1878-1880.

"Marmorne."—Paris International Exhibition.—"Modern Frenchmen."
—Candidature to the Watson Gordon Chair of Fine Arts.—The Bishop of
Antun.—The "Life of Turner."

The important literary works undertaken by Mr. Hamerton in the year 1878 were "Modern Frenchmen" and a "Life of Turner."

The artistic work remained unsatisfactory to the severe self-criticism of the artist, who kept destroying picture after picture, notwithstanding his serious studies and experiments in various modes and methods of painting. He succeeded better with charcoals and monochromes, and sent several finished subjects to be reproduced by the Autotype Company. Mr. S. Palmer wrote about it: "If I had twenty years before me, I should like to spend them on monochromes and etching."

In the same letter he went on:—

"Life being spared, your 'Marmorne,' the fame of which had already arrived, is the next reading treat on my list. You call it your 'little book,' a recommendation to me, for, with few exceptions, I have found small books and small pictures the most beautiful, and I doubt not that you know better than myself how much almost all three-volume novels (including Scott's) would be improved, as works of art, by condensation into one.

"Both yourself and Mrs. Hamerton are often mentally present with us here: the evening of our first, and, alas! only meeting is among the vivid pleasures of memory, and a repetition is a cherished pleasure of hope. I will only add that I fear you are killing yourself with overwork, and that you should put yourself under a repressive domestic police."

Some time before, my husband had received from G. H. Lewes a letter with this address: "Mr. Adolphus Segrave, care of P. G. Hamerton, Esq., PrÉ-Charmoy, Autun." George Eliot and Mr. Lewes had been reading "Marmorne," and had never entertained the slightest doubt about the authorship, though the book was published under the assumed name of Adolphus Segrave. The story had been greatly appreciated by both of them, and especially the style in which it was told. Such high praise was in accordance with what Mr. Palmer had previously said to Mr. Seeley; namely, that "he considered Mr. Hamerton as the first prose-writer of his time."

It may be remembered that a cousin of my husband's, Mr. H. Milne, had called upon us at Innistrynich, and had since bought his little property. He heard of our last visit to Yorkshire, and, not aware of his relative's trouble in regard to railway travelling, had felt hurt at his apparent neglect. Luckily my husband heard of it through his Aunt Susan, and immediately wrote to explain matters. Mr. H. Milne, who had known all about the pecuniary situation, now answered:—

"I can assure you that it is very pleasing to me to know that your career has been so successful as to enable you to give your sons an education to fit them to grapple with the difficulties people have to meet with nowadays to make them comfortable, and to do so is all the more satisfactory when accomplished by their own exertions. My mother [the lady who served as model and suggestion for Mrs. Ogden in 'Marmorne'] still retains unimpaired all her faculties, and looks much the same as when you were here. We shall celebrate her eighty-sixth birthday on March 15. She really is wonderful, and a marvel to every one, and particularly so to her doctor, who on no occasion has ever prevailed on her to take one drop of medicine, notwithstanding he persists in coming to see her twice a week—for what reasons seems quite past my mother's comprehension."

The pecuniary situation had certainly improved, which was a relief to my husband, for his children were growing up, and losses due to non- remunerative work and ill-health had to be gradually made good. There seemed to be a fate adverse to his making money, even by his most successful works. Here is "Marmorne" as an example, published in America, in England, in France, both in Hachette's "BibliothÈque des meilleurs Romans Étrangers," and as a feuilleton in the "Temps," also in the Tauchnitz collection, unanimously well received by the press; said to be "le roman de l'annÉe" by the "Revue des Deux Mondes," and still bringing considerably less than £200 to the author's purse. It was a great disappointment to the publishers also. Roberts Brothers wrote: "Of 'Marmorne' we have only sold 2,000 copies; there ought to have been 10,000 sold;" and Mr. Blackwood said: "The sales have been rather disappointing to us after the attention and favorable impression the work attracted; we had looked for a larger and more remunerative demand."

The character of the scenery in the Autunois pleased Mr. Hamerton more and more, though it lacked the grandeur of real mountains. He was particularly sensitive to the beauty of its color, which reminded him sometimes of the Scotch Highlands, and was said to be very like that of the Roman Campagna in summer-time. Such notes as the following are frequent in his diary:—

"January 11, 1878. Went to Fontaine la MÈre; beautiful drive the whole way. Was delighted with the Titian-like quality of the landscape. Much of the sylvan scenery reminded me of RuysdaËl. Took five sketches."

Throughout this year my husband gave a great deal of his time to his aunt's affairs, which were in a deplorable state, owing to the dishonesty of her lawyers; accounts for several years past had to be gone over, cleared up, and settled, and at so great a distance the proceedings involved a heavy correspondence. However, the help given was efficacious, and Miss Hamerton's independence was secured in the end. In the summer Gilbert had to relinquish the river-baths that he enjoyed so much. In the two preceding years he had remarked that he was often unwell and agitated after a swim, but had kept hoping that the effect might be transitory; it was, however, now renewed with growing intensity every time he took a cold bath, so that, with much regret, he had to give them up. He used to say with a shade of melancholy, that we must resign ourselves to the gradual deprivation of all the little pleasures of existence,—even of the most innocent ones,—but that the hardest for him to renounce would be work.

Having borne the journey to England in 1877 without bad results to his health, he now decided to attempt a visit to the Paris International Exhibition. He was very anxious to ascertain the present state of the fine arts all over the globe, and if possible to make the best of this opportunity. On the day appointed for starting, and whilst he was packing up, Mr. R. L. Stevenson just happened to call without previous notice. What a bright, winning youth he was! what a delightful talker! there was positively a sort of radiance about him, as if emanating from his genius. We had never seen him before; we only knew his works, but he seemed like a friend immediately. Listening to his fluent, felicitous talk, his clear and energetic elocution, his original ideas and veins of thought, was a rare treat, and his keen enjoyment of recovered health and active life was really infectious. He could not remain seated, but walked and smoked the whole of the afternoon he remained with us. Knowing that he had lately been dangerously ill, I ventured to express my fear that the smoking of endless cigarettes might prove injurious. "Oh, I don't know," he said; "and yet I dare say it is; but you see, Mrs. Hamerton, as there are only a very limited number of things enjoyable to an individual in this world, these must be enjoyed to the utmost; and if I knew that smoking would kill me, still I would not give it up, for I shall surely die of something, very likely not so pleasant." Although the shutters were closed in all the rooms that were not to be used in our absence, they were opened again to let him see the etchings on the walls; for he had a fine taste, not only for the beauties of nature, but also for artistic achievements. We felt it most vexatious to be obliged to leave that very evening, but my husband managed to remain with Mr. Stevenson till the last available minute, by asking me to pack up his things for him. I remember that after reading the "Inland Voyage" I had told my husband how I had been charmed by it, and had begged to be given everything which came from the same pen; but at that time we were afraid that such a delicate and refined talent would not bring popularity to the author; happily we were mistaken,—perhaps only to a certain extent, however,—as his most successful works belong to a later and quite different genre.

At the recommendation of M. Rajon, we went to a quaint little hotel in Paris, near La Muette, well known to artists and men of letters, and patronized, for its quietness, by some of the most famous, being usually let in apartments to persons who brought their own servants with them. Its situation, close to the Bois de Boulogne, made our returns from the exhibition easy and pleasant—so easy, indeed, that when we had to spend the evening in Paris, and could find no carriage to take us there, we merely went back to our headquarters, where we had the choice of railway, tramways, and omnibuses for every part of Paris.

According to our promise we went to meet M. Rajon at his studio, and amongst other things saw a beautiful portrait of him, which, however, was so much flattered that for some time I hesitated about the likeness. He was represented on horseback, with a long flowing cloak, and a sombrero casting a strong shadow over one of his eyes, which was afflicted with a weakness of the eyelid, which kept dropping down so frequently that the pupil was seldom seen for any time; the horse was a thoroughbred; two magnificent greyhounds (the originals we could admire, at rest upon a raised platform of carved oak and red cushions) ran alongside of him, and this tall-looking, dignified, romantic rider was—little, spare, merry M. Rajon. Gossip whispered that he had been somewhat intoxicated by his sudden fame, and had been, for a while, desirous of showing off, so that he had brought back from England the thoroughbred and the greyhounds to be noticed in the "AllÉe des Cavaliers," but that not having been accustomed to sit a horse before, his thoroughbred had flung him against a tree so severely that the taste for equitation had gone out of him for ever. Be this as it may, M. Rajon was far from being vainglorious; he knew his value as an artist, frankly and openly enjoyed his success, but remained simple, urbane, and courteous. He told us that he could only give two hours a day to original work, and that his mother (a simple woman for whom art remained an incomprehensible mystery) could not admit this limitation. At that time he was spending money rather lavishly—giving fÊtes in his studio to celebrated actors and actresses, musicians, singers, poets, and artists, and the expenses were sometimes a cause of momentary embarrassment; then his simple mother would say: "Why need you trouble yourself about it? You work very little—then work twice as much, which won't tire you, and you'll have twice as much money." She could not, he said, be made to understand that this prolonged labor would be worthless, because the inspiring flame would be burned out.

Mr. Woolner arrived in Paris a few days after Mr. Hamerton, and they spent a whole day together in the sculpture galleries of the Louvre. Mr. Woolner remembered that old Madame Mohl, having read my husband's works, had expressed a wish to renew the acquaintance of former days, and would be glad to see us both at tea-time—any day that might suit us.

A week later we called upon the wonderfully preserved old lady, who was delighted to receive a visit from a rising celebrity—though a host of celebrities had passed through her drawing-room. She complained of being dÉlaisÉe by the young generation. Still, she remained lively and gracious; her quick intelligence and ready memory were unimpaired by her great age, and it was with eagerness that she seized upon another opportunity for narrating her treasured-up stories of renowned people, particularly of the two AmpÈres, whom she had known intimately. She was still living in the same house that they had inhabited together, when Mr. Mohl kindly gave them the benefit of his more practical sense in household management. Madame Mohl was rather severe about Jean Jacques AmpÈre, whom she called a "young coxcomb," and "an egotist." She was not sentimental, and had no sympathy with or pity for the love so long faithful to Madame RÉcamier; nay, I thought I could detect in her strictures the unconscious feminine jealousy of a lady whose salon had been forsaken by one of its "lions" for a more attractive one, and who had resented it bitterly. But AndrÉ Marie AmpÈre she praised unreservedly, with the warmth of most exalted admiration.

It was very funny to see the little lady curled up on a couch, propped by cushions, running over her strings of memories with pleased alacrity, then jumping down in her stockings to pour out tea for her guests in utter disregard of her shoes, which lay idly by the sofa, even when we took leave of her; and as she accompanied us to the door, the white stockings conspicuously displayed themselves at every step, without the slightest attempt at concealment. (At that time black stockings would have been thought an abomination.)

Almost every morning saw Mr. Hamerton in the exhibition before the crowd of visitors arrived, so that he was able to study in peace and profitably. He had had a card-case, and cards of a convenient size and thickness, made especially to take notes upon, and he devoted a separate card to every picture worth studying. It was a very convenient plan, with alphabetical classification for references; every time he went he took with him a fresh supply, and was not encumbered with those he had already filled up.

Generally some etcher met him by appointment, and together they selected pictures to be reproduced for the "Portfolio." His evenings were mostly taken up by invitations; and it was well for his wife that she had been mercifully exempted by nature from jealous tendencies, for the ladies paid the author of "Marmorne" such a tribute of admiration that he was sometimes abashed by their fervor, yet never intoxicated. Friends had repeatedly told him that he could win the hearts of men, and if women dared not say as much of themselves, they let him see that he exercised a great and healthy influence over them too; he also enjoyed their society, and though he did not mean it to be a flattery, they accepted it as such.

Amongst artists and men of letters he was acknowledged as a writer of genuine worth and extensive acquirements. There is a proof of it in a letter addressed to him by M. VÉron, editor of "L'Art," on merely guessing that Mr. Hamerton must be the writer of a criticism of his "EsthÉtique" in the "Saturday Review."

"PARIS, 11 9_bre_, 1878.

"CHER MONSIEUR,—On me communique une revue trÈs remarquable de la 'Saturday Review' sur mon 'EsthÉtique.' Ce qui distingue cet article c'est une sÉrieuse connaissance du sujet et une puissance d'analyse des plus rares. Cela ne ressemble en rien À ces gÉnÉralitÉs vagues et flottantes dont se contentent la plupart des Écrivains qui font de la critique dans la revue des journaux. Aussi ai-je ÉprouvÉ À Être louÉ par un pareil homme une jouissance infiniment plus vive que celle qu'auraient pu me procurer des Éloges beaucoup plus hyperboliques, mais moins compÉtents.

"Cet homme, je suppose que c'est vous. Si je ne me trompe pas, permettez-moi de vous dire que je me sens singuliÈrement heureux de me rencontrer en fait d'esthÉtique avec un Écrivain capable de raisonner sur ces questions comme l'a fait l'auteur de l'article de la 'Saturday Review.'"

More acquaintances amongst artists were made during his stay in Paris, including Bracquemond, Protais, Feyen-Perrin, Waltner, Lhermitte, and Munkacsy.

Having finished his work in the exhibition, my husband went home to write a notice of it for the "International Review." In the course of November his eldest son Stephen passed a successful examination for the second part of the BaccalaurÉat-Ès-Lettres, and as the boy was now to study at home, his father frequently employed him to write letters under his dictation. It was very good practice for Stephen, and spared his father's time for painting and drawing.

At the beginning of 1879, Mr. R. L. Stevenson had sent a manuscript to Mr. Hamerton, with a request that he would read it, and recommend it to a publisher if it were thought worth the trouble. It was appreciated, and a successful sale expected. In the interest of Mr. Stevenson, my husband advised him to sacrifice the idea of immediate payment, and to retain the copyright, hoping that it would prove more advantageous. However, the young author preferred the ready cash, which he may have been in need of; nevertheless acknowledging afterwards that it would have been preferable to have acted according to the sound advice given at the time.

As our daughter was fast developing a talent for music, her father felt tempted to resume the practice of the violin regularly, and they often played duets and sonatas together; but the difficulty—nay, the impossibility—of finding time for the prosecution of all the studies he had undertaken was a source of oft-recurring discouragement, because unavoidably he had to replace one by another now and then, it being impracticable to carry them on de front. Sometimes he complained, good-humoredly, that I rather discouraged than encouraged him about music—which was certainly true, for well knowing that to become a violinist of any skill involves years and years of regular and steady practice, I was adverse to this additional strain, leading to no adequate reward. I well knew it could not be sustained, and would have to give way to pressure from other quarters—writing, painting, etching, or reading. The study of Italian had also been vigorously resumed, so that in the diary I see this note regularly: "Practised Spohr and Kreutzer, or Beethoven. Read Dante." I also find the following in April: "Spent the greater part of the day in planning my new novel with Charles (his brother-in-law). Worked on plan of my novel, and modified it by talking it over with my wife," I did not like the plan, which, in my opinion, went too much into the technicalities and details of a young nobleman's education; I feared they might prove tedious to the reader; in consequence there is a new entry a week later: "Improved plan of novel with wife. Now reserve mornings exclusively for it, or it will never be finished at all. Make this a fixed rule."

At the end of April some monochromes had been sent for reproduction, but he was greatly disappointed with them, as may be seen by the diary:—

"May 31. Had a great deal of trouble this month about reproductions of drawings in autotype. Dissatisfied with the reproductions of the oil monochromes, which came coarse, with thousands of false specks of light. The surface of a drawing should be mate for autotype reproduction. This led me to make various experiments of various kinds, and the latest conclusion I have arrived at is something like drawing on wood; that is, pencil or chalk, going into detail, and sustained by washes of Indian ink, and relieved by touches of Chinese white. The whole business hitherto has been, full of difficulties of various kinds."

"June 11. The proofs of the autotypes on white paper with brown pigment arrived to-day. Determined to have second negatives taken of all of them, and to repaint them on the positives."

To turn his thoughts away from his repeated disappointments in artistic attempts, and to a greater disappointment in his novel—which he had entirely destroyed after bestowing upon it two months of labor—Gilbert began to scheme a boat, a river yacht. It was the best of diversions for him, as he took as much pleasure in the planning of a boat as in the use of it. This new one was to be a marvel of safety and speed, but especially of convenience, for it would be made to carry several passengers for a month's cruise, with means of taking meals on board, and of sleeping under a tent. Of course Mr. Seeley had been informed of the scheme, and wrote in answer: "Don't fail to send me notice when your boat may be expected on the Thames, that I may rouse the population of Kingston to give you an appropriate reception."

Another novel was begun, but it was still to be the story of a young French nobleman's life, spent alternately in France and in England, and in the manner of "Tom Jones." Meanwhile "Modern Frenchmen" was selling pretty steadily, but slowly, the public being mostly unacquainted with the names, though Mr. G. H. Lewes, Professor Seeley, Mr. Lockhart, and many others, had a very high opinion of the work. Mr. Lockhart wrote about the biography of RÉgnault:—

"I have by me at this moment your life of Henri RÉgnault. I trust you will not consider it an impertinence if I tell you how it has delighted me, both as a man and a painter. I have the most intense admiration for RÉgnault, and in reading his biography it has rejoiced me to find the author in such thorough sympathy with his subject. Biographies of artists, as a rule, are the most disappointing of books to artists. This is indeed an exception, and I most heartily congratulate you on your very subtle and delicate picture of a noble life.

"I was in Granada with Fortuny when the news of RÉgnault's death came. I shall never forget the impression it made on us all. The fall of Paris, the surrender of Napoleon, all the misfortunes of France were as nothing compared to this.

"When I first had the book I thought you a little unjust to Fortuny, and was prepared to indorse RÉgnault's estimate of him. Since then I have seen the thirty Fortunys at the International Exhibition, and they have moderated my enthusiasm, and brought me back to sober orthodoxy, to Velasquez and Rembrandt."

Mr. G. H. Lewes also wrote:—

"We left London before your book arrived, but I sent for it, and Mrs. Lewes has been reading it aloud to me the last few evenings. It has charmed us both, and we regret that so good a scheme, so well carried out, should in the nature of the case be one doomed to meet with small public response. No reader worth having can read it without interest and profit, but il s'agit de trouver des lecteurs.

"My son writes in great delight with it, and I have recommended it to the one person we have seen in our solitude; but I fear you will find the deaf adder of a public deafer than usual to your charming. A volume of biographies of well-known Frenchmen would have but a slender chance of success—and a volume on the unknown would need to be spiced with religion or politics—et fortement ÉpicÉ—to attract more than a reader here and there.

"We are here for five weeks in our Paradise without the serpent (symbol of visitors!); but alas! without the health which would make the long peace one filled with work. As for me, I vegetate mostly. I get up at six to stroll out for an hour before breakfast, leaving Madonna in bed with Dante or Homer, and quite insensible to the attractions of before-breakfast walks. With my cigar I get a little reading done, and sometimes write a little; but the forenoon is usually sauntered and pottered away. When Madonna has satisfied her inexhaustible craving for knowledge till nearly lunch-time, we play lawn-tennis. Then drive out for two or three hours. Music and books till dinner. After cigar and nap she reads to me till ten, and I finish by some light work till eleven. But I hope in a week or two to get stronger and able to work again, the more so as 'the night in which no man can work' is fast approaching."

Mr. R. Seeley agreed with Mr. Hamerton's opinion that "Modern Frenchmen" was one of his best works, "admirably written, full of information and interest."

Professor Seeley had also said: "I wish English people would take an interest in such books, but I fear they won't. There ought to be many such books written."

Mr. G. H. Lewes suggested that the other biographies in preparation should be published separately in some popular magazine; but the author, having been discouraged by the coolness of the reception, gave up the idea of a sequel to what had already appeared, and the material he had been gathering on Augustin Thierry, General Castellane, and Arago remained useless.

The boat in progress had been devised in view of a voyage on the RhÔne, for Mr. Hamerton, who greatly admired the noble character of the scenery in the RhÔne Valley, had longed for the opportunity of making it known by an important illustrated work. He submitted the plan to Mr. Seeley, who answered:—

"I like your RhÔne scheme; it is a grand subject, but a book on the RhÔne should begin at the RhÔne glacier and end at the Mediterranean. Have your ideas enlarged to that extent. One cannot well omit the upper part, which the English who travel in Switzerland know so well. The RhÔne valley is very picturesque, and the exit of the RhÔne from the Lake of Geneva is a thing never to be forgotten. But don't go there to get drowned; it is horribly dangerous."

For various reasons—amongst others, the time required and the outlay—the idea of the book entertained by Mr. Hamerton differed considerably from that of Mr. Seeley; it was explained at length, and finally accepted in these words: "I think your plan of a voyage on the navigable RhÔne, with prologue and epilogue, will do well."

This plan, however, was never realized, owing to insurmountable obstacles; it was taken up again and again, studied, modified, and regretfully relinquished after several years for that of the SaÔne, much more practicable, but still not without its difficulties.

And now what might have been a great event in the life of Mr. Hamerton—namely, the possibility of his election to the Watson-Gordon Chair of Fine Arts in Edinburgh, began to occupy his mind. He was strongly urged by his friends to come forward as a candidate, but he hesitated a good deal for several reasons, the most important being the necessity of two places of residence, for he would not have inflicted upon my mother and myself the pain of absolute separation. Still, there were, as it seemed to me, in case of success, some undeniable advantages—first of all a fixed income, and the possibility of seeing, in the course of the necessary journeys, what might be of interest in London and Paris, as well as the possibility of attending more efficaciously to the "Portfolio." Mr. Seeley, who had always endeavored to tempt his editor over to England, declared himself delighted at the prospect. He had formerly sent such hints as these: "I wish you had a neat flying machine and could pop over and do the business yourself." Or at Cowes: "I thought of you, and said to myself, how much more reasonable it would be for Hamerton to have a snug little house here, and a snug little sailing-boat, instead of living at that preposterous Autun. How he would enjoy dancing over these waves, which make me sick to look at them; and how pleasant it would be to tempt him to pay frequent visits to Kingston! There are delightful cottages and villages to sketch in the Isle of Wight, and charming woodland scenery in the New Forest." Again: "When our new house is dry enough then you will be obliged to come over. It will be better than seeing the Paris Exhibition. And when you are once in England you will take a cottage at Cowes, and buy a boat, and never go back to Autun."

The idea of becoming a candidate was first suggested by T. Woolner after a journey to Edinburgh, where he had heard some names put forward for the Watson-Gordon chair, and amongst them that of Mr. Hamerton, which had seemed to him the most popular. On his part, he had done what he could to strengthen this favorable opinion by spreading what he knew of his friend, not only as an artist and cultured man of letters, but also as a sociable conversationalist, capable of enjoying intercourse with his fellow-men in moments of leisure, and he took care to let my husband know that this point was of importance—the new professor being expected to exercise hospitality, so as to create a sort of centre for the gathering of art-lovers. He said he had heard of a good income, of light duties, and of the almost certainty of success in case Mr. Hamerton should present himself.

Professor Masson had also suggested to Mr. Macmillan that "many persons in Edinburgh would like to secure the best man in Mr. Hamerton," and Mr. Craik wrote about it: "You would be an ornament to the University, and might do useful and important work there. For many reasons the Scotch professorships are enviable, for this particularly—that the session is a short one, and would require short residence. It will be pleasant for all of us, your friends, if you go to Edinburgh, for it will compel you to come to England and be seen."

Mr. Seeley was also of opinion that "no man ought to be wholly dependent upon literary labor. It tries the head too much."

All the friends who were consulted by my husband answered that they considered him perfectly adapted for the situation—apart from friendly motives. Mr. Alfred Hunt wrote: "I would be very glad to do everything to forward your election. I am indebted to you for a large amount of gratification and profit which I have derived from your books; I am sure you will allow me to say that I am often very far from agreeing with you," etc.

R. L. Stevenson wrote:—

"Monterey, Monterey Co., California.

"My dear Mr. Hamerton,—Your letter to my father was forwarded to me by mistake, and by mistake I opened it. The letter to myself has not yet reached me. This must explain my own and my father's silence. I shall write by this or next post, to the only friends I have, who, I think, would have an influence, as they are both professors. I regret exceedingly that I am not in Edinburgh, as I could perhaps have done more, and I need not tell you that what I might do for you in the matter of the election is neither from friendship nor gratitude, but because you are the only man (I beg your pardon) worth a damn. I shall write to a third friend, now I think of it, whose father will have great influence.

"I find here (of all places in the world) your 'Essays on Art,' which I have read with signal interest. I believe I shall dig an essay of my own out of one of them, for it set me thinking; if mine could only produce yet another in reply we could have the marrow cut between us.

"I hope, my dear sir, you will not think badly of me for my long silence. My head has scarce been on my shoulders. I had scarce recovered from a prolonged fit of useless ill health than I was whirled over here double-quick time and by cheapest conveyance.

"I have been since pretty ill, but pick up, though still somewhat of a massy ruin. If you would view my countenance aright, Come—view it by the pale moonlight. But that is on the mend. I believe I have now a distant claim to tan.

"A letter will be more than welcome in this distant clime where I have a box at the post-office—generally, I regret to say, empty. Could your recommendation introduce me to an American publisher? My next book I should really try to get hold of here, as its interest is international, and the more I am in this country, the more I understand the weight of your influence. It is pleasant to be thus most at home abroad, above all when the prophet is still not without honor in his own land."

Mr. W. Wyld had also written: "I need not say I heartily wish you success—and the more so that it would have the result of my seeing you at least twice a year, a pleasure I shall anxiously look forward to; for the older I grow the more I yearn for that sort of communion of thought which is scarcely ever to be met with in the ordinary way of existence … I have no one I can discuss art with … and as for philosophy—"

Miss Susan Hamerton also pressed her nephew to offer himself for the chair, and indulged in bright hopes of frequent meetings.

The result was that, after a long talk with me on March 21, 1880, my husband determined to offer himself as a candidate, and although he did it without much enthusiasm, he began immediately to prepare himself for the new duties that would be involved. First of all, he told me that his knowledge of the history of art was insufficient, and would require additional researches. His plan was to go to Greece first, then to Italy; another year he would go to Holland and Belgium, then to Spain—I began to be afraid of this programme, as I reflected that the income from the professorship would hardly cover our travelling expenses, and that very little time would be left for literary work if the lectures required so much preparation; however, I only begged him to wait for the result of the election before he undertook anything in view of it. He agreed, and turned his thoughts towards the "Graphic Arts," and a new edition of "Etching and Etchers."

In the beginning of April, Mr. Hamerton attended with his family the wedding of Charles Gindriez, his brother-in-law, and was well pleased with the young lady, who thus became a new member in the gatherings at La Tuilerie.

Three days later, his elder son Stephen started for Algiers, where he had an appointment at the LycÉe.

