"As you have already taken an interest in the matter, we are led to hope

that you will assist us in procuring the insertion in any French papers

that may have copied this paragraph, most especially the 'Temps,' the

naval papers, and the local papers at Toulon, of a protest on the part

of the officers of the English fleet in the Mediterranean against the

language of the article, and to deny, on our part, any such feelings or

ideas as are attributed to us in it.

"We beg to assure you that it gave us real and unfeigned pleasure to see

the French fleet in our midst at Malta, and that what little we were

able to do to make their visit agreeable and pleasant was done from no

feeling of duty, or even as a mere return for the kindly reception

accorded to us at Toulon, but from a sincere appreciation of the high

qualities of French naval officers, and a desire to cultivate their

friendship.

"We have the honor to be,

"Sir

"Your obedient servants."

Three weeks later came a letter of thanks, closing the incident, which

had caused no little trouble to Mr. Hamerton.

"MALTA. _December_ 12, 1890.

"DEAR MR. HAMERTON,--Thank you very much in the name of the English Navy

for so kindly assisting us to repel the gross insinuations of 'Truth,'

also for the extracts, and the trouble you have taken for us. I only

regret that you should have drawn 'Truth' on you.

"I have shown your letter to the Admiral and all the officers here, who

are much pleased with all that has been done.

"Again thanking you, believe me,

"Yours truly,

"H. RAWSON."

Mr. Hamerton considered himself well rewarded for his exertions by the

tokens of warm approval he received both from England and from France.

"French and English" did not meet with the success it deserved, though

it was published in England, America, and France, and in the Tauchnitz

edition. The author had entertained few illusions about the fate of the

work, for some reasons which he has himself explained in private

letters, and in his prefaces to the book. He once wrote in answer to a

letter from M. Raillard:--

"Vous lisez mes livres, un peu sans doute pour faire plaisir au vieux

Papa, mais je crois réellement qu'ils vous seront utiles à cause de la

simplicité du style et de la clarté que j'ai toujours cherchées. Ces

qualités m'ont gagné de nombreux lecteurs, mais en même temps m'ont

privé de toute réputation de profondeur. En Angleterre on classe tous

les écrivains clairs, comme écrivains superficiels."

But he said in the preface to the Tauchnitz edition:--

"The kind of success most gratifying to me after writing a book of this

kind would be to convert some readers to my own method, or rule, in the

formation of opinion, whether it concerns one side or the other.

"My method is a good one, but not so good for eloquence as the hastier

methods of journalism."

And in the preface of the English edition:--

"I should like to write with complete impartiality if it were possible.

I have at least written with the most sincere desire to be impartial,

and that perhaps at the cost of some popularity in England, for certain

English critics have told me that impartiality is not patriotic; and

others have informed me of what I did not know before, namely, that I

prefer the French to my own countrymen."

Though "French and English" never became what may be called a popular

book, it nevertheless attracted a good deal of attention, and the author

received a great number of letters expressive of admiration and

gratitude for the clear discernment and impartiality with which the

differences existing between the two nations had been studied and

expounded.

Here is a pretty sample from a French lady:--

"MONSIEUR,--Je viens de lire avec le plus grand plaisir votre livre

'French and English.' Il est si rare qu'un écrivain anglais ose--ou

veuille, aller contre les préjugés de ses lecteurs anglais, et nous

fasse justice, que j'en ai éprouvé un vrai sentiment de reconnaissance.

Bien des jugements portés sont ceux dont j'ai l'habitude de gratifier

mes amis, et, comme il y a toujours, 'a great deal of human nature in

mankind;' je n'apprécie que mieux votre livre à cause de cela. À

quelques exceptions près, par exemple, la fin du chapitre 'on Truth,' je

vois les choses comme vous, mais certains préjugés sont bien invétérés

dans l'esprit de vos compatriotes.

"Lorsque je protestais contre les idées fausses qu'on se faisait de

nous, on m'a dit si souvent: 'Oh! mais, vous n'êtes pas français, vous!'

Le mot est bien caractéristique. Un Français qui ne répond pas à l'idée

qu'on se fait de sa nation, c'est une exception.

"Je ne l'aurais peut-être pris que comme une manière de taquiner, une

plaisanterie, si cela ne m'avait été répété encore tout dernièrement par

un homme d'une vraie valeur intellectuelle, qui a toute une théorie sur

les races. La conclusion à déduire était: tout ce qui pense sérieusement

ne peut être français. Qui sait si votre livre ne vous a pas fait

accuser de vous être perverti à notre contact puisque vous nous êtes

assez favorable!

"Je trotte tous ces temps-ci dans la neige, avec votre livre dans mon

manchon, lisant à chacun de mes amis le morceau qui lui revient, mais je

voudrais qu'ils lisent tout.

"Sans me donner le temps de trop réfléchir j'ai écrit ma lettre; après

je n'aurais plus osé. J'aurai eu ainsi l'occasion de dire à un homme de

talent qu'il m'a fait goûter un vrai plaisir ... peut-être est-ce une

satisfaction pour un auteur.

"Veuillez agréer, Monsieur, mes compliments bien sincères pour votre

'fairness' à notre égard.

"Yours truly."

I also give a passage from one of Mr. Calderon's letters:--

"Last night--to my regret--I finished the last chapter of your 'French

and English.' I am delighted with its truth. Remember (as an excuse for

giving an opinion so freely) that I too am very fairly acquainted with

both countries--their capitals and provinces."

The book, as I have said, was translated into French, and, as usual, the

author took the trouble of revising the translation. Far from taking any

pride in the fact that the translation of his works was desired and

sought after, he dreaded it, and would even have opposed it, had the

thing been in his power. The inevitable loss of his style--upon which he

always bestowed such conscientious care--was to him almost unbearable.

Roberts Brothers did not appear dissatisfied with the American sale, for

they said: "We have sold fifteen hundred copies, and are quite ready for

another popular book."

CHAPTER XIX.

1890-1891

Decision to live near Paris.--Practice in painting and etching.--Search

for a house.--Clématis.

We left home on December 21, 1890, and spent a day and two nights very

agreeably at Dijon with the parents of our son-in-law. Then we went on

to Paris by an early morning train, which necessitated our lunching in

the carriage.

We were to stay with our daughter and her husband, but Gilbert took a

separate study for his work, in a quiet house in the same street.

My husband had himself made a careful drawing for Richard's monument,

and now, being in Paris, we went to see it, and wished to have it

completed by an inscription. Hitherto we had not agreed about any, but

as we were sadly recalling his last intimate talk, it seemed that the

desire for "Peace" which he had expressed should be recorded as an

acquittal of the deed which brought the fulfilment of his wish. And his

father caused the word _eiraenae_, to be engraved at the head of the

tombstone.

M. Pelletier, having been promoted to the Économat of the old and famous

Lycée Henri IV.,--where so many celebrated Frenchmen have been

educated,--took pleasure in showing us the most ancient or curious parts

of the building, such as La Tour Clovis, the vaulted kitchen, the

painted cupola over the staircase, and the delicately carved panels of

the old monks' library--now the Professors' billiard-room.

My husband was much interested by this visit, and repeated it shortly

after in the company of M. and Mme. Manesse, M. and Mme. L. Flameng, M.

Pelletier acting as cicerone.

It being the season of the Epiphany, our niece had the traditional cake

served on the tea-table, and the royal honors fell to the lot of her

uncle. He chose Madame Flameng for his queen, and they made us pass a

merry hour under their joint rule.

The serious part of the talk had concerned the possibility of engaging

L. Flameng to engrave one of his son's pictures. He had consented, and

my husband called upon François Flameng to make a choice.

On his return he gave me a description of the studios and library, which

are very curious, and offered to take me with him on his next visit, to

renew my old acquaintance with the now celebrated artist. But my

infirmity would have rendered awkward the introduction to his young

wife, to whom the memories of previous friendship did not extend.

Writing once to Mr. Seeley about my deafness, my husband had said: "She

sits surrounded by a silent world, and sees people's lips move and their

gestures. How difficult it is to imagine such a state of existence! As

for me, I suffer from the opposite inconvenience of hearing too well.

When I am unwell my hearing is preternaturally acute, so that my watch

in my waistcoat ticks as if it were held almost close to my ear."

Being desirous of forming a sound opinion about the present state of the

fine arts in France, Mr. Hamerton went to visit the New Sorbonne, the

Hôtel de Ville, the Lycée Janson, the new pictures in the Museum of the

Luxembourg, those in the private exhibition of M. Durand-Ruel, as well

as the exhibitions at Messrs. Goupil's and Petit's. He saw J. P.

Laurens' "Voûte d'Acier," M. Rodin's studio, and the Musée du Mobilier

National, with its beautiful tapestries.

We left Paris at the end of January and returned home, my husband having

got through a vast amount of work with ease and pleasure, and with a new

hopeful confidence in his powers of acquisition and endurance, and also

with a gratifying sense of his acknowledged standing--even in France--

among celebrated artists and men of letters.

At the Easter family gathering our possible change of residence was

exhaustively discussed. The state of the buildings at La Tuilerie was

growing worse and worse every day, and my brother's opinion, as an

architect, having been asked for, was that the time for very important

repairs could no longer be postponed: new roofs would have to be built,

one of the walls strengthened, the floor tiles taken up; and the

woodwork of every window was so rotten that it could no longer hold the

iron with which it had already been mended.

Mary and her husband represented what a heavy outlay would be required

if we undertook these repairs, and also said, with great truth, that

after it we should feel bound to the house on account of the money spent

on it. It was an opportunity for changing a mode of life no longer

adapted to our wants nor to our years. Why such a big house for two

solitary beings?... And now that their father was subject to attacks of

gout and not so sure of immunity from colds, was he to continue to have

the care of horses and to drive in an open carriage in all weathers?

Could we be so easily reconciled to the idea of never seeing them longer

than the short space of five weeks every year, when there was no

plausible reason for being so far apart?... Their father disliked great

cities, but he would not be obliged to live inside Paris; there were

plenty of comfortable and quiet villas in the neighborhood or in the

suburbs, from which Paris would be accessible by the Seine, thus

rendering a great part of his work so much easier.

He, on his part, objected that living would be more expensive; that he

would not be so well situated for working from nature; and last of all

that, if he decided for a change, he would expect to be so near to Mary

and her husband as to be able to reach them on foot and in a short time,

for he could not be reconciled to the loss of a whole day every time he

went to see them. "The two requisites," he said--"life in the country

and frequent meetings--cannot be reconciled together."

M. Raillard and his wife praised Montmorency, Meudon, Marly, and St.

Germain, which they had visited on purpose, but he answered that any of

these places would be too far off.

