Get Thee to a Biographer!

You should by this point know what I'm like.  I really adore finding out about the waifs and strays of art history, finding those women who fall between the cracks and bringing their lives, well, to life because honestly everyone has an interesting life in one way or another.  Even if your moment under the artist's pencil (or even the artist) was brief, I bet something else happened in your life.  No-one only gets only one moment of interest.  So I have a little fact-heap of ladies I look into, finding out more about them until I have enough to bring you.  Imagine my delight when I set about researching two of Rossetti's models which had been somewhat overlooked - Would I find out that they had gone mad?  Did they have unexplained children? Have scandalous love affairs and appalling marriages?

In the past I have found out all of these things about Victorian models.  This time things were a little different.  This is the story of Agnes Manetti and Ada Vernon...

The Laurel (1864) Dante Gabriel Rossetti

Let's start with Agnes Manetti, because I've always found her a nice, larger-than-life character.  She was described by William Michael Rossetti as 'a Scotch woman in London, with a handsome pleasing face, more especially a fine profile.' So far, so good, but it doesn't last as he goes on to describe her as 'of no rigid virtue' and looking like Napoleon.  He knows how to flatter a girl, that one.  William Michael is not the most reliable of character witnesses, being a bit of a pig at times, but also he is usually recollecting much after the event, sometimes as much as 40 years, so I suppose I ought to forgive him.  But I don't.

Agnes Manetti (1862) Dante Gabriel Rossetti

The problem is that we tend to take what people like William Michael say as gospel, which it should be as he was actually there.  However, he is a careless biographer of people he does not consider important and so the women who were mere fleeting fancies get the history applied to them that William Michael thinks appropriate.  When it comes to someone like Fanny Cornforth, his recollections are stronger because he loathed her so much.  With people like Agnes Manetti, he could probably barely remember her.  He certainly couldn't remember her surname.  Was he even thinking of her at the time?  When asked about Agnes in 1904, William Michael recalled that his brother's 'principle painting from her is named Monna Pomona'.

Monna Pomona (1864) Dante Gabriel Rossetti

 Slight problem is that the model for the painting wasn't Agnes...

Okay, so enough of William Michael's nonsense, is there anyone who actual remembered her?  Gosh I wish there was a promiscuous slut-bag who fancied everyone and kept a diary...

Oh, George Price Boyce, how lovely to see you again!

My favourite hot Victorian diarist, George Price Boyce came to my rescue once more.  If you have never read his diary I thoroughly recommend it because George was a one for the ladies and made it his business to meet all the models, give them presents and feed them.  I appreciate a man who gives a girl breakfast, and so it was with Agnes Manetti.  In 1862, Boyce saw images of Agnes, who he referred to as 'Fatty Aggie M' when he visited Rossetti.  He seems to imply in his diary entry of October 22 1862 that Rossetti has been using Agnes as his 'Joan of Arc' even though William Michael identified the model as a 'Mrs Beyer'.  Anyway, in January of 1863, Agnes comes round to breakfast at Boyce's bachelor pad and he draws her then gives her 'a little Florentine mosaic brooch' which I'm sure isn't a euphemism.

La Castagnetta (1860s) Dante Gabriel Rossetti

Rossetti drew Agnes many times in a two year period, but only seemed to use her in a couple of paintings.  La Castagnetta is believed to be her, as is a watercolour of Sweet Tooth, an image of a girl eating fruit (which is one he repeated with Fanny Cornforth at this time too).

Sweet Tooth (watercolour) (1864) Dante Gabriel Rossetti

Aggie (Sweet Tooth) (1864) Dante Gabriel Rossetti

There are a number of images of Fanny Cornforth eating and much is made of the link between these and her weight.  Possibly too, for someone called 'Fatty Aggie', there is a link being made between her sensual love of eating and her weight, also linked to sensuality.  Thinking about it, if Aggie is seen has a bit loose in her morals, as was Fanny, is there a link being made between fat, eating and debauchery.  Look at those grapes (or whatever they are) hanging out of her mouth!  Saucy wench!

The Hair Net (1862) Dante Gabriel Rossetti

So, to the research! Come on, with a name like Agnes Manetti, she won't be too hard to find....  So what do we know?  She was called Agnes, that we know as at least two people call her that, without speech-marks mostly, and she might have been Scottish, or 'Scotch' (a term which I think only applies to the drink, frankly).  I could not find an Agnes Manetti, but there are certainly a ton of Scottish Agneses (Agni?) in London in the 1860s.  Okay, so we'll start with Manetti, which was felt to be an odd name for a Scottish girl (discounting the Italian influx, obviously).  There we have more luck.  There are two gentlemen in London in 1861 with the surname 'Manetti'.  First of all we have Joseph, a Tuscan bank clerk (the best kind of bank clerk) who married first Frances (who died), then Martha, but neither wife was Scottish, let alone had 'Agnes' in their name.  On then to the fabulously named Raimondo Felix Manetti, a Spanish sculptor, who married Fanny Mills, a London girl.  They travelled about quite a bit by the look of them, so possibly they had come down from Scotland before settling in London, but Fanny was far too young, having only been in born in 1850.  No luck on any front there then, but I may have a suggestion about part of her name...

