Bot-S: Autobiography of Philip Gilbert Hamerton

"It is to be made up of articles in different reviews. It is to be a
guinea work of 400 pages, beautifully got up, with 50 illustrative
etchings by different masters, and is to be called 'Etching and
Etchers.'

"Macmillan said that as to my capacity as a writer there existed no
doubt on the subject. He fully expects this work on Etching to be a
success. It is to be out for Christmas next.

"Macmillan is most favorably disposed to undertake other works, on
condition that each shall have a special character like that. One on
'Painting in France' and another on 'Painting in England' looms in the
future. He prefers this plan to the Year-book I mentioned to you.

"The great news in this letter is that I have written a book which has
paid its expenses. Is not that jolly? The idea of a second edition quite
elates me. So you see, darling, things are rather cheering. I must say,
everybody receives me pleasantly. Woodward is going to give me a whole
day at Windsor. Beresford-Hope is out of town, but called to-day at
Cook's and said 'he was most anxious to see me.'"

My husband wrote to me sometimes in French and sometimes in English;
when my mother came to keep me company during his absence, he generally
wrote in French, to enable me to read aloud some passages of his letters
that she might find interesting. The following letter was written on his
first journey to London for the "Saturday Review ":--

"CHÈRE PETITE FEMME,--Me voici installé dans un fort joli appartement
tout près de chez Mr. Mackay, à une guinée par semaine; j'y suis
tout-à-fait bien.

"Samedi dernier je suis allé d'abord chez Mr. Stephen Pearce que j'ai
trouvé chez lui; c'est un homme parfaitement comme il faut; il m'a reçu
bien cordialement et il m'a invité à dîner demain. J'ai dîné chez Mrs.
Leslie hier et j'ai passé tout le tantôt d'aujourd'hui chez Lewes qui
habite une fort belle maison à cinq minutes d'ici. J'ai beaucoup causé
avec l'auteur de 'Romola;' c'est une femme de 45 ans, pas belle du tout,
mais très distinguée, elle m'a fort bien reçu. Lewes lui-même est laid,
mais très cordial. Voilà quelque chose comme sa physionomie. [Sketch of
Lewes]. Je vais te donner George Eliot sur l'autre page. Il est très
gentil avec elle. [Sketch of George Eliot.] Ce portrait n'est pas très
ressemblant, mais il donne une bonne idée de l'expression--elle en a
énormément et parle fort bien. Son salon est un modèle de gôut et
d'élégance, et toute sa maison est aussi bien tenue que celle de
Millais, par exemple. Nous avons causé de beaucoup de choses, entre
autres précisément de cette curieuse question de prière selon Comte.
Elle soutient que c'est raisonnable dans le sens d'expression de vif
désir, de concentration de l'esprit vers son but. Son argument était
bien fortement soutenu par sa manière énergique de raisonner, mais je
lui ai tenu tête avec beaucoup d'obstination, et nous avons eu une
véritable lutte. Elle a une singulière puissance, quelque chose qui ne
se trouve jamais que chez les personnes d'un génie extraordinaire. Quand
elle a voulu me convaincre, elle y mettait tant de persuasion et de
volonté qu'il me fallait un certain effort pour garder la clarté de mes
propres idées. Je te dirai cela plus en détail quand nous nous
reverrons.

"Lewes m'a dit qu'il serait content d'avoir d'autres articles de moi
pour la 'Fortnightly Review.'"

Two days later he wrote:--

"I dined with the Mackays yesterday; Mr. Watkiss Lloyd was there, and
other friends came in the evening. I spent the day at home, writing, but
I have an engagement for every night this week--I am becoming a sort of
professional diner-out.

"I have been talking over the illustrations of the 'Painter's Camp' with
George Leslie. He has promised to do twenty etchings of figure-subjects
to illustrate it, and I shall do twenty landscapes. I have learned a
great deal from Haden here, and I feel sure now of grappling
successfully with the difficulties which plagued me before. Besides, I
am anxious to have a book with etchings in it out in time to appear with
the work on Etching. I am sure this new edition of the 'Painter's Camp'
will be something jolly. It's nice to think I shall have two beautiful
books out at Christmas. It will give my reputation a fillip. It appears
that Charles Dickens, Alfred Tennyson, and George Eliot are amongst my
most assiduous readers. Isn't it pleasant to have readers of that
class?..."

I will give here a few more extracts from his letters at that time; it
is the best way of becoming acquainted with his method of work, as well
as with the state of his mind.

"Yesterday I went to see some exhibitions and Mrs. Cameron's
photographs; they are really very fine, quite different from anything
one ever saw before. You will be very much struck with them, I am sure.

"Mr. Palgrave and I spent a delightful evening together yesterday; we
talked till midnight. I found him a pleasant companion. We had some
music; Mrs. Palgrave plays well. He has a nice collection of Greek
vases, which would delight Mariller. [A figure-painter who lived at
Autun, and who drew the figures for the 'Unknown River.']

"The more I reflect on matters, the more I rejoice to live far away from
here. Known as I am now, I am sure that if I lived in or near London I
should be exposed to frequent interruptions, and gradually our dear
little private life would be taken away from us both. Besides, this
continued excitement would kill me, I could never stand it; I really
need quiet, and I get it at Pré-Charmoy. Just now I bear up pretty well,
but I know I could not stand this for three months--out _every_ evening,
working or seeing people, or going in omnibuses. And then I need the
great refreshment of being able to talk to thee, and to hear thee talk,
and play with the children a little; all that is good for me,--in fact,
I live upon it. I want to be back again. My breakfast in the morning is
a difficulty; as you know, I never can eat an English one, and if I
don't I am not fit for much fatigue. The distances, too, are terrible.
Still, on the whole, I keep better than I expected to do. I hope the
dear little boys are both quite well, and my little daughter, who is the
apple of my eye."

About the difficulty of eating an English breakfast, it must be
explained that since Gilbert had begun to suffer from nervousness he had
given up coffee and tea; besides, he only liked a very light breakfast,
and we had tried different kinds of food for the morning meal: chocolate
he could not digest, although it was to his taste; cocoa he did not care
for; beer and dry biscuits succeeded for a time, but at last we
discovered that soup was the best breakfast for him, vegetable soup
(_soupe maigre_) especially, because it must not be too rich. At home I
always made his soup myself, for, being always the same--by his own
choice--he was particular about the flavor; it was merely onion-soup
with either cream and parsley, or onion-soup with Liebig and chervil. In
the great summer heat he took instead of it cold milk and brown bread.
It may be easily surmised that such a frugal meal could not last him far
into the day, particularly as he was a very early riser, and often had
his bowl of soup at six in the morning; then, when he felt hungry
again--at ten generally--he drank a glass of beer and ate a slice of
home-made _brioche_, which allowed him to await the twelve o'clock
_déjeuner à la fourchette_.

The following passage is extracted from a letter written a few days
after those already given:--

"J'ai dîné chez Woolner hier. Quel brave garçon! Ses manières avec moi
sont tout-à-fait affectueuses, et je me sens avec lui sur le pied de la
plus parfaite intimité. Il n'y a pas un homme a Londres qui possède un
cercle d'amis comme le sien: tout ce qu'il y a de plus distingué _en
tout_. Palgrave dit que Woolner fait un choix sérieux dans ses amitiés.
Sa femme est jolie, délicate, gracieuse, intelligente; elle me fait
l'effet d'un lys.

"J'ai reçu la visite de Haden hier, il m'a plus enseigné relativement à
l'eau-forte en une demi-heure de conversation que dix ans de pratique ne
l'auraient fait. Voici mes engagements:--

"Samedi, dîner chez Leslie.
Dimanche, tantôt chez Lewes.
Lundi, dîner chez Pearce.
Mardi, " " Mackay.
Mercredi, " " Shaw.
Jeudi, " " Woolner.
Vendredi, toute la journée avec Woodward.
Samedi, soirée chez Marks.
Lundi, dîner chez Haden.
Mardi, " " Constable fils:

"et il n'y a pas de raison pour que cela s'arrête, excepté mon depart
pour West Lodge qui sera, je crois, pour mercredi."

However, he had to postpone his departure on account of a distressing
and alarming disturbance of his nervous system. Mr. Haden recommended
him to give up all kind of work immediately, which he did, and for a few
days he only wrote short notes.

"NORTHUMBERLAND STREET. _Wednesday Morning_.

"Je suis toujours faible, mais je crois que je puis supporter le voyage
aujourd'hui. Si j'étais une fois à West Lodge je m'y reposerais bien. Si
je me sentais fatigué je m'arrêterais n'importe où. La surexcitation
cérébrale est _complètement passée_, mais je n'espère pas être remis
avant un mois."

From West Lodge he wrote, in answer to one of my letters:--

"Our present business is to look simply to the question, what will be
most economical? I have no objection to any arrangement which will save
my keeping a man, but I have a decided objection to that. [It was about
the garden, one half of which I proposed to cede on condition of having
the other half cultivated free of charge.] Any arrangement you make
_that does not involve my keeping a man_ has my approbation beforehand.

"I saw Macmillan again before leaving, and now he is for bringing out
the new edition of the 'Painter's Camp' in May. It will be a pretty
little book, but I can't get Macmillan to go to the expense about
illustrations. Colnaghi will publish etchings for me, and after all the
hints and instructions received from Haden, I feel quite sure that I
shall succeed in etching.

"I expect to be at Pré-Charmoy in a few days, when I shall be delighted
to see you all, my treasures."

Having returned to London, he writes:--

"I spent last evening with Beavington Atkinson, who was to have come to
see us in France; you remember Woodward wrote about him. He and his wife
are most agreeable people, and I like him really; there is something so
intelligent and pleasing in his manner.

"Yesterday I went through Buckingham Palace to see the pictures. There
is a fine Dutch collection. Then I went to the British Museum to see the
Rembrandt etchings, and was accompanied by a collector, Mr. Fisher. This
evening I am to spend with Haden again; he has a magnificent collection
of etchings, and will help me very much with my book. So now I am sure
of the right quantity of assistance in my work.

"I was with the editor of the 'Saturday' this afternoon; nothing could
exceed his kind, trustful way.

"Still, I wish I were back with you; but I shall hurry now and come back
fast."

Two days later:--

"Je me sens de nouveau fatigué. J'ai causé aujourd'hui avec l'aubergiste
de Walton-on-Thames, et il m'a dit qu'il nous nourrirait et nous
logerait tous les deux pour £2 par semaine. On y est très bien, il y a
un jardin, et des études à faire en quantité. Mr. Haden pense que la
peinture ne fatiguerait pas autant le cerveau que la littérature.

"Si je t'avais avec moi, et si je restais plus longtemps, je n'aurais
pas besoin l'année prochaine de revenir au mois de juillet. Voilà le
rêve que j'ai fait. Je viendrais à Londres une ou deux fois par semaine
seulement, et je t'aurais là-bas. Je ne pense pas vivre sans toi, je
meurs d'ennui."

The kind of life we led at Pré-Charmoy suited perfectly my husband's
tastes, and he was soon restored to health. He would have been entirely
happy but for pressing cares; still, thanks to his philosophical
disposition, he contrived to enjoy what was enjoyable in his life. He
was extremely fond of excursions in the country, and we often used to
set off with nurse and children in the farmer's cart, to spend the day
in some picturesque place, where he could sketch or paint. We had our
provisions with us, and both lunched and dined on the grass under the
fine chestnuts or oaks, so numerous in the Morvan, by the side of a
clear stream or rivulet; for running water had a sort of magic influence
upon Gilbert, and instinctively, when unwell from nervous exhaustion, he
sought its soothing influence. We generally rambled about the country
after each meal, and whilst he drew I read to him, leaving the children
to their play, under the charge of the nurse.

So far we had taken upon ourselves the teaching of the boys, but for
some time past I had perceived that it was becoming inadequate to their
present requirements, and I told their father that I thought they should
be sent to college,--any rate the eldest, who was nearly eight years
old; but he demurred, not seeing the necessity for it. He had a notion
that they could be much better educated at home, according to a plan of
his own: Latin and Greek would be reserved for their teens, because it
was a clear loss of time before, and they would be taught modern
languages early, together with science and literature. To this I
objected, that, if successful, it might be a very good education for
boys who were certain of an independence, but that it did not seem a
good way towards the degrees necessary for almost every one of the
liberal professions. Besides, who was to teach the boys when he was
away? and would he always find spare time to do it, and regular hours
also? I was certain he would never be punctual as to time; only he did
not like to be told so, because, being aware of this shortcoming, he
made earnest efforts to correct it, and constantly failed. It was
difficult to him to bear any kind of interruption, or any compulsory
change of work--involving loss of time--and on that score very trying to
one who wanted always to finish what he had in hand. He hardly ever came
down at meal-times without the bell being rung twice, and often when he
did come down, he used to say: "That bell was getting angry," and he was
met with this stereotyped phrase from us: "And it made you abandon the
refractory sentence at last!"

Well, he acknowledged there was some weight in my objections to home
instruction, but "he could give tasks to be done in his absence, and
correct them afterwards." I asked, who could help the young students
when they were in a fix? and would they be always inclined to apply
themselves steadily to their tasks without supervision? That was
expecting too much, but it seemed natural to him to expect it, as study
and work had ever been both a necessity and a pleasure to him. However,
he yielded, but so strong was his disapproval of public school teaching
as it was carried on, that at first he would have nothing to do with it.
I had to go to the principal of the college, and make terms and
arrangements; the only condition he made was that the boys should come
home every Saturday night, and remain till Monday morning, and the same
from Wednesday to Friday regularly, for their English lessons and for
their health. I desired nothing better, and the principal agreed to it.
Whenever the boys complained of anything about their college life
afterwards, their father used to say good-humoredly: "I have no
responsibility in the matter; _I_ did not want you to go to college, you
know--it was your mother."

Pré-Charmoy being four kilomètres distant from the town of Autun, and
five from the college, where the boys had to be in time for the eight
o'clock class, summer and winter, it became necessary to have some means
of conveying them to and fro, for they were still very young,--Stephen a
little over eight, and Richard hardly seven. The eldest boy went alone
at first, but his brother soon insisted on going too. We decided to do
like most of our country neighbors, that is, to have a little
donkey-cart, because it would have been both inconvenient and expensive
to hire the farmer's so frequently. Accordingly we bought a small,
second-hand carriage with its donkey, and I was taught to drive; my
husband would have preferred a pony, but I was nervous at the idea of
driving one, although I had been told that it was much easier to manage
than a donkey, and discovered afterwards that it was the truth.

The little cart proved a great convenience for my husband's studies, as
he could start with it at any time, and there was no trouble about the
care of the donkey, the servant-girls being accustomed to it from
infancy--almost every household in the vicinity being in possession of
this useful and inexpensive animal. There is a Morvandau song, known to
all the little shepherdesses, in illustration of the custom:--

  "Mes parents s'y mariant tou
  Mé j'garde l'âne (_bis_).
  Mes parents s'y mariant tou
  Mé j'garde l'âne taut mon saoûl!

  "Mais quand mon tour viendra
  Gardera l'âne (_bis_).
  Mais quand mon tour viendra
  Gardera l'âne qui voudra."

At first we had a swift little animal, which could not be stopped at all
when he was behind another carriage, till that carriage stopped first.
It was an advantage in some cases,--for instance, when preceded by a
good horse; but if the horse went further than our destination, one of
us had to jump out and hold back the fiery and stubborn little brute by
sheer force, till his sense of jealous emulation was appeased.

The load upon the cart, when we were all together, was found excessive
for the animal, and my husband, who was always deeply concerned about
the welfare of dumb creatures, decided to have a bigger and stronger
donkey. He bought a very fine one, strong enough to pull us all, but he
did it in such a leisurely fashion that he received the expressive name
of "Dort-debout." This led my husband to write to me sometimes from
London, after a hard day's work: "Here is a very short note, but I am
like our donkey, je dors debout."

The editor of the "Saturday Review" asked Mr. Hamerton to be present at
the opening of the Paris Exhibition of 1867, and to write a series of
articles on the works of art exhibited; then to proceed to London for a
review of the Academy. He wished me very much to go with him, and I
being nothing loth, we started together, and received in Paris the
following letter from Aunt Susan:--

"WEST LODGE. _April_ 20, 1867.

"MY DEAR NEPHEW,--I am very glad indeed to hear from you, as I now know
where to direct my long-intended epistle to you; your uncle thought you
would not like to come to the exhibition in its very unfinished state,
and I thought you would like to be at the opening of it, and so the
matter was resting quite unacted upon. I grieve very much to tell you of
the sad tidings we have of poor Anne Gould; there has been a
consultation with her medical men, and they pronounce her case very
serious,--in fact, incurable. She grows thinner and weaker almost every
week, and one lung is said to be affected. A confinement is expected in
July, and I cannot but still hope that she may possibly come round
again; but it has been sorrowful news. We shall be very glad to see you
_both_ at West Lodge when you can make it convenient, and I do hope and
trust we shall be able to enjoy the anticipated pleasure of your
company. You will have left home with comparative comfort, the boys
being both at college, and, I expect, grandmamma with the little sister.
I was very glad when you wrote 'before _we_ can be in England,' as it
assured me the little wife was not to be sent homeward from Paris,
instead of accompanying you to West Lodge, where we shall be very glad
to see her."

Nevertheless, I had to go homewards, for about three weeks after our
arrival in Paris I heard that my little daughter Mary was ill with
bronchitis, and I hastened to her whilst my husband was leaving for
London. I was doubly sorry, because he was very reluctant to go alone;
but although he felt a sort of instinctive dread of the journey he did
not attempt to detain me. He had borne the sight-seeing very well, and
the crowds, which he disliked; but it was mainly because he had been
spared hotel life, for we had lodged with a former servant of ours, who
was married at Pré-Charmoy, and now lived at La Glacière, in Paris. It
was by no means a fashionable quarter, and our lodgings left much to be
desired in the way of comfort, but it will be seen how much he regretted
it all when alone at Kew, where he had taken lodgings after much
suffering from fatigue, over-work, and depression. Still, the first news
from London was very gratifying:--

"Un mot seulement pour te dire que _toutes les huit eaux-fortes_ sont
reçues à l'Académie et bien placées. Ces Académiciens commencent à
devenir gentils.

"Ce matin je suis allé de bonne heure à l'Académie, comme d'habitude;
j'ai maintenant ma carte d'exposant dont je suis très fier."

But after a fortnight he wrote:--

"PETITE CHÉRIE,--Aujourd'hui je vais me donner le plaisir de
m'entretenir longuement avec toi. Combien je préférerais te parler de
vive voix. Je suppose que je suis très bien ici; c'est-à-dire j'ai tout
ce que j'aime matériellement: le bon air, la belle nature, un petit
appartement d'une propriété vraiment exquise, une belle rivière tout à
côté, et des canots à ma disposition. Et cependant, malgré cela je suis
d'une tristesse mortelle, et j'ai beau me raisonner là-contre. Nous
avons été si heureux ensemble à Paris, malgré notre sale petite rue que
je vois bien la vérité de ce que tu m'as dit qu'il vaudrait mieux vivre
dans n'importe quel tandis, ensemble, que dans des palais, et sépares.
Si je croyais à l'immortalité de l'âme, je regarderais avec effroi la
possibilité d'être au ciel pendant que tu resterais sur la terre. Je
crois que ma maladie est due principalement à la tristesse et je tâche
de lutter là-contre. Je vais faire quelques eaux-fortes et aquarelles
dans mes moments de loisir pour m'empêcher, autant que possible, de
penser à ma solitude.

"J'ai eu un peu de fièvre dans la nuit, et ce matin je suis calme, mais
fatigué. Il ne faut pas t'en alarmer cependant; le voyage et
l'exposition réclamaient une réaction, et elle arrive naturellement au
premier moment où j'ai la possibilité du repos. Quant au repos, je m'en
donne aujourd'hui pleinement; je ne fais rien; mais je me reposerais
mieux si tu étais ici pour me dire que tu m'aimes et pour mettre tes
douces mains sur mon front. Je deviens par trop dépendant de toi, je
voudrais être plus fort--et pourtant je crois qu'on est plus heureux
étant triste à cause d'une séparation d'avec la femme aimée que si l'on
était insensible à cette séparation. Allons! je ne voudrais pas vendre
ma tristesse pour beaucoup! elle s'en ira le jour où je te verrai; en
attendant je la garde volontiers."

Then follows a minute description of his lodgings, of Kew itself--the
gardens, the river, the different boats upon it--and he concludes:--

"Tiens, voilà que je redeviens un peu gai, ce qui est bon signe; peut-
être, quand j'aurai reçu une lettre de toi cela ira mieux. Ainsi, ta-ta,
good-bye; embrasse bien les chers enfants pour moi et dis à ma petite
Marie que je lui rapporterai une pépem [for _poupée_, which she could
not yet pronounce clearly] ou autre chose de beau."

A few days later:--

"Je suis allé aujourd'hui au musée Britannique continuer mes études. Le
système que j'ai adopté parait bon, et ça va bien. Je limite
rigoureusement mes travaux en choisissant seulement la crême de la crême
des planches.

"Je me suis promené ce soir au jardin de Kew; ces promenades me rendent
toujours triste, parce qu'à chaque bel arbre ou jolie fleur, je me
figure combien tu en jouirais si tu étais avec moi. Quand on s'est si
bien habitué à vivre à deux il est difficile de redevenir garçon. Dans
ces moments de tristesse je pense toujours à la séparation éternelle, et
au sort de celui de nous qui restera. Enfin j'apprends ici une chose qui
me servira toujours, c'est que pour moi maintenant tout est vanité sans
toi. J'ai un jardin Royal à ma disposition, des collections d'oeuvres
d'art superbes, les plus jolis canots, une belle rivière, de bons livres
à lire, du succès avec les éditeurs et une réputation en bonne voie, et
pourtant cette existence ne vaut pas la peine de vivre. Il est bon de
savoir ces choses là et de se connaître. À Paris où notre existence
matérielle était pleine d'ennuis, j'étais pourtant heureux. Il ne faut
pas de ton côté être triste parce que je le suis, du moins si tu peux
l'éviter. C'est une affaire de deux ou trois semaines, voilà tout. De
mon côté je suis si occupé que je n'ai pas le temps de penser à moi-
même, et je travaille avec la régularité d'un homme de bureau. C'est
lorsque je rentre chez moi que je souffre de ne point t'avoir.

"Quant à ma santé, elle va mieux. Je connais l'état de mon système
nerveux et l'effet que le chemin-de-fer lui produit. Aujourd'hui je n'en
ai rien ressenti du tout. Quand je suis malade, la vibration et le
mouvement des objets me font souffrir un peu."

On the following Sunday:--

"DEAR LITTLE WIFE,--Last night I passed the evening with a set of
artists, friends of George Leslie, at the house of one of them, Mr.
Hodgson. They acted charades, and as their costumes (from their own
ateliers) were numerous and rich, it was very good. Among them were
Calderon and Frederick Walker. This morning we all set out for a walk on
Hampstead Heath; I have no doubt the walk will do me good, but I am very
well now, and feel better every day.

"I called on Rossetti the painter; he lives in a magnificent house,
furnished with very great taste, but in the most extraordinary manner.
His drawing-room is very large indeed and most curious; the general
effect is very good. He was very kind in receiving me, and I saw his
pictures, which are splendid in color, and very quaint and strange in
sentiment. His own manners are singularly soft and pleasant. I called on
Mr. Barlow the engraver, and spent some time with him about the
etchings. He will lend me some; Marks will lend me some also. The worst
of the way I go on in London now is that society absorbs too much time.
I must restrict it in future very much."

After the walk to Hampstead he wrote:--

"Yesterday, Sunday, I went on a long walk to Hampstead with
several artists who live close together, and I never met seven more
agreeable and more gentlemanly men; I enjoyed our conversation
extremely. George Leslie and I got some lunch at the inn and walked back
together.

"Calderon's studio that I saw a few days ago is richly tapestried and
very lofty; it is quite as fine as that of Millais. It seems Leighton
has built himself a studio forty feet long. Mr. Barlow, the engraver,
has a fine studio attached to the one you saw him in, and far larger.
All these artists complain of nothing but the too great prosperity of
the profession in these days; they tell me an artist's life is a
princely one now. They live and dress like gentlemen, and their
daughters might be 'clothed in scarlet.'

"The reason for my staying in London longer than I intended is the time
I have spent in society--a thing I certainly shall never do again--
because I go to bed so late, _always_ after twelve, whereas if I were
not in society I should go to bed at nine or ten, and keep my strength
up easily. Another thing I am sure of is that, _on the whole_, the
advantages of being isolated, as I am at Pré-Charmoy, counterbalance and
more than counterbalance the disadvantages. I certainly would not, if I
could, have a house in London; the loss of time is awful. The only good
in it for a painter is that the dealers are always after him for
pictures as soon as he succeeds.

"Mind you have a man from the farm to sleep in the house every night. It
would be well for him to have the gun loaded, only take care the
children don't get at it. My health is still tolerably good,
sufficiently so for me to get easily through what I have to do."

But the next news was far from being so satisfactory.

"J'ai des nouvelles de West Lodge qui sont vraiment tristes. Anne est
accouchée prématurément, et l'enfant--une fille--est morte après avoir
vécu deux nuits et un jour. On l'a baptisée Annie Jane Hamerton Gould.
Anne est dans un état de faiblesse tel qu'on n'espère pas la conserver
au-delà de quelques semaines, et mon pauvre oncle est dans l'île de
Wight avec elle, où tout cela se passe. La tante Susan, de son côté, est
malade d'une fièvre gastrique--maladie bien dangereuse, comme tu sais;
elle a pu m'écrire quelques mots au crayon; elle se trouve un peu mieux,
ce qui me fait espérer que probablement sa bonne constitution triomphera
du mal. Je voudrais aller la voir de suite, mais je suis tellement
retenu par mon travail; et puis le bon arrangement de ce travail et son
heureux succès m'avaient fait regagner un peu ma sérénité d'esprit, et
maintenant je souffre de nouveau pour mon oncle et ma tante. Vraiment
c'est pénible d'être là avec son dernier enfant qui s'en va si vite. Si
encore la pauvre petite avait vécu, mon oncle aurait eu une fille peur
remplacer les siennes, car il faut bien parler d'Anne comme d'une
personne morte.

"Je me félicite des résultats de mon nouveau système: je me lève de fort
bonne heure, j'ai fini dans l'Académie à 10 h. 1/2; alors je fais une
course, et immédiatement après je me rends au Musée où je déjeune. On y
déjeune très bien et pas cher; tu comprends que c'est pour les gens de
lettres qui travaillent à la bibliothèque. Je rentre ici à six heures,
et le soir je me promène un peu au jardin, ou sur l'eau; après quoi
j'écris à la petite femme chérie et je me couche. Aujourd'hui, comme
hier, j'ai étudié et décrit dix tableaux et dix planches. Je crois que
mes notes sur les aquafortistes iront plus vite que je ne l'avais
espéré. J'ai déjà terminé Claude, Salvator, Wilkie, Geddes, Ruysdaël,
Paul Potter. J'arriverai à ma vingtaine si ma santé se maintient pendant
tout mon séjour. Je réserve le samedi et le dimanche à Kew pour écrire
ou dessiner.

"Je m'étonne _du mauvais_ de certains aqua-fortistes célèbres. Dans
toute l'oeuvre de Ruysdaël je ne trouve que deux bonnes planches, et
encore si elles étaient publiées dans l'ouvrage de la Société Française,
je les trouverais peut-être mauvaises. Dans Salvator il y en a également
deux ou trois bonnes. L'oeuvre de Claude est belle en somme, avec
plusieurs mauvaises choses toutefois.

"Adieu, petite chérie, le temps de mon exil diminue, et alors je te
reverrai, toi et les enfants."

But he was suddenly and violently seized by a mysterious illness, which
threatened not only his life but his reason, as he told me afterwards.
He longed to have me near him, yet he was so courageous that, to spare
me, he only wrote that he was suffering from fatigue:--

"CROWN INN, WALTON-ON-THAMES.

"Ça va toujours tout doucement. Je me promène tranquillement. Je reste
encore ici deux nuits pour gagner un peu de force. Je suis toujours très
faible, mais le cerveau va mieux, je n'ai point de surexcitation
cérébrale. Je ne dois pas beaucoup écrire. Ainsi tata, ma bien aimée.

"_Lundi soir._

"Puisque je sais que tu dois être inquiète je t'écris une deuxième fois
aujourd'hui pour te dire que je vais _beaucoup mieux_. La force commence
à me revenir. Je me suis bien promené, lentement, toute la journée. Je
n'ai pas osé te dire combien j'ai désiré ta chère présence ces jours-ci.
Si je l'avais dit tu aurais été capable de te mettre en route. C'est
toujours triste d'être malade, mais c'est terrible quand on est seul
dans une auberge. [He had gone to Walton-on-Thames for quiet and rest.]

"Enfin j'espère que c'est à peu près passé pour cette fois, et je me
promets bien de ne plus jamais travailler au-dessus de mes forces. Mr.
Haden dit que je n'ai point de maladie, mais que je suis incapable de
supporter tout travail excessif. Il va falloir régler tout cela."

"J'ai dû renoncer à mon travail pendant deux jours parce que j'ai besoin
de repos, et il me semble plus sage de le prendre à temps que de me
rendre malade. Lorsque je suis malade je ne puis pas me reposer, tandis
que maintenant, je suis simplement fatigué. Je dors bien, mais comme je
suis seul dans mon logement, je deviens tout triste. Je n'ose pas penser
du tout à Pré-Charmoy parce que cela me donne une telle envie de te voir
que j'en serais malade. Ah! si la force physique voulait seulement
répondre à la force morale! Moralement, je n'ai jamais été plus fort,
plus disposé à la lutte; et puis ces jours de fatigue arrivent et
m'accablent, et je souffre dix fois plus qu'un paresseux s'y
résignerait.

"Beaucoup de baisers aux enfants, et beaucoup pour toi, petite femme
trop chérie. Je n'ose penser combien ce serait gentil si tu étais ici
auprès de moi."

In answer I immediately proposed to go to him, as our little daughter
was convalescent, and her grandmother would take care of her during my
absence, but he declined.

"PETITE CHÉRIE DE MON COEUR,--Je viens de recevoir ta bonne lettre, il
n'est pas nécessaire que tu viennes; je gagne graduellement. J'ai passé
la soirée avec Mr. Pearce qui sait que je suis malade. J'ai échappé sans
doute à un grave danger, j'ai même eu peur de perdre la raison; mais
tout cela est passé; je suis calme et quoique faible encore--plus fort.
C'est surtout mentalement que je vais mieux, ce qui est le plus
essentiel: le corps suivra. Je n'ai pas osé entreprendre le voyage de
Todmorden aujourd'hui, mais j'ai l'espoir de pouvoir partir demain.
Quoique en état de convalescence, je suis obligé d'être prudent et
d'éviter les grandes fatigues. Le médecin dit qu'il faudra un changement
dans ma manière de vivre. Le fait est que je me tue en travaillant et je
sens que je n'irais pas trois ans comme cela. Enfin je me dis que
puisque ma mort ne te ferait pas de bien, je dois tâcher de me
conserver; si ma mort pouvait t'être utile je mourrais bien volontiers.
Ta chère lettre, toute pleine d'affection, m'a fait du bien. Dis à mon
bon petit Stephen que je le remercie de toute sa tendresse pour moi et
que je vais mieux. J'ai beaucoup pensé à mes chers enfants, ne sachant
pas si je les reverrais.

"Je t'ai tout dit; ça a été seulement un état d'abattement complet
accompagné d'excitation des centres nerveux."

"KEW. _Thursday_.

"Le temps est si mauvais que je n'ai pas pu faire une seule esquisse. Ma
tante Susan t'a écrit pour te dire que la pauvre Anne a cessé de
souffrir. J'ai reçu une lettre de son mari qui me dit que les derniers
jours ont été bien pénibles. Je ne vais toujours pas bien à cause de la
tristesse et de l'inquiétude que tout cela m'a causé, mais il ne faut
pas être inquiète pour moi; ça se passera dans un jour ou deux, tu sais
que je suis très impressionnable.

"Il me prend de temps en temps d'angoissantes envies de te voir. Dans
ces moments-là il me semble que je réalise chaque mètre, chaque
centimètre de l'effroyable distance qui nous sépare. Je suis obligé de
lutter fortement contre ces idées qui finiraient par me rendre malade.

"Je dois maintenant aller au train; à demain donc."

"WEST LODGE. _Vendredi_.

"Je suis bien arrivé chez ma tante que j'ai trouvée en bonne santé, mais
je suis toujours horriblement triste ici, et je me le reproche, car ma
tante est toujours si bonne. Elle nous avait destiné la belle
chambre-à-coucher, et j'ai la chambre tout seul, ce qui ne contribue pas
à diminuer ma tristesse. Une chose au moins me console: j'ai le matériel
pour mon livre sur l'eau-forte, c'est beaucoup. Je crois la publication
de ce livre si essentielle à mon avenir, comme soutien de ma réputation,
que j'aurais été vraiment désolé de ne pas pouvoir le faire maintenant.
Ayant tout le matériel dans ma tête, je ferai l'ouvrage très vite, et je
suis convaincu qu'il sera bon et tout-à-fait nouveau. J'ai bien besoin
maintenant d'un peu de bruit pour augmenter ma réputation, car ces
articles anonymes ne l'aident point.

"Dans ta tristesse, ma chérie, il faut toujours avoir la plus grande
confiance en la durée de mon amour pour toi. Je crois que mon amour et
ma loyauté sont au moins aussi forts que le sentiment de l'héroïsme
militaire. Il me semble que si les soldats peuvent supporter toutes les
privations pour leur roi ou pour leur patrie, je dois pouvoir en faire
autant pour ma femme. Compte sur ma tendresse, même dans les
circonstances les plus difficiles, tu l'auras toujours. Grâce à ton
influence, je suis beaucoup plus capable qu'autrefois de supporter les
difficultés de la vie, et si nous avions à vivre dans une pauvre
chaumière, je t'aiderais gaiement à faire les travaux du petit ménage en
y consacrant deux ou trois heures par jour, et quand tu coudrais je te
ferais un peu la lecture, et toujours je t'aimerais. Ainsi crois que,
loin de souffrir des devoirs que je me suis imposés, j'y trouve la plus
profonde satisfaction, et que je me trouve plus respectable que si je ne
faisais rien."

"WEST LODGE. Vendredi.

"J'avais l'intention de partir aujourd'hui mais la tante Susan paraît
tellement triste quand je parle de m'en aller que j'ai dû reculer mon
départ jusqu'à lundi. Du reste j'ai fait trois planches que je crois
bonnes; j'y ai bien travaillé; j'ai aussi écrit trois articles, mais mon
travail pour la Revue ne gagne pas grand'chose, et du moment où la
peinture rapportera, je quitterai la revue; je n'aime pas ce genre de
travail, quoiqu'on dise que je le fais bien. J'aimerais autant être
cocher de fiacre. Ce que j'ai toujours désiré faire c'est de la
peinture; mes efforts dans cette direction n'ont pas abouti jusqu'à
présent, mais si j'avais un peu de temps libre, je saurais mieux faire à
cause de mon expérience de critique; je vois maintenant dans quel sens
il faut travailler.

"Je vis à Londres aussi simplement que possible et pourtant mes séjours
y sont très coûteux. Quant à la réputation, en comparaison du bonheur de
vivre tranquillement avec toi, elle m'est absolument indifférente. Il me
semble que lorsque le mari et la femme sont si parfaitement d'accord sur
le but de la vie, il doit être facile d'y parvenir. Notre plus grand
désir à tous les deux c'est d'être ensemble; eh! bien, du moment où les
choses nous seront propices, nous réaliserons notre désir, et même par
la volonté nous forcerons les circonstances, c'est-à-dire que nous
supporterons des inconvénients pour y arriver. Déjà Wallis et Colnaghi
consentent à exposer mes ouvrages; mes eaux-fortes sont appréciées.
Peut-être dans un temps comparativement rapproché serai-je en position
de donner ma démission--non seulement à la Saturday, mais à la
littérature, et à me dévouer exclusivement à l'Art. Du moment où cela
arrivera il sera infiniment plus facile d'être ensemble, car je tâcherai
de faire un genre d'Art qui me permettra d'étudier chez nous, ou dans un
petit rayon. Enfin regardons la situation actuelle comme pénible, mais
pas du tout permanente. Tu peux compter que du moment où je le pourrai
je quitterai la Revue; j'y suis bien décidé."

After this letter, my husband, feeling much better, came back to London
to resume his work, and wrote about what he thought most important or
most interesting to me. I shall quote from his letters in their order
according to dates.

WATERLOO PLACE, KEW. _Lundi soir_.

"Mr. Macmillan m'a reçu parfaitement, presque affectueusement; il m'a
invité à dîner. Je suis allé voir Mr. Seeley, mon nouvel éditeur, que
j'ai trouvé intelligent, comme il faut, jeune encore, et parfaitement
cordial. Je crois que mes relations avec lui seront tout-à-fait faciles.
[Footnote: Mr. Seeley had asked him to write some notes on Contemporary
French Painters, to be illustrated with photographs.]

"L'exposition, en somme, est belle. Il y a plusieurs tableaux
remarquables, entre autres une Vénus de Leighton que je trouve superbe.
La contribution de Landseer est importante, c'est un portrait de la
Reine, à cheval, en deuil; cheval _noir_, _trois chiens noirs_, groom
_noir_, _ciel noir_.

"C'est agréable de rentrer le soir en pleine campagne; ça me fait du
bien. Je n'ose pas penser combien ce serait gentil si ma chérie était
avec moi, parceque cela me rend triste tout de suite; mais je t'écrirai
_presque_ tous les jours, quelquefois brièvement quand je serai trop
pressé. Sois gentille toi, et écris souvent; les bonnes nouvelles que tu
m'envoies de ta santé et de celle des enfants m'ont rendu mon courage
et--ce que je puis avoir de gaieté."

"_Samedi_.

"Il paraît que j'avais encore besoin de repos, car aujourd'hui je suis
très fatigué. J'espère que lundi j'irai mieux; un ou deux jours de repos
me sont nécessaires: voilà tout. _Je n'ai point de surexcitation
cérébrale_; je dors bien et je me repose pleinement, ce qui ne doit pas
tarder à rétablir mes forces. Je souffre d'être seul. Mr. Gould va venir
passer huit jours ici; je trouve amiable de sa part de bien vouloir
venir s'établir à Kew pour être près de moi; mon oncle viendra peut-être
aussi.

"Je vais me plaindre un peu, tout doucement, de la petite chérie de
Pré-Charmoy; elle n'écrit pas assez souvent à son mari qui reçoit
toujours ses lettres avec tant de plaisir. Il y a pourtant une de ces
lettres qui a donné tant de bonheur qu'elle peut compter pour une
douzaine. Pauvre chérie! comme je voudrais toujours réussir à rendre ta
vie douce et agréable! Depuis que je ne vis plus pour moi, mais pour toi
et les enfants, j'ai goûté moi-même un nouveau genre de bonheur mêlé de
nouvelles tristesses. Ces tristesses sont dues à la pensée que je fais
si peu, et que, avec plus de forces je ferais tant et si bien! Avec la
force je serais sûr maintenant de réussir pleinement. Je tiens la
réputation par un petit bout, mais je la tiens, et elle augmentera. Tout
me prouve que notre avenir serait assuré si j'avais autant de force que
de volonté."

"_Dimanche_.

"Je suis allé voir George Eliot et Lewes qui a été charmant; il est venu
s'asseoir à côté de moi où il est resté tout le temps de ma visite, et
lorsque je suis parti, il s'est beaucoup plaint de ne pas me voir
davantage. Il me traite d'une façon très affectueuse, et en même temps
avec un respect qui, venant de lui, me flatte beaucoup. Quant à George
Eliot elle est très aimable, mais elle a le défaut de rester toujours
assise an même endroit, et quand il y a du monde, la seule personne qui
puisse causer avec elle, est son voisin. Quand j'y retournerai, je
m'installerai auprès d'elle, parce que je tiens à la connaître un peu
mieux. J'y ai rencontré Mr. Ralston qui s'était assis modestement un peu
en dehors du cercle où j'étais et pendant tout le temps de sa visite, il
n'a presque rien dit et c'est à peine si on lui a parlé. J'ai trouvé ces
arrangements mauvais. Les gens qui reçoivent doivent souvent changer de
place, de façon à causer avec tous leurs visiteurs.

"Lundi dernier j'ai dîné chez Mr. Craik--le mari de l'auteur de 'John
Halifax.' Il habite un charmant cottage à Beckenham, un endroit à quatre
lieues de Londres où il vient tous les jours en chemin-de-fer. Tu sais
qu'il est l'associé de Macmillan. Nous avons passé une soirée fort
agréable; c'est un homme très cultivé, qui autrefois était auteur, et
qui a occupé une chaire de littérature à Edimbourg. Sa femme, quoique
célèbre, est simple et très aimable; elle m'a dit que quand tu
viendrais, elle désirait te connaître.

"Mardi j'ai dîné chez le Professeur Seeley, le frère de mon éditeur; il
a occupé la chaire de Latin à l'Université de Londres. C'est l'auteur
d'_Ecce Homo_. Macmillan m'ayant donné ce livre, je l'ai trouvé très
fort comme style et d'une hardiesse étonnante. L'auteur est des plus
sympathiques; il a des manières charmantes--si modestes et si
intelligentes, car les manières peuvent montrer de l'intelligence.
J'aime beaucoup les deux frères, et dans le peu de temps que je les ai
vus j'en ai fait des amis.

"Mercredi j'ai dîné chez moi, ayant un article à écrire. Jeudi chez
Stephen Pearce. Vendredi chez Mr. Wallis, le marchand de tableaux. C'est
un homme très délicat et très fin. Il avait invité Mr. Burgess, un
artiste intelligent et agréable que j'avais déjà rencontré au Salon de
l'année dernière. J'ai rencontré Tom Taylor à l'exposition. Wallis et
nous avons causé quelque temps ensemble. J'ai rencontré Clifton et dîné
avec lui à son Club."

_"Lundi matin_.

"Je suis allé hier passer le tantôt chez Lewes, on a été enchanté de mes
eaux-fortes. George Eliot s'est plainte de ne pas avoir assez causé avec
moi à ma dernière visite, et m'a invitè à prendre place à côté d'elle.
Nous avons parlé d'art, de littérature et d'elle même. Elle m'a dit que
personne n'avait eu plus d'inquiétudes et de souffrances dans le travail
qu'elle, et que le peu qu'elle fait lui coûte énormément.

"J'ai discuté avec Lewes l'idée de faire la réimpression de mes
articles, et il m'a conseillé de ne pas le faire si je puis fonder un
livre sur ces articles. J'avoue que je serais assez tenté de faire un
ouvrage sérieux sur la peinture, pour lequel mes articles serviraient de
matériel."

"_Samedi soir._

"J'ai dîné hier soir chez Mr. Macmillan, nous étions seuls d'hommes. Il
y avait sa femme, ses enfants, et une grand'mère. Il a une famille
nombreuse, de beaux enfants. Sa femme est bonne, et si simple que j'ai
rarement vu un comme-il-faut plus achevé sans être de la distinction. La
maison est très spacieuse et entourée d'arbres magnifiques. Ce qu'il y a
de particulier dans cette maison, c'est un caractère intime et d'aisance
ancienne. Macmillan a su éviter avec un tact parfait, tout ce qui
pouvait rappeler le nouveau riche. On se croirait dans une grande maison
de campagne, à cinquante lieues de Londres, et dans une ancienne famille
établie là depuis plusieurs générations.

"Nous avons passé toute la soirée ensemble. Il laisse entièrement à mon
jugement tout ce qui regarde l'illustration de mon livre. Ce que j'ai
aimé dans cette maison, comme dans toutes les personnes que j'y ai
trouvées, a été l'absence complète de toute affectation. Tout est
homogène et je n'ai encore jamais vu une maison de campagne ayant cet
aspect-là. Mon respect pour Macmillan s'est considérablement augmentée
de ce qu'on ne rencontre chez lui aucune splendeur vulgaire: rien ne
parle d'argent chez lui.

"La conversation a été très générale. Quand je suis parti, il m'a
reconduit à travers un champ pour abréger mon chemin à la station. Il a
chanté quelques vieilles chansons avec beaucoup de caractère; j'ai
chanté un peu aussi--et pourtant je ne suis guère disposé à chanter.
Anne avait montré tant de contentement quand je suis allé la voir à
Sheffield--et penser que je ne la reverrai plus. Je souffre aussi pour
mon oncle, je me mets à sa place en pensant à ma petite Mary; si je la
perdais plus tard!... et puis--et puis, tu sais comment viennent les
idées noires, et combien un malheur vous en fait craindre d'autres."

"_Dimanche_.

"Je me sens de nouveau fatigué et cette fatigue semble persister. Il est
bien possible que l'ennui et la nostalgie y soient pour quelque chose.

"Figure-toi qu'il y a une jeune _peintresse_ qui m'a été recommandée, et
dont la situation est bien précaire; j'ai eu la faiblesse de lui écrire
une petite lettre gentille et encourageante et me voilà en butte à des
éclats de désespoir ou de reconnaissance; de reproches et de
remerciements. Le plaisir de faire du bien à ceux qui souffrent est tel,
que l'on voudrait s'en donner, et le critique est souvent tenté de
manger de ce sucre-là.

"Je ne regrette pas de m'être établi à Kew; il n'y a qu'une chose contre
Kew, c'est que je n'y connais personne, tandis qu'à St. John's Wood j'ai
plusieurs amis. Mais la solitude a aussi ses avantages et quand on voit
du monde tous les jours, on peut bien passer la soirée chez soi. Si la
petite femme était seulement ici, ce serait parfait."

"_Mardi_.

"Petite femme chérie qui a été gentille puisqu'elle a écrit deux
lettres.

"Celle-ci est simplement pour te dire que mon repos a enfin produit son
effet et que je suis rentré dans mon état ordinaire. Aujourd'hui je me
rends au Musée, et j'ai pu écrire.

"Mon oncle est arrivé hier soir, il partage mon salon, mais je lui ai
loué une chambre-à-coucher dans la maison voisine. Il ne paraît pas trop
abattu; nous causons beaucoup et je tâche de l'égayer autant que sa
position le permet. Il est moins réservé qu'autrefois et me laisse voir
davantage le cours de ses pensées qui vont souvent à ses filles et à sa
femme. Je l'emmène aujourd'hui à l'Académie. Il y a une chose qui doit
te rassurer quant à l'état de ma santé, c'est que je n'ai jamais ces
sensations au cerveau dont j'ai souffert. Le cerveau n'est pas fatigué
et en me reposant à temps, je répare rapidement mes forces. Ce qui est
vraiment insupportable ce sont les séparations, et j'ai bien de la peine
à m'y résigner, et je ne m'y résignerais pas du tout si la peinture
rapportait. Mais en mettant les choses au pis pour les affaires
d'argent, j'espère que tu me verras toujours courageux et affectueux
dans l'adversité; je me figure que depuis quelque temps j'ai appris à la
supporter sans qu'elle puisse m'aigrir. Si je dois vivre de
pommes-de-terre, ou même mourir de faim, tu me verras toujours dévoué
jusqu'à la mort. Celles-ci ne sont pas de vaines paroles; je suis prêt à
les soutenir dans une pauvre cabane ou sur le lit d'un hôpital."

"_Lundi_.

"T'ai-je dit que j'avais trouvé ici-même un locataire étudiant la
botanique à 'l'herbarium' tous les jours, et qu'en nous promenant
ensemble au jardin, les soirs, il m'apprend les noms des arbres qui ne
sont pas indiqués. J'ai aussi des fleurs sur ma fenêtre: je t'en donne
une. Je ne connais pas le langage des fleurs, mais si celle-ci ne te dit
pas que je t'aime beaucoup--beaucoup--elle interprète bien mal mes
sentiments.

"J'ai lu un peu du livre de Max Müller sur l'étude _comparative_ des
langues. C'est excessivement curieux. Tu n'as aucune idée de combien
l'étymologie est intéressante quand elle est basée sur la connaissance
de tant d'idiômes; on peut tracer la parenté les mots d'une manière
étonnante; les changements dans la façon de les écrire ont pour résultat
de les dénaturer tellement que nous avons beaucoup de peine à les
reconnaître sans _retracer_ toute leur histoire dans la littérature. Mr.
Max Müller retrace ainsi, d'une manière ingénieuse, mais bien
convainçante, l'usage des mots pour arriver à leurs racines primitives,
et puis il forme des théories d'après ces comparaisons--qui sont au
moins toujours intéressantes. Ce qu'il y a de remarquable c'est qu'on
retrouve les mêmes mots dans les endroits les plus éloignés, des mots
Anglais et Français qui ont leur origine dans le Sanskrit; et de même
pour d'autres idiomes. Max Müller diffère des philologues anciens en
ceci que tandis qu'ils étudiaient seulement les langues classiques, lui
trouve la lumière et le matériel partout, même dans le Patois: ainsi le
Provençal lui a été indispensable et bien d'autres langues encore que
les amateurs des classiques négligent généralement."

This interest in languages grew with years. When at Sens, we studied
Italian together, but my increasing deafness made me abandon it on
account of the pronunciation, whilst my husband, on the contrary, made
it a point to read some pages of it every day, and even to write his
diary in that language. Later still, he used to send to Florence some
literary compositions to be corrected. After the marriage of his
daughter, he used occasionally to ask his son-in-law, M. Raillard, for
lessons in German, and had even undertaken to write, with his
collaboration, a work on philology which was to have been entitled,
"Words on their Travels, and Stay-at-Home Words," which his unexpected
death cut short. In the afternoon of the day on which he died, as he was
coming back home from the Louvre in a tram-car, he took out of his
pocket a volume of Virgil, and read it the whole way. "I furbish up my
Latin and Greek when on a steamer or in omnibuses," he said to me; "it
prevents my being annoyed by the loss of time."

"_Jeudi soir_.

"Je suis retourné chez Seeley où on m'a traité d'une façon tout-à-fait
délicate; le Professeur est un des hommes les plus sympathiques que
j'aie rencontrés. Je t'en parlerai plus longuement de vive voix, et
quant à son frère Richmond je n'ai jamais connu quelqu'un avec qui je
m'entende aussi facilement. Il y a une chose bien charmante en lui,
c'est que, bien qu'il soit à la tête d'une grande maison, il n'a jamais
l'air pressé et vous écoute avec une patience parfaite.

"Ce que tu me dis de 'mon courage au travail et à la lutte' me paye pour
bien des heures de besogne. Tout ce qui me décourage parfois, c'est ma
faible santé qui m'oblige souvent à paraître paresseux sous peine d'être
malade.

"Il me tarde tant de te revoir que je suis comme un pauvre prisonnier en
pays étranger, loin de la Dame de ses pensées. Alors, tu sais, il faut
m'écrire et embrasser les enfants pour moi."

"_Vendredi_.

"J'ai été désolé de ne pas pouvoir t'écrire aujourd'hui; il est
maintenant 1 h. du matin. Je vais _bien_, mais je suis accablé de
travaux et pourtant je veux partir bientôt; je finirai à la maison.
Aujourd'hui j'ai terminé mon article juste à temps pour l'impression.
Comme notre âne 'Je dors debout'; aujourd'hui je tombais presque de
sommeil dans les rues de Londres.

"Les travaux sur l'eau-forte sont terminés cette fois. À bientôt!"

"22 RUE DE L'OUEST PARIS. _Lundi_.

"Je suis arrivé hier à 5 h. du soir. _Je ne suis pas du tout fatigué_,
ce qui semble indiquer une augmentation de force, car tu sais que les
longs voyages me fatiguent généralement beaucoup. Je suis allé ce matin
dès 8 h. chez Delâtre oû j'ai fait tirer mes planches. On fait le tirage
de suite et les livraisons paraîtront cette semaine.

"Quant à mes pauvres enfants, je suis désolé de les savoir malades, mais
ta lettre m'encourage à espérer qu'ils sont en bonne voie de
convalescence. Tu as dû avoir un temps difficile à passer ainsi tout
seule: chère petite femme, je crois que si j'y avais été c'eût été plus
facile pour toi: les enfants de mon ami Pearce sont également malades de
la scarlatine.

"Hier soir j'ai dîné chez Froment [the artist who paints such beautiful
decorative works for Sèvres]; ce matin j'ai déjeuné chez Froment, ce
soir j'y dîne, et ainsi de suite."

M. Froment had been most hospitable to both of us during our stay in
Paris; he had given us a day at Sèvres, and had shown us the
_Manufacture_ in all its details. He was a widower, and inconsolable for
the loss of his wife, whose memory was as sacred to him as religion. His
two daughters were at home; the eldest watching maternally over the
younger sister, who, however, died a few years later. M. Froment's
feelings, perceptions, and tastes were exquisitely refined, and my
husband derived both benefit and pleasure from the friendly intercourse.
In after years Gilbert met M. Froment occasionally, and found him always
full of kindness and regard.

After nursing the children through scarlatina I caught it myself, and
when my husband knew of it, he wrote:--

"I write just to say how sorry I am not to be able to set off _at once_,
and be at your bedside. I shall certainly not be later than Saturday. I
am of course very busy, and have no time for letter-writing. I have seen
Docteur Dereims to-day, and told him of your illness. He insists on the
necessity of the greatest care during your convalescence. You must
especially avoid _cold drinks_, as highly dangerous.

"Things are going on as I wish for my book on Etching. I am getting hold
of plates which alone would make it valuable. Pray take care of
yourself. I wish I were with you."

On the following day:--

"I am very sorry to hear you had such a bad night; but from all I can
hear from Dr. Dereims you are only going through the usual course of the
illness. I will be with you on Saturday without fail. You may count upon
me as upon an attentive, though not, I fear, a very skilful nurse. But I
will try, like some other folks, to make up in talk what I lack in
professional skill. I am tolerably well, but rather upset by this news
from Pré-Charmoy. I could not sleep much last night.

"I am going to the exhibition to-day, and will be thinking of little
wife all the time. I have met with a quantity of very fine paper for
etching, of French manufacture, and have obtained Macmillan's authority
to purchase it for the _text also_. It will be a splendid publication. I
feel greater and greater hopes about that book.

"Only forty-eight hours of separation from the time I write."

The day after:--

"Enfin il y a bien peu de chose à faire à mes planches, et j'espère que
dans un jour ce sera terminé.

"J'ai beaucoup de choses à te dire mais ce sera pour nos bonnes
causeries intimes. Je voyagerai toute la nuit de vendredi afin d'arriver
samedi dans la matinée. Quand je pense à toi et aux enfants, à la petite
maison, à la petite rivière et à tous les détails de cette délicieuse
existence que nous passons ensemble, il me faut beaucoup de courage pour
rester ici seul à terminer mon travail."

When my husband reached home, I was still in bed, and unwilling to let
him come to me for fear of infection; but he would not hear of keeping
away. "I never catch anything," he said gayly, "don't be anxious on my
account;" and he insisted upon sleeping on a little iron bedstead in the
dressing-room close to our bedroom, to nurse me in the night.

He soon recovered his usual health, with occasional troubles of the
nervous system; but he had grown careful about the premonitory symptoms,
and used to grant himself a holiday whenever they occurred. Having been
told whilst in London that novel-writing paid better than any other
literary production, he now turned his thoughts towards the possibility
of using his past experience for the composition of a story. It would be
a pleasant change from criticism, he said, and would exercise different
mental faculties. Very soon the plan of "Wenderholme" was formed, and we
entertained good hopes of its success.

In the month of September, 1866, the wedding of my sister
Caroline took place quietly at our house, Mr. Hamerton being looked
upon as the head of the family since the death of my father. Although he
prized his privacy above everything else, he was ready to sacrifice it
as a token of his affection for his sister-in-law, and went through all
the necessary trouble and expense for her sake. She married a young man
who had formed an attachment for her ever since she was fifteen years
old,--M. Pelletier,--and they went to live at Algiers, where he was then
Commis d'Économat at the Lycée. It was agreed that they should spend the
long vacation with us every year.

There are a good many days of frost in a Morvandau winter, and the snow
often remains deep on the ground for several weeks together; there was
even more than usual in 1867, so my husband devised a new amusement for
the boys by showing them how to make a giant. Every time they came home,
they rolled up huge balls of snow which were left out to be frozen hard,
then sawn into large bricks to build up the monster. The delight of the
boys may be imagined. Every new limb was greeted with enthusiastic
shouts, they thought of nothing else; and, perched on ladders, their
little hands protected by woollen gloves, they worked like slaves, and
could hardly be got to eat their meals. But how should I describe the
final scene, when in the dark evening two night-lights shone out of the
giant's eyes, and flames came out of its monstrous mouth?... It was
nothing less than wild ecstasy. Their father also taught them skating;
there was very little danger except from falls, for they began in the
meadows about the house, where they skated over shallow pools left in
the hollows by rain-water or melted snow; but when they became
proficient, we used to go to the great pond at Varolles. As my husband
has said in one of his letters, all that was very good for him.

In January, 1868, he left again for London, and felt but little
inconvenience on the way and during his stay. Knowing that I should be
anxious, he formed the habit of sending me frequent short pencil notes,
to say how he was. I give here a few of them:--

"LONDRES. _Vendredi soir_.

"J'ai été très occupé aujourd'hui au musée Britannique. Demain j'irai
voir des expositions. Je compte partir dimanche pour Paris."

"_Samedi matin._

"J'écris dans une boutique. Je vais bien. Je dîne au Palais de Cristal
avec un Club."

"_Samedi soir._

"Je vais bien. Pauvre petit Richard! embrasse-le bien pour moi; tu as dû
être bien inquiète."

This was about a serious accident which had happened to our youngest
boy. Whilst at play with his brother on the terrace, and in my presence,
he ran his head against a low wall, and was felled senseless to the
ground by the force of the blow; the temple was cut open, and his blood
ran over my arm and dress when I lifted him up, apparently lifeless. The
farmer's cart drove us rapidly to Autun, where we found our doctor in
bed--it was ten at night. The wound was dressed and sewn up, and the
pain brought back some signs of life. I asked if I ought to take a room
at the hotel to secure the doctor's attendance at short intervals, but I
was told that blows of that kind were either fatal or of little
importance; the only thing to be done was to keep ice on the head and
renew it constantly. The poor child seemed to have relapsed into an
insensible state, and remained so all night. In the early morning,
however, he awoke without fever, and was quite well in about three
weeks.

I had asked my husband to take the opinion of an aurist about my
increasing deafness, and he tenderly answered:--

"Sérieusement je ne crois pas que ta surdité augmente. Avant de te
rendre compte combien tu étais sourde, tu ne savais pas quels bruits
restaient pour toi inaperçus. Maintenant tu fais de tristes découvertes;
moi qui suis mieux placé pour t'observer, puisque j'entends ce que tu
n'entends pas, je sais que tu es très sourde, mais je ne vois pas
d'augmentation depuis très longtemps et je crois que tu resteras à peu
près comme tu es. J'en ai parlé aujourd'hui avec Macmillan dont une amie
été comme toi pendant longtemps et qui éprouve maintenant une
amélioration graduelle, mais très sensible. Tâche surtout de ne pas trop
t'attrister, parce qu'il paraît que le chagrin a une tendance à
augmenter la surdité. Quant à parler d'aimer mieux mourir, tu oublies
que mon affection pour toi est bien au-dessus de toute infirmité
corporelle, et que nous aurons toujours beaucoup de bonheur à être
ensemble; du moins je parle pour moi. Et même si ta surdité augmentait
beaucoup, nous aurions toujours le moyen de communiquer ensemble en
parlant très haut: en France nous parlerions anglais, et en Angleterre,
français."

He sympathized so much with my trouble that, unlike many other
husbands, who would have been annoyed at having to take a deaf
wife into society, he urged me to go with him everywhere, kindly
repeated what I had not heard, and explained what I misunderstood. He
always tried his best to keep away from me the feeling of solitude, so
common to those who are deprived of hearing.

Just as I was rejoicing over the thought that my husband had
prosperously accomplished this last journey, I had a letter from him,
dated "Hôtel du Nord, Amiens," in which he said he was obliged to stop
there till he felt better, for he could eat absolutely nothing, and was
very weak. The worst was that I dared not leave my poor little Richard
yet, to go to his father: the wound on the temple was not healed, and
the doctor had forbidden all excitement, for fear of brain-fever after
the shock. I was terribly perplexed when the following letter reached
me:--

"HÔTEL DE L'AIGLE NOIR, FONTAINEBLEAU. _Mercredi_.

"Tu apprendras avec plaisir que j'ai regagné un peu d'appétit hier
soir. J'ai mangé un dîner qui m'a fait tant de bien que ce ne serait pas
cher à une centaine de francs. Cet hôtel est très propre et la cuisine y
est faite convenablement sans mélange de sauces. Toute la journée de
lundi à Amiens, j'ai vécu d'un petit morceau de pain d'épices. Le soir à
10 h. 1/2 j'ai mangé une tranche de jambon. Je suis parti à minuit pour
Paris où je suis arrivé à 4 h. du matin. Pour ne pas me rendre plus
malade, je n'ai pas voulu rester dans la grande ville que j'ai traversée
d'une gare à l'autre immédiatement. J'ai pris une tasse de chocolat et
écrit quelques lettres en attendant le train pour Fontainebleau qui est
parti de la gare à 8 h. C'était un train demi-express, mais je l'ai bien
supporté. En arrivant à Fontainebleau je n'ai pas pu déjeuner et je n'ai
rien mangé jusqu'au soir quand j'ai bien dîné. C'est très économique de
ne pas pouvoir manger. J'ai sauté plusieurs repas, qui par conséquent ne
figurent nullement dans les notes.

"Hier soir je me suis promené un peu dans les jardins du palais qui est
lui-même vaste, mais c'est un amas de constructions lourdes et de
mauvais goût, du moins en général. Cela me fait l'effet d'une caserne
ajoutée à une petite ville. Les jardins, les arbres sont magnifiques. Je
me trouve bien ce matin, mais un peu faible par suite du peu de
nourriture que j'ai pu prendre depuis quelques jours. Enfin, je suis en
train de me refaire. Je désire vivement être chez moi, et j'y arriverai
aussitôt que possible sans me rendre malade. Embrasse pour moi les
enfants et ta mère; à toi de tout coeur."