However, when Stephen, Mary, and her husband had left us, their father

was not proof against melancholy thoughts, from which he did not always

find refuge in work. The following note in the diary is a proof of it:

"April 5. Did not feel disposed to work, on account of the children's

departure."

The solitude of our lives had also been considerably increased by the

deaths of five Autunois friends, and by the departure of M. Schmitt with

his family. My husband wrote to him:--

"Vous me demandez des nouvelles d'Autun, mais depuis votre départ nous y

allons le moins possible. Je n'ai rien à y faire, presque plus personne

à y voir. Je crains même qu'au bout d'un certain temps cet isolement ne

produise un fâcheux état dans mon esprit. Je me plonge dans le travail,

le refuge des gens isolés."

Shortly after Easter there came an attack of gout, this time in one

knee, and Gilbert was naturally disturbed by the conviction that the

disease had become more threatening now that it was going up. He became

more alive to the difficulties of our present conditions of existence in

the country, and more willing to consider the desirability of a change.

The business of the "Portfolio" would be so much more easily and

promptly transacted if he were in Paris; correspondence with England so

much more rapid, and the length of journeys to London diminished so

appreciably that all these considerations were of great weight in the

final decision, as well as others of a different nature.

I could not hope to hide from Gilbert the void left in my life by the

loss of one of my sons, and the absence of a daughter who had never left

me before for any length of time; nor the sorrowful recollections

incessantly awakened by the surrounding scenes and objects, and he began

to think that to break the chain of such painful associations might be

beneficial to me. This, I believe, dictated his letter of May 8 to Mary,

in which he told her that she might make serious inquiries for a house,

as he had definitely decided to go and live near Paris.

Mr. Seeley was very glad to hear that the editor of the "Portfolio"

would be nearer to England; he said: "I hope you will get comfortably

settled in the suburbs of Paris. If I may judge by my own experience I

do not think you will regret the change. I have never done so for a

moment, although I was fond of Kingston."

Since he had been last at Burnley, and had seen again the pictures

painted at Sens for Mr. Handsley, my husband had been dissatisfied with

them. The development of knowledge, skill, and the critical faculty made

him intolerant of the shortcomings of that early period, and hopeful of

doing better work now. So he wrote to Mr. Handsley, and proposed to

paint him two new pictures to replace the old ones. In the reply he was

begged to think of no such thing, as although the pictures might not be

quite satisfactory to him, the owner valued them as among the earliest

productions of the artist. But Gilbert insisted on being allowed to

replace at least the view of Sens by another subject--already begun and

about which he felt hopeful--and finally it was left to him to do as he

liked.

It is a curious thing that, feeling as he did the pressure of work, he

should have been always ready to undertake some additional task. At that

moment, when he had so little spare time, he had promised (for an

indefinite date, it is true), a picture of Mont Beuvray for M. Bulliot,

and others of Pré-Charmoy for Alice Gindriez, his sister-in-law; Mary

also was to have her share. The pictures intended for Alice Gindriez had

been painted several times over, and destroyed, and the one for Mr.

Handsley had already passed through various changes of effect, but it

looked very promising. The artist intended to send it to the Salon, and

had even ordered the frame; but our removal having interrupted painting

for a long time, it remained unfinished; though it was taken up again at

intervals.

It is my belief that artistic work, in spite of its disappointments,

proved a relief and a distraction to my husband; but it is much to be

regretted that his own standard should have been so high, for it

prevented him from completing and keeping many etchings and pictures

which, if not perfect, still possessed great charms. It is also a

subject for regret that he should have been led to undertake large

pictures of mountain scenery--so difficult to render adequately. If the

time spent in fighting against these difficulties had been bestowed upon

smaller canvases and less ambitious subjects, he would undoubtedly have

succeeded in forming quite a collection. The greater part of his studies

are graceful in composition, harmonious in color, tender and true in

sentiment--why should not the pictures have possessed the same

qualities? The main reason for his failing to express himself in art, is

that he was too much attracted by the sublime in Nature, and that the

power to convey the impression of sublimity has only been granted to the

greatest among artists.

In May there came a triumphant letter from Mary saying that she had

discovered the _very_ house wanted by her father, uniting in incredible

perfection every one of the conditions he had laid down. Once, being

hard pressed to give his consent to a change of residence, he had

playfully spread a plan of Paris on the table, and had stuck a pin in

it, saying at the same time: "When you find me a suitable house _there_,

in this situation and at that distance from you, I promise to take it."

It was considered as a joke, but Mary now affirmed that the Villa

Clématis was at the exact distance from the Rue de la Tour (where she

lived) that her father had mentioned. Moreover, the roads in the avenues

leading from Clématis to Passy were excellent for a velocipede, or he

could reach her in a charming walk of less than an hour--through the

Bois de Boulogne--and by rail three minutes only were required from the

station of Boulogne to that of Passy. The rent was moderate, and

although higher than our present one, would still be within our means,

if it were taken into consideration that neither horse nor carriage

would be necessary.

The villa was in the Parc des Princes, which offered several advantages.

No shops or factories of any kind being allowed within the park, its

peacefulness was never disturbed by the noise of traffic. The houses,

which varied in sizes from the simple ordinary villa to the hôtel or

château, were each surrounded by a garden, small or large; and long

avenues of fine trees so encircled the park that its existence was not

much known outside. Quite close to it, however, was the town of

Boulogne, with its well-provided market and shops, and at a distance of

a few minutes the _chemin-de-fer de ceinture_, a line of tramways, one

of omnibuses, and the steamboats not very far off. Clématis had a very

_small_ garden--a recommendation to my husband--but was still

sufficiently isolated from the neighboring villas by their own grounds

on each side. There was a veranda looking over the little garden, and a

large balcony over the veranda; the dining and drawing-rooms were

divided by double folding doors, and both had access to the veranda by

_porte-fenêtres_; the low and wide marble chimney-pieces were surmounted

by plate-glass windows affording a sight of trees and flowers, and

giving a most light and cheerful effect to the rooms. There were several

well-aired bedrooms, and under the house vaulted cellars to keep it

healthy and dry.

Such was the description sent us, which we found perfectly accurate when

we visited the house the very day of our arrival at Passy, on June 1,

1891. The diary says about it: "Went to Boulogne to see the Villa

Clématis. On the whole pleased with it." As for me, I was charmed with

it after all the inconveniences I had had to put up with, hitherto, in

our rough country houses.

We had been told that the rents were low at Billancourt, and we went

there to ascertain, but we did not like the horrid state of the roads,

nor the unfinished streets, the result of house-building all over the

place.

We also saw Vanves and the Château d'Issy, in which there were two

pavilions to let. Gilbert's fancy was so much taken by one of them that

I began to dread he might want to live in it. He wrote in the diary:

"The place seemed curious and romantic. Three very fine lofty rooms, a

number of small ones. Plenty of space. Not much convenience; wife not at

all pleased with it." It would have been much worse than anything I had

experienced before. The house was dark, being surrounded and over-topped

by a small but dense park climbing up an eminence above it; all the

rainwater coming down this slope remained in stagnant pools about the

lower story, the stones of which were of a dull and dirty green, being

covered with moss. There was a queer circuitous kitchen round the base

of the stairs, and the dishes prepared in it would have had to be

carried up the stairs through an outside passage before arriving on the

dining-room table. Then I wondered how the "fine, lofty rooms" (damp

with moisture and cold with tiled floors) could be warmed in winter, and

also lighted; for they all looked upon the tree-clad hill rising up

hardly a few feet from the windows. All that was nothing to Gilbert, who

only saw in perspective so many spacious studios and workrooms. At last

I noticed that a paved road wound round the outside of the pavilion, and

just as I was pointing it out, there came several heavily laden carts

thundering along, and shaking the whole building quite perceptibly. My

husband had enough of it after that, and I rejoiced inwardly at the

opportune appearance of those carts. The day after, the diary says:

"Went in the afternoon to Sèvres. Found the place divided into two

parts: the lower, which smells badly, and the upper, which is all but

inaccessible, being up a steep hill. Renounced Sèvres."

Besides looking about for a house, we went frequently to the Salons,

there being two now, and my husband regularly continued his work. Mr.

Seeley wrote: "The quickness with which your letters come gives me a

pleasant feeling as regards the future."

To my inexpressible delight "Clématis" was chosen for our future abode,

after other fruitless researches; indeed, in my opinion it was

impossible to find anything better suited to our wants--and what sounds

almost incredible, the situation of the Parc des Princes was found to be

exactly where Gilbert had pricked the pin in the plan of Paris.

The little garden looked very pretty now in June, with the pillars of

the veranda all blue with flowers of the climbing clematis, and the

cornice loaded with the pink and white bouquets of roses. The wild

clematis, Virginia creeper, and honeysuckle clothed the trunks of every

tree, whilst their roots were hidden by flowers and ferns of various

kinds.

Another pleasant feature of the park was the quantity of singing birds;

there were larks, blackcaps, white-throats, and blackbirds, no doubt

attracted by the security and peace they enjoyed all the year round--no

shooting being allowed either in the park or in the Bois de Boulogne.

My husband wished to appropriate all the upper story of Clématis to his

work, so as to have within easy reach everything he wanted for it, and

at the same time to escape from all household noises. The large middle

room with the balcony would be his study and atelier, only he required

more light for painting, and a tall window was made for him. One of the

small rooms was to be a laboratory, the other a sort of storeroom for

papers, panels, frames, canvases, colors, etc., and one of the garrets a

joiner's shop. Bookcases were to be placed against all the walls of the

studio, which would serve as a library at the same time.

CHAPTER XX.

1891-1894.

Removal to Paris.--Interest in the Bois de Boulogne.--M. Vierge.--"Man

in Art."--Contributions to "Scribner's Magazine."--New form of "The

Portfolio."--Honorary degree.--Last Journey to London.--Society of

Illustrators.--Illness and death.

We were no sooner home again than the transformation of my husband's

study and laboratory furniture began. He had carefully taken all the

necessary measurements, and he now set two joiners to work under his

direction.

Of course we had some months of discomfort and fatigue, with the packing

up and the sale which preceded our departure. At one time I was almost

in despair of ever getting through, Gilbert being so very exacting about

the packing that we had to wrap up each single book separately, and to

fold up carefully every sheet or bit of paper without creases. It was

one of his characteristics, this respectful care he took of books and

papers; it went so far that he could hardly bring himself to destroy

waste-paper; and when he had not quite filled a page with his writing,

he would cut off the white piece and lay it aside in a drawer for

further use; nay more, after making use of these fragments of paper for

notes which had been copied out, he drew a line of red or blue pencil

across the writing, and returned the paper to another drawer to be used

_on the other side_. And it was not for the sake of economy, for he was

frequently indulging in the purchase of note-books, pocket-books,

memorandum-books, etc. No; it was a sort of instinctive respect. If any

one held a book carelessly, or let it fall, he was absolutely miserable,

and could not refrain from remonstrating. When we unpacked, he directed

a man to fold up the papers which had been used as wrappers, and when I

told him that the papers were not worth the man's wages and had better

be thrown into the street, he looked surprised, and reluctantly allowed

them to be stuffed into the empty boxes; but be could not bring himself

to remain while it was being done.