In March 1860 the journal The Scottish Gardener ran an article about 'The Manetti Bubble'.  The Manetti shrub rose was wildly popular, although not everyone was a fan, the article calling it 'fair at first sight, but the more we know of him the less we value him'.  It's hard to know how Agnes came by the surname but by Boyce's recollection of her, it appears she took it herself.  Could she have named herself after a type of popular Scottish rose?  It's tempting to wonder if she was called Agnes at all in that case because another shrub rose is the 'Agnes'.  Did she just name herself after roses?  As Boyce does not call her "Agnes" (in speech-marks), suggesting he knows it's a made up name (like he does with "Fanny"), I think we should believe she was called Agnes, but as for the surname, who can tell?  Rossetti was a lover of flowers and used them intelligently in his paintings so possibly he christened Wee Scottish Aggie after the rose she was. After all, as William Michael says she is beautiful in Monna Pomona.  Only that's not her.  That's Ada Vernon.  Damn it!

Ada Vernon (1863) Dante Gabriel Rossetti

See, there's another problem.  When two models look alike, who can tell which of them is the right model?  Enter stage left, Ada Vernon, the real model for Monna Pomona, and how do we know?  Because George Price Boyce fancied her.  Of course he did.  From his diary in February 1864, Rossetti 'has been painting on the drawing of "Ada" and the apple.  It is most exquisite.'  There is a letter to Ada from Rossetti, dated January 1864, postponing their meeting but asking her to come the next day 'as early as you can manage - and please come with your hair very nice indeed.'  Not only Monna Pomona has been misidentified as Agnes, but there is some doubt about The Laurel which has both women's names against it, depending where you look.  Both women were dark haired, dark eyed and beautiful.  Even less is reported on Ada Vernon, so we have no idea how rigid her morals were or where she apparently came from.  All we know is that she was going to marry a gentleman called Hemblen, according to the Rossetti Archive.  The above drawing was apparently given to her as a wedding present.  Apparently.  Okay, so Hemblen isn't a very common name, she'll be easy to find, right?

Ada Vernon (1863-5) Dante Gabriel Rossetti

The above picture of Ada was part of a job lot that Boyce bought from Rossetti in 1865.  Something that caught my eye was the fact that Boyce put quotes around Ada's name the first time he spoke about her, which immediately put me on my guard.  First of all I searched for 'Hemblen' and variations and any marriages around that time to anyone with a name like Ada Vernon.  Lawks, nothing at all.  I also searched for Ada Vernon, again with not much hope, and certainly nothing that really fitted.  However there was a young man in Chelsea at that time, called Edmond Hamblen.  Sadly he ended his days without marrying Miss Vernon, and he was last seen in the 1901 census living with his widowed sister.  So what if Ada intended to marry but for some reason it just never happened?  Are there any unmarried Ada Vernons who might fit our bill?  Oddly, I was drawn to one who died in Croydon in 1917.  Ada Mary Vernon, born in 1842 in Worcestershire, had been an art needleworker.  It's not out of the question that she was in some way connected with the Morris family in the early 1860s, via embroidery, and that was where Rossetti found her.  I agree, it's tenuous...

Miss Ada Vernon, actress

Possibly a slightly more plausible explanation is Miss Ada Vernon, who was an actress, which might explain Boyce's quotation marks around her name.  Miss Vernon seemed a busy, if not successful actress in the early 1860s, mentioned in The Era for her portrayal of Mary in The Farmer's Story (November 1865).  She was given the review that 'with further practice [she] will probably be able to realise a serious situation more forcibly than at present.' Thank you, I think.  When reviewed for her role in The Rivals, Tatler felt she was 'excellent', but from the faint praise given by her many reviewers she was never really a threat to Ellen Terry.  She appears in Rossetti's art around the same period as Ruth Herbert, so possibly he met her through Ruth.  Who can tell?  What becomes clear is that neither Ada or Agnes had families who remembered, nor children who carried the story down. Neither of them were in Rossetti's life long enough to become ingrained in the stories, nor so they seem to have written their histories themselves.  Was Agnes one of the hundreds of Scottish girls, working in service in London who was given a pretty name to suit her face?  Was Ada an actress or an embroiderer?  Why didn't she marry Mr Hamblen?  Had things turned out differently I might have been the author of Hoots! The Fall and Rise of Agnes Manetti but some people get lost in time. 

