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Life and Letters of Robert Browning-Part22_Mrs.Sutherland Orr(1828-1903)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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that we should find access to him easy. But we can't make up our minds

to go to his door and introduce ourselves as vagrant minstrels,



when he may probably not know our names. We could never follow

the fashion of certain authors, who send their books about



with intimations of their being likely to be acceptable or not --

of which practice poor Tennyson knows too much for his peace.



If, indeed, a letter of introduction to Beranger were vouchsafed to us

from any benign quarter, we should both be delighted,



but we must wait patiently for the influence of the stars.

Meanwhile, we have at last sent our letter [Mazzini's] to George Sand,



accompanied with a little note signed by both of us, though written by me,

as seemed right, being the woman. We half-despaired in doing this --



for it is most difficult, it appears, to get at her,

she having taken vows against seeing strangers, in consequence of



various annoyances and persecutions, in and out of print, which it's

the mere instinct of a woman to avoid -- I can understand it perfectly.



Also, she is in Paris for only a few days, and under a new name,

to escape from the plague of her notoriety. People said,



"She will never see you -- you have no chance, I am afraid."

But we determined to try. At least I pricked Robert up to the leap --



for he was really inclined to sit in his chair and be proud a little.

"No," said I, "you SHA'N'T be proud, and I WON'T be proud,



and we WILL see her -- I won't die, if I can help it,

without seeing George Sand." So we gave our letter to a friend,



who was to give it to a friend who was to place it in her hands --

her abode being a mystery, and the name she used unknown.



The next day came by the post this answer:

`"Madame, j'aurai l'honneur de vous recevoir Dimanche prochain,



rue Racine, 3. C'est le seul jour que je puisse passer chez moi;

et encore je n'en suis pas absolument certaine -- mais je ferai tellement



mon possible, que ma bonne e/toile m'y aidera peut-e^tre un peu.

Agre/ez mille remerciments de coeur ainsi que Monsieur Browning,



que j'espere voir avec vous, pour la sympathie que vous m'accordez.

George Sand.



Paris: 12 fevrier '52."

`This is graceful and kind, is it not? -- and we are going to-morrow --



I, rather at the risk of my life, but I shall roll myself up head and all

in a thick shawl, and we shall go in a close carriage, and I hope



I shall be able to tell you the result before shutting up this letter.

`Monday. -- I have seen G. S. She received us in a room with a bed in it,



the only room she has to occupy, I suppose, during her short stay in Paris.

She received us very cordially with her hand held out, which I,



in the emotion of the moment, stooped and kissed -- upon which she exclaimed,

"Mais non! je ne veux pas," and kissed me. I don't think



she is a great deal taller than I am, -- yes, taller, but not a great deal --

and a little over-stout for that height. The upper part of the face is fine,



the forehead, eyebrows and eyes -- dark glowing eyes as they should be;

the lower part not so good. The beautiful teeth project a little,



flashing out the smile of the large characteristic mouth,

and the chin recedes. It never could have been a beautiful face



Robert and I agree, but noble and expressive it has been and is.

The complexion is olive, quite without colour; the hair, black and glossy,



divided with evident care and twisted back into a knot behind the head,

and she wore no covering to it. Some of the portraits represent her



in ringlets, and ringlets would be much more becoming to the style of face,

I fancy, for the cheeks are rather over-full. She was dressed



in a sort of woollen grey gown, with a jacket of the same material

(according to the ruling fashion), the gown fastened up to the throat,



with a small linen collarette, and plain white muslin sleeves buttoned

round the wrists. The hands offered to me were small and well-shaped.



Her manners were quite as simple as her costume. I never saw a simpler woman.

Not a shade of affectation or consciousness, even --



not a suffusion of coquetry, not a cigarette to be seen!

Two or three young men were sitting with her, and I observed



the profound respect with which they listened to every word she said.

She spoke rapidly, with a low, unemphatic voice. Repose of manner



is much more her characteristic than animation is -- only,




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