Part 2

His father was, however, already tuning the strings, when his son went over to the still irreconcilable mother, took her needles away, kissed her, and wheeled her in the chair round to the table where the opened chess-board was arranged awaiting her. The father had already commenced the air, which at my solicitation he repeated, and afterwards played "The Harmonious Blacksmith." The radiant faces of both parents gradually witnessed to their content; while the son beat time to the music, he paid no less attention to the game with the mother.

The two boys worked hard. They sat up all night long in Millais' studio; they kept themselves awake with coffee; they encouraged one another with talk; when Millais was tired to death of his own picture he worked on Hunt's, and Hunt on his. "Cymon and Iphigenia" and "The Eve of St. Agnes" were sent in to the Academy at eleven o'clock on the last night possible for sending in at all, and next day, in the exuberance of their joyful relief, they accompanied the Chartist procession to Kensington Common--Millais keen to see more of the fray than his companion thought prudent.

One great disappointment bravely borne by Millais, marked the Academy of that year; "Cymon and Iphigenia" was not hung. Hunt, however, gained an outspoken admirer in the person of an Italian student, Dante Gabriel Rossetti. "The best picture there!" said he, as he stood before "The Eve of St. Agnes," and he said it loudly too. He did not admire it the less because the subject was taken from Keats, whom he adored. He loved and studied "the Golden Gates of Ghiberti"--another point of agreement. He was passionately fond of Art, but dejected by the enforced study of glass bottles under the stern guidance of Ford Madox Brown. What was he to do? He could not go on with those bottles. Hunt consented that they should share a studio: and he became an ardent, fascinating, but very troublesome learner. He hummed and moaned, rocking himself to and fro as he sat thinking; he raved and raged while he was painting, causing angelic little girl models to weep; he sat up night after night before his easel, eating or sleeping as the fit came upon him. He was perpetually encircled by a crowd of noisy followers, and he had a most inconvenient way of showing them everything in the studio, and asking them all to supper when the cupboard was bare--a very different friend from the un-Bohemian Millais, who in those days would not even smoke a pipe.

"I have always been told by artists that a pipe is of incalculable comfort to the nerves, that when harassed by the difficulties of a problem it solaces them."

"That is the very reason, it seems to me, for not smoking. A man ought to get relief only by solving his problem," said Millais.

Very different, too, from the genial atmosphere of his home was that of the Rossetti household, where there were strange gatherings of Italian exiles by the hearth.

"Then you are Pre-Raphaelite!" the other students cried, laughing, when self-willed Hunt quoted Sir Charles Ball to prove that the action of the demoniac boy in Raphael's "Transfiguration" was all wrong. The word was caught up, turned into a challenge, _P_ and _R_, two of the mystic initials that were so soon to charm and to enrage London, were formed. The _B_ was added at the suggestion of Rossetti, whose love of the mediaeval at once required a "Brotherhood." Need it be said that there had to be seven Brothers, and that the Brotherhood was to be kept a secret? Rossetti's brother William, who had never learnt how to draw; a nominal pupil of Hunt's, F. G. Stephens, who had never learnt how to paint; Woolner, who was a sculptor, and James Collinson, were quickly enlisted. "Collinson," said Rossetti, "is a born stunner."

"Where's your flock?" shouted out Millais. "I expected to see them behind you. Tell me all about it."

They held their first meeting in his studio, over a set of engravings of the frescoes in the Campo Santo at Pisa. The three leaders were all, at this time, eager to establish some starting-point for their art "which would be secure, if it were ever so humble." They admired what was true in the works of Raphael as much as any one else. "Pre-Raphaelitism is not Pre-Raphaelism," but they held that, since his day, pride and the dogged observance of rule without reference to Nature had destroyed sincerity. As they turned over the pages of the book, they hailed with delight in the old frescoes of Gozzoli that "freedom from corruption, pride, and disease" for which they sought. "Think what a revelation it was to find such work at such a moment, and to recognise it with the triple enthusiasm of our three spirits!" They all agreed that they would make a series of designs from Keats in the new manner. Millais' "Lorenzo and Isabella," in his friends' judgment the most wonderful picture ever painted by a man under twenty, was the immediate fruit of this resolve.

Nature had gifted Rossetti with a hopeful temperament which was of no small service to Hunt in the dark days of discouragement that followed. When the latter was tempted to mourn over the waste of his young years in the city, the former pointed out to him that he had learnt to know men, and the ways of men, instead of mere bookish things that were "of very little use in life." What did it matter whether the sun went round the earth or the earth went round the sun? What did anything scientific matter in comparison with Dante, with the poetry of Browning, which he would recite, over the fire, by twenty pages at a time, with Tennyson and Henry Taylor and Coventry Patmore?[6] When Mr. James, the city man, the owner of the original colour-box, reduced Hunt to despair by his damning criticism of the new picture "Rienzi," "But the man's a born fool!" exclaimed Rossetti, with screams of laughter. When pounds, shillings, and pence ran low, "Can you not understand," said he, "that there are hundreds of young aristocrats and millionaires growing up who will be only too glad to get due direction how to make the country as glorious as Greece was, and as Italy?" In Paris, in Belgium, in the country he was the most delightful of companions, and it was he who led as the Brethren walked up and down Stanhope Street after their work, singing the _Marseillaise_ or _Mourir pour la patrie_.

