2990. EBB to Eliza Anne Ogilvy
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 17, 216–221.
138 Avenue des Ch. Elysées–
Decr 30. [1851] [1]
I am not shot dearest Mrs Ogilvy, only deserve it: for certainly nothing can have been worse of me than not answering your letters. I do believe that the chief reason of my not having done so before, was the having too much to say to set about saying it—that, & the sort of languor which always falls upon me in cold weather. Forgive, & believe me capable of behaving better for the future, & incapable of being careless even in the past, of you, in my real feelings. Your letters were most welcome, answered or not answered. Thank you too for the American enclosure .. for which we owe you .. how many pauls? No, it was’nt quite as plain inside as outside. A bookseller’s friend writing for a bookseller, [2] desiring to bring out a very particularly complete edition of my poems & hinting particularly darkly at the “advantage of author & publisher”—a sublime vagueness which considering the result of distinct propositions from that quarter, is not promising nor worth an answer by any means, says Robert.
Do you know that scarcely for the sight of the Alps, as I keep repeating to myself & others, would I have missed being at Paris during this revolution-time. It has been & is still intensely interesting: you have the great heart-beat of the world under your hand. Also, the dramatic effect of that second of December cannot be exaggerated– The pouring in of the troops into Paris in a real sunshine of Austerlitz, [3] & the immense shout of soldiers & people through which Louis Napoleon rode on horseback under our windows .. the long living shout, sweeping from the Carrousel to the Arc de l’etoile, and triumphing, as a living thing should, over the triumph of the military music .. these things are indescribable like an electric shock, & thrilling to you much the same. Certainly I would not have missed them for anything; though one could not escape afterwards from the painful emotion of the situation– On thursday night, for instance, after straining one’s eyes & ears at the rumbling cannons, gallopped by in the dusk in answer to the distant signals of the trumpets, and after setting one’self down to listen dreadfully to the rounds of distinct firing, it was impossible to go to bed as usual, as you may suppose. I put on my dressing gown & sate up sadly with Robert who had some writing to do, in the drawingroom till one in the morning– But there was no sort of room for personal fear—it never even occurred to me. Thursday was the only day on which there was any fighting to signify, & upon that day Wiedeman was taken out of doors as usual .. only not far from the house; we took that degree of precaution. One thing was clear to me from the beginning, that the sympathy of the people of Paris went fully with the President. To judge by our own tradepeople & their retainers, wine-merchant water-carrier, milk-bringer, poulterer, baker, & the rest, .. yes, our very cuisiniere [4] & concierge were full of sympathy & exaltation. “Ah Madame—c’est le vrai neveu de son oncle! il est admirable.” [5] A woman came from the barricades during the fighting, to this house– “Mais vous avez donc le diable au corps vous autres,” said to her our little vivacious cuisinière, “pour vouloir combattre ainsi le neveu de l’empereur.” [6] “Ah” .. she answered .. “you think that Napoleon will give you everything—but we dont trust him. We dont want an emperor, nor a King, nor a house of assembly neither! We want to have money, & to govern ourselves–” “Mais, ma chere, c’est bête, ce que vous dites là.” [7]
But now you ask for my impressions about the right & wrong of this matter,—& I will tell you, all the more sincerely, that I have been exercised to sincerity in relation to it, Robert & I having had various domestic émeutes on the subject. From the first moment, down to this last when my convictions have strengthened themselves, I have believed that nothing better could have been done for France than what has been done .. and that a Washington might have done it, and would, under the circumstances, if he had the necessary intellect. This is my opinion. At the same time, I profess no faith in Louis Napoleon as a pure patriot & political moralist—he may be pure or impure, for aught that I know on either side—he may do well or he may do ill .. he may deserve to be blessed or cursed by us all, this day three months. But that he was justified in not holding pedantically to an impossible constitution & an impracticable assembly .. that he was not bound to choke France into mortal convulsions, through keeping the husk of an oath—nor to tread upon a living people through a strained reverence for the formalism of an unrepresenting Chamber .. this I believe & maintain, & this, France itself believes & maintains, which is a matter of more consequence. Certainly he broke the letter of an oath—but so did Lamartine & the civic heroes of –48—& the world clapped its hands. So did the civic heroes of –30—and the world clapped its hands. Why are the necessary conditions of every revolution inadmissable in this case only? Then the position was altogether wheel-locked. We all knew that something was coming– Robert said, a fortnight before it happened, that “he felt it in the air.” The question with everybody was, “how will this end?”– Of course that it should end so, has thrown all the extinguished parties, (all ablaze with hope a moment before) into agonies of rage, & we who live in the midst of them, can scarcely describe to those who do not, the sort of gnashing of teeth & wild-beast-roaring which we hear on all sides. From our position, we have got to know a good deal of the ex-journalists .. of the National & Presse, for instance [8] —good heavens! how they roar & writhe! I heard the old Napoleon called “un scelerat atroce” in this room a few evenings since, & all his marshalls & their families “des coquins infames,” & the empire itself, “le regne de Satan.” [9] Indeed there is a great deal too much foam through these black beards, for distinct articulation. I ventured to ask what could have been done, if there had been no iniquitous coup d’etat—(for, observe, nobody defends the assembly, everybody of every party admitting that the assembly was out of sympathy with the people)—when a moderate suggested that Lamartine might have done something. But Lamartine, as a dear friend of his admitted an hour before, “stands quite alone,” being by no means as “fort” [10] nor as much “on a level with the times,” as he was in 48, & the parties all recoiling from him.
