Your ever affectionate
BA.

* * * * *

To Mrs. Jameson

[Paris]:  May 2, 1856 [postmark].

My dearest Mona Nina,—­It’s very pleasant always to get letters from you, and such kind dear letters, showing that you haven’t broken the tether-strings in search of ‘pastures new,’ weary of our cropped grass.

As for news, you have most of the persons upon whom you care for gossip in your hand now—­Mrs. Sartoris, Madame Viardot, Lady Monson, and the Ristori herself.  Robert went to see her twice, because Lady Monson led him by the hand kindly, and was charmed; thought the Medee very fine, but won’t join in the cry about miraculous genius and Rachel out-Racheled.  He thinks that as far as the highest and largest development of sensibility can go, she is very great; but that for those grand and sudden apercus which have distinguished actors—­such as Kean, for instance—­he does not acknowledge them in her.  You have heard perhaps how Dickens and others, Macready among the rest, depreciated her.  Dickens went so far as to say, I understand, that no English audience would tolerate her defects; which will be put to the proof presently.  By the way, you had better not quote Macready on this subject, as he expressed himself unwilling to be quoted on it....

So now we are well again,[50] thank God; and if Robert will but take regular exercise, he will keep so, I hope.  As to Penini, he is radiant, and even I have been out walking twice, though a good deal weaker for the winter.  More open air, and much more, is necessary to set me growing again, but I shall grow; and meantime I have been working, and am working, at so close a rate that if I lose a day I am lost, which is too close a rate, and makes one feel rather nervous.  We see nobody till after four meantime.  I have finished (not transcribed) the last book but one, and am now in the very last book, which must be finished with the last days of May.  Then the first fortnight of June will be occupied with the transcription of these two last books, and I shall carry the completed work with me to England on the 16th if it please God.  Oh, I do hope you won’t be disappointed with it—­much!  Some things you will like certainly, because of the boldness and veracity of them, and others you may; I can’t be so sure.  Robert speaks well of the poetry—­encourages me much.  But then he has seen only six of the eight books yet.

He just now has taken to drawing, and after thirteen days’ application has produced some quite startling copies of heads.  I am very glad.  He can’t rest from serious work in light literature, as I can; it wearies him, and there are hours which are on his hands, which is bad both for them and for him.  The secret of life is in full occupation, isn’t it?  This world is not tenable on other terms.  So while I lie on the sofa and rest in a novel, Robert has a resource in his drawing; and really, with all his feeling and knowledge of art, some of the mechanical trick of it can’t be out of place.