  1863-1868. Canoeing on the Ternin.—Visit of relatives.—Tour in Switzerland.— NOT to waste his time in the work of removal and fitting up, Mr. Hamerton remained behind at Sens, to finish the copying of a window by Jean Cousin in the cathedral and some other drawings, begun to illustrate an article on this artist. We had all gone forward to PrÉ-Charmoy, and when he arrived there, everything being already in order, he continued his work without interruption. He was delighted with the unpretentious little house, and with its views from every window; with the silent, shady, wild garden, and its group of tall poplars by the clear, cool, winding river which divided it from the pastures on the other side, and he often repeated to us with a smile, "PrÉ-Charmoy charme moi." Although the house was small, there were a good many rooms in it, and the master had for himself alone a studio (an ordinary-sized room), a study, and a carpenter's shop—for he was fond of carpentry in his leisure hours, and far from unskilful. He liked to make experimental boats with his own hands, and moreover he found out that some kind of physical exercise was necessary to him as a relief from brain-work, for if the weather was bad and he took no exercise he began to feel liable to a sort of uncomfortable giddiness. I wished him to consult a doctor about it, but he believed that it would go away after a while, for it had come on quite lately while painting on an open scaffolding inside the cathedral at Sens, when he could see through the planks and all round far below him, and this had produced, at times, a kind of vertigo. The pretty little boat bought at AsniÈres was all very well for the Arroux which flows by Autun, but for the narrow, shallow, winding Ternin and the Vesure, some other kind of craft had to be devised, and paper boats were built upon basket-work skeletons, and tried with more or less success. My eldest brother Charles, who had finished his classical studies and was now preparing to become an architect, used to come from MÂcon for the holidays, sometimes bringing a friend with him, and together with Gilbert they went exploring the "Unknown Rivers." They generally came home dripping wet, having abandoned their canoes in the entanglement of roots and weeds after a sudden upset, and having to go and fetch them back with a cart, unless the shipwreck was caused by an unsuspected branch under water, or by the swift rush of a current catching the frail concern and carrying it away altogether, whilst the venturesome navigator was gathering his wits on the pebbles of the river-bed. Towards the end of August, Mr. Thomas Hamerton and his sister Susan came to visit us. They liked the Autunois—at least what they saw of it— exceedingly, but they suffered much from the heat, particularly our uncle, who had remained true to his youthful style of dress: high shirt- collar sawing the ears and stiffened by a white, starched choker, rolled several times about the neck; black cloth trousers, long black waistcoat, and ample riding-coat of the same color and material. He was also careful never to put aside either flannel undergarments or woollen socks. Our kind uncle was a pattern of propriety in everything, but the fierce heat of a French August on a plain surrounded by a circle of hills was too much even for Mr. T. Hamerton's propriety, and he had to beg leave to remove his coat and to sit in his shirt-sleeves. There was a stone table under a group of fine horse-chestnuts in the garden, not far from the little river, to which we used to resort after dinner with our work and books in search of coolness, and there even my husband did his writing. One afternoon, when we were sitting as usual in this shady arbor, all silent, uncle dozing behind the newspaper, and his nephew intent on literary composition, what was our astonishment at the sight of sedate Aunt Susan suddenly jumping upon the table and remaining like a marble statue upon its stone pedestal, and quite as white. We all looked up, and uncle pushed his spectacles high on his forehead to have a better sight of so strange an attitude for his sister to take. At last Aunt Susan pointed to something gliding away in the grass, and gasped: "A serpent! oh, dear, oh, dear, a serpent!" Vainly did my husband try to calm her fright by explaining that it was only an adder going to seek the moisture of the river-bank and never intending to attack any one, that they were plentiful and frequently to be met with, when their first care was to pass unnoticed; our poor aunt would not be persuaded to descend from her pedestal for some time, and not before she was provided with a long and stout stick to beat the grass about her as she went back to the house. Mr. T. Hamerton's intention, as well as his sister's, was to go to Chamouni and the Mer de Glace, and to ask their nephew to act as guide. He was glad enough to avail himself of the opportunity for studying mountain scenery, but felt somewhat disappointed that I declined being one of the party, from economical motives. The letters I received during their tour bore witness to a fervent appreciation of the landscape, of which a memento was desired, and Gilbert undertook to paint for his relatives a small picture of Mont Blanc after reaching home; meanwhile, he took several sketches to help him. As he was relating to me afterwards the incidents of the journey, he remembered a rather amusing one. At Bourg, where they had stopped to see the church of Brou, he came down to the dining-room of the hotel and found his uncle and aunt seated at their frugal English breakfast of tea and eggs, which he did not share because tea did not agree with him, but took up a newspaper and waited for the table d'hote. "My word!" exclaimed his uncle, when dÉjeuner was over, "but you do not stint yourself. I counted the dishes: omelette, beef-steak and potatoes, cray-fish and trout, roasted pigeons and salad, cheese, grapes, and biscuits, without mentioning a full bottle of wine. Excuse my curiosity, but I should like to know how much you will have to pay for such a repast?" "Exactly two francs and fifty centimes," answered his nephew; "and I dare say your tea, toast, butter, and eggs will come to pretty near the same amount, for here tea is an out-of-the-way luxury, and also you had a separate table to yourselves, whilst the table d'hÔte is a democratic institution." "Then let us be democrats as long as we remain in France, if the thing does not imply being deprived of tea." From London, on her way back, Aunt Susan wrote:— "We went to the Bedford Hotel, Covent Garden, and bespoke beds, got something to eat, and then set out. Our first visit was to 196 Piccadilly, where Thursday was glad to see us, and where we stayed a long time, well pleased to look at your pictures. I like them all exceedingly, and could not decide on a choice; they each had in them something I liked particularly. When we had been gone away some time, we remembered we had not paid our admission, so we went back; this afforded us another looking at the pictures and also a pleasing return of a small etching; our choice was 'Le four et la terrasse de PrÉ-Charmoy!' We were well contented with what we got, but I did think the proofs beautiful." Mr. Hamerton's strong love of etching had now led him to the practice of it, and for several hours every day he struggled against its technical difficulties. Full of hope and trust in a final success, he turned from a spoilt plate to a fresh one without discouragement, always eager and relentless. His main fault, as I thought, was attempting too much finish and effect, and I used to tell him so. He acknowledged that I was right, and when taking up a new plate he used to say playfully: "Now this is going to be a good etching; you don't believe it because you are a little sceptic, but you'll see—I