SD2785. Sarianna Browning to Joseph Milsand
Published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 31, 326 (in part).
chez M. Laraison.
Maire de Ste. Marie.
près Pornic.
Loire inférieure.
Aug. 24th [1865] [1]
My dear Mr Milsand–
You had indeed a wretched day’s pleasure at Cherbourg. [2] I myself am not a gregarious animal, and was never in a train de plaisir [3] in my life,—added to which I confess (luckily Pen will not see this) that I have no nautical enthusiasm and look on ships as necessary and highly-commendable unpleasantnesses. I hope you caught no cold from your wetting. The weather here has been rainy, and we have been wet through again & again, but the rocky soil dries immediately, and the sun shines out brightly the next minute. To-day the sky is blazing, and summer seems back again. We have not your greenery, and there is scarcely a tree, yet the place is pictoresque [sic]– As for the aborigines, you are better off than we,—Robert groans over the ugliness of all the women here, of high and low degree. What strikes me most is the utter absence of all womanly care for dress or appearance—the hideous dark woollen stuff gowns—frightful enough to gladden the heart of M. Dupin—but I do not think any dress could turn them into a woman. How different from the pretty Basques!
I am very glad to hear that you are again at work—upon what subject are you employed? with whom do you publish? Did I tell you that Macmillan wanted to publish another selection from Robert’s works; but he refused. I will copy for you—it may amuse you—a translation of one of R’s small poems, [4] made by the French minister at Athens—said to be a very learned man—deep in cuneiform inscriptions. He sent it to Robert some months ago, through Lytton.
I have written a short letter this morning to poor Mrs Corkran. I can hardly understand her missing me, but I miss her most dreadfully. When the winter comes, and I resume my secluded Paris life, I shall often, and often long for our old Saturday morning gossips. She had always a strong attraction for me—though she often irritated me by her capricious injustice to those dear to me which was harder to bear than her outbreaks against myself; and her national hot-headedness– Still there was a charm about her which I always felt very strongly. I shall miss her painfully, and there is no one in Paris to take her place. If she were happy, I should not regret her so much, but now it is doubly sad to think of her.
Miss Church is to sail to-day from Liverpool in the Scotia– I have had no word from her in answer to the letter I sent her when we reached this place, so I suppose I made some mistake in the address, as I wrote from memory. I hope she will have a good voyage—though the appearances are not favourable. There is another friend whom I shall miss. They talk here of beginning the Vendange next Tuesday. Pen & Willy are to be conspicuously active. When we arrived, the country people told us that there would be such a fine Vintage as had not been seen for twenty years—now, three weeks’ rain, and the prospect of more, have changed the aspect of things. How constantly we depend on a Power higher than our own for even what we call the simplest affairs in life!– We are all quite well, except that Mrs Bracken has been suffering a good deal from face ache, from which I am at present happily exempt. My father is remarkably well. The sea air has done him great good. I hope you get all the papers I send. Let me know when you leave and where to address you. Robert sends his best love.
Ever yours affectionately,
S. Browning.
Address: Monsieur Milsand. / Maison François Meriel. / St Aubin sur Mer. / près Caen. / Calvados.
Publication: None traced.
Manuscript: Armstrong Browning Library, Joseph Milsand Archive.
Enclosure:
traduit par le Comte Gobineau, Ministre Français à la cour de Grèce.
—Que marmotte-t-il donc autour de mes oreilles?
Maintenant que j’étouffe et que je vais mourir?
—Vous voyez ce que vaut le monde et ses merveilles?
—Non! j’ai toute autre idée au fond du souvenir.
Ce que j’ai vu jadis, ce que je vois encore,
Là, parmi les flacons de mon sot médecin,
C’est un petit sentier que la vigne décore,
C’est un mur tout fleuri d’un foullis de jasmin.
Et le sentier s’en va, tournant cette fiole,
Vers la porte entr’ouverte où mon cœur aspirait…
Un ciel bleu de mon lit envahit la coupole!
Ah! c’était le printems et tout mon cœur vibrait!
Là, c’était la maison.. Je la vois à la place
Où sur un papier blanc, je lis le mot: éther;…
Je la vois se pencher au bord de la terrasse…
Elle m’entend venir et quels yeux! et quel air!
C’était, mon cher monsieur, une fille céleste!
À coup sur, mes propos sont très inconvenants…
Mais, là, tout m’abandonne et le peu qui me reste
Me domine et me traîne en arrière du tems!
Je n’y peux rien! Je tombe où mon rêve m’emporte
Comme elle descendait lestement l’escalier!
Je suis de votre avis…mais elle est la plus forte
Et me redit des mots qu’on ne peut oublier.
La voyez vous ici, plus rose que les roses!
Nous nous aimions, monsieur! Certes, nous etions fous:
Nous aurions dû penser et faire d’autres choses
Que de nous embrasser..mais comme c’était doux!
1. Year provided by postmark.
2. Milsand traveled to witness the sail-past of the British Fleet at Cherbourg, 14 August 1865.
3. “Pleasure train.”
4. “Confessions.” Translated by Arthur Comte de Gobineau (1816–82), who served as French emissary to Greece (1864–68).
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