Chapter XXXIV: Letter V (3)

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.