In this supplemental post to the continuing series exploring a more colorful curation of Edward Burne-Jones art studies (red chalk, colored paper, gold ink, etc.), we will take a closer look at two of his sketchbooks held at the Victoria and Albert Museum. The next part of this sub-series will feature another sketchbook containing 77 pages.

These sketchbooks are filled with thick, white wove Whatman paper: one, once bound in canvas inscribed ‘Roberson & Co.’, a name that will become more familiar when we explore the creation of Pre-Raphaelite Purple, and the other in its original, more regal binding (shown below). Whatman paper comes from an 18th-century papermaker, James Whatman, who invented the wove papermaking process that uses a woven wire mold to create a smoother sheet. According to the Victoria and Albert Museum, May Morris’ sketchbooks were also made with Whatman paper. You can read more about the history of Whatman paper here.

Flip open this sketchbook, bound by Douglas Bennett Cockerell in 1902 (after the passing of Edward Burne-Jones), and you will find a beautiful bookplate engraved with the name ‘Frances Horner,’ who appears in several of EBJ’s paintings.

You can spot her at the bottom of the Golden Stairs (1880) playing the cymbals and as the young bride in The King’s Wedding (1870).

You may be wondering why the Pre-Raphaelite muse and embroiderer, Frances Horner, had Burne-Jones’ sketchbook and commissioned it to be bound beautifully, gilt, and bejeweled with glass beads. While this is a separate post of its own (and her extraordinary embroidery work will need another as well), this quote from a letter to her friend after Burne-Jones’ passing may, for the moment, explain:

, this is for you:

Below you may recognize segments of The Depths of the Sea (1887), The Legend of the Briar Rose (1874–1884) (there are so many incredible studies for the Briar Rose series held in different collections — I’m working on collecting them all for a separate article), the Pygmalion series (1875–1878), the Perseus series (1875–1888), Love and the Pilgrim (1896–1897), The Wheel of Fortune (1875–1883), Sibylla Delphica (1877), and a study for the monument he designed dedicated to his parents, titled The Entombment (1879).

Have you noticed that excitement can often feel indistinguishable from the physical effects of anxiety? Well, prepare yourself, because I experienced that while “flipping” through his sketches — especially the studies of sleepy knights clad in armor for The Legend of the Briar Rose and figure studies bound in a single cloth, rippling from the tension.

If you haven't already, be sure to check out my first post introducing the preliminary works by Burne-Jones:

𓇚 Happy Sunday, Fellow Pre-Raphaelite Enthusiasts! 𓇚

Since our last garden tour, the Pre-Raphaelite garden has transitioned from a delicate lacing of spring blooms to a colorful tapestry of late summer’s flora.

• We listened to the song of the water willows as the light began to wane.

• On our way to the garden of Heart’s Castle, we were greeted by a procession of contenders—or counterfeits, as we later learned—at the entrance.

• Possibly our most beloved stop was the garden of Beatrix Potter, where we discovered parallels to the garden of the Pre-Raphaelites.

“When I was young it was still permissible to admire the Pre-Raphaelites; their somewhat niggling but absolutely genuine admiration for copying natural details did certainly influence me.”

From a journal entry of Beatrix Potter,
Quoted from The Journal of Pre-Raphaelite Studies

• For those who wished to revisit her charming cottage garden, we also stopped by The Pleasaunce to explore the growing library of books on Beatrix Potter’s life and legacy.

  

  The Art of Beatrix Potter by Enid and Leslie Linder

• Lastly, our guest writer, Lucy Stickling, Marketing Officer for Leighton House, gave us an inside look at the Victorian treasures in bloom at Leighton House for their current exhibition, Victorian Treasures from Cecil French and Scott Thomas Buckle, on view through September 21, 2025.

As we receive late summer’s final offerings, the garden of the Pre-Raphaelites will begin to be cloaked in autumn leaves. From bulb planting, a promise of beauty in the spring, to the crimson bursts of color from Japanese maples against the garden’s overall golden autumnal glow, I find this time to be the most exciting of all!

Sincerely,

Jesse 𓆸

Adolphus M. Madot certainly had a talent for painting theatrical costumery and Shakespearean jester attire. Just look at that flash of gold in Slender’s (The Merry Wives of Windsor) inner lining! Tragically, the Victorian art world lost him to tuberculosis as a young man. The ivy trailing down the brick wall and clinging up the Forest of Arden alone is at the skill of any well-known Pre-Raphaelite.

While researching Beatrix Potter's nature studies, I discovered the culmination of over 40 years of fungi observation by the little-known female illustrator, F.M. Lewis.

The Pleasaunce

Medieval Mycological Manuscripts by a Victorian Naturalist

While finishing up my latest Pre-Raphaelite Pleasaunce post, Beatrix Potter and the Pre-Raphaelites, over the past two weeks, I came across some of the most exciting finds. These Victorian illustrated fungi studies being the one that halted my research all together…

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a year ago · 22 likes · 7 comments · Jesse 𓆸

If you are able to make it to London in the next two months, be sure to visit Leighton House’s beautifully curated exhibition, Victorian Treasures from Cecil French and Scott Thomas Buckle (on view now through September 21, 2025). A true Garden of the Pre-Raphaelites on exhibit!

Though I won’t be able to see these Victorian treasures in person this year, I would love to experience the exhibition through your eyes. If you are able to attend, please share your impressions and favorite paintings or studies from the show in the comments!

Below, you will find a lovely article by Lucy Stickling, Marketing Officer for Leighton House, highlighting the rarely seen and lesser-known works featured in their current exhibition. In addition, enjoy the beautiful, high-quality images of the exhibition that she kindly shared with us.

Victorian Art in Bloom: The Collections of Cecil French and Scott Thomas Buckle at Leighton House

by Lucy Stickling, Marketing Officer of Leighton House

A rare trove of Victorian Treasures are on show at Leighton House this summer, bringing together the collections of Cecil French (1879–1953) and Scott Thomas Buckle - two collectors, separated by nearly 70 years, who each began acquiring Victorian art against the grain of fashionable taste. Their respective collections feature rarely seen works from the likes of Burne-Jones, Waterhouse and Leighton, alongside lesser-known gems.

Cecil French was a painter and poet who quickly realized that his true calling lay in collecting. In an era when Victorian art had fallen out of critical favour, French was scouring dealers and salesrooms for forgotten masterworks at bargain prices. 

At the heart of the Cecil French Bequest is a collection of works by Edward Burne-Jones. Cupid Delivering Psyche, 1867, captures the allegory and sensuality that defines Burne-Jones’s mature work. Created in response to a commission from his friend William Morris, Burne-Jones produced a series of illustrations for Morris’s epic poem The Earthly Paradise, a retelling of 24 classical and medieval stories. The image presents Psyche in her cursed sleep, rescued by the god of love - a perfect symbol for French’s own rescue mission on behalf of Victorian art.

This same care is echoed in the delicate watercolour of The Garland (a girl tending flowers), 1866, where Burne-Jones transforms a design for a stained-glass window into a fully realized painting - the girl’s devotion to tending flowers echoing French’s own caretaking of a dying aesthetic. Interestingly, Morgan Le Fay, 1862, was a painting that French tried and failed to sell, due to visible join lines from a restoration by Edward Clifford, one of Burne-Jones’s followers. In the end, the work remained with French until his death, unloved by the market, but not unloved by him.

