The news of Richard's health became disquieting early in the month of January; he suffered much from headaches, and could not work. He was well nursed at his uncle's, M. Pelletier's, by his grandmother, who happened to be on a visit to her son-in-law. The doctor said it was a kind of nondescript fever with cerebral and typhoid symptoms, to which young people not acclimatized to Ma.r.s.eilles were very liable on settling there. In Richard's case there had been a predisposition on account of the hard work he had gone through for the _Agregation_. He had looked as if he bore it easily while it lasted; but the strain had been more severe than he was aware of; and two years after his recovery he told me that he had never felt the same since that illness at Ma.r.s.eilles.

In February, Miss Betham-Edwards having sent a volume of her poems to my husband, he wrote in acknowledgment:--

"I have read your book in the evenings and with pleasure, especially some pieces that I have read many times. 'The Wife's Prayer,' for one, seems to me quite a perfect piece of work; and not less perfect in another way, and quite a different may, is 'Don. Jose's Mule, Jacintha.' The delicate humor of the latter, in combination with really deep pathos and most finished workmanship, please me immensely. Besides this, I have a fellow-feeling for Don Jose, because I have an old pony that I attend to myself always, etc., etc....

"I have been vexed for some time now by the tendency to jealous hostility between France and England. I had hoped some years ago that the future might establish a friendly understanding between the two nations, based upon their obvious interest in the first place, and perhaps a little on the interchange of ideas; but I fear it was illusory, and that at some future date, at present undeterminable, there will be another war between them, as in the days of our fathers. I have thought sometimes of trying to found an Anglo-French Society or League, the members of which should simply engage themselves to do their best on all occasions to soften the harsh feeling between the two nations. I dare say some literary people would join such a league. Swinburne very probably would, and so would you, I fancy, I could get adhesions in the French University and elsewhere. Some influential political Englishmen, such as Bright, might be counted upon. I would have begun the thing long since; but I dread the heavy correspondence it would bring upon me. I would have a very small subscription, as the league ought to include working men. Peace and war hang on such trifles sometimes that a society such as I am imagining might possibly on some occasion have influence enough to prevent a war. It should be understood also that by a sort of freemasonry a member of the society would endeavor to serve any member of it belonging to the other nation.

"I don't know if you have observed how harshly Matthew Arnold writes of France now. He accuses the whole nation of being sunk in _immorality_, which is very unfair. There are many perfectly well-conducted people in France; and why does not Arnold write in the same strain against Italy, which is more immoral still? The French expose themselves very much by their incapacity for hypocrisy--all French faults are _seen_."

The winter was very cold, and all the ponds were covered with ice, affording good opportunity for skating. My husband undertook to teach Mary to skate, and they often went on the ice together.

"Landscape" was published on March 12, and on the 19th all the large-paper copies were gone, and the small ones dropping off daily.

The author wrote to Mr. Seeley:--

"I am glad 'Landscape' is moving nicely. Nothing is more disagreeable to an author than to see an enterprising publisher paid for his trust and confidence by anxiety and loss, especially when the publisher is a friend. Failure with this book would have been especially painful to me, as I should have attributed it in great part to my slowness with the MS., and consequent want of punctuality."

Mr. P. Q. Stephens said: "The book is a superb affair, and, as far as I have seen it, deserves all praise."

R. L. Stevenson wrote:--

"BOURNEMOUTH. _March_ 16, 1885.

"My Dear Hamerton,--Various things have been reminding me of my misconduct; first, Swan's application for your address; second, a sight of the sheets of your 'Landscape' book; and last, your note to Swan, which he was so kind as to forward. I trust you will never suppose me to be guilty of anything more serious than an idleness, partially excusable. My ill-health makes my rate of life heavier than I can well meet, and yet stops me from earning more. My conscience, sometimes perhaps too easily stifled, but still (for my time of life and the public manners of the age) fairly well alive, forces me to perpetual and almost endless transcriptions. On the back of all this, any correspondence hangs like a thundercloud, and just when I think I am getting through my troubles, crack, down goes my health, I have a long, costly sickness, and begin the world again. It is fortunate for me I have a father, or I should long ago have died; but the opportunity of the aid makes the necessity none the more welcome. My father has presented me with a beautiful house here--or so I believe, for I have not yet seen it, being a cage bird, but for nocturnal sorties in the garden. I hope we shall soon move into it, and I tell myself that some day perhaps we may have the pleasure of seeing you as our guest. I trust at least that you will take me as I am, a thoroughly bad correspondent, and a man, a hater, indeed, of rudeness in others, but too often rude in all unconsciousness himself; and that you will never cease to believe the sincere sympathy and admiration that I feel for you and for your work.

