Stephen arrived for the vacation towards the middle of August; but the

suspense in which we were kept about Richard's examination was most

unfavorable to the health of his father. At last there were great

rejoicings when a telegram conveyed to us his brilliant success. He came

out second on the list, the first being a lady--Miss Williams--of whom

he had often spoken to us in high terms, having been with her as a

student at the Sorbonne, and who has since become directress of that

most useful institution, the Franco-English Guild.

We were told that Richard was the youngest _agrégé_ in France, and of

course we were proud of it. Mr. Seeley wrote: "I heartily congratulate

you on Richard's great success. It is not often that a young man can so

speedily justify his choice of a career."

"Human Intercourse" was published in September, and sold well, in spite

of its cold reception by the Press. Mr. Hamerton did not allow

unfavorable criticism to disturb him much. There was only one kind of

attack that he did not bear patiently, I believe, and that was being

told that he had no _genius_. "I don't pretend to have genius; I never

said I had; then why make it a reproach?" he used to say.

There was a second edition as early as December, and I give here a

fragment of one of the numerous letters the author received, which may

prove that public opinion was more favorable to the book than the

critics:--

"You have given me some pleasant hours as I read and pondered over

remarks of yours in 'Human Intercourse.' It is not the first time that

you have tinted the current of my life. I hereby certify to my

gratitude, not that I am of any account in the world, but because it

seems to me a sort of duty, and because, were our positions reversed, it

would please ME to know that I was appreciated even by a stranger. What

you say about priests and women interests me deeply as a clergyman...."

The letter contained eleven pages of confidential talk, mostly about

personal experiences in the discharge of professional duty; clearly

showing that the subject had not been treated in vain in "Human

Intercourse."

There had been a serious strike at the schist-works of La Comaille

(close to Pré-Charmoy), and the hands, now that the winter was coming

upon them, were distressed and greatly disheartened. Mr. Hamerton tried

his best to mollify the engineer and to reason with the men, and make

them see that the strike could not bring them any advantage. At last the

workmen asked to be allowed to return to their work; but the engineer

refused to take back the promoters of the strike, among whom was the

husband of one of our former servants. The poor woman came in tears to

beseech her "bon Monsieur" to obtain M. Pochon's forgiveness, for if her

husband were kept out of work much longer her three little children

would have to starve. The landlord having already threatened to turn

them out, my husband had paid the rent of their cottage for a year, and

now he pleaded so warmly the cause of the deluded workmen to Madame

Pochon,--asking for her influence in their favor,--that together they

carried their point, and so gave comfort to several poor families. With

the exception of the two ringleaders, who had used threats and violent

language, all the hands were taken back again. Our former servant's

gratitude still survives; one of her children never fails to send the

united wishes of the family for the New Year, and the letters always

begin with, "Nos chers bienfaiteurs."

The great kindness and generosity of "L'Anglais" were so well known in

our neighborhood that the people had no hesitation in applying at La

Tuilerie for clothing, medicines, or help of any kind. Even the beggars

who came regularly, lingered after pocketing their penny in the hope of

seeing him personally as he crossed the courtyard or went out on the

road, for then--as an old woman confided to one of the maids--"On est

sûr d'une pièce blanche." He was entirely free from false pride, and

looked down upon no one deserving respect. One girl whom we had had in

our service for five years, and who only left us to be married, begged

as a great favor that Mary should be godmother to her child. He gave his

leave at once, being the first to recall how attached and devoted she

had been to our daughter when a baby. And when she called with her

husband, he always shook hands with them both, and offered them

refreshments.

He showed the same ready sympathy to the class of young authors and

artists in want of help and advice, trying to get them employment, and

helping them to improve their work. He often accepted for the

"Portfolio" articles which greatly increased his labors; for he had to

correct and to rewrite parts--if he perceived some promise of talent in

their authors. He also took the trouble of criticizing minutely numbers

of etchings and drawings, pointing out possible alterations which might

make them acceptable to the public, and by so doing he helped to form

and encouraged a great number of artists.

Mr. Seeley was anxious that the book on "Landscape" might be out in good

time for the Christmas sale, and explained the many reasons which made

it desirable; but although the author had done his best to be ready, he

began to doubt of the possibility. Having been anxious about it and

hurried, he became subject to painful attacks of palpitation. As soon as

Mr. Seeley heard of it he wrote:--

"Pray do not run any risk of ruining your health. Tell me exactly how

you stand, how much remains to be written. Then we will face the

position like sensible people, and consider what is best to be done. You

must neither risk your health by overwork nor your reputation by hasty

work. What a pity it is that you don't enjoy games! I find tennis such a

relief from worries. I have also a double tricycle, on which I ride

every morning with my garden boy. It is a capital exercise; the steering

occupies one's thoughts almost as well as a game. One can't think much

of business while going seven or eight miles an hour with the

probability that any considerable swerve will lead to an upset."

Gilbert sometimes went on a velocipede, and liked it, but did not

possess one at that time.

In November there was good news for the boys. Richard had been told by

M. Pelletier that a post at Marseilles would soon be vacant, and that he

might apply for it. He did so, and got it, whilst Stephen replaced him

at Poitiers, so that now they were both provided with good situations.

CHAPTER XVII.

1884-1888.

"Landscape."--The Autobiography begun.--"Imagination in landscape

painting."--"The Saône."--"Portfolio papers."

In October, 1884, all the five hundred large-paper copies of "Landscape"

had been ordered except fifty; but the last pages of MS. were not sent

off until January 30, 1885.

The author wrote to the publisher: "At last I have the pleasure of

sending you a page of MS. with 'The End' written upon it;" and as if

relieved from his task he went on to relate the following incidents:--

"There has been a curious attempt at assassination here yesterday. A

doctor named Vala was stopped by what seemed to be a nun, who asked for

a place in his gig. He stretched out his hand to take a parcel belonging

to the nun, took it, and then offered her his hand. He touched it,

thought 'That's the hand of a man,' whipped his horse, and drove off at

full speed. When at a distance he examined the contents of the parcel,

which turned out to be a loaded revolver and a dagger. He thinks the

project was to assassinate him _en route_.

"Other curious story.

"Night before last a strange man got tipsy in our village and began to

blab and talk. He asked for a bottle without a bottom, and for some

woollen rags. He was suspected of having a dynamite project, and the

mayor was fetched at one in the morning to look after him, so he

arrested him and took him to Autun at two a.m. On the way the man

coolly confessed that he was one of a dynamite gang of ten, and

threatened the mayor and the village when he got out of prison.

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

"Human Intercourse" was more popular in America than in England. Roberts

Brothers wrote: "We have been selling three thousand copies of 'Human

Intercourse;' does not that speak well for your popularity here? As yet

the pirates have left it alone, although the 'Intellectual Life' has

been pirated." Still, the author continued to receive many letters

testifying to the appreciation of the book by his countrymen. Mr. Wyld

said: "I have read 'Human Intercourse' from end to end, and intend to do

so more than once, taking and considering each essay separately."

Mrs. Henry Ady (Julia Cartwright) wrote that she and her husband had

been charmed with it. The book seemed to have influenced women

powerfully, for their letters about it were very numerous.

The news of Richard's health became disquieting early in the month of

January; he suffered much from headaches, and could not work. He was

well nursed at his uncle's, M. Pelletier's, by his grandmother, who

happened to be on a visit to her son-in-law. The doctor said it was a

kind of nondescript fever with cerebral and typhoid symptoms, to which

young people not acclimatized to Marseilles were very liable on settling

there. In Richard's case there had been a predisposition on account of

the hard work he had gone through for the _Agrégation_. He had looked as

if he bore it easily while it lasted; but the strain had been more

severe than he was aware of; and two years after his recovery he told me

that he had never felt the same since that illness at Marseilles.

In February, Miss Betham-Edwards having sent a volume of her poems to my

husband, he wrote in acknowledgment:--

"I have read your book in the evenings and with pleasure, especially

some pieces that I have read many times. 'The Wife's Prayer,' for

one, seems to me quite a perfect piece of work; and not less perfect

in another way, and quite a different may, is 'Don. Jose's Mule,

Jacintha.' The delicate humor of the latter, in combination with

really deep pathos and most finished workmanship, please me

immensely. Besides this, I have a fellow-feeling for Don José,

because I have an old pony that I attend to myself always, etc.,

etc....

"I have been vexed for some time now by the tendency to jealous

hostility between France and England. I had hoped some years ago that

the future might establish a friendly understanding between the two

nations, based upon their obvious interest in the first place, and

perhaps a little on the interchange of ideas; but I fear it was

illusory, and that at some future date, at present undeterminable, there

will be another war between them, as in the days of our fathers. I have

thought sometimes of trying to found an Anglo-French Society or League,

the members of which should simply engage themselves to do their best on

all occasions to soften the harsh feeling between the two nations. I

dare say some literary people would join such a league. Swinburne very

probably would, and so would you, I fancy, I could get adhesions in the

French University and elsewhere. Some influential political Englishmen,

such as Bright, might be counted upon. I would have begun the thing long

since; but I dread the heavy correspondence it would bring upon me. I

would have a very small subscription, as the league ought to include

working men. Peace and war hang on such trifles sometimes that a society

such as I am imagining might possibly on some occasion have influence

enough to prevent a war. It should be understood also that by a sort of

freemasonry a member of the society would endeavor to serve any member

of it belonging to the other nation.

"I don't know if you have observed how harshly Matthew Arnold writes of

France now. He accuses the whole nation of being sunk in _immorality_,

which is very unfair. There are many perfectly well-conducted people in

France; and why does not Arnold write in the same strain against Italy,

which is more immoral still? The French expose themselves very much by

their incapacity for hypocrisy--all French faults are _seen_."

The winter was very cold, and all the ponds were covered with ice,

affording good opportunity for skating. My husband undertook to teach

Mary to skate, and they often went on the ice together.

"Landscape" was published on March 12, and on the 19th all the

large-paper copies were gone, and the small ones dropping off daily.

The author wrote to Mr. Seeley:--

"I am glad 'Landscape' is moving nicely. Nothing is more disagreeable to

an author than to see an enterprising publisher paid for his trust and

confidence by anxiety and loss, especially when the publisher is a

friend. Failure with this book would have been especially painful to me,

as I should have attributed it in great part to my slowness with the

MS., and consequent want of punctuality."

Mr. P. Q. Stephens said: "The book is a superb affair, and, as far as I

have seen it, deserves all praise."

R. L. Stevenson wrote:--

"BOURNEMOUTH. _March_ 16, 1885.

