Now it had been a lifelong desire of his to visit h.e.l.lifield Peel--the ancient tower with the romantic history, and the seat of the elder branch of the Hamertons. There could be no better opportunity, Mrs.

Handsley suggested. At last he decided for the attempt, and on the following morning we set out with the children.

It was Gilbert's intention merely to send his card, and beg leave to see the tower without putting forward a claim of any kind, but on receipt of the card we were immediately shown into the drawing-room and most cordially received by Mr. John Hamerton and his sister. I was at once struck--and so were Richard and Mary--by the likeness between the two men, though they belonged to different branches of the family. My husband might have been easily taken for a younger brother of Mr. John Hamerton. They were both tall and spare, the elder man especially; both were straight and of somewhat proud bearing; their eyes were blue, with a straightforward and fearless expression. The lightness of the beard and hair, together with the development of the forehead, completed the resemblance, though the whole aspect of Mr. John Hamerton was that of a country gentleman, whilst hard intellectual work had left its stamp on the younger man's countenance. They got on very amicably together, and we were invited to lunch. My husband eagerly desired to go over the house, but alas for his dreams! it had been transformed according to modern wants, and the absence of all relics from so many generations was very striking.

We walked in the park, where we admired the n.o.ble trees, the pond, and, at some distance from the Peel, the beautiful Ribble valley, the subject of one of Turner's landscapes.

It was now time to go to our train after our long and charming visit; and when Mr. John Hamerton had given some photographs of h.e.l.lifield Peel to my husband, and we had taken a friendly leave of his sister, he accompanied us to the station, and invited us to the Peel whenever we might come that way.

So the long breach in the family now belonged to the past, and was replaced by mutual goodwill and friendliness. Gilbert wrote in his diary: "October 27, 1882. One of the most delightful days of my life."

The day after, he went to Burnley with Mr. Handsley and saw the new school before going to the Council Chamber, where a public reception had been organized in his honor, and where he delivered an oration in acknowledgment of many flattering speeches. The formal part of the reception over, he shook hands with every one who came forward to speak to him--among whom he still remembered a few.

The afternoon ended with a visit to the Mechanics' Inst.i.tution, in which he had never ceased to take great interest. He had been much moved and gratified by the welcome offered him at Burnley, and never forgot it.

The journey to London was very trying on account of the cold, fog, and snow. The train ploughed its way slowly and cautiously amidst the explosive signals, which did not add to our comfort. We felt very sorry for Mr. and Mrs. Seeley, who were sitting up for us so late into the night.

On the days following our arrival, my husband introduced Richard to his friends, took him about London, and chose lodgings for him.

He also saw Mr. F. G. Stephens, who wished him to become a candidate for the post of Professor of Fine Arts at Oxford; but he did not feel tempted.

He called upon Mr. Browning, who was unfortunately out; but as he was on the point of closing the door, he felt a resistance, and saw a lady--"the sister of Robert Browning," she explained--to whom his card had been handed, and who, by mistake, had read the name as Hamilton. It was only after looking at it more attentively that she had rushed down the stairs to detain the visitor. He went up with her to the drawing-room, where he found Mrs. Orr, the sister of Sir Frederick Leighton, and they had a long and pleasant talk together. Some days later he had the pleasure of meeting with Mr. Browning.

It was lucky that Gilbert had good health just then, and Richard to go about with him in London, for I was laid up with a bad cold--the result of having walked a whole day in the snow making calls, without an opportunity of drying my boots or of warming my feet. Mrs. Seeley was my kind and thoughtful nurse, and thanks to her care I gradually recovered.

Richard came to say good-bye, and we left Nutfield House for France.

This time we did not go through Paris, but visited everything of interest at Rouen, Dreux, Orleans, and Bourges. The diary says: "November 27. In the evening we reached home, very happy to be back again."

On the 29th of the same month be received a letter from Mr. Sagar, from which I quote the following pa.s.sage:--

"Sufficient time has not yet elapsed, I hope, for you to forget us in Burnley here, and the pleasure we had in seeing you in the Council Chamber on that, to us, memorable Sat.u.r.day.

