A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P R S T U V W X Z

Philip Gilbert Hamerton

P >> Philip Gilbert Hamerton et al >> Philip Gilbert Hamerton




It may be remembered that a cousin of my husband's, Mr. H. Milne, had
called upon us at Innistrynich, and had since bought his little
property. He heard of our last visit to Yorkshire, and, not aware of his
relative's trouble in regard to railway travelling, had felt hurt at his
apparent neglect. Luckily my husband heard of it through his Aunt Susan,
and immediately wrote to explain matters. Mr. H. Milne, who had known
all about the pecuniary situation, now answered:--

"I can assure you that it is very pleasing to me to know that your
career has been so successful as to enable you to give your sons an
education to fit them to grapple with the difficulties people have to
meet with nowadays to make them comfortable, and to do so is all the
more satisfactory when accomplished by their own exertions. My mother
[the lady who served as model and suggestion for Mrs. Ogden in
'Marmorne'] still retains unimpaired all her faculties, and looks much
the same as when you were here. We shall celebrate her eighty-sixth
birthday on March 15. She really is wonderful, and a marvel to every
one, and particularly so to her doctor, who on no occasion has ever
prevailed on her to take one drop of medicine, notwithstanding he
persists in coming to see her twice a week--for what reasons seems quite
past my mother's comprehension."

The pecuniary situation had certainly improved, which was a relief to my
husband, for his children were growing up, and losses due to non-
remunerative work and ill-health had to be gradually made good. There
seemed to be a fate adverse to his making money, even by his most
successful works. Here is "Marmorne" as an example, published in
America, in England, in France, both in Hachette's "Bibliothèque des
meilleurs Romans Étrangers," and as a feuilleton in the "Temps," also in
the Tauchnitz collection, unanimously well received by the press; said
to be "_le_ roman de l'année" by the "Revue des Deux Mondes," and still
bringing considerably less than £200 to the author's purse. It was a
great disappointment to the publishers also. Roberts Brothers wrote: "Of
'Marmorne' we have only sold 2,000 copies; there ought to have been
10,000 sold;" and Mr. Blackwood said: "The sales have been rather
disappointing to us after the attention and favorable impression the
work attracted; we had looked for a larger and more remunerative
demand."

The character of the scenery in the Autunois pleased Mr. Hamerton more
and more, though it lacked the grandeur of real mountains. He was
particularly sensitive to the beauty of its color, which reminded him
sometimes of the Scotch Highlands, and was said to be very like that of
the Roman Campagna in summer-time. Such notes as the following are
frequent in his diary:--

"January 11, 1878. Went to Fontaine la Mère; beautiful drive the whole
way. Was delighted with the Titian-like quality of the landscape. Much
of the sylvan scenery reminded me of Ruysdaël. Took five sketches."

Throughout this year my husband gave a great deal of his time to his
aunt's affairs, which were in a deplorable state, owing to the
dishonesty of her lawyers; accounts for several years past had to be
gone over, cleared up, and settled, and at so great a distance the
proceedings involved a heavy correspondence. However, the help given was
efficacious, and Miss Hamerton's independence was secured in the end. In
the summer Gilbert had to relinquish the river-baths that he enjoyed so
much. In the two preceding years he had remarked that he was often
unwell and agitated after a swim, but had kept hoping that the effect
might be transitory; it was, however, now renewed with growing intensity
every time he took a cold bath, so that, with much regret, he had to
give them up. He used to say with a shade of melancholy, that we must
resign ourselves to the gradual deprivation of all the little pleasures
of existence,--even of the most innocent ones,--but that the hardest for
him to renounce would be work.

