While she was with Rossetti Lizzie was encouraged to paint, draw and write poetry, not only by Rossetti but also by the art critic John Ruskin, the poet Algernon Swinburne and others. At one point Ruskin was paying Lizzie £150 a year for the right to all her artwork.
For most of her adult life Lizzie suffered from mysterious health problems. For decades it was believed that she had tuberculosis but in the last few years of her life evidence has emerged that suggests she had some kind of intestinal disorder. Her friends packed her off to Paris and Nice for health treatments.
Finally, in 1860, Rossetti made the commitment and married Lizzie Siddal. Why he finally did so has been speculated by all and sundry. Rossetti may have married Lizzie out of a feeling of guilt for having not married her for so long; he may have married her in response to his one-time love, Jane Burden, marrying William Morris. On Wednesday 23 May 1860 they married in St Clements Church, Hastings, with two official witnesses but no friends or family.
Elizabeth Siddal
The marriage did not mean a happy ending by any means. Lizzie continued to suffer from bad health and a feeling of insecurity. She had by this time also become addicted to laudanum, originally prescribed for pain reduction. Nevertheless, a joyous event was announced in 1861: Lizzie was pregnant. Although the pregnancy followed through to full term the baby girl was stillborn. Lizzie was grief-stricken; a year later Lizzie was dead too.
The night before Lizzie’s death has had several different accounts recorded. Swinburne, one of Lizzie’s admirers, says that there was a dinner at a restaurant, which the Rossettis both attended. Lizzie was lively, engaging and even happy; she was pregnant again. After the dinner Rossetti took his wife home, tucked her up in bed and went out again. When he returned at about midnight he found Lizzie unconscious but still alive in bed with an empty laudanum bottle beside it. Although attempts were made to revive her she died in the morning. Many years later Oscar Wilde put forth another version of the story. Lizzie was already doped up to the eyeballs on laudanum when she arrived at the restaurant. Her behaviour was wild, outrageous and embarrassing; Rossetti, humiliated and angry, took her home, put her in bed and threw the laudanum bottle at her telling her to take the lot. And then he went out.
Probably Rossetti, if he did taunt his sick wife, did so out of desperation and didn’t mean or expect her to act on it. Perhaps it was an accidental overdose, just as the inquest found. Or it could have been the build-up of arsenic in her system through long-term use of Fowler’s Solution, a popular medicine of the time, used for the improvement of the complexion. Rossetti was certainly wracked with guilt afterwards. This may have been because he wasn’t actually at home when she took the overdose. It is commonly thought he was off visiting other lady friends or was at a brothel. Full of remorse and perhaps feeling poetically romantic at his loss, Rossetti put a bundle of his unpublished poems into the casket with Lizzie before it was buried. This was another thing for him to regret.
As with Dante Alighieri after the loss of his muse Beatrice, Rossetti flung himself into a fit of work churning out yet more drawings of his beloved Lizzie. Two years after her death Rossetti picked up the painting of Beata Beatrix he had begun before Lizzie died. He did not complete it until 1870. It shows Lizzie as Beatrice, already pale with death but sitting in a trance with closed eyes. A dove drops a poppy into her open hands, in the background love and Dante gaze at each other. This is the death of Beatrice as immortalised in Dante Alighieri’s poem Vita Nuova. For Rossetti, the scholar and painter, this was his own testament to his greatest muse. Certainly it is the sketches, drawings and paintings of Lizzie that have earned him his reputation as a painter, and it is these that have fetched the biggest prices after his death.
This brings us to the tale of the equally beautiful Jane Burden. Where Lizzie Siddal had been pale skinned with red hair, the idealised Celt, Jane, was dark haired and exotic looking. Jane was born in Oxford in 1839 to Robert Burden, a stable hand, and his wife Ann, a former domestic servant. Jane and her sister Bessie were probably destined for the same work as their mother, followed by marriage and children. In 1857 the two sisters went to a production put on by the Drury Lane Theatre Company in Oxford. It just happened that Dante Rossetti and one of the later Pre-Raphaelite painters, Edward Burne-Jones, were in Oxford painting an Arthurian-themed mural for the Oxford Union library. If they had not been in Oxford when Jane Burden went to the theatre, and if the men had not noticed her (although she was definitely eye-catching) then Jane Burden may well have had a completely different kind of life. Instead she was discovered as the next Pre-Raphaelite model and was whisked back to London with them.