"About the 'Landscape,' which I had a glimpse of while a friend of mine was preparing a review, I was greatly interested, and could write and wrangle for a year on every page: one pa.s.sage particularly delighted me, the part about Ulysses--jolly. Then, you know, that is just what I fear I have come to think landscape ought to be in literature: so there we should be at odds. Or perhaps not so much as I suppose, as Montaigne says it is a pot with two handles, and I own I am wedded to the technical handle, which (I likewise own, and freely) you do well to keep for a mistress. I should much like to talk with you about some other points; it is only in talk that one gets to understand. Your delightful Wordsworth trap I have tried on two hardened Wordsworthians, not that I am not one myself. By covering up the context, and asking them to guess what the pa.s.sage was, both (and both are very clever people, one a writer, one a painter) p.r.o.nounced it a guide-book. 'Do you think it unusually good guide-book?' I asked. And both said, 'No, not at all!'

Their grimace was a picture when I showed the original.

"I trust your health and that of Mrs. Hamerton keep better; your last account was a poor one. I was unable to make out the visit I had hoped as (I do not know if you heard of it) I had a very violent and dangerous hemorrhage last spring. I am almost glad to have seen death so close with all my wits about me, and not in the customary la.s.situde and disenchantment of disease. Even thus clearly beheld, I find him not so terrible as we suppose. But, indeed, with the pa.s.sing of years, the decay of strength, the loss of all my old active and pleasant habits, there grows more and more upon me that belief in the kindness of this scheme of things, and the goodness of our veiled G.o.d, which is an excellent and pacifying compensation. I trust, if your health continues to trouble you, you may find some of the same belief. But perhaps my fine discovery is a piece of art, and belongs to a character cowardly, intolerant of certain feelings, and apt to self-deception. I don't think so, however; and when I feel what a weak and fallible vessel I was thrust into this hurly-burly, and with what marvellous kindness the wind has been tempered to my frailties, I think I should be a strange kind of a.s.s to feel anything but grat.i.tude.

"I do not know why I should inflict this talk upon you; but when I summon the rebellious pen, he must go his own way: I am no Michael Scott, to rule the fiend of correspondence. Most days he will none of me: and when he comes, it is to rape me where he will.

"Yours very sincerely,

"ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON."

Mr. Seeley wrote:--

"My brother the Professor has been staying with us and reading the 'Graphic Arts' and 'Landscape' most a.s.siduously. He was deeply interested, and said they seemed to him most important works, giving him views about art which had never entered his mind before. He seems to feel that you are doing in Art what he is doing in History."

For the present, Mr. Hamerton had no great work in hand. There was the usual writing for the "Portfolio," and he had been asked for articles by the editors of "Longmans' Magazine" and the "Atlantic Monthly," but he had not yet made up his mind as to the subject of a new important book, and was discussing various schemes both with Mr. Seeley and Mr. Craik.

In one of his letters to Mr. Seeley he said:--

"I have sometimes thoughts of writing a book (not too long) on the Elements or Principles of Art Criticism, in the same way as G. H. Lewes once wrote a series of papers for the 'Fortnightly' on the Principles of Success in Literature. I think I could make such papers interesting by giving examples both from critics and artists, and from various kinds of art. It would add to the interest of such papers if they had a few ill.u.s.trations specially for themselves, and as I went on with the writing I could tell you beforehand what ill.u.s.trations might be useful, though I cannot say beforehand what might be required. I should make it my business to show in what real criticism, that is worth writing and worth reading, differs from the hasty expression of mere personal sensations which is so often subst.i.tuted for it; and I would show in some detail how there are different criteria, and how they may be justly or unjustly applied, giving examples. The articles might be reprinted afterwards in the shape of a moderate-sized book like my 'Life of Turner,' but about half as thick, and if we kept the ill.u.s.trations small they might go into the book. Such a piece of work would have the advantage of giving me opportunities for showing how strongly tempted we all are to judge works of art by some special criterion instead of applying different criteria. For example, I remember hearing a man say before a picture that told a story that 'its color was good, and, after all, the color was the main thing in a picture.' Another would have criticised the drawing of the figures, a third the composition, a fourth the handling. Lastly, it might have occurred to some one to inquire how the story was told, and whether the artist had understood the story he had to tell.

