Philip Gilbert Hamerton Part 27

"The fire and the whole scene at the Hall is powerfully described. The love at first sight is well put, and the militia quarters and the landlord are true to the life."

My husband read to me the MS. of the novel as fast as he wrote it, and I was afraid that some of the original characters might be recognized by their friends, being so graphically described; however, he believed it unlikely, people seeing and judging so differently from each other.

In the summer, as usual, we had several visitors who afforded varying degrees of pleasure; a strange lady-artist amongst others, whose blandishments did not succeed in making my husband acquiesce in her desire of boarding with us, free of charge, in return for the English lessons she would give to our children. She resented the non-acceptance of her proposition, and having begged to look at the studies on the easel, feigned to hesitate about their right side upwards, by turning them up and down several times, and retiring a few steps each time as if in doubt.

A more desirable visit was that of M. Lalanne, who besides his talent had much amiability and very refined manners. Ever after he remained, if not quite an intimate friend of my husband, at least more than an acquaintance, and whenever they had a chance of meeting they made the most of it. Gilbert, after one of these meetings,--a _dejeuner_ at M.

Lalanne's,--told me the following anecdote. Some one asked him if he had not the "Legion d'honneur"? and being answered that it had not been offered, went on to say that it was not "offered," but "accordee"

through the influence of some important personage, or by the pressure of public opinion; "and I think this should be your case," M. Lalanne's friend went on, "for you have rendered, and are still rendering, such great service to French art and to French artists, that it ought to be acknowledged. As you do not seem inclined to trouble yourself about it, a deputation might be chosen among your admirers to present a pet.i.tion to that effect to the Ministre des Beaux-Arts." Mr. Hamerton having replied that he should prize the distinction only if it were spontaneously conferred, M. Lalanne remarked that decorations were of small importance, and asked without the slightest pride, "Do you know that I am one of the most _decores_ of civilians?... No; well, then, I will show you my decorations." Then ringing the bell, he said to the maid who answered it, "Bring the box of decorations, please." It was a good-sized box, and when opened showed on a velvet tray a number of crosses, stars, rosettes, and ribbons of different sizes and hues, all vying in brilliancy and splendor. The first tray removed, just such another was displayed equally well filled, and M. Lalanne explained that, having given lessons to the sons of great foreign personages, they had generally sent him as a token of regard and grat.i.tude some kind of decoration--maybe in lieu of payment.

At the end of 1869 "Wenderholme" was published, and the first number of the "Portfolio" made its appearance on January 1, 1870, and from that date it became for the editor an undertaking of incessant interest, to the maintenance and improvement of which he was ever ready to devote himself, and for which he would have made important sacrifices. The dedication of "Wenderholme" was meant for Aunt Susan, and after receiving the book, she wrote:--

"Accept my most sincere and highly gratified thanks for the copy of your novel, and its dedication. We have heard that the "Times" and the "Yorks.h.i.+re Post" had each favorable articles on the merits of your novel. We have detected nearly every character, even those that take other forms, but we do not even whisper any information in this neighborhood. Mr. and Mrs. W---- were immediately struck with the 'hoffens' and 'hirritation' of the doctor, but I pretend to think it not individual, but that it was the case among the people you were writing about."

