Mrs. Cameron says:
‘He bears what he calls a hedgehog in his chest with a most divine patience, even as a good husband would bear with a bad wife, and I fear he will have his hedgehog in his chest till death do them part.’[1]
Julia Cameron’s chief comfort seems to have come from her correspondence with Mrs. Tennyson.
This was an eventful year for the Camerons. The first grandchild, their daughter’s child, was born.
‘May she ever be the delight of your lives,’ wrote Mrs. Tennyson; ‘I can fancy the proud happiness of the little Uncles. After all this excitement, sorrowful and joyful, after the anxious watching of so many hours you need care yourself I am sure, so now take a little thought for yourself and so best thought for those who love you.’
Already in 1859, not burglars on the lawn such as those Horace Walpole describes, but Cockneys were beginning to wander across the Farringford grounds. We read of two who are sitting on one of the gates in the garden, watching Mr. and Mrs. Tennyson under the cedars. Alfred is actually speaking of moving, so averse is he to these incursions. Later on he went for a change to Staffa and Iona. Mrs. Tennyson stayed at home with her young children, urging him to prolong his tour.
Her nerves were not able to bear much strain nor the fatigue of journeys—we read of great surges of pain when she tries to write, of sleepless nights and weakness. Hospitable as she was by nature and by a sense of duty also, the entertaining of guests was very tiring at times.
We hear of many visitors, familiar names—Lushingtons, Frank Palgrave, Simeons, Edward Lear (who called his house at San Remo Villa Emily after the most ideal woman he had ever known), Woolner the sculptor, who stays for some time, and we read of the portraits he was taking of his hosts.
‘Alfred is charmed with the medallion of me and I think myself, if such a picture can be made of my worn face, that, if Lady Somers and the Queens and Princesses of Pattledom were successfully done, it would set the fashion.’
She goes on to say: