1873-1875.

Popularity of "The Intellectual Life."—Love of animals.—English visitors.—Technical notes.—Sir F. Seymour Haden.—Attempts to resume railway-travelling.

The dedication of "The Intellectual Life" was a perfect surprise to me when I first opened my presentation copy: the secret had been well kept. I felt grateful and honored to be thus publicly associated by my husband in his work, though my share had been but humble and infinitesimal—more sympathetic than active, more encouraging than laborious. Our common dream had been to be as little separated as possible, and he had attempted soon after our marriage to rouse in me some literary ambition, and to direct my beginnings. I first reviewed French books for "The Reader," and he was kind enough to correct everything I wrote; then he induced me to try my hand at a short novel, reminding me humorously that some of my father's friends used to call me "Little Bluestocking." He took a great deal of trouble to find a publisher for my second novel, and was quite disappointed to fail. He wrote to encourage me to persevere:—

"The reviews of your first novel have all been favorable enough, but the publishers told me they had never published a one-volume novel that had succeeded, and that they had now made up their minds never to publish another, no matter who wrote it. I rather think they would publish your new novel, but I earnestly recommend you to try … I am quite sure you have something in you, but you want wider culture, better reading, and more of it, and the difficulty about household matters is for the present in your way, though if I go on as I am doing now we will get you out of that."

A copy of "The Intellectual Life" was sent to Aunt Susan, who received it just as she was going to visit her sister, Mrs. Hinde, whom she found in failing health, and who died shortly after. It was a new grief for my husband, to whom she had always been very kind. As soon as tranquillity was re-established in France, after the war and Commune, Mr. Hamerton had renewed a regular correspondence with his friends, and, being greatly interested in the technique of the fine arts, consulted those friends whose experience was most to be relied upon. Mr. Wyld's letters are full of explanation about his own practice, as well as that of Decamps, Horace Vernet, Delaroche, and Delacroix. In one of them I find this interesting passage:—

"I very much doubt if the talent of coloring can be learnt. I think it is a gift like an ear for music, which if not born with you can never be perfectly acquired (I, for instance, I am sure, could never have perfectly tuned a violin). Doubtless if the faculty exists intuitively, it may be perfected, or at all events much improved by study and practice, but he that has it not from birth, I think, can never acquire it."

Mr. S. Palmer, in a long letter also devoted to the technical part of painting and etching, turns to literature to say:—

"My pleasure in hearing of the success of 'The Intellectual Life' is qualified only by the comparative apathy of the English. Of such a book one edition here to three in America is something to be ashamed of."

The sale of the book was rapid, both in England and in America, but the
American sale continued to be incomparably the larger. As early as
February, 1874, Roberts Brothers wrote:—

"'The Intellectual Life' is a complete literary success in America; it has been the means of making you almost a household god in the most refined circles. We are now selling the fifth thousand. Our supply of the English 'Chapters on Animals' [Footnote: Contributed to the "Portfolio," and afterwards published separately.] is all sold, and we are now stereotyping the book. We hope to sell a good many."

The motive which prompted my husband to write these "chapters" was purely his love and pity for all dumb creatures. He never could do without a dog—and the dog was always the favorite, being even preferred to the saddle-horse; and when out of compassion for its infirmities it had to be out of pain, his master never shirked the painful duty, but performed it himself as mercifully as he could. One of his dogs, which had long been treated for cancer, was at last chloroformed to death, his master helping the veterinary surgeon all the time. Another, who became suddenly rabid, and could not be prevented from entering the house, to the imminent peril of us all, he met and stunned at a blow with a log of wood, having no weapon ready. Poor Cocote was not sold when she became useless, but allowed to divide her old age peacefully between the freedom of the pasturage and the comfort and plenty of the stable, till her master asked the best shot of the place (a poacher) to assist him in firing a volley, which quickly put an end to her life, as she was unsuspectingly coming out of the field. And he only came to this decision when we left the country. Out of love or pity my husband was interested in all animals, and I believe that animals were instinctively aware of it. Dogs always sought his caresses; he used to remove with his hands toads from the dangers of the road, and they did not seem afraid. He never was stung by bees, though he often placed his hand flat in front of the opening in the hive, so that they were obliged to alight upon it before entering. Of the rat only he had a nervous horror, but it remained unconquerable; he disliked the sight of one, and if he met one accidentally, he always experienced a disagreeable shock. When he tried to find out the reason, he was inclined to attribute it to the disquieting rapidity and restlessness of its movements.

