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Philip Gilbert Hamerton

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My husband was himself in the habit of making experiments in painting
and etching, though he deplored both the time and money so spent, and
repeatedly resolved not to meddle any more with them; but he could not
keep the resolution. His mind was so curious about all possible
processes and technicalities, and his desire of perfection so great,
that not only did he experiment in all the known processes, but invented
new ones. Entries in the note-book like the following are of frequent
occurrence:--

"Experiments with white zinc did not succeed."

"This month tried sulphur with success. I discovered also that the
three-cornered scraper is excellent for obtaining various breadths of
line in the background."

"I made a successful experiment in sandpaper mezzotint."

"M. de Fontenay and I made _crême d'argent_ very cheaply indeed."

"To-day I tried experiments on grains: the grains given by the sandpaper
and rosin. That given by the fine glass-paper was the best."

"Quite determined to put a stop to all experiments, in view of
typographic drawings."

Here is an important entry, August 19, 1875:--

"RESOLVED in future to confine myself exclusively to oil-painting and
etching in all artistic work done for the public, except the designs for
the bindings of my books, which may be done in water-colors.

"RESOLVED also that there shall be as little as possible of copying and
slavery in my artistic work, but that Etching shall be Etching, and
Painting Painting."

He had been working very hard, copying etchings for the new edition of
"Etching and Etchers," and was thoroughly tired of it. I see in his
diary:--

"Finished my plate after Rembrandt. N.B.--Will never undertake a set of
copies again."

"Felt it a great deliverance to be rid of plates for 'Etching and
Etchers.'"

A later note:--

"There is no technical difficulty for me in etching. I ought therefore
to direct my energies against the artistic difficulties of composition,
drawing, light and shade. Haden's 'Agamemnon' is the model for the kind
of work I should like to be able to do in etching. Comprehensive
sketching is the right thing."

Meanwhile our boys were growing, and giving great satisfaction to their
father by their application to and success in their studies; they always
kept at the head of their class, and carried off a great number of
prizes at the end of every scholastic year. The younger boy, Richard,
evinced an early taste for the pictorial arts, and was gifted with a
sure critical faculty and a natural talent for drawing. Although he had
never taken regular drawing-lessons, he had often watched his father at
work, had occasionally sketched and painted under his direction, and was
receiving a sort of artistic education by what he saw at home of
illustrated periodicals, engravings, and etchings sent for presentation
or criticism. He was early tempted to try etching, and of course
received encouragement and help; the first attempt was a success, as far
as it went, and Mr. S. Palmer wrote about it:--

"Your son's etching has given pleasure to other than 'parental eyes.'
'What a sweet little etching,' said my wife, who saw it lying on the
table; 'it is like an old master.' There is something touching in the
sight of a beginner, full of curiosity and hope. My yearning is, 'O that
he may escape the rocks on which I split--years wasted, any one of which
would have given a first grounding in anatomy, indispensable anatomy, to
have gone with the antique. The bones are the master-key; the marrowless
bones are the talisman of all life and power in Art. Power seems to
depend upon knowledge of structure; all surface upon substance; knowing
this, and imbued with the central essence, we may venture to copy the
appearance, perhaps even imitate it."

Mr. Seeley also wrote, with sly humor: "Your boy's etching is capital.
It would be interesting to know what processes this remarkable artist
employs."

Richard frequently expressed his intention of being a painter; but his
father, though much pleased to notice in the boy a real tendency towards
art, did not at all feel certain that there were in him the gifts
indispensable to the making of an artist. I was often told that, despite
the cleverness of his copies, and even of his caricatures, he seemed to
lack invention and originality. However, it was understood that he would
be allowed a fair trial,--but only after taking his degree of "Bachelier
ès-lettres," for his father was of opinion that perhaps more for artists
than for men in other professions, a liberal education was necessary to
the development of the finest aptitudes. He also thought that the boys
might now appreciate English poetry, and selected short passages from
the best poets, which he read aloud in the evenings, whilst they
followed with books in their hands; it accustomed them to the rhythm and
to the music of the language, and the peculiar qualities of each piece
were explained to them afterwards. Little Mary Susan also received
encouragement in the practice of her music, for I see this entry on
March 7, 1875: "My little daughter and I played piano and violin
together to-day for the first time."