He reached home safely, but the fatigue and weakness seemed to last
longer than previously, and insomnia frequently recurred. He did his
best to insure refreshing sleep by taking more exercise in the open air,
but it became clear that he must abandon work at night, because when his
brain had been working on some particular subject, he could not quiet it
at once by going to bed, and it went on--in spite of himself--to a state
of great cerebral excitement, during which production was rapid and
felicitous--therefore tempting; but it was paid for too dearly by the
nervous exhaustion surely following it. It was a great sacrifice on his
part, because he liked nothing better than to wait till every one had
retired and the house was all quiet and silent, to sit down to his desk
under the lamp, and write undisturbed--and without fear of
disturbance--till dawn put out the stars.

He now changed his rules, and devoted the evenings to reading.




CHAPTER IX.


1868.

Studies of Animals.--A Strange Visitor.--Illness at Amiens.--
Resignation of post on the "Saturday Review."--Nervous seizure in
railway train.--Mrs. Craik.--Publication of "Etching and Etchers."--
Tennyson.--Growing reputation in America.

In the course of the years 1865-67 Mr. Hamerton had made the
acquaintance of several leading French artists,--Doré, Corot, Daubigny,
Courbet, Landelle, Lalanne, Rajon, Brunet-Debaines, Flameng, Jacquemart,
etc. The etchers he frequently met at Cadart's, where they came to see
proofs of their etchings; the painters he went to see for the
preparation of his "Contemporary French Painters" and "Painting in
France." Together with these works he had begun his first novel,
"Wenderholme," and had been contemplating for some time the possibility
of lecturing on aesthetics. I was adverse to this last plan on account
of his nervous state, which did not seem to allow so great an excitement
as that of appearing in public at stated times; I persuaded him at least
to delay the realization of the project till he had quite recovered his
health, despite the invitations he had received both from England and
America. He continued to paint from nature, with the intention of
resigning his post on the "Saturday Review" in case of success, but now
devoted more of his time to the study of animals, principally oxen, as
he liked to have models at hand without leaving home.

Desiring to be thoroughly acquainted with the anatomy of the ox, he
bought one which had died at the farm, and had it boiled in parts till
the flesh was separated from the bones, which were then exposed to dry
in the sunshine. When thoroughly dried they were kept in the garret, and
successively taken to the studio to serve for a series of drawings, of
which I still possess several. As we had a goat, and sometimes kids, he
also made numerous sketches from them, as well as from ducks, sheep and
lambs, hens and chickens. There was also a Waterloo veteran who came
weekly as a model, and who was painted in a monk's dress, which my
husband used afterwards, and for a long time, as a dressing-gown.

This habit of sketching animals whenever he had a chance gave rise to
some amusing incidents before our peasant neighbors knew that he
"painted portraits of dumb beasts, as well as of Christians." Some
farmers' wives, alarmed at the sight of odd pennies in the pockets of
their offspring, accused them of pilfering, but on being told that the
"gros sous" had been given them by "le père anglais," came to our house
to ascertain how and why; for, unlike the people of the South, they
would not have tolerated begging. They were quieted by the assurance
that the money had been honestly earned by the children for holding
their goat or donkey whilst its portrait was taken; nay, they even felt
a little proud that an animal of theirs should have been thought worthy
of such an honor.

Etching in all its forms was pursued at the same time with lithography
and photography; even a new kind of transparent etching ground was
invented by Mr. Hamerton, which made it possible for etchers to see the
work already done upon a plate after having it grounded again for
correction or additional work.

A strange incident occurred during this winter. My husband's rising
reputation had, it appears, given to many people a desire for his
personal acquaintance, or for intercourse by correspondence. The first
desire brought him many unexpected visitors, the second quite an
appreciable increase of work, as he hardly ever left a letter
unanswered. To give the reader an instance of the extraordinary notions
entertained by some people, I shall relate the true history of one
visitor amongst others. Some letters at short intervals, from England,
signed--let us say--Beamish, mentioned a mysterious project which could
not possibly be explained otherwise than by word of mouth, and which
might be both profitable and agreeable to Mr. Hamerton, if realized. He
was asked to call upon the correspondent for an explanation if he should
happen to go to London soon; if not, Mr. Beamish begged leave to come
over and see him. Of course the leave was given, and the gentleman
having written that on such a day he would be at such an hotel in Autun,
Gilbert went to fetch him in the pony-carriage--for Dort-debout had
tired out our patience, and had been replaced by a beautiful and
energetic little pony called Cocote.

When we met Mr. Beamish, we found him a most prepossessing young man, of
elegant manners and refined speech; in short, a gentleman. He begged me
to allow his portmanteau to be placed in the carriage; and as I observed
that he was not expected to dress for our family dinner, he answered
that it only contained papers that he should want.

Two other friends, understanding English, joined us at dinner. The
conversation was animated, but Mr. Beamish never hinted at the
mysterious project. In the evening, engravings and etchings were shown
to our guest, but failed to excite his interest, for he soon fell asleep
on the sofa, and let our friends go without awaking. Unwilling to
disturb him, we remained till nearly one o'clock, when I decided to
retire, whatever happened afterwards; and I was so tired that after
going to bed I never awoke till morning, when I asked my husband at what
time Mr. Beamish had gone. "Gone," he answered; "why, I don't know that
he has gone at all, for I left him after three, just where he was." I
hardly dared peep into the drawing-room; however, it was empty; but when
the breakfast-bell was rung, Mr. Beamish came in unconcernedly to have
his share of the simple meal, during which he talked pleasantly and
intelligently of his experiences in India, where he had spent the
greater part of eighteen years. Nothing was said of the project, and
after vainly waiting for some mention of it, my husband returned to his
study, after letting Mr. Beamish know that he was not to be disturbed
till eleven o'clock, for it was the time of his morning work. "Very
well," answered our guest; "meanwhile I shall put my books and papers in
order." At the same time he requested me to send rather a large table
into the room where he had slept (it was the room in which his
portmanteau had been put), and to tell the servants to be careful not to
interfere in any way with what he would leave upon it, not even to dust,
_so long as he remained with us_. I then believed that Gilbert had
invited him to stay some time, but I was undeceived in the course of the
day, and told that the mysterious project had been unfolded at last, and
was a proposition that he should undertake a journey to Palestine in the
company of Mr. Beamish, to join Holman Hunt, who was painting studies in
the Holy Land. "But what made you think I was ready to undertake such a
pilgrimage?" Mr. Hamerton had asked in great astonishment. "Because I
read that you liked camping out," was the reply; "and thought also that,
being an artist, you would be glad to meet with Holman Hunt, who, like
you in the Highlands, works directly from nature. I thought, moreover,
that, as I intend to go myself, you would be agreeable and profitable
society."

Although my husband had declined to give the slightest consideration to
this plan, Mr. Beamish still remained, and vaguely hinted that a still
more mysterious project detained him at Autun.

He went on foot, alone, to the college, on three successive afternoons,
begged to see our boys, and tipped them so generously that the principal
thought it his duty to ask their father whether he had authorized these
visits--clearly implying that he doubted the soundness of the visitor's
mind.

We had learned in the course of conversation that our guest was of a
benevolent and charitable disposition, and that he had spent much money
in India in founding hospital-beds for poor women, whose sufferings he
warmly compassionated. He was also full of sympathy for the Indian
people, and spoke of their wrongs not without a certain degree of
excitement, but still in a manner to arouse our interest. Altogether,
although he was a self-imposed guest, we had already learned to like
him, and were unwilling to remind him, with ever so little rudeness,
that he was in the way. My husband said that his conduct might be
explained by the fact that he had lived so long in India, where the
dwellings of Europeans are often at great distances from each other, and
where a visitor is always made at home and welcome; that Mr. Beamish was
only acting as he had been accustomed to do for the greater part of his
life, for he was still a young man of about thirty-six.

After about a week's stay, he began to talk of leaving us within a short
time, but did not say when--that would depend on _certain_
circumstances. However, on a bitterly cold evening, with the snow deep
on the ground, he requested to be driven to Autun, and took a friendly
leave of us all without explanation. But the principal of the college
related the following strange story to Mr. Hamerton:--

"Your friend, Mr. Beamish, whom I had met at your house, came here under
pretext of seeing your sons, but called upon me, and asked point-blank
if I would give him my help in a charitable deed of some importance.
'What is the nature of the deed?' was my first question. 'The salvation
of a soul.' 'In what form?' I did not get a direct answer, but I was
told that the idea had sprung from religious motives, and that knowing
my strong attachment to religion--though it was the Roman Catholic
religion--he hoped I should have sufficient moral courage to help him in
his deed of mercy--in fact he had resolved to reclaim a fallen woman.
Vainly did I attempt to turn him from his generous but impracticable
resolution. He threatened to act alone if I refused him the sanction of
my presence, but he hoped that the Aumônier would see his action in its
true light, and putting himself above popular suspicion, would accompany
him 'to the very den of sin to offer salvation to a lost but _repentant
sheep_.' It was useless to try to make him understand that it was
impossible for the Aumônier to risk his character, even with the hope of
doing good, and at last Mr. Beamish expressed a desire to meet him in my
presence on the morrow. Our worthy Aumônier was horrified at the idea of
the kind of sinners he would have to meet, and declined to have anything
to do with the wildly charitable scheme."

The next news was brought to Autun four days later by the woman whom
poor Mr. Beamish thought he had rescued at the cost of four hundred
francs for her liberation from debt, and about two hundred more for
decent clothing. He had taken her as far as Dijon, where he had left her
in some kind of reformatory; but after enjoying the change, and with her
purse replenished to carry her through the first difficulties of an
honest life, she hastened back to the old haunt to gibe and jeer at her
benefactor.

Another queer visitor was an English gentleman, past middle age, who
could never find his way back to our house, but invariably appeared at
meal-times in the dining-room of some neighbor, who had to escort him to
Pré-Charmoy.

The opening of the Academy exhibition had come round again, and Mr.
Hamerton had to go and criticise it as usual; but after reaching Amiens,
he felt so poorly that he resolved to send his resignation to the
"Saturday Review," and to return home as quickly as he could. Here is
his letter to me:--

"HÔTEL DU NORD, AMIENS. _Dimanche_.

"Bonne chérie.--Je suis arrivé à Amiens samedi matin de bonne heure,
ayant l'intention de me reposer un peu à l'hôtel et puis de continuer
mon voyage le tantôt, mais en me levant j'ai senti que j'avais besoin
d'un repos un peu plus prolongé après les fatigues de Paris. Le plus
ennuyeux c'est que je peux à peine manger quelque chose. Comme ce manque
d'appétit m'affaiblera inévitablement s'il continue longtemps et que
l'affaiblissement amènerait probablement un mauvais état du système
nerveux, je crois que le plus sage serait de renoncer pour cette fois au
voyage en Angleterre et de revenir au Pré-Charmoy comme un faux billet
indigne de circuler. Mon intention est donc de retourner, et pour
changer je prendrai probablement la ligne de Dijon, en m'arrêtant un
jour à Sens pour voir Challard. [An artist who had copied some drawings
of Jean Cousin for the "Fine Arts Quarterly Review."]

"Comme je te l'ai promis, je fais ce qui me semble être le plus sage. Je
reviendrai le plus vite que je pourrai sans hasarder ma santé.

"J'ai loué un petit bateau hier avec lequel j'ai exploré la rivière
d'Amiens--la Somme--en haut de la ville. Il est impossible d'imaginer
rien de plus pittoresque. Il y a une grande quantité de petites maisons
et baraques au bord de l'eau et je vais prendre là le matériel d'une
eau-forte. J'espère que cette retraite n'est pas trop ridicule. Un bon
général, dit-on, se distingue tout autant dans la retraite que dans
l'avance; et comme par le fait il y a manque de vivres--puisque je ne
peux pas manger--il me semble que la prudence conseille ce que les
Américains appelaient 'un mouvement stratégique' quand ils avaient été
battus."

"AMIENS. _Lundi matin_.

"Comme je n'avais pas encore regagné d'appétit hier j'ai pensé qu'il
serait plus sage de rester ici encore un peu et je suis allé
canoter sur la rivière.

"Mr. Cook avec une grande et charmante bonté m'a fait des remontrances:
il me dit que le ton de ma lettre l'a blessé et que mes 'menaces' lui
ont fait de la peine; qu'il n'a jamais manqué de largesse envers ses
écrivains et que l'excédent de mes dépenses en livres, voyages, etc.,
sera toujours défrayé par la Revue. J'ai été réellement touché de la
manière affectueuse dont il m'a fait ses observations auxquelles il a su
joindre des compliments, en me disant que j'avais découvert la meilleure
façon de faire la revue des expositions et que mes articles sont
précisément ce qu'il lui faut. J'ai répondu que quant à la peine que
cela avait pu lui faire, je le regrettais sincèrement, mais que les
'menaces' étaient tout simplement l'expression d'une résolution très
décidément prise, et dans un moment où j'étais à la fois trop malade et
trop pressé pour procéder avec plus de formes.

"Comme ma promenade sur l'eau m'a fait du bien hier je vais la
renouveler.

"Ton mari, qui te reverra bientôt."

I decided at once to go to him; my mother, who had come to stay with me
during his absence, approved my resolution, and undertook the management
of the house and the care of the children: so without asking for his
leave, I wrote that I was on my way to Amiens.

His joy was great when he saw me, and his progress towards recovery was
so rapid that he abandoned the idea of retracing his steps, and
encouraged by my presence, thought he could accomplish the journey to
London without danger. It was of great importance that he should keep
his post on the "Saturday Review," because it was his only _regular_
income, everything else being uncertain; and we knew that if he could
undertake the work again it would be readily entrusted to him.

We only stayed two days at Amiens, and as my husband was never seasick
or nervous on the sea, everything went on satisfactorily so far; but as
soon as we had left Dover for London, I perceived signs of uneasiness in
his behavior. He closed his eyes not to see the moving objects we
passed; he uncovered his head, which seemed burning by the flushed face;
he chafed his cold, bloodless hands, and shuffled his feet to bring back
circulation. For a long time he attempted to hide these alarming
symptoms from me, but I had detected them from the beginning; his eyes
had a far-reaching look and unusual steely brilliancy; the expression of
his countenance was hard-set, rigid, almost defiant, as if ready to
overthrow any obstacle in his way; and indeed it was the case, for
unable to control himself any longer, he got up and told me hoarsely
that he was going to jump out of the train. I took hold of his hands,
and said I would follow; only I entreated him to wait a short time, as
we were so near a station. I placed myself quite close to the door of
the railway carriage, and stood between it and him. Happily we _were_
near a station, else I don't know what might have happened; he rushed
out of carriage and station into the fields, whilst I followed like one
dazed and almost heart-broken. After half-an-hour he lessened his pace,
and turned to me to say, "I think it is going." I could not speak for
fear of bursting into tears, but I pressed his hand in mine and held it
as we continued our miserable way across the fields. We walked perhaps
two hours, at the end of which Gilbert said tenderly, in his usual
voice: "You must be terribly tired, my poor darling; I think I could
bear to rest now; we may try to sit down." We sat down upon a fallen
tree, and after some minutes he told me that if I could get him a glass
of beer somewhere it would bring him round. I went in search of an inn
and discovered a closed one, for it was Sunday and the time of afternoon
service. Nevertheless I knocked so perseveringly that a woman came
forth, incensed by my pertinacity, and peremptorily refused with
indignation any kind of drink: to obtain a bottle of beer I had to take
an oath that it was for a patient.

The glass of ale at once calmed and revived my husband, and when the
bottle had been emptied--in the course of an hour or so--he was himself
again and felt hungry.

We did not know the place,--it was Adisham; we had no luggage, and as to
resuming our journey it was out of the question, for some time at least.
So I went again to the inn, and asked the woman if she could give us a
room. "No, there was not one ready; and then it was so suspicious,
people coming like that through the fields and without luggage." I
offered to pay in advance. "But we might be runaways." My husband had
his passport, and I explained that he had been taken ill suddenly, and
that our luggage could be sent to us from London. "If the gentleman were
to die here it would be a great trouble." I had to assure her that it
was not dangerous, and that rest only was required. At last she
consented to show me into a very clean, freshly-papered room,
deprecating volubly the absence of curtains and bedstead in such an
emergency, but promising to put them up shortly if we remained some
time.

The bedding was laid upon the carpet; the mattresses had just undergone
a thorough cleaning, and the sheets and counterpane smelt sweet. When
night came we were thankful to rest our tired limbs even on the floor,
and to hope that sleep would bury in oblivion the anguish of the day, at
least for a while.

Oh, the weary, weary time spent there, without work, without books, and
with but little hope of better days. How should we get out of it, and
when?... It was now clear that these terrible attacks were due to
railway travelling. Then how should we ever get home again?...

Our luggage had been telegraphed for and returned, and the appearance of
the trunks had evidently inspired some confidence in our landlady.
Materially we were comfortable enough: a clean bedroom, a quiet, rather
large sitting-room (it was the usual public dining-room, but it being
early in the season, there were no boarders besides ourselves); and the
cookery, though simple and unvaried, was good of its kind,--alternately
ham and eggs, beef-steak and chops with boiled potatoes, rice pudding,
or gooseberry tart.

Morning after morning my husband wondered if he would feel equal to
resuming the journey; but the necessary self-reliance was found wanting
still. We walked out slowly and aimlessly, and we chose for our long
walks the most solitary lanes. Gilbert felt that the air, impregnated by
sea-salt, was gradually invigorating him, and after three weeks of this
melancholy existence made up his mind to order a carriage to take us as
far as Canterbury. The long drive and change did him good, and he was
well enough to take me to the Cathedral, and show me the town, where we
lingered two days, and then took another carriage for Croydon. At that
stage my husband told me that we were not far from Beckenham, and
proposed that we should call upon Mr. and Mrs. Craik on the following
day. I shall never forget the kindness of the reception nor the sympathy
of our hostess. I was surprised to see my husband enjoying conversation
and society so much, because when he was unwell he shrank from meeting
with any one, and required complete solitude; he only wished to feel
that I was near him, without fretting and in silence. But the charming
simplicity of the welcome in the garden, the peacefulness, not only of
the dwelling, but still more the calm and sweet aspect of the celebrated
authoress, together with her husband's friendly manner, acted soothingly
upon the nerves of their visitor. He told without reticence what had
happened, and soon changed the subject to fall into an animated and
interesting conversation.

After lunch Mrs. Craik made me walk in the garden with her, and inquired
more closely into the particulars of this strange illness; she
encouraged and comforted me greatly. She was tall, and though
white-haired, very beautiful still, I thought. As we walked she bent her
head (covered with the Highland blue bonnet) over mine, and as she
clasped my shoulders within her arm, I could see her hand laid upon my
breast, as if to soothe it; it was the loveliest hand I ever saw; the
shape so perfect, the skin so white and soft. We spoke French together;
she was interested about France, and liked talking of its people and
customs. Before we left she asked me to write to her, and offered to
render me any service I might require.

The journey to Todmorden was not to be thought of this time, and Gilbert
had begged his uncle and aunt to meet us at Kew, if they could manage
it. They answered in the affirmative, and he found lodgings for them,
not far from ours, nearly opposite to the church.

Knowing that his book must now be ready, he longed to see a copy of it,
and feeling well enough one morning, he started with me for London; but
as soon as we were in the heart of the town, its bustle, crowd, and
noise drove my husband to the comparative peace of the nearest park.
There, as usual in such cases, we had to walk till his nerves were
calmed, and then to sit down for a long time. He did not think he would
be equal to the busy streets that day, and asked me to take a cab and
see if I could bring him back a copy of his book. Reluctantly I left
him, though he assured me the attack was over; only he was afraid of
bringing it on again if he went into the street. So I was driven to Mr.
Macmillan's house of business, and immediately received by him. He was
evidently truly sorry to hear that my husband was unwell, and "Etching
and Etchers" being upon his table, he took up a copy, and with many warm
praises insisted upon placing it himself in my cab. The book was
everything that its author had desired, and taken so much pains to
ensure; he was gratified by the result, and gratefully acknowledged the
liberality of the publishers. One of the first visits paid by Mr.
Hamerton when he felt well again was to Mr. Cook, of the "Saturday
Review," who was himself out of health through overwork. He feelingly
expressed his regret that my husband could not continue to act as
regular art critic, but trusted that he would still contribute to the
"Saturday" as much as possible, and on subjects he might himself select.

Next we saw Mr. Seymour Haden, and I begged him to try and discover what
was the nature of my husband's ailment.

It was no easy matter, as the patient refused to submit to examination
and to prescriptions of any kind. Mrs. Haden, who was full of sympathy
and kindness, apprised her husband of this peculiarity and he undertook
to _passer-outre_. So the next time we called by invitation, he looked
steadily at his guest for some time, and said to him deliberately: "You
are _very_ ill; it's no use denying it to me; you must give up all
work,--not in a month, or a week, or to-morrow, but to-day, instantly."
My husband flushed, so that I trembled in fear of another seizure, and
answered angrily: "I cannot give up work; I _must_ work for my family; I
shall try to work less." ... "I say you are to give up all mental labor
immediately; I shall see, later, what amount of intellectual work you
are able to bear, according to the state you will be in. You may break
stones on the road, but I forbid you to hold a pen for literary
composition; and once back home, you must renounce railway travelling as
long as it produces uncomfortable sensations." All this was said
imperatively, and although it drove my husband almost to desperation, I
thanked Mr. Haden in my heart for his courageous and timely
interference, and Gilbert did the same after recovering from the shock.

This time he did not feel either so sad or so despondent as formerly,
when he had suffered alone; he knew now for certain that the causes of
his trouble were overwork and railway travelling, and he took the
resolution of avoiding both dangers as much as possible. Whenever he
felt nervous we remained quietly at Kew, reading or sketching or walking
in solitary places with his uncle and aunt, and when he thought himself
well enough we went to London by boat or omnibus, to the British Museum,
the National Gallery, or South Kensington Museum, and to the public or
private art exhibitions. We also paid calls, and on one of these
occasions I was introduced to George Eliot and to Mr. Lewes; the latter
sat by us on a sofa outside of the inner circle (the room was full), and
talked with wonderful vivacity and great discrimination of the state of
French literature. He judged of it like a Frenchman; his conversation
was extremely interesting and suggestive, and he appeared to derive
great pleasure from a rapid exchange of thoughts. Undeniably he was very
plain, when you had time to think of it, but it was with him as with the
celebrated advocate, M. Crémieux,--so much caricatured,--neither of
them seemed at all plain to me as soon as they spoke; both had
expressive eyes and countenance, and the interest awakened by the
varying expression of the features did not allow one to think of their
want of symmetry and shape.

The person who sat next to George Eliot seemed determined to monopolize
her attention; but as a new-comer was announced she came forward to meet
him, and kindly taking me by the hand, made me sit in the chair she had
herself occupied, and motioned to my husband to come also. He remained
standing inside the circle, whilst the Monopolizer had, at once, to
yield his seat to the mistress of the house, as well as a share of her
conversation to others than himself.

I immediately recognized the description given of her by my husband; her
face expressed at the same time great mental power and a sort of
melancholy human sympathy; her voice was full-toned, though low, and
wonderfully modulated. We were frequently interrupted by people just
coming in, and with each and all she exchanged a few phrases appropriate
to the position, pursuit, or character of her interlocutor, immediately
to revert to the subject of our conversation with the utmost apparent
ease and pleasure.

Mr. Lewes offered tea himself, because the worshippers surrounded the
Idol so closely that they kept her a prisoner within a double circle,
and they were so eager for a few words from her lips that as soon as she
moved a step or two they crowded about her in a way to make me think
that, in a small way and in her own drawing-room, she was mobbed like a
queen at some public ceremony.

The next time we called upon George Eliot she had heard of our meeting
with Mr. Tennyson, and said,--

"So you have seen the great man--and did he talk?"

"Talk?" answered my husband; "he talked the whole time, and was in high
spirits."

"Then you were most fortunate."

We understood what was implied, for Mr. Tennyson had the reputation of
not being always gracious. However, we had learned from himself that
nothing short of rudeness could keep his intrusive admirers at a
distance, so as to allow him some privacy. He told us of a man who so
dogged his steps that he was afraid of going out of his own garden
gates, for even in front of those locked gates the man would stand and
pry for hours together, till the poet's son was sent to him with a
request that he would go elsewhere.

In the case of his meeting with Mr. Hamerton it was totally different,
for he had himself expressed a wish for it to Mr. Woolner. Of course my
husband was greatly flattered when he heard of it, and readily accepted
an invitation to lunch with Mr. Woolner's family, and to meet the poet
whom he so much admired. I sat by Mr. Tennyson, and endeavored to
suppress any outward sign of the interest and admiration so distasteful
to him. Nevertheless, I was greatly impressed by the dignity of his
simple manners and by the inscrutable expression of the eyes, so keen
and yet so calm, so profound yet so serene. His was a fine and noble
face, even in merriment, and he was very merry on that day, for the
string of humorous anecdotes he told kept us all laughing, himself
included. I am sorry now not to remember them, the more so as they
generally concerned himself. Several were connected with his title of
"Lord of the Manor," but the only one I can remember in its entirety is
the following, because he was addressing himself to me--a
Frenchwoman--the scene of the story being the Hôtel du Louvre, in Paris.

Mr. Tennyson began by remarking that there were a good many stories
current about him; some of them were true, but most of them apocryphal.

"And is the one you are going to relate true?" I asked.

He smiled, and answered:--

"I think it is capital; you will have to guess. I had occasion to go to
Paris with a friend who was supposed to speak French creditably, and
who fancied himself a master of it. On the morning following our arrival
in the French capital, being somewhat knocked up by the journey, we had
a late breakfast at a small side-table of the dining-room, of which we
were soon the only occupants, under the watchful and, as I thought,
suspicious eyes of a waiter, whose attention had probably been attracted
by the conspicuous difference between our stature and garb from that of
his little dandified countrymen. Having caught a slight cold on the
passage, I felt more inclined to stay by the fire with a newspaper than
to go out, and did so, whilst my friend, who had some business in the
town, left me for some time. As I drew my chair up to the hearth I heard
the waiter answering with alacrity to some recommendation of my
friend's, 'Oh, monsieur peut être tranquille, j'y veillerai.' I thought
it was some order about our dinner, and resumed my political studies.
Was it my cold which made me dull and inattentive? It is quite possible,
for my eyes kept wandering from my paper, and, strange to say, always
met those of the French waiter riveted upon me. At first I felt annoyed:
what could be so strange about my person? Then I was irritated, for
though that queer little man was making some pretence at dusting or
replacing chairs, still his eyes never left me for a moment, and at
last, being somewhat drowsy, I had the sensation that one experiences in
a nightmare, and thought I had better resort to my room and make up for
a shortened night. No sooner, however, had I got up from my chair than
the waiter was entreating me to remain, offering to heap coals on the
fire, to bring me another paper or a pillow if I was tired, and 'Did I
wish to write a letter? he would fetch instantly what was required; or
should I like something hot for my cold?' His voice had the strange
coaxing tone that we use to pacify children, and made me stare; but I
answered angrily that I only wanted a nap, and to be let alone, and I
made for the door in spite of his objurgations. Then he ran in front of
me, and barring the door with arms outstretched, besought me to await my
friend. This unaccountable behavior had rendered me furious, and now I
was determined to force my way out, despite the mad resistance and loud
gibberish of the waiter, and I began to use my fists. It was in the
midst of this tremendous row that my astonished friend re-appeared in
the dining-room, and was greeted with this exclamation from my
adversary: 'Ah, monsieur, vous voyez, j'ai tenu ma parole: je ne l'ai
pas laissé sortir _le fou;_ mais ça n'a pas été sans peine, il était
temps que vous arriviez.'

"It turned out that my friend, anxious for my comfort, and noticing that
the fire was getting low, had said in his easy French before leaving,
'Garçon, surtout ne laissez pas sortir le fou' (_feu_)--meaning 'Don't
let the fire go out,' and the intelligent foreigner had immediately
guessed from my appearance that I was _le fou_."

Amidst general laughter I said,--

"It is cleverly invented."

"I see you do not believe it," Mr. Tennyson answered; "yet it has passed
current in society and in the newspapers."

Sitting close to Mr. Tennyson, as I did, I noticed the large size, and
somehow plebeian shape, of his hands. They did not seem to belong to the
same body as the head, indicating merely physical strength and fitness
for physical labor. His dress also struck me as peculiar: he was wearing
a shirt of coarse linen, starchless, with a large and loose turned-down
collar, very like a farmer's of former days, and shirt and hands looked
suited to each other. After remarking this I happened to look up into
Mr. Tennyson's face, which then wore its habitual expression of serious
and grand simplicity; and I thought that the rough and dull linen, with
the natural, unstiffened fall about the neck, formed a most artistic
sculpturesque setting for the handsome head well poised above it.

After lunch Mr. Woolner took the gentlemen to his studio for a smoke,
and my husband told me afterwards that Mr. Tennyson had continued as
talkative there as he had been at lunch, and was only interrupted by the
entrance of Sir Bartle Frere, who had a great deal to say on his own
account.

It was very gratifying to me to notice that whenever my husband met with
celebrities he was treated by them on a footing of equality, and
although still a young man, his opinions and views were always accepted
or discussed with evident respect, even by his seniors. His presence
invariably awoke interest and confidence, and in most cases sympathy. It
was felt that he was one of the few to be looked up to, and I have heard
people much older than himself tell me that they prized highly a private
hour spent with him, because his influence made them feel more desirous
of striving for noble aims and elevated thoughts which seemed so natural
and easy to him. It is true, indeed, that whatever he thought, said, or
did, bore the stamp of genuine uprightness, for his nature was so much
above meanness of any kind that he had great difficulty in admitting it
in others; whenever he met with it his first attitude was one of
charitable hesitation, but when he recognized it unmistakably his
indignation was as unbounded and unrestrained as in cases of cruelty.

In spite of the impediment to social intercourse caused by his
intermittent nervous state, Mr. Hamerton enjoyed rather a large share of
cultivated and intelligent society at this time. His worst moments
happened in the morning and in bright sunshine; the evening was in
general entirely free from disagreeable sensations, and a rainy day or
clouded sky most favorable. This peculiarity enabled him to accept
invitations to dinners, at which he met the persons whose acquaintance
he cared for.

Mr. Thomas Hamerton and his sister had left us at Kew to go back home,
and we wished it were as simple for us to do the same, but we could only
think of the journey with the saddest forebodings; yet we longed to be
through it, and safely restored to our peaceful rustic life and to a
sight of our children.

It was a very tedious, trying, and harassing journey; we travelled only
at night, by the slowest trains, and went but short distances at a time.
Sometimes my husband was unable to proceed for a few days; but, with
admirable courage and resolution, he managed to reach the much-desired
goal.

And now what was to be done? Mr. Haden allowed literary work only on two
consecutive days in the week, and when Gilbert was unwell on those days,
there was no remunerative production, and his anxieties became almost
intolerable. He resolved to try every day of the week if he were fit for
work, and to go on whenever he felt suitably disposed till the two days'
work had been done, and then to leave off till the next week. This
succeeded for a while, but as he naturally became anxious to produce as
much as possible during these two days, he felt driven, and suffered in
consequence. He then attempted to devote only two hours to literary
composition at a sitting, and to repeat the attempt twice a day when he
did not feel his powers overtaxed. To this new rule he adhered till the
end of his life--at least, generally speaking, for in some circumstances
he had to write throughout the day, but he was careful to avoid this
extremity as much as possible.

We waited impatiently for news of the reception of "Etching and Etchers"
by the public, and Mrs. Craik having been so kind as to offer any
service she could render, I wrote to her on the subject, and she
answered:--

"BECKENHAM. _July_ 19, 1868.

"My dear Mrs. Hamerton,--I can quite understand how _you_ care about the
book--perhaps more than your husband even, and I wish I could send you
news of it. But there have been no reviews as yet, and this being the
dull time of year, the sale is slow. Whatever reviews come out you shall
have without fail from the firm. It is so valuable and charming a book
that I do hope it may gradually make its way. I do believe it is only
the dreadful cities which make your husband ill--and no wonder; in
peaceful Autun he will flourish, I trust; and you too recover yourself,
for I am sure you were very far from well when you were here. It was so
kind of you to come to us that Sunday, and to believe that we are both
people who really mean what we say--and say what we think: which all the
world does not. If ever I can do anything for you, pray write. And some
day in future ages I shall write to you to ask advice upon our little
tour in unknown French towns and country, when we shall certainly drop
upon Autun _en route_. Not this year, however.

"With very kind remembrance to you both, believe me, dear Mrs. Hamerton,

"Yours sincerely,

"D. M. Craik."

My sister, Caroline Pelletier, had now come to Pré-Charmoy with her
baby-daughter, to escape from the drought prevailing at Algiers, and her
presence was a great pleasure to my recluse. She often read to him to
keep up her English, and accompanied him in his drives when I was
prevented, aware that he did not much like to venture away alone since
he had been ill. At his request she had brought an Algerian necklace and
bracelets made of hardened paste of roses, which were intended for Aunt
Susan, who had greatly liked the odor of mine, and who acknowledged the
little present in a very cordial letter.

My younger brother Frédéric was at that moment very ill with typhoid
fever, and I had asked my husband to let me go to help my mother in
nursing him; however, with greater wisdom and firmness he refused his
leave, and made me understand my duty to our children. "If you brought
back to them the germs of disease, and if they died of it, you never
would forgive yourself," he said. But after the fatal ending he allowed
me to attend the funeral, on condition that I should not enter the
house, but come back directly after the painful duty was accomplished.
At the same time, he kindly invited my mother to come to us, after
taking all necessary precautions against the danger of bringing
infection to her grandchildren.

The society of M. Pelletier, who used to follow his wife to Pré-Charmoy
as soon as he was free, proved quite a boon to Gilbert in his solitude,
and a solid friendship was soon formed between the two brothers-in-law.
M. Pelletier's mind was inquisitive and receptive; he had read much, and
in the family circle we called him our "Encyclopedia." He made it his
duty and pleasure to clear up any obscure point which might embarrass
any of us, and often undertook long researches to spare my husband's
time. They regularly sat up together long after the other inmates of the
house had gone to their rest, talking and smoking, or walking out in the
refreshing breeze of the summer night.

My brother Charles also joined us at times, and, being a capital
swimmer, taught his nephews all sorts of wonderful aquatic feats. We all
went daily to the pond at Varolles, and though the men and boys were all
proficient in swimming, Charles astonished them by taking a header,
preceded by a double somersault, from the top of the wall, and kindling
thereby a jealous desire to rival him, so that in a very short time my
husband, who hitherto had remained but an indifferent performer, now
trod the water, read aloud, or smoked in it, with the greatest ease. It
was very good exercise for him.

For some time past Mr. Hamerton's reputation had been growing in
America, but he did not derive the slightest profit from the sale of his
books there till Messrs. Roberts Brothers, of Boston, proposed to pay
him a royalty upon the works that should be published by them in advance
of pirated editions. This offer was accepted with pleasure and
gratitude, and the pecuniary result, though not very important, proved a
timely help. Moreover, Roberts Brothers admired Mr. Hamerton's talent,
and in very flattering terms acknowledged it, besides doing much for the
spread of his reputation in America.

In the autumn, bad news of Aunt Susan's health reached Pré-Charmoy. The
reports soon became alarming, and her nephew was made very miserable by
the impossibility of going to her bedside. When we had taken leave of
each other at Kew, she was very despondent on account of my husband's
illness, and expressed a fear that she might die without our being near
her. No one could say when the taboo on railway travelling could be
withdrawn for him, but I gave our aunt a solemn promise that in such an
emergency as she mentioned, I at any rate would go to her when she
called me, and Gilbert had ratified the engagement. From her letters it
was easy to see that she wished very much for my companionship and
nursing, being very low in spirits and feeble in body, yet she was
reluctant to ask, with the knowledge that her nephew also frequently
required my care. At last we agreed that the proposal should come from
us, my husband, as usual, sacrificing his own comfort to the claims of
affection. The offer was gratefully accepted.

As I had never travelled much alone, and am entirely destitute of the
gift of topography, it was not without misgivings that my husband saw me
off; but he had taken the trouble of writing down for my guidance the
minutest directions, and though he told his uncle that he should not be
astonished to hear that I had turned up in New York, I reached London
safely.

He was very lonely at Pré-Charmoy, with only his little girl and a maid,
the boys being at college, but he frequently went to dine there with the
principal, M. Schmitt, from whom he needed no invitation, and who always
made him welcome. He was also cheered by my letters, which told him of
his aunt's rapid improvement in health and strength. We went out
together upon the hills as often as the weather allowed, and when
threatened with an attack of nervous dizziness--which she dreaded
unspeakably--she derived confidence from my apparent composure, and
tided over it when I firmly grasped her round the waist, and made her
take a few steps in the keener and purer air of the garden. When our
aunt was restored to her usual state of health, rather more than a month
after my arrival, I took leave of my kind relatives loaded with presents
for every one of the children, and even for their parents. Of course I
wished to spend Christmas at home, and I arrived just in time to realize
my wish. Gilbert had come to meet me at the station, and as soon as we
had exchanged greetings and news he began to tell of a plan for an
artistic periodical which had mainly occupied his thoughts during my
absence. As we were driving home he entered into all the details of the
scheme as he conceived it, and said he believed he might undertake the
management of such a periodical, even where he was situated, if Mr.
Seeley gave his valuable help. He was full of the idea, and his thoughts
were continually reverting to it.




CHAPTER X


1869-1870.


"Wenderholme."--The Mont Bouvray,--Botanical Studies--La Tuilerie.
--Commencement of the "Portfolio."--The Franco-German War.

The uncertainty of finding sufficient literary work after the
resignation of his post on the "Saturday Review" had been a cause of
great anxiety to Mr. Hamerton, though he had enough on hand at that
time, but he wondered very much if it would last. He wrote for the
"Globe" regularly; for the "Saturday Review," "Pall Mall Gazette," and
"Atlantic Monthly" occasionally, though he had a great dislike for
anonymous writing, as he bestowed as much care and labor upon it as if
it could have added to his reputation. He worked with greater pleasure
and some anticipation of success at his novel of "Wenderholme," the
first volume of which had been sent to Mr. Blackwood, who agreed to give
£200 for the copyright. Here are some passages from his letter, which of
course was very welcome. After a few criticisms:--

"The narrative is natural and taking. Your description of the drunken
habits of Shayton are _excellent_, and not a bit overdone. It reminds me
of a joke of Aytoun's when there was a report of an earthquake at a
village in Scotland notorious for its convivial habits. He remarked,
'Nonsense; the whole inhabitants are in a chronic state of D. T. that
would have shaken down the walls of Jericho.'

"The picture of poor Isaac's struggles and his final break-down at his
own home is very well done, and so is that of his old mother, with her
narrow fat forehead.

"I particularly like Colonel Stanburne. He _is_ like a gentleman, and I
hope he has a great deal to do in the remaining part of the story.
Little Jacob is very nice, and promises to make a good hero.

"The style is throughout pleasant and graceful. I shall look anxiously
for vols. 2 and 3, but I feel confident that you will not write anything
unkind or inconsistent with good taste."

Encouraged by the favorable opinion of Mr. Blackwood, the author went on
as diligently with the novel as his health allowed. From time to time I
find in his diary, "too unwell to work," or "obliged to rest," or "not
well enough to write." Still, he was remarkably free from bodily pain,
as it is generally felt and understood; he never complained of aches or
sickness, and to any ordinary observer he looked vigorous and unusually
healthy; but from me, accustomed to scrutinize the most transient
expression of his face and countenance, he could not hide the slightest
symptoms of nervousness, were it merely the bending forward of the body,
the steady gaze or unwonted cold brightness of the eyes. Whenever I
detected any of these threatening signs at home, I begged him to leave
work and to go out, and if we happened to be in an exhibition or any
crowded place, we had to resort to some secluded spot in a public
garden--to the parks if we were in London; and I believe it must be on
account of the repeated anguish I suffered there that I never wished to
visit them for my pleasure: those horribly painful hours have deprived
them of all charm for me. What my husband had to bear was a terrible
apprehension of something fearful,--he did not know what,--now
increasing, as if a fatal end were inevitable; now decreasing, only to
return--ah! how many times?--till sometimes only after hours of strife,
and sometimes suddenly, it left him calm but always weakened. At the
very time that he was most frequently subject to these attacks, the
American papers were giving numerous notices of his works, and brief
biographies in which he was invariably presented to the public as an
athlete in possession of the most robust health.

The doctors agreed in saying that this disorder was only nervous, and
not the result of any known disease; that the only remedy lay in rest
for the brain, and active exercise for the body in the open air. But it
was indeed difficult to give rest to a mind incessantly thirsting for
knowledge, and finding an inexhaustible mine of interest in the most
trivial events, in the simplest natures and the monotonous existence of
the rustics, as well as in the philosophy of Auguste Comte and John
Stuart Mill, or in the aesthetics of Ruskin and Charles Blanc. It was a
mind which turned all that came in its way into the gold of knowledge,
and which spent it generously afterwards, not only in his writings, but
in familiar conversations; his friends used to say that they always
gained something when with him, on account of the natural elevation of
mind which made him treat all questions intellectually. He had no taste
for sport or amusements or games, with the exception of boating and
chess; but chess-playing can hardly be called mental rest, and boating
is not always practicable, requiring several hours each time it is
indulged in, particularly when one is not close to a lake or river.

Riding Cocote was a pleasant relaxation to her master, as she was a
spirited little creature, and the two often went together to the Mont
Beuvray (the site of the ancient Bibracte of the Gauls), to find the
learned and venerable President of the Société Eduenne busy with his
researches among the ruins, but nevertheless always ready to receive
them hospitably. The use of one of his huts was given to his young
friend, and his four-footed companion was turned loose to browse on the
fine, short grass which grew thickly under the shade of the noble oaks
and chestnut trees of the mountain.

On these occasions, a valise containing sketching material and books was
strapped on behind the rider, on the horse's back; at other times, when
I accompanied my husband, we went in a light cart, which was left with
Cocote at a farmhouse about half-way up the hill.

My husband liked me to read to him whilst he sketched, and I see by his
diary of 1869 that some of the works he listened to in the course of
that year were: "Les Couleuvres," by Louis Veuillot; Victor Jacquemond's
"Voyage en Italie;" "l'Art en Hollande," and "La Littérature Anglaise,"
by Taine "Le Postscriptum;" George Eliot's "Silas Marner;" Sidney
Colvin's "Academy Notes;" Tennyson's "In Memoriam;" Légouvé's "l'Art de
la lecture;" "Chateaubriand et son groupe littéraire," "Béranger et de
Sénancourt," by Sainte-Beuve, whose talent as a critic he greatly
admired.

The rambles and drives which he took in quest of picturesque subjects
inclined him to botanical studies, and he began to form a herbarium; the
search for plants gave a zest to the long walks recommended by the
doctors, which might have become tedious had they been aimless. The
prettiest or most remarkable of these plants were sketched or painted
before being dried, to be used in the foregrounds of pictures. Gilbert's
mind was also inventive; the reader may have remarked in the
autobiography that he had made various models of double-boats, the
principle of which he wished to see more generally adopted on account of
their safety; but in 1869 it was not with boats that this faculty of
invention was busy,--it was with a plan for a carriage which would meet
our requirements. The little donkey-cart was so rickety now that it had
become unsafe, and the carriage-builders could not show anything
sufficiently convenient of a size and weight to suit Cocote. The elegant
curves above the fore-wheels reduced the stowage room to a mere nothing,
and we required plenty of space to carry, safely protected from rain and
dust, many things--amongst them change of garments when we went to Autun
for a wedding, a funeral, or a soirée, and plenty of wraps for the drive
back in the cold or mist of midnight. A good deal of room was also
wanted for the provisions regularly fetched from the town,--grocery,
ironmongery, etc. My husband succeeded in contriving a carriage
perfectly answering our wants: it was four-wheeled, and provided with a
double seat covering a roomy well; there was also a considerable space
behind to receive bundles and parcels, or at will a small removable
seat. Six persons could thus ride comfortably in the carriage, and as we
were expecting a visit from Mr. T. Hamerton and his sister, we wished
very much to have it ready for their use.

With the tender thoughtfulness which characterized my husband, he had
contrived a low step and a door at the back part of the carriage to
allow an aged person, like his aunt or my mother, to get inside with
ease and safety, and to get out quite as easily in case of danger.

They arrived in the middle of July, and spent a month with us. They were
both in very good health, and Aunt Susan, in spite of her seventy years,
rivalled her little grand-niece with the skipping-rope. She wrote
afterwards from West Lodge on August 20:--

"MY DEAR NEPHEW AND NIECE,--We arrived at home all safe and well at five
o'clock on Monday to tea, and to-day it is a week since we left your
most kind and hospitable entertainment, and I can assure you a most
true, heartfelt pleasure and gratification it has been to me to spend a
month with you, for which you must accept our best thanks for your
kindly studied attentions and exertions to make our visit pleasant. I am
sure I am much better for my journey; I feel strong and more vigorous;
the drives in the little carriage were no doubt the very thing that
would conduce to my getting strong, as I had then fresh air and exercise
without fatigue. [There follows a description of the journey, according
to a careful itinerary prepared by her nephew.] How is little Lala, lal,
a, lala? [her little niece, who was always singing]. We often talk of
her interesting ways and doings, and I often wish I could give other
English lessons to my nephews. I think we should have made some
progress, as both sides seemed interested in their business."

Shortly after the departure of his relatives, Mr. Hamerton was informed
by his landlord that he would have to leave the little house and garden
and stream he liked so well, because it was now the intention of the
proprietor to come to it with his family to spend the vacations. He was
offered, instead, another house on the same estate, called "La
Tuilerie," larger and more convenient, but a thoroughly _banale maison
bourgeoise_, devoid of charm and picturesqueness, close to the main
road, and without a garden; moreover, in an inconceivable state of
dirtiness and dilapidation. I felt horror-struck at the notion of
removing to such a place; however, I was at last obliged to submit to
fate. My husband, though very disinclined to a move, thought that since
it could not be avoided, it was as well to make it as easy, cheap, and
rapid as possible. He could not afford to lose time, and his health
prohibited long travels in search of a new abode, since he could not
make use of railways. We went as far in the neighborhood of Pré-Charmoy
as Cocote could take us in a day in different directions, but found
nothing suitable, probably because we did not wish to be at a distance
from the college, which would prevent the boys from coming home as they
had been accustomed to do.

The greater space and conveniences offered at La Tuilerie were a
temptation to my husband. We had, besides two entrances, a large
dining-room, drawing-room, kitchen, six bedrooms, lots of closets,
cupboards, dressing-rooms, and an immense garret all over the first
floor, well lighted by two windows, and paved with bricks. In the
extensive courtyard was a set of out-buildings, consisting of a
gardener's cottage, cartshed, and stable for six horses; and as on the
ground belonging to the house there had formerly existed a tile-kiln
(_tuilerie_) with drying sheds, there was ample space for a garden after
removing the rubbish which still covered it.

The fact is that circumstances allowed of no choice, and we had to
resign ourselves to the inevitable. Gilbert saw at once that with a
certain outlay and a great deal of ingenuity he could make La Tuilerie
not only tolerable, but even convenient and pleasant--though I doubted
it--and he explained how the outbuilding might be used as laundry,
laboratory, and carpenter's shop--there being three rooms of different
sizes in it; and what a gain it would be so to have all the dirty work
done outside the house. Another attraction was the good views from all
the windows; that of the Beuvray, with the plain leading to it; the
amphitheatre of Autun, with the intervening wood of noble trees, and
beyond it the temple of Janus; the range of the Morvan hills, the fields
of golden wheat and waving corn, and the pastures which looked like
mysterious lakes in the moonlight when the white mist rose from the
marshes and spread all over their surface--endlessly as it seemed. He
promised me to plan out a garden, and there being several fine trees
about the kiln and on the border of the road--oaks, elders, elms, and
spindle trees--he said he would contrive to keep them all, so as to have
shade from the beginning, and to give the new garden an appearance of
respectable antiquity.

The workmen were set at once to their task of repairing, painting, and
papering, and though my husband deprecated both the time spent on
supervision and the unavoidable expense (for the landlord, under pretext
that the rent was low, refused to contribute to the repairs, which he
called _améliorations_), was unmistakably elated by the prospect of
having the use of a more spacious dwelling; for he very easily suffered
from a feeling of confinement, and tried to get rid of it by having two
small huts which could be moved about to different parts of the estate
according to his convenience, and to which he resorted when so inclined.
Even when they were not used, it was for him a satisfaction to know that
he had in readiness a refuge away from the house whenever he chose to
seek it. This dislike to confinement was betrayed unconsciously when he
sat down to his meals by his first movement, which pushed aside whatever
seemed _too near_ his plate--glass, wine-bottle, salt-cellars, etc. I
remember that he would not use the public baths in France, because the
cabins are small and generally locked on the outside. It was therefore a
great pleasure to devise stands and cupboards and shelves in the large
room which was to be his laboratory, and which he adorned with a cheap
frieze of white paper with gilt edges, and "Lose no Time" in
black-and-red letters, repeated upon each of the four walls, so as not
to escape notice whichever way you turned.

The carpenter's shop also had its due share of attention, and was well
provided with labelled boxes of all dimensions for nails, screws, etc.,
whilst a roomy closet, opening into the studio, was fitted up with a
piece of furniture specially designed to receive the different-sized
portfolios containing engravings, etchings, and studies of all kinds,
together with a lot of pigeon-holes to keep small things separate and in
order. All this was done at home, under his direction, and he has let
his readers into the secret of his taste when he wrote in "Wenderholme":
"For the present we must leave him (Captain Eureton) in the tranquil
happiness of devising desks and pigeon-holes with Mr. Bettison, an
intelligent joiner at Sooty thorn, _than which few occupations can be
more delightful._" About the pigeon-holes, a friend of my husband once
made a discovery which he declared astounding. "I well knew that Mr.
Hamerton was a model of order," he said to me; "but I only knew to what
extent when, having to seek for string, I was directed to these
pigeon-holes. I easily found the one labelled 'String,' but what it
contained was too coarse for my purpose. 'Look above,' said Mr.
Hamerton. I did, and sure enough I saw another label with 'String
(thin).' I thought it wonderful."

Yes, Gilbert _loved_ order, and strove to keep it; but as it generally
happened that he had to do many things in a hurry (catching the post,
for instance), he could not always find time to replace what he had
used. When this had gone on so as to produce real disorder, he gave a
day to restoring each item to its proper place--this happened generally
after a long search for a mislaid paper, the finding of which evoked the
oft-repeated confession, "I love Order better than she loves me, as
Byron said of Wisdom."

The correspondence relating to the foundation of the "Portfolio" was now
very heavy; everything had to be decided between Mr. Seeley and Mr.
Hamerton; suitable contributors had to be found, subjects discussed,
illustrations chosen. The only English art magazine of that day confined
its illustrations to line engravings and woodcuts, and its plates were
almost always engraved from pictures or statues. It was intended that
the "Portfolio" should make use of all new methods of illustration, and
should publish drawings and studies as well as finished works. But it
was the dearest wish of the editor that the revived art of Etching
should receive due appreciation in England, and that, with this object,
etched plates should be made a feature of the new magazine.

The contents of the first volume will best show the plan, which was
quite unlike that of any existing periodical. A series of articles on
"English Artists of the Present Day" was contributed by Mr. Sidney
Colvin, Mr. W. M. Rossetti, Mr. Tom Taylor, Mr. Beavington Atkinson, and
the editor. These were illustrated by drawings most willingly lent by
Mr. G. F. Watts, Mr. Poynter, Sir E. Burne-Jones, Mr. Calderon, Mr. H.
S. Marks, Mr. G. D. Leslie, and other painters; and by paintings by Lord
Leighton, Mr. Armitage, and Mr. A. P. Newton. The reproductions were
made by the autotype (or carbon) process of photography, which was then
coming into high estimation as a means of making permanent copies of
works by the great masters. Every copy of these illustrations was
printed by light, a process only possible in the infancy of a magazine
which could count at first on the interest of but a small circle, and
had to form its own public. The editor contributed a series of papers,
entitled "The Unknown River," illustrated by small etchings by his own
hand. These were printed on India paper, and mounted in the text,
another process only possible in a magazine addressed to a few. The
first volume also contained a very fine etching by M. Legros, and others
by Cucinotta and Grenaud. Articles were contributed by Mr. F. T.
Palgrave, Mr. Watkiss Lloyd, Mr. G. A. Simcox, and Mrs. Mark Pattison
(Lady Dilke). A paper on "A New Palette" of nine colors was the
forerunner of the elaborate "Technical Notes" of later years. The
imposing size of the new magazine, its bold type, fine, thick paper, and
wide margins were much admired, and prepared the way for the many
editions _de luxe_ issued in England in the next quarter of the century.

In the second year the slow autotype process had to be abandoned for the
quicker Woodburytype, by which were reproduced drawings kindly
contributed by Sir J. E. Millais, Sir John Gilbert, Mr. Holman Hunt, Mr.
Woolner, Mr. G. Mason, Mr. Hook, and others. The editor commenced a
series of "Chapters on Animals," illustrated with etchings by Veyrassat.
Other etchings by M. Martial, Mr. Chattock, Mr. J. P. Heseltine, and Mr.
Lumsden Propert appeared. Mr. Basil Champneys, Mr. W. B. Scott, and Mr.
F. G. Stephens contributed articles.

In the third year a series of "Examples of Modern Etching" was made the
chief feature. It included plates by M. L. Flameng, Sir F. Seymour
Haden, M. Legros, M. Bracquemond, M. Lalanne, M. Rajon, M. Veyrassat,
and Mr. S. Palmer. The editor wrote a note upon each, and had now the
pleasure of seeing one of his objects accomplished, and the public
appreciation of his favorite art extending every day.

In subsequent years the various methods of photo-engraving were employed
instead of the carbon processes of photography, and the "Portfolio" was
one of the first English periodicals to give reproductions of
pen-drawings.

Several of M. Amand-Durand's admirable facsimiles of etchings and
engravings by the old masters adorned its pages. In 1873 appeared one of
Mr. R. L. Stevenson's first contributions to literature,--if not his
first,--a paper on "Roads," signed "L. S. Stoneven." This was followed
by other articles in the years 1874, 1875, and 1878, bearing his own
name.

The fear of running short of work was not realized; on the contrary, my
husband had always too much on his hands; for he dreaded hurry, and
would have liked to bestow upon each of his works as much time as he
thought necessary, not only for its completion, but also for its
preparation, and that was often considerable, because he could not
slight a thing. When he was writing for the "Globe" he polished his
articles as much as a book destined to last; he always respected his
work, and the care given to it bore no relation to the price it was to
fetch. He often expressed a wish that he might labor like the monks in
the Middle Ages, without being disturbed by mercenary considerations;
that simple shelter, food, and raiment should be provided for himself
and for those dependent upon him--he did not foresee any other wants--so
that he might devote the whole of his mental energy to subjects worthy
of it. But I used to answer that if he had such liberty he never would
publish anything; for whenever he sent MS. to the printer it was
inevitably with regret at not being able to keep it longer for
improvement. Still, the second volume of "Wenderholme" had been sent to
Mr. Blackwood, who wrote on Sept. 24, 1869:--

"There is no doubt that I liked vol. 2 very much. The story is told in a
simple, matter-of-fact way, which is very effective, by giving an air of
truth to the narrative.

"The fire and the whole scene at the Hall is powerfully described. The
love at first sight is well put, and the militia quarters and the
landlord are true to the life."

My husband read to me the MS. of the novel as fast as he wrote it, and I
was afraid that some of the original characters might be recognized by
their friends, being so graphically described; however, he believed it
unlikely, people seeing and judging so differently from each other.

In the summer, as usual, we had several visitors who afforded varying
degrees of pleasure; a strange lady-artist amongst others, whose
blandishments did not succeed in making my husband acquiesce in her
desire of boarding with us, free of charge, in return for the English
lessons she would give to our children. She resented the non-acceptance
of her proposition, and having begged to look at the studies on the
easel, feigned to hesitate about their right side upwards, by turning
them up and down several times, and retiring a few steps each time as if
in doubt.

A more desirable visit was that of M. Lalanne, who besides his talent
had much amiability and very refined manners. Ever after he remained, if
not quite an intimate friend of my husband, at least more than an
acquaintance, and whenever they had a chance of meeting they made the
most of it. Gilbert, after one of these meetings,--a _déjeuner_ at M.
Lalanne's,--told me the following anecdote. Some one asked him if he
had not the "Legion d'honneur"? and being answered that it had not been
offered, went on to say that it was not "offered," but "accordée"
through the influence of some important personage, or by the pressure of
public opinion; "and I think this should be your case," M. Lalanne's
friend went on, "for you have rendered, and are still rendering, such
great service to French art and to French artists, that it ought to be
acknowledged. As you do not seem inclined to trouble yourself about it,
a deputation might be chosen among your admirers to present a petition
to that effect to the Ministre des Beaux-Arts." Mr. Hamerton having
replied that he should prize the distinction only if it were
spontaneously conferred, M. Lalanne remarked that decorations were of
small importance, and asked without the slightest pride, "Do you know
that I am one of the most _décorés_ of civilians?... No; well, then, I
will show you my decorations." Then ringing the bell, he said to the
maid who answered it, "Bring the box of decorations, please." It was a
good-sized box, and when opened showed on a velvet tray a number of
crosses, stars, rosettes, and ribbons of different sizes and hues, all
vying in brilliancy and splendor. The first tray removed, just such
another was displayed equally well filled, and M. Lalanne explained
that, having given lessons to the sons of great foreign personages, they
had generally sent him as a token of regard and gratitude some kind of
decoration--maybe in lieu of payment.

At the end of 1869 "Wenderholme" was published, and the first number of
the "Portfolio" made its appearance on January 1, 1870, and from that
date it became for the editor an undertaking of incessant interest, to
the maintenance and improvement of which he was ever ready to devote
himself, and for which he would have made important sacrifices. The
dedication of "Wenderholme" was meant for Aunt Susan, and after
receiving the book, she wrote:--

"Accept my most sincere and highly gratified thanks for the copy of your
novel, and its dedication. We have heard that the "Times" and the
"Yorkshire Post" had each favorable articles on the merits of your
novel. We have detected nearly every character, even those that take
other forms, but we do not even whisper any information in this
neighborhood. Mr. and Mrs. W---- were immediately struck with the
'hoffens' and 'hirritation' of the doctor, but I pretend to think it not
individual, but that it was the case among the people you were writing
about."

In May 1870, Mr. Hamerton removed to La Tuilerie, about five hundred
yards from Pré-Charmoy. He continued to date his letters from
Pré-Charmoy--the new house being on the estate so called; his motive was
to avoid possible confusion in the delivery of his letters. He was
greatly tickled to hear the peasants call his new abode "le château de
l'Anglais," and to see them staring admiringly from the road at the
windows, which were left open that paint and plaster might dry before we
came to live in it. Though perfectly independent of luxury, my husband
liked cleanliness and taste in the arrangement of the simplest
materials, and he contrived by a good choice of patterns and colors in
the papering of the rooms, with the help of fresh matting on the floors,
and the judicious hanging of fine engravings and etchings in his
possession, to impart quite a new and pleasant aspect to the _banale
maison bourgeoise_. Gradually I became reconciled to it, on account of
its greater convenience, and I even came to like it when the vines and
wisteria and golden nasturtiums hid the ugly bare walls, and the
fragrance of mignonette and roses and petunias was wafted into the rooms
looking over the garden, and that of wild thyme and honeysuckle into
those which looked over the fields; when the tall acacias began to shoot
upwards straight and graceful from their velvety green carpet, and
scattered upon it their perfumed moth-like flowers; while we listened to
the humming of the happy bees in the sweet-smelling lime trees and to
the wondrous song of the rival nightingales challenging each other from
bower to bower in the calm, warm nights of summer-time. And such a great
change did not take very long to realize: the ground had been well
drained and plentifully manured, and it was almost virgin soil,
unexhausted by previous vegetation, so that the elm-bower was soon
thickly leaved and with difficulty prevented from closing up, the
climbing vines became heavy with grapes, whilst the spreading branches
of the acacias speedily formed a vast parasol, and afforded a pleasant
shelter from the glare of the August sunshine. Hardy fruit trees of all
kinds had been planted all along the garden hedge, and in the third year
began to yield cherries--in moderation--but plums of different species
we had in great quantities, also quinces, sometimes apples, apricots,
and figs--the two last, however, were frequently destroyed by frost,
the spring being generally very cold in the Morvan. As to pears, we had
to wait somewhat longer for them, the pear trees requiring strict
pruning to preserve the quality of the fruit; but we used to have a
small cart-load of them when the year had been favorable. There was
nothing my husband liked better than to pick gooseberries, currants,
raspberries, cherries, or plums, and eat them fresh as we took a walk in
the garden; he was very fond of fruit, and unlike most men, he would
rather do without meat than without vegetables or dessert. His tastes in
food, as in everything else, were very simple, but he was particular
about _quality_. I never heard him complain of insufficiency, though,
situated as we were, there was sometimes only just enough; and even that
lacking which might have been considered as most necessary, namely, a
dish of meat. For Gilbert, however, it was not a privation when
occurring occasionally; nay, he even enjoyed the change, and as I
generally went to Autun on Fridays and could get fish, we made it a
_jour maigre_, though not from religious motives. It was understood that
if eggs were served they must be newly laid; if potatoes, mealy and _à
point_; if fish, fresh and palatable; he would not have tolerated the
economy of one of our lady neighbors, who abstained from buying fish at
Autun because it was too dear, she said; but who used to bring a full
hamper when she came back yearly from Hyères, where it was cheap, enough
to last for a week _after the journey_, and who considered the unsavory
hamper an ample compensation for the absence of fish from her menus
during the remainder of the year.

