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Title: Præraphaelite diaries and letters
Editor: William Michael Rossetti
Author: Ford Madox Brown
Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Gabriele Rossetti
Release date: February 23, 2026 [eBook #78022]
Language: English
Original publication: London: Hurst and Blackett, 1900
Credits: Mairi, Dori Allard, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PRÆRAPHAELITE DIARIES AND LETTERS ***
Transcriber’s Notes: Italicized text is surrounded by underscores:
_italics_.
[Illustration: (Christina Georgina Rossetti, by Dante Gabriel Rossetti)]
PRÆRAPHAELITE
DIARIES AND LETTERS
EDITED BY
WILLIAM MICHAEL ROSSETTI
I SOME EARLY CORRESPONDENCE OF DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI 1835-54
II MADOX BROWN’S DIARY ETC 1844-56
III THE P R B JOURNAL KEPT BY W M ROSSETTI 1849-53
ILLUSTRATED
_J’ai voulu tout simplement puiser dans l’entière connaissance de
la tradition le sentiment raisonné et indépendant de ma propre
individualité_--GUSTAVE COURBET 1855
LONDON
HURST AND BLACKETT LIMITED
13 GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET
1900
_All Rights reserved_
VARIOUS PERSONS
BELOVED OR CHERISHED BY ME
IN DEATH AS IN LIFE
STAND ON RECORD IN THIS BOOK
WHICH I DEDICATE
TO THE MEMORY OF THEM ALL
W M R
CONTENTS.
INTRODUCTION
SOME EARLY CORRESPONDENCE OF DANTE GABRIEL
ROSSETTI _Introduction_ 3
LETTERS FROM DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI, 1 to 20 6
LETTER FROM GABRIELE ROSSETTI, 21 38
LETTER FROM DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI, 22 40
LETTER FROM GABRIELE ROSSETTI, 23 41
LETTERS FROM DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI, 24 to 26 43
MADOX BROWN--SOME LETTERS, FOLLOWED BY A
DIARY _Introduction_ 51
LETTERS 1 to 6 51
DIARY 1847 61
” 1848 79
” 1849 100
” 1850 105
” 1851 107
” 1852 109
” 1853 112
” 1854 113
” 1855 152
” 1856 201
THE P.R.B. JOURNAL, 1849-53 _Introduction_ 205
” 1849 209
” 1850 244
” 1851 292
” 1852-3 305
INDEX 310
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
1. Christina Georgina Rossetti, Profile by
Dante Gabriel Rossetti, Pencil (20 May
1865). A very exact likeness of her
at the age of thirty-four _Frontispiece_
2. The Gravestone of Elizabeth Brown,
Madox Brown’s first wife, Highgate
Cemetery, designed by him. Print
taken from a Drawing which he
made in Colour-wash. A Grandson
of Mr. and Mrs. Brown, Michael
Ford Madox Rossetti, who died in
infancy in 1883, is now buried in the
same Grave _To face p._ 65
3. Christ Washing Peter’s Feet, by Madox
Brown, Pencil-sketch for the Oil-picture
now in the National British
Gallery. The Picture seems to have
been begun towards the winter of
1851, and was exhibited in 1852:
this Pencil-drawing is probably the
first sketch made to try the composition ” 110
4. Alfred Tennyson reading _Maud_ aloud.
Pen-and-ink Sketch by Dante Gabriel
Rossetti, 27 September 1855. Details
as to this matter are given in my
Memoir of Dante Rossetti. Mr. and
Mrs. Browning, being then for a while
at No. 13 Dorset Street, London,
invited a few friends to hear Tennyson
read _Maud_, as he had undertaken.
Miss Browning, my Brother, and
myself, were present, and perhaps one
other. My Brother, unobserved by
Tennyson, made a pen-and-ink sketch
of him, and gave it to Browning. He
also made a duplicate of the sketch,
which belongs (or used to belong) to
Mr. Cosmo Monkhouse. The present
version is a triplicate, which he sent to
Miss Elizabeth E. Siddal, then in
Paris: she had started (I think only a
few days before 27 September) for
Paris and Nice, for the sake of
her health. This triplicate had remained
in the possession of the Siddal
family until September 1899, when
her Brother was so good as to present
it to me ” 233
W. M. R.
INTRODUCTION.
Through the agency of various persons, myself not the least active, a
considerable bulk of materials about the Præraphaelite Brotherhood,
or P.R.B., has by this time been published. Some of these materials
are in the nature of narratives or essays; others, of documents of
old date--letters, diaries, and so on. I now offer to the public a
further instalment of materials of the second class.
This instalment, as the reader will readily perceive, consists of
three several things, not directly connected the one with the other,
but all bearing upon the Præraphaelite movement. There is:--1. An
early correspondence of Dante Gabriel Rossetti, beginning (for
curiosity’s sake) in April 1835, when he was not quite seven years of
age, and going on to March or April 1854, just before the date when
my compilation entitled _Ruskin, Rossetti, Præraphaelitism_ (1899)
begins; and with this are included two letters from our Father. 2.
Some letters from Ford Madox Brown to his first Wife, Elizabeth
(Bromley), December 1844 to May 1845, followed by a much longer item,
extracts from his Diary from 4th September 1847 to 6th January 1856:
some passages from this Diary, relating to Dante Rossetti and his
surroundings, were given in my compilation above-named, and these
are, of course, omitted here. 3. Extracts from the P.R.B. Journal,
which I, as a member of the Brotherhood acting as its Secretary,
kept from 15th May 1849 to 29th January 1853. Thus the entire range
of dates in this volume is from April 1835 to January 1856; and from
1847 to 1856 it is tolerably detailed and copious.
It will be seen that the three constituent parts of this book overlap
to a large extent. The most important of the three is--as I think
most readers will say--the writing of Madox Brown. I have given the
precedence to the Rossetti correspondence simply because it begins at
the earlier date.
It seems superfluous for me to write any more here. My object in the
present volume (as in one or more that have preceded it) is not to
give any continuous narrative or dissertation of my own, but to set
forth original documents, with such introductory or annotating matter
as may make them plain. Matter of this sort is furnished in connexion
with each of the three items which make up the book: and so I leave
it in the reader’s hands. He may perchance find it informing in some
parts, and amusing in at any rate as many.
WM. M. ROSSETTI.
London.
July 1899.
PRÆRAPHAELITE
DIARIES AND LETTERS.
SOME EARLY CORRESPONDENCE OF DANTE
GABRIEL ROSSETTI.
SOME EARLY CORRESPONDENCE OF DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI.
In the course of some recent researches among old family documents
I put together the enclosed specimens--consisting of twenty-four
letters from Dante Gabriel Rossetti to various persons, 1835 to 1854,
and of two letters addressed to him by his father, 1853.
I have more than once had occasion to confute a current
misconception that Dante Rossetti could be adequately described as
a sentimentalist, a dreamer, a mystic, an æsthete, and the like,
without allowance being made for a considerable counterbalance of
attributes of a very opposite character. Certainly he had some
sentiment; he dreamed several dreams, asleep and awake; he may have
been a mystic (though I never quite understood what a mystic is); and
he had a passion for art in various forms, and for the word “art”
we now often substitute the word “æsthetics”--a term which Rossetti
seldom, if ever, pronounced. But it is not the less true that he
was full of vigour and buoyancy, full of _élan_, well alive to the
main chance, capable of enjoying the queer as well as the grave
aspects of life, by no means behindhand in contributing his quota to
the cause of high spirits--and generally a man equally natural and
genial. In youth these qualities had not been overclouded by some
troubles which beset his later years--although indeed, like other
men, he had at all periods of life his troubles and his glooms. The
present correspondence belongs all to the years of his youth; and I
think readers will say that, whatever else Dante Rossetti may have
been, he was a quick-blooded, downright-speaking man, with plenty
of will and an abundant lack of humbug. People who take an interest
in him may depend upon it that the more they learn about him--of an
authentic kind--the more will the masculine traits of his character
appear in evidence, and the less will room be left for the notion of
a pallid and anæmic “æsthete,” a candidate for the sunflowers of a
Du Maurier design. He did not “yearn.” All this is said without at
all derogating from the fact that in the very essence of his mind and
temperament Dante Rossetti was a poet--a poet who expressed himself
in verse and in form and colour.
I have appended several headnotes and one or two footnotes to these
letters; and will only add here a few observations, in the form of a
_Dramatis Personæ_, on some persons not otherwise accounted for:
John Lucas Tupper, Sculptor, intimate associate of the
Præraphaelite Brothers; a selection of his poems was published
posthumously in 1897.
Frederic George Stephens, Student of Painting, P.R.B., now a
leading Art-Critic.
Walter Howell Deverell, Painter, nominated for election into the
P.R.B.
Thomas Seddon, Painter: produced the picture of _Jerusalem_ now
in the National Gallery.
John P. Seddon, Architect.
Charles A. Collins, Painter and Author; became son-in-law of
Dickens.
James Hannay, Novelist and Essayist; was British Consul at
Barcelona in his later years.
Francis McCracken, Shipping Agent at Belfast, an early purchaser
of “Præraphaelite” pictures.
John Marshall, Surgeon, ultimately President of the Royal College
of Physicians.
William Allingham, Poet and Essayist.
Thomas Woolner, Sculptor and R.A.
Bernhard Smith, Sculptor; he settled in Australia, and there died.
LETTER I.
DANTE ROSSETTI TO MARGARET POLIDORI,
SWITHLAND, LEICESTERSHIRE.
This childish epistle from Dante Gabriel would have little or
no claim to appear here, were it not for the fact (as noted in
a few accompanying words by his mother) that it is “the second
letter of his writing--the first was to his Grandmother.” It is
written on lines, in a large text-hand--childish, of course, but
correctly formed. Dante Rossetti must have been backward rather than
otherwise--or one might say lazy--at letter-writing, for at this date
he was close upon seven years of age. I add a second childish letter,
of nearly similar date. Margaret Polidori, his eldest maternal aunt,
was at this date a governess in Leicestershire; Eliza Polidori, a
younger aunt, addressed in the second letter, lived at home with her
parents.
38 Charlotte Street, London.
7 April 1835.
Dear Aunt M.
Papa has bought two shawls for Maria and Christina. Dr. Curci,
a great friend of papa’s, came from Naples, and has given
Christina a little locket without hair, of the Virgin Mary with
Jesus Christ in her arms; it has a rim of mother-of-pearl. Papa
introduced Dr. Curci to a party where there was the Turkish
Ambassador, who asked papa to improvise.
I remain
Your affectionate nephew,
GABRIEL ROSSETTI.
LETTER II.
TO ELIZA POLIDORI, HOLMER GREEN, BUCKS.
38 Charlotte Street, London.
9 July 1835.
Dear Aunt Eliza,
We went to a fancy fair in the Regent’s Park, where I bought a
box of paints, Maria an album, and Christina two fishes and a
hook. The fair was for the benefit of a Charity School. I have
been reading Shakespeare’s _Richard the Third_ for my amusement,
and like it exceedingly. I, Maria, and William, know several
scenes by heart. I have bought a picture of Richard and Richmond
fighting, and I gilded it, after which I cut it out with no
white. My Aunt[1] came yesterday, and gave Maria a pretty little
basket: it was worked in flowers of green card.
I remain, my dear Aunt,
Your affectionate nephew,
GABRIEL C. D. ROSSETTI.
LETTER III.
TO GAETANO POLIDORI.
This letter appears to have been written in 1843, which was the date
of the privately-printed volume by my grandfather (_La Magion del
Terrore_, etc.) containing the lyric, _A Clori_. The first verse of
the lyric is “Quante stelle cancella la luna.” Polidori’s reply is
not forthcoming; but there can be little doubt that Dante Rossetti
was right in considering that the Italian poem is a free adaptation
of the English one.
50 Charlotte Street, London.
[? 1843.]
Dear Grandpapa,
On returning home yesterday and looking over your volume of
poetry, I was greatly surprised at discovering in your ode, _A
Clori_, at page 136, a most singular resemblance to a little
poem contained in Percy’s _Reliques of Ancient English Poetry_,
it being the same, verse by verse, and sometimes almost word for
word.
The poem to which I allude is written by Sir Henry Wotton, who
lived in the reign of James 1st, and is intended as an expression
of his admiration for Elizabeth, daughter of that monarch.
It runs as follows:
You meaner beauties of the night,
That poorlie satisfie our eyes
More by your number than your light,
You common people of the skies--
What are you when the moon shall rise?
Ye violets that first appeare,
By your pure purple mantles known
Like the proud virgins of the yeare,
As if the Spring were all your own--
What are you when the rose is blown?
Ye curious chanters of the wood,
That warble forth Dame Nature’s layes,
Thinking your passion understood
By your weak accents, what’s your praise
When Philomel her voyce shall raise?
So when my mistress shall be seene
In sweetness of her looks and mind;
By virtue first, then choyce, a queene;
Tell me if she was not designed
Th’ eclypse and glory of her kind.
The only difference between your composition and the above is, as
you perceive, the addition by you of two stanzas--judiciously, I
think, inasmuch as they complete the idea.
Now I do not for a moment suppose that you have translated these
lines and afterwards intentionally inserted them among your
original poems; but I should think it possible that you might
have rendered them into Italian some years ago, and that, on
looking over your manuscripts in order to compile the volume
in question, you might have found them, and, forgetting their
origin, placed them with the rest among your _Versi Lirici_.
Should this idea of mine, however, not be founded on fact, it is
certainly a most singular literary coincidence.
I remain, dear Grandpapa,
Your affectionate Grandson,
GABRIEL CHAS. ROSSETTI.
LETTER IV.
TO THE EDITOR OF A MAGAZINE.
In my Memoir of Dante Rossetti (published in 1895) I have spoken of a
very inefficient ballad which he wrote at the age of fifteen, named
_William and Marie_, and of an illustration which he concocted for
it. I possess a copy which he made of the ballad, followed by the
letter here reproduced. I am not sure what was the magazine to which
he forwarded the poem and its illustration, in the vain hope of
getting published: should suppose it to be _Smallwood’s Magazine_,
but for the fact that in that serial there were no illustrations.
Possibly he sent the letter and its contents to one Editor after
another, but I have no recollection of any such fact. From a
reference which I saw in a literary review, 1898 or ’99, I infer that
the ballad of _William and Marie_ has by this time been printed,
in whole or in part, though without any authority from Rossetti’s
representatives.
50 Charlotte Street, London.
[? 1843.]
Sir,
Should you consider the accompanying ballad not wholly unworthy
of a place in your magazine, you would highly oblige me by
inserting it. If it meet not with a favourable reception, and
should you answer me among your “Correspondents,” would you
favour me by doing so under the initials “A. B.” instead of my
real name.
I am, sir,
Yours etc. etc.
GABRIEL ROSSETTI.
P.S.--I have also executed the enclosed sketch, which is
intended, if considered sufficiently good, as a headpiece to the
ballad.
LETTER V.
TO JAMES COLLINSON.
Mr. Collinson was a painter, chiefly of domestic subjects, and a
member of the Præraphaelite Brotherhood. The letter was addressed to
him during the tour which was made by Holman Hunt and Rossetti to
Paris and Belgium.
My brother was mistaken in referring to certain pictures as
“the capture and execution of Cambyses”; they are the works
of Gerard David, representing Cambyses punishing an unjust
Judge.--_Bride-Chamber Talk_ is the poem published in 1881 under the
title of _The Bride’s Prelude_.
The initials of Mr. Hunt, added to this letter, are written in by
Rossetti.
BETWEEN GHENT AND BRUGES.
(Wednesday night, 24 October.)
Ah yes, exactly so; but when a man
Has trundled out of England into France
And half through Belgium, always in this prance
Of steam, and still has stuck to his first plan--
Blank verse or sonnets; and as he began
Would end;--why, even the blankest verse may chance
To falter in default of circumstance,
And even the sonnet lack its mystic span.
Trees will be trees, grass grass, pools merely pools,
Unto the end of time and Belgium--points
Of fact which Poets (very abject fools)
Get scent of--once their epithets grown tame
And scarce. Even to these foreign rails--my joints
Begin to find their jolting much the same.
* * * * *
Bruges: Hôtel du Commerce.
25 October 1849.
Dear P.R.B.
On the road hither last night I perpetrated only the above
atrocious sonnet, in answer to the voice which urged upon me a
more worthy exercise of my energies. It is all therefore that I
can give you.
I believe we have seen to-day almost everything very remarkable
at Bruges; but I assure you we shall want to see much of it
again. This is a most stunning place, immeasurably the best we
have come to. There is a quantity of first-rate architecture, and
very little or no Rubens.
But by far the best of all are the miraculous works of Memling
and Van Eyck. The former is here in a strength that quite stunned
us--and perhaps proves himself to have been a greater man even
than the latter. In fact, he was certainly so intellectually,
and quite equal in mechanical power. His greatest production
is a large triptych in the Hospital of St. John, representing
in its three compartments: firstly, the _Decollation of St.
John Baptist_; secondly, _the Mystic Marriage of St. Catherine
to the Infant Saviour_; and thirdly, _the Vision of St. John
Evangelist in Patmos_. I shall not attempt any description; I
assure you that the perfection of character and even drawing, the
astounding finish, the glory of colour, and above all the pure
religious sentiment and ecstatic poetry of these works, is not
to be conceived or described. Even in seeing them, the mind is
at first bewildered by such Godlike completeness; and only after
some while has elapsed can at all analyse the causes of its awe
and admiration; and then finds these feelings so much increased
by analysis that the last impression left is mainly one of utter
shame at its own inferiority. Van Eyck’s picture at the Gallery
may give you some idea of the style adopted by Memling in these
great pictures; but the effect of light and colour is much less
poetical in Van Eyck’s; partly owing to _his_ being a more sober
subject and an interior, but partly also, I believe, to the
intrinsic superiority of Memling’s intellect. In the background
of the first compartment there is a landscape more perfect in the
abstract lofty feeling of nature than anything I have ever seen.
The visions of the third compartment are wonderfully mystic and
poetical.
The Royal Academy here possesses also some most stupendous
works of Memling--among them one of a Virgin and Child, quite
astounding. In the same collection is a very wonderful Van Eyck,
some of the heads of which, however, are dreadfully vulgar in
character; and two pictures by some unknown author, representing
the capture and execution of Cambyses--equal to any one for
colour and individuality, and most remarkably fine in drawing.
They are powerfully dramatic--the second perhaps a trifle too
much so, as it represents a man being flayed alive, and is
revolting from its extreme truthfulness.
We have seen here a great many other stunning pictures, in which
this town is marvellously rich. There are several Memlings
besides those named above, and some glorious portraits by one of
the Porbus family--perhaps the finest specimens of portraiture we
ever saw.
I forgot to mention that Memling’s pictures in the Hospital
of St. John were presented to the Institution by that stunner
in return for the care bestowed upon him when he was received
here, severely wounded and in great want, after the battle of
Nancy. The interior of the hospital has undergone since his time
but very little alteration. His pictures are not painted with
oil--he having preceded Van Eyck--but with some vehicle of which
brandy and white of egg are the principal components. They have
cracked very slightly indeed; and one cannot conceive the colours
to have been more brilliant on the day of their completion.
Another great treat we had to-day was in visiting the Chapelle du
Sang de Dieu, a wonderful little place: also the Jerusalem, which
is in all respects a facsimile of the Holy Sepulchre at Palestine.
Friday 26.
I have been rash enough to sit down for the purpose of continuing
this letter--but begin to suspect, after all, that I have
nothing to say. All that we have seen to-day was merely in
re-visiting yesterday’s glories. It is stupendous to see again,
certainly--even better perhaps than the first time; but I fear
that my pen scarcely suffices for a second bill of fare. I must
therefore see what is to be done with some older topic.
Before leaving Ghent we visited the great Convent of the
town--the Béguinage. It is of a vast extent, containing entire
streets and squares of its own. Each nun has a house to herself,
over which is written not her name, but that of some saint under
whose protection she has been pleased to put it. In some cases
where the name was more than usually quaint, we felt disposed
to knock at the door and to ask if he was in; but refrained, as
it was rather late, and we feared he might be gone to bed. We
witnessed the vesper service, which rather surprised us, as we
thought that among the tunes played we could recognize “Jim Crow”
and “Nix my dolly.” At the end, each nun finds a kind of towel
somewhere, which she folds up and puts on the top of her head;
during the service, a rather sloshy[2] one goes about with a
policeman’s bull’s eye, collecting coppers. At our entrance and
departure, Hunt dipped his fingers in the holy-water stoup, and
commenced some violent gesticulations, which I was obliged to
bring to an abrupt conclusion.
We have bought an extraordinary self-concocting coffee-pot for
state-occasions of the P.R.B. We have likewise purchased a book
containing a receipt for raising the Devil, and in Paris a
quantity of Gavarni’s sketches, which I long to look over with
you.
When I left London I had the intention of finishing
_Bride-Chamber Talk_ during my absence. I have not written a line
of it. The only thing I have done, that nobody has had, are two
songs, one wanting the last verse, and the other the first. The
former I will proceed to copy here in spite of its shortcomings;
as news seems to come shorter still. I intend adding the last
stanza to-morrow, when we shall ascend the Belfry here.
THE CARILLON.
(Antwerp and Bruges.)
[Here follows the poem printed in _The Germ_ to end of Stanza 5.]
I wish I had finished this blessed ditty, dear P.R.B.; but I have
not, “and there an end,”--or no end at all rather. I will not
delay posting the letter, as we do not know exactly when we may
leave Bruges for our return, and the letter might chance to reach
after Hunt and self.
I must inform you that Memmelinck[3] is an authentic variation in
the orthography of that stunner’s name, and not of mine own evil
devising. The song is, of course, quite original; there is in
particular a Yankee of the name of Longfellow with whose works it
has no affinity.
I forgot to tell you that there is a Square here called Place
Jean van Eyck. Some of the houses in it, as indeed throughout
the town, are in all likelihood quite as old as his days. Rubens
seems here to be considered a common fool enough.
I shall not bore you to answer this rubbish, as I hope very soon
to have the real pleasure of again seeing you and the rest of
the P.R.B. I long to see what you have done to your picture, and
shall rush down at once to Brompton on my return.
Till then, believe Hunt and myself to remain, dear P.R.B.,
Your affectionate P.R. Brothers,
D. G. R., W. H. H.
LETTER VI.
TO JOHN TUPPER.
I don’t know the date of this doggrel (which gives twenty several
rhyme-words in “ack”); it was probably the Spring or Summer of 1850.
The men who “would squeeze a pun in Syriac” may probably have been
of the James Hannay connexion; the men of that connexion were not,
however, entirely likely to indulge in “sloshy tea,” but rather
in ardent spirits. As to the nicknames which appear towards the
close of the epistle--The Prince was George Tupper; The Baron, his
brother Alexander; Spectro-cadaveral Rex, John (or Jack) Tupper;
the Maniac, Holman Hunt. It is not worth while expounding (even
were it practicable to do so) how these epithets arose. Rossetti
was not the inventor of any of them. The reference to “Nature,
sky, sun,” &c., suggests that he had been invited to join in a
pedestrian excursion--such as the P.R.B.’s and their intimates got up
occasionally. In the present instance the party, as we see, was to
consist of Holman Hunt, Stephens, and the three Tuppers.
[? April 1850.]
72 Newman Street.
Saturday Afternoon.
Dear Jack
Alack!
A few days back
I bound myself by oath to smack
My lips o’er sloshy tea, and attack
White, brown, or black
Bread, and vile jokes to crack,
This night with brutes whose knack
Would squeeze a pun in Syriac.
And for to-morrow, alack!
I have a model on my track,
So that I may not pack.
Of course I writhe upon the rack:
Though as to NATURE, Jack,
(Poor dear old hack!)
Touching sky, sun, stone, stick, and stack,
I guess I’m half a quack;
For whom ten lines of Browning whack
The whole of the Zodiac.
Nevertheless, alack!
Seeing this time I must send back
To Prince and Baron, Stephens and Jack
(Spec-caday Rex, hic hæc hoc hac),
And to the Maniac,
The SACK.
This much from D. G. R. (in black,
_I.e._, with coal-ash cloth-of-sack.)
LETTER VII.
TO MARGARET POLIDORI.
The “unlucky pickle” into which my brother had got was that, as the
tenant of No. 72 Newman Street decamped without payment of rent, the
furniture &c. of Rossetti, who was sub-tenant of a studio there, were
under seizure for the tenant’s default. The picture here mentioned
was _Kate the Queen_.
[50 Charlotte Street, London.
1850--? September.]
Dear Aunt Margaret,
Many thanks for your kind gift, which reached me this morning
through Mamma. I need scarcely tell you that it comes very
àpropos, since I have not come out of the late unlucky pickle
without some expense,--or, rather I fear I _shall_ not, since as
yet I cannot say I have lost anything, as in any case I should
have had to pay my rent to some one. But I fear the bad part is
yet to come.
I am glad you liked the sketch of my picture, which is itself in
progress. The size is very large--seven feet and a half by four
feet. There will thus be plenty of scope to put your present to
its use in the procuring models, which I shall proceed to do as
soon as I get to work again--that is, I hope, not later than
Monday.
I remain, my dear Aunt,
Your affectionate nephew,
D. G. ROSSETTI.
LETTER VIII.
TO JOHN TUPPER.
I cannot now say what Mr. Tupper’s “pet theory” may have been;
apparently (from some law of optics) that the real tint of foliage
is green, even when the eye sees it of some different colour. The
subject of my brother’s picture was to be _The Meeting of Dante and
Beatrice in the Garden of Eden_: but the landscape background which
he now painted was finished up years afterwards for a subject of
quite another kind, named _The Bower-meadow_.
High Street, Sevenoaks.
Friday evening [October 1850.]
Dear Jack,
Before ever I saw your note to Hunt of this morning, you had
already been forcibly recalled to my mind, on arriving here, by
the desire that I should be endowed with the privileges that
would result from a pet theory of yours. The fact is, between you
and me, that the leaves on the trees I have to paint here appear
red, yellow, &c., to my eyes; and, as of course I know them on
that account to be really of a vivid green, it seems rather
annoying that I cannot do them so; my subject shrieking aloud for
Spring.
I will not tell you my subject, as I wish to show you the design
on my return, having it here at present. I have not seen you for
an age, though I marked you among the four or five to be routed
out before I left town--after which I was forced at last to
bolt o’ the sudden, with my tail between my legs, whereby hang
particulars of acute anguish. My canvas is a whopper again, more
than seven feet long. Ai! Ai!
Hunt gets on swimmingly--yesterday, indeed, a full inch over
the ankles: I myself had to sketch under the canopy of heaven,
without a hat, and with my umbrella tied over my head to my
buttonhole--a position which, will you oblige me by remembering,
I expressly desired should be selected for my statue--(N.B.
Trousers turned up). This last item is chiefly to suit Woolner’s
ideas of sculpture, should he get the commission. Stephens, being
under a course of philosophy, paints in the house. His band is
still, however, an inch or so short of Epicurus’s. To-day I began
painting on my picture in the Park; and began to profit by the
views of the public thereon. One man told another that I was
drawing a map, and analysed my outline to that end. One boy was
kicked by another for insulting me by doubting that my landscape
was meant for a deer. I saw the back of a pair of top boots, and
a cut-away coat; Lord Amherst, I was told, was sneaking inside,
but he refrained from exposing either his person or his ideas on
Art. His house is visited with artists in Egyptian swarms, poor
wretch! Hunt remarked--how disagreeable to enter one of your
rooms for the purpose of delivering a soliloquy, and find a man
there behind an easel; which was bobbish for Hunt.
The cold here is awful when it does not rain, and then the rain
is awful. “And what shall guard me but my naked love?”--and a
railway rug....
Believe me, dear Jack,
Your sincere friend,
D. G. ROSSETTI.
LETTER IX.
TO MARGARET POLIDORI.
My brother was now engaged in moving into No. 14 Chatham Place,
Blackfriars Bridge--the house in which he remained up to March 1862.
It was demolished several years ago.
[38 Arlington Street, Camden Town.]
16 November 1852.
My dear Aunt Margaret,
Many thanks for your kind present, which surprised me here half
an hour ago. Nothing could possibly have been more useful to me
in moving, as I had no lamp but one whose dilapidated condition
only promised to make darkness visible. I shall now bear you in
grateful recollection, not only when I look at the lamp, but when
the lamp enables me to look at anything else.
My things will be moved to-morrow, and I hope within a few days
to be comfortably settled; meanwhile I remain,
My dear Aunt Margaret,
Your affectionate nephew,
D. G. ROSSETTI.
LETTER X.
TO MADOX BROWN, HAMPSTEAD.
[38 Arlington Street.]
22 November 1852.
My dear Brown,
My beastly foot has hitherto kept me here, but I shall positively
go down to Chatham Place to-morrow; if therefore you are inclined
to do a charitable action, let me earnestly solicit you to find
your way thither, as the arrangement will otherwise be likely to
result in mere chaos and catastrophe. I suppose I shall leave
here early; but, if you go down straight to Blackfriars a little
later, you will be sure to find me there. This, of course, is
supposing that you are not at work, in which case pray come if
possible.
Yours, D. G. R.
LETTER XI.
TO MADOX BROWN, HAMPSTEAD.
“Summat on the Dook” means the poem _Wellington’s Funeral_.
14 Chatham Place, Blackfriars.
29 November 1852.
My dear Brown,
Hunt, Millais, Stephens, and Deverell, will be here on Thursday
evening, not with any reference to exhibition projects, which
are likely to result, I believe, in exhibiting nothing but our
usual inconsistency. I absented myself from Hunt’s on Friday, but
understand that such is the case. I met the fellows at Stephens’
last night, where I invited them for Thursday, and now write
to get you; intending also to invite the Seddons, Collins, and
perhaps Hannay.
I saw a portrait which Stephens is painting of his father, and
which is almost as surprising an advance on former productions as
Seddon’s landscape.
I should be immensely glad to see you this evening if you can
call in late after the school. Before, I suppose, is impossible,
but I am sure to be at home, and can give you half my bed if you
like. I am getting my rooms a little in order now; yet I fear
they will scarcely be decent by Thursday, as the window seems an
endless job.
D. G. R.
I have asked the Seddons for to-night.
P.S.--Do come to-night: to-morrow I am engaged. I have done
“summat on the Dook.”
LETTER XII.
TO MADOX BROWN, HAMPSTEAD.
As I have said elsewhere, I incline to think that my brother was
mistaken in supposing that his sketches had been “kicked out”; at
any rate, _some_ water-colours of his were on exhibition.
14 Chatham Place, Blackfriars.
[4 December 1852.]
My dear Brown,
I have asked Hannay to come round to-morrow evening. He and you
were the only defaulters on Thursday except John Seddon, who it
seems is out of town. Can you come in to-morrow instead? Do if
you can. I will try and get William also, though I heard last
night at Millais’ that he was rather unwell.
What do you think? My sketches are kicked out at that precious
place in Pall Mall. I am, of course, more than ever resolved to
paint my picture of the pigs. Alas! my dear Brown, we are but too
transcendent spirits--far, far in advance of the age. Do not let
us bring up this subject to-morrow if Hannay or any one else is
present, as it is of no use trumpeting one’s grievances. But do
come.
Your friend,
DANTE G. ROSSETTI.
LETTER XIII.
TO MADOX BROWN, HAMPSTEAD.
“The blessed white eyesore” was the picture _Ecce Ancilla Domini_,
now in the National Gallery.
14 Chatham Place.
[1 January 1853.]
My dear Brown,
This blessed afternoon the blessed white eyesore will be
finished. Therefore, if you have any last directions about
your pictures now in Green’s hands, you had better give them.
Yesterday after giving up the Angel’s head as a bad job (owing to
William’s malevolent expression) at about one o’clock I took to
working it up out of my own intelligence, and got it better by a
great deal than it has yet been. I have put a gilt saucer behind
his head, which crowns the _China_-ese character of the picture.
Yours,
D. G. R.
LETTER XIV.
TO MADOX BROWN, HAMPSTEAD.
14 Chatham Place.
[14 January 1853.]
My dear Brown,
I find that the blessed white daub will not be finished before
to-morrow evening, but then it _will_ be finished. Green has
still got the frame; and herewith I write to him to send for the
picture. I suppose your case is not gone yet, but write in order
that you may not be in doubt as to my movements. The fact is, I
have been very lazy.
Your affectionate
D. G. R.
LETTER XV.
TO MADOX BROWN, HAMPSTEAD.
Chatham Place, London.
Sunday morning.
[24 January 1853.]
My dear Brown,
Just as you are gone, it occurs to me that, if in writing to
McCracken you mention about the alterations in my picture, it
would be better not to call them _alterations_, as that indicates
that the work required amendment, but to leave him to suppose
them _additions_; also not to say that I have done _much_ to
the thing, but merely that _what I have done_ is greatly for
the better. I do not mean to make any charge for the additional
labour, and therefore to let him suppose that I have done too
much for nothing would look like undignified enthusiasm.
You will say I am improving when mere diplomacy can make me write
all this, so long past bed-time. Good morning.
D. G. R.
LETTER XVI.
TO MADOX BROWN, HAMPSTEAD.
“My pupil” must, no doubt, have been Miss Siddal. In the P.S. she
figures as “dear G.,” which indicates the pet name “Guggum.” Her
drawing from Wordsworth was an illustration of the poem, _We are
Seven_.
Albany Street.
½ past 9 Saturday evening.
[29 January 1853.]
My dear Brown,
I am quite vexed with myself for having been away after being
the originator in to-day’s invitation; but, after painting till
nearly five and warming myself afterwards in the full certainty
of abundant time, I ended by being completely set at nought by
accursed shoe-strings and other domestic demons which turned
up to be attended to before I could leave; and, when at last
I got the better of them, behold it wanted but a quarter to
six o’clock. My intention was to come and dine and get you to
accompany me afterwards to the Photographic Exhibition, whither
I had promised to take my pupil on this the last evening of the
season. Being baffled of coming to dine, I dined at Chatham
Place, went to the Photographic Exhibition, and then came on,
still hoping to find you, knowing your intrepidity in late walks.
This last chance is missed, however, as fate wills it, and I can
only repeat how vexed and apologetic I feel about the matter, and
hope to see you some other way soon--
Remaining yours ever,
D. G. ROSSETTI.
P.S.--If you are in London any day, do look in at Chatham Place
and see dear G.’s drawings--the one from Wordsworth is very
advanced and nearly done.
LETTER XVII.
TO MADOX BROWN, HAMPSTEAD.
Holman Hunt’s “moonlight” was for the picture of _The Light of the
World_. Rossetti’s “Giotto’s Dante” was the water-colour of _Giotto
painting the Portrait of Dante_, sold to Mr. John Seddon. I am not
sure as to the commissions offered by McCracken of Belfast, and
Miller of Liverpool; it does not appear to me that my brother,
towards this date, actually pocketed any such sum as £150. The _Dante
and Beatrice_ must be the picture (intended but not executed) for
which he had lately painted the background at Sevenoaks. Brown’s
“School-nights” were at the so-called North London School for Drawing
and Modelling. Bateman was a Decorative Artist, Edward Latrobe
Bateman, who had gone out to Australia with Woolner, to seek his
fortune.
Blackfriars Bridge.
[1 March 1853.]
My dear Brown,
I have not seen you for an age. Can you not come down--to give
you a long date--on Saturday evening? I will ask Seddon if you
like, but shall not do so till I hear from you. I have just come
from Hunt’s, who is dreadfully fagged, sitting up all night to
paint his moonlight. Now do come. I think you have never seen my
Giotto’s Dante here, which I shall not have much longer. Not that
I have made any direct use of it as yet, nor am likely to do so
just now, as I have got a £150 commission from McC[racken], and
am in a fair way to get one from Miller of Liverpool--perhaps
a better one. However, I _may_ nail him for the _Dante and
Beatrice_.
I hope I shall see you. I have allowed for all obstacles--both my
engagements and your school-nights--and the date is a very long
one.
Meanwhile I am
Yours most sincerely,
DANTE G. ROSSETTI.
I saw the Howitts last night, who have heard of Bateman’s
arrival at Melbourne, though not through him; but still nothing
of Woolner. Have you heard anything through young W[oolner]?
P.P.S.--Please let me know in your answer (as soon as possible)
whether you ever named to McC[racken] anything regarding the
_prices_ which I took for those sketches now exhibiting. Ruskin
has written him some extravagant praises (though with obtuse
accompaniments) upon one of them--I cannot make out which--and
McC[racken] seems excited, wanting it, and not knowing (or making
believe not to know) that it is sold. I therefore want to be
sure whether he is actually acquainted with the price I had; as,
in answering him, were I to propose to do him a similar one, I
should not think of undertaking it at anything like a similar
price, and want to know whether it is necessary to specify that
those sketches were sold to _friends_.
LETTER XVIII.
TO MADOX BROWN, HAMPSTEAD.
This is a characteristic epistle. The Mr. T. here mentioned (I use a
fancy initial) was not a genius, but there was no real occasion for
dubbing him “an ass.” Brown did not produce the proposed etching.
[Chatham Place, London.
4 May 1853.]
My dear Brown,
There is such a thing as one T., who is connected with a magazine
to be called _The Artist_, on which my brother is engaged, and
the first number of which is to come out, _I think_, on 1st July.
The proprietor is Delf, publisher of Read’s poems, and this T.
is rather a card among the staff. I met him casually to-day, and
he told me that Millais (who had engaged if possible to do the
etching for No. 1) found himself prevented by other business,
and he asked me whether I thought you would undertake it. I
understand they have _plenty of tin to begin with_, and I suppose
would of course pay well. We agreed that T. had better call on
you and come to some understanding, and he wanted me to get you
to name a day when he could call at Hampstead. If you will let
me know I will let _him_ know.... The chief thing is, to _lay it
on thick_ as to payment, as I believe they really have tin. T.
is, of course, an ass, and should on principle be treated with
ignominy.
Remember me kindly to Mrs. Brown, and let me hear from you.
Yours most sincerely,
D. G. ROSSETTI.
LETTER XIX.
TO MADOX BROWN, HAMPSTEAD.
“Lizzy” is Miss Siddal. Her portrait, water-colour, is the one
reproduced in the _Family Letters_ of my brother. She painted
eventually more than one water-colour from Tennyson, but not any that
was exhibited, or offered for exhibition, in the R.A.
[Chatham Place, London.
25 August 1853.]
My dear Brown,
Some cad wrote to me from Highgate the other day to inquire after
your respectability. In my answer, by some exercise of ingenuity,
I avoided the mention of Coldbath Fields, Botany Bay, and other
localities equally inseparable from your career.
Lizzy has made a perfect wonder of her portrait, which is nearly
done, and which I think we shall send to the Winter Exhibition.
She has been very ill though lately.
Pray remember me most kindly at home, and believe me
Your friend,
D. G. R.
Liz is going to begin a picture at once for the R.A., from
Tennyson, I believe.
LETTER XX.
TO MADOX BROWN, HAMPSTEAD.
I am unable to say anything to the purpose about Brown’s “Hogarthian
Sonnets.”
The joke about “the nigger” was a sort of offshoot from Carlyle’s
_Occasional Discourse on the Nigger Question_, a pronouncement which
vastly amused my brother and several others in our set.
[Chatham Place, London.
24 September 1853.]
My dear Brown,
I shall be most glad to accept your invite for Sunday, to
Finchley viâ Hampstead, and shall try at once for William, who I
am sure will have equal pleasure if not pre-engaged--but these
men of society!
The Hogarthian sonnets have great excellencies, especially the
last; but they also present a few obscurities to which Browning
alone might perhaps serve as a sort of introductory horn-book.
Speaking of horn reminds me that like Desdemona I am “half
asleep,” and must to bed. By the by, that play tends to show how
the nigger, without due coercion, takes merely to beating his
wife, and perhaps ends by choking her as an outlet for his waste
energies.
I shall come on Sunday to Hampstead with or without William, at
about three or half-past, and will bring the sonnets with me, and
then go fully into them with you.
Meanwhile and ever
I am your D. G. R.
LETTER XXI.
GABRIELE ROSSETTI TO DANTE ROSSETTI.
(Translation.)
The _Arpa Evangelica_ was a volume of religious lyrics by my father,
then recently published.
“My friend Di Negro” was the Marchese Gian Carlo di Negro, a
Genoese patrician of good literary standing--known to my father by
correspondence, not in person.
Frome.
4 October 1853.
My dearest Gabriel,
For some while past I have been feeling a strong impulse to
write to you, my dearly beloved son; and to-day I will obey this
imperious inner voice.
I am glad that you have undertaken to read the _Arpa
Evangelica_.... You should, however, always bear in mind that
this book is the outcome of only three months’ work, and was
written with the intention of its being amenable to every grade
of intelligence.
I am extremely pleased at the progress which you are making in
your beautiful art, and at some profits which you are earning
from it to maintain yourself with decorum in society. Remember,
my dearly loved son, that you have only your abilities to rely
upon for your welfare. Remember that you were born with a
marked propensity, and that, from your earliest years, you made
us conceive the brightest hopes that you would become a great
painter. And such you will be, I am certain.
At this moment I have received a letter from Genoa, from my
friend Di Negro. He rejoices at the arrival of the _Arpa_.... He
says that throughout Piedmont, and in Liguria and Sardinia, it is
well received and generally admired; but that in the other parts
of Italy the governments prohibit its entry, on account of the
author’s name, which has become a veritable scarecrow to Kings.
If you had to go to Italy, I would recommend you, my dear son,
always to call yourself Dante Rossetti. But, before a time comes
for that, I trust that affairs will have changed.
I beg you to go frequently to visit your worthy grandfather. What
an excellent old man!...
Good-bye, my most lovable Gabriel, and believe in the constant
affection of
Your affectionate father,
GABRIELE ROSSETTI.
P.S.--I perceive I have not spoken to you at all about the state
of my health. And what can I say of it? It is the same as it was
in London; betwixt life and death, but more tending to the latter
than the former.
LETTER XXII.
DANTE ROSSETTI TO MADOX BROWN, HAMPSTEAD.
My brother’s parody on Tennyson’s _Kraken_ is published in my Memoir
of him.
[Chatham Place, London.
7 November 1853.]
My dear Brown,
... I have had some news of Woolner (_i.e._, a letter to his
father which was shown me). He and B[ernhard] Smith were seven
months at the diggings (full accounts of which I have seen in
letters from Bernhard Smith to his brother). Their work seems to
have been something awful, and their result was the loss of £30
apiece, as they each made £50 and spent £80. Bernhard Smith went
after this to his brother’s farm and W[oolner] to Melbourne to
try Art. Here he seems to be getting on well. He has done several
medallions at £25 each--one of the Governor--and there seems to
be a good prospect of his getting a statue of the Queen to do for
Melbourne, in which case he will be back again next summer. He
sent two Australian papers in which he is spoken of as quite a
great fact, and a leading article given to him and the projected
statue. I thought I would write to you all this, not knowing when
I may see you, and now it suddenly strikes me that it was all
jawed over that night at Deverell’s.
I have made an admirable parody on Tennyson’s sonnet, _The
Kraken_, which I enclose with the original for your ecstatic
perusal.
Yours, D. G. R.
LETTER XXIII.
GABRIELE ROSSETTI TO DANTE ROSSETTI--Translation.
The phrase “I can’t write clearer” may deserve a moment’s attention.
The fact is that my Father’s handwriting was from the first
singularly precise and perfect, and such it continued to the last.
In the years when his sight had grievously declined he used powerful
glasses, and his writing was minute and done with effort, but (with
some casual exceptions) it was always uncommonly good. The present
letter, though an inferior specimen, is nearly as clear as print.
Frome.
22 December 1853.
My much-loved son Gabriel,
Long have I been thinking of sending you a letter, and I never do
it.
Have you read more of the _Arpa Evangelica_? Your opinion is
valued by me; tell me then something about it, besides what you
have already said.
Excuse me, my dear son, I can’t write clearer--and I fear that
shortly I shall be unable to write at all. My blindness increases
daily, nay hourly.
We shall return to London on the 25th of March, and we return
for ever. I trust to find in good health you, my dearest son,
and your brother and your sister Maria. And you will rejoice in
again seeing dear Christina, and your aged Father, who will soon
go under-ground with beloved Polidori. I learned with pleasure
that you and William and Maria all assisted at his last moments.
Dearest Father-in-law and friend, how much did I love you!
Be heedful of your profession, dearly beloved son, and let the
public see what you are capable of.
Your loving father,
GABRIELE ROSSETTI.
LETTER XXIV.
DANTE ROSSETTI TO MADOX BROWN, HAMPSTEAD.
Mr. Holman Hunt’s “day of departure” was for his journey to Egypt and
Palestine.
I believe that Hannay’s proposed Magazine _The Pen_ did actually run
through a few numbers, but Rossetti’s _Burden of Nineveh_ did not
appear in it.
[Chatham Place, London.
3 January 1854.]
My dear Brown,
I am sorry my letter miscarried, as it prevented your coming
and meeting Hunt, whom I asked after writing to you. His day of
departure was then fixed for the next day, and now it is to be
to-morrow, but one does not know whether it will be so after all.
Till he is fairly off I will not fix an evening for coming to
Hampstead, as it might possibly interfere with some opportunity
of meeting _him_. My water-colour is still, to MacCrac, “vague
as the watery moon.” I have no news. Lizzy sits by me at work on
her design, which is now coming really admirable. She has also
finished the _Lady of Shalott_ sketch, and made quite another
thing of it. She has followed your suggestion about her portrait,
and done several things which improve it greatly. Hannay is going
to start a penny weekly mag., to be called _The Pen_, and wants
to have my poem about Nineveh for it. I suppose I shall give it
him. I some time back gave _Sister Helen_ to Mrs. Howitt for some
English edition of a German something or other, which will be
coming out now. No more news.
Good-bye.
Your D. G. R.
LETTER XXV.
TO MADOX BROWN, FINCHLEY.
“Emma” was the second Mrs. Madox Brown. The Dr. Wilkinson here
mentioned was Garth Wilkinson, an eminent Homœopathist, Editor of
Blake’s _Songs of Innocence and Experience_, etc.
The picture by Miss Anna Mary Howitt at the Portland Gallery was
_Gretchen at the Fountain_. My brother, in saying that Miss Howitt
had been “kicking up quite a great row” with this picture, only meant
that the work had been much noticed and admired. The statement that
Miller (John Miller of Liverpool) had bought Deverell’s _As You Like
It_ is only one of several references to Walter Howell Deverell, and
his then recent death, occurring in these letters to Madox Brown. The
other references, being more appropriate in another connexion, are
omitted here. The _As You Like It_ was a picture from Shakespeare’s
play--the mock marriage of Orlando and Rosalind.
[Chatham Place, London.
30 March 1854.]
My dear Brown,
What has become of you? You were not well when I last saw you,
nor I believe was Emma. I have been meditating Finchley for a
long while, but have never been able to get there. So would you
write me a word to say that you are both better, and to make,
if possible, some kind of arrangement for us to meet. Lizzy and
I would be very glad if you could both fix an evening to come
here,--_only_ I fear a bed upstairs would not be possible, as
those rooms are taken.
Lizzy has been very unwell lately. I have introduced her to the
Howitts, and we have spent several evenings there. They are quite
fond of her, and most delighted with her productions. I have also
brought her and my sister Christina together, as our family are
now in London again.
The Howitts insisted on Lizzy’s seeing a Dr. Wilkinson, a friend
of theirs, and I believe an eminent man. He finds that the poor
dear has contracted a curvature of the spine, and says she ought
not to paint at present; but this, of course, she must. He says
her case is a very anxious but by no means a hopeless one. You
know, I suppose, that Miss Howitt has been kicking up quite a
great row with her picture at the Portland Gallery. Miller has
bought poor Deverell’s _As You Like It_ for 50 guineas.
Lizzy is sitting by me working at the most poetical of all
possible designs, and sends her love to both Emma and you.
Yours affectionately,
D. G. ROSSETTI.
LETTER XXVI.
TO MADOX BROWN, FINCHLEY.
Miss Barbara Leigh Smith became after a while Mrs. Bodichon--a name
held in high and deserved honour by persons interested in the cause
which she served with lifelong zeal and liberality--the advancement
of women. She was also a landscape-painter of considerable gift.
[Chatham Place, London.]
Wednesday [? 1854.]
Dear Brown,
Dear Lizzy is very unwell indeed, and I think on Saturday I shall
probably be taking her down to Hastings, for her to stay there
some time at a place that Barbara Smith, who has got quite thick
with her, has recommended as cheap and nice. Barbara Smith, the
Howitts, and Dr. Wilkinson, are all enraptured with the dear. I
mean to show her productions to Ruskin, who was here again this
morning, and who I know will worship her.
Will you come on Tuesday? or sooner and better on Friday.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] This was probably Charlotte Polidori--or possibly the
_Grand_-Aunt, Harriet Pierce.
[2] “Sloshy” was a term of disparagement used by the P.R.B.’s in
their early days, to indicate anything lax and scamped in the
processes of painting; and hence it got applied more generally to any
thing or person of a commonplace or conventional cast.
[3] The name, thus written, occurs in _The Carillon_.
MADOX BROWN.
SOME LETTERS FOLLOWED BY A DIARY.
MADOX BROWN TO ELIZABETH BROWN, HASTINGS.
LETTER I.
