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THE WIFE OF :
ELIZABETH ELEANOR SWDAU,
From * photi>^w|>h by Frc4k, HuHynr
of an
THE WIFE OF RQSSETTI
HER LIFE AND DEATH
by
VIOLET HUNT
With Thirty Illustrations
'My life is so miserable I u-ish for no mare nf it,"
NEW YORK
E. P. DUTTON & CO., INC
.
*,* .*; "*; ITH wiFEOF;R6$5ETT$**i;HER LIFE AN~D DEATH
" .* p tr-T *Jt r *^t * - * -
CO^VRIGHT, 1932: BY E. DUTTOK & CO., IKC.
PRINTED IX U. S. A.
FIRST PRINTING, OCTOBER 1932
SECOND PRINTING, OCTOBER 1932
THI*D PRINTING, NOVEMBER 1932
FOURTH PRINTING, NOVEMBER 1932
FIFTH PRINTING, NOVEMBER 1932
SIXTH PRINTING, NOVEMBER, 1932
Dedicated with sincerest respect and
admiration to THOMAS J. WISE, who
has helped me with counsel and
afforded me documentation from the
serried rows of his garner, in my task
of collecting and interweaving the
delicate strands of a short and
tenuous life, like a Victorian lady's
gossamer veil, caught and impaled on
the thorns of this troublesome world,
INTRODUCTION
THE truth about Rossetti has, been told, more or less:
the truth about the woman he married, never. For
the first time, brushing away the decent coverlet of
leaves with which Rossetti's admirers have covered his
reputation, I seem to have laid bare much that is painful,
wild and unexpected but, at the same time, something beautiful,
heroic even, and all that is pitiful. 1 For surely the struggle of
youth, avid of honours and joy, to do good work whether one
lives or dies preferably lives is implicit in the stories of
Eleanor Elizabeth Siddall and her husband and those he led
against the Sanhedrim of old, mild but evil men who had sat
down heavily in the High Places of British Art and persistently
stifled all effort to see things truly and well. Eleanor's first
sitting was to one of the Band and she was sitting to another on
the day she died.
She was born exactly a hundred years ago, and all the persons,
nearly, that I knew well in youth had known her and were full
of the legend, reinforced and cemented by her tragic death,
which constitutes the dark stain on Pre-Raphaelite annals. Like
another Iphigeneia, she was sacrificed and slain that the P.R.B.
might conquer and live, 2 with her red hair for gonfalon. Her
blood served for the anointing of the corner-stone, for the
solemn ratification of this cult and its acceptance by a backward
nation, which culminated in the exhibition, one Spring, of
Burne- Jones' Mermaid with her divine sneer a Blessed Damozel
of the Depths on the walls of the Royal Academy and the curt
resignation of the last of the Pre-Raphaelites (second swarm)
the very next year, from The Accursed Thing ! Perhaps who
1 Puissant even now is the posthumous charm wielded by this pair, so that
people say to me, " Don't put the searchlight on Rossetti, pray leave the bloom
on Lizzy! "
2 " All the world and his wife has seen Millais's Black Brunswicker and Mr.
Hunt's Temfle and is beginning to think it rather hard that a new Pre-Raphaelite
picture should not be produced once a month." Illustrated London News,
vi i
knows the violent gesture of this so mild man was intended to
avenge her ?
" Strange and sad her story/ 5 said Mrs. Howitt who knew her
fairly well (no one knew her very well not' even her " dear little
Georgy ") and her life " like a short and troubled dream." Re
specting the details of that story there has been a conspiracy of
silence, kept up until to-day, when there is hardly anybody
left who knows at all.
But now, according to a member of her family set, dignified
and reticent as they all were and are it has come to form part
of the educational curriculum. Children in Board Schools
are taught x that the wife of the painter Rossetti, reproductions
of whose works adorn the walls of their school-house, com
mitted suicide, while a distinguished German professor has made
this young woman, whose features have come to stand for the
Pre-Raphaelite ideal in the eyes of the world, the subject of a
thesis, read before the youth of Jena.
Virtuous, static, almost characterless except for a natal
obstinacy, something of the sharpness and sourness immanent
in those born under the banner of a lost cause, her history is that
of the eleven years during which her orbit coincided with that of
Gabriel Rossetti and the Pre-Raphaelites. No saliences, certainly
no sins ; 2 her merits not in any way on the surface. No one
knew anything about the soul that might have looked out of
those eyes, under lids heavy with doom, had she been willing to
raise them for you. Not Georgy, nor Bessie, Emma, Mary or
Barbara could tell what lay under that silence, behind that
haughty sweep of the upper lip that was not all sweetness, or
knew what source of secret pride or unblessed knowledge it was
that reared her fine throat with its upward lift, like a lark's, about
to sing. ... 4
If anyone, it might have been William Allingham, who neither
denied nor pried but accepted her secretness ; seeing her always as
Little Bridget who had been stolen away by the fairies, come back
from seven long years in the keeping of creatures known to be soul
less, with their implicit, careless knowledge of things it is safe for
mortals not to know. He never expected her to be chatty on their
long walks to Highgate and back on summer evenings after seeing
their friends the Howitts and the Patmores. Did Little Bridget
1 See note 2, p. vii.
* "* have never heard an 7 fault attributed to her" Letters of the Honourable
Mrs. T wisleton, of America.
viii
on her return to her parents dare to tell everyone what she had
seen and heard while she was among the Good People, the
queernesses, the languors and lapses of that land where the sun
never shines and the wind never blows and all things are seen in
the faery underlight, as it were through a piece of smoked glass ?
Better far had Lizzy married William Allingham who understood
her, or run away with Algernon Swinburne 1 practising the same
strange withdrawal of personality under a mask of satyrdom, instead
of Gabriel Rossetti, to whom " sonnets meant insomnia/' subject
to nervous breakdowns and hallucinations 2 even before he took
to drugs, and with a suicide in his family. 3 And as for hers,
nervous people all of them ! Young Lydia could not sleep unless
she half sat up in bed, or bear the usual constriction of stays.
Harry was weak-minded and Clara died insane. (People said
that it was because they all wore their hair too long.)
Nowadays one would simply call her an eccentric.
Compared with his wife, Dante Gabriel Rossetti was more or
less normal, self-protective, even stable in mutability. Capricious
without being flighty, wayward as genius is wayward but knowing
full well how far in perversity he meant to go, obstinate and
domineering but incapable of sulks and sourness, full of swagger
but entirely without pretentiousness. Of his habit lazy and
lolling ; the intensity of his moral outlook, as a fire that burns
straight, belied the supineness of his bearing. Like the lover of
Arabella in 'Tis Pity, he conquered but did not fight. Even dour,
carping " Scotus," the discoverer of his genius, while resenting
the implications of this overlordship, felt the fascination that
made everyone place " glorious Gabriel " in a different position
qua morality from themselves and be willing to lay down their
lives for him. 4 In the great heart of Hunt was such love for his
friend though always between then the meeted rivalry of the
purist and the sensualist ; 5 with their great counter pictures of
1 Lady Jane was quite f right ened of it.
2 See the voice that called to him on the morning of his twenty- third birthday.
And a child of his was epileptic.
3 In August 1821 John William Polidori died "from a subtle poison of his own
composition." A verdict of Natural Death was returned. Set Diet. Nat.
Biography.
4 Some wag changed a letter but, indeed, P.R.B. devotion for Gabriel ran
to that.
6 In his heart of hearts Hunt considered Rossetti " a painter without passion "
and his " Blessed Da g mozel " , but " a brawny wench." While Fanny was " the
large-throated, disagreeable woman he painted so much."
IX
the kept lady in the Victorian drawing-room and the " twisted
one " l at the bridge head that when the moral and monetary
crash came and most of them streamed out to the Antipodes
to look for gold, he hesitated long to join the exodus (to
the Promised Land in his case), for " I do not know what I
should do away from Gabriel." He could have borne it had he had
the assurance that Gabriel was somewhere in the same land with
him, but " to have the dark world between " that he would
not " bring to pass easily, or anticipate the cold desolateness
of Death's valley." In Palestine he heard of his friend's little
treacheries and, without bitterness, stroked his golden beard
and bade the Arabs fetch him the day's model, the wretched beast
bound with the phylactery of all the crimes men do under the
sun, wandering, outcast, on the stony beach of the Moabitish Sea.
Selfish, Gabriel liked to help and often used his marvellous
business capacity in the service of what Ruskin contemptuously
called " the smaller fry that followed in his wake." After
fascinating big buyers for himself he would attend to the others,
and the tales of his business transactions show many picturesque
revirements of conduct in the man who liked to be paid in guineas
and saw to it, but who was sometimes seen emptying his pockets
into the laps of beggars ; who told his friends to " go to the
drawer and take whatever was wanted," and wrote to Brown on a
certain occasion, bidding him not to be annoyed at sight of
enclosed, 2 "which would be quite idle with me" and could be re
funded when Cromwell or the portraits went home.
It had suddenly struck him that Brown, after some
great "botheration" or other, must be inconvenienced. Brown
refused it.
Ruskin, with the percipience of the sex-stultified, got Rossetti
best " a great Italian living in England " instead of in a Catholic
country where a man may wipe out a crime or a peccadillo in the
confessional and die, leaving pious wishes and penances to be
liquidated by gifts and candles and the prayers of women 3
after his death. He was doing the best he could in this austerer
land, the "could" shortened by the strength of his animal passions,
due corollary of the Colour-Sense which is such precious bane.
Hampered in his art by lack of mastery of the medium,
1 Defence of Guenevere.
2 A cheque,
3 " Dear Old Antique " (as he called his mother) and Christina did that for him.
.^'>5***^ -v --
Ely kind permission of Mrs. Michael
D. G. ROSSETTI
From an oil painting by
William Holman Hunt
he knew it, with, the sad, inward eye of the artist turned on the
faults that clipped his wings. Out loud he prided himself on his
neglect of the usual processes for clearing, collocating and adjust
ing the clotted mass of the raw findings of genius. And his were
very clotted " The simple, the natural, the naive were insipid
in his mouth " ; 1 he demanded the strongest savours in Art and
Literature not so much perhaps in Life !
He did not love Nature or encourage her appeal, except in so
far as he could bring her into romantic relation with himself.
Lush, tree-shadowed, bewitched country inspired him with the
lovely melancholy which was, as artists say of pictures, the
" eye " of his poetry ; wooded groves where he could feign to
see the red blood of a suicide staining and the tears of a mourner
drenching the secret stream and its banks, the alder over the dark
green leaves that carpet the floor of our English woods
With tear-spurge wan, and bloodwort burning red.
He means wood-spurge. Without even knowing its name he
remembers that this plant has a cup of three. He took all that in,
sitting with Scott once on Brignal Banks (which he chooses to call
Willow Wood), his forehead between his knees, his eyes wide
open, in some dreadful agony of remembrance
From perfect grief there need not be
Wisdom or even memory.
With bravura he carried off his narrowness, his lack of all
interest in ethics, the why and the wherefore of our existence.
He was not sure if the earth moved round the sun, and what
matter if it did not ? Without a bean's worth of faith he Jays
claim to the female Intercession that Catholics invoke
O Mary Mother, be not loth
To listen, Thou whom the stars clothe.
Surely the first a-moral person to exist delightfully in those
austere Victorian fields, and managing to get a strain of mysticism
as well as sensuality into his pictures, live to see his Magdalens
and Belcolors nicely housed on the walls of sober, righteous and
respectable patrons, his naked figures of Love into reredos or
triptych and the light shining on their limbs through stained-
glass windows in churches all over the country !
For this man, who later was accused of " wheeling his nuptial
1 Allingham
XI
couch into the street," was devout in youth, brought up by a
mother who went to church regularly but who could never bear
to hear the lesson read that tells of the organized slaughter of the
Priests of Baal by Elijah, or bring herself to believe that Socrates
would be condemned by Him to eternal torment, wrote, when
he was nineteen, two poems which may be said to hold as much
as he chose to assimilate of his mother's religious training, The
Blessed Damozel and Jenny. From early youth his two principal
motor ideas, apart from self, were of redemption, through the
intercession, and the remission of sins through the tears and prayers
of a Saviour Woman. And the reciprocity must be mutual.
Antedating the tactics of Butler and Gladstone, he and his friends
started the Rescue Work of the 'fifties, patrolling the streets
solemnly every night in parties of two or three, expostulating,
preaching and getting themselves laughed at.
His sisters were obsessed all their lives long with this idea of
moral salvage : 1 careful, delicate females without the zest
of the hunt to inspirit them, reading aloud to sulky fallen women
in grey-walled Homes at Highgate and in Portobello Road.
Christina's own earthly passion was frustrate : her Prince made
no Progress " Too late for Joy, the Bride was dead." Her
saudades, 2 as her friend Howell called it, found expression and
gained zest in the act of cherishing all wretched, despoiled and
hunted things. Like many old maids she was devoted to animals,
furry, feathered and the smaller the better. Once in Regent's
Park she had looked out of her window at dawn and seen a wave
of yellow light sweep up from the trees and fill the still dreaming
glades. ... It was all the canaries escaped from all the cages in
London and agreed among themselves never to go back to cap
tivity. Her brother always meant to paint it.
Had she cared more for humans the catastrophe of 1874 might
have been averted and the soul of a brother been saved from
the Purgatory she steadily believed in. One wonders if she had
time to think of this on that night in Spring when, a maiden
lady, bonnetless, she went out, to deal double raps at a
physician's door and get him to come and put Gabriel out of his
laudanum sleep, procured from the dregs of a bottle first used ever
so many years ago. A saint, doubled regrettably with a dis-
1 Reading of Dickens' Martha and her thoughts of suicide had helped to put
the idea in their heads, not to speak of Little Em'ly, " found."
2 Saudades. Portuguese word for meing remorse.
xii
agreeable woman, she had the justness, the intuitive taste of the
peasant Marie Claire together with the passion of Soeur Marie
Angelique who had been La Valliere. She had sent away
Collinson, whom she loved, for religious reasons, but, meeting
him in the street a month afterwards, fainted away on William's
arm and dropped her painting for good as a mortification. Her
motives were misconstrued by one near to her :
" Christina finds Art interferes with the legitimate exercise of
anguish and insists on going on dreaming of a lifelong ill," said
the ever-candid relation.
Olive-skinned, with deep brown eyes that showed sometimes
the white over the pupils sign of her inherent malady Christina
had much temperament. Quiet, still and brooding, she had
plumbed depths that Lizzy never knew and there was more
passion in her little finger than in the other's whole white
body.
" It is over at last, the terrible pain." Now, broken and shaken
in her own esteem, she haunted the portals of convents and im
posed on herself penances for a contemplated sin. "There's blood
between us, Love, my Love. . . ." Not blood but a wife. For
Collinson, 1 when she threw him over a second time, consoled himself.
The secret has been well kept, but with poets, murder will
soonest out. She could never, in verse, keep off the subject,
so dreadful then to the lay mind that no one had the moral
hardihood to read between the lines. 2
" For there's no love like a sister's. ..." Maria did not, like
Laura to save Lizzy, hold converse and traffic with goblin men
on the hillside and eat their delicious, deadly fruits or, like
Meredith's beauty of Bath, 3 need to hang herself as a deterrent on
the threshold which the delinquent must pass. But for a week of
nights the kind, sonsy creature crouched on the mat by the
house door and saved her sister from the horrors of an elope
ment with a man who belonged to another.
The fits of peculiar sadness that Ruskin observed in both
Gabriel and Lizzy he may have set down to their lineage
scions both of a family Gabriel's certainly which had in the
past expended its energies in political effort. Maybe the
physical disabilities entailed by the proscription and subsequent
wanderings of the father, as a fugitive, had diminished in the
1 Collinson, a P.R.B., had married the Sister of an R.A, (one of the worst).
2 Of her brother's preface to Goblin Market.
3 He told me he had founded Tbt Story of Chlof on this incident.
xiii
son the power of resistance to what may come, fostered his
dreadful laisser-aller, laisser-faire, his withdrawal from the
decisions of life other than the arrangement of a few lines and
colours more colours than lines on a canvas or a piece of
Whatman paper, and his brutal envisagement of matters pertain
ing to the emotions has a hunted patriot a right to any but
political ones ? He had a low opinion of women " Yes, they
are ever so much nicer when they have lost their virtue." *
Stunners all : divided broadly into useful, approachable Blessed
Damozels and women " nascent for Hell." He had no " Cousin
Nell " 2 to set against Jenny : he was not, as a matter of fact,
acquainted with any woman who would have been called " a
lady" in those days and chose to attribute to them all the
morality of servant-girls. 3 He spoke slightingly of Brown's
Emma and, called to account, apologised in uncomplimentary
terms "I regard all women as being absolutely loose-tongued
and unreliable, so that to suggest such qualities in one of them does
not seem to me particularly disrespectful."
Lizzy had breeding her every gesture shows it. But simple,
unsuggestible, obstinate as a child, in the wrong places, though
Gabriel could sweep her off her feet in his hustle, charm her with
his voice that lulled the tempest and rode the storms she raised.
Yet, even convinced, she could not accommodate herself to his
meretricious adaptations, Jesuitical reservations, or realise, for the
artist, the need of variety as a stimulus to invention, by a sort of
immoral tour de main confounding the sensations, the sensi
bilities evoked by one model with those set up by another
as in the tales of Masuccio and Bandello where a lover enjoys two
women in the same night, She could not forgive those apt
processes of substitution in the moral and artistic order
which, instead of shocking and estranging, in the end please and
convince. The Arch of Marius at Saint R&ny de Provence is
1 So he told Frederick Shields.
2 My cousin Nell is fond of fun,
And fond of dress, and change, and praise,
My cousin Nell is fond of love
And she's the girl I'm proudest of.
Who does not prize her, guard her well ?
3 All his life he preferred to find his loves among the proletariat the daughters
of carpenters blacksmiths and livery-stable keepers. To the one real " lady who
came within his provenance he did not propose, and she would not have taken him.
xiv
subtly irregular : the Maison Carree at Nimes looks so well
because it has one column less on the south side. 1 The Madonna
adored by both Ruskin and Proust is black, and a head painted by
Rossetti, for which Mrs. Morris sat, is so distinctly Semitic in cast
and feature that it might stand for Naaman's little Syrian maid.
Her last words were prompted by jealousy, not the dislike
of being left by herself, for she took a positive pleasure in lone
liness ; see her wilful claustrations in Chatham Place, her resort
to the wildwood at Scalands and Matlock, lying like a hunted
animal in the long grass. Fanny, in the end, had grown to be a
habit, so there is some other reason to seek for suicide. Her
jealousy was not of Janey that was spared her or of " My
Lady Audley," unobtainable or Annie Miller, giddy but equally
so. 2 All of them were good to paint ; he wanted something
coarser to live with, more like Byron's Marianna Segati " Vacca
tua> Eccellenza ! " Fanny ! William Bell Scott introduced him
to her.
William Bell Scott, " the Northern Vitruvius," or " Scotus " as
his friends called him, always said that it was he who really
discovered Gabriel.
Artist as well as poet : when the cards were shuffled by Sir
Henry Cole, he had left off being a Stunner so said Kenny
Meadows, who invented the phrase and taken the place of
Bellenden Kerr in Newcastle as Head of the School of Design.
He didn't paint much more but resigned himself to be Pictor
Ignotus, " a painter without recognition," taking the privilege
of lashing his erstwhile competitors in the race with a bitter
ness they did not relish and hit back. 3 He was married to a
1 The Soldiers' Memorial at Hyde Park Corner is not quite rectangular.
2 Grant Allen saw the making of a novel in the whole affair but he never wrote it.
Annie Miller is the one Pre-Raphaelite heroine who has, perhaps out of considera
tion for these two men, been sedulously " kept dark " ; references to her in P.R.B.
memoirs are scanty, though, in the 'sixties and 'seventies, her name was on every
one of their tongues.
3 Scotus " impressive as a truthful and understanding person can be and that
is little or nothing," says Patmore, who ticked off people rather well. Rossetti
always gave him " the impression of tenacity rather than intensity." " Impressive
in his way but, as to his output, a null he is and ever will be," said Carlyle. Rossetti's
own mild contribution was, " Scott warps things ! " together with a nice sketch of
his Stunner, whose connection with him was purely honorific though it saddened
poor little Mrs. Laetitia.
XV
woman who had been very pretty 1 and who was always a
" character " Miss Laetitia Norquoy, the daughter of a rich
Ceylonese tea-planter.
Fanny or Sarah Cox (afterwards Hughes), like Lizzy, was
of good family stock. The Hyltons dated from long before the
Conquest, the family originating in the mythological union of
one of Odin's ravens with a Saxon maiden. Her uncle quartered
the arms of Hylton of Hylton Castle. One Thomas Hilton was
bailiff of " Roon " when Joan was burnt. Her mother, a Hylton,
and her father, a Cornforth, were both heir to estates lost through
attainder. She had a great-uncle living in her native town of
Darlington, old Tommy Bowes, who could never eat butcher's
meat because it reminded him of the smell of roasting rebels in
the market-place. Twice a Jacobite, she was also allied to the
Vanes. One of the daughters of old Richard Hylton had married
the son of Albinia, posthumous daughter of Sir Harry Vane,
begotten in the Tower the night before his execution (after
the premeditated fashion of the Abbesse de Jouarre in the
prison of the Abbaye). And Albinia's son, styling himself the
Honourable Harry Vane, left a dole to the poor of Darlington.
Elizabeth Hylton, great-grandmother of Sarah Cox, was a
queer, obstinate, romantic figure about whom Rossetti, with his
predilection for the hard-bitten North, its legends, its savage
romance, was never tired of hearing. He prized Fanny's tales of
the beautiful ancestress who, in her youth, lived in a "hall-house" 2
that is to say, a house into which you did not burst at once into
the living-room, because it had a porch built in front of it at the
spot where Westmorland, Cumberland and Durham meet.
She was the daughter of " a retired captain in the army "
periphrasis used to denote persons who did not exist for their
country's good such as Catholics and Jacobites. The Earl
of Seaforth had taken part in the 'Fifteen and, pardoned,
lived in exile. But his son Lord Fortrose came out in
1 Conscious that her value was deeply impaired by the illness which deprived her
of her looks and half her wits, Miss Norquoy offered to release him from his engage
ment but he gallantly refused. So she early accepted the existence of a " noble
and queenly rival "so her husband naively puts it" and had faith in us both."
Rightly enough. Alice Boyd was a sweet woman, a sister of Hugh Spencer Boyd,
Scott's dead friend, whose spirit-messages got through and converted Scott to
Spiritualism. Alice Boyd had inherited a castle in Ayrshire and shares in a rich
seam of coal.
2 Hall-House a gentleman's mansion. Teesdale Glossary.
xvi
the 'Forty-five, and his wife too. Elizabeth Hylton was living
with her and her daughters at Coxhoe Hall near Durham, where
a certain John Cornforth was bailiff, when, like a Suffragette of
our own day, Lady Fortrose chose to take part in her husband's
campaign " leading some few of the Mackenzies " while he was
with Lord Loudoun and Mr, Mackintosh, whose wife also was
helping him to be in two places at once. 1
Elizabeth Hylton looked after the children while their mother
was leading armies, but she would not go to France with them
afterwards, for she had fallen in love with the son of the bailiff
and married him nine years later, when all was quiet again.
The Cornforths, a splendid yeoman stock, had held property
in the neighbourhood of Darlington since the fourteenth century
and their name figures in most of the leases, with their dangling
seals, of lands, and messuages in the neighbourhood. They had
been in rebellion too. 2 A Cornforth of Blackwell was in the
Rising of the North. William Cornforth of Manfield was a
fine rider and the terror of all the horse-thieves and smugglers
who infested Weardale. 3
Fanny Cox inherited her good sense and efficiency from her
mother's family, whose name she adopted professionally, but she
had all the passion of her remoter ancestress, whom, so she had been
told, she resembled, an immensely fine woman with blue eyes
and the yellow hair of the family. One of his schoolfellows
remembered the long hair of Freeman Hylton hanging down his
back in ringlets, in the manner of a wig in Charles IPs time.
His sister had it too. She was the life of the rustic Academy at
Denton, near by Hylton, remembered for her little frauds,
promising apricots, peaches and such rare fruit from her ancestral
acres in order to get her sums done for her. The Hylton garden
boasted nothing but plums and apples : her father had obtained
a decree by which he had recovered his estate but, as so often
happened with lands long forfeited, the revenue was not equal
to the charges and the last Baron of Hylton had large ideas. . . .
He italianated his house and died.
1 London Gazette, March 2nd, 1746 : " If this be a contrivance it may save or
lose their heads, according as the word WIFE is understood."
2 Quietly and warily, they contributed to all the local Doles by which the good
Catholics compensated for heady evil deeds in those days and so saved their souls
and estates alive. There was the Sober Dole a Cornforth Christian name the
Forster Dole, distributed with the much larger Cornforth Dole.
3 There is a place called Cornforth's Leap which he negotiated on his celebrated
charger that he fed on bread and beer when unable to get a feed of corn for it.
b
Fanny had managed to get hold of the Hylton seal (pointed,
elliptic, a lozenge with a chevron between three fleurs de lys)
and divers lockets and portraits. She had seen the family
cradle before the last Baron sold it and the chrism-cloth of red,
silver and gold thread in which all the Hyltons were baptised.
She cut up for Rossetti some splendid brocade dresses and satins
" that stood alone," and adapted to her own use the " visiting
dresses " of Mary Ann Hylton, the promiser of peaches, who died
unmarried of consumption before she was twenty-five. 1
Rossetti found the brocade scraps useful, and impressive the
legends of Hylton, its derelict corridors full of raddled pillars,
its music gallery with ceiling painted by Vercelli, through which
the north wind now whistled and where the good wife churned
amid life-sized statues of Venus, Cupid and Minerva. But he who
wrote Jan Fan Hunks was as deeply interested in the plebeian
annals of the Cornforths and would savour on his tongue the queer
names of their properties Towneland, Malande, Stickbitchland
and enjoy Fanny's description of the family mansion in Black-
wellgate, where she had stayed as a girl, the house door, with a
cruciform knocker, clamped with iron, that would have resisted
an invasion by the Scots, and the " colour " of the wood, dark,
rich and shiny like petrified oil. There was a well in the middle of
the house in case of siege and the ghost, Old Pinckney, roamed
o ? nights in his red nightcap, so that no one liked to be afoot after
nightfall. 2
" Little things touch secret springs " and Mr. Scott came
to be responsible for that ill-starred clumsy picture which pro
cured Rossetti's quarrel with Hunt and led his steps to the Place
of the Gnashing of Teeth where his ruin was finally con
summated.
A bright lad in Edinburgh, walking back from Portobello
one night, Scott had come across a poor, starved street-walker
called Rosabell Bonalley. She was of a French colony there and,
en tout bien, tout honneur (Scott was the most cantankerous but
the most chivalrous of men), he gave her supper and sent her
home. Not long after he wrote a poem called Mary Anne and
published it in a magazine.
1 The male blood of the Hyltons died out with Henry Hylton, a spirit merchant
in Barnard Castle, with blue eyes and a golden beard ; and a midshipman, R.N.,
ridiculously yellow-haired too" the last leaves on a blasted tree."
2 Things are altered. The house is now an inn The Fleece.
xviii
Another youth in London read it and wrote enthusiastically to
the author. It was the beginning of a life-friendship between
the two men. Mr. Gabriel Charles Rossetti suggested a volume
and promised to illustrate the poem as soon as he could " beg,
buy or steal the copper to etch it on." He posted to Newcastle
three of his own magazine attempts, giving Scott the chance to
say afterwards that he had " made " him. Perhaps he did ?
For Rosabell proved to be the very navel, the hub, of
Rossetti's particular complex in its first and last expression.
In order to get the background he took Chatham Place. The
model for it was already in his eye. So we get Rosabell Bonalley
of Portobello with the face of Fanny Hughes of Wapping, 1
the fine and the abject : the piteous and the unregenerate : the
spiritual and the sumptuous crouching by the Bridge, sick and
averse, while the lover she has left for the voluptuary, pulls her
chin round like a policeman about to move on a vagrant and,
in so doing, recognises his old sweetheart " gone on the town."
The subject of this picture with its touching legend 2 was so near
the inner core of the painter's feeling that he seemed to be
inhibited from finishing it. Gabriel's " Bridge Picture " ended
by becoming an imposthume, a dreary responsibility that his
friends often spoke of as they might of a deformed bastard child
that a doting father will cling to. Fanny was its mother poor
Fanny with her strayed aitches " I know I don't say h'it right ! "
came to suit him better than the other woman brooding in
her still preciosity at Chatham Place or lying kicking on the
Browns' hearthrug in her paroxysms of rage.
Found , or The Drover, or The Bridge Picture, or Lost, as
Mr. Leatheart called it, first commissioned in 1853, was
" married " to three people McCracken, Leatheart and Graham.
Its last mate was Samuel Bancroft, Jun., of Rockford, Wilmington,
Del. It needed a bridge, a cart, a countryman, a calf and a
harlot. Fanny sat for the harlot. Brown sat for the country
man and got him the calf, and Millais got him the cart. " A
dreadfully difficult subject," says Ruskin discreetly. He hated
it and it may have been his fault that it was never finished, to the
lifelong vexation of the four gentlemen who at different times
1 Rossetti's portraits are never likenesses. He makes Meredith look like Howell
and Howell like the Angel Gabriel, while into Fanny's smug face (as seen in the
photograph she sent to Mrs. Hemblen) he put all the pathos and tragedy begotten
of her stormy days with her " incumbrance " a drunkard and a waster.
2 " I remember thee, the kindness of thy youth and the love of thy betrothal."
xix
commissioned it. The last commission, given in 1859, was for
three hundred and fifty guineas. After Rossetti died Burne-
Jones touched it up and sent it off to America.
At the top of the tree, with an income of four figures thanks to
Charles Augustus Howell, scorning academic honours (Jenny
Morris told me that Mr. Rossetti had said that, if the Royal
Academy were to elect him at any time, he would immediately
put the matter into the hands of his solicitor), two short sentences
concerning the author of The Blessed Damozel spoken in my
hearing stand out in my mind. I have never forgotten them and
the emphasis with which they were delivered. Sitting at the
round, rickety, varnished table in the house on the canal,
from which the albums were shoved aside for the tea-tray at
which Miss Sarianna Browning presided, I heard Mr. Browning
say in his so loud and guttural voice, " I never can forgive
Rossetti!"
And another crashing sentence came from between the
patriarchally bearded lips of Mr. Holman Hunt in answer to my
mother's question, as he stood in the studio in Warwick Road
(where the big flats are now), mixing his paints with Jordan water
out of a bottle. " No, I never see Gabriel now ... his life is
so bad." And then, " He behaved very ill to the poor girl he
married. 1 . . . Just before her end he went to see her and
promised to marry her if only she would get well. . . . They
had been growing more and more apart. . . ." His voice
trailed off as if the subject disgusted him.
I did so want to know, not so much about her, as about him
the man who had written the poem I had learned to repeat before
I could read. One dark rainy evening, walking after painting
hours with my father near our house, I asked him to tell me
about Mr. Rossetti. With a seriousness quite inexplicable to
me and rather appalling, he answered, "I cannot. You had
better ask your Mamma, or Professor Ellis. He is the only
man who knows anything about him now."
Pressed, he gave his reason, using the same expression that
Mr. Hunt had used Victorian for " that kind of thing."
Yet I remembered Sunday mornings, sometimes, when I was
let ^ walk with my nurse as far as I could go and sent back
while my parents went on to breakfast with Mr. Rossetti. I
1 These long engagements have the worst effect on women. Tennyson's Emily
spent most of her after marriage life on a chaise longue.
XX
heard about it afterwards, when he had gone down into the
long, stuffy night of chloral. He would open the door himself
in his dirty Chinese dressing-gown, unshaven, unwashed, and
receive them and cherish them as he alone knew how.
Nothing romantic about him but the soft Italian voice and the
wonderful eyes, with the bar of Michelangelo across the brows,
so that she who afterwards described him to me, said that one
could refuse him nothing,
But soon the walks stopped. Fanny was his housekeeper en
titre and & domicile, so gentlemen could not take their wives
there any more.
Ruskin was the only person, so far as I am aware, who never, after
Mrs. Rossetti's death, committed himself to an opinion either
about her or her husband. Just as he never spoke of his own
Effie excepting perhaps a veiled allusion " one other person
of whom I do not suppose you are thinking " in a savage letter
to Miss Octavia Hill forty years or so after.
But there is one voice raised in defence of Gabriel. It comes
from Germany and is reinforced by a member of Gabriel's own
family.
" I cannot get rid of the idea that this so renowned Miss
Siddal, because she was cold and self-centred, had a monstrously
evil influence on Rossetti's development." So says Professor
Levin S chucking, and, in answer to his request for corro-
boration, the other admits that "he is not far wrong. Of
course Miss Siddal was a disagreeable and acid person with a
very cold temperament." But he grants her " immense and
devastating charm and a remarkable character to set against her
terrible bad temper," which made her life with his distinguished
relation " a series of violent scenes one after another."
She was " pretentious," the Professor goes on to suggest,
" easily offended, touchy, self-contained, cold and unemotional."
But, on the other hand, Rossetti had " little use for the gentler
virtues." Still, he " gave the gold of his purest feelings, re
ceiving as it were, copper coins in exchange." Doctor Schucking
quotes her two terrible letters which seemingly are all that have
been preserved and comes to the conclusion that, " Once they
were married, disillusionment was sure to follow."
Worse. Suicide. To the Professor this act must have
appeared some sort of an outrage on Art, like throwing a bomb at
a fine public building. What ! Saddle a great painter with the
xxi
pangs of remorse ; better far the chemise Isabella or the obedience
of Fair Helen, fording the stream on foot at the side of her
mounted lover
I pray to God, CHlde Waters,
You never will see me swim.
(But he did and they got through somehow and, that night, she
" had her young son born " and the Childe married her because
she had been so good.)
It is certain that their two morbidities crashed. Lizzy was far
too ill to marry. He felt the reluctance of the healthy male to
beget his children on a phthisical subject, condemned to the
deadliest forms of relief for pain. She could not, actually, eat
without " taking something," or He down when the attack was
on.
She taught him to drug : Stillman, who is generally con
sidered responsible for this, only provided him with a neater,
more modern remedy for remorse.
One windy autumn afternoon at the Scotts' I was bored in
the drawing-room and strayed out by the queer underground
kitchen-study way into the garden, all nettles and weeds and
straggling things as tall as I was, long grass unmown pressing
up against the windows of an old stable and some sheds, with
half red, half white panes broken in places. ... I looked in
through a crack and saw the great derelict picture Dantis
Dream which, for the present, Mr. Scott was housing for his
distinguished neighbour a few yards further down the road.
The danger was that he might spoil it by re-touching.' He
was now unfit to handle it.
Then I went in; to Mamma and Mr. Scott and his two
Egerias in the dining-room with the great bow window, its
window-boxes full of wilted plants that gave on the bridge and
the little bit of garden nestling just under it. Miss Boyd got up
suddenly and went to the window, which was open, for it was a
mild evening. Mrs. Scott said " Tea ! " but she did not come away
and we joined her and looked out. In the whole street there was
only one man and he was immediately under the sill. I could have
leant out and touched his head. His itinerary along the Embank
ment parapet had been broken by the bridge and the bit of More's
Garden. He had his pardessus 1 " hugged up," as these North-
1 I have it now. It fell to a relation of mine,
xxii
country people said, over his face so that he looked like a
monk.
" Gabriel ! " Mrs. Scott exclaimed.
No one, much, saw him now except a young adorer from
Liverpool who had driven Watts 1 away, and his old friend
Frederick Shields, who tempered the narcotic with water whenever
he got the chance. And there was a spiritualist fellow who
called now and again. As for women, only Janey Morris
(" Scarecrow," as she chose to call herself since her illness) and
the beautiful Miss Herbert who came up from Brighton once to see
him, for old sake's sake. She was shown into the dining-room,
with its long table and heavy brocade cloth reaching to the ground
and, when she had waited a^few minutes alone, out crept her host
from under it, on all-fours. She never came again.
After using up all his best Delft plates as missiles, even Fanny
left him, though, like King Charles for Nelly, he had a last word
for her and the suggestion of a cheque to be sent as many
a time before. " I am writing to tell The Elephant that she
may expect you at 36 Royal Avenue. When you or she tell
me ... I will disgorge my leading function in life being to do
so."
Like Browning, I never can forgive Rossetti.
My sources for this Life are chiefly oral, from the circumstances
of my childhood and early girlhood, spent much in the company of
the actors in the scenes I am attempting to describe, wandering
o' mornings in and out of their houses with messages and, older,
with a good book in my hand which I did not read, hearkening as
a servant waiting at table might, to words that I only half under
stood. The Cloud of Witnesses have set down, many of them,
afterwards what they judged meet of their garnered memories,
in chastened, more academic language, instead of giving the hot
sentences that come from the entrails as well as the heart : le mot
cru as well as le mot juste. Allingham did not count Fanny's lost
aitches or William Rossetti, moved by brotherly love and con
sideration for posterity, cross Gabriel's t's. For the painful and
1 I never shall forget Watts' vexation when Hall Caine got in first with his " Life "
and " fingered the bloom off Gabriel." ^ .
xxiii
homely sensations procured in persons present at the exhumation
of the poems I refer them to Mr. Virtue Tebbs' account of this
ceremony. The exact terms of the message to her husband
written in pencil on a bit of paper pinned that night in February
to the front of Lizzy's nightgown were never given to the public
by Mr. Madox Brown who found them. Nor did he publish
or even finish the sonnet, wrung from him by the sight of her
lying there. In the appendix of this volume will be found a
draft of one of a whole Sequence embodying a later experience
of the author's. In the margin, scrawled in pencil, are the letters
D.G.R. Emotion remembered, in what could never be
tranquillity, for the fiery Father of the Pre-Raphaelites !
Gradually, in the process of time, the details of some of these
happenings drifted into volumes in which the Faithful strove
to justify or condemn their idol's behaviour. I give the names
and the publishers of some of these books that enshrine
modified versions of sentences that came hot, blurted out in
Pre-Raphaelite simplicity and directness, from lips now sealed
in death. For, with nearly all the persons concerned in this
ancient woe, I have held converse in my degree, except with
the chief protagonist, who died before I was born. Her husband
I have seen in the street, but his head was muffled up, as it were
in a monk's cowl. But I remember well his sister Christina and
her broad bosom in dove-coloured silk wreathed in black lace.
And his brother William, with his bald head and red lips. I
remember Morris' Viking eyes and Mrs. Morris' hair, her ghostly
beauty like a blasted tree or a sprig of mistletoe ; and Georgy
Jones like a little brown bird, and Effie Millais, a handsome
Scotch lassie, dressed in her criarie crocus gowns. I remember
Brbwn's flowing beard, Hunt's darling snub nose and Browning's
guttural voice and Millais' hoarse one, a year before he died.
And Mr. Scott's wigs, that he changed monthly to simulate
growth, and Theodore Watts with his walrus moustache and
gipsy eyes. He never let me see "My Swinburne."
Listening humbly, not putting in my word, so as to get all I
could without frightening them by the expression of my almost
elfish interest in Pre-Raphaelitism, its errors and its glory, to
Mr. Holman Hunt, painting away in my father's studio : to
Millais, smoking endless shilling pipes there or walking round and
round me in his own to see how I "came" in my Greek
dress : to my Corsican governess, home from sitting to Rossetti.
Taken all round, the most fruitful sources of information were
xxiv
talk with and perusal of the diaries and letters of those dear
arch-gossips, Mr. and Mrs. Bell Scott, Mr. and Mrs. Virtue
(" Virtuous ") Tebbs, Mr. and Mrs. George Boyce and Mr. and
Mrs. Frederic Stephens. My debt to Mr. and Mrs. Allingham
tops all the others. To them I owe most of the details of the
domestic life of one who had, alas, but little feeling for it. I have
been thrown generous scraps from the store of Messrs. Ricketts
and Shannon, Mr. Arthur Waugh, Sir William Rothenstein and
Sir Hall Caine, but they had, all the time, memoirs in them, which
the public have absorbed by now. So had poor, disappointed
Theodore Watts (later Dunton), estopped by the last named,
from writing his version of Rossetti's life. But he let himself go
in the company of my mother and me every Sunday evening for
many years.
To Mr. William Rossetti I am deeply indebted for the result
of meetings at the house of Mary Robinson in Earl's Terrace
and his own in Euston Square (to which he makes flattering
reference in his Recollections), showing and lending me sketches
and MSS. of which his sister-in-law's escritoire had been full.
And to all these that follow my best thanks.
For John Ruskin, universal godfather to the P.R.B., who sponsored
a sister of mine, to his cousin Miss Lucy Richardson. To another distant
relation, Mrs. Joan Severn, her husband Arthur and a relation of his, Sir
Charles Newton. To Ruskin's pupil, Miss Constance Milliard, and Miss
Grace Allen, daughter of the clever carpenter to the estate (who eventually
became Ruskin's publisher and whose mother occupied a position
of trust in the household at Herne Hill), and her uncle John Hobbes.
And another of Ruskin's valets, the sinister Mr. Crawley. To old Anne
for the ghost story of Bowerswell. To my grandfather the Reverend
James Raine, Sir George Otto Trevelyan and one of Ruskin's lawyers,
Mr. Albert Fleming.
And, of all people, to Sir John Millais, whose verdict on his wife's ex-
husband was kind and almost tender. " A very good fellow ! " as he
turned the pages of my birthday book.
To Robert Browning and his sister Sarianna and his son Pen and
their friends Monsieur Milsand and Miss Henriette Corkran. This
lady published her memoirs, but did not, oddly enough, enliven them with
the wonderful stories she told me. To Mrs. Sutherland Orr, her father
Doctor Leighton and her brother, the President of the Royal Academy.
To Sir John Swinburne of Capheaton (" Cousin John "), and his second
wife, and Sir Hubert and Lady Swinburne for a night in Swinburne's
old home.
To the late Mrs. Vane Thomas, who brushed the hair of Pre-Raphaelite
ladies, for Morris and life at Kelmscott.
xxv
To Mrs. Lockwood Kipling, Lady Poynter, Miss Edith Macdonald and
their only brother Harry. To Harry's college friend Wilfred Healey and
his second wife Josephine, for Burne-Jones and life in Kensington Square
and The Grange.
To Mr. Ford Madox Brown and his wife Emma and his daughter
Lucy (Mrs. William Rossetti), his second daughter Catherine (Mrs.
Hueffer), and his son Nolly, who died young, and their servant, old
Charlotte.
To the Deverell family, and especially to Mrs. Wykeham Deverell, the
wife of Mr. Deverell's eldest son and sister-in-law of Walter, Spenser,
Margaretta and Maria. She gave me leave to use the letters included in
an unpublished memoir Jby herself, of Walter Deverell, now in the Fitz-
william Museum at Cambridge.
To Madame Bodichon (Barbara Leigh-Smith), Madame Belloc (Bessie
Parkes), Mrs. Alaric Alexander Watts (Anna Mary Howitt) and their maid,
Henrietta Blackadder and to Mr. Leigh-Smith (who lives there now), for the
life at Scalands Gate and a sight of the room where Rossetti proposed,
and to Mrs. Kennedy for letting me go over the Cottage where the
engagement was broken off.
To Mrs. Stillman (Marie Spartali) and to the Greek Colony (as we used
to call it), staunch patrons of the P.R.B. To the lonides sisters,
Chariclea, Aglaia and Euterpe and, above all, to their brother Luke.
To Mr. H. T. Wells and his sister Augusta ; Mr. Briton Riviere ; Sir
Luke Fildes ; Lord De Tabley and Lord Lovelace.
To George Meredith and his friend Edward Clodd.
To Mrs. Richmond Ritchie and her sister-in-law, Pinkie.
To Sir George Donaldson.
To Sir Harry Johnstone.
To Mr. William De Morgan.
To Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Pennell, Mrs. Russell Barrington, Mrs. Felix
Moscheles, Mr. George du Maurier, Mrs. Jopling Rowe, Sir John and
Lady Simon, Sir Leslie Stephen, Mr. Frederic Leyland, Miss Bell and
Miss Heaton.
To my father's confreres of the Old Water-Colour Society, Sir John
Gilbert, Messrs. Harry Hine, Inchbold, Henry Wallis and Arthur Hughes
and his friends J. McNeil Whistler and John Brett, R.A. '
For much local and family history I am indebted to Mr. W. R. Free-
mantle, of Barbot Hall, Masbro', and Dr. John Stokes, and to Mr. W. G.
Wells of Sheffield for an introduction to these gentlemen
To Mr. S. M. Ellis for all sorts of help.
To Mr. James Laver.
To Mr. Sydney Cockerell.
For permission to use photographs of Chatham Place, to the Librarians
respectively, of the Guildhall and County Hall. To the Rev. E. G! '
O'Donoghue, author of the standard history of Bridewell, for a visit to the
Court Room and much data.
To Dr. G. C. Williamson.
To Mr. Enrol Sherson.
xxvi
To Mr. Lionel Tebbs and Miss Evelyn Tebbs for the use of photographs
out of their family album.
To Messrs. Maggs and Messrs. Tregaskis for permission to read letters
in their possession.
To Professor Levin Schiicking, of Leipzig, for perhaps the only
adverse criticism of my heroine.
And, above all, to Miss Elizabeth Eleanor Higgins, Mrs. Rossetti's
great-niece (who has been good enough to make out and attest her pedigr.ee
for me), and to her mother, daughter of Lydia. And to Mrs. George
Button, her aunt, who has kindly allowed me . to have reproduced the
daguerreotype which appears as the frontispiece of this volume, the only
likeness I have ever seen dpne from life.
XXVll
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
ELIZABETH ELEANOR SIDDALL Frontispiece
(From a photograph)
TO FACE PACK
D. G. ROSSETTI i
(From an oil painting by William Holman Hunt)
WALTER HOWELL DEVERELL 4
(From an oil painting by William Holman Hunt)
FORD MADOX BROWN .......... 6
(From a photograph)
WILLIAM MICHAEL ROSSETTI 8
(From a photograph)
WILLIAM BELL SCOTT 16
(From a photograph)
WILLIAM ALLINGHAM 20
(From a photograph)
ELIZABETH ELEANOR SIDDALL 26
(From a drawing by D. G. Rossttti)
WILLIAM HOLMAN HUNT 36
(From a photograph)
CHARLES CROOKES SIDDALL 44
(From a photograph)
No. 14 CHATHAM PLACE FROM THE RIVER. THE BALCONY ROOM . . 50
(From a photograph)
ELIZABETH ELEANOR SIDDALL 54
(From a painting by D. G. Rossetti)
ELIZABETH ELEANOR SIDDALL ........ 62
(From a drawing by D. G. Rossetti)
JOHN RUSKIN 84
(From a photograph)
No. 5 HIGH STREET, HASTINGS 90
(From a photograph)
xxix
TO FACE PAGE
MRS. JOHN RUSKIN 100
{From a photograph]
MRS. FORD MADOX BROWN, AS "CINDERELLA'* 118
(From a drawing by Ford Madox Brown]
FANNY HUGHES ........... 122
(From an oil painting by D. G. Rossctti]
ELIZABETH ELEANOR SIDDALL 144
(From a drawing by D. G. Rossetti]
WILLIAM MORRIS 170
(From a photograph]
ELIZABETH ELEANOR SIDDALL 178
(From a drawing by D. G. Rossetti]
ANNIE MILLER 190
(From a drawing by G, P, Boyce]
GEORGE PRICE BOYCE 192
(From a photograph]
Miss LOUISE HERBERT (MRS. CRABBE) 214
(From a photograph]
Miss JANE BURDEN 2IO -
(From a photograph]
MRS. WILLIAM MORRIS 2 ^
(From a photograph]
CHRISTINA ROSSETTI 2 , 2
(From a photograph]
MRS. BURNE-JONES AND " PlP " 2 gg
(From a photograph]
FRONT VIEW OF 14 CHATHAM PLACE JUST BEFORE DEMOLITION . .318
(From a photograph]
FANNY HUGHES _
(From a photograph, by Downey, of Newcastle)
PEDIGREE
XXX
THE WIFE OF ROSSETTI
PART I
CHAPTER I
i
MODELS ! Models ! And more Models ! was the
constant cry of painters in the early 'fifties, and
especially of Pre-Raphaelites who did not care, as the
Royal Academicians did, to "work from feeling."
If young Deverell had not needed a model for his Viola,
Elizabeth Eleanor Siddall would not have met Gabriel Rossetti,
who was to make her and her red hair famous for ever.
Walter Howell Deverell, who found her for his friend, was a
son of the Head Master of the Government School of Design
at Somerset House.
She was one of the four beautiful daughters of a cutler and
watchmaker in the Borough. Elizabeth Eleanor, named after
her mother, a Miss Evans of Hornsey, worked with a milliner
in Cranbourn Alley. Another daughter, Lydia, a fine girl,
" helped " her maternal aunt Mrs. Day, who kept a tallow-
chandler's shop in Pentonville. The youngest, Clara, perhaps
the best-looking of all, was too young to go out to work. Annie,
the eldest, was already married to a Scotchman and does not
come into this story.
Elizabeth Eleanor got up very early every morning, crossed
the river and walked to her work at Mrs. Tozer's, in Cran
bourn Alley. 1 Her hours were long, for she was not supposed
to leave till eight o'clock, after she and the other young ladies
had taken the stands out of the window and put the bonnets
back into cardboard boxes aligned on the high shelves that ran
all round the walls of the workroom behind the shop, where the
girls sat and sewed all day. It was small and darkish, even by day
light, lighted only by one window which looked out on a sodden
plot of grass where Mrs. Tozer hung her sheets to dry.
1 A little bit of it is left.
Mrs. Tozer's bonnet shop had quite a name and Mrs. Tozer's
girls were of the smartest, and the young men found it worth
while to line up say twenty minutes before eight and help
their particular Fair to undress the window. This had been
the way before the new street had been made and driven right
through the alley. A stroll through the narrow paved passage
was a recognised form of amusement for idle young men about
town or down from the Universities. The agreed chances of
" so many pretty faces to be seen flitting about among the
bonnets on a summer's day " made Cranbourn Street you put
yourself in bad odour with the young ladies if you called it Alley
a rake's harvest and field of operations. A hundred years
before Walter Deverell discovered Elizabeth Eleanor, His Grace
of Kingston was congratulating himself on stealing a pretty
milliner thence and taking her down to Thoresby. She went
willingly, it was what she was there for ; the goods sold by these -
accessible houris represented but the decor of seduction. " A
Cranbourn Alley article " was synonymous for something cheap
and vulgar. It thereby follows that when Mrs. Walter Ruding
Deverell, of Somerset House, wife of the Secretary of the School
of Design, let young Walter persuade her to go there for a new
bonnet, she had, surely, some other object in view than the
furtherance of a son's furtive amour.
The Schools of Design, dotted all over the country, had been
founded, in the interests of the recent iron, coal and steam ex
pansion, to teach artisans to draw and provide fodder for manu
facturers who did not see why they should continue to stamp
the patterns designed by foreign artists, on home wares, all
British. Three or four Royal Academicians from the great, state-
subsidised art centre, in Trafalgar Square, were kind enough to
give up their time on certain evenings to assist Messrs. Platt of
Leeds, Messrs. Pott of Sheffield and their like, to compete with
each other in the mass production of hideous things and flood
the country of their birth with indigenous horrors instead of im
ported ones. Fictile fabrics of all kinds ; " Rafaelle " ware
ormolu and gilt made to look like ormolu, chased and chaste
goblets or decanters presenting nude nymphs whose lower
members turned politely to leaves or shells or both a kind of
crinoline nature were turned out by the hundred. Soon work-
men were supposed to take a pride in their hateful work ; they
grew souls and Mr. Ruskin was called in to lecture to them.
" You must not follow art without pleasure : you must not follow
it for pleasure ! " And, to please the omnipotent art critic,
" adjacent to the red glare of the furnaces/' Mr. Platt, it was
claimed, permitted " a small section of nature to wear her garment
of refreshing green " in the shape of a garden.
But all was not well, money was wasted, good patterns were
not available and people began to blame what they called " the
plunging blindness of the Administration." There were " con
tinual kick-ups " in the committee at Somerset House, com
mented on with derisive hoots by the friends of the starving
Madox Brown in his rival school at Camden Town. Questions
were asked in the House, Royal Commissions appointed ; but
the thing went on until bustling Mr. Cole, with his horse-sense,
came in and smashed it all to fragments, to be made up again in
a different pattern of horror, after the Great Exhibition in
Hyde Park.
But, while it lasted, it afforded a pleasant home to the
Deverells, clever, gay, sprightly and sociably inclined, all of them
except the father.
Mr. Ruding Deverell, a native of Bristol, had been Classical
Master in an American University, and his eldest son, Walter
Howell, had been born in Charlottesville, Virginia. When
he was two years old the family returned to England and lived
in a small house near Buckingham Gate until the Secretaryship
of the School of Design was offered to Mr. Deverell by Lord
Granville, connoting a salary of two hundred and fifty a year and
rooms in Somerset House overlooking the river.
When the great gates in the Strand were closed the big court
yard in front was " as quiet as the sands of Arabia," 1 and it was
supposed to be haunted. Bells rang in the night. Mrs. Deverell,
in bed, called to her son to fetch her a glass of water from the
kitchen, but before he returned there was a bang on the bed-
table and a glassful was handed to her. Young Spenser, a
budding mathematician, interested in Bessemer's theory of
wave-propelling, had written a manual on the subject and was
reading it in bed. After he had folded up the manuscript and
put out the candle he distinctly heard someone beside him turning
over the pages. . . .
A D'Evrolles had come in with the Conqueror and was in the
1 So says Crabbe.
3
Roll of Battle Abbey. Broad lands in Somerset still bear the
name. Goodall, R.A., who painted Mr. Ruding Deverell,
always declared that he was one of the handsomest men he ever
saw. Pale, with light yellow hair combed in an upward roll
over a high forehead, small eyes, a long straight nose, an expression
at once wistful, acute and obstinate. He was tyrannical and
unkind. A "determined Atheist," 1 he would not allow his
children to go to church with their mother, whom, however, he
could not prevent attending Divine Worship.
Mrs. Dorothy Margaretta Deverell, ne Phillips, 2 in her
fifties, her health already mined by worry, her black hair combed
smoothly down till it merged in rapids of ringlets under her ears,
with black eyebrows finely drawn, had imported the Jewish
strain which showed faintly in her eldest son's beautiful face but
hardly at all in Wykeham and Spenser or Maria and Margaretta.
Young Walter had not been intended for the Arts. His rich
Uncle Travel did not approve of it. He was sent into Scotland
to a private tutor and placed, when he was sixteen, in a London
solicitor's office. He would have liked to be an actor ; the whole
family had a bent that way. In James Street they had rented
a stable next door and used the stable-boys as scene-shifters and
the stable lanterns as footlights. But in Somerset House it
was different. Mr. Deverell did not approve of theatricals and
once, when they had put on The Taming of the Shrew with
Walter as Petruchio, Margaretta as Katherine and Miss
Clementina Black as Bianca, no one saw them play, for Papa,
getting wind of the performance, had the great doors on to the
Strand closed so that none of the invited could drive or
walk in.
Though Walter wanted to be an actor, he was sent to Carey's,
whence he passed into the Academy Schools. Then he was
appointed Assistant Master of the School of Design, armed with
testimonials from Messrs. Redgrave, Horsley, Dyce and J. R.
Herbert.
When he was but eighteen he had a picture accepted and hung.
Reposing after the Ball was quite in the approved style of Academy
" fill-ups " ^ his next subject had been in the prevailing
Germanophile fashion which had set in with the betrothal of the
1 See William Rossetti.
2 The Phillipses had originally been bankers in Haverford West ; a Phillips of the
Queens Body Guard had been through the Mutiny and, disobeying orders, once
saved a position and got thanked for it.
4
By kind permission of^ohn Deverell, Esq.
WALTER HOWEIX DEVERELL
From an oil painting by W. Holman Hunt
Queen. And now he was painting a subject from Shakespeare's
Twelfth Night* portraying himself as the handsome Duke
Orsino as why should he not ? His friend Gabriel Rossetti,
devoid of personal vanity 1 , had posed unprotesting, except at
the exertion, for the Jester and now Walter wanted a model for
Viola.
He was one of the handsomest fellows in London, after the
Director. Mr. Dyce was forty; young Deverell only twenty
and looking younger, like a page of the Middle Ages, a Cherubino
without the vice. His beauty was of the type that could only,
it seemed, be described in contradictory adjectives : " Little
Deverell, lovely yet manly, with his effeminate, alluring face."
" Not properly to be termed feminine say troubadourish,"
was his friend William Rossetti's contribution. " Silky without
being effeminate," said Mr. William Bell Scott, one of his
father's confreres. They were all agreed on his charm, his
" manliness mixed with warmth," his exquisite manners, his
affectionate nature. . . .
Careless in dress, his collar mostly unbuttoned, often one of
his Pre-Raphaelite Brothers, meeting him, would be seen
securing it in the middle of the road while he waltzed round
and round, like a pony being saddled. Yet women followed
him in the street, as they pursue their favourite actors nowadays,
racing round turnings, waiting at corners to catch another
glimpse of his beautiful face. The wife of Hughes the porter,
who sold crayons and sheets of drawing-paper to the students, .
watched for his goings out and his comings in, but he never
gave her so much as a look out of his dark eyes as she stood,
wantonly waiting, at the door of the Schools, her hearty pink
face and yellow hair framed against the dark arch. She seemed
to have no particular work to do, but was always ready to joke
with the young " Academinions " (as they were called in the
Schools), cracking nuts with her strong white teeth as they passed
in and out. Once she flung a whole handful of shells in Gabriel
Rossetti's face, who took it in good part since the hussy was
handsome.
The women students all went to Gower Street, but Walter
did not care for girls : they chased him. He had no sweet
heart. His mother was his best friend and chosen companion,
unexacting, reasonable and kind, willing to go with him and
1 It was the very picture Scott bought for love of him after his death (from a
dealer in Newcastle, where if had drifted) for a song.
5
purchase an outre bonnet that she could never wear, to help him
to get hold of a good model.
Gabriel Charles Rossetti, whom he had met at Carey's, was
his greatest friend ; after him, in estimation and intimacy, came
two other youths, William Holman Hunt and John Everett
Millais.
They had all three gone up together to the Academy Schools,
but Rossetti had left in a pet because, quite soon, Hunt and
Millais had got into the Life while they kept him at friezes and
bas-reliefs. Anxious to get on quickly he asked his grandfather
Polidori, a rich merchant, to pay for lessons from Mr. Brown
always called Kind Brown or Old Brown, though he was only
twenty-seven, but already a widower. Young Rossetti admired
his work tremendously. Flattered by the youth's appreciation,
Brown took him on rather doubtfully ; " We'll see what we
can make of him ! "
Brown's " manner " was characteristic of the school to which
the lads later gave a name. Although he hadn't enough
to eat and time was of dreadful importance to him he would
spend hours over a hand or a forearm and make a dress before he
painted it, cutting out tabards and fabricating liripipes, spending
hours sewing with his own hand fleurs-de-lis in calico over a
surcoat for the Black Prince. He set his pupil down to paint
some ^ old verdigrised bottles stacked in a corner of the studio.
Gabriel made them serve as a foreground for a sort of lazy,
leering Lilith. The lessons were not a success. Gabriel had
left Brown and Clipstone Street after a couple of lessons and set
up with Hunt in Cleveland Street. Hunt was only a year older,
but he had managed to get into the Life before he left the Academy
and he tried to give Gabriel a hint or two. That did not last
either. Now Gabriel was working alone in Newman Street, over
a " hop-shop," which meant the noise of music and dancing
below, so that he could not get a night's rest and went back
regularly to share his brother's bed in Charlotte Street.
3
Mrs. Deverell knew all about Gabriel Rossetti's people had
made it her business, since Walter went there so much. They
were Italian refugees, living somewhere near Portland Place, the
neighbourhood where that kind of person mostly congregated,
making a living by teaching, the usual way adopted by people
6
..
FORD MADOX BROWN
From a photograph
who have escaped from a country by the skin of their teeth,
leaving their earthly goods behind them. There was much
sympathy for Italians in England just then. The attempt at
revolution last year, the prison stories, Father Gavazzi's and
Mazzini's lectures made the study of Italian fashionable. Mr.
Uwins, R.A., had had an Italian to teach his sister, and Mr.
Swinfen Jervis, M.P., the youngest Rossetti girl for his daughter
Agnes. Cavaliere Gabriele Rossetti himself gave lessons at half
a guinea an hour. He was by way of being a poet : Mrs. Deverell
had once heard him improvise at a party at the Turkish
Ambassador's. His wife was three-parts English her maternal
grandmother had been a Pierce. In a word, they were good
citizens and quite respectable. Mrs. Deverell had asked
Pistrucchi about them. Sir Isaac Goldsmid, who was on the
Council of the University College where the father lectured,
had interested himself in one of the boys and talked to Mr.
Wood of the Excise about him, and she believed he kept the family
now, for the father seemed to be going blind. They attended
Trinity Church, Marylebone, sitting under Dr. Penfold, with
occasional visits to Christ Church, Albany Street. One of the
curates, Mr. Burrows, was a great friend of the eldest daughter,
Maria. She was not so pretty as the younger one, Christina,
but, with a kind of espieglerie about her ugliness, seemed more
likely to marry, for the Collinses, Charles and his brother Wilkie,
admired her and so did Mr. Street, an architect.
These good people had no access to the Classes except through
teaching, but they were, Walter informed her, of noble blood
and would have been somebodies in Italy now if all had gone well.
He cunningly contrived to spread over this family that he so
affected, the aroma of lost causes. The old gouty teacher of
languages who took snuff and bit his nails to the quick styled
himself" Of Vasto, Ammone," a town or district in the Abruzzi.
He maintained that he was of the family of the Counts of Delia
Guardia, whilom magnates of the place, 1 but, somehow, a later
Delia Guardia, a blacksmith, had come to be called Rossetti
Red Skin. 2
1 His brother Joseph was a notary of good repute in Nice and did business for
Lady Mary Coke, of Aubrey House, Campden Hill. His son was married to an
Englishwoman, a certain Lillas Moses, aunt of the Incumbent of Denton near
Darlington, the Reverend John Birkbeck. Thus early did the Rossetti blood invade
England.
2 The same derivation has been given to Ruskin's patronymic.
7
Though Mrs. Rossetti rose at seven and kept no servant,
cleaning down the house, preparing her husband's Italian dishes
herself, they saw plenty of company. Counts, Princes, Kings
even, together with Red Revolutionaries, drank tea and ate
bread-and-butter and teased the squirrel and Maria's cat Zoe.
Louis Naundorf, who claimed to be Louis the Seventeenth of
France, would be discussing her escape over the Beresina with
Mademoiselle de St. Elme, whose lover had been one of
Napoleon's marshals. There was a descendant of the Queen of
Cyprus, Caterina Cornaro, the subject of a poem of Browning's
that Gabriel was illustrating. Present very often was a Baby
lonian Princess and a man who had married a Queen.
There were to be found, naturally, more Italians in the Casa
Rossetti than English, and hardly any French, for Mr. Rossetti
hated them. Ida de St. Elme was a Russian really. There was
Doctor Cypriani Potter and Doctor Elliotson, 1 who called him
self the family doctor but, as he refused to take a fee, was not
often called in professionally. Of Italians there was Paganini
and Madame Pasta and young William's two distinguished god
fathers, Michael Costa and General Carrascosa. There was
Aspa, too, a piano-tuner from Broadwood's, Sangiovanni a
brigand, Sarti a plaster-cast vendor, Parodi a dancing master,
Rolandi a bookseller, Faro a coal-dealer and, among out-and-out
revolutionaries, Giuseppe Mazzini and Mr. Panizzi holding a
post in the British Museum. 2
Used to mixed society of this sort young Gabriel's manners
were good, almost distinguished. He was polite to everyone and
very kind to his mother and sisters. So was Millais to his family.
Mrs. Deverell had not heard of Hunt's mother, but he had a sister
Emily, who painted too and often procured models for him. They
were all nice lads enough, but she would have preferred that her
son should consort with his peers, like Robert Leslie and the young
Constables, sons Of Academicians. Hunt's father was a ware
houseman in the City and that of Millais a professional, or semi-
professional, flute-player. Frederic Stephens was the son of an
official in the Tower. Collinson, who was engaged to Gabriel's
pretty sister, was the son of a bookseller in the Midlands, and Tom
Woolner, of a letter-sorter in a Suffolk post office, while the two
1 Dr. John Elliotson, Thackeray's friend, professor of the practice of medicine
to the London ^University in 1831. Hypnotist. The first to use the stethoscope.
2 A visiting list that was not likely to impress the rather exigeant parents of Miss
Siddall.
WILLIAM MICHAEL ROSSETTI
From a photograph
Tuppers lived with, their father, a printer, in South Lambeth.
Jacob Bell, who was rich, got his money out of a chemist's shop
in Marylebone.
It was not good for her delicate boy to imitate Gabriel, who
never went to bed till two or three in the morning or got up till
he had to, so kept him up late. They sat up, night after night,
in this study or the other, talking, or starting at half-past twelve
for a moonlight walk. They would go and wake up the Dor
mouse, as they called Christina's young man, and drag him half-
dressed, half-asleep and protesting, supporting his arms, as far as
Putney or Wimbledon. Not to places where they shouldn't
go Mrs. Deverell would say that for them. They were all
strictly anti-Bohemian and had forsworn rowdyism. They
neither smoked, drank nor swore, as a protest against Bohemia,
saturated with tobacco, spirits and oaths. They were too poor
to be dissipated as well as too earnest ; not one of them had
a banking account and Mrs. Deverell or little Mrs. Howitt
cashed their cheques for them when they were lucky enough to
earn any. They had one dummy -between the three, carted
about in cabs, looking most indecent, from studio to studio, so
that they risked being taken for Wainewrights. They did not
spend much money on food : Rossetti, a coarse eater, only
wanted enough. When lobsters were cheap, one for supper was a
treat. Tea was the great meal, with slices of bread-and-butter,
beer or perhaps sherry-cobbler at the Collins' in Hanover
Terrace or at Millais' in Gower Street, in a magnificent apart
ment 19 ft. by 20 ft. And there was the Howitts', at Highgate,
but that was a long cross-country journey only helped by the
omnibus. And Jacob Bell's people gave dances, but sometimes
the night fixed for them turned out " intensely sloshy " and
their footwear being rather uncertain they did not attend. Or,
maybe, the dress-suit was at the pawnbroker's. (As Rossetti said,
" Avuncularism tied " one, rather.)
But, as children prefer the dirtiest doll, the mudpie in the road
to the "rocking-horse in the parlour, the garret at the top of the
Rossettis' house was found to be the pleasantest, most suitable
place to meet in. There was no carpet and only three, or perhaps
four, chairs with bursting seats and one rickety table. Small and
frowsty, and, if William persuaded the window to open, ten to
one Gabriel would come in and say, out of Poe : " Oh, lady
bright, Can it be right ? This window open to the night ? "
and shut it. Once in, out they never came half a dozen of
9
them packed in behind closed doors. Anyone eavesdropping
would hear, on Saturday nights especially, when the Literary
Society met, an even murmur of voices, musical, strident,
passionate or academic, declaiming from behind it. They would
be reading aloud out of their pet poets, or bits they had got by
heart. Their memories held in solution all the verse in the
world. Ballad refrains, tags of plays, stanzas and lines of poetry
from this or that author mixed with the tenor of their daily lives,
as little flakes of spume float on the dark surface of a stream or
fly in the air overhead, like white cotton grass over the moor
in summer. They would go murmuring did they lose a pencil
or notebook " Oh, what is gone we fancied ours ? Oh, what is
lost that never may be told ? " out of Allingham. Or, " What
is it that they say and do ? " out of the same author when there
was a noise in the kitchen.
When Gabriel gave them
Dark, deep and cold the current flows
Unto the sea where no wind blows,
Seeking the land which no one knows,
by Ebenezer Elliott, a cold air seemed to blow into the room,
the way he chanted it. Or some of the eerie felicities of his
most recent find, an Irishman from Ballyshannon, whose poems
he knew by heart.
Up the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen,
We daren't go a hunting
For fear of Little Men.
They stole Little Bridget
Long years ago.
The journeys of the old king of the fairies
. . . going up with music
On cold starry nights
To sup with the Queen
Of the cold Northern Lights.
And For Annie and The Haunted, Palace by the American, Poe,
or translations from Hugo's Les Burgraves :
Love on, who cares !
Who cares, love on !
And some new version, for he made many, from Burger's
Lenore :
10
Oh, Mother ! Mother ! What is Heaven ?
Oh, Mother, what is Hell to me ?
With him, with him is Blessedness
And without William, Hell to me !
And later, when the maiden gets her impious wish and is riding
behind the ghostly horseman, home to her marriage bed
. . . still, cool and clean,
Six boards and one across them,
The dead ride quick . . .
Darling, dost fear the dead ?
it put the rest of them into a cold sweat.
It was not all high-falutin'. Rossetti had a grotesque thing,
Jan Van Hunks, which William would not let him publish.
Johnnie Tupper, who was going in for the law, wrote poems, which
William considered " bordered on the ultra-peculiar." But
his parodies provided them with one of their best catch-words :
And all who paint as Sloshua did
Shall have their sloshy fingers frozen.
" Mr. Sloshy-Slosh " signified an artist who painted like Sir
Joshua or in the way recommended in his lectures to the
students. " Gentlemen, if you have genius, industry will
improve it ; if you have none, industry will supply its place."
Industry, quotha ! Think of that, from a President of the Arts !
Oh, those hide-bound dodderers, self-elected members of the
great public Art Service of England, swimming complacently,
like the crusted carp at Versailles, on their calm unrippled ponds,
pompous and omnipotent in the palace of Trafalgar Square,
must be pulled down, deposed, deprived of their privileges
eight pictures on the line for sure in favour of the earnest,
patient outsiders who had no less difficulty than they in finding
models to paint from and a great deal more in finding places
wherein to paint them.
When they were not holding meetings they were wandering
about the streets looking for a room advertised To Let, with a
North Light that would do for a study people had not yet
taken to Italianising the word. 1 When the boys had found some
barrack or other, squalid but possessed of an apartment with a
1 In 1866, there were only four apartments in London built expressly for painting
in : Hook's, Frith's, Hodgson's and someone else's,
II
window at the right angle for the sun, they were jubilant, moving
each other in, giving a hand with the furniture so as to dispense
with the services of Crocker's van, and making a day of the
induction of the lucky lessee.
It was almost as difficult to find models as studios, female
models especially, and the wives and sisters of R.A.'s, even, knew
the agonies of constraint and the growing stiffness that soon turns
into positive pain. Rossetti and his friends commandeered the
services of their relations ruthlessly, using them in every capacity
except those in which Dummy was available, and he generally
monopolised her. The Carpenter's Shop of Millais is quite a
family party and The Girlhood includes portraits of nearly all the
Rossettis, including Christina. William was of general utility,
posing for spare parts, feet, hands, forearms anything ! He
had a fine head and sat to Hunt for that of Colonna in Rienzi.
Gabriel, though restless, had to take his turn : he sat for Rienzi
himself and to Brown for Chaucer and to Deverell for the Jester
in Twelfth Night.- Millais took him for the guest, 1 with the
villainous lip propped against the drinking cup, in The Marriage
Feast ^ of Lorenzo and Isabella. Brown's wife was his model all
the time : he had found her at Stratford when she was sixteen.
Friends too; Hannay, ex-Consul from Barcelona, sat for the
head of Valentine in The Two Gentlemen, and his brother, the
police magistrate, for somebody in another picture. Frederic
Stephens, for Ferdinand in Ariel and the Fairies, stood from ten
in the morning till six at night and had to be supported down
from the estrade and stayed with brandy before he could go
home. Deverell, " beautiful as the morning," sat for the page
in Chaucer and for Claudio in Hunt's Isabella visiting her Brother
in Prison, but never to Rossetti, who, working largely from
imagination, was more independent of models than the others.
They instituted search-parties for models, turning out in groups
of twos and threes so as to cover the pavement and not let
a likely one slip past them. Rescue of the Fallen, so fashion
able just now^they took in their stride, expostulating, plead
ing. ^ .^ . Millais, small-eyed, sandy-haired, but with an
ingratiating lisp ; Deverell, extremely good-looking, were
generally spokesmen, and led a band each. They lost nobody
for ^ want of asking, but their funds were scanty and the
willing beauties were seldom of a type that they admired.
Gabriel always wanted red hair which you had, of course, to
1 He really did not like Rossetti ; " Queer fish ! " he would say.
12
call auburn when you were wheedling them to sit and you
had to be very tactful, praising their faces and making it plain
that that was all you wanted, and only for one or two sittings.
Sometimes they were haughty, or even fierce : that was better
than when they were common. Walter did not dare tell his
mother of an incident that befell him and Gabriel and Collinson.
Coming out of Marshall's they spied a most lovely girl, beautifully
dressed and looking so like a Duchess that they almost feared to
ask her. But she had stopped on the way to her carriage and
Basked pleasantly what they would give her for sitting. And
M when Deverell explained that they were poor and that the whole
jOfigure came expensive, so that they would only ask her to sit for
jjthe face, her reply left them in doubt as to whether she was
Really a Duchess, for she said, if she sat at all, she would sit for
j^quite another portion of her frame if they liked. He had had
p-such a shock that he had not slept for a week and swore that
he would never ask a girl to sit again for any part of her.
4
And they had what boys generally do have, a secret society
^or two. There was a Mutual Suicide Association and the
^| Literary Evenings. And a very much more important one they
had started earlier in the year. It included Gabriel Charles
/^Rossetti, William Holman Hunt and John Everett Millais (the
{^founders), plus Thomas Woolner, Frederic Stephens (a nominee
of Hunt's), James Collinson (Gabriel's fellow-student in the
R.A. Schools) and William Michael Rossetti. Brown had been
invited but he had declined. Too old ! They had let in
Collinson 1 because he was engaged to Gabriel's sister Christina,
jjand William Rossetti, who wasn't an artist, because he was
^methodical, and could act as secretary. It was to be nothing
less than a revolution in art.
Something really had to be done about the derelict state of
painting in this country, betrayed by George III, who had
surrendered the common heritage of all into the hands of a few
interested old dodderers and given them a palace to house their
daubs in. Untrammelled and uncriticised, they used their self-
appointed privilege to hound a few great artists to madness and
death and, if they survived this treatment, to keep their work off
1 " Oh, Collinson was nothing ! He had about as much in him as that old hen ! "
So Hunt in 1903, to my mother, pointing to such an object in the garden.
13
the walls, 1 or if they hung them, prevent them from being seen,
keeping all the good places for themselves.
To strengthen their case against the Academy the boys would
adduce the sneers of the old mad poet William Blake ; Hazlitt's
bitter epigrams, " The marring of artistic effect is the making
of the Academy," and criticisms, of the great past-President's
" hasty, washy, indeterminate manner of painting, neglectful
alike of severe form and accurate detail " (this was a quotation
from one of the unpublished and uncompleted manifestos of the
society) " and lavish of unctuous vehicles. . . ." This was why
they called him " Sloshua," and all R.A.'s and their wives by the
generic names of" Mr. and Mrs. Sloshy-Slosh." All painters on
the wrong tack " excessive in all that is low and to the public
taste." The things of Mr. Armitage, the religious fellow, were
exactly like the picture bricks that their little sisters played with,
just portraits of Mrs. Sloshy-Slosh, whom Mr. Armitage had
taken, Gabriel said, out of a harem and who always dressed like
it, in Eastern veils and yashmaks. And what of Mr. Constable,
who prepared his landscapes every year, regularly going down to
Bergholt and slashing a bough of a tree, in a foreground of a view
he meant to paint next year, to ensure its being a nice brown when
he wanted it ? And Mr. Etty, the " voluptuous painter " who
was called the English Titian ! Walter's mother protested. Who
could help liking Mr. Maclise, such a hard worker, and Mr.
Dyce, so clever and handsome, and Mr. Horsley, whom you
never would have taken for an artist unless you were told, for he
looked more like a lawyer ? Mrs. Deverell never could resist
the President's Irish voice and Mr. Ward's imitations. She
liked Mr. Stanfield, so burly and sincere, and the two Chalons,
so gentle and inoffensive, who loved each other so dearly that
they never even cared to marry, and dear old Sir William Boxall,
and Mr. Uwins, with his blue eyes and feathered eyebrows, so
tactful, and who never made mischief, which was awfully con
venient in a collection of men associated together in the choice
and collection of the Nation's Art. Talking as if it were a club !
1 The P.R.B. should be living at this hour ! What would Hunt, Rossetti and
Millais say, nowadays, when a self-appointed Hanging Committee judges pictures,
that have probably taken a man at least a year to paint, at the rate of two
hundred an hour, " in a sun-flooded room," spending actually three seconds or so
on " each gilt frame," more important, the phraseology of the Daily Telegraph
would seem to imply, than the picture and certainly simpler of adjudication ?
But, in this Year of Grace 1932, no artistic effort has been " given more than three
or four seconds." See Daily Telegraph, April 2nd.
I 4
They had no business to be there at all, looking like lawyers and
painting like Poor Poll, and keeping better men out. It was no
use, Gaza must fall and a David seemed to have been found in
Ruskin, but, meantime, men must live . . . and to live by art
and prosper was well-nigh impossible unless you were a member of
the abominable junta. The only thing to do was to start a thing
of one's own.
5
One evening in Gower Street, in August, Gabriel had got
hold of a volume of engravings belonging to Mr. Millais who
bought books : Pitture a Fresco del Camposanto di Pisa designata
da Guiseppe Rossi de incise del Professori Cav; G. Lasinio Figlio.
Firenze MDCCCXXXII, rather good reproductions of some
wonderful frescoes that were rotting off the walls of the Campo
Santo. There were only one or two that were any good ; the
rest were just horrible, devils and tortured souls sinners with
their ^ entrails outside, neatly twisted into collars and girdles,
scorpions flying through the air, holding in their claws babies
that had died unbaptised, the devil sitting below in the caves
of Hell, damn well pleased. One plate, at least, was worth
looking at The Triumph of Death. Knights and ladies on horse
back, falcon on wrist, chattering, linking along, leaning over
each other's saddle-bows, out on a jolly hawking expedition
as people did when times were fairly quiet and it was safe to go
unarmed any distance outside the town. And suddenly holding
their noses, while the horses paw and prod the ground and refuse
to go on, for right in front of them, under their feet almost,
there are three open stone coffins reposing among the flowers,
holding the bodies of Kings that have died long ago, all in an
advanced state of decomposition.
One peg is as good as another on which to hang up the coat,
the oriflamme of revolution. They had to find a phrase to place
the Movement, give it a name and attract the attention of the
public and puzzle the Philistines. They would go back to the
fourteenth century, the age of innocence in Art, now grown so
sophisticated and overlaid with all sorts of bunkum. It was a
good thing for a new Society to be advertised as reverting to an
earlier state of things, to a time when people were pious and
reverent, modestly painting what they saw and all they saw, as
well as they could. Not presuming to select, giving all the
15
tourelles of a castle, the machicolations in the walls and the
number of steps up to the bastions and, outside, rendering
faithfully the hind in the brake and the steer in the meadow and
the eyes of the daisies in the grass and the embroidery in the
trains of the maids that brushed them, as they walked abroad
in the Spring.
" I vote we call ourselves the Pre-Raphaelite Brethren/' said
Rossetti. Painting as artists did before old Raphael, who was a
very bad painter really ; all his ideas swamped in manipulation
till he came to be a sort of Dumas fashionable and got so
many orders that he had to have assistants, so that all sorts of
stupid conventions grew up. . . .
Mrs. Deverell had heard about this Pre-Raphaelite business
from other quarters. Her eldest son Wykeham had been to
tea with the mother of Freddy Stephens in The Tower, and had
never been so surprised in his life as when he was given his tea
in a cup without a handle. And Mr. Scott told her husband
that, when young William was staying with him in St. Thomas'
Street, Mrs. Scott had commented on the absence of the word
Esquire on the letters he got there, replaced by the initials
P.&.5., and asked him what that signified ? Oh shyly the
name of a club that his brother and some friends had planned
out . . . they wanted to start a new line . . . Art was getting
so stale in England !
Just a bit of bravado a boy's cap flung over a church steeple
and Mr. Scott wasn't so sure that it wouldn't stay on, either !
There was certainly something in that elder brother of Bill's,
who had written to tell him how much he admired Ro sab ell. Mr.
Scott had been so struck with the three poems of his which
accompanied the letter that, when he was in town last Christmas,
he had made a point of getting hold of the address of the
house where the poet lived with a man called Hunt, to see what
he was doing. The other man was a painter too. The drawing
master, tapping with a big stick he always carried, up the stairs
of a house in Cleveland Street, had come to a room on the second
floor, bare, with maroon walls and one window not even a
north light. Two young men were sitting as far as they possibly
could get from each other in the small room, painting away in
this newly invented style of theirs absurdly photographic
16
WILLIAM BELL SCOTT
From a photograph
neglecting no detail. There was a fly crawling on a leaf near
the body of Rienzi in Hunt's picture and Rossetti was putting
in the common watering-pot used by St. Joachim and the pattern
of the Virgin's piece of embroidery. Mr. Scott recognised the
portrait of a shy girl he had just seen in Charlotte Street.
Obviously, Hunt could paint and Rossetti could not. Yet he was
more struck with his picture than with that of the other. Good,
solid, journeyman's work, Hunt's : Rossetti's a mixture of hope
less dilettantism and positive genius.
Later Scott saw the work of the other members of the band.
The teacher in him saw at once that young Millais had nothing
to learn in the way of technique ; it was obvious that his essay
in Pre-Raphaelitism was just a lark to show he could do anything
he liked. Hunt knew his job and would get there ; Millais was
already there. Rossetti, perhaps, would never get there, though
the best of the three. And Millais would leave the two tyros as
soon as he tired of playing tricks with painting ! For a little
handful of unaccredited youths would never be able to stand
against the Royal Academy. The Academicians were perfectly
aware of that and were watching the antics of Millais, their
crack student, with amusement betting on his integrity, so to
speak ! He was far too sensible to back any but a winning horse.
Of the Brethren, the two business men, Millais and Rossetti,
well knew the power of the dealer and the critic ; either of these,
properly handled, can make an artist's fortune.
William could string sentences together and Gabriel managed
to get him on the staff of the Spectator, pledged not to fling too
much abuse at the Academy (for no journal could afford to be at
loggerheads with the great painted money-box into which the
Nation put so many shillings every year). Also young Walter
Deverell, of " great but impatient ability," was a member of the
enemy's camp and must be got into the confraternity somehow.
Gabriel believed in his genius, but Hunt, who never stuck at the
naive explicit, said he was no good.
They were to proclaim their principles in every way they
could, force their women to dress like the ladies in the pictures
of the Primitives, design and have made, proper furniture run a
shop, maybe and all pledge themselves to patronise no other.
They would take a house and live all together, with the letters
P.R.B. on the bell, on the coffee-pot and on every surface where
there was room. Rossetti, when he had toothache, used up all
the notepaper in the house designing the P.R.B. monogram.
c 17
For the rest of his working day or, at any rate, until the death
of Lizzy, this artist chose to see Life through a stained-glass
window, without repousse, without relief, as it were with the thin
hem of iron enclosing the colour, bordering the outlines of the
figures. He had certainly acquired a strong bias for the mediaeval
convention in the course of his early reading of German, Italian
and French romances, and the niggling, painstaking habit he
got obviously from Madox Brown, his first master. Brown was
the true Founder 1 of the Pre-Raphaelite Cult, or Band. Brown's
worst enemy, Ruskin, who hated medievalism, knew it and
always hated both Brown and the younger man, Morris, who
encouraged his " pet " protg in that heresy.
1 In 1906 they were still fighting about who had been the. Founder of the little
dead society, and Holman Hunt and Stephens quarrelled d la mort about it.
18
CHAPTER II
IF it had not been for an Irish poet called William
Allingham the chances were that Rossetti would never
have met his Stunner and best model,
Allingham was an Officer of Customs in Donegal;
his job, signing ships' papers, paying off seamen, visiting lonely
stations on the coast and noting wrecks off the wild headlands.
In the exercise of his duties he would be tramping over miles
of tricksy rabbit warren and fields patterned with monoliths,
gnome-like surface rocks, and stones that " walked " at night
and, in his ears, " The Sound " the noise, day and night, of the
great waterfall at Ballyshannon " lime itself made audible "
So he gave Rossetti one of his best lines.
For Literature possessed him too. He would pace, after
work, along the village street, concentrated, though seeming not
to attend, on the shy girls at cottage doors, singing ballads which
he would take down, add to and finish or, if they were improper,
refine. He would save up his pocket-money so as to be able to
go over to England for a month or two of frenzied life, armed
with introductions from publishers to Leigh Hunt, and Tenny
son, and Thackeray, and to a certain clerk in the British Museum
who yielded him the introduction of his life. C. K. Dighton
Patmore, who liked his verses but did not like him, handed
him over to Rossetti, who liked him tremendously and es
pecially as a poet. So did Gabriel's Lizzy. She always sent
him her love and Gabriel always forgot to give it in his letters.
Not that Gabriel was jealous, though Allingham was well-
built, had a thoughtful brow, crisp curly hair and the dark
blue-grey eyes that go to make up what is known as the Celtic
glamour, and a lovely voice with a ' soup f on of brogue. He was
the best of listeners and became at once a favourite member of
the circle, concerned equally with them in the great Publisher,
Editor and Art-Critic Chase, those shy, cantankerous birds to
be caught and caged by aspirants for literary and artistic
honours.
He had been appointed Sub-controller, with a salary of a
hundred and twenty pounds a year, in his own native town.
He was to have a holiday first. The cholera in London had
frightened him : he came over later in the year, put up at The
Norfolk and went out to present his letters of introduction,
keeping the Rossettis for the last.
First to Patmore, in his neat little house by the railway
bridge in Camden Town. Patmore took him for a walk to
Highgate Cemetery and showed him the Catacombs, exciting
everybody just now. The deep, circular basin, dark at noon
day, with the private mausoleums ranged round, each with its
tall door, strong as if to ward off an untimely rising of the dead
and contesting of wills, made the poet think of " the grand
family funerals," in a book he had just bought off a stall by
Edgar Allan Poe, and that
. . . sepulchre, remote, alone
Against whose portals she had thrown
In childhood, many an idle stone. . . .
Some tomb, from out whose sounding door
She ne'er shall force an echo more.
There was a picture the little child playing at the side of
its destined grave, all unwitting ! Allingham fancied he could
hear, as he stood in the circular alley below the level of the
terrace, queer noises : " The echo, 33 Patmore said. Ah no,
" it was the dead that groaned within" He would not have
missed this new sight of London for anything, but he was glad
to come out of the circle to the world above of the dead too,
but properly buried under kind annealing earth. There were,
Patmore said, any amount of Rossetti 3 s relations lying there
mostly on the mothers side Polidoris. And if there was time
he wanted to take Allingham to a place close to the western
wall of the cemetery which people did not fancy for their
Beloveds, cheaper, neglected, overgrown and damp at all times.
It was supposed to be haunted some idea of its being reserved
for suicides. There was an aspen, thin, forlorn. . . . But the
hour was not bom when one of these men would attend, hat in
hand, at a distance, to see a Rossetti laid lonely to her fiercely
snatched-at rest. They just stuck to the broad gravel walk
bordered by " gay tombs, 33 all scraped and whitened, shaded by
20
3y feiitd permission of Gerald Alti7igha.jtt t
WILLIAM AIXINGHAM
From a photograph
shrubs, pruned so that they need not hide the " In Memorys :
and " Requiescats " of decent, cared-for obsequies.
