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Philip Gilbert Hamerton

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"My complaints about the dulness of Paris refer to the peculiar state of
mind the place always induces in myself, that is, _ennui_. Now, the
_ennuyé_ state of mind is the worst possible for a writer, because his
interest in things ought always to remain keen and lively; he ought to
have the intelligence of a man with the interest of a child. I believe
Paris to be, on the whole, the most endurable of great cities, that in
which the disagreeables of such places are most successfully palliated.
For instance, I can go from here to the Louvre in magnificent avenues
all the way. But, for a writer, it is not enough to find life endurable;
he ought to be keenly interested. My life at Autun was pleasant and
refreshing; at Loch Awe it was an enchantment. However, I did not come
here for my pleasure."

And work was crowding upon him; besides "Man in Art," which had been put
aside since the interruption necessitated by the removal, the editor of
the "Forum," Mr. Walter H. Page, asked for an article on the "Effects on
Popular Education of Great Art Collections." He said: "I am glad to be
able to tell you that some of the best American newspapers have
discussed your article on the 'Learning of Languages,' and that I have
many evidences of the appreciation of a large number of our most
cultivated people."

The editor of the "Illustrated London News" also wished for a series of
articles on "French Life," and was very sorry that Mr. Hamerton could
not undertake them for want of time, and the publisher of the
"Portfolio" would have been pleased to get reviews of the annual Salons
from the editor's pen.

Early in the spring, as soon as the weather permitted it, we began to go
regularly with M. and Mme. Raillard to the prettiest places in the
neighborhood of Paris to spend the Thursdays and Sundays. We were
frequently joined by the Pelletier family, and had picnics together in
sheltered nooks. We started early in the morning, carried our provisions
with the exception of beer, wine, and bread, which could always be
bought anywhere, and roamed about or rested till the end of the day. In
this pleasant and independent manner we saw St. Germain,--the forest and
château,--by which my husband was much impressed; the lakes and Bois de
Vincennes; the park at Marly, L'Yvette; the mills of Meaux, St. Rémy:
the Château de Chevreuse, Bougival, Ville d'Avray, La Celle St. Cloud,
La Terrasse de Meudon, Le Vésinet, Nogent-sur-Marne; the ponds at
Garches, L'Abbaye des Vaux-de-Cernay, Mareuil-Marly, Melun, and L'Etang
de St. Cucufa, with its surroundings of luxuriant vegetation and noble
trees.

These walks in the country--much more of the real country than my
husband had ever expected to find so near Paris--began to reconcile him
to his new life; but what helped most towards this reconciliation was
the Bois de Boulogne, with its hidden charms and beauties, which he had
the pleasure of discovering for himself, never having heard of them. For
the parts of the Bois best known and always offered to admiration are
the most artificial, and the resorts of fashion, equipages, and crowds;
the cascade, the lakes, the Allée des Acacias, the Pré-Catelan, and La
Grande Pelouse, while there are enough solitary nooks and unfrequented
alleys, thick underwoods, open vistas, and groups of graceful and
handsome trees to interest a lover of landscape for miles and miles,
without any other disturbance than a chance meeting with a timid rabbit
or a curious deer.

No sooner had Gilbert found out that there existed in the Bois real and
extensive woodland scenery--almost untrodden and unexplored, than it
became a pleasure to start on his tricycle, followed by his dog, for an
early ride under the dewy branches, in the light and fragrant mist
rising from the moist mosses and wild-flowers under the first rays of
the sun. From these healthy rides he returned to his first _déjeuner_
much exhilarated, having breathed fresh air without the sensation of
confinement so painful to him. Gradually he came across various scenes
which he felt attracted to paint, and then his liking for the Bois was
formed. There were among others, La Mare d'Auteuil, the incomparable
group of grand old oaks, a single branch of which would have made a fine
tree; the ponds of Boulogne; the varied views of the Seine, with the gay
and sunny slopes from the walks running parallel to the river. Then the
mill and its surrounding fields, quiet at times with browsing cows
knee-deep in the rich grass, or at other times alive with merry mowers
and hay-makers. Several views of Mont Valérien, looming in the haze of
the after-glow, or in dark contrast with the splendor of the afternoon
sunshine, also caught my husband's attention; as well as numberless
other places without a name, which pleased him for one sort of beauty or
another. After each new discovery, he wanted me to go with him to see,
and whenever it was possible, and at a walking distance from the house,
I took a book with me and read to him as he sketched. By a few notes in
the diary it will be seen that his explorations extended to rather long
distances from the house:--

"Went to L'Alma on the tricycle. Found capital place for studying boats
not far from the Pont d'Iéna."