Brown and his first wife (his cousin, Elizabeth Bromley) married at a
very early age, and lived for a while in Paris. They left Paris and
settled in England in the summer of 1844. The state of her health
was such as to require her to live out of London, and she went to
Hastings; he occupied a studio in the Regent’s Park or Camden Town
district, in the same house with the painter Charles Lucy and his
family. Another inmate was Frank Howard, an artist of rapid facility
and some cleverness, who engaged in the cartoon-competitions for
the Houses of Parliament. “My coloured sketch” was (I take it) the
same design as Brown’s cartoon, _The Spirit of Justice_, sent to the
second of these competitions. The name of the painter, William Etty,
explains itself. Martin must be the celebrated John Martin.
35 Arlington Street, Camden Town.
[? December 1844.]
My Blessed Lizzy,
You can’t think how I was pleased to receive your long letter....
I am in no mood to write a long letter. I am bothered and
anxious. This is a horrid place: that study is a regular castle
of indolence, and it is catching--indeed, nothing is more so.
The study is continually full of all of them, gabbling, and it
distracts me. That infernal Howard is a pest, and yet he is so
good-natured one can’t feel offended at him. It is a curse to be
in such a place. Nothing would surprise me less than to want time
just at the last. I have got more work than I can get through. I
ought to have done it all before the new year. I have showed my
coloured sketch to Etty and Martin; they were both pleased with
it, which is a rare feeling for Etty to express. God bless you.
I have no time or humour to write more, but believe me, your
husband loves you as the first day. God bless you.--F. M. BROWN.
LETTER II.
The letter from which I here extract appears to be incomplete--there
is no signature to it. The oil-picture of _Parisina_ represents
the jealous rage of the husband consequent upon the words of
love murmured by Parisina in her sleep--a dramatically treated
subject, painted in a dark continental style, not at all hinting
of “Præraphaelitism.” It now belongs to Mr. Henry Boddington, of
Manchester. The last thing on the sheet of letter-paper is the sketch
(a slight affair) of _The Banks and Braes of Bonny Doune_. I am
satisfied that Brown did not ever paint this intended subject. We
see here that he “modelled” a little boy; but I think the process
of modelling was still almost a novelty to him when, after Dante
Rossetti’s death in 1882, he undertook the bas-relief subjects for
his grave-cross, and afterwards the bust-monument in Cheyne Walk,
Chelsea.
35 Arlington Street, Camden Town.
[? February 1845.]
My dearest Lizz,
I write you from the Studio again, as I had no paper this
morning. I have been out and executed all your commissions....
I went to the British Institution yesterday, as it was
varnishing-day, and saw all is a noble-looking man. They have not
hung my sketch, but the _Parisina_ looks very well, as it has got
a good light.
I saw Mr. and Mrs. MacIan, a Scotch artist and his wife, whom I
met at Mr. Etty’s. He was in perfect rapture with _Parisina_,
said the price I asked was perfectly preposterous, fifty guineas.
He said it was worth six times as much. You will be surprised
but not displeased to hear that I have almost begun a picture
for the Royal Academy--_The Banks and Braes of Bonny Doune_--one
full-length figure the size of life. As it will be a very pretty
thing, it might sell; at all events, it will be something to send
there. But after some reflection I have decided not to begin it
till three weeks before the exhibition opens, as I will then be
better able to judge if it will have time. Besides, if I can get
the old Judge Best to sit, I would not have time for both for
certain.
I have made an outline from nature for it. She is bare-foot,
seated on the bank and with the water at her feet, looking round
at the birds at play, which awakes a pang.
I have modelled a little boy, and drawn him from Mrs. Christie’s
little boy....
LETTER III.
Brown was at this time preparing to work on his specimen of fresco,
for the Westminster Hall competition; he was also engaged upon his
cartoon of _The Spirit of Justice_ for the same competition, and upon
a water-colour reproducing the composition of that cartoon. The other
cartoons, which he had been removing from Westminster Hall, were
proper to the competition of the preceding year--namely, _William the
Conqueror gazing on the body of Harold_, and _Adam and Eve after the
Fall_.
All three cartoons remained in his possession up to his death in
1893, and were sold shortly afterwards to public institutions. In
connexion with these cartoons, Brown names “Pickham.” I do not know
who Pickham may have been, and suspect that he meant Pickford (the
carrier), for he was always celebrated for mauling surnames. “The wax
sketch” must have been an encaustic painting from the Harold subject,
exhibited along with it in Westminster Hall. Mrs. Lucy was the wife
of Mr. Charles Lucy, the painter, in whose house Brown then occupied
a studio. Mr. Lucy is now almost forgotten, but was at one time an
artist of some prominence, popular from the engravings after two
of his large works--_Cromwell at the Deathbed of his daughter Mrs.
Claypole_, and _Nelson in the Cabin of the Victory_.
35 Arlington Street, Camden Town.
6 May 1845.
My blessed Wife,
... I have got my fresco-ground prepared at last, and brought
home. My sand and lime is all mixed, and I am only waiting
for tracing-paper to begin my fresco. In the mean time I have
finished off the top part of the Cartoon, ready to paint from it.
I have also finished the Knight and the Lawyer and the Widow, and
have begun the Father of the Knight. I am getting on, and _so is
the time_,--I hardly know which the faster.
I had to go to the Westminster Hall, [and] roll-up my Cartoons,
as they were clearing the Hall for next exhibition. It took me
a day’s work nearly; but they are now safely packed up, thank
goodness, and hid away by Pickham, as I did not know where to
have them brought to....
I have just been writing to Manchester about sending _Parisina_
there, and the wax sketch....
I will tell you an amusing anecdote. Mrs. Warton, the Model, came
to sit to Mr. Lucy the other morning; she came while I was gone
to breakfast. She is rather a pretty girl. When I was there,
Mr. Lucy left the room a moment, when the girl asked me if Mrs.
Lucy was jealous of her husband. I said I did not think so--but
why?--“Why,” says the woman, “while I was waiting for Mr. Lucy
here this morning, Mrs. Lucy came into the room, and pretended to
look for a book. And says she, ‘Are you come here to sit for Mr.
Lucy?’ Says I, ‘I don’t know, I’m sure, which of the gentlemen
I’m wanted [for],--I believe it is for Mr. Lucy,’ says I. So says
she, ‘Are you going to sit undressed to him?’ And I answered her,
‘I’m sure I don’t know if he wants me to.’ ‘Well,’ says she, ‘I’m
sure I can’t think how ever a woman can be so nasty undelicant as
to take off all her things before a man; it’s a filthy disgusting
thing to do, and I can’t think how they can get any woman to
do [it]. _I_ wouldn’t’, says she--‘No, that I wouldn’t.’”--Mrs.
Warton answered her not a word to increase her choler; “so with
that she flounced out of the room, with her face as red as a
turkey-cock’s.”
Mrs. Warton would have it that she was on the tiles, peeping
down through the skylight; because it rattled with the wind,
and Mr. Lucy looked up once now and then, and told her it was
the wind. But nevertheless the story is sure to go unimpaired
all over London, as Mrs. Warton, being pretty, seemed to derive
satisfaction from the idea of Mrs. Lucy’s being jealous....
Your affectionate _dear_ Husband,
FORD M. BROWN.
LETTER IV.
[35 Arlington Street.
May ? 1845.]
My blessed Lizz,...
I shall have done my fresco to-morrow: I shall then have more
than a fortnight to finish my cartoon and sketch. I can’t say how
it looks till dry, but I think it is better than last year. If
it does not dry well, I shall retouch it a great deal. I lay the
plaster myself over-night, and work all next day from five in the
morning till dark, I shall have done it all in fourteen days. I
have hired an alarum that always wakes me at half-past four. I go
to bed at eleven....
God bless you over and over again. How cruel of you never to say
a word about your health!
Your ever affectionate husband,
FORD M. BROWN.
LETTER V.
The picture mentioned is, I infer, the _Parisina_. The date of the
letter is but obscurely indicated. “Our child,” named at the close of
the letter, was Lucy Brown, born in 1843, who became my wife in 1874.
35 Arlington Street,
Camden Town.
? 18 May 1845.
My dearest Lizz,
I promised you yesterday to finish my letter by this post, as I
had so little time to write you a decent letter yesterday--what
with Mrs. Lucy’s making me eat of the inside of a sheep, and Mr.
Howard’s infernal tongue, which went at such a rate that I was
obliged to leave him and his studio in which we were working (as
the stove is being mended in ours) and go in the middle of his
argument into our cold room to be able to finish the letter at
all; and then I had to run a good way after the bellman, who had
just left the office. Tell me next letter if you have to pay for
it--I mean yesterday’s letter. My own dear Lizzy, I am now in
peace and quiet by mine own fireside, and have time to say all I
wish to you, my dear wife. I must, as you wish, give you all the
news, such as it is: but first and foremost make yourself happy
and quiet. As for myself--but for you, I never was in better
spirits, particularly since I have seen Mr. Solly, and, but for
the wish to see you, I should be quite happy.
Our prospects seem brighter to me than ever. It may be a kind of
excitement, but I feel sure that in a few years I shall be known,
and begin to be valued, and in the meantime I shall be increasing
reputation daily. The artists seem to be pleased with the picture
now exhibited, as I hear from divers models; and this (as it was
never painted to suit public taste) is as much as I can wish:
all the artists seem to notice it. Don’t mention much about my
artistic affairs to Miss A--, as she is such a friend of the
Claxtons,[4] who seem queer people....
I am colouring the sketch of my cartoon, and will get it all
right, I think, but it is the most difficult part. The figure of
the Knight in brown burnished armour looks splendid now it is
coloured: it is not the sketch for sending in that I am doing.
I have been drawing from the model a great deal also, and will
soon get through all that, but will not have time to paint the
_Banks and Braes of Bonny Doune_. I am altogether pleased with my
work, and am doing it more carefully than I did the last cartoon;
but am not so satisfied with the quantity I have done these few
last days, I seem to have so many things to do.... Mr. Lucy is
very kind and mightily taken with me and you, which is as well as
otherwise. What lies you wrote about their child! I have now told
you pretty near all. God bless you, my dear Wife, and bless our
child....
Your affectionate hubby,
FORD M. BROWN.
* * * * *
MADOX BROWN’S DIARY, 1847 TO 1856.
Brown seems to have first begun keeping a Diary on 4th September
1847. I possess five copy-book sections of this Diary, going on (but
with considerable intervals when the day-by-day work was neglected)
up to 6th January 1856. Later sections are in the possession of Mr.
Ford Hueffer, and have been used in his book entitled _Ford Madox
Brown_. I have said elsewhere that, had I at the proper time been
conscious of housing the earlier sections, I should at once have
placed them at his disposal--but I never knew anything about them
until October 1896, when the above-named Biography was already fully
in type. I am satisfied that the reader, conversant with art-matters,
will find a good deal of interest in my extracts from the Diary,
offhand though they mostly are: these form perhaps hardly a half of
the whole. The footnotes are always mine. When the name Lucy occurs
the reader should be on his guard to remember that it sometimes
means Brown’s daughter Lucy, but more generally the Painter Charles
Lucy. Brown was punctilious in noting down at the end of each day
the number of hours during which he had been occupied in actual
professional work. Taking at random the month of November 1847, I
find the total to be 171¼ hours, or upwards of 5 hours per day. This,
allowing for interruptions, meals, and demands upon him for other
than artistic purposes, is a good tale of diligence: but at some
other periods the numbers of hours was much larger--we read of 10
hours, 12, and even on occasion 15 and 18.
* * * * *
4 September 1847.
As the work I am at present engaged upon is the most extensive,
as well as the most interesting to myself, of any that I have yet
undertaken, I shall begin this book by a short retrospectory glance
at the events which have led to my undertaking it.
In the summer of ’45 I went to the British Museum to read Sir James
Mackintosh’s _History of England_, having heard that it was of a
philosophical nature, with a view to select some subject connected
with the history of this country, of a general and comprehensive
nature. I was already wavering in my mind between two that struck me;
one was “The First Naval Victory,” and the other “The Origin of our
Native Tongue.” The former subject had first engaged my attention;
but the sight of Maclise’s cartoon of _Chivalry_, and the wish to
handle more luxuriant and attractive materials, afterwards changed
the current of my thoughts.
In this mood, glancing over the pages of the above-named history, I
fell upon a passage to this effect as near as I can remember: “And it
is scarcely to be wondered at that English about this period should
have become the judicial language of the country, ennobled as it
had recently been by the genius of Geoffrey Chaucer.” This at once
fixed me; I immediately saw a vision of Chaucer reading his poems to
knights and ladies fair, to the king and court, amid air and sunshine.
When I arrived at Rome, from the library of the English Academy I
procured the works and life of our first poet, and fortunately I
found that the facts known respecting him perfectly admitted of
the idea I had already conceived of the subject,--to wit, Chaucer
reading his poems to Edward III. and his court, bringing-in other
noted characters, such as the Black Prince etc. I immediately set to
work; and, after many alterations and great labour, I brought the
composition to its present state.
At first I had intended calling it “The Seeds of the English
Language,” and putting Wiclif on one side (as a wing) and some one
else on the other; but I could find no one to suit. Gower was too
poor a character; and John of Gaunt, for the harmony of ideas,
would not suit--it being inappropriate to put the patron on one
wing, and his protégés one in the centre and the other on the other
side-compartment. I then changed my idea to that of “The Seeds and
Fruits of the English Language”; but I soon found that in doing so,
after having given a place to our greatest poets, there would be none
left for the prose-writers: and, little liking the trouble of cutting
and contriving for them, I determined on leaving them out and calling
the work the “Seeds and Fruits of English Poetry.”
Such is the exposal of the train of ideas which led to the
composition of the work in its present state. Whether it may ever
deserve the pains I am now taking about it remains to be seen; very
likely it may only add one more to the many kicks I have already
received from Fortune. If so, I am quite able to bear it and despise
her. Of one thing she cannot rob me--the pleasure I have already
extracted--distilled, I may say--from the very work itself. Warned
by bitter experience, I have learned not to trust only to hope
for my reward, nor consider my toil as a sacrifice, but to value
the _present_, the pleasure that I have received and daily yet
receive from the working out of a subject after mine own heart, a
love-offering to my favourite poets, to my never-faithless Burns,
Byron, Spenser, and Shakespeare. Never can I forget the pleasure
with which I could muse over my work in Rome, at a time when visited
by the most bitter afflictions and apprehensions for the future,[5]
at a time when all other satisfaction was impossible; never can I
forget that _she_ gave it her unqualified approbation, prophesied
that it would ensure me ultimate success, regretted that she would
never live to see it, and _ordered_ me to complete it after her
death. In fulfilling her behest I am breaking one of her strongest
recommendations--I have parted from Lucy.[6] O God! ought not that
thought to make me strive and struggle against indolence? Oh the hell
of poverty!
[Illustration: (Gravestone of Elizabeth Brown, designed by Madox Brown)]
To-day I have done little or nothing but sketched-in the figure
of Chaucer in white chalk, and have been to the Strand about some
costumes, after writing out a list of them.
I must not omit to say that in Rome I painted a sketch of it in oil,
afterwards made a drawing of it in chalk, and then an outline of the
whole as it now is; since which I began first to fill it up in colour
at Southend, afterwards went on a little with it at Hampstead, and
since touched it and marred it at Tudor Lodge.[7]
I have long intended beginning this journal; praise be God it is
begun at last.
5th September.--Got up late, got to work late, did little,
scratched-in three figures in white chalk; left off at half-past
two, dressed and went out to dinner. Then went to the Cemetery:[8]
found it full of cockneys: walked over to Hampstead, saw a glorious
sunset....
6th.--Have not worked to-day--tried to do so but could not, having
been out all the morning to the costume-shop and other places.... Got
a lay figure from Barbe’s at last, bought ten yards of flannel for
draperies, engaged a model for to-morrow. Lost myself in Somerstown;
got into a place where there was no gas; thought I should get my
throat cut. Persevered, and after almost breaking my neck got into
the King’s Road at last.... Went to Cooper’s, and ordered a moveable
seat for my painting-steps....
7th.--Got up at seven, model came, worked well all day--drew some
legs....
8th--... John Marshall[9] came in; went out with him, and then called
to see my aunt Brown. Lost a day like Titus, but dined (like Lord
Byron on his birthday) on eggs and bacon and ale. Am very sulky with
myself.
9th.--... Bought some plaid draperies, and set about arranging the
draperies for Robert Burns[10] on the lay figure--sweated over it till
dark, but got it to do at last. Went out till bed-time....
11th.--... Painted-in part of a study for Robert Burns’ tartan with
copal varnish; worked till quarter to six.
13th.--Went to Gravesend to see Lucy dear.
14th.--Got up later, at eight. Finished the plaid, and began a
drawing for the robe of Robert Burns. Mr. and Mrs. Lucy came in:
afterwards Thomas interrupted,[11] and I didn’t do much. Have bought
a rat-trap: studio[12] swarms with them....
16th.--Got up at half-past seven. Cut out a fresh mantle for Milton.
Set it and began drawing it. Went out in the evening. Set about
preparing a togam;[13] bought more flannel for it.
17th.--Got up at quarter to eight: worked all day at the cloak for
Milton, and all the evening till twelve at the togam....
18th.--... Cut out the togam, and arranged it on the lay figure for
Lord Byron....
20th.--Got up very early for a wonder: got to work at quarter past
seven. Worked very hard all day; finished the drapery for Lord Byron.
Dined, and walked round Regent’s Park with Thomas. Left him about
to go and tell them, at a Shakespeare meeting of the Church Mason
Society, that he thought it all humbug, and that the old House[14]
had better be pulled down, and monument put in its place. Afterwards
I came home, and had the energy to arrange the lay figure for
Shakespeare before going to bed. _I_ am honouring him in the right
way.
21st.--Got up at seven, worked pretty well all day. The Lucys came
in, and in the night the rats ran away with a mutton-chop--could find
no trace of it, not even the satisfaction of seeing the bone....
23rd.--Got up late--painted till five.... Find that, when I have
painted some hours, I get tired and cannot see the colour, but can
see the shape. Memo., ought not to paint too long if I want to do
good....
25th.--Got up early--and got to work late. Fumbled till twelve
o’clock over the hood of the left-hand-corner figure of the knight;
made a liripipe for it. About twelve set to work at a small drawing
of ----;[15] had not finished it by dusk. Am a very swine--shall
never get the painting done in time--am a beast and a sleepy brute.
26th.--Finished the drawing of the hood, and a drawing of a cloak for
one of the men next him, the Chamberlain....
28th.--Got up at eight. Arranged the cardinal’s cape again; began a
drawing of it. Lucy came in about one: made me go out with him. Did
nothing more, but went to Richmond; back with him to tea. Came home
by eleven. Read Shelley, and got to sleep about twelve.
29th.--Got up past nine, worse and worse; it is horrible to reflect.
Finished the cape about one. Went out to see Thomas and my aunt; came
back, and began arranging the hood for Alice Perrers, old Edward’s
mistress: found the hair of the lay figure wanted curling--put it in
paper, and made a fire to heat the tongs, and curled it; then oiled
it. Alas! did nothing afterwards. Went for a walk with Thomas....
4th October.--Got up late; felt low and dejected, never feel happy.
Got to work about twelve. Arranged the white capuchon for the lady
with her back to you; nearly finished it....
5th.--... Went to Thomas to make a sketch of some vine-leaves--found
him at work on his designs of the _Penseroso_ for the Art-Union, but
out of sorts and dejected. About three left off, and went to the
cemetery at Highgate.
6th.--... Went out to see after stuffs, and a portrait of Chaucer
published by C. Knight; could get nothing; tired and dejected....
7th.--... Dined too late to begin anything; went to sleep. Thomas
came in, and we had a walk. He thinks of going to Cambridge, to
become wise and learned in all matters. I am a brute and a sleepy
beast.
8th.--... Began, and painted the white-silk head-cushion with copal
varnish and drying-oil in equal parts; find it dries quick, and does
not sink in on retouching. Went and drank tea with Lucy: engaged Miss
Chamberlayne for Tuesday. Began making a green velvet hat of the time
of Edward III.
9th.--... Have been suffering eight or ten days from indigestion;
live upon mutton-chops and tea and coffee, quite a teetotaler....
12th.--Finished the furred cap; went and bought stuff for a blind,
to have two lights if necessary, to give the appearance, to those
figures which are not in sunlight, of being in the open air.[16]
Lawrence did not come to put it up.
13th.--Finished the green hat. Wrote four letters, and called
on Thomas to see some sketches of his; some fine ideas; one in
particular, a scramble for laurels--grandly satirical. Came back
to the studio, and put up the blind with Lawrence. Afterwards
walked half over London in quest of draperies; bought some crimson
cotton-velvet.
14th.--Got up at half-past seven. Miss Chamberlayne came. Worked till
four, in spite of her talking propensities. Made outlines of the nude
of the two figures of Muses of impassioned and satirical poetry,[17]
and several other central figures. Dined, and called on my Aunt
Brown. Walked down Holborn in quest of stuffs, and found some German
velvet a bargain, 10¾d. a yard: took six yards of it for the gown of
Chaucer. Came back, and am now writing this....
16th.--... With Thomas to the Princess’s Theatre, to see Miss Cushman
and Cooper in _The Stranger_, both nature to the life; and _She
Stoops to Conquer_, a fine _fine_ play. Went and supped with Thomas,
and stopped till half-past one....
19th.--Got up at half-past five; went to Gravesend to see my sweet
child; found her quite well. Came back, and went to bed....
22nd.--Got up at half-past five, got to work by seven. Painted-in the
King’s cloak (study). Workwoman came; set her to make the gown for
Chaucer; myself made ears for the jester’s hood, and began a drawing
of it. In the evening began drawing-in the draperies of Milton on
the canvas.
27th.--Got up at--past seven. Went out to seek for velvet and
brocades: got some velvet to suit, and an old yellow satin dress;
saw some fine old brocade; told the Jew to bring it me to my study,
to bargain some old clothes against it. Came back very tired. Drew a
little at the jester, and in the evening at the draperies of Robert
Burns.
28th.--Got up at quarter to seven; workwoman came at nine. Worked
at the jester’s head. At ten Master Lawrence came in, and the poor
brute became insolent, and wanted to fight me because I wanted him
to be off again. Had to kick him out at last; and then he came to
the window and abused me--threatened him with the police. Richard
Bromley came to see me on his return from Ireland,[18] for a few
days. The Jew came, and went off sulky, because I would not give him
his price and the old clothes into the bargain. Did little all day
but superintend the workwoman. Went to see the Lucys: came back and
worked at Robert Burns on the canvas.
29th.--... Drew Chaucer and the old King in on the canvas. Am
writing this and going to bed, twenty minutes past ten....
31st.--Sunday. Got up very late; painted at the sideless gown, and
then at the hair and cap of the troubadour in the centre of the
picture. Laid-in the study for it. Called on Mark Anthony,[19]
stopped there till twelve. He told me that Hurlstone[20] had wished
to get me to join the Suffolk Street set, which has been trying to
regenerate.
1st November.--Got up at seven, felt very tired. Walked half over
London: bought a portrait of Lord Byron and some yellow brocade, and
hired some ermine. Came in about three. Finished the hair of the
troubadour--dined, felt very tired; John Marshall came in--stopped
till eleven (one hour’s work.)
2nd.--Got up at seven, and to work by eight. Painted the study of the
ermine cloak of “ye ladie with ye sideless gown”; workwoman all day;
cut out the yellow brocade hood and cape, and muddled away the rest
of the evening (six hours’ work).
3rd.--Got up at quarter to seven, and to work by half-past eight.
Finished yesterday’s work, and painted at a study of the ermine cloak
of ye Black Prince, and at two had to leave off in consequence of
the fog--which, like Foggo, was nogo.[21]
6th.--Got up at seven; have not slept last night. What is the reason
of it? Drank some tea just before going to bed. Hope I shall sleep
to-night. Got to work before nine, finished the hair. Arranged the
lay figure for the figure in the yellow brocade hood, began painting
it; did little before four. At seven went with Lucy to a meeting
of the Shareholders of the Free Exhibition. We both refused to be
on the committee. Martin in consequence is afraid they will turn
him off,--poor Martin, hon. sec.![22] We have written to him to say
that, if they do, we will have nothing more to do with them. Marshall
Claxton and his party want to make Dibdin secretary;[23] what a
set of muffs! What will be the upshot of it I don’t know and don’t
care.--Went to bed at twelve (five hours’ work).
12th.--Got up at seven, and to work by nine--painted at the green
gown till quarter past three.... Went to see Mark Anthony about a
Daguerreotype: think of having some struck off for the figures in the
picture, to save time. Came back, and set to work at a drawing of the
head of Spenser: work from nine till twelve (eight and a-half hours’
work)....
16th.--Got up quarter to seven, and to work by quarter past eight.
Worked at the study of yellow sleeve till half-past ten. Called on
Thomas: came back to dine by five. He is hard at work, knocking
metaphysical art on the head, and bringing each thing sentimental to
a positive state. Lucy called on me; did not get to work again till
nine. Worked at the head of Byron two and a half hours (seven and a
half hours’ work).
17th.--Got up at quarter past seven, and to work by nine. Cogitated
on what I was to do till half-past ten. Drew at the Cardinal and the
two ladies till two. Set to work at seven: painted the first bit on
the canvas: worked till I laid-in the head and neck of Lord Byron
(ten hours’ work)....
22nd.--Got up at half-past seven, felt ill. Went out on business;
wasted my time, and took a walk till twelve. Came back, and worked
a very little--about one and a-half hours--wasted my time, and
dined. Martin has just dropped a note in my letter-box, which seems
to say that they have ejected him from the place of secretary to
the Free Exhibition: if so, we have done with it, and there is no
necessity for me to get this work finished: it has rather cooled my
working-ardour. Worked a little in the evening, about two hours....
26th.--Got up at eight, began work at half-past nine. Worked till
twelve at the head of Shakespeare; did nothing fit to be seen. Went
out--wretched weather. Lucy came back and dined with me. About
half-past six I set to work at drawing heads, but could not work:
drew one: worked little better than two hours. I have been reflecting
seriously about my large composition, that I had better paint the
middle compartment small for next year’s exhibition, and recompose
it for the large one on a grander principle. I have been reflecting
on the subject, and have almost made up my mind to do so. I have sat
up thinking of the new composition, to see if I could make a better
one, so as not to risk sacrificing the present one to no purpose, and
I believe I have succeeded to my satisfaction--(two hours’ work, two
hours’ thought: three wasted).
27th.--Got up I know not at what time. Have been thinking about my
change, and have decided to go and order the small canvas....
29th.--... Thought of a subject as I went along: Wiclif reading his
translation of the Bible to John of Gaunt, Chaucer and Gower present.
Arranged it in my mind. Called on Lucy; saw Martin, in a precious
stew about the Free Exhibition. Dined, came home: made a slight
sketch of it (three hours’ work).
30th.--Got up at quarter to eight. Went out to see about the Museum
for consulting authorities; called on Mark Anthony; went to the
reading-room of Museum; saw Lewis’s _Life of Wiclif_, Southey’s _Book
of the Church_. Met Lucy there in search of documents for his Landing
of Puritans in New Plymouth.[24] Came home, dined, and sketched a
little at the subject (three hours’ work).
1st December.--Got up at eight; went out to the print-shops and to
the National Gallery. Then to the Museum; read Godwin’s _Life of
Chaucer_....
2nd.--Got up at half-past seven. Went out to the British Museum; got
there by ten; made a drawing of a Gothic alphabet; read Knight’s
Chaucer. Dined, called on my aunt Brown. Set to work by eight, worked
till twelve, the sketch....
3rd.--Got up at eight. Went to the Museum by half-past nine; finished
the alphabet, and consulted Pugin on Furniture. In the evening worked
at the composition till half-past twelve (five hours--six hours
Museum).
4th.--Went to Highgate and to Gravesend, to see my sweet child.
5th.--Slept at Gravesend, and drew a little head of my beautiful
babe; it is to-day eighteen months since the death of my poor dear
wife. These are thoughts that I must banish; it unnerves me. I have
dedicated the day to my child and the memory of her mother. Yesterday
I brought her fuchsia down from her grave, and have given it to Mrs.
Lucy to take care of for the winter. I left Gravesend by the five
o’clock boat, and have come back, intending perhaps to do some work
(two hours).
9th.--Got up at eight. The night before I had finished the drawing
of the sketch. About ten I began to draw a tracing of the sketch, to
make it in oil; muddled and worked and muddled till half-past three.
Went out, half inclined to work no more. Came back, dined. Mr. and
Mrs. Lucy came in to see me; good excuse; I went home with them, and
stopped till one!...
11th.--Got up about eight. Set to painting by ten; painted till
half-past three at the figures of Wiclif, Chaucer, and Gower, and
that side of it.... Did little good (eight hours’ work).
12th, Sunday.--Got up at eight, set to work before ten. Painted till
three at the figure of John of Gaunt, etc.; went out and dined, and
spent the evening with Lucy (three hours’ work).
13th.--... Called on Lucy. Buss[25] has been bothering him about the
Free Exhibition. Went with him to Rowney’s: came back, dined, and
set to work about six. Wasted one and a half hours cleaning a damned
pipe. Worked till eleven (five hours’ work)....
16th.--... Set to work about twelve; worked till three, chalking-in
the figures on the canvas. Went out for a model, unsuccessful; got
Smith coming to-morrow. Set to work about quarter past six; left
off for want of chalk. Am writing this, and going to write damned
letters for money, etc. Can do no more work for want of chalk: have
been as far as Oxford Street, but can get none. Drew a little at the
ornamental part of the design (four hours).
27th.--Came up to London [from Gravesend]; did nothing all day.
Called on the Lucys in the evening. On coming home to my studio at
past twelve, found a drunken man groaning in one of the workshops
with a candle amid the shavings. Fetched a policeman and the master;
got him safe out.
28th.--Tried to work: did nothing all day but arrange the lay figure
for Wiclif, and superintend the making of a gown for Chaucer; I am
sadly idle!...
1848--1st January.--Came back to London and dined at Lucy’s. In the
evening Thomas came in, and we settled to illustrate Pope’s _Essay
on Man_ between us; I proposed the subject.[26] Came to bed by one....
3rd.--... Worked till eleven at the outline of the painting;
afterwards fiddled at a piece of poetry till quarter to one (eight
hours’ work)....
10th.--Got up at half-past eight and to work by half-past nine; drew
my two hands in the glass for Gower’s.... I afterwards drew a little
at one of my hands for Wiclif, when that devil Miss Chamberlayne
called. Walked round Regent’s Park, dined. Thomas came in, and with
Lucy we went to Dickinson’s Academy, Maddox Street: saw Foley there,
and Paris and Salter[27] (five hours’ work)....
12th.--Breakfasted in bed; drew all day at the canvas. Lucy came
in to go to Dickinson’s with me: found I was making my figures of
Chaucer and Gower too short--quite took me aback. Went and began a
pencil drawing at Dickinson’s. Walked home with Lucy, came back;
bought a bottle of whisky to drown care with (eight hours’ work).
15th.--I went to Greenwich,[28] to collect rents, and to Gravesend.
16th.--Gravesend still. Made a little study of Lucy in sunshine[29]
(one and a half hours’ work).
17th.--Came back by the half-past eight boat: went to see John
Bromley,[30] and to make a sketch of the hand of his little girl for
the female in this painting.... Came back and set to work drawing at
the figure of Wiclif. Went to Maddox Street; came back again at ten,
and worked till past eleven (five and a half hours’ work).
18th.--Got up at half-past eight. Set to work by ten at drawing-in a
hand and the sleeves of Wiclif. _Began Painting._ Laid-in the head
and feet of Wiclif. Turned my canvases of the Poets round to the
wall, so as to be able to admit persons if necessary.
19th.--... Called on Mark Anthony: saw his large _Village Festival_
in progress; called on Lucy (five hours’ work).
21st.--Breakfasted in bed; got up at ten, and to work by eleven.
Drew-in the head of Chaucer from myself in two looking-glasses;
altered that of Gower, and reduced one of Chaucer’s hands.
22nd.--... Painted-in the sleeves and upper part of Chaucer’s gown
(_à premier coup_): shall not want to retouch it much, I expect;
worked till four.
26th.--Wednesday. Got up at half-past eight: went out for a walk;
found it too cold. Went and bespoke Miss Ashley, and came back. Miss
Ashley came by eleven: stopped till four, let the fire out three
times, and talked all day; will never do.--In the evening I worked
at the head of the female, drawing it in in water-colour; could not
succeed (four hours’ work)....
31st.--... Went to Suffolk Street, to hear Professor Ansted tell us
that the colour of the air is blue, and that of mist grey, etc. etc.;
this they call geology! (two hours’ work).
1st February.--... I afterwards set about composing the furniture for
my painting; did not do much (two hours’ work). Got a note from Helen
Bromley, enclosing one for Miss Ensgrubber[31] to her, to ask my poor
wife’s address. Oh dear! hers has been for upwards of nineteen months
the cemetery of Highgate; mine, this rascally barn of a studio. To
think that we once had a home together! in Paris how different, and
even in Rome how different! Bless you, my poor child!
2nd.--Got up at eight, worked from ten till four at composing the
chair of John of Gaunt....
3rd.--Going to set to work for about three hours at the chair. Did
little good; what a muff I am! (three hours’ work).
4th.--Breakfasted in bed; set to work about ten. Recomposed the
chair, and composed the lectern, and began painting it. Worked till
half-past four. Walked round the Park. Set to work again at seven,
when Thomas and John Marshall came in, and I did no more work.
Thomas accused Marshall of having spoken about our London University
project,[32] at the College. Marshall denied it, but said that he had
heard that another body of artists had proposed the same thing about
a year ago. Thomas stopped till eleven, and we drank two glasses of
grog each (six hours’ work).
5th.--Breakfasted in bed; set to work about half-past nine. Worked at
the lectern: altered it, painted at it till four. Dined etc. A wet
day; did not go out. Began work again at seven till eight, and from
nine till half-past eleven, painting at the lectern--what snobbish
work! (nine hours’ work). Forgot to go to Highgate--alas my poor
wife!...
7th.--Got up at quarter to eight; breakfasted, and went to Highgate.
Had iron stakes put to the standard roses. Called on Lucy; went to
London University, to see about Capbell’s bust of Potter.[33] John
Marshall, on behalf of the Committee, commissioned me to make a
drawing of it, for [which] I am to receive five guineas. Dined; set
to at my accounts. Thomas called in to know if I would accompany him
to-morrow to a meeting of the Freemasons of the Church, to hear a
lecture on Beauty by a Baronet M.P. He for the first time explained
to me his views on beauty, and the explanation thereof. Wonderful
fellow! I hardly know what to make of him, his talents are so
wonderful and varied. Stopped till half-past eleven.
8th.--Got up at half-past eight. Went to the British Institution;
saw a wonderful piece of light by Inskip,[34] a beautiful marine by
Danby (calm after a storm with a heavy ground-swell). I stopped one
half-hour looking at this picture. Lance, Frost, Copley Fielding,
etc. Afterwards I went to the University, and began the drawing
of the bust; came back after two and a-half hours’ work, dined.
Sam Bamford[35] called in, then Thomas; when we went to hear a
most absurd lecture by a Bart.--beside whom was seated the Duke of
Northumberland; after which some antiquarian controversy....
17th.--Breakfasted in bed; Miss Ashley called in. Composed the
chair of John of Gaunt, and began it. In the evening went to hear
Leslie’s[36] first lecture on painting: twaddle (six hours’ work)....
21st.--Got up at half-past seven, walked over the Park. Set to
work about ten, painting at the arch. Got a letter from my Uncle
Madox,[37] asking me to go and speak to him in the City on business.
Left off about two; went to the City. Found he wanted to sell his
one-eighth of the Tan Yard, and, if I would sell mine, he would get
me £700 for it, £200 more than I thought it worth: no unpleasant
news. Decided to sell it in order to buy a house....
25th.--Got up late. Rainy morning, did not go out. Set to work by
ten. French Revolution[38] proclaimed. Worked at the balustrade, and
laid-in the pavement.... In the evening I went to see the papers, and
to hear Professor Ansted lecture on geology. Afterwards went again to
get a sight of the papers, and went at eleven at night to see Lucy.
Found him in great excitement about Paris; Fenton[39] his pupil, in a
sad state about it. We all three have associations with Paris. Came
back, and got to bed by one (seven hours’ work).
26th.--Got up at half-past seven, went out before nine. Called
to see Thomas, and talk over the revolution. Came back to work.
Maitland[40] came in by half-past ten; worked at laying-in the legs
of John of Gaunt till half-past one; laid them in with light yellow
and cadmium. Afterwards I could do nothing more, but went to see the
newspaper. Called on Marshall and Lucy; and Thomas came and took me
to an artists’ conversazione at the Bricklayers’ Arms: saw Scharf,
Collingwood Smith, and Oliver there.[41] Had some more information
about the Free Exhibition. Art-Union has joined, and members must
be proposed and seconded. Went in and had supper with Thomas (three
hours’ work)....
28th.--... Composed one of the figures for the spandrils over again;
a young girl (instead of a child) to impersonate the Protestant
Faith. Determined to make the figures fill up the whole of the
spandrils without tracery-work. After dinner composed the other
figure, of the Romish Faith; a figure holding a chained-up bible
and a torch, with a hood (like the penitents at Catholic funerals)
showing only the eyes, with burning fagots and a wheel of fortune for
accessories.[42]...
8th March.--Got up at quarter past seven. Finished the cloak; began
the woman’s head-dress. My aunt Brown called in. Walked out to the
Strand and Trafalgar Square, to the scene of the riots. Came back by
nine. Thomas called in. Began one of the flowers on the spandrils
(nine hours).
9th.--... Set to work at making lions and fleurs-de-lys, of paper,
for the jupon of John of Gaunt till twelve (eight hours’ work).
10th.--Got up at seven; set to work sewing on the arms on to his
coat. Did nothing (when Smith came), all day, but paint the two
crimson-damask sleeves, and badly too.--Set to work again about nine
at the Gothic flower (eight hours’ work, three preparation).
11th.--... Arranged the lay figure I had made of the child; took up
much time; did nothing more....
17th.--Got up at quarter past seven, to work by quarter to nine.
Painted at the ivy till quarter past two, and from half-past three
till six at the damask back of the chair. Arranged the lay figure for
John of Gaunt. From half-past seven till ten painted-in the ground
afresh for the jupon; yellow for the blue, and white for the red;
nothing like a good coating of white to get bright sunny colour:
(nine hours’ work, two and a-half arranging)....
22nd.--Rose at seven, to work by nine. Painted-in the Page with the
books, all but the sleeves. Head very successful; rubbed out the
legs. From seven till nine at moulding of frame, from half-past ten
till two, modelling ornaments for ditto (ten, and three preparing)....
24th.--Got up at quarter past seven, to work by nine. Painted the
head and one hand of John of Gaunt; my eyes so dim and weak I could
hardly go on with it.[43] Painted till half-past two. Went out to
the City: came back, painted the cap of John of Gaunt....
25th.--Got up at seven, to work by nine. Painted till twelve at
the head of fair Page. Maitland came. Painted the hose of John of
Gaunt; did not do, rubbed it out again. Had interruptions. Elliott,
Thomas, and Rossetti called;[44] the latter my first pupil. Curious
enough--he wrote to ask me to give him lessons, from his opinion of
_my high talents_; knew every work I had exhibited and all about
[them]. Will see what we can make of him. Worked from ten till twelve
at correcting the arms of Wiclif (nine hours)....
27th.--Got up at eight; to work half-past nine; till six painted the
water behind the pages, etc., and the heads of the two boys, with
part of the railing: heads in shadow very difficult. Dined and walked
out, and wrote two notes. Set to work by nine, designing ornamental
work for the spandrils, and also the figure of Catholicism, much to
my satisfaction, till eleven o’clock. Writing this, and mean to work
one hour more at the spandrils (eleven hours’ work)....
2nd April.--Got up at seven, to work by nine. Till twelve, at the
head of John of Gaunt from Smith (bad): glazed a sleeve, and the blue
velvet of the same. Painted at the head of Chaucer from Hewlett from
three till six (bad). Worked from nine till ten at setting the lay
figure for the monk’s draperies, drew part of them till quarter to
twelve (eleven hours)....
5th.--Got up at six, to work by seven. Till ten at the shoes of
Gower, and the steps; from half-past ten till half-past one at the
head of Wiclif from Krone; eyes so dizzy obliged to leave off. Went
for a walk, bathed my eyes; began again at three till six--not the
thing. Dined, went to sleep. Mr. and Mrs. Lucy called in. Set to work
at ten, at one of the cinqfoil ornaments. Have not yet finished it,
twelve o’clock; must finish it before I go to bed--finished it by one
(twelve and a half hours’ work).
6th.--Got up at half-past six; to work, by a quarter to eight till
one, at the figure of Wiclif. Glazed his gown and part of his cloak,
and repainted a long time at the head. Eyes very bad; walked out over
the Park. Began again at the head at two till three; then painted
till six at the hands of John of Gaunt. Lucy came in, and drew-in the
figure with lily in the spandril. I began work again at nine, at one
of the cinqfoils; finished it by eleven; must try and do the other
and last one. Did nothing more (eleven hours).
7th.--Got up at quarter past seven; to work by half-past eight at the
third head of Chaucer; made it worse than before. Had Mrs. Yates for
it. Worked till eleven at it--quite horrible. Afterwards painted the
two hands rather well; then painted the hands of Gower and one foot
of Wiclif pretty well. John Marshall called in: talked a great deal
about the approaching revolution; what is to be the upshot of it?
Thomas called in. I set to work again at half-past nine till eleven,
and drew-in the figure in the spandril with the lily (ten hours’
work)....
14th.--Up at seven; to work by eight. Painted the head of Wiclif till
half-past ten from old Coulton. My uncle Madox called at twelve.
Began retouching the arch; worked at it till six. Went to the Free
Exhibition: began painting the female in the spandril at nine: worked
till half-past twelve (eleven hours’ work).
16th.--My birthday; twenty-seven to-day, alas! Got up at seven; to
work by eight. Painted the red cross and rosary of Chaucer, then the
hose of the Duke. Muddled at them; could not succeed. In despair
rubbed them out again partly, and made them another colour, yellow
and grey. Will do, _must do_, but not very well. Glazed the archway,
and began marking-in the stones. Did a little to the cloak of Wiclif,
and the hassock of the female. Began work again by eight till two in
the morning; painted a host of little odds and ends (fifteen hours).
17th.--Got up at six; to work by half-past eight. Finished the Pages
and Chaucer and Gower and Wiclif: painted the green rushes: finished
the ground, the reading-desk, and the female’s chair. In the evening
painted at the letters from nine till eleven. Then again at the
female and the mosaic work till four in the morning (seventeen hours).
18th.--Got up at six; to work by half-past seven. Repainted the whole
of the flesh, glazing the shadows with yellow lakes and madder, and
repainted the lights with their white tints. At three began at the
general effect. Worked till half-past six, then again till three at
the mosaic work and sundries (eighteen hours).
19th.--Got up at six: set off with my picture to the gallery, Hyde
Park Corner. Got there by nine. Ten o’clock before framed, and that
did not fit. Thought I had all day to work, but found we were all to
decamp at ten. Got leave to wait till the sweeping was done, and set
to work again at twelve till six. Improved the general appearance
much by glazing etc. Slept next door at a tavern, to be able to be at
work next morning at six, to finish it before the private view (six
hours).
20th.--Up at quarter to six; to work by half-past. Painted at the
hose of John of Gaunt, and put-in some trees--too green.... Then
fetched Thomas for the private view. Afterwards spent the evening and
slept at Bamford’s (four hours).
21st.--Went to the gallery at about eleven: repainted at the trees
till two.
4th May.--Had my pupil Rossetti here; working for about six hours on
a head, to show him (six hours).
6th.--Got up at half-past six. Began work at nine till five from
Maitland: began a study of his head in sunlight, and painted the
black silk legs for Shakespeare and Milton[45] (eight hours).
7th.--Got up at eight; to work by nine till four. Did little but a
drawing (of his head) for the courtier next to the one in the yellow
hood in the foreground, for which also is the study in oil (six
hours).
17th.--Up at five. Six till eight at the study of Mrs. Yates [a
hand]: the rest of the day made alterations in the figure and head of
Lord Byron (eight hours).
18th.--Up at five. Six till eight at Mrs. Yates. Walked till eleven
with Thomas. Had an argument; tried to persuade him that, to imitate
the true _tone_ of the model, it must be painted so that, when held
up beside it, it would not be like it in _colour_. Did nothing but
try to write down what I had been speaking of; afterwards went to see
Lucy....
22nd.--Up at half-past eight; to work by eleven. Altered the head of
Burns, and drew-in that of Pope. Walked over the parks with Thomas
(five hours’ work).
15th June.--Cleaned the dog, and shaved his head and paws....
17th.--They want to engrave _Wiclif_ for _The People’s Journal_.[46]
Laid-in skirt of Robert Burns’s gown; worked about four hours till
five o’clock. Called on proprietor of _People’s Journal_; supped at
Mr. Bamford’s....
25th.--Came back. Heard of the revolution in Paris; spent the evening
with Lucy....
17th July.--Went to Paris, to see my old friend Casey,[47] and buy
a lay figure. Did both; enjoyed myself much. Painted a portrait of
Casey: worked about seven hours at it. Came back to London on the 6th
[August].
28th August.--Set to work, about half-past two till six, at the
architecture of the Byron compartment; afterwards at the same by
lamp-light. Thomas has begun working by night in my studio....
30th.--Walked out over the Park; then to see Lucy. He told me of
another kick-up at the School of Design: he had been applying for one
himself; I began to think of it.[48] Called to see Thomas, and talked
the matter over: worked but little at the architecture (three hours).
31st.--Set to work about twelve till two, and from three till five,
at the architecture. Rossetti called with Hunt,[49] a clever young
man (three hours).
10th September.--Read Keats,[50] and spent the day with Thomas.
11th.--Ill in bed with a bad cold; Lucy called....
13th.--Up late; could not get to sleep. Out to see Thomas: could not
get well; who knows but it may be the death of me? Damned wretched,
but only because not occupied.
21st.--Started for the Lakes of Cumberland in company with Lucy: saw
the Exhibition of Manchester.
25th.--Began painting a view of Windermere: worked six days at about
four hours a day, last day in the rain under an umbrella.
2nd October.--Started on foot for Patterdale; then over the mountains
past the Greenside lead-mine to Keswick.
3rd.--Through the Borrowdale pass to Wast-water.
4th.--Rain all day; stopped there.
5th.--Started in the rain over the mountains by Eskdale to Windermere.
6th.--By rail to Liverpool. Saw my _Wiclif_ there up high: looked
damned bad.
7th.--To Chester, thence to Birmingham; saw Exhibition, and back to
London that night.
8th.--Went to Gravesend to see my darling.
9th.--Went to City; afterwards painted at my view of Windermere at
the sky (two hours’ work).
10th.--All day writing a letter to _Builder_ about Thomas....
12th.--Began a portrait of R. Bromley’s daughter (four hours).
13th.--Portrait not dry enough to go on with. Sent for Mrs. Ashley
and child, and began a sketch of them for a little picture of a
mother and child.[51] Made a sketch in the evening, in black and
white, of the view of Windermere (three hours’ work).
14th.--Laid-in the view of Windermere with a thin coating of
asphaltum, and white for the high lights: drying-oil and copal. After
dinner sketched the outline of a small sketch for _Mother and Child_:
after tea worked on the helmet and sword of Lord Byron[52] (eight
hours’ work).
15th.--Painted a sketch of the _Mother and Child_: in the evening
worked at the Byron’s sword (seven hours).
16th.--Worked at the portrait of John Bromley about four hours....
18th.--Went out with Rossetti to see his picture.[53]
28th.--Painted other arm of Julia Bromley (two hours), and in the
evening wrote a defence of Thomas’s Lectures for _The Builder_.[54]...
31st.--Wrote all day at the letter to _Builder_....
4th November.--Tooth all day; in the evening wrote about influences
of antiquity in Italy.[55]...
12th.--Did very little; painted a copy of Lucy’s head[56] (two hours).
13th.--Drew a portrait of Mrs. Ashley’s baby, and wrote in the
evening on Italy and Art (three hours)....
16th.--Worked at the little picture: laid-in the background, and
altered the legs of the child. In the evening thought a great deal
about the subject (four hours).
17th.--Wasted half the day, and composed _Lear and Cordelia_.[57]
18th.--Went to Pratts’s, and subscribed for armour and old furniture:
tried to work, but did little....
19th.--Began work late; composed _Lear and Cordelia_ (six hours).
20th.--Wrote an answer to “Amateur” in _The Builder_, and started for
Gravesend.
21st.--Came home by 8 p.m. Drew at sketch of _Lear_ (three hours).
22nd.--Went to Pratts’s. Set to work at one till half-past three at
the mirror; spent the evening studying grammar (three and a-half
hours).
23rd.--Began work at ten till half-past three, at mirror and gilt
leather: asphaltum, cadmium, lemon-yellow, ivory-black, sienna, etc.;
magilp and copal. In the evening worked at the composition of _Lear
and Cordelia_ (six hours’ work)....
25th.--Up late. To work by eleven till one at the gilt leather. John
Marshall came in: did little more but arrange a bunch of keys, and
begin them. In the evening worked at the _Lear_, but have not yet
settled it (five hours).
26th.--... In the evening worked four and a-half hours at _Lear_;
going on well (eight hours).
27th.--... In the evening wrote three notes, and worked from seven
till eight at _Lear_; finished the outline of the sketch (five
hours)....