Later Mr. Allingham found Mr. Carlyle at home, eager to
talk of the Brotherhood, which he had heard about from
Mazzini. Carlyle " liked their sincerity/' l A great concession
from him !
And then to Newman Street, the plum of the day. There
they all were, except Millais and young Deyerell, in Rossetti's
new study over the " Hop-Shop." 2
On the easel a picture, cold and pure: white walls, white
sheets, white maiden in a hard, stone-like bed without any
bedclothes Mary Virgin would have left them off "because.
Bethlehem was such a hot place " shyly squeezing herself
against the wall, glaring up at the Angel. The treatment was
so refined that Christina had been willing to sit for the female
figure.
Old Gabriel looked just the same, like a changeling, born
old, and those wonderful eyes, and between them " the bar of
Michel Angelo," the ridge or wrinkle that is one of the signs of
genius. The one pockmark on his cheek was more obvious
he had had smallpox in youth. His voice was softer than ever,
with more authority to it. ... William was there, with his red
lips and the big anchor-seal dangling from his fob that he had
not lost (he never lost anything), as nearly as possible bald and
going in for a wig. Then, as always, mild and ancillary, though
he talked much louder than Gabriel.
There was the dear old Maniac with his golden beard grown
and his violet eyes deeper and his button-nose that was too
small even to be retrousse, his air of a child born into a world he
didn't understand, with stories to tell that he could never
conveniently bring to an end. He was talking now of the
P.R.B. and how bis " initiatory programme " had called forth
Gabriel's " amplification of the idea " ; and Gabriel, so sure of
his own dominance, was listening without contradicting him.
1 He had been told that they copied the thing as it was or invented it as they
supposed it might have been " Some sense in that ! "
2 The landlord had asked them thirty pun' a year for it, but clever Gabriel
had managed to beat him down to twenty-eight, because of the noise of the
dancing below.
21
" Holy Hunt," a really good if rather dull man, Allingham
thought, prodigiously honest and straightforward. He had not
joined Rossetti in this studio but, perhaps a little resenting the
latter's kingship, had stayed in Bayswater with Collinson, who
refused to use the Initials or entertain in his turn. He never
saw the fun of anything and was doubly disconsolate just now
because he had .got religion and Miss Rossetti had jilted him.
Woolner was there, ginger-haired and short-nosed, not keeping
his humble family dark, for he was not ashamed of it.
Stephens, Millais and Deverell were out hunting for models
in Tottenham Court Road, so there was plenty of room.
Gabriel had some new " bits " to show but they were not seats.
Allingham was given the only good one in the place. The host
lounged in a torn and frayed basket-chair into which, with his
wide hips, he fitted so exactly that it seemed to have become
part of him. The others squatted about wherever they could
find an unencumbered though dusty spot and began to read
aloud to each other. Gabriel politely began with Mr. Ailing-
ham's latest, The Maids of Elfin Mere (which Gabriel was going
to illustrate), about the three weird maidens, Nixes or Loreleis,
" like three white lilies, calm and clear," who came up out of
the mere into the pastor's cottage and began to sing " to a
pulsing cadence " till it struck eleven and they departed as they
came. The pastor's son, to keep them, one night put the clock
back; they missed their hour and, without saying one word,
left the room " like three doves on snowy plume." And next
day the people heard cryings on the shore and saw on the water
three bloodstains spread out and fade and dwindle. . . .
And The Dream :
I heard the dogs howl in the moonlight night
And I went to the window to see the sight.
All the dead that I ever knew
Going by one and two by two,
Born in the moonlight of the lane
And quenched in the heavy shadow again.
And one moving ridge they made
Across the moonstream from shade to shade.
And then he read the poem Rosabell, which had made him
and Mr. Scott acquainted, and then Sir Henry Taylor's Eesterna
Rosa, of which he was doing a water-colour :
22
Quoth tongue of neither maid nor wife
To heart of neither wife nor maid,
" Lead we not here a jolly life
Between the sun and the shade ? " . . .
" Thou wag'st, but I am sore with strife
And feel like flowers that fade."
After that they began on bouts rimes. Rossetti gave the
rhymes : scorn, forlorn, corn, morn ; alone, own and sown. His,
of course, was the best :
She bowed her head among them all, as one
By one they rose and went. A little scorn
She showed, a very little, more forlorn
She seemed because of that. . . .
. . . the free-hearted corn
Kissed by the hot air freely all the morn
Is better than the weed which has its own
Foul glut in secret. . . .
Just chance rhymes, but see how the innocent youths turned
them at once into line with their crusade against London's
nightly pandemonium of harlotry ! And, while the verses were
being read out, handsome Deverell and handsome Millais came
in disappointed ; they had had no luck that night, had saved
none nor picked up a single model. . . .
The moan of Scott's Rosabell, the way Gabriel gave it,
remained with Allingham :
I am forsaken, not a wheel
Rings on the street's hard stones !
Down the wet pavement gleam the lamps . , .
And every lamp on every street
Lights their wet feet down to death,
as he crept down the wooden staircase and turned out into the
streets; he knew that the two handsomest young fellows in
London and, he'd wager, the most innocent, had been patrolling
all the evening, accosting and probably being accosted. For
respectable women did not go out at night unattended or, if
obliged, took care not to be spoken to. He was not afraid of
Millais, mad on his profession, with the great safe alternative,
love of sport. Or even for little Deverell, who was proof against
" light loves in the portal " and the coarse solicitations of the
porter's wife, and managed to evade the subtler wiles of women
23
of his own class. Or for Hunt, who had revealed religion like
a violet ray behind the whole of his lovely life.
But for Gabriel
3
On his way to Surrey Street Allingham crossed the Hay-
market, where the " Jennys " were supposed to parade " on
market nights in the rain and wet." The hay had been cleared
away many years before ; but the young poet saw plenty of
" improper persons brilliantly walking, under a mild, muffled
moon " and, before he got back to his hotel, had composed the
poem to the tags given by William (glare> despair, while and
smile] which he had failed to accomplish a while ago in Rossetti's
rooms. . . . Not bad !
Along the street in the midnight glare
The sinners crowd in gay despair,
Soft women who retain awhile
Their heavenly form and tender smile,
When all within has sunk to wreck,
Awhile, awhile, a little while /
The night after, he went to the ballet and, falling in love
with a coryphee, followed her home from the stage door as
far as her garden gate, but no further. That night he could
not sleep. Bad thoughts ! He suppressed them and his fancy
for Miss Fowlinski, after a bouquet or two which Gabriel,
romantic, delivered for him in St. John's Wood but he went
on falling in love during the brief space of his stay in London.
There was a girl in Cranbourn Alley, nay, there were two
Jeannet he never knew her surname and a handsome, haughty
creature called Ellen Britten. He had come across them one
day when he went to the Panorama, because it was of Killarney,
and then for a look round the shops something for the girls
at home. . . . Jeannet and Ellen were in the biggest and most
important shop all sold pretty much the same class of thing.
After that he took to hanging about in the passage to watch
the graceful shapes flitting about under the sullen glare of the
gas, turned low for you don't need to see much just to put
the things away. He made their acquaintance and was told
that he might come along of an evening and help ; Mrs. Tozer's
young ladies might make what hay they liked so long as it was
not made among the millinery. The bandboxes into which
24
the bonnets were put to rest for twelve hours must be properly
filled with softest tissue-paper and laid on high shelves until
morning. The gentle susurration of whispers, the soft crushing
of the thin crumpled sheets that made beds for the bonnets
was an agreeable and novel sensation for one fresh from the
wilds of Donegal, where nobody puts hats away because nobody
covers their head at all. Jeannet said he might call on a Sunday
at her home in Waterloo Road, where she lived with Miss
Britten. They went part of the way home with a Miss Siddall
who also lived over the water. She was timid and afraid of
being spoken to.
Allingham did not admire Miss Siddall except for her com
plexion. Gentle, with the manners of a lady, she did not say
much probably had very little to say, always seemed in a
dream. He preferred the lively French style of Jeannet and,
one Sunday, he took a penny ride over the river, rang the little
tinkly bell of her house and waited. Jeannet came to the door,
showed her eyes and the tip of her nose and explained that
she could not let him in " for ladies were sitting without their
dresses for the heat " and, besides, Miss Britten was out. After
that she was always out and he abandoned her for another charmer
at Mrs. Jarvis' in Ryder Court, same street. In the end he
dropped both, but he. just remembered " Miss Sid," as the girls
called her, because of her rather stuck-up manner. And Deverell,
next night, bemoaning his failure to find a model for his Viola,
someone pretty who was thin enough to look nice in boy's
clothes, heard from Allingham that there was a Stunner who
would just do for him if he could get her to sit.
4
Next day, after tea, they started for the Alley, the slow-
moving, stolidly dreaming, poet and the eager stripling intent
on the picture that was to admit him to the Brotherhood.
Past the church with its wide churchyard, through Dirty Lane
and Green Street into Leicester Square and the domed build
ing in bastard Byzantine, where they had lectures every hour,
past the house that Hogarth had lived in, half of which
Monsieur Jacquiere was running as an up-to-date hotel and
restaurant, past an anatomical machinist's, an iron-founder's,
a builder's, a surgeon's, a seal engraver's and a Lending Library
and new offices, till they came to the Hotel de Provence, that the
25
wonderful French cooking at the Sabloniere was ousting in
public favour. . . . Allingham remembered it all by the light
of what happened afterwards.
In Cranbourn Alley, though it was dark, the blinds were not
down, for it was a pretty sight and enticing for the passers-by
to see the little milliners going about inside with one eye on
Mrs. Tozer and the other cocked over their shoulders on the
delights of outside and the eager faces against the pane. Then
Allingham pointed out the Stunner they had come to see,
standing under a naked, noisome gas-jet, reaching up to a high
shelf against the wall. The light seemed to be shining through
each particular hair 1 on her head, so soft and loose it was in
arrangement as it were the wings of an oriole, framing a face
that, when she turned it towards the window, was the very face
for Viola or any beauty of old story. . . .
Allingham offered to take Deverell in and introduce him to
the damsel it was what he had come for but Walter shied.
She looked such a lady . . . and he had vowed that never
again would he ask any woman to sit after the catastrophe out
side Marshall's. He would not care to have Mrs. Tozer and
her young ladies think he had come to take her out for a walk,
like all the other young men. The end of it was, he said he
might perhaps get his mother to come and choose a bonnet
ten bonnets here to-morrow and get into conversation with
her. . . .
Allingham did not think that the young lady, though more
modest-looking than most, would need much persuasion. And
that opulent chevelure would be a difficulty for Viola : she
would have to stow it away somewhere, somehow, under a
tarbosch, which she might object to doing. . . .
Hair and all she would just have suited Rossetti; but for
some reason or other William Allingham did not want her to
be put into stock, not just at present.
In the square they arranged a programme. Walter would
bring his mother next day to buy a bonnet and persuade the
girl to sit, and he must promise to keep her to himself at any
rate for the run of Viola.
1 Golden hair has always been potent in its appeal to all. Ladies, " belle et
blonde et colorUes? have always used it as an amatory weapon. Sarah Marlborough,
to anger her husband, cut off hers he so admired, laid it along a chair in an ante
room where he must see it and waited, trembling. There was no reconciliation :
the great general came, said nothing and was gone. But after his death she found
the lock of hair wrapped up among his best possessions.
26
By kind permission of Francis Madan, Esq.
ELIZABETH ELEANOR SIDDALL, 1855
From a drawing by D. G. Rossetti
" Yet, Tragedy would creep in." Allingham, the seer, 1 said
afterwards that, as he and Deverell walked away southwards
again, passing between the Places of the Beginning and the
End Mrs. Tozer's shop and the Sabloniere Hotel he was
possessed for one moment of the knowledge of all that his
stricken friend, lying on the burnt, brown grass in Lincoln's
Inn Fields, told him one day thirteen years later. He went
home to his hotel and wrote The Cold Wedding.
White favours rest
On every breast !
And yet, methinks, we seem not gay.
The church is cold.
The priest is old
And who will give the Bride away ?
The Bride in white
Is clad aright
Within her carriage closely hid.
(The wedding bells, how slow they swing !)
A match most fair
This silent pair
Now to each other given for ever.
Now, delver, stand
With spade in hand,
All mutely to discharge thy trust ;
Ere she was born
That vow was sworn ;
And we must lose into the ground
Her face we knew :
For the bridegroom, in Allingham's poem, was Death.
1 Allingham, on his death-bed, Nov. 18, 1889, "I am seeing things that you
know nothing of."
CHAPTER III
A FEW days later the beautiful red-haired girl passed
under the archway in the Strand, where another fair
woman, whose hair was auburn and who knew how
do these sort of people get to know ? that this was
Mr. Walter's new model, stood arms akimbo, looked her up
and down and jeered at the goldilocks that one of the students
the one she disliked was going to make the fashion.
Mrs. Tozer had been easily squared, but Walter's mother
had had to go all the way down to Kent Road to ask Mrs.
SiddalPs permission for her daughter to sit. She had done this
partly to please Walter and partly out of curiosity to see where
" Miss Sid " got her style from, for one had always heard that
the lowest of the low and the vilest of the vile congregated in
that part of the world on the other side of the river ! Feeling
that she could negotiate this sort of thing better alone, she
went in her hired brougham across the bridge, past the Elephant,
bidding her man drive quickly as far as the triple corner of
Kent Street, New Kent Road and Bermondsey Road and then
go slowly on watching the numbers. She had never been on
this side of the river in her life though she had heard Kennington
and Newington spoken of as " pretty places," and, indeed,
after they had passed the Bricklayer's Arms the road widened
and became half rural, with residential houses interspersed with
shops on either side and behind them, on the east, nothing
much but tanneries and rope- walks and market gardens stretching,
she supposed, all the way to the river.
Number Eight Kent Place was by the side of Searle's, 1 and
opposite a fine building which her coachman informed her was
the Asylum for Deaf and Blind Children. The door they
wanted was in Jane Place, and there was a little pocket-hand
kerchief of a garden in front.
1 A furniture dealer,
28
The mother, presumably, who opened the door with the air
of a duchess, while effacing herself against the wall like a servant
to let her visitor pass in, was handsome, with the same coloured
hair as her daughter but of a more refined shade pale, pale
fold. Her manner was perfect, a trifle too haughty, perhaps,
ut refined, giving you nothing to take hold of. She led the
way to the parlour and did not wipe a chair for her visitor ;
there was no need ; everything was spotlessly clean though the
room was small and dark. The fiddle in the corner which
caught Mrs. Deverell's eye and seemed a good thing to begin
on, belonged, Mrs. Siddall said, to her husband, who was in
his shop a little further up the road, where he exercised the
profession of an optician and cutler. A handsome, weak-
looking boy slipped out of the room as she came in and was
told severely to go and see if his father didn't need him. A
handsome bold-eyed girl, almost a child, was introduced as
"my daughter Clara or Kate" some name like that,
Mrs. Deverell didn't remember, for with her raven locks she
would be no use to Walter, mad, like Rossetti, just now on
red hair.
She quite believed what her son had told her and what Mrs.
Tozer had implied, that Miss Siddall was of good class though
her people had come down in the world through no fault of
their own. The little sitting-room had an air of proud, not
wanton, destitution, the furniture, quite good, some of it
had the sharp clear angles that constant polishing will give, and
off the round table in the middle, with a red morocco leather
book stamped with some sort of crest, 1 lying on it, she would
have eaten her dinner without a qualm. She tried to make out
this crest and the names on the framed samplers hanging on
each side of the old, dark, oil-painting, of a gentleman. The
fiddle in the corner yes, Mr. Siddall was fond of music. It
was his hobby now and had been his work. They had not
always lived in this part oh no ! There was a place called
Hope, not far from Sheffield, where the family had owned
property since the seventeenth century. They said, locally,
that until the old family came back to Hope Hall, ill-luck would
pursue anyone else that lived there. And so it had. But her
husband had come to London on purpose to see to his rights
and had afforded ever so many lawyers' fees so that he might
in the end come to his own.
1 Was it Per Bend Vert and Gules, an Eagle displayed ? See Lysons' Britannica.
29
It sounded as if the father was ruining himself and his family
with litigation. Mrs. Deverell, in no hurry and anxious to
help Walter as much as she could, drew her story out of this
proud, retiring woman by degrees. How she was Welsh, a
Miss Evans, how Charles had met her soon after he came to
London and married her in Hornsey where she had been
staying five weeks from the date of their meeting, and taken
her to live in the house higher up the road where the business
was now carried on. Her husband was an optician, his father
had been a cutler, his grandfather a scissors-maker. Nice
distinctions to which Mrs. Deverell listened patiently with her
object in view.
Number Five had a nice garden up to the tan-yard and a
view of the masts at Wapping. All her children she had had
seven except Annie, the eldest, had been born there. Her
husband was sorry to leave Sheffield and Queen Street Inde
pendent Chapel where he was Choir Master, but when he came
to live in the Euston Road he played the organ in the Chapel
there, and they had been very glad of him. He was fond of
poetry and read aloud in the evenings while they sewed and the
mother played the violin. " Our Liz " was a great reader too.
She had begun to write poetry when she was eleven and was
always scribbling when she came home from the shop, sitting up
in her bedroom in the cold. Mrs. Deverell asked, didn't she
have a fire ? Her mother said Yes she could have had one but
they didn't want to encourage her tc sit up there alone.
Mrs. Siddall was hard hard as nails and sharp as the cutlery
she lived by ; but she allowed herself to be wheedled by Mrs.
Deverell's motherly address and position as wife of a Govern
ment Official and made no difficulty about letting her daughter
sit, so long as Mrs. Tozer, who had been very good to " Liz,"
was willing to spare her. A relation of hers, Mrs. Hill of St.
Paul's Terrace, Pancras she had not seen much of her since
she left off living in the Euston Road had a daughter, Emma,
who was sitting to a painter perhaps Mrs. Deverell knew
him for everything he did, and this Mr. Brown was educating
her to make her his equal, and then he would marry her. Mrs.
Deverell thought she had heard her son mention the name.
Emma Matilda had the same coloured hair as Liz only rather
darker, corn-coloured. ... Liz would sit to Mrs, Deverell's
son with pleasure.
There was, at present, no talk of payment. Mrs. Deverell
30
did not touch on it. Walter must settle that. A little present,
perhaps, when the picture was finished ?
The compact with Allingham was faithfully observed
Gabriel Rossetti never saw Elizabeth Siddall until Walter
Deverell and he set up together in Red Lion Square. None of
the Brethren did, except Woolner and Stephens, who came to
Somerset House to interview Hughes the porter about some
copies of The Germ that he had undertaken to get off, together
with the paper and pencils he supplied to the students. Stephens
did not think Walter's model worth mentioning, nor Woolner
the sculptor, to whom her colouring did not appeal. She
disliked both of them and came to hate Woolner.
The Deverells moved to Kew, Heathfield House, 1 with a
ceiling by Verrio, or Vanloo or somebody. Walter kept his
under-mastership at the Schools and went backwards and
forwards into town every day. Without his father's knowledge
he had rigged up a makeshift studio in a disused coach-house
at the bottom of the garden, with a gate giving on to the Mort-
lake Road. There was no provision for heating and the silly
little stove he put in was always going out. When it rained the
water came in through the roof and had to be caught in pails ;
but his new model never complained when a great drip came
on her head, and sat for hours without asking for a rest. As
painters will, he forgot to remind her. He did not notice that
now and then she took drops for a little cough she had. Because
of the family tyrant, she came and went by the back gate
in Mortlake Road, without meeting or disturbing anyone.
When they knew she was there, one of the Deverell girls,
" Gret " or Maria, would make a merit of " sending the model
her tea on a tray," which generally arrived cold. But their
mother, not very well herself, would now and again put on
her goloshes and go down the path to the end of the garden
and watch the model as she sat, and even read aloud to her if
Walter did not mind it.
" Miss Sid," as they came to call her, looked older than she
said she was. More handsome than pretty, tall without being
weedy, well-formed, with big white arms and neck almost too
1 Now Adam House, near the Green, on trie high-road to Richmond.
31
columnar. Her eyes were blue, the colour of agate, egg-shaped,
rather Eastern, pale and unsparkling, like the pools left by the
tide on the shore of a yellow beach that but languidly reflect
the blue of the sky over them, and prominent, so that she could
not have worn a veil without fretting the eyelids. She had
no eyebrows to speak of. Her upper lip was short and there
was a cleft in the lower one. In repose the face seemed full of
character, not all of it good, bearing at times an expression
described by Mrs. Deverell, who ordinarily never used the
word, as sensual and at the same time starved a saint's mouth
or a sinner's ? . . .
The matron, who had buried a daughter, considered Miss
Siddall's vivid colouring a bad sign and Said a girl like that
ought never to have been put to Mrs. Tozer's. Those places
were regular breeding-grounds of consumption. She would
not be surprised if the mischief had begun already. No, Miss
Siddall must not think of going on with that job. As a second
shop-hand she had been getting twenty-four pounds a year,
exclusive of board and lodging. Her friend Jeannet got nearly
double, but she had served her full apprenticeship. And
indeed and indeed the hours were terribly long six in the
morning till eight at night : sometimes in a full season Liz was
not home till daylight. Mrs. Tozer put upon her a bit because
she happened to be a friend of her mother's.
Obviously, she could make more as a model than as a milliner.
Models were paid a shilling an hour, that is to say, five shillings
for a morning's sitting and seven-and-six for the whole day.
Mrs. Deverell had asked Isabel Frith. In the Schools they were
paid at a higher rate . . . varying ... in the R.A. Schools it
ran to half-a-crown.
Miss Siddall's hair, of course not her eyes, too pale, or her
nose, too round was her best asset as far as painters were
concerned. But then, the colour wouldn't suit every taste.
She did it very cleverly, without a net or pads, and so that it
covered the ears properly. (Mr. Tennyson was supposed to
have brought in that fashion ; he said women's ears, in general,
were so ugly that they had to be covered.)
Walter disapproved of the step she proposed to take, but
what alternative could he suggest? Her talent for stringing
verses would not keep her and she would be no use on the stage,
though she had a good figure, because of her voice slightly
sibilant, turning into the faintest little hiss whenever she got
32
excited or tired with, talking too long. She did not ever talk
much, perhaps from a fear of betraying this peculiarity.
There really seemed nothing Walter could do for her but
marry her, and he had not enough to marry on. His father
would have opposed it and his mother too. He was as weak as
wax in the hands of that good lady. And, moreover, he felt
queerly, unaccountably ill at times. The doctor had advised
him to take a rest, but he only worked the harder. Honourable
to excess, he did not consider himself justified in taking a step
that would involve another person's happiness until his malady,
if malady there was, had declared itself.
3
She was a good model, taking poses -readily and maintaining
them. In the rests she read hard out of the books Walter lent
her ; at home they called it waste of time. He tried her with
The Idylls of the King, but she had read everything of Tennyson's
she could get hold of, ever since she had found a poem of his
written on the paper round a pound of butter. That was the
way, said he, many manuscripts went. Landladies sold them
as waste-paper or lit the fires with them. Gabriel had found
the maid at Charlotte Street using up some of his translations
from the Italian poets in that way*
He amused her by quoting Tupper's verses about the Club
Magazine :
Come, Early Christians, bring a knife
And cut these woeful pages down !
You would not have them haunt the town,
Where butter and where cheese is rife ?
For of course the P.R.B. had had to have an organ. Some
thing like the old Keepsakes and Annuals. Out of forty alterna
tive titles that of The Germ was chosen. It was to comprise
forty pages, with two etchings, to be sold at a shilling and
come out monthly. By Christmas Eve fifty copies were in the
printers' hands. Millais, though he had caught a bad cold
sleeping on his truckle bed in The Carpenter's Shop (Meux's
Brewery), had his illustration ready and Gabriel his story too,
though he had put off beginning it till the very last and,
excessive in all things, had had to sit up all night to finish it.
They had not been allowed to have the Letters printed on the
cover somehow their innocent swagger had antagonised John
33
Bull already. But the Brethren, going round to leading book
sellers with copies in hand, had^ not done badly. Hughes, the
porter, sold fifty, and Stephens by January had disposed of
thirty copies, and Hunt had managed to get off twelve out
of the sixteen he had undertaken, on the way from his new
studio in Prospect Place to Newman Street.
4
But it died. On the seventeenth day of February next year
Millais, backed by his redoubtable and hard-headed mother, got
his way, and in committee it was decided not to bring out
another number. And the housemaid at Somerset House lit
her fires of a morning with the little booklets which fetch
nowadays several pounds a copy.
In a last kick and flicker, posters were pasted and sandwich men
walked up and down the gutters in front of the fine folk attend
ing the Private View of the Royal Academy on Whit Monday,
announcing " The Germ's " brilliant and enduring qualities.
Two works by the Brethren attained the honours of hanging :
Hunt's Rienzi and Millais' Christ in the Rouse of His Parents*
and, drawing the whole venom of the critics, suffered the brunt
of the stone-slinging of the accredited Philistines of our isles.
The critics, Kingsley, Chorley, S. C. Hall and Frank Stone
called the Hammer of the Pre-Raphaelites, who could quote
the sermons of Savonarola at them were unanimous. Abuse,
contrasting with the praise and oft-sawder dealt out, almost
by the yard, to the pictures of accredited men and R.A.'s. 2
They were lost for the time. Ruskin had not yet come for
ward to speak up for the infant iconoclasts, the baby destroyers
of the images in the Temple of Crudities ; and, with all the
power of his eloquence, reasoned, crushing and subtle, raise his
1 Dickens, wrote, "The loathsome minuteness of * The Carpenter's Shop,' the
hideous, wry-necked, blubbering, red-haired boy and his common-looking mother
. . . who would have disgraced the lowest gin shop in London." It is to be
supposed that the ex-bootblacking factory boy from Day and Martin's knew what
he was talking about, writing superior in the midst of his own lovingly chosen
floral wall-papers and carpets.
2 Of Mr. Sydney Cooper's " Hawking " " a small picture exceedingly sweet
in colour "or Mr. Stothard's " Sleeping Nymph," among other detailed merits
"charmingly coloured." While Rossetti was castigated for his "unintelligent
imitation of the technicalities of Old Art, his golden Glorys and other infantine
absurdities."
34
protest in their favour, dealing his tremendous indictment of
England's art politics. 1 For a moment Ruskin was less a critic
than a man, unskilled, inapt, much puzzled, in the throes of
an undesired wedlock and the practice of its duties. He was in
Venice with his Stunner, who was making it all very difficult
for him.
5
Gabriel Rossetti must have met his by now even painted
from her. The little water-colour, Rosso Festita, is the image
of her, and so is Beatrice at a Marriage Feast denying Dante her
Salutation and Guardami ben, ben son, ben son Beatrice and
every other Beatrice after that.
He admired her then, certainly loved her, when ? William
"' could not say," of this brother of his, so lacking in sense of pro
prietorship or possessiveness in anything " tin " or " digs " ;
models or mistresses, pictures, china or lead pencils, albeit he
freely borrowed such, at times convenient to himself but not
perhaps to others. But though he assumed an umbrella easily
he was equally willing to lend his and, if he slept in a friend's
bed, was eager enough to put him up whenever he had a place
of his own. The Sid he permitted to pose for them all without
a murmur. For the moment he was not ready for her, unpre
pared for the sudden eclosion of sentiment which broke out
into the passion which ended by wrapping them both in an
everlasting coat of flame, like Dante's doomed lovers in Hell.
As animals intending to mate will approach each other, describ
ing wide but gradually narrowing arcs, so humans, whose sexual
peripatetics are determined by the higher nerve-centres, will
seek to prolong the pleasantly harrowing ante-period : will
simulate indifference, suggest dislike, even blackening 2 the
object of their unconscious preoccupation.
1 Italy in her great period knew her great men and did not despise their youth.
" It is reserved for England to insult the strength of her noblest children, to
wither their warm enthusiasms early into the bitterness of patient battle and to
leave to those whom she should have cherished and aided no hope except in
resolution, no refuge but in disdain." Modern Painters,
2 See the rancorous remarks made to his confidant, by Keats about a lady called
Charmian, though nevertheless he " would like her to ruin him " !
35
Miss SiddalPs second sitting was to Hunt, in boy's clothes,
for what was farcically called Two Gentlemen and a Half. She
was the half Silvia in the Forest of Arden, otherwise Knole
Park. And she was thus brought acquainted with a girl
" good-hearted to the core, with the makings of an intelligent
woman in her " whom Hunt was having educated with a view
-to espousal should she prove herself fit. Miss Siddall took a
dislike to Miss Miller there and then and would not go down to
Sevenoaks for tf a kind of picknick the Brethren were having
that October, real girls sitting under real trees, and staying all
together at Mrs. Hearnden's, at Number Five, High Street.
7
Generous and rich, inasmuch as he was able to live at home,
Rossetti lent Hunt enough to go on with and found him a
buyer for The Christian Missionary, at one hundred and sixty
pounds, so that he declined an offer of the post of draughtsman
to the Mosul Expedition and, pursuing the straight and Pre-
Raphaelite way, started on Claudio and Isabella, going across the
water every morning to Lambeth to get the prison cell for it.
It was six months since he had made any money whatever, but
he had found a sovereign in the stuffing of an armchair, which
tided him over for a bit. Woolner had got a nice commission
for a medallion of Wordsworth and hoped to " get " Carlyle.
Gabriel Rossetti talked of " cutting " art altogether and applied
for the post of telegraph clerk on the North- Western Railway,
but gave it up on finding that he didn't know anything about
the use of the little needles diddling about in front of his
eyes nor wanted to learn. He didn't like people to know
how poor he was, so sat grouting alone all day in his wretched
study where the rain came in, complaining of toothache and
took laudanum for it, as anyone would.
William was now the chief breadwinner of the family. Old
Mr. Rossetti's eyesight was failing and his engagements for
lessons fell off so that a move to a house at a lower rental was
indicated where they could live according to their principle, that
" No butcher or baker or candlestick maker," in the words of
the nursery rhyme, "had a claim unpaid." William found one
near Mornington Crescent, where his mother and sisters pro-
36
WILLIAM HOLMAN HUNT
From a photograph
posed to open a day-school. It was not far from their relations ;
the Polidori aunts who were fairly well off and had not much
else to do with their money.
William kept his mother and sisters mostly on his screw
from the Board of Trade, and by reviewing. Schooled by his
brother, he framed his articles "so as not to show too much
family bias " here or there. He was to put Hunt first and " not
defend my mannerisms they are absurd and merely super
ficial/' He had to hunt up the dealers, see them and bring
them to the picture market, " but not with too much officious-
ness.' 5 He was to look up " the Demon Dunlop " and get hold
of White, " that shining, baldpate, deep old file," mostly to be
come across at Jullien's Promenade Concerts. Or the pensive
pork-packer of Belfast, Francis McCracken (" Crack " or " the
Kraken " by analogy with the Sea Serpent), whom Rossetti
never did see in the flesh, " a real scoundrel," but who had
got a little money. And always be civil, which was not difficult,
to Barbara Leigh-Smith, whose brougham had C-springs, and
to her friends the Howitts, who got his poems into magazines
for him. And, William, look to it " Lady Bath's cheque not
to hand ! "
Lady Bath had bought The Girlhood. She was the conquest
of Maria's bow and spear ; while Tom Seddon, passionately
adjured by Patmore, brought a most productive M.P. who
commissioned a window in the Welsh church that a cousin of
his had been given the job of rebuilding.
Always clamouring for loans the loan of a bed, or half a one,
the loan of a pair of trousers (he particularly affected Brown's
best), the loan of " tin " to pay somebody for something,
models, rent in arrears, colours at Roberson's, charities he was
never half so hard up as some of those he borrowed from, Brown
or Hunt or Allingham, or Hannay, poor dear, who was never
at home in the daytime, but went out before the people of the
house were up and never came back until they had gone to
bed. Gabriel was never without a bed to lie on except in that
year when the school in Arlington Street failed and the family
separated, some going to Somersetshire to try another " lay "
and the rest into lodgings. As young men go, he had plenty of
pocket-money, for he earned it easily, in spurts, and spent it
in the same way. He just wanted it wherewith to support his
tempestuous generosities, purchasing power to back his daily
quest of curios, old ivories, china, netsuke, jade, scraps of silk
37
and brocade what poor Allingham, touring the second-hand
shops with him for hours, called " bits of strangeness." He
already had the soul of the brocanteur, the tic that became a
mania for the acquisition of pictures that Howell forged and
pawned and stole, for jewellery that his women wore and lost,
for china that servants broke or mistresses used as missiles. 1
He exaggerated his depression as he exaggerated his poverty.
His friends, aware that a dentist could have dealt with his
toothache and his blue devils been chased away by fresh air,
got him at last down to Sevenoaks, where it would do him
good to play hide-and-seek in the Park with Eliza Cook and
Ledru Rollin. But he would not play. He found a good back
ground for Rachel and Leah. He wrote canzoni in the evenings
and in the day painted out of doors, with an umbrella tied to
his buttonhole, copying a leaf. Neither the leaf nor the umbrella
would stay still and those men made him get up at seven !
After exactly a week he returned by coach, to find that the
" hop-shop " below his studio had " absquatulated " without
paying its rent, so that the landlord had distrained on him and
seized his furniture.
As he had not yet begun to collect in earnest, the damage was
less serious for him than for William, who lost all the books he
had lent his brother at various times. Gabriel was taken by
Brown into his studio, but he had to go and sleep at home.
By December Deverell found a study for them both at twenty
shillings a week or four guineas a month, three rooms on the
first floor one with a window that could be cut right up to
the ceiling for the painting light. So January of next year
found them installed in Number Seventeen, Red Lion Square,
with the obelisk in the middle and the stone watch-houses at
each corner like family vaults, the middle all white and yellow
with lilies and marigolds, and low-boughed trees under whose
shade Deverell meant to set Rosalind to witness the encounter
between Jacques and Orlando in the Forest of Ardennes. Another
projected Shakespeare subject of Walter's was Laertes and
1 The last woman he ever pretended to care for he put out of doors because of
her onslaughts on his Delft, and there is, or was, a blue enamel snake with ruby
eyes in a haystack, or in the stomach of the cow that ate the hay und weiter (lost
by Miss Rosalind Howell).
38
Ophelia. He must have a try at Ophelia too. And Miss
Siddall was to do her hair high and curl it and pose as the
Lady of Quality dancing, if not for her life, for her purse, on
Hounslow Heath with Claude Duval. He finished this in
October and gave it to Stephens, but the others, including The
Flight of an Egyptian Ibis, he never even began. Rossetti
finished the Rosalind and altered the face of Celia. Why ?
39
CHAPTER IV
year, fortified by rustication and hard living,
cheered on by pals' backing, still potent in fraternity,
they meant to have another try at the R.A. William
Rossetti, .in his news letter to Allingham in Ireland,
has hope for next year's Academy. Millais would have three
pictures, The Woodman* s Daughter, illustrating a poem by their
valued friend Patmore, very, very P.R.B., Mariana, not so very,
and Ike Daughters of the Sons of Noah hangers like scriptural
subjects. Hunt's Two Gentlemen, William in his capacity of
critic opined, would certainly take the shine out of his critics
"as well as out of any R.A.'s work that may happen to hang
near it."
But 'The Woodman's Daughter was put in the Octagon Room,
called the Condemned Cell, equal to an artistic sentence of
death. Hunt was " abominably shirked off " the same place
he had been in before with Rienzi. Millais came off best, he
had two " on the line." x But the critics were dead against.
Shirley Brooks walked about all day calling attention, with a
loud sniff, to this or that outrageous picture : that little monkey
Chorley was likewise in ecstasies of amusement while poor Mrs.
Jones, near her time, had to be supported to a settee, and, even
with the Howitts, friendly to the P.R.B. and useful in the
Press, it was " The Woodman's quaint children . . . strange
and naive in treatment. . . ."
Hunt would hang about the R.A. to hear what people were
saying. His poor old father was jeered at on his way to and
from the City. Scurrilous letters and pamphlets were freely
received by the Brethren and their relations. One Professor
in the Schools had trained his pupils to hiss daily at the con
temptuous references to the P.R.B. which he introduced shame
lessly into the body of his discourses. Another wrote to a
mutual friend that Mr. Millais must expect to be cut in the
1 Keeper Jones, Head of the Antique, cherished an affection for his early pupil.
4 o
street by all decent-minded people. The President issued a
prommciamento to the effect that this was the last year that
he and the Hanging Committee " would admit this new and
outrageous school of painting on their walls."
And the Club, in January, held its sad little first anniversary
meeting, as arranged at Millais* house in the study where, over
^ a year ago, Rossetti had picked up the Lasinio book. The
sceixe was the same. Tea was still provided in the study for
Johnny and his friends by his handsome, decided mother, with
her thin lips and deep-lidded eyes under the curls, surmounted,
but not confined, by a none too clean cap. They passed some
dull regulations and then Millais proposed that " we no longer
call ourselves P.R.B. because of the misapprehension the name
excites." Better to " let our converts be known only by their
works." That was too much : they could not bear it. His
motion was not passed : it was decided to make some more
attempts to nobble the Press. Doctor Westland Marston was
Editor of an important Journal, The Critic^ and they all attended
a party at 'his villa in Camden Town. Mrs. Deverell took Miss
Siddall, who did her credit. Of her two dresses, a grey and a
black silk, both made by herself, the young lady chose to wear
the black and looked, so Mr. Madox Brown said, like a queen
on about three pounds.
But Westland Marston and the other critics were not pro
pitiated. Patmore had suggested to the greatest critic of all,
that he should "write something kind about the Pre-Raphaelites."
Ruskin was not sure he liked them very much. He thought the
face of Silvia in "Two Gentlemen horrid (little witting that she
who was to be his Princess Ida had sat for it !) and was quite
sorry that the wives of Noah had not been drowned. His letter
in the Times was useful, if a little grudgingly worded : " The
admirable though strange pictures of Mr. Mttlais and Mr. Hunt."
The little group dispersed 1 ; " some stayed isolated ; the
majority drifting back into the ordinary and more profitable
ways of life and art." 2 And Gabriel's sister used her poetical
talent and her excruciating wit (that turned to acid in her old
age) on the hapless, hopeless venture of her brothers. 3
1 Hunt, sadly, " I am now only P.R.B. , but can't use the letters as there are
no P.R.B. 's in the plural."
2 Mrs. Oliphant.
3 So rivers merge in the perpetual sea
So luscious fruit must fall when over ripe
And so the consummated P.R.B.
4 1
The faithful Allingham, on his arrival in town, went straight
to Burlington House. All round him he heard the comments
of " the despicable public/ 5 a ground-swell of disapproval that
had not gone down since the opening day, and he was considerably
depressed.
That night he dined with Thackeray in Kensington Square
quite a small party, Mrs. Carmichael-Smyth, Father Prout,
Miss Anny and a Mr. Cole, much concerned with the Great
Exhibition to come, and a young painter who was studying in
Berlin, very handsome, rather Jewish-looking, wearing purple
stockings, called Frederic Leighton. They talked Art. But,
of the P.R.B., not a word !
Next day he went to Red Lion Square and rang the bell of
Number Seventeen, looking wistfully up at the window on the
first floor in which he imagined Gabriel and Walter to be
working. A maid opened the door " Mr. Rossetti has gone
away. Mr. Deverell is ill." Scribbling something on a card he
gave it to her and walked sadly away down the steps.
Someone had left the garden gate unlatched and he wandered
up and down the strip of grass, noting that the trees were faded
already, dry as the summer dust that whirled round the square
and as pale, the leaves flapping like old tattered banners whose
web had " perished " and their warp decayed, left in a church
where no man comes to pray. London squares are always
empty and yet he felt that there were people there ! l
He went on to Thirty-five, Arlington Street, Camden Town,
where he understood the Rossettis had recently moved, a wide,
elegant road, with Highgate Hill, of a dull blue like the back
ground of an Italian picture, at the end of it. He rang the bell
of a two-storied house with an area, whence a servant put her
head up to ask what he wanted. " Mr. William is at the play.
Mr. Gabriel don't live here."
As a last resort he looked for Gabriel at Brown's, who lent
his study so often that there was never any knowing to whom it
1 ... a place
Where one might think to find a din
Of doubtful talk and a live flame
Wandering, and many a shape whose name
Not itself knoweth and old dew,
And your own footsteps meeting you,
And all things going as they came.
42
really belonged, except that Brown paid the rent. Gough,
the model, coming to the door with a candle in his hand, lit
him to the enormous study where Brown was lounging by a
stove with a jar of shag and a bottle of whisky, alone ; but
Allingham had thought as he came in that he had seen Gabriel
looking down at him over the banisters with an " expression
almost diabolic. . . ."
It was Gabriel. He came down, lit a pipe and was as urbane
as ever, with perhaps some slight sign of effort. In answer to
an inquiry about Deverell's illness " Sick unto death, I think ! "
adding, cheerfully, that Deverell's family had left Somerset
House for the country. He asked how Miss Siddall was.
Pretty well for her. She had sat to Hunt for Silvia and was
going to sit to Millais for Ophelia. Millais had refused to go
to Switzerland with the Ruskins and was off to Cheam with
Hunt, where he had found a river for Ophelia to drown in.
Of course the model couldn't be asked to get into that, but
Millais' mother had invented a sort of bath arrangement filled
with hot water, you could put an ordinary lamp under. The
Sid didn't object to lying in it for an hour or so, drowning in a
splendid old dress with silver embroidery which he had picked
up in a " cag-mag shop " for four pounds.
She lived in town now, to be nearer her engagements. He
gave Allingham her professional card with the address, and,
he added, " You must spell the name with only one / and one d.
She is a Sidal of Hope."
3
Next day he took Allingham to the Exhibition and, among
the fountains, statues and models of ships, at a refreshment
table attended by pretty Stunners, told him all about the
ancestors of Miss Siddall (whose name was in future to be spelt
Siddal). Her family coat was Three Birds and the word Honour,
but they had a right to quarter that of Greaves (Per Bend Vert
and Gules : an Eagle displayed) so her mother said. Scott,
who had been making inquiries, said it was mostly true. The
Siddals or the Greaves went back to the seventeenth century
Slade Hall near Manchester and later of Hope in Derbyshire,
near Castleton, an old market town lying in an angle of Hope
Dale. Hope Hall, Scott said, was now a public-house, but the
churchyard was full of authentic tombs, with the name on them
43
spelt in all sorts of ways, according to the literacy or the whim
of the stonecutter. A Norman name, of course Sudel or
Suddel there were some of their family tombs in the church
yard at Ovington in the County of Durham.
And according to the Hope registers, the son of Jacobus
Sidall et Anna Grant de Hope married into a much older family
still, that of Greaves. There was a Greaves, a knight of Beeley,
in the time of Henry III, but, about the time when Queen
Anne came to the throne, a descendant of his settled at
Swarkeston the bridge south of Derby, Allingham must re
member, where the Pretender's Highlanders insisted on going
back when they might have been in London ere night. (And
what a good thing if they had : the Stuarts, bad as they were,
had some feeling for art and we could have controlled them !)
Rachel Greaves, the heiress of Crook Hall at Hathersage, married
Christopher Siddal, but somehow or other her money did not
avail Christopher. He was the first to let the family down,
becoming a bankrupt, probably because of the failure of the
flax industry ?
Lizzy had got hold of some of the papers to show to her Gabriel,
such as the Auditors' assignment. . . . "All creditors . . .for good
and charitable reasons agree to accept and. take the remaining sum
of money . . . proceeding from the sale of . . ." The poor man
seemed to have sold a piece of land, at his disposal, to a rascally
firm of solicitors and migrated to Sheffield, where he let them
add another / to his name and ceased to be romantic, his children
no^ longer christened and married in the church on the hill, or,
dying, their names inscribed on tombstones in the church garth.
Sheffield henceforth held their bones. There were some of
them alive there. Christopher Siddal was Miss Siddal's grand
father, and her aristocratic bearing and the Roman nose of her
sister were thereby accounted for, together with her brother
Harry's deficiency . . . ? These old families in their decadence
had jolly well to pay for the prime.
^ Rossetti talked of her all the time. She was now definitely
his Stunner; her beauty had become the legend which the
egotistic man^ of genius goes about to create round his own.
And one begins to hear the faintly adverse criticisms of the
sheep-like followers, daring to look over the hedge. Doctor
Marshall ^uggested that Miss Siddall they long persisted in
that spelling was one of Rossetti's " swans " and, like Petruchio
bent on annoying Caterina, saw " no more beauty in her Than
44
Sy kind jerinission cfW. T. Fremantle, Esq.
CHARLES CROOKES SIDDAIX
From a photograph
without candle may go dart to bed." (But then Marshall liked
fat women and spoke admiringly in his lectures of " the well-
cushioned female.") Her complexion he thought fine but mis
leading no indication of health. None of the others admired
her, while Arthur Hughes, who saw her at Somerset House,
struck, like Miss Howitt, by her " unworldly simplicity and
purity of aspect," said that she looked " a good little girl who
probably read her Bible and said her prayers every night."
Her manner did not vary with her new circumstances and she
did not go the way to make the new people like her or feel at
ease with her, confounding and puzzling them all by an
obstinate withdrawal of personality, assumed, perhaps, in the
beginning as., a defence and continued unconsciously until the
end. Not friendly or chatty, but, like Beatrice, denying them
nearly everything but her Salutation ; turning off the talk the
moment it became personal to herself. As much as to say but
she was too well brought up to say it that her " mind and
feelings were her own." Why not ? It is the privilege of the
meanest. She permitted herself to indulge in sarcasm, perhaps
that was why Christina could not get on with her two of a
trade. But nobody could have called her ill-natured as they
did Christina. Described in popular style, she was " flighty "
the usual complaint against servants under Victoria. 1 Born
and bred in a slum ; but recently stationed behind a counter
in a second-rate milliner's shop; translated with some sudden
ness into a society excessively sophisticated, yawning with pitfalls
for the unlettered and unlessoned, this young woman, sprung
from a race whose wits are as sharp as the scissors they fabricate,
did not care to give points to ridicule by talking freely until
she had got her bearings. Looking like a Madonna, she had
the sapience of the gutter-child. And a * little embittered !
Except Mrs. Deverell no society woman noticed her much.
Gabriel's family did not welcome her and William Rossetti
owns that he was not in her society " as much as might be
expected." His descriptions of her appearance breathe an
almost personal antipathy. He gives a list of her points ;. item,
a good figure, a lofty neck, regular features, brilliant complexion,
hair, abundant, of a coppery colour " that some people would
call red " and did. Her upper lip was wrong. Her manners
were good. After detailing her parentage or as much of it in
his opinion as will bear telling, he asks leave to say u once for
1 It was the word Swinburne used at the inquest to describe her behaviour.
45
all " that she did know " how to behave in company and com
mitted no faults of speech." And she had every claim to be
called a lady. He had never heard of her pretensions to Family,
or he discounted them. She had, he fancied, no religion.
She never found time to sit to anyone but Gabriel now. Her
sitting to Millais in December for Ophelia was the fulfilling of
an engagement made long ago. Gabriel was not afraid that
Millais would flirt with her his study was full of sketches of
Mrs. Ruskin done from memory, after the fateful day when she
and her husband had driven over to fetch Johnny to dinner in
Camberwell and the love that fell between them was so obvious
that even the servants marvelled.
Miss Siddal came to Mr. Rossetti from Weymouth Street,
Number One, where she lived in rooms over a Mr. Barbour's, a
surgeon (the lodgings were kept by a member of the family and
were quite, quite respectable), either to Newman Street or to
Highgate, where the Howitts, connected with so much of the
romance of Gabriel Rossetti's life (his playtime, if he ever had
any), lived.
4
Taken all round, father, mother and daughter, the Howitts
were charming people. William Howitt had left off being a
Friend and became connected with The People's Journal and
Household, Words, which Mrs. Howitt, little, grey and charming,
author herself of pleasant books for children, 1 helped him to
edit. They entertained their friends simply, as Quakers use,
and their connection with journalism procured publication for
a first poem, Sister Helen (" by an artistic friend of ours "), in
the Dussddorfer Alburn^ edited by a brother-in-law. They went
away a great deal, and then Mrs. Howitt allowed " Mr. Gabriel "
to use the studio at the bottom of the garden as often and for
as long as he liked.
Fifty-two was a bad year for nerves. Etna was in eruption.
In September there was an earthquake, it rained all the time,
and in October there was a terrific storm. Cold by November,
with ^ a display of the Aurora which tallied with what Mrs.
Howitt called " spiritualistic experiments made by persons
interested in the new electro-biological discoveries." Mr.
1 Mrs. Hewitt's best known work is Will You Walk into my Parlour? said the
Spider to the Fly.
4 6
Howitt had sailed for the Gold Fields with Bernhard Smith at
the beginning of the year and his wife and daughter were eking
out defective postal communication with the other side by
resort to the "Rapping Spirits," obtaining "most wonderful
results/' Night after night they would sit with their intimates,
Gabriel and Lizzy, Eliza Cook, Bessie Parkes, Miss Coutts and
Miss Barbara Leigh-Smith, in the parlour of the lonely little
house, and the damp would come in cold from the Ponds,
and the dogs, about eleven, would begin to bark horribly and
incessantly, which everyone knows augurs ill for those whose
nearest and dearest are beyond the uses of telegraphy. Gabriel
Rossetti would tell ghost stories how young George Frederick
Watts, returning to town after a dinner with the lonides at
Tulse Hill, saw and spoke to a woman in the shrubberies whom
he thought to be one of the ladies of the house out for a lark . . .
but she was indoors at the time ! And accounts of the seances
that he and Blanchard were attending at the Academy in Sloane
Street, describing D. D. Home, his eyes, inferior and pale by
day but, by night, " like little phosphorescent lights that come
together and dart away again." . . . And Barbara Leigh-Smith
would say pettishly, " I do not like death, I tell you ! " in her
downright way, as if confiding to them an unshared singularity.
Cousin to Florence Nightingale : the eldest daughter of
Benjamin Leigh-Smith, she acted as mother to his other
children, commanding his house in Blandford Square, his
servants and the well-hung carriage which the two Rossetti
boys thoroughly appreciated. Her attention had been called
to Gabriel by Ruskin's Edinburgh Lectures and she had sent the
poor penniless lad a copy " Just a slight but very friendly
mention of you on page 16." She was a year older than he
(which, in Victorian apprehension, counted as ten years). He
thought her " a really jolly fellow, with her golden hair, her
breeches, her enthusiasms and her tin," summing up her
advantages with Rossettian shrewdness, for, " kind, indefatig
able and invaluable," her father allowing her three hundred
a year : she regarded money as " the power to do good." Hand
some and healthy, she liked to live in a draught and in the
country wore a costume tending towards that appropriated so
long and so unjustly by the male. But in London she con
formed, though her dress was made of plain material without
fuss or furbelows. Chignonless, she wore a plain band of velvet
round her braided hair.
47
She was not averse to male society but made no concessions
to the pretensions of men (so anxious to reserve all the com
fortable ways of living for themselves), devoting herself and her
wealth to the removal of the disabilities that the law of England
laid on women, more especially on poor clergymen's daughters
and girls forced, without equipment, to become governesses.
The first Suffragette, in a word !
She had built herself, near Hastings, a small house of red
brick in the style of an old Sussex cottage a forerunner of
Morris' protest against Victorian ugliness constantly inviting the
young women engaged with her in The Cause to come there and
recuperate. Anna Mary Howitt's room was crowded with
Catholic emblems. Bessie Parkes, her second best friend, ran
down very often and, at different times, Miss Coutts, Miss
Meteyard, Emily Faithfull, Marian Evans and Eliza Cook in
scribed their names on the red glazed bricks of the mantelpiece 1
in the living-room.
1 It is covered with names.
CHAPTER V
1
ferment set up by the nightly search for models
to paint and women to save, in Rossetti and Hunt,
which left Millais, less morbid than the one and less
didactic than the other, unaffected, was actually
responsible for the first rift among the Brethren. Hunt, intend
ing to contribute his illustration of the problem, was beginning
The Awakened Conscience Miss Annie Miller's conscience for
it was she who posed for the kept woman, standing up starkly
in a drawing-room full of jardinieres and antimacassared chairs,
overcome by hearing one of the songs 1 of her innocence strummed
by her lover at the piano behind her, while the cat pulls over
the what-not table and eats her canary out of the overturned
cage. " Rooms like this " were strange to Hunt : he had set
his Jenny or Rosabell down, for lack of unholy knowledge,
in a room no more lasciviously furnished than his mother's best
parlour.
Rossetti had not yet begun Found, but he could not bear
anyone else to handle that subject. He must counter Hunt :
Hunt was not to have it all his own way !
Brown, who had had some luck " McCrack " had bought
the Chaucer for sixty-three pounds and he had been offered
the place of Head Master at the North London School of
Design had taken a room in Heath Street, and was painting
Work from out the window of a four-wheeled cab. His marriage
was not yet announced. Emma and the child still lived at
Hendon, but she came every day in the bus to see him and
1 Oh ! don't you remember sweet A-a-lice, Ben Bolt,
Sweet Alice with hair so brown ?
She wept with delight, when you gave her a smile,
And trembled with fear at your frown.
In the old churchyard, in the valley, Ben Bolt,
In a corner obscure and alone,
They have fitted a slab of granite so grey,
And sweet Alice lies under the stone.
E 49
receive the clerical instruction that would eventually make her
fit to be introduced to his friends. He wanted Gabriel to
come to Hampstead too and do his Rescue picture ; he would
find him a cart, and a calf new from the cow, and himself pose
for the countryman out of doors, so that Gabriel might get
" the healthy blue that flesh assumes in the open air."
No. Found was emphatically a town subject ; he had to get
the antithesis of Rosabell's countryman- lover coming across his
lost sweetheart in urban degradation.
He saw his Rosabell crouching by one of the London bridges,
and not long since he had gone with Woodward to the site for
the new Crown Insurance Offices which the architect had been
commissioned to do (in Venetian Gothic). There he had
noticed a residential square or place, built in quadrangle form,
tallish houses on both sides of the street ending in the bridge.
From the corner block you could throw a stone out of window on
to people's heads, and on that side he meant to have his rooms.
He had settled it all as he waited for Woodward seeing his
Commissioners. He would (" Yes, if you get up early enough,"
said Brown) see the sun rise on the river (" And smell it ! ").
No, a great waterway like the Thames created a draught and
blew the miasma away. So convenient. The river steamers
served Chatham Place and at the corner were stairs where you
could take a boat. Plenty of windows, though the tax was still
on. Would Brown go with him to see it ? No, better take
William more practical ! Brown saw that the place had
caught the fellow's imagination and that his mind was made up.
So did the landlord, another artist, Edward Duncan of the Old
Water Colour Society, realise that the young fellow with the
inward, concentrated face was set on these particular rooms.
He closed with him and drove a fairly hard bargain for the
premises just vacated by the Newfoundland and Colonial
Schools Society. By November Gabriel was giving parties there.
Chatham Place, in the precinct of Bridewell with a juris
diction of its own, was first called Pitt and then Chatham
Square. It represented a sort of spatulate widening of the
new street that had been cut through the slums of Blackfriars
when the last bit of The Ditch was covered over, leading to the
fine new bridge built across to the Surrey side. Residences for
50
By kind permission of the Librarian of the Guildhall
No. 14 CHATHAM PLACE FROM THE
RIVER. THE BALCONY ROOM x,
gentlemen, set down amid the low-browed squalor, the higgledy-
piggledy buildings of Bridge Street, Queen Street and the
adjacent wharves. On each floor were three windows, arched,
ogival, two on each side of the house door which looked like a
window too. Each house had its little plot of cat-ridden garden
(Never, Boyce, who succeeded him, used to say, were there so
many cats as huttered about St. Bride's !) enclosed in low
green palings with serrated top, boasting a green gate no higher
than a man's knee. There was a lamp-post to every three blocks
and one with two burners came just outside the door of Number
Fourteen.
Chatham Place was purely residential at first ; people were
not afraid to sleep in its airs and successfully reared children
there, 1 but it seemed now more or less given up to Societies
and legal and other offices. The sun shone on the brass plates,
polished every morning, of lawyers, auctioneers and accountants,
insurance and colonial offices, land and immigration buildings,
and even a Society devoted to the Proper Observance of the
Lord's Day. One side of Number Fourteen gave straight on
the river, the cowering wharves, the slippery sets of stairs, the
greasy baulks, the line of them criss-crossed by black cranes and
red sails. One could trace the long curved line of the bridge
and its stone balustrade which " returned " to the recesses
formed over the Ionic columns and pilasters placed upon the
cutwaters of the piers. Both ends widened handsomely into
quadrant corners, with easy flights of steps leading down to the
water. And if one looked up one would see St. Paul's, under
repair, with scaffolding about it, dominating all.
The merit of Chatham Place was the view : its disadvantage
the smell, of which Gabriel Rossetti was more or less uncon
scious ; the odour of the disjecta of Vasto, so to speak, in his
blood probably outdoing that of the Fleet Ditch at its best.
There were romantic compensations. He liked to think he was
living on Church property and therefore accursed; that the
roadway beneath his windows was once a stream on which
navies used to ride and known in its later stage as the River of
Dead Dogs, whose stench was so strong that the monks of
Whitefriars, over the water, used to complain that it overcame
the smell of frankincense on their altars.
1 Emma Lyon was Doctor Buff's nursemaid at Number Eight before she ran
away with Greville and made her fortune, and Miss Dinah Mulock lodged as late
as 1843 with her father in the very house Gabriel Rossetti first thought of taking.
51
Though, it was nearly a hundred years since the Fleet River
had been covered over, the coal wharves, the copper, the lime
and the iron wharves and, worst of all, the Gas Light Company's
wharf, just behind, made a stink combined with that of the
grey, tireless, universal mud splayed over the flats at low tide,
that sent many of his friends, less resistant than he, away from
his parties with a sick-headache. As 'twere an iceberg, the
lower part of the house vaults and cellars that held God knows
what, only not wine was out of all proportion to the habitable
apartments. There was a nice balcony to his end window
looking on the river, where chairs could be placed, and he and
his friends could sit outside and watch the stream of people
going across the bridge. From a big window at the back he
could see the Temple trees and gain the relief of green from
so much grey and blue.
William and he were taken as co-tenants at a rental of forty
pounds per annum, to be paid quarterly, but the younger
brother's name alone appears in the earlier directories. The
sisters, who until the time of Gabriel's marriage called it
"William's," entertained their vicars and pet curates at tea
on the balcony. But William never slept there; he disliked
the place there was not really room for him among the easels
and folios, and he had a nose !
The accommodation (vide William) comprised " a spacious "
painting-room, " a commodious " living-room, a small but very
light bedroom and an ill-lit passage full of dusty book-shelves
between those two last apartments. In taking this suite Gabriel
obviously did not, at that time, contemplate marriage.
All the furniture he bought had to be second-hand : one
could find nothing new nowadays that was even tolerable.
Knock-kneed couches and commodes stained deep with the
crusted rime of ages he would cover with a nappe in the
mediaeval sense of the word pieces of Eastern brocade that lit
up a corner here and there and scraps of Genoa velvet that
made a rich monotone of shadow in another. Lamps, statuettes,
bas-reliefs were propped on spindly etageres or corner cupboards
whose keys had long been lost so that the doors, after being
carefully " put to," would yawn open suddenly at you. " Truck "
(so Mrs. Birrell 1 called it) which had doubtless, as "Mr. Riz-
1 The tenant of the ground floor of Chatham Place who " did " for Mr Rossetti
He calls her Mrs. Burrell: Mr. AUingham Mrs. Birrell: and the Coroner called
her Mrs. Birrill. I have gone by Mr. Allingham's spelling.
52
zetty" said, graced or disgraced the palaces of the Borgias
or the Visconti. She wouldn't give a bob for anything in the
rooms. And on the walls, nearly covering them, squares and
oblongs of coagulated mud, framed in faded gold that he called
pictures, and mirrors that no one could see themselves in, but
that ghosts would certainly look out of, if you were fool enough
to stare into them !
He furnished as he went along : he was not afraid of empty
spaces or unpeopled corners, aware of the value of due alter
nations of dark and light. The dark is the playtime of the
painter's eye, demanding, exulting in clarity all day : pleased
to rest of an evening on the bat's-wing shadows that gather^ so
quietly in the corners, the expanses of velvety gloom on which
the images collected in the day's stress are spilled and spread
to group themselves anew. " The little candle that sheds
its beams but a little way " procures a delightful chiaroscuro :
artists like Rembrandt did not dread the dark. Fancy if the
Magi had been able to see the Christ Child clearly by the light
of an electric bulb attached to the headstall of the manger in
a stable, which nowadays would have been more like a cheerful
bathroom ! Could the Raven have ejaculated his " Never
More ! " with such awful incidence from the bust over the door
if his listener could have studied the outlines of the ungainly
fowl that preached to him of misspent opportunities ? No,
dirt is a part of our Mother Earth, and a layer of it softens the
harsh edges of things. The maid attached to the chambers was
bidden leave things alone and not touch. She obeyed. His
key was always put, when he went out, under the centre mat.
Mrs. Birrell, slightly deaf, when surprised at her avocations on
the ground floor and questioned, got into the way of answering,
" Upstairs for Mr. Rizzetty," for this one of her gentlemen
they were all gentlemen saw more people, was more popular
than the Lord's Day Observance Society and the Prudential
Mutual Life Society and kept more company than Mr. Keates,
Consulting Chemist, or Mr. Simon Rendall, Solicitor.
By November he had ceased to form part of the household
at Arlington Street. He was not on good terms with either
Christina or his father, who had come back from Frome no
better and nearly blind " threatening soon to go under
ground with beloved Polidori." He was worrying his son
on minor points, objecting to his present signature wishing
him to leave out Gabriel and sign himself Dante only and
53
annoyed with him for the delay in the production of his Italian
translations. The son, slightly annoyed and harassed, did not
go to see him very often nowadays.
Number Fourteen was not even ready ; the dilapidations not
properly made good by the last tenant " The window seems
an endless job ! " and he had only one lamp to arrange things
by, but still he offers " tea and squalor at six on Thursday
and a bed," though that might be on the floor, or a share of his
own. He has already asked some men he met at Stephens' on
Sunday, Millais, Hunt and Deverell, and is going to ask the two
Seddons and Collins and perhaps Hannay, if he "can get the room
decent by then." One of the Seddons defaulted, but the
others including young Deverell, looking terribly ill kept
faith. It was a man's party, so The Sid did not go. It was
the last time Gabriel saw Walter Deverell.
3
The first quarter's rent is due and he does not know where
to turn for the money and is adjuring William to get it some
of it anything up to twelve pounds (which was two pounds
over) from a Polidori. Soon a cheque from Aunt Charlotte
comes to hand. Then, " my beastly foot keeps me away from
settling in altogether " so that he continues to occupy a room
in Arlington Street, William being away at Hastings with papa
in lodgings on the parade over which the three families of
Rossetti, Brown and Cave Thomas had a retainer. He seeks
Brown's advice continually. " Will Brown come in late after
School and he will give him half his bed if he likes ? " For
Hampstead was then afar and unget-at-able after eleven when
the buses stopped, and Brown could hardly afford a cab
except to paint from.
" Gabriel is a myth and seldom visible to the naked eye,
but I suppose we are all painting pretty hard in the daytime
and don't know where to find each other o' nights," said one of
the Brethren charitably. Their Chief was behaving like a
newly-made bridegroom, denying himself to visitors and refusing
invitations. Mr. Edmund Blanchard and Mr. Hannay called
but did not find the key under the third mat and, though they
heard voices, they knew better than to ring. Brown wrote
asking Gabriel to dine and go with him to the Photographic
Exhibition, but he declined for he had promised to take " my
54
By kind permission of Harold Hartley, Esq.
ELIZABETH ELEANOR SIDDALL
From a drawing by IX G. Rossetti
pupil " to the last Jullieix concert of the season. But would
not Brown come and see " dear Guggums' l drawings at Chatham
Place instead " ? For, discovering some sort of aptitude, he
had made her take up painting so that she might have something
to do when he was not with her and an excuse for coming to his
studio so often the light was better than in Weymouth Street.
Sometimes he sat to her, his legs thrust straight out on the
seat of the chair on which she propped her little baby easel under
the studio gas, five burners like sausages on a stand, flaring,
hissing, making the most uncanny shadows in the low-ceiled
room. Tea was brought up to them by Mrs. Birrell for six
pence, and Lizzy would shut the door and minister to Gabriel
lying on an extempore couch of three chairs; he never stood
when he could sit or sat when he could lie down. They would
work on until they heard the click of the lamplighter's rod
" setting the two seedy flames astir " that burned there outside
and he, and even Lizzy perhaps, grew hungry. Then they
would go out and have dinner at some chop-house near by
Anderton's or the Green Dragon or the Howard or De Keyser's
hotel, which occupied two of the houses in Chatham Place and
was slowly invading it altogether. But it was rather too grand
for them and too expensive. And after dinner he would s see
her home to Weymouth Street, light up and begin to draw her
again, she sitting huddled in the wicker armchair (the vulgarity
of whose curves would have kept it out of Chatham Place even
at a gift), racked with a pain she could not, Victorianly, name.
Like most Italians he could digest anything so long as it was
succulent and there was enough of it ; but the bane of Bohemia,
which is indigestion, was her's and probably responsible for most
of her inexplicable attacks.
Her dislike of modelhood dated from those days when she
had been smuggled into Somerset House, and with the con
nivance of DeverelPs mother because his father was not to
know. And later on, in Red Lion Square, when Walter's brother
Spenser and his sisters Margaretta and Maria, and wild Eustacia
Davies and demure Harriett Hogarth over from Heston, had
invited themselves to picnic teas with the " Pre-Raffs " as a
great excitement and she had sat mum on the estrade, free to
take a book, while the four swished up and down in their crino
lines, giggling and chattering about the ghost, treating her,
perforce, as if she were one.
1 Her newest pet name, taken from his own " Gug."
55
It would have been in the nature of an insult for the artist
to introduce his paid model to his lady friends.
She had resented men coming in and out and talking freely
as if she wasn't there ; Woolner's stories of his investigations,
conducted by him to please Darwin, into the average suscepti
bilities of models how far down, for instance, they would
blush the first time they stripped for the Altogether. Moreau
had known one who had actually blushed all over. And the
landlord's insolent stipulation with regard to women employed
on his premises for artistic purposes. 1
Gabriel worked her very hard, never asked her if she was
tired as Mr. Deverell used to do ; even beginning afresh after
she had owned to fatigue. When he did grant her a moment's
relaxation and she fell by accident into some new and gracious
posture, bringing out fresh beauties of line and contour, he would
exclaim " Just stop like that ! " and begin a fresh drawing. . . .
Meek, unconscious dove the shrewish turn developed later
she complied easily with all his demands, to please him, doing
her hair in different ways, natural-seeming but all as com
plicated as might be, whorls and arabesques of gold falling
around, and sheltering her cheeks ; elaborate yet loose, a leaning
tower that never fell, so cunningly was its gradient engineered. . . .
In order to be ready to pose to Gabriel at any time she had
informed Walter that she had not now time to go to Kew to
sit for him. Time ! She had all the time in the world. Long
since she had dropped Jeannet and Ellen Britten : Mrs. Deverell,
who used to take her to parties, was dead, and Emma, as Gabriel
said, was " pinnacled in the intense inane " out Hendon way
until she should be educated enough to be presented to them
all.
Lizzy had not introduced her sweetheart to her mother :
why should she ? He had not taken her to see his ! To keep
Lyddy and Clara quiet she had told them in the strictest con
fidence which she knew would be abused, that she was engaged
to be married. And now and then she caught The Paragon or
The Wellington at the corner and went across the river to see
her people without telling Gabriel. But for the most part she
would sit in the window-seat and look across to where her old
home lay, over there under the Surrey Hills that one could see
quite plainly, of a quiet blue on a clear evening the " Sunny
1 " Models to be kept under some restraint, as some gentlemen and artists
sacrifice the dignity of art to the baseness of passion."
56
'ills " Mrs. Birrell called them. She saw again, as in a picture,
the long, low, tiled roofs of the rope-walks, red-tiled, under
which the men walked with bent backs, twisting the strands,
the poplars and alders hanging over the little canals and ditches
in Grange Road and Halfpenny Hatch and the green fields
stretching behind their house with its own long garden, all the
way to Deptford and Wapping. She, who never now did more
than board one omnibus after another, used to tramp with her
sisters and brothers all the way to Champion Hill and Penge !
It was still there, the sign of the bright-coloured Elephant with
the Castle on its back and the two red grocers' teapots outside
Mrs. Rose's, the Swan Tavern with the big white bird and the
horses coming up to drink all day in the trough outside The
World Turned Upside Down as hers was. And the old man
without arms and legs who sat outside the Asylum for the
Blind, and the blind man who drew on the pavement outside
the Bricklayers' Arms.
But she did not forget, for she never could she saw his eyes
now whenever she closed her own the big man in farmer's
clothes who used to come out of his shop and carry her across
the street, when it was muddy, to save her pretty shoes . . .
holding her with his bloody hands. . . . This Mr. Greenacre
used to obsess her, though she thought' of him less since she
had found her vocation. She had been told so often that she
had genius that she now believed it. Brother William, a
competent critic, had declared that she was " of uncommon
capacity and various aptitudes " ; her talent for water-colour
painting may have struck him as being one of them.
Gabriel, of course, said and swore that she was wonderful and
had her little things framed and hung up as finished productions.
Christina, vexed by what she considered her own " non-com
petence in anything," took some drawing lessons from Madox
Brown, but, with the tactlessness that relations use, her brother
forbade her " to attempt to rival The Sid in fainting! " He
made this reservation, for well he knew how great Christina
was, with her little poems scribbled on odds and ends of note-
paper on the corner of her washstand at the rate of sometimes
three a day !
Though she had not been to Albany Street, Miss Sid had met
the sisters in Chatham Place planned carefully. " Tell Chris
tina, if she will come here on Thursday, Lizzy will be here," so
Gabriel writes to William, adding that he will be glad if she will
57
come, as lie has told Lizzy of her wish to do so. A welcome
relenting that periodically occurred whenever Christina's almoner
for the moment had recommended Good Will to All Men
and even to prospective sisters-in-law. But whenever the two
girls met in Chatham Place or at Brown's, Christina, " speaking
sparingly working at worsted ever/ 3 managed to give Lizzy
pain and her brother umbrage. The cold, deliberate in
solence, her attitude of " pushing away " of which her brother-
in-law complains, were her protective armour against the cruel
glances askance dealt from those large, heavy-lidded eyes full
of the dove's crooning passion. Christina, though deeply
religious, was still earth-bound. . . .
CHAPTER VI
I
Liverpool award of prizes had done much, for the
P.R.B. "People are, in fact, affected towards us,"
said Hunt, who had sold Claudio and Isabella and
paid off his debt to the old Millais'. Johnny was suc
cessful with a portrait of Mrs. Ruskin in The Order of Release.
Pre-Raphaelitism had already " become too laborious " for him ; x
and not even a business proposition, so his mother said. And poor
Walter Deverell had exhibited two pictures, for both of which
Lizzy had posed, Twelfth Night and The Marriage of Rosalind and
Orlando. The rumours of his ill-health that had been going
about appeared to have no foundation. But Gabriel had looked
unwell for some time, so Scotus said when he came up to town
that Spring to see the R.A. Exhibition and Gabriel's picture. 2
He stayed in Chatham Place and fell ill himself.
Gabriel had a boil of which he could not get rid in spite of
Maria's poultices, but did not connect Scott's ailing and his
own with Chatham Place. Yet all the papers that year were full
of the state of the river and questions were asked in Parliament.
His mother put her finger on the spot at once, but he silenced
her by telling her that a doctor who came to a party in Chatham
Place had " liked the situation very much " and, by the way,
his boil was better. 3
1 George Moore : Impressions and Opinions.
' 2 He was painting Giotto occupied on the Portrait of Dante, in his hand a pomander,
made in the shape of Katherine of Aragon's badge the grenada or open pomegranate.
People carried them in the Middle Ages, to deaden the effluvia of uncharted detritus
and drainage matter. Such an object Theroigne de Mericourt, when she rode the
cannon to Versailles, wore fixed in the head of her cane, to neutralise the smell
of the Sacred People.
3 Like many artists he did not notice smells. The divine furore of composition
is an antidote to attacks of that kind. As one lights a fire in an infected area^to
purify the air, so the artist, burning with the creative fever, is unconscious of outside
stimuli, good or bad, for the time. I have seen my father sitting at his^easel, planted
on the roof of a pigstye, contentedly painting away for a week of mornings.
59
In June, however, he told her that he was going to Scott's
for a week or two, " as I keep getting ill," to see if the fresh air
and bathing would cure his boil. " Tynemouth is only half-an-
hour from Newcastle by rail so that I can go out for the day and
bathe." i
Borrowing a carpet bag from someone, he took the train
and travelled from 7 a.m. to 9 p.m., arrived in Newcastle and
drove to St. Thomas Street in time for supper, full of his woes and
with his carbuncle for Mrs. Scott to nurse she gathered that
Miss Sid was not good at poulticing.
From Newcastle, in a letter marked Private, he informed his
brother that she might be working at Chatham Place, perhaps
sleeping there, " so please don't encourage anyone to go near the
place " except " McCrack," who was to be allowed to see certain
works by arrangement. Lizzy would pick up his letters and
forward them.
Mr. McCracken did not go to Chatham Place after all and,
even if he had, would not have been shocked if the artist's pretty
model had opened the door to him. The other tenants, meeting
her on the stairs, thought of her as Mr. Rossetti's mistress. Mrs.
Birrell, though perfectly civil, probably thought so too for
gentlemen, even the most hard-working, do not care as a rule to
live without female society of a kind. Lizzy was probably
the first woman to live by herself in a bachelor's flat. Stiff,
haughty and fearless, looking not in the least professional model
or mistress she just took her clothes, her baby easel and her big
wprkbox to Gabriel's rooms and stayed there, living for days
without speaking to a single human creature except the caretaker
and her daughter. She went out for her meals or brought in
something in a bag. There was no provision for cooking at
Number Fourteen, even if she had known how.
^She coughed a little, but not enough to keep her awake at
night and, if it did, she would lie still, inventing and remembering
poetry, listening to the various night-sounds, shouts, cries,
screams even, but was not afraid " with any amazement," for
nothing had happened to her as yet and she feared little except
1 Tynemoutli is the Lido of Newcastle which is as smelly as Blackfriars and was
just then getting ready for its epidemic of cholera in the autumn Though Gabriel
did not bathe at Tynemouth or anywhere else, he did carry out the other part of his
programme and walked twelve miles in one day for the last time.
60
earthquakes, which mostly occurred abroad. But this was a
queer house to be alone in. The foundations were so many
times in the twenty-four hours, actually in the water : in the
night, when you heard it best or worst weltering about the
corner stones back and forth " the blind wave feeling round
his long sea wall, In silence ..." from her favourite poet. He
had happened to mean a particular cave by the sea, 1 she had been
told, hollowed out of the base of a black basalt cliff, at the end of
a quiet bight where the fishes go to spawn . . . somewhere in
Yorkshire. It fitted here.
3
Gabriel came back full of complaints. Newcastle was a
beastly place. Nor had he been a success. He had kicked
Scott's dog and abused Scott's admirable and beloved brother
David, but he had written Sister Helen and painted Carlisle Wall.
To return, he had entrained at Newcastle for Coventry, and
thence to Stratford, where he had sat upon a hillside and (in a
sonnet) " seen the gold air and the sunset fade, And the last
bird fly into the last light." And then (see his bread-and-butter
letter) " back to the accursed circle, bones and skulls rattling,
goblins mumbling, owls beating their obscene wings." Maybe
he was receiving some Freudian information of the obscure
root of his malaise. But he put it down to the incidence of
the rent and disappointment over McCracken's not having
turned up.
The first thing he saw when he let himself in was the portrait
of herself which his clever sweetheart had been doing while he
was away, for a surprise. He lifted the canvas from the floor.
She had exaggerated her defects : the too prominent eyelids,
the mouth pursed like that of a nursery governess. He almost
laughed but he never laughed though it was a fine per
formance for one who had only just begun to handle oils. The
poise of the head was amiss ; the artist, doubled with the model,
had had to crane backwards at every stroke and then resume the
position. He alone knew how to pose her the right way, in the
attitude she at once took on when told to let herself go, surprising
1 Was it Lear's too the wave that
. . . keeps eternal whisperings around
Desolate shores and with its nightly swell
Gluts twice ten thousand caverns.
61
in so young a girl, as of a woman whose lover has kissed her
" until she be wearied out/ 3 assuming the aspect of passion
jaded, yet eager for a renewal of love, her pale eyes, " as of a dove
that sickeneth," hid " in the sweet dimness of her loosened hair's
downfall." The hair that people had jeered at, jeered at still,
and that perversely had bound him to her for ever, as a man and
an artist, so that when he painted her or wrote of her, upsurged
in him all his old tenderness.
That bewitched, inhibited man, Ruskin, knew it and told him
often how much more " beautifully and subtly " he worked when
Lizzy sat to him. " She cures you of your worst faults when you
only look at her."
But she was no good at nursing, so he went back to Arlington
Street to be tended by sister Maria. Scott invited him back to
Hexham, but now it would be too hot in Newcastle. He spent
the next three weeks mostly in bed at his people's house. The
boil gave way to Maria's treatment, so that he left off his poul
tices, got out of bed, came down to the parlour and was wearying
to get back to his study. He had an idea that the housekeeper
and Lizzy between them had kept McCrack away.
4
She worked at her portrait and by August it was finished
" A perfect wonder ! " Gabriel said, helped a little with the
colour, and was going to send it to the Exhibition. . . , " She
has been very ill though, lately."
This is the first discernible waft of the wings of Azrael the
Angel of Death. 1 Emma Brown did not at all like the look of
her young friend. Near the Browns, at Twenty-four Sussex
Lodge, Finchley Road, a friend of the Howitts had come to
live whose daughters played with his little Cathy. Not quite
an ordinary doctor; he was a Homoeopath, a Swedenborgian
and a bit of a crank, and published poems which he said he had
been " constrained to write without his own volition." 2
Gabriel quite approved of Emma's taking Lizzy to see
Dr. Wilkinson. He did not particularly want to call in the
family doctor.
1 About August 25th, 1853.
2 What Gabriel always called the " Bogie Poems." It was Garth Wilkinson
who introduced Blake to the reading world
62
Y ^^
ind permission of Harold Hartley, Esq.
ELIZABETH ELEANOR SIDDALL
From a drawing by D. G. Rossetti
5
Wilkinson did not send Mrs. Brown out of the room, for he
did not think Miss Siddal would stand it. He indicated an
armchair and she assumed the position in which she could sit
the longest. Big-faced, quiet, tall and straight as a spear, gentle
and deliberate in manner, Wilkinson considered her. Fatefully
roseate, perniciously lovely, she waited until he should tell her
her fate, sitting very still, with half-closed eyelids, head pressed
back into the swelling cushion that almost hid her cheeks on both
sides. The contour of the bosom was dissimulated under the
plaited folds of her dress, the whole languid torso masked by its
sheath of pliable whalebones converging to the low-placed,
pointed waist. But he could see that there was no such con
striction as ladies use. He noted the long thin feet pushed out
from under her skirts, crossed on the footstool he had advanced
for her. She did not use them much they were as thin as her
hands. He noted those, flabby and blue-veined, and the shape
of the arms -like little Lyddy's, fine, but in her case out of
proportion to the rest, lying supported on the arms of the chair.
" Move them ! " he ordered, and the sheaf of fingers was clasped
and fell again into her lap as if she would never lift them again.
Long legs, long fingers, long throat, dullish prominent eyes,
luxuriant hair all characteristic of one type of what we now
colloquially call T.B. Distinct curvature of the spine ! He asked
the usual questions about her way of life, and experienced the
same difficulty as William Rossetti did in getting anything out
of her, though she did not, of course, permit herself to be
" flighty " with him. Her life was still her own, though death
was implicit in it. Both she and Wilkinson, approaching the
theme from different angles and avenues, knew this. The poet
in the doctor got at the deep, dark kernel of inward knowledge
that every human being possesses about himself.
She was vocal enough about the unhealthiness, the cold and
damp of her old home, which had doubtless encouraged the
illness ; the stagnant canals and cluttered-up hatches and the
mixed smells of the avocations practised by the inhabitants of
the region ; parchment, glue, size and chemical works, and how
the Mumpers who made brooms, always said that the Plague,
which had been so bad hereabouts, still lingered. She was too
loyal to her parents and to Millais to mention her fireless bedroom
and tell of that P.R.B. experiment on the body of a hapless
63
woman in Gower Street, but she owed no loyalty to Mrs. Tozer
there was no need to blink facts there. But of the crescent
horror of her childhood, which grew with her growth instead of
fading out with puberty and the onrush of fresh images, 1 she
told him nothing. Her class is notoriously shy of doctors.
Garth Wilkinson recommended change and a confrere of his,
Doctor Hailes of Hastings. She must not think of working for
the present.
But Gabriel, getting a nice commission from Routledge to
illustrate a selection of her own dear Border Ballads, to be
chosen by her own dear Allingham, handed over some of her
favourites to see what she could do with them. " She ought not
to paint, but this, of course, she must do." At least she was
taking her codliver oil.
She had refused to tell him in detail what the doctor had said,
he put no faith in Mrs. Brown's version, who would ? and,
like many another artist, confronted with circumstances which
he humanly conceived himself powerless to avert, took refuge
in a cynicism which haply belied his real feelings. " Models
suffer from sitting still -when they are consumptive," and " always
contrive to look their worst when wanted to look their best," and
other such thankless speeches, came from his lips. Like a priest
serving the altar who should. suddenly see the Madonna swoon
from her pedestal, deprived for the nonce of her good offices and
intercessions, so he, suddenly saddled with the care and protection
of an invalid, was unable to adopt the ancillary attitude and leave
his own comfort out of the question. What was he to do ? He
had any amount of commissions to fulfil. Going away just now
was an impossibility. There was " McCracFs " commission,
with which he was getting on, and the Flint arrears. He had
not time to take her to the seaside, and even if he had had time,
no money for lodgings, and the rent was due here and, instead of
setting to and painting a picture to raise it, he was making and
sending Scott caricatures of his landlord tearing his hair, with
a scrip of objurgation issuing from his mouth !
6
Partly out of rivalry of Christina, Lizzy was writing verse that
she made no attempt to publish nor Rossetti for her. The
1 William Rossetti, in his so brief account of his sister-in-law, considers the
memory of the murderer's very touch as worth recording. He realised its Freudian
signification and once, at the Robinsons', he told me all about it.
poems were not quite good enough ; like her drawings, frustrate,
without force, mere imitations of her Master, down to his great
idea of Inter-Redemption. But her version of the Rescue-
Complex was as the little lecture of Browning's Pippa to the
whores of Venice as against the tremendous implications of
Jenny and The Blessed Damozel.
She herself is the protagonist throughout. She has died,
and winged angels have borne her up to the Judgment Seat to
tell the Christ, bending down, her woes. And later, these
angels " her lover's soul shall bring " while she stands by singing
and they play among themselves. She sings because she is glad,
she knows that all will be well and they are both to be received
into Eternal Life, when " he and she and Angels three Before
God's Face shall stand " at last.
She will go first, of course, but Gabriel is not to grieve or weep
bitter tears that might prevent her soul from passing, but to sit
meekly at her side and " watch her young life flee." And when she
is dead he is to distinguish her in the throng of spirits floating
past. . . . They are represented so, flying across a starry heaven
in the Lasinio book that old Mr. Millais'had given to Gabriel,
which was now in the little passage-room full of books that nobody
ever dusted.
She worked up her poems, much as Swinburne did, inserting
and erasing, like him, on long sheets of blue post paper, altering
and re-altering them : urgently Pre-Raphaelite in her attempt to
get the one lonely word, because it is the only one, and the little
intimate detail amid the rhetoric which will bring the situation
before us. Her range of subjects suggests Edgar Allan Poe,
of whose verse she had heard so much repeated. " Gone, gone
for ever like the tender dove, That left the ark, alone," The
buried shepherd's grave, grass-grown, " where his lambs could
come and bleat over him." Like Poe, who said he stayed for
fourteen nights in the churchyard where his lost Lenore was
buried, Lizzy's thought, after her visit to the doctor, dwelt on
" grey headstones and green moss pale church-grass waving
in the wind " that is blowing the brown leaves over, or kissing
the dust from off the tombs with faint carven effigies of the dead
prone along their surfaces
Lying alone
With hands pleading earnestly
All in white stone.
6 S
CHAPTER VII
i
WILLIAM ALLINGHAM came over in October
and, visiting the circle at Highgate, the Seddons,
the Tebbs, Patmore and the Howitts, was told of
Miss SiddalPs state of health, of which they could
not get Gabriel to take enough notice. Barbara Smith, deep-
toned, gave him instructions how to find Gabriel in his
new digs.
Gabriel was painting, but he quickly took his picture off the
easel and turned it to the wall. It was not Found. He had left
that aside in a temper in two tempers. He was annoyed with
Hunt for another reason than *The Awakened Conscience, and with
Johnny Millais too. The pair had managed to collar Ruskin,
who refused to recognise dear old Brown at all, and whose
acquaintance he himself seemed so far unable to make. Yet Hunt
(and Halliday) had been staying with him that autumn in a
lonely cottage in the Highlands, where the Professor had installed
himself, his young wife and a beautiful young man, leaving them
alone together while he went to Edinburgh to give his lectures.
Halliday had remonstrated with him, in view of the appointments
of the cottage. There was not room to swing a cat in it and
meals were sent round from the inn. Millais had twice run
away from temptation, and returned. He was going back now.
He had only come up to receive his Academy Diploma, and Hunt
was staying in London, putting off his journey to the East
because he was trying to get Johnny to go too and keep out of
mischief.
Millais would not go, Gabriel told Allingham. Something
else, more important than a woman to him, was keeping him
back. A friend !
2
" If you want to see Deverell alive you had better go soon, for
he is very bad."
66
Deverell had been ailing for the last six months, but had
insisted on going on with, his work ; his brothers and sisters were
dependent on him since his father's death. His complaint was
now found to be Doctor Bright's disease of the kidneys. 67
October people had begun to guess the truth. Woolner, return
ing from the Antipodes, wrote that he hoped that " maybe
Hunt would be back too " (Hunt, who had not yet gone), and
the Brethren would all meet and enjoy themselves again " poor
Deverell excepted."
Misfortune dogged the poor lad. After his father died a little
sister was struck with paralysis and lost the use of her arm for life.
Then he, the breadwinner, got ill. The move from the Strand
to Kew had necessitated going backwards and forwards to his job
in all weathers, walking home in the rain or travelling in draughty
third-class carriages. Gabriel begged him to use one of the
rooms in Number Fourteen, " but he keeps off coming to me
because of some sketches he wants to make for his next picture." l
He did not know his danger but, in November, Dr. Marshall,
who was by way of attending the Pre-Raphaelites for nothing,
confirmed the verdict of Deverell's own doctor. There was a'
chance for him if he would only take reasonable care but, the way
he was going on, he had only two months to live. Rossetti had
repeated his offer of Chatham Place, " so much more cheerful
than Kew " but Deverell had answered coldly that he must not
think of moving just now.
He was never again to darken its doors, but if we are to believe
Stephens and Lizzy, his fleeting thought travelled there in the
moment of death.
