Chapter XX (2)

We had also been expecting with pleasant anticipations the visit of Mr. Niles, when we received the sad news of his death at Perugia, and learned that he had been in failing health for some years, and had decided to come to Europe for rest. My husband's regrets were very sincere. From time to time we had news of R. L. Stevenson; those received in a letter from Mr. R. A.M. Stevenson, in the course of the same mouth, were very pleasing.

"I heard from R. L. Stevenson a few weeks ago. He said: 'If you saw me here you would no longer question my wisdom in staying; you would not wonder at my preferring this life to that of Bournemouth.' In England he passed half his time in bed, the whole winter in the house, and he could never walk half-a-mile. Now he is out by six in the morning, sometimes bathes, and occasionally spends the whole day in the saddle. He was always fond of the open air, and though never strong, was a good walker, and, as you know, able to do a little boating. He often spoke to me of his visit to you at Autun."

The assassination of President Carnot, which occurred in June, grieved and horrified my husband as much as if he had been a Frenchman. He had the greatest respect for the scrupulous manner in which M. Carnot discharged all his duties, and admired the simple dignity with which he held the rank of First Citizen of a great nation. Being himself a Liberal--but a Moderate one--it had given him hopes for the stability of a Moderate-Liberal Republic, to see at the head of it the personification of unsuspected honesty and wise patriotism.

On the whole, he was satisfied with the choice of his successor, and amused by this phrase about M. Casimir-Périer in one of Mr. Seeley's letters: "I saw a portrait of the new French President lately. He looks a man not to be trifled with." The remark has been curiously justified since.

Having to go out so frequently now in the afternoons in order to see artists and pictures, my husband altered his rules of work, and devoted the whole of the mornings to literary composition, and the heat being very oppressive this summer, he worked better in the cooler time of day; yet I was rather afraid of the consequences when I saw him start for Paris with the thermometer standing at 88° or 90° almost every afternoon, but he maintained that it did him no harm.

On July 14--the Fête Nationale--Mr. Jaccaci having called with M. Vierge, Gilbert went back to dine with him in Paris and to see the fireworks. They were both struck by the extraordinary quietness of the great town, generally so merry and noisy at that date, but now subdued by respectful sympathy for the death of its late President.

Note in the diary: "Never saw streets of Paris so quiet before. Could cross easily anywhere. In Avenue de l'Opéra could count people."

We had heard from M. Raillard that the reputation of his father-in-law was penetrating into Germany. He had seen some notices and reviews of his works, and in August a professor at the Zurich University sent this flattering letter:--

"Monsieur,--Je vais publier une petite bibliothèque française à l'usage des écoles allemandes, avec des notes en français. Le premier volume contiendra une forte partie du fameux livre de Tocqueville sur l'ancien régime et la révolution. Le second sera, si vous le permettez, composé d'extraits de votre excellent livre, 'Français et Anglais,' traduction de M. Labouchère.

"Auriez-vous la bonté de me fournir quelques dates sur votre vie et sur vos autres ouvrages, que je pourrais utiliser pour l'introduction?"

Just at the time, when my husband was making extensive plans of work, justified as it seemed by the great improvement in his health, he was suddenly attacked by a new malady, which he believed to be asthma. There were no premonitory symptoms; he was as well as usual in the daytime, and even after going to bed, where he always read before going to sleep; but directly he fell asleep, he was suddenly aroused again by suffocation. In describing his sensations to me, he said it seemed as if breathing required--while in a waking state--a slight effort, which he made unconsciously, and this being discontinued when sleep arrived, produced suffocation. I attributed this painful state to a change in the working of his nervous system, and pressed him to see a doctor; but he was convinced that he was becoming asthmatic, and that there was no help for it.

Although he told me that if he had his choice in the matter, he would rather die than be condemned to a life of impotence, with perpetual cares and precautions, he bore his sufferings, or rather forebodings, with his accustomed courage and patience, and attempted to calm my apprehensions by affirming that, though his nights were disturbed, he could still get sleep out of bed, in an arm-chair, and now and then in the day-time when overpowered by fatigue. The various means of relief used by asthmatic people and recommended by different friends proving--without exception--utterly inefficacious for him, I attempted to console him by pointing out that asthma often manifested itself at very long intervals, and that, in general, the worst attacks were hardly more painful than those of gout. He answered that he could bear the pain of these attacks, but what he dreaded most was chronic asthma, which, by lowering his general health, would reduce him to an invalid state.