"Next year will be the fiftieth anniversary of the founding of the Inst.i.tute, and we are going to celebrate this and the general success we have had by a week's jubilee--the whole of New Year's week. The jubilee will take the form of a conversazione, a banquet, and a general exhibition, occupying every room of the place except two. South Kensington authorities are sending us six cases of examples of fabrics, pottery, etc., and about sixty frames of pictures, drawings, etc. Can you use your influence for us in obtaining a representative exhibition--say of etchings, or anything else of a suitable character that might suggest itself to you--together, if possible (and this would delight us all), with your presence, or in the absence of this, if you can't be here, a short letter for me to read, as on the opening of the Art-school?"

The letter was sent in due time, and acknowledged with grateful thanks.

Mr. Seeley was so kind as to send us news of Richard from time to time; he wrote in March: "Richard has shown me some of his drawings; I think he is making progress. One of his last drawings seemed to me excellent; very tender and subtle. He was down at Kinsgton with us the other day."

This opinion of Mr. Seeley's gave great pleasure to my husband, who had always entertained doubts about the range of his son's artistic talent.

In the same month he was asked to send a biographical note for "Men of the Time," a proof that his reputation was on the increase, and Mr.

Haden, who had just come back from America, said that his works were held there in the highest esteem.

The book on Paris necessitated another journey, and my husband made the time of it to coincide with the opening of the Salon. This time we stopped at Auxerre, and visited the four churches, the museum, and the room in which are exhibited the relics of Marshal Davoust.

The diary says: "April 30. Began this morning another diary in English, to record the impressions which may serve for my literary work."

On May 1 we had a carriage accident which might have been serious. Our horse took fright at sight of a steam tram, and ran away on the footpath at a furious rate, dashing the carriage against the trees and lamp-posts until he slipped and fell at full length on the asphalt. My husband had been able to jump out, but a sudden jerk had prevented me from following him at the moment, and then there was danger of being hurt between the side of the carriage and the banging door. Gilbert had been running, hatless, after the carriage to hold the door and enable me to jump out, and he just succeeded as the horse slipped down and upset the carriage.

I was out in time to escape being hurt, but of course we were both a good deal shaken, and went back to rest at our hotel.

We had hardly been a week in Paris when my husband began to suffer from nervousness. A tramway had been laid in front of the hotel, and the vibration prevented him from sleeping. Then spring was always trying to him; and above all, he wished himself in the country. Mr. Seeley wrote: "Nature evidently intended you for a savage; how in the world did you come to be a literary man? What must Frenchmen think of you, in Paris and miserable? Even Mrs. Hamerton must feel ashamed of you." He acknowledged that he was more happy in a primitive sort of existence than in one too perfectly civilized; still, he could not endure the privation of books, and he would have felt keenly the absence of works of art; but he was in deeper sympathy with the beauty of nature than with artistic beauty--to be denied the last would have been a great privation, but in the absence of the first he really could not live.

We had the pleasure of becoming acquainted with Mr. Howard-Tripp, who had recently married Mr. Wyld's daughter, and who, being a picture-dealer, invited us to go and see his gallery in the Rue St.

Georges. There were a great many fine works that my husband greatly admired, particularly those by Corot, Daubigny, and Troyon, and the scheme for the book on "Landscape" having been settled with Mr. Seeley, he begged Mr. Howard-Tripp to allow reproductions of some of the pictures to appear in his future work. It was readily granted.

This selection of pictures for the book on "Landscape" gave the author much additional labor; but it was better to do it now that he was in Paris than have to come again on purpose. Mr. Seeley had offered to run over and help with the arrangements, but was prevented by a slight accident. He then proposed that photographs of the pictures chosen should be sent to him, that he might have a vote.