Having borne the journey to England in 1877 without bad results to his
health, he now decided to attempt a visit to the Paris International
Exhibition. He was very anxious to ascertain the present state of the
fine arts all over the globe, and if possible to make the best of this
opportunity. On the day appointed for starting, and whilst he was
packing up, Mr. R. L. Stevenson just happened to call without previous
notice. What a bright, winning youth he was! what a delightful talker!
there was positively a sort of radiance about him, as if emanating from
his genius. We had never seen him before; we only knew his works, but he
seemed like a friend immediately. Listening to his fluent, felicitous
talk, his clear and energetic elocution, his original ideas and veins of
thought, was a rare treat, and his keen enjoyment of recovered health
and active life was really infectious. He could not remain seated, but
walked and smoked the whole of the afternoon he remained with us.
Knowing that he had lately been dangerously ill, I ventured to express
my fear that the smoking of endless cigarettes might prove injurious.
"Oh, I don't know," he said; "and yet I dare say it is; but you see,
Mrs. Hamerton, as there are only a very limited number of things
enjoyable to an individual in this world, _these_ must be enjoyed to the
utmost; and if I knew that smoking would kill me, still I would not give
it up, for I shall surely die of _something_, very likely not so
pleasant." Although the shutters were closed in all the rooms that were
not to be used in our absence, they were opened again to let him see the
etchings on the walls; for he had a fine taste, not only for the
beauties of nature, but also for artistic achievements. We felt it most
vexatious to be obliged to leave that very evening, but my husband
managed to remain with Mr. Stevenson till the last available minute, by
asking me to pack up his things for him. I remember that after reading
the "Inland Voyage" I had told my husband how I had been charmed by it,
and had begged to be given everything which came from the same pen; but
at that time we were afraid that such a delicate and refined talent
would not bring popularity to the author; happily we were
mistaken,--perhaps only to a certain extent, however,--as his most
successful works belong to a later and quite different genre.

At the recommendation of M. Rajon, we went to a quaint little hotel in
Paris, near La Muette, well known to artists and men of letters, and
patronized, for its quietness, by some of the most famous, being usually
let in apartments to persons who brought their own servants with them.
Its situation, close to the Bois de Boulogne, made our returns from the
exhibition easy and pleasant--so easy, indeed, that when we had to spend
the evening in Paris, and could find no carriage to take us there, we
merely went back to our headquarters, where we had the choice of
railway, tramways, and omnibuses for every part of Paris.

According to our promise we went to meet M. Rajon at his studio, and
amongst other things saw a beautiful portrait of him, which, however,
was so much flattered that for some time I hesitated about the likeness.
He was represented on horseback, with a long flowing cloak, and a
sombrero casting a strong shadow over one of his eyes, which was
afflicted with a weakness of the eyelid, which kept dropping down so
frequently that the pupil was seldom seen for any time; the horse was a
thoroughbred; two magnificent greyhounds (the originals we could admire,
at rest upon a raised platform of carved oak and red cushions) ran
alongside of him, and this tall-looking, dignified, romantic rider
was--little, spare, merry M. Rajon. Gossip whispered that he had been
somewhat intoxicated by his sudden fame, and had been, for a while,
desirous of showing off, so that he had brought back from England the
thoroughbred and the greyhounds to be noticed in the "Allée des
Cavaliers," but that not having been accustomed to sit a horse before,
his thoroughbred had flung him against a tree so severely that the taste
for equitation had gone out of him for ever. Be this as it may, M. Rajon
was far from being vainglorious; he knew his value as an artist, frankly
and openly enjoyed his success, but remained simple, urbane, and
courteous. He told us that he could only give _two hours_ a day to
original work, and that his mother (a simple woman for whom art remained
an incomprehensible mystery) could not admit this limitation. At that
time he was spending money rather lavishly--giving _fêtes_ in his studio
to celebrated actors and actresses, musicians, singers, poets, and
artists, and the expenses were sometimes a cause of momentary
embarrassment; then his simple mother would say: "Why need you trouble
yourself about it? You work very little--then work twice as much, which
won't tire you, and you'll have twice as much money." She could not, he
said, be made to understand that this prolonged labor would be
worthless, because the inspiring flame would be burned out.

Mr. Woolner arrived in Paris a few days after Mr. Hamerton, and they
spent a whole day together in the sculpture galleries of the Louvre. Mr.
Woolner remembered that old Madame Mohl, having read my husband's works,
had expressed a wish to renew the acquaintance of former days, and would
be glad to see us both at tea-time--any day that might suit us.

A week later we called upon the wonderfully preserved old lady, who was
delighted to receive a visit from a rising celebrity--though a host of
celebrities had passed through her drawing-room. She complained of being
_délaisée_ by the young generation. Still, she remained lively and
gracious; her quick intelligence and ready memory were unimpaired by her
great age, and it was with eagerness that she seized upon another
opportunity for narrating her treasured-up stories of renowned people,
particularly of the two Ampères, whom she had known intimately. She was
still living in the same house that they had inhabited together, when
Mr. Mohl kindly gave them the benefit of his more practical sense in
household management. Madame Mohl was rather severe about Jean Jacques
Ampère, whom she called a "young coxcomb," and "an egotist." She was not
sentimental, and had no sympathy with or pity for the love so long
faithful to Madame Récamier; nay, I thought I could detect in her
strictures the unconscious feminine jealousy of a lady whose salon had
been forsaken by one of its "lions" for a more attractive one, and who
had resented it bitterly. But André Marie Ampère she praised
unreservedly, with the warmth of most exalted admiration.