It was hard to break away from the associations of so many years, and

the last meal we took _tête-à-tête_ in the dining-room, emptied of all

its furniture except a small table and two chairs, was a melancholy one.

I swallowed many a tear, and Gilbert's voice was somewhat tremulous when

he attempted to talk.

Roberts Brothers had inquired early in the year if Mr. Hamerton had

decided about a new book, and had been answered in the affirmative. They

now said: "We hasten to reply to your query. Yes, we think 'The Quest of

Happiness' an admirable title for a book destined for the popular

heart--so happy that it will of itself sell it. Don't meditate about

doing it too long."

Messrs. A. and C. Black had also proposed that Mr. Hamerton's articles

for the "Encyclopaedia Britannica" should be revised and enlarged so as

to make an interesting and valuable "Hand-book to Drawing and

Engraving," and the author had agreed to undertake the work. They were

so considerate as to send a copy of the "Encyclopaedia" to the writer,

who had long desired to possess it, and who valued it as a treasure. He

had a special bookcase made for it, with many divisions, to preserve the

volumes from too much rubbing, and was pleased with their handsome

appearance in his library.

A letter received in the autumn may offer some interest to the reader.

It tells of a rather curious occurrence. The writer had been

occasionally in correspondence with the author of "Wenderholme," and,

living in Lancashire, had greatly appreciated the accuracy of the

descriptions and characters in that locality. Two years before he had

discovered "Thursday," and under his guidance had visited the site of

the first camp at Widdup, and noted the changes; now he wrote again,

giving an account of his experiences during a little visit to the Brontë

country, and explaining at some length that he was "driven by bad

weather to the 'house' (you will remember the sense in which the word is

used in the district) occupied by the wrangling drunkard. The talk

turning upon a hut which had been erected by a _mon_ through Halifax for

the grouse-shooting, evoked a reminiscence from the only (relatively)

sober member of the party, of another mon--a hartist--who, aboon thirty

year sin', built a hut at Widdup, and hed a gurt big dog, and young

Helliwell, ower at Jerusalem, wor then a lad, and used to bring him (the

mon) milk, and in the end gat ta'en on as sarvant, and went wi' him to

Scotland and all ower--you may imagine my delight....

"I was sorry to hear that Thursday was not in very good health. He is,

however, married, and the proud father of a little girl--Mary Alice. He

seems very comfortable, and has promised me a photograph of himself by

way of a frontispiece to my copy of the 'Painter's Camp.'

"I trust I am not boring you; but I thought that you might like to know

that you and your encampment are still remembered in the district."

It always pleased Gilbert to have news of the people and places

associated in his mind and affections with his youth, and his interest

in them never grew cold with years.

Our new installation at Clématis was much simplified by the fact that

everything from La Tuilerie had been sent in advance.

In order not to keep Gilbert too long from his work, the study was first

arranged, and he was well pleased with it; indeed, he said he had never

been so conveniently or comfortably established "for his work" before;

but still I saw, with pain, that he looked depressed in spite of

himself.

New Year's Day saw us established in the new house, and regular habits

of work resumed.

Having two spare bedrooms, our children came to use them during the

Christmas holidays, and we had some pleasant meetings with M. Pelletier

and his family. It was by a sort of tacit understanding that almost

every Sunday we lunched, in turn, at each other's houses,--once at

Clématis, then at Madame Halliard's, and afterwards at M. Pelletier's.

After lunch we had a long walk either in the Bois de Boulogne, Parc de

St. Cloud, Jardin du Luxembourg, or Jardin des Plantes; but although

Gilbert enjoyed these strolls, they did not make up for the loss of the

country; neither did the Seine replace the Saône, and Mr. Seeley said:

"I am sorry the Seine is not what it ought to be. You will miss your old

amusement of sailing, for which steaming will be a poor substitute."

We all tried to find something that might take his fancy, and we went to

see the Marne. He said it afforded refreshing and pretty scenes; but he

was not enthusiastic about its character. I plainly saw that what I had

feared had come to pass--namely, that this new way of life did not suit

him so well as the old, and that, despite the greater facilities, he did

not seem to work to his own satisfaction, and felt dull. This lasted for

some time. Mr. Seeley humorously teased him about it, and suggested that

he should write for an American magazine an article on "The Dulness of

Paris." He went on: "If you could only run over here to roam about our

Kentish hills, you would soon be all right again. They are covered with

millions of wood anemones, violets, primroses, cuckoo flowers, and

blue-bells; and the low ground is gay with marsh-marigolds." Alas! the

Bois offered all this in profusion, but for flowers Gilbert never really

cared; he merely appreciated their _valeur_ in the harmony of a

landscape. He thus explained his feelings, in answer to Mr. Seeley:--

"My complaints about the dulness of Paris refer to the peculiar state of

mind the place always induces in myself, that is, _ennui_. Now, the

_ennuyé_ state of mind is the worst possible for a writer, because his

interest in things ought always to remain keen and lively; he ought to

have the intelligence of a man with the interest of a child. I believe

Paris to be, on the whole, the most endurable of great cities, that in

which the disagreeables of such places are most successfully palliated.

For instance, I can go from here to the Louvre in magnificent avenues

all the way. But, for a writer, it is not enough to find life endurable;

he ought to be keenly interested. My life at Autun was pleasant and

refreshing; at Loch Awe it was an enchantment. However, I did not come

here for my pleasure."

And work was crowding upon him; besides "Man in Art," which had been put

aside since the interruption necessitated by the removal, the editor of

the "Forum," Mr. Walter H. Page, asked for an article on the "Effects on

Popular Education of Great Art Collections." He said: "I am glad to be

able to tell you that some of the best American newspapers have

discussed your article on the 'Learning of Languages,' and that I have

many evidences of the appreciation of a large number of our most

cultivated people."

The editor of the "Illustrated London News" also wished for a series of

articles on "French Life," and was very sorry that Mr. Hamerton could

not undertake them for want of time, and the publisher of the

"Portfolio" would have been pleased to get reviews of the annual Salons

from the editor's pen.

Early in the spring, as soon as the weather permitted it, we began to go

regularly with M. and Mme. Raillard to the prettiest places in the

neighborhood of Paris to spend the Thursdays and Sundays. We were

frequently joined by the Pelletier family, and had picnics together in

sheltered nooks. We started early in the morning, carried our provisions

with the exception of beer, wine, and bread, which could always be

bought anywhere, and roamed about or rested till the end of the day. In

this pleasant and independent manner we saw St. Germain,--the forest and

château,--by which my husband was much impressed; the lakes and Bois de

Vincennes; the park at Marly, L'Yvette; the mills of Meaux, St. Rémy:

the Château de Chevreuse, Bougival, Ville d'Avray, La Celle St. Cloud,

La Terrasse de Meudon, Le Vésinet, Nogent-sur-Marne; the ponds at

Garches, L'Abbaye des Vaux-de-Cernay, Mareuil-Marly, Melun, and L'Etang

de St. Cucufa, with its surroundings of luxuriant vegetation and noble

trees.

These walks in the country--much more of the real country than my

husband had ever expected to find so near Paris--began to reconcile him

to his new life; but what helped most towards this reconciliation was

the Bois de Boulogne, with its hidden charms and beauties, which he had

the pleasure of discovering for himself, never having heard of them. For

the parts of the Bois best known and always offered to admiration are

the most artificial, and the resorts of fashion, equipages, and crowds;

the cascade, the lakes, the Allée des Acacias, the Pré-Catelan, and La

Grande Pelouse, while there are enough solitary nooks and unfrequented

alleys, thick underwoods, open vistas, and groups of graceful and

handsome trees to interest a lover of landscape for miles and miles,

without any other disturbance than a chance meeting with a timid rabbit

or a curious deer.

No sooner had Gilbert found out that there existed in the Bois real and

extensive woodland scenery--almost untrodden and unexplored, than it

became a pleasure to start on his tricycle, followed by his dog, for an

early ride under the dewy branches, in the light and fragrant mist

rising from the moist mosses and wild-flowers under the first rays of

the sun. From these healthy rides he returned to his first _déjeuner_

much exhilarated, having breathed fresh air without the sensation of

confinement so painful to him. Gradually he came across various scenes

which he felt attracted to paint, and then his liking for the Bois was

formed. There were among others, La Mare d'Auteuil, the incomparable

group of grand old oaks, a single branch of which would have made a fine

tree; the ponds of Boulogne; the varied views of the Seine, with the gay

and sunny slopes from the walks running parallel to the river. Then the

mill and its surrounding fields, quiet at times with browsing cows

knee-deep in the rich grass, or at other times alive with merry mowers

and hay-makers. Several views of Mont Valérien, looming in the haze of

the after-glow, or in dark contrast with the splendor of the afternoon

sunshine, also caught my husband's attention; as well as numberless

other places without a name, which pleased him for one sort of beauty or

another. After each new discovery, he wanted me to go with him to see,

and whenever it was possible, and at a walking distance from the house,

I took a book with me and read to him as he sketched. By a few notes in

the diary it will be seen that his explorations extended to rather long

distances from the house:--

"Went to L'Alma on the tricycle. Found capital place for studying boats

not far from the Pont d'Iéna."

"Went round by Bois to Rothschild's, till I came to bridge of St. Cloud

and to the house--lovely play of lights on the water and upon the

heights."

"In afternoon rode as far as Argenteuil, and saw Texier's boat-building

establishment there, and the fleet of pleasure-boats."

"Went to Asnières on tricycle by the Rond-Point of Courbevoie. Some

difficult passages on road. Return easier by riverside, right bank.

Beautiful hazy distances."

"Found out boat-house of the Bilancourt boat-club. Spacious and rather

nice. Keeper boat-builder. Came back by riverside, Auteuil and Bois.

Charming harmony of grays in the sky--silvery, bluish, rose-tinted, and

lavender."

"In afternoon rode to St. Cloud with a view to comparison with Turner.

In coming back met a steam-carriage on the road, managed, I believe, by

Caran d'Ache," etc., etc.

When he had regained the elasticity of his mind, his thoughts were

turned again to his important work.

Note in the diary on March 3: "Tried to recover command of 'Man in Art,'

putting the MS. in order. Read the chapters over again to recover

materials and spirit of work."

From that date "Man in Art" was steadily resumed till its completion.

There was a good deal of trouble and disappointment with the

illustrations, some of which were found unworthy of insertion; but

having been ordered, they would have to be paid for. The author was

ready to bear the cost rather than see them inserted, but Messrs.