Rossetti saw in Jane the antithesis of his ethereal Lizzie. Jane was dark where Lizzie was fair; Jane was the model for the likes of Guinevere, a fallen and treacherous woman whose beauty caused trouble, while Lizzie was forever the angelic Beatrice; Jane’s beauty was sensuous and earthy where Lizzie’s was fragile.
Jane, as the child of lower-class folk, was uneducated. Her mother was illiterate, although there is no mention of Jane having been so too. Jane was naturally intelligent, however, and a fast learner. The painters took it upon themselves to encourage her to read, learn and improve herself. She not only became a great reader but she also became fluent in French and Italian.
It was William Morris who ended up stealing Jane away as his bride, although he did not take her whole heart. They became engaged in 1858 and were married the following year in St Michael’s Church, Oxford. There was a story circulating as to the effect that the marriage had on Rossetti. Some stated that it was because of the Morris-Burden match that Rossetti finally settled down properly with Lizzie Siddal; if he couldn’t have Jane he’d better settle for his previous love. Others suggested that Jane had been asked by Rossetti to marry him but he felt he should stick with Lizzie.
After Jane’s marriage she put a huge amount of effort into metamorphosing herself into a lady. She took up the piano and played it very well, she worked hard at losing her working-class accent and her manners. She may well have been the inspiration behind the character of Liza Higgins in Bernard Shaw’s Pygmalion. Certainly in later years no one could have guessed at Jane Morris’s humble background.
Jane bore William two daughters, Jane Alice and Mary. Her first child was born about the time Lizzie Siddal gave birth to her stillborn daughter. During the next decade Jane Morris became close to Rossetti; it is thought their affair started in 1865. Morris went off to Iceland for an extended study visit. While he was away Rossetti and Jane Morris became indisputable lovers. On Morris’s return in 1871 he could not deny the fact that his wife was in love with his best friend and business partner. He was not in a position to make a fuss about the situation. Morris himself had been an advocate of free love and would not play the hypocrite. He stood by his wife and friend.
Jane’s affair with Rossetti lasted until his death in 1882 although things had cooled considerably before the end, not least because Jane was put off by his addiction to chloral. Two years after Rossetti’s death and two before Morris’s, Jane met the poet and political activist Wilfrid Scawen Blunt and became his mistress until 1894.
Jane Morris was beautiful even in her older age. She died in January 1914. It is perhaps at this point that we should mention the curious case of John Ruskin, who was instrumental in promoting the work of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood and, although never considered a great artist himself, was inspired by the beauty around him. He had an odd upbringing by his two domineering puritanical parents, who kept him tied to them for a great deal of his adult life. This may have been how everything fell into a mess on his domestic front.
Ruskin was introduced to 13-year-old Euphemia Gray about 1841, he was 22. Seven years later they married. Nothing appeared to be wrong until the wedding night, when Effie expected certain things to happen but they didn’t. In fact Ruskin told Effie that nothing of a sexual nature ever would happen between them. Effie was puzzled and wondered what was so
wrong with her that her husband didn’t want to make love to her. Not only did Effie not have the pleasures of a normal married life she also had Ruskin’s parents to put up with, who managed every part of the couple’s lives.
The speculations abound surrounding Ruskin’s inability to consummate his marriage to a beautiful woman. The obvious one is that Ruskin was not able to perform the deed. Another was that once seeing Effie’s pubic hair he was so disgusted that he couldn’t bring himself to touch her; there was no pubic hair on the classical statues he so adored. Another idea was that Ruskin felt that if he had sex with Effie they would both be besmirched with carnal sin – and how could he do that to such a pure creature as Effie?
