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MEMOIRS OF MRS. JAMESON




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MEMOIRS OF THE LIFE
OF


ANNA


JAM ESON


AUTHOR OF 'SACRED AND LEGENDARY ART' &c.
BY HER NIECE
GERARDINE MACPHERSON
zi


So good a lady that no tongue could ever
Pronounce dishonour of her: by my life
She never knew harm-doing
King Henry VII.
WITH A PORTRAIT
BOSTON:
ROBERTS BROTHERS.
i878.


I




I
I




ON
A PORTRAIT OF MRS. JAMESON
BY HER FATHER.
In those young eyes, so keenly, bravely bent
To search the mysteries of the future hour,
There shines the will to conquer, and the pow'r
Which makes that conquest sure,-a gift heav'n-sent.
The radiance of the Beautiful was blent
Ev'n with thine earliest dreams; and towards that star
Of thy first faith, oft dimm'd, and always far,
Still hast thou journey'd on, where'er thy tent.
0, never yet in vain such pilgrimage!
Witness the poet-souls of every age:Long ere the Magi hail'd the prophet-beam,
Or Worship own'd an altar and a shrine,
The few who felt how real the divine,
Thus gazed, and thus imbibed th' ' etherial stream.'
A. L. NOEL BYRON (184I).




I
I




P REFACE.
IT is perhaps desirable that I should explain how it
is that I have been induced to gather together, from
materials long put aside, the following Memoir of
my aunt, Mrs. JAMESON,-a thing which was not
thought of at the time of her death, now nearly
eighteen years ago, chiefly because of her own dislike to the idea of having her private life and the
facts connected therewith paraded before the world.
This repugnance on her part was naturally at the
moment entirely consented to by her friends, to
whom, in their early grief for her loss, all her wishes
were very sacred. As time went on, however, it
was impossible not to regret the want of some modest
record of her existence and her work, among the
many biographies daily issuing from the press, of
her contemporaries; and the idea had often been
suggested to me by friends, and had arisen in my
own mind, to make her readers of the present
generation in some degree acquainted with her personally. There were, however, many difficulties in




Vill


PREFACE.


the way. My aunt's life had been full of domestic
care, and she had not been happy in her marriage
-a misfortune always difficult to explain, and still
more so when the minor facts which make incompatibility of temper insupportable have faded out of
recollection; and I (the only member of her family
likely to undertake the work) had been so entirely
brought up under her shadow, that I feared my own
power of making any impartial portrait of her, or
even being able to attain to the necessary perspective
of a picture, in which there should exist just poise
and proportion of the different events and elements
in life. The subject was brought again, however,
very vividly to my mind by hearing some time ago
from a friend (Dr. Steele, of Rome) of an article
then just published in the current number of the
'Edinburgh Review,' in which a very flattering allusion was made to a paper written by my aunt in 1853
on the painter Haydon, and published in that periodical. Out of the way of English periodicals as I
was in Rome, some little time elapsed before I saw
this notice, and in the meantime the surprise I had
frequently heard expressed that no memorial of Mrs.
Jameson had ever been published, and even that
several interesting contributions to periodical literature had never been reprinted, dwelt much in my
mind, and prompted me to consult Mrs. JAMESON'S
only surviving sister, Mrs. Sherwin, my dear and




PREFA C-E.


LY.


venerable aunt Camilla, as to the possibility of finding
material enough to give a fair account of her life,
and of the manner in which her mind was led towards those fields of art in which she had always
been most at home, without transgressing her own
rule against indiscriminate publicity. Mrs. Sherwin,
reluctant at first, at last began to yield, like myself,
to the wish of thus raising a little memorial to one
whose kind and (to us) commanding presence had
taken a central place in a great part of her life, as in
all the early days of mine. By dint of thinking and
writing on this subject, we soon ventured to entertain a hope that she might be able to furnish, and
I to set before the public, some such sketch of so
beloved an image as would make the author of the
'Sacred and Legendary Art' known to her many
readers.
This hope, however, was stimulated, I am
obliged to add for truth's sake, into much more
vivid desire and determination on my part to do
whatever it might lie in my power to do, when I
read some time later the Autobiography of Miss
Martineau, in which my aunt, as one of the members of the literary society with which that lady was
conversant, is made the subject of various depreciatory animadversions. I have been assured that
I felt these remarks much too deeply, and that all,
or almost all, of Harriet Martineau's friends fared




x


PREFA CE.


just as badly at her hands, and were assailed with
the same unkindness. Their wrongs, however, have
no doubt been felt by their representatives in a
similar way, and some critics have in fact been
found, at least to protest against this system of
posthumous malice. Miss Martineau's depreciatory
remarks were, in my aunt's case, entirely contradicted
by the general tenor of her letters to Mrs. JAMESON,
very many of which are in my possession; and in
themselves seem to me not only so unjust, but so
uncharacteristic, as to make doubly imperative the
only real' contradiction that could be given to them,
by a true and genuine account of the person belied.
I state this with frankness as one of my strongest
motives for the work I have undertaken; feeling
sure of the sympathy of all who have ever felt the
sting of undeserved reproach addressed to those
they love, or seen a name most dear and sacred to
them treated with careless disrespect.
For the rest, the little book will speak for itself.
Mrs. JAMESON'S determination not to be exposed to
the world in her private capacity led her to destroy
many of her private letters and papers. And at
her death her sisters were scrupulous in carrying out
her wishes; while, on the other hand, long absence
from England and separation from her old friends
and old haunts have circumscribed my efforts to
obtain from her surviving friends many letters which
possibly still exist.




PREF A CEo


xi


I must therefore ask the indulgence of the reader
for gaps thus most unwillingly left in the record of
her diligent labours. But I hope that I have been
able to gather enough to give some idea of the life
of steady work, unostentatious and unceasing, which
was hers from youth to age. The story of one who
kept a stout heart through all the troubles that befell
her; who kept her unhappiness to herself, and sought
unceasingly to give happiness to all who belonged
to her; who never used her pen to strike or to
wound, nor took advantage of its power to avenge
herself on any who wronged her; and who was, all
her life long, the chief support and consolation of
her family-must possess some interest for all good
people. I do not pretend to reveal personal secrets,
and there is, I am happy to say, no slander or even
gossip in anything she has left behind her-nothing
that can sting or rankle, nothing that is unkind or
unjust to her friends.  This volume pretends no
more than to show the outline of a life deprived of
all the stronger solaces of existence, yet sustained
by work and by duty, and by the love of a few
simple women, in its career of endless exertion;
too brave for discontent, too busy for despondency,
and with too much'to do for others to be capable of
egotism. Her contemporaries in general were ungrudging and generous in their acknowledgment
of the excellence of her work and the graceful




e,
X~l


PREFA CB.


womanliness of her pen; and I hope the new generation who still read her books upon Art, and find
an interest in her poetical criticisms and spontaneous
utterances of practical benevolence, will like to
know what the fashion of her life was, and with how
much courage and steadfastness she went on working, and not faltering, to the end of her career.
I have to thank, above all others, for information
and assistance, my aunt Mrs. Sherwin, Mrs. Procter,
and Mrs. JAMESON'S most faithful and chivalrous
friend Robert Noel, Esq., whose long and carefully
preserved correspondence with her has been of the
greatest importance to me in the preparation of
this little book.
GERARDINE MACPHERSON.
ROME: September 1877.
After this Preface was written, and when the book was nearly
through the press, several most interesting letters were received
through the kindness of the niece of Miss Sedgwick, the well-known
American writer, which Mrs. Macpherson made instant use of, and
would, without doubt, have gratefully acknowledged here. Her
representative can only do so thus vaguely, not knowing even the
lady's name.




POSTSCRIPT.
THE AUTHOR of this book has not lived to see it through
the press; and as there is necessarily much reference in
the latter part of the volume to her personal life and
story, for that reason, as well as for the touching fact of
her death while it was yet scarcely completed, it has been
thought right to add a few words in memory of her. She
was the eldest of two children, who were the only members
of Mrs. Jameson's family in the second generation, and
was, from her birth to her marriage at eighteen, one of the
chief objects of her aunt's care and tenderness, as will be
seen from these pages. At that early age-to the great
disappointment of Mrs. Jameson, who had hoped, with
that often-renewed foolishness of love which is not unusual
among parents, to keep her dear companion to herself for
years, Gerardine Bate-a pretty, charming, and accomplished girl-married Robert Macpherson, and settled in
Rome. There, many people of all classes will remember
the pair in their early prosperity and happiness. He was a
true Highlander, of good descent, the nearest male relative
of James Macpherson who made or translated ' Ossian';
a man of marked and headstrong character, with all the
qualities, both good and evil, of his race; little likely to
get peaceably or easily through the world, but always
warm-hearted, full of kindness and good offices as long as




xiv


POSTSCRIPT.


they were in his power, and with much charm of manner
and social aptitude. His eyes failed him at an early age,
and being thus obliged to give up his profession as an
artist, a happy suggestion turned him to the art of photography, then new, and seeming to possess greater possibilities than it has ever realised. - In this work he was aided
vigorously and successfully by his wife, and his photographs
were the first and finest that have ever been executed of
Roman scenery and antiquities. Their career was very
prosperous for a number of years, by means of this occupation which he may almost be said to have invented; and
some few pieces of good fortune also fell to their shareamong others, the finding of the great picture of the
'Entombment,' by Michael Angelo, which now forms one
of the chief ornaments of our National Gallery, and which
Mr. Macpherson kept for years in a sacred seclusion,
calling it 'Gerardine's fortune.' Necessity, however, compelled the abandonment of this precious reserve, and the
picture was sold at a price below its value-a price unfortunately soon swallowed up in the course of misfortunes
which clouded his later life.
He died nearly five years ago, in the winter of 1873,
leaving his wife to struggle as she could through a sad
entanglement of debts and distress, with two young children
dependent on her. She had not herself recovered from
a long and terrible attack of acute rheumatism, which had
lasted for nearly a year, when she was thus left a widow
and destitute. It was not in her nature to yield to discouragement or weakness. Without a word of complaint
she took up a burden which might well have appalled the




POSTSCRIPT.


XV


strongest woman; and the record of the years that have
passed since, could it be known, would be more wonderful than many a story at which readers weep. She
dragged herself up out of her suffering, with aching limbs
and heart in which the seeds of disease were already sown,
and faced her evil fortune with the courage of a hero.
Whatever could be got to do she undertook, brave, ready,
cheerful, unhesitating: now giving lessons or readings in
English, now working as an amanuensis, now compiling
paragraphs for the newspapers, no matter what it was -
nor ever grudging the service of the night to a sick friend
or neighbour, after she had toiled, from one scantily paid
precarious occupation to another, all the day. In the hot
summer, when everybody who could escape the dangerous
city was out of Rome, she took, on more than one occasion,
the post of the correspondent of an English newspaper
who could afford to find a substitute for the deadly season,
and worked there through the fierce suns of July and
August, too glad to have her children's living secured even
for so long. Thus she laboured on, though always subject to excruciating attacks of rheumatism, and to the
still more alarming paroxysms of gradually increasing
heart-disease, winding herself up for her year's work by a
visit, when she could manage it, to the sulphur baths of
Stigliano, a wild and primitive place not far from Rome;
now and then nearly dying, but always struggling up and
to work again, always bright, even gay-never less than a.
delightful vivacious companion, an accomplished and cultivated woman, through all her toils. Last year this book
was suggested to her, as she has herself explained in her




XV1


POSTSCRIPS.


preface, and arrangements were made by which it was
possible for her to come 'home,' and collect the materials
necessary for it.  Here she spent a little more than three
months, suffering much, and alarming her friends by symptoms more severe than they had been aware of, but herself
expressing no despondency nor fear; and, strong in her indomitable courage, went back again in the beginning of July
to Rome, in order that she might not lose her two months'
work as deputy-correspondent.  During the winter this
volume was written, amid many other toils and cares. Lately
her sufferings had increased in intensity, and she looked
forward with all the eagerness of feverish hope to the fetid
sulphuric atmosphere and boiling baths of Stigliano, the
only thingwhich did her rheumatism good. On MayI 2 she
went there, in the country diligence, over the hilly roads, a
way of travelling very badly suited to her suffering condition.
But by this time her heart-disease was too far advanced
to make that desperate remedy possible. She was sent back
in a few days 'in an alarming state,' her friends wrote;
and within a week, on the 24th, died; keeping her stout
heart to the end, writing reassuring letters from her deathbed, talking of 'wearing her eye in a sling'-neuralgia
having seized it, in addition to everything else-and keeping up the hearts of those who loved her by this faint
echo of pathetic laughter, the cheerful humour that never
deserted her, to the end.
It may be added that the references to herself which
occur in this book, and which seem to make this record
needful, were put in against her will, in deference to the
strongly expressed wishes of a friend, who did not think




POSTSCRIPT.


xvii


it right to conceal a very attaching and loveable aspect of
Mrs. Jameson's character because of the modesty of her
biographer. The only uneasy feeling she had about her
book concerned this. Only a few weeks ago she wrote of
the passage in which she herself principally figures as
being 'out of heart with the last proofs.' ' I feel as if I
would so much prefer to be nowhere.'
I But now there is no modesty of personal reserve to be
offended, and what is true may be said, with an infinite
sad satisfaction in the warfare over, though with tears for
the woman dead.
Mrs. Macpherson has left behind her, besides two elder
sons who are capable of caring for themselves, a girl and
a boy, still young and helpless, to the guardianship of
God, her sister, and her friends.
It seems almost impertinent to obtrude another name
into this brief and melancholy record; but I am asked to
say that the final superintendence of the publication of
this book, which I have watched and aided as I could
during all its course, for the sake of old friendship, and the
profound sympathy and affection I had for its author, has
been left in my hands. So that if there is any word too
much, any explanation too little, the fault is not hers, but
mine.
M. 0. W. OLIPHANT.


a




4




CONTENTS.


CHAPTER
I. CHILDHOOD.
II. YOUTH.
III. AFTER MARRIAGE
IV. MIDDLE LIFE


PAGE
*~   *   *             I..   24.                   46...   85


V. AMERICA..
VI. 'I HAVE LOVE AND WORK ENOUGH.
VII. FRIENDS..
VIII. LABORIOUS YEARS.
IX. TRAVELS AND STUDIES
X. LATER LIFE...
XI. HER LAST DAYS.


IIl. I4I.  84
210
237
265
295


APPENDIX...... 315








ANNA JAMESON.
CHAPTER I.
CHILDHOOD.
ANNA BROWNELL MURPHY, the eldest daughter of a
young miniature painter of considerable talent and
popularity, was born in the year 1794, in Dublin, in
the midst of all the commotions of one of the most
stormy periods of modern history. Her father, at
a time when youth everywhere was revolutionary,
when the wonderful events in France had stimulated
political agitation even where there was less reason
for it than in Ireland, had followed the fashion of his
day, and was a patriot, and an adherent of the
'United Irishmen' whose tragical attempts at revolution came to so summary an end. Fortunately,
however, before the explosion came, the young artist,
whose position and peaceful profession and circumstances were little in accordance with so wild an
enterprise, was called to England by professional
engagements, and thus escaped, by no wisdom of his
B




2              ANNA J4AMSON
own, from the network of conspiracy and betrayal in
which Emmett, Lord Edward Fitzgerald, and the
other leaders of the rebellion, were hurried to
destruction. Brownell Murphy had an English wife,
and already three small daughters, hostages to fortune, that might well have kept a young head of a
family out of mischief-though even such guarantees
were not perhaps certain in the case of an Irishman.
In I 798, however, before the last struggle began, he
came over to Whitehaven with his wife and their
eldest child, the little Anna, and thenceforward his
life and that of his family was spent in more peaceful
regions, and fighting and bloodshed became out of
the, question, although his warmest sympathies and
interest were with the unfortunate members of the
revolutionary party, several of whom were his personal friends.
What the inducements were which led to this
removal I cannot tell, but it determined all the after
life of the family. The two younger children were
left behind at nurse near Dublin, and only the little
Anna accompanied her parents to the small Cumberland seaport, a place that must have seemed a dreary
change from the Irish metropolis, then more of a
capital city, and of much greater importance in itself
than now. Few records of this early period have
been preserved. The young artist and his wife
remained for four years in Cumberland, where a




CHILDRODs.


3


fourth little daughter, Camilla, now the venerable and
last representative of the band of sisters, was born.
One little anecdote only do I find of Anna
Murphy in this first chapter of her existence.
Among the earliest acquaintances made by the
strangers in Cumberland was a family of the name of
Booth, one of the members of which, so long after
as in the year i853, half a century later than the
incident he records, and when the friends had almost
forgotten each other, sent to the then famous writer,
Mrs. Jameson, a miniature of her mother painted by
her father, which had come into the possession of his
family, and which became the occasion of a renewal
of intercourse. The little girl remembered as an interesting child, after having been so long lost sight
of, had been thus brought back to her old acquaintances by her literary reputation.  The letter of this
gentleman alludes to an incident which no doubt had
amused the friendly circle at the time, and which the
subject of it recollected clearly enough when it was
brought to her mind.
There is a remote period in every one's life (writes this
gentleman) that answers in some sort to the half-fabulous
period of remote history-to that far-off time belongs all I
know of your visits to Mr. Booth; it is little more than a
vague impression received through others of the great regard
and interest your friends and yourself had excited. You
were spoken of as having thoughts beyond your years, and
as very ready to ask all sorts of questions that nobody
B 2




4


ANNA JAM. ESOv.


could answer. You were a somnambulist too; on one
occasion you alarmed the house by wandering away no one
knew whither, and after a long and anxious search they
found you sleeping in an old piece of furniture.
The piece of furniture in question was an antiquated clock-case, and the child had not gone thither
in a state of somnambulism, as her friend supposed,
but had fled instinctively to a favourite play-place
for shelter, during a fit of childish panic.  The
bedroom in which she slept beside her mother and
the baby sister born at Whitehaven having taken
fire in the night, Anna fled to her usual hiding-place,
and there, child-like, fell asleep in a fancied sense
of security.
Speaking of her own childhood in one of her
latest publications, Mrs. Jameson alludes to the
suffering she long experienced fiom her exceeding
timidity during the night hours, but does not hint at
anything like somnambulism.    In the absence of
other records we must go to her own statements for
an account of the influences that chiefly swayed her
child life. She tells us thatIn memory I can go back to a very early age. I perfectly remember being sung to sleep, and can remember
even the tune which was sung to me-blessings on the
voice that sang it! I was an affectionate, but not, as I
now think, a loveable or an attractive child. I did not,
like the little Mozart, ask of every one around me, ' Do
you love me?  The instinctive question was rather, ' Can




CHILD0OOD.


5


I love you?' With a good temper there was the capacity
of strong, deep, silent resentment, and a vindictive spirit of
rather a peculiar kind. I recollect that when one of those
set over me' inflicted what then appeared a most horrible
injury and injustice, the thoughts of vengeance haunted my
fancy for months; but it was an inverted sort of vengeance.
I imagined the house of my enemy on fire, and rushed
through the flames to rescue her. She was drowning, and
I leaped into the deep water to draw her forth. She was
pining in prison, and I forced bars and bolts to deliver her.
If this were magnanimity, it was not the less vengeance, for
observe, I always fancied evil and sharne and humiliation
to my adversary, to myself the role of superiority and
gratified pride.
There was in my childish mind another cause of suffering besides those I have mentioned; less acute, but more
permanent, and always unacknowledged. It was fear; fear
of darkness and supernatural influences. As long as I can
remember anything, I remember these horrors of my infancy. How they had been awakened I do not know; they
were never revealed. I had heard other children ridiculed
for such fears, and held my peace..At first these haunting,
thrilling, stifling terrors were vague; afterwards the form
varied; but one of the most permanent was the Ghost in
'Hamlet.' 2 There was a volume of Shakespeare lying about,
in which was an engraving I have not seen since, but it
remains distinct in my mind as a picture. On one side
stood Hamlet with his hair on end, literally 'like quills
upon the fretful porcupine,' and one hand with all the fingers
outspread.  On the other strode the Ghost, encased in
1 Her governess.
2 In the memoir of Sara Coleridge, published in 1873, occurs, at
page 25, a description of similar terrors experienced in childhood by
her mother, including the special apparition of the Ghost in ' Hamlet.'




6               ANNA JAMiESON
armour with nodding plumes; one finger pointing forwards, and all surrounded with a supernatural light. Oh
that spectre! for three years it followed me up and down
the dark staircase, or stood by my bed; only the blessed
light had power to exorcise it. How it was that I knew,
while I trembled and quaked, that it was unreal; never
cried out; never expostulated; never confessed-I do not
know.
In daylight I was not only fearless, but audacious,
inclined to defy all power and brave all danger-that is, all
danger I could see. I remember volunteering to lead the
way through a herd of cattle (among which was a dangerous bull, the terror of the neighbourhood) armed only
with a little stick; but first I said the Lord's prayer fervently. * In the ghastly night I never prayed. These
visionary sufferings in some form or another pursued me
till I was nearly twelve years old.
In I802 the family made another change, going
this time to the more important town of Newcastleon-Tyne.   Here it would seem the young painter's
prospects became more assured, for the little girls
who had been left in Ireland were sent for, and the
family reunited. These children, still very young,
came from Dublin in the charge of a young lady
who was for some years to undertake their education, and who was Anna's first instructress. They
settled down in a modest set of rooms over the shop
of the chief bookseller of the place, a Mr. Miller,
who afterwards came to London, and, setting up as
publisher in Albemarle Street, was the immediate
precursor of the famous John Murray himself.




CHILDHOOD.


7


Mr. Murphy soon became known and esteemed in
this new home, and acquired many friends. At the
same time his growing reputation called him frequently away from his house for weeks together on
professional visits to his patrons, sometimes, as will
be seen, accompanied by his wife. He invariably
returned from these expeditions with portfolios full
of sketches from nature, done at leisure moments
for his own special delight and pleasure, several of
which, still in the possession of his family, show great
talent, though this was not the branch of art in which
he was known. During these interregnums, however, all did not invariably go well with the four
little girls and their young governess, a very accomplished and clever, but not, it would seem-at least,
in the opinion of her small charges-a very lenient
or considerate ruler. She was the daughter of one
of the Duke of Leinster's secretaries.  Her mother,
a Frenchwoman, had educated the Ladies Fitzgerald, and had been permitted to bring up her own
child conjointly with her noble pupils. Careful and
conscientious even to a fault, Miss Yokely proved
an efficient if over-strict teacher; and she had the
entire control of Anna's mental instruction for four
years. She obtained the respect and obedience that
she rigorously exacted, and laid the foundations of
firm principles and exact memory; but she never
won the child's affection. The recollection of her




8


ANNA JAMESON


instructions excited a certain feeling of gratitude
later on in life, when the benefit of always remembering correctly what she had read had become a
source of profit and of pleasure to her former pupil;
but with the peculiarities of disposition regarding
which Mrs. Jameson has herself spoken so openly,
it is scarcely strange that no strong tie of love arose
between them during those important years of a
child's life, from the age of eight to twelve. Mrs.
Jameson says herself: ' I had a very strict and very
accomplished governess, one of the cleverest women
I have ever met with in my life; but nothing of
this' (alluding here to her propensity to reverie and
an inner life) 'was known or even suspected by her,
and I exulted in possessing something which her
power could not reach.'
Thus, with the parents often out of reach and
the sway of their representative not much beloved
by her little subjects, domestic incidents of a thrilling character were apt to happen.  Here is one
which remains dimly-in its confusion of baby excitement, discomfiture, daring, and distress-in the
mind of the last survivor. By age alike and by
nature, Anna was the leader of the little troop of
girls, and evidently exercised her power with the
charming absoluteness of unquestioned and beneficent despotism. They had all gone with their
governess to a village called Kenton, during one of




CH]ILDHOOD.


9


the absences of their father and mother in Scotland,
probably for the benefit of the country air. But
Miss Yokely in her turn accepted an invitation to
visit friends, and the little girls were left alone for
two or three days under the charge of the people of
the house in which they lived. These temporary
guardians interfered to prevent some delightful composition of mud-pies on which the younger children
had set their hearts, and the wail that followed the
prohibition came to the ears of the elder sister-a
visionary princess of less than nine summers-who,
fired by the wrongs of the babies, and probably urged
on by some private injuries of her own, and a longing
for the softer sway of the mother whom all their lives
the sisters idolised, immediately conceived a plan of
escape. To Anna, as to most other imaginative
children, life was ouut sizmple; she had not a moment's
hesitation in proposing the easy plan that would set
all right. It was clear that the tyranny of a landlady
was not to be endured. With what flutterings of
heart must the bold project have been listened to!
But what Anna said was sacred to the little sisters,
and not to be contested. She unfolded her plan,
after binding them all to secrecy, and the four small
conspirators drew close together in breathless awe
and excitement. This plan-what could be more
natural and easy?-was, that they should all start
instantly, that very evening, to join their father and




10


IANNA JAM4/ESON.


mother in Scotland. It would be the easiest thing
in the world, if once they could get away safely.
They must be sure and eat all the bread and butter
they possibly could at tea, and stow away in the
front and pockets of their frocks whatever amount of
slices could be secretly abstracted from the plates;
then, each provided with a tiny bundle containing a
change for Sunday (it chanced to be Saturday, and
the clean things had just come from the wash and
were not yet put away, and it did not occur, even
to the head conspirator, that the change might be
made before they went with less inconvenience),
they would start on their journey. As the eldest
and strongest, Anna charged her own shoulders with
the weight of a many-caped gig-cloak (presumably a
garment of the period) belonging to their governess,
under cover of which they could, she said, all sleep
at nights under the hedges; and as for food, when
their own slices of bread gave out, they need only
knock at some cottage door on their way, and say
they were four little children going to Scotland to
find their father and mother, and no one would refuse them a drink of milk and a crust, Anna was
quite sure.
All went as smoothly as possible, no suspicions
were roused, and the little girls stole softly from the
house, the nine-year-old leader, with her heavier
burden, encouraging the others. till their faltering




CHILDHO OD.


II


footsteps broke into a run, and they thus hurried,
one after another, down the village street. But the
unusual appearance of the party soon attracted attention, and first one and then another 'wondered' to
see 'the little Murphys running off by themselves.'
Some gossip more energetic than the rest took it
upon herself to give the alarm; and, greatly to Anna's
chagrin and disappointment, they were pursued and
captured before meeting with a single adventure,
save that one of the little bundles fell into a ditch,
and when fished out again by herculean efforts, one
of Camilla's little red shoes proved, alas! to have
been lost for ever.
In 1803 the family came to London, where, or in
the immediate neighbourhood of which, their permanent home was henceforward to be. Their first
resting-place was at Hanwell, one of the prettiest
spots on that side of London, where a few soft slopes
diversify the flatness of the rich green country and
give a gentle picturesqueness to the smooth fields and
luxuriant trees. The district must have remained dear
to their fancy, for at a later period we find the last
members of the family returning to its vicinity and
taking up their abode in Ealing. There the governess
who had ruled so strictly and conscientiously, yet
with so little love, left her little pupils, and by a
curious transformation became their aunt, having
married Mr. Murphy'- brother. In the year I806 or




I 2


ANNA JAMESON


thereabout, they transferred their residence to town,
establishing themselves in the busy region of Pall
Mall. Here Anna's education progressed, chiefly
at her own will and pleasure, with an extensive
breadth and desultory character as conspicuous as
its ambition. Those were not. the days of examinations, nor had it seemed to girls as yet expedient or
necessary to fit themselves for the same classic tests
as have been always considered indispensable to
young men. Anna's lively mind and superabundant
energy procured for her a simpler but perhaps more
characteristic training. She worked hard, but fitfully, at French, Italian, and even Spanish, unconsciously preparing the way for her future labours.
A more whimsical part of her studies was that
which led her to take the most intense interest in
the works of Sir William Jones which vwere then
appearing, and which disclosed to many English
readers for the first time the romances of India and
Persia, the oldest tales of the world. Anna Murphy
was seized with a craze for this new and entrancing
revelation of antique lore and literature. It is related by her one surviving sister, that she had a
map of India hung in the sleeping-room they occupied together, and that it was a favourite fancy of
hers to keep the other little girls in active exercise
tracing different routes from town to town across
this map, while she herself travelled in imagination




CHIIDHOOOD.


13


along the eastern roads which these dutiful little
pioneers opened up for their enterprising leader.
While the others thus worked out her ideal itinerary, she read aloud to the admiring group the
passages in the book which described the different
points of the journey. These travels of fancy, however, did not exhaust her enthusiasm. The small
woman of genius, carried away by her fertile fancy
and fervid nature, rushed incontinently into composition. She began to write a story on Eastern
subjects which she called 'Faizy,' a story which
immediately became the absorbing interest of the
nursery. The little audience put their golden heads
together with an earnest faith, such as elder readers
never quite attain to, over the instalments of this
wondrous tale which the author condescendingly
read to them as it went on; and we may easily
suppose what an unfailing source of interest was
this family romance, the father and mother being
apparently admitted to a share in the gratification it
afforded.
I may add certain further details drawn from her
own recollections of her childhood, which show the
fanciful girl better than anything that could be
written by another hand:
In regard to truth-always such a difficulty in education-I certainly had, as a child, and like most children,
confused ideas about it. I had a more distinct and ab



I4


AAzZV, JAMESON.


solute idea of honour than of truth-a mistake into which
our conventional morality leads those who educate and are
educated. I knew very well, in a general way, that to tell
a lie was wicked; to lie for my own profit or pleasure, or to
the hurt of others, was, according to my infant code of
morals, worse than wicked,-it was dishonozirable. But I
had no compunction about telling fictions, inventing scenes
and circumstances which I related as real, and with a keen
sense of triumphant enjoyment in seeing the listener taken
in by such an ingenious concatenation of possibilities. In
this respect ' Ferdinand Mendez Pinto, that liar of the first
magnitude,' was nothing in comparison to me.  I mnust
have been twelve years old before my conscience was first
awakened to the necessity of truth as a principle, as well as
its holiness as a virtue. Afterwards, having to set right the
minds of others cleared my own mind on this and some
other important points.
About religion: I was taught religion as children used
to be taught it in my younger days, and are taught it still
in some cases, I believe-through the medium of creeds and
catechisms. I read the Bible too early, and too indiscriminately, and too irreverently. Even the New Testament
was too early placed in my hands, too early made a lessonbook, as the custom then was. The letter of the Scriptures,
the words, were familiarised to me by sermonising and dogmatising long before I could enter into the spirit. Meantime, happily, another religion was growing up in my heart
which, strangely enough, seemed to me quite apart from
that which was taught; which, indeed, I never in any way
regarded as the same which I was taught when I stood up
wearily on a Sunday to repeat the collect and say the
catechism.  It was quite another thing.  Not only the
taught religion and the sentiment of faith and adoration
were never combined, but it never for years entered into




CHILDHIOOD.


15


my mind to combine them; the first remained extraneous,
the latter had gradually taken root in my life even from the
moment my mother joined my little hands in prayer. The
histories out of the Bible (the Parables especially) were,
however, enchanting to me, though my interpretation of
them was in some instances the very reverse of correct or
orthodox. To my infant conception our Lord was a being
who had come down from heaven to make people good,
and to tell them beautiful stories. And though no pains
were spared to indoctrinate me, and all my pastors and
masters took it for granted that my ideas were quite satisfactory, nothing could be more confused and heterodox.
Educators are not always aware, I think, how acute are the
perceptions, and how permanent the memories, of children.
I remember experiments tried upon my temper and feelings,
and how I was made aware of this by their being repeated,
and in some instances spoken of, before me. Music, to
which I xvas early and peculiarly sensitive, was sometimes
made the medium of these experiments. Discordant sounds
were not only hateful, but made me turn white and cold,
and sent the blood backward to my heart; and certain
tunes had a curious effect-they became intolerable by
repetition, they turned up some hidden emotion within me
too strong to be borne. It could not have been from association, which I believe to be a principal element in the
enotion excited by music. I was too young for that.
What associations could such a baby have had with pleasure or pain? Or could it be possible that associations
with some former state of existence awoke up into sound?
That our life 'hath elsewhere its beginning and cometh
from afar,' is a belief, or at least an instinct, in some minds,
which music, and only music, seems to thrill into consciousness. At this time, when I was about five or six years old,
Mrs. Arkwright-she was then Fanny Kemble-used to




6              ANNA JAMESON.
come to our house, and used 'to entrance me with her singing. I had a sort of adoration for her, such as an ecstatic
votary might have for a Saint Cecilia. I trembled with
pleasure when I only heard her step. But her voice-it
has charmed hundreds since; whom has it ever moved to
a more genuine passion of delight than the little child that
crept silent and tremulous to her side? And she was fond
of me, fond of singing to me, and, it must be confessed,
fond also of playing these experiments upon me. The
music of' Paul and Virginia' was then in vogue, and there
was one air-a very simple air-in that opera, which, after
the first few bars, always made me stop my ears and rush
out of the room. I became at last aware that this was
sometimes done by particular desire to please my parents
or to amuse and interest others by the display of such
vehement emotion.
In addition to these reminiscences, various legends
of this fabulous age remain yet in the recollection
of the survivor, to whom at eighty the memory of
all the doings of the little sisterhood is still so clear.
Anna was, as we have said, the leader in all the
children did. She it was who settled how long a
time was necessary for the learning of the lessons, a
process very easy to herself, which, with delightful
childish inconsequence, she decided must be equally
easy for her sisters. What could they possibly want
with longer time? At the word of command from
the little despot the obedient and admiring, if sometimes rueful students put away their books and proceeded to the romps which she personally conducted.




CHILDHOOOD.


17


But tradition does not say whether Anna bore the
penalty when Louisa's or Camilla's. little lessons were
insufficiently conned, as ought to have been the case
in strict justice. That they were all, however, loyally
faithful to her and devout in their belief in the elder
sister, whose high spirit and boundless imagination
inspired the little band, is very evident; and they
seem never to have murmured against the scrapes
she led them into.  'Faizy' got itself finished sooner
or later, though tradition does not say when; and
the story, chiefly written at twelve years old, was
afterwards retouched and published at a later date
when the young author had become known.1 This
precocious study of the visionary East brought the
little sketch and its writer under the observation
of a not unnotable person in his day, Mr. James
Forbes, the author of the ' Oriental Memoirs,' and
commonly known at that time as 'Oriental Forbes,'
but now chiefly remarkable as being the grandfather
and earliest instructor of Count Charles de Montalembert.
The story of' Faizy' was not, however, the earliest
symptom of the literary faculty in the little Anna's
life. In looking over the yellow and faded leaves
of a packet of old letters, there were found by chance
-inscribed in large unsteady childish handwriting
In the collection known as 'Visits and Sketches at Home and
Abroad.' 1834.
C




i8


ANZNA JAMESON.


across the back of a letter written by no less fair a
hand than that of the beautiful Georgiana, Duchess
of Devonshire, and conveying an order to the housekeeper at Chiswick to admit Mr. Murphy to see and
copy some of the pictures there-some verses embodying the most patriotic sentiments; heroic lines
which show more spirit than grammar perhaps, and
which we are tempted to print as her earliest surviving utterance. The reader could not but smile
kindly upon this vague and grandiloquent effusion
of childish hero-worship, could he see the evident
effort made by those small fingers to write plainly
and clearly as became the distinguished subject.  It
bears date 1805:
With Fame and Victory following in his train,
COLLINGWOOD veiws 1 his native land again!
To songs of praise each joyous harp is strung,
And happiness resounds from every tongue.
E'en I, unskilled in poesy's magic art,
Will sing brave Collingwood's exalted part;
For the first time to him will tune my lyre,
While NELSON shall my humble verse inspire.
Now raised alike in glory and in nameBritain shall boast another son of Fame,
Who, born each honour from Napoleon's head
To snatch, and deck the galiant Nelson dead,
As yet another champion bold shall rise
And as a hero, claim the exalted skies:
While Victory loud proclaims, though Nelson's slain
Still Britain reigns o'er Neptune's boisterous main.
1 The mistaken spelling of the childish MS. is retained.




CHIL DHOOD.


I9


Though first in honour and though first in place,
Though first in favour and though first in grace,
Though Fame shall weave fresh laurels for his head,
Yet still he mourns victorious Nelson dead.
But rise! nor yield to unavailing greif;
Though yet we mourn the dear departed cheif;
'Tis you must snatch from a usurper's hand
Those rights which Freedom gave to every land.
Our second hero every danger braves,
And conquering Britain dares the bellowing waves,
Blesses the place where Collingwood drew breath,
But mourns the hour when Nelsbn sunk in death.
The other recollections of this early life all carry
out the same impression of high spirit and active intelligence. Camilla remembers still how Anna, with
her head erect and her blue eyes gleaming, would
declaim the well-known versesThy spirit, Independence, let me share,
Lord of the lion heart and eagle eye;
Thy steps I'll follow with my bosom bare,
Nor heed the storm that howls along the skytill the other feebler voices of the nursery party had
learned to lisp them after her, a little awed and
wondering at their own heroism. It is evident that
this love of independence was no mockery in the case
of Anna. And here I may bring in another simple
home legend of this period which shows how she carried out, or would fain have carried out, her principles.
It is scarcely necessary to say that the artist's family,
dependent as it was upon the fruits of his delightful
C2




20


ANNA JAMESON.


but precarious profession, had its ups and downs
like others; and no doubt when the struggling pair
ventured to bring their little children to London,
and set themselves up in such an expensive region
as that of Pall Mall, there would be many thoughts
and talks about economy, and consultations between
the father and mother-not unaccompanied by lamentations over those ever multiplying household
expenses which oppress poor gentlefolks, and the dearness of everything, a subject of complaint which seems
to increase year by year. Perhaps, some evening,
Anna, being the eldest and sitting up a little longer
than the rest, had listened unnoticed to one of these
anxious talks; and, intent as she was on 'following
with her bosom bare' whithersoever the noble spirit
of Independence might lead her, had been fired by
an instant and heroic resolution. Where she may
have heard of the lace-making of Flanders we are
not told; probably an account in some encyclopaedia
or periodical of the time had caught her eager imagination and suggested the idea. However that may
be, she gathered her sisters together on the first
occasion possible, and pointed out to them, with all
the eloquence of a popular leader, sure of the faith of
his disciples, the necessities of the position. Their
father and mother were, she said, anxious about the
family means, and striving hard to make ends meet;
while here were four girls, from twelve downwards,




CHILDHOOD.


21


eating the bread of idleness. By this time another
baby had been added to the band, a tiny Charlotte
in her cradle, too young by far to have any heroic
plan suggested to her. Such a plan, however, Anna
had all ready to lay before the others. It was that
she and her sisters should set out for Brussels, learn
the art of lace-making, work at it at once successfully,
and achieve in the shortest possible time a fortune
with which to set their parents perfectly at ease for
the future. Once more the proceeding was foul
sinmle. She had it all quite clear and easy as
on that earlier occasion. The plan now would be
to take their course straight along by the banks of
the Paddington Canal as far as it went, then enquire
which was the nearest road to the coast, and there
take ship for Belgium. There was not, however,
that unanimity in the council which generally prevailed. Eliza, the next daughter, declared directly
that she for one could not be spared; that the
mother and the baby could not get on without her,
and that she must stay behind. But the others embraced the plan, though somewhat tremulous was
the adhesion of little Camilla-she whose red shoe
had perished in the previous adventure. The project was fully matured and even communicated to
the parents, who seem prudently to have made no
effort to restrain the children's enthusiasm, but permitted everything to go on as suggested. Their




22


22  ANNA JAMESON


bags were packed, and the last evening came.
Camilla, timid and always wavering, would willingly
have renounced her share in the glorious enterprise;
but Anna was eager, and Louisa firm. In this
mingled state of feeling the little adventurers put on
their evening frocks and their pretty ribbons, and
came downstairs to dessert for what was to be the
last time. It is easy to imagine the gleam of half
fun, half sympathy, that shone in the father's eye as
he drew the children about him. Louisa, supposed
in the family to be his favourite, had some wine put
into her glass. It was a sort of farewell pledge at
their parting, 'for there's no telling when we may
be together again, my darling,' he said. This, however, was too much for the child, whose heart sank
into her shoes at such an address, and whose inspiration was all Anna's, not her own. She gave a
loud sob and threw her arms round her father's
neck: 'Oh, papa! I will never, never leave you,
she cried. The crisis was too much for a child's
courage: Camilla, already so feeble in her adhesion,
gaave in on the spot; and it is needless to say that
Annaieft alone in her valour, did not go forth upon
this forlorn hope by herself. The story is very
characteristic, and I hope the reader will find it as
pretty as I do. How her heart must have swelled
with despair at the weakness of the others, yet
owned a throb of relief to be saved the parting-that




CHILDHOOD.


23


parting, the bitterness of which can only be understood when it comes near! It was only for a while,
however, that she relinquished her purpose of aiding
her parents. Brussels on foot, and the hazards of
the lace-making, dropped into impossibility to be
sure, as the child sprang, delicate yet strong and
ever courageous, into early womanhood with all its
developments.  At sixteen, the little maiden no
doubt had learned that some things which looked
very easy at twelve had become impracticable; but
the generous determination to help, the high-spirited
love of independence that prompted the childish
plan, was nowise diminished; nor was her resolution
less fine because it had to follow a more hackneyed
way of working. At that early age she undertook the
situation of a governess.  Her father, if he had not
accumulated much wealth, had acquired many noble
friends and patrons, and was popular among them,
and great names had been familiar in the artist's
house as long as the children could recollect. It
was accordingly in a noble household-that of the
Marquis of Winchester-that his daughter began
her career. This must have been some time in the
year 18io, and she remained in the same household
for about four years. Thus 'Independence,' which
had lured her with 'lion heart and eagle eye,' was
at length followed at sixteen, though so many years
later than she had dreamed and desired.




24


ANNA JAMESON.




CHAPTER II.
YOUTH.
OF the period of Anna Murphy's youth there are but
few records. The unfinished miniature painted by
her father, from which the. frontispiece to this volume
is taken, shows to what early maturity the artist's
eldest daughter, the young generalissima of the
pretty band of sisters, had grown. She was sixteen
when it was painted; the pride and admiration of
the household; just about to set out upon the career
of independence which she had so long desired, and
to carry into practice the high-flown theories which
had inspired her childhood. Otherwise it would not
appear that there had been at that time any urgent
need, such as existed at a later date, for her experiments in the art of teaching, which seem to have
occurred intermittently, and with many irregular
intervals, through the period of youth. Some kind of
absence, yet near vicinity, seems to be inferred in the
following pretty fatherly note of congratulation on a
birthday, which I find lying without date, addressed
to ' Miss Murphy,' among a number of unimportant
papers:




YO UTH.


25


MY DEAREST ANNA,
We have no distinction to offer you nor entertainment on your birthday-but your good mother and I
on rising this morning congratulated each other on having
such an affectionate and good and well-disposed and accomplished daughter-receive our blessing. If you are out
to-day call and see your mother.
Ever yours,
D. B. M.
I am not aware, however, that Miss Murphy was
in any situation as governess, except the early one
above referred to, until that which formed the actual
though unintentional beginning of her literary career.
In the winter of the year 1820-21, an old
north-country friend, Mr. John Harden, of Brathy
Hall, introduced to Mr. Murphy and his family a
young barrister named Robert Jameson, who was a
native of the lake country and a protfdoJd and worshipper of the poet, who had made that district
famous. He had come to London to enter seriously
upon the business of his profession, and was in all
the bloom of life and enthusiasm, of agreeable looks,
and manners said to have been most fascinating.
Anna was at the time living with her parents, and
that the two young people thus introduced to each
other should fall in love was the most natural thing
in the world.  But unfortunately the course of true
love soon became anything but smooth, and a dawn



26


ANNA JAMESON.


ing perception of those incongruities and differences
which afterwards clouded the life of both, seems to
have very soon disturbed and interrupted their
attachment. The story is too remote to be entered
into in detail; nor, perhaps, does anyone now
living know exactly why it was that the engagement
was broken off. But this happened so soon after its
formation that in June I82I Anna, in weariness and
disappointment and disgust with the life which had
thus been overcast when at the brightest, again left
home, and went this time to Italy as governess to a
beautiful girl of whom she speaks with the warmest
admiration. The grand tour was then still a
luxury possible. only to those who could do it in a
leisurely and costly manner, loitering from capital to
capital, and taking full time to reap the advantage
of all they heard and saw. No doubt this interlude
of travel at so critical a moment of her life did niuch
to quicken the natural powers and cultivate the
special tastes of the young Englishwoman who
wandered so sadly through all the galleries, thinking
that she found in every Musde and princely collection only the shadow of her own deep-seated
sorrow. There are few things better known or
more frequently witnessed than that absorption in a
disappointment of the heart which seems for the
moment to fill life with but one thought and tinge
everything with melancholy. Sad as this condition




YOUTH.


27


of spirit is to the sufferer, there can be little doubt
that in reality it often adds but a delicacy the more
to the visionary intellectual delights of an inexperienced mind fresh launched upon the great and
varied and splendid world of art and intellectual
beauty, and it is evident that this was Anna
Murphy's case. She was a member of what seems
to have been a somewhat brilliant party. Wealth
was indispensable to such an expedition, and the
journey was made en prince, according to the old
traditions which still haunt and mystify the path of
the cheaply-travelling Englishman of the present
day. The mother of the family was beautiful, still
young, apparently fond of society, and not intolerant
of admiration. 'I had once thought of making out
a list of our killed and wounded,' Anna writes to a
friend from Naples, after recounting the fate of an
'interesting, handsome, elegant, sentimental coxcomb at Rome, who fluttered round Mrs. -- till
he scorched his own wings;' and she remarks, with
a pleased pride very becoming to a pretty young
woman with so many attractions of her own, upon
the 'extreme beauty' of her dear Laura, her charming almost grown-up pupil, which attracted all eyes
and drew down storms of confetti as the party
drove up and down the gay Toledo during the
Naples Carnival. This journey, however, was to
have a record more important than the desultory




28


AA;NA JAMESON.


fragments of correspondence which may be collected
after this long interval of fifty years.
Those were the days when a journal was a
necessary part of the belongings of all cultivated
and aspiring youth, and when numbers of people in
actual life kept not only a record of events such as
so many still do, but a detailed record of their feelings and thinkings, such as is very apt to strike the
reader nowadays, when fashion has changed, as
too elaborate to be really the private history of the
mind which it professes to be. So harsh a judgment, however, would be both unjust and untrue, as
so many hasty judgments are. We are all familiar
with those perfectly genuine journals of religious
experience which hold so high a place among the
materials of biography; but even these sprang from
no more real impulse than the journal of description
and sentiment, which suited the habit of the time,
and in which the young traveller recorded all her
impressions, and consoled herself in the melancholy
which pursued her wherever she went. However
bright and genial her surroundings, she was yet
more or less a stranger in the gay party, which pro.
bably possessed. no clue to the secret trouble that
clouded her spirits; and in the hours of loneliness
which were inevitable in her position, her diary was
the constant refuge of her leisure. TIher'ein she put
down all that she saw. and much that she thought




YO U1W.                 29
concerning what she saw; her opinions, often' her
intuitive criticisms; scraps of her reading; sketches
of character, half playful half serious; and sketches
also of the beautiful landscapes which drew her out
of herself. In after life the little locked volumes
which contained this mental record were always at
hand upon her table, and were kept up regularly to
the end of her life, though jealously preserved from
all eyes and destroyed at her death according to her
own orders. In the records of mature life no doubt
there must always be many things which are too
sacred for the general eye; but this is rarely the
case in the first half of existence. The secret of
youth is an open secret; its sinkings of heart, its
despairings, the hopeless melancholy in which it
revels, are so often but morning mists, shadows to
flee away one time or other, and melt into the light
of common day.
Anna's life was in this stage. She was parted
from her lover and from all happy prospects. Evidently in her heart she was faithful to his image,
and felt the separation from him deeply; and as she
travelled she carried her own atmosphere with her,
making to herself the most of her own despair, as is
so natural, and believing that a veil of darkness enveloped her for ever. This is no unusual sentiment
among sufferers from such causes, and many young
women have mused and wept as she did; not many




3o


ANN4A JAMESON


young women, however, have been able to make their
sorrows so interesting. It has seemed necessary to
make such an explanation in order to show naturally
how the pages, which afterwards made so attractive
a book, could have been written with no idea of publication. The reader will see presently by what a mere
accident it was that they got into print at all; but in
the meantime they afford us an animated account of
where the party of travellers went, and what they
saw, in addition to the record of -the writer's own
private feelings. The state of melancholy, however, of which it was, in the more personal portions,
at once the evidence and the relief, is apparent from
the very opening:
When to-day, for the first time in my life (she writes),
I saw the shores of England fade away in the distance,
did the conviction that I should never behold them more
bring with itone additional pang of regret, or one consoling thought? Neither the one nor the other. I leave
behind me the scenes, the objects so long associated with
pain; but from the pain itself I cannot fly. It has become
a part of myself. I know not yet whether I ought to
rejoice and be thankful for this opportunity of travelling
while my mind is thus torn and upset, or rather regret that I
must visit scenes of interest, of splendour, of novelty-scenes
over which, years ago, I used to ponder with many a sigh
and many a vain longing -now that I am lost to all the
pleasure they could once have excited; for what is all the
world to me now? But I will not weakly yield; though
time and I have not been long acquainted, do I not know




YOUTH.


31


what miracles he, ' the all-powerful healer,' can perform?
Who knows but this dark cloud may pass away? Continual motion, continual activity, continual novelty, the
absolute necessity for self-command, may do something
for me.
Then follow some verses, of which we will not
pretend to say that the poetical power is great; but
they, too, indicate a crisis past:
It is o'er: with its pains and its pleasures
The dream of affection is o'er;
The feelings I lavished so fondly
Will never return to me more.
With a faith, oh too blindly believing,
A truth no unkindness could move,
My prodigal heart has expended
At once an existence of love.
And now, like the spendthrift forsaken
By those whom his bounty has blest,
All empty and cold and despairing,
It shrinks in my desolate breast.
This was the sad mood in which the journey was
begun. Possibly the sorrowful sentiment might be
afterwards heightened here and there, to increase the
vraisemblance of the pathetic suggestion which runs
through the diary that the writer is a heart-broken
invalid, gradually failing in strength, whose death is
the natural end of the piece; but still there can be
no doubt that in the main the lose is real, and faith



32


ANNA JAMESON


fully represents the state of mind in which the
young traveller set out. The cloud, however, lifted
from time to time. A few days after their arrival
in Paris, she marvels 'at my own versatility, when
I think how soon my quick spirits were excited by
this gay, gaudy, noisy place.' In this way the story
goes on throughout; whenever she is brought face
to face with a beautiful landscape, a fine picture, a
noble building, these 'quick spirits' carry all before
them, and the lively intelligent observation, graceful
remark, and often-inexperienced as she was-just
criticism, betraying already the budding of the future
art critic, prove with what freshness, notwithstanding her melancholy, she could see and judge. But
no sooner has the little involuntary outburst been
made than the sentimental sufferer reminds herself
of her undying grief, and all is overcast again. We
do not apologise for quoting from this early production; it has fallen out of the knowledge of the new
generation of readers, and may have got half obliterated from the memories of the old, and it is a picture of things to a great extent passed away. The
Paris of the restored Bourbons, the Italy of Austrian
domination-how far have both gone from us! the
latter almost as far, we might suppose, as the
former, so complete is the change. Here is a little
bit of Parisian gossip of the period, at once amusing
and characteristic:




YOUTH.


33


The rage for cashmeres and little dogs has lately given
way to a rage for 'Le Solitaire,' a romance written, I
believe, by a certain Vicomte d'Arlincourt. Le Solitaire
rules the imagination, the taste, the dress of half Paris. If
you go to the theatre, it is to see the Solitaire, either as
tragedy, opera, or melodrama; the men dress their hair
and throw their cloaks about them a la Solitaire; bonnets
and caps, flowers and ribbons are all a la Solitaire. The
print-shops are full of scenes from the Solitaire; it is on
every toilette, every work-table; ladies cany it about in
their reticules to show each other that they are d la mode....' Vous navez pas In le Solitaire?' said Madame M-,
yesterday. 'Ehz, zmo  Dieu! il est done possible? vous!
Inais, ma clhere, vous stes perdue de reputation-et pour
jazmais! '
When the party leave Paris, the writer goes on
with ever-increasing delight in all she sees and
learns, feeling that she has in a few hours stored her
mind with images of beauty and grandeur which
will last through her whole existence; and perhaps,
too, feeling a little contemptuous of the 'others'
who, amid all this bewildering beauty and novelty,
can be affected by the petty 'contretemjps and privations' of the journey.  'To me they are nothing,'
she cries; 'now I feel the value of my own enthusiasm, now am I repaid in part for many pains and
sorrows and errors it has cost me. Though the
natural sentiment of that enthusiasm    be now repressed and restrained, and my spirits subdued by
long illness, what but enthusiasm could elevate my
D




34,42VN,4 JAM~ESONVr


mind to a level with the sublime objects round me?'
A girl of the present day, in the same circumstances,
would probably think it right to disguise her enthusiasm, and fill her pages with a comical account
of the 'coizh'relemnzs and privations,' the missing
baths and imperfect arrangements: so fashions
change.
The -reader of the present day will naturally be
less interested in the description of scenes which
have been over and over again described, and which
so much larger a public than that of 182I has gazed
on for itself, than with the personal glimpses of the
writer, lonely though in the midst of a gay party,
and sad though often transported out of herself with
excitement and visionary delight. The little private expeditions she makes in the mornings and
evenings, before the others are astir, or when they
are resting from the gay fatigues of the promenade,
afford some of the most interesting features of the
record. One time she started out-half-pleased by
her freedom, half-forlorn in her loneliness-to the
nearest church; and, after a little inspection of the
pictures, noted one-'a virgin said to be possessed
of miraculous powers'- which had been 'decorated
with a real blue silk gown spangled with tinsel
stars,' and which naturally excited the amused
horror of the English spectator, when the following
pretty incident occurred:




YO UTH.


35


As I was sitting upon a marble step, philosophising
to myself and wondering at what seemed to me such
anomalous bad taste, such pitiable and ridiculous superstition, there came up a poor woman, leading by the hand
a pale and delicate boy, about four years old. She prostrated herself before the picture, while the child knelt
beside her, and prayed for some time with fervour; she
then lifted him up, and the mother and child kissed the
picture alternately with great devotion. Then making him
kneel down and clasp his little hands, she began to teach
him an Ave Maria, repeating it word by word, slowly and
distinctly, so that I got it by heart too. Having finished
their devotions, the mother put into the child's hand a
piece of money, which she directed him to drop into a
box inscribed 'per i povcri vergognosi'-for the bashful
poor; they then went their way. I was an unperceived
witness of this little scene, which strongly affected me.
The simple piety of this woman, though mistaken in its
object, appeared to me respectable, and the Virgin, in her
sky-blue brocade and gilt tiara, no longer an object to
ridicule.  I returned home rejoicing in kinder, gentler,
happier thoughts.
Another evening she strolled alone into Santa
Croce, among all the relics of the mighty dead; and
here 'spent about an hour walking up and down,
abandoned to thoughts which were melancholy but
not bitter. All memory, all feeling, all grief, all
pain were swallowed up in the sublime tranquillity
which was within and around me.' Again we find
her, newly arrived in Rome-having reached it in
the rain and dark of the previous evening-hurrying
D 2




36


ANNA JAMESON.


out 'before anyone was ready for breakfast,' and
running up 'the gigantic flight of marble stairs' leading to the top of a hill. ' I was at the summit in a
moment!' she cries, 'and there lay Rome before
me-innumerable domes and towers, and vanes and
pinnacles brightened by the rising sun. I gazed
and gazed as if I would drink it all in at my eyes.'
But, alas! coming slowly down from that mount of
vision, she 'found letters from England on the breakfast table' which plunged her into troubles as unshared
as were her delights. Though there is not one
word said throughout the diary from beginning to
end which indicates neglect. or unkindness, nothing
could be more suggestive of the solitude of a young
woman of genius in such a position, than these descriptions of the little lonely escapades and unaccompanied wanderings here and there, which were
evidently the most memorable features in her life.
The sentences in which she describes herself as
seated behind backs and wrapped in 'impracticable
silence,' are possibly to be numbered among the
touches of fiction added afterwards to maintain the
character; but there is mnore evident fact in the
amused tribulation with which she records how one
of her travelling companions, evidently the butt of
the party, a foolish good-natured young Englishman,
'attached himself to my side the whole morning, to
benefit, as he said, by my "' tasty remarks!"' These




YOUTH.


37


'tasty remarks,' at this early period of her art education, were not always trustworthy guides. As was
perhaps natural, she disliked Michel Angelo, and
expressed her dislike with vehemence: 'If all the
connoisseurs in the world, with Vasari at their head,
were to harangue for an hour together on the merits
of this picture' (the Holy Family in the Tribune), ' I
might submit in silence, for I am no connoisseur;
but that it is a disagreeable, a hateful picture, is an
opinion that fire would not melt out of me!' she
cries with delightful daring. 'But I speak in ignorance,' adds the inexperienced critic, a little overawed at her own audacity. To which acknowledgment, a dozen years later, she adds in a note, ' This
was indeed ignorance!'
The journey home is much more briefly recorded, and probably altered more from its original
shape in the young lady's diary, than the beginning.
The fictitious termination, so loudly complained of
when in later years the authorship was acknowledged, involved various alterations, obliterations,
and additions.
The expedition thus recorded lasted altogether for
about a year, and then Anna parted from her travelling companions, and changed her surroundings
altogether. Shortly after she became governess to
the children of Mr. Littleton, one of the members
for Staffordshire, afterwards Lord Hatherton, and




38


ANNA JAMESON.


remained in that familyfor four years. She was happy
in her new position, and became deeply attached to
her pupils and to.their parents, for whom throughout
the remainder of her life she retained the warmest
friendship. During this interval, however, the sky
began to clear, and the melancholy certainty that
all happy dreams were fled changed into such a
renewal of confidence and affection that, in the year
1825, the broken engagement having been renewed
some time before, Anna Murphy married, and became
Mrs. Jameson, the name by which alone she is known
to the general reader.
Up to this time, with the exception of the ' Diary,'
then reposing peacefully in its little locked volumes,
she had written nothing except ' Faizy,' a story for
children entitled 'Little Louisa,' a child's vocabulary
of useful words, and the comedietta of ' Much Coin,
much Care,' a proverb dramatised for her young
pupils the Littleton children, afterwards published
with other fragments in her volumes of 'Visits and
Sketches at Home and Abroad.'
Mrs. Jameson's marriage, which, as it turned
out, brought her little but misfortune, seems, so
far as external circumstances went, to have taken
place with every promise of mutual well-being.
The new husband and wife were of kindred tastes
and accomplishments, fond of literature and of
cultivated society, and, though not rich, of suffi



YO UTIH.


39


ciently good prospects to justify their union in a
time not quite so exacting in this respect as the
present. They began their life, as a couple of equal
pretensions would scarcely like to do now-a-days,
in a lodging in the unromantic neighbourhood of
Chenies Street, Tottenham Court Road.  It was
during the early confidence and harmony of this
beginning that the little book which had been
Anna's confidant and consoler during the first pangs
of a separation which seemed likely to last for ever,
was first revealed to any eye but her own. She
began by reading fragmnents to her husband for his
amusement, and also perhaps as a revelation of the
tenor of her thoughts at that period upon which both
could look back as a trouble past. The contrast
must have been piquant. And the manner in which
this youthful composition got into print furnishes an
amusing incident in Mrs. Jameson's early history.
Among the many friends whom the young couple,
both full of talent and accomplishments, collected
around them, was one of a very unusual character,
with whom Mr. Jameson had made acquaintance
in some rambling excursion, or over some collection
of old books or engravings-for which he had a
connoisseur's affection —an acquaintance that grew
gradually into something like intimacy. This was
a man of the name of Thomas, who had started iil
life in no higher position than that of a cobbler, but




40


AN4NNA JAMESON


whom a love of books and study had brought into
contact with people of superior intelligence, and who
had worked himself gradually by means of this into
a curiously nondescript position, half bookseller, half
craftsman, with strong inclinations towards the study
of law. The primitive way in which he is said to
have begun life is of itself interesting; for his passion
for books becoming soon well known among the
humbler classes to which he belonged, many who
found themselves possessors of an old book or two
brought them to the bookworm, willing to take a
small price for volumes that sometimes proved of
considerable value. Thomas's custom was to buy
all that was brought to him for his private reading,
and, having devoured their contents, to sell them
over again and buy new ones, thus adding continually
to his own mental and practical resources at one and
the same time.  He sold these volumes of course
at a profit, having doubtless a more correct knowledge of the value and character of such books than
the humble vendors; and after a time he opened
a secondhand bookshop on his own account, and'
began to rise in the world, and even to publish in
a small way. But his soaring ambition aimed, as
has been said, at nothing less than the honours of
the law, and his studies soon took this direction exclusively. Mr. Jameson was sufficiently interested
in Thomas to give him the benefit of his counsel




0 YOUTH.


4I


and help in this ambitious desire, and also brought
him to his house, and introduced him to his wife.
Among other self-acquired accomplishments MIr..
Thomas had mastered the guitar, and obtained some
skill upon this instrument. Herself an ardent lover
of music, Mrs. Jameson gladly availed herself of the
instruction volunteered by their eccentric acquaintance. One evening, while he was with them, it so
happened that the visit to the Continent and her
' Diary' was spoken of, and at her husband's desire
Mrs. Jameson brought forth the green-covered
volumes and read aloud certain portions of her
foreign experiences, criticisms, &c. Thomas at once
asked whether he might not have the MS. for publication, and expressed himself willing to take all
the pecuniary risk involved in printing and bringing
it out.  The idea was new and amusing to the
inexperienced pair. 'You may print it if you like,'
said Mrs. Jameson, adding, half in jest, 'if it sells
for anything more than will pay the expenses, you
shall give me a Spanish guitar for my share of the
profits.'
Thomas accepted the conditions so lightly offered,
and the MS., partially revised and considerably
curtailed in parts, as we have above stated, was consigned into his hands. It was agreed that the book
should be published anonymously, and, the better to
maintain the desired secrecy as to its authorship,




42


ANNA JAAMESON.


a final paragraph was added, which was fiction, piur
et simple. Herein it was stated that 'the writer died
on her way home at Autun, in her twenty-sixth year,
and had been buried in the garden of the Capuchin
Monastery near that city.'
The work was advertised by Thomas under the
title of 'A Lady's Diary,' and, most probably after
its success had become apparent to experienced eyes,
Mr. Colburn, the publisher, made our enterprising
friend an offer of fifty pounds for the copyright,
which was accepted, and a ten guinea guitar purchased by Thomas and handed over to the author.
A certain number of copies must have been printed
off by him under the original title, one of which
would appear to have been presented to a most
valued friend, Mrs. Basil Montagu, as I have seen
a copy bearing the name of this lady on the fly-leaf
(title-page there is none), 'Anne D. B. Montagu;'
and a few lines below, also in Mrs. Montagu's handwriting, stating that 'this book was published under
the altered title of " The Diary of an Ennuyee;" it
is written by Mrs. Rodbert 7ameson.'
The book, however, was known to the public
only by the second title, one probably deemed fitter
for the 'ears polite' of British readers than the
English synonym proposed by the writer herself in
the first page, where she exclaims, ' Here beginneth
the Diarv of a Blue Devil.'