The removal did not hinder or interrupt Mr. Hamerton seriously in his
work, for the new house was quite ready to receive the furniture; and
the place of every piece having been decided beforehand, the farmers
merely handed them out of their carts to the workmen, who carried them
inside the rooms, according to previous directions.

The difficulty of getting proofs of the different states of his plates
whilst etching them, incited my husband to invent a press for his own
laboratory, that he might judge of his work in progress by taking proofs
for himself whenever he liked. Considering the present state of our
affairs I was not favorable to the idea, but I was overruled, as in all
cases concerning expenses deemed necessary to artistic or literary
pursuits. He had few material wants, and therefore thought himself
justified in providing for his intellectual needs--for instance, by the
gradual formation of a library. He often deprecated the necessity of
apparent extravagance in such things; "but you see," he would say, "I
cannot stand stationary in the acquirement of knowledge if I am to go on
teaching others--I must keep ahead--without mentioning the satisfaction
of my own tastes and cravings, to which I have a certain right." Indeed
it was truly wonderful that he should have been able to achieve so much
work, and work of such quality, in the intellectual solitude and
retirement of these seven years passed out of great cities where
libraries, museums, and human intercourse constantly offer help and
stimulus to a writer. Luckily for him he bore solitude well. He has said
in "The Intellectual Life": "Woe unto him that is never alone, and
cannot bear to be alone!" And again: "Only in solitude do we learn our
inmost nature and its needs." Further on: "There is, there is a strength
that comes to us in solitude from that shadowy awful Presence that
frivolous crowds repel." He often sought communion with that awful
Presence in the thick forests of the Morvan and on the highest peak of
the Mont Beuvray, and found it.

For some time our minds had been disturbed by the unsettled aspect of
French politics, and the possibility of a war with Prussia had been a
cause of great personal anxiety to my husband on account of his
nationality. He has related in "Round my House" how the news of the
declaration of war reached us on a Sunday, as we were bringing the
children home after spending the day peacefully in the fields and on the
river-banks of a picturesque little village.

It is probable that if my husband had been able to bear a long railway
journey, we might have accepted the hospitality so kindly offered in the
following letter:--

WEST LODGE. _August_ 12, 1870.

"MY VERY DEAR NEPHEW AND NIECE,--I am most grievously and fearfully
concerned to hear of your sad condition in consequence of the terrible
and needless war that is now spreading misery, desolation, and perhaps
famine all over the Empire, just to gratify the unbounded ambition of
one man. We wish you and your three children could fly over to us and be
in safety. Really, if you get at all alarmed, do not hesitate to come,
all of you, with as much of your property as you can pack and bring; we
can and shall be pleased to find you refuge from any pending evil you
may be dreading. Dear P. G., you would find your articles about the
state of your country had got copied into the 'Manchester Courier,' but
we wish to caution you about what you put in them. Remember whose iron
heart could punish you, and what would become of your wife and family if
you were cast into prison.

"The little grandson and his nurse are coming here on Tuesday next for a
month; they will only occupy one bedroom, so there will still be the
best bedroom and a very good attic, and half of my bed if little Mary
Susan Marguerite dares trust herself with me"

Although Mr. Hamerton had always taken great interest in politics, he
never wished to play an active part in them; from time to time he wrote
a political article about some cause he had at heart, or some wrong
which he wished to see redressed, or again on some obscure point which
his experience of two countries might help to clear up, but he never
consented to supply regular political correspondence to any newspaper.
Having had rather a lengthened connection with the "Globe," he was
offered the post of war-correspondent, which he declined.

He has passed over many interesting incidents of this wartime in "Round
my House," although he has given a few. One of the most striking was
certainly his guiding a Garibaldian column _en reconnaissance_ across
the bed of the river Ternin, on a bitterly cold day, mounted on his
spirited little Cocote, who showed quite a martial mettle, and may well
have felt proud of leading a number of great cavalry horses. She took no
harm from her cold bath, but her master, whose legs had been in the icy
water (on account of her small height) up to the thighs, was not so
fortunate: he caught a serious chill, accompanied with fever and pains,
which confined him to the house over a week. He mentions in the book our
anxiety when the spy mania was at its height, and the workmen had almost
decided to attack us in a body, but he refrains from detailing how, day
after day, when the "hands" congregated in the village inns after dinner
in the twilight, we used to take our children by the hand and pass, with
hearts in anguish for their safety, but with as confident a countenance
as we could command, before their infuriated groups; never knowing
whether some fatal blow would not be dealt from the next group or the
one following. The men stood on the door-steps, or in the very middle of
the road, awaiting us with lowering brows and sullen looks of suspicion,
when with sinking hearts and placid faces we stopped to say a few words
to one of our _present_ enemies to whom we had formerly rendered some
help in illness or destitution. The truth is, they generally looked
somewhat ashamed on such occasions, and always answered politely, but
without the frank and pleased looks of other days, when they were proud
of our notice and interest; they would rather have done without it now,
especially in the company of their fellow-conspirators against our
safety. I dare say the innocent unconcern of our children, who laughed
and played freely in their happy ignorance of danger, proved our best
safeguard, but still every night after reaching home we could not help
thinking--"How will it be to-morrow?"

Just at the beginning of the hostilities, my husband had deprecated the
rashness of the French people, which was blinding them to the unprepared
state of their army, and to its numerical inferiority when compared with
the German force. But when he saw that, although the King of Prussia had
said that the war was not directed against the French people, he was
still carrying it on unmercifully after the fall of Napoleon III., his
sympathies with the invaded nation grew warmer every day, and he did all
that was in his power to spare from invasion that part of the country
where we lived, and which we knew so well. He put himself in
communication with General Bordone,--Garibaldi's aide-de-camp (Garibaldi
himself being very ill at that time),--and explained how Autun might be
surprised by roads which had been left totally unguarded. He made a
careful map of the country about us for Garibaldi, and shortly after,
outposts were placed according to his directions, so as to prevent the
enemy from reaching Autun by these parts, without resistance.

He used to go to Autun with Cocote almost every night for news, and met
there with Garibaldian officers whom he often drove to inspect the
outposts, and they gave him the password for the sentinels on his way
home. One night, however, he had remained even later than usual, having
taken an officer to a very distant outpost, and when he reached the road
leading to La Tuilerie, the password had been changed, and he was
detained in spite of all he could say to be allowed to proceed on his
way. He would have submitted easily to the discomfort of a few hours in
the guard-room had it not been that he realized how anxious I must be,
and when he heard the order of march given to a patrol, he asked to be
allowed to join it as it was going his way, observing that the soldiers
would have the power of shooting him if he attempted to run away.

The permission was granted, and he set off on foot, in the midst of the
patrol, followed by his dog, Cocote having been left at the inn.

It was freezing hard, and the snow lay deep on the ground; the march was
a silent one--the men having been forbidden to talk--and it was a
miracle that Gilbert's dog escaped with its life, for every time it
barked or growled it was threatened with instant death. His master,
however, artfully represented that in case enemies were hidden in the
ditches or behind the hedges bordering the road, "Tom" would soon
dislodge them and help in their capture. This seemed to pacify the men,
together with the prospect (no less artfully held out) of a glass of rum
each when they reached La Tuilerie.

It was a weary march for Gilbert and an anxious watch for me, and as
soon as I heard the joyful bark of our dog announcing his master's
return, I hastened downstairs and made a great blaze for the half-frozen
patrol and its prisoner, and served to them all some hot grog which was
duly appreciated.

I have no doubt it seemed hard to the poor soldiers to leave the seats
by the leaping flames to resume their slippery march in the creaking
snow, but they did it promptly enough, somewhat cheered by the renewed
warmth they were carrying away with them.

Mr. Hamerton has described in "Round my House" how he watched the
battle which took place at Autun, from our garret window. With the naked
eye we could only see the dark lines of soldiers without being able to
follow their strategical movements; but to my husband, with the help of
his telescope, every incident was instantly revealed, and he
communicated them to us in succession as they occurred.

It is needless to say what a relief we experienced when we heard that
the enemy was falling back--ever so slightly. Then every one of us,
women and children, wanted to look through the telescope, and for once I
_did_ see in it, and hailed with heartfelt thanksgivings, the scarcely
perceptible retreating movement of the Germans.

At that moment the light of day was fading fast, and in the twilight I
could just see my husband turning towards our awestruck children and
saying to them: "I am certain that you will never forget this day, and
what a horrible thing a war is."

And they answered, "Oh! never!"

Despite these painful preoccupations, Mr. Hamerton had prepared the
"Etcher's Handbook" and its illustrations, and was writing a series of
articles on the "Characters of Balzac" for the "Saturday Review." To
save time I read to him "Le Père Goriot," "Eugénie Grandet," "Ursule
Mirouet," "Les Parents Pauvres," "La Cousine Bette," etc. Mr. Harwood
approved of the series, but although my husband admired Balzac's talent
greatly, he disliked the choice of his subjects in general, and
complained to me of the desponding state of mind they produced in him;
he called it "withering" sometimes. In consequence he became convinced
that it was not a good study--mentally--for him, and rightly abandoned
the series, for it was of importance that he should be in the healthiest
mental condition to write the "Intellectual Life," the form of which was
giving him a great deal of trouble. He had already begun it twice over,
and each time had read to me the preliminary chapters, without giving to
my expectant interest entire satisfaction. He had had the plan of the
book in contemplation for years, and the gathered materials were rich
and ready, but the definite form had not yet been found. He was in no
way discouraged by repeated failures, and told me he "was sure to grasp
it sometime," only he grew excited in the struggle. The prudent rule
which forbade work at night had been cast aside, and it was about two
o'clock in the morning when I was awakened to listen to the first
chapters of the "Intellectual Life," as they now remain. I was very
happy to be able to praise them unreservedly: hitherto my part had been
but a sorry one. I could only say, "I don't think this is the best
possible form," without suggesting what the best form ought to be; but
now I felt sure it answered exactly to my expectations, and my husband
rejoiced that "he had hit it at last."




CHAPTER XI.


1870-1872.

Landscape-painting.--Letters of Mr. Peter Graham, R. A.--Incidents of
the war time.--"The Intellectual Life."--"The Etcher's Handbook."

An American clergyman, Mr. Powers, after reading Mr. Hamerton's works,
had become one of his most fervent admirers, and there came to be a
regular correspondence between them. Mr. Powers used to gather all the
information he could about the progress of his friend's reputation in
the United States--newspaper articles, criticisms, encomiums, notes,
etc., and to send them to Pré-Charmoy. He was a great deal more
sensitive to strictures on my husband than the victim himself; and I see
in the letter-book of 1870 this entry: "April 28. Powers. To console his
mind about the article on me."

Now Mr. Powers longed to see some pictures from the hand of Mr.
Hamerton, and had so often expressed this wish, that the artist, out of
gratitude for the constant interest shown in his work, rashly promised
to paint two landscapes as a present. It was very characteristic that he
did not promise one only, but two, and at a time when he was so
overwhelmed with work that he hardly knew how to get through the most
pressing; and still more characteristic is this other entry in the
letter-book: "February 7, 1871. Powers. Sending him measures of his
pictures, so that he may get frames for them."

It is true that one of the pictures was begun, but before it was brought
to completion several years were to elapse, though the pictures were
both--at intervals--on the easel; always undergoing some change either
of effect or of composition, even of subject, for the painter could
never be satisfied with them. He felt that he lacked the power of
expressing himself, and said to me: "These are not my pictures, I
_dream_ them differently;" whilst when he had seen Mr. Peter Graham's
"Spate in the Highlands," he exclaimed: "This is one of my
_dream_-pictures; I should like to have painted it." Entirely devoid of
the false pride which prevents learning from others, he had written to
Mr. Peter Graham about what he considered his failures, and had received
the following reply:--

"With regard to what you say of yourself in your last letter, I have
never had an opportunity of seeing a picture of yours; but I cannot
imagine any one to fail in landscape who has the high qualifications for
it which you obviously have--a sensitively impressionable nature, a
strong, loving admiration for whatever in heaven or earth is beautiful
or grand in form, color, or effect. Then you have the faculty of
observation, without which a mind, however sensitive to the impressions
of nature, will not be able to do anything, will be passive, not active.
The mechanical difficulties of our art must be to some extent overcome
before our thoughts and intentions can be realized and our impressions
conveyed to others. After all, every artist feels that his work is a
failure, the success of rendering what he wishes is so exceedingly
limited in his mind. I am talking of what you know as well as I do; but
my only reason is that you spoke of yourself as failing in landscape,
'probably from want of natural ability,' which I cannot believe. My
method of getting memoranda, which you inquire about, is to study as
closely as I can; to watch and observe and make notes and drawings, also
studies in color, and patient groping after what I wish to learn, are my
only methods. I feel unable to enter into details, so much would need be
said on the subject. I believe I am much indebted to my long education
as a figure-painter for any little ability I may have in rendering the
material of nature. I was a figure-painter many years before I touched
landscape. Continued study from the antique and painting from the nude
in a life-class give, or ought to give, an acquaintance with light and
shadow which to a landscape-painter is invaluable--nature affects our
feelings so much in landscape by light and shadow. In Edinburgh we had a
long gallery with windows from the roof at intervals, and the statues
were arranged there; a splendid collection. I shall never forget the
exquisite beauty of the middle tint, or overshadowing, which the statues
had that were placed between the windows; those which were immediately
underneath them were of course in a blaze of light, and we had all
gradations of light, middle-tint, and shadow. When I came to study
clouds and skies, I recognized the enchantment of effect to be caused by
the same old laws of light I had tried to get acquainted with at the
Academy. Of course color adds immensely to the difficulty of sky
painting, and the amount of groping in the study of gray, blue, etc., is
very disheartening. I need not longer weary you, however, on this
subject, but shall just again say that I really see no reason why you
should not succeed in landscape-painting if such be your wish, and
therefore cannot think of you as having failed."

Then, in a subsequent letter, I find this passage:--

"Since receiving your last letter I have read, and with great pleasure,
your 'Painter's Camp in the Highlands.' I am stronger than ever in the
belief that it is merely from your never having devoted the necessary
amount of time to art in the right direction that unqualified success
has not been attained by you as an artist. I think it unfortunate that
you 'learned painting with a clever landscape-painter.' You probably far
excelled him in sympathy with nature, power of observation, and all the
gifts especially required for a landscape-painter. What you really
needed, study under a figure-painter, or better still at an Academy,
would have given you. Landscape nature is too complicated to be a good
school to acquire the mastery over the mechanical difficulties in art. I
don't agree with you that you ought to have filled your notebooks with
memoranda from nature instead of painting pictures at Loch Awe. Your
experience there was very valuable. A notebook memorandum from nature is
of little or no use for a picture in oil without previous study of
similar subjects or effects in the same vehicle. You ask my opinion of
your present method of study. I think it excellent, and would make only
two suggestions. You might safely discontinue the study of botany and
dissection of plants; there is not the slightest fear of a want of truth
in your pictures, and the time might be devoted to some more pressing
work. Then I think you might paint the human figure with much profit,
even to landscape-painting and writing on art."

The reader may have remarked that Mr. Hamerton had frequently painted
from a model at Pré-Charmoy, though not from the nude, for he was of
opinion that this kind of study was no great help to him at this stage,
though it might have been earlier.

A more serious impediment than technical difficulties soon stopped all
progress with Mr. Powers' pictures. It was a recurrence of the cerebral
excitement, almost in a chronic form. My husband had made a plan for
issuing--separately--proofs of the etchings appearing in the
"Portfolio;" but he was so ill that he could not hold a pen; and to
explain the details of this plan to Mr. Seeley I acted as amanuensis
under his dictation. His aunt was very much grieved to hear of this
illness, and wrote:--

"Suppose you tried a ten or twenty miles' journey by train, in some
direction whence you could return by water or conveyance if necessary. I
assure you I can do valiant things with impunity that the very thinking
of them would have made me ill about thirteen months ago."

He did not need courage to be preached to him, he had a sufficient store
of it; indeed, his nervousness had nothing to do with fear: he used to
drive or ride Cocote after she had been running away, upsetting the
carriage and breaking the harness, till she was subdued again into
docility. Once at Dieppe, in a storm, he had volunteered to steer a
lifeboat which was making for a ship in distress, but his services had
been refused when it was known that he had a family. He rode fearlessly
one of the high, dangerous bicycles of that time, about which Aunt Susan
humorously said in one of her letters that "they often prove rather
restive, and are given to, or seized with, an inclination to butting the
walls, and also of lazily lying down on the road over which they ought
to be almost imperceptibly passing along." And during the war he kindly
received, fed, and helped several _francs-tireurs_ and stray French
soldiers, perfectly aware that he was risking his life in case the
Prussians came near; he even conveyed one of them to the Garibaldian
outposts in his carriage. Of his own accord he attempted time after time
to get the better of this peculiar nervousness, but it had lately
increased to such a point that, for a time, when we reached Autun in the
carriage and came _in sight_ of the railway bridge, he had to give me
the reins, jump down, and go back to wait for my return outside the
town; for I could not go with him, having to take our boys to the
college. I never knew how I might find him when we met again. Unlike the
majority of patients, who make the most of their ailments to excite
sympathy, he considerately let me know immediately of the slightest
improvement, and kept repeating: "It will soon be over now; don't
distress yourself."

I believe that the great excitement and anxiety of the wartime had
caused the recurrence of the ailment, and no wonder, for we knew several
cases of mental derangement in the small circle of our acquaintances,
even amongst peasants, who are far from imaginative or nervous. In
Gilbert's case there were only too many reasons for anxiety, besides the
uncertainty of his situation. His brother-in-law, M. Pelletier, then
Économe of the Lycée at Vendôme, was in the thick of the strife, and his
post was not unattended with danger--though the Lycée had become an
International Ambulance. It was sometimes hard for him to restrain his
indignation before the insolence and partiality of the victors: once,
for instance, he appealed to the general in command to obtain for the
French wounded an equal portion of the bread given to the Prussians; but
he was pushed by the shoulder to an open window, from which the French
army could be seen, and the general exclaimed--pointing to the soldiers
in the distance: "Vous n'aurez rien, rien! tant que nous ne les aurons
pas battus!... allez!..."

Another time M. Pelletier had to go to Château Renaud to fetch several
things sorely wanted at the ambulance. It was forbidden by the enemy,
under penalty of death, to carry any letters out of the city, which they
had declared in a state of siege; but M. Pelletier could not find in his
heart to refuse a few from desolate mothers and wives, and these letters
were carefully sewn up at night, by his wife, in the lining of his
overcoat. Who betrayed him?... No one knows, but just as he was about to
descend the stairs, some one rapidly brushed past, whispering hurriedly,
"Leave that coat behind." He understood, went back to his apartment,
threw the coat to his terrified wife, merely saying "Burn," and had only
time to seize another great-coat hanging in the passage and rush to the
omnibus waiting with the escort. He was, however, stopped by a Prussian
officer, who said: "You sha'n't go--you are carrying letters, and you
know that you have put yourself in the way of being shot." The coat was
taken from him _and the lining cut open_. On finding nothing, the
officer said, with a dry smile: "You have been warned; but let it be a
lesson to you,--you might not escape so easily another time."

My brother Charles, despite his being the only son of a widow and
_soutien de famille_, had been enlisted, and his letters did not always
reach their destination, though his regiment was at Chagny, not far from
Autun, and for a while Mr. Hamerton had lost all traces of his
mother-in-law. Madame Gindriez had gone to Vendôme to be near her
younger daughter, Madame Pelletier, in the hope of keeping clear of the
bloody conflict, but found herself in the very centre of it after the
occupation of Vendôme by Prince Frederick Charles, and was thus shut off
from all news of her son. After vainly attempting to get a safe-conduct
during the hostilities, she at last succeeded after the armistice, and
left the town to go to Tours, where she had friends willing to receive
her, and where she expected to hear from her son. The omnibus in which
she travelled was escorted by Bismarck's White Cuirassiers, pistol in
hand, till it reached Château Renaud. In the night, Madame Gindriez was
awakened by loud rappings at her bedroom door, and ordered to give up
her room to some Prussian sergeants who had come back from an
expedition. She dressed quickly and went to the kitchen--the only place
in the hotel free from soldiers--to await the morning as she best could.
Her breakfast was served upon a small table, apart from the long one in
the centre of the room, which was reserved for the German officers. They
were very much elated, it seemed, by the armistice, thinking that it
might lead ultimately to a peace, for which they openly expressed their
desire, ordering champagne, clinking their glasses together, and
politely offering one to Madame Gindriez with the words: "You won't
refuse to drink with us _à la paix_, Madame?" "À la paix, soit," she
courageously answered; "mais sans cession de territoire." They did not
insist.

It may be easily surmised that such tidings, reaching my husband from
time to time, kept him in an anxious state far from beneficial to his
health. After the armistice, I find a great many entries in the
letter-book of letters inquiring about friends, and how they had fared
during this terrible war-time. Despite this chronic state of anxiety,
Mr. Hamerton was writing "The Intellectual Life," and had offered it for
publication in America to Messrs. Roberts Brothers. They answered:--

"We liked the title and the plan of your new work, as outlined by you,
and presuming it will be larger than 'Thoughts about Art,' we will give
you fifty pounds outright for the early copy, or we shall allow you a
percentage on it, after the first thousand are sold, of ten per cent, on
the retail price, provided we are not interfered with by competing
editions."

The author had the satisfaction of receiving another letter from Roberts
Brothers, dated July 21, 1871, in which this passage occurs: "'Thoughts
about Art' is quite popular; you have many very dear friends in this
country, and the number is increasing."

In September of the same year Mr. Haden wrote, in reference to the
projected "Etcher's Handbook":--

"Your new processes interest me immensely, and I am glad you are going
to give us a handbook on the whole subject. Let it be concise, and even
dogmatic, for you have to speak _ex cathedrâ_ on the matter, and people
prefer to be told what to do to being reasoned into it."

Ever anxious to improve himself, my husband had asked Mr. Lewes to
advise him about his reading preparatory to the new book he had begun to
write on the Intellectual Life. Here is the answer:--

"THE PRIORY, 21 NORTH BANK, REGENT'S PARK.

"_Nov_. 2, 1871.

"MY DEAR HAMERTON,--We so often speak of you and your wife, and were so
very anxious about you during the war, that we have asked right and left
for news of you, and were delighted at last to get such good news of you
both.

"As to the books to be suggested for your work, partly the fact that no
one can really suggest food for another, partly the fact that I don't
clearly understand the nature of your work--these perhaps make a good
excuse if the following list is worthless. It is all I have been able to
gather together.

  "Littré, 'Vie d'Auguste Comte.'
  St. Hilaire, 'Vie et travaux de Geoffroy St. Hilaire.'
  Gassendi, 'Vita Tychonis Brahei, Copernici.'
  Bertrand, 'Fondateurs de l'Astronomie Moderne.'
  Morley, 'Life of Palissy' (passionate devotion to research).
  Morley, 'Life of Cardan.'
  Berti, 'Vita di Giordano Bruno.'
  Bartholmess, 'Vie de Jordano Bruno.'
  Muir's 'Life of Mahomet.'
  Stanley's 'Life of Arnold.'
  Mazzuchelli, 'Vita di Archimede.'
  Blot's 'Life of Newton.'
  Drinkwater's 'Kepler and Galileo.'

"All these are first-rate, especially the two last, published by the
Society for the Promotion of Useful Knowledge, together with some
others, under the title of 'Lives of Eminent Persons.'

"The 'Biographie Universelle' will give you, no doubt, references as to
the best works under each head.

"We did not go abroad this year, but buried ourselves in absolute
solitude in Surrey--near Haslemere, if you know the lovely region; and
there I worked like a man going in for the Senior Wranglership, and Mrs.
Lewes, who was ailing most of the time, went on with her new work. This
work, by the way, is a panorama of provincial life, to be published in
eight parts, on alternative months, making four very thick vols. when
complete. It is a new experiment in publishing. While she was at her
art, I was at the higher mathematics, seduced into those regions by some
considerations affecting my personal work. The solitude and the work
together were perfectly blissful. Except Tennyson, who came twice to
read his poems to us, we saw no one.

"No sooner did we return home than Mrs. Lewes, who had been incubating
an attack, _hatched_ it--and for five weeks she was laid up, getting
horribly thin and weak. But now she is herself again (thinner self) and
at work.

"She begs me to remember her most kindly to you and to Mrs. Hamerton.

"Ever yours truly,

"G. H. LEWES."

Almost in every letter that my husband received from Mr. Lewes, he had
this confirmation of what George Eliot had told him about the heavy
penalty in health attending or following her labors.

Mr. Lewes had not mentioned his lives of Goethe and Aristotle, but they
were ordered with the other books he had recommended, and I began to
read them aloud to my husband whilst he was etching the plates for an
illustrated edition of the "Painter's Camp," that he had always hoped to
see accepted by Mr. Macmillan.

M. Pelletier had been promoted from Vendôme to Lons-le-Saunier, and
after spending a month of the vacation at our house with his wife and
three children, now invited his host and family to go back with him for
the remainder of the holidays. However, the boys only went, for their
father was incapacitated for railway travelling, and the little girl May
could not be persuaded to leave her parents, even to go with her cousins
and her Aunt Caroline, whom she so much loved.

The nervous state into which my husband had been thrown back had
produced a morbid sensitiveness to noise and to the sight of movement
which isolated him more and more, even from his nearest friends, and
during these last vacations he had seldom been able to take _déjeuner_
with us. In consequence he had a little hut erected near the river, _au
buisson Vincent_, whither he retired almost daily, and to which I took
or sent him his lunch; there he read, wrote, or sketched, surrounded
only by silent and motionless objects. This morbid sensitiveness
decreased with the light of day, and when the sun had set we generally
joined him to admire the beauty of the after-glow fading slowly into
twilight in the summer evenings. He always dined with us all, and after
dinner he either listened to music, of which he was very fond, or even
played a little himself on the violin, or walked out in company. We made
quite a little procession on the road now,--six children romping about,
my sister and her husband, my mother and my brother Charles, the master
of the house and myself; and since it had transpired that my husband was
not so well, some of his friends at Autun or in the neighborhood came as
often as they could to make him feel less out of the world. He has said
himself: "The intellectual life is sometimes a fearfully solitary one.
Unless he lives in a great capital the man devoted to that life is more
than other men liable to suffer from isolation, to feel utterly alone
beneath the deafness of space and the silence of the stars. Give him one
friend who can understand him, who will not leave him, who will always
be accessible by day and night,--one friend, one kindly listener, just
one,--and the whole universe is changed." In his case the friendly and
intelligent intercourse kept up with his wife's relatives alleviated in
a great measure the sense of isolation.

The life in the hut, together with the botanical studies and the
formation of the herbarium, suggested the plan of the "Sylvan Year," and
thereby lent additional interest to these pursuits, though at that time
his main work was the prosecution of "The Intellectual Life," now that
he had finished the correction of the handbook on etching. [Footnote:
Contributed to the "Portfolio," and afterwards published separately.]
This last work brought him many pleasant letters from brother artists,
but I shall only quote what Mr. Samuel Palmer said about it, because it
was his praise, and that of Mr. Seymour Haden, which gave the author the
greatest satisfaction, coming from authorities on the subject.

"REDHILL. _January_, 1872.

"DEAR MR. HAMERTON,--Had I thanked you earlier for your 'handbook,'
which came long ago, I could not have thanked you so much: for it is the
test of good books, as of good pictures, that they improve with
acquaintance. I had a little 'Milton' bound with brass corners, that I
might carry it always in my waistcoat-pocket--after doing this for
twenty years it was all the fresher for its portage. Your invention of
the positive process is equally useful and elegant; useful because the
reverse method lessens the pleasure of work, elegant because the
materials are delicate and the process cleanly and expeditious."

In this letter Mr. Palmer expressed his desire to publish a translation
of Virgil's "Eclogues" in verse, and asked for his correspondent's
advice about it. Another source of satisfaction to Gilbert was the
increasing success of his works in America. In January, 1872, he had a
letter from Roberts Brothers, in which they said:--

"We have mailed you a copy of 'The Unknown River.' It has proved a
success, and has been generally admired. It is a charming book, and we
should like to bring out a popular edition. 'Thoughts about Art' is
selling better than we expected--it has given a start to the 'Painter's
Camp,' which we are now printing a second edition of.

"We think you are getting to be well known and appreciated in this
country."

Enclosed in the letter was a remittance for £49 8_s_., which proves that
an author has need of a good many successes to pay his way; still, these
remittances from America made a difference in Mr. Hamerton's
circumstances, and were exclusively devoted to the education of his
boys. Though unambitious, he was not indifferent to the increase in his
reputation, for he had written in "The Intellectual Life," "Fame is
dearer to the human heart than wealth itself." He certainly cared
infinitely and incomparably more for his reputation--such as he wished
it to be, pure, dignified, and honored--than for wealth; his only desire
about money, often expressed, was "not to have to think about it."




CHAPTER XII.


1873-1875.

Popularity of "The Intellectual Life."--Love of animals.--English
visitors.--Technical notes.--Sir F. Seymour Haden.--Attempts to resume
railway-travelling.

The dedication of "The Intellectual Life" was a perfect surprise to me
when I first opened my presentation copy: the secret had been well kept.
I felt grateful and honored to be thus publicly associated by my husband
in his work, though my share had been but humble and infinitesimal--more
sympathetic than active, more encouraging than laborious. Our common
dream had been to be as little separated as possible, and he had
attempted soon after our marriage to rouse in me some literary ambition,
and to direct my beginnings. I first reviewed French books for "The
Reader," and he was kind enough to correct everything I wrote; then he
induced me to try my hand at a short novel, reminding me humorously that
some of my father's friends used to call me "Little Bluestocking." He
took a great deal of trouble to find a publisher for my second novel,
and was quite disappointed to fail. He wrote to encourage me to
persevere:--

"The reviews of your first novel have all been favorable enough, but the
publishers told me they had _never_ published a one-volume novel that
had succeeded, and that they had now made up their minds _never_ to
publish another, no matter who wrote it. I rather think they would
publish your new novel, but I earnestly recommend you to try ... _I am
quite sure_ you have something in you, but you want wider culture,
better reading, and more of it, and the difficulty about household
matters is for the present in your way, though if I go on as I am doing
now we will get you out of that."

A copy of "The Intellectual Life" was sent to Aunt Susan, who received
it just as she was going to visit her sister, Mrs. Hinde, whom she
found in failing health, and who died shortly after. It was a new grief
for my husband, to whom she had always been very kind. As soon as
tranquillity was re-established in France, after the war and Commune,
Mr. Hamerton had renewed a regular correspondence with his friends, and,
being greatly interested in the technique of the fine arts, consulted
those friends whose experience was most to be relied upon. Mr. Wyld's
letters are full of explanation about his own practice, as well as that
of Decamps, Horace Vernet, Delaroche, and Delacroix. In one of them I
find this interesting passage:--

"I very much doubt if the talent of coloring can be _learnt_. I think it
is a gift like an ear for music, which if not born with you can never be
perfectly acquired (I, for instance, _I am sure_, could never have
_perfectly_ tuned a violin). Doubtless if the faculty exists
intuitively, it may be perfected, or at all events much improved by
study and practice, but he that has it not from birth, _I_ think, can
never acquire it."

Mr. S. Palmer, in a long letter also devoted to the technical part of
painting and etching, turns to literature to say:--

"My pleasure in hearing of the success of 'The Intellectual Life' is
qualified only by the comparative apathy of the English. Of such a book
one edition here to three in America is something to be ashamed of."

The sale of the book was rapid, both in England and in America, but the
American sale continued to be incomparably the larger. As early as
February, 1874, Roberts Brothers wrote:--

"'The Intellectual Life' is a complete literary success in America; it
has been the means of making you almost a household god in the most
refined circles. We are now selling the fifth thousand. Our supply of
the English 'Chapters on Animals' [Footnote: Contributed to the
"Portfolio," and afterwards published separately.] is all sold, and we
are now stereotyping the book. We hope to sell a good many."

The motive which prompted my husband to write these "chapters" was
purely his love and pity for all dumb creatures. He never could do
without a dog--and the dog was always the favorite, being even preferred
to the saddle-horse; and when out of compassion for its infirmities it
had to be out of pain, his master never shirked the painful duty, but
performed it himself as mercifully as he could. One of his dogs, which
had long been treated for cancer, was at last chloroformed to death, his
master helping the veterinary surgeon all the time. Another, who became
suddenly rabid, and could not be prevented from entering the house, to
the imminent peril of us all, he met and stunned at a blow with a log of
wood, having no weapon ready. Poor Cocote was not sold when she became
useless, but allowed to divide her old age peacefully between the
freedom of the pasturage and the comfort and plenty of the stable, till
her master asked the best shot of the place (a poacher) to assist him in
firing a volley, which quickly put an end to her life, as she was
unsuspectingly coming out of the field. And he only came to this
decision when we left the country. Out of love or pity my husband was
interested in all animals, and I believe that animals were instinctively
aware of it. Dogs always sought his caresses; he used to remove _with
his hands_ toads from the dangers of the road, and they did not seem
afraid. He never was stung by bees, though he often placed his hand flat
in front of the opening in the hive, so that they were obliged to alight
upon it before entering. Of the rat only he had a nervous horror, but it
remained unconquerable; he disliked the sight of one, and if he met one
accidentally, he always experienced a disagreeable shock. When he tried
to find out the reason, he was inclined to attribute it to the
disquieting rapidity and restlessness of its movements.

In 1874 Mr. Hamerton began to write for the "International Review,"
principally on the fine arts, and continued his contributions till 1880.
Roberts Brothers expressed a wish that he would reserve the publications
in book form to their firm, which had done so much for his reputation.

At the beginning of April he heard from Boston that they were printing
the sixth thousand of the "Intellectual Life," and had written to
Messrs. Macmillan that they were willing to unite in bringing out a new
edition of "Etching and Etchers." In October the seventh thousand of the
"Intellectual Life" was being printed; the second edition of "Chapters
on Animals" and the second of "Thoughts about Art" were about half gone,
and "A Painter's Camp" was going off quite freely. About the last
Roberts Brothers added: "This book ought to sell better. We have reason
to congratulate ourselves that it so fascinated us that we ventured to
republish it. We are Nature lovers, and delight to keep the company of
one who loves her and is able to tell of it as you can."

Of course we cheered Aunt Susan with the list of these successes, and
she answered: "I wish, my dear P. G., that all your admirers would be as
generous with their money as they are with their flattery, for flattery
is not a commodity to supply a family with means of subsistence." In the
same letter she told of Mr. Hinde's death and funeral, and of her hopes
of seeing her nephew, Ben Hinde, succeed to his father's living.

Early in 1874 Mr. Hamerton had the pleasure of becoming personally
acquainted with one of the most distinguished of the contributors to the
"Portfolio,"--Mr. Sidney Colvin, who now came to pay a visit to the
editor, after nursing his friend R. L. Stevenson through one of his
dangerous attacks of illness. My husband esteemed highly Mr. Colvin's
knowledge and acquirements. During his short stay this esteem expanded
into personal regard, and in after years, whenever a meeting with him
was possible, it invariably afforded gratification.

In the summer our house was turned into a sort of temporary hospital by
an epidemic of measles brought to it by the boys from their college.
Having had it in my youth, I luckily was spared to nurse in succession
the three children and my husband, whose case was by far the most
serious. However, he would not take to his bed, but remained in his
study with a good fire at night, sleeping upon an ottoman or in an
arm-chair, wrapped up in his monk's dress, and the head covered with an
Algerian chechia. In due course he got through the distemper without
accident, but for fear of chills he continued to wear the chechia and
monk's dress in the house some time after his recovery, and he was so
discovered by Mr. and Mrs. Mark Pattison when they paid us an unexpected
visit. It happened thus. I had driven my sister and her youngest boy to
Autun, where he had been invited to stay a few days at his godmother's,
and as we alighted in the courtyard of the hotel I was told that an
English gentleman and his wife had ordered an omnibus to call upon Mr.
Hamerton, and were on the point of starting. On learning that I was at
the hotel they came to propose that I should go back to La Tuilerie with
them, which proposition I accepted with pleasure. I left the
pony-carriage, told my sister that I would fetch her in the evening, and
drove off with Mr. and Mrs. Pattison, the latter very much interested by
what I could point out to her on the way,--the Temple of Janus, the
Roman archways, the double walls of the town, and Mont Beuvray.

The drive from Autun to La Tuilerie is a short one, and we soon arrived
at the garden gate. As we stopped, the study window was quickly, almost
violently, thrown open, my husband's anxious face appeared through it,
and he shouted to the bewildered coachman, "What has happened?" At the
sight of an omnibus he had been afraid of an accident (not at all
unusual with Cocote's tendency to take fright, run away, and upset
carriage and all), and had fancied me hurt, and brought back laid upon
the cushioned seat. But as soon as he saw me safe and sound, and noticed
my companions, he hastened down to receive his visitors. We spent the
afternoon very pleasantly, but as it was getting cooler and a little
damp after sunset, my husband, who was not fully recovered, had to
excuse himself from accompanying Mr. and Mrs. Pattison back to Autun,
and to let me go instead. I had the pleasure of a second meeting with
them on the following morning at the hotel, when we took leave of each
other.

I have always remembered an incident in connection with this visit that
Mr. and Mrs. Pattison never knew of. There had been in our entrance hall
for the last four months at least, a manuscript notice written very
legibly by Mr. Hamerton, and carefully pasted up with his own hands, in
a very good light by the side of the drawing-room door, to this effect:
"English visitors to this house are earnestly requested not to stay
after seven o'clock p.m. if not invited to dine; and when invited to
dine, not to consider themselves as entitled to the use of a bedroom,
unless particularly requested to remain."

This had been done in a moment of legitimate anger and vexation (of
course without consulting me), and I had thought it the best policy to
ignore it for some time--particularly during winter, when it was put up,
for there was little probability of English visitors at that time. As to
French visitors, it was unlikely that they could make out its meaning,
and if they did, as it did not concern them, they would consider it as a
humorous _boutade_. After a fortnight, however, I begged my husband to
remove the "notice;" but his anger had not cooled a bit, and he said in
a tone that I knew to admit of no opposition that the "notice" was meant
to remain there _permanently_. And there it remained, at first
partially, and by degrees almost entirely, covered up by the shawls or
mantles that I artfully spread as far as possible over the obnoxious
manuscript, till, emboldened by non-interference, and under pretext that
the wall-paper about the door was soiled, I got leave to have a new
piece hung, and took care to have it laid _over_ the notice. This took
place on the very day that Mr. and Mrs. Pattison paid their friendly
visit.

I must now explain the cause of my husband's temporary ukase. As I have
said before, M. Bulliot, President of the Société Eduenne, was a friend
of his, and on one occasion, a Scotchman having applied to him for
permission to see a precious book kept in the archives of the learned
society, M. Bulliot, finding him well-bred and interesting, took the
trouble of bringing him to La Tuilerie, in the hope that Mr. Hamerton
and Mr. W---- would derive pleasure from the meeting. It was so, and Mr.
W----'s researches at Autun requiring a few days only, he was invited to
dinner for the morrow. He duly arrived and dined, but as he gave no sign
of going away, I asked him a little before ten if he was a good walker,
as the hotels at Autun closed at eleven. He merely answered, "No
matter." Looking already like an old man, and weak besides, I felt
certain that he could not possibly reach the town in time for a bed, and
I quietly retired to mine. My husband told me in the morning that he had
shown Mr. W---- to the spare room, unwilling to turn an old man out in
the cold and mist of an early morning. I foresaw a repetition of what
had happened at Pré-Charmoy. And so it proved, for Mr. W---- quartered
himself upon us for two days, and it is impossible to say how much
longer he would have stayed if my husband had not at last insisted
peremptorily on driving him back to Autun.

On reaching home Gilbert immediately went up to his study to write his
"Notice to English visitors," and without saying a word securely pasted
it up at the entrance. A few days later he heard from the proprietor of
the Hótel de la Poste, that before leaving Mr. W---- had said, "Mr.
Hamerton will settle the bill."

It was a good thing for my husband that he gave so much consideration to
the bringing up of his children, for indirectly he derived from it some
benefit to his own health; for instance, not wishing them to be always
confined to college, he used often to drive them to and from Autun; and
in the summer, as he came back, he would just stop the pony for a few
minutes at our gate to pick up the rest of the family and a hamper, then
take us to a cool and shady dell divided from a little wood by the river
Vesvre--the coldest water I ever bathed in; and as soon as Cocote was
taken out of harness and left in the enjoyment of the fresh grass, we
all tumbled into the icy water, and swam till our appetites were
thoroughly sharpened for a hearty dinner in the lingering twilight.

The children were also taken by their father to the hills, where they
climbed about whilst he sketched; his little daughter Mary liked nothing
better than to spend a day "au Pommoy" above the beautiful valley of the
Canche, where the parents of our servant-girl lived. They were farmers
in a very humble way, but they offered us heartily the little they
possessed,--the new-laid eggs, the clotted cream, which the children
delighted in, thickly spread upon black bread, and which the mother
prepared in perfection; also frothy goat's milk, with walnuts and
chestnuts in their season. Cocote, too, had free access to the dainty
grass and crystal spring of their pasturage in the hollow behind the
cottage. Whilst my husband painted and I read to him, we watched the
children, who, bare-footed and bare-legged, turned up the stones in the
river-bed seeking for trout and crayfish. In the course of these
pleasant excursions Gilbert entered into conversation with every one he
met--farmers, shepherdesses, cow-boys, and even beggars, learning what
he could of their lives and thoughts, sympathizing with their labors and
their wants, often conveying useful information to their minds,
frequently on politics, sometimes on geography or science. He tried to
explain to them the railways and telegraph, for many of the dwellers in
these hilly regions had never seen a railroad, especially the old folk,
who could no longer walk any great distance, and remembered Autun only
as it was in the time of the diligences. He liked the polite,
deferential manners of the French peasants and their quiet dignity; and
they felt at ease with him because of his serious interest in what
concerned them, and total absence of pride in the superiority of his
station or learning. Wherever he went he liked to see the parish church,
and generally found it worth his while, either artistically or
historically. The cure was frequently to be met with, and not sorry to
talk with a person better informed than most of his parishioners: it was
for Gilbert another field to glean from, and on such occasions he
generally managed to bring home a sheaf with him. It was most remarkable
to see how well he got on with the Roman Catholic clergy, although his
religious opinions were never hidden from them, and his attitude by no
means conducive to hopes of conversion; but on the other hand, he was
not aggressive, and did not turn into ridicule ceremonies or beliefs to
which he remained a stranger. Perfectly firm in his own convictions, he
respected those of other people, because his large sympathy understood
the different wants of different natures, even when he had no share in
them. He was always on visiting terms with _our_ curé (the one
officiating at Tavernay--the nearest village to La Tuilerie), and on
friendly terms with the Aumônier de l'Hôpital and the Aumônier de
Collège (although the boys were not under his spiritual direction, their
father considering it as a duty to let them choose their own religion
when they were of age); later on l'Abbé Antoine, professor at the
seminary, became a faithful and welcome visitor to La Tuilerie; even
Monseigneur the Bishop of Autun gave a signal proof of his respect for
Mr. Hamerton's character, which will be related in due course, and
visited him afterwards so long as we remained in the Autunois.

The technical difficulties of painting, which were giving my husband so
much trouble to conquer, led him to speak not unfrequently of the
advantages formerly afforded to students by the privilege of working in
the same studios with their masters, and even of having some portions of
the masters' pictures to execute under their personal and invaluable
direction. He realized what a gain it would be, not only for beginners,
but even for artists, to be acquainted with the best methods of the best
artists, and at last, counting upon their well-known generosity, he
resolved to make a general appeal to their experience. They were almost
unanimously favorable to the idea, and furnished valuable notes, the
substance of which was published in the "Portfolio." The letters are too
technical, though very interesting, to be quoted here, but the eminent
names of the writers will be a proof of the importance attached to the
subject. I find those of Sir Frederick Leighton, Sir John Gilbert,
Watts, Holman Hunt, Samuel Palmer, Calderon, Wyld, Dobson, Davis,
Storey, etc., etc., in the notes still in my possession.

My husband was himself in the habit of making experiments in painting
and etching, though he deplored both the time and money so spent, and
repeatedly resolved not to meddle any more with them; but he could not
keep the resolution. His mind was so curious about all possible
processes and technicalities, and his desire of perfection so great,
that not only did he experiment in all the known processes, but invented
new ones. Entries in the note-book like the following are of frequent
occurrence:--

"Experiments with white zinc did not succeed."

"This month tried sulphur with success. I discovered also that the
three-cornered scraper is excellent for obtaining various breadths of
line in the background."

"I made a successful experiment in sandpaper mezzotint."

"M. de Fontenay and I made _crême d'argent_ very cheaply indeed."

"To-day I tried experiments on grains: the grains given by the sandpaper
and rosin. That given by the fine glass-paper was the best."

"Quite determined to put a stop to all experiments, in view of
typographic drawings."

Here is an important entry, August 19, 1875:--

"RESOLVED in future to confine myself exclusively to oil-painting and
etching in all artistic work done for the public, except the designs for
the bindings of my books, which may be done in water-colors.

"RESOLVED also that there shall be as little as possible of copying and
slavery in my artistic work, but that Etching shall be Etching, and
Painting Painting."

He had been working very hard, copying etchings for the new edition of
"Etching and Etchers," and was thoroughly tired of it. I see in his
diary:--

"Finished my plate after Rembrandt. N.B.--Will never undertake a set of
copies again."

"Felt it a great deliverance to be rid of plates for 'Etching and
Etchers.'"

A later note:--

"There is no technical difficulty for me in etching. I ought therefore
to direct my energies against the artistic difficulties of composition,
drawing, light and shade. Haden's 'Agamemnon' is the model for the kind
of work I should like to be able to do in etching. Comprehensive
sketching is the right thing."

Meanwhile our boys were growing, and giving great satisfaction to their
father by their application to and success in their studies; they always
kept at the head of their class, and carried off a great number of
prizes at the end of every scholastic year. The younger boy, Richard,
evinced an early taste for the pictorial arts, and was gifted with a
sure critical faculty and a natural talent for drawing. Although he had
never taken regular drawing-lessons, he had often watched his father at
work, had occasionally sketched and painted under his direction, and was
receiving a sort of artistic education by what he saw at home of
illustrated periodicals, engravings, and etchings sent for presentation
or criticism. He was early tempted to try etching, and of course
received encouragement and help; the first attempt was a success, as far
as it went, and Mr. S. Palmer wrote about it:--

"Your son's etching has given pleasure to other than 'parental eyes.'
'What a sweet little etching,' said my wife, who saw it lying on the
table; 'it is like an old master.' There is something touching in the
sight of a beginner, full of curiosity and hope. My yearning is, 'O that
he may escape the rocks on which I split--years wasted, any one of which
would have given a first grounding in anatomy, indispensable anatomy, to
have gone with the antique. The bones are the master-key; the marrowless
bones are the talisman of all life and power in Art. Power seems to
depend upon knowledge of structure; all surface upon substance; knowing
this, and imbued with the central essence, we may venture to copy the
appearance, perhaps even imitate it."

Mr. Seeley also wrote, with sly humor: "Your boy's etching is capital.
It would be interesting to know what processes this remarkable artist
employs."

Richard frequently expressed his intention of being a painter; but his
father, though much pleased to notice in the boy a real tendency towards
art, did not at all feel certain that there were in him the gifts
indispensable to the making of an artist. I was often told that, despite
the cleverness of his copies, and even of his caricatures, he seemed to
lack invention and originality. However, it was understood that he would
be allowed a fair trial,--but only after taking his degree of "Bachelier
ès-lettres," for his father was of opinion that perhaps more for artists
than for men in other professions, a liberal education was necessary to
the development of the finest aptitudes. He also thought that the boys
might now appreciate English poetry, and selected short passages from
the best poets, which he read aloud in the evenings, whilst they
followed with books in their hands; it accustomed them to the rhythm and
to the music of the language, and the peculiar qualities of each piece
were explained to them afterwards. Little Mary Susan also received
encouragement in the practice of her music, for I see this entry on
March 7, 1875: "My little daughter and I played piano and violin
together to-day for the first time."

Very slowly and gradually his health had improved, and he was in 1875
almost free from nervousness, but he had not yet dared to attempt
railway travelling; he had occasion to write to Mr. Seymour Haden, and
here is part of the reply:--

"First, I am delighted to hear that the improvement in your health
maintains itself; next, that I shall be very happy to do you a plate for
the 'Portfolio.' I was with Macmillan the other day, and heard from him
that you were at work upon a new edition of 'Etching and Etchers.' He
spoke so well of you and of your work, that I am _empressé_ to report
him to you in this. It must be a great satisfaction to you, after the
extraordinary life you have led, to find that it is producing such
satisfactory results. May it and the good effect which attends it
continue! And this brings me to speak of your railway malady. It does
not differ from other cases of the kind in any one particular. It is an
idiosyncracy. It is not to be got over by medicine (certainly not by
chloral), but by time--or rather, by the difference induced in the
constitution by age. A man may be subject to all you describe at forty,
and actually free from such symptoms at fifty--and I should advise you
to _test_ yourself, after so long an abstinence from this mode of
travel, by a short journey now and then. No accumulative mischief could
arrive--and you _may_ find, to your great satisfaction, that you have
entirely lost your enemy. If you do, by all means come, pay us a visit,
and see what we are doing in England. I have done an etching of Turner's
'Calais Pier,' 30 _inches square_, which is by many degrees the finest
thing (if I may be permitted so superlative an expression) I have done
or ever shall do. I mean to publish it about the close of the year. I
have _built_ a press for printing it, and am having paper _made_
expressly, and real sepia (which is magnificent--both in color and
price) got from the Adriatic for the ink! so that great things ought to
_result_."

And the result was certainly by far the finest of modern etchings,
according to Mr. Hamerton's opinion; in some particulars he preferred
the "Agamemnon," but the size of "Calais Pier" as an increase of
difficulty was to be considered, and if the "Agamemnon" was an original
conception, it cannot be said that "Calais Pier" was a copy--so much
being due to interpretation. Later on, when my husband was in possession
of this _chef-d'oeuvre_, it always occupied the place of honor in the
house.

Following Mr. Haden's advice, he now tried short railway journeys at
intervals, by slow trains, so that he could get out frequently at the
numerous stations,--not to allow the accumulating effect of the
vibration,--and generally in the night. There are some short entries
about it in the diary:--

"October 7, 1875. Went to Laisy in boat with M. de Fontenay; the day was
most lovely. Came back in the train without feeling any inconvenience."

"October 12, 1875. Went from Laisy to Etang by the river. Dined there;
returned by train in the evening all right. We had no accidents, except
on a little sunken rock after Chaseux, when M. de Fontenay's boat was
upset."

In this manner he used to go to Chalon (there was rather a long stoppage
at Chagny for change of train) to stay two or three days with my mother
and brother, who lived there. He was still anxious and uneasy, but he
nerved himself to bear the discomfort, in the hope that he would get
inured to it in time, and he used to close his eyes as soon as he was in
the carriage, and to draw the curtains to avoid seeing the objects that
we passed on the line.

In the summer of 1875 he received from the new owner of Innistrynich an
invitation to revisit the dear island. Nothing could have given him more
pleasure. Mr. Muir gave him all the details of the improvements he had
effected, but said:--

"I retained the old cottage, with its twelve small apartments, and added
a new front, containing five rooms.

"I saw Donald Macorquodale [whom my husband often had in the boat with
him]; he was much pleased to hear that you had been inquiring about him.
He is now getting frail, and not very able to work. He requested me to
say that he was very glad to hear of you, and would be delighted to see
you at Loch Awe. He sold the boats you were so kind as to give him, but
he only received a small sum for them, having kept them too long."

My husband never forgot his old servants, and showed his interest in
them whenever he could; they had great affection and respect for him,
mingled with awe, well knowing that, although he gave his orders kindly,
he meant to be obeyed. There was a very trusty widow, who came to our
house twice a week, and I remember finding her in tears, and asking what
was the matter. "Ah! c'est Monsieur qui m'a grondée," she sobbed
desperately. "But what has he said to put you in such a state?" "Oh! he
did not say much; only, 'Lazarette, why will you scratch off the paint
with the matches?' ... 'Mais quand Monsieur gronde,'" ... and there was
a fresh explosion.

It was well that my husband's health was better, for it enabled him to
bear the saddening news of his uncle Thomas's approaching end; he had,
for the last few months, grown weaker and weaker, till his sister
wrote:--

"WEST LODGE. _September_ 1875.

"The loss of my dear worthy brother is indeed a sad blow to me, and I
was not able to attend the funeral.... I am better now, though the
doctor is still in attendance upon me. I should indeed have liked you
both to have been here, but I could not press you, or even expect you to
run such a risk.... Still, I look forward to the pleasure of seeing you
all at West Lodge before the winter sets in."

It may be here briefly explained that Miss Susan Hamerton greatly needed
her nephew's advice about money matters; they had been hitherto managed
by her brother, and she had had no care about it; but now, after
entrusting what she possessed to a person recommended by Mr. T.
Hamerton, she had become aware that it was not safe, and was afraid of
losing the savings she had been able to make, for she had no control
over the capital.

It was difficult to explain all this by letters, and she was anxious to
give all the details by word of mouth, consequently she grew more and
more pressing in the expression of the desire that her nephew should
attempt the journey; he was not to be detained by the consideration of
expense, for she intended to make him a present of some bank-shares
which she no longer wanted, since her brother had left her an increase
of income for her life.

My husband resolved to undertake the long journey in the course of 1876,
and to arrange his work in view of it. Besides his contributions to
different periodicals, he had in the year 1875 entirely written "Round
my House," prepared the new edition of "Etching and Etchers," got the
notes necessary for the "Life of Turner," and given much consideration
to a plan mentioned thus in the note-book: "December 28, 1875. Feel
inclined to write a book on remarkable Frenchmen, such as the Ampères,
Victor Jacquemont, the Curé d'Ars, and a few others who interest me."




CHAPTER XIII.


1876-1877.

"Round my House."--Journey to England after seven years' absence.
--Friends in London.--Visit to Mr. Samuel Palmer.--Articles for the
"Encyclopaedia Britannica."--Death of my sister.--Mr. Appleton.


The note-book for 1876 opened with the following rules, written by my
husband for his own guidance:--

"Rise at six in winter and five in summer. Go to bed at eleven in winter
and ten in summer. There must be two literary sittings every day of two
hours each. The first to be over as soon as possible, in order to leave
me free for practical art work; the second to begin at five p.m., and
end at seven p.m.

"_Something_ really worth reading must be read every day, the quantity
not fixed.

"I must go out every day whatever the weather may be.

"Time may be taken, no matter when, for putting things in order. The
best way is to do it every morning before setting to work. It is better
to try to keep things in order than to accumulate disorder.

"Keep everything _quite_ in readiness for immediate work in literature
and art.

"When tired, rest completely, but never dawdle. Be either in harness or
out of harness avowedly. Special importance is to be given to painting
this year. Pictures are to be first painted in monochrome, in raw umber
and white. Read one thing at a time in one language. All rules suspended
during fatigue."

At the beginning of the year Roberts Brothers had asked for a photograph
of the now popular author of "The Intellectual Life." In April they
acknowledged the receipt of two, and were sending some copies of the
engraving from them. They also said:--

"Suppose we should wish to bring out an edition of 'Wenderholme' this
autumn, would you abridge and rewrite it? Condensation would be likely
to make it more powerful and more interesting. Or perhaps you would
rather write an entirely new novel? We think such a novel as you could
write would have a large sale.

"The accompanying letters will interest you as proofs of your growing
popularity. We mail you to-day, by request of Miss May Alcott, a copy of
her father's clever little volume, 'Concord Days.' A fine old gentleman
he is, the worthy father of the most popular of American authoresses."

Here is Miss May Alcott's letter:--

"MY DEAR MR. HAMERTON,--I am pleased and proud that you should have
considered my letter worthy an answer, and I am still more gratified to
be allowed the satisfaction of selecting the best pictures of Concord's
great man for you. Mr. Emerson has been for more than thirty years the
most intimate friend of my father, as also Mrs. Emerson and mother; the
daughters and myself growing up together. And as father is thought to
know and understand the poet perhaps better than any other contemporary,
I venture sending by post one of his books, which contains an essay on
Mr. Emerson, which may interest you. It was thought so fine and true on
its first appearance that it was published in illuminated form for
private circulation only; but as there is not a copy of the small
edition to be obtained, I send 'Concord Days' instead. This morning, on
receipt of your very kind reply to my letter, I went to Mr. Emerson's
study and read him the paragraph relating to himself, which pleased him
exceedingly; and while his daughter Ellen stood smilingly beside him, he
said, 'But I know Mr. Hamerton better than he thinks for, as I have read
his earlier works, and though I did not meet him while in England, I
value all he writes.' Then I showed him the two pictures which father
and I thought the preferable likenesses, which I enclose by mail to you,
though he produced a collection taken at Elliot and Fry's, Baker Street,
London, from which we find none better on the whole than this head,
which gives his exact expression, and the little one giving the _tout
ensemble_ of the man we admire so much."

Few things could have given greater pleasure to Mr. Hamerton than to
learn that his works were appreciated by such a writer and thinker as
Mr. Emerson, whose books he studied and enjoyed and quoted very
frequently. But he was quite put out by the engraving of his portrait,
which, indeed, could not be called a likeness. He wrote as much to
Roberts Brothers, who replied: "We are not a bit disappointed to hear
that you don't like the head, for we have come to consider the dislike
of all authors to similar things as chronic." They offered, however, to
have the plate corrected according to the victim's directions, and
added: "But take heart upon the fact that nine hundred and ninety-nine
out of a thousand who look upon it believe it to be a facsimile of
yourself, and where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise."

In another letter, they say again:--

"The head, which to you is an insurmountable defect, is favorably looked
upon by everybody. If Mrs. Hamerton should hear the praise from fair
lips she would certainly be jealous. However, the engraver will see how
nearly he can conform to your wishes, and perhaps we may be able to
please you yet."

No praises from lips however fair would have induced me to put up with
the portrait, and I said so frankly, without being at all influenced by
jealousy, for in my opinion the original was far handsomer in expression
and bearing than the likeness; but Roberts Brothers, who had never seen
the original, still clung to the obnoxious engraving, and wrote again:
"If _we_ are deluded, and happy in that delusion, why should _you_ care?
Mrs. Hamerton, she must confess it, is jealous of our fair
countrywomen." Nevertheless it was withdrawn in deference to our wishes.

Mr. Powers was now and then discreetly reminding Mr. Hamerton of his
promised pictures, and after hearing from the painter that they were
_safe_ (whatever that may have brought to his mind) sent these verses:--

"MY PICTURES.

  "A famous artist over the sea
  Promised to paint two pictures for me.

  "He wrought, but his colors would not show
  His pure ideal and heart's warm glow.

  "And so the paintings are still unsent,
  Though years ago their spirit went.

  "Two pictures hang in my treasured thought--
  My dream of those the artist wrought.

  "They are sweet and fadeless, and soothe my sight,
  When weary and sad, with a strange delight.

  "But the light which shows their marvellous art
  Is the generous glow of the painter's heart.

  "This is the way that there came to me
  The gift of pictures from over the sea."

"ANSWER.

  "There's a parson out West in Chicago,
   To whom I did promise--long ago--
      A couple of pictures,
      Not fearing strictures
   Of the critical folk of Chicago.

  "Time passed, and the works were not finished;
   Time passed, yet with hope undiminished,
      That parson he wrote,
      And my conscience he smote,
   And so was I greatly punished.

  "For a promise is not a pie-crust,
   And 'I will' is changed to 'I must'
      When you say to a friend--
      'Two pictures I'll send,'
   And he orders the _cadres_ in trust.

  "Then the parson he sighed in despair--
   'Where are my two pictures?--O where?'
      In regions ideal
      Far, far from the real,
   Like cloudscapes that melt into air.

  "And then I thought--'Now it grows serious,
   For deferred hope is most deleterious;
      Yet how can I toil
      In color and oil
   In a world where the publishers weary us?'

  "Ah me! for a month with the flowers,
   And the sweet April sunshine and showers.
      To paint with delight
      From morning till night,
   For my dear friend, Horatio N. Powers!"

It may be said here that the pictures were completed and packed off in
the beginning of October, 1876.

In view of a series of large etchings Mr. Hamerton went to Decize, on
the Loire, where he hoped to find material for several subjects. He made
twenty sketches of the town, river, boats, etc., and then called upon M.
Hanoteau, the painter, who had expressed a desire for his acquaintance.
There is a short note relating the visit:--

"April 21, 1876. Arrived at ten a.m., and had a pleasant day watching
him paint. I also saw the interior of his atelier, and the things in
progress. He only paints in the immediate neighborhood. Always from
nature. When we had finished _déjeuner_ we went together to a little
_étang_ in the wood, near to which were some old cottages. He painted
that bit on a small panel. After completing his sitting he showed me
part of the road to Cercy-la-Tour, and a gentleman with him showed me
the rest.

"Had a deal of art talk with Hanoteau, also with a young sculptor called
Gautherin."

This young sculptor was poor, but energetic and courageous; he rapidly
made his way to fame, but unfortunately died too soon to reap the
benefit of his remarkable talent.

The idea of an abridged "Wenderholme" had been accepted by the author,
who had written to Messrs. Blackwood about it, and who received the
satisfactory answer that, "though they had sustained a loss with the
first publication, they thought that the reputation and popularity of
the writer having considerably increased, 'Wenderholme' would sell well
in their 'Library Series of Novels.'" In consequence the revision was
begun at once, for Roberts Brothers had also written, "Whenever you feel
inclined to take up 'Wenderholme,' we shall be glad to comply with your
demand." And there followed a new proposition in the same letter:--

"Since writing you about a new novel, we have had an inspiration, and
have already acted upon it--a series of novelettes, to be published
anonymously, the secret of authorship, for a period, to rest entirely
with the author and publisher. We shall call it the 'No Name Series,'
and issue it in neat, square 18mo volumes of about 250 pages, to sell
for one dollar.