"I remember being in an exhibition with Robinson, the famous engraver, more than twenty, or perhaps thirty, years ago, and was very much struck by a criticism of his on a picture which seemed to me very good in many respects, though the effect was a very quiet one. He said, 'There's no light and shade;' and the want of good, strong oppositions of light and dark that could be effectively engraved seemed to him quite a fatal defect, though on looking at the work in color the absence of these oppositions did not strike me, as other qualities predominated. Here was the engraver's _professional_ point of view interfering with his judgment of a picture that was good, but could not be engraved effectually.

"Then we have the interference of feelings quite outside of art, as when Roman Catholics tolerate hideous pictures because they represent some saint, although they have really been painted from, a hired model, and only represent a saint because the artist, with a view to sale, has given a saint's name to the portrait of the model.

"Also there is the judgment by the literary criterion, which is often applied to pictures by thoughtful and learned people. They become deeply interested in one picture because it alludes (in a manner which seems to them intelligent) to something they know by books, and they pa.s.s with indifference better works that have no literary a.s.sociation.

"Then you have the judgment of pictures which goes by the pleasure of the eyes, and tastes a picture with the eyes as wine and good cooking are tasted by the tongue. I believe this ocular appreciation is nearer to the essential nature of art than the literary or intellectual appreciation of it. _Vide_ t.i.tian's pictures, which never have anything to say to the intellect, but are a feast to the eyes.

"Then you have the _scientific_ criterion, which judges a landscape favorably because strata are correctly superposed, their dip accurately given, and 'faults' noticed. In the figure this criticism relies greatly on anatomy.

"I have jotted down these paragraphs roughly merely to show something of the idea, but of course in the work itself there would be much more to be said--other criteria to examine, and a fuller inquiry to be gone into about these. I should rely for the interest of the papers, and for their _raison d'etre_ in the 'Portfolio,' very much upon the examples alluded to, both in quotations from critics and in references to works of art.

"With regard to the papers on Landscape Painters--if I wrote the introductory chapter it would be on landscape-_painting_ as an art, not so much on the painters. I should trace something of its history, but should especially show how it differs from figure-painting in certain conditions. For example, in figure-painting composition does not much interfere with truthful drawing, as a figure can always be made to conform to desired shapes by simply altering its att.i.tude and putting it at a greater or less distance from the spectator, but in landscape composition always involves the re-shaping of the objects themselves.

Again, color is of much more sentimental importance in landscape than in the figure. _Purple_ hills, a _yellow_ streak in the sky, and _gray_ water produce together quite a strong effect on the poetical imagination, whereas the same colors in a lady's dress are but so much millinery. If the landscape is engraved it loses nine-tenths of its poetical significance; if the portrait of the lady is engraved there is only a sacrifice of some colors.

"_October_ 8, 1885."

Meanwhile, it occurred to him that he might undertake his autobiography, and stipulate that it should only be published after his death. He told me that his health being so uncertain and his earnings so precarious, he had thought the autobiography might be a resource for me in case of his premature decease, as he saw clearly that notwithstanding the considerable sums which his recent successes had brought him, it was not likely that he should ever save enough to leave me independent.

As he had himself introduced the subject, I led him to consider Mary's future prospects in life, and said that Stephen and Richard being now provided with situations, we ought to think of their sister. Her musical education had now reached such a point that no teaching afforded by Autun could be of any value to her, and it was my desire that she might have the advantage of instruction and direction in her studies from one of the best professors at the Conservatoire of Paris. I realized that it would be a great tax, and a no less great sacrifice for my husband to be left alone while I should be in Paris with Mary; but I also knew that he never shrank from what he considered a duty--and we both agreed that it was a duty to put our daughter in a position to earn her living, if circ.u.mstances made it necessary.

Accordingly I inquired who was thought to be the best executant on the piano in Paris, and we had it on good authority that it was M.

Delaborde, Professor at the Conservatoire, with whom we corresponded immediately. Although we had friendly recommendations, he would not pledge himself to anything before examining Mary, and we started for Paris in some uncertainty. I had engaged a little apartment at the Hotel de la Muette, where we were known, and a pleasant room looking on the garden had been reserved for us, not to inconvenience other people by Mary's practice.