30th.--Painted at the sketch. Went with Lucy to see Elliott’s picture
and Rossetti’s (four hours)....
5th December.--Spent the day in divers ways; bought a large oak door,
and scraped it with glass, and varnished it; in the evening composed
the panels of the little picture (three hours’ work).
6th.--Had a King Charles spaniel; paid 4s. 6d. for it. Painted it in
three hours: evening, began chalking the outline of the _Lear_ on
canvas (seven hours’ work).
7th.--Painted at the panel five hours. In the evening had a model, to
draw the nude of Cordelia (seven and a-half hours)....
19th.--Bought mittens and a rose, and made a fan; arranged it, and
began the gown. In the evening Maitland for two hours: sketched the
figure of Lear (seven hours)....
30th.--Drew at the outline of Lear till three.
1849--11th January.--Painted the sea, cliffs, ships, and tents, in
_Lear_; in the evening painted the four little figures, and drew-in
the nude of warrior resting upon his shield, from Maitland (nine
hours)....
16th.--Up till four night before. Supped with Lucy and Mark Anthony
at an oyster-shop. Began work at one, till four; painted body of
dress from Mrs. Ashley;[58] in the evening rubbed it out, and drew
four hours at the head of Cordelia; made it beastly (seven hours’
work)....
27th.--Laid-in the Jester’s hands,[59] and re-painted the flesh of
the child in little picture. In the evening, laid-in the head of the
fool, from Rossetti (seven hours).
28th.--Re-painted one arm and hand of mother in the little picture,
and re-touched it generally; in the evening laid-in one hand of the
physician, and retouched the expression of the jester (eight hours).
31st.--Laid-in the head of Lear from a cast of Dante’s, and a drawing
of Coulton. Called on Lucy, and ordered a frame in the evening. Again
in the evening (eight hours).
1st February.--Worked all day at the head of Cordelia from model: in
the evening rubbed it out, and retouched the head of Lear. Found a
dog in the rain, and brought him home with me (seven hours)....
6th.--Finished the little picture.
17th.--Altered the head of Cordelia; painted-in head of Lear, and
head and hand of Kent: evening, re-touched heads of Kent and jester
and Cordelia (eleven hours).
18th.--Sunday. Painted-in the head of Cordelia from model, and one
hand; evening at Lucy’s (seven hours)....
1st March.--Painted the head of the jester from Dante Rossetti, and
the hands from Mrs. Ashley; so muddled away the day. In the evening
Bell Smith, of Free Exhibition, called to inform me that I might keep
it till private view; also of secret machinations to form a fresh
society and so get rid of the muffs (seven hours).
2nd.--Went to Greenwich, and then to Free Exhibition to ballot for
places; evening at Thomas’s....
13th.--Re-painted one hand of Lear (bad), and his head (not too
good): bad day. Evening, carpet (eight hours)....
21st.--Re-painted and finished the head of Cordelia at last; painted
the carpet and flowers and shield and divers (eight hours).
22nd.--Took _Lear_ to the Free Exhibition. Found a large white sky
came directly beneath it: kicked up a row, and got it taken away,
then worked at the picture at divers (three hours).
23rd.--Re-painted the sky, and re-touched many things, and finished
it definitely (six hours).
24th.--Went to private view: picture much liked. Started for
Gravesend: my child in bed.
28th.--Went to see Baily’s _Graces_ at his studio, and Nichols’
sculpture for the pediment of the Hall of Commerce, Manchester; bad
but effective. Also to see some magnificent Dutch pictures at Mr.
Theobald’s.
29th.--Went to see young Hunt, and thence to see Millais’s picture,
_Isabella_; wonderfully painted, full of expression, sentiment,
and colour, and extreme good painting, but somewhat exaggerated in
character, and careless in drawing.
31st.--Painted at the view of Windermere.
2nd April.--Evening spent at Rossetti’s: saw his designs and his
brother, all up in his little room, fifth storey[60]....
5th.--Painted at _Windermere_, cows and foreground (five hours).
6th.--Painted at idem, horses, etc. (five hours)....
10th.--Painted in the day-time, and in the evening from nine till
eleven: finished it, and carried it to the Royal Academy (seven
hours’ work)....
27th.--Worked at the outline of Poats:[61] drew-in the page in the
foreground from nature (four hours)....
5th May.--Worked at the water-colour sketch;[62] began re-painting it
in oil (four hours)....
8th June.--Began painting on the centre compartment of the picture.
Painted at the yellow hood in the foreground; painted-in the head of
it ...; lemon, chrome, cadmium, and yellow lake, with copal; vehicle,
copal and drying-oil (five hours)....
21st.--Painted-in one hand and the head; laying-in the shadows with
emerald-green and white and much copal, and the lights with pure
white and copal; the outline drawn with water-colours, much hatched
(ten hours).
22nd.--Painted-in one hand from Maitland in sunlight: find I can put
the models in the sun (three hours).
23rd.--Painted-in the neck and hair and draperies of the admiring
courtier, also one hand of the foreground page, always laying-in the
flesh with pure white (eight hours)....
25th.--Painted a study of the head of Maitland for the Black Prince,
and the head of page from young Deverell[63] (seven hours)....
29th.--Touched the Page’s head, and painted-in the Jester’s from John
Marshall (nine hours)....
2nd July.--Set off to Shorn Ridgway. Found some fine scenery
overlooking the Thames and Essex; began a study of it for my
background to _Chaucer_ (three hours)....
[Towards end of August].--Painted about twelve days at the picture of
_King Lear_: altered the head of Cordelia, shortened her hands and
arms, enlarged the head, thickened the figure (sixty hours).
Painted four days at the little picture of _Mother and Child_ before
sending it home (twenty hours)....
Spent three days arranging the sleeves of the Page. Went to Margate
with my daughter, and stayed there two weeks, during [which time I]
had three sittings for her portrait[64] (nine hours)....
5th October.--Began a portrait of Mr. Seddon;[65] to be painted, and
that of Mrs. Seddon, for a sofa; went to a conversazione with them....
3rd November.--Finished Mr. Seddon’s Portrait. Drew-in the Jester,
and painted his hands, sleeves, etc. Drew at other parts. Composed a
subject for _Beauty and the Beast_; ... drew a figure of Beauty from
nature. Wasted about two months changing into a new studio. Began
the portrait of Shakespeare for the Dickinsons: painted a sketch of
it, made a drawing of the head, and a study from Mr. Barker for it.
Drew a cartoon of it.... Drew a figure of _the Lord Jesus_ for the
Dickinsons.[66]
1850--2nd March.--Worked at it and the cartoon of Shakespeare to-day
(four and a half hours). In the evening three hours at _The Lord
Jesus_ (border-work)....
4th.--... To meet S. C. Hall,[67] at Lucy’s, meeting of the committee
of the North London School of Drawing and Modelling (two hours)....
6th.--Painted at the forehead and hair of Shakespeare, and drew the
border of thorns of the Christ (eight hours)....
12th.--Went to a committee of North London School (six hours).
13th.--Idem. Went to Fenton to paint his dead child (six hours)....
16th.--Painted at the head of Shakespeare and background, and drew at
the Cordelia for etching[68] (10 hours)....
_Diary resumed on the 16th August 1854._[69]
Idle day: morning spent musing in bed; afternoon walked out with
Emma and Katy;[70] evening, garden and dim reflections. Much study
of Blue-book of Department of Art and Science (impudently called
“of Science and Art”). In the interval which the diary shows (to
the best of my recollection) I painted in the year 1850, still in
Newman Street, first the remainder of the Shakespeare portrait, for
which I was paid sixty guineas; then I finished the etching for _The
Germ_, which cost me 31s. 6d. and brought me in nothing. Afterwards
I designed a card for the Dickinson Exhibition of _Shakespeare_, on
which I worked several days for no remuneration. The drawing of
_The Lord Jesus_ was paid me £2: they afterwards lithographed it in
shameful style, so as to cause me much annoyance.
For the remainder of the year I worked at the large picture of
_Chaucer_, and studies of landscape for it, one of which I afterwards
finished up, and gave to Seddon. In 1851 I finished the centre
compartment of _The Fruits of English Poetry_,[71] having determined
to abandon the wings. To get this part finished for the Academy, I
had to labour very hard, and at the last worked three whole nights
in one week, only lying down with my clothes on for a couple of
hours. Emma sat for the Princess, which was done in two sittings of
two hours each.... Elliott, a pupil of Lucy’s, the cardinal. John
Marshall, of University Hospital, was the Jester. Miss Gregson, since
Mrs. Lee, was the fair princess behind the Black Prince. Her friend
Miss Byne sat for the dark one, but much altered. The scoundrel
(and afterwards thief) Maitland, then under Marshall’s hands for
operation, sat for the Black Prince. The fine woman below looking
round was a portrait of Julia Wild, celebrated as model, ... also
for black eyes; the boys were mostly portraits, but the other heads
ideal chiefly. I sold this picture to Dickinson for 85 per cent. of
whatever he might afterwards sell it for, to be paid after he should
have received the money. I have since urged him to put it up to
auction, which he has done, but no one would buy it; so he still has
it. This year 1854 he paid me £20 on account of it, which was all I
ever had for it.
After finishing this picture (which I forgot to say the Academicians
hung in such a way as to shine all over, and _without the frame_),
I took a house at Stockwell.... I went for three days to the
Isle of Wight with Anthony and Hunt. The first day we marched
for five hours in the rain; the second and third, revelled in
the enjoyment--liberty, novelty of scene, fine weather, and huge
appetite. The fourth we returned home. At Stockwell this year I
painted one month at the sketch for the _Chaucer_, begun on paper
and water-colour. Anthony was to give me a work for this, but I
afterwards asked him to give me twelve guineas instead, which he
did. I then began my picture of the _Baa Lambs_, which I finished
in five months of hard labour; during which time I was very hard
up generally, owing to McCracken not paying me all at once for the
picture of _Wiclif_, which he purchased of me at this time for fifty
guineas and a very bad Deighton[72]--a do in fact. During this
time I painted Mrs. Seddon’s portrait, which turned out bad and a
curse: this was the second portrait for the sofa, which they valued
at thirteen guineas cost-price. During this time I also finished
the landscape-study of Shorn, which I gave to Tom Seddon; he having
kindly lent me money about this time, £12, I think; £5 of which I
borrowed to lend Lucy. But Seddon was the first to borrow of me, £10
once. At this time I also finished the sketch of _Wiclif_, and the
first of _Chaucer_ (since given to John Marshall); about a day’s work
between the two.
The _Baa Lamb_ picture was painted almost entirely in sunlight, which
twice gave me a fever while painting. I used to take the lay figure
out every morning, and bring it in at night or if it rained.... My
painting-room being on a level with the garden, Emma sat for the
lady, and Kate for the child. The lambs and sheep used to be brought
every morning from Clapham Common in a truck: one of them ate up all
the flowers one morning in the garden, where they used to behave very
ill. The background was painted on the Common. The medium I used was
Roberson’s undrying copal (flake white). After getting rid of these
works I went to Foot’s Cray for Michaelmas with my daughter Lucy,
where I painted my picture of _Paul’s Cray Church_ in ten days.
This I have sent to Robinson’s Auction a few months since, and it
fetched £2. 8s. inclusive of frame. It was exhibited at Grundy’s and
Liverpool in 1852.
After these works I began my picture of _Christ washing Peter’s
Feet_, painting this one at my painting-rooms in Newman Street:
at the same time I began the study for the small picture of
_Waiting_,[73] working at it in the three evenings a week I used
to sleep in Stockwell--the other three being passed at the studio
to save time. Twelve days before sending in the _Christ_ picture I
had given it up in despair, none of the heads being yet done: so I
returned to Stockwell to alter the head in the _Baa Lambs_ picture,
being dissatisfied with it. I afterwards took up the _Christ_ again
at the instigation of Millais, and painted the heads of Peter,
Christ, and John (this one the only one laid-in), also all the other
figures of apostles, in ten days, and sent it in. This picture was
painted in four months, the flesh painted on _wet white_ at Millais’s
lying instigation; Roberson’s medium, which I think dangerous like
Millais’s advice. Having got rid of these pictures (which were hung,
one above the line so as to shine all over, the other against the
window in the octagon room), I immediately began the picture of
_Waiting_; from Miss Ryan[74] the head, the remainder copied from the
study painted at night. I all but finished this little picture before
leaving our house at Stockwell: ten weeks’ work at least....
[Illustration: (Chris Washing Peter’s Feet, sketch by Madox Brown)]
In June I left Stockwell and Newman Street for Hampstead, Emma
going to Dover for the summer. At Hampstead I remained one year
and nine months; most of the time intensely miserable, very hard
up, and a little mad. During this time I was Head Master of the
North London Drawing School for nearly a year. I once received £5
from the Secretary as a loan, which I returned to him a short time
after; this was all I ever saw of my salary of £60 a year. The first
work I undertook at Hampstead was the design for my picture of
_Work_, still unfinished save the background. I also made a small
copy of the _Baa Lambs_, and painted two small portraits; one for
nothing, not even thanks, the other for £5. I began the background
for _Work_ in the Streets of Hampstead, painting there all day
for two months, having spent much time in inventing and making an
apparatus. This, and finishing the picture of _Waiting_, took up
till the beginning of October, when I commenced the Landscape of
_English Autumn Afternoon_; which I had to give up after a month’s
work, in consequence of Mrs. Coats’[75] being ill and her bedroom
being required. Having given this up about the end of October, and
decided that I should not have time to finish the _Work_ for the
next Academy Exhibition, I designed the subject of _The Last of
England_, at the coloured sketch and cartoon of which I worked till
Christmas. During this period I worked about ten days at the cartoon
of _Our Ladye_,[76] etc., and the picture of the _Baa Lambs_. About
this time I also got the twelve guineas from Anthony, and sold the
sketch of _Wiclif_ to McCracken for ten guineas, also the sketch of
_The Infant’s Repast_ to some scoundrel at Bristol for £5. At the
beginning of ’53 I worked for about six weeks at the picture of _Last
of England_, Emma coming to sit to me in the most inhuman weather
from Highgate. This work representing an out-door scene without
sunlight, I painted at it chiefly out of doors when the snow was
lying on the ground. The madder ribbons of the bonnet took me four
weeks to paint. At length, finding that at this rate I could not get
it done for the Academy, I gave it up in much disgust, and began
re-painting the sketch of _Chaucer_ to give to John Marshall; on this
I worked about two months, also a little at the painted sketch of
_Cordelia_ from the etching in _Germ_.
About this time I lost many days through interruptions of a domestic
nature, but resumed work again about the 15th May at the pictures
of _King Lear_ and _Baa Lambs_; doing about two months’ work to the
_King Lear_, which I sent to Manchester along with the _Waiting_,
and perhaps five weeks’ work to the _Baa Lambs_ for Glasgow, all of
which returned unsold. During this period we were residing at Hendon
till the 1st September ’53, when we removed here at Church End.[77]
About the 15th September I recommenced painting on the _English
Autumn_ picture, and finished the view from the back window about the
20th October. From this period till the 10th of June 1854, I must
have wasted four weeks through Lucy’s holidays, two through nervous
disorder of the brain, and about one through Emma’s illness. Of the
remaining time, about two months was taken up again repainting the
_King Lear_; one month on the picture of _The Last of England_;
three days on repainting the picture of _Winandermere_ (since sold
to White[78] for £5); ten days on a lithograph of _Winandermere_
(a failure);[79] nearly a month on an etching of _King Lear_, yet
unfinished;[80] six days on a lithotint of _Baby_ (a failure); and
the rest of the time on _English Autumn Afternoon_, which last (which
took about six months) was sold at Phillips’ Auction for nine guineas
to Dickinson, the frame having cost four. He has since sold it to
Charles Seddon for £20, and declares he will not make any profit by
it, but put it to my account. The _King Lear_ was sold at the same
time for fifteen guineas to John P. Seddon, having cost eight months’
work, and the frame £3. 10s. Shortly after this, White, who had just
purchased the two Wiclifs from McCracken, came here, and bought the
_Cordelia_ sketch for £10; picture of _Waiting_, £20; sketch of _Baa
Lambs_, £5; and _Winandermere_, £5; in all £40. Since which I have
spent one month in finishing the _Cordelia_ for him along with the
others. Having finished these and got the money, I wasted about a
week, and have since been engaged finishing-off a study (two views
of the same girl’s head, painted at Southend in ’47)--one day at
this, and the rest at making a picture of study of _Windermere_
painted in ’48, when with Lucy at the Lakes. I must now endeavour
to keep up this diary more accurately, but have become lazy through
discouragement--yet not so much so as some people think--but broken
in spirit, and but a melancholy copy of what I once was. “Ah what to
me shall be the end?”
1854--17th August.--Rose at a quarter before nine--garden after
breakfast, shower-bath before. To work by eleven till one at the view
of _Windermere_.... This evening I intended drawing, but instead
reflected on alterations to be made in the picture of _Christ and
Peter_, which I think of sending to Paris[81] with the _Chaucer_,
if the English Committee accept it (six hours). The Christ in its
present state I consider to be a failure--too much melo-dramatic
sentiment, not sufficient dignity and simplicity of pose. What to do
with it, however, I scarce know. To suit the public taste, however,
it should be clothed;[82] to suit my own, not; but then the action
suits me not to alter, which would be more trouble than to clothe
the figure. Aureoles they must all have. The St. John is all right.
The Peter would be perfect if the carnation were redder and deeper
in tint, and the cloak a better green; also a bit of the right arm
should be shown; but how? Judas requires a fresh head of hair, his
present one having been dabbed in from _feeling_ in the last hurry
of sending in. Memo.: his garment to be a paler yellow. Four of
the other apostles require more _religious feeling_, which must be
done--William and Gabriel Rossetti in particular require veneration
to be added to them. The table-cloth will require alteration, and the
tiles of the floor. Health and spirits tolerable to-day, nerves quiet.
18th.--Worked from nine till half-past ten at the charcoal sketch of
_Beauty before she became acquainted with the Beast_. Read _Antony
and Cleopatra_ in bed this morning; found it more interesting than
ever, was deeply affected and strengthened; such is the effect of all
history-reading. The moral the play seems to imply, if any, is that
there is in shame and degradation a pitch than which self-inflicted
death is more to be tolerated. Pity when any one with modern notions
of the criminality of such act is driven to it. With poor Haydon it
was the only atonement he could make to humanity degraded in his
personal conduct. How can degraded things be still interesting?
20th.--Yesterday one of degrading idleness. Out for a longish walk
with Emma; came home tired, dejected, and nervous. Tried to work at
drawing of _Beauty_ for about one hour; contemptible state (three
hours). This morning have written notice of sending _Chaucer_, _King
Lear_, and _Christ_, to Paris (will the Committee permit!?!?)....
22nd.--Yesterday I worked at the little picture till six or
half-past; re-painted the child’s hands from the studies, and the
head from feeling; till I became thoroughly disgusted with the
work, as I have with the _Windermere_. Both are now put by till the
inspiration come on again. When nothing hurries, this is the best
plan....
This morning I felt incontrollably disgusted with everything; could
literally do nothing, not even summon energy to go into London; when
Emma started the bright idea that we should go to St. Alban’s. As
soon as dinner over we started on foot for Colney Hatch station....
The rail only goes to Hatfield, we found; but there, got a ride
on the top of the ’bus here, in the most lovely weather--Emma in
a state of buoyant enjoyment. We should have thought more of the
fields, no doubt, were we not so much used to them of late. However,
one field of turnips against the afternoon sky did surprise us into
exclamation, with its wonderful emerald tints. And then we passed
a strange sight; two tall chimneys standing separately in a small
space of ground (about a rod, I suppose); the rest covered with
black-looking rubbish, some of it smoking, some children looking
at it. This, the day before, had been a house, the home of a young
couple married some three months, the man a wheelwright. Fire
surprised them in bed the previous night, it would seem, and they had
to escape as they were, in their bed-clothes. And here lay all that
they possessed, flattened down into black ashes. I broke a tooth a
day or two ago, and the gap seemed for some days hard to reconcile
with my impressions of what forms ought to surround my tongue. If
so it is with the remains of a decayed tooth, the gap caused by
the loss of all one has must be harder still to realize at first.
However, they are young, and no life was lost; and, as the man is
not an artist, there is yet hope of prosperity in store for them.
And now we are at the _Peahen_, and Emma has just gone to bed, and I
am writing God knows to what purpose (but vanity). And we have spent
six shillings getting here, which is sheer madness in the present
state of our prospects; besides one bob wasted on a description of
the Abbey--certainly the silliest little book that fool ever penned,
the most complete do that ever I was subjected to; fifty pages of the
most complete vacuity that ever small-country-town-bred numbskull,
without a shade of learning, ingenuity, or imagination, could
possibly have put into circulation. And now to bed. Not even one line
of the Battles of St. Alban’s!
23rd.--We arose at twenty minutes past seven, and bullied the
chambermaid for not waking us,--at least I did. Breakfasted, and off
to the Abbey. Bill at the Peahen most gloriously small, by the way;
we expected at least sixteen shillings; it was only nine: bed one
and six, no wax lights. What meekness on the part of the woman of
the Peahen!--a woman keeps it. We paid one shilling for two tickets
to the Abbey; not to go up the tower, which would have been two
bob. Emma’s tender state made it a matter of prudence, more than
economy, not to go: and well we did not pay the other shilling, for
mark the sequel. We two (nothing buckram about us as yet) went, and
found ourselves opposed by one abbey-door which would not open; then
one rector’s maidservant came towards us two, and said that it did
not open till ten, and moreover that service began at half-past,
and that, if we wished to see the place, she had better go for the
verger. Well, we two, being there quite in the dark as to what all
this meant, naturally concluded that the rector, his maid, the
verger, and the whole conclave, were of a plot to rob us; so we
declined the offer, saying it was scandalous conduct, and that _we_
would go to the verger’s. So, having got there, a stout woman told us
plainly no verger should open the door before ten o’clock. So, seeing
there was no remedy, we wandered forth to spend the time somehow: and
at ten we got in, bullied the verger--who confessed they had been
shown up but a short while before in the papers. I of course promised
a most venomous letter to _The Times_: but somehow, looking over
these workings-up and scrapings-down of so many centuries, our little
tiff about half an hour was forgotten, and, before we saw half the
wonders of the place, we were excellent friends. However venerable
masonry many hundred years old may look--be it free-stone or rubble,
plaster or Roman tile--somehow the stones of then are like the stones
of now, only a little time-eaten; but there was a thigh-bone and
skull belonging to the good Duke Humphrey that seemed to me more
speaking in its age than all the rest. It might have been any one
else for all we could tell, but we took it on trust: and there, good
Heavens! is part of the man we read of in history, who was too good
for this country 400 years ago, who was therefore got rid of, and the
Duchess made to walk in her shift--a great-grandson of Edward III.,
brother to Henry V., Protector of England, and an honest man; and it
is not a dream, for this is his thigh-bone. This is more interesting
than stones and mortar after all. How I could have wished for a
little more of the same! but no. Next in interest were puritanical
mutilations, comical in their consistancy but lifelike.[83] I had
been here with Mark Anthony some years ago, so it was not new.--Back
to Hatfield; ruins still smouldering, but cold in interest already.
Rail to Barnet, walk home. Lazy, sad, nervous again; hopes gone,
unspeakably flown. Onions for supper. Stupid state. The trip in all
cost £1. 6s. 6d. Sheer madness--but _que voulez vous?_ the thing is
done.
26th.--I hope I shall keep this one[84] more regularly up than
hitherto. Having now recommenced, I must be in earnest, one would
think, after such a pause. Should every one keep a record of his
daily acts and sentiments, the history of the world would be made
out in a way that no historian could distort. However illiberal or
enthusiastic in his nature, however stupid a man might be, could he
be persuaded to set down what he thought or did, something would
accrue from it. To judge by myself, however, many would have day
after day to record blank. I have had a trouble to remember if it is
one or two days that I have omitted to fill in, for want of a book;
and, now I know it to be two, I can remember yesterday but not the
one before. I know them both to have been idle ones. A loathing of
my vocation has seized me. I must rest. Work, work, work for ever
muddles a man’s brain, and mine at times is none of the clearest.
What have I done to-day? Worked in the garden, and weeded the back
yard. Yesterday I turned a servant out of doors.... About this
girl turned out of doors, let me record the fact; and, if wrong,
so confess, if not atone. We took her from Barnet Union; she was
hard-working and reasonably good in her behaviour. But she seemed to
be cursed with the devil’s own temper, which made her incontrollably
surly at times, also at times insufferably insolent.... Yesterday we
were going into London, and she was to take Katty for a walk while we
were absent. On account of the cholera now everywhere, I cautioned
her not to take the child into any house. She answered, “I won’t take
the child out at all.” She stuck to this; I to the fact that servants
must do what they are told, or leave. She was obstinate; I told her
she should leave the house that minute.... Before one she was gone.
I gave her wages up to the day, and one month clear; so she went off
with 12s. 6d. Her wages were £5 a year, everything found her. If this
is poor wages for a girl, I myself am very poor, and cannot help it.
She had a good place in all except wages, but wanted sense to keep
it. Where she is gone I know not. And now for my share. Was I right?
Custom says yes--conscience says no. Discretion says, “What would
it have come to at last, had you put up with such rebellion in one
instance?” Charity says: “Better put up with it a dozen times than
turn a poor girl out, because she is a fool by nature, with 12s. 6d.
in her pocket.” I feel like a scoundrel. Yet it was her own fault--I
was not even cross with her to draw forth her insolence. I don’t know
what to think of it; I must endeavour to forbear passion in future
and all haste. Had I not been angered, I might have found some way to
adjust matters without proceeding to extremities....
28th.--I went into London early, walking to Hampstead. Called on old
White, a serious too-long-deferred visit. He says he’ll come and buy
the _Lady of Saturday Night_ Cartoon for £20. This will save our
bacon for a little while longer; I do begin to think that the run of
ill-luck is out for this time, and that good will continue to be the
order. Saw there Etty’s _Robinson Crusoe_, one of his four or five
really fine works. Saw a little picture of Millais’ quite recent--a
waterfall with a little lady and gent, and a child in the background.
The figures very pretty. The foliage and foreground icy cold and raw
in colour; the greens unripe enough to cause indigestion.... Thence
to see Cave Thomas. He showed me a study of a Russian Merchant that
quite astonished me, a most noble painting, equal to anything modern
or ancient. Thomas will paint great works yet, I now am convinced.
Afterwards dined at Tom’s Coffee House, then Blackfriars.[85]
Rossetti out, so I came home very tired and exhausted, and did not
work yesterday in consequence, but lay the greater part of the day
on the sofa in a state of fish out of water. The new servant came on
Monday; promises well; splendid black eyes and brows, and colour to
paint. To-day I have been industrious, and hope to remain so for a
time. Heat still intense.
1st September.--Out by quarter to eight to examine the river Brent
at Hendon; a mere brooklet, running in most dainty sinuosity under
overshadowing oaks and all manner of leafiness. Many beauties, and
hard to choose amongst, for I had determined to make a little picture
of it. However, Nature, that at first sight appears so lovely, is on
consideration almost always incomplete; moreover there is no painting
intertangled foliage without losing half its beauties. If imitated
exactly, it can only be done as seen from one eye, and quite flat and
confused therefore.... Set to work on the female head of the Emigrant
picture from Emma, a complete portrait....
2nd.--... Out by half-past nine to the river Brent; after trouble,
selected the place, and began work at quarter past one....
On Sunday I began work about half-past eleven; scraped out the head
of the man in the Emigrant picture, because it had cracked all over.
This is the first time a head has ever served me so--three days’ work
gone smash because of the cursed zinc white I laid over the ground.
The female head has healed. Drew-in the man again, and worked at the
expression of the female till half-past six....
Monday.--Up late, shower-bath--to work at Brent by ten till half-past
one,--dinner and sleepy. About three out to a field, to begin the
outline of a small landscape. Found it of surpassing loveliness.
Corn-shocks in long perspective form, hayricks, and steeple seen
between them--foreground of turnips--blue sky and afternoon sun. By
the time I had drawn-in the outline they had carted half my wheat: by
to-day all I had drawn-in was gone. At night, _Beauty_, till eleven.
This morning up late.... After dinner, contrived an apparatus for
slinging my work round my neck while at painting. Set off with it;
began a little landscape in a hurry and fluster--attempting to paint
corn-sheaves and cart while they are going; I fear it will not repay
the trouble, for I cannot paint in a hurry....
Sunday.--... Cholera all round. Worked all day at sketching the
charcoal of _Beauty_; twice missed it, at last all right. About 4
p.m. set some accessories, and drew them in this evening: at it for
about two hours; all well yet (five hours). On last Friday, some
frames came home; and I passed the evening in great glee, putting-in
the pictures--all old rubbishing things saved to sell to the dealers
or others. The study for _Waiting_ finished into a picture. The
study of a little girl’s head, painted in two views at Southend in
’46 on a table napkin, now lined and re-touched. The drawing for the
Emigrants, and the charcoal of _Beauty_.
12th September.--yesterday.... To work at the Brent by 11 a.m. Emma
and the child brought me my dinner there at two, in a little basket.
Hot hashed mutton and potatoes in a basin, cold rice pudding, and
a little bottle of rum and water, beer being bad for cholera. Very
delightful and very great appetite.... This evening worked at the
kitten in _Beauty_, for which Emma and I went out after dark and
stole one yesterday. White cometh not; only £5 in the money-box. This
is all till the quarter’s rent of the wharf comes in, £26, not for
five or six weeks yet. What to be done I scarce know. I ought to go
and take Lucy a pound’s worth of things, and can’t. I ought to buy
shoes, and can’t. We ought to send money to Emma’s mother. To-morrow
Emma means to send her a parcel of things by the carrier, with five
bob as a breather. This is all can be done just at present (seven and
a-half hours).
14th.--Yesterday up at eight.... This morning up at half-past
eight.... Rain all day; so worked at the confounded charcoal of
_Beauty_, which seems as though it never could get done. No doubt
people would accuse me of folly for wasting so much time over it,
but work to the best of one’s power is never wasted. I am true to
my intention of finishing everything I have begun, to the best of
my power; and moreover whatever an artist works at with pleasure to
himself must be good if he is worth anything. It is near done, thank
goodness; and the figure and face of _Beauty_ pleases me, though I
shall not paint the picture. The idea is now safe and intelligible.
I intend it for what the story is--a jumble of Louis XV. and
Orientalism. The glories of Eastern luxuriance mixed with household
common appurtenances to tickle the fancy at both ends; nothing
serious, yet nothing without purpose. Works of this kind should be
intentionally full of anachronisms: to endeavour after unity is to
injure the subject and not illustrate it (ten and a-half hours).
15th.--... Set to work at _Beauty_, from eight till eleven--scraped
out puss, and put in one with a more satisfactory _miow_, finished it
all over, but the general effect is spotty, so must work over it yet
(seven and a-half hours).
17th.--Sunday.... Found the charcoal of _Beauty_ quite spoiled
through my having wet it to fix it, not understanding the steaming
process--it is all cockled. To-morrow I must iron it out, and make
hot cockles of it, if nothing better.... After dinner we went as
far as Mill Hill with the maid and child, and at dusk had tea in
some gardens there, and so home; not an aristocratic proceeding, but
pleasant and healthful. The scenery is very beautiful and paintable
about this part, and I suppose the finest round London. One bit in
particular pleased us. It was looking down from a hill; in a deep
hollow, surrounded on all sides by beautiful trees, lay part of a
road already small by the perspective; through the foliage at the
top in the extreme distance was Hendon church. With large foreground
figures on the hill in front, it would have made a most admirable
picture for perspective depth. Everything alas! cannot be painted,
however.... In the evening I worked at _Beauty_. Finished it, and
then spoiled it again through wetting it at the back; but a work of
art is never spoiled, it can be done again (eight hours).
18th.--... In the evening ironed out _Beauty_, but with no good
effect; so had paste made, and, stretching a clean sheet of paper,
pasted it down (eight hours).
19th.--Rain; so had out the picture of _The Last of England_, and
scraped at the head of the female: afterwards worked at it two hours
without model, and four hours with, using zinc white. Afterwards
re-touched _Beauty_, which with constant wetting was much blurred. In
the evening fixed it in frame, lettered it, and pasted loose drawing
in my big book (seven and a-half hours).
20th.--... Got to the Brent late, at eleven; worked till one, when it
was raining pretty freely. I endeavoured to work through it; but, the
big drops piercing the foliage overhead, I had to give over; spent
twenty minutes under a thicket of leafage. Tried to begin again when
the rain was a little cleared off, but found the weight of water
quite displaced the different branches from their normal position,
making confusion; so came home to dinner. Felt my head very oppressed
while there, and extremely and unusually nervous before setting to
work; is this from smoking again? After dinner, worked at drawing-in
the outline of the male head in _The Last of England_. Then
reflected on it till near five. Settled that I would paint the woman
in Emma’s shepherd-plaid shawl, instead of the large blue-and-green
plaid, as in the sketch. This is a serious affair settled, which
has caused me much perplexity. After this, I worked till tea-time
at scraping away the ground of zinc white which I had laid myself
for the picture at Hampstead. I found that the head of the man had
cracked all over since I painted it, so had to scrape it out. His
coat also has cracks in it, a bad thing in a coat in particular;
so I will have no more of this zinc, confound it. There is nothing
like tin for a foundation to go upon: on this system will I work
henceforth. After tea I worked at altering the little lady reading a
letter in _The Brent_, which I had rubbed in from Emma the other day.
I have made it more sentimental....
21st.--To the Brent by half-past nine: worked well till half-past
one. Begins to look bravely, and beautiful colour; but still requires
all my energy and attention to master the difficulties attending a
style of work I have not been bred to. Weather very cold; north wind,
which it is to be hoped will take off the cholera. After dinner to
the corn-field for about three hours; interrupted by a shower, and
somehow did very little. Altogether these little landscapes take
up too much time to be profitable. This evening, wasted two hours
with Emma trying to make out an error of sixpence in our accounts,
in which I succeeded at last. I meant to have done so much to-night,
and so have done nothing. I cannot help it, but somehow whatever I
am about I must go through with to the extremity. This, if the work
happens to be of importance, is a most happy quality; but on the
other hand it is a most unprofitable mania when the occasion that
calls it forth is trivial, as in the present case,--such as an error
of sixpence, weeding a piece of garden, or such-like. The only thing
I can never bring myself to do with care is writing. This has always
(I know not wherefore) appeared to me as base and mechanical, and in
some way I am sure to make it disgraceful. Either I spell it wrong,
and this I can’t help and never could manage; or else I get a bad
pen, and so blotch and scribble it that it is not readable; or else I
get sleepy, and fill it up with iterations or faults of prosody,[86]
which must make me appear like a most illiterate ass, which however I
am not. Oh for Woolner’s[87] precision--rare in a man of art!...
24th.--Sunday.... Worked at the _Lady of Saturday night_ Cartoon,
which White has promised to buy, but has not yet performed. Two
pound and the pawnshop is all that now remains us. No debts, however,
except about £14 in all to my tailor, my lawyer, and my frame-maker
whose account is not sent in: so I do not owe above £8, and have one
hundred a year still. This week I have worked steadily on neither
Sunday, but forty-two hours in the week, which is seven hours per
diem _pure work_ (for I only put down the time I actually work at
art, not the time lost in preparatives). I am in reality employed at
_business_ all my time, from the moment I get up till I go to bed;
but I am dreamy, and slow in my movements....
26th.--... To the Brent by ten, worked till one--finished the
landscape part as much as I can do to it from nature. Went to see the
river, as far as the Decoy-farm; found none of it so beautiful as I
had painted. Home to lunch, after a splendid walk in a broiling sun.
Afternoon, to the corn-field....
27th.--... Up late. Worked at filling up the holes made over the
parlour-window, from which I had knocked away three hideous grinning
heads, that formed part of the house.
29th.--Terribly warm; could do nothing after I came back, headachy
and feeble.... After dinner no work; stupid and lazy--unwell and
disgusted.... Funds reduced to £1. 9s. 6d. (two and a-half hours).
30th.--... Placed the lay figure in the back yard; and, after reading
the newspaper, worked at the resumed coat of the Emigrant, from the
one I had made on purpose two winters ago, at Hampstead, and have
worn since then, it being horrid vulgar. Worked at it from twelve
to half-past two. Lunch, and to the field from three to half-past
five....
1st October.--Sunday.... I meant to have worked at the coat in the
morning, when the sun is off the backyard, and then to have taken
Lucy to church in the afternoon; but Heaven put a bar to the godless
intent, in the shape of a thick mist with drizzle, so that we went
in the morning. It was collection morning; and I, having nothing but
three half crowns (my last), asked Lucy what money she had--which
turned out to be another: so, no alternative obtaining, I gave one of
my half crowns. I did this, not in imitation of Haydon, but because
I did not like to pass the plate at the door; so now my enemies will
rejoice in the fact. But yet in truth was I pleased at being so
forced to give; because, if I had not given, it would have been on
principle, because I have no right to give when I have deficiency,
instead of superfluity, to take from. But, indeed, giving is a
pleasure, and it was for the poor cholera parentless brats. Now my
enemies are chop-fallen, and say pish! and stuff and humbug. So after
this, we took Katty a walk in the fields, and Katty kept thinking
the horses would eat her....
3rd.--To work at the cornfield from quarter past three till quarter
to six: did next to nothing. It would seem that very small trees in
the distance are very difficult objects to paint, or else I am not
suited to this sort of work; for I can make nothing of this small
screen of trees, though I have pottered over [them] sufficient time
to have painted a large landscape, the men of English schools would
say. This evening, there were no lamp-candles in the house, and
Emma strongly advised laziness.... White does not come; he cannot
value my works much, one would think, or he would show more anxiety
to purchase, buying at such prices as I offer at. What chance is
there for me, out of all the bodies, Institutions, Art-unions, and
Academies and commissions, of this country? Classes, sects, or
coteries, nobles, dealers, patrons, rich men, or friends--which one
takes an interest in me or my works? Is it encouraging to go on?
Is it not rather a clear affirmation of my not being required of
the British Public? And yet--patience is the only motto--we shall
see what we shall see. I only wish to be allowed to go on, to be
permitted to work.... Emma brought me home 8s. 6d. of her money
unspent: funds at present 10s....
5th.--Took Lucy back to school, calling on Rossettis in the way....
Heard from Christina the first news of the fall of Sebastopol.
What times we live in! It would seem that the allied armies were
quite determined to show the irresistible supremacy of the western
nations this time. How fearfully humiliated must feel the Emperor
of Russia! what a merited lesson! Perhaps most of all this is owing
to the genius of one man--Omar Pasha. Forty years ago the Russian
armies of serfs used to fight drawn battles with the conquering
legions of the first Napoleon. Twenty-five years ago, the Turks were
hopelessly their prey, and could not make a stand against them. One
man, furnished only with a lively and keen perception of the real
state of things, perplexes and retards the pedantic Russian generals,
till he makes their troops doubt their own prowess, they who come to
conquer and submerge; while his own wild ruffians at length believe
themselves invincible wherever he will allow them to fight. He does
all this in spite of the brutish obtuseness of his own generals,
who, where there is a chance left them of blundering, do it--the
pashas being as incompetent as the wild troops are naturally brave.
Then follows the ever-memorable defence of Silistria, where some
eight-thousand Turks, headed by a brave man and assisted by two young
Englishmen, left to themselves for six weeks (while upwards of one
hundred and fifty thousand English, French, and Turkish soldiers
are _doing nothing_, not fifty miles distant), end by defeating the
efforts of forty-thousand Russians to take the place by storm or
bribery (much to the inexpectancy of all parties, it is whispered--oh
dark and hideous suspicion!), and cause the Russians crestfallen to
abandon Turkey. “For,” say they, “if a Turkish rabble can serve us
thus, what were we, pitted against French and English?” Again, say
French and English soldiers, “If Turks can handle them thus, what
must be expected of _us_?” And so the huge reputation shrinks up,
like the decline of an Academician, or any other titled, decorated,
and legalized humbug; and nothing remains but bitterness, and the
necessity (through long habit) of speaking pompously. To what pitch
is England destined to soar in the history of the world? Externally
a far-shining glory to all the earth, and an example: internally,
a prey to snobbishness and the worship of gold and tinsel--a place
chiefly for sneaks and lacqueys, and any who can fawn and clutch,
or dress clean at church, and connive. The deepest pondering alas!
brings me back to old and nothing-original conclusions--that the
Aristocracy of this country presses, with torpedo-influence,
all classes of men and works; commerce alone is free from their
intermeddling, and thoroughly successful. In all else--be it war,
literature, art, or science--we are great, if great, in _spite_ of
them, and the depressing influence of established authority taking
the precedence of merit and justice. And yet every one would avert
revolutions as still worse. Abroad, somehow, things are managed with
more of the feeling of modern improvement and common-sense justice;
even amid the crash of breaking-up governments, and violations of
personal liberties and rights. Here the government--with our boasted
nobility, the greatest in the world--takes the lead in all that is
dullest and stupidest; and the genius of the nation, with utmost
effort, can alone force the improvement of art and the dictates
of common sense on it, long, long after date, after patience is
exhausted, and frequently not before a press-feeling has again
sprung up. And yet such is the vital energy of the nation, and the
stubborn irresistible patience of Englishmen, that improvement
keeps pace almost with other nations in all except such branches
of art as are especially government-reared, such as Architecture,
Sculpture, Music, and High Art. Alas for the latter! Yet has the
nation forced even some of that on it, witness Dyce. Our troops are
decidedly victorious, in spite of the utmost obtuseness of feeling at
the Horse Guards, with respect both to improvements and the causes
of promotion. It would seem as if it were impossible to set an
Englishman to a duty that he does not fulfil with ability of some
degree; but, were the Napoleonic spirit of promoting and evoking
merit the rule with us in lieu of _family interests_, what height
should we attain to in the scale of glory and the world’s wonder!
But this world is a mere mouse-trap--a trap baited to catch poor,
greedy, selfish, stupid man, who thinks himself so precious clever,
while damning his soul to feed his guts; a most cunningly devised
trap forsooth, where the utmost circumspection and wisdom, aided
by the purest intentions, shall hardly serve to keep a man’s heels
free. Alas! the poor selfish man is baited on all sides. Gluttony,
lechery, glory, were the least chances of destruction, where a wretch
may serve two ends, the safety of a nation and his own damnation;
or thinks still more cunningly to save his selfish soul by selfish
religion, and a giving up of man for God, and thinking to win God’s
notice and refuge by forced marches, leaving all others behind.
Alas! man shall forget himself in the community of being: woe to the
temerity that would call down the searching eye on his individuality!
Therefore is the Eternal shrouded in impenetrable mystery: otherwise
who but themselves would be first to seek him? Whoever feels a
tenderness for a fellow beg worships God in the act,--nay, a kind
feeling for a dog or a cat shall not pass unnoticed; but woe to the
self-seeker and him who despises the poor--
“Whose belly with thy treasure hid
Thou fill’st: they children have
In plenty; of their goods the rest
They to their children leave.
“But as for me, I thine own face
In righteousness will see,
And with thy likeness when I wake
I satisfied shall be.”
6th.--... Off to the field; rain; worked about one hour and a-half
under an umbrella, at the swedes. Rain drove me off; came home and
dined. At half-past three prepared all our plate (six teaspoons), all
the jewelry, my watch, opera-glass, and bronzes, to take into London
to the pawnbroker’s. Stayed unconsciously too long at dinner. After
dinner it rained so furiously that I hesitated, and finally remitted
the expedition, so I have the pleasant task for the morning (two
hours). Funds reduced to three shillings, and two more that Lucy has
left behind.
7th.--Walked into London. Raised £11; bought Lucy some things,
and self a pair of shoes. Called on Thomas. Heard from him some
curious details of the cholera, which raged furiously round his two
streets,[88] but did not molest _them_. Bodies taken from Middlesex
Hospital in vans. In the pest-stricken streets groups of women and
children frantic for their relations taken off. Police and others
with stretchers running about. Undertakers as common as other people
in the streets running about with coffins, like lamplighters. Hearses
with coffins outside as well as in; people following in cabs. One
funeral consisted of a cab, with coffin atop, and people inside.
Thomas and family all well.... Heard of the taking of Sebastopol
being all a lie, so my flaming up to epic pitch was unnecessary and
unwarranted. “Sic transit gloria” &c. However, let me, before it is
too late to prophesy, declare it my conviction that the allies acted
[like] imbeciles, to allow the Austrians to take the Principalities
without first having _fought_ the Russians--so. Next, our government
acted like imbeciles to imagine the Emperor of Russia would withdraw
his troops without force, and so waste precious time. Next, the
government has acted with pusillanimity in not requiring more of
Dundas in the Black Sea. Next, it is disgraceful to the nation that,
while all the powerful places of the Baltic and Black Sea have been
hitherto unmolested [?] some unfortunate Laplanders in the White
Sea should be murdered in their houses, and ruined, to no earthly
purpose, under the pretext of war. Surely, surely, this nation is
powerful enough to enable them to do grace to the poor inhabitants of
the Frozen Ocean. What a pity Captain Lyons cannot be exchanged with
Admiral Dundas! In the regions where Nature shows herself so cruel,
man should (fear of the Almighty would suggest) be awed into charity.
And so the capital of Lapland (combining antiquity of most strange
and foreign character with mysterious remoteness almost unearthly) is
reduced to a heap of ashes by a set of semi-barbarous sailors. Very
likely that neither Captain Lyons nor any of his crew are elevated
(in literary knowledge, feeling for art, morals, or the world’s
best interests) much above the rank of shopkeepers or any other
mechanically civilized savages. The men, whatever or wherever set
to do, will do their work; this is certain; but they are unequally
officered, and the want of vigour and unanimity at home is very sadly
apparent. Lord John would perhaps sniff and snort could he read
this--and what in sooth _can_ I know about the matter? Yet sure it is
that men of genius and vigour have been in politics, and it wants no
ghosts to tell us that Austria is false at heart, and Russia in want
of vigorous licking.
10th.--... I hope Sebastopol is done; I hope also White will come and
be done.
Could I but see him here once more,
That shining bald-pate deep old file,
Oh how I’d meet him at my door,
And greet him with a pleasant smile!
His blarney soft I’d suck it in,
Nor let his comments stir my bile;
And when my hand once grasped his tin
How kindly on him I would smile!
And as he strained my hand, full fain
My daubs were in his cab the while,
And promised soon to come again,
Oh how I’d smile him back his smile!
11th.--The field again.--Sunshine when I did not want it, cold and
wind when it went. Worked at the trees and improved them--found the
turnips too difficult to do anything with of a serious kind. I don’t
know if it would be possible to paint them well; they change from day
to day. An unpleasant and profitless day (eight hours).
12th.--Up latish--bath. Saw my turnips were all false in colour:
ruminated over this disgrace, and tried to retrieve it. Put it in
some shape, ready to take out in the afternoon. Set to work at the
coat from lay figure in back yard--very cold--worked till four at
it. Then to the swedes. Found the gate nailed up and brambled; had
to go round by a _détour_, but in and set to work; but not much
good. Tried to get the main tree more in harmony; a little to the
swedes--men in the field pulling them. At night the cartoon (seven
hours).
13th.--Beautiful day. Meant to walk into Hampstead, feeling strangely
idle. Emma, being better of her cramp, came for a walk instead.
Exquisite day: hedges all gold, rubies, and emeralds, defying all
“white grounds” to yield the like. About one to work at the coat from
self in a glass, back yard. Altered the folds of day before; made it
all right, nearly done. Afterwards to the field--for last time, thank
Heaven. I am sick of it; I have now only to work at home at it to
put in a little harmony. A labourer came and looked, and, stuttering
fearfully, expressed admiration, which ended in his supposing he
could not beg half a pint of beer--one whom I used to look upon as a
respectable man. I gave the degraded wretch twopence and scorn (five
hours).
14th.--To-day one of fearful idleness, self-abasement, and disgust.
Emma got up; I went down to breakfast with her, unwashed and only
half dressed. I intended working at the coat, then walking to
Hampstead to purchase flannel for Emma and baby-clothes. I sat
down to write to Gabriel a few lines about his calf,[89] and like
an ass must write in verse--bad rhymes. Spent till one o’clock, and
lunched--still unwashed--then read the paper--still unwashed till
half-past four: “Oh that it should be so!” Then dressed and took
Katty out--then we dined--then read the paper to Emma; the dear is
poorly and nervous. This is the true and particular history of a
day--a piteous thing to tell of.
15th, Sunday.--Worked at the coat out in the yard--then indoors,
driven in by fog, then fine and out again. Five hours in all....
16th.--Reflected seriously on my money position. Found I should have
four weeks’ money, and the same credit; after which something must be
done if White does not come. Decided on going the next day to collect
my rent at Greenwich, and to look up acquaintances in London, to see
what might turn up (three hours).
17th.--Walked to Holloway, ’bus to City, rail to Greenwich and back.
Got my quarter’s rent. Called on Robert Dickinson; tried to find John
Seddon. Called on my poor old aunt Brown, and on the Rossettis--heard
of Woolner’s return.[90]
18th.--A complete blank. Have done nothing all day, but sit by the
fire with Emma and try to think of ways towards means, ineffectual.
Could think of anything else but that; romped with Katty. A pitiable
day.
19th.--To Gravesend to take my daughter her winter-things and a
trunk. Met Shenton who had forgot his purse, lent him half-a-crown.