"Those to whom we have suggested the idea are mightily pleased, and we
are even tickled with the great fun we expect to have--something like a
new experience of the 'Great Unknown' days of Sir Walter Scott. We have
several promises from well-known authors, and we all agree that you must
write one of them. Take your own time to do so, and when you send us the
'copy' we will advance £50 towards the copyright. People say it will be
impossible to keep the secret, for an author's style cannot be hidden;
but though it may be easy enough to say, 'Oh! this is Hamerton; anybody
can tell his style,' _if it is not admitted_, there will be uncertainty
enough to make it exciting, and create a demand--we hope a large one."

Although my husband had not been so well in the spring (it was the worst
time of the year for him), he decided to start for England early in June
to see the Paris Salon and the English Academy. He did not ask me to go
with him, for our daughter had had quite recently a bad attack of
bronchitis--at one time we had even feared inflammation of the
lungs--and the greatest care against the possibility of colds had been
recommended. However, he thought he would be equal to the journey, and
gave me a promise to stop whenever he felt unwell. He reached Paris all
right, did his work there, and had a kind letter from Mr. Seeley, who
said:--

"I was greatly pleased to receive your card this morning, and learn that
you had had a successful journey. Now you will certainly come and see
me, won't you? Brunet-Debaines is here, and will remain till the end of
next week. If you are with us then, we will get him to Kingston, and
have a day on the Thames together, and all of us shall make sketches."

It was very tempting. But the next news was not so good, and Mr. Seeley
wrote again:--

"If you have lost your appetite in a big town the remedy is plain. Come
to Kingston at once. You will not be much troubled with noise there, and
you can paddle about on the river and get hungry, or go flying madly
about on a bicycle, if you have kept up the practice. There is a big
bedroom empty, and waiting for you."

The journey was resumed as far as Amiens, but the enemy proved too
strong to be overcome by courage and resolution, and after resting two
days my husband came back home by easy stages, having only told me the
truth after leaving Amiens, to prevent my going to him at any cost. He
reached La Tuilerie on the first of July, and I see in the diary:
"Rested at home. Very glad to be there." The attempt was not attended by
any lasting bad effects; he immediately regained his appetite and usual
health; but his Aunt Susan was sorely disappointed. He tried to soothe
her by explaining what he believed to be the combined causes of his
breakdown: first the intense heat, which had made his stay in Paris very
trying; the fatigue he had undergone there; and lastly the weakness
supervening after the loss of appetite, also due to the abnormal heat,
which was causing several sunstrokes every day, even in England. He
announced his intention of making another attempt with me in the autumn,
when the chances would be more in his favor.

Since the beginning of the year the study of painting had become
predominant, and had necessitated rather a heavy outlay, because
Gilbert's schemes were always so elaborate and complex--drawing-boards
of different sizes, every one of them with a tin cover painted and
varnished; some for water-colors, others for charcoals; canvases for
oils and monochromes, wooden and porcelain palettes, pastilles, tubes,
portable easels, sunshades, knapsacks, stools, brushes, block-books,
papers for water-colors and chalk studies, tinted and white, numberless
portfolios to class the studies, and--a gig, to carry the paraphernalia
to greater distances and in less time than the four-wheeled carriage
required. I was against the gig, but the boys were of course delighted,
and declared with their father that it had become "absolutely
necessary."

I see in the diary: "July 30, 1876. In the evening went to Autun on
Cocote; enjoyed the ride considerably. Brought back the gig. Wife
sulky." The expenses of the year had been very heavy, owing to several
causes; first some house repairs had become inevitable, and the landlord
offering us only the option of doing them at our own cost or leaving the
house, we had to order them. The roofs were in such a state that in
stormy weather we had our ceilings and wall-papers drenched with
rain-water, and indeed it had even begun to make its way _through_ the
ceilings into the inhabited rooms. The diary for March 12, 1876, says:
"A very stormy day, the wildest of the whole year. We arranged the tents
(Stephen and I) in the attic, to prevent the rain from coming into our
bedroom." Then there had been boats made for the boys (cheap boats, it
is true, made by common joiners). They were well deserved, I
acknowledge; the boys had had each an accessit at the "Concours
Académique," and both were mentioned with praise by the Sous-Préfet at
the public distribution of prizes. Besides, what was still more
important, Stephen had successfully passed his examination for the
"Baccalauréat." Lastly, there had been an expensive and unproductive
journey, and there was the prospect of another. All this in the same
year somewhat alarmed me. The gig was not an important concern, being
made, like the four-wheeled carriage, from designs of my husband's, by
ordinary wheelwrights and blacksmiths; but though admitting its
usefulness, and even desirableness, I thought we might have done without
it.

In the beginning of August my husband told me the plan of "Marmorne"
(for the "No Name Series"), and I had been afraid that it would be too
melodramatic; however, I was charmed when he read me the beginning, and
my fears were soon dispelled by the strength and simplicity of the
narrative.

On October 4 we started for England, leaving my mother in charge of the
house and children; we stopped at Fontainebleau in the morning, and
after _déjeuner_ visited the forest pretty thoroughly in a carriage.
After dinner we went on to Paris, where we stayed only four days for
fear of its effects, and proceeded to Calais by a night-train. Luckily
for Gilbert, he could sleep very well in a railway carriage, and
sea-sickness was unknown to him. We crossed in the "Castalia," in very
rough weather indeed, the waves jumping over the deck, and covering
everything there with foam; at one time there came a huge one dashing
just against my husband's block as he was sketching, and drenched him
from head to foot. However, he took a warm bath at Dover, changed his
clothes, and felt only the better for the passage.

Mr. Seeley's house was reached at midnight, and very happy was Mr.
Hamerton to meet his friend again, and to be once more in England after
an enforced absence of seven years. On the morrow our kind host and
hostess took us to Hampton Court Palace, thence to Richmond Park by
Twickenham, and altogether made us pass a most pleasant day. The
following day was reserved for the National Gallery, and I find this
note in the diary: "I was delighted to see the Turner collection again,
and greatly struck by the luminous quality of the late works. This could
not possibly have been got without the white grounds."

On the Sunday we went to Balham to dine early with Mr. and Mrs.
Macmillan, and met Mr. Ralston and Mr. Green, the historian. It was
noted as a very interesting day by my husband.

On the sixth day we took leave of Mr. and Mrs. Seeley, and took a
night-train for Peterborough, where we visited the cathedral and town to
await the dusk; then on to Doncaster and Knottingly. From Knottingly we
did not see clearly how to reach Featherstone, and were greatly
embarrassed, when a coachman, who had just driven his master to the
station, foresaw the possibility of a handsome tip, and offered to take
us--without luggage--in his trap. It was pitch dark, he had no lamps,
the road was all ruts, and the horse flew along like mad. We only held
to our seats--or rather kept resuming them, in a succession of bumps,
now on one side, now on the other, and up in the air--by grasping the
sides of the trap with all our might, till a sudden stop nearly threw us
all out; at any rate it did throw us in a heap over each other at the
bottom of the trap--unhurt. It was with a sense of immense relief that
we plodded the rest of our way to the vicarage, where we arrived at
eleven. The diary says: "October 17, 1876. Saw my Aunt Susan again for
the first time since 1869, at which time I hardly hoped ever to see her
again."

It was a great comfort to Gilbert to witness the affectionate care taken
of his aunt by her niece, Annie Hinde, and her brother Ben, with whom
she lived. He had always entertained a great liking for these cousins,
but it was increased during his stay at the vicarage by their hospitable
and friendly ways, and by his gratitude for their having given to his
dear relative as much of peaceful satisfaction as it was in their power
to do. Miss Susan Hamerton was aged, no doubt, but she was still able to
do everything for herself, and to occupy her time usefully in
housekeeping, sewing, reading, writing, and going out. She still
retained her strong will, and manifested it in a way which nearly
destroyed all the pleasure of the meeting with her nephew--and would
have done so, had he not yielded to it by consenting to a transfer of
bank-shares (in his favor) which involved great liabilities. She would
not listen to an explanation of the risk, and considered it ungracious
to look the gift-horse in the mouth. "It had been a capital investment,"
she said, and she remained absolutely opposed to the sale of the shares.
Her nephew had to accept the gift as it was--so that instead of
relieving anxiety it created a new one. However, having come to give her
a little of the sunshine of happiness, he decided not to let it be
clouded over. We stayed a month in happy and cordial intercourse, my
husband spending the intervals of work in long talks and walks with his
aunt, and when the time for our departure arrived, the sadness of
parting was soothed by the hope of meeting again, now that Gilbert
seemed to have recovered the power of travelling.

On our return to London we lunched with Mr. Seymour Haden, who took
my husband to the room in which he kept his collections, where they
had a long talk on art matters, and where he gave him a proof of the
"Agamemnon," whilst I was having a chat over family interests, children,
and music with Mrs. Haden.

In the afternoon we called upon George Eliot and Mr. Lewes, who were
very friendly indeed. I was greatly struck by George Eliot's memory, for
she remembered everything I had told her--seven years ago--about our
rustic life, and her first question was, "Are your children well, and do
you still drive them to college in a donkey-chaise?" She was gravely
sympathetic in alluding to the cause of our long absence from London,
and when I said how great was my husband's satisfaction in being there
again, she seized both of my hands softly in hers, and asked in the low
modulations of her rich voice, "Is there no gap?" ... "Thank God!" I
answered, "there is none." Then she let go my hands, and smiling as if
relieved she said, "Let us talk over the past years since you came;" and
then she told me of the growing interest manifested by the "thinking
world" in the works of my husband. "We are all marvelling at the
_maturity_ of talent in one so young still, and look forward hopefully
for what he may achieve."

The day after we saw Mr. Calderon in his studio, painting two beautiful
decorative pictures; there was a garland of flowers in one of them--the
freshness of their coloring was admirable. We missed Mr. Woolner, who
was out, and thence went to Mr. Macmillan's place of business, and with
him to Knapdale, where we dined and stayed all night.

As soon as dessert had been put on the table, Mrs. Macmillan begged to
be excused for a short time, as she wished to see that Mr. Freeman (who
was on a visit, but not well enough to come down) had been made
comfortable. On hearing of Mr. Freeman's presence at Knapdale, my
husband expressed his regrets at not being able to see him, and these
regrets were kindly conveyed to the invalid by Mrs. Macmillan, who
brought back his request to Mr. Hamerton for a visit in his bedroom.

I heard with satisfaction that Mr. Freeman had been very cordial, and
had shown no trace of resentment at what had passed at a former meeting
at Mr. Macmillan's house. The conversation had then turned on Ireland,
and Mr. Macmillan was, like my husband, for granting autonomy. This set
Mr. Freeman growling at the use of a Greek word, and he exclaimed, "Why
can't you speak English and say Home Rule, instead of using Greek, which
you don't know!" My husband flushed with anger, and recalled the
irritable historian--not without severity--to a proper sense of the
respect due to their host, at the same time paying a tribute to Mr.
Macmillan's remarkable abilities. Later in the evening the word "gout"
was mentioned. "There again," Mr. Freeman exclaimed, "why can't we call
it toe-woe!" But this was said in a joke, and accompanied with a laugh.

Wherever we went, we heard praises of the "Portfolio." Throughout his
life Mr. Hamerton remained, not only on good terms, but on friendly
terms with every one of his publishers; and whenever he went to London
he looked forward with great pleasure to meeting them in succession.
There were, of course, different degrees of intimacy, but the
intercourse was never other than agreeable.

For many years he had wished to know Mr. Samuel Palmer personally, and
the wish was reciprocated. Now an opportunity presented itself, and one
afternoon saw us climbing Redhill in pleasant anticipation; but when
after admiring the view we rang the bell of the artist's secluded abode,
we were told that Mr. Palmer had been very ill lately, was still keeping
his bed, and could see no one. It was a great disappointment, and some
words to this effect were written on a card and sent up to the invalid.
Soon after Mrs. Palmer came down and feelingly expressed her husband's
sincere regrets; she told us of his illness, which had left him very
weak and liable to relapses, and of the pleasure he would have derived
from a long talk with Mr. Hamerton on artistic topics. We had been shown
into the dining-room, which evidently, for the present, was not used,
though it was warmed by a good fire, but darkened by the blinds being
down and the curtains drawn. The rays of a golden sunset diffused
through the apertures a strange and mysterious glow, which suddenly
seemed to surround and envelope an apparition, standing half visible on
the threshold of the noiselessly opened door. A remarkably expressive
head emerged from a bundle of shawls, which moved forward with feeble
and tottering steps--it was Mr. Palmer. His wife could not trust her
eyes, but as soon as she became convinced of the reality of his
presence, she hastened to make him comfortable in an arm-chair by the
fire, and to arrange the shawls over his head and knees with the most
touching solicitude. "I could not resist it," he pleaded; "I have looked
forward to this meeting with so much longing." His eyes sparkled, his
countenance became animated, and regardless of his wraps, he accompanied
his fluent talk with eloquent gestures--to the despair of his wife, who
had enough to do in replacing cap and rugs. He put all his soul and
energy (and now there was no lack of it) into his speech. The art-talk
kindled all the fire of enthusiasm within him, and he told us anecdotes
of Turner and Blake, and held us for a long time fascinated with the
charm of his conversation. He could listen too, and with so vivid an
interest and sympathy that his mere looks were an encouragement. My
husband was afraid of detaining him, but he declared he felt quite well
and strong--"the visiting angels had put to flight the lurking enemy;"
he had even an appetite, which he would satisfy in our company. Nothing
loath, we sat down to an excellent tea with delicious butter and
new-laid eggs, with the impression of sharing the life of elves, and of
being entertained by a genie at the head of the table and served by a
kind fairy. This feeling originated no doubt in the small stature of Mr.
and Mrs. Palmer; in the strange effect of light under which our host
first appeared to us, and lastly in the noiseless promptitude with which
the repast was spread on the table, whilst the darkness of the room gave
way to brightness, just as happens in fairytales.

It is curious that my husband and myself should have received exactly
the same impression, and a lasting one.

The journey to Paris was resumed by slow night-trains without
disturbance to his health, and the day after his arrival he had a long
talk about etching with M. Leopold Flameng, who encouraged my husband's
attempts, and even offered to correct his defective plates rather than
see them destroyed; but this was declined, though the valuable advice
was gratefully accepted. M. Flameng looked very happy; he was in full
success, very industrious, and fond of his art; married to a devoted
wife of simple tastes, and already able to discern and foster in his son
the artistic tendencies which have made him celebrated since. They were
a very cheerful and united family. Two days after we had _déjeuner_ with
M. Rajon. Of all the French etchers who, from time to time, went to
London for the "Portfolio," I believe M. Rajon was the one best known in
English society, where his liveliness and amiability, as well as his
great talent, found appreciators.

Like almost every other artist, he did not attach so much importance to
what he could do well, as to what he could never master. His ambition
was to become a celebrated painter, but his pictures gave little hope of
it; they were heavy and dull in color, and entirely devoid of the charm
he lent to his etchings. He showed himself very grateful for what Mr.
Hamerton had done for his reputation. Accidentally, as he was admiring
the design of some very simple earrings I wore, I said that I did not
care so much for jewels as for lace, on which he answered he was
extremely fond of both--on women--and invited me to go and see a
collection of old laces he was forming. I was obliged to decline, for
our time was running short; but he made us promise to pay a long visit
to his studio during our next sojourn in Paris.

We reached home safely, and found my mother and the children all well.

There had been a great step made in the possibility of travelling this
year, though it had been attended by many returns of anxiety and
nervousness; still, it was a not inconsiderable gain to know that in
case a journey became absolutely necessary it might be achieved, and our
stay in London and Paris had been of importance in allowing my husband
to study seriously in the public galleries.

Mr. Powers had been delighted to receive his long-delayed pictures, and
wrote his thanks in terms of enthusiasm; he said that many people had
been admiring them, and that a well-known painter had exclaimed, "Now I
swear by Hamerton." About the growing popularity he wrote: "As I said
before, you win the hearts of men, and your name is now a household word
in many quarters of this country." It was exactly, in almost identical
words, what Roberts Brothers had already written. And this was true not
only in America, for many English letters echoed it.

"Round my House" was very well received. There was an important and
favorable review in the "Times," and one in the "Débats" by Taine.

In the beginning of the year Gilbert had undertaken the painting and
decoration of the staircase and lobby, which occasioned a great amount
of labor and fatigue, and interfered with his other work. He gave it up
at my entreaty, and only directed the painter, being thus enabled to
devote more time to the articles on "Drawing" in preparation for Messrs.
Black's new edition of the "Encyclopaedia Britannica," which were
finished in February.

Soon after he told me of a plan for a new book, the title of which he
meant to be "Human Intercourse," and which would require a large number
of memoranda. We all liked the idea in the family circle when it was
explained, and he began immediately to gather materials. At the same
time he continued his readings for the biographies of remarkable
Frenchmen, and he contemplated the task with deep interest and
earnestness. The year 1877, which had begun so auspiciously, had in
store for my husband one of the lasting sorrows of his life. On the
morning of March 11 he received a telegram announcing the death of his
beloved sister-in-law, Caroline Pelletier, who had died at Algiers of
meningitis, leaving three young children to the care of their desolate.
father. It was a heavy blow, an irreparable loss. She had been like both
a daughter and sister, and her affection had always been very sweet to
him. The shock was so great that his health suffered in consequence, and
the nervousness reappeared. It was of Caroline he was thinking when he
wrote in "Human Intercourse" this passage about a wife's relatives:
"They may even in course of time win such a place in one's affection
that if they are taken away by Death they will leave a great void and an
enduring sorrow. I write these lines from a sweet and sad experience.
Only a poet can write of these sorrows. In prose one cannot sing,--

  "'A dirge for her the doubly dead, in that she died so young.'"

M. Pelletier still continued with his children to spend the vacations at
La Tuilerie, but the joy fulness of these holidays was now replaced by
sorrow and regrets; the evenings were particularly trying, for of late
years they had been very merry. Our children having taken a great fancy
to acting charades, we all took part in them by turns. Their Aunt
Caroline and their father were the stars of the company, and to this day
they recollect her irresistible sprightliness as a coquettish French
kitchen-maid attempting the conquest of their father, in the character
of the typical Englishman of French caricatures. She smiled, curtsied,
and whirled about him, handling her brass pans so daintily, tossing them
so dexterously, that the bewildered and dazzled islander could not
resist the enchantress, and joined enthusiastically in the chorus of the
song she had improvised,--

  "La femme que l'on préfére
  C'est toujours la cuisiniére,"

while she played the accompaniment with a wooden spoon upon the lids of
the pans.

Her brother-in-law achieved unqualified success in the part of the
Englishman. He had kept on purpose an immense chimney-pot hat and a
tartan plaid which he used to perfection, and his "Oh's!" and "Ah's!"
were of such ludicrous prolongation, and his gait so stiff, and his
comical blunders delivered with so much of haughty assurance, that he
"brought down the house."

It was seldom that my husband consented to take an active part in games:
he generally preferred being a spectator; but whether acting or
listening, charades were one of the few pastimes for which he had a
taste,--it seems the more strange since he did not care for the theatre,
though he liked plays to be read to him. I suppose that the feeling of
being penned in a crowded place was insupportable to him.

After the death of my sister, some years had to elapse before we could
bear to see charades again.

On May 25 my husband had the pleasure of bringing home from the railway
station Mr. Appleton, editor of the "Academy," for whom he had a great
regard. His notes say:--

"We passed a very pleasant evening, and did not go to bed till after
twelve.

"26th. Walked with Mr. Appleton to Pré-Charmoy in the morning. In the
afternoon took him to Autun and showed him the Roman arches, the Gothic
walls, the cathedral, the Chemin des Tours, etc., etc. A very pleasant
day. We got home in time for dinner, found the boys at home, and talked
till one in the morning.

"27th. Took Mr. Appleton to the railway in the morning, with regrets,
and a certain sadness on account of his health."

Mr. Appleton was on his way to Egypt by his doctor's advice. He was
singularly amiable and sympathetic. He thought, and said simply, that
very likely he had not long to live, and dared not marry on that
account, though he often felt solitary. He suffered from asthma, and
could only sleep with the windows of his bedroom wide open, and a bright
wood fire burning in the chimney.

He had promised to pay us another visit if he were spared, but alas! we
never saw him again.

As the biographies advanced, the author grew uncertain about the title
he would give them. It could not be "Celebrated Frenchmen," because some
of them would not exactly answer to the qualification. He had thought of
"Earnest Frenchmen," but Mr. Seeley objected, and said, "The word
'earnest' has got spoilt. It was used over and over again till it got to
sound like cant, and then people began to laugh at it. How would 'Modern
Frenchmen' do?" It was deemed a perfectly suitable title, and given to
the book.

At the end of the summer Mr. Seeley and his wife paid us a flying visit
on their way back from Switzerland. It was a great pleasure to see them
again.

Shortly after them M. Brunet-Debaines came, and I could not help
directing my husband's attention to the simplicity of his arrangements
for working from nature; a small stool, upon which was fixed a canvas or
a drawing-board, and a color-box, were all he required; however, I was
told that "wants varied with individuals."

Hitherto Mr. Hamerton's plan about painting had been to begin several
pictures at once, to allow them to dry; but now he was sick of remaining
so long over the same pieces of work, and he decided to paint only two
pictures at a time, and to use drying materials.

He had succeeded in mastering the technicality of charcoal drawing, and
had made an arrangement with the Autotype Company for the reproduction
of some drawings in this medium.




CHAPTER XIV.


1878-1880.

"Marmorne."--Paris International Exhibition.--"Modern Frenchmen."
--Candidature to the Watson Gordon Chair of Fine Arts.--The Bishop of
Antun.--The "Life of Turner."


The important literary works undertaken by Mr. Hamerton in the year 1878
were "Modern Frenchmen" and a "Life of Turner."

The artistic work remained unsatisfactory to the severe self-criticism
of the artist, who kept destroying picture after picture,
notwithstanding his serious studies and experiments in various modes and
methods of painting. He succeeded better with charcoals and monochromes,
and sent several finished subjects to be reproduced by the Autotype
Company. Mr. S. Palmer wrote about it: "If I had twenty years before me,
I should like to spend them on monochromes and _etching_."

In the same letter he went on:--

"Life being spared, your 'Marmorne,' the fame of which had already
arrived, is the next reading treat on my list. You call it your 'little
book,' a recommendation to me, for, with few exceptions, I have found
small books and small pictures the most beautiful, and I doubt not that
you know better than myself how much almost all three-volume novels
(including Scott's) would be improved, _as works of art_, by
condensation into one.

"Both yourself and Mrs. Hamerton are often mentally present with us
here: the evening of our first, and, alas! only meeting is among the
vivid pleasures of memory, and a repetition is a cherished pleasure of
_hope_. I will only add that I fear you are killing yourself with
overwork, and that you should put yourself under a repressive domestic
police."

Some time before, my husband had received from G. H. Lewes a letter with
this address: "Mr. Adolphus Segrave, care of P. G. Hamerton, Esq.,
Pré-Charmoy, Autun." George Eliot and Mr. Lewes had been reading
"Marmorne," and had never entertained the slightest doubt about the
authorship, though the book was published under the assumed name of
Adolphus Segrave. The story had been greatly appreciated by both of
them, and especially the style in which it was told. Such high praise
was in accordance with what Mr. Palmer had previously said to Mr.
Seeley; namely, that "he considered Mr. Hamerton as the first
prose-writer of his time."

It may be remembered that a cousin of my husband's, Mr. H. Milne, had
called upon us at Innistrynich, and had since bought his little
property. He heard of our last visit to Yorkshire, and, not aware of his
relative's trouble in regard to railway travelling, had felt hurt at his
apparent neglect. Luckily my husband heard of it through his Aunt Susan,
and immediately wrote to explain matters. Mr. H. Milne, who had known
all about the pecuniary situation, now answered:--

"I can assure you that it is very pleasing to me to know that your
career has been so successful as to enable you to give your sons an
education to fit them to grapple with the difficulties people have to
meet with nowadays to make them comfortable, and to do so is all the
more satisfactory when accomplished by their own exertions. My mother
[the lady who served as model and suggestion for Mrs. Ogden in
'Marmorne'] still retains unimpaired all her faculties, and looks much
the same as when you were here. We shall celebrate her eighty-sixth
birthday on March 15. She really is wonderful, and a marvel to every
one, and particularly so to her doctor, who on no occasion has ever
prevailed on her to take one drop of medicine, notwithstanding he
persists in coming to see her twice a week--for what reasons seems quite
past my mother's comprehension."

The pecuniary situation had certainly improved, which was a relief to my
husband, for his children were growing up, and losses due to non-
remunerative work and ill-health had to be gradually made good. There
seemed to be a fate adverse to his making money, even by his most
successful works. Here is "Marmorne" as an example, published in
America, in England, in France, both in Hachette's "Bibliothèque des
meilleurs Romans Étrangers," and as a feuilleton in the "Temps," also in
the Tauchnitz collection, unanimously well received by the press; said
to be "_le_ roman de l'année" by the "Revue des Deux Mondes," and still
bringing considerably less than £200 to the author's purse. It was a
great disappointment to the publishers also. Roberts Brothers wrote: "Of
'Marmorne' we have only sold 2,000 copies; there ought to have been
10,000 sold;" and Mr. Blackwood said: "The sales have been rather
disappointing to us after the attention and favorable impression the
work attracted; we had looked for a larger and more remunerative
demand."

The character of the scenery in the Autunois pleased Mr. Hamerton more
and more, though it lacked the grandeur of real mountains. He was
particularly sensitive to the beauty of its color, which reminded him
sometimes of the Scotch Highlands, and was said to be very like that of
the Roman Campagna in summer-time. Such notes as the following are
frequent in his diary:--

"January 11, 1878. Went to Fontaine la Mère; beautiful drive the whole
way. Was delighted with the Titian-like quality of the landscape. Much
of the sylvan scenery reminded me of Ruysdaël. Took five sketches."

Throughout this year my husband gave a great deal of his time to his
aunt's affairs, which were in a deplorable state, owing to the
dishonesty of her lawyers; accounts for several years past had to be
gone over, cleared up, and settled, and at so great a distance the
proceedings involved a heavy correspondence. However, the help given was
efficacious, and Miss Hamerton's independence was secured in the end. In
the summer Gilbert had to relinquish the river-baths that he enjoyed so
much. In the two preceding years he had remarked that he was often
unwell and agitated after a swim, but had kept hoping that the effect
might be transitory; it was, however, now renewed with growing intensity
every time he took a cold bath, so that, with much regret, he had to
give them up. He used to say with a shade of melancholy, that we must
resign ourselves to the gradual deprivation of all the little pleasures
of existence,--even of the most innocent ones,--but that the hardest for
him to renounce would be work.

Having borne the journey to England in 1877 without bad results to his
health, he now decided to attempt a visit to the Paris International
Exhibition. He was very anxious to ascertain the present state of the
fine arts all over the globe, and if possible to make the best of this
opportunity. On the day appointed for starting, and whilst he was
packing up, Mr. R. L. Stevenson just happened to call without previous
notice. What a bright, winning youth he was! what a delightful talker!
there was positively a sort of radiance about him, as if emanating from
his genius. We had never seen him before; we only knew his works, but he
seemed like a friend immediately. Listening to his fluent, felicitous
talk, his clear and energetic elocution, his original ideas and veins of
thought, was a rare treat, and his keen enjoyment of recovered health
and active life was really infectious. He could not remain seated, but
walked and smoked the whole of the afternoon he remained with us.
Knowing that he had lately been dangerously ill, I ventured to express
my fear that the smoking of endless cigarettes might prove injurious.
"Oh, I don't know," he said; "and yet I dare say it is; but you see,
Mrs. Hamerton, as there are only a very limited number of things
enjoyable to an individual in this world, _these_ must be enjoyed to the
utmost; and if I knew that smoking would kill me, still I would not give
it up, for I shall surely die of _something_, very likely not so
pleasant." Although the shutters were closed in all the rooms that were
not to be used in our absence, they were opened again to let him see the
etchings on the walls; for he had a fine taste, not only for the
beauties of nature, but also for artistic achievements. We felt it most
vexatious to be obliged to leave that very evening, but my husband
managed to remain with Mr. Stevenson till the last available minute, by
asking me to pack up his things for him. I remember that after reading
the "Inland Voyage" I had told my husband how I had been charmed by it,
and had begged to be given everything which came from the same pen; but
at that time we were afraid that such a delicate and refined talent
would not bring popularity to the author; happily we were
mistaken,--perhaps only to a certain extent, however,--as his most
successful works belong to a later and quite different genre.

At the recommendation of M. Rajon, we went to a quaint little hotel in
Paris, near La Muette, well known to artists and men of letters, and
patronized, for its quietness, by some of the most famous, being usually
let in apartments to persons who brought their own servants with them.
Its situation, close to the Bois de Boulogne, made our returns from the
exhibition easy and pleasant--so easy, indeed, that when we had to spend
the evening in Paris, and could find no carriage to take us there, we
merely went back to our headquarters, where we had the choice of
railway, tramways, and omnibuses for every part of Paris.

According to our promise we went to meet M. Rajon at his studio, and
amongst other things saw a beautiful portrait of him, which, however,
was so much flattered that for some time I hesitated about the likeness.
He was represented on horseback, with a long flowing cloak, and a
sombrero casting a strong shadow over one of his eyes, which was
afflicted with a weakness of the eyelid, which kept dropping down so
frequently that the pupil was seldom seen for any time; the horse was a
thoroughbred; two magnificent greyhounds (the originals we could admire,
at rest upon a raised platform of carved oak and red cushions) ran
alongside of him, and this tall-looking, dignified, romantic rider
was--little, spare, merry M. Rajon. Gossip whispered that he had been
somewhat intoxicated by his sudden fame, and had been, for a while,
desirous of showing off, so that he had brought back from England the
thoroughbred and the greyhounds to be noticed in the "Allée des
Cavaliers," but that not having been accustomed to sit a horse before,
his thoroughbred had flung him against a tree so severely that the taste
for equitation had gone out of him for ever. Be this as it may, M. Rajon
was far from being vainglorious; he knew his value as an artist, frankly
and openly enjoyed his success, but remained simple, urbane, and
courteous. He told us that he could only give _two hours_ a day to
original work, and that his mother (a simple woman for whom art remained
an incomprehensible mystery) could not admit this limitation. At that
time he was spending money rather lavishly--giving _fêtes_ in his studio
to celebrated actors and actresses, musicians, singers, poets, and
artists, and the expenses were sometimes a cause of momentary
embarrassment; then his simple mother would say: "Why need you trouble
yourself about it? You work very little--then work twice as much, which
won't tire you, and you'll have twice as much money." She could not, he
said, be made to understand that this prolonged labor would be
worthless, because the inspiring flame would be burned out.

Mr. Woolner arrived in Paris a few days after Mr. Hamerton, and they
spent a whole day together in the sculpture galleries of the Louvre. Mr.
Woolner remembered that old Madame Mohl, having read my husband's works,
had expressed a wish to renew the acquaintance of former days, and would
be glad to see us both at tea-time--any day that might suit us.

A week later we called upon the wonderfully preserved old lady, who was
delighted to receive a visit from a rising celebrity--though a host of
celebrities had passed through her drawing-room. She complained of being
_délaisée_ by the young generation. Still, she remained lively and
gracious; her quick intelligence and ready memory were unimpaired by her
great age, and it was with eagerness that she seized upon another
opportunity for narrating her treasured-up stories of renowned people,
particularly of the two Ampères, whom she had known intimately. She was
still living in the same house that they had inhabited together, when
Mr. Mohl kindly gave them the benefit of his more practical sense in
household management. Madame Mohl was rather severe about Jean Jacques
Ampère, whom she called a "young coxcomb," and "an egotist." She was not
sentimental, and had no sympathy with or pity for the love so long
faithful to Madame Récamier; nay, I thought I could detect in her
strictures the unconscious feminine jealousy of a lady whose salon had
been forsaken by one of its "lions" for a more attractive one, and who
had resented it bitterly. But André Marie Ampère she praised
unreservedly, with the warmth of most exalted admiration.

It was very funny to see the little lady curled up on a couch, propped
by cushions, running over her strings of memories with pleased alacrity,
then jumping down in her stockings to pour out tea for her guests in
utter disregard of her shoes, which lay idly by the sofa, even when we
took leave of her; and as she accompanied us to the door, the white
stockings conspicuously displayed themselves at every step, without the
slightest attempt at concealment. (At that time black stockings would
have been thought an abomination.)

Almost every morning saw Mr. Hamerton in the exhibition before the crowd
of visitors arrived, so that he was able to study in peace and
profitably. He had had a card-case, and cards of a convenient size and
thickness, made especially to take notes upon, and he devoted a separate
card to every picture worth studying. It was a very convenient plan,
with alphabetical classification for references; every time he went he
took with him a fresh supply, and was not encumbered with those he had
already filled up.

Generally some etcher met him by appointment, and together they selected
pictures to be reproduced for the "Portfolio." His evenings were mostly
taken up by invitations; and it was well for his wife that she had been
mercifully exempted by nature from jealous tendencies, for the ladies
paid the author of "Marmorne" such a tribute of admiration that he was
sometimes abashed by their fervor, yet never intoxicated. Friends had
repeatedly told him that he could win the hearts of men, and if women
dared not say as much of themselves, they let him see that he exercised
a great and healthy influence over them too; he also enjoyed their
society, and though he did not mean it to be a flattery, they accepted
it as such.

Amongst artists and men of letters he was acknowledged as a writer of
genuine worth and extensive acquirements. There is a proof of it in a
letter addressed to him by M. Véron, editor of "L'Art," on merely
_guessing_ that Mr. Hamerton must be the writer of a criticism of his
"Esthétique" in the "Saturday Review."

"PARIS, 11 9_bre_, 1878.

"CHER MONSIEUR,--On me communique une revue très remarquable de la
'Saturday Review' sur mon 'Esthétique.' Ce qui distingue cet article
c'est une sérieuse connaissance du sujet et une puissance d'analyse des
plus rares. Cela ne ressemble en rien à ces généralités vagues et
flottantes dont se contentent la plupart des écrivains qui font de la
critique dans la revue des journaux. Aussi ai-je éprouvé à être loué par
un pareil homme une jouissance infiniment plus vive que celle
qu'auraient pu me procurer des éloges beaucoup plus hyperboliques, mais
moins compétents.

"Cet homme, je suppose que c'est vous. Si je ne me trompe pas,
permettez-moi de vous dire que je me sens singulièrement heureux de me
rencontrer en fait d'esthétique avec un écrivain capable de raisonner
sur ces questions comme l'a fait l'auteur de l'article de la 'Saturday
Review.'"

More acquaintances amongst artists were made during his stay in Paris,
including Bracquemond, Protais, Feyen-Perrin, Waltner, Lhermitte, and
Munkacsy.

Having finished his work in the exhibition, my husband went home to
write a notice of it for the "International Review." In the course of
November his eldest son Stephen passed a successful examination for the
second part of the Baccalauréat-ès-Lettres, and as the boy was now to
study at home, his father frequently employed him to write letters under
his dictation. It was very good practice for Stephen, and spared his
father's time for painting and drawing.

At the beginning of 1879, Mr. R. L. Stevenson had sent a manuscript to
Mr. Hamerton, with a request that he would read it, and recommend it to
a publisher if it were thought worth the trouble. It was appreciated,
and a successful sale expected. In the interest of Mr. Stevenson, my
husband advised him to sacrifice the idea of immediate payment, and to
retain the copyright, hoping that it would prove more advantageous.
However, the young author preferred the ready cash, which he may have
been in need of; nevertheless acknowledging afterwards that it would
have been preferable to have acted according to the sound advice given
at the time.

As our daughter was fast developing a talent for music, her father felt
tempted to resume the practice of the violin regularly, and they often
played duets and sonatas together; but the difficulty--nay, the
impossibility--of finding time for the prosecution of all the studies he
had undertaken was a source of oft-recurring discouragement, because
unavoidably he had to replace one by another now and then, it being
impracticable to carry them on _de front_. Sometimes he complained,
good-humoredly, that I rather discouraged than encouraged him about
music--which was certainly true, for well knowing that to become a
violinist of any skill involves years and years of regular and steady
practice, I was adverse to this additional strain, leading to no
adequate reward. I well knew it could not be sustained, and would have
to give way to pressure from other quarters--writing, painting, etching,
or reading. The study of Italian had also been vigorously resumed, so
that in the diary I see this note regularly: "Practised Spohr and
Kreutzer, or Beethoven. Read Dante." I also find the following in April:
"Spent the greater part of the day in planning my new novel with Charles
(his brother-in-law). Worked on plan of my novel, and modified it by
talking it over with my wife," I did not like the plan, which, in my
opinion, went too much into the technicalities and details of a young
nobleman's education; I feared they might prove tedious to the reader;
in consequence there is a new entry a week later: "Improved plan of
novel with wife. Now reserve mornings exclusively for it, or it will
never be finished at all. Make this a fixed rule."

At the end of April some monochromes had been sent for reproduction, but
he was greatly disappointed with them, as may be seen by the diary:--

"May 31. Had a great deal of trouble this month about reproductions of
drawings in autotype. Dissatisfied with the reproductions of the oil
monochromes, which came coarse, with thousands of false specks of light.
The surface of a drawing should be _mate_ for autotype reproduction.
This led me to make various experiments of various kinds, and the latest
conclusion I have arrived at is something like drawing on wood; that is,
pencil or chalk, going into detail, and sustained by washes of Indian
ink, and relieved by touches of Chinese white. The whole business
hitherto has been, full of difficulties of various kinds."

"June 11. The proofs of the autotypes on white paper with brown
pigment arrived to-day. Determined to have second negatives taken
of all of them, and to repaint them on the positives."

To turn his thoughts away from his repeated disappointments in artistic
attempts, and to a greater disappointment in his novel--which he had
entirely destroyed after bestowing upon it two months of labor--Gilbert
began to scheme a boat, a river yacht. It was the best of diversions for
him, as he took as much pleasure in the planning of a boat as in the use
of it. This new one was to be a marvel of safety and speed, but
especially of convenience, for it would be made to carry several
passengers for a month's cruise, with means of taking meals on board,
and of sleeping under a tent. Of course Mr. Seeley had been informed of
the scheme, and wrote in answer: "Don't fail to send me notice when your
boat may be expected on the Thames, that I may rouse the population of
Kingston to give you an appropriate reception."

Another novel was begun, but it was still to be the story of a young
French nobleman's life, spent alternately in France and in England,
and in the manner of "Tom Jones." Meanwhile "Modern Frenchmen" was
selling pretty steadily, but slowly, the public being mostly
unacquainted with the names, though Mr. G. H. Lewes, Professor
Seeley, Mr. Lockhart, and many others, had a very high opinion
of the work. Mr. Lockhart wrote about the biography of Régnault:--

"I have by me at this moment your life of Henri Régnault. I trust you
will not consider it an impertinence if I tell you how it has delighted
me, both as a man and a painter. I have the most intense admiration for
Régnault, and in reading his biography it has rejoiced me to find the
author in such thorough sympathy with his subject. Biographies of
artists, as a rule, are the most disappointing of books to artists. This
is indeed an exception, and I most heartily congratulate you on your
very subtle and delicate picture of a noble life.

"I was in Granada with Fortuny when the news of Régnault's
death came. I shall never forget the impression it made on us all. The
fall of Paris, the surrender of Napoleon, all the misfortunes of France
were as nothing compared to this.

"When I first had the book I thought you a little unjust to Fortuny, and
was prepared to indorse Régnault's estimate of him. Since then I have
seen the thirty Fortunys at the International Exhibition, and they have
moderated my enthusiasm, and brought me back to sober orthodoxy, to
Velasquez and Rembrandt."

Mr. G. H. Lewes also wrote:--

"We left London before your book arrived, but I sent for it, and Mrs.
Lewes has been reading it aloud to me the last few evenings. It has
charmed us both, and we regret that so good a scheme, so well carried
out, should in the nature of the case be one doomed to meet with small
public response. No reader worth having can read it without interest and
profit, but _il s'agit de trouver des lecteurs_.

"My son writes in great delight with it, and I have recommended it to
the one person we have seen in our solitude; but I fear you will find the
deaf adder of a public deafer than usual to your charming. A volume of
biographies of well-known Frenchmen would have but a slender chance of
success--and a volume on the unknown would need to be spiced with
religion or politics--_et fortement épicé_--to attract more than a
reader here and there.

"We are here for five weeks in our Paradise _without_ the serpent
(symbol of visitors!); but alas! without the health which would make the
long peace one filled with work. As for me, I vegetate mostly. I get up
at six to stroll out for an hour before breakfast, leaving Madonna in
bed with Dante or Homer, and quite insensible to the attractions of
before-breakfast walks. With my cigar I get a little reading done, and
sometimes write a little; but the forenoon is usually sauntered and
pottered away. When Madonna has satisfied her inexhaustible craving for
knowledge till nearly lunch-time, we play lawn-tennis. Then drive out
for two or three hours. Music and books till dinner. After cigar and nap
she reads to me till ten, and I finish by some light work till eleven.
But I hope in a week or two to get stronger and able to work again, the
more so as 'the night in which no man can work' is fast approaching."

Mr. R. Seeley agreed with Mr. Hamerton's opinion that "Modern Frenchmen"
was one of his best works, "admirably written, full of information and
interest."

Professor Seeley had also said: "I wish English people would take an
interest in such books, but I fear they won't. There ought to be many
such books written."

Mr. G. H. Lewes suggested that the other biographies in preparation
should be published separately in some popular magazine; but the author,
having been discouraged by the coolness of the reception, gave up the
idea of a sequel to what had already appeared, and the material he had
been gathering on Augustin Thierry, General Castellane, and Arago
remained useless.

The boat in progress had been devised in view of a voyage on the Rhône,
for Mr. Hamerton, who greatly admired the noble character of the scenery
in the Rhône Valley, had longed for the opportunity of making it known
by an important illustrated work. He submitted the plan to Mr. Seeley,
who answered:--

"I like your Rhône scheme; it is a grand subject, but a book on the
Rhône should begin at the Rhône glacier and end at the Mediterranean.
Have your ideas enlarged to that extent. One cannot well omit the upper
part, which the English who travel in Switzerland know so well. The
Rhône valley is very picturesque, and the exit of the Rhône from the
Lake of Geneva is a thing never to be forgotten. But don't go there to
get drowned; it is horribly dangerous."

For various reasons--amongst others, the time required and the
outlay--the idea of the book entertained by Mr. Hamerton differed
considerably from that of Mr. Seeley; it was explained at length, and
finally accepted in these words: "I think your plan of a voyage on the
navigable Rhône, with prologue and epilogue, will do well."

This plan, however, was never realized, owing to insurmountable
obstacles; it was taken up again and again, studied, modified, and
regretfully relinquished after several years for that of the Saône, much
more practicable, but still not without its difficulties.

And now what might have been a great event in the life of Mr.
Hamerton--namely, the possibility of his election to the Watson-Gordon
Chair of Fine Arts in Edinburgh, began to occupy his mind. He was
strongly urged by his friends to come forward as a candidate, but he
hesitated a good deal for several reasons, the most important being the
necessity of two places of residence, for he would not have inflicted
upon my mother and myself the pain of absolute separation. Still, there
were, as it seemed to me, in case of success, some undeniable
advantages--first of all a fixed income, and the possibility of seeing,
in the course of the necessary journeys, what might be of interest in
London and Paris, as well as the possibility of attending more
efficaciously to the "Portfolio." Mr. Seeley, who had always endeavored
to tempt his editor over to England, declared himself delighted at the
prospect. He had formerly sent such hints as these: "I wish you had a
neat flying machine and could pop over and do the business yourself." Or
at Cowes: "I thought of you, and said to myself, how much more
reasonable it would be for Hamerton to have a snug little house here,
and a snug little sailing-boat, instead of living at that preposterous
Autun. How he would enjoy dancing over these waves, which make me sick
to look at them; and how pleasant it would be to tempt him to pay
frequent visits to Kingston! There are delightful cottages and villages
to sketch in the Isle of Wight, and charming woodland scenery in the New
Forest." Again: "When our new house is dry enough then you will be
obliged to come over. It will be better than seeing the Paris
Exhibition. And when you are once in England you will take a cottage at
Cowes, and buy a boat, and never go back to Autun."

The idea of becoming a candidate was first suggested by T. Woolner after
a journey to Edinburgh, where he had heard some names put forward for
the Watson-Gordon chair, and amongst them that of Mr. Hamerton, which
had seemed to him the most popular. On his part, he had done what he
could to strengthen this favorable opinion by spreading what he knew of
his friend, not only as an artist and cultured man of letters, but also
as a sociable conversationalist, capable of enjoying intercourse with
his fellow-men in moments of leisure, and he took care to let my husband
know that this point was of importance--the new professor being expected
to exercise hospitality, so as to create a sort of centre for the
gathering of art-lovers. He said he had heard of a good income, of light
duties, and of the almost certainty of success in case Mr. Hamerton
should present himself.

Professor Masson had also suggested to Mr. Macmillan that "many persons
in Edinburgh would like to secure the best man in Mr. Hamerton," and Mr.
Craik wrote about it: "You would be an ornament to the University, and
might do useful and important work there. For many reasons the Scotch
professorships are enviable, for this particularly--that the session is
a short one, and would require short residence. It will be pleasant for
all of us, your friends, if you go to Edinburgh, for it will compel you
to come to England and be seen."

Mr. Seeley was also of opinion that "no man ought to be wholly dependent
upon literary labor. It tries the head too much."

All the friends who were consulted by my husband answered that they
considered him perfectly adapted for the situation--apart from friendly
motives. Mr. Alfred Hunt wrote: "I would be very glad to do everything
to forward your election. I am indebted to you for a large amount of
gratification and profit which I have derived from your books; I am sure
you will allow me to say that I am often very far from agreeing with
you," etc.

R. L. Stevenson wrote:--

"Monterey, Monterey Co., California.

"My dear Mr. Hamerton,--Your letter to my father was forwarded to me by
mistake, and by mistake I opened it. The letter to myself has not yet
reached me. This must explain my own and my father's silence. I shall
write by this or next post, to the only friends I have, who, I think,
would have an influence, as they are both professors. I regret
exceedingly that I am not in Edinburgh, as I could perhaps have done
more, and I need not tell you that what I might do for you in the matter
of the election is neither from friendship nor gratitude, but because
you are the only man (I beg your pardon) worth a damn. I shall write to
a third friend, now I think of it, whose father will have great
influence.

"I find here (of all places in the world) your 'Essays on Art,' which I
have read with signal interest. I believe I shall dig an essay of my own
out of one of them, for it set me thinking; if mine could only produce
yet another in reply we could have the marrow cut between us.

"I hope, my dear sir, you will not think badly of me for my long
silence. My head has scarce been on my shoulders. I had scarce recovered
from a prolonged fit of useless ill health than I was whirled over here
double-quick time and by cheapest conveyance.

"I have been since pretty ill, but pick up, though still somewhat of a
massy ruin. If you would view my countenance aright, Come--view it by
the pale moonlight. But that is on the mend. I believe I have now a
distant claim to tan.

"A letter will be more than welcome in this distant clime where I have
a box at the post-office--generally, I regret to say, empty. Could your
recommendation introduce me to an American publisher? My next book I
should really try to get hold of here, as its interest is international,
and the more I am in this country, the more I understand the weight of
your influence. It is pleasant to be thus most at home abroad, above all
when the prophet is still not without honor in his own land."

Mr. W. Wyld had also written: "I need not say I heartily wish you
success--and the more so that it would have the result of my seeing you
at least twice a year, a pleasure I shall anxiously look forward to; for
the older I grow the more I yearn for that sort of communion of thought
which is scarcely ever to be met with in the ordinary way of existence
... I have no one I can discuss art with ... and as for philosophy--"

Miss Susan Hamerton also pressed her nephew to offer himself for the
chair, and indulged in bright hopes of frequent meetings.

The result was that, after a long talk with me on March 21, 1880, my
husband determined to offer himself as a candidate, and although he did
it without much enthusiasm, he began immediately to prepare himself for
the new duties that would be involved. First of all, he told me that his
knowledge of the history of art was insufficient, and would require
additional researches. His plan was to go to Greece first, then to
Italy; another year he would go to Holland and Belgium, then to Spain--I
began to be afraid of this programme, as I reflected that the income
from the professorship would hardly cover our travelling expenses, and
that very little time would be left for literary work if the lectures
required so much preparation; however, I only begged him to wait for the
result of the election before he undertook anything in view of it. He
agreed, and turned his thoughts towards the "Graphic Arts," and a new
edition of "Etching and Etchers."

In the beginning of April, Mr. Hamerton attended with his family the
wedding of Charles Gindriez, his brother-in-law, and was well pleased
with the young lady, who thus became a new member in the gatherings at
La Tuilerie.

Three days later, his elder son Stephen started for Algiers, where he
had an appointment at the Lycée.

For some time past, the two great political parties at Autun had been at
daggers drawn, and the proprietors of the Conservative paper,
"L'Autunois," had brought from Paris a skilful and unscrupulous
political writer to crush its opponents and to effect the ruin of the
rival paper, "La République du Morvan," by fair means or foul. The first
stabs dealt by the new pen were directed against notable residents, and
being a good fencer and a good shot--in fact, a sort of bravo--M.
Tremplier, the wielder of the pen, proclaimed loudly after every libel
that he was ready to maintain what he advanced at the point of the
sword, and to give a meeting to all adversaries. Unacquainted with the
real social standing of Mr. Hamerton in Autun, but knowing that he was
Président Honoraire du Cercle National, a Liberal institution patronized
by the Sous-Préfet and Republican Deputies, M. Tremplier thought it
would be a master-stroke to defame his character by accusing him of
being the author of some anonymous articles against the clergy which had
appeared in "La République du Morvan." Though greatly irritated by this
unfair attack, my husband contrived to keep his temper, and simply
denied the accusation. This denial was indorsed by the editor of the
newspaper in which the articles had been published, and the disagreeable
incident was expected to end there. But this would not have satisfied
the truculent M. Tremplier, and in the next number of his paper he
expressed in arrogant terms an utter disbelief in Mr. Hamerton's denial,
and venomously attacked him for his nationality, literary pretensions,
etc., winding up his diatribe, as usual, by a challenge. This was too
much, and my husband resolved to start for Autun immediately, and to
horsewhip the scoundrel as he deserved. Mr. Pickering, an English
artist, and friend of ours, who happened to be at La Tuilerie, offered
to assist my husband by keeping the ground clear while he administered
the punishment--for M. Tremplier, notwithstanding his bravado, deemed it
prudent to surround himself with a bevy of officers, and was seldom to
be met alone. I was strongly opposed to this course, and at last I
prevailed upon my husband to abandon it by representing that he was
being drawn into a snare, for no doubt M. Tremplier was only waiting for
the attempt at violence he had provoked to get his victim seized and
imprisoned, so as to be able ever after to stigmatize him with the
terrible phrase, "C'est un homme qui a fait de la prison." This would be
undeniable, and as people never inquire _why_ "un homme a fait de la
prison," it is as well to avoid it altogether. We agreed upon a
different policy, and resolved to prosecute the "Autunois" for libel,
and immediately set off to retain a well-known advocate, who belonged to
the Conservative party, and was said to be one of the proprietors of the
"Autunois." He knew my husband personally, and also knew that he was
incapable of having written the anonymous articles, still less capable
of telling a lie, and as we felt sure of his own honorable character, we
boldly asked him to defend a political opponent. This was putting him in
a very delicate situation, and he complained of it at once; but my
husband insisted, and said that he could not fairly shun this duty.
Vainly did this gentleman, supported by the Président du Tribunal and
other notabilities of the same party, try to dissuade Mr. Hamerton from
seeking redress, by saying that "no one attached the slightest
importance to such libels," "that he was too much above M. Tremplier to
resent anything that came from his mercenary pen," "that his character
was unimpeachable," etc. He was even warned that he had not the remotest
chance of a verdict in his favor, because he could not prove that he was
not the author of the objectionable articles. "I should have thought
that M. Tremplier would be called upon to prove that I had written
them," he answered. "Anyhow, if I can't count upon justice here, I will
appeal to the court at Dijon." Seeing that his resolution was not to be
shaken, he was asked what would satisfy him, and he answered, "An
apology from M. Tremplier in the 'Autunois.'" And M. Tremplier had to
submit to the orders of the all-powerful keepers of the purse-strings:
he did it with a bad grace--but he had to do it.

One of the articles attributed to Mr. Hamerton had been directed against
the Bishop of Autun, whom he highly esteemed, and there was much
curiosity as to the opinion of the prelate himself. That opinion was
soon publicly expressed by a visit from this dignitary of the Roman
Catholic Church to the Protestant tenant of La Tuilerie.

On receiving Monseigneur Perraud, I thanked him first for his good
opinion, of which I had never doubted, knowing him to be a reader of my
husband's works, and also because there was no fear that a man of his
culture could believe the anonymous articles to be written by the author
of the biography of l'Abbé Perreyve in "Modern Frenchmen."

Monseigneur Perraud answered that my husband's character and literary
talent were so much above question that he would never have given a
thought to this affair had it not been that the "Autunois" was often
called "Le Journal de l'Evêché," though in fact the Bishop had no more
to do with it than with its editor, M. Tremplier, whom he had never
consented to receive. But unwilling to allow the possibility of any
doubt to remain in other people's minds, he had taken this opportunity
of becoming personally acquainted with my husband, and of giving a proof
of his high regard for him.

Monseigneur Perraud had a reputation for freezing dignity which kept
many people aloof; but he talked quite freely with my husband. Dignity
he certainly possessed in an unusual degree, and the same might be said
of Mr. Hamerton, but it was no bar to interesting intercourse nor to
brotherly sympathy, as we found afterwards in sorrowful circumstances.

This first visit certainly enhanced the high opinion which each had
formed of the other, and subsequent meetings confirmed the interest they
found in each other's views and sentiments.

I mentioned Mr. Pickering in connection with the affair of the
"Autunois," and it may now be explained that after reading "Round my
House," he had fancied he should like to see the scenery described in
the book, as it would probably afford him paintable subjects. Although
the name of the neighboring town was not given, and though great changes
had been made by the construction of a railway since the publication of
the book, Mr. Pickering lighted upon Autun as the very place he was in
search of. He soon made my husband's acquaintance, and a friendship
between them was rapidly established.

Mr. Woolner, who had kept up for some months a brisk correspondence in
behalf of Mr. Hamerton's candidature, now heard that matters were not
going so smoothly as he had expected. He was told that the income would
not come up to the sum stated at first; that the formation of an art
museum was contemplated, in which case the duties of forming and keeping
it would devolve upon the professor. There was also a desire that the
students should receive technical instruction; and, lastly, it was
rumored that forty lectures a year would be required. In fact, Mr.
Hamerton began to regret that he had offered himself for the post
without knowing exactly what he would be expected to do.

Whilst in this frame of mind he was advised to go to Edinburgh in order
to call upon each of the electors. No one acquainted with his character
could have imagined for an instant that he would comply. "The electors,"
he said to me, "must be acquainted with my works; I have sent nearly
fifty testimonials given by eminent artists, men of letters, and
publishers; I consider this as sufficient to enable the electors to
judge of the capacities for which an art professor ought to be chosen.
If these are judged insufficient, my presence could not give them more
weight."

I find this simple entry in the diary: "July 20, 1880. Got news that I
was not elected;" and though he may have regretted the time wasted in
this fruitless attempt, I am convinced that he experienced a sensation
of delightful relief when no longer dreading encroachments upon his
liberty to work as he thought fit. [Footnote: It was also Mr. R.
Seeley's opinion when he wrote: "You have felt so much doubt as to the
effect of such a change of life upon your health that the decision may
come as a relief to you."] After all, there remained to him as a lasting
compensation the tokens of flattering regard for his character and of
appreciation of his talents given in the numerous testimonials by such
eminent persons as Mr. R. Browning, Sir F. Leighton, Sir J. E. Millais,
Sir John Gilbert, Mr. T. Woolner, Mr. G. F. Watts, Professor Seeley,
Professor Sidney Colvin, Professor Oliver, Mr. Mark Pattison, Mr. S.
Palmer, Mr. Orchardson, Mr. Marks, Mr. A. W. Hunt, Mr. Herkomer, Mr.
Vicat Cole, Mr. Alma Tadema, Sir G. Reid, Mr. W. E. Lockhart, Mr. J.
MacWhirter, Professor Legros, M. Paul Rajon, M. Leopold Flameng, etc.

The testimonials are too numerous to be given here, but they all agreed
in the expressed opinion that Mr. Hamerton would be "the right man in
the right place," or "the very man."

Although the "Life of Turner" had first appeared in the "Portfolio," it
was again well received by the public in book form, and greatly praised
by the press, particularly in America. The "Boston Courier" said:--

"We have found this volume thoroughly fascinating, and think that no
open-minded reader of 'Modern Painters' should neglect to read this
life. In it he will find Turner dethroned from the pinnacle of a
demi-god on which Ruskin had set him (greatly to the artist's
disadvantage); but he will also find him placed on another reasonably
high pedestal, where one may admire him intelligently and lovingly, in
spite of the defects in drawing, the occasional lapses in coloring,
and the other peculiarities which are made clear to his observation by
Mr. Hamerton's discussion."

He had found it a difficult subject to treat because of the paucity of
incidents in Turner's life; but the painter's genius had made so deep an
impression upon him in his earlier years that he had eagerly studied his
works and sought information about his personality from the friends who
had, at some time or other, been acquainted with the marvellous artist.
I believe that my husband hardly ever went to the National Gallery
without visiting the Turner Room, and that is saying much, for during
his sojourns in London he seldom missed going every day it was open, and
sometimes he went twice,--once in the morning, and again in the
afternoon. Great as was his admiration of Turner's oil pictures, I
believe it was equalled by his delight in the same master's water-colors
and drawings. When in the lower rooms, where they are exhibited, he
could hardly be prevailed upon to go upstairs again, and I had to plead
fatigue and hunger to recall him to the realities of life. Although his
appreciation of Constable was high, it could not be compared to what he
felt for Turner, because "Turner was so wide in range that he was the
opposite of Constable, whose art was the expression of intense affection
for one locality."




CHAPTER XV.


1880-1882.

Third edition of "Etching and Etchers."--Kew.--"The Graphic
Arts."--"Human Intercourse."

Once rid of the perturbation occasioned by the affair of the election,
Mr. Hamerton was free to devote himself energetically to the preparation
of a new and splendid edition of "Etching and Etchers," for which he
spared neither thought nor pains,--being generously entrusted by Messrs.
Macmillan with the necessary funds, and given _carte blanche_ for the
arrangement. Mr. Craik had said, in a letter dated Jan. 10, 1880: "We
are disposed to make it a very fine book, and not to grudge the outlay.
We must leave all the details for you to arrange." In another, of May
29, he said again: "We are particularly anxious to make it a beautiful
book; and I think the plan of making each edition completely different
from the preceding, gives it an interest and value that will make the
book always sought after. The first edition is a scarce and valuable
book. The second will rise in value."

Being allowed to do exactly as he liked, the author of "Etching and
Etchers" set to his task with delightful anticipation of the result.

At the same time he was also giving a good deal of time to the
annotation of certain engravings and etchings presented by himself and
some friends to the Manchester Museum, in which he took great interest.

When the vacation brought the boys home in August, it was decided to
have a trial trip on the Saône in the "Morvandelle;" but after behaving
well enough on the water, she filled and sank at anchor whilst her
captain was quietly enjoying dinner with his sons at the nearest inn.
The boat being made of wood, and divided into a great many compartments
to hold stores and luggage, let the water into those compartments as the
wood dried and shrank. It became, therefore, necessary to exchange the
wooden tubes for iron ones, for it was a double boat. So the crew had to
come back home, and Mr. Hamerton sent to a periodical a relation of his
impressions and adventures in this brief voyage and shipwreck.

In the summer there was an exhibition at the Glasgow Institute of Fine
Arts, and my husband was asked to send something if possible; but being
almost overwhelmed with work, he was obliged to decline the invitation.
Mr. R. Walker, the secretary of the Institute, wrote to say how sorry he
was not to have his name in the catalogue, and added:--

"Our collection of etchings is very good, and during the short time
we have been open the people of Glasgow have learned more about
etching than ever they knew before. Your book has been a source of
infinite delight to many here. A short time ago we all hoped to have
you among us. The loss is ours. Sometimes I trust we may have the
pleasure of seeing you in Glasgow. You would find us not altogether
wanting in appreciation of what is right in art, and there is an
increasing number of people here who believe that ledgers are not the
only books worth studying."

Although the "Portfolio" was now generally acknowledged to be at the
head of artistic periodicals in England, it was the desire of both its
editor and publisher to improve it still further. In one of his letters
Mr. Craik had said: "What an important part the 'Portfolio' is playing!
I believe you are affecting the public, and compelling them to recognize
the best things in a way they never did before. I think your conduct of
the monthly admirable."

It was now proposed to add to its artistic value by giving more original
etchings. Hitherto the peculiar uncertainty of the art of etching had
hindered the realization of this desire, for there being no certainty
about the quality of an etching from a picture, the risk is immensely
increased when a commission is given for an original etching. The
celebrity of an etcher and his previous achievements can only give hopes
that he _may_ be successful once more, but these hopes are far from a
certainty. Even such artists as Rajon and Jacquemart,--to mention only
two of the most eminent,--who constantly delighted the lovers of art by
masterpieces of skill and artistic feeling,--and were, moreover,
painters themselves,--were not safe against failure, and repeated
failure, even in copying.

When a commission has been given to an artist, the stipulated price has
to be paid whether the result is a success or a failure, unless the
artist himself acknowledges the failure--a very rare occurrence; at best
he admits that some retouching is desirable, and consents to undertake
it; but too often with the result that the plate loses all freshness.

Such considerations, and many more, made it necessary for the publisher
and editor of the "Portfolio" to discuss the subject at length and
without hurry. In addition to the affairs of the "Portfolio," there was
the choice of illustrations for the book on the Graphic Arts, which was
to be published by Mr. Seeley, and for which the presence of the author
in London was almost a necessity.