In those last weeks he turned to Hunt and Millais, though it
was Rossetti he had loved. Millais, the only one of the P.R.B.
to win the fight of their juvenescence, was now but faintly
putting up the other great fight in which he did not win. " He
won't go back to Glenfinlas," they said but he did. Returning
to London on Christmas Day he went to church three times
and next week dined with his enchantress at Herne Hill. Yet,
in love, ambitious and hard at work, he found time to sit with
his sick friend, reading aloud to him, beating up help. . . . He
begged for Deverell of Ruskin, whose portrait he was painting,
whose wife he was stealing, of kind Mrs. Combe for comforts for
the sick man. He deplored the apathy of those about Walter,
the servant incompetent and the young sister not much use.
1 The Doctor's Visit.
6 7
" Last night she went out to a dance and was not back till twelve
o'clock," l so that when Millais got to Margaretta Terrace, where
they had moved, the fire was out and the patient leaning un
covered half out of bed. He could only touch toast and milk
and was wasting away. Millais thought it time he saw a clergy
man, but they dared not tell him because he was fretting over the
fate, in the event of his death, of his people.
They let him know one cold February morning that he could
not live through the day. Wishing a little fretfully that he had
been told before, he supposed he was " man enough to die/' and
died as his father had made him live, an agnostic, without
benefit of clergy. He had not been able to hear what was said
to him for some days before, but, when Rossetti came uninvited,
he rose up in bed and kissed him.
Rossetti wished that he had been- able to go oftener but
supposed that the patient would not have been allowed to see
him ? " Pity ! He might have had something to say to me ! "
He might, indeed.
Lizzy, with Frederic Stephens, had been leaning out of the
window in Chatham Place on that snowy morning, watching
through the curtain of snowflakes the people going over the
bridge. Gabriel was inside working. Stephens had said sud
denly, " There goes Deverell ! "
It was the very moment he died alone in the room the nurse
away and Millais waiting in the parlour.
3
At the funeral were Brown, Stephens, Munro and of course
Millais, but Gabriel averred that he " could not trust his excit
able nature." He was invited to a party that very evening but
did not know if he " would be in spirits to go to it." He kindly
undertook to finish a picture the dead man had left on the easel,
so that the family would get the money, and kept his word, taking
licence to alter " what I do not quite like in the face t>f Celia," for
which Lizzy had sat.
His letters to his intimates gave colour to inevitable inferences
with regard to the triple relation of Walter, Lizzy and himself.
" Him whose heart has so often beat with mine in the longing
which Death could only end for either ! " And to Scott,
" May God bless him and bless you and me ! " There was no
1 Life of John Everett Millais.
68
doubt that this couple were, both of them, deeply disturbed and
distressed by the death of that pale, piteous man, and the
woman at once began to manoeuvre for position, and none of
them blamed her certainly not Brown.
Once Gabriel's model now his pupil ; a slight step, but no
nearer than that, in five years !
Living in rooms by herself, spending the rest of her time
in the company of one man, closeted with him alone for hours,
for days, for nights, using his chambers when he was away . . .
sleeping in his bed . . . yet unable to point to a ring on her third
finger, she had every excuse for seeking to get the situation
regularised and for using Walter Deverell in the assault on
Gabriel's emotions.
The long sheets of blue post with their clauses and erasures
were stamped with a new morbidity: full of talk of " her ghostly
connections " that was to distress Acland and Ruskin so deeply.
Unsummoned, he returned to me,
The great strong heart that loved me so.
Nay, but summoned, he did not come. The Sid was to be seen
constantly at The Tables, her long white hands posed on the
shining mahogany and her chin upturned in the intense yearning
for spiritual communion, now at the house of the Howitts', now
at Home's Seances in Sloane Street and elsewhere. But she
never " got " him : she knew she never would, except through
her own death.
Soon I'll return to thee
Hopeful and brave
When the dead leaves
Blow over thy grave.
Soon must I leave thee
This sweet summer tide.
That other is waiting
To claim his pale bride. 1
He wasn't, that was the worst of it.
A duel, silent but to the death began, between these two. As
a means to the end, perhaps unconsciously, she encouraged
Rossetti's complex, reading up Dante, adapting her appearance
to mediaeval standards in the house, that is. In those days even
Gabriel, so frowsty at home, would have been q-uite upset at
seeing a lady without gloves in the street. She walked herself
1 Rossetti, Evelyn Waugh.
6 9
sick, she got her feet wet, she sat till she dropped, she missed her
meals, she asked nothing in return except marriage ; she yielded
everything (except that which mediaeval romancers call la chose).
And Gabriel Rossetti wanted that from a woman among other
things. Her Victorian airs, her mediaeval rigours stimulated
his lazy libertinism j he thought only of abolishing so much
pride !
Strong in her carefully held virginity, tempting in her rose-
white purity, the English girl was not afraid to be alone day in,
day out, with this imperious, hot-blooded Italian. That long,
proud neck of hers, that tall, high-breasted figure, those cheerless
eyes made for chastity, those carefully careless bandeaux of golden
hair, like the nymph's " unloosened zone," suggesting uses other
than art to which beauty could be put. . . .
But so cruel, this meek unconscious dove ! Her attitude, like
that of the mediaeval ladies, of whom she read with Gabriel,
towards their lovers withholding le don de V amour euse merci,
but condescending to play with them, placing them in ridiculous
positions, exchanging clothes and personalities with their waiting-
maids, getting them ducked in ponds or beaten with rods, adopt
ing, according to mediaeval chroniclers, even more vulgar ex
pedients, hiding them in cellars or up chimneys to be discovered
there by irate husbands and given over before their eyes to the
coarsest of revenges. . . . Or, like the high-born damsel of whom
Brant6me tells us, who had her lover imprisoned and once a day
visited him, lazily undressing herself before the bars of his cage.
Dante never possessed the Florentine; perhaps he never
wanted to, but the constant companionship of one who had some
of the sensuality of the consumptive, ill, but beautiful and
desirable, was exacerbating to nerves that surrender might have
assuaged and set the mind of the artist free, letting him make
of her the spaniel he could kick instead of the Blue Bird he could
not snare. His brusqueries, even brutalities, were sign of
nervous disarray when she was present, the revolt of him who
was used to sex-submission. . . .
" My mind and my feelings are my own . . ."
And^ my body too ! Such obstinacy in withdrawal annoyed
and stimulated ; brought out some sort of Sadie twist in him
and drove him to reprisals. To her, who did as Patmore says all
women may, " on her sweet self set her own price/' she denied
the gift within her provenance.
He was starving her out, wilfully, perhaps? The idea of
70
downing so much pride possessed him until he actually came to
want her because she was recalcitrant.
And her rigours paved the way for Annie Miller and Fanny.
4
It was reserved for William Allingham to drive Rossetti into
the formal engagement to which his friends had almost ceased
to look forward.
In February of this year he gave up his post in the Customs and
came to London to make a living by literature. He had secured
work on Household Words through his friendship with Dickens,
and Hepworth Dixon of The Aihenawn was well affected towards
him. Wearing his outlandish blue cloak that matched his eyes
he secured a room in Southampton Row, left a note at Rossetti' s
and, on his return, found an invitation from him to Chatham
Place that evening saying that the writer had not slept for nights
and that Lizzy was rather bad again.
It was a man's party Stephens, Hannay, Patmore, Halliday,
but not Millais " out of the way, love-making." There was
George Price Boyce, an architect who had just become a land
scape painter, Whitley Stokes, C.I.E., LL.D., a Celtic scholar,
George Sala, a journalist, and Cayley, Christina's admirer and
William, of course. There was whisky-punch, oysters and tea
and smell the river was getting more and more objectionable.
The last guest did not clear off till two, and then the host, in
his horror of being left alone, offered to see Allingham home.
Noting, counting carefully as usual the " forlorn " women in
the Strand, they came to his rooms and for a long time stood
together at the window watching the blue stars going in and
the dawn coming up under a thick stretch of reddish-brown
cloud till in the clear soft light the outlines of the Lombardy
poplar just in front were made out and Rossetti, with a
deep blowing sigh, went back (he said) to paint all night when
there was no night left forgetting to shut the house door
behind him !
After that they were together for the greater part of each day
Allingham and Gabriel and Boyce (a very nice fellow), visiting
divers places of amusement. The Crystal Palace, in its new home
at Sydenham paint-pots still about and workmen daubing it red
and blue on a sort of Alhambra model Regent's Park, to watch
the water- fowl rushing about in the kindly air ; Rossetti nervous,
making patterns in the gravel all the way with the point of his
umbrella. They dined at a new place Rossetti had found in
Bankside, Southon's, where a " cordial Stunner " waited, and
supped at another chop-house where there was a " Belle (pas)
Sauvage " with whom Gabriel chose to impute a flirtation to
Allingham.
On St. Patrick's Day, the sun setting as a red globe as they
hung over the Bridge, Gabriel took him across it into Southwark
to show him some old Chaucerian houses, and to where Lizzy's
people lived in the bad street " full of Broom Men and Mum
pers," whatever they might be. Gabriel showed him the house
he had never been in it. Once or twice Allingham fancied Gabriel
was going to begin about her, but he turned off and discussed
Milton.
Not until they had been going about together for nearly a week
did he allude to Lizzy, and that was in connection with his sister's
poems, which were of course a hundred times better than Lizzy's
and not all harping on Death and Deverell.
Allingham had been to tea in Albany Street, played chess
with Gabriel's father and looked over books of cuttings with
the sisters. He thought Christina pretty but delicate-looking
though they, none of them, seemed to notice it. He had been
introduced to a cousin Teodorico with beady black eyes, and
then he met Miss Sid again, more or less by accident. He ran
into Gabriel and Hughes in Fleet Street and Gabriel said, walk to
the Howitts' with them.
They drove to Albany Street, picked up William and Christina,
and set out for Highgate. Gabriel, William and Christina were
respectively twenty-six, twenty-five and twenty-four. William
was already nearly bald and Gabriel wore a beard. Allingham,
thirty, a man of the world, was the doyen of the party.
It was six miles to The Hermitage. They would stay on to
supper and hoped with luck to catch the last bus home or Miss
Leigh-Smith might be there and give them a lift in her new
carriage with india-rubber wheels. All except carriage folk in
those days were fain to use the new omnibuses x that lumbered
along the roads like rocking lilies in a storm, piloting " to
1 some
With richest purple, some are blue
As skies that tempt the swallows back
. . . some barred with black
And yellow, like the April bees. . . .
CALVERLEY.
72
happy homes by Heath and Hill, by Park or Grove," the artistic
and literary fraternity. Rossetti's little life was rounded by
buses and Swinburne's, better off, by cabs.
Past the barracks, out of their own street by the York and
Albany, Park Street, then as now the street of curios, and along
the High Street of Camden Town that ran at the back of Number
Thirty- eight, whose garden wall the boys had many a time shinned
over to go to the play. After Mornington Crescent the road was
bordered on both sides by houses with gardens and wicket gates
as far as Mother Red Cap Mother Damnable painted on the
sign dangling in the wind over the inn yard with its grey wooden
benches shaped like old men's jaws. Then fields where cows
were grazing in meadows, both sides of the road all along to
Kentish Town, and it was good until they came to where the
new road to Holloway forked off, turning westwards at St. John's
Chapel in Green Street, low-lying, and at Carker's Lane the
Fleet River that rises in the Hampstead hills (" and comes out by
my place underground, poor thing ! " Gabriel said), and crosses
the road to lose itself in the watery meadows on the right. A
few handsome houses on the one side and on the other farms and
fields with cows looking like swollen mushrooms feeding, and the
maid that milked them standing beside a not too common
sight nowadays.
Christina was hampered, like any mediaeval lady in hennin and
surcoat, by her five full-starched petticoats the Pre-Raphaelite
women refused to adopt the light, helpful, steel-frame that
Eugenie had just brought in and her flapping straw hat with
strings that would come untied. At last they came to the three
ponds lying in the hollow at the bottom of West Hill, belted by
trees new-covered with keys of pale green, shining in the sunset
glow. The sun was glinting on the diamonded panes of The
Hermitage, what you could see of them for the ivy and wistaria,
the creepers rooted in pots on the verandah climbing up to meet
the verdure on the roof. And Mrs. Howitt and Anna Mary were
sitting on the lawn with Professor de Morgan, Mr. Atkinson of
Ambleside and a tall young lady who rose and sat down again as
if weary when she missed the effusive greeting which Christina
Rossetti, tired as she was, took care not to give her.
Though Anna Mary Howitt, subjugated, never took her eyes
off her, between Lizzy and the sister of Gabriel waved all the
trees of the forest of Broceliaunde and the waters of No Man's
Land ran between. Always the poet had to think of this woman
73
in terms of romance a Vivien, a Swan Maiden, a Banshee that
Gabriel had bought or caught and carried home to bide miserably
awhile among men. One day she would go " in a waff " back to
her own people ! Gabriel would never be able to keep her, she
was not really for him. . . . Would he care ? There was no
knowing. No one knew.
5
It was over four years since Allingham had set eyes on the
milliner's girl out of Cranbourn Alley, whom Rossetti's friends
called grandiloquently " The Sid," and Rossetti, familiarly,
"Guggums." (He had always been " Gug.") She had, he
remembered, been rosy and slightly freckled. Some of the
colour and all the freckles were gone now. She Was terribly thin,
her shoulders supported her brown braided, canezou jacket as if
they had been two of the pegs that they hung the linen on to dry
in the yard at home. If it had not been for her hair, bright,
springing, vital as ever, he thought he would not have known
her.
He could not remember ever having heard her speak and he
did not, in the welter of literary and artistic conversation that
always prevailed when the two Rossettis were present, hear her
voice now, but he had a queer feeling that she might easily be
talking and he not hear ... a voice behind glass or under water,
notes of queer stifled woe such as might rise from one of those
patches of blood on Elfin Mere after the Maids had dis
appeared. . . .
The talk might have interested her, since, as he heard, she had
recently taken up art. In that month of reaping, for painters,
of the entire year's harvest now being prepared for the assessment
of the Royal Academy and the verdict of the terrible Tutor of
Art, Ruskin, no one in these circles talked of anything but prices
and reviews, critics and editors, artists' hopes, and such moral
impedimenta in their lives as in a Victorian age, might prevent
the fulfilment of those hopes. A crim. con., a running-away would
easily dash a man's prospects.
Millais, returned from Scotland, with his thumbnail badly
crushed, making a bridge of stones over the Finlass for Mrs.
Ruskin to walk over, was supposed to be at work on his portrait
of Ruskin for the R.A., but no one had seen him or it. Rossetti
had sent nothing in. Holman Hunt was still abroad, but The
74
Light was ready and The Awakened Conscience, a subject slightly-
novel. But he would not be back to hear the critics on it.
Of the latter Allingham was already one and petted accordingly.
Did he write that nice notice of Anna Mary's picture in the
Portland Gallery? No, alas; but he had become a buyer and
had paid George Price Boyce ten pounds for a small water-colour.
He did not tell them, but he had met Millais a night or two
ago and had walked back to Gower Street with him to see the
portrait, begun last year at Glenfinlas, of a thin, spare gentleman
in a coat by Stultz the one he had ordered to give his Edinburgh
Lectures in standing astride a small, rough, rock-bedded rivulet
in the attitude of one just about to enter a drawing-room. . . .
Cold, cold the blue tie, the grey suit, the gleams over the stream,
the grey clouds at the back rolling over Ben Ledi. Allingham
was no gossip but he had a touch of second sight, he noticed that
people cut him short the moment he began to talk about Millais.
Millais was in mischief! The picture was not going to get itself
finished.
He asked Miss Siddal to take him a turn and show him Mrs.
Howitt's flowers. He talked to her, told her what he fancied she
would like to hear, about his friend Tennyson, the faery man who
could see moonlight reflected in the eyes of a nightingale and hear
the tiny shrieking bats in the garden at Montpelier Row, and who
liked white things white lilac white peacocks. And about
Ellen Britten, who had been with her at Mrs. Tozer's. He had
met Ellen ; she was a model too now. And then it was time to
go and there was no Barbara to drive them home ; and they were
all to meet at The Princess's to see Miss Cushman on Friday.
They had missed the yellow bus from the Archway to Victoria
and had to walk to Mother Red Cap, where Gabriel might pick up
the one from Finsbury Park. Miss Sid walked between him
and his brother. Allingham naturally offered his arm to Miss
Christina, which she accepted. She seemed even more tired than
the other girl. She told him what Doctor Wilkinson had said
about Miss Siddal, as reported by Gabriel. It was her spine.^
She would be all right if she took care and went on with the'
codliver oil.
At The York and Albany they put her into her bus for
Weymouth Street and Allingham parted with the Rossettis and
went to his new lodgings in Queen Square. Gabriel had
asked them all to tea in his studio in Chatham Place on the
Friday of next week.
75
CHAPTER VIII
i
PEOPLE were so nice to Mr. Allingham that he felt
pretty sure of getting a permanent job in London,
and then. Good-bye Ballyshannon ! He moved to very
much better rooms at seventeen shillings a week, with
the services of a maid. He could give suppers ; fish, oysters,
washed down with beer and tea and sherry-cobbler dinners of
cold beef, sausage and chops sent up on hot-water plates, coffee,
tea, and jam roll (and marmalade for Munro).
This amiable, sympathetic and cultivated man who hobnobbed
with established celebrities like Carlyle, Clough, Dickens and
Thackeray and the interesting Pre-Raphaelite Brethren, and
wrote a regular newsletter about them all once a week to Mr. and
Mrs. Browning in Florence, was welcome everywhere. He would
stroll in the morning into publishers' and editors' offices. He
would lunch with the Smiths in Blandford Square or with the
Tom Taylors at Eagle Lodge and take tea with the Carlyles in
Cheyne Walk or with Tennyson in Lincoln's Inn Fields. He would
pass through sale-rooms and picture exhibitions, dip into the
churches of fashionable preachers or into the House when a
debate was on. And he generally got seats for the Opera, where
of course he took Gabriel or William. He went with them and
" Miss Sid " to the play, -balcony stalls even to church, and
to Gabriel's stiffish parties in Chatham Place fruitless efforts
to call a desert peace inviting William and his sisters to meet the
girl they were so afraid of his marrying, and others George Boyce
who did not like Miss Sid much and would much rather have met
Annie Miller. They would all consume oysters and drink beer
and sit by turns on the famous balcony that looked over the river.
It was very " slow." After a while The Sid would fade quietly
out of the room, leaving no particular void, and there would be
a welcome closing up of the family ranks, for Gabriel really loved
these people though he could not get them to be nice to his
76
girl. And later the Rossettis would all walk away in a quiet
party up Chancery Lane.
The river steamers " served " Blackfriars, and next day
Allingham picked up the lovers at Chatham Place and they took
boat to London Bridge, standing all the way because the steamer
was crowded, staring up at St. Paul's with its fretwork of scaffold
ing as they passed, not altogether comfortably; watching the
officer empowered to board all steamers and arrest for debt,
recognisable only by the small silver key on his button-hole. And
then by rail to Greenwich.
Women, thought Allingham, hate expeditions the leaving
their base, which may be their throne. All except his great and
generous Barbara, who dressed for them properly and went out
hatless, rain or shine, " in the sacred name of pigment.'' But
Lizzy's kid gloves were soiled before they left the train, the
braid on the hem of her long dress came unsewn as soon as they
got out of the station and, by the time they reached the Park
gates, her hair was really down and not merely arranged to look
as if it were.
She had started tired ; Gabriel bored. Allingham noted her
absence of fellowship, of warmth in speech, her reticence of
gesture as it were the setting in of some sort of ice-age in a
woman. . . . Restless without being lively, fidgety without being
alert, wilful without decision, draggled in mind and body. . . .
He recalled with an effort the young girl he had seen for the first
time in Mrs. Tozer's bonnet shop, eyelids then upraised that now
drooped and, like the long stone slab of a tomb, hid the dull,
dead, blue eyes. Or the next time, in the garden studio at Kew
taking off her bonnet with a modest but superb gesture, without
patting her hair with a sidelong glance at the cracked studio
glass as most girls would; sweeping up to the estrade like
" Proud Maisie " she was posing for, fending off the tacit snubs
of the Misses Maria and Margaretta Deverell. . . .
Rossetti wanted to see the sun set from the top of Observatory
Hill. They would sit there awhile and then dine in one of the
eating-houses by the Park gates or the Pier. Making the pace
with his " slopperty walk," he kept well in front, trailing his
umbrella in the sandy soil and humming " a sotto voce defiance of
the universe," till they came to the platform with seats set, as in
77
a theatre in front of the view marshes, houses and sky all of the
same colour, blue grey, except, in the north, some mysterious,
equidistant bars of a whiter white than water, more like iron at
white heat.
The Blessed Damozel, breathing faintly, her upper lip raised
in the known poise of pathos and her eyes gone to the back of her
head, leaned over the iron bar of the railings and wished she were
on earth having tea in one of the kiosks she had noticed long ago
coming up the hill, when her spirit was younger. But Gabriel
was pouring into her ears poetic accounts of what she was seeing
before her London, stretched out to the skyline, and splaying
out like a full-bellied snake, with the Isle of Dogs lying snared in
its coils the River that served it. Those mathematical bars on
the north represented the great chain of Docks West India,
East India. . . . Where was the sea ? She had never seen the
sea ! Rossetti would show it to her some day.
Allingham, who knew that women want their tea, persuaded
Gabriel to let them go back into the town without trying to find
the place where Brown's Aunt Cooper had lived, somewhere
half-way down the hill.
Gabriel was annoyed and ceased to exercise his well-known
charm. He wanted something more substantial than tea, but
Allingham persuaded him to enter the first shop that came.
Up wide wooden stairs, into a low-ceiled room where there was
a window seat with geraniums behind it and a table with a clean
cloth on it and a dusty cruet. They got beer and chops and
Allingham read them his latest, the MS. of which he happened
to have in his pocket, and Gabriel was so nice and flattering about
it 1 that he won the poet to himself again.
At London Bridge Miss Sid was put into her bus for Weymouth
Street. She was not one of those that kiss in the street, but
Allingham fancied she was cross with Gabriel, about a girl called
Annie Miller, of whom she had spoken to him once or twice.
Miller was her name, but people said she had Italian blood in
her. Her father was a carpenter in Justice Walk, between
Lawrence Street and Church Street, just behind where Mr.
Hunt lived. He had picked her up, much as Gabriel had Lizzy.
Like Lizzy, Annie was respectable, and " good-hearted, with the
makings of an excellent woman in her." Hunt had taught her
to speak correctly and paid for her lessons in dancing and de
portment. The idea, nebulous at first, of training her to be his
1 He took no interest at all in the sea or ships, so it was very nice of him.
78
wife grew stronger ; by the time he left for the East it was
understood that he looked forward to finding Annie " finished "
and fit to be Mrs. Hunt when he came back.
Mr. Hunt's seriousness rather bored Miss Miller, but she had
been sensible enough or her father for her to accept his
kindness and profit by it, especially the dancing. She lived near
enough to Cremorne to have opportunities for frequent practice
of the art with George Boyce and Frederic Stephens and others :
many a time she and Gabriel would go to Highbury Barn and
The Gun Tavern together.
The jolly Annie was merely a pawn in the game of checkmate
which the best of friends will occasionally play with one another.
Rossetti was getting back on Hunt " He took my subject and
I'm taking his model, 3 ' he had said jauntily to Allingham.
3
Allingham was quite rude next day when he went to breakfast
with his friend and found him in his bedroom doctoring himself
" You and your pills ! " Miss Leigh-Smith and Miss Howitt
were in the next room looking at Lizzy's portrait of herself.
After breakfast they were all to go to Margaret Street to see
Dyce's " window " in Mr. Hope's new church then to Covent
Garden for tulips.
Mr. Allingham thought he would consult Barbara about Miss
Siddal, since she was by way of championing and befriending
Woman. She had done nothing much as yet except set up a
High School for Girls at sixpence a week, where witty Emily
Davies taught and Marian Evans, assistant editor of The West
minster Review, as well as Barbara's Aunt Julia and pretty Bessie
Parkes. But it was more a lark than anything else. The field
in the fens near Girton was still under tillage, the Monster
Petition not presented : the Women's Property Act, Divorce
Law Reform and Votes for Women x still slumbered in the
bosoms in those days ladies had bosoms but no heads, to keep
ideas in of the so-called Fair Sex, stultified in what Barbara
called their " culpable resignation to circumstances." The
circumstances of this trio were easy ; they made their sorties into
1 " We shall get the Vote after I am dead and 7011 will go to the Poll in /our
winding sheet," said Emily Davies, her elder, to Barbara Bodichon.
" This mad wicked folly on which my poor feeble sex is bent . . . the subject
makes the Queen so furious that she cannot contain herself ! " Victoria R.
79
life from the shelter of the paternal roof and with the co-operation
of their elders. Anna Mary's father had just shaken off Quaker
ism ; Bessie's was Joe Parkes of Birmingham, an active politician
with Radical sympathies. 1 Barbara's father was blind. 2 Miss
Leigh-Smith gave herself that licence in her relations with the
other sex which women, chaperoned by family butlers and private
broughams, could dare do under Victoria at the cost merely of
being supposed eccentric. " A jolly fellow " she flirted even " in
a quite nice way." A Romola much too sensible to waste herself
on a Tito like Gabriel Rossetti. Though she had never been
to boarding school, she was not exempt from the cloistered
girl's foible of romantic passion for members of her own sex,
for Emily Davies and Miss Betham-Edwards and Mrs. Beecher
Stowe and Anna Mary's rich friend Miss Coutts up the hill.
There was also Dinah Mulock the novelist, and there had
been Adelaide Anne Procter the poetess, mourned by Barbara
and Bessie and Anna Mary like a lover. There was Charlotte
Cushman with her deep contralto voice, called Captain Charlotte
because of that and because she chose to play Romeo and
Hamlet. And her more feminine sister Susan, whom a man
had dared to desert, and Miss Eliza Cook, who dressed like a man
down to her waist and had her hair cut short. 3
But Bessie Parkes " Bessie the Brick " handsome, dashing
and gay, dressed in the height of the fashion.
Anna Mary Howitt was the least impressive of the three, the
only one with the true artistic temperament. 4
4
Barbara Leigh-Smith liked Gabriel, but not this Pre-Raphael-
itism which, on the face of it, reminded her, a would-be reformer
1 Her mother a daughter of Joseph Priestley, the discoverer of oxygen.
2 His domestic relations were unconventional and shocking to his brother-in-law.
Florence was not as a child allowed to play with Barbara and Nanny. But Aunt
Julia was fascinated by the beauty and cleverness of these two daughters of Uncle
Benjamin, the pariah. Life of Florence Nightingale, I. B. O'Malley.
3 This style created in Society at this time as deep, if less costly, a scandal as the
cropped locks of Joan of Arc, hidden by no hennin, which deeply shocking her judges,
perhaps cost her her life ?
4 She gave up painting because the great Critic of All said such severe things
about her work, forcing her, so her mother said, " to withdraw from the practice of
the fine arts," and adopt the other profession of marriage. Ruskin was never very
kind to women beginners ; he nearly estopped Christina Rossetti from being a
poetess.
so
of the status of her sex, of the mental starvation undergone
by Woman in mediaeval days ; her disgustingly inferior position
excepting during those few fleeting years when she is man's
delight and may command him. Look, she said, at the faces of
the women in the pictures these young fellows admired the tight
waists, the overloaded heads that must have ached so frequently,
the lined foreheads, the pinched mouths, the sly slanting eyes,
boding, biding, of the oppressed slave, of Lucrezia Borgia ever
lastingly brushing and sunning her golden hair its abundance
the sign of imbecility, Doctor Elliotson said, so much taken from
her brains perfectly aware of what her brothers were up to but
powerless, or unwilling, to prevent them.
Chattels, these ladies, inured to death and horror, with iron
nerves if they possessed them at all. It is not so much the
iron nerve as the sleeping one that avails the woman who never
knows at any time of day if she may not be burned for a witch,
have her lover's heart served up to her on a platter by a jealous
husband, or her baby's brains dashed out on the castle stones by
the other knight who has " downed " him.
Appearing to suffer from indigestion, looking too ill to be really
pretty, Barbara had observed this Miss Siddall at The Hermitage.
But she had never asked Mr. Rossetti to bring her to Blandford
Square. She would now. The girl had nice manners, as good
as Gabriel's. His were the result, she supposed, of his mother's
training, and she had heard that the two governess sisters were
very nice too.
The boys called her, among other sobriquets, " The Countess,"
but she did not, to Barbara's thinking, look in the least like one.
Just a good, simple sort of person ! Was there not some talk of
Gabriel Rossetti's marrying her ? That did not strike Miss Leigh-
Smith as unsuitable. Artists painted where they loved and loved
where they painted, and seldom married born ladies not even
Academicians. Look at Mrs. Redgrave and Mrs. Armitage and
Mrs. Hart ; listen to the " malaprops " of Mrs. Goodall and Mrs.
Stacy Marks ! As to Miss Siddall, she had heard something of
noble ancestry on the father's side tombs in a churchyard in the
Midlands and armorial bearings sported; but the mother had
been a housemaid, hadn't she ? She did not know of Lizzy's
occupying Gabriel's rooms while he was away in Newcastle, but
if she had she would not have been shocked Bohemians cannot
afford to take this or that social lapse into account.
Allingham spoke long and passionately of Miss Siddal's life as
G 8r
present model and ex-milliner and of how she had got ill in the
exercise of both jobs, the long hours sitting in some constrained
position for the one ; the stuffy rooms, predisposing to phthisis,
in the other. The hours at Mrs. Tozer's, so Ellen Britten had
told Allingham, were terrific. In the Season the girls were often
up all night. And artists had no mercy where a pose was con
cerned Allingham told her the romantic story of the bath in
Gower Street. " Too bad," Miss Leigh-Smith had said. Girls
should be taught the rules of health ; but it was actually con
tended by men, probably, with their queer fetish of female
delicacy that " women should know as little as possible about
that exceedingly delicate subject." 1
Yes, she would certainly see Miss Siddall. She might go to
her Cousin Florence's Home for the Care of Gentlewomen in
Sickness in Upper Harley Street. Bessie would see about it.
Allingham felt pretty sure that Miss Sid would refuse to leave
London with Annie Miller about ; but he did not dare tell this
to the Lady Bountiful of Blandford Square, for health meant
more than hearts to her. With Miss Siddal's marital problem
she would have dealt like the kind mistress who makes it her
business to bring the recalcitrant sweetheart of a servant-girl to
the point.
Nor could the relations of Rossetti and his model be fully dis
cussed between a chaste Irishman and an emancipated Victorian
maiden. Barbara knew of no particular reason why Gabriel
should marry Lizzy unless he wanted to ; if he did, why not ?
Did he actually owe her marriage ? William Allingham thought
so and attributed the girPs state of health largely to suspense
and dread of another woman's taking her place. He had run
into that Annie Miller yesterday when he went to Chatham
Place for his sitting which Gabriel had forgotten. They were
eating chops and sausages. They made him go with them to
Madame Tussaud's. Annie did not particularly want to go
Rossetti did. Leaden-footed, the confidant padded about w,ith
the buxom girl in the Chamber of Horrors while Gabriel, gloating
on the effect of the calm, rosy, murderers' faces shining like turnip
lanterns in the dimness, seemed unaffected by the dreary airs of
death down here that made Allingham so uncomfortable. And
1 We never do hear what exactly was the matter with Lizzy. Probably
Doctor Wilkinson sent her out of the room while he made his report to Mrs.
Brown, who was hardly capable of grasping its import and, if she had, less from
reticence than modesty, would not have enlarged upon it.
82
Annie was dying to get upstairs to the Kings and Queens, to the
lifelike old Quaker gentleman whom you jostle as you go by, the
baby in the cradle and the lady in the glass case whose pneumatic
bosom goes softly up and down under her laces. . . ,
No harm in either of them ! Gabriel was offhand, indifferent
and absorbed : Annie, quiet, proper and sensible ; but he could
not help thinking all the time of the lonely girl in Weymouth
Street, and when they parted, Gabriel and Annie going in the
direction of Piccadilly to dance he, in low spirits, fared
home to his lodgings.
5
Things have a way of all coming at once. It had been Fine
since the ist and Very Fine since the 5th. The I3th of April
turned out to be the finest day of all; the day of Supreme
Moments, of the pulling of the strings of shower-baths, affecting
deeply the fortunes of Gabriel and Lizzy and of, perhaps, a
greater than they. William Allingham called on several people,
but no one was at home neither Rossetti, with whom he had
an appointment, not Routledge, the publisher of whom he had
begged one. So he drifted where everyone in the set did drift
when at a loose end, to The Hermitage, and Mary Howitt took
him to the Gillies' to supper. They had all been discussing the
health of Miss Siddall with Margaret Gillies and Doctor South-
wood Smith and the u hanging off " of Gabriel. Allingham loved
the villain in this piece and, though Miss Siddal's affairs were
properly none of his, he found himself telling Anna what he had
not quite liked to tell Barbara.
Walking down the hill from Hampstead, her arm tucked in his,
his other arm holding her basket passing in and out of alternate
patches of light and dark that the shadows of delicately leaved,
swaying boughs made over the road, glistening whitely with
quartz ; agonised into dull blue here and there from the locked
wheels of carts grinding in their slippers down the hill, he bade
her notice this and the Pre-Raphaelite truth of Gabriel's descrip
tion of just such a night, in the poem he had read aloud to them all
the other day, and how, when the wind blew this way and that,
All the leaf shadows at a breath
Shrank in the road. . . .
(The rhyme, of course, was Death.} Just as the wind of the spirit
will make portentous the shadows of our imaginings, distorting
83
them, magnifying them one minute and reducing them to nothing
the next. How wonderful their dear Gabriel was ! Why,
when he could notice little things like that, was he so stupid and
tactless with his women ? Tiring them, chivying them, worrying
their lives out. Neglecting, for a beautiful minx like Annie
Miller, a woman quite as beautiful, and worth a hundred of her.
Anna Mary did not seem to have heard of Annie Miller. She
questioned him. Then he must not mention it to anybody
else, but she really must tell him Miss Siddal could not possibly
mind his knowing Gabriel had proposed, long ago and she had
accepted him. The reason she had not announced the engage
ment was because of the opposition of her family. Lizzy's
mother was most particular with her daughters and would not
approve of Lizzy marrying an artist ; they were always so impro
vident to say nothing worse. Did he know that she was a
Sidal of Hope ? And her father descended from a family that
went back to the fourteenth century and had been knights and
had had a coat of arms ? Anna Mary's father, who travelled all
over the country doing those Annuals, writing up various places
he went to, had been there and seen the names on the big tombs
in the churchyard at the place where the family had lived in their
heyday. He had had occasion to look up some papers about it
in his capacity of antiquary.
Mr. Allingham went home conscious that he might have made
mischief; but had forgotten about it next time he went to
Chatham Place for a sitting. No one was there, but he waited
and, presently, Gabriel and William came in together, tremen
dously excited about something that had happened yesterday.
The ball was at Gabriel's feet and no one rejoiced more than his
brother.
McCracken had sent Dante drawing the Angel to the great critic
to look at, and Ruskin had written the painter " an incredible
letter," was " his respectfully " wanting to call and yesterday
he had called ! " Seems in a mood to make my fortune ! "
Rossetti did not know it, but one of the Brethren, the one from
whom he least deserved it, had been working for him. The
P.R.B., criticising, teasing, lampooning, abusing I each other like
1 Rossetti; in a lazy sort of temper, would actually call Millais " The Prince of
Sneaks."
JOHN RUSKIN
.From a photograph
pickpockets, strove when the good name or prosperity of a
member of the band was concerned, to maintain complete
solidarity. Hunt, meeting Ruskin in Florence on his way out to
the Holy Land, was at pains to interest the great critic in the
work of his dear Gabriel. He would have done it all the same
even had he known of the visits to Chatham Place, the excursions,
the suppers when her lieges drank out of complacent Annie's
shoe. And one may set against this Rossetti's heartfelt con
gratulations on 'The Light in letters to all his friends, outdoing
the very critics in its praise.
7
Ruskin had run in on his way back from King's Cross, where
he had been seeing his young wife off on a visit to her parents in
Scotland, He himself had just returned from abroad and had
been obliged to sleep at Denmark Hill, as one of her letters told
him that the bed was broken and must be mended before his
return and, meanwhile, she would go home for a bit. 1
John Hobbes, attending to the luggage there was a good
deal for the stay of a fortnight or so did not realise that
this was a supreme moment in the careers of these two persons.
They did not kiss. There had been a wrangle but there were
often wrangles between them and she had said cutting things,
as usual. Mr. Ruskin was in a dream, as usual, and took no
notice of them. Just as the train moved out of the station he
took out his purse and tossed it into her lap he wasn't sure if she
would have enough for flies and porters at Perth. . . .
8
" My plans are made, and it would take a cleverer man than
John Ruskin to upset them now ! "
This is what John Hobbes heard on that fourteenth day of
April as he stood attentive at the door of the railway carriage,
a sentence delivered with clear precision of utterance by Mrs.
Ruskin. The two Johns, accustomed to her Scotch habit of
dramatic over-emphasis, did not take much note of it at the time.
Yet it meant Doctors' Commons and a Jury of Matrons, a
1 He was never to see her again except among the audience at his lectures,
sitting beside her friend the wife of the President of the Royal Academy, crabbing
him. She had Lady Eastlake's sympathy and that of the world in general. But
not perhaps that of John Hobbes ! As valets will, he knew a lot.
85
parting and a re-marriage. All this was behind Patmore's
babblement and Millais' distraction and failure to have the
Ruskin portrait ready. She was going to get a divorce, so Jane
Carlyle was telling everybody. When the case came on, Hobbes
was out of England. His evidence might have helped John
Ruskin had he indeed desired to be helped ? But he was letting
it all go.
At any rate, an action was raised by Euphemia Gray or
Grey falsely called Ruskin : the marriage was declared null
and void from the beginning by reason of the impotence of
the said John Ruskin, by sentence of the Commissory Court of
Surrey in the Diocese of Winchester.
9
John Ruskin was a Scotsman ; Euphemia Gray was his cousin.
Both of them legatees of the ferocities of the Covenant and
with more than " something of the Shorter Catechist " in them.
She came from a schoolroom full of gay growing girls at Bowers-
well ; the household at Denmark Hill was composed of four
persons who never laughed. The master of the house, John James
Ruskin l (of Ruskin, Telford and Domecq), with his queer arched
eyebrows, his mouth with full curves like that of John Keats,
had more of the artist in him than his wife or his son. The
mistress, his cousin Margaret, whom he had married for love, with
her narrow, peering, heavy-lidded eyes, ruined before their time
with fine needlework, her forward-poking, impertinent mouth,
was thirty-seven when her son was born, on a wooden bedstead
which broke beds had a way of breaking in this manage for her
muscles were by then as rigid as her tenets. She held her child's
finger in the flame of a candle " to remember him " not to tell
lies, she whipped him with her slipper to save her own hand
" what for should she be hurt when she had done nothing wrong ? "
^ The boy never did lie, but he saw the flame of that candle in
his mother's eyes until she died.
And after that and the death of another member of the
family, Anne Strahan, who got in at the window and found
the old Master, her father, hanging dead inside, and knew all
about the ghosts of Bowerswell where he and she had lived,
John was rudderless, except for the wooden concepts of morality
these women had given him, wedged into his consciousness,
1 He was delicate and always wore a truss.
86
adapted somehow to circumstances by his immense and cunning
intelligence.
He was born under Aquarius ;* Rossetti one can give a pretty
good guess under Scorpio, with Herschel, the baleful star for
artist-natures, in the ascendant. Between Ruskin who loved
blue and Rossetti who loved red, 2 between the medusa and the
salamander, the aquamarine and the alexandrite, the Scotchman
and the Southron, the ascetic and the man of temperament who,
with colour, had made himself a sort of soul (as Marion De Lorme
with love, a virginity), gulfs for ever yawned. For to Rossetti
" the colour of a picture is its physiognomy, the body of its life ! "
But Ruskin's God could be rendered in stone. He seemed to
forget that abbey walls were only a surface on which colour was
laid and would have had little use for either a painted cathedral
or a tinted statue. He loved Light fer se ; concerned with the
form of things and the way Light took them, fell on them, was
abstracted from them duly oppressed by the Shadow of the
Cross that lay athwart the world. Rossetti, on the contrary,
loved a rich, fluttering gloom, such as savages know who cluster
nightly round a camp fire, illumining but a little way along the
low, woody arcades, fitfully shining on the boughs of the trees
near by, making the twigs of the undergrowth shine like golden
wire a room full of furniture as opposed to the empty sheen of
Alpine snows.
Both men were full generous. They had that in common.
Rossetti out of laisser oiler and caprice, while Ruskin was we
have it from himself " nearly as just as it is possible for a man
to be, in this world." Both were frank and subtle ; canny and
unpractical at the same time. Than Ruskin's infolded nature,
Rossetti's was infinitely less complicated, and Ruskin perhaps
more simple because more highly educated than Rossetti.
Artists are nearer the savage, to whom pictorial comes more
naturally than literary, representation. They never cared for
each other. Rossetti never troubled to read a line of Ruskin
and, " Artists are very like pigs, so far as I know them," Ruskin
wrote to Doctor Acland after his protg had been more than
usually trying.
1 At half-past seven in the morning. The painter Varley cast his horoscope.
The ages of 14, 18 and 21 were especially fatal to him. The Adele Domecq
disappointment filled one date.
2 He was a Jacobite simply because the Hanoverians had taken not only the azure
out of the Garter but the vermilion out of the Royal Standard.
87
CHAPTER IX
i
WILLIAM ROSSETTI did not set eyes on his brother's
patron until November of this year, and then he only
formed part of Raskin's audience at a lecture. Miss
SiddaPs name had not been mentioned. Gabriel was
afraid of putting forward too much at once and frightening away
Ruskin, who really seemed to be far less disagreeable than he had
been led to suppose. Though Hunt and Collins had read his
books Rossetti had not, nor intended to do so. He regarded the
poor Professor merely as a milch cow, 1 appointed by Providence
to support and maintain the artist who was lucky enough to get
hold of him, and a plaguey nuisance unless he was on your side.
The brothers had raced off to Islington to tell Hannay of
Ruskin's call and promised beneficence and it never rains in
Bohemia but it pours something was being done for Miss
Siddal too. There had been a meeting at Poets 5 Corner and
Miss Leigh-Smith had taken the girl home to lunch, where she
happened to meet Doctor Wilkinson again, in a non-professional
way. He wanted her to go and live awhile in Brompton where
the air is good for consumptives; Barbara was firm for her
Cousin Florence's place in the New Road. But Bessie Parkes,
seeing Miss Siddal's fear of being shut up in London, suggested
the seaside. She knew of some lodgings at Hastings both cheap
and nice, high up on the hill where she would get plenty of air.
Mr. Allingham heard all this when he went to Chatham Place
to sit for his portrait. Miss Siddal was to be rushed off to
Hastings at once; Gabriel to take her down and return on
Monday to dine with Ruskin at Denmark Hill and make the
1 Ruskin's father, apart from maintaining him, was in the habit of placing fifteen
hundred pounds a year at his son's disposal, besides buying him a Turner now and
then, and dying reproached himself for not having bought him more.
John James Ruskin left a hundred and twenty thousand pounds, leaseholds and
freeholds and pictures valued at ten thousand. Ninety-seven thousand pounds had
been settled on Erne, on which she drew interest until her death. John Ruskin
never thought of taking it away from her. Perhaps, as Howell said, he could not ?
88
acquaintance of his father and mother. Young Mrs. Rusldn he
would not see : the bed at Herne Hill was mended, but she was
still away and her servants on board wages.
It seemed as if everything was going right. Barbara, Bessie
and Anna Mary were " very thick " with Lizzy, Doctor Wilkinson
" enraptured with the dear " and Ruskin prepared to worship
her. Gabriel meant to take some of her drawings to Denmark Hill
to show him. What she needed was encouragement ; she was so
deprecating about her work that without it she would give up
Art entirely a thousand pities !
Then Annie Miller, healthy, vulgar and cheerful, sauntered
in as if the whole place belonged to her. Gabriel turned her
over to Allingham ; his mind was full of Ruskin and a little of
Lizzy and he was off to the station to meet her and " Bessie the
Brick," who was going with them as far as Hastings to look after
the invalid as a man could not, starting again by slow train to get
back to Robertsbridge for Scalands. Gabriel promised to meet
Allingham on Monday at Southon's and they would chaff the
Cordial Stunner as usual, and he would tell him all about Hastings
and Denmark Hill.
3
Gabriel took a single for Lizzy and a return for himself, which
cost one pound Second Class : he had borrowed the money from
Allingham and a portmanteau from Aunt Charlotte. The two
Cockneys in corner seats looked out of the paneless window all
the way as the train sped through the smiling champaign.
Gabriel knew the English country slightly, having been twice to
the Scotts' in the North and once to Sevenoaks. But to Lizzy
it was a revelation. The first weird flash of the sea, still, portent
ous, a sheet of white enamel spread before her eyes instead of the
grey electro-plate of the river at home the fresh smell. . . .
And, suddenly, there was the " little, bright, surf-breathing
town " at their feet. And good, kind, pretty Bessie, who took
her to her lodgings and put her to bed. That night Gabriel
slept well and, from his -window in East Parade, saw " the most
wonderful of earthly sights," the sun rising over the sea.
Next day Doctor Hailes came in and saw her and gave Gabriel
the address of a chemist, Mr. Smith of George Street, whom
Rossetti presently was calling his very good friend. The doctor
was not sure that he would not move the patient soon to lodgings
nearer the sea. High Street was apt to be hot at that time of year.
Number Five was a very old house, on the south side, with a
garden sloping down to the stream a trickle of water was all
that was left of the great bight running inland between East and
West Hill, navigable once for Roman triremes. The front of the
house on the street was broad and low. It had a sloping roof of
grey stone, out of all proportion in extent to the house face. A
man walked about on it as if it were a garden, mending the
stone slats. The rooms and the hall were papered the same, like
a maid's faded cotton frock with the ghostly flowers of a hundred
springs agone, meandering on a pale dun ground. On a flap
shelf in the hall was a stack of empty medicine bottles Mrs.
Elphick's husband was an invalid and his room and hers were on
the right as you went in, and he never came out of them. The
staircase stopped at the next floor where the bedrooms were
two only and access to it was through a door which was shut
as a rule, for it led to the attic where no one slept now : it was
haunted so badly in Mrs. Stanforth's time by an old man whom
no one ever saw but whose footsteps followed one upstairs.
Mrs. Stanforth had had to leave and all her tenants had done the
same, Mrs. Elphick said, until she enclosed the staircase in
" stoothing " and kept the door at the foot of it closed. It was
only left undone now for the man who was mending the roof.
But the lady said she didn't in the least mind meeting a ghost. 1
Well then, there was another a woman who haunted the lean-to
wash-house or kitchen it had been all three, but the people
about here called it the Corpse Hole. It was said that the body
of a woman had " rested " there one day preparatory to being
taken away at night and cast into the bourne at the bottom of the
garden, all a tangle of gnarled roots and Goya-like weeds sprouting
put of dirty ash-heaps. No one went near if they could help
it, for they had no idea what might be down there ! Anyway, a
lot of old, queer, marked stones . . . graves, perhaps ? Gabriel
said Roman altars, but he did not go to look. What had been
the wash-house was now the larder, with the overflow from the
earth closet draining into it under the floor. (The landlady
always kept charcoal on the shelf to deaden the smell.)
1 " Meme je le suis" she might have said, like the mysterious guest in the French
ghost story, and vanished.
9 o
NUMBER 5 HIGH STREET, HASTINGS
From a photograph
Doctor Hailes said that these ghosts were all smugglers' tricks
to cover the murder of an accomplice who knew too much, or to
scare people from noticing what was going on. In all these
coastal towns, since Napoleon first put England out of bounds,
smuggling had been the staple industry and the staple pleasure
too. Behind St. Clement's there were caves, excellent caches
and the towns-people went there o' nights to dance by candle
light, and so covered their unlawful operations. The secret
passage from the inn next door he had never seen nobody ever
had actually seen such a thing as a secret passage but it was
supposed to come out at Rockanore, a mile or so away.
Next day they had Mrs. Elphick in, and she told them of secret
chambers and hollow walls and floors with movable boards where
kegs and barrels reposed in rows within an inch of the officer's
foot while he made his search. And there were double staircases
in the smallest houses, steep, breakneck, like ladders twisted, and
lofts with walls that let down so that you could sling a barrel into
the room below. In one house she knew of there were pillars
each side of the fireplace that were really cupboards so that the
master might take out a bottle of spirits when he could trust his
guests and extra doors for people who were " wanted " to get
away by, all over the place. She had been to stay once in the house
opposite and was shown into a bedroom, but, when she opened a
cupboard door to hang up her cloak, she found a bed of nastur
tiums at her feet and a garden stretching all the way up the hill,
so steep that the trees were trained on it as if it was an espalier,
and anyone could pull himself up by the boughs and keep on
lying on the ground until he got away. And the raised pave
ment opposite along as far as the Vicarage underneath it was
all cellars with doors you couldn't tell from the rest of it, where
they took things straight off a cart as it passed slowly up the hill
without stopping, for someone opened it from inside and took the
barrels in.
Lizzy let herself laugh. Laughter did not suit her. But
she was happy and, indeed, now that she had seen this, she would
never, never go into a hospital, " with no means," as she put it,
of " keeping herself alive." No, not even Miss Nightingale's.
"She settled down to water-colours easier to manage in lodgings
she was not quite strong enough yet to begin her oil picture,
her magnum opus it was to be. And Anna Mary was due at
Scalands on Wednesday.
She and Gabriel took walks never in the direction of St.
9 1
Leonards, then a-building long stuccoed terraces and streets,
scaffolding and dust, deadly for Lizzy but westwards, about the
fishermen's beach, dotted with net-huts and store-houses, high,
black-tarred, gaunt, three-storied, built on the pebbles, at whose
base old Nunky would sit in the sun weaving nets with a giant
shuttle. His son, drowned in the lifeboat three years ago, had
chalked his father's nickname on the black beams of the hut and
it was never allowed to be washed out. And further on to Rock-
anore at the end of the old town, and up East Hill to see the
incised stones. Gabriel, writing to Brown, noted things for him
as a good Pre-Raphaelite should.
92
CHAPTER X
i
[HAT Sunday in London was fine, remarkably fine, but
Allingham was uneasy. He wished he had not betrayed
Gabriel and Annie Miller to Anna Mary. He remem
bered the way her hand had closed on his arm after he
had spoken. . . . She might have written and worried Miss
Siddal about it ? He called at Gower Street, but Millais was,
of course, at church with his parents. Then he asked himself to
lunch in Blandford Square ; Miss Siddal was not mentioned ;
but Anna Mary, he heard, was going down to Hastings early in
the week to relieve Bessie Parkes. So the poor thing was ill !
On Monday about five o'clock he found a note from Gabriel
shoved in under his door, saying that he would have kept his
appointment at Southon's only he had lunched with Ruskin late,
after coming up, and felt very sick. He was going to his people's,
and if Allingham liked to fetch him thence they might go on
together to The Hermitage. He had told Ruskin all about " my
pupil " and " he yearneth."
Gabriel did not turn up. Nothing from him next day nor
the day after. Allingham went for a walk and on his return
found the wretch lying on the sofa, looking as like death as a
person of his full habit could do, with a note in his hand received
that morning from Anna Mary, dated Tuesday and bearing the
Hastings postmark. It was quite a nice letter. Anna Mary was
sure her dear Gabriel would see her point and not be cross with
her, but she had left Miss Siddal in bed and was anxious about
her. The night before, talking of friends in London she had been
careful not to say much about Miss Miller, for she knew that poor
Liz was rather worried about her because people kept meeting
her in Gabriel's rooms, where they said she behaved as if all
belonged to her, including the tenant of them. Anna Mary
93
thought that, considering, Gabriel ought to be more careful not
to afford material for gossip. Artists and their models were so
exposed to calumny. A little bird had told her " You,
Allingham ! " Gabriel said, " for you went with us to Madame
Tussaud's that day, I remember ! " how Lizzy's young man was
seeing a great deal of Annie outside the studio, taking her to
picture galleries and places of amusement dances and so on.
No harm but, as an engaged man, he ought not to give people the
chance to say he was making love to someone else while his
intended was away, ill.
The letter had made Gabriel so furious that he had had to lie
down. Was there more in the Annie Miller business than any
of them knew ? No ! Gabriel was not like that, but Allingham
had never seen him so nearly moved like other people. He raged,
he declaimed, but in his anger he was still the gentleman. There
was no engagement whatever between him and Miss Siddal
no such luck ! Miss Siddal was his pupil and grateful to him for
the pains he took with her. She had respect but no love for him.
Far too ill, poor girl, to think of marrying, and he was far too poor.
He would go straight to The Hermitage and explain.
Mr. Allingham's shirt was not clean enough for calls but he
would walk with Gabriel as far as Tottenham Court Road.
Waiting for the bus Gabriel began to think that he would write
instead. Too delicate a matter to put in writing, Allingham
said. If Gabriel would come back and wait while he changed his
shirt he would go with him and take on the mother while Gabriel
talked to Anna Mary and tried to remove the false impression
which she (and probably Lizzy too, but he did not say this) had
formed, before any more annoyance and perhaps pain came of it.
Mrs. Howitt had a cold and was fetched down from her bed
room. Shawled and shivering, she persisted in treating them like
naughty boys. Of course Anna Mary shouldn't have written,
and Gabriel shouldn't have shown a private letter : letters were
not meant to be shown and she had never known any good come
of showing them. Gabriel left and Allingham, as a dog that has
got kicked in a game of skittles comes out from under the bench
when all is over, remained behind for sympathy but got scolded for
gossiping about the Miller. Better not to interfere between
lovers even if they weren't engaged. Every one knew that
Gabriel had been wild about The Sid for years ! Yet she did not
fancy that there would ever be a wedding. He was too much
absorbed in his career, and anyhow he had not enough to keep
94
a wife on ; he was shrewd and business-like enough, for all he was
so untidy and lazy.
At any rate, he did not bear malice. At a tea-party at Chat
ham Place next day Gabriel asked Allingham if he had any
message for Lizzy, as he meant to run down to Hastings on
Saturday and get one of her drawings to show Ruskin, with
whom he was dining next week.
Allingham was going on purpose to have it out with Anna
Mary, who might have left ; she was due at lunch on Sunday with
the Leigh-Smiths, so the whole brunt of the discussion would
fall on poor Miss Sid. But it was never any use arguing with
Gabriel.
3
Allingham did not see Gabriel again for a month. But one
Monday morning he met Miss Leigh-Smith in the Holborn
omnibus and she mentioned that she had had a letter from Miss
Parkes to say that Miss Siddal was " alarmingly ill." They had
telegraphed to Gabriel and he was probably there by now.
Barbara might have told him more, but she had asked to be
put down at Boston Street, where the bus stopped, and she got
out. He thought she looked rather coldly upon him.
4
Yes, for the consequence which had been hanging in the stars
ever since that moonlight walk and " My foolish disclosure," had
come to pass. Anna Mary had " talked." She admitted it at
Barbara's lunch on Sunday. Lizzy had come on so queer after
Anna Mary left, that Gabriel, left willy-nilly in charge, had
called in Doctor Hailes, who had sent up to Scalands to see if
Miss Parkes would come and look after her, alone in lodgings
with only a man to nurse her. She had a temperature, which
had been set up by Gabriel's absolute and brutal denial, before
Anna Mary, of any engagement between them.
Bessie was annoyed with Gabriel for making such a fuss about
Anna Mary's letting out something that everybody knew. Of
course Gabriel was engaged to Lizzy, and if he wasn't he ought to
be, and she bad written to Miss Leigh-Smith and told her all about
it. Doctor Hailes would not allow the patient to see anyone
all next day, and Gabriel had been well frightened and made
95
to feel ashamed of himself. He was allowed to see her late
on Sunday evening, as he had to go up early next morning on
account of his father not so well they had been anxious about
him since his slight stroke on Easter Day. And there was the
Ruskin dinner, which he must not miss. . . .
Though Lizzy wept more prettily than she laughed, Gabriel
could bear anything but a woman's tears caused by himself and
certainly no interference with his art ! Art was more than
women : women were cheap ; he had no respect for them and
would bear no reproaches from one of these chosen vessels of
joy. But at that moment he said everything Liz wanted him
to say, as he alone could say it, and soothed her. There was
nothing else to do. She would have died.
He saw that it would be misery for both of them. He was
bound to make her unhappy because his temperament demanded,
and would have, something she could not give him, ever some
thing larger, more mutable, more vicious, even : his will to live,
artistically speaking, would force him to see that he got it
Bocca Baciata, The Kissed Mouthy as opposed to the reticent
croonings of the " meek unconscious dove," who would, of her
nature, languidly, piously, for ever frustrate the artist's imperious
" Now."
" What is it ketys me away from thy lower ? "
Why, any passing lure of sense and jollity, any woman who set
not so much store by her virginity a natural, healthy animal like
Fanny or, at the opposite pole, the divine tomboy, Barbara.
She, with her go, her fat, her resilience, would have been a better
mate for this journeyman heart, that wanted little in the way of
love-fellowship, but wanted it warm and generous, rich if not
luscious. . . .
His life, as he could manage selfishly to live it, did not matter
much : his work, and its pabulum, did. The senses and their
gratification, painting and its practice, he would see to and
prosecute with all his might. The rest might go and Lizzy
with it.
This man was never seen to cry, not even when D ever ell died.
Sorrow, with him, needed fancied persecution and real drugs
to exploit and bring it out.
5
The drawing-room at Denmark Hill, Rossetti told the fellows
afterwards, made one feel as if one were in an aquarium. It was
the awful translucency of everything. Water-colours, solemnly
wedged in long coterminous rows, w r ent all round the walls on
a level with the line of sight : blue lakes and silver clouds by
Turner, grey doves with sheeny necks by Hunt were met by
prismatic refractions, from the middle of the room, of the crystals
and minerals reposing on fleecy cotton wool in their glass sarco
phagi. The host, doing the honours of his collection with a
microscope in his hand that momentarily flashed contradictions,
was rather like a mineral himself, so Gabriel thought. Those
blue eyes of his seemed to focus things differently from other
people's with such capricious shaftings of angle, gleams of
humour, flashes of wit : as it were, a spiteful saint ; an anchorite
who should also be a man of the world ! The seer was too subtle
for the artist ; Gabriel was not really happy in his company ; the
whole decor of Denmark Hill made the latter long, somehow, to
hide his own earthiness and pursue his more grovelling habit of
thought amid the tolerant murks and warmer glows of Brown's
house or Boyce's, full to the chin with curios, or his own place in
Blackfriars, amid glooms kind to tired eyes, the dust and dirt
that take off sharpnesses, the tatters that trim off angles, and the
abraded corners of " old pieces " which break the line. He hated
Mrs. Ruskin's pale lace curtains, her light brown rosewood draw
ing-room suite, her elegant armchairs where you could never
hope to find a sovereign, as Hunt did once in his need, because
they were too carefully dusted and gone over every morning.
He noticed when they went in to dinner that the portrait of
young Mrs. Ruskin by Watts was gone and her bust by Maro-
chetti covered up with an antimacassar. And that old Mrs.
Ruskin looked pointedly away from that particular corner as she
took her seat.
The guest was called away from dinner by a message : his
father was very bad. Old Mr. Ruskin's farewell, " a look border
ing on the tearful," l as he held up his glass after filling that of the
1 He was " of a temperament peculiar to the British race who, under a calm,
unruffled and cold manner, conceal an emotional and affectionate nature."
Jessica Sykes, in Mark Alston.
H 97
young man with Ruskin, Telford and Domecq's excellent sherry,
saying old-fashionedly " I drink to thee ! " and young Mr.
Ruskin's handshake all finger-grip were with him all the way
home in the carriage which came round to take him to Albany
Street.
It was only a little after seven and he took his turn to sit up
with his father, relieving his mother, William and the girls. The
Polidori aunts, close by in Park Village West, had been warned.
Sitting there through the night-watches in a hard cane chair
with not light enough to read by, he thought over the usual
things that a recumbent, painfully breathing form lying prone
beside one suggests ; defalcations and inattentions, trifling dis
obediences : the small irremediable magnified by the imminence
of finality, like the light of the candle casting shadows deeper than
the gloom it alleviates. Face to face, in fact, with the Eternal
Verities : Ruskin, so lately filling the picture and, in a minor
degree, Lizzy both shunted for his father's hour !
A plump, short man his eldest son had inherited his figure
as well as the tendency to " old, atrocious boils " 1 and that other
disease most easily incurred by the pure, the proscribed, the
hunted man who knows not where to lay his head except on the
bare ground or else in foetid, lice and germ-infested caches ;
one for whom ordinary measures of cleanliness and precautions
against infection would be for months an unrealised dream, a
mirage far beyond mere safety. Old Gabriele was of a gouty
habit, an arrant snuff-taker, making odd gesticulations with his
small hands tipped with bitten nails. Full of whimsies, he
hated French women and loved English coal fires. His unique
passion was Dante. It was the move from Frome that was killing
him.
As he lay there, immobile, nearly blind, muttering low, he
saw, he called on by name, he conversed happily with General
Guglielmo Pepe, his associate in the original Carbonaro Ministry
of thirty years ago ; he talked as if he were in a gold-hung
Neapolitan palace instead of a small dark house near Regent's Park.
Far back in Time, re-living his Glittering Hour. His son, sitting
beside him attentive on a low chair, nursing Maria's cat, the child
of Zoe, listened to the oft-told tale, that ended with the escape
from Malta in an English gunboat. Of how he, Gabriele Rossetti
of Vasto, the Improvisatore, the accepted Rhymer to the Extreme
Group, had, by his " burning rhapsodies," persuaded a whole regi-
1 His illness was actually an eruption " of the nature of carbuncle."
ment to desert from the other banner and raised his own country
side against the Austrian. How he and Pepe had penetrated to
King Ferdinand in his bed ; the Duchess of Floridia standing
at the foot, and forced the quaking Bourbon to grant them a
Charter. How somehow the quarrels of Pepe and Carrascosa
had ruined all. And of the last great battle in the Pass of Monta-
forte - 1 the breaking-up of the forces : the bloodstained trailing
off into hiding, the gradual sneaking out of one's own country,
an exile. . . .
And the bitter joke of it all was that Pepe and Carrascosa
fought a duel to settle some personal score as soon as they were
safe on English soil.
And when the ragged curtains of the dark, sheering off, showed
the peep of a London day, there came the change. . . . The pale,
shivering family, wife, four children, three sisters and Teodorico
Pietrocola Rossetti, the cousin, peering with his beady black eyes,
called in haste from Park Village, filled the little room. And
plaintive, quiet Mrs. Rossetti read aloud the Italian translation
of the Liturgy and the old patriot died slowly and quietly of old
age . . . marasmus. . . .
He had been quoting Dante, calling on the names of bygone
comrades. He had no word for the living.
For here, where day still soothes my lifted face
On thy bowed head, my father, fell the night.
Gabriel, stumbling down to breakfast about five on a chill,
windy morning, thought very kindly of Lizzy, whom he might
lose, like this, at any moment ! He wrote to Doctor Wilkinson,
asking for an interview on Tuesday or any day before the funeral ;
for as soon as that was over he meant to go down to Hastings
and be very nice to her.
He had not now time for William Allingham ; his world had
shifted it was all Ruskin and Lizzy now yet, to tell the truth,
he rather resented the way Allingham forced his hand. The
estrangement lasted until his new friend was barred to Gabriel
by sudden illness (though the founts of benevolence were not
stopped for that). By Saturday it was given out that Mr.
Ruskin could neither see nor speak.
Gabriel got a letter from his patron to say he would be unable
to see him or anybody before he left town. Mr. Rossetti perhaps
had heard that Mr. Ruskin had had much upon his mind for the
1 See Fra Diavolo."
99
last few days or he soon would hear. But he was leaving an
order with a bookseller for a complete set of his published works
to be sent to Mr. Rossetti and means to be back by August,
when he hoped to see the drawings of " Mr. Rossetti's pupil."
And, by parcels delivery to Chatham Place, came a piece of
opal not a fine piece, but " Mr. Rossetti will like to let his eye
rest on it." A magnifying glass was to be " used to its purple
extremity." Beautiful, but Gabriel did not take it to Lizzy ;
opals are supposed to be unlucky.
7
Painters were preparing for the Spring show. Allingham and
Boyce went round to Gower Street to see some sketches Millais
had managed to get ready for some minor exhibition. (He had
missed the R.A.) They were all likenesses of Mrs. Ruskin. Mrs.R.,
Waiting for the Last Word., at a lattice. Mrs. R. saying to her
young man, Shall I see you To-morrow ? in Millais's handwriting
underneath. Mrs. R. accepting a man on the lawn in moonlight.
Mrs. R, as a Seamstress, as a Ballet Girl and as a Peasant present
ing The Order of Release to her man's jailer.
But the portrait of Professor Ruskin, which was to have been
the picture of the year, was not finished and by Saturday all
the world knew why, and what had been on Mr. Ruskin's mind for
the last few days. Unkind people said that it had been there
since last November year. " I have made my plans " She
had given him a broad hint, then. The summons had come the
very day Gabriel Rossetti had dined at Denmark Hill, and now
the pillory was set up in the market-place for all who cared to
throw rotten eggs at the most sensitive, the most retiring man in
England.
Allingham, sauntering across Gray's Inn, was hailed by
Thackeray out of a cab. He began with an inquiry as to his
contributor's health" You're not looking well, Mr. Allingham "
and on to the great case. At first disposed to be down on
Millais ; " Thack " was easily pacified by Allingham, who took
care to mention Johnny's kindness to young Deverell, sitting up
with him all night. ..." Bravo, young Everett ! " said the
great man, clapping his hands and drove on.
Tennyson, in Stebbing's chambers, sat smoking like a furnace,
discussing the Ruskins and Cayley 's translation of Dante, Carlyle'
over his breakfast pipe, considered the catastrophe inevitable and
100
MRS. JOHN RUSKIN
From a photograph
the less said about it the better. Lizzy's Doctor Wilkinson and
Professor De Morgan the Spiritualist spoke of nothing else for
the whole of an evening, and William Allingham, escorting a
famous medium to her bus, was snubbed for discussing " Mrs.
Ruskin's husband " and " circumstances " which that lady coyly
thought " needed not to be explained."
Ruskin's message was now invalidated. People said and wrote
that " the world was not going to be preached to by a mad
governess ! " Woolner declared loudly, " Ruskin is an unsafe
guide for the women of England," and Mrs. Oliphant accused him
of killing the Pre-Raphaelite Movement. 1 He became afraid of
backing anybody and refused to write so much as a critique on
Patmore's new book " The circumstances of my own life
unhappily render it impossible." For the moment his services
to artists came to consist in standing godfather to their children.
At least his sponsoring would not compromise them with God !
Women condemned Mrs. Ruskin for not bearing her marital
cross in silence. Men, in view of her youth and extreme pretti-
ness, the grounds of her complaint and the stpries of her husband's
domestic savagery, were down on him for taking a girl like that
and burying her alive in a year of rain, " in this kind of house." 2
Millais, their only permanent guest, 3 always said that the "wet "
did it "I do believe that in the Trossachs they have all the rain
in Great Britain and a stock of their own into the bargain." The
weather got so on his nerves that the word Rain appears after the
signature on all the little pencil sketches he did of Effie sitting
sewing, with digitalis in her hair driving fishing in church
shaving her husband. . . .
She did complain a little to the young man of her husband's sub
ordinating her to his terrible mother, and at Herne Hill, where she
was mistress, treating her like a child, pinning a list of her mis
demeanours on to her pincushion along with the housekeeping
1 " Its dismemberment was connected in a spiteful manner with incidents in Mr.
Ruskin's own career." Autobiography of Mrs. Oliphant.
2 So Ruskin describes it complacently to Furnivall, enclosing a pen picture :
" And a little garden eighteen feet long by ten wide, sloping down to the stream in
front and up part of Ben Ledi at the back."
3 His friend Holman Hunt was invited, but he did not go with him. Might not
the whole course of Ruskinian history have been altered if that gracious, kind and
noble spirit had had a say in the beginning of it ?
IOI
money once a week. Being or pretending to be uxorious,
pulling down her chignon in the drawing-room and enjoying her
confusion when callers were announced. . . .
9
Did he love her, ever ? He said once, careless who heard him :
" It would be better that she were broken on the wheel than
come between me and John Millais ! "
Millais loved Ruskin as much as Ruskin loved Millais, and this
love subsisted through life, long after the woman had come
between them. Millais would never listen to a Word against
Ruskin, 1 and Ruskin's ridiculous art-petting of Millais gave
colour to the theory, pretty universally held, that the husband
had " asked for it," leaving his young wife alone for a week 2
while he went to lecture in Edinburgh. And there was another,
graver accusation. He knew it and told his secretary, who wrote
to him " soppily " to condole on his troubles, that " for you to
adopt my principles might be prejudicial to all your prospects
in life/' And was at pains to refute Furnivall's hint, clothed in
compliments " Don't talk of my risking my reputation for
young men. You need not think it great in me ! I do it for
art."
He did not realise that, though the tale of his affliction roused
and held the interest of a morbid and innocent girl, any accusation
of immorality was likely to set her parents against him. 3
The denizens of the - farmyard crowed and cackled and
" ploted " 4 the outsider. " An insolent capon," so one of the
Positivists 5 declared in company of Holman Hunt, who never
lied and who told him that the noun at least had no warrant.
1 Ruskin is even said to have gone to the wedding an impossibility, for they were
married in the drawing-room at Bowerswell and to have taken tea in Cromwell Place,
so said Henry James. The tactless young husband sent on to Ruskin photographs of
his and Effie's first-born, taking rooms for his wife, nurse and baby for the summer
in the very manse where he had stayed with Mr. and Mrs. Ruskin in 1853.
2 " Rooms contiguous." Mrs. E. M. Ward, who perhaps did not realise the
exiguity of a Scotch bothie, said this to the authoress in 1924.
8 Mrs. Latouche made inquiries, according to Mrs. -Williams-Ellis (Tragedy of
John Ruskin). It was said at the nullity trial that he had a defence ready.
Holman Hunt tried to get him to plead. He would not. He did not choose to
call &f--but preferred, without a word of self-defence, to suffer public and private
humiliation sooner than hold a woman who did not want him.
4 To " plote " the goose is to pluck it.
6 James Cotter Morrison.
102
CHAPTER XI
f ^HE weather broke and on May Day, through the rain,
I all the smart folk fared to the Private View of the
Royal Academy AlKngham as a critic ! He had never
-^- met Mrs. Ruskin but he could have sworn that she was
there. If so she had the grace to be dressed quietly no
crocus gown a contrast to Miss Annie Miller, who, in red and
blue like a P.R.B. painted window, was peacocking about in front
of her portrait. She was the Queen of the artists' May, elected
tacitly every year from some lady whose portrait adorned the
walls. Her engagement was practically acknowledged and she
had taken care not to forfeit her position as the " intended " of
the painter of the picture whose subject was for the first time
" the universal subject of discussion in these Islands, from one
end to the other."
Of course the British Public was impressed by the picture,
praising its choice of theme, its simplicity and " the lofty ex
pression on the face of the Redeemer." But though the leaves,
the panelled door, the lanthorn were all painted according to
the canons of Pre-Raphaelitism, the mat-white foldless obe,
like marble, like wood, without drawing, without handling, was
plumb against them. Hunt's worst qualities were what endeared
him to the Nation. No matter ; one of the Brotherhood had
managed to popularise the Movement and henceforth, as a Body,
they were safe in the Abraham's bosom of the accredited picture
mart of England and the brewers, merchant-princes, manu
facturers, shipping agents, contractors and iron-masters flocked
round, shocked, puzzled, 1 but solid for Hunt.
One of the Brethren, alas, could not keep his temper, or his pen,
off the subject. Next night at Collins' Munro, Stephens and
Brown present Rossetti, President, announced to " You fellows "
that he was putting his design for Found into " The Portfolio " this
1 " Such things are, but why paint them ? " And " the general colour is so odd
one can't quite tell what to make of it at first." Miss Catherine Winkworth.
103
round, but was " haunted by certain consequences that might
be shadowed forth in rapid action " and proceeded to read them
one of his mirthless, undramatic little saynetes that they were in
the habit of listening to patiently. It was called Miching
Malhcho It Means Mischief.
The first scene was laid in Robert Street, Adelphi, the chambers
of good-natured Mike Halliday, Millais' great friend. Halliday
announces that he has got " The Portfolio " at last from " that
wretched Rossetti " and is glad to find, in spite of all their
prophecies, that the fellow really has put in a design ! Briefly,
as President, he sketches the subject a castaway crouching by the
parapet of the bridge at early dawn, discovered by a lover of
earlier days, who is pulling her hands away from her face to
observe the ravages of her present life. He then sits down and
ostentatiously addresses a letter to Millais at Chatsworth a
dig at Millais' smart friends.
The second scene is laid at the Collins' 1 in Hanover Terrace.
Slangy greetings and reiteration of the word " Stunning ! " (the
Brethren were already poking fun at themselves). And Millais,
back from ducal parages, admits to being rather puzzled about
" that design of Gabriel's," who seems to have lit upon the same
subject as himself, about a woman and a market-gardener finding
her in the street. Did he show it to Gabriel or didn't he ?
Anyway, he is now painting it. Halliday remarks that that will
be a bore for Rossetti, but Millais retorts airily that old Gabriel
would never have finished it ! He knows of a brick wall (for
which Gabriel is searching in vain), and " when my Found is
done, 't will be the loveliest thing you ever saw in your life !
Stunning ! " The pet expletive goes off now and again like a
popgun all round the room, a shield for some misgivings in the
minds of the Brethren. (Rossetti was strong enough to dare to
indicate this.)
The third scene takes place in the Aihenaum office, with Mr.
Hepworth Dixon dictating his review of the R.A. Exhibition.
" Our readers will remember the striking originality of the
artist's conception. . . . The editor's only objection is to a
certain similarity of subject in two of the works exhibited. . . .
We allude to Mr. Hunt's Awakened Conscience . . . Mr. Millais'
Found. . . ."
So deeply was the idea of special injury done him by the
stealing of his " notion " (as he conceived it to be) set in Rossetti's
1 What a lot Wilkie must have known, and disregarded !
104
consciousness that he had told Ruskin about it, and using all the
perspicuity and wisdom of which he was full when other people's
affairs were concerned, Ruskin wrote at once (crossing out the
Mister and begging Rossetti to do the same). " You feel it is
not worth while to bring out your modern subject now he has
done his first." He thinks Found a dreadfully difficult subject to
carry out, but it will, it must, be done. . . .
He was really anxious that his protege should drop this dreadful
medievalism, which he hated as much as would a man whose
favourite songs were, Comin' thro* the Rye and Katie's Letter that
he had young ladies sing to him by the hour, and who could
bear to sit in his own dreadful drawing-room. Long ago he had
owned to disliking the ugliness of Pre-Raphaelite faces Millais'
Mary Virgin, Hunt's Viola (for which Miss Siddall had sat) and
Rossetti's Lucrezia, with her red hair and pink roses in it ! He
detested, in spite of its moral subject, Hesterna Rosa the gnome-
like women sitting about on the floor (there were plenty of easy-
chairs in his mother's house) also Paolo and Francesca, floating
through space in a cotton-wool snowstorm signifying the flames of
Hell to which this sort of guilty person was generally consigned
by Dante. But how could Rossetti and the man who burnt
Goya and advised people " for pure, all virtueless, stupid,
deadly poison " to read Victor Hugo and who nourished " a
painful propensity for Longfellow," be at one ?
Ruskin's secret garden was in Philistia. The key of it hung
always at his watch-chain and he was fond of gathering its flowers
say, calceolarias, fuchsias and nemophilas and entertaining the
fauna of it, such as Royal Academicians and holders of opinions
contrary to his. He would ask the lion to lie down with the lamb
Rossetti to meet Clarkson Stanfield begging the former on this
occasion to be " not too Pre-Raphaelite," nor was he even afraid
of the heavy-weight champion of the open-air school (who had
lampooned him shockingly). 1 Anxious to propitiate him on his
1 To the deuce with Ruskin
And his gas lamps seven !
We've the stones of Snowdon
And the lamps of Heaven.
Leave to Robert Browning
Beggars, fleas and vines ;
Leave to mournful Ruskin
Popish Apennines.
Charles Kingsley in a review of The Seven Lamps oj Architecture.
105
friend's behalf on the morning of a day when Kingsley was
lunching, he sent down a portfolio to Chatham Place for the
artist to fill with drawings to show the " strepitous " clergyman.
Not Lizzy's ; he was afraid they might be too morbid for him.
Nothing was to be put in that had " feeling in it," but, say, that
drawing of Blackfriars Bridge, with which even Kingsley could
hardly quarrel ?
Everyone realised that Rossetti had definitely succeeded the
young Millais in Ruskin' s affections. The Professor was now writ
ing letters to that young man, describing himself and his character,
his likes and dislikes, telling the worst of himself, recording his good
points as lovers use, shyly flattering the other " Among all the
painters I know it seems to me that you, on the whole, have the
greatest genius/' also, as far as J. R. can make out, " are a very good
sort of person." And, though J. R. owns to " no loves and no
friendships," he tells Gabriel Rossetti all about that glove of
Adele's left in a drawer these eighteen years ago.
" The best friend I ever had," Rossetti said afterwards. Did he
mean financially ? For quite soon Ruskin made him the proposi
tion the rich are able to make, accepted faithfully, carried out
for years, until the inherent flaw which sooner or later im
paired all Rossetti's friendships with men at any rate brought
it to an end.
The manifestations of Ruskin's generosity were connected
with his own present complex. Gabriel was not " to let the
idea slide " into his head that Ruskin was " doing things for
him," for the British Workman, for anybody, in order to regain
his place in public opinion. He is what he is, " and a good many
people think I am very bad ! "
Managing him and his money box, Rossetti did pretty nearly
what he liked with Ruskin during the good years he had him at
beck and call. The elder man admitted that, in the company of
the younger, he was " robbed of all initiative in thinking " : his
mind could only " follow Rossetti's." He got back his Cate
gorical Imperative when he had a pen in his hand. Then he
became the imperious and sarcastic teacher and Rossetti the lazy
and fractious schoolboy.
But, try as he would, Rossetti could not get Ruskin, who was
1 06
doing the poor man real pecuniary damage, to accept Brown, 1
who had more passion in his little finger than Rossetti had in his
whole body.
Ruskin could not bear Brown, his manner, his art which
embodied the principles of the particular bias Brown saw life
by. Disliking the morbidity inherent in medievalism, the
Professor fought it and its supposed concomitant, sensuality, in
Rossetti, just as Eastlake was fighting it in the Royal Academy,
while his wife did the same in the Press.
" Female horrors (their models) with thin bodies and sensual
mouths, looking as if they were going to be hung, or dead and
already decomposed," wrote " Corinne " 2 in her organ, The
Quarterly. While her husband (" Little Eastlake," so he was
called : she was " Lago Maggiore "), a less virulent but intensely
disapproving Philistine, would slyly boast to his real intimates of
having lately met a painter " deeply versed in all the literature
of art, but absolutely uncontaminated by Ruskin."
Rossetti would soothe his fiery old teacher with farcical abuse
of Ruskin. Ruskin was a sneak and only loved him, Rossetti,
because he was one too ; and Ruskin only half liked Hunt because
old Hunt was only half a sneak. Ruskin hated Brown and
Woolner because they were straightforward Woolner appallingly
so. Ruskin used to adore Millais because Millais was the Prince
of Sneaks. But now that Millais had sneaked away his wife
Ruskin " was forced to hate him just for having a little too much
of his favourite quality." 3 So Gabriel would run on, puzzling
and disgusting Brown, who, simple and sweet, tough and testy,
never knew what to make of this man who could poke fun at
Ruskin and accept his kindness at the same time ; could exploit
him " That little transfer of pictures, how will he take it ? "
and laugh at him " Old Ruskin wants a little Academy of his
very own in every blessed manufacturing town, where he can
rope in all the rising young men and dictate the laws of art to
them to his heart's content."
He was to study landscape more " scumble instead of
stipple " to make " careful studies of the whole, sacrificing all
1 " Don't buy Madox Brown at present. Don't you see that his name never
occurs in my books ? Do you think that would be if I could praise him ? He is an
entirely worthy fellow, but pictures are pictures, and things that aren't aren't,"
Ruskin to Miss Heaton.
2 Lady Eastlake.
3 Rossetti, his Life and, Works, Evelyn WaugL
107
the detail " (this to a Pre-Raphaelite !). To exercise in light and
shade, or colour, " in large grammatical abstractions," slowly
and resolutely ce You can't make light and shade interesting in
the same picture. Though nature can, we can't ; we must
sacrifice one or the other."
Mostly Gabriel did as he was told, 1 leaving " the pure greens "
out of The Nativity " Please do, or you will make me ill again ! "
Endeavouring to get it to look " less like worsted work by Wednes
day." Nor did he vocally resent hints as to the proper packing
of drawings. He had scratched " the cheek of Lancelot " in
sending it but, next time, he did put " a sheet of smoothest
drawing paper " over the faces. For well he realised what a
splendid business man his patron was, insisting, for instance, on
his producing " small, easily saleable things " it was much
easier to find ten purchasers for a twenty-guinea picture than one
for a two-hundred-and-fifty-pounder.
3
With the assistance of the rich Polidoris a plot of ground for
old Gabriele was bought, close to the grave of Brown's first wife
on the western side of Highgate Cemetery, by no means a
favourite neighbourhood, haunted, and neglected. The grave
under the aspen would hold seven ; and there, after he had been
dead a week, the body of its first tenant was laid.
Wednesday, the 26th May, was a full day for his eldest son.
Gabriel had asked for an appointment after the funeral with
Doctor Wilkinson, saying he hoped to get down to Hastings that
very night to attend to Miss Siddal, whose illness, still in the
pathetic and not unbecoming stage, had provoked in him a
recrudescence of affection. He had had a note about her from
Miss Leigh-Smith, enclosing another from Bessie Parkes, which
made him uneasy. She was rather bad. He designed a longish
stay with her while awaiting Raskin's return, and bade Allingham
get Routledge to send the wood-blocks for the volume of ballads,
which he had accepted a commission to illustrate, t6 Chatham
Place, so that he could take them with him. He had already
begun a sketch for one and must really set about them in earnest
and some other " likely things to raise tin." He must resume
his sittings when he came back, and meanwhile Gabriel was
1 " You are a conceited monkey, thinking your pictures right when I tell you
positively they are wrong."
108
leaving the field clear for him with La Belle. And Allingham was
to tell Munro and Clough to write to him at 12, East Parade,
Hastings.
He got down that night, armed with powders for Lizzy from
Doctor Wilkinson and the blocks which had come in time for
Lizzy to finish her drawing for Clerk Saunders. He didn't think
her worse rather better judging from her appearance. He
had taken a little walk with her and she did not seem fatigued.
She was better ; she admitted it herself and the glorious weather
they were having would soon cure her. . . .
He was all kindness and thought for her Would William
send that shawl Aunt Charlotte had promised ? " just the
thing ! " He had taken some sort of line with his family and
with himself.
The woman had taken her line too ; a stronger, firmer one
than the man's. She did not want to be made to look silly
again, or a repetition of the Anna Mary incident. A bit of
an artist, she was a bit of an actress as well. Through her
poetry she cleverly gave Gabriel to understand that her heart,
such as it was, was buried in the grave with Deverell. " A
startled thing ... a bird with a broken wing. . . ." she could
not give him the love she gave so long ago. Only
... a sinking heart
And weary eyes of pain,
A faded mouth that cannot smile
And may not laugh again.
Gabriel read her poetically garbed reproaches, marked and
kept the poems but did not show them to Barbara Leigh-Smith.
They were not very good not nearly as good as her drawings.
109
CHAPTER XII
i
" TITT is certain that my conviction gains very much as soon
as another is found to share it." Barbara's Aunt Julia
thought Lizzy's manners perfect and sanctioned her being
JL asked to Scalands. " Several ladies here have called and
been very attentive to Lizzy. Everyone adores the dear." She
enjoyed it, Gabriel's pride in her, the sun of favour shining as
well as the other luminous body this was a glorious Spring.
Her spirits improved, her worst symptoms abated and she
began her drawing for Clerk Saunders. He had moved his
traps to Mrs. Elphick's, who gave him a room in the haunted
attic for less than eight shillings. " No one thinks it odd," he
told his mother, " my going into Miss Siddal's room." x
Miss Smith herself had said to the landlady that it would be
most inadvisable for Miss Siddal to sit in a room without a
fire.
Think it odd why should they ? An artist and his model !
But he was beginning to care what his mother thought of his
girl.
They were asked to stay at Scalands Gate. Lizzy was to have
Anna Mary's room full of china Christs hanging on ebony
crosses and fonts for Holy Water : Anna Mary, brought up as a
Quaker, was now as good as a Catholic.
Barbara's cottage was built on a hill over the village amid a
sea of young birches, chestnuts, hornbeams and pines. From
the windows one saw for miles over hills and dales ; farmsteads
and oast-houses with their tapering roofs and gilt vanes. She
had built her cottage in simple style, as a protest against
" Victorian worship of smugness and pretentious comfort."
Here was comfort but no pretence. There was no hall. The
front door opened straight on to the parlour and the staircase.
Simple, like Lizzy's old home in Kent Place but oh so different !
1 " Having cribs in the same house," as he puts it somewhere else.
110
No marshes and no crawling, slimy river, but a peep at the sea
from the window of one bedroom. The round table in the
middle was spread for meals, and at dinner the door left open on
to the garden permitted Lizzy to watch the birds picking up the
crumbs she sprinkled for them on the step. In the kitchen
adjoining, Henrietta Blackadder officiated alone, with her simple
stews and innocent rice puddings. (Rossetti never got quite
enough to eat here.) Miss Leigh-Smith had her own little room
upstairs where there was a frieze running all round the top
reproducing the Bayeux tapestry (Scalands was close to the place
where the Battle of Hastings was fought) and a shelf covered
with Algerian pottery and bookshelves below. There they sat
in the evenings reading aloud, listening to the " dog music "
from the kennels outside pointers, beagles and retrievers, used
for shooting by Barbara's brothers.
" It's wonderful at Scalands/ 7 said Emily Davies, who, bringing
overworked School Teachers and Feminists, came down often to
be " un-tired " so Barbara put it to the painter, whose delicate
model she had also undertaken to look after until he could be
prevailed upon to shoulder the responsibility.
She and Bessie and Anna Mary had strong hopes of an engage
ment. His attitude to Lizzy was improving in proportion to her
credit with them. 1 " Everyone here adores and reveres Lizzy/'
Gabriel said, and wrote, " She is lovelier than ever but so weak."
She managed to see the country riding about on a little mare.
Down the hill into Robertsbridge, dismounting by the church
garth and walking up by the hedge of southernwood to the old
church, so spoilt inside that they would not go in. To Bodiam
Castle, wandering by the moat where besiegers " sat down "
with their catapults, under apple trees, creeping leaves and
ivy in loads. And over the drawbridge into the Castle and up
to the chamber to look out of the window on the stagnant water
spread with a soft grey carpet of broad water-lily leaves. Through
the hop-fields to Clive Vale Farm, which Anna Mary's people
had once lent to Hunt when he was thinking of going out to his
uncle in the Colonies to learn to keep sheep. There was the little
table he had taken for a palette, with splashes of red, blue and
green, and turpentine dried upon it. That did not particularly
shock Lizzy, used to artists' ways by now. Then they wandered
round the garden among the great red flowers, the little blue
1 Had he married Barbara how different his life would have been ! It is possible
that his fancy for her was one of the reasons for his delay in proposing.
