1858.

English and French manners.—My husband's relatives.—First journey to
France after our marriage.—Friends in London.—Miss Susan Hamerton.

The summer of 1858 had been unusually warm and pleasant in the Highlands, and my husband had put many a study in his portfolios, in spite of the interruptions to his work caused by a series of boils, which, though of no importance, were exceedingly painful and irritating, being accompanied by fever and sleeplessness: they were the result of a regimen of salted meat and an insufficiency of fresh vegetables; for of course those we succeeded in growing the first year were only fit for the table towards the end of summer.

We had not been so solitary as I had expected, for with the warm weather a few families had come back to their residences on the shores of the lake, and had called upon us. I had felt rather timid and awkward, as I could not speak English; but the ladies being kindly disposed, and generally knowing a little French, we managed to get on friendly terms, particularly when left to ourselves, for I was very much afraid of Gilbert's strictures—I will explain for what reasons in particular. He was, as I have said before, a very good and competent teacher, but very exacting, and he had repeatedly said that he could put up better with my faults were they the usual recognized mistakes of a foreigner, but that unluckily mine were vulgarisms. This was very humiliating, as I must confess I took a little pride in my French, which had been often praised as elegant and pure, and this had fostered in me a taste for conversation such as was still to be enjoyed in intelligent French society at that time, and of which I had never been deprived at home, my father being an excellent conversationalist, and receiving political friends of great talent as orators and debaters, such as Michel de Bourges, Baudin, Madier-de-Montjau, Boysset, and many others, as well as literary people.

On the other hand, it must be explained that I was unknown to my husband's relations, and aware of some prejudices against me among them, particularly on the part of his Aunt Susan,—the younger of the two sisters who had brought him up. She only knew that I was French, a Roman Catholic, and without fortune; all these defects were the very opposite of what she had dreamt of for her nephew, and her disappointment had been so bitter when she had heard of his engagement that, to excuse it in her own eyes, she had convinced herself that a French girl could only be flippant, extravagantly fond of amusement, and neglectful of homely duties; a Roman Catholic must of necessity be narrow-minded and bigoted, and the want of fortune betrayed low birth and lack of education. These views had been expressed at length to my betrothed, together with severe reproaches and admonitions, and it was in vain that he had attempted to justify his choice; his aunt persisted in attributing it solely to a passion he had been too weak to master. At last our marriage drawing near, Gilbert wrote to his aunt that if her next letter contained anything disrespectful to me he would return it, and do the same for the following ones, without opening them; and the correspondence had ceased.

It was quite different with his aunt Mary, who must also have been disappointed by his marriage, for with her aristocratic tastes and notions she had desired for her nephew a bride of rank, and an heiress to put him again in the station befitting the family name, to which his education and talents seemed to entitle him. But she had confidence in his judgment, and loved him with so generous a love that she congratulated him warmly when he was accepted, and wrote me an affectionate letter of thanks, and a welcome as a new member of the family.

Of course my husband had often talked to me about his aunts; not much was said of Miss Susan, but a great deal of his dear guardian, who had been like a mother to him, and who now wrote encouragingly to me from time to time about my English, and my new life. He praised both his aunts for their good management of a small income, for the position they had been able to retain in society, and particularly for their lady-like manners and good breeding; explaining sometimes that I should probably find it different in some respects from French comme-il-faut, and mentioning in what particulars. I felt that he would be very sensitive about the opinions his aunts would form of me, and I dreaded that of Miss Susan Hamerton. He had put me on my guard on some points; for instance, about the French custom of always addressing people as Monsieur or Madame, which was hard for me to relinquish, as it seemed rude; and I was also told not to be always thanking servants for their services (as we do in France), if I wished to be considered well-bred. But besides what was pointed out to me, I noticed many other things which ought to be toned down in my nature and habits, if I meant to acquire what I heard called lady-like manners. I was at that time very vivacious, merry, and impulsive, and so long as I had lived in France this natural disposition had been looked upon as a happy one, and rather pleasant than otherwise; but I did not notice anything resembling it in our visitors, who were said to be real ladies, or lady-like. They looked to my French eyes somewhat indifferent and unconcerned: it is true that they were all my seniors by at least half-a-score of years, but the fact did not put me more at ease. However, as they showed great kindness, and frequently renewed their visits and invitations, I was led to think that their judgment had not gone against me, and this gave me some courage for the day of my meeting with my Aunt Susan. And that day was drawing near, my husband having promised his relations that we should visit them after six months, which was the delay granted to me to learn a little English; and although I could not and dared not speak it at the end of the allotted time, no respite was allowed.