Very slowly and gradually his health had improved, and he was in 1875
almost free from nervousness, but he had not yet dared to attempt
railway travelling; he had occasion to write to Mr. Seymour Haden, and
here is part of the reply:--

"First, I am delighted to hear that the improvement in your health
maintains itself; next, that I shall be very happy to do you a plate for
the 'Portfolio.' I was with Macmillan the other day, and heard from him
that you were at work upon a new edition of 'Etching and Etchers.' He
spoke so well of you and of your work, that I am _empressé_ to report
him to you in this. It must be a great satisfaction to you, after the
extraordinary life you have led, to find that it is producing such
satisfactory results. May it and the good effect which attends it
continue! And this brings me to speak of your railway malady. It does
not differ from other cases of the kind in any one particular. It is an
idiosyncracy. It is not to be got over by medicine (certainly not by
chloral), but by time--or rather, by the difference induced in the
constitution by age. A man may be subject to all you describe at forty,
and actually free from such symptoms at fifty--and I should advise you
to _test_ yourself, after so long an abstinence from this mode of
travel, by a short journey now and then. No accumulative mischief could
arrive--and you _may_ find, to your great satisfaction, that you have
entirely lost your enemy. If you do, by all means come, pay us a visit,
and see what we are doing in England. I have done an etching of Turner's
'Calais Pier,' 30 _inches square_, which is by many degrees the finest
thing (if I may be permitted so superlative an expression) I have done
or ever shall do. I mean to publish it about the close of the year. I
have _built_ a press for printing it, and am having paper _made_
expressly, and real sepia (which is magnificent--both in color and
price) got from the Adriatic for the ink! so that great things ought to
_result_."

And the result was certainly by far the finest of modern etchings,
according to Mr. Hamerton's opinion; in some particulars he preferred
the "Agamemnon," but the size of "Calais Pier" as an increase of
difficulty was to be considered, and if the "Agamemnon" was an original
conception, it cannot be said that "Calais Pier" was a copy--so much
being due to interpretation. Later on, when my husband was in possession
of this _chef-d'oeuvre_, it always occupied the place of honor in the
house.

Following Mr. Haden's advice, he now tried short railway journeys at
intervals, by slow trains, so that he could get out frequently at the
numerous stations,--not to allow the accumulating effect of the
vibration,--and generally in the night. There are some short entries
about it in the diary:--

"October 7, 1875. Went to Laisy in boat with M. de Fontenay; the day was
most lovely. Came back in the train without feeling any inconvenience."

"October 12, 1875. Went from Laisy to Etang by the river. Dined there;
returned by train in the evening all right. We had no accidents, except
on a little sunken rock after Chaseux, when M. de Fontenay's boat was
upset."

In this manner he used to go to Chalon (there was rather a long stoppage
at Chagny for change of train) to stay two or three days with my mother
and brother, who lived there. He was still anxious and uneasy, but he
nerved himself to bear the discomfort, in the hope that he would get
inured to it in time, and he used to close his eyes as soon as he was in
the carriage, and to draw the curtains to avoid seeing the objects that
we passed on the line.

In the summer of 1875 he received from the new owner of Innistrynich an
invitation to revisit the dear island. Nothing could have given him more
pleasure. Mr. Muir gave him all the details of the improvements he had
effected, but said:--

"I retained the old cottage, with its twelve small apartments, and added
a new front, containing five rooms.

"I saw Donald Macorquodale [whom my husband often had in the boat with
him]; he was much pleased to hear that you had been inquiring about him.
He is now getting frail, and not very able to work. He requested me to
say that he was very glad to hear of you, and would be delighted to see
you at Loch Awe. He sold the boats you were so kind as to give him, but
he only received a small sum for them, having kept them too long."

My husband never forgot his old servants, and showed his interest in
them whenever he could; they had great affection and respect for him,
mingled with awe, well knowing that, although he gave his orders kindly,
he meant to be obeyed. There was a very trusty widow, who came to our
house twice a week, and I remember finding her in tears, and asking what
was the matter. "Ah! c'est Monsieur qui m'a grondée," she sobbed
desperately. "But what has he said to put you in such a state?" "Oh! he
did not say much; only, 'Lazarette, why will you scratch off the paint
with the matches?' ... 'Mais quand Monsieur gronde,'" ... and there was
a fresh explosion.