Macmillan very kindly and generously refused to allow this, and proposed

that he should send a bill for any money that he should find it

necessary to expend on unsatisfactory illustrations.

My husband was now in far better spirits, and, apparently, in very good

health. A friend, Mr. Oliver, who had named his son Hamerton out of

admiration for the author, wrote in answer to one of his letters: "I was

pleased to hear that you find the later period of life not unattended

with deep satisfaction and pleasure."

Among those pleasures were the friendly or interesting visits that the

remoteness of Autun from great centres would have effectually prevented.

In the spring we saw Mrs. Macmillan and her son; in the autumn we had

the pleasure of becoming personally acquainted with Mr. and Mrs. Adam

Black, who were passing through Paris, and with whom we spent an

afternoon visiting the gardens and ruins of St. Cloud.

Roberts Brothers, to whom many applications for letters of introduction

were addressed, and who managed to give only a few, sent some of their

friends to Mr. Hamerton now and then. They said in one of their letters:

"Since you will not come to America and see for yourself, we want to

show you that our aborigines are as good specimens of the _genus homo_

as they make anywhere."

In the Parc des Princes lives a great artist, Urrabieta Vierge, whose

house and studio were only a few minutes distant from Clématis. Mr.

Hamerton's admiration of this artist's talent was great, and his liking

for him as a man became great also. He often expressed the opinion that,

in his best pen-drawings, Urrabieta Vierge was--and would

remain--without a rival. He used to spend hours over the original

illustrations to Pablo de Segovie, and other drawings in the possession

of the artist. Hardly ever did a day pass without seeing my husband in

M. Vierge's studio once at least. He had opportunities of rendering him

a service sometimes, as the artist had dealings with English and

American publishers, but was ignorant of their language, and in token of

gratitude M. Vierge painted his new friend's portrait, and also that of

his mother-in-law, Madame Gindriez.

The idea of a book on the study of words, to be written in collaboration

with M. Raillard, had not been abandoned by my husband, who submitted

the title for Mr. Seeley's approval. It was to be: "Words on their

Travels, and some Stay-at-home Words." It was pronounced lively and

interesting. His own share had been delayed; but his son-in-law was

working at it, and they carefully planned together the composition and

form of the book, the separate parts of which were to be linked together

by essays from my husband's pen.

Much time was devoted to the exhibitions in 1892. The Salons, of course,

had many visits, but they did not give so much pleasure to Gilbert as

"Les Cent Chefs-d'oeuvre," or the Pelouse Exhibition; he was also

greatly interested by Raffet's works.

Our children spent with us a month of the long vacation, as they used to

do at Pré-Charmoy, and our excursions to the most picturesque places in

the neighborhood of Paris became more frequent. We had formed a project

for going to Pierre-fonds and Compiègne; but my husband, being now most

anxious to finish "Man in Art" before Christmas, regretfully put off the

excursions to the ensuing year. Now that he had regained the buoyancy of

his spirits, he was fully alive to the peculiar charms of the country

about Paris, and even intended to write a series of small books on the

most noteworthy and remarkable places--something in the way of

exhaustive guides. He thought of beginning with those that he knew

thoroughly well already, and to acquaint himself gradually with the

others.

In September our son-in-law, with his wife, went to stay with his

parents for the remainder of the vacation; but Mary left them a few days

before her husband to see her relatives at Chalon, and in the way of

consolation, her father sent the following to Raoul:--

"BEATUS ILLE.

"Blest is the man whose wife is gone away!

From cares exempt, he dwells in perfect peace.

His heart is light as boy's on holiday.

He walks abroad and joys in his release.

The cat is gone, the frisky mouse doth play.

The fox remote, walk forth the wandering geese.

So he, delivered, thinks his troubles past,

O halcyon days!--if they could only last.

"P. G. H. to R. R.

"_Sept_. 11, 1892."

Ever since he had heard of Lord Tennyson's illness, my husband had been

greatly concerned, and never missed going every evening to the Auteuil

railway station for the latest news. After the death of the poet he

wrote to Mr. Seeley:--

"One must die some time; but it is still rather saddening to know that

Tennyson is no longer a living poet. I have always enjoyed his verse

very much; the art is so perfect, so superior to that of Browning or

Wordsworth, even to that of Byron. I know of no poet to equal Tennyson

in finish except Shelley, Keats, and Horace, and those three only in

gems."

In a letter to Miss Betham-Edwards he had said once: "Have you observed

how _very_ careful Tennyson has always been never to publish prose? That

was capital policy in his case; he seems so much more the poet to the

world outside."

Mr. Seeley was anxious to confer with the editor of the "Portfolio"

about plans for the following year; but he had considerately refrained

from mentioning it, so long as the large book was not announced for

publication. In the beginning of October, however, he wrote: "I see that

Macmillans announce your big book; so I suppose that labor is off your

hands." Then he went on to propose that the editor should write a series

of articles on the "Humorous Art of the Present Day," and my husband

took time to think about the subject.

The last sheets of "Man in Art" were sent off on October 20, and after

acknowledging their receipt, Mr. F. Macmillan said:--

"With regard to the drawings on glass, I write to say that we are

perfectly willing that, as you suggest, you should make a present of

them to the Art School of Burnley, in Lancashire.

"The same applies to the original wood-block engraved by Pierre Gusman."

Our November journey to London was unattended with troubles to my

husband's health, and it was with unalloyed pleasure that we met Mr. and

Mrs. Seeley again. Our stay was to be a short one, for it had been

decided that, in the future, we would come over at least once every

year, and more probably twice.

Here is the first letter after our arrival:--

"LONDON. _November_ 26, 1892.

"MY DEAR MARY,--I have some good news to tell you. My new book is not

out yet, but soon will be. It is in two editions, one large paper, and

dear, the other smaller paper and much lower in price. The first is

exhausted before publication, and the second without being exhausted

yet, is still going off well. I dined last night with Messrs. Macmillan,

and they seemed quite satisfied.

"Mr. Seeley has just offered to publish my next novel.

"I was glad to get a post-card from Raoul. It will be a great pleasure

to me to work with him. Perhaps, however, we shall quarrel over our

book, and never speak to each other again. But his mother-in-law will

love him still, whatever happens.

"Your very affectionate old father,

"P. G. HAMERTON."

The work that my husband had to do was easily gone through, and his

nervous system had so much improved that he went alone about London

without any forebodings, without even thinking about it, except to

remark to me sometimes that he had never expected such an improvement.

Had it not been for a very slight and short attack of gout, he would

have been perfectly well all the time.

Mr. and Mrs. Seeley were then, living in Kensington, and it was very

convenient for my husband, the situation being quiet and within easy

reach of the museums. Although the season was not favorable for going to

the country, our friends knew that their visitor would be pleased to

escape from London--were it only for a day or two, and they were so kind

as to take us to their pretty cottage at Shoreham, in Kent, and to show

us the country surrounding it. Gilbert was out walking most of the time,

and there being hills and water, wished he had time for sketching,

though he told me he would not like to live there permanently, the

country not being sufficiently open for his tastes.

The new arrangements for the "Portfolio" having been decided upon, my

husband wrote to tell Mary of our near arrival. In this letter he

said:--

"In spite of the great kindness we meet with here, I don't feel any

desire to live in or near London, it is so gloomy and dirty, besides

being so expensive, at least according to present customs of living. We

are better where we are, near you.

"I am very glad that Raoul likes the idea of our book. I believe we can

work out together something decidedly new and valuable."

In the course of a visit to Mrs. A. Black, she gave us good and

interesting news of her cousin, R. L. Stevenson, and showed us a

photograph taken inside his house at Samoa, in which he was seen

surrounded by his mother, his wife, his wife's children, and his

native servants. It was very pleasant to see him looking happy, and so

much stronger than he used to be.

Mr. Macmillan, though very feeble, was so kind as to receive us. We were

for leaving him soon, fearing that he would be fatigued; but he insisted

upon our remaining, and brightened wonderfully as he talked with my

husband. He ordered glasses and wine, and drank to our healths with such

hearty good-will, and pressed our hands at parting so affectionately,

that we were quite moved. He had been such a strong and active man, and

there was still such an expression of power and will in his countenance,

that to see him an invalid, unable to walk without help, was

inexpressibly pitiful. He had said--not without sadness--that he had

grown resigned to this trying bodily weakness, but at the same time that

he had a great dread of the weakness reaching the seat of thought some

day. It was the last time we saw him, though he lived some years longer,

and we liked ever after to recall his last kind greeting, as warm as

those of former days.

M. Raillard and his wife received us joyfully on our arrival in Paris;

we were all greatly cheered by the fact that my husband could now travel

like everybody else, and this feeling of security gave a great stimulus

to his energies. We were often planning journeys to places of interest

that it might be useful for him to visit, either for his artistic

studies or for literary work. The Countess Martinengo Cesaresco, with

whom he had long been in correspondence, had invited us to go to see her

on the Lake of Garda, and this was a great temptation to which he hoped

to yield some day.

Meanwhile, we planned for the autumn a visit to Lucerne, in which our

son and daughter and her husband would join, and we often talked about

it. I knew perfectly well that very few of our schemes could ever be

carried out, but I encouraged the discussion of them--for even that gave

pleasure to Gilbert, who had been kept sedentary so long. He told us

what he would do, and what he would attempt in such and such a place;

and his desire for beautiful natural scenes was so intense that he often

dreamt he was _flying_ towards them, and afterwards described his

sensations. The recurrence of this sensation of _flying_ over space

caused him some slight alarm, for he explained that doctors considered

it as a symptom of disturbed equilibrium in the system, which they

called levitation. Still, he was now almost in perfect health, indeed he

did not remember the time when he had been so well, so ready for work,

or enjoying it more--he said he was almost afraid, it seemed so strange.

In a letter from Roberts Brothers, dated March 10, 1893, I read: "We are

indeed pleased to hear that 'The Quest of Happiness' is likely to be

ready for this autumn, and the title is so promising that we should not

wonder if it made your 'cheques' larger."

This book, however, was laid aside for more pressing work. The

Meissonier Exhibition was opened, and my husband, who delighted in the

talent of the artist, had already gone there several times when he

received a letter from Mr. Seeley asking him to notice it for the

"Portfolio," and he assented.

Then Mr. Burlingame, of the house of Scribner's Sons of New York, came

over from London for the special purpose of becoming personally

acquainted with Mr. Hamerton, and of proposing to him to write a series

of twelve articles on modern representative painters for "Scribner's

Magazine." The proposal was flattering in itself, but the pleasure it

gave was singularly enhanced by the visitor's friendly courtesy and

cultured appreciation. After two meetings only, Mr. Burlingame had to

leave Paris, and my husband spoke regretfully of the shortness of a

visit he had so much enjoyed, and expressed a wish that an opportunity

for more prolonged intercourse might present itself before long.