Ill
flowers, not one of which could she name, but said they reminded
her of the foregrounds of the pictures of Gabriel and his friends.
She was observant, like these men, and would stand for hours by
the lily pond in the kitchen garden under the old oak where the
white owls lived, to watch the gold-fish, seen as if through a red
blind under the murky water, and if she came too near they
would sense her and dive, leaving a nameless stain as of blood
and, presently, no more than a shy blur. . . .
" They always rise when the weather is thundery, 3 ' the
gardener said. It was now the weather was breaking.
And at night they would go out to hunt glow-worms along
the roots of the hedges, or sit in the red room and read aloud.
Brother Ben, in from his own place and weary with husbandry,
in his blue blouse with his dog Rough at his side, would be pre
tending to listen, rising sometimes suddenly to go out and eject
a tenant. His was a largish property.
Well disposed to her friends as they were, conversation with
Barbara's brothers was difficult for the two artists ; and what
must these good people have thought of the man, sauntering,
trailing his umbrella that never left his hand, humming through
his closed teeth nothing like a tune ! And the woman, haggard,
pale, hatless, with irises or what not wreathed in her hair. Did
they pass discreetly on, when they came with their dogs, tramping
through the preserves, and found the pair prone in the under
growth, he lying on his back with one knee raised and his hands
behind his head, while she plaited long grasses, making herself
wreaths for her hair like Ophelia, Lying about was a habit
Rossetti practised all his life in the woods at Lymington with
Allingham, in the wide field furrows at Kelmscott, 1 on the small
sofa at Cheyne Walk he was fat by then.
On these debateable borders of the year
Spring's foot half falters
Barbara had worked it and the electrical fluid spilled from
the skies on the day of the thunderstorm. Gabriel Rossetti and
Elizabeth Siddal were caught in the rain and took refuge in the
dim, dark wood, by a little spring that welled up under a stone
1 Between the acres of the rye
These pretty country folk would lie.
SHAKESPEARE.
112
half hidden by lush grass, that they knew of. There they
cowered, shielded by the leafy screen which the arrowy death
could not pierce unless God really wanted to find them. And,
when it was quieter, making a cup of her fair white hand, she
gave him to drink out of it, from the well . . . shyly, with the
affectation of one who is aware that the moment has come, that
she is making a man " athirst where other waters spring," taking
him by her grace as she stooped, and the poise of her languid
wrist that trembled. . . .
And she sang to him. They were both gay, like children on
whom Doom lies.
He proposed 1 to all intents and purposes in
... that hour my soul won strength
For words whose silence wastes and kills,
Dull raindrops smote us and at length
Thundered the heat within the hills,
and ratified it that evening in her room among Anna Mary's
Christian emblems. It still rained. Standing in front of the
window that looked over the valley and the hill beyond, she was
mistress of herself, playing gently with the white cotton blind
tassel and tracing with her finger on the pane the progress of the
shining drops that blurred the view, her eyes downcast, seeming
to be interested in the pale green fields, helpless, prone under the
driving sheets of rain. . . .
She did not believe he meant it even now, but she accepted
him and they cut their monograms on the lintel of the window. 2
3
At first Gabriel enjoyed being engaged, taking it as a cataclysm
inevitable, a thing written. He wrote to Brown, " When I first
met her I felt that my fate was defined." To Allingham he
solemnly made over his interest in the Cordial Stunner ; " no
chance for me any more."
And next day, when they returned to Hastings and Mrs.
Elphick's
. , . the memories of these things
Like leaves through which a bird has flown
Still vibrated with Love's warm wings
Till I must take them all my own
And paint this picture . . .
1 He tells it himself in a poem written long before, pulled out and altered to fit
her The Portrait. 2 It is now the cook's room.
I 113
So he cleared away the whatnot with the china tea-things on
it that stood in the window of the back room in Number Five,
bought some tall pot-plants and put them in a row on the steps
into the garden outside, to imitate the shade of the trees, and got
her to stand up against them, " as in the wood that day," and
made many a sketch of her " dear " face with outlandish flowers
arranged in her " dear " hair and, in the evening, pen-and-ink
designs for her new monogram (something with a dove in it, the
bird she loved for DeverelPs sake), as well as shots at illustrations
to Allingham's poem and the blocks for Routledge. But he
confessed to being lazy, writing to Allingham " Poor Miss
Siddal has done better than I have." He still owed Allingham
for their fares down, but " be sure that I am really going to
attend to that petite affaire of . s. d. Meantime (light chaff in
which Rossetti was always very heavy), tenez vous bien ! " More
references to the Cordial Stunner and a message to friends and
enemies at home " Remember me to Boyce and Munro and
Clough and forget me to Coleman. . . ."
He now went about declaring that Lizzy was a genius, that
those long tapering fingers of hers from which the blood seemed
to have retreated, as in the first stages of the disease called
pernicious anaemia, were those of an executant and that in her
designs she fulfilled his desideratum, putting in " the fundamental
brain-work that makes the difference in all art."
She was very very thin but yet desirable. The hair which
had at first attracted him was still glossy, golden and upspringing
% as ever, the figure majestic in its length of limb, the noble
shoulders sharp but unbowed, so that she raised the desire she
was further than ever from consenting to crown, now that she
had the excuse of invalidism. Courageous, uncomplaining,
captain of her soul, she had the stoicism of one inured to
varieties of hardship, as other, more sheltered, women are used
to frequent, medically-imposed, changes of air. The changeling
expression that so the poet Allingham maintained attested
her fairy origin, held some of the unpleasant naivete and super
imposed wisdom of the slum child, and evoked the mood of
ruth that now and again comes over the artist, since Pity and
Terror he must command or never know the full artist's passion.
She went back to High Street and Miss Leigh-Smith left for
town, telling the girl that she would always find her room ready
for her if she had a fancy to go there alone and be looked after
by Henrietta Blackadder. The Triumvirate had lost interest in
114
this queer pair whose engagement they had procured. It was
now for the woman, who obviously wanted it most, to bring her
man to the point of marriage.
Gabriel rather wished Lizzy would accept this invitation and
let him go back to town. The spectacle of her ups and downs
and the responsibility of tending such frail loveliness depressed
him. " She is a sweet companion, cracking her little mirthless
jokes. . . . But the constant sight of her varying state is much
less pleasant."
There was something of Cellini about him as well as of
Leonardo ; of the cunning craftsman and the simple painter.
Something too of Omar. 1 The Dream and the Business were
never very far away from each other in his mind. If he married
this sick woman he must give up Chatham Place. Wilkinson
would certainly forbid their setting up there. . . .
He wanted to get home to begin Found while The Awakened
Conscience was still on the walls of the Royal Academy, so that
his " modern subject " could be compared with Hunt's. It
would mean money, too. His means were still, as he put it,
" small and fitful," and he paid Lizzy's rent and kept her, whom
he had prevented from making money for herself by sitting to
some other fellow. As for commissions she wouldn't get much
for the work she was doing, even if she ever finished it, so said his
boding heart and business mind. She was going to be a per
manent invalid and he would have to make enough money to
support a wife and perhaps a brat . . . consumptives have
children. No more Chinese inlaid cabinets or four-mark china
for him ! . . .
His own sources of revenue were chancey. Aunt Charlotte
was good at a pinch. There was McCracken, who adored him
but had just asked him to accept thirty-five pounds instead of
seventy-five for a water-colour, and of course Ruskin but Ruskin
might dry up ? Ruskin had not seen Lizzy, but Gabriel was
sure that he would not admire her or the way she dressed. 2 He
knew about her, of course. His letters from Switzerland usually
ended with some such stiff, polite message as " I sincerely
trust your best anticipations with respect to your pupil may be
fulfilled."
1 " take the cash and, let the credit go."
2 He liked the Dresden china shepherdess style of dressing hoops, furbelows,
fichus, and screaming crocus gowns.
4
Everyone knew what was happening to Ruskin, what made him
crochety and, at best, absent-minded. Allingham wrote to tell
Rossetti, who had already heard of it from Munro and Calder
Campbell. He had even had a letter from Millais himself,
telling him that he was going into the country, and one from
Ruskin, so painfully before the public nowadays. Gabriel rather
admired the man" Seems to take his sell coolly ! "
The Scalands ladies were still away and the weather had
turned. " It is very windy and rather slow here ! " He must
see Allingham before he went back : he was just waiting until he
could scrape together enough " tin " to leave ' " this stunning
part of the world " and get back to town."
Miss Siddal, as soon as he was gone, went to Scalands. She
wanted to stand again, to lie again, in the Silent Wood.
She was now more or less serene, as those who are definitely
health-condemned, finding a quaint solace in the performance
of one or two of the picturesque observances that may remain
for them to do, making certain gestures of predilection, since
nothing much mattered any more. She did not complain . . .
but it was all nonsense this saying she was better : she was very
ill.
She did not walk far, for Wilkinson had forbidden it. Just
to look at the dogs in their wire pens, leaping, barking or standing
up quietly like animals about to be vivisected, their stomachs like
a brown mat flattened against the network ; or go the other way,
to peer at the white owl sitting in the heart of the thornbush.
But best she liked the wood near the house, with its " gellibirds,"
shouting cuckoos, blackbirds and thrushes, and nightingales
warbling at dusk from the amber-tinted oak tree. And there
was the other wood, farther away, where she and Gabriel had
gone so often to sit in the great dark hall of the over-arching trees,
a light roof keeping off rain and the heat of the sun alike. She
would lie flat under the low boughs, nearly down to the ground
in some places, with waving fern fronds to fan her, and for long
hours would watch the movements of the underworld, the tiny
restrained gestures of the small things, shiny, furry, feathered :
creeping, pottering and flying low among and under the different
kinds of darknesses, mossy, velvety and dun like the shadows and
corners of the human body. Low-leafed boughs of the larch,
like eyelashes, stirred now and then by the grey flash of a bird
116
slowing down to take cover, like the prow of a boat beaching in
the shallows of the shade. . . .
She lay so still that they were not afraid of her any more
than she was afraid of them. She was not afraid of anything,
not even of vipers whose bite deprives a man of his virility and
makes a woman " silly " for life. Henrietta Blackadder objected
to her bringing blackthorn and may into the house and even
nightshade. Miss Siddall would actually handle the Dwale
Bluth, as Mr. Brown called it, that would make her die if she so
much as put her finger in her mouth afterwards. She gloated
on the strange, weary pallor of this flower, the dull purple stem,
the thin leaves veined like the hand of an octogenarian, faded
like the moon, seen by daylight, which always made her think of a
jealous woman. Nor did she feel disgust at the natural preying
of creatures on each other. Near her would be the remains of
an owl's meal, grey feathers glistered over with the kindly dews
of night. She would think of herself as a dead savage, carried
on a wicker bier to the woods by her kinsfolk and left to be
parcelled out among the birds and the worms till there was
nothing left of her but her bones.
Long day-dreams, with kind, courteous, natural death at the
end!
She would get up and tidy herself and pick the white flowers
of the celandine from the toes of her black shoes and go in,
quickly passing the kitchen window, so thin that Henrietta
Blackadder would hardly have time to see her as she went by
a " regular tallow candle." No wonder ! She ate scarcely
anything.
And Gabriel Rossetti, healthy, full-blooded, cheer-loving, was
back in town, breakfasting with Allingham, dancing with Annie
Miller at the Gun Tavern, rowing with her and a friend to
Pimlico to fetch Stephens in Lupus Street, and walking, all four,
to Hungerford Bridge and by rail to Greenwich to attend the
Fair. A wild, Teniers-like scene. Grown-up people rolling down
One Tree Hill, little boys running about rubbing a wooden
instrument with a toothed wheel down men's backs as they rushed
past, to make them think their coats were torn. Kiss in the
Ring, skirmishing with their own girls and others Gabriel got
some scratches. Then they would take the pretty ones to have
a shrimp-tea in the little house at the Park Gates where he and
Allingham had once led the austere and dreary Lizzy. And
parted at Chancery Lane, each to his own place.
117
s
She got wind of one of these excursions and sent for him.
The weather had changed. In Hastings now there was dense
fog and heat, " when sea and sky made one wall," and on the
days when she was not so well he had to walk by himself on the
cliffs baked dry as a bone, or below, on the beach smelling offish,
longing to get back to his own stinks at least and perhaps to
cheerful Annie ? He would sit alone at the window, plumb on
the street, of the parlour and listen to the Town Crier with his
" O yes ! O yes ! " and wonder if it wouldn't be the easiest
thing to put plagues and poems, skeletons and unfinished pictures
into his sack and let him sell them all off without reserve.
She was no better. Miss Leigh-Smith again talked of her
Home, which Lizzy would have none of. It would be the death
of her to be shut within four walls to brood, with sick people all
round her and Death, perhaps for Death occurs oftener
in hospitals than outside. How if she should be puzzled by
the disappearance of such a one and warned of the cause by the
solemn looks of the officials or, confined to her room, hear the
noise of a coffin knocking against the banisters, the shuffling feet
of the bearers, and guess what it all meant !
Her wishes for once jumped with his and presently they were
back in Chatham Place.
The papers were full of the state of the Thames, its wharves
and bights, 1 so alarming that our legislators at Westminster had
to have chloride ^ of lime put on the window-sills of the Hall
of their deliberations. Questions were being asked in the House.
It was only a hundred years since the River of Dead Dogs had
been covered over and a portion of it still festered to the sun.
Nor are dirt and disorder in the home good for consumptives, and
this fatal condition, the glory and the shame of Pre-Raphaelite
menages, was implicit in Number Fourteen. There was no
witty Puck " to go before and sweep the dust behind the door."
Nor would this Duke of Athens have engaged him. He hated to
be cleaned up. Mrs. Madox Brown, born a country girl, did
come in now and then and give " a hand's turn " with a broom,
1 Edlington's Wharf, Lime Wharf, Mr. Hood's Iron Wharf, Randall's Wharf
St. Andrew's Wharf and then Puddle Dock, Sand Wharf, Hudson's Wharf leading
up Bennett's Hill to the Cathedral On the other side (west) Wood & Co 's Wharf
Pig's Quay, Gas Light Co.'s Wharf, Dorset and St. Bride's Wharves, Stapleton's,
Western Caves and the Grand Junction Water Works.
118
>
MRS. FORD MADOX BROWN AS CINDERELLA
From a drawing by Ford Madox Brown
Gabriel all the while begging her to desist sooner than risk the
obliteration of landmarks. Her attitude was good her husband
drew her as she swept and called it Cinderella.
He was not well either. He got up to his work every morning
feeling " so hopelessly beastly " and his work " so hopelessly
beastly too." He took " physic " as he called it and such pallia
tives as Lizzy, out of her invalid's pharmacopoeia, suggested, and
found himself better but " confused," so that, in illustrating The
Maids of Elfin Mere, he drew one of the ghosts spinning left-
handed and had to do the drawing all over again.
He was looking up his translations of early Italian poets to
see if there was any money in them, writing short stories, 1 asking
William to find him some person to read him " some gospel
for Llandaff" 2 and went as far as Brown's in the broiling
August sun to borrow costumes for The Passover.
And all the time various duns, that Mrs. Birrell did not choose
to deal with so sent them up ! Benthall on the staircase
opposite, agent for Mr. Duncan, kept on applying for the rent
of the rooms, over-due and over-due, till Aunt Charlotte came
to the rescue " Pay D. G. Rossetti or Order. Twenty-five
pounds. C. Polidori."
Sadness chastened him and the rueing that follows doctors'
visits, the fall of the mind's barometer, coupled with the want of
" tin " which drives men like Gabriel Rossetti to abound in
ultra-recognition of wrongs and unreasonable assessments of
blame. He seemed to see, in the stone-cold face of a mirror, Liz
dying, a maid forlorn, in the Old Kent Road (which he actually
fancied more unhealthy than Chatham Place), among alien
enemies (as he chose to consider her own people). Hearing that
Miss Leigh-Smith's health had broken down and that she was
going abroad for it, he savagely wished that " there was Rome for
my good pupil, whose life might matter a little ! " 3 Why
should lovely amateurs like Barbara have, through their unearned
1 St. Agnes of Intercession. Not the sort of short story that pays which we write
now.
2 Seddon had succeeded in getting hold (for the benefit of the P.R.B.) of a Welsh
M.P., Bruce, afterwards Lord Aberdare, who commissioned the altar-piece. It
was he who later authorised and gave facilities for the opening by night of Lizzy's
grave.
3 Rossetti, bis Life and Works, Evelyn Waugh.
wealth, the power of preserving the strength indispensable to
the furtherance of the art they need not actually live by ? The
constant bitterness of Brown and all the Pre-Raphaelites which
had dictated their revolt against the state-subsidised " Muffs of
Influence " surged up in him as he watched her putting touches
in, scraping others out, quiet, unrebellious, sitting at her little
easel placed on the table near the window. A great respect for
her grew up in him. Sturdy in a way, yet so pathetic with those
long loops of hair falling heavily, wearily, over hollow cheeks.
Now and again with a patient adequate gesture she would put
them aside with her long thin hand. Or too weak to get on
with it at all, just sitting like a folded umbrella, in her own big
chair. He could not but realise how bad she was ! The illness
of a strapping wench like the other would give way to treat
ment, " whereas, perhaps," so he wrote, " her soul is never to
bloom nor her bright hair to fade, but having hardly escaped
from degradation and corruption, all that she might have been
must sink out again unprofitably in that dark house where she
was born." 1 He did not know where exactly or, if he had been
told, he had forgotten, but it was in some slum or other on the
Surrey side. . . .
His boding soul, aware of its insufficiency and lack of pur
pose, had actually come to envisage either Death for this
poor creature or her inevitable return to influences from which
he had rescued her full four years ago, with such a flourish
of trumpets ! " From degradation and corruption ! " Strong
words, such as poets use. He meant perhaps the degradation of
illiteracy, the corruption of those who sit in darkness and gnashing
of teeth and read the penny dreadfuls. Lizzy's Greenacre com
plex must have been in his mind. He had never forgotten about
the fool-brother who had gone out and bought the murderer's
inife " he did it with," according to advertisement, and shown
it to the little child and made her a nervous subject for life !
The father seemed the best of them, but he was " sicklied o'er
with the pale cast of thought," full of the dreadful sourness of
those who go down into offices and litigate. A tall, thin-lipped
man, so Lizzy described him, not in the least like a shopkeeper,
after his day's work was over, sitting still, the black silk scarf he
affected straying across his shoulder, nursing his fiddle, in " the
dark house " of Gabriel's prepossession.
She had described it, the tiny parlour, the staircase, dis-
1 Rosscttiy his Life and Works, Evelyn Waugh.
120
simulated, at the back, up to the next floor where the father and
mother slept ; and then higher, up to the room which she had
shared with Lyddy, with the tiny grate that would not have held
a fire even if her mother had allowed it. Sadie cruelty ! Lyddy,
who never really lay down in bed, but sat up to sleep : younger,
not worn out as Lizzy was with nursing, yet morbid too, was per
haps also affected by the legend of the murderer who lived
next door and by the hanging which they all attended. The
executioner, according to custom, while the criminal was " danc
ing on nothing," had actually, in order to expedite matters,
jumped on the victim's shoulders so that the rope broke and
both executioner and criminal fell down into the trap. 1
Browning, who lived then in Camberwell, had told him of
how, coming away from the first night of Strafford, he had met
the horrible people tramping by to Newgate to be ready, over
night, to witness the hanging. And even Macready had been
nervous and would have liked to postpone the play because he
was afraid that someone in the audience would shout " Green-
acre ! "
Well, he, her lover, had taken her away from the society of
ghouls who could gloat over a hanging, out of the dark night of
ignorance and imbecility and brought her here into his life, a
lovely foundling, to paint from and lie with. . . .
And now she was too ill for either. " No man cares for my
soul," she had said bitterly once, when he was making robust
love to her as artists use when their model is pleasant to the
touch as well as the eye. He was not troubling much about her
salvation then \ Now he suddenly chose to feel himself responsible
for that. . . .
" I do not mean to make myself an exception, for how long
have I known her and not thought of this till so late ? " 2
For many days, but not so many as the days of his neglect,
" this subject," so he told Allingham, was " by far the nearest
thing to my heart."
7
He had never loved her more than now that he was going about
to betray her.
1 The phrase has passed into dock language : it is a stock joke to say " green-
acred " when a set of goods falls out of a sling, so violent an impression was produced
on everyone by this particular execution.
2 Rossetti, bis Life and Works, Evelyn Waugh.
121
Some time ago, at Rossetti's suggestion, a club had been formed
whose manifesto was " The Portfolio," which was sent round
to the members for their contributions, lying at their houses for
a week " oft becalmed in the Port of Blackfriars." But this
October Rossetti wrote to the President to say that it was his
intention to contribute a sketch he had newly made for Found.
Some time ago, he told them all, he had come across the very
model for it an old acquaintance, the wife of the ex-porter at
Somerset House a buxom beauty who used to throw nutshells
at him in the old days as he passed under the arch to see Walter
D ever ell. He had run across the woman at Vauxhall one
evening, and she, good Cockney soul, exclaiming " Lor ! If it
isn't Mr. Rizzetty ! " had flung her arms round him in the friendly
gloom, under the trees hung with pale-coloured lamps, lit only
with the furtive flare of fireworks. He had loved it, for once, the
careless frankness of the trull who can refuse a man nothing
but has no particular interest in giving it just " fond of a
guinea " and not averse to delivering the goods. He did not
quite know where he would get her to pose for him hardly at
Chatham Place, as he remembered her. She now lived some
where in Wapping, with her husband. Old, and past work,
Hughes had lost his job as porter and dispenser of artists' materials
when, after Mr. DeverelPs death, Sir Henry Cole had got the
Head School of Design moved to South Kensington. Hughes
was thoroughly unsatisfactory, but his wife bravely supported
him by her toil. 1 She had been on the stage and was now by way
of being a model " Miss Fanny Cornforth " on her professional
card. A handsome, full-bosoined girl, young but portly, even iji
the old days, when she used to &tand im her blue print gown,
arms akimbo, under the dark archway at Somerset House and
chaff the students wanting to see young Walter Deverell, whisper
ing to them that the cross old father was out and they could go
straight in. Now, her still rounded face had something tragic
about it. She had not " kept herself respectable," in Victorian
parlance, and with her bonnet half off and hanging by its string,
she did splendidly for RosabM. She was so good-natured and
obliging, sitting for hours in the cold and damp, that Gabriel
made time to go and see her in her lodgings, somewhere down by
the river. Lizzy had not seen her, nor Lizzy's watchdog Brown.
Though he had taken a house here on purpose for the back
ground of Foun^ he was painting it at Chiswick where he had
1 " Fanny's incumbrance . . ." Rossetti to Watts, 1874.
122
By the kindness of Mrs. Ed-ward Rae
FANNY HUGHES
From an oil painting by D. G. Rossetti
discovered an eligible wall, 1 dividing the churchyard from the
Keightleys' 2 garden, that would do. He was sleeping at Mr.
Keightley's and she at Weymouth Street. They had both had
to get out of Chatham Place because of the cholera, which was
frightfully bad.
1 " Not too countrified to represent a city wall, some moss but no prodigality of
grass, weeds, etc."
2 Author of some books on Fairy Mythology, mystic poet and ardent spiritualist.
123
CHAPTER XIII
i
IN this year, 1854, exit William Allingham, fixed at his
new post in New Ross and only over for very short visits,
as a witness of events. Of The Sid's patient decline
during the period that elapsed before Ruskin made his
frenzied bid with Death for her life, one hears only from Brown,
the faithful, the sturdy, the exaggerated in expression
Brown who loved her purely and without passion this side
idolatry, calling her " a real artist, a woman without parallel for
many a long year/' Brown, who " smelt the mould above the
rose," inspired Gabriel, intensely suggestible, to garner beauty
before he lost it.
On the 8th of October he called in Chatham Place and saw
Miss Sid, " looking thinner and more death-like and more
beautiful and more ragged than ever." He meant " ragged " as
the fringed mist wreaths that flee before the sun after a storm,
torn edges of wind-buffeted cloud ; flesh unbemmecL as it were,
by the contours of health, except for that full neck without
" drawing," straight from nook of ear to shoulder, constituting
to some minds a defect, but a line adopted by Rossetti thence
forward, whomsoever the sitter.
" And all my days are trances"
A creature of (bad) habit, Gabriel Rossetti hugged his hair
shirt and complied with it ; the healthy animal side of his nature
was being slowly starved out by the rigours she could not help.
Living in a state of sleepy worry, his friends saw him strangely
altered : " Life seems to play in him no longer, he still says
good things, but so colourlessly and so hollowly." For the first
time in his greedy, facile life he knew bitterness.
He had let her go back to live in Weymouth Street, and would
124
turn out dispiritedly alone for the meal that " combines/ 5 so he
said, " the sweets of an assignation " with a waitress they called
" The Cordial Stunner." Her innocent favours he shared with
William Allingham, who sent her valentines 1 and what not, from
his banishment. Half-hearted back-chat from Rossetti " She
came in on purpose to see me, in a lilac walking costume. I am
certain she does not regret you at all ! "
The waitress at Southon's was only a bluff. Now for Gabriel,
as for Shakespeare, there was the Dark Lady. Fanny whose
real name was Sarah was fair, but the adjective is less graphic
than psychic. Bouncing, comfortable, all contour and no angles,
the high spirits and high bosom of his old friend the nut-slinger
of Somerset House were a welcome anti-climax to The Sid's
haggardness, and corresponded to the more normal side of the
temperament of this " great Italian trying to live in the Inferno
of England," as described by Ruskin, who seems often to find
apt phrases for matters his own idiosyncrasy never knew.
Using the occasional intercourse with Jenny there could be
no mistake about the guineas with her as a bypass, his tenderness
for the woman who now held for him scarcely any sexual appeal
seemed to increase and flourish. He had ceased to live in the
same house with her and called her by a more stilted name than
" Guggums " ; 2 it was " Dear Dove Divine " : in his doggerel
rhymes he identified her with the bird that combines meekness
with a touch of the old-maidish acerbity. The very colours she
wore suggested the sheen on the necks of her pets. He designed
her a monogram to this effect and, in his letters, took to indicating
her name by a hieroglyph representing a dove.
Had he made one for Fanny it might well have been a wombat.
3
Very soon, hard up for company and someone to sit up late
with, he imposed himself on Brown in his new house in the
Finchley Road. The excuse was Found, which Brown was
always egging him on to finish.
He had " got in " the face of Rosabell : he had " met the right
1 So now I give good-bye, ma belle,
And lose no great good by it.
You're fair, yet I can smile farewell
As you must shortly sigh it
To your bright, light, outer shell, . . .
4 2 She was willing now, perversely, to call him Gug.
125
model for her the other day" (Why did not Brown then scent
danger to his dear ?), but wanted models for the countryman,
the cart and the calf. Brown must procure him a calf and,
to do Pre-Raphaelite justice to his subject, he must live near
his model.
A calf was got of the right age, restive and miserable. That
was simple enough, but Brown was, as usual, terribly hard up
and his house was too small for visitors. His wife was expecting
her second child ; her sick fancies cost him something. She had
had a month's longing to go to St. Albans, of all places, and he
had indulged her, Emma, gravid : in his eyes " the most beautiful
duck in existence," had enjoyed the trip, but dinner, night and
breakfast at The Pea Hen had cost him one pound five with
the tip.
But he went on working and starving : swaggering and even
begging, painting meticulously, " finishing from corner to corner,"
spending a month on the bonnet-strings of the female emigrant
and four on King Lear's carpet, paying his models handsomely,
keeping open house, putting one of his last half-crowns into the
collection " for the poor, cholera-parentless brats," begging of
Seddon and Uncle Madox in order to maintain little Lucy in
her high-class school at Greenwich and for the upkeep of Emma's
mother, always in difficulties down there in St. Pancras visiting
pawnshops every three days or so with family plate, jewellery,
rare engravings, papier mache ornaments and articles of clothing.
Poor Emma's good Indian shawl was oftener with " My Uncle "
or pinned round Dummy than on her back and only returned
to her shoulders while she was sitting for The Last of England.
In one great bout of pawning, just before Gabriel came, he
had raised eleven pounds. By the 24th of the same month it
had dwindled to two and, five days later " Money-box shows
only .1 2s. 6d"
There was an inn opposite, but Gabriel preferred a room in
Brown's house, 1 with its front door above the level of the path
way, up some steps and along a gravel walk bordered with white
and purple candytuft, which little Cathy was forbidden to pick.
^ The accommodation of Grove Cottage was scanty : parlour,
kitchen and scullery on the ground floor and two bedrooms
1 Five Socratean heads, all alike, were moulded on the first brick course, with
which the builder had endeavoured to classicise his villa. The painter spent some
time in hacking these off and so reducing the wall to a flat surface. They have
been replaced since and now grin down as in the first weeks of Brown's tenancy.
126
above, A door with red glass panes gave access through a yard
to a kitchen garden, sloping up the hill at the back, where
Brown painted backgrounds and set up Dummy dressed in
kingly robes (or his wife's shawl).
The guest arrived in the morning of the ist of November
but did not mean to sleep there that night, for Ruskin, who had
been back in London since October, had at last asked him to
dinner. So they inspected the calf, tethered opposite, and
Gabriel went back to sleep at home handy for Camberwell.
Next day he returned and Brown started him on the calf. It
" sat " so badly that Gabriel never got to work until half-past
three, when he knocked off for dinner at Brown's. His bed
was on the sofa in the parlour and he wore a pair of Brown's
trousers and Brown's great-coat ("which I want!"), while his host
sat painting out of doors with a blanket off the bed round his
loins. Gabriel was terribly heavy on the larder, the wardrobe, the
colour-box and the purse and altogether contrived to " make
the whole place miserable."
On the 2/th of December Brown had only two-and-eightpence
in hand. On the 30th he pawned his dress coat, waistcoat and
necktie, Emma's silk cape and cameo brooch and the shawl for
the dozenth time, giving his model two shillings out of the ten
thus collected, and began a sad little poem
Ours are the nameless sorrows,
The sudden and meaningless pain
That lights on the new-sown laughter
Like birds on the new-sown grain.
" Master Gabriel " (so Brown, when most outraged, would
describe his friend) stayed nearly a couple of months. By the
3 1st the situation was horribly strained. Brown and his guest
had sat up jawing as usual till five in the morning, Brown incon
sequent as Rossetti was logical, arguing about suicide ; Gabriel
standing out to do what he liked with his own body. 1 Rossetti
had not yet touched his portrait of the calf, but talked to Emma
of " several days yet " for the picture euphemism for the same
number of months. Then Brown told his guest that he must
go had he not noticed it ? Mrs. Brown was within a week
or two of her confinement, and a monthly nurse had to be
housed. He might sleep at home or take a bed at The Queen's
1 Brown took the Church's view as he, and Ruskin too, with a queer reservation,
did eight years afterwards in the case of Lizzy.
127
Head ? But Gabriel said that would be expensive. Nonsense,
Brown said brutally ; a bus fare one way would not break him :
he might walk out from Blackfriars in the morning when he was
fresh, and drive back home at night when he was tired out with
work. Rossetti shouldn't think of doing anything of the kind !
" So " and one can almost perceive the sob in Brown's voice,
and observe the premonition " he is gone for the present ! "
128
CHAPTER XIV
LIZZY nowadays worked in water-colour : oils tired her
too much. Gabriel meant to see what could be done
with some of her things, possibly through Ruskin,
whom he met pretty regularly at the Working Men's
College where he had taken a class to please him. 1 Ruskin was
charming to him as ever but seemed in no hurry to make the
acquaintance of his "pupil." He might have seen her; in
November of last year, he had nerved himself to face his public
again and announced a lecture in the Architectural Museum in
Castle Street, near Lizzy's old shop, addressed to workmen in
the Decoration trade on Design and Colour. Gabriel charged
brother William, in his capacity as journalist, to procure tickets
for him and Lizzy and Mary Howitt as near the front row as
possible.
Did the Professor take a hasty lecturer's glance over the row
of stalls immediately below the rostrum and notice the triplet
of oddish-looking people to which the one known face gave
a clue ? Two ladies Mary Howitt was dumpy and healthy
and could not have been taken for the invalid he had heard so
much of were sitting by Rossetti's side and, very soon after
this, he wrote to Professor Norton describing the sweetheart of
Mr. Rossetti as " hopelessly mediaeval-looking, more like a
fifteenth-century missal than anything out of a fresco."
He was not ever in love with The Sid. 2 He was in love then,
and always would be, with youth and health, 3 considering no
female worth looking at after eighteen, hating what he called
" grand faces " in women, caring only for " infinitely delicate
1 His day, then, was Monday and remained Monday until after his wife's death,
though his attendances grew more and more intermittent. This date is significant.
2 It has been said.
3 " The kind of painting we want in London is painting cheeks with colour."
A lecture by Ruskin.
K 129
and soft ones." When he did see Lizzy, she was sickly and already-
past her bloom. He only wanted to look after her in order to
set the mind of a great artist at ease and enable him to work
with a free hand. And he fully believed in Gabriel's love for
her and that she was at Death's door.
He had not been told all the ins and outs of it. He may have
imagined that the girl was still living at home with her family,
who naturally enough set their faces against an art education.
Or he was, after all, a man of the world it may have occurred
to him that the reason why Rossetti was not profuse in his
invitations to Chatham Place was that the guest might meet
Lizzy, bonnetless and in house shoes, and discover that she as
often as not shared the flat with her lover.
Meantime Gabriel was working for an invitation for them
both to go to Denmark Hill.
It came as the wind bloweth, and as suddenly. One morning
in March Ruskin came to Chatham Place while she was out and
bought every scrap of paper tinted by her. The showman was
begged to name his own price and, realising the advantage of
getting the drawings into Ruskin's hands, put them at what he
considered a low one. But Ruskin declared that twenty-five
pounds was too low, even for a low price, and insisted on paying
at least thirty pounds for the lot, proposing to have them
splendidly mounted and bound together in gold. Then he sat
down and wrote to the young lady herself an open letter
" promising further usefulness " as Gabriel, standing over him,
noted. He ordered some more designs and Lizzy began them
at once.
Brown got a letter from the delighted Gabriel at Finchley that
night with all details. " Ruskin will have it that hers are better
than mine better almost than anyone's ! " Here he gave Brown
a handle. " Just like Ruskin : the incarnation of exaggeration,"
so Brown wrote to Allingham, adding loyally, " Ruskin is per
fectly right to admire them."
Another of Gabriel's happy letters had been written to
Woolner, who was staying with the Great Unapproachable, as
Tennyson already was called. Woolner told him about Rossetti's
discovery of genius in the slums and he made Mrs. Tennyson
write to Moxon to say that Mr. Tennyson wasted some of the
130
illustrations to be entrusted to Miss Siddal. Moxon naturally
wanted names, but Mrs. Tennyson was so interested that she
offered to pay for the designs herself rather than not have them
included. 1
Gabriel and Lizzy quarrelled about a design of two nigger
girls playing to two lovers. It had been " married," said she,
to Mr. Allingham and now he had gone and sold it to Ruskin !
In a temper she dictated the letter Gabriel wrote to Allingham,
to say that she was prepared to do him another and a better
design as compensation.
The set was informed that Mr. Ruskin had not been intro
duced because she was an invalid whose movements were
circumscribed by the weather. But, " some thoroughly fine
day, Lizzy and I are to pay him our first visit together."
3
Ruskin's wife had left him in April : Millais would be marrying
her in July, for ever lost to him who was still, in his critical
capacity, inordinately praising his work. This generosity, how
ever, was taken by the world as a sign of weakness. Behaving
most decently, John Ruskin was compelled to play an unsym
pathetic part. It was harder to act than he thought, in the first
flush of relief at having got rid of her, when he had almost
cheerfully agreed to the third 2 of those propositions which her
father, Mr. Gray, red-haired, speaking with a strong North-
British accent, had laid before him.
He chose the worst for himself and tried to get away to
Switzerland, where, under the blue and amid the snows with
sunsets to tint them, he alone could find comfort. But he
must see Miss Siddal and leave all tidy and self-supporting
in that menage before he left. On the nth of April the
1 The illustrations to the Moxon volume came to contain the work of members
of such opposite schools as Horsley and Hunt; Rossetti and Mulready about
whom Ruskin went nearly as mad as he did about Miss Siddal. She was only one
of his chanties. The worry about the books, the unruly contributors, especially
Rossetti, is supposed to have killed Moxon. No example of Miss SiddaPs work
actually appears in it.
2 (I) An accusation of infidelity against either party undefended. (II) Four
years 5 refusal of cohabitation on either side to institute desertion undefended.
(Ill) A decree of nullity in case of no defence from the party implicated.
He declared himself indifferent as to which of the other two was selected. He
refused the first.
lovers were bidden to spend the day at Denmark Hill. The
bus took them as far as the bottom of the hill; Lizzy was
able to walk up. She was impressed, as Gabriel had been,
by the importance of the house, by the actual time it took
to get to the inner sanctum, along the solemn drive with the
cedar stooping over it, by the solemn footman (not powdered)
who opened the door, past the hovering maid and valet. She
walked in like " the person of distinction calling on Dante "
in the first drawing for which she had sat to Gabriel five
nearly six years ago. Mr. Ruskin himself was standing in the
hall to greet them. For a long moment her hand lay in his
(" all finger grip "), and then in the father's, which had to be
taken out of his pocket first. Led into the long, light drawing-
room dancing with prismatic lights refracted from the pictures
on the wall and the glass-covered cases sheltering minerals, she
was motioned towards Mr. Ruskin's mother, at the far end of
the room, whose welcome was gracious unexpectedly so, to
judge by the faces of her husband and son. Rising, with the
effect of Royalty, she took the young girl upstairs to take
off her bonnet. " My maid Anne," with appraising glance,
relieved her of her cloak, and then Mrs. Ruskin led her to a
window and showed her the view southwards, over the towers
of Sir Joseph Paxton's palace, and indicated the whereabouts of
the little river Effra, neither seen nor heard, at the bottom of
the dell. She was next allowed to peep into Mr. John's study,
where the table took up so much room that the rest of the floor
was but a passage round it. There were no curtains to the
window he did not choose to keep the sun out. The room was
tidier than any room Lizzy had ever seen j she much preferred
it to Chatham Place.
After lunch she got very tired of lakes and waterfalls
Constance, Lucerne, Windermere, Thun and Schaffhausen :
her host, not so much walking as hovering, taking pictures down
and suddenly appearing at her elbow with them ; so Mrs.
Ruskin took her up to her own room on the western side of the
house, darkish by day because of the big cedar on the front lawn,
made her lie down, and had a talk with her.
" God be with thee ! " said the old father prettily when it
was time to go, and the carriage came round to drop 'her at her
own door, and take Rossetti on to Chatham Place.
Going home, she declared that she loved Mr. Ruskin's father
but did not care for his mother ; she saw, through her calmness
132
and serenity, all her innate cruelty, her arrant and enormous
vanity. The son was kind, but she did not approve of the way
he talked ; his rather silly, perverse characterisation of people
and things that didn't happen to suit him. And he would keep
on dragging in religion, which made people feel shy, telling her
that Prayer was often " long unanswered " and bragging about
his own " great pieces of self-denial that all ended in catastrophe
instead of victory." (Digs at his wife, she supposed.) She
realised his absurd craze for youth " Only the Young are
happy " but supposed he had had a lot to bear. . . .
She had made a good impression. Her behaviour was perfect :
William, had he been there, would have agreed that it was
not even " flighty." Her absence of affectation was pleasing to
the old people and the economy of gesture that invalids, uncon
sciously husbanding their resources, practise. Mrs. Ruskin, who
had seen a relation or two quietly die of " the decline," knew
what it meant.
And Anne Strahan, as she was called, really a member of the
family, approved of the " young person " Mr. Rosetti 1 was
going to marry, so quiet and ladylike, " speaking so particular,"
her mouth never too widely open and handling her knife and fork
quite nicely. She had not been told that Miss Siddal was a
model and supposed her of a superior station to Mr. Rossetti,
whom she classed with the other " artisses " that Mr. John was
always bringing in to show them his pictures and keeping them,
with his mother's consent, on to meals geniuses who didn't
know how to use their napkins and made noises while they ate.
Anne, living in this house, knew what a genius was and waited
on it with contempt.
To old John James but he took care not to dilate on this
point to his wife Lizzy seemed the daughterling he would have
liked to have had, to play with John when he was a child, and
perhaps make him less unusual.
Young John was less impressed. He wrote to a friend on the
other side of the world, where the gossip of London would be
harmless by the time it had reached the breakfast-table. And
even so he was guarded. He " found in her a perfectly gentle
expression " and was sure that Rossetti " would not have given
his soul to her if she had not been perfectly gentle and good."
He respected her for her probity in business dealings, her
diffidence in accepting favours so unlike her man ! and stub-
1 So Ruskin always called him and spelt his name, then, as all his friends did.
133
bornness in sheer refusal of them, and he always, in his letters
to Rossetti, sent her his reverent love. (The adjective was
carefully chosen.) But she represented but one of his many
charities. He had other young-lady-irons in the fire ; there
was one in America who was taking up landscape to please him
and a rich one in Yorkshire who was buying up Turners on his
advice. The difference between her and his other protegees
was that she had something in her. He told her so.
" The plain hard fact is that you have genius. 5 '
4
The very next day he came to Chatham Place, bringing in his
hand, with his mother's best regards to Miss Siddal, a packet of
Ivory Bone Dust, well known ^s a powerful restorative and not
easy to get, since it is only kept by shops where they sell goods
made of elephants' tusks, paper-knives, napkin rings, hair brushes,
and so on. The formula accompanied the packet. 1 Then
(" No joke ! " in the words of the astonished Gabriel) he made
to her sweetheart, as representing her, a certain proposition,
suggesting two equally magnificent alternatives for her accept
ance. One, that he should from that day forward purchase all
her work, paying for the drawings one by one as he received
them, selling them to her advantage, if possible, at a higher rate
and, if they gained more, the difference to be of course hers :
if not, he would keep them himself and be glad to do so.
Or, that he should pay her a round hundred-and-fifty a year
for all she did ?
Would Mr. Rossetti look in on him at Denmark Hill, say that
afternoon, and tell him which of the propositions suited Miss
Siddal best and to which she would agree ? He was off. . . .
Gabriel, speaking at the door, promised to see her at once.
And Ruskin, going downstairs, bade him not forget the packet
of Bone Dust he had observed him absently putting it aside
as Mrs. Ruskin was anxious that Miss Siddal should begin on it
immediately.
1 To one pound of dust add two quarts of water, boil gently for eight hours
and let it stand all night to get cold. Carefully remove the jelly without disturbing
the sediment (if the jelly is not firm it is because it did not continue boiling and
must be boiled again), put the jelly into a clean stewpan to warm, add six ounces
of loaf sugar, two teaspoonfuls of brandy, one wineglassful of sherry and the juice
of one lemon. Strain through a jelly-bag into a pan, then strain again through
another jelly-bag into moulds. Stand to get cool. The flavouring may be varied.
Gabriel sent a note, to William at the Board of Trade, giving
the good news ; telling him that naturally, the moment Ruskin
had gone he had rushed out " to call " upon The Dove (using
the familiar hieroglyph) and " had found her out." Probably
gone to the Browns' and irrecoverable for the next few hours.
He must see her in the evening, for he had promised to go to
Ruskin in the afternoon. He had had an exhausting day and it
was not over yet. For he had an idea that his Lizzy, in her
queer dislike of being beholden to anyone, would jib at even
Ruskin's patronage. She was, however, to be " severely coerced
if necessary."
The clou of the note to William is that he intends to bring her
to tea the day after to-morrow. William is to prepare the ladies
in Albany Street for the introduction of a prospective daughter-
in-law. The formal expressions " call upon her " and "found
her out " are part of a plan to make these women feel that she is
going to be a family asset and no mistake about it ! And also to
establish domicile ! She has her own rooms and lives in them
and he calls upon her there and finds her " out calling " too,
like any other independent lady of no fixed occupation.
She was coerced. He saw her that night and had a talk with
her. Her own feeling was against Ruskin's first plan for the
very reasons which made Gabriel prefer it. She foresaw, as
Ruskin did, that there might he " goodish intervals " when she
could not work and might run short of money. Both she and
Gabriel knew that Ruskin would not allow that, so that they
two would get the best of the bargain. But be sure that Ruskin
realised the punctilio of this girl of the people, and thought the
more of her.
Little excited notelets fled on the wings of the post from
Gabriel to William and to Brown. Over, the long winter of
his discontent ! Lizzy would be all right now that the Ruskins
had taken her in hand, treating her as a personage : not a model
but a great artist who painted even better than Rossetti did.
Gabriel's megrims left him, like the headaches of Millais, who
was just about to be wedded to Mrs. Ruskin and " perfectly
aghast " at his own happiness. Now, with two of the P.R.B., all
was merry as a marriage bell. " I love her and I love everybody
and feel happier than I have felt for a long while." But as usual
disposed to shift his burdens on to other people's shoulders
" Would you have leisure," he wrote to Brown (who had perhaps
less leisure than any man in the world), " to go with Guggums
135
to a colourman's and help her to buy all necessary tools ? " He
suggested Roberson's, " the only eligible demons for oil-paints/'
but he cannot take her there himself as he has got " a feud with
them " (euphemism for an unpaid bill). Brown will see that she
is not overcharged, as she would be if she went alone. And he
is still on tenterhooks as to the attitude of Albany Street
" Lizzy will take tea, and perhaps dinner, at my mother's
to-morrow."
Brown obeyed. Next day he was obliged to go to the City
to raise money on the Wharf to pay his rent, got it with much
difficulty and then fetched Miss Sid. They were all three to
meet when the shopping was over at The Pantheon for dinner.
But when Lizzy's things were chosen and ordered to be sent to
Weymouth Street (where she wondered how she was going to
manage oils because of the smell of them and the size of her
room) they could not find Gabriel " Of course not," said
Brown, and they had to wait. He did turn up and they dined
and then on to tea in Albany Street. Miss Siddal was presented
to Mrs. Rossetti and Miss Maria ; Miss Christina she had already
met. Miss Christina was dying to meet Ruskin and Gabriel
said grandly that Lizzy must bring her to Denmark Hill one
day soon, before Ruskin went to Switzerland everyone knew
he was anxious to flee away before the date of . But such
details must not be mentioned before Mrs. Rossetti.
The tea-party was stiff. William was away and Christina
never raised her eyes from her needlework, though Miss Sid
bravely took no notice and devoted herself to her future mother-
in-law, who seemed fairly pleased with her. But Gabriel was
glad when it was time for him to " escort " Miss Siddal home.
Then, astonishingly, Mrs. Rossetti asked Brown if he would
not sleep there William's bed was vacant and he soon found
out why. She wanted to talk with him. The two sisters went
to bed so that Gabriel's mother and his best friend could sit up
late into the night talking about Lizzy, of whom one can be
sure that Brown admitted nothing that was not favourable.
^Mrs. Rossetti confided to him that her eldest daughter was
fairly well disposed to Miss Siddal : her younger daughter less
so. Both had their doubts as to the young woman's orthodoxy.
Would Mr. Brown kindly take an opportunity of reassuring them
on that point and herself on some others ? Had he seen any of
her people? She supposed them to be respectable, though
tradesmen. Gabriel had a story about a pedigree and would
136
have it that they were of as good or better extraction than the
Rossettis but how could that be ? The Delia Guardias of
Vasto ! Miss Siddal had not mentioned any of her relations
to-day, nay, she had rather pointedly avoided the subject* How
many were they in family ? Had he seen any member of it ?
Two or three brothers, Brown believed, and two sisters : he
had once seen Lydia " Lyddy " as they called her of whom
Lizzy was very fond. There was another one. . . , The old lady
did not mark Brown's pause and her questions began again. Did
Gabriel ever go to see them ? She gathered not. It was
understood, was it not, that these shopkeepers disapproved of
their daughter marrying an artist ? Absurd ! Artists' models,
it was well known, had no status whatever and had to sit to
everyone that paid them, for any part that might be required.
Thus did Gabriel's mother dismiss Miss Siddal's claims to
social eligibility.
5
On Sunday Rossetti and Miss Siddal came out, " per bus," to
Finchley and stayed the day and spent the night at the Browns'.
Gabriel, in his new carefulness for her reputation, took a room
at the Queen's Head. They had brought with them the packet
of Ivory Dust for Mrs. Brown to cook, mistrusting the capacities
of Mrs. Birrell in a matter so complicated. They sat up only
till two o'clock, and by that time the Browns had heard all
about it.
The night before Brown had been having mushrooms for his
tea and thinking of Death, " a very natural consummation," so
it seemed to him at the ripe age of thirty-four. His Emma
had a little trick of running away (taking baby) to her mother's,
to be fetched back with promises of reform. He was terribly
hard-up. Emma, distracted by the approaching cataclysm of
childbirth, had been keeping house ever so much worse than
usual. And the lease of this beastly but cheap " crib " was up
and they must move in August !
He now thought of going out to India, where, it was said,
there were fortunes to be made. But the very person who
suggested it dissuaded him, saying that he was not the man to
make one.
The mental anguish suffered by this Titan duly registered in
his diary (he was a good one to complain) did not prevent him
137
from paying the deepest attention to Gabriel telling of how the
Ruskins were all " delighted with Lizzy," old John James calling
her " a most noble, glorious creature," and declaring that " by
her look and manner she might have been born a countess."
Rossetti had then trotted out the father's story of a lost pedigree
to show justification for this remark. And in a talk he had with
Mrs. Ruskin after they had come out of the bedroom and Mr.
Ruskin was showing Lizzy his pet missal, the old lady, " who was
known to have much medical knowledge," had cheered him.
Yes, her son also had been threatened with consumption. Open-
air sketching had cured him. In Mrs. Ruskin's opinion the
illness of Miss Siddal was principally weakness. She needed, of
course, the greatest care if she was to recover. . . .
How on Earth, Emma said, was the poor thing going to get
that, living with Rossetti, who had the digestion of an ostrich,
eating at all sorts of odd hours, travelling backwards and forwards
between Chatham Place and Weymouth Street at all times of
the day and night and in any sort of weather ? People in her
state ought never even to be out after sundown : the damage
was now more deep-seated than either Gabriel or Mrs. Ruskin
knew. Why, the old lady had only seen the girl once, dressed
up, pleased and excited at the novelty of the visit : what should
she know f
Brown did not hint at all this to Gabriel, who, even if he
took a warning to heart, would not observe it for more than a
day. God send Mrs. Ruskin to be right ! At any rate, something
was being done. Ruskin had talked of his pet Wales a place
called Pont y Monach, near Aberystwyth. . . . But Rossetti did
not think that Miss Siddal would agree to Wales nor did he
intend her to do so.
Meanwhile she should be kept quiet and her thoughts con
tinually occupied. She might work a little indeed she ought
to be made to draw sometimes " in a dull way from dull things,"
but not wear herself out with " fancies." The Professor made
her promise to do her best to break off " those disagreeable
ghostly connections of hers," by which he meant the whole chain
of morbid notions, the sad death of her first sweetheart and that
more indurated early one of her handshake with a murderer. 1
The Professor saw her, perhaps, as she was, avid of sensation of
many things death-smitten persons snatch at all they can of the
life they are soon to leave and constitutionally unable to support
1 She had of course told Mrs. Ruskin of this.
138
it when they get their desire " You inventive people pay dearly
for your powers," he told her. Selfish and self-sacrificing, sweet
or bad-tempered, according to her daily chart of health, one
never knew how she would take things ; and it needed all his
tact to move her even a little one way or another, by com
pliments and emotional appeals and such like.
Meantime, when the weather improved it was a cold spring
why should she not come sometimes and walk in the garden
at Denmark Hill ? She did not seem to care about that " but
liked the specially selected luncheon-parties he gave for her.
Once it seemed unavoidable that she should meet Robert
Browning and young Frederic Leighton, " if Ruskin couldn't
manage to put them off to another day/' They would be rather
too noisy, Browning especially, for Ida as he now called her.
About this time Gabriel had a psychic experience rare with
him, so matter of fact, so sensible ! Sitting up late writing to
William Allingham he was, to his surprise, told loudly (by whom ?)
that it was three o'clock and " lo, it was horridly light ! " and
happened to be " the very morning on which he first woke up,
or fell a-dreaming, or began to be, or was transported for life, or
whatever it is " twenty-seven years ago. Though he looked
more he behaved like the boy he was and resented interference.
They were all managing him too much, even telling him how
and what to paint. Ruskin wanted him to drop Found, " a
subject of a pathetic, exciting nature," with which a man like
Rossetti should not concern himself just now but wait until his
mentality was better adjusted " to touch the higher chords
without effort," devoting himself for the present to " drawing
pretty faces and things involving little thought and no pathos
at all."
He had obeyed, 1 but now they were interfering in his affairs
of the heart too.
The fellows all were !
" Why does he not marry her ? " Brown had entered the
question in his diary the moment he was told of Mr. Ruskin's
proposition. Ruskin put it more delicately, asking Gabriel if he
had any plans " respecting Miss Siddal " which he was prevented
by " lack of income " from carrying out, and what would be the
1 " Gabriel has laid aside Found and now paints in water-colour," so says William
in a note to Scott, the picture's godfather : sure to be annoyed !
certain income which would enable him to do so ? His own
feeling was that it would be best for them to be married, and then
Rossetti could afford her " the complete care and protection "
which Victorian conventions would not allow him to give to
any but his wedded wife. As paymaster, he agreed to Jersey
for a week or so, and then " If she would only make up her
mind to take you ! " the young couple could go quietly to Vevey
for the summer.
The backwardness was assumed to be on the lady's side,
though the Professor saw well enough, through the prismatic
glasses of Heaven's blue with which he surveyed this muddy
world, that, to Rossetti, full-blooded, voluptuous, this delicate
creature without ostensible appetites could not seriously, physic
ally appeal ; and even sensed the derivative, or derivatives, which
he would presently, if he had not already done so, offer himself.
So diplomatic, however, was Ruskin that Rossetti believed him
guiltless of all intention of swaying his judgment and supposed
himself, 1 throughout negotiations, a cunning Odysseus playing
with a blind Polyphemus.
7
Suddenly something had to be done at once. She got very ill
and let herself be persuaded. " The wizard is Ruskin, of course,"
Rossetti wrote. But she had not written him the little signed
promise he had begged for just four words " I will be good "
and go exactly where he thought suitable, though she did not
say no to his finding her a nice quiet place, not too dull, " where
she could pass the time with some pleasure to herself." He had
her leave to write to his doctor friend at Oxford.
8
Incidents such as had promoted the lifelong friendship between
Acland and Ruskin were of frequent occurrence in the most
snobbish of Colleges. 2 Long, long ago, when both were under-
1 He was no judge of character. Later he announced, speaking to George
Meredith of someone, that he " could not get on with men who were not men of the
world " ! What about Watts and Hall Caine ?
2 Dr. Gaisford of Christ Church was perhaps responsible for the tone of the
College of which he was Head ; being a stickler for aristocratic privileges he would
never, on principle, let a servitor, however admirable, rise to the rank of student ;
so that Christ Church was easily the paradise of Noble Tufts, who paid dear for their
exclusiveness, dining alone at the High Table and their dinner costing them twelve
shillings as against seven for pretty much the same food eaten " below the salt."
140
graduates, young Henry Acland was crossing Tom Quad and
noticed a noble lord riding a freshman round and round it, as
the time-honoured custom was. Acland much admired the
good-humour with which this particular freshman took it and
realised that John Ruskin, four years younger than he, was
already a man of the world and a citizen of it, though he
had never been to a public school. The son of a wine mer
chant, whose mother made him ridiculous and vulnerable to
practical joking by insisting on accompanying him to Alma Mater
and keeping house for him there. She was always present at
the Wines he gave but the paternal sherry was especially good !
Henry Acland was now forty. There was a Mrs. Acland and
a quiverful of children. He was the busiest man in Oxford. 1
No respectable person in the county thought of dying without
him and he would often drive seventy miles a day to reach a death
bed in time. His fellow-doctors gave him six years more to live,
at the rate he was going, putting a bit of meat into his mouth
with one hand and scribbling something with the other at the
side of his plate, always going somewhere and on to somewhere
else, and a crowd lying in wait to ask him questions.
The importation of Rossetti's lady friend, as a man's sweet
heart was then innocently called, into their midst was another
job for Mrs. Acland, like reading aloud to chimney-sweeps and
running Sunday Evenings for undergraduates " Music and
Quiet Talk from eight till eleven." Hers to keep the patient
quiet and amused while the doctor had her under observation
and prove the London one, who had diagnosed one side of her
lungs seriously affected, to be wrong and save her, and Rossetti's
aft. For Ruskin, sending specimens of her work, told him (by
permission) all about the hindrance to the artist's progress involved
in the illness of this young girl to whom he was so deeply attached,
and his own fear that the matter would soon be " sealed in
death." He wanted Acland to examine her and direct her how
to look after herself, a task at which she seemed singularly incom
petent ; and then, if he agreed with Ruskin that change of scene
alone could save her, ascertain where she should be sent. She
was still too ill to be moved for a few days yet ; he would let
Acland know when to begin looking for rooms. She would be
able to pay two pounds a week.
1 Lee Reader to Christ Church, Physician to the Radclyffe Infirmary and to a
Royal Prince, Regius Professor, Curator to a Museum or two and owning the largest
practice in the county,
141
Lizzy was honest enough to realise that he who pays the
piper has a right to call the tune ; but there was a good chance
of her refusing to go anywhere at all. She desired to go to
Jersey. But Ruskin dreaded the passage for her he wanted her
somewhere in England but " the doctor will certainly let you
see a little sea if you tell him that you like it." There would be
rocks, and heather too, in Devonshire as well as in the Channel
Islands. The point was that she should be seen first by Acland.
She should be quite quiet in her own digs and see no one unless
she wanted to. Mrs. Acland might trespass on her time for a
quarter of an hour, but she would not bring her children (Rossetti
had infected poor Lizzy with his horror of the young). The
doctor would only want her to put her tongue out once and let
him feel her pulse . . . that was all.
Ruskin had taken on himself to engage a room for a week at
one pound, 1 which was what she could pay. Would she pack
her things and go at slight notice, for every day was of importance ?
Could she get one of her sisters to go with her on Monday, when
he believed the rooms would be ready ? Would she please
excuse his pressing her in this way ? And he was hers most
respectfully and, in a pregnant postscript " If one of your sisters
can't, Rossetti says he will take charge of you to Oxford."
Neither sister was available or even told !
1 To Acland he had said two pounds a week for a fortnight.
142
CHAPTER XV
SIDDAL is at Oxford, where Ruskin's friends
pay her all sorts of attention." So William Rossetti
to Allingham.
It was her last excursion out of the dowdy
night of Bohemia into the day of well-lit rooms, clear, clean
windows, cheerful wallpapers and modern furniture, a world
whence dust was banished and objects of virtu relegated to
their proper place in a museum. She moved as an equal
among well-groomed, well-behaved men, and women elegant
and sophisticated. She became acquainted with the famous
" Oxford manner," the expression in the voice, the gesture, the
behaviour of people to whom Conduct was three-fourths of life ;
their " every thought a mental reservation." l
It was her glittering hour ; she did not make the most of it.
Too ill, perhaps, and it was a cold summer ! Her lover had
taken her down, beautifully dressed for travelling, and was proud
of her before porters. Her room was in George Street, where
she could be left in peace as she had stipulated, but she was to
be free of the Aclands' house in Broad Street at all hours of the
day and, if she had occasion to stay out after dark, the doctor
would escort her home himself. Gabriel stopped on a couple of
nights and was asked to go down again for the laying of the first
stone of the new Museum. He did not accept " because of
the expense." But he laid the seed of a job for himself and his
friends. " I am asked by the architect to do some designing
for the Museum and probably shall."
After he left, Mrs. Acland did her best to keep the doctor's
pretty patient amused with a minimum of excitement. She
took her to some of the Lee Lectures where everyone, when the
lecture was over, sat at little tables furnished with miniature
railroads on which ran microscopes, illustrating the lecture or,
1 Robert Ross, Masques and Faces.
H3
alternatively, with cups of coffee an idea of the doctor's. There
were the teas to the chimney-sweeps, after which Mrs. Acland
and Miss Cardwell usually read aloud. Lizzy did not read, her
voice was not good enough. But she made herself useful on the
Evenings for Undergraduates, for she liked youths and, with two
exceptions, did not care for the older men to whom she was
introduced Ruskin's tutor Osborne Gordon, with his donnish
insolence, queer, mocking face and half-closed inscrutable eyes,
or Dr. Pattison, who came from her part of the country, 1 because
he sneered so. She did not admire Wynter, who appeared to
carry his head on a charger like John the Baptist, or Venables,
whose features had suggested to Hunt those of Christ in The
Light. She got on well enough with Mr. Dodgson, shy and
precise : in the words of a German professor of whom she had
never heard, 2 a " grown-up child," like another man she came
to be very fond of, Algernon Swinburne, just now being prepared
for Oxford in his North-country home. " Lewis Carroll "
sketched Gabriel 3 for her when he came down, and made her
and the chimney-sweeps laugh and the undergraduates thaw;
but she was too old for him. Another of her friends was " The
Common Object," Ruskin's friend, Mr. Wood, who was Bible
Clerk at Merton and pricked attendances at Chapel and dined
on remnants from the High Table, going about alone and
dressing so shabbily that he came to have a nickname out of his
own book. 4
The Aclands, to please Ruskin, introduced her to their friends
" in the most exclusive quarters. 35 Probably she shook hands
with Prince Leopold. The great ladies of Oxford, to oblige
their dear doctor, called or left cards upon the favourite model
of the man whose art Ruskin was gradually making the fashion.
Oxford drawing-rooms, beginning with Dr. Acland's own, began
to show signs of P.R.B. culture. Ruskin spoke of Miss Siddal's
own work in the same breath as that of Turner, Watts and
Millars. Mrs. Ffoulkes, wife of the Principal of Jesus, a professed
Jacobite whose mother, Lady Isabella Lumsden, had hidden the
Pretender under her hoop and made white cockades for him when
he held his Court in Edinburgh, sent for Miss Siddal to her house
in Sk Giles' and insisted on a rehearsal of the pedigree, which
she did not absolutely pooh-pooh. Hunt's " perfect lady/' the
wife of Dr. Combe, Superintendent of the University 'Press,
, . f 7 2 Novalis. * where is that sketch now ?
Common Objects of the Country-side, by J. G. Wood.
144
By kind permission of Harold Hart ley t Esg.
ELEANOR ELIZABETH SIDDALL
From a drawing by D. G. Rossetd
had kindly fetched Miss Siddal out to Abingdon to spend the
day, but the conversation, connected with Hunt and Millais
(not Deverell, whom Mrs. Combe also had known), was not
particularly acceptable to Miss Siddal. She had to listen all over
again to the record of P.R.B. determination to paint from the
real thing. Well she knew it the cold bath that had nearly
killed her ! Mrs. Combe had been told that Miss SiddaPs father,
a " local auctioneer," had brought an action against the young
painter claiming fifty pounds for the injury to his daughter's
health, but that Millais had settled the matter by paying the
doctor's bill and that she herself had admitted that she was
none the worse for the chill. Nothing of the kind. 1 Her
father had never brought any action, he was not an auctioneer,
he had never lived in Oxford. She had a relation an auctioneer,
but he lived in Sheffield. That was probably how the mistake
arose. She was perfectly polite, but her voice took on its slight
sibilant hiss. What would have interested her was Millais 5 letters
about Walter Deverell's illness and death, that Mrs. Combe did
not think of showing to her guest. Lizzy could not get her to
take the slightest interest in the subject. Walter had died in
Millais' arms, indifferent to those of Gabriel. But now, Lizzy
did not wonder at that.
She was happiest with the Puseys, and from them " got
religion," which served her to die with.
This man (whose life's tragedy was consumption too) and his
sisters were the persons she saw most of during her stay. There
is a freemasonry between those suffering from the same disability ;
their complexes reach out one to the other ; their lot is amelior
ated where there is no priority in suffering or invidious com
parisons to be made between persons languishing in a common
hell."
Edward Bouverie Pusey, like herself, was an aristocrat ; Ms
father* the Honourable Philip Bouverie Pusey, his mother a
Harborough. Their son was a broken-hearted man who had
1 Yet the Ophelia legend seems to bear the stamp of truth at any rate.
Allingham thought so ! In a letter written from Ireland about McCracken, the
artistic ship-packer of Belfast and his complaint : " He says he is ruined by his
purchase of Ophelia ; surely he did not lose by it ? Now he goes throwing cold
water on her who had too much."
L 145
loved at eighteen, married at twenty-eight, and lost at thirty-
nine. His wife had died of the disease of the age ; she too
came of a family all of whom suffered more or less from " a chest
affection." She had borne him five daughters and a son. Little
Lucy and Harriet and Eleanor died in the same year they were
born. Elizabeth and Charlotte, respectively Mrs. Luxmoore
and Mrs. Cotton, survived. Until they were old enough to keep
house for him, his mother, though she had a house of her own
in Grosvenor Square, managed the large house in Christ Church
as much of it as the widower could be persuaded to use. The
drawing-room his wife had died there and it could not be
used. The bedroom he could never be persuaded to re-enter,
or the garden. 1 The study had been re-papered : it hurt him
to see, covered, the paper she had chosen. . , .
The Pusey ladies received Miss Siddal's return call most
graciously and one of the sisters took a fancy to her. Lady
Lucy, who drank green tea and dressed in the old-fashioned
style, 2 amused Miss Siddal very much by alluding to her son as
Ed'ard, and saying " ooman " for woman and " t'other." Lady
Lucy liked little Miss Siddal quite well and would complain of
Ed'ard to the sympathetic, well-bred girl, saying that neither
she nor Charlotte could ever get him to dress himself properly.
Certainly he was untidy ; his necktie always limp and his face
suggesting the use of a blunt razor. The long mouth set in
whiskers all round and under the chin reminded Lizzy of a
ploughshare lying in high grass, but his eyes were fine and he
would have been a personable man had he not been so slovenly.
He talked to the young stranger of his dead wife, recognising
in the one, perhaps, the taint which had killed the other. " To
save her I would have given up anything, gone anywhere. . . .
But God's will be done ! " And, getting up stiffly, showed the
young girl a part of the wall in the corner of the room where he
had secretly, as a prisoner files away his bars, scraped off the new
paper, to disclose a bit of the old that she had known.
He had no small-talk, but with him, Miss Siddal seemed to
have plenty. Whenever she went to call on Miss Pusey, he
would ^ get her alone and ask her embarrassing questions about
her spiritual convictions, but so sweetly and decently that she
could not resent it. Miss Pusey told her that all women looked
1 The smell of verbena always affected him because he had offered Miss Barker
a sprig of it when he proposed in the garden of Fairford Place.
2 She affected that and is said to have maintained the last sedan chair in London.
146
upon Edward as a Father Confessor and came immense distances
in flies, getting themselves set down at his door, for interviews,
and some of them he persuaded to go to Clewer. He now,
since procreation had turned out so ill for him, advocated the
excellence of the state of virginity. He did not even realise that
Miss Siddal was an engaged woman.
She liked his sermons in the Cathedral, to which the under
graduates flocked, sometimes walking there with him across the
quad, past the terrace with its flight of steps and border wall of
grey, Cornish granite. She knew why he kept his eyes on the
pavement : his wife lay buried in the nave of the building to
which they were going and he had followed her body to its last
rest there. He would never forget the blear shroud over her
coffin, floating in the wind, and even now, durst not look up
lest a vision of that hour came before him. It was an effort to
go to church at all that day and, no sooner had he preached than,
as the hymn began, he seemed to drop down in the pulpit, out of
sight, nor could she expect to see him again that day.
3
In the beginning of June Miss Pusey took her down to Cleve-
don, in Somersetshire, a new watering-place, a mile from the
sea. No pier, no parade, on the west marshy, on the south and
east hilly and beautiful ; with the usual views. From Cadbury
Camp you could see the Mendips and the mountains of Glamor
ganshire. She could sit on the shore and look westwards
across the Bristol Channel to Penarth (where is now the wilderness
of masts and funnels of Barry Dockyard). The water is hardly
brackish, but it looks like sea, and shallow, with verdure nearly
down to the water's edge, so that the landscape with its fairy
colours, its vivid but poisonous yellows and greens, reminded
her of a picture of Gabriel's she liked Two Women at the
Well
She managed to " keep herself alive " in the usual way, going
out to sea in a boat now and then, until Midsummer Day, when
Rossetti came from London to fetch her back, taking a room at
the inn for a few days. He was bored, perturbed and restless,
so that one day he got up at six in the morning, for the first and
last time in his life, too early even to go to breakfast with Miss
Siddal, as he told William Allingham in a letter written in the
hotel parlour to pass the time till she came down. Liz was now,
H7
he said, able to take long excursions on donkeyback to a certain
ditch where she could dig up golden flags for the balcony at
Chatham Place. The donkey boy, said Gabriel, had asked if
there were lions in the place she came from, for he was sure she
came from very far away, much farther than he could see !
" There's your fairy for you ! " (He did not tell Allingham
that the local people called her " outlandish/')
She herself was not communicative about her time in Oxford,
neither then nor ever. She said that everyone was very kind,
even trying to get her to settle there. Perhaps everyone meant
Miss Pusey ? But nothing and no one, she said, would induce
her to do that.
Ruskin, reading between the lines, felt it necessary to write
to Acland later to say that, " however that wilful girl may have
behaved," her heart was in the right place. That she was not
ungrateful, he was sure, but " sick and sickly headstrong." . . .
What was it she did or did not do there which made it
incumbent on her sponsor to apologise for her ? " Sorry for
what you tell me about Oxford." Sins of omission rather than-
sins of commission ? The Warden of New, a great swell, asked
her to his own house to show her a blackbeetle painted by
Albrecht Diirer, intending to fetch up a real one as his wont was,
from the kitchen to compare with it. But she never went !
That sort of thing. Perhaps it was her way of dressing ? Nothing
like bad manners or dereliction in her devoirs to the Aclands at
any rate. Before she left she made them accept a little drawing,
representing a church among the mountains, " a strange and
somewhat weird arrangement of colour ! " so Oxford, in the main,
thought. But Miss Sarah Angelina Acland said that her father
was very glad to have it and considered it a most remarkable
piece of work, marvelling much that a girl " brought up within
a street or two of The Elephant and Castle," should have selected
such a subject and have been able to execute it from pure
imagination. A Cockney, Miss Siddal had never been in the
country before, so far as she knew.
Perhaps her laches was nothing worse than disobedience to
Dr. Acland's orders, but Ruskin's diatribes have a very special
bitterness. " These geniuses are all alike ! " He had known
five of them, Turner and Watts and Millais and Rossetti " and
now this girl ! "
There is no clue to this outburst. The doctor declares that
Miss Siddal was " a kindly, gentle person," not beautiful but
148
" known to everybody as Rossetti's favourite model." 1 But he
did not, obviously, " take " to her. To Ruskin he wrote rather
stiffly that it " had been a great pleasure to him to be of service
to Miss Siddal." In another letter he gave Ruskin his diagnosis
the result of the one grudging examination which Miss Siddal
had promised to permit and had permitted embodying his own
private observations of her habit as she lived. His verdict,
given coldly and as it were without interest, was fairly favourable ;
the young lady's lungs were not fatally affected. She had no
" really inarrestable, infixed disease " even, as yet.
The cause of it all was " power long pent up " (in the Old Kent
Road, perhaps) " and now over-taxed." There was nothing else
for it ; she must cease work and be absolutely idle for the present.
Just what the other two doctors, Wilkinson and Hailes of
Hastings, had said, and she had taken absolutely no notice, but
worked on, spurred by her artist's vanity and Ruskin's encourage
ment. In these last few fevered months she, so conscientious,
so honourable, was trying to make good ! . . .
Mr. Ruskin must not force on this clever pupil of his any
more, but concentrate on getting her out of England away
from Rossetti for the winter, if he wanted to preserve her life.
But those who had known her during these five years that she
had been going about with Rossetti and had sampled her strange,
wild obstinacy, never believed that the Professor would get his
way unless, indeed, her equally strong sense of decency prompted
her that she owed him obedience in return for kindness. And
she was as anxious as anyone to avoid all appearance of pauper
isation, and was working herself to the bone so near the surface
already in order to procure at least some of the money to defray
her travelling expenses and get some of her own way as to
destination.
Her wintering in all sorts of places was spoken of. Algiers
but she feared earthquakes, in Africa ! Switzerland but she
loathed Switzerland, its pink sunsets and eternal snows : she was
a Cockney with a Cockney's ideals. Paris was what she wanted
(and got using all the determinative power of quiet persons)
Paris with its Boulevards to wander up and down, its Rue de la
Paix like Regent Street, only better, and the Great Exhibition.
1 So Sir Henry's biographer.
149
CHAPTER XVI
i
/WAS born to conceive what I cannot execute, to recom
mend what I cannot obtain and mourn over what I
cannot save"
This had been Ruskin's cry of incompetence in the
case of Effie, the young girl whom he took young in order to
train as a wife. In the case of Lizzy, a less intimate charity,
he had recommended what he could not procure from this
obstinate personality the adoption of a given scheme of salvage.
It was his own evil hour.
On the 3 ist of May William Rossetti wrote to William Ailing-
ham that Millais was immediately about to marry Mrs. Ruskin
that it was no secret, everybody knew it, and Ruskin knew
that they did and had not been able to settle down at all,
although so far back as April he had written, " the worst of it
for me has long been past," in a letter to Lizzy herself, the
wooden woman whom he trusted because he so respected her.
He knew " how difficult it was to be brave " when one was ill.
Himself, on this very day of writing, " could have sat down and
cried heartily."
He went down to Tunbridge Wells, where lived a relation,
William Richardson, unsympathetic in a soothing way. He
dropped Modern Painters, though he kept his engagement at
God knows what cost, for he had no means of ascertaining whether
Effie and Lady Eastlake might not think fit and proper to again
form part of the audience to give the Third Lecture, addressed
to Workmen in the Decorative Trades, of the course which he
had begun. But he did no more public speaking for three years
after that, giving his father's and mother's Puritanical dislike
for this form of activity (both his parents considered lecturing
little better than play-acting) as an excuse.
By June he was too ill to examine Rossetti's poems " properly " :
by July he could neither see nor speak. This month John
Everett Millais married Euphemia Chalmers Gray, daughter of
George Gray, Esquire, Writer, Perth, in the drawing-room at
Bowerswell, where John Ruskin, six years ago, had stood at her
side to be married.
The notice of the wedding somehow got itself in among the
Deaths in The Leader.
" Ruskin is in the country, unwell" So Rossetti to Allingham.
But the absent benefactor was still mindful of his protege and
was sending " a Stunner called Waterford " to call on the painter
that very afternoon. " There, Sir ! "
Miss Siddal was sleeping alone all through this hot midsummer
in Chatham Place. Gabriel, desperately afraid of the cholera
still hanging about, had taken a bedroom at the Queen's Head
nearly opposite Brown's, and was working by day in The
Hermitage 1 studio which Mr. and Mrs. Howitt as usual had
given him leave to use while they were away.
And it was here, according to his old friend Scott, that he
denied her before men.
Scott, who had passed through the more terrible forms of
the cholera epidemic in Newcastle working with little Swin
burne on death-carts and in hospitals to cure himself of the
consequent " fit of the dismals," came up to town. He called
on Rossetti in Chatham Place but " found him away and Miss
Siddal in bed." So Mrs. Birrell giving Mr. Scott ideas. . . .
Mr. Rizzetty was at Hampstead he would find him at the
Queen's Hotel or The Hermitage, she didn't know which.
He walked over to The Hermitage that evening and rang the
house bell. Informed that Mr. and Mrs. Howitt were away he
inquired for Mr. Rossetti. The maid, without troubling to go
with him, pointed out a building at the bottom of the garden to
which access was gained by a flight of rustic steps leading to the
studio, where she said Mr. Rossetti was.
Mr. Scott's experience 2 and his deductions therefrom are best
given in Mr. Scott's own words :
1 The Hermitage was doomed : a row of villas were to be erected on its site and,
anyway, according to Miss Smith and Miss Coutts, it would have been insanitary
to go on living there because of the projected extension of Highgate Cemetery down
the hill, for the houses at the bottom would get all the graveyard drainage. They
were all fighting it and the Howitts had taken a house farther up the hill.
2 It led to a storm of vituperation from the champion of Miss Siddal, vocal
and able to use the medium of the Press. " The New Terror " in the Fortnightly
" I found myself in the romantic dusk of the apartment face
to face with Rossetti and a lady whom I did not recognise, and
could scarcely see. He did not introduce her ; she rose to go.
I made a little bow, which she did not acknowledge ; and she left.
This was Miss Siddal. Why he did not introduce me to her I
cannot say. Perhaps the maid should have called him instead of
allowing me to invade the studio without warning ; she may have
even done it for a lark ; for myself, I had not yet heard of such a
person as Miss Siddal." (He must have.) " Perhaps Rossetti was
already beginning to revise his intention of marriage ; an even
way of life the most unlikely possible to suit his late develop
ment/' l
A more probable explanation of Rossetti's failure to introduce
his sweetheart to his friend is forthcoming. The " Great
Italian " doing his best to behave in " the Inferno of England "
had to consider England's prejudices, and the most rampant of
them all at that time were the almost purdah-like arrangements
for the claustration of women.
Scott was an arrant gossip. The lateness of the hour,
the need for chaperonage would never enter the head of a
Bohemian, but what would Mrs. Ruskin in Camberwell and
Mrs. Acland in Oxford, who had chaperoned Miss Siddal so
carefully while she was there, think of her being caught sitting
all alone with her young man in the dark, in the greenhouse let
us call it of a house in Hampstead while the mistress of it was
out of town ? He probably hoped that Scott, who had never
set eyes on Lizzy, would suppose the female with him to be a
model whom one need not, as a rule, introduce. He had just
given her the chance to slip quietly out which she had taken.
It is possible that Gabriel did not even know what Scott knew,
and " The Poison of the Parasite " which appeared in the Athenaum (without its
provocative title and with some of the strongest epithets left out) were penned in
the days when the publishing of personal memoirs after Death was a new terror.
The infinitely little ghosts
Of sprats deceased on unknown coasts,
And many a long putrescent prawn
Preserved unfit for human victuals.
Prince ! Lord of flies and rhymester's spawn
That scarce deserves a strong man's spittle.
Beelzebub, thou hast in pawn
Less than the infinitely little.
1 Autobiography of W. B. Scott.
I 5 2
that the perverse creature was at the moment choosing to occupy
his bed in Chatham Place, and that the housekeeper had betrayed
her. Scott was dead against her from that moment.
" She began to think herself a genius too and, did small, quaint,
quasi-poetical imitations of his works. . . . And then, her health
not being good, by Ruskin's assistance she went to Mentone"
She was to stop in Paris one night passing through. Rossetti,
writing to Brown to inform him of the final plan, gave her a longer
term there, feeling sure she would take it. But she " must try
to get to the south before the cold sets in."
A drawing which he had on the stocks would, Rossetti estimated,
bring in about ten or fifteen pounds, which was for Guggums.
But he owed (?) her twenty pounds already, and when the
Lancelot was finished, twelve pounds had to go for the rent of
Chatham Place where he was not even, for the moment, sleeping.
All the same, she must have ten pounds clear in hand before she
left London, to set " her dear mind at ease about her finances "
and " save dangerous transmissions." So, " under the circs,"
will Brown oblige with a loan of ten or fifteen pounds which
Gabriel does not doubt he will be able to pay back in a few weeks ?
Indeed Brown may absolutely depend on it ; the sum destined
for Gug would go to him automatically. And he is painting
" her dear face " for Guenevere.
A good deal of lip-service ; it connoted a certain shameful
sense of relief? Brown thought that Gabriel knew he was going
to get on better, with Lizzy away.
Brown did oblige ; he had now the wherewithal. Rossetti and
others had made the " dangerous discovery " that he now owned
a cheque-book and that his cheques were honoured all right. So
one day in June, when Emma, worn out by privation and child-
bearing, had " begun the day by quarrelling " and again run away
as far as St. Paul's Terrace to her mother's, taking Cathy and the
baby with her, Brown was able to seal the reconciliation with a
bracelet of " gold mosaic," as a result of Rossetti's and the
fellows', waylaying old White the picture-dealer, catching him
boozed at a Promenade Concert and forcing him to pop in at
Brown's and buy the little Brent for forty pounds, and then
another picture for a hundred-and-twenty.
3
Gabriel called on the Brownings in Dorset Street they were
on the wing for the South, all the delicate women were being
sent off to avoid what came to be known as the Crimean Winter
so as to be able to give Lizzy a letter to them, later on, in Florence,
if she went there. He was rewarded by an appreciative slap on
the back from " robustious Robert," who quoted to him some of
" that 'ere Blessed, Damozel " of his and invited him to come and
hear Tennyson read on one of two successive days at his house.
Gabriel himself began to itch for Paris, where the Brownings
would be till Christmas. . . .
Lizzy was not well enough to travel alone : a chaperon-escort
must be procured so that he could run over to see her and have
a look at the Exhibition. He thought of a relation of his own
on his mother's side his only English quartering, a Pierce,
married to a sharp and busy solicitor, who had his office not
far from Chatham Place and often joined Gabriel for the meal
which he so detested taking alone. Mrs. Kincaid was a matronly
sort of person of forty and upwards. She was brought by
arrangement to tea in Chatham Place to make Miss SiddaPs
acquaintance. Lizzy took a dislike to him at once to his wife,
unfortunately, not till later.
Ruskin was due home but contrived not to set foot on British
soil until Lizzy was well off it. He came back two days after
she had gone. Of all the proteges, Gabriel and Lizzy (yet in his
bitterness he was never unjust to her) were the most unsatisfactory
and came very near to breaking the heart of the man whose mind
and thought fell, like crystals, into certain mathematical patterns.
His own magnetism made no way with one or the other. He
could never laugh at them, and when Gabriel permitted himself
to send growling letters, reacted unpleasantly. And his long
talks with the sturdy Carlyle were disturbing the Protestantism
which was sanity's sheet-anchor for the weaker man.
According to that quiet, subtle observer, Gabriel's brother,
it was now that the first taint of morbidity (as he calls it) showed
itself in Ruskin, coinciding with the change in his religious belief.
Burying his head in a tuft of grass " on a battlefield * wet with
blood," he would lie and hear as in a shell the sound of the sea,
" the cry of the earth about him continually." He saw ghosts.
He took to reading novels, valuing them " because of the unknown
1 In the Vaudois.
154
growth of souls, in and through any form of misery and servitude ;
there is an infinity of what men should be told."
4
Old Mrs. Rossetti was at Hastings, William abroad and Maggie
,at Muritham, so there need be no family good-byes. Brown did
ask Christina to call and bid God-speed to her future sister-in-
law crossing the Channel was a serious event in those days and
she professed herself willing " But I do not encourage her to/'
Gabriel said.
Miss Siddall's own family . . . but she did not encourage that.
She was savagely determined not to inflict her family on him, as
a counter to his backwardness in making her known to his. This
was the ground of some of their worst quarrels, taken with the
denial of their engagement, which had made her so ill last year,
and the allowing her to slink out of the studio at The Hermitage
without being introduced to his greatest friend.
However, there was no quarrelling in these last days she was
so pleased and excited about her first trip to the Continent.
She had always before her pale eyes the mirage of Paris ; through
Paris only did she feel able to envisage the prescribed push south
wards. On the Friday night before she left England she actually
consented to take him to her home.
A bus to The Elephant and a walk southwards along the
country roads of her childhood now, because of the new building
rage that had set in in South London a few years after she was
born, considerably built over, most of the Hatches closed and the
greenness of the spinneys gone till they came to The Bricklayers'
Arms. Then, for Gabriel, it began to be terra incognita. Past
The Swan with its appropriate sign and The World Turned
Upside Down, with its " watering " for horses, the trough and
the bit of green gravel in front. When they came to the Asylum
for the Blind, where sat the horribly mutilated man to whom
Gabriel tossed a penny, and had passed the two turnings on the
opposite side, Thomas Street and John Street, they were in the
very heart of her complex and, sure enough, she began to talk
of it.
Mr. Greenacre was an immensely tall man dressed like a farmer,
" fish-faced 3> Annie always said, with a big slopperty mouth and
very bright eyes, but Lizzy could remember nothing but the
feel of his hand clammy ! Annie had actually been with her
mother to his shop he was a grocer and sold tea, mixed with
sloes the people said, sweets and a kind of special rock called
Amalgamated Candy, made of cloves, cinnamon, lemon and
peppermint. Somewhere quite near was Carpenter's Buildings, 1
the very place in which Hannah Brown had been murdered a
week before her wedding-day to this man. He was wealthy,
they said, landlord of Number Eight and three other cottages
in Jane Place, two tenements in Carpenter's Place and eight
in Bowyer Lane. But, although he was rich, he did it all
for the sake of the woman's savings. Though she was only a
laundress living in one room with her mangle, she had four
hundred pounds and jewellery 2 which fetched a hundred.
Greenacre made her sell it to buy her trousseau and she went to
Carpenter's Place (where he lived with another woman and her
child), to be married thence. She was murdered there instead.
Wilkinson had said that it was good for Lizzy to talk about this,
and the temperamental washerwoman and her epileptic murderer
interested Gabriel, and the circumstances, squalid and romantic,
in which the murder was committed on the night when snow
fell continuously for five days and five nights and the whole
of England was covered by a white cloak under which ill deeds
can be done as conveniently as in a dark one. As the poor girl
murmured of her obsession, he felt the soft flakes on his fore
head : saw the fresh red bloodstains on the snow, the murderer
padding along on his balled shoes of silence, heard his heavy,
labouring breath that created a bloody aureole of mist about
him as he disposed of portions of the body here and there, the
legs in the osier bed at Cold Harbour, the trunk in the Lock
Fields, and the head, that had caught in every weir between
Stepney and Paddington by its matted hair, with its helpless,
shapeless mouth that never now could say " I will " this head
had the^ absurdest peregrinations. Wrapped in a bag, it was
under his arm as he called on Hannah Brown's landlady to say
there would be no wedding " indefinitely postponed." Getting
into the* Camberwell bus he had betrayed the murderer's addled
inconsequence, and nearly fainted when the conductor asked for
the fare " Sixpence a head ! "
She had made Gabriel read the descriptions of Hannah
Brown, forty, high-chested, with large thin hands and a split
ear whence a fellow-servant had once wrenched an earring;
1 Renamed.
2 Probably stolen. She had been housemaid to Lord Woodhouse in Norfolk
I 5 6
silly and vain, killed in a smart pea-green dress, some of her
wedding finery. " A strange-tempered woman/' said her land
lady, volunteering an account of Hannah's physical conformation
which led to identification and, the woman said, distressed
Hannah so much " For trees that don't bud, don't bear fruit ! "
Pretty Sarah Gale loved him and had to be given morphia in
her cell so that she should not hear the yells of execration that
greeted his appearance outside Newgate. She heard and
fainted. She was not allowed to see him after he was dead
He left her his spectacles.
An interesting degenerate Greenacre; a bit of an actor,
staging the usual remorse and half-feigned terror of retribution.
He attended service a few days after the deed and, coming out
of the cold into the warm Chapel and seeing the candles flaming
in the misty damp with their light concentrated round about the
altar, cried out from his pew " My God ! Hell's on fire ! " 1
falling straightway " into a stupor." Nobody suspected him of
having much more than ordinary on his conscience and they were
used to epileptic subjects in those days.