mean not to carry it far." Then before biting he showed it me with "Look at it before it is spoilt." It was rarely spoilt in the biting, but by subsequent work. Many charming proofs I greatly admired. "Oh! this is only a sketch; you will see the improvement when I have darkened this mass." Then I begged hard that it should be left as it was, and I was met by arguments that I could not discuss,—"the effect was not true so," "the lights were too strong," or "the darks too heavy;" "but very little retouching was necessary," and it ended in the pretty sketch being destroyed after having been re-varnished and re-bitten two or three times. When it was no longer shown to me, I was aware of its fate. The amount of labor bestowed upon etching by my husband was stupendous, as he had to seek his way without help or advice. A plate once begun, he could not bring himself to leave it—not even in the night, and at that time he always had one in hand. Heedless of his self-imposed rules about the division of hours for literary work and artistic work, he devoted himself almost entirely to the pursuit of etching. This made me very uneasy, for it had become imperative that he should make his work pay. The tenant of the coal-mine had reiterated his decision not to pay rent any longer, and when threatened with a law-suit answered that he would put it in Chancery. I had been told that a suit in Chancery might last over twenty years, and we had no means to carry it on. We were therefore obliged to abandon all idea of redress, and were left entirely dependent upon the earnings of my husband, which were derived from his contributions to the "Fine Arts Quarterly Review," and to a few periodicals of less importance. From that period of overwork and anxiety dates the nervousness from which he suffered so much throughout his life; though at that time he believed it to be only temporary. He sought relief in outdoor exercise, especially in canoeing, and this suggested the "Unknown River," published later, but based on the excursions undertaken at that time, and on sketches and etchings done on the way. The picture painted in remembrance of the journey in Switzerland had been finished and dispatched, and this is what Aunt Susan wrote about it:— "We are now in possession of our picture, which we received from Agnew yesterday morning, and we are very much pleased with it; my impression is that it is a very good, well-finished painting: we have not yet concluded where to hang it for a proper and good light. We are very glad to hear that Mamzelle Mary Susan Marguerite (as Uncle Thomas called her) is thriving and good; be sure and give her a kiss for each of us." Mamzelle Mary Susan Marguerite had been born early in the spring, and to the general wonder of the household, seemed to have reconciled her father to the inevitable cries and noises of babyhood. Brought up by two maiden aunts in a large, solitary house in the country, and addicted from early youth to study, my husband had a perfect horror of noises of all kinds, and could not understand that they were unavoidable in some circumstances; he used to call out from the top of the stairs to the servants below "to stop their noise," or "to hold their tongues," whenever he overheard them singing to the babies or laughing to amuse them, and if the children's crying became audible in the upper regions, he declared that the house was not fit to live in, still less to work in. One morning when the youngest boy was loudly expressing his distaste for the ceremonies of the toilet, his father—no less loudly—was giving vent to his irritation at the disturbance, and calling out to shut all the doors; but he could not help being very much amused by the resolute interference of the eldest brother—three years old—who, crossing his little fat arms, and standing his ground firmly, delivered this oracle: "Papa, babies must cry." I suppose he had heard this wise sentence from the nurse, but he gave it as solemnly as if it were the result of his own reflections. Whether a few years' experience had rendered his father more patient generally, or whether he had become alive to the charm of babyhood—to which he had hitherto remained insensible—it was a fact first noticed by the nurse that "Monsieur, quand la petite criait, voulait savoir ce qu'elle avait, et la prenait mÊme dans ses bras pour la consoler." A very important event now occurred: Mr. Hamerton was appointed art critic to the "Saturday Review," where he succeeded Mr. Palgrave at his recommendation. He did not accept the post with much pleasure, but it afforded him the opportunity of studying works of art free of expense, and that was a weighty consideration, besides being an opening to intellectual and artistic intercourse of which he was greatly deprived at PrÉ-Charmoy. The visits to the London exhibitions necessitated two or three journeys every year, and we both suffered from the separations; but I could bear them better in my own home—surrounded by my children, visited by my mother, sister, and brothers—than my husband, who was alone amongst strangers, and who had to live in hotels, a thing he had a great dislike for. In order to make these separations as short as possible, he travelled at night by the most rapid trains; saw the exhibitions in the day, and went to his rooms to write his articles by gas-light. For some time he only felt fatigued; afterwards he became nervous; but he found compensation in the society of his newly made friends, and in the increasing marks of recognition he was now meeting everywhere. He soon gave up hotel life, and took lodgings in St. John's Wood, where he had many acquaintances, and from there he wrote to me:— "I have seen Palgrave, Macmillan, Rossetti, Woolner, and Mr. Pearce to-day. Palgrave says the 'Saturday Review' 'is most proud to have me.' Woolner says it is not possible to succeed as an art critic more than I have done; that Tennyson has been very much interested in my articles, and has in consequence urged his publishers to employ DorÉ to illustrate the "Idylls of the King." They have offered the job to DorÉ, who has accepted. "The best news is to come. "The 'Painter's Camp' is a success after all. It has fully cleared its expenses, and Macmillan is willing to venture on a second edition, revised, and I think he will let me illustrate it; he only hesitates. "Macmillan has positively given me a commission for a work on Etching. "I am to be paid whether it succeeds or not. I cannot tell you the exact sum, but you shall know it soon. "It is to be made up of articles in different reviews. It is to be a guinea work of 400 pages, beautifully got up, with 50 illustrative etchings by different masters, and is to be called 'Etching and Etchers.' "Macmillan said that as to my capacity as a writer there existed no doubt on the subject. He fully expects this work on Etching to be a success. It is to be out for Christmas next. "Macmillan is most favorably disposed to undertake other works, on condition that each shall have a special character like that. One on 'Painting in France' and another on 'Painting in England' looms in the future. He prefers this plan to the Year-book I mentioned to you. "The great news in this letter is that I have written a book which has paid its expenses. Is not that jolly? The idea of a second edition quite elates me. So you see, darling, things are rather cheering. I must say, everybody receives me pleasantly. Woodward is going to give me a whole day at Windsor. Beresford-Hope is out of town, but called to-day at Cook's and said 'he was most anxious to see me.'" My husband wrote to me sometimes in French and sometimes in English; when my mother came to keep me company during his absence, he generally wrote in French, to enable me to read aloud some passages of his letters that she might find interesting. The