We were very near the end of our stay in Paris, and Gilbert wanted to go to the office of "L'Art," having some business there, and wishing to say farewell to the manager. He had also invited the sons of M. Schmitt (who were now in Paris) to meet us in the Square Richelieu and to dine afterwards at a restaurant. He thought that he could manage both things on the same day. However, we were hardly out of the omnibus when I perceived he was unwell; but I had not time to propose anything before he started off at such a rate that I was obliged to run to follow him: the worst symptoms were betrayed by his gait, by the congestion of face and neck, and by the hard stare of the eyes. It was too late to take a carriage; he could not stop, and could not be spoken to. I saw that a sure instinct was guiding him out of the crowded street to the by-ways and least frequented places, and I strove to remain by his side. In the course of about twenty minutes, I noticed a slackening in his pace, and as I had been looking about for some refuge, I remarked, through the open doors of a small cafe, an empty back-room, and motioned to him to follow me there. It was almost dark, and there was a divan running along three sides of the wall; I made him lie down upon it, and went to tell the _dame-de-comptoir_ (who happened to be the mistress of the house) that my husband had felt suddenly unwell and required a little rest. She made no fuss, did not press me to send for a doctor or to administer anything; she merely promised to prevent any one from going into that back room, and said we might remain there undisturbed as long as was needed. After half-an-hour my husband asked for a little brandy and water, and gradually became himself again. We remained about two hours in the little room, reading--or pretending to read--the newspapers, and such was Gilbert's courage and resolution, that he went to keep the appointment with the young men he had invited. I knew I was not to breathe a word of what had happened, and I was miserably anxious about the effect that a dinner in a restaurant _en vogue_ might have upon the nerves of my poor patient. Strange to say, he bore it very well, and played his part as entertainer quite merrily. But after dinner I longed to get him away, and proposed to take an open carriage for a drive in the Champs elysees. This was accepted, and I believe he really enjoyed it.

We agreed to leave Paris the following evening, and I went to town alone in the afternoon for a few things which had been postponed to the last moment. We reached Autun on May 26, at which date the diary says: "I am very happy to be in my home, which I prefer to all the finest palaces in Paris."

In the spring he had suffered repeatedly from great pain in one of his legs, and had attributed it to rheumatism; now he began to feel the pain again in the left foot, and it soon became so acute that the doctor was sent for. He said it was an attack of gout, but gave hope of an ultimate cure, because the patient's const.i.tution was not a gouty one. The cause of the attack was insufficient exercise in the open air. He prescribed a severe regimen, less sedentary work, and as much walking and riding as possible.

For twenty-one nights my husband could not go to bed, but remained stretched on a couch or sitting in an arm-chair; when the pain was less severe he laid himself down upon the bed for a short time, but he hardly ever got to sleep. His fort.i.tude and patience were incredible, and he bore the almost intolerable sufferings with admirable resignation. He tried to read, and even to write upon a desk placed on his knees, and talked much about his plan for the book on "Landscape."

Mr. Seeley wrote:--

"I am heartily sorry to hear of your attack of gout. But I am relieved to hear that it is not erysipelas, which must have been alarming.

Possibly the discomfort you suffered in Paris may have been a premonitory symptom of this attack, and you may look forward to the enjoyment of better health when it has pa.s.sed away."

Mr. Haden declared that he felt "delighted" by this attack, as indicative of a change for the better in the const.i.tution; he hoped that the tendency to nervousness and insomnia would disappear, or at any rate greatly diminish.

We were now daily expecting Richard, and Mr. Seeley had said on June 25: "Richard was with us on Sat.u.r.day, his farewell visit. We like him more and more every time we see him." He was coming back--at my request--to pa.s.s an examination in English, the same that his brother had pa.s.sed successfully two years ago for the _Certificat d'apt.i.tude_, after which he got his post of professor at Macon. I had thought that if Richard failed as an artist he might be glad to fall back upon a professorship, and it turned out so. His father was pleased to notice how much better and more fluently he spoke English on his return from London; but at the same time, after seeing the drawings done in England, he was confirmed in the opinion that originality and invention were lacking to make a real artist of his younger son. What ought to be said was very perplexing: the drawings were good enough in their way, the progress undeniable--but they were only copies, even when done from the living model--the creative spark, the individual artistic stamp, were absent.

My husband allowed himself some time for consideration before warning Richard that he thought him mistaken in his choice of a career.