It was very funny to see the little lady curled up on a couch, propped
by cushions, running over her strings of memories with pleased alacrity,
then jumping down in her stockings to pour out tea for her guests in
utter disregard of her shoes, which lay idly by the sofa, even when we
took leave of her; and as she accompanied us to the door, the white
stockings conspicuously displayed themselves at every step, without the
slightest attempt at concealment. (At that time black stockings would
have been thought an abomination.)

Almost every morning saw Mr. Hamerton in the exhibition before the crowd
of visitors arrived, so that he was able to study in peace and
profitably. He had had a card-case, and cards of a convenient size and
thickness, made especially to take notes upon, and he devoted a separate
card to every picture worth studying. It was a very convenient plan,
with alphabetical classification for references; every time he went he
took with him a fresh supply, and was not encumbered with those he had
already filled up.

Generally some etcher met him by appointment, and together they selected
pictures to be reproduced for the "Portfolio." His evenings were mostly
taken up by invitations; and it was well for his wife that she had been
mercifully exempted by nature from jealous tendencies, for the ladies
paid the author of "Marmorne" such a tribute of admiration that he was
sometimes abashed by their fervor, yet never intoxicated. Friends had
repeatedly told him that he could win the hearts of men, and if women
dared not say as much of themselves, they let him see that he exercised
a great and healthy influence over them too; he also enjoyed their
society, and though he did not mean it to be a flattery, they accepted
it as such.

Amongst artists and men of letters he was acknowledged as a writer of
genuine worth and extensive acquirements. There is a proof of it in a
letter addressed to him by M. Véron, editor of "L'Art," on merely
_guessing_ that Mr. Hamerton must be the writer of a criticism of his
"Esthétique" in the "Saturday Review."

"PARIS, 11 9_bre_, 1878.

"CHER MONSIEUR,--On me communique une revue très remarquable de la
'Saturday Review' sur mon 'Esthétique.' Ce qui distingue cet article
c'est une sérieuse connaissance du sujet et une puissance d'analyse des
plus rares. Cela ne ressemble en rien à ces généralités vagues et
flottantes dont se contentent la plupart des écrivains qui font de la
critique dans la revue des journaux. Aussi ai-je éprouvé à être loué par
un pareil homme une jouissance infiniment plus vive que celle
qu'auraient pu me procurer des éloges beaucoup plus hyperboliques, mais
moins compétents.

"Cet homme, je suppose que c'est vous. Si je ne me trompe pas,
permettez-moi de vous dire que je me sens singulièrement heureux de me
rencontrer en fait d'esthétique avec un écrivain capable de raisonner
sur ces questions comme l'a fait l'auteur de l'article de la 'Saturday
Review.'"

More acquaintances amongst artists were made during his stay in Paris,
including Bracquemond, Protais, Feyen-Perrin, Waltner, Lhermitte, and
Munkacsy.

Having finished his work in the exhibition, my husband went home to
write a notice of it for the "International Review." In the course of
November his eldest son Stephen passed a successful examination for the
second part of the Baccalauréat-ès-Lettres, and as the boy was now to
study at home, his father frequently employed him to write letters under
his dictation. It was very good practice for Stephen, and spared his
father's time for painting and drawing.

At the beginning of 1879, Mr. R. L. Stevenson had sent a manuscript to
Mr. Hamerton, with a request that he would read it, and recommend it to
a publisher if it were thought worth the trouble. It was appreciated,
and a successful sale expected. In the interest of Mr. Stevenson, my
husband advised him to sacrifice the idea of immediate payment, and to
retain the copyright, hoping that it would prove more advantageous.
However, the young author preferred the ready cash, which he may have
been in need of; nevertheless acknowledging afterwards that it would
have been preferable to have acted according to the sound advice given
at the time.