When they came to Number Eight, Lizzy, telling Gabriel to
sit down, went to the foot of the stairs and called. Gabriel chose
to nourish an indefinable yet delightful feeling that they were all
the time being watched that someone was there besides the
canary that hung in the window fidgeting in its cage, neatly
peeling its seed. . . . Then Lizzy came back and, in the twilight,
her hair seemed to go white and she looked like a ghost herself,
sitting squeezed up in her father's armchair, still and self-con
tained, not even starting when there was the noise of a key in
the lock. He was sorry when Lyddy walked in and said, with
out listening to their explanations about the back door, that
They had all gone to the play and would not come out till the
end, unless mother got one of her faints. No, she had never
had any letter ; but she would make them some tea at once.
While she was in the kitchen Lizzy rose and, from the whatnot
near the corner where he kept his fiddle, took out her father's
music-book, handsomely bound in leather and engraved with his
name and .his Arms three birds and the word " Honour."
From the wall she lifted down a heavy china plaque, showing
the family coat of arms, per bend and gules and an eagle dis
played. This family, she explained, with whom the Siddalls
1 The man had been an actor. " I think the devil will not have me damned lest
the oil that is in me should set hell on fire." Falstaff in The Merry Wives.
'57
had intermarried, dated from a Knight of Beely in Henry Ill's
time, a much older family. The head of that family again was
the Duke of Rutland. Then, out of a drawer in a Flemish
cabinet (that Rossetti meant to have some day) she produced
a piece of brownish parchment purporting to be a document
granting the Freedom whatever that might mean ? of the
City of Sheffield to Christopher Siddall in 1792. Also the
marriage certificate of Charles Crookes Siddall and Elizabeth
Elenor Evans, married by banns in the Parish Church of Hornsey
in the year one thousand eight hundred and twenty-four.
Gabriel forbade Lyddy to light the lamp, and they three sat
together in the gloaming until it was time to go back. He
enjoyed the quiet, the neutrality of the surroundings, the
presence of a few " good " things such as the Flemish cabinet
and the one or two nice bits of pewter that, beautifully polished,
hung on the walls and shone in the temperate gloom. He was
pleased, so he wrote to Brown, to find Lizzy's " native crib " so
comfortable.
Just before they left a girl came in, unexpected by Lizzy he
could see, and perhaps by Lyddy ? Tall, dark, shy and yet
sophisticated looking, with a queer permanent frown. Her hair
was dyed and scented ; the carmine of her lips aided by art, she
made the other two girls look immature and faded. . . .
" My sister known as Tump ! " Lizzy introduced her.
158
CHAPTER XVII
I
Kincaids dined in Chatham Place on the Saturday
night and Mrs. Kincaid slept there, so as to be in good
time for the early start at seven.
On a cold rimy morning in September the two women
drove to the docks to take steamer for Havre. Lizzy had, thanks
to Brown, forty pounds in hand which must take her, when she
had rested, to the South and must last her till the first of
November, when she would receive another forty from Rossetti,
who meant to work like the devil. He did not begin that day,
full of that peculiar thwarted feeling which sets in for the one
who is left behind in the emptied room, with the brown paper
strewn about and the mark of the cabman's dirty boots on the
stairs. Mr. McLennan of Inverness, calling, found him on his
back, waving his legs about in the air and " Mon-Dieuing ! "
McLennan disapproved and set it down against him.
Later, Gabriel roused himself and did a good action. Getting
hold of Browning he took him to see Brown, who was grateful
and called him " Gabby," as he always did when pleased with
him though his fifteen pounds was still in abeyance and he
knew " Gabby " was in funds just now for Ruskin had sold
Rachel and, Leah (for which Rossetti had not dared to ask him
more than twenty-six pounds) to Miss Heaton for forty. The
twenty-six would have more than covered Brown's loan. " At
this rate he will soon get rich perhaps even pay what he owes ? "
Brown complained, with the clumsy sarcasm of the large-minded.
He disapproved of the immoral arrangement between Ruskin
and Rossetti and Miss Siddal Ruskin acting as dealer for both
as well as subsidising them. This relation between the artist
and patron was debilitating to the moral fibre of Rossetti, already
sufficiently relaxed. And she, Brown thought, was beginning
to exhibit some of the off-handedness of the pensioned, willing
to take all she could from Ruskin without the exchange of
obedience.
Ida she is to go South immediately. . . . Paris will kill
her or ruin her, like Sir Dean Paul's bank." 1 I cannot have you going
to Paris or near Ida at all until you have finished Miss Heatotfs
drawing."
Ruskin had only approved Miss Siddal's stopping more than
one night in Paris in order that she should, as she had promised,
go and make friends with the Brownings. " What the devil
else was she to go there for except for that ? " Well, she must
stay on in Paris if she chose, but he would be d d if he would
help Rossetti to cross the Channel till she was safely got off to the
South. He attempted to play on Rossetti's presupposed jealousy
of him and other men " Positively, if you go to Paris, / will ! "
And kept them rather short of money and was unhelpful about
the mode of sending it. Rossetti had better ask at some of the
money-lenders' in Leicester Square. He always did it through
his bank but he didn't choose " to be heard of" as sending to
Paris in the matter. Neither would he bother Browning.
Rossetti knows B. well enough and must write himself, " and
that's flat." Relenting, he admits to being " ill-tempered."
" You are such a very odd creature and that's a fact ! " Poor
fellow, he may want some money for himself, but " I am incon
venienced for the moment."
Rossetti did want some for himself his fare to Paris but he
didn't like being " poor-fellowed " and the idea of Ruskin pre
tending to be hard up ! He did not in the least mind being called
an " odd creature " of course he must so appear to a " fiddle-
faddle " like J. R., just now " mighty poorly," prone to feverish
nights, going early to bed on toast and water and physic.
Lizzy knew she was being naughty, but intended to remain so.
She had written to Ruskin suggesting that he should drop the
payment of her allowance now that her ill-health and absence
from England prevented her giving a due equivalent. He
brushed this aside she and Rossetti were a couple of
Words seemed to have failed him; still, he would go on
" thinking for them both."
And Rossetti would go on taking Ruskin's money and his own
way when the time came. He was not going to let the Exhibition
close without his seeing it. He would run over presently with
Munro or Scott. . . .
1 A very notable failure of the time. The felons were deported to Cayenne.
160
He was banking on a drawing Ruskin had commissioned for
Miss Heaton and on another for Miss Bell. For, from the
North hard-bitten, rough-hewn, intense came the liveliest
patronage of their art that could be looked for by the Pre-
Raphaelites. Miss Heaton of Bingley near Leeds, the daughter
of one of the enterprising and go-ahead purveyors of ugliness
there : Miss Bell of Winnington near Liverpool, where she had
founded a school for the daughters of the Captains of Industry,
forced to live and rear up their families, like a landscape painter,
alongside of his " subject " these two ladies, through Ruskin,
who commanded both, were Rossetti's best buyers at this time.
Of Miss Bell, brilliant and clever, powerful and masterful, Ruskin
was the all-round hero " no subject in the world too high or
too low for him to deal with." His to arrange for their local
anaesthetic, telling them when and where to buy these oblongs
and squares of captured colour and stabilised light, holding up
before their sad, smoke-bleared eyes, like Perseus, the shield-
mirror in which they might envisage the Gorgon's Head and
survive in a land fouled by the disjecta, clouded by the smoke of
its fires, soured by the acrid steam of its blasting and welding.
Full of ruth at the sight of the amenities of their famous beauty
spots, desecrated by their own hands, these Masters of Mines and
Factories were being persuaded by Ruskin and other aesthetic
Jeremiahs crying in the wilderness of slag, to make themselves
at least Houses Beautiful in its midst, giving Beauty, which
they had sacrificed to utility, a refuge within four walls covered
with representations of what lay outside no longer. Ruskin,
abetting this thwarted instinct for romance, had recommended
strongly the work of Rossetti and his sweetheart. Her aspect
was by now familiar to Miss Bell and Miss Heaton, as Princess
Sabra watching St. George kill the dragon playing the harp
in Dante's Dream gathering buttercups as Matilda, weeping as
Guenevere at the tomb of King Arthur. Alas, they never knew
when they bought a picture if they would be allowed to keep it,
for Ruskin served them as a man of his generation would serve
innocent ladies who ventured on the manly sport of picture-
buying, " making " the price for this or that gem, arbitrarily
forcing exchanges. . . , 1
1 Miss Heaton had ordered a Beatrice of Rossetti, but Ruskin wanted it for
himself or someone else and made her, instead, take a Paolo and Francesca, or a
water-colour replica of Rachel and Leah.
M
161
3
u You worft go to Paris, I am sure, when you know that I,
seriously, don't think it right," wrote the Professor to Gabriel*
Well, but in November, when Lizzy had been gone some six
weeks, she wrote to Gabriel to tell him to come and bring her
some money. She could not leave, actually, for want of funds.
Then Gabriel showed that he could work at that pinch and began
a fresh picture in three compartments, sat up all night and
finished it in a week. It was so perfectly beautiful that Ruskin
came, saw, was conquered and acquired it from the artist for
thirty-five pounds down. Letting Miss Heaton and her
requirements slide he sent Gabriel off to Paris with his blessing
to release Lizzy and The Incubus out of the hands of creditors
" They will have more debts than they say ; people are always
afraid to say all at once."
And he was to pack her off to Nice as soon as possible.
4
The debts were not so very serious, arrears for the rooms in
the hotel and clothes for Lizzy. She had found that she could
not wear the creations of Miss Minchin, the dressmaker recom
mended by Mr. Benthall on the same floor as theirs in Chatham
Place. She had ordered herself a couple of dresses in the fashion,
desiring to discontinue Pre-Raphaelite gowns in Paris, just now
when the new steel petticoat that gave circumference without
weight, brought over from America, was favoured by fashion, i.e.
the Empress, who was about to produce an heir to the dynasty.
Gabriel found Lizzy well : high, the barometer of her hair,
upspringing and glorious as of old. She made the most of her
recovered looks so as to justify her determination to stop on.
The hot dry air suited her, like the sweet chajnpagne that was
served with her meals. She had taught herself some French,
and when they stood to watch the laying of the new boulevards,
the old walls razed to the ground (Baron Haussmann had promised
Napoleon that there should be no more barricades), she would
repeat, as children in England Peter Piper, the topical French
equivalent : " Le mur murant Paris, s'en va en murmurant," com
plaining because it had been there for a quarter of a century and
now must go. But she was, Britishly, down on the French
character. The conceit of them and their incessant jabbering !
162
" Do they think they are saying something ? " she would ask.
And so proud of their Glass Palace, imitated from ours, because
it had a transept so many metres higher ! Prices ran cheaper
than in the London one, entrance a franc, and the days were
different. In London Fridays and Saturdays were the expensive
days, and it was not open on Sundays at all. Here Friday
was the only expensive day and Sunday the cheapest a few
centimes. The two women could not afford to buy, but stared
at The Regent and the toile du Nord and were perfectly happy
wandering in and out the glittering cases, in the sections of
Bijouterie et Cristalleries, of Dentelles et Broderies, of Sous et
Soieries, of Vetements, Modes et Fantaisies. But when Gabriel
came, they only managed to drag him there one afternoon, and
he and Munro hurried them past the beastly diadems by Bapst,
the awful bracelets, rivulets and necklaces of Dumas and Paillard :
turning a blind eye on the vitrines of Watte and Dufour of Bel
gium, of Backe and Krug of Germany, absolutely disdaining the
English exhibits of Messrs. Hunt and Roskill and their terrible
mourning jewellery made of cbenefossile noire that is to say, Jet.
Munro and he paused a moment to consider the work of a
would-be Pre-Raphaelite, John Hancock, the boyhood's friend
of both, an epergne figuring some knights killing each other to
put on a dinner-table ! He seemed to like best, and so did she,
the French or cisele chased gold which he was pleased to
compare with Lizzy's hair, saying that he would make hair like
hers the rage in London. He gave Munro, whom he had run
up against in the Louvre, the impression that he was frightfully
in love with The Sid. 1
5
He had got to Paris on the 8th of November. The Exhibition
closed by decree on the I5th. Rossetti and Munro saw Lizzy
and her companion off by rail to Nice, with money in hand.
Away, altogether, only a week and now he was back in London,
telling the fellows all about it. Yes, he had seen Napoleon driving
with the Empress in an open carriage although he had just been
shot at for the second time. No one could say he was a coward,
although Hugo called him Le Petit and he looked like a clammy
1 " Rossetti every day with his sweetheart E. S., of whom he is more foolishly
fond than ever. Great affection is always so to the looker-on, I suppose. Well,
well!" Munro to Hill.
163
pork butcher. Eugenie at his side, pale but blazing in gold and
colour, like a bell-flower bent her proud neck, saluting with
her indefinable air of deprecation, " as if entreating you ^ to
believe that she was obliged to be Empress ! " so Mrs. Browning
said. And they had seen her rival, The Castiglione, by accident.
Stunners both ! The Castiglione was the vainest woman in the
world Gabriel quoted one of her speeches, the right sort of
speech for a Stunner to make : " Je suis et m'en content?, ne
voulant fare ni par les autres ni pour les autres" A spy and a
thorough tomboy to dissimulate her job perhaps climbing
so that everyone could see her, to hear the chimes at midnight,
with the Director of Beaux Arts> on the roof of the old Louvre
that he was rebuilding, making the join between it and the
Tuileries that was later to save Eugenie's life. By the way, old
Nieuwerkerke was behaving as if the whole place was his own,
giving pictures away wherewith to trim the walls of St. Cloud
as if they were pieces of furniture. " Ulmperatrice demande
encore des tableaux" Turning the public out of the galleries and
giving parties there, murdering masterpieces, he and Godefroi,
always drunk, with his precious sauce a refaire, a black mixture
like mud of which the recipe was scrapings of varnish, lots of dust
and spirits of wine applied with a swab. The hands of Marie d,e
Medicis were now gone. For Rubens Ruskin did not so much
care, or for Claude whom Nieuwerkerke and his henchmen were
now u restoring to the truth," making him clear and silvery
instead of hot and highly coloured as he really was ; but what of
the Veronese ? Rossetti privately did not care for the Veronese,
but they had cleaned The Marriage in Cana quite thin.
By the 2nd of December Mrs. Kincaid and Lizzy were in Nice,
at the Hotel des Princes. Miss Siddal had kept her room and
eaten her Christmas dinner upstairs, " plum pudding and all very
good very good indeed and an honour to the country ! " She
has a bad boil of which she cannot get rid but she tells Gabriel
that it is on account of hotel bores that they want to move into
lodgings.
She had been made self-conscious by her association with
Gabriel Rossetti and his friends. Clever and receptive, she had
been taking it all in, and some of it wrong. Her letters even
William noticed it constantly betray the note of facetiousness
164
that is the refuge of the artistically and educationally destitute,
handed the whole bag of letters to play and form sentences
with. She indulged freely in the chaffing manner of which
William complained one of the reasons why she and Christina,
so just, so elegant, so simple of phrase, could never get on. Here
is her first letter, written about three weeks after her arrival in
Nice. She had not been allowed to retain her passport. It
had been taken charge of by the police x and she was put through
some irksome precautions. First she had to borrow it for half
an hour and, presenting herself at the office, let them have a
look at her and gave them a sample of her handwriting to compare
with the passport. If the two signatures should be considered to
vary it would mean that she was pretending to be someone else,
and be as good as a death warrant ! They would at once take it
into their silly foreign heads that she was a murderess escaping
from justice or was, at any rate, a thief. But she would be let
off hard labour because of her thinness ! . . . And so it goes
on the would-be funniness. She would have to stand in front
of the grille while the man behind it, like a mutton chop sticking
to a gridiron (he is " Mutton Chop " to the end of the interview),
stands looking " as much like doom as over-done mutton can
look, fizzing French," not one word of which can she under
stand. Back to the police station where the Two Cocked Hats
hand over the enclosure reluctantly. . . .
The letter ends on a note of doubt " But believe me, Yours
most affectionately. ..."
Frivolous yet passionate, with the desire of the dove to brood
alone " First-class, one can get to the end of the world, but
one can never be let alone or left at rest " all this is part of her
complex, connected with those wilful seclusions of hers in
Chatham Place, " alone, withouten any company " 2 or sound,
except the river noises, the sleepy, heavy sucking of the water
at the base of the pillars of the bridge, the flapping wash,
slowly dying away, of the barges that went past, or the bells of
the purlmen plying in their little boats, up and down and in and
out of the big lighters, selling bad beer in the small hours of
the morning to the weary foredone workers who, heated and
drugged, must needs send for more much more.
1 A precaution natural enough, considering the state of politics at the time, the
whole of the Genoese littoral honeycombed with spies and political agents. Nice
was Nizza then, and part of the Kingdom of Piedmont.
2 Chaucer.
165
Gabriel sent the letter on to Ruskin. He evidently thought
it funny, in a Jan van Hunksish sort of way. Ruskin returned it
saying that it was excellent and all " too true, poor thing ! "
and that he had often boiled over himself about the ridiculous
passport system of the Continent. He wanted to get her up
into his " pet " Alps. She really must manage it as soon as the
Spring came.
7
She was still away and Gabriel Mon-Dieuing, murmuring her
name as he sat at his easel little Cathy heard him " Guggums !
Guggums ! " (surely the ugliest name " Love ever wearied
of? "), full of commissions, making red hair the fashion as he
had promised Lizzy to do, was battening on Brown in his new
house in Fortess Terrace, too expensive for Brown and too big,
though there was a new baby coming in December. Brown's
important work had had to be laid aside for want of patronage
and he was doing pot-boilers and journeyman's work of sorts.
His guest took him out now and then to dine off a lobster or to
the play to see some Stunner or other Madame Ristori or Miss
Herbert and introduced dealers, full of specious promises.
Old White hinted at " a speedy fortune in two years more for
Mr. Brown, when Mr. Brown would command the highest
prices and be in a position to give him (White) a ' pic ? now and
then for remembrance." Brown's sardonic entry is" Amen,
I say." i 7
Gabriel at last sends Mr. Flint of Liverpool, who almost
commissions Work, but says he will " write " and, going out of
the studio, is struck with one of Gabriel's sketches for Moxon's
Tennyson and offers forty guineas on the nail for a water-colour
on the subject.
The apportioning of the Llandaff decorations was a 'perpetual
grievance. Brown had been consulted as to the possibility of
Rossetti's undertaking the altarpiece. Not that he grudged
Rossetti^the work, but, still" Seddon needn't have asked me
my opinion ! "
Gabriel was dressing better and talked of buying a watch and
had^managed to send Lizzy fifty-five pounds since she left but
no sign as yet of Brown's loan ! As Brown had cynically foretold,
* As a matter of fact, Work had to be set aside while The Stages of Cruelty, for
which httle Cathy was sitting at the moment, remained unsold for thirty-five years.
166
he was getting on better without her. The hatchet-face was
filling out : he looked " handsome and a gentleman " and
behaved as if his hosts were made of money. He would stop in
bed till ten or eleven, then he would breakfast, leisurely, alone,
translating sonnets beside his plate or teasing little Cathy, making
faces at her through the red glass pane of the door into the
garden, or chasing her till she fell, dressed as children were then,
into a bed of nettles. He hated children.
It was frightfully cold and England was at war. Brown and
his wife were pleased to think that Lizzy was missing the influenza
epidemic, and Gabriel was glad he had refused to go to Wales.
A friend of his, down at Abergele, had said in a letter that he
had caught in his hand a live woodcock which, with its long bill,
could not get into a cranny to keep itself warm. Nobody in
Fortess Terrace thought very much about the men crouching
down in those deeper crannies outside Sebastopol, but made up
a good fire and sat over it. One night, as they basked, some
one inside saw a spark fall ; someone outside rang the bell
the chimney proved to be on fire. Emma Brown tried salt
and a wet blanket ; but Brown put down his pipe and went
what he called " right at it " up through the trap-door in the
roof and, walking gingerly on the slates of the high house,
stuffed another good blanket down the chimney. Shouts 4 from
Gabriel down below to say the remedy had been efficacious.
Meantime the painter had not been idle, and had carefully raked
all the live coals out of the grate and spread them over the new
Kidderminster, of claret-colour powdered with chocolate and
Jleurs-de-lis. But Mrs. Brown forgave him and the larger holes
soon had chairs and tables arranged over them.
8
Mary Howitt, who kept William Allingham informed of his
London friends' doings, as well as those of Aspasia her cat, told
him all about Gabriel's new Stunner, the beautiful Miss Herbert,
and how he never missed one of her first nights and even went
again and took his friends. No danger to Lizzy ; Miss H. was
far too great a swell to look at an artist. She stayed with the
aristocracy when " resting " and never accepted presents of any
kind. Mary did not believe that Rossetti had ever seen her off
the stage, but she must have come expensive in tickets !
Another Stunner, Lady Waterford, was also too high up to
167
affect Lizzy. But Gabriel was always about with Annie Miller,
painting the girl by day and taking her to Highbury Barn by
night, where she made good use of the dancing lessons Hunt was
paying for. Anna Mary wondered what Mr. Hunt had said
about it when he got home, invalided, from Syria, where Mike
Halliday had had to go all the way to fetch him.
Either Mr. Hunt didn't know about Annie and Gabriel (and
Boyce, too there was safety in numbers) or he didn't mind,
for on his return from abroad he stayed with Gabriel in Chatham
Place until he could get back into his old rooms in Claverton
Street. Yet he was besotted on Annie. Halliday and Martineau,
who roomed with him, found him a thorough nuisance. She
would call in, " looking most syren-like," to ask about something
or other, saying she couldn't stay, just when they were sitting
down to dinner, and Hunt would jump up and keep them waiting
while he put her on a boat to go home to Chelsea. . . .
What wonder that Lizzy, out there, was getting restless and
talked of coming home ! Money difficulties were put forward,
but it was less a question of funds than either Ruskin or Rossetti
supposed. The latter actually wanted to borrow from one of
the Yorkshire patronesses, but Ruskin put a stopper on that.
He would ask his own Miss Heaton to lend Rossetti twenty-five
" in a way that would leave it quite within her power to refuse
comfortably," and if she did refuse, he would supply the money.
Rossetti should have thirty pounds at once, anyway. No, he
wasn't at all put out. He just wanted Ida, for her own sake he
wasn't going anywhere near her to stay abroad. If she would
only get out of Nice ! But, if she did really want to come home
instead of stopping to see "some Alps and gentians," she just must.
His appeal seems to have stayed her. She faintly suggested
the Dauphine. No, nothing but Alps would satisfy Ruskin.
He had only allowed for the South of France in the first place
because he didn't know her well enough to know what she would
or wouldn't like " that time when she chose Paris instead of
Normandy," in his despite. Well, he is sick of it ! If she will
agree to Switzerland like a good girl, let her write and say so.
" It is no use my stirring myself up if her mind is made up to
come home."
9
In the Spring, she returned to England, no better. Her
physician noticed " a continuous decline in vital force " from
1 68
now onward. Henceforward she was always ill and, less patient
of pain and discomfort, adopted the new panacea from which
Mrs. Browning, a grander, more reasonable woman, had refrained,
though she congratulated her generation on its availableness :
" What a wonderful thing these new inhalations seem to be ! "
Lizzy was, of course, forbidden to sleep near the river, so the
rooms in Weymouth Street had to be kept on. Nowadays
Gabriel had to paint her reclining in the big armchair that was
moved there from Chatham Place, her head deep sunk in a pillow
placed at the back, the long fingers of one hand laid under her
chin like Mrs. Browning's " spirit hand " propping hers. Her
hair in these pictures is always spread out as if it were a peacock-
feather fan, in flat languid loops, like water flowing away,
water of pale gold still the most vital thing about her, perhaps
draining away the rest of her life. Old Mrs. Ruskin had always
said that it ought to be cut off because of the weight and the
effort of growing taken from her reserve of strength. And the
very tending and dressing of it were tiring for an invalid.
10
And Gabriel had found a new and deeply stimulating environ
ment something that, as it were, oxygenated his blood while
she was away. He had founded a School of his own : at least
revived the Pre-Raphaelite impetus with the new blood of
William Morris and Edward Jones.
169
PART II
CHAPTER XVIII
i
EARLY in January of this year, 1 856, Rossetti had written
to Allingham of his meeting with a certain youthful
Jones who designed " Holbeinesque fancies not -a few,"
one of the " nicest fellows in Dreamland/' and his
friend Morris, also a denizen of that region.
By " Dreamland " the practical Rossetti meant the magazine
run by these two young men and their set, in which an
appreciative notice of his own illustration to Allingham's Maids
of Elfin Mere had appeared. The comparatively moneyed Morris
financed this venture : his father had died leaving him the care
of a mother and two sisters and enough 1 to do it on, including
a house and garden at Walthamstow.
There were no cheap reprints of the classics in those days ;
if you wanted a book you must buy it, and Morris, the plutocrat
who could afford to lose three hundred pounds on a magazine
a year of The Oxford, and Cambridge cost him that provided
literary food for his friends ; Shakespeare and Malory for Jones :
Tennyson 2 for Morris, novels for everybody. Aurora Leigh,
Guy Livingstone and the works of Miss Charlotte Mary Yonge, to
whom Lady Eastlake conceded the power of passion 3 she would
not allow to the other, great, Charlotte.
1 Copper, in 1848, was worth 160 a ton. In 1844 veins were discovered near
Tavistock Capital of 1,024 shares of i each. Of these Morris' father held 272.
Within six months the shares were changing hands in the market at Soo each.
Mr. Morris' holding rose for a while to the value of two hundred thousand pounds.
Life of William Morris, by J. W. Mackail.
2 Tennyson, with his ghostly memory and magic of phrasing, his " gleams across
the dreary moorland " and his idle tears that the Portuguese call saudades, i.e. rueing,
of which Howell talked so much.
3 The Heir ofRedclyffe, " like a deep blue Italian sky with a rich, gorgeous Italian
sunset." New Quarterly. " Beast as she is," said Jones of Lady E., " she is no
fool." Miss Yonge was almost a Pre-Raphaelite through her intense close
visualisation of mediaeval times ; for instance, Leonard the Lion Heart, The Ckaplet
of Pearls, The Dove in the Eagle's Nest.
170
WILLIAM MORRIS
From a photograph
One does not associate the Oxford Movement with the Pre-
Raphaelite one or Sir Guy de Morville with Sir Palomydes. 1
But had it not been for The Heir and his knightly proclivities,
coupled with the visit of Morris and Jones to a certain picture
gallery, the revival 2 of the Movement might not have taken
place.
Some years before a handful of young men who had never
heard of the P.R.B., but were full of ideas and fun, sat about
the floor and the window-sills in a small room in Oxford and
talked incessantly of the formation of an Order or Brotherhood.
Sir Galahad was to be the patron and the whole thing was
instigated by young Mr. Edward Coley Jones, of Exeter, whose
Celtic imagination had been fired or chilled by the sight, in
boyhood, of a Cistercian Monastery in full working order, eight
miles from his home in the heart of Charnwood Forest, 3
This order was not to be purely monachal wives, " if there
should be any," were to be " associated together." A sort of
Abbey of Thelema : a foundation of clerical and lay workers
established in the heart of London where, nowadays, there was
most to be done. The Good Knight of Walthamstow began
by helping in the slums of Marylebone, lifting bodies into the
cholera carts. He always went ahead violently with anything, like
the Heir of Redclyffe giving up hunting because it interfered with
his reading : trying to make girls interested in good men, not
bad ones " blessed damozels," such as Amy in The Heir : not
Flora Bellasys in Guy Livingstone.
Both as good as gold yet, " the low sun gives the colour,"
and to Gabriel Rossetti, the practical, the material, the earth-
bound, who visited in Dreamland, but assuredly did not live there
altogether, these lads gravitated. When Ruskin's Edinburgh
1 The Great Unkissed, with whom in after days, of all Arthur's knights, Morris
humbly associated himself.
2 The third and last fytte and flicker was in the late '70*3, when young Wilde
" went down " from Alma Mater, came up to London and settled in Salisbury
Street with a few Delft plates and peacocks' feathers, picked up the ageing Burne-
Jones on his robust shoulders and carried him into the popular repute he had
merited so long.
3 Like the dominant in music this pious hope and wish appears in his letters for
years after he had taken up painting ; and once, when the plan was seriously menaced,
he desired to go into the army and get killed. See Appendix for Charnwood.
May 1855, ". . . Am afraid that our monastery will come to naught. Smith has
changed his views to extreme latitudinarianism, Morris has gone questionable on
doctrinal points. . . ." Somebody else, called Ted, was " too Catholic to be
ordained."
171
Lectures came to be published they bought the book, read what
he said about the P.R.B. and, next time they went down, walked
over to Tottenham to see the collection, mainly of Turners
but including a Hunt, a Millais and a Rossetti enshrined in
the gallery Mr. Windus, 1 of Godfrey's Cordial, had built for it.
After they had seen these pictures they elected Rossetti their king.
And in the Long Vacation they went to France to see Cathedrals
and got their Pauline revelation, for which Jones had been pre
pared by the day at Godstow. They arrived at Beauvais on a
Saturday, limping, footsore, despondent. Next morning they
attended High Mass and knew, once for all, the way they
were to go. Suddenly made aware of the gaiety, the headiness,
the sacred glory of Colour that, while Line represents duty and
religion, stands for the pleasures of the life which men share with
one another till Death parts them, and that poor old Ruskin, 2
so pale and watery and friendless, had missed. Unused, un
wonted nerves in them were played and wrought upon by the
sight of the pied banners, oscillating, upborne by infants in red
and white procession, the gold rays from the pyx that so
affected Joan of Arc 3 falling dim and dun on tessellated floors
and the embossed embroideries of copes and chasubles. Add to
this the noise that is Colour's concomitant, sonorous organ peals
and blare of trombones that made the incense-laden air to rock
and tremble and the colours to shake before their eyes red and
blue, the " choosing cloths of Heaven and Hell." 4
And afterwards, when all was quiet, by the river-side in
England, Jones 5 chose "Heaven's colour/ 5 the quiet flame of
blue that was the dragon-fly, hovering, poised over the glinting
water . . . long enough for him to have painted it.
" Stay, thou art fair ! " This moment lost them, as it were,
1 Everyone went there though they never saw Mr. Windus. His taste was
exquisite and all the artists sat at his feet. Ruskin drove his Effie over and poor
Brown walked all the way from Finchley. Windus was rich and spent the money
he made on the Cordial and his contract for all the mail coaches in England, on
buying Turners, with which he never parted, for he was not a dealer and gave
himself tremendous moral airs. After the Ruskin-Millais affair, he would not even
allow Millais to make a sketch of his own picture for reproduction.
2 Said his master Turner, dying-" The Sun is God, my dear ! "
3 The processions of small angels, as she may have seen them, dancing in the beam
from the pyx at Notre Dame des Victoires, where the/ dance still on fine Sundays.
4 " One of these cloths is Heaven and one is Hell ;
Now choose one cloth for ever, which they be."
5 See King Copketua and Margot.
172
to Holy Orders. The idea of droning cold phrases in the plain
white churches of non-Catholic countries became hateful to
them both for evermore. " Save me from that ! " said Jones,
deeply, truly religious, albeit without white scapular and black
gown, "for I have looked beyond the veil."
On the quay at Havre that very night they made up their
minds that they would not be parsons and gently broke it, Morris
to his mother and Jones to his aunt, on their return.
It was an awful thing to do, then. Art, which came to be
a gilt-edged security, was then a very great adventure and
fathers and mothers, with neat curacies in their eyes and a
bishopric to follow, when informed that a son wanted to take up
painting, felt much as if he had proposed to follow the players or
run away to sea. But Jones' father, who was a carver and gilder
by trade, played up and started his son as an artist, while Morris,
for want of a better job, articled himself for instruction in English
Gothic, to the perpetrator of " Phil and Jim," l a charming man
whose boast, however, was that he had restored nearly every
church in England and would already have begun on Magdalen
only, luckily, funds were not available. But the desecration of
St. Albans was being perpetrated and Morris, faithful servant,
helped it on.
Soon it was the Bissextile, the year when it never rained
" blue sky from Christmas to Christmas " and " London streets
glittering like the golden ones of Zion," while to Jones it was
" always morning and the air sweet and full of bells." One
recognises the faintly hysterical touch that went along with
his real shrewdness and competence. For Jones was now more
than " the man who wrote to Ruskin and got an answer by
return " ! He was the man who had lessons from Rossetti and
was allowed to enter his studio freely : while Rossetti, who
notoriously hated being watched, would merely nod and go on
painting. It was " so nice when he loved someone, for they need
to be in no doubt about it." 2 False premises, dear Mr. Jones !
Of those who were useful and whose society promised him amenity
he was fond, petting them, " tempering " them, now and again
applying the rules of his own hard, ferocious, unrelenting spirit,
to their backslidings and recalcitrances. For he was a leader
born, sharing with Napoleon the advantages of the bilio-lymphatic
1 George Edmund Street. 2 Memorials, by Lady Burne-Jones.
173
temperament " 'Tis the hidden fire that wins me my battles ! "
Master, like Napoleon, of the direct statement, he dominated
people's nerves by his short, unreiterated directions and
commands, nor blurred significance with repetition.
This sinner the young men took for their saint and, lacking
the earnest Hunt and the frivolous Millais, the Pre-Raphaelite
Brotherhood was born anew.
3
Rossetti had persuaded them both to leave the beaten track
that leads to ease and a competence, for the thornier ways of
Art. 1 " Rossetti says " most of Jones' sentences began in that
way now " that I ought to paint and shall be able." So Jones
would do his best.
Morris in Street's office all day and at a Life School at night
was worked to death. But it was worth it. Rossetti called
them his Dears ! (So, imitatively, Jones was to call men he
liked for the rest of his life.) And he praised them to people,
saying that they were wonders of their kind " Jones especially ! "
He did not take to Morris though he praised him perfunctorily, 2
Morris who adored him, the blood-red ray in the spectrum of
his life serving him by word and deed, buying his drawings,
composing legends 3 for them ; mystic jingles, little rhyme and
less reason, flying wrack of confused thought, spindrift of
romance, all about queer patient people without dimension or
repousse, like the scene on which they are made to move rushy
floors of enchanted castles, set in orchards reddening to the sea,
in a country which is no man's land except he dream. There
was Alicia who wore a scarlet gown " when the sword went out
to sea." Why on Earth, or in Dreamland, did she? Some
subtle, far-flung, far-fetched curse ? And " Fair Yolande of the
flowers," walking with her maidens on the rain-washed leads
of her castle near the sea they are all built near the sea in
Dreamland
No one walks there now,
Except in the white moonlight
The white ghosts walk in a row.
1 " Morris and Jones have now settled in London," D. G. R. wrote to Allingham.
" I have persuaded Morris to give up architecture and start painting." His mother
never forgave him for it she blamed it on Jones.
2 " You would think him one of the finest little fellows alive, with a touch of the
incoherent, but a real man."
3 " Morris has written a stunning poem to my Blue Closet picture."
'74
Or that " blue " parlour, in some other haunted place, where
Ti
are given leave
Alice the Queen and Louise the Queen,
Two damozels wearing purple and green,
Every year on Christmas Eve
To sing in the Closet Blue one song
Laudatt Pueri.
So great, so modest withal, pleased with the approval of mere
workmen, 1 of children, of animals ... yet Gabriel Rossetti
vastly preferred the society of Jones. Morris was too original,
too independent for the king-man, who was really made uncom
fortable by the other's violent simplicities, his " scorn of scorn,
hate of hate, love of love," his rudeness, his lack of humour
and subtlety except of the animal kind. There was nothing
affected or stagey about Morris ; he just took life as he found
it (in the mediaeval chronicles) crude and cruel with patience
and piety, while Jones, holding quite as grim a view of life,
invested the sadness with all sorts of quips and cranks and ador
able babyishness. As subservient to Rossetti as Morris, he was
more clinging, affecting to go about on leading-strings, hardly
able in the end to get married, so he said, without Rossetti.
Rossetti rather encouraged the notion of getting married,
hoping thus to break the spell which he himself wielded over
him and which meant, at least, responsibility. He had to be
careful lest he was accused of robbing these youths of their
April. Jones was his Liebling as Deverell 2 had been, and he
wrote to the boy ever so humbly " I know I must be fonder of
you than you possibly can be of me. Anyway, I am far fonder
of you than anybody, and you, I know, are fonder of me. . . ."
Then, ashamed of his sentimentality and pulling himself up
with a jerk "This letter begins to read rather flabby. . . ." 3
4
Soon Jones did get engaged and, by the I5th of February,
Gabriel moped so that he even missed Mrs. Hindi's ginger cat
1 Of one of his own books, nearly stillborn, he said proudly, " The men at the
Works think a lot of it."
2 See Jarno-Jenssen's Kunstler-Monographien.
3 What we should call " soppy " nowadays. Everybody said " fond " for
" loving " in those days, even sweethearts ; it was an elegant sort of periphrasis for
that gross word " love."
175
which Lizzy fed and so brought about the place. He would sit
daubing away in the dusk until he heard the click of the lamp
lighter's rod, setting agoing the " two seedy flames " of the
standard by the gate, definitely proclaiming nightfall, when
he would get up and spend an hour so he told her looking for
his hat and stick before he could go out to get some dinner.
He wrote her a Valentine " Come back, dear Liz . . ." He
missed the woman, if only to deal with duns and undesirables
whom, from her shop training, she spotted at once and treated
with a firm hand, and to wind up the clock, which had run down
all the time she was away.
On her return she attended to these things, choosing now,
however, to sleep and spend most of her time in Weymouth
Street. How could she sleep at Gabriel's place as of old,
for any night the fellows might come in at any time and
stay well into the next morning ? And, in the daytime, they
were all in and out constantly ; Hunt, whom she disliked because
he had once snubbed her about some technical point, and
the two adoring boys, to whom she was merely the betrothed of
the Master, who, for reasons into which they did not venture
to pry, deferred the announcement of his engagement to her.
They did not admire The Sid. Morris, the more indifferent of
the two, by way of kowtowing to Gabriel, made one of his jingles
about her, founded on a North-country custom of rack-rent of
which Howell had told him :
There was a lady lived in a hall,
Large in the eyes and slim and tall.
And ever she sang, against the noon,
Two Red Rosfs across the Moon.
Gabriel would go to see her in Weymouth Street whenever
he could spare time from his work, his friends and his amuse
ments ; and that was not very often. When Lizzy got tired of
being alone she just put herself into a bus and went to the
Browns' to tea and sleep, if a bed was not handy, on the sofa or
the hearthrug. She could sleep anywhere. Gabriel objected
to her seeing so much of Emma Brown, partly because she was
silly and saw ghosts and put Lizzy up to being discontented with
him, Gabriel which she did not, Brown denied it. Poor Miss
Siddall (characteristically Brown and his wife always refused to
dock the last / " Gabriel's wretched swagger ") complained
enough already of Gabriel's wasteful goings on and needed no
176
extra working up. Gabriel, on her account, was always exceed
ingly rude to Mrs. Brown, who found " his brutish conduct "
difficult to overlook. One day he had come along, thinking to
find Liz at their house it was after a quarrel they had had
the night before. He had missed her, and went without saying
good-bye to Mrs. Brown, who did not resent it. But Brown
wrote on Wednesday and demanded an apology, which he did
not get till Sunday if at all, for Gabriel and Lizzy simply came
to supper, shook hands, said nothing about it and ate heartily.
Brown was very useful, running errands and seeing people for
Gabriel, procuring calves, lending costumes, being surety for
borrowed " tin." Yet Gabriel never thought of " going
without " himself, or of lending My Uncle some of the fine
things he purchased when in funds ! Brown had, on several
occasions, pawned the family silver, his studs and the clothes
off his wife's back sooner than borrow for himself. These
were the " goings on " that drove Lizzy frantic and made her
spiteful. The nobility of Brown's nature forbade complaint or
retaliation but he permitted himself to write it down, using
his own forcible coloration and quickening of the diapason in
the chronicling of what he called " scenes of the strangest
physical and moral confusion combined with reckless extrava
gance " in the menage which Rossetti hesitated to invite Lizzy
to share. This senseless, causeless hanging back was what
maddened Brown, on her behalf.
N 177
CHAPTER XIX
i
FIGHTING had stopped in January, and Peace which
mattered a good deal to people other than artists
was declared officially in May; there were to be
illuminations, which would delight artists as well.
Allingham was invited by Munro to stop with him and Miss
Munro in Belgrave Place till Boyce's old rooms in Buckingham
Street could be secured for him. Boyce was an artist now.
There were still some illuminations left round about the Mall
and Buckingham Palace when Allingham arrived and, in the
evening, he and the Munros paraded the Mall arm in arm, among
the noisy, guffawing crowd in front of the Palace, under the glare
of the fireworks. At ten they went home, sent the lady to bed
and began to tell tales.
Gabriel and Lizzy first I Munro told him all about Paris
and how fond of Lizzy Gabriel seemed to be. Over, then, the
reign of Annie Miller ! Annie's new beau was Boyce. Did
Hunt mind ? He had objected, as her self-constituted guardian,
to Gabriel's flirtation with her last year. Boyce had had to ask
leave to paint Annie but Gabriel just took her. Hunt either
didn't guess or refused to wrestle for her. But Munro had seen
a very stiff letter from Hunt to Boyce, " feeling bound to acquaint
him with the fact " that he only permitted it on the under
standing that she was to be looked upon as Hunt's own
" protge " and that he considered himself responsible for her
future, " as far as other artists might affect it." Supposing
another artist should wander into the studio while Annie was
there and make overtures to her ? Boyce was to say that Mr.
Hunt was very particular about her and never allowed her to
sit to anyone but himself and a few personal friends.
So Mr. Hunt had found out that Annie was a bit of a minx 1
(Allingham hated Annie for making Miss Sid so unhappy.)
178
By kind permission of Harold Hartley, Esq,
ELIZABETH ELEANOR SIDDALL
From a drawing by D. G. Rossecti
Not until Sunday morning did Allingham find Gabriel at
home in his shirt-sleeves, showing Tom Taylor Dantis Dream,
about which, though polite, Taylor, a good-hearted Philistine,
seemed more than doubtful. He was a very powerful man on
the Press. He departed full of cheer, and the two old friends
called on Boyce in his new chambers in Great Russell Street.
Then Gabriel offered to take Allingham straight to The Sid's
rooms, but insisted on going round to see the house where he
was born, in a blind-alley with a stonemason's yard and a thicket
of trees at the end of it. Standing on the cracked flags on the
other side, Gabriel, waving his arms like a foreigner, had pointed
out " the room where I painted my first picture ! " Then in
another cab to a pawnbroker's in Wardour Street, where there
was a " bit " he coveted. At long last they came to a tall house
in Weymouth Street, where it ran into Great Portland Street,
with a garden at the back and in it a plane tree whose top was
level with Miss Siddal's windows. She herself, looking frail and
thin in her black silk dress, was feebly setting about the stretching
of a piece of Whatman's for a water-colour drawing illustrating
a ballad ladies sitting on a stretch of yellow sand in full dress,
their hooped petticoats ballooning in the stormy weather,
waiting for their lords who had sailed long ago to fetch " the
King's Daughter from Norroway " home.
Rossetti, in his deep, grave voice, flowing on like a still stream
under tree shadows, recited to them the ballad which they all
knew by heart. 1 Then he took the job of mounting out of
Lizzy's hands, wetting the nice clean sheet of paper, laying it face
downwards on the table and the board on it and calling for the
paste which a devoted lodger on the first floor had prepared on
her fire for Lizzy and now brought up. He then turned up the
edges of the paper all round the board, pasted it down and put it
back on the table with a piece of soft paper over it to prevent
the dust settling. Then he bade her put on her hat and come
1 Lang, lang may the ladies sit
With their fans intil their hands
Before they see Sir Patrick Spens
Come sailing up the strand.
Half owre, half owre to Aberdour
'Tis fifty fathoms deep,
And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens
With the Scots lords at his feet.
out with them until the paste was dry and the paper, contracting,
had made a fair white even surface to paint on. She assumed a
black mantelet and, her bonnet carefully adjusted on the loose
masses of her hair, walked with her sweetheart and Mr. Ailing-
ham out into the sunny calm of the June morning. They took
a cab to Red Lion Square, setting Miss Sid down just ^ before
they turned in, as she desired. She had never set foot in that
house I since the death of Walter DeverelL
A firm of feather-dressers had taken the whole of it on from
Mr. North Cox, he of the queer stipulation which had annoyed
Miss Siddal. Entering the dusty, empty suite, windless though
one of the windows and all the doors were open, brushing a place
on the pane with their handkerchiefs, they looked down on the
square garden with its marigolds and lilies and thorn bushes and
low trees. Three sets of tenants, Gabriel pointed out, had had
these rooms since he and Deverell rented them, but " so pale
and watery and colourless " as not to leave a trace of their
presence, while the address of a model written in pencil on a wall
was as fresh as on the day Walter wrote it. Lizzy had always said
that the house was haunted and that when she was posing there,
dumb and numb on the estrade, those two hateful sisters of
Walter's, coming in to see what they called "the mad Pre-
Raphaelites," and giggling, singing and taking off their crinolines,
would dress up, Maria as Viola and Margaretta as Olivia, and run
upstairs with their trains over their arms, cheered on by young
Spenser Deverell, to see if they could frighten or impress the
other lodgers. They would come down again, saying they had
been frightened themselves, pretending to be faint, for they had
felt people brushing past them all the way up, and on a certain
landing by the old powdering closet a finger had positively been
laid on Maria's shoulder. ...
It would just do for Jones and Morris, who were moving.
Gabriel persuaded the Fauconniers to accept them as tenants at
the old rate of twenty shillings a week for the first floor three
rooms, a bedroom behind and another, really a powdering closet.
But there was that rarity, a North Light, and they could cut the
little window higher to admit more of it. Morris, who had
taken to designing furniture, 2 had made some chairs and a settle 3
which would go in the studio nicely.
1 Still existing. 2 The germ idea of The Shop.
3 It had three painted shutters over the seat, a ladder to the parapet round it
at the top, and a door above that leading on to the roof for minstrels to sing in at
1 80
3
Dust was not easily thrown in the eyes of William Allingham.
Dreamy, mystic, withdrawn, he was more a man of the world
than either Rossetti or Brown, and quiet reflection on the
London scene in the emptiness of his Irish home, endowed his
vision with shrewd and prophetic clarity. He regarded Lizzy's
refusal to enter the door of Number Seventeen merely as a wile
to bring her man to the point. She was using Walter, who
couldn't contradict her, to inspire the notion that Gabriel had
taken her away from a man who would have married her if
he had lived (and perhaps that was the reason he had died ?),
fomenting, for reasons of her own, the remorse which Gabriel
undoubtedly felt. . . .
But Allingham knew that, beyond a first spurt of excitement
on her romantic discovery, the lad had not loved her not
enough to hurt. There had been an inclination to a cousin, a
Miss Hogarth, which was noted by others. And then King
Death had intervened.
He did not think that Lizzy knew much about a woman
Gabriel's friends called Fanny though her name was Sarah
whom he had even heard of in Ireland, and, as Hunt was still
going to marry Miss Miller, Gabriel's sweetheart seemed to be
troubling no more about her than she did about Miss Herbert,
whom Gabriel never saw, or spoke to, off the stage, though he
went nearly every night to see her act.
4
Allingham talked to Tennyson about Gabriel, but Tennyson
was not in sympathy with him and his life ; he himself, though
a poet, had always managed to " avoid the drop into Bohemia."
He was building himself a summer house at Farringford, " in
the broad, anti-Pre-Raphaelite fashion," and owned himself
shocked by Morris' Republican ideas. Through Woolner, he
knew about Rossetti's engagement to a " milliner's apprentice "
and also of the unfortunate connection with " some woman at
Wapping," which stopped the way to its fulfilment. He granted
Rossetti a great artist, in spite of his " commonness," and admitted
that the time of the greatest sexual excitement for boys and
Christmas. Burne- Jones painted the scene from the Nibelungen Lied on the inside
of one shutter ; Rossetti the Salutation of Beatrice outside one of the doors.
181
men-* be also that of the greatest spiritual life that the
two voices can speak to the same ears and Purity and the other
thing " exist side by side in the same nature both to merge
at last into the sorrowless Eternity." Only he must have The
Gleam> That, Gabriel had no more, since the days he went
about with the boys on the model hunts, each with a glory on
his face as of one who feels a light in his hair feeling faint in
sunsets and at the sight of stately persons," and finding _ iree-
dom from corruption, pride and disease" in the spirit ot
Pre-Raphaelite brotherhood. _ .
William Allingham left London this time with the impression
that Gabriel was fond and proud of The Sid : at any rate, he
was quite " good " with her. He could afford to be with his
splendid secret mistress : his sensuality placated, helping^ not
interfering, with his art. That so carefully warded virginity
of Lizzy's, whose denial used to agitate and make him ill, was a
fetich he did not want now. His feeling for her was just the
remnant of an adolescent's sick fancies, born of his reading,
echo of the ballad refrains of Keats and Poe and the great Italian.
She was no longer La Belle Dame sans Merci, Annabel Lee, Psyche
or Beatrice. Even Dante admitted that after his holy passion
for that lady he went through a phase of earthly love._ She was
Poor Lizzy now, and a sick woman at that ! There it was !
5
But the disciples murmured. The engagement had now lasted
for nearly seven years they had been going about together
constantly for that space of time. They knew she slept at
Chatham Place and they were puzzled some of them shocked,
especially Holy Hunt. To Heaven was raised the parrot cry
" Why does he not marry her ? " The question was even put
by bluff Robert Browning who knew them both so little ; Ruskin,
more deeply versed in the incompatibilities of men and women
through his own experiences and sequestration for ever from the
joys of love, asked no such question. He had attended and was
1 There on the border
Of boundless Ocean,
And all but in Heaven
Hovers The Gleam.
TENNYSON.
2 From D. G. Rossetti's printed story in The Germ.
182
attending, so far as he was able, to what he conceived to be the
real crux of the matter and reason of the man's recalcitrance
the woman's ill-health continuing and likely to continue, as
far as one could see. Hers was the disease of the age and a
present nightmare to everyone. Full well he knew his Gabriel, so
different from " glorious Browning " noble and strong enough
to carry his invalid, literally and metaphorically. Gabriel's
place was not and never could be, at the pillow of an invalid.
Like most artists, he recoiled from shouldering responsibilities
other than artistic ones and would, when the creative mood was
on, have more regard for the susceptibilities of a nicely stretched
bit of paper than the racked nerves of a human being. He did
not easily endure the tempers, the peevishness of the poor
drugged thing, come back no better for her cure, good to paint
, but bereft for ever by illness of the magnetism which makes the
woman sexually interesting.
Not " waters engulphing or fires that devour," not " earth
heaped against " him, not Fanny and the other Stunners only,
but " death in the air," an atmosphere so paralysing to Lizzy's
healthy, full-blooded x lover that he would lie awake, shivering,
in bed at Chatham Place, or get up to sit in his nightshirt
at the big window from which he could see the trees in the
Temple " seeming to wave their heads " at him in vain protest,
and hear the clocks of St. Bride's and St. Botolph's striking the
Hour of The Bower, driving all Time into one resounding
clash of doom so that he could not tell if it was " this day, to
morrow, at eve or at noon. ..."
And "Fettered Love, motionless, can but remember." A
natural, selfish, sensual man, he abode much with Fanny, the
tame, the eager, the abundantly phosphorised. . . .
6
Yet, for the son of Lavinia, the brother of Maria and
Christina, procrastination was not a cloak for desertion and
the breaking of promises. He had engaged himself to Elizabeth
Eleanor Siddal, and he meant to marry her and face her father
and mother one of these days. But, sexually spited, baulked
by her long resistance, she would have to take him without
any of the sweet fruits of love she would be just an ailing
wife, like Tennyson's, to keep house for him and to paint
from. Marriage projects from time to time assumed cohesion,
183
as a tuft of cloud that capricious wind-currents play with,
gains form and once more dissipates in the field of Heaven.
She came near or nearish to her heart's desire that autumn.
Brown, hard at work on a paying commission by day, was painting
a portrait of William Rossetti for love, by lamplight, and sat at
it from eight to twelve every night. William had fixed that
hour because he really must be home early for his long day at
the Board of Trade. Then Gabriel came in and said that if
William could wait five minutes while he told Brown something
they might go back together. William, who knew his brother's
five minutes, curled up on the sofa and dozed on and off till three
in the morning while Gabriel discussed marrying Guggums and
wintering in Algeria. This was in October.
Algeria materialised into Bath. By December the tenth Gabriel
and Lizzy, " better than when last in London and not quite so
thin," were at Mrs. Greene's, Number Seventeen, Orange
Grove, living " in a mud bath " and reading Aurora Leigh^ " a
novel a la Jane Eyre, a little tainted by George Sand," and
Wuthering Heights, " a fiend of a book, an incredible monster,
the action laid in Hell, only, it seems, places and people have
English names there." And he is " really ashamed " to plague
William so, but could he spare ten pounds for a fortnight ?
Yet he was making money " lots and lots of commissions,"
says Brown (cheerful, himself " over the bar at last '?), in a
letter to Allingham. Little Lydia, on her return from a visit
to Bath, reports Gabriel not the invalid as being wheeled
about in a Bath chair, wagging his head from side to side, his
tongue lolling out, to the great scandal of passers-by. Happyish,
perverse. . . .
184
CHAPTER XX
i
BY the end of the year it was current gossip that the
marriage was off. There was a Portuguese, a friend of
William's who had sat to Millais and was now sitting
to Gabriel. A frightfully good-looking fellow, like a
Velasquez, with a voice of gold. He seemed to get hold of
everybody. This man Howell was for some reason trying to put
Gabriel off the girl and marriage generally, forcing him to en
visage the sacrifices of personal comfort he would be called upon
to make, the curtailment of petty liberties, the expenditure on
other than pleasures there might even be children, but Howell
did not think that likely by the look of her ! to be incurred in
the performance of this gesture which his world was stupidly
calling on a great artist to make.
Jones and Morris were active in a new scheme which, to a
certain extent, embodied the old idea of a Thelema. Hunt was
to be asked to join, in spite of that little trouble about Annie
Miller. Gabriel was quite agreeable to living in the same house
with him and her if they ever married; Hunt was such a
secretive " cuss " that no one knew when that would be.
And no one, except perhaps Jones, wondered how The Sid
would like it. Did she even know about the scheme? He
could not ask, for no one ever quite spoke his mind to Gabriel.
It was to be a " sort of joint establishment or College composed
of various artists " where they could write and paint together,
the strands of their various marital engagements being plaited
tidily in a skein. They had been looking over houses. Jones,
who always fancied Kensington, 1 discovered one to let called
Cedar Villa and told Gabriel about it.
On their return from Bath Gabriel had made Lizzy give up
her rooms in Weymouth Street and had taken lodgings for her
1 In the end he took Selby House, Hammersmith, at a hundred guineas, to be
near Howell.
185
in Hampstead. She was no longer independent, having relin
quished Ruskin's allowance because she was too ill to earn it.
She liked Spring Cottage, 1 with its big garden all round
except on the side next the lane running down to South End.
It was nearer, across the fields, than Chatham Place, to the
Browns', who had now come to represent nearly all ^ she had in
the way of friends. Mary Howitt was annoyed with her for
not keeping Gabriel up to the mark to which she and Bessie
Parkes had helped to push him years ago at Hastings and had
lately, she fancied, made the move to the new house an excuse
for not seeing so much of her. The two others, it would seem,
had merely taken her up out of pity and respect for Gabriel
and his art.
Lizzy had less of her sister's company. Lydia Siddall had
engaged herself to a young fellow called Joseph Wheeler on the
staff of the Daily Telegraph. He was a little younger than
Lydia and very much in love. He had run across her by accident,
very much in the way Gabriel had met her sister. Walking
along the Roman Road and looking into a shop-window he had
noticed a beautiful girl reaching up for something required
by a customer a good figure never looks so well as when the arm
is raised showing the lovely line from elbow to waist (Lyddy
did not wear stays). It was a string of candles of which, with
her long reach, she could just manage to get hold. Though Aunt
Lucy Day kept a shop, like the Siddalls, she had known better
days. There was a title in her husband's family and her son
would have been a Sir if everyone got their rights in this world.
Lydia was emancipated to a certain degree by her engage
ment. It was now Mr. Wheeler's business, not her father's, to
look after her, so she was able to take her young man to see her
sister in Weymouth Street and Hampstead both quite good
addresses. Gabriel, who happened to be there one day, asked
her to come to his studio and sit for her arms which were
unusually fine. Lyddy agreed but did not tell her mother,
who might have stopped relenting to Lizzy, as she was just
beginning to do, if she had known. Presently Mrs. Siddall was
actually persuaded to meet her future son-in-law. She dis
approved less of his profession now that he was decorating a
Cathedral for the son of Lord Aberdare. But one thing she
1 Two or three minutes' walk from Keats' house, absorbed now in a block, but
their sitting room and bedroom over it, with leaded panes in the windows, remains
as it was.
1 86
would not do let the painter and his friends have anything to
do with her fourth daughter, far too young "to be in the
company of such unruly men " as Mr. Rossetti and his friends.
Gabriel, on his side, pretended to be afraid of the handsome,
cold and stately matron, with the floods of gold and greying
hair which she let down on the slightest provocation of comment
and admiration ; and refused to spill any of his well-known
magnetism on her.
It was after dark one night and the lamps had been lit in the
street outside and the candles inside, and the firelight was
dancing on the diamond panes of the tiny window at the back.
Quite a party was gathered in Lizzy's sitting room. Her mother
and sister, who had been there all day, and James Siddall and
Mr. Wheeler, come to escort the two women home. Mrs. Siddall
and Lyddy were just going up to the bedroom to wrap up for
the succession of bus rides that would take them back to town
when Mr. Brown walked in. He had had his tea. He seemed
taken aback at finding company there, suggesting that he had
wanted to see Lizzy alone, which irritated Gabriel, always
jealous of Brown's influence over his sweetheart. And he
would keep talking of Cedar Villa, discussing the position of
the rooms and their assignment to the five persons who were to
occupy them two married couples to begin with and one
bachelor. Of the two best bedrooms Georgy had picked out the
one she preferred for herself and Ned, and did so hope the other
couple wouldn't want it. Mr. Hunt, being the elder, would
naturally have first choice. All this did not much interest
Lizzy's people, for Lizzy was not mentioned, and abruptly,
Mrs, Siddall made a move. Lizzy took the ladies upstairs
while James and Joseph Wheeler sat mum and the conversation
flagged between Brown and Gabriel. When the women came
down again Brown had slipped away.
Then, like a concealed fire, Lizzy burst out in one of her new
white rages that were so pathetic because, artists both, Lizzy
knew that Gabriel knew how ugly her voice was when she raised
it at all. Nothing would induce her to have anything to do with
a scheme which involved her living in the same house with Mr.
Hunt. She did not object to Mr. Morris and Mr. Jones hardly
counted. But Mr. Hunt she hated. Yes, Gabriel had spoken
of it ; but she had thought of a range of studios with a bedroom
and kitchen behind, such as they were beginning to build now,
for each couple. Gabriel, who could not have got into a rage
if he had tried and whose voice would, in any case, have remained
beautiful, pointed out that Brown did not seem to be including
them in his scheme at all ! Everyone knew that dear old Brown
did get dates and numbers wrong ; he had meant three couples,
of course. Then why had Gabriel not corrected Brown at the
time ? What would James and Lyddy and her mother think ?
Then Gabriel, gently " Did they know, because she had always
been so particular with him not to mention their engagement
before anyone without her permission not even her mother."
Her mother knew perfectly well, and Lyddy and of course
Mr. Wheeler too, that she was engaged. Did he suppose that
they would condescend to come there to tea with his mistress ?
She would go straight to Aunt Day's in Barnsbury to-morrow
morning, where Lyddy would give her half her bed.
She had worked herself up to a temperature. He rang for
the servant and asked her to see to Miss Siddal. After her gibes
he could not stay or even offer to sleep on the sofa. She would
be all right when she got to bed and he would be back to-morrow.
He kissed her, put on his hat and walked all the way home to
Chatham Place, to clear his mind a little. She had made him
thoroughly miserable and herself ill. He felt these wretched
quarrels in his spirit while she proved them on her body. Which
was worse ? He meant to have it out with Brown next day.
So did she.
In the stillness of the morning but the Browns would be up
she passed down the hill (almost a watercourse with the melting
snows of three days ago), walking, lagging, sometimes running
in feverish spurts. Leaving the village at the bottom, she struck
across the winter fields into a world of black and white, picking
out the darkling, hardly discernible footpaths that ran in a
westerly direction, crossing the Fleet River by the little bridge
just above Carker's Lane, so that she contrived to come in at
the unfinished end of the new terrace with its arched middle
fa?ade, large inscribed with the date of building- (so that all men
could see) in which Brown's new house was. Stumbling over
brickbats covered with snow, slipping where the footpath was
still frozen, she reached the knocker and almost fell down on the
doorstep. Brown was in the studio, palette in hand, too absorbed
in " a bit " to notice the signs of a temperature in his visitor or
he would as usual have made her lie down on the hearthrug and
188
covering her with a rug, let her tell him all about it. Not a
bit of it ! With an unusual amount of gesture, from her, she
stood over him, raving against Gabriel, hissing accusations and
letting her voice go Brown was not her lover, only her ad
mirer. She did not listen to anything he said and he had a
letter in his pocket, just received from Gabriel by messenger,
and was conning it in his mind as she ran on simply murdering
herself. . . .
Brown knew that Gabriel was as much upset as she could
have wished ! In the letter his phrases came ill-turned,
uncouth ; her anger last night had made him " more unhappy
than anything else in the world could do." She had seemed so
embittered and estranged when they parted that he feared it
might be the end of all things between them ! She had said she
was going away God knows where and all because of this
scheme for a joint household which Brown knew, or must under
stand, was utterly dependent on her wishes. He would drop it
if there was the slightest chance of its affecting her happiness.
He had had no idea of the violence of her dislike to Hurit : he
should have thought that the objection had a right to be more
on his own side. Hunt had not actually been acting a friend's
part to him or to Lizzy lately, but he had hoped that the
" feeling would fade out " when once he and Lizzy were married
and their union beyond the power of mischief-making to break
up. She did know all about the Thelema scheme : he had, of
course, talked it over with her many times, and the only reason
last night why he hadn't at once stopped Brown and cleared up
the mystery of the " two or three married couples " was because
she got so cross whenever he mentioned their engagement, and
he did not know how she would take his mentioning it before
Mrs. Siddal.
Brown must be the arbiter. Disingenuous, all three of them.
Brown, because of his zeal for Lizzy and acting on a pious motive,
had, as Gabriel suspected, relied on their consciousness of his
own well-known muddle-headedness hadn't he been scolded
for it a hundred times ? and had purposely created the con
fusion in order to see if Gabriel or Lizzy herself would rise
to it?
Gabriel had countered him by remaining mum.
Lizzy, fighting for her life, as she saw it, was disingenuous too.
She had really only the slightest of grudges against Hunt ; because
he had once snubbed her about a picture, and for not taking
189
more notice of her generally. It was Annie Miller she despised,
hated and detested, and here was Gabriel calmly arranging to
have the girl live in the same house with them ! Yes, she would
let Brown take her home and she would lie down, and that
evening she would see Gabriel, hear him out and bid him good
bye for ever ... go to Aunt Day's or her mother's or back to
Weymouth Street where they loved her anywhere out of the
world !
She did not go away. She could not. She refused to eat.
She could not. Brown sent his wife a telegram bidding her
return at once from Hastings, where she was recovering from
the birth of little Arthur, to take charge of Miss Sid " dread
fully ill." In the evening Gabriel came, armed with an
explanatory letter that Brown had sent him by messenger, but
Mrs. Brown, just come in, would not let him show it. "She
didn't want the poor girl excited and any more mischief made.
She ordered Gabriel out and bade him stay away until Miss Sid
could stand him : she might have to take her back with her to
Fortess Terrace so as to nurse her properly and feed little Arthur
too, but, for the present, she stayed there all day and was fetched
at night, while the girl brought the baby to her twice a day.
Feeding was the thing for Miss Sid too, only, if she ate, she
suffered so much pain that she wilfully refused all nourishment
except beef-tea. She was taken to the Browns' in the end, to
see if change of food would do her any good, but no, on Sunday
Brown set down in his diary : " She is, I fear, dying." And
that Gabriel, alone in Chatham Place, was so wretched all day
that he could not leave him !
Gabriel abased himself plentifully before Brown, preserving,
however, his mediaeval, pasha-like attitude towards women,
professing himself unable to " feel any anger with her now."
(What for ? Brown would interiorly rumble.) " Only pain at
the sight of her sufferings." And then : " What to do I know
not." (Why, behave better; leave off plaguing her and give
her her heart's desire.) Brown felt inclined to say this out loud,
only Gabriel was so down, his proud crest so abased. . . .
3
The rift did not close. Gabriel was occupying himself, Brown
was glad to see, with his Monday Classes at the Working Men's
College, their monthly meetings in Titchfield Street where, by
190
ANNIE MILLER
From a drawing by G. P. Boyce
paying threepence, the men could hear addresses and eat thick
bread-and-butter, interesting himself in the Seddon Memorial
Fund, attending with Brown the committee meetings that were
being held at various houses, the teas at Ruskin's where the host
was so absorbed in his own funny love affair that he hardly asked
after Lizzy.
At dinner in Red Lion Square one night someone met Gabriel,
looking handsome but fagged and weak, saying very little. This
was accounted for by someone else who said it was no wonder,
since the lady he was engaged to was in a consumption. Could
a man whose sweetheart was smitten with the dread disease
be gay ?
4
Presently she got a little better and he was allowed to see her,
and realised with the humility of one well in health, who had by
his robust thoughtlessness brought about a cataclysm of this sort
in another, that she was being kind and patient with him " far
more than he deserved." He admitted as much to Brown, and
Brown let Lizzy know that Gabriel was ashamed of himself.
But she had not seemed to take any interest in the fact and passed
over Gabriel's promise not to see Annie again or Hunt either.
Too ill to care.
5
Gabriel had, at any rate, been behaving worse than Hunt
knew. On the face of it he had been committing the unpardon
able sin among artists, that of stealing Hunt's model under cover
of Boyce, to whom Hunt had given her leave to pose, on con
dition that Boyce pledged himself not to pass her on to any
brother brush. It was the common talk of the studios that
Annie pretended to be sitting to Boyce and was all the while
playing truant from him with Rossetti, who had flung himself
on Boyce's mercy, making out that he wanted her for a par
ticular picture. It was really to take her to Cremorne. Several
of them had seen her there with Gabriel, and more than once.
All poor Boyce knew of their intimacy was Rossetti's visiting-
card stuck on the estrade while he was out and scrawled on it, in
pencil, one of the imperious mandates that none of his friends
and toadies could afford to gainsay or neglect ! How could Boyce
191
kelp obliging him ? And it happened again and again. ^ Then
he received a letter from Hunt who had come to know of it, and
it was a jag in their friendship, unhealed, until Hunt quite found
Annie out, and wrote a long, considered letter announcing that
Miss Miller could now sit to whom she liked and that he washed
his hands of her.
Brother William was quite decent about it, Lizzy said, treating
her like a sister-in-law, finding means to convey to her his own
<*^x/^^V^ ,
if X*c.
fasi- r***++^Cy/
*~ P o &^ &^
impression of the matter, but standing up for Huiit " wholly
blameless in the matter " and declaring Gabriel to be "properly
but not 'gravely censurable. 53
Not gravely ! Thus the brother, holding the scales evenly, 1
1 I remember an instance of the Spartan impartiality of William Rossetti,
even where his own affairs were concerned. His wife had inherited some family
silver with a crest on it and displayed it on her dinner-table when there was com
pany. He insisted on her keeping these items in a cupboard, for, if she wanted to
go on using them, her husband must send in a return, in his capacity of Income
Tai Commissioner.
192
GEORGE PRICE BOYCE
From a photograph
although one dear to him was concerned. And this is what
Lizzy really thought about it. 1
She must fly anyhow, anywhere, as far as possible from
Gabriel and his minions. Her sister took her for a hydropathic
cure, to a quiet little village in the Derbyshire hills, now a famous
Spa where, as advertised, " the cold winds spend their violence
on the huge eminences that environ it, but merely sweep the
valley " and " even winter is shorn of its terrors and its very
frosts are imbued with an exhilarating temperament." There
" water, cliffs and baths are more carbonised than anywhere in
the kingdom " and the waters, " slightly tepid in taste," drunk
freely, are especially beneficial in cases of consumption and
nervous diseases. They chose a Temperance Hotel, Mrs. Cart-
lidge's, Lime Tree View, which the Wheelers of Bamford had
recommended, and left her there to take the waters or not as she
liked. She never touched them. It was a rest she had wanted
and a respite from the feverish life with Gabriel in London.
She did not propose to pay any visits yet : she must be able to
produce her young man when she left cards on Mrs. Gilchrist
of Cartlidge Hall and Mrs. Middleton of Hope two of the
high-up ones. There were plenty more distant connections. A
Cartledge-Eyre of Owlbrooke had married with a Greaves of
Rowlee near Hope or was it William Greaves of Twothornfield
in Edale ? Gabriel had got the pedigree. He loved it. The
family had come down ia the world, but its ancient wealth a^d
consequence were patent. One of the eccentric Miss Greaves
had left the Siddalls a lot of money, so James, who had seen the
papers proving it, always said, but everything had got mislaid,
1 We can tell, for Gabriel, though he buried his own poems, kept hers.
O God ! forgive me that I merged
My life into a dream of love !
Will tears of anguish never wash
The poison from my blood ?
. . . * *
Love floated on the mists of morn
And rested on the sunset's rays ;
He calmed the thunder of the storm
And lighted all my ways.
..
Oh Heaven help my foolish heart
Which heeded not the passing time
That dragged my idol from its place
And shattered all its shrine !
o 193
by way of a traitorous certain John Sanderson of Sheffield, and
her father was always wasting money in trying to get the better
of him. . , ,
She was leaving Hope for an excursion with Gabriel wiien sue
should have forgiven him and let him come to her.
Meanwhile, still, sad and suspicious, she wandered about,
in the woods under the cliffs and along the banks of the
Derwent on its pebbly bed, avoiding the set Zigzag Walks
which invalids slowly scaled to attain to the Heights of
Abraham or the Hill of Masson, and went round by ways she
had discovered for herself: through Harp Edge Field and The
Plantation and on to Cromford, taking the stone wicket by the
last cottage of the upper wood, till she came to a lonely, coldish
place near the Toll Bar Corner, right under the lee of a great
cliff, and stopped long to rest in a dell among masses of fern and
lichenous rock and the deep shade of elder trees and the young
grass growing under like a scanty beard, the greenest, wickedest-
looking grass she had ever seen, probably full of snakes, that she
was not afraid of. It reminded her of Scalands Gate. As the
weather got warmer she would be at her old tricks, lying in the
long grass here in northern Derbyshire as she had done in Sussex,
amusing herself by scribbling Gabriel in his letters encouraged
her to offer herself this outlet ; it was the recipe of his master,
Hugo, for the alleviation of real or fancied sorrow :
LaissfZ tout-ce-qui tremble
Chanter.
He was right, for the verses which she posted to him began
to show a less terrible mental oscillation than they had done. 1
They suggested more the sobbing sleep of a child that has been
affronted by its elders, half-pacified, half-angry still. . . .
Slow days have passed that make a year,
Slow hours that make a day,
Since I could take my first dear love,
And kiss him the old way :
Yet the green leaves touch me on the cheek,
Dear Christ, this month of May.
The river ever running down
Between its grassy bed,
The voices of a thousand birds
That clang above my head,
Shall bring me to a sadder dream
When this sad dream is dead.
194
A silence falls upon my heart,
And hushes all its pain.
I stretch my hands in the long grass,
And fall to sleep again,
There to lie empty of all love,
Like beaten corn of grain.
Calmer :
Oh, never weep for love that's dead,
Since love is seldom true,
But changes his fashion from blue to red,
From brightest red to blue,
And love was born to an early death
And is so seldom true.
*
Sweet, never weep for what cannot be,
For this God has not given :
If the merest dream of love were true,
Then, Sweet, we should be in heaven ;
And this is only earth, my dear,
Where true love is not given.
Resigned and bitter :
O silent wood, I enter thee
With a heart so full of misery
For all the voices from the trees
And the ferns that cling about my knees.
Can God bring back the day when we two stood
Beneath the clinging trees in that dark wood ?
And God did, in a way. . . .
1 Ope not thy lips, thou foolish one,
Nor turn to me thy face.
The blasts of Heaven shall strike me down
Ere I will give thee grace.
And turn away thy false dark eyes
Nor gaze into my face :
Great love I bore thee ; now great hate
Sits grimly in its place.
195
CHAPTER XXI
i
IN town, where best he liked to be, keeping fairly healthy
in spite of the smell of the river, the needs of man's
sexual existence accomplished without recourse to the
female's harassing necessity of legal sanctions : in Lizzy's
absence, working (his friends were all agreed on this point and
even honest Brown conceded it) far better, Gabriel Rossetti
looked over his sweetheart's verses with the impartiality of a critic
tinged with the remorse of a human being who knows that, by
his own behaviour, he has been the occasion of the wail in them.
He took note with a view to the effect on the reader, apart from
himself who knew all the circumstances, of the literary liberties
she took the permutations of time and place the substitution
of Gabriel Rossetti, absent and unkind, for Walter Deverell,
loving and dead, the silly shots at himself.
Knowing full well what he was doing to her and she to him
he made allowances for the passion, thwarted, thrown back on
itself, immanent in one relegated by illness to the backwaters
of Life and Love
How can it, ah, how can Love's eye see true
That is so worn with watching and with tears ?
But he fancied that a milder, quieter mood was setting in,
signs of a comfortable cynicism. " For this is only earth, my dear"
Complaisance with the changing fashion of love, some recognition
of the worthJessness of fair words ! Surely the poems held remi
niscence of past ease joy of which this author might again
be susceptible ? " Can God bring back the day when we two
stood, Beneath the dinging trees " in that dark wood at Scalands
when their engagement was but young. Perhaps God could ?
He must take time soon to go to Matlock, see her and remind
her of what happened in Scalands Wood and walk in the other
dells that she would show him, and take her to Haddon and
196
Hope and the Shivering Mountain which had so inflamed his
imagination when she told him about it long ago. But, mean
while, his days were very full.
For, alack, when she was relenting towards him with the canny
deliberation that women will use towards their men, trusting
Love to let them rave awhile maybe a long while correspond
ing in their minds to the harm which has been wrought them,
the female playing with the redoubtable male sex-urge of which
she knows so little and most of it wrong, denying the need that
can in him be so easily satisfied outside the " golden girdling
bar " which circumscribes her, all was lost. While The Sid,
relying on her looks (for she was still beautiful enough) and the
queer half-magical power she possessed over him, was paltering
over issues positively vital to her, the discs of the kaleidoscope
had fallen together into another pattern and the Thelema scheme
was partially realised. " We shall have our monastery, Crom.
There is a good chance of its being founded," Jones had written
to Price years ago. " I know it will, some day."
In Oxford.
The members of the old Order of Sir Galahad who had " gone
down " were in the habit of putting themselves into slow Parlia
mentary trains they were poor to visit the men of their time
who were still " up." Fulford and Crom Price regularly, Jones
and Morris intermittently, absented themselves awhile from
felicity (the hours with Gabriel) so that they might experience
an old thrill ; a bout of single-stick with Maclaren for the sake
of Morris' figure and then out to his place at Summerstown, so
that Jones might get a background for his first picture (The
Blessed Damo%el}\ evenings with beautiful Faulkner, now Mathe
matical Lecturer to the University, in his panelled rooms, tea
and toast from nine onwards. They would turn a table in Pem
broke with Fulford and smoke a churchwarden with Dixon, who
had wanted to be an artist but was so poor that he was obliged
to take Orders. (The daring " blokes " who had embraced art
as a profession were the envy of those who had drifted into safe
places in the University.)
Morris and Jones had never rested until they got Gabriel
down and introduced him to Oxford as " the greatest man in
Europe." He took his place at once and became easily king
197
nothing else would have served him. This man, built all on
grand lines even to his vices, without vanity, pettiness or pre
tension except to reign this charmer with no obvious weapon
of conquest except his voice and his serviceable memory, without
the steady ingraining of University culture acquired in the course
of many terms by those who had led him there, found himself
thoroughly at home by virtue of his academic grounding, his
natal Latin civilisation and the foreign aplomb with which he was
able to counter the terrible Oxford manner. He feared neither
Don nor Devil, not Liddell the magnificent, nor slender and
elegant Acland, nor even crusty Pattison, asking with his well-
known insufferability if Mr. Rossetti would have all men
painters and no other occupation for the rest of mankind ? The
other answered promptly, Yes. Quite soon everyone came to
accept Rossetti at his own valuation, from the brilliant Faulkner
down to the Irish architect, Benjamin Woodward, " the stillest
creature that ever breathed, out of an oyster." x
Riding and single-stick did not appeal to Rossetti and
Maclaren's gymnasium knew him not. There seemed then but
slight chance of his ever growing fat and bandy, as Morris
threatened to do. He never walked but he liked being rowed,
and Faulkner, a great oarsman, liked rowing him. It was terribly
hot, the summer of Klinkenfues 3 comet, 2 with " its draggled tail
like a sad turkey. 5 ' 3 In these days the river was the only com
fortable place. Rossetti did not, could not row, but he could
sit letting his beautiful hand trail in the water composing and
declaiming sonnets while they rowed and sweated.
Water, for anguish of the solstice : nay,
But dip the vessel slowly nay, but lean
And hark how at its verge the wave sighs in
Reluctant. Hush ! Beyond all depth away
The heat lies silent at the brink of day.
Nay but he was never so happy in his life again, not even much
later when he had occasion to write Nuptial Sleep.
Faulkner took them wherever they liked, upstream towards
1 This " Thirteenth-century Gothic man," as they called him, was responsible
for the New Crown Insurance Office, just opposite Chatham Place. He had won
in the battle between that style and the Palladian and his design for the new Oxford
Museum had been accepted a momentous decision for the three friends whose
praises had been duly^sung to him at WaUingford by Ruskin, Acland and Scott.
2 People were afraid it would collide with the earth and made their wills in
consequence.
3 C. Bowles.
198
the " far-off, other end of Thames " or towards Town where,
luckily, they had a pied-a-terre. For when Allingham came, he
wanted to be taken to a certain village within a few miles
of London. When they got there, however, it was discovered
that between them they had not enough to pay for beds at the
inn and they decided to walk the six remaining miles to Holborn,
where Red Lion Mary, summoned at once, produced extra mat
tresses Rossetti naturally would not, at all costs to others, go
to sleep by himself in Chatham Place and next morning
Jones got up early, took his easel out into the square and began
to paint the lilies, just blowing, for The Blessed. So he really
could not bring himself to obey Rossetti's orders to accompany
him to Oxford and hear about a proposal Woodward wanted to
make them . . . something good ! But he thought he might
possibly manage it for the last Sunday in that month, if that
would do. This business, as it happened, affected the mere
disposition of Jones' time for many months to come, while it
altered the course of Morris' whole life. And, after all, Jones
had to make time to run down for the day, to Leyton. His
Blessed Damozel had to wait.
Under a cherry tree in Mrs. Morris' garden the three friends
sat the whole day, talking over Woodward's offer. The ten bays
above the gallery in the new Debating Room at Oxford were
to be filled with paintings and, all-powerful for the moment,
he had nominated his friends. The artists were to give
their work for nothing but live free. The Union would pay
their lodging and travelling expenses and the cost of scaffolding
and painting materials. The work all to be done under the
direction of Rossetti ; the executants selected by him, one for
each bay, say ten artists in all. Rossetti meant to invite Prinsep,
because he liked going to Little Holland House, and Spencer
Stanhope and Hungerford Pollen and Hughes, and dear old
Brown, of course. He himself would undertake two of the
bays possibly three. There was the roof above to be covered
with a simple floriated design" Suit me 1 " said modest Morris.
Faulkner, too, might be useful at that. He was not bad at
mathematical patterns. The subjects, said Gabriel, were all to
be taken from the Morte d 9 Arthur and done in tempera, a medium
he knew nothing about as yet but would soon find out.^ The
application of colour to architecture was a novel idea
Woodward's own.
All right. Rossetti, who had never read a line of Malory,
199
made himself conversant with that work. Jones gave up his
Blessed Damozel and Morris put off his visit to the Manchester
Exhibition. Brown, sounded, could do nothing. He had one
of the frescoes for Wellington commissioned, and the exhibition
of Pre-Raphaelite paintings he had got up in Russell Place at a
cost of forty pounds was slow in its returns, and little Arthur,
whom Emma had neglected at a critical period because of The
Sid, was ailing. But he would run down and look at them now
and then. For Lizzy's journey to Matlock Gabriel still owed
him money, but Brown forbore to dun him till August, when
Gabriel, disgusted at himself for " forcing you to ask for it after
all your kindness/' paid something back. 1
3
There began for the Three something in the nature of a con
tinuous picnic, a Summer School that lasted well into the winter.
Morris went down first and took rooms in The High for himself
and Jones ; Rossetti came and settled down with his two pupils to
paint little grey Oxford in that primary colour which the Brother
hood so much affected.
They were by way of having no canons but those of art, playing
ducks and drakes with Life, but taking these other matters with
deep seriousness. They were full of magnanimity and other-
worldliness : " Don't let anyone persuade you that you are a
fool for not looking after your own interests God doesn't call
such people fools ! " So the youthful Jones. But they neglected
those of the Corporation that employed them, wasting both its
time and its paints without compunction. " Oh, that's
nothing ! " Rossetti said, carelessly upsetting a whole pot of
lapis lazuli " we often do that." And writing to ask to have
sent him by bearer " a crumb of violet-carmine " a guinea's
worth, say, which was never used. And Morris hurtling a
fifteenth-century folio at the head of a workman, missing his
thick head but taking a panel out of the door ! They all knew
no^ more of tempera than Rossetti did of wood-engraving. The
paint would not lie ; the walls were not even ; between the bays
occurred certain ridges over which you had to train a face, if it
happened to come there, like a creeper. There were windows
1 Rossetti was at least disinterested; Munro told Birkbeck Hill that had he given
to small saleable pictures the time he had given to his large ones for the Union,
he could have made a thousand guineas.
2OO
in these bays that made anything painted on the wall invisible ;
so they were whitened to tone the light, and Morris thought it
funny to cover the surface with wombats ! Amateurs were
roped in. Faulkner would make arabesques and lozenges when
required, while Price would stipple in the black lines. They
perhaps knew as much about it as the others. 1
The expenses of " our Oxford labour of love/' as defrayed by
Oxford, were heavy, but at least the artists did not spend money
on models but sat to each other. Morris was good for Sir
Tristram or Sir Launcelot, in real armour made by a little smith
near the castle, and Jones, with his long, straight, colourless hair
and his pale blue eyes, for any sort of " woeful wight, alone and
palely loitering." Prinsep, only nineteen and weighing sixteen
stone, did for kings, while Price, for priests, would stand for
hours in a dalmatic. For lovely and absent women they made
shift with Johnson's housemaid or one of the College bedmakers.
Rossetti did Lizzy as Guenevere, from memory.
4
Deliberately, seriously and extravagantly undertaken, the work
could not be said to march on apace, but those were glorious
days for the jolly three, " living Malory " for months in this
little walled town of low houses of grey and yellow stone, pebble-
dashed, interspersed with palaces; pacing the narrow streets
where every day clattered along, under over-arching gables,
cavalcades of gracious Youth (knights, so you may imagine them)
passing through the city gates out into the green, pied meadows
beyond the ramparts, where lists might be set and tournaments
held and men could "sweive and strain" till blood flaked the
buttercups. Everybody rode in Oxford, and the caterers for this
amusement ostlers and livery stable keepers whom they liked
to call squires and falfreniers abounded. There was nothing
else to do but row and ride and study. ^ In the evenings, back in
their digs, Gabriel would read aloud to' Jones, sedulous, narrow-
chested, bending over his pen-and-ink drawing, while Morris
cooked fish or toasted bread and buttered it on Mr. Johnson's
nicely varnished table.
1 William Michael Rossetti, January i8th, 1858, to Allingham: "The things
there (at Oxford) are very new, curious and with a ruddy bloom of health and pluck
about them. Gabriel's very beautiful, both in expression and colour. Jones'
next and to some extent more ; exactly the right kind of thing, VaPs promises
real power."
201
They were so happy at home that they could hardly bear to
accept the hospitalities of Oxford or stand even the very slight
amount of formality required at Dr. Acland's table. As for
Mrs. LiddelFs invitations to Christ Church, they found it neces
sary to break camp and rush up to town sooner than attend
Lorina's dinners. Their dress-clothes were non-existent or
unsuitable. Rossetti, day in, night out, wore the plum-coloured
coat he was still wearing in the Haunted Glen at Penkill ten
years later, and Top's only two white ties were making a loop
in his window to hold his brushes, drying. But he amiably
would wash the so expensive blue paint from his hair, prepare an
apple-pie bed for one or other of his friends, doff his workman's
blouse and endure what he called the " ridiculous arrangement
of one coat with no back and another with no front " to repair
to a gathering at the Rose of Sharon's Acland, in whose favour
they made an exception.
202
CHAPTER XXII
i
MISS SIDDAL now wrote from Number Seven,
Durham Road, Sheffield, where she was staying with
some cousins of hers in order to attend the School
of Art there on Wednesdays and Saturdays.
It was the last splash, the last lark, the last independent gesture
of her life except one.
The Ibbitts, in whose house she was living so as to be near
the School, were relations, descended from one Anna Siddal, who
had married twice : first a man called Hodskin (her son by him
happened to be the auctioneer with whom that tiresome Mrs.
Combe of Oxford had chosen to confound Lizzy's father) and,
secondly, a Sheffield man, William Ibbitt. Anna's children
therefore were not Lizzy's first, but hef second cousins or
cousins-german she did not know which !
Miss Sarah Ann Ibbitt was a teacher of music and drawing,
while her brother was musical. Quite humble, Gabriel believed.
The young man worked in an organ factory : his sister went out
to give lessons. This set of her relations did not interest Gabriel
as much as the ones at Hope. She was keeping Hope to take
him to if ever he could tear himself away from Oxford and come
and see her.
A girl she met at the Ibbitts', Annie Drury, had got her taken
into the school, informally. She was not a registered pupil.
The Head Master had liked the look of her. She had hesi
tated, thinking of cross Mr. Deverell but Mr. Young-Mitchell
was charming. For the rest, it was rather like Somerset House,
of which she had caught glimpses on her way in and out to sit
to Walter, though women were admitted on Wednesdays and
Saturdays. But not into " The Life." She almost immediately
got into " The Figures " that is to say, " The Antique."
And on other days she and Annie went, accompanied by young
Mr. Ibbitt when he could get a day or an afternoon off from the
203
works, to places of interest in the neighbourhood, by rail or
omnibus or " Shank's Mare," as Miss Ibbitt called it. Lizzy
could always walk with the best of them. They did Haddpn
and Hathersage and the Peak Country, going as everyone did,
down the Blue John Mine, and Mr. Ibbitt, as everyone did,
bought his young lady a Blue John ring of amethystine fluor.