"Went round by Bois to Rothschild's, till I came to bridge of St. Cloud
and to the house--lovely play of lights on the water and upon the
heights."

"In afternoon rode as far as Argenteuil, and saw Texier's boat-building
establishment there, and the fleet of pleasure-boats."

"Went to Asnières on tricycle by the Rond-Point of Courbevoie. Some
difficult passages on road. Return easier by riverside, right bank.
Beautiful hazy distances."

"Found out boat-house of the Bilancourt boat-club. Spacious and rather
nice. Keeper boat-builder. Came back by riverside, Auteuil and Bois.
Charming harmony of grays in the sky--silvery, bluish, rose-tinted, and
lavender."

"In afternoon rode to St. Cloud with a view to comparison with Turner.
In coming back met a steam-carriage on the road, managed, I believe, by
Caran d'Ache," etc., etc.

When he had regained the elasticity of his mind, his thoughts were
turned again to his important work.

Note in the diary on March 3: "Tried to recover command of 'Man in Art,'
putting the MS. in order. Read the chapters over again to recover
materials and spirit of work."

From that date "Man in Art" was steadily resumed till its completion.
There was a good deal of trouble and disappointment with the
illustrations, some of which were found unworthy of insertion; but
having been ordered, they would have to be paid for. The author was
ready to bear the cost rather than see them inserted, but Messrs.
Macmillan very kindly and generously refused to allow this, and proposed
that he should send a bill for any money that he should find it
necessary to expend on unsatisfactory illustrations.

My husband was now in far better spirits, and, apparently, in very good
health. A friend, Mr. Oliver, who had named his son Hamerton out of
admiration for the author, wrote in answer to one of his letters: "I was
pleased to hear that you find the later period of life not unattended
with deep satisfaction and pleasure."

Among those pleasures were the friendly or interesting visits that the
remoteness of Autun from great centres would have effectually prevented.
In the spring we saw Mrs. Macmillan and her son; in the autumn we had
the pleasure of becoming personally acquainted with Mr. and Mrs. Adam
Black, who were passing through Paris, and with whom we spent an
afternoon visiting the gardens and ruins of St. Cloud.

Roberts Brothers, to whom many applications for letters of introduction
were addressed, and who managed to give only a few, sent some of their
friends to Mr. Hamerton now and then. They said in one of their letters:
"Since you will not come to America and see for yourself, we want to
show you that our aborigines are as good specimens of the _genus homo_
as they make anywhere."

In the Parc des Princes lives a great artist, Urrabieta Vierge, whose
house and studio were only a few minutes distant from Clématis. Mr.
Hamerton's admiration of this artist's talent was great, and his liking
for him as a man became great also. He often expressed the opinion that,
in his best pen-drawings, Urrabieta Vierge was--and would
remain--without a rival. He used to spend hours over the original
illustrations to Pablo de Segovie, and other drawings in the possession
of the artist. Hardly ever did a day pass without seeing my husband in
M. Vierge's studio once at least. He had opportunities of rendering him
a service sometimes, as the artist had dealings with English and
American publishers, but was ignorant of their language, and in token of
gratitude M. Vierge painted his new friend's portrait, and also that of
his mother-in-law, Madame Gindriez.

The idea of a book on the study of words, to be written in collaboration
with M. Raillard, had not been abandoned by my husband, who submitted
the title for Mr. Seeley's approval. It was to be: "Words on their
Travels, and some Stay-at-home Words." It was pronounced lively and
interesting. His own share had been delayed; but his son-in-law was
working at it, and they carefully planned together the composition and
form of the book, the separate parts of which were to be linked together
by essays from my husband's pen.

Much time was devoted to the exhibitions in 1892. The Salons, of course,
had many visits, but they did not give so much pleasure to Gilbert as
"Les Cent Chefs-d'oeuvre," or the Pelouse Exhibition; he was also
greatly interested by Raffet's works.