It was arranged that after our stay in Lancashire we should go on to Paris. This news was received with great joy and thankfulness in my family, where we had not been expected so soon, and where the sorrow for my absence was still so keen that my father wrote to my husband: "Chaque fois que je rentre je m'attends À la voir accourir au devant de moi et chaque dÉsillusion est suivie de tristesse. Il n'est pas jusqu'au piano dont le mutisme me fait mal. J'ai beau me dire que ces impatiences, ces chagrins sont de la faiblesse: je le sais, je le sens, et je n'en suis pas plus fort."

The love of improvements, which was one of Gilbert's characteristics, had led him to plan a road on the island, which should go from the house to the lowest part of the shore, where the lake dried up in summer, so as to facilitate the conveyance of goods, which could then be carted without unloading from Inverary to the barn or kitchen-door. He gave very minute directions to Thursday and Dugald, and set them to their work just before we left for France, telling them that he expected to find the road finished on our return.

We started in November, and arrived at Todmorden on a wet day; and just before leaving the railway carriage we were much amused by a gentleman who answered the query "Is this Todmorden?" by letting down the window and thrusting his hand out, after which he gravely said: "It is raining; it must be Todmorden."

My husband's uncle, Thomas Hamerton, with his two daughters, was awaiting us at the station to welcome us and take us to his house, where we found Mrs. Hamerton, who received us very kindly, but called me Mrs. Philip Gilbert, because she despaired of ever pronouncing my Christian name rightly. I begged her to call me "niece," and her husband gave the example by calling me "my niece EugeneÏ." Our cousins Anne and Jane spoke French very creditably, although they had never been in France, and we were soon on friendly terms. When my husband was away, they translated my answers to their mother's numerous questions about our life in the Highlands, my occupations, tastes, French habits, and what not. Although my powers of expression in English were very limited, I understood the greater part of what was said, and Mrs. Hamerton and my cousins being so encouraging, I did not feel so timid, and if I had stayed longer I should most certainly have made rapid progress. On that score my husband—P. G., as they called him in the family circle—was taken to task and scolded for having been too severe with "his poor little foreign wife." His cousins, with whom he was on brotherly terms, were much pleased with the soft French pronunciation of the name Gilbert, and dropped the P. G. decisively, to the great wonder of their mamma.

The following day was fixed by my husband as the day of our trial,—that is, for our visit to his aunts, who lived on a steep eminence above Todmorden, in a pleasant house, "The Jumps." Aunt Mary, in order to spare me, had offered to come down to meet us at her brother's; but as she suffered from some kind of heart complaint (the knowledge of which kept her loving nephew in constant alarm) we were afraid of the effect that fatigue and emotion might have, and preferred to encounter Miss Susan Hamerton.

The reception was typical of the different dispositions towards us. Aunt Mary was standing at the door, straining her eyes to see us sooner, and came forward to embrace me and to receive the kisses of her beloved nephew; then she whispered that "she had hoped Susan would have gone away on a visit to her friends; but she had remained obdurate to all hints and entreaties." So there was nothing for it but to meet her, since she would have it so; and with a beating heart I was led to the drawing-room by my husband. That the reader may not be misled into believing that a life-long estrangement resulted from the following scene, I will quote a passage from the preface to "Human Intercourse," which gives the unforeseen result of my acquaintance with Miss Susan Hamerton.

"A certain English lady, influenced by the received ideas about human intercourse which define the conditions of it in a hard and sharp manner, was strongly convinced that it would be impossible for her to have friendly relations with another lady whom she had never seen, but was likely to see frequently. All her reasons would be considered excellent reasons by those who believe in maxims and rules. It was plain that there could be nothing in common. The other lady was neither of the same country, nor of the same religious and political parties, nor of the same generation. These facts were known, and the inference deduced from them was that intercourse would be impossible. After some time the English lady began to perceive that the case did not bear out the supposed rules; she discovered that the younger lady might be an acceptable friend.

"At last the full, strange truth became apparent—that she was singularly well adapted, better adapted than any other human being, to take a filial relation to the elder, especially in times of sickness, when her presence was a wonderful support. Then the warmest affection sprang up between the two, lasting till separation by death, and still cherished by the survivor."

But the first meeting held out no such promise. There, on the couch, was an elderly lady, sitting stiff and straight, with a book in her hands, from which her eyes were never raised, even when she acknowledged our entrance by a studiously slow, chilling, and almost imperceptible bend of the head. I saw my husband's face flush with anger as we bowed to my new relation; but I pressed his hand entreatingly, and we sat down, attempting to ignore the hostile presence, and to talk as if we found ourselves in ordinary circumstances. Poor Aunt Mary, thinking it must be unendurable to me, soon proposed that we should go to the dining-room for refreshments, and her proposition was accepted with alacrity. We left the dining-room with the same ceremonial which had followed our entrance, and were rewarded by the same frigid and distant movement of the silent figure on the sofa. We remained some time with Aunt Mary, and took an affectionate leave of her, my husband giving a promise that on our return journey we would stay a few days at "The Jumps," whether her sister chose to be at home or away.

I have related this episode at some length, although it seems to concern me more than my husband, because the influence it had on his life was so important. It is almost certain that if Miss Susan Hamerton had behaved towards us like her sister, my husband would never have thought of going to live in France. At the end of our lease at Innistrynich, he would have chosen a residence in some picturesque part of England, and would have easily induced his aunts to settle as near as possible to us. Their example and advice in household matters would have been invaluable to me, whilst the affectionate intercourse would have grown closer and dearer as we came to know each other better. However, this was not to be.

We soon left Todmorden after our visit to "The Jumps," and when we reached Paris there were great rejoicings in my family, where my husband was fully appreciated. He liked to talk of politics, literature, and art with my father, whose experience was extensive, and whose taste was refined and discriminating; he awoke in his son-in-law an interest in sculpture which hitherto had not been developed, but which grew with years. As to my mother, brothers, and sister, they loved him for his kindness, and also because he had made a life of happiness for me.

In Paris we went to see everything of artistic interest, but especially of architectural interest. I knew nothing of architecture myself, but was naturally attracted by beauty, and my husband guided my opinions with his knowledge. I noticed with surprise his indifference to most of the pictures in the Museum of the Louvre, and he explained, later, that he could not appreciate them at that period in the development of his artistic taste, which was at that time retarded by the Pre-Raphaelite influence. There was certainly a great evolution of mind between this state of quasi-indifference and the fervid enthusiasm which made him say to me when we came to live in Paris: "At any rate there is for me, as a compensation for the beauty of natural scenery, an inexhaustible source of interest and study in the Louvre."

The Museum of the Luxembourg containing several pictures by modern artists, whose merits he recognized, was frequently visited by us—and he admired heartily among others, Rosa Bonheur, Daubigny, Charles Jacque, and especially Troyon, whose works went far to shake his faith in topographic painting, and sowed the first seeds of the French school's influence on his mind.

At the expiration of the month we returned to London, and stayed with friends; my husband introduced me to Mr. and Mrs. Mackay, to Mrs. Leslie and her family, to the sons and daughters of Constable, of whom he speaks in his autobiography, and they all received me very kindly, and told me what hopeful views they entertained of his future career. We also called upon Millais, for whose talent my husband had a great admiration. He received us quite informally, and we had a long talk in French, which he pronounced remarkably well; he explained it to me by saying that he belonged to a Jersey family.

It was also during this London visit that Mr. Hamerton made the acquaintance of Mr. Calderon, who also spoke French admirably,—an acquaintance which was to ripen into friendship, and last to the end of my husband's life. He also went to all the winter exhibitions, public or private, where he stood rooted before all the works which could teach him something of his difficult art; and when we left he was certain of having acquired new knowledge.

Miss Susan Hamerton having said to Aunt Mary that she had no objection to our being her sister's guests, we went straight to "The Jumps" after leaving London. This time she received us with polite coldness,—like perfect strangers,—but she was not insulting, only at times somewhat ungenerously sarcastic with me, who was not armed to parry her thrusts. I felt quite miserable, for I did not wish to widen the gap between her and her nephew, and on the other hand I did not see how our intercourse could be made more pleasant by any endeavors of mine, for I was ignorant of the art of ingratiating myself with persons whom I felt adverse to me, and I must avow that I had also a certain degree of pride which prevented me from making advances when unfairly treated. I had always lived in an atmosphere of confidence, love, and goodwill,—perhaps I had been a little spoilt by the kindness of my friends, and now it seemed hard to be a butt for ill-natured sarcasms. These shafts, however, were seldom, if ever, let loose in the presence of my husband, who would not have tolerated it; the want of welcome being as much as he could bear. Still, there was no doubt that matters had slightly mended since our first visit, and an undeniable token of this was the fact of Miss Susan Hamerton extending her hand to each of us at parting. Had I been told then that this reluctant hand would become a firm support for me; that these cold eyes would he filled with warm tears of love, and that I should be tenderly pressed to this apparently unsympathizing bosom, I could not have believed it. Yet the day came when Aunt Susan proved my dearest friend, and when Mr. Thomas Hamerton said to his nephew, "Susan loves you much, no doubt, but EugÉnie is A1 for her."