It was well that my husband's health was better, for it enabled him to
bear the saddening news of his uncle Thomas's approaching end; he had,
for the last few months, grown weaker and weaker, till his sister
wrote:--

"WEST LODGE. _September_ 1875.

"The loss of my dear worthy brother is indeed a sad blow to me, and I
was not able to attend the funeral.... I am better now, though the
doctor is still in attendance upon me. I should indeed have liked you
both to have been here, but I could not press you, or even expect you to
run such a risk.... Still, I look forward to the pleasure of seeing you
all at West Lodge before the winter sets in."

It may be here briefly explained that Miss Susan Hamerton greatly needed
her nephew's advice about money matters; they had been hitherto managed
by her brother, and she had had no care about it; but now, after
entrusting what she possessed to a person recommended by Mr. T.
Hamerton, she had become aware that it was not safe, and was afraid of
losing the savings she had been able to make, for she had no control
over the capital.

It was difficult to explain all this by letters, and she was anxious to
give all the details by word of mouth, consequently she grew more and
more pressing in the expression of the desire that her nephew should
attempt the journey; he was not to be detained by the consideration of
expense, for she intended to make him a present of some bank-shares
which she no longer wanted, since her brother had left her an increase
of income for her life.

My husband resolved to undertake the long journey in the course of 1876,
and to arrange his work in view of it. Besides his contributions to
different periodicals, he had in the year 1875 entirely written "Round
my House," prepared the new edition of "Etching and Etchers," got the
notes necessary for the "Life of Turner," and given much consideration
to a plan mentioned thus in the note-book: "December 28, 1875. Feel
inclined to write a book on remarkable Frenchmen, such as the Ampères,
Victor Jacquemont, the Curé d'Ars, and a few others who interest me."




CHAPTER XIII.


1876-1877.

"Round my House."--Journey to England after seven years' absence.
--Friends in London.--Visit to Mr. Samuel Palmer.--Articles for the
"Encyclopaedia Britannica."--Death of my sister.--Mr. Appleton.


The note-book for 1876 opened with the following rules, written by my
husband for his own guidance:--

"Rise at six in winter and five in summer. Go to bed at eleven in winter
and ten in summer. There must be two literary sittings every day of two
hours each. The first to be over as soon as possible, in order to leave
me free for practical art work; the second to begin at five p.m., and
end at seven p.m.

"_Something_ really worth reading must be read every day, the quantity
not fixed.

"I must go out every day whatever the weather may be.

"Time may be taken, no matter when, for putting things in order. The
best way is to do it every morning before setting to work. It is better
to try to keep things in order than to accumulate disorder.

"Keep everything _quite_ in readiness for immediate work in literature
and art.

"When tired, rest completely, but never dawdle. Be either in harness or
out of harness avowedly. Special importance is to be given to painting
this year. Pictures are to be first painted in monochrome, in raw umber
and white. Read one thing at a time in one language. All rules suspended
during fatigue."

At the beginning of the year Roberts Brothers had asked for a photograph
of the now popular author of "The Intellectual Life." In April they
acknowledged the receipt of two, and were sending some copies of the
engraving from them. They also said:--

"Suppose we should wish to bring out an edition of 'Wenderholme' this
autumn, would you abridge and rewrite it? Condensation would be likely
to make it more powerful and more interesting. Or perhaps you would
rather write an entirely new novel? We think such a novel as you could
write would have a large sale.

"The accompanying letters will interest you as proofs of your growing
popularity. We mail you to-day, by request of Miss May Alcott, a copy of
her father's clever little volume, 'Concord Days.' A fine old gentleman
he is, the worthy father of the most popular of American authoresses."

