SD2578. Sarianna Browning to Joseph Milsand
Published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 30, 346–347 (in part).
19, Warwick Crescent.
Harrow Road.
London.
May. 21st [1862] [1]
My dear Mr Milsand,
In spite of my good intentions I could not find time to write to you yesterday, but I do so this morning the first thing. I travelled very pleasantly on Monday; the weather was delightful,—the sea so calm that even I felt quite comfortable. Mr Gurney and a lady accompanied me and we made a very cheerful party– I will speak the honest truth about my first impressions. England struck me as looking so beautiful that I felt quite grateful to her,—for the sky was bright and sunny, the air warm, the rich yellow green grass between hawthorn hedges in full bloom, mixed with golden gorse, made a lovely picture, and I pointed it out triumphantly to my companions,—as the train rushed on towards Croydon I remarked reluctantly to my neighbours that “the air was getting hazy”—there was no denying it at Sydenham, and when we reached London it was simply hideous. Our great city seemed ugliness personified. Robert met me at the Station, and though we reached London Bridge at a little past six, it was past eight before we reached home. He is looking better,—has a beautiful house beautifully furnished (except the drawing rooms, for which he is waiting for some furniture of his from Florence) in a very good situation, particularly healthy, his house being on a level with the top of St Paul’s. The Paddington canal runs (or stands still rather) before the house. Pen is learning to row, and hires a boat and a waterman to teach him, every morning before breakfast. He is in blooming health, and a dear good boy. Robert’s establishment consists only of a cook and a small page. I think he will be as comfortable as he can ever now be. The place is very quiet. Robert hopes you will visit London this year, and of course make his house your home—you shall have this spare bedroom which I am now occupying. Robert goes out a great deal into society. The distances in this overgrown place are dreadful. We spent several hours yesterday in calling on only a few friends, and how I shall ever get through the whole number I don’t know.
I passed yesterday evening at Miss Barrett’s. Robert dined out. She looks wretchedly ill, poor thing: thin, wasted and pale, she grows singularly like dear Ba, but looks far weaker, more painfully ill, than ever I saw Ba looking. The young widower, her brother, was there—a remarkably handsome, strong, powerful young man—such a contrast! The brother whom you have seen, Henry, has just got a little boy. Pen, the only one of us who has seen the exhibition, says it is very beautiful, inside be it understood. I shall go some day, but business first and the exhibition afterwards. I understand how people grow apparently selfish and rude in London.
Next Saturday Robert attends the funeral of the poor lady, (the Honble Mrs Twisselton [sic]) of whose illness he was telling us in Paris; the poor husband wrote himself this morning to invite him. This evening I am going to Miss Blagden’s. I shall be glad to see her.
Pen is longing as much to go to the sea-side with Willy as Willy is longing to go with him; and therefore as Mrs Bracken has fixed and resolved upon St Valéry en Caux, no doubt we shall take our flight thitherward.
I suppose you are back again at Dijon and I hope all the better for your stay in the country. I am called away by cook’s solemn request that “when perfectly convenient” I would take her inventory of the household linen, so I may as well do it at once. I wish the visiting was as easily disposed of–
Good bye for the present. Write to me. Robert’s very best love, and Pen’s too.
Very affly yours,
S. Browning.
There is a very pretty view from the balcony, and Pen is taking a sketch of it—his water-colour drawings are really very clever, & his mistress is quite proud of him.
Address: Monsieur / Milsand / Dijon / Côte d’Or. / France.
Publication: None traced.
Manuscript: Armstrong Browning Library, Joseph Milsand Archive.
1. Year provided by postmark.
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