It was then decided that, both our boys having situations, we would take
our daughter with us and seek for lodgings somewhere on the banks of the
Thames, probably at Kew. Mr. and Mrs. Seeley, with their usual kindness,
invited us to stay with them until we had found convenient
accommodation.

We started in October, and as soon as we reached Paris we heard from our
younger son Richard that he was far from pleased with his present
situation. Instead of having to devote only a few hours a day to
teaching English, as he had been promised, the whole of his time was
taken up by the usual drudgery which is the lot of an under-master, so
that he could not study for himself. The first thing his father did was
to set him free from that bondage, and to devise the best means to
enable him to pursue the study of painting which the boy wished to
follow as a profession. They went together to consult Jean Paul Laurens,
who said that the most efficacious way would be--not to study under one
master, but to go to one of Juan's ateliers, where students get the
benefit of sound advice from several leading artists. In conformity with
this counsel my husband saw M. Juan, and after learning from him the
names of the artists visiting the particular atelier where Richard was
to study, he got him recommended to Jules Lefebvre and to Gérôme by an
intimate friend.

Paul Rajon, as usual, did not fail to call upon us, and we were very
sorry to notice a great change for the worse in his appearance. He said
he had been very ill lately, and was still far from well; he seemed to
have lost all his buoyancy of spirits, and to look careworn. He alluded
to pecuniary difficulties resulting from the early death of his
brother-in-law, which left his sister, and a child I believe, entirely
dependent upon him. Without reckoning on adverse fortune or ill-health,
he had built himself a house with a fine studio at Auvers-sur-Oise, to
escape from the incessant interruptions to his work when in Paris. But
of course the outlay had been heavier than he had intended it to be, and
these cares made him rather anxious. Being very good friends, we had
formerly received confidences from him about the dissatisfaction created
by the loneliness of his home and the want of a strong affection--in
spite of his success in society and the flattering smiles and speeches
of renowned beauties. In answer to my suggestion that marriage would
perhaps give him what he wanted, he had answered: "No doubt; but where
shall I find the wife? The girl I introduce into society as _my_ wife
must be very beautiful, else what would society think of my taste as an
artist?... She must also be above the average in intelligence, to meet
with the _élite_ and keep her proper place; and lastly, she must also be
wealthy, for my earnings are not sufficient for the frame I desire to
show her in." He was quite serious, but I laughed and said: "I beg to
alter my opinion of your wants. The wife you describe would be the mere
satisfaction of your vanity, and if you were fortunate enough to meet
with the gifts of beauty, intelligence, and wealth in the same person it
would be very exacting to expect that in addition to all these she
should be domestic, to minister to your home comforts, and sufficiently
devoted for your need of affection."

"I told you I thought it very difficult," he sighed.

"If you take other people's opinion about the choice of a wife," my
husband said, "you are not ripe for matrimony; no man ought to get
married unless he feels that he cannot help it,--that he could not live
happily without the companionship of a particular woman."

There had been an interval of a few years between this conversation and
our present meeting; but M. Rajon had not forgotten it, for he said with
a shade of sadness: "It is now, Mrs. Hamerton, that I feel the want of a
domestic and devoted wife, such as you advised me to choose; but
marriage is out of the question. I am an invalid."

We tried to cheer him up, and my husband's serene philosophy seemed to
do him good. He repeated to Paul Rajon his usual comparison of the
events of life to a very good cup of coffee to which a pinch of salt is
always added before we are allowed to taste it. "Your reputation and
talent," he said, "make a capital cup of coffee; but your illness has
seasoned it with rather a heavy pinch of salt."

The journey to England was got through without any serious accident to
my husband's health, but we had to be very careful in adhering to our
rules of slow trains and night travelling and frequent stoppages.

It was the first visit of our daughter to England, and her father
watched her impressions with great interest. She spoke English timidly
and reluctantly; but Mrs. Seeley was so kindly encouraging that she
overcame her timidity.

Mr. Seeley received us in his pretty, newly built house at Kingston,
which, being quite in the country and very quiet, suited my husband's
tastes admirably. The proximity of a beautiful park was very tempting
for rambles, and when at leisure we much enjoyed going all together for
a stroll under its noble trees. Mr. Seeley and his friend sometimes went
off to London together in the morning, but it was more desirable for my
husband to go to town only in the afternoon, because he felt less and
less nervous as the day wore on, and was quite himself in the evening.

We left Kingston to go and stay for a few days with Mr. and Mrs.
Macmillan. The evenings after Mr. Macmillan's return from business were
very animated with conversation and music.

Sometimes Mr. Macmillan gave us some Scotch and Gaelic songs with
remarkable pathos and power; and invariably, after every one else had
retired, he remained talking intimately, often confidentially, with my
husband far into the night.

A pretty incident occurred before we left Knapdale. One afternoon we
found Mrs. Macmillan very busy putting the finishing touches to an
embroidered and be-ribboned baby's frock, intended as a present to her
husband's first grandchild, on his first visit to Knapdale, which was to
be on that very day. After dinner the little man made his appearance in
the decorated frock, and took his place upon his grandfather's
shoulders. Then we all formed a procession, headed by the still erect
form of the grandsire supporting the infant hope of the family, and
leading us--parents, relatives, and guests--to the cheerful domain of
the cook. She proudly received the company, standing ladle in hand, by
an enormous earthen vessel containing a tempting mixture, in which
candied fruits, currants, and spices seemed to predominate. We were
expected, every one, to bring this medley to greater perfection by
turning over a portion of it with the ladle. It was duly offered first
to the little stranger, whose grandsire seized and plunged it into the
savory depths, whilst the tiny baby hand was tenderly laid upon his own.

The second part of the ceremony--tasting--had likewise to be performed
by proxy, for the young scion of the house peremptorily refused to
trifle with any temptation in the form of mincemeat. We all in
succession performed the ancient rite, and my husband said to me
afterwards what a capital subject for a picture of family portraits the
scene would afford. The contrast in the attire of the cook and her maids
with the toilettes of the ladies, together with the picturesque
background of the bright kitchen utensils, made a subject in the style
of an old Dutch master, with a touch of modern sentiment.

After seeing different places on the banks of the Thames we decided
again for Kew, but this time we required larger lodgings--not only on
account of Mary, but also for Miss Susan Hamerton and our cousins, Ben
and Annie Hinde, whom we had invited to join us there. They had gladly
accepted the invitation, and our meeting was happy and cheerful. We had
been very fortunate in our lodgings, which were spacious, clean, and
with a good view of the Green. Our landlady was a very respectable and
obliging person, and she let us have, when we wished, the use of a
chaise and a fast-trotting little pony, which greatly added to Aunt
Susan's enjoyment of the country, for her nephew drove her to the
prettiest places in the neighborhood, and through Richmond Park whenever
the weather allowed it. The beautiful gardens received almost a daily
visit from us, and were a most agreeable as well as a convenient resort
for our aged aunt, as she could either walk in the open grounds when it
was mild enough, or else visit the numerous hot-houses if she found the
outside air too keen for her.

We had been fortunate in this choice of Kew for our temporary residence;
not only did we like the place in itself, but we met with so hospitable
and flattering a reception from several resident families, that they
contrived to make us feel unlike strangers among them, and ever after,
our thoughts turned back to that time with mingled feelings of regret,
pleasure, and gratitude; and whenever we came to contemplate the
possibility of moving to England, Kew was always the place named as
being preferred by both of us.

Here we again met Professor Oliver, whom my husband had known since he
came to Kew alone for the first time. Being greatly interested in
painting, and possessing a collection of fine water-colors by Mr. Alfred
Hunt, he took pleasure in showing them to Mr. Hamerton, as well as the
Herbarium, of which he was Director.

Professor Church and his wife showed themselves most friendly and
untiringly hospitable. Very interesting and distinguished people were to
be met at their house, where the master was ever willing to display
before his guests some of his valuable collections of jewels, rare
tissues, old laces, and Japanese bronzes. We often had the pleasure of
meeting at this friendly house Mr. Thiselton Dyer, now Director
of Kew Gardens, and his wife, the daughter of Sir John Hooker--a most
charming person, who reminded both of us of the lovely women
immortalized by Reynolds.

[Illustration]

The third edition of "Etching and Etchers," now on sale, had fulfilled
all expectations, and was universally admired and praised. It was a
great satisfaction to the author, who had never before enjoyed such a
complete recognition. His reputation and popularity increased rapidly,
and if he had liked he would have been a good deal lionized; but
although far from insensible to this success, he remained true to his
studious habits--going with Mr. Seeley to the National Gallery, British
or Kensington Museums, to choose illustrations for the "Graphic Arts,"
or quietly writing at his lodgings, and only accepting invitations from
his friends and publishers.

In December Mr. Macmillan gave a dinner at the Garrick Club in honor of
the author of "Etching and Etchers," who was warmly congratulated by the
other guests invited to meet him.

I have still in my possession the menu belonging to Mr. Alma Tadenia who
said to my husband: "I dare say Mrs. Hamerton would like to have a
_souvenir_ of this evening--present her with this in my name," and he
handed his menu, on the back of which he had quickly and cleverly drawn
a little likeness of himself in caricature, and the guests had signed
their names on it. A facsimile is given on the opposite page.

As he had given us an invitation to visit his curious house we did not
fail to go, and Mary was especially attracted by the famous grand piano,
inscribed inside with the signatures of the renowned musicians who had
performed upon it. Knowing that our daughter was seriously studying
music, Mrs. Alma Tadema generously expressed the hope of seeing sometime
the signature of Miss Hamerton by the side of the other names.

My husband also took Mary to Mrs. Woolner's, and she enjoyed greatly the
society of the children, who spoke French very creditably, and who were
interested in the details she could give them about French life and
ways. They took her to their father's studios, and showed her his works.
When dinner-time came, however, she was unprepared for being waited upon
by her new friends, and in consequence felt somewhat ill at ease. It was
a fancy of Mr. Woolner's to make his children wait upon his guests. They
offered bread and wine, and directed the maids, their duty consisting
chiefly in seeing that every guest received perfect attendance. It
reminded one of the pages' service in mediaeval times, and was accepted
by people of mature age as a gracious courtesy of their host, though it
proved rather embarrassing to a girl of fifteen. I don't know how long
the custom prevailed, but I did not notice it in succeeding years.

Our cousin, Ben Hinde, had joined us only for a few days, his duties as
a clergyman not allowing of a long absence, but our meeting had been
very pleasant and cordial. He had left with us his sister Annie, to whom
my husband endeavored to show what was most worthy of attention in the
metropolis. And just as we were thus enjoying our fragrant "cup of
coffee," the "pinch of salt" was thrown into it with a heavy hand--for
we heard from Richard that he was lying so dangerously ill that he could
not move in bed. He had only written a few words in pencil to let us
know that the doctor thought our presence unnecessary, because the
danger would be past, or the illness prove fatal, before we could
arrive.

Of course my first impulse was to rush to my poor boy's bedside; but
what was to become of Mary--a girl of fifteen--unused to English ways,
and speaking English still imperfectly? Perhaps our aunt, who was to
leave us in a few days, would stay a little longer, though the approach
of Christmas made it imperative for her companion to get back to the
vicarage as soon as possible. But my husband?... Could I think of
leaving him a prey to this terrible anxiety, and to all the dangers of a
return of the old nervous attacks? I saw how he dreaded the mere
possibility, though he never said a word to influence my decision, but
the threatening insomnia and restlessness had already made their
appearance, and warned me that I ought to stay near him.

I wrote to my best friend in Paris, begging her to send her own doctor
to our poor boy, and to let me know the whole truth immediately. The
answer was reassuring--the crisis was past; there was nothing to fear
now, only the patient would remain weak for some time, and would require
great care. His friends--particularly one of them, a student of
medicine--had nursed him intelligently and devotedly. As soon as he
could take a little food my friend sent him delicacies and old wines,
and when he could bear the railway he went to his grandmother's to await
our return home.

We breathed again, and Aunt Susan and Annie left us comparatively quiet
in mind.

My husband now went on with his work as fast as possible, for he longed
to see his younger son again. When his notes for the "Graphic Arts" were
completed, we made a round of visits to take leave of our friends, and
after another short stay at Knapdale, where we had the pleasure of
meeting Mr. Lockyer, and another very pleasant pilgrimage to Mr. and
Mrs. Palmer's hermitage, we set off for Paris.

Mr. Seeley wrote shortly after our arrival in the French capital about
several matters connected with the "Portfolio," and added: "How will you
be able to settle down again in that little Autun? You will feel (as
Robert Montgomery said of himself in Glasgow) like an oak in a
flower-pot."

No, the oak liked to feel the pure air of the Morvan hills blowing about
its head, and to spread its branches in unconfined space. It was in
great crowded cities that it felt the pressure of the flower-pot.

On arriving at home we found Richard well again, and gifted with an
extraordinary appetite--which was the restorative he most needed, having
grown very thin and weak through his illness.

My husband had been very desirous to present me with a _souvenir_ of the
success of "Etching and Etchers," and pressed me to choose a trinket,
either a bracelet or a brooch; but I thought what I possessed already
quite sufficient, and though very sensible of his kind thoughtfulness, I
said that if he liked to make me a present, I would choose something
useful,--a silk dress, for instance. "But that would not be a present,"
he said; "when you want a dress you buy it. I should like to offer you
some pretty object which would last."

I knew that he liked to see me--and ladies in general--wearing jewels;
not in great quantity, but simply as a touch of finish to the toilette.
When I was young, he would have liked me (had it been possible) to dress
always in white, and the fashions not being then so elaborate as they
have become, it was easy enough in summer-time and in the country to
indulge his taste. So in warm days I often wore a white muslin dress,
quite plain, relieved only by a colored sash. If the sash happened to be
green, he liked it to be matched by a set of crystal beads of the same
color, which he had brought me from Switzerland when he had gone there
with his aunt and uncle. When the ribbon was red, I was to wear corals,
and with a blue one lapis-lazuli.

At last he remembered that I had admired some plain dead-gold bracelets
of English make that we had been looking at together, not far from the
National Gallery, and said he would be glad if I would choose one of
them. I had, however, taken the same resolution about jewels as his own
about pictures, and that was, to admire what was beautiful, but never to
buy, because it was beyond our means. The resolution, once taken, left
no way open to temptation. Still, I did not mean to deny myself the
pleasure of accepting his proffered present, only I did not want it to
be expensive, and since I had a sufficiency of jewels, "would he give me
a pretty casket to put them in?" "Yes," he readily assented. And when I
opened the casket of fair olive-wood, with the delicately wrought nickel
clasps and lock, I found a folded paper laid on the dark-blue velvet
tray, and having opened it read what follows--I need not say with what
emotions.

  "Here in this empty casket, instead of a diamond or pearl,
  Instead of a gem I leave but a little rhyme.
  She remembers the brooch and the bracelet I gave her when she was a
girl.
  Deep blue from beyond the sea, not paler from lapse of time.
  She will put them here in the casket, the ultramarine and the gold;
  And if such a thing might be, I would give them to her twice over;
  Once in my youthful hope, and now again when I'm old,
  But alike in youth or in age with the heart and the soul of a lover."

This note is entered in the diary:--

"January 1, 1881. Faceva i miei doni alla sposa, alla figlia, al mio
figlio Stefano. La sposa era felicissima di ricevere la sua cassetta."

Roberts Brothers had heard that a new book was in preparation, and they
wrote in January, 1881:--

"Your third edition of 'Etching and Etchers' is really a magnificent
specimen of book-making, and we understand two hundred copies have been
sold in America. At all events, whatever the number sold, it is not to
be had. We should like to have the American edition of the 'Graphic
Arts,' and should be glad to receive the novel when it is ready."

But the novel had been put aside, the author being doubtful if it
equalled "Marmorne" in quality. The whole of his time for writing was
devoted to the "Graphic Arts," and the remainder to painting from
nature, often with Mr. Pickering, and to the consideration of the
necessary alterations to the boat in view of a summer cruise on the
Saône. The reading of Italian was resumed pretty regularly, whilst the
diary was kept in that language.

Early in the spring Mr. Seeley wrote:--

"I am afraid it is indispensable that we should meet in Paris, as the
selection of engravings for reproduction is very important, though, like
you, I grudge the loss of time. But the book is an important one, and we
must do our very best to make it a success."

It was then decided that my husband should go to Paris with Richard, and
they started on May 4, stopped a day at Sens to see the cathedral again,
and to call upon Madame Challard (who had become a widow), and arrived
in Paris at night.

The entries in the note-book (kept in Italian) record his visits to the
Salon, to the Louvre, and to various public buildings. Also to the
Bibliothèque, to study the works of the École de Fontainebleau, and to
an exhibition of paintings in imitation of tapestry, which much
interested him.

He also went with Richard to see Munkacsy's picture of "Christ before
Pilate," and notes Richard's astonishment at it. He considered it
himself as one of the finest of existing pictures. He also expresses the
great pleasure he derived from Jacquemart's water-colors, their
brilliancy and sureness of execution.

The four following days having been very busy, received only this short
note, "In Parigi con Seeley;" then the fifth has, "Seeley e partito sta
mattina."

The succeeding entries record further visits to the Salon, the Louvre,
and Bibliothèque; but on the return journey, at Chagny on the 19th, he
notes that he has received sad news of the death of M. de Saint Victor,
in a duel with M. Asselin. It was only too true, and had happened on a
day which was to have been a _fête_, for Madame de Saint Victor, whose
daughter went to the same school as ours, had invited both myself and
Mary, with a few others school-fellows and their mothers, to lunch at
the Château de Monjeu, of which her husband was Régisseur. The
unfortunate lady did not know what had passed between her husband and a
gentleman of the locality who was trespassing on the grounds of the
château. M. de Saint Victor considered himself insulted, and challenged
M. Asselin; he, moreover, insisted upon choosing the sword as a
weapon--the most dangerous of all in a serious duel--and on the morning
which should have been festive and mirthful, he fell dead in the wood
near his home, killed by a sword-thrust from his skilful adversary.

As soon as he was back home, Mr. Hamerton set to work regularly at the
"Graphic Arts." In the diary this phrase is repeated like a litany:
"Worked with great pleasure at my book, the 'Graphic Arts.'" But at
the same time there is a complaint that it prevents the mind from being
happily disposed for artistic work. I have already said how difficult it
was for him to turn from one kind of occupation to another. Here is a
confirmation of this fact:--

"I lost the whole of the day in attempting to make a drawing for an
etching. Was not in the mood. It is necessary to have a certain warmth
and interest in a subject--which I have lost, but hope to recover. For a
long time past all my thoughts have turned upon my literary work."

It is easy for readers of the "Graphic Arts" to realize what an amount
of knowledge and preparation such a book required; and to present so
much information in a palatable form was no less than a feat. Still, the
author took great delight in his work. As in the case of "Etching and
Etchers," he was encouraged by the publisher, who wrote on June, "I mean
to take a pride in the book." It was exactly the sort of work which
suited him--sufficiently important to allow the subjects to be treated
at length when necessary, and worthy of the infinite care and thought he
liked to bestow upon his studies. In this case, wonderful as it seems,
he had himself practised all the arts of which he speaks, with the
exception of fresco. As to the other branches of art, namely,
pen-and-ink, silver-point, lead-pencil, sanguine, chalk, charcoal, water
monochrome, oil monochrome, pastel, painting in oil, painting in
water-colors, wood-engraving, etching and dry-point, aquatint and
mezzotint, lithography, he had--more or less--tried every one of them.
And though he did not give sufficient practice to the burin to acquire
real skill, still he did not remain satisfied till he could use it.

The same feeling of conscientiousness led him to become acquainted with
all the different processes of reproduction so much in vogue, and he was
ever anxious to learn all their technical details.

It was hoped that the "Graphic Arts" might be published at the end of
the year, and in order to be ready, the author put aside all other work,
excepting that of the "Portfolio;" but he longed for a short holiday,
and meant to take it on the Saône. He went to Chalon to a boat-builder,
and explained the changes to be made in the "Morvandelle," set the men
to work, and returned to his book.

He had begun to suffer from insomnia, and Mr. Seeley wrote:--

"Probably you are right in saying that yachting is a necessity for you;
but for the enjoyment of it you are badly placed at Autun. You must look
after that cottage at Cowes, which I suggested some time ago; and we
must set up a yacht between us; only, unluckily, I am always seasick in
a breeze."

Certainly the situation of Autun was not favorable to yachting, the
streams about it being only fit for canoeing; but the broad Saône was
not far off, and as Chalon was my husband's headquarters when cruising,
he was not disinclined to the short journey which afforded an
opportunity for visiting my mother and my brother, who lived there.

My husband had thought that a river voyage would be charming with R. L.
Stevenson as a companion, and that they might, perhaps, produce a work
in collaboration, so he had made the proposal, and here is part of the
answer:--

"RINNAUD COTTAGE, PITLOCHRY, PERTHSHIRE.

"MY DEAR MR. HAMMERTON,--(There goes the second M: it is a certainty.)
Thank you for your prompt and kind answer, little as I deserved it,
though I hope to show you I was less undeserving than I seemed. But just
might I delete two words in your testimonial? The two words 'and legal'
were unfortunately winged by chance against my weakest spot, and would
go far to damn me.

"It was not my bliss that I was interested in when I was married; it was
a sort of marriage _in extremis_; and if I am where I am, it is thanks
to the care of that lady who married me when I was a mere complication
of cough and bones, much fitter for an emblem of mortality than a
bridegroom.

"I had a fair experience of that kind of illness when all the women (God
bless them I) turn round upon the streets and look after you with a look
that is only too kind not to be cruel. I have had nearly two years of
more or less prostration. I have done no work whatever since the
February before last, until quite of late. To be precise, until the
beginning of the last month, exactly two essays. All last winter I was
at Davos; and indeed I am home here just now against the doctor's
orders, and must soon be back again to that unkindly haunt 'upon the
mountains visitant--there goes no angel there, but the angel of death.'
The deaths of last winter are still sore spots to me.... So you see I am
not very likely to go on a 'wild expedition,' cis-Stygian at least. The
truth is, I am scarce justified in standing for the chair, though I hope
you will not mention this; and yet my health is one of my reasons, for
the class is in summer.

"I hope this statement of my case will make my long neglect appear less
unkind. It was certainly not because I ever forgot you or your unwonted
kindness; and it was not because I was in any sense rioting in
pleasures.

"I am glad to hear the catamaran is on her legs again; you have my
warmest wishes for a good cruise down the Saône: and yet there comes
some envy to that wish; for when shall I go cruising? Here a sheer hulk,
alas! lies R. L. S. But I will continue to hope for a better time,
canoes that will sail better to the wind, and a river grander than the
Saône.

"I heard, by the way, in a letter of counsel from a well-wisher, one
reason of my town's absurdity about the chair of Art: I fear it is
characteristic of her manners. It was because you did not call upon the
electors!

"Will you remember me to Mrs. Hamerton and your son? and believe me,"
etc., etc.

In September we had the pleasure of a visit from Miss Betham-Edwards,
and the acquaintance ripened into friendship.

Having brought the "Graphic Arts" satisfactorily forward, my husband
thought that he might indulge in the longed-for holiday on the Saône. He
expected to find everything ready at Chalon, and to have only to
superintend the putting together of the sections of the boat. He was,
however, sorely disappointed on finding that nothing had been done, and
that he must spend several days in pushing the workmen on, instead of
sailing pleasantly on the river. After a week of worry and irritation
the boat was launched, and the two boys having joined their father on
board, they went together as far as Tournus, after spending the first
night at Port d'Ouroux, where they had found a nice little inn, with
simple but good accommodation. In the afternoon Stephen went back to
Autun to fetch his things, for he was obliged to be at his post on the
first of October. Richard proceeded with his father down the Saône to
Mâcon. The diary says:--

"Sept. 30. A beautiful voyage it was. The loveliest weather, favorable
wind, strong, delightful play of light and color on water. I had not
enjoyed such boating since I left Loch Awe."

There are these notes in the diary:--

"Nov. 26. Corrected the last proof of the 'Graphic Arts,' and sent it
off with a new finish, as the other seemed too abrupt. Spent a good deal
of time over the finish, writing it twice."

"Nov. 27. Worked all day as hard as possible at index to 'Graphic Arts,'
and got it finished at midnight."

He was in time, but Mr. Seeley wrote:--

"Now Goupil's delay [about the illustrations] threatens to become most
serious. We have now orders for 1050 copies, large and small, so we have
already surpassed the sale of 'Etching and Etchers,' third edition."

Alas! there was a very distressing item of news in the letter dated
December 1:--

"The enclosed letter from Goupil is a complete upset. It seems that the
printing of the Louvre drawings [Footnote: Two drawings by Zucchero and
Watteau. The latter was in black, red, and white chalk. The reproduction
was printed from one plate, the different colored inks being rubbed in
by the printer. Only about ten prints could be taken in a day.] will
take five or six months.

"We must decide at once what to do. This is one plan. If we can get all
the other illustrations ready, then to publish as soon as we can,
putting these three plates in the large paper copies only, and in the
others a slip of paper explaining how tedious the printing is, and
promising that these illustrations shall be delivered in the spring to
any purchaser who produces the slip.

"This is one plan. If you prefer it, please telegraph _Yes_.

"The other plan is to postpone the publication, and bring out the
complete book in the spring. If you prefer this, please telegraph _No_.

"I leave the matter entirely in your hands. Pray decide as you judge
best."

This delay was most provoking after the hard work the author had given
to the book to have it out in good time, and also because the orders
were increasing; they had now reached 315 copies for the large edition,
and 868 of the small one. Still, there was no help for it, and the
publication must be postponed rather than give an imperfect book to the
public. Both author and publisher agreed in that decision.

On December 17, 1881, Mr. Hamerton received the following letter:--

"19 WARWICK CRESCENT.

"DEAR MR. HAMERTON,--You will do me an honor indeed by the dedication
you propose, and my own little worthiness to receive it becomes of
secondary importance when taken with the exceeding importance of the
truth you insist upon in connection with it--a truth always plain to me,
however moderately I may have been able to illustrate its value.

"Thank you very much: you will add to my obligation by the visit you so
kindly promise.

"I return you the best of Christmas wishes, and am ever, dear Mr.
Hamerton,

"Yours most truly,

"ROBERT BROWNING."

I transcribe the dedication to explain Mr. Browning's letter.

"TO ROBERT BROWNING.

"I wish to dedicate this book to you as the representative of a class
which ought to be more numerous,--the class of large-minded persons who
take a lively interest in arts which are not specially their own. No one
who had not carefully observed the narrowing of men's minds by
specialities could believe to what a degree it goes. Instead of being
open, as yours has always been, to the influences of literature, in the
largest sense, as well as to the influences of the graphic arts and
music, the specialized mind shuts itself up in its own pursuit so
exclusively that it does not even know what is nearest to its own closed
doors. We meet with scholars who take no more account of the graphic
arts than if they did not exist, and with painters who never read; but
what is still more surprising, is the complete indifference with which
an art can be regarded by men who know and practise another not widely
removed from it. One may be a painter and yet know nothing whatever
about any kind of engraving; one may be a skilled engraver, and yet work
in lifelong misunderstanding of the rapid arts. If the specialists who
devote themselves to a single study had more of your interest in the
work of others, they might find, as you have done, that the quality
which may be called open-mindedness is far from being an impediment to
success, even in the highest and most arduous of artistic and
intellectual pursuits."

Mr. Hamerton was so adverse to puffing of any kind and to noise being
made about his name, that he neglected the most honest means of having
it brought forward to public notice; for instance, he had been asked in
November, 1881, for notes on his life for a book to be entitled "The
Victorian Era of English Literature," and had forgotten all about it. He
had to be reminded in 1882 that he had promised to send the notes.

I suppose that the following letter from R. L. Stevenson must have been
received about this time. It is almost impossible to ascertain, as--like
the others--it bears no date.

"VILLA AM STEIN, DAVOS PLATZ, GRISONS, SWITZERLAND.

"MY DEAR MR. HAMERTON,--My conscience has long been smiting me, till it
became nearly chronic. My excuses, however, are many and not pleasant.
Almost immediately after I last wrote to you, I had a hemorreage (I
can't spell it), was badly treated by a doctor in the country, and have
been a long while picking up--still, in fact, have much to desire on
that side. Next, as soon as I got here, my wife took ill; she is, I
fear, seriously so; and this combination of two invalids very much
depresses both.

"I have a volume of republished essays coming out with Chatto and
Windus; I wish they would come, that my wife might have the reviews to
divert her. Otherwise my news is nil. I am up here in a little chalet,
on the borders of a pine-wood, overlooking a great part of the Davos
Thai: a beautiful scene at night, with the moon upon the snowy mountains
and the lights warmly shining in the village. J. A. Symonds is next door
to me, just at the foot of my Hill Difficulty (this you will please
regard as the House Beautiful), and his society is my great stand-by.

"Did you see I had joined the band of the rejected? 'Hardly one of us,'
said my _confrères_ at the bar.

"I was blamed by a common friend for asking you to give me a
testimonial: in the circumstances he thought it was indelicate. Lest, by
some calamity, you should ever have felt the same way, I must say in two
words how the matter appeared to me. That silly story of the election
altered in no tittle the value of your testimony: so much for that. On
the other hand, it led me to take a quite particular pleasure in asking
you to give it; and so much for the other. I trust even if you cannot
share it, you will understand my view.

"I am in treaty with Bentley for a life of Hazlitt; I hope it will not
fall through, as I love the subject, and appear to have found a
publisher who loves it also. That, I think, makes things more pleasant.
You know I am a fervent Hazlittite; I mean, regarding him as _the_
English writer who has had the scantiest justice. Besides which, I am
anxious to write biography; really, if I understand myself in quest of
profit, I think it must be good to live with another man from birth to
death. You have tried it and know.

"How has the cruising gone? Pray remember me to Mrs. Hamerton and your
son, and believe me,

"Yours very sincerely,

"ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON."

Throughout this year the diary was kept in Italian, and the reading of
Italian books was pretty regularly kept up; among them were Olanda,
Petrarch, and Ariosto. He soon abandoned Petrarch, whom he did not value
much; here is the reason: "I prefer the clear movement of Ariosto to all
the conceits of the sonnet-maker."

"Human Intercourse" was begun, and to save time, two copies were written
simultaneously--one for England and the other for America--by inserting
a sheet of black copying paper between two sheets of thin "Field and
Tuer" paper, and writing with a hard lead pencil and sufficient pressure
to obtain a duplicate on the page placed underneath. Roberts Brothers
were very desirous of seeing this new work, and had written: "We should
like to make 'Human Intercourse' a companion volume to the 'Intellectual
Life,' and the title is so suggestive of something good that we hope you
will hasten the good time of its appearance."

The publication of the "Graphic Arts" had been fixed for March 1, but a
copy having been got ready at the end of January, it was sent as a
compliment to Mr. Sagar of the Burnley Mechanics' Institution, and Mr.
Seeley said: "The Burnley people are delighted at having had the first
sight of the 'Graphic Arts.' Mr. Sagar writes that from what he saw of
it, he has no hesitation in saying that it is the best book you have
written, and does great credit to everybody concerned in its
production."

The book was highly appreciated by those competent to judge and
understand the subjects. Mr. Haden wrote about it a letter of fourteen
pages. Though he calls it himself "an unconscionably long letter," it is
most interesting throughout, but I only quote a few passages from it.

"I have been reading the 'Graphic Arts' with great interest. It is, or
rather must have been, a formidable undertaking. I like your chapter on
'Useful and Aesthetic Drawing.' Your insistence on keeping the two
things separate, and claiming for each its value, is a great
lesson--read, too, just at the right time.

"And in your 'Drawing for Artistic Pleasure,' the great lesson there is,
that true artistic pleasure can only be excited in others by the artist
that _knows_ what he is about, though he does not express it. Did you
ever see a drawing or an etching by Victor Hugo? Hugo is a poet, and
affects to be an artist. But his knowledge of what is or should be
_organic_, in every picture, is so lamentably absent, that his poetry
(sought to be imparted in that shape) goes for nothing.

"In 'Right and Wrong in Drawing,' which is excellently written, the
concluding paragraph is admirable. The chapter on 'Etching and
Dry-Point' is charmingly written, easy and refined in diction, and set
down _con amore_."

Then came this letter from Mr. Browning:--

"19 WARWICK CRESCENT, W. _March_ 6, 1882.

"DEAR MR. HAMERTON,--I thought your dedication a great honor to me, and
should have counted it such had it simply prefaced a pamphlet. To
connect it with this magnificent book is indeed engraving my name on a
jewel, instead of stone or even marble.

"Your sumptuous present reached me two days ago--and will be consigned
to 'my library,' when the best jewel I boast of is disposed of on my
dressing-table among articles proper to the place: no, indeed--it shall
be encased as a jewel should, on a desk for all to see how the author
has chosen to illustrate the [painting- and] drawing-room of the
author's admirer and (dares he add?) friend,

"ROBERT BROWNING."

Mr. Alfred Hunt also wrote: "I can see that the plan of the book is
admirable. I often want to know something about art processes which I
don't practise myself, and which I might be stimulated into trying if I
was only younger."

The sale of the book was rapid, and before six weeks had elapsed so few
copies remained that the prices were raised to fifteen guineas for the
large edition, and to seven and a half guineas for the small one. But
the author had overworked himself, and hurry had brought back the old
enemy--insomnia. Mr. Seeley, who had lately suffered from lumbago,
wrote:--

"Sleeplessness is a far worse thing than lumbago. You are right in
taking it seriously. I have little doubt, however, that by avoiding
overwork--and especially hurried work--and getting plenty of exercise,
you will overcome the tendency. If you ever do another big book, we must
take two or three years for it, and have no sort of hurry. I once
thought of the 'Landscape Painters' as a good subject for a big book."

In a subsequent letter Mr. Seeley gives a great deal of thoughtful
consideration to what might suit his friend's requirements:--

"If 'Landscape Painting' is a subject that you would thoroughly like to
take up, please tell me what travelling you would consider needful, and
as far as expense goes I will try to meet you. Perhaps for one thing we
might go to Italy together, if you are not afraid of being dragged about
in a chain.

"I thought of the Rhône book again, as likely to suit your present state
of health."

In the current year, however, it was impossible to undertake the voyage,
because "Human Intercourse" was to be the important work. As usual with
a new book, the author had had a struggle at the beginning. He
attributed the difficulty to the want of subdivisions in the chapters,
and when he had adopted a more elastic system than is usual in a
treatise, the obstacle disappeared. He has himself explained this, more
in detail, to his readers, in the preface of the book.

There is no doubt that this long struggle had increased the tendency to
sleeplessness, and a little cruise on the Saône was thought to be the
best remedy. So he left for Mâcon at the beginning of April, and after
putting the several parts of the boat together, and getting provisions
on board, he started with Stephen on a voyage down the Saône. On their
way they could see with a telescope all the details of Mont Blanc. At
Port d'Arciat they picked up a friend, and after a "good little repast
with a Good Friday _matelote_," a few sketches were made at Thoissey and
Beauregard.

The change and exercise in the open air did my husband a great deal of
good, and he had regained sleep when he returned home.

There being still a good deal of leakage in the "Morvandelle," though a
thick kind of flannel had been pressed into the interstices, it was
decided to use the wooden parts to make two small boats for the pond,
one for Stephen and the other for Richard, the old ones being rotten.
There was much pleasurable planning for my husband in the scheme, and
also some manual work for rainy weather. He was exceedingly careful and
handy in doing joiner's work, and every one in the house applied to him
for delicate repairs, and--when he had time--they were done to
perfection; only, he seldom had time, and it was a standing joke that he
must have a private museum somewhere to which the objects confided to
him found their way. In reality, he had to do a good deal of manual
labor of different kinds, on account of our country life, which placed
us at an inconvenient distance from workmen. For instance, he always
framed his etchings and engravings himself; at one time he even
undertook to re-gild all the frames which the flies so rapidly spoilt in
the country. He had also to make numerous packing-cases and boxes for
the sending of plates, pictures, and books; he invented lots of
contrivances for the arrangement of his colors, brushes, portfolios,
etc. He made different portable easels with folding stools corresponding
to their size, for working from nature, desks for large books, such as
dictionaries, to be placed by the side of his arm-chair when he was
reading; others for etchings and engravings, so that they might be
examined without fear of any object coming in contact with them. So
sensitive was he to the way in which works of art were handled, that he
allowed no one to touch his prints or illustrated books; he was always
in dread about their margins being creased or crumpled, and to avoid
this possibility he used to show them himself. A well-known aqua-fortist
told me that my husband had said to him once, "I would not trust you to
handle one of your own etchings."

Mr. Seeley had suggested that some illustrated articles about Autun
might interest the readers of the "Portfolio" on account of the Roman
and mediaeval remains, the remarkable cathedral, and the picturesque
character of the surrounding country. He thought that, as a title, "An
Old Burgundian City" would do. In a former letter he had expressed a
wish that his editor should come to England--if possible--every year in
the spring, instead of the autumn, when it was too late to discuss
arrangements for the "Portfolio" for the ensuing year. Mr. Hamerton
admitted that it would be desirable, no doubt, but he could not afford
it; the expenses of our last stay had been a warning, though we had
lived as simply as possible. To these considerations Mr. Seeley had
answered: "I am sorry you do not feel more happy about your future work.
What seems to be wanting is some public post in which you would be paid
for studying." But he had had more than enough of such schemes after his
attempt at Edinburgh, and it was the only one he was ever induced to
make. He began at once the pen-drawings which were to illustrate the
articles on Autun, and he liked his work exceedingly.




CHAPTER XVI.


1882-1884.

"Paris."--Miss Susan Hamerton's Death.--Burnley revisited.--Hellifield
Peel.--"Landscape" planned.--Voyage to Marseilles.

In May, Richard went away to Paris to study from the antique in the
Louvre, and Mary read English to her father for an hour every afternoon.

In the summer Mr. Hamerton received the decoration and title of Officier
d'Académie, but so little did he care for public marks of distinction
that the fact is barely mentioned in the diary.

In August he received the following interesting letter from Mr.
Browning:--

"HOTEL VIRARD, ST. PIERRE DE CHARTREUSE ISÈRS.

"_August_ 17, 1882.

"DEAR MR. HAMERTON,--When I got, a month ago, your very pleasant letter,
I felt that, full as it was of influences from Autun, the Saône between
Chalon and Lyons, speeded by '330 square feet of canvas,' my little word
of thanks in reply would never get well under weigh from the banks of
our sluggish canal; so reserved launching it till I should reach this
point of vantage: and now, forth with it, that, wherever it may find
you, I may assure your kindness that it would indeed have gratified me
to see you, had circumstances enabled you to come my way; and that the
amends you promise for failing to do so will be duly counted upon; tho'
whether that will happen at Warwick Crescent is unlikely rather than
merely uncertain--since the Bill which is to abolish my house, among
many more notable erections, has 'passed the Lords'' a fortnight ago,
and I must look about for another lodging--much against my will. I
dropped into it with all the indifference possible, some twenty-one
years ago--meaning to slip out again soon as this happened, and that
happened--and they all did happen, and yet found me with a sufficient
reason for staying longer, till, only last year while abroad, the
extraordinary thought occurred--'what need of removing at all?'--to
which was no answer: so I took certain steps toward permanent comfort,
which never before seemed worth taking--and, on my return, was saluted
by a notice to the effect that a Railway Company wanted my 'House,
forecourt, and garden,' and wished to know if I objected--I who, a month
or two before, had painted the house and improved the garden. Go I
must--but I shall endeavor to go somewhere near, and your visit, if you
pay me one, will begin the good associations with the place. And _this_
place; you may be acquainted with it, not unlikely. It is a hamlet on a
hilltop, surrounded by mountains covered with fir--being the ancient
Cartusia whence our neighbors the monks took their name; the Great
Chartreuse lies close by, an hour's walk perhaps: this hamlet is in
their district, 'the Desert,' as they call it; their walks are confined
to it, and you meet on a certain day a procession of white-clothed
shavelings, absolved from their vow of silence, and chattering like
magpies, while vigorously engaged in butterfly-hunting. We have not a
single shop in the whole handful of houses--excepting the 'tabac et
timbres' establishment--where jalap and lollipops are sold likewise--and
one hovel, the owner of which calls himself, on its outside,
'Cordonnier': yet there is this 'Hôtel' and an auberge or two--serving
to house travellers who are dismissed from the Convent at times
inconvenient for reaching Grenoble; or so I suppose.

"The beauty and quiet of the scenery, the purity of the air, the variety
of the wild-flowers--these are incomparable in our eyes (those of my
sister and myself), and make all roughnesses smooth: we spent five weeks
here last season; will do the like now, and then are bound for Ischia,
where a friend entertains us for a month in a seaside villa he inhabits:
afterwards to London, with what appetite we may, though London has its
abundant worth too. Utterly peaceful as this country appears--and you
may walk in its main roads for hours without meeting any one but a
herdsman or wood-cutter--I shall tell you a little experience I have had
of its possibilities. On the last day of our sojourn last year, we took
a final look at and leave of a valley, a few miles off; and as I stood
thinking of the utter _innocency_ of the little spot and its
surroundings, the odd fancy entered my head, 'Suppose you discovered a
corpse in this solitude, would you think it your duty to go and apprise
the authorities, incurring all the risks and certain hindrance to to-
morrow's departure which such an act entails in France--or would you
simply hold your tongue?' And I concluded, 'I ought to run those risks.'
Well, that night a man was found murdered, just there where I had been
looking down, and the owner of the field was at once arrested and shut
up in the _Mairie_ of the village of St. Pierre d'Entremont, close by.
The victim was an Italian mason, had received seven mortal wounds, and
lay in a potato-patch with a sack containing potatoes: 'he had probably
been caught stealing these by the owner, who had killed him,'--so, the
owner was taken into custody. We heard this--and were inconvenienced
enough by it next day, for our journey was delayed by the Judge
(d'Instruction) from Grenoble possessing himself of the mule which was
to carry our luggage, in order to report on the spot; but we got away at
last. On returning, last week, I inquired about the result. 'The accused
man, who was plainly innocent, being altogether _boulversé_ by the
charge coming upon him just in his distress at losing a daughter a
fortnight before, had taken advantage of the negligence of the gendarmes
to throw himself from the window. He survived three hours, protesting
his innocence to the last, which was confirmed by good evidence: the
likelihood being that the murder had been committed by the Italian's
companions at a little distance, and the body carried thro' the woods
and laid there to divert suspicions.' Well might my genius warn me of
the danger of being a victim's neighbor. But how I have victimized
_you_, if you have borne with me! Forgive, and believe me ever,

"Yours truly,

"ROBERT BROWNING."

Mr. Seeley had thought that a series of articles on Paris might be
suitable for the "Portfolio," if they were written by the editor, who
knew the beautiful city so well, and accordingly my husband had decided
to go there for a month, in order to take notes and to choose subjects
for the illustrations. He never could have been reconciled to the idea
of remaining a month in Paris alone, and I bethought myself of a plan,
which seemed both economical and pleasant, and which he readily adopted.
It was to take Mary with us, and to rent a small apartment in our quiet
Hôtel de la Muette; having our meals prepared in our private kitchen
(for each apartment was complete), and the cleaning done with the help
of a _femme de ménage_. It would be a sort of life-at-home on a very
small scale.

The apartments were like English lodgings without attendance. Moreover,
no one belonging to the hotel, not even a servant, had a right to enter
the apartments: they were entirely private. One might order the most
costly repasts from the luxurious restaurants close at hand, or keep a
_cordon bleu_, or live on bread-and-water like an anchorite, just as one
pleased, without anybody noticing it. This liberty was exactly what my
husband liked.

We left home on October 9 with Richard, who was to continue his artistic
studies in England now, and Mary, whom her father wanted to become
acquainted with the different museums, beautiful buildings, and
treasures of art, under his direction, for which there could have been
no better opportunity.

We all looked forward to this change as to a _partie de plaisir_, the
young people especially, and on our arrival in Paris, M. Mas and his
wife received us with great cordiality. They had nothing in common with
the ordinary type of hotel-keepers, and welcomed their _habitués_ with a
simple, hearty friendliness--such as servants, who had been all their
lives in a family, might show to their masters--which pleased my husband
much. They showed us, with visible satisfaction, our little apartment,
saying that it had been reserved for us on account of "Mademoiselle,"
because her room would be just close to her mamma's, and the door
leading from one to the other might be left open at night. We were told
that the kitchen was particularly nice, because Monsieur Paul Baudry,
"un artiste aussi," had fitted it up "à neuf" for the three months he
had been spending in our present apartment. Early in the morning I went
out to order provisions--groceries, fuel, wine, etc., for the month we
were to remain at the hotel. We had afterwards an excellent and cheerful
_déjeuner_ prepared in our own kitchen. My husband was amused by the
contrivances of what he called "the doll's house," and said he did not
mind spending a month in that way. In the afternoon we went with the
children to see the Hôtel de Ville, Notre Dame, and La Cour de
Cassation: in each of these buildings my husband gave us a short
explanatory lesson in architecture.

The second day he had already made rules for the division of his time,
according to which the mornings would be reserved for writing and
correspondence; déjeuner was to be ready at eleven, so as to leave the
afternoon free for the work in Paris.

As on the previous day, we were breakfasting together, talking of
Richard's prospects in London, when there came a telegram, saying that
our dear Aunt Susan thought herself to be sinking, and desired to see
us. It was a sudden and a painful blow; my husband had not a moment of
hesitation about what he would do. He told us to pack up immediately,
whilst he went to look at the railway-guide, and find the first slow
night-train for England: Richard and Mary were to go with us--it would
be a last satisfaction for their aunt if we arrived in time.

I was full of apprehension for my husband, but, of course, refrained
from mentioning my fears.

There was no slow train after four o'clock, so we had to start when it
was still daylight, but he kept his eyes closed till darkness rendered
invisible the objects we passed on our way. He bore the journey very
well on the whole, and on reaching Calais we went on board the steamer
immediately. It was midnight, the sea was splendidly phosphorescent, and
Richard and Mary took great delight in throwing things into it, to see
the sparkles flash about. I had no fear so long as we remained on the
water, for Gilbert always enjoyed it, whatever the weather might be, and
felt utterly free from nervousness.

Arrived at Dover at four in the morning, we went to bed for a little
rest, and after breakfast went out for a walk on the seashore under the
cliffs. Richard had never seen the sea before, and he received a
profound impression from it. The wind was high, and the big green,
crested waves came dashing their foam on to the very rocks at our feet.
The alternate effects of sunshine and masses of clouds, violently driven
and torn by the squalls, were magnificent; and Richard, more than ever,
was fired with the wish to become a painter. His sister, very sensitive
to natural beauty, shared his enthusiasm.

The train for London started at three, and on arriving at Charing Cross
we found a more reassuring telegram, stating that our aunt was somewhat
better. Thus cheered by the hope of seeing her again, Gilbert was able
to eat his supper with us before going to bed. I was greatly alarmed by
his decision to start early in the morning and to travel throughout the
day; but having made such a sacrifice of money in abandoning our
apartment and provisions, and in taking the children with us in the hope
of giving a last satisfaction to his aunt, I understood that he would on
no account run the risk of arriving too late.

It proved a most painful day to us all. Very soon he gave signs of
distress and nervousness in spite of all his efforts to hide them; but
this time he would not leave the train, though I besought him to do so.

We had some provisions in our bags, but, weak as he felt, he could not
swallow a morsel of anything; he could not even drink. Still, at one
time he thought that a little brandy might do him good; unfortunately we
had not any with us, and it being Sunday all the refreshment-rooms were
closed on the line. He strove desperately against the growing cerebral
excitement, now by lying down at full length on the cushions with the
curtains drawn, and his eyes closed (most mercifully we were alone in
our compartment); now by stamping his feet in the narrow space and
rubbing his hands vigorously to bring back circulation. In these
alternate fits of excitement and prostration we reached Doncaster at
five. Luckily there was a stoppage of about forty minutes before we
could proceed to Featherstone, and we turned it to the best advantage by
leaving the railway station and going in search of a quiet hotel, where
we ordered something to eat. Darkness had now set in. We had had a
little walk out of sight of the railway, in the open air, and there
seemed to be not a soul, besides ourselves and the landlord, in the
hotel; so that by the time our dinner made its appearance my husband had
so far recovered that he was able to take both food and drink, which did
him much good.

We arrived at Featherstone station after ten, and as the time of our
arrival had been uncertain, there was nobody to meet us. We left our
luggage, and only taking our handbags, we set off for the vicarage on
foot in the dark and in a deluge of rain. At eleven we were all standing
by the bed of our dear aunt, who knew us perfectly in spite of her weak
state, and whose satisfaction at the sight of Richard and Mary was as
great as unhoped for. The diary says: "Oct. 15, 1882. Our poor aunt
recognized us, but it is only too plain that she cannot live more than
three or four days." The doctor, whom we saw on the following morning,
said that Miss Hamerton was dying of no disease; it was merely the
breaking up of the constitution. She was kept up artificially by
medicine and stimulants, very frequently administered, for which she had
neither taste nor desire. Now she said to the doctor: "I have been very
submissive because I wanted to retain my flickering life until I should
see my nephew and his family; this great happiness has been granted to
me, and now I only desire to go to my final rest." After this the
doctor's prescription was to give her only what she might ask for. We
remained at her bedside throughout the day, with the exception of a
visit to the old church, now restored with care and taste, to my
husband's satisfaction.

We watched our aunt part of the night, and she spoke very often, with
her usual clearness of mind; towards three in the morning our cousins
Emma and Annie came to relieve us. On the morrow there was a change for
the worse with greater weakness, and we determined--my husband and
myself--to watch all night.

Aunt Susan concerned herself about our comfort to the last; she reminded
her nephew to keep up a good fire that I might not get cold; she
insisted upon my making some tea for myself, and upon my husband having
a glass of beer. About two in the morning she asked for a little
champagne; her mind was so clear that, after exchanging a few sentences
with her nephew in the Lancashire dialect and drinking her small glass
of champagne, she said with a smile, "It's good sleck," and lay still
for a while. At three she wanted to be turned on her side, which my
husband did with tender care, happy to be able to do something for her
better than any one else could do it, as she said. I believe she liked
to feel herself in his arms. Then she wished Ben to come up to read the
last prayers. I went to call him, also Annie and Emma, Richard and Mary,
and we all surrounded her bed whilst Ben was reading the prayers
according to her desire, and my husband holding one of her hands all the
time. She rested her eyes upon each of us in turn, closed them never to
open them again, and breathed more and more feebly till she breathed no
more. It was five o'clock in the morning. Her death had been a peaceful
one, without a struggle, without pain,--the death we may desire for all
that we love. Nevertheless, it proved a sore trial for my husband, who
was losing the oldest affection of his life. It was even more severe
than such losses are in most cases, however great may have been the
affection, for it was like complete severance from the past to which
both he and his aunt were so much attached. When they were together the
reminiscences of the old days at Hollins, of the old friends and
relations, of the quaint old customs still prevailing in the youthful
days of the Misses Hamerton, and the great change since, were frequent
topics of conversation. Aunt Susan was extremely intelligent, and her
conversation was full of humor; she also wrote capital letters, and kept
her nephew _au courant_ of all that happened to their common friends.
She shared in his great love and admiration for the beauties of nature,
and her enjoyment of them was intense. When walking out she noticed all
the changes of effect, and her interest never palled.

Great respect to her memory was manifested by the inhabitants of
Featherstone, high and low, who filled the church on the day of the
funeral and on the following Sunday, and who had put on mourning almost
without exception.

On the Sunday night my husband went alone to the cemetery by moonlight,
and remained long at the grave.

Our cousins, Ben and Annie Hinde, both showed great sympathy, and were
also sorrowful on their own account; but Ben thought it bad for Mary and
Richard to be shut up in unrelieved sadness, and was so kind as to take
them to Leeds, Pontefract, Wakefield, and York in turn.

Aunt Susan had left a little legacy to each of her nephews and nieces,
and the rest of her savings to my husband (she had not the disposition
of the capital, which had been left in trust).

She had carefully prepared and addressed little parcels of _souvenirs_
to myself and to each of my children--jewels, seals, silver
pencil-cases, as well as some ancient and curious objects which had been
preserved as relics in the family, and which she knew we should value
and respect.

The day came when we had to leave our dear cousins and the old vicarage,
so full of associations both pleasant and painful. We proceeded towards
Burnley, where a telegram from Mr. Handsley was handed to my husband at
the station. It said that Mr. Handsley was prevented from coming
himself, but that his carriage was in readiness to take us to Reedley
Lodge, where his wife was awaiting us.

We were made very welcome, and Gilbert was happy to see his friends
again after so long a separation. Thursday--our former servant in the
Highlands--came to see us in the evening, and our children, who had
heard a great deal about him, were glad of the meeting.

Mrs. Handsley was a distant relation of my husband, and the relationship
had always been acknowledged. She showed herself eager to divine how her
guests would like to spend the short time at their disposal, and to
fulfil their wishes. She was aware of my husband's faithful attachment
to old associations, both with persons and with places, and she drove us
to see his former friends who were still alive, and also the Hollins.
The children, who had heard so much about it, were greatly interested,
particularly in the room which had been their father's study. Note in
the diary: "October 26, 1882. Went to see the Brun, that I had not seen
since my marriage. Drank some of its water."

Mrs. Handsley said she had it on good authority that Mr. John Hamerton
of Hellifield Peel had expressed on several occasions his regret for the
division existing between the two branches of the family, and his wish
to become acquainted with my husband, whose works he knew and admired.

Now it had been a lifelong desire of his to visit Hellifield Peel--the
ancient tower with the romantic history, and the seat of the elder
branch of the Hamertons. There could be no better opportunity, Mrs.
Handsley suggested. At last he decided for the attempt, and on the
following morning we set out with the children.

It was Gilbert's intention merely to send his card, and beg leave to see
the tower without putting forward a claim of any kind, but on receipt of
the card we were immediately shown into the drawing-room and most
cordially received by Mr. John Hamerton and his sister. I was at once
struck--and so were Richard and Mary--by the likeness between the two
men, though they belonged to different branches of the family. My
husband might have been easily taken for a younger brother of Mr. John
Hamerton. They were both tall and spare, the elder man especially; both
were straight and of somewhat proud bearing; their eyes were blue, with
a straightforward and fearless expression. The lightness of the beard
and hair, together with the development of the forehead, completed the
resemblance, though the whole aspect of Mr. John Hamerton was that of a
country gentleman, whilst hard intellectual work had left its stamp on
the younger man's countenance. They got on very amicably together, and
we were invited to lunch. My husband eagerly desired to go over the
house, but alas for his dreams! it had been transformed according to
modern wants, and the absence of all relics from so many generations was
very striking.

We walked in the park, where we admired the noble trees, the pond, and,
at some distance from the Peel, the beautiful Ribble valley, the subject
of one of Turner's landscapes.

It was now time to go to our train after our long and charming visit;
and when Mr. John Hamerton had given some photographs of Hellifield Peel
to my husband, and we had taken a friendly leave of his sister, he
accompanied us to the station, and invited us to the Peel whenever we
might come that way.

So the long breach in the family now belonged to the past, and was
replaced by mutual goodwill and friendliness. Gilbert wrote in his
diary: "October 27, 1882. One of the most delightful days of my life."

The day after, he went to Burnley with Mr. Handsley and saw the new
school before going to the Council Chamber, where a public reception had
been organized in his honor, and where he delivered an oration in
acknowledgment of many flattering speeches. The formal part of the
reception over, he shook hands with every one who came forward to speak
to him--among whom he still remembered a few.

The afternoon ended with a visit to the Mechanics' Institution, in which
he had never ceased to take great interest. He had been much moved and
gratified by the welcome offered him at Burnley, and never forgot it.

The journey to London was very trying on account of the cold, fog, and
snow. The train ploughed its way slowly and cautiously amidst the
explosive signals, which did not add to our comfort. We felt very sorry
for Mr. and Mrs. Seeley, who were sitting up for us so late into the
night.

On the days following our arrival, my husband introduced Richard to his
friends, took him about London, and chose lodgings for him.

He also saw Mr. F. G. Stephens, who wished him to become a candidate for
the post of Professor of Fine Arts at Oxford; but he did not feel
tempted.

He called upon Mr. Browning, who was unfortunately out; but as he was on
the point of closing the door, he felt a resistance, and saw a
lady--"the sister of Robert Browning," she explained--to whom his card
had been handed, and who, by mistake, had read the name as Hamilton. It
was only after looking at it more attentively that she had rushed down
the stairs to detain the visitor. He went up with her to the
drawing-room, where he found Mrs. Orr, the sister of Sir Frederick
Leighton, and they had a long and pleasant talk together. Some days
later he had the pleasure of meeting with Mr. Browning.

It was lucky that Gilbert had good health just then, and Richard to go
about with him in London, for I was laid up with a bad cold--the result
of having walked a whole day in the snow making calls, without an
opportunity of drying my boots or of warming my feet. Mrs. Seeley was my
kind and thoughtful nurse, and thanks to her care I gradually recovered.

Richard came to say good-bye, and we left Nutfield House for France.
This time we did not go through Paris, but visited everything of
interest at Rouen, Dreux, Orléans, and Bourges. The diary says:
"November 27. In the evening we reached home, very happy to be back
again."

On the 29th of the same month be received a letter from Mr. Sagar, from
which I quote the following passage:--

"Sufficient time has not yet elapsed, I hope, for you to forget us in
Burnley here, and the pleasure we had in seeing you in the Council
Chamber on that, to us, memorable Saturday.

"Next year will be the fiftieth anniversary of the founding of the
Institute, and we are going to celebrate this and the general success we
have had by a week's jubilee--the whole of New Year's week. The jubilee
will take the form of a conversazione, a banquet, and a general
exhibition, occupying every room of the place except two. South
Kensington authorities are sending us six cases of examples of fabrics,
pottery, etc., and about sixty frames of pictures, drawings, etc. Can
you use your influence for us in obtaining a representative
exhibition--say of etchings, or anything else of a suitable character
that might suggest itself to you--together, if possible (and this would
delight us all), with your presence, or in the absence of this, if you
can't be here, a short letter for me to read, as on the opening of the
Art-school?"

The letter was sent in due time, and acknowledged with grateful thanks.

Mr. Seeley was so kind as to send us news of Richard from time to time;
he wrote in March: "Richard has shown me some of his drawings; I think
he is making progress. One of his last drawings seemed to me excellent;
very tender and subtle. He was down at Kinsgton with us the other day."

This opinion of Mr. Seeley's gave great pleasure to my husband, who had
always entertained doubts about the range of his son's artistic talent.

In the same month he was asked to send a biographical note for "Men of
the Time," a proof that his reputation was on the increase, and Mr.
Haden, who had just come back from America, said that his works were
held there in the highest esteem.

The book on Paris necessitated another journey, and my husband made the
time of it to coincide with the opening of the Salon. This time we
stopped at Auxerre, and visited the four churches, the museum, and the
room in which are exhibited the relics of Marshal Davoust.

The diary says: "April 30. Began this morning another diary in English,
to record the impressions which may serve for my literary work."

On May 1 we had a carriage accident which might have been serious. Our
horse took fright at sight of a steam tram, and ran away on the footpath
at a furious rate, dashing the carriage against the trees and lamp-posts
until he slipped and fell at full length on the asphalt. My husband had
been able to jump out, but a sudden jerk had prevented me from following
him at the moment, and then there was danger of being hurt between the
side of the carriage and the banging door. Gilbert had been running,
hatless, after the carriage to hold the door and enable me to jump out,
and he just succeeded as the horse slipped down and upset the carriage.
I was out in time to escape being hurt, but of course we were both a
good deal shaken, and went back to rest at our hotel.

We had hardly been a week in Paris when my husband began to suffer from
nervousness. A tramway had been laid in front of the hotel, and the
vibration prevented him from sleeping. Then spring was always trying to
him; and above all, he wished himself in the country. Mr. Seeley wrote:
"Nature evidently intended you for a savage; how in the world did you
come to be a literary man? What must Frenchmen think of you, in Paris
and miserable? Even Mrs. Hamerton must feel ashamed of you." He
acknowledged that he was more happy in a primitive sort of existence
than in one too perfectly civilized; still, he could not endure the
privation of books, and he would have felt keenly the absence of works
of art; but he was in deeper sympathy with the beauty of nature than
with artistic beauty--to be denied the last would have been a great
privation, but in the absence of the first he really could not live.

We had the pleasure of becoming acquainted with Mr. Howard-Tripp, who
had recently married Mr. Wyld's daughter, and who, being a
picture-dealer, invited us to go and see his gallery in the Rue St.
Georges. There were a great many fine works that my husband greatly
admired, particularly those by Corot, Daubigny, and Troyon, and the
scheme for the book on "Landscape" having been settled with Mr. Seeley,
he begged Mr. Howard-Tripp to allow reproductions of some of the
pictures to appear in his future work. It was readily granted.

This selection of pictures for the book on "Landscape" gave the author
much additional labor; but it was better to do it now that he was in
Paris than have to come again on purpose. Mr. Seeley had offered to run
over and help with the arrangements, but was prevented by a slight
accident. He then proposed that photographs of the pictures chosen
should be sent to him, that he might have a vote.