However, the worst symptoms soon subsided, and about three weeks after the first disturbance he was writing to Mr. Seeley: "I am much better, though my nights are still frequently interrupted. I require a great deal of exercise, more than I can find time for; the more exercise I take the better I am." And yet when, shortly afterwards, a specialist had to be called in, he declared that his patient "was completely overworked mentally and physically," and he ordered him to give up the velocipede altogether, and to restrict his walks to short distances and a leisurely pace.

I have never been able to understand how it was that physical exercise being so hurtful to Gilbert, he should invariably have felt benefited by it, so far as his sensations went.

The vacation had come round again, and the impossibility of realizing the pleasant plans we had formed obliged our children to alter theirs. Stephen went to London, and M. Raillard took his wife through Switzerland to Germany. They had frequently written on their way, and now told of their impressions of Freiburg, where they decided to remain three weeks.

I mentioned before that my husband's knowledge of places which he had never seen was surprising. In this instance he could induce Mary and her husband to believe that he had actually stayed where they were. The attempt amused him, and he read me the following letter before posting it:--

"19 _août_ 1894.

"Ma Chère et bonne fille,--Je t'aurais écrit plus tôt pour te souhaiter ta fête, qui est aujourd'hui, mais je n'espérais pas que ma lettre pût te parvenir, comme tu étais en route. Je n'ai jamais pu savoir ce que souhaiter une fête voulait dire, mais si c'est quelque bien,--comme la santé, par exemple,--tu sais quels sont mes voeux; enfin je voudrais te savoir aussi heureuse que possible:

"Je ne trouve pas que la couleur de la cathédrale de Freiburg soit désagréable. Il est vrai que je préfère un gris argenté, mais le ton chaud de Freiburg fait bien et il a gagné une certaine patine avec les années. On m'a dit quand j'y étais que celle de Strasbourg a la même couleur, mais je ne l'ai jamais vue. Quel bonheur pour Freiburg d'avoir tous ces petits ruisseaux qui nettoient les rues et qui viennent de la rivière Dreisam! Je n'admire pas plus que toi la tendance polychrome qu'on voit dans certains détails de la ville.

"Avez-vous vu le château de Zahringen? Il est au nordest de Freiburg, à trois kilomètres environ; c'est une promenade très facile.

"Je me suis demandé si à Baie vous vous étiez arrêtés à l'hôtel des Trois-Rois. Il y a là un long balcon d'où l'on voit le fort courant du Rhin qui passe sous l'ancien pont. Je me rappelle qu'à l'extrémité de ce pont, du côté opposé, il y avait une brasserie où, en buvant son verre de bière, on pouvait regarder l'eau qui coulait toujours, et si vite.

"À Lucerne, j'ai vu également couler la Reuss sous l'ancien pont où l'on voit la Danse de la Mort. Mr. Macgregor a osé descendre cette rivière (qui est un torrent très dangereux plus bas) en périssoire. Ce n'est pas moi qui essaierai.

"Je continue à mieux aller, je puis maintenant m'endormir assez facilement, et je reste généralement dans mon lit toute la nuit, mais pas toujours. Mon sommeil est souvent interrompu, mais vite repris. En somme grand progrès.

"Bonne-maman va beaucoup mieux aussi, elle prend de la Kola qui lui fait, paraît-il, grand bien.

"Stephen a regagné l'appétit et part vendredi pour Londres.

"Mes meilleures amitiés à Raoul, et tous mes souhaits pour un bon séjour à Lucerne, cet endroit si ravissant!

"Vieux Papa."

To the infinite amusement of "Vieux Papa," his daughter answered immediately, "We never knew that you had been at Freiburg," etc., etc.

In the course of August my husband had the pleasure of becoming personally acquainted with Mr. Scribner, who called upon him in the company of Mr. Jaccaci.

The improvement in Gilbert's state did not last. We renewed our entreaties about having a doctor's advice, and he yielded.

The great physician whom we called in declared it was weakness of the heart--due to overwork--that his patient was suffering from, and not asthma. He promised to set him up again in four months with his prescriptions.

