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....