CHAPTER XXXII.

1858.

Reception at home after engagement.--Preparations at Innistrynich.--I

arrive alone in Paris.--My marriage.--The religious ceremony.--An

uncomfortable wedding.--The sea from Dieppe.--London.--The Academy

Exhibition of 1858.--Impressions of a French woman.--The Turner

collection.--The town.--Loch Awe.--The element wanting to happiness.

On returning home after my engagement I was greeted very affectionately

at the front door by my dear guardian, who expressed many wishes for my

future happiness; but her sister sat motionless and rigid in an

arm-chair in the dining-room, and did not seem disposed to take any

notice of me. From that time until long after my marriage she treated me

with the most distant coldness, varied occasionally by a bitter

innuendo.

I said nothing and bore all patiently, looking forward to a speedy

deliverance. There was much in the circumstances to excuse my aunt, who

was intensely aristocratic and intensely national. She was the proudest

person I ever knew, and would have considered any marriage a misalliance

for me if my wife's family had not had as long a pedigree as ours, and

as many quarterings as the fifteen that adorned our shield. Being a

stanch Protestant, she was not disposed to look favorably on a Roman

Catholic, unless she belonged to one of the old English Catholic

families. Her ideas of the French nation were those prevalent in England

during the wars against Napoleon. She had probably counted upon me to do

something to lift up a falling house, and instead of that I was going to

marry she knew not whom. It is impossible to argue against national and

class prejudices; the fact was simply that my wife's family belonged to

the educated French middle class. Her uncle was a well-to-do attorney in

Dijon, [Footnote: Very nearly in the same social position as my own

father. His daughter afterwards married the grandson and representative

of the celebrated Count Français de Nantes, who filled various high

offices in the State, and was grand officer of the Legion of Honor and

Peer of France. A fine portrait of him by David is amongst their family

pictures.] and her father had gone through a perfectly honorable

political career, both as deputy and prefect. My wife herself had been

better educated than most girls at that time, and both spoke and wrote

her own language not only correctly, but with more than ordinary

elegance,--a taste she inherited from her father. As to her person, she

dressed simply, but always with irreproachable neatness, and a

scrupulous cleanliness that richer women might sometimes imitate with

advantage. These were the plain facts; what my aunt imagined is beyond

guessing.

Before my marriage I went to Loch Awe, to prepare the house on

Innistrynich and furnish it. Of all strange places in the world for a

young Parisienne to be brought to, surely Innistrynich was the least

suitable! My way in those days was the usual human way of thinking, that

what is good for one's self is good for everybody else. Did I not know

by experience that the solitude of Loch Awe was delightful? Must not my

Paradise be a Paradise for any daughter of Eve?

It was a charming bachelor's paradise the morning I left for Paris, a

bright May morning, the loch lying calm in its great basin, the islands

freshly green with the spring. At Cladich the people, who knew I was

going to fetch a bride, threw old shoes after the carriage for luck. It

did not rain rice at Loch Awe in those days.

I was an excellent traveller then, and did not get into a bed before

arriving in Paris. There was a day in London between two nights of

railway, a day spent in looking at pictures and making a few purchases.

At Paris I went to a quiet hotel in the Cité Bergère. I was utterly

alone; no relation or friend came with me to my marriage. Somebody told

me a best man was necessary, so I asked a French acquaintance to be best

man, and he consented. The morning of my wedding there was a _garçon_

brushing the waxed oak floor on the landing near my door. I had a

flowered white silk waistcoat, and the man said: "Monsieur est bien beau

ce matin; on dirait qu'il va à une noce." I answered: "Vous avez bien

deviné; en effet, je vais à une noce." It was unnecessary to give him

further information.

The marriage was a curious little ceremony. My wife's father had friends

and acquaintances in the most various classes, who all came to the

wedding. Some men were there who were famous in the Paris of those days,

and others whom I had never heard of, but all were alike doomed to

disappointment. They expected a grand ceremony in the church, and

instead of that we got nothing but a brief benediction in the vestry, by

reason of my heresy and schism. The benediction was over in five

minutes, and we left in the pouring rain, whilst a crowd of people were

waiting for the ceremony to begin. My wife, like all French girls, would

have liked an imposing and important marriage, and lo! there was nothing

at all, not even an altar, or a censer, or a bell!

However, we had been legally married at the _mairie_ with the civil

ceremonial, and as we were certainly blessed in the vestry, nobody can

say that our union was unhallowed. I shall always remember that

benediction, for, brief as it was, it cost me a hundred francs.

[Footnote: Including what I had to pay for being called a schismatic by

the Archbishop of Paris, or his officials.] A magnificent mass on my

daughter's marriage cost me only sixty, which was a very reasonable

charge.

Words cannot express how odious to me are the fuss and expense about a

wedding. There was my father-in-law, a poor man, who thought it

necessary (indeed, he was compelled by custom) to order a grand feast

from a famous restaurant and give a brilliant ball, as if he had been

extremely happy to lose his daughter, the delight of his eyes and the

brightness of his home. Everything about our wedding was peculiarly

awkward and uncomfortable. I knew none of the guests, I spoke their

language imperfectly, and was not at ease, then, in French society; we

had to make talk and try to eat. The family was sad about our departure,

the sky was gray, the streets muddy and wet. In an interval of tolerable

weather we went for a drive in the Bois de Boulogne to get through the

interminable afternoon.

It was pleasanter when, a day or two later, my wife and I were looking

out upon the sea from Dieppe. She had never seen salt water before, and

as it happened to be a fine day the vast expanse of the Channel was all

a wonderful play of pale greens and blues, like turquoise and pale

emerald. There were white clouds floating in the blue sky, and here and

there a white sail upon the sea. My wife was enchanted with this, to her

fresh young eyes, revelation of a novel and unimaginable beauty. It was

a new world for her, and that hour was absolutely the only hour in her

life during which she thoroughly enjoyed the sea; for she is the worst

of sailors, and now cannot even endure the smell of salt water at a

distance.

The first thing we did in London was to go and see the Exhibition of the

Royal Academy. My wife, like her father, took a keen interest in art,

and had been rather well acquainted with French painting for a girl of

her age. When she got into an English Exhibition she looked round in

bewildered amazement. It was, for her, like being transported into

another planet. In 1858 the difference between French and English

painting was far more striking than it is to-day. French color, without

being generally good, was subdued; in fact, most of it was not color at

all, but only gray and brown, with a little red or blue here and there

to make people believe that there was color. The English, on the other

hand, were trying hard for real color, but the younger men were in that

crude stage which is the natural "ugly duckling" condition of the

genuine colorist. The consequence was an astounding contrast between the

painting of the two nations, and to eyes educated in France English art

looked outrageous to a degree that we realize with the greatest

difficulty now. At a later period my wife became initiated into the

principles and tendencies of English painting, and then she began to

enjoy it. I took her to see the Turner collection in 1858, and that

seemed to her like the ravings of a madman put on canvas; but a few

years later she became a perfectly sincere admirer of the noblest works

of Turner. I may add that in 1858 my wife was already, in spite of her

difficulty in understanding what to her were novelties, far more in

sympathy with art generally than I was myself. She had lived in a great

artistic centre, whilst I had lived with nature in the north, and cared,

at that time, comparatively little about the art of the past, my hopes

being concentrated on a kind of landscape-painting that was to come in

the future, and to unite the effects I saw in nature with a minute

accuracy in the drawing of natural forms. The kind of painting I was

looking forward to was, in fact, afterwards realized by Mr. John Brett.

My wife's first impressions of London generally were scarcely more

favorable than her impressions of English painting, but they were of a

very different order. If the painting had appeared too bright, the town

appeared too dingy. London is extremely dismal for all French people,

whose affection for their own country leads them to the very mistaken

belief that the skies, in France, are bright all the year round. My wife

now prefers London to any place in the world except Paris; in fact, she

has a strong affection for London, the consequence of the kindness she

has received there, and also of the enlightened interest she takes in

everything that is really worth attention.

We went straight from London to Glasgow, and thence to Loch Awe, which

happened at that time to be enveloped in a dense fog that lasted two

days, so that when I told my wife that there was a high mountain on the

opposite side of the lake she could hardly believe it. In fact, nothing

was visible but a still, gray, shoreless sea.

I was now, as it seemed, in a condition of great felicity, being in the

place I loved best on earth with the person most dear to me.

Unfortunately, the union of many different circumstances and conditions

is necessary to perfect happiness, if happiness exists in the world. The

element lacking in my case was success in work, or at least the inward

assurance of progress. There was our beautiful island home, in itself as

much a poem as a canto of "The Lady of the Lake," with its ancient oaks,

its rocky shore, its green, undulating, park-like pasture; there was the

lake for sailing and the mountain for climbing, and all around us a

country of unlimited wealth of material for the sketcher. Amidst all

this, with a too earnest and painful application, I set myself to do

what had never been done,--to unite the color and effect of nature to

the material accuracy of the photograph.

MEMOIR

OF

PHILIP GILBERT HAMERTON

1858-1894

CHAPTER I.

1858.

My first sight of Loch Awe.--Arrival at Innistrynich.--Our domestic

life.--Difficulties about provisions.--A kitchen garden.

When Philip Gilbert Hamerton asked me to marry him, he conscientiously

attempted to explain how different my life would be in the Highlands of

Scotland from that to which I had been accustomed in Paris. He said how

solitary it was, especially in the winter-time; how entirely devoid of

what are called the pleasures of a metropolis--to which a Parisian lady

has the reputation of being such a slave (he knew, however, that it was

not my case); and already his devotion to study was such that he

requested me to promise not to interfere with his work of any kind that

he deemed necessary,--were it camping out, or sailing in stormy weather

to observe nature under all her changing aspects, either of day or

night.

Still, the picture he drew of our future existence was by no means all

in dark colors, for with the enthusiasm of an artist he described the

glories of the Highlands, the ever-varying skies, the effects of light

and shadow on the mountains, the beauties of the lovely isles, and the

charm of sailing on the moonlit and mysterious lake. He also made me

acquainted with the numerous legends of Loch Awe (he had told them in

verse, but I was ignorant of English), which would lend a romantic

atmosphere to our island-home. He was so sensitive to the different

moods of nature that his descriptions gave to a town-bred girl like me

an intense desire to witness them with my own eyes; and when I did see

them there was no _désillusion_, and the effect was so overpowering that

it seemed like the revelation of a new sense in me. The first glimpse I

had of Loch Awe, from the top of the coach, was like the realization of

a fantastic and splendid dream; I could not believe it to be a reality,

and thought of some mirage; but my husband was delighted by this first

impression.

We reached Innistrynich shortly before nightfall, and I was taken to the

keeper's cottage to warm myself, whilst the luggage was being conveyed

across the bay to the house. Though it was the end of May, the weather

had been so cold all the way that I felt almost benumbed after the

drive; for, being accustomed to the climate of France, I had taken but

scanty precautions in the way of wraps, believing them to be superfluous

at that time of the year. My husband, having begged the keeper's wife to

take care of me, she carried her assiduities to a point that quite

confused me, for I could not remonstrate in words, and she was so

evidently prompted by kindness that I was fearful of hurting her by

opposing her well-meant but exaggerated attentions. She swathed me in a

Scotch plaid, and placed the bundle I had become in a cushioned and

canopied arm-chair by the peat-fire, the smoke and unaccustomed odor of

which stifled me; then she insisted upon removing my boots and

stockings, and chafed my feet in her hands, to bring back a little

warmth. Lastly, she hospitably brought me what she thought the best

thing she had to offer, a hot whiskey toddy. To please her, and also to

relieve my numbness, I tried my best to drink what seemed to me a horrid

mixture, but I could not manage it, and could not explain why, and the

poor woman remained lost in sorrowful bewilderment at my rejection of

the steaming tumbler. Just then my husband came back, and after thanking

the keeper's wife, rowed me over to Innistrynich.