The Aesthetic movement, with its devotion to the idea of "art for art’s sake," is beautifully represented here as well. Albert Moore’s, Apricots, 1866, is a masterclass - by naming the painting after a minor background detail, Moore draws attention away from storytelling entirely, inviting the viewer to appreciate line, colour, and form for their own sake. Moore exhibited Apricots alongside another aesthetic painting, Pomegranates, at the Royal Academy in 1866. Cecil French later acquired both paintings, reuniting them in his collection. Pomegranates is now in the Guildhall Art Gallery, London. 

Meanwhile, Frederic Leighton’s Study for 'At the Fountain', c.1892, offers a glimpse into the rigorous process behind one of the great Royal Academy painters of the late nineteenth century. Before embarking on a picture, Leighton produced numerous preparatory drawings, studies, and even sculptures, mapping out every aspect of the composition in detail. Small oil studies like this were used to test out the colours for the finished work.

Alongside French’s collection is a more recent but no less passionate archive; works from the private collection of art historian Scott Thomas Buckle. If French was the keeper of fading glories, Buckle is their chronicler and detective. His interest began in the 1980s and sparked a lifelong obsession of seeking out studies, sketches, and unfinished fragments that give us an intimate glimpse into the working minds of artists now largely forgotten. 

A highlight is Anna Lea Merritt’s Study for Eve, c.1885, a sorrowful nude hunched in regret beside the bitten fruit. Born in Philadelphia, Anna Lea Merrit studied in Paris, Rome and Dresden before settling in London. Her final painting for Eve was exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1885, where it was praised by critic Harry Quilter as ‘a remarkable performance and very much more than a good study of the nude.’ The work was purchased by Alfred Waterhouse (1830–1905), architect of the Natural History Museum, London. 

Then there are revelations, such as Eva Ada Spurway’s The Poisoned Phial, a mysterious medieval scene from a nearly forgotten female poet-painter. The unfinished watercolour shows a mediaeval queen taking a bottle from a courtier dressed in red. The queen could be receiving a love potion, but the serious and reserved expressions of the two figures suggest a more sinister narrative. A possible source for the subject is the fictional tale of Queen Eleanor of Aquitane, who allegedly poisoned her husband King Henry II’s mistress, Rosamond, after discovering the lovers’ secret meeting place. Episodes from the legend were popular with many Victorian artists, including Eleanor Fortescue-Brickdale, who painted in a similar style to Spurway.

Amongst Buckle’s collection is a charmingly chaotic sketch sheet by John William Waterhouse, c.1897, where the beginnings of Phyllis and Demophöon jostle for space with other unfulfilled visions. In 1986 Buckle visited Leighton House for the first time and saw a Waterhouse from the Cecil French Bequest, which sparked his interest in the artist. This particular sheet, incidentally, was rejected by its initial buyer for a delightfully baffling reason: they weren’t sure which way up to hang it. Buckle, fortunately, had no such qualms.

The Victorian Treasures exhibition is a tribute not only to the artists on display but to the act of collecting itself. French and Buckle never met, but their collections now hang together in dialogue. French’s early dedication made it possible for such works to survive; Buckle’s contemporary research allows others to be understood anew.

Download Leighton House’s press release, “Victorian Treasures: Masterpieces and Rare Drawings on Show at Leighton House”, below:

Exhibition Victorian Treasures At Leighton House Press Release

258KB ∙ PDF file

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John Everett Millais was a close friend of Beatrix Potter’s father, Rupert Potter, whose photography he greatly admired. He often requested Potter’s photographic services in capturing specific landscapes or natural elements, such as an apple tree or a gentle stream, that Millais could later reference while building his detailed scenes.

Beatrix recorded numerous journal entries referencing the frequent visits of “Mr. Millais” to the Potter household. In turn, Rupert Potter also made many social calls to the Millais family home and often visited Millais’ studio, traveling with his large-format camera and portable equipment for the newly developed dry-plate process (invented in 1871) to photograph sitters for Millais’ portraits (Lane, 1978).

Beatrix recounts her first visit to Millais’ studio:

11th of November, 1883 — “Went with papa and mamma to Mr. Millais’. First time I ever was in the house oddly enough. Hadn’t the least idea I was going, which was perhaps as well, or I should have been more nervous. After thinking in a sleepy way about the chance of going, its coming true seems like a dream. He was very kind indeed.”

As a child, Beatrix was “unmercifully afraid of” Millais, recalling that he often made her blush “a brilliant colour as a little girl, which he used to provoke on purpose and remark upon at times.” Later, she comically described Millais as “one of the handsomest men I ever saw, apart from the defect of his eye, and the odd mark across his forehead.” Though Beatrix formed a very observant and often critical eye (and sometimes all together dismiss attitude towards well-known art), Millais’ work seemed to have a lastly impression on her—though, as you will see a bit later, not always positive one.

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A young girl stands in the doorway of Heart’s Castle, rather overwhelmed by the many suitors before her in an allegorical depiction of love, following a processional composition that the Pre-Raphaelites have mastered. The contenders, or counterfeits as she will learn in time, align in both succession and in intention, each bearing the disguise of Love. First, she will meet Fear, whom she wrongly identifies as Love. Then comes Romance, floating in on a bubble with a Castle of Dreams as his offering. Ambition impatiently rushes ahead of Romance, but she is more captivated by Position, with his alluring train of Appearance, Prestige, Importance, and Riches carried by Cupid. Yet a shadow is cast over this train of deception. It is Pity, cautiously approaching, seemingly innocent with his Cup of Tears. Art with his mask of deception, Flattery with his mirror of vanity, and Gratitude with a smoke screen of false memories fool her too. If she can can hold onto hope, and bear the emotional toll, she will find an angelic figure waiting, aglow in an ethereal aura seemingly stronger than Fear’s suit of steel and impenetrable to Gratitude’s toxic plume of manipulation. It is True Love, patiently stepping forward.

On the back, Eleanor Fortescue-Brickdale offers a forewarning of Love’s counterfeits and the trials this young girl must endure on her quest for True Love:

When a girl's soul awakens and she opens the door of her Heart's Castle to receive Love, at first she will not recognise him.

First, she will see Fear and think him to be Love. Fear, in craven armour of black, with no coat of arms or badge to mark his family. But by Fear, Love may come.

Then she will see Romance, being now in love with 'being in love' - Romance, the Boy on a Bubble with a Castle of Dreams in his hand, and Birds and Roses about him.

He leads Ambition, who shall stir the girl to think he is Love himself - Ambition, very hot and eager, riding upon Pegasus, the winged Horse.

After them is Position, whom she may take for Love; but truly she is in love with Appearance, Prestige, Importance, Riches, Place, all his Train, and this is borne by a Cupid.

Now she is stirred by Pity, thinking whom she pities she loves - Pity with the Cup of Tears with three handles, that many may drink.

Then she perceives Arts, a brave fellow who is but words and emptiness and a mask for love. Arts paints a wound upon him and sings that it is real. To Love he is not henchman, nor cousin, but enemy.

Behind him goes Flattery with a mirror, so she is wooed by vain words. Then Gratitude comes with the smoke of memory, and she will think she is faithless if she does not love one who has been kind.