following letter was written on his first journey to London for the "Saturday Review ":— "CHÈRE PETITE FEMME,—Me voici installÉ dans un fort joli appartement tout prÈs de chez Mr. Mackay, À une guinÉe par semaine; j'y suis tout-À-fait bien. "Samedi dernier je suis allÉ d'abord chez Mr. Stephen Pearce que j'ai trouvÉ chez lui; c'est un homme parfaitement comme il faut; il m'a reÇu bien cordialement et il m'a invitÉ À dÎner demain. J'ai dÎnÉ chez Mrs. Leslie hier et j'ai passÉ tout le tantÔt d'aujourd'hui chez Lewes qui habite une fort belle maison À cinq minutes d'ici. J'ai beaucoup causÉ avec l'auteur de 'Romola;' c'est une femme de 45 ans, pas belle du tout, mais trÈs distinguÉe, elle m'a fort bien reÇu. Lewes lui-mÊme est laid, mais trÈs cordial. VoilÀ quelque chose comme sa physionomie. [Sketch of Lewes]. Je vais te donner George Eliot sur l'autre page. Il est trÈs gentil avec elle. [Sketch of George Eliot.] Ce portrait n'est pas trÈs ressemblant, mais il donne une bonne idÉe de l'expression—elle en a ÉnormÉment et parle fort bien. Son salon est un modÈle de gÔut et d'ÉlÉgance, et toute sa maison est aussi bien tenue que celle de Millais, par exemple. Nous avons causÉ de beaucoup de choses, entre autres prÉcisÉment de cette curieuse question de priÈre selon Comte. Elle soutient que c'est raisonnable dans le sens d'expression de vif dÉsir, de concentration de l'esprit vers son but. Son argument Était bien fortement soutenu par sa maniÈre Énergique de raisonner, mais je lui ai tenu tÊte avec beaucoup d'obstination, et nous avons eu une vÉritable lutte. Elle a une singuliÈre puissance, quelque chose qui ne se trouve jamais que chez les personnes d'un gÉnie extraordinaire. Quand elle a voulu me convaincre, elle y mettait tant de persuasion et de volontÉ qu'il me fallait un certain effort pour garder la clartÉ de mes propres idÉes. Je te dirai cela plus en dÉtail quand nous nous reverrons. "Lewes m'a dit qu'il serait content d'avoir d'autres articles de moi pour la 'Fortnightly Review.'" Two days later he wrote:— "I dined with the Mackays yesterday; Mr. Watkiss Lloyd was there, and other friends came in the evening. I spent the day at home, writing, but I have an engagement for every night this week—I am becoming a sort of professional diner-out. "I have been talking over the illustrations of the 'Painter's Camp' with George Leslie. He has promised to do twenty etchings of figure-subjects to illustrate it, and I shall do twenty landscapes. I have learned a great deal from Haden here, and I feel sure now of grappling successfully with the difficulties which plagued me before. Besides, I am anxious to have a book with etchings in it out in time to appear with the work on Etching. I am sure this new edition of the 'Painter's Camp' will be something jolly. It's nice to think I shall have two beautiful books out at Christmas. It will give my reputation a fillip. It appears that Charles Dickens, Alfred Tennyson, and George Eliot are amongst my most assiduous readers. Isn't it pleasant to have readers of that class?…" I will give here a few more extracts from his letters at that time; it is the best way of becoming acquainted with his method of work, as well as with the state of his mind. "Yesterday I went to see some exhibitions and Mrs. Cameron's photographs; they are really very fine, quite different from anything one ever saw before. You will be very much struck with them, I am sure. "Mr. Palgrave and I spent a delightful evening together yesterday; we talked till midnight. I found him a pleasant companion. We had some music; Mrs. Palgrave plays well. He has a nice collection of Greek vases, which would delight Mariller. [A figure-painter who lived at Autun, and who drew the figures for the 'Unknown River.'] "The more I reflect on matters, the more I rejoice to live far away from here. Known as I am now, I am sure that if I lived in or near London I should be exposed to frequent interruptions, and gradually our dear little private life would be taken away from us both. Besides, this continued excitement would kill me, I could never stand it; I really need quiet, and I get it at PrÉ-Charmoy. Just now I bear up pretty well, but I know I could not stand this for three months—out every evening, working or seeing people, or going in omnibuses. And then I need the great refreshment of being able to talk to thee, and to hear thee talk, and play with the children a little; all that is good for me,—in fact, I live upon it. I want to be back again. My breakfast in the morning is a difficulty; as you know, I never can eat an English one, and if I don't I am not fit for much fatigue. The distances, too, are terrible. Still, on the whole, I keep better than I expected to do. I hope the dear little boys are both quite well, and my little daughter, who is the apple of my eye." About the difficulty of eating an English breakfast, it must be explained that since Gilbert had begun to suffer from nervousness he had given up coffee and tea; besides, he only liked a very light breakfast, and we had tried different kinds of food for the morning meal: chocolate he could not digest, although it was to his taste; cocoa he did not care for; beer and dry biscuits succeeded for a time, but at last we discovered that soup was the best breakfast for him, vegetable soup (soupe maigre) especially, because it must not be too rich. At home I always made his soup myself, for, being always the same—by his own choice—he was particular about the flavor; it was merely onion-soup with either cream and parsley, or onion-soup with Liebig and chervil. In the great summer heat he took instead of it cold milk and brown bread. It may be easily surmised that such a frugal meal could not last him far into the day, particularly as he was a very early riser, and often had his bowl of soup at six in the morning; then, when he felt hungry again—at ten generally—he drank a glass of beer and ate a slice of home-made brioche, which allowed him to await the twelve o'clock dÉjeuner À la fourchette. The following passage is extracted from a letter written a few days after those already given:— "J'ai dÎnÉ chez Woolner hier. Quel brave garÇon! Ses maniÈres avec moi sont tout-À-fait affectueuses, et je me sens avec lui sur le pied de la plus parfaite intimitÉ. Il n'y a pas un homme a Londres qui possÈde un cercle d'amis comme le sien: tout ce qu'il y a de plus distinguÉ en tout. Palgrave dit que Woolner fait un choix sÉrieux dans ses amitiÉs. Sa femme est jolie, dÉlicate, gracieuse, intelligente; elle me fait l'effet d'un lys. "J'ai reÇu la visite de Haden hier, il m'a plus enseignÉ relativement À l'eau-forte en une demi-heure de conversation que dix ans de pratique ne l'auraient fait. Voici mes engagements:— "Samedi, dÎner chez Leslie. "et il n'y a pas de raison pour que cela s'arrÊte, exceptÉ mon depart pour West Lodge qui sera, je crois, pour mercredi." However, he had to postpone his departure on account of a distressing and alarming disturbance of his nervous system. Mr. Haden recommended him to give up all kind of work immediately, which he did, and for a few days he only wrote short notes. "NORTHUMBERLAND STREET. Wednesday Morning. "Je suis toujours faible, mais je crois que je puis supporter le voyage aujourd'hui. Si j'Étais une fois À West Lodge je m'y reposerais bien. Si je me sentais fatiguÉ je m'arrÊterais n'importe oÙ. La surexcitation cÉrÉbrale est complÈtement passÉe, mais je n'espÈre pas Être remis avant un mois." From West Lodge he wrote, in answer to one of my letters:— "Our present business is to look simply to the question, what will be most economical? I have no objection to any arrangement which will save my keeping a man, but I have a decided objection to that. [It was about the garden, one half of which I proposed to cede on condition of having the other half cultivated