2982. EBB to Arabella Moulton-Barrett
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 17, 190–197.
138. Avenue des Ch. Elysées
Thursday– friday– Satur. Sunday [11–14 December 1851] [1]
No indeed, we are not shot, my dearest Arabel. Robert says I shall make him a sort of reputation of a “Waterloo Selby” [2] (you remember Vanity Fair!) by my accounts of his desperate approximation (a mile off or more) to the cannon’s mouth. The truth is, he never went near the scene of the conflict! he promised me too faithfully not to do it. Besides, it’s pure madness when people do such things—they would be safer on an ordinary field of battle than at a barricade, in the funnel of a street—& the number of curious persons, simply curious, shot in this last insurrection, is melancholy to hear of. One English lady, a friend of an acquaintance of ours, had her brother killed, & her brother in law dangerously wounded. [3] An unsatisfactory way of dying, I must say. And people were entreated by public proclamation, to keep at home, on the ground that beside the danger to which they exposed themselves, they impeded the movement of the troop. Also, there is, to my mind, a great deal of insensibility at the bottom of the foolish curiosity– I dont like it on any ground.
As to the English, they have not really distinguished themselves per bene, [4] as we Italians say, on this subject of the coup d’etat. The prodigious quantity of nonsense which is talked on all sides, makes me sick with shame, to hear the very reverberation of—young ladies & old ladies, very young gentlemen & extremely senile gentlemen .. out-talking one another about the French government & nation, with an utter want of sentiment & taste only equalled by the want of instruction & good sense. I heard last night, that Lord Normanby had intimated some strong disapprobation of the tone adopted—and not before such reproof was needed, certainly. Dont believe a word written either in the Times, or, I am sorry to say, in the Examiner—neither paper seems to be playing a very worthy part. As to the correspondent of the morning chronicle, he has been only too leniently treated in being allowed to remain in Paris, after the notice given to him to leave– Think of a man in so responsible a situation sending to a great public organ, such as the Chronicle, all the lies of the streets! His very brothers of the press here, in the midst of their deep commiseration for “poor Fraser,” [5] thought he had been “extremely ill-advised.” The recoil of the English papers, you remember, is felt in Paris instantly—& it[’]s quite hard enough for us to bear truth & fact, without invention & distortion on the back of them.
As for the repression of printed opinions just now, it is the condition of our life, you must consider. It is a moment of revolution, & every party, at all such times, has done precisely the same thing. The republic in 1848, was exactly as stringent, as the president is now: every adverse newspaper was gagged—not a cry, not a breath even!– They were justified then by the situation—then, as now. The people are to speak by the law & the vote in a few days, and until then, we are to have order & quiet. So best. In the meantime, my impressions as I received them at first, deepen gradually. I believe that the salvation of France as a free nation may be involved in this very coup d’etat. Nearly everybody agrees now that the people of Paris have accepted it—“scandalously” say some—“apathetically” say others!—&—“Yes, they tell you they like it,” sighed an American lady to me .. “but I think there’s something painful in their faces while they profess to be delighted.” A specimen of the stuff you hear!– The fact is, that from the very beginning, they have given the measure full sympathy, believing that there was no safety for France out of it!—there’s the fact purely.
Here’s another fact– Tell dear George—thanking him a hundred times for his letter to me. Lamartine’s paper [6] has given in its adhesion .. calling upon all parties, in the name of France, to support the government. I was assured last night that Lamartine had personally given in his adhesion to the president—but for this I cannot vouch, & I dont want to send you false reports. But his newspaper, I have seen, read with my eyes. Now if ever there was a pure patriot, it is Lamartine—a man too purely ideal, to be effectually practical, indeed. He is very ill, I am sorry to say—has been for many months,—the consequence of a rheumatic fever, it is said to be, but rather painful than dangerous.
Tell George that the “great statesmen of France” will all come back if they should be wanted. There will be a union for the people’s sake, after the extinction of parties. I have good hope both for France & for liberty—better hope than ever.
