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Philip Gilbert Hamerton

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This habit of sketching animals whenever he had a chance gave rise to
some amusing incidents before our peasant neighbors knew that he
"painted portraits of dumb beasts, as well as of Christians." Some
farmers' wives, alarmed at the sight of odd pennies in the pockets of
their offspring, accused them of pilfering, but on being told that the
"gros sous" had been given them by "le père anglais," came to our house
to ascertain how and why; for, unlike the people of the South, they
would not have tolerated begging. They were quieted by the assurance
that the money had been honestly earned by the children for holding
their goat or donkey whilst its portrait was taken; nay, they even felt
a little proud that an animal of theirs should have been thought worthy
of such an honor.

Etching in all its forms was pursued at the same time with lithography
and photography; even a new kind of transparent etching ground was
invented by Mr. Hamerton, which made it possible for etchers to see the
work already done upon a plate after having it grounded again for
correction or additional work.

A strange incident occurred during this winter. My husband's rising
reputation had, it appears, given to many people a desire for his
personal acquaintance, or for intercourse by correspondence. The first
desire brought him many unexpected visitors, the second quite an
appreciable increase of work, as he hardly ever left a letter
unanswered. To give the reader an instance of the extraordinary notions
entertained by some people, I shall relate the true history of one
visitor amongst others. Some letters at short intervals, from England,
signed--let us say--Beamish, mentioned a mysterious project which could
not possibly be explained otherwise than by word of mouth, and which
might be both profitable and agreeable to Mr. Hamerton, if realized. He
was asked to call upon the correspondent for an explanation if he should
happen to go to London soon; if not, Mr. Beamish begged leave to come
over and see him. Of course the leave was given, and the gentleman
having written that on such a day he would be at such an hotel in Autun,
Gilbert went to fetch him in the pony-carriage--for Dort-debout had
tired out our patience, and had been replaced by a beautiful and
energetic little pony called Cocote.

When we met Mr. Beamish, we found him a most prepossessing young man, of
elegant manners and refined speech; in short, a gentleman. He begged me
to allow his portmanteau to be placed in the carriage; and as I observed
that he was not expected to dress for our family dinner, he answered
that it only contained papers that he should want.

Two other friends, understanding English, joined us at dinner. The
conversation was animated, but Mr. Beamish never hinted at the
mysterious project. In the evening, engravings and etchings were shown
to our guest, but failed to excite his interest, for he soon fell asleep
on the sofa, and let our friends go without awaking. Unwilling to
disturb him, we remained till nearly one o'clock, when I decided to
retire, whatever happened afterwards; and I was so tired that after
going to bed I never awoke till morning, when I asked my husband at what
time Mr. Beamish had gone. "Gone," he answered; "why, I don't know that
he has gone at all, for I left him after three, just where he was." I
hardly dared peep into the drawing-room; however, it was empty; but when
the breakfast-bell was rung, Mr. Beamish came in unconcernedly to have
his share of the simple meal, during which he talked pleasantly and
intelligently of his experiences in India, where he had spent the
greater part of eighteen years. Nothing was said of the project, and
after vainly waiting for some mention of it, my husband returned to his
study, after letting Mr. Beamish know that he was not to be disturbed
till eleven o'clock, for it was the time of his morning work. "Very
well," answered our guest; "meanwhile I shall put my books and papers in
order." At the same time he requested me to send rather a large table
into the room where he had slept (it was the room in which his
portmanteau had been put), and to tell the servants to be careful not to
interfere in any way with what he would leave upon it, not even to dust,
_so long as he remained with us_. I then believed that Gilbert had
invited him to stay some time, but I was undeceived in the course of the
day, and told that the mysterious project had been unfolded at last, and
was a proposition that he should undertake a journey to Palestine in the
company of Mr. Beamish, to join Holman Hunt, who was painting studies in
the Holy Land. "But what made you think I was ready to undertake such a
pilgrimage?" Mr. Hamerton had asked in great astonishment. "Because I
read that you liked camping out," was the reply; "and thought also that,
being an artist, you would be glad to meet with Holman Hunt, who, like
you in the Highlands, works directly from nature. I thought, moreover,
that, as I intend to go myself, you would be agreeable and profitable
society."

Although my husband had declined to give the slightest consideration to
this plan, Mr. Beamish still remained, and vaguely hinted that a still
more mysterious project detained him at Autun.