For some time past, the two great political parties at Autun had been at daggers drawn, and the proprietors of the Conservative paper, "L'Autunois," had brought from Paris a skilful and unscrupulous political writer to crush its opponents and to effect the ruin of the rival paper, "La RÉpublique du Morvan," by fair means or foul. The first stabs dealt by the new pen were directed against notable residents, and being a good fencer and a good shot—in fact, a sort of bravo—M. Tremplier, the wielder of the pen, proclaimed loudly after every libel that he was ready to maintain what he advanced at the point of the sword, and to give a meeting to all adversaries. Unacquainted with the real social standing of Mr. Hamerton in Autun, but knowing that he was PrÉsident Honoraire du Cercle National, a Liberal institution patronized by the Sous-PrÉfet and Republican Deputies, M. Tremplier thought it would be a master-stroke to defame his character by accusing him of being the author of some anonymous articles against the clergy which had appeared in "La RÉpublique du Morvan." Though greatly irritated by this unfair attack, my husband contrived to keep his temper, and simply denied the accusation. This denial was indorsed by the editor of the newspaper in which the articles had been published, and the disagreeable incident was expected to end there. But this would not have satisfied the truculent M. Tremplier, and in the next number of his paper he expressed in arrogant terms an utter disbelief in Mr. Hamerton's denial, and venomously attacked him for his nationality, literary pretensions, etc., winding up his diatribe, as usual, by a challenge. This was too much, and my husband resolved to start for Autun immediately, and to horsewhip the scoundrel as he deserved. Mr. Pickering, an English artist, and friend of ours, who happened to be at La Tuilerie, offered to assist my husband by keeping the ground clear while he administered the punishment—for M. Tremplier, notwithstanding his bravado, deemed it prudent to surround himself with a bevy of officers, and was seldom to be met alone. I was strongly opposed to this course, and at last I prevailed upon my husband to abandon it by representing that he was being drawn into a snare, for no doubt M. Tremplier was only waiting for the attempt at violence he had provoked to get his victim seized and imprisoned, so as to be able ever after to stigmatize him with the terrible phrase, "C'est un homme qui a fait de la prison." This would be undeniable, and as people never inquire why "un homme a fait de la prison," it is as well to avoid it altogether. We agreed upon a different policy, and resolved to prosecute the "Autunois" for libel, and immediately set off to retain a well-known advocate, who belonged to the Conservative party, and was said to be one of the proprietors of the "Autunois." He knew my husband personally, and also knew that he was incapable of having written the anonymous articles, still less capable of telling a lie, and as we felt sure of his own honorable character, we boldly asked him to defend a political opponent. This was putting him in a very delicate situation, and he complained of it at once; but my husband insisted, and said that he could not fairly shun this duty. Vainly did this gentleman, supported by the PrÉsident du Tribunal and other notabilities of the same party, try to dissuade Mr. Hamerton from seeking redress, by saying that "no one attached the slightest importance to such libels," "that he was too much above M. Tremplier to resent anything that came from his mercenary pen," "that his character was unimpeachable," etc. He was even warned that he had not the remotest chance of a verdict in his favor, because he could not prove that he was not the author of the objectionable articles. "I should have thought that M. Tremplier would be called upon to prove that I had written them," he answered. "Anyhow, if I can't count upon justice here, I will appeal to the court at Dijon." Seeing that his resolution was not to be shaken, he was asked what would satisfy him, and he answered, "An apology from M. Tremplier in the 'Autunois.'" And M. Tremplier had to submit to the orders of the all-powerful keepers of the purse-strings: he did it with a bad grace—but he had to do it.

One of the articles attributed to Mr. Hamerton had been directed against the Bishop of Autun, whom he highly esteemed, and there was much curiosity as to the opinion of the prelate himself. That opinion was soon publicly expressed by a visit from this dignitary of the Roman Catholic Church to the Protestant tenant of La Tuilerie.

On receiving Monseigneur Perraud, I thanked him first for his good opinion, of which I had never doubted, knowing him to be a reader of my husband's works, and also because there was no fear that a man of his culture could believe the anonymous articles to be written by the author of the biography of l'AbbÉ Perreyve in "Modern Frenchmen."

Monseigneur Perraud answered that my husband's character and literary talent were so much above question that he would never have given a thought to this affair had it not been that the "Autunois" was often called "Le Journal de l'EvÊchÉ," though in fact the Bishop had no more to do with it than with its editor, M. Tremplier, whom he had never consented to receive. But unwilling to allow the possibility of any doubt to remain in other people's minds, he had taken this opportunity of becoming personally acquainted with my husband, and of giving a proof of his high regard for him.

