Philip Gilbert Hamerton Part 43

In the spring Stephen and Richard came as usual for the Easter vacation, but our younger son's altered looks and ways greatly disquieted us. In the last year he had evinced a growing disinclination to society and pleasure; his former liveliness, gayety, and love of jokes had been replaced by an obvious preference for solitude, and, as it seemed to us, melancholy brooding. To our anxious inquiries he had answered that he was nervous, and suffering from mental unrest and insomnia. His tone of voice was now despondent, and if he spoke of the future it was with bitterness and la.s.situde. He had been so bright, so confident in his powers, so full of praiseworthy ambition, so ready to enjoy life, that this sudden change surprised all his friends and gave great anxiety to his parents. I begged his father to question him about his health, and to advise him to get a _conge_ which he could spend in the country with us, and during which he might rest thoroughly.

But I was told that he had not borne the questioning patiently. He had answered that he was "only nervous ... very nervous, and wanted peace."

How different was this answer from the one he had given three years before to another inquiry of his father when he was going to his first post.

"Richard, I can give you no fortune to start you in life--education was all I could afford, so you will have to make your own way. You are now strong and well, but you have been a delicate child, and have often suffered physically. Now, considering all this--are you happy?"

"Happy?" he had readily answered, "I am very happy; I enjoy life exceedingly. As to money matters, I can truly say that I would not exchange the education you have given me for three thousand pounds."

My husband attempted to calm my sad forebodings by telling me that there is generally a crisis in the life of a boy before he becomes a man, and he concluded persuasively by saying: "C'est un homme qui va sortir de la." But I felt that his own mind was still full of care.

When the time of my yearly departure for Paris came round, I recommended Gilbert to hire a tricycle, and try to get a change of exercise by alternately riding his horse and his velocipede, and he promised to do so.

For some time I had been desirous to join Mary, on account of her confidences about the probability of her becoming engaged. Of these confidences I said nothing to her father, as I had made it a rule not to disturb him about any projects of marriage for his daughter till I felt satisfied that everything was suitable and likely to lead to a happy result. His love for Mary was so tender, his fears of any match which would not secure for her the greatest possible amount of happiness so great, his dread of the unavoidable separation so keen, that I avoided the subject as much as possible.

When I arrived at Bourg-la-Reine, I was disappointed not to see Richard at the station, with his sister and cousins awaiting me, as he had done the year before, but I tried not to seem to notice it. He came, however, on the following day and breakfasted with us at his uncle's. He appeared cheerful enough when he talked, but as soon as he was silent his features resumed the downcast expression they had worn for some time, and he was ashy pale.

Being obliged to take Mary to her last music-lesson, I asked Richard when I should see him again?... He gave me a kiss, and said "To-morrow."

There was to be no morrow for him.

When, after vainly waiting for him, the cruel news of his tragic end was broken to us by M. Pelletier, when we learned that the poor boy had committed suicide, my sorrow was rendered almost unbearable by apprehension for my husband. I had long feared that there might be something wrong with his heart, and now I became a prey to the most torturing forebodings. My daughter and brother-in-law shared in them, and M. Pelletier approved my resolution to leave Paris immediately and endeavor to be with Gilbert before the delivery of the newspapers.

Mary and I left by the first train we could take, and arrived at La Tuilerie shortly before eleven at night. My husband divined at once that there was some great calamity, but his fears were for M. Pelletier. When he knew the truth, he silently wrapped me in his arms, pressing me to his bosom, within which I felt the laboring heart beating with such violence that I thought it could but break....

The courage of which my husband gave proofs in this bitter trial was mainly derived from his pitiful sympathy for those whose weakness he supported. He sought relief in work, but did not easily find it. There is the same plaintive entry in the diary for some weeks: "Tried to work; not fit for it." "Tried to do something; not very well." "Not fit for much; succeeded in reading a little" "Attempted to write a few letters.

Rather unwell." Then he gave up the diary for some time.