free of charge.] Any arrangement you make that does not involve my keeping a man has my approbation beforehand. "I saw Macmillan again before leaving, and now he is for bringing out the new edition of the 'Painter's Camp' in May. It will be a pretty little book, but I can't get Macmillan to go to the expense about illustrations. Colnaghi will publish etchings for me, and after all the hints and instructions received from Haden, I feel quite sure that I shall succeed in etching. "I expect to be at PrÉ-Charmoy in a few days, when I shall be delighted to see you all, my treasures." Having returned to London, he writes:— "I spent last evening with Beavington Atkinson, who was to have come to see us in France; you remember Woodward wrote about him. He and his wife are most agreeable people, and I like him really; there is something so intelligent and pleasing in his manner. "Yesterday I went through Buckingham Palace to see the pictures. There is a fine Dutch collection. Then I went to the British Museum to see the Rembrandt etchings, and was accompanied by a collector, Mr. Fisher. This evening I am to spend with Haden again; he has a magnificent collection of etchings, and will help me very much with my book. So now I am sure of the right quantity of assistance in my work. "I was with the editor of the 'Saturday' this afternoon; nothing could exceed his kind, trustful way. "Still, I wish I were back with you; but I shall hurry now and come back fast." Two days later:— "Je me sens de nouveau fatiguÉ. J'ai causÉ aujourd'hui avec l'aubergiste de Walton-on-Thames, et il m'a dit qu'il nous nourrirait et nous logerait tous les deux pour £2 par semaine. On y est trÈs bien, il y a un jardin, et des Études À faire en quantitÉ. Mr. Haden pense que la peinture ne fatiguerait pas autant le cerveau que la littÉrature. "Si je t'avais avec moi, et si je restais plus longtemps, je n'aurais pas besoin l'annÉe prochaine de revenir au mois de juillet. VoilÀ le rÊve que j'ai fait. Je viendrais À Londres une ou deux fois par semaine seulement, et je t'aurais lÀ-bas. Je ne pense pas vivre sans toi, je meurs d'ennui." The kind of life we led at PrÉ-Charmoy suited perfectly my husband's tastes, and he was soon restored to health. He would have been entirely happy but for pressing cares; still, thanks to his philosophical disposition, he contrived to enjoy what was enjoyable in his life. He was extremely fond of excursions in the country, and we often used to set off with nurse and children in the farmer's cart, to spend the day in some picturesque place, where he could sketch or paint. We had our provisions with us, and both lunched and dined on the grass under the fine chestnuts or oaks, so numerous in the Morvan, by the side of a clear stream or rivulet; for running water had a sort of magic influence upon Gilbert, and instinctively, when unwell from nervous exhaustion, he sought its soothing influence. We generally rambled about the country after each meal, and whilst he drew I read to him, leaving the children to their play, under the charge of the nurse. So far we had taken upon ourselves the teaching of the boys, but for some time past I had perceived that it was becoming inadequate to their present requirements, and I told their father that I thought they should be sent to college,—any rate the eldest, who was nearly eight years old; but he demurred, not seeing the necessity for it. He had a notion that they could be much better educated at home, according to a plan of his own: Latin and Greek would be reserved for their teens, because it was a clear loss of time before, and they would be taught modern languages early, together with science and literature. To this I objected, that, if successful, it might be a very good education for boys who were certain of an independence, but that it did not seem a good way towards the degrees necessary for almost every one of the liberal professions. Besides, who was to teach the boys when he was away? and would he always find spare time to do it, and regular hours also? I was certain he would never be punctual as to time; only he did not like to be told so, because, being aware of this shortcoming, he made earnest efforts to correct it, and constantly failed. It was difficult to him to bear any kind of interruption, or any compulsory change of work—involving loss of time—and on that score very trying to one who wanted always to finish what he had in hand. He hardly ever came down at meal-times without the bell being rung twice, and often when he did come down, he used to say: "That bell was getting angry," and he was met with this stereotyped phrase from us: "And it made you abandon the refractory sentence at last!" Well, he acknowledged there was some weight in my objections to home instruction, but "he could give tasks to be done in his absence, and correct them afterwards." I asked, who could help the young students when they were in a fix? and would they be always inclined to apply themselves steadily to their tasks without supervision? That was expecting too much, but it seemed natural to him to expect it, as study and work had ever been both a necessity and a pleasure to him. However, he yielded, but so strong was his disapproval of public school teaching as it was carried on, that at first he would have nothing to do with it. I had to go to the principal of the college, and make terms and arrangements; the only condition he made was that the boys should come home every Saturday night, and remain till Monday morning, and the same from Wednesday to Friday regularly, for their English lessons and for their health. I desired nothing better, and the principal agreed to it. Whenever the boys complained of anything about their college life afterwards, their father used to say good-humoredly: "I have no responsibility in the matter; I did not want you to go to college, you know—it was your mother." PrÉ-Charmoy being four kilomÈtres distant from the town of Autun, and five from the college, where the boys had to be in time for the eight o'clock class, summer and winter, it became necessary to have some means of conveying them to and fro, for they were still very young,—Stephen a little over eight, and Richard hardly seven. The eldest boy went alone at first, but his brother soon insisted on going too. We decided to do like most of our country neighbors, that is, to have a little donkey-cart, because it would have been both inconvenient and expensive to hire the farmer's so frequently. Accordingly we bought a small, second-hand carriage with its donkey, and I was taught to drive; my husband would have preferred a pony, but I was nervous at the idea of driving one, although I had been told that it was much easier to manage than a donkey, and discovered afterwards that it was the truth. The little cart proved a great convenience for my husband's studies, as he could start with it at any time, and there was no trouble about the care of the donkey, the servant-girls being accustomed to it from infancy—almost every household in the vicinity being in possession of this useful and inexpensive animal. There is a Morvandau song, known to all the little shepherdesses, in illustration of the custom:— "Mes parents s'y mariant tou "Mais quand mon tour viendra At first we had a swift little animal, which could not be stopped at all when he was behind another carriage, till that carriage stopped first. It was an advantage in some cases,—for instance, when preceded by a good horse; but if the horse went further than our destination, one of us had to jump out and hold back the fiery and stubborn little brute by sheer force, till his sense of jealous emulation was appeased. The load upon the cart, when we were all together, was found excessive for the animal, and my husband, who was always deeply concerned about the welfare of dumb