Robert & I have had some domestic émeutes on this question .. that’s true, tell George. He began with a tremendous hatred towards the imperial name, you see– Then, he has been mixed up with quantities of Legitimists, Orleanists, & Reds (when he has gone out in the evening) & heard such stories about the movement, .. such stories of cheating & dirty tricks connected with it, .. that he who is upright & noble himself in everything, took it all into absolute disgust, & was very vexed with me because I had another view, .. I looking at the facts & not at the misrepresentations. You know I do think for myself (if the thought is right or wrong) and I do speak the truth (as I am capable of apprehending it), to my husband always– Also, we agree absolutely & always in the principles of things:—& therefore it is, that what you used to call “our quarrelling” is an element of our loving one another, & a very important element too. I persisted in disbelieving nearly all the stories Robert brought home to me, & insisted that this contradicted that, throughout them all. ‘Quite vexing,’ he said I was! And “quite absurd” I said they were. And so we fought. But I trust to Robert’s characteristic candour and to the actual development of events. Already he has confessed to me, that the “excessive nonsense he heard last night has produced some revulsion of feeling with him.” We shall see further.
Our dear delightful friend Madme Mohl, an Orleanist, (to show the passion of these parties) declares that she will receive & talk to nobody who is not of her opinion!– That’s one way of getting at truth.
Nothing can exceed the intense interest of things here just now. Arabel, you are very wrong in saying that you would rather not be in Paris– We are leading the most vivid life possible. The first thing I do in the morning is to get a french newspaper—then in the evening, we get the Galignani .. & have quantities of live tradition besides– Nothing passes, I assure you, that we dont hold it in our hands, sift & analyze it.
Be sure of this, that “military despotism” [7] will not be imposed on France—nor would it be accepted, if it were imposed– Every honest precaution seems taken to secure the freedom of the elections––which may well be done in fact,—for Louis Napoleon will only gain by it, can only gain– He has the mass of the people clearly with him. Even his opponents admit this now.
It is curious to see how people begin to modify their opinions .. I mean, people who were adverse entirely– We know the correspondent of the Daily News, [8] and also the correspondent of the Morning Herald. [9] Daily News changed his mind completely in the course of four & twenty hours—only dont tell anybody. Morning Herald has been more steady, perhaps. Daily News is the cleverer though, after all,—but, to make up, Morning Herald has a very clever wife,—who, as another self, should be counted in one’s estimate of the whole man.
Robert & I went out last saturday, the 6th, to visit the place of conflict. We drove through the boulevards, & looked at the houses bored with cannon, & the glassless windows staring out ghostily. The pavement was black with men; but the tranquility was absolute: they had even begun to open the shops again on the immediate scene of action—& the barricades had vanished, so that I was disappointed in my wish of having a sight of them. In other parts of the town, you would not have thought that anything had been the matter.
Think what weather we must have to admit of my going out in December. On saturday I went in a carriage; but yesterday it was so supernaturally fine that I walked to the Tuilleries, returning in an omnibus—& the sun shone gorgeously, as if he had mistaken one season for another. Both yesterday & today we were forced to let out the fire & open the door for air—& bilious headache is the reigning malady in consequence of the heat. The weather has been mild for a fortnight past– Now it is more than mild. You are not as warm in London, to judge by the meteorological reports—far from it–
Last night we had M. Milsand here, Robert’s reviewer in the Revue des deux Mondes. He seems to know a great deal about English literature, & England in various ways. Think of his having written an analysis of the Wesley & Whit[e]field movement! [10] An extraordinary subject for a frenchman, & at this time of day too. I think he is a very earnest & thoughtful writer. For the rest, a little man, young, & agreeable, though not brilliant– We have begged him to come & see us whenever he likes to do so.