YO UTH.


43


The success of the volunme was prompt and gratifying, and though the public in general is said to
have been flatteringly disgusted by the discovery
that it had been cheated, as it were, out of its sympathy, and that the author had not pined and died,
and was buried in no convent garden, she had no
reason to be dissatisfied with her first serious experiment in literature.  Though the guitar, which
was her only remuneration, was no great recompense,
yet the door had been opened to her into the favour
of the public, and an important step thus made.
Her next productions were announced as by 'Mrs.
Jameson, author of the " Diary of an Ennuyee."'
These were the 'Loves of the Poets,' and the
' Celebrated Female Sovereigns'-two works, I have
reason to believe, long since out of print, at least
in this country, and to which, as essays of minor importance among her more characteristic works, it is
scarcely needful to refer.
I may add here a contemporary personal sketch
of Mrs. Jameson, dated just after the commencement
of her literary life, which may prove interesting at
this point of her career. Shortly after her marriage,
she had become intimately acquainted with Mr. and
Mrs. Basil Montagu, and with that gifted lady's
daughter and her husband, Bryan XValler Procter,
best known, perhaps, as Barry Cornwall, the poet
lawyer. In this distinguished circle she met many




44


ANNA JAMESON.


well-known and notable people, with some of whom
she formed lifelong friendships; and from one of these,
Mrs. Fanny Kemble, we have the following account
of her first meeting, in I828, with Mrs. Jameson, at
the Montagus' house in Bedford Square:-' While
under the immediate spell of her fascinating book,
it was of course very delightful to me to make
Mrs. Jameson's acquaintance, which I did at the
house of our friends Mr. and Mrs. Basil Montagu.'
'At an evening party there I first saw Mrs. Jameson.
The Ennuyee, one is given to understand, dies, and
it was a little vexatious to behold her sitting on a
sofa in a very becoming state of blooming plunpitude; but it was some compensation to be introduced
to her. And so began a close and friendly intimacy,
which lasted for many years, between myself and this
very accomplished woman.'1 Mrs. Kemble afterwards adds the following more elaborate description
of Mrs. Jameson's personal appearance and bearing.
Anyone who has seen the portrait painted a few
years later of her by Mrs. Opie's son-in-law, H. P.
Briggs, R.A., will recognise the truth of this penand-ink picture.
When first I met Mrs. Jameson she was an attractivelooking young woman, with a skin of that dazzling whiteness which generally accompanies reddish hair, such as hers
1 In Leigh Hunt's 'Bluestockings' he writes: 'See Jameson
accomplished.'




YO UTH                      45
was; her face, which was habitually refined and spiritzelle
in its expression, was capable of a marvellous power of
concentrated feeling, such as is seldom seen on any woman's
face, and is peculiarly rare on the countenance of a fair,
small, delicately-featured woman, all whose characteristics
were essentially feminine.  Her figure was extremely
pretty; her hands and arms might have been those of
Madame de Warens.




46


ANNA JAMESON.




CHAPTER III.
AFTER MARRIAGE.
MR. JAMESON'S success in his profession, at least in
England, does not seem to have fulfilled the expectations with which he and his wife made even so
modest a beginning in life as this start in Chenies
Street; after four years spent together, he seems
to have sought in a colonial appointment the success
which, at the bar, it is often so difficult to secure
at home.  In I829 he was appointed puisne judge
in the Island of Dominica. It does not seem, however, that there was any idea of his wife accompanying him in what was, at the best, a venture as to
climate, comfort, and permanency. He went alone,
and she, thus left to temporary solitude, returned to
the shelter of her father's house, and to the consolation of that warm and strong family love which was
always her stronghold and protection. It would be
vain to affect to doubt that the incompatibilities of
temper and disposition, which at a later period
separated them finally, had already appeared,' and
A little anecdote of their early married life has been told me
since this work was begun, which, as I do not think it can wound any




AFTER AARRIA GE.


47


made the seeming calamity of this break-up of their
domestic life less a trial than a relief; but happily
it is unnecessary as yet to touch upon this painful
question. They parted to all appearance in perfect
amity, and with a natural cause for the severance,
which there is no reason to believe either had then
decided upon making final. He went to his appointment in considerable uncertainty, as is evident by his
letters, as to what his circumstances and duties were
one now living, and as it throws more light on Mrs. Jameson's difficulties as a wife than any vague statements can do, I am tempted to
repeat, as it was told to me by an old and intimate friend. The pair
were married in the middle of a week-Wednesday, my informant
believes-and settled at once in their lodgings above referred to. On
the Sunday Mr. Jameson announced his intention of going out to the
house of some friends with whom he had been in the habit of spending Sunday before his marriage. The young wife was struck dumb
by the proposal. ' But,' she said, 'they do not know me; they may
not want to know me. Would it not be better to wait until they have
time at least to show whether they care for my acquaintance?' That
is as you please,' said the husband, ' but in any case, wht ther you
come or not, I shall go.' The bride of three or four days had to
make up her mind. How could she intrude herself upon strangers?
but supposing, on the other hand, that any friend of her own should
come, any member of her family, to congratulate her on her happiness,
how could her pride bear to be found there alone and fors;ik. n on the
first Sunday of her married life? Accordingly, with an effort she
prepared herself and set out with him in her white gown, forlorn
enough, who can doubt? They had not gone far when it began to
rain, and, taking advantage of this same white goln as a preext for
escaping from so embarrassing a visit, she declared it impo sible to
go further. 'Very well,' once more said the bridegroom; you have
an umbrella. Go back by all means; but I shall go on.' And so he
did; and though received, as his astonished hosts afterwards related,
with exclamations of bewilderment and consternation, calmly ate his
dinner with them, and spent the rest of the evening until his usual
hour with perfect equanimity and unconcern. No fancy sketch of the
feelings of the young wife returning to her lodgings alone need be
added to this wonderful but perfectly true tale.




48


ANNA JAMESONE


to be; and she remained in England until his prospects should be so far ascertained as to make the
re-establishment of their home practicable.  If her
life was not that of a happy wife, it was at least a
composed and not unhappy woman, with many friends
and resources, whom her husband left behind him,
thinking no more of everlasting melancholy anl the
sentimental despair of youth, and settling down
without complaint to make the best that could be
made of a life still holding many elements of happiness.
Shortly after her husband's departure Mrs. Jameson went to the Continent with her father and his
friend and patron, Sir Gerard Noel. She gives a
description of the calmed and tranquillised state of
her mind during this journey in a dialogue published
in the volumes entitled 'Visits and Sketches at
Home and Abroad.'
I thought, not without gratitude (she says), of the
contrast between present feelings and those of a former
journey. To abandon oneself to the quickening influence
of new objects, without care or thought of to-morrow;
with a mind awake in all its strength; with natural health
and cheerfulness; with sensibility tamed not dead; possessing one's soul in quiet; not seeking nor shrinking from
excitement; not self-engrossed nor yet pining for sympathy: was not this much?
'Not so interesting, perhaps,' she continuesdoubtless with half a smile at her former self-' as




AFTER MARRA GE.


49


playing the Ennuyde.' This time the party consisted
of two ladies and two gentlemen-two fathers and
two daughters, one of the latter being a naive and
attractive girl. 'We travelled a la Mii'or Anglais,'
Mrs. Jameson adds —'a partie carrde; a barouche
hung on the most approved principles, doublecushioned, luxurious, rising and sinking on its springs
like a swan on the wave; the pockets stuffed with
new publications, maps, and guides ad infizitum;
English servants for comfort, foreign servants for
use; a chessboard; backgammon-tables; in short,
surrounded with all that could render us entirely
independent of the amusements we had come to
seek, and of the people we had come to visit.' We
may quote from the same record an amusing sketch
of the leader of the party:
Our Chef de Voyage-for so we chose to entitle him
who was the planner and director of the excursion-was
one of the most accomplished and most eccentric of human
beings: even courtesy might have termed him old at seventy;
but old age and he were many miles asunder, and it seemed
as though he had made some compact with Time, like that
of Faust with the Devil, and was not to surrender to his
inevitable adversary till the last moment. Years could
not quench his vivacity, nor 'stale his infinite variety.'
He had been one of the Prince's wild companions in the
days of Sheridan and Fox, and could play alternately
blackguard and gentleman, each in perfection; but the
high-born gentleman ever prevailed. He had been heir to
an enormous income, most of which had slipped through
E




5~


ANNA JAMESON.


his fingers uzyknownst, as the Irish say, and had stood in
the way of a coronet, which somehow or other had passed
over his head to light on that of his eldest son. He had
lived a life which would have ruined twenty iron constitutions, and had suffered what might well have broken twenty
hearts of common stuff; but his self-complacency was invulnerable, his animal spirits inexhaustible, his activity
indefatigable.  The eccentricities of this singular man
have, been matter of celebrity; but against each of these
stories it would be easy to place some act of benevolence,
some trait of gentlemanly feeling, which would at least
neutralise their effect. He often told me that he had early
in life selected three models after which to form his own
character and conduct; namely, De Grammont, Hotspur,
and Lord Herbert of Cherbury: and he certainly did unite,
in a greater degree than he knew himself, the characteristics of all three.
Having quoted thus far, I must give from the
same lively page a charming anecdote of this wonderful old man.   Mrs. Jameson is giving a description of the first German performance of the opera
of ' Don Giovanni' which she had heard, and which
half displeased and half delighted her:On looking round after Donna Anna's song, I was
surprised to see our Czef de Voyage bathed in tears;
but, no whit disconcerted, he merely wiped them away,
saying, with a smile, 'It is the very prettiest, softest thing
to cry to one's self!' Afterwards, when we were in the
carriage, he expressed his surprise that any man should
be ashamed of tears.  'For my own part,' he added,
' when I wish to enjoy the very high sublime of luxury, I




AFTER MARRIA GE.


5I


dine alone, order a mutton cutlet cuite a point with a bottle
of Burgundy on one side and Ovid's Epistle of Penelope to
Ulysses on the other. And so I read, and eat, and cry to
myself.' And then he repeated with enthusiasmHanc tua Penelope lento tibi mittit, Ulysse:
Nil mihi rescribas, attamen ipse veni;
his eyes glistening as he recited the lines.
A great many of the incidents and observations
that occurred during this tour will be found in the
volumes I have already quoted from, and which
will be referred to further on. In the meantime,
a bit of more familiar description may be added
from the family report addressed from Brussels to
the mother and sisters at home:
We have reached this place, one of our chosen stations
on the journey, and I am quite delighted with what I
have seen of it, and pleased with all my travelling companions, but most of all with Sir Gerard, who is really
very amiable and very interesting, and H. J.' and I get on
capitally together. She is a dear little creature, with some
of her father's caprices, much of his talent, and more of his
real benevolence. As to papa, he is in excellent spirits,
and desires me to tell you that he behaves very well. He
goes wandering about and admiring everything he sees;
and he has bought a pair of spectacles for tenpence which
are the best in the world, and a pair for mamma, and a
lantern for Edward2 to send up at his kite's tail, with
other invaluable things too many to enumerate; and I
think I never saw him so happy or looking better.
1 Sir Gerard Noel's youngest daughter, born of his second wife
who died at her birth.
2 His nephew.
E 2




52


ANNA JAMESON.


The recollections of this journey were probably
in Mrs. Jameson's mind when long after, quoting in
her' Commonplace Book' Wilkie's remark that there
was 'nothing new to him in the whole country'
which Teniers, Rubens, and Wouvermans had illustrated, she adds: ' I had the same feeling when
travelling in Holland and Belgium. It was to me
a perpetual succession of reminiscences, and so it has
been with others.  Rubens and Rembrandt were
continually in my mind, and occasionally the more
poetic Ruysdael.'
The family history had not been without other
events during this period, which had been of so
much importance in Anna's life. Two of her sisters
had married, one in the same year as herself, I825,
and one a year later; and it was with the first of
these, Louisa, Mrs. Bate, the wife of an artist, that
she took up her abode on her return from her
continental journey. Her father and mother, and
the two unmarried sisters, Eliza and Charlotte, had
taken a pleasant house set in a large garden at St.
John's Wood, Mr. Murphy continuing those artist
excursions of his, for pleasure and profit, which were
the delight of his existence, and which, alas! were
now soon to cease for him for ever. In I830, while
at Scraptoft, near Leicester, he addressed the following little note to his 'dearest Anna,' which




AFTER MARRIAGE.>-5


53


throws a slight incidental light upon. the family circumstances at the time:
I do not expect you can spare time to write to me, but
nevertheless I will write to you, as I think it will please
you; but on no account waste your precious moments or
your ink to a purpose so entirely unprofitable. I am in
earnest, and if the good people in St. John's Wood will
only mention you (pleasantly) whenever they write, I will
be satisfied.  I hear with particular delight that our dear
baby is beginning to look well, and as if she meant to live
after all; and you must for me congratulate Henry and
Louisa, and say I wish I could be of real use to them. I
am sorry to hear you have no accounts from Jameson
lately. I am not surprised at this, as I never had much
dependence on your pecuniary aid from the West Indies.
Your comforts will most likely in future depend on yourself. How many plates has Wright engraved lately?
This question refers to a series of copper-plates
in process of engraving from certain exquisite copies
in miniature made by Mr. Murphy of the collection of
portraits known as 'The Windsor Beauties,' painted
for King Charles II. by Sir Peter Lely, and now
collected at Hampton Court. These copies were
commenced in i8I4 by command of the Princess
Charlotte, in whose household. from' the year 18 1o,
Mr. Murphy had held the appointment of Painter in
Enamel. To the original series had been added,
'by express desire,' several portraits not included in
the Windsor series, and among these Nell Gwynn
and Louise de la Querouaille. At the time these




54


* ANNA JAMESON


miniatures were in progress, an apartment in Windsor Castle was allotted to the artist, and during
his stay the princesses, one and all, were wont
occasionally to amuse themselves by coming to visit
the painter at his work, and conversing with him on
the subject of the portraits, in which and in his successful rendering of the likenesses they' took the
liveliest and kindest interest.
'Mr. Murphy had also the honour,' says an old
preface to the publication of the biographical
sketches written to illustrate his labours, 'of submitting the first eight portraits of the series, when
finished, to the late Queen Charlotte, in a special
audience; and she not only expressed her satisfaction in the most gracious terms, but ordered it to be
conveyed to him in writing by General Taylor.'
Mr. Murphy took the liberty of asking her Majesty
whether she recollected a famous picture of Nell
Gwynn, known to have once existed in the Windsor
Gallery. (It should be observed that Queen Charlotte was suspected of having, from peculiar notions
of propriety, removed this picture.) The queen
replied at once, that most assuredly, since she had
resided at Windsor, there had been no Nell Gwynn
there!
It is not to be supposed that so proper a person
as Queen Charlotte could have intended anything
beyond a mere statement of facts by such an




AFTER MARRIAGE.


55


equivocal reply; but it caught the fancy and the
memory of the Irish artist, always ready to see a
joke, and he carried home the unintentional repartee
to his girls with much merriment, as also another
little pleasantry of a more straightforward kind.
When the whole series of the Lely pictures was
completed, and exhibited to the Princess Charlotte
herself, she could not refrain from a malicious little
joke at the expense of the grandmother, between
whom and herself existed nothing in common beyond their name. 'Mr. Murphy,' she said, 'I see
the set of portraits is not complete.'
'Indeed, I believe your Royal Highness will
find that none have been omitted.'
' Nay, Mr. Murphy;" The Windsor Beauties " are
not complete. You haven't got my grandmother!'
Before the other portraits that were to complete
the series were finished, the Princess Charlotte died,
and with her the hopes, fortunes, and happiness of
many to whom she had shown kindness. Mr.
Murphy was one among those unfortunate persons
whose personal affliction was for a time swallowed up
in the general grief. He had lost a kind friend and
patroness, had lost his appointment, and had received no payment for work that had occupied the
greater part of his time during three years, and was
now near its completion.  After the lapse of a
certain time, Mr. Murphy sent his copies, with a




56            AANNA JAMESON
written statement of his claims, duly authenticated,
to the proper quarter, with in addition a 'memorial'
to Prince Leopold, informing him of the circumstances, and stating that the artist had 'received the
commands of her late Royal Highness, the everlamented Princess Charlotte, to paint a set of the
beauties of King Charles II.'s reign, copied from the
originals in his Majesty's collection at Windsor, and
from other celebrated pictures in private collections,
and that this circumstance is well known to the
royal family and those of her Royal Highness's
household who possessed her confidence; that on
this undertaking much time and a considerable sum
of money had been expended, in the certainty of
being remunerated by her Royal Highness's munificent patronage; but that when the artist's object was
nearly completed, all his hopes were crushed by that
fatal event which had plunged a nation into mourning.' The memorial goes on to say that Mr. Murphy
had forborne to intrude himself on the notice of
Prince Leopold from motives of delicacy-' but hearing that it is your Royal Highness's wish to fulfil as
far as possible the intentions of our lamented princess, he ventures to make this appeal to your Royal
Highness's justice and munificence; and only requests to know whether he may be permitted to
execute his original design under the auspices of
your Royal Highness, and with the same hopes and




AFTER MARRIA GE.


57


prospects which her late Royal Highness graciously
allowed him to indulge.'
This 'memorial' obtained only the following
reply from Sir Robert Gardiner, the prince's secretary, dated Claremont, July 7, 18 8:
Sir,-I have laid your letter before the Prince Leopold,
and have submitted your drawings (?) to his Royal Highness's inspection. His Royal Highness expressed no wish
to become a purchaser, but enquired if I knew the amount
you valued them at. If you will inform me of this by this
evening's post, it would perhaps prevent your having the
trouble of a journey to Esher, in the event of his Royal
Highness becoming a purchaser. Do not, however, let me
lead you to suppose that will be the case, as he made no
intimation whatever of such an intention. When I receive
your answer I will make it known to the prince, and lose
no time in communicating to you whatever his Royal
Highness's decision may be.
The terms were at once made known to the
prince's secretary; but any hopes that might naturally enough have been entertained of the result of
the application were altogether set aside within a
few days by the decision of Prince Leopold, as communicated by Sir Robert Gardiner, who 'takes the
earliest opportunity of forwarding to Mr. Murphy
the drawings left at Claiemont Lodge for the Prince
Leopold's inspection, and to inform Mr. Murphy that
his Royal Highness does not wish to purchase them.'
This disappointment, it may easily be supposed,




58            ANNA JAMESON.
was no small blow to a man depending upon his
own exertions.  The loss of time and money and
work, which every true artist values more than
either, was irreparable; and no attempt ever was
made to help or to compensate. It was not till ten
years later that an effort was made to put so much
labour to some use, and the plan was formed of engraving the portraits and publishing them in a book,
with illustrative memoirs from the pen of the artist's
daughter.  The original edition of 'The Beauties
of the Court of King Charles II.' appeared accordingly in an expensive quarto volume, illustrated by
the portraits.  The text accompanying them, 'a
Series of Memoirs, Biographical and Critical, illustrating the Diaries of Pepys, Evelyn, Clarendon,
and other contemporary writers,' was compiled with
spirit and taste; but the outlay necessary for the
production of such a work so absorbed the profits
that the desired result was not attained. This was
the work undertaken and 'published in the hope of
affording pecuniary aid to the author's father, then in
difficulties,' which is referred to in Miss Martineau's
sketch of my aunt's life, published at the period
of her death in the ' Daily News;' though Miss
Martineau makes the statement erroneously (and
somewhat injuriously) with respect to Mrs. Jameson's
firsi publicati-n, the history of which has already
been given.




AFTER MARRIAGE.


59


Up to this time, with the exception of the book
just referred to, Mrs. Jameson's works had been
entirely of a personal character: the records of her
own wanderings and thinkings, her opinions upon
art and artists; her impressions of people she had
met and things which she had seen; works taking
very much of their value from the delicate thread of
individual character which ran through them-the
attractive suggestion of a cultivated and graceful
companion conducting the reader through many fair
scenes and among many notable objects and persons
-rather than of a book, an absolute and impersonal
thing. Now, however, emboldened by success, and by
the graver impulses of a mature intellect, she undertook a more serious book, her first important contribution to literature. This was the work entitled
'Characteristics of Women,' a series of essays on the
female characters of Shakespeare-a happy subject,
most happily treated. It was a kind of study peculiarly delightful to her own mind, one into which
she threw all the fascination of her own enthusiasm
for the greatest of poets, quickened by much true
and genial insight into womanly character and the
light which poetry throws upon its ideal impersonations. The spirit in which this work was undertaken
she herself explains in the following words:
These studies were written, not to present a complete
commentary on Shakespeare's women; such an under



6o


ANNA fAMESON.


taking would have required much more critical learning
than I possess, a profounder knowledge of the spirit of
past ages, and more acquaintance with the sources whence
Shakespeare drew his incidents and materials. I must
have dived far deeper into that vast, perplexing chaos of
tradition, poetry, history, romance, real life, whence he
conjured up spirits of grace, intellect, grandeur, and bade
them stand before us, clothed in the aspects and passions
of humanity. I could not do this, but I selected a few
among the creatures of his art for particular consideration,
merely to throw into a pleasing and intelligible form some
observations on the natural workings of mind and feeling
in my own sex, which might lead to good. More than
this I never designed, more than this I never attempted;
and what I have attempted I sincerely wish I had done
better.
The introductory dialogue imagined as between
herself and a friend,1 at once her counsellor and critic,
explains yet more elaborately the spirit in which her
essays were conceived. In the intimacy which had
sprung up between herself and the members of the
Kemble family, it was natural that they should be
among those consulted with regard to the general
plan. Even the less important particular of the
name under which the book should appear, would
seem to have been referred to these friends, as we
1 Mrs. Jameson's own copy of this book, now in the possession of
her sister, is full of marginal notes, in which something very similar
to this dialogue is carried on, another hand making continual remarks
and suggestions, which are now and then responded to in her own
writing.




AFTER MARRIA GE.


6r


see from a letter, dated August 30 of that year,
from Fanny Kemble:
I forgot to tell you which name appears best for your
book; the fact is, I flew off into ecstasies about the work
itself, and gave you, I believe, a tirade about the 'Tempest'
instead of the opinion you asked. I agree with you that
there is much in the name of a work; it is almost as
desirable that a book should be well called, as that it
should be well written; a promising title-page is like an
agreeable face, an inducement to further acquaintance,
and an earnest of future pleasure. For myself, I prefer
'Characters of Shakespeare's Women;' it is shorter, and
I think will look better than the other in print.
The first edition appeared in 1832, having a
graceful etching by the writer for its frontispiece,
representing a female figure seated dejectedly beneath a tall lily bush, a tiny bark vanishing into a
stormy distance, and the words 'To Fanny Kemble
this little work is dedicated.' In the first American
edition, published in New York five years later, this
dedication is repeated in her friend's married name,
with a few additional words of affectionate recollection.  ' I have particular pleasure,' Mrs. Jameson
says, 'my dearest Fanny, in once more dedicating
to you, by your new name in a new land, this little
book, which in its progress you cherished, and
which without you would in all probability never
have been published.'
Before this work came into being, several other
sketches, however, had been written, the greater part




62


62      ANNA JAMESONT


of which were collected in the four volumes of
'Visits and Sketches' already referred to.  In 1830,
Fanny Kemble alludes to one of these fugitive
pieces, telling a friend that ' a series of sketches by
Mr. Hayter, from " The Juliet," is coming out, with
a species of avant-propos by Mrs. Jameson-a
beautifully written but too flattering notice of my
performance. The original drawings were purchased
by Lord Ellesmere.'
The same chronicler describes another sketch,
that of Mrs. Siddons, an account of whose career
Mrs. Jameson had written a few days after her death.
Mrs. Jameson (writes Mrs. Kemble) at one time contemplated writing a life of my aunt Siddons, not thinking
Boaden's biography of her satisfactory. In this purpose,
however, she was effectually opposed by Campbell, who had
undertaken the work; and, though he exhibited neither
interest nor zeal in the fulfilment of his task, doggedly (in
the manger) refused to relinquish it to her. Certainly, had
Mrs. Jameson carried out her intentions, Mrs! Siddons
would have had a monument dedicated to her memory
better calculated to preserve it than those which the abovenamed gentleman bestowed on her. It would have been
written in a spirit of far higher artistic discrimination, and
with infinitely more sympathy with the woman and with
the actress.
Of the sketch that did appear, Mrs. Jameson
says:
A misapprehension of the real character of this remarkable woman, which I know to exist in the minds of many




A PTER M~ARRIAGE.


63


who admired and venerated her talents, has induced me to
enlarge the first very slight sketch into a more finished but
still inadequate portrait. I have spared no pains to verify
the truth of my own conception by testimony of every kind
that was attainable. I have penned every word as if I had
been in that great final court where the thoughts of all
hearts are manifested, and those who best knew the individual I have attempted to delineate bear witness to the
fidelity of the portrait, as far as it goes. I must be permitted to add that, in this and the succeeding sketch,' I
have not only been inspired by the wish to do justice to
individual virtue and talent; I wished to impress and
illustrate that important truth that a gifted woman may
pursue a public vocation, yet preserve the purity and maintain the dignity of herself-that there is no prejudice which
will not shrink away before moral energy, and no profession
which may not be made compatible with the respect due
to us as women, the cultivation of every feminine virtue,
and the practice of every private duty.  I might here
multiply examples and exceptions, and discuss causes and
results, but it is a consideration I reserve for another
opportunity.
This is an indication, though not the first, how
much the special difficulties of women-a subject
naturally occupying the attention of female writers
at all times-already filled her thoughts.
Mr. Jameson returned from Dominica early in
the year I833, and rejoined his wife at the house of
her sister Mrs. Bate. His letters in the meantime
had given often a very lively account of the island


I That of Fanny Kemble.




64


64            NNAV, JA4MEISON.


to which he had been temporarily banished, and in
which his circumstances were not sufficiently comfortable, nor his appointment of a sufficiently satisfactory character, to induce any longer stay than was
absolutely necessary, or to offer any inducement to his
wife to join him. They remained together in London till the spring, when, having procured another
and more hopeful appointment through his wife's
influential friends, Mr. Jameson set out for Canada,
this time with a full intention on his part to prepare
there a home for her, and a promise on hers that
she should join him whenever he had become fully
acquainted with, and felt fairly established in, his
new position. In the meantime literary engagements had increased upon her. She had become
well known and popular, her works being of a kind
which made their author known to her readers more
than is the case with literary productions of a more
abstract nature. And before her husband's departure
it is evident that she had planned a continental
expedition of a more serious and independent kind
than heretofore; no longer as a member of a party,
but on her own account, and for objects connected
with her literary career.
Accordingly in i833 Mrs. Jameson went to Germany, where she found a kindly welcome among the
highest literary and social circles. Her name as the
writer of the essays on Shakespeare's heroines was




AFTER MARRIAGE.                 65
already familiar there, and the warmth of her reception was enhanced by certain valuable letters of
introduction furnished her by a gentleman, then -a
new acquaintance, but later one of her dearest and
most trusted friends.
Previous to Mr. Jameson's departure for Canada,
Behnes Burlowe, a promising young sculptor of
their acquaintance,1 brought his friend Robert Noel,
a cousin of Lady Noel Byron's, to introduce him.
This gentleman had learned to know Mrs. Jameson
already through her books, and his admiration for
the writer soon warmed into the most chivalric
attachment, the truest and most beautiful form of
friendship-a friendship fully shared by the young
German wife, who soon after made a trio of this
pair of friends. I cannot pass over this first mention of Major Noel's name without a grateful recollection of all he was to my aunt for the rest of
her life, or at least till the last few years of her
life, when she voluntarily resigned, for a sad reason
that will be explained later, the friendship which
had been a source of so much pleasure to her. He
and his wife were as brother and sister to her;
constant friends, as friends are seldom found; full of
sympathy in all the changes of her lot; helping and
helped in perfect mutual confidence and dependBurlowe died in Rome of cholera in 1837, owinghis death to his
indefatigable care of others during the epidemic.
F




66


ANNA JAMESON.


ence; sharing such secrets as she had, appreciating
and believing in her always. The survivors now
are as faithful to her memory as they were to herself
throughout her life. Her letters to this kind pair of
friends have furnished, as will be seen, a large portion
of the most interesting material I have had at my
disposal.
Mr. Noel had lived some time in Germany, and
was able to offer very acceptable information, as
well as numerous letters of introduction. It must
have been soon after her arrival that the following passage occurs in one of her early letters to
him:
I intend to work very hard at German. Till I can obtain
a command of the language, I am 'cribbed, cabined, confined;' I can do nothing. I was enchanted when I read
the name of Tieck in your letter. He has identified himself with our Shakespeare, and his name and fame are so
familiar to me, and associated with so many dear pursuits
and intimate feelings, that instead of saying, like most
people, 'I must learn German to read Schiller-to read
Goethe,' I have always said 'I must learn German to read
Tieck.' He appears to me one of the least translatable of
the German authors of celebrity.
After these words of enthusiasm it is natural
that her introduction to Tieck should have been one
of the interesting points in her expedition. She
gives a description of it in the ' Visits and Sketches,'
in which she speaks of him as having succeeded at




AFTER MARRIAGE.


67


the death of Goethe 'to the vacant throne of
genius.' ' His house in the Altmarkt,' she adds,
'the tall red house at the south-west corner, is the
resort of all the enlightened strangers who flock to
Dresden; even those who know nothing of Tieck
but his name, deem an introduction to him as indispensable as a visit to the Madonna di San Sisto.'
And here is the record of her own visit to him:
It was with some trepidation that I found myself in the
presence of this extraordinary man. Notwithstanding his
profound knowledge of our language, he rarely spoke English, and, like Alfieri, he will not speak French. I addressed
him in English, and he spoke to me in German. The conversation iii my first visit fell, very naturally, upon Shakespeare, for I had been looking over his admirable new translation of' Macbeth,' which he had just completed. ' Macbeth'
led us to the English theatre and English acting-to Mrs.
Siddons and the Kembles, and the actual character and
state of our stage. While he spoke I could not help looking
at his head, which is wonderfully fine: the noble breadth
and amplitude of his brow, and his quiet but penetrating
eye, with an expression of latent humour hovering round
the lips, formed altogether a striking physiognomy.... His
manner is courteous, and his voice peculiarly sweet and
winning. He is apparently fond of the society of women,
or the women are fond of his society, for in theevening his
rooms are generally crowded with fair worshippers....
Tieck's extraordinary talent for reading aloud is much and
deservedly celebrated. He gives dramatic.readings two or
three times a week when his health and his avocations allow
this exertion.  The Company assemble at six, and it is
advisable to be punctual to the moment: soon afterwards
F2




68


ANNA JAMESON.


tea is served, and he begins to read at seven precisely,
when the doors are closed against all intrusion whatever,
and he reads through a whole play without pause, rest,
omission, or interruption. Thus I heard him read 'Julius
Caesar' and the 'Midsummer Night's Dream' (in the German
translation by himself and Schlegel), and, except Mrs.
Siddons, I never heard anything comparable as dramatic
reading. His voice is rich and capable of great variety of
modulation. I observed that the humorous and declamatory passages were rather better than the pathetic and
tender passages: he was quite at home among the elves
and clowns in the ' Midsummer Night's Dream,' of which he
gave the fantastic and comic parts with indescribable
humour and effect.  As to the translation I could only
judge of its marvellous fidelity which enabled me to follow
him word for word; but the Germans themselves are
equally enchanted by its vigour and elegance and poetical
colouring.
I must pause here, at the risk of breaking for a
moment the thread of my narrative, to note a curious
little memento of this intercourse which exists,
of all places in the world, in the British Museum,
where may be found (though how it got there I have
not an idea) the copy of Mrs. Jameson's ' Characteristics of Women' presented by the authoress to Ludwig
Tieck, with pencil notes on the margins evincing the
careful perusal given to the volume by the great
German critic, and on the first fly-leaf the following
in his own somewhat crabbed German text:
Dieses Buch ist mir von der VerfAsserinn im Winter des
Jahres I833 gesandt worden. Wegen einer Anmerkung




AFTER MARRIAGE.


69


die mich betrifft (tom. ii. p. 312), war sie in Verlegenheit,
und sie hatte ein Blatt fiber diese Stelle geleimt. Meine
Neugier war so ungeschickt, dass sie im Ablosen die Anmerkung selbst fast ganz zerstorte. Um so sonderbarer,
weil gerade meine Ansicht fiber Lady Macbeth ganz mit
der verstandigen Verfasserinn (gegen Gothe und die meisten
Critiken) ubereintrifft. -L. Tieck.
(Trans.) This book was sent me by the authoress in
the winter of the year I833. In consequence of a remark
concerning me (vol. ii. page 3I2)' she had felt somewhat
embarrassed, and had pasted a piece of paper over this portion of the page. My curiosity, however, was so awkward
that, in endeavouring to remove the paper, I destroyed the
remark itself. And this fact is the more singular, since my
opinion regarding Lady Macbeth entirely coincides with
that of the intelligent authoress, in opposition to that of
Goethe and most other critics.
But Tieck's marginal notes on the pages delineating the character of Ophelia show that he did not
always agree with the views taken by the ' verstandige Verfasserinn.' At page 257, where the text
runs thus:-' The affection of the Queen for this
gentle and innocent creature is one of those beautiful redeeming touches, one of those      penetrating
glances into the secret springs of natural and feminine feeling, which we find only in Shakespeare.
Gertrude, who is not so wholly abandoned but that
1 A foot-note saying: 'The German critic, Tieck, also leans to this
harsher opinion, judging rather from the manner in which the character is usually played in Germany than from its intrinsic and poetical
construction.'




7o


ANNA JAMESON;


there remains within her heart some sense of the
virtue she has forfeited, seems to look with a kind
yet melancholy complacency on the lovely being she
has destined for the bride of her son; and the scene
in which she is introduced as scattering flowers on
the grave of Ophelia is one of those effects of contrast in poetry, in character, and in feeling, at once
natural and unexpected, which fill the eye, and make
the heart swell and tremble within itself, like the nightingales singing in the grove of the Furies, in Sophocles'-in this passage Tieck has underscored the
words 'destined for the bride of her son,' and passed
his sentence on the whole thus:-' Dies scheint mir
ganz missverstanden.' ' Etwa der Wbrte wegen die
die K6niginn auf dem Kirchhof spricht? Es sind
nur W6rte; Trostwdrte des Laertes wegen.' On
the next page at the words,' So that, when she is
brought to court, she seems, in her loveliness and perfect purity, like a seraph that had wandered out of
bounds, and yet breathed on earth the air of Paradise,' the commentator puts against them a double
score and quite an angry little note of interrogation!  At page 272, where Mrs. Jameson, after
giving her reasons, says: 'And therefore do I think
that the mighty intellect, the capacious, soaring,
penetrating genius of Hamlet may be represented,
without detracting from its grandeur, as reposing
upon the tender virgin innocence of Ophelia, with all




AFTER MARRIAGE.


7I


that deep delight with which a superior nature contemplates the goodness which is at once perfect in
itself, and of itself unconscious'-Tieck has underlined the words 'virgin innocence,' and placed two
of his interrogations. At the foot of page 274,
where Hamlet's madness is thus closely analysed with
reference specially to his love for Ophelia: ' We do
not see him as a lover, nor as Ophelia first beheld
him; for the days when he importuned her with love
were before the opening of the drama-before his
father's spirit revisited the earth; but we behold him
at once in a sea of troubles, of perplexities, of agonies,
of terrors.  Without remorse, he endures all its
horrors; without guilt, he endures all its shame. A
loathing of the crime he is called on to revenge, which
revenge is again abhorrent to his nature, has set him
at strife with himself; the supernatural visitation has
perturbed his soul to its inmost depths; all things
else, all interests, all hopes, all affections, appear as
futile, when the majestic shadow comes lamenting
from its place of torment " to shake him with thoughts
beyond the reaches of his soul." His love for
Ophelia is then ranked by himself among those
trivial fond records which he has deeply sworn to
erase from his heart and brain.  He has no thought
to link his terrible destiny with hers: he cannot
marry her; he cannot reveal to her, young, gentle,
innocent as she is, the terrific influences which have




72


ANNA JAMESON.


changed the whole current of his life and purposes.
In his distraction he overacts the painful part to
which he had tasked himself: he is like that judge of
the Areopagus, who, being occupied with graver
matters, flung from him the little bird which had
sought refuge in his bosom, and that with such angry
violence that unwittingly he killed it '-at the foot
of this page we read, ' Hier alles oberst lacherlich.'
I do not know whether Mrs. Jameson was aware
of the existence of this copy of her book, in its
quaint green and gold German binding, of a fashion
prevalent in Germany half a century ago, on the
shelves of the national library.
The same kind of human interest, more lasting
and more varied than that called forth by art itself,
is again thrown round the city of Dresden, in which
the traveller had already seen Tieck and described
him for her readers, by a very lively and animated
description of the painter Retzsch, whom she describes as 'this extraordinary genius.' He was one
of the many interesting people to whom she was
introduced by Mr. Noel.
The professor received us in a room which appeared to
answer many purposes, being obviously a sleeping as well
as a sitting room, but perfectly neat. He received us with
open-hearted frankness, at the same time throwing on the
stranger one of those quick glances which seemed to look
through me; in return I contemplated him with inexpressible interest. His figure is rather larger and more portly




AFTER MARRIA GE.


73


than I expected, but I admired his fine Titanic head, so
large and sublime in its expression; his light blue eye, wild
and wide, which seemed to drink in meaning and flash out
light; his hair profuse, grizzled, and flowing in masses
round his head; and his expanded brow full of poetry and
power. In his deportment he is a mere child of nature,
simple, careless, saying just what he feels and thinks at the
moment, without regard to forms, yet pleasing from the
benevolent earnestness of his manner and intuitively polite
without being polished. He seems to have received from
Nature a double portion of the inventive faculty, that rarest
of all her good gifts, even to those who are her especial
favourites.
Mrs. Jameson goes on to describe at length various
studies which she saw in his studio and sketch-books:
one, 'an angel smiling,' a 'most lovely head in which
the radiant spirit of joy seems to beam from every
feature at once-enough to exorcise a whole legion
of blue devils;' another, 'a wondrous face which
made me shrink back, not from terror, for it was perfectly beautiful, but with awe ' —this was the angel of
death; and an infinite collection besides. 'If any
one succeeds,' she exclaims with enthusiasm, 'in
embodying the idea of a Miranda, a Caliban, a
Titania, and the poetical burlesque of the Athenian
clowns, it will be Retzsch, whose genius embraces
at once the grotesque, the comic, the wild, the wonderful, the fanciful, the elegant.'
She then proceeds to tell her readers of a visit
paid some time after to Retzsch's country-house:




74


ANNA JA4MESON.


Retzsch, who had perceived our approach, came out to
meet us, took me under his arm as though we had been
friends of twenty years' standing, and, leading me into his
picturesque domicile, introduced me to his wife, as pretty a
piece of domestic poetry as one shall see on a summer's
day. She was the daughter of a vinedresser whom Retzsch
fell in love with while she was yet almost a child, and educated for his wife-at least so runs the tale. At the first
glance I detected the original of that countenance which,
more or less idealised, runs through all his representations
of female youth and beauty; here was the model both in
feature and expression. She smiled. upon us a most cordial welcome, regaled us with delicious coffee and cakes
prepared by herself, then taking up her knitting sat down
beside us, and while I turned over admiringly the beautiful
designs with which her husband had decorated her album
the looks of veneration and love with which she regarded
him, and the expression of kindly delighted sympathy with
which she smiled upon me, I shall not easily forget. As
for the album itself, queens might have envied her such
homage, and what would not a dilettante collector have
given for such a possession! After spending three or four
hours delightfully, we drove home in silence by the gleaming
murmuring river, and beneath the light of the silent stars.
On a subsequent visit Retzsch showed me many more of
these delicious phantasies, or fancies, as he called them, or,
more truly, little pieces of moral or lyrical poetry thrown
into palpable form, speaking in the universal language of
the eye to the universal heart of man. I endeavoured to
persuade Retzsch that he could not do better than publish
some of these exquisite Fancies, and when I left him he
entertained the idea of doing so at some future period. To
adopt his own language, the Genius of Art could not present to the Genius of Humanity a more delightful and a
more profitable gift.




AFTER MARRIAGE.


75


Tieck and Retzsch were not, however, the only
notable persons she encountered on this journey
whose names naturally occur here, as furnishing
the most pleasant recollections of it.  Frankfort,
which she describes in one sentence as 'a vision of
dirty streets, chilly houses, dull shops, dingy-looking
Jews, dripping umbrellas, luxurious hotels, and exorbitant charges,' soon became, on closer inspection, ' on
the outside at least, fair, substantial, and consistent.'
And it is easy to perceive how the transformation
was effected by gradual acquaintance with the place;
its charities, several of which are fully and sympathetically described; its theatre, where she first saw,
among others, Mme. Schroeder Devrient, for whom
she conceived a great admiration; its treasures of
art, and its artists. Among her sketches of these,
none is so interesting as that of Dannecker and
her personal meetings with him. After having discussed his famous 'Ariadne,' she gives a description
of his less well known statue of the Redeemer.
This was standing in his workroom when we paid our
first visit to him. He told me what I had often heard,
that the figure had visited him in a dream there several
times, and the good old man firmly believed that he had
been divinely inspired and predestined to the work. While
the visionary image was fresh in his imagination, he first
executed a small clay model, and placed it before a child
of five or six years old: there were none of the usual
emblematical accompaniments-no cross, no crown of




76


7ANATA JAMESON.


thorns to assist the fancy-nothing but the simple figure
roughly modelled; yet the child immediately exclaimed
'The Redeemer!' and Dannecker was confirmed in his
design. Gradually the completion of this statue became
the engrossing idea of his enthusiastic mind: for eight
years it was his dream by night, his thought by day; all
things else, all the affairs and duties of life, merged into
this. He told me that he frequently felt as if pursued,
excited by some strong irresistible power, which would even
visit him in sleep and impel him to rise from his bed and
work. He -explained to me some of the difficulties he
encountered, and which he was persuaded he had perfectly
overcome only through Divine aid and the constant study
of the Scriptures....  I shall not easily forget the countenance of the good and gifted old man, as leaning on the
pedestal, with his cap in his hand, and his long grey hair
waving round his face, he looked up at his work with a
mixture of reverence and admiration, saying in his imperfect and scarcely intelligible French: ' Oui, quand on a
fait comme cela, on reste sur la terre!' meaning, I suppose,
that this statue had insured his immortality on earth. He
added: 'They ask me often where are the models after
which I worked, and I answer " Here, and here," 'laying his
hand first on his head, then on his heart.
Interesting, however, as these sketches are, they
do not glow with the same warm enthusiasm which
we find in the following tribute to a friend who was
henceforward to be one of the dearest friends of her
life. When Mr. Noel met Mrs. Jameson in the course
of that summer in Weimar, he made her acquainted
with the family of Goethe, and. with most of the
distinguished members of the brilliant society then




AFTER MARRIAGE.


77


forming the little court of the Grand Duke Ernest
Augustus. Again it is in the ' Visits and Sketches'
that we find the most distinct references to this
visit and the friends she then made; especially the
one friend, the always dear, admired, and beloved
Ottilie, in whom and in whose concerns she took the
interest of a sister, almost of a lover, for all the rest
of her life. Our extract begins with a reference
to Mrs. Austin's ' Characteristics of Goethe.' Mrs.
Jameson says:
I came upon a passage which sent back my thoughts to
Weimar. I was again in Goethe's house; the faces, the
voices of his grandchildren were around me; the room in
which he studied, the bed in which he slept, the old chair
in which he died, and, above all, her in whose arms he died,
from whose lips I heard the detail of his last moments..
I thought of the daughter-in-law of the poet, the trusted
friend, the constant companion, the devoted and careful
nurse of his last years.
Going on to account for the influence this beloved Ottilie possessed not over, but in, his affections, she writes:
In her he found truly eine Natur, a piece of nature
which could bear even his microscopic examination. Conceive a woman, a young, accomplished, enthusiastic woman,
who had qualities to attach, talents to amuse, and capacity to appreciate Goethe; who for fourteen or fifteen
years could exist in daily, hourly communication with
that gigantic spirit, yet retain, from first to last, the most
perfect simplicity of character, and this less from the




78


ANNA JAMESON.


strength than from the purity and delicacy of the original
texture. Those oft-abused words, naive, navet/, were more
applicable to her in their fullest sense than to any other
woman I ever met with.... Quick in perception yet
femininely confiding, uniting a sort of restless vivacity with
an indolent gracefulness, she appeared to me by far the
most poetical and genuine being of my own sex I ever
knew in highly cultivated life - one to whom no wrong
could teach mistrust, no injury bitterness; one to whom
the commonplace realities, the vulgar necessary cares of
existence, were but too indifferent; who was in reality all
that other women try to appear, and betrayed with a careless independence what they most wish to conceal.
The attachment that sprang up rapidly between
Goethe's fascinating daughter-in-law and the 'liebe
Anna' never thenceforth, though put to severest
proof, suffered coldness or change. They were dear
friends for nearly thirty years, maintaining, through
long periods of separation, a faithful correspondence
and  renewing personal intercourse whenever and
wherever possible —in Weimar itself, or in Vienna,
Dresden, Venice, Rome, wherever Anna could give
or accept a rendezvous with Ottilie.
To return to the time when this acquaintance
was yet in its infancy. I quote next from a letter
to Mr. Noel, dated Weimar, June 27, i833.
MY DEAR SIR,-It.is a pleasure I cannot deny myselfno less than a debt of gratitude to you-to write these few
lines from Weimar. I must thank you in the first place
for the kind and cordial reception I have met with. Your




AFTER AARRIA GE.


79


charming friend Mme. de Goethe received me almost with
open arms, and from Dr. Froriep and his amiable wife and
daughters I have met with the utmost politeness and attention. I am on the most easy terms with them all, and feel
as if I had known them months instead of only a few days.
I think that much of this is owing to you, to the kind
manner in which you have spoken of me, and to the kind
feeling you have yourself inspired here, which has apparently stamped a more than ordinary value upon your
approbation. I have seen as much of Weimar, of its
gardens, environs, library, &c., as could possibly be accomplished in five days, and I need hardly tell you that I have
been pleased with all I have seen. After this exordium
you will perhaps start to hear that I am on the point of
leaving Weimar, although I have not yet spent a week here.
The fact is that Mme. de Goethe has persuaded me to
accompany her on a tour to Frankfort and the Rhine.
There is a pleasant party arranged, and many reasons to
determine me. The opportunity of improving my acquaintance with Mme. de Goethe is one, and my sister's gratification is another. She will be obliged to return to England
before I do, and I have promised to show her the Rhine.
My intention is to return to Weimar after visiting the south
of Germany and Vienna.
On September 5 Mrs. Jameson wrote to her
father from Frankfort, and mentioned her latest
news from her husband, in a letter giving at the
same time, amid all the warmth and affectionate
effusiveness of her friendships, a strange glimpse
into the melancholy chill and frost with which her
Charlotte, the youngest sister, had accompanied her to Germany.




80


ANNA JfAMESON


warm heart was bound in the closest relationship of
life.
MY DEAREST FATHER,-I have the opportunity of sending a letter free; I hope it will reach you safely and soon.
I found at Mannheim a letter from Canada, as usual very
well written, very cold and very vague. I do not think he
is disappointed in his office.  He had seen the Almas,
who are flourishing; he has stood godfather to Emily's
youngest son; his books and papers have been shipwrecked, which is a real misfortune and no small expense.
He has not seen the Falls of Niagara. He finds a party
ready formed against him; but the popular opinion is for
him, being considered a Whig official. No Solicitor-General
is yet appointed, so that a double weight of duty falls upon
him, and he was just going on the circuit (of more than a
thousand miles). This is the epitome of his letter.
Two days later she wrote in a tender, playful
spirit, to the dear little sister Charlotte who had
accompanied. her abroad, but whose return home
previously to herself was alluded to in her letter to
Mr. Noel:
MY DEAR CHARLOTTE,-I have not your letter here
with me, to look it over and answer it at full length. I
can but thank you for it, dear, and tell you how I have
missed you since we parted. I returned to Bonn almost
ill with fatigue after two days and one night on board the
steamboat.  Schlegel became very amiable before I left
Bonn, and they tell me it was a complete conquest. Pity I
am married! for certainly his stars and his ribbons are
very becoming, and as for his wig-I think he only wears
one in imitation of his Jupiter. In short, he talked of
Mme. de Stael and Bernadotte and Sanscrit, till I




AFTER MARRIAGE.


8I


found him quite captivating. I found, on my return to
Bonn, two letters from Mme. de Goethe, whom I had
accused wrongfully of not writing. I am now staying with
her for a few days, and find her just the same as ever.
You should have heard her description of Lady Morgan's
visit, and of the latter's addressing her in French.  'Ach
mein Gott! if she would have said to me" Cus/iZlamnacirce,"
I would have embraced her!'
There I became acquainted with the celebrated Schlegel,
or, I should rather say, M. le Chevalier de Schlegel, for I
believe his titles and his ' starry honours' are not indifferent to him; and in truth he wears them very gracefully.
I was rather surprised to find in this sublime and eloquent
critic, this awful scholar, whose comprehensive mind has
grasped the whole universe of art, a most lively, agreeable,
social being. Of the judgments passed on him in his own
country I know little and understand less; I am not deep
in German literary polemics. To me he was the author
of the lectures on Dramatic Literature, and the translator
of Shakespeare, and moreover all that was amiable and
polite.
For my own part I would rather hear him talk of
Romeo and Juliet, and of Mme. de Stael, than of the
Ramayana, the Bhagvat-Gita, or even the ' Eastern Confut-yee.' This, of course, is only a proof of my own
ignorance. Conversation may be compared to a lyre with
seven chords-philosophy, art, poetry, politics, love, scandal,
and the weather.  There are some professors who, like
Paganini, 'can discourse most eloquent music' upon one
Mme. de Goethe held the French in hereditary hatred. Her
mother had been one of the ladies-in-waiting of Queen Louise of
Prussia.
G




82


ANNA JAMESON.


string only, and some who can grasp the whole instrument,
and with a master's hand sound it from the top to the
bottom of its compass. Now, Schlegel is one of the latter:
he can thunder in the bass or caper in the treble; he can
be a whole concert in himself.  No man can trifle like
him, nor, like him, blend in a few hours' converse the critic,
philologist, poet, philosopher, and man of the world; no
man narrates more gracefully, or more happily illustrates
a casual thought. He told me many interesting things.
' Do you know,' said he, one morning, as I was looking at
a beautiful edition of ' Corinne,' bound in red morocco,
the gift of Mme. de Stael-' do you know that I figure
in that book?' I asked eagerly, in what character? He
bade me guess. I guessed play fully, the Comte d'Erfeuil.
'No! no!' said he, laughing; 'I am immortalised in the
Prince Castel Forte, the faithful, humble, unaspiring friend
of Corinne.'
From Frankfort Mrs. Jameson started, shortly
after this date, on the tour through Southern Germany to which she had long been looking forward;
and from Munich she writes to her father on
October 15:
The accounts I have from dear Louisa this day of
your better health and spirits and constant occupation
are a great happiness to me.... Munich is the most
beautiful city I ever saw except Florence; but I have
suffered so much here that I shall leave it without regret.
Dr. Martins tells me that almost all foreigners do suffer
more or less. The cold is so intense at times, and the air
so oppressive, that I long to fly across the Alps. In three
days I could be at Milan, in four at Venice! The very
idea of sunning myself under an Italian sky, though only




AFTER   MARRIfAGE.               83
for a few hours, is a great temptation. But all my pursuits
and plans carry me to the North once more, and I shall
set off for Dresden in a few days, where I am told that I
shall be f+c2e, that is, welcomed like a princess. You can
follow me on the map from Munich to Salzburg, to Linz,
to Prague, to Dresden. God bless you all! I must stop.
But a heavy blow was already pending; a sudden and most unlooked-for sorrow came barely one
month later, that put a stop to the pleasant German
wanderings and summoned the loving daughter
home to watch by what it was apprehended might be
her father's death-bed. In the month of November
Mr. Murphy had a severe paralytic seizure, and in
those days of slow communication and slow travelling Mrs. Jameson was in an agony of fear lest she
should arrive too late. At one of her few restingplaces during that sad journey home, she commenced a letter to Mr. Noel, then in Dresden, intending to finish it after her arrival in England
For (she writes) it is due to you, my kind friend, to
let you know as soon as possible of my safe arrival, and
yet I am haunted by the fearful idea of what may await
me there to prevent my writing to you. God knows, I
try to keep my hopes in equipoise with my fears, and I
have hitherto been strong; but I begin to sink a little and
to feel weak. I wrote you a few lines from Weimar, and I
remember that at the conclusion [ told you that Ottilie
was half asleep on the sofa, and as she answered me drowsily, I thought she was so. I was wrong; when I went
over to her, I found her weeping quiet silent tears. Dear
G 2


to




84


ANNA JAMESON.


Ottilie! with what impatient grief, what bitter regret, I
parted from her! 0 Noel! I am at this moment very
unhappy, and in many ways unfortunate. To think of all
I leave-all I may meet, all I must meet! But I will bear
up, for both thought and action will be needed.
Later on in this long and interesting letter, after
messages to dear mutual friends in Dresden, Mrs.
Jameson tells her correspondent the thrilling tale
told her the previous evening by a young girl,
Belltty von Ambos, her temporary fellow-traveller.
This story appears at the close of the introduction
to the 'Visits and Sketches.' A few lines from
London conclude the letter thus:
I arrived here yesterday, and found my dear father
considerably better. His speech has returned, and he is
beginning to recover the use of his arm. Such a gleam of
joy came over his pale face when he saw me-my mother
tells me so continually how he has been pining for my return, and how my presence will contribute to his recoveryI feel so convinced that I have done right in coming, that
I cannot repent it. But my reason tells me that I have
done no real and effectual good, and can do none; therefore I repent it. When I think of all I have left, and all
the consequences which may attend my precipitate return,
I could sit down and wring my hands; but as that will do
no good, I think it better to use them to some purpose.
The physicians agree that my father is recovering as well
and as quickly as could be expected.  I had prepared
myself for the worst, so that my spirits are comparatively
light.




MIDDLE LIFE.           85


CHAPTER IV.
MIDDLE LIFE.
MR. MURPHY was never restored to health after
this alarming attack, but he rallied for the time and
lived for some years in a semi-paralysed condition;
so that after the alarm the family soon settled into
something of their former tranquillity.
After the departure of her husband, in 1 833, for
his distant appointment, Mrs. Jameson had continued to make the house of her sister her home,
and hither she returned when summoned from Germany. Still in the prime of life, and in so many
ways adapted to shine in society, she soon found herself with more engagements on her hands than she
cared to fulfil, and in risk of having her time frittered away by the unprofitable success of London
drawing-rooms. Her father's invalid condition, however, occupied a great deal of her attention, and she
had already begun to bestow all the tenderness of a
mother upon her sister Louisa's eldest child, the
only one of the second generation then existing-a
tenderness most enlightened and anxious, which




86


ANNA JAAMESON


ended only with her life. Thus, though separated
from her husband and childless in her own person,
she lived amid the fondest family ties, and had all
her affections in exercise to keep in check those
allurements of society which, seductive as they are,
were never much to her mind. The first literary
work which she seems to have undertaken after her
return to England was the collecting and revising
of a series of essays on various subjects which had
already been published, but which Messrs. Saunders
& Ottley wished to republish in a more durable
form. These extended to four volumes, brought
out, under the title of 'Visits and Sketches,' in
the year I834, and from which I have largely.
quoted in the previous chapter. The topics were
of the most varied kind, ranging from descriptive
sketches of German society and biographies of distinguished Germans-such as those from which
extracts have been given-to   a sketch of the
families of Hardwick and Stanhope in commemoration of visits paid to the chief residences of either
family; and, again, to a dissertation upon the
genius of Mrs. Siddons.  Included among these
was a new edition of the 'Diary of an Ennuyde.'
It is a sufficient proof of the popularity Mrs.
Jameson's works had attained, that her publishers
should have suggested such a collection so early in
her literary career. Mrs. Jameson herself explains




MIDDLE LIFE.


87


in her preface that though she had ' other and particular objects in view which still keep full possession
of my mind, and which have been suspended,
not without reluctance, in order to prepare these
volumes for the press,' she had found, on her return to England after her recent continental expedition, 'that many particulars which had excited
my interest with regard to the relative state of art
and social existence' (in Germany) 'appeared new
to those with whom I conversed;' which was her
chief inducement 'to throw into form the few
simple memoranda I had made on the spot.' These
memoranda, expanded into sketches descriptive and
~biographic, occupied the first two volumes of the
collection; and as comparatively little was known
of Germany at that period, when none of the
modern facilities of travel existed, and when travellers were comparatively few, and these almost
exclusively of the wealthy classes-it will be understood how interesting to many were the graphic and
refined yet simple descriptions of German life from
many different points of view-its picture galleries,
its courts, its quiet homes, its artists and theatres,
all so unexplored and little understood by insular
readers. About the same time Mr. Carlyle was
awakening the interest of the reading world in
German literature, and setting up that Goethe worship of which he has been the first and greatest




88


ANNA JAMESON


preacher. What these pioneers have done cannot
be repeated. 'Faust' has been reproduced for us in
a hundred translations, and no traveller now would
venture to dwell, as Mrs. Jameson does, upon his
feelings in the presence of the Madonna of San
Sisto, which all his acquaintances have seen as well
as himself, and of which we have all heard the divine
pre-eminence contemptuously disparaged. But in
1834 things were very different, and Mrs. Jameson's
modest book opened the breadth of Germany and
its yet untrodden ways to many readers as unable
to go thither in their own persons as they were unprepared to judge and justly estimate the treasures
of art to be set before them there. The author
expresses in her preface her 'earnest hope that what
has been written in perfect simplicity of heart may
be perused, both by my English and German
friends-particularly the artists-with indulgence;
that those who read and doubt may be awakened
to enquiry, and those who read and believe may be
led to reflection; and that those who differ from
and those who agree with the writer may both find
some interest and amusement in the literal truth of
the facts and impressions which she has ventured to
record.'
No one who reads these sketches will doubt
that she possessed a degree of knowledge of the
country through which she travelled, and its people,




MIDD LE I IFE.


89


much surpassing anything which was usual then, or is
usual now, with all our external advantages, and was
thus qualified to guide her special audience through
many an interesting scene. There will also be
found in these modest volumes suggestions and
anticipations of literary subjects which have since
been carried out in works that have acquired lasting
fame. There is the story of the ' N iebelungen Lied,'
before Carlyle had expounded it to the English
world; and of St. Elizabeth of Hungary, before
Montalembert brought out all the more exquisite
lights of history to transform that legend; besides
many indications of the author's own gradually developing taste, and the unconscious currents of influence which led her to the chief works of her life.
This republication, however, seems to have been
the only work in which she was engaged at the
time, occupied as she was with domestic and with
social engagements. That she was not satisfied
with this partial inactivity is very apparent from her
letter to Mr. Noel, dated from London, January 24,
i 834:
For myself I am leading that most abominable life-a
life of laborious dissipation. I have suffered myself to be
entangled in the machinery of society, and am whirled
round as if I were bound upon the wheel of a steamengine  But it shall not last! Shall I whisper something
to you? I indulge a hope of revisiting Germany in the
spring. It depends on so many contingencies that I scarcely




9~


ANNA JAMESON.


dare permit myself to dwell upon it. But if my letters
from Canada are definitive, if I can finish the printing of
my book, if I can so arrange my money matters as to perform what is right to others and spare something for
selfishness, then I shall spread my wings some time in
April or May, and you will see me alight on a spring
morning among my dear German friends, like a bird escaped from its cage, with its plumage ruffled and torn with
beating against the wires.  I never liked London, and
now I hate it absolutely; this kind of life is not made for
me, and solitude were not much better. If I do make my
escape, I think I will go to Weimar for a month or six
weeks and study German very very hard, and spend part
of my time with dear Ottilie; thence I will go to Dresden
and to Vienna, but as yet all this is a mere dream.
Your description of Mme. Schroeder Devrient's dinnerparty is admirable. Do not lose sight of her, and, without
absolutely playing the moraliser and adviser, do what you
can to elevate and steady her mind. She wants self-respect,
and this is a dangerous deficiency where there is such an
excitable temperament. I have prepared one or two good
friends for her if she comes here; Mrs. Austin is one. This
very remarkable woman has one of the largest and healthiest
minds I ever met with in a person of my own sex; she is
now translating Victor Cousin's reports on the system of
public education in Prussia, and this she is doing from
a pure feeling of duty, a real enthusiasm in the cause.
The lady referred to was one to whom Mrs.
Jameson had dedicated several pages in the volumes
above mentioned, describing her artistic gifts and
accomplishments with that invariable sympathy with
genius in all its forms which was one of her chief




MID D LE LIFE.


