SD2938. Sarianna Browning to Joseph Milsand
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 32, 376–377 (in part).
19. Warwick Cr
Monday Nov 11. [1867] [1]
Dearest Friend,
I have just received your letter, and I answer it immediately with the truest truth. Your visit is expected by us all as the greatest delight we can enjoy: that you know without telling—as for the time of it—you must decide. I personally can only say the sooner the better. Robt says this—it is impossible that you could ever be in his way, or hinder him from working—he is dreadfully afraid of letting slip an opportunity of holding you—but if you would faithfully promise to come in the very early spring he would prefer it as he would then have nothing to do but enjoy your society, and he has got all sorts of schemes in his head of things he wishes to show you, and people he wants you to see. He has a vision of uninterrupted happiness with you from morning till night. Just now he is for the first time in his life—and most probably for the last—tied down to work. His anxiety about Pen kept him back—now that is off his mind he wishes for his own purse & reputation’s sake to bring out his new poem without delay—even the manual exertion of writing out twenty thousand lines is something—and a day or two ago Chapman sends him word that he has not fifty copies left of his complete edition, so that another must be brought out immediately. This is additional work because he will be obliged to re-arrange them—he purposes taking them away from Chapman, which is very painful as the poor man pleads so hard to keep them—and will put them into smaller volumes as the present size is too bulky. Robt rises and takes a shower-bath every morning at ½ past five, and works as long as his head will let him. He seldom goes out in the evening, as every body is out of town. Now this is the exact case. I feel as if I were selfish in asking you to come now—it would be pleasanter for both you and Robert in the season—but I put it to your conscience that unless you are quite sure you can come then, come at once. Robt would break his heart if he thought he had lost you through longing to get as much as possible out of you! At the same time, he was telling me just now so many little plans of showing you this, and taking you there, that I felt what a mortification it would be to him to be shut up in the next room unable to accompany you anywhere. So now I leave it all to you to decide.
Pen is very happy down at Oxford, and better still, the result seems just what we wished—he is really working well, and doing his best,—steadily arranging his time and working eight hours a day. Mr Jowett seems pleased and satisfied with him—he has made him write English essays—a thing poor Pen never attempted before, and I hear that Pen wrote one on the Roman question which Mr Jowett praised very highly. Pen is in an exceptional position—people call on him and give him invitations to dinners and breakfasts—he has got his boat down & rows every day. Some kind friend got him admittance as Honry Member to the Union debating society—he attends the debates with great pleasure, and may speak himself if he chooses—(though not vote!)—there, too, he reads all the papers, and has the use of a large library.
Poor Willy is very desolate without his comrade. Willy himself has taken to working eight hours a day, and is very steady. His aunt Miss Smith is returned to England. I must leave off—yet not without telling (only it is a secret, so don’t talk of it) Mary Corkran is engaged to be married to a young man of good family who is in the British Museum—it must be a very disinterested affection on his part—the mother says he is very much in love with Polly, but Polly is quiet, not to say indifferent on the matter, and will not hear of its taking place soon. Good bye. Write at once.
Ever your affte S.B.
I have had a letter from Miss Magee.
Address: France. / Monsieur Milsand, / Villers la Faye, / par Nuits. / Côte d’Or.
Publication: None traced.
Manuscript: Armstrong Browning Library, Joseph Milsand Archive.
1. Year provided by postmark.
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