In 1851 the Ruskins became friends with the painter John Everett Millais. The artist was struck by Effie’s beauty and asked if she would model for him. Ruskin gave his permission, although he may have regretted it later. In 1853 the three of them went to Scotland on a painting trip. Millais did his famous portrait of Ruskin standing in front of a rushing mountain burn, and began to make quiet love to Effie behind his back. Whether they consummated their love at the time is not recorded but Millais’s declarations of love gave Effie the courage to finally confront the unsatisfactory situation of her marriage to Ruskin; for a start, Effie wanted children.
At the end of that year Effie told her parents about the platonic nature of her marriage and with their help filed a case for annulment. Ruskin didn’t deny the charges and he didn’t try to prevent Effie from leaving. The case was a public curiosity. In 1855 Effie was free to marry Millais, which she did. The marriage was a good one and the couple had eight children. There was a downside, however, in that Effie could not be seen at social events that involved the queen. As Queen Victoria did not regard Effie’s annulment of her marriage as legitimate, she refused to invite her to royal social functions. Some of the aristocracy followed suit and refused to entertain Effie, although they would accept her husband, John Everett Millais. Towards the very end of Millais’s life the queen was persuaded by one of her daughters to make an exception to the harsh rule so that Effie could attend an event with him. Effie didn’t survive her husband for very long, she died about sixteen months afterwards in 1897.
Effie Ruskin
Ruskin didn’t marry again, although when he was in his mid-40s he did propose to a girl of 16. Rose La Touche was 9 when she and Ruskin began a deep and curious friendship. They constantly wrote to each other, she was Rosie Posie and he was Sir Crumpet. The correspondence was encouraged by the child’s mother who could see nothing harmful in it. When Rosie turned 16 Ruskin asked her parents if he could marry her. Rosie was as keen as he was. The parents couldn’t see any great objection, the age gap was wide but not unheard of and Ruskin would provide a comfortable life for their daughter. Everything was set to go ahead, until Effie Millais heard about it. She felt it her duty, after her own shabby treatment in being Mrs John Ruskin, to warn the parents of the true nature of the prospective groom. Rosie’s parents were suitably startled, enough to call it all off and to put a stop to any correspondence between the two. Ruskin was broken-hearted and Rosie fell ill. Although Effie’s interference was made from the best of motives, in this odd case perhaps it was the wrong thing to have done. Rosie never recovered and died insane at the age of 26.
BURNE-JONES IN SEARCH OF
LOVE
Edward Burne-Jones was a late arrival on the Pre-Raphaelite scene; indeed he is often called the last Pre-Raphaelite. He was tall and thin with light-coloured hair and pale skin. In later years he grew a moustache and beard, which gave him a very distinguished air. In his work he was always looking for perfect beauty and for this he needed suitable models. Burne-Jones lived for his art and could find it difficult to separate reality from artistic inspiration.
In 1856 Burne-Jones became engaged to bonny lass Georgiana Macdonald; she was only 15 and he 22. Georgiana came from a strict Methodist background, and until her fiancé could afford to keep her there was no possibility they would break their celibacy. It wasn’t until 1860 that they married. For the next fifteen years or so it was a good, loving marriage seeing the birth of healthy children.
Then in the mid-1860s Edward Burne-Jones, who had been such a faithful husband, began to find his interest straying. He and his family moved into bigger premises that would allow him an extensive studio complex that would have a special, inner sanctum, private from all the comings and goings of family life. Children were noisy, although he adored them; his wife was capable, kind and loving but she had lost her youthful beauty and, while still very good-looking, had taken on a determination as the head of a successful household. Also, sexual relations between husband and wife had stalled, perhaps because they did not want to have any more children (although this is speculation).
Burne-Jones needed stimulation. He needed beauty, romance and personal attention. He needed a new muse. And he found it just before the family moved into their new house. Maria Zambaco was tall, dark haired with large brown eyes. She was in many ways not dissimilar to Jane Morris. Maria was to be a grand passion that would drain the artist emotionally and physically.