In 1874 Mr. Hamerton began to write for the "International Review," principally on the fine arts, and continued his contributions till 1880. Roberts Brothers expressed a wish that he would reserve the publications in book form to their firm, which had done so much for his reputation.

At the beginning of April he heard from Boston that they were printing the sixth thousand of the "Intellectual Life," and had written to Messrs. Macmillan that they were willing to unite in bringing out a new edition of "Etching and Etchers." In October the seventh thousand of the "Intellectual Life" was being printed; the second edition of "Chapters on Animals" and the second of "Thoughts about Art" were about half gone, and "A Painter's Camp" was going off quite freely. About the last Roberts Brothers added: "This book ought to sell better. We have reason to congratulate ourselves that it so fascinated us that we ventured to republish it. We are Nature lovers, and delight to keep the company of one who loves her and is able to tell of it as you can."

Of course we cheered Aunt Susan with the list of these successes, and she answered: "I wish, my dear P. G., that all your admirers would be as generous with their money as they are with their flattery, for flattery is not a commodity to supply a family with means of subsistence." In the same letter she told of Mr. Hinde's death and funeral, and of her hopes of seeing her nephew, Ben Hinde, succeed to his father's living.

Early in 1874 Mr. Hamerton had the pleasure of becoming personally acquainted with one of the most distinguished of the contributors to the "Portfolio,"—Mr. Sidney Colvin, who now came to pay a visit to the editor, after nursing his friend R. L. Stevenson through one of his dangerous attacks of illness. My husband esteemed highly Mr. Colvin's knowledge and acquirements. During his short stay this esteem expanded into personal regard, and in after years, whenever a meeting with him was possible, it invariably afforded gratification.

In the summer our house was turned into a sort of temporary hospital by an epidemic of measles brought to it by the boys from their college. Having had it in my youth, I luckily was spared to nurse in succession the three children and my husband, whose case was by far the most serious. However, he would not take to his bed, but remained in his study with a good fire at night, sleeping upon an ottoman or in an arm-chair, wrapped up in his monk's dress, and the head covered with an Algerian chechia. In due course he got through the distemper without accident, but for fear of chills he continued to wear the chechia and monk's dress in the house some time after his recovery, and he was so discovered by Mr. and Mrs. Mark Pattison when they paid us an unexpected visit. It happened thus. I had driven my sister and her youngest boy to Autun, where he had been invited to stay a few days at his godmother's, and as we alighted in the courtyard of the hotel I was told that an English gentleman and his wife had ordered an omnibus to call upon Mr. Hamerton, and were on the point of starting. On learning that I was at the hotel they came to propose that I should go back to La Tuilerie with them, which proposition I accepted with pleasure. I left the pony-carriage, told my sister that I would fetch her in the evening, and drove off with Mr. and Mrs. Pattison, the latter very much interested by what I could point out to her on the way,—the Temple of Janus, the Roman archways, the double walls of the town, and Mont Beuvray.

The drive from Autun to La Tuilerie is a short one, and we soon arrived at the garden gate. As we stopped, the study window was quickly, almost violently, thrown open, my husband's anxious face appeared through it, and he shouted to the bewildered coachman, "What has happened?" At the sight of an omnibus he had been afraid of an accident (not at all unusual with Cocote's tendency to take fright, run away, and upset carriage and all), and had fancied me hurt, and brought back laid upon the cushioned seat. But as soon as he saw me safe and sound, and noticed my companions, he hastened down to receive his visitors. We spent the afternoon very pleasantly, but as it was getting cooler and a little damp after sunset, my husband, who was not fully recovered, had to excuse himself from accompanying Mr. and Mrs. Pattison back to Autun, and to let me go instead. I had the pleasure of a second meeting with them on the following morning at the hotel, when we took leave of each other.