Saw his Art-Union Print of _Cœur de Lion_:[91] not very good. Has
taken I think six years. Find that he lives at Hendon, and is great
friends with the old rascally Vicar there whom we nicknamed Judas
from his iniquitous looks and conduct, especially towards cats. Helen
Bromley’s eldest daughter very sadly ill; mine quite well. Walked
home from the Camden Station; walked altogether seventeen miles,
spent £1. 12s. Read a number of Thackeray’s _Newcomes_--good, females
equal to Shakespeare, in all worldliness perfect; his artists all
asses, and his knowledge on that head about at zero.
20th.--Up late--no bath--still lazy, dreamy, and incompetent. Worked
at the draperies of _Our Ladye_ about two hours; headache (two hours).
21st.--Wrote reluctantly to White; but with some appearance of a
reason, the infamous scoundrel Reynolds[92] having published in his
Miscellany the wood-cut (that was formerly in _The People’s Journal_)
of _Wiclif_. Worked at the draperies about four hours. A letter from
old Bamford, to ask me to make a portrait from the one I formerly
painted of his son, since just lost in the _Lady Nugent_. Some sort
of tin tumbling in, and the old saying of an ill wind very truly
exemplified (five hours).
22nd, Sunday.--Up at half-past eight--bath. Worked well all day at
the _Lady of Saturday_: finished the drapery, and began spoiling the
heads.
23rd.--Up at half-past nine--no bath--to work at the _Ladye_. Found
part of the drapery bad, rubbed it out, heightened the seat she sits
on, mended the heads again; did a great deal, but not finished yet.
Any one might be surprised to read how I work whole days on an old
drawing done many years since, and which I have twice worked over
since it was rejected from the Royal Academy in ’47, and now under
promise of sale to White for £20. But I cannot help it. When I see a
work going out of my hands, it is but natural, if I see some little
defect, that I should try to mend it, and what follows is out of my
power to direct: if I give one touch to a head, I give myself three
days’ work, and spoil it half-a-dozen times over. This is invariable.
Is it so with every one? Alas!...
24th.--Bought colours, vehicles, etc. Called on divers beings--out.
Came home in the rain--spoiled my clothes to save eighteen pence....
29th.--To dine with the Rossettis, to meet Woolner; found him very
strangely altered....
2nd December.--To-day no work. Woolner dined here last night, and
this morning Rossetti took a walk with him and me, and then went into
London with him. I walked out with Emma; and then over to Hendon,
to arrange with Smart our grocer about not paying him and getting
credit. Yesterday I worked on the tarpaulin over the Lady’s knees in
_The Last of England_. _Three hours._ Woolner, who ought to know,
likes it well; also the subject for which I painted the background at
Hampstead--called _Work_. Since the 12th [November] Gabriel has still
been here, and I have omitted filling up in consequence, not choosing
he should know of this. To the best of my recollection, I have worked
as follows: 26th [November].--Began painting the tarpaulin out in the
back yard, having arranged bars to the chair in which the lay figure
sits like a Guy (four hours)....
30th.--Beautiful day. Worked well at the shawl in the open air. Now
that the pattern is all drawn and covered with a tint, I put-in the
outdoor effect. To have painted it all out of doors would have taken
six weeks of intense cold and suffering, and perhaps have failed....
3rd December.--After dinner tried to think of ways towards means;
could not think of anything else--fell asleep. No decision as yet: £8
left (two and a half hours).
4th.--Up late--to work about one till four at shawl. Went to the farm
with Emma to see Rossetti’s calf....
5th.--Up at half-past eight.... National Gallery: absurd old pictures
bought by Dyce.[93] An Albert Durer,[94] however, very fine, though
not painted, rather _mapped_; a Masaccio[95] with fine in it. Bad
Rembrandts, and a worse Wilkie--_The Beadle_.[96] Altogether it goes
from weak to foolish; faults of last year corrected by faults of
this....
13th.--Finished the background of _Beauty_, and lettered it afresh,
and pasted in frame; then wrote the letter to Secretary Mogford of
the Sketch-Exhibition. I have sent this morning _The Brent_ to this
place, and to-morrow go the Studies of Heads, and _Beauty_....
14th.--... Went to National Gallery. Met Woolner; his statue of
Wentworth the Lag[97] not a safe bill yet--poor Woolner! The Lag has
some idea of being done by some greater artist, and going down to
posterity more beautiful. Walked home from the Archway with a bad
foot. Evening, suffered severely....
16th.--Worked at the landscape of the turnip-field. Took off dirt and
inequalities of surface, and retouched the corn-part of it. Evening,
idle and suffering (two hours)....
18th.--This evening inconceivably dejected and stupid. Read
newspaper, and thought over our melancholy position; Emma about to be
confined--£2. 10s. in the house--Christmas-boxes to be _paid out of
this_, and the children taken back to Gravesend--and not one person
in the world I would ask to lend me a pound. No one that buys my
pictures; damn old White! (two hours).
19th.--Disagreeable day--foot rather better. I lazy and not wishing
to work, we devised to have the drugget up, it being at length too
disgracefully full of holes. Remainder of the evening--nothing.
20th.--Wrote a disagreeable letter, and put down the carpet, and
planned and directed the patching thereof--children assisting in
great delight; and with Ruth we got it done. Last night also glued
sundry chairs, &c.
21st.--Took down the _Christ and Peter_, and scraped it for
repainting, morning and evening....
23rd.--An alarm from Emma.... Started back as far as Islington to
see after the nurse.... Took ’bus myself to the Archway, Highgate,
in distress of mind at not being able to afford a cab in such an
emergency; and so walked home four miles, racked with anxiety about
Emma, the most beautiful duck in existence. With 18s. 9d. in hand,
to last at least three weeks, how _could_ I take a cab? and this was
all that remained me this evening. As I walked down the Grove, and
very tired with a weak foot, I felt that mysterious assurance that
all was right which I have before felt when nearing some dreaded
event that has eventually turned out all right. I got home at eight
p.m., and found dear Emma still in expectation.... I found also
(strange coincidence) a letter from William Bamford asking me to do a
miniature of him. Such a demand I have wished for at other times in
vain, and not for months and months has anything of the kind occurred.
24th.--... This evening Emma found in her drawers two shillings
and three farthings--all in four-penny-pieces, pennies, halfpence,
farthings, &c., left there at different times, and forgotten. What a
boon! Katty appropriated the three farthings. To-night I have worked
about four hours, altering the linen cloth round the loins of Christ,
and correcting the drawing--(seven hours).
25th.--Christmas-day. Up at half-past nine: Emma still pretty well. I
worked about four hours at restoring the erasures I had made in the
Christ. I have begun altering the character of the head to severity;
lengthening the fore-arm; enlarging the hand; shortening the thighs;
enlarging the girdle, to be less indecent; and planning the glory.
Worked comfortably in front parlour--rain pouring down.... Finances
£1. 0s. 6d....
26th.--... The draught from the window increased a cold....
27th.--Very bad--stopped in bed with the fever--got up by 3 p.m.
This cold must have been taken on Saturday, being out so many hours
with shoes unsound in wet weather. Dreary, dreary, very dreary....
29th.--To town to see after William Bamford’s miniature. The ass
wants something for two guineas, yet will not decide even on this; so
back defeated, having spent one bob in buses. Called on Woolner, and
heard how badly the country was governed. Paid to-day the baker two
weeks, lest I should be asked for three next week, and 3s. 6d. for
soling shoes; the net result of which is 4s. 8d. in pocket. O heavens
and little fishes!--No work....
1855--3rd January.--... To work by twelve at the fringe of the
shawl--finished it by one. Triumphantly stripped the lay figure, and
set the place somewhat to rights, and restored poor Emma her shawl,
which she has done without the half of the winter. The shawl is at
length finished, thank the powers above. Dinner--then took the little
picture of _Waiting_, and scraped it preparatory to beginning to
retouch in order to fit it for the Great Paris Exhibition, having
received intimation that the Board of Trade proposes sending it and
the great _Chaucer_ picture. Scraped and pumice-stoned it all over
till it looks quite spoiled. Prepared my box for to-morrow, to go
and work at the _Autumn Afternoon_, which I propose sending to the
British Institution; it is at Charles Seddon’s. This evening worked
at the design of the Hampstead picture, called _Work_. Whenever I
set to at designing I feel in the most ethereal and ecstatic state
possible. I do not hurry with it because it is such enjoyment.
To-night I arranged the chief navvy tossing off the beer, also the
one descending the ladder, and improved other parts.
I must try and fill up the other days omitted. Saturday, 30th
December, I worked out in the open air at the shawl till half-past
three; when, having fully resolved, I took my dress-coat, trousers
and waistcoat, and necktie, with a silk cape and brooch of Emma’s;
and, putting them into a bag, walked into Hampstead, and took ’bus
to New Road, and discovered the abode of old Williams,[98] who used
to wash for me; and told him to pawn them, which he did for 10s.
I gave him one, at which he stared in awe and respect. Came away
8s. 5d. richer.... 31st.--Sunday. Up latish--worked at the shawl;
made up my mind to apply for a Mastership of one of the Government
Art-Schools.... 1st January.--Shawl out of doors, and in evening
at length wrote the long-deferred much-dreaded application to the
humbug Henry Cole, C.B.: it will only be the humiliation for nothing.
Afterwards took up the design of _Work_, and enjoyed it--designed
the artist[99] in it again, and sundries--2nd.--Up about nine. At
eleven took the lay figure out in the yard as usual; but this time
laid it down on its side in order to paint the fringe blown by the
wind. Doing so disordered the folds. Then it came on to drizzle--then
the wind was too high, and blew the fringe so that I could not paint
it. After wasting much time I brought the lay figure into my room,
and placed it on the table; and after much arrangement painted for
about one and a half hour, but it was good. To-day I finished it, and
it looks as natural as life. Evening, I worked at the navvies; the
pot-boy a triumph, the mortar-man perfection, and the ragged child
upsetting the barrow and getting cuffed, all creations, and the whole
becoming more and more exciting. Finances reduced again to 6s. 9d.:
so we drag on.
4th.--I went to Charles Seddon, and worked at the _Autumn_ piece,
which is for the British....
6th.--... In the evening copied-in the background from the Study
at Hampstead into the design of _Work_, so as to get all quite
correct.... At it again till twelve to-night. I have been queerish
all day; work and worry begin to try me, 4s. 10d. left in pocket....
Cole, C.B., answered me very short, saying a certificate was
imperative, and referred me to Burchett.[100] I wrote again to Cole,
telling him that, as he knew as much about me as any examiner could,
if he thought I could be of use he had better write and let me know,
and then I would go through all formalities. Will he answer? Waking
up this morning with a bad head, I began to reflect, and at length
a lucid idea came as to my prospects. It struck me I was doing very
foolishly to let myself down in so many ways, instead of raising
money, and going hard at it and conquering. If I do not get a school,
I will do it.
8th.--Up at ten. Felt ill--could eat no breakfast. Set to work at the
part of the little picture of _Waiting_ which I set and began last
night. Sunday began it. Slow work retouching all over, having scraped
within a hair’s-breadth of its existence. Took a long walk at dusk;
and in the evening placed the table-lamp etc., having changed the
subject into one of an officer’s wife thinking of him at Sebastopol;
a miniature effects this....
9th.--Dispirited and heavy about the head--funds 4s....
10th--Have been casting up my accounts. Find that in twenty weeks we
have spent £66. 18s. and owe about £35 besides. The excess is chiefly
in the house-money, about £15 (or 15s. per week): this is Emma’s bad
management. In pleasure and all extras we have exceeded £2. 10s., or
2s. 6d. a week; this is our trip to St. Alban’s, I suppose. I allow
about 5s. a week for these. How are we to go on Heaven only knows.
Rossetti has been here six weeks, and Nurse two, besides the children
and Woolner and William Rossetti....
11th.--Made up my mind to make up a parcel of Emma’s shawl, some
papier-maché ornaments, and two engravings after Claude, with the
large _Shipwreck_ of Turner, to send by the carrier to old Williams
to-morrow, for him to pledge, if we do not have a letter with
Ritchie’s money before the carrier calls. Something must be done, as
there is only 3s. 3d. in hand, and Emma about to be confined.... I
am getting a regular Haydon at pawning. So long as I do not become
one at cheating my creditors, it matters little. God help us. I see
nothing but ruin by progressive stages. No work to-day.
12th.--Up at ten--sent off the things by the carrier. I started
myself about half-past twelve: walked to Anthony’s at Westbourne
Grove. Saw his pictures; very fine in many respects, but all
unfinished, and in a state that will not admit of their being so
save by his taking them back to where he painted them. He has a
habit (of late particularly), of making his skies so heavy that
they quite spoil all the fine qualities other ways evinced in his
works. The picture of _Stratford Church_, however, is magnificent in
every respect--save the sky; which if he can paint, it will be one of
his finest works. It is admirable colour, but his other works look
somewhat opaque. Thence to Dickinson’s to see about the large picture
for Paris; then called on Lowes[101] at his new gorgeous rooms.
Afterwards to St. Pancras Church at 6 p.m. to meet old Williams. A
nice affair. He had just been pawning the _Shipwreck_ after Turner,
given me by Lowes before he left for Italy. Poor old Williams took
them to six places in all, and could only get 13s. 6d. in all: I gave
him one and some copper obtaining.[102] I must reward him better when
he gets them out. I walked with my 12s. 6d. to the Britannia ’bus
to Hampstead. Met a young lady at North End afraid to encounter the
darkness alone; escorted her some way past Golder’s Green. Then by
a cross road regained this Finchley one, and got home very tired,
having only one bun.
13th.--No letter from ... Ritchie, so it is well I pawned the things.
No letter from the scoundrel Cole, C.B., so it’s ill I wrote to him.
But I derived some satisfaction at reading to-day that the Belfast
School of Design has, under his precious care, died a natural death;
not getting fat, it seems, on “self support.”... At dusk walked to
Hendon by a forbidden private foot-path, and bought Katty a pair of
boots. Walked home again by the same--quite dark; found the gate
locked, clambered over; ... was caught for a short time by the seat
of my trousers....
16th.--... A letter from some underling of the scoundrel Cole, C.B.,
enclosing sheets of print again; subterfuge and insolence; no go in
that quarter. A letter from Scott, the poet. Yesterday Seddon[103]
came back, after more than twenty months of absence, looking thinner
and genteeler than ever and in high spirits: I went with him to
Kentish Town, leaving my work just begun. His pictures are cruelly
P.R.B’d.... The high finish is too obtrusive. However, they present
qualities of drawing and truthfulness seldom surpassed; but no
beauty, nothing to make the bosom tingle. Could I but have seen them
in progress! I will do all I can to make him improve them yet, but it
is late. Hunt, he tells me, gave him no advice at all; he has been
prepossessed against him, I fear. It is a great pity. There is not
a better-hearted fellow living nor a truer gentleman. He is to be
married in June, these pictures all his wealth! how strange!... Hunt
used to be in agonies about his joking propensities, and lecture him
and get mighty sulky if things did not go right, and tell him secrets
of great worth for his getting on in the world, and expect him to do
all the housekeeping (which he declined after a time), and indulge
in many whims incompatible with the locality and circumstances. But
Seddon entertains a high opinion of his worth and gallantry. Hunt
knocked an Arab down, and they afterwards stood with pistols cocked
at each other a space of time. Seddon used to camp above the valley
of Jehoshaphat, for three months, alone with his servant, in a place
considered unsafe by the Consul and others of Jerusalem. They used to
sleep each with a revolver at hand, but were never disturbed; this
was plucky. Hunt since is gone to the Dead Sea....
17th.--Out to hunt up Ritchie for his rent; got none. Out from
half-past eleven till eight; walked about eighteen miles in snow.
Ordered liberally of my tailor, who is a brick.... Funds 11s. 3d., no
work, no adventures.
20th.--This morning at half-past 12 a.m. dearest Emma was delivered
of a son, my first. He is very red, a large nose, eyes and shape
of face like a Calmuck Tartar, shape of head like a Bosjesman....
Emma dearest pretty well, feverish. Thank heaven it is over
comfortably.... The surgeon ... turned out a very pleasant clever
fellow, well informed, and this was because he was a Scotchman; knew
all about my grandfather;[104] says his doctrine is every year coming
more into practice.... A cheque from Ritchie come for £9, and I went
and paid the butcher and baker, and got a bottle of whisky. To-day
sent money to get the clothes and pictures back; item to Emma’s
mother in arrears: net result, £1. 16s. in pocket. Shoes leaky....
25th.--Up at near eleven. Got the balance of £16 from Ritchie last
night. Paid away all but £5. 10s.; _my all_ till I raise money.
Worked at my son’s portrait about three hours; then Hendon, and paid
Smart the grocer £10.
28th.--Sunday.... In a state of great despondency and nervousness all
day. An unsuccessful man is a bore to every one. Took a walk, but
could not walk it off. Came back, and penned an advertisement for
_The Times_--“Wanted £300 on mortgage of good freehold property.”
So one gradually rides to ruin. This evening I have tried to sleep
off my headache and low spirits, without much success. I have so
managed things that at the age of 34, or nearly, after having worked
vigorously all my youth, after having repeatedly aroused public
attention in more than one country, and been considered a man of
genius, I, far from being able to make a livelihood by my work, have
not even one friend whom I can apply to for advice how to raise
money on the property I have. Some people have rich friends who get
a poor devil occasionally out of a mess. My friends cannot muster
sufficient sympathy to give me advice on such a delicate subject. I
thought I might apply for some information to old Seddon, and get
W. Rossetti to ask his uncle Polydore (who is in the law) something
about Building Societies. Old Seddon takes no notice of what I
write to him; and William has asked his uncle, but without success,
or any very evident pleasure in the matter.[105] An unsuccessful
man is a bore ... Woolner ... says.... Carlyle as well as Ruskin
consider Patmore’s book[106] a glorious one; this after having sent
an insulting note to W. B. Scott about his poetry.[107] So much
for Carlyle’s critical powers. Somehow or another, there is nowhere
common sense to be met with in this world, neither among one’s
friends nor among one’s enemies, nor any known set or sect. Yesterday
I went to town to see about my large picture for Paris. A gallery
Dickinson has found; but the picture must not remain, should it let,
nor in any case after 17th February next. Much bother to ascertain
if the Government packers can take it from thence when required.
Secretary at Marlborough House not able to say till he has consulted
the _Board_--obliged to write a letter. Running backwards and
forwards all day, and the one before. They evidently belong to the
same sort who are starving our unfortunate soldiers in the Crimea.
Captain Fowke R.E. They seem to have nice snug berths of it, and
plenty of coals provided. The same bother to obtain my steps from the
Clerkenwell School. A certain unyielding “pliceman” has no idea of
acting without a written order from the treasurer. I have no hope in
me.
30th.--Up at ten--cold in my head. Deep and still-thickening layers
of snow cover everywhere all round. With this, and a cold in my head,
I decide not to stir out for the day, although it is anxious time
with me now. So I sit in Emma’s bedroom, and, from a cargo of books I
sent her yesterday, I select the _Life of Washington_, and read all
day. A Godlike man--a rare example of an unselfish man. If Cromwell
was a great man, Washington was a God--spotless, passionless. The
book is ill written; passing the pen over many superfluous passages
might improve it. But the matter is eternal, unchangeable.--Yesterday
I walked into town through Hampstead, and put an advertisement in
_The Times_, and sought out Building Societies. Much fatigue--some
snow--and a cold the result. Dearest Emma looking blooming again in a
new cotton wrapper....
Wednesday [31st.]... To Pall Mall. Entered the Winter Exhibition. Saw
my “Studies of Head” there, but not the other two, viz.: _Beauty_,
and _The Brent_. I had no catalogue, and I asked no questions, but I
feel pretty certain they were not there. Slap No. 1. Then I walked in
fast snow to the British Institution, having received an intimation
that it was varnishing-day, which means “Your picture is hung.” I
looked everywhere but could not find it, and pretty sure feel I
it is _not_ hung. Slap No. 2. No answer about the large picture
from Marlborough House. Slap No. 3. Altogether I begin to feel as
though the tide were against me. Told R. Dickinson I did not feel
in spirits to come and work at the large picture; went home with a
determination to work vigorously at the small one. Thursday worked at
it about three hours; scraped out the table-cloth three times, and
at last made it right with a dash. Got very pleased with it. Went to
Hampstead for the answers to advertisement--found eleven. Curious
examination. Found I was right in my conceptions regarding the sort
of people who sent them, but that the difficulties are greater than
I imagined. Walked that day (Friday) at least 20 miles. Went into a
coffee-shop, and wrote five letters; then walked home. Yesterday I
painted about three hours, but felt intensely languid and inert....
Thursday [1st February].--I did the cradle, and painted at the cloth,
but it looked wrong. Dreadfully nervous. Anxiety about immediate
money-wants, and the melancholy prospects of future ruin, I suppose
cause it; but I do not _much_ worry about it neither, only when I
wake up in the morning I feel it rather. Emma is very well, and the
boy getting fat. Funds £3. 2s.--nearly all owing....
7th.--To town; found my picture placed in the gallery--worked on it
till five....
8th.--To town.--Worked at the _Chaucer_, altering bits of the colour
to make more harmonious, giving more colour here and there to the
flesh; making the whole more solid and round. Till quarter to five.
9th.--I had been to the City first, after money, about 30 shillings
being my all.--Worked from one to five at _Chaucer_: White called to
see it.--Came home by seven.--Found Seddon here; consulted him about
my affairs. Money I _must_ have.
10th.--To town, and at the same till five: the fool, the cardinal,
and the woman, giving them colour and substance. Could not manage the
old woman.
18th.--Sunday; a day of rest in reality, after a week of most
harrassing work. I have done nothing to-day except settle the pattern
of two frames for my _Emigrants_, and my little _Turnip-Field_....
Monday I went to call on my uncle about the money I wish to raise
on mortgage; found it would be attended with great difficulties;
consequent discouragement. Worked (about two hours, I think) in a
state of mental anguish. In despair I called in on old White; he told
me to send him my duplicate of _Waiting_ and my _Saturday Night_
Virgin. Tuesday 13th.--I saw him; told him price £20 each. He abused
both, but would buy neither that day. I told him about Seddon and his
works, and promised to take him there the next day; which I did. Old
White again abused the works, and I promised to alter _his_ little
picture of _Waiting_, as the fire-light is too red. Thence to the
City to see if my tailor would lend me money, which he declined.
Came back dejected, and, as a last trial, sent to fetch my duplicate
of _Waiting_ from old White, to see if he would keep it; he let it
go. Home in despondent state.... Friday, I called on Seddon, and
asked him about money-lenders; he told me his father would lend me
the £50 I wanted, on security. This relieved me. I walked on into
town, and met a man more to be pitied than myself--poor Papworth,
son-in-law and assistant to the old scoundrel Baily,[108] whose fifth
bankruptcy leaves [Papworth] for the time destitute, and with a
family....
19th.--... Saw old Seddon’s lawyer; all right. Saw my Uncle Madox,
who has got the old lady to lend me the £500, which is an immense
relief. I can now go to India, or continue my pictures, as may seem
prudent. So to Maddox Street, and worked till five on the _Chaucer_;
Gallery full of fog. King’s head, Princess’ hair and scarf, little
boy with jelly. Indescribable touches to all, to improve the solidity
and truth of colour....
22nd.--... Got Seddon’s £50.... Heard that Windus[109] had bought
four of my pictures from White: the cunning old rogue never told me
this. I consider this may save me from going to India. I have felt
hopeful again since I heard it. He has the _Wiclif_ and the sketch
of ditto, the _Winandermere_, and the _Cordelia parting with her
Sisters_. We shall see.
23rd.--... Began work about eleven, at changing the cloak of the
female in converse with the page, from grey to reddish brown--did
more than half.... Found the brown-red tint did not suit: so, at much
cost of rag, I wiped it off, and hit, I don’t know how, on a peculiar
kind of blue, which seemed to me to improve the picture much--_nous
verrons demain_. This was a change suggested by Robert Dickinson;
who however proposed black, which would have spoiled the picture.
Worked till dark in excellent spirits, the weather being, however,
much against doing any good. Bought a hood and cloak for my son,
and embroidery for a frock for him. Did not get home till nine in
consequence; and, being tired and dinnerless, I was very sulky, and
abused every one. The cloak was not to my taste; I had proposed to
have one made after my own design. Smoked, filled up my account....
24th.--... To work by twelve at the grey cloak; found the colour
not so good as I thought it; changed it to a greener hue.... Set my
accounts in order; find the little brute Oliver has cost £7. 15s.
for clothes; I am an ass....
27th.--... Called on Seddon, who strongly urged me to call on Windus
of Tottenham....
28th.--... Worked at the pages on each side of Chaucer, etc. etc.;
and determined to do no more, as it must dry; so left the sky all
covered with finger-marks.
1st March.--Wasted the morning writing letters to Windus and others,
and then worked on the _Waiting_ picture, which is now to be _An
English Fireside of 1854-5_: did not much good.
2nd.--Up at nine. I have sold one of the three works I sent to the
Winter Exhibition--the _Studies of Heads_: I think it was £10 I put
on it. This pleased me. Wrote an order for the other two. Walked to
the draper’s, to buy things for Emma, and to see about registering
Oliver. Dined, and did hardly any work, like a most extreme fool;
my time being now exquisitely precious, having only one month to
finish _The Last of England_ for the R.A. Put my accounts to rights.
A letter from Windus that shows favourably; I am to call on him on
Tuesday. Man came and registered “Oliver Madox Brown.”
3rd.--Worked at _English Fireside_; finished all but head. Cough bad.
4th.--Last night I woke with excruciating pain in my chest, and
almost fainted in bed. Slept again, and in the morning ditto, so
lay in bed--got up towards evening. Arranged frames for the second
_Windermere_, which I will cut down like the other Windus has. Took
my first chalk drawing of _Chaucer_ out of my book of sketches,
and settled to send it to be mounted and framed; ditto with the
water-colour of the Fresco which Haydon admired[110]....
6th.--Walked to Tottenham to call on Godfrey’s Cordial:[111] found
him polite, but not too _empressé_. Told me his rooms were full,
which is surely true; and that he did not buy any more pictures, only
a sketch now and then of White. He thinks old White “of exquisite
taste.” He has Millais’ _Isabella and Lorenzo_, which looked much
faded, but I suppose it is I who have brightened; it is, however,
very fine in expression. His _Huguenot_ was being engraved. Windus
would not let Millais make a sketch of it. Millais threatened “he
should never have another picture of his”: if he sold one to a
dealer, it should be with the proviso that it never should be sold
to Windus. Windus would not let it go to Paris. His collection is a
strange medley of good, bad, and indifferent. Some noble drawings of
Turner, however; one good Etty, _Robinson Crusoe_; a fine Bonington;
a lot of Stothard’s drawings; and some X X X P.R.B.’s;[112] also a
noble study of Millais, an ugly girl in black receiving bad news;
also a very queer one, of a girl all hair with a wedding-ring.[113]
My _Wiclif_ looks quite faded, but my sketch of _Cordelia and her
Sisters_ noble. He did not ask to see what I was doing, nor I him. I
had better not have gone; it was Seddon made me.
7th.--At the _English Fireside_ again: finished it....
9th.--... Began the baby’s hand in the Emigrant picture from Emma and
Oliver; painted them in badly. In the evening drew-in the man’s hand
again, from self and Lucy in a glass.
10th.--... Out into back yard, and painted the man’s hand from my
own, with Lucy holding it (in a glass): snow on the ground, and very
cold.... Katty seems as if she would turn out witty. Funds reduced to
£5--not received the money for the picture.
11th.--Sunday.... Obliged to work. Rain; so could not paint in the
yard after sweeping away the snow. Altered the drawing of the hand
again; painted the skirts of the coat indoors. After tried to get out
again, but it came on to rain. I hope this will not be a month of bad
weather, or I am floored--only 28 days left. This evening put the
_English Fireside_ in its frame....
12th.--Out in the yard--three hours at the hand. Rain, then worked at
it three hours in. Evening, little boy and nurse as models; he too
big, so drew-in Katty....
14th.--Changed cheque (£9. 9s. for _Studies of Head_) received.
Enquired after models: all the red-headed boys in Finchley came
here to-day. Tried to work from one, could do no good; painted-in
the hair of the boy in corduroys detestably; sent him off by five.
After tea another boy with Mary and my Kate for the group behind the
principal ones. Terrible work trying to do anything from a woman and
two children. However, I did what is the only way in such a case; I
did nothing, not even get in a wax; and at length I saw some faint
glimmer of an opening to begin through. I did a very little: and
then, after they were gone, I drew the group from inspiration. Katty
sits well.
15th.--Up by nine; took a walk, and began work by eleven. Painted
the boy’s boots and breech.... Intensely cold out of doors all day.
Received a note given me over the wall by the next neighbour, who is
the landlord’s agent. I owe him two quarters, and on the 24th three
ditto. I must write and explain. This evening again the servant, boy,
and Katty, and muddled about one hour. Seddon wants me to be at his
place on Saturday, to meet Millais, Rossetti, etc.: I won’t go. £10.
5s. in hand; and I mean to keep it there, and not be such a fool as
to pay rent: “Base is the slave” etc....
17th.--Out per ’bus and rail to Limehouse, to get a net and tackle.
No success, and rain. At last saw a pig-net and an old block at
a marine-store shop; brought them off in triumph, with a coil of
rope, for 2s. 10d.... Then to Seddon’s, to meet Millais, Rossetti,
and Collins.... Millais, when a hanger at the R.A., _to write to
the Times_ if they do not put the best pictures in the best places
(?). Collins occasionally chuckles hysterically at these grand
projects--believes Millais a second Revelation; but himself I like.
18th.--Up at eight--still at Seddon’s. Breakfast and talk. Hunt
writes no end of letters, it seems; being of opinion that it is more
needful than painting to an artist....
19th.--Up at half-past nine; dressed hurriedly, and to work by
half-past ten. Fine day; showers at intervals, but kept on under
large umbrella. Painted the woman’s glove and part of shawl, holding
boy; his jacket and hair again, and quite successful; ditto his hand
and comforter. Good day till half-past six....
22nd.--From half-past two to six at Emma’s head--must see to-morrow
if it is improved. I scrape it all over with my penknife to
begin, getting thereby the ground partly seen through for the
repainting. This head is with zinc white on zinc white ground. I
keep it faithfully like Emma. After tea one hour and a half at the
Cartoon--indoors--the head being under umbrella....
24th.--Up at half-past eight--out with Emma and children. She gone
to see her mother with Oliver. To work by twelve till five at the
head, without Emma. Thought I had improved it, and then got disgusted
with it just before leaving off, consequently in a state of great
despondency; this is invariably the case when I work at a female head
or any principal one. I cannot believe it is fit to be seen till I
have put it away for a week. But to-day I have been heavy about the
head and irritable....
28th.--Began retouching the red shawl and the olive-green skirt, and
actually worked the whole day at them, and did not succeed. In the
evening an old washerwoman for the widow, mother of the profligate.
29th.--To work by ten till one at the confounded skirt again. After
dinner placed the bulwark out in the yard, and began painting it
through the window. This evening drew-in the netting, ropes, and the
old widow.
30th.--Up at half-past nine--stupid feeling--trifled away much time.
Out to see after cabbages--failure. To work by twelve at the bulwark.
After dinner, finding that cabbages _must_ be had, I out with the
boy who is digging the garden. Our greengrocer’s red cabbages all
spoiled. Brought back two red and four white; then begged two more of
our next neighbour. Trimmed them, and hung them round the bulwark,
and to work till seven....
3rd April.--Up before nine; to work about half-past ten. All day at
the rope and netting, under an umbrella (as it rained); dreary work,
and I feel as though I had done none, so mechanical was the work and
so mechanically worked I. I now see that I cannot have done for the
R.A.; is it for good or for evil? I know not, yet it is vexing. Had I
not painted the two little landscapes in the autumn, I would have had
time. I have foolishly trifled away my time, and am punished.
4th.--Up at half-past seven, to go into City to see after my
mortgage, having made our landlord a promise to pay him by the 15th.
Bad news--little hope of my being able to keep my word....
7th.--Up by nine, to work at _Carrying Corn_ for the R.A. A letter
from Windus to say my _Cordelia_ is at my service for the R.A.; one
from White, to say I may send for my _Ladye of Saturday Night_, not
having the slightest chance of disposing of it.... White was so hot
about buying the drawing six months ago; and, after getting me to
alter it and send it to him, now says he has not the slightest chance
of disposing of it. Old ass....
11th.--Up at eight--very absent and dejected, no prospects but going
to India. With difficulty roused myself to work about eleven at
my pallet and preparatives till twelve; then till three at work,
and from half-past four till seven out in yard. Cold north wind
yesterday and to-day has given me a cold on my chest. This evening
cleaned pallet, and worked at Emma’s head--the drawing I made at
Hampstead when I began the picture. Emma would not sit, so I worked
from feeling. Yesterday she had a sad fall from off a stile, and in
bed was fainting last night--poor dear.... Millais, it seems, has
finished his _Fireman_ picture, although three weeks ago he had more
than half uncovered, they say. How he does I can’t tell....
12th.--Took Lucy back to school: bad cold on my chest. Took her
to Mrs. Rossetti’s, and met Millais, who was waiting for Collins
to cock-horsing[114] on hire. Told me he had terribly scamped his
picture of _The Fireman_, but thought he _must_ send in this year.
Very amiably disposed, and humble in manner, so I promised to call
on him. So we missed our train. Took her to the Pantheon, and there
stopped so long, looking at Anthony’s pictures put there by the old
scoundrel Thomas the Serjeant,[115] that we miss our train again.
Anthony’s things there, every one of them well nigh, look glorious
colour; like Constable, only better by far. Oh the perverseness of
men in general and picture-buyers especially!--A story of Johnny
Millais:--William Rossetti, he, and Collins, dined at Campbell’s[116]
a short time since. Millais summoned the waiters, and with utmost
noise ordered everything that was good in the place. Kept up such
a noise that very soon everything was brought, and Millais ate as
he can. A modest man in the next box had first asked for a chop,
and continued asking; till Millais, being well stuffed and ready to
leave, suddenly takes to pitying the ill-used one. “Sir,” says he,
“these waiters behave very badly to you; were I in your place, I
would bully them frightfully. Why, sir, we’ve actually got our dinner
and eaten, while you’ve been waiting for your chop. Were I you, sir,
when it came I would send it back--leave it on their hands.” The poor
man got incensed, and did so; which having witnessed, out stalked
Millais _triumphans_. William suggested that the poor man would have
to go elsewhere, and begin waiting again for his chop....
16th.--Out to pay rent. About £3 left in pocket. Tax-man called (I
think for the fourth time) for the poor-rate; sent him about his
business. Worked at the sketch of _Last of England_. To-day I am
thirty-four, a dull thing to consider. How little done, O Lord, and
how much gone through! How many changes, how many failures! Is it
fate, is it fault? Will it end, or must it end me? A bad cold on my
chest with pain therein these three days.
17th.--Up at half-past nine--to work at the sketch as before
from eleven till six; unsatisfactory. To-night accounts, also
unsatisfactory. I find two things quite impossible: the one, to live
under £300 a year; and the other, to do a reasonable amount of work.
Try as I will, it cannot be....
20th.--Woke up very unhappy--shower-bath. Frames came home last
night, and wrong. I tried the picture in its one, and then the head
of Emma struck me as very bad, and made me miserable all night. This
morning I scraped at it with my penknife, and so widened the cheeks
some, and improved it. The colour is good, but the chin and jowls
look heavy....
21st.--... Trifled away my time. I find, as usual, I have got lazy
now the screw (R.A.) is off. Worked after dinner at the rope and
netting....
23rd.--... In the evening did a little to the design of _Work_,
altered the pot-boy.
24th.--To the City about the mortgage, much in want of the tin.
Made divers calls, and went to Lowes Dickinson’s, where Seddon and
Woolner; he preaching phrenology, and the greatness of the deceased
Emperor Nick. I suppose Carlyle has by this time reached this
conclusion.
25th.--... After dinner out in the yard, and painted a lot of drops
of water on the netting; very cold, and I not in cue.
26th.--Began work out of sorts. Pumice-stoned the man’s hand, and
oiled it, to repaint it out of doors, but enlarged the fingers from
feeling; and, although the day was propitious (no sun), yet I felt
loth to do the bother of going out in the yard, and so unconsciously
what Bacon calls our “affections” prevailed, and I began altering the
female’s head from “feeling”--_id est_, without nature; and so spent
the day till six, when I gardened. The jaw and mouth had displeased
me for some days; I certainly improved both, but somewhat at the
expense of the colour. In the evening worked at _Work_, as I did last
night also; the pot-boy calling out “beeawe,”[117] and the navvy
tossing it off....
29th, Sunday.--... All day at the design of _Work_. This is now to me
a species of intoxication. When I drew-in the poor little vixen girl
pulling her brother’s hair, I quite growled with delight--A _bon mot_
of Woolner’s was that it should be a point of honour with women to
stand smoke as with men to stand fire....
2nd May.--To town to finish the mortgage. Called on Marshall, and
heard that the scoundrel Louis Napoleon had been shot at. Called on
Dickinson, and heard that everyone had been ill-used at the R.A.;
Millais “talking about giving up his diploma.” To the City, and got
£460, remainder of the mortgage-money. Lawyer’s bill £20. Made up my
mind, going along, not to lend my uncle any of it, should he ask.
After his partner had given me the cheque, I walked out with him to
the bank; and I verily believe the stern looks I wore deterred him
from asking me. Went and lodged it in the London and Westminster
Bank; and then paid my frame-maker a cheque for £10. There is a
certain feeling (common to the species, I suppose) about drawing a
cheque which were superfluous to analyse. Called on Thomas, in state
of fidget.
3rd.--Made up my mind to do much work, and did nil but go to Highgate
and Hampstead shopping with dear Emma, and home in a donkey-chaise in
a biting easterly wind which gave the dear a cold....
5th.--To Hendon--paid grocer, and bought flowers and watering-pot.
After dinner tried to work, but could not get up the steam, so drew
at the design of _Work_. This I have ever found is the way: when
everything one can desire favours one, the spirit fails. At other
moments one thinks, “If this, that, and the other were so, how I
should get on!”
6th.--Sunday. Worked at trying and arranging the boat,
scoundrel,[118] etc. Tried the boat green, but it was not
encouraging.... Yesterday a letter from Seddon, to ask if I would
give lessons to Sir John Slade’s daughter, and to say his _Pyramids_
were kicked out. What a sell is art! I feel Haydonish and old and
down in the mouth.
7th.--To town to see Seddon about lessons to be given to Lady Slade’s
daughters.... Am to give the lessons.
8th.--Drew at the Blackguards and boat; and after went and got my
watch and other things out of pawn.
9th.--Gave my first lesson for a guinea, and am no longer a
gentleman....
10th.--Wasted the morning. Came home wet last night on foot. Answered
Millais, who has kindly offered to patronize me, but shan’t. Told me
that he had revolutionized the Academy, or nearly so. Worked a little
at Blackguards and their mother.
11th.--Worked all day at designing the boy getting cabbages, and
repainting sea.
12th.--Saw William Rossetti. The Academicians are setting up
Leighton’s picture[119] against Millais, it seems. Saw Millais, and
he described to us with gesture his fight with the Academicians;
shook his fist in their faces, etc. etc.; talked for one hour....
14th.--I wasted greater part of the day I don’t know how, and did
little good after. Thomas Woolner here in the evening. Much politics,
ending in gloomy apprehensions for the British Empire.
15th.--Began work after Woolner had left. Thought I would again alter
the place of the boat. Did do an improvement, but meanwhile all seems
in a disgusting mess....
19th.--... Met Emma at Seddon’s; Hunt’s father there perorating
curiously, a comical brave old cock....
21st.--... In the evening the meeting.[120] Halliday a sinecurist and
gent; swell and hunchback and artist combined;[121] known chiefly
as a friend of Millais and Hunt. Not at all bashful. Martineau....
Arthur Hughes, young, handsome, and silent. Munro good-humoured and
tritely talkative. William Rossetti, placid as wont. Cave Thomas....
Woolner fierce as ever. Burcham,[122] a new artist and quondam
apothecary--forty--nervous and modest.... Slept in Albany Street.[123]
22nd.--To home to fetch Emma; ’bus to the R.A. Met William Rossetti
by appointment. Millais’ picture more admirable than ever. Fireman
perfect, children wonderful, but the mother ill-conceived; still as
a whole wonderful. Leighton’s picture a mere daub as to execution,
but finely conceived and composed, and the chiaro-scuro good; very
difficult to judge how he will go on. So much discrepancy ’twixt
execution and conception I have not yet seen--it is strange.
Miss Boyce,[124] the best head in the rooms. Martineau’s picture
good[125] as far as can be seen. Dyce pretty and mannered.[126]
Maclise, as usual, mannered.[127] Herbert bad; the Cordelia beautiful
however,[128] but wrong in action. A lovely little picture by
Inchbold high in the Architectural Room. No good sculpture....
24th.--Saw a poor wretch with a nose I thought would do for my
scoundrel; worked at him the rest of the day till rain. Painted the
fist.
25th.--Up at nine--shower-bath. Wretch again all day: painted-in the
face and coat of the scoundrel.... I have quite forgotten how to
paint, it would seem....
June 3rd, Sunday.--Painted all day at the sky, sea, steamer, etc.;
changed the horizon; made it lower and level, instead of tilted. A
good day.
4th.--Placed the veil on the umbrella, a tough job. Afterwards
painted at it till six, when William and Maria Rossetti came.
5th.--Miss Rossetti still with us--walked out. Afternoon, veil. Heard
of the death of my poor niece Helen[129]--only seventeen.
6th.--To Lady Slade’s. To buy mourning, and to Helen Bromley’s; and
made a sketch of her child in her coffin. Home by twelve night.
7th.--Veil again. I do it indoors; it would be impossible out.
8th.--Ditto, and then off to Gravesend.
9th.--While there heard of the death of Anna Jones,[130] my cousin,
two days after that of Helen--same hour; shocked. Brought Lucy back
after the funeral....
13th.--Lady Slade’s. Called on Woolner; then to dine at William
Rossetti’s, with Burcham, Chemist and Artist. Saw his very clever
drawings of flowers, mosses, etc. With him to hear Monti’s
Lectures;[131] very interesting, with frightfully bad diagrams--poor
man. Then back again, and met Cayley, the translator of Dante....
22nd.--To the Crystal Palace with whole family and one servant. Saw
the glorious statue of the Florentine Captain,[132] and much else.
27th.--Up latish. To work about twelve, after gardening a little;
when in popped old White, and carried off _The Brent_ for £10, the
_Carrying Corn_ for £12, the drawing or design for the British
Poets[133] which I made in Rome in ’45, and which I gave to Millais
three years ago, and (he forgetting it) I have now sold for £8, and
the sketch for _The Last of England_ at £10; this last remains to be
finished. In all, £40 sold to-day. Gloria in Excelsis. I take a three
months’ bill for them.
28th.--Up at nine--shower-bath. Out in the garden for a few minutes,
and came in with an apoplectic feeling, heat being intense.
After, worked all day hard at the sketch of _Last of England_.
Then in the garden about eight p.m., and came in with the same
sensations as this morning. Lay on the sofa, with shirt unbuttoned
and vinegar-compresses for about one hour. Felt numb at the left
extremities.
29th.--Woke up still queer with apoplectic numbness about the left
arm--had breakfast in bed....
30th.--Up at half-past nine--felt better--worked all day at the
sketch for White. Seddon was married to Emmeline Bulford to-day at
Paris.
1st July.--Breakfast in bed--read _The Examiner_, and up at half-past
twelve. After dinner scraped out the woman’s face in the sketch,
and repainted it. Made the picture look quite dull and faded, and I
consequently unhappy.
2nd.--Emma began the day with quarrelling....
3rd.--... At the hand of the scoundrel in the picture, trying to make
him with a glass of brandy and water in it; Lucy, sitting for it with
a glass of beer, spilt the whole in her lap, being asleep. Divers
touches.
4th.--Emma started off to London this morning, without letting me
know, before I was up.... To-day I painted out the brandy and water,
which in such a small hole did not do, and the colour of it would not
harmonize. Put-in a black bottle, which every one knows is the acme
of scoundrelism. Painted, or tried to paint, at the head and hand of
the healthy ruffian drunk and grinning....
5th.--... Emma had gone out with Nolly and Katty.... As Emma was
still not returned, I wrote a letter to her, the answer to which our
fate seems now to hinge on. I am writing I don’t know what scarce,
because the moment is heavy with dread thoughts, and I must occupy
myself. When I was young, a disappointment in painting used to give
me a dreadful pain in my throat; now other miseries take the place of
these, and the nervous system feels most acutely about the heart and
chest--no pain is like this. What would become of my children if I
were to finish my wretched existence, and what is to become of me if
I do not? O God! have mercy on me and save me.
6th.--Lucy brought an answer to last night’s note; Emma gives in, so
we are all happy again. Thanks to God if He did it. Went out with
Emma and the children to buy things at the draper’s....
7th.--Gave Lucy her music-lesson. Set to work about one at the ropes
and about the boat’s davits; till eight at this....
12th.--Began painting the infant’s foot; and out with Emma, to buy
the dear some jewelry with the money I got for the sketch I gave to
J. Millais and sold to White. Went to call on old White, to get his
promissory. He kept me so long that it was too late to take it to
the bank, and I had scarce any money with me. However, we went and
selected the things, and among them a bracelet in mosaic gold so
beautiful that I could not resist it....
20th.--Finishing _Windermere_ for Manchester Exhibition....
21st.--Looked out for landscapes this evening; but, although all
around one is lovely, how little of it will work up into a picture!
that is, without great additions and alterations, which is a work of
too much time to suit my purpose just now. I want little subjects
that will paint off at once. How despairing it is to view the
loveliness of nature towards sunset, and know the impossibility of
imitating it!--at least in a satisfactory manner, as one could do,
would it only remain so long enough. Then one feels the want of a
life’s study, such as Turner devoted to landscape; and even then what
a botch is any attempt to render it! What wonderful effects I have
seen this evening in the hayfields! the warmth of the uncut grass,
the greeny greyness of the unmade hay in furrows or tufts with lovely
violet shadows, and long shades of the trees thrown athwart all, and
melting away one tint into another imperceptibly; and one moment more
a cloud passes and all the magic is gone. Begin to-morrow morning,
all is changed; the hay and the reapers are gone most likely, the
sun too, or if not it is in quite the opposite quarter, and all that
_was_ loveliest is all that is tamest now, alas! It is better to be
a poet; still better a mere lover of Nature, one who never dreams of
possession....
26th.--Garden--and then to pay the visit to Seddon and his new wife.
She is very sweet and beautiful, and he a lucky dog....
27th.--Saw in twilight what appeared a very lovely bit of scenery,
with the full moon behind it just risen; determined to paint it.
28th.--Garden all the morning: then prepared my traps to go and do
the landscape. Got there by five, and found it looking dreadfully
prosaic. However, began it,[134] and worked till half-past eight....
30th.--... Painted the sky of my little moon-piece....
3rd August.--... To work about twelve, at the hand, from my own in
the glass, out in back yard: quite spoilt. Too disgusted to go out to
moon-piece. Came to bed to poultice a boil; feel very queer, either
from laziness, illness, or dejection--I don’t know which; but certain
it is I have apoplectic symptoms imaginary or real. Had a mushroom
for tea and thoughts about death, which, after all, seems to me a
very natural consummation....
18th.--... _The Newcomes_ is done. The end, though a disappointment
to me as construction, is, for pathos and delineation of the “human
’art,” beyond anything he has yet done. No end of kerchiefs might be
wetted over it; but I read it dry, being used to misery in its actual
state. But the _dénouement_ disappointed me, I own. Thackeray seems
to have got them into a mess, and either to lack the skill or the
courage to get them out of it. In my humble opinion, Ethel should
have died just as Clive would have been enabled to marry her; after
which he should have taken to art _seriatim_,[135] and have achieved
a position, and so have learned the value of suffering. Clive should
have wept her, and then turned serious and virtuous, and married some
one just to take care of boy; or his wife should not have died, and
they should at length have loved each other, and been happy in the
end. This would have been far more moral, more probable, and more
satisfactory to me. But he is the great word-artist of now.--I long
to hear about Sveaborg; but oh how hard is the fate of these poor
Russians! and what a horrid thing it is for fleets at a distance to
destroy a town without the loss of a man! How cowardly, one might say.
19th.--To work about twelve, at the man’s head till seven--the woman
is now quite right.
20th.--Breakfast in bed--lazy.--To work about one till half-past
seven, at the woman’s hand, from Emma and baby and my own hand--Emma
holding it in the back yard. Nothing but rain, wind, and sun,
alternately. In despair brought it into front parlour. No good done
to-day at all.
21st.--The same as yesterday, only from feeling--no good at all.
22nd.--The same again to-day, out in the yard, Emma holding my hand;
and my mouth and moustache in glass. No good.
23rd.--To work by two till seven, at filling up places where the
oval of the frame has been enlarged; then at the sea again, and if
anything spoiled it.--The picture looks worth half as much money
again now that the sight of the frame is made larger....
27th.--To work by ten--worked at the man’s head, made it disgustingly
bad; left off about four--quite ill. Shall not work to-morrow,--have
been at it too close. Head bad.
