3019. EBB to Arabella Moulton-Barrett
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 18, 56–60.
138. Avenue des Ch. Elysées.
Friday– [Postmark: 5 March 1852]
Here’s a right down hail of letters, enough to kill all the fruits of your purse, Arabel! My dearest Arabel, you will wonder what I want to write about today. The truth is I’m ashamed of myself. Uncle Hedley commissioned me, a fortnight since, to speak to you people of Wimpole Street, about a parcel, which was to arrive there from Devonshire to his address, & which you were to pay the expenses of, & take care of until you had further directions. I said “Yes, I will remember, when I write” .. & lo, I have written again & again, & never once thought of this duty. He said yesterday to me “Did you remember my commission”? I was utterly ashamed of myself as I well might. So I send you a letter today in order to repair the omission of other days.
Dearest dear Arabel, I did’nt go after all to see George Sand’s play. Very disappointed I was, but still to have risked one’s life in such a cause, was not exactly desireable even to me,—and the day, with all its sunshine, turned out too cold—& I gave it up with extraordinary magnanimity, & made Robert go & take our friend Mrs Stretfield in my place. Did I ever write to you of Mrs Stretfield? She was a Miss Cookson .. the cousin of the Miss Cookson whom Richard Butler married. [1] She lost her husband rather less than a year ago,—has five children .. the youngest not two years old. [2] Aunt Jane introduced her to us by her own desire—and a more graceful, winning creature, & fuller of intelligence, it would be hard to find. I took a great liking to her for the sake of her countenance, from the first. The face has both prettiness & goodness in it .. but grace & high breeding are the great characteristics of face & person. I believe she likes us .. but Robert is a special favorite .. most special, I assure you—also she knows more of him, through having met him often in society– She & Miss Shore passed the evening here with M. Milsand last tuesday, … & then it was agreed that she should go in my place to see George Sand’s play, if I could’nt go.
The play turned out to be very successful, & the author’s name was proclaimed afterwards to bursts of applause. It was only a “petite piece,” a light comedy, with very touching things in it .. and as pure, “from the first word to the last,” Robert says, as if washed in water. Children might have acted it. We are going today to pay her another visit—that is, I am going if the wind will let me. The sun is brilliant .. almost like a Florence sun, .. & Wilson was declaring the other day that she must make use of a parasol for the future: but the air is cold .. & I would rather not have gone out under ordinary circumstances. We must see– We have heard some particulars about her. It appears that she was always famous for being perfectly incapable of “receiving,” like other women .. she was always considered shy & awkward, not knowing what to say or how to look, & letting people come & go as they chose, without helping them with any ordinary courtesy– I am sure she meant to be extremely kind to us .. & for my part, I can sympathize with her position .. & can even understand how a certain amount of kicks & buffets from the bad world, may be calculated to induce that colouring of a gentle scorn, which was what I observed in her.
While I remember to tell you, let me tell you that I applied to Madame Mohl about dear Mary Hunter, & that she promised to sound all the protestant families of her acquaintance. I have great hopes of attaining to something for Mary [3] —because a knowledge of the English language & literature is much coveted by the French for their children just now,—and, as we will not strain for a large salary, I cant help believing that success will be possible to us. So delighted I should be to do something for her, .. dear Mary! It would be an advantage to her to come here, on account of getting the language .. I mean, of getting to speak it well & fluently. Tell me whatever further you hear of her and her father.
Did I tell you, I wonder, that M. Milsand always spends tuesday evening with us? Arabel, Robert & I really love him—there’s no other word for it. Such a deep, active, conscientious intellect, .. such simplicity & honesty in giving you its results .. such sensibility & delicacy in the man altogether! Arabel, I would let him marry you, I assure you—& that’s a compliment of the highest. I never saw in a human being, more reverence for the truth, .. more patience in seeking truth, & more ste[a]dfastness in holding by it. We value him deeply. I would trust that man in any contingency of life, & Robert says he feels just as I do. M. Milsand & I disagree notwithstanding on some points .. & one of them, do you know, is .. George Sand. He admires her genius, but even that, I think, with drawbacks—it is the character of his mind, you see, to attach itself rather to manifestations of pure intellect, than of passion, .. and he cant tolerate certain errors of conduct .. the want of self-controul, he sets down as weakness, & despises accordingly. I like him for his truth, whether he agrees with me, or disagrees.
We are waiting still for Lady Elgin, who is not well, & who thanked Robert so for waiting for her & not going to Lamartine with another person, that we cant help waiting on. It’s vexatious though—for we are told that Lamartine wonders he does not see us, & is good enough to desire it. Lady Elgin is to take us besides to Thierry, the blind historian.