I have always remembered an incident in connection with this visit that Mr. and Mrs. Pattison never knew of. There had been in our entrance hall for the last four months at least, a manuscript notice written very legibly by Mr. Hamerton, and carefully pasted up with his own hands, in a very good light by the side of the drawing-room door, to this effect: "English visitors to this house are earnestly requested not to stay after seven o'clock p.m. if not invited to dine; and when invited to dine, not to consider themselves as entitled to the use of a bedroom, unless particularly requested to remain."

This had been done in a moment of legitimate anger and vexation (of course without consulting me), and I had thought it the best policy to ignore it for some time—particularly during winter, when it was put up, for there was little probability of English visitors at that time. As to French visitors, it was unlikely that they could make out its meaning, and if they did, as it did not concern them, they would consider it as a humorous boutade. After a fortnight, however, I begged my husband to remove the "notice;" but his anger had not cooled a bit, and he said in a tone that I knew to admit of no opposition that the "notice" was meant to remain there permanently. And there it remained, at first partially, and by degrees almost entirely, covered up by the shawls or mantles that I artfully spread as far as possible over the obnoxious manuscript, till, emboldened by non-interference, and under pretext that the wall-paper about the door was soiled, I got leave to have a new piece hung, and took care to have it laid over the notice. This took place on the very day that Mr. and Mrs. Pattison paid their friendly visit.

I must now explain the cause of my husband's temporary ukase. As I have said before, M. Bulliot, President of the SociÉtÉ Eduenne, was a friend of his, and on one occasion, a Scotchman having applied to him for permission to see a precious book kept in the archives of the learned society, M. Bulliot, finding him well-bred and interesting, took the trouble of bringing him to La Tuilerie, in the hope that Mr. Hamerton and Mr. W—— would derive pleasure from the meeting. It was so, and Mr. W——'s researches at Autun requiring a few days only, he was invited to dinner for the morrow. He duly arrived and dined, but as he gave no sign of going away, I asked him a little before ten if he was a good walker, as the hotels at Autun closed at eleven. He merely answered, "No matter." Looking already like an old man, and weak besides, I felt certain that he could not possibly reach the town in time for a bed, and I quietly retired to mine. My husband told me in the morning that he had shown Mr. W—— to the spare room, unwilling to turn an old man out in the cold and mist of an early morning. I foresaw a repetition of what had happened at PrÉ-Charmoy. And so it proved, for Mr. W—— quartered himself upon us for two days, and it is impossible to say how much longer he would have stayed if my husband had not at last insisted peremptorily on driving him back to Autun.

On reaching home Gilbert immediately went up to his study to write his "Notice to English visitors," and without saying a word securely pasted it up at the entrance. A few days later he heard from the proprietor of the HÓtel de la Poste, that before leaving Mr. W—— had said, "Mr. Hamerton will settle the bill."

It was a good thing for my husband that he gave so much consideration to the bringing up of his children, for indirectly he derived from it some benefit to his own health; for instance, not wishing them to be always confined to college, he used often to drive them to and from Autun; and in the summer, as he came back, he would just stop the pony for a few minutes at our gate to pick up the rest of the family and a hamper, then take us to a cool and shady dell divided from a little wood by the river Vesvre—the coldest water I ever bathed in; and as soon as Cocote was taken out of harness and left in the enjoyment of the fresh grass, we all tumbled into the icy water, and swam till our appetites were thoroughly sharpened for a hearty dinner in the lingering twilight.