It was then quite dark, and impossible to see the island, even the

outside of the cottage; but when the door was open, it showed the

prettiest picture imaginable: the entrance was brilliantly illuminated,

and our two servants--a maid and a young lad ("Thursday" of the

"Painter's Camp"), both healthy and cheerful-looking, were standing

ready to relieve us of our wraps. The drawing-room had an inviting glow

of comfort, with the generous fire, the lights of the elegant candelabra

playing amongst the carvings of the oak furniture, and the tones of the

dark ruddy curtains harmonizing with the lighter ones of the

claret-colored carpet; an artistic silver set of tea-things, which my

husband had secretly brought from Paris with the candelabra, had been

spread on the table ready for us, and my appreciation of the taste and

thoughtfulness displayed on my behalf gladdened and touched the donor.

I had never before partaken of tea as a meal, but it was certainly a

most delightful repast to both of us.

After a short rest, my husband showed me the arrangements of the house,

rich in surprises to my foreign notions, but none the less interesting

and pleasant.

Our drawing-room was to serve as dining-room also, for the orthodox

dining-room had been transformed into a studio and sitting-room; they

stood opposite to each other. A little further along the corridor

came the two best bedrooms, which, at first sight, gave to a Parisian

girl a sensation of bareness and emptiness, corrected later by habit.

Everything necessary was to be found there,--large brass bedsteads

with snowy coverings, all the modern contrivances for the toilet,

chests of drawers, each surmounted by a bright looking-glass;

even a number of tiny and curious gimcracks ornamented the narrow

mantelpiece; but to a French eye the absence of curtains to the bed, and

the unconcealed display of washing utensils, suggested a _cabinet de

toilette_ rather than a bedroom. This simplicity has now become quite

fashionable among wealthy French people, on account of its healthiness:

the fresh air playing more freely and remaining purer than in rooms

crowded with stuffed seats, and darkened by elaborate upholstery.

On the upper story were four other rooms, used as laboratory,

store-room, and servants' rooms; whilst on the ground-floor we had a

scullery, a large kitchen, a laundry,--that I used afterwards as a

private kitchen, when my husband provided it with a set of French brass

pans and a charcoal range,--a spare room, which was turned into a

nursery by and by, and lastly, a repository for my husband's not

inconsiderable paraphernalia.

The first days after our arrival were devoted to sailing or rowing on

the lake, to acquaint me with its topography; soon, however, we made

rules to lose no time, for we had both plenty of work before us.

My husband, at that time, knew French pretty well; he could express

everything he wished to say, and understood even the _nuances_ of the

language, but his accent betrayed him at once as an Englishman, and

there lingered in his speech a certain hesitation about the choice of

words most appropriate to his meaning. As for me, my English had

remained that of a school-girl, and my husband offered me his

congratulations on my extremely limited knowledge, for this reason--that

I should have little to unlearn. We agreed, to begin with, that one of

us ought to know the other's language thoroughly, so as to establish a

perfect understanding, and as he was so much more advanced in French

than I in English, it was decided that for a time he should become my

pupil, and that our conversations should be in my mother-tongue.

On my part I devoted two hours a day to the study of English grammar,

and to the writing of exercises, themes, and versions. This task was

fulfilled during my husband's absence, or whilst he was engaged with his

correspondence; and in the afternoon I used to read English aloud to

him, while he drew or painted either at home or out of doors. It was his

own scheme of tuition, and proved most satisfactory, but required in the

teacher--particularly at the beginning--an ever-ready attention to

correct the pronunciation of almost every word, and to give the

translation of it, together with a great store of patience to bear with

the constantly recurring errors; for not to mar my interest in the works

he gave me to read, I was exempted from the slow process of the

dictionary. He was himself the best of dictionaries--explaining the

differences of meaning, giving the life and spirit of each term, and

always impressing this truth, that rarely does the same expression

convey exactly the same idea in two languages. He frequently failed to

give word for word, because he would not give an approximate

translation; but he was always ready with a detailed explanation, and so

taught me to enter into the peculiar genius of the language; so that if

I did not become a good translator, I learned early to think and to feel

in sympathy with the authors I was studying.

If the weather allowed it, Gilbert generally took me out on the lake,

and according to the prevailing wind, chose some particular spot for a

study. These excursions lasted about half the day or more, and then some

sort of nourishment was required; but as my ignorance of the language

prevented me from giving the necessary orders, the responsibility of the

commissariat entirely devolved upon him; and I may candidly avow that

the results were a continual source of surprise to me. Being

unacquainted with English ways, I presumed that it was customary to live

in the frugal and uniform fashion prevalent at Innistrynich; namely, at

breakfast: ham or bacon; sometimes eggs, with or without butter,

according to circumstances; toast--or scones, if bread were wanting--and

coffee. At lunch: dry biscuits and milk. At tea-time, which varied

considerably _as to time_, ranging from five if we were in the house, to

eight or nine if my husband was out sketching: ham and eggs again, or a

little mutton--chop or steak, if the meat were fresh, cold boiled

shoulder or leg if it was salted; and a primitive sort of crisp, hard

cake, which Thursday always served with evident pleasure and pride,

being first pastry-cook and then partaker of the luxury. I often

wondered how Englishmen could grow so tall and so strong on such food;

for I was aware within myself of certain feelings of weakness and

sickness never experienced before, but which I was ashamed to confess so

long as men whose physical organizations required more sustenance

remained free from them. One day, however, the reason of this difference

became clear to me. My husband had proposed to show me Kilchurn Castle,

which he was going to sketch, and we started early after the first light

breakfast, with Thursday to manage the sails. On turning round

Innistrynich we met a contrary wind, and had to beat against it: it was

slow work, and at last I timidly suggested that it might perhaps be

better to turn back to get something to eat; but Gilbert triumphantly

said he was prepared for the emergency, and had provided ... a box of

figs!!!... yes, and he opened it deliberately and offered me the first

pick. I could not refrain from looking at Thursday, whose face betrayed

such a queer expression of mingled amusement and disappointed

expectation that I burst out laughing heartily, at which my husband, who

had been meditatively eating fig after fig, looked up wondering what was

the matter. I then asked if that was all our meal, and he gravely took

out of the box two bottles of beer and a flask of sherry, the look of

which seemed to revive Thursday's spirits wonderfully. As for me, who

drank at that time neither beer nor wine, and whose taste for dry figs

was very limited, I hinted that something more--bread, for

instance--would not have been superfluous. The opportunity for ridding

himself of cares so little in harmony with his tastes and artistic

pursuits was not lost by my husband, and I was then and there invested

with the powers and functions of housekeeper.

This was the plan adopted for the discharge of my new duties. In the

morning I studiously wrote, as an exercise, the orders I wished to give,

and, after correction, I learned to repeat them by word of mouth till I

could be understood by the servants. It succeeded tolerably when my

husband was accessible, if an explanation was rendered necessary on

account of my foreign accent; but there was no way out of the difficulty

if he happened to be absent.

Ever since I knew him I had noticed his anxiety to lose no time, and to

turn every minute to the best account for his improvement. Throughout

his life he made rules to bind his dreamy fancy to active study and

production; they were frequently altered, according to the state of his

health and the nature of his work at the time; but he felt the necessity

of self-imposed laws to govern and regulate his strong inclination

towards reflection and reading. He used to say that when people allowed

themselves unmeasured time for what they called "thinking," it was

generally an excuse for idle dreaming; because the brain, after a

certain time given to active exertion, felt exhausted, and could no

longer be prompted to work with intellectual profit; that, in

consequence, the effort grew weaker and weaker, till vague musings and

indistinct shadows gradually replaced the powerful grasp and clear

vision of healthy mental labor.

On the other side, it must be said that he was too much of a poet to

undervalue the state of apparent indolence which is so favorable to

inspiration, and that he often quoted in self-defence the words of

Claude Tillier,--"Le temps le mieux employé est celui que l'on perd."

Aware of his strong propensity to that particular mental state, he

attempted all his life to restrict it within limits which would leave

sufficient time for active pursuits. His love of sailing must have been

closely connected with the inclination to a restful, peaceful, dreamy

state, for although fond of all kinds of boating, he greatly preferred a

sailing-boat to any other, and never wished to possess a steamer, or

cared much to make use of one.

Still, he took great pleasure in some forms of physical exercise: he

could use an oar beautifully; he was a capital horseman, having been

used to ride from the age of six, and retained a firm seat to the last;

he readily undertook pedestrian excursions and the ascent of mountains.

He often rode from Innistrynich to Inverary or Dalmally (when our island

became a peninsula in dry weather, or in winter when the bay was frozen

over); but he found little satisfaction in riding the mare we had then,

which was mainly used as a cart-horse to fetch provisions, for the

necessaries of life were not very accessible about us. We had to get

bread, meat, and common grocery from Inverary, and the rest from

Glasgow, so that we soon discovered that the whole time of a male

servant would be required for errands of different kinds. Not

unfrequently was the half of a day lost in the attempt to get a dozen

eggs from the little scattered farms, or a skinny fowl, or such a rare

delicacy as a cabbage. Sometimes Thursday came back from the town

peevish and angry at his lost labor, having found the bread too hard or

too musty, and mutton unprocurable; as to the beef which came

occasionally from Glasgow, it was usually tainted, except in

winter-time, and veal was not to be had for love or money, except in a

condition to make one fearful of a catastrophe.

There was also the additional trouble of unloading the goods on the side

of the road, of putting them into the boat, to be rowed across the bay;

then they must be carried to the house either by man or horse. Merely to

get the indispensable quantity of fuel in such a damp climate, when

fires have to be kept up for eight or oftener nine months in the year,

was a serious matter, and my husband complained that he was constantly

deprived of Thursday's services. He then decided to take as a gardener,

out-of-door workman, and occasional boatman, a Highlander of the name of

Dugald, whom he had employed sometimes in the latter capacity, for he

knew something of boats, having been formerly a fisherman.

There were some outbuildings on the island; one of them contained two

rooms, which Dugald and his wife found sufficient for them (they had no

children), and this became the gardener's cottage. Another was used as a

stable, and the smallest as a fowl-house and carpenter's shop, for now

we had come to the conclusion that we could not possibly live all the

year round on the island without a small farm, to provide us, at least,

with milk, cream, butter, and eggs; so we bought two cows, and also a

small flock of sheep, that we might always be sure of mutton--either

fresh or salted. This did not afford a great variety of _menus_, but it

was better than starvation.

Vegetables, other than potatoes and an occasional cabbage, being

unseen--and I believe unknown--at Loch Awe, and my husband's health

having suffered in consequence of the privation, we had the ambition of

growing our own vegetables, and a great variety of them too. Dugald was

set to dig and manure a large plot of ground, though he kept mumbling

that it was utterly useless, as nothing could or would grow where oats

did not ripen once in three years, and that Highlanders, who knew so

much better than foreigners, "would not be fashed" to attempt it.