More than ever I felt reluctant to tell him of what had happened to Mary, and of the probability of her marriage; however, she had been so sorely tried by the loss of her brother, that it was imperative to turn her thoughts from it, as much as possible, to other prospects. This conviction decided me to tell her father everything, and it was a great relief to hear that he shared my views entirely. Although I had learned long since how little he considered his own comfort in comparison with that of those dear to him, how unselfish he was--in affection as in other matters--I must avow that I was unprepared for the readiness of his self-sacrifice in this case. We were both of opinion that if all went well, the marriage should take place as early as possible, so as to bring a thorough change in the clouded existence of our daughter.

Note in the diary: "Monsieur Raillard this morning asked Mary to marry him, with my consent, and she accepted him. Day pa.s.sed pleasantly. I drove Raillard and his mother to the station."

It now became necessary to make preparations for the wedding, which was to take place in the beginning of September. For the choice of an apartment and its furniture my husband himself considerately suggested my going again to Paris with Mary, where we would meet M. Raillard and consult his tastes. Accordingly I left La Tuilerie very reluctantly after the great and recent shock my husband had experienced. I am convinced it was due to the manful effort he made not to increase my distress by the sight of his own that he conquered his nervousness from that time, and was even able to strengthen and support me on my too frequent breakdowns. He attributed Richard's desperate action partly to depression arising from the effects of an accident, confided only to his brother, but partly also to the influence of unhealthy and pessimist literature on a mind already diseased, and he had said so to Mr. Seeley, who answered:--

"I am sure that poor Richard came under the influence of pure and n.o.ble examples. It may be that there was actual brain disease, though of a nature that no surgeon at present has skill to detect. I suppose it is possible that disease in the organ of thought may be accelerated or r.e.t.a.r.ded by the nature of the thoughts suggested in daily life or conversation; and I suppose every one believes that in such disorders there may come a time when the will, without blame, is overmastered.

"As to the bad literature of the day, I believe our feelings are quite in unison. What an awful responsibility for the happiness of families rests upon successful authors--and upon publishers too!"

The letters of condolence and sympathy were numerous and heartfelt; some came late, for the friends who had known Richard in his bright and merry days refused to believe that it was the same Richard who had come to so tragic an end; they thought it was a coincidence of name. I only give Mr. Beljame's letter to show how the poor boy had endeared himself to every one, and in what esteem he was generally held. All the other letters expressed the same sentiments in different words.

"8 _juillet_ 1889.

"Je suis bien sensible, Monsieur, a votre lettre, ou vous m'a.s.sociez, en des termes qui me touchent profondement, au souvenir de votre fils Richard, mon cher et excellent eleve.

"C'etait pour moi, non seulement un disciple dont je me faisais honneur, mais aussi un veritable ami, et depuis son installation a Paris, j'avais eu grand plaisir a l'accueillir dans ma famille. Les details que vous voulez bien me donner, m'expliquent pourquoi, dans ces derniers mois, ses visites etaient, a mon grand regret, devenues de plus en plus rares.

"Sa fin si inattendue, alors que la vie semblait de tous cotes lui sourire, a ete pour moi une douloureuse surprise; j'ai refuse d'abord d'y croire; c'est pourquoi je ne vous ai pas tout de suite ecrit.

"J'ai tenu a me joindre a ceux qui lui ont rendu les derniers devoirs; et j'ai charge alors votre fils aine et votre beau-frere d'etre mes interpretes aupres de vous.

"a des malheurs comme celui qui vient de vous frapper il n'y a pas de consolation possible. Si c'est au moins un adouciss.e.m.e.nt de savoir que celui qui n'est plus laisse derriere lui de souvenir d'un esprit d'elite, d'une nature aimante et aimable, soyez a.s.sure que tels sont bien les sentiments que votre fils a inspires a tous ceux qui l'ont connu, a ses camarades de la Sorbonne, qui l'avaient en affection particuliere, a ses collegues--mais a nul plus qu'a son ancien maitre qui vous envoie aujourd'hui, ainsi qu'a Madame Hamerton, l'expression de sa triste et respectueuse sympathie.