[6] Hunt, who had written poetry himself, mostly in couplet form, and in the Spenserian stanza, gave it up on account of Rossetti's greater proficiency.

Throughout his youth, however, Rossetti acted on impulse, without consideration as to the effect upon others. When it was time to send in for the Academy he was not quite ready with the charming picture painted in Hunt's studio, and, for the sake of a few more days in which to finish, he sent instead to the Hyde Park Gallery, which opened a week earlier than Burlington House. "The Girlhood of Mary, Virgin," signed with the mystic P.R.B., the meaning of which was then unknown, except to the seven Brothers, appeared, therefore, a week earlier than Hunt's "Rienzi" and Millais' "Lorenzo and Isabella," signed with the same initials, and, for good and for evil, Rossetti began to be spoken of as the precursor of a new school. The effect on him was twofold. Unable to endure hostile criticism, at the first touch of it, the year after, when he showed "The Annunciation," he resolved that he would never again exhibit in public; but, pleased at the pre-eminence given him by those who were not behind the scenes, he withdrew from partnership with Hunt in the studio; and more and more, as time went on, from his society and that of Millais.

"Rienzi" honourably hung in the large room, pendant to "Lorenzo and Isabella," made a favourable impression, but was not sold until after the closing of the Academy; and meantime, the landlord seized Hunt's books, furniture, and sketches, and he was obliged to return to his family. As soon as he could he paid the man, who thought he had been "shamming poverty." At one time he was not able to post a letter because he had not even a penny wherewith to buy the stamp; as he threw himself back on a chair, he thrust his hand between the back and the seat, and lo, it came in contact with half-a-crown! When he went to Lambeth to paint the background of "Claudio and Isabella," the man who carried his traps was so much better dressed that the porter was taken for the artist. Still, he was in good heart, and he and Millais, eager to improve the reputation already gained, were hard at work upon two large works, "Christians escaping from Persecuting Druids" and "Christ in the Carpenter's Shop," when all at once a derisive paragraph appeared in one of the papers, betraying the significance of the three letters, P.R.B., and holding up the new school to ridicule. Munro the sculptor had wormed the secret out of Rossetti, and, after promising not to tell, he had passed it on to a journalist.

The storm of anger which followed was curiously out of proportion to the cause. _The Germ_, a magazine started at Rossetti's instigation, to be the organ of Pre-Raphaelites, would have failed, it may be, in any case, for lack of funds; but jealousy, and that hatred of light which is peculiar to old institutions, can alone account for the venomous reception of the new pictures, when once the secret of the letters became known. The Academy sprang to arms; the older artists, and their pupils, waxed furious. They enlisted literature on their side. Dickens joined in the hue and cry. With the honourable exception of _The Spectator_, every single paper attacked the men who had dared to break with tradition. Raphael had been insulted; Raphael was, it appeared, the idol of all England.

Ruskin came, flashing, to the rescue a year later, with a letter to _The Times_, in which he declared that since the days of Albert Duerer, there had been nothing in art so earnest or so complete as the pictures of Millais and Holman Hunt. They were not this year hung together; they were placed in a less favourable light. The onslaughts of the press were well sustained. "Valentine and Sylvia" (the subject taken from Shakespeare's "Two Gentlemen of Verona") had suffered, in part, from Hunt's distress of mind and the want of means occasioned by the bad conduct of a man whom he trusted; even after Ruskin's letter no one ventured to buy. Nobody came to him for a portrait now. His father's acquaintance in the city offered to bet L10 that any picture of his would be sent back within a week. Anonymous insults poured in upon him. A publisher, who had asked for illustrations of Longfellow, declined to publish them. Debt was staring him in the face, and failure seemed absolute.

At this crisis of fortune, when he had resolved that he must give up Art and adopt some other line of life--preferably that of a settler in the backwoods--Millais came forward. He had freed himself from personal straits only a week or two earlier; now, with the warm concurrence of his father and mother, he offered to share every penny he had with his friend. His generous will to help overcame all resistance; the money--repaid the following year--was advanced; and the two Brothers went off to Surbiton together, to paint "Ophelia" and "The Hireling Shepherd." "Valentine and Sylvia" had been retouched and sent to Liverpool, where a prize of L50 was offered for the finest painting.