Now, at last, after her emotion, her assault by gifts, mirrors, riches, tears, dreams, phrases, memories, comes True Love, empty-handed, to take and win her Heart's Castle.

Eleanor Fortescue-Brickdale is the master of creating allegorical depictions of love. She often sets True Love against its many enemies (often embodiments of the harsh reality of time), exposes the folly of false love, and places the innocent in young love on trial. At times, her portrayals are rather hilarious, with Cupid bearing the brunt of it all.

In the introduction, I mentioned the processional composition utilized by Pre-Raphaelite artists, often to depict the complexities of love, such as in her close friend John Byam Liston Shaw’s Love’s Baubles and Love the Conqueror, as pointed out in Christie’s catalog for Love and his Counterfeits.

I will leave you with another EFB progressional composition that I only just discovered! Hopefully, I will be able to find a higher-resolution version to discuss in a future post.

Would you like to see a post dedicated to Eleanor Fortescue-Brickdale other depictions of Love?

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𓇚 Happy Sunday, Fellow Pre-Raphaelite Enthusiasts! 𓇚

Though it has been some time since my last email newsletter, much has been in blossom over on Substack:

• We explored the muddy banks of Hogsmill River, verdant with floral symbolism found in John Everett Millais’ Ophelia and John Milton’s Paradise Lost.

• We strolled beneath the bower’s quiet shade to take a closer look at Edward Robert Hughes' The Princess out of School and learn about Tennyson's understanding of 19th-century science.

  

  “Yet what can be made of the bipartite title, given in a handwritten label on the back of the painting? “‘The Princess out of School’: under her favourite bower’s quiet shade. On her own couch, new made of flower leaves”?”

  - Vivien Gaston, “New Made of Flower Leaves”: Nature, Evolution and Female Education in Edward Robert Hughes’s The Princess out of School”

• In Autumn, we immersed in John Clare's autumnal poetry while traveling through George Price Boyce's Pre-Raphaelite autumnal landscapes.

• On Christmas, we listened to the songs of Dante Gabriel Rossetti’s musical Medieval maidens in A Christmas Carol (1857-1858), A Christmas Carol (1867), and The Blue Closet (1857).

• We examined the art studies of Elizabeth Eleanor Siddal and Edward Burne-Jones.

• Along with exploring Evelyn de Morgan's art studies, we learned about her artistic influence and the challenges she faced as a woman in the Victorian art world.

• We reviewed PRB's list of "immortals," as listed in William Holman Hunt's Pre-Raphaelitism and the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood (1905).

• We delved into the shelves of books on the life and work of Julia Margaret Cameron.

• We took a closer look at Percy Bysshe Shelley's poem The Sensitive Plant paired with Frank Dicksee's painting and other illustrations.

  

A Sensitive Plant in a garden grew,
And the young winds fed it with silver dew,
And it opened its fan-like leaves to the light.
And closed them beneath the kisses of Night.

✺ Percy Bysshe Shelley, The Sensitive Plant (1820) ✺

Last but not least in our recap, be sure to check out the Notes tab for daily inspiration, where you'll discover posts on unique books, rare Pre-Raphaelite art, cottage flowers, and heirloom crafts.

Going forward, I plan to send The Pre-Raphaelite Pleasaunce newsletter to your inbox every other Sunday, offering a recap of all the posts I’ve published over the past two weeks. This will alternate with The Pleasaunce newsletter, so if you're subscribed to both, you’ll receive a newsletter each week—one week exploring the realm of the Pre-Raphaelites, the next taking you through cottage gardens filled with historic varieties and Victorian crafts. I’d love to hear your thoughts on this schedule!

Sincerely,

Jesse 𓆸

This week, I present a Rossetti portrait of Jane Morris, adorned with primroses in her hair and accompanied by the nodding heads of double snowdrops in hand, celebrating the fleeting beauty of snowdrop season and the promise of spring. She is thought to be depicting Persephone before her descent into the underworld.

In honor of Candlemas Day, this week's featured post, In the Pleasaunce with Snowdrops, takes us on a journey from 350 BC through the Elizabethan era to explore the snowdrop’s rich history and its enduring symbolism of hope and purity.

Here’s a sampling from this piece:

“As landscapes shed winter’s heavy cloak of gloom and grey, the winter-blooming snowdrops begin to herald spring. These fair yet hardy maidens of February emerge through snow using their strong leaves, earning them the French name Perce-Neige, which means to “pierce snow.”

The Pleasaunce

Evelyn De Morgan (née Pickering) was born into a middle-class Victorian family, but received a classical education that was notably rare for women of her era. Educated at home alongside her brothers, she was taught multiple languages and studied subjects such as classical literature, mythology, and the sciences, all of which would later infuse her art with layered symbolism.

Evelyn’s mother’s side of the family likely gave Evelyn her first exposure to the art wold, especially her uncle, the talented John Roddam Spencer Stanhope, a prominent figure in the second wave of the Pre-Raphaelite movement and one of my favorite artists (example below, In Memoriam). However, her mother insisted that she was to be "a daughter, not an artist," even going so far as to pay Evelyn’s drawing tutor to undermine her aspirations.

Fortunately, Evelyn’s father saw her potential and arranged private lessons from her uncle, whose help led her to enroll at the South Kensington National Art Training School in 1872. Later she attended the Slade School of Art where she studied alongside her fellow male students, revolutionary at the time. There, she trained under Sir Edward Poynter, a leading figure in the Aesthetic movement (De Morgan Foundation; Christie’s).

As an example of the influence on her uncle’s work, below are a few pages from Evelyn De Morgan’s sketchbook, which I instantly recognized as studies for her uncle John Roddam Spencer Stanhope’s In Memoriam depicting a young girl grieving for a skylark she discovered in the fallen autumn leaves. She later painted her own version of In Memoriam. 𓅨

Inevitably, throughout her career, she encountered many obstacles as a woman in the male dominated art world. In Dr. Charlotte de Mille’s presentation for the De Morgan Foundation, she discusses the experiences of women pursuing art studies at the Slade during the Victorian era:

This review on her painting St. Catherine of Alexandria in the The Guardian (1876), says it all:

After her formal education, Evelyn dedicated herself to her work with unwavering commitment, producing numerous preparatory studies for her paintings along the way. Using pencil and pastel on mostly grey or brown wove paper, she began with loose compositional sketches that gradually evolved into highly detailed studies of movement and form. As the De Morgan Foundation and Watts Gallery highlight, Evelyn’s obsession with anatomical accuracy extended to meticulous studies of hands, feet, and other small details, which were integral to the movement and grace of her larger compositions, as you will see in this part one of the series. These preparatory sketches were not mere exercises but works of art in their own right and would typically sell like her finished paintings (De Morgan Foundation; Watts Gallery).

Many of Evelyn’s studies can be traced directly to her finished masterpieces that were rarely reworked with overpainting nor deviated from her original compositions, In a future post, I will go deeper into how these studies contributed to her most celebrated works, highlighting her signature use of pose and composition. I would love to know if you recognized any of these studies for her completed pieces!

