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Updated: May 11, 2025
The novelist made use of many of the names which occur in papers relating to his family history, in Peter Ibbetson. Du Maurier's father was a small rentier, deriving his income from the family glass-works in Anjou. He was born in England, whither the artist's grandfather had fled to escape the Revolution and the guillotine, returning to France in 1816.
And Honora was reclining on the hall sofa, reading about Mr. Ibbetson and his duchess, when she perceived the postman's grey uniform and smiling face on the far side of the screen door. He greeted her cordially, and gave her a single letter for Aunt Mary, and she carried it unsuspectingly upstairs. "It's from Cousin Eleanor," Honora volunteered.
Of the vegetation of such islands we have scarcely any indication, but it consisted partly of cycadaceous plants; for a fragment of one of these was found by Captain Ibbetson in the Chalk Marl of the Isle of Wight, and is referred by A. Brongniart to Clathraria Lyellii, Mantell, a species common to the antecedent Wealden period.
Dorothea's candlestick shook in her hand, and the extinguisher fell on the floor. Her brother picked it up and restored it. "Naturally," he murmured with brotherly concern, "your nerves! It has been a trying night, but you comported yourself admirably, Dorothea. Ibbetson assures me he could not have tied the bandage better himself. I felt proud of my sister."
The two men at the oars saw the whole thing, and were clear in their account of it after. Ibbetson, their sergeant, did not take the hand that was proffered him, but seized its wrist.
So coming to the porch, when Ibbetson heard the wheels and cast the door open, I kept my seat like a rock. Pretty well pitch dark it was where I sat behind the lamps. Ibbetson comes down the steps, opens the carriage door and stands aside. After a moment he begins to breathe hard, pops his head into the brougham, then his arm, feels about a bit, and comes forward for a lamp.
It seemed to them that he made no attempt to lift himself up from the boat; and the nearer one, pulling stroke, would have it that Ibbetson even hooked the seat with his foot, as though to get a purchase on the man's wrist that he held. Anyhow, the result was the same.
In Peter Ibbetson the artist told the story of his childhood; in Trilby he recounted the brightest period of his Bohemian youth; in The Martian he records the nature of the shock he received from threatened blindness, and the depression of days before his genius had discovered itself and revealed the prospect of a great career to him.
And Honora was reclining on the hall sofa, reading about Mr. Ibbetson and his duchess, when she perceived the postman's grey uniform and smiling face on the far side of the screen door. He greeted her cordially, and gave her a single letter for Aunt Mary, and she carried it unsuspectingly upstairs. "It's from Cousin Eleanor," Honora volunteered.
The actual writing of it was not perhaps taken quite so seriously as that of Trilby, and it gains nothing on that account; but it is a book in which there is intensity, in which everything is not spread out thinly as in Trilby. Du Maurier himself believed that Peter Ibbetson was the better book.
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