Monseigneur Perraud had a reputation for freezing dignity which kept many people aloof; but he talked quite freely with my husband. Dignity he certainly possessed in an unusual degree, and the same might be said of Mr. Hamerton, but it was no bar to interesting intercourse nor to brotherly sympathy, as we found afterwards in sorrowful circumstances.

This first visit certainly enhanced the high opinion which each had formed of the other, and subsequent meetings confirmed the interest they found in each other's views and sentiments.

I mentioned Mr. Pickering in connection with the affair of the "Autunois," and it may now be explained that after reading "Round my House," he had fancied he should like to see the scenery described in the book, as it would probably afford him paintable subjects. Although the name of the neighboring town was not given, and though great changes had been made by the construction of a railway since the publication of the book, Mr. Pickering lighted upon Autun as the very place he was in search of. He soon made my husband's acquaintance, and a friendship between them was rapidly established.

Mr. Woolner, who had kept up for some months a brisk correspondence in behalf of Mr. Hamerton's candidature, now heard that matters were not going so smoothly as he had expected. He was told that the income would not come up to the sum stated at first; that the formation of an art museum was contemplated, in which case the duties of forming and keeping it would devolve upon the professor. There was also a desire that the students should receive technical instruction; and, lastly, it was rumored that forty lectures a year would be required. In fact, Mr. Hamerton began to regret that he had offered himself for the post without knowing exactly what he would be expected to do.

Whilst in this frame of mind he was advised to go to Edinburgh in order to call upon each of the electors. No one acquainted with his character could have imagined for an instant that he would comply. "The electors," he said to me, "must be acquainted with my works; I have sent nearly fifty testimonials given by eminent artists, men of letters, and publishers; I consider this as sufficient to enable the electors to judge of the capacities for which an art professor ought to be chosen. If these are judged insufficient, my presence could not give them more weight."

I find this simple entry in the diary: "July 20, 1880. Got news that I was not elected;" and though he may have regretted the time wasted in this fruitless attempt, I am convinced that he experienced a sensation of delightful relief when no longer dreading encroachments upon his liberty to work as he thought fit. [Footnote: It was also Mr. R. Seeley's opinion when he wrote: "You have felt so much doubt as to the effect of such a change of life upon your health that the decision may come as a relief to you."] After all, there remained to him as a lasting compensation the tokens of flattering regard for his character and of appreciation of his talents given in the numerous testimonials by such eminent persons as Mr. R. Browning, Sir F. Leighton, Sir J. E. Millais, Sir John Gilbert, Mr. T. Woolner, Mr. G. F. Watts, Professor Seeley, Professor Sidney Colvin, Professor Oliver, Mr. Mark Pattison, Mr. S. Palmer, Mr. Orchardson, Mr. Marks, Mr. A. W. Hunt, Mr. Herkomer, Mr. Vicat Cole, Mr. Alma Tadema, Sir G. Reid, Mr. W. E. Lockhart, Mr. J. MacWhirter, Professor Legros, M. Paul Rajon, M. Leopold Flameng, etc.

The testimonials are too numerous to be given here, but they all agreed in the expressed opinion that Mr. Hamerton would be "the right man in the right place," or "the very man."

Although the "Life of Turner" had first appeared in the "Portfolio," it was again well received by the public in book form, and greatly praised by the press, particularly in America. The "Boston Courier" said:—

"We have found this volume thoroughly fascinating, and think that no open-minded reader of 'Modern Painters' should neglect to read this life. In it he will find Turner dethroned from the pinnacle of a demi-god on which Ruskin had set him (greatly to the artist's disadvantage); but he will also find him placed on another reasonably high pedestal, where one may admire him intelligently and lovingly, in spite of the defects in drawing, the occasional lapses in coloring, and the other peculiarities which are made clear to his observation by Mr. Hamerton's discussion."

He had found it a difficult subject to treat because of the paucity of incidents in Turner's life; but the painter's genius had made so deep an impression upon him in his earlier years that he had eagerly studied his works and sought information about his personality from the friends who had, at some time or other, been acquainted with the marvellous artist. I believe that my husband hardly ever went to the National Gallery without visiting the Turner Room, and that is saying much, for during his sojourns in London he seldom missed going every day it was open, and sometimes he went twice,—once in the morning, and again in the afternoon. Great as was his admiration of Turner's oil pictures, I believe it was equalled by his delight in the same master's water-colors and drawings. When in the lower rooms, where they are exhibited, he could hardly be prevailed upon to go upstairs again, and I had to plead fatigue and hunger to recall him to the realities of life. Although his appreciation of Constable was high, it could not be compared to what he felt for Turner, because "Turner was so wide in range that he was the opposite of Constable, whose art was the expression of intense affection for one locality."