Judging from Mr. Burlingame's letter, the pleasure had been mutual. I

quote a passage out of it:--

"I use my earliest opportunity to jot down a note for our better

remembrance of the main points of the arrangement for 'Scribner's

Magazine,' by assenting to which you gave me such pleasure in Paris.

"I sail on Saturday, and assure you I shall carry home no pleasanter

recollection than that of the two days which you made very enjoyable for

me at Paris and Boulogne."

The scheme did not require much literary labor, but it involved careful

researches for the choice of subjects, delicate negotiations with the

owners of the pictures chosen, to obtain the right of reproduction, and

moreover a superintendence of these reproductions as to quality.

After giving due consideration to the subject of "Humor in Painting" for

the "Portfolio," the editor did not feel inclined to undertake it. But

in his frequent walks about Paris his attention had been forcibly

attracted by the invention and fancy shown in the designs of modern

houses, and that was a study quite congenial to his tastes, and a

subject on which he was thoroughly competent to write. It was proposed

to Mr. Seeley, who accepted it, and from that moment we haunted the

quarters in which new buildings were rising, as if by magic, in the

purity of the white stone used in Paris, and in the richness or delicacy

of their carvings and mosaics.

Besides these various preparations for future work, Mr. Hamerton had

been much occupied by annotating a collection of different things

intended as a present to the Mechanics' Institution of Burnley. Shortly

after sending it off, he received the warm thanks of the Council through

its secretary.

The search after suitable subjects for "Scribner's Magazine" had only

yielded an insufficient number, and my husband decided to go to London

in July to complete his list. He felt so well that the idea of

undertaking the journey alone did not make him apprehensive in the

least. Not so with me, and my anxiety was only calmed after receiving

the assurance that he had felt perfectly comfortable the whole way.

His daughter wrote to him:--

"MON CHER PAPA,--Nous avons été bien heureux d'apprendre que tu as été

'si grand garçon' comme dit Bonne-maman. Ta témérité nous a tous étonnés

et nous a fait plaisir en même temps. Ce changement ne pourra que te

faire du bien puisque tu l'as supporté d'une façon aussi parfaite."

Here is a part of the answer:--

"ARUNDEL HOTEL, VICTORIA EMBANKMENT, LONDON,

"_July_ 22, 1893.

"I am extremely pleased with my hotel, which is just what I wanted, both

as to convenience of situation, beauty, and charges. From the window

where I am writing I can see the river and a garden with trees, and some

fine architecture on the Embankment (Quai), yet I am close to the

busiest part of London.

"I was in the Academy yesterday, and enjoyed it very much. I feel

perfectly well, and not in the least fatigued by my journey, from which

I experienced no inconvenience whatever, except an increased appetite,

which has remained with me ever since."

Shortly after my husband's return from London, Mr. Jaccaci, an American

artist and author, and a devoted friend of M. Vierge, came to see us,

and Gilbert's interest in him was quickly awakened. I was told that he

had travelled much, and, though still young, could speak eight

languages. There was a first bond between them in their admiration of M.

Vierge's talent, and in their sympathy for his individuality. They met

several times at his studio. Unfortunately Mr. Jaccaci's stay was of

short duration, and he was extremely busy, so much so indeed that he

could not accept an invitation, but promised to do so next time he came

to Paris. His departure did not put an end to the friendly intercourse,

which was carried on by correspondence.

At the first appearance of the "Portfolio" it had taken an entirely new

line among English periodicals, but now there were two other art

magazines similar in character and style of illustration, and both its

editor and publisher were desirous of an alteration which would once

more distinguish it from similar periodicals.

They considered how it might be remodelled, so as to give it a new

character of its own, and at last, taking into consideration the

prejudice which had set in against big books, they decided to reduce its

size and to increase the letterpress considerably. Each number was to be

devoted to one subject, and written by the same author, so as to be

complete in itself. The new second title, "Monographs on Artistic

Subjects," was liked by many critics, and one of them said: "Monographs!

I wonder whose idea that was. What an admirable plan! Strange that no

one ever thought of it before!"

The editor undertook to write the first number, on "The Etchings of

Rembrandt;" but in spite of his enthusiasm for the subject, and his

thorough knowledge of it, he felt painfully hurried, for the decision

had been taken somewhat late in the year. He told me he would have liked

to devote six months to its preparation. Still, the new plan gave him

much pleasant anticipation of carefully prepared work, as he disliked

devoting his time to subjects of minor importance. A number of the

"Portfolio" now allowed of a worthy subject being worthily treated, and

that was in accordance with my husband's preferred method of work.

With the ordinary autumnal remittance Roberts Brothers wrote:--

"We have just bought a copy of 'The Isles of Loch Awe, and Other Poems,'

by P. G. Hamerton, Esq. 1859. Second thousand.

"We have had a good many years a copy of the first edition, 1855, which

we once loaned to Mr. Longfellow, who made from it selections for his

collection of 'Poems of Places,' and in it we have placed his letter of

thanks for the loan."

Some time in the spring my husband had made the acquaintance of M.

Darmesteter, and had hoped that it might grow into closer intimacy, M.

Darmesteter and his wife having promised to call; but we learned that

they had been mistaken as to the situation of our house, and in November

Mr. Hamerton received this reply to one of his letters:--

"_Novembre_ 18.

"CHER MONSIEUR,--Excusez mon retard à vous remercier de votre aimable

lettre du 16 courant. Nous rentrons à peine et vous savez ce que c'est

qu'une rentrée en ville.

"Hafiz malheureusement n'est pas traduit que je sache en français. Il en

existe une traduction allemande en 3 vol....

"Nous avons bien regretté de ne pouvoir, avant de quitter Paris, faire

un tour au Parc-des-Princes et présenter nos hommages à Madame Hamerton.

Ce sera pour l'année qui vient j'espère.

"Croyez moi, cher Monsieur,

"Votre bien dévoué,

"J. DARMESTETER."

Death, alas! prevented another meeting, for M. Darmesteter, who was

already in weak health, did not live very long after.

Mr. Seeley thought the monograph on Rembrandt "lively, charmingly

written, and betraying no sign of hurry." This opinion was shared by the

public, for the sale of the "Portfolio" increased largely. Indeed, the

new scheme was generally applauded, and many letters were sent both to

the editor and to the publisher in token of appreciation. Sir F. Burton,

to whom my husband had applied for a monograph on Velasquez, said in his

reply: "I have seen the 'Portfolio' in its new form, and I think the

alterations you have made in the plan and scope of the work most happily

inspired."

Sir George Reid also wrote:--

"I have seen the 'Portfolio' in its new form, and I think the change a

wise one in many ways. It recalls the 'Revue des deux Mondes.' It will

be a far handier shape for the book-shelves; but I feel a--well perhaps

sentimental regret for the old 'Portfolio.' It seems like the

disappearance of on old familiar friend--although we know he is still

alive and well.

"I wish it all prosperity in its new form, and its editor many years of

happy and useful labor in the service of art."

Mrs. Henry Ady was to write on Bastien Lepage for the "Portfolio," but

she had not all the documents she wanted, and my husband undertook to

procure them. A talented French marine-painter, M. Jobert, with whom Mr.

Hamerton was acquainted, introduced him to M. Emile Bastien Lepage,

brother of the artist. Note in the diary about it:--

"January 11, 1894. Was much pleased with my visit. Saw many things by

the painter--many not published; portraits of father and mother, of

grandfather, of brother Emile, etc., and sketches for girl's funeral

which he saw; also etchings and a bust of his father. After that he

showed us a fine structure in carved wood from the church of St. Mark at

Venice."

My brother, his wife, and their two little girls arrived in Paris to be

present at the wedding of our niece, Jeanne Pelletier. Stephen also

came, and on the appointed day we all went to the Lycée Henri IV., where

the ceremony took place, on January 29. We were much interested, on

account of the great affection we bore to the bride.

My husband put this note in the diary: "Wedding passed off very well.

Beautiful ceremony in chapel. I had a talk with L'Abbé Loyson (brother

of Hyacinthe Loyson). Great numbers of people to congratulate."

Gilbert had long talks on architecture with his brother-in-law, to whom

he showed several of the new buildings he had been studying for his

"Parisian Houses," particularly in the Avenue du Bois de Boulogne,

Avenue Bugeaud, and Rue de Longchamp.

When M. Gindriez left, Gilbert tried to resume the "Quest of Happiness,"

but told me he had determined to remodel the Prologue on positive and

negative happiness, because he had thought out a scheme of alteration. I

was very sorry to hear of it, because the work was already so far

advanced, and the alterations would require so much trouble and time.

But such considerations had no weight with him when he thought his work

could be improved, so I kept my disappointment to myself.

Some time in February my husband had received a letter from Sir G. Reid,

from which I quote the following passage: "I have little doubt that

before the month of March comes you will be P. G. Hamerton, LL.D. Your

claims to such recognition have long been beyond all questioning."

This was confirmed by the Secretary of the University of Aberdeen on

March 3, 1894, in these terms:--

"DEAR SIR,--I have the pleasure of informing you that the Senatus of the

University at its meeting to-day conferred upon you the Honorary Degree

of Doctor of Laws (LL. D.).

"I am,

"Yours faithfully,

"ALEXANDER STEWART,

"Secretary of the Senatus."

Three days later Lady Reid wrote:--

"DEAR DR. HAMERTON,--We are delighted to see in this morning's newspaper

the announcement of your LL.D.-ship. Though we have never had the

pleasure of meeting, I feel almost as if I had known you for many years,

your writings having given me such real pleasure ever since I first made

your acquaintance in 'A Painter's Camp in the Highlands' in 1863.

"I hope you will kindly accept from me your Aberdeen LL.D.-hood, which

is the outward visible sign of your new academic rank.

"My husband says it is 'a chromatic discord of the 1st Order,' but over

the arrangements of such things the present generation has no control,

their form and colors having been settled long ago.

"Sir George unites with me in kindest regards, and in the hope that you

may long live to enjoy your most well-earned honors.

"Believe me,

"Yours very truly,

"MIA REID."

Shortly after Sir George Reid wrote: "You have done so much for the

literature of art that the only wonder is your services have not been

acknowledged by one or other of our Universities long ago. I am very

glad that the honor has come to you from the University of Aberdeen."

Although my husband cared little for honors, this recognition--freely

and spontaneously conferred by the University of Aberdeen, without any

solicitation on his part--gave him real pleasure. He had never expected

anything in this way from Oxford or Cambridge, because he had never been

a student of either, and he fancied that this would always be against

him. It reminds me of what he wrote to Mr. Seeley soon after our arrival

in Paris, when he suffered from dulness:--

"I never was at Oxford. I always had a boyish dread of being sent there,

and put into one of the colleges. I think I was marked for Balliol.