In May 1870, Mr. Hamerton removed to La Tuilerie, about five hundred yards from Pre-Charmoy. He continued to date his letters from Pre-Charmoy--the new house being on the estate so called; his motive was to avoid possible confusion in the delivery of his letters. He was greatly tickled to hear the peasants call his new abode "le chateau de l'Anglais," and to see them staring admiringly from the road at the windows, which were left open that paint and plaster might dry before we came to live in it. Though perfectly independent of luxury, my husband liked cleanliness and taste in the arrangement of the simplest materials, and he contrived by a good choice of patterns and colors in the papering of the rooms, with the help of fresh matting on the floors, and the judicious hanging of fine engravings and etchings in his possession, to impart quite a new and pleasant aspect to the _ba.n.a.le maison bourgeoise_. Gradually I became reconciled to it, on account of its greater convenience, and I even came to like it when the vines and wisteria and golden nasturtiums hid the ugly bare walls, and the fragrance of mignonette and roses and petunias was wafted into the rooms looking over the garden, and that of wild thyme and honeysuckle into those which looked over the fields; when the tall acacias began to shoot upwards straight and graceful from their velvety green carpet, and scattered upon it their perfumed moth-like flowers; while we listened to the humming of the happy bees in the sweet-smelling lime trees and to the wondrous song of the rival nightingales challenging each other from bower to bower in the calm, warm nights of summer-time. And such a great change did not take very long to realize: the ground had been well drained and plentifully manured, and it was almost virgin soil, unexhausted by previous vegetation, so that the elm-bower was soon thickly leaved and with difficulty prevented from closing up, the climbing vines became heavy with grapes, whilst the spreading branches of the acacias speedily formed a vast parasol, and afforded a pleasant shelter from the glare of the August suns.h.i.+ne. Hardy fruit trees of all kinds had been planted all along the garden hedge, and in the third year began to yield cherries--in moderation--but plums of different species we had in great quant.i.ties, also quinces, sometimes apples, apricots, and figs--the two last, however, were frequently destroyed by frost, the spring being generally very cold in the Morvan. As to pears, we had to wait somewhat longer for them, the pear trees requiring strict pruning to preserve the quality of the fruit; but we used to have a small cart-load of them when the year had been favorable. There was nothing my husband liked better than to pick gooseberries, currants, raspberries, cherries, or plums, and eat them fresh as we took a walk in the garden; he was very fond of fruit, and unlike most men, he would rather do without meat than without vegetables or dessert. His tastes in food, as in everything else, were very simple, but he was particular about _quality_. I never heard him complain of insufficiency, though, situated as we were, there was sometimes only just enough; and even that lacking which might have been considered as most necessary, namely, a dish of meat. For Gilbert, however, it was not a privation when occurring occasionally; nay, he even enjoyed the change, and as I generally went to Autun on Fridays and could get fish, we made it a _jour maigre_, though not from religious motives. It was understood that if eggs were served they must be newly laid; if potatoes, mealy and _a point_; if fish, fresh and palatable; he would not have tolerated the economy of one of our lady neighbors, who abstained from buying fish at Autun because it was too dear, she said; but who used to bring a full hamper when she came back yearly from Hyeres, where it was cheap, enough to last for a week _after the journey_, and who considered the unsavory hamper an ample compensation for the absence of fish from her menus during the remainder of the year.

The removal did not hinder or interrupt Mr. Hamerton seriously in his work, for the new house was quite ready to receive the furniture; and the place of every piece having been decided beforehand, the farmers merely handed them out of their carts to the workmen, who carried them inside the rooms, according to previous directions.

The difficulty of getting proofs of the different states of his plates whilst etching them, incited my husband to invent a press for his own laboratory, that he might judge of his work in progress by taking proofs for himself whenever he liked. Considering the present state of our affairs I was not favorable to the idea, but I was overruled, as in all cases concerning expenses deemed necessary to artistic or literary pursuits. He had few material wants, and therefore thought himself justified in providing for his intellectual needs--for instance, by the gradual formation of a library. He often deprecated the necessity of apparent extravagance in such things; "but you see," he would say, "I cannot stand stationary in the acquirement of knowledge if I am to go on teaching others--I must keep ahead--without mentioning the satisfaction of my own tastes and cravings, to which I have a certain right." Indeed it was truly wonderful that he should have been able to achieve so much work, and work of such quality, in the intellectual solitude and retirement of these seven years pa.s.sed out of great cities where libraries, museums, and human intercourse constantly offer help and stimulus to a writer. Luckily for him he bore solitude well. He has said in "The Intellectual Life": "Woe unto him that is never alone, and cannot bear to be alone!" And again: "Only in solitude do we learn our inmost nature and its needs." Further on: "There is, there is a strength that comes to us in solitude from that shadowy awful Presence that frivolous crowds repel." He often sought communion with that awful Presence in the thick forests of the Morvan and on the highest peak of the Mont Beuvray, and found it.