"My Dear Hamerton,--Various things have been reminding me of my

misconduct; first, Swan's application for your address; second, a sight

of the sheets of your 'Landscape' book; and last, your note to Swan,

which he was so kind as to forward. I trust you will never suppose me to

be guilty of anything more serious than an idleness, partially

excusable. My ill-health makes my rate of life heavier than I can well

meet, and yet stops me from earning more. My conscience, sometimes

perhaps too easily stifled, but still (for my time of life and the

public manners of the age) fairly well alive, forces me to perpetual and

almost endless transcriptions. On the back of all this, any

correspondence hangs like a thundercloud, and just when I think I am

getting through my troubles, crack, down goes my health, I have a long,

costly sickness, and begin the world again. It is fortunate for me I

have a father, or I should long ago have died; but the opportunity of

the aid makes the necessity none the more welcome. My father has

presented me with a beautiful house here--or so I believe, for I have

not yet seen it, being a cage bird, but for nocturnal sorties in the

garden. I hope we shall soon move into it, and I tell myself that some

day perhaps we may have the pleasure of seeing you as our guest. I trust

at least that you will take me as I am, a thoroughly bad correspondent,

and a man, a hater, indeed, of rudeness in others, but too often rude in

all unconsciousness himself; and that you will never cease to believe

the sincere sympathy and admiration that I feel for you and for your

work.

"About the 'Landscape,' which I had a glimpse of while a friend of mine

was preparing a review, I was greatly interested, and could write and

wrangle for a year on every page: one passage particularly delighted me,

the part about Ulysses--jolly. Then, you know, that is just what I fear

I have come to think landscape ought to be in literature: so there we

should be at odds. Or perhaps not so much as I suppose, as Montaigne

says it is a pot with two handles, and I own I am wedded to the

technical handle, which (I likewise own, and freely) you do well to keep

for a mistress. I should much like to talk with you about some other

points; it is only in talk that one gets to understand. Your delightful

Wordsworth trap I have tried on two hardened Wordsworthians, not that I

am not one myself. By covering up the context, and asking them to guess

what the passage was, both (and both are very clever people, one a

writer, one a painter) pronounced it a guide-book. 'Do you think it

unusually good guide-book?' I asked. And both said, 'No, not at all!'

Their grimace was a picture when I showed the original.

"I trust your health and that of Mrs. Hamerton keep better; your last

account was a poor one. I was unable to make out the visit I had hoped

as (I do not know if you heard of it) I had a very violent and dangerous

hemorrhage last spring. I am almost glad to have seen death so close

with all my wits about me, and not in the customary lassitude and

disenchantment of disease. Even thus clearly beheld, I find him not so

terrible as we suppose. But, indeed, with the passing of years, the

decay of strength, the loss of all my old active and pleasant habits,

there grows more and more upon me that belief in the kindness of this

scheme of things, and the goodness of our veiled God, which is an

excellent and pacifying compensation. I trust, if your health continues

to trouble you, you may find some of the same belief. But perhaps my

fine discovery is a piece of art, and belongs to a character cowardly,

intolerant of certain feelings, and apt to self-deception. I don't think

so, however; and when I feel what a weak and fallible vessel I was

thrust into this hurly-burly, and with what marvellous kindness the wind

has been tempered to my frailties, I think I should be a strange kind of

ass to feel anything but gratitude.

"I do not know why I should inflict this talk upon you; but when I

summon the rebellious pen, he must go his own way: I am no Michael

Scott, to rule the fiend of correspondence. Most days he will none of

me: and when he comes, it is to rape me where he will.

"Yours very sincerely,

"ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON."

Mr. Seeley wrote:--

"My brother the Professor has been staying with us and reading the

'Graphic Arts' and 'Landscape' most assiduously. He was deeply

interested, and said they seemed to him most important works, giving him

views about art which had never entered his mind before. He seems to

feel that you are doing in Art what he is doing in History."

For the present, Mr. Hamerton had no great work in hand. There was the

usual writing for the "Portfolio," and he had been asked for articles by

the editors of "Longmans' Magazine" and the "Atlantic Monthly," but he

had not yet made up his mind as to the subject of a new important book,

and was discussing various schemes both with Mr. Seeley and Mr. Craik.

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

"I have sometimes thoughts of writing a book (not too long) on the

Elements or Principles of Art Criticism, in the same way as G. H. Lewes

once wrote a series of papers for the 'Fortnightly' on the Principles of

Success in Literature. I think I could make such papers interesting by

giving examples both from critics and artists, and from various kinds of

art. It would add to the interest of such papers if they had a few

illustrations specially for themselves, and as I went on with the

writing I could tell you beforehand what illustrations might be useful,

though I cannot say beforehand what might be required. I should make it

my business to show in what real criticism, that is worth writing and

worth reading, differs from the hasty expression of mere personal

sensations which is so often substituted for it; and I would show in

some detail how there are different criteria, and how they may be justly

or unjustly applied, giving examples. The articles might be reprinted

afterwards in the shape of a moderate-sized book like my 'Life of

Turner,' but about half as thick, and if we kept the illustrations small

they might go into the book. Such a piece of work would have the

advantage of giving me opportunities for showing how strongly tempted we

all are to judge works of art by some special criterion instead of

applying different criteria. For example, I remember hearing a man say

before a picture that told a story that 'its color was good, and, after

all, the color was the main thing in a picture.' Another would have

criticised the drawing of the figures, a third the composition, a fourth

the handling. Lastly, it might have occurred to some one to inquire how

the story was told, and whether the artist had understood the story he

had to tell.

"I remember being in an exhibition with Robinson, the famous engraver,

more than twenty, or perhaps thirty, years ago, and was very much struck

by a criticism of his on a picture which seemed to me very good in many

respects, though the effect was a very quiet one. He said, 'There's no

light and shade;' and the want of good, strong oppositions of light and

dark that could be effectively engraved seemed to him quite a fatal

defect, though on looking at the work in color the absence of these

oppositions did not strike me, as other qualities predominated. Here was

the engraver's _professional_ point of view interfering with his

judgment of a picture that was good, but could not be engraved

effectually.

"Then we have the interference of feelings quite outside of art, as when

Roman Catholics tolerate hideous pictures because they represent some

saint, although they have really been painted from, a hired model, and

only represent a saint because the artist, with a view to sale, has

given a saint's name to the portrait of the model.

"Also there is the judgment by the literary criterion, which is often

applied to pictures by thoughtful and learned people. They become deeply

interested in one picture because it alludes (in a manner which seems to

them intelligent) to something they know by books, and they pass with

indifference better works that have no literary association.

"Then you have the judgment of pictures which goes by the pleasure of

the eyes, and tastes a picture with the eyes as wine and good cooking

are tasted by the tongue. I believe this ocular appreciation is nearer

to the essential nature of art than the literary or intellectual

appreciation of it. _Vide_ Titian's pictures, which never have anything

to say to the intellect, but are a feast to the eyes.

"Then you have the _scientific_ criterion, which judges a landscape

favorably because strata are correctly superposed, their dip accurately

given, and 'faults' noticed. In the figure this criticism relies greatly

on anatomy.

"I have jotted down these paragraphs roughly merely to show something of

the idea, but of course in the work itself there would be much more to

be said--other criteria to examine, and a fuller inquiry to be gone into

about these. I should rely for the interest of the papers, and for their

_raison d'être_ in the 'Portfolio,' very much upon the examples alluded

to, both in quotations from critics and in references to works of art.

"With regard to the papers on Landscape Painters--if I wrote the

introductory chapter it would be on landscape-_painting_ as an art, not

so much on the painters. I should trace something of its history, but

should especially show how it differs from figure-painting in certain

conditions. For example, in figure-painting composition does not much

interfere with truthful drawing, as a figure can always be made to

conform to desired shapes by simply altering its attitude and putting it

at a greater or less distance from the spectator, but in landscape

composition always involves the re-shaping of the objects themselves.

Again, color is of much more sentimental importance in landscape than in

the figure. _Purple_ hills, a _yellow_ streak in the sky, and _gray_

water produce together quite a strong effect on the poetical

imagination, whereas the same colors in a lady's dress are but so much

millinery. If the landscape is engraved it loses nine-tenths of its

poetical significance; if the portrait of the lady is engraved there is

only a sacrifice of some colors.

"_October_ 8, 1885."

Meanwhile, it occurred to him that he might undertake his autobiography,

and stipulate that it should only be published after his death. He told

me that his health being so uncertain and his earnings so precarious, he

had thought the autobiography might be a resource for me in case of his

premature decease, as he saw clearly that notwithstanding the

considerable sums which his recent successes had brought him, it was not

likely that he should ever save enough to leave me independent.

As he had himself introduced the subject, I led him to consider Mary's

future prospects in life, and said that Stephen and Richard being now

provided with situations, we ought to think of their sister. Her musical

education had now reached such a point that no teaching afforded by

Autun could be of any value to her, and it was my desire that she might

have the advantage of instruction and direction in her studies from one

of the best professors at the Conservatoire of Paris. I realized that it

would be a great tax, and a no less great sacrifice for my husband to be

left alone while I should be in Paris with Mary; but I also knew that he

never shrank from what he considered a duty--and we both agreed that it

was a duty to put our daughter in a position to earn her living, if

circumstances made it necessary.

Accordingly I inquired who was thought to be the best executant on the

piano in Paris, and we had it on good authority that it was M.

Delaborde, Professor at the Conservatoire, with whom we corresponded

immediately. Although we had friendly recommendations, he would not

pledge himself to anything before examining Mary, and we started for

Paris in some uncertainty. I had engaged a little apartment at the Hôtel

de la Muette, where we were known, and a pleasant room looking on the

garden had been reserved for us, not to inconvenience other people by

Mary's practice.

I knew the result of the examination would give Gilbert great pleasure,

so I gave him every detail about it. M. Delaborde, who has the

reputation of being extremely severe and somewhat blunt, was most kind

and encouraging. After making Mary play to him for an hour, he said:

"That will do; there remains a good deal to be done and acquired, but

you _may_ acquire it by hard work and good tuition in three years. I

consent to take you as one of my pupils, but I must let you know at once

that I am very exacting. Don't be afraid of me, for I see that you are

industrious, and that you really _love_ music. And now I am going to pay

you a compliment which has its value, coming from me--I find no defect

to correct in your method." After that he gave us a long list of music

to be bought for practice, and said we might come twice a week. He also

inquired what direction I wished her studies to take, and whether she

intended to give lessons. I answered that I wished her studies to be of

the most serious character, exactly as if she were preparing herself to

be a music-teacher, though it was not her parents' present intention,

but because one never was certain of the future. He perfectly understood

my wishes, and was also pleased to notice his new pupil's partiality for

classical music. Strange to say--and I did not fail to convey the

important fact to her father--Mary, who was so easily frightened, felt

perfectly at ease with M. Delaborde, and besides her sentiment of

unbounded admiration for his talent, she soon came to have a great

liking for himself. Her father was very glad--for her sake

especially--that she should have the satisfaction of seeing her efforts

taken _au sérieux_, and appreciated by such an authority as M.