After my escape I felt towards the place much as a sound Protestant

feels towards the Vatican. Here is a reflection that has sometimes

occurred to me since my imprisonment here began: 'Dear me! why, if I can

endure Paris, I might possibly have endured Oxford.'"

After congratulating the editor of the "Portfolio" on his new title, Mr.

Seeley said: "My brother at Cambridge has been made a Knight Commander

of St. Michael and St. George. What an extraordinary title for a

Professor! And you are now a Doctor of Laws. Will you kindly allow us to

consult you in any legal difficulty?"

The new Doctor [Footnote: Mr. Hamerton and Professor Seeley were born on

the same day, and there was an interval of only a few weeks between

their deaths.] answered:--

"I congratulate you on having a brother who is a Knight Commander of St.

Michael and St. George too. They were both very valiant saints,

dangerous to dragons and demons. The image that rose to my mind's eye

when I read your letter was that of your brother in shining golden armor

riding full tilt with spear in rest against a terrible dragon. I wish

Lord Shaftesbury had lived to hear of it, for one reason, and your

father for another.

"Thank you for your congratulations about my LL.D.-ship. In answer to

your question, I beg to say that whilst the degree is but a just tribute

to my legal knowledge, it does not confer the right to practise, so that

you would do better to consult some professional man, such as a

barrister or an attorney, even though his legal attainments might be far

inferior to mine."

In the same year Mr. Hamerton was invited by the Society of Illustrators

to accept a Vice-Presidency along with Sir J. E. Millais, Sir F. Seymour

Haden, and Mr. Holman Hunt.

Messrs. Scribner having planned a work on American wood-cuts, wrote to

ascertain if my husband would undertake it. Mr. Burlingame's letter

explains the scheme.

"DEAR MR. HAMERTON,--In the course of the publication of the Magazine,

we have printed from time to time what we believe to be some of the best

American wood-engravings. We are going to make a selection of about

forty of them, thoroughly representative of the best men and subjects

(though we have not tried, of course, to have the representation

_complete_), and issue it as soon as we can in the form of India proofs,

in a portfolio in a very limited edition--probably of less than 100

copies, made with the utmost care and all possible accessories to render

the collection a standard one. Meaning to make it represent the highest

point of wood-engraving (which is now fast yielding to the mechanical

processes, so that the moment is perhaps the best we shall have), we

want to accompany the publication with a short essay on the subject, to

go with the portfolio in a little book, and afterwards to be bound up

with the popular edition should we make one."

It was just one of those schemes that my husband could set his heart

upon--requiring much knowledge and condensed writing. So he gladly

accepted the task, and applied himself to it as soon as the engravings

reached him.

On receiving the manuscript Mr. Burlingame wrote: "The paper on the

engravers so thoroughly fulfilled our expectations, that we were more

than ever glad that we asked your help in this (to us) important

matter."

In the spring, before the opening of the Salons, there are always a good

many minor exhibitions, and these we went to see, in order to judge of

the prevailing artistic tendencies. I find this note in the diary:--

"March 17, 1894. Went with wife in the afternoon to see some pictures by

the 'Eclectics' at Petit's. Most of them horribly bad, especially the

Impressionists, but several by Boudot were excellent. These were

landscapes, all in perfectly true tone and good color, with a great deal

of sound, modest drawing. I wish I could paint like him. His work is

evidently founded on painted studies from nature; indeed, much of it

must have been painted directly from nature.

"Made a new plan for work, doing two tasks on alternate days: one the

current book, the other some minor task--an article, for example. In

this way both would get on, and the interval would not be long enough to

lose hold of either."

He wrote about it to Mr. Seeley, and explained:--

"I don't know how it will answer yet, but have hopes. My great

difficulty has always been (and it only increases with age) a certain

want of readiness and flexibility in turning from one thing to another.

When I have a book in hand (and I always have one), it is most

disagreeable to me to turn from it and write an article; and when the

article is finished I lose always at least a day, and often several

days, before I get well into swing with the book again. My natural

tendency is to take up one task, and peg away at it till it is done."

At Roberts Brothers' request, Mr. Hamerton had agreed to write a

translation of Renan's notice of his sister Henriette. However, he had

to give it up, not being able to get answers to his letters from M. Ary

Renan.

As he greatly appreciated the spirit and usefulness of the Institution

of the Franco-English Guild, founded by Miss Williams, he wrote for its

"Review" an article on "Languages and Peace," and intended to write

others. There are some notes in the diary at this time which prove that

he could find some effects to enjoy in Paris:--

"March 13th. Went with Stephen to see Mr. Barker. We went on a walk to

the terrace at Meudon, where we joined wife and daughter and Raoul.

Thence to a pond in the wood. Came back in the evening. Beautiful

effects on the river."

"April 1st. Went to the Mont Valérien, and greatly enjoyed the views

about it over Paris on one side, and the country on the other."

The best proof that my husband's nervous system was now strong and

healthy, is that _for the first time in his life_ he proposed that we

should go together to the private view of the Champ de Mars to meet the

President of the Republic. We had a card of invitation, and I was so

happy to see him well, and to mark the respectful greetings which met

him from all quarters, that I enjoyed the day thoroughly. He was

perfectly calm the whole time, in contrast with the excitement surging

around him, and at night he wrote in the diary:--

"We went, wife and I, to the Champ de Mars, and saw the President of the

Republic arrive, and all the artistic notabilities who received him.

After the lunch, saw the exhibition well, and selected two pictures for

Scribner. Was much impressed by Tissot's 'Life of Christ.'

"We were much amused by the extravagance of the toilettes, particularly

the feminine."

In April he called upon MM. Louis Deschamps and Checa for notes of a

biographical kind. There was an instantaneous sympathy between him and

M. Checa, who was very cordial and communicative, and who soon returned

his visit. After the publication of the article concerning him, M. Checa

wrote: "Je vous remercie très vivement de cet article, sûrement le plus

exact que l'on ait fait sur moi."

In the studio of M. Checa my husband had met an American artist, Mr. R.

J. Wickenden, who lived at Auvers, and who, being well acquainted with

his works, wished to paint a portrait of the author. During the sittings

a friendship was formed between model and painter. The portrait was

exhibited in America at Mr. Keppel's.

Mr. Hamerton having been invited to preside at a meeting and dinner of

the Society of Illustrators, and to deliver a lecture on the history of

their art, fixed an earlier date than he had intended for his proposed

visit to London, to comply with their wishes.

He started alone on May 4, going by way of Dieppe, and wrote in the

diary: "Capital passage. Enjoyed sea and color very much indeed."

On the 6th he wrote to M. Raillard that he was well enough, but that on

arriving at Charing Cross the trunk containing his clothes was missing.

He ended by saying: "And I have to preside over a dinner to-morrow! At

all events I cannot do it in a flannel shirt!... I am in a pretty mess!"

He had almost decided to buy a ready-made suit in this emergency, when

he recovered the lost trunk. After the dinner he wrote me a long account

of it in French. The reception given him by the Illustrators had been

most cordial. His speech had been delivered without nervousness or

hesitation, and with the curious illusion that he was listening to

somebody else.

There had been an animated debate on the grievances of the Illustrators,

who complained of the small space allotted to the exhibition of their

works in the Academy. They seemed disposed to sign a protest, when he

had offered to go and see Sir Frederick Leighton, and to talk the

subject over with him, as president of the meeting. He ended his letter

with a promise to have his photograph taken on the morrow by Messrs.

Elliott and Fry.

I was very glad of this decision about his portrait, for I had not a

good likeness of him, except the fine photograph taken by Mr. Palmer;

and of course since that time his features had altered. They retained

their expression of intellectuality and dignity, softened, as it were,

by the discipline and experience of years. Hitherto he had always

resisted any attempt to publish his portrait among a series of

celebrities; but this time he yielded to my entreaties; and he was

afterwards satisfied to have done so, for the three photographs taken on

the same day were all good likenesses. From the best of them was

engraved--later--through the care and sympathy of Messrs. Scribner, the

fine and striking portrait which appeared in their Magazine of February,

1895.

It was, I believe, a sort of unconscious presentiment which prompted my

husband to see _all_ his friends during this last visit to England.

Knowing that he had so much pressing work on hand, I had been surprised

by his decision to go to London so soon after his last journey, and

still more to hear that he intended to go to Holmwood to make the

acquaintance of Mr. C. Gould, the son of his cousin Anne; to Dorking, to

see Mrs. Hamerton, of Hellifield Peel, and her married daughter; to

Alresford, to stay a couple of days with Sir Seymour Haden and his wife;

and then to Southampton, to call upon Mr. R. Leslie. All these

arrangements surprised me exceedingly; but I came to the conclusion that

my husband's health must be excellent, since he volunteered to

undertake, with evident pleasure, what he would have dreaded to do some

time ago.

Indeed, his letters expressed nothing but enjoyment from all these

visits, and the keen interest he took in the Academy exhibition.

He was made very welcome by Sir Frederick Leighton, to whom he explained

the grievances of the Illustrators, and who gave him a promise to do his

best for them; and Mr. Hamerton was glad to think he might have been of

use.

A singular occurrence happened shortly after his return. Friends, more

particularly those who came from abroad, were often debarred from

accepting his invitations on account of the distance between Paris and

the Parc des Princes, and the consequent lateness of the hour when they

could reach their home or hotel after dining at Clématis. Gilbert,

therefore, had adopted a plan--much in use in the French capital--which

consists in inviting friends to a conveniently situated restaurant,

where the goodness of the cookery and attendance may be relied upon. It

occurred to my husband to try the Terminus Hotel at the Gare du Havre,

from which many travellers start for England; and he invited M. Raillard

to test the place with him. They were both pleased with it, and left at

about ten p.m. It was most fortunate that they did not remain much

longer, for at eleven an explosion, caused by a dynamite bomb, wrecked

the room in which they had dined, and wounded several people.

A long-deferred meeting with Mr. Frederick Harrison took place in June,

and the day was spent in visiting the Louvre, Tuileries, Notre Dame, and

the Hôtel de Ville.

We had also been expecting with pleasant anticipations the visit of Mr.

Niles, when we received the sad news of his death at Perugia, and

learned that he had been in failing health for some years, and had

decided to come to Europe for rest. My husband's regrets were very

sincere. From time to time we had news of R. L. Stevenson; those

received in a letter from Mr. R. A.M. Stevenson, in the course of the

same mouth, were very pleasing.