However, as he was paid to do the work, he had to do it; and it was

simple enough, for he had no pretensions to being a gardener; the choice

of seeds and the sowing of them were left to Gilbert, who had never

given a thought to it before, and to me, who knew absolutely nothing of

the subject. In this emergency we got books to guide us, bought and

sowed an enormous quantity of seeds, and to our immense gratification

some actually sprouted. Our pride was great when the doctor came to

lunch with us for the first time, and we could offer him radishes and

lettuce, which he duly wondered at and appreciated. Of course we had to

put up with many failures, but still it was worth while to persevere,

as, in addition to carrots, onions, turnips,--which grew to

perfection,--potatoes and cabbages, we had salads of different kinds,

small pumpkins, and fine cauliflowers. I soon discovered that peat was

extremely favorable to them, so we had a trench made in peaty soil,

where they grew splendidly.

Although very well satisfied on the whole with our attempt, we thought

it absorbed too much of my husband's time, and he soon requested me to

go on with it by myself, and frankly avowed that he could not take any

interest in gardening, even in ornamental gardening. This lack of

interest seemed strange to me, because he liked to study nature in all

her phenomena, but it lasted to the end of his life; he did not care in

the least for a well-kept garden, but he liked flowers for their colors

and perfumes,--not individually,--and trees for their forms, either

noble or graceful, and especially for their shade. He could not bear to

see them pruned, and when it became imperative to cut some of their

branches, he used to complain quite sadly to his daughter--who shared

his feelings about trees--and he would say: "Now, Mary, you see they are

at it again, spoiling our poor trees." And if I replied, "But it is for

their health; the branches were trailing on the ground, and now the

trees will grow taller," he slowly shook his head, unconvinced. When we

took the small house at Pré-Charmoy, he was delighted by the wildness of

the tiny park sloping gently down to the cool, narrow, shaded river,

over which the bending trees met and arched, and he begged me not to

interfere with the trailing blackberry branches which crept about the

roots and stems of the superb wild-rose trees, making sweet but

impenetrable thickets interwoven with honeysuckle, even in the midst of

the alleys and lawns.

And now to return to the domestic arrangements arrived at by mutual

consent. Upon me devolved the housekeeping, provisioning, and care of

the garden, with the help of a maid, occasionally that of Dugald's wife

as charwoman, and pretty regularly that of Dugald himself for a certain

portion of the day; that is, when he was not required by my husband to

man the boat or to help in a camping-out expedition. It was agreed that

Thursday should be considered as his master's private servant.

CHAPTER II.

1858.

Money matters.--Difficulties about servants.--Expensiveness of our mode

of life.

My husband had a little fortune, sufficient for his wants as a bachelor,

which were modest; it would have been larger had his father nursed it

instead of diminishing it as he did by his reckless ways, and especially

by entrusting its management during his son's minority to a very kind

but incapable guardian in business matters, and to another competent but

dishonest trustee, who squandered, unchecked, many important sums of

money, and made agreements and leases profitable to himself, but almost

ruinous to his ward. As to the other trustee, he never troubled himself

so far as to read a deed or a document before signing it. Still, what

remained when my husband came of age was amply sufficient for the kind

of life he soon chose, that of an artist; and he hoped, moreover, to

increase it by the sale of his works.

He was, however, aware of the future risks of the situation when he

asked in marriage a girl without fortune, and he told me without reserve

what we had to expect.

An important portion of his income was to cease after fourteen

years--the end of the lease of a coal-mine; but he felt certain that he

would be able by that time to replace it by his own earnings, and

meanwhile we were to live so economically and so simply that, as we

thought, there was no need for anxiety; so we convinced my parents--with

the persuasion that love lent us--that after all we should not be badly

off.

Soon after the completion of our household organization, however, I

began to fear that a very simple way of living might, under peculiar

conditions, become expensive. A breakfast consisting of ham and eggs is

not extravagantly luxurious, but if the ham comes to thrice the original

price when carriage and spoilage are allowed for, and if to the sixpence

paid for half-a-dozen eggs you add the wages of a man for as many hours,

you find to your dismay that though your repast was simple, it was not

particularly cheap. Whichever way we turned we met with unavoidable and

unlooked-for expenses. Perhaps an English lady, accustomed to the

possibilities of such a place, and to the habits of the servants and the

customs of the country, might have managed better--though even to-day I

don't see clearly what she could have done; as for me, though I had been

brought up in the belief that Paris was one of the most expensive places

to live in, and though I was perfectly aware of its prices,--having kept

my father's house for some years, on account of my mother's weak state

of health,--I was entirely taken by surprise, and rather afraid of the

reckoning at the end of the year. No one who has not attempted that kind

of primitive existence has any idea of its complications. A mere change

of servant was expensive--and such changes were rather frequent, on

account of their disgust at the breach of orthodox habits, and the lack

of followers; or their dismissal was rendered inevitable by their

incapacity or unwillingness, or their contempt for everything out of

their own country. We had a capital instance of this characteristic in a

nurse who came from Greenock, and who thoroughly despised everything in

the Highlands. One night, my husband and myself were out of doors

admiring a splendid full moon, by the light of which it was quite easy

to read. The nurse Katharine was standing by us, holding baby in her

arms, and she heard me express my admiration: unable to put up with

praises of a Highland moon, she exclaimed deliberately, "Sure, ma'am,

then, you should see the Greenock moon; this is nothing to it."

This change of servants was of serious moment to us, both in the way of

time and money, for we had to go to Glasgow or Greenock to fetch new

ones, besides paying for their journeys to and fro, and a month's wages

if they did not give satisfaction, which was but too often the case.

Once it happened that a steamer, bringing over a small cargo of

much-needed provisions, foundered, and we were in consequence nearly

reduced to a state of starvation.

Also, after paying princely prices for laying hens, we only found empty

shells in the hen-coop, the rats having sucked the eggs before us.

Gilbert, to save our eggs, bought a vivacious little terrier, who killed

more fowls than rats; and as to the few little chickens that were

hatched--despite the cold and damp--they gradually disappeared, devoured

by the birds of prey, falcons and eagles, which carried them off under

my eyes, even whilst I was feeding them.

Another very important item of expense lay in the different materials

required for my husband's work of various kinds, and of which he ordered

such quantities that their remnants are still to be found in his

laboratory as I write. Papers of all sorts of quality and size--for

pen-and-ink, crayons, pastel, water-color, etching, tracing; colors dry

and moist, brushes, canvases, frames, boards, panels; also the

requisites for photography. It was one of my husband's lasting

peculiarities that, in his desire to do a great quantity of work, and in

the fear of running short of something, he always gave orders far

exceeding what he could possibly use. He also invariably allowed

himself, for the completion of any given work, an insufficiency of time,

because he did not, beforehand, take into account the numerous

corrections that he was sure to make; for he was constantly trying to do

better.

Our journeys also contributed to swell considerably the total of our

expenditure. Before we were married he promised my parents that he would

bring me over once a year, for about a month; for it was a great

sacrifice on their part to let their eldest child go so far away, and,

even as it was, to remain separated for so long at a time. My husband's

relations had also to be considered, and he decided that every time we

went to France we would stay a week at least with his maiden aunts, who

had brought him up, and a few days with the family of his kind uncle,

Thomas Hamerton of Todmorden; then a short time in London to see the

Exhibitions and his friends. The same itinerary was to be followed on

our return.

My parents living then in Paris, where even at that time rents were high

and space restricted, my husband's dislike to confinement did not allow

him to remain satisfied with the single room they could put at our

disposal; moreover, in order to work effectively, peace and perfect

quiet were absolutely indispensable to him; so he took lodgings close to

my parents', and whilst I spent as much of my time with them as I could

spare, he wrote or read in the noiseless rooms we had taken _entre cour

et jardin_. Of course the rent of the lodgings was an additional

expense. Altogether, when we summed up the accounts after the first

year, we were dismayed to see what was the cost of such an unpretentious

existence; but with youthful hope we counted upon the income that art

could not fail to bring shortly.

CHAPTER III.

1858.

Painting from nature.--Project of an exhibition.--Photography.--Plan of

the "Painter's Camp."--Topographic Art.--Charm of our life in the

Highlands.

Mr. Hamerton has himself explained in his autobiography what were his

artistic tendencies and aims: he meant to be topographically true in his

rendering of nature, and was unluckily greatly influenced by the

Pre-Raphaelites, who were, at the time of our marriage, attracting great

attention. I was totally unprepared for that kind of art, and the most

famous specimens of it which my husband took me to see in London only

awoke an apprehension as to what I might think of his own pictures when

they were shown to me. The old masters in the Louvre, even the yearly

Salons, where, under my father's guidance, I had learned to admire

Troyon, Corot, and Millet, had given me an education which fell short of

enabling me to recognize the merits of the new school. It was in vain

that my husband pointed out the veracity of the minutest detail, in vain

that he attempted to interest me in the subjects or praised the scheme

of color; I did not understand it as art, and I received an impression,

perfectly remembered to this day, and which I hardly hope to convey to

others in words: it was for my eyes what unripe fruit is for the teeth.

It was a long time before my husband completed a picture at

Innistrynich, because he had resolved, at first, to paint only from

nature, and was constantly interrupted by changes of effect. After many

attempts, he came to the conclusion that he would only paint local color

out-of-doors, and in order to study effects rapidly, he made hasty

sketches with copious notes written in pencil. Still, he was not

satisfied, the sketch, however quickly traced, retarding the taking of

notes, so that the effect had vanished before they were completed. After

giving mature consideration to another scheme of study, he decided to

make careful pen-and-ink topographical drawings of the most striking

features of the scenery, such as Ben Cruachan, Glen Etive, Ben Vorlich,

Glencoe, etc., and to have them reproduced in large quantities, so that,

when upon the scene represented by any of them, he would only have to

note the most impressive effects, the sketch having become unnecessary.

I wished him to take these memoranda in water-colors or pastels, for it

seemed to me very difficult, when the effect was out of the memory, to

revive it in its entirety by hundreds of minute observations covering

the whole sheet of paper. I had another reason for wishing to see him

work more in colors--it was his want of dexterity with them, which I

thought practice only could give; but he said it was too slow for

out-of-door study, and should be reserved for winter-time and bad

weather. Another point upon which we could not agree was the amount of

truth to which an artist ought to bind himself; he said "nothing less

than topographic truth," and he took infinite pains in the measurement

of mountain peaks, breadth of heather-patches, and length of running

streams. To his grievous disappointment, when the conscientious and

labored study was shown to me, I could not but repeat that if it were

true it did not look so to me, since it produced none of the sensations

of the natural scene. "You would like me to exaggerate, then?" he asked.

"Yes," I answered, "if that is the way to make it _look_ true." But he

persevered in his system. He used to camp out a week, sometimes a

fortnight, wherever he made choice of a subject, and returned to the

same spot several times afterwards, with his printed studies of outlines

to take notes of effects.

He was fond of elaborating schemes, and I told him sometimes that I

wished he would allow things to go on more simply, that he would paint

his pictures straightforwardly, and try for their reception in the

Academy; but he answered that most certainly they would be rejected if

painted with so little care, and that he thought the best plan was to go

on patiently during the summer as he had begun, then to paint in winter

from his studies, and produce, not an odd picture now and then, but a

series of pictures illustrating the most remarkable characteristics of

Highland scenery, which he would put before the public in a private

exhibition of his own, under the title of "Pictures from the Highlands,

by P. G. Hamerton." And before one of the pictures was begun, he had

made the model of a die bearing this inscription, to be stamped on the

frames of the pictures, as well as on the studies. Mr. Hamerton had

taken lessons from a photographer in Paris, at the time of his first

visit there, thinking it might be a help in the prosecution of his

scheme, and now he was always trying to get some photographs of the

scenes among which he camped. They were generally very poor and feeble,

the weather being so often unpropitious, and the process (paper process)

so imperfect and tedious. Still, it was the means of giving pleasure to

our relations and friends by acquainting them with our surroundings.

