TO LADY CLONCURRY.
St. Raphael,
February 4.
I have been delaying to write to you until I had an address! A family wandering about the world without an address is a comic, but at the same time almost a tragic thing, and I think I must make something of the predicament. However, for the moment this is ended, and I have not only an address, but so impressive a one that I hope you will be quite struck by it. Chateau La Tour! — that is the name of the house — Chateau La Tour, Mont Boron, Nice. It is close to our former villa, much more showy, but not so big, though also, alas! considerably dearer. We found no villas at all to be had on that spot except this one, and we have been going through a course of bargaining, which, you know, by degrees heats one’s blood! You go on and the owner goes on, he falling and you rising, till you find that you have gone a great deal farther than you had any intention of going. You would laugh at our Tower, which is very French and fantastic outside, but very nice within; and the view is superb, the same we had last year, but a little more so, please tell Emily.
I am so thankful, dear friend, to hear that you are better, and pleased to be at home in your quiet, and also very thankful that the weather in England has improved. We had a very wet day last Sunday, the day after we arrived here, but since then beautifully fine weather, a rapture of sunshine and water and sky. I had no idea St. Raphael was so fine. I think the bay quite beautiful, though I fear I don’t quite appreciate the forest so much as Emily does. It seems to me a little scrubby, the trees so much too small to be called by such an imposing name. Yesterday we drove up to the heights, a very long drive into the heart of the Esterels, and Cecco and Denny went up the Mont de Vinaigre, which is one of the highest, I believe. The trees there were big enough, and the great solitudes fine. However, the scenery is not so interesting, I am sure, to you as ourselves, I thought Cecco looking very well when we met, but I fear, from being out two or three times at sunset, he has caught another cold, and his cough is bad. I try to remind myself that the doctor said his cough had nothing to do with his lung, but was entirely irritation of the throat; but when one hears a cough like his, and remembers that it is the chief sign of a terrible disease, it is very hard to keep one’s equanimity. When it is better, I am better; but when it torments him, as it sometimes does, I become a very poor creature indeed, and good for nothing. Still I can’t say that he is not well on the whole.
Madge tells me she is to be with you to-day, which I am very glad to hear: you will be talking of us, and I shall have detailed information about you, which I am longing for. It is so long since I have had any letter, which I know is my own fault, but I have been hoping day by day to be able to tell you where we should be. And then, however much it is one’s own fault, one longs to hear, all the same. I found here established Mrs. Harrison and Miss Kingsley, the latter so like her father that there could be no doubt who she was.
To Mr. Craik.
Villa La Tour, Mont Boron, Nice,
17th February.
We have settled down here for the spring in a beautiful corner, with the most delightful view of the sea and the mountains and the lights of Nice at our feet, very near the place where we were last year. Cecco is very well on the whole, and he has sent or is sending in an application for the vacant librarianship at the London Library. It is expressly said that no private applications are to be made on behalf of any candidate, so I do not ask you to use any interest of yours in his behalf, and I have not written to anybody on the subject, though no doubt you will know all, and I several, of the judges. I scarcely know what kind of post it is, and probably they will want an older man; but in any case I think it was right for him to try for it. He has excellent testimonials.
My chief disadvantage here is the difficulty of getting books. Will you please whistle for one of your slaves, and bid him inquire whether there are any translations of the life, letters, and works of St. Gregory the Great, or of St. Jerome, in English? Cecco thinks there must be, but I am very doubtful. If there are, and they could be obtained, I should be very grateful if you would send them to me. I have the Latin, but a crib is legitimate for me, as I can’t have Cecco tied to my apron. He begs me to ask whether you would be so very kind as to send him the ‘Agricola’ of Tacitus, of which he says you have published an edition, and which he has at home, but I could not find to bring him. He would be very much obliged. May I add that any book you would throw in would be gratefully received and much welcomed?
I had half a mind, on reading a paper about the Poor Laws in Austria in your Magazine, to send you a sketch of Dr. Chalmers’s great experiment in Glasgow, which I think a very fine thing indeed, and which has fallen out of recollection. Would it be welcome, I wonder? By the way, is it quite right to reproduce the pictures of the Edinburgh book in the ‘Illustrated Magazine’? Isn’t it rather cheapening the work they belong to? You ought to be the best judge, but common-sense seems to suggest so. I think I read somewhere that you were getting rid of that magazine, which will be a good thing, I should think.