"I heard from R. L. Stevenson a few weeks ago. He said: 'If you saw me

here you would no longer question my wisdom in staying; you would not

wonder at my preferring this life to that of Bournemouth.' In England he

passed half his time in bed, the whole winter in the house, and he could

never walk half-a-mile. Now he is out by six in the morning, sometimes

bathes, and occasionally spends the whole day in the saddle. He was

always fond of the open air, and though never strong, was a good walker,

and, as you know, able to do a little boating. He often spoke to me of

his visit to you at Autun."

The assassination of President Carnot, which occurred in June, grieved

and horrified my husband as much as if he had been a Frenchman. He had

the greatest respect for the scrupulous manner in which M. Carnot

discharged all his duties, and admired the simple dignity with which he

held the rank of First Citizen of a great nation. Being himself a

Liberal--but a Moderate one--it had given him hopes for the stability of

a Moderate-Liberal Republic, to see at the head of it the

personification of unsuspected honesty and wise patriotism.

On the whole, he was satisfied with the choice of his successor, and

amused by this phrase about M. Casimir-Périer in one of Mr. Seeley's

letters: "I saw a portrait of the new French President lately. He looks

a man not to be trifled with." The remark has been curiously justified

since.

Having to go out so frequently now in the afternoons in order to see

artists and pictures, my husband altered his rules of work, and devoted

the whole of the mornings to literary composition, and the heat being

very oppressive this summer, he worked better in the cooler time of day;

yet I was rather afraid of the consequences when I saw him start for

Paris with the thermometer standing at 88° or 90° almost every

afternoon, but he maintained that it did him no harm.

On July 14--the Fête Nationale--Mr. Jaccaci having called with M.

Vierge, Gilbert went back to dine with him in Paris and to see the

fireworks. They were both struck by the extraordinary quietness of the

great town, generally so merry and noisy at that date, but now subdued

by respectful sympathy for the death of its late President.

Note in the diary: "Never saw streets of Paris so quiet before. Could

cross easily anywhere. In Avenue de l'Opéra could count people."

We had heard from M. Raillard that the reputation of his father-in-law

was penetrating into Germany. He had seen some notices and reviews of

his works, and in August a professor at the Zurich University sent this

flattering letter:--

"Monsieur,--Je vais publier une petite bibliothèque française à l'usage

des écoles allemandes, avec des notes en français. Le premier volume

contiendra une forte partie du fameux livre de Tocqueville sur l'ancien

régime et la révolution. Le second sera, si vous le permettez, composé

d'extraits de votre excellent livre, 'Français et Anglais,' traduction

de M. Labouchère.

"Auriez-vous la bonté de me fournir quelques dates sur votre vie et sur

vos autres ouvrages, que je pourrais utiliser pour l'introduction?"

Just at the time, when my husband was making extensive plans of work,

justified as it seemed by the great improvement in his health, he was

suddenly attacked by a new malady, which he believed to be asthma. There

were no premonitory symptoms; he was as well as usual in the daytime,

and even after going to bed, where he always read before going to sleep;

but directly he fell asleep, he was suddenly aroused again by

suffocation. In describing his sensations to me, he said it seemed as if

breathing required--while in a waking state--a slight effort, which he

made unconsciously, and this being discontinued when sleep arrived,

produced suffocation. I attributed this painful state to a change in the

working of his nervous system, and pressed him to see a doctor; but he

was convinced that he was becoming asthmatic, and that there was no help

for it.

Although he told me that if he had his choice in the matter, he would

rather die than be condemned to a life of impotence, with perpetual

cares and precautions, he bore his sufferings, or rather forebodings,

with his accustomed courage and patience, and attempted to calm my

apprehensions by affirming that, though his nights were disturbed, he

could still get sleep out of bed, in an arm-chair, and now and then in

the day-time when overpowered by fatigue. The various means of relief

used by asthmatic people and recommended by different friends

proving--without exception--utterly inefficacious for him, I attempted

to console him by pointing out that asthma often manifested itself at

very long intervals, and that, in general, the worst attacks were hardly

more painful than those of gout. He answered that he could bear the pain

of these attacks, but what he dreaded most was chronic asthma, which, by

lowering his general health, would reduce him to an invalid state.

However, the worst symptoms soon subsided, and about three weeks after

the first disturbance he was writing to Mr. Seeley: "I am much better,

though my nights are still frequently interrupted. I require a great

deal of exercise, more than I can find time for; the more exercise I

take the better I am." And yet when, shortly afterwards, a specialist

had to be called in, he declared that his patient "was completely

overworked mentally and physically," and he ordered him to give up the

velocipede altogether, and to restrict his walks to short distances and

a leisurely pace.

I have never been able to understand how it was that physical exercise

being so hurtful to Gilbert, he should invariably have felt benefited by

it, so far as his sensations went.

The vacation had come round again, and the impossibility of realizing

the pleasant plans we had formed obliged our children to alter theirs.

Stephen went to London, and M. Raillard took his wife through

Switzerland to Germany. They had frequently written on their way, and

now told of their impressions of Freiburg, where they decided to remain

three weeks.

I mentioned before that my husband's knowledge of places which he had

never seen was surprising. In this instance he could induce Mary and her

husband to believe that he had actually stayed where they were. The

attempt amused him, and he read me the following letter before posting

it:--

"19 _août_ 1894.

"Ma Chère et bonne fille,--Je t'aurais écrit plus tôt pour te souhaiter

ta fête, qui est aujourd'hui, mais je n'espérais pas que ma lettre pût

te parvenir, comme tu étais en route. Je n'ai jamais pu savoir ce que

souhaiter une fête voulait dire, mais si c'est quelque bien,--comme la

santé, par exemple,--tu sais quels sont mes voeux; enfin je voudrais te

savoir aussi heureuse que possible:

"Je ne trouve pas que la couleur de la cathédrale de Freiburg soit

désagréable. Il est vrai que je préfère un gris argenté, mais le ton

chaud de Freiburg fait bien et il a gagné une certaine patine avec les

années. On m'a dit quand j'y étais que celle de Strasbourg a la même

couleur, mais je ne l'ai jamais vue. Quel bonheur pour Freiburg d'avoir

tous ces petits ruisseaux qui nettoient les rues et qui viennent de la

rivière Dreisam! Je n'admire pas plus que toi la tendance polychrome

qu'on voit dans certains détails de la ville.

"Avez-vous vu le château de Zahringen? Il est au nordest de Freiburg, à

trois kilomètres environ; c'est une promenade très facile.

"Je me suis demandé si à Baie vous vous étiez arrêtés à l'hôtel des

Trois-Rois. Il y a là un long balcon d'où l'on voit le fort courant du

Rhin qui passe sous l'ancien pont. Je me rappelle qu'à l'extrémité de ce

pont, du côté opposé, il y avait une brasserie où, en buvant son verre

de bière, on pouvait regarder l'eau qui coulait toujours, et si vite.

"À Lucerne, j'ai vu également couler la Reuss sous l'ancien pont où l'on

voit la Danse de la Mort. Mr. Macgregor a osé descendre cette rivière

(qui est un torrent très dangereux plus bas) en périssoire. Ce n'est pas

moi qui essaierai.

"Je continue à mieux aller, je puis maintenant m'endormir assez

facilement, et je reste généralement dans mon lit toute la nuit, mais

pas toujours. Mon sommeil est souvent interrompu, mais vite repris. En

somme grand progrès.

"Bonne-maman va beaucoup mieux aussi, elle prend de la Kola qui lui

fait, paraît-il, grand bien.

"Stephen a regagné l'appétit et part vendredi pour Londres.

"Mes meilleures amitiés à Raoul, et tous mes souhaits pour un bon séjour

à Lucerne, cet endroit si ravissant!

"Vieux Papa."

To the infinite amusement of "Vieux Papa," his daughter answered

immediately, "We never knew that you had been at Freiburg," etc., etc.

In the course of August my husband had the pleasure of becoming

personally acquainted with Mr. Scribner, who called upon him in the

company of Mr. Jaccaci.

The improvement in Gilbert's state did not last. We renewed our

entreaties about having a doctor's advice, and he yielded.

The great physician whom we called in declared it was weakness of the

heart--due to overwork--that his patient was suffering from, and not

asthma. He promised to set him up again in four months with his

prescriptions.

Strange to say, Gilbert was greatly relieved to hear that his case was

hypertrophy of the heart rather than asthma--for me it was the dreaded

confirmation of fears that had long haunted me; still, we both derived

hope and encouragement from the doctor's assurance of an ultimate cure.

I cannot say that we really believed in a total cure, but we thought it

possible to recover the former state of health which had preceded the

attacks of suffocation. "I have not felt old, hitherto," my husband

said, "certainly not more than if I had been only fifty; but the fact

is, I am now sixty, and therefore must be prepared to face the advent of

old age. I will submit to any privation for the sake of health, though

it seems hard to be deprived of exercise. It is singular that my mental

state should be clearer and more vigorous than ever before, and that my

work should be easier and more enjoyable than at any former time."

Mr. Seeley had written:--

"What a good thing you called in this Parisian doctor! It might have

been serious if you had gone on taking strong exercise in your present

state of health.

"I can quite understand your feeling of relief that at any rate it is

not asthma. Perhaps when you take less exercise the gout may return, and

the heart be relieved at once. That the doctor confidently promises a

cure in a few months is a great satisfaction to us."

The good results of the prescribed regimen were soon experienced, and I

hailed--not unhopefully--the return of an attack of gout, predicted by

Mr. Seeley, which I feared less for Gilbert than the heart troubles. The

doctor had said, after hearing that the gout had almost entirely

disappeared, "You have made a bad bargain in exchanging gout for

hypertrophy."

This is what my husband himself wrote to his friend:--

"The worst of me just now for making inquiries, is that on getting up

this morning I found I had an attack of gout in my right knee. Hitherto

it is only slight (I write at two p.m.), but I cannot bend it without

considerable pain, so I must wait till to-morrow at any rate, before

trying to go to Paris. It is quite possible that the attack may be very

slight, but it is also possible that I may be laid up by it. However

this may be, I will of course keep your letter, and do all in my power

to help in the present emergency.

"Many thanks for your very kind letter about my doctor's visit. I wish I

had known him ten years sooner. He is most scrupulously observant of

things as they really are, and does not set off, as doctors often do,

from a preconceived notion of his own. The results of the regimen are

already beneficial. My nights have been gradually improving since it

began. Last night I slept perfectly till about two in the morning, and

then awoke without any suffocation, and soon fell asleep again,

remaining quiet with good breathing till half-past six. About a week

since I could not sleep _at all_, being immediately awakened by

suffocation every time I began to drop off.

"Please thank Mrs. Seeley on my part and my wife's for her kind

sympathy, which we know is most sincere. Tell her I regret to have

called you her teetotal husband, as I am no better myself. Nay, it is

you who have the advantage of me with your two glasses of claret, which

I call downright intemperance." (He was allowed to drink nothing but

milk.)