Here is a passage from one of my father's letters in acknowledgment of

the photograph of our house: "J'ai reçu avec infiniment de plaisir votre

lettre et la photographie qui l'accompagnait. Cette petite image nous

met en communication plus directe, en nous identifiant pour ainsi dire,

à votre vie intérieure. Merci donc, et de bon coeur."

Although my husband firmly believed that nature had meant him to be an

artist, and helped nature as much as he could by his own exertions, the

literary talent which was in him would not be stifled altogether, and

under pretext of preparing a way for his artistic reputation, made him

undertake the "Painter's Camp."

It may be easily realized that with his elaborate system of study, which

required journeys and camping out, the taking of photographs, painting

indoors in wet weather, together with a course of reading for culture

and pleasure, and in addition literary composition, Gilbert's time was

fully occupied; still he was dissatisfied by the meagre result, and

fretted about it. He had, at the cost of much thought and money,

organized a perfect establishment, with wagons, tents, and boats, to go

and stay wherever he pleased; but wherever he went or stopped he almost

invariably met with rain and mist, and though he could draw or paint

inside the tent, he still required to see his subject, and how could he

possibly when the heavy rain-clouds enveloped the mountains as if in a

shroud, or when the mist threw a veil over all the landscape? I remember

going with him to camp out in Glencoe in delightful weather, which

lasted (for a wonder) throughout the journey and the day following it,

after which we were shut inside the tents by pouring or drizzling rain

for six consecutive days, when the only possible occupation was reading,

so that at last we were beaten back home with a few bad photographs and

incomplete sketches as the fruits of a week's expedition.

At first we did not attach much importance to the weather, even if it

wasted time. My husband had taken the island on a lease of four years,

and it seemed to us that almost anything might be achieved in the course

of four years; we were so young, both of us--he twenty-four, and I

nineteen--that we had not yet realized how rapidly time flows--and it

flowed so delightfully with us as to make everything promising in our

eyes. The rain might be troublesome and interfere with work, but were

not the splendid colors of the landscape due to it? The lake might be

stormy, and the white foam of its waves dash even upon the panes of our

windows, but the clouds, driven wildly over the crests of the hills, and

rent by peaks and crags, cast ever-hanging shadows along their swift

course, and the shafts of the sun darting between them clothed the

spaces between in dazzling splendor. Our enjoyment of natural beauty was

not marred by considerations about the elements which produced it:

whether the rich color of the shrivelled ferns on the hillside had been

given by the fierce heat of a sun which, at the same time, had dried up

the streams and parched the meadows, we did not inquire; and if the

grandeur of the stormy lake on a dark night, with the moaning of the

breakers on the rocky shore, and the piercing shrieks of the blast,

involved the fall and ruin of many a poor man's cottage and the

destruction of hundreds of uprooted trees, we were so entranced in

admiration as to give no thought to the consequences. We derived

pleasure from everything, study or contemplation, fair weather or foul;

a twilight ramble on the island by the magnificent northern lights, or a

quiet sail on the solitary lake perfumed with the fragrance of the

honeysuckle or of the blue hyacinths growing so profusely on Inishail

and the Black Isles.

Well, we were happy; we did not stop to consider if we were _perfectly_

happy; but it was, without a doubt, the happiest time of our lives, for

we have always turned back to it with deep regret, and, as my husband

has expressed it in the "Painter's Camp"--"It is so full of

associations and memories which are so infinitely dear and sweet and

sacred, that the very word 'Highlands' will lay a sudden charm on my

heart forever."

Although we made no dissection of our happiness to know what it was made

of, there was a powerful element in it which I discern clearly now: we

were satisfied with ourselves, thinking we were fulfilling our duty to

the best of our understanding; if we erred, it was unconsciously. Since

then we have not been so positive, and sometimes have questioned the

wisdom of those days. But who can tell?... If my husband had not lived

those four years of Highland life he would not have been the man he

became, and his literary gift, though perhaps developed in some other

way, would never have acquired the charm which influenced afterwards so

many minds and hearts.

CHAPTER IV.

1858.

English and French manners.--My husband's relatives.--First journey to

France after our marriage.--Friends in London.--Miss Susan Hamerton.

The summer of 1858 had been unusually warm and pleasant in the

Highlands, and my husband had put many a study in his portfolios, in

spite of the interruptions to his work caused by a series of boils,

which, though of no importance, were exceedingly painful and irritating,

being accompanied by fever and sleeplessness: they were the result of a

regimen of salted meat and an insufficiency of fresh vegetables; for of

course those we succeeded in growing the first year were only fit for

the table towards the end of summer.

We had not been so solitary as I had expected, for with the warm weather

a few families had come back to their residences on the shores of the

lake, and had called upon us. I had felt rather timid and awkward, as I

could not speak English; but the ladies being kindly disposed, and

generally knowing a little French, we managed to get on friendly terms,

particularly when left to ourselves, for I was very much afraid of

Gilbert's strictures--I will explain for what reasons in particular. He

was, as I have said before, a very good and competent teacher, but very

exacting, and he had repeatedly said that he could put up better with my

faults were they the usual recognized mistakes of a foreigner, but that

unluckily mine were vulgarisms. This was very humiliating, as I must

confess I took a little pride in my French, which had been often praised

as elegant and pure, and this had fostered in me a taste for

conversation such as was still to be enjoyed in intelligent French

society at that time, and of which I had never been deprived at home, my

father being an excellent conversationalist, and receiving political

friends of great talent as orators and debaters, such as Michel de

Bourges, Baudin, Madier-de-Montjau, Boysset, and many others, as well as

literary people.

On the other hand, it must be explained that I was unknown to my

husband's relations, and aware of some prejudices against me among them,

particularly on the part of his Aunt Susan,--the younger of the two

sisters who had brought him up. She only knew that I was French, a Roman

Catholic, and without fortune; all these defects were the very opposite

of what she had dreamt of for her nephew, and her disappointment had

been so bitter when she had heard of his engagement that, to excuse it

in her own eyes, she had convinced herself that a French girl could only

be flippant, extravagantly fond of amusement, and neglectful of homely

duties; a Roman Catholic must of necessity be narrow-minded and bigoted,

and the want of fortune betrayed low birth and lack of education. These

views had been expressed at length to my betrothed, together with severe

reproaches and admonitions, and it was in vain that he had attempted to

justify his choice; his aunt persisted in attributing it solely to a

passion he had been too weak to master. At last our marriage drawing

near, Gilbert wrote to his aunt that if her next letter contained

anything disrespectful to me he would return it, and do the same for the

following ones, without opening them; and the correspondence had ceased.

It was quite different with his aunt Mary, who must also have been

disappointed by his marriage, for with her aristocratic tastes and

notions she had desired for her nephew a bride of rank, and an heiress

to put him again in the station befitting the family name, to which his

education and talents seemed to entitle him. But she had confidence in

his judgment, and loved him with so generous a love that she

congratulated him warmly when he was accepted, and wrote me an

affectionate letter of thanks, and a welcome as a new member of the

family.

Of course my husband had often talked to me about his aunts; not much

was said of Miss Susan, but a great deal of his dear guardian, who had

been like a mother to him, and who now wrote encouragingly to me from

time to time about my English, and my new life. He praised both his

aunts for their good management of a small income, for the position they

had been able to retain in society, and particularly for their lady-like

manners and good breeding; explaining sometimes that I should probably

find it different in some respects from French _comme-il-faut_, and

mentioning in what particulars. I felt that he would be very sensitive

about the opinions his aunts would form of me, and I dreaded that of

Miss Susan Hamerton. He had put me on my guard on some points; for

instance, about the French custom of always addressing people as

Monsieur or Madame, which was hard for me to relinquish, as it seemed

rude; and I was also told not to be always thanking servants for their

services (as we do in France), if I wished to be considered well-bred.

But besides what was pointed out to me, I noticed many other things

which ought to be toned down in my nature and habits, if I meant to

acquire what I heard called lady-like manners. I was at that time very

vivacious, merry, and impulsive, and so long as I had lived in France

this natural disposition had been looked upon as a happy one, and rather

pleasant than otherwise; but I did not notice anything resembling it in

our visitors, who were said to be real ladies, or lady-like. They looked

to my French eyes somewhat indifferent and unconcerned: it is true that

they were all my seniors by at least half-a-score of years, but the fact

did not put me more at ease. However, as they showed great kindness, and

frequently renewed their visits and invitations, I was led to think that

their judgment had not gone against me, and this gave me some courage

for the day of my meeting with my Aunt Susan. And that day was drawing

near, my husband having promised his relations that we should visit them

after six months, which was the delay granted to me to learn a little

English; and although I could not and dared not speak it at the end of

the allotted time, no respite was allowed.

It was arranged that after our stay in Lancashire we should go on to

Paris. This news was received with great joy and thankfulness in my

family, where we had not been expected so soon, and where the sorrow for

my absence was still so keen that my father wrote to my husband: "Chaque

fois que je rentre je m'attends à la voir accourir au devant de moi et

chaque désillusion est suivie de tristesse. Il n'est pas jusqu'au piano

dont le mutisme me fait mal. J'ai beau me dire que ces impatiences, ces

chagrins sont de la faiblesse: je le sais, je le sens, et je n'en suis

pas plus fort."

The love of improvements, which was one of Gilbert's characteristics,

had led him to plan a road on the island, which should go from the house

to the lowest part of the shore, where the lake dried up in summer, so

as to facilitate the conveyance of goods, which could then be carted

without unloading from Inverary to the barn or kitchen-door. He gave

very minute directions to Thursday and Dugald, and set them to their

work just before we left for France, telling them that he expected to

find the road finished on our return.

We started in November, and arrived at Todmorden on a wet day; and just

before leaving the railway carriage we were much amused by a gentleman

who answered the query "Is this Todmorden?" by letting down the window

and thrusting his hand out, after which he gravely said: "It is raining;

it must be Todmorden."

My husband's uncle, Thomas Hamerton, with his two daughters, was

awaiting us at the station to welcome us and take us to his house, where

we found Mrs. Hamerton, who received us very kindly, but called me Mrs.

Philip Gilbert, because she despaired of ever pronouncing my Christian

name rightly. I begged her to call me "niece," and her husband gave the

example by calling me "my niece Eugeneï." Our cousins Anne and Jane

spoke French very creditably, although they had never been in France,

and we were soon on friendly terms. When my husband was away, they

translated my answers to their mother's numerous questions about our

life in the Highlands, my occupations, tastes, French habits, and what

not. Although my powers of expression in English were very limited, I

understood the greater part of what was said, and Mrs. Hamerton and my

cousins being so encouraging, I did not feel so timid, and if I had

stayed longer I should most certainly have made rapid progress. On that

score my husband--P. G., as they called him in the family circle--was

taken to task and scolded for having been too severe with "his poor

little foreign wife." His cousins, with whom he was on brotherly terms,

were much pleased with the soft French pronunciation of the name

Gilbert, and dropped the P. G. decisively, to the great wonder of their

mamma.

The following day was fixed by my husband as the day of our trial,--that

is, for our visit to his aunts, who lived on a steep eminence above

Todmorden, in a pleasant house, "The Jumps." Aunt Mary, in order to

spare me, had offered to come down to meet us at her brother's; but as

she suffered from some kind of heart complaint (the knowledge of which

kept her loving nephew in constant alarm) we were afraid of the effect

that fatigue and emotion might have, and preferred to encounter Miss

Susan Hamerton.