Madge is getting on wonderfully with her engraving, but is more than likely to exemplify over again the foolishness of giving expensive training to young women, by turning her thoughts in quite a different direction.
I suppose you are all very much excited about politics and Home Rule: you can scarcely be more so than we are here, to whom the coming in of the newspapers is for the moment the chief feature of the day.
To the Hon. Emily Lawless.
Villa La Tour,
12th May.
It seems years since I have heard from you, and as this is the most inappropriate moment possible for writing letters, seated among the ruins of this three months’ home, I naturally take advantage of it to send you my Ave in your new house. Going away is always a horror, especially that mauvais quart d’heure of the reckoning! I have been paying and paying till I am quite sick....
We have had a checkered season altogether. Cecco has not been at all well. He has given me moments of great anxiety: even the doctor thought the old mischief was beginning again, and I had a week of such misery as I cannot describe. It is all right, I believe, but he is very thin and weak. This place, I think, — I almost hope, — has not suited him, and that he will be better elsewhere. I have been anything but well myself in consequence. And yet it is so beautiful, that to leave this glorious bay and the mountains and the lighthouses and all the villages on the hillsides, and the flowers rioting everywhere, roses flinging themselves about in every direction, is a pity too. What a thing it would be to live a week, a day, without some anxiety tearing at one’s heart! It would almost be heaven enough for a poor mortal of a mother, at least.
Cheerful talk this for my Ave to the new house! All I have heard about it is delightful, and I hope, when you feel able and have any time to spare, you will tell me something more. We are leaving here to-morrow, and hope to get home on Thursday or Friday.
This summer was one of a little revived cheerfulness. The elder of Mrs. Oliphant’s nieces (who were also her adopted daughters) was married on the 26th of July. There is always, or almost always, a certain amount of pleasant excitement in preparing for a marriage — the gathering together of the bride’s pretty things, the summoning of friends, and the arrangement for the ceremony. Into all this Mrs. Oliphant threw herself, determined that the girl she had brought up should go to her husband surrounded by all that love and care could do for her. A very large party assembled, and for the last time the house, which had known so much happiness and so much sorrow, was filled and overflowing with guests.
In all that was to be done Cecco took the part of master. He was far from well, and on the day of the wedding his looks alarmed some of those who loved him. Almost immediately afterwards there was an evident failure of his health, and his mother’s anxieties became again as acute as ever.
To the Hon. Emily Lawless.
Windsor,
3rd August.
I write a line in haste to ask if you would lend your name and a little bit of work at any time to a humble magazine which is re-beginning on a more mature scale under the guidance of a quaint little friend of mine, a young Scotsman, whose queer ambition it is to establish a magazine. He has tried twice, and failed at the cost of all he had. But he is making this third attempt with passion, and with the aid of wealthy friends who will not let anybody suffer by him, though they will not be liberal in their payments. I am writing a story for him, chiefly out of interest and sympathy....I think you would be interested did you see him. Will you give him your name for his programme, and a little something, some day or other?...Do give me your help for him.
I hope you are now safe at Niton, since you are going there, though I also wish you had not gone there with a raging sea between us. I hope my dear Lady Cloncurry has got there safely, and I hope you will like it. Cecco is very, very poorly. It was found he had dilatation of the heart, which is the immediate cause of his low state; but I am more anxious about him than any words can say. It seems to me as if my sorrows were never to have an end as long as my life lasts.
“The Valentines” are here and look very happy, tell Lady Cloncurry, which it is a comfort to see. Don’t think me importunate for endeavouring to make you lend your standard to a forlorn-hope. Much love to you both.
To Mr. Blackwood.
Windsor,
27th August.
…The two Hamleys make a great gap in the old band of contributors. I hope you pick up new ones to fill up the vacant places. One always regrets the days that are gone, but it must be “Le roi est mort, vive le roi!” in literature as well as in all other things…
The last time, I think, that I saw Sir Edward was at a Royal Academy soirée in the Jubilee year, when he was blazing with all his stars and orders, and a most distinguished figure, whom one was proud to stand by. I have just been recalling this in writing to his niece. I am glad to have that last recollection of him.