Our children spent with us a month of the long vacation, as they used to
do at Pré-Charmoy, and our excursions to the most picturesque places in
the neighborhood of Paris became more frequent. We had formed a project
for going to Pierre-fonds and Compiègne; but my husband, being now most
anxious to finish "Man in Art" before Christmas, regretfully put off the
excursions to the ensuing year. Now that he had regained the buoyancy of
his spirits, he was fully alive to the peculiar charms of the country
about Paris, and even intended to write a series of small books on the
most noteworthy and remarkable places--something in the way of
exhaustive guides. He thought of beginning with those that he knew
thoroughly well already, and to acquaint himself gradually with the
others.

In September our son-in-law, with his wife, went to stay with his
parents for the remainder of the vacation; but Mary left them a few days
before her husband to see her relatives at Chalon, and in the way of
consolation, her father sent the following to Raoul:--

"BEATUS ILLE.

"Blest is the man whose wife is gone away!
From cares exempt, he dwells in perfect peace.
His heart is light as boy's on holiday.
He walks abroad and joys in his release.
The cat is gone, the frisky mouse doth play.
The fox remote, walk forth the wandering geese.
So he, delivered, thinks his troubles past,
O halcyon days!--if they could only last.

"P. G. H. to R. R.

"_Sept_. 11, 1892."

Ever since he had heard of Lord Tennyson's illness, my husband had been
greatly concerned, and never missed going every evening to the Auteuil
railway station for the latest news. After the death of the poet he
wrote to Mr. Seeley:--

"One must die some time; but it is still rather saddening to know that
Tennyson is no longer a living poet. I have always enjoyed his verse
very much; the art is so perfect, so superior to that of Browning or
Wordsworth, even to that of Byron. I know of no poet to equal Tennyson
in finish except Shelley, Keats, and Horace, and those three only in
gems."

In a letter to Miss Betham-Edwards he had said once: "Have you observed
how _very_ careful Tennyson has always been never to publish prose? That
was capital policy in his case; he seems so much more the poet to the
world outside."

Mr. Seeley was anxious to confer with the editor of the "Portfolio"
about plans for the following year; but he had considerately refrained
from mentioning it, so long as the large book was not announced for
publication. In the beginning of October, however, he wrote: "I see that
Macmillans announce your big book; so I suppose that labor is off your
hands." Then he went on to propose that the editor should write a series
of articles on the "Humorous Art of the Present Day," and my husband
took time to think about the subject.

The last sheets of "Man in Art" were sent off on October 20, and after
acknowledging their receipt, Mr. F. Macmillan said:--

"With regard to the drawings on glass, I write to say that we are
perfectly willing that, as you suggest, you should make a present of
them to the Art School of Burnley, in Lancashire.

"The same applies to the original wood-block engraved by Pierre Gusman."

Our November journey to London was unattended with troubles to my
husband's health, and it was with unalloyed pleasure that we met Mr. and
Mrs. Seeley again. Our stay was to be a short one, for it had been
decided that, in the future, we would come over at least once every
year, and more probably twice.

Here is the first letter after our arrival:--

"LONDON. _November_ 26, 1892.

"MY DEAR MARY,--I have some good news to tell you. My new book is not
out yet, but soon will be. It is in two editions, one large paper, and
dear, the other smaller paper and much lower in price. The first is
exhausted before publication, and the second without being exhausted
yet, is still going off well. I dined last night with Messrs. Macmillan,
and they seemed quite satisfied.

"Mr. Seeley has just offered to publish my next novel.

"I was glad to get a post-card from Raoul. It will be a great pleasure
to me to work with him. Perhaps, however, we shall quarrel over our
book, and never speak to each other again. But his mother-in-law will
love him still, whatever happens.

"Your very affectionate old father,

"P. G. HAMERTON."

The work that my husband had to do was easily gone through, and his
nervous system had so much improved that he went alone about London
without any forebodings, without even thinking about it, except to
remark to me sometimes that he had never expected such an improvement.
Had it not been for a very slight and short attack of gout, he would
have been perfectly well all the time.

Mr. and Mrs. Seeley were then, living in Kensington, and it was very
convenient for my husband, the situation being quiet and within easy
reach of the museums. Although the season was not favorable for going to
the country, our friends knew that their visitor would be pleased to
escape from London--were it only for a day or two, and they were so kind
as to take us to their pretty cottage at Shoreham, in Kent, and to show
us the country surrounding it. Gilbert was out walking most of the time,
and there being hills and water, wished he had time for sketching,
though he told me he would not like to live there permanently, the
country not being sufficiently open for his tastes.