The reception was typical of the different dispositions towards us. Aunt

Mary was standing at the door, straining her eyes to see us sooner, and

came forward to embrace me and to receive the kisses of her beloved

nephew; then she whispered that "she had hoped Susan would have gone

away on a visit to her friends; but she had remained obdurate to all

hints and entreaties." So there was nothing for it but to meet her,

since she would have it so; and with a beating heart I was led to the

drawing-room by my husband. That the reader may not be misled into

believing that a life-long estrangement resulted from the following

scene, I will quote a passage from the preface to "Human Intercourse,"

which gives the unforeseen result of my acquaintance with Miss Susan

Hamerton.

"A certain English lady, influenced by the received ideas about human

intercourse which define the conditions of it in a hard and sharp

manner, was strongly convinced that it would be impossible for her to

have friendly relations with another lady whom she had never seen, but

was likely to see frequently. All her reasons would be considered

excellent reasons by those who believe in maxims and rules. It was plain

that there could be nothing in common. The other lady was neither of the

same country, nor of the same religious and political parties, nor of

the same generation. These facts were known, and the inference deduced

from them was that intercourse would be impossible. After some time the

English lady began to perceive that the case did not bear out the

supposed rules; she discovered that the younger lady might be an

acceptable friend.

"At last the full, strange truth became apparent--that she was

singularly well adapted, better adapted than any other human being, to

take a filial relation to the elder, especially in times of sickness,

when her presence was a wonderful support. Then the warmest affection

sprang up between the two, lasting till separation by death, and still

cherished by the survivor."

But the first meeting held out no such promise. There, on the couch, was

an elderly lady, sitting stiff and straight, with a book in her hands,

from which her eyes were never raised, even when she acknowledged our

entrance by a studiously slow, chilling, and almost imperceptible bend

of the head. I saw my husband's face flush with anger as we bowed to my

new relation; but I pressed his hand entreatingly, and we sat down,

attempting to ignore the hostile presence, and to talk as if we found

ourselves in ordinary circumstances. Poor Aunt Mary, thinking it must be

unendurable to me, soon proposed that we should go to the dining-room

for refreshments, and her proposition was accepted with alacrity. We

left the dining-room with the same ceremonial which had followed our

entrance, and were rewarded by the same frigid and distant movement of

the silent figure on the sofa. We remained some time with Aunt Mary, and

took an affectionate leave of her, my husband giving a promise that on

our return journey we would stay a few days at "The Jumps," whether her

sister chose to be at home or away.

I have related this episode at some length, although it seems to concern

me more than my husband, because the influence it had on his life was so

important. It is almost certain that if Miss Susan Hamerton had behaved

towards us like her sister, my husband would never have thought of going

to live in France. At the end of our lease at Innistrynich, he would

have chosen a residence in some picturesque part of England, and would

have easily induced his aunts to settle as near as possible to us. Their

example and advice in household matters would have been invaluable to

me, whilst the affectionate intercourse would have grown closer and

dearer as we came to know each other better. However, this was not to

be.

We soon left Todmorden after our visit to "The Jumps," and when we

reached Paris there were great rejoicings in my family, where my husband

was fully appreciated. He liked to talk of politics, literature, and art

with my father, whose experience was extensive, and whose taste was

refined and discriminating; he awoke in his son-in-law an interest in

sculpture which hitherto had not been developed, but which grew with

years. As to my mother, brothers, and sister, they loved him for his

kindness, and also because he had made a life of happiness for me.

In Paris we went to see everything of artistic interest, but especially

of architectural interest. I knew nothing of architecture myself, but

was naturally attracted by beauty, and my husband guided my opinions

with his knowledge. I noticed with surprise his indifference to most of

the pictures in the Museum of the Louvre, and he explained, later, that

he could not appreciate them at that period in the development of his

artistic taste, which was at that time retarded by the Pre-Raphaelite

influence. There was certainly a great evolution of mind between this

state of quasi-indifference and the fervid enthusiasm which made him say

to me when we came to live in Paris: "At any rate there is for me, as a

compensation for the beauty of natural scenery, an inexhaustible source

of interest and study in the Louvre."

The Museum of the Luxembourg containing several pictures by modern

artists, whose merits he recognized, was frequently visited by us--and

he admired heartily among others, Rosa Bonheur, Daubigny, Charles

Jacque, and especially Troyon, whose works went far to shake his faith

in topographic painting, and sowed the first seeds of the French

school's influence on his mind.

At the expiration of the month we returned to London, and stayed with

friends; my husband introduced me to Mr. and Mrs. Mackay, to Mrs. Leslie

and her family, to the sons and daughters of Constable, of whom he

speaks in his autobiography, and they all received me very kindly, and

told me what hopeful views they entertained of his future career. We

also called upon Millais, for whose talent my husband had a great

admiration. He received us quite informally, and we had a long talk in

French, which he pronounced remarkably well; he explained it to me by

saying that he belonged to a Jersey family.

It was also during this London visit that Mr. Hamerton made the

acquaintance of Mr. Calderon, who also spoke French admirably,--an

acquaintance which was to ripen into friendship, and last to the end of

my husband's life. He also went to all the winter exhibitions, public or

private, where he stood rooted before all the works which could teach

him something of his difficult art; and when we left he was certain of

having acquired new knowledge.

Miss Susan Hamerton having said to Aunt Mary that she had no objection

to our being her sister's guests, we went straight to "The Jumps" after

leaving London. This time she received us with polite coldness,--like

perfect strangers,--but she was not insulting, only at times somewhat

ungenerously sarcastic with me, who was not armed to parry her thrusts.

I felt quite miserable, for I did not wish to widen the gap between her

and her nephew, and on the other hand I did not see how our intercourse

could be made more pleasant by any endeavors of mine, for I was ignorant

of the art of ingratiating myself with persons whom I felt adverse to

me, and I must avow that I had also a certain degree of pride which

prevented me from making advances when unfairly treated. I had always

lived in an atmosphere of confidence, love, and goodwill,--perhaps I had

been a little spoilt by the kindness of my friends, and now it seemed

hard to be a butt for ill-natured sarcasms. These shafts, however, were

seldom, if ever, let loose in the presence of my husband, who would not

have tolerated it; the want of welcome being as much as he could bear.

Still, there was no doubt that matters had slightly mended since our

first visit, and an undeniable token of this was the fact of Miss Susan

Hamerton extending her hand to each of us at parting. Had I been told

then that this reluctant hand would become a firm support for me; that

these cold eyes would he filled with warm tears of love, and that I

should be tenderly pressed to this apparently unsympathizing bosom, I

could not have believed it. Yet the day came when Aunt Susan proved my

dearest friend, and when Mr. Thomas Hamerton said to his nephew, "Susan

loves you much, no doubt, but Eugénie is A1 for her."

CHAPTER V.

1859.

Visits from friends and relatives.--A Frenchman in the Highlands.--

Project of buying the island of Innistrynich.

When we arrived at Innistrynich from the Continent, all our neighbors

had left Loch Awe, and we had only as occasional visitors the doctor and

our landlord--the rare and far-between calls of the minister ceasing

with the fine days; but we were not afraid of our solitude _à deux_, and

we had the pleasant prospect of entertaining Aunt Mary and Anne Hamerton

early in the summer, as well as the husband of my godmother, M.

Souverain, a well-known Parisian publisher, whose acquaintance Mr.

Hamerton had made through my father, and who had promised to come to see

us. Meanwhile, we resumed our usual rules of work, and my husband began

several oil pictures at once, so as to lose no time in having to wait

for the drying of the colors.

As he had made great progress in his French, he proposed that we should

change our parts, and that nothing but English should be spoken, read,

or written by me, except my letters to French correspondents. I delayed

my submission a while, for it seemed that if I could not speak--even to

him--confidentially and with perfect ease, that indeed would be

solitude. At last I yielded to his entreaties, strengthened by my

father's remonstrances, and some months of constantly renewed endeavors

not always successful, and sometimes accompanied by weariness,

discouragement, and tears--began for me, my teacher never swerving from

his rule, not even when, despairing of making myself understood, I used

a French word or expression. On such occasions he invariably shook his

head and said: "I do not understand French; speak English," at the same

time helping me out of my difficulty as much as he could.

Aunt Mary and Anne Hamerton had promised to come to see us during the

summer, and we had repeated our invitation in the beginning of the

spring of 1859, but Aunt Mary wrote to her nephew: "I am looking forward

with great pleasure to my visit to you and Eugénie, but I think I had

_better_ NOT come till the little cherub has come, because anybody would

know better what to do than I should."

She wrote again on June 6, 1859: "I am very glad indeed that Eugénie and

the dear little boy are doing well; give my very best love to Eugénie,

and tell her that now Anne and I are looking forward with great pleasure

to visiting you as soon as we can."

They came in July, and Aunt Mary was delighted with the beauty of the

scenery, with the strong and healthy appearance of her little

grand-nephew, whom she held in her arms as much and as long as her

strength allowed, but especially by the recovered affectionate intimacy

with my husband, and also by the certainty of our domestic happiness.

Anne Hamerton greatly enjoyed the excursions on land and water, and so

the days passed pleasantly. When my husband was painting, either in his

studio or out-of-doors, we sat near him and read aloud by turns. Aunt

Mary was very fond of Moore's poetry, and read it well and feelingly,

though her voice was rather tremulous and weak. To Anne were given

passages of "Modern Painters" as examples of style, and Lamartine's

"Jocelyn" for French pronunciation. I fear that Aunt Mary's appreciation

of it was more imaginary than real. "The Newcomes" fell to my lot, being

easier than poetry, and gave rise to many a debate about its superiority

or inferiority to Thackeray's other works. As an author he was not

justly appreciated by Aunt Mary, who, on account of her aristocratic

loyalty, did not forgive him for "The Four Georges."

We had also a good deal of music; my husband, having been accustomed to

play duets with his cousin, soon resumed the practice, and though I had

not encouraged him as a solo-player, I liked well enough to listen to

his violin with a piano accompaniment. Anne's playing was only mediocre,

but as she did not attempt anything above her skill, it was pleasant

enough; she accompanied all the French songs I had brought with me, and

they were numerous, for at that time there was no _soirée_ in

Paris--homely or fashionable--without _romances_; the public taste was

not so fastidious as it has since become, and did not expect from a

school-girl the performance of an operatic prima donna. When out in the

boat on a peaceful and serene night, my husband rowing us slowly on the

glassy water, it seemed that the melodies which rose and spread in the

hazy atmosphere were the natural complement to these enchanted hours.

Anne often sang "Beautiful Star" or "Long Time Ago," and I was always

asked for "Le Lac" or "La Chanson de Fortunio."

The arrival of Monsieur Souverain added a new element of cheerfulness to

our little party: he was so thoroughly French--that is, so ignorant of

other habits than French ones, so naïvely persuaded of their superiority

to all others, so keenly alive to any point of difference, and so openly

astonished when he discovered any, always wondering at the reason for

this want of similarity--that he was a perpetual source of interest to

our lady visitors. He could not speak English, but he always addressed

Aunt Mary in his voluble and rapid Parisian French, and she was all

smiles, and appeared to enjoy extremely his run of anecdotes about

French celebrities she had never heard of. Now and then she let fall a

word or sometimes a phrase totally irrelevant to what he had been

saying, but which in his turn he politely pretended to appreciate,

although he had not understood a single syllable of it. It was most

amusing to see them walking side by side, evidently enjoying each

other's society and animated conversation; only we remarked that they

were careful to remain well out of profane hearing by keeping a good

deal in front of us, or else loitering behind.