As the De Morgan Foundation highlights, Evelyn continued to draw daily for the rest of her life, a testament to her lifelong commitment to her passion. While she was profoundly influenced by late-Pre-Raphaelitism and artists such as Edward Burne-Jones and Frederic Leighton, as well as the Italian Renaissance painting taught to her by her uncle, John Roddam Spencer Stanhope (Christie’s; Watts Gallery), her style stands apart as truly unique. I had the privilege of viewing her original pieces at the A Marriage of Arts and Crafts: Evelyn and William De Morgan exhibition at the Crocker Art Museum in Sacramento last autumn. Seeing her work up close for the first time only deepened my belief that she is one of the most extraordinary artists of her time.

Please let me know which study resonated with you the most in the comments. For me it is Grief: A study for 'In Memorium'. 𓆸

References

Evelyn De Morgan (1855 – 1919). De Morgan Foundation

Evelyn De Morgan. Watts Gallery Artist’s Village

Further Reading

Dante Gabriel Rossetti’s A Christmas Carol (1867) is one of his many half-length portraits of musical maidens in richly colored velvets or silk garments, including The Blue Bower (1865), where Fanny Cornforth delicately plays a Japanese koto, and Veronica Veronese (1872), featuring Alexa Wilding poised with a violin bow.

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While reading Percy Bysshe Shelley's The Sensitive Plant for the first time, I found myself unexpectedly witnessing a garden transform through each season. As I inhaled the crisp, damp air, I could feel violets unfurl beneath my feet. Soon, late winter’s blanket of crocus and snowdrops will transition into an early spring tapestry of wind-flowers, tulips, and narcissi. The Sensitive Plant, like me, was a quiet witness to the changes around the garden. 

May arrived with a carpet of lily of the valley, and before the hyacinth’s perfume turned sickly-sweet, lilies and jessamine (honeysuckle) began to climb and embower the garden. I found myself wading through a sea of pure white made of daises and asphodels.

As I read further, I find myself identifying with the ‘Lady’, the mortal embodiment of the sensitive plant, who walks through her garden in every season, tending “to the garden from morn to even.” I envision her stepping through the “shadowy doorway” that Laurence Housman beautifully illustrated (you will soon see below) in the height of summer and garden filled with life. But, as steps through, the garden transitions to autumn and a veil of death has hit the garden. You can hear a “funeral chant” as the butterflies begin to rot, a dank stench permeates the air, and the white lilies that once stood proud begin to droop their heads like dying swans. The garden is now in chaos. Nettles, hemlock, and thistles emerge through the decay and the shaggy rug of fungi and mildew. Winter’s death grip smothers every last remnant of life.

In the end, Shelley states, “For love, and beauty, and delight, There is no death nor change:”. This “song of beauty and death” as Ernest Thys describes it, came in the death of Percy and Mary Shelley’s child. The personified flowers that sang this song may have been inspired by those Mary collected during their travels to Italy. This work was born from a mind wrought with grief and inner conflict. Shelley soon began to struggle continuing his poetry, as he shared in a letter:

As you read this poem, you may notice how Laurence Housman’s illustrations for the 1899 edition of The Sensitive Plant beautifully capture the meticulously cultivated beauty of the garden, as well as the chaos of decay and overgrowth that can quickly consume an entire season of labor. Housman himself explained that he “endeavoured to make evident in my drawings the particular way in which this poem has appealed to me.” To me, his illustrations reveal how even a carefully tended garden sanctuary is not immune to death, as “the petite mort runs through all its bowers and alleys.”

PART ONE

A Sensitive Plant in a garden grew,
And the young winds fed it with silver dew,
And it opened its fan-like leaves to the light.
And closed them beneath the kisses of Night.

And the Spring arose on the garden fair,
Like the Spirit of Love felt everywhere;
And each flower and herb on Earth’s dark breast
Rose from the dreams of its wintry rest.

But none ever trembled and panted with bliss
In the garden, the field, or the wilderness,
Like a doe in the noontide with love’s sweet want,
As the companionless Sensitive Plant.

The snowdrop, and then the violet,
Arose from the ground with warm rain wet,
And their breath was mixed with fresh odour, sent
From the turf, like the voice and the instrument.

Then the pied wind-flowers and the tulip tall,
And narcissi, the fairest among them all,
Who gaze on their eyes in the stream’s recess,
Till they die of their own dear loveliness;

And the Naiad-like lily of the vale,
Whom youth makes so fair and passion so pale
That the light of its tremulous bells is seen
Through their pavilions of tender green;

And the hyacinth purple, and white, and blue,
Which flung from its bells a sweet peal anew
Of music so delicate, soft, and intense,
It was felt like an odour within the sense;

And the rose like a nymph to the bath addressed,
Which unveiled the depth of her glowing breast,
Till, fold after fold, to the fainting air
The soul of her beauty and love lay bare:

And the wand-like lily, which lifted up,
As a Maenad, its moonlight-coloured cup,
Till the fiery star, which is its eye,
Gazed through clear dew on the tender sky;

And the jessamine faint, and the sweet tuberose,
The sweetest flower for scent that blows;
And all rare blossoms from every clime
Grew in that garden in perfect prime.

And on the stream whose inconstant bosom
Was pranked, under boughs of embowering blossom,
With golden and green light, slanting through
Their heaven of many a tangled hue,

Broad water-lilies lay tremulously,
And starry river-buds glimmered by,
And around them the soft stream did glide and dance
With a motion of sweet sound and radiance.

And the sinuous paths of lawn and of moss,
Which led through the garden along and across,
Some open at once to the sun and the breeze,
Some lost among bowers of blossoming trees,

Were all paved with daisies and delicate bells
As fair as the fabulous asphodels,
And flow’rets which, drooping as day drooped too,
Fell into pavilions, white, purple, and blue,
To roof the glow-worm from the evening dew.

And from this undefiled Paradise
The flowers (as an infant’s awakening eyes
Smile on its mother, whose singing sweet
Can first lull, and at last must awaken it),

When Heaven’s blithe winds had unfolded them,
As mine-lamps enkindle a hidden gem,
Shone smiling to Heaven, and every one
Shared joy in the light of the gentle sun;

For each one was interpenetrated
With the light and the odour its neighbour shed,
Like young lovers whom youth and love make dear
Wrapped and filled by their mutual atmosphere.

But the Sensitive Plant which could give small fruit
Of the love which it felt from the leaf to the root,
Received more than all, it loved more than ever,
Where none wanted but it, could belong to the giver,—

For the Sensitive Plant has no bright flower;
Radiance and odour are not its dower;
It loves, even like Love, its deep heart is full,
It desires what it has not, the Beautiful!

The light winds which from unsustaining wings
Shed the music of many murmurings;
The beams which dart from many a star
Of the flowers whose hues they bear afar;

The plumed insects swift and free,
Like golden boats on a sunny sea,
Laden with light and odour, which pass
Over the gleam of the living grass;

The unseen clouds of the dew, which lie
Like fire in the flowers till the sun rides high,
Then wander like spirits among the spheres,
Each cloud faint with the fragrance it bears;

The quivering vapours of dim noontide,
Which like a sea o’er the warm earth glide,
In which every sound, and odour, and beam,
Move, as reeds in a single stream;

Each and all like ministering angels were
For the Sensitive Plant sweet joy to bear,
Whilst the lagging hours of the day went by
Like windless clouds o’er a tender sky.