31st.--Began work again to-day; intensely thick about the upper
regions, but felt that I must begin again. Worked till dusk, from
half-past one.--Scraped out the hand, but felt too stupid to venture
to touch it again--did a lot of promiscuous touches. All this week I
have been ill with a tired brain.... I think anxiety as well as work
affects my head. Indeed, to see how things are going on with me is
enough to drive any one mad. This is the last day of August, and the
picture, which was to have been finished and _exploité_ by this time,
is still on the easel. At quarter-day we leave here; and till I know
whether I go to India or not it is no use seeking a fresh abode, and
till the picture is shown to some people I cannot decide upon going:
and, now that the picture is nearly done, all the people will be
out of town. I have as yet had no time to do White’s landscape in.
This confounded picture takes up all the time that I might apply to
more saleable works, and looks worth nothing now that it is done. I
sometimes think it looks most execrable; but this week I am ill, and
in such a state of nerves that everything looks distorted. What a
miserable sad thing it is to be fit for painting _only_, and nothing,
nothing else! no outlet, no hope! I have touched the sky and cliffs
again however to advantage....
2nd September,--Sunday. To-day fortune seemed to favour me. It has
been intensely cold--no sun, no rain, a high wind. But this seemed
the sweetest weather possible, for it was the weather for my picture,
and made my hand look blue with the cold, as I require it in the
work. So I painted all day out in the yard, and made the man’s hand
more what I want than it has looked yet. Afterwards tried to mend
the scoundrel’s fist, but was not so successful at it however. After
work, took a four miles’ walk to warm myself, in the dark. Came back
and set to work; drew-in the mother’s hand holding the baby’s, in the
drawing, which has never been done yet.--Then wrote my name on the
picture.
3rd.--... Into London with Emma. Looked at several houses--not
knowing if we should want one, or I have to seek my fortunes in “a
far countrie.” Took a room at 33 Percy Street for one week, 10s., to
show the picture in.
4th.--My last day at the picture, thank God.--Finished the man’s
head, scoundrel’s hand, and sundries. At four took my moon-piece;
the sky of which had cracked all over, through being painted on zinc
white.--Scraped it and re-painted after five; foolish, for night
caught me. After tea, pasted the drawing of _Last of England_ into
its frame, and nailed the picture into its ditto. Took down the _Baa
Lambs_, the sketch of _Justice_, and drawing of _Beauty_, and by
twelve got them ready for to-morrow.
5th.--Packed my five pictures in a cart, and at 10 a.m. started on
my way to London, down the new Finchley Road--I driving, because it
was too heavy to sit both of us in front, and perched up behind was
anything but comfort. However, the pony, being a mettlesome beast,
had no idea of going unless his own master thrashed him, and seemed
to despise my attempts in that line; so we had to change seats. It
is Barnet fair, and we were taken for return showmen on the road.
As I got to the door in Percy Street, old White was knocking there.
He looked at the picture for about one hour, and was most warm in
his eulogium. I said last figure was £200 with copyright, or £150
without. I think he did not intend to buy when he came, but he seemed
loth to leave it. At last he said: “I want you to give me copyright
in, and will give you a bill at six months, for £150.” So I said,
as it was _him_, I would take it; indeed, I would not have done
so otherwise. Then he took the pencil-drawing for £7. He promises
speedy fortune, and that in two years more I shall no longer sell my
pictures to him, but command the highest prices in the art-market,
and only give him a picture for remembrance of old times. Amen! say I.
9th.--Sunday. On Thursday I “guv a party,” to which Munro, Rossetti,
Cayley, and Seddon came; so we[136] are reviving slightly towards
each other. Time of breaking up, half-past 1 a.m. Friday I worked
a little at altering the seat (on which they are) to green, at the
suggestion of old White. People all speak in high terms of the
product. Last night I ... went for the first time to Munro’s, and saw
Hughes’ picture of the Lover’s Quarrel.[137] It is very beautiful
indeed: the girl is lovely, draperies and all, but the greens of his
foliage were so acid.... I breakfasted with Lowes Dickinson to-day;
and he says that there is a fortune to be made in India, but he
does not think me the man to do it. I shall not go, at present at
any rate. Came home by 2 p.m. Am quite undecided what to do next.
There is _Work_ begun; then _Cromwell_;[138] then subject of the
“Commission” in Hyde Park.[139]
15th.--All this week I have only worked one day, Tuesday; when I
finished the green bench, bought a rope and painted it, put some
rust on the boat and boat’s davit to please old White, touched
and finished the veil, ditto the sky, and put a string to the
man’s hat. Called on Seddon and on Lucy this week. Calotype of
his _Cromwell_[140] looks very well and full of individuality....
Sebastopol gone at last, all the south of it; but the French did it,
not our soldiers. Since last winter, when all our real soldiers were
destroyed by the rascally Government, it seems to me we have done
nothing of note. Our army, I imagine, is disgusted and disorganized,
morally if not physically.--Wednesday,--I packed up the picture
carefully in a sheet, and took it to old White’s in a cab, at his
request; and there got a six months’ bill for £157, I paying for the
stamp. Then to the Bank, and drew £15. 10s. 10d. sent me by good
Madame Casey[141] in payment for my plate, which, being in their
hands at the time of the Revolution ’48 (owing to its having been
left at the _Mont de Piété_ when, bringing poor Liz’s body[142] to
this country, I found myself without the requisite money in Paris), I
requested them to have melted down if in need of money....
Wednesday.--Till yesterday [24th September] I was after houses, and
took one opposite Fortess Terrace; ten rooms, £45, quite new. £50
if I have a glass studio put up in garden. Yesterday I had occasion
to speak to a very rich man, the owner of half Fortess Terrace, and
God knows how much more property. I am quite sure he had been a
shopkeeper; but so bumptious, quite a caricature of the class. This
evening an old gentleman warned us not to go down a certain path
’cross fields; it was all bog, said he, pointing to his boots. I said
to Emma: “That man sure is either a nobleman or a very distinguished
officer.” I don’t know who he was; but we met him afterwards going
into the house Garrick had at Hendon, and three minutes after we had
turned the corner we met him coming out of that property, and he
crossed the road to Lord Annesley’s. I supposed it is he. [N.B.--It
was not, but Mr. Weire.]
22nd October.--This month has passed without entries. After taking
the last-mentioned house I fell out with the builder; so took this
one in Fortess Terrace at £52. 10s. a year. Intended to let the first
floor, but ... I think I must make it my painting-room. On the 8th
I began work again at the Hendon Moon-piece, on Lord Tenterden’s
property (by-the-by, it was he I meant when I said “Lord Annesley”).
The weather has been most trying: however, I have stuck at it,
sometimes walking fourteen miles and only getting two hours’ work:
in all, with to-day, nine days or thirty-six hours. In two more I
think I shall finish what I can do to it there. Thursday I went to
Finchley, and slept two nights at the Queen’s Head, and to-day I took
a cab; vigorous proceeding this. During this month (for notabilia) I
have been to Sadler’s Wells and seen Miss Atkinson, a new actress
whom I pronounce to be admirable and better than Miss Glyn. Then
I called one night at the Howitts’, and saw William ditto, and
Mrs. ditto, and Anna Mary ditto, all professing to believe much in
dreams....
2nd December.--... I think I finished at Hendon on the 24th, after
which I did not paint again till the 9th November, when I began a
small _King Lear_ from the drawing I had formerly made (for the
etching which I have never finished) of the picture in John Seddon’s
possession.[143] This I work at till last Thursday, just three weeks,
when I get tired of it; and, as the purple ran, and would not let
me go on with it except in the horizontal position with the dust
descending on it, I gave up, and began working up the foreground
of my Hendon landscape. Yesterday I went to Cumberland Market, and
sketched a hay-cart; afterwards put it in. During the time I did not
work (that is, paint) I did much in the upholstery-line, and saved
thereby (in two weeks) about 10s. It must be said in my excuse,
however, that two men severally saw the sofa and chairs to cover; and
the last, [who] was pale and thin by being out of work, declared that
the things were in such a state that he would _rather not undertake
them_. I have made them look splendid, and the drawing-room all
equally so, although the things would not perhaps pass muster at
Seddon’s or Gillow’s. Nolly has been christened since last entry,
also the prizes at the Paris Exhibition have been disposed of. But
the most important fact appertaining to this history is that White
has at my instigation bought _Chaucer_ (while at Paris) from Robert
Dickinson for £50: this I consider a grand stroke achieved....
5th.--... At Jullien’s[144] last night, where met old White in a half
boozy state. Glad to find that the prize-giving at Paris has not
damped his ardour, but he talks of doing great things with it. Find
Windus has my _Last of England_....
12th.--... To the Olympic. English theatricals dooced slow, however;
place felt headachy. Robson tremendous, but getting spoiled....
15th.--... Read the third volume of Carlyle’s _Miscellanies_. The
glorious kind-hearted old chap! _Boswell_, _Diderot_, _Cagliostro and
the Necklace_, are the best in the book, and among what he has ever
done best. The _Johnson_, _Göthe_, _Edward Irving_, among (to me)
the unsatisfactory ones; overdone, too many immensities, eternities,
and such-like superfluities; sometimes whole pages of mere gilded
wind-bladders, looking something like real nuggets, but not so. Seek
to grasp them, and they bob off in most tantalizing fashion--(this
is Carlylean, I hope). On the other hand, we must allow the great
man his occasional weaknesses and caprices and flatulencies. Real
gold and solid weight and a close-packed wisdom is not wanting in
the general run of it; more indeed than is attainable in any other
writing now published, I opine. As he said himself, Roland of
Ronceval must himself have been constipated at times....
19th.--Worked at the sketch of Hampstead for Woolner:[145] it is
jolly.
20th.--Cuttle-fished the little landscape, and painted “ye moon” from
nature. Called on Woolner, who declares we are more devil-worshipers
than Christians. His reason for the great popularity of Lord
Palmerston is that he is treacherous and pugnacious, which are the
two chief characteristics of us English, and that therefore, being
the most so of any, he by natural force or gravitation is the King
of England. However, Prince Albert _is_ our King--worse luck. John
Cross told him that Monsieur Picot, who was president of the Royal
Commission of Fine Arts at Paris, affirmed that it was entirely owing
to the pressing solicitude of Lord Elcho that the prizes were given
as they were; that the French jurors had awarded the chief medal to
Mulready. McDowell[146] voted for himself nineteen times; so they
gave no medal to the sculpture....
24th.--... Spent the morning putting up holly and evergreens instead
of working. I fear I have much to repent on the score of idleness.
Read Carlyle’s _Miscellanies_....
1856, 1st January.--A dull foggy day. Disgusted with my landscape:
stuck it up against the wall, and worked at it from a distance.
Painted out all the easel, box, etc., in front, that took me so much
time to paint from nature. Made the whole right again....
2nd.--... Seddon again called, with a letter he had just received
from Hunt; who is on his return, I am glad to hear, but ill. I fear,
a nature that works beyond its strength.
5th.--... Worked at the pencil _King Lear_, and finished it; my
destiny being (as Novalis said of Göthe) “to finish whatever I may
have begun.”
6th.--Spent the morning in a sort of luxury of idleness, tidying-up
the painting-rooms, and hanging up two fresh pictures in them,
viz.: the pencil _King Lear_, and a study of Major Freulick’s
horse--painted at Ghent when I was fifteen or sixteen--at the time
I painted my father’s portrait, and the head of the old woman[147]
I still value. At this time, when I first began art seriatim, and
before I fell into any kind of mannerism, many of my studies are
better than I was able to do for many years afterwards. This same
horse, which is the facsimile of the one it portrayed, was the most
unmilitary-looking brute I think I ever beheld, or at any rate ever
saw Major mounted on. It fell under me one day as I was trotting it
over one of the Flemish wooden drawbridges, and peeled the skin off
my chin. However, with the loss of a saddle-girth, we were none the
worse for it much, either of us.
FOOTNOTES:
[4] There was a painter, then of some repute, named Marshal Claxton:
I presume that he and his family are here referred to.
[5] This refers to the mortal illness of Mrs. Brown, in Rome: she
died soon afterwards.
[6] Lucy Brown had been placed at the boarding school (a very good
one) kept at Gravesend by her aunt by marriage, Mrs. Helen Bromley.
This was a most estimable Scotch lady (Miss Weir): she died in 1886.
[7] The residence of the painter Charles Lucy.
[8] Highgate Cemetery, where Mrs. Madox Brown was buried.
[9] The surgeon who constantly attended Brown and his family; also
Dante Rossetti. He became Professor of Anatomy at the Royal Academy,
President of the Royal College of Physicians, &c.
[10] According to Brown’s original plan, the centre picture of Chaucer
was flanked by two side-pictures, containing figures of Spenser,
Shakespeare, Milton, Pope, Burns, and Byron. This scheme was finally
abandoned in the large painting, but it is to be seen in one or two
minor versions of the work.
[11] Thomas is William Cave Thomas, a painter (still living) who had
distinguished himself in the Cartoon competitions at Westminster
Hall. He is also known as the writer of some very thoughtful books on
the Theory of Fine Art, as co-ordinate with Science and Morals.
[12] The studio was in Clipstone Street, Marylebone; the same in
which Dante Rossetti first visited Madox Brown.
[13] In this instance and others Brown wrote “togam” instead of
“toga.” I suppose he had, at some time, seen the word printed in its
accusative case. In matters of this sort he had a _curiosa felicitas_
for going wrong.
[14] Evidently means Shakespeare’s birth-house. Possibly Mr. Thomas’s
rather summary proposal was founded on his not believing that
building to be the true birth-house.
[15] A blank is left in the MS.
[16] From a very early stage in his professional practice, Brown paid
unusual attention to questions of true lighting, such as this.
[17] So far as I remember, these figures are not included in any
version of the Chaucer subject.
[18] Mr. Richard Madox Bromley (afterwards Sir R. M. Bromley, K.C.B.)
was a brother of Madox Brown’s first wife. He was employed in relief
measures during the Irish famine.
[19] The highly-distinguished landscape painter.
[20] Hurlstone was then President of the Society of British Artists,
Suffolk Street.
[21] There were two brothers named Foggo, historical painters of much
ambition and perhaps some intellect, but deplorably bad executants. I
presume that the jingle “Fogo is no go” (or something of the sort),
was current among artists at this date.
[22] This is the Exhibition (then recently established) to which
Brown contributed some of his early pictures--also Dante Rossetti his
first two. Martin was not the celebrated painter John Martin, but a
different painter, J. F. Martin.
[23] Claxton was a painter, already mentioned; of Dibdin I know
nothing.
[24] This subject was painted, and was well received by the public.
[25] A painter and book-illustrator.
[26] I am sure this project was not carried out.
[27] The Dickinsons, Printsellers in Bond Street, had established a
Drawing Academy in Maddox Street. Foley must be the sculptor of that
name. Paris and Salter were painters: the former is perhaps still
remembered as the inventor of “Paris’s Medium.”
[28] Brown was part owner of Ravensbourne Wharf, Greenwich.
[29] This is probably an oil-study which I possess, and which must
have been made with a view to the figure of an infant in the Wiclif
picture. Lucy Brown was now turned four years old: in the painting
she might pass for still younger.
[30] A cousin of Brown’s.
[31] This was some friend of Elizabeth Brown (Bromley), much of whose
youth was spent abroad. I know nothing further about Miss Ensgrubber.
[32] I don’t know what this project was; should suppose that it aimed
at some pictorial decoration of the University building.
[33] A matter unknown to me; I presume “Capbell” to be a mis-writing
for “Campbell.” It would appear that Brown’s drawing was lithographed.
[34] I suppose Inskip is practically forgotten now. He painted in a
very broad method, with dark full-toned tints of brown &c.--gipsies,
fisherfolk, and the like.
[35] There was some family connection between Bamford and Brown; I
have forgotten what.
[36] Charles Robert Leslie, R.A.; he was now Professor of Painting at
the Academy.
[37] He was a solicitor. The Tan Yard is, I suppose, much the same
thing as Ravensbourne Wharf. Brown did not, towards this date, sell
his shares in it.
[38] He seems rather to mean “French Republic.”
[39] Fenton, after receiving an artistic training, took to
photography. At the time of the Crimean war (1854-6) he went to the
scene of action, and acquired some prominence.
[40] A model much employed by artists towards this date.
[41] Brown wrote “Schaff” (not Scharf): I suppose the designer who
became Sir George Scharf, (or else his father, who was also an
artist) is meant. Collingwood Smith and Oliver were water-colour
landscapists.
[42] From this observation it might be inferred that Brown in 1847
was a decided Protestant and Anti-Catholic. He may possibly have been
so, and must, at any rate, have been a votary of freedom of religious
thought. As I knew him (beginning in 1848), he was neither Catholic
nor Protestant.
[43] The handwriting of all this part of the diary confirms the
statement as to weak sight.
[44] I do not recognize the name Elliott; a later entry shows him to
have been a painter. Rossetti, whom we here find for the first time
in Brown’s narrative, is of course Dante Gabriel. No account is given
of the first interview of all, when Brown (as related elsewhere)
called round at Rossetti’s house with a “thick stick.” The letter
from my brother, March 1848, which led to that interview, has been
published.
[45] It will be seen that Brown, having now consigned to the Free
Exhibition the moderate-sized picture of _Wiclif and John of Gaunt_,
resumed work on the large _Chaucer_ and its accessories.
[46] William and Mary Howitt were much connected with this
publication.
[47] Daniel Casey was a painter, of Irish birth or extraction,
settled in Paris. Brown had a good opinion of his abilities, within
certain limits. I own a small oil-picture of his--horsemen abducting
a woman--spirited in action. He died towards 1888.
[48] I do not think that Brown ever applied for a mastership in the
Schools of Design, under their old _régime_. He did so (as shown
further on) under the new _régime_.
[49] Holman Hunt, of course.
[50] I fancy this may have been Brown’s first acquaintance with
Keats. Dante Rossetti may have set him going. Towards this same
time Millais began his first “Præraphaelite” picture, from Keats’s
_Isabella_.
[51] The picture is, I think, the one which was afterwards named _The
Infant’s Repast_ (sometimes here spoken of as _Mother and Child_).
[52] For side-panel of the Chaucer picture.
[53] _The Girlhood of Mary Virgin._
[54] I do not know what the lectures may have been, nor what Brown
wrote about them. See the entry for 10th October.
[55] This may, I suppose, have been a portion of what Brown was
writing regarding Mr. Thomas’s lectures.
[56] I think this means a copy of a head of his daughter Lucy,
painted in her early infancy towards 1843.
[57] The composition for the oil-picture of _Cordelia at the Bedside
of Lear_: not to be confounded with other Lear subjects (at least
two) which Brown executed at later dates.
[58] This seems to relate, not to the _Lear_ picture, but to the
small work named _The Infant’s Repast_.
[59] _i.e._ The jester, or fool (he is immediately afterwards termed
the fool), of King Lear. This head is a very fair likeness (not
exactly a striking one) of Dante Rossetti.
[60] It was the fifth storey if one reckons the sunk basement as
first storey. The house was No. 50 Charlotte Street, Portland Place.
[61] The detached figures of British Poets, which were (according to
the original intention) to serve as wings to the large picture of
_Chaucer at the Court of Edward III._ “The page” is a figure in the
central composition.
[62] The sketch, done some years before, of the _Chaucer_ composition.
[63] Brown must have known Walter Howell Deverell through Dante
Rossetti. Deverell was at this time a painter of some recognized
promise, son of the Secretary to the Schools of Design.
[64] This is, I suppose, a carefully finished little oil portrait,
circular, which I possess.
[65] Mr. Seddon (the father of Thomas and John Seddon) was a
furniture-maker of high repute, carrying on business in Gray’s Inn
Road. The statement that the portraits were done “for a sofa” means
that a sofa was to be assigned to Brown as his remuneration.
[66] I have little if any recollection of this figure of _The Lord
Jesus_. Further on it appears that a lithograph, unsatisfactory to
Brown, was made of the figure.
[67] Mr. Samuel Carter Hall, the Editor of _The Art-Union (Art
Journal)_.
[68] The etching which was published in _The Germ_.
[69] It will be observed that there is a great gap of time before
this resumption of Diary--as referred to immediately afterwards. So
far as I know, Madox Brown did not keep any record in the interim. I
do not possess any, nor seemingly does Mr. Ford Hueffer.
[70] Emma and Katy (or Cathy) are the second Mrs. Brown and her then
infant Daughter, now Mrs. Francis Hueffer.
[71] This centre compartment is the _Chaucer_ above-mentioned.
[72] By “a very bad Deighton” Brown means a bad specimen of the work
of a landscape-painter named Deighton.
[73] A picture of a mother and child.
[74] A professional model.
[75] The landlady at Hampstead.
[76] The work (substantially finished some years before) named _Our
Lady of Saturday Night_, in which the Madonna is represented washing
her infant.
[77] Finchley.
[78] White, whose name re-appears frequently in the sequel, was a
well-established picture-dealer in Maddox Street, Regent Street.
The picture here named _Winandermere_ is I think the same as that
heretofore named _Windermere_, or a duplicate of it.
[79] I possess a copy of this lithograph, and cannot regard it as in
any serious sense a failure.
[80] It seems to have come to nothing, as also the “lithotint of
_Baby_.”
[81] For the Great Exhibition of 1855.
[82] As the picture stood at first, the figure of Christ was
unclothed to the waist.
[83] So in the MS.: I do not well understand the phrase.
[84] “This one” means a new diary-book, which commences with the
present entry.
[85] No. 14 Chatham Place, Blackfriars; here Dante Rossetti had
Chambers, where I also often passed the night. It was the last house
on the Middlesex side of Blackfriars Bridge, right hand as one turns
out of Fleet Street. The whole of Chatham Place was destroyed towards
1868.
[86] I suppose he meant “composition” or “syntax.”
[87] Thomas Woolner, the Sculptor and P.R.B. His handwriting was very
distinct and precise.
[88] The two streets were (I think) Titchfield Street, Marylebone,
and Torrington Square.
[89] The calf in the picture named _Found_, begun by Dante Gabriel
Rossetti by this date.
[90] Woolner had tried his fortune in Australia, and had now returned
to England.
[91] _The Death of Richard Cœur de Lion_, painted by John Cross.
[92] G. W. M. Reynolds, a well-known novelist and demagogic
journalist of that period: he published a serial called _Reynolds’s
Miscellany_. The existing weekly paper, _Reynolds’s Newspaper_, was,
I think, founded by him.
[93] The “absurd old pictures” include, apparently, an _Ecce Homo_ by
Mattia di Giovanni, the _Vision of St. Bernard_ by Lippo Lippi, &c.
[94] The so-called Albert Durer is now ascribed to Baldung--_Head of
a Senator_.
[95] The picture that Brown terms a Masaccio was, I think, a
portrait--a very telling one. No work now figures under the name of
that master in the National Gallery.
[96] The Rembrandts and Wilkie had been bequeathed to the
Gallery--not purchased by Dyce.
[97] Mr. Wentworth, a leading statesman in Australia, had been
invited to sit for a public statue, and he had been expected to fix
on Mr. Woolner as the sculptor. After long lagging (hence, it seems,
Brown calls him “the Lag”) he selected some different artist.
[98] Brown had known “old Williams” through the Rossetti family.
Dante Rossetti, in his first picture, _The Girlhood of Mary Virgin_,
painted Williams in the character of St. Joachim.
[99] In the completed picture there is not any figure of an artist.
[100] Mr. Richard Burchett, a painter by profession, who held a
leading post in the Department of Art.
[101] Lowes (brother of Robert) Dickinson, the able Portrait painter.
[102] The word written appears to be “obtaining”; perhaps a slip for
“remaining.”
[103] Thomas Seddon, who had been to Egypt and Jerusalem along with
Mr. Holman Hunt.
[104] Dr. John Brown, the originator of “the Brunonian System of
Medicine.” His works and a biography of him have been published,
and a portrait of him is in the Scottish National Portrait Gallery,
Edinburgh.
[105] I may be excused for saying here that I did all that I could. I
put the matter plainly before my uncle Henry Polydore; he, although
“in the law,” knew very little about such concerns, and probably had
to say so.
[106] _The Angel in the House._
[107] This is an anecdote which has been detailed elsewhere. Scott’s
volume contained a fly-sheet title “Poems by a Painter.” Carlyle read
the word “Painter” as being “Printer”; and he wrote to the supposed
working printer in terms apposite to his mis-reading.
[108] The well-known sculptor.
[109] Mr. Windus of Tottenham, a noted picture-collector.
[110] A specimen of fresco-work which Brown had sent to the
Westminster Hall competition, 1844, for the Houses of Parliament.
[111] This means Mr. Windus the picture-collector, who was said to
be the proprietor of the medicine for children known as “Godfrey’s
Cordial.”
[112] I don’t know what Brown meant by “XXX”; perhaps it indicates
that the works were in a very _ex_treme or exaggerated style of
PRB’ism.
[113] This is entitled _The Bridesmaid_.
[114] I suppose the meaning is that Millais and Collins intended to
hire horses, for exercise in riding.
[115] Serjeant Ralph Thomas, a legal gentleman who had bought a great
number of Mark Anthony’s pictures, finished or sketched. Brown (as
the reader may have remarked) was rather free in using the epithet
“scoundrel”--whether with reason or without.
[116] Campbell’s Scotch Stores, Beak Street, Regent Street. The
P.R.B.’s had a liking for this dining-room, as it was hung round
with pictures by Theodore Von Holst. It is now named Blanchard’s
Restaurant.
[117] _i.e._, “Beer.”
[118] “Scoundrel” means a certain personage in _The Last of
England_--a _mauvais sujet_ who shakes his fist as a demonstration
against the old country, in which he has been deservedly unlucky.
[119] His first picture, the _Cimabue_.
[120] _i.e._, a meeting of certain artists, to decide whether or not
they would exhibit for themselves, apart from the R.A.
[121] This description of Michael F. Halliday--as friendly and
obliging a man as I have known--cannot be called good-natured, but I
let it stand for what it is worth. He was not truly a sinecurist, but
a clerk in the House of Lords; neither was he a gent, but a gentleman.
[122] Mr. R. P. Burcham was a druggist, in whose house my sister
Maria and I had at one time taken apartments. I discovered him to be
an amateur artist, of superior attainment in subjects of still life,
such as those painted by W. H. Hunt, of the Watercolour Society. He
was in fact well acquainted with Hunt.
[123] _i.e._, in my house in Albany Street, Regent’s Park, No. 166.
[124] Miss Boyce was a sister of George P. Boyce the water-colour
painter: the head which she exhibited this year was named _Elgiva_.
She afterwards married Mr. Wells the Portrait-painter, and died young.
[125] _The Taming of the Shrew._
[126] A head entitled _Christabel_.
[127] The wrestling scene from _As You Like It_.
[128] Nearly the same subject which Brown had painted in 1849,
_Cordelia at the Bedside of Lear_.
[129] Daughter of the Mrs. Helen Bromley mentioned in p. 64.
[130] This was (as I understand it) the wife of Mr. William Jones, a
solicitor in the City, and at Greenwich: she had been a Miss Madox.
[131] Monti was author of a sculptured bust then very famous, _The
Veiled Vestal_.
[132] Colleone is meant.
[133] Intended to serve as a wing (or as the two wings) for the
_Chaucer_ picture.
[134] I suppose this is the picture called _The Hayfield_.
[135] Brown had a bad habit of using this Latin word as if it meant
“seriously.”
[136] “We” seems to mean Brown himself and Thomas Seddon.
[137] Must be the well-known picture named _April Love_.
[138] _Cromwell on his Farm._ Brown seems by this date to have
settled on the subject, but he had not, I think, made any beginning
with it.
[139] I do not understand this phrase.
[140] _Cromwell at the Deathbed of his Daughter._
[141] Wife of Daniel Casey, the painter, mentioned on p. 94.
[142] Madox Brown’s first wife.
[143] _i.e._, _Cordelia at the Bedside of Lear_.
[144] Jullien’s Promenade Concerts.
[145] The sketch of a street in Hampstead, which Brown had undertaken
as a study for the scene of his picture named _Work_. He gave the
sketch to Mr. Woolner.
[146] A prominent sculptor of that time.
[147] All the three works here mentioned remained in Brown’s
possession up to his death in 1893, and were disposed of in the sale
held soon afterwards.
THE P.R.B. JOURNAL, 1849-53
THE P.R.B. JOURNAL, 1849-53.
The facts regarding the formation of the Præraphaelite Brotherhood,
or P.R.B., have been frequently summarized ere now in print, by
others and by myself: but I must run them over again briefly, in
order to make the P.R.B. Journal the clearer.
In 1848 there were four young students in the Royal Academy
Schools--John Everett Millais and William Holman Hunt in the
Life-school, Thomas Woolner in the Sculpture-school, and Dante
Gabriel Rossetti in the Antique-school. Woolner, born in 1825, was
the eldest; Millais, born in 1829, the youngest. These young men were
all capable and ambitious: they had all, except Rossetti, exhibited
something, to which (more especially in the case of Millais) the
Art-authorities and the public had proved not wholly indifferent.
They entertained a hearty contempt for much of the art--flimsy,
frivolous, and conventional--which they saw in practice around
them; and wanted to show forth what was in them in the way of solid
and fresh thought or invention, personal observation, and the
intimate study of and strict adherence to Nature. The young men came
together, interchanged ideas, and were joined by two other youthful
Painter-Students, James Collinson and Frederic George Stephens, and
also myself, who was not an Artist. So there were seven men forming
the Præraphaelite Brotherhood. I will not debate at any length why
the term Præraphaelite was adopted. There was much defiance in it,
some banter, some sense, a great deal of resolute purpose, a large
opening for misinterpretations, and a _carte-blanche_ invitation
for abuse. After thus constituting themselves, what they had to do
was to design, paint, and model, and one of them in especial, Dante
Rossetti, to write poetry; and they did it with a will.
Some little while having elapsed, it was determined that one of the
P.R.B.’s should be Secretary, and should keep a journal; and I, as
not being taken up by art-work, was pitched upon for the purpose. I
accordingly began the P.R.B. Journal.
This Journal was entirely my own affair, and was compiled without
pre-consulting any of my fellow-members, and without afterwards
submitting it to them. At the same time, the object of it was
understood to be a record, from day to day, of the proceedings
of _all_ the Members, so far as these were of a professional or
semi-professional character, and came within my knowledge; it was not
in any sense a diary personal to myself (save in so far as I was one
P.R.B. among seven), nor deriving from my own thoughts or feelings.
The Journal was producible to any Member who might choose to ask
for it--I don’t think any one ever did. I used to make it a rule to
myself to mention only the Members of the Brotherhood, along with
some few other persons who came into close relation with them, their
purposes, and their work.
The compilation, as will be seen, extends from 15th May 1849, soon
after the Exhibitions had opened containing the works of the first
year of Præraphaelitism, to 29th May 1853; by which date, mainly
owing to Millais’s picture of _A Huguenot on St. Bartholomew’s Eve_,
the Præraphaelites had practically triumphed--issuing from the dust
and smother of four years’ groping surprise on the part of critics
and public, taking the form mostly of thick-and-thin vituperation.
There are various gaps in the Journal, owing to my own laches; and
several more, owing to a performance by my Brother, justifying the
designation once (I think) applied to him by a cabman, “a harbitrary
cove.” After the Journal had been finally (though not of any set
purpose) discontinued, it lay by me unnoticed for a number of years.
When at last I had occasion to re-inspect it, I found that several
pages had been torn out by my Brother, and several others mutilated.
I never knew accurately--never at all enquired--why he did this. I
suppose that at some time or other he took up the MS. in a more or
less haphazard way, and noticed in it some things which he did not
care to have on record regarding himself, and also in all likelihood
regarding Miss Elizabeth Siddal, to whom he was then engaged. Not
that I recorded anything whatever in a spirit of detraction or
ill-nature concerning either of them--far from that.
Thus the P.R.B. Journal is now much more fragmentary than it need
have been--for the portion destroyed by my Brother amounted, I dare
say, to a fair fifth of the whole. In what remains a good deal is
mere plodding journey-work, of no interest to myself, still less to
others. The extracts here presented may constitute something like a
half of the extant MS.--less rather than more.
I am aware that even these extracts are not written in an
entertaining style: the Journal was intended to be simply, and
rather servilely, a compendium of _facts_. It is however a highly
authentic account of the early stages in a movement which proved of
great importance, and to which much and increasing public interest
has attached--a movement in which men of staunch achievement and
eminent name bore the leading parts. As such, I suppose that the
P.R.B. Journal may be regarded in some quarters as a document not
undeserving of attention.
* * * * *
May 1849.
Tuesday 15th.--At Millais’s--Hunt, Stephens, Collinson, Gabriel, and
myself. Gabriel brought with him his design of _Dante drawing the
figure of an Angel_ on the first anniversary of Beatrice’s death[148]
which he completed in the course of the day, and intends for Millais.
Millais has done some figures of the populace in his design of _The
Abbey at Caen_[149] since last night, and has also continued painting
on the beard in the head of Ferdinand listening to Ariel, being that
of Stephens. He says he has begun his “Castle-moat” poem[150] and is
to continue it after we left (one o’clock). The plan of writing this
diary was fixed, and will, I am in hopes, be steadily persevered in.
We minutely analysed such defects as there are in Patmore’s _River_
from Gabriel’s recitation; who also read his poem (in progress)
intended as introductory to the _Vita Nuova_[151]....
Wednesday 16th.--Gabriel began redesigning _Kate the Queen_[152]....
Thursday 17th.--Millais called on us in the evening. He has gone on
with his Caen Nunnery design, and has put in some fat men, finding
his general tendency to be towards thin ones. He is also progressing
with his poem (the Castle-moat subject)....
Saturday 19th.--... Hunt ... is getting on with his _Monk succoured
by the ancient Britons_ in time of persecution. Woolner has done four
of his heads commissioned by Cottingham[153]--Raphael, Michelangelo,
Titian, and Leonardo--and is engaged on Vandyck.... I understand that
the _Court Journal_, speaking of a picture by one Walters that has
been rejected, exclaims against the injustice, considering that such
works as Hunt’s and Millais’s,[154] which can have been admitted only
for charity, are hung.
Sunday 20th.--Gabriel made considerable progress to-day with his
_Kate the Queen_ design.... Woolner came in the evening, and showed
us two verses of a new song he has begun, having the burden, “My Lady
rests her heavy, heavy rest”[155]....
Monday 21st.--Millais called in the evening, to take Gabriel with
him to Mr. Bateman’s (the Illuminator): they also picked up Woolner
on the way. The visit ... afforded unqualified satisfaction. Gabriel
recited lots of Patmore, Browning, Mrs. Browning, etc.... We (Gabriel
and myself) presented Bernhard Smith, on his departure, with a
Browning, bearing the following inscription--“Ichabod, Ichabod,
the glory has departed. Travels Waring West away?” Smith leaves on
Wednesday[156]....
Wednesday 23rd.--... Hunt ... has completed his design of the
Ancient Britons and Monk, and has resumed the one from _Isabella_,
“He knew whose gentle hand was at the latch.” ... Millais has made
considerable progress with the _Caen Nunnery_, having put-in the
greater part of the populace. He says his poem is considerably
advanced, and that he will work hard on it to-night. He having
informed us, almost as soon as we entered, that he had been reading
Patmore’s _Woodman’s Daughter_ and _Sir Hubert_,[157] and had
found several faults of diction etc. therein, we proceeded to a
most careful dissection, and really the amount of improvable is
surprisingly small--as he also agreed in thinking.... In the course
of conversation, Millais said that he had thoughts of painting a
hedge (as a subject) to the closest point of imitation, with a bird’s
nest--a thing which has never been attempted. Another subject he has
in his eye is a river-sparrow’s nest, built, as he says they are,
between three reeds; the bird he describes as with its head always
on one side, “a body like a ball, and thin legs like needles.” He
intends soon to set about his subject from Patmore, Sir Hubert and
Mabel, “as she issues from the trees”[158]....
Thursday 24th.--... Millais came; soon after which we fell to
portrait-taking. Millais’s, of Woolner, Hancock, and Hunt, have come
highly successful. He has done something to his poem....
Sunday 27th.--Gabriel and I went in the morning, by appointment, to
Dickinson’s,[159] where we met Ford Brown and Cave Thomas. Dickinson
says that, when Cottingham first mentioned to him his intention of
buying Gabriel’s picture, he descanted glowingly on his genius, and
expressed his horror at having “found him in a garret.”[160]
Monday, July 13th.--Hunt, with Gabriel’s co-operation, removed the
majority of his property to Brown’s study, etc.... A most cheeky
letter received from Cottingham, in answer to a civil enquiry
relative to the price payable for the _Morning_ and _Evening_,[161]
left him in a state of profound disgust; when he was relieved
therefrom by a note from Egg[162] informing him that he had sold
the Rienzi picture for 160 guineas to Mr. Gibbons, and requesting
to see him to-morrow morning on some other business. Hunt swears
that he’ll cut Cottingham altogether, and leave him to find another
man of talent (of whom Cottingham asserts that he knows plenty)
to do two fair-sized pictures for £50. In the evening Gabriel and
I went to Woolner’s with the view of seeing North[163] (whom,
however, we did not find at home) about a project for a monthly
sixpenny magazine[164] for which four or five of us would write
and one make an etching, each subscribing a guinea, and thus
becoming a proprietor. The full discussion of the subject is fixed
for to-morrow, at Woolner’s.... Woolner has been working at the
_Euphrosyne_.
Tuesday 14th.--Hunt called on Egg, and received the money for his
picture. Mr. Gibbons is also to give him a commission for not less
than another 100 guineas; and Egg thinks that, after seeing the
picture of the Early Christian which Hunt is now engaged on, he
will probably select that. Gabriel has settled to go with Hunt to
Paris, passing by Ghent and Bruges, which Egg strongly recommends
them to see. A second letter to Gabriel from John Orchard,[165] the
painter, has been received. He had written for the first time nearly
a week ago, expressing the most intense admiration for the _Mary
Virgin_, and entering into a long metaphysical disquisition on the
principle of adopting the mode of thought and the practice of any
preceding age, which he condemns. In his present letter, in answer to
Gabriel’s reply, he says that he hopes to call and see the picture
on Saturday.... We went to Woolner’s to settle on our contemplated
magazine. The title is to be _Monthly Thoughts in Literature and
Art_, with a sonnet on the wrapper....
Wednesday 15th.--... It was proposed that the magazine should be
increased to forty pages, two etchings, and 1s. each No. I wrote the
first eight lines of a sonnet for the wrapper, to be considered with
others....
Thursday 16th.--Gabriel made a study, from a girl whom Collinson
recommended to him, for the head of the angel in his picture,[166]
which head he means to do over again....
Friday 17th.--Gabriel began painting the head of the angel; and he
wrote two stanzas of a French song, _La Sœur Morte_[167]....
Sunday 19th.--Hunt ... has taken his Rienzi picture to Brown’s study,
and is engaged giving it some finishing touches. At Ewell he made a
study (in colour) of a cornfield.... I finished my sonnet, begun on
the 15th, with reference to the wrapper of the proposed magazine. In
the morning Gabriel worked a good deal on the angel’s head, and wrote
the concluding stanza of his French song.
Monday 20th.--Gabriel still at the figure of the angel. Orchard, the
Painter, called in the afternoon, and left Gabriel two sonnets he has
written on his picture....
Saturday 25th.--Gabriel’s picture was sent off to the Marchioness of
Bath. The daguerreotype will be ready on Monday....
Sunday 26th.--Gabriel wrote a sonnet entitled _For the Things of
these Days_[168]....
Tuesday 28th.--... Gabriel thinks of taking, as the incidents for
the two side-pieces in his picture, the Virgin planting a lily and a
rose, and the Virgin in St. John’s house after the crucifixion,[169]
as illustrating the periods of her life before the birth and after
the death of Christ. For the middle compartment, to represent her
during his life, he has not yet settled an incident. He went to see
Woolner, who has finished the first part of _My Lady_, and the poem
is therefore now altogether completed....
Wednesday 29th.--Gabriel thought of taking for the principal
compartment of his commission-picture the eating of the passover by
the Holy Family, in which he proposes to make Zachariah and Elizabeth
joining, as it is said that, if a household were too small for the
purpose, those of a neighbouring household were to be called in. He
made a preliminary sketch of this....
Sunday, August 22nd.--... That this drama[170] gained him great
reputation in many literary circles, though not extensively known by
the public. That Wells married some time after a sister of Williams’s
wife, and settled in Brittany, where he is become a great hunter
and fisher: that, having fallen into some embarrassments, he sent
over to Williams, for him to find a publisher, part of a novel named
_De Clisson_, and other things in prose and poetry; but that he
(Williams) failed generally in his endeavours,--an article entitled
_Boar-hunting in Brittany_ having however been inserted in _Fraser_.
That Mrs. Wells came over recently to offer the _Stories_[171] and
_Joseph_ for republication; but did not succeed. Gabriel hereupon
proposed to make etchings for a new edition, if that might seem
likely to be of any avail, and engaged for Hunt, Millais, and
Woolner, to do the same after Christmas; and Williams says that he
has little doubt but what, with that attraction, a publisher might
be procured; also that he is certain Wells would commit the care of
the edition to Gabriel with complete confidence. Gabriel thinks that,
if each were to do five etchings, and he were to write an elaborate
preface (assuming as an undisputed point the very high character of
the work), and if I, as having more leisure, were to write a full
and minute review soon after the publication, this arrangement would
do. Wells is a most fervent Catholic, but has not (as rumoured)
retired into a convent; which he has compelled two of his daughters
however to do, and urges the third, who was till lately residing with
Williams, to follow their example, to which she is most strongly
opposed. Williams is reader to Smith and Elder, to whom Browning’s
Poems had been offered for republication; when he told them that the
work, as a work, ought to be published, but that he could not advise
it as a pecuniary speculation: he believes that it was published at
the expense of Chapman and Hall, not at Browning’s own cost....
Tuesday 24th.--Gabriel was engaged in the morning looking over and
finishing up his _Vita Nuova_.
Thursday 26th.--I composed a sonnet[172] a few lines of which had
come into my head yesterday, entitled _For the General Oppression
of the better by the worse Cause in July 1849_.... Hunt has been
making the designs for the _Morning_ and _Evening_ commissioned
by Cottingham, which he intends to complete to-morrow morning and
present to him. He says it is his intention, after leaving his
present lodging (which he will do some three weeks hence), to go for
a fortnight into the country, and work on the landscape of his Early
Britons picture, and from there to Paris for about three months to
paint the commissions.
Wednesday, September 12th.--After writing a letter to Woolner[173]
I sat down to think as to a subject for a poem, and without much
trouble invented one, but it is as yet very incomplete and meagre. I
composed 21 lines of it in blank verse....
Thursday 20th.--I had letters from Woolner and Gabriel. Woolner ...
says that he is to receive the money for _Euphrosyne_ from Cottingham
to-day; and that Cottingham has actually advised him to execute in
marble the figure of St. Luke which Gabriel designed some time back
for the picture he contemplated doing of St. Luke preaching, with
pictures of Christ and the Virgin[174].... Gabriel writes that a
printer named Haynes, a friend of Hancock,[175] has introduced him
to Aylott and Jones the publishers, who are quite willing to publish
the _Monthly Thoughts_, on condition of a percentage of ten on the
sale; and that Deverell is making enquiries as to the equity of this
demand....
Sunday 23rd.--A letter arrived from Woolner, informing me that, as
difficulties in keeping back the ardour of our new proprietors begin
to rise up, he and Gabriel have determined on at once making me
Editor, and that the prospectus has been sent off to the printer’s
with my name accordingly, and the title altered to _Thoughts
towards Nature_ (Gabriel’s idea), to obviate the many objections
that have been made to the old title; that he was to dine to-day
with Patmore,[176] who had read his poems, and praised them so
much that he won’t tell me what he said; that he has just returned
unsuccessfully from Cottingham; and that he doubts whether he and
Gabriel will join me here, considering the heavy travelling-expenses.
I answered him, pointing out several reasons why I think the proposal
of publishing my name as Editor should be well reflected on before
being carried out....
Tuesday 25th.--I had a letter from Gabriel in answer to my last to
Woolner. He says that the words “Conducted by Artists,” recently
proposed to be inserted in the title of our magazine, are now to
be left out; and that therefore, as he thinks, there is no further
ground for arguing the question of my name being published as Editor;
that a definite agreement has been made with Aylott and Jones, the
publishers, and that the prospectus is now being printed; that the
1st No. will not appear till December; that he wrote the preceding
night to W. B. Scott, requesting his co-operation; and that Patmore
has seen and appears much pleased with the prospectus, and has given
us a little poem named _The Seasons_ for our 1st No., but with the
proviso that his name shall not transpire, as he means to keep it
back in all instances till the appearance of his new volume. He
praised Woolner’s poems immensely, saying however that they were
sometimes slightly over-passionate, and generally “sculpturesque”
in character.... Gabriel and Hunt are to start shortly for the
continent....
Wednesday 26th.--... Another letter from Gabriel, saying that, as
further delay in starting would inconvenience Hunt, they are to
set off for France and Belgium to-morrow; and that they will, if
possible, pass through Brittany, either going or returning, to see
Charles Wells[177]....
Tuesday 27th.--I had a letter, with a message from Gabriel in
answer to my enquiries, that the table of contents for No. 1 of the
_Thoughts_ remains as before settled, with the addition of Patmore’s
poem and Stephens’s paper on Early Art ...; also that several
are proposing to alter the title of the magazine to _The P.R.B.
Journal_, and desiring me to write my opinion on the subject to
Stephens. This I did accordingly, representing many objections which
appear to me quite decisive, especially connected with the share in
the magazine of some who are not P.R.B.’s. I also wrote Gabriel in
the same sense, requesting his and Hunt’s views of the matter. In
these letters I brought up an old proposal to get “P.R.B.” printed
somewhere on the wrapper--a course to which the same objections do
not apply. I did 116 lines more of my poem....
Friday 28th.--Gabriel left yesterday morning with Hunt for the
continent....
Monday, October 8th.--Collinson, to whom I went in the evening, is
getting on with his _Emigrant’s Letter_; he has done a considerable
part of the window and its adjuncts, finishing up the trees outside
to a pitch of the extremest minuteness; he is advanced with the heads
of the boy writing, and the girl. He has made a sketch in colour for
the picture, and has introduced another boy looking over the one
writing....
Wednesday 10th.--A letter came from Gabriel, who gives me an
elaborate criticism of my blank-verse poem, and sends me five sonnets
he has written--the first suggested by hearing the bells while
ascending to the summit of Notre Dame; the second written leaning
against the July Column, and musing on the Place de la Bastille; the
third concerning “the rate of locomotion which the style of the Old
Masters induces in Hunt and himself at the Louvre”; the fourth on a
picture by Giorgione, of two naked women and two men with musical
instruments; the fifth excited by the disgust he experienced at
witnessing the cancan at Valentino’s. In reference to this last
scene, he declares Gavarni to be “a liar and the father of it.” He
has been to see the working of the Gobelins tapestries, which has
so altered his ideas concerning the matter that he says he shall
probably make an entirely new design for Kate the Queen,[178] when he
is prepared to paint the subject....
Saturday 13th.--At Stephens’s I saw Hunt’s and Gabriel’s letters. The
former says that they are to leave Paris on Saturday for Brussels.
The latter sends three sonnets--the first, _Whilst waiting for
the train to Versailles_, being imitated from the introduction to
Tennyson’s _Godiva_, the second, _On the road to and in the Garden of
Versailles_; the last, _On a Dance of Nymphs by Mantegna_....
Sunday 14th.--I read through _Joseph and his Brethren_, which is
a glorious work, but, in passages, decidedly too full of images,
laboured description, &c. From my old schoolfellow Nussey--to whom I
went in the evening, and who is to subscribe to the _Thoughts_, and
get as many subscribers at Oxford as he can--I heard some particulars
of the poet Clough,[179] who had been Tutor in the College to which
he (Nussey) belongs....
Monday 15th.--I called at Millais’s house, and was told that the
period of his return is quite undecided. He is now at the house of a
Mr. Wyatt,[180] having left Mr. Drury’s some weeks ago--who offered
to fit up for him a suite of apartments where he might establish
himself and work.--Ford Brown, to whose study I went in the evening,
and Cave Thomas whom I met there, will subscribe....
Thursday 18th.--Woolner ... has begun a medallion portrait of
Patmore, who has given him three sittings, beginning on Sunday, and
who says he thinks he may probably induce Tennyson, when in London,
to sit to him likewise.... Being alone together (with Hunt, Millais,
and Gabriel, out of hearing), we had some conversation concerning
republicanism, universal suffrage, &c....
Thursday, 1st November.--In the morning Gabriel called on Millais,
and saw a design he has made of the Holy Family. Christ, having
pricked his hand with a nail (in symbol of the nailing to the
cross), is being anxiously examined by Joseph, who is pulling his
hand backwards, while he, unheeding this, kisses the Virgin with
his arm round her neck. Millais thinks of painting this for the
Exhibition[181]....
Friday 2nd.--Woolner’s “character” was sent him by Donovan.[182]
It embodies generally the observations he made at the time of the
consultation, and ascribes to him a large amount of caution, which
Woolner considers to be a correct judgment. In some points, however,
he appears decidedly mistaken. After discussing this, we went
together to Coventry Patmore’s. The first thing we heard was that his
doctor had forbidden him to write in the evening for some time. He is
now about to read up for two articles on Russia he intends to write
for _The North British_ and _The British Quarterly_ respectively.