He went on foot, alone, to the college, on three successive afternoons,
begged to see our boys, and tipped them so generously that the principal
thought it his duty to ask their father whether he had authorized these
visits--clearly implying that he doubted the soundness of the visitor's
mind.

We had learned in the course of conversation that our guest was of a
benevolent and charitable disposition, and that he had spent much money
in India in founding hospital-beds for poor women, whose sufferings he
warmly compassionated. He was also full of sympathy for the Indian
people, and spoke of their wrongs not without a certain degree of
excitement, but still in a manner to arouse our interest. Altogether,
although he was a self-imposed guest, we had already learned to like
him, and were unwilling to remind him, with ever so little rudeness,
that he was in the way. My husband said that his conduct might be
explained by the fact that he had lived so long in India, where the
dwellings of Europeans are often at great distances from each other, and
where a visitor is always made at home and welcome; that Mr. Beamish was
only acting as he had been accustomed to do for the greater part of his
life, for he was still a young man of about thirty-six.

After about a week's stay, he began to talk of leaving us within a short
time, but did not say when--that would depend on _certain_
circumstances. However, on a bitterly cold evening, with the snow deep
on the ground, he requested to be driven to Autun, and took a friendly
leave of us all without explanation. But the principal of the college
related the following strange story to Mr. Hamerton:--

"Your friend, Mr. Beamish, whom I had met at your house, came here under
pretext of seeing your sons, but called upon me, and asked point-blank
if I would give him my help in a charitable deed of some importance.
'What is the nature of the deed?' was my first question. 'The salvation
of a soul.' 'In what form?' I did not get a direct answer, but I was
told that the idea had sprung from religious motives, and that knowing
my strong attachment to religion--though it was the Roman Catholic
religion--he hoped I should have sufficient moral courage to help him in
his deed of mercy--in fact he had resolved to reclaim a fallen woman.
Vainly did I attempt to turn him from his generous but impracticable
resolution. He threatened to act alone if I refused him the sanction of
my presence, but he hoped that the Aumônier would see his action in its
true light, and putting himself above popular suspicion, would accompany
him 'to the very den of sin to offer salvation to a lost but _repentant
sheep_.' It was useless to try to make him understand that it was
impossible for the Aumônier to risk his character, even with the hope of
doing good, and at last Mr. Beamish expressed a desire to meet him in my
presence on the morrow. Our worthy Aumônier was horrified at the idea of
the kind of sinners he would have to meet, and declined to have anything
to do with the wildly charitable scheme."

The next news was brought to Autun four days later by the woman whom
poor Mr. Beamish thought he had rescued at the cost of four hundred
francs for her liberation from debt, and about two hundred more for
decent clothing. He had taken her as far as Dijon, where he had left her
in some kind of reformatory; but after enjoying the change, and with her
purse replenished to carry her through the first difficulties of an
honest life, she hastened back to the old haunt to gibe and jeer at her
benefactor.

Another queer visitor was an English gentleman, past middle age, who
could never find his way back to our house, but invariably appeared at
meal-times in the dining-room of some neighbor, who had to escort him to
Pré-Charmoy.

The opening of the Academy exhibition had come round again, and Mr.
Hamerton had to go and criticise it as usual; but after reaching Amiens,
he felt so poorly that he resolved to send his resignation to the
"Saturday Review," and to return home as quickly as he could. Here is
his letter to me:--

"HÔTEL DU NORD, AMIENS. _Dimanche_.

"Bonne chérie.--Je suis arrivé à Amiens samedi matin de bonne heure,
ayant l'intention de me reposer un peu à l'hôtel et puis de continuer
mon voyage le tantôt, mais en me levant j'ai senti que j'avais besoin
d'un repos un peu plus prolongé après les fatigues de Paris. Le plus
ennuyeux c'est que je peux à peine manger quelque chose. Comme ce manque
d'appétit m'affaiblera inévitablement s'il continue longtemps et que
l'affaiblissement amènerait probablement un mauvais état du système
nerveux, je crois que le plus sage serait de renoncer pour cette fois au
voyage en Angleterre et de revenir au Pré-Charmoy comme un faux billet
indigne de circuler. Mon intention est donc de retourner, et pour
changer je prendrai probablement la ligne de Dijon, en m'arrêtant un
jour à Sens pour voir Challard. [An artist who had copied some drawings
of Jean Cousin for the "Fine Arts Quarterly Review."]

