5225. RB to Isa Blagden
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 30, 244–247.
19. Warwick Crescent, Upper Westbourne Terrace, W
May 19. ’63
My dearest Isa,
I got your last note yesterday night—the former, in due course: Miss Heaton is in town, & I will try & see her presently & enclose her answer in this note. I will give Mrs Stallybrass [1] a small photograph, such as I give friends, if she will let me know where to send it—or I may even enclose it also. I feel guilty, though not without excuse, about the calling at Mrs Alexander’s: I understood from you,—indeed your words were,—“that she would leave town at the end of the month—(April)”: and it was in my hopes to send you, not only the book, [2] but the drawing,—of which a photograph was nearly ready– [3] I thought that any day before the real end would be time enough,—& do believe I was quite punished enough for my misconception by finding that Mrs A. had left a week before that—the servant could not say whether she was at Stone House or no: I did not know that W. B [4] was in Town, and never thought of leaving the parcel: the photograph was not ready after all, though I shall have it to-morrow or next day. I met afterwards Giudici who kindly offered to take it for me—but for the same reason I delayed: you shall have it by the first opportunity. Next season, if we live, Mrs A. & “Ellen” [5] shall have exactly as much of my poor “calls” as they please– I liked Mrs A. very much & felt her kindness: as for W. B. he is made up of that commodity, too much indeed, for he wants the proper alloy which should stiffen the gold in him & keep him from bumps & bruises.
Now begins my writing or speaking, business done—dearest Isa, I love you with all my heart & am vexed indeed that you should be vexed: yet I wonder at you– I thought you knew the trick of the superfine “Saturday,” which I saw through long ago: you don’t suppose they ever want to do anything but look fine themselves at everybody’s expense,—what good would they get from honestly putting all the good of your book prominently forward, [6] —animadverting, if you please,—on any blemishes, but doing justice on the whole to the real worth there? All they hope for is that people will never think of the book but as the text whence they preached so clever a sermon. I read the article at the Club, [7] thought it poor & ungenerous enough—but you are a woman doing her best & they enjoy putting down such impertinence as that. Chapman remarked, as you do, that it must be some “friend” in a pet: I don’t think so,—or, at least, that it needs be so. But don’t mind them—how young you must be, in the craft, to mind what one forgets in a week!– When I next see Chapman I will ask about <the> sale as you desire: he certainly told me at the beginning that the sale was good; an<d no> adverse criticism, that I hear of, has appeared till now,—when I should think the h<ouses> are supplied. But, sale much or little, go on & do your best & so be revenged on all spite & stupidity! Or, if you can take comfort from a greater injustice, indeed one of the greatest I remember, think of the Academy’s rejecting from a place among its thousand protégés that picture by Mr Brett, & another probably as fine! I could not believe my eyes, at first, when on looking into the Catalogue I found no mention of it. I wrote a few words of sympathy which he was good enough to be pleased with: [8] and the universal feeling of disgust is so strong that I really believe he will be the gainer in the end by this miserable piece of malice or whatever it is. Here you see, however, the exercise of “fair criticism”, as I wrote to Cottrell last week: the three judges will answer us all by simply lamenting that tastes differ, that what we like in Mr Brett they dislike, that no work is without its faults &c[.]
Cottrell wrote to me at last—a week ago: I have never had any doubt as to his kindness, & good intentions: he has undertaken the matter, [9] —which I studiously forbore to desire: he has voluntarily done so, however,—and as I, in regard to his feelings, in which I believe & for which am grateful, allow the superintendence to continue his—I do trust he will as scrupulously respect mine. With respect to the missing Cassa, [10] —I have my answer at last in these precise words “I am sorry to say I cannot find your box, it must have been stolen.” That’s all: I wonder whether such an account is more satisfactory to M. de Fauveau [11] than to me[.] I shall write to Brini and try & see if the Packer can give any information on hope of a good reward—if I had but done so at first! Or, if I had asked you! I don’t care about my pictures & other things—but have nervous apprehensions about papers & letters and all that was so hastily packed away in that miserable time: even then, I was anxious for their safety.
Well, to forget it, Pen is thriving & doing well—he grows, & is so strong: the poor little pony is a source of real sorrow to me,—he is at his prime, not six yet,—fuller than ever of spirit & so pretty,—but so small now that the season must be his last with Pen: of course I shall never sell him, but care for his comfort to the last: where shall I ever find such a trusty little brute? Pen is increasingly fond of riding, figures every day in Rotten Row, [12] and only yesterday somebody wrote to me saying how much his horsemanship was noticed,—for the little thing leaps & capers & shows off. We go to Ella’s [13] concerts, & Halle’s, [14] & though there is too little practising, his general taste & intelligence in music improve. [15] I am glad you are going to have Miss Stebbins: [16] give her my kind remembrances, if you please: would she like to receive a photograph? If so, I will send one next time. What do you do in the sum<m>er? Tell me all about it: how I yearn, yearn for Italy at the end of my life! I wholly <agree> with you about Kinglake’s book. [17] Give my true love to all old friends—the Trollopes, Mignatys, & so on: how is Made Tassinari?—you don’t tell me. I think I will go now & see about your business with Miss H: having to go elsewhere after: to-morrow I take Pen privately to the Derby,—go to a friend’s cottage at Epsom by a private way. Pen’s best love to you. All my memories, all my love are yours ever, dearest! God bless you–
RB.