He says he has some doubt whether one of the little poems he has
given us for the _Thoughts_--which of them he is not certain--did
not appear in some musical magazine. We had an argument as to
whether Browning would be _the_ man some twenty years hence, Patmore
expressing an adverse opinion. He remarked that Browning appears to
him like a chip from a very perfect precious stone; intense, but not
broad in range of subject, nor sufficiently finished. He considers
_A Soul’s Tragedy_ to be a splendid title spoiled (!). _Sordello_ he
has never read. _Paracelsus_ he admires with a reservation. Two of
the short pieces he particularly remembers with pleasure are _How
they brought the good news from Ghent to Aix_, and _Saul_.... He does
not place Browning so high as Tennyson. I saw Tennyson’s MS. book of
elegies on young Hallam, which are to be published some day....
Tuesday 6th.--Looked over a house in Cheyne Walk, Chelsea,[183] with
which they, and Stephens who was with them, were greatly taken. It is
capable of furnishing four good studios, with a bedroom, and a little
room that would do for a library, attached to each. There is also
an excellent look-out on the river. The rent, £70. In the evening,
we all (except Millais) congregated at Woolner’s, and discussed
the matter. Gabriel, Hunt, and myself, think of going at once, and
Stephens and Collinson would join after April. We think likewise of
getting Deverell. “P.R.B.” might be written on the bell, and stand
for “please ring the bell” to the profane. Among other subjects,
we spoke of not admitting anything at all referring to politics or
religion into our magazine, and decided on cutting out the sonnets
_For the Things of these Days_[184] we have hitherto intended to
insert in the first number....
Wednesday 7th.--This was the evening fixed for Millais’s and
Gabriel’s introduction to Patmore, at Woolner’s study. Gabriel and
I went, and Patmore came, but Millais appeared not. We conversed a
good deal of Woolner’s poems, which Patmore says are so good that he
is surprised they should not be much better. He insists strongly on
the necessity of never leaving a poem till the whole of it be brought
to a pitch of excellence perfectly satisfactory; in this respect
of general equality, and also in regard to metre, he finds much to
object to in Woolner’s poem of _My Lady_, and considers that these
defects are far less prominent in some passages of _Friendship_[185]
that were read to him. Henry Taylor, he says, ought to devote ten
more years to _Philip Van Artevelde_, and it would then be qualified
to live. He himself spent about a year (from the age of sixteen to
seventeen) on _The River_, with which, and _The Woodman’s Daughter_,
he is contented in point of finish. _Lilian_ and _Sir Hubert_ were
written in a great hurry for the Publisher. He read Gabriel’s sonnets
on Ingres’s picture of _Roger and Angelica_, and was much struck with
the character they possess of being descriptive of a painting....
Thursday 8th.--Deverell will manage to join us at once in the house
at Chelsea; but on reflection the expense begins to look rather
formidable. I called on Millais, to ask him to Patmore’s.... I saw
his design of Christ in his childhood, to be painted for the next
Exhibition, and the calotype made of his last picture.... Patmore,
talking of Philip Bailey, remarked that he seems to be “painting on
clouds, not having his foot on reality.” Burns he considers more
perfect than Tennyson. Gabriel wrote three stanzas of _Bride-Chamber
Talk_. At Patmore’s we heard of the reported death of Edgar Poe,
concerning which some suspicions of suicide exist.
Friday 9th.--... As the feasibility of taking the Chelsea house looks
very questionable now, considering the expense, Gabriel and Hunt
spent all the early part of the day looking for lodgings and studios
about Chelsea, Brompton, etc.
Saturday 10th.--Gabriel found a studio at No. 72 Newman Street. The
rent asked is £30, but he succeeded in bringing it down to £28. He
is to see further about it to-morrow. He wrote to Hunt to ask whether
he can join him in his tenancy....
Sunday 11th.--I went to Millais in the morning, and find that he has
altered the position of the legs of Ferdinand. Last night he wrote
some stanzas of his poem, of which he says he has now done certainly
upwards of a hundred lines--perhaps much more, as he has never
counted. In the afternoon Gabriel came, and read all the poetry he
wrote abroad. He had been to Newman Street, and decided on taking the
study. We went to Harris’s[186] in the evening, and were told that
he had occupied the same study some time at a rent of £40, whereas
Gabriel has made the landlord accept £26....
Monday 12th.--... Woolner has been hard at work these two days on
his new figure in sculpture, which he has blocked out in clay.
Patmore called on him yesterday, and talked of my poem,[187] in
which he finds a most objectionable absence of moral dignity, all
the characters being puny and destitute of elevation. He means
nevertheless to read it through again, that he may be able to judge
of it in detail without looking so much to the scope--or want of
scope. These are very much the objections that we had all foreseen,
and acquiesce in....
Thursday 15th.--Gabriel got the paper stretched for of his study. He
and I saw Hunt, who has suited himself somewhere in Bayswater....
Thursday 15th.--Gabriel got the paper stretched for the nude cartoon
he intends to make for his picture of the Passover, and began drawing
the figure of Christ from a little boy whom Collinson discovered
some time ago, and whom he has painted in his _Emigrant’s Letter_.
Gabriel wrote to Miss Atwell to come to-morrow, as he wants her
for the figure of the Virgin. We went in the evening to Calder
Campbell,[188] who offers his services for our Magazine, and will
hunt up subscribers....
Sunday 18th.--Gabriel began at his design for _Paolo and Francesca_,
but did scarcely anything. We therefore read away at Browning,
Tennyson, Lowell, and the _Stories after Nature_.
Monday 19th.--Gabriel was occupied about his design.... To-night was
a P.R.B. meeting at Millais’s, at which we were all present with
the exception of Woolner.... Millais means to make the spirits in
the air[189] half human and half like birds. His brother has begun
painting a little from still life etc., and Millais intends to get
him to do landscape-pieces. Hunt has gone on with his etching.
Stephens is still engaged during the day at the Museum. He offers
to draw-in the perspective scale in Gabriel’s picture.... We
discussed two or three points concerning the magazine. First, that of
advertising; and it was unanimously considered that, as anything of
the kind would, to be effective, swallow up some £10 or £15 without
doubt, it will be as well to drop it altogether. In the second place,
as regards the big “P.R.B.” printed at the head of the prospectus.
To this Hunt now most strenuously objects[190].... After our return
Gabriel continued making sketches for his design. He intends that
the picture should be in three compartments. In the middle, Paolo
and Francesca kissing; on the left, Dante and Virgil in the second
circle; on the right, the spirits blowing to and fro....
[Illustration: (Alfred Tennyson, sketch by Dante Gabriel Rossetti)]
Thursday 22nd.--Patmore, Cross, Millais, Gabriel, and myself, were
at Woolner’s; Hunt did not appear. A long argument was maintained
concerning poetry--Patmore professing that Burns is a greater poet
than Tennyson, in which opinion Tennyson himself fully concurs.
Patmore instanced, as a line of unsurpassable beauty, “With joy
unfeigned brothers and sisters meet,” from _The Cottar’s Saturday
Night_. He says that Tennyson is the greatest _man_ he ever came in
contact with, far greater in his life than in his writing--perfectly
sincere and frank, never paying uncandid compliments. Browning takes
more pains to please, and is altogether much more a man of the world.
Patmore thinks that Browning does not value himself at so high a
point as he is rated by Gabriel and me. Patmore holds the age of
narrative poetry to be passed for ever, and thinks that probably
none such will again appear; he considers _Peter Bell_, though most
vexatiously imperfect, to be the opening of a new era. He looks on
the present race of poets as highly “self-conscious” in comparison
with their predecessors, but yet not sufficiently so for the only
system now possible--the psychological. The conversation taking a
religious turn, he said that the devil is the only being purely
reasoning and analytic, and _therefore_ is the devil; and he would
have every man hold to the faith he is born in, as, if he attempts
to get beyond its bounds, he will be far more likely to be a rebel
than a seeker after truth,[191] and should not attempt to pull down
without having something to build anew. He thinks Millais’s picture
far better than anything Keats ever did,[192] and that he is adapted
to usher in a new style which will eventually educate the people
into taste, and make his works some day as popular and saleable as
Barraud’s _We Praise Thee, O God_.[193] One of the chief curses of
the day he considers to be that every one is critical. Of the poets
of this and the last generation he says that they are “all nerves
and no hearts.” He fraternized with Cross, in whom he sees some
resemblance to David Scott, the recently dead brother of W. B.... We
had some talk of ghosts, to a belief in which Patmore does not see
any obstacles. Millais related a singular story on the subject he
heard at Oxford, and Woolner some experiences of his own immediate
relations and friends. Millais, as we walked home, unburdened himself
of his observations and conclusions, and declared that, if he had
seen Patmore’s hand alone cut off, he could have sworn to it as that
of a man of genius. His sayings concerning Burns, Keats, Tennyson,
etc., are bitter in his belly as wormwood. Gabriel and I sat up to
read the _Cottar’s Saturday Night_, and failed to realize to our
apprehensions its extraordinary excellence....
Saturday 25th.--Gabriel began making a sketch for _The Annunciation_.
The Virgin is to be in bed, but without any bedclothes on, an
arrangement which may be justified in consideration of the hot
climate; and the angel Gabriel is to be presenting a lily to her. The
picture, and its companion of the Virgin’s Death,[194] will be almost
entirely white. At Stephens’ two Tuppers only were present. John
Tupper read his poem, which is exceedingly clever:[195] it borders
nevertheless on the ultra-peculiar.... Hunt, who came late in the
evening, is getting on with his etching, of which there remains now
not much to be done....
Friday, December 7th.--... Just as Tennyson was leaving, Patmore
fixed him, and made him promise to sit to Woolner.... Millais has
redesigned the subject of _Christ in Joseph’s Workshop_; the picture
of _Ferdinand_ is not very far from finished.
Saturday 8th.--Gabriel had Maitland to sit to him for the angel
Gabriel in _The Annunciation_. He has recently written various new
stanzas of _Bride-Chamber Talk_. Woolner came in the evening,
when Gabriel read _The Princess_ through to him, and both of them
pronounced it the finest poem since Shakespeare, superior even to
_Sordello_. To this latter opinion I demur....
Monday 10th.--... Collinson, after he shall have finished his
paintings for this year, means to set to work on the subject of _St.
Elizabeth of Hungary_ taking off her crown before the crucifix. We
talked about the magazine, and are quite unanimous in considering
that the first number must appear; but all except Stephens and myself
are somewhat inclined to drop it after that, whether successful or
not. We are also disposed to abide by the title _Thoughts towards
Nature_, notwithstanding Cave Thomas’s proposal of _The Seed_.
We debated the propriety of having an article explanatory of the
principles in Art of the P.R.B.; but, as so many papers in the first
number are to treat of Art, and as the point will necessarily be
brought forward incidentally, it is not thought needful.
Thursday 13th.--... Patmore was at Woolner’s last night, and read
him Poe’s tales to his own great satisfaction. He considers Poe the
best writer that America has produced. He is in a state of some
indignation at a book that has been lately published in America by
Thomas Powell; wherein himself, Tennyson, Browning, and others with
whom he is not conscious of Powell’s having ever met, are spoken of.
Gabriel showed him _My Sister’s Sleep_, which he approves in respect
of sentiment, but says that it contains several lines that will
not scan, and that it is too self-conscious in parts, as in the “I
believe” of the first stanza, and in “I think that my lips did not
stir.” Among the new things Tennyson is putting into _The Princess_
are, I was told, passages to show where one person leaves off and
another takes up the story; the alterations will be not in abridgment
but in extension. He is to leave London shortly for a little while,
and to return about Christmas, close upon which the new edition of
_The Princess_ will be published....
Saturday 15th.--... We settled to print the magazine with George
Tupper. An objection was raised by Stephens to the publication of
his name, and it was arranged that the question should be submitted
to the arbitration of the P.R.B.... On making out a list of the
materials actually at our disposal, we find that we have enough
for the second and half of the third numbers, by making a somewhat
different arrangement from that at first contemplated; as there is
some fear of Gabriel’s being unable, through press of time as regards
his picture, to get the _Bride-Chamber Talk_ finished for number
two.... Woolner was prevented from coming to Stephens’ by having a
sitting from Tennyson for to-night....
Sunday 16th.--... Gabriel ... drew a little on the design of _Giotto
painting Dante’s Portrait_, which he is finishing up for Stephens.
Millais dropped in, and says he has been again to the Carpenter’s
shop for the picture of Christ in his childhood, and that he will
begin at it on Thursday.... In the evening Stephens came to Gabriel’s
study to do his perspective....
Monday 17th.--... Gabriel ... resumed writing at his tale, _Hand and
Soul_, and did some little in continuation. Woolner ... is to have a
sitting again to-night from Tennyson....
Tuesday 18th.--Woolner not having made his appearance, I went
again to try my chance of finding him, and at last succeeded. His
delay has arisen from the second part of his poem not having yet
been copied out or considered for final revision. The former task
I performed, and the latter was achieved by our joint exertions.
His medallion of Tennyson is well forward, the head requiring but
little more: the hair, however, is only begun. It will have to be
suspended for a short time, as Tennyson has left town, and will not
be back till about Sunday, when he thinks of remaining for a month
or so longer. His poem of King Arthur is not yet commenced, though
he has been for years past maturing the conception of it; and he
intends that it should occupy him some fifteen years. His poem, “Thou
might’st have won the poet’s name,” was, he says, written in a fit
of intense disgust after reading Medwin’s book about Byron. He has
seen the poem I have reviewed in our first number, _The Bothie of
Toper-na-fuosich_, and considers it to be execrable English. He likes
Woolner’s bas-relief of _Iris_, but says he cannot understand the
_Puck_.[196] Gabriel began to paint the head of the Virgin in his
picture of _The Annunciation_.
Wednesday 19th.--I delivered to George Tupper Woolner’s poem and
Patmore’s _Seasons_, with which he will make a beginning; but he
warns me that we must get our materials together with all possible
speed, as, next week being Christmas week, it is almost impracticable
to get his people to work. In the evening we had a meeting in
Gabriel’s study, where, besides the whole P.R.B., the two Tuppers,
Deverell, Hancock, and Cave Thomas, as being persons interested in
the magazine, were present. The latter brought the commencement of an
opening address he is writing for No. 1.... Ford Brown came in at a
late hour, and showed us a sonnet which he has composed on _The Love
of Beauty_, and which we will find room for in the first number. I
gave George Tupper my review, which will (he calculates) occupy at
least some eighteen pages; also our sister’s poem of _Dreamland_. It
was proposed by Woolner, and carried without opposition except a very
strong one by myself, that our names should not be published; and
another point in which all present came to the vote was the title to
be finally adopted. _The Seed_ was set aside in favour of _The Germ_;
and this was near being superseded by _The Scroll_ (also Thomas’s
invention),[197] but was finally fixed on by six to four. Gabriel is
to do his best to have _Hand and Soul_ completed in time. His morning
had been devoted to painting on the Virgin’s head.
Thursday 20th.--Gabriel set hard to work at _Hand and Soul_; or at
least the spirit was willing, but the flesh was weak against Maitland
in the morning, who was engaged in putting together a screen, and
against Clayton, North, and Bliss, in the evening.[198]
Friday 21st.--... I went to Seddon’s, where Cave Thomas had arranged
to meet me with his contribution; but, as he did not come, ... I
called in at his house. I found him writing the last words of the
prefatory address, which I took with me.... Gabriel had been all
day at his tale, and sat up at it all night as well, without going
to bed. By this means he was enabled to finish the narrative, and
nothing remained except the epilogue. I copied out such part as
required it to be fit for printing....
Saturday 22nd.--The proof of the first sheet ... comprises Thomas’s
address, Woolner’s poem, Brown’s sonnet, and begins Tupper’s
contribution. As Woolner’s poem commences at the back of Thomas’s
address, and as it is thought desirable that the etching should front
what it belongs to, we agreed that it should be inserted opposite the
first page of the poem, instead of immediately inside the cover.
Sunday 23rd.--Gabriel ... has again got some idea of painting the
subject of Francesca of Rimini, instead of what he is now doing;
making an alteration in the action, and relinquishing, for want of
time, the two proposed side-pieces, of Dante and Virgil, and the
spirits in hell. His reasons for thinking of giving up the Virgin
subjects for the present are the fear of being too late to get them
finished, and the want of a satisfactory design for the Annunciation,
and of any design at all for the Death....
Monday 24th.--... Hunt has been told by Millais that Mr. Wyatt, of
Oxford, wants to have some proof-impressions of the etching, for
sale; and Hunt thinks of having some fifty or so printed on fine
large paper, to be sold at 3s. or 4s. each. A third impression has
been made of the etching, which Gabriel has seen, and considers a
most striking improvement. Hunt is about to leave his lodgings at
Brompton, which he finds inconveniently small for painting, and will
look out for others in the same neighbourhood or at Bayswater.
Wednesday 26th.--... Gabriel continued painting on the head of the
Virgin, having resolved to go on with that picture.
Thursday 27th.--To-night we had the proof of the last sheet,
containing the end of Gabriel’s tale and my review. The latter
however is still, after all my reductions, too long, and exceeds
the limits of the number by about a page and a half. Under these
circumstances it is thought advisable to omit Thomas’s opening
address, especially considering certain strong objections urged
against it by Hunt and Stephens. This, besides making room for the
whole of the review in its present shape, will enable us to insert
Tupper’s little poem, _A Sketch from Nature_, and our sister’s _An
End_.... Gabriel ... did four stanzas of _Bride-Chamber Talk_.
Friday 28th.--Hunt called here. Having been disappointed of a model
this morning, he has been catching sparrows in a trap, and painting
from them--afterwards decorating their heads with green, and sending
them on their way rejoicing.... He understands from Millais that
the printseller at Oxford is likely to want not more than some ten
or twelve copies of his etching.... Aleck Tupper brought us the
second proof of the last sheet.... Thus then, after many changes
and counter-changes, will stand the contents of _The Germ_, No.
1.--Woolner’s _My Lady_, Ford Brown’s _Love of Beauty_, Tupper’s
_Subject in Art_, Patmore’s _Seasons_, our sister’s _Dreamland_,
Gabriel’s _My Sister’s Sleep_ and _Hand and Soul_, my review of
_The Bothie_, and sonnet _Her First Season_, Tupper’s _Sketch from
Nature_, and our sister’s _An End_. Gabriel wrote a short poem,
_Lines and Music_.
Saturday 29th.--... Millais ... says he has begun his picture
from the childhood of Christ, and is going to have a bed in the
carpenter’s shop he paints from, so as to be able to set to work
early in the morning.... Millais’s brother continues to paint
still life and objects in Nature with great success, and is
determined to become a professional Artist. John is to bully him into
doing nothing all next summer but paint out in the fields. Gabriel
had Maitland to sit for his picture, but found him useless, and he
thinks of beginning to paint from me to-morrow....
Sunday 30th.--Gabriel drew-in the head of the Angel (from me) in his
picture. In the evening we went to Bateman’s with Millais, who has
finished the _Ferdinand and Ariel_, all except something more he
means to do to the background. He is going to send to the British
Institution a small painting he did at Oxford, of Mr. Drury and a
grand-daughter of his, for which he asks me to write an illustrative
sonnet.[199]
Monday 31st.--To-day before noon fifty copies of _The Germ_ were in
the hands of the Publishers; I took home with me twelve.... I wrote
to Thomas explaining the circumstances which compelled us to omit his
article....
* * * * *
1850.--Tuesday, January 1st.--The fifty India-paper copies of the
etching printing off for the magazine having been bound in, I took
some of them home: however they are not generally superior to those
on common paper. This was the day appointed (in lieu of yesterday,
which was found unsuitable) for our first anniversary meeting at
Stephens’s--fixed on the last day of 1848 for the last day of each
succeeding year. Millais and Woolner were prevented from attending.
We settled to what magazines and newspapers to send _The Germ_, and
to what private gentlemen and authors--viz.: Sir Robert Peel, Lord
John Russell.... [here comes a tear in the MS.]
Saturday 5th.--Gabriel went to see Hunt, who removed this evening
from Brompton to Prospect Place, Cheyne Walk, Chelsea....
Monday 7th.--... Deverell called on Gabriel, and told him that the
porter at Somerset House, who supplies the School of Design Students
with stationery &c., would be very likely to get off some of _The
Germ_; and it is arranged to let him have fifty, on the understanding
that, if he succeeds with the whole number, he is to have 10s., in
which case we might probably try it on with another fifty. Hunt, in
coming to Gabriel, sold twelve copies out of nineteen; and I left
three with a bookseller on trial. I had a letter from Mr. Clapp,[200]
the American we met at Patmore’s, sending me for insertion a short
poem of his own, _My Gentle Friend_, which he says has already
appeared in an obscure provincial Temperance-paper. If we should not
be inclined to put it in, this will be excuse sufficient. I paid for
the insertion of a second advertisement in the _Athenæum_.
Tuesday 8th.--George Tupper suggested to me the great propriety
of sending about _The Germ_ to the principal Club-houses. I
accordingly made out a list of twenty-one, which I gave to the
Publisher.... Another letter from Mr. Clapp, who says he has
“enlisted on our behalf some of the most enlightened minds he has
met with in England,” and that he intends to make _The Germ_ subject
of “inter-friendly correspondence” in Scotland and America. Gabriel
borrowed a lay figure from Barbe’s, and began on the drapery of the
Virgin....
Thursday 10th.--Gabriel had a large meeting at his studio,
including--besides the P.R.B.--Thomas, Brown, Tupper, Dickinson, &c.
&c. Collinson brought the remainder of _The Child Jesus_.[201] Two or
three matters concerning _The Germ_ were resolved on: such as to send
out more copies to literary men &c., and to magazines, and to try to
introduce it among Artists’ Colourmen. Ford Brown also will write for
No. 2 an article on the painting of a historical picture....
Friday 11th.--I copied out and left with Tupper, in conjunction with
Collinson’s poem, two little songs of our sister’s, one of which is
to be introduced into the 2nd No. Another thing to be put in is a
sonnet that Calder Campbell has sent Gabriel.
Friday 11th.--All the P.R.B. was at Ford Brown’s, with several
others, to induct him properly into his new rooms in Newman
Street.... Millais has been knocked up these two or three days with
colds caught at his carpenter’s shop. He has sent off his picture
to the British Institution, with my sonnet as title. He has thrown
up the commission for his _Ferdinand and Ariel_, as Mr. Wethered,
among other things on which they did not come to terms perfectly
satisfactory to Millais, expressed some doubts of the greenness of
his fairies, and wished to have them more sylph-like.... Stephens
says he has by this time disposed of thirty _Germs_....
Tuesday 15th.--W. B. Scott (to whom Gabriel wrote some days ago,
sending a copy of _The Germ_, and requesting contributions) answered,
enclosing two poems, viz.: a sonnet, _Early Aspirations_, and a
blank-verse piece, _Morning Sleep_. The latter, which is gloriously
fine, must absolutely come into No. 2....
Wednesday 16th.--... Gabriel ... in the evening began a rough sketch
of a design for my _Plain Story_, which (it is likely) may appear in
our 4th No., and which he thinks of illustrating. Collinson was at
his studio all day, working on the etching[202].... I had a letter
from Stephens, giving me a list of the subscribers he has obtained,
and suggesting that we need not print so many as 700 copies of No. 2:
300 would, he thinks, suffice. In answering him I concurred in the
reasonableness of the suggestion, but consider that 400 will not be
too much....
Thursday 17th.--George Tupper ... advises that 500 copies should be
published of the 2nd No., to which I agreed....
Friday 18th.--This was to have been a P.R.B. meeting at Collinson’s,
but the day turned out so intensely sloshy that only Hunt and I kept
the appointment.... We had some argument concerning the limitability
of the P.R.B.: Hunt maintaining that it ought inviolably to consist
of the present Members, for which Collinson and I do not see any very
cogent necessity....
Monday 21st.--By enquiry at the Publisher’s I learn that he has sold
120 or 130 copies, which is at least as good as I looked for. He sent
me a letter he has received from a Mr. Bellamy, Secretary to the
National Club (to which I sent a copy), advising him to send one to
the Proprietor of _The John Bull_.... Yesterday’s _Dispatch_ contains
a few words in praise of No. 1....
Tuesday 22nd.--Ford Brown showed Gabriel his article _On the
Mechanism of a Historical Picture_. He will finish it and copy it
out, and is to let Gabriel have it back to-morrow. After dinner I
went for the first time to see Hunt at his new lodgings, 5 Prospect
Place, Cheyne Walk, Chelsea, where he seems very comfortably
settled. He has made a good deal of substantial progress with his
picture; of which, since I saw it last, he has done some more figures
in the background, the boy listening on the floor, the straw &c. on
the roof, with some sparrows in it, and something of the view outside
the hut. The figure he is now painting at is that of the foremost
man pushing at the door. Whilst I was there he went on working upon
a stump of a beech-tree which forms one of the supports of the hut,
and on which he means to paint a net hanging.... Stephens came with
John Tupper, who read, and left with me, a poem of his written on
Penge Wood. This, should there be room for it, will come into No.
2[203].... At half-past ten o’clock Hunt was requested to allow his
gas to be turned off, as the family were about to go to bed!! which
did not exactly meet his views or intentions....
Wednesday 23rd.--... A letter to “The Editor of _The Germ_” reached
me through the Publisher. It is from a Mr. G. Bellamy (a relative, I
presume,[204] of the other Mr. Bellamy) addressed from the British
Museum, expressing the highest admiration of the poetry of the
magazine, and begging the favour of an introduction to the author, as
he conceives it to be all by the same person. I answered to thank
him, and to say that I would call with Woolner as soon as I could
find time....
Friday 25th.--... Gabriel finished up his _Blessed Damozel_, to which
he added two stanzas. A letter came from “Shirt-Collar Hall,”[205]
acknowledging the receipt of a copy of _The Germ_ which was sent him
on Saturday; complimenting those engaged in it, who will, he says, be
“the future great artists of the age and country”; and promising that
it shall be reviewed in the _Art Journal_ for March, as it came too
late for next month’s No.
Saturday 26th.--... A note also came from Heraud[206] acknowledging
a _Germ_ which Campbell had left with him, and asking me to tea on
Tuesday. Gabriel sent Tupper an additional stanza for _The Blessed
Damozel_....
Sunday 27th.--Gabriel went on with the drapery of his picture.
Stephens called on him in the evening, when it was determined that
the authors’ names shall be published in our future Nos. For our
Sister Gabriel invented the name “Ellen Alleyn.” ... I had a letter
from Clough, conveying his thanks to me for the copy of _The Germ_
and the criticism.[207]
Monday 28th.--Collinson saw Gabriel, and showed him the new
impression (the fourth) of his etching, which is a great advance on
all the preceding ones. Gabriel wrote one more stanza of his _Blessed
Damozel_....
Tuesday 29th.--At Heraud’s, to whom I went, I met Westland Marston,
who asked me to his house for to-morrow. Heraud complimented us a
great deal on _The Germ_.... Hervey, the Editor of _The Athenæum_,
came in rather late. Soon after we had been introduced, he explained
to me that the reason why he had neglected many months ago to answer
the letters that I sent him concerning certain poems had offered
for _The Athenæum_,[208] was that he wished to call and explain
personally why he felt unable to insert them, viz.: on account of
their being too Tennysonian; and that his many engagements had
prevented him from fulfilling his intention till too late. He asked
me to call on him any Saturday or Sunday.... George Patten[209] was
there, and Miss Glyn the Actress, who promised to subscribe to _The
Germ_.
Wednesday 30th.--I found the invitation to Marston to be to a regular
evening party. On leaving I presented him with a copy of _The Germ_,
and he asked me to call some day when I might find him alone. Hervey,
in talking with me, maintained that _Sordello_ is absolute nonsense,
and said he has no patience with men who write in that style. He
tells me also that before publishing it Browning asked his friends
whether it was intelligible, and that they informed him it was; in
consequence of which, the result having proved the contrary, he
became somewhat indignant against them. I left with the Publisher a
list of twenty-five newspapers, magazines, &c., to which No. 2 is to
be sent. He tells me that he has sold some 70 copies of No. 1--not
120 or 130, as I heard some time back....
Thursday 31st.--Appeared No. 2 of _The Germ_--containing Collinson’s
_Child Jesus_; _A Pause of Thought_, _A Song_, and the _Testimony_,
by our sister; Stephens’s article _The Purpose and Tendency of Early
Italian Art_; Scott’s _Morning Sleep_; a sonnet by Calder Campbell;
Patmore’s _Stars and Moon_; Brown’s _Mechanism of a Historical
Picture_; my _Fancies at Leisure_ (including the _Sheer Waste_,
for which room was found at last), and my review of _The Strayed
Reveller_; Deverell’s sonnets, _The Sight Beyond_; and Gabriel’s
_Blessed Damozel_. Stephens figures as “John Seward,” as he does not
wish his own name to appear. Tupper’s articles in the 1st No. also
remain by his desire anonymous.... George Tupper gave me his bill for
No. 1, amounting, on a scale even below his original estimate, to
£19. 1s. 6d., from which he will deduct five per cent. for discount,
leaving £18. 2s. 6d. It now becomes a most momentous question whether
we shall be in a position to bring out a 3rd No. The chance seems but
very doubtful--quite beyond a doubt, unless No. 2 sells much better
than its predecessor, and of this we see but little likelihood. Even
if it does appear, we shall probably have to postpone the publication
of _Bride-Chamber Talk_, which Gabriel cannot write at much, having
to paint his picture: in which case, my _Plain Story of Life_ will
probably be substituted. I spoke to the Publisher about pushing the
sale of No. 2, and he promised to introduce it, on sale or return,
among his customers in the trade.
Friday, 1st February.--... By Campbell’s advice I left one of each
No. at the house of Mr. Cox, Editor of _The Critic_, to whom Campbell
had spoken of it.... Gabriel finished the drapery of the Virgin in
his picture; whereupon he immediately deranged the position of the
lay figure, so as to preclude himself from the possibility of working
at it any more....
Saturday 2nd.--... In the evening we had a full P.R.B. meeting at
Gabriel’s.... Millais has had his picture back from the British
Institution--on account of its being in reality a portrait, we
conclude--and will send it to the Academy.... Millais has had an
offer from Oxford to paint a copy of a portrait by Holbein; which,
as he does not feel disposed to accept, he offered to Stephens, who
will do it after the opening of the Exhibition. We consulted about
_The Germ_, and are unanimously of opinion that it will not reach
another No. Calculating the number of copies sold among ourselves as
ninety-five (not I think more than in fact) and by the publisher as
seventy (from which profits we shall have to deduct some few personal
expenses, which can scarcely amount to 15s.) it seems that the
expense to each of us beyond the receipts will be £1. 15s. 5¼d. This
is a kind of experiment that won’t bear repetition more than once or
twice.[210] The next meeting is fixed for Monday at Millais’s. On
coming home I found a letter from Mr. Cox, of _The Critic_, proposing
that, in case _The Germ_ should not continue (as he considers
probable), one of the Art-writers in it, or I, should write on the
same subject for his paper; in which case he says he would resign
the entire management of the articles on Art, the exhibitions &c. He
would not be able, however, to offer any remuneration in cash. His
proposal is not, I think, disadvantageous for the P.R.B., as it would
enable us to review the exhibitions in our own feeling, and might
besides lead to some other literary employment. I answered that I
would consult the others (Brown, Stephens, and Tupper), and, if they
should not undertake it, that I would accept....
Monday 4th.--Gabriel and I went together to the British Institution,
of which this is the first day, as I wish to write something in the
way of notice in the event of my being retained on _The Critic_....
Tuesday 5th.--I began writing my notice of the British Institution.
Gabriel assumed the responsibility of F. S.[211] and a few others....
Wednesday 6th.--John Tupper resigns in my favour; and Stephens wrote
me to the same effect, but offering his co-operation in any way he
might be wanted....
Thursday 7th.--Woolner and I went to Patmore’s, to whom I gave some
_Germs_, and his own poems. He likes the _Testimony_, which is he
says in the style which should be adopted in hymns &c., to make them
good. Says that there are very fine things in Gabriel’s _Blessed
Damozel_, and speaks highly of Stephens’s article.... He says that
William Allingham has promised some contributions; but these will
probably not be available....
Saturday 9th.--I saw the publisher about the sale of the 2nd _Germ_,
and am informed that some forty copies or so have sold, and that the
1st No. also continues to go off every now and then. This is the last
knockdown blow. We certainly cannot attempt a 3rd No. Woolner and I
went to Stephens. He showed us the design he has made of _The Marquis
dining in Griseldis’ Father’s House_, Griseldis attending, which
he means to paint; also two other designs from Chaucer--_Griseldis
parting from her Child_, and _The Revellers meeting Death_. Gabriel
got some stuff for the chasuble in which he means to drape his
angel....
Monday 11th.--... This was a P.R.B. night at Millais’s, where all
were present except Collinson.... Millais has very high accounts,
from Oxford and elsewhere, of the estimation in which Collinson’s
poem is held....
Tuesday 12th.--Gabriel ... in the evening ... was engaged with
Hannay, Clapp, North, and others; and I with the Museum Mr. Bellamy,
who has got us reviewed in _The John Bull_--the critic himself
not having looked at the book, but trusting entirely to Bellamy’s
report....
Friday 15th.--... I went in the evening, by invitation, to the
house of Mr. Bellamy, where I read the _John Bull_ notice of _The
Germ_. Mr. Bellamy seemed really to regret the apparently inevitable
death of _The Germ_; and took a copy of each No. to send to Justice
Talfourd, with whom he is intimate, and who might, he thinks,
probably do something for it....
Saturday 16th.--My review of the British Institution Exhibition
(first half) appears in _The Critic_ of to-day; also a notice of _The
Germ_, quoting four of the poems. George Tupper called on me in the
morning, and said that he and his brother,[212] looking with regret
at the _Germ_ failure, propose to carry it on at their own risk for
a No. or two longer, to give it a fair trial; when it would have a
better chance of success, through their being able to send about the
subscribers’ copies, to advertise by posters, &c. This I consider
a very friendly action on their part. I wrote at his request to
convene all the hitherto proprietors, and saw the publisher about
the sale of Nos. 1 and 2. It appears from what he says that he must
have sold not much less than 100 of the 1st, but the 2nd he states
goes off less well. All the P.R.B.’s came to Gabriel’s study at night
to talk the matter over.... It seems more than doubtful whether the
3rd No. can come out at the end of this month. Another point raised
was about the publisher. There was some talk of Tupper’s publishing
himself, but this does not seem very likely to be carried out....
Sunday 17th.--... We thus find ourselves docked of the two poems
on which we had to rely for Nos. 3 and 4. However, as there was no
help for it, we set to thinking how to manage with this deficiency.
The first thing thought of was Gabriel’s _Dante in Exile_, but
this he is unwilling to have printed until he shall have been able
to give it full consideration as a whole--besides its connexion
with his translation of the _Vita Nuova_, separated from which,
he thinks some allusions in the poem scarcely intelligible. His
_Jane’s Portrait_[213] was then discussed. This however is too much
like Woolner’s _My Lady in Death_ as regards subject; nor does
Gabriel think it good enough as a specimen of his powers. The last
suggestion was that Woolner should look up that part of his old
poem of _Hubert_,[214] which describes the lovers’ meeting, and see
whether it can be got into shape as complete in itself....
Monday 18th.--In default of any adequate poem, I looked up my
sister’s old thing, named _An Argument_,[215] which is at least long
enough and in a narrative form. Tupper, to whom I read it, is very
much delighted with it; but the fact is, it is not quite up to the
mark.
Tuesday 19th.--... Gabriel, coming home from Brown’s, told me he had
there met Robert Dickinson, who has undertaken the publication of
_The Germ_. This is the best thing that could have happened for it
perhaps.
Wednesday 20th.--Patmore sent me his paper on Macbeth; which is
devoted to showing that the idea of obtaining the crown was not
suggested to Macbeth by the Witches, but had been previously
contemplated by him. It is very acute and well written, and will fill
some twenty pages. Our difficulties as to illustrations continue.
The only plans we have thought of are either to make an etching for
our sister’s poem in two compartments--one of the girl spinning,
and the other of the battlefield, or (as Tupper thinks preferable)
of the avalanche; or else to take some subject from Gabriel’s _Hand
and Soul_ in the first No. Tupper decided to call on Gabriel at his
study, to talk this over; but it so happened that Gabriel stopped at
home, touching-up his _Dante in Exile_.
Thursday 21st.--... I called on Millais, and asked him whether he
was able to do the etching for next month--in which case the No.
would at all events have, of course, to come out later than usual in
the month: but he says he is now so fully engaged with his picture,
having just set a white drapery, that he cannot undertake it: and
this is perhaps best. We shall now miss a month altogether, and come
out in April properly prepared. Millais has done (or begun) the heads
of the Virgin and of Christ. Gabriel received from Orchard the first
part of a _Dialogue on Art_, being one of a series he will write, if
found suitable. Gabriel read it to Stephens and John Tupper, by whom,
as well as himself, it was highly admired.... W. B. Scott’s book
about his brother David arrived; this we mean to review as soon as
may be for _The Germ_....
Friday 22nd.--We settled that it is impossible to bring out a No. for
March.... Woolner, Stephens, and Bernhard Smith, were at Gabriel’s
study in the evening; and Ford Brown also came in later. He read
us the second of his papers on _The Mechanism of a Historical
Picture_,[216] and has thoughts of writing something on the choice of
subject. He warned me against being too downright and sarcastic in
the art-notices I write for _The Critic_. Gabriel having asked him
to do us an etching for the next or some early No., he proposed one
of his designs from _King Lear_[217] which he would execute double
the size of the other etchings, requiring a fold down the middle. The
subject we last stopped at was _The Leave-taking of Cordelia and her
Sisters_. Gabriel proposes to write an illustrative poem for it. This
etching of Brown’s would do capitally for show in Dickinson’s window.
Gabriel has painted the chasuble of the Angel, and the Virgin’s arms:
he and Brown discussed the background, the bed, and other of the
accessories....
Saturday 23rd.--Gabriel spent the evening at Dickinson’s, where
Brown, Woolner, Thomas, and Hunt, were also present. Hunt brought
a Hastings paper, in which there is a very cleverly-written review
of _The Germ_, not altogether laudatory. On leaving Dickinson’s,
Gabriel went home with Hunt to see the picture. There is some thought
of changing our magazine’s name to _The Artist_ or something of the
kind; Gabriel is the chief advocate for this; and, if it is to be
done, now is the time certainly, when we are about to begin with a
new publisher, etc....
Monday 25th.--I got home, from Tupper’s, Orchard’s _Dialogue on Art_,
which Gabriel and I read over, making a few alterations in style &c.
as authorized by a letter from himself that Gabriel has received.
Gabriel continued touching up and adding to his _Dante in Exile_.
Tuesday 26th.--This was the evening appointed for me to call on
Marston.... I met Hervey, and Bedingfield, author of _The Peer
and the Blacksmith_, &c. What Hervey admires most, and that very
highly indeed, in the 2nd No. of _The Germ_, is Gabriel’s _Blessed
Damozel_, which he has read to Marston, who agrees in admiring it.
We talked of Bailey’s new poem, _The Angel World_, just come out,
of Browning, Mrs. Browning, &c. Marston says that Browning, before
publishing _Sordello_, sent it him to read, saying that this time
the public should not accuse him at any rate of being unintelligible
(!!). Browning’s system of composition is to write down on a slate,
in prose, what he wants to say, and then to turn it into verse,
striving after the greatest amount of condensation possible; thus,
if an exclamation will suggest his meaning, he substitutes this for
a whole sentence. Mrs. Browning, I find, had published a volume
of original poems before her _Prometheus--An Essay on Mind_ &c.
which came out in ’26. Of this, Marston showed me a review with
extracts, in an old magazine called _The Sunbeam_, to which he had
contributed....
Thursday 28th.--Gabriel went to Brown’s in the evening, to have
a sketch of his head made on copper as an exercise for Brown in
etching.[218] This was done with much freedom of hand....
Sunday, 3rd March.--Gabriel had White, the model, to sit to him for
the arms of his Angel Gabriel. He is now looking out for a woman
with red hair[219] for the Virgin. I went to see Millais’s picture,
at which I found him working--his brother standing to him for the
chest of the man knocking out a nail. The figures of St. John and
the Virgin, the head of Christ, the legs of the assistant and of St.
Joseph, are done, as well as the ground and some other accessory
portions; Alexander Tupper is to be the assistant. Millais has sold
his _Ferdinand_ to Mr. Ellison, the collector, for £150--£50 more
than it had been at first commissioned for. I saw the kind and
patronizing review which _The Art Journal_ gives of _The Germ_;
saying that he (The Art Journalist) must doff the critic, and not
dwell on minor faults, lest the Germ should not fructify....
Wednesday 6th.--I went to see Collinson and Hunt. Collinson, ...
after this year, ... has made up his mind to cut the Wilkie style
of art for the Early Christian; and what he has in his head for the
subject of his next picture is his old design (in the days of the
venerable Cyclographic)[220] _The Novitiate_, into which he would
probably introduce another figure--that of the Lady Abbess....
Hunt has just finished the wolf-skin on the foremost savage at the
door.... The models who sit to him &c. take the boy on the ground
for an unnecessarily ugly girl, and the hindermost savage (his
friend Collins) for an old negress (!). “Sloshy”[221] comes now to
see him frequently, and is beginning to look on himself as quite a
P.R.B.--talking of “we,” and saying that Collinson seems quite one of
“us.” It seems, however, that he is really labouring to free himself
somewhat from the slough of slosh Hunt found him in at first, and
has in consequence quite offended some amateur Lord’s son (or some
person of the kind) to whom he showed one of his recent attempts....
I finished reading for the first time Bailey’s _Angel World_, which
must be reviewed for _The Germ_ as soon as possible. It is nothing
very wonderful--very far less great and powerful than _Festus_.
Thursday 7th.--... I got a letter from R. H. Horne, to whom we had
sent the two Nos. of _The Germ_. He expresses himself pleased with
it, and hopes it may succeed, but does not at all expect it will do
so as regards sale.
Saturday 9th.--Gabriel went to see Woolner, who has been sticking
hard to his statue of late. Here Gabriel met Cross, who knows some
one who will do for the head of his angel.
Sunday 10th.--Cross’s man called on Gabriel, who found him to have
a most splendid head. Not being very well, he did not paint much
to-day. He has begun altering the position of the embroidery-stand,
and doing the bed, and has nearly finished the blue curtain behind
the Virgin’s head....
Tuesday 12th.--A copy of Howitt’s paper, _The Standard of Freedom_,
was left us by Bateman, in which there is a very favourable review
of _The Germ_.
Wednesday 13th.--The Tuppers came to Gabriel’s study to have a talk
about our next No. In the first place it was decided, after a good
deal of discussion, to change the name of the magazine, and Aleck
Tupper suggested _Art and Poetry, being Thoughts towards Nature_,
as a title. This we all think better than _The Artist_, and it was
accordingly adopted. Brown expressed some apprehension that he
might fail in getting his etching ready; and proposed that Gabriel,
Woolner, and Hancock, should each set about one, and that whichever
is finished in time should come into this No. Gabriel will take as
his subject the painting by Chiaro of his own soul, from the _Hand
and Soul_ which appears in No. 1.: of this he had thought before
as a frontispiece to the volume--if one ever were to be completed.
Some poems were read over, among them John Tupper’s “Sixteen
Specials”;[222] to which I still object, as being too jocular and
technical in style. Hunt is getting quite confident about finishing
his picture, and even in very comfortable time....
Thursday 14th.--Gabriel having to think about his etching, the task
of writing a poem illustrative of Brown’s design has been transferred
to me....
Wednesday 20th.--Orchard sent Gabriel a second portion of his first
_Dialogue on Art_, treating herein chiefly of early Christian (or,
as he terms it, Pre-Raphael) Art, and seeming to out-P.R. the P.R.B.
The word is impolitic, and must be altered. Tupper gave me the first
proofs of No. 3.... He has written out also a new prospectus, which
he gave me to consider.
Thursday 21st.--I went to Patmore’s with the proof of his _Macbeth_.
He has got one out of some half-dozen copies of Tennyson’s Elegies
that have been printed strictly for private perusal; the publication
of the work being postponed for some while, till about Christmas.
Patmore says Tennyson is too lazy to go to Woolner’s for his
portrait, but will be at home for him any evening he may call. He
learned Italian so as to be able to read Dante, Patmore says, in
one fortnight’s study. Patmore himself is desirous of making the
experiment; and would, if he thought he could succeed equally well.
He has been occupied the last month with his poem on Marriage,[223]
of which, however, he has not meanwhile written a line; but, having
meditated the matter, is now about to do so. He expresses himself
quite confident of being able to keep it up at the same pitch as the
few astonishing lines he has yet written, and which he read us some
time ago. He is now anxious to have published as soon as possible his
papers advocating certain principles in architecture, as the subject
has of late been treated by others, and he is fearful of finding
himself in a certain manner forestalled. He was a good deal struck
with the quotations in my notice of _The Strayed Reveller_;[224] and
has also a great desire to hear Gabriel’s _Bride-Chamber Talk_, of
which he has heard Woolner and Millais speak. Brown finished to-day
his design for the King Lear etching, and Gabriel his of Chiaro’s
painting. He is now engaged, as regards writing, on a tale entitled
_An Autopsychology_,[225] originally suggested to himself by an image
he introduced into _Bride-Chamber Talk_....
Saturday 23rd.--... In the morning Gabriel had been at work
repainting the Virgin’s head in his picture. He has begun his
etching--as also has Brown. To-day’s _Athenæum_ contains an
announcement of “the new poem by Mr. Browning”--_Christmas Eve and
Easter Day_--to appear on the 1st April, price six shillings. There
is also a review here, among _Poetry of the Million_, of a volume
by a Rev. Mr. Harston, containing decidedly good things, and which
deserves to be reviewed in _Art and Poetry_.[226]
Monday 25th.--I called on Collinson on my way to see Hunt, and the
latter himself came in while I was there. He has been on a foraging
expedition to Battersea Fields after Gipsies, on the recommendation
of one who sat to him for his Druid’s head, and as he wants to get
some woman with good hands of a proper savage brownness. He finds
himself quite disabused of old ideas concerning “sloshiness” and
commonplace of gipsies, having fallen in with some of the most
extraordinary-looking people conceivable. He found a very beautiful
woman for what he wants, fit for Cleopatra; she consented to sit for
£5 an hour, but finally came down to a shilling, and fixed a day to
come. His Cleopatra asked him for a pot of beer, over which she and a
most hideous old hag, her mother, made their bargain....
Tuesday 26th.--Gabriel and Brown continued at work on their etchings.
A letter came telling Gabriel of the death of Orchard on Saturday:
it might be well to see about getting together any MSS. he may have
left, and publishing them. His death seems to have resulted from the
general state of low health in which he always was, as no particular
cause is mentioned. If I could get at sufficient materials, I should
like to write a notice of him for _The Critic_.[227]
Wednesday 27th.--... The two etchings were to have been sent in
to-day, but have been delayed, as Brown and Gabriel think it better
to have proofs taken by some printer without sending the plates all
the way to Clement’s Lane for the purpose. The biting-in was done by
Shenton, by Seddon’s advice.
Thursday 28th.--Brown had his proof taken; which he sent in the
evening, together with the plate, to Tupper’s. Gabriel’s also was
taken, but disgusted him; whereat he tore up the impression and
scratched the plate over.... George Tupper, being inclined to retain
Aylott and Jones as joint Publishers with the Dickinsons, went to
see them about it, and settled matters accordingly. He is of opinion
that, as Dickinson is a Print Publisher, it is better to have in the
concern some one whose business is strictly in books.... Brown, not
thinking very highly of his etching, stipulated at first that his
name should not be published; but was finally persuaded to allow
it--every one else thinking the work excellent.
Friday 29th.--Gabriel painted at the feet and arm of the angel
from White. He had Miss Love[228] to sit for the Virgin’s hair,
and is also repainting the head entirely. He has finished the
embroidery-stand; and of the background done a curious lamp Brown
has got, and a vase. The angel’s head is being painted from a model,
Lambert, of whom he has had two or three sittings. We went to
Stephens’s in the evening, when, finding he had gone on to Tupper’s,
we followed him thither.... The family lived through a whole act of
_Paracelsus_, Tennyson’s _Daydream_, _The Raven_, and several of
Browning’s lyrics, for which Gabriel was called on by John Tupper....
Monday, 1st April.--Gabriel touched-up the head of his Virgin. I went
to the British Artists’ Exhibition (Suffolk Street), where there are
some astounding Anthonys--about the only things not bad in the place.
Browning’s new poem is out, and Stephens beat us in getting it first.
I began reading....
Sunday 7th.--For this morning I was engaged to sit to Hunt, ...
the working of the head and hands of the principal figure....
There remains now scarcely any uncovered canvas: he has however a
tremendous deal still to do for so short a time, two or three heads
requiring much yet. His frame with four Bible-mottos has arrived....
I did not get home till too late to sit to Gabriel, who had wanted
me for a final re-touching of the Angel’s hand. He has got some
spirits of wine and chloride of something, to make the flame for the
Angel’s feet....
Monday 8th.--... Gabriel went to see Millais’s picture, which is
finished. He himself had to work hard at his background all day,
besides doing something to the Virgin’s head; and had Deverell to
assist him in doing certain things. I finished reading Browning’s new
poem, and read it the second time aloud to Deverell.