Here is Miss May Alcott's letter:--

"MY DEAR MR. HAMERTON,--I am pleased and proud that you should have
considered my letter worthy an answer, and I am still more gratified to
be allowed the satisfaction of selecting the best pictures of Concord's
great man for you. Mr. Emerson has been for more than thirty years the
most intimate friend of my father, as also Mrs. Emerson and mother; the
daughters and myself growing up together. And as father is thought to
know and understand the poet perhaps better than any other contemporary,
I venture sending by post one of his books, which contains an essay on
Mr. Emerson, which may interest you. It was thought so fine and true on
its first appearance that it was published in illuminated form for
private circulation only; but as there is not a copy of the small
edition to be obtained, I send 'Concord Days' instead. This morning, on
receipt of your very kind reply to my letter, I went to Mr. Emerson's
study and read him the paragraph relating to himself, which pleased him
exceedingly; and while his daughter Ellen stood smilingly beside him, he
said, 'But I know Mr. Hamerton better than he thinks for, as I have read
his earlier works, and though I did not meet him while in England, I
value all he writes.' Then I showed him the two pictures which father
and I thought the preferable likenesses, which I enclose by mail to you,
though he produced a collection taken at Elliot and Fry's, Baker Street,
London, from which we find none better on the whole than this head,
which gives his exact expression, and the little one giving the _tout
ensemble_ of the man we admire so much."

Few things could have given greater pleasure to Mr. Hamerton than to
learn that his works were appreciated by such a writer and thinker as
Mr. Emerson, whose books he studied and enjoyed and quoted very
frequently. But he was quite put out by the engraving of his portrait,
which, indeed, could not be called a likeness. He wrote as much to
Roberts Brothers, who replied: "We are not a bit disappointed to hear
that you don't like the head, for we have come to consider the dislike
of all authors to similar things as chronic." They offered, however, to
have the plate corrected according to the victim's directions, and
added: "But take heart upon the fact that nine hundred and ninety-nine
out of a thousand who look upon it believe it to be a facsimile of
yourself, and where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise."

In another letter, they say again:--

"The head, which to you is an insurmountable defect, is favorably looked
upon by everybody. If Mrs. Hamerton should hear the praise from fair
lips she would certainly be jealous. However, the engraver will see how
nearly he can conform to your wishes, and perhaps we may be able to
please you yet."

No praises from lips however fair would have induced me to put up with
the portrait, and I said so frankly, without being at all influenced by
jealousy, for in my opinion the original was far handsomer in expression
and bearing than the likeness; but Roberts Brothers, who had never seen
the original, still clung to the obnoxious engraving, and wrote again:
"If _we_ are deluded, and happy in that delusion, why should _you_ care?
Mrs. Hamerton, she must confess it, is jealous of our fair
countrywomen." Nevertheless it was withdrawn in deference to our wishes.

Mr. Powers was now and then discreetly reminding Mr. Hamerton of his
promised pictures, and after hearing from the painter that they were
_safe_ (whatever that may have brought to his mind) sent these verses:--

"MY PICTURES.

"A famous artist over the sea
Promised to paint two pictures for me.

"He wrought, but his colors would not show
His pure ideal and heart's warm glow.

"And so the paintings are still unsent,
Though years ago their spirit went.

"Two pictures hang in my treasured thought--
My dream of those the artist wrought.

"They are sweet and fadeless, and soothe my sight,
When weary and sad, with a strange delight.

"But the light which shows their marvellous art
Is the generous glow of the painter's heart.

"This is the way that there came to me
The gift of pictures from over the sea."

"ANSWER.

"There's a parson out West in Chicago,
To whom I did promise--long ago--
A couple of pictures,
Not fearing strictures
Of the critical folk of Chicago.

"Time passed, and the works were not finished;
Time passed, yet with hope undiminished,
That parson he wrote,
And my conscience he smote,
And so was I greatly punished.

"For a promise is not a pie-crust,
And 'I will' is changed to 'I must'
When you say to a friend--
'Two pictures I'll send,'
And he orders the _cadres_ in trust.

"Then the parson he sighed in despair--
'Where are my two pictures?--O where?'
In regions ideal
Far, far from the real,
Like cloudscapes that melt into air.

"And then I thought--'Now it grows serious,
For deferred hope is most deleterious;
Yet how can I toil
In color and oil
In a world where the publishers weary us?'

"Ah me! for a month with the flowers,
And the sweet April sunshine and showers.
To paint with delight
From morning till night,
For my dear friend, Horatio N. Powers!"

It may be said here that the pictures were completed and packed off in
the beginning of October, 1876.