And when evening descended from Heaven above,
And the Earth was all rest, and the air was all love,
And delight, though less bright, was far more deep,
And the day’s veil fell from the world of sleep,

And the beasts, and the birds, and the insects were drowned
In an ocean of dreams without a sound;
Whose waves never mark, though they ever impress
The light sand which paves it, consciousness;

(Only overhead the sweet nightingale
Ever sang more sweet as the day might fail,
And snatches of its Elysian chant
Were mixed with the dreams of the Sensitive Plant);—

The Sensitive Plant was the earliest
Upgathered into the bosom of rest;
A sweet child weary of its delight,
The feeblest and yet the favourite,
Cradled within the embrace of Night.

Percy Bysshe Shelley, The Sensitive Plant: Part One (1820)

PART TWO

There was a Power in this sweet place,
An Eve in this Eden; a ruling Grace
Which to the flowers, did they waken or dream,
Was as God is to the starry scheme.

A Lady, the wonder of her kind,
Whose form was upborne by a lovely mind
Which, dilating, had moulded her mien and motion
Like a sea-flower unfolded beneath the ocean

Tended the garden from morn to even:
And the meteors of that sublunar Heaven,
Like the lamps of the air when Night walks forth,
Laughed round her footsteps up from the Earth!

She had no companion of mortal race,
But her tremulous breath and her flushing face
Told, whilst the morn kissed the sleep from her eyes,
That her dreams were less slumber than Paradise:

As if some bright Spirit for her sweet sake
Had deserted Heaven while the stars were awake,
As if yet around her he lingering were,
Though the veil of daylight concealed him from her.

Her step seemed to pity the grass it pressed;
You might hear by the heaving of her breast,
That the coming and going of the wind
Brought pleasure there and left passion behind.

And wherever her aery footstep trod,
Her trailing hair from the grassy sod
Erased its light vestige, with shadowy sweep,
Like a sunny storm o’er the dark green deep.

I doubt not the flowers of that garden sweet
Rejoiced in the sound of her gentle feet;
I doubt not they felt the spirit that came
From her glowing fingers through all their frame.

She sprinkled bright water from the stream
On those that were faint with the sunny beam;
And out of the cups of the heavy flowers
She emptied the rain of the thunder-showers.

She lifted their heads with her tender hands,
And sustained them with rods and osier-bands;
If the flowers had been her own infants, she
Could never have nursed them more tenderly.

And all killing insects and gnawing worms,
And things of obscene and unlovely forms,
She bore, in a basket of Indian woof,
Into the rough woods far aloof,—

In a basket, of grasses and wild-flowers full,
The freshest her gentle hands could pull
For the poor banished insects, whose intent,
Although they did ill, was innocent.

But the bee and the beamlike ephemeris
Whose path is the lightning’s, and soft moths that kiss
The sweet lips of the flowers, and harm not, did she
Make her attendant angels be.

And many an antenatal tomb,
Where butterflies dream of the life to come,
She left clinging round the smooth and dark
Edge of the odorous cedar bark.

This fairest creature from earliest Spring
Thus moved through the garden ministering
All the sweet season of summer tide,
And ere the first leaf looked brown—she died!

Percy Bysshe Shelley, The Sensitive Plant: Part Two (1820)

PART THREE

Three days the flowers of the garden fair,
Like stars when the moon is awakened, were,
Or the waves of Baiae, ere luminous
She floats up through the smoke of Vesuvius.

And on the fourth, the Sensitive Plant
Felt the sound of the funeral chant,
And the steps of the bearers, heavy and slow,
And the sobs of the mourners, deep and low;

The weary sound and the heavy breath,
And the silent motions of passing death,
And the smell, cold, oppressive, and dank,
Sent through the pores of the coffin-plank;

The dark grass, and the flowers among the grass,
Were bright with tears as the crowd did pass;
From their sighs the wind caught a mournful tone,
And sate in the pines, and gave groan for groan.

The garden, once fair, became cold and foul,
Like the corpse of her who had been its soul,
Which at first was lovely as if in sleep,
Then slowly changed, till it grew a heap
To make men tremble who never weep.

Swift Summer into the Autumn flowed,
And frost in the mist of the morning rode,
Though the noonday sun looked clear and bright,
Mocking the spoil of the secret night.

The rose-leaves, like flakes of crimson snow,
Paved the turf and the moss below.
The lilies were drooping, and white, and wan,
Like the head and the skin of a dying man.

And Indian plants, of scent and hue
The sweetest that ever were fed on dew,
Leaf by leaf, day after day,
Were massed into the common clay.

And the leaves, brown, yellow, and gray, and red,
And white with the whiteness of what is dead,
Like troops of ghosts on the dry wind passed;
Their whistling noise made the birds aghast.

And the gusty winds waked the winged seeds,
Out of their birthplace of ugly weeds,
Till they clung round many a sweet flower’s stem,
Which rotted into the earth with them.

The water-blooms under the rivulet
Fell from the stalks on which they were set;
And the eddies drove them here and there,
As the winds did those of the upper air.

Then the rain came down, and the broken stalks
Were bent and tangled across the walks;
And the leafless network of parasite bowers
Massed into ruin; and all sweet flowers.

Between the time of the wind and the snow
All loathliest weeds began to grow,
Whose coarse leaves were splashed with many a speck,
Like the water-snake’s belly and the toad’s back.

And thistles, and nettles, and darnels rank,
And the dock, and henbane, and hemlock dank,
Stretched out its long and hollow shank,
And stifled the air till the dead wind stank.

And plants, at whose names the verse feels loath,
Filled the place with a monstrous undergrowth,
Prickly, and pulpous, and blistering, and blue,
Livid, and starred with a lurid dew.

And agarics, and fungi, with mildew and mould
Started like mist from the wet ground cold;
Pale, fleshy, as if the decaying dead
With a spirit of growth had been animated!

Spawn, weeds, and filth, a leprous scum,
Made the running rivulet thick and dumb,
And at its outlet flags huge as stakes
Dammed it up with roots knotted like water-snakes.

And hour by hour, when the air was still,
The vapours arose which have strength to kill;
At morn they were seen, at noon they were felt,
At night they were darkness no star could melt.

And unctuous meteors from spray to spray
Crept and flitted in broad noonday
Unseen; every branch on which they alit
By a venomous blight was burned and bit.

The Sensitive Plant, like one forbid,
Wept, and the tears within each lid
Of its folded leaves, which together grew,
Were changed to a blight of frozen glue.

For the leaves soon fell, and the branches soon
By the heavy axe of the blast were hewn;
The sap shrank to the root through every pore
As blood to a heart that will beat no more.

For Winter came: the wind was his whip:
One choppy finger was on his lip:
He had torn the cataracts from the hills
And they clanked at his girdle like manacles;

His breath was a chain which without a sound
The earth, and the air, and the water bound;
He came, fiercely driven, in his chariot-throne
By the tenfold blasts of the Arctic zone.

Then the weeds which were forms of living death
Fled from the frost to the earth beneath.
Their decay and sudden flight from frost
Was but like the vanishing of a ghost!

And under the roots of the Sensitive Plant
The moles and the dormice died for want:
The birds dropped stiff from the frozen air
And were caught in the branches naked and bare.

First there came down a thawing rain
And its dull drops froze on the boughs again;
Then there steamed up a freezing dew
Which to the drops of the thaw-rain grew;

And a northern whirlwind, wandering about
Like a wolf that had smelt a dead child out,
Shook the boughs thus laden, and heavy, and stiff,
And snapped them off with his rigid griff.

