1858.

My first sight of Loch Awe.—Arrival at Innistrynich.—Our domestic life.—Difficulties about provisions.—A kitchen garden.

When Philip Gilbert Hamerton asked me to marry him, he conscientiously attempted to explain how different my life would be in the Highlands of Scotland from that to which I had been accustomed in Paris. He said how solitary it was, especially in the winter-time; how entirely devoid of what are called the pleasures of a metropolis—to which a Parisian lady has the reputation of being such a slave (he knew, however, that it was not my case); and already his devotion to study was such that he requested me to promise not to interfere with his work of any kind that he deemed necessary,—were it camping out, or sailing in stormy weather to observe nature under all her changing aspects, either of day or night.

Still, the picture he drew of our future existence was by no means all in dark colors, for with the enthusiasm of an artist he described the glories of the Highlands, the ever-varying skies, the effects of light and shadow on the mountains, the beauties of the lovely isles, and the charm of sailing on the moonlit and mysterious lake. He also made me acquainted with the numerous legends of Loch Awe (he had told them in verse, but I was ignorant of English), which would lend a romantic atmosphere to our island-home. He was so sensitive to the different moods of nature that his descriptions gave to a town-bred girl like me an intense desire to witness them with my own eyes; and when I did see them there was no dÉsillusion, and the effect was so overpowering that it seemed like the revelation of a new sense in me. The first glimpse I had of Loch Awe, from the top of the coach, was like the realization of a fantastic and splendid dream; I could not believe it to be a reality, and thought of some mirage; but my husband was delighted by this first impression.

We reached Innistrynich shortly before nightfall, and I was taken to the keeper's cottage to warm myself, whilst the luggage was being conveyed across the bay to the house. Though it was the end of May, the weather had been so cold all the way that I felt almost benumbed after the drive; for, being accustomed to the climate of France, I had taken but scanty precautions in the way of wraps, believing them to be superfluous at that time of the year. My husband, having begged the keeper's wife to take care of me, she carried her assiduities to a point that quite confused me, for I could not remonstrate in words, and she was so evidently prompted by kindness that I was fearful of hurting her by opposing her well-meant but exaggerated attentions. She swathed me in a Scotch plaid, and placed the bundle I had become in a cushioned and canopied arm-chair by the peat-fire, the smoke and unaccustomed odor of which stifled me; then she insisted upon removing my boots and stockings, and chafed my feet in her hands, to bring back a little warmth. Lastly, she hospitably brought me what she thought the best thing she had to offer, a hot whiskey toddy. To please her, and also to relieve my numbness, I tried my best to drink what seemed to me a horrid mixture, but I could not manage it, and could not explain why, and the poor woman remained lost in sorrowful bewilderment at my rejection of the steaming tumbler. Just then my husband came back, and after thanking the keeper's wife, rowed me over to Innistrynich.

It was then quite dark, and impossible to see the island, even the outside of the cottage; but when the door was open, it showed the prettiest picture imaginable: the entrance was brilliantly illuminated, and our two servants—a maid and a young lad ("Thursday" of the "Painter's Camp"), both healthy and cheerful-looking, were standing ready to relieve us of our wraps. The drawing-room had an inviting glow of comfort, with the generous fire, the lights of the elegant candelabra playing amongst the carvings of the oak furniture, and the tones of the dark ruddy curtains harmonizing with the lighter ones of the claret-colored carpet; an artistic silver set of tea-things, which my husband had secretly brought from Paris with the candelabra, had been spread on the table ready for us, and my appreciation of the taste and thoughtfulness displayed on my behalf gladdened and touched the donor. I had never before partaken of tea as a meal, but it was certainly a most delightful repast to both of us.

After a short rest, my husband showed me the arrangements of the house, rich in surprises to my foreign notions, but none the less interesting and pleasant.