Another time it was Eldon Hole, a chasm a hundred and
twenty feet across with a silly little railing over it, and she
frightened them by pretending to totter. And Mam Tor,
the mountain of shale and sandstone in alternate stratification,
Willie said, so soft and friable that it fell out in particles and
the whole hill seemed to shake. Once they were within a mile
and a half of Hope and got a nice view of it on a little hill
between the Noe river and the Bradwell Water where it lay
and of the church where her ancestors lay entombed,
Willie Ibbitt was at her feet, and Mr. Young-Mitchell was
supposed to admire her. So did the two assistant masters,
Godfrey Sykes and Charles Green, in a less discreet fashion,
while her fellow-students, Hugh Stannus, Stirling Howard, and
Ferguson Branson, M.D., and four Henrys Lomas, Colman,
Hems and Gamble ran about and fetched things and sharpened
pencils for her.
Then the girl students soon set about to make it unpleasant
for the favoured one, hitting on what was to them her weakest
point her outlandish style of dressing. For this year all the
women were enlarging their circumferences in some way or
another.
The girl students would have it that Miss Siddal acted from
motives of economy proper crinolines * were dear and always
getting out of order the steels poked out and stuck through the
stuff and, even if you made out the necessary contour with
petticoats, the washing of eight or more came expensive. A
certain amo'unt of fullness Lizzy wore as a concession to the mode,
1 In 1854 the crinoline appeared in Paris. Four narrow steels, each covered with
tape, were run into a calico slip. The steel nearest the waist was to be four nails from
it and one and three-quarters in length : the remaining three only two and a half
yards in length and one at six nails distance from the upper steel, while the other
two had to be each two nails distance from the second steel. None must meet in
front by a quarter of a yard, except the one nearest the waist. The flounce of the
skirt was generally from fifteen to seventeen inches deep.
Even Mrs. Browning confessed to a weakness for the new style and bought a
crinoline. It was nice and cool for Italy and, besides, Robert insisted on her dressing
like other people.
204
but she managed that beautifully and passed serenely about among
the easels without upsetting them or asking that room should be
made for her. The girls made caricatures of the simple outline
she presented and left them about for her to find. But it was
Mr. Young-Mitchell who happened to pick one up. Realising
the spite that drove the clever pencil, his black eyes flashing, he
mounted the estrade and said this sort of thing must be put a
stop to. So she triumphed, for they were nearly all in love with
him and afraid of incurring his ire.
She could do as she liked with him or any of the masters.
Foreign travel had given her a certain aplomb : consequence and
the uplift of the spirit that goes with it suited her looks and the
" Comet Summer " was good for her complaint. " Prettier
now, in a more usual way." l Gabriel liked getting her cheerful
letters. It was nice to know that the restless spirit for whose
fate he was considered responsible was more or less assuaged.
She had found " something to keep herself alive with " (her own
phrase), something safer than going down to the sea in boats at
Hastings or over-walking herself as she had done at Clevedon.
In her art he had long since ceased to take interest, now that the
silly girl had given up the Ruskin subsidy.
And more and more he was coming to appreciate the
society of men : which he had hankered after ever since the
break-up of the P.R.B. Morris and Jones suited him better
than Hunt, Woolner and even Deverell. They, too, were
content more than content. They had their Thelema now,
without the help of some fellows who had discussed it with
them when they were undergrads. The present members of the
Pembroke set were worldly, permitting themselves to make fun
of The Heir, bored by these three who always insisted on dis
cussing paintings which they had never seen and did not care to
see. Their club was the Old Mortality, and their organ Under
graduate Papers, edited by Edwin Hatch, " a pompous empty-
headed fellow," and Nichol, " a handsome Scotchman." And
one evening Hatch brought to them in Orange Street a little
fellow, five feet four-and-a-half inches in height, with a pouting
mouth like a fledgeling's, set in a white face, red hair like Lizzy's
and the same long, thin fingers. Rather ridiculous, wearing
large full trousers which fell over his feet, shod in little low shoes
which he crossed and recrossed as he stood and wearing a coat that
allowed for his dreadful sloping shoulders.
1 So said one of Gabriel's " lady friends."
205
He was a Swinburne of Capheaton, a family which boasted
descent from the five who were " there before the Conquest/*
an aristocrat with republican leanings : as a lad in Paris he had
refused to take off his hat to Louis Napoleon. His father, a
sailor, seldom at home, had married an Ashburnham. Algernon
was their first child, born all but dead and not expected to live
more than an hour, with a right hand so weak that he wrote pot
hooks and hangers all his life ; nervous starting as if he were
hit when spoken to suddenly ; fanciful, seeing his own face in a
mirror he would smash it, thinking that someone was laughing
at him. But, withal, the pluck of the devil and the most beautiful
manners of his time.
In his high-pitched Northumbrian sing-song he read them
Queen TseuLt, just composed for Undergraduate Papers, right
through, with tremendous zest and earnestness. Impossible to
bore those three, inured to all the wilful longueurs of poets !
Morris, twiddling his watch-chain, incapable of jealousy but not
favourably impressed by the personality of the little author,
declared that it was far better than his own Dying Blanch el
Jones would have it that the boy was going to be greater
than Shelley, Tennyson or Wordsworth. Thus encouraged,
young Algernon they were already " Gab " and " Top " to
him read his other " piece " about Rosamond, Queen of the
Gepidas, and Morris vowed that this was better than Sir Peter
Harpdon's End, which he had just finished. He then read them his
Helen of Troy, and Swinburne followed with some of Chastelard,
on which he was now engaged.
From this day onward there was a fourth every night in
George Street, and the noses of the two Old Mortality men were
completely put out of joint. Hatch, leaving England to take up
a lucrative professorship shortly after this, wrote a pathetic
farewell letter 2 to Swinburne. He might never see him again
. . . perhaps it would be as well if he did not. . . . " I shall
never forget how I loved you once, but I feel that the chain that
bound us is somewhere snapped asunder."
By Rossetti, of course healthy-minded, when all was said
and done.
1 Earty consigned to the flames.
2 A marginal interpolation in Swinburne's handwriting on the letter, preserved
" For the matter of that, rot I ... No golden band between us at all,"
206
3
What did happen in Oxford ? As Algernon Swinburne read
out that night from his own Marian play
When I was fashioned first and given such Jife
As goes with a sad end. . . .
" Would it not have been " so the Master who, in the
course of his duty, had looked into Swinburne's room and found
the boy lying on his bed " reading French novels and " said
at Tennyson's dinner-table " would it not have been better "
hesitating " if he had not lived to reach the writing stage at
all?"
Tennyson always laid the leading astray of him whom he called
the " puny youth big lyre " down to Rossetti, and told Jones so.
Rossetti indignantly repudiated the accusation in a letter to
Tennyson " You remember what I told you in a cab." Tenny
son did not remember what Rossetti had told him in a cab. He
had no patience with that kind of thing.
Who or what did corrupt the little man ? Himself seems to
imply that these compared with him hearty young ruffians
sophisticated him, with his polite allusion to " those past days in
Oxford when you fellows might have respected my young adol
escence. ... I don't say that you did. . . ." Friendly chaff,
sexual vanity, callous indifference ? He was proud of his dere
liction and played with it, as children will lave their pretty hands
in the gutter.
The morning sun beneath the stars that fled
With twilight through the moonless morning air,
. . . the hopes that triumphed and fell dead,
The sweet swift eyes and songs of hours that were,
These ma/st thou not give back for ever. . . ,
But flowers thou may'st, and winds and hours of ease,
And all its April to the world thou may'st
Give back, and half my April back to me.
It was, perhaps, as he said, only half his April, as it were, only
half a reproach . . . one does not know? Inexpressibly sad,
like the memory of a slight or a blow implicit in a good dog's
eyes. And as an accusation it loses half its force when we know
that it was Swinburne who extended to Rossetti " the loan of
207
De Sude (as Rossetti innocently spells it), the most immoral book
in the whole world. 35 1
It was not lent him by Milnes. Milnes' mantle or " utter
absence of mantle " 2 will not do to cover the " importation of
the Marquis." Swinburne had a copy of Justine at Eton.
4
From his mother, the Lady Jane, brought up and educated
in Florence, speaking French and Italian like English, he may
have inherited, together with the red hair of the Ashburnhams,
the morbidity that was the Janus face of her prudery. Lady
Jane's boy was not allowed to read Byron or even Shakespeare
except in Mr. Bowdler's edition.
Murder will out so will the macabre. There are unplumbed
wells of Freudian suggestion here and in young Algernon's family
history. Who knows the tragic secret connected with the house
at Niton where he was born at any rate lived as a child \
1 Justine et Juliette, by the Marquis de Sade, a name unmentionable, unwritable
in those days. So Aliingham, who was present at Tennyson's dinner, supposed.
But even Heads of Colleges were not such Dryasdusts as they may have looked and
were up to what might be going on that night in the last house by the Bridge
Merriot's, in the 'seventies.
2 Fide Tennyson.
208
CHAPTER XXIII
i
ABOUT the great Manchester Exhibition, opened by the
Queen and Prince Albert in May of this year, there
was a conspiracy of silence among right-thinking but
needy artists. Their best buyers, the great steel, coal
and shipping magnates of the North, were more or less responsible
for its ineptitudes. So painters came never to mention the
Exhibition, except to inquire about trains to go there and seize
the opportunity of seeing some of the really fine examples
borrowed from the Continental Galleries. The works were
arranged chronologically, beginning with Giotto and Van Dyck
and ending with the last Pre-Raphaelite flicker in the canvases
of Millais and young Leighton, who was rivalling him. Brown's
Liverpool Prize picture, for which he had- received thirty-five
guineas, hung on the ceiling, where Christ washed Peter's feet
for all men (with eyes in the tops of their heads) to see. Ruskin,
who was there for three days in July lecturing mindful of the
souls of his audience of operatives who should be given bread
instead of stones if he could manage it sent some Turners
Laugharne, Eggleston, ?roy and Virginia Water.
In the end everybody seemed to have been in Manchester some
time that summer, except Gabriel Rossetti, and there is no
record of his ever having set foot in the town.
His Lizzy did. A special grant was made by the Manchester
Committee for the use of schools, and one September morning
a hundred and fifty people left Sheffield by special train, among
whom was Miss Elizabeth Siddal, strong and lively, her
hair and complexion as bright as ever, taking an active part in
the excursion programme and using her influence with the Head
to get places for several of her friends who could, by no stretch
of the imagination, be called Art Students the Ibbitts and her
sister Lydia, who had come over from Bamford, and a Mrs.
Button. But Charley Green attended to it.
They started at 8.30 and were timed to return at 5.30, It
p 209
was a wet day and the rain came in at the windows, so all the
way to Manchester, Miss Siddal wore a cloak over the new dress
she and Miss Ibbitt had finished, sitting up late the night before,
in order to shield it, as they came near Manchester, from the
" blacks " dreaded of ladies, that drove in from its thousands of
smoking chimneys.
When they got out, ladies in crinolines and gents in white ties,
and all passed into the long matchboarding corridor that led from
the station to the Exhibition, the school party got a shock.
Though Miss Siddal was wearing the fashionable bonnet, nearly
dropping off behind, drab in colour but with a fascinating pink
lining to frame the face, they quite expected to see, when she
took off her waterproof, the plain falling folds of the dress " with
out bombast " they had made fun of. But no ! Since the
episode of the caricature she had been determined to show them
that, though she preferred simplicity in dressing, she had not
lived in Paris a year for nothing. She could wear the crinoline
better than most people, for in height she excelled, while the
other girls as a rule were dumpy, with wide hips from which the
round cage of folds depended, so that the width at the waist
of the dress corresponded to that at the hem. Lizzy's dove-
coloured silk gown was looped over a crinoline in the fashionable
manner like theirs, but her narrow hips made all the difference :
her "Tower of Malakof" swayed gracefully. Her skirt was of
stuff, worn, according to the newest fashion, with a silk casaque,
or jacket, and with her figure, her white face and her hair when
artlessly, as her manner was, she had taken her bonnet off and let it
show she made a sensation. So Miss Drury, who was pleased
for her friend and shared her triumphs, has recorded. And young
Mr. Ibbitt became quite particular in his attentions, proud of
passing with the lovely, fashionable Miss on his arm, in and out
of the great pillars wreathed with shawls and hung with carpets,
past the crystal fountain in the middle, thirty feet high and the
statue of the Amazon on horseback with a life-size stuffed tiger
fastened on by its claws to the horse's neck in front, almost the
first thing you saw on entering. And you had to go round one
side to see her face and the other to see that of the horse, trans
fixed in terror so that you expected to hear him scream. And on
into the French Section, where there was a tree with mechanical
birds that chirped hopping about from branch to branch, and
one that tried to eat a beetle rather a failure this, for it never
quite got its head down.
210
Lizzy led Annie Drury away from these horrible staring things
into the quieter picture galleries; they looked out for Mr.
Ruskin's Turners, so that Lizzy could tell him whom Lizzy
considered she had perhaps rather neglected, that she had seen
them when she got back to town. A tall young man stooping
to see them better, got into conversation with her and Annie.
He introduced himself as a friend of Mr. Ruskin's and of Millais',
to whom he too had sat Charles Howell. He said he had seen
her at the Rossettis' he had not. That he was obliging Mr.
Ruskin by looking in to see how the Turners were getting on
that was true. Mr. Ruskin had feared, since the opening day,
that they might suffer, since they were put where they were
totally unprotected from the sun. " And they have ! " he said.
" Look, the rose-colour has all gone out of the sunset since one
last saw it at his house ! "
He said there were plenty of fakes there he could tell one
anywhere : his father was a copyist in Portugal. She did not
take to him, he was too outrj-loo1dn.g 9 like an actor. But it
would stimulate Willie Ibbitt, and she let Mr. Howell take her
to see the Triumphal Arch at Trafford and the panorama of
chimneys in full blast at Kearsall, two thousand at least, and
their smoke staining the skies, which might have been blue.
The Arch, so the guide-book said, was Italian in style, thirty-
three feet wide and forty-eight feet high from soffit he explained
what that was to base, a light stone-colour with maroon cloth
draped over it in festoons and gold tassels at the corners. Feathers
covered the keystone of the Arch, while from it drooped gracefully
garlands of flowers attached to the entablature and side arches.
A frieze in Arabesque style, turreted at the top, supported pot-
plants lent by the Royal Botanical Society of Manchester. A
bust of the Queen, again flanked by pot-plants, was posed majes
tically behind what looked like ropes of red sausages. They
laughed at it together. Standing there by the side of the man
who, next to Morris, was to become the cleverest art decorator
of his time, she discovered that she also had taste. She told him
that she was engaged to Mr. Rossetti.
On the way home Willie Ibbitt proposed and she com
municated the fact of her engagement to him also, and he said
she was a young sly-boots.
211
Gabriel, getting Jones to open his letters for him and in most
cases reply to them, found time to run up to Matlock soon after
this, where, to be sure, The Sid was back to receive him. He
had heard something of her Manchester triumphs as well as of
Ruskin's vexation over the baked drawings, from this very cheeky
Howell, whom he often met in Albany Street.
He put up, with her, at Mrs. Cartlidge's and, when it was wet,
they stayed at home and made portraits of anyone who would
give them a sitting. Gabriel did a good head of an old lady,
Mrs. Wetherall, and one of Mrs. Cartlidge's son, an artist too.
When it was fine they made the regular excursions to Chats-
worth, Haddon and The Peak. It was nicer for " Guggums "
than going about with Willie Ibbitt, for, although " Gug " did
not know the place-names or buy you fluor brooches or paper-
knives, he made far more interesting and romantic the places
that happened to interest him. He said that the entrance into
The Peak Cavern was like the beginning of an awful dream
the little sad, white rope-maker's cottage, on which the sun never
shone and the rain never fell, set against the cowering roof and
descent of the pit, the posts for packthread and twine, sharp,
white and blear against the hollow blackness, the shrill cries of
the cordwainers and the hum of the wheels rising up from where
the cave led, diminuendo, into depths where perhaps
Alph, the sacred river ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
^ And the Shivering Mountain he would not call it Mam Tor
like a couchant beast shuddering with nervousness, over Eldon
Hole, whence its fate was to come ! And he was tremendously
intrigued by the Ebbing and Flowing Well, just a seeming shallow
pool lined with stones as if to form a trough for cattle, but in
which a miracle accomplished itself, for every now and then a
rush of water poured in when you least expected it, filling it to
the depth of four feet or so and then ceasing as it came. . .
One day they went to Castleton, for Hope, and looked across
to the spire of St. Peter's-by-the-Roadside, the church holding,
they believed, the tombs and entablatures of her ancestry. They
walked through the valley, where there were Sheep Trials going
on, and stopped to watch and rest before climbing the hill up to
212
the village. Hope Hall, someone told them, was now a public-
house, so they walked straight into the garth of the little stone
church (Perpendicular so she told him, who did not know any
thing of terms of architecture) with its chambered porch and
clerestoried nave and broach spire, with a clock and six bells
rebuilt, all, but in the fourteenth century. 1 Some Greaves
relations were buried in the chancel whose entablatures she made
him look at, and then, out into the graveyard under the sycamores
and lime trees to sit, in the high moorland air, on the tomb of
an ancestor, one Jacobus Sidall the proper way to spell her
name ; why had Gabriel insisted on taking out the / and leaving
in the d ? And there was the tomb of one Anna de Grant de
Hope, who was married here in the seventeenth century and
brought into the world a Christopher, ill-starred, who married
an heiress, Rachel Greaves of Hathersage, but fell into misfortune.
Ruined by the failure of the flax industry, he was forced to
declare himself bankrupt and died of a broken heart, to be
buried, away from here, in Sheffield, where he sang in the Cathe
dral. That was where Father got his music and fiddling.
Gabriel, who could write beautifully about music, really hated it,
and she herself did not care about it much. The Greaves were
of better blood even than the Sidalls, descending from a Knight
of Beeley in the eleventh century perhaps if they went to
Beeley they might find out some more about her people ? He
fancied they had originally come from Manchester Slade Hall
something Scott or Mr. Howitt had told him. . . .
She left a card on Mrs. Middleton. Both the old Miss Greaves
of Hope Hall, who used to drive about in a landau, smoking clay
pipes (a legend which amused and intrigued Gabriel vastly),
were now dead. It was one of them who had left that money to
Lizzy's father, which he had been jockeyed out of by the lawyers.
But he had now got all the evidence collected and was going to
the Courts about it one day soon unless Clara carried out her
threat to burn the lot so as to put an end to his worrying
about it. 2
3
It looked just now, for Lizzy, more like marriage than it had
ever done before. Her lovely colour and renewed health, the
attentions of Mr. Young-Mitchell, those of William Ibbitt and
1 Restored hopelessly in 1880. 2 She did.
213
Charley Green swayed Gabriel towards a desire for closer
communion with her, only attainable in one way.
But he could not marry her without money to support her and
keep up the boundless extravagance by which his soul, more than
his body, lived. Ruskin was not much good to him now,
desperately disliking his present set of friends, especially Morris.
He would have it that the period madness, in which Morris
encouraged them, was safe to dish the P.R.B., once so far on the
road to success, with their splendid catchword of a name and
their new attractive style ; but lately they had been weakening,
practically giving up the game, " leaving the opposite party
(i.e. the R.A.) most untoward advantages." Ruskin always had a
leaning towards this " opposite party," by way of Turner. He
refused to help the P.R.B. with America, where an Exhibition
was being got up, including specimens of British Art, " with
a certain bias " towards a movement that, now that it was
nearly dead, had become rather widely known. " No, I have
no knowledge of America," he answered curtly, " although "
(thinking of Norton) " I have some very good friends there."
Yes, Rossetti would hate him for refusing to help, but " I do not
choose." A business man, he knew full well that medievalism
would not, in the long run, go down in America and considered
that the drawings Rossetti was sending across would " put an
end to any idea of his reputation ever beginning there ! " 1
" Yours, in ^perfect sympathy," so he signed the letter.
As punishment, perhaps, he was not allowed even to see his
Ida's drawings before they were despatched to New York, where
they were, as Ruskin prophesied, laughed at. He might have
saved her from that ! But not the rest. For though he kept
running down to^ Oxford to ".see what They were doing," he
was so out of their counsels, that he was not even told what was
happening to her who was his special care.
1 William Rossetti had been engaged as secretary for England by Captain Ruxton,
who was arranging the British Section with Gambart.
214
MISS LOUISE HERBERT (MRS. CRABBE)
From a photograph
CHAPTER XXIV
i
OXONIAS, Qxonice, Primo D.G.R.fecit, under a drawing
of Miss Jane Burden, of Oxford, done in this year, does
not seem to mean anything but Rossetti's enthusiasm
for, and celebration of, her native town. But it implies
the ascension of a new star that is to say, a new model in
his horizon and the declension of both Miss Herbert and Miss
Siddal, There was never room for more than one (model) in
Rossetti's heart.
Janey was only a model to him in this, the beginning.
The Union paintings and the Llandaff triptych, conceived
though not begun, kept him running backwards and forwards
between Oxford and London. Then news came of a benefit
performance at Oxford in which Miss Herbert was to appear.
Ruskin, who had procured him the commission, had signified his
desire that "her beautiful face" should be seen in it. (Like
Rossetti, he had never seen the lady except across the footlights.)
Word was passed and a box at the Theatre Royal was taken.
Rossetti would be down in time for the performance, while
Allingham, who was staying with him in London, must go down
in the morning and get himself a room, easy enough just then,
for Term had not begun. He arrived about noon. Jones, and
Faulkner whom he did not know but admired, met him at the
station and took him to the King's Head in HolywelL They
ordered their beer and sat to drink it on the balcony overlooking
the inn yard and Burden's famous Livery Stables. The sun was
shining, it was very hot.
What happened while they sat there, reminded Allingham of
the Model Hunts of the Prime. They all knew for the Prince
was vocal of his needs that Gabriel, eager to secure Ruskin's
advance on the second bay which he had undertaken to do, must
get the Guenevere done and out of the way. His sister had
kindly sat, but her face was not suitable so he was doing it from
215
memory of Lizzy away in Matlock (quiet and tolerably happy by
all accounts). m
Gabriel and his need was always in his friends' minds. They
saw a tall girl, bareheaded, her black burnished hair ^ shining
beetle-wise in the strong sunlight, crossing the inn yard in front
of them, carrying a jug of beer very carefully and herself like a
goddess. Jones exclaimed, " The very thing for Gabriel!''
She must be procured for the Master at once, and it fell to one
of them to do it as long, long ago poor dead Deverell had got
hold of Elizabeth Eleanor Siddall for his friend.
But that very evening, when they all met in the box at the
Theatre, there the girl was, with another, in the stalls immedi
ately below them ! They pointed her out to Gabriel, who was
making a sketch of Miss Herbert which he meant to twist into
a scroll and throw at her feet in lieu of a bouquet when she came
forward to take her call. The others were to do the same. He
looked down and agreed that the young woman's hair was
magnificent though not the right colour for him (he was apt to
depreciate their finds at first).
Faulkner had been at pains to find out her name and where
she lived. Her father kept the best riding horses in Oxford and
his daughters rode them : even the most difficult ones. . People
said that Miss Jane Burden, although she was more than usually
tall, managed her horse beautifully as well as a circus rider.
One of the two, Faulkner did not know which it was, was a
bedmaker in College.
They all agreed that she did not look English. Her hair,
though not her height, her skin of a beautiful clear olive, her full
lips were, to Faulkner, suggestive of Semitic origin. Allingham
said that her surname was probably a variant of Burton one of
the true gipsy patronymics. More like an Ionian Greek, Jones
considered ! Well, God knows what strain the English were
such a mixed race but surely a most wonderful creature,
Allingham said, and no one contradicted him. And a perfect
model for Guenevere, vice The Sid, away, ill.
It would be all right about sitting, Faulkner thought, if the
young lady herself was approached in the right way.
No, her father had no objection to Miss Jane's sitting for her
face. He told the young ambassadors that she had educated
216
^>A ,"' -*>s
v. K ,' ,\V^ i '
'S-. . ' ."^Tv t , ,
^;' ^-'^f' ' s * /
%?/ /:^/^/i?v
&" - ft ' v - . -
MISS JANE BURDEN
From a photograph
.herself and was a great reader, probably of the kind of poem they
liked to illustrate. Faulkner had had a word or two with her
self, and had found her kind and complaisant, with beautiful,
dull, speedwell-blue eyes. Jones thought them finer than The
Sid's light grey ones, which bulged a little. She was tall, taller
than Lizzy. Both women had the long, columnar neck now so
much admired by Gabriel.
Apt to scent disloyalty to The Sid, Brown was pleased to
observe Gabriel's apparent want of interest in the afternoon's
work of Jones, Faulkner and Allingham. He said nothing. Nor
did Morris, but he hardly took his eyes off Miss Burden and,
during the second entr'acte, went and stood with his arms on the
red plush ledge of the box, talking to Prinsep, but seeing her well
through the back of his head, for, in the train next day, he wrote
a poem describing her with accuracy.
At a quarter to ten Brown and he started by the London &
North- Western, with cheap return tickets ten and six for
Manchester, where Dixon was going to put them up.
But Morris missed the train coming back and stayed on with
Dixon, visiting the Exhibition for the carved ivories, that was all.
He returned to the house, to paint an apposite little water-
colour the only one he ever did of Ihe Soldatfs Daughter in
the Palace of Glass and to write Praise of my Lady.
There it all is, her healthy pallor, her brow" o'ershadowed
much by bows of hair " the slow, deliberate movements of her
slim body, " like knight's pennon or slim tree. Set gently waving
by the wind," that delighted him, 1 and her long hands, where
along the wrist, " the veins crept languidly," her great sad violet
eyes, her full lips, pale but " made to kiss," a trifle discontented
Waiting for something, not for me.
The modesty of him, " choking, growing faint " to watch the
ways of a maid with a man ! And was the man, Rossetti, even
then ? 2
3
Let us hear what the women, fundamentally no judges of
beauty, have to say about the looks of the daughter of " the
1 Quiet, just letting it work, in a delicate woman the deadliest and most certain
form of attraction for a burly man.
2 So said Miss lonides.
217
palefrenier " l Granting the young lady's eyes fine, Mrs. Boyce
would have it that her complexion was coarse, her lips thick
and niggerish : that she did not hold herself well and her hands
and feet were too large. Developed perhaps overmuch by
equestrian exercise so severe as to have been almost professional,
it would seem? One lady told another lady 2 that Miss B.
had for certain been in a circus, for no one, except a trained
performer, could manage her steed as she could. " Extremely
well educated by herself" said another, " but made no use of her
knowledge because she hardly ever spoke too timid ! "
And too tall. Every one of them canie to resent her noble
inches. " She makes us all look like pygmies beside her," little
Mrs. Bell Scott complained. 3
Next day, in Johnson's rooms in George Street, where he and
Jones had moved because the men coining up wanted their
rooms (there was nowhere for Morris to sleep, so when he came
back from Manchester he would have to find himself other digs),
Dante Gabriel Rossetti made his first sketch of her. Miss
Elizabeth Burden came along too, just to reconnoitre : perhaps
what she saw pleased her, or perhaps Miss Jane preferred to sit
alone, but, as a fact, she was never again chaperoned, except by
numbers.
For this, the first sitting, the obliging young lady did not
have to assume one of the costumes run up by Red Lion Mary,
but just sat in an easy attitude so that the painter could
get the hang of her, keeping on her own everyday dress. It was
a light^ print, nearly white with much washing. At the neck was
a muslin collarette with a tiny bow of the same, tied with floating
ends, which showed her long full throat, with almost an Adam's
Apple. The white dress made her skin look brown and her hair
nearly black. She looked like a schoolgirl, and probably felt
like one.
1 Boyce thus prettily indicated the social position of Miss Jane Burden to his
proud French wife (a De Soubeyran), in whose eyes Morris himself was merely
" a great, noisy, repugnant individual."
2 Mrs. Hain Friswell.
^ 3 Indeed, her height and that of Miss Siddall when, after their respective mar
riages, they became fast friends and chose to dress more or less alike, set the measure
for the second flight of Pre-Raphaelite ladies and models for they all had to
work just as if they weren't married. Mrs. Rossetti was sitting to her husband
on the day she died. Mrs. Morris, who thoroughly disliked medievalism in dress
and furniture, although she consented to embroider birds and beasts in crewels,
later, when they were house-hunting, told a friend that she would " just as soon
have a brand-new house if one could have been found.'*
218
4
Some few days later, when Morris returned, Rossetti convened
all the fellows to come and have a go at her. He had dressed her
up as Queen Guenevere in one of the property dresses, a rich
brocade gown patterned with a design of pomegranates set in
diagonal chequers. The black sleeves of velvet ended in up
turned cuffs, the bodice, .tight-fitting, was buttoned down to the
navel, then broke into heavy hampering folds about the feet.
She was standing beside a tumbled bed, with a little dog lying
among the folds of the sheet, close by the chest that served this
Queen as a dressing-table, with a bit of white napery over it and
a mirror propped up : a plate of apples and a book of Hours.
He had invented a good way for her to wear her hands : languidly
making the two ends of a girdle approach, so as to clasp it.
There were four of them in the room with their easels drawn
up close below the estrade : Rossetti, Prinsep, Hughes and
Morris. She did not seem to mind how many people profited
by the sight of her beauty. Then Gabriel went out for a
moment to show Patmore (who had come down to see the work
so as to write about it for the Press x ) the quickest way to the
Union, and Morris, who had been scrawling something with a
piece of white chalk at the back of his canvas, passed it up to the
model when she asked nicely if she might see what they had been
making of her. (While Gabriel was in the room she had not
ventured.)
" / cannot faint you but I love you ! " was what Morris had
written. She read, and quietly handed the canvas back with the
others and he dusted it all off.
5
Business superseded the Dream for a time at least. Things
were going ill for them, in both hemispheres. There was a panic
on the American money market so that, instead of the^ four
sources of returns which the interchange on the Exhibitions
between New York and Philadelphia would have yielded, the
promoters of the stunt would have to fall back on one alone.
Money, at the time of writing, was not to be had ; Ruxton could
1 Sweet, bright and pure as a cloud at sunrise, so brilliant as to make the walls
look like the margin of an illustrated manuscript." Saturday Review, December 26th,
1857.
219
hardly get a sovereign changed. They did not hear this until
the Exhibition had been open for a fortnight.
And here in Oxford they were " particularly in a muddle."
The members of the Committee were beginning to think that
they had been rather rushed into the scheme by Woodward of
the angel face. He had let them begin without obtaining
sanction. Charles Bowen, the treasurer, admitted irregularity,
but spoke so well for his friends that they were only admonished
and bidden to use despatch.
The roof across which Morris had been straddling daily for
months, spilling paint-pots on defenceless heads, did get itself
done by the end of November. First to begin, first to finish : he
did nothing by halves in any walk of life or art, letting a thing
slide with the same energy with which he had taken it up. 1
Such a subservience as his to Rossetti never was out of the Morte
Arthur the surprising services, the impossible mediaeval
renunciations he made and performed in full consciousness of
where they might lead him, submitting his very life and career
to the arbitrament of " that hard intellectual force against
which few were able to make a stand." To expostulations on
this head he had only one short, sharp, schoolboy answer :
" Yes, I have got beyond that. I want to imitate Gabriel as
much as I can."
He was not one of those whom women love. Like the paladins
of whom he wrote his own Sir Peter Harpdon, simple, clumsy,
forthcoming and downright, he did not- interest the opposite
sex. Pure, as The Heir* or modest as poor Palomydes, resigned
never to feel -
. . . her warm arms round his neck
The hot love tears burn deep like spots of lead.
Ever this good knight's complex was the sense of inferiority,
the conviction of his unsuccess with women 3 and corresponding
failure in Art. Sex-mute but not sex-blind, with an insight that
* They got to call him at Oxford " Mad Morris." " He used to put his head
against a wall and bang it for fun," said the great Pauline (Dr. Walker of St. Paul's
School) to me.
2 When Sir Guj de Morville proposes to Amabel in the back drawing-room
at her father's house, there is not such a thing as a closed door. Nay, there is
not a lover's kiss in the whole book !
s See title of his subject for the wall painting, How Sir Palomydes loved La Belle
Iseult with exceeding great love out of measure and she loved not him again tut rather
ozr Tristram.
220
Stendhal might have envied, a more than hint of the doom of
every one of us helpless creatures walking in " this half-sleep,
half-strife, that men call living/' he knew, like little Swinburne,
all the peripatetics of the passion he was unable to inspire.
With his uncanny insight, not with his mortal eyes, he now
came to visualise the plight of another Pilgrim of Love whom
really he did not much like, in the vulgar health-resort which
had been chosen for her, surrounded by paralytics zndfaussts
malades in bath-chairs, sipping the sour salt waters at the spring
or moving slowly among engineered walks of asphalt ; like the
others she would be taking her cure but not submitting to it ;
restless, yearning, conscious of change and disturbance in the very
centres of her life :
I cannot stay here all alone
Or meet their happy faces here.
A little while and I am gone. . . .
He " saw " The Sid, in a place he did not know, which had never
been described to him, in her chosen dell with the old trees whose
roots were " fleet," but saved, there under the lea of the cliff,
from being uprooted and thrown down, as she too was protected
from the gale, lying amid the long grass, kissing it or passing it
through her teeth to make a thin, sharp noise. Or on the floor of
the wood, as of a Moorish palace, with its arabesque of newly-
dropped catkins, coiling in crescent shapes, and the dead leaves
lying about like the bellies of speckled toads ! She might have
her knees drawn up in Rossetti's favourite attitude of hers, that
spring at Scalands four years ago. Morris set her in Joyous Gard
in the midst of his favourite orchards down by the sea the red
of apples and the blue of waves languishing and singing in the
form of an incantation
Gold Wings across the sea,
Gold light from tree to tree,
Gold hair beside my knee,
I pray thee come to me,
Gold Wings !
Gold Wings, the short night slips.
I pray thee, kiss my lips,
Gold Wings across the sea.
Gold Wings across the sea,
Moonlight from tree to tree,
O sweet knight, come to me.
221
Are not my blue eyes sweet ?
Is it not time to meet
Gold wings across the sea ? 1
Blue eyes, yes, but dark is the fashion now and poor Jehane du
Castel-Beau must face it. She could not* The call becomes
more imperative
Summer cometh to an end
Undern cometh after noon,
Golden Wings will be here soon.
What if I some token send ?
She sent it, a doctor's letter ; she had got ill.
1 Defence of Guenevere, W. Morris.
222
CHAPTER XXV
i
" Ilk 'TT07EMBER 14^, 1857," Rossetti unfortunately
I ^^ / called away through Miss SiddaVs illness at Mat-
I ^L/ lock.
^ ^ This entry in the diary of Cormell Price is
corroborated by an awe-stricken letter, written about this date,
by Jones' sweetheart to a girl friend in Birmingham. " Miss
Siddal dreadfully ill again."
Rossetti went to her at once and did not return. 1
Just then a letter came to William from America slinging
another stone at the poor defenceless creature, fit to crush her
vanity if she had any. Stillman wrote : " We are a sensitive
people on some points," and, while admitting that the P.R.B.
had " saved the Exhibition as far as oils were concerned," he
suggests that the secretary for England should have realised that
" the eccentricities of the Pre-Raphaelite School were new to
us " and have left out of his selection, among others, Clerk
Saunders and <The London Magdalen* " which have their values
to the initiated, but to us, generally, are childish and trifling."
Gabriel backed up " my pupil " to Norton. " All I can say is,
if they don't like Clerk Saunders, they're wrong." By this time
she was too seriously ill to be worried by strictures on her art.
Who had told her about Gabriel's new model? Probably
Gabriel himself.
She knew the usual run of Oxford belles, the Miss^ Prices, the
Miss Puseys, Faulkner's sisters and Miss Sarah Angelina Acknd,
all dressed by Miss Boxall. As for Miss Herbert" My Lady
Audley," everyone knew, would not look at a mere artist : she
liked lords. And once, in the earlier days at Fortess Terrace,
Lizzy had acquired a new garment as the price of her tolerance
of Gabriel's inaccessible stage love. 3
1 He sent a message to Allingham, "Terribly ill, but better now" that I am
here!
2 Her version of Found.
3 " Gabriel has bought The Sid a superb Indian opera cloak, costing three
guineas, and they are for The Princess's, to sport her and it next Saturday." Diary
of F. M. B.
223
Gabriel had left Oxford in a hurry and the linchpin fell out of
the axle of the Union paintings. After March of this year not a
brush was laid to the walls by anyone of the original lot, though
notices of the work's progress appeared in papers from time to
time. For the next two years, indeed, the committee was
negotiating with Mr. Rossetti, away, nurse-tending. Steady
old Top, left behind in Oxford, could be approached and called
upon to render some kind of report, 1 but very soon there was
nothing to report on. Scott went down to Oxford, borrowed a
ladder and peered about. Only the head of Tristram peeped
over the chevaux de frise of sunflowers in Morris 5 attempt to
render the subject of his own particular complex ; 2 the gorgeous
purples and blues of Jones glimmered on faintly, while Rossetti's
" Launcelot and the Queen " had utterly disappeared, so that
no one could say which of the painter's loves Guenevere was
meant to resemble. 3
" The greatest fiasco ever made by a parcel of men of genius,"
Scott said. For a long time afterwards, in Academic circles, the
phrase " I have come to my Oxford Union " signified down-and-
outness in money and credit. The boyish failure of The Germ
seventeen years ago was transcended by grown men. For the
second time the Round Table was dissolved, and this time sister
Christina refrained from making sonnets on the subject. They
had behaved too badly. Ruskin made it an excuse for seeing
less of his friend. People knew why. He did protest too much
to William : " But I have a sincere regard for you and your
brother and sister just as much as ever and I am heartily
sorry to see so little of you." The sense of change was over
them all and the " sick, sure knowledge that things would never
be the same." But at Christmas they did rouse themselves and
give a party their usual party rather like one of the Mad
1 He thought there was cc some good " in the designs of Pollen and Stanhope
if they had been finished, and he protested against the proposal to cover the
whole thing with a coat of whitewash, though he had not objected to that as far
as his own painting " ludicrous in some ways " was concerned. He did the
roof over again for them.
2 Sir Galahad receiving the San Grail. " Unfinished," records William
dryly,
3 Certainly not Miss Herbert who, in the end, was put out of the Triptych
in favour of Miss Burden.
224
Hatter's " Beer and squalor at all hours and a Stunner or two
to sing."
The Stunners convened, whoever they were, sang. There
was plenty of beer for all and the other thing, but the merri
ment did not ring true. Gabriel, the recognised cynosure, was
" going to hook it to-morrow," presumably to MatlocL Brown
was, as usual, gloomy, and more so because his Emma was ill, and
Jones because, though his sweetheart was all right, he was too
poor to marry her and too ill, so that Mrs. Prinsep " Aunt
Sara " called on Georgy at her mother's home and asked if she
might carry her sweetheart off to Holland House, where he stopped,
off and on, for nearly a year. Morris, mostly at Oxford in the
society of his old schoolfellows " Crom " Price and Charley
Faulkner, regained some of his old casualness, though his engage
ment to Miss Burden languished, off and on, for nearly a year.
But he put his poems together for publication and his Janey sat
to his friend for several heads to illustrate the volume. But it
was never illustrated.
3
And, now that it was all over, their " twitterings at dawn "
were being collected. Back numbers of The Germ were rare
and already sought after. Dixon, the favoured cork-cutter,
got one from William Allingham as a New Year's gift. Rossetti,
who was counted the leader of " the three lettered race," skilfully
maintained his legend, refusing absolutely to exhibit in public,
so that on his account, little, short-lived, private exhibitions had
to be set up, as nearly as possible fulfilling the old P.R.B. ideal
of a picture gallery a room " hung with pictures, decked with
flowers, 1 enlivened with music," to which the critics 2 had to go
and grumble and vent their spleen on the smaller fry. Madox
Brown, who did all the work and got all the kicks, had started in
Russell Place, Bloomsbury, what people styled and still style, the
1 Another piece of " Pre-Raphaelite eccentricity."
2 " The Brotherhood has taught us at least to be exact, that everything is still
unpainted and that there is no finality in art." The same critic is pleased to
observe in the " thoughtful " pictures of Mr. Rossetti (other artists have suffered
from their pictures being " sicklied over with the pale cast of thought ") that their
eccentricities, errors and wilful aberrations were fast modifying and softening.
(See Millais 7 , " Hunt too much tamed ! ") But the critic who saw so far into the
tortuous Pre-Raphaelite heart, ascribed to the brush of Rossetti poor Brown s
masterpiece, The Last of England.
Q
Pre-Raphaelite Exhibition. And then there was the Hogarth
Club, 1 " that afflictive phenomenon," as Carlyle called it, which
met only once, but to which Bocca Baciata^ counted, so far, the
master's finest realistic work, was then drawing crowds. The
whole thing, otherwise, was regarded as ridiculous.
Of Ruskin, the arch-critic, the heart was woe and the temper
caustic. 2 He was really upset about Lizzy he could not bear
to see the portrait of her rival queening it there !
1 " Club not small enough to be friendly and not large enough to be Important,
a room to which nobody sends things and Friday night meetings to which nobody
cares to go. Funerals are performed in the shop below through which one passes."
The club, Seventeen Piccadilly and, later, Six Waterloo Place, started in 1856.
After holding one Exhibition it was dissolved in 1861 and became the Burlington
Fine Arts Club. Exhibitors Boyce, Hughes, Alfred Hunt, Holman Hunt, Burne-
Jones, Leighton, Morris, Prinsep, Watts, Windus, Stanhope, Woolner, Woodward,
Stephens, Wallis, Mulready, Brown, Inchbold, G. E. Street, Dyce, Cox and Edward
Lear. Millais could not join it because he was unable to be in the same club with
Ruskin.
2 He wrote to Alfred Hunt that he had no patience with these Pre-Raphaelite
absurdities and that the thing would not answer unless the P.R.B. sent their best
work instead of the sweepings of their studios.
226
CHAPTER XXVI
i
" Ik /f ISS SIDDALL continues dreadfully out of health/'
% / I Sa 7 s Oxford, through the mouths of Price and Birk-
^y I beck Hill. And, writes Brown in his diary, " Gabriel
-L. V A. so unhappy again." " Frightfully fagged and weak
and his face-ache so bad as to be almost an illness/' Allingham
tells the Brownings in his news-letter to them away in Florence,
Ruskin details the symptoms to Professor Norton in America :
" Gabriel glooms much and is restless and dulls 1 himself, wants
and wants and I can't amuse him."
Gabriel was vacillating between London, Matlock and Oxford,
visiting American fortune-tellers in Bond Street and generally
encouraging his natal Dante complex, talking in numbers and
the numbers generally nines. Lizzy was working it from
Matlock. 2 Nine was molto amico to her. Yes, Dante was nearly
nine years old when he first saw Beatrice : she was about the same
age. An interval of nine years elapsed between this meeting and
her denial of his salutation, at the ninth hour of the ninth day.
It was nearly nine years since Gabriel had engaged himself to
Lizzy. La gloriosa donna ddla mia mente died on the ninth day
of June. Lizzy had now nothing of Beatrice but her paleness.
She was old too, by women's calendar.
Dante, for some reason or other, consonant with his devotion
to Beatrice, feigned a passion for another donna gentile, bdla,
giovanna e savia 3 the last word would never do for Fanny, the
1 Anticipatory of the final difficulties, the nightmare of Watts and Hall Caine.
Ruskin seems to be hinting at the sort of palliative for neuralgia with which Lizzy
brought her Gabriel acquainted.
2 " Superstition and some pressure from her light and imperceptible." Letters
of Birkbcck Hill.
3 " No claim of breeding or education or intellect could be made," says William
Rossetti, " by Mrs. Hughes." During a discussion on " the burning mountain,"
as she called Vesuvius, at "Mr. Rizzetty's" she suggested that they ought to put it
out by digging at the root. " They have tried," said William, obliged to be civil
to her, by the tenure of his brotherhood.
, 227
blacksmith's daughter of Essex, out of whose mouth with its
row of pearly teeth issued the broadest Cockney. Well, well,
the lilies and languors of virtue have always flourished near the
roses and raptures of vice, and in the parterre of Red Lion Square
florets meet for the hair of Jones' Blessed Damozel stood stately,
along with ranker, less ethereal blooms.
One day, just after Gabriel had returned from visiting the
pale invalid at Matlock and there was a chance of finding him at
Number Seventeen, where he was known to paint with Jones
every now and then, Brown, who wanted to ask him something
about the Working Men's College, called there and found him
and Jones with Fanny.
He entered it in his diary, for, at sight of the " beautiful
blonde woman " against a background of marigolds which her
colouring could well stand up to, he felt that strange aura of
misfortune which, although he had met Fanny before, had never
visited him so strongly as to-day. The picture was commissioned
by Boyce and to be called Bocca Baciata." 1
" A most beautiful head, such a superb thing, so awfully
lovely ! . . ." All these superlatives earned by one woman's
face ! Arthur Hughes, seeing the picture, wrote off to Ailing-
ham to come over quick and see it, for he fully expected that
Boyce would have " kissed the dear thing's lips away " before
the other could get across the Irish Channel.
Those lips, and the rest, were now for Gabriel only. At least
she was faithful. Scott about this time wrote off, to Howell :
" A woman of these parts has got Gabriel and will keep him till
his death." Naturally Scott hated Fanny, as he hated all
Gabriel's intimates, and she disliked him, the dark hairy man from
the North who suddenly went bald. Her criticisms would burst
out as the door closed behind him : " Oh my, Mr. Scott ! 'E
3 as changed ! 'E ain't got a hyebrow or a hyelash not an 'air
on 'is 'ead ! "
They laughed at her and she pouted beautifully ; that was the
worst or the best of the witch; "Well, I know I don't say
hit right." J
1 " Bocca Baciata " (The Kissed Mouth), a phrase from the Decameron. Exhibited
at the Hogarth in 1860. Bo7ce never parted with it. It hung on the left-hand
side of the mantelpiece at Glebe House. I often asked who the fair girl with the
brown-red hair set in a cluster of marigolds was and was answered with a certain
reserve. For Hunt, who like Gabriel, had known her of old, Fanny was just " the
large-throated, disagreeable woman Gabriel painted so much."
228
<6
Brown's wife was ailing, his child dying, he was desperately
poor but he was still thinking of other people. The Sid must
come back to cope with Fanny. Morris' approaching marriage
with Miss Burden was announced, but that of Georgy to Jones
still hung fire. They had been engaged for nearly three years,
but Jones was patient. " Domesticity is nice," he admitted,
but, in his opinion, a man who had any sort of special work to do
in the world was better without a mate. 1 He still wanted to copy
Gabriel in everything, even in deferred happiness. The
Macdonalds had moved to Manchester, but Brown, the kind
busy-body, persuaded the young girl's parents to lend her to them
in London for an indefinite period. There was a revival of the
Thelema scheme and Georgy again looked^ over houses. But
Morris declared that he and Janey meant to have a house all to
themselves and began treating for land to build it on out Green
wich way. Morris loved a flat country and its quiet, unassuming
sadness. Rossetti was to help to design furniture for him,
painting a press 2 with Youths and Loves, and a picture on one of
the doors of the Red House. Already in Red Lion Square two
girls were stitching away (one of them their best Stunner 3 who
had just got off with her life) at some tapestry Morris had
designed himself, " queer birds and trees on a greenish-purply
ground." So Allingham told Browning in his news-letter.
" Trees, Press and Tapistry greatly conceived indeed ! " so
Browning wrote back. And later, on the receipt of The Defence
of Guenevere" Morris' admirable poems the only new poems,
to my mind, since there's no telling when." ?
But the volume fell stillborn from the press : the Laureate s
version of the story (with one good line in it) overshadowed that
of Morris, as a dashing dahlia a low-lying pot-herb. Moms
1 So his nephew wrote much later.
" White hands cling to the bridle rein,
Red lips tarnish the scabbarded steel.
He travels fastest who travels alone."
? A S^^a^ntk on a gold ground betwixt the sun and moon. Said
Birkbeck Hill, " What could one put in such a press I " .
3 Madeline Smith, living in a London boarding-house very miseraby since he
acquittal, for her mother had treated her with great unkmdness, not aUowin ; her
so much as to come into the drawing-room when callers were there. She married
one of Morris' men.
229
luckily had the bank balance Allingham spoke of; and the
" Towers of Topsy " soon rose, not at Greenwich but in the
Valley of the Darenth, and Morris and Miss Burden were
married x by Canon Dixon that April in the little old church of
St. Michael's at Oxford. Faulkner was best man Jones was
there but not Rossetti. Then a six weeks' tour in Belgium, Paris
and the Rhine. The house was not ready for them, so when they
came back, they took furnished rooms in Great Ormond Street.
It was not all Gabriel's fault, for he had set to work on his doors
and finished them in a week for Janey, it seems, he could spur
himself. And Georgy Macdonald went there to call upon the
bride whom she had not yet seen. " Never shall I forget it ! "
She was smitten with an admiration that was only surpassed by
that which afterwards possessed her for Lizzy.
3
Rossetti never wrote to him now; but as autumn slid into
winter, Allingham found himself on the old road to Blackfriars
and shaking hands with his dear Gabriel " as if nothing were "
Gabriel's way when he was in fault and spending three delightful
hours with him in the studio, smoking away as of old. William
and Arthur Hughes were there too, as it were, playing hide-and-
seek among the canvases, for Rossetti had begun the big compart
ment of the triptych depicting the Infant Saviour on the knees
of the Madonna for which Miss Herbert had given one sitting 2
being adored by Shepherds and a King. Most of the pictures
were religious, with a dash of Socialism, 3 perhaps attributable to
the idiosyncrasies of Rossetti's chief buyers, Colonel Gillum
(introduced by Browning), who ran a Boys' Home, and Mr.
Flint, a Nonconformist penetrated with the teachings of Canon
Kingsley, of whose envisagement of artists and their uses in the
world, all who attended his lectures were aware. 4
1 A Mrs. Ham Friswell says " the man was a heathen " ; married in his own
drawing-room and " by a ceremony of a curious character " which he afterwards
had painted on a wall.
2 It is Mrs. Morris now.
3 " My dear Sir ... could you introduce both Carlyle and Kingsley, and change
one of the four fashionable young ladies into a quiet, earnest, Wy-looking one, with
a book or two and tracts ? I want this put in, for I am much interested in this '
work myself, and know those who are." Plint to Rossetti.
4 " Aristocracies of mere birth decay and give place to aristocracies of mere
wealth and then again to aristocracies of genius, which are really aristocracies of the
230
MRS. WILLIAM MORRIS
From a photograph
There was a Christ head done from Jones, commissioned by a
dealer who was beginning to see that there was money in Gabriel,
and, what Allingham liked much better, the Mary in the House of
John, an illustration, cynical in all seriousness, of the cruelty and
futility of the Crucifixion. He had painted the Virgin and
St. Anne, just two bereaved old women in their house on the
wall of Jerusalem, looking out of the window, Mary parting with
one hand the blue curtain so as to see in the fading light the
outline of the Hill where, many years ago, her life and her hope
went down, with the headstrong gesture of her Son.
Gabriel had tidied up his room or someone had done it for
him. His pictures were hung on nails instead of forming an
indistinguishable part of the sagging stack of canvases and
portfolios under the window-ledge. His personal appearance
was neater, though, with a bad figure, he could never have
looked as smart as William, always considered " a marvellous
swell."
" Dear old buffers, both ! " Hughes and Allingham agreed as
they walked away William " pursuing his serene and gracious
way as usual," Gabriel settling down and the triptych " awfully
jolly!" So Hughes.
To the Brownings, always eager for news of this family,
Allingham wrote : " The Rossettis I saw, all well and going on
as usual."
He knew they were not going on as usual and Gabriel most
certainly not well and much altered.
4
In December, Hunt had returned from the East illish but
famous. Tales of his artistic exploits and dangers run made their
way home and Annie Miller, " sitting " all over the place now,
smiled her smug smile. Hunt had been living through the
winter on the shores of the Dead Sea, all alone, with an Arab
and a goat. He was the only Christian to penetrate into the
Mosque of Omar. He had nearly been assassinated. He had
only just missed being elected a member of the Royal Academy x
merest scribblers and sprouters." Charles Kingsley at Crewe in a lecture in 1871.
But he wrote of " mountains, silver veined with rills, cataracts of white cotton
thread zigzagging down every rock-face." His bark was worse than his scribble,
1 He had " tied " in voting with a great friend of his, but no relation, another
Pre-Raphaelite artist of the same surname Alfred Hunt. Neither was then
elected or even came near it again.
231
and he was going to snub them properly. His picture was ready
and he intended to show it all by himself. He took Hook's house
on Campden Hill, with a high tower from which he could paint
sunsets, and was settling up with Annie. He did not intend to
marry her now.
" You remember Miss Miller, doubtless ? She has been sitting
again to Rossetti and myself." So wrote Boyce to Allingham.
She had " gone professional " as a result of Rossetti' s fulsome
encouragement, abandoning her home at Chelsea and the lectures
that Hunt was paying for emancipating herself thoroughly.
She now lived in Augusta Place, near Clapham Road. Hunt
wrestled with her for the soul that professional modelhood might
endanger but, according to all accounts, her " determination to
go on sitting was entirely her own " and could not be shaken.
Hunt was upset : he had not yet met the beautiful woman who
made Miss Miller's defalcation a matter of no moment to him.
William Rossetti, the best brother a man ever had, admits
that bis was " properly, but not deeply, censurable in this
matter." 1
5
By the end of next year Brown was so hard up that when little
Arthur 2 died after three days' illness he had to borrow the money
to bury him. Woolner, who had been lucky enough to secure a
Llandaff commission too, but was not so favoured in the matter
of advances as Rossetti, declared himself to be earning exactly
fourpence a day. Jones, prudent, dared not marry with the
contingency of a family to keep.
And " A Happy Christmas to you all ! " was Gabriel's pious
wish from Paris at that date. For the "Head of the Pre-
Raphaelite School in England " had had to cross the water to
escape the complimentary duns of the season.
There was no particular reason for him to be hard up. Though
Art does not, so to speak, pay, his did pretty well. He had at
least four steady buyers. Colonel Gillum who was paying him a
1 Grant Allen saw " the making of a novel in the whole affair/' but he never wrote
it. Annie Miller is the one Pre-Raphaelite heroine who has, perhaps out of con
sideration for these two great men, been " kept dark," and references to her in
P.R.B. memoirs are scanty, though in the 'sixties and 'seventies her name was on
every tongue.
2 Lizzy always had that baby on her conscience. Taken up and carried out at
night to Hampstead and kid on the sofa while its mother ministered to her in her
extremity, it had not had a chance.
232
regular sum per quarter as advance on work in hand Messrs.
Leatheart of Newcastle and Rae of Birkenhead and the Misses
Bell and Heaton. Miss Baring had just commissioned The
Magdalen at the Door of Simon the Pharisee * in pen-and-ink, for
fifty pounds. Lady Trevelyan of Wallington was coming
forward for Mary in the House of John, when it should be finished.
Flint had given him forty-two pounds for the pen-and-ink
drawing of Hamlet and Ophelia, for which Howell had sat, and
thirty-one for a little water-colour of Guenevere. Of this, in
oils, the price would have been three hundred and sixty-seven
pounds. For a water-colour portrait of Miss Macdonald as My
Lady Greensleeves (as they sometimes called Jones' Stunner) he
got a hundred and five pounds. And Mr. Leatheart, at Scott's
suggestion, had re-commissioned the illusive and accursed Found
for three hundred and sixty-seven pounds. 2
But the sheet-anchor of his monetary position was now the
triptych which, so his brother asserted, " might be going " to
bring him in four hundred pounds. 3 He would keep fiddling
with sections of it, hesitating to begin the centre compartment,
which, singly, was to bring two hundred pounds, continually
bothering Seddon for advances, " feeling sure that it would not
be finished for some time to come. . . ."
Taking it all round, he was in a better position to marry now
than he was ever likely to be again. The bar to their union on
Lizzy's side had gone in the person of the old man, her father. 4
Before his death he had come down a little. He admired
Rossetti's poetry, of which Liz had sent him specimens now and
then, and he used to read it aloud o' nights to the family circle,
sandwiched in between large tracts of Dickens. But he would
never have consented to a Sudel or Sidel of Hope marrying a man
who was not even an Esquire (as he was, if we all got our rights),
one of the cheap-boozing, hard-drinking, out-at-elbow, knocker-
wrenching crew, with not so much as a spare shirt to their backs
1 Sala, in Brompton Square, had a photograph, signed. Rossetti had, says
G. $., two models for it, one an actress and the rest was done from a typically
Pre-Raphaelite model (whatever that might mean to Sala ?).
2 It had at first seemed necessary that Rossetti should go to Newcastle to secure
this splendid commission, but, as Mr. Leatheart was good enough to settle for the
sum, he disappointed Mr, and Mrs. Scott and from William, who had been going to
pay his fare, borrowed a " few pounds for home use."
3 " He didn't take less and possibly got more," says William.
4 There is no photograph extant of Mrs. Siddall. One, ^as a young girl, the
husband carried about with him and when lie died it was put in his coffin.
233
or a whole pair of shoes between them, so he understood. A
business man" (thus he set himself down) in those days regarded
an artist much as a Don an undergraduate. t
As a social gloss to the unconscionable protraction of the
engagement Lizzy had given countenance to the idea of her
father's unwillingness to part with her so disadvant age ously
But that tale would not work now: Charles Crookes Siddall
had died of gastritis, at the age of fifty-nine m July, and was
buried in Vicforia Old Cemetery at Hackney. Gabriel Rossetti
had nominally been engaged to his daughter for the last nine
years.
The Cabbalistic number again !
6
Gabriel began to astound his circle by talking of settling
down, so seriously that brother William, flustered out of his
usual discretion, felt the need of a confidant and bethought
him of Scott, the friend of his boyhood, witness of perhaps his
one and only recorded escapade and that was political !
He got hold of Scott and asked him if he was aware that
Gabriel was intending to take this important step pretty soon ?
No, it was news to Scott, always professing himself to be surprised
at nothing. From the date of that dark evening in The Hermi
tage, when Gabriel, not trusting his old friend, had neglected
to introduce his girl to him, there dated, in Scott's mind,
Gabriel's revision of any project of marriage. Oh, he was
probably fond of her still, but she had been his Stunner too long :
there were others : it was Annie and Fanny and God knows 'who
1 Miss Ethel New-come threw over her cousin Clive for the Marquis of Farintosh,
not only because she was worldly but because she knew that, after marriage, her
society must inevitably consist of Fred Bayham and his like, while Clive fell back
on the pretty daughter of his landlady. Nor were Mr. Rossetti's own friends
entirely free from these notions, while discriminating between the general and
the particular. Birkbeck Hill liked to go about with the artists, but this is how
he wrote to his sweetheart about artistic society : " Faulkner, Morris poet and
artist and myself rowed three or four miles down the river to play skittles in a low
tavern, five games, and drank two quarts of cider on Saturday afternoon, when all
the low people were about. Think of that ! "
2 Once, when the two boys were staying with the Scotts, they attended
a Methodist Revival Meeting on the Town Moor- Brother Speedman eloquently
speaking. Young William exhibited the revolutionary bias he never abandoned
(even when he became a Civil servant), interrupted the meeting and was repri
manded.
234
else ? It had been Barbara once, with the " tin " and the hair.
Gabriel seemed always to go mad over women's hair and
coloration.
Mr. Scott sat with William, while Gabriel was away at Matlock,
William delicately mending the fire when it didn't need it, in a
studio filled with what Scott was pleased to call examples of his
brother's " late development." He got William to agree with
him that Gabriel had, in process of years, become " more sus
ceptible to influences which mig^it prevent " him settling down
into an even way of life. Yet, he pleaded for his brother.
Gabriel neither smoked, betted, gambled nor drank. And, as
for his unpunctuality, the irregular hours he kept, hardly ever
going to bed until three or four in the morning, the frowst of
his " digs " never a window open, all the latches stuck, the
stream of boon companions lurching in at any minute, for he
was a man much in request, every hour bespoke Miss Siddall
was an artist herself and used to Gabriel's ways ! so Scott,
sharply. He knew all about that, their keeping house to
gether every now and then in Chatham Place so that she never
until lately had been able to let her family know exactly where
she was to be looked for or written to at any given moment.
235
CHAPTER XXVII
i
SO said they and so thought they, and meanwhile she
would be sitting, poor Burd Alane, in the window of
her sitting-room on the ground floor of the Hastings
lodging, in her usual, forlorn, nervous attitude, one
hand clasping the elbow of the other arm, of which the wide
upper sleeve of striped brown and black silk disclosed the black
velvet under-sleeve, tight to the wrist. The gesture seemed
somehow to hold her together, in a world that was slipping away.
By herself nearly all day, except for the kind landlady running
in every now and then to have a look at her lodger and a " How
are you to-day, Miss F " and then the sad, stiff, seaside door
closed carefully against the wind, ballooning under the
carpet. . . .
Number Twelve Beach Houses a stone near the door said
1700 was a very old structure indeed, modernised. A pagoda-
like series of bow windows reaching to the very top had been
thrown out ^ and stone steps eight led up to the front door.
The low-ceiled rooms were papered with bunches of poppies
and daisies, like a child's tossed bouquet, the window continually
lashed with spray when the wind was at the back of the in
coming tide, and always the smell of fish, trailed, gutted, packed
and tossed into crates for London before her eyes. . . .
She seemed to herself full as repulsive sick, sick continually, a
thing of disgust deserving of avoidance by all.
At last Mr. Chatfield had the sense to look up the address on
the letters he occasionally took to the post, always the same
except for one or two addressed to a Mrs. Wheeler at Barnsbury.
Mrs. Chatfield knew that her boarder was supposed to be engaged
to a Mr. Rossetti and she wrote Miss Siddal said she might
to say that the lady desired to see him and bid him Good-bve
before she died. *
It was not the first time this had happened to Gabriel. He
236
was hard at work by way of beginning the centre compartment
of the triptych. . . . But Gold Hair had sent for Gold Wings,
and he went !
She was not crying Wolf ! It was desperately true. He wrote
to his mother on arrival " She is dying daily and more than once
a day," lying prone after one of these gastric spasms as if she
would never " lift that golden head again." Gabriel arranged to
stay down to nurse her, as was proper. He refused Emma
Brown's offer to come and perform this office, saying that he
fancied Liz preferred being alone with him, and that' the sight
was really far too painful for anybody else outside the family
to bear. Then he settled down, as it were, to his pious task
with a kind of exaltation, like Swinburne's lover tending his
leprous mistress.
Changed with disease, her body sweet,
The body of love wherein she abode,
but owned that it was almost too much for him, who had never
offered or been called upon to nurse anyone before the squalor
and intimate services of illness, the sounds convulsive hoquets,
gurgles and reachings, heavings and contactings of the riven
body of a love lying there and all conscious of its degradation. . . .
I pray 7011, let me be at peace.
Get hence, make room for me to die.
Almost any woman, not only a princess, would say that.
Of it all, Gabriel, a Latin, was able to give his mother details
in language of an almost epic frankness. He had never known
anything like it the obliteration of personal vanity in pam
" that kind of pain which one can never remember at its full"
It made him feel as if he himself were " living in a vault." He
would rise from his chair at her bedside when she did get to
sleep and pace backwards and forwards between their rooms,
looking from the window on the front on fine days, past the Fish
Market and the boats, to "where the sea ends, in a sad blueness
beyond rhyme." And at night, from his own window at the
back, he would watch the townspeople dancing by candle-light
before the mouths of the Smugglers' Caves behind St. Clement s
Church, where he must take her the moment she was able to get
up, for she was at any rate to die a married woman, JSut she
237
must not die. If lie were to lose her now he would go mad ;
so lie told William, who had written nicely and of whose affection
he owned never before to have stood in such need. He had been
to a stationer's and ordered, to please her, notepaper stamped
with her future initials (a gesture counted unlucky). And on
Friday the 1 3th of April, he announced their marriage as likely
to take place in a few days and he might be coming up for half a
day to get some money he had left in a drawer at home. . . .
" I have hardly deserved that Lizzy should still consent to it,
but she has done so." l (Perhaps she had just been able to wag,
in confirmation, that lovely head, supine on the pillow.) And
he trusted that he might still have " time to prove his thankful
ness to her " and they would go straight to Chatham Place.
There would be no wedding trip he had too much work on
hand.
But, by the ijih of the month, she was dreadfully ill again.
Gabriel told them she had been as bad before in many respects
but not in all respects at once, as now. The weather was against
her : she was always affected by it. When it was fine she was
able to take beef-tea and jelly without bringing them up again,
but now she could not even keep a glass of water down and, if
it could not be stopped, she would die of starvation and
exhaustion.
Mindful of his promise, on which she was now too weak to
insist, he was endeavouring to secure a special licence, for even
if she recovered sufficiently to go through the ceremony it would
be bad for her to enter a cold church. But a special licence
meant delay, so he trusted to God he might be able to use the
ordinary one he had in his pocket, for, if he could not, " there
would be so much to grieve over and ... to reproach myself
with, that I do not know how it might end with me." 2 Threat
ening suicide selfish even in his best moments !
His mother was evidently aware of these things with which
he had to reproach himself and blamed, though she had not
prevented them. Maybe, stern and undeceiving of self, a
Roman matron if ever there was one, she was aware that she and
Maria and Christina had cause for self-condemnation too.
1 Family Letters, William Rossetti. 2 Hid.
238
3
Allingham, in his usual news-letter, told the Brownings all the
town news about the Lords and the Paper Duty, Home the
Spiritualist, the London Riflemen how all public resorts were
dotted with Hue, gre 7 and green uniforms and reviews of
about twenty-five thousand of them in the Park And now
to smaller matters. Gabriel Rossetti was married three weeks
ago to Miss Siddal, whom you have heard of once a model
with a talent for drawing and long very sickly, as she still is, I am
sorry to say. They are supposed to be in Paris. . . . Rossetti's
manner of working is not altered.' 5
Trust a loving woman's will-power working to an end ! On
the 22nd day of May Gabriel had written to his mother from
Hastings to say that there had been an improvement, sudden,
unaccountable ! She had got out of bed, dressed and come down
stairs ^to the sitting-room ; and ate not much without having
to bring it all up again as soon as she had swallowed it. Next
day he had got Mr. Nightingale to marry them.
Dante Gabriel Rossetti, Artist. Bachelor. Son of Gabriele
Rossetti of Vasto, to Elizabeth Eleanor Siddall, 1 daughter of
Charles Siddall, Optician, both of full age. Witnesses, Alfred
and Jane Chatfield. Elizabeth Eleanor's signature, like a cock
roach scrawling over the tiny oblong indicated for signature,
suggests her weakness, while the second " 1 " in the letters of
her name is hardly made out at all. But it served. She was
married so, by the skin of her teeth.
Love, like Greek fire over a cold altar, played about the heads
of these persons, both of them making do with an old spent
impetus, the one anxious to placate his God by offering amends
for procrastination, the other in feverish haste to cheat Death, but
drawing down, Heaven knows what form of vengeance for her
withdrawal, in the past, from Nature's simple purposes until it was
almost too late. A dreary couple : she, temporarily invigorated by
the long-desired consummation, little more he, mildly pleased
with pleasing her ! Everything was to be done as she wanted,
and Paris was the place where she sometimes felt well. So Paris
it was to be, and this very afternoon they would try to get to
Folkestone.
Gabriel wrote a few letters while Mrs. Chatfield prepared her
1 Perhaps she wanted to be on the safe side. The wilful alteration he had made
in her name would not, maybe, have stood in law.
239
for the journey. To Brown lie said, " I can't really give you
any good news of her health, but we must hope for the best."
It was just possible they might get as far as Folkestone without a
relapse. To William, business ; he sketched an announcement
of the marriage, for The Times " If the governor's birthplace
is wrong, please alter." And he begged William to see about
letting the studio for a bit, as he was not likely to want to use it
for some time to come except for a day or two now and then.
What about some painter of his acquaintance who would not
mind the owner dropping in for an hour or two now and again ?
He had settled in his own mind that Chatham Place would not
suit Lizzy, though she would be certain to clamour to go back
there at once if she survived the honeymoon ! A locum tenens
was the best way to stop her. 1
They reached Boulogne that day with only the usual concomi
tants she was used to being sick and put up with some friends
of Mr. Ruskin's, the Maenzas, 2 in the Grande Rue, leading straight
up from the Port to the real Boulogne, the walled and bastioned
city at the top of the hill which she was never to climb. In
the mornings they walked about the Port. Madame Maenza
told her that Monsieur Ruskin used to go out, from here, mackerel
fishing, off Hastings, at five o'clock in the morning, about the
time Mrs. Rossetti was living in that town. In the afternoons
they took proper little drives along the coast, to Wimille and St.
Marquis, and along the St. Omer Road. There were not then
any villas to break the grey, flat line of the sea-shore, from which
England even on the very finest days never looked as nice as
Boulogne from England. They were only French chateaus, like
English country houses, and one of them was to let, with a garden
from which Rossetti could get any amount of backgrounds. He
proposed to get rid of Chatham Place in its favour. She did not
care about it, and when she had recovered from the crossing and
was safe in Paris, which agreed with her" as it always does "
Gabriel waived the chateau " The Boulogne scheme is given
up, I believe."
1 William, on May 2 3 rd, thinks he can " comfortably " let it to Allingham, an
old friend of Gabriel's, and writes to adumbrate the scheme. If AUingham
cares to write he will find that he can comfortably " place the rooms at his dis
posal. AUingham did not take them. The Rossettis themselves came there
straight from Paris.
2 Madame Maenza was the old lady in whom Ruskin long took an interest, so
that Howell, his factotum, was several times sent to Boulogne to relieve her
necessities.
240
The Hotel Meurice was expensive, and after a week they moved
to lodgings in the Rue de Rivoli the less favoured end where
the landlady was an Englishwoman called Houston. They
settled down and began some work, painting, sitting and reading
aloud to each other. Rossetti had friends in Paris but made no
effort to look them up. They were reading Boswell, and he
painted Doctor Johnson and The Ladies of the Town sitting at the
Cheshire Cheese, and How They Met Themselves, an illustration
of the old German superstition of the Doppelgangcr, he and Lizzy
meeting their doubles in an enchanted wood and, half swooning,
brought suddenly face to face with their own painful dual
personalities.
She began a little water-colour called The Woeful Victory,
for she had got Gabriel and all that it meant !
4
The meeting with the Joneses did not come off. They had
been married on a Saturday in June and went to Chester on their
way to join the Rossettis in Paris. But on Sunday morning
Jones was speechless with a cold on his chest ; the journey to
France had to be given up. His letters are coloured deep with
disappointment. He sends his love " I wish it was such stuff
as Indian carpets for her to walk on " to Lizzy, whom, in
Chatham Place, he had never noticed. But now, he " hoped
she'd stand him . . . he'd do anything to be agreeable and so
would Georgy." He signs his name in a new way which he hopes
Gabriel will notice his Aunt Keturah's married name hyphened
with the other, which he was just beginning to use. A married
artist must neglect no opportunity of fixing his name on people's
memory.
The bottom was knocked out of Paris by the secession of the
Burne- Joneses and Rossetti said it was time he went home and
got to work on Found : " There is so much money in the picture
if only I could get it finished ! " And Lizzy was anxious to see
again the Hampstead doctor, Crellin, the only one who had ever
done her any good. They were both tired of " dragging about,"
having become aware by now of the subtly fatiguing quality of
the Paris air and their feet blistered by the stone pavements
that seemed, in the heat, to rise up and hit you. Hunting about
in the old quartiers, Gabriel had bought her some lovely necklaces
and a couple of dogs one called Punch. (" What fun ! You'll
R 241
buy horses next ! " Jones chaffed.) But they had spent all their
money ! Just as they left the platform of the Gare du Nord they
got hold of an English paper and saw the account of the death
of a friend bankrupt x and the dreadful position of his starving
wife and children. Lizzy was wearing, to carry them, all the
beautiful things Rossetti had bought her. God's Pre-Raphaelite
children : they were both full of immediate, picturesque
benevolence and, on arrival at Charing Cross, stopped their cab
at a pawnbroker's where Lizzy lifted the necklaces straight off
her neck for Gabriel to sell, and they took the proceeds to Mrs.
B rough at her lodgings in the Borough before going on to
Chatham Place.
5
On their return the newly-married pair learned through
Mrs. Letitia Scott, who had been to see her there that his
sister and her sister-in-law had become an Associate of St. Mary
Magdalene's Home at Highgate (for Fallen Women) and wore
the habit. 2 There was no word of this from the family to
Gabriel, no letter from any member of it, and for all the desolate
bride could tell the wedding day might have been taken as one
of mourning in Albany Street perhaps Maria went twice to
church that day ? None of his mother's answers if there were
any to Gabriel's letters from Hastings announcing his marriage
are extant. Perhaps "Old Antique" did not answer them.
More probably she wrote what was adequate, for she was a courtly
sort of old woman. Lizzy had hoped to find a particular welcome
for herself from Gabriel's mother on her arrival at Chatham
Place as a bride. Gabriel knew better. Though his mother had
shown sympathy, listening to his agonised accounts of what was
happening at Hastings, it was only because she did not want
him to go mad on account of the crime he had only just escaped
committing. A soul, through his laches, dying impenitent, unas-
1 Robert Brough, a Bohemian of the first water, was author of some strong anti
social ballads. Rossetti was never tired of quoting one from his burlesque of Medea,
about " Lord Tom-Noddy, the son of an earl," and petted accordingly :
A full-blown colonel at twenty-one
Is Lord FitzdottrelTs only son.
Brough was bankrupt in 1858. There had been a Benefit for him at Drury Lane
in July of this year, in which Miss Herbert had taken part.
2 "A simple, elegant black gown with hanging sleeves and a muslin cap with a
lace edging and veil, very becoming to her." So Mrs. Scott, who went to call and
found her walking about the grounds with a bishop.
242
CHRISTINA ROSSETTI
From a photograph
soilsied by any rites, for his sweetheart was, they had always
known, deeply, subtly irreligious. " Old Antique " was thankful
that in marrying, she had let him have a formal service of
some sort. Kind-hearted Gabriel ! Too good for Lizzy, as
every mother's son is too good for the girl he wants or feels he
ought to marry.
Nor are Miss Rossetti's impressions of her new relation any
where adumbrated, either in letter, verse or speech. Christina
was a great lady. William was equally punctilious in his estimate
and his dealings with his plaguey sister-in-law. The pensive,
polarised philosopher, full of fairly good intentions towards her,
was disconcerted by the determined noli tangere of the mind
which Lizzy practised with regard to him and nearly everybody.
She had, he averred, a way of turning off the conversation, just
when he fancied he was getting forrarder, casting what he called
" a dry light on the subject," leaving it exactly as it was so far
as her own point of view was concerned, giving " dusty answers,"
paying out mere lightsome chaff. . . . Flighty ! That was the
word. One never knew where to have her. That this manoeuvre-
ing for position was sub-intentional there is not the slightest
doubt. The fay 'par excellence ! William's adjective for her
explains, really, everything.
But, honest, William did not dismiss her as a nobody. He
knew better. The woman who could interest Swinburne could
not have been a fool, since mere beauty had no lure for him.
And Christina had not understood. It was too near : Lizzy's
long agony was at once too personal and its early symptoms too
puzzling and recondite. In the Home on the Hill she escaped
them and could consider the sorrows and trials of yellow canaries,
furry wombats and dormice. As far as human beings were con
cerned she had more sympathy with the Marian Erles of this
world than with prim and prudent maidens who insist on the
ring, and being received into their lover's family before con
senting to crown his flame.
So, deliberately, it would seem, Lavinia, Maria and Christina
chose to leave this soul duly to perish, because it would not accord
itself in any way to their mould. None of the women of her
husband's family were about when Lizzy broke up and,^except
for her own sister, young and inevitably preoccupied with her
own affairs, she lived and died, an exile of the heart.
243
CHAPTER XXVIII
I
was the first blow dealt, the first hint of what
was to come. The daughter of Heth, married into an
alien tribe, fending for herself and reinforced by weak
ness, created a legend wherewithal to arm herself
against the slings and arrows of her new kin. Mrs. Scott,
on a visit to town that summer while her husband was in Ayr
shire, sunning himself in the rays of his Egeria's 1 calm and con
sidered affection, wrote to tell him the London news and the
names of the people who had come to dinner that night in
Aubrey Road. There was, she said, Mrs. William Morris, tall
and stately, " looking un-English,' 3 dining in her bonnet because
she had to catch a train back home that night ; Mrs. Edward
Jones, " a little thing " singing French songs after dinner " in a
high, wild voice, quite novel and charming," while her young
husband, " looking like a schoolboy " in spite of his yellow beard,
turned over the leaves for her. But to Mrs. Scott's evident
chagrin, the new Mrs. Rossetti " is invisible to everyone . . .
has not yet been seen in the house of his mother."
No, not ever or hardly ever. She had been a good girl,
withholding herself, like any Victorian maiden to whom " the
orange-blossom is the fox's brush of married life." 2 The fay
had been at pains to constitute herself the respectable daughter
and sister-in-law, accepting the usual obligations of convention
ality and lip-service. . . . And all she got was a waste-paper
basket 3 a year later !
And Chatham Place did not do. She got ill again and went
back to the Hampstead cottage. Thence they could look over
1 Miss Alice Boyd. 2 Plain or Ringlets, Cuthbert Bede.
3 " Please thank Christina for her paper-box, which will come in very useful."
D. G. R. to his mother, January 1861.
244
houses there or at Highgate. She seemed able to exist on these
heights only. Gabriel came to her every day, returning to his
own rooms to sleep.
She had not yet been introduced to Ned Jones' wife. The
tale of her beauty, the bulletins from Matlock the year before
had, for Georgy, made Gabriel's new wife into a legendary
personage, a Melusine, a Tiphai'ne out of the old French
legends that Ned and she read up for subjects ; her excitement
was intense when came the day appointed for the meeting by the
Wombats' Lair in the Zoo. The Browns were going too. And
while Gabriel was rattling his stick between the bars, trying to
poke up the owls into a vulgar fury, little Mrs. Jones gloated on
the slender elegant figure of Mrs. Rossetti, the details of her
bonnet not so ugly and pokesome as most of her dress made in
the fashion, but with tiny differences that a woman would notice
at once. For most men except Gabriel this Stunner had no
particular sexual appeal ; but the girl who had, after her first
interview with another Stunner, Jane Burden, gone home and
literally dreamed of her in the night, prepared for Gabriel's
by the fulsome praise of his disciples, her zeal sharpened by the
delays and difficulties of meeting, found her " as beautiful as in
imagination poor thing ! "
The use of that tender, popular phrase of commiseration^ the
hint of some unformulated ill that might lie in wait for sov'ran,
yet vulnerable, beauty betrayed the thought that leaped to
the little woman's mind as she followed the tall one upstairs into
the bedroom with its latticed window and tiny panes that made
it rather dark to see to do one's hair. Mrs. Rossetti could never
have known that difficulty ; she just waved her hand at the bed,
where Georgy was to lay her bonnet, and took hers off without
looking into the glass. Ringlets had been lately exchanged by
Fashion for bandeaux hair was, just now, often confined in
gold silk nets but Lizzy wore neither. The resilient loops and
bows which her bonnet had imprisoned leaped out unruffled
and, without the aid of brush or comb, lay in ordered disorder on
each side of her face, like the folded wings of the Cherubim singing
in their quires, saluting each other in the morning, as in young
Millais' design for a Gothic window which Ruskin had once
shown her. 1
1 At Glenfinlas he and Ruskin went " pitching into architecture " and made
designs for church windows on grocers' paper from the village shop. Ruskin used
this one of Millais' at his Edinburgh Lectures.
245
And Georgy always declared that she then and there, once
and for all, got a sense of the romance and tragedy that were
mingled in the life-web of these two. For them already Love
had folded his wings, ever so gently, decently and in order, with
out vulgar fuss and flutter. Though their desperate quarrels had
not begun, Love's amenity was for ever foregone between the
man and the woman, who, as soon as they got downstairs again,
allowed Gabriel to produce and show with pride, her sinister
drawing, done in Paris, The Woeful Victory.
The daughter of the Methodist Minister, whose foregathering
in childhood had been confined to certain worthy and calculable
types, whose reading had been carefully regulated she and her
sisters were not allowed to read even Shakespeare had never
seen anything like this wonderful creature, weary and wayward,
with her slight artificiality of manner, her rather upsetting
mixture of humour and tenderness, of melancholy alternating
with excitement not to call it flightiness. Georgy Jones, like
William Rossetti, felt some strain in association with one whose
values were so utterly different. All the time she was conscious
of variations in the soul's barometer of her companion, as a fly
might sense a thunderstorm far away. Shrewdly she noticed
that Mrs. Rossetti seemed to calm down when her husband sat
beside her on the sofa and took her hand and called her
" Guggums " and then, even the silly little hiss went out of
her voice.
Her complexion never altered a rose-leaf with the light
shining through. Fays never did show when they were ill,
neither did they really ever die, still they could not live just
anywhere, but made conditions. . . . Perhaps this one had
her Saturday nights when she chose to be invisible, like
Melusine ? x . . .
* Melusine, the famous ghost of the House of Lusignan, the daughter of a King
condemned by a witch whom she had offended, on one day in seven to be a snake
from the waist downwards, with a tail, grey and sky-blue mixed with white, until
she should meet a man who would marry her on the condition that he never looked
on her on a Saturday. Count Raymond of Lusignan broke his promise, peeped,
and lost her for ever. He died a hermit on Monserrat and Melusine still haunts the
castle when a Lusignan is about to die. And there was Dame Tiphaine, the
fairy-wife of the Connetable Du Guesclin, bonne et sage and an expert astronomer.
246
3
Rossetti was anxious to placate Christina in Lizzy's favour, so
another day they all visited the Maze at Hampton Court, for him
to get his illustration to Christina's Prince's Progress, but, when
they got there, for some reason, he refused to go into the Maze
at a U sa id he was afraid of getting lost ! and just took the
plan from the Guide Book.
And later, Miss Siddal condescended to go to see Georgy at her
home and they started the illustrations for the book of Fairy
Tales they were bringing out together Georgy had learned, at
Mr. Brown's classes, to engrave on wood very nicely. Lizzy
would bring her sewing and use Georgy's wonderful sewing-
machine that Mr. Watts had given her as a wedding present :
" A little thing that makes dresses and buys the stuff and almost
pays for it " so Ned chaffed them, as he chaffed Georgy's sister
Louie, 1 pretty, short-sighted and a tremendous flirt ; he swore
he always could tell, even at a distance, if she was talking to a
man or a woman, by the shape of her shoulders. Lizzy wanted
Georgy to know her sister, so she and Georgy met Louie and went
to see Lyddy in Barbara Street, a turning out of the Roman road
opposite Pentonville Prison yard, where you could see the
prisoners exercising and other excursions if Liz was well enough ;
one never knew beforehand. ...
Mrs. Ned had heard from Emma Brown, loosely, the opinion
of the doctor to whom Lizzy had let herself be taken some years
ago. He had diagnosed her complaint then as consumption of
the lungs. She had heard Lizzy's brother-in-law talk of curvature.
Now, after seeing Lizzy herself, she was inclined to agree with dear
Dr. Acland, who had once had the patient under observation for
a whole fortnight as far as the wilful girl would let him (she
had been very naughty at Oxford : Ned had seen Dr. Acland's
letter to Ruskin). Acland had considered the lungs to be only
very slightly affected : the prime cause of ill health, in his opinion,
was " mental power long pent up and lately over-taxed."
He evidently thought Lizzy clever, with a lot in her, and, as
for " over-taxing," Georgy had had every opportunity of
observing Gabriel's effect on her own Ned, who had had to flee
from him to the ward of the Prinseps for nearly a year, and poor
old Morris, whom he had stimulated almost to death in the
forcing-house of his godhead.
1 Afterwards Mrs. Baldwin, the mother of a Prime Minister.
247
Georgy thought that all Miss Siddal really wanted was a good
rest. Had she only fallen in with Barbara Leigh-Smith's plans
for her some years ago and gone into the Sanatorium in Euston
Road she might have been well to-day, instead of posing as the
" frail wretch " of Gabriel's sonnet, whose " spirit rends while
his body endures " till it can no longer. Georgy, indeed, felt
the cold aura of doom, mingling with her percipience of a greater
romance than she had ever been permitted to read on the
printed page, much less watch in the making.
248
CHAPTER XXIX
i
JOHN RUSKIN had been abroad most of the summer
in the company of the New Englander whom he had
met in Gambart's Gallery and had made a friend of,
with the fatal facility of great men for choosing com
panions who have power to hurt them. Stillman, "blond,
refined," six foot three in height, nourished in infancy on the
salted breasts of pigeons (surely an appropriate food for the
caustic critic he afterwards became), started as an artist and sat at
the feet of Ruskin till they quarrelled because the Professor set
him to draw pigstyes and he criticised the Professor and his work. 1
Ruskin had had a little too much of Stillman ; that was why,
on his return from Saleve, he drove to Chatham Place to pay his
respects to the newly-made bride and experience again the
never-to-be-forgotten charm of the soft, southern voice of her
husband.
But Mrs. Birrell's servant, trained to exhibit a lack of reci
procity with regard to duns, shook her earrings, could not or
would not give the Rossettis' address at Hampstead, and Mr.
Ruskin left, after half an hour spent in looking over the handsome
book presented to Gabriel " by a lady-friend, 53 2 in which, for the
last few years, the painter had taken to sticking drawings of
his wife, adding to or taking out as love or duns dictated.
Now, the Professor (or Fessie) had fallen in love too, and with a
little girl, not yet of marriageable age. The moment he began
to draw, he saw " only her hair and lips, lovelier than all the
clouds . . * and man's forehead, grander than all the rocks."
And he had just written a book to please her. Her mother was
beautiful too " the ablest and best woman I have ever known."
The scene was now set for a tragedy, far worse than that of Effie
1 " Ruskin had not yet learned the true method of painting." W. J. Stillman
in 1870.
2 Lady Dalrymple, Prinsep's sister.
249
Millais, who had let her new John send the other John a photo
graph of their first baby and whom he was to visit in her new
and splendid house in Cromwell Road. (These three behaved
beautifully and in the most modern manner.) Ruskin did not tell
his friends about Rosie when at last he got hold of their address
and called on them in Spring Cottage, but even as he entered the
room, the woman saw that his heart was gone. She inclined her
head and long neck a little and impressed a kiss " full and queenly
kind," on the lips of this man " so ugly the sun says so ! "
(He had just been photographed.) Mrs. Rossetti made him feel
that somebody cared for him a little and that she was " a woman
in ten thousand." He never forgot it : she meant him not to.
After all, he had been very kind to her and had tried to give her a
lift with her painting that would never be any good now ; she
had done nothing worth looking at since three years ago. She
needed all her strength and virtue to produce her child properly
that she might die without the reproach of barrenness.
She did not seem, in the twilight of the lattice window of
Spring Cottage, to have lost her looks or even her colour. He
thought he had saved his Gothic Cathedral after all !
She was sitting for her portrait it was to be called Regina
Cor Hum (Queen of Hearts). Ruskin told Gabriel to go on paint
ing while he told them all about Switzerland and how, the first
thing when he got home, his mother had gone and fallen down-
stairs,^ breaking her thigh-bone. " All her own fault ! " her
son said in his queer way, that would have been sarcastic, if it had
not been so full of amenity, as of the Angel Gabriel possessed of a
sense of humour. " She will wear such abominably high shoes ;
they turn round and make her slip." And now she had to keep
her leg up and be waited on by Anne, whom she considered at
times to be " fairly possessed by the devil," and was bearing the
confinement to her room pretty well, with the help of the worst
possible evangelical theology, which he read to her, himself, by
the hour. . . .