Strange to say, Gilbert was greatly relieved to hear that his case was hypertrophy of the heart rather than asthma--for me it was the dreaded confirmation of fears that had long haunted me; still, we both derived hope and encouragement from the doctor's assurance of an ultimate cure. I cannot say that we really believed in a total cure, but we thought it possible to recover the former state of health which had preceded the attacks of suffocation. "I have not felt old, hitherto," my husband said, "certainly not more than if I had been only fifty; but the fact is, I am now sixty, and therefore must be prepared to face the advent of old age. I will submit to any privation for the sake of health, though it seems hard to be deprived of exercise. It is singular that my mental state should be clearer and more vigorous than ever before, and that my work should be easier and more enjoyable than at any former time."

Mr. Seeley had written:--

"What a good thing you called in this Parisian doctor! It might have been serious if you had gone on taking strong exercise in your present state of health.

"I can quite understand your feeling of relief that at any rate it is not asthma. Perhaps when you take less exercise the gout may return, and the heart be relieved at once. That the doctor confidently promises a cure in a few months is a great satisfaction to us."

The good results of the prescribed regimen were soon experienced, and I hailed--not unhopefully--the return of an attack of gout, predicted by Mr. Seeley, which I feared less for Gilbert than the heart troubles. The doctor had said, after hearing that the gout had almost entirely disappeared, "You have made a bad bargain in exchanging gout for hypertrophy."

This is what my husband himself wrote to his friend:--

"The worst of me just now for making inquiries, is that on getting up this morning I found I had an attack of gout in my right knee. Hitherto it is only slight (I write at two p.m.), but I cannot bend it without considerable pain, so I must wait till to-morrow at any rate, before trying to go to Paris. It is quite possible that the attack may be very slight, but it is also possible that I may be laid up by it. However this may be, I will of course keep your letter, and do all in my power to help in the present emergency.

"Many thanks for your very kind letter about my doctor's visit. I wish I had known him ten years sooner. He is most scrupulously observant of things as they really are, and does not set off, as doctors often do, from a preconceived notion of his own. The results of the regimen are already beneficial. My nights have been gradually improving since it began. Last night I slept perfectly till about two in the morning, and then awoke without any suffocation, and soon fell asleep again, remaining quiet with good breathing till half-past six. About a week since I could not sleep _at all_, being immediately awakened by suffocation every time I began to drop off.

"Please thank Mrs. Seeley on my part and my wife's for her kind sympathy, which we know is most sincere. Tell her I regret to have called you her teetotal husband, as I am no better myself. Nay, it is you who have the advantage of me with your two glasses of claret, which I call downright intemperance." (He was allowed to drink nothing but milk.)

Our children feeling uneasy still, and anxious about the state of their father, cut their journey rather short to be back again with him. M. Raillard wished to see Sens in coming back, and the house we had lived in there. So his father-in-law sent him some information about the place, and added:--

"Ne manquez pas surtout de voir l'intérieur de la Salle Synodale qui est peut-être la plus belle salle gothique du monde après celle de Westminster. Le trésor de la Cathédrale est intéressant.

"Je continue à me porter beaucoup mieux. Les nuits sont bonnes.

"À bientôt, puisque vous avez la bonne pensée de revenir.

"Bien cordialement à vous."

The rules of work had been, perforce, relaxed lately, and almost all the working time had been devoted to writing the "Quest of Happiness," and an article on "Formative Influences" for the "Forum," besides the concluding articles for "Scribner's Magazine."

A decided and rapid improvement in health had taken place, and when, at the beginning of October, Miss Betham-Edwards came to see us, she found my husband much as usual--though looking older--as she told me afterwards.

A few days after she had come to _déjeuner_ at Clématis we went to lunch with her at her hotel, and spent the whole day together, visiting the Musée Carnavalet, and having a long walk the whole way back to the Rue d'Alger. We crossed the Cour du Louvre, where my husband explained in detail the various transformations and changes in the architecture of the palace at different periods of time. Then, in the fading twilight, we had a look at the magnificent and poetical vista opened by the removal of the Tuileries, before saying goodbye; and when we reached Clématis for a late dinner, Gilbert told my mother that he had enjoyed the day and did not feel tired in the least.

On the following Sunday we had a long walk in the Avenue du Bois de Boulogne with some friends, and near the Arc de Triomphe de l'Étoile we happened to espy the doctor, when my husband remarked cheerfully, "Doctor B----, who was to see me again in two months, would be surprised to hear that I am cured already."