I am a little afraid, Arabel, (to tell you the exact truth,) about our position here in certain respects. It seems to me that we are taken in a regular net of English—“good society” in the usual sense of the word certainly—but not in our sense—not particularly interesting people, nor likely to do us much good, on the whole. I insist on Robert’s going out in the evening—we might as well be at Florence if he did not—it’s only morning-visiting transplanted, observe, only that you get conversation, which you cant generally in a morning visit. We have tea at eight oclock, & then, on certain evenings of the week, he goes out for an hour or two, & brings me back the news, which is pleasant for both of us, though I have “to drive him out with a broomstick” according to Madme Mohl’s expression. But really it’s good for him, right for him, & right for me to insist on his going. Only, always I say, “do take care—don’t get entangled with people we dont care for”—& he gets entangled somehow, with all sorts of repentance, but entangled nevertheless. Both at Madme Mohl’s & at Lady Elgin’s, quantities of English go—& it’s impossible, when people ask if they may call on you, to say brutally, ‘no, no,’ however you may desire it. Here are English whom we know, some willingly, some perforce—Miss Fitton, old & shrewd, .. who knows Mr Kenyon—& has various accomplishments– I like her rather: a family of Shores, [11] numerous enough to personate the white cliffs of Albion .. but nice people—one of the daughters very intelligent & cultivated—Mrs Stewart Mackenzie, [12] the venerable head of the clan, & her daughter who is pretty, & asked Robert if the Portuguese sonnets were really Portuguese!!—Mr & Mrs Carré [13] .. he, the angel of the Irvingite church! Robert meets him everywhere. Major & Mrs Carmichael Smith .. who are coming, not come yet. Miss Williams Wynn[,] [14] Sir Watkyn’s daughter (a cousin of Gladstone) whom Robert knew in London!– Miss Stirling [15] .. who calls herself a connection of mine, because her brother married a cousin of Papa’s, you know—& her sister Mrs Erskine– Mr & Mrs Corkrane .. of the Herald aforesaid—she dresses like a muse, & almost looks like one really—a fine face, & exaggerated forehead. [ART] She covers her hair entirely with a net .. not like my nets, but large & loose & covering the whole hair, except a brown loop upon the neck Illus. —a most peculiar & rather pretentious costume, I must say. She has a beautiful countenance though, & a smile like light—but she is rather pretentious altogether, & Robert does not like her on that account. She made the first drapeau [16] for Lamartine’s government, with her own hands—but then she talks of “our revolution in Ireland, of 1848.”!!– You see the sort of woman! She spent the other evening with us, she & her husband, and I liked her better than Robert did.– Then Aunt Jane brought Mrs Stre[a]tfield here & is to bring Miss Blackett, [17] as they both wanted to come. I like Mrs Stre[a]tfield’s face & manner—but just see how we are surrounded—for there are others—the list is not ended. It’s kindness on the part of these people of course, but it makes me rather uneasy lest we should be baffled of our comfort & tastes by it–
And with all this, I have missed “George Sand”—which throws me into what Robert calls one of “my flurries”, .. I suppose a polite word for my “rages”. I cant help saying that if I had had the management of the affair instead of Robert, whom I accuse of some coldness & laxness, it wd have come to a favorable termination. Robert was proud & cold about it—there’s the truth. George Sand came to Paris a fortnight since, with a determination of living incognita, though “with eyes brighter than ever.” [18] The object of her coming was to bring out a new play at the Gymnase. [19] After all her adventures, she’s a shy woman, & shuns strangers from a fear that they should book-make about her, as so many have done. Madme Mohl introduced Robert to her particular friend M. François, [20] but the particular friend swore that he did not “dare” give her a letter of introduction from anyone .. & she did’nt care for Mazzini, not she!—though, when he came from Rome, she kissed him, to poor Mazzini’s great confusion, as Carlyle told us. She kissed him once—she kissed him twice—& the second time, Mazzini thought it “de trop.” [21] He’s a great prude .. Mazzini is! that’s certain.
Well—to return to Madme Sand. She had only a bedroom when she was in Paris .. the room usually occupied by her son, .. and referred her friends to a neighbouring caffé which was the only place where she was visible. Moreover M. François wd not give us the name of the caffé .. he “did’nt dare”: he only suggested that we might leave the letter at the theatre. Which Robert refused to do in a pet. He said he “would’nt mix up our letter with the love-letters of the actresses” .. & pettishly added, .. “Madme George Sand might go to the devil, if she pleased, & if she cared neither for us nor for Mazzini—it was an honour thrown away on her, after all! he dared say she was absorbed in a ‘sentiment’ for the “premier comique,” [22] & when that was over, there might be a chance for us!”
So between Robert’s fit of pride & M. François’s fit of reserve, we lost George Sand for the time. She has gone back to the country. I have been vexed by it all extremely, & have reproached everybody concerned—and now, Robert promises to send our letter to her into the country by a private hand, which Monsieur François is to find, he says, & if she does’nt come to Paris, “we will go to her,” .. the promise is to that effect, too– But just see. She lives as far off as Tours, & farther—& I cant travel in the winter, & there may be twenty obstacles beside.
Last sunday Robert heard one of the most eloquent sermons (to change the scene a little!) he ever heard in his life he says, at the Independent French church. The reference to the public agitation was very pathetic—though no opinion was implied upon politics, which are excluded upon principle from discussion in that pulpit.