For some time our minds had been disturbed by the unsettled aspect of French politics, and the possibility of a war with Prussia had been a cause of great personal anxiety to my husband on account of his nationality. He has related in "Round my House" how the news of the declaration of war reached us on a Sunday, as we were bringing the children home after spending the day peacefully in the fields and on the river-banks of a picturesque little village.

It is probable that if my husband had been able to bear a long railway journey, we might have accepted the hospitality so kindly offered in the following letter:--

WEST LODGE. _August_ 12, 1870.

"MY VERY DEAR NEPHEW AND NIECE,--I am most grievously and fearfully concerned to hear of your sad condition in consequence of the terrible and needless war that is now spreading misery, desolation, and perhaps famine all over the Empire, just to gratify the unbounded ambition of one man. We wish you and your three children could fly over to us and be in safety. Really, if you get at all alarmed, do not hesitate to come, all of you, with as much of your property as you can pack and bring; we can and shall be pleased to find you refuge from any pending evil you may be dreading. Dear P. G., you would find your articles about the state of your country had got copied into the 'Manchester Courier,' but we wish to caution you about what you put in them. Remember whose iron heart could punish you, and what would become of your wife and family if you were cast into prison.

"The little grandson and his nurse are coming here on Tuesday next for a month; they will only occupy one bedroom, so there will still be the best bedroom and a very good attic, and half of my bed if little Mary Susan Marguerite dares trust herself with me"

Although Mr. Hamerton had always taken great interest in politics, he never wished to play an active part in them; from time to time he wrote a political article about some cause he had at heart, or some wrong which he wished to see redressed, or again on some obscure point which his experience of two countries might help to clear up, but he never consented to supply regular political correspondence to any newspaper.

Having had rather a lengthened connection with the "Globe," he was offered the post of war-correspondent, which he declined.

He has pa.s.sed over many interesting incidents of this wartime in "Round my House," although he has given a few. One of the most striking was certainly his guiding a Garibaldian column _en reconnaissance_ across the bed of the river Ternin, on a bitterly cold day, mounted on his spirited little Cocote, who showed quite a martial mettle, and may well have felt proud of leading a number of great cavalry horses. She took no harm from her cold bath, but her master, whose legs had been in the icy water (on account of her small height) up to the thighs, was not so fortunate: he caught a serious chill, accompanied with fever and pains, which confined him to the house over a week. He mentions in the book our anxiety when the spy mania was at its height, and the workmen had almost decided to attack us in a body, but he refrains from detailing how, day after day, when the "hands" congregated in the village inns after dinner in the twilight, we used to take our children by the hand and pa.s.s, with hearts in anguish for their safety, but with as confident a countenance as we could command, before their infuriated groups; never knowing whether some fatal blow would not be dealt from the next group or the one following. The men stood on the door-steps, or in the very middle of the road, awaiting us with lowering brows and sullen looks of suspicion, when with sinking hearts and placid faces we stopped to say a few words to one of our _present_ enemies to whom we had formerly rendered some help in illness or dest.i.tution. The truth is, they generally looked somewhat ashamed on such occasions, and always answered politely, but without the frank and pleased looks of other days, when they were proud of our notice and interest; they would rather have done without it now, especially in the company of their fellow-conspirators against our safety. I dare say the innocent unconcern of our children, who laughed and played freely in their happy ignorance of danger, proved our best safeguard, but still every night after reaching home we could not help thinking--"How will it be to-morrow?"