creatures, decided to have a bigger and stronger donkey. He bought a very fine one, strong enough to pull us all, but he did it in such a leisurely fashion that he received the expressive name of "Dort-debout." This led my husband to write to me sometimes from London, after a hard day's work: "Here is a very short note, but I am like our donkey, je dors debout." The editor of the "Saturday Review" asked Mr. Hamerton to be present at the opening of the Paris Exhibition of 1867, and to write a series of articles on the works of art exhibited; then to proceed to London for a review of the Academy. He wished me very much to go with him, and I being nothing loth, we started together, and received in Paris the following letter from Aunt Susan:— "WEST LODGE. April 20, 1867. "MY DEAR NEPHEW,—I am very glad indeed to hear from you, as I now know where to direct my long-intended epistle to you; your uncle thought you would not like to come to the exhibition in its very unfinished state, and I thought you would like to be at the opening of it, and so the matter was resting quite unacted upon. I grieve very much to tell you of the sad tidings we have of poor Anne Gould; there has been a consultation with her medical men, and they pronounce her case very serious,—in fact, incurable. She grows thinner and weaker almost every week, and one lung is said to be affected. A confinement is expected in July, and I cannot but still hope that she may possibly come round again; but it has been sorrowful news. We shall be very glad to see you both at West Lodge when you can make it convenient, and I do hope and trust we shall be able to enjoy the anticipated pleasure of your company. You will have left home with comparative comfort, the boys being both at college, and, I expect, grandmamma with the little sister. I was very glad when you wrote 'before we can be in England,' as it assured me the little wife was not to be sent homeward from Paris, instead of accompanying you to West Lodge, where we shall be very glad to see her." Nevertheless, I had to go homewards, for about three weeks after our arrival in Paris I heard that my little daughter Mary was ill with bronchitis, and I hastened to her whilst my husband was leaving for London. I was doubly sorry, because he was very reluctant to go alone; but although he felt a sort of instinctive dread of the journey he did not attempt to detain me. He had borne the sight-seeing very well, and the crowds, which he disliked; but it was mainly because he had been spared hotel life, for we had lodged with a former servant of ours, who was married at PrÉ-Charmoy, and now lived at La GlaciÈre, in Paris. It was by no means a fashionable quarter, and our lodgings left much to be desired in the way of comfort, but it will be seen how much he regretted it all when alone at Kew, where he had taken lodgings after much suffering from fatigue, over-work, and depression. Still, the first news from London was very gratifying:— "Un mot seulement pour te dire que toutes les huit eaux-fortes sont reÇues À l'AcadÉmie et bien placÉes. Ces AcadÉmiciens commencent À devenir gentils. "Ce matin je suis allÉ de bonne heure À l'AcadÉmie, comme d'habitude; j'ai maintenant ma carte d'exposant dont je suis trÈs fier." But after a fortnight he wrote:— "PETITE CHÉRIE,—Aujourd'hui je vais me donner le plaisir de m'entretenir longuement avec toi. Combien je prÉfÉrerais te parler de vive voix. Je suppose que je suis trÈs bien ici; c'est-À-dire j'ai tout ce que j'aime matÉriellement: le bon air, la belle nature, un petit appartement d'une propriÉtÉ vraiment exquise, une belle riviÈre tout À cÔtÉ, et des canots À ma disposition. Et cependant, malgrÉ cela je suis d'une tristesse mortelle, et j'ai beau me raisonner lÀ-contre. Nous avons ÉtÉ si heureux ensemble À Paris, malgrÉ notre sale petite rue que je vois bien la vÉritÉ de ce que tu m'as dit qu'il vaudrait mieux vivre dans n'importe quel tandis, ensemble, que dans des palais, et sÉpares. Si je croyais À l'immortalitÉ de l'Âme, je regarderais avec effroi la possibilitÉ d'Être au ciel pendant que tu resterais sur la terre. Je crois que ma maladie est due principalement À la tristesse et je tÂche de lutter lÀ-contre. Je vais faire quelques eaux-fortes et aquarelles dans mes moments de loisir pour m'empÊcher, autant que possible, de penser À ma solitude. "J'ai eu un peu de fiÈvre dans la nuit, et ce matin je suis calme, mais fatiguÉ. Il ne faut pas t'en alarmer cependant; le voyage et l'exposition rÉclamaient une rÉaction, et elle arrive naturellement au premier moment oÙ j'ai la possibilitÉ du repos. Quant au repos, je m'en donne aujourd'hui pleinement; je ne fais rien; mais je me reposerais mieux si tu Étais ici pour me dire que tu m'aimes et pour mettre tes douces mains sur mon front. Je deviens par trop dÉpendant de toi, je voudrais Être plus fort—et pourtant je crois qu'on est plus heureux Étant triste À cause d'une sÉparation d'avec la femme aimÉe que si l'on Était insensible À cette sÉparation. Allons! je ne voudrais pas vendre ma tristesse pour beaucoup! elle s'en ira le jour oÙ je te verrai; en attendant je la garde volontiers." Then follows a minute description of his lodgings, of Kew itself—the gardens, the river, the different boats upon it—and he concludes:— "Tiens, voilÀ que je redeviens un peu gai, ce qui est bon signe; peut- Être, quand j'aurai reÇu une lettre de toi cela ira mieux. Ainsi, ta-ta, good-bye; embrasse bien les chers enfants pour moi et dis À ma petite Marie que je lui rapporterai une pÉpem [for poupÉe, which she could not yet pronounce clearly] ou autre chose de beau." A few days later:— "Je suis allÉ aujourd'hui au musÉe Britannique continuer mes Études. Le systÈme que j'ai adoptÉ parait bon, et Ça va bien. Je limite rigoureusement mes travaux en choisissant seulement la crÊme de la crÊme des planches. "Je me suis promenÉ ce soir au jardin de Kew; ces promenades me rendent toujours triste, parce qu'À chaque bel arbre ou jolie fleur, je me figure combien tu en jouirais si tu Étais avec moi. Quand on s'est si bien habituÉ À vivre À deux il est difficile de redevenir garÇon. Dans ces moments de tristesse je pense toujours À la sÉparation Éternelle, et au sort de celui de nous qui restera. Enfin j'apprends ici une chose qui me servira toujours, c'est que pour moi maintenant tout est vanitÉ sans toi. J'ai un jardin Royal À ma disposition, des collections d'oeuvres d'art superbes, les plus jolis canots, une belle riviÈre, de bons livres À lire, du succÈs avec les Éditeurs et une rÉputation en bonne voie, et pourtant cette existence ne vaut pas la peine de vivre. Il est bon de savoir ces choses lÀ et de se connaÎtre. À Paris oÙ notre existence matÉrielle Était pleine d'ennuis, j'Étais pourtant heureux. Il ne faut pas de ton cÔtÉ Être triste parce que je le suis, du moins si tu peux l'Éviter. C'est une affaire de deux ou trois semaines, voilÀ tout. De mon cÔtÉ je suis si occupÉ que je n'ai pas le temps de penser À moi- mÊme, et je travaille avec la rÉgularitÉ d'un homme de bureau. C'est lorsque je rentre chez moi que je souffre de ne point t'avoir. "Quant À ma santÉ, elle va mieux. Je connais l'État de mon systÈme nerveux et l'effet que le chemin-de-fer lui produit. Aujourd'hui je n'en ai rien ressenti du tout. Quand je suis malade, la vibration et le mouvement des objets me font souffrir un peu." On the following Sunday:— "DEAR LITTLE WIFE,—Last night I passed the evening with a set of artists, friends of George Leslie, at the house of one of them, Mr. Hodgson. They acted charades, and as their costumes (from their own ateliers) were numerous and rich, it was very good. Among them were Calderon and Frederick Walker. This morning we all set out for a walk on Hampstead Heath; I have no doubt the walk will do me good, but I am very well now, and feel better every day. "I called