Delaborde. He often said that one of the greatest satisfactions in life

was to be able to do something _really well_, better than most people

could do it, and he was happy in the thought that music would give that

satisfaction to his daughter. About music he had written to Mr.

Seeley:--

"I was always in music what so many are in painting--simply practical.

In my youth I was a pupil of Seymour of Manchester for the violin, and

thought to be a promising amateur, but I have played far more music than

I ever talked about. I don't at all know how to talk or write about

music. It seems to me that it expresses _itself_, and that nothing else

can express it."

After an absence of five weeks Gilbert was very glad to see us back, and

to hear that M. Delaborde had been very encouraging to Mary. At the end

of the last lesson he had said: "À l'année prochaine; je suis certain

que vous reviendrez: vous avez le feu sacré."

Several projects of books had occurred to Mr. Hamerton, which he

submitted to his publishers for advice. He had thought of "Rouen," but

Mr. Craik had answered: "Your name is a popular one, and anything coming

from you is pretty sure of a sale. But we should consider whether even

your name will persuade the public to buy this book on Rouen." It was

abandoned for the consideration of a work on the "Western Islands," to

which Messrs. Macmillan were favorable.

Mr. Seeley was suggesting the "Sea" as a subject that he might treat

with authority from an artistic point of view, but he feared he had not

had sufficient opportunity of studying it, and received this answer:

"Your letter of this morning has suggested to me another scheme--a

series of articles on 'Imagination in Landscape Painting.'" The idea

pleased my husband very much, and as he reflected about it he began a

sort of skeleton scheme for its treatment.

His own imagination about landscape was truly marvellous. Since he had

been deprived of the power to travel, he was continually dreaming that

he had undertaken long and distant voyages, in which he discovered

wondrously beautiful countries and magnificent architecture. He often

gave me, on awaking, vivid descriptions of these imaginary scenes, which

he remembered in every detail of composition, effect, and color, and

which he longed, though hopelessly, to reproduce in painting.

He was now writing in French a life of Turner for the series of "Les

Artistes Célèbres," published by the "Librairie de l'Art." It was not a

translation from his English "Life of Turner," but a new, original, and

much shorter work, about which he wrote to Mr. Seeley:--

"I am writing a book in French--a new life of Turner, not very long. I

find the change of language most refreshing. Composition in French is a

little slower for me, but not much, and as I am a great appreciator of

good French prose, it is fun to try to imitate (at a distance) some of

its qualities."

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

Seeley:--

"The insularity of the English that you speak of is not worse than the

insularity of the French. When I wrote my 'Life of Turner' for the

'Artistes Célèbres' series, I was asked to reduce the MS. by one third,

for the reason that the thicker numbers were only given to great

artists. The sale was very moderate, as so few French people care

anything about English art."

When the first chapters of "Imagination in Landscape Painting" reached

Mr. Seeley, he said: "I like your opening chapters much, and I feel glad

that I have set you on a good subject."

As usual during the vacation, my husband went on the Saône with Stephen

and Maurice for a fortnight. "L'Arar" had been greatly improved, but was

still to undergo new improvements while laid up for the winter. On

coming back home Gilbert wrote to Mr. Seeley:--

"Stephen, my nephew Maurice, and myself have just returned from an

exhibition on the Saône in my boat, which turned out delightful. We had

considerable variety of wind and weather, including a very grand

thunderstorm with tremendous wind (of short duration). We were just near

enough to a port where there was an inn to be able to take refuge in

time. The boat would have ridden out the storm on the water, scudding

under bare poles of course; but I have seen so many telegraph-poles and

trees struck by lightning, that I apprehended the possibility of its

striking one of our masts. At the inn we had dinner, and during the

whole of dinner, between five and six p.m., we had a splendid view of

Mont Blanc through our open window--first with all its snows rosy, and

afterwards fading into gray. As there were no beds in the inn we went on

by night, first in total darkness and afterwards in moonlight, beating

against the wind, but the wind falling altogether and rain coming in its

place, and the nearest inn being twelve kilomètres away, we slept on the

boat under a tent, and were comfortable enough though it rained all

night. Next morning we were under sail at seven, and had a delightful

day. A curious thing about that night was a swarm of ephemerae so dense

that it was like a blinding snowstorm. I could hardly see to steer for

them; they hit my face like pelting rain. They fell on the deck, till it

was covered an inch deep, and two inches deep in parts. Next morning

Stephen, on cleaning the deck, rolled them up into large balls, which he

threw into the river. The people call them _manna_.

"We exercised ourselves in all ways, going out for manoeuvers against

the wind when it was worst, rowing in dead calms, or towing the boat

from the shore, as there is a towing-path all along one side, so we need

never be quite stopped. The boat behaved capitally, and as the lads

became better drilled they did the sailing business better together. My

health kept wonderfully well in spite of (or perhaps in consequence of)

a good deal of work and some hardship. I did a lot of sketches, and

amused myself particularly with drawing the delicate distances.

Yesterday, on our return, we met by appointment a picnic party at

Nôrlay, and walked ten kilomètres under drenching rain to see a natural

curiosity called the 'end of the world,' where limestone cliffs end in a

sort of semi-circle.

"It is believed to be a creek of an ancient lake or sea. The cliffs are

evidently undermined by waves, and hang over. The ground in the middle

is full of beautiful pastures and vineyards, with lovely groups of trees

and a stream, and two very picturesque villages."

The different methods which had been tried for producing manuscript in

duplicate had all proved distasteful and unsatisfactory. My husband was

particularly irritated by the delay caused by having to press down the

hard lead-pencil or stiletto. He could not bear any slow process for

expressing the swiftly running thoughts, and he tried another plan which

enabled him to write very nearly as fast as the ideas came. Using glazed

paper and a soft pencil he made a rough draft without attempt at polish

in style, merely fixing the thoughts. This he corrected at leisure, and

copied with a particular kind of ink which was said to yield

half-a-dozen copies upon moist paper put under a screw-press. But the

result was very imperfect, and took too much time, and finally he used

to have his corrected MS. copied by a professional typewriter. This plan

was by far the most satisfactory, as, by relieving him from the drudgery

of copying, it allowed more time for painting, and a rather important

picture of Kilchurn Castle was begun, to be hung on the staircase.

In February "French and English" was begun. My husband was particularly

qualified to give an impartial comparison of the habits, institutions,

and characteristics of the two nations, on account of his sympathies

with both, and his intimate knowledge of the French language and long

residence in France, during which his inquisitive mind had been

gathering endless information about the public institutions of the

country. He had made himself perfectly acquainted with French politics,

and followed with great interest all current events.

The system of public instruction in France had become familiar to him

through M. Pelletier (who had been a member of the University from his

youth); and he had not neglected to learn from the several ecclesiastics

with whom he was acquainted, what he wanted to know about the

constitution of the Roman Catholic Church and clergy.

In the same way his military friends told him what he cared to learn of

the army. He had for a neighbor M. de Chatillon (cousin of the poet and

painter, A. de Chatillon), a retired captain, who had been in the

Crimea, and was wounded in the Franco-Prussian War; also a friend and

visitor, another captain, M. Kornprobst, with whom he made the voyage on

the Saône. The colonel of the regiment quartered at Autun, M. Mathieu,

who had fought by the side of the English in the Crimea, came sometimes

too, to talk about past days, and recalled among other things with

gratitude and admiration the fare of which he had partaken on board an

English man-of-war. Mr. Hamerton had only to put questions to one of

these officers to obtain full information upon any point of French

military organization. As regards national characteristics in

individuals, he had a rich accumulation of notes and observations, both

in his pocket-books and in his mind. Very observant from early youth,

this tendency had been quickened by the contrasts that life in foreign

parts constantly presented.

It had been decided that the Rhone voyage should be abandoned for one on

the Saône; and Mr. Hamerton was in active correspondence with Mr. Seeley

about the choice of an artist to illustrate the book. Both of them were

great admirers of Mr. Pennell's talent, and they agreed to make him a

proposal.

Mr. Pennell, having been overworked and feeling rather nervous and

unwell, thought that the contemplated voyage would be the very thing to

restore his health. He would have perfect tranquillity on the peaceful

river, and he might sketch at his leisure, without hurry; so he gladly

accepted the hospitality offered him on board the "Boussemroum."

The plan of accommodation on this boat has been explained exhaustively

by the author of "The Saône," but I think I may give a few brief

indications of the arrangements for readers unacquainted with the book.

Mr. Hamerton hired a large river-boat called the "Boussemroum," and two

men to manage it and do the cooking. A donkey, "Zoulou," was kept on

board to tow the boat when necessary, and in the course of the voyage a

boy, "Franki," was engaged to drive "Zoulou." Three tents had been

erected for the passengers, and an awning was placed over part of a

raised platform to shelter the artists at work from the too generous

heat of the June sunshine. Each tent was furnished as a simple bedroom,

with an iron bedstead and a hammock, washing utensils, chest, table for

drawing or writing, and mats on the floor.

Besides Mr. Pennell's tent and Mr. Hamerton's, another had been reserved

for Captain Kornprobst, who was to undertake the duties of the

commissariat. There was nothing so difficult for my husband as to turn

his mind from intellectual or artistic thoughts to domestic or business

affairs; he was aware of it, and dreaded interruptions--and the fear of

interruptions--as well as the responsibility of keeping his floating

home so regularly provisioned as to save its inmates from becoming,

occasionally, a prey to hunger or thirst. Humbly confessing his

shortcomings, he begged his friend, Captain Kornprobst, to join the

expedition as Purser and General Provider, feeling confident that if he

consented everything would _marcher militairement_. It was an immense

relief when the Captain declared himself ready and willing to assume

these functions.

Mr. Pennell, having been suddenly obliged to go to Antwerp for a series

of drawings, could not be free at the time of starting. On the other

hand, Captain Kornprobst had been summoned, the boat hired, and the

men's wages were running, so the voyage was begun, on the understanding

that Mr. Pennell would join the party as soon as he could leave Antwerp,

probably at Corre on the Upper Saône.

On arriving at Chalon-sur-Saône, on May 31, Mr. Hamerton was met by the

Captain, and they proceeded at once to the "Boussemroum," which they put

in order as it moved away. It was only at Gray, on June 6, that Mr.

Pennell came on board.

It has been said in some notices of Mr. Hamerton's life that he read but

little; nothing could be more opposed to truth; the fact is, that he was

constantly attempting to bind himself by rules to give only a certain

proportion of his time to reading, and when he travelled he was sure to

have among his luggage a large trunk of books. Here is a list, for

instance, of the works he took with him on the Saône:--

Royau, "À travers les Mots."

No Name Series, "Signor Monaldini's Niece."

Poe, "Poems."

"Italian Conversation Book."

Arnold, "Light of Asia."