Born Maria Terpsithec Cassaretti in 1843, Maria came from a wealthy and influential family with a Greek heritage. Her mother was a famous socialite, Euphrosyne Cassaretti, though often called the duchess. As a child Maria, aged 4, was painted in exotic Turkish costume by the painter G.F. Watts. As she grew up she enjoyed painting and drawing and had thought she might make a career out of it, not that she needed to earn a living as she inherited a large fortune on her father’s death when she was still in her teens.
In 1861, against her family’s wishes, Maria married a Greek doctor, Demetrius Alexander Zambaco, and went to live with him in Paris. Zambaco would go on to become an expert in the dermatological effects of syphilis. The marriage lasted hardly five years and Maria was back in London living with her high-society mother. Although Zambaco refused to give her a divorce Maria came home with her fortune intact and the return of her dowry. What made the marriage fail is unknown, although it has been suggested by Maria’s family that the good doctor was in fact interested in child pornography. They had two children, Frank and Maria Euphrosyne. Frank had suffered some kind of brain damage at birth or in early childhood.
Maria Zambaco
Maria was wealthy and single (although not free to marry again), she could take up art again but she would need a good teacher. One of the delights of her pre-marriage life was to mingle with the leading lights of the artistic community and Maria was more than happy to return to it. Relatives of her mother had bought a large house and it was here that Burne-Jones was invited, along with many of his friends and colleagues. Maria’s mother took great care to introduce the artist to her daughter. In fact she probably did more than was necessary to bring them as close together as possible.
A double portrait of Maria and her best friend Marie Spartali was commissioned by the duchess. Burne-Jones was flattered and more than happy to paint two lovely women, and Maria was more than lovely, she was a goddess. Burne-Jones decided to depict the two friends as Cupid and Psyche. His initial painting was not what he had hoped and he didn’t feel he could accept payment for it. It would take months of sketches and drawings before he could present the family with a finished work that he was satisfied with. This may have been an excuse to extend his contact with the woman who was rapidly turning into his latest muse and love interest.
Maria became Burne-Jones’s model and pupil and therefore was able to come and go to his private studio without arousing suspicion. Georgiana may have suspected something but chose to keep it to herself if she did. Her husband was always a soft touch for a beautiful woman in distress, and in Maria he found both. Maria was estranged from her brilliant young husband for some unspecified reason, but it must have been serious if it meant she had come back to live with her mother. It is hard for an outsider in another century to look too sadly on Maria’s position; she did have wealth and comfort, child
ren and a loving family. Georgiana also had many of these things; though wealth was not one of them, she was comfortably off.
Maria’s wealth allowed her a support team who could look after children and household duties; thus she was able to take up her art practice again. Georgiana, on the other hand, although certainly not poor, could not afford such a luxury and had given up all thought of her own artistic dreams when she married. Burne-Jones, wrapped up in his gorgeous new model who was beautiful and clever, could not help feeling tied down by his older and home-obsessed wife. However, it was Georgiana who would stick by him through thick and thin, nurse him when he was ill and keep his finances in check. Without that steady person in the background he, like many other artists and creators, would not have functioned at all. What is more, when she did find an incriminating letter in the pocket of her husband’s jacket, Georgiana did not confront him with it but remained as passive as ever.
Maria returned Burne-Jones’s passion, even though he was getting on for 40 and she was only in her mid-20s. He drew caricatures of himself as a gawky scarecrow of a fellow, constantly wondering what she saw in him. While the affair was at its height Burne-Jones’s work flourished. His output was both prolific and of high quality, but it was not sustainable and nor was the pressure of guilt at betraying his wife.
Finally Burne-Jones tried to break off the affair. Ruskin has left documentation of his friend’s attempts and also how they failed. Burne-Jones wanted both his beautiful, rich, fascinating mistress and his loyal, efficient wife, mother of his beloved children. Maria had hatched a plan in which the two of them would run off to a Greek island and live there happily ever after. Burne-Jones, initially excited at the prospect of leaving his ordinary life behind, was tempted for a fleeting moment, before reality brought him to his senses. He could not do that to his family, nor his friends, patrons or himself. It was a fantasy and he knew it; Maria did not.
Other Women Page 14