91


characteristics. ' Like other gifted women who are
blessed or cursed with a most irritable nervous
system,' she says, ' Devrient is a good deal under
the influence of feeling and temper, and in the performance of her favourite parts is subject to inequalities which are not caprices, but arise from an
exuberance of soul and power, and only render her
performances more interesting.' And she adds, in
speaking of a special performance-that of Romeo
in Bellini's opera-' There was a flush of poetry and
passion, a heart-breaking struggle of love and life
against an overwhelming destiny, which thrilled me.
Never did I hear anyone sing so completely from
her own soul as this astonishing creature; in certain
tones and passages her voice issued from the depths
of her bosom, as if steeped in tears.... I was not
surprised to learn that Mme. Devrient is generally
ill after her performance, and unable to sing in this
part more than once or twice a week.'
A fortnight after the letter above quoted, Mr.
Noel received the following:
My poor father is worse again. He was bled yesterday, and I greatly fear for him. I have other and peculiar
sources of grief, besides the uneasiness I feel about my
mother and sisters. Outwardly, I stand in the world an
enviable being, so at least everyone tells me; inwardly, it
is a hard struggle. Of how many women might the history be comprised in those few words-'she lived, suffered, and was buried'!




92


ANNA JAMESON


I do not like the book which my publishers, rather
than myself, will give to the world-this collection of all
sorts of fugitive things never owned, and the Ennuy&e included. I have also written some slight sketches of the
comparative state of art in England and Germany. Had
I remained a month longer in Dresden, I would have made
this better; but I have done what I could-thrown out a
few thoughts which others must take up and improve.
This book, about which I care little, will subject me more
than any former one to angry criticism, because I see I
have just attained that point of reputation which, by
giving a certain weight to my opinions, will provoke contradiction. So be it! However, I must tell you of one
thing which consoles me. The other day I had a present of books and a letter from an unknown person in
America, telling me that they were printing the second
American edition of my writings.
Here is a chapter of egotism, my dear Noel; and how
little I feel myself, compared to Harriet Martineau and
Mrs. Austin!
The chapter of egotism, innocent as it is, is very
soon, however, balanced by another letter, which
reveals to us one of those efforts of practical
help and kindness into which, when she had the
opportunity, she threw herself with her whole soul.
The reader will not have forgotten her description,
given in the previous chapter, of Moritz Retzsch, the
'extraordinary genius' whose outline illustrations of
Goethe, Schiller, Burger, Shakespeare, &c., had
captivated all Germany by their wonderful fresh



MIEDITIE LIFE.


93


ness, beauty, and   ideal grace.   Mrs. Jameson's
warm admiration and sympathy had not been content with a mere suggestion that these beautiful
sketches should not be lost to the English public.
She undertook to manage for Retzsch the publication
in England, finding the publisher, translating the
text, and herself adding an introduction to the
English reader, who had already been prepared by
her interesting sketch of the artist to give this
new volume a favourable reception.
MY DEAR NOEL,-This is post-day, and late. I have
but a few minutes to write, but I think better not to delay
a moment the acknowledgment of Retzsch's copper-plates,
which arrived yesterday.  Saunders & Ottley have by
this day's post sent off 70/., which will be paid to Morris
Retzsch on application to Bassange & Co., bankers in
Dresden. I hope he will be pleased. The certainty of
punctual pay and most honourable treatment must surely
be something in his estimation. Will you be so good as to
thank him for the beautiful little head he has sent me?it is charming. I am now going to set to work to translate and explain, and do my best to set forth Retzsch's
merits most worthily, and Saunders & Ottley intend to
spare no expense in getting up the work in the most
elegant fashion.
You must forgive me, dear Noel, these few hurried
lines. When I tell you that the arrangement of my father's
affairs, and in some measure the providing for my poor
mother and my good sisters, has fallen to my lot; and that
in the meantime, while my father has been helpless, my
mother has been dangerously ill; and that it was necessary,




94


A-lWVA IJ4MESOX;


in the midst of all this, to hurry forward the printing of
my poor little book, which will come into the world like a
premature child, if not still-born- then you can believe
that for seven weeks I have never been in bed before
three or four in the morning, and am almost worn out.
Early in this year Mr. Noel had made Mrs.
Jameson acquainted with his cousin, Lady Byron,
than whom perhaps no woman has been more discussed in the world, with less satisfaction to her
critics. Mrs. Jameson's impression of her seems to
have been at first more in accordance with the
opinion entertained by the friends of the poet-husband, than by the many enthusiasts who bestowed
upon Lady Byron's veiled but powerful character,
and many and liberal benevolences, a kind of worship. When asked, after their first interview, what
was the chief impression her new acquaintance had
made upon her, Mrs. Jameson replied at once, 'implacability.' This impression, however, must have
been merely temporary, for there soon arose a friendship exceptionally warm and intimate between these
two ladies, which for many years pervaded the lives
of both, making them of one heart and mind, almost
of one being, so close, confidential, and unbroken was
their intercourse. The fact that it came at length
to a disastrous conclusion after nearly twenty years'
uninterrupted affection is one of the strangest of calamities, and one of which I can offer only the briefest




MIDDLE   ITFE.


93


and most unsatisfactory explanation. But it is not
necessary to forestall the moment of that melancholy
breach.  For the best part of' a lifetime this friendship was one of the greatest consolations and also
occupations of my aunt's existence. The acquaintance made through Lady Byron with the then still
famed Joanna Baillie and her sister Agnes, ripened
into a friendship that continued up to the period of the
death of the venerable sisters. On her part, about this
time Mrs. Jameson brought Lady Byron acquainted
with one for whom she herself always professed
the warmest esteem and admiration. She introduced
to her Harriet Martineau. A slight allusion to this
occurs in a letter dated London, June 20:
How I wish I could raise the mind of that sweet
—, prostrated as it now is, to look forward for herself
and her fine children, particularly little  ~! If God had
but given me children, I think I could have been blest.
Well, I must spare you all this egotism; but as my thoughts
flow on, so does my pen. I introduced Harriet Martineau
to Lady Byron not long ago. As to Miss M —, I have
seen her several times, but we are not destined to draw
nearer, and if she be your adversary, she is minie very surely.
I am going on Tuesday to spend the day at the Hanwell
Asylum, and shall see Lady Byron on my way.' Charles
Vogel, the painter at Dresden, is here; he spent an evening
with me. I had Harriet Martineau, Mrs. Opie, and Mrs.
Austin, Hayward the famous German scholar, Briggs,
1 At Lady Byron's residence of Fordhook, between Acton and
Ealing.




96


ANNA JAMESON.


R.A., and Eastlake, R.A.-two of our best painters-and
an American, the most intimate friend of Dr. Channing.
I have a letter from Rctzsch, which, if I did not make
allowance for the morbid tendencies of his character, would
give me much pain. He is discontented and disappointed;
he does not acknowledge the receipt of the money, but
leaves me to infer that he has had it; at the same time I
'should not have supposed so but for your letter.  He
seems td take the publication of his 'Fancies' as an infliction from heaven, which he must bear with resignation;
hopes nothing that is good, anticipates all that is dismal;
and the very expression of his gratitude to me is so dismal,
I could smile if I were not so sorry for him. I shall go on
just as if he had not written. Perhaps he will be angry
that my preface is not an elaborate panegyric on him,
but that would have been bad taste in my capacity as
editor.
This is rather a painful commentary upon Mrs.
Jameson's previous sketch of Retzsch and her enthusiasm  for him  and efforts for his success; but
gratitude is the most difficult of all sentiments, and
this is not a solitary instance of its failure.
The hope of returning to Germany, though not
carried out, as she had desired, in the spring of this
year of I834, came to fruition later. Mrs. Jameson
writes, still in June, to Mr. Noel:
I cannot describe to you, my dear friend, with what
feelings I think of escaping from London. The whole
period since my return has been one of labour, distasteful
dissipation, and extreme sorrow. My poor father, though
in no danger now, is a miserable wreck; all I could do for




MIDDLE LIFE.


97


him in his present state is done, his affairs arranged, and
my mother's comfort provided for. I have nursed my poor
Louisa through her confinement; it was a horrid period of
danger and agony, and she has not yet recovered the loss
of her child. How glad I shall be to leave her comfortably by the sea-coast with her husband and little girl, and
fly off to forget for a few months all this pain, and get
strength and cheerfulness to bear me through my future!
That future! Never mind. We will have a ramble together, talk philosophy, enjoy the summer air and the
various face of ever lovely Nature-and then to work
again.
About a month from the date of this letter, Mrs.
Jameson was able to carry out her cherished intention, and set out for Germany with the happiest
anticipations of a period of rest and refreshment
among her many friends.
This interval of rest, however, though full of
variety and pleasure, was soon disturbed by very evident symptoms of a crisis in her personal affairs.
Her anxiety about the future is apparent in the letter
just quoted, and by this time intimations began to
arrive from Canada, that Mr. Jameson was disposed
to insist upon the fulfilment of his wife's promise to
join him, and all her plans were thus thrown again
into confusion. This seems a harsh manner of announcing a husband's very natural desire to have his
wife with him; but it is evident that there had been
no real union between them for any but a very short
H




98


98       ~ANNA JzIMESON.


period, and after so much separation the bond that
held them to each other had become irksome perhaps to both, certainly to the wife, whose patience
had been worn out by long waiting and many disappointments. Mr. Jameson seems to have been one of
those strangely constituted persons to whom absence
is always necessary to reawaken affection, and who
prize what they are not in possession of, and habitually
slight and neglect what they have. At a distance
he was the most devoted and admiring of husbands,
but in the privacy of the domestic circle, cold, selfabsorbed, and unsympathetic, and his most affectionate phrases evidently inspired no confidence in the
bosom of the woman who had already believed and
trusted and been disappointed over and over again.
I have no desire to dwell in ungracious detail
upon the incompatibility which is so evident, which
does not appear to have involved any moral wrong,
but only a something persistently out of tune, a fundamental discord which was not to be set right.
Such cases are not uncommon in ordinary life, and
often produce nothing worse (if worse can be) than
a succession of family jars, and a chilled and unhappy mingling of two existences between whom
there is little sympathy. Mrs. Jameson's independent
condition, the warm friends she had on all sides, and
the high estimation in which she was universally
held, and, on the other hand, the fact that her mar



MIDDLE LIFE.


riage was childless, and the strongest of all secondary
bonds non-existent, had no doubt a certain effect
upon her mind, and made her all the less willing to
revive an experiment which had already failed more
than once. She did not see it to be her duty to expatriate herself, to give up all her occupations, in
which she was conscious of doing worthy work and
being of service to her generation-all her friends,
her own family of whom she was the pride and
delight, to whom she was often the bread-winner,
always the consoler-in order to share the life of a
cold and self-sufficing man, to whose happiness she
never seemed to be necessary except when the
Atlantic flowed between. She did not think it her
duty-but once more she yielded in order to make
sure that no effort of hers had been wanting to make
reunion practicable. And perhaps some gleam of
better hope might flash across her mind by times
on the receipt of such letters as the following, dated
Toronto, October 30, I834. Words such as those
with which it concludes, if believed in by the receiver
would seem almost irresistibly persuasive:
I have not yet acknowledged the receipt of your last
letter, dated 4th July, which duly arrived. The tone is
more kind and cheering than some of its predecessors. I
hope you have received the money safe. I shall send the
second part of the bill on London to Henry, perhaps
by this packet. Dearest Anna, let me look forward to our.*.
meeting with hope. Let me not lose the privilege'-of'.. r'
JR 2 **




zoo


ANNA JAMESON.


loving you, and the hope of being loved by you. Let me
come to my solitary home with the prospect that my daily
labours shall, before any very lengthened day of trial, be
rewarded by your presence and your most precious endearments. I have no single hope that does not depend
on this one. Do not school your heart against me, and I
will compel you to love me. I have been fencing in my
nice little piece of ground on the banks of the lake, where
I am promising myself the happiness of building you a
pretty little villa after your own taste. I have set a man
to plant some trees and shrubs also, for the place was quite
denuded, though by far the finest situation in the town.
I have ground enough for a pretty extensive garden, nearly
three acres.
In a letter written the following spring, May 1835,
Mr. Jameson complains that he has not heard from
his wife for months-not since a letter reached him
dated from Berlin in September, and received by him
shortly before Christmas.
A feast followed by a long, long Lent (he writes),
speaking of your intention to proceed to Vienna for the
winter, and probable return to England in the spring.
Where you have since been, or where you now are, I know
not, but I hope in England. Your letters, even more than
usually delightful, glitter throughout with such bright
names and proof of your high fame among your German
admirers, that I sometimes despond for your poor North
American savage.... My hopes of receiving you in a
house of your own have been for the present thwarted-I
have not the requisite money. But I have the ground,
which I trust I shall not be driven to sacrifice, because I..:;shotld never meet with so pleasant a situation; and before




MIDDLE LIFE.


IOI


long I trust still to have a nice cottage, at all events, upon
it. And then what portion of happiness we enjoy in it
depends upon you, dearest Anna; and I think you will not
wilfully shut it out of doors, merely because it may be a
better fate than I deserve. I have been planting trees, and,
as I told you, potatoes, on a princely scale; and often, when
I can steal an hour, I go and exercise myself with my spade
and pruning-knife, and then I feed my fancy with the idea
that you will, before the leaves disappear, be walking there
by my side.
I am, however, anticipating the course of events.
While these letters were being addressed to her from
the other side of the Atlantic, she was cheating her
suspense and trying to drown her fears of the future
among her German friends. Here is a record of one
lovely excursion apparently taken from mere need
of repose and peace after the pomps and vanities of
Vienna, where she had been for many months. She
found the quiet she sought in a sort of hermit existence, in a lone spot on the Gmtindensee in Upper
Salzburg. Hence she writes in a merrier mood
than she had been wont to do to her faithful knight,
Robert Noel, on August I6:
Next day (Saturday) I took a boat to Frauenkirchenfound a pretty little deserted cottage with two habitable
rooms; got them furnished very tolerably from the inn,
and so-to shorten my story-here I am, close to the edge
of the lake, with a little garden, and a little summer-house
therein, and a clean bed, and a little nook where 1 bathe
every morning-plunge in, frighten all the fishes, and




I02


ANNA JAMESON.


scramble out again, more frightened myself; with the little
antique chapel of St. John perched on a hill above me, and
the glorious mountains all around me, and peace, and
security, and forgetfulness. Ought I not to be happy?
If you ask me what I do, I do nothing but sit on rocks
and glide about in a boat, and make sketches, i.e. scratches,
upon any scrap of paper I pick up; for, like a wiseacre, I
sent the drawing materials I had purchased to MWeimar,
not knowing where to stow them. Otherwise I might have
practised drawing to some purpose, for these majestic
forms would inspire the most stupid. The impossibility of
doing anything to please myself, however, often stops my
hand, and I sit sometimes for hours on a rock or in a boat,
motionless, in indolent and deep-felt enjoyment of this
beauty and magnificence. I wish you were here. You
might be at Gmunden, at the little inn there, and we
might have had some pleasures together. Fate owed it to
us, and I did half hope it-but now it is too late.
When that dear good Countess Z~ heard I was
expected at Gmiinden, she wrote immediately to B  to
desire he would receive me, and do for me all that was
possible, and desired I would write all my plans about
Ischl, &c.  I wrote to thank her, to decline Ischl altogether; but, as she had offered to come over and see me, I
said I would row over to Ebensee and meet her. But two
days after my arrival she and Countess S — came over
early. I had just bathed, and in a very complete, or, as
they call it here, most profonde undress, was sitting among
the rocks, when B — came up, scrambling and wiping
his forehead, to announce my visitors! I had the key of
my little abode, so they had stationed themselves in the
summer-house; and I shall never forget the countenance
of the Z — as she stood upon the steps and extended her
arms' nor that of the good-natured Countess S, who




MIDDLE LIFE.


103


was looking over her shoulder, both quite radiant with
pleasure and every kindly feeling. They were exceedingly amused at my little arrangements and comical makeshifts.
Mrs. Jameson left the little haven by the Gmtindensee, made her tour in Upper Germany, and
returned to Weimar before Christmas. The fatigue,
bodily and mental, undergone in the interim seems
again to have seriously affected her health. She
writes on January X I, 1836, the following vivid account
of her introduction to Alexander v. Humboldt:
The first time I dined at Court after my illness, I met
Humboldt, the celebrated traveller. He was here for two
days only, and spent the greatest part of both evenings
with Ottilie. He struck me, amused me, interested me,
and has half turned my head. Luckily he has a passion
for conversation, and talks almost incessantly, but so admirably well that it is a thing for which to thank Heaven
(I mean his talking mania). He knows everything and
everybody, and has seen all countries and all climes from
pole to pole. He speaks all modern languages, is conversant with all literature, and nothing gave me such an
idea of the universality of his knowledge as the discovery
that he knew my name and all I had written. Poor little
me! I felt, while I looked at him, quite lost —a molehill
beside the Andes. I must confess, however, that I do not
agree with his speculations and theories, as far as I could
make them out; but for facts and characters he was delightful-a walking encyclopaedia, a perambulating picturegallery, and, to crown all, a most accomplished courtier.
You must know I am in great favour with both the




104


04NNA JAMESONr


Grand Duke and the Grand Duchess; but, on the plea of
my health, I accept about one invitation out of three, for
I have something better to do than to stand dangling in
a court circle talking nothings.
The following letter, addressed about the same
period to her kind friend Mrs. Procter, contains
some further details about her life and friends at
Wei-mar:
You write so kindly that I am sure you will be glad to
hear of my plans, and that my return to England is nearly
settled for next month. I only wait till the weather is
more mild, and till the steamboats have recommenced on the
Rhine. I bring with me a half-finished book, which I think
will please you better than my last. It is less superficial and
broken.  How the other volumes succeeded I scarcely
know, as I left England almost immediately after the publication; but in spite of many errors they have made me
popular in Germany. Here, both in public and private,
they make such a spoiled child of me, that it is lucky I
am too old to have my head turned, and know too well
the limits of my own capabilities to be tempted out of the
circle, or to meddle with matters which are too high for
me. I am pleased at the idea of meeting Mrs. Butler in
England. I did not read her journal till last November,
and luckily had not read any of the critiques upon it, either
English or American. It is mostly the impress of her own
mind-full of genius and power, full of the exuberance of
four-and-twenty, with rash and hasty opinions here and
there, and expressions and phrases that startle one not
pleasantly; but for all that I was enchanted, and read
through the two volumes almost without taking breath. I
met her brother John at Leipzig;... he talked to me




MIDDLE LIFE.


Io5


as if he had been soliloquising before the public....
But he is handsome, and so like Fanny, with the same
dark bright eyes. Adelaide was always a pet of mine,
and I am charmed with her success.
I believe that on my return to England I shall be accompanied by a lady of this place, who is going to Scotland to
spend the summer with Sir John and Lady Ramsey, and will
remain some few days (perhaps a fortnight) in London. Will
you allow me to introduce her to you and your mother, and
expect your kindness for her? She is a charming specimen
of the true German woman, no longer young, that is, not very
young, nor very handsome, nor very clever, but well informed,
well bred, simple-minded, warm-hearted —an excellent person altogether, with a dash of German romance which I
think will delight you, and quite enthusiastic about England; she speaks English extremely well, and is fond of
our literature. I have been staying four months in the
house of her sister, Mme. de Goethe, and treated like a
pet child. To their constant and devoted attention I owe
my recovery from a most alarming state of health. You
may judge, therefore, how anxious I am to make her short
stay in London as pleasant as possible. She has no taste
for sight-seeing, but I must of course do the honours of all
our theatres.
I long to be introduced to the two new babies, your
little E -- and Louisa's anonymous production-for would
you believe it, I do not even know her name! I thank
you from my heart for your little postscript, for so long a
time has elapsed since I heard from my dear home, that,
but for your kind assurance that all was well, I should
have been quite unable to share in the gaieties here. The
Grand Duke's birthday has been celebrated with great
splendour, and I am half dead of dissipation. Another
ball to-night, the fourth this week! Luckily the early




io6


ANNA JAMESON.


hours will save my life, for here a ball, even of the highest
fashion, begins at /half-past seven, and is generally over by
one o'clock. The opera begins at six and ends at nine;
this I call sensible and rational, though I think I see you
smile.
Farewell, my dear friend, and God bless you and preserve to you all you love. Keep a corner of your heart
warm for me, against my arrival. I am ever the same,
Affectionately yours,
ANNA.
I never hear a word from Jameson. In the last sixteen months I have had two letters.
During all these travels and encounters, however, the private question what was to become of
her and of her life, how it was henceforward to be
shaped and how maintained, must have occupied her
mind in all the silent hours, and pervaded her every
thought. Her husband's letters were not to be neglected or put aside, and a decision one way or the
other was imperatively called for. Nothing could
be better or kinder in expression, as has been seen,
than the repeated letters which called her to his
side, nothing more tender than his apparent affection and the anticipations with which he looked
forward to their reunion.   It is only justice to Mr.
Jameson to state this, even at the risk of making my
aunt appear somewhat stern in her persistent doubt
of the truth of protestations which she had fully




MIDDLE LIFE.


Io7


tested in previous years. I do not propose to enter
into all the correspondence; but having quoted from
Mr. Jameson's letters, which are so apt to prejudice
the mind entirely in his favour, I must also quote
one of hers, which will show better than anything else the state of grave doubt and anxiety in
which these affectionate-seeming epistles left her.
It is thus that she, who knew every detail of the
question between them, wrote to him, the only other
individual perfectly acquainted with the state of
matters.   The letter is dated Weimar, February
I836, and is in answer to the two letters which I
have quoted.
MY DEAR ROBERT,-The feelings of perplexity and uncertainty into which I have been thrown by the whole
course of our correspondence almost discourage me from
writing to you, and take from me all power to express
myself with that flow and openness which were otherwise
natural to me. Elrom October 1834 down to this present
February I836, I have received from you two letters, dated
I2th October I834, and I4th May I835, and these two
letters contained no syllable which could give me the
slightest idea of your social position in Canada; and though
you expressed in the last letter a general wish that I should
join you, very slightly and vaguely expressed (a hope rather
than an intention or an expectation), there was not a word
which I could interpret into any decision on the subject, no
instructions as to my voyage, and no answer to the questions and enquiries with which my letters were filled.
Between October I834 and October 1835 I wrote you eleven
letters. In August I835 I received from you a bill of Ioo.,




18


ANNA JAMESON


and in January 1836 I received from Henry the intelligence
that you had sent me a bill of iool., but no letter for mve. I
wrote immediately to beg for some information concerning
you, and Henry by return of post sent me your letter to him.
It is a letter of about two pages, in a jesting style, complaining that you never hear a word from me, but not
saying that you have written, or giving the dates of any
letters you have forwarded to me; not saying anything of
your position in Canada,although the state of affairs there, as
it is reported in all the papers, English and German, made
me expect either the news of your return, or some intelligence from you that should tranquillise me about your
situation and movements. You say in the same letter that
it is your intention to marry again immediately. My dear
Robert, jesting apart, I wish it only depended on me to
give you that power. You might perhaps be happy with
another woman - a union such as ours is, and has been ever,
is a real mockery of the laws of God and man. You have
the power to dispose of our fate as far as it depends on each
other. I placed that power in your hands in my letter
written from England, and had you used that power in a
decided manly spirit, whether to unite or to part us, I had
respected you the more, and would have arranged my life
accordingly. But what an existence is this to which you
have reduced us both! If you can make up your mind to
live without me-if your vague letters signify a purpose of
this kind-for God's sake speak the truth to me; but if,
on the other hand, it is your purpose to remain in Canada,
to settle there under any political change, and your real
wish to have me with you and make another trial for
happiness, tell me so distibctly and decidedly-tell me
at what time to leave England-tell me what things I
ought to take with me, what furniture, books, &c., will be
necessary or agreeable, what kind of life I shall live, that I




MIDDLE LIFE.


1o9


may come prepared to render my own existence and yours
as pleasant as possible.  To the letter from England,
written before my departure for Germany, containing my
own wishes, and certain conditions, on the fulfilment of
which I would be really happy to join you, I received no
answer, though I have every reason to believe that you
received that letter.
I came to Weimar completely broken down. I have
since been staying with the Goethe family, who have nursed
me like a pet sister, and the first physician here has done
much for me. Since the beginning of January I have been
recovering, and am in hopes that I shall be able to return
to England in April or even sooner. There I shall await
your next letter, and according to its contents I shall regulate my future plans. Farewell! I expect your answer in
July next.
The summons, imperative enough to satisfy all
scruples, must have come as anticipated in July, for
early in August Mrs. Jameson writes to an intimate
friend:
I am going to Canada-that is, my husband has sent
over his very peremptory request that I should join him,
giving some cogent reasons, and I am much engaged
making my preparations.  The exact time of my departure is not fixed-I suppose it will be about the Ioth
September. Still such is Jameson's very peculiar character
that I do not myself feel secure of going-his next letter
may again defer my voyage.
On the contrary, the next letters came more
urgent, more anxious for Mrs. Jameson's speedy




IIO


ANNA JAMESON.


departure. In what was apparently the last letter
received before starting, bearing date Toronto, July
30, Mr. Jameson sends careful directions, and winds
up withWrite to me immediately, and say what measure of good
is reserved for me. If you come out alone, I will either
meet you at New York or make such arrangements that
you shall not feel yourself in the least a stranger on your
landing in the Western world. Alma vows it is his right to
go to New York and escort his patroness to Upper Canada.
But it is very possible that it may neither be in the power
of one or the other. It is, however, consolatory that the
great steamboat communication up the Hudson and by
Lake Ontario makes a journey from New York a very
different thing from an inland journey of like extent.




AMERICA.


I II


AMERICA.           III


CHAPTER V.
AMERICA.
WHETHER lured by the attraction of so many tender
anticipations and the fond and eager welcome
offered to her, or merely obeying the call of duty
and her husband, Mrs. Jameson sailed for America
in September 1836. It would certainly appear
from, if nothing else, the melancholy with which she
afterwards records the obliteration of all happier
prospects, that there still existed some hope in her
mind of a real reunion. Nothing, however, but
disappointment seems to have awaited her. She
landed early in November at New York, where she
expected to find an escort and companion for her
further journey. When she reached this city, however, she found no sign that she was expected;
neither her husband nor the faithful friend John
Alma, whom he had announced as her intended
guide in case he were himself unable to meet her;
not even a letter to indicate and arrange the best
way for her to travel. Thus disappointment met




T12


112     ANNA JA-MESYON


her the moment she set foot in the new strange
country, where indeed, as everywhere, she found
friends, but none near enough or warm enough to
console her in her loneliness after her dreary winter
voyage. She wrote in great depression of mind,
as was very natural, on November ii, from the
American Hotel, New York, to Toronto, to ask
why she had not been met, and for directions as
to her further journey.  But this letter had as yet
elicited no reply when, nearly three weeks later,
on November 29 she began a letter to her family
in the same painful uncertainty and despondency,
not knowing whether she should go forward or
return at once to England-alternatives almost
equally miserable in her discouraged and weakened
condition.  She heads this letter 'No. 2,' saying,
'No. i was sent by the packet of the i6th; write
soon for God's sake!' Her letter is addressed to all
the members of the home circle.
My dearest Father, Mamma, and Sisters all,-You will
be surprised to find I am still here, and yet more surprised
to hear that 1 have no tidings of Jameson-not one word.
I am Just as I was writing these lines in came a letter
from Jameson which had been sent to the British Consulate.
It is like all his letters, very well written, very plausible,
very kind, agreeing to everything.  I shall set off immediately, and have a world of business and packing-up to be
done. I had a short but sharp illness of three days, owing
to the effects of my voyage, and worry, and suspense. But




AMERICA.


II3


except this I have been well. The enthusiasm about me
here is very great, even to a troublesome degree, for I have
more engagements than I can possibly keep, more visitors
than I can see, and more devoted admirers than I can
count. I have made an agreement about a new edition
of the ' Characteristics,' which is likely to produce five hundred dollars. The two last copies which remained were
sold by a bookseller here for twelve dollars each-three
times the original price; such has been the momentary
run after my books.
I am dying for news from my dear home, and feel too
truly and deeply that I am going to Toronto with far more
mistrust and fear than confidence and hope. If I could
believe all that Jameson writes, I might suppose I was
going into an Elysium; but the puzzling thing is, to
reconcile his words and his actions, what he is, and what
he seems; he is quite past my comprehension.
Among my best friends here are the Duers. When I
was ill they wanted me to take up my abode in their
house.  The two daughters of Duer are nice girls, one
particularly who is very like himz, but my especial favourite
is Ellen Duer, his niece, who is singularly clever, intelligent, and independent.  Charles Augustus Davis, the
author of Major Downing's letters, and his very pleasing
wife, are also among my best friends. I dined a few days
ago with the widow of the celebrated De Witt Clinton
(papa knows all about him, I dare say)-she is quite a
character, and amused me exceedingly. She gave me a
wampum bag which had been a present to her from an
Indian chief. In the way of presents my table is covered
with books, presentation copies, poems, and the Lord knows
what.  I had a long visit yesterday from Washington
Irving, who has a most benevolent and agreeable countenance, and talks well.
I




114


ANNA JAMESON.


Of the manner in which the journey was prosecuted, and the state of mind in which she began her
life at Toronto, so strange, so new and solitary, Mrs.
Jameson has left the most complete record in the book
entitled 'Winter Studies and Summer Rambles,' published in 1838; which is, in fact, the history of her life
in Canada. with all its discouragements and all its expedients for keeping hope and cheerfulness alive amid
the torpor of so uncongenial a place. 'My friends at
New York,' she writes, 'expended much eloquence
in endeavouring to dissuade me from a winter journey to Canada. I listened, and was grateful for
their solicitude, but must own I did not credit the
picture they drew of the difficulties and desacgrdmenzs
I was likely to meet by the way. I had chosen,
they said (Heaven knows I did not choose it), the
very worst season for a journey through the State of
New York. The usual facilities for travelling were
now suspended. A few weeks sooner the rivers and
canals had been open; a few weeks later the roads,
smothered up with snow, had been in sleighing
order; now the navigation was frozen, and the
roads so broken up as to be nearly impassable.
Then there was only a night boat on the Hudson,
"to proceed," as the printed paper set forth, "to
Albany, or as far as the ice permitted."' All this
was discouraging enough; but necessity, and an
anxious desire to know her fate one way or other,




AMERICA.


II5


made her strong against all such discouragements.
She had the courage at once of ignorance and of
resolution.  ' I could form no notion,' she says, 'of
difficulties which by fair words, presence of mind,
and money in my pocket, could not be obviated.'
She had travelled all over Europe, often alone, why
not here? And, indeed, the voyage up the Hudson
was sufficiently novel to produce a new sensation.
At the first blush of morning, I escaped from the heated
cabin, crowded with listless women and clamorous children,
and found my way to the deck. I was surprised by a
spectacle as beautiful as it was new to me. The Catskill
mountains which we had left behind us in the night were
still visible, but just melting from the view, robed in a
misty purple light, while our magnificent steamer-the
prow armed with a sharp iron sheath for the purpose-was
crashing its way through solid ice four inches thick which
seemed to close behind us into an adhesive mass, so that
the wake of the vessel was not distinguished a few yards
from the stern; yet in the path thus opened, and only
seemingly closed, followed at some little distance a beautiful
schooner and two smaller steam vessels. I walked up and
down from the prow to the stern, refreshed by the keen
frosty air and the excitement caused by various picturesque
effects on the ice-bound river and its frozen shores, till we
reached Hudson. Beyond this town it was not safe for
the boat to advance, and we were still thirty miles below
Albany. After leaving Hudson (with the exception of the
railroad between Albany and Utica) it was all heavy weary
work-the most painfully fatiguingjourney I can remember.
Such were the roads that we were once six hours going
1 2




*


I I6


ANNIVA JAMESONr


eleven miles.... After six days and nights of this
travelling, unrelieved by companionship or interest of any
kind, I began to sink with fatigue. The first thing that
roused me was our arrival at the ferry of the Niagara river,
at Queenstown, about seven miles below the falls. It was
a dark night, and our little boat was tossed on the eddying
waters, and guided by a light to the opposite shore we
could distinctly hear the deep roar of the cataract, filling
and, as it seemed to me, shaking the atmosphere round us.
You may believe that I woke up very decidedly
from my lethargy of weariness to listen to that mysterious
voice, which made my blood pause and think.
After this the tedious journey was shortened by
a fortunate chance, a steamer, contrary to all hope,
being found on Lake Ontario, the last of the season.
The traveller and her belongings were hurried on
board, where, completely exhausted, she fell asleep,
and knew no more until the arrival, which she describes as follows with all the intensity of a deeply
felt yet quiet despair:
How long I slept I know not-they roused me suddenly to tell me we were at Toronto, and, not very well
able to stand, I hurried on deck. The wharf was utterly
deserted, the arrival of the steamboat being accidental and
unexpected; and as I stepped out of the boat I sank ankledeep into mud and ice. The day was intensely cold and
damp, the sky lowered sulkily, laden with snow which was
just beginning to fall. Half blinded by the sleet driven
into my face, and the tears which filled my eyes, I walked
about a mile through a quarter of the town mean in appearance, not thickly inhabited, and to me as yet an unknown




AMERICA.


I17


wilderness, and through dreary miry ways, never much
thronged, and now, bly reason of the impending snowstorm,
nearly solitary. I heard no voices, no quick footsteps of
men or children; I met no familiar face, no look of welcome. I was sad at heart as a woman could be. And these
were the impressions, the feelings, with which I entered the
house which was to be called my home.
A more miserable beginning to a life from which
so little comfort had been expected it would be
impossible to imagine, and there would not seem to
have been any possibility of illusion in the traveller's
eyes, or in fact any sudden delight of welcome,
opening with the opening door upon her, as might
well have been even after all the accidents of the
beginning.   Lonely as she strayed through those
unknown streets, with the sleet in her face and the
tears in her eyes, was she to struggle through this
painful episode in her life. The arrival was apparently a fitting preface to the chapter of melancholy existence which followed. Here is again her
own description of her feelings when, a little rested
from her fatigues, she had time to look out upon
the scene around:
What Toronto may be in summer I cannot tell; they
say it is a pretty place. At present its appearance to me,
a stranger, is most strangely mean and melancholy. A
little ill-built town on low land, at the bottom of a frozen
bay, with one very ugly church without tower or steeple;
some government offices built of staring red brick in the




zi8


ANNA4 JA.AMESOX


most tasteless vulgar taste imaginable; three feet of snow
all around, and the grey sullen uninviting lake and the
dark gloom of the pine forest bounding the prospect. Such
seems Toronto to me now. I did not expect much, but
for this I was not prepared. Perhaps no preparation could
have preparcd me, or softened my present feelings. I will
not be unjust if I can help it, nor querulous. If I look into
my own heart, I find that it is regret for what I have left
and lost, the absent not the present, which throws over all
around me a chill colder than that of the wintry day, a
gloom deeper than that of the wintry night.
This is all very dismal, very weak perhaps. Hitherto I
have not been accused of looking on the things of this world
as through a glass darkly, but rather of the contrary tendency. What have I done with my spectacles couleur de
rose? The cheerful faith which sustained me through far
worse than anything I can anticipate here; the desire to
know, the impatience to learn, the quick social sympathies,
the readiness to please and be pleased-derived perhaps from
my Irish blood, and to which I have owed a world of comfort when I have most needed it, so much of enjoyment
when I could least have hoped for it-what? and are
all forgotten-are all gone? Yet am I not quite an icicle
or an oyster- I almost wish I were! No, worst of all is
this regretful remembrance of friends who loved me, this
heartsick longing after home and country and all familiar
things and dear domestic faces. I am like an uprooted
tree, dying at the core, yet with a strange unreasonable
power at times of working at my own most miserable
weakness. Going to bed in tears last night, after saying
my prayers for those far away across that terrible Atlantic,
an odd remembrance flashed across me of that Madame de
Boufflers who declared, 'avec tart de se6izeux et de sen/iment,' that she would consent to go as ambassadress to




AMERICA.


119


England only on the condition of taking with her ' vingcinq ou vingt-six de scs amis intimes' and sixty or
eighty persons who were absohluent necessaires a son bonheur. The image of graceful impertinence thus conjured
up made me smile, but am I so unlike her in this fit of
unreason? Everywhere there is occupation for the rational
and healthy intellect, everywhere good to be done, duties
to be performed; everywhere the mind is, or should be, its
own world, its own country, its own home at least. How
many fine things I could say or quote on this subject! But
in vain I conjure up philosophy-' she will not come when
I do call for her;' but in her stead come thronging sad
and sorrowful recollections and shivering sensations, all
telling me that I am a stranger among strangers, miserable
inwardly and outwardly-and that the thermometer is
twelve degrees below zero!
This dismal beginning evidently froze the very
soul in the new emigrant, and she never entirely recovered that first unhappy impression. Canada, which
is so bright in the recollection of most visitors to it,
was to her always dreary, frost-bound, colourless.
Without denying its many beauties, nay, with frequent
admiration of the striking scenery she saw in her
wanderings, it was always a country of exile to her,
sad and cold as the grave itself-a very curious
effect upon so sympathetic a mind, and one so soon
roused to enthusiasm and to a kindly fellow-feeling
with her fellow-creatures.  But there is nothing so
icy, so destructive of all beauty and sunshine, as
that chill at the heart which she had experienced at




120


ANN4A JAMESON.


first, and from which no subsequent thawing set
her free.
The book from which we have quoted, and
which has been stated to be the record of her life
in Canada, will convey to the reader the most forlorn yet fine picture of a courageous woman's
attempt to render her life liveable, in the midst of
a monotony and want of interest which she felt to
be killing.  After the sketch of her melancholy
loneliness given above, she rouses herself and takes
to her books; and then follow some chapters of
criticism and comment upon German poetry, upon
Goethe, and Eckermann, and those topics of art,
literature, the theatre, and the genius of the Old
World, which were already so familiar and so dear
to her-criticisms and reflections, however, very
uncongenial to the place and circumstances from
which  they now   came.  These angels of art
stood by her in her solitude, and helped her to
live through the lingering winter, of which she
speaks with a fervour of suffering that many people
will deeply sympathise with.  Perhaps it is only
youth to which physical cold is a matter of indifference-at least it requires a special degree of
robustness in the constitution, to be able to take to
a permanently diminished temperature, with content,
after forty.
I could almost wish myself a dormouse (Mrs. Jameson




AMERICA.


I2[


says) or a she-bear, to sleep away the rest of this cold, cold
winter, and to wake only with the first green leaves, the
first warm breath of summer wind. I shiver through the
day and through the night; and, like poor Harry Gill,
'my teeth, my teeth, they chatter still,' and then at intervals I am burned up with a dry hot fever. This is what
my maid-a good little Oxfordshire girl-calls the ' hagur'
(the ague), more properly the lake fever, or cold fever.
From the particular situation of Toronto the disorder is
very prevalent here in the spring; being a stranger and
not yet acclimatie, it has attacked me thus unseasonably.
Her active mind, however, could not rest, even
in the chill of her new life, without some attempt
to interest herself in what was going on around.
The question of education was one which always
interested her much, and on the occasion of a discussion in the Canadian Parliament on this point
her spirit was roused.
As a mere party question it did not interest me (she
says); but the strange, crude, ignorant, vague opinions I
heard in conversation, and read in the debates and provincial papers, excited my astonishment. It struck me
that if I could get the English preface to Victor Cousin's
report (of which I had a copy) printed in a cheap form and
circulated with the newspapers, it might assist the people
to some general principle on which to form opinions;
whereas they all appeared to me astray, nothing that had
been promulgated in Europe on the momentous question
having yet reached this. But no; cold water was thrown
upon me from every side; my interference in any way was
so visibly distasteful that I gave my project up with many
a sigh.




122


ANNA JAMESON.


But her spirit was not to be driven into lethargy
by either ice within, or cold water without; and in
the middle of winter we find her starting, glad to
have the relief of movement and activity in any
form that would present itself, on an expedition to
Niagara. ' Five days,' she exclaims, ' of frost and
snow;' but her doctor counselled the change as the
only way of throwing off the continually recurring
fever, and she set out in the end of January in a
sleigh, 'absolutely buried in furs.' The description
of the journey is minutely given, and, but for the
prevailing tints of grey, it would be an attractive
one.  She describes 'the sublime desolation of
winter' with a sympathetic shiver. ' The whole appeared as if converted into snow, which fell in thick
tiny starry flakes, till the buffalo robes and furs
about us appeared like swan's-down, and the harness on the horses of the same delicate material.
The whole earth was a white waste; the road, on
which the sleigh track was only just perceptible,
ran for miles in a straight line; on each side rose
the dark melancholy pine forest, slumbering drearily
in the hazy air....  A few roods from the land, the
cold grey waters (of Lake Ontario) and the cold
grey snow-encumbered atmosphere were mingled
with each other, and each seemed either.' After
various adventures however, overturns in the snow,
and other natural incidents of a sleigh journey, she




A MERICA.


I23


arrived at her journey's end, and then-had nothing
but disappointment for her reward. But the conclusion must be given in her own     words.   She
expresses in dismay her wish that the Falls were
like Yarrow, yet unvisited, unbeheld. 'No, it must
be my own fault,' she criesThe reality has displaced from my mind an illusion
much more magnificent than itself. I have no words for my
utter disappointment. Oh! I could beat myself! and now
there is no help! The first moment, the first impression is
over, is lost; though I should live a thousand years, as
long as Niagara itself shall roll, I can never see it again
for the first time. Something is gone that cannot be restored.  What has come over my soul and senses? I am
metamorphosed; I am translated; I am an ass's head, a
clod, a wooden spoon, a fat weed growing on Lethe's
brink, a stock, a stone, a petrifaction.  For have I not
seen Niagara, the wonder of wonders, and felt-no words
can tell what-disappointment?
Mrs. Jameson, however, was not alone, her
guide and companion assured her, in this feeling;
but she does not seem to have taken much comfort
from the thought.
Her experiences in Canada were not entirely
of this snow-bound and frost-bitten class. The time
came at last when all nature changed as if by magic,
and when a brighter picture rose before the solitary
dreamer's eyes. In May she writes as follows:
This beautiful Lake Ontario- my lake, for I begin to




i24


124ANNA JAMESON.


be in love with it, and look on it as mine-it changes its
hues every moment, the shades of purple and green fleeting
over it, now dark, now lustrous, now pale like a dolphin
dying, or, to use a more exact though less poetical comparison, dappled and varying like the back of a mackerel,
with every now and then a streak of silver light dividing
the shades of green. Magnificent tumultuous clouds came
rolling round the horizon; and the little graceful schooners
falling into every beautiful attitude, and catching every
variety of light and shade, came curtseying into the bay;
and flights of wild geese and great black loons were skimming, diving, sporting on the bosom  of the lake; and
beautiful little unknown birds, in gorgeous plumage of
crimson and black, were floating about the garden; all
life and light and beauty were abroad, the resurrection of
Nature. How beautiful it was! how dearly welcome to
my senses- to my heart-this opening which comes at last,
so long wished for, so long waited for!
That the changing season did not, however,
change her plans, is evident; and we must go back
a little from this pleasant burst of spring, to show
how life was tending with her, and what her final
conclusion was. The following letter to her sisterCharlotte indicates very clearly the course she meant
to pursue:
Toronto, March i 5, I 837.
This is your birthday, my dearest Charlotte; so I send
you my blessing, hoping all the time (with true human
selfishness) that God will so far bless me as to preserve
you all in health and prosperity till I see you again and
after. I have asked Mr. and Mrs. Hepburn and Mr. Fitz



AMERICA.


i25


gibbon to come here this evening and drink your health
which we shall all do most devoutly, and once again may
God bless you, dearest, and spare us long to each other.... You will all be glad to hear that Jameson is appointed
Chancellor at last. He is now at the top of the tree, and
has no more to expect or to aspire to. I think he will
make an excellent Chancellor; he is gentlemanlike, cautious, and will stick to precedents, and his excessive reserve
is here the greatest of possible virtues. No one loves him,
it is true; but every one approves him, and his promotion
has not caused a murmur. The Solicitor-General Hagerman is. now Attorney-General, and Draper (the member
for Toronto, and a friend of Trelawney's) is now SolicitorGeneral. The. organisation of the new Court of Equity,
and the moving into his new residence, will occupy Mr.
Jameson and me for a month or two. The house is very
pretty and compact, and the garden will be beautiful, but
I take no pleasure in anything.  The place itself, the
society, are so detestable to me, my own domestic position so painful and so without remedy or hope, that to
remain here would be death to me. My plan is to help
Jameson in arranging his house, and, when the spring is
sufficiently advanced, to make a tour through the western
districts up to Lake Huron. Towards the end of the year
I trust by God's mercy to be in England. These are my
plans. I hope you get all my letters. Eliza does not say
that any have reached you, except the first from New
York.  The monotony of the surrounding country, still
covered with snow, can scarce afford me a subject to
write upon, the only event being the prorogation of the
Parliament. The ceremony took place in the hall of the
Legislative Council. Sir FrancisI sat on his throne, his
1 Sir Franc;s Head.




126


A4 ANNA A MESOVN.


hat on his head, and his sword by his side, and gave his
assent to all the bills passed during the session; reading
the titles only occupied an hour. He then made a very
fair speech, which, besides its other merits, had that of
being his own composition. I sat, of course, with the official
ladies and the grandees, and was rather amused at the
whole scene, as it was my first appearance in the country,
never having gone to any party, any dinner, or any assembly yet. I was sufficiently well stared at, but paid
for all this by keeping my bed four days from aguish cold
and fever. It is the most hateful climate I ever encountered, but it agrees with some people very well. I have
not one companion; besides, my whole heart and soul are
occupied. I am too old to cultivate new habits of existence and new affections. If I found in Jameson anything
I wished — but as it is, it would only be a vain, a foolish
struggle, a perpetual discord between the inner and outward being. Lady Head has not yet arrived, her voyage
having been very long; but she is hourly expected, to the
Governor's great joy, and to me it will make no slight
difference.
On May 26 Mrs.; Jameson writes to Mr. Noel,
from Toronto:
Your picture and the Z —'s hang on each side of
mine in the little drawing-room where I write, many
thousand miles from you both, and, God help me! from
all I love in the world. Your wish that I might find here
a sphere of happiness and usefulness is not realised. I am
in a small community of fourth-rate, half-educated, or
uneducated people, where local politics of the meanest
kind engross the men, and petty gossip and household
cares the women. As I think differently from Mr. Jameson




AMERICA.


127


on every subject which can occupy a thinking mind, I keep
clear of any expression (at least unnecessary expression)
of my opinions. He is now Chancellor of the Province,
and, having achieved the first judicial office, can go no
higher; he has much power, and also luckily much discretion, ard a very determined intention to keep well with all
men, and lead a peaceful life. Is not this wisdom? It is
not exactly my wisdom, but I shall not contend with what
cannot be altered; neither will I endure what neither duty
nor necessity require me to endure. I shall be in England
about October or November next. The winter has been
beyond measure dreary and lonely; but one of the objects
of my coming will be, I think, accomplished, and my future
life more easy, and my conscience clear. It was worth the
sacrifice to purchase all I can have of peace and independence for the rest of my days, and what we do from a
principle of duty turns out well surely. So I put my trust
in God and my own firm will, and 'will not fear what man
can do unto me.'
Having thus made up her mind, the coming of
summer was doubly pleasant to her, as the moment
of enfranchisement. She describes the sudden outburst of the genial season with characteristic grace
and enthusiasm:
We have already (she says, June 8) exchanged the
bloom and ravishment of spring for all the glowing maturity of summer —we gasp with heat, we long for ices,
and are planning Venetian blinds; and three weeks ago
there was snow lying beneath our garden fences, and not a
leaf upon the trees! In Engrland, when Nature wakes up
from her long winter's sleep, it is like a sluggard in the
morning; she opens one eye and then another, and shivers




x128


ANNA JAMESON.


and draws her snow coverlet over her face again, and turns
round to slumber more than once before she emerges at
last, lazily and slowly, from her winter chamber. But
here, no sooner has the sun peeped through her curtains
than up she springs like a huntress from the chase, and
dons her kirtle of green, and walks abroad in full blown
life and beauty. I am basking in her smile like an insect
or a bird.
Without laying aside the books which had helped
her through the long winter, she began to find that
Canada, too, hitherto so dreary, had a beauty and
interest of her own, and even to find that, without
knowing it, she had found friends in the uncongenial
society which seemed so tedious in its first aspect.
It would be pleasant verily (she says) if, after all my
ill-humoured and impertinent tirades against Toronto, I
were doomed to leave it with regret; yet such is likely to
be the case. There are some most kind-hearted and agreeable people here who look upon me with more friendliness
than at first, and are winning fast upon my feelings if not
on my sympathies. There is considerable beauty around
me too.... Ontario means 'the beautiful,' and the word
is worthy its signification, and the lake is worthy of its
beautiful name-yet I can hardly tell you in what the
fascination consists..... The expanse of this lake has
become to me as the face of a friend: I have all its various
expressions by heart. I go down upon the green bank, or
along the King's Pier, which projects about two hundred
yards into the bay; I sit there with my book, reading
sometimes, but oftener watching untired the changeful
colours as they flit over the bosom of the lake.....
I am meditating a flight of such serious extent that some




AMERICA.


129


of my friends here laugh outright, others look kindly
alarmed, others incredulous.
This was the journey into the least known
regions of Canada, the homes of the Indians, which
she had resolved upon making as a sort of compensation at once to herself, and to the public at home, for
her banishment, before leaving the American continent. The alarm with which her friends regarded
this strange resolution, probably unaware of all the
inducements which weighed so strongly with her,
and the want of love and sympathy which made her
house a place which she could not learn to look upon
as her home, seems to have been mingled with admiration of her courage and high spirit in the undertaking; and a week later, having just set out on the
journey, she repeats her more favourable verdict
upon the people she was quitting.
In these latter days (she says) I have lived in friendly
communion with so many people, that my departure from
Toronto was not what I anticipated-an escape on one
side and a riddance on the other. My projected tour to
the west excited not only sincere interest but much kind
solicitude, and aid and counsel were tendered with a feeling which touched me deeply. The Chief Justice, in particular, sent me a whole sheet of instructions and several
letters to settlers along my line of route.
When just on the point of starting she was introduced to an interesting member of the race with
K




I3o


ANNA JAMESON.


which she was so anxious to become acquainted, an
educated Indian woman married to a missionary,
whose home was on the far-distant Sault Ste Marie,
a place of which Mrs. Jameson says, 'I dare hardly
think of as yet; it looms in my imagination dimly
descried in far space, a kind of ultima Thule;' and
this acquaintance she accepted as a happy augury.
Then, 'with blessings, good wishes, kind pressures
of the hand, and last adieux and waving of handkerchiefs from the door,' she took her leave of Toronto.
She had spent about six months in the place in
much despondency, loneliness, and suffering; and
when we consider how she was going away-alone,
with a final conclusion put to all chances or hopes
which might ever have been, of a happier personal
life, with henceforward nothing but loneliness before her, and this painful chapter of existence painfully over-the few words in which she describes her
feelings at this strange moment speak volumes at
once as to the relief of this absolute conclusion, and
the elasticity and courage of her disposition through
whatever trials.
I have not been happy enough in Toronto to regret it
as a place, and if touched, as I really was, by the kind
solicitude of those friends who but a few weeks ago were
entire strangers to me, I yet felt no sorrow. Though no
longer young, I am quite young enough to feel all the
excitement of plunging into scenes so entirely new as were
now opening before me; and this, too, with a specific




AMIERICA.


131


object far beyond mere amusement and excitement, ant
object not unworthy.
The expedition lasted two months, during which
Mrs. Jameson penetrated to the depths of the Indian
settlements, explored Lake Huron, and saw a great
deal of life, Canadian and Indian. The journey is
too long, and its adventures too detailed, to be more
than mentioned here, especially as the whole story
of it may be found in the book on Canada already
so largely quoted. The 'Summer Rambles 'occupy
more pages in this interesting work than the
'Winter Studies;' but these voyagings, so rude,
fatiguing, and solitary, are mingled with many a delicate piece of thinking, many a reference to the literature she loved, many a poetical description and
interesting incident.  One most remarkable and
engaging feature I may be permitted to point out;
which is, that this journal of travel is from beginning
to end a record of my aunt's friendly interest in all
about her, made delightful by the happy knack she
had of winning confidence and affection in return.
Not a homely cottage innkeeper on the rough road,
not a driver, be it of ' baker's cart' with or without
springs, be it of more ambitious 'wagon,' but has
his niche in her memory, and most frequently his
story in her pages. The chance emigrant whom she
meets in the stage-coach at once secures her attenK 2




132


ANNA JAMESON


tion, receiving from her a letter of introduction to
some one whom she thinks likely to serve him, and
an invitation to let her know how he fared. This
perpetual stream of human interest brightens the
country wherein she moves. It becomes full, not
only of beautiful landscapes, but of a strange and
novel life, of faces and firesides which we learn to
know.   Things no doubt have altered much in
Canada as elsewhere during the last forty years.
But the emigrants and the Indians of those days are
all as lifelike in this work as if the story were one of
the present day.'
During this journey, while moving about among
so many new scenes, with so many gleams of pleasure among her fatigues, arrangements were going
on for her final separation from her husband, and
the establishment of her future independence. I
cannot be clearly certain whether she returned to
Toronto at all, though there seems a likelihood that
for a short time she did so; but from the time when
she left that town no further personal communication took place between the ill-suited pair. All their
intercourse thenceforward was carried on by correspondence, which grew less and less frequent, until
it became the merest matter of form, and ceased
altogether some years previous to Mr. Jameson's
In i852 Messrs. Longman published a reprint, revised, and I
believe curtailed, of this book, under the title of Rambles among the
Red MAen.




AMERICA.


133


demise in Canada in I854: Before her final departure from America early in the year i838, legal
papers had been drawn up, assuring to Mrs. Jameson
an allowance of three hundred a year; and in a letter
dated Toronto, September 2I, 1837, in reply to her
request for a letter from her husband, specifying
that it was with his full consent and acquiescence
that she left Toronto to reside at a distance, and
exonerating her from all blame or reproach in the
matter, Mr. Jameson wrote:
MY DEAR ANNA,-In leaving Canada to reside among
your friends in England or elsewhere, you carry with you
my most perfect respect and esteem. My affection you
will never cease to retain. Were it otherwise I should feel
less pain at consenting to an arrangement arising from no
wish of mine, but which I am compelled to believe is best
calculated for your happiness, and which therefore I cannot but approve.
While these negotiations were pending, Mrs.
Jameson was staying in Massachusetts and Pennsylvania, with Miss Sedgwick at Stockbridge, and
among other American friends dearly cherished in
memory long after her return to Europe.        On
December I2 she writes to a friend:
I have been on the eve of departing for Europe during
the last six weeks, but delayed by some legal papers and
writings which are to settle my future fate and income, &c.,
and which are to be signed and sealed before I depart.
When your letter reached me I was spending a few days




134


ANNA JAMESON.


at a most beautiful village in New England, Stockbridge
by name, with the most distinguished woman as writer
and moralist America has yet produced-Miss Sedgwick.
She is one who is working gently but courageously for her
sex and for humanity, but her best works being calculated
more particularly for this country are not likely to be
popular elsewhere. Thence I went to Boston, where I
spent nearly a fortnight very pleasantly, and saw much of
Dr. Channing, the good, the wise, the great. Don't you
envy me? We will have everlasting talks of him when
we meet. I heard him preach-like an apostle! Of all
the places I have yet visited in this wide land, Boston
pleases me best. It seems to have pleased Harriet Martineau least. There are fine things in that book of hers,
are there not? Though some of the people here would, I
believe, burn her alive at the stake, there are others, the
most conscientious and the best informed, who allow all
its value and all its truth.
I may here put in an interesting little episode
about one of the local preachers of original character
and primitive eloquence, so characteristic of America,
whom she met on this visit to Boston.
When I was at Boston I made the acquaintance of
Father Taylor, the founder of the Sailors' Home in that
city. He was considered as the apostle of the seamen,
and I was full of veneration for him as the enthusiastic
teacher and philanthropist. But it is not of his virtues or
his labours that I wish to speak. He struck me in another
way-as a poet; he was a born poet. Until he was fiveand-twenty he had never learned to read, and his reading
afterwards was confined to such books as aided him in his
ministry. IHe remained an illiterate man to the last, but




AMERICA.


I35


his mind was teeming with spontaneous imagery, allusion,
metaphor. One might almost say of himHe could not ope
His mouth, but out there flew a trope.
These images and allusions had a freshness, an originality,
and sometimes an oddity, that was quite startling; and
they were generally, but not always, borrowed from his
former profession-that of a sailor.
One day we met him in the street. He told us in a
melancholy voice that he had been burying a child, and
alluded almost with emotion to the number of infants he
had buried lately. Then, after a pause, striking his stick
on the ground and looking upwards, he added: 'There
must be a storm brewing when the doves are all flying
aloft.'
One evening, in conversation with me, he compared
the English and the Americans to Jacob's vine, which,
planted on one side of the wall, grew over it and hung its
boughs and clusters on the other side, ' but it is still the
same vine, nourished from the same root.'
In his chapel all the principal seats in front of the
pulpit and down the centre aisle were filled by the sailors.
We ladies and gentlemen and strangers whom curiosity
had brought to hear him were ranged on each side; he
would on no account allow us to take the best places. On
one occasion, as he had been denouncing hypocrisy, luxury
and vanity, and other vices of more civilised life, he said
emphatically: ' I don't mean you before me here,' looking
at the sailors; 'I believe you are wicked enough, but
honest fellows in some sort, for you profess less, not more
than you practise. But I mean to touch starboard and
larboard there!' stretching out both hands with the fore



136


31V6NNA JAMESON.


fingers extended, and looking at us on either side till we
quailed.
The friendship referred to on a previous page,
which my aunt formed with Miss Sedgwick at this
period, was one of the warmest of her life. The few
letters of their correspondence which have fallen into
my hands are full of expressions of affection, and show
a confidence on Mrs. Jameson's part in her friend's
interest in all that concerns her, which proves how
entirely their sympathy was mutual. The first I
find is the following, dated from Philadelphia, where
she was awaiting a summons to New York. It is
dated 'from Fanny's 1 writing-table this 22nd of
]December,' and bears testimony to the rapid growth
of the friendship which was maintained intact
through a long series of years between Anna Jameson and Catherine Sedgwick:
I cannot allow your niece (Miss Watson) to go to New
York without a few lines from me. Though the lines must
be few and not worth much-not worth postage at leastyet they will tell you that I love you and think of you,
and never do think of you without feeling glad and grateful to have known you, to have you to think of and talk
of-for we talk of you, Fanny and I, with cordial sympathy, and wish for you. My visit here, a visit to be long
remembered, is drawing to a close.  I only wait the
arrival of some papers from Toronto, retarded by the late
1 Mrs. Fanny Kemble.




S


AMERICA.                   137
events in Canada, to return to New York and embark for
England. I was going to say for honme, but I have no
home. And yet I have; for where my sweet mother
is, there must my heart be also, and there my home..
We are just going to town, and here is the carriage, and
so farewell, and God bless you; keep me a little wee
corner in that good heart.  How full it must be, how
crammed and crowded, unless it has an india-rubber, capacity of extension-has it? Put me somewhere, stick me
behind the door, anywhere; but let me in, et puis nous
verrons.
From on board the 'Quebec,' late in the month
of February, Mrs. Jameson again wrote to Miss
Sedgwick:
I told you, my dear friend, that if during the voyage I
could hold pen or pencil or scribble a word, I would send
you my blessing from the midst of the great deep; and
from the deep of my heart I do send it you. When I
think of you, and of all I gained in your affection, and all
I lost in your society, my heart alternately swells with
gratitude and sinks with regret. Oh, come to England!
but don't come in February. Our voyage is likely to be
short, but it has been one of unmingled suffering; first we
were driven half-way across the Atlantic in a gale of wind,
varied only now and then by a hurricane-not merely what
we landsfolk call such, but what the captain himself styled
a 'hurricane, blowing awfully, blowing like fury'; without
a single sail, for two sails had been blown to tatters, we
drove on before the blast at the rate of ten to eleven knots
an hour. It was fearful. Yesterday and to-day I am
able to lie on the sofa, and just write these words from the
corner you in some sort consecrated to me. I am obliged




138


ANNA JAMESON.


to lay down my pen and paper at the end of every line,
and make but a bad hand of it.
The last time I was on deck was the day on which I
parted from you. About four in the afternoon, when the
sickly lethargy was fast creeping over me, I was told we
were just losing sight of the American shores; so I crawled
up and took one last look as they faded away under the
western Sun, and in vmy heart I stretched out my arms to
you for a last embrace, and blessed that land because it
was your land. Of the next fourteen days I shall say
nothing....
God bless you for thinking of ' Rory O'More'! It is
delicious. As to its merits as a work I cannot speak, not
having my critical wits about me. I only know that I
enjoyed it when I could have read nothing else, when, as
Rory himself would say, 'the laugh and the life and the
spake were out of me quite entirely.' At least the laugh and
the life were brought back. I do not enter into all the
merit of the 'Pickwick Papers.' I understand the humour
and the merit without sympathising with either, and,
though I laugh, it is not the heart's laugh; while in the
extravagant fun and real racy Irish wit of 'Rory O'More,'
there is something which stirs my Irish blood and moves
my Irish sympathies in spite of all its sins against taste. As
for this Yankee book, 'Sam Slick the Clockmaker,' it is of
a very different class; it has amused me infinitely, and
displeased me sovereignly. I dislike the spirit in which it
is written, it plays discord upon mine; yet surely it is a
clever book.  Now to-day I have finished the 'Letters
from Palmyra,' which have really delighted me. It is an
elegant and an eloquent book, but elegance is its chief
characteristic; there is rather a want of power and pathos... I only detected two americanisms, shall I call them
so?   Who is this Mr. William Ware?  I must ask Mr.