The children were also taken by their father to the hills, where they climbed about whilst he sketched; his little daughter Mary liked nothing better than to spend a day "au Pommoy" above the beautiful valley of the Canche, where the parents of our servant-girl lived. They were farmers in a very humble way, but they offered us heartily the little they possessed,—the new-laid eggs, the clotted cream, which the children delighted in, thickly spread upon black bread, and which the mother prepared in perfection; also frothy goat's milk, with walnuts and chestnuts in their season. Cocote, too, had free access to the dainty grass and crystal spring of their pasturage in the hollow behind the cottage. Whilst my husband painted and I read to him, we watched the children, who, bare-footed and bare-legged, turned up the stones in the river-bed seeking for trout and crayfish. In the course of these pleasant excursions Gilbert entered into conversation with every one he met—farmers, shepherdesses, cow-boys, and even beggars, learning what he could of their lives and thoughts, sympathizing with their labors and their wants, often conveying useful information to their minds, frequently on politics, sometimes on geography or science. He tried to explain to them the railways and telegraph, for many of the dwellers in these hilly regions had never seen a railroad, especially the old folk, who could no longer walk any great distance, and remembered Autun only as it was in the time of the diligences. He liked the polite, deferential manners of the French peasants and their quiet dignity; and they felt at ease with him because of his serious interest in what concerned them, and total absence of pride in the superiority of his station or learning. Wherever he went he liked to see the parish church, and generally found it worth his while, either artistically or historically. The cure was frequently to be met with, and not sorry to talk with a person better informed than most of his parishioners: it was for Gilbert another field to glean from, and on such occasions he generally managed to bring home a sheaf with him. It was most remarkable to see how well he got on with the Roman Catholic clergy, although his religious opinions were never hidden from them, and his attitude by no means conducive to hopes of conversion; but on the other hand, he was not aggressive, and did not turn into ridicule ceremonies or beliefs to which he remained a stranger. Perfectly firm in his own convictions, he respected those of other people, because his large sympathy understood the different wants of different natures, even when he had no share in them. He was always on visiting terms with our curÉ (the one officiating at Tavernay—the nearest village to La Tuilerie), and on friendly terms with the AumÔnier de l'HÔpital and the AumÔnier de CollÈge (although the boys were not under his spiritual direction, their father considering it as a duty to let them choose their own religion when they were of age); later on l'AbbÉ Antoine, professor at the seminary, became a faithful and welcome visitor to La Tuilerie; even Monseigneur the Bishop of Autun gave a signal proof of his respect for Mr. Hamerton's character, which will be related in due course, and visited him afterwards so long as we remained in the Autunois.

The technical difficulties of painting, which were giving my husband so much trouble to conquer, led him to speak not unfrequently of the advantages formerly afforded to students by the privilege of working in the same studios with their masters, and even of having some portions of the masters' pictures to execute under their personal and invaluable direction. He realized what a gain it would be, not only for beginners, but even for artists, to be acquainted with the best methods of the best artists, and at last, counting upon their well-known generosity, he resolved to make a general appeal to their experience. They were almost unanimously favorable to the idea, and furnished valuable notes, the substance of which was published in the "Portfolio." The letters are too technical, though very interesting, to be quoted here, but the eminent names of the writers will be a proof of the importance attached to the subject. I find those of Sir Frederick Leighton, Sir John Gilbert, Watts, Holman Hunt, Samuel Palmer, Calderon, Wyld, Dobson, Davis, Storey, etc., etc., in the notes still in my possession.

My husband was himself in the habit of making experiments in painting and etching, though he deplored both the time and money so spent, and repeatedly resolved not to meddle any more with them; but he could not keep the resolution. His mind was so curious about all possible processes and technicalities, and his desire of perfection so great, that not only did he experiment in all the known processes, but invented new ones. Entries in the note-book like the following are of frequent occurrence:—

"Experiments with white zinc did not succeed."

"This month tried sulphur with success. I discovered also that the three-cornered scraper is excellent for obtaining various breadths of line in the background."

"I made a successful experiment in sandpaper mezzotint."

"M. de Fontenay and I made crÊme d'argent very cheaply indeed."

"To-day I tried experiments on grains: the grains given by the sandpaper and rosin. That given by the fine glass-paper was the best."

"Quite determined to put a stop to all experiments, in view of typographic drawings."

Here is an important entry, August 19, 1875:—

"RESOLVED in future to confine myself exclusively to oil-painting and etching in all artistic work done for the public, except the designs for the bindings of my books, which may be done in water-colors.

"RESOLVED also that there shall be as little as possible of copying and slavery in my artistic work, but that Etching shall be Etching, and Painting Painting."

He had been working very hard, copying etchings for the new edition of "Etching and Etchers," and was thoroughly tired of it. I see in his diary:—

"Finished my plate after Rembrandt. N.B.—Will never undertake a set of copies again."

"Felt it a great deliverance to be rid of plates for 'Etching and
Etchers.'"