Especially if you are a woman.  A childless woman. An unmarried woman. No-one will remember you.

Well, that's a jolly note to end on, but this is the lesson of Aggie and Ada. Childless, unmarried women leave no memories sadly, which is brutal but true. By 'childless' I mean a woman without any descendants, either theirs or step-children or even nephews and nieces. It's interesting who comes crawling out of the woodwork on anniversaries of artists births and deaths, with tales of their model relatives.  Reading the centenary pieces on Rossetti you'd think most of London had posed for him, some of them even after he had died.  It stems from family narratives, great aunt so-and-so telling the story of when Rossetti painted her, or when she let Boyce give her a mosaic brooch (my new favourite euphemism). If you have no access to the younger generation who will carry your flame you will just have to do it yourself.

For a Victorian model to be remembered it helps to have been memorable, and I don't just mean in the good way.  Irritate the hell out of the right people and they will hang onto that grudge forever.

Just ask that nut-throwing, illiterate, thieving prostitute, Fanny Cornforth.

The Brief, Bright Beauty of Ellen Smith

If things had been different, I may well have been sat before you today as the author of ‘Stunner: The Ellen Smith Story’.  Ellen Smith, poor laundress of uncertain virtue, became Rossetti’s model in the 1860s after he spotted her in the street and persuaded her to come and sit for him.  George Boyce saw the sketches and fell for her, borrowing her for his own works.  She became the face of Rossetti’s art, providing a foil for the golden haired beauties that Rossetti used regularly and appearing on her own, her features recognisable and her hair a dark mass of waves.  

Joli Coeur (1867) D G Rossetti

 She could have been a Stunner Superstar.

Ellen is easy to spot in the 1860s works, just look for a brunette who isn’t Jane Morris.  Unlike the Elizabeth Siddal/Alexa Wilding/Fanny Cornforth mash-up that tended to occur, she is easy to tell apart from Jane because her features are so doll-like and sweet.  Take for example the sketch for Washing Hands, she just looks like a little darling, so tiny and delicate.

Washing Hands (1865) D G Rossetti

The most famous work she appeared in is The Beloved, where she is the front left Bridesmaid:

She also sat for the very jolly A Christmas Carol, which compares well with any of his oils from this period.

A Christmas Carol (1867) D G Rossetti

Veronica Veronese (1872) D G Rossetti

Boyce acquired pencil sketches of Ellen from Rossetti in a way reminiscent of the relationship between the two men and Fanny Cornforth.  Boyce went on to draw and paint Ellen himself in a few beautifully studied pictures.

Pensosa d'Altrui (1868-9) G P Boyce

Ellen Smith (1866-7) G P Boyce

 I love the Rossetti pastel of her from 1867, her eyes a striking blue against her dark hair. 

Ellen modelled for Rossetti throughout the 1860s, seemingly filling a role that Jane Morris would eventually fill, especially in the chalk picture of Penelope:

My Lady Greensleeves (1863) D G Rossetti

Penelope (1869) D G Rossetti

Sadly, here is where the story ends.  Ellen has the briefest mention in Jan Marsh’s Pre-Raphaelite Sisterhood and Pre-Raphaelite Women, but on the whole she fairs worse than Alexa Wilding in Rossetti biographies, and that’s saying something.  Damn it, Marie Spartali Stillman gets more mentions than poor Ellen.  Thanks to George Boyce’s diary, we at least know why she suddenly disappeared from Rossetti’s art.  According to him, a soldier, who obviously objected to her beauty being admired by others, cut her face to ribbons and disfigured her so badly she could not model anymore.  She eventually married a cabbie and returned to Boyce to offer her services as a laundress.  If you think of the working-class roots of a number of the models, it’s almost a wonder that this horrible fate didn’t befall more of the women, one way or another, but Annie Miller married well, as did Jane Morris and Fanny (in a roundabout way).  Ellen Smith didn’t get the chance to use her modelling to lift her out of the position she held in life.  Thanks to the actions of one violent thug, she would always be a laundress, but in a small way those actions are defied, as her beautiful face is admired by thousands of people every day on the wall in Pimlico Tube Station just outside Tate Britain.

Boyce Beyond Landscape

I have a confession to make. Sometimes when I’m looking at a picture by Rossetti, I’m thinking about George Price Boyce.  I admit it, I am an art cheat.

OK, well maybe the picture I’m talking about is this…

Fanny Cornforth and G P Boyce in Rossetti's Studio (1858) D G Rossetti

George Price Boyce

 If you are a Rossetti fan, you will no doubt have heard of George Price Boyce.  He was Rossetti’s neighbour for many years in the 1850s and had a relationship with Fanny Cornforth during this time, which is why I read his diary and sought out his pictures.  He was the first owner of Bocca Baciata, and he and Rossetti shared many other models including Annie Miller, Ellen Smith and Alexa Wilding.

