CHAPTER VIII.

1863-1868.

Canoeing on the Ternin.--Visit of relatives.--Tour in Switzerland.-- Experiments in etching.--The "Sat.u.r.day Review."--Journeys to London.--Plan of "Etching and Etchers."--New friends in London.

--Etchings exhibited at the Royal Academy.--Serious illness in London.--George Eliot.--Professor Seeley.

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 ill.u.s.trate an article on this artist. We had all gone forward to Pre-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, "Pre-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 Asnieres 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 cla.s.sical studies and was now preparing to become an architect, used to come from Macon 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 att.i.tude for his sister to take. At last Aunt Susan pointed to something gliding away in the gra.s.s, 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 pa.s.s 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 gra.s.s 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 _dejeuner_ 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, b.u.t.ter, 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'hote_ is a democratic inst.i.tution."

"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 terra.s.se de Pre-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 ma.s.s." 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 circ.u.mstances; 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 pet.i.te criait, voulait savoir ce qu'elle avait, et la prenait meme dans ses bras pour la consoler."

A very important event now occurred: Mr. Hamerton was appointed art critic to the "Sat.u.r.day 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 Pre-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 'Sat.u.r.day 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 Dore to ill.u.s.trate the "Idylls of the King." They have offered the job to Dore, 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 ill.u.s.trate 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 ill.u.s.trative 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 pa.s.sages of his letters that she might find interesting. The following letter was written on his first journey to London for the "Sat.u.r.day Review ":--

"CHeRE PEt.i.tE FEMME,--Me voici installe dans un fort joli appartement tout pres de chez Mr. Mackay, a une guinee par semaine; j'y suis tout-a-fait bien.

"Samedi dernier je suis alle d'abord chez Mr. Stephen Pearce que j'ai trouve chez lui; c'est un homme parfaitement comme il faut; il m'a recu bien cordialement et il m'a invite a diner demain. J'ai dine chez Mrs.

Leslie hier et j'ai pa.s.se tout le tantot d'aujourd'hui chez Lewes qui habite une fort belle maison a cinq minutes d'ici. J'ai beaucoup cause avec l'auteur de 'Romola;' c'est une femme de 45 ans, pas belle du tout, mais tres distinguee, elle m'a fort bien recu. Lewes lui-meme est laid, mais tres cordial. Voila quelque chose comme sa physionomie. [Sketch of Lewes]. Je vais te donner George Eliot sur l'autre page. Il est tres gentil avec elle. [Sketch of George Eliot.] Ce portrait n'est pas tres ressemblant, mais il donne une bonne idee de l'expression--elle en a enormement et parle fort bien. Son salon est un modele de gout et d'elegance, et toute sa maison est aussi bien tenue que celle de Millais, par exemple. Nous avons cause de beaucoup de choses, entre autres precis.e.m.e.nt de cette curieuse question de priere selon Comte.

Elle soutient que c'est raisonnable dans le sens d'expression de vif desir, de concentration de l'esprit vers son but. Son argument etait bien fortement soutenu par sa maniere energique de raisonner, mais je lui ai tenu tete avec beaucoup d'obstination, et nous avons eu une veritable lutte. Elle a une singuliere puissance, quelque chose qui ne se trouve jamais que chez les personnes d'un genie extraordinaire. Quand elle a voulu me convaincre, elle y mettait tant de persuasion et de volonte qu'il me fallait un certain effort pour garder la clarte de mes propres idees. Je te dirai cela plus en detail 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 ill.u.s.trations of the 'Painter's Camp' with George Leslie. He has promised to do twenty etchings of figure-subjects to ill.u.s.trate 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 d.i.c.kens, Alfred Tennyson, and George Eliot are amongst my most a.s.siduous readers. Isn't it pleasant to have readers of that cla.s.s?..."

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 Pre-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 gla.s.s of beer and ate a slice of home-made _brioche_, which allowed him to await the twelve o'clock _dejeuner a la fourchette_.

The following pa.s.sage is extracted from a letter written a few days after those already given:--

"J'ai dine chez Woolner hier. Quel brave garcon! Ses manieres avec moi sont tout-a-fait affectueuses, et je me sens avec lui sur le pied de la plus parfaite intimite. Il n'y a pas un homme a Londres qui possede un cercle d'amis comme le sien: tout ce qu'il y a de plus distingue _en tout_. Palgrave dit que Woolner fait un choix serieux dans ses amities.

Sa femme est jolie, delicate, gracieuse, intelligente; elle me fait l'effet d'un lys.