We were very near the end of our stay in Paris, and Gilbert wanted to go
to the office of "L'Art," having some business there, and wishing to say
farewell to the manager. He had also invited the sons of M. Schmitt (who
were now in Paris) to meet us in the Square Richelieu and to dine
afterwards at a restaurant. He thought that he could manage both things
on the same day. However, we were hardly out of the omnibus when I
perceived he was unwell; but I had not time to propose anything before
he started off at such a rate that I was obliged to run to follow him:
the worst symptoms were betrayed by his gait, by the congestion of face
and neck, and by the hard stare of the eyes. It was too late to take a
carriage; he could not stop, and could not be spoken to. I saw that a
sure instinct was guiding him out of the crowded street to the by-ways
and least frequented places, and I strove to remain by his side. In the
course of about twenty minutes, I noticed a slackening in his pace, and
as I had been looking about for some refuge, I remarked, through the
open doors of a small café, an empty back-room, and motioned to him to
follow me there. It was almost dark, and there was a divan running along
three sides of the wall; I made him lie down upon it, and went to tell
the _dame-de-comptoir_ (who happened to be the mistress of the house)
that my husband had felt suddenly unwell and required a little rest. She
made no fuss, did not press me to send for a doctor or to administer
anything; she merely promised to prevent any one from going into that
back room, and said we might remain there undisturbed as long as was
needed. After half-an-hour my husband asked for a little brandy and
water, and gradually became himself again. We remained about two hours
in the little room, reading--or pretending to read--the newspapers, and
such was Gilbert's courage and resolution, that he went to keep the
appointment with the young men he had invited. I knew I was not to
breathe a word of what had happened, and I was miserably anxious about
the effect that a dinner in a restaurant _en vogue_ might have upon the
nerves of my poor patient. Strange to say, he bore it very well, and
played his part as entertainer quite merrily. But after dinner I longed
to get him away, and proposed to take an open carriage for a drive in
the Champs Élysées. This was accepted, and I believe he really enjoyed
it.

We agreed to leave Paris the following evening, and I went to town alone
in the afternoon for a few things which had been postponed to the last
moment. We reached Autun on May 26, at which date the diary says: "I am
very happy to be in my home, which I prefer to all the finest palaces in
Paris."

In the spring he had suffered repeatedly from great pain in one of his
legs, and had attributed it to rheumatism; now he began to feel the pain
again in the left foot, and it soon became so acute that the doctor was
sent for. He said it was an attack of gout, but gave hope of an ultimate
cure, because the patient's constitution was not a gouty one. The cause
of the attack was insufficient exercise in the open air. He prescribed a
severe regimen, less sedentary work, and as much walking and riding as
possible.

For twenty-one nights my husband could not go to bed, but remained
stretched on a couch or sitting in an arm-chair; when the pain was less
severe he laid himself down upon the bed for a short time, but he hardly
ever got to sleep. His fortitude and patience were incredible, and he
bore the almost intolerable sufferings with admirable resignation. He
tried to read, and even to write upon a desk placed on his knees, and
talked much about his plan for the book on "Landscape."

Mr. Seeley wrote:--

"I am heartily sorry to hear of your attack of gout. But I am relieved
to hear that it is not erysipelas, which must have been alarming.
Possibly the discomfort you suffered in Paris may have been a
premonitory symptom of this attack, and you may look forward to the
enjoyment of better health when it has passed away."

Mr. Haden declared that he felt "delighted" by this attack, as
indicative of a change for the better in the constitution; he hoped that
the tendency to nervousness and insomnia would disappear, or at any rate
greatly diminish.

We were now daily expecting Richard, and Mr. Seeley had said on June 25:
"Richard was with us on Saturday, his farewell visit. We like him more
and more every time we see him." He was coming back--at my request--to
pass an examination in English, the same that his brother had passed
successfully two years ago for the _Certificat d'aptitude_, after which
he got his post of professor at Mâcon. I had thought that if Richard
failed as an artist he might be glad to fall back upon a professorship,
and it turned out so. His father was pleased to notice how much better
and more fluently he spoke English on his return from London; but at the
same time, after seeing the drawings done in England, he was confirmed
in the opinion that originality and invention were lacking to make a
real artist of his younger son. What ought to be said was very
perplexing: the drawings were good enough in their way, the progress
undeniable--but they were only copies, even when done from the living
model--the creative spark, the individual artistic stamp, were absent.
My husband allowed himself some time for consideration before warning
Richard that he thought him mistaken in his choice of a career.

However, after having passed a successful examination it was Richard
who, of his own accord, told his father that he felt very doubtful about
the ultimate result of his artistic studies. He believed they were begun
too late, and that his chances against students who had several years'
start were very small--they had been drawing and painting since the age
of thirteen or fourteen, whilst he was preparing himself for his
degrees. The ease with which he had carried off the _Certificat
d'aptitude_ made him sanguine about being ready for the _Agrégation_ in
the course of a year, after which he would be entitled to a post in the
University. He would not abandon art, he said, but would not follow it
as a profession.

It was a great relief that the resolution should have been his own; but
it surprised Mr. Seeley considerably, and he wrote to my husband:--

"From what you tell me of his want of enjoyment in the practice of art,
the determination seems wise. I suppose we take it for granted that a
man must take pleasure in doing whatever he can do well; but there is no
reason in the world why ability and inclination should always go
together. A man with a good eye and that general ability and power of
application which make a good student may easily be a draughtsman above
the average, but it is quite intelligible that he should take more
pleasure in other studies."

At the end of August Gilbert went with Stephen and his eldest nephew,
Maurice Pelletier, for a cruise of ten days on the Saône. They were on
the new catamaran "L'Arar," and enjoyed their voyage thoroughly.

On October 2, Richard left us to go to Paris to have the benefit of _les
Cours de la Sorbonne_, as a preparation for _L'Agrégation d'Anglais_;
and in December Stephen asked for a year's leave of absence from his
post, in order to pursue his English studies in London. It is therefore
conceivable that the father's health should have been impaired by
anxiety and his brain overtaxed by the numerous works he had undertaken
to meet his responsibilities. He was at the same time writing "Human
Intercourse" for Messrs. Macmillan, "Paris" for the "Portfolio," and the
book on "Landscape" was begun.

In November he had written a very long letter to Miss Betham-Edwards,
mainly in explanation of the word "sheer" used for boats, then about our
doings, and he says:--

"We have had the house upset by workpeople, but we are settled again
after a great bother, which I dreaded before, as Montaigne used to dread
similar disturbances; but now it is over I feel myself much more
comfortable and orderly, though the reform has cost me a considerable
loss of time. The rooms look prettier and are less crammed.

"I got the other day a letter of twenty pages from a cousin in New
Zealand who had never written to me for thirty years. It was the most
interesting biography of struggle, adventure, danger, hard work, and
final success. It is a great pity that the men who go through such lives
have not the literary talent to make autobiographies that can be
published. I have another cousin whose history is _quite_ as good as
'Robinson Crusoe,' and I have engaged him to write it, but he never
will. If I lived near him I could gradually get the material out of him;
but at a distance I cannot get him even to write rough notes. On the
other hand, we literary people are quite humdrum people in our ways of
life, and our autobiographies would generally be of little interest.

"I have been reading Ariosto lately in Italian, and am struck both by
his qualities and deficiencies. He is all on the surface; but what a
wealth of inventive power, and what a well-sustained, unflagging energy
and cheerfulness! The descriptions are frequently superb, and there is a
go in the style generally that is very stimulating. It is like watching
the flow of a bright, rapid, brimming river. I don't think we have any
English poet of the same kind. Spenser is rather like, but heavier, and
just lacking that brightness in combination with movement. Spenser and
Byron together contain many of the qualities of Ariosto."

The first note in the diary for 1884 says: "I must try to economize time
in all little things where economy is possible without injury to the
quality of work. I cannot economize it very much in the work itself
without risk of lowering quality."

It was a pleasure for my husband to see that his articles on the
architecture of Paris had been so favorably noticed as to bring requests
for contributions from "The Builder" and "L'Architecte." Mr. Seeley
wrote to him: "I think it is a feather in your cap that your
architectural notes should have brought you invitations to write for
professional journals."

My brother-in-law, M. Pelletier, had left Algiers, and was now Économe
at the Lycée at Marseilles. He had suggested that, it being possible to
go from Chalon to Marseilles by water, we might pay him a visit and see
the course of the Rhône at the same time. My husband felt greatly
tempted to accept, for more than one reason: he would be able at the
same time to take notes and to make observations on the way for the book
on "Landscape," and to come to a conclusion about the possibility of the
Rhône scheme. We might divide the places of interest into two series,
and see one of them in going and the other in coming back, with a
pleasant time of rest at our friend's in the interval.

The itinerary was carefully prepared to miss nothing on the way, and on
April 8 we left my mother in charge of the house, whilst my husband,
myself, and Mary started from Chalon, where we went on board the steamer
for Mâcon. My husband having often seen the town, was left to his
writing whilst I took Mary to see the church of Brou. From Mâcon to
Lyons we enjoyed the landscape from the deck of the steamer,
particularly Trévoux, and L'Ile Barbe as we neared Lyons.

Note in the diary: "We passed through some lovely scenery, but I came to
the conclusion never to boat with the 'Arar' below Courzon."

So long as he remained on the water or in little out-of-the-way places,
Gilbert was well enough and enjoyed himself exceedingly, but as soon as
we were obliged to stay in large towns he began to suffer; at Lyons,
having attempted to go to the Museum when it was crowded, he had to
hurry out, and it is a miracle how he managed to reach the hotel, where
he went through one of the worst attacks of nervousness in his life. It
did not last very long, and when he was well again I took Mary to
Fourvières.

By rail we proceeded to Vienne, then to Valence and Pierre-latte,
where it was pitch dark as we got out, and raining heavily. To our
dismay we saw no sign of either omnibus or carriage. However, a man was
coming up to us in a leisurely way with a broken lantern, and he
explained that the "'bus had not come because it was raining." He led us
to a very queer--apparently deserted--hotel, where the getting of sheets
for the narrow beds seemed to be an almost insurmountable difficulty;
and as to cases for the pillows, in sheer despair of ever getting any,
we had to use clean towels out of our bags in their stead. The
double-bedded room was adorned with a gallery of pastel portraits so wan
and faded that they looked by the faint gleam of moonlight through the
shutters like a procession of ghosts; and there were so many chairs in
Mary's room, and such an immensely long table, that it must surely have
been used by the ghosts as a dining-hall. Nevertheless, we slept
soundly, had a charming excursion in the morning, and a good, though
late, _déjeuner_ afterwards, for it chanced to be the drawing of lots
for the conscription, and the hotel was crowded by famished
officials--Mayor, _adjoints_, gendarmes, officers, etc. Of course there
was nothing for unofficial people like us but to wait and catch the
dishes as they left the important table, and appropriate what might
remain upon them. There was enough for us, and the wine was
excellent,--so good indeed that we thought of having a cask sent to La
Tuilerie. The great people having departed, we were able to talk at our
leisure with the landlady, but all of a sudden we became aware that it
was getting time to go, and asked for the bill. "Oh! there was no need
for a bill, she could reckon in her head--but there was no hurry." We
explained that there was some hurry, as the carriage we had ordered
would be at the door presently.

"Mais pourquoi? pourquoi vous en aller?" exclaimed the simple woman,
with an air of consternation; "est-ce que vous n'êtes pas bien ici?"

Bourg St. Andéol, where we stopped next, is a very interesting place. My
husband was particularly pleased with the little town and the Hôtel
Nicolai. Our arrival created quite a stir in the sleepy, regular routine
of the little bourg, and the doors and windows it can boast of became
alive with curious eyes as we passed along the deserted streets. In an
open carriage we were driven to Pont St. Esprit, and noticed the long
lines of mulberry trees on each side of the roads; the driver explained
that they are planted to feed the silkworms, and that in two months they
would be leafless. We took the steamer again at Pont St. Esprit, late in
the following day, for Avignon. In the morning of Sunday we all went to
hear High Mass in the Cathedral, then to the Palace of the Popes, and
round the walls. In the afternoon we visited the tomb of John Stuart
Mill, and my husband left his card at the house of Miss Taylor. We then
heard music in the open air, and saw the old bridge.

It was a very pleasant fortnight that we spent at Marseilles with our
relations, the only drawback being Gilbert's uncertain health, which
prevented him from going out much; though close to the expanse of the
Mediterranean, I suppose he had the feeling expressed in the preface to
"Landscape" in these words: "The lover of wilderness always feels
confined among the evidences of a minutely careful civilization."

Towards the end of the day, when the blinding glare of sunshine was
softened, we generally went to the Vieux Port, where there was an
uninterrupted succession of picturesque scenes among sailors of all
nations and ships of every description; or to La Joliette, to watch the
arrival or departure of the Chinese vessels and other curious craft. At
other times we walked in the Pare Borelli or on the Corniche.

A novel feature in our life was the frequent visits to the theatre with
our friends. It was most remarkable that my husband should take such a
sudden fancy to the Opera; he could not account for it himself, except
by noticing that "he felt at home in it." We invariably took _fauteuils
d'orchestre_, so that he only saw the musicians, actors, and
scenery--hardly any of the occupants of the theatre, except those in the
stage-boxes. It is a curious fact that in the space of a fortnight he
heard more operas than in all the rest of his life.

He wrote the greater part of the day in a very quiet room, which M.
Pelletier, who was well acquainted with his tastes, had fitted up
accordingly at the very beginning of our visit.

On our return we stopped to see Tarascon and Beaucaire, where we had
still some friends. In the last place the director of the gas-works
obligingly showed us through the house which had been my father's. We
also visited Nîmes, Orange, and Montélimart, giving a whole day to each
place. It was already very hot in the south, and the perfume of the
acacias in full bloom everywhere was almost more than we could bear,
especially at Montélimart. At Orange, after seeing the noble Roman
remains, we partly ascended the hill to see the Ventoux range of
mountains; then went on to Valence for the night. We were on board the
steamer at five in the morning, and had a delightful voyage to Lyons,
during which Gilbert took copious notes in the map-book he had prepared
on purpose. After resting a day, we went straight on to Chalon by boat,
and had a pleasant day with the captain, who invited us to _déjeuner_
with him on board.

On the whole, we were satisfied with our journey; but the information my
husband had collected on the way convinced him that the Rhône project,
as he had planned it, was utterly impracticable.

We were soon in great anxiety about our relatives at Marseilles, for we
learned that cholera had broken out there early in July. Gilbert,
without the least hesitation, immediately wrote to M. Pelletier,
inviting him and his children to La Tuilerie, where they would be safe
from the terrible scourge. Our brother-in-law readily availed himself of
the invitation for his children; but thought it his duty to remain at
his post, and set an example to the panic-stricken population.

The arrival of our nephews and niece from the very centre of
contamination did not tend to augment our popularity in the
neighborhood, and we were made to understand--very plainly--that the
house was tabooed, along with ourselves. Our milk from the farm just
opposite to our house was brought to us half-way, and deposited in the
middle of the road, where our servant had to go and fetch it--no one
amongst the inmates of the farm being sufficiently courageous either to
bring it within our walls, or to deliver it to a servant who had
approached "les Marseillais."

Ever since Richard had come home he had been steadily preparing himself
for his examination, with the help of his father. Every day they read
English poetry together, and Gilbert gave him all the necessary
information as to the meaning, rhythm, and structure.

In moments of relaxation he joined the family circle, frequently
enlivened by the presence of a young couple, M. and Mme. Pochon, who had
recently come to live at the schist-works, where the husband was
managing engineer. The lady had a charming voice, and used to sing in
the church with Mary, who played the harmonium. This led to an intimacy,
and with an additional singer and pianist in the person of my niece we
often organized private concerts, in which my husband took great
pleasure. There was nothing he enjoyed more than such private
recreation, except perhaps the satisfaction of taking trouble to make
things agreeable to others. Here is an instance among many.

On a fearfully hot day in August he overheard a _cantinière_ who,
talking to her husband from the top of a wagon which had just stopped
near La Tuilerie, was lamenting her inability to find a shady place for
the _déjeuner_ of the officers, who would shortly arrive. He saw at once
that he might offer these hot and weary warriors the unexpected pleasure
of a cool resting-place. So he went to the _cantinière_, and proposed to
have the officers' table set upon the lawn, under the shady elder trees.
The woman could hardly credit such a charitable offer, and warned him
that the fresh-looking grass would certainly suffer from it; but he only
smiled, saying that it could not be helped, but that he hoped to induce
the grass to grow again with copious watering.

The table was set, chairs were brought from the house, also live
charcoal for the portable stove, and we witnessed a very entertaining
scene from behind the shutters when the regiment halted.

The Colonel began to swear and scold at sight of the white, dusty,
sultry road where the _cantinière_ had stopped, and for a few moments
refused to listen to her explanations; but when he saw Mr. Hamerton
coming out of the garden gate to invite him inside with his brother
officers, he dismounted to salute him, and stood fixed in a state of
ecstacy before the inviting white table-cloth, looking so fresh and cool
between the green grass of the lawn and the green leaves of the trees.
The other officers shared this pleasant impression, and were profuse in
their thanks. After a short talk with the master of the house--who was
called away to his own _déjeuner_ by the bell--they drank his health,
and sat down with unfeigned satisfaction to their meal.

It was not only the lawn which was thus invaded; for there being in the
courtyard a deep well of deliciously cold water, the soldiers were not
slow to find their way to it, and after quenching their thirst and
filling up their _bidons_, they stretched themselves at full length upon
the ground wherever there was shade, either from tree or wall.

This general enjoyment of an hour's delicious rest amply compensated my
husband for the havoc done in the garden.

We were rather a numerous household then, at meal-times, with the
addition of my mother, M. Pelletier and his three children, my brother,
his wife and two little girls, so that when the youngest officer entered
the dining-room--as spokesman--to reiterate the thanks of his brother
officers, he felt abashed by so many eyes fixed upon him; still, he
managed to get through his duty--somewhat hurriedly--and soon after the
regiment was marching off; the men, now rested and refreshed, singing
lustily at the top of their voices, and waving their _képis_ towards La
Tuilerie.

Stephen arrived for the vacation towards the middle of August; but the
suspense in which we were kept about Richard's examination was most
unfavorable to the health of his father. At last there were great
rejoicings when a telegram conveyed to us his brilliant success. He came
out second on the list, the first being a lady--Miss Williams--of whom
he had often spoken to us in high terms, having been with her as a
student at the Sorbonne, and who has since become directress of that
most useful institution, the Franco-English Guild.

We were told that Richard was the youngest _agrégé_ in France, and of
course we were proud of it. Mr. Seeley wrote: "I heartily congratulate
you on Richard's great success. It is not often that a young man can so
speedily justify his choice of a career."

"Human Intercourse" was published in September, and sold well, in spite
of its cold reception by the Press. Mr. Hamerton did not allow
unfavorable criticism to disturb him much. There was only one kind of
attack that he did not bear patiently, I believe, and that was being
told that he had no _genius_. "I don't pretend to have genius; I never
said I had; then why make it a reproach?" he used to say.

There was a second edition as early as December, and I give here a
fragment of one of the numerous letters the author received, which may
prove that public opinion was more favorable to the book than the
critics:--

"You have given me some pleasant hours as I read and pondered over
remarks of yours in 'Human Intercourse.' It is not the first time that
you have tinted the current of my life. I hereby certify to my
gratitude, not that I am of any account in the world, but because it
seems to me a sort of duty, and because, were our positions reversed, it
would please ME to know that I was appreciated even by a stranger. What
you say about priests and women interests me deeply as a clergyman...."

The letter contained eleven pages of confidential talk, mostly about
personal experiences in the discharge of professional duty; clearly
showing that the subject had not been treated in vain in "Human
Intercourse."

There had been a serious strike at the schist-works of La Comaille
(close to Pré-Charmoy), and the hands, now that the winter was coming
upon them, were distressed and greatly disheartened. Mr. Hamerton tried
his best to mollify the engineer and to reason with the men, and make
them see that the strike could not bring them any advantage. At last the
workmen asked to be allowed to return to their work; but the engineer
refused to take back the promoters of the strike, among whom was the
husband of one of our former servants. The poor woman came in tears to
beseech her "bon Monsieur" to obtain M. Pochon's forgiveness, for if her
husband were kept out of work much longer her three little children
would have to starve. The landlord having already threatened to turn
them out, my husband had paid the rent of their cottage for a year, and
now he pleaded so warmly the cause of the deluded workmen to Madame
Pochon,--asking for her influence in their favor,--that together they
carried their point, and so gave comfort to several poor families. With
the exception of the two ringleaders, who had used threats and violent
language, all the hands were taken back again. Our former servant's
gratitude still survives; one of her children never fails to send the
united wishes of the family for the New Year, and the letters always
begin with, "Nos chers bienfaiteurs."

The great kindness and generosity of "L'Anglais" were so well known in
our neighborhood that the people had no hesitation in applying at La
Tuilerie for clothing, medicines, or help of any kind. Even the beggars
who came regularly, lingered after pocketing their penny in the hope of
seeing him personally as he crossed the courtyard or went out on the
road, for then--as an old woman confided to one of the maids--"On est
sûr d'une pièce blanche." He was entirely free from false pride, and
looked down upon no one deserving respect. One girl whom we had had in
our service for five years, and who only left us to be married, begged
as a great favor that Mary should be godmother to her child. He gave his
leave at once, being the first to recall how attached and devoted she
had been to our daughter when a baby. And when she called with her
husband, he always shook hands with them both, and offered them
refreshments.

He showed the same ready sympathy to the class of young authors and
artists in want of help and advice, trying to get them employment, and
helping them to improve their work. He often accepted for the
"Portfolio" articles which greatly increased his labors; for he had to
correct and to rewrite parts--if he perceived some promise of talent in
their authors. He also took the trouble of criticizing minutely numbers
of etchings and drawings, pointing out possible alterations which might
make them acceptable to the public, and by so doing he helped to form
and encouraged a great number of artists.

Mr. Seeley was anxious that the book on "Landscape" might be out in good
time for the Christmas sale, and explained the many reasons which made
it desirable; but although the author had done his best to be ready, he
began to doubt of the possibility. Having been anxious about it and
hurried, he became subject to painful attacks of palpitation. As soon as
Mr. Seeley heard of it he wrote:--

"Pray do not run any risk of ruining your health. Tell me exactly how
you stand, how much remains to be written. Then we will face the
position like sensible people, and consider what is best to be done. You
must neither risk your health by overwork nor your reputation by hasty
work. What a pity it is that you don't enjoy games! I find tennis such a
relief from worries. I have also a double tricycle, on which I ride
every morning with my garden boy. It is a capital exercise; the steering
occupies one's thoughts almost as well as a game. One can't think much
of business while going seven or eight miles an hour with the
probability that any considerable swerve will lead to an upset."

Gilbert sometimes went on a velocipede, and liked it, but did not
possess one at that time.

In November there was good news for the boys. Richard had been told by
M. Pelletier that a post at Marseilles would soon be vacant, and that he
might apply for it. He did so, and got it, whilst Stephen replaced him
at Poitiers, so that now they were both provided with good situations.




CHAPTER XVII.


1884-1888.

"Landscape."--The Autobiography begun.--"Imagination in landscape
painting."--"The Saône."--"Portfolio papers."

In October, 1884, all the five hundred large-paper copies of "Landscape"
had been ordered except fifty; but the last pages of MS. were not sent
off until January 30, 1885.

The author wrote to the publisher: "At last I have the pleasure of
sending you a page of MS. with 'The End' written upon it;" and as if
relieved from his task he went on to relate the following incidents:--

"There has been a curious attempt at assassination here yesterday. A
doctor named Vala was stopped by what seemed to be a nun, who asked for
a place in his gig. He stretched out his hand to take a parcel belonging
to the nun, took it, and then offered her his hand. He touched it,
thought 'That's the hand of a man,' whipped his horse, and drove off at
full speed. When at a distance he examined the contents of the parcel,
which turned out to be a loaded revolver and a dagger. He thinks the
project was to assassinate him _en route_.

"Other curious story.

"Night before last a strange man got tipsy in our village and began to
blab and talk. He asked for a bottle without a bottom, and for some
woollen rags. He was suspected of having a dynamite project, and the
mayor was fetched at one in the morning to look after him, so he
arrested him and took him to Autun at two a.m. On the way the man
coolly confessed that he was one of a dynamite gang of ten, and
threatened the mayor and the village when he got out of prison.

"So you see we have our dangers as well as you."

"Human Intercourse" was more popular in America than in England. Roberts
Brothers wrote: "We have been selling three thousand copies of 'Human
Intercourse;' does not that speak well for your popularity here? As yet
the pirates have left it alone, although the 'Intellectual Life' has
been pirated." Still, the author continued to receive many letters
testifying to the appreciation of the book by his countrymen. Mr. Wyld
said: "I have read 'Human Intercourse' from end to end, and intend to do
so more than once, taking and considering each essay separately."

Mrs. Henry Ady (Julia Cartwright) wrote that she and her husband had
been charmed with it. The book seemed to have influenced women
powerfully, for their letters about it were very numerous.

The news of Richard's health became disquieting early in the month of
January; he suffered much from headaches, and could not work. He was
well nursed at his uncle's, M. Pelletier's, by his grandmother, who
happened to be on a visit to her son-in-law. The doctor said it was a
kind of nondescript fever with cerebral and typhoid symptoms, to which
young people not acclimatized to Marseilles were very liable on settling
there. In Richard's case there had been a predisposition on account of
the hard work he had gone through for the _Agrégation_. He had looked as
if he bore it easily while it lasted; but the strain had been more
severe than he was aware of; and two years after his recovery he told me
that he had never felt the same since that illness at Marseilles.

In February, Miss Betham-Edwards having sent a volume of her poems to my
husband, he wrote in acknowledgment:--

"I have read your book in the evenings and with pleasure, especially
some pieces that I have read many times. 'The Wife's Prayer,' for
one, seems to me quite a perfect piece of work; and not less perfect
in another way, and quite a different may, is 'Don. Jose's Mule,
Jacintha.' The delicate humor of the latter, in combination with
really deep pathos and most finished workmanship, please me
immensely. Besides this, I have a fellow-feeling for Don José,
because I have an old pony that I attend to myself always, etc.,
etc....

"I have been vexed for some time now by the tendency to jealous
hostility between France and England. I had hoped some years ago that
the future might establish a friendly understanding between the two
nations, based upon their obvious interest in the first place, and
perhaps a little on the interchange of ideas; but I fear it was
illusory, and that at some future date, at present undeterminable, there
will be another war between them, as in the days of our fathers. I have
thought sometimes of trying to found an Anglo-French Society or League,
the members of which should simply engage themselves to do their best on
all occasions to soften the harsh feeling between the two nations. I
dare say some literary people would join such a league. Swinburne very
probably would, and so would you, I fancy, I could get adhesions in the
French University and elsewhere. Some influential political Englishmen,
such as Bright, might be counted upon. I would have begun the thing long
since; but I dread the heavy correspondence it would bring upon me. I
would have a very small subscription, as the league ought to include
working men. Peace and war hang on such trifles sometimes that a society
such as I am imagining might possibly on some occasion have influence
enough to prevent a war. It should be understood also that by a sort of
freemasonry a member of the society would endeavor to serve any member
of it belonging to the other nation.

"I don't know if you have observed how harshly Matthew Arnold writes of
France now. He accuses the whole nation of being sunk in _immorality_,
which is very unfair. There are many perfectly well-conducted people in
France; and why does not Arnold write in the same strain against Italy,
which is more immoral still? The French expose themselves very much by
their incapacity for hypocrisy--all French faults are _seen_."

The winter was very cold, and all the ponds were covered with ice,
affording good opportunity for skating. My husband undertook to teach
Mary to skate, and they often went on the ice together.

"Landscape" was published on March 12, and on the 19th all the
large-paper copies were gone, and the small ones dropping off daily.

The author wrote to Mr. Seeley:--

"I am glad 'Landscape' is moving nicely. Nothing is more disagreeable to
an author than to see an enterprising publisher paid for his trust and
confidence by anxiety and loss, especially when the publisher is a
friend. Failure with this book would have been especially painful to me,
as I should have attributed it in great part to my slowness with the
MS., and consequent want of punctuality."

Mr. P. Q. Stephens said: "The book is a superb affair, and, as far as I
have seen it, deserves all praise."

R. L. Stevenson wrote:--

"BOURNEMOUTH. _March_ 16, 1885.

"My Dear Hamerton,--Various things have been reminding me of my
misconduct; first, Swan's application for your address; second, a sight
of the sheets of your 'Landscape' book; and last, your note to Swan,
which he was so kind as to forward. I trust you will never suppose me to
be guilty of anything more serious than an idleness, partially
excusable. My ill-health makes my rate of life heavier than I can well
meet, and yet stops me from earning more. My conscience, sometimes
perhaps too easily stifled, but still (for my time of life and the
public manners of the age) fairly well alive, forces me to perpetual and
almost endless transcriptions. On the back of all this, any
correspondence hangs like a thundercloud, and just when I think I am
getting through my troubles, crack, down goes my health, I have a long,
costly sickness, and begin the world again. It is fortunate for me I
have a father, or I should long ago have died; but the opportunity of
the aid makes the necessity none the more welcome. My father has
presented me with a beautiful house here--or so I believe, for I have
not yet seen it, being a cage bird, but for nocturnal sorties in the
garden. I hope we shall soon move into it, and I tell myself that some
day perhaps we may have the pleasure of seeing you as our guest. I trust
at least that you will take me as I am, a thoroughly bad correspondent,
and a man, a hater, indeed, of rudeness in others, but too often rude in
all unconsciousness himself; and that you will never cease to believe
the sincere sympathy and admiration that I feel for you and for your
work.

"About the 'Landscape,' which I had a glimpse of while a friend of mine
was preparing a review, I was greatly interested, and could write and
wrangle for a year on every page: one passage particularly delighted me,
the part about Ulysses--jolly. Then, you know, that is just what I fear
I have come to think landscape ought to be in literature: so there we
should be at odds. Or perhaps not so much as I suppose, as Montaigne
says it is a pot with two handles, and I own I am wedded to the
technical handle, which (I likewise own, and freely) you do well to keep
for a mistress. I should much like to talk with you about some other
points; it is only in talk that one gets to understand. Your delightful
Wordsworth trap I have tried on two hardened Wordsworthians, not that I
am not one myself. By covering up the context, and asking them to guess
what the passage was, both (and both are very clever people, one a
writer, one a painter) pronounced it a guide-book. 'Do you think it
unusually good guide-book?' I asked. And both said, 'No, not at all!'
Their grimace was a picture when I showed the original.

"I trust your health and that of Mrs. Hamerton keep better; your last
account was a poor one. I was unable to make out the visit I had hoped
as (I do not know if you heard of it) I had a very violent and dangerous
hemorrhage last spring. I am almost glad to have seen death so close
with all my wits about me, and not in the customary lassitude and
disenchantment of disease. Even thus clearly beheld, I find him not so
terrible as we suppose. But, indeed, with the passing of years, the
decay of strength, the loss of all my old active and pleasant habits,
there grows more and more upon me that belief in the kindness of this
scheme of things, and the goodness of our veiled God, which is an
excellent and pacifying compensation. I trust, if your health continues
to trouble you, you may find some of the same belief. But perhaps my
fine discovery is a piece of art, and belongs to a character cowardly,
intolerant of certain feelings, and apt to self-deception. I don't think
so, however; and when I feel what a weak and fallible vessel I was
thrust into this hurly-burly, and with what marvellous kindness the wind
has been tempered to my frailties, I think I should be a strange kind of
ass to feel anything but gratitude.

"I do not know why I should inflict this talk upon you; but when I
summon the rebellious pen, he must go his own way: I am no Michael
Scott, to rule the fiend of correspondence. Most days he will none of
me: and when he comes, it is to rape me where he will.

"Yours very sincerely,

"ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON."

Mr. Seeley wrote:--

"My brother the Professor has been staying with us and reading the
'Graphic Arts' and 'Landscape' most assiduously. He was deeply
interested, and said they seemed to him most important works, giving him
views about art which had never entered his mind before. He seems to
feel that you are doing in Art what he is doing in History."

For the present, Mr. Hamerton had no great work in hand. There was the
usual writing for the "Portfolio," and he had been asked for articles by
the editors of "Longmans' Magazine" and the "Atlantic Monthly," but he
had not yet made up his mind as to the subject of a new important book,
and was discussing various schemes both with Mr. Seeley and Mr. Craik.

In one of his letters to Mr. Seeley he said:--

"I have sometimes thoughts of writing a book (not too long) on the
Elements or Principles of Art Criticism, in the same way as G. H. Lewes
once wrote a series of papers for the 'Fortnightly' on the Principles of
Success in Literature. I think I could make such papers interesting by
giving examples both from critics and artists, and from various kinds of
art. It would add to the interest of such papers if they had a few
illustrations specially for themselves, and as I went on with the
writing I could tell you beforehand what illustrations might be useful,
though I cannot say beforehand what might be required. I should make it
my business to show in what real criticism, that is worth writing and
worth reading, differs from the hasty expression of mere personal
sensations which is so often substituted for it; and I would show in
some detail how there are different criteria, and how they may be justly
or unjustly applied, giving examples. The articles might be reprinted
afterwards in the shape of a moderate-sized book like my 'Life of
Turner,' but about half as thick, and if we kept the illustrations small
they might go into the book. Such a piece of work would have the
advantage of giving me opportunities for showing how strongly tempted we
all are to judge works of art by some special criterion instead of
applying different criteria. For example, I remember hearing a man say
before a picture that told a story that 'its color was good, and, after
all, the color was the main thing in a picture.' Another would have
criticised the drawing of the figures, a third the composition, a fourth
the handling. Lastly, it might have occurred to some one to inquire how
the story was told, and whether the artist had understood the story he
had to tell.

"I remember being in an exhibition with Robinson, the famous engraver,
more than twenty, or perhaps thirty, years ago, and was very much struck
by a criticism of his on a picture which seemed to me very good in many
respects, though the effect was a very quiet one. He said, 'There's no
light and shade;' and the want of good, strong oppositions of light and
dark that could be effectively engraved seemed to him quite a fatal
defect, though on looking at the work in color the absence of these
oppositions did not strike me, as other qualities predominated. Here was
the engraver's _professional_ point of view interfering with his
judgment of a picture that was good, but could not be engraved
effectually.

"Then we have the interference of feelings quite outside of art, as when
Roman Catholics tolerate hideous pictures because they represent some
saint, although they have really been painted from, a hired model, and
only represent a saint because the artist, with a view to sale, has
given a saint's name to the portrait of the model.

"Also there is the judgment by the literary criterion, which is often
applied to pictures by thoughtful and learned people. They become deeply
interested in one picture because it alludes (in a manner which seems to
them intelligent) to something they know by books, and they pass with
indifference better works that have no literary association.

"Then you have the judgment of pictures which goes by the pleasure of
the eyes, and tastes a picture with the eyes as wine and good cooking
are tasted by the tongue. I believe this ocular appreciation is nearer
to the essential nature of art than the literary or intellectual
appreciation of it. _Vide_ Titian's pictures, which never have anything
to say to the intellect, but are a feast to the eyes.

"Then you have the _scientific_ criterion, which judges a landscape
favorably because strata are correctly superposed, their dip accurately
given, and 'faults' noticed. In the figure this criticism relies greatly
on anatomy.

"I have jotted down these paragraphs roughly merely to show something of
the idea, but of course in the work itself there would be much more to
be said--other criteria to examine, and a fuller inquiry to be gone into
about these. I should rely for the interest of the papers, and for their
_raison d'être_ in the 'Portfolio,' very much upon the examples alluded
to, both in quotations from critics and in references to works of art.

"With regard to the papers on Landscape Painters--if I wrote the
introductory chapter it would be on landscape-_painting_ as an art, not
so much on the painters. I should trace something of its history, but
should especially show how it differs from figure-painting in certain
conditions. For example, in figure-painting composition does not much
interfere with truthful drawing, as a figure can always be made to
conform to desired shapes by simply altering its attitude and putting it
at a greater or less distance from the spectator, but in landscape
composition always involves the re-shaping of the objects themselves.
Again, color is of much more sentimental importance in landscape than in
the figure. _Purple_ hills, a _yellow_ streak in the sky, and _gray_
water produce together quite a strong effect on the poetical
imagination, whereas the same colors in a lady's dress are but so much
millinery. If the landscape is engraved it loses nine-tenths of its
poetical significance; if the portrait of the lady is engraved there is
only a sacrifice of some colors.

"_October_ 8, 1885."

Meanwhile, it occurred to him that he might undertake his autobiography,
and stipulate that it should only be published after his death. He told
me that his health being so uncertain and his earnings so precarious, he
had thought the autobiography might be a resource for me in case of his
premature decease, as he saw clearly that notwithstanding the
considerable sums which his recent successes had brought him, it was not
likely that he should ever save enough to leave me independent.

As he had himself introduced the subject, I led him to consider Mary's
future prospects in life, and said that Stephen and Richard being now
provided with situations, we ought to think of their sister. Her musical
education had now reached such a point that no teaching afforded by
Autun could be of any value to her, and it was my desire that she might
have the advantage of instruction and direction in her studies from one
of the best professors at the Conservatoire of Paris. I realized that it
would be a great tax, and a no less great sacrifice for my husband to be
left alone while I should be in Paris with Mary; but I also knew that he
never shrank from what he considered a duty--and we both agreed that it
was a duty to put our daughter in a position to earn her living, if
circumstances made it necessary.

Accordingly I inquired who was thought to be the best executant on the
piano in Paris, and we had it on good authority that it was M.
Delaborde, Professor at the Conservatoire, with whom we corresponded
immediately. Although we had friendly recommendations, he would not
pledge himself to anything before examining Mary, and we started for
Paris in some uncertainty. I had engaged a little apartment at the Hôtel
de la Muette, where we were known, and a pleasant room looking on the
garden had been reserved for us, not to inconvenience other people by
Mary's practice.

I knew the result of the examination would give Gilbert great pleasure,
so I gave him every detail about it. M. Delaborde, who has the
reputation of being extremely severe and somewhat blunt, was most kind
and encouraging. After making Mary play to him for an hour, he said:
"That will do; there remains a good deal to be done and acquired, but
you _may_ acquire it by hard work and good tuition in three years. I
consent to take you as one of my pupils, but I must let you know at once
that I am very exacting. Don't be afraid of me, for I see that you are
industrious, and that you really _love_ music. And now I am going to pay
you a compliment which has its value, coming from me--I find no defect
to correct in your method." After that he gave us a long list of music
to be bought for practice, and said we might come twice a week. He also
inquired what direction I wished her studies to take, and whether she
intended to give lessons. I answered that I wished her studies to be of
the most serious character, exactly as if she were preparing herself to
be a music-teacher, though it was not her parents' present intention,
but because one never was certain of the future. He perfectly understood
my wishes, and was also pleased to notice his new pupil's partiality for
classical music. Strange to say--and I did not fail to convey the
important fact to her father--Mary, who was so easily frightened, felt
perfectly at ease with M. Delaborde, and besides her sentiment of
unbounded admiration for his talent, she soon came to have a great
liking for himself. Her father was very glad--for her sake
especially--that she should have the satisfaction of seeing her efforts
taken _au sérieux_, and appreciated by such an authority as M.
Delaborde. He often said that one of the greatest satisfactions in life
was to be able to do something _really well_, better than most people
could do it, and he was happy in the thought that music would give that
satisfaction to his daughter. About music he had written to Mr.
Seeley:--

"I was always in music what so many are in painting--simply practical.
In my youth I was a pupil of Seymour of Manchester for the violin, and
thought to be a promising amateur, but I have played far more music than
I ever talked about. I don't at all know how to talk or write about
music. It seems to me that it expresses _itself_, and that nothing else
can express it."

After an absence of five weeks Gilbert was very glad to see us back, and
to hear that M. Delaborde had been very encouraging to Mary. At the end
of the last lesson he had said: "À l'année prochaine; je suis certain
que vous reviendrez: vous avez le feu sacré."

Several projects of books had occurred to Mr. Hamerton, which he
submitted to his publishers for advice. He had thought of "Rouen," but
Mr. Craik had answered: "Your name is a popular one, and anything coming
from you is pretty sure of a sale. But we should consider whether even
your name will persuade the public to buy this book on Rouen." It was
abandoned for the consideration of a work on the "Western Islands," to
which Messrs. Macmillan were favorable.

Mr. Seeley was suggesting the "Sea" as a subject that he might treat
with authority from an artistic point of view, but he feared he had not
had sufficient opportunity of studying it, and received this answer:
"Your letter of this morning has suggested to me another scheme--a
series of articles on 'Imagination in Landscape Painting.'" The idea
pleased my husband very much, and as he reflected about it he began a
sort of skeleton scheme for its treatment.

His own imagination about landscape was truly marvellous. Since he had
been deprived of the power to travel, he was continually dreaming that
he had undertaken long and distant voyages, in which he discovered
wondrously beautiful countries and magnificent architecture. He often
gave me, on awaking, vivid descriptions of these imaginary scenes, which
he remembered in every detail of composition, effect, and color, and
which he longed, though hopelessly, to reproduce in painting.

He was now writing in French a life of Turner for the series of "Les
Artistes Célèbres," published by the "Librairie de l'Art." It was not a
translation from his English "Life of Turner," but a new, original, and
much shorter work, about which he wrote to Mr. Seeley:--

"I am writing a book in French--a new life of Turner, not very long. I
find the change of language most refreshing. Composition in French is a
little slower for me, but not much, and as I am a great appreciator of
good French prose, it is fun to try to imitate (at a distance) some of
its qualities."

Years after, writing about this same "Life of Turner," he said to Mr.
Seeley:--

"The insularity of the English that you speak of is not worse than the
insularity of the French. When I wrote my 'Life of Turner' for the
'Artistes Célèbres' series, I was asked to reduce the MS. by one third,
for the reason that the thicker numbers were only given to great
artists. The sale was very moderate, as so few French people care
anything about English art."

When the first chapters of "Imagination in Landscape Painting" reached
Mr. Seeley, he said: "I like your opening chapters much, and I feel glad
that I have set you on a good subject."

As usual during the vacation, my husband went on the Saône with Stephen
and Maurice for a fortnight. "L'Arar" had been greatly improved, but was
still to undergo new improvements while laid up for the winter. On
coming back home Gilbert wrote to Mr. Seeley:--

"Stephen, my nephew Maurice, and myself have just returned from an
exhibition on the Saône in my boat, which turned out delightful. We had
considerable variety of wind and weather, including a very grand
thunderstorm with tremendous wind (of short duration). We were just near
enough to a port where there was an inn to be able to take refuge in
time. The boat would have ridden out the storm on the water, scudding
under bare poles of course; but I have seen so many telegraph-poles and
trees struck by lightning, that I apprehended the possibility of its
striking one of our masts. At the inn we had dinner, and during the
whole of dinner, between five and six p.m., we had a splendid view of
Mont Blanc through our open window--first with all its snows rosy, and
afterwards fading into gray. As there were no beds in the inn we went on
by night, first in total darkness and afterwards in moonlight, beating
against the wind, but the wind falling altogether and rain coming in its
place, and the nearest inn being twelve kilomètres away, we slept on the
boat under a tent, and were comfortable enough though it rained all
night. Next morning we were under sail at seven, and had a delightful
day. A curious thing about that night was a swarm of ephemerae so dense
that it was like a blinding snowstorm. I could hardly see to steer for
them; they hit my face like pelting rain. They fell on the deck, till it
was covered an inch deep, and two inches deep in parts. Next morning
Stephen, on cleaning the deck, rolled them up into large balls, which he
threw into the river. The people call them _manna_.

"We exercised ourselves in all ways, going out for manoeuvers against
the wind when it was worst, rowing in dead calms, or towing the boat
from the shore, as there is a towing-path all along one side, so we need
never be quite stopped. The boat behaved capitally, and as the lads
became better drilled they did the sailing business better together. My
health kept wonderfully well in spite of (or perhaps in consequence of)
a good deal of work and some hardship. I did a lot of sketches, and
amused myself particularly with drawing the delicate distances.
Yesterday, on our return, we met by appointment a picnic party at
Nôrlay, and walked ten kilomètres under drenching rain to see a natural
curiosity called the 'end of the world,' where limestone cliffs end in a
sort of semi-circle.

"It is believed to be a creek of an ancient lake or sea. The cliffs are
evidently undermined by waves, and hang over. The ground in the middle
is full of beautiful pastures and vineyards, with lovely groups of trees
and a stream, and two very picturesque villages."

The different methods which had been tried for producing manuscript in
duplicate had all proved distasteful and unsatisfactory. My husband was
particularly irritated by the delay caused by having to press down the
hard lead-pencil or stiletto. He could not bear any slow process for
expressing the swiftly running thoughts, and he tried another plan which
enabled him to write very nearly as fast as the ideas came. Using glazed
paper and a soft pencil he made a rough draft without attempt at polish
in style, merely fixing the thoughts. This he corrected at leisure, and
copied with a particular kind of ink which was said to yield
half-a-dozen copies upon moist paper put under a screw-press. But the
result was very imperfect, and took too much time, and finally he used
to have his corrected MS. copied by a professional typewriter. This plan
was by far the most satisfactory, as, by relieving him from the drudgery
of copying, it allowed more time for painting, and a rather important
picture of Kilchurn Castle was begun, to be hung on the staircase.

In February "French and English" was begun. My husband was particularly
qualified to give an impartial comparison of the habits, institutions,
and characteristics of the two nations, on account of his sympathies
with both, and his intimate knowledge of the French language and long
residence in France, during which his inquisitive mind had been
gathering endless information about the public institutions of the
country. He had made himself perfectly acquainted with French politics,
and followed with great interest all current events.

The system of public instruction in France had become familiar to him
through M. Pelletier (who had been a member of the University from his
youth); and he had not neglected to learn from the several ecclesiastics
with whom he was acquainted, what he wanted to know about the
constitution of the Roman Catholic Church and clergy.

In the same way his military friends told him what he cared to learn of
the army. He had for a neighbor M. de Chatillon (cousin of the poet and
painter, A. de Chatillon), a retired captain, who had been in the
Crimea, and was wounded in the Franco-Prussian War; also a friend and
visitor, another captain, M. Kornprobst, with whom he made the voyage on
the Saône. The colonel of the regiment quartered at Autun, M. Mathieu,
who had fought by the side of the English in the Crimea, came sometimes
too, to talk about past days, and recalled among other things with
gratitude and admiration the fare of which he had partaken on board an
English man-of-war. Mr. Hamerton had only to put questions to one of
these officers to obtain full information upon any point of French
military organization. As regards national characteristics in
individuals, he had a rich accumulation of notes and observations, both
in his pocket-books and in his mind. Very observant from early youth,
this tendency had been quickened by the contrasts that life in foreign
parts constantly presented.

It had been decided that the Rhone voyage should be abandoned for one on
the Saône; and Mr. Hamerton was in active correspondence with Mr. Seeley
about the choice of an artist to illustrate the book. Both of them were
great admirers of Mr. Pennell's talent, and they agreed to make him a
proposal.

Mr. Pennell, having been overworked and feeling rather nervous and
unwell, thought that the contemplated voyage would be the very thing to
restore his health. He would have perfect tranquillity on the peaceful
river, and he might sketch at his leisure, without hurry; so he gladly
accepted the hospitality offered him on board the "Boussemroum."

The plan of accommodation on this boat has been explained exhaustively
by the author of "The Saône," but I think I may give a few brief
indications of the arrangements for readers unacquainted with the book.

Mr. Hamerton hired a large river-boat called the "Boussemroum," and two
men to manage it and do the cooking. A donkey, "Zoulou," was kept on
board to tow the boat when necessary, and in the course of the voyage a
boy, "Franki," was engaged to drive "Zoulou." Three tents had been
erected for the passengers, and an awning was placed over part of a
raised platform to shelter the artists at work from the too generous
heat of the June sunshine. Each tent was furnished as a simple bedroom,
with an iron bedstead and a hammock, washing utensils, chest, table for
drawing or writing, and mats on the floor.

Besides Mr. Pennell's tent and Mr. Hamerton's, another had been reserved
for Captain Kornprobst, who was to undertake the duties of the
commissariat. There was nothing so difficult for my husband as to turn
his mind from intellectual or artistic thoughts to domestic or business
affairs; he was aware of it, and dreaded interruptions--and the fear of
interruptions--as well as the responsibility of keeping his floating
home so regularly provisioned as to save its inmates from becoming,
occasionally, a prey to hunger or thirst. Humbly confessing his
shortcomings, he begged his friend, Captain Kornprobst, to join the
expedition as Purser and General Provider, feeling confident that if he
consented everything would _marcher militairement_. It was an immense
relief when the Captain declared himself ready and willing to assume
these functions.

Mr. Pennell, having been suddenly obliged to go to Antwerp for a series
of drawings, could not be free at the time of starting. On the other
hand, Captain Kornprobst had been summoned, the boat hired, and the
men's wages were running, so the voyage was begun, on the understanding
that Mr. Pennell would join the party as soon as he could leave Antwerp,
probably at Corre on the Upper Saône.

On arriving at Chalon-sur-Saône, on May 31, Mr. Hamerton was met by the
Captain, and they proceeded at once to the "Boussemroum," which they put
in order as it moved away. It was only at Gray, on June 6, that Mr.
Pennell came on board.

It has been said in some notices of Mr. Hamerton's life that he read but
little; nothing could be more opposed to truth; the fact is, that he was
constantly attempting to bind himself by rules to give only a certain
proportion of his time to reading, and when he travelled he was sure to
have among his luggage a large trunk of books. Here is a list, for
instance, of the works he took with him on the Saône:--

Royau, "À travers les Mots."

No Name Series, "Signor Monaldini's Niece."

Poe, "Poems."

"Italian Conversation Book."

Arnold, "Light of Asia."

Swinburne, "Atalanta."

Auguez, "Histoire de France."

Amiers, "Olanda."

St. Simon, "Louis XIV. et sa Cour."

Paradol, "La France Nouvelle."

Caesar, "De Bello Gallico."

Palgrave, "Golden Treasury."

Milton, "Poems."

Milton, do. (modern edition).

Milton, "Areopagitica."

Stevenson, "Inland Voyage."

Stevenson, "Travels with a Donkey."

Byron, "Poems" (4 vols.).

Shakespeare, "Poems."

Helps, "Social Pressure."

Gerson, "De Imitatione."

The adventures of the voyage having been narrated in "The Saône," I
shall only mention the incident of the arrest, because it turned out to
be a lucky thing that I just then happened to be in Paris. It must be
explained that M. Pelletier, having been entrusted with the organization
of one of the great new Lycées--the Lycée Lakanal at Sceaux--had been
deprived of his usual vacation in 1885, and, as a little compensation,
he came to spend the Easter of 1886 with us, and took away Mary, who was
to stay with him for her yearly music-lessons. At the end of the month I
took advantage of my husband's absence to go and see the Paris Salon,
and to bring back our daughter.

On June 25, while we were at lunch with M. Pelletier and his children,
and making merry guesses as to the probable whereabouts of the voyagers
on the Saône, there came a telegram for my brother-in-law, who said to
me, after reading it: "What would you say if they were arrested as
spies?" We all laughed at the idea, and I answered that it would be
capital material for a chapter. "Well then, since you take it this way,
I may as well tell you that it is a fact, though your husband wishes it
to be kept from you till he is released."

I began to fear that he might be imprisoned, and that his nervousness
would return in confinement. From this point of view the consequences
seemed alarming, and I wondered what would be the best plan to set him
free as soon as possible.

My brother-in-law was for applying to the English Ambassador, but I felt
pretty sure that my husband would write to him, and that negotiations in
that quarter would take some time. So I went straight to one of our
friends who had a near relation holding an important military post at
the Élysée, and who might be of great help on this occasion. I told my
friend what had happened, and he promised to go and explain matters to
his relative, and to obtain speedily an order of release for the unlucky
travellers. The same evening I had a note to the effect that the
Minister of War had sent the desired order by telegram.

The author of "The Saône" has explained why the voyage was interrupted
at Chalon. The second part was to be made on the "Arar," and the
erections on the "Boussemroum" were to be demolished and the tents
removed before the boat was returned to its owner; but as Mary and I had
expressed a wish to see it before the demolition, we went to Chalon,
where my husband took us on board and explained all the contrivances,
which were very ingenious.

The extraordinary appearance of the "Boussemroum" with its three large
tents attracted quite a crowd on the quay where it was moored, and as we
made our way towards it we were followed by many curious eyes.

Mr. Pennell, having been discouraged and disheartened by the loss of
time and the insecurity of his situation in France, especially since he
had failed to get an official permission to sketch at Lyons, gave up all
idea of illustrating the Lower Saône. What was to be done with the book?
Could it be published in an incomplete state and called "The Upper
Saône?" In that case the work would be of small importance, after all
the preparations, time, and money spent upon it. "Would it not be better
to ask another artist to undertake the remaining part?" asked Mr.
Seeley. But he would have to encounter the same difficulties, and be
exposed to the same vexations--and, after all, the book might be wanting
in harmony.

At last Mr. Pennell offered to make drawings from the author's sketches,
and this was accepted. My husband had already in his possession a great
number of studies taken at Chalon, Mâcon, and upon the river on previous
cruises, and they might be utilized in this way, together with those he
could still make during the vacation on the "Arar."

In the interval between the two boat voyages, Mr. Hamerton devoted
himself almost exclusively to writing "French and English" for the
"Atlantic Monthly," and "The Saône." He also took some precautions in
view of the next cruise, and when he started for it, with Stephen and
Maurice, he was provided with a passport and a recommendation from the
English Ambassador.

The voyage was a pleasant one, and ended prosperously, but it soon
became evident that the book could not be published before the next
year, mainly because the stereotype plates could not have reached
America before December, and the publishers then would still have to
print and bind the book.

Roberts Brothers said about it:--

"We are very glad you have decided to postpone the publication of the
boat voyage till next year. You will see by our account that we allow
you nothing on the cheap edition of the 'Intellectual Life.' Thank the
pirates for it.

"Mrs. Hamerton's 'Golden Mediocrity' has passed through a second
edition; the first was 1,000 copies."

This last book was a novelette that I had written at the instigation of
Roberts Brothers, and which had been corrected by my husband.

The illustrations needed for the completion of "The Saône" took a great
deal of Mr. Hamerton's time in 1886. Early in January he went to Chalon
to take several sketches, which he worked out afterwards in pen-and-ink.
We took the opportunity of this journey to see a few houses which had
been recommended to us as possible future residences, La Tuilerie
requiring expensive repairs that we were not inclined to undertake,
because every time we made any our rent was raised,--no doubt because it
was thought that just after a fresh outlay we should not be disposed to
leave. But we found the house-rents much higher about Chalon than in our
neighborhood, and although Gilbert was fond of the Saône--particularly
for boating--he was far from admiring the landscape as much as that of
the Autunois, from a painter's point of view. After much consideration
we decided to go through the unavoidable repairs, and to renew our
lease.

I suppose that the Saône voyage had directed my husband's thoughts
towards boats more than ever, for his diary is full of notes about them.
I shall only give a few to show the drift of his mind.

"Made a sketch for a possible triple catamaran.

"Made an elevation of hull for the 'Morvandelle,' using an elevation of
a quickly turning steamer in 'Le Yacht,' and _improving_ upon it.

"Made a new balancer for canoe.

"Began to prepare pirogue with marine glue before putting the
rudder-post.

"Lengthened cross-pieces; completed beam for catamaran, adding details
of ironwork.

"Demolished old balancer log of canoe, and began to saw it to make a
little bridge.

"Found that boiling wood was the best plan for bending it; steaming is
too troublesome.

"Thought much about sails.

"Wrote a letter to 'Yacht' about invention of paper-boats."

In October he began to write for "Le Yacht" a history of catamarans,
which was highly appreciated by the readers of that paper.

In the course of that year he also wrote a long and careful review of
"L'Art" for "Longmans' Magazine," "Conversations on Book Illustrations,"
and a review of Mr. Ernest George's etchings. He also worked at the
autobiography.

It was a real sorrow for my husband to hear that in consequence of the
demise of Mr. John Hamerton, Hellifield Peel and the estate were for
sale and likely to go out of the family. He had been considerately
offered the first option of purchase, and he wrote in the diary, "How I
wish I had the money!"

In January, 1887, he wrote to Mr. Seeley:--

"We are rather troubled by the possibility of a war between France and
Germany. The French papers take the thing coolly, but the English ones,
especially the 'Daily News,' are extremely pessimist. If there is war I
mean to come to England, having had enough anxiety and interrupted
communications during the last war. My sons would probably both
volunteer into the French army in defence of their mother's country, as
it would be a duel of life and death between Germany and France this
time. If you and Mrs. Seeley visit the Continent in the spring you may
perhaps witness a battle. I have seen just one, and heard the cannonade
of another--sensations never to be forgotten."

In the spring he had had an attack of gout, in consequence of working at
the boats instead of going out. He bore it with his usual
philosophy--trying to read or write whenever the pain was supportable.
It happened during the Easter vacation, and Stephen used to sit up late
into the night to keep his father company.

At the end of the vacation Richard, who had obtained a post in Paris,
took his sister with him, and in June, Gilbert being now quite well, I
went to fetch her back. M. Delaborde had recommended her the study of
harmony, and we found an able professor in M. Laurent, the organist of
the cathedral at Autun.

It was with great satisfaction that her father noticed her application
and success in this arduous study. He considered it, like algebra, an
excellent discipline for the mind--too often wanting in a feminine
education.

Against all expectations "The Saône" did not sell well. It was
unaccountable; the illustrations were numerous and varied, picturesque,
and greatly admired by artists,--Rajon in particular was charmed with
them,--but it appears that their sin consisted in not being etchings; so
at least said the booksellers, as if the author's works were never to be
illustrated in any other way. The subject was new, and presented in
felicitous style; the reviews were hearty; but in spite of all that
could be said in its favor, the book never became a popular one. Mr.
Seeley had mentioned in a letter the uncertainty of the publishing
business, and my husband answered:--

"What you say about the lottery of publishing is confirmed by the
experience of others. Macmillan said to me one day, 'As one gets older
and certainly more experienced one ought to get wiser, but it does not
seem to be so in publishing, for I am just as liable to error now in my
speculations as I was many years ago.' Evidently Roberts Brothers are
the same."

The subject of "French and English" seemed too important to Mr. Hamerton
to be adequately treated in a few articles, and he decided to give it
proper development in a book, for which all his accumulated observations
would become useful. He proposed it to Messrs. Macmillan, warning them
that, as he intended to be impartial, they might find that his
opinions--conscientiously given--would often be at variance with those
generally accepted. Mr. Craik answered: "As to 'French and English' I do
not think that it matters in the least that you differ from the opinions
of others." Then he went on to say: "I hope to hear from you about a
large illustrated book for 1889, and we will gladly go into the matter
with you when you have got an idea into your head."

In the autumn we learned with deep regret the death of our dear cousin,
Ben Hinde. My husband conveyed it to his friend M. Schmitt in the
following letter:--

"J'ai reçu ces jours-ci la triste nouvelle que mon cousin--le prêtre
anglican que j'aimais comme un frère, a succombé à une assez longue
maladie. Ce qu'il y a de plus pénible c'est la position de sa soeur qui
s'était entièrement dévouée à lui et à la paroisse. Elle a vécu toute sa
vie au presbytère, et maintenant, son frère mort, il va falloir qu'elle
s'en aille. Elle a une petite fortune qui suffira à ses besoins, et j'ai
l'immense satisfaction de penser que c'est moi qui ai pu sauver cet
argent des griffes d'exécuteurs testamentaires mal intentionnés. Je les
ai forcés à payer quarante mille francs. Ma cousine supporte son sort
avec un courage parfait. Je n'ai jamais rencontré une foi religieuse
aussi parfaite que la sienne. Pour elle, la mort d'un Chrétien est un
heureux événement qu'elle célébrerait volontiers par des réjouissances.
Elle n'y voit absolument que la naissance au ciel. Ceci l'expose à être
très méconnue. Quand elle perd un parent elle est très gaie et on peut
s'imaginer qu'elle est sans coeur. Elle va se dévouer entièrement à ses
pauvres; elle vit absolument de la vie d'une soeur-de-charité, sans le
titre.

"La mort de mon cousin, et peut-être l'éloignement de ma cousine, me
laisseront, pour ainsi dire, sans parents. Je ne regrette pas de m'être
donné une nouvelle famille en France, et je me félicite des bonnes
relations, si franchement cordiales, que j'ai avec mes deux beaux-frères
et avec ma belle-soeur."

Some time later he wrote to the same friend:--

"Nous avons fait un charmant voyage sur la Saône, de Mâcon à Verdun avec
retour à Chalon--une flânerie à voile avec toutes les variétés de temps:
vents forts et vents faibles, calmes plats (c'est le moins agréable),
bourrasques, beau temps, pluie, clair-de-lune, obscurité presque
complète, splendeurs du soleil. Comme nous voyageons à toute heure du
jour et de la nuit, nous voyons la nature sous tous les aspects
imaginables. Cela renouvelle pour moi cette _intimité_ avec la nature
qui était un des plus grands bonheurs de ma jeunesse.

"C'est à peu près le seul genre de voyage que j'aime réellement, et
c'est le seul qui me fasse du bien."

Note in the diary:--

"January 13, 1888. Fought nearly all day against a difficulty about
'French and English,' and decided to divide the book into large sections
and small chapters, divisions and subdivisions. Chapters to be confined
strictly to their special subjects."

It became the main work of the year, with the articles on catamarans for
the "Yacht," and the numerous drawings to illustrate them. The
autobiography was also carried forward.

Our little pony, Cocote, was growing old and rheumatic, and could no
longer render much service. My husband was unwilling to make her work at
the cost of pain, and we found it impossible to do without a reliable
horse at such a distance from Autun.

As Cocote was not always unfit for work--only at intervals--her master
decided to buy a horse that he might ride when the pony could manage the
carriage work. He chose a young, nice-looking mare at a neighboring
farm, and took great pleasure in riding her every day; this regular
habit of exercise in the open air was of great benefit to his health.

The death of Paul Rajon, which occurred in the summer, was deeply
lamented by my husband, who, besides his great appreciation of the
artist's exquisite talent, entertained for him sentiments of real
friendship. When we came to live at Paris, he made a pilgrimage to his
house, and to his, alas! neglected tomb at Auvers.

In August, Mr. Seeley wished to republish in book form some of Mr.
Hamerton's contributions to the "Portfolio," and to give his portrait as
a frontispiece. He wrote about it: "My traveller says he is continually
asked for your portrait. If Jeens were living I would ask him to engrave
it, but as we have no one approaching him in skill, perhaps the safest
plan would be a photogravure from a negative taken on purpose."

My husband suggested that perhaps Mr. H. Manesse might etch the portrait
satisfactorily. Mr. Seeley thought it an excellent idea, and said he was
willing to give the commission.