Boyce’s diaries are available in an abridged form, the originals having been lost in an air raid in the 1940s, and give the impression of a likeable artist, who seemed to delight in women and life.  His treatment of his maid especially is very funny, as he seems to spend a lot of time trying to get into her good favours, giving her presents and continuously fretting over her happiness. Boyce seemed to avoid complicated relationships with women, unlike Rossetti’s overly tangled lovelife, yet never seems to be short of female companionship.  I think it’s a shame that we do not remember his work now, especially his portraits, despite their presence in some of the major galleries, such as the Tate.  You are more likely to see his landscapes, lovely as they are, rather than his pictures of the women of the Pre-Raphaelite circle, and I suspect that a lot of them are still in private hands.

The Mill on the Thames at Mapledurham (1860) G P Boyce

Alexa Wilding (1867-8) G P Boyce

 I recently bought a copy of the only monograph/catalogue to have been published on Boyce, from a Tate exhibition from 1987, and so finally got to see one of his pictures of Alexa Wilding.  You can see a fair amount of Rossetti’s influence in Boyce’s portraits, and it seems that in the past the portraits have been exhibited beside Pre-Raphaelite ones, for example in a fabulous sounding exhibition called Stunners: Paintings and Drawings by Pre-Raphaelites and Others at the Maas Gallery in 1974.  Two portraits of Annie Miller are illustrated and are less idealised than either Hunt or Rossetti’s pictures of her, in fact the picture of her wearing a hairnet, wrapped in a shawl reminds me of the domestic portraits of Fanny by Rossetti. I was particularly interested to see a couple of portraits of Ellen Smith, a particularly sweet-faced girl who appears as a bridesmaid in Rossetti’s The Beloved.

Ellen Smith (1867) G P Boyce

Ellen Smith (1867) G P Boyce

Ellen Smith (1867) D G Rossetti

I started to think about Boyce recently while considering the meaning of Bocca Baciata.  The title, the Kissed Mouth, is always presumed to refer to Fanny, promiscuous and lovely in equal measure, but what if it was also about Boyce and Rossetti? Consider for a moment the unusualness of their relationship – they knowingly and openly shared a lover.  Fanny was seeing both Boyce and Rossetti at the same time, they both were drawing her, giving her presents and she was dividing her time between them as best she could, sometimes being with them both for outings and meals.  Fanny seemed to have a bit of trepidation about the arrangement; Boyce recorded in his diary how Fanny worried that she would see Rossetti while out with Boyce, and he seems to have found it funny, which implies that neither man had a problem with their ménage a trois. It’s not unusual for Rossetti to pursue another man’s wife or girlfriend, most if not all of his other lovers ‘belonged’ to someone else when he started his courtship, but it tended to be to the exclusion of the other man, forcing him out, in William Morris’ case, to Iceland.  Fanny might be the only woman he shared, willingly and openly, and that is not only a rarity for Rossetti, but also can you imagine the situation now, let alone in Victorian times?  It is a very odd arrangement for all involved.

Annie Miller (1860) G P Boyce

Fanny Cornforth (1860s) D G Rossetti

This brings me back to Bocca Baciata.  While we’re discussing odd concepts for Victorian England, the idea that a woman can express love in a physical manner and remain unsullied by it is equally as puzzling, so how about this for a thought: Bocca Baciata not only refers to Fanny and her freely given embraces, but to Boyce and Rossetti too.  Just as ‘the kissed mouth’ does not spoil for the kissing, then the men’s relationship isn’t destroyed by the sharing of a lover, which, according to society, should preclude the idea of friendship for the men.  Rather, by sharing Fanny’s bed, it somehow keeps the men close to each other, and by reading Boyce’s diary, Rossetti and Boyce were constantly in each other’s lives without any detriment to their affection for each other or Fanny.  You have to wonder if the difference was Fanny or whether it was Rossetti, but for some reason in this three-way relationship, Rossetti managed something he was never able to again – a lack of possession, a sense of freedom and an affection for another man not based on how much he fancied his wife.

Annie Miller (1854) G P Boyce

Contrast that with the rivalry over Annie Miller, whom Rossetti ‘stole’ away from Boyce in what would become a familiar pattern of bullying another man back from the relationship.  In his monopoly of Annie, Rossetti seems to foreshadow his monopoly of Jane Morris, excluding her husband.  At the pinnacle of this are his exclusive rights to Alexa Wilding, paying so that she did not sit for anyone else.  It did make me smile to see an image of Alexa by Boyce, because I like to think, in a small way, Boyce was able to settle a score with Rossetti.  It’s a shame that the same wasn’t achieved by Walter Deverell, William Holman Hunt, William Morris….