"Comme je te l'ai promis, je fais ce qui me semble être le plus sage. Je
reviendrai le plus vite que je pourrai sans hasarder ma santé.

"J'ai loué un petit bateau hier avec lequel j'ai exploré la rivière
d'Amiens--la Somme--en haut de la ville. Il est impossible d'imaginer
rien de plus pittoresque. Il y a une grande quantité de petites maisons
et baraques au bord de l'eau et je vais prendre là le matériel d'une
eau-forte. J'espère que cette retraite n'est pas trop ridicule. Un bon
général, dit-on, se distingue tout autant dans la retraite que dans
l'avance; et comme par le fait il y a manque de vivres--puisque je ne
peux pas manger--il me semble que la prudence conseille ce que les
Américains appelaient 'un mouvement stratégique' quand ils avaient été
battus."

"AMIENS. _Lundi matin_.

"Comme je n'avais pas encore regagné d'appétit hier j'ai pensé qu'il
serait plus sage de rester ici encore un peu et je suis allé
canoter sur la rivière.

"Mr. Cook avec une grande et charmante bonté m'a fait des remontrances:
il me dit que le ton de ma lettre l'a blessé et que mes 'menaces' lui
ont fait de la peine; qu'il n'a jamais manqué de largesse envers ses
écrivains et que l'excédent de mes dépenses en livres, voyages, etc.,
sera toujours défrayé par la Revue. J'ai été réellement touché de la
manière affectueuse dont il m'a fait ses observations auxquelles il a su
joindre des compliments, en me disant que j'avais découvert la meilleure
façon de faire la revue des expositions et que mes articles sont
précisément ce qu'il lui faut. J'ai répondu que quant à la peine que
cela avait pu lui faire, je le regrettais sincèrement, mais que les
'menaces' étaient tout simplement l'expression d'une résolution très
décidément prise, et dans un moment où j'étais à la fois trop malade et
trop pressé pour procéder avec plus de formes.

"Comme ma promenade sur l'eau m'a fait du bien hier je vais la
renouveler.

"Ton mari, qui te reverra bientôt."

I decided at once to go to him; my mother, who had come to stay with me
during his absence, approved my resolution, and undertook the management
of the house and the care of the children: so without asking for his
leave, I wrote that I was on my way to Amiens.

His joy was great when he saw me, and his progress towards recovery was
so rapid that he abandoned the idea of retracing his steps, and
encouraged by my presence, thought he could accomplish the journey to
London without danger. It was of great importance that he should keep
his post on the "Saturday Review," because it was his only _regular_
income, everything else being uncertain; and we knew that if he could
undertake the work again it would be readily entrusted to him.

We only stayed two days at Amiens, and as my husband was never seasick
or nervous on the sea, everything went on satisfactorily so far; but as
soon as we had left Dover for London, I perceived signs of uneasiness in
his behavior. He closed his eyes not to see the moving objects we
passed; he uncovered his head, which seemed burning by the flushed face;
he chafed his cold, bloodless hands, and shuffled his feet to bring back
circulation. For a long time he attempted to hide these alarming
symptoms from me, but I had detected them from the beginning; his eyes
had a far-reaching look and unusual steely brilliancy; the expression of
his countenance was hard-set, rigid, almost defiant, as if ready to
overthrow any obstacle in his way; and indeed it was the case, for
unable to control himself any longer, he got up and told me hoarsely
that he was going to jump out of the train. I took hold of his hands,
and said I would follow; only I entreated him to wait a short time, as
we were so near a station. I placed myself quite close to the door of
the railway carriage, and stood between it and him. Happily we _were_
near a station, else I don't know what might have happened; he rushed
out of carriage and station into the fields, whilst I followed like one
dazed and almost heart-broken. After half-an-hour he lessened his pace,
and turned to me to say, "I think it is going." I could not speak for
fear of bursting into tears, but I pressed his hand in mine and held it
as we continued our miserable way across the fields. We walked perhaps
two hours, at the end of which Gilbert said tenderly, in his usual
voice: "You must be terribly tired, my poor darling; I think I could
bear to rest now; we may try to sit down." We sat down upon a fallen
tree, and after some minutes he told me that if I could get him a glass
of beer somewhere it would bring him round. I went in search of an inn
and discovered a closed one, for it was Sunday and the time of afternoon
service. Nevertheless I knocked so perseveringly that a woman came
forth, incensed by my pertinacity, and peremptorily refused with
indignation any kind of drink: to obtain a bottle of beer I had to take
an oath that it was for a patient.