AMERICA.


I39


Dewey to tell me something about him. You see I cannot
help thinking aloud to you, though I can scarce hold the
pen.
March I.-God be praised! we are on the English
shore, but I am so ill yesterday and to-day I cannot
go on deck. We have what is expressively called 'English
weather,' that is, a dull leaden sky, a foggy atmosphere,
and a drizzling rain. It reminds me of one of Marryat's
stories of an old quartermaster, who, returning from a three
years' voyage to the East Indies, and approaching the
English shore in weather such as this, looked up into the
dull sky and hazy atmosphere, and, sniffing up the damp
air and buttoning his pea-jacket over his chest, exclaimed
with exultation, 'Ay, this is something like-none of your
d —d blue skies here!'
Oh, horrible! within twenty-four hours of Portsmouth
and a dead calm-we are motionless. But to-morrow night
at farthest we hope to land.
Mrs. Jameson reached England early in the
spring.  The best account I can give of her condition and state of mind will be in her own words,
from a letter addressed to Mr. Noel from London,
on May 26, 1838:
I left America in great anxiety about my father, but
have found him living and not materially worse, although
declining gradually. After my return I was ill for some
weeks; I am now as much recovered as I can ever hope
to be, but my existence is no more the same. Not that I
mean to sit down and despair, but there is nothing left to
think about, or hope for, or care for as regards myself;
however, I must care for my sisters, and help to support




I40             ANNA JAMAESON
my father and mother, so I work. I brought with me
from Canada a diary I kept there about all manner of
things-notes on my German studies during the winter;
the politics, society, and scenery of Canada; the, Indian
natives, and my adventures on Lake Huron-all jumbled
together. My intention was to have used these notes only
as material. but I ha- e been persuaded to print the diary
in its original state, only with a few omissions; and after
a little struggle with myself I acquiesced. The truth is, I
have not time, courage, heart, or spirits to write a sensible
well-digested book; so they may just take my scraps of
thought, and make the best or worst of them. How contemptible, frivolous, old-fashioned, superficial, it will appear
to your deep-thinking Germans- they who thought De
Stael commonplace and superficial-and what am I to her?
Well, never mind, it must go.




'I HA VE LOVE AND WORK ENOUGH.' I4I


CHAPTER VI.
'I HAVE LOVE AND WORK ENOUGH.
MRS. JAMESON returned to the house of her sister,
Mrs. Bate, on her arrival from Canada. The following letter addressed to her beloved American friend,
and which indeed is a little antecedent in date to
the one given on the previous page, is interesting
both on account of the conversation recorded in it,
and as giving a glimpse of her own domestic life:
7, Mortimer Street: April i8, i838.
No, I cannot let this packet sail without a few lines
from me, though it be only to tell you that as yet
I have not one line from you; and as Miss Fitzhugh
has a letter from Fanny Butler of the 9th of March, in
which you are not mentioned, what am I to think? Are
you not yet with her? Where are you? How are you?
I will believe all that is most improbable and impossible, but I will never believe that you have forgotten
me. I have heard from all my friends except yourselfmy dearest friend in that far-off New World-and should
better endure any other exception. Do write to me. I am
now settled with my sister Louisa in Mortimer Street, and
am trying to busy myself about my book; but I find it
difficult to get my mind together for a continuous effort.




I42


ANNA JAMESON.


The other day I saw Joanna Baillie; she spoke of you with
a kindness and respect which was delightful to me, and
looks forward to the pleasure of seeing you when you
come to England. She spoke of the pleasure she had received from ' Redwood;' and I am to send her in all haste
your last works. I was glad to find her looking better
and younger than when I left England. As I had been
crying my eyes out over the last volume of Scott's Life,
our conversation turned naturally on that subject. She
said she was glad the public would at last do some justice
to Lady Scott; she said that at the time Scott married, he
was not in person a man to please a lady's eye, and had
written nothing except one or two ballads. He had neither
fortune, fame, or personal advantages, yet Lady Scott, then
young, very pretty, and very much admired, had sense
enough to distinguish him, love him, and marry him!
'She was no common-place woman,' added Miss Agnes
Baillie; 'she managed his house admirably, and made it
agreeable to his friends; she was an excellent wife.' All this
it gave me pleasure to hear from such a source. You have
now, I suppose, read the whole work; there is not such a
biography in the world. They say Lockhart is going to be
married again to a Miss Alexander; but I do not give you
this as certain. I am living on quietly; as yet it requires
an effort-a strong and painful effort-to go into society,
nor have I been anywhere yet, except last night at Mrs.
Fitzhugh's to meet Mr. and Miss Sully, whom I think I
shall like. My niece, little Gerardine, talks as familiarly
of Miss Sedgwick as if she had known you all her life.
She thinks you must be so good to send her and her
little sister such nice books. I wish you could see the riot
they make on my bed in the morning, when Gerardine
talks of Richard the First, the hero of her infantine fancy,
whose very name makes her blush with emotion * and little




' HA VE LOVE AND       WORK ENOUGH' 143
Dolly Dumpling (by baptism and the grace of God Camilla
Ottilie) insists upon reciting ' Little Jack Horner,' who is
her hero. They are my comfort and delight. Give my
love to your dear Kate and all, all of you. My heart must
be kilt quite entirely, as cold as death can make it, before
it forgets the Sedgwicks. 0, come to England! I am
getting some books together to send by Captain Huttledone, whom I know personally; if I do not send a package
by one I know, I am afraid you will have to pay duty, and
it is not worth. while. Now dear friend, dear Catherine,
farewell. Perhaps some of these days, if you have patience
with me, I shall be able to send you a letter wortf reading,
but meantime do write to me.             ANNA J.
The following letter, addressed to the same correspondent, is interesting from its reference to the
most important public event of the moment:
London: June 30, 1838.
Yesterday I saw your friend Dr. Potter, and had at
least an hour's talk with him; he has made a very agreeable impression on us all. I have seen several Americans
within these two days, and am much amused by their remarks on the coronation of our young Queen. The deportment of the people, the excellent order, the good feeling
prevalent everywhere seem to have struck your countrymen; the police, as vigilant as good-humotired, were present to protect, not to coerce, and the military added to the
splendour of the spectacle without infringing on the liberty
of the people. My heart was with the mob all day. As
to the Queen, poor child, she went through her part beautifully; and when she returned, looking pale and tremulous,
crowned and holding her sceptre in a manner and attitude
which said ' I have it, and none shall wrest it from me!'
even Carlyle, who was standing near me, uttered with




144


ANNAz JAMfESON.


emotion a blessing on her head, and he, you know, thinks
kings and queens rather superfluous. All the rest, if you feel
any curiosity on the subject, you will learn in the newspapers; only one thing which has not yet reached these
seems to have made a strong impression. The premier
Baron, old Lord Rolle, is more than eighty-five, and on
ascending the steps of the throne to do homage he
stumbled from age and agitation. The Queen, forgetting
her dignity and her royal state, started from her thrcne and
stretched out both her hands to help him.  This little
action against all rule of court etiquette called down a
thunder of applause. You see what it is to be a queen!
A woman with the common feelings of courtesy and kindness is nothing less than an angel!
Notwithstanding the courage with which she
faced the loneliness of her life and the failure of all
her hopes of personal happiness, it is evident that
the period after Mrs. Jameson's visit *to America
was full of the disturbed  and restless pain of a
soul scarcely able to reconcile itself to the burden
which it is forced to resume, yet too proud and
highspirited to acknowledge its trouble save in the
deepest confidence of friendship. A record of this
time of despondency will be found in the following
letter, also addressed to Miss Sedgwick
Windsor: August 20, I 838.
On the very day I left London to take up my residence
here, Mr. Putnam brought me your letter. You are the
dearest, kindest creature in the world-ti/at is most certain-thus to find time to write to me in the midst of your




'I HA VE LOVE AND WORK ENOUGH'             145
anxieties, distresses, and avocations; but I believe that I
am grateful; and then your letters, no matter how short or
how long, are sure to contain some word or words which
lie on my heart like balm for hours and days afterwards.
You have this instinct of benevolence and affection in a
degree that no other possesses, no other that I have ever
known; how can I but love you dearly?... I cannot go
to Germany to Ottilie, because my duties keep me here at
present. Mrs. Austin, whom I respect and love, and in
whose society I find pleasure and sympathy, has the health
and interests of a hypochondriac husband and the education
of a daughter on her hands. I have no right to her time
and thoughts;... and, worse than all! you are on the
other side of the Atlantic, and I have known you only to
feel how hard it is to be without you; yet do not think I
repine, for in truth I do not. I am not so insensible or
ungrateful... a more affectionate and devoted family no
one could possess.... In London, with a large and brilliant
circle of acquaintance, I led a distracted heartless life. I
thought it right to go on trying to keep up certain social
interests and tastes, and I tried in vain; my heart seemed to
be drying up and withering away; so I reflected for a week
or two, and came here to Windsor. I thought at first of
going to Hampstead and taking a house near Joanna Baillie,
but I could not find one; and moreover, as they say the
little cat that has been scalded dreads fire and water, so I
dreaded, with an absolut ely morbid terror, any new interest,
any new object, and any new liaison, which might become
habitual, and therefore Hampstead was too near London,
and too near that excellent Joanna Baillie, and too near
one or two other people who are flatteringly partial to my
society while I do not care for theirs. So I cut my tether,
and I came down to Windsor, where I have taken a little
lodging on the verge of the Gteat Park, and at the foot of
L




146


146!ANNA JAMESON.


the hill on which the Castle stands. It is in a very small
house, or rather cottage, kept by a superlatively tidy and
obliging woman; and here I dwell, work, write, speculate,
and am better certainly than at any time since my arrival.
And so much for my autobiography-enough of self for the
present. I am glad that I can fancy you. with all your
present surroundings. The little view of your brother
Theodore's house, ' The house in which Catherine Sedgwick was born,' is before me; also the little view of the
hills from the window of the inn at Lenox, where we Used
to sit, and the two pretty views which kind Mr. Minst
gave me; and I look at them often, and think how much
I have gained in knotting you all, dear people that you
are. When you come to England, may not I also help to
minister to your brother's comfort? Among the visions to
which, child-like, I sometimes yield up my fancy when
alone I look up to those vast towers of our kings, is one
especially, of having you all here at Windsor. To come
down as strangers do, to take a hasty dinner and see over
the state rooms and pictures, is not to be thought of.
WRindsor is like nothing but itself in the world. And
though you are a democrat, the gods have made you
poetical. Imagine our pretty young Queen, with all her
courtly suite, pouring out of the great gates of the Castle,
on most beautiful horses, and sweeping through the
avenues and glades of the forest here, the 'Windsor Forest'
which is the classic ground of our Shakespeare as well as
our Edwards and Henrys. It sounds well, does it not?
and really it is a most splendid sight. As to the Queen,
she really plays the part to admiration, ' poor little girl! '
as Ca rlyle calls her. I never look at her but with an
interest in which some pity is blended. She is, after all,
but a pageant, an anomaly; and with so much of kindness
of heart and sensibility, what is to become of her? A




'I HAVE LOVE AND       WORK' ENOUGH' 147
great many anecdotes of her intfrieur, which reach me.
privately, give me the highest idea of her heart and
sense.
I can give you no literary news, for I read nothing,
and my pleasure in reading is not what it was. I have no
curiosity nor sympathy yet, but it will come back, I suppose. I began to read Prescott's ' History of Ferdinand
and Isabella,' which is admirable. With what do you now
amuse your dear brother? What are you doing yourself, or
about to do? Have you yet begun the tale you mentioned
to me, which is to be next in your series? Can I make any
arrangement with my publisher for you, by which you
might have some share of the profits of the English editions of your books? You are very popular here. I sent
you, or rather Kate, the third edition of one of them, for
I thought it would please her; dear sunshiny Kate! I
wish I had her to run over Windsor Castle with me. How
I should like to see what impression these things, consecrated in our imagination, foolishly perhaps, would make
on a young, fresh, pure, and reflecting mind like hers!
What you tell me of F — pains me; send me better
news of her. Why, my dearest friend, should this fair
earth of ours be a prison for a spirit like F —'s? There
is so much to enjoy, to do, 'to be,' though much (how
much) to suffer. But F — will and must have trials;
and if they are proportioned to her strength and her spirit
and her almost unequalled gifts, what then? 'I see, as
from a tower, the end of all.' My love, my kindest love to
all your dear circle, chickens and all.-Your affectionate
ANNA.
In a letter to her valued correspondent, Mr.
Noel, written from Windsor, we find the melancholy
and somewhat disturbed solitude of her retirement
L 2




148


ANNA JAMESON.


varied by negotiations and arrangements of a less
personal character. Her friend had lately married
an Austrian lady, and the letters written subsequently
to this marriage contain a constant record of mutual
kindnesses and unfailing sympathy, my aunt having
apparently constituted herself a sort of London
agent for the young couple to whom she had so
much attached herself, sending them newspapers,
books, and private news, consulting with them about
their prospects, and occasionally lending her aid to
some literary undertaking. Nothing could be more
delightful than the evidence faintly shadowed forth
in these letters (for Mrs. Jameson was as much the
reverse of what is commonly called 'gushing' as
it is possible to imagine) of the mutual sympathy,
support, and constantly interchanged good offices
of this trio of faithful friends. Just at this time Mr.
Noel had occupied his leisure with a translation
from the German, for the publication of which Mrs
Jameson entered into treaty with the publisher of
her own popular volumes.     This and her own
Canadian book appear in her correspondence with
Mr. Noel in the later autumn of this year.
Saunders & Ottley will, if you like it, publish the
paper on Rubens (under the title of 'Peter Paul Rubens,
his Life and Genius, from the German of Dr. Waagen,
author of " Art and Artists in England" ') in a series of
articles in the ' Metropolitan;' and if in this form it attract
attention, they will subsequently pubish the whole at their




'I HA VE LOVE AND WORK ENOUGH' 1 49
own risk, dividing the profits, if any, fairly with you. I
would look over and correct it for the press, but after
January 20 I shall be busied with my preparations for
Germany. I write in haste, for I am going to leave London
to-day, and do not return till January I6 or 17. I am
going down to Lord Hatherton's.
My book, entitled 'Winter Studies and Summer
Rambles,' is out this month, and, I am glad to say,
my success is entire, and I have never been so popular
as now. There have been one or two most brutal attacks
upon me personally from personal motives, which have
only called forth stronger expressions of sympathy and
approbation. One of the most beautiful letters I have
received is from Lady Byron, who, poor soul, is suffering
very much.
Another pleasant letter on this subject my aunt
received from Miss Martineau, who writes with
friendly enthusiasm:
I feel so deeply the support and delight of your sympathy, as shown in your Canada book, that I acknowledge
your right to all my thoughts on that set of subjects. I
am always recurring in thought to that book. When will
your 'Princess Amelia' appear?
Another tribute of approbation came to her in
the charming old-lady letter of Joanna Baillie, dated
Hampstead, December 17, with its pretty formality
and stateliness:
MY DEAR MADAM,-A friend of mine sent me the first
volume of your' Winter Studies, &c., in Canada,' thinking
I should be gratified by the flattering and friendly notice
taken of me in its pages; and truly she thought right, for




I 50


50  ANNA JAMESON.


I am very much gratified, and I thank you with all my
heart for speaking a good word for me in my old age.
Some days after that, a copy of the book was sent to me
from Cavendish Square, where it had been lying I don't
know how long; there is no writing upon it of any kind to
say who sent it. I dare not think it came from yourself,
for you have so many friends who have a far better right
to expect such a mark of your favour, that it would be
quite unreasonable to do so. But I may at any rate thank
you for the agreeable amusement of the curious and, interesting information we have received from it. You make
the reader, both as to your internal world and external,
live along with yourself, and an excellent companion we
find you. Your book did my sister a world of good, and
your animated observations and descriptions delighted her.
I have been delighted too as far as I have read, and feel
that I have much pleasure still in reserve. Again let me
thank you heartily, and believe me very truly and gratefully yours,                          J. BAILLIE.
Upon the same subject, which evidently occupied
much of her thoughts, is the following letter, written
from the neighbourhood of Windsor, to her sister
Charlotte, thanking her
for the letter dictated by my dear father, and the additions from yourself. It gave me real pleasure. Papa's
approbation is expressed with as much elegance as affection. Mrs. Procter writes me that the book is universally
relished, and says, ' A fig for reviewers.' 'The men,' she
says, ' are much alarmed by certain speculations about
women; and,' she adds, 'well they may be, for when the
horse and ass begin to think and argue, adieu to riding
and driving.' Her letter is very amusing and comical. I




f


'I HAVE LOVE AND WORK ENOUGH.' 151
was going to Miss Mitford last week, but I had an express
to say her father was seized with a sudden and dangerous
illness. I am afraid the good old man (who is seventyeight) will certainly die, and as she has been his sole companion and support for years, I am very sorry for her.
I may conclude the record of this year by another
letter addressed to Miss Sedgwick, and marked by
that lady as 'noteworthy.'
Sunninghill, Berkshire: December I5, 1838.
MY DEAR FRIEND, —Your letter (dated October 23)
reached me December 5. I am thankful that it reached
me at all, considering what tempests it encountered on its
way; but when I look at the date, it is with a sort of pang
at the idea of the time and the distance which separates
us. I can truly say that the hope of seeing you in England
has become the single bright spot in my clouded future;
there is nothing else to which I look forward with absolute
unmingled pleasure; everything besides is in some.way
mixed up with doubt and pain.  I read your dear kind
letter during a sojourn in London.  I was there about
three weeks, as restless and unhappy as heretofore, and
glad to return to my little lodging at Windsor and my
solitude. After a fortnight spent alone, I came over here
to spend a week or ten days with a family of rich people,
who have a fine place in a lovely country; but here I am
again a prey to the same painful influences, and all is so
uncongenial around me. But pray do not think that I
voluntarily throw up the game of life; indeed I do not,
and you shall see when you come over how cheerfully I
can look upon the world. Only I do not like what is called
society. You have written me a dear sweet homily, so like
yourself. I read it, almost fancying your kind eyes looking
into mine.




152


ANNA JAMESON.


What shall I say now of myself? You beguile me
into most intolerable egotism. At this moment I have
fame and praise, for my name is in every newspaper; and
I have a dear family who truly love me, and some excellent friends and a list of acquaintance anyone might envy;
but in the whole wide world I have no companion. The two
or three with whom I could have companionshi~p are removed far from me. All that I do, think, feel, plan, or
endure, it is alone. Now this unhealthy craving after sympathy, with a fastidiousness which makes me shut up from
all sympathy which is not precisely that which I like and
wish for, is, after all, one of the phases of disease, and
as such I must treat it. You think I am not reiigious
enough. I fear you are right; for, if I were, God would
be to me all I want, replace all I regret thus selfishly and
weakly, and more, if to believe and trust implicitly in the
goodness of God were enough; but apparently it is not,
and my resignation is that which I suppose a culprit feels
when irrevocable sentence of death is pronounced a submission to bitter necessity which he tries to render dignified
in appearance, that those who love him may not be pained
or shamed. I am afraid it is thus, and not what it ought
to be; only, my dear, dear friend, pr-ay believe that I am
not cold or bitter, nor negligent of such duties as are
around me. All your letter is delightful, like all your
letters; may they be remembered, every word of them,
with your good deeds, for you have given comfort when
it was most needed. God knows I have reason to be
grateful, in the strongest, holiest sense of the word gratitude.
It rejoices me to hear such a good account of your
dear brother; give my kindest love to him, and tell him
I will get a budget of news together for him and write
him, but he must not think to trouble himself with answering all my effusions, and I will be content to hear through




'I HAVE LOVE AND WzORK ENOUGH.' 153
you, dear Catherine, of his well-being. I am sure a tour
in England and a change of scene will do him good. All
you say of Fanny is most interesting; the gipsy did not
read to me the whole of her tragedy, only a part of it, and
that was beautiful, and affected me very powerfully, as I
remember. I have a letter from her since her return to
Philadelphia, in which she mentions her Georgia winter
with no great pleasure. Adelaide Kemble is at Trieste,
and poor Mr. Kemble's health so bad that John Kemble
and his wife have gone off to him in a hurry. I shall set
off for Germany about the end of January, please God,
and will go to Adelaide if I see cause. She is a fine, noble
creature. Here I am at the end of my scanty paper, and
not one of the thousand things said which are in and on
my heart. Must I try your eyes by crossing the lines?
The fragment which follows is probably the
postscript, not crossed, but written on a separate
sheet, to the same letter:
I spent a pleasant morning at the Palace, had luncheon
with the lords and ladies in waiting, and the Queen very
graciously permitted me to see all the private apartments,
and desired Lady Tavistock to show me the picture which
Leslie is painting of her; it is the moment of consecration,
when she is kneeling at the feet of the Archbishop of
Canterbury, and is a very beautiful beginning. It will be
exhibited this year.  Another artist, who is rather a
favourite with her, wished to paint the scene which took
place when she was called out of her bed at four in the
morning and told that she was Queen of England. He
sent a very beautiful sketch of his design, and a petition
that she would sit for him. The Queen, after a little
struggle with her own good nature, refused, but begged




I54


ANNA JAMESON.


that he would ask anything else; she added with emotion
(to her lady in waiting), 'He may paint such a picture if
he likes, but I cannot sit for it; it was too sacred a moment.'
I heard many anecdotes, which pleased me much. She
seems to be really a right-hearted,' thoroughly good little
creature. Spring Rice told a friend of mine that he once
carried her some papers to sign, and said something about
managing so as to give her Majesty less trouble.  She
looked up from her paper, and said quietly: 'Pray never
let me hear those words again; never mention the word
trouble. Only tell me how the thing is to be done, to be
done rightly, and I will do it 'if I can.' I do not know
whether these little anecdotes will interest you, but surely,
though you are so democratical, you will feel for this poor
little woman, placed in such an awful position in such
awful times. I was afterwards presented to the Duchess
of Kent, and had some conversation with Lord Melbourne,
who said many pretty things to me about my book. I go
to town to spend Christmas Day with my people, the first
time for five years; then I am going down to stay at Lord
Hatherton's in Staffordshire, and then to Germany, and
in April back to England to meet you. Such are my projects. Trusting to hear from you, dearest, whenever you
can write, and with all kind remembrances to your whole
circle, and best love to your dear bright Kate, I am
always, your affectionate                   ANNA.
Early in January I839, Mrs. Jameson writes as
follows from the house of Lord Hatherton, Teddesley Park, Staffordshire, to Mr. Noel:
1 It must be recollected, as an excuse for this familiarity, that Her
Majesty, so long looked up to by a new generation of faithful subjects,
was in I838 a very young and interesting girl. naturally looked upon
by older people with an almost pathetic realisation of her inexperience and youth.




'I HAVE LOVE     AND WORK ENTOUGH' I55
The day before I left London, I received your letter
of December I9, and brought it down here to answer it
forthwith. But a fortnight has since elapsed, and I have
not been able to put pen to paper. Several months of
harassing work and great anxiety made the change and
the perfect leisure of a country life in a house full of
agreeable people only too pleasant, and I have abandoned
myself to a sort of indolent indifference to all earthly
things except the amusement of the passing hour. This
does not sound like me, does it? Nevertheless it is true.
I am staying at present with Lord and Lady Hatherton. We have had a large aristocratic party-the Wilmot
Hortons, the Earl and Countess of Cavan,' the Lady Lambarts and junior Bentincks, Vernons, Bagots, all very gay;
but my chief delight has been the society and affection of
my ci-devanlt pupil, Hyacinthe Littleton.  My book has
made me very notorious, and I have been praised and
abused a toute outrance. It is to me already a thing quite
past. I have ceased to think of it, and have turned my
mind to other things. I see by the papers that I am reviewed in the 'British and Foreign,' but how and in what
spirit I know not. Some late articles in that review, particularly that infamous tirade against the Custody of
Infants Bill, displeased me mortally.
I saw Lady Byron the very day before I left town, and
had a long talk with her. She was more than kind, and her
approbation of my views and efforts on some moral points
she expressed in a manner that went very near my heart.
The article in the' British and Foreign Quarterly' had appeared in the January number, and
was of a favourable and friendly character. The
writer takes occasion to observe that ' Mrs. Jameson
1 Third daughter of Lord Hatherton.




156            ANNA JAMESON.
has always stood alone among the parti-coloured
crowd of authoresses, but her fate is in some respects singular.  Unlike the generality of those
enjoying a solitary and select reputation, she has
hitherto passed along her literary career unscathed
by contemporary petulance or ill-will. For the
credit of human and literary nature, let it be hoped
that one cause of an exemption so rare in these
days of slander and acrimonious personality lies in
the sincerity of mind and purpose everywhere visible
throughout her works.... There is an instinctive
power by which a sincere tongue impresses all sincere hearts withaffection, and overawes falsehood
into silence or harmlessness; and thus, whether we
judge from our own convictions or from popular
report, we can fully believe Mrs. Jameson when, in
her prelude to her " Characteristics of Women," she
tells us that out of the fulness of her own heart has
she written; and again when in introducing her
"( Visits and Sketches" she says: " There is in the
kindly feeling, the spontaneous sympathy of the
public towards me, something which fills me with
gratitude and respect, and tells me to respect myself, which I would not forfeit for the greater fclat
which hangs round greater names; which I will
not forfeit by writing one line from an unworthy
motive, nor flatter nor invite by withholding one
thought, opinion, or sentiment which I believe to




'I HAVE IOVE AND WORA ENOUGH.' I 5
be true, and to which I can put the seal of my
heart's conviction."'
Ample quotations from the work reviewed are
given, which need not be repeated here.  The
whole critique is written, not in an exclusively laudatory, but a carefully appreciative tone. Mrs. Jameson's 'Studies and Rambles,' her winter series of
short essays and biographical outlines, and her Indian
summer s experiences, are alike recommended to
such among the public as may be glad to turn from
the harangues of Lord Durham, and the plots of
Wolfred Nelson, to rest their minds upon the contemplation of the relics of aboriginal life, and of the
scenery of lake, forest, and mountain-a grandeur,
antiquity, and extent before which all human strivings and aspirations are rebuked into nothingness.
' It is for such readers,' adds the critic, 'that we
have written, and to their best graces do we sincerely commend this last and most variously amusing
work of an eloquent and graceful authoress.'
Neither the activity of her mind, however, nor
her circumstances, permitted any long interval of
quiet to Mrs. Jameson; and very soon after the
publication of her Canada book she began to plan
another visit to Germany for various motives, one
of which was of the kind which appealed to her
most warmly-the trouble of a friend.  This induced her to make arrangements for setting out at




158


ANNNA JAMESON.


a very early period of the year, though not without
many uncomfortable recollections of the colonial
journeys of which she had had so severe an experience. She explains in a letter dated November 24, 1838, her reasons for not delaying her
departure until later:
I hope to be in Germany in the beginning of February,
and shall be in Dresden for a week or ten days. I have
two reasons for undertaking this journey in the winter
season (though, indeed, I shiver at the thought). In the
first place I must be in London in April next, and the rest
of the year is completely cut up by engagements, so that
I must either see my German friends in winter or not at
all, which last alternative does not suit me in the least. I can
never do any good for my poor —, but I may prevent
some evil perhaps. It is quite a hopeless affair, but even
for that very reason I cannot, and must not, and will not
give her up.' I shall spend some little time at Weimar, and
then go on to Dresden. I have undertaken to translate the
dramas of the Princess Amelia into English for a certain
purpose, which you will understand some of these days,
for I cannot now explain it. This is the second reason for
my going to Germany this winter.  My poor father yet
lives in precisely the same state as when I came in all
haste from Dresden five years ago, to see him die, as I
tnen supposed. How much, dear Noel, has passed since
then-how many events-how much have I seen! Strange
world, is it not? But that I preserve yet, under circumstances and feelings which have gone nigh to crush me
und break me down utterly, the cheerful and hopeful
temper of my.nind, is a thing to thank God for, which I do.
Of Saxony.




'I H1AVE LOVE AND WORK ENOUGH' I59
In the spring of I839, during Mrs. Jameson's
brief absence in Germany, the family moved from
the pretty old-fashioned villa in St. John's Wood
to a house in the then new quarter of Notting Hill.
On her return, her home continued to be chiefly
here with her parents. But her mind was again
troubled about many things in connection with
pecuniary and family business, as will be apparent
from a letter written from  London in July to Mr.
Noel:
Since I returned to England I have done nothing, made
no progress in my own affairs, but have been suffering a
martyrdom of vexation and care on account of my family.
All has been going wrong, and the exertions and the sacrifices I must make to bring all right again exceed anything
I could have anticipated. However, I must go through
with it, and with God's blessing I will. I still indulge the
hope of seeing you and Gerniany again next summer.
But I must struggle hard for it. England does not suit
me, or more properly the way of life to which I must
submit in England. The circumstances with which I am
surrounded do not suit me, are all against the wants of my
individual nature. Never was party feeling so bitter as at
this moment, never since the time of the French Revolution. All benevolence, all moral perceptions and feelings
seem annihilated by this vile spirit of party. Even this
subject of national education is made a party question.
I recollect the apaithy, public and private, with which
this question was regarded six years ago, and am therefore
comforted by the manner in which it is now discussed in
every circle. All agree that something must be done for
the general education of the people, but the Churchmen




I60


ANNA JAAMESON


wish to keep it as an instrument in their hands, the others
insist that it should be the business of the State. What
the House of Commons enact, the Lords reject; and I
cannot help anticipating the possibility of the Commons
voting the Lords useless, as in Cromwell's time. Attention is also drawn to the position of the women by several
late publications that have taken up the matter very much
in my own way. One beautiful little book has appeared
with the title of' Woman's Mission,' which is, however, sc
far defective that it considers women onzy in the light of
mothers, whereas they have other relations with society.
I believe I shall enter the field one of these days. The
true position of the woman is the queen of her home, but
home must become in the eyes of men more sacred than it
is now. In short, there is so much to be said that I must
not go on.
My American friend, Miss Sedgwick, has been in England, and has made a most favourable impression. Lady
Byron in particular was very kind to her.
We are all horror-struck at this moment by the riots
in Birmingham-houses burned, people killed. Rather
alarming times these! There is an angry spirit among the
lower classes in this country, which, united to their brutality, ignorance, and real wrongs, makes me a little apprehensive. But I hope much from the good sense and large
amount of property appertaining to the middle classes.
I wish myself back in Germany with all my heart. Here I
have no leisure to think.
Miss Sedgwick's visit to England, which Mrs.
Jameson had looked forward to with so much pleasure, was now over. When she proceeded to the
Continent after spending some time in London, MIrs.




'I HAVE LOVE AND       WORK ENOUGH.'       16i
Jameson, although not long returned, would willingly
have again left England with her had circumstances
permitted. But this proved impossible, and the
interrupted correspondence was resumed as follows
on August I4:
For myself, I am just beginning to collect my strength
to work again, for it has been a sad harassing month. I
am going down to Richmond to Mrs. Austin for a few
days, and also to Mrs. Grote's, in Buckinghamshire. One
of the persons I have seen most of since you left me has
been Lady Byron, whose fine and truly noble character
improves and opens upon me. I feel as if I could love
her very much; but it were a bad calculation, for our paths
in life are so very different. She speaks of you always
with deep respect and interest; and I-certainly it requires
all the consciousness of a first duty done to console me for
what I lose in not being with you. But I will not be thankless. We had some pleasant hours together, and in my
heart rests the conviction that our meeting in London has,
strengthened and confirmed a friendship which I accept
from God as a peculiar mercy, sent to me when I most
needed it.
In November Mrs. Jameson writes from Notting
Hill to her friend at Florence with a spirited defence
of herself from some accusation which cannot now
be explained. It referred apparently to her faithful.
support, in doubtful circumstances, of a friend.
I have not stirred from home for nearly a fortnight
until yesterday, when I went to town on business. I have


M




V


I62             ANNA JAAMESON.
been correcting the last sheets of my new book, which is
to appear soon. I despond about it terribly.... As
soon as it is published I will rush off to Paris, and
leave the cry of criticism behind me.  The letter you
wrote to me from Frankfort I have never received. I have
one from Mine. K —, in which you are mentioned with
great distinction. What has she been saying about me or
my friends to make you doubtful or anxious on my account? ' What feminine tale hast thou been listening to?'
But I can guess, knowing Mme. K — well.    My dear
friend, where I am concerned, let me trust that you will
listen to your own heart and to me, and not to such people
as Mime. K —, for whom I have a sincere respect within
her own small sphere. Within the bounds of her own mental
vision (about the length and breadth of Frankfort) I trust
to her judgment and her clearsightedness; beyond those
bounds what is she? the merest worldling. T hen you add
something about my being the champion of my sex, and
shadows falling over me. Am I then here to scribble and
speak pretty words about women, and what I consider to
be the duty of woman to woman, and then, if I see a
woman perishing at my feet morally and physically, not
stretch out a hand to save' a soul alive? And this for fear
of shadows, of what the Mme. K —s of this world might
say of me? Trust to me, dear Catherine, and love me,
and never believe I can confound the virtue I honour with
profligacy, levity, and folly.
Well! we are all well settled in our new abode, and
things go on pretty well; you and yours are ever remembered with pleasure and affection by us all, and
your reminiscences of poor St. John's \Vood touched
my father and mother to the heart. Mrs. Grote, Mrs.
Austin, Henry Reeve, Mrs. Procter, Lady Byron, and
Carlyle and his wife are among those whom I have seen




'I HAVE LO VE AND      WORK ENOUGH.'      163
lately who speak of you and enquire about you, as if I ought
to know all concerning you.  Lady Byron I have seen
frequently, and the more I know her the more I admire
her, and would, I think, love her much, for she has a rare
heart and mind. But it would not do; a new friend to me
is not a new possession, but a new pang, a new separation.
May God only spare to me what I have left, and may
I not pass my whole life in absence, for that seems my
fate. My friends, in the proper sense of the word, are
very few, and I am doomed to live in separation from
them.
Before the year drew to a close Mrs. Jameson's
book on Canada was brought out in New York,
together with an American edition of the ' Characteristics of Women.' In England appeared a third
edition of the 'Visits and Sketches,' but the only
fresh literary work Mrs. Jameson had in hand seems
to have been what proved to her a pleasant taskthe translation of the domestic dramas by the Princess Amelia of Saxony, published the year following
under the title of 'Social Life in Germany.'
Meantime her intimacy with Lady Byron increased daily, an intimacy that was to colour her
life for years to come.  She wrote from   Notting
Hill, November 24:
Lady Byron and I go on very well indeed; she is most
kind to me, and we have long arguments and discussions,
sometimes agreeing and sometimes not. We are so different in structure that complete agreement were impossible.
It is with her as with every one else I know; my sym



164


ANNA JAMESON.


pathies with her are more entire than hers with me. I
dine with her on Friday to meet Dr. Lushington, a man I
have long wished to know.
Again, writing of Lady Byron some three weeks
later, Mrs. Jameson says:
We go on charmingly together, and I am very much
struck by the singular powers of her mind and her very
uncommon character.   I begin to understand her, and
there is scarcely any subject on which I would not speak
to her openly, except those of a personal nature. I should
not be afraid of startling her by putting cases before her
of a questionable nature, and discussing any point whatever in faith and morals.
I am thinking of Italy with hope and also with misgivings. Two things may yet detain me-my poor dear
father's increasing illness, and the want of sufficient money.
I am hoarding what little I have, but the large sums I
have paid for my family this year will cripple my resources
next year. My poor father is very weak. I dare not hint
at the idea of going away for any time. He is now accustomed to have me near him, and does not like me even to
leave the room.
Notwithstanding all which apprehensions and difficulties she did leave England in the following
February, with the intention of proceeding direct
to Italy; but she got no farther than Paris, whence
she was again summoned home by fresh fears for
her father's life.  She writes from    London on
March 15, I840:




'I HAVE LOVE AND WORK ENOUGH' i65
When I wrote to you I was on the point of starting for
Italy. I was recalled just as I was leaving Paris for
Lyons, called home on my poor father's account much in
the same manner as at Dresden, and after a painful
struggle submitted to fate and duty, for in this world our
duties must be our destinies. I am come home in truth
to see my poor father die, for I believe there is little chance
of his rallying again, though this painful and protracted
sinking of all the faculties together may last some weeks
longer.
My position is very embarrassing and painful. I am,
of course, with my mother; my home is melancholy; I
cannot but feel regret for all I have abandoned, though
God knows I do not repent.
And a month later there is still the same uncertain state of things:
At present I hardly know what my destiny is like to
be; it must wait upon my duty. My wish, my project, is
always the same; for you know how tenacious I am when
once I rouse myself up to will anything strongly. I wish
to go to Germany this year, and take my darling little
Gerardine with me, but do not see that I can leave my
mother while my poor father exists, and how long le is to
linger thus is doubtful. He has recovered from a most
dangerous attack, which only a week ago left me with
little hope of his surviving beyond a few days, and we were
prepared for the worst. It is but a reprieve, but he is so
wonderfully better that he may go on thus for months.
Meantime, though there is much to be done and endured,
I cannot say I am unhappy: my mind is very serene, and I
am so engrossed by the affairs, and interests, and sufferings
of others, I have no time to think about myself. Besides,.




i 66


ANNAS JAMESON


I have just undertaken a new book, a laborious thing,
which will pay me well, and must be finished as soon as
possible.... Another work of a much more important
kind, which has been in my head for four years past, I
shall probably finish in Germany.
You may possibly have heard that Charles Kemble
has been in town till now, detained by the Queen's command, who wished to see him in some of his principal characters. He has acted admirably, and is at the same time
in the very first society in London. I went with Lady
Lovelace to see him play Hamlet, and was wonderstruck by the vigour, the grace, and the exquisite truth of
the personification.
The laborious work to which Mrs. Jameson
alludes in the latter part of this letter was the compiling of an elaborate catalogue raisonne, or companion
and guide to the various private art collections to
which the public obtained admission in London,
such as the Ellesmere and Grosvenor Galleries, and
the collections of the Queen and Sir Robert Peel.
Although this was the, first of her contributions to
art-literature, the name of Mrs. Jameson as an
earnest student and connoisseur was already sufficiently well known to insure her every possible
facility and consideration on the part of the
noble owners of art collections.  In the course of
the year i 84 I, the 'Companion' appeared in separate
and collected form, and was, I believe, a successful
speculation for the publisher.  A  few  letters are
still extant referring to this work, having a special




'I HAVE LOVE AND       TrWORK ENOUGH'      i67
interest belonging to them, and which I therefore
venture to insert here; taking first in order, although not first in date, a letter from the Hon.
Amelia Murray, dated Buckingham Palace, August 2,
1842:
MY DEAR MRS. JAMESON,-I sent down a petition after
you left me yesterday, that the Queen might give me an
opportunity of speaking to her in the course of the afternoon. Although much hurried, she saw me for a few
minutes, and listened with evident pleasure to the little
explanations which you wished made respecting the catalogue, and read your few words in the title-page with one
of her sweetest smiles. She then said, 'Pray thank Mrs.
Jameson for me very much.' She stood for a few minutes
quietly turning over the leaves, and glancing her eye over
some of the descriptions.  I then remarked that, Her
Majesty having been so gracious in her frequent permissions to me to take Mrs. Jameson into the gallery, I was
particularly anxious to present the fruit of those visits with
my own hand. 'Ah, exactly!' she said, and, making me
a graceful kind of half bow, half curtsey, which she sometimes does when she is pleased almost in a playful manner,
she ran lightly off with the book in her hand, as if she was
going to show her treasure to the Prince.
I describe this little scene exactly, and I am sure you
have every reason to be gratified by the manner in which
your offering was accepted. With the Queen everything
depends upon the expression of her countenance to those
who know how to read it. She endeavours to receive what
is offered to her in a right spirit graciously, but when it is
only the intention and not the gift which has any value to
her, she says a few kind words with an unconscious look




x68


ANNA JAMESON.


of indifference at the article she has to receive; so she
regarded a certain diamond necklace and ornaments I
once saw brought to her from the Imaum of Muscat, but
I was gratified to see that your catalogue elicited one of
her beaming smiles, such as are rarely bestowed save upon
her own husband. Few are yet sensible what a fascinating
creature she is! The perfect truth and simplicity which
are united to such depth and strength of character give an
interest to every look and a charm to every word she
utters. But I must stop. If I once allow my feelings full
vent in speaking of my dear young mistress, I know not
how to stop; and most people believe me but a courtier
after all. But I think, my dear Mrs. Jameson, you know
me well enough to believe that it is indeed 'out of the
fulness of the heart' that the pen writeth, and that only
a hearty appreciation of the character could make me
admire my Queen as I do.
This letter should, perhaps, have followed rather
than preceded the next in due regard to dates, as it
alludes to the royal reception given to the complete
work, whereas these are letters written while the
catalogues were in progress.    The translation of
Dr. Waagen's 'Life of Peter Paul Rubens' by Mr.
Noel, with Mrs. Jameson's introduction and notes,
had appeared in the spring, and Sir Robert Peel's
letter refers to this work also:
Whitehall, May 5, i840.-Sir Robert Peel presents his
compliments to Mrs. Jameson, and is much obliged by her
kind attention in sending to Sir Robert Peel the work on
Rubens, which Sir Robert Peel has read with great interest
and satisfaction.




'I HAVE LOVE AND       WORK ENOUGH.'        69
Almost every picture of the Dutch and Flemish school
in Sir Robert Peel's collection (indeed he believes every
one) is described in the work of Smith and Waagen. He
will send Mrs. Jameson the references to the pages of
Smith's work in which his pictures are referred to, and
thus probably save Mrs. Jameson some trouble.
He will send also an account of the portraits he has
by Sir Joshua Reynolds, which are not mentioned by
Smith.
Mrs. Jameson shall have every facility of access to the
pictures, and as Sir Robert Peel may probably again leave
town with his family for a few days, he will apprise Mrs.
Jameson of the period, as she would then incur no risk of
being interfered with.  If Mrs. Jameson should wish to
see them at an earlier time, he can easily make arrangements for the purpose.
Lord Lansdowne writes:MY DEAR MADAM,-I have, since I had the pleasure
of seeing you, made two very pretty acquisitions, the last I
mean to indulge in for some time to ccme; and if you
happen to come into town any morning, one of them, I am
sure (being a ' Leonardo da Vinci,' and as true a one at
least as any that exists in this country), you would consider, cataloguing apart, as repaying you for the trouble of
a call.
I shall be in town and at home about eleven o'clock
every morning for the rest of the week, but will leave
directions, if 1 am out, for you to be shown the ' Leonardo '
and the ' Both.'
I have been favoured with the following memorandum from Mrs. Grote, in which an account is given




170


ANNA JAMESON.


of a journey taken in the interest of this work. I
quote this little contribution as it stands, though only
a portion belongs to the real course of the narrative,
as an additional testimony of regard from one of my
aunt's distinguished contemporaries.
Memorandum concerning my Ancient Relations with the
late Anna 7ameson, nee Murphy. Feb. 8, I878.
As far as my memory serves, my acquaintance with
Mrs. Jameson must have begun somewhere about the year
I837. She was then living with her sisters, at their house
on Notting Hill.  Mrs. Jameson was introduced to me
by the Kemble family, Mr. Henry Reeve, Mr. Henry
Chorley, and Mrs. Procter being our common acquaintances.  She was then employed in literary composition
of various kinds. Mrs. Jameson devoted her talents more
to art than to any other subject at the time I am speaking
of. She had a superior understanding, was possessed of
great energy of character, and was a favourite with us all.
Mrs. Jameson was not fortunate in her marriage-in
fact, she and her husband never lived together. He occupied a comfortable position as Attorney-General of Canada,
allowing his wife a small annuity.
Feeling desirous of promoting her views in connection
with the literature of art, I invited Mrs. Jameson to accompany me in my own postchaise on a journey of I50
miles which I was about to make, in the summer of I840.
The object of this journey was to pay a visit to my friend
the Rev. Sydney Smith, at his parsonage in Somersetshire;
but I intended to take the opportunity of seeing several
collections of pictures which lay on my track to the West.
I first halted at Wilton House, to pay my respects to my
old friend Lady Pembroke, and Mrs. Jameson profited by




IZ  AVE LOVE AND      WORK ENOUGH'        I7I
this good chance to look attentively over the pictures contained in that noble mansion.
After leaving Wilton, we travelled to Stourhead, putting
up for two nights at the pleasant little inn adjoining the
grounds of Sir Richard Colt Hoare, Bart. Several hours
were spent in looking through the collection of pictures
and antiquities at this well-known country seat, Mrs.
Jameson making notes of the most interesting portions
for future use.
We proceeded next to Combe Florey (the chief object
of my journey, as has been said), Mrs. Jameson going to
stay with a friend not very far from Taunton, and rejoining
me at Mr. Sydney Smith's after my week's visit. We
posted thence to Bristol, for the purpose of seeing the fine
collection of pictures at Leigh Court, the residence of Mr.
Miles.
From Bristol we proceeded by the great Bath road to
Chippenham, in order to visit thence the collection of the
Marquis of Lansdowne, at Bowood, which visit afforded
Mrs. Jameson, as well as myself, great pleasure and instruction. Mrs. Jameson always felt and expressed a lively
sense of my kindness in affording her these valuable
opportunities of adding to her artistic experiences; and I
must confess that her conversation and cheerful temper
added sensibly to the enjoyment of my own excursion.
Mrs. Jameson was much at our house in London during
the years I 840, I 841, I 842, and I 843. After this date our
intercourse became less frequent, from various explainable
causes, though I never had reason to alter my opinion of
her merits. She was always at work, striving to promote
the comfort and welfare of others; and, after the death of
her father, her strenuous endeavours were mainly directed
to the maintenance and education of her niece, Gerardine,
to whom she was fondly attached.




172


AVANV  JAlESON.


Mrs. Jameson became intimately connected with the
late Lady Byron, and was so engrossed with that lady's
family and concerns that she ceased to maintain several of
her old social connections for some years. I myself almost
lost sight of her, and scarcely recollect any particulars of
her personal course beyond the publication of her work on
Sacred Art. She passed a long time in Italy about that
period, I believe.
I hope some suitable memoir may be forthcoming, ere
long, of this clever, amiable, and benevolent woman, of
whom no one could ever speak in any other terms than
those implying admiration of her talents and esteem for
her personal character.
H. GROTE.
P.S.-I regret to have destroyed all Mrs. Jameson's
letters to myself (and that within the last five years), along
with many other letters far less interesting.
That, notwithstanding all such sympathy and
encouragement, the actual labour demanded by the
task undertaken was almost too much for the
strength of the compiler, is evidenced by the following letter written from Notting Hill on November 17:
I believe I told you that I had undertaken a new book
called a 'Companion to the Galleries of Art.' It has
proved a most laborious affair; the research and accuracy
required have almost beaten me, and I am not easily
beaten. It is a sort of thing which ought to have fallen
into the hands of Dr. Waagen, or some such bigwig, instead of poor little me. Add that being at some distance
from town, and without any near assistance, sympathy, or




'I HAVE LOVE AND       WORK ENOUGH'         173
companionship, my difficulties have been much increased
by circumstances. I am to receive 300/. for it (one volume),
and I expect it will be finished by next February. The
printing has begun, and what with preparing MS., hunting
dates and names through musty ponderous authorities,
travelling to the British Museum, wearing out my eyes
over manuscript or ill-printed catalogues, and correcting
the press to keep up with the printers, the most irritating
thing possible, I have never one moment of leisure in the
week. I am hunted by care from the moment I rise till
I go to rest. Then I must devote some part of my day to
my poor father, who still drags on a sort of half-existence;
and my family in other respects are a source of deep
anxiety. I do not tell you all this, dear Noel, by way of
complaint, but simply of excuse. No reason have I to
complain. My health is excellent in general, except that
I suffer from my eyes. My mind is quite serene; and if
I have ceased to live for myself, or think of happiness, I
have not ceased to hope; and my first hope, that to
which I hold fast through everything, is to go to Germany
for a couple of years. This, if I live, I will do, and so
much for my own history-finis.
Lady Byron, I grieve to say, is yet at Paris, where she
has been very ill. I miss her inexpressibly. She has
taken to me kindly, and the more I know her the more I
love her. It is ohe of the most singular minds and characters that ever fell under my contemplation, and the
effect which retirement from the world and sorrow have
had on the original texture, is to me a perpetual source of
interest.
In the following year Mrs. Jameson undertook
for the columns of the 'Penny Magazine' a series
of articles on the early Italian painters that attracted




I74


ANNA JAMESON.


much attention to, and rapidly increased the circulation of, that periodical at the time, and, when published in 1845 in one small volume, became one of
her most popular works.     The ' Athenaeum' of
August i6 of that year has an article on this little
book, highly commending its price (one shilling) and
its scope-the artistical education of the masses.
Later, when the copyright passed into Mr.
Murray's hands, Mrs. Jameson revised the whole,
and editions were published in I858 and I859; and
again in 1868, years after the active pen of the
writer was stopped for ever, another edition was
found advisable. I believe this to have been the
only work of my aunt's translated into the French
language.  In 1862, Messrs. Hachette, of Paris,
published ' La Peinture et les Peintres italiens,'
rendered into French by M. Ferdinand Labour.
The translator's preface concludes with these words:
La critique anglaise, quelquefois dn peu. depourvue
d'imagination, est presque toujours empreinte d'un rare
bon sens; souvent erudite, elle meprise le clinquant et
entre dans des details pratiques et techniques fort utiles.
C'est persuade d'avoir trouve ces qualites serieuses
dans le livre de Mrs. Jameson, que j'ai entrepris la traduction de la 'Vie des Peintres italiens.' Mrs. Jameson
parle des arts en Anglaise qui examine tout avec scrupule,
en femme qui aime passionmement la peinture, en touriste
qui, ayant beaucoup vu et be:iucoup voyage, n'est nullement
exclusive; en erudite qui, avant immensement lu, com



I HA VE LOVE AND WORE ENOUGH'              175
pare les opinions de tous avant de faire valoir les siennes.
Cependant la reunion de ces differentes qualites ne ferait
pas encore du livre de Mrs. Jameson un livre d'une lecture
facile et agreable, commode i consulter dans un salon,
tel enfin que bon nombre de personnes qui, sans etre
artistes, aiment cependant les arts sans trop vouloir les
approfondir, avaient le droit de l'exiger, si Mrs. Jameson
n'avait ete avant tout un ecrivain d'un tact exquis, d'un
gout parfait, qui juge les peintres en vdritable connoisseur
et en parle en femme de monde.
The series of dramas illustrative of 'Social Life
in Germany,' published under that title, and translated from the German of the Princess Amelia of
Saxony, came out this year, but was not, I believe,
a success, pecuniarily speaking; nor did any of the
plays, however in themselves pleasing and characteristic, prove to be adapted, as Mrs. Jameson had
been encouraged to expect, for the tastes and requirements of an English audience.
The success of the 'Companion to the Private
Galleries' induced Mrs. Jameson to arrange with
Mr. Murray for the issue of a work in similar form
under the title of a ' Handbook to the Public
Galleries in and near London.' This came out in
January 1842, and the 'Atheneum' early in the
following month dedicated its leading article to a
favourable review of Mrs. Jameson's 'Handbook,'
giving abundant extracts and a large meed of praise,
and concluding by describing it as 'one of the best




r76


ANNA JAMESON.


executed works which has been turned out in these
days of broken literary promises and unperformed
literary duties.'
The autumn of 1841 Mrs. Jameson had spent
in Paris, studying early art in all its forms for the
work above alluded to, and also with an eye to the
more important work still, which had been for years
in  contemplation.  To her sister Charlotte    she
wrote:
The great event of my life here has been the meeting
with Rio.1 I have introduced him to Mrs. Forster, and to
her son-in-law, M. de Triqueti, and all parties are so delighted with each other that I have had cordial thanks on
both sides for being the means of making them known to
each other. M. de Triqueti is a fine artist, a sculptor,
and altogether an admirable creature. He had previously
fallen in love with Rio's book, and now I think it will prove
an eternal friendship. I am in the Louvre every day at
least, studying, and that so carefully that I am not yet
beyond the Italian school in the Salle des Tableaux, nor
beyond the first room in the Galerie des Dessins, and I
have not set foot in the Gallery of Sculpture. I have
twice been at the Louvre with Rio and De Triqueti at my
elbow, and have profited accordingly. I have only been
to the Opera once, and I am going to see 'Rachel' tonight, and this, I think, comprises my whole history sin e
I have been here.
Of M. de Triqueti Mrs. Jameson also wrote
about this time to her friend Noel, saying:
1 Author of La Podsie chrdtienne.




'I HAVE LOVE AND WORK ENOUGH.'                177
I have made the acquaintance of a sculptor here, who
more than any other being I ever met with, one excepted,'
fulfils my idea of an artist; nay, he is more artist, perhaps,
but less robust in mind, and with a narrower circle of
faculties, but as an artist exquisitely endowed. His name
is Henri de Triqueti; he is happily married, has children,
is independent, exists but for his art and his affections.
You will hear of him some day; he has done such beautiful things! This artist, and a very agreeable and accomplished literary woman, Italian by birth, are my only new
acquisitions. I do not like new things of any kind, not
even a new gown, far less a new acquaintance, therefore
make as few as possible; one can but have one's heart and
hands full, and mine are. I have love and work enough
to last me the rest of my life.
I have read the accounts of your somnambulist, and am
much interested; but I am still incredulous, because I
have not yet seen anything which has forced conviction
on me, and in this case nothing but seeing is believing.
No experiments on myself have succeeded, and none that
I ever witnessed have satisfied me. When I am with you
at Rosawitz, we will enter on the subject, and you shall
convince me, for I am open to conviction. The mere contemplation of the subject, with all its possible bearings and
results, strikes me with perplexity, wonder, and awe.
Mr. Noel has appended a note to this letter, in
which he states that the somnambulist above referred to was a so-called ideo-somnambulist, and had
1 I believe she here alludes to their mutual friend, the sculptor
Henry Behnes Burlowe, whose career had been cut short during the
fearful cholera season in Rome, 1837, and whose remains were interred
in the Protestant cemetery there.
N




I78


ANNA JAMESON.


never been subjected to experiments. When at
a later period Mrs. Jameson was made acquainted
with the singular phenomena which had been observed, she was very much interested in the case.
One more letter of hers I have found of this
date. addressed to her favourite youngest sister, her
dearly loved 'little Charlotte,' giving, as usual in all
her charming home letters, details that bring her
inner simplicity of life and character before us:
A thousand thanks (she writes) for your most welcome
comfortable letter! I go on much more quietly, and mind
my business more effectually, when I am at ease about my
dear home, though, in the excess of my self-conceit, I
wonder how papa can possibly exist without 'his little
Anna.' I begin to be uneasy about my letters, those,
which are lying at home for me; and if, dear Charlotte,
you could take them down to Mrs. Montagu, and ask her
if she could forward them by Count de Revel, it would be
a comfort to me. I think they might be made up into two
packets, and so forwarded; but to pay ten or twelve shillings postage I cannot afford, for my money is going fast, and
I must keep what will take me home. My time goes, as
usual, in the Louvre, and making notes, and buying old
books about the saints and the Fine Arts, in which only I
have been rather extravagant.
Monday last I went to Versailles, breakfasted there with
M. and Mme. Rio, and then spent the day at the Palace,
walking through it rather than seeing anything particular. I must go again and examine more carefully the
historical portraits, of which there are five hundred or
more.




'I HA VE LOVE AND fWORK ENOUI-H.'      179
Can you find out when Adelaide Kemble makes her
dibut at Covent Garden?
After this period of study and research, Mrs.
Jameson returned to London for the Christmas of
I84I.  The words from her own letter, which I
have ventured to place at the head of this chapter,
describe the actual condition of things with her
better than any other words could possibly attempt
to do. The work was incessant and laborious, but
the love was of that gentle domestic kind which
makes little show of itself, and is in very few instances
so complete a sustenance for the heart as it proved
in her case. To few persons well on in the course
of middle life would the clinging affection of mother
and sisters, the adoration of a sick and sometimes
exacting father, to whom this woman, already conscious of the pressure of years on her own head,
was still his 'little Anna,' be 'love enough' to console for all the deprivations of fate. But it is well
to have an instance now and then that family affection is capable of bearing even such a test. Literary
women have had at all times a large share of the
easy ridicule of the inconsiderate, and have been
often held up to the admiration of the world as
'emancipating' themselves from common ties. How
many among them have been the support and stay
of their families, the one bread-winner upon whom
many helpless or disabled relatives depended, it is not
N? 2




ISO


ANNA JAMES0N


for me to say; though I believe the number is out
of all proportion to that of family benefactors in any
other class. But I may be permitted, as a member
of this individual family in question, to say how
entirely it hung upon this one gifted daughter, who
loyally stood by every member of it in all their
difficulties, and kept the household roof sacred, and
had nothing so much at heart as to secure its happiness. This was my aunt's first thought at all times,
and with all the recollections which my memory
cherishes of her love and tenderness, the sense that
amid the impoverishments of her life she still had
'love enough' to strengthen her for the heat and
burden of the day is to myself inexpressibly
touching, and cannot be without interest, it seems to
me, to all sympathetic minds.
This family life, however, was about to receive a
melancholy check and change.   The father, who
had been a source of so much anxiety for many
years, and whose danger had already more than
once called her from the midst of serious occupations
and interests, which she had never hesitated to resign at this call, had now reached the end of his
lingering malady, and died a few months after her
return from France, in March of the year i842,
leaving the mother and two sisters altogether dependent upon Mrs. Jameson's care. Of a loss so
natural, so long expected, and now so far back in the




'I HAVE L0VE AND WORK ENOUG.'             I81
mist of years, there is very little more than the fact
to record; but I may quote here a letter of Miss
Martineau's on the subject, which gives a gratifying
tribute to my grandfather's powers as an artist, and
at the same time represents the writer herself in a
more friendly and amiable light than her posthumous reflections upon all her friends have left upon
her memory how.     The letter is written from her
sick-room, before the cure which made so much
noise in the world, and is dated March 26, I842
For weeks I have wanted to write to you, but I have
been too ill to write to anybody, except necessary notes in
pencil. When I mention blistering and salivating, I shall
have said enough. I hope I am at last rising to my usual
state, but I should have waited much longer if I had not
heard, first of your increased distress about your father, and
now of his release. I cannot but hope that you will all soon
feel peaceful because he is at rest. Long, long has been his
and your suffering, and your present blank will soon be
filled up with a grateful sense of rest for him and for
yourselves. I and mine had an interest in him besides
his being your father. He knew from us how everlastingly obliged we felt to him for the precious likeness he
made for us of our most beloved brother, who died in
I824. Mr. Murphy was interested in him, as everybody
was, and proved it by presenting his very soul in the portrait. Never was there a truer likeness; and the comfort
and pleasure it has been to all of us ever since, no words
can tell.
I hope Mr. Murphy was able to know of the success
of your ' Handbook.'  How pleased I was to see the




i82             ANNA4 JAMESON
'Athenaeum' notice of it, and some others! It must be
about as difficult a work to do well as one could set himself to, requiring a variety of powers of knowledge, and
thoroughly good judges seem to think you have done it.
Yet, in spite of Miss Martineau's congratulations
on the success of the ' Handbook,' her sympathies
were not heartily with Mrs. Jameson's art labours
at any time. Art was no weakness of hers, and in a
letter dated shortly before, she had written d Projos
of this very work: ' Do have done with your mechanical work as soon as you can, and give us more
of your own mind. Till then I rest on your Canada
book, which is very dear to me.'
The only other record I find of her father's death
is contained in the following letter to Miss Sedgwick,
who by this time had returned to her home in Massachusetts.
It is long since I have written to you, dearest Catherine,
long since I have heard from you.  One might as well
have one's friend in heaven as across the Atlantic.  I
know not what has come over me of late. I try to be
cheerful and see things from a bright point of view; but
do you remember what I once, and more than once, have
said to you, that absence and partings have been the curses
of my existence?  I am afraid I have neither religion
enough, nor philosophy enough, nor youth enough, nor
life enough, to exist through faith in the absent and the
distant and the invisible; and when I take up the pen to
write to you, I am so painfully struck by the hopelessness
of our separation in this world, that I could almost throw




'I HA VE LOVE AND WORK ENO UGH'


T83


it down again with an 'a quoi bon.?' And then the past
comes over me again, and I see your kind, affectionate face
before me, and I feel that I cannot afford to be forgotten
by you, my good and dear friend.
When I wrote to you last, my father's life was fast
hurrying to a close. About a fortnight later he died. You
know all this, perhaps, and you ought to have heard it
from myself. But-I know not why or how it was-I could
not write. I had prepared you for it, and I knew you
would hear it. There was terrible previous suffering, a
long, gradual agony; but the last few hours were peaceful
and without pain. He was conscious, and his mind and
affections alive, till within twenty-four hours of his death.
I have since had much to arrange, and am now in the
midst of trouble and perplexity; but all will be clear
before me soon.
Of our mutual friends here Mrs. Grote has spent the
winter abroad, and returned home only within these few
days, looking thin and worn, but her mind full to overflowing, and her heart as warm as ever. Mrs. Austin is
settled at Dresden. My principal comfort through all the
misery of the last six months has been in the constant
kindness and affection of Lady Byron. When I run over
thus the list of my friends, and add my mother and family,
can you not imagine with what feelings I contemplate the
expediency of going to Germany? The parting with Lady
Byron will cost me most; it will be a pang, a wrench, like
an uprooting.




184


24ANNA JAMESON.