* * * * *
From 8th April, up to to-day Sunday July 21st, I have neglected the
P.R.B. Journal. My excuse is, plenty else to do--the impelling cause,
idleness. But I hope henceforth to persevere.
Firstly, _The Gurm_[229] died with its fourth No.--leaving us
a legacy of Tupper’s bill--£33 odd, of which the greater part,
I take it, remains still unpaid. Our last gasp was perhaps the
best--containing Orchard’s really wonderful _Dialogue_, Gabriel’s
sonnets on pictures, etc. etc.; with an etching--not very
satisfactory in comparison with the standard of our promise--by
Deverell. Placards were posted and paraded about daily before the
Academy--but to no effect. _The Germ_ was doomed, and succumbed to
its doom.
Millais’s sacred subject, his _Ferdinand and Ariel_, and his
_Portrait of Mr. Drury and his Grandchild_--Hunt’s _Converted British
Family sheltering a Christian Missionary from the Persecution of the
Druids_--and Collinson’s _Answering the Emigrant’s Letter_--went to
the Academy, where they are still exhibiting; Gabriel having at the
last moment elected to send to the National Institution--formerly
Free Exhibition. The “Carpenter’s Shop” of Millais, which has now
become famous as “No. 518,” sold, the morning before sending in,
for £350--Mr. Farrer the picture-dealer being the purchaser. Hunt’s
picture and this are hung half on the line, the portrait on the
line, and the _Ferdinand_ on the ground; Collinson’s, at a height
where all its merits are lost. Millais’s picture has been the signal
for a perfect crusade against the P.R.B. The mystic letters, with
their signification, have appeared in all kinds of papers; first, I
believe, in a letter, _Town Talk and Table Talk_, in the _Illustrated
News_, written by Reach, who must have derived his knowledge, we
conjecture, from Munro.[230] But the designation is now so notorious
that all concealment is at an end. _The Athenæum_ opened with a
savage assault[231] on Gabriel, who answered in a letter which the
editor did not think it expedient to publish; and a conversation
which Millais had with Frank Stone, and in which the latter (speaking
of the picture) introduced several of the observations of _The
Athenæum_, coupled with some other circumstances, make it tolerably
evident that _he_ was the author of that and subsequent critiques.
In noticing Hunt and Millais, nearly a whole page was devoted to
a systematic discussion of (assumed) P.R.B. principles--which F.
S. rather overthrew and demolished than otherwise. In all the
papers--_The Times_, _The Examiner_, _The Daily News_, even to
Dickens’s _Household Words_, where a leader was devoted to the
P.R.B., and devoted them to the infernal gods--the attack on Millais
has been most virulent and audacious; in none more than in _A Glance
at the Exhibition_, published by Cundall, and bearing manifold traces
of a German source[232]. Indeed, the P.R.B. has unquestionably been
one of the topics of the season. The “notoriety” of Millais’s picture
may be evidenced by the fact, received from undoubted authority, of
the Queen’s having sent to have it brought to her from the walls
of the R.A., which her recent accouchement had prevented her from
visiting.--Hunt’s picture, Gabriel’s, and Collinson’s, remain unsold.
Not long after the opening of the Exhibitions the Brotherhood had
the misfortune to lose one of its members--Collinson, who announced
his resolution thus, in a letter addressed to Gabriel:--“Whit
Monday.--Dear Gabriel, I feel that, as a sincere Catholic, I can
no longer allow myself to be called a P.R.B. in the brotherhood
sense of the term, or to be connected in any way with the magazine.
Perhaps this determination to withdraw myself from the Brotherhood
is altogether a matter of feeling. I am uneasy about it. I love and
reverence God’s faith, and I love His holy Saints; and I cannot bear
any longer the self-accusation that, to gratify a little vanity,
I am helping to dishonour them, and lower their merits, if not
absolutely to bring their sanctity into ridicule. I cannot blame any
one but myself. Whatever may be my thoughts with regard to their
works, I am sure that all the P.R.B.’s have both written and painted
conscientiously; it was for me to have judged beforehand whether
I could conscientiously, as a Catholic, assist in spreading the
artistic opinions of those who are not. I reverence--indeed almost
idolize--what I have seen of the Pre-Raphael painters; [and this]
chiefly because [they fill][233] my heart and mind with that divine
faith which could alone animate them to give up their intellect and
time and labour so as they did, and all for His glory who, they could
never forget, was the Eternal, although he had once humbled Himself
to the form of man, that man might be clothed with and know and love
His divinity. I have been influenced by no one in this matter; and
indeed it is not from any angry or jealous feeling that I wish to be
no longer a P.R.B., and I trust you will ... [something torn off],
but believe me affectionately yours, James Collinson. P.S.--Please do
not attempt to change my mind.”
* * * * *
24th October.--Another long gap in this Journal, even after having
made a beginning with the resumption of it. Let me record no more
intentions or promises, but set to work at its continuation once
more, being as brief as possible regarding the interval.
Deverell has worthily filled up the place left vacant by
Collinson.[234] His work at the National Institution this year[235]
was a strong ground of claim; and this has been confirmed by what
he has since done, and is doing. He hopes to exhibit two pictures
next year: _Rosalind witnessing the Encounter of Jacques and Orlando
in the Forest_, which is pretty nearly finished, and _The Ordering
of Hamlet’s Departure for England_, of which Gabriel has seen an
uncompleted design. Other recent designs of his are _The Converse of
Laertes and Ophelia_, _Claude du Val Dancing with a Lady of Quality
after attacking her Carriage_ (in the possession of Stephens), _James
II. in his Flight Overhauled and his person rifled by Fishermen_
(given to Gabriel), and _The Flight of an Egyptian Ibis_.
Millais left town about the beginning of June, and has continued in
and about Oxford ever since. He had made a design for--and I believe
had begun painting before he left--Tennyson’s _Mariana_; in the
country he has been engaged on his picture from Patmore:
He sometimes, in a sullen tone,
Would offer fruits; and she
Always received his gifts with an air
So unreserved and free
That half-feigned distance soon became
Familiarity.
His brother William Millais is also turning his attention to art; and
produced, when in Jersey during the summer, some excellent and most
promising landscapes, which he will probably exhibit. I heard from
Patmore the other night that Tennyson, on being told that Millais was
doing something from _The Woodman’s Daughter_, observed, “I wish he’d
do something from me.”
Hunt’s _Converted British Family_ is now sold, having met with a
purchaser at £150 in Mr. Combe, of Oxford; to which place it was
sent, on Millais’s recommendation, to be kept in view at Mr. Wyatt
the printseller’s. Necessity makes us acquainted with strange
Art-fellows. Before this, Hunt had--in conjunction with Stephens on
his introduction--been cleaning and restoring a ceiling &c. at the
Trinity House by Rigaud, an old R.A., representing the Junction of
Father Thames and Father Severn, or some such slosh. A guinea a day
for cleaning, and two guineas for restoring, were not however to
be thrown away. Immediately on the opening of the exhibition, Hunt
had set about a picture of the interview of Isabel and Claudio in
prison from _Measure for Measure_, a commission from Mr. Gibbons,
the purchaser of his _Rienzi_. This is now nearly finished, and
he has made a design for the last scene of the _Two Gentlemen of
Verona_--“Ruffian, forbear thy rude uncivil touch.” He left London
about a fortnight back, for Sevenoaks, in the neighbourhood of which,
at Knowle Park, he is now painting the forest-background of this
subject. His other chief designs since the exhibition opened have
been the breaking of the spell, from _The Lady of Shalott_, and one,
not yet finished, of Ruth at meal-time receiving corn from Boaz to
eat. He has also completed his old design from _Isabella_,
“He knew whose gentle hand was at the latch,
Before the door had given her to his eye.”
Hunt talks of going to Jerusalem when he can set about the Ruth, and
painting it on the spot, and Gabriel is to accompany him; a project
which has become a hissing and a reproach between Woolner and myself,
who are infidel concerning it. Stephens is with Hunt, for the purpose
of painting part of the background in his picture of _Griseldis and
the Marquis_, to which he has just returned. Gabriel has a study now
in 74 Newman Street....
Thursday 24th.--A most wet, miserable, dreary day, one uninterrupted
drench. This style of thing began yesterday, the very day Gabriel
left for the purpose of out-of-doors painting, and seems now
regularly set in. A nice damper for a man’s enthusiasm when every
moment must be turned to the uttermost account....
Friday 25th.--A letter came from Gabriel, saying that he and
Hunt were soaked through and through yesterday in painting,
and requesting a further supply of clothes to meet a similar
emergency.... Brown has done a very great quantity of his _Chaucer_
picture since I saw it last....
Saturday 26th.--I had a note from Mr. Cox, of _The Critic_,
purporting to accompany three volumes of poems for me to
review--_Death’s Jest-book_, Cassels’s _Eidolon_, and another.... I
spent the evening at Brown’s.... Woolner and I had to fight fiercely
for Tennyson and Browning, against Thomas, Lowes Dickinson, and
Brown, chiefly, as champions for Byron, Pope, etc....
Sunday 27th.--... In the evening accompanied Woolner to Patmore’s.
Found that Woolner had just had a cast taken of his medallion-head
of Mrs. Patmore.... Patmore, when we arrived, was reading a
translation by Charles Bagot Cayley, with whom I have lately become
acquainted,[236] of some cantos of the _Inferno_, left by me with
Patmore, who promised to see whether _The Palladium_ would be willing
to publish it. He thinks very highly of the translation, and will
write fully to the Editor on the subject. He had also just read
Browning’s _Christmas Eve and Easter Day_, and is evidently deeply
impressed with it--more than with any other of the great man’s
works--though he does not exactly know “what to make of it.” He
says that Mrs. Browning published in _Blackwood_, very soon after
the onslaught there on his own book, an imitation (in incident and
termination) of _The Woodman’s Daughter_, calling it _Maud at her
Spinning-wheel_....
Tuesday 29th.--Woolner and I, with Hannay, spent the night at
Bernhard Smith’s.... Hannay ... saw Bon Gaultier[237] lately, and
found him a wild admirer of Gabriel’s sonnet to his _Mary Virgin_
picture, published in the Free Exhibition catalogue; saying that it
is one of the finest sonnets in the language, and having even gone so
far as to distribute copies of it among his friends....
Friday, 1st November.--Brown, I was informed, called last night,
having something particular to say. On seeing him in the evening,
I learn that on Wednesday he met at Dickinson’s Mr. Williams (the
brother-in-law of Wells, author of _Joseph and his Brethren_) who is
desirous of finding a substitute for writing the art-criticisms in
one of the weekly papers--either _The Examiner_ or _The Spectator_.
The remuneration would amount to about £40 or £50 a year. Brown
kindly mentioned me; and I should certainly be glad to do for
something, and with better prospects, what I am now doing for
nothing. The critic, I understand, would not be pledged to any
party, nor under any vexatious control. I wrote to Mr. Williams at
Brown’s suggestion, stating my views, and with the object of calling
on him. Brown’s picture[238] is sold to the Dickinsons--for what sum
I did not ask....
Sunday 3rd.--... Spent the evening at Patmore’s, with whom I left my
notice of Allingham:[239] his in _The Palladium_ is out.... Patmore
does not believe we have any really great men living in the region
of pure intellect; not even Tennyson, though he might have thought
him such, had he not written. He spoke of Gabriel’s poem _Dante
in Exile_, which he considers full of fine things; the stanzas on
Republics he admires particularly. He talks of keeping open house
on every alternate Saturday, and has given me and all the P.R.B. a
general invitation....
Tuesday 5th.--Woolner returned from Sevenoaks. His news is--of
Gabriel, that he gets up at seven o’clock, is painting his background
with mystic feeling, translates canzoni at a great rate of evenings,
and will probably be back at the end of the week;--of Hunt, that
he is progressing well, painting the ground all covered with the
red autumn-leaves;--of Stephens, that he also is getting on. Beyond
this, he says that a letter has been received from Millais urging
the admission of Collins[240] into the P.R.B.; that Hunt acquiesces
in Millais’s suggestion, Stephens in Hunt’s consent, and Gabriel in
that of them two. Woolner himself fought the point savagely; being
of opinion (in which I fully agree with him) that Collins has not
established a claim to the P.R.B.-hood, and that the connexion would
not be likely to promote the intimate friendly relations necessary
between all P.R.B.’s.... A letter reached me from Allingham, who
speaks as being well pleased with my criticism, at some passages
of which I had my suspicions he might be offended. He says he has
corrected many of the imperfect rhymes in his volume; and, alluding
to Gabriel’s commenced picture from _Pippa Passes_, urges that the
Page should not be made too juvenile or helpless. In the evening I
had a letter telling me not to go to Patmore’s to-night; and stating
that the length of Cayley’s _Dante_ proves an insuperable obstacle
to its publication in _The Palladium_, the Editor, being willing,
nevertheless, to insert a canto or two as a specimen. A letter also
from Mr. Williams, to suggest that I should enable him to show
something written by me to the Editor of the paper he is connected
with. I accordingly looked over my _Critic_ critiques (selecting
the most mildly expressed, as the note speaks of “courteous
consideration”); and, with these and a copy of _The Germ_, called
on Mr. Williams. The paper in question is _The Spectator_, whose
Editor is a Mr. Rintoul; and it appears that its tactics are somewhat
hostile to the Academy, in so far at least as the aim of keeping it
up to public responsibility may be so construed. I gather, however,
that considerable latitude is allowed to the writer, and that I
should be but little hampered with any _antécédens_. The business
of the critic extends, beyond the mere notice of exhibitions, to
the general discussion of any matter affecting art, so that, if I
obtain the engagement, I may reckon upon being pretty constantly
occupied. I find Mr. Williams not of very P.R.B. tendencies, and
no great admirer of Anthony,--my review of whom at Suffolk Street
I had brought with me, fancying it would be appropriate. It seems
that a new Associate has been elected, which will furnish present
matter for an article. Mr. Williams spoke a good deal of Wells,
author of the _Stories after Nature_, who appears to be a most
dangerous and insidious person.[241] His whole aim, it appears, is
to exercise influence over others; a craving which occupies him to
a most morbid degree, and which he gratifies regardless of means and
consequences. On one occasion he played upon Thomas Keats, by keeping
up a correspondence with him in the character of a lady, and induced
him to go to France in the idea of meeting his correspondent. The
discovery of the fraud produced, it seems, a very serious effect on
its victim. John Keats became very indignant hereat, and peremptorily
broke off all acquaintanceship with Wells; and Mr. Williams is of
opinion that Wells’s literary works (written subsequently to this
affair) were produced in the hope of pleasing Keats and winning him
back. No friendships are safe within the sphere of Wells’s influence,
his principle being “divide et impera.”... He is now lord and master
in the household of some French lady, whose son, after being given
over by the doctors, is supposed to have owed his recovery to Wells’s
devout prayers....
Wednesday 6th.--I find announced in _The Times_ the election of
Eastlake as President, and of Hook as Associate. Here is ready-made
to my hand a subject for a _Spectator_ article, should such be in
demand. In the evening, another letter from Mr. Williams, to say
that, having himself been asked to write on the point, he mentioned
his interview with me to the Editor, Mr. Rintoul, and proposed
that I should do it as a specimen. The feeling in which it seems
the Editor would wish to speak (disclaiming at the same time the
slightest desire of biasing me) is entirely my own. Mr. Williams
called to get my answer, which was of course affirmative. On his
departure I set about the article, and got through it. It had to be
ready by to-morrow evening. The _Critic_ notices have been left with
Mr. Rintoul.
Thursday 7th.--Having looked in on Mr. Williams, who says he has told
Mr. Rintoul I might probably call to-day at the _Spectator_ office,
I went thither with my article after dinner. The Editor however was
out; so that, being afterwards at the theatre to see Miss Faucit, I
made up a note with the slovenly means at my disposal, and dropped it
into the editorial box, coming home at night....
Friday 8th.--A note came from Mr. Rintoul expressing himself much
pleased with my paper, of which he sends me the proof. One or two
slight verbal differences seem, possibly, intentional, but there is
no alteration of the least importance. He asks me to call on Monday
and I answered proposing to do so in the evening. I presume I may now
consider myself engaged....
Sunday 10th.--I sat to Brown for the head of a figure in his
picture--that of a minstrel or poet who looks round at Chaucer
with a sort of jealous admiration. He would like me to notice in
_The Spectator_ the sale of this work to the Dickinsons, and thinks
it might be well to write an article on the relations of painters
and picture-dealers--a suggestion I propose to adopt.[242] He tells
me that, at the election of Hook as Associate, the only competitor
brought to the ballot was Harding,[243] who obtained seven votes out
of sixteen....
Wednesday 13th.--Gabriel wrote again that after all he might probably
return to-day, and did in fact arrive in the course of the morning.
His picture remains for the present at the Inn where the coach stops.
Hunt expects to be back to-morrow, and Stephens returned on Sunday.
Gabriel brings with him a great quantity of translations from the old
Italian, and one or two short original poems; he has also written a
stanza or two to a poem he had begun shortly before leaving London
suggested by some of the Nineveh sculpture[244].... I called on
the Editor of _The Spectator_, who appears to be a frank, cordial,
and agreeable man, without any pretension to knowledge in art....
He observed that it would not be in the least necessary to get up
something about art for every week; and indeed, I think, seemed
rather impressed with the notion that I should present him with more
than is wanted.
Saturday 30th.--... Millais met Frank Stone the other evening, who
spoke to him about young men, ignorant of the first principles of
art, imagining they are going to do something new, and found a
school; and said he supposed Millais and his friends considered _him_
altogether wrong in his productions--to which Millais returned a
decided affirmative. An absurd lithograph-caricature is about to be
issued of Millais’s last picture, as he is informed by his Brother;
something of a big dog sniffing at a cur, with the picture in the
background, and some motto to the effect that some one or other
fancies he’s like nature, but isn’t.... There was a very laudatory
notice ... in _The Guardian_, he says, of his and Hunt’s last
pictures; and some persons in Oxford informed him that Ruskin writes
in the paper, and that the article may not improbably be his[245]....
Woolner, who passed the evening with Gabriel, was yesterday with
Patmore, accompanying Tennyson in the search for a house in the
neighbourhood of London, but without result. Tennyson is in a state
of disgust at the idea of being presented at court on his appointment
to the laureateship. Patmore says that Tennyson has in his memory,
and on occasion recites, an immense quantity of poetry which he never
intends to commit to paper.... Gabriel finished, all but the last
verse, his parody on _Ulalume_.[246]
Sunday, 1st December.--Gabriel completed the repainting of the
angel’s head in his _Ecce Ancilla Domini_. His translation of the
_Vita Nuova_ has been returned by Tennyson, who says it is very
strong and earnest, but disfigured by the so-called cockney rhymes,
as of “calm” and “arm.” Gabriel intends to remove these before any
step is taken towards publication.
Monday 2nd.--Stephens, whom I had not seen for some months,
called.... We discussed the shamefully obsolete condition into
which P.R.B. meetings have fallen.... I spent the evening with
Hunt, who has painted some more of the foreground of his _Two
Gentlemen_ picture--fungi and dead leaves. He goes to Lambeth Palace
of mornings, to do the cell in his other work, the _Claudio and
Isabella_. While I was there he fulfilled the pleasant duty of making
out an account against the Trinity House for work done on the Rigauds
thereof in September, to the value of (between him and Stephens) £54
odd. We talked a good deal of the chance of establishing a P.R.B.
household, where three or four could live, and paint in common. It
might probably be to be done, if Millais would join; and he seems
very anxious to live out of London....
Tuesday 3rd.--Gabriel did something on his design, _Music, with
a Dance of Children_.[247] He talks of sending his ballad _Denys
Shand_[248] to _Tait’s Magazine_, having found a good poem of the
same class in last Number. I read through almost all the new matter
in Mrs. Browning’s volumes, included in which is a poem I suppose to
be that which Patmore says she borrowed without acknowledgment from
his _Woodman’s Daughter_. The resemblance, however, is merely in
the moral; the treatment being utterly, and the details of incident
considerably, different; nor is the title here printed _Maud at her
Spinning-wheel_....
Thursday 5th.--Gabriel painted on the head of the Virgin in his last
picture.
Friday 6th.--Gabriel painted a left hand to his angel Gabriel,
thinking it objectionable that one hand only should be visible of
each figure.
Saturday 7th.--Woolner, having written at Gabriel’s request to
know the price of the rooms in Red Lion Square lately occupied by
Harris, called with a note from North Senior[249] the landlord,
saying that he will “submit” to £4. 4s. monthly or 20s. a week.
He stipulates however that the models are to be kept under some
gentlemanly restraint, “as some artists sacrifice the dignity of art
to the baseness of passion.” This seems a very advantageous prospect
for Gabriel and Deverell, on whom we called to acquaint him. Little
seems to have been done to his pictures: to the _Hamlet_ scarcely
anything.... We called at Millais’s, having engaged to see his
picture and design, but found we had over-stayed our time. However, I
met him almost immediately, parading Tottenham Court Road, together
with Hunt and Collins, on the search for models....
Sunday 8th.--Woolner called, bringing his head of Tennyson, cast
in bronze very satisfactorily. He prides himself not a little on
Bernhard Smith’s approval of the execution, and on having rubbed
some washing “blue” into the flat of the medallion, to improve its
colour. His head of Mrs. Patmore is also to be cast by Mrs. Orme’s
desire.[250]...
Tuesday 10th.--Gabriel saw Millais’s design and picture,[251] and
pronounces the former to be immeasurably the best thing he has
done. The landscape of the picture too is superior to that of the
_Ferdinand and Ariel_. I spent the evening with Hunt, being the only
one, of two or three engaged, that did so. Some little has been done
to his _Two Gentlemen_ picture.... Coming home, I found Millais
with Gabriel, who had read several of his translations from the old
Italian, which had just been saved from consumption in lighting
fires. Much serious speech ensued.... Gabriel began drawing this
evening from the model at Seddon’s....
* * * * *
1851.--January.--A lapse of upwards of a month during which I have
neglected the P.R.B. Journal, an omission partly attributable to
the nuisance and confusion of moving.[252] However, there has not
occurred much requiring record.
Monday last, January 13th, was fixed for a P.R.B. meeting at Hunt’s,
with a view to discussing fully the subject of electing any new
members in addition to the six remaining of the original number,
and in order to frame definite rules for the Brotherhood. Millais,
Stephens, and myself, only attended; Gabriel being indisposed, and
Woolner in the country.... Rules were also adopted for holding a
P.R.B. meeting on the first Friday in every month; for fines in case
of default; for a general review of each P.R.B.’s conduct in art
at the close of the year; and making the keeping of this journal
obligatory on me as secretary. Various other points stand over for
settlement.
Millais having raised a doubt as to the propriety of our continuing
to call ourselves P.R.B.’s, considering the misapprehension which
the name excites, it was determined that each of us should write a
manifesto declaring the sense in which he accepts the name; to be
read all together at our next meeting, which is fixed for Millais’s,
in accordance with the new rule. I have written down my declaration
in its chief points.[253]
Another matter of interest has arisen, of which a hint was given some
while ago. One Earl has produced an engraving of a china dog being
sniffed at by a real dog, with Millais’s picture in the background.
It is entitled _Nature and Art, dedicated without permission to the
Præraphaelites_, and is on the eve of publication, by Fores, of
Piccadilly. Millais called there the other day, incog.... He has
determined to ascertain the law of the case, and to inquire Farrer’s
opinion as owner of the picture.
Stephens has taken up the art-criticism for _The Critic_, which I had
declined because of my connection with _The Spectator_.... Gabriel
has, with Deverell, taken the first floor of North’s house, 17 Red
Lion Square....
Sunday 26th.--On resuming the P.R.B. Journal I find that my
present isolated position renders the continuance of it day by day
inefficient to any good purpose. I shall therefore write it up
weekly, except where anything particular may call for special record
of some one day....
Sunday, 2nd February.--Woolner returned on Thursday, after about
six weeks’ absence.... There is some prospect of his getting the
commission for a monument to Wordsworth[254] to be erected over his
grave; Mr. Fletcher, whom he met when with Tennyson at the Lakes,
having proposed him to a brother of Sir Humphrey Davy, who manages
the affair, and some preliminary notes having been exchanged.... He,
with Gabriel and myself, spent the evening with Patmore on Saturday.
Gabriel left some more of his translations from the Italians before
Dante, which Patmore says are the only true love-poems he ever saw.
Sunday 9th.--Friday was the second P.R.B. meeting under the new
system, when we assembled at Millais’s: all were present, an event
which has not happened for months. A few further regulations were
made--involving, at Hunt’s suggestion, the important principle
that any possible new member is to be re-eligible annually--not
permanently admitted in the first instance. An unanimous vote against
any P.R.B. (in the case of one of the original six, the vote of his
fellow foundation-members only) is to amount to expulsion; a case not
precisely foreseen at present. Election is to be by ballot. We voted
moreover to keep, under the same obligation as a P.R.B. meeting, the
birthday of Shakespeare; and that any one contemplating a public
course of action affecting the Brotherhood shall mention the matter
first to his colleagues. Millais’s new design is of the dove’s return
to the ark. He has finished a small study from Miss McDowall[255]
illustrating the love-custom of passing cake through a ring.[256]...
Sunday, 2nd March.--To-day I sat to Deverell for the hand of his
Hamlet, and with him and Gabriel spent the evening with Hunt. We
found there a cousin of Hannay’s[257] who had been sitting for the
head of Valentine. This week has been signalized by Woolner’s taking
a medallion of Carlyle, who gave him sittings the four first days
of the week, and who of course furnishes material for any number of
“nights’ entertainments.”...
Sunday 9th.--... To-day I called on Woolner, and saw his head of
Carlyle, and a first sketch for the Wordsworth monument competition.
Wordsworth is seated, the whole arrangement of the figure being
subordinated to the supremacy of the head; on the base of the plinth
whereon he sits is a bas-relief of _Peter Bell_. Two side-plinths
are left entirely plain, as expressive of the ideal in contrast
with the human. Mounted on these are two symbolic groups; the first
of Control--a refractory child restrained by the authority of his
father; the second of Aspiration--a girl who, showing to her mother a
flower which she has gathered, is taught to raise her thoughts to the
stars. The manhood (rather than womanhood) of the controlling figure
in the first symbol is the suggestion of Carlyle, who expressed his
entire approval of the general conception of the monument. There
are several excellent names on the Committee for carrying out the
subscription and awarding the commission--such as ought to give
Woolner a fair chance of success; and the terms of the prospectus
promise a certain elevation of principle in the selection....
Friday, 2nd May.--After another discreditable lapse, I take occasion
to renew the P.R.B. Journal--this being the private-view day at the
Academy, to which I had a ticket through _The Spectator_. The P.R.B.
pictures here are Millais’s from _The Woodman’s Daughter_, _The
Return of the Dove to the Ark_, and _Mariana_,--and Hunt’s _Valentine
rescuing Sylvia from Proteus_. Millais’s two first are on the
line--_The Woodman’s Daughter_ in the old architectural room, from
which the architecture has been this year transferred to the Octagon
Room; the two others in the West Room--the _Mariana_ being partly
below the line. Hunt’s has been abominably shirked off into much the
same position as his _Rienzi_ of 1849 occupied. Collins exhibited two
pictures--a portrait, and _Convent Thoughts_--very charming indeed;
a strong claim to P.R.Bhood, which it appears however he is now in
no hurry to apply for, thinking it should have been offered long
ago. Brown’s _Chaucer_ is here, and attracts much admiration; the
other best pictures being Eastlake’s, Dyce’s, Leslie’s, Mulready’s
(an old one), and Poole’s.... In my progress I heard some one--by
his looks, an Academician--observe, in reference to one of Millais’s
pictures, that no sarcasm could be too fierce for such absurdities;
and another, a Frenchman-cropped monkey-looking being,[258] was in
ecstacies of amusement which he made it his care to communicate.
The _Mariana_ appeared nevertheless to be a great favourite with
women, one of whom said it was the best thing in the exhibition....
The rest of the evening was spent here (the time happening to have
come round) in assembled P.R.B.: Woolner excused himself through
indisposition.... Millais had heard from Mrs. Collins[259] something
about abuse encountered by his pictures; which, it seems, are
denounced by Mrs. Jones, and make Jones, R.A., walk about in a state
of despondency and distress[260]....
Tuesday 6th.--... The Editor of _The Spectator_, on whom I called
in the afternoon, alluded, but always in a pleasant way, to the
difference of tone concerning Millais in my preliminary observations
of last week, and the reviews of previous years. I of course stuck
up; and whether this is to be the beginning of the end, or whether
its end was simultaneous with its beginning, remains to be seen.
However, the opening remarks in my notice for this week will probably
tend to bring the point to an issue. I claim the certain reversion of
supremacy in art for the newcomers, and Brown is reviewed at a triple
allowance of space....
Thursday 8th to Saturday 10th.--... On Saturday Hunt, Gabriel, and I,
met at Hannay’s; when Hunt informed us (having it from Patmore), that
Ruskin had wished to buy Millais’s picture of _The Return of the Dove
to the Ark_, which is already sold; and that Patmore has suggested to
him to write something about the P.R.B. The result is not known yet;
but, were Ruskin to do so, this is the very thing we want--evident
as it is from the affair of Millais’s picture (were it from nothing
else) that he must be an admirer of the P.R.B. Indeed so desirable
would something of the kind be that it had been proposed among
ourselves to write to Ruskin requesting him to express his opinion in
some public manner....
Sunday 11th.--The picture Hunt is purposing to do for next year
is a life-sized one on the passage from one of Moses’ hymns or
exhortations where it is said that God found for Jacob honey in the
clefts of the rock.[261]
Monday 12th.--Woolner called, having returned to his study to-day
after cold and fever. His model for the Wordsworth monument
competition was sent in a few days ago according to the regulations;
among the other models is one, also with symbolical figures, by
Behnes.[262] He explains to me that it was Ruskin’s _father_ who
wanted to buy Millais’s picture, but this makes little difference
in the state of the case. Ruskin himself has, in conformity with
Patmore’s suggestion, written a letter to _The Times_, on the P.R.B.,
and, if it do not appear there, will send it to _The Chronicle_. This
ought to be worth something to us....
Tuesday 13th to Thursday 15th.--On Tuesday Ruskin’s letter appeared
in _The Times_. He says that he believes Millais and Hunt to be at
a turning-point of their career, “from which they may either sink
into nothingness or rise to very real greatness.” The explanation he
gives of the name “Præraphaelite” is very sensible; “They intend to
return to early days in this one point only--that, as far as in them
lies, they will draw either what they see or what they suppose might
have been the actual facts of the scene they desire to represent,
irrespective of any conventional rules of picture-making; and they
have chosen their unfortunate though not inaccurate name because all
artists did this before Raphael’s time, and after Raphael’s time did
_not_ this, but sought to paint fair pictures rather than represent
stern facts; of which the consequence has been that, from Raphael’s
time to this day, historical art has been in acknowledged decadence.”
Ruskin then deals with the nonsense about “imitation of false
perspective”; asserting that the only error in the five pictures
(including Collins’s) is that the top of the green curtain in the
distant window (of the _Mariana_) has too low a vanishing point; and
that he will undertake to prove a dozen worse errors in any twelve of
the most popular pictures of the day containing architecture;--and,
as to the accusation of “drapery snapped instead of folded,” that,
“putting aside the small Mulready, and the works of Thorburn and
Sir W. Ross, and perhaps some others of those in the miniature-room
which he has not examined, there is not a single study of drapery in
the whole Academy, be it in large works or small, which, for perfect
truth, power, and finish, could be compared for an instant with the
black sleeve of the Julia, or with the velvet on the breast and the
chain-mail of the Valentine; or with the white draperies on the table
in _Mariana_, and of the right-hand figure in _The Dove returning
to the Ark_; and further that, as studies both of drapery and every
minor detail, there has been nothing in art so earnest or so complete
as these pictures since the days of Albert Durer.” He concludes with
objecting to the Sylvia and the figure in the _Dove_ picture, on the
score of deficient beauty, and hopes “to be permitted to enter into
more special criticism in a future letter.” Altogether the letter is
very satisfactory; anything but unqualified praise, which is well in
one sense, as doing away with the accusation of partisanship. Ruskin
himself expressly disclaims personal acquaintance. One point which
I think it might be advantageous to notice in a letter from some of
ourselves to _The Times_ is that Ruskin says something of P.R.B.
“Romanist and tractarian tendencies,” in reference to the _Mariana_
and to Collins’s picture. Such tendencies, as utterly non-existent
in fact, it might not be amiss to repudiate; the doing which would,
besides, afford an opportunity for entering into any other details or
rectifications seeming advisable. But perhaps it will be preferable
to wait for Ruskin’s sequel.... On Wednesday I had a letter from
Gabriel, enclosing a notice of Hunt,[263] and bidding me to Millais’s
to-morrow. Brown, Hunt, and Gabriel, were there; and we are all
agreed that Ruskin’s letter will do good. Patmore, at whose instance
it was written, thinks we should send Ruskin our thanks; but this
seems of doubtful propriety, as it might be interpreted into making
interest with a view to his second letter. When that is out,
something of the kind suggested would certainly appear right. Millais
has had another request (from a Mr. Boddington) for his _Dove in the
Ark_, and a particular invitation from the Birmingham Exhibition for
him to send it thither. Mr. Combe also (who bought Hunt’s picture
of last year) has written to ask the price of the _Valentine and
Proteus_, and of Collins’s. A laudatory review of Hunt and Millais
appears in _The Guardian_, devoting to them three or four times as
much space as to any other artist.... As to abuse, it seems to be in
the air, so much does the infection spread among critics in word and
print.... A nuisance which has revived within these three days is
the buried _Germ_; George Tupper having called on me to say that he
is winding up its money-matters, and finds himself a clear loser by
some £30. Outstanding accounts are of course in requisition; and I
find that the copies of Nos. 3 and 4 with which he credits me have so
almost entirely disappeared that, what with making good their value
(the money-value of _The Germ_!) and paying for the etching-plates
which I could scarcely leave Tupper to defray, I have still a pretty
sum to fork out; whilst most of the other quondam proprietors have to
look up their share of the expenses of Nos. 1 and 2.
Friday 16th to Friday 23rd.--A hit at the P.R.B. (conscientiously
speaking, very stupid) appears in _Punch_ of Wednesday, introducing
caricatures of the _Mariana_ and of Collins’s picture. It is
admitted, however, with a reference to Ruskin, that the P.R.B.
pictures are _true_; and the article is directed in part against
supposed Romanizing tendencies. On the 16th Woolner, Gabriel, and
myself, were at Tupper’s; this being the first day since his illness
that Woolner has returned to work, doing something on the minor
Wordsworth monument[264] for which he was commissioned. He is to
be introduced next week at Carlyle’s to Ruskin; who, as Patmore
informs him, had written his second letter to _The Times_, but now
thinks of withholding it on the consideration that it casts so
strong a slur on all non-P.R.B. living painters.... Carlyle the
other night, in talking with Woolner was speaking of “Alfred” (as he
calls Tennyson) and Browning in reference to their embodying their
thoughts in verse, when there is so great need of doing things in the
directest way possible: “Alfred” he said, “knows how to jingle, but
Browning does not.” He spoke however of Browning’s intellect in the
highest terms. He then referred to the P.R.B.; “These Præraphaelites
they talk of are said to copy the thing as it is, or invent it as
they believe it must have been: now there’s some sense and hearty
sincerity in this. It’s the only way of doing anything fit to be
seen.” Woolner’s medallion pleased him very greatly. We saw Tupper’s
bas-relief which the Academy rejected. It is illustrative of _The
Merchant’s Second Tale_, by (or ascribed to) Chaucer, and represents
the chess-playing between the merchant and the old man he meets in
the strange city. It is at the extremest edge of P.R.Bism, most
conscientiously copied from nature, and with good character. The
P.R.B. principle of uncompromising truth to what is before you is
carried out to the full, but with some want of consideration of
the requirements peculiar to the particular form of art adopted.
According to all R.A. ideas, it is a perfect sculpturesque heresy,
whose rejection--especially seeing that it is the _introductory_
sample of the P.R.B. system in sculpture--cannot be much wondered at,
though certainly most unjustifiable....
Saturday 24th.--... Gabriel, who has given notice to quit his present
studio in Red Lion Square, has received from Brown the offer of a
share in his; and purposes to accept it. He is inclined to paint
this year, instead of _The Meeting of Dante and Beatrice on Earth
and in Paradise_ (which he is re-designing), some other Dantesque
subject--probably from the _Vita Nuova_.
* * * * *
1853, 23rd January.--I at last resume the P.R.B. Journal, not too
sanguine of continuing it for long.
Our position is greatly altered. We have emerged from reckless
abuse to a position of general and high recognition, just so
much qualified by adverse criticism as suffices to keep our once
would-be annihilators in countenance. I limit myself to the briefest
recapitulation of last year’s public doings and our present state.
Hunt, Millais, Stephens, and Woolner, exhibited at the R.A.--Hunt
sent _The Hireling Shepherd_; Millais, _Ophelia_, and _A Huguenot
on the Eve of St. Bartholomew_; Stephens, a small portrait of his
Mother; Woolner, his cast for the competition monument to Wordsworth,
and medallion heads of Carlyle, Wordsworth, and Miss Orme.[265]
Gabriel exhibited three designs (water-colour) in the Exhibition of
Sketches opened in December--_Giotto painting Dante’s Portrait_,
_Beatrice denying Dante her Salutation_, and a _Lady in Venetian
Costume_.[266]
At present Hunt is preparing for next exhibition. He purposes
exhibiting his old picture from _Measure for Measure_, _Christ at
the Door_, a picture of Sheep commissioned by Maude, a portrait,
and probably two others of which I shall be able to speak more
certainly hereafter. Soon after sending in, he intends to go to
Syria. Millais is painting two subjects of invention--one of the
Stuart period,[267] the other named _The Ransom_. Gabriel has in
hand a picture in two compartments,[268] symbolizing, in life-sized
half-figures, Dante’s resolve to write the _Divina Commedia_ in
memory of Beatrice. Woolner is absent from England since July last,
having gone to the diggings in Australia, where he hopes to make
money sufficient to enable him to return in a few years, and pursue
sculpture with endurable prospects. Stephens is doing a portrait of
his Father. I am still on _The Spectator_.
Monday 17th to Saturday 22nd.--Better than art-news signalizes this
week--that, namely, of the arrival of Woolner’s vessel, the Windsor,
at Melbourne on the 22nd October last. It is the first we have heard
about him since he reached Plymouth on his passage out. The Howitts,
whom he had gone to join, with Bernhard Smith and Bateman, had
started into the interior of the country only two days before. Thus
much is gathered from the shipping news in the _Times_ and Howitt’s
letters to his family: from Woolner himself we have yet to wait for
news. Another item of information is rather sad. Poor Collinson,
our once P.R.B., is said to be on the eve of relinquishing art and
entering a Jesuit college[269] as a “working brother,” I am told,
whatever that may mean.... Gabriel has been giving the finishing
touches to some alterations he has made in his old _Annunciation_
picture, consequent on an offer from McCracken of Belfast to buy
it, on Hunt’s recommendation, for the original price, £52. 10s. I
have been sitting to him to assist his repainting of the Angel’s
head. Friday was to have been a P.R.B. meeting at Stephens’s, but
no one attended except myself. Hunt had to take advantage of the
moonlight night for his picture of _Christ at the Door_.... The only
change in domicile that has taken place since I dropped this journal
is that Gabriel and I now have Chambers overlooking the river at
Blackfriars Bridge, 14 Chatham Place.... I should not have forgotten
to premise that, though both Præraphaelism and Brotherhood are as
real as ever, and purpose to continue so, the P.R.B. is not and
cannot be so much a matter of social intercourse as it used to be.
The P.R.B. meeting is no longer a sacred institution--indeed is, as
such, well-nigh disused; which may explain the quasi-non-attendance
at Stephens’s. And the solemn code of rules which I find attached
to these sheets reads now as almost comic.[270] In fact it has been
a proof of what Carlyle says in one of his _Latter-day Pamphlets_,
that the formulation of a purpose into speech is destructive to that
purpose--for not one of the new rules has been acted on, and the
falling off of that aspect of P.R.Bism dates from just about the time
when those regulations were passed in conclave.
Sunday 23rd to Saturday 29th.--Gabriel finished and sent off the
_Annunciation_ picture. It has now lost its familiar name of “The
Ancilla,” the mottoes having been altered from Latin to English, to
guard against the imputation of “popery.” He is now possessed with
the idea of bringing out his translation of the _Vita Nuova_,[271]
revised and illustrated. He had intended photographed designs a short
time ago, but now again purposes etchings.
FOOTNOTES:
[148] This pen-and-ink design was quite different from the
water-colour which Dante Rossetti afterwards executed of the same
subject. The design was sold in 1898 among other works which had
remained in the hands of Sir John Millais up to his death.
[149] This design (we all considered it a very fine one, and with
good reason) represented the spoliation of the grave of Queen
Matilda, wife of William the Conqueror. It was included in the
Millais Exhibition of 1886.
[150] About this poem I remember now next to nothing. I suppose it
was never finished.
[151] No doubt the poem named _Dante at Verona_.
[152] From a song in Browning’s _Pippa Passes_.
[153] Cottingham was an architect, who first came into our circle by
offering to buy Rossetti’s earliest picture, _The Girlhood of Mary
Virgin_. He never did buy it, and his transactions with the P.R.B.
were considered anything but satisfactory.
[154] It will be understood that the year 1849, to which the
beginning of this Journal belongs, was the first year when pictures
pertaining to the “Præraphaelite” movement were exhibited. Hunt’s
picture was _Rienzi Vowing Revenge over his Brother’s Corpse_;
Millais’s was the _Lorenzo and Isabella_ (from Keats), now a leading
ornament of the Walker Art Gallery in Liverpool. Though that
distinguished authority, _The Court Journal_, was thus contemptuous,
the general tone of press-opinion regarding the Præraphaelite
pictures of 1849 was moderate and sometimes laudatory; the systematic
abuse developed in 1850.
[155] The first beginning of _My Beautiful Lady_.
[156] Edward L. Bateman, the Decorative Artist, who, not long
afterwards, emigrated to Australia. Bernhard Smith contemplated at
this time emigrating to America. He relinquished that project, but
went to Australia towards the same date as Mr. Bateman.
[157] Two poems in Mr. Patmore’s first volume, published in 1844.
Dante Rossetti read the volume soon after publication, delighted in
it much, and must have introduced it to other P.R.B.’s.
[158] This was not done.
[159] Lowes Dickinson.
[160] This would be the room appropriated to my brother and myself at
the top of our family residence, 50 Charlotte Street, Portland Place.
It was certainly an anti-luxurious apartment, but we had of course
the run of the rest of the house.
[161] These are two paintings by Hunt; they may have been finished,
or may not.
[162] Augustus Leopold Egg, the R.A. painter.
[163] William North, author of _Anti-Coningsby_, and of some other
novels etc.
[164] This project, as will be seen, resulted in the publication of
_The Germ_.
[165] Mr. Orchard was a young painter, of very feeble physique, whose
brief and harrassed term of life barely allowed him to do more than
show that there was something in him much beyond the commonplace. I
have a faint recollection of one exhibited picture which I believe to
have been his--_Thomas à Becket escaping from England_.
[166] _The Girlhood of Mary Virgin._ It had been exhibited in this
same year, 1849.
[167] Of this song no trace now remains. It had not, I think, any
definite relation to his English poem, written ere now, _My Sister’s
Sleep_.
[168] Must be the same as _On the Refusal of Aid between Nations_.
[169] My brother did not ever paint these subjects, as forming “side
pieces” in a larger composition. He did however, at a later date,
paint an important water-colour named _The House of John_ (the second
proposed subject); and I believe that, soon after our present date in
1849, he executed the first subject also, though I do not recollect
it.
[170] Something has been torn away here. The passage relates to
Charles Wells, and his drama of _Joseph and his Brethren_. The
narrator was William Smith Williams, who preceded myself up to
November 1850 as art critic to _The Spectator_, and who, as literary
adviser of Messrs. Smith and Elder, secured the publication of _Jane
Eyre_.
[171] The book entitled _Stories after Nature_. The proposal of
republication with etchings &c. did not take effect.
[172] Afterwards named _Democracy Downtrodden_.
[173] I was now at Cowes, along with James Collinson; soon afterwards
at Ventnor by myself. The blank-verse poem which I composed is the
one which, in 1868, got published under the title of _Mrs. Holmes
Grey_.
[174] Not executed.
[175] A sculptor then of some mark and promise.
[176] The poet, Coventry Patmore. This is the first mention of him
(as a matter of personal acquaintance) in my journal. I am not
now quite sure how Woolner came to know of him, but think it may
have been through Mr. Vom Bach, a Russian gentleman who had some
employment in the British Museum, to which Mr. Patmore also belonged.
[177] This was not done.
[178] The composition of _Kate the Queen_ included various figures of
women occupied in tapestry or embroidery work.
[179] I was then writing, or intending to write, for _The Germ_, a
review of Clough’s poem named _The Bothie of Toper-na-fuosich_.
[180] In Oxford.
[181] He did so--the picture currently termed _The Carpenter’s Shop_.
[182] A Phrenologist, then well known.
[183] There is a gap before these words, I think it was Hunt and my
brother who, with Stephens, looked over the house--being the same
house which, after an interval of thirteen years, my brother actually
tenanted.
[184] One sonnet thus entitled has been already named. It had
apparently been intended to use the same title as applicable to a
series.
[185] Another poem begun by Woolner. It remained, I think, a mere
fragment.
[186] John Harris was a painter of some promise, who about this
time took a great interest in Egyptian antiquities. His face is
very exactly reproduced in Millais’s picture of _Lorenzo and
Isabella_--the brother who is kicking out at a dog. He died towards
1853.
[187] The blank-verse poem previously mentioned. In 1849 it went
under the name of _A Plain Story of Life_.
[188] Major Calder Campbell, a retired officer of the Indian army
and light _littérateur_, was a very cordial friend of my brother and
myself in youth.
[189] In the picture of _Ferdinand lured by Ariel_.
[190] Hereabouts comes a tatter of the MS.
[191] This is somewhat noticeable. Patmore, who became a fervent
Roman Catholic towards 1863, was in 1849 a strict and indeed
prejudiced Protestant.
[192] The picture referred to is, I suppose, the _Lorenzo and
Isabella_.
[193] Is this performance at all remembered now? The engraving from
it (a very poor engraving from a very poor picture) was endlessly
popular in its day.
[194] The Virgin’s Death was never painted.
[195] I think this was the grotesque poem named _An Incident in the
Siege of Troy_, published in _The Germ_.
[196] This was an early work by Woolner; I should say a good one, and
easy to “understand.”
[197] Mr. Thomas had presented me on 4 December with a list of no
less than 65 alternative titles. The MS. list was reproduced in 1897
in the book, _Letters of Dante G. Rossetti to William Allingham_.
[198] North has been already mentioned. Clayton is John R. Clayton,
then a young painter, and now for many years senior partner in the
Glass-painting firm Clayton and Bell. Bliss was a son of a Q.C. and
had some literary tendency: he emigrated not long after this date.
[199] I wrote the sonnet--don’t now recollect it. The picture was
exhibited, not at the British Institution, but at the Royal Academy.
[200] This gentleman was correspondent in London to some American
journal or journals.
[201] A poem by Collinson, published in _The Germ_, No. 2.
[202] The etching which Collinson executed for his poem _The Child
Jesus_.
[203] It did not come in.
[204] He was in fact the son of this gentleman.
[205] As I have said elsewhere, this was a name bestowed by Madox
Brown upon Mr. Samuel Carter Hall, then Editor of the _Art Journal_.
Brown intended thus to mark the extreme decorum of appearance
maintained by Mr. Hall, whose face, it may be added, was a very fine
one.
[206] John Abraham Heraud, a Poet and writer then of some note,
author of _The Descent into Hell_.
[207] _i.e._ My criticism of Arthur H. Clough’s poem _The Bothie of
Toper-na-fuosich_.
[208] I don’t now remember about these poems. Some verses of mine had
at an earlier date, 1848, been published in _The Athenæum_.
[209] George Patten A.R.A. was a painter of some elevation of aim,
but not a successful executant.
[210] A tolerably clear indication of the fact that money was not
plentiful among the members of the P.R.B.
[211] F. S. means Frank Stone, a painter to whose style of work the
P.R.B. were much opposed. He was said, and I believe with truth, to
be, at or soon after that time, the Art-Critic of _The Athenæum_; a
paper which shortly became very hostile to the P.R.B., but which had
not as yet, I think, said anything in their disfavour--rather the
contrary.
[212] The brother here in question is Alexander Tupper--not John
Lucas Tupper, who did not belong to the printing firm.
[213] _Jane’s Portrait_ (or _Mary’s Portrait_, as it was sometimes
called) is the poem which, under the title of _The Portrait_, was
published in Dante Rossetti’s volume of 1870. It was to a great
extent re-written before publication.
[214] I have no recollection of the poem _Hubert_.
[215] It appeared in _The Germ_ under the title _Repining_.
[216] This second paper did not come out, and I know nothing further
of it. Pity that the opportunity of printing it did not occur.
Another thing which did not come out (indeed it was not written) was
the projected review, as mentioned above, of W. B. Scott’s _Life of
David Scott_.
[217] These designs, a series, had been done some years before--very
forcible compositions. They were purchased towards 1890 by Sir Henry
Irving.
[218] No trace of this is extant; I perhaps never saw it.