We had been awaiting M. Souverain for some days, no date having been

fixed, when one morning our attention was aroused by loud and prolonged

shouts coming from that part of the road which affords a view of

Innistrynich, before descending to the bay. With the help of his

telescope, my husband soon discovered a small, spare human form, now

waving a pocket-handkerchief, and now making a speaking-trumpet of both

hands to carry its appeal as far as the island. "It must be M.

Souverain," Gilbert said, as he sent a shout of welcome, and ran to the

pier to loosen the boat and row it across the bay.

He had scarcely landed our visitor when enthusiastic ejaculations met

our ears: "Mais c'est le Paradis terrestre ici!" "Quel pays de rêve!"

"Quel séjour enchanteur!" Then, with a change of tone habitual to him,

and a little sarcastic: "Yes, but as difficult to find as dream-land; I

thought I should have to turn back to France without meeting with you,

for no one seemed to be aware of the existence of the 'lac Ave' any more

than of 'Ineestreeneeche,' and I was beginning to suspect your

descriptions to have been purely imaginary, when _un trait de lumière_

illuminated my brain. I bought a map of Scotland, and without troubling

myself any longer with the impossible pronunciation of impossible names,

I stuck a pin on the spot of the map that I wanted to reach and showed

it either to a railway _employé_ or to a _matelot_, and I was sure to

hear 'All right,'--I have learnt that at least. But upon my life, to

this day I can't explain why no one seemed to understand me, even at

Inverary, at the hotel. I asked: 'Quel chemin doit on prendre pour aller

chez Monsieur Amertone, dans l'île d'Ineestreeneeche sur le lac Ave?'

That was quite plain, was not it?... Well, they only shook their heads

till I gave them the address you had written for me, then of course they

came out with 'All right,' and a good deal besides which was of no

consequence to me, and at last I am here 'all right.' But why on earth

do they spell Londres, London; Glascow, Glasgow; and Cantorbéry,

Canterbury? It is exceedingly puzzling to strangers." My husband was

greatly tickled, and rather encouraged this flow of impressions; he

thought it extremely interesting in a cultivated and intelligent man who

was far from untravelled, for he had been in Spain, Belgium, Germany,

Italy, and Algeria, and who still evinced a childlike wonder at every

unfamiliar object. For instance, he would say: "Now, Mr. Hamerton, I am

sure you can't justify this queer custom in English hotels, of putting

on the table a roast of eight pounds' weight, _at least_, or a whole

cheese. I can't eat all that, then why serve it me?... And why also

those immense washing-basins? They are so cumbersome and heavy that it

is almost as much as I can achieve to empty them: I don't take a bath in

them, I take it in a _baignoire_, and I have not to empty it."

The conversation, however, often ran on serious subjects, and M.

Souverain heard with deep interest from my husband an account of his

plans, both literary and artistic, and said once: "If you intend to

devote your life to painting Highland scenery, and since your wife loves

this admirable island as much as you do, why should not you buy it and

secure the benefit of the improvements you are carrying on? It is

somewhat solitary at times, no doubt, but as you will be obliged to go

to London and Paris every year at least, you might arrange to do so in

winter and enjoy society there, and a change at the same time. You tell

me that your property yields at present but a very poor income,--why

not sell it, or part of it, since it has no attraction for you, and live

here, on your own property, free of rent?"

Gilbert himself had entertained the idea, and had developed it to me

with flattering possibilities and speculations, but I was already

beginning to fear that our present existence was too exquisite to last.

We had received bad news from Uncle Thomas about the rents; the mill was

not let, and would require a heavy outlay before it could find a tenant;

the machinery was old, out-of-date, and would have to be replaced by new

with the modern improvements, and the cottages surrounding the mill were

likely to remain tenantless so long as the mill did not work, or the

rents be but irregularly forthcoming. In fact, our income was already

insufficient, and my husband was seriously considering whether he ought

to borrow in order to set up the mill again, or whether it would be more

profitable to sell the property and draw upon the capital as we required

it, till he could sell his pictures. At last he decided to consult his

uncle, who was a prudent man of business, and had a long experience as

landed proprietor. After due consideration Mr. T. Hamerton advised him

to go to the necessary expense for repairs to the mill.

Meanwhile M. Souverain was growing more enchanted with Loch Awe day by

day, and could not bear the idea that we might be turned out of

Innistrynich some day by a new owner (for the present one was getting

old, and had said that at the end of our lease he would put it up for

sale), so he tempted my husband by the almost irresistible offer of a

third of the purchase money, in consideration of having two rooms

reserved for himself and his wife--my godmother--during two of the

summer months. But Aunt Mary's secret desire--and perhaps hope--of

seeing us established at a future time nearer to herself, suggested some

very weighty considerations against the project. "When your child or

maybe children grow up and have to attend school, will you resign

yourselves to send them so far as will be inevitable if you are still

here?" she said; "and will your healths be able to stand the severity of

the climate when you are no longer so young? The distance from a doctor

is another serious affair in case of sickness, and I myself, as well as

Eugénie's parents, am on the downward course, and may soon be deprived

of the possibility of undertaking so fatiguing a journey." All this had

been foreseen by her nephew, of course, but his attachment to the place

was such that he found ready answers to all objections. "Our children

would be educated at home--the climate, though damp, was not more

severe or unhealthy than the average--doctors were of no good, generally

speaking--and we might visit our relations more frequently in case they

were unable to come to us."

So the question remained open.

Gilbert, thinking it desirable to give his guests a more extensive

acquaintance with the surrounding country than his boats could afford,

proposed to take a carriage, which would be ferried from Port Sonachan

to the other side of the lake, after which we might drive as much as

possible along the shores till we reached Ardhonnel Castle. If we

arrived early we would visit the ruins and the island; if too late, it

would be reserved for the following morning, as we intended to spend the

night at the inn, and to resume our drive in time to be back at

Innistrynich for dinner.

We started merrily,--Aunt Mary, Anne Hamerton, M. Souverain, my

husband, myself, and baby; for our guests kindly insisted upon my being

one of the party, in spite of my small encumbrance, which I could not

leave behind. I did my best to be excused, but they were unanimous in

declaring that they would not go if I stayed.

"You need not walk unless you like," they said, "for there will always

be the carriage, the boat, or the inn for you."

It was a splendid day of bright sunshine in a tenderly blue sky, with a

pure, soft breeze hardly rippling the lake. We all took our seats inside

the roomy, open carriage, my husband leaving the management of the

horses to the driver that he might be free to enjoy the scenery. M.

Souverain remarked that if the Highlanders were a strong race, their

horses hardly deserved the same epithet; and indeed the pair harnessed

to our carriage appeared very lean and somewhat shaky, but the driver

affirmed that they were capital for hill-work, though he would not swear

to their swiftness, and as we did not want to go fast, it was again "all

right" from M. Souverain when the explanation had been translated to

him.

Fast we certainly did not go, and, moreover, we often stopped to admire

the changing views, but the poor starved beasts did not pick up any more

spirit during their frequent rests; they painfully resumed their dull

jog-trot for a short time, which soon dwindled to slow, weary paces that

even the whip in no way hastened. However, with plenty of time before

us, we only turned it into a joke, pretending to be terrified by the

ardor of our steeds.

My husband had to tell M. Souverain all the legends of the places we

were passing, and as he himself "courtisait la Muse," he listened with

rapt attention, so as to be able to treat the subjects in French verse.

"This country is a mine for a poet!" he frequently exclaimed.

Luckily we had packed some provisions in the carriage, for the sun was

already declining,--like the pace of the horses,--and we were not yet at

the end of the drive by a good distance.

The fresh air had sharpened our appetites, and Gilbert proposed that we

should have something to eat whilst the horses were taken out of harness

and given a feed to refresh them and give them a little more vigor for

the rest of the journey.

By the time we had finished our collation the air had freshened, and it

was twilight; we agreed that now it was desirable to get within shelter

as soon as possible, although the charm of the hour was indescribable;

but the thin white mist was beginning to float over the lake, and the

last remnants of the afterglow had entirely died out. What was our

dismay when we found that all my husband's efforts, joined to those of

the driver, to make the horses get up were ineffectual; there they lay

on the grass, and neither expostulations, pulls, cracks of the whip, or

even kicks, I am sorry to say, seemed to produce the slightest effect

upon their determination to remain stretched at full length on the

ground. What were we to do? The driver vociferated in Gaelic, but the

poor brutes did not mind, and they would have been cruelly maltreated if

we had not interfered to protect them. Gilbert said to the man: "You see

well enough that they have no strength to work, therefore allow them to

rest till they are able to go back. I leave you here, and as I have

ladies with me I must try to find some sort of shelter for the night."

The man was almost frantic when he saw us go, but we all agreed with my

husband, and in the hope of finding a cottage set forth resolutely on

foot.

It was now almost dark, but our spirits were not damped yet, and, as M.

Souverain remarked, it was "une véritable aventure." Still, I was

beginning to find my baby somewhat heavy after walking for

three-quarters of an hour, when the gentlemen in front of us cheerily

encouraged our exertions by calling out, "A cottage, a cottage!" and

when we came up to them they were loudly knocking at the door, unable to

obtain a sign of life from within; however, the smell of burning peat

clearly indicated that the cottage was inhabited, and my husband shouted

our story, begging that the door might be opened and the ladies allowed

to rest. Then on the other side of the door, which remained closed, a

voice answered in Gaelic we knew not what, except that the tone of it

was unmistakably angry, and unbroken silence ensued.

There was nothing left to us but to resume our walk, enlivened by M.

Souverain singing the celebrated song, "Chez les montagnards Écossais

l'hospitalité se donne," etc. Every one in turn offered to hold the

baby; but Aunt Mary, I knew, had enough to do for herself, Anne was not

strong, and my confidence in the fitness of the gentlemen for the

function of nurse was very limited. My husband kept up our courage by

affirming that we were not far from Ardhonnel, and consequently within a

short distance of the inn; indeed, he called us to the side of the road,

from which we could see the noble ruin with our own eyes, now that the

new moon had risen and was peeping between the clouds occasionally. It

was a welcome sight, for by this time we were really weary; but alas!

the inn was on the other side of the lake, and we had no boat; still,

Gilbert felt sure there must be one not very far off, to take the people

across, and after surveying the shore for a while he discovered a little

pier, with a rowing-boat chained to it, and a very small cottage almost

close to where we stood; so he went to knock at the door, and again

Gaelic was given in answer. But this time the door was opened by a woman

who had only taken time to put on a short petticoat, and to throw a

small shawl over her head; her feet, legs, and arms were bare, and she

looked strong and placid; her English was scanty, but she understood

pretty well what we wanted, and declared herself willing to row our

party to the other side if any one could steer, for her "man" was asleep

in bed and too tired for work; so my husband took a pair of oars, the

woman another, and I steered from indications frequently given. At last

we stood in front of the inn, and it was past midnight. Not a light was

visible, not a sound was heard, and there was no sign of life except a

faint blue wreath of peat-smoke; but it was enough to revive our

energies and hopes. In response to our united appeals a dishevelled head

of red hair cautiously looked down from a half-opened window, and our

story had to be told again. Well, this time we were let in and allowed

to sit down, whilst the ostler's wife was being roused as well as the

servant, for we were told that the tourists' season, being already over,

the inn was no longer in trim for customers. This was bad news, for the

good effects of the luncheon had passed off, and as soon as we could

rest and forget our fatigue we became sensible of ravenous hunger. The

good innkeeper and his wife were so obliging and good-hearted that they

kept deprecating the absence of all the comforts they would have liked

to give us. However, my husband had brought a large basket of dry peat,

and M. Souverain heaped it up dexterously, and blew upon what remained

of red ashes under his pile, whilst a kettle was placed upon the glowing

embers. "I am afraid I can't offer you the same cheer that you would

give me at the _maison Dorée_," Gilbert said to his friend. "_Ça serait

gâter la couleur locale_; oh! some bread-and-cheese, with a bottle of

beer, will do very well for me." But there was neither bread nor cheese

nor beer; and no kind of abode, however miserable, had M. Souverain ever

known to be without bread. "What do they live upon then?" he asked.

