Ophelia's Muse

by Rita Cameron

  Rossetti looked at the ground as they walked. “I’m not sure I know. I’m afraid that if I marry her, she’ll no longer inspire me, and if I don’t marry her, it will kill her.” His voice was sad, almost childish, as he made his confession. But then he added, churlishly, “I wouldn’t expect a man like you to understand.”

  “No, I don’t understand. And I’m afraid that I’ve had some part in this unfortunate business. I’ve supported her in her work, and perhaps made it possible for you to delay doing right by Lizzie. Don’t you see what a rare thing you have in her? She’s a woman almost beyond this earth, a woman of artistic ideals and otherworldly beauty. She deserves protection from this world. You must not destroy her.”

  Rossetti merely bowed his head, taking Ruskin’s reproach as his due. When they reached the picnic spot, Ruskin laid Lizzie down on the blanket. Even before they put the dropper of laudanum to her lips, her eyes began to flutter. At last she was able to sit up, and she drank from a flask of water and asked, “Have I been dreaming?”

  “You’ve been ill,” Ruskin said, leaving out any mention of the scene in the maze, in case she might have forgotten it. “Don’t stir.”

  Ruskin turned to Rossetti and spoke quietly. “Things cannot go on like this. Lizzie is very ill, and you seem to be neither fit, nor inclined, to look after her properly.” He sighed, as if he had been too hard on Rossetti. “And you must, after all, be able to paint. I know that Lizzie’s illness must take a toll on your work.”

  Rossetti nodded, and Ruskin turned to Lizzie. “Miss Siddal, I’m going to insist that you see another doctor, a personal friend of mine from university, Dr. Acland, at Oxford. Now, don’t protest.” He held up his hand as Lizzie started to murmur something. “I really must insist, and I’ll take care of all the expenses, so you can’t object on that account. I know that Dr. Acland and his wife will be very glad to receive you, and I don’t doubt that you’ll find the society, and the country air, a pleasant change.”

  “If you insist,” Lizzie finally agreed. “I don’t mean to seem ungrateful for all of your kind help.”

  “It will be for the best,” Rossetti said, relieved to have Ruskin take things in hand. “The air in Oxford will be better this time of year, and seeing as how busy I am with my work, it would be a relief to know that you’re well cared for. And I’ll be up in Oxford often, to work on the murals.”

  Lizzie ignored him. “I’ll go to see this Dr. Acland,” she said, addressing only Ruskin. “But I must ask something of you as well.”

  “Anything.”

  “The arrangement between us—your generosity in purchasing my work—must come to an end. I’ve been too ill to paint very much this spring, and nothing of quality. I can’t hope to give you a good return for your generosity, and so I can no longer accept it.”

  “Lizzie!” Rossetti said, before Ruskin could reply. “Don’t be a fool!”

  “I’m not a fool.” She finally turned and looked at Rossetti. “I’m only being truthful. The arrangement was purely one of business, as you said yourself, and I can’t hold up my end of the bargain. I’m sure that Mr. Ruskin understands.”

  Ruskin was nodding. “It saddens me for our arrangement to come to an end. But I do hope that when you’re ready to take up the brush, you will look to me as a patron. I’ll always be happy to purchase any of your fine works.”

  “Thank you. I think that I hear the others returning, and just in time. It’s very dark.” She turned to Rossetti. “Dante, will you walk me back to the carriage? I’m afraid that I still feel faint, and I want to settle down beneath a throw.”

  Rossetti glanced in the direction of the cheerful sounds of the approaching group, but he dutifully took Lizzie’s arm and began to steer her toward the carriages. As soon as they were out of earshot of Ruskin, he leaned in close and began to whisper to her. “I’m afraid that you have been foolish, Lizzie. Don’t you realize that without Ruskin’s stipend you’ll be entirely dependent upon me?”

  “Isn’t that how it should be?” She paused. “I’ve been foolish. But not in my dealings with Ruskin.”