CHAPTER VII.
FRIENDS.
MR. MURPHY'S death made several family changes
possible and expedient.  Her mother and sisters
became now Mrs. Jameson's chief care. The house
which they had. occupied at Notting Hill was given
up, and the family established themselves in a
smaller house at Ealing. During all this time her
own desire to go abroad for some years had never
been abandoned, as the frequent allusions, and, indeed, perpetual plans and preparations, show; and
the new habitation was chosen rather for the comfort and quiet of the family than for her own.
Possibly the near neighbourhood to Lady Byron's
house, Fordhook, had suggested the choice of the
then small village of Ealing as a residence to
which she herself might come to rest from time to
time.' But her fixed plan was to go to Germany
and Italy. She had, indeed, many inducements for
1 Lady Byron quitted Fordhook for Esher in the course of this
year.




.XRf IEDS.


I185


this much-desired journey; not only the desire to
meet once more friends to whom she was warmly
attached, but the intention of preparing more adequately for the work she had been for a long time
turning over in her mind, the series of volumes that
proved the most important undertaking of her life,
her books upon 'Sacred and Legendary Art.'
But delay after delay intervened, and the scheme
of travel she had at heart was not even commenced
till three years later.
I will endeavour here to give some idea of the
friendships which were the solace of my aunt's life
at this period of her career. By right of age, and
because of the great reputation as a poet which was
once so willingly conceded to her, and which it is now
so difficult to realise, the first is Mrs. Joanna Baillie,
from whom (in addition to the one already given)
I may quote one or two letters, in which the kind,
courteous, sensible old Scotch gentlewoman is more
apparent than the poet. On one of my aunt's visits
to Hampstead, shortly after this time, she took me,
then a child, and just beginning to enter upon the
privilege I afterwards enjoyed more fully of going
with her wherever she went, as her companion.
The idea of going to see the authoress of
'De Montfort' and 'Basil,' the tragic verse that
had fed my childish fancy for the mysterious and
poetical, was in itself somewhat awful. But when




I86


ANNVA JAAMES0.


we reached the little house in which the sisters
lived, I am not sure that the relief with which I
found myself nestling to the side of a gently-smiling,
white-haired old lady, whose dignity could condescend to amuse her child-visitor with tales of the
second sight and thrilling ghost stories which she
had heard from Sir Walter Scott, all-puissant authority to her small listener, was not slightly
tinctured with disappointment. It was a disillusion
to an imaginative child, fed upon poetry from her
earliest years, to find one whom she had heard
spoken of as a great poet, only, after all, a kind old
lady, though one of the kindest of the kind. The
other old lady of the house, the Sister Agnes, to
whom Mrs. Joanna devoted her tenderest care, and
who sat by the fireside, wearing, always, the quaintest
of black bonnets, was a bewildering figure, and occupied a large place in the confused recollections of
the visit so much looked forward to.
Now, indeed, the fact of having spent a day at
Hampstead with Joanna Baillie, comes back to the
memory as one of the pleasantest recollections of a
lifetime; the simplicity, in itself heroic, of the poet
and her surroundings, can be appreciated better
than at that early age when the ideal appeared
somewhat trenched on by the real, and the tragic
muse in domestic life suffered some loss of starry
effulgence.




FRIENDS.


I87


The letter which I quote is dated November
1842, and shows us something of the other friend
to whom both the writer and her correspondent
clung so affectionately, and of their feelings towards
her:
MY DEAR MRS. JAMESON,-I thank you for your very
kind note received yesterday, along with a short despatch
from Lady Byron, and some very mournful letters from
America, informing me of the death of Dr. Channing. I
would scarcely write to you now, were I not afraid that
you might have left Esher if I delayed. The verses you
have been kind enough to transcribe for me are beautiful,'
and were they found among any new version of Wordsworth's poems, they would be very much admired. The
leading thought that runs through the whole is true and
striking, and, I think, original. Yet I have verses of hers
that I like still better. She is, ' take her for all in all,' a
very extraordinary creature. The lines on your portrait
by your father I shall be very glad to see, and in looking
at the miniature itself I will take my chance of all the
changes you threaten me with.  A looking-forward face
has the advantage no doubt in expression, but your looking-back face has gained in variety what it may have lost
in eager anticipation, and we have no right to find fault
with it at all.
I must now return to what has for hours past most
occupied my thoughts, the loss we have all sustained in
the death of that highly gifted and excellent man. He
has done the present generation much good, and, had he
been spared in the world, might have done much more.


This refers to a little poem by Lady Byron.




88


ANNA JAMESON:


The brightness of his character had a sweetness belonging
to it akin to the beings of a better world, to which he was
constantly pointing the way. Miss Sedgwick has given me
some account of his last illness, and it was very kind in
her to write, for her eyes are so weak she is forbid to do
so, and she has had great affliction from deaths in her own
family.
The account you give of your friend Miss Martineau is
very interesting, and one cannot but admire her more than
ever, bearing up so nobly under circumstances that would
have depressed almost everyone else I feel myself greatly
flattered by her kind remembrance. Little did I think
during that last short visit how much suffering lay before
her, and that we (for so it must be) should never meet
again.
I have already referred several times to the enthusiastic friendship which had sprung up between
my aunt and Lady Byron. Almost all the leisure she
had from her many occupations was spent with Lady
Byron, either at Esher, from which favourite residence
the pretty pair of chestnuts came often to the nest at
Ealing to carry back M\rs. Jameson across the quiet
country roads, or in London, or at Brighton; and
in the intervals of personal intercourse an incessant
correspondence was maintained between them. The
remarkable woman of whom the world has heard so
much. and knows so little, had evidently seized
upon Mrs. Jameson's imagination as well as her
heart. Lady Byron's character was a source of unfailing and unceasing wonder and admiration to her,




J-di EDS.


x89


claiming the interest of an intellectual problem, as
well as the love of devoted friendship.  At first
beginning it was, perhaps, the interest rather than
the warmer tie between them that chiefly shows
itself in the constant references to Lady Byron in
Mrs. Jameson's letters; but the affection grew more
absorbing as time went on, and at the period (i844)
which we have now reached, it was in its fullest
tide. The sphinx-woman, so continually wondered
at in her lifetime, so unhappily betrayed after her
death, to whom at first my aunt does not seem to
have been attracted except by the curious interest
which a character so impenetrable always awakens,
had so far unfolded herself as to win the warmest
sympathy and tenderness of a mind so attuned to
friendship.
What amount of confidence there was between
them  on subjects only too painfully discussed
since then, I am happily unable to say. Mirs.
Jameson was singularly free from all inclination
towards the miserable investigations of social scandal.  Her friend, afterwards her neighbour, the
noble lady, so distinguished as the poet's wife, so
impressive as the poet's widow, mysterious in attraction and repulsion, an historical character though
a living woman, was to myself one of the awful but
beneficent deities to whom youth looks up with instinctive dread, yet with dumb criticism. Her name




10o


ANNA JAMESON.


cannot be passed over without a word.  That, at
least, her strange fate has secured her, whether or
not the veil that is over her life may ever be fairly
and honestly withdrawn.
There is scarcely a letter of this period which
has not some allusion in it to 'Lady B.,' whose
share in everything Mrs. Jameson was doing or
thinking seems to have been taken as a matter of
course.
And it was during the course of this summer
that Mrs. Jameson made the acquaintance of Miss
Barrett, I believe through the good offices of Mr.
Kenyon, their mutual friend.  Mrs. Jameson was
at the time staying with Miss Caroline Kindersley,
at 51 Wimpole Street, next door to the house in
which Miss Barrett resided. This early period of
their acquaintance produced a multitude of tiny
notes in fairy handwriting, such as Miss Barrett was
wont to indite to her friends, and which are still in
existence. Some of these are most charming and
characteristic, and illustrate the rise and rapid increase of a friendship that never faltered or grew
cool from that time up to the death of Mrs.
Jameson.
One of the first which I have found addressed
to ' dear Mrs. Jameson,' a name speedily changed,
as circumstances brought them into closer intercourse, for one more endearing and familiar, play



9


FRIENDS.


I91


fully discusses the writer's loss of voice, which was
one of the occasional troubles of her invalid condition:
I am used to lose my voice and find it again (Miss
Barrett writes), until the vicissitude comes to appear as
natural to me as the post itself.... You are not to think
that I should not have been delighted to have you in a
monodram, as I heard Mr. Kenyon one morning when he
came and talked for an hour, as he can talk, while the
audience could only clap her hands or shake her head for
the yea and nay. I should have been delighted to be just
such an audience to you, but with you I was too much a
stranger to propose such a thing, and the necessary silence
might have struck you, I thought, as ungrateful and uncomprehending.  But now I am not dumb any longer,
only hoarse, and whenever I can hear your voice it will be
better for me altogether.
Amid all these new relationships, however, the
most constant and lasting of all, my aunt's intimacy
with Mr. Noel and his wife, continued fervent and
faithful as ever-a friendship full of mutual good
offices, as will be seen from the following letter:
Do not send me any German translations which are
not your own, and, above all, no tales. Letters or essays
which should give some account of art or literature might
be available, or, indeed, any information on which I could
depend, however expressed, would be welcome to me; but
there are in London such a colony of translators and small
literati-Americans, Germans, English, there is no end
and I cannot mix myself up with them. It is a scramble,




192


ANNA JAMESON.


a competition, to supply the cheap libraries, periodicals, &c.,
which exceeds everything heretofore known.
Have you heard that Combe has written an article on
'Phrenology' applied to the Fine Arts? It reminds me
sorrowfully of those no more, of the past-but neither on
this will I dwell. There is another book of which a new
edition is published, which has a great interest for me,
'The Anatomy of Expression,' by Sir Charles Bell, the
famous surgeon.  Do you know it?   I am living here
quietly, but only within these few days have I been capable
of anything. I am engaged on a book which describes
and explains the literature of the Middle Ages, as illustrated in painting, &c. This is not in your way at all,
and is even contrary to all your cherished views and pursuits
-this looking backward instead of looking forward. But
such are my tastes. Art in all its forms is my only consolation. I leave philosophy and philanthropy to you and
Lady B.
To resume, however, in something like chronological order-the beginning of the year 1843 was
full of the same ever repeated, but for the most part
impracticable, plans. The year that had just come
to a close had been clouded with considerable anxiety
and doubt as to the prospects of the family and
her own capability of steering them safely through
the storms and troubles of the moment-doubts
which, however, were always conquered by cheerful
courage and labour, in neither of which does she
ever fail.  Her own letters will sufficiently show
the state of her mind and circumstances after all she
had gone through:




FRIENDS.


93


Ealing, 7atuary 2, I843.-The first letter I write this
new year shall be to you, my friends; and I pray God bless
you both with all my heart, this year and every year.
One of the best wishes I could form for myself would be
that we may meet. I can but do my best, for a heavy
responsibility lies on me. Very glad am I to see the end
of old '42, and thankful to stand firm upon my feet in this
working-day world, for I have had some severe struggles
this past year.  But they are over, thank God, and my
view into the next year is not discouraging.
I have not seen Lady B. for some time, a fortnight or
three weeks; but I hear from her constantly. I can tell
you, for your comfort, that since her very serious illness in
August and September, which frightened me in earnest,
she has been gradually improving in health and looks, and
is now better in every respect than I have ever seen her.
I think her greatest care is Lady Lovelace's health. She
is far from well or strong.  They, are very happy together.
Early in March Mrs. Jameson writes
My own situation is not at present very happy, except in
this, that I have done all I set myself to do last year. I must
confine myself for this next year to the most rigid economy,
in order to meet the demands on me, and then I am free.
I calculate that towards the end of this year I shall have
paid every debt of my father and sisters, and have insured
my life for 6ool. When this is done, I am a free woman,
but not till then. My mother's health is not good. I am
living with her in a little cottage in which our grandest
room is perhaps some twelve feet square. We are about
seven miles from town. I go occasionally for a day or
two, but most of my time is spent in writing and study.
0o




I94


ANNA JAM-ESON.


And a few weeks later she says:
I go on much as usual, thinking with a sigh of all my
German projects, of you and Rosawitz, of my dear Ottilie.
But one must do one's duty, and from England I cannot
go yet. My position is not a happy one, but neither is it
unhappy. I take interest in my work of every kind; and
have many things in hand.
In this year it was that Mrs. Jameson first took
a part in those politico-moral discussions, specially
on subjects affecting women, which called forth so
warm an interest in her mind in after years. That
she had already thought much on the subject is
sufficiently apparent from many eloquent passages
in her published works, and in the striking reflec-,tions upon home life and the special characteristics
of women in various countries with which her
readers were already familiar. But she had not
yet dared the dangers of popular controversy, nor
shown herself in a field where women in general
meet with but little mercy, and often scant justice.
Her attention, however, had been attracted by the
report of the commissioners specially appointed to
investigate the subject of the employment of young
children in the mining and manufacturing districts,
and she could no longer keep silence, but added
her indignant protest to the facts there recorded.
The same report had been the inspiration of the
poem called the 'Cry of the Children,' written




FRIEN-VDS.


I95


by Elizabeth Barrett, whose fame was then yet at
its dawning; and at the same time had stirred
the hearts of all reading and thinking women
throughout the country.   Mrs. Jameson took up
the subject of the condition of the women and female children, with all the earnest fervour and broad
Christian courage of expression, that such a topic
invariably inspired her with, then and thereafter.
The article itself was published in the columns of
the 'Athenaeum.' She speaks of this in one of her
letters to Mr. Noel with much earnest feeling:
There was a paper of mine in the 'Athenaeum' last
Saturday on the condition of the women of the lower
classes in England, which I should have liked you and
Louisa to have read. We are in a strange condition in
this country; things are ripening (or rottening) into a change
of some kind.
In the autumn, Mrs. Jameson went away from
London for a couple of months' rest from her daily
toils and anxieties. She was tempted to prolong
her absence for a longer period than she had contemplated, and gives a rdsumd of her experiences in
a letter to her favourite correspondent, in the latter
part of which will be found a little outburst of her
Irish patriotism.
Eating, December 7, I 843.-My journey to Scotland was
accidental. I left town on account of my health and my
eyes, much overworked and tired out. At Malvern I
0 2




I96


ANNA JAMESON.


met Lady Byron and Mrs. Harry Siddons, and spent a
week there; then went to the Bracebridges and to Lord
Hatherton's; and then my friend Lady Monson caught me
up in Staffordshire, and took me into Berwickshire. There
I spent a quiet month at a lovely spot called Carolside, in
the neighbourhood of Abbotsford, Dryburgh, Melrose, the
Lammermoors, and other scenes of ballad and romance.
Thence I went to Edinburgh, and spent a week with Mrs.
Harry Siddons and her daughter. I had never known
Mrs. Siddons before; you, dear Noel, will be pleased to
hear that we are become fast friends. I found her all I
had liked to fancy her from your description and Lady
Byron's-gentle, refined, good in the inmost foldings of her
heart, one who had looked on life thoughtfully; while the
artistic colouring which her profession and pursuits had
shed over her mind and character was to me an additional
charm. I took leave of Mrs. Harry with a sad feeling, for
it is too true that her health is failing, and more rapidly
than those who most love her are aware of. But she is
herself prepared for all things.
On my return to London a fortnight ago, I found Lady
Byron looking rather better than usual, and her mind principally occupied by cares for her grandchildren, whom she
has taken on her hands till Christmas, I believe.
It has struck me that the enclosed letter may be of use
to you, that a translation or redaction of it might be published in Germany. It was written by Harriet Martineau,
and is addressed to the sympathisers with Repeal. It
appears to me to be a very clever rezsume of the state of
Ireland with regard to parties, and would enable German
sympathisers, and those who read Mr. Kohl's very clever
and amusing but rather superficial book of travels in
Ireland, to judge better of the present state of things. I
must observe, however, that though I do not myself wish




FRIENDS.


I97


for the disunion of the two countries, my feelings are with
O'Connell and the people. There is an old Scotch proverb
which says, 'Mint at a golden gown and ye'll get the
sleeve o't'-in other words, cry out 'Repeal' (or rather
'Repale') and you'll get some of that justice and redress
which has been for centuries withheld from you. And
then the moral courage which the people have shown, their
self-denial. Admirable, generous people! I am really
proud of my countrymen. Miserable, ignorant, ragged
though they be, they are the only people in Europe now
who are acting simultaneously on a high principle; among
whom poetry is not a thing of words, but of act and
deed.
To this same journey north refers a letter from
Joanna Baillie, dated Hampstead, November 3,
replying evidently to some slight animadversions on
her beloved native land, frankly indulged in by
Mrs. Jameson, who had found herself in Edinburgh
for the first time, of all days in the year, on the anniversary of the General Fast.  I give this letter of
my aunt's venerable friend in its entirety, though I
am warned by friends of my own that Mrs. Joanna's
opinions  about   Scotch  contemporary  historyopinions confessedly formed on hearsay-are not
much to be relied upon, and show no very profound
understanding of the subject involved.
MY DEAR MRS. JAMESON,-Next to enjoying the varied
views of a beloved and romantic land with one's own eyes,
to think that a friend is enjoying them is the greatest
pleasure, particularly one so well fitted to describe them as




198


ANNA JAAMESON.


yourself. I was thinking of you in the meantime as with
your family at Ealing, or wandering with some friend
along the coasts of Kent or Sussex. But you have been
better off (don't be offended with me for saying so), and I
am much obliged to yoV for your friendly and reviving
letter. I may well say reviving, for we have been stationary on the Hill ever since we last saw you, while the
greater part of our intimate neighbours have been scattered
about on the continent and watering-places nearer home.
The latter part of the time, too, has been passed in a confusion of note-writing and applications to get a poor boy
elected into the London Orphan Asylum, and truly we are
quite tired of it. My sister took the most active part of
the business, and I am thankful to say it has not done her
any harm. We are both as well as usual.
You will hear about Lady Byron from Mrs. Henry
Siddons, who was much with her in the north of England
not long ago. I am very glad to hear from you that her
malady, in the opinion of her medical adviser, may yet be
grappled with and overcome. I heartily agree with all
your good wishes for her. She is a most respectable as well
as agreeable woman, and has conducted herself through a
life of many cares and troubles in a very exemplary
manner. Pray offer her my kindest remembrances when
you meet.
I feel mournfully what you say of the moral state of
my country, contrasted with its beauty and grandeur. You
have come to it at an unhappy time, when people are all
quarrelling about religion, and everyone thinks himself or
herself wiser than their neighbours; and the lay patrons of
the various parishes are replacing the clergy who have
seceded with others as wrong-headed and bigoted, to
please the people. So I hear from an intelligent friend
who generally views these subjects with great calmness. I




e E  N D S.


199


remember well in old times the stillness of a Fast-day, but
it was a stillness of solemnity, not of form; and the sacrament being given in most parishes as a yearly commemoration of the greatest event that ever took place upon
earth, the people received from it a deeper impression than
we may suppose they do in this country, where it is administered every month.
I now take my leave, dear Mrs. Jameson, wishing you
much joy of what remains to you of your Scotch excursions, and giving you many thanks for so kindly thinking
of me in your visits to the mountains and the muirs.
Come back well, and accept my sister's best wishes and
love along with mine.
Affectionately yours,
J. BAILLIE.
After these allusions to my aunt's visit to Scotland, I cannot refrain from quoting here a beautiful
scrap from her 'Commonplace Book,' embodying the
reflections of a summer Sunday at the place named
in her letter to Mr. Noel, Carolside:
This present Sunday I set off with the others to walk
to church, but was late; I could not keep up with the
pedestrians, and, not to delay them, I turned back. I
wandered down the hill path to the river bank, and crossed
the little bridge and strolled along, pensive, yet with no
definite or continuous subject of thought.
How beautiful it was, how tranquil! not a cloud in the
blue sky, not a breath of air. 'And where the dead leaf
fell there did it rest; ' but so still it was that scarce a
single leaf did flutter or fall, though the narrow pathway
along the water's edge was already encumbered with heaps
of decaying foliage.




200


ANNA JAMESON.


Everywhere around the autumnal tints prevailed, except in one sheltered place under the towering cliff, where
a single tree, a magnificent lime, still flourished in summer
luxuriance with not a leaf turned or shed. I stood still
opposite, looking on it quietly for a long time; it seemed
to me a guardian Dryad would not suffer it to be defaced.
Then I turned, for close beside me sounded the soft, halfsuppressed warble of a bird, sitting on a leafless spray
which seemed to bend with its tiny weight. Some lines
which I used to love in my childhood came into my mind,
blending softly with the presences around me:
The little bird now, to salute the morn,
Upon the naked branches sets her foot,
The leaves still lying at the mossy root,
And there a silly chirruping doth keep,
As if she fain would sing, yet fain would weep;
Praising fair summer that too soon is g, ne,
And sad for winter too soon coming on!
The river, where I stood, taking an abrupt turn, ran
wimpling by; not as I had seen it but a few days before,
rolling tumultuously, the dead leaves whirling in its eddies,
swollen and turbid with the mountain torrents, making one
think of the kelpies, the water wraiths, and such uncanny
things, but gentle, transparent, and flashing in the low
sunlight. Even the barberries drooping with rich crimson
clusters over the little pools near the bank, and reflected
in them as in a mirror, I remember vividly, as a part of
the exquisite loveliness which seemed to melt into my life.
For such moments we are grateful; we feel then what God
can do for us, and what man can not.-Carolside, November 5, 1843.
In the meanwhile, though Mrs. Jameson says
little about it, and only one allusion to it in a letter
to Mr. Noel will be found among the quotations I




RaIE NDS.


201


have made, her mind was occupied with the great
work commenced in 1842, though planned long previous to that date, and 'often laid aside and resumed,'
which was to increase her reputation so greatly, and
upon which, indeed, at the present it may be said
chiefly to rest. It would not be easy to over-estimate the varied and careful study, the minute research, the strain of observation and recollection,
which such a work made necessary. For years past
her collection of notes and tracings of the multifarious subjects which were found indispensable to
illustrate the work, had been carried on steadily,
whatever might be the minor labours which occupied
her. Though she had been tempted towards the
field of philanthropic politics, it was still true, as she
herself says, that art was her only consolation, and
without any diminution of interest in the public
questions which at a later period occupied so much
of her thoughts, the first and favourite topic for
which she had shown so much instinctive taste in
her very earliest productions, before her art education could be said to have begun, always held the
mastery. She has herself recorded ' the pleasure I
took in a task so congenial,' and has described her
studies as ' a source of vivid enjoyment.' At all
times she speaks of her interest in her work as one
of the greatest satisfactions of her life.
In October news came from Germany of a




202


ANNA JAMESOA.


terrible sorrow that had come upon the Goethe
family.  Mrs, Jameson's dear friend Ottilie lost
her only daughter-a lovely girl of seventeen-by
a sharp and sudden attack of malignant fever. In
a letter to Mr. Noel, dated October 21, Mrs. Jameson speaks of this unexpected affliction, and goes on
to say:
This must be a melancholy letter. About ten days
ago Mrs. Henry Siddons came up from Cheltenham to
London for the purpose of enduring an operation.' She
bore it most serenely, and for a time all seemed well. But
a day or two afterwards there was an unfavourable turn,
and for the last week we have been in the most painful
anxiety. There is no hope of ultimate cure or return to
health. At the moment I write this she is a little less
souffrcavte; our best hope is existence protracted, without
much pain, perhaps for a few weeks. She is the most
gentle of human beings, one of the best and purest natures
I ever met with, and true to her character to the last.
Lady Byron was with her during the operation, supported
her through it, and has ever since been at hand. I am in
a manner with both, for Lady Byron requires almost as
much watching as her friend; and what will be the issue
of so much emotion and fatigue, and the horrible London
atmosphere, I dread to think.
The anxiety felt concerning Mrs. Henry Siddons terminated in her death about a week later;
and early in December Mrs. Jameson writes to the
same correspondent:


1 For dropsy.




FRIENDS.


203


The date of your last letter (Oct. 31), dearest Noel,
was the day on which Mrs. Henry Siddons was buried
in the Grey Friars Church at Edinburgh.  She died in
London after ten days of suffering, and her death was worthy
of her life. The serenity, the tenderness, the unselfish
sweetness of her character, the same to the last; resigned
to all, thoughtful of others, grateful for every proof of
affection; the lofty tone of her mind unimpaired through
the long days of pain and suspense-thus she died.
Mrs. Mair (Lizzie) and her good husband arrived from
Edinburgh while she was yet sensible. Lady Byron and
myself and another devoted friend, Emily Taylor, were
near her. Though my intimacy with her was comparatively
recent, I do not and cannot recover from the impression
left by her last moments. I had strongly attached myself
to her, and felt the full value of the high moral tone, the
gentle benignity, the poetical refinement, of her character.
All the world is talking of Harriet Martineau's cure by
mesmerism. I say nothing because everyone is saying too
much, and her last letter in the 'Athenaeum ' is imperfect
as evidence. I hardly know what to say at all, for she is
my friend, and a wonderfully gifted woman.
Of this 'cure by mesmerism' Miss Martineau
herself wrote a succinct history in a letter to my
aunt-a letter full of the vigour of new life,
and strangely contrasting with letters sent a few
months previously, breathing indeed resignation,
but unillumined by one ray of hope for the future.
I may quote a paragraph or two from one of these
cheerful but entirely invalid letters, as contrasting




204


ANNA JAMESON


with the confidence which filled her mind after her
cure
How delicious (she writes) this July is! flowers strewing
my rooms, mowing and haymaking going on on the downs,
and the sea all diamond-glittering, and my little nephews
shrimping, promising me fifty-four shrimps for tea, as we
had yesterday. It is a new idea to me, counting shrimps,
but it sounds grander than 'a gill.' The little fellows
have grown so handsome since they came to me, as brown
as gipsies. And our talk is high as heaven, by moonlight when their day's pranks are over.
Speaking, too, of the thoughtful kindness of
many friends, of the present sent her by one among
theseMrs. Reid, dear soul! has sent me the best present any
good genius could devise for a prisoner-a fine stand
telescope. I range many miles over sea and land, and spy
among the stars. I see every net the fishermen draw, and
the sailors on the yards, and the flags of all nations, and
every cove and cavern along the shore, and the reapers in
the field, the lovers on the rocks, the sportsmen on the
heath, the cattle in the farmyards, for miles; and the town
of Shields (whenever I chance to look that way); and,
what is very pretty, ships going out of harbour with their
cheering crews, and their sweethearts on the wharves. I
see the daisies and dandelions on the down, and the pranks
of all the boys and goats in Tynremouth. I spend hours
at that telescope!
With all the consolations and pleasures so pleasantly described, it is evident that the writer was




R IEArDS.


205


looking forward to nothing beyond a continuation,
for the remainder of her existence, of the ' life in a
sick-room' she had already rendered familiar to
her readers.
Miss Martineau's disapproval of the publication
of letters is well known; and I have hesitated as to
the printing even of the following, selected from
among her many communications to my aunt. But
perhaps, as the letter itself is evidently written
with the intention of being handed from one to
another of a band of friends, and as in her recently
published biography there has been no apparent
restraint in the production of letters, it seems unnecessary to act rigidly upon a wish which Miss
Martineau's representatives have not themselves
respected.  The letter is specially interesting as
showing the warm bond of friendly feeling among
the different members of this literary circle, as well
as for its account of the much-discussed ' cure.' ' I
am more and more bewildered by the whole sllbject,' Miss Barrett had written. 'I wish I could
disbelieve it all, except that Harriet Martineau is
well.'
Tynemouth.
DEAR MRS. JAMESON,-On Monday I charged Mrs.
Grote with my whole story for you. I had been quite
uneasy not to tell you and Lady Byron; but I heard you
were both wandering, and Mrs. Grote promised you should
hear it all. (Ask her anything you like.) Meantime, as




2o6


ANNWA JAMESON.


I sent it to Emily Taylor through her sister, I hoped it
would reach you.
The word 'recovered' is much too strong at present.
The rest, as in your note, is true. It surprises me less
than you. I long ago knew mesmerism to be true. But
I never supposed I could try it here. My good doctor
himself brought over the mesmerist who first proved me
susceptible; and I hear from him to-day that he has announced to his colleagues at the Newcastle Infirmary his
intention of introducing trials of mesmerism there, in preparation for operations to test the truth; to which they all
assented. So now something more will be proved.
The first trial was on the 22nd June. From that day
I have been regularly mesmerised twice a day by my
maid Margaret till three weeks since, and now by a benevolent lady who is with me for the purpose of seeing how
far the experiment can be carred. (As in all such cases,
without fee or reward) I first recovered appetite and lost
the sickness, then gained sleep, nerve, and spirits. The
total cessation of local and marking pains, and of the ' distress,' some three weeks after I had left off all medicines
(except the rapidly diminishing opiates), made me request
my doctor to examine whether some change had not taken
place in the disease itself. You remember the main mischief-that which confined me so closely and caused the
chief suffering-was that the diseased part was distorted
and displace], and fastened by morbid growths, so that no
force could move it. Well, it had given way, was moveable, and had risen two or three inches. This was really
turning the corner. It continues to rise very gradually,
and my mesmerist and I are quite sure it is much diminished
in size. My waist and body are reduced, while I have
gained flesh elsewhere. I have no feeling of illness, eat
heartily, sleep all night, walk three-quarters of a mile with



FRIEVDS.


207


out fatigue, and am free from nervous excitement, and was
so, quite, on the very first occasion of going out after four
and a half years. Everybody who comes remarks on some
decrease of my deafness; but of this I am not aware.
Take to-day-I rose at eight, after seven hours' sound sleep,
breakfasted before nine, was mesmnerised for an hour, went
*out alone without any opiate, walked round the castleyard, and down to the...  and up again; dressed to
receive Lambtons and Greys; talked with them for two
hours; dined well; read for above an hour; am now writing
to you; am to have my kind mesmerist to tea; shall sit up
(which I am practising) for two hours at work, dictating
letters; shall have an hour's mesmerising; read an hour;
to bed, and asleep before my head reaches the pillow,
-and all without ache, pain, or weakness, only infirmity.
There is no reaction after mesmerism. All is calm and
refreshing and invigorating. I feel it a sensible feeding
of mny life, from day to day, and the principle of life
thereby, I suppose, becomes victor over disease. I have
never had one moment's doubt or misgiving from the
first trial, the visual evidences and peculiar sensations having
never once been absent. The sleep has never come, but
it is not necessary, though it quickens the process, and I
fancy it will come when the opiate effects are completely
worn out. I now take only four or five drops of laudanum
per day, and shall soon have diluted that modicum to
nothing. Lady M. Lambton, who knew all, and had high
expectations, was surprised at my looks to-day. To the
primrose has succeeded a salmon-colour-on the way to
carmine, let us suppose!
The only drawback is the lapfuls of letters- I mean
the inability to answer them. We don't know what to do.
Will Lady Byron, and also Lady Monson, accept this,
tnrough you, as to themselves? We serve the sick first.




208


ANNA JAM~ESON


but a mountain of correspondence remains untouched. I
kept the matter pretty close, for mesmerism's sake, till we
had proof that the disease was really reached, and that the
improvement was thorough.
The chief pleasure has been, and continues to be,
finding sober serious belief on every hand, and, where
that is not yet attained, a grave candour which I never
should have dreamed of finding so extensive. Of my own
immediate family three were serious believers before, and
a fourth quite open-minded, leaving only one to be convinced besides my mother.   The immediate evidences,
every day, are as clear to me as stars in the sky, as certain
as warmth from the fire. All who have seen me will
avouch that I am under no excitement. In truth, except
for the vivid pleasure of open-air wandering and the comfort of ease at home, I could almost forget my whole
illness.
My mesmerist friends are sanguine about care. To me
this still seems a vast work to do. Yet it would not be
reasonable to deny the possibility. My expectation, or
rather my conjecture, however, is, that it will remain a case
of infirmity, of no great inconvenience, and always limitable by mesmerism.
I am sure I need not tell you how very serious, how
solemn, the subject is to my mind. It always was. I see
in it, as I did a year ago, an agency by which human
transactions will be as extensively modified in the future as
outward modes of living will be by such discoveries as
Faraday's. Of course we keep close and full journals of
the case; and anything that can be done by my experience
to enlighten men shall be done at any cost to my own
feelings.
Lady Mary to-day said I must go to Lambton some
day. Probably; but my mesmerist and I are like Siamese




FRIENDS.


209


twins, and must be for some time. This place is all I
want, but I dare say I shall be at Lambton some day.
Good-bye! My love to you and Gerardine. How you
will like this note!
Yours affectionately,
H. M.
To these brief notices of Mrs. Jameson's many
friendships I will add only the following letter,
which describes some few particulars of another little
expedition to the North during the summer of 1845,
written in July from Ealing:
I am just returned from Edinburgh, where I have been
staying with Major and Mrs. Mair.  I came back by
Ambleside, where I saw Harriet Martineau looking wonderfully well, alert, full of life and spirits, walking seven
or eight miles a day, and most enthusiastic about mesmerism. I saw also Wordsworth, Mrs. Arnold, the widow
of Dr. Arnold, and her family, and other friends. Then
I came on to Leicestershire, and spent three short happy
days with Lady Byron at Kirkby. She is lodged at one
end of a farmhouse opposite to C. Noel. She has fitted
up a little establishment for herself, and there I found her
busy with tenants' schools, game-laws, and manifold projects for the benefit and happiness of others. You can
believe I was not there without thinking much of you, dear
Noel. I liked your brother and his gentle wife; and
though I could not think that fat flat country interesting,
I was charmed with my visit.


P




210


ANNA JAMESON.


- --


CHAPTER VIII.
LABORIOUS YEARS.
IN the month of August 1845, Mrs. Jameson accomplished her long desire, and went abroad.     She
stayed some six weeks in Germany on her way to
Italy, Italy being ever the goal of her desires.
From Rosawitz, Mr. Noel's place in Bohemia, she
writes home on August I7-the birthday of her
mother and of her eldest sister-a letter telling her
own story since the time she had left them:
MY DEAREST MOTHER AND ELIZA,-I cannot see
this day rise without beginning it with a letter to you, to
show you at least that I am thinking of you. God bless
you both, and send you yet many happy years! I wish I
could know something of home, but it will be at least a
fortnight more before I can have a letter, and in the meantime I try to profit by the opportunity of learning much
in a thousand ways, and so strive to keep anxiety away
from my mind. Yesterday I dined at the Castle with the
Thun family, and was very glad to renew my acquaintance
with them all, though the absence of Count Franz made it
less agreeable than it would have been had he been there.
Ottilie is at Weimar, and I remain here for some days
longer before we proceed to the south.




LABORIO US YEARS.


2 II


The country here 'is wonderfully beautiful. You will
have an idea of. it if you look in my sketch-book for the
view of Tetschen. There are reasons which make me wish
inexpressibly that Gerardine were here, under the sweet
influence of Mrs. Noel, for no day passes in which she
does not rise in my estimation. Such a guide, such a
friend for my child, would be inestimable.  But I shall
alter no arrangement, for change can only do mischief.
Next year we shall see what may be done, if I get on in
the world.
Dresden, August 27.-I have been kept in a good
deal of suspense by delays of post and other accidents. I
am now expecting Mme. de Goethe, her mother, and
Ulrica,' and I am sorry to say it is decided that we go
round by Vienna. It will cause me some loss of time
and some expense, but there is no avoiding it. I have
written to Munich to desire that all letters shall be forwarded to Vienna; but God knows when I shall get them,
if ever, and my mind is beginning to be anxious.
I left Rosawitz with great regret. It is really a most
lovely spot-a place to attach oneself to. Luckily I have
many things to do. Since I came here I have been very
busy. I go to the Gallery every morning, to the library,
to the royal collection of prints, and am picking zup everywhere and making notes.   I have been introduced to
Countess Hahn, and drank tea with her last night, and
found her very agreeable and ladylike.
Aulgust 28.-I shall close my letter to-day and post
it. Ottilie arrived last night, and our plans are at last
settled. On Sunday we leave Dresden for Tetschen, going
up the Elbe in a steamboat. On Monday we leave Tetschen and proceed to Prague. On the 4th we shall be at
1 Mme. de Goethe's sister.
P2




2T2


ANNA JAMESON.


Vienna, and on the 8th at Venice.  You must direct
Poste Restante, Venice, via France. Hoxwmuch I wish to
hear of you all! God grant I have good tidings of you
all in the letters I hope to receive at Vienna! And so,
my dear ones all, dear Louisa and Camilla and Geddie
included, I am your affectionate           ANNA.
This time there was no sudden and painful recall
home; Mrs. Jameson carried out her plan of crossing
the Alps, and thus broke through the sort of spell
that had previously seemed to forbid her realising her
chief desire. She made but a short'visit, however,
to her dearly loved Italy, and on her way back wrote
to Mr. Noel from Paris:
Now as to my own biography. I can only give you a
sketch. After leaving Venice, the beautiful, the wonderful,
with a regret which seems quite childish when I look back,
I made a rapid flight across Italy for purposes connected
with my intended book, seeing Padua, Mantua, Cremona,
Pavia, Milan, Brescia, Bergamo, and Verona. At Verona I
saw a balloon ascend from the interior of the ancient amphitheatre, crowded with I 5,000 people-a spectacle which I
shall always remember as one of the most magnificent I ever
beheld in itself, and from the inevitable associations connected with it, and the comparison between ancient and
modern times. For example, they carried on the chemical
pr esses for preparing the gas and filling the balloon in
the very receptacle from which the wild beasts used to
spring out upon their victims.' Leaving Verona, I crossed
the Brenner and came by Innspruck to Munich. From
the time I had left Venice I had not exchanged a word
with any human being except innkeepers and officials, and




LABORIOUS YEARS.


213    ~


had been absolutely alone. I was glad to find myself
again among friends. Yet Munich made, on the whole, a
very disagreeable impression, and the sudden change of
climate made me almost ill, or rather quite so. Paris has
at present no charms for me. I am pursued by a haunting
gnawing wish to return home and be at rest.
Among the earliest letters written after her return was one to Catherine Sedgwick, giving a succinct account of her visit to the Continent.
I went abroad, somewhat suddenly, on July 23. My
purpose was to see, and, if I could, to comfort, my friend
Mme. de Goethe. She lost last year her only daughter,
a blooming girl of seventeen, of typhus fever, and the blow
fell heavy on her. I went by Frankfort to Nuremberg,
where we met and spent about ten days absolutely tete-atete, and in some respects, in spite of sorrow, happily. We
then parted for some days; she went to Weimar to visit
the Grand-Duchess and settle some affairs for her sons; I
went to Tetschen to see my friends the Noels and the
Thun family, then met Ottilie again at Dresden, went with
her to Prague and Vienna, thence to Trieste and across the
Adriatic to Venice. Did you visit Venice? I forget. In
the world there is nothing like it. It seems to me that we
can find a similitude for everything else, but Venice is like
nothing else-Venice the beautiful, the wonderful! I had
seen it before, but it was as new to me as if unbeheld;
and every morning when I rose I was still in the same
state of wonder and enchantment. But then came pain
and sorrow. Letters came to Ottilie that her son Wolf
was ill at Naples, and she went off at once to him. I
could not go; I had duties in England which made it impossible for me to winter in Italy. On my return I found




24


ANNA J4MESON.


my family well, the cottage home flourishing, but my dear
friend Lady Byron just recovering-or, as it seemed to me,
trying to recover-from one of her terrible fits of illness,
looking more white and tremulously weak than I had ever
seen her. I was shocked and more apprehensive than I
had ever felt about her. She has since been slowly gaining, at least not losing, ground, but how I dread the winter
for her! Of all human beings she is the one most necessary to my heart and to my mental and moral well-being;
the only one, perhaps I might say, uniting in her most
extraordinary character and peculiar destiny all I most
love with all I most reverence. This is a horridly selfish
way of putting it when I think how necessary, how beyond
measure valuable, her life is to others-to so many-to
her daughter and grandchildren especially. My mind is a
little unsettled, and I am not feeling well; but I am going
to work forthwith, the essays on 'Legendary Art ' being
in progress. Those I have finished are the essays on the
Evangelists, Apostles, Fathers of the Church, and the
Magdalene; and now I am going to write about your
sweet patron-saint, St. Catherine. Now that I have bestowed on you all this superfluity of egotism, let me turn
again to your dear charming letter and thank you for it.
How interesting is every word of it, even 'baby's blot,' to
which I gave a kiss for the love of Kate; shall I ever see
my Gerardine's baby? I have not met with Margaret
Fuller's book, but I will read it as soon as I can get it.
The cause of women would suffer if handled coarsely and
in bad taste by one of their own sex; so much depends,
not on what is said, but how it is said.
Among the numerous friends of the late Mrs.
Harry Siddons there was an earnest wish that Mrs.
Jameson should undertake to compile a memoir




IABORIO US YEARS.


215


worthy of its subject; and Mrs. Jameson, who had
once contemplated writing the life of the other more
renowned Mrs. Siddons, accepted the grateful office
of recording the honourable existence of the gentle
sister-in-law, who had borne her acquired name with
such true dignity and worth.,However, it was not
to be. One or two members of the family disapproved of the plan. Mrs. Jameson writes on December i:
The first news I heard on my return was, that the
family of Mrs. Harry Siddons had disagreed concerning
the memoir; Major and Mrs. Mair, and Mrs. Grant, and
all Mrs. H. Siddons' most intimate friends, being of one
mind, and Henry Siddons and Mr. Grant of another. So
I have given it up for the present, for, as Mrs. Grant said,
'what her mother would most have abhorred was family
disputes;' and certainly I wished to keep clear of being the
cause or victim of such. I have suffered great pain in
this business, but it is passed off, and I am turning my
mind to other things.
Alluding, among other things, to the politics, the
stirring politics, of that day, to the Coercion Bill for
Ireland, &c., Mrs. Jameson writes from Ealing on
January 5, 1846:
I have put some English newspapers into your parcel,
up to the latest date, which may give you some idea of the
state of public feeling, for I do not trust to that finding its
way into your German newspapers. 'The religious movement' and Ronge are beginning to excite attention.
Lady Byron, after reading a translation of Ronge's mani



If


216              ANNA JAMESON.
festo, seemed disgusted with him for taking up the old
vulgar ground-abuse of all sects but his own, and particularly abuse of the Roman Catholics. For my own
part I see it all, as a spectator from the boxes looks on a
drama. 'Play out the play,' and from disagreement shall
arise agreement, as far as need be;' but why human beings
should not disagree about religion, as well as other things,
I do not know.
And in March she writes:
These are stirring times. Sir Robert has electrified
us all. His two last speeches-the first on the opening of
Parliament, and the second in the course of the debatehave astonished by their elevated tone of moral feeling as
much as by their power and eloquence. The new policy
with regard to Ireland is also of deepest interest to me,
an Irishwoman, though I abhor this proposed Coercion Bill
of Lord St. Germains, and pray against it with all my
heart.
In the spring of this year another little collection of my aunt's fugitive papers was published by
Mr. Bentley.   She describes it in a letter to a friend
as consisting of a series of essays: i. The House
of Titian.   2. The Xanthian    Marbles.    3. The
Life of Washington     Allston.   4. The    Lyrical
Drama in England; giving an account of Adelaide
Kemble's dramatic career, and some remarks generally on the position of female artists.    5. The
Condition of the Women of the Working-Classes.
6. The Means afforded for the Training of Women.
7. The relative Social Position of Mothers and
Governesses.




LABORIO US YEARS.


217


This little volume was rendered yet more
interesting by the friendly aid of Miss Barrett, who
contributed to the paper on the Xanthian Marbles a
partial translation from the 'Odyssey' of the verses
alluding to the fate of the daughters of Pandarus,
and so telling the story illustrated by one of the
' Xanthian marbles,' the fragments of antique art,
which had been, as Mrs. Jameson writes, brought
hither from the Syrian coast by Sir Charles Fellows
in I842, and placed in the British Museum.
The suggestion that the figures on the so-called
'Harpy Tomb' represent a form of the old Homeric
legend of the daughters of King Pandarus, made
by Mr. Benjamin Gibson, the brother of the sculptor,
'seems,' Mrs. Jameson says, 'generally admitted.
Pandarus of Crete steals the living golden dog,
fabricated by Vulcan, from the temple of Jupiter.
The father of the gods avenges this theft by the
destruction of Pandarus, whose orphan daughters
are brought up by the goddesses. Venus nourishes
them with honey and wine; Juno endows them
with beauty and intellect; Diana gives them tallness of stature; Minerva teaches them to sew and
to weave. When they are of a proper age, Venus
is about to bestow husbands on them; but Jupiter,
whose vengeance is not yet satisfied, sends the
Harpies, by whom they are snatched away and




2 18                ANNA JAMESON.
carried into Tartarus. The story is thus related by
Penelope in the 20th book of the " Odyssey."'
Miss Barrett wrote to Mrs. Jameson, enclosing
two versions from the Greek and saying -
In the first (written first) I tried to represent-not
perfectly, but imperfectly, understand - something of the
Greek cadence, without trenching on the uncongenial
English hexameters. This version, for the rest, is rendered
line for line with the original. Yet when I had done it,
I shrank a little from sending it to you without an alternative in the common measure.
i.
And so these daughters fair of Pandarus
The whirlwinds took. The Gods had slain their kin:
They were left orphans in their father's house.
And Aphrodite came to comfort them
With incense, luscious honey, fragrant wine:
And Here gave them beauty of face and soul
Beyond all women. Purest Artemis
Endowed them with her stature and white grace,
And Pallas taught their hands to flash along
Her famous looms. Then. bright with deity,
Toward far Olympus Aphrodite went
To ask of Zeus (who has his thunder-joys
And his full knowledge of man's mingled fate)
How be-t to crown those other gifts with love
And worthy marriage!-but what time she went,
The ravishing Harpies snatched the maids away,
And gave them up, for all their loving eyes,
To serve the Furies, who hate constantly!
II.
So the storms bore the daughters of Pandarus out into thrall;
The Go 's slew their parents: the orphans were left in the hall.
And there came, to feed their young lives, Aphrodite divine,
With the incense, the sweet-tasting-honey, the sweet-smelling wine:
Here brought them h, r wit above woman's, and beauty of face;




t


LABORIOUS YEARS.                   219
And pure Artemis gave them her stature, that form might have grace;
And Athene instructed their hands in her works of renown;
Then afar to Olympus divine Aphrodite moved on;
To complete other gifts, by uniting each girl to a mate,
She sought Zeus, who has joy in the thunder, and knowledge of fateWhether mortals have good chance or ill! But the Harpies alate
In the storm came, and swept off the maidens, and gave them to wait,
With that love in their eyes, on the Furies, who constantly hate!
and so, and so... (for my explanation grows almost as
long as an Odyssey). I send besides a blank verse translation, and entreat you to use a full liberty in selecting
either version or rejecting both... you, who know the
good and evil of everything like Zeus, though you are so
much too kind to have joy in your thunderbolts.
Mrs. Jameson published both the exquisite translations, acknowledging her debt of gratitude to her
friend the translator. Miss Barrett saw the proofs
of this book in course of progress through the press,
and wrote that she had read them gladly and gratefully, admiring much and sympathising everywhere.
'The essays were full of suggestiveness, and the
writing vivid, as it ought to be where the thinking is
so just and noble.' Of ' The House of Titian'
she wrote:
Let me say how I have been charmed with it.      It
seems to me in your best manner. I am at Venice with
you while I read, and, which is still better, at one with you
in every thought nearly. The sympathy is so alive and
close.  The single exception is in the observation you
make about art- about art not being the medium of expression for the present age. You said it in this room, I
remember; and wherever you say it, I feel myself set
fixedly against you, because I hold that, wherever man




220


ANNA JA MESONX


is man, 'to unfold the human into beauty,' which is art
(and you have adopted that truth by your motto),' is
an aim natural to him. If I could believe in an age
without souls, i.e. of a lopped, straightened humanity, I
might believe in an age to which art in the high sense is
not an adapted medium. That is the only thought in
your essay which I fall off from. All the rest I love and
live by.
I may be permitted to extract a page here and
there from these ' Memoirs and Essays' as illustrative not only of the prevalent tendencies of Mrs.
Jameson's mind, but also as strictly autobiographical
and showing how her visit to Venice, rhore briefly
referred to in her letters, had been filled with occupation. The finding of the 'House of Titian' is
told with all her wonted eloquence, when once on
such an inspiring subject.
After a pilgrimage through the churches and palaces
of Venice —after looking every day with ever new delight
on the' Presentation in the Temple,' and the 'Assumption'
in the Accademia, we had resolved to close our sojourn by
a visit of homage to the house in which the great old
master dwelt for fifty ) ears (the half of his long life), and
lived and loved, and laughed and quaffed with Aretino
and Sansovino and Bembo and Bernardo Tasso; and
feasted starry-eyed Venetian dames, and entertained
princes, and made beauty immortal, and then died-oh,
The motto to the ' House of Titian,' taken from Oelenschlager:
' For the painter
Is not the painter only, but the man;
And to unfold the human into beauty
That also is art.'




LABORIOUS YEARS.


22I


such a death! a death which should seem in its horror and
its loathsomeness to have summed up the bitterness of a
lifelong sorrow in a few short hours!
It was not in the Barbarigo Palace that Titian dwelt,
nor did he, as has been supposed, work or die there. His
residence, previous to his first famous visit to Bologna, was
in a close and crowded part of Venice, in the Calle Gallipoli, near San TomA; in the same neighbourhood Giorgione had resided, but in an open space in front of the
church of San Silvestro. The locality pointed out as
Titian's residence is very much the same as it must have
been in the sixteenth century; for Venice has not changed
since then in expansion, though it has seen many other
changes, has increased in magnificence, has drooped in
decay. In this alley, for such it was and is, he lived for
many years a frugal as well as a laborious life; his only
certain resource being his pension as state painter, in
which office he succeeded his master, Gian Bellini. When
riches flowed in with royal patronage, he removed his
atelier to a more spacious residence in a distant beautiful
quarter of the city; and, without entering into any extravagance, he proved that he knew how to spend money,
as well as how to earn money, to his own honour and the
delight of others.
It is curious that a house so rich in associations, and, as
one should suppose, so dear to Venice, should, even now,
be left obscure, half-ruined, well nigh forgotten, after being
for two centuries unknown, unthought of.  It was with
some difficulty we found it. The direction given to us
was,.' Nella contrada di San Canciano, in luogo appellato
Biri-grande, nel Campo Rotto, sopra lapallude o canale, ch' e
in faccia all' isola di Murano, ove ora stanno inalzate le
Fondamenta iuove'-minute enough, one would think;
but even our gondolier, one of the most intelligent of his




222


ANNA JAMESON.


class, was here at fault. We went up and down all manner
of canals, and wandered along the Fondamenta Nuove, a
beautiful quay or terrace, built of solid stone, and running
along the northern shore of this part of the city. Here
we lingered about so intoxicated with the beauty of the
scene and the view over the open lagune, specked with
gondolas gliding to and fro, animated by the evening sunshine, and a breeze which blew the spray in our faces, that
every now and then we forgot our purpose, only, however,
to resume our search with fresh enthusiasm; diving into
the narrow alleys, which intersect like an intricate network
the spaces between the canals, and penetrating into strange
nooks and labyrinths, which those who have not seen do
not know some of the most peculiar and picturesque aspects
of Venice.
We were now in San Canciano, near the church of the
Gesuiti, and knew we must be close upon the spot indicated; but still it seemed to elude us. At length a
young girl, looking out of a dilapidated unglazed window,
herself like a Titian portrait set in an old frame-so fresh,
so young, so mellow-cheeked, with the redundant tresses
and full dark eyes alla Veneziana-after peeping down
archly on the perplexed strangers, volunteered a direction to
the Casa di Tiziano, in the Campo Rotto, for she seemed
to guess, or had overheard, our purpose. We hesitated,
not knowing how far we might trust this extemporaneous
benevolence. The neighbourhood had no very good reputation in Titian's time, and, as it occurred to me, had
much the appearance of being still inhabited by persons
delle quali e bello il tacere. But one of my companions
gallantly swearing that such eyes could not play us false,
insisted on following the instructions given; and he was
right. After threading a few more of these close narrow
passages, we came upon the place and edifice we sought.




LABORIOUS YEARS.


223


That part of it looking into the Campo Rotto is a low
wine-house, dignified by the title of the Trattoria di
Tiziano, and under its vine-shadowed porch sat several
men and women regaling. The other side, still looking
into a little garden (even the very 'dilettevole giardino di
Messer Tiziano'), is portioned out to various inhabitants:
on the exterior wall some indications of the fresco paintings which once adorned it are still visible. A laughing,
ruffianly, half-tipsy gondolier, with his black cap stuck
roguishly on one side, and a countenance which spoke him
ready for any mischief, insisted on being our ciceronze; and
an old shoemaker or tailor, I forget which, did the honours
with sober civility. We entered by a little gate leading
into the garden, and up a flight of stone steps to an
antique porch overshadowed by a vine, which had but
lately yielded its harvest of purple grapes, and now hung
round the broken pillars and balustrades in long, wild,
neglected festoons. From this entrance another flight of
stone steps led up to the principal apartments, dilapidated,
dirty, scantily furnished. The room which had once been
the chief saloon and Titian's atelier must have been
spacious and magnificent, capable of containing very largesized pictures-the canvas, for instance, of the Last Supper,
painted for Philip II. We found it now portioned off by
wooden partitions into various small tenements; still one
portion of it remained, in size and loftiness oddly contrasting with the squalid appearance of the inmates. About
forty years ago there was seen on a compartment of the
ceiling a beautiful group of dancing Cupids. One of the
lodgers, a certain Messer Francesco Breve, seized with a
sudden fit of cleanliness, whitewashed it over; but being
made aware of his mistake, he tore it down and attempted
to clean off the chalk, for the purpose of selling it. What
became of the maltreated relic is not known;-into such
hands had the dwelling of Titian descended.




224


ANNA JAMESON.


The little neglected garden, which once sloped down
to the shore and commanded a view over the lagune to
Murano, was now shut in by high buildings, intercepting
all prospect but of the sky, and looked strangely desolate.
The impression left by the whole scene was most melancholy; and no associations with the past, no images of
beauty and of glory, came between us and the intrusive
vulgarity of the present.
The political essays on 'Woman's Mission and
Woman's Position,' and on the ' Relative Position of
Mothers and Governesses,' included in this book,
were the first among her literary contributions to
the discussion of questions of social science.  Of
one of the two memoirs ('Adelaide Kemble' and
'Washington Allston') Joanna Baillie wrote to Mrs.
Jameson:
I have been greatly interested with the dramatic career
of Adelaide Kemble, which is exhibited to the reader with
so much feeling and spirit, and with justice, too, I have no
doubt, though I am not at all qualified to judge of a most
material part of the subject. It is a picture of her (I
should say a series of pictures) that will remain, after her
natural life is past, in the imaginations of those who have
seen her and those who have not. I was not quite aware
that she'was so great an actress. This view of her must
be very gratifying to herself and family, and even to the
family she is married into, as everything regarding the
profession is touched with so much delicacy. I hope to be
engaged this evening with the 'House of Titian,' and, if it
may be so, without interruption.




LABORIO US YEARS.


225


It was shortly after the publication of this little
work that Miss Martineau wrote to enlist Mrs.
Jameson's pen in behalf of the Anti-slavery Convention in America, begging herto send something, any sort of piece (if only a single
sentence) breathing the spirit of freedom by which these
noble abolitionists live, and you may do more for the cause
than you will easily suppose possible. I shall send something, and it would delight me to have the honour of
sending a contribution of yours with my own. Any passage analogous to your immortal paragraph about the
clause in the New Poor Law would echo through the
United States, and reach many an ear deaf to what a
native could say.
I am not aware, however, that Mrs. Jameson ever
sent any contribution to the 'Liberty Bell,' the
American   periodical to which   Miss Martineau
refers.
In this year (1846) the Queen and the Prince Consort renewed, indeed I believe rebuilt, a certain little
summer-house in the gardens of Buckingham Palace.
The leading artists of the day were engaged to
paint in fresco a series of designs illustrating the
classic English poets; and the royal commission
caused at the time considerable sensation and interest in the artist world. The whole of the works
executed were subsequently engraved by Ludwig
Gruner, and published in a costly folio edition,
coloured after the originals.  For this Mrs. Jameson
Q




226


226ANNA JAMESON.


was requested to write an introduction and descriptive text, and the work was published conjointly by
Messrs. Murray, Longman, Colnaghi, and Moon.
In July Mrs. Jameson sent to Mr. Noel the following little note upon politics in which her previsions seemed to have far outleaped time and the
hour.
You will have heard of the change of ministry; there
are some doubts whether the present set will stand. Never
were politics so dramatic, so interesting, so hopeful as
now. Never were the motives of action so high, so enlarged. You see Lord John Russell's programme, and
how much the education and the health of the people enter
into it. Then, if Lord Grey have any weight, that pest,
the Irish Church, will be done away with-in short, in spite
of our Puseyism, &c., I begin to have hope for freedom of
mind and common sense.
It was about this time that negotiations commenced between Mrs. Jameson and the firm of
Messrs. Longman for the publication of what my
aunt always looked upon as the work of her life the
one by which she chiefly desired to be remembered,
and which has already been frequently referred to.
The correspondence between Mrs. Jameson and the
head of this firm soon resulted in a kindly intercourse that time ripened into a sincere and enduring
friendship.  In her first note on the subject, written
with all due formality



LABORIO US YEARS.


227


Mrs. Jameson presents her compliments to Messrs.
Longman, and begs to know whether they would consider
it expedient to undertake the publication of her work,
entitled 'Legendary and Sacred Art,' containing an account of the lives, legends, habits, and attributes of the
sacred personages whose stories have been illustrated in
the pictures and sculptures of the Middle Ages. The
work is in two volumes, of which one and a half are finished
and the rest in progress. Mrs. Jameson thinks it right to
add that Mr. Murray had undertaken the work, but, for
reasons which shall be explained if necessary, Mrs. Jameson withdrew the book from his hands.
It may be mentioned here, en passant, that, to
test the interest of the general public in the subjects Mrs. Jameson proposed illustrating, a series
of papers had been selected by her from her work,
and published in the columns of the 'Athenaeum,'
beginning in the month of January I845 with her
'Introduction,' and terminating February I, 1846,
with the story of St. Florian. The novelty of the
treatment and the charm of her writing, the combination of careful research with a perfect appreciation of all she had found, the fascination of her
eloquent rendering of the legends, and knowledge
of the art that illustrated them, insured her success.
The negotiations with Messrs. Longman soon came
to a satisfactory arrangement; the one drawback in
Mrs. Jameson's mind being that she had bound herself to finish her second volume and have all ready
Q 2




228


223NNA JAMESONr


for the press within a given date, I believe two
years.
Now, although the literary portion of the work
was nearly complete, the illustrations and the notes
were a formidable task yet to be commenced. Notwithstanding the accumulation of prints and tracings
that had been progressing for years, there was yet
much left to be sought and achieved. In the first
place, Italy must be revisited, and Mrs. Jameson had
resolved not to leave England again without taking
with her the child already mentioned more than once,
in whom from her birth she had taken a tender and
special interest. She wished to spend some years
abroad with her, and to do this, and at the same
time fulfil the duties assumed towards the other
members of her family, was attended with difficulties.
The start, however, was made at last, and we set
out in the autumn of this year. She writes in September from Paris:
I am sold into a double captivity; for, to enable me to
do this, I have done what I most hate —contracted to
finish a book in a certain time. My plans are not quite
decided. I dislike Paris; it is a place which does not
harmonise with my nature; and I shall probably go to
Pisa or to Florence by the Rhine and Marseilles. So much
for my own biography.
I have also here a poet and a poetess-two celebrities
who have run away and married under circumstances peculiarly interesting, and such as render imprudence the height




LABORIO US YEARS.


229


of prudence. Both excellent; but God help them! for I
know not how the two poet heads and poet hearts will get
on through this prosaic world. I think it possible I may
go on to Italy with them.
This last reference was to a most interesting
event which had taken her and all the world by
surprise.  During the last few  years my aunt's
friendship with Miss Barrett had been gradually
ripening. So strong had the feeling of interest and
affection grown in Mrs. Jameson's mind, that when,
during the course of her preparation for leaving
home, she heard that it was very essential for Miss
Barrett's health to spend the winter abroad, though
there were reasons which made it impossible she
should do so, she had made an appeal to the invalid's
family to be allowed to take charge of her and take
her to Italy.  For this kind offer, though it was
not accepted, she had been heartily thanked by
the sufferer herself. ' Not only am  I grateful to
you, but happy to be grateful to you,' says the pretty
and tender letter of'thanks. ' First I was drawn to
you, then I was, and am, bound to you.' When the
moment of departure came, another little note of
farewell arrived, deploring the writer's inability to
come in person and bid her friend good-bye, as she
was 'forced to be satisfied with the sofa and silence.'
And you really go on Monday (she adds), and not
ever to come back? But you did not say that. Miss




230


ANNA JAAMESON.


Mitford was with me yesterday all day, and desired that I
should name her to you. And may I send my love to the
little visitor you brought me the day before?
Remaining your affectionate
E. B. B.
With these communications so fresh in her mind,
having newly parted indeed from this invalid ' satisfied with the sofa and silence,' it may be supposed
what was Mrs. Jameson's astonishment when, shortly
after we reached Paris, she received another little
letter, telling her that Robert Browning had just
arrived from London, en route for Italy with his
wife-the same E. B. B. who had so recently taken
farewell of her. My aunt's surprise was something
almost comical, so startling and entirely unexpected
was the news. But it was as delightful as unexpected, and gave an excitement the more to our
journey, which, to one of us at least, was already
like a journey into the old world of enchantment-a
revival of fairyland.
Mrs. Jameson lost no time in going to the hotel
where her friends were staying, and induced them
to come at once to the quiet pension in the Rue
Ville l'Eveque, where she herself was living. The
result of all which was that, after about a fortnight spent together in Paris, the whole party travelled leisurely south to the Brownings' destination,
Pisa.




LABORIOUS YEARS.