A later note:—

"There is no technical difficulty for me in etching. I ought therefore to direct my energies against the artistic difficulties of composition, drawing, light and shade. Haden's 'Agamemnon' is the model for the kind of work I should like to be able to do in etching. Comprehensive sketching is the right thing."

Meanwhile our boys were growing, and giving great satisfaction to their father by their application to and success in their studies; they always kept at the head of their class, and carried off a great number of prizes at the end of every scholastic year. The younger boy, Richard, evinced an early taste for the pictorial arts, and was gifted with a sure critical faculty and a natural talent for drawing. Although he had never taken regular drawing-lessons, he had often watched his father at work, had occasionally sketched and painted under his direction, and was receiving a sort of artistic education by what he saw at home of illustrated periodicals, engravings, and etchings sent for presentation or criticism. He was early tempted to try etching, and of course received encouragement and help; the first attempt was a success, as far as it went, and Mr. S. Palmer wrote about it:—

"Your son's etching has given pleasure to other than 'parental eyes.' 'What a sweet little etching,' said my wife, who saw it lying on the table; 'it is like an old master.' There is something touching in the sight of a beginner, full of curiosity and hope. My yearning is, 'O that he may escape the rocks on which I split—years wasted, any one of which would have given a first grounding in anatomy, indispensable anatomy, to have gone with the antique. The bones are the master-key; the marrowless bones are the talisman of all life and power in Art. Power seems to depend upon knowledge of structure; all surface upon substance; knowing this, and imbued with the central essence, we may venture to copy the appearance, perhaps even imitate it."

Mr. Seeley also wrote, with sly humor: "Your boy's etching is capital. It would be interesting to know what processes this remarkable artist employs."

Richard frequently expressed his intention of being a painter; but his father, though much pleased to notice in the boy a real tendency towards art, did not at all feel certain that there were in him the gifts indispensable to the making of an artist. I was often told that, despite the cleverness of his copies, and even of his caricatures, he seemed to lack invention and originality. However, it was understood that he would be allowed a fair trial,—but only after taking his degree of "Bachelier Ès-lettres," for his father was of opinion that perhaps more for artists than for men in other professions, a liberal education was necessary to the development of the finest aptitudes. He also thought that the boys might now appreciate English poetry, and selected short passages from the best poets, which he read aloud in the evenings, whilst they followed with books in their hands; it accustomed them to the rhythm and to the music of the language, and the peculiar qualities of each piece were explained to them afterwards. Little Mary Susan also received encouragement in the practice of her music, for I see this entry on March 7, 1875: "My little daughter and I played piano and violin together to-day for the first time."

Very slowly and gradually his health had improved, and he was in 1875 almost free from nervousness, but he had not yet dared to attempt railway travelling; he had occasion to write to Mr. Seymour Haden, and here is part of the reply:—

"First, I am delighted to hear that the improvement in your health maintains itself; next, that I shall be very happy to do you a plate for the 'Portfolio.' I was with Macmillan the other day, and heard from him that you were at work upon a new edition of 'Etching and Etchers.' He spoke so well of you and of your work, that I am empressÉ to report him to you in this. It must be a great satisfaction to you, after the extraordinary life you have led, to find that it is producing such satisfactory results. May it and the good effect which attends it continue! And this brings me to speak of your railway malady. It does not differ from other cases of the kind in any one particular. It is an idiosyncracy. It is not to be got over by medicine (certainly not by chloral), but by time—or rather, by the difference induced in the constitution by age. A man may be subject to all you describe at forty, and actually free from such symptoms at fifty—and I should advise you to test yourself, after so long an abstinence from this mode of travel, by a short journey now and then. No accumulative mischief could arrive—and you may find, to your great satisfaction, that you have entirely lost your enemy. If you do, by all means come, pay us a visit, and see what we are doing in England. I have done an etching of Turner's 'Calais Pier,' 30 inches square, which is by many degrees the finest thing (if I may be permitted so superlative an expression) I have done or ever shall do. I mean to publish it about the close of the year. I have built a press for printing it, and am having paper made expressly, and real sepia (which is magnificent—both in color and price) got from the Adriatic for the ink! so that great things ought to result."