Our children feeling uneasy still, and anxious about the state of their

father, cut their journey rather short to be back again with him. M.

Raillard wished to see Sens in coming back, and the house we had lived

in there. So his father-in-law sent him some information about the

place, and added:--

"Ne manquez pas surtout de voir l'intérieur de la Salle Synodale qui est

peut-être la plus belle salle gothique du monde après celle de

Westminster. Le trésor de la Cathédrale est intéressant.

"Je continue à me porter beaucoup mieux. Les nuits sont bonnes.

"À bientôt, puisque vous avez la bonne pensée de revenir.

"Bien cordialement à vous."

The rules of work had been, perforce, relaxed lately, and almost all the

working time had been devoted to writing the "Quest of Happiness," and

an article on "Formative Influences" for the "Forum," besides the

concluding articles for "Scribner's Magazine."

A decided and rapid improvement in health had taken place, and when, at

the beginning of October, Miss Betham-Edwards came to see us, she found

my husband much as usual--though looking older--as she told me

afterwards.

A few days after she had come to _déjeuner_ at Clématis we went to lunch

with her at her hotel, and spent the whole day together, visiting the

Musée Carnavalet, and having a long walk the whole way back to the Rue

d'Alger. We crossed the Cour du Louvre, where my husband explained in

detail the various transformations and changes in the architecture of

the palace at different periods of time. Then, in the fading twilight,

we had a look at the magnificent and poetical vista opened by the

removal of the Tuileries, before saying goodbye; and when we reached

Clématis for a late dinner, Gilbert told my mother that he had enjoyed

the day and did not feel tired in the least.

On the following Sunday we had a long walk in the Avenue du Bois de

Boulogne with some friends, and near the Arc de Triomphe de l'Étoile we

happened to espy the doctor, when my husband remarked cheerfully,

"Doctor B----, who was to see me again in two months, would be surprised

to hear that I am cured already."

On October 17, a fire was lighted for the first time this autumn in

Gilbert's study, and before the flue became heated and a good draught

produced, the smoke was considerable. I warned him not to remain in the

room, the air being so bad; he answered that as soon as the work he had

begun allowed of it, he would go out. I left the door open on purpose,

and begged him not to close it; but when I went up again with the

letters--two hours after--I found him still at work, in an atmosphere of

dense yellow smoke, without possible escape, the door having been closed

again. As usual, when writing, my husband became so wrapt in his work

that he was not conscious of anything outside of it.

I became alarmed for him, as I could hardly breathe, but he felt no

inconvenience just then.

In the afternoon he had a walk, but in the evening he went up again to

the study, and remained there over an hour, giving a lesson in English

pronunciation to one of his nephews. The smoke had, however, subsided,

and the fire burned steadily.

At half-past one I was awakened by a sensation of chill on the

forehead--it came from my husband's lips--he was giving me, as he

thought, a _last_ kiss, for he murmured faintly, "J'ai voulu te dire que

je t'ai bien aimée, car je crois que je vais mourir."

He was deadly pale, but quite collected. I helped him to dress, and we

managed to reach the garden for purer air. He wrote afterwards in his

diary that his sufferings had been horrible, and lasted in full two

hours and a half. I tried to encourage him in the struggle for life, by

saying that it was asthma, and that I had witnessed a dear relation of

ours struggling successfully through several similar attacks. I felt

certain now that it was asthma, and I said so to the doctor on the

following day. He answered, "It is cardiac asthma, then."

It was freezing hard outside, and as soon as he recovered breathing

power, I led my husband to the drawing-room sofa, which I wheeled in

front of the chimney, and the wood being piled up ready for a fire, I

made a great blaze, and opened the windows wide at the same time. Once

stretched on the couch and wrapped up in blankets, facing the leaping

flames, he soon regained vital warmth, and his breathing became more

regular.

Altogether the crisis had lasted five hours, during which I had remained

alone with him without even calling a maid, for fear of making him worse

through annoyance. I affected entire freedom from anxiety as to the end,

merely expressing sympathy with his momentary sufferings, and I was

thankful to succeed in deceiving him.

As soon as he felt well enough to be left for a short time, I hastened

to the doctor's, but went first to tell Mary and her husband of the sad

occurrence, that they might go to their father while I should be away.

The doctor attributed the attack entirely to the effect of the smoke,

and said it had nothing to do with my husband's malady--"he had been

asphyxiated;" it would have no lasting effects, except as to retarding

the cure; the ground gained since the beginning of the regimen had been

lost, and it was all to begin over again.

I did not attempt to disguise from him my anxious fears nor my feelings

when I had witnessed my husband's tortures without any means or hopes of

alleviating them; "for," I added, "I have been told there is no help in

cases of acute asthma." "There _was_ not," he answered, "till a quite

recent discovery; but now immediate relief may be given by injections of

serum."

Though he assured me that there would be no other attack of the same

kind if we took care to have only wood fires and no smoke, I insisted

upon being recommended to a reliable doctor, not far from our house, who

would promise to come at any time of night if we needed him, and who

would always have serum in his possession--the great specialist being

himself at too great a distance from us to be fetched in an emergency.

The very doctor I wanted happened to be this very day sharing, as he

often did, the labors and studies of the specialist. He was called in,

and, after listening to an explanation, gave me the promise I desired,

and said he would follow me immediately to Clématis to see the patient;

and if he should see the necessity for it, would ask his friend to join

him at our house for a consultation.

As he noticed the distress under which I was laboring, the physician

kindly said before I left him: "I repeat, that I do not apprehend a

recurrence of what happened last night--but, si par impossible une

autre crise semblable survenait, rappelez-vous bien que, même suivie de

syncope, elle ne serait _jamais mortelle_."

I believed him, though my heart was still heavy at the thoughts of the

sufferings that the future might bring to my husband. I felt greatly

relieved in being able to give him the doctor's assurance that there was

no danger for his life.

I was happy on entering the drawing-room to see him quietly talking with

Mary and Raoul, and eating grapes. He said that, with the exception of

fatigue, he felt very well indeed. He had taken some broth, and partook

of a light dinner with pleasure.

The doctor delegated by the physician, after an examination, merely

confirmed what had been said to me, and saw no necessity for a

consultation with his friend.

On the morrow we arranged a temporary study to avoid fresh troubles with

the stove, and kept up good ventilation with a bright wood fire and

frequent opening of windows looking out on the garden.

Gilbert resumed his ordinary work with great moderation, taking care to

interrupt whatever he was doing every hour by a short walk in the open

air, according to medical advice. Four days later I find this entry in

the note-book: "October 24. Walked in the Bois de Boulogne towards

evening in an enchantment of color and light; beautiful autumnal color

on trees."

One of my husband's last satisfactions in life was a letter for Mr.

Burlingame, about the work lately done for Messrs. Scribner. Here is a

passage out of it:--

"I have long had in mind to say, _à propos_ of the conclusion of the

series, how much of a success I think our last plan proved, and how

cordially we all appreciate the very valuable and punctual fulfilment

which you kindly gave to it. All our relations during its progress were

a great pleasure to me; and I hope it will not be long before the

Magazine may have the benefit of your help again. It will always gratify

us very much to know of any suggestion or papers that occur to you which

you might be inclined to send our way.

"Mr. Scribner and Mr. Jaccaci are back again; and we all often speak of

you with pleasant recollections of your kindness in Paris."

Although Messrs. Scribner's pecuniary arrangements were very liberal, my

husband's satisfaction in his dealings with them was mostly derived from

their courtesy; for though he was obliged to take money into

consideration, it was almost the least weighty of considerations with

him. He often said he did not like money; he looked upon it as the

indispensable means of providing necessaries, and thereby affording the

mind sufficient peace to apply itself to study in freedom from anxious

cares. He never desired riches or luxury, and hated to have to think

about money matters or to talk about them, even to me; and aware that

the subject was more than disagreeable,--painful,--I avoided it as much

as possible.

After the first terrible attack of suffocation, Mr. Seeley had been

reluctant to ask for my husband's help; still, as he had recovered so

soon, and had resumed his ordinary avocations, he was willing and able

to do several urgent things for the "Portfolio," and Mr. Seeley wrote:--

"You have done, before receiving my last letter, exactly what it asked

you to do. What a good thing when editor and publisher are in such

perfect _rapport_.

"I hope you have not had any more attacks."

No, he had not; and his nights were quiet again, though he got up very

early, at four or five in the morning, and had a nap in the afternoon.

The only thing he complained of was a sensation of weakness unknown to

him before. It was not sufficient to be called painful, but still he

felt it to be there, and hoped to get rid of it when allowed a little

beer or claret. He so much disliked drinking milk at meal-times that it

quite spoilt his appetite, until the doctor said he might have water

during his repasts, and milk in the intervals.

On account of the diminution in strength, I was afraid of the effects

that fatigue might produce, and did not like to see him go so often to

Paris as he had lately done, especially to the exhibitions; but when it

could not be avoided, I managed to go with him, under the pretext that I

was interested in them myself.

On November 4 he asked me if I should like to go with him to the Louvre,

where he had to see the Salle des Primitifs. I said yes. He spent an

hour there, enjoying heartily the best pictures, and extolling their

merits as we were coming back. According to his habit, he was reading in

the tram-car on his way home, and I noticed that it was a volume of

"Virgil," and in looking up from the book to his face, I observed that

he looked paler than usual. I inquired if he felt tired. He answered,

"Not in the least." And when we reached home he went up straight to his

study, and wrote till the bell called him to dinner. We had a pleasant

talk about the pictures he had just studied, while he was eating with a

good appetite.

After dinner, as usual, he took up his newspaper and read for about ten

minutes, when he suddenly threw it aside and told me the action of the

heart was unsatisfactory. I proposed at once to go to the garden, but

the suddenness and violence of the attack did not allow him to reach it.

When in the open air, just above the few stone steps, he had to stop and

grasp the railing till the last anguish deprived him of breath and of

life, long before the arrival of the doctors, whom I had sent for as

soon as he had felt oppressed.

He had never feared death, whatever might await him after--conscious of

a useful and blameless life. He died as he had desired to die, standing

alone with me under the moonlit sky, unconfined, escaping from the

decrepitude of old age, still in the full possession and maturity of his

talents, and in the active use of them.

Two hours before his death he had been writing these last words for the

"Quest of Happiness":--

"If I indulge my imagination in dreaming about a country where justice

and right would always surely prevail, where the weak would never be

oppressed, nor an honest man incur any penalty for his honesty--a

country where no animal would ever be ill-treated or killed, otherwise

than in mercy--that is truly ideal dreaming, because, however far I

travel, I shall not find such a country in the world, and there is not

any record of such a country in the authentic history of mankind."

Let us hope he may have found this ideal country in the unknown world.