He had^ no ear for music and Lizzy's rather flat, affected
laughter did not dismay him. She told him of their efforts to
get a house of their own up this way ; Chatham Place was too
expensive to keep on merely as a studio. There was one in
Church Lane with a garden stretching down the hill towards
London, worth (Gabriel said) at least two hundred a year to him
m^ backgrounds. And he was drilling what did Mr. Ruskin
think of that ? with the Artists' Corps in the waste ground
250
behind the Royal Academy. Ruskin capped it by telling them
about the boxing lessons taken from the great Tom Sayers,
whom he had once asked to supper at the Working Men's
College, sending down some of his father's cases of wine, but
the wretch had not turned up !
As for money as he showed Ruskin out Gabriel said that
Wondrous Flint was still being wondrous and had expressed him
self willing to pay in advance for several things. That was what
they were living on now. They intended to keep the Regina
Cordium for themselves, as it was going to be as nearly a faithful
portrait of Lizzy as he could make it and he would not sell it for
gold !
The baby went wrong, and Lyddy took Lizzy to the sea to
recover, much against her will. She was all the while dying to
get back to London. She did not trust Gabriel, now, away from
her.
He did not want her back. In her pride she realised this and
dropped the notion, " just now, when he had so many things
to upset him," telling him instead, like a good little girl, that
she was better and had actually " gained flesh within the last
few days." But he is to know that she is still in constant pain
and cannot sleep for fear of another illness like the last. (One
feels the sage young Lydia holding her pen.) He is not to be
anxious about her : she would not " fail to let him know in
time." Or Lyddy will. And, after all, it is better for her to
be in Brighton with Lyddy than all by herself in the Hampstead
lodgings.
As for their contemplated move she really does not know what
to advise. It would be all right if the rooms in Chatham Place
could be kept on but she cannot see where the money is to
come from just now and that, she supposes, " will settle the
matter."
Gabriel seems to have written to his old friend Dr. Marshall,
now grown a tremendous swell, about her, but Marshall was
out of town. Lizzy, or Lyddy, had been sure he would be, at
this particular time of the year and she liked Dr. Crellin well
enough. He understood her.
She enquires stiffly about " the fate " of a particular picture
which he had on the stocks when she went away but supposes
251
that it is going or gone somewhere this week ? Perhaps he
will let her know where? And not go on worrying himself
about it " as there is no real cause for doing so."
For herself, she would be glad if he would send her down
her water-colours " as I am quite destitute of all means of
keeping myself alive." She had managed that for the first few
days in " the usual way," going out in a boat boasting of her
famous immunity he knew of" What do you say to my not
being sick in the very roughest weather ? "
Money she can do without until Thursday and, after Thursday,
she and Lyddy can manage to make do with three pounds a
week, including rent.
And she is his affectionate . (One wonders if ever, even
before marriage, she signed herself otherwise ?)
The Angel had folded his wings with a vengeance. The
patient formality of her letters at this time contrasting with
the fervour of her verse betrays the state of their communion,
and explains to some extent the writer's failure to inspire
those of her husband's blood with affection, or even liking.
Fay, indeed! Something bewitched and hindered: Little
Bridget warped by seven years of ghostly converse. . . .
True, she was, at the time of writing, deeply soured and
annoyed. She had wanted " the little house in the lane " badly
and Gabriel, while finding money for any sort of extravagance
in jewellery for her or bibelots for himself, had let it slip for want
of the thirty pounds which the landlord, doubtful of the solvency
of one of the painter class (perhaps in communication with Mr.
Duncan, the freely caricatured landlord of Chatham Place ?), had
insisted should be paid over before giving possession. The
longish period of uncertainty had harassed her and given her
neuralgia and that was why her sister had taken her to Brighton.
(Hastings and Old Nunky were now impossible : she had a
pronounced " scunner " against the place where she had married
and so nearly died.)
And Gabriel had sold her portrait. 1
1 " Its first purchaser," William Rossetti, commenting on this letter, says
cautiously, " may have been John Miller of Liverpool." Gabriel, he presumed,
" would rather have kept it for himself." In the sale after her death it was removed
from the auction under some arrangement. Mr. Ruskin at one time had it.
252
3
The money problem in September was pressing as usual, and
more than usual. Gabriel was under heavy obligations which he
resented, while profiting by them. He was thrall to two gentle
men who valued his art enough to keep the artist while he worked
off his commitments. The position left loopholes for evasion.
Colonel Gillum and Mr. Flint were collectors : Mr. Gambart
was a dealer, introduced to Rossetti by Ruskin, the noble sheep
dog of whose rounding up Rossetti was still afraid. Ruskin had
met Ernest Gambart with Rosa Bonheur at Glenfinlas in his
terrible year, had honestly liked the little, thin, energetic French
man but not Mademoiselle Rosa. 1 Gambart was always in and
out of Chatham Place and one day he saw Bocca Baciata, which
Rossetti had borrowed from Boyce to " do something to."
Falling in love with it he offered Rossetti his own price. But of
course Boyce wouldn't sell. So Rossetti tried to put the dealer
off with Surd Alane^ a drawing not " married to anyone else,"
but Gambart would not give enough for it, so Rossetti agreed to
finish another picture, that was lying about, " for better wages."
Marshall of Leeds fell on that one and carried it away under
his arm, so in a day or two, Gabriel tells Brown that he believes
he will accept whatever Gambart likes to offer for the ^ other.
He is aware that this sub-dealing will play the devil with his
honour ; for he cannot possibly, if he undertakes a picture for
Gambart, get on with the one he owes Colonel Gillum " without
actual ruination," unless the plan which he submits strikes his
adviser as a feasible way out of it. He has a pen-and-ink
Cassandra nearly finished he might persuade Gillum to take
that, instead of the Hamlet, for which payment had already been
made. Not that he quite likes infringing Gillum's compact
and, ought he to sell Cassandra for so little ? Might he not
ask an extra ten pounds ? He does not forget that Gillum's
" quarter day " falls at the end of the month. If the deal does
come off it will enable him to devote a little clear time to " poor,
dear Flint." 2
Later in the month he wrote to Aunt Charlotte who still
kept a soft corner in her heart and a loose purse-string for her
1 Had Ruskin, perhaps, heard Rosa's criticism of him ? That he saw Nature
with " little eyes, tout-a-fait comme un oiseau," and shade always as purple" yes,
red and blue."
2 Rossetti and bis Work, Evelyn Waugh.
253
pet nephew that his wife was returning from the seaside, he
trusted, that very night. Pathetically presupposing., as usual, that
his family was interested, he wished much that he could give
"better news of her." . . . He had no news, nor knew, indeed,
if she would arrive that night at all.
Now, Lizzy's elusiveness was for her husband too. She had told
him, dryly, that she was better and promised that she would
manage not to suffer to the same extent from sudden and
violent fits of illness as she had done. She would take things in
time and so prevent them. With the help under medical
advice,, of course (Dr. Gull was a friend of John Tapper's), " of
laudanum (or some other opiate) and stimulants in alternation"
she had settled down to a drugged peace, of whose provenance he
was perfectly cognisant, with her man, who had long since
learned the power of obstinacy that may exist side by side with so
much sweetness. He did not stop her doing anything she wanted
to do, but allowed her to cope in her own way with " the continual
decline in vital force " that was going on in her.
Love flies out of the window when illness, i.e. ugly circum
stance, comes in at the door ! Who shall say that, when Gabriel
heard her bragging to the maid of the amount of " laudnum "
she could take, it did not set him ever so little against her :
that the memory of that time at Hastings when, for over a
month, the revolting phenomenon of illness was in his ears and
before his eyes, was not again " more than he could bear " and
led to the counter-drugging he now began to practise ?
He managed to be " good " to her. He answers kind enquiries
about her in the style of a devoted and appreciative painter-
husband. " Yes, indeed, my wife does draw still." He hopes
that she is going to do better than ever now, " with her real
genius none of your make-believe" if only she could add
precision in carrying it out, " but that needs health and even
the strength to work is rarely accorded to her."
4
The nostalgia of having a whole house to themselves somewhere,
or shared with somebody nice like the Joneses or the Gilchrists,
was present but not overpowering. Leaving the cottage in
November they decided to winter in Chatham Place, till they
could settle in " more suburban quarters." They took Mr.
John Holt's rooms suddenly on the second floor of Number
254
Thirteen, in addition to Number Fourteen, and were allowed to
open a door of communication between the two. Yet if he
could find " a nice place elsewhere," they would leave the river
and he " hoped that would be before long." He did not hope
so ; he adored Chatham Place, " so quaint and characteristic."
" Nothing but the conviction that these rooms are not good
for my wife's health would induce me to move." 1 She knew this
conviction would not really weigh and settled in with her own
rather stagey resignation. He made a last attempt to get hold
of his mother, writing to tell her all about these new arrange
ments, hoping that before long they might have the pleasure of
her company in Chatham Place. Nothing, he said, would give
him greater pleasure as nothing, indeed, gave him more pain
than the present state of things, amounting practically to an
estrangement. If only his mother would believe how much it
made him suffer and how earnestly he wanted it all put right !
Mrs. Rossetti faintly proposed that he should bring Lizzy to
Albany Street, but Lizzy refused. There had been a bad quarrel
and a night on Brown's hearthrug " There, you've killed this
baby too ! " He had to write to his mother to say that just now
his wife was too ill to be given the letter and that he must wait
until she was stronger. His mother sent him another portrait
of his father which he himself had painted long ago his first
picture after Mary Virgin ! So that was that.
And now hardly any of the Albany Street people except
William who sets it meetly down that he went to Chatham
Place " not exactly often, but not rarely " passed through the
door, once grimy and repellant, now painted a nice, clear spring
green, that gave admittance to Mr. and Mrs. Rossetti's bower,
refurbished and decorated, as far as possible, like the Morrises' at
Upton. And all the pretty things Mr. Rossetti had collected
in his bachelor days, and huddled together in corners for lack of
space, were now spread out. For the fireplace he had used some
very old, blue glazed Dutch tiles representing subjects out of
Scripture. The studio was wainscoted with green and had a
design of sprouting trees all round on the wallpaper. No pictures,
only the portrait of Browning on the mantelpiece and, under it,
the cast, from life, of Keats. The drawing-room was hung round
entirely with Mrs. Rossetti's water-colours of " poetic subjects."
And he had lately acquired several yards of gorgeous old Utrecht
velvet for curtains and to cover settees. It was too heavy for
1 Letter to Norton, Ruskin, Rossetti and Pre-Rapbaelitism.
255
Mrs. Rossetti in her present state to manipulate ; she had to get
someone to come in and make them up under her direction.
Red Lion Mary was company but when the velvet was used
up, Lizzy was much alone. Lyddy and Georgy were a long
bus ride away. Mrs. Brown was at Ramsgate, recovering after
her illness, and Gabriel was not sorry, for he did not consider
Emma good for Lizzy, though she was the oldest friend she had. 1
Gabriel did not really dislike Emma Brown, but thought her silly
and untruthful though, for the matter of that, all women were
except Lizzy (he chalked that up to her), and too fond of talking
about ghosts. One kindly ghost, Emma always told them, used
to come into her room at Church Norton when her mother was
away and rock the cradle. But Georgy Jones was all right and
good Bessie and he wished that Barbara Bodichon too, with
her cheerful spirit
That never needed a stick to stir it,
as Emily Faithful used to say, had been available. Or even
Isabel Frith, the Philistine R.A.'s wife, who yet had a dream
she never told and kept her room for one day every year, but
managed to be cheerful and gay for the other three hundred and
sixty-four.
5
Impossible to like Gabriel's present cronies acrid Meredith,
whose wife had just left him, or quiet Gilchrist or dull Hughes,
while Mr. Ruskin had begun to bore her. But that winter an
old Oxford friend of Gabriel's, whom she had met as an under
graduate, brilliantly clever (though Meredith didn't think so 2 ),
but who had, alas, gone down without taking a degree and re
turned to the bosom of his family, turned up again. His stalwart
grandfather, the friend of Mirabeau, had died suddenly and with
1 They were not related, as Mrs. Scott thought, though both their mothers were
Welsh. Little Annie, Elizabeth and Lydia used to be taken to see Mrs. Hill at
St. Paul's Terrace and to play in the garden when they lived at King's Cross, in
among the part that was now being cleared away like " other hideous eyesores " and
" atrocious little streets " (Illustrated, London News of this date) to make room for
the Underground. Later, Mrs. Brown was never at home to anyone on Fridays,
when she paid her weekly visit to her mother, and to Mr. Gandy.
2 "He is not subtle and I don't see any internal centre from which springs
anything he does. He might possibly make a great name, but I doubt if there is
anything solid." But Jones thought him greater than Shelley or Tennyson or
Wordsworth. Rossetti, as only second to Morris, considering Morris " the greatest
literary identity of our time and superior to Swinburne in execution."
256
Cousin Jack, who had succeeded to the Northumberland estates,
he did not get on. He had settled in Fitzroy Street, among the
bars and stews of the New Road, 1 on four hundred a year, alter
nately staying in Newcastle with Scott, with the Ashburnhams
at Battle, and with his own people in the Isle of Wight.
The Old Mortality crowd had taught Algernon Swinburne to
drink and he went on drinking until he had destroyed the coats of
his stomach. But, as yet, his health was not affected 2 except for
a queer nervous twitching which his enemies called St. Vitus*
Dance, and his face was like a rose-leaf under the lee of a sun
flower, and he was universally and invariably courteous and
debonair, as befitted one of ancient lineage and no churl. But
he was missing the chaste airs of his old home, the intake of
the breath and scent of the moors, the power of stretching his
puny limbs for hours along the stones cut with runes, sunk in the
long grasses that wave in the salt North wind, watching the
pink legs of the heron, listening to the sly ripple of the Font
and the Pont at his elbow, baby rivers fringed with bog myrtle
and the androgynous sundew, half-leaf, half-flower. He could
no longer get his rides on Boldon Sands, where the horses of the
sea toss their ragged manes to affront the moors, or lie mother-
naked on the sands watching the bright green undertone of
the tenth wave as it reels and falls behind the Stag Rock at
Bamborough. All, all foregone health too ! Withdrawn now
from
Greenland and redland,
Moorside and headland,
he was wilting in the shades of " The Phoenix " and " The
Green Man " and his pink cheeks growing muddied in the
clammy airs of Marylebone.
6
Both Lizzy and he were red-haired, both mined by diseases
of the digestion, both poets and both of ancient lineage. He was
the grandson of the sixth baronet, of Capheaton in Northumber
land, whose ancestor had been knighted by the Second Charles
for loyalty to the First. His forbears had " ballad names out of
long ago," Dacres of the North, Herons of Chipchase, Thorn-
1 Euston.
2 The " ineffable gusto and blaze of the unfettered Swinburne," that Mr. Gosse
speaks of, were still there.
S 2S7
tons of Netherwitton and there was, too, the mysterious
foreign connection by which the youth set such store, the
Grimaldis of the Cote d'Azur of whom the Marquis de Sade
was a scion, all sounding soft on the ear of the Victorian
romantic that Lizzy was.
The common disgrace of their hair was a bond, for, in those
days, that shade entailed a certain mild degree of persecution,
for was not the betrayer of Our Lord a red-headed Jew called
Iscariot ? Once a year, in Algernon's part of the world, the
villagers turn out to stone the squirrels, bringing in so many
head of " nasty Judases," and Fanny, the North-country woman
on whom Lizzy had hardly set eyes since she passed under the
archway of Somerset House on her way to sit to Walter Deverell,
called her the " Cyprus Cat," while to Swinburne she alluded as
" The Freak."
7
Most sincerely Swinburne admired the " noble lady " whose
$reux chevalier he was to be all his life long. 1 " A wonderful
as well as a most lovable creature, so brilliant and appreciative a
woman quick to hear and keen to enjoy." And her looks,
perhaps too queer to attract amateurs of a less qualified type of
beauty, delighted him. She was his Felise without the cattish-
ness and with the eyes. Epithets and their multiplication gave
him no trouble, his verse runs over with descriptions of the
eyes of Elizabeth Eleanor " the greenest of things blue, the
bluest of things grey," like " colours in the sea,"" green as
green flames," blue-grey like skies " eyes coloured like the
water-flower and deeper than the green sea's glass," and so on.
^ It did him good to know her. 2 She wks the only woman in his
life ever. And it is odd that he, so violent, so emphatic, so
really cold-blooded, should be anyone's hope and joy as he was
hers. Her carpet knight her page who kept his lady so well and
so long amused ; how could Gabriel be jealous, though his new
friend Hardman would have it that the young fellow was strongly
sensual. The husband risked it and left her for hours alone with
young Algernon while he sought more virile and congenial
1 " I shall always be sorrowfully glad and proud to remember her regard for
me." &
2 He did not have his first epileptic fit until the year after she died.
companions, returning often to find the two where he had left
them, in the balcon7 room, looking out on the eternally ambulant
river scene, or Across to the Sunny Hills and the blue beyond the
smoke.^ Or Lizzy would be lying back in her own chair under
the window, being read aloud to in that soothing Northum
brian voice from her pet Tennyson, with whom she shared a
love of white lilac, white peacocks and liked to be called Ida after
his Princess. Swinburne indulged her in what Rossetti called
" wishi-washi," and then gave her a turn of Beaumont and
Fletcher, skipping freely. She "rippled with appreciative
laughter," and thought it better than Shakespeare. He was
aware that for Victorians, indecency is sanctified by the process of
time, but he had to be careful about " The golden book of spirit
and sense " l or even things of his own with rather less of the
latter quality. Nor did he trouble her with his political skit
called La Fille du Policeman*
But when the chatelaine had retired to the solarium, as they
termed Number Thirteen, consecrated more or less to her,
Meredith would tell the story of " the desire of the pure printer
for the fig-leaf" and little Swinburne, mildly drunk, and shedding
superfluous garments freely, would dance or oblige Gabriel and
the other men, with " La Fille-" complete, or wild excerpts from
the works of his own distinguished ancestor, " that complete
acme and apostle of perfection " the Marquis de Sade. Justine
was a difficult book to get hold of in those days ; he assured them
all that he did not possess a copy 3 but must rely on his memory.
The adventures of Justine (and Juliette) were too much even for
the ferro-concrete sensibilities of the complete man of the world
that Hardman was ; " as fond of good sound bawdy as anyone."
But he confessed to being " altogether bowled over by the
Marquis." 7
Her husband was less afraid of shocking Mrs. Rossetti than
was the young Swinburne. Looking, all three of them, out of
the south window across to the other side, Gabriel would style
his wife affectionately " Countess of Puddledock " or " Baroness
of the Stews," after Mrs. Martha Jacobson the procuress, granted
these titles and many others of an impossible nature, by the Merry
Monarch. He would stretch out his forefinger and apostrophise
1 Thus he characterised Mademoiselle de Maupn.
2 The sub-title of this work, finished later, Ce qui put se 'passer dans un cab-safety,
is indicative of the bawdy that the little gentleman spared the lady.
3 They all knew better. But perhaps he was afraid to lend it ?
259
the great Diocesan church of the district, spouting the lewd
rhyme
Blessed Saint Saviour !
For his naughty behaviour
That dwelt not far from the stews.
Christina would have blanched with horror, but who lived
with her brother must have a stomach for the unrefinements of
humanity. " In Charlotte Street where I was born," he told
Algernon, " every other house was a disorderly one." And all
about the stews on Bankside with their funny names and signs
The Cardinal's Hat, The Castle, The Bell, and Paris Garden
opposite the end of the bridge, where Count Robert of Paris
once had his own house, that afterwards the butchers of London
bought for the dumping of entrails and garbage, and where the
bull and bear baitings were held. Rossetti was firm that it was
the smell as well as the colour of blood that so stirred mediaeval
hearts even that gentlemanly one of Philip Sidney's like the
sound of a trumpet. This noisy, blood-red sub-essence of
cruelty was what Shakespeare wrote his plays on, and it went
with Elizabethan loveliness, like lewdness, the rap of the bear,
the guttering fang of the dog, the burning of heretics, and the
stags brought down in front of the chair of the Maiden Queen at
her famous huntings.
And then Algernon's family carried him off to spend the winter
on the " frowsy fringes of a blue land," as he was pleased to
describe the Riviera, playing about with his sisters and pretty
Mrs. Gaskell on the shores of that " tideless, dolorous, Midland
sea " ; and Lizzy lost her harmless, necessary cicisbeo.
260
CHAPTER XXX
i
rORPID the great Pre-Raphaelite word for weariness
and ineptitude getting fat in spite of the drilling;
Rossetti in the opinion of Stillman " one of the men
most dependent on company that I have ever known "
and getting it anywhere he could was busy making new friends
to fill gaps in his visiting list. Brown, just now rather useless
" seedy, poor old chap, gout and many other diseases falling thick
upon him " Jones and Morris very much married, Munro going
to be, Allingham in Ireland, Boyce at Brighton, ill, and Howell, 1
the best ^ fun of them all, now, for the one disinterested action of
his life, in hiding in Portugal.
A more worldly set was enjoying the hospitalities of Chatham
Place nowadays : collectors like Murray Marks and Anderson
Rose, the solicitor who was forming a collection of China and
old pewter in Arundel Street, and Spencer doing the same with
books : there were Doctors Liveing and Cameron as well as
Sandys and the young Greek lonides, who introduced him to
the American painter Whistler (of much avail to him a year
later), Meredith and his crony Hardman, gay, Catholic and very
appreciative of " the celebrated Pre-Raphaelite painter at his
meridian a jolly fellow, going to him again on Friday." At
Chatham Place Mr. Rossetti would receive them and say that
Mrs. Rossetti had gone to bed " perchance to sleep ! " with the
help of her new solatium.
He was trying to be a good husband, though indeed the
accepted etymology of the word denoted something 2 he never
could have been. But he was perhaps never nearer the norm
than in these months of matrimonial crux. The usual thing was
happening : nature as ever was shielding the race. In January he
1 Charles Augustus Howell, led away by patriotism and Orsini, had assisted in
the bomb-throwing.
2 Hus Band = the Keeper of the House, Anglo-Saxon.
26l
wrote, " in confidence, for such, things are best waited for
quietly," to tell his mother that Lizzy was pretty well, for her,
and that they were " in expectation of a little accident which has
befallen Topsy and Mrs. T. who have both become f orients"
Theirs, however, would not be born (if at all) for another two or
three months.
This was why Lizzy would not let Mr. Ruskin see her, but
stayed within her bower when he called at Chatham Place. The
stupid man thought she really might have put on a dressing-gown
and run in for a minute, sooner than not greet him. He com
mented on it all while he was about it and told them both home
truths, Gabriel " in little things habitually selfish," thinking
only of what he liked and didn't like to do, instead of doing
what would be kind. " But you can't make yourselves like
me, and if you tried, you would only succeed in liking me less."
Or perhaps they both liked him better than he supposed they did ?
Dying to be assured of it ! He owned to having no power in
general of believing that anyone cared for him. He fully admitted
his lack of sympathy with so much (Medievalism ?) that they
appreciated " and so I lose hold of you ! "
It was true enough. Ruskin's power over the younger man
was waning, diminished by the contempt inevitably experienced
by the people who actually make things, for those whose job it is
to criticise and pull them to pieces.
And for the poor Professor everything was changed now, going
wrong, " and so fast wrong ! " People should " lie on a stone
bed and eat black bread, but they should never have their hearts
broken ! " The little girl he was in love with had been forbidden
to work, compose, write letters or use her head in any way, but
might draw " as that does not use her brain ! It is a different
Rosie every month now ! " * In public life, having " blown up
the world that called itself Art," 2 he had managed to get the
Press of this intelligent country against him. 3 Labouring under
1 " Rosie seems but half herself, as if partly dreaming, some obscure excitement of
the brain causing occasional loss of consciousness . . . nothing to do with any regard
she may have for me. ... Her affection takes the form of a desire to please me
more than any want for herself, either of my letters or of my company." She was,
of course, growing up, but kept a child by her parents. She died when she was
twenty-five.
" ; . . and left it in an impossible posture, uncertain whether upon its feet or
upon its head and conscious that there was no continuing on the bygone terms "
Carlyle.
3 " We don't look upon Ruskin as an impostor, only as a humbug "-Illustrated
London News.
262
a very strong inferiority- complex " poor moth me ! " he was
everlastingly trying to assert himself to his friends and got so far
as^ to tell Rossetti that he didn't choose to have anything to do
with him " until you recognise my superiority as I do yours."
Tactless, he dared to patronise Christina, who had allowed her
brother to forward him copies of her poems for him to read, l
Bonnets were worn " a trifle large, more in front from the top
than before " a subtle change, becoming to drawn faces.
Cambrai and lama lace was in, and cheaper than Chantilly, useful
for kind, dissimulating mantelets. But Mrs. Rossetti, who would
have known well enough how to adapt Fashion to her condition,
refused to go out. She had a horror of any such presentation of
the personal grotesque as had made her stay at Hastings a
remembered nightmare. Gabriel had to go without her to the
christening of little Jane Alice Morris in the last days of January.
He went down with some of the fellows, Marshall, Brown and
Swinburne, who was just back from the Continent and had not
yet called on Lizzy. Janey was going to put them all up some
how, in the fearless old Pre-Raphaelite fashion. The Joneses were
already there Georgy to help the delicate Janey in preparing
for such a large party. It was given to show the new house and
the new baby 2 to as many of the old P.R.B. as could be got
together and to the members of the new firm 3 which had been
constituted, as it were, on its ashes, to fight Mr. Perkins' aniline
dyes and nurse the silk trade, nearly killed by Cobden's Bill of
three years ago, since when no lady's gown had been able to
" stand alone." Premises had been acquired in Queen's Square,
1 " Your sister should exercise herself in the severest commonplace until she can
write what the public like. Then, if she puts in her observation and passion, all will
become precious. But she must have the form first." " Most senseless ! " com
mented Rossetti, " and I think I told him something of the sort in my answer."
2 " It was a wonder she survived ; there were so many muddles before she was
born." Chariclea lonides.
3 The firm, founded in 1860, consisted actually, like the P.R.B. , of seven
Rossetti, Morris, Brown, Jones, Faulkner, Philip Webb and Peter Paul Marshall.
Faulkner wrote to William concerning the first and only prospectus issued of Morris,
Marshall, Faulkner & Co., 8 Red Lion Square, Holborn. Fine Art Workmen in
Painting, Carving, Furniture and the Metals. " A very desirable thing," Scotus
says, who had not been asked to be a member and he did so like his fingers in every
pie " a very desirable thing, Fine Art Workmen ! But isn't the list of partner
a tremendous lark ! "
over a working jeweller's shop, with a large ball-room built out
at the back which could be used as a show-room. Morris had
already been offered eight thousand by a prominent firm of
upholsterers l if he would give it up and work for them only.
They all went over the house and laughed to hear of the
criticisms of Mr. Morris' neighbour, who went about telling
everybody that these Morrises had been married in their own
drawing-room and gave parties on Sundays. The innovations
interested this lady vastly the walls unpapered, hung instead
with embroidered cloths so dust-making ! Not a carpet any
where but little islets of Persian rug in " surrounds " of paint.
Red brick hoods over all the fireplaces and brass dogs. The
absence of mirrors Mr. Morris happened to hate them puzzled
Mrs. Friswell. She thought that the windows of the hall need
not have been cut so high and the roof raised so dreadfully steep,
but she granted the chimneys " charming," and even Janey's
gowns, made of a strong diagonally ribbed blue 2 material,
warranted never to wear out, suitable either for dresses or for
curtains. She would only change for supper to one of silk in
the same colour ; 3 the products of Leek were nearly all, so far,
blue or red.
Back from Leek that night was the host, tired and hot, sitting at
the head of his home-made T-shaped table in a draught, for he
preferred it looking magnificent (the upper part of his body was
better than the lower) ; his hands stained to the elbow with the
woad he handled all day and every day, those eyes of his, with the
filmed observant look of an eagle, seeing everything. He would
be shocking people on purpose to see what they could stand,
offering them^" pig's flesh " when he meant ham, and fish " with
a pudding in its innards " when it was stuffed asking his guests
when they left the table if they were " full " ? One saw how he
had come to fret and estrange his wife by his fidgettiness and want
of apropos.
^ An inarticulate, disconcerting creature, she was to-night more
silent than ever. Gabriel too ; Georgy, his neighbour at supper,
noticed that he drank the health of Baby in water, confining his
1 Was it Hellbronner's where, for very long afterwards, the P.R.B. ladies used to
get their expensive dress-lengths of brocade that " lasted " ?
2 Wrongly dubbed by Mrs. Friswell " peacock-blue."
3 Dyeing was, for them, a tremendous speculation. " Kiss me, love, for who
knoweth ? " Morris would quote as he saw twenty pounds of raw green silk go
into the vat, hoping to come out blue.
264
repast to raisins, which he munched " in a royal manner," helping
himself from the dish in front of him before the proper time and,
with scant, strained and elaborate courtesy, flinging a word now
and then to the little woman at his side.
Later that evening Georgy went with Janey to look at the beds
" strewn about the drawing-room " for the men. To Swinburne,
on account of his diminutive stature, they had allotted the sofa.
3
Lizzy mostly chose to stay at home during these " gestes."
She had gone longer than ever before and they had strong hopes.
But in these piteous months of malaise and ungainliness, while
Woman " carries the angel of death under her girdle/' 1 she would
not " sit " much which gave Fanny her chance. Gabriel did
not object to his mate's appearance, any more than the proud
burgess in the Flemish picture may have done; but Lizzy,
to use the phrase in other than its slang value, knew she was
nothing if not picturesque. She still let him draw her sometimes,
sitting back in her big arm-chair propped up with a cushion, her
head sunk in the hollow made by its weight, her hair dressed
elaborately, lifted from her brows, spread like gold lace on the
pillow. But that was not enough. ... In pique, letting slide
the three pictures for which Mr. Flint had already paid, he had
pulled out Found. Mr. Leatheart had now commissioned it.
Since McCracken's order lapsed, he had been careful to hide it,
perhaps from obscure tribal notions of concealment, perhaps to
ward off chaff from those yet alive who had presided at the
flourish of its inception. He had re-christened it The Drover.
To Lizzy he said, " This means good money, 5 ' to pacify her for
its revival, involving the original model.
For Fanny's hair, equally abundant, was less red and more truly
golden than hers. And Fanny, of the curiously tragic counten
ance, stoutish though shapely, comfortable, without angles,
strong as a horse, could sit for hours without getting tired.
Fanny could chatter and amuse, or hold her tongue when she
was told to do so, could cook things with onions Gabriel often
went, Lizzy was sure, all the way to Wapping to enjoy her
savoury stews. Of Fanny, Lizzy was positively unable to tolerate
the mention although, to all his friends, she was grown a gorgeous
commonplace.
1 Flower, Fruit and Thorn Pieces, Jean Paul Friedrich Richter.
She came every day to sit, not only for the castaway crouching
under the lee of the bridge-head, but for ladies, classical, 1 Roman,
mediaeval, mythological for Cassandra, Delia, Lucrezia, Lilith,
Blancheflor and Fair Rosamond.
It was obvious that poor Mrs. Gabriel moped she saw so very
few people. Mrs. Ned, of course, but Mrs. Ned was busy she
had married a delicate man and they were moving to rooms
opposite the Museum, roomier than Great Ormond Street in
view of a coming event. And Lizzy's sister, whom Gabriel liked
and could always do with, was about to be married. Algernon
Swinburne was back in town, living in Newman Street, but he
was a man, and worse, a boy. She only had her pets, that Gabriel
jeered at. ...
Ladies were by way of keeping birds in those days, not Alsatians.
Pale canaries moped in a hundred cages in Pimlico, larks attempted
to soar in Wood Street, parrots and macaws shrieked and croaked
everywhere. Mrs. Rossetti preferred doves, that filled the rooms
with their soothing senseless croo-crooing. Wicker cages hung
on nails at every window in her part of the chambers there was a
bullfinch too !
Looking up at the cages, rising, busying herself to feed the little
things every now and then, she would return to the particular
stool she affected, in the middle of the room, to brood over wrongs
real and fancied. . . . Real, her loneliness, her outlandishness, the
dreadful solidarity of Gabriel's family who regarded her, she well
knew, as little more than an ailing, incompetent interloper.
Their fertility in devising, contrasted with her own paucity of
production, annoyed and hurt her. William was engaged on a
translation of The Inferno and would come to, or after, tea,
bringing sheaves of manuscript of his own for discussion. Gabriel
was " pushing on " with his translations from Italian poetry and
William was helping him to collate the section relating to Dante,
whom William knew all about. Their mother was attending to
the " literals " she was stronger in the Italian language and its
locutions than either of them. The manuscript had been sent
round to some of Gabriel's friends, Allingham, Gilchrist and
Ruskin the latter was going to pay a hundred pounds towards
publication. Christina's volume of poems was forward, and as
she put them together, correcting, naming them, Gabriel looked
1 One can ascertain pretty well the pictures for which Mrs. Hughes sat they
were the ones that patient William, at his brotherly task of executorship in Cheyne
Walk, missed and could not, " for practical purposes, trace."
266
over and, with the unerring eye of the great critic he was, picked
out the best. When I was Dead, my Spirit Turned, and desired that
it should be renamed At Home. William and Christina in return
read Gabriel's. To William's " Isn't The Portrait rather spoon-
meat ? " he agreed, but disregarded Christina's grammatical cor
rections. 1
" Thanks about the ye, but I am afraid I don't think it matters
much."
" It may have been," to use William's cautious phrase, " about
this time " that Gabriel finished and handed to Ruskin for his
approbation something much nearer to his heart than the poems
of Guido Cavalcanti and Ciullo d'Alcamo. They were his own,
collected since youth, in a little book covered with old, already
faded, green silk. 2 Ever since November he had been working
on them, " furbishing up enough for a volume," he said in a letter
to a brother poet. And " I really believe I shall print the thing ! "
Presently his friends in London were bidden to come and hear
him read the poems aloud, one by one as they got " furbished up "
until all, or nearly all of them certainly Swinburne with his
marvellous memory had got them off by heart.
These privileged persons heard recited in that soft cajoling
voice, The Blessed Damozel, The Witch (as he first called Sister
Helen), The Last Confession, inspired by Italian patriotism, The
Card Dealer, The Song of the Bower, Beauty and The Bird (or The
Bullfinch), one of the cycle of birdcage poems commanded by the
Misses Devzrdl,Placata Venere (afterwards called Nuptial Sleep]
so says William ? The Burden of Nineveh and The Portrait, Love's
Nocturne and Jenny. To absent ones like Allingham he posted
them and then, ashamed to be nervous, " but indeed a belated
MS. frightens me," frantically reclaimed them. To Ruskin he
sent The Portrait, Love's Nocturne and Jenny, asking him to send
on one or all to Thackeray for The CornhilL A thorough man of
business, he designed this first mild journalistic appearance as a
ballon d'essai. Ruskin, fastening on The Portrait and Love's
1 She said that he had used the nominative case when it should have been the
objective you.
2 I have seen two of these dear-bought leaves, livid, nearly black, like the head of
an Egyptian mummy, indescribably macabre and horrible-looking. The boards and
the silk have, of course, perished.
267
Nocturne for The Cornhill, was very funny about Jenny, refusing
to send it on on account of its " too great boldness for the common
reader." x Besides, he added, " fail " does not rhyme with
" Bell " nor " Jenny " with " guinea."-H(Didn't the poor dear
Professor know that the name can be and is pronounced Jinny ?).
" The throwing of gold into a girl's hair is disorderly the lover
is altogether a disorderly person." He did not want to seem prim
and did not " mean to say that an entirely right-minded person
never kept a mistress," but sent the more ladylike Nocturne to
" Thack " who took no notice of it.
Her husband came to be so utterly absorbed in this book
that he hardly replied when Lizzy spoke to him or noticed when
she entered the room : when he did, he let her see that her rest
lessness and the unwieldiness of her body disturbed and displeased
him.
And by him just now her fundamental ideas of equity were
being most deeply outraged in many a way. The girl who
had had the heart to put by Mr. Ruskin's subsidy the moment
she found herself unable to deliver the goods with regularity, who
placed probity before art, could not bear to see her husband
cheating his employers, i.e. his buyers. It seemed to her that he
was in honour bound to supply the work for which he had already
been paid, before taking up fresh commissions. The Llandaff
altar-piece was positively due before the end of August. For all
sorts of other work Mr. Flint had paid him on account and he had
spent already the six hundred and eighty-two pounds, yet she
could hear him telling people that he " felt himself bound to do
Found " for Mr. Leatheart (who, wise man, had not paid ahead),
so that he could " devote himself properly to Flint's pictures."
Putting the cart before the horse : that was dishonest. She had
no patience with Gabriel's theory that dealers should consider
themselves honoured by being permitted to help great men to
live ; she knew also that she and Gabriel could live less extrava
gantly. There was no need for so much entertaining. Gabriel
seized on the slightest excuse for a party and parties meant her
disappearance from the scene. That was nothing : she did not
want to see sottish men like ! All day and every day,
urgent letters went by Croucher, the family handy-man, or Green
the frame-maker, or Red Lion Mary, to friends, to his mother's.
Linton wanted to meet William, so would William arrange to come
in one evening " and I'll ask two or three men besides " ? . . .
1 One sees what lie thought of the magazine public of that day.
268
Two or three ! More like twenty. And the parties had taken
to costing so much more ; for that Mr. Hardman had taught
Gabriel to give proper or improper supper parties, beginning
at the unearthly hour of half-past eleven, champagne cup and
punch after and cigars in the drawing-room. Howell, who came
from Oporto, knew all about wine where to get it and had
introduced a friend of his, Mr. Keeling, a wine merchant. . . .
Gabriel never drank too much, but one night he came to her
after they had all gone, and they had a worse quarrel than usual
and she told him she was certain the child was dead in her body.
She frightened him well and he let a kind, warm-hearted
woman l whom he had lately come to love and trust much, see it.
" My great anxiety about my wife lasts still." . . . All, he assured
Mrs. Gilchrist, was being done for the best : he had confidence in
Dr. Hutchinson and had taken care, moreover, to get another
opinion from Dr. Babington. Her nurse, recommended by his
mother, who lived in Arlington Street near their old home, was
an old North-country woman, full of character, all of it good and
her conversation so fascinating ! Mrs. Jones at once engaged her
for her own affair, to come off at the end of the year.
Faced by this new crisis, Lizzy herself was calm and sensible,
not in the least down-hearted, which the doctor agreed was the
greatest of assets. She was writing poetry. " And we can only
hope for a happy termination " Rossetti, paterfamilias for the
only time in his life, writes. . . .
5
It was not to be. Legitimate paternity at least, was denied
him. By May Day " there was illness and anxiety in Chatham
Place," says Mrs. Jones, who managed to get regular news about
her friend from Red Lion Mary, who " sewed " for them both.
Thus she learned on Friday early that, in the night, Mrs. Rossetti
had been confined. And then she heard from Gabriel. " Our fears
were correct in one respect, the child was still-born." " But," he
added, " she herself is so far the most important that I can feel
nothing but thankfulness." To his mother he imparted the tidings
in stiffer fashion " and she is doing pretty well, I trust." To
another friend he wrote, " She fares, as yet, thank God, better
than we ventured to hope." Anxiety of course there still was
1 Anne Gilchrist, with her beautiful, speaking face, her eyes full, dark and liquid,
vivacious, full of heart-stirring enthusiasms, never lanquid, fidgety or out of temper.
A copious talker. She was the same age as Mrs. Rossetti.
269
and, pathetically enough in view of the family attitude, he begs
his mother not to " encourage people to call just yet excepting
yourselves, of course." No indication whatever of this intention
was exhibited by Albany Street ; no such thing as a mother trod,
in felt slippers, dealing sympathy, the muted halls of Chatham
Place except in the young wife's poetry.
AT LAST
O mother, open the window wide
And let the daylight in ;
The hills grow darker to my sight,
And thoughts begin to swim.
And, mother dear, take my young son
(Since I was born of thee),
And care for all his little ways,
And nurse him on thy knee.
And, mother dear, when the sun has set,
And the pale church grass waves,
Then carry me through the dim twilight
And hide me among the graves.
It was a girl. Emma Brown thought that, though Gabriel de
sired a son badly, the child, had it lived, would have made an im
mense difference to them both. Extreme melancholia overcame
the mother. She had taken much j oy in preparing the usual layette
and cradle, swathed and wreathed with lace and ribbon, and now
she would sit alone for hours on her low stool in the middle of the
River Room rocking it, ready and empty. When the Joneses, her
first visitors, came they found her so and, as they entered and
Ned was about to close the door, she cried out in a wild sort of
voice, " Hush, Ned ! You'll wake it ! *' Jones, who did not
adore her so whole-heartedly as Georgy but only loved her because
she was his dear Gabriel's wife, suspected her of a certain amount
of histrionics : he had been shown the poem. A later form of
her mania was a desire to hide away all traces of what might have
been, to hand everything useful over to Georgy for her approaching
necessity. Gabriel, letting superstition get the better of sense,
wrote to Georgy telling her he had heard that his wife was thinking
of sending her a " certain small wardrobe but don't let her,
please ! It looks such a bad omen for us."
" Us " still ! For he meant to try again, and her quick
recuperation and renewed beauty revived his ancient passion
for her.
270
But she chose to consider that the mishap was all his fault.
Elegant again, soft, beautiful as never before, she was soon fit to
see women visitors and often Mr. Swinburne. In that flighty
way of hers which she did not now trouble to control, she com
plained of her husband and gave the young man to understand
that, if it had not been for Gabriel, the child would have been
alive now. Algernon, through his mother's warding, innocent 1
more than most, of the mysteries of gestation and parturition,
excessive, inconsequent, full of violent and grotesque imaginings,
may have conceived that his Lady had been made the victim of
some fearful Elizabethan malfeasance or other, and, talking as
usual wittily, bitingly and at random, to astonish people, made
mischief for Rossetti at one of Milnes' smoking parties and vastly
amused the host, in his red robe and cap almost like a cardinal's.
Rossetti, informed by Brown at secondhand of what had passed,
only laughed to hear that " procuring abortions " was to him,
Rossetti, "an every-day amusement." Forced by Brown and
even Jones to take some steps, he expostulated mildly with
Algernon, who cried and took the matter so much to heart that
Rossetti, generous as ever, did not press the point. But it was
another nail in Lizzy's coffin.
Algernon was probably tipsy when he said it : half a glass of
wine was enough to upset him. His increasing propensity
distracted Mrs. Rossetti, who knew well enough what drink led
to and, thinking as all nice women will, that she could cure him,
took him in hand until -Brown actually got quite anxious and
Gabriel, to tease Brown, pretended to be jealous.
Algernon came every day for her to lecture and mother him
and she, when he attended their parties, used to pin a bit of
paper with his address on to his great-coat, inside the collar, so
that, should he be too overcome to give it properly, the cabman
would know where to deposit him.
For they were entertaining tremendously. Invitations, lively
and informal, ran, " Come, we have hung up our Japanese brooms,
etc." Countesses rolled in their carriages to Blackfriars to see
the Pre-Raphaelites in their habitat the Ladies Waterford, and
Trevelyan, and Bath, all eager to break new ground and meet the
1 Swinburne, when Poems and Ballads was withdrawn in the first week, was
admitted, even by some of his reviewers, to be " not virtuous enough to know what
they (his poems) meant or vicious enough to explain them."
271
exponents of the cult they admired and whose pictures they
bought. A good sprinkling of Philistines like Hardman and
Anderson Rose ; journalists like Hepworth Dixon and Joseph
Knight ; among authors, Westland Marston and his daughters.
Patmore and a wife, Meredith with his handsome head, Edward
Lear, round and funny ; Martineau, Halliday, chattering Tebbs
and Mrs. Tebbs who was their dead friend Seddon's beautiful
sister. There would be Sandys, Mark Anthony and his daugh
ters ; Peter Paul Marshall and his wife Gussy, the daughter of
jolly old John Miller of Liverpool, the picture buyer ; " Val "
with a head like a broom and the heart of a (vide Rossetti's
Limerick), and Inchbold, a dangerous guest because he always
wanted a bed x and never went away ; Hungerford Pollen, Munro,
Hughes and Faulkner and a couple of Christina's admirers, Cayley
and John Brett 2 ("No, thank you, John"}. There would be
Morris and his wife, of course, and the Joneses. Not Stephens ;
not asked, he had just married Mrs. Charles and had said Lizzy
was " freckled." Holman Hunt was away. Excepting Georgy
there were not many of Lizzy's particular friends. Emma Brown
was at the sea and Bessie Parkes and Barbara Bodichon were abroad.
But Mary Howitt brought her shy husband, Alaric " Attila "
Watts, and sat with him in a corner taking notes for her diary
that would have rejoiced a daily paper of to-day.
" On Friday evening, June 2Oth ? 1861, we went to a great
Pre-Raphaelite crush. Their pictures covered the walls and their
sketch-books the tables. The uncrinolined women, with their
wild hair which was very beautiful, their picturesque dresses and
rich colourings, looked like figures out of some Pre-Raphaelite
picture.
" It was very curious. I think of it now like some hot struggling
dream in which the gorgeous and fantastic forms moved slowly
about. They seemed all so young and kindred to each other that
I felt out of place, though I admired them all, and really enjoyed
looking over Dante Rossetti's huge sketch-book." 3
1 There is a mad artist called Inchbold,
With whom you must be at a pinch bold,
Or else you may score
The brass plate at your door
With the name of J. W. Inchbold.
2 Mr. John Brett, R.A., who told me that Miss Rossetti refused him.
3 A big bound book of blank paper which Lady Dalrymple had presented to
Rossetti the book that once cheered Ruskin through a long wait.
272
CHAPTER XXXI
i
to hear of your wife's health." So Patmore
to Rossetti that Spring.
Those about her knew better. She was only what
^people called " so-so " that is, she ate well, took a
walk daily, had got out her water-colours and was working hard,
" but none the better for it," her husband said, telling
a friend of their mutual activities and the new garnishings of
their home. Though she was not kept indoors by her com
plaint, even when the weather was inclement, William, who
had talked to Dr. Gull, realised that the disease was running
its course and had now got thorough hold. William gave her
six or seven years at most to live, and that was a sanguine view,
for him.
She knew it herself. Strong-willed, vain, she was determined,
before she died, to produce a son to lay, in classic fashion, on the
knees of Gabriel's mother and so justify his marriage to an
invalid.
It had been one of the coldest of winters : there had been
skating on the Serpentine by night, the fire-plug open on the
mains. The coming summer promised to be one of the hottest.
" Nightingale colds " were prevalent, for people left their
windows open to hear these unusual birds. 1 Nightingales or no
nightingales they could not do it in Chatham Place, because of
the smell of the river awful and insistent despite the purge of
the great and happily devastating fire which, the very night after
the Rossetti party, began on the other side, sweeping &way any
amount of wharves and their greasy, fetid buttresses standing in
stagnant water Cotton's, Chamberlain's, Fleming's, Hay's and
Beale's. Compared with their usual effluvia, the smell of burning
tallow, which had assailed the nostrils, for three days and nights,
was ambrosial. Gabriel was suffering from an ulcerated throat
1 There may have been some in the Temple Gardens.
T 273
with, occasional fever and a temper. One of Raskin's letters to him
at this time began, " Dear Rossetti (I had almost written Dear
Bear !)." He was working too hard. He had finished a picture
for Flint, spurred not so much by Lizzy's monitions as by that
gentleman's rumoured infidelities. William had heard, through
Scott, that Flint was beginning to " run " Hunt and had given
three (or four thousand pounds) for five sketches which used to
hang in Hunt's house in Church Street. Gambart had been
clever enough to buy them up when Hunt went abroad and knew
how to force them, now that Hunt had become famous, on the
great Leeds buyer. Mr. Flint, also on Gambart's suggestion, had
bought Christ in the Temple for four thousand pounds or more, so
gossip said. Hunt was still away. Gabriel was reluctant to shelve
the cartoons illustrating The Parable of the Vineyard, seven
designs, that he had undertaken for the centre light of The Shop's
front door. He had been delayed for want of a number of The
Pictorial History of England, containing a print of a Saxon wine
press. The opening day was near and he had promised if he
could " spare another hour from LlandajJ to send it on in the
evening. Pure labours of love like this were not irksome to his
generous disposition, but it seemed dreadful to him to work, as
Lizzy was making him work, for money that he had already
acquired and spent. And, as it was, bills came pouring in for
what he called " necessary debts," i.e. for which he was liable to
be dunned. He complained to Brown that " all my yesterday
has been spent in paying out," and that when he was done he only
274
had left, out of a hundred guineas which had come to hand, about
twenty-five. He " anticipated more accounts dropping in "
(Who does not ?). " And so, my dear fellow, I must "be a defaulter
to you again." I Some of the unnecessary expenditure was for
Lizzy or for showy charities, such as seats for poor Robert
Brough's benefit and Mrs. Brough had all Lizzy's jewellery
already !
She wanted to get into the country but was up against her own
austere programme for Gabriel : the performance of work over
due. " She has to sit to me a good deal." The cottage at
Scalands was at her disposal, maid included. Or they could have
gone to Mrs. Gilchrist's place at East Colne, which she would
have liked less though Gabriel was inclined to it : he thought
of her, for once, writing that he wished they could have
accepted " some sun would be good for my wife. We must
see."
But something was nearly always found to keep him in town
(Fanny, so the wife supposed, or even Kate). Mrs. Rossetti
was good and went down to the Morrises at Bexley Heath now
and then and Mr. Rossetti joined her there, " for such outs as I
am able to make " posing as the busy man-of-brushes.
In July he was faced by " the most difficult fix I ever was in ! "
said he. " I told you so," said she, and she had been telling him
so all along, like any scolding housemate. It was all his own fault.
He had " found it impracticable " to devote himself as was
clearly his duty, to the three pictures for which Mr. Flint had paid
him in advance seven hundred and fourteen pounds, and now
Mr. Flint had died suddenly and the pressure from his executors
and their agents began and was, to say the least of it, " inopportune
and harassing." Gambart, as London agent to Mrs. Flint
with three others, to make the gesture more portentous and
insulting, beat up the defaulters and called on the three worst
ones, Brown, Jones and Rossetti, to view the pictures " in
progress."
They all arranged matters after their lights of probity.
Brown went further into debt to pay his debt, Jones compounded
with G. F. Bodley and did a replica, " slightly varied," of an
important altar-piece he had ready for a church at Brighton but
1 To Brown.
275
" really too elaborate to tell its story from a distance," so he sold
that and did another and a simpler one and made his peace with
both worlds. 1
In Rossetti's case the pictures were like the Emperor's clothes,
non-existent, except for the little Doctor Johnson at ^he Mitre.
At any rate, Gambart saw nothing not even the painter.
Rossetti's point was that he refused to show work unfinished to
anyone whatsoever and drafted a letter 2 to that effect for the
executors which, in default of William (now touring abroad with
his mother and sister, introducing the Continent to the latter for
the first time), he showed to Brown. It was an offer, within
three months of the present date, to name a day for handing over
the pictures "when I shall better know my engagements. 5 '
Llandaff must be got out of the way first. Concerning the
probate duty, he said he had already told their Mr. Knight every
thing that gentleman needed to know, viz. the amount of the
commission. With regard to " delay in the undetermined, delivery
of these commissions " that was, of course, the result of his desire
to do justice to the estate, for, if they hurried him, the pictures
would be bad ; whereas, if they allowed him to take his own time,
they would be good. And he refused to see anyone 3 " on
business which no interviews can further," and ended with the
pleasant proposition that within the space of three months,
fixed by himself , the trustees shall " hear from him as to
delivery."
When William got back he called on Gambart and listened
patiently to complaints of brother Gabriel. The dealer hinted
that he " and others concerned " had been debating whether to
advise Mrs. Flint to administer and so make herself responsible
for debts. " If things go on so," she might find herself compelled
to leave the creditors to realise without the option of administra
tion. The suggestion leaves Gabriel calm. He will have nothing
more to do with Gambart once his friend but now " so offen
sive" that he can't be stood at any price. He has made a
1 Alfred Hunt, moved by the destitution of Mrs. Flint, forewent his claim for
work done and bought up some of his own pictures for more than he got in the
first instance.
The Sale was rather a touchstone : the figures show how, by skilful pilotage,
Rossetti was building up his reputation. Hughes' Belle Dame, sold at ^250, went
for j6o. Brown's work brought in 550, but Rossetti's Burd Alane, sold at .84,
pretty nearly maintained its price and represented the triumph of the day.
2 Was it ever sent ?
3 Rossetti, his Life and Work, Waugh.
Limerick 1 about him to that effect. He will write direct to the
trustees, who, he is sure, are not for a moment thinking of going
to law. So William is to do nothing about Combe and Garnett,
only William must be careful to post letters " from where I am
not," for Gambart is " quite leary enough to notice postmarks."
He tried to get the trustees to treat, through Ruskin, on his
behalf, but learned to his vexation that the upright and tactless
Professor had actually recommended these worthies to make use
of Gambart's services.
Someone taking an interest in Mrs. Rossetti's health in these
times of stress wrote to her brother-in-law. "You ask me
after Gabriel's wife ? " he is sorry to say that she was " ex
ceedingly ill some time ago " but hopes that she " has remained
better since."
Ruskin was home again, " at least in the place which ought to
be home." He had been in Ireland with the Latouches, trying
to acquire a cottage near his Rosie, involving himself more and
more deeply with Rosie's religious mother, signing wild compacts.
. . . His faith was tottering, but she made him promise to make
no published avowal of his infidelity for the next ten years, on
pain of losing both her friendship and that of her child. There
was his own mother too, full as pious as Mrs. Latouche. She
perhaps thought of that ?
Gabriel wrote to him to complain of Gambart, who had abused
him to William, leading William to think that he had been
" acting wilful wrong " to Mrs. Flint. It was all owing
to the late Mr. Flint's " unfortunate habit of pressing money
on him for work in progress " offers of which he naturally
availed himself, having an ailing wife and a child coming. " I
had to do other work, to live, while I painted them."
In this letter he adumbrated a plan and Ruskin approved, as it
was entirely in Mrs. Flint's interests. Yes, if he is referred to,
he says he will certainly recommend it. But he hoped that some
body would soon throw Gabriel into prison " and we will have
1 There is an old he-wolf called Gambart
Beware of him if thou a lamb art.
Else thy tail and thy toes,
And thine innocent nose,
Will be ground by the grinders of Gambart.
277
the cell made nice and airy and cheery and tidy " and, because of
all these amenities, Gabriel will get on with his work " gloriously."
His " love to Ida."
He was lost to them as far as any help in him went.
4
" The death of Flint nearly ruined me," Gabriel would say
complacently in years to come. In more senses than one,
perhaps ! With the queer under-wisdom of the great, he knew.
His conduct of these matters had deeply jarred his wife's sense of
rectitude and made her morally averse to him whose passions,
she for her own purpose and Nature's, was seeking to arouse.
She went her own way to work methods nerve-racking,
destroying. She tried jealousy and put up little Swinburne as
a possible rival (or allowed Brown to do it for her). But Gabriel
refused to object and treated them both like children. They
quarrelled over Algernon. She annoyed Gabriel by the example,
always held up before him, of the young man's regularity in all
that pertained to money matters. Yes, he was a good payer.
But did she know, then, that Algernon had a secure income and
set his punctiliousness with regard to bills against that ? Yes,
for she, too, was of good old English family, the daughter of
humble people who were yet so proud that they sent their young
daughters out to work sooner than owe a farthing. " And," he
would retort, " to defray the costs of litigation." The late
Charles Siddall had spent pounds on his fight for the Greaves
money. Yes, but when he had all but won the case, young Clara
had got hold of the papers and put them on the fire sooner than
have her father worry himself any more about them or make the
further effort necessary to get hold of the money. A beautiful
action !
The fathomless and boundless deep,
There we wander, there we sleep. . . .
They quarrelled babyishly, bitterly, suicidally until the very
centres of life for both of them were involved. The Browns'
hearthrug received her convulsed form, flung down, twisting,
heaving, shaken in gusts of passion that nothing in the way of
comfort and kind words could allay. They just threw a rug
over her and crept to bed, to lie awake themselves. Next morning
they would give her her breakfast and she would go home, weak
as water.
278
For Gabriel, the finer vessel, when all was said and done, there
was no recovery. Melusine did her work and La Pia could not
save. They would hear him reciting Blake, 1 Dante, Keats La
Belle Dame tags on which the tortured spirit fastened, as a
shipwrecked sailor to a spar from the roof tree of his House of
Life. A man, now, grave, bluff and sensible, watch-chain looped
on opulent waistcoat : to look at, Allingham said, something like
a " prosperous citizen of Genoa." Nothing wild or spiritual
about him any more except the eyes, so beautiful and tender :
brooding and puzzled. A woman, she, bitter, thinning, with
shrunk bosom and eyes more prominent than ever ; together
they must exist in that doomed house until her time came.
Stoically in his drawings he registered, with Pre-Raphaelite truth,
the new outline, in sketches of the once beloved head, mostly
pillowed, the bows of hair less opulently outspread, the forehead
lined ; twists instead of curves in the cynical, sensual mouth of
the Blessed Damozel, abusing, pining for the lover she has left
behind, leaning out of Heaven and looking down
.... as low as where this earth
Spins like a fretful midge,
in the attitude of one who yearns and forgives.
5
Quarrels are often merrily incurred by women in whom one
set of nerves affected is as good as another, considered as a means
to a certain end, but " Amantium ir&, redintegratio Amoris " ?
never ! Lovers' talk in the innermost chamber " Nay, but the
hours, clashed together, lose count in the bell" and the voice of love
harshened by dismay, raised in anger, can never whisper again.
For Gabriel, now, a difference between the gloomy house at
1 A deep winter, dark and cold,
Within my heart thou dost unfold.
Iron tears and groans of lead
Thou bend'st about my aching head.
And fill with tempests all my morn,
And with jealousies and fears
Fill my pleasant night with tears.
" Never perhaps," says Rossetti somewhere of this poem, " have the agony and
perversity of sundered love been more adequately rendered."
279
whose base the greasy waters sucked continually, the air about
it heavy, resounding many times a day with the clang of many
chimes : between this room " so full of books and clamorous
work undone/' with its innermost chamber that was Lizzy's
bower, and that of " handsome Jenny mine ! " Both beautiful,
desirable women, with the right hair, golden Lizzy's the redder
and finer Fanny's the yellower and coarser, sunned and tanned
by the wind of the Essex marshes where she was reared. Both
with the same full white throat, flung back. . . . Fanny Hughes,
a woman lusty and fierce, not weak and wilting : of normal, not
nervous, reactions, in sex-moments complaisant without sex-
purposeFanny didn't want any babies, not she there was a
Mr. Hughes ! And she would be glad enough to sleep the whole
night quietly in his arms or, " lazy, laughing, languid " after his
embraces, sit up when invited to do so and sip heartily from the
glass he would fill for her and let them go to sleep again. What
if, like Jenny of the poem, the subject of her dreams was the coin
wrapped in the meshes of her hair, for her to find when she
awoke and the tactful lover gone ? " A pre-eminently sweet
woman," as even sour old Scott, who knew so much about her,
owned : kind and motherly as well as eager and passionate, knowing
her woman's job thoroughly when to cajole and when to leave
alone. ... She really seemed to have for her " Mr. Rizzetty
some of the decent mother-love of one of Patmore's "Angels "
who would work their fingers to the bone to make him green
baize coats to work in, or the wife of Sydney Dobell, who used to
lie down across his bedroom door when he was ill. She really
felt, or simulated, the tenderness in which poor Lizzy was entirely
lacking and would cook for him as well as lie with him ; he was
always sure of his favourite dish when he went to see her. Her
rounded form was his pillow she was " The Lumpses," so good
to roll over against in the night so he told Lizzy in one of their
quarrels. Her " large, lovely arms " that waited for, him were
his shelter against the world's rubs and unkindnesses, her Cock-
neyisms his relief from the well-bred, susurrant accents of the
embittered housemate ; her commonness, his refuge against too
much refinement and esotericism.
6
Order in disorder ! Gabriel had become a creature of habit
two habits. Lizzy was merely one of them. And his powers of
280
inhibition were so well adjusted that he was actually " nicer " to
his wife when he had been with the other ; then there was a
surcease of quarrelling.
The wife hardly knew where the mistress lived somewhere,
she took it, on the other side of the river Wapping perhaps
not so very far from her own people ? She left it at that. Sh.e
did not choose to know. She was, for many reasons, afraid. She
never spoke of Fanny to him or to anyone except Brown and his
wife ; not even to Georgy Jones. She never entered the studio
when the woman was there, but stole in, after she had gone, to
con the lineaments of the destroyer of her peace if the noisy
desert, full of the dust of recrimination in which she lived, could
be called so. And to see what had been taken for Brown and
all Rossetti's other friends knew that where Fanny sat, she stole ;
that where the treasure was, the thing she called her heart was
also. Very anxiously Mrs. Rossetti was watching the progress of
the red chalk drawing of Algernon which she herself intended to
take away and hide as soon as it was done. Artists themselves
never can tell that, but Fanny would have a fair idea. She had
no taste, of course, but a flair as good as Gambart's or any dealer's
for what was saleable and aware that sketches of Swinburne and
Browning might be of great value in the near future. While for
likenesses of herself she had the usual model's predilection (these
ladies always hate to see pictures for which they have contributed
the features, by far the most important thing of all, going away
to someone who perhaps has never even seen the original !)
281
CHAPTER XXXII
A little while, a little love
The hour yet bears for thee and me.
. . . who have not said
The word it makes our eyes afraid
To know that each is thinking of
Not yet the end. . . .
Though Lizzy w'as now nearly always " so-so," keeping up
with the help of laudanum (that needed brandy or whisky to drown
it), she was often willing to undertake what her husband called
" the adventure of Hog's Hole," especially when Ned and
Georgy were of the party. These little people, unaffected,
unpretentious, loved it all the arrival at Abbey Wood station
and out, bleared and London-stained, into the " thin fresh air,
full of sweet smells meeting you," the packing into the wagonette
sent for them from Red House Morris himself perhaps on the
driver's seat up the hill and then three miles or so of winding
road, and then the friendly porch where the dark-haired, dark-
eyed, dark-skinned, Janey, hatless, looking like an overgrown
schoolgirl, would greet them.
But it had come to be nowadays, somehow or other, a rather
quieter, steadier party. Jones, still badly in debt (with sove
reigns lurking in the linings of his coat pockets !), about to
shoulder responsibilities to come, had grown milder than ever.
Morris too was less noisy, less bouncing, the backwater of
morbidity that ran alongside with the burly life-stream of this
violent, patient in the main, man, was more obvious than it had
been. He was poorer too, his income, the part- of it that was
derived from the copper mines in Cornwall, was beginning to
dimmish ; he had the Firm on his back and other little things . . .
which he was not allowing to hurt him as yet. Rossetti, stout,
patient, dullish and darkly sober, looked like a good burgess by
now. . . .
282
In the evenings " Poll " Marshall, accompanied by his Gussy,
would sing Clerk Saunders to please Mrs. Rossetti and Busk ye,
Busk ye, my Bonnie Bride for Mrs. Ned, and she would sing in
her high wild voice La Fill* du Roi out of Echos du Temp
Passf, to please Ned and Top. The world had grown older.
Gabriel ^was thirty-three, Top was twenty-seven and Ned
twenty-six. Of the women Lizzy was the eldest. Janey was
already a mother, Georgy an expectant one. Lizzy, so regret
tably free of matronly solicitudes, joked about it very often,
mirthlessly, like the changeling of legend. 1 No more innocent
teasing, such as sending Top to Coventry in his own house or
getting a rise out of him by erasing his chosen motto, Als Icb
Kanne, from the shutter where he had cut it and substituting
the derisive As I Can't. No more hide-and-seek all over the
house, jumping out on Janey and making her scream. No, in
the evenings they sat, two of them never Lizzy on the great
settle from Red Lion Square with the three painted shutters
over the seat and a ladder up to the parapet and a little door
in the wall leading to the roof. Windfallen apples were stored
there, but no one now pelted Morris with them and sent him off
to Leek next day with a black eye. Perhaps the settle reminded
Mrs. Rossetti rather too keenly of the old studio and Walter
D ever ell. . . . She was indeed a bit of a wet blanket and none
of those who were at Red House at the same time as she Gussy
Marshall or the Faulkner girls ever mentioned her in their
happy letters thence.
Yet " Oh, how happy we were, Janey and I," Georgy
admits, driving about, " exploring the countryside," with a map
and an old pony. No men with them : Georgy's husband was
as bad as Gabriel's wife and " hated expeditions." His little
wife found excuses for him " Like all imaginative natures,"
Ned did not need to be " made to feel."
Sad enough already and mortally tired,
Laden autumn, here I stand
With my sheaves in either hand.
Speak the word that sets me free,
Naught but rest seems good to me.
Lizzy was glad to get back to her city bower, the two doves,
the bullfinch, the cosy evenings with the Joneses and, occa-
1 That never cried or spoke except when it saw its earthly foster-mother trying
to boil water in an egg-shell eating hardly anything, never laughing except when
alone.
283
sionally, Swinburne. She would even giggle in her rather
wicked way, while Gabriel sketched Georgy, at Algernon roll
ing in his neat blue serge suit on the floor, making rude Limericks,
finding rhymes to difficult names
. . . Georgy,
Whose life is one profligate orgy.
A nervous subject, she seemed able to stand what no one
else could, the manifestations of this young man's " inner core
of excitement," his dancing about while he stood, moving his
wrists continually while he sat, making some people feel posi
tively sick. Him, of all Gabriel's friends, she liked best, except
of course Brown, who was like a father to her, and the absent
Allingham, who ranked as a nice intelligent brother, and Georgy's
husband, " more romantic than his name," so Allingham said.
Both these men, full innocent, unsophisticated, incurious of
horrors and dirt " Justine., unmentionable, one supposes ? "
so Ned, politely, of Swinburne's familiar. But prime inter
pares, the Joneses ! To the very end she talked of a joint house
hold with them. Georgy and Janey were, for the present,
Lizzy's only available women companions : her sister was busy
getting married.
" I hope you are coming over to-morrow like a sweetmeat
it seems so long since I saw you, dear," so she wrote to her
" dearest little Georgy," whom she probably had seen last
week ; " Janey will be here I hope to meet you." 1 She is sending
a willow-pattern dish with her love and they must of course
take Jemima (Dummy of old days) back in the cab with them !
After the meal the three men would leave the women to clear,
and wander about in the studio, going over matters, turning
canvases round face forwards from the wall while the others
waited in the drawing-room for them to finish their talk, or in
Mrs. Rossetti's bedroom if she were more " so-so " than usual
and had to put her feet up, which it was impossible to do on
the hard gilt settees in the drawing-room.
The men's discussions were mostly academic or about what
The Set was doing ; they hardly ever discussed outsiders except
to magnificently praise or, with equal vigour, blow up. The
problem that interested them, apart from helping artistic lame
dogs over stiles, was how to nobble the dealers and get their
own " pics " on the market. Jones, the shrewd, would be
1 Memorials, Lady Burne- Jones.
284
declaring that it was a mistake to let a prospective buyer see
things without a frame and, for himself, even if he ever did
" get there/' he always reckoned on the neglect a man's work
might have to undergo at the end of his life, as well as at the
beginning and prepared modestly for " public weariness of me."
He apologised for himself " I do things badly because I don't
know how to do them well. I want to do them well." Top
averred that jealousy, not vanity, was the unpardonable fault
in an artist. Rossetti, joking, put it to them that Jones was
not really modest " He thinks that even his pictures, when he
has done them, are not really good enough for him to have
painted ! " Gabriel certainly was too conceited to be jealous.
. . . And so, bullying each other, good-humouredly, they would
join the ladies.
Lizzy might have been with Georgy and Janey in the inner
room, " trying on " something, or lying on her carven bed :
laughing or crying it depended on the state of her health, she
was always more cheerful when she was most ill. But she seldom
talked happily even when she was alone with her friend, though
to Georgy she was always fascinating, whether she grumbled or
exulted, was excited or melancholy, humorous or tender. She
was all these by turn. (If William had been there, he would,
for sure, have described her manner as " flightier " than ever.)
Even Georgy, all tolerance and love, noticed that the moment
the men came in the manner of her hostess changed and that,
if such a thing were possible, she began to flirt with her own
husband. He could rouse or quieten her at his will, putting
his finger, as it were, on some jarring nerve or other, waking it
and stilling it alternately so that her mood, in his hands, would
change from one of excitement to peace or the other way
round in a moment ! She loved the experimenter, the
tormentor so perhaps it was all right ?
" A painter ought not to be married ; children and pictures
are too important to be produced by one man ! " Nature
apparently recked not of the artist's view, for Jones was made a
father in the early days of October a little earlier than he
expected and he nearly succumbed to the emotions aroused,
so that the straw provided by Ruskin one of Philip's god
fathers might well have been laid down for him. Though
285
trembling in every limb, he proved more practical and efficient
than Georgy " of the lion heart," who had been tactless enough
to put a pen in her eye just before her time came. Neither
doctor nor nurse was to the fore in Great Russell Street : they
managed without, till Nurse Wheeler came and put everything
right. But from that moment both the Joneses " saw every
thing through a mist of baby," and Lizzy had to put up for
company with the wife of the other member of the Trium
virate it was a convention of the three friends, that their wives,
more or less, sufficed each other for company. Lizzy accepted
that convention. She was of course not jealous of Georgy
she herself was again " hoping " or of Janey now that she
was safely married. Kind Emma Brown was away and the
hearthrug in Fortess Terrace unavailable so she was willing to
go and stay with the Morrises, while Gabriel was in the North
chasing commissions perhaps new loves. . . . Money was tight.
The Flint affair was not yet settled although Mrs. Flint had
died. There were, Lizzy understood, young children and
executors imperious on their behalf. There was, too, a whopping
bill for the alterations at Chatham Flace and the double
rent! . . .
3
There were some other rich Heatons near Leeds, unrelated
to Miss Ellen Heaton, and Gabriel was summoned to Bingley
to paint the very handsome lady of the house as a woman
genius, holding in her hand a model of Woodside and the
grounds, with swans on a sheet of water in front of it.
Lizzy had promised to stay on quietly with the Morrises at
Upton while he was away it would only be for a week. Sud
denly came from Rossetti an urgent letter to Brown William
was out of town to say that he had not taken Lizzy to York
shire with him for two reasons. Firstly, it would have been
impossible for him to take her with him to Bingley and, secondly,
" the money we have would hardly suffice for my own journey
North." And now he hears that she has gone home " had had
to leave Upton in a hurry." And he knows that there isn't such
a thing as a halfpenny in Chatham Place for her daily needs.
He will be back in a week : will Brown take her some pounds,
which Gabriel will of course repay punctually on his return.
" Her flight, at present, makes me very uneasy." Brown might
286
MRS. BURNE-JONES AND ' PIP '
From a Photograph by W. Jeffrey
send the " few pounds " by post if he is really too busy to go to
Blackfriars, but Gabriel strongly hopes that he will " make
time " to look up Lizzy.
Forgetting his usual tact, Gabriel had proposed to call Mrs.
Aldham Heaton's portrait Cor Cordium. Lizzy's, which he had
been thoughtless enough to sell, was named Regina Cordium.
4
One afternoon, late in November, Lizzy and Janey made an
appointment to meet in Great Russell Street to see the new
baby. Lizzy was fairly well, several grades above " so-so."
Janey too was blooming, for her, of whom nothing could over
come the olive paleness that spoke of her perpetual anaemia.
So that day " The Statue " and " The Picture," two tall beauties,
stood over the cradle and surveyed with very different feelings
the " separator of companions, the terminator of delights "
which was the mother's pedantic little way of saying that young
Philip, who ought to have been called Christopher I but wasn't
somehow, was a bit of a trouble. The three Pre-Raphaelite
Queens sat round the beribboned bassinette, in the charming room
with the big window looking straight on to the Museum, with
a side-view of the trees in Russell Square. It was furnished of
course from The Shop and decorated all by the painter's own
hands, except the walls, hung with tapestries left by Henry
Wallis when he ran away with Mrs. Meredith. The sideboard
was painted " with ladies and animals," while, on the piano,
modelled on the famous one of Brown only in plainer wood,
covered with a lacquer of domestic provenance, the shade
deepened by the use of the kitchen poker Ned had done an
illustration of Le Chant $ Amour^ and on the panel under the
keyboard a gilded and lacquered picture of Death, veiled and
crowned, a reminder such as only two perfectly happy people
can manage to live with.
" Never was there two such beautiful ladies ! " said Mrs.
Wheeler, passing and re-passing at her nursely avocations,
leaving the little brown bird of a mistress, who didn't mind
at all, out of it. It was one of Lizzy's good days. She and
Gabriel had made it up whatever it was this time, in view
of what might happen. Rossetti, always insulting about the
1 Christopher was, and for long after into the 'eighties, the pet name for forth
coming infants of members of The Set.
287
Browns' domestic arrangements, 1 was glad enough to leave his
wife with them while he gallivanted about the country painting
the pretty wives of his various patrons.
5
Then suddenly all was naught. Gabriel returned in haste
to meet a new and important buyer, Mr. Rae of Birkenhead,
and found himself under the necessity of apologising to a host
for his wife's manners. Brown had come home to find that
Mrs. Rossetti had " left his roof" and, feeling sure that Gabriel
was somehow in fault, posted off to Chatham Place and found
Mr. Rae there in full and fertile consultation. Not daring to
speak out lest he spoilt the pie, he left in a huff and it needed
all Gabriel's exquisite politeness to calm him down. " I could
not mention about Lizzy's leaving before Mr. Rae. She tells
me she felt unwell after you went out yesterday and, finding
the noise rather too much for her, left before your return lest
she should be feeling worse. Many thanks for all your care
of her during her illness. ... I write this as her departure
must have surprised you as it did me."
He had and could have no secrets from Brown this was not
for the eye of Mrs. Emma. Brown knew that Lizzy's nerves
were in a shocking state and that the explanation she put for
ward did not meet the case. Gabriel was by now pessimistic
about his chances of paternity. Nature did not choose that a
living child should be begotten of they twain, any more than
Dante could hope to have a child by Beatrice.
1 " If dirt quite essential, will turn some dogs in." An invitation to Brown to
dine at the Rossettis 5 . Brown was supposed to prefer foreign eating-houses, for
the reason set down above.
288
CHAPTER XXXIII
i
A MONTH later a man she didn't particularly care for
died ; it upset her and Gabriel too, for it was so
sudden and so near. Only a week before he had been
present at one of the more informal evenings at Chatham
Place for which the invitation had run, " Can Gilchrist look in
on Friday ? Anderson Rose, Sandys, Meredith and Val. . . .
Nothing but oysters and come in the seediest of clothes."
The illness- seemed negligible at first. " Poor old Gilchrist ! ?>
Gabriel wrote in October. " Two of his kids and one of his
servants have died of scarlatina." It was not realised by any
one that his attack was of a malignant nature. Rossetti, Jones
and Swinburne 1 went one Sunday to Cheyne Walk to supper
and " never spent a pleasanter evening." Lizzy did not go, 2
as Mrs. Gilchrist, upstairs nursing the children, was unable to
appear.
Then the poor, pleasant master of the house went down with
scarlet fever and after five nights of agony was carried out, feet
foremost, on a wild and stormy evening on the last day of
November.
Gabriel " couldn't " didn't at any rate go to the funeral, 3
any more than he went to Walter Deverell's. Women were not
by way of attending these functions, and Mrs. Rossetti had not
even complied with the Public Order for " Decent Mourning "
enjoined on the Nation for the Prince Consort (he who had
taken the turquoise and vermilion out of the Royal Arms and
the azure out of the Garter and got rid of all the beautiful
uniforms ; and was primarily responsible for the " flowing of
all the innocent ugliness under the sky " of the early 'forties).
1 Swinburne had won his spurs for knightly courage during the terrible cholera
epidemic in Newcastle when he was a boy, staying there with the Scotts fearing
neither Don, Devil nor infection.
2 " Lizzy particularly unwell," on the 4th December, Gabriel writes.
3 " I am afraid it will be hardly safe for me to go."
u 289
These sartorial and other singularities helped to accentuate the
eccentricities that kept her lonely. Her old friend Bessie kept
in touch with her, but was much in request and out of town a
great deal. People like Mrs. Marshall did not call on the
Pre-Raphaelite ladies whom her husband doctored for nothing :
she considered Mrs. Morris " a beautiful but queer sort of
young person," Mrs. Jones negligible and Mrs. Rossetti " a sheer
nobody that Mr. Rossetti had picked up, thin, gauche and
badly dressed.' 7 The Ladies Waterford, Dalrymple and Caven
dish only put themselves out to go to " clever parties " given
on purpose for them. And anyhow Mrs. Prinsep of Little
Holland House always dropped painters when they married.
There were outside amusements of course. They could go
and have a good laugh at Bob Sothern in Dundreary or have
their flesh made to creep over The Woman in White, from the
novel by the brother of a Pre-Raphaelite. The first number of
Fun and Christina's poems were out. And Politics ! America
in an uproar the Mason and Slidell affair ; Italy, with Gari
baldi gone to Caprera, and, backing all jealous wives, the
ominous, scandalous flight of the Empress of the French to
Scotland. They might feel deeply the destruction of old West
minster Bridge or the projected renovation of their own Black-
friars. Some sort of political or social excitement of the kind
might perhaps have saved her from coming to be known as
Mr. Rossetti's trying wife, 1 peevish, uncertain-tempered and
staring-eyed, and to whom he was unfaithful. . . .
Woe ! Woe ! The cry of prophesying Cassandra before the
doomed house, " faughing " at the smell, not of blood, but
drugs. People began to avoid it. Gradually the human tide
flowed back and away from the accursed house by the river
mouth; and the chatelaine of the vaunted, queerly painted
chambers Numbers Thirteen and Fourteen, with the fair green
door for both became a sour, unwholesome myth, pining
and etiolating, alone with her birds and her bottle of laudanum
or whatever it was ?
Ruskin's dark hour coincided with hers. No one had seen
him ; everyone knew that he was ill and suffering, and even
had he been in England she was not one to send for him. She
1 So my mother and her friends always spoke of Mrs. Gabriel.
290
had angered the matter-of-fact Morris by her nonsense, and
vexed the patient Browns by her vagaries and, now the Jones
became of no avail, for Ned got ill and, by Christmas, was
spitting blood.
These Pre-Raphaelites never seem to have been able to
conduct life unless out of Froissart or Malory ! With a blood
stained napkin in her hand Mrs. Ned must needs take a cab
to Doctor Stephenson who doctored them all to find a
Christmas party going on and the consulting-room full of hats
and coats. Still, she managed to show him " the crimson sign
which would tell him more than I could," and he saw Edward
and pronounced the haemorrhage to be from the throat and not
from the lungs. Then the baby fell ill and Gabriel's mother,
who ought to have known, since she had brought " the most
precious of boys into the world," was asked to come and pre
scribe. But all she said was " It is certain that the child is
suffering great agony." And then they found a cheque for
twenty (or thirty ?) pounds in a dressing-case where it had
been left long for the strange reason that it was crossed!
which tided them over the two illnesses.
But, of course, they could neither of them leave the house
much that winter, and garrotting was so bad in London that
women could not go about the streets alone after dark for fear
of being strangled. Gabriel was nearly always out or enter
taining men in the studio, at any rate not there to escort Lizzy
to Great Museum Street, so she stayed at home and more often
than not, had only for company, when Algernon was out of town
with his people Mrs. Birrell and her niece Catherine, and
sometimes Red Lion Mary, who had plenty of conversation and
was, on the whole, the best of them.
3
By the time that the pale New Year, full of rumours of
change and revolution, had dawned, these two, wrapped in the
savage artistic isolation that the Pre-Raphaelites seemed to love
and endeavour to create around them, were hopelessly, damn
ably estranged. The man was busy, fulfilling, at his splendid
wicked leisure, many commissions ; helping Morris with his
stained-glass experiments. The Firm had bespoke a space at
the second Great Exhibition to be held this year. Distant but
attentive, he was having her Tauchnitzes bound for her, per-
suading her to buy herself new clothes to be made up by Red
Lion Mary, taking her to the theatre to see Miss Herbert (who
sometimes came to sit) play at the St. James' in Le Chevalier
de Saint Georges, and writing to his friend, buyer and confidant,
the American, Norton (who had not met Mrs. Rossetti or
heard of Mrs. Hughes), letters full of decent concern for " my
wife," giving him at the same time news of the progress of the
picture he was painting for him Before the Battle which, in
view of the imminent risk of hostilities between England and
America, might never get across ? Nervously, deprecatingly, he
dilated on Lizzie's health and the beauties of their house (which
Norton, of course, had never seen), as it were an auctioneer's
catalogue " I write in our drawing-room, entirely hung round
with her water-colours of poetic subjects." He was fully aware
that the locality was not the best possible for an invalid and
would move at once if he could " find a nice place elsewhere "
and hoped to do so before long, but " there is something so
delightfully quaint about our quarters here that nothing but
the conviction that they cannot be the best for my wife would
induce me to move." 1
Quaint indeed, and picturesque, London's Maremma wherein
this tragedy was being consummated, 2 but the artist is always
at odds with the doctor. Nothing worse, from the point of
view of health, than those loathsome, picturesque bights, like
festering sores, forking up as far as Great Queen Street, less of
a blessed harbourage than a breeding-ground of death and
discomfiture ; Water Lane and Puddle Dock, just round the
corner from Chatham Place, during the hours of a low tide,
revealed a brown, sliding plateau of liquid suet, with the upturned
green keels resting on it, blown, distended, monstrous, like frog's
bellies or dead rainbow trout. And the Fleet river just below the
windows was nothing but a sewer, roofed over. The shoreman
the man who " made " the " shores," that is to say, cleaned
the sewers knew his way about below better than he did on
top, he told Ellen Macintyre. Lor', you could get in here and
come out at Hyde Park! Under the River Room the drains
lay so close under the bank that he could take rats quite easily
in his hand. He sold them for threepence each brown rats
and grey rats, faugh ! . . . Nonsense ! There were no black rats
now. The brown ones had killed them and black rats were
1 Ruskiti, Rossetti and Pre-Rapkaelttism.
2 She died five weeks from the date of this letter.
292
much worse than brown for pestiferous fleas. Besides, the
sewers were cleaned out regularly every blessed parish was
supposed to do its own flushing. She was sure St. Bride's did
not trouble. Was he aware that there was a cesspool under
their own doorstep ?
" Not beautiful now, or even kind." And she spoke her
mind, like Tennyson's poor mad Maud, serving up loathsome
on-dits, exulting in the macabre so all-pervading now as he had
taught her to do. And why, if the river was as healthy as he
maintained it to be, why tell her that ? why had Walter,
consumptive like her, been forbidden by the doctors to accept
Gabriel's hospitality in the past ? There was some other
reason. . . .
There she sat on her low stool in the middle of the River
Room alone, mostly all the day, amid the ceaseless, senseless
crooning of her doves, silent or talking to servants, like Ellen
and Catherine Birrell till dusk, when Gabriel, in his studio,
would be heard to throw down his painting things (no such
thing as putting them away) and, telling her to put on her
bonnet, they would sally forth, the sturdy, hungry man and the
thin, fanciful woman, to get a scratch meal in some place " where
a lady might go if she ran very fast upstairs." Or to some
noisy, more respectable resort, like The Cheese, where you could
get a very fair dinner if you weren't particular about the table-
linen. They were trying this or that new cafe and restaurant. 1
On Monday Swinburne was going to take them to the Hotel
Sabloniere, near Cranbourn Alley where Deverell had first seen
her. Had she but stopped at that ! . . .
The food they got at these places was not nutritious and
seldom cost more than two shillings a head. She was growing
emaciated, but it was not what she ate, or didn't eat. Gabriel
'was not blind to the symptoms of her gradual deperishment or
callous to her sufferings ; he was patient but, aesthetically tired
of it all of the smell of drags clinging constantly about her
and that of the still more odious correctives ... of the cooing
of her doves, of her voice even querulous, raised and the
oppressive meekness that succeeded or preceded an outburst.
1 Verrey's for French cooking, corner of Hanover Street ; Simpson's, The Albion
over against Drury Lane, two shillings a head from five till seven. The Divan,
102 Strand; Rainbow Tavern, 15 Fleet Street; The Albion in Aldersgate;
Richardson's under the Piazza in Covent Garden and at The Piazza Tavern in the
same quarter.
293
He envied (and said so) " the kind, sweet, blessed life " (in his
letters well rubbed in) of Norton in America and began to stay
out o' nights. And mostly, if they dined together, he sent her
home alone in a cab, and in her sleep of exhaustion she never
knew what time in the morning he sneaked in and lay down
at her side.
4
Mr. Swinburne came every day to sit for his portrait. The
Young Man of No Feeling, in his seer-like way, noticed many
things, heard the burden of the humming misery that was
going on "dumb tones and shuddering semi-tones of death." . . .
She. was still lovely to him, but the author of The Leper
could not help noting " the change that finds fair cheeks and
leaves them grey," her eyes no longer like those witching cat's
eyes of Felise, but " as a dove's that sickeneth," and on her
cheeks " where the red was, there the bloodless white." Her
mouth, sweet still, but paler too, and her hair " all the fine
gold of it tarnished at the heart." The sight of his sweet
friend's decadence it surely was that imported the Pietistic
strain into his verse. She was the morbid streak, the brown
stain on his rose-red philosophy, the Pre-Raphaelite revelation
of Death's lewd ugliness, as it came once to the eyes of the
gay, cheerful Brethren that night at Millais' father's in Gower
Street, in the picture of the gentle knights and ladies leaning
over the necks of their horses to see the purulent Kings in their
coffins. He realised that all her husband's magnetism was
implicitly withdrawn from her and so he now only rendered
her lip-service. Simple as he was decadent, Algernon fancied
that she was dying of love for that husband, consciously un
attractive now through illness to the full-blooded man that
Gabriel was.
Algernon Swinburne would have nursed and tended her,
as the poor serving-man the leprous lady. Not so Gabriel
Rossetti.
It had been a great passion that was now a-dying. Algernon
had heard of it long before he met them both. He pitied but
dared not condole; she was so deadly proud and let nothing
out, except in impersonal verse, some of which he had been
permitted to scan.
Ah, she had kept her man waiting too long and had been too
294
pious for him ! The boy blamed her (if a-morality knows how to
blame) for what had been told him of her procedure during
those ten years before marriage the withstanding the with
holding. . . . Now, but sure, unconsciously, Gabriel was punish
ing her, even as brutally as did the Knight Des Lorges, the lady
who sent him for her glove down into the lions' den.
She did not believe much in the baby, she had always had
such bad luck, but she meant to die in harness. She was willing,
nay, eager, to pose when she could, gold-crowned, in a green
robe with her liair all over it, as Princess Sabra, enthroned on
a platform or dais looking out on a crowded square, with her
father and the heralds and, prone beside them all, the dead
dragon. The hero is bareheaded and Sabra is holding out a steel
helmet full of water for him to wash his blood away.
But, when she was not wanted, she sat bookless and workless,
entertaining thoughts of suicide. In those days she was well on
that bridge " between sadness and madness made of a single
hair " which Tennyson talked of. Little things that William
Allingham, the poet and mystic too, had repeated to her as
having been said to him by his two best friends were
summoned back by her morbid, imperious mentality. That
great kind soul, Carlyle, did not consider suicide wrong. He
thought that a man might, " in desperate need/' invoke the
Roman Death, as he called it ... Veni^ Proserpina ! The
Romans did not disapprove of self-murder. Actually, Tennyson
told Allingham, a poisonous liquor was kept at Massalia and
given to persons who presented themselves before the Senate
and gave good reasons for their need to die. 1 And Mr. Carlyle
had a notion that the dreadful act itself was not painful whether
by poison or otherwise" more like a torrent of sleep pouring
in on the brain. . . ."