"Porridge, and they occasionally make scones," was the reply. Luckily

for us there happened to be an ample supply of them, freshly made, and

with these, boiled eggs, and fried bacon, we had one of the best

appreciated meals we ever tasted. It was followed by hot whiskey-toddy

and cigars for the gentlemen, by tea and clotted cream for the ladies,

and for a while we quite revived; but sleep would have its way, and

there being only two beds, occupied by the owners of the inn, they

charitably yielded them to us; and when the sheets had been changed,

Aunt Mary and Anne shared one, whilst I thankfully retired to the other

with baby. The gentlemen remained near the fire in the dining-room, one

of them stretched on the sofa, and the other using its cushions as a

mattress.

On the following morning I learned the meaning of the word "smart" for

the first time, it being so frequently repeated by our good hostess, who

had made room for me by the kitchen fire to dress my child. "How smart

is the sweet baby!" she constantly exclaimed with honest admiration, as

she made him laugh by tickling his little feet or chucking his chin.

Our breakfast was a repetition of the supper in every detail, and our

enjoyment of it more limited. My husband soon went out to hire a boat

and a couple of men to row us back again. They took us first to

Ardhonnel, of which he has given a description in "The Isles of Loch

Awe,"--

"A gray, tall fortress, on a wooded isle,

Not buried, but adorned by foliage."

The day was fine again, and the return home ideal; Gilbert steered and

relieved each rower in turn, while they sang their Scotch melodies with

voices strong and clear, and we all joined in the chorus. When we

reached Port Sonachan we heard that our driver had only arrived towards

mid-day, and that his horses not being strong enough to stop the

carriage on the slope to the ferry, had fallen into the lake, from which

they were rescued with great difficulty. We saw the carriage still

dripping wet, which had been left out to dry, and for the repairs of

which Gilbert later on received a bill that he indignantly refused to

pay.

This "romantic excursion," as M. Souverain called it, had so much

developed his fancy for Loch Awe that, before taking leave of us, he

offered to go halves with my husband in the purchase of Innistrynich;

but there was plenty of time for reflection, as the lease had four years

to run, so no decision was taken then.

A fortnight after the departure of our Parisian guest, Aunt Mary and

Anne left us regretfully,--the former especially, who was going back

reluctantly to the jealous remarks of her sister, and did not feel

disposed to listen patiently to criticisms on her nephew's character and

conduct or on mine. From her letters afterwards she had not a pleasant

time of it, but relieved the painfulness of it as much as possible by

accepting at intervals several invitations from her friends in the

neighborhood. This state of affairs made my husband very miserable, for

he would have done anything to secure his Aunt Mary's happiness and

tranquillity of mind; and to help him in his endeavors, I proposed that

she should come to live with us. This is part of her answer:--

"I hope to return with you in May next. Give my very best love to dear

Eugénie, and tell her that I thank her very much for proposing to

gratify your affection to me by proposing that I should live with her

and you; but Susan and I have taken each other for better and worse,

unless some deserving person of the other sex should propose, and the

one he proposes to _should_ say, Yes, if you please. But I think we

shall never separate."

It is with regret that I have to recall Miss Susan Hamerton's unamiable

temper at that time; one thing comes in mitigation, but I only knew of

it years afterwards: she was suffering much from unavowed nervousness.

Her nephew told me that when living in the same house with her he had

sometimes noticed that she ate hardly anything and looked unwell; but to

his affectionate inquiries she used to answer: "My health is good

enough, thank you; and I know what you imply when you pretend to be

anxious about it--you mean that I am cross and ill-tempered." She made

it a point never to plead guilty to any physical ailment, as if it were

a weakness unworthy of her, and also to discourage all attempts at

sympathy.

Another thing I learned too late was her jealous disposition, which

explained her attitude towards her nephew at the time of his marriage;

it was love turned sour, and although we tried to discover the cause of

her bitterness in her worldly disappointment, we became convinced that

she would have felt as bitter had the bride been wealthy and of noble

lineage, because her jealousy would have tortured her as much, if not

more. She became jealous of her sister when we invited her; and long

afterwards, when her brother became a widower, and she went to live with

him, he confided to his nephew that he had had to bear frequent

outbursts of jealousy. It was merely the exaggeration of a tender

sentiment which could not brook a rival.

CHAPTER VI.

1859-1860.

Financial complications.--Summer visitors.--Boats and boating.--Visit to

Paris.--W. Wyld.--Project of a farm in France.--Partnership with M.

Gindriez.

While the "Painter's Camp" was progressing, which was to be the

foundation of my husband's success, three pictures had been sent to the

Academy and rejected; but after the first feeling of disappointment he

was cheered up again by a favorable opinion from Millais about those

pictures--one of them in particular, a sailing-boat on Loch Awe in the

twilight, which was pronounced true in effect and color. Aunt Mary wrote

to him soon after: "I am so very glad of the account you give of your

pictures, and of Millais' opinion of them; it is very encouraging. I do

hope truly that they will attract gain, good-will, and success for you."

As it would have been very expensive to have the pictures sent to and

fro, with the deterioration of the frames, packing, etc., Mr. Hamerton

begged a friend who lived in London to keep them in one of his empty

rooms (he had a whole floor unfurnished) till there were a sufficient

number of them for a private exhibition, in which he intended to give

lectures on artistic subjects.

The mill, after thorough and expensive repairs, had been let, but there

was bad news from the tenant of the coal-mine, who refused to pay the

rent any longer, under pretext that the mine was exhausted. This looked

very serious, as, after referring the matter to his uncle, who was a

solicitor, my husband learned that the lease made during his minority

did not specify the quantity of coal that the tenant was allowed to

extract from the mine, and, of course, as much as possible had been

taken out of it. Still, as there was an agreement to pay the rent during

twelve more years, the tenant's right to withdraw from the signed

agreement might be contested, and the affair had to be put into the

hands of a lawyer. This was a cause of great anxiety, and it was not the

only one. The health of my father had become very unsatisfactory of

late, and his situation was no longer secure. He had been on most

excellent terms with the English gentlemen who were at the head of the

firm in which he was cashier, but they were retiring from business, and

my father did not know what was coming next. He wrote on October 9,

1859:--

"Enfin je commence à respirer; depuis bientôt six semaines je ne savais

pas vraiment où donner de la tête. Nous avons eu transformation de

société, inventaire, assemblée d'actionnaires, tout cela m'a donné un

effrayant surcroit de besogne et de fatigue, et je n'avais pas le

courage de reprendre la plume lorsque je rentrais au logis, harassé et

souffrant. Aujourd'hui nos affaires commencent à reprendre leur cours

normal."

On the 28th of the same month I find this phrase in one of his letters:

"Ma position est plus tendue que jamais et les changements survenus dans

notre administration me donnent des craintes sérieuses pour l'avenir."

Then we learned that a project for lighting Bucharest with gas was on

foot, and that my father was to go there to ascertain the chances of

success. Some outlay was necessary, and my husband, who had heard of it

through a friend, generously offered to defray the preliminary expenses;

his offer, however, was declined for the time, there being as yet no

certainty of profit.

Early in 1860 Gilbert had to leave Innistrynich to visit his property

and receive the rents. He always felt reluctant to go there, because of

the painful reminiscences of his early youth, and of the dreariness of

the scenery. There was also another reason, still more powerful,--he was

not made to be a landlord, being too tender-hearted. How often did it

happen that, instead of insisting on getting his rent from a poor

operative, he left some of his own money in the hand of wife or

child?--frequently enough in hard times, I know.

He was staying at "The Jumps," and went from there to Shaw, Burnley, and

Manchester; he never missed writing to me every day, either a short note

or a long letter, according to his spare time. In one of them he says:--

"Ma tante Marie est bien bonne, mais nous ne parlons jamais de choses

sérieuses--toujours des riens. Comme la vie est étrange! à quoi bon

aller loin pour voir ses amis quand ils vous disent simplement qu'il

fait froid!... ma tante Susan est assez gracieuse, mais j'ai vu des

_nuages_. Je suis allé hier à Manchester où j'avais à faire; j'y ai vu

quelques tableaux et je suis de plus en plus convaincu que la meilleure

chose pour moi est de peindre plutôt dans le genre des _vrais_ peintres

Français que dans celui de nos Pré-Raphaelites, ces réalistes

impitoyables qui ne nous épargnent pas un brin de gazon."

This letter contains a strong proof of his mind's artistic evolution.

In the course of the summer we had several unexpected visitors, among

them Mr. and Mrs. Mackay, Mr. Pettie the artist, and the gentleman

described in the "Painter's Camp" as Gordon, who frequently

called,--sometimes with his son, sometimes alone, and on such occasions

generally remained for the night. Being an early riser, and indisposed

to remain idle till breakfast time, he was found in the morning knitting

an immense woollen stocking, which he afterwards took into use, and

found most comfortable wear for grouse-shooting, as he took care to

inform me.

We had once another visitor, who had come to paint from nature, and was

staying at the Dalmally inn; his name I will not mention on account of

a little adventure which made him so miserable that he left our house

breakfastless, rather than face me after it. He had been offered a

bedroom, and had slept soundly till about five in the morning, when

his attention was attracted by a small phrenological bust on the

chimney-piece, which he took into his bed, with the intention of

studying it at leisure. As he lay back on the pillow, however,

holding up the bust and turning it sideways to read the indications,

he became aware of a black dribble rapidly staining the sheets and

counterpane. Horrified at such a sight, he sprang out of bed, and

discovered--too late--that he had totally emptied the inkstand.

About the same time we had the pleasure of becoming acquainted with

Captain Clifton and his wife, Lady Bertha Clifton, who had rented a

large house on the other side of the lake, and proved very friendly

neighbors. Lady Bertha was extremely handsome; her voice was splendid,

and she sang readily when she was asked. Our neighbors had speculated a

good deal about her probable appearance, ways, and disposition, and the

news that a _lady in her own right_ was coming had created quite a

commotion. I asked to be enlightened on so important a subject, and soon

heard all the details from very willing lips. She was very simple in

dress, and often came to call upon us in a fresh cotton-print gown and

straw hat, with only the feather of a heron or a woodcock in it. Her

husband, Captain Clifton, retired from the army, spoke French fairly

well, and although he had little in common with Gilbert--being an

enthusiastic sportsman--soon became his most constant visitor. Both of

them liked the country and were fond of boating, and they both took an

interest in politics.

A very pleasant feature had been added to the lake by the appearance of

a small steamer belonging to a proprietor beyond Port Sonachan, who came

with his wife to Loch Awe every summer. They invited us from time to

time to join a fishing party, and we had either lunch or supper on

board. There was a cabin for shelter, and the ladies, being thus

protected against the almost unavoidable showers, readily joined the

salmon-fishers.

In this summer of 1860 Aunt Mary came with our cousin Jane, whose sweet

disposition and charm of manner greatly disturbed the peace of mind of a

bachelor visitor, a distant relation of my husband, who was looking

about for a shooting. Everything in his behavior seemed pointing to a

not distant offer; but Gilbert, who was already a good judge of

character, strongly doubted the final step. He said to me: "If Henry is

too sorely tempted, he will run away rather than expose his wealth to

the perils of matrimony; he does not spend his money, he is constantly

earning more and accumulating, but he has told me that no amount of

conjugal happiness could be a compensation to him if, at the end of the

year, he found out that he had spent a thousand pounds more than what he

was accustomed to spend regularly." And it happened that he left

abruptly, just as my husband had foretold, but not without promising a

future commission for two pictures when his billiard-room should be

finished.