Just at the beginning of the hostilities, my husband had deprecated the rashness of the French people, which was blinding them to the unprepared state of their army, and to its numerical inferiority when compared with the German force. But when he saw that, although the King of Prussia had said that the war was not directed against the French people, he was still carrying it on unmercifully after the fall of Napoleon III., his sympathies with the invaded nation grew warmer every day, and he did all that was in his power to spare from invasion that part of the country where we lived, and which we knew so well. He put himself in communication with General Bordone,--Garibaldi's aide-de-camp (Garibaldi himself being very ill at that time),--and explained how Autun might be surprised by roads which had been left totally unguarded. He made a careful map of the country about us for Garibaldi, and shortly after, outposts were placed according to his directions, so as to prevent the enemy from reaching Autun by these parts, without resistance.

He used to go to Autun with Cocote almost every night for news, and met there with Garibaldian officers whom he often drove to inspect the outposts, and they gave him the pa.s.sword for the sentinels on his way home. One night, however, he had remained even later than usual, having taken an officer to a very distant outpost, and when he reached the road leading to La Tuilerie, the pa.s.sword had been changed, and he was detained in spite of all he could say to be allowed to proceed on his way. He would have submitted easily to the discomfort of a few hours in the guard-room had it not been that he realized how anxious I must be, and when he heard the order of march given to a patrol, he asked to be allowed to join it as it was going his way, observing that the soldiers would have the power of shooting him if he attempted to run away.

The permission was granted, and he set off on foot, in the midst of the patrol, followed by his dog, Cocote having been left at the inn.

It was freezing hard, and the snow lay deep on the ground; the march was a silent one--the men having been forbidden to talk--and it was a miracle that Gilbert's dog escaped with its life, for every time it barked or growled it was threatened with instant death. His master, however, artfully represented that in case enemies were hidden in the ditches or behind the hedges bordering the road, "Tom" would soon dislodge them and help in their capture. This seemed to pacify the men, together with the prospect (no less artfully held out) of a gla.s.s of rum each when they reached La Tuilerie.

It was a weary march for Gilbert and an anxious watch for me, and as soon as I heard the joyful bark of our dog announcing his master's return, I hastened downstairs and made a great blaze for the half-frozen patrol and its prisoner, and served to them all some hot grog which was duly appreciated.

I have no doubt it seemed hard to the poor soldiers to leave the seats by the leaping flames to resume their slippery march in the creaking snow, but they did it promptly enough, somewhat cheered by the renewed warmth they were carrying away with them.

Mr. Hamerton has described in "Round my House" how he watched the battle which took place at Autun, from our garret window. With the naked eye we could only see the dark lines of soldiers without being able to follow their strategical movements; but to my husband, with the help of his telescope, every incident was instantly revealed, and he communicated them to us in succession as they occurred.

It is needless to say what a relief we experienced when we heard that the enemy was falling back--ever so slightly. Then every one of us, women and children, wanted to look through the telescope, and for once I _did_ see in it, and hailed with heartfelt thanksgivings, the scarcely perceptible retreating movement of the Germans.

At that moment the light of day was fading fast, and in the twilight I could just see my husband turning towards our awestruck children and saying to them: "I am certain that you will never forget this day, and what a horrible thing a war is."

And they answered, "Oh! never!"

Despite these painful preoccupations, Mr. Hamerton had prepared the "Etcher's Handbook" and its ill.u.s.trations, and was writing a series of articles on the "Characters of Balzac" for the "Sat.u.r.day Review." To save time I read to him "Le Pere Goriot," "Eugenie Grandet," "Ursule Mirouet," "Les Parents Pauvres," "La Cousine Bette," etc. Mr. Harwood approved of the series, but although my husband admired Balzac's talent greatly, he disliked the choice of his subjects in general, and complained to me of the desponding state of mind they produced in him; he called it "withering" sometimes. In consequence he became convinced that it was not a good study--mentally--for him, and rightly abandoned the series, for it was of importance that he should be in the healthiest mental condition to write the "Intellectual Life," the form of which was giving him a great deal of trouble. He had already begun it twice over, and each time had read to me the preliminary chapters, without giving to my expectant interest entire satisfaction. He had had the plan of the book in contemplation for years, and the gathered materials were rich and ready, but the definite form had not yet been found. He was in no way discouraged by repeated failures, and told me he "was sure to grasp it sometime," only he grew excited in the struggle. The prudent rule which forbade work at night had been cast aside, and it was about two o'clock in the morning when I was awakened to listen to the first chapters of the "Intellectual Life," as they now remain. I was very happy to be able to praise them unreservedly: hitherto my part had been but a sorry one. I could only say, "I don't think this is the best possible form," without suggesting what the best form ought to be; but now I felt sure it answered exactly to my expectations, and my husband rejoiced that "he had hit it at last."