As our daughter was fast developing a talent for music, her father felt
tempted to resume the practice of the violin regularly, and they often
played duets and sonatas together; but the difficulty--nay, the
impossibility--of finding time for the prosecution of all the studies he
had undertaken was a source of oft-recurring discouragement, because
unavoidably he had to replace one by another now and then, it being
impracticable to carry them on _de front_. Sometimes he complained,
good-humoredly, that I rather discouraged than encouraged him about
music--which was certainly true, for well knowing that to become a
violinist of any skill involves years and years of regular and steady
practice, I was adverse to this additional strain, leading to no
adequate reward. I well knew it could not be sustained, and would have
to give way to pressure from other quarters--writing, painting, etching,
or reading. The study of Italian had also been vigorously resumed, so
that in the diary I see this note regularly: "Practised Spohr and
Kreutzer, or Beethoven. Read Dante." I also find the following in April:
"Spent the greater part of the day in planning my new novel with Charles
(his brother-in-law). Worked on plan of my novel, and modified it by
talking it over with my wife," I did not like the plan, which, in my
opinion, went too much into the technicalities and details of a young
nobleman's education; I feared they might prove tedious to the reader;
in consequence there is a new entry a week later: "Improved plan of
novel with wife. Now reserve mornings exclusively for it, or it will
never be finished at all. Make this a fixed rule."

At the end of April some monochromes had been sent for reproduction, but
he was greatly disappointed with them, as may be seen by the diary:--

"May 31. Had a great deal of trouble this month about reproductions of
drawings in autotype. Dissatisfied with the reproductions of the oil
monochromes, which came coarse, with thousands of false specks of light.
The surface of a drawing should be _mate_ for autotype reproduction.
This led me to make various experiments of various kinds, and the latest
conclusion I have arrived at is something like drawing on wood; that is,
pencil or chalk, going into detail, and sustained by washes of Indian
ink, and relieved by touches of Chinese white. The whole business
hitherto has been, full of difficulties of various kinds."

"June 11. The proofs of the autotypes on white paper with brown
pigment arrived to-day. Determined to have second negatives taken
of all of them, and to repaint them on the positives."

To turn his thoughts away from his repeated disappointments in artistic
attempts, and to a greater disappointment in his novel--which he had
entirely destroyed after bestowing upon it two months of labor--Gilbert
began to scheme a boat, a river yacht. It was the best of diversions for
him, as he took as much pleasure in the planning of a boat as in the use
of it. This new one was to be a marvel of safety and speed, but
especially of convenience, for it would be made to carry several
passengers for a month's cruise, with means of taking meals on board,
and of sleeping under a tent. Of course Mr. Seeley had been informed of
the scheme, and wrote in answer: "Don't fail to send me notice when your
boat may be expected on the Thames, that I may rouse the population of
Kingston to give you an appropriate reception."

Another novel was begun, but it was still to be the story of a young
French nobleman's life, spent alternately in France and in England,
and in the manner of "Tom Jones." Meanwhile "Modern Frenchmen" was
selling pretty steadily, but slowly, the public being mostly
unacquainted with the names, though Mr. G. H. Lewes, Professor
Seeley, Mr. Lockhart, and many others, had a very high opinion
of the work. Mr. Lockhart wrote about the biography of Régnault:--

"I have by me at this moment your life of Henri Régnault. I trust you
will not consider it an impertinence if I tell you how it has delighted
me, both as a man and a painter. I have the most intense admiration for
Régnault, and in reading his biography it has rejoiced me to find the
author in such thorough sympathy with his subject. Biographies of
artists, as a rule, are the most disappointing of books to artists. This
is indeed an exception, and I most heartily congratulate you on your
very subtle and delicate picture of a noble life.

"I was in Granada with Fortuny when the news of Régnault's
death came. I shall never forget the impression it made on us all. The
fall of Paris, the surrender of Napoleon, all the misfortunes of France
were as nothing compared to this.

"When I first had the book I thought you a little unjust to Fortuny, and
was prepared to indorse Régnault's estimate of him. Since then I have
seen the thirty Fortunys at the International Exhibition, and they have
moderated my enthusiasm, and brought me back to sober orthodoxy, to
Velasquez and Rembrandt."

Mr. G. H. Lewes also wrote:--

"We left London before your book arrived, but I sent for it, and Mrs.
Lewes has been reading it aloud to me the last few evenings. It has
charmed us both, and we regret that so good a scheme, so well carried
out, should in the nature of the case be one doomed to meet with small
public response. No reader worth having can read it without interest and
profit, but _il s'agit de trouver des lecteurs_.