May 21st I have waited to post this till I could have Miss H’s answer: she sends the enclosed small photogr. for Mrs S’s acceptance—but says (very kindly & anxiously to oblige) that she fears she has no right to do what may endanger the artist’s copyright. [18] There is no other objection. Probably this small one will be better than a reflexion of the other: I send the last one also.
I met Sir Edw. Lytton the other day at dinner—he invited me, Pen, & the Tutor(!) [19] to Knebworth for the Whitsun holidays—really pressed it: but I would not go & spend a week with the Angel Gabriel at his country seat. Oh, the bitter English weather, moreover! Read the account of yesterday’s “Derby” [20] to which I took Pen—privately, by going to a friend’s house close by the course.
Ever yours affy.
RB.
Address: Italie, Toscane. / Mademoiselle Blagden, / Poste Restante, / Florence.
Publication: DI, pp. 162–166.
Manuscript: Armstrong Browning Library.
1. Unidentified
2. The Greek Christian Poets and the English Poets.
3. The photograph of the Artaud drawing of EBB’s head (see letter 5206, notes 13, 14, and 15).
4. William Bracken.
5. Ellen Louisa Alexander (1816–94), fifth daughter of Josias Du Pré Alexander (1771–1839) and his wife, Mary (née Bracken, 1790–1867). Ellen and Isa were first cousins.
6. RB refers to a notice of Isa’s The Cost of a Secret in The Saturday Review of 18 April 1863 (pp. 509–510), which was not kind. The reviewer wrote: “One’s most abiding impression on laying the book down is that of hollowness and unreality. It is impossible to believe that a woman of education and intelligence can feel any satisfaction in looking back over a task like this.”
7. The Athenæum Club.
9. The erection of the monument over EBB’s grave.
10. “Case.”
11. Alexandre Hippolyte de Fauveau (b. 1803?), younger brother of the sculptress.
12. A broad riding path in Hyde Park. According to Ben Weinreb and Christopher Hibbert, the path takes it name from the “route du roi,” which ran from Kensington Palace to St. James’s (see The London Encyclopædia, 1983, p. 401).
13. John Ella (1802–88), violinist and conductor, was director of the Musical Union, which presented at St. James’s Hall, Piccadilly, an “annual series … of eight afternoon concerts given during the season [May to July]” (ODNB). An advertisement for the concert of May 12th ran in The Morning Post (7 May 1863, p. 1) and listed chamber works by Beethoven, Schumann, and Mendelssohn, the featured pianist being Alfred Jaëll (1832–82).
14. Charles Hallé (1819–95)—see letter 3590, note 1—was giving a series of piano recitals during the season at St. James’s Hall. The first of these, on May 15th, was covered by The Morning Post of the following day: “It is the intention of the eminent pianist to introduce … specimens of all schools and periods of pianoforte music … Thus on the present occasion we had specimens of Beethoven, Sebastian Bach, Mozart, Weber, Schubert, Chopin, and Mendelssohn, all highly interesting, and played, we need scarcely add, in most masterly style by the concert-giver” (p. 6).
15. i.e., Pen’s.
16. Emma Stebbins (1815–82), American sculptor, residing at Rome with Charlotte Cushman (1816–76).
17. The first two volumes of The Invasion of the Crimea (8 vols., Edinburgh and London, 1863–87) by Alexander William Kinglake (1809–91); see letter 3519, note 12. The work, published by William Blackwood and Sons on 17 January 1863, was originally projected to be four volumes.
18. Presumably, this refers to a photograph of Field Talfourd’s 1859 portrait of EBB in colored chalk. The original work is reproduced as the frontispiece to vol. 26. The portrait was commissioned by Ellen Heaton.
19. George Knox Gillespie.
20. An account of The Derby, held on 20 May 1863 at Epsom Downs, appeared in the next day's Times (p. 11) and included frequent references to the foul weather: “Yesterday was most emphatically a bad day for both races—the Derby and the human. … It rained … not by fits and starts, with fine but delusive intervals between, but with a steady monotonous downpour of fine cold wet, as if the weather was determined to do its work slowly, but to do it well.” The winner was Macaroni by a head over the favorite, Lord Clifden.
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