  Rossetti colored. “I’m sorry,” he said. Then he stopped. There didn’t seem to be anything else to say.

  Lizzie made no further accusations. There were no recriminations and no entreaties that she had not already made. She’d made her choice, and there was no going back. But there didn’t seem to be any going forward, either. She sighed and took his arm, clinging to him like a shipwrecked sailor, surprised by how flimsy the wrecked splinters of a once great vessel could feel.

  CHAPTER 20

  London, June 20, 1855

  Dear Dr. Acland,

  I’m sending you a talented young artist by the name of Elizabeth Siddal. Her health, sadly, has been in a state of decline over the last months. As an admirer of her work, I’m very concerned for her well-being. She’s the finest sort of person, and a great favorite of Dante Rossetti, John Everett Millais, and the other artists of their group, of whom I know news and praise have reached you at Oxford. Perhaps you’ve heard of her as the model for Millais’s much-celebrated picture of Ophelia?

  She has previously been diagnosed with an infection of the lungs, and she shows very little appetite. I have great faith in your skill, and I know that I can rely on you to look into her illness with all of your expertise.

  Would Mrs. Acland be so kind as to see to arrangements for Miss Siddal at a proper lodging house, and to make sure that she is well looked after? All expenses should be forwarded on to me.

  Your grateful friend,

  John Ruskin

  Oxford, June 23, 1855

  Dear John,

  I’m happy to do you any favor, and in particular to look into Miss Siddal’s case, which sounds from your description to be quite acute.

  Mrs. Acland has arranged rooms for Miss Siddal at Mrs. Johnson’s Lodging House, and will make sure that she is well looked after, and does not want for company during her stay at Oxford.

  Your friend,

  Henry Acland

  Chatham Place, June 26, 1855

  Dear Dr. Acland,

  I am writing to tell you that Lizzie Siddal will arrive at Oxford on Tuesday, by the two o’clock train. Our mutual friend, John Ruskin, has told me of your great skill, and I write to beg you to send word to London as soon as you have made a diagnosis. I hope that you might shed some light on what has so far seemed an almost hopeless case.

  D. G. Rossetti

  Chatham Place, July 5, 1855

  Dearest Lizzie,

  It’s been nearly a week since you left London, and I’ve not had a single word, either from you or from Dr. Acland. I don’t know what to fear most—that you are too ill to write, or that you are angry with me. If you are angry, I know in my heart that I deserve it, and I won’t attempt to excuse myself. I only ask you to take pity on me, and to not leave me in the agony of not knowing whether you are well or not.

  I know that you will forgive me for fearing the worst, for in your absence I have no little dove to distract me from my worries. Holman Hunt and Annie Miller have left town for the country, and Ford and Emma are busy nursing of their little boy, who is ill with fever. John Millais, as usual, is busy turning out painting after painting and being celebrated in every drawing room in the city. I myself am preparing to travel north so that I might meet with several friends of John Ruskin. I fear that your letters might not reach me immediately, so please direct your letter to Charlotte Street, and my Christina can forward them on to me.

  Please, Lizzie, forgive me for not looking after you more carefully. I should have tended to my little dove with a gentler hand, and put aside all of my work until you were fully well again. I’ve been selfish, I know. But I pray that you will forgive me, and that I hardly need tell you that all of my work has been for you, so that I might build a reputation, and a fortune, upon which our hopes for the future can be laid.

  I’ll keep this letter brief, so that I won’t strain you with the reading
of it, and in the hope that you will have some little energy to write to me that you are improving.

  Your devoted,

  D. G. Rossetti

  Oxford, July 12, 1855

  Dear Dante,

  Forgive me for not writing sooner.

  I arrived in Oxford without incident. I can’t imagine what John Ruskin has told them, but the Aclands greeted me with all the attentions that I imagine are given to arriving royalty.