CHAPTER XI.

1870-1872.

Landscape-painting.--Letters of Mr. Peter Graham, R. A.--Incidents of the war time.--"The Intellectual Life."--"The Etcher's Handbook."

An American clergyman, Mr. Powers, after reading Mr. Hamerton's works, had become one of his most fervent admirers, and there came to be a regular correspondence between them. Mr. Powers used to gather all the information he could about the progress of his friend's reputation in the United States--newspaper articles, criticisms, encomiums, notes, etc., and to send them to Pre-Charmoy. He was a great deal more sensitive to strictures on my husband than the victim himself; and I see in the letter-book of 1870 this entry: "April 28. Powers. To console his mind about the article on me."

Now Mr. Powers longed to see some pictures from the hand of Mr.

Hamerton, and had so often expressed this wish, that the artist, out of grat.i.tude for the constant interest shown in his work, rashly promised to paint two landscapes as a present. It was very characteristic that he did not promise one only, but two, and at a time when he was so overwhelmed with work that he hardly knew how to get through the most pressing; and still more characteristic is this other entry in the letter-book: "February 7, 1871. Powers. Sending him measures of his pictures, so that he may get frames for them."

It is true that one of the pictures was begun, but before it was brought to completion several years were to elapse, though the pictures were both--at intervals--on the easel; always undergoing some change either of effect or of composition, even of subject, for the painter could never be satisfied with them. He felt that he lacked the power of expressing himself, and said to me: "These are not my pictures, I _dream_ them differently;" whilst when he had seen Mr. Peter Graham's "Spate in the Highlands," he exclaimed: "This is one of my _dream_-pictures; I should like to have painted it." Entirely devoid of the false pride which prevents learning from others, he had written to Mr. Peter Graham about what he considered his failures, and had received the following reply:--

"With regard to what you say of yourself in your last letter, I have never had an opportunity of seeing a picture of yours; but I cannot imagine any one to fail in landscape who has the high qualifications for it which you obviously have--a sensitively impressionable nature, a strong, loving admiration for whatever in heaven or earth is beautiful or grand in form, color, or effect. Then you have the faculty of observation, without which a mind, however sensitive to the impressions of nature, will not be able to do anything, will be pa.s.sive, not active.

The mechanical difficulties of our art must be to some extent overcome before our thoughts and intentions can be realized and our impressions conveyed to others. After all, every artist feels that his work is a failure, the success of rendering what he wishes is so exceedingly limited in his mind. I am talking of what you know as well as I do; but my only reason is that you spoke of yourself as failing in landscape, 'probably from want of natural ability,' which I cannot believe. My method of getting memoranda, which you inquire about, is to study as closely as I can; to watch and observe and make notes and drawings, also studies in color, and patient groping after what I wish to learn, are my only methods. I feel unable to enter into details, so much would need be said on the subject. I believe I am much indebted to my long education as a figure-painter for any little ability I may have in rendering the material of nature. I was a figure-painter many years before I touched landscape. Continued study from the antique and painting from the nude in a life-cla.s.s give, or ought to give, an acquaintance with light and shadow which to a landscape-painter is invaluable--nature affects our feelings so much in landscape by light and shadow. In Edinburgh we had a long gallery with windows from the roof at intervals, and the statues were arranged there; a splendid collection. I shall never forget the exquisite beauty of the middle tint, or overshadowing, which the statues had that were placed between the windows; those which were immediately underneath them were of course in a blaze of light, and we had all gradations of light, middle-tint, and shadow. When I came to study clouds and skies, I recognized the enchantment of effect to be caused by the same old laws of light I had tried to get acquainted with at the Academy. Of course color adds immensely to the difficulty of sky painting, and the amount of groping in the study of gray, blue, etc., is very disheartening. I need not longer weary you, however, on this subject, but shall just again say that I really see no reason why you should not succeed in landscape-painting if such be your wish, and therefore cannot think of you as having failed."