"A. BELJAME."

When Mr. Seeley was told of Mary's engagement, he wrote: "We are very glad to hear of Mary's engagement, and we wish her all possible happiness. But because you and I are so nearly of an age, I cannot help thinking most of you, and thinking what the loss to you and to Mrs.

Hamerton will be."

In preceding years Mary's brothers and cousins had often made projects in expectation of her marriage, but under the present painful circ.u.mstances it was understood that only relations would he invited.

Still the disturbance in our habits could not be avoided, as we had to provide lodgings for twenty people. My husband gave up his laboratory and his studio and with the help of the boys transformed the hay-loft into working premises. He got carpenters to fit up the big laundry as a dining-room, under his directions, and when fresh-looking mats covered the tiles, and when the huge chimney-piece, the walls, and the doors were ornamented with tall ferns, shiny hollies, and blooming heather, of which Stephen and his cousins had gathered a cartful, the effect was very charming.

My husband had to be reminded several times to order new clothes for the ceremony,--a visit to his tailor being one of the things he most disliked,--and being indisposed to give a thought to the fit, he used to decline all responsibility in the matter by making _me_ a judge of it.

His fancy had been once tickled by hearing a market-woman say that, though she did not know my name, she identified me as "la pet.i.te Dame difficile," and he called me so when I found fault with his attire.

A few days before the wedding he had gone to Autun, to fetch different things in the carriage, among them his dress-coat and frock-coat, and after putting on the last, came for my verdict. "It fits badly; it is far too large." ... Then I was interrupted by--"I was sure of it; now _what_ is wrong with it?" "Wrong? why everything is wrong; the cloth itself is not black--it looks faded and rusty--why, it can't be new!"

"Not new!... and I bring it straight from the tailor's. Really, your inclination to criticism is beyond--" He was getting somewhat impatient, for the time given to trying on was, in his estimate, so much time lost.

"It _is_ an old coat," I nevertheless said decisively. "Your tailor has made a mistake, that's all." "I am certain it is _my_ coat," he answered, quite angrily this time. "I feel at ease in it; the pockets are just in their right place;" and as he plunged his hands deliberately in the convenient pockets, he drew out of one an old "Daily News," and from the other a worn-out pair of gloves. His amazement was indescribable, but he soon joined in the general merriment at his expense--for Mary and Jeanne, the cousins, and even M. Pelletier, had been called as umpires to decide the case between us. The new coat had been left in the dressing-room, and it was the old one, given as a pattern to the tailor, which had been tried on. The best of it was that on the day of the ceremony Gilbert committed the same mistake; luckily I perceived it when he had still time to change.

He attached so little importance to his toilet that he never knew when he was in want of anything, yet his appearance was never untidy, in spite of his omissions. I remember a little typical incident about this disinclination to give a thought to needful though prosaic details.

Before leaving for England on one occasion, I had repeatedly called his attention to what he required--in particular a warm winter suit and an overcoat. He had promised several times to order them, but when the day of our departure arrived he had forgotten all about it. "It's no matter," he said; "I shall get them ready-made in London, and with the _chic anglais_ too." In England we found the temperature already severe, and I urged him to make his purchases. On the very same day, he announced complacently that he had made them, and they were to be sent on the morrow. He was quite proud of having got through the business, particularly because he had bought _two_ suits, though he needed only one. "The other would turn out useful some time," he said. And lo! when the box was opened, I discovered that instead of clothes fit for visits, he had been persuaded to accept a sort of shooting-jacket of coa.r.s.e gray tweed, waistcoat and trousers to match, with a pair of boots only fit for mountaineering. When I told him my opinion, he acknowledged it to be right, but said the tailor had a.s.sured him that "they would be lasting."