Swinburne, "Atalanta."

Auguez, "Histoire de France."

Amiers, "Olanda."

St. Simon, "Louis XIV. et sa Cour."

Paradol, "La France Nouvelle."

Caesar, "De Bello Gallico."

Palgrave, "Golden Treasury."

Milton, "Poems."

Milton, do. (modern edition).

Milton, "Areopagitica."

Stevenson, "Inland Voyage."

Stevenson, "Travels with a Donkey."

Byron, "Poems" (4 vols.).

Shakespeare, "Poems."

Helps, "Social Pressure."

Gerson, "De Imitatione."

The adventures of the voyage having been narrated in "The Saône," I

shall only mention the incident of the arrest, because it turned out to

be a lucky thing that I just then happened to be in Paris. It must be

explained that M. Pelletier, having been entrusted with the organization

of one of the great new Lycées--the Lycée Lakanal at Sceaux--had been

deprived of his usual vacation in 1885, and, as a little compensation,

he came to spend the Easter of 1886 with us, and took away Mary, who was

to stay with him for her yearly music-lessons. At the end of the month I

took advantage of my husband's absence to go and see the Paris Salon,

and to bring back our daughter.

On June 25, while we were at lunch with M. Pelletier and his children,

and making merry guesses as to the probable whereabouts of the voyagers

on the Saône, there came a telegram for my brother-in-law, who said to

me, after reading it: "What would you say if they were arrested as

spies?" We all laughed at the idea, and I answered that it would be

capital material for a chapter. "Well then, since you take it this way,

I may as well tell you that it is a fact, though your husband wishes it

to be kept from you till he is released."

I began to fear that he might be imprisoned, and that his nervousness

would return in confinement. From this point of view the consequences

seemed alarming, and I wondered what would be the best plan to set him

free as soon as possible.

My brother-in-law was for applying to the English Ambassador, but I felt

pretty sure that my husband would write to him, and that negotiations in

that quarter would take some time. So I went straight to one of our

friends who had a near relation holding an important military post at

the Élysée, and who might be of great help on this occasion. I told my

friend what had happened, and he promised to go and explain matters to

his relative, and to obtain speedily an order of release for the unlucky

travellers. The same evening I had a note to the effect that the

Minister of War had sent the desired order by telegram.

The author of "The Saône" has explained why the voyage was interrupted

at Chalon. The second part was to be made on the "Arar," and the

erections on the "Boussemroum" were to be demolished and the tents

removed before the boat was returned to its owner; but as Mary and I had

expressed a wish to see it before the demolition, we went to Chalon,

where my husband took us on board and explained all the contrivances,

which were very ingenious.

The extraordinary appearance of the "Boussemroum" with its three large

tents attracted quite a crowd on the quay where it was moored, and as we

made our way towards it we were followed by many curious eyes.

Mr. Pennell, having been discouraged and disheartened by the loss of

time and the insecurity of his situation in France, especially since he

had failed to get an official permission to sketch at Lyons, gave up all

idea of illustrating the Lower Saône. What was to be done with the book?

Could it be published in an incomplete state and called "The Upper

Saône?" In that case the work would be of small importance, after all

the preparations, time, and money spent upon it. "Would it not be better

to ask another artist to undertake the remaining part?" asked Mr.

Seeley. But he would have to encounter the same difficulties, and be

exposed to the same vexations--and, after all, the book might be wanting

in harmony.

At last Mr. Pennell offered to make drawings from the author's sketches,

and this was accepted. My husband had already in his possession a great

number of studies taken at Chalon, Mâcon, and upon the river on previous

cruises, and they might be utilized in this way, together with those he

could still make during the vacation on the "Arar."

In the interval between the two boat voyages, Mr. Hamerton devoted

himself almost exclusively to writing "French and English" for the

"Atlantic Monthly," and "The Saône." He also took some precautions in

view of the next cruise, and when he started for it, with Stephen and

Maurice, he was provided with a passport and a recommendation from the

English Ambassador.

The voyage was a pleasant one, and ended prosperously, but it soon

became evident that the book could not be published before the next

year, mainly because the stereotype plates could not have reached

America before December, and the publishers then would still have to

print and bind the book.

Roberts Brothers said about it:--

"We are very glad you have decided to postpone the publication of the

boat voyage till next year. You will see by our account that we allow

you nothing on the cheap edition of the 'Intellectual Life.' Thank the

pirates for it.

"Mrs. Hamerton's 'Golden Mediocrity' has passed through a second

edition; the first was 1,000 copies."

This last book was a novelette that I had written at the instigation of

Roberts Brothers, and which had been corrected by my husband.

The illustrations needed for the completion of "The Saône" took a great

deal of Mr. Hamerton's time in 1886. Early in January he went to Chalon

to take several sketches, which he worked out afterwards in pen-and-ink.

We took the opportunity of this journey to see a few houses which had

been recommended to us as possible future residences, La Tuilerie

requiring expensive repairs that we were not inclined to undertake,

because every time we made any our rent was raised,--no doubt because it

was thought that just after a fresh outlay we should not be disposed to

leave. But we found the house-rents much higher about Chalon than in our

neighborhood, and although Gilbert was fond of the Saône--particularly

for boating--he was far from admiring the landscape as much as that of

the Autunois, from a painter's point of view. After much consideration

we decided to go through the unavoidable repairs, and to renew our

lease.

I suppose that the Saône voyage had directed my husband's thoughts

towards boats more than ever, for his diary is full of notes about them.

I shall only give a few to show the drift of his mind.

"Made a sketch for a possible triple catamaran.

"Made an elevation of hull for the 'Morvandelle,' using an elevation of

a quickly turning steamer in 'Le Yacht,' and _improving_ upon it.

"Made a new balancer for canoe.

"Began to prepare pirogue with marine glue before putting the

rudder-post.

"Lengthened cross-pieces; completed beam for catamaran, adding details

of ironwork.

"Demolished old balancer log of canoe, and began to saw it to make a

little bridge.

"Found that boiling wood was the best plan for bending it; steaming is

too troublesome.

"Thought much about sails.

"Wrote a letter to 'Yacht' about invention of paper-boats."

In October he began to write for "Le Yacht" a history of catamarans,

which was highly appreciated by the readers of that paper.

In the course of that year he also wrote a long and careful review of

"L'Art" for "Longmans' Magazine," "Conversations on Book Illustrations,"

and a review of Mr. Ernest George's etchings. He also worked at the

autobiography.

It was a real sorrow for my husband to hear that in consequence of the

demise of Mr. John Hamerton, Hellifield Peel and the estate were for

sale and likely to go out of the family. He had been considerately

offered the first option of purchase, and he wrote in the diary, "How I

wish I had the money!"

In January, 1887, he wrote to Mr. Seeley:--

"We are rather troubled by the possibility of a war between France and

Germany. The French papers take the thing coolly, but the English ones,

especially the 'Daily News,' are extremely pessimist. If there is war I

mean to come to England, having had enough anxiety and interrupted

communications during the last war. My sons would probably both

volunteer into the French army in defence of their mother's country, as

it would be a duel of life and death between Germany and France this

time. If you and Mrs. Seeley visit the Continent in the spring you may

perhaps witness a battle. I have seen just one, and heard the cannonade

of another--sensations never to be forgotten."

In the spring he had had an attack of gout, in consequence of working at

the boats instead of going out. He bore it with his usual

philosophy--trying to read or write whenever the pain was supportable.

It happened during the Easter vacation, and Stephen used to sit up late

into the night to keep his father company.

At the end of the vacation Richard, who had obtained a post in Paris,

took his sister with him, and in June, Gilbert being now quite well, I

went to fetch her back. M. Delaborde had recommended her the study of

harmony, and we found an able professor in M. Laurent, the organist of

the cathedral at Autun.

It was with great satisfaction that her father noticed her application

and success in this arduous study. He considered it, like algebra, an

excellent discipline for the mind--too often wanting in a feminine

education.

Against all expectations "The Saône" did not sell well. It was

unaccountable; the illustrations were numerous and varied, picturesque,

and greatly admired by artists,--Rajon in particular was charmed with

them,--but it appears that their sin consisted in not being etchings; so

at least said the booksellers, as if the author's works were never to be

illustrated in any other way. The subject was new, and presented in

felicitous style; the reviews were hearty; but in spite of all that

could be said in its favor, the book never became a popular one. Mr.

Seeley had mentioned in a letter the uncertainty of the publishing

business, and my husband answered:--

"What you say about the lottery of publishing is confirmed by the

experience of others. Macmillan said to me one day, 'As one gets older

and certainly more experienced one ought to get wiser, but it does not

seem to be so in publishing, for I am just as liable to error now in my

speculations as I was many years ago.' Evidently Roberts Brothers are

the same."

The subject of "French and English" seemed too important to Mr. Hamerton

to be adequately treated in a few articles, and he decided to give it

proper development in a book, for which all his accumulated observations

would become useful. He proposed it to Messrs. Macmillan, warning them

that, as he intended to be impartial, they might find that his

opinions--conscientiously given--would often be at variance with those

generally accepted. Mr. Craik answered: "As to 'French and English' I do

not think that it matters in the least that you differ from the opinions

of others." Then he went on to say: "I hope to hear from you about a

large illustrated book for 1889, and we will gladly go into the matter

with you when you have got an idea into your head."

In the autumn we learned with deep regret the death of our dear cousin,

Ben Hinde. My husband conveyed it to his friend M. Schmitt in the

following letter:--

"J'ai reçu ces jours-ci la triste nouvelle que mon cousin--le prêtre

anglican que j'aimais comme un frère, a succombé à une assez longue

maladie. Ce qu'il y a de plus pénible c'est la position de sa soeur qui

s'était entièrement dévouée à lui et à la paroisse. Elle a vécu toute sa

vie au presbytère, et maintenant, son frère mort, il va falloir qu'elle

s'en aille. Elle a une petite fortune qui suffira à ses besoins, et j'ai

l'immense satisfaction de penser que c'est moi qui ai pu sauver cet

argent des griffes d'exécuteurs testamentaires mal intentionnés. Je les

ai forcés à payer quarante mille francs. Ma cousine supporte son sort

avec un courage parfait. Je n'ai jamais rencontré une foi religieuse

aussi parfaite que la sienne. Pour elle, la mort d'un Chrétien est un

heureux événement qu'elle célébrerait volontiers par des réjouissances.

Elle n'y voit absolument que la naissance au ciel. Ceci l'expose à être

très méconnue. Quand elle perd un parent elle est très gaie et on peut

s'imaginer qu'elle est sans coeur. Elle va se dévouer entièrement à ses

pauvres; elle vit absolument de la vie d'une soeur-de-charité, sans le

titre.

