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Philip Gilbert Hamerton

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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 mass." 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
circumstances; 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 petite
criait, voulait savoir ce qu'elle avait, et la prenait même dans ses
bras pour la consoler."

A very important event now occurred: Mr. Hamerton was appointed art
critic to the "Saturday 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 Pré-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 'Saturday 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 Doré to illustrate
the "Idylls of the King." They have offered the job to Doré, 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 illustrate 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 illustrative
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 passages of his letters
that she might find interesting. The following letter was written on his
first journey to London for the "Saturday Review ":--

"CHÈRE PETITE FEMME,--Me voici installé dans un fort joli appartement
tout près de chez Mr. Mackay, à une guinée par semaine; j'y suis
tout-à-fait bien.

"Samedi dernier je suis allé d'abord chez Mr. Stephen Pearce que j'ai
trouvé chez lui; c'est un homme parfaitement comme il faut; il m'a reçu
bien cordialement et il m'a invité à dîner demain. J'ai dîné chez Mrs.
Leslie hier et j'ai passé tout le tantôt d'aujourd'hui chez Lewes qui
habite une fort belle maison à cinq minutes d'ici. J'ai beaucoup causé
avec l'auteur de 'Romola;' c'est une femme de 45 ans, pas belle du tout,
mais très distinguée, elle m'a fort bien reçu. Lewes lui-même est laid,
mais très cordial. Voilà quelque chose comme sa physionomie. [Sketch of
Lewes]. Je vais te donner George Eliot sur l'autre page. Il est très
gentil avec elle. [Sketch of George Eliot.] Ce portrait n'est pas très
ressemblant, mais il donne une bonne idée de l'expression--elle en a
énormément et parle fort bien. Son salon est un modèle de gôut et
d'élégance, et toute sa maison est aussi bien tenue que celle de
Millais, par exemple. Nous avons causé de beaucoup de choses, entre
autres précisément de cette curieuse question de prière selon Comte.
Elle soutient que c'est raisonnable dans le sens d'expression de vif
désir, de concentration de l'esprit vers son but. Son argument était
bien fortement soutenu par sa manière énergique de raisonner, mais je
lui ai tenu tête avec beaucoup d'obstination, et nous avons eu une
véritable lutte. Elle a une singulière puissance, quelque chose qui ne
se trouve jamais que chez les personnes d'un génie extraordinaire. Quand
elle a voulu me convaincre, elle y mettait tant de persuasion et de
volonté qu'il me fallait un certain effort pour garder la clarté de mes
propres idées. Je te dirai cela plus en détail 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 illustrations of the 'Painter's Camp' with
George Leslie. He has promised to do twenty etchings of figure-subjects
to illustrate 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 Dickens, Alfred Tennyson, and George Eliot are amongst my
most assiduous readers. Isn't it pleasant to have readers of that
class?..."

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 Pré-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 glass of beer and ate a slice of
home-made _brioche_, which allowed him to await the twelve o'clock
_déjeuner à la fourchette_.

The following passage is extracted from a letter written a few days
after those already given:--

"J'ai dîné chez Woolner hier. Quel brave garçon! Ses manières avec moi
sont tout-à-fait affectueuses, et je me sens avec lui sur le pied de la
plus parfaite intimité. Il n'y a pas un homme a Londres qui possède un
cercle d'amis comme le sien: tout ce qu'il y a de plus distingué _en
tout_. Palgrave dit que Woolner fait un choix sérieux dans ses amitiés.
Sa femme est jolie, délicate, gracieuse, intelligente; elle me fait
l'effet d'un lys.

"J'ai reçu la visite de Haden hier, il m'a plus enseigné relativement à
l'eau-forte en une demi-heure de conversation que dix ans de pratique ne
l'auraient fait. Voici mes engagements:--

"Samedi, dîner chez Leslie.
Dimanche, tantôt chez Lewes.
Lundi, dîner chez Pearce.
Mardi, " " Mackay.
Mercredi, " " Shaw.
Jeudi, " " Woolner.
Vendredi, toute la journée avec Woodward.
Samedi, soirée chez Marks.
Lundi, dîner chez Haden.
Mardi, " " Constable fils:

"et il n'y a pas de raison pour que cela s'arrête, excepté mon depart
pour West Lodge qui sera, je crois, pour mercredi."