When Winter had gone and Spring came back
The Sensitive Plant was a leafless wreck;
But the mandrakes, and toadstools, and docks, and darnels,
Rose like the dead from their ruined charnels.

Percy Bysshe Shelley, The Sensitive Plant: Part Three (1820)

CONCLUSION

Whether the Sensitive Plant, or that
Which within its boughs like a Spirit sat,
Ere its outward form had known decay,
Now felt this change, I cannot say.

Whether that Lady’s gentle mind,
No longer with the form combined
Which scattered love, as stars do light,
Found sadness, where it left delight,

I dare not guess; but in this life
Of error, ignorance, and strife,
Where nothing is, but all things seem,
And we the shadows of the dream,

It is a modest creed, and yet
Pleasant if one considers it,
To own that death itself must be,
Like all the rest, a mockery.

That garden sweet, that lady fair,
And all sweet shapes and odours there,
In truth have never passed away:
’Tis we, ’tis ours, are changed; not they.

For love, and beauty, and delight,
There is no death nor change: their might
Exceeds our organs, which endure
No light, being themselves obscure.

Percy Bysshe Shelley, The Sensitive Plant (1820)

Further Reading

“The Sensitive Plant.” The Encyclopedia of British Romanticism

Wild, Jonathan. “A loosening of silk ribbons: Laurence Housman, John Murray, and the publishing sensation of 1900.” Times Literary Supplement (November 2, 2012): 14-15.

“Laurence Housman, 1865-1959.” The Victorian Web

Reading List

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"Her verses were as simple and moving as ancient ballads; her drawings were as genuine in their medieval spirit as much more highly finished and competent works of Pre-Raphaelite art."

WILLIAM GAUNT

Though Elizabeth Eleanor Siddal, also known as Lizzie Siddal, is often remembered for her tragic (e.g. sitting for Millais’ Ophelia) and triumphant stories (e.g. again, sitting for Millais’ Ophelia) as both Pre-Raphaelite muse and poet, today the focus will be on her remarkable artistic talent, which began long before her introduction to the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood in 1850.

Siddal was first introduced to members of the Brotherhood through the artist Walter Deverell, whom she possibly knew through dressmaking work for the Deverell family. Art historian and Pre-Raphaelite expert Jan Marsh noted in the Pre-Raphaelite Sisterhood catalog of 2019 that there is strong evidence Siddal intended to pursue her art prior to her involvement with the Pre-Raphaelites, taking the initiative to showcase her work to Walter Deverell’s father, who held a significant position at the Government School of Design (Delaware Art Museum, 2020).

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The overall scene, featuring a young girl immersed in an idyllic meadow surrounded by almost early autumnal woodland scenery with a yellowing oak in the foreground—though the windflower-like appearance of the flowers may suggest otherwise—first captivates viewers. Then you notice the intricate details: the russets, gold threads, and the lime-colored bows adorning her muslin dress, her wood nymph-like hair, and you become fully entranced. You can’t help but wonder what microcosm she is intently observing below her and just out of our view. The peaceful stream below reflects her gently waving hair and the detailed foliage surrounding her, creating a moment of deep connection with nature. This perfectly embodies the Pre-Raphaelite movement, inspired by romantic literature, mythology, and a desire to find "truth in nature.”

In Vivien Gaston’s paper ‘New Made of Flower Leaves’: Nature, Evolution and Female Education in Edward Robert Hughes’s The Princess out of School, she points out the “heavy weight of literary reference” in this piece, a characteristic of his work that wasn’t always appreciated by the 19th-century art community. A critic from 1895 criticized Hughes for prioritizing literature over art, emphasizing storytelling that could be challenging to understand without proper context, stating “the common English excess of literature over art; enormous pains taken to tell a story which is entirely unintelligible unless one has the key” or as another critic stated about John Everett Millais’s Autumn Leaves, “a picture full of beauty and without subject” (Gaston 61). Personally, I greatly appreciate the meticulous attention to detail evident in his work, which I strive to emulate in my own creations. This meticulous approach extends to even the smallest aspects of a narrative or concept, perhaps explaining my ever-growing fascination with Pre-Raphaelite art. The Pre-Raphaelite concept allows for endless visual layers and details to explore from a single written line. Multiple artists can bring the same line from a poem to life in infinite ways, resulting in masterpieces like this one, Julia Margaret Cameron’s ethereal portrait series, and 'Oh, swallow, swallow' by John Melhuish Strudwick (1894), all of which are inspired by Tennyson’s The Princess: A Medley (1847).

The Princess out of School alludes to Lord Alfred Tennyson’s The Princess and John Keats’ Endymion, both of whom are celebrated on the PRB’s list of immortals. While the painting is known as The Princess out of School, handwritten on the back are two lines from Keats' Endymion that also accompanied the painting during its exhibition at the Royal Watercolour Society in 1818 in London:

“‘The Princess out of School’: under her favourite bower’s quiet shade. On her own couch, new made of flower leaves.”

Taken from this stanza:

“ . . . So she was gently glad to see him laid
Under her favourite bower's quiet shade,
On her own couch, new made of flower leaves,
Dried carefully on the cooler side of sheaves
When last the sun his autumn tresses shook,
And the tann'd harvesters rich armfuls took. . . .”

John Keats, Endymion

Could this painting possibly depict Princess Ida observing nature, the main character in Tennyson's "The Princess," who prioritized education over marriage? Intriguingly, Gaston suggests a closeness in pose to figure on the right in the opera program for Princess Ida designed by Alice Mary Havers (Gaston 67).

“There leaning deep in broidered down we sank
Our elbows. On a tripod in the midst:
A fragrant flame rose, and before us glowed
Fruit, blossom, viand, amber wine, and gold.”

Lord Alfred Tennyson, The Princess

Edward Robert Hughes’s uncle, Arthur Hughes, mastered painting these reclining Medieval styled figures that filled out the woodland floor scene, like in The Rift within the Lute. In this painting, a contemplative woman is depicted lying beside a stream, adorned in deep purple velvets, holding a lute and a bouquet of bluebells (Gaston 60).

“It is the little rift within the lute,
That by and by will make the music mute,
And ever widening slowly silence all.”

Lord Alfred Tennyson, Merlin and Vivien (1859)

Also, in Endymion, inspired by John Keats’s Peona in his poem Endymion. A long but magical poem:

Going back to Tennyson’s influence on Edward Robert Hughes’ princess, I think it is important to note Tennyson’s profound admiration for the scientific progress and breakthroughs of the 19th-century. In Darwin, Tennyson and Their Readers, Rebecca Stott notes that Tennyson frequently poeticized new discoveries in his works as a way to reinterpret the “metaphysics of evolutionary speculation” (Stott 13), encouraging readers to view scientific advancement optimistically for a deeper understanding of the world.

“All nature widens upward. Evermore
The simpler essence lower lies,
More complex is more perfect, owing more
Discourse, more widely wise.”

Tennyson, The Palace of Art

In the marble bust by William Couper named “Tennyson's Princess," Princess Ida emerges from tobacco leaves, a selection that may honor his home state, Virginia (Smithsonian American Art Museum). This choice to have her emerging from “her own couch, new made of flower leaves” may also symbolize Tennyson's advocacy for women's rights to education and the societal impact of Darwin's theory of evolution in the 1840s as Ida's retreated from societal norms to establish a women's university in the woods.