on Rossetti the painter; he lives in a magnificent house, furnished with very great taste, but in the most extraordinary manner. His drawing-room is very large indeed and most curious; the general effect is very good. He was very kind in receiving me, and I saw his pictures, which are splendid in color, and very quaint and strange in sentiment. His own manners are singularly soft and pleasant. I called on Mr. Barlow the engraver, and spent some time with him about the etchings. He will lend me some; Marks will lend me some also. The worst of the way I go on in London now is that society absorbs too much time. I must restrict it in future very much." After the walk to Hampstead he wrote:— "Yesterday, Sunday, I went on a long walk to Hampstead with several artists who live close together, and I never met seven more agreeable and more gentlemanly men; I enjoyed our conversation extremely. George Leslie and I got some lunch at the inn and walked back together. "Calderon's studio that I saw a few days ago is richly tapestried and very lofty; it is quite as fine as that of Millais. It seems Leighton has built himself a studio forty feet long. Mr. Barlow, the engraver, has a fine studio attached to the one you saw him in, and far larger. All these artists complain of nothing but the too great prosperity of the profession in these days; they tell me an artist's life is a princely one now. They live and dress like gentlemen, and their daughters might be 'clothed in scarlet.' "The reason for my staying in London longer than I intended is the time I have spent in society—a thing I certainly shall never do again— because I go to bed so late, always after twelve, whereas if I were not in society I should go to bed at nine or ten, and keep my strength up easily. Another thing I am sure of is that, on the whole, the advantages of being isolated, as I am at PrÉ-Charmoy, counterbalance and more than counterbalance the disadvantages. I certainly would not, if I could, have a house in London; the loss of time is awful. The only good in it for a painter is that the dealers are always after him for pictures as soon as he succeeds. "Mind you have a man from the farm to sleep in the house every night. It would be well for him to have the gun loaded, only take care the children don't get at it. My health is still tolerably good, sufficiently so for me to get easily through what I have to do." But the next news was far from being so satisfactory. "J'ai des nouvelles de West Lodge qui sont vraiment tristes. Anne est accouchÉe prÉmaturÉment, et l'enfant—une fille—est morte aprÈs avoir vÉcu deux nuits et un jour. On l'a baptisÉe Annie Jane Hamerton Gould. Anne est dans un État de faiblesse tel qu'on n'espÈre pas la conserver au-delÀ de quelques semaines, et mon pauvre oncle est dans l'Île de Wight avec elle, oÙ tout cela se passe. La tante Susan, de son cÔtÉ, est malade d'une fiÈvre gastrique—maladie bien dangereuse, comme tu sais; elle a pu m'Écrire quelques mots au crayon; elle se trouve un peu mieux, ce qui me fait espÉrer que probablement sa bonne constitution triomphera du mal. Je voudrais aller la voir de suite, mais je suis tellement retenu par mon travail; et puis le bon arrangement de ce travail et son heureux succÈs m'avaient fait regagner un peu ma sÉrÉnitÉ d'esprit, et maintenant je souffre de nouveau pour mon oncle et ma tante. Vraiment c'est pÉnible d'Être lÀ avec son dernier enfant qui s'en va si vite. Si encore la pauvre petite avait vÉcu, mon oncle aurait eu une fille peur remplacer les siennes, car il faut bien parler d'Anne comme d'une personne morte. "Je me fÉlicite des rÉsultats de mon nouveau systÈme: je me lÈve de fort bonne heure, j'ai fini dans l'AcadÉmie À 10 h. 1/2; alors je fais une course, et immÉdiatement aprÈs je me rends au MusÉe oÙ je dÉjeune. On y dÉjeune trÈs bien et pas cher; tu comprends que c'est pour les gens de lettres qui travaillent À la bibliothÈque. Je rentre ici À six heures, et le soir je me promÈne un peu au jardin, ou sur l'eau; aprÈs quoi j'Écris À la petite femme chÉrie et je me couche. Aujourd'hui, comme hier, j'ai ÉtudiÉ et dÉcrit dix tableaux et dix planches. Je crois que mes notes sur les aquafortistes iront plus vite que je ne l'avais espÉrÉ. J'ai dÉjÀ terminÉ Claude, Salvator, Wilkie, Geddes, RuysdaËl, Paul Potter. J'arriverai À ma vingtaine si ma santÉ se maintient pendant tout mon sÉjour. Je rÉserve le samedi et le dimanche À Kew pour Écrire ou dessiner. "Je m'Étonne du mauvais de certains aqua-fortistes cÉlÈbres. Dans toute l'oeuvre de RuysdaËl je ne trouve que deux bonnes planches, et encore si elles Étaient publiÉes dans l'ouvrage de la SociÉtÉ FranÇaise, je les trouverais peut-Être mauvaises. Dans Salvator il y en a Également deux ou trois bonnes. L'oeuvre de Claude est belle en somme, avec plusieurs mauvaises choses toutefois. "Adieu, petite chÉrie, le temps de mon exil diminue, et alors je te reverrai, toi et les enfants." But he was suddenly and violently seized by a mysterious illness, which threatened not only his life but his reason, as he told me afterwards. He longed to have me near him, yet he was so courageous that, to spare me, he only wrote that he was suffering from fatigue:— "CROWN INN, WALTON-ON-THAMES."Ça va toujours tout doucement. Je me promÈne tranquillement. Je reste encore ici deux nuits pour gagner un peu de force. Je suis toujours trÈs faible, mais le cerveau va mieux, je n'ai point de surexcitation cÉrÉbrale. Je ne dois pas beaucoup Écrire. Ainsi tata, ma bien aimÉe. "Lundi soir. "Puisque je sais que tu dois Être inquiÈte je t'Écris une deuxiÈme fois aujourd'hui pour te dire que je vais beaucoup mieux. La force commence À me revenir. Je me suis bien promenÉ, lentement, toute la journÉe. Je n'ai pas osÉ te dire combien j'ai dÉsirÉ ta chÈre prÉsence ces jours-ci. Si je l'avais dit tu aurais ÉtÉ capable de te mettre en route. C'est toujours triste d'Être malade, mais c'est terrible quand on est seul dans une auberge. [He had gone to Walton-on-Thames for quiet and rest.] "Enfin j'espÈre que c'est À peu prÈs passÉ pour cette fois, et je me promets bien de ne plus jamais travailler au-dessus de mes forces. Mr. Haden dit que je n'ai point de maladie, mais que je suis incapable de supporter tout travail excessif. Il va falloir rÉgler tout cela." "J'ai dÛ renoncer À mon travail pendant deux jours parce que j'ai besoin de repos, et il me semble plus sage de le prendre À temps que de me rendre malade. Lorsque je suis malade je ne puis pas me reposer, tandis que maintenant, je suis simplement fatiguÉ. Je dors bien, mais comme je suis seul dans mon logement, je deviens tout triste. Je n'ose pas penser du tout À PrÉ-Charmoy parce que cela me donne une telle envie de te voir que j'en serais malade. Ah! si la force physique voulait seulement rÉpondre À la force morale! Moralement, je n'ai jamais ÉtÉ plus fort, plus disposÉ À la lutte; et puis ces jours de fatigue arrivent et m'accablent, et je souffre dix fois plus qu'un paresseux s'y rÉsignerait. "Beaucoup de baisers aux enfants, et beaucoup pour toi, petite femme trop chÉrie. Je n'ose penser combien ce serait gentil si tu Étais ici auprÈs de moi." In answer I immediately proposed to go to him, as our little daughter was convalescent, and her grandmother would take care of her during my absence, but he declined. "PETITE CHÉRIE DE MON COEUR,—Je viens de recevoir ta bonne lettre, il n'est pas nÉcessaire que tu viennes; je gagne graduellement. J'ai passÉ la soirÉe avec Mr. Pearce qui sait que je suis malade. J'ai ÉchappÉ sans doute À un grave danger, j'ai mÊme eu peur de perdre la raison; mais tout cela est passÉ; je suis calme et quoique faible encore—plus fort. C'est surtout mentalement que je vais mieux, ce qui est le plus essentiel: le corps suivra. Je n'ai pas osÉ entreprendre le voyage de Todmorden aujourd'hui, mais j'ai l'espoir