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Philip Gilbert Hamerton

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Mrs. Henry Ady (Julia Cartwright) wrote that she and her husband had
been charmed with it. The book seemed to have influenced women
powerfully, for their letters about it were very numerous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The author wrote to Mr. Seeley:--

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

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

R. L. Stevenson wrote:--

"BOURNEMOUTH. _March_ 16, 1885.

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

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

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

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

"Yours very sincerely,

"ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON."

Mr. Seeley wrote:--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Then you have the judgment of pictures which goes by the pleasure of
the eyes, and tastes a picture with the eyes as wine and good cooking
are tasted by the tongue. I believe this ocular appreciation is nearer
to the essential nature of art than the literary or intellectual
appreciation of it. _Vide_ Titian's pictures, which never have anything
to say to the intellect, but are a feast to the eyes.

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

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

"With regard to the papers on Landscape Painters--if I wrote the
introductory chapter it would be on landscape-_painting_ as an art, not
so much on the painters. I should trace something of its history, but
should especially show how it differs from figure-painting in certain
conditions. For example, in figure-painting composition does not much
interfere with truthful drawing, as a figure can always be made to
conform to desired shapes by simply altering its attitude and putting it
at a greater or less distance from the spectator, but in landscape
composition always involves the re-shaping of the objects themselves.
Again, color is of much more sentimental importance in landscape than in
the figure. _Purple_ hills, a _yellow_ streak in the sky, and _gray_
water produce together quite a strong effect on the poetical
imagination, whereas the same colors in a lady's dress are but so much
millinery. If the landscape is engraved it loses nine-tenths of its
poetical significance; if the portrait of the lady is engraved there is
only a sacrifice of some colors.

"_October_ 8, 1885."

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

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

Accordingly I inquired who was thought to be the best executant on the
piano in Paris, and we had it on good authority that it was M.
Delaborde, Professor at the Conservatoire, with whom we corresponded
immediately. Although we had friendly recommendations, he would not
pledge himself to anything before examining Mary, and we started for
Paris in some uncertainty. I had engaged a little apartment at the Hôtel
de la Muette, where we were known, and a pleasant room looking on the
garden had been reserved for us, not to inconvenience other people by
Mary's practice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Stephen, my nephew Maurice, and myself have just returned from an
exhibition on the Saône in my boat, which turned out delightful. We had
considerable variety of wind and weather, including a very grand
thunderstorm with tremendous wind (of short duration). We were just near
enough to a port where there was an inn to be able to take refuge in
time. The boat would have ridden out the storm on the water, scudding
under bare poles of course; but I have seen so many telegraph-poles and
trees struck by lightning, that I apprehended the possibility of its
striking one of our masts. At the inn we had dinner, and during the
whole of dinner, between five and six p.m., we had a splendid view of
Mont Blanc through our open window--first with all its snows rosy, and
afterwards fading into gray. As there were no beds in the inn we went on
by night, first in total darkness and afterwards in moonlight, beating
against the wind, but the wind falling altogether and rain coming in its
place, and the nearest inn being twelve kilomètres away, we slept on the
boat under a tent, and were comfortable enough though it rained all
night. Next morning we were under sail at seven, and had a delightful
day. A curious thing about that night was a swarm of ephemerae so dense
that it was like a blinding snowstorm. I could hardly see to steer for
them; they hit my face like pelting rain. They fell on the deck, till it
was covered an inch deep, and two inches deep in parts. Next morning
Stephen, on cleaning the deck, rolled them up into large balls, which he
threw into the river. The people call them _manna_.

"We exercised ourselves in all ways, going out for manoeuvers against
the wind when it was worst, rowing in dead calms, or towing the boat
from the shore, as there is a towing-path all along one side, so we need
never be quite stopped. The boat behaved capitally, and as the lads
became better drilled they did the sailing business better together. My
health kept wonderfully well in spite of (or perhaps in consequence of)
a good deal of work and some hardship. I did a lot of sketches, and
amused myself particularly with drawing the delicate distances.
Yesterday, on our return, we met by appointment a picnic party at
Nôrlay, and walked ten kilomètres under drenching rain to see a natural
curiosity called the 'end of the world,' where limestone cliffs end in a
sort of semi-circle.

"It is believed to be a creek of an ancient lake or sea. The cliffs are
evidently undermined by waves, and hang over. The ground in the middle
is full of beautiful pastures and vineyards, with lovely groups of trees
and a stream, and two very picturesque villages."

The different methods which had been tried for producing manuscript in
duplicate had all proved distasteful and unsatisfactory. My husband was
particularly irritated by the delay caused by having to press down the
hard lead-pencil or stiletto. He could not bear any slow process for
expressing the swiftly running thoughts, and he tried another plan which
enabled him to write very nearly as fast as the ideas came. Using glazed
paper and a soft pencil he made a rough draft without attempt at polish
in style, merely fixing the thoughts. This he corrected at leisure, and
copied with a particular kind of ink which was said to yield
half-a-dozen copies upon moist paper put under a screw-press. But the
result was very imperfect, and took too much time, and finally he used
to have his corrected MS. copied by a professional typewriter. This plan
was by far the most satisfactory, as, by relieving him from the drudgery
of copying, it allowed more time for painting, and a rather important
picture of Kilchurn Castle was begun, to be hung on the staircase.

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