"La mort de mon cousin, et peut-être l'éloignement de ma cousine, me

laisseront, pour ainsi dire, sans parents. Je ne regrette pas de m'être

donné une nouvelle famille en France, et je me félicite des bonnes

relations, si franchement cordiales, que j'ai avec mes deux beaux-frères

et avec ma belle-soeur."

Some time later he wrote to the same friend:--

"Nous avons fait un charmant voyage sur la Saône, de Mâcon à Verdun avec

retour à Chalon--une flânerie à voile avec toutes les variétés de temps:

vents forts et vents faibles, calmes plats (c'est le moins agréable),

bourrasques, beau temps, pluie, clair-de-lune, obscurité presque

complète, splendeurs du soleil. Comme nous voyageons à toute heure du

jour et de la nuit, nous voyons la nature sous tous les aspects

imaginables. Cela renouvelle pour moi cette _intimité_ avec la nature

qui était un des plus grands bonheurs de ma jeunesse.

"C'est à peu près le seul genre de voyage que j'aime réellement, et

c'est le seul qui me fasse du bien."

Note in the diary:--

"January 13, 1888. Fought nearly all day against a difficulty about

'French and English,' and decided to divide the book into large sections

and small chapters, divisions and subdivisions. Chapters to be confined

strictly to their special subjects."

It became the main work of the year, with the articles on catamarans for

the "Yacht," and the numerous drawings to illustrate them. The

autobiography was also carried forward.

Our little pony, Cocote, was growing old and rheumatic, and could no

longer render much service. My husband was unwilling to make her work at

the cost of pain, and we found it impossible to do without a reliable

horse at such a distance from Autun.

As Cocote was not always unfit for work--only at intervals--her master

decided to buy a horse that he might ride when the pony could manage the

carriage work. He chose a young, nice-looking mare at a neighboring

farm, and took great pleasure in riding her every day; this regular

habit of exercise in the open air was of great benefit to his health.

The death of Paul Rajon, which occurred in the summer, was deeply

lamented by my husband, who, besides his great appreciation of the

artist's exquisite talent, entertained for him sentiments of real

friendship. When we came to live at Paris, he made a pilgrimage to his

house, and to his, alas! neglected tomb at Auvers.

In August, Mr. Seeley wished to republish in book form some of Mr.

Hamerton's contributions to the "Portfolio," and to give his portrait as

a frontispiece. He wrote about it: "My traveller says he is continually

asked for your portrait. If Jeens were living I would ask him to engrave

it, but as we have no one approaching him in skill, perhaps the safest

plan would be a photogravure from a negative taken on purpose."

My husband suggested that perhaps Mr. H. Manesse might etch the portrait

satisfactorily. Mr. Seeley thought it an excellent idea, and said he was

willing to give the commission.

Mr. H. Manesse arrived on October 17, and set to work immediately. He

was most assiduous, and progressed happily with his work. His model

drove him out every day--the weather being fine,--and they derived

pleasure from each other's society, being both interested in the beauty

of nature and in artistic subjects.

CHAPTER XVIII.

1888-1890.

"Man in Art" begun.--Family events.--Mr. G. T Watts.--Mr. Bodley.

--"French and English."

After long reflections given to the choice of a subject for a new

illustrated book, Mr. Hamerton thought that after "Landscape in Art,"

"Man in Art" would be interesting as a study.

Mr. Craik wrote: "'Man in Art' is an excellent idea; you will find us

ready to embark on it with sanguine expectation. You will later tell me

your ideas of illustrating--it ought to be well done in this particular;

but if there is a chance of your coming to England next winter we might

settle this better in talk."

In the spring Stephen and Richard came as usual for the Easter vacation,

but our younger son's altered looks and ways greatly disquieted us. In

the last year he had evinced a growing disinclination to society and

pleasure; his former liveliness, gayety, and love of jokes had been

replaced by an obvious preference for solitude, and, as it seemed to us,

melancholy brooding. To our anxious inquiries he had answered that he

was nervous, and suffering from mental unrest and insomnia. His tone of

voice was now despondent, and if he spoke of the future it was with

bitterness and lassitude. He had been so bright, so confident in his

powers, so full of praiseworthy ambition, so ready to enjoy life, that

this sudden change surprised all his friends and gave great anxiety to

his parents. I begged his father to question him about his health, and

to advise him to get a _congé_ which he could spend in the country with

us, and during which he might rest thoroughly.

But I was told that he had not borne the questioning patiently. He had

answered that he was "only nervous ... very nervous, and wanted peace."

How different was this answer from the one he had given three years

before to another inquiry of his father when he was going to his first

post.

"Richard, I can give you no fortune to start you in life--education was

all I could afford, so you will have to make your own way. You are now

strong and well, but you have been a delicate child, and have often

suffered physically. Now, considering all this--are you happy?"

"Happy?" he had readily answered, "I am very happy; I enjoy life

exceedingly. As to money matters, I can truly say that I would not

exchange the education you have given me for three thousand pounds."

My husband attempted to calm my sad forebodings by telling me that there

is generally a crisis in the life of a boy before he becomes a man, and

he concluded persuasively by saying: "C'est un homme qui va sortir de

là." But I felt that his own mind was still full of care.

When the time of my yearly departure for Paris came round, I recommended

Gilbert to hire a tricycle, and try to get a change of exercise by

alternately riding his horse and his velocipede, and he promised to do

so.

For some time I had been desirous to join Mary, on account of her

confidences about the probability of her becoming engaged. Of these

confidences I said nothing to her father, as I had made it a rule not to

disturb him about any projects of marriage for his daughter till I felt

satisfied that everything was suitable and likely to lead to a happy

result. His love for Mary was so tender, his fears of any match which

would not secure for her the greatest possible amount of happiness so

great, his dread of the unavoidable separation so keen, that I avoided

the subject as much as possible.

When I arrived at Bourg-la-Reine, I was disappointed not to see Richard

at the station, with his sister and cousins awaiting me, as he had done

the year before, but I tried not to seem to notice it. He came, however,

on the following day and breakfasted with us at his uncle's. He appeared

cheerful enough when he talked, but as soon as he was silent his

features resumed the downcast expression they had worn for some time,

and he was ashy pale.

Being obliged to take Mary to her last music-lesson, I asked Richard

when I should see him again?... He gave me a kiss, and said "To-morrow."

There was to be no morrow for him.

* * * * *

When, after vainly waiting for him, the cruel news of his tragic end was

broken to us by M. Pelletier, when we learned that the poor boy had

committed suicide, my sorrow was rendered almost unbearable by

apprehension for my husband. I had long feared that there might be

something wrong with his heart, and now I became a prey to the most

torturing forebodings. My daughter and brother-in-law shared in them,

and M. Pelletier approved my resolution to leave Paris immediately and

endeavor to be with Gilbert before the delivery of the newspapers.

Mary and I left by the first train we could take, and arrived at La

Tuilerie shortly before eleven at night. My husband divined at once that

there was some great calamity, but his fears were for M. Pelletier. When

he knew the truth, he silently wrapped me in his arms, pressing me to

his bosom, within which I felt the laboring heart beating with such

violence that I thought it could but break....

* * * * *

The courage of which my husband gave proofs in this bitter trial was

mainly derived from his pitiful sympathy for those whose weakness he

supported. He sought relief in work, but did not easily find it. There

is the same plaintive entry in the diary for some weeks: "Tried to work;

not fit for it." "Tried to do something; not very well." "Not fit for

much; succeeded in reading a little" "Attempted to write a few letters.

Rather unwell." Then he gave up the diary for some time.

More than ever I felt reluctant to tell him of what had happened to

Mary, and of the probability of her marriage; however, she had been so

sorely tried by the loss of her brother, that it was imperative to turn

her thoughts from it, as much as possible, to other prospects. This

conviction decided me to tell her father everything, and it was a great

relief to hear that he shared my views entirely. Although I had learned

long since how little he considered his own comfort in comparison with

that of those dear to him, how unselfish he was--in affection as in

other matters--I must avow that I was unprepared for the readiness of

his self-sacrifice in this case. We were both of opinion that if all

went well, the marriage should take place as early as possible, so as to

bring a thorough change in the clouded existence of our daughter.

Note in the diary: "Monsieur Raillard this morning asked Mary to marry

him, with my consent, and she accepted him. Day passed pleasantly. I

drove Raillard and his mother to the station."

It now became necessary to make preparations for the wedding, which was

to take place in the beginning of September. For the choice of an

apartment and its furniture my husband himself considerately suggested

my going again to Paris with Mary, where we would meet M. Raillard and

consult his tastes. Accordingly I left La Tuilerie very reluctantly

after the great and recent shock my husband had experienced. I am

convinced it was due to the manful effort he made not to increase my

distress by the sight of his own that he conquered his nervousness from

that time, and was even able to strengthen and support me on my too

frequent breakdowns. He attributed Richard's desperate action partly to

depression arising from the effects of an accident, confided only to his

brother, but partly also to the influence of unhealthy and pessimist

literature on a mind already diseased, and he had said so to Mr. Seeley,

who answered:--

"I am sure that poor Richard came under the influence of pure and noble

examples. It may be that there was actual brain disease, though of a

nature that no surgeon at present has skill to detect. I suppose it is

possible that disease in the organ of thought may be accelerated or

retarded by the nature of the thoughts suggested in daily life or

conversation; and I suppose every one believes that in such disorders

there may come a time when the will, without blame, is overmastered.

"As to the bad literature of the day, I believe our feelings are quite

in unison. What an awful responsibility for the happiness of families

rests upon successful authors--and upon publishers too!"

The letters of condolence and sympathy were numerous and heartfelt; some

came late, for the friends who had known Richard in his bright and merry

days refused to believe that it was the same Richard who had come to so

tragic an end; they thought it was a coincidence of name. I only give

Mr. Beljame's letter to show how the poor boy had endeared himself to

every one, and in what esteem he was generally held. All the other

letters expressed the same sentiments in different words.

"8 _juillet_ 1889.

"Je suis bien sensible, Monsieur, à votre lettre, où vous m'associez, en

des termes qui me touchent profondément, au souvenir de votre fils

Richard, mon cher et excellent élève.

"C'était pour moi, non seulement un disciple dont je me faisais honneur,

mais aussi un véritable ami, et depuis son installation à Paris, j'avais

eu grand plaisir à l'accueillir dans ma famille. Les détails que vous

voulez bien me donner, m'expliquent pourquoi, dans ces derniers mois,

ses visites étaient, à mon grand regret, devenues de plus en plus rares.

"Sa fin si inattendue, alors que la vie semblait de tous côtés lui

sourire, a été pour moi une douloureuse surprise; j'ai refusé d'abord

d'y croire; c'est pourquoi je ne vous ai pas tout de suite écrit.

"J'ai tenu à me joindre à ceux qui lui ont rendu les derniers devoirs;

et j'ai chargé alors votre fils aîné et votre beau-frère d'être mes

interprètes auprès de vous.