And he added: "I was in a hurry, having to go to the National Gallery, and I felt confident the man would know what I wanted, after telling him."

Mary was married on September 3, and she was so much loved in the village that every cottage sent at least one of its members to the ceremony; the children whom she had taught, and in whom she had always taken so much interest, came in numbers, and the evident respectful affection of these simple people quite moved and impressed the parents of M. Raillard. Her father was also pleased with the presence of all our neighbors and friends, and he went through the trying day with entire self-command. But when the birds had flown away the nest seemed empty and silent indeed, and to fill up the time till their return, I thought a little cruise on wheels would be the best diversion.

The weather was still fine and warm enough for working from nature, and preparations were made for a sketching tour, in which M. Pelletier would accompany his brother-in-law while the house was put to rights again.

They started with Cadette, and went successively to Etang, Toulon-sur-Arroux, St. Nizier, Charbonnat, Luzy, La Roche-Millay, St.

Leger, l'Etang-des-Poissons, and La Grande-Verriere,--a most picturesque excursion, from which my husband brought back several interesting studies.

The day after the return, M. Pelletier and his family left us, my brother, his wife and daughters, who had been bridesmaids, having preceded them.

At the end of a fortnight Raoul Raillard and his wife came back to spend with us the rest of the vacation. The day they went away the diary said, "We bore the separation pretty well." Yes, we bore it pretty well this time, because it was not to be very long. It had been decided that as soon as the young couple were settled in their apartments, we should become their guests,--my husband hoping, in this way, to see the great Exhibition at leisure and without fatigue.

We arrived at M. Raillard's on October 13, and the very next day saw us in the English Fine Arts department of the Exhibition. Our daughter lived in the Rue de la Tour, at Pa.s.sy, an easy walking distance to the Champ de Mars, and her father made it a rule to go there on foot with me every morning between the first breakfast and _dejeuner a la fourchette_. The plan answered very well. We were almost alone in the rooms, and could see the pictures at our leisure. My husband took his notes with ease and comfort, without nervousness. After a two hours'

study, we went back to the family lunch, and such was Gilbert's improvement in health that he often took us again to the Exhibition in the afternoon merely for pleasure.

He enjoyed the works of art immensely, and said that he felt like a ravenous man to whom a splendid banquet was offered.

Being also greatly interested in the progress of the various sciences, he liked to become acquainted with all new inventions, and often resorted to the Galerie des Machines.

Mr. Seeley had been told of our intended visit to England, in case my husband did not feel any bad effects from the stay in Paris, and he wrote: "It is fortunate that you are coming just now, when we want to start the 'Portfolio' on a new career; it will be delightful to consult over it with you. Do not exhaust your energy in Paris, and find you have none left to bring you over to England."

Although he worked unremittingly, he felt no fatigue; his nervous system was quiet and allowed him to seek diligently for promises of new talent among the ma.s.s of painters and engravers, and to feast his artistic sense in the Exposition du Centenaire. He also gave more than his usual attention to sculpture, and was of opinion that France remained unrivalled in that branch of art.

On our way to England we stopped at Chantilly, and slept at Calais in the Hotel Maritime, on the new pier. I almost believe that we happened to be the first travellers asking for a bedroom, for the waiters offered excuses for the still incomplete furnishing, and for the service not being yet properly organized. After a good night's rest, we visited Calais Maritime and the important engineering works there, for which my husband expressed great admiration. On arriving in London we went straight to Mr. and Mrs. Seeley's, who had kindly invited us to stay with them till we found comfortable lodgings.

It was not Gilbert's intention to stay long in England this time; he had come mainly to discuss with Mr. Seeley the improvements they both desired to introduce in the "Portfolio," and to choose the ill.u.s.trations for "Man in Art." In order not to lose time, he decided to take lodgings in a central part, as near to the National Gallery as possible; but he wished the street not to be noisy. He found what he wanted in Craven Street.