SD2600. Sarianna Browning to Joseph Milsand
Published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 30, 350–351 (in part).
Chez M. Laraison.
Maire de Ste Marie.
près Pornic.
Loire Inférieure.
Sept. 3rd [1862] [1]
My dear Mr Milsand,
Your letter, dated Saturday, did not reach me till Tuesday; so you see how slowly the post travels in this primitive land– Though only half an hour’s walk from Pornic, letters do not arrive at St Marie before the following morning, and even then we are at the mercy of the postman, whether he chooses to deliver them in the morning or the afternoon.
There is little to interest you in our quiet life. I have already told you the exterior; an open sea, generally very smooth—the island of Noirmoutier looming in the horizon,—green turf growing to the edge of the rocks, so that you may walk for miles close to the shore with perfect ease—a flat country, tree-less yet pleasant, and a rustic village with an old church and an abundance of hay stacks,—so much for externals. Our inner life is just as simple. We breakfast early,—Robert feeds and converses with his favourite ducks who sometimes waddle into the house, and waits anxiously for the postman whose arrival is the grand event of the day: then Pen & I go to the baths where Mrs Bracken joins us (we bathe either in the morning or afternoon according to the tide, though there is some sort of bathing at almost any hour) dine rather early (a little before five) and after dinner Mrs Bracken comes to take a walk with us, and generally stays to tea: in the morning Robert reads & writes in his own room, and takes solitary walks, and the two boys go to catch crabs on the sea-shore– The best part is, that Robt is much pleased with the place, and is looking very well. Pen is as red as a peony, and Willy is quite rosy,—the sea has done wonders for him.
The poor Maire looks very wretched, but says nothing,—it was sad to hear the youngest little child crying for its mother—too young to understand why she did not come, and getting very fretful and cross– Pen was very kind in playing with her and trying to amuse her,—and Robt dispatched me off to Pornic for a cargo of toys to give the the poor little things who had never seen a toy in their lives, and must have thought the gigantic dolls I brought them, miracles of beauty. Of course Robert feels the most intense interest in Italian affairs– I cannot describe his delight at hearing that Garabaldi [sic] was taken, (though he would be sorry if a hair of his head has been hurt) as he believes that his success would have been the ruin of Italy. He is proud of it, too, as showing the strength of the Italian government, for Garibaldi so powerful against the King of Naples, has fallen at once before Victor Emmanuel. I am sorry for Garibaldi, but he deserves it for the mischief he was doing—the more inexcusable as he is himself is a very strict disciplinarian in his own army, and knows the necessity of obedience. I am deeply grieved for the Corkrans—the poor man is very unfortunate. I have not heard from Mrs C. but he has been kind enough to send me a newspaper almost every day. Robt thinks it a pity he left London, as there, at least, he was in the way of getting work. Chapman had told Robt he had given him the indexing of Trollope’s work on America, and would be able from time to time to find him work, but, of course, whoever is on the spot has the best chance. It is a most melancholy position and there seems so little prospect of escape. Up to this time we have had very fine weather,—not one decidedly rainy day—but Monday the 1st was showery, and to-day there is high wind with rain in squalls. We have never missed bathing once since we came. I hope we shall have a fine Sept. as we spend so much of our time out of doors. By the bye, you told me that you were once in great danger of being drowned. What were the particulars? I mean, did you lose your consciousness in the water? and if so, had you any of those peculiar sensations, that flashing retrospect of the past, which some people have experienced? I was reminded of it by hearing Robert speak of a very interesting work by Dr Holland, on death: he is a celebrated physician, you know, and gives it as his opinion founded upon observation and scientific grounds, that of all kinds of death, the most easy and painless is drowning,—while, contrary to the popular notion, the most painful death of all, he pronounces to be, bleeding to death. One’s natural feelings are just the reverse.
I have sent you three Athenæums since we came here, and will send you this week’s when Mrs Bracken has read it. I hope you will soon be in Dijon, if not already there, and hope to hear good accounts of your mother. The sea air must have done you great good, to judge by your long walks. We are all quite well– Mme Louis takes warm sea baths with much benefit; she is very helpful in managing to get eatables for us, and we get on very well in culinary respects.
I am afraid it is going to rain, and in that case I shall not be able to take this letter to Pornic this morning. We all unite in kind love. Our Paris paper (the Opinion Nationale) has not arrived to-day, and we are hungry for news: not a single daily newspaper is to be found in Pornic, nor any bookseller that I can discover.
Good bye for the present.
Always yours truly,
Sarianna Browning.
Address: Monsieur / Milsand, / 9. rue Servandoni / Paris.
Publication: None traced.
Manuscript: Armstrong Browning Library, Joseph Milsand Archive.
1. Year provided by postmark.
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