On October 17, a fire was lighted for the first time this autumn in Gilbert's study, and before the flue became heated and a good draught produced, the smoke was considerable. I warned him not to remain in the room, the air being so bad; he answered that as soon as the work he had begun allowed of it, he would go out. I left the door open on purpose, and begged him not to close it; but when I went up again with the letters--two hours after--I found him still at work, in an atmosphere of dense yellow smoke, without possible escape, the door having been closed again. As usual, when writing, my husband became so wrapt in his work that he was not conscious of anything outside of it.

I became alarmed for him, as I could hardly breathe, but he felt no inconvenience just then.

In the afternoon he had a walk, but in the evening he went up again to the study, and remained there over an hour, giving a lesson in English pronunciation to one of his nephews. The smoke had, however, subsided, and the fire burned steadily.

At half-past one I was awakened by a sensation of chill on the forehead--it came from my husband's lips--he was giving me, as he thought, a _last_ kiss, for he murmured faintly, "J'ai voulu te dire que je t'ai bien aimée, car je crois que je vais mourir."

He was deadly pale, but quite collected. I helped him to dress, and we managed to reach the garden for purer air. He wrote afterwards in his diary that his sufferings had been horrible, and lasted in full two hours and a half. I tried to encourage him in the struggle for life, by saying that it was asthma, and that I had witnessed a dear relation of ours struggling successfully through several similar attacks. I felt certain now that it was asthma, and I said so to the doctor on the following day. He answered, "It is cardiac asthma, then."

It was freezing hard outside, and as soon as he recovered breathing power, I led my husband to the drawing-room sofa, which I wheeled in front of the chimney, and the wood being piled up ready for a fire, I made a great blaze, and opened the windows wide at the same time. Once stretched on the couch and wrapped up in blankets, facing the leaping flames, he soon regained vital warmth, and his breathing became more regular.

Altogether the crisis had lasted five hours, during which I had remained alone with him without even calling a maid, for fear of making him worse through annoyance. I affected entire freedom from anxiety as to the end, merely expressing sympathy with his momentary sufferings, and I was thankful to succeed in deceiving him.

As soon as he felt well enough to be left for a short time, I hastened to the doctor's, but went first to tell Mary and her husband of the sad occurrence, that they might go to their father while I should be away.

The doctor attributed the attack entirely to the effect of the smoke, and said it had nothing to do with my husband's malady--"he had been asphyxiated;" it would have no lasting effects, except as to retarding the cure; the ground gained since the beginning of the regimen had been lost, and it was all to begin over again.

I did not attempt to disguise from him my anxious fears nor my feelings when I had witnessed my husband's tortures without any means or hopes of alleviating them; "for," I added, "I have been told there is no help in cases of acute asthma." "There _was_ not," he answered, "till a quite recent discovery; but now immediate relief may be given by injections of serum."

Though he assured me that there would be no other attack of the same kind if we took care to have only wood fires and no smoke, I insisted upon being recommended to a reliable doctor, not far from our house, who would promise to come at any time of night if we needed him, and who would always have serum in his possession--the great specialist being himself at too great a distance from us to be fetched in an emergency. The very doctor I wanted happened to be this very day sharing, as he often did, the labors and studies of the specialist. He was called in, and, after listening to an explanation, gave me the promise I desired, and said he would follow me immediately to Clématis to see the patient; and if he should see the necessity for it, would ask his friend to join him at our house for a consultation.

As he noticed the distress under which I was laboring, the physician kindly said before I left him: "I repeat, that I do not apprehend a recurrence of what happened last night--but, si par impossible une autre crise semblable survenait, rappelez-vous bien que, même suivie de syncope, elle ne serait _jamais mortelle_."

I believed him, though my heart was still heavy at the thoughts of the sufferings that the future might bring to my husband. I felt greatly relieved in being able to give him the doctor's assurance that there was no danger for his life.

I was happy on entering the drawing-room to see him quietly talking with Mary and Raoul, and eating grapes. He said that, with the exception of fatigue, he felt very well indeed. He had taken some broth, and partook of a light dinner with pleasure.

The doctor delegated by the physician, after an examination, merely confirmed what had been said to me, and saw no necessity for a consultation with his friend.

On the morrow we arranged a temporary study to avoid fresh troubles with the stove, and kept up good ventilation with a bright wood fire and frequent opening of windows looking out on the garden.