"À des malheurs comme celui qui vient de vous frapper il n'y a pas de

consolation possible. Si c'est au moins un adoucissement de savoir que

celui qui n'est plus laisse derrière lui de souvenir d'un esprit

d'élite, d'une nature aimante et aimable, soyez assuré que tels sont

bien les sentiments que votre fils a inspirés à tous ceux qui l'ont

connu, à ses camarades de la Sorbonne, qui l'avaient en affection

particulière, à ses collègues--mais à nul plus qu'à son ancien maître

qui vous envoie aujourd'hui, ainsi qu'à Madame Hamerton, l'expression de

sa triste et respectueuse sympathie.

"A. BELJAME."

When Mr. Seeley was told of Mary's engagement, he wrote: "We are very

glad to hear of Mary's engagement, and we wish her all possible

happiness. But because you and I are so nearly of an age, I cannot help

thinking most of you, and thinking what the loss to you and to Mrs.

Hamerton will be."

In preceding years Mary's brothers and cousins had often made projects

in expectation of her marriage, but under the present painful

circumstances it was understood that only relations would he invited.

Still the disturbance in our habits could not be avoided, as we had to

provide lodgings for twenty people. My husband gave up his laboratory

and his studio and with the help of the boys transformed the hay-loft

into working premises. He got carpenters to fit up the big laundry as a

dining-room, under his directions, and when fresh-looking mats covered

the tiles, and when the huge chimney-piece, the walls, and the doors

were ornamented with tall ferns, shiny hollies, and blooming heather, of

which Stephen and his cousins had gathered a cartful, the effect was

very charming.

My husband had to be reminded several times to order new clothes for the

ceremony,--a visit to his tailor being one of the things he most

disliked,--and being indisposed to give a thought to the fit, he used to

decline all responsibility in the matter by making _me_ a judge of it.

His fancy had been once tickled by hearing a market-woman say that,

though she did not know my name, she identified me as "la petite Dame

difficile," and he called me so when I found fault with his attire.

A few days before the wedding he had gone to Autun, to fetch different

things in the carriage, among them his dress-coat and frock-coat, and

after putting on the last, came for my verdict. "It fits badly; it is

far too large." ... Then I was interrupted by--"I was sure of it; now

_what_ is wrong with it?" "Wrong? why everything is wrong; the cloth

itself is not black--it looks faded and rusty--why, it can't be new!"

"Not new!... and I bring it straight from the tailor's. Really, your

inclination to criticism is beyond--" He was getting somewhat impatient,

for the time given to trying on was, in his estimate, so much time lost.

"It _is_ an old coat," I nevertheless said decisively. "Your tailor has

made a mistake, that's all." "I am certain it is _my_ coat," he

answered, quite angrily this time. "I feel at ease in it; the pockets

are just in their right place;" and as he plunged his hands deliberately

in the convenient pockets, he drew out of one an old "Daily News," and

from the other a worn-out pair of gloves. His amazement was

indescribable, but he soon joined in the general merriment at his

expense--for Mary and Jeanne, the cousins, and even M. Pelletier, had

been called as umpires to decide the case between us. The new coat had

been left in the dressing-room, and it was the old one, given as a

pattern to the tailor, which had been tried on. The best of it was that

on the day of the ceremony Gilbert committed the same mistake; luckily I

perceived it when he had still time to change.

He attached so little importance to his toilet that he never knew when

he was in want of anything, yet his appearance was never untidy, in

spite of his omissions. I remember a little typical incident about this

disinclination to give a thought to needful though prosaic details.

Before leaving for England on one occasion, I had repeatedly called his

attention to what he required--in particular a warm winter suit and an

overcoat. He had promised several times to order them, but when the day

of our departure arrived he had forgotten all about it. "It's no

matter," he said; "I shall get them ready-made in London, and with the

_chic anglais_ too." In England we found the temperature already severe,

and I urged him to make his purchases. On the very same day, he

announced complacently that he had made them, and they were to be sent

on the morrow. He was quite proud of having got through the business,

particularly because he had bought _two_ suits, though he needed only

one. "The other would turn out useful some time," he said. And lo! when

the box was opened, I discovered that instead of clothes fit for visits,

he had been persuaded to accept a sort of shooting-jacket of coarse gray

tweed, waistcoat and trousers to match, with a pair of boots only fit

for mountaineering. When I told him my opinion, he acknowledged it to be

right, but said the tailor had assured him that "they would be lasting."

And he added: "I was in a hurry, having to go to the National Gallery,

and I felt confident the man would know what I wanted, after telling

him."

Mary was married on September 3, and she was so much loved in the

village that every cottage sent at least one of its members to the

ceremony; the children whom she had taught, and in whom she had always

taken so much interest, came in numbers, and the evident respectful

affection of these simple people quite moved and impressed the parents

of M. Raillard. Her father was also pleased with the presence of all our

neighbors and friends, and he went through the trying day with entire

self-command. But when the birds had flown away the nest seemed empty

and silent indeed, and to fill up the time till their return, I thought

a little cruise on wheels would be the best diversion.

The weather was still fine and warm enough for working from nature, and

preparations were made for a sketching tour, in which M. Pelletier would

accompany his brother-in-law while the house was put to rights again.

They started with Cadette, and went successively to Etang,

Toulon-sur-Arroux, St. Nizier, Charbonnat, Luzy, La Roche-Millay, St.

Léger, l'Etang-des-Poissons, and La Grande-Verrière,--a most picturesque

excursion, from which my husband brought back several interesting

studies.

The day after the return, M. Pelletier and his family left us, my

brother, his wife and daughters, who had been bridesmaids, having

preceded them.

At the end of a fortnight Raoul Raillard and his wife came back to spend

with us the rest of the vacation. The day they went away the diary said,

"We bore the separation pretty well." Yes, we bore it pretty well this

time, because it was not to be very long. It had been decided that as

soon as the young couple were settled in their apartments, we should

become their guests,--my husband hoping, in this way, to see the great

Exhibition at leisure and without fatigue.

We arrived at M. Raillard's on October 13, and the very next day saw us

in the English Fine Arts department of the Exhibition. Our daughter

lived in the Rue de la Tour, at Passy, an easy walking distance to the

Champ de Mars, and her father made it a rule to go there on foot with me

every morning between the first breakfast and _déjeuner à la

fourchette_. The plan answered very well. We were almost alone in the

rooms, and could see the pictures at our leisure. My husband took his

notes with ease and comfort, without nervousness. After a two hours'

study, we went back to the family lunch, and such was Gilbert's

improvement in health that he often took us again to the Exhibition in

the afternoon merely for pleasure.

He enjoyed the works of art immensely, and said that he felt like a

ravenous man to whom a splendid banquet was offered.

Being also greatly interested in the progress of the various sciences,

he liked to become acquainted with all new inventions, and often

resorted to the Galerie des Machines.

Mr. Seeley had been told of our intended visit to England, in case my

husband did not feel any bad effects from the stay in Paris, and he

wrote: "It is fortunate that you are coming just now, when we want to

start the 'Portfolio' on a new career; it will be delightful to consult

over it with you. Do not exhaust your energy in Paris, and find you have

none left to bring you over to England."

Although he worked unremittingly, he felt no fatigue; his nervous system

was quiet and allowed him to seek diligently for promises of new talent

among the mass of painters and engravers, and to feast his artistic

sense in the Exposition du Centenaire. He also gave more than his usual

attention to sculpture, and was of opinion that France remained

unrivalled in that branch of art.

On our way to England we stopped at Chantilly, and slept at Calais in

the Hôtel Maritime, on the new pier. I almost believe that we happened

to be the first travellers asking for a bedroom, for the waiters offered

excuses for the still incomplete furnishing, and for the service not

being yet properly organized. After a good night's rest, we visited

Calais Maritime and the important engineering works there, for which my

husband expressed great admiration. On arriving in London we went

straight to Mr. and Mrs. Seeley's, who had kindly invited us to stay

with them till we found comfortable lodgings.

It was not Gilbert's intention to stay long in England this time; he had

come mainly to discuss with Mr. Seeley the improvements they both

desired to introduce in the "Portfolio," and to choose the illustrations

for "Man in Art." In order not to lose time, he decided to take lodgings

in a central part, as near to the National Gallery as possible; but he

wished the street not to be noisy. He found what he wanted in Craven

Street.

This time he had to pay calls alone, and to beg our friends to excuse

me, for I had not yet been able to master my sorrow sufficiently to

allow of my resuming social intercourse without fear of breaking down.

With her tender sympathy, Mrs. Seeley bore with me, and strove to

console me when my resignation failed; but I could but feel that I was a

saddening guest.

While we were still at Nutfield, Mr. A. H. Palmer, the son of Samuel

Palmer, who had a warm admiration for Mr. Hamerton, had been invited to

meet him, and he brought his camera with him, proposing to take our

photographs. The portraits of the ladies were failures; Mr. Seeley's was

fairly successful; but my husband's was the best portrait we had ever

seen of him, very fine and characteristic.

We had intended to spend only two or three days with M. and Madame

Raillard on our return, but our son-in-law being obliged to leave

suddenly on account of his grandmother's illness, and unwilling to

expose his wife to contagion, we offered to remain with her till he

should come back.

We soon received the sad news of the deaths, at an interval of two days

only, of the grandmother and an aunt; also of the dangerous illness of

Madame Raillard senior, which happily did not prove fatal, the disease

having apparently spent its virulence on the two first victims.

During our enforced stay in Paris Gilbert wrote an article for the

"Photographic Quarterly" on Photogravure and Héliogravure, and for the

"Portfolio" a review of Mr. Pennell's book on Pen-and-Ink Drawing. We

went by boat to Suresnes, to see the banks of the Seine, for Mary was

trying to draw us to live nearer to her. With her husband she had

already visited several pretty places in the neighborhood of Paris, and

had given us some very tempting descriptions. As for me, I should have

desired nothing better than to live near to my daughter, but I never

expected my husband to reconcile himself to town life.

There was a marked and decided improvement in his ability to travel, for

he did not suffer at all on the way home; it is true that we strictly

adhered to the rule of slow and night trains.

The pleasant exercise of riding had to be reluctantly given up because

Cadette, who had betrayed from the beginning a slight weakness in the

knees, now stumbled often and badly, especially out of harness. The

veterinary surgeon who had examined her before we bought her, had said

that it was of no consequence, only the result of poor feeding, and

would disappear after a course of prolonged river-baths. Instead of

disappearing, the tendency had so much increased that it was deemed

safer not to trust Cadette even in the two-wheeled carriage, at least

for a while. This mishap was the beginning of my husband's real

appreciation of velocipedes. He had liked them well enough from the

first, and used to hire one now and then, but it was only after he had

become possessed of a good tricycle that the taste for the kind of

exercise it affords developed itself apace. M. Raillard had made him a

present of one for which he had little use in Paris, and this present

having been made just after Mary's betrothal, her father playfully said

that "he had sold his daughter for a velocipede."