It is curious to me how these democratical partymen, who have been professedly living & dying by the ‘universal suffrage’ flag, now delight in talking of the “intelligent minority,” and of “the minority which is France.” Their abuse of the “masses” keeps pace, I assure you, with their abuse of the president. The agriculturists are “des animaux,” the bourgeoisie, “des hommes sans conscience,” the capitalists, “des hommes sans cœur,” [11] while I hear that poor Lamennais exhales his private wrath by declaring that the “whole people is putrified at heart.”
But no, no– Do not let us judge so, we who are not in the dust of the circus, but can see from a higher & quieter position. There is one tradition still dear to France,—it is the name of Napoleon. What wonder that she should roll herself in the banner of the loved colour, in this mortal confusion of many banners, & when it is associated with the possibilities of repose & material prosperity? The people is a noble people: they are not thinking of the sale of their birthrights, be very sure. But they love, and they fear. They love the name “Napoleon”—a word, you will say!—but the ‘sentiment’ of a people if it referred only to the shade of a word, the rap of a fact, would still be a great thing. They fear social chaos, & the socialistic societies—an exaggerated fear, perhaps! but natural, under the circumstances, to the very instincts of national life. Such a fear has been at the roots of all the repressive policy since 48. Give security to this people, & they will take liberty themselves– Louis Napoleon is in a magnificent position at this moment—and if he does not abuse it, he will stand– If he should attempt despotism, he will not stand—and my hope is (rather in his ability, you see, than in his virtue) that he will not therefore attempt it. He has the Buonaparte blood to the end of his finger-nails. The prompt & complete combination of the ‘coup,’ was a proof of undeniable intellect .. of the sort of intellect that rules. As to the stuff talked (chiefly by English) of ‘military despotism,’ [12] why the thing is impossible—the army is bound heart to heart to the people in France—flesh of its flesh– We know Orleanists & Legitimists too—all in despair, of course, & various states of frenzy. One Orleanist lady is under the delusion that the barricades were only three inches high, & that the cannonading was purely for Louis Napoleon’s private amusement. Yet a clever woman really! [13] We are speaking of hallucinations. Dont let those of the Times newspaper deceive you. The myths on the other side of the channel seem to be of the most Titanic order of mythology. The English never understand the French in the first place .. that’s a matter of course.
Robert & I do not agree on this subject with our usual harmony, I must confess to you. I expect him to come round in time, & perhaps he expects the same of me. Of course I could only tell you (as I was writing), my own impressions & not his. He sympathizes with some of the fallen, though not, when you come to examine him, with the assembly. He always hated the Buonapartists, & expects no good out of such a “galére.” [14]
And if you enquire into Wiedeman’s opinion on the revolution, he will say for himself “Buono, buono.” [15] He was in a state of ecstacy those three days when we saw so much military “grand spectacle.” (Now it has all vanished, & Paris is as gay & free from the click of musketry, & as crowded on the boulevards with the fair of the “jour de l’an” [16] as you could hope to see it–) Wiedeman has been taught by our Napoleonic cuisiniére to cry “Viva Peone,” which she accepts for the intention of “vive-Napoleon” though it does’nt sound very french, & which he shouted yesterday in at the president’s carriage-window. Wiedeman told me when he came home that he had seen “Peone,” but (shaking his head) Peone had’nt a “penna vass” .. (rossa). [17] Alas for ideals! When they turn into actuals they are all apt to want the red feather—are they not?