Our drawing-room was to serve as dining-room also, for the orthodox dining-room had been transformed into a studio and sitting-room; they stood opposite to each other. A little further along the corridor came the two best bedrooms, which, at first sight, gave to a Parisian girl a sensation of bareness and emptiness, corrected later by habit. Everything necessary was to be found there,—large brass bedsteads with snowy coverings, all the modern contrivances for the toilet, chests of drawers, each surmounted by a bright looking-glass; even a number of tiny and curious gimcracks ornamented the narrow mantelpiece; but to a French eye the absence of curtains to the bed, and the unconcealed display of washing utensils, suggested a cabinet de toilette rather than a bedroom. This simplicity has now become quite fashionable among wealthy French people, on account of its healthiness: the fresh air playing more freely and remaining purer than in rooms crowded with stuffed seats, and darkened by elaborate upholstery.

On the upper story were four other rooms, used as laboratory, store-room, and servants' rooms; whilst on the ground-floor we had a scullery, a large kitchen, a laundry,—that I used afterwards as a private kitchen, when my husband provided it with a set of French brass pans and a charcoal range,—a spare room, which was turned into a nursery by and by, and lastly, a repository for my husband's not inconsiderable paraphernalia.

The first days after our arrival were devoted to sailing or rowing on the lake, to acquaint me with its topography; soon, however, we made rules to lose no time, for we had both plenty of work before us.

My husband, at that time, knew French pretty well; he could express everything he wished to say, and understood even the nuances of the language, but his accent betrayed him at once as an Englishman, and there lingered in his speech a certain hesitation about the choice of words most appropriate to his meaning. As for me, my English had remained that of a school-girl, and my husband offered me his congratulations on my extremely limited knowledge, for this reason—that I should have little to unlearn. We agreed, to begin with, that one of us ought to know the other's language thoroughly, so as to establish a perfect understanding, and as he was so much more advanced in French than I in English, it was decided that for a time he should become my pupil, and that our conversations should be in my mother-tongue.

On my part I devoted two hours a day to the study of English grammar, and to the writing of exercises, themes, and versions. This task was fulfilled during my husband's absence, or whilst he was engaged with his correspondence; and in the afternoon I used to read English aloud to him, while he drew or painted either at home or out of doors. It was his own scheme of tuition, and proved most satisfactory, but required in the teacher—particularly at the beginning—an ever-ready attention to correct the pronunciation of almost every word, and to give the translation of it, together with a great store of patience to bear with the constantly recurring errors; for not to mar my interest in the works he gave me to read, I was exempted from the slow process of the dictionary. He was himself the best of dictionaries—explaining the differences of meaning, giving the life and spirit of each term, and always impressing this truth, that rarely does the same expression convey exactly the same idea in two languages. He frequently failed to give word for word, because he would not give an approximate translation; but he was always ready with a detailed explanation, and so taught me to enter into the peculiar genius of the language; so that if I did not become a good translator, I learned early to think and to feel in sympathy with the authors I was studying.