Courage^ 'poor heart of stone !
She was not at ease spiritually, not conscious of being saved
in spite of the voulu religiosity of her verse. No priest no
man cared for her soul ; so she would tell the man who
no longer cared for her body. " Living in a darkness that
could be felt ! " Thus William, a poet too, deeply com-
1 Carlyle, " so plainly serious and discreet and so reliable not to misuse whatever
was told him, and all sorts of people were continually talking to him, confidentially,
all his life and nobody ever regretted it." D. A. Wilson in Carlyle at his Zenith.
295
miserating where he would not save he thought her so bad
for his adored brother. She was. And so thought Christina.
Here was a chance for nun-like charity. Her neglect of this
hapless sister in Christ is a stain on the effulgence of a great
and noble woman, deeper far than the projected over-stepping
of- the convent threshold (poetical periphrasis for the front
door mat in Albany Street) for which she did self-imposed
penance for the rest of her life. No particular blame attaches
to his two best friends, who did not care for her either. Morris
and Jones, loving each other to the tomb and Rossetti, if it
were possible, beyond and after, might have saved him and
her both Morris by his nobility and discretion, Jones with ^ the
shrewdness and sane, sweet sense, despite affectations and wilful
wool-gathering, that was his reserve. But Gabriel, of passions
ranker and infinitely stronger, a bull on the leash of 'civilisation,
negatived by his selfishness and heartlessness all they could do.
Of their wives, Janey, " subtly of herself contemplative," as an
influence was null ; Georgy, backed by Ruskin, did think of a
rest-cure, unknown technical term in those days.
Her outcries, at this time :
Life and death are falling from me,
Death (and day) are opening on ine.
Lord, have I long to go ?
Hollow hearts are ever near me,
Soulless eyes have ceased to cheer me :
Lord, may I come to Thee ?
Holy Death is waiting for me
Lord, may I come to-day ?
How is it in the unknown land ?
Do the dead wander hand in hand ?
Do we clasp dead hands, and quiver
With an endless joy for ever ?
Lord, we know not how this may be ;
Good Lord, we put our faith in Thee
O God, remember me.
296
CHAPTER XXXIV
THE little Joneses were all agog. Ruskin was taking
his " dearest children " to Italy in the spring and
Georgy had actually steeled herself to leave baby Pip,
but, says she " First, dark waters had to be passed
through."
One foggy morning in February, her Ned breakfasted and
settled down to do what he could to his picture in the absence
of proper light to see by, when there was a tap at the door and
Red Lion Mary called in. There was nothing strange about
that : she was a usual Iris between Chatham Place and Great
Russell Street and, had it been a Sunday morning instead of a
Tuesday, might have come to read Ned choice bits from Reynolds,
and wind up the clock and the musical box that lived under his
pillow and play his, and her own, favourite tune, Oft in the
S telly Night, as she called it. But to-day Mary stood stumpy
on the mat and blurted out, " Mrs. Rossetti ! . . ." " Come
in ! " they shouted. And she did come in and cried and told
them plump that their " poor lovely Lizzy " was dead, of an
overdose. (No need to say of what to them.) It was all
over ; but the master wanted Mrs. Jones to come to Chatham
Place, where they had been up, all of them, the whole night
since eleven o'clock, when Mr. Rossetti had first found her.
He had only just got into the house, he had passed Mrs. Birrell
and Ellen in the hall, but had come down in a minute or so to ask
them to sit with Mrs. Rossetti while he fetched Dr. Hutchinson,
who had attended her in her confinement, a few doors down
Bridge Street. Did Mrs. Jones know she was expecting again ?
Mary thought it must have been another mishap. She was
always having them. She was all black in the face. Mr.
Rossetti hadn't seen he had not been near her since daylight.
He was like a madman, refusing to believe it, calling out her
name throwing things about, breaking up all the china in the
flat. Mr. Brown was persuading him to lie down. The man
297
was worn out, had been all over the place fetching people up
to Mr. Brown's and Mr. Marshall's and the family all in
opposite directions. Dr. William, Mrs. Birrell had herself
fetched later lucky he was such a punctual man ! He was
there now, and Mr. James and Miss Clara the other sister was
not able to be about just now. The place was full of people.
Mary herself had just happened to go with Mrs. Rossetti's
new mantelet to be tried on, that she was making for her against
Saturday to wear down to the Red House, a black one with
magenta fringe and trimmings. . . . Yes, everything had been
done for her. At six Mr. Hutchinson left off using the stomach
pump, saying it was no good. There were at least four doctors
with her by then, but she hadn't known a blessed one of them
not no one, nor her husband. She had gone to bed with the
door open Ellen had peeped just before he came in. She was
snoring a bit then, but not much to speak of.
All this was in the bus going to Blackfriars. Georgy had not
allowed Ned to come with her ; he was ill and might have got
his death in the fog and damp, which was sure to be worse near
the river. She sat there quietly beside Mary, putting two and
two together. . . .
She knew that they had been going to dine with Algernon
last night to sample a newly-opened cafe-restaurant he had
discovered, where you could get a really good French dinner.
They would dine about six and leave there about ten or eleven.
Why had Gabriel needed to go out again, once he got home,
especially just now ?
Mrs. Birrell met them in the hall. Yes, last night after eleven
Mr. Rossetti had come down and begged her and Ellen to go
and sit with Mrs. Rossetti while he ran across and got Mr.
Hutchinson to come and have a look at her ; she was breathing
queerly. ... He seemed to be hours away and it was awful
sitting beside her lucky she had Ellen, she wouldn't have been
alone with the lady for anything ! It soon got worse and she
was honking as if she could hardly get a breath, and fairly black
in the face, as they saw later when the dawn came through the
shutters that hadn't even been closed over-night. Mrs. Birrell
had been up talking to her that very afternoon, about her hair
that she was washing for Saturday and all about her mother's
298
that came down to her feet like a sheet though she was old.
Yes, her mother had been there on Saturday quite an event,
that was; that and the dove that had got out last week and
flown away. She had been worried over it, but Mrs. Birrell
had said leave the cage open, and the window, and put a bit of
something for it to eat and, ten to one, it 'ud come back. Yes,
and it did, said Catherine Birrell, that very morning while
they were working at her. Might have made all the difference
if she had known ! Catherine heard a noise at the window and
there was the dove pecking at the pane and trying to get back
into its cage, but it couldn't, for someone had shut the window.
Catherine had let the poor thing in, but it had died of weakness
and she had laid it on the window-sill outside, where it was
still unless somebody had removed it. That would have
worried Mrs. Rossetti if she had been told, but she was all but
gone, by that time.
And then Algernon came to sit for his portrait, and Georgy
had had to go down into the hall and break it to him.
3
It was taken for granted that Mrs. Jones would want to see
Her. She did not want to see her dear stretched out, hands
folded on the coverlet, the way they arrange them, on the
very bed where she had been used to lie and laugh not to say
giggle on their lovely evenings that were no more. Nor did
she care to see Gabriel, whom she could hear talking to Brown
in sodden, plangent tones on the other side of the flat. He
must be tired out. The very mileage he had covered between
the hours of eleven and six, walking a good deal, which he hated
so cabs were scarce at night ! He had fetched James and
Clara from the other side of the river and then Marshall from
Savile Row and, lastly, had got to Brown's at Highgate, a matter
of several miles.
And always at the back of her mind was the question, why
had he gone out again and left Lizzy after bringing her home
ill ? There must have been One of Their Quarrels and he was
full of remorse now that it was too late ! They said that he
had not looked at her face once, since dawn. . . .
Would Mrs. Jones like to speak to Mr. James and Miss Clara ?
A natural curiosity overcame Georgy to see what Lizzy's brother
and the beautiful Clara were like. She said yes.
299
A sensible-looking, hard, self-contained man came forward to
meet her. " I was aroused in the night," he said, " and I went
in all haste to take the hand of my sister, but it was cold. I
spoke to her, but there came no response." Clara was as different
from Lizzy as James, who in a way resembled her. Clara,
questioned gently, said that, though the doctor had told her
nothing, she was sure that her sister had died from an overdose.
She often had to take something to make her sleep and no doubt
had done so last night and miscalculated. Miss Siddall had, on
arriving, at once sent Gabriel off to fetch a second opinion
while Mr. Hutchinson went on with the pump. Then he had
tried flushing out the stomach with water quarts he had used !
At six o'clock he had left off trying and gone away, and she had
stopped breathing an hour and twenty minutes later.
Georgy felt sick and decided to go back to Ned she was not
wanted here. She had thoughts of asking Gabriel to come back
and sleep at their place, for one night at any rate, but the door
was between them and she was timid and decided not to interfere
as Mr. Brown was with him.
4
" Gabriel deeply troubled about these sad business arrange
ments, as you will guess," she wrote to a friend, " and so is
Ned, and all the men ! "
For there had to be an inquest, Dr. Hutchinson said, in the
circumstances. Oh, purely a matter of form, for everyone
knew how attached Mr. and Mrs. Rossetti were to each other
and there was of course no suspicion of foul play. Still he
had found an empty two-ounce bottle labelled Poison in the
room. Nothing else of any importance.
So Mr. William Payne, the coroner for Southwark, in Her
Majesty's name summoned and warned twenty-four good and
sufficient men personally to appear before him at Bridewell
Hospital to inquire on behalf of their sovereign Lady the Queen
touching the death of Eleanor Elizabeth Rossetti, now lying
dead within his jurisdiction. A long list of names was furnished
him, among them that of Mr. De Keyser, of Numbers Two and
Six Chatham Place, and Mr. Henry Benthall of Number Four
teen, who^ received their rent on behalf of Mr. Duncan and
who had liked the dead woman, for it was she who saw that it
was paid with some degree of regularity.
No disgrace attached to the laudanum-taking. Anyone might
300
sell it, anyone might buy it. It was used for all sorts of mild
ailments, much as people take aspirin nowadays, so Mr. Keates,
Consulting Chemist, who lived on the same floor, did not shake
in his shoes. But the law of England then and now treats
suicide as a felony, and its penalties were still severe and
ugly at the time this woman died. She was in act a felon
and would have to be buried, like Ophelia, "with maimed
rites" and, if in consecrated ground at all, on the north
side of the garth always filled last. The very merciful
formula, " Suicide whilst of Unsound Mind," would have been
upsetting to both families : to the two very proud mothers,
to the stiff William and the punctilious James alike, while it
would have damnified the social existence of Lydia Wheeler
and the child soon to be born of her. As for Gabriel every
thing was bound to hurt him and he deserved it ! His friends
except Georgy, perhaps, in her stable loving-kindness did not
then envisage the " disastrous effect of his wife's death on the
greatest of living men."
Gabriel, it appeared, was not sleeping at home regularly but came
back some time in the morning. And Brown gave up his precious
working days to sit closeted with him, making up a tale. . . .
In the cold, dark and clammy weather, the fog _ outside
deadening the booming noises and cries of the riverside, the
boats, from which the tide had retreated, with their dun sails
furled, peaking out of the livid, faintly sun-stained mist, Brown,
artist and poet, turned business man, because of his love for
these two for ever sundered, sat preparing adequate versions,
pre-arranging tactics against the dreadful day of the ^ inquest,
" when no secrets shall be hid," hoping somehow to direct the
trend of thought of all those who had assisted in this drama
as a hundred papers would call it nowadays into a decent
channel for Gabriel. And Gabriel, in the calm of exhaustion, his
passion spent, grown curiously apt and business-like, fell m with
Brown's plans for his ulterior benefit and answered questions
coherently, while William, with his tremendous discretion and
knowledge of the world generally, advised from a business point
of view. Morris knew nothing; Ned, managed by Georgy,
was no gossip at the worst of times and could be relied on.
Georgy herself was the discreetest of women. 1 But they must
1 Her account of the death, from the phrase "First dark waters to "Pray
God comfort Gabriel/' occupies less than a page and a half of the two volumes of
Memorials.
301
be primed they must all be at one with what they were going
to say to-morrow in the Court room in the old Palace, almost
next door.
To begin with why, asked Brown, had Gabriel rushed out to
fetch Hutchinson in the first instance ? What had frightened
him ? The smell of laudanum about her ? He was used to
that all her friends were. She kept a bottle of it under her
pillow at Fortess Terrace and it worried Mrs. Emma rather,
though Lizzy never let anyone see her take it nothing so
unpicturesque ! What about the dinner ? What did she eat ?
Did anything happen at table to annoy her ? Where was he
going to tell them he went when he left her at nine ? What
was the very last word he heard her say ?
Poor Swinburne was in the next room crying. The slow-
voiced, manly Brown, who felt so much more, would deal with
him afterwards. He was a bit to blame.
He catechised Gabriel very stringently. She had been all
right at starting, " so-so " rather, as usual, but quite pleased with
the idea of trying a new restaurant. Their host was to meet them
there at six. It was her fault that they were late in starting.
About half-way in the cab she had got so queer that Gabriel
suggested that he should take her straight home and then go and
explain to Swinburne. But she had refused, putting her head
right out of the window and bidding the man drive on. He
could not prevent it. Brown knew didn't he ? that she had
a fund of obstinacy which was a defect in her character her so
splendid character and that once she got an idea into her head,
nothing would stop her.
They were late, of course. It was nearly seven before they
got there for six ; and Algernon had obviously had something
to drink. Poor fellow, he always showed it at once ! She knew
that wine was forbidden him ; that Lady Jane had once sum
moned Gabriel to Eaton Place and begged him to see to it that
her son carried out the doctor's orders and drank nothing but
water. Gabriel didn't trouble much : Algernon was much more
amusing when wine was in him, but Lizzy got it into her head
that that was her job ; that a woman alone could help him.
She was so terribly disappointed in Algernon that she scolded
him^out loud in fact the waiters might have thought they were
a pair^of them nodding her head as if she herself were overcome
by drink, letting it drop forward and then rousing herself with
a jerk and putting on the flighty manner (Brown knew it was
302
an effect of shyness) that William, used to the demureness of
Christina, so much objected to. The dinner was a failure :
none of them could ever have gone there again. He was dis
pleased with her and showed it. Oh, God! Now! come,
steady, Gabriel ! . . *
And she had said nothing, nothing at all, all the way home
in the cab, jolting over the cobblestones, quite still, her feet
rammed down in the straw x ... it did not rustle. She had
seemed frightened, Gabriel said, that was what he minded
most now as if he had kicked a lame dog. And the moment
they got in and he had found fault with her behaviour in the
restaurant, the quarrel began. They were at it, arguing, from
eight till nine, and then she seemed to be utterly worn out and
he was too, and he told her to get to bed and he would go out
for a breath, perhaps look in at the Working Men's College for
an hour he had promised he would and they would meet in
the morning and forget it all. She had her back to him, stand
ing at the dressing-table taking off her necklace beginning to
undress. . . . She did not seem to believe in the College though
she knew perfectly well that he was still concerned with it
had taken over Brown's class there and had been giving a
testimonial 2 to someone, or refusing it. ...
She had not particularly liked his going to the College
that night, Brown suggested, pinning him ? . . . Well, no, as a
matter of fact she resented it violently. She seemed to have
made up her mind, standing there, to show what power she
still had by preventing him from going out again. Twisting
the necklace round and round in her hand she began to hint
more than hint at Fanny, trying to keep him beside her with
the threat of another miscarriage suddenly clapping her hand
to her side. . . . He was convinced that she was acting, for he
did not really believe in her pregnancy and, anyhow, from
something Hutchinson had told him last time, he had gathered
that she was not likely to have conceived again.
And so on and so on. Gradually Brown tore the truth out
of the bleeding flesh of the man, poet and artist, moved as
1 Bits of the straw off the floor of the cab were sticking in the hem of her
dress that she had no care to shake off.
2 January i^th, 1862. G. Rossetti gave a testimonial to who wrote back
to ask if the terms of the recommendation might be " altered to higher praise."
D. G. R. declined to do so, saying that he had already gone against his conscience
" this genius seeming to have taken up art as a calling, for the usual reason of
unusual incompetence."
33
Brown had never seen him moved except perhaps when his
father died. He got the very words used between them a few
hours ago and her cry, " Stay with me, Gug, stay with me ! "
to be remembered by the poor, remorse- and morphia-sodden
wretch on lonely nights in Cheyne Walk in his bed, thick-
curtained, " hung with masks of mockery," his sheets " watered
with the wasteful warmth of tears." No tears from her she
never wept but much, oh, too much " damnable iteration." . . .
And his back was up because of the vulgar scene in the restaurant.
He would not, curse him, he would not stay, and made to
leave her, saying he must go to the College if only for an hour
it was his night there. 1 Half undressed she followed him to
the landing and stayed hanging over the banisters ; any of the
other lodgers might have heard the frantic partner of his bed
shriek out as he passed down the stone stairs with his head
bowed as under a storm " Go then, and you'll kill this baby
as you killed the last ! "
5
Soothed and satiate, he had come back a few hours later, taken
the key from under the mat, let himself in and called her.
Getting no reply, he thought she was sulking and languidly
groped for matches. She was in bed and asleep and he felt
glad that the matter had been settled so. He did not go near
her at first, but then her breathing began to puzzle and frighten
him. He stood still a minute, with the candle raised, looking
at her; then went downstairs again and told Mrs. Birrell
who luckily was still up and by her advice went out and fetched
Hutchinson.
Where did she think he was off to that night ? Brown, a
man of the world, thought it was to Wapping. Fanny was the
only person that Gabriel " knew well enough," as the children
say, to leave thus cavalierly whilst half the love-night was still
unspent.
As regards the alibi, Brown meant to accept the College
explanation. Everyone in St. Martin's Street would, at a
pinch, back their ex-chief.
Gabriel had hidden the bottle that lay on the little table
by the bedside when he came in, but Brown made him put it
back. Someone might have noticed it, he told Gabriel, and for
1 No, it wasn't.
34
him to have removed anything might prejudice him if there
were any suggestion of foul play in the minds of the jury. But,
indeed, Brown had seen and handled that which would certainly
exonerate Gabriel from a charge of murder, but would lay Lizzy
in a felon's grave. He was on thorns to know if any eye had
lit on it before his own. The women would certainly have
produced it. But it was still dark when Brown got there and
her nightdress was white and would not show a piece of paper
pinned on the front. Read out, it ran :
" My life is so miserable I wish for no more of it"
Brown resolved to withhold the darker knowledge that was
his until he could discover whether or no Gabriel shared it
with him. He was pretty sure that none of the others had
noticed the piece of paper before he came. ... He was not so
sure of the doctor who had been first on the scene and was
insisting on the inquiry ? He made it his business to pay him
a visit, but could not draw him and realised that he must
remain terribly anxious on Gabriel's behalf until the inquest
was over to-morrow.
There were compensations. Brown had the pleasure of
telling Ruskin, on the mat, that Gabriel was not well enough
to see him.
It would be in the papers the son of a baronet dining with
an artist and his model in a French cafe-restaurant in Leicester
Square the night before. . . . Swinburne must be given his piece.
Brown went to him, in the drawing-room hung round with
her poor, wooden little drawings. He was alone and crying
he could stand pain but not strain. He had adored her and
she had been very fond of him . . . but Passion, on the red
head of him, was impossible.
It was quite another thing tackling Algernon : there was all
the difference between his gentlemanly reserve and Gabriel's
businesslike communicativeness. Between sobs and Don't Re
members Brown got very little out of the young man. He
knew perfectly well that all was not right between the lady
and her husband, but do you think he would admit such a thing
for a moment ? Invited, delicately, by kind Brown to try to
describe her behaviour on the night of the dinner that was
only last night, and she his honoured guest ! No, he had not
x 305
observed anything in particular . . . she might perhaps have
been a little more fatigued than usual, but then she always
did seem tired nowadays. It was still " nowadays," and he
wept again ! She was, of course, annoyed with him for taking
too much wine; she was good enough to care a little what
happened to him. ... In short, Lady Jane's son was too much
of a knight and a gentleman to be of much use in building up
a defence for Gabriel, should any come to be needed. And he
might, in his own mind, though he made no such hint, have
considered that Gabriel deserved some punishment.
Brown's imagination got to work. Looking at the white
forehead of Algernon and the blue and yellow bump on it,
slowly fading out, he was reminded of a scene a few nights
ago when the poor fellow had had more than half a glassful of
wine and had suddenly caught sight of his own face in Lizzy's
little Cinquecento mirror and, fancying that the reflection was
mocking him, had smashed it with violence and fallen with his
forehead on the corner of the table. She had forgiven him,
queenly, as she would not have perhaps forgiven Brown or
Gabriel if they had broken her looking-glass ? . . . She had a
certain power of invective.
Brown's invention was superior to his acumen. . . . He had
it ! The Drugged and the Drunk ! She knew of her knight's
foible and deplored it : he, on his own showing, was totally
unaware of hers. She had gone to the dinner fortified with an
extra dose of laudanum in brandy ; and the sight of her protg's
backsliding, combined with her own bemused condition, had
been too much for her and she had taken more when she got
home to make her sleep. He must work this explanation up
and have it ready for the people who, knowing something of the
life of Gabriel and less of poor Lizzy's, would accept it the
superficial Hardmans, the horny-hearted Merediths, the W. B.
Scotts of the world. 1
7
On Wednesday morning as no post-mortem examination
was necessary, the members of the Jury (Mr. Benthall of
Fourteen Chatham Place and Mr. De Keyser of Two, Six,
Seven and Eight New Bridge Street, whose names were among
1 William undertook to write to Scott in Newcastle and tell him exactly what he
was wishing him to know, but, answering the letter, Scotus placed the onus with
fatal accuracy.
306
the twenty-four citizens empanelled, had managed not to be
included) mounted, with their heads respectfully down, the
steep stairs to the second floor of Chatham Place and were
permitted to view in situ the body of " Elizabeth Eleanor
Rosetti " lying on her own bed, "wonderfully quiet and peaceful-
looking, poor thing 1 " (so William admitted, as if she had no
business to be). Her serene face framed as usual in the oriole
wings and upspringing bows of her hair, looked so coloured
and beautiful that one of them l could not believe that she was
really dead until he timidly touched the forehead and experienced
" the feel " which convinces like a mound of stone, cold
beyond Arctic dreams . . . like nothing else in the world.
Even Brown, earlier in the day, in that deceptive hour when
" the rose is seen above the mould " and the flesh fills out as if
some new ichor of life had been poured into it, had rushed
across to Hutchinson and asked him to come and have another
look : it might be one of the Poe-like trances with which
Gabriel's reading aloud had familiarised him.
8
Missing their dinners, the gentry from the upper storey,
Rossetti, his brother and Swinburne : from the basement, those
important witnesses Mrs. Birrell, her daughter and Ellen
Maclntyre the housemaid ; while from the other side of the
river, Clara Siddall, dark, splendid and frowning as usual, who
could not, would not, have helped her red red lips, supported by
brother James, silently converged and met at the door of Bride
well Hospital a little higher up the street on the same side. A
sad, silent troop, they entered the old House of Correction " for
strumpets and idle persons : for the rioter that consumeth all ;
for the vagabond that will abide in no place." And there, it
seems, must she too fare for a space who is suspected of " wilfully
seeking her own salvation."
Through the strong but finely wrought iron doorway picked
out with gold, through dusty passages and ante-rooms with
shelved walls and tables from which pale-faced clerks and scribes
stared up at the rather unusual " cloud of witness, 55 and so into
the great panelled Hall with the high, straight windows on
1 Henry Watts of the Melbourne Argus and, later, of the Standard, later author
of the Life of Cervantes and editor of Don Quixote. An ugly pock-marked man,
as plain as she was fair.
37
the south-west side looking towards the green meadow on the
river bank where once the Templars jousted. In obedience to
a whispered direction they stopped, sheep-like, under the big
brass chandelier suspended from the ceiling, partially lit this
dark day ; and in silence, under the eye of the Law of which,
for the nonce and at all times, some of them went in fear,
humbly bestowed themselves along the walls, waved thereto
by a gesture from the beadle, until such time as they should
be called to go forward and up between the hollow square of
the two long tables, to speak foolish, incriminating words that
might be drawn from them by the modern representatives of the
rack and the thumbscrew. The Jurymen sat at a long table at
right angles to the Coroner and the Witnesses at another long
table against the wall. Friends of the dead there were none !
And the Officials were allotted place along the sides of the
gangway leading up to where the Coroner, dressed in his so brief
authority, sat in the President's immense chair backed by the
gay, resplendent arms of Bridewell. Over his head crowded
canvases deliriously stooped, so as to be seen even at the risk
of a twisted neck, from near the top of the ceiling. They
were not Cupids and clouds they were portraits. Over Mr.
Payne's head there was that of a white-faced boy smothered in
ermine, handing a Charter of Endowment to the Mayor of
London, painted by Holbein who had managed to insert his
own likeness into the head of a bystander, and a full-length
by Lely of Charles II and a George III after Reynolds. Hung
thus deplorably high, they were yet well worth an artist's craning
notice. All " pieces " ! The chair on which the Coroner sat
was by Chippendale or at any rate Hepplewhite.
It must have been the first and the last time in his life that
Gabriel Rossetti entered a show-place without looking at the
pictures or considering an example of antique furniture, but
perhaps he remembered it his whole life long.
From perfect grief there need not be
Wisdom or even memory.
Brown, sick, sad and sorry, found himself adumbrating a
sonnet, one of a series, which he worked up afterwards for
a new love. 1
Mrs. Birr ell, the responsible caretaker of Chatham Place, was
examined first, perhaps so that the educated explanations of
1 See Appendix.
308
her betters should not influence her. Then Clara Siddall was
called and sworn. The evidence of James Siddall, for some
reason or other, was not taken. Yet the brother and sister of
the deceased were the first persons, outside the household, who
were with her husband in those trying moments before Brown
got there !
It was made clear that Gabriel had gone out again immediately
to find a doctor : he had procured four of them before he had
done.
Clara Siddall, of Eight Kent Place, black-veiled, weeping
through the mesh, charily gave her sister's age next birthday,
but did not seem to know the date of that. Yes, her sister had
taken a few drops of laudanum in brandy and water that very
night before she went to bed. 1 She did not suspect any foul
play. So far her evidence was all to the good, except that she
had added the water. But she reminded the wretched man of
his wife's last words by her unnecessarily qualified answer to a
straight question " Any family ? " " None alive J " No,
she knew of no enemy no person intending harm to her sister,
nor did she suspect any. . . .
She was led away weeping and, rolling rather, his growing
embonpoint seeming circumscribed between the two narrow
forks of the gangway formed by the table, Gabriel Rossetti passed
up, to admit that the deceased was his wife and that her name
was Eleanor Elizabeth Rossetti. And that only yesterday she
had seemed perfectly well and eager to go out and fulfil an
engagement to dine with him and Mr. Swinburne at a new
caf-restaurant in Leicester Square. But that actually before
they started she had turned so queer that he had wanted to
stop the cab 2 and tell the man to turn round. ^ But she was
set on proceeding. Mr. Payne then gently asked him to describe
her manner, and this was the part he had rehearsed with
Brown so carefully the day before, but he had forgotten most
of the points he had to make and those he was to prevent their
making. He said " Something between flightiness (William's
word pursued her thus beyond the grave) and drowsiness." A
little excited, was she ? Yes. Had she eaten anything at the
dinner to disagree with her ? Mr. Rossetti was afraid he had
1 How did she know ?
2 " Out in the carriage," says the Daily News, and spells the name throughout,
as most people did, with one s. That and the proper observance of the single d in
her maiden name were Gabriel's sore point.
39
not noticed. At any rate the meal was soon over. They had
come straight home, having only been in the place an hour.
The Coroner seemed to take it for granted that the anxious
husband had stayed with his wife, but Gabriel without
prompting from him, said that he had left her at nine, while
she was undressing, getting ready for bed, and " right as
before." He spoke so naturally that he was not asked where
he had gone and put under the necessity of lying, as Brown
had dreaded. He was asked how he had found her on his
return and at what hour that had taken place ? Half-past
eleven, and she was then in bed and snoring. Then what had
made him fetch Mrs. Birrell and the doctor ? Because he had
tried to awaken her but had found her " utterly without con
sciousness " and there was the half-empty phial on the table
by her bedside marked Poison. He had not seen it before ?
Yes but . . .
The notion of suicide, already pretty nearly dispelled,
prompted Mr. Payne's next question. Had she spoken of
wishing to die ? No. (But of a dead child in ike womb.)
She was engaged to go and stay with friends in the country on
Saturday and had ordered some new clothes for the occasion-
he understood that she had bought a mantle only the day
before (which happened to be a Sunday !) But he would
naturally be a little confused about dates, poor fellow !
Simple, manly, business-like, giving his evidence without
reserve and seeming anxious to assist the law, though properly
distressed (Mrs. Birrell had spoken to their living happily
together; the sounds of brawls had not descended evenXantippe
would not be heard a floor or so below), Mr. Rossetti even
acquired merit with the Coroner and the Jury, who knew a
gentleman when they saw one, even if it was one of those randy
artists ! He dilated rather copiously on the disposition of the
deceased to take laudanum at all times and seasons (showing
something of the aversion of a new addict to the habit that
was being inculcated in him by the partner of his bed and
board), his speech slightly informed with the bitterness which
was, to those who knew, part of thtfons ei origo of their estrange
ment, taken in conjunction with his connection with Mrs.
Hughes. Yes, his wife was in the habit of taking very large
doses : he had known her to take as much as a hundred drops
at a time ; there was the brown kind that was cheaper and less
calculable in its effect. . . . That was a good stroke, Brown
310
thought. (Gabriel was beginning to know a lot about drugs.
His own special anodyne, his friends knew, was already chloral.)
He went on to say it was his opinion that, without opiates of
some kind, she could not sleep or, at times, even swallow food.
And that the neuralgia which had obliged them to come home
early had become so intense that night (brushing aside Clara's
polite fiction of " in water ") that he thought she must
have taken it neat to quieten her roaring nerves, without,
however, any idea of injuring herself. ...
He protested too much, and Brown was quite glad when the
Coroner asked him to retire in favour of the next witness.
During the rest of the examination the drug motif was kept
up as well as that of the husband's devotion, and this was all
Brown's handiwork. Brown had known how to deal with those
malleable worm-witnesses downstairs, only half cognisant of and
wholly despising the way of the eagles perching high above in
their aery hung with dirty gobbets of brocade and faded silks and
velvets, carpeted with dirty threadbare rugs, peacocks' feathers l
stuck about and " orts " out of curiosity shops, gilt chiffoniers
set with broken potsherds and kitchen stuff which they called
"good " china. Actually they were quite quiet people. Mrs.
Birrell had known Mrs, Rossetti for nine years, officially for two,
when she began living there as his wife. That got out. Too
late to matter, but she would have disliked it. When did they
last see her alive ? On Monday afternoon quite cheerful, for
her. Mrs. Birrell had not known when they went out nor
when they came back, but Mrs. Rossetti was asleep by eleven
that she knew for certain. She was never so surprised in her
life as when Mr. Rossetti called down to the basement, and at
the queer tone of his voice. He said, Come and sit with her
while I run for the doctor. Where was she ? In bed, and
quite black in the face when they took a candle to see her.
The doctor came very quickly. And he attended to her. It
was still dark. Did the witness fancy anything wrong ? No,
she knew of no hurt to her nor suspected any. Would she say
they were a united couple ? She would say they lived very
comfortably together.
Francis Hutchinson, called next, honestly believed that the
deceased had died from the effects of an overdose of laudanum,
a fairly large one; he had found in the room an empty phial
marked Poison and the smell was very distinct. She was then,
1 What the Rossettis called their feather-brooms.
3"
already, in a comatose state ; quite unable to swallow. He had
done all he could to empty the stomach out, but after a while
he had had to give it up and leave her in the care of a friend,
Dr. Marshall. He had attended her in her confinement last
year a female child still-born but he had only seen her once
since in the street. She had hurried past him and seemed
altogether in a very nervous state, perhaps owing to the habit
she had contracted. . . .
Catherine Birrell said she never got less than a shilling's-
worth for her and always took the same bottle to get filled.
The one produced was it ? Yes. She waited on her ? Yes
but she never once saw her swallow any of it. She had not
bought her any for six months.
Again Brown was glad when she retired in favour of Algernon
Charles Swinburne, whose evidence was nugatory and who got
himself dismissed almost at once, for he had one of his attacks
of St. Vitus's Dance and could not stand still, which confused
the Coroner. No, he had noticed nothing unusual about the
deceased on Monday night, except that she seemed a little
weaker than usual. Exactly what he had admitted to Brown.
Bon sang ne feut mentir, but it can at least manage to be
consistent. . . .
He did no good but no harm and the evidence of Ellen Mac-
Intyre with her " She told me that she had taken quarts of the
stuff in her time ! " was a clincher. Like Catherine Birrell she
did not mention having bought any laudanum recently for her,
but by now they knew all about Mr. Keates, Consulting Chemist,
handy on the next floor.
" And all doubts of suicide were disposed of," said the City
Press. The verdict was Accidental Death. William sedulously
omitted to record the proceedings in his so opulent diary and,
except for a Sheffield paper and the paragraph in the Daily
News Death of a Lady from an Overdose of Laudanum the case
was not reported. Perhaps Mr. Henry Watts was responsible for
that ? And for the carriage to the Sabloniere Hotel.
312
CHAPTER XXXV
i
JONES was too ill to leave the house and Georgy was
nursing him. Lizzy's people, excepting her mother,
stoical and vain, who lived to be ninety-two, were
abased to the very ground. The friends of Lydia
Wheeler ever after hinted at a " constitutional melancholy."
She never would talk of her sister ; between the events of that
dreadful week and her after life, full of thought-deadening,
useful child-bearing, a curtain, was drawn.
The scene, of course, was lightly dressed for Anne, Janey,
Georgy, and delicate females generally, while Gabriel's men
friends generally spoke of " the woman at Wapping, or somewhere
on the other side of the river," as filling the bill. 1
Of his own family, William was the most affected because of
his brotherly love and a tinge, perhaps, of remorse for neglect
of her. Scott, the friend of his boyhood, had to take him off to
the Continent as soon as his work at Chatham Place was done.
Both men of the world, these two did not adjudicate the blame ; 2
loving Gabriel nearly as much as William, Scott, more cynical if
anything than he, blamed Lizzy and was of opinion that Fanny,
Gabriel's d&monia from the very beginning, had grown to be
more in the nature of an easement than anything else and that
the matter-of-fact mistress prevented the husband from going
1 Little Georgy would describe a street-walker as " one whose goodness was in
abeyance," but Anne Gilchrist and Miss Heaton were of sterner stuff. Ruskin,
before he went away, wrote to the latter telling her that B. J. was so depressed
" about Rossetti's wife's suicide," and over his own work, that if she would buy
something of him she would be doing a kindness and "would not be getting a third-
rate work, by any means."
2 " Heard of the death of Mrs. Gabriel with sincere sorrow and grief for him.
The circumstance you mention and which we hear from other sources has been the
cause of some notoriety, adding to the mutual pain of such a parting." Scott,
Reminiscences.
The use of the singular points to Scott's cognisance of the real facts, which he
obviously was pleased to possess.
313
mad when the wild wife died. She had, invited or not
invited, come to sit as usual next day. Who was there to forbid
or mind ?
The inquest safely over, it was all out. Everyone knew how
badly Mr. and Mrs. Rossetti had been getting on together and
considered that it was the man's infidelities which had driven the
woman to her death. Yet his behaviour after the inquest when
he had, as it were, settled down a little, whether premeditated or
accidental, dictated by prudence or merely characteristic, did
not foster the idea of remorse at all, except perhaps for a letter to
Mrs. Gilchrist, beautiful, patient, full of self-abasement ; that,
and his refusal to look on his dead wife or even 1 go into the room
where she must lie until Thursday. But then the portrait in the
green robe with the yellow hair falling over it, for which she had
posed less than a week ago, all the time confronted him in his
studio as he sat, and when they considerately put its face to the
wall he turned it round again.
William of course made himself responsible for the funeral
arrangements. 2 Another plot of ground was bought, near the grave
of Gabriele Rossetti, under an aspen tree in the haunted western
corner of the cemetery Number 5779. William ordered the
coffin and dictated the name-plate and fixed the date of burial
for Thursday. Meanwhile Gabriel slept, God knows where, and
none of them dared to ask ; but William let it be understood that
he went to them in Albany Street. Gabriel never left the house
in Chatham Place at all now, until after dark ; it would not have
been a friend's part, when the little green garden gate on to the
street clashed, to look to see whether he turned northwards, to
Regent's Park, or southwards towards the river. During the
day he was to be found in his studio, ready to come out and speak
to all, issuing like a prince into the ante-room where suitors wait.
The women of his family did not need to meet Fanny ; she
was a mere studio piece. They came every day and sat with
friends in the drawing-room, telling them what they wanted them
to know. That is to say, Gabriel's mother and his sister Maria :
1 In this he was not altogether singular among these semi-dttraques who are our
great men. Tennyson refused absolutely to look on his mother's corpse, so Mr.
Allingham told me.
2 A famous bookseller avers that he paid the funeral expenses.
3H
Christina did not offer to accompany them in their daily pilgrim
age to Chatham Place. Her soul's salvation did not lie that way
and she was too honest to come and vex the unhappy dust she would
not save. She put on mourning for her sister-in-law (Allingham
saw her in it) and kept it on till August. But Janey Morris,
" tall, wonderful, in white bodice and yellowish skirt," came
quite soon to Chatham Place, but did not stay very long. She
had not known the dead woman so very well.
There were things to do, and coming and going in the house over
the river. Green, the frame-maker, was sent for and there was a
sound of knocking in the desolate rooms. He packed Before the
Battle and despatched it to Norton in America. Then he was
bidden to go and ask old Mrs. Rossetti if she could find the cradle
which only a week ago young Mrs. Rossetti had got out, to put
on fresh bows and loops of ribbon. Now, this was to be sent just
as it was, bedclothes and all, to Mrs. Joseph Wheeler at Number
Ten Barnsbury Street Mr. Rossetti wrote the label himself.
Not even Mr. Brown knew that just before Green began cording
it up for Pickford, Mr. Rossetti had sneaked out on to the little
landing when no one was about and had laid a five-pun' note
between the two tiny pillows. 1 Someone Clara, when she came
back after the inquest to fetch her bag ? had cut off a lock of
hair for the unavoidably absent sister, and a good bit for herself.
But there, poor Liz had enough and to spare 1 Aunt Day
always said that the masses of it had weakened her but then it
was so light and loose. . . .
Gabriel would not see Georgy, but he sent, both to her and
Red Lion Mary, photographs of Mrs. Rossetti from his own
drawings of her, and a nice letter. He told people that he had
several times attempted to have Liz photographed from life, but
that she always came out so badly it was no use keeping them
the gold hair always came out black or blue. . . .
The only thing of hers he cared to keep was her long gold
watch-chain. The family might have her " things."
Aunt Day took her brown and black striped silk 2 and her
work-box with the two letters she had once received from Maria
and Christina respectively lying folded in the bottom of it, and
1 None of Lydia's children turned out to have golden hair and Gabriel took no
further interest in them.
2 Her best. I have seen a bit of it. She was wearing it when she was photo
graphed at Hastings. Dresses were of such good material in those days that they
were long-lived for careful people.
315
the little table easel on which she had painted most of her
drawings.
Fanny took the Swinburne, and Gabriel was too miserable to
miss it.
3
Presently Gabriel saw a few men Meredith, of all people,
Morris of course and " his little Northumbrian friend " and hers,
with whom he had already arranged to live. But Ruskin he would
not see. It was William who led Ruskin, all bowed and stooping,
into the bedroom to say good-bye to his beautiful protegee of
other days. And his most arrant failure ! (But he had failed
with all women.) He had done his best for Lizzy, but the bone-
dust, the subsidy, the fees to Acland, the sojourns at Hastings and
Clevedon and Nice and Paris even, had not availed to save this
most wilful of all women, who lay now, still and static, weighed
down, but not oppressed by the Eternity into which she had!
entered ; mute-faced " as though the hills were on her eyelids
piled" 1 safe in Heaven instead of his own very Calvinistic Hell.
" Marvellously calm and beautiful," so William, reluctantly,
of her who in life had always puzzled and confounded him. He
could not call her " flighty " now, yet the old grievance was still
uppermost. " Secretum meum mibi" . . . Still she evaded him
and the rest : her secret more than ever was her own^her life's with
drawal which had vexed and estranged them all, for ever sealed.
And poor deeply grieving Allingham wrote, thinking of her :
Her face is very pale and fair,
Her hooded eyelids darkly shed
Celestial love, and all her hair
Is like a crown around her head.
Yet now is silence. Do not weep.
No one did but Algernon. For, as even William could bring
himself to say
with her was such very humbleness,
She seemed to say, I am in peace.
Yet, how dared she ? Ruskin was saying in his Calvinistic heart,
though, by her looks, God had spoken. She had not presumed
on His mercy ; yea, she who had taken her own life had been
permitted to enter the Everlasting Rest. Ruskin's tottering
1 T. Gordon Hake.
316
faith, undermined by the 'haviour of his own cruel little Love,
for ever died as he looked on Rossetti's, in full possession of
unmerited Beatitude.
Ruskin, poor dear, who had never gained any woman's con
fidence, knew all : his psychological flair, always there but some
times inhibited by pedantry and didacticism, told him what the
Blessed Damozel had done and yet been allowed to take her place
in Heaven, And Gabriel, in his eyes, was now utterly damned.
He knew the nature of the unholy relief that the man was
finding, in these early hours of loneliness, from his intolerable
remorse, 1 nor would he in this hour have denied the poor wretch
the rough-and-ready consolation of a woman's breast. ... He
was aware, too, that the days of their great friendship were
numbered and that Gabriel, conscious of his terrible perspicuity
and intolerant of his usage of the right to lecture, would, sooner
or later, pick a quarrel with him on that account. 2
4
On Wednesday afternoon, late, the undertaker was expected to
come and finish. Gabriel's mother, sister and brother, and a
friend or two Brown, Swinburne, Anne Gilchrist and young
Luke lonides were assembled in the room next to the one where,
alongside the carven bedstead on which she had died, the coffin
stood on its trestles, not yet closed down. All had taken their
formal last look at her except Gabriel. Would he, now his
first since Tuesday? He was moving restlessly about among
them, hardly speaking. Presently he went to his study and
returned, looking ugly with his large, distended nostrils and
loose lip, carrying in his hand the little green book they all had
handled, into which, evening after evening last winter, he had
been copying his poems. He made for the bedroom which he
had not entered since Monday, saying in a low voice, without
looking to the right or left : " I have often been working at these
poems while she was ill and suffering and I might have been
attending to her, and now they shall go ! "
1 Natural sorrow does not destroy strength but gives it, while an irregular, out-
of-the-way, sorrow kills, according to weight."
In writing this, he was, of course, thinking of himself and Rosie.
2 Within a month of the death Rossetti was worrying Ruakin on a matter of
business He eot him written to, to say that he was under the impression that
drawTngs by hkLlf and his wife were being sold by Ruskin. Why, in Business'
name, not ?
He had beckoned Algernon to follow him.
When they both came back after a few moments Gabriel's
hands were empty. He passed into the other room and Algernon
stayed behind and told them what Gabriel had done. He had
lifted the tiny, thin, lace-bordered napkin that undertakers bring
to coyer the face with and laid the book on the left side^ between
her hair and her cheek, sedulously averting his eyes, like a child
that has been scolded.
It was the one gesture of Gabriel Rossetti's life to be rendered
void, at the behest of the caitiff Howell. 1
She had won, her woeful victory. For her sake he was a
painter, no longer a poet, his credentials buried in a dead woman's
hair.
5
More than the book was buried with her. A few hours before
they all arrived, Catherine Birrell had crept in, carrying the dead
dove off the window-sill, and laid it at the thin end of the coffin,
like a dog at the feet of a Crusader. It took no room to speak
of no more than Lizzy herself had taken in this world.
1 " Fallen in the practice of a cursed knave," he never, in the opinion of his
brother artists, painted a fine picJire~-agaiRv-- -Witk- Howell -as a guide, he went
deep into Spiritualisni-' -""""'"'"
318
By the. kindness of the Librarian of County I fall
FRONT VIEW 14 CHATHAM PLACE
JUST BEFORE DEMOLITION
From a photograph
CHAPTER XXXVI
IT has been said 1 that Remorse is the easiest passion of
all to live down : Rossetti never did. His own fierce
and sentimental personality would not let him forget,
and Society forthwith started the legend that was to
hound him to his passive, drug-ridden death, strangled by the
hank of golden hair that hung on the bell-pull of his bedroom and
the dreadful onus of the recovery, by dull, swart, gravediggers,
of his last oblation to her.
" Let him, it does him honour," his brother had said when
told that Gabriel had laid the little green book under her cheek.
But Brown, an artist, had not approved of this confiscation by
Death, of work that might enrich the world. And later the man
himself allowed the haunting fear of blindness to nullify and render
vain this one fine motion of his spirit. Yes, one can dictate a
sonnet, but not a picture, and he was soon got to think that
actual publication of masterpieces addressed to her would be a
surer tribute than that last alteration and obliteration of the grave.
So there were great flares by night, 2 in the western corner on the
haunted side by the aspen tree in Highgate Cemetery, and Mr.
Tebbs who, with Howell, was Master of these Ceremonies, lay
abed three days in his home in Aubrey Walk with a sore
throat. . . .
And the joke of it all was that the best of these poems were
enshrined in the memories of The Faithful who had heard
them so many times. Brown, Swinburne, Alaric " Attila" Watts,
Tebbs, down to my mothqr, could have reeled them off at a
sitting, and did very often. And besides, who wanted to recover
" Dante at Verona " or even " The Staff and Scrip " ?
Clara alone, of Lizzy's relations, was able to be at the graveside.
She was not told of the exhumation, so that on the appearance of
" Poems and Ballads " she swore that recovery of these master
pieces was impossible, since she had with her own eyes seen the
coffin let down in its bands and " the earth over her."
1 By Leslie Stephen, of Regulus. 2 In 1868.
319
At first, stunned, Gabriel was noisy. Then he settled down
into a drugged and sleepy monomania. The carven bed was
moved into the sitting-room and made into a couch. He never
slept again in Chatham Place, though he painted there a little.
But a month after her death he could not bear even to do that
and took some chambers on the first floor of Number Fifty-
Nine, Lincoln's Inn Fields. For a time his work was feeble and
unremunerative. Scott had to be his banker. Ruskin had gone
out of town on the very day of the funeral, and then Rossetti
got it into his head that the Professor was selling his drawings
by Lizzy and the little quarrel, foreseen by the other, took place.
Of the family, Lyddy would not see him and the mother was
too ill, but kind Clara, whom they fondly called Tump, went to
see him sometimes, to talk to him about Liz, reminding him of
nice things connected with the days that were gone, which
helped his tardy tears to flow. And Tennyson was nice, and an
American called Whistler. And Allingham, shocked, but very
pitiful, thinking of "The Cold Wedding," written after the
first time he saw her, and another poem, more deeply serious,
" Mea Culpa " (nothing to do with them), which he had once
shown in manuscript to Gabriel " Very fine, my boy ! "
In July he had come over as usual and met Gabriel at a great
affair at the Parkes' (" Bessie as usual an excellent hostess ").
And William and his sisters (or did his eye deceive him ?) were
" in mourning for poor Mrs. D. G." The family were proposing
to live all together and maybe a Polidori and of course Gabriel
must have Swinburne " to inspirit " him in an old house
in Chelsea " built in Elizabethan style " with great bow
windows (?). It would be possible, Gabriel said, to make a
studio of the old hall and a fanlight might be cut over the door
to make one see better coming in. ...
Next year Gabriel had his first epileptiform fit. Later, he
went to Newcastle, taking Fanny with him, to look up her
relations while he hobnobbed with his best buyers, Mr. Leatheart
and his son-in-law Rae. Mr. Rae bought a little oil picture of
Mrs. Hughes, looking tragic, as harpies can her blunt features
somewhat sharpened, perhaps, by the terrible happenings in
which she had been art and part.
While, in the other camp, Lizzy's mother, the dignified, hand
some old lady, recovered some or all of her spirits she was a
bit of a fay too and went out often to tea, letting her wonder
ful hair down as her wont was, so that it lay like a draught of
320
silver fishes over her shoulders, right to the ground. She would
be fetched home by her two tall deferential sons, James and
Harry. James in Cator Street, carefully preserving his dead
sister's marriage lines, lived longest, kindly remembered by the
neighbouring tobacconist. Gabriel kept both brothers. It was
the least he -could do. Clara, alas, died in an asylum.
Barbara Bodichon, she who at Hastings had engineered " The
Cold Wedding," much later, to please Allingham, went to see
Mr. Rossetti " in a friendly way." For " I am so sorry for him
I like him so." Ten years after this she did not even recognise
him, until he spoke.
Gabriel let Boyce have Chatham Place and Boyce slept there
and used the studio, so full of ghosts, until the whole block was
pulled down. In 'sixty-eight my mother had tea with him in
Number 14 and sat on the carven bed on which Lizzy had died.
Gabriel never saw her grave and left instructions that he was
not to be buried in Highgate Cemetery in any circumstances
whatever.
MEA CULPA
At me one night the angry moon
Suspended to a rim of cloud,
Glared through the courses of the wind.
Suddenly then my spirit bow'd
And shrank into a fearful swoon
That made me deaf and blind.
We sinn'd we sin is that a dream ?
We wake there is no voice nor stir ;
Sin and repent from day to day,
As though some reeking murderer
Should dip his hand in a running stream,
And lightly go his way.
Embrace me, fiends and wicked men,
For I am of your crew. Draw back,
Pure women, children with clear eyes.
Let Scorn confess me on his rack,
Stretch'd down by force, uplooking then
Into the solemn skies !
Singly we pass the gloomy gate ;
Some robed in honour, full of peace,
Who of themselves are not aware,
Being fed with secret wickedness,
And comforted with lies : my fate
Moves fast ; I shall come there.
y 3 21
With, all so usual, hour by Hour,
And feeble will so lightly twirl* d
By every little breeze of sense,
Lay*st tliou to Heart tliis comrnon world ?
Lay'st thou to heart the Ruling Power,
Just, infinite, intense ?
Thou wilt not frown, O God. Yet we
Escape not thy transcendent law ;
It reigns within us and without.
What earthly vision never saw-
Mian's naked soul may suddenly see,
Dreadful, past thought or doubt.
WILLIAM ALLINGHAJVE.
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APPENDIX I
MARRIAGES solemnised in the Parish of Hornsey, in the County of
Middlesex, in the year 1824.
Charles Crookes Siddall, Batchelor, of this Parish, Elizabeth Elenor Evans,
Spinster, of this Parish, were married in this Church by Banns with con
sent of this Thirteenth Day of December in the year One Thousand
eight Hundred and twenty four
By me, J. Bluck, Curate.
This Marriage was so solemnised f Charles Crooks Siddall.
between us \Elizabeth Elenor Evans.
In the Presence of f Wm. Henry (Batten ?)
No. 348. \Mary (Cookman ?)
Extracted from the Register Book of the said Parish this I3th Day of
Dec r . in the year 1824
APPENDIX II: THE THELEMA PROJECT
From Railway Reminiscences : G. P. Neale.
The Monastery of Mount St. Bernard is situated on the borders of
Charnwood Forest; we arrived there by way of Coalville, and drove to
the door of the Monastery. It was a new sensation to be received by
the Guest Master in his white monkish costume, and to be invited to
enter the convent premises. While all the other Members of the Con
fraternity have "silence" enforced on them, the Guest Master has a
dispensation in this respect. . . .
The Guest Master explained to us the extent of the Monastery grounds,
the whole farm being cultivated by hard labour. There were two bodies
of monks one called the Choir Brethren, the others the Lay Brethren:
the latter wore dark robes, the former wore white vestments; the rule of
" silence " applied to all alike, but the Lay Brethren were mainly occupied
in the day in the field labour, tending the flocks, and other portions of
outdoor agricultural life, while the Choir Brethren were free from these
engagements.
We came to the doors of the interior quadrangle; on them was posted
up " No woman is allowed to pass through these doors." . . .
" Silence ! " " Eternity ! " met us at every corner, and at intervals
along the cloistered walk. In the centre of the quadrangle were the
graves of various Members of the Confraternity who had entered into the
silent land, and had exchanged their opportunities of time for Eternity
itself; each had been laid there, without any coffin, simply wrapped in
the monastic garb. It had been customary to keep an open grave in this
central spot in readiness for the next brother who might in turn fall a
victim. . . . It was a relief to follow our Guest Master out into the open
fields, and walk through the pastures where the sheep were so tame that
they moved not away in the slightest degree at our approach; they allowed
themselves to be handled like domestic animals. Here and there we
saw the Lay Brethren; they took no notice of us as we passed them on
the pathway, they kept their eyes on the ground, lost apparently in con
templation, and so indeed did those few Choir Brethren we came across
in the cloisters and passages. . . .
^The Abbot wore a garment much like the other monks, he was girt
with a long chain of beads and a cross pendant from the chain, he ...
seemed pleased to answer any inquiries. . . .
126
He told us that he had given orders to dispense with the Trappist rule
of the open grave, as there had been unpleasantness connected with their
burial customs in this respect, and had decided to abandon the practice.
We took our leave, first of him and then of the Guest Master, and
placing our contributions in the monastery alms box left St. Bernard's
with many striking memories, none more permanent than the . . . notice
at the entrance of the quadrangle, " Silence! " " Silence! O Eternity! "
APPENDIX III : MS. DRAFT OF BROWN'S SONNET
Hopeless Love. Sonnet 6. Absence.
My mistress one dark night passed over sea.
( this dark hour is on the . * .)
O may the gales deal gently with such freight
. . might the gales her softness emulate)
(And on my sleeplessness did visions wait)
By turns, each saddening and each one she
(. . . each sad of face . . .)
Till one not her in mien . . . approaching me
Told how, bewept by kindred desolate
She lay at point of death, her mother strait
(She lay then sought I straight
Her mother, love armed spurning secrecy.
The half lit chamber faint with drugs I scanned
<5
The blackened lips, the wan white brow and the trace ^
(The wan white features dark lipped and the trace
(The wan white dark-lipped features and . . .)
Of pain on eyes fringed still with loveliness
( fringed round)
Till agony of sobbing as a wand
Waved back my phantasy's strong fever and
Left but the tears that wetted still my face
(Of all left but some tears along . . .)
Note. The holograph initials ><2, set against line 14 by Mr. Brown, surely refer to the
circumstance* of the death scene in Chatham Place on that day in February, 1862. V. H.
328
APPENDIX IV
London AN IN QUISITION indented taken for our Sovereign
and Lady the Queen at the Precinct of Bridewell in London
Southwark on t ^ le Twelfth day of February in the Twenty-fifth
year of the reign of our Sovereign Lady Victoria by the
Grace of God of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland Queen
Defender of the Faith before William Payne Sergeant at Law CORONER
of our said Lady the Queen for the City of London and the Borough of
Southwark in the County of Surrey on view of the body of Elizabeth
Eleanor Rossetti now here lying dead within the jurisdiction of the said
Coroner upon the oaths of the undersigned Jurors good and lawful men
of the said City who being now here duly chosen sworn and charged to
enquire for our said Lady the Queen when where and in what manner
the said Elizabeth Eleanor Rossetti came to her death say upon their
Oaths that the said Elizabeth Eleanor Rossetti being a female of the age
of twenty-nine years and the wife of Dante Gabriel Rossetti an artist on
the tenth^day of February in the year aforesaid at Chatham Place in the
said Precinct and City Accidentally took an overdose of Laudanum by
means whereof she the said Elizabeth Eleanor Rossetti then and there
became mortally sick and distempered in her Body of which said mortal
sickness and distemper and of the Laudanum aforesaid so by her acci
dentally taken as aforesaid she the said Elizabeth Eleanor Rossetti on the
Eleventh day of February in the year aforesaid at Chatham Place aforesaid
did die And so the Jurors aforesaid upon their Oaths aforesaid do say
that the said Elizabeth Eleanor Rossetti in the manner and by the means
aforesaid Accidentally and casually and by misfortune came to her death.
IN TESTIMONY whereof as well the said Coroner as the said
Jurors have to this Inquisition set their Hands and Seals the day year and
place first above written.
Wm. Payne Coroner Hy. Watts George Rider
T. S. Capel H. J. Andrew
James Spicer Charles Coulson
He. Miller Wm. Tuff
John Hart Thomas Martin
Charles James Thicke J. T. Teasdale
To the Beadles and Constables of the
Precinct of Bridewell in London.
By virtue of my Office of Coroner of our Sovereign Lady the Queen,
for the City of London and the Borough of Southwark in the County of
Surrey, These are, in Her Majesty's Name, to charge and command you,
that in sight hereof, you summon and warn Twenty-four good and
sufficient Men of your Precinct personally to appear before me on Wednes
day the twelfth day of February one thousand eight hundred and sixty two
at J past i of the clock in the afternoon precise time, at Bridewell Hospital
in the said Precinct and City then and there to do and execute all such
things as shall be given them in charge, and to enquire on behalf of our
Sovereign Lady the Queen, touching 'the death of Elizabeth Eleanor
Rossetti now lying dead within my jurisdiction, and for your so doing
this shall be your Warrant; and that you attend at the time and place
above mentioned, to make a Return or the Names of, those you have so
summoned, and further to do and execute such other matters as shall be
then and there enjoined you; and have you then and there this Warrant,
Given under my Hand and Seal this Eleventh day of February 1862.
W m Payne Coroner.
The Execution of this Warrant appears by the Panel hereunto annexed.
The answer of
Thos Oxford Beadle.
LIST OF NAMES FOR THE CORONER
Mr. John Hart
Mr. John Campbell Jun r
Mr. John Sheppard
Mr. James Spicer
Mr. John Rider
Mr. Thomas Spencer Capel Foreman.
Mr. Ishmael Fisher
Mr. Charles James Thicke
Mr. John Walpole
Mr. Henry James Andrew
Mr. Henry Watts
Mr. William Horsford
Mr. Henry Miller
Mr. Ralph Charles Price
Mr. Charles Coulson
Mr. James Thomas Teasdale
Mr. William Tuff
Mr. Thomas Martin
Mr. Henry Benthall
Mr. Thomas MacNally
Mrs. Sarah Birrell, housekeeper
Catherine Birrell, daughter
Ellen Mclntyre, niece
Clara Siddall, sister to Mrs. Rossetti
Mr, Swinburn, friend of Mrs. Rossetti
14 Chatham Place witnesses.
33
By kind permission ofH. H&mblen, Esq.
FANNY HUGHES
From a photograph by Downey of Newcastle
Sarah Birrill 14 Chatham Place Blackfriars says I am Housekeeper
says I knew the deceased Mrs Rossetti. I have known her 9 years, she
has lived there about 2 years. This happened on Monday night after she
was in bed. I saw her about 4 in the afternoon. She was quite cheerful
then. At ii she was asleep. I was called up about J past n by her
husband. I saw her then in bed. She looked very blank (? black) in the
face. A Doctor was sent for he came directly. And he attended to her.
She died at 20 minutes past 7 on Tuesday morning. She used to take
laudanum occasionally to produce sleep for the last twelve-months I saw
a Phial of it was under her pillow. I knew of no hurt to her nor dont
suspect any. Her husband & herself lived very comfortable together.
Clara Siddall No. 8 Kent Place Old Kent Road says the deceased was
my sister her name was Elizabeth Eleanor Rossetti. Her age 29 last
birthday. I saw her on Saturday evening last she seemed in tolerably good
spirits then. I have heard of her taking laudanum to produce sleep. I
was sent for and saw her about 3 on Tuesday morning. She was then
alive but quite unconscious. I know of no harm to her. I dont suspect
any. I heard she had taken a few drops of laudanum in brandy and water
before she went to bed. She had no family alive.
Dante Gabriel Rossetti of No. 14 Chatham Place Artist says that
deceased was my wife & her name was Elizabeth Eleanor Rossetti. On
Monday afternoon she was perfectly well, about 6 or 7 we went out to
dinner, but before we started she appeared drowsy and when we got half
way in the cab I proposed going home again. She wished to go on and
we dined at the in Leicester Square with a friend. She
seemed somewhat between flightiness and drowsiness, a little excited.
We left there at 8 and came straight home. I went out again after 9
leaving her just going to bed. She seemed as right as before. She was
in the habit of taking large doses of laudanum. I know that she has taken
a 100 drops. I thought that she had the laudanum in brandy. I returned
home again at J past 1 1 and then she was in bed and snoring. I found
her utterly without consciousness. I found a Phial on a small table by
her bedside, it was quite empty. The Doctor was sent for and he attended
her she had not spoken of wishing to die. She had contemplated going
out of town in a day or two and had bought a new mantle the day before.
She was very nervous & had I believe diseased heart. My impression is
that she did not do it to injure herself but to quiet her nerves. She could
not have lived without laudanum. She could not sleep at times nor take
food.
Francis Hutchinson of Bridge Street M.D. says I knew the deceased
and attended her in her confinement in April or May last. The child was
born dead and had been dead for a fortnight before it was born. I have
only seen her about once since then, that was about a month ago in the
street. I was sent for on Monday night about } past n. She Was in a
Comatose state we tried to rouse her, but without any avail. She could
not swallow anything. I used the stomach pump but it had no effect. I
33 1
then injected several quarts of water into the stomach and washed the
stomach out. The smell of laudanum was very distinct, 100 drops is a
large dose. I staied with her till 6 in the morning. I left her in the care
of Mr. ? Mable a medical friend of hers I believe that she died from the
effects of laudanum which must have been a very large dose. The Phial
found in the room was about a 2 oz. Phial. It was labled " Laudnum
Poison." She was in a very nervous condition when I saw her. Her
husband appeared very much attached to her.
Catherine Birrill says I had not bought any laudnum for the deceased
for 6 months. I bought a shillingsworth. The Phial was about half
full. The Phial found was the one she generally used. I never saw her
take any. I know of no hurt to her. I waited upon her and they lived
very happily together.
Algernon Swinburne 1 6 Grafton St. Fitzroy Square at present says I
have known the deceased and her husband. They dined with me on
Monday, I saw nothing particular in the deceased except that she appeared
a little weaker than usual.
Ellen Macintire says I live at 14 Chatham Place says I was with the
deceased on Monday evening about | past 8. She seemed cheerful then.
I did not see her again till Mr. Rosetti called me up at | past n. She
told me once that she had taken quarts of laudanum in her time. I have
seen the Phial with laudanum in it.
Taken on oath j Wm _ p
before me J J
332
INDEX
ABERDARE, Lord (H. A. Bruce), 119, 186
Acland, Dr. Henry Wentworth, 69, 87,
140-9, 198, 202, 247
Miss Sarah Angelina, 148, 223
Mrs., 141-8, 152
Allingham, William, viii, ix, xi, xxiii, 10,
19, 20-7, 3 x - 8 > 4~4> 52, 64-6, 71-
9, 82-9, 93-9, 100-8, 112-17, 1 2 1-5,
130-9, 143-8, 150-1, 167, 170-9,
180-4, T 99> 2 oi-i7, 223-9, 2 3~9>
240, 261-7, 2 79> 28 4> 2 95, 3 J 4- l6 >
320-1
Anthony, W. Mark, 272
Armitage, Edward, R.A., 14
Mrs., 81
Aspa, Count, 8
Atkinson, Mr., of Ambleside, 73
Babington, Dr., 269
Bancroft, Samuel, xix
Barbour, Mr., 46
Baring, Miss, 233
Bath, Dowager Marchioness of, 37, 271
" Bede, Cuthbert," 244
Bell, Jacob, 9
Miss, 161, 233
Benthall, Henry, 119, 162, 300, 306
Birkbeck, Rev. John, 7
Birrell, Catherine, 291-9, 307-18
Mrs., 52-7, 60-2, 119, 137, 175, 249,
291-9, 304-8, 310-11
Black, Clementina, 4
Blackadder, Henrietta, 111-17
Blake, William, 14
Blanchard, Edmund, 47, 54
Bodley, G. F., R.A., 275
Bonalley, Rosabell, xviii, xix
Bonheur, Rosa, 253
Bowen, Charles, 220
Bowles, C. L., 198
Boxall, Sir William, 14
Miss, 223
Boyce, George Price, 51, 71-9, 97, 100,
114, 178-9, 191, 218, 226-8, 232,
253, 261, 321
Mrs. (Mdlle. de Soubeyran), 218
Boyd, Alice, xvi, xxii, 244
Spencer Hugh, xvi
Branson, Ferguson, M.D., 204
Brett, John, 272
Britten, Ellen, 24-5, 56, 75, 82
Brooks, Shirley, 40
Brought, Robert, 242, 275
Mrs., 242, 275
Brown, Catherine (Cathy), 49, 62, 126,
153, 166-7
Ford Madox, x, xiv, xk, xxiv, 3, 6, 12,
13, 1 8, 30-7, 41-2, 43-9, 50-8, 62-
9, 92-7, 103-17, 119, 120-8, 130-9,
151-9, 166-7, 172-7, 181-9, 190-9,
200-17, 223-9, 232, 240-7, 253-5,
261-3, 271-8, 281-8, 291-9, 300,
301-19
Mrs. (Emma Hill), viii, xiv, xix, 12, 30,
40-9, 54-6, 62-4, 82, 1 1 8, 126-7,
i35- 8 > 153, ^7, i7 6 ~7> I86 > *99
225-9, 237, 245-7, 256, 270-8, 286-
8, 291, 302
Hannah, 156-7
Lucy, 126
Browning, Mrs. (Elizabeth Barrett), 76,
154, 160-9, 204, 227, 231-9
Robert, xx, xxiii, xxiv, 65, 76, 121,
139, 154, 160, 182-3, 204, 227-9,
230-9, 255
Sarianna, Miss, xx
Burden, Elizabeth, 218
Burne- Jones, Edward Coley, vii, xx, 169,
170-5, 180-5, 187, 197, 200-17,
223-9, 230-2, 241-7, 254-6, 261-3,
270-5, 282-9, 296-8, 300-13
Mrs. Georgiana, viii, xxiv, 173, 187,
225-9, 230-3, 241-8, 254-6, 263-9,
270-2, 281-6, 290-9, 300-15
333
Burne, Philip (" Pip "), 285-7, 2 97
Burrows, Mr., 7
Butler, Mrs. Josephine, xii
Button, Mrs., 209
Caine, Sir Hall, xxiii, 140, 227
Calverley, Walter C., 72
Cameron, Dr., 261
Campbell, Major Calder, 116
Car dwell, Miss, 144
Carlyle, Thomas, 21, 36, 76, 100, 154,
226, 230, 262, 295
Mrs., 76, 86
Carrascosa, General, 8, 99
" Carroll, Lewis" (George Dodgson), 144
Cartlidge, Mrs., 193, 212
Castiglione, Comtesse de, 164
Cavendish, Lady, 290
Cayley, Charles Bagot, 71, 100, 272
Chalon, Alfred E., R.A., 14
J- J-> H
Charles, Mrs. (Mrs. F. G. Stephens),
272
Chatfield, Alfred, 236-9
Mrs., 236-9
Chorley, Henry, 34, 40
Clough, Arthur Hugh, 76, 108, 114
Coke, Lady Mary, 7
Cole, Sir Henry, xv, 3, 42, 122
Coleman, 114
Collins, Charles Alston, 7, 9, 54, 88,
103-4
Wilkie, 7, 9, 103-4
Collinson, James, xiii, xiv, 8, 9, 13, 22
Colman, Henry, 204
Combe, Dr., 144
Mrs., 67, 145, 203
Constable, John, R.A., 8, 14
Cook, Eliza, 38, 47-8, 80
Cooper, Mrs., 78
Sidney Charles, R.A., 34
Costa, Michael, 8
Cotton, Mrs., 146, 223
Coutts, Angela Burdett, 47-8, 80, 151
Cox, North, 1 80, 226
Crellin, Dr., 241, 251
Croucher, 268
Cushman, Charlotte, 75, 80
Susan, 80
Dalrymple, Lady, 249, 272, 290
Darwin, Charles, 56
Davies, Emily, 79, 80, ill
Eustacia, 55
Day, Mrs. Lucy, I, 186-8, 190, 315
De Keyser, 300, 306
De Morgan, William, 73, 101
Deverell, Margaretta, 3, 4, 31, 55, 67,
77, 1 80, 267
Maria, 3, 4, 31, 55, 67, 77> l8o > 2<5 7
Mrs. (Dorothy Phillips), 2-9, 14, 16,
28-9, 30-2, 41-5, 55-6
Spenser, 3,4,31,55,67, 1 80
Walter Howell, 1-7, 12, 13, 17,
21-5, 26-9, 3- 8 > 4 2 -3 ? 54-9.
66-7, 68-9, 72, 96, 100-14, 122,
145, 175, 180, 181, 196, 203-16,
258, 283-9, 2 93
Walter Ruding, 1-5, 31, 55, 67, 203
Wykeham, 3, 4, 16,31,67
Dickens, Charles, 34, 71-6, 233
Dixon, Canon Watson, 197, 217, 230
Thomas, 225
W. Hep worth, 71, 104, 272
Dobell, Sidney, 280
Domecq, Adele, 87, 106
Drury, Annie, 203, 210, 211
Duncan, Edward, 50, 119, 252, 300
Dunlop, 37
Dyce, William, R.A., 4, 5, 14, 79, 226
Eastlake, Sir John, P.R.A., 107
Lady (" Corinne "), 85, 107, 150, 170
Edwards, Miss Betham, 80
EUiotson, Dr., 8, 81
Elliott, Ebenezer, 10
Ellis, Prof. S., xx
Elphick, Mrs., 90-1, 110-13
Etty, William, R.A., 14
Eugenie, Empress, 73, 163-4, 2 9
Evans, Marian, 48, 79
Faithful, Miss Emily, 48, 256
Fanny (Cornforth, Cox, Hughes), ix,
xv, xvi, xviii, xix, xxi, xxiii, 5, 71, 96,
122-5, iSi-3, 227-9, 2 34> 2 58, 265-
6, 275, 280-1, 292, 303-20
Faro, 8
Faulkner, Charles Joseph, 197-9, 201-
17, 225, 230-4, 263, 272
The Misses (Lucy and Kate), 223,
283
Ffoulkes, Mrs., 144
Fowlinski, Miss, 24
334
Friswell, Mrs. Hain, 218, 230, 264
Frith, W. P., R.A., 11, 256
Mrs. Isabel, 32, 256
Fulford, William, 197
Furnivall, Dr. J. W., 101
Gaisford, Dr. Thomas, 140
Gale, Sarah (Greenacre), 157
Gambart, Ernest, 214, 249, 253, 274-7,
281
Gamble, Henry, 204
Gandy, John, R.A., 256
Gaskell, Mrs., 260
Gavazzi, Father, 7
Gilchrist, Alexander, 254-6, 2$6, 289
Mrs. Anne, 193, 254, 269, 275, 289,
3I3~I7
Gillies, Margaret, 83
Gillum, Colonel, 230-2, 253
Gladstone, W. E., xii
Goldsmid, Sir Isaac Lyon, 7
Goodall, Frederick, R.A., 4
Mrs., 8 1
Gordon, Osborne, 144
Gosse, Edmund, 257
Grant- Allen, xv, 232
Granville, Lord, 3
Gray, George Chalmers, 131, 151
Euphemia Chalmers ("Effie", Mrs.
Ruskin, Mrs. Millais), xxi, xxiv,
43~6> 59> 66 > 74> 85-9, 97, 100-3,
131-5, 150, 172, 249, 250
Greaves, The Misses, 193, 213
Green, 268, 315
Charles, 204-14
Greenacre, William, 57, 120-1, 155-6
Greene, Mrs., 184
Gull, Dr., 254, 273
Hailes, Dr., 64, 89, 91-5, 149
Hall, S. C., 34
Halliday, Michael F., 71, 168, 272
Hancock, John, 163
Hannay, James, 12
Michael, 12, 37, 54, 66, 71, 88,
104
Hardman, William, 258-9, 261-9, 272,
306
Hart, Mrs. Solomon, 81
Hatch, Rev. Edwin, 205-6
Haussman, Baron, 162
Hearnden, Mrs., 36
Heaton, Miss, 106, 159, 160-8, 233, 313
Mrs. J. Aldham, 286-7
Hemblen, Mrs., xix
Hems, Henry, 204
Herbert, J. R., R.A., 4
Miss Louise (Mrs. Crabbe), xxiii,
166-7, 181, 215-16, 223-4, 2 30,
242,292
Hill, Birkbeck, 163, 200, 227-9, 2 34
Mrs., 30, 256
Octavia, xxi
Hobbes, John, 85-6
Hodgson, J. E., R.A., 11
Hogarth, Harriet, 55, 181
Holt, John, 254
Home, David Dunglass, 47, 69
Hook, James Clark, R.A., n, 232
Horsley, James Callcott, R.A., 4, 14,
131
Houston, Madame, 241
Howard, Stirling, 204
Howell, Charles Augustus, xii, xix, xx,
38, 88, 170-6, 185, 211-12, 228,
233, 240, 261-9, 3*8-19
Miss Rosalind, 38
Howitt, Anna Mary, viii, 37, 40-8,
62-9, 72-9, 80-9, 91-5, 109-13,
129, 167-8, 1 86, 272
Mrs., viii, 9, 37, 40-6, 62-9, 72-5, 94,
I5i
William, 37, 40-6, 62-9, 72, 80-4,
151,213
Hughes, Arthur, 45, 72, 199, 219, 226-8,
122, 230-1, 256, 272-6
Hunt, Alfred, xx, xxiv, 226, 231, 276
Emily, 8
Leigh, 19
Sarah Holman, 8
William Holman, vii, ix, xviii, xx,
xxiv, 6, 8, 12, 13, 14, 16, 17, 18,
2i-4> 34~7 ? 4-9> 54~9> 66-7, 74-9,
85-8, 97, 101-7, in, 115, 131, 144-
5, 168, 172-8, 182-9, 191-2, 205,
225-8, 231-2, 272-4
Hutchinson, Dr. Francis, 269, 297-8,
300-11
Ibbitt, Miss Sarah Ann, 203-10
William, 203-13
Inchbold, T. W., 226, 272
lonides, Chariclea, 217, 263
Luke, 261, 317
335
ames, Henry, 102
'arvis, Mrs., 25
bhnson, Mr., 201, 218
r ones, George, R.A., 40
Mrs., 40
Keates, 53, 301, 312
Keeling, 269
Keightley, T. W., 123
Kerr, J. Bellenden, xv
Kincaid, Alexander, 154-9
Mrs., 154-9, l6 4
Kingsley, Rev. Charles, 34, 105-6, 230-1
Knight, Joseph, 272
Latouche, Mrs., 102, 249, 277
Rosie, 249, 250, 262, 277, 317
Lear, Edward, 226, 272
Leatheart, James, xix, 233, 265-8, 320
Ledru-Rollin, 38
Leigh-Smith, Barbara (Madame Bodi-
chon), viii, 37, 47, 66, 72-9, 80-9,
95-6, 108-10, 111-19, 1 S*, 2 35>
248, 256, 272, 321
"Ben," 76, 95, in, 112
Benjamin, M.P., 47, 76, 80, 95
Julia, 76-9, 80, 95, no
Nanny, 76, 80, 95
Philip, 76, 95, in, 112
Leighton, Frederic, 42, 139, 209, 226
Leslie, Robert, 8
Liddell, Dr. Henry George, 198
Mrs. (Lorina), 202
Linton, W. J., 268
Liveing, Dr., 261
Lomas, Henry, 204
Lumsden, Lady Isabella, 144
Luxmore, Mrs., 146, 223
McCracken, Francis, xix, 37, 49, 60-4,
84, 115, 265
Macdonald, Rev. George Browne, 229,
246
Harry, 229
Louisa (Mrs. Baldwin), 229, 247
Mackail, J. W., 170
Mackintyre, Ellen, 292-8, 307, 312
Maclaren, Archibald, 197-8
Maclennan, John Ferguson, 159
Maclise, Daniel, R.A., 14
Macready, W. M., 12 1
Madox, Tristram, 126
Maenza, Madame, 240
Monsieur, 240
Marks, Murray, 261
Mrs. H. Stacy, 81
Marochetti, Baron, 97
Marshall, H. (of Leeds), 253
Dr. John, 44-5, 67, 251, 298-9, 312
Mrs., 290
Peter Paul, 263, 272, 283
Mrs. (Gussy), 272, 283
Marston, Dr. Westland, 41, 272
Martineau, Robert, 168, 272
Mazzini, Giuseppe, 7, 8, 21
Meadows, Kenny, xv
Meredith, George, xiii, xix, 140, 256-9,
261,272,289,306,316,
Mrs. G., 287
Meteyard, Eliza, 48
Middleton, Mrs. (of Hope), 193, 213
Millais, Mrs. Emily Mary, 9, 34, 43,
93
John Everett, vii, xix, xxiv, 6, 8, 9, 12,
I3 ? H> I7 2I > 22 > 2 3> 33~4> 40-9.
54-9, 63-8, 71-5, 84-6, 93, 100-7,
116, 131, 135, 144-8, 150, 172-4,
185,209,211,225-6,245,250
John William, 9, 15, 59, 65, 93, 294
Miller, Miss Annie, xv, 36, 49, 71-9,
82-9, 93-4, 103, 117, 118, 168, 178,
181-5, 190-2, 231-4
John, 252, 272
Milnes, Richard Monckton (Lord
Houghton), 208, 271
Minchin, Miss, 162
Moore, George, 59
Moreau, Gustave, 56
Morris, Jane Alice, xx, 263
Mrs. (senior), 173-4, 199
William (senior), 170
William ("Top ")> xxiv, 18, 48, 169,
170-6, 180-7, I 97~9> 200-19, 220-
9, 230-4, 247, 255-6, 261-4, 272-5,
282-6, 291-6, 301-16
Mrs. (Jane Burden), xv, xxiii, xxiv,
215-19, 224-9, 230, 244-5, 255,
262-5, 272-5, 282-7, 290-6, 313-15
Morrison, James Cotter, 102
Moses, Lillas, 7
Moxon, Edward, 130, 131, 166
Mulock, Dinah, 51, 80
Mulready, William, R.A., 131, 226
336
"T^S^SSj? ' 3 -' 6 ' ^ P % f S " T ^ (<< Aunt Sara "),
ir* A ' ^^5, 290
Miss, 178
Napoleon, Emperor, 163, 206
Naundorf, Louis, 8
Nichol, Robert, 205
Nieuwerkerke, Count, 164
Nightingale, Florence, 47, 80-8, 91
Rev. 239
Norton, Prof. Charles Eliot, 129, 214
223-7, 255, 292-4, 315
Oliphant, Mrs., 41, 101
Orsini, 261
Paganini, 8
Panizzi, Antonio, 8
Parke, Bessie Rayner, viii, 47-8, 79, 80-9,
93-5, 108-11, 1 86, 256, 272, 290,
320
Joseph, 80
Parodi, 8
Pasta, Madame, 8
Patmore, C. K. Dighton, viii, xv, 19, 20,
37, 40-1, 66, 70-1, 86, 101, 219,
272-3, 280
Mrs., viii, 66, 272
Pattison, Dr. Mark, 144, 198
Paul, Sir Dean, 160
Paxton, Sir Joseph, 132
Payne, William, 300-12
Penfold, Dr., 7
Pepe, Gen. Guglielmo, 08, QQ
Phillips, Sir Travel, 4
Pierce, Mrs. Harriet, 7
Pietrocola-Rossetti, Teodorico, 72, 99
Pistrucchi, Filippo, 7
Plint, T. E., 64, 1 66, 230-3, 251-3, 265-
8, 274-8, 286
Mrs., 275-7, 286
Polidori, Charlotte Lydia, 37, 54, 89, 98,
109-19, 253
Eliza Harriett, 37, 98
Dr. John William, ix
Pollen, Hungerford, 199, 272
Potter, Dr. Cypriani, 8 A f
Price, Cormell, 197, 201, 223-7
The Misses (Frances and Margaret),
223
Priestley, Joseph, 80
Z WIFE OF ROSSKTTI
Valentine, 199, 201-19, 224-6, 249,
2oQ
Procter, Adelaide Anne, 80
Proust, Marcel, xv
Prout, Father, 42
Pusey, Rev. Edward Bouverie, 145
Mrs. (Miss Barker), 146
Lady Lucy, 146
Miss, 146-8
Rae, George, 233, 288, 320
" Red Lion Mary," 199, 218, 256, 268-0,
291-8, 315
Redgrave, Richard, R.A., 4
Mrs., 81
Rendall, Simon, 53
Richardson, William, 150
Ristori, Adelaide, 166
Robinson, F. Mary, 64
Rolandi, 8.
Rose, J. Anderson, 261, 272, 289
Ross, Robert, 143
Rossetti, Christina Georgiana, x, xii,
xxiv 7, 12, 13, 21-2, 36-7, 41-5,
53-8, 64, 72-5, 80, 98, 136, 154-5,
105, 183, 201, 224, 238, 242-7,
260-7, 272, 290-6, 303, 315
Frances Mary Lavinia (" Old An
tique "), x, 7, 8, 36-7, 59, 98-9, 136,
*55, 183, 236-8, 242-4, 255, 273,
291, 301-17
Gabriele, 7, 8, 36, 53-4, 72, 97-9, 239,
Joseph, 7
Maria Francesca (" Maggie ")> xiii, 7,
8 > 3^-7, 59, 62, 98, 136, 155, 183,
Michael, xiii, xxiii, xxiv, 4, 5,
9, u, !2, 13, 16, 17, 21-5, 35-8,
40-5, 50-7, 63-4, 7i-6, 84-8, 98,
109, 119, 129, 133-9, 143, 150-5,
164-5, 184-5, 192, 201, 214, 223-7,
230-8, 240, 243-6, 255, 263-8,
273-7, 285-6, 295-8, 301-17, 320
Mrs. (Lucy), 192
Routledge, George, 64, 83, 108, 114
Ruskin, John James, 86-8, 97-8, 132-8
Mrs., 86, 97, 101, 132-8, 152, 169
John, x, xiii, xv, xix, xxi, 3, 7, 15, 18,
34-5, 4 I ~7, 62 -9, 74, 80-9, 93-9,
337
ioo~i6,
150-9, 1 60-8, 171-3, 182, 191-8,
205-15, 224-7, 240-9, 250-6, 262-
8, 272-7, 285, 290-7, 305-17. S^o
Ruxton, Capt. A., 214, 219
St. Elme, Ida de, 8
Sala, George Augustus, 71, 233
Sand, George, 184
Sandys, Frederick A., 261, 272, 289
Sangiovanni, Benedetto, 8
Sard, 8
Sayers, Tom, 251
Schucking, Prof. Levin, xxi
Scott, David, 61
W. B. (" Scotus "), xi, xv, xvi, xviii,
xxii, xxiv, 5, 1 6, 22-3, 43, 59, 60-8,
139, 151-2, 1 60, 198, 213, 224-8,
233-5, 257, 263, 274, 2 8o-9, 306,
313, 320 m B>
Mrs. (Laetitia Norquoy), xv, xvi, xxn,
xxiii, 16, 17, 60, 218, 233, 242-4,
256, 289, 306
Seddon, John P., 54, 66, 119, 166, 233
Thomas, 37, 54, 66, 126, 272
Segati, Marianna, xv
Shields, Frederick, xiv, xxiii
Siddall, Annie, I, 30, 155, 256
Charles Crookes, I, 29, 30, 120, 158,
213, 2 34-9, 278
Mrs. Elizabeth Elenor (Evans), I,
28-9, 30, 56, 121, 158, 186-8, 299,
301, 320
Clara ( Tump "), ix, i, 29, 56, 158,
213, 278, 298-9, 300, 307-19, 320-1
Harry, ix, 29, 120, 321
James, 187, 193, 298-9, 300-9, 321
Lydia (Mrs. Wheeler), ix, I, 56, 63,
121, 137, 157-8, 184-8, 209, 236,
247,251-6,266,301-13, 315,320
Smith, Bernhard, 47, 171
Madeline, 229
Dr. Southwood, 83
Smyth, Mrs. Carmichael, 42
Sothern, Bob, 290
Speedman, Brother, 234
Stanfield, Clarkson, R.A., 14, 105
Stanforth, Mrs., 90
Stanhope, J. Spencer, 199, 226
Stannus, Hugh, 204
Stebbing, W. P., 100
Stephen, Leslie, 319
Stephens, Frederic G., 8, 12, 13, 16, 18,
22, 31-4, 54, 67-8, 71-9, 103, 117,
226, 272
Stevenson, Dr., 291
Stillman, William S., xxii, 223, 249, 261
Stokes, J. Whitley, 71
Stone, Frank, R.A., 34
Stothard, Charles Alfred, R.A., 34
Stowe, Mrs. Beecher, 80
Strahan, Anne, 86, 132-3, 250
Street, George Edmund, 7, 173-4, 226
Swinburne, Algernon Charles, ix, xxiv,
45, 6~5> 73, X 44> 205-7, 221, 237,
243, 256-9, 260-7, 271-8, 281-9,
293-9, 302-9, 312-20
Lady Jane, ix, 208, 302-6
Sir John (Cousin John), 206, 257
Swinfen Jervis, M.P., 7
Sykes, Godfrey, 204
Jessica, 97
Taylor, Sir Henry, 22
Tom, 76, 179
Tebbs, H. Virtue, xxiv, 66, 272, 319
Mrs., 66, 272
Tennyson, Alfred, xx, 19, 32-3, 75-6,
100, 130, 154, 170, 181-3, 206-8,
256-9, 293-5, 314, 320
Mrs. Emily, xx, 130-1
Thackeray, Miss Anny, 42
William Makepeace, 8, 19, 42, 76, too,
267
Thomas, Cave, 54
Tozer, Mrs., I, 2, 24-9, 30-2, 64, 75-7,
82
Trevelyan, Lady, 233, 271
Tuppers, The, 9, n, 33,254
Turner, J. M. W., R.A., 88, 97, 134,
144-8, 172, 209-14
Twisleton, Hon. Mrs., viii
Uwins, Thomas, R.A., 7, 14
Varley, John, 87
Veriables, Canon, 144
Walker, Dr. Richard, 222
Wallis, Henry, 226, 287
Ward, E. M., R.A., 14
Mrs., 102
Waterford, Marchioness of, 151, 167,
271, 290
338
Watts, Alaric Alexander (" Attila "),
272, 319
G. F., R.A., 47, 97, 122, 140-8, 226-7,
247
Henry, 307, 312
Theodore, xxiii, xxiv
Waugh, Evelyn, 69, 107, 119, 120-1,
253, 276
Webb, Philip, 263
Wetherall, Mrs., 212
Wheeler, Joseph, 186-8
Nurse, 286-7
Whistler, J. McNeill, 261, 320
White, E. Fox, 37, 153, 166
Wilde, Oscar, 171
Wilkinson, Dr. Garth, 62-4, 75, 82-9,
99, 101-16, 149, 156
Williams-Ellis, Mrs., 102
Wilson, D.A., 295
Windus, W. L., 172, 226
Winkworth, Miss Catherine, 103
Wood, Mr., 7
Rev. J. G., 144
Woodhouse, Lord, 156
Woodward, Benjamin, 50, 198-9, 220-6
Woolner, Thomas, 8, 13, 22, 31-6, 56,
67, 101-7, 130, 181, 205, 226,
232
Wordsworth, William, 36, 206, 256
Wynter, J., 144
Yonge, Charlotte Mary, 170
Young-Mitchell, 203-13
104 142