However, he had to postpone his departure on account of a distressing
and alarming disturbance of his nervous system. Mr. Haden recommended
him to give up all kind of work immediately, which he did, and for a few
days he only wrote short notes.

"NORTHUMBERLAND STREET. _Wednesday Morning_.

"Je suis toujours faible, mais je crois que je puis supporter le voyage
aujourd'hui. Si j'étais une fois à West Lodge je m'y reposerais bien. Si
je me sentais fatigué je m'arrêterais n'importe où. La surexcitation
cérébrale est _complètement passée_, mais je n'espère pas être remis
avant un mois."

From West Lodge he wrote, in answer to one of my letters:--

"Our present business is to look simply to the question, what will be
most economical? I have no objection to any arrangement which will save
my keeping a man, but I have a decided objection to that. [It was about
the garden, one half of which I proposed to cede on condition of having
the other half cultivated free of charge.] Any arrangement you make
_that does not involve my keeping a man_ has my approbation beforehand.

"I saw Macmillan again before leaving, and now he is for bringing out
the new edition of the 'Painter's Camp' in May. It will be a pretty
little book, but I can't get Macmillan to go to the expense about
illustrations. Colnaghi will publish etchings for me, and after all the
hints and instructions received from Haden, I feel quite sure that I
shall succeed in etching.

"I expect to be at Pré-Charmoy in a few days, when I shall be delighted
to see you all, my treasures."

Having returned to London, he writes:--

"I spent last evening with Beavington Atkinson, who was to have come to
see us in France; you remember Woodward wrote about him. He and his wife
are most agreeable people, and I like him really; there is something so
intelligent and pleasing in his manner.

"Yesterday I went through Buckingham Palace to see the pictures. There
is a fine Dutch collection. Then I went to the British Museum to see the
Rembrandt etchings, and was accompanied by a collector, Mr. Fisher. This
evening I am to spend with Haden again; he has a magnificent collection
of etchings, and will help me very much with my book. So now I am sure
of the right quantity of assistance in my work.

"I was with the editor of the 'Saturday' this afternoon; nothing could
exceed his kind, trustful way.

"Still, I wish I were back with you; but I shall hurry now and come back
fast."

Two days later:--

"Je me sens de nouveau fatigué. J'ai causé aujourd'hui avec l'aubergiste
de Walton-on-Thames, et il m'a dit qu'il nous nourrirait et nous
logerait tous les deux pour £2 par semaine. On y est très bien, il y a
un jardin, et des études à faire en quantité. Mr. Haden pense que la
peinture ne fatiguerait pas autant le cerveau que la littérature.

"Si je t'avais avec moi, et si je restais plus longtemps, je n'aurais
pas besoin l'année prochaine de revenir au mois de juillet. Voilà le
rêve que j'ai fait. Je viendrais à Londres une ou deux fois par semaine
seulement, et je t'aurais là-bas. Je ne pense pas vivre sans toi, je
meurs d'ennui."

The kind of life we led at Pré-Charmoy suited perfectly my husband's
tastes, and he was soon restored to health. He would have been entirely
happy but for pressing cares; still, thanks to his philosophical
disposition, he contrived to enjoy what was enjoyable in his life. He
was extremely fond of excursions in the country, and we often used to
set off with nurse and children in the farmer's cart, to spend the day
in some picturesque place, where he could sketch or paint. We had our
provisions with us, and both lunched and dined on the grass under the
fine chestnuts or oaks, so numerous in the Morvan, by the side of a
clear stream or rivulet; for running water had a sort of magic influence
upon Gilbert, and instinctively, when unwell from nervous exhaustion, he
sought its soothing influence. We generally rambled about the country
after each meal, and whilst he drew I read to him, leaving the children
to their play, under the charge of the nurse.