As soon as he had adopted the machine as his ordinary steed, he began to

consider how to make it carry his sketching apparatus. He invented

various straps, boxes, holders, rings, etc., fitting in different places

according to the bulk and nature of the things he wished to have with

him: a sketching umbrella, a stool, and all that was needful for

water-color, etching, or oil-painting. He also devised a zinc box,

easily adapted to the tricycle, to take his letters, manuscripts, and

parcels to the post, and found it very convenient.

At the end of January he was seized with an attack of gout which lasted

a week, and took him quite by surprise, for he had not neglected

physical exercise; the doctor, however, said that an attack of gout

might be brought on by a mere change of locality--and we had just

returned from Paris.

He strove to do some work in spite of pain and bad nights, and succeeded

now and then, and as soon as he could manage--with help--to get into the

carriage, he drove out for change of air.

In March he received from Mr. Watts the permission he had asked, to have

his portrait of Lord Lawrence engraved.

I transcribe Mr. Watts's letters, with two others which had preceded it,

to show in what esteem he held his correspondent's opinions.

"MONKSHATCH, GUILDFORD, SURREY. _November_ 23, 1889.

"MY DEAR SIR,--Our short talk was very interesting to me, and I should

like to have an opportunity of explaining my views on art and the

practice of it, which opportunity I hope you will give me at some future

time. I have asked Mr. F. Hollyer of 9 Pembroke Square, Kensington, to

let you have prints of Lord Lawrence and Mr. Peabody. On the other side

of the sheet I send the permission you require."

"MONKSHATCH, GUILDFORD, SURREY. _December_ 4, 1889.

"MY DEAR SIR,--I have just seen the December number of the 'Magazine of

Art,' in which I find an engraving of my portrait of Peabody. I did not

know that it would be there, but I have given Mr. Spielman a sort of

general permission to use certain of the photographs. I do not know

whether the appearance of the head will vitiate the interest of your

proposed publication, but I hope not, as the use of it will be of a very

different nature.

"I am much gratified by what you said of my works in your letter to me.

However limited may be the result of my efforts, I have worked from the

very beginning with sincerity of aim, certainly never regarding the

_profession_ as a trade; and for some years not considering my avocation

as a profession, declining to paint portraits professionally or to take

commissions.

"Such wares as I may have of an unimportant aim and character, I am not

unwilling to sell, as Lord Derby is not unwilling to sell his coals; for

I am not wealthy, and find many good ways of using money, but I do not

regard my art as a source of income any longer. I hope some day to have

the pleasure of discussing certain artistic questions with you."

"MONKSHATCH, GUILDFORD, SURREY. _March_ 14, 1890.

"MY DEAR SIR,--The picture of Lord Lawrence is in my possession, and the

engraver may have it for two weeks in May or June. Of course he is

trustworthy! The picture being one of those I have made over to the

nation, I lend it with a certain hesitation, as I do not consider it

belongs to me. I am flattered by the opinion of the young men,

especially as I think I may hope it becomes more favorable with time.

"The portrait of Tennyson is at South Kensington, and no doubt I can

easily manage that Mr. Frank Short should have access to it.

"I do not expect to be in town for good before the end of April, but

here I am within an hour and a half of London."

Although a great amount of labor had been bestowed upon "Man in Art,"

the author thought it advanced but slowly, and became anxious as the

year wore on. In July he wrote a long explanatory letter to Mr. Craik,

and received this answer:--

"I am much interested in your report of what has been done towards the

new book. You have done a good bit of work, and I think you have made a

thoroughly interesting selection of pictures. You have an almost endless

field to choose from.

"_It is quite impossible to publish this year_, but you ought to have

plenty of time to prepare for next autumn. It is strange how long a book

with illustrations takes to get ready; but the disappointment when many

artists are at work is proverbial.

"I look forward with sanguine interest to the publication next year."

Note in the diary: "I feel much relieved by this letter, altogether a

day of _détente_."

Although he had taken an immense quantity of notes both in London and

Paris, my husband was sometimes greatly perplexed by the want of

references, and said almost desperately: "No one has any idea of the

difficulty of doing my work in my situation,--far from picture

galleries, museums, and libraries. It is so arduous that, at times, I

feel as if I could not go on. It is too much for the brain to carry so

many images, to remember so many things, without the possibility of

refreshing my memory, of settling a doubt, of filling up a gap." He was

not the only one to wonder at the extraordinary feats of literary

production which he was compelled to accomplish under such unfavorable

circumstances. AH those who knew of it said that his store of

accumulated knowledge must be marvellous indeed. And yet, the only

remedy was hardly to be hinted at; I felt so certain that he would be

miserable in a great capital that I never mentioned the possibility of

living in one of them; he was sufficiently aware of its desirability.

Early in the summer, as I had suffered much from rheumatism, our doctor

insisted upon my being sent to Bourbon-Lancy for a course of baths. I

was most unwilling to leave my husband now that Mary was married and

away, but he said the hope that the treatment would do me good was

enough to make him bear his temporary loneliness cheerfully, and then my

mother would come to stay with him. As I was very down-hearted myself,

he promised to make a break in our separation by coming to see me.

When the first half of my season at the baths was over, I saw him arrive

in the little gig with M. Bulliot, who had come on an antiquarian quest.

They went together, to see the curious, simple church of St. Nazaire

(eleventh century), of which my husband made a drawing. He also sketched

a view of the Loire, which may be seen from the height above

Bourbon-Lancy, for a great length of its sleepy course.

In the course of the vacation, my husband listened pretty regularly to

M. Raillard's English readings out of Emerson or Tennyson, while he

occasionally read a little German with his son-in-law. He was very

desirous of resuming the study of that language, which, he said, would

be of great service in his studies, but he was not able to find the

time--Italian absorbing all he could spare. Two masters--or rather a

master and a mistress--had been recommended to him, and when he could

manage it, he wrote to them alternately long letters in Italian, which

they returned corrected.

Mr. Bodley, an English gentleman who was studying French institutions

and politics most seriously, and who was acquainted with Mr. Hamerton's

works, came in August to see him. This visit was the beginning of a

lasting acquaintance, which was appreciated and valued by both parties.

When we settled in the Parc des Princes, and when, after his marriage,

Mr. Bodley resided in Paris, they met with new pleasure and fresh

interest whenever an opportunity offered itself.

Mr. Bodley was commencing his studies on Prance for the work he had just

undertaken for Messrs. Macmillan, which should essay to do for France

what Mr. Bryce had done for the United States in his "American

Commonwealth." Recognizing Mr. Hamerton as the chief English authority

on all French questions, he had, soon after his first arrival in Paris,

been put into communication with him by the good offices of a common

friend in the diplomatic service. A correspondence ensued, in the first

letter of which my husband gave Mr. Bodley some advice on an article the

latter had been requested to write for the "Quarterly Review," on

"Provincial France," before he had had any opportunity of studying the

French provinces. Here is part of the letter:--

"AUTUN, SAÛNE-ET-LOIRE. _June_ 11, 1890.

"MY DEAR SIR,--It is a laudable, though an extraordinary desire on your

part to know something about the subject you have to treat. I have never

heard of such a case before. I have known France for thirty-five years,

and find generally that English critics, who know nothing two miles from

the British Embassy, are ready enough to set me down and teach me my

proper place. I send by this post a colis postal, containing--

"1. 'Round my House,' by P. G. H.

"2. 'La France Provinciale,' par René Millet.

"3. 'French and English,' by P. G. H.

"I have not a copy of the English edition of 'French and English,' but

the Tauchnitz is better, as it had the benefit of correction.

"You ought to notice, with reference to provincial France, the extreme

difficulty of making any general statements that are true. For example,

it is believed in England that all French land is cut up into small

bits. A traveller who writes in the 'Temps' newspaper said lately, that

although the greater number of proprietors in the Forest Lands of the

Nièvre were small owners, the greater part of the land was in the

possession of large owners; and he mentioned one who, he said, owned

12,000 hectares (more than 24,000 acres) of excellent forest. He did not

give the name. There are several large landowners in this neighborhood.

One had an income of £24,000 a year, but it was divided amongst his

children.

"France is a very various country, and therefore difficult to know. If

you have Mr. H----'s book amongst those you notice, you should bear in

mind that it is a strictly partisan publication, hostile to all

republicans, against whom the author seems to have taken a brief," etc.,

etc.

Then followed some other letters, from which. I give a few paragraphs:--

"AUTUN. _July_ 15, 1890.

"You have done an imprudent thing in not publishing your 'Quarterly'

article at once. There are two times for writing--first when you know

nothing, secondly when you know a great deal; the intermediate time,

that of acquisition, is not favorable to writing, because it destroys

the author's confidence in himself. He possesses that confidence before

learning, and renews it when he has learned. In the interval he suffers

from diffidence.

"I am glad to hear that M. Jusserand likes my books; he is just the kind

of Frenchman whose opinion one really values.

"I shall be very glad if you can come. I shall be away part of

September. All August I shall be at home, but if you could have come

about now, it would have been better still."

"_July_, 28, 1890.

"The shortest rout from Paris to Autun, as to mere distance, is by

Laroche, Gravant, Avallon, etc. In the present case I strongly recommend

the shorter and more rural route, as being by far the prettier and less

fatiguing, and also because it enables you to see one of the most

picturesque small towns in France--Avallon. You have five hours to see

Avallon, and the picturesque valley that it overlooks.... The next

morning you will of course be occupied in seeing Autun, but if you will

make your way to the railway station, so as to be there at 11.15, you

will see a vehicle with yellow wheels and a chestnut mare, with a white

mark on her face. The said vehicle will bring you to Pré-Charmoy (if you

will kindly allow it to do so), in time for déjeuner. Please let me know

the day. It would be better not to make any hard-and-fast arrangement

about your departure, as I may be able to persuade you to take some

drives with me to see something in this neighborhood."

"AUTUN. _November_ 2, 1890.

"I received the 'Quarterly' this morning, and read your article. Towards

the close, you say every Frenchman in the provinces works. That, I am

sorry to say, is a mistake. Unfortunately there is still a strong

survival of the old caste prejudice against work, as being beneath a

gentleman. All the young men I know whose parents are very well off _are

as idle as they can be, unless they go into the army or the Church_, and

now they hardly ever go into the Church, or when they do it is in some

order (Jesuits, Marists, etc.). I was talking about this with a rich old

French gentleman about ten days ago, and he deeply deplored it; he said

he felt more respect for common workmen than for the idle young men in

his own class.

