Two days later:—
"Je me sens de nouveau fatigué. J'ai causé aujourd'hui avec l'aubergiste de Walton-on-Thames, et il m'a dit qu'il nous nourrirait et nous logerait tous les deux pour £2 par semaine. On y est très bien, il y a un jardin, et des études à faire en quantité. Mr. Haden pense que la peinture ne fatiguerait pas autant le cerveau que la littérature.
"Si je t'avais avec moi, et si je restais plus longtemps, je n'aurais pas besoin l'année prochaine de revenir au mois de juillet. Voilà le rêve que j'ai fait. Je viendrais à Londres une ou deux fois par semaine seulement, et je t'aurais là-bas. Je ne pense pas vivre sans toi, je meurs d'ennui."
The kind of life we led at Pré-Charmoy suited perfectly my husband's tastes, and he was soon restored to health. He would have been entirely happy but for pressing cares; still, thanks to his philosophical disposition, he contrived to enjoy what was enjoyable in his life. He was extremely fond of excursions in the country, and we often used to set off with nurse and children in the farmer's cart, to spend the day in some picturesque place, where he could sketch or paint. We had our provisions with us, and both lunched and dined on the grass under the fine chestnuts or oaks, so numerous in the Morvan, by the side of a clear stream or rivulet; for running water had a sort of magic influence upon Gilbert, and instinctively, when unwell from nervous exhaustion, he sought its soothing influence. We generally rambled about the country after each meal, and whilst he drew I read to him, leaving the children to their play, under the charge of the nurse.
So far we had taken upon ourselves the teaching of the boys, but for some time past I had perceived that it was becoming inadequate to their present requirements, and I told their father that I thought they should be sent to college,—any rate the eldest, who was nearly eight years old; but he demurred, not seeing the necessity for it. He had a notion that they could be much better educated at home, according to a plan of his own: Latin and Greek would be reserved for their teens, because it was a clear loss of time before, and they would be taught modern languages early, together with science and literature. To this I objected, that, if successful, it might be a very good education for boys who were certain of an independence, but that it did not seem a good way towards the degrees necessary for almost every one of the liberal professions. Besides, who was to teach the boys when he was away? and would he always find spare time to do it, and regular hours also? I was certain he would never be punctual as to time; only he did not like to be told so, because, being aware of this shortcoming, he made earnest efforts to correct it, and constantly failed. It was difficult to him to bear any kind of interruption, or any compulsory change of work—involving loss of time—and on that score very trying to one who wanted always to finish what he had in hand. He hardly ever came down at meal-times without the bell being rung twice, and often when he did come down, he used to say: "That bell was getting angry," and he was met with this stereotyped phrase from us: "And it made you abandon the refractory sentence at last!"
Well, he acknowledged there was some weight in my objections to home instruction, but "he could give tasks to be done in his absence, and correct them afterwards." I asked, who could help the young students when they were in a fix? and would they be always inclined to apply themselves steadily to their tasks without supervision? That was expecting too much, but it seemed natural to him to expect it, as study and work had ever been both a necessity and a pleasure to him. However, he yielded, but so strong was his disapproval of public school teaching as it was carried on, that at first he would have nothing to do with it. I had to go to the principal of the college, and make terms and arrangements; the only condition he made was that the boys should come home every Saturday night, and remain till Monday morning, and the same from Wednesday to Friday regularly, for their English lessons and for their health. I desired nothing better, and the principal agreed to it. Whenever the boys complained of anything about their college life afterwards, their father used to say good-humoredly: "I have no responsibility in the matter; I did not want you to go to college, you know—it was your mother."
Pré-Charmoy being four kilomètres distant from the town of Autun, and five from the college, where the boys had to be in time for the eight o'clock class, summer and winter, it became necessary to have some means of conveying them to and fro, for they were still very young,—Stephen a little over eight, and Richard hardly seven. The eldest boy went alone at first, but his brother soon insisted on going too. We decided to do like most of our country neighbors, that is, to have a little donkey-cart, because it would have been both inconvenient and expensive to hire the farmer's so frequently. Accordingly we bought a small, second-hand carriage with its donkey, and I was taught to drive; my husband would have preferred a pony, but I was nervous at the idea of driving one, although I had been told that it was much easier to manage than a donkey, and discovered afterwards that it was the truth.
The little cart proved a great convenience for my husband's studies, as he could start with it at any time, and there was no trouble about the care of the donkey, the servant-girls being accustomed to it from infancy—almost every household in the vicinity being in possession of this useful and inexpensive animal. There is a Morvandau song, known to all the little shepherdesses, in illustration of the custom:—
"Mes parents s'y mariant tou
Mé j'garde l'âne (bis).
Mes parents s'y mariant tou
Mé j'garde l'âne taut mon saoûl!
"Mais quand mon tour viendra
Gardera l'âne (bis).
Mais quand mon tour viendra
Gardera l'âne qui voudra."