SD2858. Sarianna Browning to Joseph Milsand
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 32, 353–354 (in part).
[London]
[9 December 1866] [1]
My dear Friend,
Thank you for your letter and your newspaper. The latter was taken by Robert to Smith, the publisher of the P. Mall, (& I believe the owner) who was glad to see it. He said that not one in ten of the P.Ms were allowed to enter France—it was a fixed thing—that the other day, the innocent Ill: News, having in a supplement made a quotation from the P.M., were informed that it would not be allowed to pass, and in consequence the Ill: N. people who did not like to miss their large Paris subscribers were put to the expense of issuing a thousand copies of a fresh supplement, with the extract from the P.M. omitted. Mr Smith added that naturally this conduct rendered the P.M. more inclined than before to attack the Emperor, and that now they often inserted an abusive word which formerly they would have rejected carefully. Let me say that I have sent all the P.Ms since you left, except one—(I think the 6th) which from some accident never reached us. If you receive the no. 7th, you will see a paragraph (of course American) about my poor father and his death. Robt tells me it is an abridgement of a longer notice which appeared in a large number of morning papers: he saw them at his Club, but did not mention them to me, hoping I might not come across them. When I first saw it in the P.M. I felt as if I had had a blow on face. I have no idea who wrote it—every American would consider that we should naturally be highly delighted with such a flattering account. How hard it is to enter into another person’s feelings! The Athenæum & the Ill. N. I always send, though later than I could wish. I can’t get them home from Miss Barrett & Mrs Bracken.
Now for news of ourselves. Pen has been under the doctor’s hands, and in the house, for a fortnight– Yesterday he went out for the first time and saw the dentist, who says there are no signs of decay in the broken tooth, and refuses to extract it, as the pain has been in the whole of the front teeth—the gums are still much inflamed. My cold has been bad, and I could not go out anywhere, not even to Arabel’s dinner, on account of a swollen lip. Yesterday being better (unluckily) I was obliged to go and discharge some neglected calls. I despatched Mrs Forster, Mrs Benzon & Mrs Nixon—(the latter has lost the aunt she was nursing, Countess Dunraven)– Rob. dined yesterday at Lady William Russell’s, to-day at Mrs Benzon’s, to-morrow somewhere else—Tuesday somewhere else—&c ad infinitum. I fight my own battles and win them. Mrs Benzon asked for a definite reason why I also could not dine with her to-day. I replied that I wished to go to church in the evening—which was unanswerable. I told you that Alfred Barrett & his wife are just now staying with Arabel—the wife is remarkably pretty, with a brilliantly fair complexion, and very youthful appearance—the whole spoilt by an ungracious, sullen expression of countenance and manner. Alessandro has got his promotion, and will be appointed a stoker on the railway, if he gets the requisite doctor’s certificate: he works hard night and day, poor boy,—but is sure to get his living at last,—he was in an agony of tenderness when Pen was suffering.
I had a visit from Mrs Cameron, the lady who makes those beautiful large photographs—she has promised us some more, and is going to exhibit at the forthcoming Paris fête. At present, she is busy with a novel, but is going to resume photography. She is rather a flighty personage, but kind and agre[e]able—I liked her. Robt is sitting for his portrait to Laurence. I have not yet had time to go to see the one at Gambarts. I am glad you see Miss Haworth. You are right—the Demonstration was numerically a great failure. Beale & co promised 200,000 & only 23,000 attended,—on the other hand, their conduct was irreprochable. I cannot spare you much sympathy for your troubles as a school master—you seem to me so happy in not having to pass Claire through Balliol. I am delighted that dear Me Louis is prospering—as to what you suggest about her wishing to enter your service, I will speak with the utmost frankness—she always assured me that, after mine, she would never take another permanent situation, though she would be willing to assist for a time, for example, with Miss Haworth who sometimes wants an extra servant—but with her very simple habits, her allowance from us, and the money she has of her own, I hope there is no necessity for her doing much work. That is what she told me—of course she may have changed her mind. At the risk of being considered impertinent I will go on to say that you should ponder well before you let yourself be carried away by your most kind impulse into suggesting the idea to her. An old servant is a great tie, and though she has no claim on you personally, yet for auld lang syne you could never look on her as a stranger. The length of her service with me would make her less pliable to another mistress, and though to me she was always absolutely perfect in manner, yet she is quick tempered and could not live with everybody. Besides, without any specific fault for a thousand reasons her service might not exactly fit into your requirements, and then your kindness would fetter you and make you reluctant to find fault or discharge her: and for your wife it would be still more unpleasant than for yourself. I say all this from real kindness—believe me in that. You know how dearly I love Me Louis—how I miss her every day of my life. Of course, if in any emergency you wanted some one while you were looking out for another, that would be different. Only don’t bind yourself. I know that Me Louis always had an affection for you, and I daresay now she looks on you as one of us.
Monday. I wrote this yesterday afternoon. Annunziata called, and I left off to go and speak to her. Pen is better this morning, though the gums are still tender. Owly has been highly delighted by some dead larks which Pen was extravagant enough to feed him with. It was curious to see how excited he got,—how he pounced on them, seizing them in his claw, stripping off the feathers with his beak—then he hid them,—first behind the curtain, then, on second thoughts, carried them to the corner of the sideboard covering them with the tapestry, and when he thought it all secure, he placed himself as sentinel on the back of a chair, keeping his head always turned to his hiding-place. Poor Owly—he regularly fought Willy who pretended to take one of them away from him. But an end to this gossip. Our best of loves– Write often. Kindest love to Claire.
Ever yr affte
S.B.
Address: France. / Monsieur Milsand– / 31, rue Perronet / Neuilly. près Paris.
Publication: None traced.
Manuscript: Armstrong Browning Library, Joseph Milsand Archive.
1. Dated by Sarianna and postmark of 10 December 1866, a Monday.
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