Our darling Wiedeman continues much better—indeed we have left off his Bella donna powders for the last two nights, & the affections in the morning are notwithstanding so very slight & momentary that you would observe nothing if you were not watching anxiously. He has been once or twice to Lady Torrens’s again,—& they all think him looking much better than before his illness .. that is, with a clearer complexion, & fatter. I am sure you would consider him improved in all ways since he was in England. Wilson walks him away from the Punches still, & into the country, when it is warm enough. There are four stationary Punches which live in the Champs Elysées, & were the delight of his little soul, poor darling– You can stand to see them for nothing; & for a sous, you have a front seat, raised up .. & there’s a good deal of variety in the representations, which are superior to what you have in London. About a fortnight before Wiedeman’s first symptoms, he was so enchanted with a dinner scene, in which a bottle of wine was overset, that he screamed with laughter, & was very nearly being carried away by Wilson in the middle. He could’nt get that out of his head for days, & was constantly describing to us poor Punch’s consternation—“no diner, Punch—no vino, Punch,” .. throwing himself back in fits of laughter. It was all far too exciting—& we must be wiser now—though it grieves me to interfere with his little amusements– He has these symptoms regularly every morning—(you know it is the characteristic of all such affections to return periodically) but its just for a moment, & more & more slightly– He does’nt fix his eyes now .. there’s only the thrill. Robert asked Miss Fitton what Dr Macarthy said of the child (Dr M. is an intimate friend of hers)—& she answered, that he called it “a slight tendency to convulsion, but of no importance whatever.”
You will be glad to hear, beloved Arabel, that the Brownings have taken that house at Bayswater for a year [4] .. that house, which Mr Kenyon recommended. They say that they can give us two rooms—but I should think, with a difficulty & inconvenience which we ought not to allow of. Who knows but what we may be in England again this summer? who knows? Not I—yet. Only I have hopes, Arabel.
I envy Henrietta & I envy you, for certain reasons. Do you both love me, putting your loves together. I expect to have a true & particular account .. a real Daguer[r]eotype .. of Altham & her, from you—& of you from her. [5]
We often see M. Carré, the Newman street church-man, attached to the Paris “eglise catholique.” [6] He often comes & talks to us for an hour or two at a time—but I will tell you– There’s no time today– Oh Arabel– Mr Owen said when he was here, “Take care of making an idol of that child[.]” Just afterwards he was taken ill & the word seemed to lie like a <ch>ill on my heart. God have mercy on us all—& keep us from idols & the agony that comes with them– Love to dear Trippy, Henrietta & all of you at home– Darlingest Arabel, your very own Ba–
Poor Miss Bailey has lost her brother. [7]
Let me hear of Mrs Orme—& of Mrs Jones. Dont forget–
Wiedeman says he is going in the carriage to see a “poeta”—“Torge And.” [8] He says it so prettily! He has a new song about “la zia Patella.” [9]
Address: Angleterre / Miss Barrett / 50. Wimpole Street / London.
Publication: EBB-AB, I, 472–476.
Manuscript: Berg Collection.
1. EBB’s cousin Richard Pierce Butler (1813–62) had married in 1835 Matilda Cookson (1814–93), youngest daughter of Thomas Cookson (1779–1863) and his wife Elizabeth (née Selby, 1788–1868). Thomas Cookson was a younger brother of Mrs. Streatfeild’s father.
2. Sarah Jane Streatfeild (née Cookson, 1821–67) and her husband Sydney Robert Streatfeild (1808–51), who died the previous May, had five children, though one had not survived. They were: Sidney Richard (1841–77), Herbert Philip (1842–63), Emily Gertrude (1844–46), Ernest Cecil (1847–81), and Sara Marie (1850–1909). For details of Mrs. Streatfeild’s friendship with the Brownings, see the biographical sketch, pp. 353–356.
3. Evidently nothing came of EBB’s attempts to help Mary Hunter at this time. In letter 3159 EBB tells Arabella: “I thought I had got something for her in Paris, but it would not do—we must wait.”
4. Later in the month Sarianna and her father removed from New Cross to 28 Chepstow Place, Bayswater.
5. i.e., drawn from their time spent together. The Cooks stayed in London at nearby 15 Bentinck Street, not far from 50 Wimpole Street, between 3 March and 24 April 1852 (see Surtees, 3 March and 24 April 1852).
6. “Catholic church.”
7. Robert Riddell Bayley (1791–1852), Sarah Bayley’s younger brother, died on 29 February 1852 in London. The Times, reporting his death in the 2 March 1852 issue, gave his residences as “No. 4, Basinghall-street, and Mitchett-lodge, Frimley, Surrey.”
8. i.e., George Sand.
9. “Aunt Arabella.”
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