Life and Letters of Robert Browning [67]
every word she said.
She spoke rapidly, with a low, unemphatic voice. Repose of manner
is much more her characteristic than animation is -- only,
under all the quietness, and perhaps by means of it, you are aware
of an intense burning soul. She kissed me again when we went away. . . .'
==
==
`April 7. -- George Sand we came to know a great deal more of.
I think Robert saw her six times. Once he met her near the Tuileries,
offered her his arm and walked with her the whole length of the gardens.
She was not on that occasion looking as well as usual,
being a little too much "endimanchee" in terrestrial lavenders
and super-celestial blues -- not, in fact, dressed with the remarkable taste
which he has seen in her at other times. Her usual costume
is both pretty and quiet, and the fashionable waistcoat and jacket
(which are aspectable (?) in all the "Ladies' Companions" of the day)
make the only approach to masculine wearings to be observed in her.
`She has great nicety and refinement in her personal ways, I think --
and the cigarette is really a feminine weapon if properly understood.
`Ah! but I didn't see her smoke. I was unfortunate. I could only
go with Robert three times to her house, and once she was out.
He was really very good and kind to let me go at all after he found
the sort of society rampant around her. He didn't like it extremely,
but being the prince of husbands, he was lenient to my desires,
and yielded the point. She seems to live in the abomination of desolation,
as far as regards society -- crowds of ill-bred men who adore her,
`a genoux bas', betwixt a puff of smoke and an ejection of saliva --
society of the ragged red, diluted with the low theatrical.
She herself so different, so apart, so alone in her melancholy disdain.
I was deeply interested in that poor woman. I felt a profound
compassion for her. I did not mind much even the Greek, in Greek costume,
who `tutoyed' her, and kissed her I believe, so Robert said --
or the other vulgar man of the theatre, who went down on his knees
and called her "sublime". "Caprice d'amitie," said she
with her quiet, gentle scorn. A noble woman under the mud, be certain.
_I_ would kneel down to her, too, if she would leave it all, throw it off,
and be herself as God made her. But she would not care for my kneeling --
she does not care for me. Perhaps she doesn't care much for anybody
by this time, who knows? She wrote one or two or three kind notes to me,
and promised to `venir m'embrasser' before she left Paris,
but she did not come. We both tried hard to please her,
and she told a friend of ours that she "liked us". Only we always felt
that we couldn't penetrate -- couldn't really TOUCH her -- it was all vain.
`Alfred de Musset was to have been at M. Buloz' where Robert was a week ago,
on purpose to meet him, but he was prevented in some way.
His brother, Paul de Musset, a very different person, was there instead,
but we hope to have Alfred on another occasion. Do you know his poems?
He is not capable of large grasps, but he has poet's life and blood in him,
I assure you. . . . We are expecting a visit from Lamartine,
who does a great deal of honour to both of us in the way of appreciation,
and was kind enough to propose to come. I will tell you all about it.'
==
Mr. Browning fully shared his wife's impression of a want of frank cordiality
on George Sand's part; and was especially struck by it in reference
to himself, with whom it seemed more natural that she should feel at ease.
He could only imagine that his studied courtesy towards her was felt by her
as a rebuke to the latitude which she granted to other men.
Another eminent French writer whom he much wished to know was Victor Hugo,
and I am told that for years he carried about him a letter of introduction
from Lord Houghton, always hoping for an opportunity of presenting it.
The hope was not fulfilled, though, in 1866, Mr. Browning crossed
to Saint Malo by the Channel Islands and spent three days in Jersey.
Chapter
She spoke rapidly, with a low, unemphatic voice. Repose of manner
is much more her characteristic than animation is -- only,
under all the quietness, and perhaps by means of it, you are aware
of an intense burning soul. She kissed me again when we went away. . . .'
==
==
`April 7. -- George Sand we came to know a great deal more of.
I think Robert saw her six times. Once he met her near the Tuileries,
offered her his arm and walked with her the whole length of the gardens.
She was not on that occasion looking as well as usual,
being a little too much "endimanchee" in terrestrial lavenders
and super-celestial blues -- not, in fact, dressed with the remarkable taste
which he has seen in her at other times. Her usual costume
is both pretty and quiet, and the fashionable waistcoat and jacket
(which are aspectable (?) in all the "Ladies' Companions" of the day)
make the only approach to masculine wearings to be observed in her.
`She has great nicety and refinement in her personal ways, I think --
and the cigarette is really a feminine weapon if properly understood.
`Ah! but I didn't see her smoke. I was unfortunate. I could only
go with Robert three times to her house, and once she was out.
He was really very good and kind to let me go at all after he found
the sort of society rampant around her. He didn't like it extremely,
but being the prince of husbands, he was lenient to my desires,
and yielded the point. She seems to live in the abomination of desolation,
as far as regards society -- crowds of ill-bred men who adore her,
`a genoux bas', betwixt a puff of smoke and an ejection of saliva --
society of the ragged red, diluted with the low theatrical.
She herself so different, so apart, so alone in her melancholy disdain.
I was deeply interested in that poor woman. I felt a profound
compassion for her. I did not mind much even the Greek, in Greek costume,
who `tutoyed' her, and kissed her I believe, so Robert said --
or the other vulgar man of the theatre, who went down on his knees
and called her "sublime". "Caprice d'amitie," said she
with her quiet, gentle scorn. A noble woman under the mud, be certain.
_I_ would kneel down to her, too, if she would leave it all, throw it off,
and be herself as God made her. But she would not care for my kneeling --
she does not care for me. Perhaps she doesn't care much for anybody
by this time, who knows? She wrote one or two or three kind notes to me,
and promised to `venir m'embrasser' before she left Paris,
but she did not come. We both tried hard to please her,
and she told a friend of ours that she "liked us". Only we always felt
that we couldn't penetrate -- couldn't really TOUCH her -- it was all vain.
`Alfred de Musset was to have been at M. Buloz' where Robert was a week ago,
on purpose to meet him, but he was prevented in some way.
His brother, Paul de Musset, a very different person, was there instead,
but we hope to have Alfred on another occasion. Do you know his poems?
He is not capable of large grasps, but he has poet's life and blood in him,
I assure you. . . . We are expecting a visit from Lamartine,
who does a great deal of honour to both of us in the way of appreciation,
and was kind enough to propose to come. I will tell you all about it.'
==
Mr. Browning fully shared his wife's impression of a want of frank cordiality
on George Sand's part; and was especially struck by it in reference
to himself, with whom it seemed more natural that she should feel at ease.
He could only imagine that his studied courtesy towards her was felt by her
as a rebuke to the latitude which she granted to other men.
Another eminent French writer whom he much wished to know was Victor Hugo,
and I am told that for years he carried about him a letter of introduction
from Lord Houghton, always hoping for an opportunity of presenting it.
The hope was not fulfilled, though, in 1866, Mr. Browning crossed
to Saint Malo by the Channel Islands and spent three days in Jersey.
Chapter