Sunday– Dearest darling Arabel, I have been two or three days about this letter—now writing, now forced to break off. This morning I have a letter from Henrietta, who is uneasy about me. I had concluded that you would have let her have the news of us I sent you at the time, or I would have written myself. She exaggerates the dangers immensely. We all knew that an outbreak would come, though exactly how, was not discerned—& nothing of the sort could have happened at less cost of life & terror. I asked aunt Jane the other day whether the idea of flying ever had crossed her mind– She said “Never, for a moment.” Do write & tell Henrietta this– She wanted to hear by return of post. Thursday was the only bad day. Henrietta proposes to us to meet her in London at the end of January–!! I am far less afraid of Louis Napoleon’s cannons that [sic, for than] of your winds & fogs!—— To run out of the “cannon’s mouth” [23] into a fog, would not strike me as a piece of wisdom– Dearest Henrietta!——
Dont you see that if the Brownings settle here, we certainly shall not resettle in Italy?– When we are in Paris, we are at your doors—& shall be in London every summer as a matter of course. But nothing can be said to be fixed, while March is so far off. So dont think of it yet. Today, it is much colder again; & Robert & Wilson being both at church, I have the care of Wiedeman, & it[’]s not a sinecure, as you may suppose, or is it easy to write & talk to him all the time. He was knocking at the wall, with his gun, & when I told him not to do it, he intimated he was in a course of theological investigation .. “he was looking for God!”—adding that he would “look through the ceiling next!”—— You dont understand this—I will explain to you. The other day, he was playing with my card case .. which I took away from him on the ground of it’s being “prezioso” to Papa, who wd not like to see him break it—(Mrs Browning gave it to me)[.] Upon which, Wiedeman instantly shut the door between Robert’s room & this room, & put a chair before it, & then, with a most satisfied face, as if the whole difficulty were obviated, came back to sieze on the card case. “Oh no” .. said I—“God sees you, if Papa does’nt. God can see through the ceiling & the walls.” This happened some days ago, & the child had it in his mind just now. His theological views cant be said to be very clear yet. He said the other morning, looking through the window at a gloomy sky, that “God was naughty, as there was no sun.” It was explained to him that whether there was sun or not, God was good—but that did’nt seem to strike him as a reasonable doctrine, poor child—and after all, & for his elders, it’s one of the difficult doctrines of life. Yes, the Daguer[r]eotype is not flattering generally. And it is particularly unfaithful to his hair which is really beautiful just now, so much longer & thicker than when you saw it, & in such splendid curl, that people accuse us most unjustly of putting it in papers.
<…> [24]
Will you write a few words to Nelly Bordman, just to say that I thank her much for her letter, & that we are all well, safe & unalarmed. It appears that Mr Pigott [25] stays here till after the elections. Tell her that. I had written a letter to send back to her by him, but I put it into the fire on hearing what his plans were– Arabel, say how your face is—if the cold has affected it much.
Publication: EBB-AB, I, 431–440.
Manuscript: Gordon E. Moulton-Barrett.
1. Days provided by EBB’s reference to “last saturday, the 6th.” Month and year provided by her references to the coup d’état.
2. Sic, for “Sedley”; i.e., Joseph Sedley, a character in Thackeray’s Vanity Fair (1848). Fearing for his life, he fled Brussels at the time of the battle of Waterloo, but later in India he bragged about his exploits, “and was called Waterloo Sedley during the whole of his subsequent stay in Bengal” (chap. 38).
3. Unidentified.
4. “As one should.”
5. Thomas Fraser (d. 1869, aged 63), Paris correspondent for The Morning Chronicle (1835–55); see The Letters and Private Papers of William Makepeace Thackeray, ed. Gordon N. Ray (Cambridge, Mass., 1945–46), 2, 140.
6. Le Conseiller du Peuple, which he had been editing since 1849.
9. John Frazer Corkran (1807–84) was the Paris correspondent for The Morning Herald from the mid-1840’s to 1857. He and his wife, Louisa (née Walshe, 1824–92), both Irish, were married in Dublin on 1 July 1839. According to their daughter Alice, the Corkrans met the Brownings through one of RB’s cousins living in Paris (Alice Corkran, “Mr. Browning,” The Queen, 21 December 1889, p. 893). The cousin was Louisa Jane Dyke (1826–80), daughter of William Shergold Browning, who had married Richard Jebb Dyke in 1846 (see end of letter 2440). Dyke is listed in the Brownings’ address book of this period at 36 Rue de Ponthieu, not far from their Champs Élysées apartment; see Appendix IV.