Gilbert resumed his ordinary work with great moderation, taking care to interrupt whatever he was doing every hour by a short walk in the open air, according to medical advice. Four days later I find this entry in the note-book: "October 24. Walked in the Bois de Boulogne towards evening in an enchantment of color and light; beautiful autumnal color on trees."

One of my husband's last satisfactions in life was a letter for Mr. Burlingame, about the work lately done for Messrs. Scribner. Here is a passage out of it:--

"I have long had in mind to say, _à propos_ of the conclusion of the series, how much of a success I think our last plan proved, and how cordially we all appreciate the very valuable and punctual fulfilment which you kindly gave to it. All our relations during its progress were a great pleasure to me; and I hope it will not be long before the Magazine may have the benefit of your help again. It will always gratify us very much to know of any suggestion or papers that occur to you which you might be inclined to send our way.

"Mr. Scribner and Mr. Jaccaci are back again; and we all often speak of you with pleasant recollections of your kindness in Paris."

Although Messrs. Scribner's pecuniary arrangements were very liberal, my husband's satisfaction in his dealings with them was mostly derived from their courtesy; for though he was obliged to take money into consideration, it was almost the least weighty of considerations with him. He often said he did not like money; he looked upon it as the indispensable means of providing necessaries, and thereby affording the mind sufficient peace to apply itself to study in freedom from anxious cares. He never desired riches or luxury, and hated to have to think about money matters or to talk about them, even to me; and aware that the subject was more than disagreeable,--painful,--I avoided it as much as possible.

After the first terrible attack of suffocation, Mr. Seeley had been reluctant to ask for my husband's help; still, as he had recovered so soon, and had resumed his ordinary avocations, he was willing and able to do several urgent things for the "Portfolio," and Mr. Seeley wrote:--

"You have done, before receiving my last letter, exactly what it asked you to do. What a good thing when editor and publisher are in such perfect _rapport_.

"I hope you have not had any more attacks."

No, he had not; and his nights were quiet again, though he got up very early, at four or five in the morning, and had a nap in the afternoon. The only thing he complained of was a sensation of weakness unknown to him before. It was not sufficient to be called painful, but still he felt it to be there, and hoped to get rid of it when allowed a little beer or claret. He so much disliked drinking milk at meal-times that it quite spoilt his appetite, until the doctor said he might have water during his repasts, and milk in the intervals.

On account of the diminution in strength, I was afraid of the effects that fatigue might produce, and did not like to see him go so often to Paris as he had lately done, especially to the exhibitions; but when it could not be avoided, I managed to go with him, under the pretext that I was interested in them myself.

On November 4 he asked me if I should like to go with him to the Louvre, where he had to see the Salle des Primitifs. I said yes. He spent an hour there, enjoying heartily the best pictures, and extolling their merits as we were coming back. According to his habit, he was reading in the tram-car on his way home, and I noticed that it was a volume of "Virgil," and in looking up from the book to his face, I observed that he looked paler than usual. I inquired if he felt tired. He answered, "Not in the least." And when we reached home he went up straight to his study, and wrote till the bell called him to dinner. We had a pleasant talk about the pictures he had just studied, while he was eating with a good appetite.

After dinner, as usual, he took up his newspaper and read for about ten minutes, when he suddenly threw it aside and told me the action of the heart was unsatisfactory. I proposed at once to go to the garden, but the suddenness and violence of the attack did not allow him to reach it. When in the open air, just above the few stone steps, he had to stop and grasp the railing till the last anguish deprived him of breath and of life, long before the arrival of the doctors, whom I had sent for as soon as he had felt oppressed.

He had never feared death, whatever might await him after--conscious of a useful and blameless life. He died as he had desired to die, standing alone with me under the moonlit sky, unconfined, escaping from the decrepitude of old age, still in the full possession and maturity of his talents, and in the active use of them.

Two hours before his death he had been writing these last words for the "Quest of Happiness":--

"If I indulge my imagination in dreaming about a country where justice and right would always surely prevail, where the weak would never be oppressed, nor an honest man incur any penalty for his honesty--a country where no animal would ever be ill-treated or killed, otherwise than in mercy--that is truly ideal dreaming, because, however far I travel, I shall not find such a country in the world, and there is not any record of such a country in the authentic history of mankind."

Let us hope he may have found this ideal country in the unknown world.