So far we had taken upon ourselves the teaching of the boys, but for
some time past I had perceived that it was becoming inadequate to their
present requirements, and I told their father that I thought they should
be sent to college,--any rate the eldest, who was nearly eight years
old; but he demurred, not seeing the necessity for it. He had a notion
that they could be much better educated at home, according to a plan of
his own: Latin and Greek would be reserved for their teens, because it
was a clear loss of time before, and they would be taught modern
languages early, together with science and literature. To this I
objected, that, if successful, it might be a very good education for
boys who were certain of an independence, but that it did not seem a
good way towards the degrees necessary for almost every one of the
liberal professions. Besides, who was to teach the boys when he was
away? and would he always find spare time to do it, and regular hours
also? I was certain he would never be punctual as to time; only he did
not like to be told so, because, being aware of this shortcoming, he
made earnest efforts to correct it, and constantly failed. It was
difficult to him to bear any kind of interruption, or any compulsory
change of work--involving loss of time--and on that score very trying to
one who wanted always to finish what he had in hand. He hardly ever came
down at meal-times without the bell being rung twice, and often when he
did come down, he used to say: "That bell was getting angry," and he was
met with this stereotyped phrase from us: "And it made you abandon the
refractory sentence at last!"

Well, he acknowledged there was some weight in my objections to home
instruction, but "he could give tasks to be done in his absence, and
correct them afterwards." I asked, who could help the young students
when they were in a fix? and would they be always inclined to apply
themselves steadily to their tasks without supervision? That was
expecting too much, but it seemed natural to him to expect it, as study
and work had ever been both a necessity and a pleasure to him. However,
he yielded, but so strong was his disapproval of public school teaching
as it was carried on, that at first he would have nothing to do with it.
I had to go to the principal of the college, and make terms and
arrangements; the only condition he made was that the boys should come
home every Saturday night, and remain till Monday morning, and the same
from Wednesday to Friday regularly, for their English lessons and for
their health. I desired nothing better, and the principal agreed to it.
Whenever the boys complained of anything about their college life
afterwards, their father used to say good-humoredly: "I have no
responsibility in the matter; _I_ did not want you to go to college, you
know--it was your mother."

Pré-Charmoy being four kilomètres distant from the town of Autun, and
five from the college, where the boys had to be in time for the eight
o'clock class, summer and winter, it became necessary to have some means
of conveying them to and fro, for they were still very young,--Stephen a
little over eight, and Richard hardly seven. The eldest boy went alone
at first, but his brother soon insisted on going too. We decided to do
like most of our country neighbors, that is, to have a little
donkey-cart, because it would have been both inconvenient and expensive
to hire the farmer's so frequently. Accordingly we bought a small,
second-hand carriage with its donkey, and I was taught to drive; my
husband would have preferred a pony, but I was nervous at the idea of
driving one, although I had been told that it was much easier to manage
than a donkey, and discovered afterwards that it was the truth.

The little cart proved a great convenience for my husband's studies, as
he could start with it at any time, and there was no trouble about the
care of the donkey, the servant-girls being accustomed to it from
infancy--almost every household in the vicinity being in possession of
this useful and inexpensive animal. There is a Morvandau song, known to
all the little shepherdesses, in illustration of the custom:--

"Mes parents s'y mariant tou
Mé j'garde l'âne (_bis_).
Mes parents s'y mariant tou
Mé j'garde l'âne taut mon saoûl!

"Mais quand mon tour viendra
Gardera l'âne (_bis_).
Mais quand mon tour viendra
Gardera l'âne qui voudra."

At first we had a swift little animal, which could not be stopped at all
when he was behind another carriage, till that carriage stopped first.
It was an advantage in some cases,--for instance, when preceded by a
good horse; but if the horse went further than our destination, one of
us had to jump out and hold back the fiery and stubborn little brute by
sheer force, till his sense of jealous emulation was appeased.

The load upon the cart, when we were all together, was found excessive
for the animal, and my husband, who was always deeply concerned about
the welfare of dumb creatures, decided to have a bigger and stronger
donkey. He bought a very fine one, strong enough to pull us all, but he
did it in such a leisurely fashion that he received the expressive name
of "Dort-debout." This led my husband to write to me sometimes from
London, after a hard day's work: "Here is a very short note, but I am
like our donkey, je dors debout."

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