231


In the letters lately published by Mr. Horne, Mrs.
Browning mentions this meeting in Paris with Mrs.
Jameson, and the fact of ' their plans having been
made up at the last in the utmost haste and agitation-precipitated beyond all intention.' Miss MSitford, in her 'Reminiscences,' has entered somewhat
into the eauses for this precipitation; but such details
of other live's would be out of place here.
Nevertheless the temptation is great to linger
upon the memories of a journey so enchanting, made
in the fairest days of youth, and with such companionship. The loves of the poets could not have
been put into more delightful reality before the eyes
of the dazzled and enthusiastic beholder; but the
recollections have been rendered sacred by death as
well as by love.
I may, however, permit myself to recall one
scene among many of this wonderful journey. We
rested for a couple of days at Avignon, the route to
Italy being.then much less direct and expeditious,
though I think much more delightful, than now; and
while there we made a little expedition, a poetical
pilgrimage, to Vaucluse. There, at the very source
of the 'chiare, fresche e dolci acque,' Mr. Browning
took his wife up in his arms, and, carrying her across
through the shallow curling waters, seated her on
a rock that rose throne-like in the middle of the
stream. Thus love and poetry took a new pos



232


ANNA JAMESON.


session of the spot immortalised by Petrarch's
loving fancy.
Among the letters in Mr. Home's book already
referred to is one written from Pisa after some
weeks' residence there, telling him of the success of
the journey to Italy, so far as Mrs. Browning's health
was concerned:
I have been gaining strength every week since we left
England (she writes), and Mrs. Jameson, who met us in
Paris, and travelled with us, called me at the end of six
weeks, notwithstanding all the emotion and fatigue, rather
transformed than improved. She has now gone to Florence.
Three out of those six weeks were spent by the
travelling companions together in Pisa-a period to
which both of the survivors must look back with a
tender reverent memory, with associations of the
past hardly to be breathed aloud, but remembered
within one's very soul as a golden oasis in existence.
This was my first introduction to Italy, and I
cannot look back upon it without something of the
sense of bewildered happiness with which so many
wonders, all rushing at the same moment upon an
inexperienced creature scarcely sixteen, so much
novelty, so much beauty, and such companionship,
filled my mind and whole being. Even the incidents




LABORIOUS YEARS.


233


of the time are confused in the golden haze of youthful delight that envelopes them. I had the happy
sense of feeling that I was my aunt's assistant in
her important work, and was at her side constantly
to trace, to draw, to note, as occasion might require.
In the solemn enclosure of the Campo Santo, in the
stillness of the Cathedral, and through all the other
reliquaries of art in Pisa, she pursued her study
with the minutest care, continually pausing to point
out what was most admirable, to explain the sequence
of art, and to show how one period fitted into another,
and how the inspiration of a great master was repeated, sometimes in broken lights, through his
whole school. The work progressed bravely during
these weeks in the sleepy tranquillity of the old
town. We went out in the brilliant autumn mornings-so much brighter and warmer than autumn is
anywhere else-to the work, which was one long
succession of pleasures, and often spent our evenings
in the same continuous occupation; she working out
the result of her studies, arranging and classifying
the additions to her stores, pleased to have the little
companion by her to do whatever might be most
wanted, from the details of a drawing to the making
of that cup of tea which is always an Englishwoman's consolation. The poet-pair, who were our
closest associates, added all that was wanted to the
laborious happiness of this time.  Mrs. Browning




234


ANNA JA'IIESON.


could take no active part in her friend's pursuits,
but who shall say of what value was her earnest and
unfailing sympathy?
Mrs. Jameson remained at Pisa about three
weeks, and from thence went on to Florence, from
which place she wrote to Mr. Noel on November io:
My first thought and care must be my child for the
next year, or perhaps two years; and the means of instruction and improvement for her are what I seek first everywhere. Of Lady Byron I can only tell you that she seems
to have set up a foundling hospital. She has her grandchildren and little Montgomery all on her hands; but her
last letter to me was cheerful, and without complaint of her
health. Now of myself, I have to tell you that our journey
through France was in some respects a happy one, in
others most anxious and tedious. My poor invalid friend
suffered much from fatigue; and, considering that she had
passed sev n years without ever leaving her room, you can
imagine what it was to convey her from Paris to Pisa.
Luckily our journey was nearly over before the heavy rains
commenced. We remained in beautiful Pisa three weeks,
and then came on to Florence, where we arrived on the
7th of this month.
Here we have taken a lodging in the Piazza Santa
Croce, which costs fifteen piastres a month-an ante-room,
sitting-room, and two bed-rooms, all large handsome rooms!
-and this sum includes linen, plate, and service. Our expenses of living and fire I calculate at thirty-five piastresabout 121. English money per month altogether.  Lombardy is cheaper, for the crowds of English here at this
time make everything dear.
We have found several of our friends here, who are




LABORIO US YEARS.


235


most ready to be attentive; but the weather is bitterly
cold. and the change of climate, after the soft air of Pisa,
is very uncomfortable. Florence is, however, most beautiful and full of interest to me; the masters are good, and I
hope we shall spend a month or two here very pleasantly
and profitably.
Among the pleasant houses of friends old and
new that made Mrs. Jameson and ' her child' welcome in Florence, was that of some very old friends
indeed-Sir Charles and Lady Herbert. Lady Herbert had been an early and intimate friend of the
mother of Mrs. Jameson, and Sir Charles, until he
left England for Italy some ten years previously,
had been the family friend and physician. None of
the elder generation of the Anglo-Saxon residents
in Florence can fail to remember the hospitable
dwelling of the Herberts in the Palazzo facing the
Ponte alla Carraja. Then there was Mrs. Trollope,
at whose weekly rduzioons appeared everyone of any
note, and many of no note at all, all alike kindly
received by the well-known writer.  I remember
her disappointment, herself a devoted whist-player,
on finding that Mrs. Jameson did not profess to
know one card from another! The Garrow family
with their all-accomplished daughter, Mme. Sabatier, known in the musical world as Caroline Ungher;
Mme. Catalani-both renowned singers in their
day; the sculptor Power, and so many more whose




236


ANNA _AMESON.


names now belong to the past, then belonged to the
artist society of Florence.
We were over two months in Florence-two
happy months-work and amusement treading closely
on each other's heels. Mrs. Jameson always permitted ' her child,' notwithstanding masters and lessons, to assist as far as she could in the work she
had in hand. Outlines were drawn, tracings made,
careful drawings put on the wood and sent home to
be engraved for the illustrations. Every day had
some new delight in the way of exploring old
churches, or visiting art collections or modern
studios. For a time, too, Mrs. Jameson went into
society in Florence, submitting meekly to be lionised
(which from her very heart she hated), and accepting kindness for herself and niece; until one day
there came a letter from Rome from Mme. de Goethe,
announcing her arrival in the Eternal City from
Meran, where she had been staying for the benefit
of her son Wolfs health. Then Mrs. Jameson at
once made up her mind to break away from Florence
and join her friend Ottilie in Rome.




TRA VELS AND STUDIES.


"37




CHAPTER IX.
TRAVELS AND STUDIES.
IT was late in the month of January i847 when
Mrs. Jameson visited Rome for the second time.
Yet after a lapse of some three-and-twenty years
her recollections of it were so vivid, and so little
change had taken place in the interim, within the
city or without, that she felt herself no stranger.
Changes there were, however, that were soon to
lead to greater. It was the first year of the reign
of a new pope, and Pius IX., some six months occupant of the pontifical chair, was already astonishing Europe in general and his subjects in particular
by a line of political conduct altogether opposed
to the old papal regginze of centuries.  A. pope
who commenced his rule by the grant of a general
amnesty to all his political adversaries, accorded
permission for railroads and gas, interested himself
personally about the night-schools for artisans, and
wvent abroad daily on foot among the people, visiting
his poorer subjects in their homes of an evening,
accompanied generally by a single priest, with no




238


ANNA JAMESON.


sort of guard for protection, a sort of Christian
Haroun el Raschid of the nineteenth century, was
a change indeed in itself sufficient to make the
period of this visit a memorable one.
The 'season' that year was what the Romans
were then wont to distinguish as buonissima, for
Rome was crowded with foreign visitors of all
classes, many among them greatly distinguished by
name or fortune. ' Father Prout,' in his letters to
the 'Daily News,' of which paper he was at the
time correspondent, enumerated for the benefit of
his readers the number of distinguished strangers
sojourning in Rome, winding up the list with an
announcement of' the arrival of Mrs. Jameson, who,
with Lady Charlotte Bury and Mrs. Butler, adds to
our collection this year of female literary celebrities.'
Moreover, either the ' Daily News' or some other
newspaper busied itself with Mrs. Jameson's proceedings, and in a letter to her sister, dated Rome,
March I847, she alludes to this:
You amuse me with the newspaper accounts of my
doings. I have very pleasant soirees on Sunday evenings,
which are liked; but my room is so small that I cannot
have above twenty people, and I give them only tea, at
the dispensing of which Gerardine officiates very prettily.
I never go out, because if I went to one place I must
go to another. I let Gerardine go out occasionally with
dear Mrs. Reid, but seldom, for the little head cannot
stand it. I was frightened by the publication of Lord




TRA VELS AND STUDIES.


239


Lindsay's book,' but I have seen a copy, and nozu I do not
mind him; he takes a different ground from mine. Mme.
de Goethe is occupied with her sick son; she has given
Gerardine a beautiful scarf. My most useful friend is
Miss Montgomery. Lady Byron is, as usual, the best of
correspondents, though overwhelmed with cares.
Those Sunday evening parties, simple as was
the entertainment, were of the kind that lends most
zest and pleasure to society. Mrs. Jameson's visitors were of kindred tastes to her own-artists,
people of letters, and travellers whose distinction
was not that of rank only. John Gibson, the sculptor, modest and quaint and homely, not yet quite so
great a man as he afterwards became; Francis
Sylvester O'Mahoney (Father Prout), wearing an
ineradicable air of the priest and seminarist in
strange combination with his frank Bohemianism;
Charles Hemans, gentle, correct, and bland, at the
very opposite height of scrupulous respectability,
and beginning even then to be looked on by us all
as an invaluable companion among the 'chief relics
of almighty Rome;' Richard Wyatt, Penry Williams, Minardi and Cornelius; Overbeck, with his
severe and saintly aspect; old Kestner (the son of
Goethe's Lotte), who looked as though he never
could have been young, but was the kindest, most
courtly of envoys; Dr. Braun, the archaeologist;
and many another, whose names have not remained
1 Sketches of te History of Christian Art.
i...,~i. v  d*..




240


ANNA JAMESON.


in my memory, were constant visitors. Mme. de
Goethq came, surrounded by her own little train of
enthusiast friends from Germany, filling the little
Roman salon with' a perfume of court atmosphere,
true grande dame jisqu'zau boul des ongles that she
was. Mr. and Mrs. Cobden-English of the English, in strongest contrast to the brilliant and sentimental Germans-were very constant during their
stay in Rome; and we had occasionally Lord Compton and Lord Walpole, then leading artist lives
amid the artist studios in Via Margutta, sometimes
Lord Beverley with his pleasant courtesy, and always
the little fringe of faithful English friends-Miss
Montgomery, who at that time shared with my
aunt the most intimate circle of Lady Byron's friendship, and Mrs. Reid, Miss Martineau's and many
others' ' dear Mrs. Reid,' whose kind care of her
niece Mrs. Jameson has above recorded, a kindness
never to be forgotten. To the little personage at.
the tea-table everything was new, strange, and delightful, the very names intoxicating, the talk like
that of the gods. And when all had left, the halfhour spent in discussing the talk and the talkers,
with entire possession of the dearest and to her the
most eloquent of all, giving explanation, comment,
and suggestion! What half-hours ever passed so
quickly as these?
One Sunday evening, I remember, all other
*: A.   *   *.,, ~* *,. *.




TRA VES AND STUDIES.


24I


guests having taken their departure, Mr. Gibson
remaining gave us the complete story of his own
career. Mrs. Jameson took it down from his own
lips, as it were, that night, and later published it in
the 'Art Journal.'  Mr. Gibson was wont to say
-and that he was not one to utter a careless complimentary phrase, let those who knew him testifythat he owed his start in life more to the praises
bestowed on his work by Mrs. Jameson in the pages
of her 'Diary of an Ennuyee' (the Psyche borne
aloft by the Zephyrs) than to the fact of this group
having been purchased by a noble patron.
It is interesting to remember, in connection with
the sincere friendship that existed between the
sculptor and Mrs. Jameson, that the commemorative bust in one of the halls of the Kensington
Museum was executed by Gibson as a last tribute
to her memory, although as a likeness, and even as a
work of art, it is in itself scarcely worthy of his
hand.
Our lodging was in the Piazza di Spagna, No. 53.
One of the jokes of our little circle-gentle jokes,
making much laughter at a cost of little wit, as in
the Vicarage of Wakefield-was the name given to
Mrs. Jameson by Miss Montgomery's coachman'la signora di cinquante-tre,' which she would say
was unkind, as reminding her perpetually of her
See Appendix.
R




242


ANNA JAMESON.


age (she was then in her fifty-third year).  Our
rooms were over Spithover's shop, with little balconied windows looking out over all the amusing
scenes in the Piazza, the sparkling of the great fountain, and the picturesque figures, models, and contadini, that group themselves upon the Spanish
steps, so familiar to all visitors of Rome. We had
a large old-fashioned drawing-room, hung with dim
long mirrors, that gave a shadowy unreality to
everything they reflected, and faded damask hangings, and an enormous, cavernous, deep-mouthed
fire-place, with sulky martial figures in dim brass
for the fire-dogs.  The blazing logs, though the
warmth they gave went half up the huge chimney
(and when the room was full that was no great
harm), sent the most cheerful flicker, the only light
that seemed to penetrate their dimness, into the
mirrors. Here my aunt sat, always with a certain
gentle dignity; for though she was not fond of
being looked upon as a lion, she was far from being
destitute of a sense of her own well-won honours,
and felt the social homage she received in her own
house to be her due. Her companion, I fear, as she
says in a previous letter, had now and then her
little head slightly turned by the strange discovery
that there were people who thought her also worth
talking to; and thus, in the very moment when
Providence seemed to have given to Mrs. Jameson




TRA VEIS AND STUDIES.


243


a child who might cherish and comfort her for years,
and make up to her a little for the adversities of
fate-at the time when she began to get a little
real pleasure and aid from the girl to whom she
had been a second mother all her life, another great
disappointment was already preparing for her. I
cannot but feel, with a remorseful pang, how bitter
it must have been to her to see the child she had
so cherished desert her so summarily. It is the
course of nature, as people say, and it is only by
the teachings of years that we perceive how hardly
the loves and joys of our youth often fall upon
those from whom the tide of our own personal life
and story carries us away. Mrs. Jameson, of course,
no more than any other in her position, would willingly have kept her niece unmarried in order to
make of her a permanent companion; but the speedy
conclusion of this companionship startled her, and,
I fear, must be counted among the disappointments
of her life.
This, however, is not a matter of any importance
in these pages, though I can scarcely pass it entirely
without mention, as a thing which put a stop to some
of my aunt's hopes and cherished intentions. Her
life in Rome was a very pleasant one while undisturbed by all agitations of this kind. As she herself wrote, she went nowhere unconnected with her
present labours, unless it were occasionally for a
R 2




-244


ANNA JAMESON


long drive, after the day's toils might be considered
as over, away into the Campagna with Ottilie or
with Miss Montgomery.      There were certain old
churches that she never wearied in revisiting-those
of which she afterwards said in her chapter on the
Roman Martyrs:
For myself, I must say I know nothing to compare
with a pilgrimage among the antique churches scattered
over the Esquiline, the Ccelian, and the Aventine Hills.
They stand apart, each in its solitude amid gardens, and
vineyards, and heaps of nameless ruins —here a group of
cypresses, there a lofty pine or solitary palm; the tutelary
saint, perhaps some Sant' A chilleo or Santa Bibiana,
whom we never heard of before; an altar rich in precious
marbles, columns of porphyry, the old frescoes dropping
from the walls, the everlasting colossal mosaics looking
down so solemn, so dim, so spectral;-these grow upon us,
until, at each succeeding visit, they themselves, and the
associations with which they are surrounded, become a
part of our daily life, and may be said to hallow that daily
life when considered in a right spirit.' True, what is most
sacred, what is most poetical, is often desecrated to the
fancy by the intrusion of those prosaic realities which
easily strike prosaic minds; by disgust at the foolish
fabrications which those who recite them do not believe,
by lying inscriptions, by tawdry pictures, by tasteless and
even profane restorations; by much that saddens, much
that offends, much that disappoints. But then so much
remains-so much to awaken, to elevate, to touch the
heart-so much that will not from the memory, so much
that makes a part of our after-life!




TRA VES AND STUDIES.


245


Of San Clemente, one of her favourite haunts,
Mrs. Jameson says comparatively little, and avers
as her reason for not saying more ' of this singular and interesting church, the favourite study of
artists and antiquaries,' that descriptions of it may
be found in every guide-book. She contents herself with merely giving the legend of the patron
saint, the disciple of St. Peter and St. Paul, and
third bishop of Rome; and in the life of St. Catherine of Alexandria a list of the subjects from the
life of this 'virgin patroness' painted in the chapel
there by Masaccio.  The long-concealed substructures of this venerable Basilica, built over what is
generally now believed to be the most ancient
Christian oratory-the house of Clemens-had not
seen the light after its sepulture of over a thousand years: neither then nor at either of the
later visits paid by Mrs. Jameson to the Eternal
City. Otherwise it may well be imagined that such
remains of an 'antique time'would have secured a
notice in her pages, and perhaps a modification of
her belief upon the then existing testimonies, ' that
the legend of St. Catherine is not of high antiquity;
even among the Greeks it cannot be traced further
back than the eighth century; and in the East it
appears to have originated with the monks of Mount
Sinai.  In a literary form we find it finst in the
Greek Menology of the Emperor Basil in the ninth




246


ANNA JAMESON.


century. The Crusaders of the eleventh century
brought it from the East,' &c.
The Byzantine St. Catherine, which has been
discovered in the original church of San Clemente, facing a similar early representation of St.
Euphemia (surnamed the Great), martyred near
Byzantium early in the fourth century, and known
to have been painted by Greek artists a few years
after her death,' affords a strong argument against
this conclusion; and had Mrs. Jameson seen these
richly attired solemn effigies standing in the niche
beside the throned Virgin and Child, each distinguished by her name inscribed near her in old
Greek characters, and found them to belong to the
early date assigned them, she would have naturally
shared in the belief held by the reverend Prior of San
Clemente, the fortunate discoverer of the lost church
and oratory of the disciple of the Apostles; and
here, too, she' would have found a painting commemorating her favourite Saint Alexis, ' whose
story, as given in the " Legendario Romano," is one
of the most beautiful of the sacred romances of the
Middle Ages.'
Part of her leisure she gave to visiting the
studios that abounded then, as now, in Rome; and
these visits may in truth be said to have proved in
many cases as interesting to the artist as to herself
and her privileged companion of the hour; for her




TRA VELS AND STUDIES.


247


intuitive sympathy and generous appreciation, even
her frank disapproval at times, and ready suggestion, where suggestion might avail, fell from her
lips with such gracious expression, that praise was
sweetened and blame rendered acceptable.
After Easter Mrs. Jameson left Rome and
travelled north by Florence, where she found the
Brownings; Bologna, where Mrs. Somerville showed
her kindly hospitality; Ravenna, Padua, and Vicenza, to Venice. A month passed quickly in this
enchanting place, where the mornings were spent in
the Belle Arti and the Accademia, and the afternoons among the churches and the lagunes. Thence
to Verona and the Lago di Garda, where once more
we met Miss Montgomery, an(l, above all, the Noels,
and spent some delightful days at Riva and at
Desenzano. One last halt was made at Meran to
take leave of Mme. de Goethe and her then still
invalid son; and then straight on to Paris and to
England.
Thus her proposed long absence from England,
which was intended for her niece's benefit as well
as her. own, terminated abruptly.  Before Mrs.
Jameson left Rome, towards the end of April, the
book and its illustrations were approaching completion. But the whole of the summer was given
in addition, and it was not till the month of December 1848 that Mrs. Jameson, writing to Mr.




248


ANNA JAMESON.


Longman evidently in reply to some suggestion
made by him as to the difficulty she would probably
experience in treating of the ' Prince of Darkness,'
says:
I shall be very glad to give the devil his due. You
will remember that in the books of the Old Testament he
is scarcely recognised as a person. The book of Job is of
Chaldaic origin, as it is said by some of the best commentators, and the angels in their proper character are not
the Anime Beate.  When you see the Legend of St.
Michael, you will see how I have treated the Adversary;
but keep in mind that I deal with my subject poetically
and pictorially, not religiously. I have insisted on this in
the introduction.
The stirring times of 1847-49 were scarcely
opportune for the publishing of works on art of any
ki-:d. The public mind was distraught; events followed one another so rapidly that men grew giddy
and breathless, and Mrs. Jameson's letters to her
correspondent Noel are full of the politics of the day,
without one mention of the look whose publication
was imminent. She writes from Ealingon March io,
1848:
At present we are all in the first excitement of this
new revolution. There are some disturbances here, but
not worth speaking of, except as mere rabble-work; some
windows broken, some heads, and one or two unfortunate
people shot in the mielne. But the middle classes here are
quiet; and though they desire progress, they desire no
change; and everyone is now agreed that, but for the




TRA VELS AND STUDIES.


249


pusillanimity shown by Louis Philippe and his family, a
change of ministry would have satisfied the people in
France. Do not believe any of the reports in the German
papers about disturbances here, for in fact, though there
be disturbances, there is nothing more; no such feeling
against the government as in France was universal.
Had that treacherous and selfish old king prospered to the
end, I should have doubted Providence! What has interested me almost as much as the Revolution has been
the result of a murder here, which, from the feeling it has
roused, may possibly lead to some first step in a moral
sanitary reform.
Do you see the 'Times' newspaper? I do not like
violence; I do not like the canaille; I do not like disturbance or discord of any kind; but I should like a
change which would leave free the intercourse of men,
minds, and nations.
Mrs. Jameson writes to the same friend three
months later, also from Ealing:
These French are the mischief-makers of Europe, and
it is small comfort that themselves will be the greatest
sufferers. We have terrible news from Paris. How much
a few leading spirits are wanted at this moment! Surely
the selfishness and imbecility of the various governments
are in fault as much as the misguided people. Such a
mass of ignorance and misery weltering under the surface
of society, particularly in the Austrian dominions-this
could not last. In England we are all tranquil, and I
have faith in the permanence of this tranquillity, unless
the dreadful state of the Continent, by cutting off our
commercial resources, should create such a mass of want
and misery as can no longer be endured. Then the people
may break loose. But we have here, what exists not, I




250


ANNA JAMESON.V


believe, anywhere else-an immense middle class of several
grades, from high professional people down to the shopkeepers, tolerably well educated, accustomed to political
considerations, and who are perfectly aware that they
must all suffer from  disorganisation; and this, and the
feeling which exists generally that order must be maintained —this will perhaps save us. What strange times are
these!
J/une 29.-I have kept open my letter, dearest Noel.
The events at Paris have made us quite heart-sick and
breathless. The result has been victory on the side of
order and of power; but what a victory! And what result
are we to look to from that victory, which must tend to
strengthen a military aristocracy and despotism  And
what they will do with the prisoners is now the question.
Some people anticipate a rpassacre like the Septembricides
in the first Revolution. The only piece of news I can send
you not generally known is the fact that our Queen has
determined to go to Ireland, and has obtained with difficulty the sanction of the- Ministers. She wished to have
gone last year, but they would not take the responsibility
of permitting her to do so. This year she has carried the
point. It is a brave little woman, without shining qualities,
but with a good deal of sense and spirit.
In the autumn the book was at length ready for
the press. There had been a succession of delays,
caused chiefly by incessant additions, and so laborious
a revision of the proofs that again and again Mrs.
Jameson, in her conscientious anxiety to give her
best to the public, overstepped the limits allowed
by her contract, and corrected and re-corrected at
her own expense.     No   sooner was it fairly in




TRA VELS AND STUDIES.


25I

the printer's hands, however, a fail accompli, than
she took flight from the scenes of her cares and
anxieties, and fulfilled a long-cherished intention of
revisiting Ireland, which she had not seen since she
quitted it with her father and mother in I798. She
had received pressing invitations from an old and
valued family friend, the then Lord Chancellor of
Ireland, Maziere   Brady, from   Miss Edgeworth
and others, which decided her on leaving London,
or rather England, while her book took final shape
and form.
From Hazelbrook, near Dublin, Mrs. Jameson
wrote to her sister on September 30, 1848:
The best thing I can do for your amusement is to give
you an itinerary of my proceedings. On Tuesday I left
Hazelbrook, with the Chancellor, his wife and youngest
daughter, in a very pretty open barouche. We went
through a beautiful country among the Wicklow mountains
to Enniskerry, where we had a hospitable reception and
luncheon in a most romantic spot. Then on to Powerscourt, through the beautiful grounds, and on to Bray,
where dinner had been ordered, and where we slept.
Wednesday, 27th, we left Bray, after admiring the beach
and the promontory of Bray Head, and drove through
the most lovely scenery to Rathdrum, where we entered
the vale of Avoca, saw the 'meeting of the waters,' and
followed the course of the river through the valley to the
sea, passing through Arklow, and returning to the Avoca
Inn, where we slept. Thursday, 28th, we left Avoca early,
and drove through the wildest and most beautiful mountain scenery to the vale of Glendalough (the 'Valley of the




.252


ANNA JAMESON.


Seven Churches'), where we visited the Round Tower, the
Chapel of St. Kevin, and then returned by Annamoe,
Roundwood, and through the mountain passes to Bray,
where we dined and slept at the same delightful inn. On
Friday, 29th, we returned to Dublin by the Dargle, in
which we spent two hours, wandering about while the
carriage waited.
You see my time has been hitherto most pleasantly
employed. The excursion was delightful altogether, without losses or crosses; everybody in high good humourno cares, having two servants in attendance and our own
carriage-while as to the scenery, I cannot express its
beauty, so different in character from anything I had
seen in Italy or Germany. My dearest mother will be
able to follow me every step of the way. On our return
we had a beautiful view of Killiney mountain and bay,
which made me think of Eliza. To-day it is pouring rain,
so we just got home in time.
Making the hospitable mansion of the Chancellor
her temporary home, Mrs. Jameson went thence on
various long excursions north and south, visiting
Miss Edgeworth, Archbishop Whately and his
family, the Archers, &c., on her way south. On
October 24, she wrote to Mr. Longman from the
fair city of Limerick:
DEAR MR. LONGMAN,-I found your letter here; pray
do not forget that I wish only two copies sent to Dublin —
the others to my address at Ealing. I wish my dear
mother to be the first person to have a copy, as in duty
bound. I am afraid the book will be too expensive-that
my vanity will be gratified at the expense of my pocket.
I am afraid it will not do, and begin to wish I had fol



TRA VEI S AND STUDIES.


253


lowed my first thought, and published it cheaply. Who
buys or reads expensive books in these days? I do not,
certainly; but I am in your hands, and feel sure that you
will do the best you can for me. I shall deliver your message myself to the great Maria.' She is writing something (entre nous). She is full of life and vivacity, and is
now eighty-one, as she told me herself.
I have also spent two days with Lord Rosse at Bin
Castle, and have seen the awful telescope, and not only
looked into it, but walked into it. As for Ireland, there
may be-I hope there is-redemption for her some time
or other, but nothing can be gloomier than the present
prospects. I saw yesterday the departure of a troop of
half-starved emigrants from their desperate families; I
have not yet recovered from the spectacle-it was a terrible tragedy.
On November 8, Mrs. Jameson writes to the
same:
I have just seen a review in the ' Examiner,' written in
a very kind spirit. I have been very much indisposed.
The miserable spectacles I have witnessed, the severe
weather, the bad travelling accommodation, anxiety about
friends abroad, have conspired to bring on a sort of low
fever, from which I am now recovering.
Dublin, November 24.
DEAR MR. LONGMAN,-I have received my book; it
looks very pretty, and I get plenty of compliments, as a
matter of course; but compliments do not mean success,
and as yet I do not know what to hope on that score. I
wonder why anybody should care to read it in these
agitated times.
1 Mrs. Jameson had been staying with the Edgeworth family at
Edgeworthstown.




254


ANNA JAMESON.


Notwithstanding Mrs. Jameson's apprehensions,
the success of her volumes on ' Sacred and Legendary Art' was entirely satisfactory to herself, to
her friends, and, last not least, to her publishers.
She had carried on her notes and studies and illustrations for the second in order of the series, ' The
Monastic Orders,' simultaneously with the first, so
that she was less oppressed for the time with close
work in order to be ready for press by a given date.
Of her journey to Ireland as a whole, looking
back upon the three months passed in her own
country, Mrs. Jameson writes her impressions to
Mr. Noel on December i6:
In the first week of last September, being quite worn
out with hard work, I ran away for change. I was quite
ill. I ran to Ireland, of all places in the world, because
I felt ashamed that I had not visited my native land. I
went from Dublin to Enniskillen and Lough Erne, then
southwards to Longford, where I spent ten days with the
Edgeworths, and found that celebrated family as charming
as the world had believed them. Maria Edgeworth lively
and full of all natural sympathies at the age of eighty-one.
Thence I travelled through Galway, and saw the sun set
on the Atlantic; then through Limerick, Tipperary, Clonmel, Waterford, Wexford, and so back to Dublin, where,
before I left, I saw a good deal of society. You will now
ask me what are my general impressions. I have seen
enough to make me hopeless, but yet I hope. In the
north the linen trade is prospering, every loom at work.
In the west and south, all property, all society appear
to be falling into a state of dissolution. The failure of




TRAVELS AND STUDIES.


255


the potatoes has changed the face of the country. The
people die, or emigrate, or crowd into the poor-houses.
The poor-rates press so heavily on the already burdened
land that the landlords are driven to despair. The poorlaw, unfit in its present working for Ireland or the Irish,
seems destined to complete the process of degradation.
I heard Archbishop Whately call it 'the last and most
fatal of England's blunders with regard to ill-fated Ireland.'
If governments can profit, as we hope they can, in these
enlightened times, by the past, Ireland will not have
suffered in vain. But when I was there I could not speculate and philosophise; I could only feel sick at heart,
viewing the horrible misery which met me at every steplarge buildings, once mills and manufactories, all empty,
idleness and desolation and starvation everywhere. The
government is really trying do do something, but with the
best will it is a work of two or three generations. The
English papers and wiseacres talk gravely of colonising
Ireland-what a comment on its condition!     Lord
Clarendon is considered the best and most efficient Lord
Lieutenant ever sent to that country, and there is a mingled
decision, vivacity, kindliness, and power in his character
which will, I hope, work well. He is both loved and
feared.
I may add here a more pleasant chapter of her
experiences in Ireland, taken from her'Commonplace
Book:'
When travelling in Ireland, I stayed over one Sunday
in a certain town in the north, and rambled out early in
the morning. It was cold and wet, the streets empty and
quiet, but the sound of voices drew me in one direction,
down a court where there was a Roman Catholic chapel.
It was so crowded that many of the congregation stood




256


ANNRA JAMESON0


round the door. I remarked among them a number of
soldiers and most miserable-looking women. All made
way for me with true national courtesy, and I entered at
the moment the priest was finishing mass, and about to
begin his sermon. There was no pulpit, and he stood on
the step of the altar; a fine-looking man, with a bright
face, a sonorous voice, and a very strong Irish accent.
His text was from Matt. v. 43, 44.
He began by explaining what Christ really meant by
the words 'Love thy neighbour,' then drew a picture in
contrast of hatred and dissension, commencing with dissension in families, between kindred, and between husband
and wife. Then he made a most touching appeal in behalf of children brought up in an atmosphere of contention,
where no love is. 'God help them! God pity them!
small chance for them of being either good or happy, for
their young hearts are saddened and soured with strife, and
they eat their bread in bitterness!' Then he preached
patience to the wives, indulgence to the husbands, and
denounced scolds and quarrelsome women in a manner
that seemed to glance at recent events. 'When ye are
found in the streets vilifying and slandering one another,
ay, fighting and tearing each other's hair, do ye think
ye're women? No, ye're not, ye're devils incarnate, and
ye'll go.where the devils will be fit companions for ye!'
&c. (Here some women near me, with long black hair
streaming down, fell on their knees sobbing with contrition.)  He then went on in the same strain of homely
eloquence to the evils of political and religious hatred, and
quoted the text, ' If it be possible, as much as lieth in you,
live peaceably with all men.' 'I'm a Catholic,' he went
on,' and I believe in the truth of my own religion above all
others. I'm convinced, by long study and observation, it's
the best that is; but what then? Do ye think 1 hate my




TRA VELS AND STUDIES.


25 7


neighbour because he thinks differently? Do ye think I
mane to force my religion down other people's throats?'
He then insisted and demonstrated that all the miseries of
life, all the sorrows and mistakes of men, women, and children, and, in particular, all the disasters of Ireland, the bankrupt landlords, the religious dissensions, the fights domestic
and political, the rich without care for the poor, and the
poor without food or work-all arose from nothing but the
want of love. ' Down on your knees,' he exclaimed, 'and
ask God's mercy and pardon; and, as ye hope to find it,
ask pardon of one another for every angry word ye have
spoken, for every uncharitable thought that has come into
your minds; and if any man or woman have aught against
his neighbour, no matter what, let it be plucked out of his
heart before he leaves this place, let it be forgotten at the
door of this chapel. Let me, your pastor, have no more
rason to be ashamed of you, as if I were set over wild
bastes, instead of Christian men and women!'
After more in this fervid strain, which I cannot recollect, he gave his blessing in the same earnest heartfelt
manner.  I never saw a congregation more attentive,
more reverent, and apparently more touched and edified. (I 48.)
From the melancholy scenes which thus distressed
her, endowed as she was with sympathy too keen
for her own comfort, she soon passes, however, to
a very different scene; and the next letter we find is
from the cheerful, though to her most unsympathetic, locality of Brighton, whence she writes to Mr.
Noel in January i849. The sketch of the great
preacher here given will interest many readers:
S




258


ANLNA JAMESON.


I am at Brighton. We have had a sick house, and my
niece and sister are here for change. My great pleasure
is hearing Mr. Robertson preach. I met him at dinner
yesterday, and we talked of you.  He desired me to
say that he should never forget the days passed with
you at Botzen, and that he wishes he had followed your
advice two years ago.  He wishes that he had called
sooner on Lady Byron; there is great mutual admiration
apparently.  I went yesterday twice to church to hear
Robertson preach. I never heard anything to equal him
in eloquence-really fine speaking, not mere fervour and
fluency; a logical distribution of his subject, and an entire
command of himself and his own power, as well as of his
audience. In general fine preachers disturb me and shock
my taste, because they are carried away by their own excitement. He never is. I regret to see that he is in delicate health.
I need not apologise for introducing here the
following letter from Sir Robert Peel on the subject of Mrs. Jameson's Irish experiences, which
called forth in him feelings so similar to her own:
Drayton Manor, April 8, I849.
MY DEAR MRS. JAMESON,-Your letter reached me
just as I had concluded reading an article in the ' Edinburgh Review' on 'Sacred and Legendary Art,' and was
rejoicing in the tribute of full approbation paid to your
'eloquent and beautiful volumes.'
I did you injustice in feeling some momentary surprise
that you could turn from the splendid visions of St.
Christopher and St. Catherine to the personal examination
of the terrible realities of the west of Ireland.




TRA VMS AND STUDIES.


259


I wish you could not confirm my mournful impressions
as to the present, and my gloomy anticipations of the
future. I would willingly have resigned even the great
satisfaction I have derived from concurrence in my general
views and sentiments, expressed with much force and
feeling, for an assurance from your pen that my apprehensions as to the extent and rapid increase of moral and
social evil were without foundation.
That assurance, however, you cannot give me, and all
that is left for us is to cherish the hope that this chastening
of the Almighty may be sent for some beneficent purpose; and that, by awakening us to a true sense of our
danger, it may stimulate exertions that would not otherwise be made for the social improvement of Ireland. Believe me, my dear madam, very faithfully yours,
ROBERT PEEL.
The following remarks upon a subject which
has again become very near, and of the greatest
interest to all who are concerned (and who is not
concerned?) in European politics, were written to a
friend on May 24:
As to politics, the continental politics distance all
imaginings.... Of the result I entertain no doubt. The
spirit now stirring through Europe is not to be put down
by Russia, though the Russian hordes may overrun and
devastate Europe, and for the time turn the current in
favour of Austria. Even this is doubtful, for the Russian
army is a vile machine. It is one thing to gain battles
and make carnage, it is another thing to conquer. \What
conquests has Russia ever made? As to our state here,
we are tranquil. There was a chance of the ministry going
out on the navigation laws. It has blown over, and but
S 2




260


ANNA JAlfESON.


for that wretched political ulcer, poor Ireland, we might
be deemed prosperous. The Funds are at 93 to-day.
On Saturday the Queen was shot.at in the Park by
some idle fellow, and we have since been in a fever of
loyalty. The fact is that the Queen has never been so
popular. The evils and miseries of the Continent, a horror
of disorder, her own blameless and conscientious life and
excellent conduct, the good sense shown of late by Prince
Albert in aiding plans for the amelioration of the people,
have greatly tended to endear both to the public, and
when they appeared at the theatre their reception was
enthusiastic.
For all that, I do not think that we are in safe harbour, that the tempest will sweep by us and leave us untouched. I am not sure I wish it; but there is a principle
of vitality and development in our institutions, admitting
change before it is forced upon us, and the privileges of
grumbling aloud, speechifying, abusing and caricaturing
the ruling powers, are so many safety-valves. The continental nations are like children trying to use the two-edged
instruments with which our hands are familiar; they only
cut themselves. When I go to town, I shall probably see
Mr. Cobden, and I will tell him what you say. When I
was last in town, I was at a party at his house, and then
soon afterwards at a party at Lord Lansdowne's. The
difference was amusing.
Many people look to Sir Robert Peel at present. I
sometimes think he is waiting to be forced into office by
the voice of the people, and that the time may be at hand.
After all these comments on public affairs we
return to her private life in the following letter to
Miss Sedgwick:




TRA VELS AND STUDIES.


26r


Ealing: October io, 1849.
MY DEAREST CATHERINE,-As I was returning home
yesterday in the railway train from Derbyshire, I was
thinking of you, and that I must and should write to you
forthwith; and lo! as I was walking up the road homewards, I met the postman, who touched his hat, and put a
letter into my hand-yours, by Mrs. Follen, but dated so
long ago, July, and this is October. As I was devouring
the lines by the imperfect light, I had nearly been run
over by a stage-coach.  I had heard of Mrs. Follen's
arrival, and only waited her arrival in town to hold out my
arms to her. Yes, I remember her well; and, for her own
sake and for yours, I shall be charmed to see her again.
How I feel sometimes the want of a residence in town,
the want'of a home to which I could welcome my friends!
This little cell in my mother's cottage is a sort of nest
which just holds my books and me; and though Wordsworth talks of books having tendrils strong as flesh and
blood, I feel often all the difference; but no, I believe, on
consideration, that it is we who have the tendrils, and
twine round our books. But, in any case, mine don't,
except about very few-yours, perhaps, books which are
not mere books. How is it with you? With me it is as
if the roots of my life and its tendrils too grew stronger as
I grow older, and social life is becoming more necessary
to me just as my power of commanding it is lessened;
but we must do the best we can. Is there no hope of
your coming to England -none, not even in the far
future? But, at least, you can write a little oftener; and
so can I, for that matter. Your last I received on April 4.
I don't know how often I have written to you since.
But I have not yet told you something in which you
will sympathise with me truly. My niece Gerardine was




262 -

262VANNA JAAESOX


married on September 4 to Robert Macpherson, an artist
by profession, of a good Highland family, and a good,
kind, honest-hearted man. I was against the union at
first; but what seemed a sudden rash fancy on both sides
became respectable from its constancy. I am glad now
that I yielded. She may probably have to suffer, there
will be a struggle with the world; but at least the natural
life will have flowed in its healthy natural course, and the
trials which come will mature, and will not embitter, the
character. I hold to the right of every human being to
work out their own salvation; and the old have a right to
advise, but no right to prescribe an existence to, the young.
So Geddie has married the man whom she preferred from
the first moment she saw him, and as yet they are enchanted with each other. They are now in Scotland,
residing among his friends and relations, and they return
to Rome, which will be their residence for some years, in
about three weeks.  Then I lose my child, poor little
thing; and the present state of Italy makes me anxious,
but he understands his position, the place, and the people,
and I hope the best. Probably I shall be in Italy myself
next year.
I am glad, dear Catherine, that you are happy in your
Kate's marriage; give my love to her. I wish I knew her
husband, that I might bring the whole circle before me. I
have been reading Sir Charles Lyell's travels in America.
I was charmed with it. Surely it must please and interest
in America; has it not? Did you see him and his sweet
little wife? they are valued friends of mine. My 'Legendary Art' has had great success, and I am so glad it
has pleased my American friends. I am preparing a third
volume, the 'Legends of the Monastic Orders,' which will,
I hope, be found useful; it opens on a vast field of morals
as well as art, and the difficulty will, as formerly, lie in




TRA VELS A1ND STUDIES.


263


compressing my materials. Do you know Mrs. Browning
who was Elizabeth Barrett, the poetess? I have had a
charming letter from her. Think of the poor invalid being
the mother of a fine boy!... I don't and won't admire
Jenny Lind, whose success has been of a kind to make all
such triumphs ridiculous. She is an accomplished singer
and second-rate actress; we have had so many better! Of
my dear friend Lady Byron, I can only say that she is
rather better than she was a month ago. It is a hopeless
state of invalidism, but such a tenacity of life that I do not
give way to terror about her now, as I used to do. If you
can by any means give publicity in your country to the
enclosed paper, pray do it; it will be to me a favour and a
service. Can you send a copy to Professor Longfellow?
Ever, dearest Catherine, your affectionate friend.
I am going to write to Fanny; what is her name now?
A New Year's greeting came early in January
from  across the Atlantic that gave Mrs. Jameson
the sincerest pleasure, as any tribute of esteem or
affection from her friends in America never failed
to bring her.   It was Mr. Longfellow    who thus
addressed her from Cambridge, Massachusetts:
DEAR MRS. JAMESON,-Having many friends who
are your friends and admirers, and none more so than my
own wife, I venture to smuggle myself in among them at
this season, and wish you all the good wishes of the New
Year. I beg you to accept a volume of poems which I
have just published, and in which I hope there may be
something that will give you pleasure, you who have given
me so much, particularly your last work, 'Sacred and




264             ANNA JAMESON
Legendary Art.' How very precious it is to me! Indeed,
I shall hardly try to express to you the feelings of affection with which I have cherished it from the first moment
it reached us, now a year ago. It most amply supplies
the cravings of the religious sentiment, of the spiritual
nature within. It produces in my soul the same effect
that great organists have produced by laying slight weights
upon certain keys of their instruments, thus keeping an
unbroken flow of melody, whilst their fingers are busy
with the other keys and stops.  And there let these
volumes lie, pressing just enough upon my thoughts to
make perpetual music. God bless you for this book!
Your sincere friend,
HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.




LATER LIFE.


265


LATER LIFE.         265


CHAPTER X.
LATER LIFE.
FROM the commencement of the year 185 I, Mrs.
Jameson's more' influential friends had bestirred
themselves with a view to having her name placed
on Her Majesty's Pension List.    One of Mrs.
Jameson's earliest friends, Mrs. Procter, was the first
to receive through Mr. Thackeray the intimation that
the suggested nomination met with the approval of
Lord John Russell. Lord Stanley of Alderley had
personally made the application to the Prime
Minister, and sent the answer he received enclosed
in a note from himself to Mr. Thackeray.   Mr.
Thackeray forwarded both communications to Mrs.
Procter, writing on Lord Stanley's letter a characteristic note in his own hand.  'There, ma'am, I
think this is pretty good news on the whole! Just
found it at the Athenaeum, where I'm come to
work.'
Lord John's letter ran thus:
May 12, i851.
DEAR STANLEY,-Mrs. Jameson's deserts are worthy
of consideration when I can recommend for pensions, but




266


266  ANNA JAMESON.


till the end of June there is but a very trifling sum at
the disposal of the Crown.  Pray explain this to Mr.
Thackeray.                      Yours truly,
J. RUSSELL.
On July 2 Lord John wrote to Lord Stanley:
The Queen has been pleased to grant a pension of
Iool. a year to Mrs. Jameson. I wish you would inform
her of it, and ask her to name two trustees to receive the
payments.                       Yours truly,
J. RUSSELL.
A letter of the same date from Lord Stanley
accompanied this satisfactory note from Lord John, a
letter so kind and considerate that I cannot refrain
from giving it here:
DEAR THACKERAY,-I have just received a letter from
Lord John Russell, informing me that the Queen has been
pleased to grant a pension of Iool. a year to Mrs. Jameson,
and requesting me to inform her of it. As it was through
your representations to me of the circumstances and condition of that lady that I brought her case before Lord
John Russell, I will trust to your kindness to make this
communication to her, and to say how happy I am to
have been in any degree the means of bringing forward the
claims of one who is so well entitled to the consideration
of her sovereign.
I enclose Lord John's letter, by which you will see
that Mrs. Jameson must name two trustees to receive the
payments.
She had, perhaps, better write a letter of acknowledgment to Lord John, and if she likes it may be enclosed
to me.




LATERR LIFE.


267


The trustees named by Mrs. Jameson were Mr.
Thackeray and Mr. Murray.     The former stated
his readiness to accept the charge in the following delightful little letter dated from Kensington,
July 6:
MY DEAR MRS. JAMESON,-I am very nearly as pleased
as you are, and shall gladly be your godfather to promise
and vow the necessary things in your name. I saw Lord
John Russell yesterday, and thanked him, and told him
how happy some people were made, and what you said
about your mother, which touched the premier's heart.
And I wish I had a couple of trustees and a pension
For yours very truly,
W. M. THACKERAY.
The preparations for the first ' Great Exhibition,'
commonly so called in days before exhibitions became so general, and the opening in May 1851 of
the Crystal Palace in Hyde Park, were at this time
the uppermost subject in men's minds. Mrs. Jameson undertook to prepare one of the many guidebooks required for the various departments, the task
entrusted to her being the 'Companion to the Court
of Modern Sculpture.' Her pamphlet was republished in 1854 by Messrs. Bradbury and Evans in
the series known as 'The Crystal Palace Library.'
Mrs. Jameson's interest in the vast undertaking
had been profound from the commencement; and
from the following letter, written to Mr. Longman
in August I85i, from Ealing, it is evident that an




268


ANN14A JAMESON.


article from her on the Crystal Palace, for the
'Edinburgh Review,' had been discussed between
them:
DEAR MR. LONGMAN,-I find that I must give up all
thoughts of executing the literary undertakings which
were in my mind, and confine myself to those which are
on my conscience. The state of my mother's health is such
that I never feel sure of my proceedings, except in so far
that I shall not leave England during the next year (except
it be to go over to Paris for a week), and that I shall finish
my book of 'Madonnas' out of hand. It requires all the
time, thought, and labour I can now dispose of.
So much is written, and well written, on the subject of
the Great Exhibition, that I can be spared. Many considerations, suggested by what I have seen and compared,
lie in my mind, to come forth some day or other, in some
form or other, perhaps. If they never appear, the loss
will not be great to anyone. The tendencies of national
character as displayed in national art will of course find a
place, and the condition of the producers and workers in
each country would make the subject of a separate article
of unspeakable value.  In conversation I find this last
topic growing on men's minds. I wish the 'Edinburgh'
would take it up. The canvas is ready; we only want the
picture, with all its grouping, colour, light, shade, and infinite variety.
In the month of November Mrs. Jameson had
received proposals from a bookseller in Belfast
for the publication of a new edition of her book on
Canada. She immediately wrote to Mr. Longman
on the subject of these proposals, saying that if he




LA 4 E.R I ITE


269


(Mr. Longman) still wished to have the 'WVinter
Studies and Summer Rambles,' she would hand the
work over to him for the price offered her by the
Irish publisher, with an additional sum of iol. for
alterations and corrections and seeing through the
press. 'I intend,' she adds, 'to omit one-fourth of
the matter, and to make some changes interesting
at the present time, and with regard to present
affairs in Canada.'
Apparently Mr. Longman agreed at once to
these terms, for Mrs. Jameson writes a fortnight
later that 'the Canada book as altered and curtailed
will require, a new title. What do you think of
" Sketches in Canadavand Rambles among the Red
Men," which would best express what it now is?
If you can suggest a better title, I shall be glad to
have it.' "
On July 22, I852, Mrs. Jameson acknowledges
the receipt of a first copy of the book, and writes to
Mr. Longman that 'it looks very nice. I hope it
will have some success for your sake; but on looking over the pages it seems to me as if left far behind in my life.'
At the close of the year i85i, Mrs. Jameson
had written to Mr. Noel a' propos of the subject
that was becoming more and more interesting to
I The book, forming two parts of 'The Traveller's Library,' was
published May i852, under the title here given by Mrs. Jameson.




270


ANNA JAMESON


her mind and heart-the education of the masses,
and more especially the amelioration of the condition of the women and children of the poorer classes.
This letter is dated December 21, I852:
Now as for news. You have probably heard from Lady
Byron. She is tolerably well; she has been deeply interested in the educational conference held at Birmingham
on the subject of juvenile statistics, and has offered a prize
of 200/. for the best essay on the subject of juvenile crime,
and legislation to meet the difficulties. Ralph 1 being ill,
or rather just recovering from scarlet fever, she could not
go down herself to Birmingham. I went down with Miss
Murray, Miss Montgomery, and Mrs. Rathbone, to hear
what the lawyers and the clergy had to say. It was very
interesting; and the result is that the question is to be
agitated in every possible way till public sympathy, and
public opinion, and public conscience have borne down all
opposition. The object is to make parents responsible for
their children's moral education; or, in defiult, and the
child becoming amenable to legal correction, taking away
the child and taxing the parents. To me the question is
of more interest, and to England of more importance, than
the vile French politics. I am filled with disgust; and
you will see that the whole English press (with the exception of a few ultra-tory papers) has declared against
the President, even the Timens. Their first writers have
been worthily employed lately in showing up the monstrcus perjury and heartlessness and utter want of principle
in that man. He may succeed, probably will succeed;
but what a pis-allr! what a people, who play at politics
like children, and act dramas for the edification of the
Lady Byron's youngest grandchild, now Lord Wentworth.




IA TAR LIFE.


2 7


world! No principle round which to rally, no man to
represent worthily any party, no law, no press, no spirit,
no nothing! As Mrs. P. said the other day, 'they are
such a set of wretches, one does not care which side is
licked, so that they get it all round.' There is a party of
sympathisers here in England who talk of Louis Napoleon's
' manliness, decision, vigour, cleverness,' and so forth-this
you can imagine-but the sense of the nation is against
him. What will the next five years bring forth?
The ' Legends of the Madonna' came out in
i852; it was a work that cost its writer far more
thought and anxiety than either of the preceding
volumes.   I n the preface she says:
With far more of doubt and diffidence, yet not less
trust in the benevolence and candour of my critics, do I
present this volume to the public. I hope it will be distinctly understood that the general plan of my work is
merely artistic, that it really aims at nothing more than to
render the various subjects intelligible.
I may have been superficial from mere abundance of
materials, sometimes mistaken as to facts and dates; the
tastes, the feelings, and the faith of my readers may not
always go along with me; but if attention and interest
have been excited, if the sphere of enjoyment in works of
art have been enlarged and enlightened, I have done all I
ever wished, all I ever hope to do.
During this period from    I85I to I854, Mrs.
Jameson lived chiefly in Bruton Street, in the house
of her sister Camilla, Mrs. Sherwin, now the only
survivor of the family. Here she was able to collect




272            ANNA JAMESON.
her friends about her, and saw a good deal of
what may fairly be termed brilliant society at the
simple evening parties which she held on Wednesday evenings, much after the fashion of the Roman
rdunions,-in which the circle of her literary friends
was diversified by a little admixture from the great
world, and by the occasional appearance of strangers
of note, Americans and foreigners. For some time
Lady Byron was in the habit of spending these
evenings with her friend when her uncertain health
permitted, always an interesting figure in any
society; and the quiet drawing-room became the
scene of many a lively talk and animated discussion,
its abiding spirits, art and literature, being sometimes
set aside and cast into the background, in favour of
the new and eager voices of philanthropy and social
progress, which found so quick a response in the
heart of its mistress. Not only was Lady Byron,
her most intimate associate, in herself a centre of
benevolent schemes of all kinds, but the younger
members of the little society, the girls who looked
up with passionate admiration to these two chief
figures, were full of a thousand projects for the
amelioration of the world and the help (specially)
of women, a subject of continued and.enthusiastic
discussion.  Throughout her whole literary life
Mrs. Jameson had so entirely woven in her own
personality with her work, that it requires no effort




LATER LIFE.


273


to trace in her next publication the influence of
this society and of the gathering of old friends
and new, which greeted her return home after so
many absences. Reflections of genial leisure after
severe work, and of the pleasant conjunction of
minds in tune: echoes of conversations full of flying
gleams of thought, airy fancies, and musings softly
sad, such as pass with graceful fluency, though
perhaps no great depth, among a little company
of cultivated women: give what seems to me a very
delicate charm to the volume published two years
later, and which she entitled 'A Commonplace
Book of Thoughts, Memories, and Fancies.' It is
nothing, yet it is full of a thousand melodious
suggestions, undertones of sentiment and feeling,
and beautiful fragments of thought:  The papers
from which it was composed were, according to her
express desire, burnt after her death.  Her own
explanation of her work is so completely in keeping
with the description of it which I have ventured to
give, that I cannot do better than quote it here:
I must be allowed to say a few words in explanation
of the contents of this little volume, which is truly what its
name sets forth-a book of commonplaces, and nothing
more. If I 'have never, in any wNork I have ventured toplace before the public, aspired to teach (being myself a
learner in all things), at least I have hitherto done my best
to deserve the indulgence I have met with, and it would
T




274


ANNA JAMESON.


pain me if it could be supposed that such indulgence had
rendered me presumptuous or careless.
For many years I have been accustomed to make a
memorandum of any thought which might come across me
(if pen and paper were at hand), and to mark (and remark)
any passage in a book which excited either a sympathetic
or an antagonistic feeling. This collection of notes accumulated insensibly from day to day. The volumes on
'Shakespeare's Women,' on ' Sacred and Legendary Art,'
and various other productions, sprang from seed thus lightly
and casually sown, which, I hardly know how, grew up and
expanded into a regular readable form, with a beginning, a
middle, and an end.  But what was to be done with the
fragments which remained-without beginning and without
end-links of a hidden or a broken chain? Whether to
preserve them or destroy them became a question, and one
I could not answer for myself. In allowing a portion of
them to go forth to the world in their original form as
unconnected fragments, I have been guided by the wishes
of others, who deemed it not wholly uninteresting or profitless to trace the path, sometimes devious enough, of an
' inquiring spirit,' even by the little pebbles dropped as
vestiges by the wayside.
A book so supremely egotistical and subjective can do
good only in one way. It may, like conversation with a
friend, open up sources of sympathy and reflection; excite
to argument, agreement, or disagreement; and, like every
spontaneous utterance of thought out of an earnest mind,
suggest far higher and better thoughts than any to be
found here, to higher and more productive minds. If I
had not the humble hope of such a possible result, instead
of sending these memoranda to the printer, I should have
thrown them into the fire; for I lack that creative faculty




LA TER I IFE.


275


which can work up the teachings of heart-sorrow and
world-experience into attractive forms of fiction or art.
-The passages from books are not, strictly speaking,
sclected; they are not given here on any principle of choice
but simply because by some process of assimilation they
became a part of the individual mind. They ' found me,'
to borrow Coleridge's expression,' found me in some depth
of my being;' I did not ' find them.'
For the rest, all those passages which are marked by
inverted commas must be regarded as borrowed, though I
have not always been able to give my authority.  All
passages not so marked are, I dare not say, original or new,
but at least the unstudied expression of a free discursive
mind-fruits, not advisedly plucked, but which the variable winds have shaken from the tree; some ripe, some
' harsh and crude.'
I may make the last paragraph a little more
clear by explaining that the' passages marked by
inverted  commas,' which    are given   throughout
Part I. of the volume-that on ' Ethics and Character'
-among Mrs. Jameson's own thougzhts, were sentiments expressed at one period or another by the
two most intimate friends of her life (than whom no
mortals ever were more utterly dissimilar), Ottilie v.
Goethe and Lady Byron; and the paper entitled
'A  Revelation of Childhood ' was taken from 'a
letter to a friend,' almost certainly Miss Martineau,
with whom she had had an interchange of letters
referring to this interesting subject, Miss Martineau
having communicated in turn to Mrs. Jameson a
T 2




276


ANNA JAMESON.


detailed history of her own early recollections in a
very similar form to that which has been published
in her autobiography.  An allegory by Ottilie v.
Goethe, and some 'poetical fragments' of her own,
belong to this first part.  Part II. is on literature
and art, and among her criticisms on books is
one written the year of its publication on Thackeray's 'English Humourists,' a criticism that many
will sympathise with heartily. The book came out
in I854; the illustrations and etchings, graceful and
full of delicate feeling, were like the more important
portions of her book, all executed by herself.
I have omitted, I find, to mention that meantime, in the ' Edinburgh Review' for October 1853,
had appeared a notice of Haydon's career and
works, to which reference was recently made in the
same ' Review' (July 1876) in an article upon the
'Correspondence and Table-talk of Benjamin Haydon, with a Memoir by his Son'-reference so
graceful and so gratifying to Mrs. Jameson's surviving friends that I make bold to quote it here:
About three-and-twenty years ago Mr. Tom Taylor
gave to the world an excellent and judicious life of Benjamin Haydon, in which he said, with great feeling and a
proper degree of reticence, all that could or need be said
of that most unfortunate of artists and of men. The biography was reviewed at the time in these pages by one
who combined with a feminine delicacy of appreciation for
the artist a vigour of style and power of criticism which




LA 7ER LIFE.


277


has not often been surpassed in writing on the fine arts.
At this distance of time we may so far depart from our
almost invariable practice and name the authoress of that
paper-our accomplished and lamented friend, the late
Mrs. Jameson. Should the present publication revive, as
it can scarcely fail to do, the interest of a younger generation in the tragic tale of Haydon's sufferings and death,
they. may be found related with consummate delicacy and
judgment in the article to which we now refer, and those
who care to look back through so long a series of our
' Review' will not, we think, be unrewarded.  For ourselves, as far as the incidents of Haydon's life are concerned, we have nothing more to say. Our opinion of him
is unchanged, and we do not presume to think that it
could be more ably and gracefully expressed. We could
have wished that the story had been left as it was told
three-and-twenty years ago.
Allusion is made to both these publications in
the following letter addressed to Miss Sedgwick:London, November 14, 1853.
MY DEAREST CATHERINE,-This day, three hours
ago, I received your letter, dated October 29. Let no one
deny or doubt that there are inward inexplicable presentiments and mysterious sympathies linking us with the
absent. During the last fortnight, without any particular
cause or reason, I have been thinking of you more than
usual, almost constantly.  I mean that no day passed
without bringing you to my mind. A few days ago, I sat
talking of you with Mr. Kenyon. I had intended to have
sent you a little packet by your nephew, who made a most
agreeable impression on me, and who wrote me a few lines
afterwards, which I keep; they were so youthfully cordial.




278


ANNA JAMESOV.


They seemed to breathe of you. I felt you must have
spoken kindly of me. I sent you nothing, however, for
soon after I was painfully absorbed. My mother, about
whom you enquire so kindly, has been and is very ill.
They say it is the decline of age, the sinking of all the
powers; hopeless, therefore, in respect to the present, and
all that is left is to render the remaining weeks or months
as happy, as free from suffering as possible. She keeps
her bed, with no intermission of even transient strength;
but is cheerful, gentle, and resigned. Three of my sisters
are in constant attendance on her, and I am with her for
some hours of every day. This is our present position —
very like what it was with our poor father, ten years ago,
when you were in England. And now for the rest of your
questions, so kindly, so frankly expressed. Of my prosperity I cannot say much. My books have gained me
some reputation perhaps, and, what is better, have given
pleasure to such minds as yours. The profit is so small
that it is not worth mentioning. The produce of the
'Madonna' (of which I,030 copies sold this year) is 491.,
which I shall receive at Christmas-very encouraging, is it
not? But I go on with my allowance, and my little pension, and scribble, scribble, for love, if not for money. The
review of Haydon's life in the.' Edinburgh Review,' though
written in much trouble, has turned out successful; but I
do not publicly acknowledge it, because I do not generally
like writing in reviews. I have a book going to press,
which I believe I shall call ' Thoughts, Memories, and
Fancies,' a number of commonplaces which have accumulated in MS.; and as everybody says I had better publish
them, I have at last put them together, and, while attending on my mother, the compilation, printing, and illustrating furnish me with what the French call a distraction.
As to what you say of my cheerfulness and sound mind,




LA1TER LIFE.


279


dearest Catherine, let it pass. God is good to us, and
enables us to bear much; but the last year has made my
heart grey and wrinkled, though it may have spared my
face. There! now I have told you all that in a letter I
can tell you of myself. Are you satisfied? And now let
me thank you for all you tell me of yourself, your dear
people, your brother, your Kate, your home, your rooms,
your garden, your roses-all. There came over me, as I
read, a wish to cross again that terrible Atlantic, such as
I have not felt before for years. As to the Francesca, my
interpretation, when I saw the original picture in Ary
Scheffer's room, was different; the hell to hcr was his
averted face; the hell to him, remorse surviving love. In
this sense there is an infinitude of significance and pathos in
her exclamation, ' Come vedi, ancor non m' abbandona!' but
I don't know that I am right. Yesterday I had luncheon
in company with Mrs. Follen and Harriet Martineau. Mrs.
Follen looking well, and Harriet fat and portly, and handsomer than I ever saw her-less plain, perhaps, were the
more proper word. But she looks so full of radiant and
assured self-complacency that I gazed with admiring astonishment. Gifted, dauntless woman, who has doubt about
nothing, and, as people say, belief in nothing; but that I
don't believe. Her translation of Comte's philosophy is to
appear to-mdrrow.
Now, dear Catherine, I hope your letter is an earnest
that I shall hear again from you, and without such long
dreary intervals of silence. I have been reading, that is
turning the leaves of Miss Bremer's book, and dwelling on
your name. Of the book itself, there is too much of it,
and a barrenness of thought, though much good-nature and
talent. My love to all your friends who remember me.
Your affectionate
ANNA.