And the result was certainly by far the finest of modern etchings, according to Mr. Hamerton's opinion; in some particulars he preferred the "Agamemnon," but the size of "Calais Pier" as an increase of difficulty was to be considered, and if the "Agamemnon" was an original conception, it cannot be said that "Calais Pier" was a copy—so much being due to interpretation. Later on, when my husband was in possession of this chef-d'oeuvre, it always occupied the place of honor in the house.

Following Mr. Haden's advice, he now tried short railway journeys at intervals, by slow trains, so that he could get out frequently at the numerous stations,—not to allow the accumulating effect of the vibration,—and generally in the night. There are some short entries about it in the diary:—

"October 7, 1875. Went to Laisy in boat with M. de Fontenay; the day was most lovely. Came back in the train without feeling any inconvenience."

"October 12, 1875. Went from Laisy to Etang by the river. Dined there; returned by train in the evening all right. We had no accidents, except on a little sunken rock after Chaseux, when M. de Fontenay's boat was upset."

In this manner he used to go to Chalon (there was rather a long stoppage at Chagny for change of train) to stay two or three days with my mother and brother, who lived there. He was still anxious and uneasy, but he nerved himself to bear the discomfort, in the hope that he would get inured to it in time, and he used to close his eyes as soon as he was in the carriage, and to draw the curtains to avoid seeing the objects that we passed on the line.

In the summer of 1875 he received from the new owner of Innistrynich an invitation to revisit the dear island. Nothing could have given him more pleasure. Mr. Muir gave him all the details of the improvements he had effected, but said:—

"I retained the old cottage, with its twelve small apartments, and added a new front, containing five rooms.

"I saw Donald Macorquodale [whom my husband often had in the boat with him]; he was much pleased to hear that you had been inquiring about him. He is now getting frail, and not very able to work. He requested me to say that he was very glad to hear of you, and would be delighted to see you at Loch Awe. He sold the boats you were so kind as to give him, but he only received a small sum for them, having kept them too long."

My husband never forgot his old servants, and showed his interest in them whenever he could; they had great affection and respect for him, mingled with awe, well knowing that, although he gave his orders kindly, he meant to be obeyed. There was a very trusty widow, who came to our house twice a week, and I remember finding her in tears, and asking what was the matter. "Ah! c'est Monsieur qui m'a grondÉe," she sobbed desperately. "But what has he said to put you in such a state?" "Oh! he did not say much; only, 'Lazarette, why will you scratch off the paint with the matches?' … 'Mais quand Monsieur gronde,'" … and there was a fresh explosion.

It was well that my husband's health was better, for it enabled him to bear the saddening news of his uncle Thomas's approaching end; he had, for the last few months, grown weaker and weaker, till his sister wrote:—

"WEST LODGE. September 1875.

"The loss of my dear worthy brother is indeed a sad blow to me, and I was not able to attend the funeral…. I am better now, though the doctor is still in attendance upon me. I should indeed have liked you both to have been here, but I could not press you, or even expect you to run such a risk…. Still, I look forward to the pleasure of seeing you all at West Lodge before the winter sets in."

It may be here briefly explained that Miss Susan Hamerton greatly needed her nephew's advice about money matters; they had been hitherto managed by her brother, and she had had no care about it; but now, after entrusting what she possessed to a person recommended by Mr. T. Hamerton, she had become aware that it was not safe, and was afraid of losing the savings she had been able to make, for she had no control over the capital.

It was difficult to explain all this by letters, and she was anxious to give all the details by word of mouth, consequently she grew more and more pressing in the expression of the desire that her nephew should attempt the journey; he was not to be detained by the consideration of expense, for she intended to make him a present of some bank-shares which she no longer wanted, since her brother had left her an increase of income for her life.

My husband resolved to undertake the long journey in the course of 1876, and to arrange his work in view of it. Besides his contributions to different periodicals, he had in the year 1875 entirely written "Round my House," prepared the new edition of "Etching and Etchers," got the notes necessary for the "Life of Turner," and given much consideration to a plan mentioned thus in the note-book: "December 28, 1875. Feel inclined to write a book on remarkable Frenchmen, such as the AmpÈres, Victor Jacquemont, the CurÉ d'Ars, and a few others who interest me."