SD2433. Henrietta Darley to Joseph Milsand
Published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 28, 365 (in part).
7 Kildare Street
Feby 5th 1861.
Dear Mr Milsand
Your letter was very welcome, and I was so pleased that you did not make any excuses for your silence, none were needed, and had you done so, it would have only set me thinking how little claim I have on your time, even for an occasional letter, and made me painfully conscious of the audacity of my request, but, as I said your letter was very welcome when it came—I enjoyed hearing of your summer travels, your visit to Hâvre where you met with such a stormy welcome, and to Dieppe, where I am sure you must have been happy with your friends the Brownings. Was it not Miss Browning who gave her nephew a boat, which he had placed near his bedside? And on awaking in the morning the little fellow cried out “Oh Auntie, I have seen the shadow of my boat.” I remember you told me this in Paris–
But above all, I like to hear you talk of your visits to your Mother, and of the “charmant petit circle” which surrounds you in your home, you say “les descriptions n’ont guère de valeur que pour ceux qui ont vu les lieux” with me it is otherwise, I can interest myself in people I have never seen, and from fragmentary knowledge I can realise scenes I may never look on—people I may never know and, in a way I love these visionary nurslings of my fancy the better for their vagueness—so, I have formed quite a picture of your Mother and her entourage as from time to time you have spoken to me of her, and if you will again tell me of your home and its interests, remember I will always care to listen, it is true I am not one of the “initiés” but our Shakespeare says “one touch of nature makes the whole world true.”
I was greatly interested in what you said of nature & the love of it. Yet don’t you think that the love which comes from suffering, or as you write “qui vient qrand on est fatigué des hommes” is as real as the more abstract love of nature which I suppose is born with all? I mean that I always fancy nature has peculiar tendernesses for those who seek her as a refuge, that there is in some way an atoning kindness about her, and so with music, I believe that there are sub-harmonies—undertones which the very happy don’t need, & therefore cannot hear–
You will wish to know something about our dear friend Mrs Magee and I have good news to tell you of her. I spent an hour with Mary yesterday, Mrs Magee had been taking her warm bath and was resting. Mary looked radiant as she told me of the improvement in her mother, sleep, appetite and spirits—she had even been equal to a little gaiety, & had gone to a concert the evening before. I know how glad you will be to hear this, as glad as I am to tell it to you–
We remained in the country much longer than we had intended; the fire of the Kildare Lt Club delayed the painting of our house, but did not materially injure it. We have now been a month here, yet the house has hardly got the dear old home look, it is delightfully fresh & clean, & the papers & painting we have chosen for it harmonise perfectly. When we are settled we shall be most comfortable—will you ever come & see us then I wonder?
We enjoyed our long visit to Howth which we did not leave until the 30th December,—the population there is migratory—like the swallows they flit with the fine weather & we were the last visitors who remained on the Hill, but we enjoyed our loneliness, with books & our piano ennui never crossed one threshold, & there the sea near us with its “countless smiles” perpetually charming us. We had snow before Christmas, & for one fortnight our little promontory was wrapped in its white mantle—it was delicious weather, so still, that far off sounds came as near & we could hear the beating of the waves on the rocks miles away. The sunsets were very fine in this clear, cold weather, the sun beat down amid a host of rosy cloudlets, which recalled to me those little angelets surrounding the Virgin in Murillo’s great picture at the Louvre—one morning the thaw came, our white world melted from before our eyes, and the whole hill became musical with the murmur of streamlets, born suddenly.
—We two like you have been reading Ruskin this autumn, & have finished his 5th vol: of modern painters—what a charm there is in all he says! even though you cannot always agree with him. He will never “do the good” he desires, but I like his noble persistance in uttering what to him is the truth–
Mr Allingham I have not seen for some time; he lives in the north of Ireland and only comes to town occasionally. I suppose he did not visit Paris this autumn, had he gone he would certainly have called on you– I have been interrupted in this letter & now resume it after a few days, meantime, I was spending an Evening with the Magees. Mrs Magee had recieved your letter, telling of the death of her friend Miss Hamerton, she seemed to feel it much, it was a release from suffering she told me, yet she grieved for her kind old friend—she was looking much stronger, and the improvement in her health continues. Mary introduced me to you among her photographs, I was very glad to see you there, & would gladly have welcomed you among our friends too–
I was very sorry to hear of Mrs Brownings loss, and wish for all our sakes care or sorrow never came near her– I hope you have better accounts of her– Many thanks for your kind office to find a pension for us– Mrs Magee tells me you know of a model one—we have hushed our hopes to rest for the present, but we look forward to some bright day when we may visit Paris. I suppose in the pension you speak of we could have a private sitting room—where we might retire when not disposed to be gregarious. Mamma & my sisters desire these kind remembrances to you—& join with me in wishing you every happiness for the year on which we have entered. Believe me, very sincerely yours–
Henrietta Darley
Publication: None traced.
Manuscript: Armstrong Browning Library, Joseph Milsand Archive.
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