well.” She speculates about coming back in May!! Her epistle contains Latin, French & Italian—so you see what Carissimabella [8] is making of her.
I thank you for transcribing so much of dearest Bella’s account of Mary—but have I written thus far without a word about your health—my dearest Friend?– I fear the best news only amounts to—much as usual. I have constantly hoped & prayed that the change of climate might prove decidedly beneficial before this– I yet hope & pray—and feel the consolation of commending you to the tenderest care—and the recovering mercy of Him who so mercifully cares for you. Dont dont I beseech you give way to anxieties & regrets about leaving your beloved ones in London. Their beautiful & precious love! I thank you for the view you have given me of it .. O! how could it be but what it is! Do let the cheerfulness & gratitude wh. such love demands prevail over the painfulness of being removed for a while from the scene in wh. its fulness gathered round you .. May you my most beloved Friend soon be restored to all its endearments—in health—happiness and all the blessedness of His love who “giveth His beloved sleep.” [9] – As you love them, try to make us cheerful by your cheerfulness. Forgive me if I have written to you in some cases too cheerfully—but our darling Bella charged me to be very cheerful with you. How could I—how could I be angry and have “hard thoughts.”– Tell me that it is not—that it never can be so.– I wrote yesterday to your Brother—for I was very anxious to hear of you. I am almost fearful lest I should have said any thing to grieve you. Give to him & Mr Geo. and to dear Henrietta my kindest regards. Dr Smith [10] said nothing whatever to me in his letter that could unfold the secret—but of course I know or conjecture now what it is. By the way how surely Woman can keep a secret!– How glad I shall be to hear that you have entered on your own cottage. Regard it as a temporary & merciful home– May it abound with mercies in the fulness of wh you shall return to your own dearer home.
Your ever most affecte friend,
G B H.
1/2 past 12. I have been to meet the Coach, but I found no one in it who had seen you a few hours ago. It would have been a great pleasure to have seen them—but it is a greater to think they are with you. I prophesy that your beloved Bro will be appointed your guardian at Torquay. It should be so. It is more than midnight and my thoughts remind me that you have never told me whether you sleep well at night.–
Thursday Morng 27th
I have a few minutes this morning to add a few lines. Neither my waking nor dreaming thoughts during the night have dissolved yesterday’s mystery and yet I rose with a surmise that my dearest Friend must have absolutely mistaken my jocoseness for anger (about the hard thoughts, I can win no hint either from light or darkness.) Is it possible that my abruptness in some sayings about the Dr was mistaken for snappishness and anger—when positively it was my object to make you laugh at them– By the way I do think that there were some criticisms of a similar character in my last letter to Bro—criticisms on a critic of yours—and I fear that you will become still surer than you were before about my having turned to a sad ill natured mood since my Guardian Angel left me; [11] well I will give up this trying to make you laugh– I am the beautiful White Polar Bear trying to dance & sing for your amusement—and you take it for a growling passion– Ah my Friend I assure you that mine is no mood of merriment—a far other mood is mine. Well forgive it all. Mary tells me that you go onto the sea every day almost– And she says too (wh I pray you observe) that you have not yet granted her request to be made Lady of your study chamber. After writing a letter fuller if possible than this—she hopes in the last line that I will excuse her for not writing any more as she was going to write to you. There is such a passage about Mr Boyd! She says that great Greek scholars can talk a great deal of nonsense (pray observe that) and that as for Mr Boyd he does not know where Madagascar is. Good bye again.
Address, on integral page: Miss Barrett / (——Hedley’s Esqr) Braddon’s Hill / Torquay.
Publication: B-GB, pp. 350–354.
Manuscript: Pierpont Morgan Library.
1. Underscored three times.
2. His review of The Seraphim in The Monthly Chronicle (August 1838, p. 195) included this passage: “The combination of sublimity—suggested, but not developed—of natural grace and ethereal beauty in this production, may be at once admitted as a favourable evidence of the poetical temperament of the writer. There are some passages in this sketch of unusual delicacy, and, on the other hand, many feeble and affected lines. In the same volume there are several minor pieces, which, though less ambitious in design, are more perfect in execution. The more simple of these are indeed gems equally pure and lustrous; and in them every lover of poetry must find delight, and every student of poetry a model.” (For the full text, see p. 385.)
3. Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine (August 1838, pp. 279–284) devoted the major part of an article, “Christopher in his Cave” (by John Wilson, the editor, but unsigned), to a review of The Seraphim. The passage EBB refers to occurs after Wilson has made reference to other authoresses: “And our Elizabeth—she too is happy—though in her happiness she loveth to veil with a melancholy haze the brightness of her childhood—and of her maidenhood—but the clouds we raise we can ourselves dispel—and far away yet beyond the horizon are those that may gather round the decline of her life.” (For the full text, see pp. 379–382.)
4. The Judges in Eyre were itinerant judges, travelling on circuit to hear cases. They were made redundant in the 14th century by the introduction of Justices of Assize.
5. In his review, Wilson predicted that EBB would “some day shine forth with conspicuous splendour.”
6. “My Doves,” one of the minor poems in The Seraphim, was quoted in full by Wilson.
7. Underscored three times.
8. i.e., Arabella Moulton-Barrett, with whom Hunter’s daughter Mary was staying.
9. Psalms, 127:2.
10. John Pye Smith (1774–1851), who had recently visited EBB (see letter 659).
11. i.e., his daughter Mary, now in London.
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