Never did the two gentlemen, even in their native Verona, provoke more comment than followed their footsteps wherever they appeared in England. Immediately, anonymous insults in letters and papers began again. Week after week went by; there was not a word from the authorities. At last it grew intolerable. The painter turned on his tormentors. He had never seriously expected such distinction for a moment; but he determined to write to the committee, and ask, by way of bitter satire, why the prize had not been awarded to him. Happily, his designs, and a book in which he was interested, kept him up too late to begin that night. Next morning, as he sat at work not far from the house, he heard Millais' voice, "Another letter from Liverpool"! "Valentine and Sylvia" had won the prize; and they gave three cheers for the Council in chorus.

The happy days of comradeship at the old, ghost-haunted house called Worcester Park Farm glided by all too fast. Millais became intent upon "The Huguenot"; Hunt continued "The Hireling Shepherd" while the sun shone; after dark he threw his strength into "The Light of the World." Whenever the moon was full, although it was so cold that people skated in the daytime, he would work out-of-doors from nine at night until five the next morning. For the most part he enjoyed undisturbed solitude, but now and then a friendly guardian of the public peace came to see what he was about.

"Have you seen other artists painting landscape about here?" he inquired.

"I can't exactly say as I have at this time o' night," said the policeman.

His nocturnal studies continued to arouse interest even after the return to London. As he was coming back to Chelsea on a 'bus one night the driver entertained him with descriptions of the eccentric persons who lived there, Carlyle among them, "and I've been told as how he gets his living by teaching people to write." Then he went on confidentially, "But I'll show you another queer cove if you're coming round the corner. You see him well from the 'bus. He's a cove, in the first place, as has a something standing all night at one winder, while he sits down at the other, or stands, and seemingly is a-drawing of it. He doesn't go to bed like other Christians, but stays long after the last 'bus has come in; and, as the perlice tells us, when the clock strikes four, out goes the gas, down comes the gemman, opens the street door, runs down Cheyne Walk as hard as he can pelt, and when he gets to the end he turns and runs back again, opens his door, goes in, and nobody sees no more of him."

Pre-Raphaelitism went steadily forward. "The Light of the World" was not yet ready, but the wonderful Academy of 1852 contained "The Hireling Shepherd," Millais' "Ophelia" and "The Huguenot," and Ford Madox Brown's fine picture, painted after the same method, "Christ Washing Peter's Feet." "The Strayed Sheep," a beautiful little landscape begun for a gentleman who admired "The Hireling Shepherd," but did not wish for so large a picture, was painted at Fairlight, soon afterwards. At the Academy of 1853 "Claudio and Isabella" hung in the first room. In 1854 "The Light of the World" was finished, and sold to Mr. Combe of Oxford. "The Awakened Conscience" went to the Academy the same year.

And now a plan that had been in the artist's mind ever since, as a child, he listened to the words of the New Testament at school, found sudden fulfilment. The cry of the East was in his ears; he would go to the East, and paint a sacred picture there. As on so many other occasions throughout his life, he met with violent opposition. He would lose all that he had gained at such cost and have to begin over again on his return; he would find nothing but overgrown weeds, no beauty that was not tenfold more beautiful in England; he would get Syrian fever and be an invalid for the rest of his days; he would die like Wilkie. Rossetti said that local colour interfered with the poetry of design. Ruskin said that he was giving up the real purpose of his life, which was to train a new school of art. What Millais said does not appear. What Millais did was to help in the packing, which had been left to the last minute, so that there was no time for dinner, and to rush to the buffet for any "likely food" that he could find and toss it into the railway carriage after the train had begun to move.

Upon a parting gift from Rossetti were written these lines from "Philip van Artevelde":

"There's that betwixt us been, which we remember Till they forget themselves, till all's forgot, Till the deep sleep falls on them in that bed From which no morrow's mischief knocks them up."

II

THE EAST

"I regard the man who has not sojourned in a tent as one who has not thoroughly lived." W. H. H.

The first period of life was over. The mystic letters were used no more; after the savage onslaughts of the press it had been determined that Pre-Raphaelites should be recognised by their work alone, not by any arbitrary signal. Henceforth each of the Brothers followed his own line. Marriage came in due course. Mr. Holman Hunt has been twice married; he has two sons and a daughter.

"The Scapegoat"--a subject which he had thought of suggesting to Landseer--was painted by the shore of the Dead Sea. After many negotiations, for the country was in a troubled state and he risked his life by going, he encamped there, with a little band of followers to protect him, and a goat. Soleiman, one of the Arabs, desired--though only seven years younger than himself--to be his son. By what name should he call him? _Hunt?_ That was no name at all. _Holman?_ That was not much better. _William_, however, pronounced "Wullaum," he "found very good."