The glass of ale at once calmed and revived my husband, and when the
bottle had been emptied--in the course of an hour or so--he was himself
again and felt hungry.

We did not know the place,--it was Adisham; we had no luggage, and as to
resuming our journey it was out of the question, for some time at least.
So I went again to the inn, and asked the woman if she could give us a
room. "No, there was not one ready; and then it was so suspicious,
people coming like that through the fields and without luggage." I
offered to pay in advance. "But we might be runaways." My husband had
his passport, and I explained that he had been taken ill suddenly, and
that our luggage could be sent to us from London. "If the gentleman were
to die here it would be a great trouble." I had to assure her that it
was not dangerous, and that rest only was required. At last she
consented to show me into a very clean, freshly-papered room,
deprecating volubly the absence of curtains and bedstead in such an
emergency, but promising to put them up shortly if we remained some
time.

The bedding was laid upon the carpet; the mattresses had just undergone
a thorough cleaning, and the sheets and counterpane smelt sweet. When
night came we were thankful to rest our tired limbs even on the floor,
and to hope that sleep would bury in oblivion the anguish of the day, at
least for a while.

Oh, the weary, weary time spent there, without work, without books, and
with but little hope of better days. How should we get out of it, and
when?... It was now clear that these terrible attacks were due to
railway travelling. Then how should we ever get home again?...

Our luggage had been telegraphed for and returned, and the appearance of
the trunks had evidently inspired some confidence in our landlady.
Materially we were comfortable enough: a clean bedroom, a quiet, rather
large sitting-room (it was the usual public dining-room, but it being
early in the season, there were no boarders besides ourselves); and the
cookery, though simple and unvaried, was good of its kind,--alternately
ham and eggs, beef-steak and chops with boiled potatoes, rice pudding,
or gooseberry tart.

Morning after morning my husband wondered if he would feel equal to
resuming the journey; but the necessary self-reliance was found wanting
still. We walked out slowly and aimlessly, and we chose for our long
walks the most solitary lanes. Gilbert felt that the air, impregnated by
sea-salt, was gradually invigorating him, and after three weeks of this
melancholy existence made up his mind to order a carriage to take us as
far as Canterbury. The long drive and change did him good, and he was
well enough to take me to the Cathedral, and show me the town, where we
lingered two days, and then took another carriage for Croydon. At that
stage my husband told me that we were not far from Beckenham, and
proposed that we should call upon Mr. and Mrs. Craik on the following
day. I shall never forget the kindness of the reception nor the sympathy
of our hostess. I was surprised to see my husband enjoying conversation
and society so much, because when he was unwell he shrank from meeting
with any one, and required complete solitude; he only wished to feel
that I was near him, without fretting and in silence. But the charming
simplicity of the welcome in the garden, the peacefulness, not only of
the dwelling, but still more the calm and sweet aspect of the celebrated
authoress, together with her husband's friendly manner, acted soothingly
upon the nerves of their visitor. He told without reticence what had
happened, and soon changed the subject to fall into an animated and
interesting conversation.

After lunch Mrs. Craik made me walk in the garden with her, and inquired
more closely into the particulars of this strange illness; she
encouraged and comforted me greatly. She was tall, and though
white-haired, very beautiful still, I thought. As we walked she bent her
head (covered with the Highland blue bonnet) over mine, and as she
clasped my shoulders within her arm, I could see her hand laid upon my
breast, as if to soothe it; it was the loveliest hand I ever saw; the
shape so perfect, the skin so white and soft. We spoke French together;
she was interested about France, and liked talking of its people and
customs. Before we left she asked me to write to her, and offered to
render me any service I might require.

The journey to Todmorden was not to be thought of this time, and Gilbert
had begged his uncle and aunt to meet us at Kew, if they could manage
it. They answered in the affirmative, and he found lodgings for them,
not far from ours, nearly opposite to the church.