  As usual, you and John were quite correct. The weather here is much more pleasant than in London, and that alone is a great relief. Mrs. Acland took me directly from the train station to my lodgings, and then waited while I unpacked, in case I should want to go home with her for tea. She fussed over me a great deal, and I admit that I found her tiresome, so I claimed a slight headache from the travel and declined. I had glimpsed the town from the carriage, and wished immediately to explore it further. As soon as Mrs. Acland departed, I put on my bonnet, and although I was tired from the journey, I went out for a short walk.

  The town is very sleepy, and everything here looks very old, and puts me in mind of one of your medieval scenes. The streets, if possible, are often narrower and more prone to unexpected twists and turns than the streets of London. They are cleaner, however, and it’s a pleasure to lose one’s self among them, and to look up and see nothing but spires, chimneys, and domes above one’s head. As soon as I’m well enough, I intend to walk out with the little easel that Ford lent to me, and to set it up to make sketches of the lovely little courtyards and gardens and (don’t think me too morbid, as I know you will) the graveyards, which are possibly the most lovely and peaceful that I have ever seen.

  But of course you will see all of this when you come to visit, which I hope will be soon, and you will, of course, describe it in much more charming words than I could ever manage. As for your letter, if there is something to forgive, I should prefer to forgive you in person, as I am always able to summon my happiest spirits when you are with me.

  I’ll write to you again tomorrow, after I have consulted with Dr. Acland.

  Your loving,

  Lizzie

  Oxford, July 14, 1855

  Dear Dante,

  I’ve met Dr. Acland, and had a thorough examination. He’s very odd, which doesn’t surprise me at all as he is a friend of John Ruskin, who seems to collect rare species of friends, ourselves included. Dr. Acland was not at all like the doctors that I’ve seen before, and I really can’t say whether I liked him or not, only that he did ask very many odd questions.

  He’s older and very thin, with white tufts of hair that protrude behind his ears. He wears a thick pair of eyeglasses, which rest on his long nose like a bird perching upon a finger, and he has an exasperating tendency to purse his lips and tap his finger against his chin when listening to me speak.

  He made the usual examinations, and then questioned me quite closely about how I occupied my days, whether I felt that I suffered melancholy at certain times, and other things of a personal nature that I can’t imagine had any bearing on his examination. I’m not sure that I altogether liked his questions, nor he my replies.

  As for Mrs. Acland, she’s very much what you would expect of a doctor’s wife: matronly, officious, and entirely confident in her own abilities. She has been very kind to me, however, and offered to escort me to several parties, if I feel strong enough, so that I might meet the local celebrities, of which it seems that there are a few. She also arranged a dinner at their home to introduce me to their friends, next week. I hope that I didn’t presume when I told her that you would likely be dining with us—I can’t imagine it will be many days until you join me at Oxford, although you didn’t say in your letter when you are coming.

  Yours,

  Lizzie

  Oxford, July 15, 1855

  Dear Mr. Rossetti,

  I’m writing to you regarding my diagnosis of Miss Elizabeth Siddal, for which I understand you are quite anxious for news. It is my opinion, after a thorough examination, that her symptoms are entirely due to an overtaxing of mental powers. I have prescribed a change of scenery and rest from work, until she has regained her appetite and strength. I see no reason that she should not make a full recovery, given the proper time and care.

  Dr. Henry Acland

  Chatham Place, July 20, 1855

  Dear Dr. Acland,

  I received your letter with surprise, as Lizzie has been ill so often these last years, but also with the greatest relief. Nothing gives me more joy than to hear that my dear Lizzie suffers from nothing so dire as we might have supposed, and will require only rest and fresh air to aid her recovery.

  Your letter reaches me at the most opportune of times, as I am obliged to travel for my work, and I hesitated to pass too far from reach, in case there was any turn for the worse. Now I may go forth without worry or reservation, in the secure knowledge that Lizzie is in your care, and will recover presently.

  D. G. Rossetti

  Oxford, July 15, 1855

  Dear John,

  I promised to write to you as soon as I made a diagnosis regarding Miss Siddal, and I received similar entreaties from Mr. Rossetti, to whom I have already written. I have now made a thorough examination of Miss Siddal’s case, and I must admit that it is a very curious one.