The love of boating was very strong in Gilbert, but the love of planning

new boats _with improvements_ was still stronger; in fact, he always had

in a portfolio plans more or less advanced for some kind of boat, and he

very often made models with his own hands. I was in constant fear of the

realization of these plans, of which I heard a great deal more than I

could understand. He was well aware of it, and sometimes stopped short

to say with a smile: "Now, don't go away; I won't bother you any longer

with boats." Unable to resist the temptation of devising improvements,

even when he resisted that of testing them for his own use, he gave the

benefit of his thoughts to his friends when they seemed likely to prove

useful. In the course of the spring, however, he had been at work

planning a much larger boat than those he already possessed; one which

might, when needful, carry a cart-load of goods across the bay, or the

whole camp to any part of the lake. I offered some timid remonstrances

about the probable cost, but he met them by affirming that it would be

an economy _in the end_, by saving labor. So two carpenters were fetched

from Greenock, and began to work under his direction.

The building of the boat, which of course took more time than had been

expected, delayed our departure for France, but at last we set off to

introduce our baby-boy to his relations.

Once in Paris, Mr. Hamerton saw a great deal of his kind friend, William

Wyld, whose advice he was better able to appreciate now that his ideas

about art were no longer topographic. He began at this stage of artistic

culture to enjoy composition and harmony of color; and though he still

thought that his friend's compositions were rather too obviously

artificial, he did not remain blind to their merit. He also saw more of

Alexandre Bixio, brother of the celebrated Garibaldian general, at whose

house he met renowned artists, men of letters, and politicians.

Alexandre Bixio had been one of the founders of the "Revue des Deux

Mondes," with Bulwer Lytton. He had acted as Vice-President of the

Assemblée Nationale, and had been sent to the Court of Victor Emmanuel

as Minister Plenipotentiary, and was an intimate friend of Cavour. One

evening, after dinner at his house, he took Mr. Hamerton aside, and

pointing to a young man engaged in an animated conversation with several

other guests, he said: "I am very much mistaken if that is not a future

Minister of State." "He looks very young," answered my husband, very

much astonished. "He is young, he was born in 1827; but remember his

name, and in a few years you will see if I am right: it is Signor

Sella." Four years later Signor Sella was Minister of Finance.

As my husband has told in his autobiography, I had a sister younger than

myself by seven years, very pretty and winning, about whose future we

were very anxious, on account of the recurring interruptions in her

studies, owing to my mother's distressing state of health. When periods

of illness came on, the whole duty of attendance upon her devolved on my

sister, disastrous as such breaks in her education might prove as the

girl grew up. During the intervals of sickness my mother yielded to our

entreaties, and Caroline was sent to school; but as a day-scholar she

often missed classes for one reason or another, being so often wanted,

and after becoming a boarder she never remained in the same institution

for more than a few months at a time. My mother kept hoping that the

trouble would not return, and tried to persuade us that now Caroline's

studies would be regular, and that being very intelligent, she would

soon be on a par with girls of her own age; but this state of things had

lasted ever since I was married, and I could not foresee the end of it.

We often talked about it, my husband and myself, and he soon guessed

that I wished to have her with us, but that knowing how much he liked

having our home to ourselves I would not ask him to bring another into

it, even though it were my sister. He was, however, with his usual

generosity, the first to offer it. Aware of how much it cost him I

accepted nevertheless, for we were both of one mind, and considered it

as a duty to be done. I looked upon my sister as my child, for my

mother's illness had begun when Caroline was so young that almost all

motherly cares had devolved upon me, who was the eldest. We kept our

project secret to the last, not to disturb the family peace, and being

sure of my father's acquiescence and of Caroline's delight. When the day

came, my husband's persuasion prevailed, and my sister was entrusted to

our care.

This time, while staying at "The Jumps," we noticed a great change in

Aunt Susan's behavior towards us; it was decidedly friendly, with now

and then an almost affectionate touch, and I was told privately that she

had thrown out hints about the pleasure that an invitation to

Innistrynich would give her, so the invitation was given before we left.

My husband applied to Caroline's teaching the system which had proved

effective with me, and made her read English aloud to him whilst he was

painting; I undertook the French and musical part of her education, and

her progress was rapid. For my sake Gilbert was very glad that I had

Caroline with me, because in the course of that year he camped out a

great deal, and it had become impossible for me to accompany him,

another little boy having been born in the beginning of February, and

his delicate health requiring constant care.

Our pecuniary troubles were increasing. The American war having broken

out, the mill, which had been repaired at great cost, was stopped in

consequence, and of course we got no rent either from it or from the

cottages, whilst the expenses of the little farm were heavy--hay being

at an extravagant price, because of the persistent rains, which in the

previous summer had rotted all the cut grass, and made it necessary to

bring hay from England. Although we kept two cows, our supply of milk

and cream was insufficient, and my husband made the calculation that

each cow consumed daily seven shillings' worth of hay in this spring,

though put on short rations. In fact, the state of our affairs greatly

alarmed us, for we did not see any prospect of speedy earnings, and we

began to think of a total change in our way of living which would

materially reduce our expenses. My husband would have been inclined to

remove to the English Lake District, but remembered in time that it was

nearly as wet as the Highlands, and what he wanted as a compensation, if

we left Scotland, was a dry climate which would allow much more time for

out-of-door work.

It so happened that my father, who was now Directeur de l'Usine à Gaz at

Beaucaire, had suffered in health, catching frequent colds through

having to get out of bed to look after the puddlers, to stand before the

fires whilst they were replenished, and to cross a cold, draughty

courtyard in coming back. He had never complained, but my mother thought

it extremely dangerous, and wished that he had a more healthy

occupation.

On the other hand, I had diligently applied myself to our small farm

and garden, with the help of a most valuable and simple guide,

"La Maison Rustique des Dames," by Madame Millet-Robinet, which

had been sent to me as a present by M. Bixio, and I had often thought

that if my efforts were not always thwarted by the inclemency of the

weather, I might count upon a fair return. All this led me to fancy that

if we were to buy a farm in France it might prove a profitable

investment, and I talked the project over with Gilbert. This is the

conclusion he arrived at. He would sell his property, rent a farm in

France, which I should manage with my father, himself remaining entirely

faithful to his artistic and literary studies. If my mother were strong

enough, and my sister willing, they would have a share in the direction,

and even my brothers, later on, if it were to their taste. There were

now many gentlemen-farmers who did not neglect either their work on the

land or their own culture--M. and Madame Millet-Robinet might be cited

as examples.

When the project was communicated to my father, he was very happy at the

idea of living near us, and grateful for the delicate thoughtfulness

which had devised this means of coming to his help under pretext of

asking help from him. Here is part of his answer:--

"MON CHER FUTUR ASSOCIÉ,--Ah ça! pensez-vous donc que j'aie tout à fait

la berlue pour n'avoir pas découvert de prime abord tout l'insidieux de

votre proposition? Il vous faudrait, dites-vous naïvement, pour associé,

un homme actif, exercé, connaissant bien les affaires, la culture, pour

exploiter votre ferme et, plus heureux que Diogène, vous braquez votre

lanterne sur un homme qui dans trois ans sera un quasi vieillard, dejà

valétudinaire aujourd'hui et sachant à peine distinguer le seigle du

froment! Oh! l'admirable cultivateur modèle que vous aurez là! Soyez

franc, mon cher Gendre, vous avez ruminé ce prétexte avec ma fille pour

m'assurer des invalides et donner à ma vieillesse un repos et un abri

que mon labeur n'a pas voulu conquérir au prix de mon honnêteté.

[Footnote: My father had been offered a very important post in the

government of Napoleon III., on condition of accepting his policy, after

the Coup d'État.] Je vous vois venir et j'ai beau être un âne en

agriculture, tout ce qui reussira me sera attribué; mon incapacité sera

couverte d'un manteau de profonde habileté et vous me persuaderez que,

livrés à vos propres lumières, vous ne feriez rien de bon, tandis qu'en

me confiant le soc, c'est à moi que le sillon devra sa richesse."

My mother and my brothers also wrote warmly and gratefully, whilst all

the details of the project were discussed at length in every successive

letter. My father inclined for the purchase of a farm, but Gilbert was

afraid of a possible confiscation of property in case of a war between

England and France.

Meanwhile, Aunt Susan had entered into a regular and friendly

correspondence with me and her nephew, and she wrote on June 27, 1861;--

"MY DEAR NIECE,--My sister and myself are quite annoyed to seem so

dilatory in fixing our time for visiting you; however, we hope (D. V.)

to be with you on Saturday, the sixth of July. I hope your little olive

branches are both quite well, and also your sister; we shall be glad to

renew and make fresh acquaintance amongst the young ones. I suppose

Philip Gilbert will ere this be returned from his long camping

expedition, and I hope he has had a most satisfactory outing. Will you

all accept our united love, and believe me

"Your affectionate aunt,

"SUSAN HAMERTON."

My husband was at home to receive his aunts, and pleased to notice how

amicably we got on together, but he was not prepared for what took place

shortly before their departure. One morning I was gathering strawberries

in the garden, and it was slow work because they were very small, being

the wild species, which had been transplanted for their delicious

flavor. Aunt Susan came up, and offered to help me. Never shall I forget

the scene when we both rose from the strawberry-beds, with our fragrant

little baskets well filled. We turned towards the lake, whose soft, hazy

glamour matched that of the tender sky; the air was still, and there

reigned a serene silence, as if a single sound might have desecrated the

almost religious peace of earth and heaven; yet a smothered sob was

heard as I felt myself caught in a close embrace, my head laid upon a

heaving bosom, my hair moist with warm tears, a broken voice murmuring:

"My child, how I have wronged you!... and I love you so--" "Oh! Aunt

Susan," I said, "don't cry; I will love you too; my husband will be so

happy." We kissed each other, and said no more, and from that time Aunt

Susan became my most faithful friend.

The farm project having been seriously considered by my father, he at

last declared it too hazardous for him to undertake the direction of it.

From the first he had felt unequal to it, for want of the proper

knowledge and preparation; and so much would depend upon its

success--the future of two families. But having had formerly a long

experience in the wine trade, and being a particularly reliable

authority on the qualities and values of Burgundy wines (he was able to

name the _cru_--that is, the place where the grapes were cultivated--of

any wine he tasted, as well as the _cuvée_, namely the year in which it

had been made); and having been in his youth the representative of an

important wine firm in Burgundy, he was more inclined to undertake the

management of a wine business than anything else. He said so to my

husband, adding that the relatives and acquaintances we had in England

might form the beginning of a good connection, and that his own name as

head of the firm would secure a good many customers both in France and

Belgium. His son-in-law was soon convinced of the wisdom of these

reasons, and it was decided that towards the end of the year we would go

to France to choose a new residence, suited to the requirements of the

wine business, and situated in a part sufficiently picturesque to lend

itself to artistic representation. It was stipulated that the name of

Hamerton should not be used; the title of the firm was to be "Gindriez

et Cie.," my husband being sleeping partner only.

CHAPTER VII.

1861-1863.

Effects of the Highland climate.--Farewell to Loch Awe.--Journey to the

South of France.--Death of Miss Mary Hamerton.--Settlement at

Sens.--Death of M. Gindriez.--Publication of the "Painter's

Camp."--Removal to Pré-Charmoy.