Knowing that his book must now be ready, he longed to see a copy of it,
and feeling well enough one morning, he started with me for London; but
as soon as we were in the heart of the town, its bustle, crowd, and
noise drove my husband to the comparative peace of the nearest park.
There, as usual in such cases, we had to walk till his nerves were
calmed, and then to sit down for a long time. He did not think he would
be equal to the busy streets that day, and asked me to take a cab and
see if I could bring him back a copy of his book. Reluctantly I left
him, though he assured me the attack was over; only he was afraid of
bringing it on again if he went into the street. So I was driven to Mr.
Macmillan's house of business, and immediately received by him. He was
evidently truly sorry to hear that my husband was unwell, and "Etching
and Etchers" being upon his table, he took up a copy, and with many warm
praises insisted upon placing it himself in my cab. The book was
everything that its author had desired, and taken so much pains to
ensure; he was gratified by the result, and gratefully acknowledged the
liberality of the publishers. One of the first visits paid by Mr.
Hamerton when he felt well again was to Mr. Cook, of the "Saturday
Review," who was himself out of health through overwork. He feelingly
expressed his regret that my husband could not continue to act as
regular art critic, but trusted that he would still contribute to the
"Saturday" as much as possible, and on subjects he might himself select.

Next we saw Mr. Seymour Haden, and I begged him to try and discover what
was the nature of my husband's ailment.

It was no easy matter, as the patient refused to submit to examination
and to prescriptions of any kind. Mrs. Haden, who was full of sympathy
and kindness, apprised her husband of this peculiarity and he undertook
to _passer-outre_. So the next time we called by invitation, he looked
steadily at his guest for some time, and said to him deliberately: "You
are _very_ ill; it's no use denying it to me; you must give up all
work,--not in a month, or a week, or to-morrow, but to-day, instantly."
My husband flushed, so that I trembled in fear of another seizure, and
answered angrily: "I cannot give up work; I _must_ work for my family; I
shall try to work less." ... "I say you are to give up all mental labor
immediately; I shall see, later, what amount of intellectual work you
are able to bear, according to the state you will be in. You may break
stones on the road, but I forbid you to hold a pen for literary
composition; and once back home, you must renounce railway travelling as
long as it produces uncomfortable sensations." All this was said
imperatively, and although it drove my husband almost to desperation, I
thanked Mr. Haden in my heart for his courageous and timely
interference, and Gilbert did the same after recovering from the shock.

This time he did not feel either so sad or so despondent as formerly,
when he had suffered alone; he knew now for certain that the causes of
his trouble were overwork and railway travelling, and he took the
resolution of avoiding both dangers as much as possible. Whenever he
felt nervous we remained quietly at Kew, reading or sketching or walking
in solitary places with his uncle and aunt, and when he thought himself
well enough we went to London by boat or omnibus, to the British Museum,
the National Gallery, or South Kensington Museum, and to the public or
private art exhibitions. We also paid calls, and on one of these
occasions I was introduced to George Eliot and to Mr. Lewes; the latter
sat by us on a sofa outside of the inner circle (the room was full), and
talked with wonderful vivacity and great discrimination of the state of
French literature. He judged of it like a Frenchman; his conversation
was extremely interesting and suggestive, and he appeared to derive
great pleasure from a rapid exchange of thoughts. Undeniably he was very
plain, when you had time to think of it, but it was with him as with the
celebrated advocate, M. Crémieux,--so much caricatured,--neither of
them seemed at all plain to me as soon as they spoke; both had
expressive eyes and countenance, and the interest awakened by the
varying expression of the features did not allow one to think of their
want of symmetry and shape.

The person who sat next to George Eliot seemed determined to monopolize
her attention; but as a new-comer was announced she came forward to meet
him, and kindly taking me by the hand, made me sit in the chair she had
herself occupied, and motioned to my husband to come also. He remained
standing inside the circle, whilst the Monopolizer had, at once, to
yield his seat to the mistress of the house, as well as a share of her
conversation to others than himself.

I immediately recognized the description given of her by my husband; her
face expressed at the same time great mental power and a sort of
melancholy human sympathy; her voice was full-toned, though low, and
wonderfully modulated. We were frequently interrupted by people just
coming in, and with each and all she exchanged a few phrases appropriate
to the position, pursuit, or character of her interlocutor, immediately
to revert to the subject of our conversation with the utmost apparent
ease and pleasure.

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