  The fact is that I find no real physical signs of ill health in Miss Siddal, excepting the obvious fact that she is quite thin. This, however, and many of her other symptoms, such as loss of appetite and strength, can be explained by her reliance on laudanum. It’s a treatment of the highest efficacy, but when taken over time I’ve found that it can decrease the vital force. It has even, I am afraid, resulted in death of the patient where the use has been too heavy and protracted. I have therefore advised Miss Siddal to resort to its use only when strictly necessary.

  My final diagnosis is that Miss Siddal’s illness is due to mental power that has long been pent up and lately overtasked. That is, exhaustion due to mental strain, possibly from her painting and the excitements of the city. I suggest that she might benefit from some travel abroad, for a change of scenery, and an abstention from work, until she regains her strength.

  I should like to keep Miss Siddal here for a few months to observe her progress, and so that she can benefit from the quieter society found in Oxford. If this is agreeable to you, I will see to all of the arrangements.

  Your friend,

  Henry Acland

  London, July 20, 1855

  Dear Dr. Acland,

  I received your last letter with great consternation. Of course I submit to your professional judgment, of which I have the highest opinion, but after having watched Miss Siddal’s decline over the last several years, I must insist that you examine her once again. She has previously been diagnosed with infection of the lungs, in particular after an unfortunate incident in which she sat too long in cold water while sitting for John Millais. In the interest of thoroughness, perhaps an examination of her lungs might be of use?

  You will forgive me, I know, for insisting. I hate to see a talent such as Miss Siddal’s go to waste, and to see her prevented from painting, which I believe is the one thing that does give her comfort, when she is able to work.

  Your grateful friend,

  John Ruskin

  Oxford, July 25, 1855

  Dear John,

  Regarding Miss Siddal’s case, if she suffers from infection of the lungs, then it is due mainly to weakness and the lack of a good diet.

  I know that I write to you in the strictest confidence, and as an intimate friend of your family, so I will not hesitate to give you my personal opinion of Miss Siddal’s condition, which I hold separate from my medical opinion, as it is based only upon the observations of Mrs. Acland and myself, and is, after all, only conjecture.

  It appears to me that many of Miss Siddal’s symptoms are caused by the worry and strain particular to the weaker sex. That is, to put it plainly, worry over affairs of the heart. Miss Siddal has confid
ed nothing in me, but my wife tells me that she has been involved in a very long engagement with Mr. Rossetti, and that the uncertainty caused by the length of the engagement has been particularly trying to her.

  Although there is no particular medical diagnosis for the effects of such strain, it has been my experience that it can manifest itself in physical symptoms such as Miss Siddal complains of: exhaustion, poor appetite, and a general decrease in overall health. It is interesting to note that the promise of distraction or amusement, or the return of one’s affection, often have the effect of alleviating many of the symptoms in these patients.

  Of course you can claim a much closer knowledge of Miss Siddal than I, and I leave it up to you whether to give my observations any credence. I share them with you only to illuminate my own thinking in the matter.

  Yours sincerely,

  Henry Acland

  Chatham Place, July 30, 1855

  My dear Christina,

  I’m sorry that I haven’t written more regularly, but I think you would hardly recognize your brother lately, as I’ve been much in demand, and have been travelling the countryside from London to Birmingham and back again, bringing home with me a string of commissions that I carry with as much pride as a hunter carries his quarry. If only I could stuff them and hang them upon the wall, I would have quite a collection. Instead, I must now apply myself as never before, and finish the paintings with as much haste as possible. I’ve no doubt, however, of my inspiration, as I’ve found a fascinating new model, a Miss Fanny Cornforth, a person of the utmost vitality, with hair of a golden hue that is meant to be painted (though I am sure that she would not be the sort of person that you would go in for, being, as she is, very common in her speech and manners). But she will do quite nicely for one or two paintings that I have in mind.