Then, in a subsequent letter, I find this pa.s.sage:--

"Since receiving your last letter I have read, and with great pleasure, your 'Painter's Camp in the Highlands.' I am stronger than ever in the belief that it is merely from your never having devoted the necessary amount of time to art in the right direction that unqualified success has not been attained by you as an artist. I think it unfortunate that you 'learned painting with a clever landscape-painter.' You probably far excelled him in sympathy with nature, power of observation, and all the gifts especially required for a landscape-painter. What you really needed, study under a figure-painter, or better still at an Academy, would have given you. Landscape nature is too complicated to be a good school to acquire the mastery over the mechanical difficulties in art. I don't agree with you that you ought to have filled your notebooks with memoranda from nature instead of painting pictures at Loch Awe. Your experience there was very valuable. A notebook memorandum from nature is of little or no use for a picture in oil without previous study of similar subjects or effects in the same vehicle. You ask my opinion of your present method of study. I think it excellent, and would make only two suggestions. You might safely discontinue the study of botany and dissection of plants; there is not the slightest fear of a want of truth in your pictures, and the time might be devoted to some more pressing work. Then I think you might paint the human figure with much profit, even to landscape-painting and writing on art."

The reader may have remarked that Mr. Hamerton had frequently painted from a model at Pre-Charmoy, though not from the nude, for he was of opinion that this kind of study was no great help to him at this stage, though it might have been earlier.

A more serious impediment than technical difficulties soon stopped all progress with Mr. Powers' pictures. It was a recurrence of the cerebral excitement, almost in a chronic form. My husband had made a plan for issuing--separately--proofs of the etchings appearing in the "Portfolio;" but he was so ill that he could not hold a pen; and to explain the details of this plan to Mr. Seeley I acted as amanuensis under his dictation. His aunt was very much grieved to hear of this illness, and wrote:--

"Suppose you tried a ten or twenty miles' journey by train, in some direction whence you could return by water or conveyance if necessary. I a.s.sure you I can do valiant things with impunity that the very thinking of them would have made me ill about thirteen months ago."

He did not need courage to be preached to him, he had a sufficient store of it; indeed, his nervousness had nothing to do with fear: he used to drive or ride Cocote after she had been running away, upsetting the carriage and breaking the harness, till she was subdued again into docility. Once at Dieppe, in a storm, he had volunteered to steer a lifeboat which was making for a s.h.i.+p in distress, but his services had been refused when it was known that he had a family. He rode fearlessly one of the high, dangerous bicycles of that time, about which Aunt Susan humorously said in one of her letters that "they often prove rather restive, and are given to, or seized with, an inclination to b.u.t.ting the walls, and also of lazily lying down on the road over which they ought to be almost imperceptibly pa.s.sing along." And during the war he kindly received, fed, and helped several _francs-tireurs_ and stray French soldiers, perfectly aware that he was risking his life in case the Prussians came near; he even conveyed one of them to the Garibaldian outposts in his carriage. Of his own accord he attempted time after time to get the better of this peculiar nervousness, but it had lately increased to such a point that, for a time, when we reached Autun in the carriage and came _in sight_ of the railway bridge, he had to give me the reins, jump down, and go back to wait for my return outside the town; for I could not go with him, having to take our boys to the college. I never knew how I might find him when we met again. Unlike the majority of patients, who make the most of their ailments to excite sympathy, he considerately let me know immediately of the slightest improvement, and kept repeating: "It will soon be over now; don't distress yourself."