If the weather allowed it, Gilbert generally took me out on the lake, and according to the prevailing wind, chose some particular spot for a study. These excursions lasted about half the day or more, and then some sort of nourishment was required; but as my ignorance of the language prevented me from giving the necessary orders, the responsibility of the commissariat entirely devolved upon him; and I may candidly avow that the results were a continual source of surprise to me. Being unacquainted with English ways, I presumed that it was customary to live in the frugal and uniform fashion prevalent at Innistrynich; namely, at breakfast: ham or bacon; sometimes eggs, with or without butter, according to circumstances; toast—or scones, if bread were wanting—and coffee. At lunch: dry biscuits and milk. At tea-time, which varied considerably as to time, ranging from five if we were in the house, to eight or nine if my husband was out sketching: ham and eggs again, or a little mutton—chop or steak, if the meat were fresh, cold boiled shoulder or leg if it was salted; and a primitive sort of crisp, hard cake, which Thursday always served with evident pleasure and pride, being first pastry-cook and then partaker of the luxury. I often wondered how Englishmen could grow so tall and so strong on such food; for I was aware within myself of certain feelings of weakness and sickness never experienced before, but which I was ashamed to confess so long as men whose physical organizations required more sustenance remained free from them. One day, however, the reason of this difference became clear to me. My husband had proposed to show me Kilchurn Castle, which he was going to sketch, and we started early after the first light breakfast, with Thursday to manage the sails. On turning round Innistrynich we met a contrary wind, and had to beat against it: it was slow work, and at last I timidly suggested that it might perhaps be better to turn back to get something to eat; but Gilbert triumphantly said he was prepared for the emergency, and had provided … a box of figs!!!… yes, and he opened it deliberately and offered me the first pick. I could not refrain from looking at Thursday, whose face betrayed such a queer expression of mingled amusement and disappointed expectation that I burst out laughing heartily, at which my husband, who had been meditatively eating fig after fig, looked up wondering what was the matter. I then asked if that was all our meal, and he gravely took out of the box two bottles of beer and a flask of sherry, the look of which seemed to revive Thursday's spirits wonderfully. As for me, who drank at that time neither beer nor wine, and whose taste for dry figs was very limited, I hinted that something more—bread, for instance—would not have been superfluous. The opportunity for ridding himself of cares so little in harmony with his tastes and artistic pursuits was not lost by my husband, and I was then and there invested with the powers and functions of housekeeper.

This was the plan adopted for the discharge of my new duties. In the morning I studiously wrote, as an exercise, the orders I wished to give, and, after correction, I learned to repeat them by word of mouth till I could be understood by the servants. It succeeded tolerably when my husband was accessible, if an explanation was rendered necessary on account of my foreign accent; but there was no way out of the difficulty if he happened to be absent.

Ever since I knew him I had noticed his anxiety to lose no time, and to turn every minute to the best account for his improvement. Throughout his life he made rules to bind his dreamy fancy to active study and production; they were frequently altered, according to the state of his health and the nature of his work at the time; but he felt the necessity of self-imposed laws to govern and regulate his strong inclination towards reflection and reading. He used to say that when people allowed themselves unmeasured time for what they called "thinking," it was generally an excuse for idle dreaming; because the brain, after a certain time given to active exertion, felt exhausted, and could no longer be prompted to work with intellectual profit; that, in consequence, the effort grew weaker and weaker, till vague musings and indistinct shadows gradually replaced the powerful grasp and clear vision of healthy mental labor.

On the other side, it must be said that he was too much of a poet to undervalue the state of apparent indolence which is so favorable to inspiration, and that he often quoted in self-defence the words of Claude Tillier,—"Le temps le mieux employÉ est celui que l'on perd." Aware of his strong propensity to that particular mental state, he attempted all his life to restrict it within limits which would leave sufficient time for active pursuits. His love of sailing must have been closely connected with the inclination to a restful, peaceful, dreamy state, for although fond of all kinds of boating, he greatly preferred a sailing-boat to any other, and never wished to possess a steamer, or cared much to make use of one.

Still, he took great pleasure in some forms of physical exercise: he could use an oar beautifully; he was a capital horseman, having been used to ride from the age of six, and retained a firm seat to the last; he readily undertook pedestrian excursions and the ascent of mountains. He often rode from Innistrynich to Inverary or Dalmally (when our island became a peninsula in dry weather, or in winter when the bay was frozen over); but he found little satisfaction in riding the mare we had then, which was mainly used as a cart-horse to fetch provisions, for the necessaries of life were not very accessible about us. We had to get bread, meat, and common grocery from Inverary, and the rest from Glasgow, so that we soon discovered that the whole time of a male servant would be required for errands of different kinds. Not unfrequently was the half of a day lost in the attempt to get a dozen eggs from the little scattered farms, or a skinny fowl, or such a rare delicacy as a cabbage. Sometimes Thursday came back from the town peevish and angry at his lost labor, having found the bread too hard or too musty, and mutton unprocurable; as to the beef which came occasionally from Glasgow, it was usually tainted, except in winter-time, and veal was not to be had for love or money, except in a condition to make one fearful of a catastrophe.