"My son writes in great delight with it, and I have recommended it to
the one person we have seen in our solitude; but I fear you will find the
deaf adder of a public deafer than usual to your charming. A volume of
biographies of well-known Frenchmen would have but a slender chance of
success--and a volume on the unknown would need to be spiced with
religion or politics--_et fortement épicé_--to attract more than a
reader here and there.

"We are here for five weeks in our Paradise _without_ the serpent
(symbol of visitors!); but alas! without the health which would make the
long peace one filled with work. As for me, I vegetate mostly. I get up
at six to stroll out for an hour before breakfast, leaving Madonna in
bed with Dante or Homer, and quite insensible to the attractions of
before-breakfast walks. With my cigar I get a little reading done, and
sometimes write a little; but the forenoon is usually sauntered and
pottered away. When Madonna has satisfied her inexhaustible craving for
knowledge till nearly lunch-time, we play lawn-tennis. Then drive out
for two or three hours. Music and books till dinner. After cigar and nap
she reads to me till ten, and I finish by some light work till eleven.
But I hope in a week or two to get stronger and able to work again, the
more so as 'the night in which no man can work' is fast approaching."

Mr. R. Seeley agreed with Mr. Hamerton's opinion that "Modern Frenchmen"
was one of his best works, "admirably written, full of information and
interest."

Professor Seeley had also said: "I wish English people would take an
interest in such books, but I fear they won't. There ought to be many
such books written."

Mr. G. H. Lewes suggested that the other biographies in preparation
should be published separately in some popular magazine; but the author,
having been discouraged by the coolness of the reception, gave up the
idea of a sequel to what had already appeared, and the material he had
been gathering on Augustin Thierry, General Castellane, and Arago
remained useless.

The boat in progress had been devised in view of a voyage on the Rhône,
for Mr. Hamerton, who greatly admired the noble character of the scenery
in the Rhône Valley, had longed for the opportunity of making it known
by an important illustrated work. He submitted the plan to Mr. Seeley,
who answered:--

"I like your Rhône scheme; it is a grand subject, but a book on the
Rhône should begin at the Rhône glacier and end at the Mediterranean.
Have your ideas enlarged to that extent. One cannot well omit the upper
part, which the English who travel in Switzerland know so well. The
Rhône valley is very picturesque, and the exit of the Rhône from the
Lake of Geneva is a thing never to be forgotten. But don't go there to
get drowned; it is horribly dangerous."

For various reasons--amongst others, the time required and the
outlay--the idea of the book entertained by Mr. Hamerton differed
considerably from that of Mr. Seeley; it was explained at length, and
finally accepted in these words: "I think your plan of a voyage on the
navigable Rhône, with prologue and epilogue, will do well."

This plan, however, was never realized, owing to insurmountable
obstacles; it was taken up again and again, studied, modified, and
regretfully relinquished after several years for that of the Saône, much
more practicable, but still not without its difficulties.

And now what might have been a great event in the life of Mr.
Hamerton--namely, the possibility of his election to the Watson-Gordon
Chair of Fine Arts in Edinburgh, began to occupy his mind. He was
strongly urged by his friends to come forward as a candidate, but he
hesitated a good deal for several reasons, the most important being the
necessity of two places of residence, for he would not have inflicted
upon my mother and myself the pain of absolute separation. Still, there
were, as it seemed to me, in case of success, some undeniable
advantages--first of all a fixed income, and the possibility of seeing,
in the course of the necessary journeys, what might be of interest in
London and Paris, as well as the possibility of attending more
efficaciously to the "Portfolio." Mr. Seeley, who had always endeavored
to tempt his editor over to England, declared himself delighted at the
prospect. He had formerly sent such hints as these: "I wish you had a
neat flying machine and could pop over and do the business yourself." Or
at Cowes: "I thought of you, and said to myself, how much more
reasonable it would be for Hamerton to have a snug little house here,
and a snug little sailing-boat, instead of living at that preposterous
Autun. How he would enjoy dancing over these waves, which make me sick
to look at them; and how pleasant it would be to tempt him to pay
frequent visits to Kingston! There are delightful cottages and villages
to sketch in the Isle of Wight, and charming woodland scenery in the New
Forest." Again: "When our new house is dry enough then you will be
obliged to come over. It will be better than seeing the Paris
Exhibition. And when you are once in England you will take a cottage at
Cowes, and buy a boat, and never go back to Autun."

Copyright (c) 2007. famouswriterz.com. All rights reserved.