[219] Strange as it may seem to some readers, Dante Rossetti had a
strong liking for hair of so vivid and positive a tint that most
people would call it red.
[220] A sketching club, to which Hunt, Millais, Dante Rossetti, and
others (besides Collinson himself), had belonged.
[221] This was a painter named Rainford, whom Hunt and my brother
had found in the house where they took a joint studio in 1848. He
was then a slap-dash (or, as we called it, sloshy) painter, but got
converted to the minute detail of the P.R.B. movement.
[222] These are the opening words of the grotesque poem (published in
_The Germ_) named _An Incident in the Siege of Troy_.
[223] This resulted in _The Angel in The House_.
[224] Matthew Arnold’s poem.
[225] Now called _St. Agnes of Intercession_.
[226] I have not now any recollection of Mr. Harston’s poems, have h
at all survived the interval since 1850?
[227] No such notice was written. Some research was made for MSS.
etc. left by Orchard, but nothing worth speaking of was found. Dr. W.
C. Bennett (the Ballad-writer), who had been a neighbour of Orchard
in the Greenwich district and an intimate of his, took part in this
research.
[228] A professional model.
[229] As I have said elsewhere, we had a fancy for mispronounced
“Germ” as “Gurm.”
[230] Angus B. Reach, a popular light writer of those days, and
Alexander Munro the sculptor.
[231] An assault, but hardly a savage one.
[232] It was written, I think, by Dr. Waagen.
[233] The words in brackets indicate some flaw in the letter.
[234] I think it was my brother who fixed upon Deverell as a P.R.B.
But the nomination was not fully ratified by others, and it cannot be
said that Deverell, who died at an early age, was ever absolutely a
P.R.B.
[235] The work in question (the most important which Deverell
painted) was the subject from Shakespeare’s _Twelfth Night_, recently
reproduced in Mr. Percy Bate’s handsome volume _The English
Præraphaelite Painters_.
[236] Mr. Cayley had lately been a pupil of my father for Italian.
[237] This was the pseudonym (for some burlesque ballads &c.) of Sir
Theodore Martin.
[238] The large Chaucer picture.
[239] _i.e._, A notice, which was printed in _The Critic_, of the
first poetic volume of William Allingham.
[240] Charles Allston Collins.
[241] Wells is an interesting literary figure, and one of whom
personally next to nothing seems to be known. I preserve this passage
with the strong expressions used by his Brother-in-law; but of course
I in no way commit myself as to the statements made, which may have
been erroneous for anything I am aware of. The allegation regarding
Thomas Keats is not wholly new.
[242] I believe this was not done.
[243] J. D. Harding, a dexterous landscape painter, mostly in
water-colour.
[244] This is, of course, _The Burden of Nineveh_.
[245] This must have been a mistake.
[246] Now lost, I am sorry to say. I forget what may have been the
subject of this parody of Poe’s strangely haunting poem.
[247] Now known by a different name, _Borgia_.
[248] _Denys Shand_ may possibly have been sent: it still remains
unpublished.
[249] He (as it happened) was the father of the William North
mentioned previously.
[250] Mrs. Emily Patmore, in whose honour was written _The Angel in
the House_. Mrs. Orme was her sister.
[251] The design was, I think, _A Marriage Before the Flood_,
representing the nuptial feast, and one of the guests, on looking
out of window, startled to see the portentous first beginning of the
storm--a very fine thing indeed. The “picture” must be the one from
_The Woodman’s Daughter_, by Patmore.
[252] The Rossetti family had moved from No. 50 Charlotte Street to
No. 38 Arlington Street, Mornington Crescent.
[253] This “declaration” appears to have been lost this long while
past. I fancy that none of the other P.R.B.’s wrote any declaration.
Had they done so, the papers would now be very interesting documents.
[254] Mr. Woolner did not get the commission, although his thoughtful
and able design was very generally approved.
[255] She was a professional model.
[256] This resulted in the small oil-picture _The Bridesmaid_.
[257] Mr. James Lennox Hannay, for many years a Police-magistrate,
now retired.
[258] This was Mr. Chorley, the musical critic of _The Athenæum_.
[259] Widow of William Collins, R.A., and mother of Charles Allston
Collins.
[260] George Jones, R.A., was an old-fashioned painter of military
and scriptural subjects. He was Keeper of the Academy, and as such
was at the head of the Antique School, and may have been instructor
to Millais in the days of his boyish prowess. “Mrs. Jones” (it will
be understood) was the spouse of Jones, R.A.
[261] This subject was not painted.
[262] Behnes had at one time had Woolner in his studio, and had given
him some sculptural training.
[263] _i.e._ A notice, written by my brother, of Hunt’s picture; it
was offered for insertion, and actually inserted, in my notice of the
Academy Exhibition in _The Spectator_.
[264] I do not distinctly remember about this minor monument.
[265] Now Mrs. Masson, wife of the Historiographer for Scotland.
[266] Christened (at my suggestion) _Rosso-vestita_.
[267] _The Proscribed Royalist._
[268] This was not painted.
[269] He was there, I believe, only a short time.
[270] The rules are printed in my _Memoir of Dante Rossetti_.
[271] This only came to effect in 1861, and there were no designs.
INDEX.
A., Miss, 59
Albany Street, 166, London, 182
Albert, Prince, 200
Alleyn, Ellen (see Rossetti, Christina G.)
Allingham, William, 5, 256, 282, 283
America, 211, 236, 246
Amherst, Lord, 24
Ansted, Professor, 82, 86
Anthony, W. Mark, 73, 75, 77, 81, 100, 108, 112, 121, 156, 176,
271, 284
” Stratford Church, by, 157
” Village Festival, by, 81
Arlington Street, 35, Camden Town, 51
Arlington Street, 38, 292
Art Journal, 105, 250, 264
Art-Union, The, 69, 87
Artist, The (Magazine), 35
Ashley, Mrs., 82, 85, 96, 98, 101
Athenæum, The, 245, 251, 255, 268, 274, 298
Atkinson, Miss, 198
Atwell, Miss, 231
Australia, 5, 33, 144, 149, 211, 307
Austria, 141
Aylott and Jones, 220, 221, 244, 246, 248, 249, 252, 253, 254, 256,
258, 270
Bach, Vom, 221
Bacon, Lord, 179
Bailey, Philip J., 229
” Angel World, by, 262, 265
” Festus, by, 265
Baily, E. H., 102, 166
” The Graces, by, 102
Baldung, 148
” Head of Senator, by, 148
Baltic Sea, 140
Bamford, Samuel, 85, 93, 94, 146
Bamford, William, 150, 152
Barbe, 65, 246
Barcelona, 5
Barker, 105
Barnet, 121, 122, 194
Barraud, Henry, 234
” “We praise Thee, O God,” by, 234
Bate, Percy H., 276
” English Præraphaelite Painters, by, 276
Bateman, Edward L., 32, 33, 34, 211, 244, 265, 307
Bath, Marchioness of, 216
Battersea Fields, 269
Bayswater, 231, 242
Beddoes, T. L., 280
” Death’s Jest-Book, by, 280
Bedingfield, 262
Béguinage, Ghent, 16, 17
Behnes, William, 300
” Wordsworth Model by, 300
Belfast, 5, 158
Belgium, 12, 222
Bellamy, G., 249, 257
Bellamy, Senr., 248, 249, 257
Bennett, Dr. W. C., 270
Best, Judge, 54
Birmingham, 96, 303
Black Sea, 140
Blackwood’s Magazine, 281
Blake, William, 44
” Innocence and Experience, by, 44
Blanchard’s Restaurant, London, 176
Bliss, 240
Board of Trade, 152, 162
Boddington, 52, 303
Bodichon, Mrs., 46, 47
Bon Gaultier (see Martin, Sir Theodore)
Bond Street (New), London, 80
Bonington, 170
Borrowdale Pass, 96
Boyce, George P., 183
Boyce, Miss (see Wells, Mrs. H. T.)
Brent River, 124, 125, 126, 129, 130, 132
Bricklayers’ Arms Tavern, 86
Bristol, 112
British Artists, Society of, 73, 271
British Institution, 53, 84, 152, 154, 163, 244, 247, 254, 255
British Museum, 62, 77, 221, 232, 257
British Quarterly Review, 226
Brittany, 218, 222
Bromley, John, 81
Bromley, Miss Helen, 145, 184
Bromley, Mrs. Helen, 64, 82, 184
Bromley, Sir Richard M., 72
Brompton, 19, 229, 242, 245
Brontè, Charlotte, 217
” Jane Eyre, by, 217
Brown, Catharine (see Hueffer)
Brown, Dr. John, 160
Brown, Elizabeth, 51, 65, 72, 78, 82, 196
Brown, Emma, 35, 44, 45, 46, 64, 106, 107, 109, 111, 112, 113,
116-119, 124, 126, 127, 130, 131, 134, 143, 144, 145,
147-153, 146, 149, 160, 163, 164, 168, 170, 173, 175, 180,
182, 183, 186, 187, 188, 191, 193, 197
Brown, Emma Lucy (see Rossetti, E. Lucy)
Brown, Ford Madox, 26, 27, 29-32, 34, 36, 37, 40, 43, 44, 46,
51-202, 213, 216, 225, 239, 246, 248, 250, 255, 259, 261,
263, 266, 269, 270, 280, 281, 282, 286, 297, 299, 302, 305
” Adam and Eve, by, 54
” Baby, Lithotint, by, 114
” Beauty before she knew the Beast, by, 105, 116, 125-129, 148,
149, 163, 193
” Bonnie Doune, by, 52, 53, 54, 60
” Brent (The), by, 125, 129, 130, 132, 149, 163, 185
” Bromley, John, Portrait of, by, 97
” Bromley, Julia, Portrait of, by, 96, 97
” Brown, Ford (senr.), Portrait of, by, 201
” Brown, Lucy, head of, by, 78, 81, 97, 104
” Brown, Oliver M., Portrait of, by, 160
” Carrying Corn, by, 125, 130, 134, 139, 142, 143, 149, 165,
175, 185
” Casey, Portrait of, by, 94
” Chaucer at Court of Edward III, by, 63-76, 81, 93, 94, 95,
97, 103, 104, 105, 107, 108, 109, 112, 115, 117, 152,
163-169, 185, 187, 199, 280, 282, 286, 287
” Christ Washing Peter’s Feet, by, 110, 115, 116, 117, 150, 151
” Cordelia and her Sisters, Etching by, 106, 261, 267, 268, 270
” Do. Watercolour by, 113, 114, 167, 170, 175
” Cordelia at Bedside of Lear, by, 98-102, 104, 113, 114, 117,
183, 198, 201
” Cromwell on his Farm, by, 195
” English Autumn Afternoon, by, 111, 113, 114, 152, 154, 163,
164
” English Fireside, by, 110, 111, 113, 114, 126, 152, 155, 164,
165, 166, 168, 170, 171
” Fenton’s dead Child, Portrait of, by, 106
” Girl, Studies at Southend, by, 114, 126, 149, 163, 168, 171
” Hampstead, Sketch by, 200
” Hayfield, The, by, 189, 193, 197, 198, 201
” Helen Bromley in Death, by, 184
” Horse, Early Study by, 201
” Infant’s Repast, by, 96, 97, 98, 100, 101, 104, 112, 117
” Justice, by, 51, 54, 55, 57, 59, 60, 169, 193
” King Lear, Designs by, 261
” King Lear, Etching by, 114
” Last of England, by, 112, 113, 124, 125, 126, 129, 130, 133,
143, 144, 147, 148, 152, 153, 154, 165, 168, 170-175,
177-187, 189, 191-196, 199
” Lord Jesus, by, 105, 107
” Love of Beauty, Sonnet by, 239, 241, 243
” Mechanism of Historical Picture, Essay by, 246, 248, 252, 261
” Old Woman, Early Head by, 201
” Our Lady of Saturday Night, by, 112, 123, 131, 145, 146, 165,
175
” Parisina, by, 52, 53, 56, 58, 59
” Paul’s Cray Church, by, 110
” Potter, Lithograph of Bust, by, 84, 85
” Pretty Baa Lambs, by, 108-114, 193
” Rossetti, Dante G., Gravecross for, by, 53
” Do. Monument to, by, 53
” Seddon, Portrait of, by, 104, 105
” Seddon, Mrs., Portrait of, by, 109
” Shakespeare, by, 105, 106
” Shorn Ridgway, by, 109
” Thomas’s Lectures, Notice of, by, 96, 97, 98
” Waiting (see English Fireside), by
” Wiclif and John of Gaunt, by, 76, 78-83, 85-94, 96, 108, 109,
112, 114, 146, 167, 170
” William the Conqueror, by, 54, 55
” Winandermere, Lithograph by, 114
” Do. Picture by, 95, 96, 97, 102, 113, 114, 115, 117, 167,
169, 188
” Work, Picture by, 111, 112, 147, 152, 153, 154, 178, 179,
180, 195, 200
Brown, Miss, 66, 69, 71, 77, 87, 144
Brown, Oliver M., 159, 164, 167, 168, 170, 173, 187, 191, 199
Browning, Mrs., 211, 262, 281, 290
” Essay on Mind, by, 263
Browning, Robert, 20, 37, 211, 219, 226, 227, 233, 237, 252, 262,
263, 280, 304
” Christmas Eve and Easter Day, by, 268, 271, 272, 280
” Ghent-Aix, by, 227
” Paracelsus, by, 227, 271
” Pippa Passes, by, 210
” Saul, by, 227
” Sordello, by, 227, 236, 252, 262
” Soul’s Tragedy, by, 227
Bruges, 13, 18, 214
Bruges, Jerusalem (The), 16
Bruges, Royal Academy, 15
Brussels, 224
Builder, The, 96, 97, 98
Bulford, Emmeline (see Seddon, Mrs. Thomas)
Burcham, R. P., 182, 185
Burchett, Richard, 155
Burns, Robert, 64, 229, 232, 234
” Cottar’s Saturday Night, by, 233, 234, 235
Buss, Richard W., 79
Byne, Miss, 107
Byron, Lord, 64, 66, 280
Cambridge, 70
Camden Town Station, 145
Campbell, Major Calder, 231, 250, 253
Campbell, Sonnet (Germ), by 246, 252
Campbell, Mr., 84
” Potter, Bust of, by, 84
Campbell’s Scotch Stores, 176
Carlyle, Thomas, 37, 161, 162, 178, 296, 304
” Latter-day Pamphlets, by, 308
” Miscellanies, by, 199, 200, 201
” Nigger Question, by, 37
Casey, Daniel, 94, 196
” Horsemen abducting a Woman, by, 94
Casey, Madame, 196
Cassels, 280
” Eidolon, by, 280
Cayley, C. B., 185, 194, 280
” Dante translated by, 280, 283
Chamberlayne, Miss, 70, 71, 80
Chapman and Hall, 219
Charlotte Street, 50, London, 102, 213, 292
Chatham Place, 14, London, 25, 26, 31, 32, 124, 308
Chaucer, 62, 63, 77, 305
Chelsea, 229
Chester, 96
Chevalier, G. S., 224
Cheyne Walk, 16, Chelsea, 227, 229
Chorley, H. F., 298
Christie, Mrs., 54
Church End, Finchley, 113, 132
Church Mason Society, 68, 84
Clapham Common, 109
Clapp, Henry, 245, 246, 257
Claude de Lorraine, 156
Claxton, Marshall, 59, 74
Clayton and Bell, 240
Clayton, J. R., 240
Clement’s Lane, London, 270
Clipstone Street, London, 67
Clough, Arthur H., 225, 251
” Bothie of Toper-na-fuosich, by, 239
Coats, Mrs., 112
Cole, Sir Henry, 153, 154, 155, 157, 158
Collins, Charles A., 5, 27, 172, 176, 264, 283, 291, 297
” Convent Thoughts, by, 297, 301-304
Collins, Mrs., 298
Collins, William, 298
Collinson, James, 12, 206, 209, 215, 220, 223, 227, 231, 236, 246,
247, 248, 251, 256, 264, 269, 275, 307
” Child Jesus, Etching by, 247, 251
” Do., Poem by, 246, 252, 256
” Emigrant’s Letter, by, 223, 231, 273, 275
” Novitiate, by, 264
” St. Elizabeth of Hungary, by, 236
Colney Hatch, 117
Combe, Thomas, 278, 303
Constable, John, 176
Cooper (Actor), 71
Cooper (Carpenter), 66
Cottingham, 210, 213, 214, 219, 220, 221
Coulton, 91, 100
Court Journal, 210, 211
Cowes, 220
Cox, Edward J., 253, 254, 255, 280
Crimea, The, 86, 162
Critic, The (Review), 253, 255, 257, 261, 270, 280, 294
Cromwell, Oliver, 163
Cross, John, 145, 200, 232, 234, 265
” Death of Cœur de Lion, by, 145
Crystal Palace, 185
Cumberland, 95
Cumberland Market, London, 198
Cundall, 274
Curci, Dr., 6, 7
Cushman, Miss, 71
Cyclographic Society, 264
Daily News, 274
Dallas-Glyn, Mrs., 198, 252
Danby, Francis, 84
” Calm after a Storm, by, 84
Dante, 100, 267
” Vita Nuova, by, 305
Danubian Principalities, 140
David, Gerard, 12
” Cambyses and Unjust Judge, by, 12, 15
Davy, 294
Dead Sea, 159
Deighton, Thomas, 109
Delf, Thomas, 35
Deverell, Walter H., 5, 26, 41, 104, 220, 227, 229, 239, 245, 272,
276, 277, 291, 294, 295
” Claude du Val, by, 277
” Egyptian Ibis, by, 277
” Hamlet Banished, by, 277, 291, 295
” James II. and Fishermen, by, 277
” Laertes and Ophelia, by, 277
” Olivia and Viola, Etching by, 272
” Rosalind and Orlando, by, 44, 46, 277
” Sight (The) Beyond, Poem by, 253
” Twelfth Night, by, 276
Dibdin, 74
Dickens, Charles, 5
” Household Words, by, 274
Dickinson, Lowes, 157, 178, 179, 295, 213, 246, 261, 281
Dickinson, Messrs., 80, 105, 108, 114, 157, 261, 270, 282, 287
Dickinson, Robert, 144, 162, 163, 167, 199, 269
Dispatch, The (Newspaper), 248
Donovan, 226
Dover, 111
Drury, 225
Dundas, Admiral, 140, 141
Durer, Albert, 148, 301
Dyce, William, 137, 148, 197
” Christabel, by, 183
Earl, 288
” Nature and Art, Design by, 288, 293
Eastlake, Sir C. L., 285, 297
Edward the Black Prince, 63
Edward III., 63
Egg, Augustus L., 213, 214
Egypt, 43, 158
Elcho, Lord (see Wemyss)
Elizabeth of Bohemia, 8
Elliott, 89, 99, 107
Ellison, 264
English Academy, Rome, 62
Ensgrubber, Miss, 82
Eskdale, 96
Etty, William, 51, 52, 53
” Robinson Crusoe, by, 123, 170
Ewell, 216
Examiner, The, 186, 274, 281
Farrer, 273, 294
Faucit, Helen (see Martin, Lady)
Fenton, Roger, 86, 106
Fielding, Copley, 85
Finchley, 37, 45, 171, 197
Finchley Road, London, 194
Fletcher, 294
Foggo, 74
Foley, J. H., 80
Foot’s Cray, 109
Fores, 294
Fortess Terrace, London, 196, 197
Fowke, Captain, 162
France, 222, 285
Fraser’s Magazine, 218
Free Exhibition, The, 74, 75, 77, 79, 87, 91, 92, 93, 101, 281
Frost, W. E., 84
Garrick, David, 197
Gavarni (see Chevalier)
Genoa, 39
Germ, The, 18, 106, 113, 214, 215, 220-223, 225, 226, 228, 231,
232, 235, 236, 237, 240-254, 256-259, 261, 262, 264, 265,
266, 272, 273, 284
Ghent, 16, 201, 214
Gibbons, 213, 214, 278
Glasgow, 113
Gloucester, Eleanor, Duchess of, 120
Gloucester, Humphrey, Duke of, 120
Glyn, Miss (see Dallas-Glyn)
Godwin, William, 77
” Life of Chaucer, by, 77
Goethe, 201
Golder’s Green, 157
Goldsmith, Oliver, 71
” She Stoops to Conquer, by, 71
Grant, Sir Francis, 53
Gravesend, 64, 66, 71, 77, 78, 79, 81, 96, 98, 102, 145, 149, 184,
270
Gray’s Inn Road, 104
Green, 29
Greenside, 96
Greenwich, 81, 101, 144, 184
Grundy, 110
Guardian, The, 288, 303
Hall, S. Carter, 105, 250
Hallam, Arthur, 227
Halliday, Michael F., 182
Hampstead, 35, 38, 43, 65, 111, 112, 123, 130, 133, 143, 153, 154,
157, 163, 164, 175, 180
Hancock, John, 220, 239, 266
Hannay, James, 5, 19, 27, 28, 43, 257, 281, 299
Hannay, J. Lennox, 296
Harding, J. D., 287
Harris, John, 230, 291
Harston, Rev. Mr., 268
Hastings, 47, 51, 261
Hatfield, 117, 121
Haydon, Benjamin R., 116, 133, 156, 169, 181
Haynes, 220
Hendon, 113, 124, 128, 145, 147, 158, 160, 180, 197, 198
Heraud, J. A., 250
” The Descent into Hell, by, 250, 251
Herbert, J. R., 183
” Lear and Cordelia, by, 183
Hervey, T. K., 251, 252, 262
Hewlett, 90
Highgate, 36, 77, 112, 150, 180
Highgate Archway, 149, 150
Highgate Cemetery, 65, 69, 82, 84
Hill, Mrs., 127, 160, 173
Holbein, 254
Holborn, 71
Holloway, 144
Holst, Theodore Von, 176
Hook, J. C., 285, 287
Horne, R. H., 265
Houses of Parliament, 51, 169, 182
Howard, Frank, 51, 52, 58
Howitt, Mary, 33, 44, 45, 47, 94, 198
Howitt, William, 94, 198, 307
Howitt-Watts, Anna M., 44, 198
” Gretchen at the Well, by, 44, 46
Hueffer, Catharine, 106, 109, 122, 126, 128, 133, 134, 144, 145,
151, 158, 170, 171, 172, 187
Hueffer, Ford M., 60, 106
Hueffer, Life of Madox Brown, by, 60, 61
Hughes, Arthur, 182, 195
” April Love, by, 195
Hunt, senior, 182
Hunt, William Henry, 182
Hunt, William Holman, 12, 17-21, 23, 24, 26, 27, 33, 43, 95, 102,
108, 158, 159, 172, 201, 205, 209, 210, 213, 214, 216, 218,
219, 222-225, 227, 229-232, 235, 242, 243, 245, 248, 249,
261, 262, 264, 265, 269, 274, 279, 282, 283, 287, 288, 289,
291, 292, 295, 299, 300, 302, 306, 308
Hunt, Christian Missionary and Druids, by, 210, 212, 214, 219, 249,
264, 266, 269, 271, 273, 275, 278, 303
” Claudio and Isabella, by, 278, 289, 306
” Hireling Shepherd, by, 306
” Keats’s Isabella, Design by, 212, 279
” Lady of Shalott, by, 279
” Light of the World, by, 32, 33, 306, 308
” Morning and Evening, by, 213, 219
” My Beautiful Lady, Etching by, 232, 235, 242, 243, 244
” Our English Coasts, by, 306
” Rienzi Swearing Revenge, by, 211, 213, 216, 278, 297
” Ruth and Boaz, by, 279
” Valentine and Sylvia, by, 278, 282, 289, 292, 296, 297, 301,
302, 303
Hurlstone, F. Y., 73
Hyde Park, 195
Illustrated London News, 273
Inchbold, J. W., 183
India, 166, 167, 175, 192, 195
Inskip, 84
Ireland, 72
Irving, Sir Henry, 261
Irving, Washington, 163
” Life of Washington, by, 163
Isle of Wight, 108
Islington, 150
Italy, 157
James I., 8
Jehoshaphat, Valley of, 159
Jersey, 277
Jerusalem, 158, 159, 279
John Bull (Newspaper), 248, 257
Jones, Anna, 184
Jones, George, 298
Jones, Mrs. George, 298
Jones, William, 184
Jullien, 199
Keats, John, 95, 234, 285
Keats, Thomas, 284, 285
Kentish Town, 158
Keswick, 96
King’s Road, London, 66
Knight, Charles, 69
Knowle Park, 24, 278
Kotzebue, 71
” The Stranger, by, 71
Krone, 90
Lady Nugent (ship), 146
Lambert, 271
Lambeth Palace, 289
Lance, George, 84
Landseer, Sir Edwin, 53
Lapland, 141
Latrobe, Governor, 41
Lawrence, 70, 72
Lee, Mrs., 107
Leicestershire, 6
Leighton, Lord, 181
” Cimabue Procession, by, 181, 183
Leslie, Charles R., 85, 297
Lewis, 77
” Life of Wiclif, by, 77
Limehouse, 172
Lippi, Lippo, 148
” Vision of St. Bernard, by, 148
Liverpool, 96, 110
London and Westminster Bank, 180
Longfellow, H. W., 18
” Belfry of Bruges, by, 18
Louvre, The, 224
Love, Miss, 271
Lowell, J. R., 231
Lucy, Charles, 51, 55, 56, 57, 60, 61, 65, 67-70, 72, 74-81, 84,
86, 90, 94, 95, 99, 100, 101, 105, 107, 109, 114, 195
” Cromwell and his Daughter, by, 55, 195
” Nelson on the Victory, by, 55
” Pilgrim Fathers, by, 77
Lucy, Mrs., 55-58, 67, 68, 78, 90
Lyons, Captain, 141
McCracken, Francis, 5, 30, 32, 33, 34, 43, 108, 112, 114, 308
McDowall, Miss, 295
McDowell, Patrick, 201
MacIan, Mrs., 53
MacIan, R. R., 53
Mackintosh, Sir James, 62
” History of England, by, 62
Maclise, Daniel, 62
” As You Like It, by, 183
” Spirit of Chivalry, by, 62
Maddox Street, London, 80, 81, 113, 166
Madox, 85, 91, 165, 166, 179
Maitland, 86, 89, 93, 99, 100, 103, 107, 235, 240, 243, 244
Manchester, 56, 102, 113
Manchester Exhibition, 95, 188
Margate, 104
Marlboro’ House, London, 162, 163
Marshall, John, 5, 66, 73, 83, 84, 86, 91, 99, 104, 107, 109, 112,
179
Marston, J. Westland, 251, 252, 262, 263
Martin, J. F., 74, 75, 76
Martin, John, 51, 52
Martin, Lady, 286
Martin, Sir Theodore, 281
” Bon Gaultier’s Ballads, by, 281
Martineau, Robert B., 182
” Taming of the Shrew, by, 183
Mary (servant), 171, 172
Masaccio, 148
Masson, Mrs., 306
Mattia di Giovanni, 148
” Ecce Homo, by, 148
Maude, Mr., 306
Maurier, George du, 4
Medwin, Thomas, 239
” Conversations with Byron, by, 239
Melbourne, 34, 41, 307
Memling, Hans, 13, 14, 16, 18
” Triptych in St. John’s Hospital, by, 14, 15
” Virgin and Child, by, 15
Middlesex Hospital, 140
Mill Hill, 128
Millais, Sir John E., 26, 28, 35, 110, 172, 175, 176, 177, 179,
181, 182, 185, 187, 205-213, 218, 225-232, 234, 238, 242,
243, 244, 246, 247, 254, 256, 260, 264, 268, 274, 267, 283,
288, 290-295, 298, 302, 303, 306
” Bridesmaid, by, 170, 295
” Caen Nunnery, by, 209, 210, 212
” Carpenter’s Shop, by, 226, 229, 235, 238, 243, 260, 263, 272,
273, 288, 293
” Dove’s Return-Ark, by, 295, 297, 299, 300, 301, 303
” Drury and Grand-daughter, by, 244, 247, 254, 273
” Ferdinand and Ariel, by, 209, 230, 232, 235, 244, 247, 263,
273, 292
” Huguenot (The), by, 169, 207, 306
” Lorenzo and Isabella, by, 95, 104, 169, 211, 229, 230, 234
” Mariana, by, 277, 297, 298, 301, 302, 304
” Marriage before Flood, by, 291, 292
” Ophelia, by, 306
” Proscribed Royalist, by, 307
” Ransom (The), by, 307
” Rescue (The), by, 175, 176, 183
” Waterfall, by, 123
” Woodman’s Daughter, by, 277, 278, 291, 292, 297
” Woolner, Hunt, and Hancock, Heads by, 213
Millais, William H., 232, 243, 277, 288
Miller, John, 32, 33, 44, 46
Mogford, 149
Monti, Raffaele, 185
” Veiled Vestal, by, 185
Morning Chronicle, 300
Moses, 299
Mulready, William, 201, 297, 301
Munro, Alexander, 182, 194, 195, 273
Nancy, 15
Naples, 6
Napoleon I., 135
Napoleon III., 179
National Club, 248
National Gallery, 5, 14, 28, 77, 148, 149
National Institution, 46, 273, 276
National Portrait Gallery, Edinburgh, 160
Negro, Marchese G. C. di, 38, 39
New Road, London, 153
Newman Street, London, 21, 106, 110, 111, 229, 230, 246, 279
Nicholas I., Emperor, 135, 140, 178
Nichols, 102
North British Review, 226
North End, Finchley, 157
North London School of Drawing &c., 32, 33, 105, 106, 111, 162
North (Senr.), 291, 294
North, William, 214, 240, 257, 291
” Anti-Coningsby, by, 214
Northumberland, Duke of, 85
Novalis, 201
Nussey, Charles, 225
Oliver, William, 86
Olympic Theatre, 199
Omar Pasha, 135
Orchard, John, 214, 216, 267, 269, 270
” Dialogue on Art, by, 260, 262, 267, 272
” Thomas à Becket, Picture by, 215
Orme, Mrs., 291
Oxford, 225, 234, 243, 244, 254, 256, 277, 278, 288
Oxford Street, London, 79
P.R.B., 12, 17, 19, 20, 205, 206, 210, 212, 223, 227, 231, 232,
236, 237, 239, 248, 254, 255, 256, 258, 264, 267, 273-276,
282, 283, 284, 289, 290, 292, 293, 295, 297, 298, 299, 300,
302-305, 308, 309
Palestine, 43
Palladium, The, 280, 282, 283
Palmerston, Lord, 200
Pantheon Bazaar, London, 176
Papworth, 166
Paris, 12, 17, 51, 82, 86, 94, 115, 117, 152, 157, 162, 169, 186,
196, 200, 214, 219, 224
Paris, Mr., 80
Patmore, Coventry, 161, 211, 221, 222, 226-230, 232-236, 256, 267,
268, 278, 280, 282, 283, 288, 289, 290, 294, 295, 299, 300,
302, 304
” Angel in the House, by, 161, 267, 291
” Lilian, by, 229
” Macbeth, Essay by, 259, 267
” River (The), by, 210, 229
” Seasons (The), by, 222, 239, 243
” Sir Hubert, by, 212, 229
” Stars and Moon, by, 252
” Woodman’s Daughter, by, 212, 229, 281, 290
Patmore, Mrs., 291
Patten, George, 251
Patterdale, 96
Peahen Inn, St. Alban’s, 118, 119
Pen, The, 43
People’s Journal, The, 94, 146
Percy Street 33, London, 193, 194
Percy’s Relics of Poetry, 8
Phillips, 113
Photographic Exhibition, 31
Physicians, Royal College of, 5, 66
Pickford (or Pickham), 55, 56
Picot, 200
Piedmont, 39
Pierce, Harriet, 7
Place Jean van Eyck, Bruges, 18
Plymouth, 307
Poe, Edgar A., 229, 236
” Raven (The), by, 271
” Tales by, 236
” Ulalume, by, 289
Polidori, Anna Maria, 6
Polidori, Charlotte L., 7
Polidori, Eliza H., 6, 7
Polidori, Gaetano, 8, 39, 42
” A Clori by, 8, 10
” Magion (La) di Terrore, by, 8
Polidori, M. Margaret, 6, 21, 25
Polydore, Henry F., 161
Poole, R. F., 297
Pope, Alexander, 80, 280
” Essay on Man, by, 80
Porbus, 15
Powell, Thomas, 236, 237
Pratts, 98
Princess’s Theatre, London, 71
Prospect Place, 5, Chelsea, 245, 248
Pugin, A. W., 77
” Mediæval Furniture, by, 77
Punch, 304
Queen’s Head Inn, Finchley, 197
Rainford, 264, 265
Raphael, 300, 301
Ravensbourne Wharf, Greenwich, 81, 85, 126
Reach, Angus B., 273
Read, T. Buchanan, 35
” Poems by, 35
Red Lion Square, 17, London, 291, 294, 305
Regent’s Park, London, 7, 67, 80, 83, 85, 90, 95
Rembrandt, 148
Reynolds, G. W. M., 145, 146
” Miscellany of, 146
Reynolds’s Newspaper, 146
Richmond, 69
Rigaud, 278
” Thames and Severn, by, 278, 289
Rintoul, Robert S., 284, 286, 287, 288, 298
Ritchie, 156, 157, 159, 160
Roberson, 109
Robinson, 110
Robson, 199
Rome, 62, 64, 65, 83, 185
Ross, Sir William, 301
Rossetti, Christina G., 6, 7, 42, 45, 135, 246
” Dreamland, by, 240, 243
” End (An), by, 242, 243
” Pause of Thought, by, 252
” Repining, by, 259
” Song (Germ), by, 252
” Testimony (A), by, 252, 256
Rossetti, Dante G., 3-47, 66, 67, 74, 89, 93, 95, 97, 100, 101,
102, 104, 116, 124, 144, 147, 153, 156, 172, 94, 205-211,
213-225, 27-242, 244, 246, 247, 248, 250, 251, 253, 256, 257,
259, 270, 272-275, 277, 279, 282, 283, 287-295, 299, 302,
304-309
” Annunciation, The, (or Ecce Ancilla Domini), by, 28, 29, 30,
232, 235, 238-242, 244, 246, 250, 253, 256, 261, 265, 268,
271, 272, 275, 289, 290, 308, 309
” Beatrice at Marriage-feast, by, 306
” Between Ghent and Bruges, by, 12
” Blessed Damozel, by, 250, 251, 253, 256, 262
” Borgia, by, 290
” Bower Meadow, by, 22
” Bride’s Prelude (or Bride-Chamber Talk), by, 12, 17, 229,
235, 237, 242, 253, 268
” Burden of Nineveh, by, 43, 44, 287
” Carillon (The), by, 18
” Dante and Beatrice in Earth and Eden, by, 22, 23, 24, 32, 33,
282, 287, 305
” Dante at Verona, by, 210, 258, 260, 262, 282
” Dante drawing an Angel, by, 209
” Dante’s Vita Nuova, translated by, 219, 258, 289, 309
” Denys Shand, by, 290
” Early Italian Poets, by, 282, 287, 292, 295, 309
” Family Letters of, 36
” Found, picture by, 144, 148
” Giotto painting Dante, by, 32, 33, 238, 306
” Girlhood of Mary Virgin, by, 97, 99, 153, 210, 215, 216, 281
” Hand and Soul, by, 238, 240-243, 260, 266
” Ingres’s Ruggiero and Angelica, Sonnet by, 229
” Kate the Queen, by, 21, 22, 210, 211, 224, 283
” Kraken (The), Parody by, 40, 41
” Letters-Allingham by, 240
” Lines and Music, by, 243
” Mary in House of John, by, 217
” My Sister’s Sleep, by, 216, 237, 243
” Paolo and Francesca, by, 231, 232, 241
” Passover in Holy Family, by, 217, 231
” Poems (1870), by, 258
” Portrait (The), Poem by, 258
” Refusal of Aid between Nations, Sonnet by, 216, 228
” Rosso-vestita, by, 306
” St. Agnes of Intercession (or Autopsychology), by, 268
” Sister Helen, by, 44
” Sœur (La) Morte, by, 216
” Sonnets on Pictures, by, 272
” Sonnets on Trip-France and Belgium, by, 223, 224
” Ulalume, Parody by, 289
” Versailles Sonnets by, 224
” Virgin Mary planting Lily and Rose, by, 217
” Wellington’s Funeral, by, 26, 27
” William and Marie, by, 10, 11
Rossetti, E. Lucy, 58, 60, 61, 64, 66, 77, 78, 96, 102, 104, 110,
113, 127, 133, 134, 139, 145, 150, 156, 170, 175, 184, 186,
187
Rossetti, Elizabeth E., 31, 36, 43, 45, 46, 208
” Lady of Shalott, by, 43
” Portrait of Herself by, 36, 43
” We are Seven, Design by, 31, 32
Rossetti, Frances M. L., 21, 144, 175
Rossetti, Gabriele, 3, 6, 38, 41, 280, 292
” Arpa Evangelica, by, 38, 39, 42
Rossetti, Maria Francesca, 6, 7, 42, 182, 184
Rossetti, William M., 7, 28, 29, 35, 37, 38, 42, 102, 116, 124,
147, 156, 161, 176, 177, 181-185, 205-309
” Arnold’s Strayed Reveller &c., Review by, 253, 268
” Clough’s Bothie, ditto by, 225, 240, 242, 243, 251
” Critic (The), Reviews in, by, 255, 257, 282, 283, 284, 286
” Dante Rossetti, Memoir of, by, 10, 40, 308
” Democracy Downtrodden, Sonnet by, 219
” Fancies at Leisure, by, 252
” Her First Season, Sonnet by, 243
” Mrs. Holmes Grey, by, 220, 223, 230, 231, 247, 253
” Sonnet for The Germ, by, 215, 216
” Spectator (The), Reviews in, by, 286, 299, 302
Rowney, 79
Royal Academy, 36, 66, 85, 102, 107, 108, 112, 146, 168, 172, 174,
175, 178, 179, 181, 182, 183, 205, 226, 229, 244, 254, 272,
273, 274, 284, 297, 298, 301, 305, 306
Rubens, 13, 18
Ruskin, John, 34, 47, 161, 288, 299-302, 304
Ruskin, John J., 300
Russell, Earl (Lord John), 141, 245
Russia, 141
Ruth (Servant), 150
Ryan, Miss, 111
Sadler’s Wells Theatre, London, 197
St. Alban’s, 117, 156
St. Alban’s Abbey, 118, 119
St. John, Hospital of, Bruges, 15
St. Pancras Church, London, 157
Salter, 80
Sang de Dieu, Chapelle du, Bruges, 16
Sardinia, Kingdom of, 39
Scharf (Senior), 86
Scharf, Sir George, 86
School of Design, London, 95, 104, 245
Science and Art, Department of, 95, 106, 153, 155
Scotland, 246
Scott, David, 234
Scott, W. Bell, 158, 161, 222, 234, 247
” Early Aspirations, Sonnet by, 247
” Life of David Scott, by, 260, 261
” Morning Sleep, by, 247, 252
” Poems (vol.), by, 162
Sebastopol, 135, 140, 142, 196
Seddon, Charles, 114, 152, 154
Seddon, John P., 5, 27, 28, 32, 104, 114, 144
Seddon, Mrs. (Senior), 105
Seddon, Mrs. Thomas, 186, 189
Seddon (Senr.), 104, 161, 166, 199
Seddon, Thomas, 5, 27, 33, 104, 107, 109, 158, 159, 165, 166, 168,
170, 172, 178, 180, 181, 182, 186, 189, 194, 195, 201, 240,
270, 292
” Jerusalem, Picture by, 5
” The Pyramids, do. 180
Sevenoaks, 32, 278, 282
Seward, John (see Stephens)
Shakespeare, 7, 64, 145, 236, 295
” Antony and Cleopatra, by, 116
” As You Like It, by, 45
” Othello, by, 37
” Richard III., by, 7
” Twelfth Night, by, 276
Shelley, Percy B., 69
Shenton, 145, 270
Shorn Ridgway, 104
Siddal, Elizabeth E. (See Rossetti)
Silistria, 135
Slade, Lady, 184
Slade, Misses, 180, 181
Smallwood’s Magazine, 11
Smart, 147, 160
Smith and Elder, 217, 219
Smith, Barbara L. (See Bodichon)
Smith, Bell, 101
Smith, Bernhard, 5, 40, 211, 260, 281, 291, 307
Smith, Collingwood, 86
Smith (Model), 79, 88, 90
Solly, 59
Somers Town, London, 66
Somerset House, 245
Southend, 65
Southey, Robert, 77
” Book of the Church, by, 77
Spectator, The (Newspaper), 217, 281, 284-287, 294, 297, 302, 307
Spenser, Edmund, 64
Standard of Freedom (Magazine), 265
Stephens, Frederic G., 5, 20, 21, 24, 26, 27, 206, 209, 223, 224,
227, 232, 235-238, 242, 244, 247, 249, 250, 253-256, 260,
271, 277, 278, 279, 282, 283, 287, 289, 293, 294, 306, 308
” Chaucer, Designs by, 256, 279
” Early Italian Art, Essay by, 222, 252, 256
” Mrs. Stephens, Portrait of, by, 306
” Stephens (Senr.), do., 27, 307
Stockwell, 108, 110, 111
Stone, Frank, 255, 274, 288
Stothard, Thomas, 170
Strand, London, 65, 87
Stratford-on-Avon, 68
Suffolk Street, London, 82
Sunbeam (Magazine), 263
Sveaborg, 190
Syria, 306
T., 34, 35
Tait’s Magazine, 290
Talfourd, Justice, 257
Taylor, Sir Henry, 228
” Philip van Artevelde, by, 228
Tennyson, Lord, 36, 225, 227, 229, 231-235, 237, 238, 239, 267,
278, 280, 282, 288, 289, 294, 304
” Daydream (The), by, 271
” Godiva, by, 224
” Idylls of the King, by, 238, 239
” In Memoriam, by, 227, 267
” Kraken (The), by, 41
” Princess (The), by, 236, 237
Tenterden, Lord, 197
Thackeray, W. M., 145
” The Newcomes, by, 145, 190
Theobald, 102
Thomas, Serjeant Ralph, 176
Thomas, W. Cave, 67-71, 75, 79, 80, 83-87, 89, 93, 94, 95, 101,
123, 139, 140, 180, 182, 213, 225, 236, 239-242, 244, 246,
261, 280
” Il Penseroso, Designs by, 69
” Lectures by, 97
” Russian Merchant, by, 123
Thorburn, 301
Times, The, 120, 160, 163, 172, 274, 300, 302, 304, 307
Titchfield Street (Great), London, 140
Tom’s Coffee House, London, 124
Torrington Square, London, 140
Tottenham, 169
Tottenham Court Road, 291
Trafalgar Square, London, 87
Trinity House, 278, 289
Tudor Lodge, London, 65
Tupper, Alexander, 19, 20, 21, 243, 257, 263, 266
Tupper, George I., 19, 20, 21, 235, 237, 239, 240, 245, 246, 248,
250, 253, 257-260, 262, 266, 267, 270, 272, 303
Tupper, John L., 5, 19-22, 235, 239, 246, 249, 255, 257, 260, 266,
271, 304, 305
” Incident in Siege of Troy, by, 235, 266
” Merchant’s Second Tale, Bas-relief by, 305
” Poems (volume), by, 5
” Sketch from Nature, by, 242, 243, 253
” Subject (The) in Art, by, 241, 243, 253
Turkey, 136
Turner, J. M. W., 156, 170, 188
” The Shipwreck, by, 156
University College, London, 83, 84, 85
Valentino, 224
Van Eyck, John, 13, 15, 16
” Arnolfini and his Wife, by, 14
Ventnor, 220
Verrocchio, Andrea, 185
” Colleone, by, 185
Victoria, Queen, 274
Waagen, Dr., 274
” Glance at the Exhibition, by, 274
Walker Art Gallery, Liverpool, 211
Walters, 210
Warton, Mrs., 56, 57
Washington, George, 163
Wast-Water, 96
Water Colour Society, 182
Weire, 197
Wells, Charles, 217, 218, 219, 222, 281, 284, 285
” Boar-Hunting in Brittany, by, 218
” De Clisson, by, 218
” Joseph and his Brethren, by, 217, 218, 224, 225
” Stories after Nature, by, 218, 231
Wells, Henry T., 183
Wells, Misses, 219
Wells, Mrs. Charles, 217, 218
Wells, Mrs. Henry T., 183
” Elgiva, by, 183
Wemyss, Lord, 200
Wentworth, W. C., 149
Westbourne Grove, London, 156
Westminster Hall, 54, 55, 56, 67, 169
Wethered, 247
White (Model), 263, 271
White (Picture-dealer), 113, 114, 123, 126, 131, 134, 142, 144,
145, 146, 149, 165, 166, 169, 175, 185, 187, 188, 192, 194,
195, 196, 199
White Sea, The, 141
Wild, Julia, 107
Wilkie, Sir David, 148, 264
” The Beadle, by, 148
Wilkinson, Dr. J. J. Garth, 44, 45, 47
Williams (Laundryman), 153, 157
Williams, Mrs., 217
Williams, W. Smith, 217, 218, 219, 281-286
Windermere, 96
Windsor (Ship), 307
Windus, 166-169, 175, 199
Winter Exhibition, London, 28, 36, 149, 163, 168, 306
Woolner, Henry, 34
Woolner (Senior), 40
Woolner, Thomas, 5, 24, 33, 34, 40, 131, 144, 147, 149, 152, 156,
161, 178, 179, 181, 182, 184, 200, 205, 210, 211, 214, 215,
217, 218, 220, 221, 222, 225-228, 230, 232-236, 238, 240,
241, 244, 250, 256, 260, 261, 265-268, 279-283, 288, 290,
291, 293, 294, 296-300, 304, 306, 307
” Carlyle, Head of, by, 296, 305, 306
” Euphrosyne, by, 214, 220
” Friendship, Poem by, 228
” Heads of Painters, by, 210
” Hubert, Poem by, 259
” Iris, by, 239
” Miss Orme, Head of, by, 306
” Mrs. Patmore, Head of, by, 280, 291
” My Beautiful Lady, by, 211, 217, 228, 238, 239, 243, 258
” Patmore, Head of, by, 225
” Puck, by, 239
” Tennyson, Head of, by, 238, 291
” Wordsworth Monument, Model by, 294, 296, 304, 306
Wordsworth, William, 233
” Peter Bell, by, 233, 296, 300
Wotton, Sir Henry, 8
” “You Meaner Beauties,” by, 8, 9
Wyatt, 225, 242, 278
Yates, Mrs., 91, 93
THE END.
PRINTED BY KELLY’S DIRECTORIES, LIMITED, LONDON AND KINGSTON.
Transcriber’s Notes
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been
silently corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences
within the text and consultation of external sources. Some hyphens
in words have been silently removed and some silently added when a
predominant preference was found in the original book or to improve
consistency. Except for those changes noted below, all misspellings
in the text and inconsistent or archaic usage have been retained.
Table of contents: “200” replaced by “201”.
Page 30: “writing to M’Cracken” replaced by “Writing to
McCracken”.
Page 36: “but now any” replaced by “but not any”.
Page 53: “good light. light.” replaced by “good light.”.
Page 64: “afflictions and apprehensionsc” replaced by
“afflictions and apprehensions”.
Page 68: “made a lirlipipe” replaced by “made a liripipe”.
Page 94: “buy a lay figue” replaced by “buy a lay figure”.
Page 146: “in his Micsellany” replaced by “in his Miscellany”.
Page 210: “Vita Nouva” replaced by “Vita Nuova”.
Page 246: “Gabriel borcrowed” replaced by “Gabriel borrowed”.
Footnote 29: “turned of four” replaced by “turned four”.
Footnote 92: “Vision of St. Bernara” replaced by “Vision of St.
Bernard”.
Footnote 142: “Cordelia at the Beasiae” replaced by “Cordelia at
the Bedside”.
Footnote 146: “Brown’s ossession” replaced by “Brown’s
possession”.
Footnote 165: “this ame year” replaced by “this same year”.
Footnote 201: “The Chila Jesus” replaced by “The Child Jesus”.
Footnote 225: “Mr. IIa ston’s poems” replaced by “Mr. Harston’s
poems”.
Footnote 243: “Buraen of Nineveh” replaced by “Burden of Nineveh”.
Page 311: “see Rossetti, Mrs. W. M.” replaced by “see Rossetti,
E. Lucy”.
Page 319: “Maccracken, Francis” replaced by “McCracken, Francis”.
Page 319: “MacDowall, Miss” replaced by “McDowall, Miss”.
Page 319: “MacDowell, Patrick” replaced by “McDowell, Patrick”.
An entry for the index has been added to the table of contents. In
addition, the index has been reformatted to a more conventional
format. For example, the index entry:
“Spectator, The (Newspaper), 217-81-4 to 87, 94-7, 302-7”
has been replaced by
“Spectator, The (Newspaper), 217, 281, 284-287, 294-297, 302,
307”.
Some portions of the text, which are listed below, clearly contain
errors or are incomplete. These have been retained because it was
impossible to determine what any corrections would be.
Page 53: The sentence “I went to the British Institution
yesterday, as it was varnishing-day, and saw all is a
noble-looking man” seems to be in error or incomplete.
Page 231: There are two differing entries for “Thursday 15th”,
and the first is clearly incomplete or in error.
Page 246: There are two different entries for “Friday 11th”.
Footnote 226: The phrase “have h at all survived the interval
since 1850?” is clearly missing at least one word, and the
punctuation may be erroneous.
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