There was also the additional trouble of unloading the goods on the side of the road, of putting them into the boat, to be rowed across the bay; then they must be carried to the house either by man or horse. Merely to get the indispensable quantity of fuel in such a damp climate, when fires have to be kept up for eight or oftener nine months in the year, was a serious matter, and my husband complained that he was constantly deprived of Thursday's services. He then decided to take as a gardener, out-of-door workman, and occasional boatman, a Highlander of the name of Dugald, whom he had employed sometimes in the latter capacity, for he knew something of boats, having been formerly a fisherman.

There were some outbuildings on the island; one of them contained two rooms, which Dugald and his wife found sufficient for them (they had no children), and this became the gardener's cottage. Another was used as a stable, and the smallest as a fowl-house and carpenter's shop, for now we had come to the conclusion that we could not possibly live all the year round on the island without a small farm, to provide us, at least, with milk, cream, butter, and eggs; so we bought two cows, and also a small flock of sheep, that we might always be sure of mutton—either fresh or salted. This did not afford a great variety of menus, but it was better than starvation.

Vegetables, other than potatoes and an occasional cabbage, being unseen—and I believe unknown—at Loch Awe, and my husband's health having suffered in consequence of the privation, we had the ambition of growing our own vegetables, and a great variety of them too. Dugald was set to dig and manure a large plot of ground, though he kept mumbling that it was utterly useless, as nothing could or would grow where oats did not ripen once in three years, and that Highlanders, who knew so much better than foreigners, "would not be fashed" to attempt it. However, as he was paid to do the work, he had to do it; and it was simple enough, for he had no pretensions to being a gardener; the choice of seeds and the sowing of them were left to Gilbert, who had never given a thought to it before, and to me, who knew absolutely nothing of the subject. In this emergency we got books to guide us, bought and sowed an enormous quantity of seeds, and to our immense gratification some actually sprouted. Our pride was great when the doctor came to lunch with us for the first time, and we could offer him radishes and lettuce, which he duly wondered at and appreciated. Of course we had to put up with many failures, but still it was worth while to persevere, as, in addition to carrots, onions, turnips,—which grew to perfection,—potatoes and cabbages, we had salads of different kinds, small pumpkins, and fine cauliflowers. I soon discovered that peat was extremely favorable to them, so we had a trench made in peaty soil, where they grew splendidly.

Although very well satisfied on the whole with our attempt, we thought it absorbed too much of my husband's time, and he soon requested me to go on with it by myself, and frankly avowed that he could not take any interest in gardening, even in ornamental gardening. This lack of interest seemed strange to me, because he liked to study nature in all her phenomena, but it lasted to the end of his life; he did not care in the least for a well-kept garden, but he liked flowers for their colors and perfumes,—not individually,—and trees for their forms, either noble or graceful, and especially for their shade. He could not bear to see them pruned, and when it became imperative to cut some of their branches, he used to complain quite sadly to his daughter—who shared his feelings about trees—and he would say: "Now, Mary, you see they are at it again, spoiling our poor trees." And if I replied, "But it is for their health; the branches were trailing on the ground, and now the trees will grow taller," he slowly shook his head, unconvinced. When we took the small house at PrÉ-Charmoy, he was delighted by the wildness of the tiny park sloping gently down to the cool, narrow, shaded river, over which the bending trees met and arched, and he begged me not to interfere with the trailing blackberry branches which crept about the roots and stems of the superb wild-rose trees, making sweet but impenetrable thickets interwoven with honeysuckle, even in the midst of the alleys and lawns.

And now to return to the domestic arrangements arrived at by mutual consent. Upon me devolved the housekeeping, provisioning, and care of the garden, with the help of a maid, occasionally that of Dugald's wife as charwoman, and pretty regularly that of Dugald himself for a certain portion of the day; that is, when he was not required by my husband to man the boat or to help in a camping-out expedition. It was agreed that Thursday should be considered as his master's private servant.