de pouvoir partir demain. Quoique en État de convalescence, je suis obligÉ d'Être prudent et d'Éviter les grandes fatigues. Le mÉdecin dit qu'il faudra un changement dans ma maniÈre de vivre. Le fait est que je me tue en travaillant et je sens que je n'irais pas trois ans comme cela. Enfin je me dis que puisque ma mort ne te ferait pas de bien, je dois tÂcher de me conserver; si ma mort pouvait t'Être utile je mourrais bien volontiers. Ta chÈre lettre, toute pleine d'affection, m'a fait du bien. Dis À mon bon petit Stephen que je le remercie de toute sa tendresse pour moi et que je vais mieux. J'ai beaucoup pensÉ À mes chers enfants, ne sachant pas si je les reverrais. "Je t'ai tout dit; Ça a ÉtÉ seulement un État d'abattement complet accompagnÉ d'excitation des centres nerveux." "KEW. Thursday. "Le temps est si mauvais que je n'ai pas pu faire une seule esquisse. Ma tante Susan t'a Écrit pour te dire que la pauvre Anne a cessÉ de souffrir. J'ai reÇu une lettre de son mari qui me dit que les derniers jours ont ÉtÉ bien pÉnibles. Je ne vais toujours pas bien À cause de la tristesse et de l'inquiÉtude que tout cela m'a causÉ, mais il ne faut pas Être inquiÈte pour moi; Ça se passera dans un jour ou deux, tu sais que je suis trÈs impressionnable. "Il me prend de temps en temps d'angoissantes envies de te voir. Dans ces moments-lÀ il me semble que je rÉalise chaque mÈtre, chaque centimÈtre de l'effroyable distance qui nous sÉpare. Je suis obligÉ de lutter fortement contre ces idÉes qui finiraient par me rendre malade. "Je dois maintenant aller au train; À demain donc." "WEST LODGE. Vendredi. "Je suis bien arrivÉ chez ma tante que j'ai trouvÉe en bonne santÉ, mais je suis toujours horriblement triste ici, et je me le reproche, car ma tante est toujours si bonne. Elle nous avait destinÉ la belle chambre-À-coucher, et j'ai la chambre tout seul, ce qui ne contribue pas À diminuer ma tristesse. Une chose au moins me console: j'ai le matÉriel pour mon livre sur l'eau-forte, c'est beaucoup. Je crois la publication de ce livre si essentielle À mon avenir, comme soutien de ma rÉputation, que j'aurais ÉtÉ vraiment dÉsolÉ de ne pas pouvoir le faire maintenant. Ayant tout le matÉriel dans ma tÊte, je ferai l'ouvrage trÈs vite, et je suis convaincu qu'il sera bon et tout-À-fait nouveau. J'ai bien besoin maintenant d'un peu de bruit pour augmenter ma rÉputation, car ces articles anonymes ne l'aident point. "Dans ta tristesse, ma chÉrie, il faut toujours avoir la plus grande confiance en la durÉe de mon amour pour toi. Je crois que mon amour et ma loyautÉ sont au moins aussi forts que le sentiment de l'hÉroÏsme militaire. Il me semble que si les soldats peuvent supporter toutes les privations pour leur roi ou pour leur patrie, je dois pouvoir en faire autant pour ma femme. Compte sur ma tendresse, mÊme dans les circonstances les plus difficiles, tu l'auras toujours. GrÂce À ton influence, je suis beaucoup plus capable qu'autrefois de supporter les difficultÉs de la vie, et si nous avions À vivre dans une pauvre chaumiÈre, je t'aiderais gaiement À faire les travaux du petit mÉnage en y consacrant deux ou trois heures par jour, et quand tu coudrais je te ferais un peu la lecture, et toujours je t'aimerais. Ainsi crois que, loin de souffrir des devoirs que je me suis imposÉs, j'y trouve la plus profonde satisfaction, et que je me trouve plus respectable que si je ne faisais rien." "WEST LODGE. Vendredi. "J'avais l'intention de partir aujourd'hui mais la tante Susan paraÎt tellement triste quand je parle de m'en aller que j'ai dÛ reculer mon dÉpart jusqu'À lundi. Du reste j'ai fait trois planches que je crois bonnes; j'y ai bien travaillÉ; j'ai aussi Écrit trois articles, mais mon travail pour la Revue ne gagne pas grand'chose, et du moment oÙ la peinture rapportera, je quitterai la revue; je n'aime pas ce genre de travail, quoiqu'on dise que je le fais bien. J'aimerais autant Être cocher de fiacre. Ce que j'ai toujours dÉsirÉ faire c'est de la peinture; mes efforts dans cette direction n'ont pas abouti jusqu'À prÉsent, mais si j'avais un peu de temps libre, je saurais mieux faire À cause de mon expÉrience de critique; je vois maintenant dans quel sens il faut travailler. "Je vis À Londres aussi simplement que possible et pourtant mes sÉjours y sont trÈs coÛteux. Quant À la rÉputation, en comparaison du bonheur de vivre tranquillement avec toi, elle m'est absolument indiffÉrente. Il me semble que lorsque le mari et la femme sont si parfaitement d'accord sur le but de la vie, il doit Être facile d'y parvenir. Notre plus grand dÉsir À tous les deux c'est d'Être ensemble; eh! bien, du moment oÙ les choses nous seront propices, nous rÉaliserons notre dÉsir, et mÊme par la volontÉ nous forcerons les circonstances, c'est-À-dire que nous supporterons des inconvÉnients pour y arriver. DÉjÀ Wallis et Colnaghi consentent À exposer mes ouvrages; mes eaux-fortes sont apprÉciÉes. Peut-Être dans un temps comparativement rapprochÉ serai-je en position de donner ma dÉmission—non seulement À la Saturday, mais À la littÉrature, et À me dÉvouer exclusivement À l'Art. Du moment oÙ cela arrivera il sera infiniment plus facile d'Être ensemble, car je tÂcherai de faire un genre d'Art qui me permettra d'Étudier chez nous, ou dans un petit rayon. Enfin regardons la situation actuelle comme pÉnible, mais pas du tout permanente. Tu peux compter que du moment oÙ je le pourrai je quitterai la Revue; j'y suis bien dÉcidÉ." After this letter, my husband, feeling much better, came back to London to resume his work, and wrote about what he thought most important or most interesting to me. I shall quote from his letters in their order according to dates. WATERLOO PLACE, KEW. Lundi soir. "Mr. Macmillan m'a reÇu parfaitement, presque affectueusement; il m'a invitÉ À dÎner. Je suis allÉ voir Mr. Seeley, mon nouvel Éditeur, que j'ai trouvÉ intelligent, comme il faut, jeune encore, et parfaitement cordial. Je crois que mes relations avec lui seront tout-À-fait faciles. [Footnote: Mr. Seeley had asked him to write some notes on Contemporary French Painters, to be illustrated with photographs.] "L'exposition, en somme, est belle. Il y a plusieurs tableaux remarquables, entre autres une VÉnus de Leighton que je trouve superbe. La contribution de Landseer est importante, c'est un portrait de la Reine, À cheval, en deuil; cheval noir, trois chiens noirs, groom noir, ciel noir. "C'est agrÉable de rentrer le soir en pleine campagne; Ça me fait du bien. Je n'ose pas penser combien ce serait gentil si ma chÉrie Était avec moi, parceque cela me rend triste tout de suite; mais je t'Écrirai presque tous les jours, quelquefois briÈvement quand je serai trop pressÉ. Sois gentille toi, et Écris souvent; les bonnes nouvelles que tu m'envoies de ta santÉ et de celle des enfants m'ont rendu mon courage et—ce que je puis avoir de gaietÉ." "Samedi. "Il paraÎt que j'avais encore besoin de repos, car aujourd'hui je suis trÈs fatiguÉ. J'espÈre que lundi j'irai mieux; un ou deux jours de repos me sont nÉcessaires: voilÀ tout. Je n'ai point de surexcitation cÉrÉbrale; je dors bien et je me repose pleinement, ce qui ne doit pas tarder À rÉtablir mes forces. Je souffre d'Être seul. Mr. Gould va venir passer huit jours ici; je trouve amiable de sa part de bien vouloir venir s'Établir À Kew pour Être prÈs de moi; mon oncle viendra peut-Être aussi. "Je vais me plaindre un peu, tout doucement, de la petite chÉrie de PrÉ-Charmoy; elle n'Écrit pas assez souvent À son mari qui reÇoit toujours ses lettres avec tant de plaisir. Il y a pourtant une de ces lettres qui a donnÉ tant de bonheur qu'elle peut compter pour une douzaine. Pauvre chÉrie! comme je voudrais toujours rÉussir À rendre ta vie douce et agrÉable! Depuis que je ne vis plus pour moi, mais pour toi et les enfants, j'ai goÛtÉ moi-mÊme un nouveau genre de bonheur