"You appear to think that the Morvan language is a Celtic tongue. No; it

is only a French patois, very interesting and peculiar in its

grammatical forms. I understand it partly when spoken, and can read it

with some little difficulty. My daughter understands it very well. Our

servants speak it among themselves. Their French is very pure, though

somewhat limited in its vocabulary.

"It seems to me that you are happily endowed and situated for

undertaking a work of the kind you intend to write. You have seen a

great deal of the world, you have no prejudices, you desire nothing but

to be just, and especially you have that very rare quality--a right

curiosity. I was pleased, and a little amused by the contrast, when I

compared you with the strangely uninterested English whom I have seen in

and out of France. I recollect staying with a friend in England, a few

years ago, and I noticed that _he did not ask me one single question

about France_. He simply talked of his own locality, and did not appear

to take the slightest interest in the continent of Europe.

"You made me pass a very pleasant day, which encourages the hope that

you will come again to this neighborhood. There is a great deal to be

seen within a driving radius, especially if you consent to sleep one

night away from home.

"My wife and I are going to Paris in December, when I mean to look you

up."

To another visitor whose name I am not at liberty to mention, my husband

had written the following interesting letter:--

"Whilst driving home in the dark, after saying good-bye to you, I

thought over your remarks about the great revolution in habits of

thought which must take place in consequence of the influence of

scientific methods. The difficulty I foresee is this. Religions supply a

want that science does not and cannot supply; they answer to the need of

certain emotions--trust, hope, joy, 'peace in believing,' the happiness

of thinking that we are each of us individually cared for by a supremely

good and all-powerful Father. Women especially seem to need these

emotions to make life happy for them, and when they cease to believe, as

many now do, they feel a sense of desolation. The most successful

religion (the Roman) has succeeded by supplying most abundantly that

care and those consolations which women expect a religion to give, and

which science does not _in the least degree supply_; in fact, women

usually dislike science. Now, as the churches maintain themselves

chiefly by the influence and support of women, may they not continue to

maintain themselves indefinitely in this way? Is it not possible, to

mention a special case, that the Roman Catholic Church may exist for an

indefinite length of time simply as a provider of the kind of authority

and the kind of emotion that women desire, and that they cannot obtain

from science? Mr.----, a friend of mine, considers religion absolutely

necessary to women, and to many men, not that he at all considers

religion to be true in the matter-of-fact sense, but the scientific

truth of a doctrine is quite distinct from its beneficial effect upon

the mind.

"For my part, I don't know what to think about the future. Long ago I

used to hope for a true religion, but now I see that if it is to be free

from mythology, it ceases to be a religion altogether, and becomes only

science, which has none of the heating and energizing force that a real

religion certainly possesses. Neither has science its power of uniting

men in bonds of brotherhood, and in giving them an effective hostile

action against others as religious intolerance does."

On the subject of religious belief, my husband had written previously to

Mr. Seeley:--

"I have been corresponding with a friend [the same Mr.---- mentioned in

the letter to another visitor] about the religious views of Mark

Pattison and Dean Stanley. He knew both of them, and quite confirms what

I had heard before, that they were no more believers than Renan.

Pattison he describes as a conservative agnostic or pantheist, meaning

by 'conservative' a man who thought it better to preserve old forms. I

recollect that Appleton told me when he was here that there was not the

slightest obligation on a clergyman of the Church of England to believe

in the divinity of Christ, and that many clergymen in the present day,

including Pattison, had no such belief. My friend himself seems to be an

agnostic, and a strong supporter of the Church of England at the same

time, and quite lately he earnestly counselled some young English ladies

(who were Unitarians, but obliged to live abroad) to join the Church of

England for the sake of 'religious fellowship.' He tells me that there

is in Dean Stanley's 'Christian Institutions' an exposition of the

Apostles' Creed, containing hardly a syllable to which Renan could not

subscribe.

"From all this it would appear that some, at least, of the English

clergy have adopted the Jesuit principle, practically so convenient, by

which any one may have an esoteric religion for himself as the

comfortable lining of the cloak, and an esoteric religion for other

people as the outside of the cloak. Meanwhile these clergymen are deeply

respected, whilst honest men whose opinions are not one whit more

heretical are stigmatized as 'infidels,' and excluded from 'good

society.' You seem to have got into a curious condition in England.

Surely many laymen are right in distrusting parsons."

As editor of the "Portfolio," he had been contributing articles from

time to time, but Mr. Seeley was anxious to see him undertake an

important series for the following year. He proposed different subjects

likely to tempt the author's fancy, and suggested "Turner in

Switzerland;" but one of the difficulties was the quantity of work done

by Turner in Switzerland, and the time that would be required to follow

in his steps. Another suggestion of Mr. Seeley's was to write about a

group of French living artists who would be good representatives of the

modern school, and whose works would furnish striking illustrations. He

said with his usual kind thoughtfulness: "I must confess that my

suggestion of a French subject arose partly from the pleasure you would

find in paying a visit to your daughter at Paris; and partly also from

the reflection that Paris is not far from London."

Mr. Hamerton had proposed "The Louvre," but it was feared that the

subject would not be a popular one; and after mature consideration, the

idea of a connected series of articles on modern French painters was

entertained by both publisher and editor. Mr. Seeley wrote: "I was

rather in hopes that my vague suggestion of a subject might take root in

your mind and develop into something definite; or, to change the

metaphor, that it might be a spark to kindle your invention. I think

such a series would be interesting here, and would furnish admirable

subjects for twelve etchings."

A journey to Paris was then decided upon for the winter.

The Saône cruise proved particularly pleasant this time, on account of

the welcome offered to the passengers of "L'Arar" by several friends at

Neuville, who most hospitably entertained them on land and water. They

were invited on board "L'Hirondelle" and "Petite Amie," and raced

"L'Arar" against them. It was a comfort to my husband to feel himself

among friends, for he suddenly suffered from an irregular action of the

heart which lasted for thirty-six hours, but ceased as suddenly as it

came. He had had another distress of the same kind in the summer, but

only of a couple of hours' duration. I had entreated him to see a doctor

at the time; but he said it was only nervousness. At Neuville likewise

he refused to seek advice, feeling sure it would cease of itself; and

now I have the painful certainty that he was already laboring under the

symptoms of heart disease. Still, he speedily recovered, and resumed his

studies in water-colors and in pen-and-ink the day after.

I see by this note in the diary that he was well satisfied with his

boat: "Sept. 15. My studies occupied me till lunch-time, and then, after

_déjeuner_, we started in 'L'Arar' to try an experiment in sailing with

a breeze so light as to be imperceptible, sheets not even stretched, yet

we went up as far as Pont Vert and beyond. We might have gone further,

but came back to call upon Madame Vibert."

In October, Mr. Hamerton wrote an article for "Chambers' Encyclopaedia"

on the "History of Art," and another for the "Portfolio" on "National

Supremacy in Painting." Having been asked to contribute to the "Forum,"

he began in November an article on "Home Life in France."

He was always anxious to clear up any international misunderstanding

between France and England, and had written in May to the "Pall Mall

Gazette" an explanatory letter on the so-called persecution of the

Church by the Republic, as regarded the execution of the decrees

concerning religious orders.

He had also sent a letter to the "Academy" on "France and the Republic."

Although very tolerant himself in matters of religion, it was his

opinion that the State, whether under a Republic or a Monarchy, had a

right to exact obedience to its laws as well from religious bodies as

from private persons; and that a Republican government ought not to be

accused of tyranny because it enforced the execution of these general

laws. But people are very apt to take the view which M. de Cassagnac so

frankly avowed when addressing the Republican party in the Chamber: "We

claim unbounded liberty for ourselves--because you promise it in your

programme; but we refuse it to you--because it is contrary to our

principles."

About the middle of November there was copied into the "Temps" an

anonymous letter which had appeared in "Truth," professing to express

the hostile feelings entertained by English naval officers against the

officers of the French fleet, which had recently visited Malta. This

roused Mr. Hamerton's indignation; the more so as he never for one

moment believed the discourteous and outrageous letter to be genuine. I

transcribe his explanation of the incident as given by himself to his

son-in-law:--

"_Novembre_ 17, 1890.

"MON CHER FILS,--Il m'est arrivé de pouvoir, je crois, être utile au

maintien des bonnes relations entre les marines anglaises et françaises.

Un journal anglais, 'Truth,' a publié il y a quinze jours une lettre

sans signature, mais présentée comme la communication authentique d'un

officier de notre flotte de la Méditerranée. Dans cette lettre

l'écrivain représentait les officiers comme très mécontents d'être

obligés de donner l'hospitalité à ceux de l'escadre française qui est

venue à Malte; disant que c'était leur métier de recevoir les Français à

coups de fusil et qu'ils ne désiraient pas les voir autrement.

"Je connais assez les sentiments d'un 'English gentleman,' (et nos

officiers de marine se piquent de soutenir ce caractère) pour savoir

qu'ils comprendraient l'hospitalité mieux que cela, et j'ai envoyé le

paragraphe en question à l'Amiral commandant la flotte Anglaise de la

Méditerranée, en lui suggérant l'idée d'une protestation. Il m'a répondu

par télégramme qu'au reçu de ma lettre l'indignation avait été générale

parmi les officiers et qu'ils préparent une protestation qu'ils

m'enverront pour que je la fasse circuler autant que possible dans la

presse française. Le retard a été probablement occasionné par les

mouvements de la flotte."

A few days later the following letter was received by Mr. Hamerton:--

"H. M. S. BENBOW. _November_ 17,1890.

"DEAR SIR,--I hope you will kindly assist us in getting the gross

misstatements copied from 'Truth' as to our feelings towards the French

Navy contradicted.

"You will perceive that the paper I enclose is signed by an officer

representing each ship, and that most ranks in the service are also

represented thereon.

"Any expense that may be incurred would you kindly let me know?

"Yours faithfully,

"H. RAWSON,

"Capt. R. N."

The protestation which accompanied the letter ran thus:--

"H. M. S. BENBOW, AT MALTA. _November_ 15, 1890.

"DEAR SIR,--Your letter of the 1st of November, sent to the

Commander-in-Chief of the British fleet in the Mediterranean, has been

forwarded to us, and we have to thank you for having called our

attention to the paragraph in the 'Temps,' copied from 'Truth' of the

31st of October.

"Referring to the language in 'Truth,' the editor of the 'Temps' says

that he hopes it will be protested against in England. The paragraph had

been seen and commented on by our officers; but as in England no one

ever takes the trouble to answer or contradict any statement made in

that paper ('Truth'), and as in this case its object was so palpably

political, viz. to cause the present Government trouble, and prevent the

cordiality and friendship that has existed so long between the two

nations, no notice was taken of it; but when a paper of such importance

as the 'Temps' copies the paragraph, and it is thus brought before the

French nation, it at once becomes important and demands a protest and a

denial.