Mr. H. Manesse arrived on October 17, and set to work immediately. He
was most assiduous, and progressed happily with his work. His model
drove him out every day--the weather being fine,--and they derived
pleasure from each other's society, being both interested in the beauty
of nature and in artistic subjects.




CHAPTER XVIII.


1888-1890.

"Man in Art" begun.--Family events.--Mr. G. T Watts.--Mr. Bodley.
--"French and English."

After long reflections given to the choice of a subject for a new
illustrated book, Mr. Hamerton thought that after "Landscape in Art,"
"Man in Art" would be interesting as a study.

Mr. Craik wrote: "'Man in Art' is an excellent idea; you will find us
ready to embark on it with sanguine expectation. You will later tell me
your ideas of illustrating--it ought to be well done in this particular;
but if there is a chance of your coming to England next winter we might
settle this better in talk."

In the spring Stephen and Richard came as usual for the Easter vacation,
but our younger son's altered looks and ways greatly disquieted us. In
the last year he had evinced a growing disinclination to society and
pleasure; his former liveliness, gayety, and love of jokes had been
replaced by an obvious preference for solitude, and, as it seemed to us,
melancholy brooding. To our anxious inquiries he had answered that he
was nervous, and suffering from mental unrest and insomnia. His tone of
voice was now despondent, and if he spoke of the future it was with
bitterness and lassitude. He had been so bright, so confident in his
powers, so full of praiseworthy ambition, so ready to enjoy life, that
this sudden change surprised all his friends and gave great anxiety to
his parents. I begged his father to question him about his health, and
to advise him to get a _congé_ which he could spend in the country with
us, and during which he might rest thoroughly.

But I was told that he had not borne the questioning patiently. He had
answered that he was "only nervous ... very nervous, and wanted peace."
How different was this answer from the one he had given three years
before to another inquiry of his father when he was going to his first
post.

"Richard, I can give you no fortune to start you in life--education was
all I could afford, so you will have to make your own way. You are now
strong and well, but you have been a delicate child, and have often
suffered physically. Now, considering all this--are you happy?"

"Happy?" he had readily answered, "I am very happy; I enjoy life
exceedingly. As to money matters, I can truly say that I would not
exchange the education you have given me for three thousand pounds."

My husband attempted to calm my sad forebodings by telling me that there
is generally a crisis in the life of a boy before he becomes a man, and
he concluded persuasively by saying: "C'est un homme qui va sortir de
là." But I felt that his own mind was still full of care.

When the time of my yearly departure for Paris came round, I recommended
Gilbert to hire a tricycle, and try to get a change of exercise by
alternately riding his horse and his velocipede, and he promised to do
so.

For some time I had been desirous to join Mary, on account of her
confidences about the probability of her becoming engaged. Of these
confidences I said nothing to her father, as I had made it a rule not to
disturb him about any projects of marriage for his daughter till I felt
satisfied that everything was suitable and likely to lead to a happy
result. His love for Mary was so tender, his fears of any match which
would not secure for her the greatest possible amount of happiness so
great, his dread of the unavoidable separation so keen, that I avoided
the subject as much as possible.

When I arrived at Bourg-la-Reine, I was disappointed not to see Richard
at the station, with his sister and cousins awaiting me, as he had done
the year before, but I tried not to seem to notice it. He came, however,
on the following day and breakfasted with us at his uncle's. He appeared
cheerful enough when he talked, but as soon as he was silent his
features resumed the downcast expression they had worn for some time,
and he was ashy pale.

Being obliged to take Mary to her last music-lesson, I asked Richard
when I should see him again?... He gave me a kiss, and said "To-morrow."
There was to be no morrow for him.

       *       *       *       *       *

When, after vainly waiting for him, the cruel news of his tragic end was
broken to us by M. Pelletier, when we learned that the poor boy had
committed suicide, my sorrow was rendered almost unbearable by
apprehension for my husband. I had long feared that there might be
something wrong with his heart, and now I became a prey to the most
torturing forebodings. My daughter and brother-in-law shared in them,
and M. Pelletier approved my resolution to leave Paris immediately and
endeavor to be with Gilbert before the delivery of the newspapers.

Mary and I left by the first train we could take, and arrived at La
Tuilerie shortly before eleven at night. My husband divined at once that
there was some great calamity, but his fears were for M. Pelletier. When
he knew the truth, he silently wrapped me in his arms, pressing me to
his bosom, within which I felt the laboring heart beating with such
violence that I thought it could but break....

       *       *       *       *       *

The courage of which my husband gave proofs in this bitter trial was
mainly derived from his pitiful sympathy for those whose weakness he
supported. He sought relief in work, but did not easily find it. There
is the same plaintive entry in the diary for some weeks: "Tried to work;
not fit for it." "Tried to do something; not very well." "Not fit for
much; succeeded in reading a little" "Attempted to write a few letters.
Rather unwell." Then he gave up the diary for some time.

More than ever I felt reluctant to tell him of what had happened to
Mary, and of the probability of her marriage; however, she had been so
sorely tried by the loss of her brother, that it was imperative to turn
her thoughts from it, as much as possible, to other prospects. This
conviction decided me to tell her father everything, and it was a great
relief to hear that he shared my views entirely. Although I had learned
long since how little he considered his own comfort in comparison with
that of those dear to him, how unselfish he was--in affection as in
other matters--I must avow that I was unprepared for the readiness of
his self-sacrifice in this case. We were both of opinion that if all
went well, the marriage should take place as early as possible, so as to
bring a thorough change in the clouded existence of our daughter.

Note in the diary: "Monsieur Raillard this morning asked Mary to marry
him, with my consent, and she accepted him. Day passed pleasantly. I
drove Raillard and his mother to the station."

It now became necessary to make preparations for the wedding, which was
to take place in the beginning of September. For the choice of an
apartment and its furniture my husband himself considerately suggested
my going again to Paris with Mary, where we would meet M. Raillard and
consult his tastes. Accordingly I left La Tuilerie very reluctantly
after the great and recent shock my husband had experienced. I am
convinced it was due to the manful effort he made not to increase my
distress by the sight of his own that he conquered his nervousness from
that time, and was even able to strengthen and support me on my too
frequent breakdowns. He attributed Richard's desperate action partly to
depression arising from the effects of an accident, confided only to his
brother, but partly also to the influence of unhealthy and pessimist
literature on a mind already diseased, and he had said so to Mr. Seeley,
who answered:--

"I am sure that poor Richard came under the influence of pure and noble
examples. It may be that there was actual brain disease, though of a
nature that no surgeon at present has skill to detect. I suppose it is
possible that disease in the organ of thought may be accelerated or
retarded by the nature of the thoughts suggested in daily life or
conversation; and I suppose every one believes that in such disorders
there may come a time when the will, without blame, is overmastered.

"As to the bad literature of the day, I believe our feelings are quite
in unison. What an awful responsibility for the happiness of families
rests upon successful authors--and upon publishers too!"

The letters of condolence and sympathy were numerous and heartfelt; some
came late, for the friends who had known Richard in his bright and merry
days refused to believe that it was the same Richard who had come to so
tragic an end; they thought it was a coincidence of name. I only give
Mr. Beljame's letter to show how the poor boy had endeared himself to
every one, and in what esteem he was generally held. All the other
letters expressed the same sentiments in different words.

"8 _juillet_ 1889.

"Je suis bien sensible, Monsieur, à votre lettre, où vous m'associez, en
des termes qui me touchent profondément, au souvenir de votre fils
Richard, mon cher et excellent élève.

"C'était pour moi, non seulement un disciple dont je me faisais honneur,
mais aussi un véritable ami, et depuis son installation à Paris, j'avais
eu grand plaisir à l'accueillir dans ma famille. Les détails que vous
voulez bien me donner, m'expliquent pourquoi, dans ces derniers mois,
ses visites étaient, à mon grand regret, devenues de plus en plus rares.

"Sa fin si inattendue, alors que la vie semblait de tous côtés lui
sourire, a été pour moi une douloureuse surprise; j'ai refusé d'abord
d'y croire; c'est pourquoi je ne vous ai pas tout de suite écrit.

"J'ai tenu à me joindre à ceux qui lui ont rendu les derniers devoirs;
et j'ai chargé alors votre fils aîné et votre beau-frère d'être mes
interprètes auprès de vous.

"À des malheurs comme celui qui vient de vous frapper il n'y a pas de
consolation possible. Si c'est au moins un adoucissement de savoir que
celui qui n'est plus laisse derrière lui de souvenir d'un esprit
d'élite, d'une nature aimante et aimable, soyez assuré que tels sont
bien les sentiments que votre fils a inspirés à tous ceux qui l'ont
connu, à ses camarades de la Sorbonne, qui l'avaient en affection
particulière, à ses collègues--mais à nul plus qu'à son ancien maître
qui vous envoie aujourd'hui, ainsi qu'à Madame Hamerton, l'expression de
sa triste et respectueuse sympathie.

"A. BELJAME."

When Mr. Seeley was told of Mary's engagement, he wrote: "We are very
glad to hear of Mary's engagement, and we wish her all possible
happiness. But because you and I are so nearly of an age, I cannot help
thinking most of you, and thinking what the loss to you and to Mrs.
Hamerton will be."

In preceding years Mary's brothers and cousins had often made projects
in expectation of her marriage, but under the present painful
circumstances it was understood that only relations would he invited.
Still the disturbance in our habits could not be avoided, as we had to
provide lodgings for twenty people. My husband gave up his laboratory
and his studio and with the help of the boys transformed the hay-loft
into working premises. He got carpenters to fit up the big laundry as a
dining-room, under his directions, and when fresh-looking mats covered
the tiles, and when the huge chimney-piece, the walls, and the doors
were ornamented with tall ferns, shiny hollies, and blooming heather, of
which Stephen and his cousins had gathered a cartful, the effect was
very charming.

My husband had to be reminded several times to order new clothes for the
ceremony,--a visit to his tailor being one of the things he most
disliked,--and being indisposed to give a thought to the fit, he used to
decline all responsibility in the matter by making _me_ a judge of it.
His fancy had been once tickled by hearing a market-woman say that,
though she did not know my name, she identified me as "la petite Dame
difficile," and he called me so when I found fault with his attire.

A few days before the wedding he had gone to Autun, to fetch different
things in the carriage, among them his dress-coat and frock-coat, and
after putting on the last, came for my verdict. "It fits badly; it is
far too large." ... Then I was interrupted by--"I was sure of it; now
_what_ is wrong with it?" "Wrong? why everything is wrong; the cloth
itself is not black--it looks faded and rusty--why, it can't be new!"
"Not new!... and I bring it straight from the tailor's. Really, your
inclination to criticism is beyond--" He was getting somewhat impatient,
for the time given to trying on was, in his estimate, so much time lost.
"It _is_ an old coat," I nevertheless said decisively. "Your tailor has
made a mistake, that's all." "I am certain it is _my_ coat," he
answered, quite angrily this time. "I feel at ease in it; the pockets
are just in their right place;" and as he plunged his hands deliberately
in the convenient pockets, he drew out of one an old "Daily News," and
from the other a worn-out pair of gloves. His amazement was
indescribable, but he soon joined in the general merriment at his
expense--for Mary and Jeanne, the cousins, and even M. Pelletier, had
been called as umpires to decide the case between us. The new coat had
been left in the dressing-room, and it was the old one, given as a
pattern to the tailor, which had been tried on. The best of it was that
on the day of the ceremony Gilbert committed the same mistake; luckily I
perceived it when he had still time to change.

He attached so little importance to his toilet that he never knew when
he was in want of anything, yet his appearance was never untidy, in
spite of his omissions. I remember a little typical incident about this
disinclination to give a thought to needful though prosaic details.
Before leaving for England on one occasion, I had repeatedly called his
attention to what he required--in particular a warm winter suit and an
overcoat. He had promised several times to order them, but when the day
of our departure arrived he had forgotten all about it. "It's no
matter," he said; "I shall get them ready-made in London, and with the
_chic anglais_ too." In England we found the temperature already severe,
and I urged him to make his purchases. On the very same day, he
announced complacently that he had made them, and they were to be sent
on the morrow. He was quite proud of having got through the business,
particularly because he had bought _two_ suits, though he needed only
one. "The other would turn out useful some time," he said. And lo! when
the box was opened, I discovered that instead of clothes fit for visits,
he had been persuaded to accept a sort of shooting-jacket of coarse gray
tweed, waistcoat and trousers to match, with a pair of boots only fit
for mountaineering. When I told him my opinion, he acknowledged it to be
right, but said the tailor had assured him that "they would be lasting."
And he added: "I was in a hurry, having to go to the National Gallery,
and I felt confident the man would know what I wanted, after telling
him."

Mary was married on September 3, and she was so much loved in the
village that every cottage sent at least one of its members to the
ceremony; the children whom she had taught, and in whom she had always
taken so much interest, came in numbers, and the evident respectful
affection of these simple people quite moved and impressed the parents
of M. Raillard. Her father was also pleased with the presence of all our
neighbors and friends, and he went through the trying day with entire
self-command. But when the birds had flown away the nest seemed empty
and silent indeed, and to fill up the time till their return, I thought
a little cruise on wheels would be the best diversion.

The weather was still fine and warm enough for working from nature, and
preparations were made for a sketching tour, in which M. Pelletier would
accompany his brother-in-law while the house was put to rights again.

They started with Cadette, and went successively to Etang,
Toulon-sur-Arroux, St. Nizier, Charbonnat, Luzy, La Roche-Millay, St.
Léger, l'Etang-des-Poissons, and La Grande-Verrière,--a most picturesque
excursion, from which my husband brought back several interesting
studies.

The day after the return, M. Pelletier and his family left us, my
brother, his wife and daughters, who had been bridesmaids, having
preceded them.

At the end of a fortnight Raoul Raillard and his wife came back to spend
with us the rest of the vacation. The day they went away the diary said,
"We bore the separation pretty well." Yes, we bore it pretty well this
time, because it was not to be very long. It had been decided that as
soon as the young couple were settled in their apartments, we should
become their guests,--my husband hoping, in this way, to see the great
Exhibition at leisure and without fatigue.

We arrived at M. Raillard's on October 13, and the very next day saw us
in the English Fine Arts department of the Exhibition. Our daughter
lived in the Rue de la Tour, at Passy, an easy walking distance to the
Champ de Mars, and her father made it a rule to go there on foot with me
every morning between the first breakfast and _déjeuner à la
fourchette_. The plan answered very well. We were almost alone in the
rooms, and could see the pictures at our leisure. My husband took his
notes with ease and comfort, without nervousness. After a two hours'
study, we went back to the family lunch, and such was Gilbert's
improvement in health that he often took us again to the Exhibition in
the afternoon merely for pleasure.

He enjoyed the works of art immensely, and said that he felt like a
ravenous man to whom a splendid banquet was offered.

Being also greatly interested in the progress of the various sciences,
he liked to become acquainted with all new inventions, and often
resorted to the Galerie des Machines.

Mr. Seeley had been told of our intended visit to England, in case my
husband did not feel any bad effects from the stay in Paris, and he
wrote: "It is fortunate that you are coming just now, when we want to
start the 'Portfolio' on a new career; it will be delightful to consult
over it with you. Do not exhaust your energy in Paris, and find you have
none left to bring you over to England."

Although he worked unremittingly, he felt no fatigue; his nervous system
was quiet and allowed him to seek diligently for promises of new talent
among the mass of painters and engravers, and to feast his artistic
sense in the Exposition du Centenaire. He also gave more than his usual
attention to sculpture, and was of opinion that France remained
unrivalled in that branch of art.

On our way to England we stopped at Chantilly, and slept at Calais in
the Hôtel Maritime, on the new pier. I almost believe that we happened
to be the first travellers asking for a bedroom, for the waiters offered
excuses for the still incomplete furnishing, and for the service not
being yet properly organized. After a good night's rest, we visited
Calais Maritime and the important engineering works there, for which my
husband expressed great admiration. On arriving in London we went
straight to Mr. and Mrs. Seeley's, who had kindly invited us to stay
with them till we found comfortable lodgings.

It was not Gilbert's intention to stay long in England this time; he had
come mainly to discuss with Mr. Seeley the improvements they both
desired to introduce in the "Portfolio," and to choose the illustrations
for "Man in Art." In order not to lose time, he decided to take lodgings
in a central part, as near to the National Gallery as possible; but he
wished the street not to be noisy. He found what he wanted in Craven
Street.

This time he had to pay calls alone, and to beg our friends to excuse
me, for I had not yet been able to master my sorrow sufficiently to
allow of my resuming social intercourse without fear of breaking down.
With her tender sympathy, Mrs. Seeley bore with me, and strove to
console me when my resignation failed; but I could but feel that I was a
saddening guest.

While we were still at Nutfield, Mr. A. H. Palmer, the son of Samuel
Palmer, who had a warm admiration for Mr. Hamerton, had been invited to
meet him, and he brought his camera with him, proposing to take our
photographs. The portraits of the ladies were failures; Mr. Seeley's was
fairly successful; but my husband's was the best portrait we had ever
seen of him, very fine and characteristic.

We had intended to spend only two or three days with M. and Madame
Raillard on our return, but our son-in-law being obliged to leave
suddenly on account of his grandmother's illness, and unwilling to
expose his wife to contagion, we offered to remain with her till he
should come back.

We soon received the sad news of the deaths, at an interval of two days
only, of the grandmother and an aunt; also of the dangerous illness of
Madame Raillard senior, which happily did not prove fatal, the disease
having apparently spent its virulence on the two first victims.

During our enforced stay in Paris Gilbert wrote an article for the
"Photographic Quarterly" on Photogravure and Héliogravure, and for the
"Portfolio" a review of Mr. Pennell's book on Pen-and-Ink Drawing. We
went by boat to Suresnes, to see the banks of the Seine, for Mary was
trying to draw us to live nearer to her. With her husband she had
already visited several pretty places in the neighborhood of Paris, and
had given us some very tempting descriptions. As for me, I should have
desired nothing better than to live near to my daughter, but I never
expected my husband to reconcile himself to town life.

There was a marked and decided improvement in his ability to travel, for
he did not suffer at all on the way home; it is true that we strictly
adhered to the rule of slow and night trains.

The pleasant exercise of riding had to be reluctantly given up because
Cadette, who had betrayed from the beginning a slight weakness in the
knees, now stumbled often and badly, especially out of harness. The
veterinary surgeon who had examined her before we bought her, had said
that it was of no consequence, only the result of poor feeding, and
would disappear after a course of prolonged river-baths. Instead of
disappearing, the tendency had so much increased that it was deemed
safer not to trust Cadette even in the two-wheeled carriage, at least
for a while. This mishap was the beginning of my husband's real
appreciation of velocipedes. He had liked them well enough from the
first, and used to hire one now and then, but it was only after he had
become possessed of a good tricycle that the taste for the kind of
exercise it affords developed itself apace. M. Raillard had made him a
present of one for which he had little use in Paris, and this present
having been made just after Mary's betrothal, her father playfully said
that "he had sold his daughter for a velocipede."

As soon as he had adopted the machine as his ordinary steed, he began to
consider how to make it carry his sketching apparatus. He invented
various straps, boxes, holders, rings, etc., fitting in different places
according to the bulk and nature of the things he wished to have with
him: a sketching umbrella, a stool, and all that was needful for
water-color, etching, or oil-painting. He also devised a zinc box,
easily adapted to the tricycle, to take his letters, manuscripts, and
parcels to the post, and found it very convenient.

At the end of January he was seized with an attack of gout which lasted
a week, and took him quite by surprise, for he had not neglected
physical exercise; the doctor, however, said that an attack of gout
might be brought on by a mere change of locality--and we had just
returned from Paris.

He strove to do some work in spite of pain and bad nights, and succeeded
now and then, and as soon as he could manage--with help--to get into the
carriage, he drove out for change of air.

In March he received from Mr. Watts the permission he had asked, to have
his portrait of Lord Lawrence engraved.

I transcribe Mr. Watts's letters, with two others which had preceded it,
to show in what esteem he held his correspondent's opinions.

"MONKSHATCH, GUILDFORD, SURREY. _November_ 23, 1889.

"MY DEAR SIR,--Our short talk was very interesting to me, and I should
like to have an opportunity of explaining my views on art and the
practice of it, which opportunity I hope you will give me at some future
time. I have asked Mr. F. Hollyer of 9 Pembroke Square, Kensington, to
let you have prints of Lord Lawrence and Mr. Peabody. On the other side
of the sheet I send the permission you require."

"MONKSHATCH, GUILDFORD, SURREY. _December_ 4, 1889.

"MY DEAR SIR,--I have just seen the December number of the 'Magazine of
Art,' in which I find an engraving of my portrait of Peabody. I did not
know that it would be there, but I have given Mr. Spielman a sort of
general permission to use certain of the photographs. I do not know
whether the appearance of the head will vitiate the interest of your
proposed publication, but I hope not, as the use of it will be of a very
different nature.

"I am much gratified by what you said of my works in your letter to me.
However limited may be the result of my efforts, I have worked from the
very beginning with sincerity of aim, certainly never regarding the
_profession_ as a trade; and for some years not considering my avocation
as a profession, declining to paint portraits professionally or to take
commissions.

"Such wares as I may have of an unimportant aim and character, I am not
unwilling to sell, as Lord Derby is not unwilling to sell his coals; for
I am not wealthy, and find many good ways of using money, but I do not
regard my art as a source of income any longer. I hope some day to have
the pleasure of discussing certain artistic questions with you."

"MONKSHATCH, GUILDFORD, SURREY. _March_ 14, 1890.

"MY DEAR SIR,--The picture of Lord Lawrence is in my possession, and the
engraver may have it for two weeks in May or June. Of course he is
trustworthy! The picture being one of those I have made over to the
nation, I lend it with a certain hesitation, as I do not consider it
belongs to me. I am flattered by the opinion of the young men,
especially as I think I may hope it becomes more favorable with time.

"The portrait of Tennyson is at South Kensington, and no doubt I can
easily manage that Mr. Frank Short should have access to it.

"I do not expect to be in town for good before the end of April, but
here I am within an hour and a half of London."

Although a great amount of labor had been bestowed upon "Man in Art,"
the author thought it advanced but slowly, and became anxious as the
year wore on. In July he wrote a long explanatory letter to Mr. Craik,
and received this answer:--

"I am much interested in your report of what has been done towards the
new book. You have done a good bit of work, and I think you have made a
thoroughly interesting selection of pictures. You have an almost endless
field to choose from.

"_It is quite impossible to publish this year_, but you ought to have
plenty of time to prepare for next autumn. It is strange how long a book
with illustrations takes to get ready; but the disappointment when many
artists are at work is proverbial.

"I look forward with sanguine interest to the publication next year."

Note in the diary: "I feel much relieved by this letter, altogether a
day of _détente_."

Although he had taken an immense quantity of notes both in London and
Paris, my husband was sometimes greatly perplexed by the want of
references, and said almost desperately: "No one has any idea of the
difficulty of doing my work in my situation,--far from picture
galleries, museums, and libraries. It is so arduous that, at times, I
feel as if I could not go on. It is too much for the brain to carry so
many images, to remember so many things, without the possibility of
refreshing my memory, of settling a doubt, of filling up a gap." He was
not the only one to wonder at the extraordinary feats of literary
production which he was compelled to accomplish under such unfavorable
circumstances. AH those who knew of it said that his store of
accumulated knowledge must be marvellous indeed. And yet, the only
remedy was hardly to be hinted at; I felt so certain that he would be
miserable in a great capital that I never mentioned the possibility of
living in one of them; he was sufficiently aware of its desirability.

Early in the summer, as I had suffered much from rheumatism, our doctor
insisted upon my being sent to Bourbon-Lancy for a course of baths. I
was most unwilling to leave my husband now that Mary was married and
away, but he said the hope that the treatment would do me good was
enough to make him bear his temporary loneliness cheerfully, and then my
mother would come to stay with him. As I was very down-hearted myself,
he promised to make a break in our separation by coming to see me.

When the first half of my season at the baths was over, I saw him arrive
in the little gig with M. Bulliot, who had come on an antiquarian quest.
They went together, to see the curious, simple church of St. Nazaire
(eleventh century), of which my husband made a drawing. He also sketched
a view of the Loire, which may be seen from the height above
Bourbon-Lancy, for a great length of its sleepy course.

In the course of the vacation, my husband listened pretty regularly to
M. Raillard's English readings out of Emerson or Tennyson, while he
occasionally read a little German with his son-in-law. He was very
desirous of resuming the study of that language, which, he said, would
be of great service in his studies, but he was not able to find the
time--Italian absorbing all he could spare. Two masters--or rather a
master and a mistress--had been recommended to him, and when he could
manage it, he wrote to them alternately long letters in Italian, which
they returned corrected.

Mr. Bodley, an English gentleman who was studying French institutions
and politics most seriously, and who was acquainted with Mr. Hamerton's
works, came in August to see him. This visit was the beginning of a
lasting acquaintance, which was appreciated and valued by both parties.
When we settled in the Parc des Princes, and when, after his marriage,
Mr. Bodley resided in Paris, they met with new pleasure and fresh
interest whenever an opportunity offered itself.

Mr. Bodley was commencing his studies on Prance for the work he had just
undertaken for Messrs. Macmillan, which should essay to do for France
what Mr. Bryce had done for the United States in his "American
Commonwealth." Recognizing Mr. Hamerton as the chief English authority
on all French questions, he had, soon after his first arrival in Paris,
been put into communication with him by the good offices of a common
friend in the diplomatic service. A correspondence ensued, in the first
letter of which my husband gave Mr. Bodley some advice on an article the
latter had been requested to write for the "Quarterly Review," on
"Provincial France," before he had had any opportunity of studying the
French provinces. Here is part of the letter:--

"AUTUN, SAÛNE-ET-LOIRE. _June_ 11, 1890.

"MY DEAR SIR,--It is a laudable, though an extraordinary desire on your
part to know something about the subject you have to treat. I have never
heard of such a case before. I have known France for thirty-five years,
and find generally that English critics, who know nothing two miles from
the British Embassy, are ready enough to set me down and teach me my
proper place. I send by this post a colis postal, containing--

"1. 'Round my House,' by P. G. H.

"2. 'La France Provinciale,' par René Millet.

"3. 'French and English,' by P. G. H.

"I have not a copy of the English edition of 'French and English,' but
the Tauchnitz is better, as it had the benefit of correction.

"You ought to notice, with reference to provincial France, the extreme
difficulty of making any general statements that are true. For example,
it is believed in England that all French land is cut up into small
bits. A traveller who writes in the 'Temps' newspaper said lately, that
although the greater number of proprietors in the Forest Lands of the
Nièvre were small owners, the greater part of the land was in the
possession of large owners; and he mentioned one who, he said, owned
12,000 hectares (more than 24,000 acres) of excellent forest. He did not
give the name. There are several large landowners in this neighborhood.
One had an income of £24,000 a year, but it was divided amongst his
children.

"France is a very various country, and therefore difficult to know. If
you have Mr. H----'s book amongst those you notice, you should bear in
mind that it is a strictly partisan publication, hostile to all
republicans, against whom the author seems to have taken a brief," etc.,
etc.

Then followed some other letters, from which. I give a few paragraphs:--

"AUTUN. _July_ 15, 1890.

"You have done an imprudent thing in not publishing your 'Quarterly'
article at once. There are two times for writing--first when you know
nothing, secondly when you know a great deal; the intermediate time,
that of acquisition, is not favorable to writing, because it destroys
the author's confidence in himself. He possesses that confidence before
learning, and renews it when he has learned. In the interval he suffers
from diffidence.

"I am glad to hear that M. Jusserand likes my books; he is just the kind
of Frenchman whose opinion one really values.

"I shall be very glad if you can come. I shall be away part of
September. All August I shall be at home, but if you could have come
about now, it would have been better still."

"_July_, 28, 1890.

"The shortest rout from Paris to Autun, as to mere distance, is by
Laroche, Gravant, Avallon, etc. In the present case I strongly recommend
the shorter and more rural route, as being by far the prettier and less
fatiguing, and also because it enables you to see one of the most
picturesque small towns in France--Avallon. You have five hours to see
Avallon, and the picturesque valley that it overlooks.... The next
morning you will of course be occupied in seeing Autun, but if you will
make your way to the railway station, so as to be there at 11.15, you
will see a vehicle with yellow wheels and a chestnut mare, with a white
mark on her face. The said vehicle will bring you to Pré-Charmoy (if you
will kindly allow it to do so), in time for déjeuner. Please let me know
the day. It would be better not to make any hard-and-fast arrangement
about your departure, as I may be able to persuade you to take some
drives with me to see something in this neighborhood."

"AUTUN. _November_ 2, 1890.

"I received the 'Quarterly' this morning, and read your article. Towards
the close, you say every Frenchman in the provinces works. That, I am
sorry to say, is a mistake. Unfortunately there is still a strong
survival of the old caste prejudice against work, as being beneath a
gentleman. All the young men I know whose parents are very well off _are
as idle as they can be, unless they go into the army or the Church_, and
now they hardly ever go into the Church, or when they do it is in some
order (Jesuits, Marists, etc.). I was talking about this with a rich old
French gentleman about ten days ago, and he deeply deplored it; he said
he felt more respect for common workmen than for the idle young men in
his own class.

"You appear to think that the Morvan language is a Celtic tongue. No; it
is only a French patois, very interesting and peculiar in its
grammatical forms. I understand it partly when spoken, and can read it
with some little difficulty. My daughter understands it very well. Our
servants speak it among themselves. Their French is very pure, though
somewhat limited in its vocabulary.

"It seems to me that you are happily endowed and situated for
undertaking a work of the kind you intend to write. You have seen a
great deal of the world, you have no prejudices, you desire nothing but
to be just, and especially you have that very rare quality--a right
curiosity. I was pleased, and a little amused by the contrast, when I
compared you with the strangely uninterested English whom I have seen in
and out of France. I recollect staying with a friend in England, a few
years ago, and I noticed that _he did not ask me one single question
about France_. He simply talked of his own locality, and did not appear
to take the slightest interest in the continent of Europe.

"You made me pass a very pleasant day, which encourages the hope that
you will come again to this neighborhood. There is a great deal to be
seen within a driving radius, especially if you consent to sleep one
night away from home.

"My wife and I are going to Paris in December, when I mean to look you
up."

To another visitor whose name I am not at liberty to mention, my husband
had written the following interesting letter:--

"Whilst driving home in the dark, after saying good-bye to you, I
thought over your remarks about the great revolution in habits of
thought which must take place in consequence of the influence of
scientific methods. The difficulty I foresee is this. Religions supply a
want that science does not and cannot supply; they answer to the need of
certain emotions--trust, hope, joy, 'peace in believing,' the happiness
of thinking that we are each of us individually cared for by a supremely
good and all-powerful Father. Women especially seem to need these
emotions to make life happy for them, and when they cease to believe, as
many now do, they feel a sense of desolation. The most successful
religion (the Roman) has succeeded by supplying most abundantly that
care and those consolations which women expect a religion to give, and
which science does not _in the least degree supply_; in fact, women
usually dislike science. Now, as the churches maintain themselves
chiefly by the influence and support of women, may they not continue to
maintain themselves indefinitely in this way? Is it not possible, to
mention a special case, that the Roman Catholic Church may exist for an
indefinite length of time simply as a provider of the kind of authority
and the kind of emotion that women desire, and that they cannot obtain
from science? Mr.----, a friend of mine, considers religion absolutely
necessary to women, and to many men, not that he at all considers
religion to be true in the matter-of-fact sense, but the scientific
truth of a doctrine is quite distinct from its beneficial effect upon
the mind.

"For my part, I don't know what to think about the future. Long ago I
used to hope for a true religion, but now I see that if it is to be free
from mythology, it ceases to be a religion altogether, and becomes only
science, which has none of the heating and energizing force that a real
religion certainly possesses. Neither has science its power of uniting
men in bonds of brotherhood, and in giving them an effective hostile
action against others as religious intolerance does."

On the subject of religious belief, my husband had written previously to
Mr. Seeley:--

"I have been corresponding with a friend [the same Mr.---- mentioned in
the letter to another visitor] about the religious views of Mark
Pattison and Dean Stanley. He knew both of them, and quite confirms what
I had heard before, that they were no more believers than Renan.
Pattison he describes as a conservative agnostic or pantheist, meaning
by 'conservative' a man who thought it better to preserve old forms. I
recollect that Appleton told me when he was here that there was not the
slightest obligation on a clergyman of the Church of England to believe
in the divinity of Christ, and that many clergymen in the present day,
including Pattison, had no such belief. My friend himself seems to be an
agnostic, and a strong supporter of the Church of England at the same
time, and quite lately he earnestly counselled some young English ladies
(who were Unitarians, but obliged to live abroad) to join the Church of
England for the sake of 'religious fellowship.' He tells me that there
is in Dean Stanley's 'Christian Institutions' an exposition of the
Apostles' Creed, containing hardly a syllable to which Renan could not
subscribe.

"From all this it would appear that some, at least, of the English
clergy have adopted the Jesuit principle, practically so convenient, by
which any one may have an esoteric religion for himself as the
comfortable lining of the cloak, and an esoteric religion for other
people as the outside of the cloak. Meanwhile these clergymen are deeply
respected, whilst honest men whose opinions are not one whit more
heretical are stigmatized as 'infidels,' and excluded from 'good
society.' You seem to have got into a curious condition in England.
Surely many laymen are right in distrusting parsons."

As editor of the "Portfolio," he had been contributing articles from
time to time, but Mr. Seeley was anxious to see him undertake an
important series for the following year. He proposed different subjects
likely to tempt the author's fancy, and suggested "Turner in
Switzerland;" but one of the difficulties was the quantity of work done
by Turner in Switzerland, and the time that would be required to follow
in his steps. Another suggestion of Mr. Seeley's was to write about a
group of French living artists who would be good representatives of the
modern school, and whose works would furnish striking illustrations. He
said with his usual kind thoughtfulness: "I must confess that my
suggestion of a French subject arose partly from the pleasure you would
find in paying a visit to your daughter at Paris; and partly also from
the reflection that Paris is not far from London."

Mr. Hamerton had proposed "The Louvre," but it was feared that the
subject would not be a popular one; and after mature consideration, the
idea of a connected series of articles on modern French painters was
entertained by both publisher and editor. Mr. Seeley wrote: "I was
rather in hopes that my vague suggestion of a subject might take root in
your mind and develop into something definite; or, to change the
metaphor, that it might be a spark to kindle your invention. I think
such a series would be interesting here, and would furnish admirable
subjects for twelve etchings."

A journey to Paris was then decided upon for the winter.

The Saône cruise proved particularly pleasant this time, on account of
the welcome offered to the passengers of "L'Arar" by several friends at
Neuville, who most hospitably entertained them on land and water. They
were invited on board "L'Hirondelle" and "Petite Amie," and raced
"L'Arar" against them. It was a comfort to my husband to feel himself
among friends, for he suddenly suffered from an irregular action of the
heart which lasted for thirty-six hours, but ceased as suddenly as it
came. He had had another distress of the same kind in the summer, but
only of a couple of hours' duration. I had entreated him to see a doctor
at the time; but he said it was only nervousness. At Neuville likewise
he refused to seek advice, feeling sure it would cease of itself; and
now I have the painful certainty that he was already laboring under the
symptoms of heart disease. Still, he speedily recovered, and resumed his
studies in water-colors and in pen-and-ink the day after.

I see by this note in the diary that he was well satisfied with his
boat: "Sept. 15. My studies occupied me till lunch-time, and then, after
_déjeuner_, we started in 'L'Arar' to try an experiment in sailing with
a breeze so light as to be imperceptible, sheets not even stretched, yet
we went up as far as Pont Vert and beyond. We might have gone further,
but came back to call upon Madame Vibert."

In October, Mr. Hamerton wrote an article for "Chambers' Encyclopaedia"
on the "History of Art," and another for the "Portfolio" on "National
Supremacy in Painting." Having been asked to contribute to the "Forum,"
he began in November an article on "Home Life in France."

He was always anxious to clear up any international misunderstanding
between France and England, and had written in May to the "Pall Mall
Gazette" an explanatory letter on the so-called persecution of the
Church by the Republic, as regarded the execution of the decrees
concerning religious orders.

He had also sent a letter to the "Academy" on "France and the Republic."

Although very tolerant himself in matters of religion, it was his
opinion that the State, whether under a Republic or a Monarchy, had a
right to exact obedience to its laws as well from religious bodies as
from private persons; and that a Republican government ought not to be
accused of tyranny because it enforced the execution of these general
laws. But people are very apt to take the view which M. de Cassagnac so
frankly avowed when addressing the Republican party in the Chamber: "We
claim unbounded liberty for ourselves--because you promise it in your
programme; but we refuse it to you--because it is contrary to our
principles."

About the middle of November there was copied into the "Temps" an
anonymous letter which had appeared in "Truth," professing to express
the hostile feelings entertained by English naval officers against the
officers of the French fleet, which had recently visited Malta. This
roused Mr. Hamerton's indignation; the more so as he never for one
moment believed the discourteous and outrageous letter to be genuine. I
transcribe his explanation of the incident as given by himself to his
son-in-law:--

"_Novembre_ 17, 1890.

"MON CHER FILS,--Il m'est arrivé de pouvoir, je crois, être utile au
maintien des bonnes relations entre les marines anglaises et françaises.
Un journal anglais, 'Truth,' a publié il y a quinze jours une lettre
sans signature, mais présentée comme la communication authentique d'un
officier de notre flotte de la Méditerranée. Dans cette lettre
l'écrivain représentait les officiers comme très mécontents d'être
obligés de donner l'hospitalité à ceux de l'escadre française qui est
venue à Malte; disant que c'était leur métier de recevoir les Français à
coups de fusil et qu'ils ne désiraient pas les voir autrement.

"Je connais assez les sentiments d'un 'English gentleman,' (et nos
officiers de marine se piquent de soutenir ce caractère) pour savoir
qu'ils comprendraient l'hospitalité mieux que cela, et j'ai envoyé le
paragraphe en question à l'Amiral commandant la flotte Anglaise de la
Méditerranée, en lui suggérant l'idée d'une protestation. Il m'a répondu
par télégramme qu'au reçu de ma lettre l'indignation avait été générale
parmi les officiers et qu'ils préparent une protestation qu'ils
m'enverront pour que je la fasse circuler autant que possible dans la
presse française. Le retard a été probablement occasionné par les
mouvements de la flotte."

A few days later the following letter was received by Mr. Hamerton:--

"H. M. S. BENBOW. _November_ 17,1890.

"DEAR SIR,--I hope you will kindly assist us in getting the gross
misstatements copied from 'Truth' as to our feelings towards the French
Navy contradicted.

"You will perceive that the paper I enclose is signed by an officer
representing each ship, and that most ranks in the service are also
represented thereon.

"Any expense that may be incurred would you kindly let me know?

"Yours faithfully,

"H. RAWSON,

"Capt. R. N."

The protestation which accompanied the letter ran thus:--

"H. M. S. BENBOW, AT MALTA. _November_ 15, 1890.

"DEAR SIR,--Your letter of the 1st of November, sent to the
Commander-in-Chief of the British fleet in the Mediterranean, has been
forwarded to us, and we have to thank you for having called our
attention to the paragraph in the 'Temps,' copied from 'Truth' of the
31st of October.

"Referring to the language in 'Truth,' the editor of the 'Temps' says
that he hopes it will be protested against in England. The paragraph had
been seen and commented on by our officers; but as in England no one
ever takes the trouble to answer or contradict any statement made in
that paper ('Truth'), and as in this case its object was so palpably
political, viz. to cause the present Government trouble, and prevent the
cordiality and friendship that has existed so long between the two
nations, no notice was taken of it; but when a paper of such importance
as the 'Temps' copies the paragraph, and it is thus brought before the
French nation, it at once becomes important and demands a protest and a
denial.

"As you have already taken an interest in the matter, we are led to hope
that you will assist us in procuring the insertion in any French papers
that may have copied this paragraph, most especially the 'Temps,' the
naval papers, and the local papers at Toulon, of a protest on the part
of the officers of the English fleet in the Mediterranean against the
language of the article, and to deny, on our part, any such feelings or
ideas as are attributed to us in it.

"We beg to assure you that it gave us real and unfeigned pleasure to see
the French fleet in our midst at Malta, and that what little we were
able to do to make their visit agreeable and pleasant was done from no
feeling of duty, or even as a mere return for the kindly reception
accorded to us at Toulon, but from a sincere appreciation of the high
qualities of French naval officers, and a desire to cultivate their
friendship.

"We have the honor to be,

"Sir

"Your obedient servants."

Three weeks later came a letter of thanks, closing the incident, which
had caused no little trouble to Mr. Hamerton.

"MALTA. _December_ 12, 1890.

"DEAR MR. HAMERTON,--Thank you very much in the name of the English Navy
for so kindly assisting us to repel the gross insinuations of 'Truth,'
also for the extracts, and the trouble you have taken for us. I only
regret that you should have drawn 'Truth' on you.

"I have shown your letter to the Admiral and all the officers here, who
are much pleased with all that has been done.

"Again thanking you, believe me,

"Yours truly,

"H. RAWSON."

Mr. Hamerton considered himself well rewarded for his exertions by the
tokens of warm approval he received both from England and from France.

"French and English" did not meet with the success it deserved, though
it was published in England, America, and France, and in the Tauchnitz
edition. The author had entertained few illusions about the fate of the
work, for some reasons which he has himself explained in private
letters, and in his prefaces to the book. He once wrote in answer to a
letter from M. Raillard:--

"Vous lisez mes livres, un peu sans doute pour faire plaisir au vieux
Papa, mais je crois réellement qu'ils vous seront utiles à cause de la
simplicité du style et de la clarté que j'ai toujours cherchées. Ces
qualités m'ont gagné de nombreux lecteurs, mais en même temps m'ont
privé de toute réputation de profondeur. En Angleterre on classe tous
les écrivains clairs, comme écrivains superficiels."

But he said in the preface to the Tauchnitz edition:--

"The kind of success most gratifying to me after writing a book of this
kind would be to convert some readers to my own method, or rule, in the
formation of opinion, whether it concerns one side or the other.

"My method is a good one, but not so good for eloquence as the hastier
methods of journalism."

And in the preface of the English edition:--

"I should like to write with complete impartiality if it were possible.
I have at least written with the most sincere desire to be impartial,
and that perhaps at the cost of some popularity in England, for certain
English critics have told me that impartiality is not patriotic; and
others have informed me of what I did not know before, namely, that I
prefer the French to my own countrymen."

Though "French and English" never became what may be called a popular
book, it nevertheless attracted a good deal of attention, and the author
received a great number of letters expressive of admiration and
gratitude for the clear discernment and impartiality with which the
differences existing between the two nations had been studied and
expounded.

Here is a pretty sample from a French lady:--

"MONSIEUR,--Je viens de lire avec le plus grand plaisir votre livre
'French and English.' Il est si rare qu'un écrivain anglais ose--ou
veuille, aller contre les préjugés de ses lecteurs anglais, et nous
fasse justice, que j'en ai éprouvé un vrai sentiment de reconnaissance.
Bien des jugements portés sont ceux dont j'ai l'habitude de gratifier
mes amis, et, comme il y a toujours, 'a great deal of human nature in
mankind;' je n'apprécie que mieux votre livre à cause de cela. À
quelques exceptions près, par exemple, la fin du chapitre 'on Truth,' je
vois les choses comme vous, mais certains préjugés sont bien invétérés
dans l'esprit de vos compatriotes.

"Lorsque je protestais contre les idées fausses qu'on se faisait de
nous, on m'a dit si souvent: 'Oh! mais, vous n'êtes pas français, vous!'
Le mot est bien caractéristique. Un Français qui ne répond pas à l'idée
qu'on se fait de sa nation, c'est une exception.

"Je ne l'aurais peut-être pris que comme une manière de taquiner, une
plaisanterie, si cela ne m'avait été répété encore tout dernièrement par
un homme d'une vraie valeur intellectuelle, qui a toute une théorie sur
les races. La conclusion à déduire était: tout ce qui pense sérieusement
ne peut être français. Qui sait si votre livre ne vous a pas fait
accuser de vous être perverti à notre contact puisque vous nous êtes
assez favorable!

"Je trotte tous ces temps-ci dans la neige, avec votre livre dans mon
manchon, lisant à chacun de mes amis le morceau qui lui revient, mais je
voudrais qu'ils lisent tout.

"Sans me donner le temps de trop réfléchir j'ai écrit ma lettre; après
je n'aurais plus osé. J'aurai eu ainsi l'occasion de dire à un homme de
talent qu'il m'a fait goûter un vrai plaisir ... peut-être est-ce une
satisfaction pour un auteur.

"Veuillez agréer, Monsieur, mes compliments bien sincères pour votre
'fairness' à notre égard.

"Yours truly."

I also give a passage from one of Mr. Calderon's letters:--

"Last night--to my regret--I finished the last chapter of your 'French
and English.' I am delighted with its truth. Remember (as an excuse for
giving an opinion so freely) that I too am very fairly acquainted with
both countries--their capitals and provinces."

The book, as I have said, was translated into French, and, as usual, the
author took the trouble of revising the translation. Far from taking any
pride in the fact that the translation of his works was desired and
sought after, he dreaded it, and would even have opposed it, had the
thing been in his power. The inevitable loss of his style--upon which he
always bestowed such conscientious care--was to him almost unbearable.

Roberts Brothers did not appear dissatisfied with the American sale, for
they said: "We have sold fifteen hundred copies, and are quite ready for
another popular book."




CHAPTER XIX.


1890-1891

Decision to live near Paris.--Practice in painting and etching.--Search
for a house.--Clématis.

We left home on December 21, 1890, and spent a day and two nights very
agreeably at Dijon with the parents of our son-in-law. Then we went on
to Paris by an early morning train, which necessitated our lunching in
the carriage.

We were to stay with our daughter and her husband, but Gilbert took a
separate study for his work, in a quiet house in the same street.

My husband had himself made a careful drawing for Richard's monument,
and now, being in Paris, we went to see it, and wished to have it
completed by an inscription. Hitherto we had not agreed about any, but
as we were sadly recalling his last intimate talk, it seemed that the
desire for "Peace" which he had expressed should be recorded as an
acquittal of the deed which brought the fulfilment of his wish. And his
father caused the word _eiraenae_, to be engraved at the head of the
tombstone.

M. Pelletier, having been promoted to the Économat of the old and famous
Lycée Henri IV.,--where so many celebrated Frenchmen have been
educated,--took pleasure in showing us the most ancient or curious parts
of the building, such as La Tour Clovis, the vaulted kitchen, the
painted cupola over the staircase, and the delicately carved panels of
the old monks' library--now the Professors' billiard-room.

My husband was much interested by this visit, and repeated it shortly
after in the company of M. and Mme. Manesse, M. and Mme. L. Flameng, M.
Pelletier acting as cicerone.

It being the season of the Epiphany, our niece had the traditional cake
served on the tea-table, and the royal honors fell to the lot of her
uncle. He chose Madame Flameng for his queen, and they made us pass a
merry hour under their joint rule.

The serious part of the talk had concerned the possibility of engaging
L. Flameng to engrave one of his son's pictures. He had consented, and
my husband called upon François Flameng to make a choice.

On his return he gave me a description of the studios and library, which
are very curious, and offered to take me with him on his next visit, to
renew my old acquaintance with the now celebrated artist. But my
infirmity would have rendered awkward the introduction to his young
wife, to whom the memories of previous friendship did not extend.

Writing once to Mr. Seeley about my deafness, my husband had said: "She
sits surrounded by a silent world, and sees people's lips move and their
gestures. How difficult it is to imagine such a state of existence! As
for me, I suffer from the opposite inconvenience of hearing too well.
When I am unwell my hearing is preternaturally acute, so that my watch
in my waistcoat ticks as if it were held almost close to my ear."

Being desirous of forming a sound opinion about the present state of the
fine arts in France, Mr. Hamerton went to visit the New Sorbonne, the
Hôtel de Ville, the Lycée Janson, the new pictures in the Museum of the
Luxembourg, those in the private exhibition of M. Durand-Ruel, as well
as the exhibitions at Messrs. Goupil's and Petit's. He saw J. P.
Laurens' "Voûte d'Acier," M. Rodin's studio, and the Musée du Mobilier
National, with its beautiful tapestries.

We left Paris at the end of January and returned home, my husband having
got through a vast amount of work with ease and pleasure, and with a new
hopeful confidence in his powers of acquisition and endurance, and also
with a gratifying sense of his acknowledged standing--even in France--
among celebrated artists and men of letters.

At the Easter family gathering our possible change of residence was
exhaustively discussed. The state of the buildings at La Tuilerie was
growing worse and worse every day, and my brother's opinion, as an
architect, having been asked for, was that the time for very important
repairs could no longer be postponed: new roofs would have to be built,
one of the walls strengthened, the floor tiles taken up; and the
woodwork of every window was so rotten that it could no longer hold the
iron with which it had already been mended.

Mary and her husband represented what a heavy outlay would be required
if we undertook these repairs, and also said, with great truth, that
after it we should feel bound to the house on account of the money spent
on it. It was an opportunity for changing a mode of life no longer
adapted to our wants nor to our years. Why such a big house for two
solitary beings?... And now that their father was subject to attacks of
gout and not so sure of immunity from colds, was he to continue to have
the care of horses and to drive in an open carriage in all weathers?
Could we be so easily reconciled to the idea of never seeing them longer
than the short space of five weeks every year, when there was no
plausible reason for being so far apart?... Their father disliked great
cities, but he would not be obliged to live inside Paris; there were
plenty of comfortable and quiet villas in the neighborhood or in the
suburbs, from which Paris would be accessible by the Seine, thus
rendering a great part of his work so much easier.

He, on his part, objected that living would be more expensive; that he
would not be so well situated for working from nature; and last of all
that, if he decided for a change, he would expect to be so near to Mary
and her husband as to be able to reach them on foot and in a short time,
for he could not be reconciled to the loss of a whole day every time he
went to see them. "The two requisites," he said--"life in the country
and frequent meetings--cannot be reconciled together."

M. Raillard and his wife praised Montmorency, Meudon, Marly, and St.
Germain, which they had visited on purpose, but he answered that any of
these places would be too far off.

However, when Stephen, Mary, and her husband had left us, their father
was not proof against melancholy thoughts, from which he did not always
find refuge in work. The following note in the diary is a proof of it:
"April 5. Did not feel disposed to work, on account of the children's
departure."

The solitude of our lives had also been considerably increased by the
deaths of five Autunois friends, and by the departure of M. Schmitt with
his family. My husband wrote to him:--

"Vous me demandez des nouvelles d'Autun, mais depuis votre départ nous y
allons le moins possible. Je n'ai rien à y faire, presque plus personne
à y voir. Je crains même qu'au bout d'un certain temps cet isolement ne
produise un fâcheux état dans mon esprit. Je me plonge dans le travail,
le refuge des gens isolés."

Shortly after Easter there came an attack of gout, this time in one
knee, and Gilbert was naturally disturbed by the conviction that the
disease had become more threatening now that it was going up. He became
more alive to the difficulties of our present conditions of existence in
the country, and more willing to consider the desirability of a change.
The business of the "Portfolio" would be so much more easily and
promptly transacted if he were in Paris; correspondence with England so
much more rapid, and the length of journeys to London diminished so
appreciably that all these considerations were of great weight in the
final decision, as well as others of a different nature.

I could not hope to hide from Gilbert the void left in my life by the
loss of one of my sons, and the absence of a daughter who had never left
me before for any length of time; nor the sorrowful recollections
incessantly awakened by the surrounding scenes and objects, and he began
to think that to break the chain of such painful associations might be
beneficial to me. This, I believe, dictated his letter of May 8 to Mary,
in which he told her that she might make serious inquiries for a house,
as he had definitely decided to go and live near Paris.

Mr. Seeley was very glad to hear that the editor of the "Portfolio"
would be nearer to England; he said: "I hope you will get comfortably
settled in the suburbs of Paris. If I may judge by my own experience I
do not think you will regret the change. I have never done so for a
moment, although I was fond of Kingston."

Since he had been last at Burnley, and had seen again the pictures
painted at Sens for Mr. Handsley, my husband had been dissatisfied with
them. The development of knowledge, skill, and the critical faculty made
him intolerant of the shortcomings of that early period, and hopeful of
doing better work now. So he wrote to Mr. Handsley, and proposed to
paint him two new pictures to replace the old ones. In the reply he was
begged to think of no such thing, as although the pictures might not be
quite satisfactory to him, the owner valued them as among the earliest
productions of the artist. But Gilbert insisted on being allowed to
replace at least the view of Sens by another subject--already begun and
about which he felt hopeful--and finally it was left to him to do as he
liked.

It is a curious thing that, feeling as he did the pressure of work, he
should have been always ready to undertake some additional task. At that
moment, when he had so little spare time, he had promised (for an
indefinite date, it is true), a picture of Mont Beuvray for M. Bulliot,
and others of Pré-Charmoy for Alice Gindriez, his sister-in-law; Mary
also was to have her share. The pictures intended for Alice Gindriez had
been painted several times over, and destroyed, and the one for Mr.
Handsley had already passed through various changes of effect, but it
looked very promising. The artist intended to send it to the Salon, and
had even ordered the frame; but our removal having interrupted painting
for a long time, it remained unfinished; though it was taken up again at
intervals.

It is my belief that artistic work, in spite of its disappointments,
proved a relief and a distraction to my husband; but it is much to be
regretted that his own standard should have been so high, for it
prevented him from completing and keeping many etchings and pictures
which, if not perfect, still possessed great charms. It is also a
subject for regret that he should have been led to undertake large
pictures of mountain scenery--so difficult to render adequately. If the
time spent in fighting against these difficulties had been bestowed upon
smaller canvases and less ambitious subjects, he would undoubtedly have
succeeded in forming quite a collection. The greater part of his studies
are graceful in composition, harmonious in color, tender and true in
sentiment--why should not the pictures have possessed the same
qualities? The main reason for his failing to express himself in art, is
that he was too much attracted by the sublime in Nature, and that the
power to convey the impression of sublimity has only been granted to the
greatest among artists.

In May there came a triumphant letter from Mary saying that she had
discovered the _very_ house wanted by her father, uniting in incredible
perfection every one of the conditions he had laid down. Once, being
hard pressed to give his consent to a change of residence, he had
playfully spread a plan of Paris on the table, and had stuck a pin in
it, saying at the same time: "When you find me a suitable house _there_,
in this situation and at that distance from you, I promise to take it."
It was considered as a joke, but Mary now affirmed that the Villa
Clématis was at the exact distance from the Rue de la Tour (where she
lived) that her father had mentioned. Moreover, the roads in the avenues
leading from Clématis to Passy were excellent for a velocipede, or he
could reach her in a charming walk of less than an hour--through the
Bois de Boulogne--and by rail three minutes only were required from the
station of Boulogne to that of Passy. The rent was moderate, and
although higher than our present one, would still be within our means,
if it were taken into consideration that neither horse nor carriage
would be necessary.

The villa was in the Parc des Princes, which offered several advantages.
No shops or factories of any kind being allowed within the park, its
peacefulness was never disturbed by the noise of traffic. The houses,
which varied in sizes from the simple ordinary villa to the hôtel or
château, were each surrounded by a garden, small or large; and long
avenues of fine trees so encircled the park that its existence was not
much known outside. Quite close to it, however, was the town of
Boulogne, with its well-provided market and shops, and at a distance of
a few minutes the _chemin-de-fer de ceinture_, a line of tramways, one
of omnibuses, and the steamboats not very far off. Clématis had a very
_small_ garden--a recommendation to my husband--but was still
sufficiently isolated from the neighboring villas by their own grounds
on each side. There was a veranda looking over the little garden, and a
large balcony over the veranda; the dining and drawing-rooms were
divided by double folding doors, and both had access to the veranda by
_porte-fenêtres_; the low and wide marble chimney-pieces were surmounted
by plate-glass windows affording a sight of trees and flowers, and
giving a most light and cheerful effect to the rooms. There were several
well-aired bedrooms, and under the house vaulted cellars to keep it
healthy and dry.

Such was the description sent us, which we found perfectly accurate when
we visited the house the very day of our arrival at Passy, on June 1,
1891. The diary says about it: "Went to Boulogne to see the Villa
Clématis. On the whole pleased with it." As for me, I was charmed with
it after all the inconveniences I had had to put up with, hitherto, in
our rough country houses.

We had been told that the rents were low at Billancourt, and we went
there to ascertain, but we did not like the horrid state of the roads,
nor the unfinished streets, the result of house-building all over the
place.

We also saw Vanves and the Château d'Issy, in which there were two
pavilions to let. Gilbert's fancy was so much taken by one of them that
I began to dread he might want to live in it. He wrote in the diary:
"The place seemed curious and romantic. Three very fine lofty rooms, a
number of small ones. Plenty of space. Not much convenience; wife not at
all pleased with it." It would have been much worse than anything I had
experienced before. The house was dark, being surrounded and over-topped
by a small but dense park climbing up an eminence above it; all the
rainwater coming down this slope remained in stagnant pools about the
lower story, the stones of which were of a dull and dirty green, being
covered with moss. There was a queer circuitous kitchen round the base
of the stairs, and the dishes prepared in it would have had to be
carried up the stairs through an outside passage before arriving on the
dining-room table. Then I wondered how the "fine, lofty rooms" (damp
with moisture and cold with tiled floors) could be warmed in winter, and
also lighted; for they all looked upon the tree-clad hill rising up
hardly a few feet from the windows. All that was nothing to Gilbert, who
only saw in perspective so many spacious studios and workrooms. At last
I noticed that a paved road wound round the outside of the pavilion, and
just as I was pointing it out, there came several heavily laden carts
thundering along, and shaking the whole building quite perceptibly. My
husband had enough of it after that, and I rejoiced inwardly at the
opportune appearance of those carts. The day after, the diary says:
"Went in the afternoon to Sèvres. Found the place divided into two
parts: the lower, which smells badly, and the upper, which is all but
inaccessible, being up a steep hill. Renounced Sèvres."

Besides looking about for a house, we went frequently to the Salons,
there being two now, and my husband regularly continued his work. Mr.
Seeley wrote: "The quickness with which your letters come gives me a
pleasant feeling as regards the future."

To my inexpressible delight "Clématis" was chosen for our future abode,
after other fruitless researches; indeed, in my opinion it was
impossible to find anything better suited to our wants--and what sounds
almost incredible, the situation of the Parc des Princes was found to be
exactly where Gilbert had pricked the pin in the plan of Paris.

The little garden looked very pretty now in June, with the pillars of
the veranda all blue with flowers of the climbing clematis, and the
cornice loaded with the pink and white bouquets of roses. The wild
clematis, Virginia creeper, and honeysuckle clothed the trunks of every
tree, whilst their roots were hidden by flowers and ferns of various
kinds.

Another pleasant feature of the park was the quantity of singing birds;
there were larks, blackcaps, white-throats, and blackbirds, no doubt
attracted by the security and peace they enjoyed all the year round--no
shooting being allowed either in the park or in the Bois de Boulogne.

My husband wished to appropriate all the upper story of Clématis to his
work, so as to have within easy reach everything he wanted for it, and
at the same time to escape from all household noises. The large middle
room with the balcony would be his study and atelier, only he required
more light for painting, and a tall window was made for him. One of the
small rooms was to be a laboratory, the other a sort of storeroom for
papers, panels, frames, canvases, colors, etc., and one of the garrets a
joiner's shop. Bookcases were to be placed against all the walls of the
studio, which would serve as a library at the same time.




CHAPTER XX.


1891-1894.

Removal to Paris.--Interest in the Bois de Boulogne.--M. Vierge.--"Man
in Art."--Contributions to "Scribner's Magazine."--New form of "The
Portfolio."--Honorary degree.--Last Journey to London.--Society of
Illustrators.--Illness and death.

We were no sooner home again than the transformation of my husband's
study and laboratory furniture began. He had carefully taken all the
necessary measurements, and he now set two joiners to work under his
direction.

Of course we had some months of discomfort and fatigue, with the packing
up and the sale which preceded our departure. At one time I was almost
in despair of ever getting through, Gilbert being so very exacting about
the packing that we had to wrap up each single book separately, and to
fold up carefully every sheet or bit of paper without creases. It was
one of his characteristics, this respectful care he took of books and
papers; it went so far that he could hardly bring himself to destroy
waste-paper; and when he had not quite filled a page with his writing,
he would cut off the white piece and lay it aside in a drawer for
further use; nay more, after making use of these fragments of paper for
notes which had been copied out, he drew a line of red or blue pencil
across the writing, and returned the paper to another drawer to be used
_on the other side_. And it was not for the sake of economy, for he was
frequently indulging in the purchase of note-books, pocket-books,
memorandum-books, etc. No; it was a sort of instinctive respect. If any
one held a book carelessly, or let it fall, he was absolutely miserable,
and could not refrain from remonstrating. When we unpacked, he directed
a man to fold up the papers which had been used as wrappers, and when I
told him that the papers were not worth the man's wages and had better
be thrown into the street, he looked surprised, and reluctantly allowed
them to be stuffed into the empty boxes; but be could not bring himself
to remain while it was being done.

It was hard to break away from the associations of so many years, and
the last meal we took _tête-à-tête_ in the dining-room, emptied of all
its furniture except a small table and two chairs, was a melancholy one.
I swallowed many a tear, and Gilbert's voice was somewhat tremulous when
he attempted to talk.

Roberts Brothers had inquired early in the year if Mr. Hamerton had
decided about a new book, and had been answered in the affirmative. They
now said: "We hasten to reply to your query. Yes, we think 'The Quest of
Happiness' an admirable title for a book destined for the popular
heart--so happy that it will of itself sell it. Don't meditate about
doing it too long."

Messrs. A. and C. Black had also proposed that Mr. Hamerton's articles
for the "Encyclopaedia Britannica" should be revised and enlarged so as
to make an interesting and valuable "Hand-book to Drawing and
Engraving," and the author had agreed to undertake the work. They were
so considerate as to send a copy of the "Encyclopaedia" to the writer,
who had long desired to possess it, and who valued it as a treasure. He
had a special bookcase made for it, with many divisions, to preserve the
volumes from too much rubbing, and was pleased with their handsome
appearance in his library.