However, after having pa.s.sed a successful examination it was Richard who, of his own accord, told his father that he felt very doubtful about the ultimate result of his artistic studies. He believed they were begun too late, and that his chances against students who had several years'

start were very small--they had been drawing and painting since the age of thirteen or fourteen, whilst he was preparing himself for his degrees. The ease with which he had carried off the _Certificat d'apt.i.tude_ made him sanguine about being ready for the _Agregation_ in the course of a year, after which he would be ent.i.tled to a post in the University. He would not abandon art, he said, but would not follow it as a profession.

It was a great relief that the resolution should have been his own; but it surprised Mr. Seeley considerably, and he wrote to my husband:--

"From what you tell me of his want of enjoyment in the practice of art, the determination seems wise. I suppose we take it for granted that a man must take pleasure in doing whatever he can do well; but there is no reason in the world why ability and inclination should always go together. A man with a good eye and that general ability and power of application which make a good student may easily be a draughtsman above the average, but it is quite intelligible that he should take more pleasure in other studies."

At the end of August Gilbert went with Stephen and his eldest nephew, Maurice Pelletier, for a cruise of ten days on the Saone. They were on the new catamaran "L'Arar," and enjoyed their voyage thoroughly.

On October 2, Richard left us to go to Paris to have the benefit of _les Cours de la Sorbonne_, as a preparation for _L'Agregation d'Anglais_; and in December Stephen asked for a year's leave of absence from his post, in order to pursue his English studies in London. It is therefore conceivable that the father's health should have been impaired by anxiety and his brain overtaxed by the numerous works he had undertaken to meet his responsibilities. He was at the same time writing "Human Intercourse" for Messrs. Macmillan, "Paris" for the "Portfolio," and the book on "Landscape" was begun.

In November he had written a very long letter to Miss Betham-Edwards, mainly in explanation of the word "sheer" used for boats, then about our doings, and he says:--

"We have had the house upset by workpeople, but we are settled again after a great bother, which I dreaded before, as Montaigne used to dread similar disturbances; but now it is over I feel myself much more comfortable and orderly, though the reform has cost me a considerable loss of time. The rooms look prettier and are less crammed.

"I got the other day a letter of twenty pages from a cousin in New Zealand who had never written to me for thirty years. It was the most interesting biography of struggle, adventure, danger, hard work, and final success. It is a great pity that the men who go through such lives have not the literary talent to make autobiographies that can be published. I have another cousin whose history is _quite_ as good as 'Robinson Crusoe,' and I have engaged him to write it, but he never will. If I lived near him I could gradually get the material out of him; but at a distance I cannot get him even to write rough notes. On the other hand, we literary people are quite humdrum people in our ways of life, and our autobiographies would generally be of little interest.

"I have been reading Ariosto lately in Italian, and am struck both by his qualities and deficiencies. He is all on the surface; but what a wealth of inventive power, and what a well-sustained, unflagging energy and cheerfulness! The descriptions are frequently superb, and there is a go in the style generally that is very stimulating. It is like watching the flow of a bright, rapid, br.i.m.m.i.n.g river. I don't think we have any English poet of the same kind. Spenser is rather like, but heavier, and just lacking that brightness in combination with movement. Spenser and Byron together contain many of the qualities of Ariosto."

The first note in the diary for 1884 says: "I must try to economize time in all little things where economy is possible without injury to the quality of work. I cannot economize it very much in the work itself without risk of lowering quality."

It was a pleasure for my husband to see that his articles on the architecture of Paris had been so favorably noticed as to bring requests for contributions from "The Builder" and "L'Architecte." Mr. Seeley wrote to him: "I think it is a feather in your cap that your architectural notes should have brought you invitations to write for professional journals."

My brother-in-law, M. Pelletier, had left Algiers, and was now econome at the Lycee at Ma.r.s.eilles. He had suggested that, it being possible to go from Chalon to Ma.r.s.eilles by water, we might pay him a visit and see the course of the Rhone at the same time. My husband felt greatly tempted to accept, for more than one reason: he would be able at the same time to take notes and to make observations on the way for the book on "Landscape," and to come to a conclusion about the possibility of the Rhone scheme. We might divide the places of interest into two series, and see one of them in going and the other in coming back, with a pleasant time of rest at our friend's in the interval.