The new arrangements for the "Portfolio" having been decided upon, my
husband wrote to tell Mary of our near arrival. In this letter he
said:--

"In spite of the great kindness we meet with here, I don't feel any
desire to live in or near London, it is so gloomy and dirty, besides
being so expensive, at least according to present customs of living. We
are better where we are, near you.

"I am very glad that Raoul likes the idea of our book. I believe we can
work out together something decidedly new and valuable."

In the course of a visit to Mrs. A. Black, she gave us good and
interesting news of her cousin, R. L. Stevenson, and showed us a
photograph taken inside his house at Samoa, in which he was seen
surrounded by his mother, his wife, his wife's children, and his
native servants. It was very pleasant to see him looking happy, and so
much stronger than he used to be.

Mr. Macmillan, though very feeble, was so kind as to receive us. We were
for leaving him soon, fearing that he would be fatigued; but he insisted
upon our remaining, and brightened wonderfully as he talked with my
husband. He ordered glasses and wine, and drank to our healths with such
hearty good-will, and pressed our hands at parting so affectionately,
that we were quite moved. He had been such a strong and active man, and
there was still such an expression of power and will in his countenance,
that to see him an invalid, unable to walk without help, was
inexpressibly pitiful. He had said--not without sadness--that he had
grown resigned to this trying bodily weakness, but at the same time that
he had a great dread of the weakness reaching the seat of thought some
day. It was the last time we saw him, though he lived some years longer,
and we liked ever after to recall his last kind greeting, as warm as
those of former days.

M. Raillard and his wife received us joyfully on our arrival in Paris;
we were all greatly cheered by the fact that my husband could now travel
like everybody else, and this feeling of security gave a great stimulus
to his energies. We were often planning journeys to places of interest
that it might be useful for him to visit, either for his artistic
studies or for literary work. The Countess Martinengo Cesaresco, with
whom he had long been in correspondence, had invited us to go to see her
on the Lake of Garda, and this was a great temptation to which he hoped
to yield some day.

Meanwhile, we planned for the autumn a visit to Lucerne, in which our
son and daughter and her husband would join, and we often talked about
it. I knew perfectly well that very few of our schemes could ever be
carried out, but I encouraged the discussion of them--for even that gave
pleasure to Gilbert, who had been kept sedentary so long. He told us
what he would do, and what he would attempt in such and such a place;
and his desire for beautiful natural scenes was so intense that he often
dreamt he was _flying_ towards them, and afterwards described his
sensations. The recurrence of this sensation of _flying_ over space
caused him some slight alarm, for he explained that doctors considered
it as a symptom of disturbed equilibrium in the system, which they
called levitation. Still, he was now almost in perfect health, indeed he
did not remember the time when he had been so well, so ready for work,
or enjoying it more--he said he was almost afraid, it seemed so strange.

In a letter from Roberts Brothers, dated March 10, 1893, I read: "We are
indeed pleased to hear that 'The Quest of Happiness' is likely to be
ready for this autumn, and the title is so promising that we should not
wonder if it made your 'cheques' larger."

This book, however, was laid aside for more pressing work. The
Meissonier Exhibition was opened, and my husband, who delighted in the
talent of the artist, had already gone there several times when he
received a letter from Mr. Seeley asking him to notice it for the
"Portfolio," and he assented.

Then Mr. Burlingame, of the house of Scribner's Sons of New York, came
over from London for the special purpose of becoming personally
acquainted with Mr. Hamerton, and of proposing to him to write a series
of twelve articles on modern representative painters for "Scribner's
Magazine." The proposal was flattering in itself, but the pleasure it
gave was singularly enhanced by the visitor's friendly courtesy and
cultured appreciation. After two meetings only, Mr. Burlingame had to
leave Paris, and my husband spoke regretfully of the shortness of a
visit he had so much enjoyed, and expressed a wish that an opportunity
for more prolonged intercourse might present itself before long.

Judging from Mr. Burlingame's letter, the pleasure had been mutual. I
quote a passage out of it:--

"I use my earliest opportunity to jot down a note for our better
remembrance of the main points of the arrangement for 'Scribner's
Magazine,' by assenting to which you gave me such pleasure in Paris.

