SD2921. Sarianna Browning to Joseph Milsand
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 32, 370–371 (in part).
[London]
Sunday afternoon. [21 July 1867] [1]
My dear Friend,
I could not write to you yesterday, though I wished to do so, and now this letter will not leave town till to-morrow; but I begin it at once for fear of new interruptions.
First, Robert’s love, and he encloses a copy of the Latin letter which he has sent: the former was a draught; and I believe there are a few alterations in this last: he begs you to tear up the first one. As you say, Pen is our only drawback and anxiety,—the boy will not make any real effort in book-learning, though he can undergo any amount of pain and fatigue for the sake of what he enjoys. He put himself in training for a race (amateur) to be rowed yesterday—rose every morning at six, for an hour’s walk before breakfast—rowed every evening till his hands were raw,—and then, at the end, discovered that he could not be admitted because he was not a Member of a Club. Every body said there was not a doubt that he & Willy could win easily. Now, he is all in flames for the shooting which he intends to have at Croisic. Mr Benzon has lent him a gun—the rifle not being adapted for snipe-shooting, and there is nothing in his head but shots and barrels. Still, he does a good deal of book-work: he has the ability if he had the application. He is in excellent health, and looks very blooming. Yesterday one of the things which prevented me from writing to you was having to answer a letter from Miss Blackwell. She said Mlle Colin persists in her project, and has got a life ready for the Revue—as she has stated that my sister was a governess, the rest of the biography is likely to be equally true. Miss Blackwell says she tried to put her right, but French heads &c &c therefore she regrets that my brother did not supply the young lady with facts to prevent her romancing too wildly. On the contrary, it only proves that the woman is unprincipled and incompetent. Where could she have picked up her facts, or what enquiries could she have made? Are we to write and explain that the family estate was worth formerly more than thirty thousand pounds a year? I wrote an angry reply, and Robert, who was furious, has written to Buloz to stop this disreputable trading on the memories of the dead. He had some thought of writing to Madame Guizot, whom he knows, I believe—but afterwards preferred writing direct to M. Buloz.
This is a great annoyance as he feels acutely on that point. The house where they all were born and passed their childhood, rebuilt by Mr Barrett, in Herefordshire, Hope End, is now to be sold this week. Robt thought of going to see it—(her “Deserted Garden” and all her early local poems refer to it.) but will not now. The house stands in more than 6,000 acres of land, and the whole is valued at 150,000£. It was owing to the father’s obstinacy that it ever passed out of the family. This is not the Jamaica estate which is entailed on the eldest son.
We have engaged the house at Croisic for 450fs the two months—on Thursday night we cross over viâ Calais to Paris.
I shall go to Mme Louis. We shall stay there a few days, then go on to Croisic. Mrs Bracken is going by sea to St Malo—crossing through Rennes to St Nazaire. She wishes to avoid Paris on Willy’s account. Miss Smith will follow in a fortnight—she goes to the Establishment. Robt cannot do without sea-bathing. I will leave this open till to-morrow. Did I tell you Hume, the spirit rapper, and several others, are indicted for obtaining money by false pretences? He got nearly a hundred thousand pounds out of a foolish old woman, (who now repents her folly) by saying it was the revealed wish of her late husband.
Monday Morng. How is your face-ache? I am so sorry that you should be in pain. I have no doubt you are leading a quiet enjoyable life in your sea-home. I only wish I could be there too. Croisic is more town than suits my own taste. Pen has just received a letter from Pf Jowett asking him down to Oxford for a day, to examine his progress: this is very kind, as of course it is only as a private friend, though I confess that Pen, whose head is full of his gun, does not look particularly enchanted. The weather is very unpleasant—rainy and unsettled. I saw the Corkrans (or rather Mrs C.) about ten days ago, and will endeavour to go to them before our departure. Strangely enough—for I myself, reflecting on the Ath’s wretched attack, half feared to meet her—she was in capital spirits, and looking almost handsomer than ever. She is growing fat, and that improves her appearance. Yet the accounts she gave of their position were not good—it seems precarious and unprofitable.
The other day I went to the South Kensington Portrait Gallery—the 2d exhibition—it is very interesting, and contains many beautiful paintings by Gainsborough, Reynolds & Hogarth. I am sorry you will miss it. This gathering of the stores of private individuals cannot be often renewed. By the way, I had a visit the other day from Mrs Millais—she called to ask Robert to share her box at the Opera, and also to be introduced to me. (Robt was previously engaged by another lady for the same opera—which was something attractive Romeo & Giulietta—) I returned the call, and was glad to find her not at home, for I do not intend to cultivate her acquaintance. She visits a great deal, and gives herself fashionable airs, they say. She is very pretty, though rather too thin, and talks with a slight Scotch accent. Afterwards, I called on young Mrs Lytton who is just recovered from her confinement—she is a very nice gentle, fine-looking woman. Lytton himself is in bed—very unwell indeed—a slight operation which he was obliged to undergo has been followed by fever and erisypalis (is that the spelling?—) and his return to his post at Lisbon will be postponed for six weeks. Now good bye—with all our best of loves. Kiss Claire for me. I will try and write from Paris—but I always find it difficult to correspond while I am on the wing. We purpose leaving on Thursday night, if nothing prevents. Once more, good bye.
Ever yrs.
S.B.
Address: Monsieur Milsand / St Aubin-sur-Mer. / par Luc. / Calvados.
Publication: None traced.
Manuscript: Armstrong Browning Library, Joseph Milsand Archive.
1. This letter is postmarked 22 July 1867, a Monday.
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