280


ANNA JAMESON


To return to the book of 'Thoughts, Memories,
and Fancies,' there is a certain fitness in the place
occupied by it in this life-history, in its tacit testimony to the dear friendship and mutual intercourse
preceding the melancholy and deplorable incident
which broke one of the chief ties of Mrs. Jameson's
later life, and which had occurred some time before its
publication. I cannot exactly tell at what date the
breach between my aunt and Lady Byron took place,
which made so great a difference in the life of one at
least of these devoted friends. The fact, which could
not remain hidden, was at the time explained to no
one-nor indeed at any time, by my aunt, except to
her younger sistel Charlotte, who after a long interval confided it to the only sister now surviving,
from whom, since this memoir was begun, I have
learned the cause of a severance which had been
a wonder and a mystery to me for years. The
apparent inadequateness of the motive that produced
such unfortunate results is bewildering, yet true
enough to the unreasonableness of life, in which we
continually find a simple misapprehension to lie at
the root of the most serious ruptures. It is not a
question into which it is necessary to enter in much
detail, but I believe the facts of the case were simply
these: Mrs. Jameson had become, partially by
accident, acquainted with some private particulars
affecting a member of Lady Byron's family, which




ILA TER LIFE.


281


had not been revealed to Lady Byron herself.
When these facts were finally made known at the
death of the person chiefly concerned, Lady Byron
became aware at the same time of Mrs. Jameson's
previous acquaintance with them. We may easily
imagine that the sting of finding her friend the
actual depositary of a secret which had been kept
from herself, had a great deal to do with the first
bitterness of Lady Byron's resentment. It is even
possible, I do not know, that my aunt, conscious of
no breach of loyalty or faithfulness towards her
friend, may have been too proud to enter into minute
explanations of how and why it was. Anyhow, the
stern temper of the one was roused, and the sensitive pride and high spirit of the other outraged and
wounded. She in her turn became the one 'implacable.' I cannot tell exactly when the incident
occurred; but whilst, from all I can gather, the
mutual suffering was, for a time at least, not
made evident to others, I have too good reason to
know that the wound was one from which Mrs.
Jameson never recovered. Perhaps the one other
person to whom (while silent as to the cause) she
expressed herself freely on this painful subject, was
the kind and trusted friend to whom already so
many references have been made, and from whom
I have obtained so much information-Major Noel.
He had been absent for some time in Ireland, but




282


ANNA JAMESON.


on his return he naturally resumed his old habits
and went to see his friend; she received him
'with much emotion.' Major Noel writes: 'She
said that our intimacy must cease, because my
first duty was to keep on terms of friendship
with Lady Byron.' Afterwards, lest this request
should be insufficient, she wrote to the same
effect, and almost in the same words, 'entreating
me,' Major Noel adds, 'never to come near her
again, for my first duty was towards Lady Byron,
'who had broken her heart.' These impassioned
words show how deep the pain had been. Thus
she lost not only the imperious second self who
had occupied so large a share of her inmost soul for
years past, but from a generous reluctance to embarrass their personal relations with one more able to
be of use to them than herself, she renounced the
consolation she might have found in the continuance
of her heretofore uninterrupted intercourse with still
older and more faithful friends. Mrs. Noel some
years later made one effort to break through the
prohibition, and wrote an affectionate note full of
their desire to hear from her, informing her 'dearest
Anna' of the disembodiment of the militia regiment
in which Major Noel served, and the changes consequent upon it; but no answer was ever received, and
when her letters were returned to her at Mrs.
Jameson's death, this was found as it was sent, the




LA TER LIEE.


283


seal unbroken: the memories of that time of trouble
were still felt too bitter to be voluntarily recalled.
Mrs. Noel has endorsed the faded note, which is
dated May 5, I858, with the words, 'This seal I
opened myself, September I9, I877.' The friends,
however, I am glad to say, did meet at least once
again. When, in 1859, Mrs. Noel was ill in London,
Mrs. Jameson, hearing of it, could not resist the
longing of the old affection, and went to see her;
but the broken intercourse was never resumed.
This year of 1854 was one of sorrows. The gentle
mother, to whom Mrs. Jameson and her sisters were
so fondly attached, died in the midst of her children,
after a year of lingering illness, in the early spring;
and in the autumn another event occurred, which,
though it is impossible to suppose that it could
come upon her as a heavy grief, was yet no doubt
a shock to her, and at first appeared likely to compromise the comfort of her future life: this was the
death of Mr. Jameson in Canada. Some time previously he had persuaded his wife to give up to him
the legal papers that secured to her her allowance of
3001. a year, for the purpose, it was explained to
her, of enabling him to invest in certain land to be
secured to her after his death, and which would prove
such renunciation on her part to result in gain to
her rather than loss. When, however, his will was
examined, it was found that no provision whatever




284


ANNA JAMESON.


had been made for her, and she was thus suddenly
deprived of her income. The whole property was
left away from her, and from the members of Mr.
Jameson's own family.
Mrs. Jameson was advised by some persons to
dispute the will; but she accepted the counsels of her
valued old friend Bryan Procter, who wrote to her
that, unless there was clear ground for her to
stand upon, it would be unwise to plunge into law.
He thought, moreover, that an assertion by some
friend of her moral right to a share of Mr. Jameson's
property might induce the legatee to yield some
part.
When the fact that Mrs. Jameson's income from
Canada had thus stopped for ever became known, a
certain number of her friends, Mrs. Procter being
the prime mover of the whole plan, collected among
themselves a sum wherewith an annuity of iool. was
insured to Mrs. Jameson for her lifetime.
I wish I could repeat with the same graceful and
warm-hearted vivacity with which it was told to me
the story of the meeting between the two friends at
which this entirely unsuspected effort of loving kindness was made known to the object of it. Mrs. Procter, who had not shrunk either from the trouble or
the responsibility, faltered when the moment came, in
natural delicacy and generous alarm, lest the gift thus
offered should wound any susceptibility, or mortify the




LA 7TER LIFE.


285


pride of independence in her friend's high spirit.  It
is needless, however, to add that Mrs. Jameson was
entirely destitute of the petty self-esteem which could
be wounded by so noble and generous a gift, made
infinitely sweeter by the very tremor of doubt and
panic with which the announcement was made. For
the first moment neither could tell what the other
said, except that the news was conveyed and received with mutual emotion and sympathy; and this
alarming climax of a long labour of kindness ended
in the tears and the kiss of tender friendship and
gratitude which happily made words unnecessary.
After they had parted, Mrs. Procter received the
following note, which she kindly permits me to copy
here.
DEAR FRIEND,-After you were gone to-day, I could
not help giving way to many feelings. I am glad neither
you nor any one could see me. And I am better, and my
mind clearer. How kind my friends have been —how
good, how true! And what a soft, delightful feeling gratitude is! All this time, while I have been tormenting
myself with perplexity and anxiety, God and you have
been caring for me.  Dear friend, how I love you, not
only for what you have done, but for the consummate
judgment and delicacy with which you have done it! I
am now taken out of that slavery to booksellers and bookmakers which I so hated and feared, and my sisters are
safe. I had arranged their existence for this next year,
but what was to become of them afterwards I could not




286


286  ANNA JAM. ESON


tell. Now there is enough for all. And when I think I
owe it to you, it does certainly add to the happy feeling in
my mind. So I say no more; indeed, why should I?
You must say to my other friends what you know is in my
heart.
Yours affectionately,
ANNA JAMESON.
Mrs. Procter adds that after the annuity had been
bought, a sum of about 701. remained over, which
was put into a pretty purse and presented to Mrs.
Jameson, who protested, with tears and laughter,
that this was the part of her friends' liberality which
she enjoyed most thoroughly.
While, however, accepting in the spirit in which it
was given the thoughtful provision thus made for her,
Mrs. Jameson regarded in a different light another
offer which was made to her soon after. In the
month of May following, a friend, desirous of remaining unknown, offered to place at Mrs. Jameson's
bankers' the sum of 0ol. a year to her credit, to
be drawn in half-yearly payments. This generous
proposal, though it came through the same kind
hands, Mrs. Jameson declined, with the most grateful
acknowledgment, however, of the intention of the
giver. Her letter on the subject is so characteristic of her clear sense of what could and what
could not be accepted by her in the shape of friendly
aid, that I quote from the ro0Ugh draft in her own




LATER LIFE.


287


handwriting the letter sent in reply to Mrs. Procter's
note:
May 25, 1855.
MY DEAR FRIEND,-How could I be otherwise than
both surprised and pleased by your communication? What
good people there are in the world, what generous noble
hearts! I am grateful for the proffered kindness, but, dear
friend, I cannot, for I think —I am sure —I ought not to
accept it. I accepted the annuity, not only without scruple,
but with unmixed pleasure. In the first place it had
emanated from you, my old friend, and then so many had
joined, spontaneously, zealously-so many! I must have
been hardened in pride and misanthropy if I had not been
touched with the softest gratitude, and even with a sort of
sympathy for the sympathy shown to me. But don't you
see, dear, that this of which you tell me is quite another
thing? This generous being, whoever she may be, has
either a turn for benevolence (and then how many there
are who more deserve her benevolence than I do), or she
has an especial kindness for me personally; and kindness
in this particular form I no longer need. To be reduced
to sordid want I did not deserve, perhaps; well, have I
not been lifted in the arms of generous friends above
want and the fear of it? Do I deserve, have I any even the
least right to more? Certainly not. I am provided with a
reserve for this journey which is to set me up in health.
With my pension and annuity I ought to supply my little
home with all the necessaries of life. I cannot, I will not,
owe superfluities to a yearly allowance out of the fortune
of another. If this 50/. a year were a gift from the Queen,
I would accept with a dutiful courtesy what was tendered
as a royal grace; but from no other being in the world will
I accept of it. Say, therefore, that, with every feeling of




288


ANVNA JAMESON.


gratitude and respect to my unknown friend, I decline
the offer. I cannot be mistaken either in the impulse or
the principle which prompts me to do so, for what I felt
yesterday I think to-day after sleeping upon it.
The anxiety and grief connected with the loss of
her beloved mother, and the painful circumstances
attending the disclosure of her pecuniary position at
the death of her husband, all had told upon Mrs.
Jameson's health, already considerably undermined.
Her desire was to return to Italy, the land of her
affections, and her medical advisers strongly counselled her to seek there the rest and change that
she needed. This visit, however, was not achieved
till 1856. In the meantime Mrs. Jameson had made
a step into what may be called public life. She had
been persuaded to put her thoughts upon the public
ministrations of charity, and the office which women
might fitly fill in this way, into the form of lectures.
The first of these, ' On Sisters of Charity Abroad
and at Home,' was delivered in the month of
February I855 'privately' at the house of Mrs.
Reid in York Terrace. It was afterwards printed
' by desire,' and the interest it excited was sufficient
to demand a second edition within three months.
The first lecture was experimental, and met with
such success, that, had Mrs. Jameson's health permitted the necessary exertion, she might have been
encouraged to give her mind to this branch of public




LA TER LIFE.


289


education. But the effort was too great, and the
lectures were neither of them ever attempted before
a larger and mixed audience.    In her preface to
the second edition, Mrs. Jameson dwells on the
'general expression of responsive sympathy, public
and private,' being 'such that 'the hand laid thus
timidly and unskilfully upon the chords almost
" recoils from the sound itself hath made."'
Not less (she writes) have I been touched with pleasure
and surprise by the numerous communications which
almost every post has brought to me from medical men,
from clergymen, from intelligent women, the greater number
strangers to me personally, either expressive of cordial
sympathy, or conveying practical suggestions, or offering
aid and co-operation. All, however various the contents,
testifying to the great truths I have endeavoured to illustrate in these pages; namely, that there exists at the core
of our social condition a great mistake to be corrected, and
a great want supplied; that men and women must learn
to understand each other, and work together for the
common good, before any amount of permanent moral
and religious progress can be effected; and that, in the
most comprehensive sense of the word, we need SISTERS
OF CHARITY everywhere.:
In conclusion she says that considerations of
health take her away from England for the present,
but that on her return she hopes to find kindly and
active spirits and wise heads doing the practical
work she cannot do herself.
U




290              ANNA4 J1AMIIESON
It has been said (she adds) that we need some protest
against the tendency of this age to deify mere material
power, mere mechanism, mere intellect, and what is called
the ' philosophy of the positif' It appears to me that
God's good providence is preparing such a counterpoise in
the more equal and natural apportioning of the work that
is to be done on earth; in the due mingling of the softer
charities and purer moral discipline of the home life with
all the material interests of social and political life; in the
better training of the affectionate instincts of the woman's
nature, and the application of these to purposes and objects which have hitherto been considered out of their
province or beyond their reach; for what can concern the
community at large which does not concern women also?
Mrs. Jameson's chief argument was the advisability, or rather the absolute necessity, existing for
the thorough co-operation of both sexes in all that
relates to social improvement, whether in works of
mercy, of education, or of reformation. The second
lecture, in which she followed up and completed the
argument of the first, and which was entitled the
' Communion of Labour,' was not delivered until the
summer of I856, and in the meantime Mrs. Jameson
had accomplished her intended visit to the Continent,
devoting her chief attention to an entirely different
class of subjects from those which had hitherto been
her chief delight and occupation. It is significant of
her temporarily altered purpose, that she scarcely set
foot in Italy, the goal of her desires, the beloved
home of art, at all, penetrating only as far as Pied



LA TER LIFE.


291


mont; but, on the other hand, she lingered long in
Paris, with which she had formerly declared herself
so entirely out of harmony, and spent all the time
she had to spare from the claims of her friends,
both here and in Germany, in visiting every hospital and charitable institution to which she could
get admission. These researches were very different
from the calm studies once carried on in churches
and picture-galleries; but she took the same conscientious judgment and spirit of careful examination with her, whatever her object might be.  In
June I856, having returned home, she gave her
second address on these topics.  When this was
published, she explained in a preface that it was
intended to be 'merely supplementary to the " Lecture on Sisters of Charity" published last year; as
an illustration and expansion, through facts and
examples, of the principles there briefly set forth,
namely, that a more equal distribution of the work
which has to be done, and a more perfect communion
of interests in the work which is done, are, in the
present state of society, imperatively demanded.'
This lecture contains details of her manifold
experiences in Paris, Vienna, Turin, and Milan, and
enters into comparisons, carefully and most conscientiously drawn up, between such establishments
at home and abroad, between pauper nurses and
sisters of charity, Catholic and Protestant.  The
U 2




292


292  ANNA JAMESO0A


necessity of good training and regular discipline, of
co-operation and brave resistance to prejudice and
conventionality, is dwelt upon with that sincere
earnestness and hopeful spirit which had distinguished her from   her earliest years.  An excellent
sketch'of Mrs. Jameson's habitual attitude in respect
to questions of this kind will be found in the last
pages of the volume of 'Vignettes' published in
i866 by Bessie Raynor Parkes, in which there is a
short sketch of Mrs. Jameson's career, touched in
by a true and tender hand, and bearing testimony
to the good service she did for the improvement of
the social position of women. The writer was one
of the younger members of the circle already referred to, which had gathered round my aunt in
Bruton Street, bringing the fervent enthusiasm of
philanthropical reformers into her calmer atmosphere
of art.
Mrs. Jameson did not compromise herself by adherence
to the views of any particular party; her age, her high
social reputation, her peculiarly balanced mind, kept her,
as it were, aloof, and in a sphere apart; yet she was ever
the first to come forward in support of any measure she
individually approved. When an effort was made some
years ago to pass a Bill through Parliament securing to
married women the use of their own earnings, her name
was the first attached, of all the many thousands upon the
various petitions. Her two lectures on 'Sisters of Charity
at Home and Abroad,' and on the ' Communion of




LATER LIFE.


293


Labour,' were each read in person to a very large drawingroom audience, and contain more sound thought, fearlessly
expressed, than anything that has appeared elsewhere on
women's life and labour. The earnest eloquence of her
'Letter to Lord John Russell,' prefixed to the last edition
of these lectures, should touch many hearts to the quick,
now that the hand which penned it is cold in death. She
speaks from the calm heights of 'sixty years' with a force
and a power which will echo. long amidst us. Where
shall we find such another heart-one so just, so gentle;
so sympathetic for men, yet so brave for womeni; so
generous and affectionate for all?
The writer of these lines was one who knew
and loved Mrs. Jameson well. She was one of
those who had felt the value of such aid and sympathy as my aunt was always ready to give, in the
efforts which she herself had been engaged in, conjointly with other young women, to open up fresh
chances of work and independence to those of their
own sex who required to work in order to live. In
all these efforts Mrs. Jameson took the kindest,
warmest interest, encouraging the workers in their
less hopeful moments, advising them  in their many
difficulties, while they sat like young disciples at her
feet, and gave due weight to each word that fell
from  her lips.  Some of these ladies founded a
periodical that had some years of existence-' The
Englishwoman's Magazine,' of which Miss Parkes
was the editor, and to which Adelaide Procter was




294            ANNA JAMESON.
a contributor, Emily Faithfull being the printer,
with her female staff. I am not aware that Mrs.
Jameson ever contributed any article of her own to
these pages, but she was as a tower of strength to
the girl-editor and writers, and they held on firmly
by the hands she extended to them.




HER LAST DAYS.


205




CHAPTER XI.
HER LAST DAYS.
AFTER this temporary departure from her own cherished and favourite path, Mrs. Jameson returned
once more to her projects of travel and to the artexpositions which were her most characteristic work.
During the preceding five or six years, her home
had been alternately with her two sisters Eliza and
Charlotte at Ealing, or in London with her sister
Camilla. Now, before quitting England with every
intention of thenceforth passing the greater portion
of her time on the Continent, she removed with her
sisters, at their express desire, from Ealing to Brighton, a place she herself simply detested, but for
which they had a special fancy, and whither they
felt now more particularly attracted, from the fact
that their sister Camilla had removed thither some
few months previously.
Having thus reconstructed the ' family nest,' as
she loved to call it, Mrs. Jameson went to Paris,
where she found the Brownings, Mme. Mohl, and




296


ANNA JAMESON.


divers other friends established more or less temporarily; and here she began at once to occupy herself with the preparation of a second edition of her
' Madonna book.' For this the whole of the larger
illustrations required to be redone.  In the first
edition of this volume, in lieu of attempting, with her
failing sight, the etchings on copper that had accompanied the numerous woodcuts of the first volume
of the series (in which I had the privilege of
assisting her, being with her at the time), she
mentioned in the preface that the drawings for this
had been achieved ' by a less tedious, but also less
effective process,' and,' as it proved,' likewise a far
less durable one, for the plates could not last out
even one more edition, and she had resolved on the
transfer of the whole to copper, and concluded on
having them executed by me during the months she
proposed spending in Rome.
To this city she came early in the year 1857, and
in the' Vignette' already quoted from, the writer, who
also passed that spring in Rome, tells the reader
that to see Mrs. Jameson
kindle into enthusiasm amidst the gorgeous natural beauty,
the antique memorials, and the sacred Christian relics of
Italy, is a sight which one who witnessed it will never forget. There is not a cypress upon the Roman hills, or a
sunny vine overhanging the southern gardens or a picture
in those vast sombre galleries of foreign palaces, or a cata



HER LAST DAYS.


297


comb spread out vast and dark under the martyr-churches
of the city of the Seven Hills, which is not associated with
some vivid flash of her intellect and imagination, and with
the dearer recollections of personal kindness.
She used to say that a picture to her was like a plain
writing; when she looked at it, she seemed to feel instantly for what purpose it had been wrought. She loved
to fancy the old artist painting it in his studio, and the
man who bought it to offer as a votive offering for the
health of some one he loved, or in commemoration of
some one who was dead. If saints or fathers were introduced into the composition, she knew each by his aspect,
and why he was in attendance; and could tell the story of
their lives, and what they had done for the faith. The
strange mystic symbolism of the early mosaics was a
familiar language to her; she would stand on the polished
marble of the Lateran floor, or under the gorgeously
sombre tribune of the Basilica of Santa Maria Maggiore,
reading off the quaint emblems, and expounding the pious
thotfghts of more than a thousand years ago.
At Rome there is an ancient church hard by the bloodstained amphitheatre of the Coliseum dedicated to St.
Clement, the companion of St. Paul (and himself a descendant of the Flavia gens). Tradition says he lived
there; at any rate the present building is of the date
AD. 800, and built on the foundation of one much older.'
In this church she delighted, and to it she would take
anyone who sympathised with her peculiar feeling for art.
Her talk, as she described it, was a running commentaiy
on the books she published on kindred subjects.
1 When Mrs. Jameson left Rome for the last time in I859, the
lower church, with its early specimens of fresco and wonderful suhterraneans, was still a hidden treasure, the very existence of which
was a mere tradition.




298


ANNA JAMESON


I am glad to be able to take from Miss Parkes
even so slight an account of the delight and value
of my aunt's companionship and guidance among
the treasures of art which she knew so well; for
the subject is one on which I can scarcely trust myself to speak. The execution of the etchings for the
' Legends of the Madonna,' to which I have already
referred, and which she confided to me, brought us
once more into something of our old relations, as I
again worked under her direction in paths so familiar; yet how great was the difference! The contrast between the young inexperienced girl who had
filled the same place nearly a dozen years before,
and the woman who was now herself a mother and
mistress of a family, immersed in all the cares which
attend maturing life, struck myself with sufficient
force, but must have made a still more painful impression of change upon her, the dear and ever indulgent director of the work; too clear-sighted not
to see the divided attention which was all I now had
to give her; too loving and sympathising not to
forgive, but at the same time too sensitive not to
feel the contrast. I cannot myself look back upon
this temporary reunion without a keen pang of sympathy with her for the change she must have experienced in it, and of admiration for the doubly tender
silence which she maintained on the subject, never
increasing my semi-remorseful consciousness by any




HER LAST DAYS.


299


betrayal of her own. The whole series of etchings,
about thirty in number if I recollect rightly, were
completed during the summer.
Mrs. Jameson spent that summer, I believe,
altogether in Italy, but not in the vicinity of Rone.
The month of December found her settled down in
Florence. Thence she wrote on December 6, 1857,
to Mr. Longman from No. I902 Via Maggio, what
she terms
merely a letter of business; for though I have much to
say to you, I cannot say it all now, and if you are so
much engaged, it will be better deferred for a few days.
I dined with Lord Normanby yesterday, who does not
look the worse for his long journey, nor for the reviewers
who seem to me very ill-natured. I have also just seen
the pictures recently purchased here for the National Gallery, and am enchanted that we have got them at last.
They are all to me old acquaintances, old in every sense,
but supplying a great gap in our historic series.
Later in the same month she wrote to Mr. Longman to sayI have the review of 'Vasari' more than half finished,
and here at Florence I have been able to add many interesting things.... I do not care to finish this review
(which I began two years ago) unless sure of its acceptance
and when it would be wanted.
For some reason or other the review of 'Vasari'
never was concluded or published. For the events


1 The Rinuccini collection (?).




300


ANNA JAMESON.


of these later years and Mrs. Jameson's own expression of the frame of mind in which they found her
-for all concerning the outer and inner lifethe cessation of her correspondence with Major
Noel is a misfortune for the compiler of this memoir,
for no other series of intimate letters has been found
obtainable to complete the story of the last ten years
of her active life.
It was not until her return to Rome in I859
that my aunt ever spoke to me personally with
reference to the subject, still so exquisitely painful to her, of the broken friendship with Lady Byron.
For my own part, knowing of the fact through others
long previously, I had most carefully refrained from
any allusion to it by word of mouth or letter, though
few could more perfectly realise what the recoil must
have been when the spring of that friendship
snapped for ever. I could well remember the daily,
all but hourly exchange of thought in innumerable
letters; the continual visits, more or less prolonged,
to Fordhook, Esher, Brighton, wherever Lady
Byron's home might temporarily chance to be. I
believe, though I never heard it said, that the reason
why Mrs. Jameson ' could not bear Brighton' was the
fact of the many days passed there at intervals with
that all-absorbing friend.  Even now she did not
disclose to me the actual cause; as I have said,
until lately, this remained to me a mystery; but




HER LAST DA YS.


3ot


for the first time she spoke of the matter to me, and
told me that the break in this friendship had -been
to her a mortal blow, one from which she should
not recover.  She felt her vital power gone, and
while she hoped that her strength might endure
until she had 'finished her work'-her work that
lay so near 'her heart, on the fruits of which she
counted as a source of partial support to the dear
ones she was to leave behind her in the world-she
knew, she said, that for her the end was near at hand.
And most surely the failing in health and spirit
observable in 1857 was far more evident in 1859.
Here in Rome we thought her sadly altered, enfeebled in body, and dispirited in her mind about
herself and all her undertakings. But we did not
think that never again were we to see her among
her favourite haunts in the Rome she loved. In
the pleasant apartment occupied by her close by the
Tiber facade of the Palazzo Borghese, looking out
over the river at the point known as the Porto di
Ripetta, Mrs. Jameson found much enjoyment
during her stay in Rome; but the least fatigue exhausted her strength, and she rarely passed an
evening out of her own rooms. Her friends went
to her, old friends and new acquaintances, and she
did not lack for visitors when she would admit of
such distraction from her steady work:-such old
friends as Gibson, for instance, a lonely man since




302


ANNA JAMESON:


the death of his brother, the gentle ' Mr. Benjamin,'
as Gibson invariably styled him, and Mr. and Mrs.
Story and Harriett Hosmer, in whose career my
aunt had been keenly interested since the days she
was Gibson's pupil. Charles Hemans, but lately
lost to Rome, was also a welcome visitor, and others
whom I do not now call to mind.    Among the
newer acquaintances were the Hawthornes, who
spent that winter in Rome. I believe Mr. Hawthorne in his 'European Diary' mentions the fact
of his having met with Mrs. Jameson; I am under
the impression that he visited galleries and churches
with her, but, preferring to maintain intact his own
very singular impressions and opinions as to art, ancient and modern, did not particularly appreciate her
elucidations. I have not the ' Diary' at hand to refer
to, but my impression was at the time that sympathy in art at least was impossible between them.
During this winter Mrs. Jameson had commenced her last work, the volumes that were to
complete the sacred art series-the 'History of Our
Lord and of St. John the Baptist.' She continued her
labours in Florence, where she passed two months,
although ill the greater portion of the time, her one
great compensation being the society of her dear
friends Mr. and Mrs. Browning, and one or two
other persons living in Florence, to whom she was
warmly attached. She then went north, and, cross



HER LAST DA YS.


303
1..

ing the Alps, once more joined her beloved Ottilie
for the last time.   She was still with Mme. de
Goethe in the month of August in Dresden, or
rather at JMaxen, some fifteen miles from the Saxon
capital, a country house belonging to their mutual
friend Mme. Serre.
The situation is beautiful (she writes to her sister
Charlotte), and the scenery very peculiar; we are near
what is called the Saxon Switzerland. The house is attached to part of an old ruined castle, and on the other
side is a large farm. I see the basse cour from my bedroom windows; thirty-six cows of different breeds, and
other stock in proportion. In the house there is a family
of thirteen Italian greyhounds, of three generations, all
romping together with a fine cock, which, having taken to
them when a chicken, will no longer live among the
poultry, but spends his life with the greyhounds; and to
see two or three of the greyhound puppies and this old
cock at a game of play is certainly the drollest thing
imaginable.  I have had a letter from the Lord Chancellor,l asking me to call on some friends of his at Dresden,
which I shall do as soon as I return there.
On October 8 Mrs. Jameson writes to tell her
sisters at Brighton of her arrival in London, 'safe
and well after a rapid journey, very tired. At nine
on Monday morning I start for Bradford.'
Thither she went, having purposely hastened her
return from the Continent to attend the Social
Science meeting to be held in that city, intending
Her old friend in Ireland, the Hon. Maziere Brady.




304


ANNA JAMESON.


at the same time to pay some visits in the neighbourhood.   She went first to Fryston Hall, near
Pomfret Castle, the residence of Mr. Monckton
Milnes, from whom she had received a cordial invitation.  From this house she wrote to her sisters
that she had felt greatly fatigued by the journey
down, and had 'kept her room all Saturday.'
On Sunday I drove over to Haworth; with the clergyman who was to preach a charity sermon there, and invited
me to accompany him.   Haworth, you know, was the
home of Charlotte Bronte, where she died. We were
received by the feeble, desolate old man, her father, andI shall tell you the rest when I see you. I came over
to Fryston, this beautiful place of Monckton Milnes, near
Pomfret Castle, and have been very much pleased with
my visit. Miss Carpenter, Mr. and Mrs.' Cowper, Mr.
Brookfield, and other interesting people have been here,
about eighteen to dinner every day. On Thursday I go
to Liverpool, to the Rathbones, and thence I will write
again. I shall not be in Brighton probably till next week,
perhaps the 26th. If any letters arrive, send them to me,
care of William Rathbone, Esq., Greenbank, Liverpool.
Mrs. Jameson's visit to the Social Science meeting is thus recorded by Miss Parkes:
She attended the Social Science meeting at Bradford
in October I859, and sat during the whole of one day in
the section B, where papers on the employment of women
were being read, and occasionally joined in the discussion
which ensued. When Mrs. Jameson spoke, a deep silence
fell upon the crowded assembly. It was quite singular to




HER LAST DSA YS.


305


see the intense interest she excited. Her age, and the
comparative refinement of her mental powers, had prevented her sphere of action from being ' popular' in the
modern sense; and this, of course, created a stronger desire
to see and hear her of whom they knew little personally.
Her singularly low and gentle voice fell like a hush upon
the crowded room, and every eye bent eagerly upon her,
and every ear drank in her thoughtful and weighty
words.
In the next few months, which were the last
of her life, she continued the concluding work
of her series, the crown of the undertaking, that
which was to exhibit the manner in which art had
told the history of our Lord. Had it been chosen
with purpose and intention, it would have been impossible to find a more touching or worthy conclusion to her own life and labours; and, as it happens,
the portions of her work which she was able to
execute were just those which it is most consolatory
to think of as having occupied her last thoughts.
Late in the year 1859, after the visit to Bradford
which I have recorded, and a few subsequent visits
to friends in Yorkshire and Lancashire-among
others to Mrs. Gaskell at Manchester-she returned
to the home of her sisters in Brighton, which continued her headquarters for the short remainder of
her life. though she was constantly in London,
where she had lodgings in Conduit Street, and where
she spent much time among the art treasures in the
x




306


ANNA JAMESON


print room  of the British Museum.       Thus the.
last subject of which her mind was full was the most
sacred of all subjects.   Her surviving sister remembers well how much she spoke of the Divine
story upon which she was engaged, and how deeply
it touched her feelings.  'She used to express how
much her pity was excited by John the Baptist, and
her devotional admiration of the Divine excellence
of his Master. I have seen her weep as she spoke
of it.' Lady Eastlake, in her preface to the unfinished work which she completed and published a
few years later, gives us an account of how she
found the fragments as they had dropped from the
hands of the original writer:
I found a programme, contained on one sheet of paper,
of the titles and sequence of the different parts of the
subject; also a portion of the manuscript in a completed
state, though without the indication of a single illustration.
For what was still unwritten no materials whatever were
left. By her sisters, the Misses Murphy, who have shown
the utmost desire to assist me, I was furnished with many
note-books and journals. These, however, threw no light
on Mrs. Jameson's intentions as regards the treatment of
the large portion still unexecuted; it was evident that she
was accustomed to trust to the stores of her rich mind and
to her clear memory.... In the short programme...
the ideal and devotional subjects... were placed first.
This arrangement Lady Eastlake did not retain;
but it gives us the satisfaction of finding a large




HER LAST DA YS


307


part of the more affecting and personal story,
beginning with the history of the Innocents and of
John the Baptist, with a number of the miracles and
parables, and many particulars of the Saviour's life,
' written by her own hand.'
Before proceeding, as must now be done, to the
sad and brief narrative of her death, I cannot refrain from taking one final extract from what must
have been among the very last of my aunt's writings. It is so entirely like her, so beautiful in
expression, so full of the pensive and chastened enthusiasm of her declining life, that the reader cannot
have a better picture of that fine and gentle spirit,
by which to remember her. She has been discussing the miracle at the Pool of Bethesda and its
treatment in art, and has just expressed her intense
admiration of Murillo's grand picture, 'formerly in
the Hospital of Charity at Seville, whence it was
stolen by Marshal Soult:'
I have a vivid recollection of the occasion on which I
first beheld this beautiful picture, and something, perhaps,
may be allowed for the associations connected with it.
I had breakfasted with Mr. Rogers, and, when the other
guests had departed, he took me to see it. It was then
in a back room in a house on Carlton Terrace, looking out
on gardens quite still and bright with summer sunshine.
It had been raised only a little from the ground, so that
the heads were not much above the eye, only sufficiently
so to make one look up, as one would instinctively have
X 2




308


ANNrA JAAIESON.


done before that Divine presence. Then, when we had
contemplated for a time the beauty of the painting, which
really struck me into silence, for the colour seemed to
affect us both in the same manner, like tender subdued music
from many grand wind-instruments all breathing in harmony, we sat down opposite to it. He pointed out the
rich violet-purple colour of the robe of our Saviour as
peculiar to the Spanish school, and contrasted it with the
conventional red tunic and blue mantle in the Italian pictures.  He speculated as to how Raphael would have
treated the same subject, and we compared it with the
cartoon of the ' Beautiful Gate,' and the crippled beggar in
that picture with the poor disabled paralytic man before
us; and we gave the preference to Murillo in point of
character and living expression. The porches of Bethesda
did not equal the wreathed columns of the gate, calledhow justly!- the' Beautiful.' But then how soft, how translucent, the aerial perspective, and how the radiant angel
comes floating down! Goethe used to be provoked when
comparisons were made between two characters, or two
artists, or two productions of art, the true value of which
rested in their individuality and their unlikeness to each
other; but a large portion of the pleasure we derive from
art, and from nature too, lies in the faculty of comparison,
in the perception of differences and of degrees of qualities,
in the appreciation of distinct aims, and of the wondrous
variety with which Nature reveals herself to the souls of
men. If we were forced to choose between Raphael and
Murillo, who was the master of the great and the graceful, we must turn to him who created the 'Heliodorus' and
the School of Athens;' but, luckily for us, we are neither
obliged to compare them, nor to choose between them, since
God has given us both. Something like this did we say
on that summer morning, sitting before that marvellous




HER LAST DA YS.


309


picture; and, since then, I cannot bring it before my mind
without thinking also of the dear old poet, whose critical
taste was at once the most exquisite and least exclusive
that I have ever known.
Let me add that the sight of that picture awakened
some thoughts which were perhaps deeper and more
mournful than the painter intended. How many of us
might well, metaphorically, have laid ourselves down for
years by that Pool of Bethesda, and no angel have come
down from heaven to trouble it with a divine power, or
infuse into its waters a spiritual life! Or if it were so, yet
were we prostrated by our own infirmity, and there was no
human sympathy near to help us down into its healing and
reviving waters, no aid in man or angel, till Christ comes
to say, ' Take up thy bed and walk.'
This must have been very nearly the last indication of personal feeling she ever wrote, and I cannot
but think it very touching to find the life in which
there had been so little joy, if so much contentment
and courageous exertion, and whose best blessings
had always been 'of such stuff as drea-s are made
of,' thus 'rounded' before the sleep, with a sigh.
After Christmas she went to town for the last
time, in order ' to keep her engagements' with
printers, &c., and devoted herself to her work. Her
notes grew and expanded under her researches, and
I believe it to be evident that she intended one
more volume in addition, separate from the one she
was then preparing. The note-book, similar in form
and size, exclusively dedicated to subjects from the




3Io


ANNA J-AMESON.


Old Testament, and including the Prophets and
Sibyls, and what are designated as 'theological
cycles,' and forming a fifth part distinct from the
four others-which were dedicated, one to the ' Saints
and Martyrs,' one to the 'Monastic Orders,' and one'
to the ' Madonnas'-seem to indicate her plan to
have remained unchanged of publishing, according to
her own original idea, the 'Life of Our Lord and St.
John the Baptist.' In taking up Mrs. Jameson's
uncompleted labours, Lady Eastlake altered the programme, preferring to place the subjects chronologically according to the plan of 'most systems of
Christian art,' and publishing the whole under the
one title of the ' History of our Lord.' Whether in
point of fact this was the better plan, need not now
be discussed. Lady Eastlake was perhaps the one
person among Mrs. Jameson's friends to whom such
a labour could have been confided, and carefully and
conscientiously she achieved her difficult task.
I cannot find any further record of the course
of those quiet and laborious months. Many of the
long winter mornings were spent in the British
Museum, and my aunt had friends within reach who
kept her surrounded with the most affectionate and
devoted companionship; especially those younger
friends who were half daughters, half disciples to
her, and to whose affection the motherly side of her




HER LAST DA YS.


3I1


nature never failed to respond. One morning, however, in the early chills of March, she returned to
her lodgings from the Museum in a snow-storm, and
caught what she supposed to be only a severe cold.
On the Ioth she wrote, what was probably her last
letter, to Miss Parkes, saying that it was uncertain
whether she could go out that day, and expressing
her wish that her young friend would come to see
her in the evening. She did not suppose herself to
be seriously ill, for she wound up with the words:
' I hope Adelaide is better, and will be able to fulfil
her promise to take me to see the printing-presses.'
This was on a Saturday, and when Miss Parkes
went that evening to see her, she thought Mrs.
Jameson very ill indeed, and wished to summon the
sisters from Brighton. But Mrs. Jameson opposed
this idea, saying she should probably feel better the
following day, and did not wish any unnecessary
alarm created. Miss Parkes returned next morning
with Miss Procter, and the two young friends agreed
not to lose a moment in telegraphing to Brighton on
their own responsibility. The sisters came up to
town as soon as the news reached them, and the attendance of the one physician in whom hMrs. Jameson
had confidence, a homceopath, was obtained as soon
as possible. Unfortunately he chanced to be absent
from London, and did not, I believe, see his patient
until Monday evening, when the sharp attack of




31 2


ANNA JAMESON.


bronchitis had settled down on the lungs, and was
gaining ground rapidly.
'We had no reason to think she was aware of
her danger,' her sister Camilla wrote. But the disease made rapid progress. 'The brain was soon
affected.' But it was affected in no painful way, and
the ' wanderings' of her weakness were entirely
harmonious with the closing life. 'She talked much
of the beautiful drawings or engravings Mr. Panizzi
had shown her a few days previous.' These and
no less congenial subjects floated about her in that
debateable land between life and death, in which
she was lying when, one after another, the sisters
came, 'stunned with grief and perplexity,' to see the
prop of their existence laid low. Impossible to tell
all she had been to them-their material support,
their constant consoler and sympathiser, their pride
and distinction.  Outside that darkened chamber
there was much friendly sympathy and solicitude;
her door 'was besieged' by anxious friends, 'her
table loaded with luxuries and delicacies,' but all in
vain. Her doctor was powerless to arrest the progress of the disease. Within a week from the time
of her seizure she was at rest from her cares and her
labours.
She had so wished to live until her work was
completed. She felt it to be so absolutely necessary,
even in a pecuniary light, to achieve this in order




HER LAST DAYS.


3I3


to leave the future of her sisters in some measure
assured; that losing her they should not be at once
deprived of all means of support. Her annuity and
her pension' died with her, and any provision she
could hope to put together for them, even had her
desire been realised, could have been but partially
adequate for the support of one, far less of three;
it could not have been more than a mere trifle in
amount-only a temporary resource.           Even   this,
however, was not to be. Perhaps that long period
of unconsciousness that preceded the last hours was
well for her —perhaps it was well for her that she
was thus spared the keen pang of anxiety at the
supreme moment-spared the sight of the agonised
grief of those she loved on earth.
To us, her far-off dear ones, when the sad
tidings came to us of illness and death all in the one
startling letter, it seemed scarcely credible that the
strong true heart could so suddenly have ceased to
throb for us, and that the light of her fine intellect
was quenched for ever.
Mrs. Browning, then in Rome, herself ill and
suffering, wrote to me in a few    agitated words that
1 The pension was continued to her two unmarried sisters, Eliza
and Charlotte; but unfortunately lapsed on the death of the latter,
though the survivor of the family, Camilla (Mrs. Sherwin), lives at
eighty, not rich enough to be indifferent to the loss of the little family
revenue which her sister's merits had won. It seems impossible to
doubt that the Queen's kind heart would continue the allowance were
the circumstances known.




314            ANNA JAMESON.
I knew something, perhaps not all, that she felt in
'losing (as -far as the loving can lose those whom
they love, as far as death brings loss) that great
heart, that noble human creature. May God comfort you, and those who, like you, know what she
was-that dearest friend!'
She was buried at Kensal Green by the graves
of her father and mother.




APPENDIX.
I.
JOHN GIBSON.
CONTRIBUTED TO THE 'ART JOURNAL'
By MRS. JAMESON.
IT is difficult to write freely concerning a great living artist;
to speak of what he is, how he became what he is; and
how was formed, trained, built up, that individual mind
and being of which his works, in as far as he is ' a good
man and true,' are but the visible manifestation; to show
where the perfect thought has been worked out in shape as
perfect; where perchance-for humanity is ever falliblethe creating hand has fallen short of the divine conception; and how the heaven-sprung genius, sustained by the
strenuous will, battled with the adverse world and overcame it, until step by step the goal was reached towards
which his soul had yearned in boyhood:-to speak of all
this faithfully belongs to another time and other hands.
For the present we nmust even meet the difficulty as we
can; and who that admires Mr. Gibson would wish the
difficulty removed? To know that he is now living and
working among us is a satisfaction which may well compensate the writer for the anxiety attending the task, as it
will surely reconcile the reader to what must be unavoidably meagre and imperfect in the result.
John Gibson was born at Conway, in the year 1791.
His father, a landscape-gardener, had come over from his
native place, Llanidan, in the island of Anglesey, to lay
NOTE.-It wvas the author's original intention to reprint several other
papers in this appendix; but the intention cannot now be carried out.




316


APPENDIX.


out the grounds of a gentleman of fortune, and continued
to reside at Conway for several years afterwards.  In
general, wherever there has been a decided talent for the
formative arts, that talent has been manifested from
earliest infancy; and as often, we find it recorded that the
early talent has been remarked and cherished by some
discriminating mother: Gibson is not an exception. He
began to draw on his father's slate, and his first production
was a row of geese, as he had seen them on the glassy
inlet near Conway, so well done that his mother caressed
and praised him, and the geese became a standing subject.
At last his mother said, ' Now you must not go on repeating this every day; draw me a horse.' The child ran
out into the fields, watched a horse for some time, came
back, and drew'it on his slate. His mother's interest in
his progress, and her fond praise, decided the taste; but
at Conway there was no one to help or encourage, and he
saw nothing in the shape of art but his father's plans for
gardens and shrubberies. At this time it seems the family
affairs were not prosperous; and when Gibson was a'bout
nine years old his parents removed to Liverpool with the
intention of emigrating to America. This plan was never
realised; but the removal to a large town and a better
school opened to the young artist some means of improvement, of which he, in his childish unconscious way, and
unmarked by all, availed himself.
The first objects that seized upon his attention in
Liverpool were the prints in the shop-windows. On his
way to and from school, he lingered, spell-bound and
enchanted, before these, struck with a new sense of beauty,
filled with vain longings to possess-td imitate. Hopeless
of obtaining what he so admired and coveted, he hit upon
a singular plan of study. He would stand for a long time
before some particular print, dwelling on a single figure till




APPEIVDIX.


3s7


it was impressed on his memory; then he would run
home quickly and imitate on paper the action or attitude;
then return to the window again and again, and correct
and re-correct his drawing till it was completed. This
habit of drawing from recollection stimulated his perception and strengthened his memory for form; and he has
been heard to say that the advantages thus oddly obtained
were of incalculable importance to him in after life. It
was interesting and amusing, too, that even thus early, with
the study of art as a taste, grew the practice of art as a
profession.  He used to dispose of his drawings to the
school-boys, and was thus enabled to obtain what the
poverty of his parents denied to him, a little pocket-money.
One of his school-fellows, having received from his mother
a new prayer-book, wished to honour the gift by an
' illustration' on the blank page. He applied to Gibson.
The subject selected-from what notion of the fitness of
things it would now be difficult to guess-was 'Napoleon
crossing the Alps,' from the print after David's picture,
which they had seen in a shop-window. The drawing was
made; the boy gladly paid sixpence for it, and stuck it as
a frontispiece in his prayer-book.
At the age of fourteen Gibson had to choose his profession. He begged hard to be articled to a painter. The
large premium required rendered this impossible, and he
was apprenticed to a cabinet-maker. Unable to conquer
his disgust for this merely mechanical trade, but willing to
work, he induced his master to cancel his indentures, and
to bind him over again as a wood-carver. He worked for
two years at this employment, carving scrolls and ornaments for furniture.  When he was about sixteen he
visited, with a young companion, the marble works of
Messrs. Francis. Here, though the works produced were
merely ornamental chimneypieces, urns, sepulchral monuments, and the like, yet the elegance of some of the objects,




3i8


APPEXDIX.


which were copies from good models, the lustre and beauty
of the white marble, struck poor Gibson with surprise and
enchantment, and he returned home with a new ambition
wakened in his soul. What he had seen darkened his day
with melancholy-haunted his dreams by night.  His
masters had hitherto regarded hiin as their best and most
promising apprentice; he had been treated with unusual
kindness; his conduct had been uniformly steady and respectful. Conceive, then, the astonishment of the good
cabinet-makers, when the gifted but wilful boy threw down
his tools, and declared that ' he would be a sculptor-that
he never would work for them more.' ' Not work? we will
have you up before the magistrate; and you will serve
the rest of your time in gaol.' He remained immoveable.
'They have been most kind to me,' said Gibson once in
relating his part in the transaction, and speaking with deep
and simple-hearted feeling, ' and I was, as I think now,
horridly ungrateful; but there was something working too
strong for me or anyone to control: I felt.it must be-there
was no help for it!' In this dilemma Mr. Francis, of the
marble works, generously interfered, purchased the remainder of his time, for which the sum of 704. was paid to
the cabinet-makers, and, the former indentures being cancelled, Gibson was bound apprentice for the third time-a
rare circumstance; but now how gladly, how gratefully,
did he exchange masters! He was the happiest of the
happy; up at early dawn, incessantly at work; designing,
carving, modelling. His new employers soon found they
had made an advantageous bargain. They were able in a
short time to dispense with their foreman, who afterwards
went to London and became head-workman to Chantrey.
But the young apprentice was destined for better things.
He was beginning to feel that the workshop of the Messrs.
Francis could afford him no more instruction; aspirations
for something higher and better dawned upon his mind;




APPENDIX.


319


but whither was he to go? where and how seek their ful'filment? This was the turning-point in his life. He wanted
a friend, and Providence sent him that friend in the person
of the late Mr. Roscoe, then rich and prosperous, a successful author, a patron of art, and regarded by his townspeople, with just pride and reverence, as one who had
achieved an European celebrity.
Mr. Roscoe called one day at the marble-works to
order a chimneypiece for his library. Mr. Francis seized
the opportunity to introduce young Gibson, and Roscoe,
after looking at his designs and models, invited him to
Allerton Hall. This first invitation was followed by many
others; a new world seemed to open upon him. The kind
and accomplished old man not only placed before him a
fine collection of prints and drawings after the old masters,
but lent him some of the most valuable among them to
copy. At Allerton Hall he was introduced to Mrs. Lawrence, who became his generous and enthusiastic patroness.
She presented him to her brother, General d'Aguilar, and
her sister Mrs. Robinson. The latter, a beautiful and accomplished woman, with a genuine taste for poetry and art,
appears to have exercised at this time a most beneficial
influence over Gibson's opening mind and powers.  Of
what unspeakable importance to a young man of genius
is early intercourse with pure, high-minded, intellectual
women, those can tell who know not only all the good it
can bestow, but all the evil from which it can preserve;
and know, too, how early respect for womanhood tends to
purify and elevate those impulses which must live through
the works of the brain and hand, and are to the talent
what the forge is to the metal.
Mr. Roscoe had intended to send Gibson to Rome at
his own expense. The misfortunes which fell upon him in
his later years frustrated this plan; but his generous interest and his correct judgment were of the greatest use to




I


320                APPE ND IX.
the young sculptor-for Gibson had now decidedly taken
up the profession. He was about eighteen when he comrn-'
menced the cartoon of the 'Falling Angels,' which is now
preserved in the Liverpool Institution. He had learned
from Mr. Roscoe the method pursued by Michael Angelo,
Correggio, and others of the great Italian masters, when
designing the cartoons for their large compositions; he
modelled small figures in clay, and suspending them by a
thread and throwing the light upon them in the required
direction, he was thus enabled to foreshorten them with perfect accuracy and relief. At this time he executed another
cartoon, the subject from Dante; this cartoon is in the possession of Mr. Meyer, of Liverpool. Gibson saw it lately
after the lapse of eight-and-twenty years; as it has frequently happened under similar circumstances, he was
surprised by the energy and power displayed in this early
production. 'He felt,' to quote his own words, ' depressed
and mortified rather than excited, and asked himself
whether he could do much better now.' There is scarcely
an artist of eminence, who, on looking back to his early
attempts, has not experienced the same disappointment,
and felt inclined to ask himself the same question perhaps because the progress afterwards made is less in
power than in the art of using power. These first productions of Gibson's creative imagination showed the impression made upon his fancy by the works of Michael
Angelo; but at this critical time he was saved from becoming a mannerist and imitator, from falling perhaps into
an exaggerated or vitiated style, by the excellent advice of
his friend Mr. Roscoe. 'No one,' said Roscoe, ' admires
Michael Angelo more than I do; but you are to be a
sculptor, not a painter. You must not imitate Michael
Angelo.  Take for your guide Greek art; there all is
beauty, dignity, and repose.'
We have seen two little casts from models executed by




APPE NDIX.


321


Gibson,' for the centres of chimneypieces, when he was
yet in the workshop of the Messrs. Francis; one represents a little Cupid in bas-relief, the other a recumbent
Psyche. So early had this lovely Greek fable seized on
his imagination! And when he set aside Michael Angelo
as a model, and turned, as his friend Roscoe had advised,
to the divine tranquillity of Greek art, Cupid and Psyche
came back to haunt him, and appear to have haunted him
ever since.
Those were happy days at Allerton Hall; still at every
step achieved there was a beyond-beyond, and now the
longing and the hope to reach Rome took possession of
Gibson's ardent mind. His friends, Mr. Roscoe and Mrs.
Lawrence, consulted together; induced by them, some
munificent gentlemen of Liverpool entered into a subscription to send the young sculptor to Rome, and maintain
him there for two years. Furnished with a sum of money
sufficient for his modest wants, and a letter of introduction
to Canova from his friend General d'Aguilar, he started
from Liverpool in the summer of the year 1817.
In passing through London Gibson was introduced to
Lord Brougham, and to Mr. Watson Taylor, a well-known
patron of art; the former gave him a letter to Canova,
the latter gave him some commissions (busts of himself
and his family), the payment for which added to the slender
funds of the traveller.  He made the acquaintance of
Flaxman, who looked over his designs and drawings, and
encouraged him with kindly earnest praise.  Flaxman
considered a journey to Rome absolutely necessary to the
education of a sculptor. Chantrey, on the other hand, considered it so much time lost; and some temptations were
held out to Gibson to-induce him to settle in London,
where one of his kind patrons promised to 'push' him.
Apparently Gibson had no desire to be 'pushed,' but a true
and passionate desire to distinguish himself in the poetical
y




322


APPENDIX.


department of his art; and happily, as we must think,
the advice of Flaxman and his own nobler ambition prevailed. He continued his journey, and arrived in Rome
in the month of October in the same year.
He presented himself before Canova with his letters
and his roll of drawings in his hand, and with such anxiety
and trepidation in his heart as took away all courage and
self-possession. But Canova was a good judge of character
as well as of talent; his reception was more than kind.
General d'Aguilar in his letter had requested that Canova
would point out the most economical plan of study, the
circumstances of his young friend being very limited. On
their next interview Canova welcomed him with even more
cordiality, and spoke to him openly and with apparent
interest of his views, and his means of carrying them out.
'I have been thinking much about you,' said he kindly;
'with steady industry you will become a great artist. I
know that many young men of great merit come to Rome
to pursue their studies, with very little money in their
purse; now, the want of means must be no obstacle to
your progress. I am rich; you must allow me to pay all
the expenses of your sojourn here, till your own talent and
industry have rendered you, as they certainly will render
you in time, independent of everybody.'
Gibson, with strong expressions of gratitude, declined
this offer; 'he had enough,' he said, 'to maintain him, with
that strict economy which he intended to practise, for
more than two years.'
'Well,' replied Canova with a smile (he was not accustomed, perhaps, to have such offers refused), 'well, it shall
be as you please; if you work hard, and make progress, I
will introduce you to some of your-countrymen. We shall
see.'
The generous sculptor kept his word.  Perhaps he
remembered that when he arrived at Rome, a friendless




APPENDZX.


323


youth, his first patron had been an Englishman. He placed
Gibson in his studio, and gave him the privilege of attending his night academy, where the students were the most
select in Rome, and were exercised in modelling from life.
Canova attended himself as director twice a week, and
Gibson never missed a single night for three years.
'Then,' said he, in a letter we are allowed to quote, 'then
for the first time in my life I received such instruction as
I really needed, and learned the practice and the laws
which govern sculpture. The compositions I had executed
in Liverpool were the productions of a vivid imagination
which knew no bounds. All the designs I made at this
time were to be within those rules which marble demanded.
It was then I found how limited sculpture is.'
On leaving Canova's studio, he set up for himself in the
Via della Fontanella. There the writer of this memoir
found him at work in the year I82I on his beautiful group
of 'Psyche borne by the Zephyrs.' In the self-same studio
he was found twenty-six years afterwards, modelling the
exquisite bas-relief of the ' Hours leading forth the Horses
of the Sun.' There was something inexpressibly touching,
and elevating too, in this sense of progress without change;
all appeared the same in that modest, quiet little room,
but around it extended lofty and ample ateliers crowded
with models of works, already executed or in progress, and
with workmen, assistants, students, visitors. The sculptor
himself —perhaps a little sobered by years, but unspoiled
by praise and prosperity, pleased with his success, and
still aspiring, with no alloy of mean aims or personal vanity
mingling with the intense appreciation of fame-appeared,
and was, the same benign, simple-minded, and simplehearted enthusiast in his art, as when he stood before
Roscoe, an unknown youth,
And felt that he was greater than he knew.
Y2




324


APPENDIX.


But little now remains to be told. One day, when modelling his group of 'Mars and Cupid,' a tall young man
entered his studio.  'Are you Mr. Gibson?' 'Yes, sir.'
The stranger modestly announced himself, 'the Duke of
Devonshire.' 'Canova has sent me to see what you are
modelling.' The Duke looked and admired; and, not
content with admiring, ordered the group in marble. It
is now at Chatsworth.  This was the first commission
Gibson received at Rome; and the Duke may now recollect with pleasure that he made a happy man that day.
The group of 'Psyche and the Zephyrs' was first executed
in marble for Sir George Beaumont, and has since been
repeated for the Hereditary Grand Duke of Russia and
Prince Torlonia.
Among the drawings he showed to Canova, there was
a sketch of the meeting of ' Hero and Leander,' made for
his kind and generous patroness, Mrs. Robinson. Canova,
struck by the grace and passionate feeling of this sketch,
desired him to model it in bas-relief. The Duke of
Devonshire ordered this also in marble, and it now adorns
Chats worth.
After the death of his ' noble master,' for so he delighted to style Canova, Gibson placed himself under the
direction of Thorwaldsen; and, aided by the instructions
of this admirable artist, and by his own manly and moral
sense, he has shown that he could emulate the grace and
elegance, without being led into the faults, of his first instructor.  Quick to observe and to appreciate nature,
he chooses his models well. A casual action or expression
caught in passing through the streets of Rome has suggested some of his happiest conceptions 1 while, through
We have heard Gibson mention his 'Wounded Amazon falling
rom her Horse,' the group in bas-relief of 'Jocasta parting her
Angry Sons,' the 'Nymph dancing the Cupid on her Foot,' as instances of natural action casually observed, and afterwards adapted to
the most poetical purposes.




APPENDIX.


325


a genuine poetical sympathy with all manifestations of
feeling and power, he imparts to the purest lines of form
a degree of character and purpose which is usually thought
to interfere with abstract beauty. Though this is a case in
which certain comparisons are odious, and Gibson himself
would not willingly accept a compliment at the expense of
his 'noble master,' yet we must be allowed to illustrate
our position by-an example. Of the ideal heads which
Canova sent out by dozens from his studio, under the
names of Beatrice, Laura, Psyche, Urania, Vestal Virgins,
and so forth, who could distinguish one from another? If
we asked which is Laura? which is Beatrice? we almost
expected the showman's answer, 'Which you please, sir,
which you please!' It has been said in excuse for Canova's
vapid heads, with their perpetual straight noses, short
upper lips, and sensual mouths, that Greek art did not aim,
ought not to aim, at characteristic physiognomy.
One day, on entering Gibson's studio, there was a bust
recently finished standing on its pedestal.  ' Helen of
Troy,' we exclaimed, and it was Helen. The first glance
brought her to mind with all her fatal loveliness, and with
a look as though she felt and knew how fatal. Again, we
remember two heads of 'Cupid and Psyche,' now in the
possession of Mrs. Huskisson, perfect in truth of individual
expression, combined with exquisite beauty. The divine
ardent boy, the tender innocent girl, not yet translated to
the heaven she bought so dearly, are rendered with the
utmost delicacy of feeling, and nothing can exceed the
finish of the marble, particularly in the 'Psyche.'
We have not space to give a catalogue of the works
with which Gibson has enriched the palaces of his native
land, and more particularly of his native place, if we may
so call Liverpool, which insists on claiming him for her
own; but we may mention a few of the most striking and
important. In poetic art, one of the most beautiful-to




326


APPENDIX.


our thought the most beautiful-of all his creations, is
the Cupid standing with a butterfly on his hand, and in
the act of drawing an arrow wherewith to transfix it. This
statue was executed for Lord Selsey, and duplicates are
in the possession of Mr. Richard Yates, of Liverpool, and
Mr. Holford. The 'Cupid disguised as a Shepherd Boy,'
less ideal as a conception, but exquisite for its graceful
archness and simplicity, has been more popular. It was
executed for the Hereditary Grand Duke of Russia, and
the artist has had to repeat it at least seven times; we
recollect to have seen it in the mansion of Sir Robert Peel,
and in that of Mr. Appleton, of Boston.
The' Hebe' winged, and bearing her two ewers, has
the chaste loveliness becoming the goddess, 'Jove's daughter,' as well as his cup-bearer; we. believe, but are not
sure, that this statue belongs to Mr. Henry Sandbach, of
Liverpool, who possesses also the 'Greek Hunter' and the
'Aurora.'  'The Sleeping Shepherd,' which would be a
beautiful companion for Thorwaldsen's 'Piping Shepherd,'
was executed for Lord George Cavendish, and repeated
for the present Duke of Northumberland. The ' Sappho,'
standing forsaken, her head declined, her lyre unstrung
and drooping from her hand, is in the possession of Mr.
Ellams, of Liverpool. The 'Proserpina,' gathering flowers
at the moment she is surprised by the 'gloomy Dis,' was
executed for Dwarkanath Tagore, of Calcutta.
Of his bas-reliefs, perhaps the compositions more remarkable for true antique spirit are the 'Amalthea feeding
the Infant Jupiter,' in the possession of the Earl of Carlisle;
and ' Hebe pouring out Nectar for Psyche' (we know not
where the marble is); for melancholy grace the 'Wounded
Amazon leading her Horse,' now in the possession of Mrs.
Huskisson; and for flowing animated grace of motion,
really like music to the eye, 'The Hours leading forth the
Horses of the Sun,' lately executed for Lord Fitzwilliam,




APPENDIX.


327


and which we may hope to see in this year's Exhibition.
Among his portrait statues, the precedence must be
given to that of her Majesty, of which an engraving is
here introduced.' When Gibson visited England in 1844,
for the first time after an absence of twenty-eight years, the
Queen sent for him, and commanded a statue of herself,
intimating at the same time a desire that the ' statue should
be a faithful portrait, such as her children should recognise,
and calculated for a room in the palace, not for any public
institution.' All the rest, and the manner of carrying out
her wishes, the Queen with excellent sense and taste left
to the sculptor, as best understanding the capabilities of
his own art. The engraving will give an idea of the pose,
which has a gentle yet noble tranquillity, free from all
manner or assumption. The head and bust were modelled
from life, and also the beautiful hand and arm, extended
with the wreath-the civic crown.      The drapery is, of
course, ideal, and admirably managed. The tassels of the
mantle are acorns; and the rose, thistle, and shamrock
are happily combined with a classical ornament at the
corners. To bring the pale cold marble into harmony with
the interior decoration of a palace sumptuous with gold
and colour, the artist tried the effect of a slight and very
delicate tint (pale rose and pale azure) carried round the
edge of the drapery, the wreath and the bracelet being
1 Mr. Gibson has favoured us with the following remarks respecting
his statue of the Queen. 'After an absence of twenty-eight years, I
visited England in the summer of I844. During my stay in Lond, n,
I had the honour of receiving a notice to attend at Windsor by command of Her Majesty the Queen. His Royal Highness Prince Albert
received me most graciously, and made known to me that the Queen
wished to have her statue executed by me. The bust was modelled at
Windsor, and her Majesty sat every day for ten days. The statue
was executed at Rome.' and exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1847.
A duplicate of the work is now in progress for the Queen.