I believe that the great excitement and anxiety of the wartime had caused the recurrence of the ailment, and no wonder, for we knew several cases of mental derangement in the small circle of our acquaintances, even amongst peasants, who are far from imaginative or nervous. In Gilbert's case there were only too many reasons for anxiety, besides the uncertainty of his situation. His brother-in-law, M. Pelletier, then econome of the Lycee at Vendome, was in the thick of the strife, and his post was not unattended with danger--though the Lycee had become an International Ambulance. It was sometimes hard for him to restrain his indignation before the insolence and partiality of the victors: once, for instance, he appealed to the general in command to obtain for the French wounded an equal portion of the bread given to the Prussians; but he was pushed by the shoulder to an open window, from which the French army could be seen, and the general exclaimed--pointing to the soldiers in the distance: "Vous n'aurez rien, rien! tant que nous ne les aurons pas battus!... allez!..."

Another time M. Pelletier had to go to Chateau Renaud to fetch several things sorely wanted at the ambulance. It was forbidden by the enemy, under penalty of death, to carry any letters out of the city, which they had declared in a state of siege; but M. Pelletier could not find in his heart to refuse a few from desolate mothers and wives, and these letters were carefully sewn up at night, by his wife, in the lining of his overcoat. Who betrayed him?... No one knows, but just as he was about to descend the stairs, some one rapidly brushed past, whispering hurriedly, "Leave that coat behind." He understood, went back to his apartment, threw the coat to his terrified wife, merely saying "Burn," and had only time to seize another great-coat hanging in the pa.s.sage and rush to the omnibus waiting with the escort. He was, however, stopped by a Prussian officer, who said: "You sha'n't go--you are carrying letters, and you know that you have put yourself in the way of being shot." The coat was taken from him _and the lining cut open_. On finding nothing, the officer said, with a dry smile: "You have been warned; but let it be a lesson to you,--you might not escape so easily another time."

My brother Charles, despite his being the only son of a widow and _soutien de famille_, had been enlisted, and his letters did not always reach their destination, though his regiment was at Chagny, not far from Autun, and for a while Mr. Hamerton had lost all traces of his mother-in-law. Madame Gindriez had gone to Vendome to be near her younger daughter, Madame Pelletier, in the hope of keeping clear of the b.l.o.o.d.y conflict, but found herself in the very centre of it after the occupation of Vendome by Prince Frederick Charles, and was thus shut off from all news of her son. After vainly attempting to get a safe-conduct during the hostilities, she at last succeeded after the armistice, and left the town to go to Tours, where she had friends willing to receive her, and where she expected to hear from her son. The omnibus in which she travelled was escorted by Bismarck's White Cuira.s.siers, pistol in hand, till it reached Chateau Renaud. In the night, Madame Gindriez was awakened by loud rappings at her bedroom door, and ordered to give up her room to some Prussian sergeants who had come back from an expedition. She dressed quickly and went to the kitchen--the only place in the hotel free from soldiers--to await the morning as she best could.

Her breakfast was served upon a small table, apart from the long one in the centre of the room, which was reserved for the German officers. They were very much elated, it seemed, by the armistice, thinking that it might lead ultimately to a peace, for which they openly expressed their desire, ordering champagne, clinking their gla.s.ses together, and politely offering one to Madame Gindriez with the words: "You won't refuse to drink with us _a la paix_, Madame?" "a la paix, soit," she courageously answered; "mais sans cession de territoire." They did not insist.

It may be easily surmised that such tidings, reaching my husband from time to time, kept him in an anxious state far from beneficial to his health. After the armistice, I find a great many entries in the letter-book of letters inquiring about friends, and how they had fared during this terrible war-time. Despite this chronic state of anxiety, Mr. Hamerton was writing "The Intellectual Life," and had offered it for publication in America to Messrs. Roberts Brothers. They answered:--

"We liked the t.i.tle and the plan of your new work, as outlined by you, and presuming it will be larger than 'Thoughts about Art,' we will give you fifty pounds outright for the early copy, or we shall allow you a percentage on it, after the first thousand are sold, of ten per cent, on the retail price, provided we are not interfered with by competing editions."