In view of a series of large etchings Mr. Hamerton went to Decize, on
the Loire, where he hoped to find material for several subjects. He made
twenty sketches of the town, river, boats, etc., and then called upon M.
Hanoteau, the painter, who had expressed a desire for his acquaintance.
There is a short note relating the visit:--

"April 21, 1876. Arrived at ten a.m., and had a pleasant day watching
him paint. I also saw the interior of his atelier, and the things in
progress. He only paints in the immediate neighborhood. Always from
nature. When we had finished _déjeuner_ we went together to a little
_étang_ in the wood, near to which were some old cottages. He painted
that bit on a small panel. After completing his sitting he showed me
part of the road to Cercy-la-Tour, and a gentleman with him showed me
the rest.

"Had a deal of art talk with Hanoteau, also with a young sculptor called
Gautherin."

This young sculptor was poor, but energetic and courageous; he rapidly
made his way to fame, but unfortunately died too soon to reap the
benefit of his remarkable talent.

The idea of an abridged "Wenderholme" had been accepted by the author,
who had written to Messrs. Blackwood about it, and who received the
satisfactory answer that, "though they had sustained a loss with the
first publication, they thought that the reputation and popularity of
the writer having considerably increased, 'Wenderholme' would sell well
in their 'Library Series of Novels.'" In consequence the revision was
begun at once, for Roberts Brothers had also written, "Whenever you feel
inclined to take up 'Wenderholme,' we shall be glad to comply with your
demand." And there followed a new proposition in the same letter:--

"Since writing you about a new novel, we have had an inspiration, and
have already acted upon it--a series of novelettes, to be published
anonymously, the secret of authorship, for a period, to rest entirely
with the author and publisher. We shall call it the 'No Name Series,'
and issue it in neat, square 18mo volumes of about 250 pages, to sell
for one dollar.

"Those to whom we have suggested the idea are mightily pleased, and we
are even tickled with the great fun we expect to have--something like a
new experience of the 'Great Unknown' days of Sir Walter Scott. We have
several promises from well-known authors, and we all agree that you must
write one of them. Take your own time to do so, and when you send us the
'copy' we will advance £50 towards the copyright. People say it will be
impossible to keep the secret, for an author's style cannot be hidden;
but though it may be easy enough to say, 'Oh! this is Hamerton; anybody
can tell his style,' _if it is not admitted_, there will be uncertainty
enough to make it exciting, and create a demand--we hope a large one."

Although my husband had not been so well in the spring (it was the worst
time of the year for him), he decided to start for England early in June
to see the Paris Salon and the English Academy. He did not ask me to go
with him, for our daughter had had quite recently a bad attack of
bronchitis--at one time we had even feared inflammation of the
lungs--and the greatest care against the possibility of colds had been
recommended. However, he thought he would be equal to the journey, and
gave me a promise to stop whenever he felt unwell. He reached Paris all
right, did his work there, and had a kind letter from Mr. Seeley, who
said:--

"I was greatly pleased to receive your card this morning, and learn that
you had had a successful journey. Now you will certainly come and see
me, won't you? Brunet-Debaines is here, and will remain till the end of
next week. If you are with us then, we will get him to Kingston, and
have a day on the Thames together, and all of us shall make sketches."

It was very tempting. But the next news was not so good, and Mr. Seeley
wrote again:--

"If you have lost your appetite in a big town the remedy is plain. Come
to Kingston at once. You will not be much troubled with noise there, and
you can paddle about on the river and get hungry, or go flying madly
about on a bicycle, if you have kept up the practice. There is a big
bedroom empty, and waiting for you."

The journey was resumed as far as Amiens, but the enemy proved too
strong to be overcome by courage and resolution, and after resting two
days my husband came back home by easy stages, having only told me the
truth after leaving Amiens, to prevent my going to him at any cost. He
reached La Tuilerie on the first of July, and I see in the diary:
"Rested at home. Very glad to be there." The attempt was not attended by
any lasting bad effects; he immediately regained his appetite and usual
health; but his Aunt Susan was sorely disappointed. He tried to soothe
her by explaining what he believed to be the combined causes of his
breakdown: first the intense heat, which had made his stay in Paris very
trying; the fatigue he had undergone there; and lastly the weakness
supervening after the loss of appetite, also due to the abnormal heat,
which was causing several sunstrokes every day, even in England. He
announced his intention of making another attempt with me in the autumn,
when the chances would be more in his favor.

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