10. We have been unable to trace this “analysis” in Milsand’s works.
11. Thomas Shore (1793–1863), his wife Margaret Anne (née Twopeny, d. 1859), and their children: Richard Nowell Shore (1821–1902), his wife and their two children; Arabella Shore (1822–1901); and Louisa Catherine Shore (1824–95). The “intelligent & cultivated” daughter was Louisa, whose poetry was collected and published many years later in Poems: with a Memoir by her Sister (1897).
12. Maria Elizabeth Frederica Stewart-Mackenzie (1783–1862) was the coheiress of Francis Mackenzie, Earl of Seaforth. After his death in 1814, “she succeeded to the family estates … and became the chieftainess of the clan Mackenzie” (DNB). She married Sir Samuel Hood (1762–1814) in 1804. Three years after his death, she married James Alexander Stewart (1784–1843), a younger son of the 6th Earl of Galloway. Upon their marriage the name of Mackenzie was added to that of Stewart. They had three sons and three daughters. The daughter referred to here, Louisa Caroline (1827–1903), is the youngest of these children. She married Lord Ashburton in 1858, a year after the death of his first wife. After RB’s return to England following EBB’s death in 1861, he renewed his acquaintance with Louisa Lady Ashburton. Their association ended in the early 1870’s when he resisted her overtures of marriage.
13. Collings Mauger Carré (1809–54), an Englishman born in Guernsey, was a member of the Catholic Apostolic Church (or Irvingites) from 1828 until his death. Since 1835 he had been an “angel” (or bishop) in Geneva and in Paris. Carré is listed in the Brownings’ address book of this period (AB-3) at 114 Avenue des Champs Élysées; see Appendix IV. He and his wife Frances (née Tennant, d. 1887, aged 76) were married at London in 1838.
14. Charlotte Williams-Wynn (1807–69) was the daughter of Sir Charles Watkin Williams Wynn (1775–1850), who had been M.P. for Montgomeryshire from 1799 until his death. He had served in the administrations of Liverpool, Canning, and Goderich. Miss Williams-Wynn is listed in AB-3 at 4 Rue du Colysée (see Appendix IV), the destination for some of RB’s evenings out in Paris. Charlotte was a second cousin of Gladstone’s wife Catherine.
15. Jane Wilhelmina Stirling (1804–59), daughter of John Stirling (1742–1816) of Kippendavie and Kippenross, Scotland, was a student of Chopin and had resided in Paris for a number of years. Her widowed sister Katharine (1791–1868) had married James Erskine (d. 1816), her cousin-german, in 1811. Their brother William (1787–1862) married Elizabeth Barrett (1794–1830) in 1811; she was the only child of Henry Barrett (1762–94), second son of Edward Barrett of Cinnamon Hill.
16. “Flag”; in this case, the French tricolour.
17. Frances Mary Blackett (1822–95) is listed in AB-3 at 10 Eaton Place West, London (see Appendix IV). Sarah Jane Streatfeild (née Cookson, 1821–67) was the widow of Sidney Robert Streatfeild (1808–51), late Major in the 52nd Light Infantry; they had married on 12 September 1839.
18. Cf. Paracelsus, V, 94–95.
20. Presumably François Rollinat (1806–67), a lawyer, called “Pylades” by George Sand.
21. “Too much.”
22. “Leading comedian.” Probably a reference to Pierre François Touzé (1799–1862), who used the stage name Bocage. He was a leading comic actor with whom Sand had a brief love affair, although it had ended by this time.
23. As You Like It, II, 7, 153.
24. EBB presumably wrote more, including her signature, on the inside flap of the envelope, which is missing. The final paragraph, as printed, appears in the margins and at the top of the first page.
25. Edward Frederick Smyth Pigott (1824–95) is listed in AB-3 at “Leader Office, 154 Strand” and “9 Southampton Row, Russell Square” (see Appendix IV). It was about this time that Pigott assumed ownership of The Leader, a weekly newspaper founded by Thornton Hunt and George Henry Lewes in 1850 (see Rosemary Ashton, G.H. Lewes: A Life, Oxford, 1991, p. 109).
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