A letter received in the autumn may offer some interest to the reader.
It tells of a rather curious occurrence. The writer had been
occasionally in correspondence with the author of "Wenderholme," and,
living in Lancashire, had greatly appreciated the accuracy of the
descriptions and characters in that locality. Two years before he had
discovered "Thursday," and under his guidance had visited the site of
the first camp at Widdup, and noted the changes; now he wrote again,
giving an account of his experiences during a little visit to the Brontë
country, and explaining at some length that he was "driven by bad
weather to the 'house' (you will remember the sense in which the word is
used in the district) occupied by the wrangling drunkard. The talk
turning upon a hut which had been erected by a _mon_ through Halifax for
the grouse-shooting, evoked a reminiscence from the only (relatively)
sober member of the party, of another mon--a hartist--who, aboon thirty
year sin', built a hut at Widdup, and hed a gurt big dog, and young
Helliwell, ower at Jerusalem, wor then a lad, and used to bring him (the
mon) milk, and in the end gat ta'en on as sarvant, and went wi' him to
Scotland and all ower--you may imagine my delight....

"I was sorry to hear that Thursday was not in very good health. He is,
however, married, and the proud father of a little girl--Mary Alice. He
seems very comfortable, and has promised me a photograph of himself by
way of a frontispiece to my copy of the 'Painter's Camp.'

"I trust I am not boring you; but I thought that you might like to know
that you and your encampment are still remembered in the district."

It always pleased Gilbert to have news of the people and places
associated in his mind and affections with his youth, and his interest
in them never grew cold with years.

Our new installation at Clématis was much simplified by the fact that
everything from La Tuilerie had been sent in advance.

In order not to keep Gilbert too long from his work, the study was first
arranged, and he was well pleased with it; indeed, he said he had never
been so conveniently or comfortably established "for his work" before;
but still I saw, with pain, that he looked depressed in spite of
himself.

New Year's Day saw us established in the new house, and regular habits
of work resumed.

Having two spare bedrooms, our children came to use them during the
Christmas holidays, and we had some pleasant meetings with M. Pelletier
and his family. It was by a sort of tacit understanding that almost
every Sunday we lunched, in turn, at each other's houses,--once at
Clématis, then at Madame Halliard's, and afterwards at M. Pelletier's.
After lunch we had a long walk either in the Bois de Boulogne, Parc de
St. Cloud, Jardin du Luxembourg, or Jardin des Plantes; but although
Gilbert enjoyed these strolls, they did not make up for the loss of the
country; neither did the Seine replace the Saône, and Mr. Seeley said:
"I am sorry the Seine is not what it ought to be. You will miss your old
amusement of sailing, for which steaming will be a poor substitute."

We all tried to find something that might take his fancy, and we went to
see the Marne. He said it afforded refreshing and pretty scenes; but he
was not enthusiastic about its character. I plainly saw that what I had
feared had come to pass--namely, that this new way of life did not suit
him so well as the old, and that, despite the greater facilities, he did
not seem to work to his own satisfaction, and felt dull. This lasted for
some time. Mr. Seeley humorously teased him about it, and suggested that
he should write for an American magazine an article on "The Dulness of
Paris." He went on: "If you could only run over here to roam about our
Kentish hills, you would soon be all right again. They are covered with
millions of wood anemones, violets, primroses, cuckoo flowers, and
blue-bells; and the low ground is gay with marsh-marigolds." Alas! the
Bois offered all this in profusion, but for flowers Gilbert never really
cared; he merely appreciated their _valeur_ in the harmony of a
landscape. He thus explained his feelings, in answer to Mr. Seeley:--

"My complaints about the dulness of Paris refer to the peculiar state of
mind the place always induces in myself, that is, _ennui_. Now, the
_ennuyé_ state of mind is the worst possible for a writer, because his
interest in things ought always to remain keen and lively; he ought to
have the intelligence of a man with the interest of a child. I believe
Paris to be, on the whole, the most endurable of great cities, that in
which the disagreeables of such places are most successfully palliated.
For instance, I can go from here to the Louvre in magnificent avenues
all the way. But, for a writer, it is not enough to find life endurable;
he ought to be keenly interested. My life at Autun was pleasant and
refreshing; at Loch Awe it was an enchantment. However, I did not come
here for my pleasure."

And work was crowding upon him; besides "Man in Art," which had been put
aside since the interruption necessitated by the removal, the editor of
the "Forum," Mr. Walter H. Page, asked for an article on the "Effects on
Popular Education of Great Art Collections." He said: "I am glad to be
able to tell you that some of the best American newspapers have
discussed your article on the 'Learning of Languages,' and that I have
many evidences of the appreciation of a large number of our most
cultivated people."

The editor of the "Illustrated London News" also wished for a series of
articles on "French Life," and was very sorry that Mr. Hamerton could
not undertake them for want of time, and the publisher of the
"Portfolio" would have been pleased to get reviews of the annual Salons
from the editor's pen.

Early in the spring, as soon as the weather permitted it, we began to go
regularly with M. and Mme. Raillard to the prettiest places in the
neighborhood of Paris to spend the Thursdays and Sundays. We were
frequently joined by the Pelletier family, and had picnics together in
sheltered nooks. We started early in the morning, carried our provisions
with the exception of beer, wine, and bread, which could always be
bought anywhere, and roamed about or rested till the end of the day. In
this pleasant and independent manner we saw St. Germain,--the forest and
château,--by which my husband was much impressed; the lakes and Bois de
Vincennes; the park at Marly, L'Yvette; the mills of Meaux, St. Rémy:
the Château de Chevreuse, Bougival, Ville d'Avray, La Celle St. Cloud,
La Terrasse de Meudon, Le Vésinet, Nogent-sur-Marne; the ponds at
Garches, L'Abbaye des Vaux-de-Cernay, Mareuil-Marly, Melun, and L'Etang
de St. Cucufa, with its surroundings of luxuriant vegetation and noble
trees.

These walks in the country--much more of the real country than my
husband had ever expected to find so near Paris--began to reconcile him
to his new life; but what helped most towards this reconciliation was
the Bois de Boulogne, with its hidden charms and beauties, which he had
the pleasure of discovering for himself, never having heard of them. For
the parts of the Bois best known and always offered to admiration are
the most artificial, and the resorts of fashion, equipages, and crowds;
the cascade, the lakes, the Allée des Acacias, the Pré-Catelan, and La
Grande Pelouse, while there are enough solitary nooks and unfrequented
alleys, thick underwoods, open vistas, and groups of graceful and
handsome trees to interest a lover of landscape for miles and miles,
without any other disturbance than a chance meeting with a timid rabbit
or a curious deer.

No sooner had Gilbert found out that there existed in the Bois real and
extensive woodland scenery--almost untrodden and unexplored, than it
became a pleasure to start on his tricycle, followed by his dog, for an
early ride under the dewy branches, in the light and fragrant mist
rising from the moist mosses and wild-flowers under the first rays of
the sun. From these healthy rides he returned to his first _déjeuner_
much exhilarated, having breathed fresh air without the sensation of
confinement so painful to him. Gradually he came across various scenes
which he felt attracted to paint, and then his liking for the Bois was
formed. There were among others, La Mare d'Auteuil, the incomparable
group of grand old oaks, a single branch of which would have made a fine
tree; the ponds of Boulogne; the varied views of the Seine, with the gay
and sunny slopes from the walks running parallel to the river. Then the
mill and its surrounding fields, quiet at times with browsing cows
knee-deep in the rich grass, or at other times alive with merry mowers
and hay-makers. Several views of Mont Valérien, looming in the haze of
the after-glow, or in dark contrast with the splendor of the afternoon
sunshine, also caught my husband's attention; as well as numberless
other places without a name, which pleased him for one sort of beauty or
another. After each new discovery, he wanted me to go with him to see,
and whenever it was possible, and at a walking distance from the house,
I took a book with me and read to him as he sketched. By a few notes in
the diary it will be seen that his explorations extended to rather long
distances from the house:--

"Went to L'Alma on the tricycle. Found capital place for studying boats
not far from the Pont d'Iéna."

"Went round by Bois to Rothschild's, till I came to bridge of St. Cloud
and to the house--lovely play of lights on the water and upon the
heights."

"In afternoon rode as far as Argenteuil, and saw Texier's boat-building
establishment there, and the fleet of pleasure-boats."

"Went to Asnières on tricycle by the Rond-Point of Courbevoie. Some
difficult passages on road. Return easier by riverside, right bank.
Beautiful hazy distances."

"Found out boat-house of the Bilancourt boat-club. Spacious and rather
nice. Keeper boat-builder. Came back by riverside, Auteuil and Bois.
Charming harmony of grays in the sky--silvery, bluish, rose-tinted, and
lavender."

"In afternoon rode to St. Cloud with a view to comparison with Turner.
In coming back met a steam-carriage on the road, managed, I believe, by
Caran d'Ache," etc., etc.

When he had regained the elasticity of his mind, his thoughts were
turned again to his important work.

Note in the diary on March 3: "Tried to recover command of 'Man in Art,'
putting the MS. in order. Read the chapters over again to recover
materials and spirit of work."

From that date "Man in Art" was steadily resumed till its completion.
There was a good deal of trouble and disappointment with the
illustrations, some of which were found unworthy of insertion; but
having been ordered, they would have to be paid for. The author was
ready to bear the cost rather than see them inserted, but Messrs.
Macmillan very kindly and generously refused to allow this, and proposed
that he should send a bill for any money that he should find it
necessary to expend on unsatisfactory illustrations.

My husband was now in far better spirits, and, apparently, in very good
health. A friend, Mr. Oliver, who had named his son Hamerton out of
admiration for the author, wrote in answer to one of his letters: "I was
pleased to hear that you find the later period of life not unattended
with deep satisfaction and pleasure."

Among those pleasures were the friendly or interesting visits that the
remoteness of Autun from great centres would have effectually prevented.
In the spring we saw Mrs. Macmillan and her son; in the autumn we had
the pleasure of becoming personally acquainted with Mr. and Mrs. Adam
Black, who were passing through Paris, and with whom we spent an
afternoon visiting the gardens and ruins of St. Cloud.

Roberts Brothers, to whom many applications for letters of introduction
were addressed, and who managed to give only a few, sent some of their
friends to Mr. Hamerton now and then. They said in one of their letters:
"Since you will not come to America and see for yourself, we want to
show you that our aborigines are as good specimens of the _genus homo_
as they make anywhere."

In the Parc des Princes lives a great artist, Urrabieta Vierge, whose
house and studio were only a few minutes distant from Clématis. Mr.
Hamerton's admiration of this artist's talent was great, and his liking
for him as a man became great also. He often expressed the opinion that,
in his best pen-drawings, Urrabieta Vierge was--and would
remain--without a rival. He used to spend hours over the original
illustrations to Pablo de Segovie, and other drawings in the possession
of the artist. Hardly ever did a day pass without seeing my husband in
M. Vierge's studio once at least. He had opportunities of rendering him
a service sometimes, as the artist had dealings with English and
American publishers, but was ignorant of their language, and in token of
gratitude M. Vierge painted his new friend's portrait, and also that of
his mother-in-law, Madame Gindriez.

The idea of a book on the study of words, to be written in collaboration
with M. Raillard, had not been abandoned by my husband, who submitted
the title for Mr. Seeley's approval. It was to be: "Words on their
Travels, and some Stay-at-home Words." It was pronounced lively and
interesting. His own share had been delayed; but his son-in-law was
working at it, and they carefully planned together the composition and
form of the book, the separate parts of which were to be linked together
by essays from my husband's pen.

Much time was devoted to the exhibitions in 1892. The Salons, of course,
had many visits, but they did not give so much pleasure to Gilbert as
"Les Cent Chefs-d'oeuvre," or the Pelouse Exhibition; he was also
greatly interested by Raffet's works.

Our children spent with us a month of the long vacation, as they used to
do at Pré-Charmoy, and our excursions to the most picturesque places in
the neighborhood of Paris became more frequent. We had formed a project
for going to Pierre-fonds and Compiègne; but my husband, being now most
anxious to finish "Man in Art" before Christmas, regretfully put off the
excursions to the ensuing year. Now that he had regained the buoyancy of
his spirits, he was fully alive to the peculiar charms of the country
about Paris, and even intended to write a series of small books on the
most noteworthy and remarkable places--something in the way of
exhaustive guides. He thought of beginning with those that he knew
thoroughly well already, and to acquaint himself gradually with the
others.

In September our son-in-law, with his wife, went to stay with his
parents for the remainder of the vacation; but Mary left them a few days
before her husband to see her relatives at Chalon, and in the way of
consolation, her father sent the following to Raoul:--

"BEATUS ILLE.

  "Blest is the man whose wife is gone away!
    From cares exempt, he dwells in perfect peace.
  His heart is light as boy's on holiday.
    He walks abroad and joys in his release.
  The cat is gone, the frisky mouse doth play.
    The fox remote, walk forth the wandering geese.
  So he, delivered, thinks his troubles past,
    O halcyon days!--if they could only last.

"P. G. H. to R. R.

"_Sept_. 11, 1892."

Ever since he had heard of Lord Tennyson's illness, my husband had been
greatly concerned, and never missed going every evening to the Auteuil
railway station for the latest news. After the death of the poet he
wrote to Mr. Seeley:--

"One must die some time; but it is still rather saddening to know that
Tennyson is no longer a living poet. I have always enjoyed his verse
very much; the art is so perfect, so superior to that of Browning or
Wordsworth, even to that of Byron. I know of no poet to equal Tennyson
in finish except Shelley, Keats, and Horace, and those three only in
gems."

In a letter to Miss Betham-Edwards he had said once: "Have you observed
how _very_ careful Tennyson has always been never to publish prose? That
was capital policy in his case; he seems so much more the poet to the
world outside."

Mr. Seeley was anxious to confer with the editor of the "Portfolio"
about plans for the following year; but he had considerately refrained
from mentioning it, so long as the large book was not announced for
publication. In the beginning of October, however, he wrote: "I see that
Macmillans announce your big book; so I suppose that labor is off your
hands." Then he went on to propose that the editor should write a series
of articles on the "Humorous Art of the Present Day," and my husband
took time to think about the subject.

The last sheets of "Man in Art" were sent off on October 20, and after
acknowledging their receipt, Mr. F. Macmillan said:--

"With regard to the drawings on glass, I write to say that we are
perfectly willing that, as you suggest, you should make a present of
them to the Art School of Burnley, in Lancashire.

"The same applies to the original wood-block engraved by Pierre Gusman."

Our November journey to London was unattended with troubles to my
husband's health, and it was with unalloyed pleasure that we met Mr. and
Mrs. Seeley again. Our stay was to be a short one, for it had been
decided that, in the future, we would come over at least once every
year, and more probably twice.

Here is the first letter after our arrival:--

"LONDON. _November_ 26, 1892.

"MY DEAR MARY,--I have some good news to tell you. My new book is not
out yet, but soon will be. It is in two editions, one large paper, and
dear, the other smaller paper and much lower in price. The first is
exhausted before publication, and the second without being exhausted
yet, is still going off well. I dined last night with Messrs. Macmillan,
and they seemed quite satisfied.

"Mr. Seeley has just offered to publish my next novel.

"I was glad to get a post-card from Raoul. It will be a great pleasure
to me to work with him. Perhaps, however, we shall quarrel over our
book, and never speak to each other again. But his mother-in-law will
love him still, whatever happens.

"Your very affectionate old father,

"P. G. HAMERTON."

The work that my husband had to do was easily gone through, and his
nervous system had so much improved that he went alone about London
without any forebodings, without even thinking about it, except to
remark to me sometimes that he had never expected such an improvement.
Had it not been for a very slight and short attack of gout, he would
have been perfectly well all the time.

Mr. and Mrs. Seeley were then, living in Kensington, and it was very
convenient for my husband, the situation being quiet and within easy
reach of the museums. Although the season was not favorable for going to
the country, our friends knew that their visitor would be pleased to
escape from London--were it only for a day or two, and they were so kind
as to take us to their pretty cottage at Shoreham, in Kent, and to show
us the country surrounding it. Gilbert was out walking most of the time,
and there being hills and water, wished he had time for sketching,
though he told me he would not like to live there permanently, the
country not being sufficiently open for his tastes.

The new arrangements for the "Portfolio" having been decided upon, my
husband wrote to tell Mary of our near arrival. In this letter he
said:--

"In spite of the great kindness we meet with here, I don't feel any
desire to live in or near London, it is so gloomy and dirty, besides
being so expensive, at least according to present customs of living. We
are better where we are, near you.

"I am very glad that Raoul likes the idea of our book. I believe we can
work out together something decidedly new and valuable."

In the course of a visit to Mrs. A. Black, she gave us good and
interesting news of her cousin, R. L. Stevenson, and showed us a
photograph taken inside his house at Samoa, in which he was seen
surrounded by his mother, his wife, his wife's children, and his
native servants. It was very pleasant to see him looking happy, and so
much stronger than he used to be.

Mr. Macmillan, though very feeble, was so kind as to receive us. We were
for leaving him soon, fearing that he would be fatigued; but he insisted
upon our remaining, and brightened wonderfully as he talked with my
husband. He ordered glasses and wine, and drank to our healths with such
hearty good-will, and pressed our hands at parting so affectionately,
that we were quite moved. He had been such a strong and active man, and
there was still such an expression of power and will in his countenance,
that to see him an invalid, unable to walk without help, was
inexpressibly pitiful. He had said--not without sadness--that he had
grown resigned to this trying bodily weakness, but at the same time that
he had a great dread of the weakness reaching the seat of thought some
day. It was the last time we saw him, though he lived some years longer,
and we liked ever after to recall his last kind greeting, as warm as
those of former days.

M. Raillard and his wife received us joyfully on our arrival in Paris;
we were all greatly cheered by the fact that my husband could now travel
like everybody else, and this feeling of security gave a great stimulus
to his energies. We were often planning journeys to places of interest
that it might be useful for him to visit, either for his artistic
studies or for literary work. The Countess Martinengo Cesaresco, with
whom he had long been in correspondence, had invited us to go to see her
on the Lake of Garda, and this was a great temptation to which he hoped
to yield some day.

Meanwhile, we planned for the autumn a visit to Lucerne, in which our
son and daughter and her husband would join, and we often talked about
it. I knew perfectly well that very few of our schemes could ever be
carried out, but I encouraged the discussion of them--for even that gave
pleasure to Gilbert, who had been kept sedentary so long. He told us
what he would do, and what he would attempt in such and such a place;
and his desire for beautiful natural scenes was so intense that he often
dreamt he was _flying_ towards them, and afterwards described his
sensations. The recurrence of this sensation of _flying_ over space
caused him some slight alarm, for he explained that doctors considered
it as a symptom of disturbed equilibrium in the system, which they
called levitation. Still, he was now almost in perfect health, indeed he
did not remember the time when he had been so well, so ready for work,
or enjoying it more--he said he was almost afraid, it seemed so strange.

In a letter from Roberts Brothers, dated March 10, 1893, I read: "We are
indeed pleased to hear that 'The Quest of Happiness' is likely to be
ready for this autumn, and the title is so promising that we should not
wonder if it made your 'cheques' larger."

This book, however, was laid aside for more pressing work. The
Meissonier Exhibition was opened, and my husband, who delighted in the
talent of the artist, had already gone there several times when he
received a letter from Mr. Seeley asking him to notice it for the
"Portfolio," and he assented.

Then Mr. Burlingame, of the house of Scribner's Sons of New York, came
over from London for the special purpose of becoming personally
acquainted with Mr. Hamerton, and of proposing to him to write a series
of twelve articles on modern representative painters for "Scribner's
Magazine." The proposal was flattering in itself, but the pleasure it
gave was singularly enhanced by the visitor's friendly courtesy and
cultured appreciation. After two meetings only, Mr. Burlingame had to
leave Paris, and my husband spoke regretfully of the shortness of a
visit he had so much enjoyed, and expressed a wish that an opportunity
for more prolonged intercourse might present itself before long.

Judging from Mr. Burlingame's letter, the pleasure had been mutual. I
quote a passage out of it:--

"I use my earliest opportunity to jot down a note for our better
remembrance of the main points of the arrangement for 'Scribner's
Magazine,' by assenting to which you gave me such pleasure in Paris.

"I sail on Saturday, and assure you I shall carry home no pleasanter
recollection than that of the two days which you made very enjoyable for
me at Paris and Boulogne."

The scheme did not require much literary labor, but it involved careful
researches for the choice of subjects, delicate negotiations with the
owners of the pictures chosen, to obtain the right of reproduction, and
moreover a superintendence of these reproductions as to quality.

After giving due consideration to the subject of "Humor in Painting" for
the "Portfolio," the editor did not feel inclined to undertake it. But
in his frequent walks about Paris his attention had been forcibly
attracted by the invention and fancy shown in the designs of modern
houses, and that was a study quite congenial to his tastes, and a
subject on which he was thoroughly competent to write. It was proposed
to Mr. Seeley, who accepted it, and from that moment we haunted the
quarters in which new buildings were rising, as if by magic, in the
purity of the white stone used in Paris, and in the richness or delicacy
of their carvings and mosaics.

Besides these various preparations for future work, Mr. Hamerton had
been much occupied by annotating a collection of different things
intended as a present to the Mechanics' Institution of Burnley. Shortly
after sending it off, he received the warm thanks of the Council through
its secretary.

The search after suitable subjects for "Scribner's Magazine" had only
yielded an insufficient number, and my husband decided to go to London
in July to complete his list. He felt so well that the idea of
undertaking the journey alone did not make him apprehensive in the
least. Not so with me, and my anxiety was only calmed after receiving
the assurance that he had felt perfectly comfortable the whole way.

His daughter wrote to him:--

"MON CHER PAPA,--Nous avons été bien heureux d'apprendre que tu as été
'si grand garçon' comme dit Bonne-maman. Ta témérité nous a tous étonnés
et nous a fait plaisir en même temps. Ce changement ne pourra que te
faire du bien puisque tu l'as supporté d'une façon aussi parfaite."

Here is a part of the answer:--

"ARUNDEL HOTEL, VICTORIA EMBANKMENT, LONDON,

"_July_ 22, 1893.

"I am extremely pleased with my hotel, which is just what I wanted, both
as to convenience of situation, beauty, and charges. From the window
where I am writing I can see the river and a garden with trees, and some
fine architecture on the Embankment (Quai), yet I am close to the
busiest part of London.

"I was in the Academy yesterday, and enjoyed it very much. I feel
perfectly well, and not in the least fatigued by my journey, from which
I experienced no inconvenience whatever, except an increased appetite,
which has remained with me ever since."

Shortly after my husband's return from London, Mr. Jaccaci, an American
artist and author, and a devoted friend of M. Vierge, came to see us,
and Gilbert's interest in him was quickly awakened. I was told that he
had travelled much, and, though still young, could speak eight
languages. There was a first bond between them in their admiration of M.
Vierge's talent, and in their sympathy for his individuality. They met
several times at his studio. Unfortunately Mr. Jaccaci's stay was of
short duration, and he was extremely busy, so much so indeed that he
could not accept an invitation, but promised to do so next time he came
to Paris. His departure did not put an end to the friendly intercourse,
which was carried on by correspondence.

At the first appearance of the "Portfolio" it had taken an entirely new
line among English periodicals, but now there were two other art
magazines similar in character and style of illustration, and both its
editor and publisher were desirous of an alteration which would once
more distinguish it from similar periodicals.

They considered how it might be remodelled, so as to give it a new
character of its own, and at last, taking into consideration the
prejudice which had set in against big books, they decided to reduce its
size and to increase the letterpress considerably. Each number was to be
devoted to one subject, and written by the same author, so as to be
complete in itself. The new second title, "Monographs on Artistic
Subjects," was liked by many critics, and one of them said: "Monographs!
I wonder whose idea that was. What an admirable plan! Strange that no
one ever thought of it before!"

The editor undertook to write the first number, on "The Etchings of
Rembrandt;" but in spite of his enthusiasm for the subject, and his
thorough knowledge of it, he felt painfully hurried, for the decision
had been taken somewhat late in the year. He told me he would have liked
to devote six months to its preparation. Still, the new plan gave him
much pleasant anticipation of carefully prepared work, as he disliked
devoting his time to subjects of minor importance. A number of the
"Portfolio" now allowed of a worthy subject being worthily treated, and
that was in accordance with my husband's preferred method of work.

With the ordinary autumnal remittance Roberts Brothers wrote:--

"We have just bought a copy of 'The Isles of Loch Awe, and Other Poems,'
by P. G. Hamerton, Esq. 1859. Second thousand.

"We have had a good many years a copy of the first edition, 1855, which
we once loaned to Mr. Longfellow, who made from it selections for his
collection of 'Poems of Places,' and in it we have placed his letter of
thanks for the loan."

Some time in the spring my husband had made the acquaintance of M.
Darmesteter, and had hoped that it might grow into closer intimacy, M.
Darmesteter and his wife having promised to call; but we learned that
they had been mistaken as to the situation of our house, and in November
Mr. Hamerton received this reply to one of his letters:--

"_Novembre_ 18.

"CHER MONSIEUR,--Excusez mon retard à vous remercier de votre aimable
lettre du 16 courant. Nous rentrons à peine et vous savez ce que c'est
qu'une rentrée en ville.

"Hafiz malheureusement n'est pas traduit que je sache en français. Il en
existe une traduction allemande en 3 vol....

"Nous avons bien regretté de ne pouvoir, avant de quitter Paris, faire
un tour au Parc-des-Princes et présenter nos hommages à Madame Hamerton.
Ce sera pour l'année qui vient j'espère.

"Croyez moi, cher Monsieur,

"Votre bien dévoué,

"J. DARMESTETER."

Death, alas! prevented another meeting, for M. Darmesteter, who was
already in weak health, did not live very long after.

Mr. Seeley thought the monograph on Rembrandt "lively, charmingly
written, and betraying no sign of hurry." This opinion was shared by the
public, for the sale of the "Portfolio" increased largely. Indeed, the
new scheme was generally applauded, and many letters were sent both to
the editor and to the publisher in token of appreciation. Sir F. Burton,
to whom my husband had applied for a monograph on Velasquez, said in his
reply: "I have seen the 'Portfolio' in its new form, and I think the
alterations you have made in the plan and scope of the work most happily
inspired."

Sir George Reid also wrote:--

"I have seen the 'Portfolio' in its new form, and I think the change a
wise one in many ways. It recalls the 'Revue des deux Mondes.' It will
be a far handier shape for the book-shelves; but I feel a--well perhaps
sentimental regret for the old 'Portfolio.' It seems like the
disappearance of on old familiar friend--although we know he is still
alive and well.

"I wish it all prosperity in its new form, and its editor many years of
happy and useful labor in the service of art."

Mrs. Henry Ady was to write on Bastien Lepage for the "Portfolio," but
she had not all the documents she wanted, and my husband undertook to
procure them. A talented French marine-painter, M. Jobert, with whom Mr.
Hamerton was acquainted, introduced him to M. Emile Bastien Lepage,
brother of the artist. Note in the diary about it:--

"January 11, 1894. Was much pleased with my visit. Saw many things by
the painter--many not published; portraits of father and mother, of
grandfather, of brother Emile, etc., and sketches for girl's funeral
which he saw; also etchings and a bust of his father. After that he
showed us a fine structure in carved wood from the church of St. Mark at
Venice."

My brother, his wife, and their two little girls arrived in Paris to be
present at the wedding of our niece, Jeanne Pelletier. Stephen also
came, and on the appointed day we all went to the Lycée Henri IV., where
the ceremony took place, on January 29. We were much interested, on
account of the great affection we bore to the bride.

My husband put this note in the diary: "Wedding passed off very well.
Beautiful ceremony in chapel. I had a talk with L'Abbé Loyson (brother
of Hyacinthe Loyson). Great numbers of people to congratulate."

Gilbert had long talks on architecture with his brother-in-law, to whom
he showed several of the new buildings he had been studying for his
"Parisian Houses," particularly in the Avenue du Bois de Boulogne,
Avenue Bugeaud, and Rue de Longchamp.

When M. Gindriez left, Gilbert tried to resume the "Quest of Happiness,"
but told me he had determined to remodel the Prologue on positive and
negative happiness, because he had thought out a scheme of alteration. I
was very sorry to hear of it, because the work was already so far
advanced, and the alterations would require so much trouble and time.
But such considerations had no weight with him when he thought his work
could be improved, so I kept my disappointment to myself.

Some time in February my husband had received a letter from Sir G. Reid,
from which I quote the following passage: "I have little doubt that
before the month of March comes you will be P. G. Hamerton, LL.D. Your
claims to such recognition have long been beyond all questioning."

This was confirmed by the Secretary of the University of Aberdeen on
March 3, 1894, in these terms:--

"DEAR SIR,--I have the pleasure of informing you that the Senatus of the
University at its meeting to-day conferred upon you the Honorary Degree
of Doctor of Laws (LL. D.).

"I am,

"Yours faithfully,

"ALEXANDER STEWART,

"Secretary of the Senatus."

Three days later Lady Reid wrote:--

"DEAR DR. HAMERTON,--We are delighted to see in this morning's newspaper
the announcement of your LL.D.-ship. Though we have never had the
pleasure of meeting, I feel almost as if I had known you for many years,
your writings having given me such real pleasure ever since I first made
your acquaintance in 'A Painter's Camp in the Highlands' in 1863.

"I hope you will kindly accept from me your Aberdeen LL.D.-hood, which
is the outward visible sign of your new academic rank.

"My husband says it is 'a chromatic discord of the 1st Order,' but over
the arrangements of such things the present generation has no control,
their form and colors having been settled long ago.

"Sir George unites with me in kindest regards, and in the hope that you
may long live to enjoy your most well-earned honors.

"Believe me,

"Yours very truly,

"MIA REID."

Shortly after Sir George Reid wrote: "You have done so much for the
literature of art that the only wonder is your services have not been
acknowledged by one or other of our Universities long ago. I am very
glad that the honor has come to you from the University of Aberdeen."

Although my husband cared little for honors, this recognition--freely
and spontaneously conferred by the University of Aberdeen, without any
solicitation on his part--gave him real pleasure. He had never expected
anything in this way from Oxford or Cambridge, because he had never been
a student of either, and he fancied that this would always be against
him. It reminds me of what he wrote to Mr. Seeley soon after our arrival
in Paris, when he suffered from dulness:--

"I never was at Oxford. I always had a boyish dread of being sent there,
and put into one of the colleges. I think I was marked for Balliol.
After my escape I felt towards the place much as a sound Protestant
feels towards the Vatican. Here is a reflection that has sometimes
occurred to me since my imprisonment here began: 'Dear me! why, if I can
endure Paris, I might possibly have endured Oxford.'"

After congratulating the editor of the "Portfolio" on his new title, Mr.
Seeley said: "My brother at Cambridge has been made a Knight Commander
of St. Michael and St. George. What an extraordinary title for a
Professor! And you are now a Doctor of Laws. Will you kindly allow us to
consult you in any legal difficulty?"

The new Doctor [Footnote: Mr. Hamerton and Professor Seeley were born on
the same day, and there was an interval of only a few weeks between
their deaths.] answered:--

"I congratulate you on having a brother who is a Knight Commander of St.
Michael and St. George too. They were both very valiant saints,
dangerous to dragons and demons. The image that rose to my mind's eye
when I read your letter was that of your brother in shining golden armor
riding full tilt with spear in rest against a terrible dragon. I wish
Lord Shaftesbury had lived to hear of it, for one reason, and your
father for another.

"Thank you for your congratulations about my LL.D.-ship. In answer to
your question, I beg to say that whilst the degree is but a just tribute
to my legal knowledge, it does not confer the right to practise, so that
you would do better to consult some professional man, such as a
barrister or an attorney, even though his legal attainments might be far
inferior to mine."

In the same year Mr. Hamerton was invited by the Society of Illustrators
to accept a Vice-Presidency along with Sir J. E. Millais, Sir F. Seymour
Haden, and Mr. Holman Hunt.

Messrs. Scribner having planned a work on American wood-cuts, wrote to
ascertain if my husband would undertake it. Mr. Burlingame's letter
explains the scheme.

"DEAR MR. HAMERTON,--In the course of the publication of the Magazine,
we have printed from time to time what we believe to be some of the best
American wood-engravings. We are going to make a selection of about
forty of them, thoroughly representative of the best men and subjects
(though we have not tried, of course, to have the representation
_complete_), and issue it as soon as we can in the form of India proofs,
in a portfolio in a very limited edition--probably of less than 100
copies, made with the utmost care and all possible accessories to render
the collection a standard one. Meaning to make it represent the highest
point of wood-engraving (which is now fast yielding to the mechanical
processes, so that the moment is perhaps the best we shall have), we
want to accompany the publication with a short essay on the subject, to
go with the portfolio in a little book, and afterwards to be bound up
with the popular edition should we make one."

It was just one of those schemes that my husband could set his heart
upon--requiring much knowledge and condensed writing. So he gladly
accepted the task, and applied himself to it as soon as the engravings
reached him.

On receiving the manuscript Mr. Burlingame wrote: "The paper on the
engravers so thoroughly fulfilled our expectations, that we were more
than ever glad that we asked your help in this (to us) important
matter."

In the spring, before the opening of the Salons, there are always a good
many minor exhibitions, and these we went to see, in order to judge of
the prevailing artistic tendencies. I find this note in the diary:--

"March 17, 1894. Went with wife in the afternoon to see some pictures by
the 'Eclectics' at Petit's. Most of them horribly bad, especially the
Impressionists, but several by Boudot were excellent. These were
landscapes, all in perfectly true tone and good color, with a great deal
of sound, modest drawing. I wish I could paint like him. His work is
evidently founded on painted studies from nature; indeed, much of it
must have been painted directly from nature.

"Made a new plan for work, doing two tasks on alternate days: one the
current book, the other some minor task--an article, for example. In
this way both would get on, and the interval would not be long enough to
lose hold of either."

He wrote about it to Mr. Seeley, and explained:--

"I don't know how it will answer yet, but have hopes. My great
difficulty has always been (and it only increases with age) a certain
want of readiness and flexibility in turning from one thing to another.
When I have a book in hand (and I always have one), it is most
disagreeable to me to turn from it and write an article; and when the
article is finished I lose always at least a day, and often several
days, before I get well into swing with the book again. My natural
tendency is to take up one task, and peg away at it till it is done."

At Roberts Brothers' request, Mr. Hamerton had agreed to write a
translation of Renan's notice of his sister Henriette. However, he had
to give it up, not being able to get answers to his letters from M. Ary
Renan.

As he greatly appreciated the spirit and usefulness of the Institution
of the Franco-English Guild, founded by Miss Williams, he wrote for its
"Review" an article on "Languages and Peace," and intended to write
others. There are some notes in the diary at this time which prove that
he could find some effects to enjoy in Paris:--

"March 13th. Went with Stephen to see Mr. Barker. We went on a walk to
the terrace at Meudon, where we joined wife and daughter and Raoul.
Thence to a pond in the wood. Came back in the evening. Beautiful
effects on the river."

"April 1st. Went to the Mont Valérien, and greatly enjoyed the views
about it over Paris on one side, and the country on the other."

The best proof that my husband's nervous system was now strong and
healthy, is that _for the first time in his life_ he proposed that we
should go together to the private view of the Champ de Mars to meet the
President of the Republic. We had a card of invitation, and I was so
happy to see him well, and to mark the respectful greetings which met
him from all quarters, that I enjoyed the day thoroughly. He was
perfectly calm the whole time, in contrast with the excitement surging
around him, and at night he wrote in the diary:--

"We went, wife and I, to the Champ de Mars, and saw the President of the
Republic arrive, and all the artistic notabilities who received him.
After the lunch, saw the exhibition well, and selected two pictures for
Scribner. Was much impressed by Tissot's 'Life of Christ.'

"We were much amused by the extravagance of the toilettes, particularly
the feminine."

In April he called upon MM. Louis Deschamps and Checa for notes of a
biographical kind. There was an instantaneous sympathy between him and
M. Checa, who was very cordial and communicative, and who soon returned
his visit. After the publication of the article concerning him, M. Checa
wrote: "Je vous remercie très vivement de cet article, sûrement le plus
exact que l'on ait fait sur moi."

In the studio of M. Checa my husband had met an American artist, Mr. R.
J. Wickenden, who lived at Auvers, and who, being well acquainted with
his works, wished to paint a portrait of the author. During the sittings
a friendship was formed between model and painter. The portrait was
exhibited in America at Mr. Keppel's.

Mr. Hamerton having been invited to preside at a meeting and dinner of
the Society of Illustrators, and to deliver a lecture on the history of
their art, fixed an earlier date than he had intended for his proposed
visit to London, to comply with their wishes.

He started alone on May 4, going by way of Dieppe, and wrote in the
diary: "Capital passage. Enjoyed sea and color very much indeed."

On the 6th he wrote to M. Raillard that he was well enough, but that on
arriving at Charing Cross the trunk containing his clothes was missing.
He ended by saying: "And I have to preside over a dinner to-morrow! At
all events I cannot do it in a flannel shirt!... I am in a pretty mess!"

He had almost decided to buy a ready-made suit in this emergency, when
he recovered the lost trunk. After the dinner he wrote me a long account
of it in French. The reception given him by the Illustrators had been
most cordial. His speech had been delivered without nervousness or
hesitation, and with the curious illusion that he was listening to
somebody else.

There had been an animated debate on the grievances of the Illustrators,
who complained of the small space allotted to the exhibition of their
works in the Academy. They seemed disposed to sign a protest, when he
had offered to go and see Sir Frederick Leighton, and to talk the
subject over with him, as president of the meeting. He ended his letter
with a promise to have his photograph taken on the morrow by Messrs.
Elliott and Fry.

I was very glad of this decision about his portrait, for I had not a
good likeness of him, except the fine photograph taken by Mr. Palmer;
and of course since that time his features had altered. They retained
their expression of intellectuality and dignity, softened, as it were,
by the discipline and experience of years. Hitherto he had always
resisted any attempt to publish his portrait among a series of
celebrities; but this time he yielded to my entreaties; and he was
afterwards satisfied to have done so, for the three photographs taken on
the same day were all good likenesses. From the best of them was
engraved--later--through the care and sympathy of Messrs. Scribner, the
fine and striking portrait which appeared in their Magazine of February,
1895.

It was, I believe, a sort of unconscious presentiment which prompted my
husband to see _all_ his friends during this last visit to England.
Knowing that he had so much pressing work on hand, I had been surprised
by his decision to go to London so soon after his last journey, and
still more to hear that he intended to go to Holmwood to make the
acquaintance of Mr. C. Gould, the son of his cousin Anne; to Dorking, to
see Mrs. Hamerton, of Hellifield Peel, and her married daughter; to
Alresford, to stay a couple of days with Sir Seymour Haden and his wife;
and then to Southampton, to call upon Mr. R. Leslie. All these
arrangements surprised me exceedingly; but I came to the conclusion that
my husband's health must be excellent, since he volunteered to
undertake, with evident pleasure, what he would have dreaded to do some
time ago.

Indeed, his letters expressed nothing but enjoyment from all these
visits, and the keen interest he took in the Academy exhibition.

He was made very welcome by Sir Frederick Leighton, to whom he explained
the grievances of the Illustrators, and who gave him a promise to do his
best for them; and Mr. Hamerton was glad to think he might have been of
use.

A singular occurrence happened shortly after his return. Friends, more
particularly those who came from abroad, were often debarred from
accepting his invitations on account of the distance between Paris and
the Parc des Princes, and the consequent lateness of the hour when they
could reach their home or hotel after dining at Clématis. Gilbert,
therefore, had adopted a plan--much in use in the French capital--which
consists in inviting friends to a conveniently situated restaurant,
where the goodness of the cookery and attendance may be relied upon. It
occurred to my husband to try the Terminus Hotel at the Gare du Havre,
from which many travellers start for England; and he invited M. Raillard
to test the place with him. They were both pleased with it, and left at
about ten p.m. It was most fortunate that they did not remain much
longer, for at eleven an explosion, caused by a dynamite bomb, wrecked
the room in which they had dined, and wounded several people.

A long-deferred meeting with Mr. Frederick Harrison took place in June,
and the day was spent in visiting the Louvre, Tuileries, Notre Dame, and
the Hôtel de Ville.

We had also been expecting with pleasant anticipations the visit of Mr.
Niles, when we received the sad news of his death at Perugia, and
learned that he had been in failing health for some years, and had
decided to come to Europe for rest. My husband's regrets were very
sincere. From time to time we had news of R. L. Stevenson; those
received in a letter from Mr. R. A.M. Stevenson, in the course of the
same mouth, were very pleasing.

"I heard from R. L. Stevenson a few weeks ago. He said: 'If you saw me
here you would no longer question my wisdom in staying; you would not
wonder at my preferring this life to that of Bournemouth.' In England he
passed half his time in bed, the whole winter in the house, and he could
never walk half-a-mile. Now he is out by six in the morning, sometimes
bathes, and occasionally spends the whole day in the saddle. He was
always fond of the open air, and though never strong, was a good walker,
and, as you know, able to do a little boating. He often spoke to me of
his visit to you at Autun."

The assassination of President Carnot, which occurred in June, grieved
and horrified my husband as much as if he had been a Frenchman. He had
the greatest respect for the scrupulous manner in which M. Carnot
discharged all his duties, and admired the simple dignity with which he
held the rank of First Citizen of a great nation. Being himself a
Liberal--but a Moderate one--it had given him hopes for the stability of
a Moderate-Liberal Republic, to see at the head of it the
personification of unsuspected honesty and wise patriotism.

On the whole, he was satisfied with the choice of his successor, and
amused by this phrase about M. Casimir-Périer in one of Mr. Seeley's
letters: "I saw a portrait of the new French President lately. He looks
a man not to be trifled with." The remark has been curiously justified
since.

Having to go out so frequently now in the afternoons in order to see
artists and pictures, my husband altered his rules of work, and devoted
the whole of the mornings to literary composition, and the heat being
very oppressive this summer, he worked better in the cooler time of day;
yet I was rather afraid of the consequences when I saw him start for
Paris with the thermometer standing at 88° or 90° almost every
afternoon, but he maintained that it did him no harm.

On July 14--the Fête Nationale--Mr. Jaccaci having called with M.
Vierge, Gilbert went back to dine with him in Paris and to see the
fireworks. They were both struck by the extraordinary quietness of the
great town, generally so merry and noisy at that date, but now subdued
by respectful sympathy for the death of its late President.

Note in the diary: "Never saw streets of Paris so quiet before. Could
cross easily anywhere. In Avenue de l'Opéra could count people."

We had heard from M. Raillard that the reputation of his father-in-law
was penetrating into Germany. He had seen some notices and reviews of
his works, and in August a professor at the Zurich University sent this
flattering letter:--

"Monsieur,--Je vais publier une petite bibliothèque française à l'usage
des écoles allemandes, avec des notes en français. Le premier volume
contiendra une forte partie du fameux livre de Tocqueville sur l'ancien
régime et la révolution. Le second sera, si vous le permettez, composé
d'extraits de votre excellent livre, 'Français et Anglais,' traduction
de M. Labouchère.

"Auriez-vous la bonté de me fournir quelques dates sur votre vie et sur
vos autres ouvrages, que je pourrais utiliser pour l'introduction?"

Just at the time, when my husband was making extensive plans of work,
justified as it seemed by the great improvement in his health, he was
suddenly attacked by a new malady, which he believed to be asthma. There
were no premonitory symptoms; he was as well as usual in the daytime,
and even after going to bed, where he always read before going to sleep;
but directly he fell asleep, he was suddenly aroused again by
suffocation. In describing his sensations to me, he said it seemed as if
breathing required--while in a waking state--a slight effort, which he
made unconsciously, and this being discontinued when sleep arrived,
produced suffocation. I attributed this painful state to a change in the
working of his nervous system, and pressed him to see a doctor; but he
was convinced that he was becoming asthmatic, and that there was no help
for it.

Although he told me that if he had his choice in the matter, he would
rather die than be condemned to a life of impotence, with perpetual
cares and precautions, he bore his sufferings, or rather forebodings,
with his accustomed courage and patience, and attempted to calm my
apprehensions by affirming that, though his nights were disturbed, he
could still get sleep out of bed, in an arm-chair, and now and then in
the day-time when overpowered by fatigue. The various means of relief
used by asthmatic people and recommended by different friends
proving--without exception--utterly inefficacious for him, I attempted
to console him by pointing out that asthma often manifested itself at
very long intervals, and that, in general, the worst attacks were hardly
more painful than those of gout. He answered that he could bear the pain
of these attacks, but what he dreaded most was chronic asthma, which, by
lowering his general health, would reduce him to an invalid state.

However, the worst symptoms soon subsided, and about three weeks after
the first disturbance he was writing to Mr. Seeley: "I am much better,
though my nights are still frequently interrupted. I require a great
deal of exercise, more than I can find time for; the more exercise I
take the better I am." And yet when, shortly afterwards, a specialist
had to be called in, he declared that his patient "was completely
overworked mentally and physically," and he ordered him to give up the
velocipede altogether, and to restrict his walks to short distances and
a leisurely pace.

I have never been able to understand how it was that physical exercise
being so hurtful to Gilbert, he should invariably have felt benefited by
it, so far as his sensations went.

The vacation had come round again, and the impossibility of realizing
the pleasant plans we had formed obliged our children to alter theirs.
Stephen went to London, and M. Raillard took his wife through
Switzerland to Germany. They had frequently written on their way, and
now told of their impressions of Freiburg, where they decided to remain
three weeks.

I mentioned before that my husband's knowledge of places which he had
never seen was surprising. In this instance he could induce Mary and her
husband to believe that he had actually stayed where they were. The
attempt amused him, and he read me the following letter before posting
it:--

"19 _août_ 1894.

"Ma Chère et bonne fille,--Je t'aurais écrit plus tôt pour te souhaiter
ta fête, qui est aujourd'hui, mais je n'espérais pas que ma lettre pût
te parvenir, comme tu étais en route. Je n'ai jamais pu savoir ce que
souhaiter une fête voulait dire, mais si c'est quelque bien,--comme la
santé, par exemple,--tu sais quels sont mes voeux; enfin je voudrais te
savoir aussi heureuse que possible:

"Je ne trouve pas que la couleur de la cathédrale de Freiburg soit
désagréable. Il est vrai que je préfère un gris argenté, mais le ton
chaud de Freiburg fait bien et il a gagné une certaine patine avec les
années. On m'a dit quand j'y étais que celle de Strasbourg a la même
couleur, mais je ne l'ai jamais vue. Quel bonheur pour Freiburg d'avoir
tous ces petits ruisseaux qui nettoient les rues et qui viennent de la
rivière Dreisam! Je n'admire pas plus que toi la tendance polychrome
qu'on voit dans certains détails de la ville.

"Avez-vous vu le château de Zahringen? Il est au nordest de Freiburg, à
trois kilomètres environ; c'est une promenade très facile.

"Je me suis demandé si à Baie vous vous étiez arrêtés à l'hôtel des
Trois-Rois. Il y a là un long balcon d'où l'on voit le fort courant du
Rhin qui passe sous l'ancien pont. Je me rappelle qu'à l'extrémité de ce
pont, du côté opposé, il y avait une brasserie où, en buvant son verre
de bière, on pouvait regarder l'eau qui coulait toujours, et si vite.

"À Lucerne, j'ai vu également couler la Reuss sous l'ancien pont où l'on
voit la Danse de la Mort. Mr. Macgregor a osé descendre cette rivière
(qui est un torrent très dangereux plus bas) en périssoire. Ce n'est pas
moi qui essaierai.

"Je continue à mieux aller, je puis maintenant m'endormir assez
facilement, et je reste généralement dans mon lit toute la nuit, mais
pas toujours. Mon sommeil est souvent interrompu, mais vite repris. En
somme grand progrès.

"Bonne-maman va beaucoup mieux aussi, elle prend de la Kola qui lui
fait, paraît-il, grand bien.

"Stephen a regagné l'appétit et part vendredi pour Londres.

"Mes meilleures amitiés à Raoul, et tous mes souhaits pour un bon séjour
à Lucerne, cet endroit si ravissant!

"Vieux Papa."

To the infinite amusement of "Vieux Papa," his daughter answered
immediately, "We never knew that you had been at Freiburg," etc., etc.

In the course of August my husband had the pleasure of becoming
personally acquainted with Mr. Scribner, who called upon him in the
company of Mr. Jaccaci.

The improvement in Gilbert's state did not last. We renewed our
entreaties about having a doctor's advice, and he yielded.

The great physician whom we called in declared it was weakness of the
heart--due to overwork--that his patient was suffering from, and not
asthma. He promised to set him up again in four months with his
prescriptions.

Strange to say, Gilbert was greatly relieved to hear that his case was
hypertrophy of the heart rather than asthma--for me it was the dreaded
confirmation of fears that had long haunted me; still, we both derived
hope and encouragement from the doctor's assurance of an ultimate cure.
I cannot say that we really believed in a total cure, but we thought it
possible to recover the former state of health which had preceded the
attacks of suffocation. "I have not felt old, hitherto," my husband
said, "certainly not more than if I had been only fifty; but the fact
is, I am now sixty, and therefore must be prepared to face the advent of
old age. I will submit to any privation for the sake of health, though
it seems hard to be deprived of exercise. It is singular that my mental
state should be clearer and more vigorous than ever before, and that my
work should be easier and more enjoyable than at any former time."

Mr. Seeley had written:--

"What a good thing you called in this Parisian doctor! It might have
been serious if you had gone on taking strong exercise in your present
state of health.

"I can quite understand your feeling of relief that at any rate it is
not asthma. Perhaps when you take less exercise the gout may return, and
the heart be relieved at once. That the doctor confidently promises a
cure in a few months is a great satisfaction to us."

The good results of the prescribed regimen were soon experienced, and I
hailed--not unhopefully--the return of an attack of gout, predicted by
Mr. Seeley, which I feared less for Gilbert than the heart troubles. The
doctor had said, after hearing that the gout had almost entirely
disappeared, "You have made a bad bargain in exchanging gout for
hypertrophy."

This is what my husband himself wrote to his friend:--

"The worst of me just now for making inquiries, is that on getting up
this morning I found I had an attack of gout in my right knee. Hitherto
it is only slight (I write at two p.m.), but I cannot bend it without
considerable pain, so I must wait till to-morrow at any rate, before
trying to go to Paris. It is quite possible that the attack may be very
slight, but it is also possible that I may be laid up by it. However
this may be, I will of course keep your letter, and do all in my power
to help in the present emergency.

"Many thanks for your very kind letter about my doctor's visit. I wish I
had known him ten years sooner. He is most scrupulously observant of
things as they really are, and does not set off, as doctors often do,
from a preconceived notion of his own. The results of the regimen are
already beneficial. My nights have been gradually improving since it
began. Last night I slept perfectly till about two in the morning, and
then awoke without any suffocation, and soon fell asleep again,
remaining quiet with good breathing till half-past six. About a week
since I could not sleep _at all_, being immediately awakened by
suffocation every time I began to drop off.

"Please thank Mrs. Seeley on my part and my wife's for her kind
sympathy, which we know is most sincere. Tell her I regret to have
called you her teetotal husband, as I am no better myself. Nay, it is
you who have the advantage of me with your two glasses of claret, which
I call downright intemperance." (He was allowed to drink nothing but
milk.)

Our children feeling uneasy still, and anxious about the state of their
father, cut their journey rather short to be back again with him. M.
Raillard wished to see Sens in coming back, and the house we had lived
in there. So his father-in-law sent him some information about the
place, and added:--

"Ne manquez pas surtout de voir l'intérieur de la Salle Synodale qui est
peut-être la plus belle salle gothique du monde après celle de
Westminster. Le trésor de la Cathédrale est intéressant.

"Je continue à me porter beaucoup mieux. Les nuits sont bonnes.

"À bientôt, puisque vous avez la bonne pensée de revenir.

"Bien cordialement à vous."

The rules of work had been, perforce, relaxed lately, and almost all the
working time had been devoted to writing the "Quest of Happiness," and
an article on "Formative Influences" for the "Forum," besides the
concluding articles for "Scribner's Magazine."

A decided and rapid improvement in health had taken place, and when, at
the beginning of October, Miss Betham-Edwards came to see us, she found
my husband much as usual--though looking older--as she told me
afterwards.

A few days after she had come to _déjeuner_ at Clématis we went to lunch
with her at her hotel, and spent the whole day together, visiting the
Musée Carnavalet, and having a long walk the whole way back to the Rue
d'Alger. We crossed the Cour du Louvre, where my husband explained in
detail the various transformations and changes in the architecture of
the palace at different periods of time. Then, in the fading twilight,
we had a look at the magnificent and poetical vista opened by the
removal of the Tuileries, before saying goodbye; and when we reached
Clématis for a late dinner, Gilbert told my mother that he had enjoyed
the day and did not feel tired in the least.

On the following Sunday we had a long walk in the Avenue du Bois de
Boulogne with some friends, and near the Arc de Triomphe de l'Étoile we
happened to espy the doctor, when my husband remarked cheerfully,
"Doctor B----, who was to see me again in two months, would be surprised
to hear that I am cured already."

On October 17, a fire was lighted for the first time this autumn in
Gilbert's study, and before the flue became heated and a good draught
produced, the smoke was considerable. I warned him not to remain in the
room, the air being so bad; he answered that as soon as the work he had
begun allowed of it, he would go out. I left the door open on purpose,
and begged him not to close it; but when I went up again with the
letters--two hours after--I found him still at work, in an atmosphere of
dense yellow smoke, without possible escape, the door having been closed
again. As usual, when writing, my husband became so wrapt in his work
that he was not conscious of anything outside of it.

I became alarmed for him, as I could hardly breathe, but he felt no
inconvenience just then.

In the afternoon he had a walk, but in the evening he went up again to
the study, and remained there over an hour, giving a lesson in English
pronunciation to one of his nephews. The smoke had, however, subsided,
and the fire burned steadily.

At half-past one I was awakened by a sensation of chill on the
forehead--it came from my husband's lips--he was giving me, as he
thought, a _last_ kiss, for he murmured faintly, "J'ai voulu te dire que
je t'ai bien aimée, car je crois que je vais mourir."

He was deadly pale, but quite collected. I helped him to dress, and we
managed to reach the garden for purer air. He wrote afterwards in his
diary that his sufferings had been horrible, and lasted in full two
hours and a half. I tried to encourage him in the struggle for life, by
saying that it was asthma, and that I had witnessed a dear relation of
ours struggling successfully through several similar attacks. I felt
certain now that it was asthma, and I said so to the doctor on the
following day. He answered, "It is cardiac asthma, then."

It was freezing hard outside, and as soon as he recovered breathing
power, I led my husband to the drawing-room sofa, which I wheeled in
front of the chimney, and the wood being piled up ready for a fire, I
made a great blaze, and opened the windows wide at the same time. Once
stretched on the couch and wrapped up in blankets, facing the leaping
flames, he soon regained vital warmth, and his breathing became more
regular.

Altogether the crisis had lasted five hours, during which I had remained
alone with him without even calling a maid, for fear of making him worse
through annoyance. I affected entire freedom from anxiety as to the end,
merely expressing sympathy with his momentary sufferings, and I was
thankful to succeed in deceiving him.

As soon as he felt well enough to be left for a short time, I hastened
to the doctor's, but went first to tell Mary and her husband of the sad
occurrence, that they might go to their father while I should be away.

The doctor attributed the attack entirely to the effect of the smoke,
and said it had nothing to do with my husband's malady--"he had been
asphyxiated;" it would have no lasting effects, except as to retarding
the cure; the ground gained since the beginning of the regimen had been
lost, and it was all to begin over again.

I did not attempt to disguise from him my anxious fears nor my feelings
when I had witnessed my husband's tortures without any means or hopes of
alleviating them; "for," I added, "I have been told there is no help in
cases of acute asthma." "There _was_ not," he answered, "till a quite
recent discovery; but now immediate relief may be given by injections of
serum."

Though he assured me that there would be no other attack of the same
kind if we took care to have only wood fires and no smoke, I insisted
upon being recommended to a reliable doctor, not far from our house, who
would promise to come at any time of night if we needed him, and who
would always have serum in his possession--the great specialist being
himself at too great a distance from us to be fetched in an emergency.
The very doctor I wanted happened to be this very day sharing, as he
often did, the labors and studies of the specialist. He was called in,
and, after listening to an explanation, gave me the promise I desired,
and said he would follow me immediately to Clématis to see the patient;
and if he should see the necessity for it, would ask his friend to join
him at our house for a consultation.

As he noticed the distress under which I was laboring, the physician
kindly said before I left him: "I repeat, that I do not apprehend a
recurrence of what happened last night--but, si par impossible une
autre crise semblable survenait, rappelez-vous bien que, même suivie de
syncope, elle ne serait _jamais mortelle_."

I believed him, though my heart was still heavy at the thoughts of the
sufferings that the future might bring to my husband. I felt greatly
relieved in being able to give him the doctor's assurance that there was
no danger for his life.

I was happy on entering the drawing-room to see him quietly talking with
Mary and Raoul, and eating grapes. He said that, with the exception of
fatigue, he felt very well indeed. He had taken some broth, and partook
of a light dinner with pleasure.

The doctor delegated by the physician, after an examination, merely
confirmed what had been said to me, and saw no necessity for a
consultation with his friend.

On the morrow we arranged a temporary study to avoid fresh troubles with
the stove, and kept up good ventilation with a bright wood fire and
frequent opening of windows looking out on the garden.

Gilbert resumed his ordinary work with great moderation, taking care to
interrupt whatever he was doing every hour by a short walk in the open
air, according to medical advice. Four days later I find this entry in
the note-book: "October 24. Walked in the Bois de Boulogne towards
evening in an enchantment of color and light; beautiful autumnal color
on trees."

One of my husband's last satisfactions in life was a letter for Mr.
Burlingame, about the work lately done for Messrs. Scribner. Here is a
passage out of it:--

"I have long had in mind to say, _à propos_ of the conclusion of the
series, how much of a success I think our last plan proved, and how
cordially we all appreciate the very valuable and punctual fulfilment
which you kindly gave to it. All our relations during its progress were
a great pleasure to me; and I hope it will not be long before the
Magazine may have the benefit of your help again. It will always gratify
us very much to know of any suggestion or papers that occur to you which
you might be inclined to send our way.

"Mr. Scribner and Mr. Jaccaci are back again; and we all often speak of
you with pleasant recollections of your kindness in Paris."

Although Messrs. Scribner's pecuniary arrangements were very liberal, my
husband's satisfaction in his dealings with them was mostly derived from
their courtesy; for though he was obliged to take money into
consideration, it was almost the least weighty of considerations with
him. He often said he did not like money; he looked upon it as the
indispensable means of providing necessaries, and thereby affording the
mind sufficient peace to apply itself to study in freedom from anxious
cares. He never desired riches or luxury, and hated to have to think
about money matters or to talk about them, even to me; and aware that
the subject was more than disagreeable,--painful,--I avoided it as much
as possible.

After the first terrible attack of suffocation, Mr. Seeley had been
reluctant to ask for my husband's help; still, as he had recovered so
soon, and had resumed his ordinary avocations, he was willing and able
to do several urgent things for the "Portfolio," and Mr. Seeley wrote:--

"You have done, before receiving my last letter, exactly what it asked
you to do. What a good thing when editor and publisher are in such
perfect _rapport_.

"I hope you have not had any more attacks."

No, he had not; and his nights were quiet again, though he got up very
early, at four or five in the morning, and had a nap in the afternoon.
The only thing he complained of was a sensation of weakness unknown to
him before. It was not sufficient to be called painful, but still he
felt it to be there, and hoped to get rid of it when allowed a little
beer or claret. He so much disliked drinking milk at meal-times that it
quite spoilt his appetite, until the doctor said he might have water
during his repasts, and milk in the intervals.

On account of the diminution in strength, I was afraid of the effects
that fatigue might produce, and did not like to see him go so often to
Paris as he had lately done, especially to the exhibitions; but when it
could not be avoided, I managed to go with him, under the pretext that I
was interested in them myself.

On November 4 he asked me if I should like to go with him to the Louvre,
where he had to see the Salle des Primitifs. I said yes. He spent an
hour there, enjoying heartily the best pictures, and extolling their
merits as we were coming back. According to his habit, he was reading in
the tram-car on his way home, and I noticed that it was a volume of
"Virgil," and in looking up from the book to his face, I observed that
he looked paler than usual. I inquired if he felt tired. He answered,
"Not in the least." And when we reached home he went up straight to his
study, and wrote till the bell called him to dinner. We had a pleasant
talk about the pictures he had just studied, while he was eating with a
good appetite.

After dinner, as usual, he took up his newspaper and read for about ten
minutes, when he suddenly threw it aside and told me the action of the
heart was unsatisfactory. I proposed at once to go to the garden, but
the suddenness and violence of the attack did not allow him to reach it.
When in the open air, just above the few stone steps, he had to stop and
grasp the railing till the last anguish deprived him of breath and of
life, long before the arrival of the doctors, whom I had sent for as
soon as he had felt oppressed.

He had never feared death, whatever might await him after--conscious of
a useful and blameless life. He died as he had desired to die, standing
alone with me under the moonlit sky, unconfined, escaping from the
decrepitude of old age, still in the full possession and maturity of his
talents, and in the active use of them.

Two hours before his death he had been writing these last words for the
"Quest of Happiness":--

"If I indulge my imagination in dreaming about a country where justice
and right would always surely prevail, where the weak would never be
oppressed, nor an honest man incur any penalty for his honesty--a
country where no animal would ever be ill-treated or killed, otherwise
than in mercy--that is truly ideal dreaming, because, however far I
travel, I shall not find such a country in the world, and there is not
any record of such a country in the authentic history of mankind."

Let us hope he may have found this ideal country in the unknown world.




***
Autobiography of Philip Gilbert Hamerton - Part 2