Specifically, I believe this bust may symbolize Ida’s last message to the prince and the audience, urging us to let go of the past and acknowledge inevitability of change, aspire to a future of equality, and accept the laws of nature. I found this significant to our deeper analysis of The Princess as it underscores her profound contemplation of nature. It's not merely a beautiful painting of a woman in nature that romanticizes the past. Instead, she is encouraging us to focus on what lies ahead:

‘But trim our sails, and let old bygones be,
While down the streams that float us each and all
To the issue, goes, like glittering bergs of ice,
Throne after throne, and molten on the waste
Becomes a cloud: for all things serve their time
Toward that great year of equal mights and rights,
Nor would I fight with iron laws, in the end
Found golden: let the past be past; let be
Their cancelled Babels: though the rough kex break
The starred mosaic, and the beard-blown goat
Hang on the shaft, and the wild figtree split
Their monstrous idols, care not while we hear
A trumpet in the distance pealing news
Of better, and Hope, a poising eagle, burns
Above the unrisen morrow:’

Additionally, I believe that by adding “out of School,” Hughes may be alluding to the growth of knowledge through nature rather than the academic setting.

With this presentation of these possible influences on Edward Robert Hughes, enjoy studying the details of The Princess out of School below. The keywords listed for this painting on the National Gallery of Victoria’s website are: cloaks, hair, meadows, princesses, women, meadows, and wooded landscapes. However, as I view this masterpiece now, I believe there are many more keywords that could be added.

Now that our walk through the idyllic woodland is nearly complete, the Edward Robert Hughes work has officially taken root in our garden of the Pre-Raphaelites. Be sure to subscribe and watch the growth of this section of the garden as we take a closer look at his other masterpieces.

What is your favorite detail in The Princess out of School?

Works Cited and Further Reading

National Gallery of Victoria. “The princess out of school.”

Gaston, Vivien. “‘New Made of Flower Leaves’: Nature, Evolution and Female Education in Edward Robert Hughes’s The Princess out of School.” Pre-Raphaelitism in Australasia (Part 2), vol. 26, no. 2, 2022.

Osborne, Victoria. “A British Symbolist in Pre-Raphaelite Circles: Edward Robert Hughes RWS (1851-1914).” M. Phil. thesis, University of Birmingham, 2009.

Stott, Rebecca. “Tennyson’s Drift: Evolution in The Princess.” In Darwin, Tennyson and Their Readers: Explorations in Victorian Literature and Science, edited by Valerie Purton, London, Anthem, 2013.

In 1848, the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood compiled a list of 'Immortals,' those that they regarded as "great thinkers and workers."Each person was assigned a rating from zero to four stars based on their "different degrees of glory." According to William Holman Hunt, this was “a declaration that there was no immortality for humanity except that which was gained by man's own genius or heroism.” Notably, Jesus Christ was the only one to receive a four-star rating with Shakespeare received the next highest honor. The rest mostly consists of writers and poets the Brotherhood deeply admired, with Shakespeare, Chaucer, and Dante being held in the highest regard.

However, as mentioned in a previous post, What Does Pre-Raphaelite Mean?, the PRB often contradicted their mission statement and manifesto. As Robert Wilkes points out in his post The Pre-Raphaelites and the Northern Renaissance, this list is no exception, as it includes High Renaissance artists such as Titian, Michelangelo, and Tintoretto, who were fundamentally at odds with principles of the Pre-Raphaelites. And most comical of them all was their inclusion of Raphael.

“They were opposed to the Royal Academy's promotion of the ideal as exemplified in the work of Raphael.”

Tate

Here is an excerpt from Pre-Raphaelitism and the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood (1905), where William Holman Hunt introduces the PRB’s list of Immortals:

“Once, in a studio conclave, some of us drew up a declaration that there was no immortality for humanity except that which was gained by man's own genius or heroism. We were still under the influence of Voltaire, Gibbon, Byron, and Shelley, and we could leave no corners or spaces in our minds unsearched and unswept. Our determination to respect no authority that stood in the way of fresh research in art seemed to compel us to try what the result would be in matters metaphysical, denying all that could not be tangibly proved. We agreed that there were different degrees of glory in great men, and that these grades should be denoted by one, two, or three stars. Ordinary children of men fulfilled their work by providing food, clothing, and tools for their fellows ; some, who did not engage in the labour of the earth, had allowed their minds to work without the ballast of common-sense, and some of these had done evil, but the few far-seeing ones revealed to us vast visions of beauty. Where these dreams were too profound for our sight to fathom, our new iconoclasm dictated that such were too little substantial for human trust ; for of spiritual powers we for the moment felt we knew nothing, and we saw no profit in relying upon a vision, however beautiful it might be.

Arguing thus, Gabriel wrote out the following manifesto of our absence of faith in immortality, save in that perennial influence exercised by great thinkers and workers : —

We, the undersigned, Immortals constitutes the exists no other Immortality and in the names of their reflected: ”

Hunt continued to explain the star rating system:

“Beginning with an agreement that three stars should only be given to the greatest, it will be seen that the author of Job and Shakespeare alone gained that distinction, but there was one Captain of men who could not by us be left out of the list of heroes. One who had not only sung persuasively of the way conducting to peace, but had trodden the thorny way Himself. A poem as well as a poet He was ; commander and at the same time foremost of His army. He had even against His own human nature been a conqueror to the end.”

Here my reorganization I made based on their ranking system of the “different degrees of glory in great men” (a few women were also included on this list):

Jesus Christ * * * *

The Author of Job* * *

Shakespeare * * *

Homer * *

Dante * *

Chaucer* *

Leonardo da Vinci * *

Goethe * *

Keats * *

Shelley**

Alfred * *

Landor * *

Thackeray * *

Washington**

Browning * *

Boccaccio*

Fra Angelico*

Mrs. Browning*

Patmore *

Raphael *

Longfellow *

Author of Stories after Nature*

Tennyson *

Isaiah

Pheidias

Early Gothic Architects

Cavalier Pugliesi

Rienzi

Ghiberti

Spenser

Hogarth

Flaxman

Hilton

Kosciusko

Byron

Wordsworth

Haydon

Cervantes

Joan of Arc

Michael Angelo

Early English'Balladists

Giovanni Bellini

Georgioni

Titian

Tintoretto

Poussin

Milton

Cromwell

Hampden

Bacon

Newton

Poe

Hood

Emerson

Leigh Hunt

Wilkie

Columbus

Work Cited and Further Reading

Ashmolean Museum. "Pre-Raphaelites: Drawings and Watercolours Press Release." Ashmolean Museum, 2022.

Delaware Art Museum. "The Samuel and Mary R. Bancroft Collection of British Pre-Raphaelite Art." Delaware Art Museum. June 2020.

Wilkes, Robert. "The Pre-Raphaelites and the Northern Renaissance." Dantis Amor, April 2014.

Hunt, William Holman. Pre-Raphaelitism and the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. Internet Archive.

Through the Amazon Affiliate Program, any eligible purchases you make through Amazon links on this post will help me earn a commission at no extra cost to you. Your support is greatly appreciated in furthering the growth of this digital garden! 𓇗

“He led her, nothing loath; flowers were the couch,
Pansies, and violets, and asphodel,
And hyacinth, earth’s freshest, softest lap.
There they their fill of love and love’s disport
Took largely, of their mutual guilt the seal, 
The solace of their sin, till dewy sleep
Oppressed them, wearied with their amorous play.”