mÊlÉ de nouvelles tristesses. Ces tristesses sont dues À la pensÉe que je fais si peu, et que, avec plus de forces je ferais tant et si bien! Avec la force je serais sÛr maintenant de rÉussir pleinement. Je tiens la rÉputation par un petit bout, mais je la tiens, et elle augmentera. Tout me prouve que notre avenir serait assurÉ si j'avais autant de force que de volontÉ." "Dimanche. "Je suis allÉ voir George Eliot et Lewes qui a ÉtÉ charmant; il est venu s'asseoir À cÔtÉ de moi oÙ il est restÉ tout le temps de ma visite, et lorsque je suis parti, il s'est beaucoup plaint de ne pas me voir davantage. Il me traite d'une faÇon trÈs affectueuse, et en mÊme temps avec un respect qui, venant de lui, me flatte beaucoup. Quant À George Eliot elle est trÈs aimable, mais elle a le dÉfaut de rester toujours assise an mÊme endroit, et quand il y a du monde, la seule personne qui puisse causer avec elle, est son voisin. Quand j'y retournerai, je m'installerai auprÈs d'elle, parce que je tiens À la connaÎtre un peu mieux. J'y ai rencontrÉ Mr. Ralston qui s'Était assis modestement un peu en dehors du cercle oÙ j'Étais et pendant tout le temps de sa visite, il n'a presque rien dit et c'est À peine si on lui a parlÉ. J'ai trouvÉ ces arrangements mauvais. Les gens qui reÇoivent doivent souvent changer de place, de faÇon À causer avec tous leurs visiteurs. "Lundi dernier j'ai dÎnÉ chez Mr. Craik—le mari de l'auteur de 'John Halifax.' Il habite un charmant cottage À Beckenham, un endroit À quatre lieues de Londres oÙ il vient tous les jours en chemin-de-fer. Tu sais qu'il est l'associÉ de Macmillan. Nous avons passÉ une soirÉe fort agrÉable; c'est un homme trÈs cultivÉ, qui autrefois Était auteur, et qui a occupÉ une chaire de littÉrature À Edimbourg. Sa femme, quoique cÉlÈbre, est simple et trÈs aimable; elle m'a dit que quand tu viendrais, elle dÉsirait te connaÎtre. "Mardi j'ai dÎnÉ chez le Professeur Seeley, le frÈre de mon Éditeur; il a occupÉ la chaire de Latin À l'UniversitÉ de Londres. C'est l'auteur d'Ecce Homo. Macmillan m'ayant donnÉ ce livre, je l'ai trouvÉ trÈs fort comme style et d'une hardiesse Étonnante. L'auteur est des plus sympathiques; il a des maniÈres charmantes—si modestes et si intelligentes, car les maniÈres peuvent montrer de l'intelligence. J'aime beaucoup les deux frÈres, et dans le peu de temps que je les ai vus j'en ai fait des amis. "Mercredi j'ai dÎnÉ chez moi, ayant un article À Écrire. Jeudi chez Stephen Pearce. Vendredi chez Mr. Wallis, le marchand de tableaux. C'est un homme trÈs dÉlicat et trÈs fin. Il avait invitÉ Mr. Burgess, un artiste intelligent et agrÉable que j'avais dÉjÀ rencontrÉ au Salon de l'annÉe derniÈre. J'ai rencontrÉ Tom Taylor À l'exposition. Wallis et nous avons causÉ quelque temps ensemble. J'ai rencontrÉ Clifton et dÎnÉ avec lui À son Club." "Lundi matin. "Je suis allÉ hier passer le tantÔt chez Lewes, on a ÉtÉ enchantÉ de mes eaux-fortes. George Eliot s'est plainte de ne pas avoir assez causÉ avec moi À ma derniÈre visite, et m'a invitÈ À prendre place À cÔtÉ d'elle. Nous avons parlÉ d'art, de littÉrature et d'elle mÊme. Elle m'a dit que personne n'avait eu plus d'inquiÉtudes et de souffrances dans le travail qu'elle, et que le peu qu'elle fait lui coÛte ÉnormÉment. "J'ai discutÉ avec Lewes l'idÉe de faire la rÉimpression de mes articles, et il m'a conseillÉ de ne pas le faire si je puis fonder un livre sur ces articles. J'avoue que je serais assez tentÉ de faire un ouvrage sÉrieux sur la peinture, pour lequel mes articles serviraient de matÉriel." "Samedi soir. "J'ai dÎnÉ hier soir chez Mr. Macmillan, nous Étions seuls d'hommes. Il y avait sa femme, ses enfants, et une grand'mÈre. Il a une famille nombreuse, de beaux enfants. Sa femme est bonne, et si simple que j'ai rarement vu un comme-il-faut plus achevÉ sans Être de la distinction. La maison est trÈs spacieuse et entourÉe d'arbres magnifiques. Ce qu'il y a de particulier dans cette maison, c'est un caractÈre intime et d'aisance ancienne. Macmillan a su Éviter avec un tact parfait, tout ce qui pouvait rappeler le nouveau riche. On se croirait dans une grande maison de campagne, À cinquante lieues de Londres, et dans une ancienne famille Établie lÀ depuis plusieurs gÉnÉrations. "Nous avons passÉ toute la soirÉe ensemble. Il laisse entiÈrement À mon jugement tout ce qui regarde l'illustration de mon livre. Ce que j'ai aimÉ dans cette maison, comme dans toutes les personnes que j'y ai trouvÉes, a ÉtÉ l'absence complÈte de toute affectation. Tout est homogÈne et je n'ai encore jamais vu une maison de campagne ayant cet aspect-lÀ. Mon respect pour Macmillan s'est considÉrablement augmentÉe de ce qu'on ne rencontre chez lui aucune splendeur vulgaire: rien ne parle d'argent chez lui. "La conversation a ÉtÉ trÈs gÉnÉrale. Quand je suis parti, il m'a reconduit À travers un champ pour abrÉger mon chemin À la station. Il a chantÉ quelques vieilles chansons avec beaucoup de caractÈre; j'ai chantÉ un peu aussi—et pourtant je ne suis guÈre disposÉ À chanter. Anne avait montrÉ tant de contentement quand je suis allÉ la voir À Sheffield—et penser que je ne la reverrai plus. Je souffre aussi pour mon oncle, je me mets À sa place en pensant À ma petite Mary; si je la perdais plus tard!… et puis—et puis, tu sais comment viennent les idÉes noires, et combien un malheur vous en fait craindre d'autres." "Dimanche. "Je me sens de nouveau fatiguÉ et cette fatigue semble persister. Il est bien possible que l'ennui et la nostalgie y soient pour quelque chose. "Figure-toi qu'il y a une jeune peintresse qui m'a ÉtÉ recommandÉe, et dont la situation est bien prÉcaire; j'ai eu la faiblesse de lui Écrire une petite lettre gentille et encourageante et me voilÀ en butte À des Éclats de dÉsespoir ou de reconnaissance; de reproches et de remerciements. Le plaisir de faire du bien À ceux qui souffrent est tel, que l'on voudrait s'en donner, et le critique est souvent tentÉ de manger de ce sucre-lÀ. "Je ne regrette pas de m'Être Établi À Kew; il n'y a qu'une chose contre Kew, c'est que je n'y connais personne, tandis qu'À St. John's Wood j'ai plusieurs amis. Mais la solitude a aussi ses avantages et quand on voit du monde tous les jours, on peut bien passer la soirÉe chez soi. Si la petite femme Était seulement ici, ce serait parfait." "Mardi. "Petite femme chÉrie qui a ÉtÉ gentille puisqu'elle a Écrit deux lettres. "Celle-ci est simplement pour te dire que mon repos a enfin produit son effet et que je suis rentrÉ dans mon État ordinaire. Aujourd'hui je me rends au MusÉe, et j'ai pu Écrire. "Mon oncle est arrivÉ hier soir, il partage mon salon, mais je lui ai louÉ une chambre-À-coucher dans la maison voisine. Il ne paraÎt pas trop abattu; nous causons beaucoup et je tÂche de l'Égayer autant que sa position le permet. Il est moins rÉservÉ qu'autrefois et me laisse voir davantage le cours de ses pensÉes qui vont souvent À ses filles et À sa femme. Je l'emmÈne aujourd'hui À l'AcadÉmie. Il y a une chose qui doit te rassurer quant À l'État de ma santÉ, c'est que je n'ai jamais ces sensations au cerveau dont j'ai souffert. Le cerveau n'est pas fatiguÉ et en me reposant À temps, je rÉpare rapidement mes forces. Ce qui est vraiment insupportable ce sont les sÉparations, et j'ai bien de la peine À m'y rÉsigner, et je ne m'y rÉsignerais pas du tout si la peinture rapportait. Mais en mettant les choses au pis pour les affaires d'argent, j'espÈre que tu me verras toujours courageux et affectueux dans l'adversitÉ; je me figure que depuis quelque temps j'ai appris À la supporter sans qu'elle puisse m'aigrir. Si je dois vivre de pommes-de-terre, ou mÊme mourir de faim, tu me verras toujours dÉvouÉ jusqu'À la mort. Celles-ci ne sont pas de vaines paroles; je suis prÊt À les soutenir dans une pauvre cabane ou sur le lit d'un hÔpital." |
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