"I sail on Saturday, and assure you I shall carry home no pleasanter
recollection than that of the two days which you made very enjoyable for
me at Paris and Boulogne."

The scheme did not require much literary labor, but it involved careful
researches for the choice of subjects, delicate negotiations with the
owners of the pictures chosen, to obtain the right of reproduction, and
moreover a superintendence of these reproductions as to quality.

After giving due consideration to the subject of "Humor in Painting" for
the "Portfolio," the editor did not feel inclined to undertake it. But
in his frequent walks about Paris his attention had been forcibly
attracted by the invention and fancy shown in the designs of modern
houses, and that was a study quite congenial to his tastes, and a
subject on which he was thoroughly competent to write. It was proposed
to Mr. Seeley, who accepted it, and from that moment we haunted the
quarters in which new buildings were rising, as if by magic, in the
purity of the white stone used in Paris, and in the richness or delicacy
of their carvings and mosaics.

Besides these various preparations for future work, Mr. Hamerton had
been much occupied by annotating a collection of different things
intended as a present to the Mechanics' Institution of Burnley. Shortly
after sending it off, he received the warm thanks of the Council through
its secretary.

The search after suitable subjects for "Scribner's Magazine" had only
yielded an insufficient number, and my husband decided to go to London
in July to complete his list. He felt so well that the idea of
undertaking the journey alone did not make him apprehensive in the
least. Not so with me, and my anxiety was only calmed after receiving
the assurance that he had felt perfectly comfortable the whole way.

His daughter wrote to him:--

"MON CHER PAPA,--Nous avons été bien heureux d'apprendre que tu as été
'si grand garçon' comme dit Bonne-maman. Ta témérité nous a tous étonnés
et nous a fait plaisir en même temps. Ce changement ne pourra que te
faire du bien puisque tu l'as supporté d'une façon aussi parfaite."

Here is a part of the answer:--

"ARUNDEL HOTEL, VICTORIA EMBANKMENT, LONDON,

"_July_ 22, 1893.

"I am extremely pleased with my hotel, which is just what I wanted, both
as to convenience of situation, beauty, and charges. From the window
where I am writing I can see the river and a garden with trees, and some
fine architecture on the Embankment (Quai), yet I am close to the
busiest part of London.

"I was in the Academy yesterday, and enjoyed it very much. I feel
perfectly well, and not in the least fatigued by my journey, from which
I experienced no inconvenience whatever, except an increased appetite,
which has remained with me ever since."

Shortly after my husband's return from London, Mr. Jaccaci, an American
artist and author, and a devoted friend of M. Vierge, came to see us,
and Gilbert's interest in him was quickly awakened. I was told that he
had travelled much, and, though still young, could speak eight
languages. There was a first bond between them in their admiration of M.
Vierge's talent, and in their sympathy for his individuality. They met
several times at his studio. Unfortunately Mr. Jaccaci's stay was of
short duration, and he was extremely busy, so much so indeed that he
could not accept an invitation, but promised to do so next time he came
to Paris. His departure did not put an end to the friendly intercourse,
which was carried on by correspondence.

At the first appearance of the "Portfolio" it had taken an entirely new
line among English periodicals, but now there were two other art
magazines similar in character and style of illustration, and both its
editor and publisher were desirous of an alteration which would once
more distinguish it from similar periodicals.

They considered how it might be remodelled, so as to give it a new
character of its own, and at last, taking into consideration the
prejudice which had set in against big books, they decided to reduce its
size and to increase the letterpress considerably. Each number was to be
devoted to one subject, and written by the same author, so as to be
complete in itself. The new second title, "Monographs on Artistic
Subjects," was liked by many critics, and one of them said: "Monographs!
I wonder whose idea that was. What an admirable plan! Strange that no
one ever thought of it before!"

The editor undertook to write the first number, on "The Etchings of
Rembrandt;" but in spite of his enthusiasm for the subject, and his
thorough knowledge of it, he felt painfully hurried, for the decision
had been taken somewhat late in the year. He told me he would have liked
to devote six months to its preparation. Still, the new plan gave him
much pleasant anticipation of carefully prepared work, as he disliked
devoting his time to subjects of minor importance. A number of the
"Portfolio" now allowed of a worthy subject being worthily treated, and
that was in accordance with my husband's preferred method of work.

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