I knew the result of the examination would give Gilbert great pleasure, so I gave him every detail about it. M. Delaborde, who has the reputation of being extremely severe and somewhat blunt, was most kind and encouraging. After making Mary play to him for an hour, he said: "That will do; there remains a good deal to be done and acquired, but you _may_ acquire it by hard work and good tuition in three years. I consent to take you as one of my pupils, but I must let you know at once that I am very exacting. Don't be afraid of me, for I see that you are industrious, and that you really _love_ music. And now I am going to pay you a compliment which has its value, coming from me--I find no defect to correct in your method." After that he gave us a long list of music to be bought for practice, and said we might come twice a week. He also inquired what direction I wished her studies to take, and whether she intended to give lessons. I answered that I wished her studies to be of the most serious character, exactly as if she were preparing herself to be a music-teacher, though it was not her parents' present intention, but because one never was certain of the future. He perfectly understood my wishes, and was also pleased to notice his new pupil's partiality for cla.s.sical music. Strange to say--and I did not fail to convey the important fact to her father--Mary, who was so easily frightened, felt perfectly at ease with M. Delaborde, and besides her sentiment of unbounded admiration for his talent, she soon came to have a great liking for himself. Her father was very glad--for her sake especially--that she should have the satisfaction of seeing her efforts taken _au serieux_, and appreciated by such an authority as M.

Delaborde. He often said that one of the greatest satisfactions in life was to be able to do something _really well_, better than most people could do it, and he was happy in the thought that music would give that satisfaction to his daughter. About music he had written to Mr.

Seeley:--

"I was always in music what so many are in painting--simply practical.

In my youth I was a pupil of Seymour of Manchester for the violin, and thought to be a promising amateur, but I have played far more music than I ever talked about. I don't at all know how to talk or write about music. It seems to me that it expresses _itself_, and that nothing else can express it."

After an absence of five weeks Gilbert was very glad to see us back, and to hear that M. Delaborde had been very encouraging to Mary. At the end of the last lesson he had said: "a l'annee prochaine; je suis certain que vous reviendrez: vous avez le feu sacre."

Several projects of books had occurred to Mr. Hamerton, which he submitted to his publishers for advice. He had thought of "Rouen," but Mr. Craik had answered: "Your name is a popular one, and anything coming from you is pretty sure of a sale. But we should consider whether even your name will persuade the public to buy this book on Rouen." It was abandoned for the consideration of a work on the "Western Islands," to which Messrs. Macmillan were favorable.

Mr. Seeley was suggesting the "Sea" as a subject that he might treat with authority from an artistic point of view, but he feared he had not had sufficient opportunity of studying it, and received this answer: "Your letter of this morning has suggested to me another scheme--a series of articles on 'Imagination in Landscape Painting.'" The idea pleased my husband very much, and as he reflected about it he began a sort of skeleton scheme for its treatment.

His own imagination about landscape was truly marvellous. Since he had been deprived of the power to travel, he was continually dreaming that he had undertaken long and distant voyages, in which he discovered wondrously beautiful countries and magnificent architecture. He often gave me, on awaking, vivid descriptions of these imaginary scenes, which he remembered in every detail of composition, effect, and color, and which he longed, though hopelessly, to reproduce in painting.

He was now writing in French a life of Turner for the series of "Les Artistes Celebres," published by the "Librairie de l'Art." It was not a translation from his English "Life of Turner," but a new, original, and much shorter work, about which he wrote to Mr. Seeley:--

"I am writing a book in French--a new life of Turner, not very long. I find the change of language most refreshing. Composition in French is a little slower for me, but not much, and as I am a great appreciator of good French prose, it is fun to try to imitate (at a distance) some of its qualities."

Years after, writing about this same "Life of Turner," he said to Mr.

Seeley:--

"The insularity of the English that you speak of is not worse than the insularity of the French. When I wrote my 'Life of Turner' for the 'Artistes Celebres' series, I was asked to reduce the MS. by one third, for the reason that the thicker numbers were only given to great artists. The sale was very moderate, as so few French people care anything about English art."

When the first chapters of "Imagination in Landscape Painting" reached Mr. Seeley, he said: "I like your opening chapters much, and I feel glad that I have set you on a good subject."

As usual during the vacation, my husband went on the Saone with Stephen and Maurice for a fortnight. "L'Arar" had been greatly improved, but was still to undergo new improvements while laid up for the winter. On coming back home Gilbert wrote to Mr. Seeley:--