328


APPENDIX.


also tinted with gold colour, not gilt. This experiment
could not be called an innovation, for everyone knows that
the Greeks occasionally coloured their statues.  Yet at
first there was a feeling of doubt and apprehension, a difference of opinion with regard to the propriety of making
the trial at all. It was argued that if once the introduction
of colour was allowed in sculpture, it could only be under
the guidance of the purest and most refined taste; that
the least excess, the least mistake in the application, must
be fatal; and this is true. However, the question of colour
in Greek art is one which involves such deep considerations
of climate, light, subject, situation, style, &c., that we cannot
enter upon it at present; and in this particular instance
the objection is set at rest by the admitted success of the
experiment, the effect being in the highest degree elegant
to the taste and satisfactory to the eye; while to those who
have deeply studied the various styles of Grecian art it
gives pleasure, as an illustration of the principles on which
they worked.  This statue is now placed in a vestibule at
the top of the grand staircase in Buckingham Palace. A
second statue of Her Majesty, somewhat different in pose
and arrangement, has been executed by Gibson for the
new House of Lords, destined, it is said, for the Princes'
Chamber.
The statue of Mr. Huskisson, the great and lamented
statesman, was executed some years before that of the
Queen, and was, we believe, the first portrait statue undertaken by Mr. Gibson.   It was a commission from the
gentlemen appointed to carry out the object of a subscription entered into by the merchants of Liverpool and hundreds of other persons of all classes and in every part. of
England, for the purpose of erecting a memorial of their
respect and admiration of the dead in the open cemetery
where he is buried. A small Greek temple is placed over
the spot, and within it the statue of the patriot and states



A4PPEIVDIX.


329


man. He stands holding a roll of paper in both hands;
a grand, simple, placid figure, well suited to its destination
as a votive rather than a monumental statue. Some years
afterwards, the subscribers to the statue wished to remove
it from a situation difficult of access, where few of the
townsmen, and yet fewer strangers, had an opportunity of
seeing it, and to place it under the central dome of the
new Custom House, then in course of erection. The wish
was natural enough. The situation was most appropriate
for a memorial of the man whose large heart and enlightened mind had conceived and promulgated a new order of
things in the commercial relations of the civilised world.
The subscribers had no doubt a right to do their pleasure;
but it was also natural that the idea of this removal-this
disturbance of a consecrated spot-should be most painful
and repulsive to the hearts of some who survived him.
It was a dilemma involving some feelings still too keen
and far too sacred to be touched upon here. Fin'aily, the
widow of Mr. Huskisson offered to present another statue
to the town, on condition that the monumental statue should
remain undisturbed, and her offer was accepted.  To
Gibson. who had so well succeeded in the first statue, this
second commission was given. He changed, and, as far as
purpose is concerned, he improved, the leading idea. The
patriot and orator stands as in deep thought, the head a
little inclined, one arm slightly raised, as if about to lay
down a proposition or enforce an argument. When this
statue was completed, it was found that a change in the
architectural arrangement of the building rendered it impossible to place it in the situation for which it was originally intended, and for which the artistic conception had
been expressly adopted. Mrs. Huskisson therefore withdrew the marble statue and replaced it by a duplicate made
in bronze, the first of Gibson's works which had been executed in that material; and it now stands in the open




330


APPENDIX.


square in front of the new Custom House; it was inaugurated on October I5, I847, in the presence of Sir
Robert Peel, and at the public dinner afterwards given the
health of Gibson was given by Sir Robert, and drunk with
acclamation. The marble was presented by Mrs. Huskisson
to the London Royal Exchange, and it now stands in the
great room at Lloyd's.
Another portrait statue of exceeding elegance is that
of Mrs. Murray, executed at Rome for her mother, the
Baroness Braye; it was exhibited here in I846.
We have not space to enumerate his monumental basreliefs, chiefly executed for his Liverpool friends. One of
the most beautiful and expressive is the 'Angel of Hope,'
a tablet executed for Mrs. Henry Sandbach, of Liverpool
(the subject we believe suggested by herself), for the monument of this lady's mother. The tablet, nearly life size,
to the memory of the late Lady Leicester, who died in childbirth, is also of consummate beauty; an angel conducts
the mother and her child to heaven, and the mother appears
to follow her child, as it lies in the arms of the angel.
' If you will not restore it, take me also!' is the sentiment conveyed.
It has been to Gibson a source of most painful regret,
that his absence from England prevented him from soliciting in time the privilege of doing honour to.the memory
of his revered and generous friend Roscoe. The commission for the monument had already been given to Chantrey.
We cannot better conclude this brief memoir than by
quoting a few sentences from the dedication to Gibson
which Sir Lytton Bulwer has prefixed to the last edition
of his 'Zanonl,' the true, eloquent, noble-hearted homage
of one man of genius to another-of the poet to the artist.
After premising that in the circle of great living Englishmen 'he knew no one to whom his work could be more
fitly dedicated,' he thus proceeds:




APPENDIX.


331


'Apart from our turbulent cabals-from the ignoble
jealousy and the sordid strife, which degrade and acerbate
the ambition of genius-in your Roman home you have
lived amidst all that is loveliest and least perishable in the
past, and contributed with the noblest aims and in the
purest spirit to the mighty heirlooms of the future. Your
youth has been consecrated to toil, that your manhood may
be devoted to fame, a fame unsullied by one desire of gold.
You have escaped the two worst perils that beset the artist
in our time and land-the debasing tendencies of commerce, and the angry rivalries of competition. You have
not wrought your marble for the market; you have not
been tempted by the praises which our vicious criticism
has showered upon exaggeration and distortion, to lower
your taste to the level of the hour; you have lived and
you have laboured as if you had no rivals but in the dead,
no purchasers save in judges of what is best. In the
divine priesthood of the beautiful, you have sought only to
increase her worshippers and enrich her temples. Each
work of yours rightly studied is in itself a criticism, illustrating the sublime secrets of the Grecian art, which, without the servility of plagiarism, you have contributed to
revive amongst us. In you we behold its three great and
long undetected principles-simplicity, calm, and concentration. But your admiration of the Greeks has not led
you to the bigotry of the mere antiquarian, nor made you
less sensible of the unappreciated excellence of the mighty
modern, worthy to be your countryman, though, till his
statue is in the streets of our capital, we show ourselves
not worthy of the glory he has shed upon our land. You
have not suffered even your gratitude to Canova to blind
you to the superiority of Flaxman. When we become
sensible of our title-deeds to renown in that single name,
we may look for an English public capable of real patronage to English art-and not till then.'




332


APPENDIX.


332            APPENDIX.


II. SOME THOUGHTS ON ART,
ADDRESSED TO THE UNINITIATED.1
BY MRS. JAMESON.
A series of very beautiful engravings from the finest
works of modern, and particularly of English sculptors, is
to appear successively in this journal, and I have been
requested to say something 'germane to the matter'something of the present state of sculpture with reference
to art generally.
I wish I could do this worthily; I wish I could venture to place myself between the public and the artist, as
a sort of interpreter in an humble way, not to discuss critically the beauties of the art or the merits of the artisteasy work comparatively-but rather to point out and to
explain some of those common-place difficulties and popular mistakes which seem likely to arise in the present state
of things.  For the patrons of art are not now, like the
dilettanti and cognoscenti of the last century, to be counted
as the select few; they are the many-the million; -
we are to have art, it seems, for the million. Now it is
certain that this diffusion, through all ranks, of the love of
ornament and beauty will not raise the standard of excellence- that was fixed some two thousand years ago in the
days of Phidias- but it will raise the standard in every
individual mind; it will bring home and illustrate to the
popular apprehension, those principles, eternal and immu

1 From the Art 7oizrnaL March i, 1849.




A PPERVDIX.


333


table as the law of Nature herself, on which that eternal
standard is founded. I am not one of those who believe
that excellence will become less excellent by being diffused, or that the sense of the true, the beautiful, the pure,
will become less valuable by being rendered more familiar
— indispensable to the sentient being as love, light, and air.
All human sympathies flowing in a right direction-and in
art, as in morals, there is a right and a wrong-gather
strength as they flow by the confluence of many minds.
It is some comfort that we do not see in these days -at least
we do not so often see-that pretension to the exclusive
right to feel and discriminate, that mingled scorn and despair with which the real lover and judge of art was wont
to regard the ignorant blunderings of public patronage;
and on the other hand, I think we have outlived that truly
vulgar error, so flattering to indolent mediocrity, that ' in
matters of art, every man with two good eyes in his head
is competent to see;' whereas, where art is concerned, the
faculty of seeing becomes in itself an art!  Yes, it is a
good sign when the worshipful many are beginning to feel
that the fine arts are not merely imitative, but involve something more, and far beyond imitation; it is a good sign
when a man is no longer affronted by a doubt of his power,
and even of his right of judgment, and has candour enough
to wish to educate his perceptions up to that point where
the just appreciation of comparative excellence first unfolds
itself to the delighted intellect.  It were too much to expect to find developed alike in all the instinctive sense of
beauty in art, or the capacity for enjoying its manifestations. No popularising of art will ever equalise the power
to feel and to judge of art; but we may hope that the
multiplication and diffusion of objects through which the
taste is exercised will tend to facilitate comparison and
quicken sensibility.  Too long has a degraded taste on
the part of the public tended to degrade the artist, who,




334


APPENDIX.


from want of conscience or from want of bread, becomes
subservient to the ignorance or caprice which he regards
with secret contempt, and too long has patronage dictated where it ought to learn.  The effect has been demoralising on both sides. In the gifted man of genius I
have seen it produce absolute deterioration of character,
and end in a want of truth towards others, of respect for
himself and his art, and of faith in the high aims which
had once sanctified his ambition; whilst the subserviency
of him who ought to be the teacher, has altogether
blinded the patron to the true relation between them; so
instead of mutual help, gratitude, reverence, we have
self-assurance, caprice, and a bargaining meanness 'on the
one side-silent, contemptuous heartburning on the other.
It has been remarked with truth that public opinion
always comes right in the long run-that it never fails
in time to recognise the truly excellent-that it never
fails in time to bring to its due level that which it has
immeasurably exalted. I have since my childhood known
four of the most celebrated artists who have lived in
modern times-Flaxman, Canova, Chantrey, and Sir
Thomas Lawrence. They are gone; the grave has closed
over all.  I can speak of them now as minds, not men.
Of these four, the one who had, whilst living, the least
reputation was certainly Flaxman. Yet he it was who
took the highest ground; we have since been working up
to him, and every day, every hour, we become more sensible of his true artistic greatness; whilst, I believe, it is
pretty generally admitted that the others during their lifetime were overrated; that Canova could be feeble and
effeminate; that Chantrey and Sir Thomas were below par
in creative art.  Such is the wide difference between reputation and fame.  The better a public are educated,
the sooner will such justification take place; the less will
fashion usurp the part of taste; the less we shall hear




APPENDIX.


335


of people deciding in a cavalier manner on subjects, for the
right understanding of which an almost lifelong education
is necessary.
When in the last century a cause relative to the piracy
of a print was tried before one of our judges (Lord
Kenyon, I believe), the evidence relative to critical discrimination in the degree of merit in the original and the
copy, the variety of opinions and arguments, astonished
and somewhat perplexed both judge and jury.    Lord
Kenyon, in summing up, expressed his regret that he had
lived all his life -without an idea of some of the points
which had been brought forward, and his conviction 'that
there was more in those things than he had ever conceived before.' Now there are many in the same case with
this most wise and candid judge-many who, like him,
have passed through a long life of various and dignified
pursuits without having given a moment's thought to the
conditions of beauty which enter into a print, a picture,
or a statue, and may be suddenly wakened up to a perception 'that there is more in these things than they
ever conceived before.'
A state of profound peace has generally been considered as favourable to the development of the arts,
yet where the clash of social interests has roused to unwonted activity the intellects and imaginations of men, it
has been good in the long run for those who, standing apart
from the tumult, yet feel it react upon them. High deeds
must be done before the poet can sing them, or the artist
commemorate them; and where grand stirring influences
fill the mind of the people, they become not less, but
more, alive to the forms in which their sensations, so to
speak, are reproduced to themselves.  We see this in the
history of the great republics of Greece and Italy, in
distracted Athens, in more distracted Florence. May not
these present days of revolutions, and wars, and famines,




336                 APPENVDIX.
and gold-seeking, be succeeded by the days of artistic
creation  in new  forms?  Even now, more is written
and thought about art, more encouragement given to
artists generally, than at any period in the history of our
community. Not only is there an increasing demand for
the higher productions of mind and skill, but in the mere
objects of luxury, ornament and utility, art and artists are
put in requisition. We call for an architect where we formerly employed a bricklayer, and our house-painters are accomplished in the theoretical harmony of lines and colours.
This is more particularly the case with the plastic ar-ts.
Under this term we comprehend all imitation of form, from
the expression of ideal beauty and lofty sentiment, the
godlike and the spiritual under the human semblance set
forth in enduring marble or more enduring bronze, down
to the bisque statuette on the chimney, the vase or ewer on
the tea-table, or the arabesque frieze to decorate our rooms.
This passion and fashion for works of beauty and
decoration has been growing among us, assisted by many
causes. The invention of most ingenious mechanical processes, by which the magnificent remains of antiquity and
the productions of living artists may be reproduced with
marvellous delicacy and exactitude, and of other processes
by which ornamental carving and casting from faultless
models may be executed at a trifling expense, the perfection to which modern chemical science has brought the
finest preparations of clay, as bisque and terra-cotta,
together with the application of new materials, gutta-percha
for instance, to the purposes of art; and though last, not
least, the institution of schools of design all over the
country-all these have combined to assist by mechanical
means the multiplication of what the French call ob;ets
degozit ce de lwre.  That this growing taste may not be
vulgarised, is a matter of great importance. We may entertain the deepest sympathy for the artist struggling to live




APPENDIX.


337


by the proceeds of that art to which he has given his life,
and applaud the efforts made by public means to render
his works known and give him a fair chance for reputation
(it is not for one generation to give famnze). But let it ever
be borne in mind that we best assist our native artists by
placing before them and the public, who is to judge them,
in every possible form, those productions which bear the
stamp of original greatness, and have been consecrated by
the admiration of successive generations of men; things
which exist at a distance, or have become so rare and so
expensive that they are locked up in national collections
or in the portfolios of amateurs.  On these the principles
of art are founded, or rather by these they are illustrated,
for these lead us back to nature, pure nature, which is only
another name for the pure ideal, and whence all must proceed which is to endure through the vicissitudes of conventional manners and modes of thought.
This is the main object of a society lately institutedthe Arundel Society.  Between this society and one begun
some years ago for the encouragement of modern art and
native artists, there should be no rivalry-rather the most
close and friendly co-operation. Every help to the knowledge of genuine art is a help to the living artist; and
only the meanest, narrowest, and most short-sighted views
would make a man think otherwise.
The result of all this, and what I would inculcate by
every means in my power, is that a knowledge of the just
theory of the imitative arts might well form a part of the
education of the young, and particularly, I think, of young
women. It is not very intelligible why so much pains
should be taken to initiate a girl into a knowledge of the
theory of music —to cultivate her taste for it by concerts,
private and public, even where proficiency in the art, as an
art, is out of the question-and, at the same time, leave
her in the most pitiable ignorance, or abandon her to selfz




338


APPENDIX.


culture with regard to the elementary principles of the
other fine arts, on which, nevertheless, she is called in a
thousand ways to exercise her faculties. Really it seems
ridiculous, when one thinks of it, that a girl should be
taught the elements of natural philosophy and chemistry,
be initiated into the secrets of nature, while the laws which
regulate the harmony and proportion of her visible forms
remain a sealed book. Superficial knowledge of all kinds
is the perdition of women, and a superficial taste in the
fine arts leads them into that perverted and frivolous
taste for mere prettiness which is destructive to the best
interests of the best artists among us.
The faculty of delight in beauty needs to be educated
like all our faculties, and I wish Miss Martineau had said
something upon the subject in her admirable little treatise
on household education. We know that women have written
very sensible and elegant letters, with but little knowledge
either of orthography or syntax, yet no one, I suppose,
argues that a woman has therefore no need to study spelling or grammar. A knowledge of thorough bass and of
elementary physics now enters into every liberal scheme of
female education. Why, therefore, should not some attention be paid to the elementary principles of the fine arts?
Why should not the best models of each be early placed
before a young girl, and their comparative excellence
pointed out to her attention? What a source of innocent
enjoyment it would open to innocent minds at that age
when the faculties are athirst for pleasurable sensation! A
landscape painter once. told me that, sitting down on some
occasion to make a study of foliage, his attention was attracted by a group of feathery grass and weeds by the
hedge-side, and he was so touched by the inexpressible
grace with which nature had thrown together their flowing
lines and graceful forms, that he sat for many moments
contemplating them without venturing to put his pencil to




APPENDIX.


339


the paper, until he felt his eyes moisten with devout
admiration and love! It is in truth one of the greatest advantages of a cultivated taste in art, that it multiplies a
thousandfold our enjoyment in the beauties of nature;
wakes up our attention to innumerable minute and transient effects of grace which we should otherwise pass by
unperceived. We do, indeed, meet with persons who have
a good deal of connoisseurszhip, of whose morals we cannot
think very highly, but we soon learn to distinguish this sort
of merely conventional taste from that really purified perception of the beautiful which leads us through the love of
art to the love of Nature and from Nature up to God.
But I must not be tempted from the original purpose
of this essay. Everyone admits that a just taste in art is
desirable; no one denies that knowledge is better than
ignorance, and that in the perception of fitness and beauty
as well as the perception of right and wrong, it may be as
well to ' train up a child in the way it should go.' For the
present, therefore, I will notice merely a few of the commonest mistakes, committed daily from that want of feeling or want of reflection which, in matters of art, goes by
the general name of want of taste. To the knowledge by
which they are to be avoided or rectified there is no royal
road, and here I only suggest them for consideration, and
with reference more particularly to one of the fine artssculpture.
These mistakes are of two kinds. The first have relation to the external conditions of a work of art-its
material, size, and situation. # The second have relation to
the aesthetic conditions of a work of art, as the design
and conception of the subject; the form best suited to it,
whether painting or sculpture (for observe that the form
is distinct from the material); the treatment, as regards
the grouping, expression, colour, and all qualities depending
Z 2




340


A4PPE-NDIX


on the mizd of the artist, and addressed to the mind of
the observer.
The zaterkial in sculpture may be bronze, marble, stone,
wood, plaster, terra-cotta, shells or precious stones, &c. Now
everyone who would judge of art should know something
of the inherent capabilities of these materials and their
proper application; for they cannot be used indiscriminately
for all subjects and purposes. I have seen strange mistakes made by persons ordering in marble what could only
look well in bronze. But why? On what principle shall
a particular subject, group, or figure, look ill in marble and
well in bronze? It is not here the relative value or beauty
of the material which is in question; it is its fitness. It is
not only the artist or the artificer who should be able to
enter into these considerations, for I have seen the artist's
judgment overruled, either because he could not clearly
explain in words principles which had grown up in his
own mind with his mind, or that no explanation could
render his reasons intelligible where the faculties of attention and comparison had never been brought to bear on
such points. Hence there ensued distrust, vexation, loss,
and disappointment.
Size is another of these conditions which is of great
consequence. Not every subject which looks well large,
will look well small; far more rarely will a subject graceful and agreeable of a small size endure to be magnified.
The nature of the subject has to be considered. In general,
though size be one of the elements of the sublime, the
really sublime and ideal work of art loses but little when
reduced in dimension, as long as the proportions are exactly
attended to. You can have colossal proportions and godlike power within the circumference of a gem for the finger,
figures and groups which might be magnified to any size,
and lose nothing either in delicacy of finish or delicacy of
expression; some of the fine Greek bronzes are examples.




APPENRDIX.


341


For instance, the little bronze 'Jupiter' in the British
Museum, about a foot in height, the exquisite little
' Mercury' not more than six inches high, are at hand to
testify to the perfection of majesty and grace in diminutive
forms.  On the other hand, picturesque sculpture will
seldom bear to be magnified, nor will any subject which is
merely ornamental or conventional in the treatment. The
pretty statuette of 'The Prince of Wales as a Sailor,' the
little figure of 'Fanny Elsler' dancing the 'Cachuca,'
would be insufferable if enlarged to life-size. There is a
curious law too by which size and material act on each
other; a bust or a statue in marble of the exact proportions
of life, will often look much smaller than life. Some
thought and attention are due therefore to the conditions
of size.
Then as to situation.  I say nothing here of those
mental associations, which should always influence the
selection of a work of art, with reference to its purpose,
which would prevent everyone from taking down a
'Nativity' from an altar and placing it over a sideboard,
or hanging up a 'Massacre of the Innocents' in a lady's
boudoir. I would merely refer to those physical conditions
by which a work of art, be it painting or sculpture, is
fitted to the situation it occupies, or the situation fitted for
that particular object. The distance at which it is to be seen,
the point of view, the degree of light are of the highest
importance. I have seen ridiculous, and, as regarded the
destinies of the object, fatal mistakes of this kind committed from the want of a sense of adaptation, or from not
considering how far a work of art executed for a particular
locality can bear removal to another. For example, the
'Pensiero! of Michael Angelo, to produce the full effect
intended by the artist, must be placed at a considerable
height, and must be lighted from above. A lower situation or a side-light interferes with the sentiment. Michael




342


APPENDIX.


Angelo himself, in the first fresco which he executed for
the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel (the 'Deluge'), committed an error which he was careful to avoid in the succeeding compositions. The treatment was too crowded,
too complicated, to produce the effect he had intended;
he had not sufficiently considered the conditions of light
and distance. In the Metopes of the Parthenon and the
Phigalian marbles the exact adaptation of the degree of
relief to the light and distance, and the arrangement of
the figures to the degree of relief, involve considerations
of the highest moment, and which being well understood
must enhance our admiration of these wonderful things as
productions of mind, and assist us to those principles
which are capable of a universal application, as conditions
of fitness and excellence. The laws exemplified in the
works of Michael Angelo and the sculpture of the
Parthenon may be applied to the ornamental bas-relief
over a chimneypiece, or the chased work of a lady's
brooch.
As to the second class of errors, those which have
reference to the more spiritual conditions of art, I shall
say little of them here, except to impress on the mind of
the educator the necessity for exercising in a right direction the faculties of admiration and reverence as applied
to those productions of mind which are clothed in form and
colour, seeing that they surround us on every side, and
make a part of our daily life. Here also we should be
taught by precept and example that there is a true and a
false, which cannot by any arbitrary fashions of the day
be overlooked or confounded with impunity.
The most important, and at the same time the commonest, error I have met with, arises from a total ignorance
of the necessary limitations of the various styles of art.
The graceless absurdities, the unreasonable demands on
an artist's capabilities, which I have seen result from such




APFENDIX.


343


mistakes, would fill pages. Sir Joshua Reynolds tells us
somewhere of a nobleman who once came to him and required him to paint a picture representing the interview
between James II. and the old Earl of Bedford, the father
of the martyred Russell; when James requested the assistance of the Earl, he replied in a broken voice, 'I had once
a son who would now have done your majesty good
service.' Sir Joshua in vain endeavoured to convince his
noble friend that the subject was one which could not be
adequately represented in any form of art. I forget how
the affair ended, but probably the patron left the artist
with a meaner idea of his powers than he had entertained
before, and found some one else to paint James II. and
Bedford standing opposite to one another. Not all that
we can imagine to ourselves as a passing action or eventnot all that can be described in words-is suitable for a
picture, and in this respect, if painting has its limitations,
much more narrow are the limitations of sculpture. Lessing,
in the admirable piece of criticism which he has entitled
'The Laocoon,' was the first to point out clearly the relative
capabilities and limitations of the two arts; and I conceive that, without a just appreciation of this distinction,
artists and amateurs are likely to fall into the most graceless errors and absurdities.
I will venture on a familiar illustration of this neglect
or ignorance of a principle founded in the absolute nature
of things. When at Rome I went into some of the ateliers
of the finest cutters of shells, and expressed my surprise
at the total unfitness of some of the objects selectedpopular pictures, for instance, transferred to bas-relief,
Correggio's 'Holy Fanmilies,' and Guido's ' Angels,' or the
'Daughter of Herodias.' I was answered that these were
executed for the English market. One of the most celebrated among the English artists in Rome told me that he
often accompanied those who came to him with letters of




344


APPE NDIX.


recommendation to the ateliers of the different bronze,
mosaic, and shell works; the plea being that they, the
purchasers, might be directed in their choice by his superior
taste and experience. ' But,' said he, ' I know not how it
happened, I seldom could induce them to choose what was
really good, really fine and appropriate; and in presence
of Italian workmen, I have blushed for the vulgar mistakes
made by my countrywomen-women of rank, education,
and otherwise elegant minds.' Their 'ignorance,' he added
with true artistic emphasis, 'was on such subjects quite
dreadful!'
The source of these mistakes lay in the want of an
educated perception of certain laws, as much founded in
nature, as immutable, as those which regulate harmony
and the power of expression in music. The persons
alluded to by my friend, perhaps looked to the workmanship, examined it with a microscope, believed themselves
quite capable of judging whether the thing was well or
ill done-the more serious question, whether it was a thing
that ought to be done at' all, having never once occurred
to them.
The beautiful ornamental casts and statuettes which
issue daily from the fabriques of Messrs. Copeland, Minton,
and others, the facility, cheapness, and elegance with
which form is reproduced in twenty different materials,
while they delight the lovers of art, may well excite some
anxiety and apprehension, lest we be inundated with
graceful frivolities and commonplace second-rate sentimental trash of every sort.
Now that the ' million' have become patrons of art,
it becomes too obviously the interest of the manufacturer
to cater for the fancy of the ' million;' and thus it is a
matter of very serious import that the young should be
trained to discernment and refinement in the appreciation
of such objects as are addressed to the mind through the




A F-PENzDIX.


345


eye, that the public taste should, through the rising generation, be more generally educated-at least, that it should
not be vitiated. All which is humbly submitted to the
consideration of the reader.
Art is for pleasure and f6r contemplation.
To multiply the sources of pleasure, and to enlarge the
sphere of contemplation, are the objects we propose to
ourselves in cultivating what we term a taste for the fine
arts.
But not only must we have pleasure and contemplation
associated together; they must be associated in equal
measure; for as surely as the one or the other predominates,
there shall be no full concord, no complete, harmonious
enjoyment of the object before us. The intense feeling of
beauty, merely as such, without a corresponding exercise
of the faculties of the intellect, or a due subjection to the
moral sympathies, leaves the soul of man unsatisfied, and
produces, if not a degraded and frivolous, at least a narrow
and defective, taste in art.
On the other hand, where the fine arts become subjects of disquisition and analysis, as manifestations of the
human powers, as part of the history of human culture,
as an instrument available in the hands of government
for the amusement or improvement of the people,-as a
means, in short, to some end out of themselves, be that end
what it may, the highest or the lowest,-then such a merely
speculative, utilitarian appreciation of art, can lead to
nothing very good, I believe, except it be a grant from the
Treasury to help Mr. Layard, or a new National Gallery,
with room for Mr. Vernon's pictures. For individual enjoyment, for individual elevation and improvement, what
can it do? But blend with the sensuous pleasures of form
and colour thrilling through nerve and fancy, a world of
awakened thoughts crowding in like divine guests to a




346


APPENDIX.


divine banquet, and then we have indeed a joy at once
subjective anc objective, infinite, complete, and worthy of
our immortality: a joy, which no lower nature can share
with us, —which higher natures, if they did not share, might
envy us.
I pointed out on a former occasion the importance of
cultivating in early education a refined and exact taste in
the fine arts, and the advantage of being prepared by some
knowledge of those principles which define the objects and
limit the capabilities of each, to understand what we may
reasonably demand from the art and from the artist. But
we must remember that a refined, an educated taste, is not
necessarily an exclusive or fastidious taste; on the contrary, the more cultivated the taste, the more catholiccatholic, I mean, in the sense of universal. Artists by profession must, of course, choose, or be impelled by the
natural bent of their genius which leaves them no choice,
to select a particular branch of one or other of the fine
arts. The streams which would otherwise diverge to fertilise a thousand meadows, must be directed into one deep
narrow channel before they can turn a mill. And not
unfrequently we find others, not professional artists, indulge
a passion for some particular department of art.  One
collects prints after Claude; another, Marc Antonio's: one
buys Dutch pictures, another Etruscan vases: but exactly
in proportion as we have cultivated a knowledge of all the
fine arts, and all the various schools of art, in their relation to each other and to our own souls and to universal
nature, will be the correctness of our judgment in that one
to which we have especially devoted ourselves, and the
measure of the delight it will afford us.
Neither is it true that a correct and elevated standard
of taste, or a catholic appreciation of whatever is excellent
in every department of art, necessarily excludes or weakens
individual feelings and preferences; far from it. As of two




APPEADIX.


347


persons, two characters, whose qualities and gifts of person
and mind we know to be pretty equally balanced, one shall
be unspeakably dear, in every action, every look, every
movement interesting to us; their absence or their presence makes the difference between darkness and light:
while the other shall be comparatively indifferent, though
whenever brought before us we have all the pleasures of
admiration and appreciation; so it is with the productions
of mind in the fine arts. In as far as they are stamped
by originality, and bear the various impress of individual
character, and in as far as our own sensibility is genuine as
well as refined, in so far we shall unite with large perception and keen enjoyment of all that is good, a power of
being excited through our sympathies and associations, and
tone and temper of mind, to form preferences, to take
delight in some one object, or some one style of art more
than in another.
In contradistinction to a catholic taste in Art, we may
have an exclusive or sectarian taste, which seems to me in
most cases to argue one of two things-either a want of
natural sensibility, or something factitious and narrow in the
training of that faculty.
For example-and I will turn to music for an illustration as being, of all the fine arts, the most generally
cultivated and understood-if we should hear (as I have
actually heard) a sot-disant connoisseur profess to worship
Handel, and at the same time speak of Mozart as merely
' the composer of some pretty songs,' and denounce all
the operas of Rossini and Bellini as ' intolerable trash,'what should we say? It sounds grand and imposing, this
Ait Handel, aidt ni/il; but so to love Handel is not to love
music; or such love of music is like the piety of the man
who could say his prayers nowhere but in his own parish
church. So, if we should hear one discourse on the ' old
masters' and C early Christian art,' while the vigorous




348


APPENDIX.


nature of Landseer, and the animated elegance of Leslie,
and the deep refined feeling of Eastlake, exist for him in
vain; or another enthusiastic about Claude and Poussin,
while the breezy freshness of Lee's home scenery or the
bright poetry of Stanfield's Italian landscapes are to him
as though they were not, then we may be silent; but it
will be the silence of pity rather than of sympathy.
For myself, I would rather have the quick sensitive ear
of the Harmonious Blacksmith who had delight in the
variety of tones struck by his own hammer-I would
rather have the mere instinctive pleasure of a child that
claps its hands when the rainbow spans the sky, than the
fantastic exclusiveness of such lovers of music,-such lovers
of art! Between Handel's wondrous 'Hailstone Chorus,'
executed by six hundred musicians to an audience of six
thousand people, and Paesiello's ' Nel corpizi non mi sento,'
warbled from a star-lit terrace, there is certainly as wide a
difference-and the same kind of difference-as between
Michael Angelo's' Last Judgment' and one of FraAngelico's
angels of Paradise. Happy are they who feel and worship
either; but happier far those who can comprehend both, —
whose hearts can thrill to every chord of power and beauty
struck between these two extremes of grandeur and of
grace!
Now, to return to the especial object of these preliminary observations. We must begin by admitting the
position laid down by Frederic Schlegel, that Art and
Nature are not identical. 'Men,' he says, 'traduce Nature,
who falsely give her the epithet of artistic;' for though
nature comprehends all Art, Art cannot comprehend all
Nature.  Nature, in her sources of PLEASURE and CONTEMPLATION, is infinite, and Art, as her reflection in human
works, finite; Nature is boundless in her powers, exhaustless in her variety: the powers of Art and its capabilities
of variety in production are bounded on every side. Nature




APPEADIX.


349


herself, the infinite, has circumscribed the bounds of finite
Art. The one is the divinity; the other the priestess.
And if poetic Art in the interpreting of Nature share in her
infinitude, yet, in representing Nature through material
form and colour, she is,-oh! how limited! The highest
genius is best shown in its power of perceiving and
respecting these bounds, and working within them in a
perfect and noble freedom.
Now, as I have already observed,' if each of the forms
of poetic art has its law of limitation, as determined as
the musical scale, narrowest of all are the limitations of
sculpture, to which, notwithstanding, we give the highest
place. And I have also attempted to show that it is with
regard to sculpture we find most frequently those mistakes which arise from a want of knowledge of the true
principles of art. Now I will endeavour to explain, with
reference to sculpture, the distinction between an exact
critical taste and a narrow, exclusive, and factitious taste.
Admitting, then, as necessary and immutable, the limitations of the art of sculpture as to the management of
the material in giving form and expression; its primal laws
of repose and simplicity; its rejection of the complex and
conventional; its bounded capabilities as to choice of
subject:-must we also admit, with some of the most
celebrated critics in art, that there is but one style of
sculpture-the GREEK? And that every deviation from
pure Greek art must be regarded as a depravation and
perversion of the powers and objects of sculpture, and
stigmatised as such or only scornfully endured? This is
a question which we may at least consider.
We are not now looking back to the antique time. We
are not thinking of what sculpture was to the Greeks, but
I Art 7ournal, cxxix. See also Eastlake's Contributions to the
Literature of Art, Coleridge's sketch On Poesy in Art, and the work
of F. Schlegel, to which I have been, in the foregoing observations,
largely indebted.




3 5, 4PT E NDIX.


what it is or may be to us,-as the expression of our present life,-that is to say, of all that is worth anything in
life, its religion and its poetry. The Assyrian, the Egyptian, the Lycian sculptures, so wonderful and interesting to
us as monuments, are in every other sense done with.
They may be imitated, copied, but their life has gone into
the past. They are forms of what exists no longer, and
forms which we should not borrow to clothe in them either
-our own memories or our aspirations. They are to us dead.
There remain to us Greek art, and that style which, for
the sake of brevity and clearness, I will here call Gothic
sculpture; not -admitting the propriety or exactness of the
epithet, but using it in a general sense, as we use the term
Gothic architecture,-to comprehend all sculpture not
produced under classical influence.
Now, as for Greek sculpture, what can it do for us?
what can we do with it?  Many things-beautiful, glorious
things! not all things!
It is absolute that Greek art reached long ago the term
of its development; it can go no farther. We may stand
and look at the Sister Fates of the Parthenon in awe and
in despair; we can do neither more nor better. But we
have not done with Greek sculpture.  What in it is purely
ideal is eternal; what is conventional is in accordance with
the primal conditions of all imitative art.  Therefore,
though it may have reached the point at which development stops, and though its capability of adaptation be
limited by necessary laws, still its all-beautiful, its immortal imagery hangs round us, haunts us: still 'dot/ the old
feeling bring back the old names,' and with the old names
the forms; still in those old familiar forms we continue to
clothe all that is loveliest in visible nature; still in all our
associations with Greek art


'Tis Jupiter who brings whate'er is great,
And Venus who biings everything that's fair I




APPENDIX.


351


That the supreme beauty of Greek art-that the majestic significance of the classical myths, will ever be to the
educated mind and eye as things indifferent and outworn,
I cannot believe. Our sculptors still seek there what they
cannot find elsewhere, the perfection of ideal beauty in the
undraped human form; still does Gibson run variations on
the tale of 'Cupid and Psyche,' and its perpetual beauty
wearies us never. Foley's 'Ino and Bacchus;' the new
version of' The Three Graces,' by Baily; the 'Eucharis'
of Wyatt; the really Olympian 'Venus and Cupid' of
Edward Davis, show us in how fine a spirit Greek art
is felt and rendered by these and others of our native
sculptors.
But it may well be doubted whether the impersonation
of the Greek allegories in the purest forms of Greek art
will ever give intense pleasure to the people, or ever speak
home to the hearts of the men and women of these times.
And this, not from the want of an innate taste and capacity
in the minds of the masses-not because ignorance has
'frozen the genial current in their souls'-not merely through
a vulgar preference for mechanical imitation of common
and familiar forms; no, but from other causes, not transient-not accidental. Because a classical education is not
now, as heretofore, the oznly education given; and through
an honest and intense sympathy with the life of their own
experience; and from a dislike to vicious associations,
though clothed in classical language and classical forms;
thence it is that the people have turned.with a sense of
relief from gods and goddesses, Ledas and Antiopes, to
shepherds and shepherdesses, groups of charity, and young
ladies in the character of Innocence. Harmless, picturesque
inanities!-as much sculpture as Watts' hymns are poetry.
But is this art for the million? we might as well feed our
' million' on soupe-au-lait.  To such things has Greek art
in its popular form been reduced.  But Gothic sculpture




352


74PEDLy


has this in common with Gothic architecture, that it has
within it a principle of almost exhaustless development;
and if that development be guided and governed by reverential feeling, and a just and harmonious taste-if we be
not deluged with the merely ornamental and sentimental,
or the vulgarly familiar and extravagant -we may, in following out the principle of medieval art, be allowed to
seek in sculpture the expression of what is most venerable and dear to us in memory; in life, and in after-life.
All sculpture was, in its origin, combined with architecture, and subservient to it; and as the Greek sculpture,
when disengaged from architecture, fell into new and
various forms without losing its characteristics of intenseness and simplicity, the same is true of Gothic sculpture;
-with this essential difference,-that as Greek sculpture
was the apotheosis of mortal beauty and power, it found
early and necessarily its limits of perfection, and the highest
possible adaptation of its principles in the deification of
external nature: but as Gothic sculpture was the expression of a new life introduced into the world-of love purified through faith and hope-of human affections, sorrows,
aspirations;-it follows, that we have not yet found or
imagined any limit to its capabilities; we test its perfection
by a wholly different law. We find its highest inspiration
in our religion and our poetry, and hitherto its grandest
adaptation in those sweet and solemn types of form
handed down to us by the religious artists of the Middle
Ages.
Therefore what the people now demand from sculpture
is the introduction into our places of worship of a style of
art embodying the grand and holy memories of our religion, the solemn and gracious figures of the scriptural personages;-and into our rooms and houses the forms of
those beings consecrated in our poetry, or memorable in
our annals.  It is true that hitherto in many instances




A PPENIDIX.


' 353


where this has been attempted, there has been complete or
partial failure, either from tasteless treatment, or injudicious
selection, or ignorance, or neglect of the primal laws common to all sculpture, and that the result has been not legitimate sculpture, but the transfer of a picture to marble;
and this will never do.
It was natural that the abuse of religious art in the
Middle Ages should lead to a reaction.  This reaction
had reached its ultimatum in the defaced, denuded parish
churches, the wretched formal whitewashed Dissenting
chapels, which people were pleased to call a return to
primitive apostolic simplicity, whereas it was only Puritanical intolerance, tasteless incapacity, poverty of means
or of mind. Now the pendulum swings back again;-we
must only be careful that the impulse given does not send
it too far in the contrary direction.
Music, painting, <sculpture,-if these are a means of
lifting up the heart to God, it is a proof that He intends us
to use such means. The abuse of such means to purposes
which enslave the intellect or misdirect the feelings, only
proves that, like all the best gifts of God, these too are
liable to abuse. Rowland Hill (he of the Chapel, not of
-the Post Office) used to say that he saw no reason why the
devil should have the monopoly of the best tunes, and in
the same manner I see no reason why in these days sculpture
should be held fit for secular purposes alone. ' It is not,'
says Landor, in one of those wise and eloquent passages
which so often occur in his pages-' it is not because God
is delighted with hymns and instruments of music, or prefers bass to tenor, or tenor to bass, or Handel to Giles
Holloway, that nations fhrong to celebrate in their churches
His power and His beneficence. It is not that Inigo
Jones or Christopher Wren could erect to Him a habitation
more worthy of His presence than the humblest cottage on
the loneliest moor. It is that the best feelings, the highest
A A




354                 APPENDIX.
faculties, the greatest wealth, should be displayed and.
exercised in the patrimonial palace of every family united;
-for such are churches both to the rich and poor.'
I was about to venture on a few words relative to the
selection of religious and poetical subjects which have been
or may be adapted to sculptural treatment, and are fitted
for the present state of feeling and opinion; but this demands so much consideration, and would lead us so far,
that it must be postponed to a future occasion.




INDEX.


AMB
AMBOS, Betty von, 84
Amelia, Princess, of Saxony,
Mrs. Jameson's translation of her
dramas, 158, 163, 175
Arkwright, Mrs., her singing, I5
Art, Thoughts on, by Mrs. Jameson,
332-354
Austin, Mrs., 90, I45; her ' Characteristics of Goethe,' 77
BAILLIE, Joanna, her letter on
the ' Winter Studies, I49; her
friendship with Mrs. Jameson,
185; her letter on the death of Dr.
Channing, 187; her opinions on
the moral state of Scotland, I97
Barrett, Elizabeth (afterwards Mrs.
Browning). See Browning, Elizabeth Barrett
Barry Cornwall, his friendship
with Mrs. Jameson, 43
Bate, Mrs., anecdote of her childhood, 22; her marriage, 52
Bate, Gerardine (afterwards Mrs.
Macpherson), Mrs. Jameson's
niece. See Macpherson, Mrs.
Belgium, Mrs. Jameson's travels
in, 52
Bell, Sir Charles, his 'Anatomy of
Expression,' 192
Birlningham,the riots in 1839 at, I6o
Booth, Mr., his anecdote concern

BYR
ing Mrs. Jameson's alleged somnambulism, 3
Boston, U.S., Mrs. Jameson's impression of, 134
Boufflers, Madame de, I8
Bradford, Social Science Meeting
at, 304
Briggs, Mr., his portrait of Mrs.
Jameson, 44
Bronte, Mr., 304
Browning, Robert, his marriage with
Miss Barrett, 230; his practical
poetry at Vaucluse, 231
Browning, Elizabeth Barrett, her
friendship with Mrs. Jameson,
190, 229; her letter describing
her invalid condition, 9I; her
' Cry of the Children,' I94; her
translation of the Odyssean legend relating to the daughters of
Pandarus, 217-219; her opinion
of the essay on the ' House of
Titian,' 219; her marriage and
meeting in Paris with Mrs.
Jameson, 230; her improvement
in health, 232; gives birth to a
son, 263
Burlowe, Henry Behnes, the sculptor, 65; his death, 177 (note)
Byron, Lady, her friendship with
Mrs. Jameson, 94, 163, I88; her
poetry, I87; her pursuits at
Kirkby, 209; her quarrel with
her friend, 280


AA2




356


INzVDEX.


356                       INDEX.


CAM
CAMPBELL, Thomas, his memoir
of Mrs. Siddons, 62
Canada, Mrs. Jameson's impressions
of, 119
Carlyle, Mr., 87, '43
Catalani, Mme., 235
Catherine, St., age of the legend of,
245
Channing, Dr., I34; Joanna Baillie's allusion to his death, I87
Charlotte, Princess, commissions
Mr. Murphy to copy the ' Windsor Beauties' in miniature, 53;
her joke about Queen Charlotte,
55; her death, 55
Charlotte, Queen, anecdote concerning her, 54
Clarendon, Lord, 255
Clinton, Mrs., widow of De Witt
Clinton, 113
Colburn, Mr., buys the copyright
of Mrs. Jameson's ' Diary,' 42
Collingwood, Lord, Mrs. Jameson's
juvenile verses on, 18
Combe, George, his article on
Phrenology applied to the Fine
Arts, 192
'Commonplace Book of Thoughts,
Memories, and Fancies,' 273
Compton, Lord, 240
DANNECKER, his statue of the
Redeemer, 75
D'Arlincourt, Vicomte, the rage in
Paris for his romance of the
' Solitaire,' 33
Davis, Charles A., 113
Devrient, Madame Schroeder,.75;
Mrs. Jameson's opinion of her,
90
'Diary of an Ennuyle,' 42
Dresden, Tieck's house at, 67
Duers, the, of New York, 113


GWY
EASTLAKE, Lady, completes
Mrs. Jameson's     unfinished
manuscripts, 306-310
Edgeworth, Maria, 254
Education, Mrs. Jameson's efforts
in behalf of, I21, 159, 270
Emmett, Robert, 2
Exhibition, the Great, of I851,
Mrs. Jameson's guide-book for,
267
'FAIZY,' Mrs. Jameson's story of,
1 i3, 1i7
Fitzgerald, Lord Edward, 2
Flanders, lace-making of, anecdote
concerning Mrs. Jameson, 20
Forbes, James, the   Orientalist,
I7
France, Mrs. Jameson's observations on the state of, 249, 270
Frankfort, 75
GARDINER, Sir Robert, his letter to Mr. Murphy concerning
the miniatures of the ' Windsor
Beauties,' 57
Germany, Mrs. Jameson's Sketches
of, 86-89
Gibson, John, Mrs. Jameson's story
of his career, 241, 315-33I; his
bust of Mrs. Jameson, 241
Gmiindensee, the, IoI
Goethe, Ottilie von, her character,
77; Mrs. Jameson's intimacy
with her, 78
Grote, Mrs., her Memorandum
concerning Mrs. Jameson, 170 -172.
Griiner, Ludwig, his engravings
from the Royal frescoes, 225
Gwynn, Nell, anecdote concerning
her portrait at Windsor, 54




INDEX.


357




HAH
HAHN-HAHN, Countess, 211
' Hamlet,' the Ghost in, 5; the
female characters in, 69
Hanwell, Mrs. Jameson's home at,
II
Harden, Mr. John, 25
Hatherton, Lord, Mrs. Jameson's
friendship with, 37 her visit at
his country-house, 155
Haworth, Charlotte Bronte's home,
304
Hawthorne, Mr., 302
Haydon, Benjamin, Mrs. Jameson's
review of his life, 276
Hayter, Mr., his ' Juliet' sketches,
62
Head, Sir Francis, 125
Hemans, Charles, 239
Herbert, Sir Charles and Lady, 235
'History of the Saviour,' Mrs.
Jameson's posthumous work, as
completed by Lady Eastlake, 310
Holland, Mrs. Jameson's travels in,
52
Hudson River, 15
Humboldt, Mrs. Jameson's introduction to, Io3
Hunt, Leigh, his note on Mrs.
Jameson, 44 note
NDIANS, the American, Mrs.
Jameson's rambles among, 129
Ireland, Mrs. Jameson's political
opinions concerning, 196, 216,
255, 260; her tour in, 251
Irving, Washington, his visit to
Mrs. Jameson, 113
Italy, Mrs. Jameson's visits to, 26,
212, 230-247, 296-302
AMESON, Anna Brownell, her
birth, I; her early residence
at Whitehaven, 2; her reminiscences of her childhood, 4, 13;


JAM
her removal to Newcastle-onTyne, 6; her governess, 7; undertakes a strange childish adventure, 8; comes to London,
I I; her studies, 12; her first
literary effusions, 13, 17; her love
of independence, i9; her plan of
assisting her parents, 19; enters
the Marquis of Winchester's
family as governess, 23; her first
acquaintance with Mr. Jameson,
25; her journey to Italy, 26;
diary of her tour, 28; her first
view of Rome, 36; becomes governess in the family of Mr.
Littleton (afterwards Lord Hatherton), 37; her marriage, 38;
how her ' Diary' came to be published, 39; Fanny Kemble's description of her personal appearance, 44; her married life, 46;
her record of a second continental
tour, 48; writes the letterpress
for her father's portraits of the
'Beauties of the Court of King
Charles II.,' 58; her work on the
' Characteristics of Women,' 59;
dedicates it to Fanny Kemble,
61; goes to Germany on her
husband's departure for Canada,
64; her friendship with Major
Noel, 65; her introduction to
Tieck, 66; and to Retzsch, 72;
her visit to Dannecker, 75; her
acquaintance with the Goethe
family, 76; her husband's coolness, 79; her conversations with
Schlegel, 80; visits Munich, 82;
is summoned home on account
of her father's illness, 83; her
motherly affection for her niece,
85; publishes her ' Visits and
Sketches,' 86; popularity of her
works, 86, 92; her description of
her life in London, 89; brings
out RetLsch's volume of'Fancies,'




358


INDEX.


358                  INDEX.


JAM
92; commencement of her intimacy with Lady Byron, 94; returns to Germany, 97; the want
of sympathy between her husband
and herself, 98; his letters calling her to Canada, 99, o06; her
sojourn beside the Gmiindensee,
101; returns to Weimar, and is
introduced to Humboldt, 103;
her description of her life at
Weimar, 104; her reply to her
husband's letters, 107; decides
upon going to Canada, 109; her
landing at New York, III; her
letter thence to her family,
112; her voyage up the Hudson
river, I 15; her arrival at Toronto,
II6; her reflections on her new
home, 117; her impressions of
Canada, I I9; her interest in the
education  question, I21, I59,
270; visits the falls of Niagara,
122; her admiration of Lake
Ontario, 123, 128; her letters to
her sister Charlotte and Mr.
Noel, indicating her plans, 124 -127; attends the prorogation of
the Canadian Parliament, 125;
her description of a Canadian
summer, 127; resolves to visit
the Indian settlements, I29; her
'Winter Studies and Summer
Rambles,' 3I1, I49, I50, 155; her
power of winning confidence and
affection, 131; her final separation from her husband, 132; her
friendship with Miss Sedgwick,
133, I36; letter from on board
ship to Miss Sedgwick, 137;
arrives in England, I39; letter
to Mr. Noel concerning her
Canadian diary, 139; letters to
Miss Sedgwick, 141-147, 151 -154; her visit at Lord Hatherton's, 154; the review of her book
in the 'British and   Foreign


JAM
Quarterly,' I55; plans another
visit to Germany, 157; her views
on national education and the
position of women, 159; her admiration of Lady Byron, I6I,
I63; her sense of duty to her sex,
I6I; her embarrassment on account of her father's health, 165;
her ' Companion to the Galleries
of Art,' I66; the Queen's appreciation of it, 167; her contributions to Mr. Noel's translation
of Waagen's ' Rubens,' I68; her
labours in compiling the 'Companion,' 170-173; success of her
articles on Italian painters in
the ' Penny Magazine,' 173;
French translation of, 174; publishes a 'Handbook to the Public
Galleries,' 175; heracquaintance
with M. de Triqueti, the sculptor,
176; her thoughts on somnambulism, 177; letter from Paris to
her sister Charlotte, 178; her
father's death, 80o; letter to 'vl iss
Sedgwick announcing this event,
182; her friendships, 85-19I;her
article in the 'Athenaeum ' on the
condition of women, I95; her journey to Scotland, I95; her reflections on a summer Sunday there,
I99; her preparations for her
nagnuzlum opus, 201; goes to Germany, 210; and thence to Italy,
212; her letter to Miss Sedgwick
describing her tour, 213; her
protest against the Coercion
Bill, 216; publishes a volume of
essays, 216; her visit to the
house of Titian, 220-224; writes
the letterpress for Ludwig Griiner's engravings of the Royal
frescoes, 225; her notes upon
public affairs, 226, 259; publishing arrangements for her 'Sacred
and  Legtndary Art,' 226; re



INDEX. X


359


JAM
visits Italy with her niece, 228;
her meeting with the Brownings
in Paris, 230; her art studies in
Pisa, 233; her ' child,' 234; her
life in Florence, 235; her second
visit to Rome, 237; her Sunday
evening tea parties there, 239;
her story of Gibson's career, 24I;
her lodging, 241; her pilgrimages among the antique churches,
244; how she proposed to treat
the ' Prince of Darkness,' 248;
her note on the disturbances of
I848, 248; publication of her
book, 250; revisits Ireland, 25 I;
her letters thence to Mr. Longman concerning her book, 252,
253; her impressions of Ireland,
254; her account of a remarkable
sermon, 255; Mr. Longfellow's
tribute to her work, 263; obtains
a pension of Ioo/., 265; her interest in the Great Exhibition,
267; new edition of her book on
Canada, 269; publication of her
' Legends of the Madonna,' 27I;
her Wednesday evening parties,
272; her ' Commonplace Book,'
273; her paper on Haydon in
the ' Edinburgh Review,' 276;
letter to Miss Sedgwick on her
literary occupations, 278; rupture of her friendship with Lady
Byron, 280-283; loss of her income by the death of her husband, 283; an annuity of Iool.
raised by private subscription for
her, 284; refuses a yearly allowance offered by a friend, 286; her
lectures on ' Sisters of Charity,'
288; and on the ' Communion
of Labour,' 290; the etchings for
the second edition of her ' Madonna,' 296, 298; her delight in
Rome, 296; her unfinished review of ' Vasari,' 299; her grief


LAB
at the breach of friendship with
Lady Byron, 300; her health
failing, 301I; her friends in Rome
in I859, 301; commences the
' History of Our Lord and of St.
John the Baptist,' 302; her description of a Saxon country
house, 303; returns to London,
303; attends the Social Science
meeting at Bradford, 304; her
preparations for her last work,
305, 309; her thoughts on Murillo's picture of the miracle at
the Pool of Bethesda, 307; her
unfinished work, 309; her illness,
311; and death, 312
Jameson, Robert, his courtship, 25;
his marriage, 38; appointed to a
judgeship in the island of Dominica, 46; his return to England, 63; obtains an appointment in Canada, 64; summons
his wife to Canada, 97; his character, 98; his appointment to
the Chancellorship, I25; his
death, 283
Jones, Sir Wm., interest taken by
Mrs. Jameson in his works during
her childhood, 13
KEMBLE, Adelaide, I53; Mrs.
Jameson's memoir of, 224
Kemble, Charles, his acting, I66
Kemble, Fanny (afterwards Mrs.
Butler), her sketch of Mrs. Jameson, 44; suggests a title for Mrs.
Jameson's 'Characteristics  of
Women,' 6I; her remarks on Mrs.
Siddons's biographers, 62
TABOUR, Ferdinand, his transLJ  lation of Mrs. Jameson's papers
on Italian painters, 174




360


INDEX.


360   INDEX


LAN
Lansdowne, Lord, letter to Mrs.
Jameson, 169
Legends of the Madonna,' 271
Lely, Sir Peter, his portraits of the
'Windsor Beauties,' 53
Leopold, Prince, and Mr. Murphy,
56
Lind, Jenny, 263
Lindsay, Lord, his work on Christian
Art, 239
Lockhart, John Gibson, 142
Longfellow, his new year's greeting
to Mrs. Jameson, 263
'   ACBETH,' Tieck's translation
Al of, 67
Macpherson, Mrs., Mrs. Jameson's
affection for, 211, 228, 234; her
marriage, 262; executes the
etchings for the second edition
of the 'Madonna,' 298
Macpherson, Robert, his marriage
to Mrs. Jameson's niece, 262
Martineau, Harriet, her misstatement with regard to Mrs. Jameson's ' Diary,' 58; her introduction to Lady Byron, 95; her interest in Mrs. Jameson's Canadian
book, I49; her letter on Mr. Murphy's death, I8I; her letter detailing her 'cure by mesmerism,' 205 -209; Mrs. Jameson's note thereon,
209
Michel Angelo, Mrs. Jameson's
ideas of his ' Holy Family,' 37
Miller, Mr., the publisher, John
Murray's precursor, 6
Montagu, Mrs. Basil, her note concerning Mrs. Jameson's ' Diary,'
42
Morgan, Lady, 8i
Munich, Mrs. Jameson's impressions of, 82
Murillo, his 'Miracle at the Pool
of Bethesda,' 307


NOE
Murphy, D. Brownell, Mrs. Jameson's father, his connection with
the 'United Irishmen,' I; removes from, Dublin to Whitehaven, 2; to Newcastleon-Tyne,
6; to London, I; his birthday
letter to his daughter Anna, 25;
his miniatures of the 'Windsor
Beauties,' 53; his appointment
as Painter in Enamel to the
Princess Charlotte, 53; his anecdote of Queen Charlotte and the
portrait of Nell Gwynn, 54;
death of his patroness, 55; his
memorial to Prince Leopold in
regard to the miniatures, 56; the
Prince's refusal to purchase them,
57; has the portraits engraved
and published, 58; his dangerous
illness, 83, 91, 164; his death,
I80; Miss Martineau's remarks
on the event, I8i
Murphy, Mrs., Mrs. Jameson's
mother, death of, 283
Murphy, Camilla (afterwards Mrs.
Sheiwin). See Sherwin, Mrs.
Murphy, Charlotte, 80
Murphy, Louisa (afterwards Mrs.
Bate). See Bate, Mrs.
Murray, Lady Amelia, her letter to
Mrs. Jameson concerning the
'Companion to the Art Galleries,'
167
Murray, Mr. John, the publisher, 6
NELSON, Lord, Mrs. Jameson's
juvenile verses on, I8
Newcastle-on-Tyne, Mrs. Jameson's home at, 6
Niagara, the Falls of, I16, 122
Noel, Sir Gerard, Mrs. Jameson's
sketch of, 49; her anecdote of
his tender feelings, 50
Noel, Miss H. J., 51




JNDEX.


36r


INDEX.                   361


NOE
Noel, Major R., his friendship with
Mrs. Jameson, 65; his marriage,
148; termination of his correspondence with Mrs. Jameson,
282
Normanby, Lord, 299
NTARIO, Lake, Mrs. Jameson's
admiration of, 123; meaning
of the name, 128
Ottilie von Goethe. See Goethe
ANDARUS, the daughters of,
Miss Barrett's rendering of
the legend, 218
Parkes, Bessie Raynor, her remarks
on Mrs. Jameson, 293, 296
Peel, Sir Robert, his letters to Mrs.
Jameson, I69
Pius IX., 237
Potter, Dr., 143
Procter, BryanWaller (better known
as Barry Cornwall). See Barry
Cornwall
Procter, Mrs., raises an annuity
for Mrs. Jameson, 284
Prout, Father (Sylvester O'Mahony), 239
UEROUAILLE, Louise de la,
her portrait at Windsor, 53
RAPHAEL, his cartoon of the
' Beautiful Gate,' 308
Reid, Mrs., 240
Retzsch, Mrs. Jameson's description of him, 72; her visit to his
country house, 73; his Fancies,'
74, 96; Mrs. Jameson's services
to him, 92
Rice, Spring (Lord Monteagle), his
anecdote of the Queen, 154


SID
Rio, Alexis-Francois, Mrs. Jameson's meeting with, 176
Robertson, Rev. Mr., his preaching,
258
Rogers, Mr., 307
Rolle, Lord, 144
Rome, Mrs. Jameson's first view of,
36; society of, in I847, 238; the
antique churches of, 244
Ronge, 215
'Rory O'More,' Lover's story of,
138
Rosawitz, Bohemia, 211
Russia, 259
S QACRED and Legendary Art,'
Mrs. Jameson's work on,
192, 201, 226, 250
San Clemente, Church of, the recent discoveries at, 245; Mrs.
Jameson's delight there, 297
Saxon Switzerland, 303
Scheffer, Ary, Mrs. Jameson's interpretation of his 'Francesco
da Rimini,' 279
Schlegel, his Shakespearean translations, 68, 8; Mrs. Jameson's
acquaintance with him, 80
Scott, Sir Walter, Joanna Baillie's
ideas on his marriage, 142
Sedgwick, Catherine, her friendship with Mrs. Jameson, 133,
136; her visit to England, i60
Shakespeare, the female characters
of, 59
Sherwin, Mrs., her birth, 3; her
anecdote of herself and her sisters, 8
Siddons, Mrs. Henry, her meeting
with Mrs. Jameson, 196; her
death, 202; Mrs. Jameson's feelings on the event, 203
Siddons, Mrs. Sarah, IMVrs. Jameson's biographical sketch of, 62




362


INDEX.


362                   INDEX.


SOM
Somnambulism, Mrs. Jameson's
alleged tendency to, 4; her ideas
on, 177
Stockbridge, New England, 134
TAYLOR, Father, a celebrated
preacher of Boston, U.S., 134 -136
Taylor, Tom, his life of Haydon, 276
Thackeray, W. M., his letter to
Mrs. Jameson concerning her
pension, 267
Thomas, Mr., publishes Mrs. Jameson's ' Diary,' 39
Tieck, Mrs. Jameson's description
of, 67; his dramatic readings,
67; his Shakespearean translations, 67, 68; his notes on Mrs.
Jameson's  ' Characteristics of
Women,' 68-72
Titian, Mrs. Jameson's visit to the
house of, 221-224
Toronto, Mrs. Jameson's impressions of, I 17
Triqueti, Henri de, 176
Trollope, Mrs., her weekly reunions
in Florence, 235
UNGHER, Caroline, 235
VASARI,' Mrs. Jameson's unfinished review of, 299
Vaucluse, 231


YOK
Venice, 213
Verona, the ancient amphitheatre
at, 212
Victoria, Queen, coronation of, I43;
her admirable demeanour, 146;
Leslie's picture of her, 153;
anecdotes concerning her, I54;
her appreciation of Mrs. Jameson's 'Companion,' 167; her visit
to Ireland, 250; attempt to shoot
her, 260; grants Mrs. Jameson
a yearly pension of IOO/., 266
'Visits and Sketches,' publication
of, 86-89
WAAGEN, Dr., his essay on
Rubelns, I48
Walpole, Lord, 240
Ware, Rev. William, his Letters
from Palmyra,' 138
Warens, Madame de, 45
Weimar, court of, 76; Mrs. Jameson's life there, 104
Whitehaven, Mrs. Jameson's residence in, 2
Windsor, Mrs. Jameson's reflections on, 146
'Windsor Beauties,' the, 54
'Winter Studies and Summer
Rambles,' 131, 149, 150, 155, 269
YOKELY, Miss, Mrs. Jameson's
governess, 7; marries her
pupil's uncle, I




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