Paradise Lost, Book IX

In the midst of analyzing John Everett Millais' portrayal of Ophelia's vegetative coffin in 2019, I discovered a similarity between the floral arrangement surrounding Ophelia and the description of Adam and Eve’s nuptial bed in John Milton’s Paradise Lost. John Milton was on the Pre-Raphaelites’ list of immortals and I believe Millais may have immortalized Paradise Lost through Ophelia’s “weedy trophies.” By using the language of flowers, I believe Millais is alluding to the loss of innocence present in Milton’s Edenic fall of man. Regardless if I have mistakenly identified a motif of morality that is not truly there, I subscribe to John Holmes’s argument in Pre-Raphaelites and Science that:

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“Won’t you come into the garden?
I would like my roses to see you.”

Attributed to Richard Brinsley Sheridan (1751-1816)

Happy Sunday, Fellow Pre-Raphaelite Enthusiasts!

On our first garden tour together, we watched Daphne transform into a laurel tree in John William Waterhouse’s Apollo and Daphne and explored Waterhouse’s studies in charcoal, red chalk, and oil paint. We witnessed Ophelia’s tragic end and interpreted John Everett Millais’ use of the language of flowers from the Victorian and Elizabethan eras. We welcomed the exquisite painting, A Young Model, showcased in full color and high resolution thanks to the discovery and photography by Romantic Art Historian Max Browne. Next, we explored the definition and core principles of “Pre-Raphaelitism,” offering a concise overview of the origins and lasting influence of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood (PRB). Our journey continued with a closer look at a beautiful Pre-Raphaelite needlework book cover, complemented by a curated list of books on Victorian needlework as a continuation of the ever-expanding list of books on the Pre-Raphaelites.

Thank you so much for joining me in the digital garden of the Pre-Raphaelites!

Sincerely,

Jesse 𓆸

The Pleasaunce

A Contemplation Upon Flowers & 19th-Century Craftsmanship

By Jesse 𓆸

As new research on the life and work of Julia Margaret Cameron becomes available, I will continue to update this list. This is just the beginning of an ongoing Pre-Raphaelite Photography series. Through the Amazon Affiliate Program, any eligible purchases you make through Amazon links on this post will help me earn a commission at no extra cost to you. Thank you for supporting the growth of this pleasaunce through your love of the Pre-Raphaelites and the ethereal work of Julia Margaret Cameron! She was my gateway into the realm of the Pre-Raphaelites. 𓇗

“Even in these preliminary drawings he was in complete control of the pencil or crayon. Whereas many artists treated the study as a form of discovering the accident of the hand’s mark-making, Burne-Jones made sure that the marks were precisely as his creative sensibilities wanted.”

MARTIN HARRISON AND BILL WATERS, BURNE-JONES, 1989, P. 145. (Sotheby's)

Art studies reflect the evolution of an artist's ideas, the growth of their technique, and the shifting influences throughout their career and the pivotal moments in their life. Thankfully, there is a large collection of surviving Edward Burne-Jones sketches in red chalk, ink and graphite pencil. I am breaking this into a continuing series to help give us a better understanding of his process, insight into his decision making of his final masterpieces, and a look at some of his uncompleted works. To me, each is a piece of artwork of their own.

In an effort to be more decisive this year, I declare here and now that Edward Burne-Jones is my favorite artist. I will give a more detailed explanation of why in a later post, but for now, let’s dive into this diverse selection of art studies. Let me know in the comments which one you are drawn to the most. 𓇗

Further Reading

Sotheby's. "Preparatory Sketches by Pre-Raphaelite Artist Edward Burne-Jones Offer Fascinating Insight." Victorian, Pre-Raphaelite & British Impressionist Art, 2018

This intricate book cover was for 'The Book of Beauty: A Collection of Beautiful Portraits with Literary, Artistic and Musical Contributions by Men and Women of the Day' by Emma Sara Williamson, edited by Mrs. F. Harcourt Williamson, and published in 1896 in a deluxe limited edition of 300 copies. The book features “portraits of society women and their children, poems, short stories, comic sketches, music, and summaries of society events, featuring contributions from Rudyard Kipling, Lord Curzon, Sir John Millais, and J. M. Whistler” (Bonhams Footnote). Notably, it seems that the book cover alone sold for £6,000.00 at a Bonhams auction, which is a lot of money, of course, but not compared to its ethereal craftsmanship, in my opinion. Bonhams also notes that the National Art Library at the Victoria and Albert Museum has a copy of the book, though there does not appear to be any information about it available on their website.

Unfortunately, that remains the theme of this Pre-Raphaelite needlework—a lack of information. There is also currently no documentation about this needlework’s artist or design available publicly. It was surprising to see no mention of William Morris, Morris and Co., or May Morris, since it is evident a Morris had their magic touch or at least influence on this Pre-Raphaelite maiden. For now, let’s look at the intricate details up close:

Further Reading

Through the Amazon Affiliate Program, any eligible purchases you make through Amazon links on this post will help me earn a commission at no extra cost to you. Your support is greatly appreciated in furthering the growth of this digital garden! 𓇗

In a British country auction, under the vague label of “19th-century French School, Portrait of a Gypsy Girl,” the photographer and Romantic Art historian, Max Browne, discovered a little-known painting of a young model, which has now been attributed without doubt to John William Waterhouse. Browne kindly provided me the opportunity to introduce her for the first time in full-color and high-resolution. Browne first revealed this uncovered gem to the art community in the Fall 2022 issue of the Journal of Pre-Raphaelite Studies, where he takes us back to the 1890s, to Waterhouse’s studio, in London’s Primrose Hill area, where the artist painted her for the first time.

We are seated across from the young model, who Browne estimates to be about ten or eleven years old, dressed in Italian-influenced attire. In the soft window lighting, we see she embodies the ethereal qualities and delicate features characteristic of Waterhouse’s later nymph-like figures, such as St. Cecilia (1895), Hylas and the Nymphs (1896), and Flora and the Zephyrs (1897). This newfound work may mark a pivotal period in Waterhouse’s career as he shifted his interest towards “occult and pagan mysticism” and the trends in the art market began to change (Browne, 71).

Waterhouse’s attention to detail in facial features evident in A Young Model as with his other studio studies, with the young sitter’s expression consistent with his depictions of emotive figures. (Browne, 71).

Carefully study the bridge of the nose and lower lip of the violinist on the right, do you think these features look similar to the young sitter?

The Pre-Raphaelite Pleasaunce

Under the bower of briar roses and through the field of Madonna lilies, you will find the Garden of the Pre-Raphaelites.

By Jesse 𓆸

The identity of the sitter remains unknown, but this portrait remains a significant work in John William Waterhouse’s portfolio. Thank you for your bringing this piece to light, Max Browne.

Work Cited and Further Reading

Browne, Max. J.W. Waterhouse: Some Recent Discoveries. The Journal of Pre-Raphaelite Studies, 31 (Fall 2022)

Trippi, Peter. J.W. Waterhouse. London and New York: Phaidon Press, 2002.

J.W. Waterhouse. A Young Model. c.1890, oil on canvas on board, 17 x 14 in.; private collection, UK.

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