The child speaks chiefly Italian still, as in duty bound, but his talk is very composite, & both English & french enter into it. For instance he talks of “uno apeau” (un chapeau) [18] & says “Lis non buono,” for ‘This is not good’. The mixture of tongues combined with the extraordinary mispronunciations, together with an active vocation for talking & determination of being understood against nature, occasions amazing difficulties to us all. I puzzle my brain & make out what he means, sometimes, just as if he were Proclus [19] instead of Peninni, which is the quaint name he calls himself by .. never using a pronoun. He is invited to a grand Christmas tree & party on new year’s eve, where there are to be thirty children & where Eugene Sue would have been invited (.. “only,” said the lady of the house, [20] “he is such a scamp” ..) & Robert & I have had a wrestle about it, he taking the sensible side of course, & maintaining that Wiedeman is far too young for Christmas carouses, but generously yielding the point to my preeminent foolishness– So Wilson is to take the child for half an hour .. just to please him & me .. and I have had the extravagance to buy him a black velvet frock for the occasion at thirteen francs the yard (a yard & three quarters make the frock) with blue ribbons at the shoulders & blue shoes, & I charm myself with thinking how very pretty he will look. He grows prettier, it seems to me—his hair hangs in golden ringlets all over his head, so thickly & glossily, that people insult us by maintaining that we must put it in papers—“hair does’nt curl naturally that way”– The scissors have never touched it yet, & Robert has come over to my theory now, seeing that it grows thick without any manner of cutting. He is very much admired when he walks out, & Wilson makes oath to his leading all the child-fashions in the arrondissement. What pleases me most however (next always to his goodness & sweetness, little angel!) is the sight of his red cheeks & round, firm limbs. Paris agrees with him superbly. I told him the other day that Papa thought him “troppo picino” [21] to go to the Xmas party. “No, no, mamma,” said he .. “he was very large indeed” .. stretching out his arms at full length & roaring like a lion .. (which is his way of expressing size) .. and then suddenly pulling up his petticoats quite round his waist, to show what enormous legs he had. We often talk together of the dear [‘]‘tre bambini.” [22] Your children are always forward, I think, in language. Remember how Alexander proposed “going to school,” as you wrote to me at Siena, before he was two years old. Does Marcia mix up the two languages? As to Louisa she must be getting on fast indeed. Give her, or rather all three of them, kisses & loves from me & say that I never forget them–
Robert is charmed with Paris, & I dont very much wonder,—particularly as he is popular & receives all sorts of kindness & attention. Also, though we live here most comfortably, we spend no more .. perhaps rather less .. than in Florence. This will surprise you. Even the fuel, which is the dearest thing, is not dearer than we found it there. As to the social advantages, they are obvious & facile of access & peculiarly inexpensive in the mode. The climate sets me longing sometimes for Italy .. but it is tenable, & we are in the very warmest house I ever lived in. In November we shared in the universally cold weather—then we had a very mild interregnum & I was able to go in a carriage with Robert on the 8th of December, [23] to examine the field of battle on the boulevards & count the cannon-holes & windows dashed in. Last week came three days of a mixed frost & fog which brought back my cough with fury & took away my voice– I cant speak above my breath even now. But we very seldom have fog—it’s better than England, be sure.
The Peytons are the cream of the milk of good kind people: & my cousin, [24] whom you saw, is as amiable as she is pretty. She is my first cousin. Warmest regards from Robert & myself to dear Mr Ogilvy– Dear friend,
your ever affete EBB
I see in an advertisement that you have been “peeping into Savings Banks.”! [25] Dont treat me as I deserve by not writing. Here are three letters in one I think. Rumour says that the president will have offered to him the imperial dignity at the Hotel de ville next friday. A mere rumour perhaps. So sorry we are to hear of Mr Stuart’s illness. I have been wishing to write to him to thank him for the excesses of his kindness to me in reviews [26] .. I will write soon.
Address: A Madame / Madame Ogilvy / Poste Restante / Florence / Toscane.
Publication: EBB-EAHO, pp. 57–65.
Manuscript: Eton College Library.
1. Year provided by postmark.
2. Unidentified.
4. “Cook.”
5. “Ah Madame—he is the true nephew of his uncle! he is admirable.”
6. “But you people must have the devil in your hearts … to want to fight so against the nephew of the emperor.”
7. “But, my dear, what you say is stupid.”
9. “An atrocious scoundrel … & all his marshalls & their families infamous rascals, & the empire itself, the kingdom of Satan.”
10. “Strong.”
11. “Animals, the bourgeoisie, men without conscience, the capitalists, men without a heart.”
13. Madame Mohl; see the sixth paragraph in letter 2991.
14. “Galley.” Cf. Molière, Les Fourberies de Scapin, II, vii.
15. “Good, good.”
16. “New year’s day.”
17. “White feather .. (red).” In letter 2982, EBB explains that Pen uses “vass” to indicate colour; in this instance, red.
18. “A hat.”
19. A Neoplatonist writer who died in 485 A.D.
20. Sarah Mary Fitton.
21. “Too tiny.”
22. “Three children.”
23. Sic, for 6 December, as reported in letters 2981, 2982, and 2987.
24. Arlette Reynolds.
25. An article by Mrs. Ogilvy entitled “A Peep Into the Office of a Savings’ Bank” was published in the December 1851 issue of The Ladies’ Companion, pp. 234–238.
26. James Montgomery Stuart had reviewed Casa Guidi Windows in the Revista Britannica of June 1851 (pp. 283–285) and in the Scritti Inglesi Sulla Politica Contemporanea, November 1851 (pp. 237–277). For the full text of these reviews, see p. 305 and pp. 339–351.
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