The voyage to my dear old Genoa was full of beautiful sights, with one exception. I don’t know what old Naples was like—I know it was frightfully dirty—but I saw it modernised into a very horrid town, a smudge of ugliness on one of the ideal beauties of the world. It gave me a shock on beholding it as we entered the harbour, and so I leave the town itself severely alone, with its new, barrack-like buildings looking gaunt and gritty in the burning June sunshine. The cloisters of the Certosa at Sant’ Elmo are very beautiful, and I much enjoyed the church and the splendid “Descent from the Cross” of Spagnoletto. There was just time for a dash up there before leaving at 12 noon. As we steamed out towards Ischia I got the oft-painted (and, alas! oleographed) view of Vesuvius across the whole extent of the bay from off Posilipo. Certainly nowhere on earth can a fairer scene be beheld, and greater grace of coast and mountain outline. Then the fair scene melted away into the tender haze of the June afternoon—blue and tender grey, the volcanic islands one by one disappeared and the day of my first sight of the Bay of Naples closed.
June 12th was a most memorable day, a day of deepest, sweetest, and saddest impressions and memories for me. In the afternoon I made ready for our approach to that part of the world where the brightest years of my childhood were spent—the Gulf of Genoa. In order not to lose one moment away from the contemplation of what we were approaching, I packed up all our things before three o’clock, did all the fin de voyage paying and tipping, and then, my mind free for concentration, I stationed myself at the starboard bulwark, binocular in hand. At long last I saw in the haze of the lovely afternoon a shadowy outline of rocky mountain which my heart, rather than my eyes, told me was Porto Fino, for never had I seen it before from out at sea, at that angle. But I knew where to look for it, and while to the other passengers we seemed still out of sight of land I saw the shadowy form. Then little by little the whole coast grew out of the haze and I saw again, one after the other, the houses we lived in from Ruta to Albaro. With the powerful glass I had I could see Villa de’ Franchi and its sundial, and see how many windows were open or shut at Villa Quartara as we passed Albaro, and see the old, well-loved pine tree and cypress avenue of the latter palazzo.
“The sight of Genoa in the lurid sunset glow, with its steep, conical mountains behind it, crowned with forts, half shrouded in dark grey clouds, was very impressive. ‘La Superba’ looked her proudest thus seen full face from the sea, seated on her rocky throne. By the by, when will people give up translating ‘superba’ by ‘superb’? It is rather trying. ‘Genoa the Superb’! Ugh!”
I worked away well in the pleasant seclusion of Delgany, at my 8-foot canvas whereon I carried very far forward my “Review of the Native Camel Corps at Cairo.” I had already a water-colour drawing of this subject, which I had made while the scene was fresh in my mind’s eye. I had been indebted to the then General commanding at Cairo for the facilities afforded me to see, at close quarters, a charge of the native Camel Corps, which impressed me indelibly. I had driven out of Cairo to the desert, where the manœuvres were taking place, and, getting out of the carriage opposite the saluting base, I placed myself in front of the advancing squadrons, so timing things that I got well clear at the right moment. I wanted as much of a full-face view as possible. The attitudes of the men, wielding their whips, the movements of the camels, the whole rush of the thing gave me such a sensation of advancing force that, as soon as the “Halt!” was sounded, and the 300 animals had flung themselves on their knees with the roar and snarl peculiar to those creatures when required to exert themselves, I hastened back to Shepheard’s and marked down the salient points. The men were of all shades, from fellaheen yellow to the bluest black of Nubia, and it was a striking moment when they all leapt off their saddles (as the camels collapsed), panting, and beginning to re-set their disordered accoutrements. In those days the saddles were covered with red morocco leather, with fringed strips that flew out in the wind, adding, for the artist, a welcome aid to the representation of motion. Now, of course, that precious bit of colour is gone, and the necessity for khaki invisibility reaches even to the camel saddle, which is now a stiff and unattractive dun-coloured object.
For my last and most brilliant visit to Egypt I took out our eldest little girl, and a very enjoyable trip we had, viâ Genoa. Of course, I took out the picture to finish it on its native sands. I had the richest choice of military camels, arms and accoutrements, and a native trooper or two, as models, but only for studies. I was careful to have no posed model to paint from in the studio, otherwise good-bye to movement. These graceful Orientals become the stupidest, stiff lay figures the moment you ask them to pose as models. Besides, the sincere Mohammedans refuse to be painted at all. I have never used a Kodak myself, finding snapshots of little value, but quick sketches done unbeknown to the sketchee and a good memory serve much better. The picture, I grieve to say, was hung not very kindly at the Academy, but at the Paris Salon it was received with all the appreciation I could desire.
What pleased me particularly in this last sojourn in Egypt was our visit to Cairo, where I was so happy during my first experience, when I described my sensations as being comparable to swimming in Oriental colour, light, and picturesqueness. The only thing that jarred was the tyranny of Cairo society, which compelled one to appear at the diversions, whether one liked it or not. Nevertheless, I gained a very thorough knowledge of the wondrously beautiful mosques, having the advantage of the guidance of one who knew them all intimately—Dean Butcher. It was a true pleasure to have him as cicerone, and I am grateful to him for his most kindly giving up his time for little C. and me. My husband had long ago been acquainted with every nook and corner of Cairo, but Dean Butcher had made a special study of these mosques, and I think he was pleased with the way we took in the fascinating information he gave me and the child.
It’s a far cry from Cairo to Aldershot! On November 1st, 1893, my husband’s command of the 2nd Infantry Brigade began there. Much as I loved Egypt, it was a great delight for me to know that the parting from the children was not to be repeated. I had had Egypt to my heart’s content.
After returning home from Egypt, at Delgany, on June 17th, 1893, I set up my next big picture, “The Réveil in the Bivouac of the Scots Greys on the Morning of Waterloo—Early Dawn.” I was able to make all my twilight studies at home, all out of doors; not a thing painted in the studio. I pressed many people into my service as models, and I think I got the light on their fine Irish faces very true to nature. I even caught an Irish dragoon home on leave in the village, whose splendid profile I saw at once would be very telling.