1 / Bed. / Wednesday night / I gave you a heavy / time this afternoon / Sweet lady - yet before I sin I am / sure of forgiveness - so I go on in / my wickedness - & now I hope & you / hope that there will be nothing to write / tonight - only one continuous sleep - / it feels like it - directly you had gone / the strained nerves relaxed & I fell / into a deep long sleep - and / you will ? nothing & no one in the / world ever push me from you? / You will cling on to me & never / love? Goodnight - its just / as if you were near me, as if / gentle arms soothed & held me. /Wednesday - after breakfast / yes it was a good night, & though I woke / I fell back into sleep & the new / day has begun - I have come up / into the room where you were & it / is all full of you - I have quite a / little store of memories now - / two or three times yesterday you looked / pained & troubled at me - did my / hands hurt you? or were you sorry / for me? / and to-day doesn't matter - it neednt / take the trouble to be for there is / no you in it - unless a letter comes / from you at the days end - & makes my / heart throb / you would have laughed the other aftn, / when a letter came from you & someone / was here & so I couldnt open it - & / I fidgeted & turned cold to them & / wanted them gone & fell silent - & for / an hour I could not read my treasure - / people shouldnt stay an hour - its / rude. / I seldom have courage to open a letter / from you at once - I try to prepare my / mind for some disappointment or sorrow. / - at first I thought they might say "good / bye" and was frightened - I dont / fear "good bye" now - but still I hold / off opening - & when I have / torn the envelope I look first to / see if it is more than one sheet / it is too late for you to say good bye / now - time travels fast in these / histories, & the rivets are driven / home in me now, it is too late - / give nothing you will ever have / to take away from me - / To let you see that letter was not / a thing I like to do, but I wanted your / help & advice - & I want it about another / matter too, of infinitely little importance / but still I want it / but if I am "one thing in a century" which is / very flattering dont you think I am too good / to trifle with or play with & drag about / in triumphal processions - alas that means / love is dead - for who that loves even / measures, or counts himself - & when I / think of you I do not count in my life / of more value than the flick of a / fools finger & thumb - & yet I feel you will never waste me, but urge me on / a high winged way / aren't you claver? I dont know, I / never gave it a thought - you are such a /woman & so true in all where truth / matters most that you shine far beyond / them. - I dont criticize - men bore me / often, & I resent their airs & their silly / pomp - & their ambitions sicken me / or make me laugh - when there comes / a hero I am down in the dust before / him /
2 / like the humblest - no one can say / I have not worshipped - there is a certain / bar and past that I measure no more, / When a man has passed it I watch / & worship his flight - but most men / are nothing to me, & I can scarce / remember their faces from one day to / another - but I should like to be kind / to all women & I dont think I ever hurt one yet - no, never willingly / I don't think it is ever out of my mind / what hurt I did when I was born, / & I was quite old as a child, 10 or / 12 when myfather still took me once / a week to my mother's grave, & used / to sit crying - & when we walked in / the streets he would stop at places / & tell me that hereabouts my mother / was tired & could walk no more, / or that ? another place something / amused her - the grave was / in a churchyard on a hill called / Holloway head, & I thought it was the same / name in the Lords prayer, & duly prayed / night & morning "holloway head be thy name" / I hope it made him laugh - I dare say he / laughs & cries with a clear, who knows who / - younger than Margaret, thats so funny - / at any rate it is never long out of / my mind, & I have always been ready to / cry about it - so I'm good to women / - & the one who hurt me was not wicked / a bit - it was a hard life to lead & / she broke down - that's all - she / minded so much & so much feared / to part that it drove her to cheat - / she thought I couldnt like her if I know / she was passionate so she hid it always. / - but I should have liked it all the / more you see, for it is the one thing that / is beautiful to me, & pardons / but there it was - for the first years / it must have been an unbearable life / to her - it was to me - who could be a / wicked hell of passion if I let go - /& I never forget hearing of her lying all / night a walking about in rain outside / the house when I was ill, for hours & / hours - dont hate the face or the / form - unless you think it badly / done - for it was a great nature / & failed. / We all fail - even the most cocksure / of us, & the strangest most - & we'll / pick each other up / as I picked you up with such fine / results! / how nice it is to talk to you - / isnt it? dont you think we get on very / well together, & have plenty to say - / & you know me do like each other / that's settled. You mustn't go from / your word. / And I'll be better company / presently, when I am strong again / - I wont go away to get strong - I wont / - I like to wake up in the same city / morning after morning - that isnt so / much to ask is it? / & when I am stronger I will control / my hands - I know I pain you by / my letters & yet they are as tame / as I can make them - of course they / pain you only you are one so patient / & sweet, & the nicer you are the / ? I get - but give me time - / I can learn to master myself as / much to you when we are alone / as when people are by. / I must learn to do it, thats all / But I should like to eat you - / yes I really mean eat - set / teeth in & chew up / & I cant see how I shall ever have you / all to myself in any other way. /
3 /
4 / the old bed again - / & this is a little good night to thee - / oh isn't love detestable? isnt it? / Such weary work - & what for? just because / I can't help it, is that all? / why even if you loved me (oh) it would be / nasty enough - restless, homeless work. / but now, as it is, good faith, what shall / be said for it? / well, we must peg away. as well want / to live without air. / I dont think friends have been saying / anything - it is an instinct of something / that scents of rebellion. & my letters are / remote perhaps, though I try to make / them the same. / And up in town the time will be pretty / eaten up - theatres, dinners, suppers, / breakfasts, lunches, new marvels, debates, in the house, cabinet secrets, a ? / preacher, a dissenting preacher, a / gifted infidel, a mahatma, the new / Cardinal, some rising young members - / African express, a cowboy, the astronomer / Royal - you know it all I dare say - / only you say no bitter things as I do - to / whom a life like that seems less lovely / / a hundred times than that of a poor / laundress (Phil's laundress is an artist / & knows what a shirt front is) - / about it all I have scolded my scold, / I shall speak never again about it - / it isnt my affair - but it is fatiguing / even to see, what must it be to live? / as a life it is the most sceptical / despairing I have ever seen - / I could stand like Ezekiel by the / boiling pot - the seething pot or / caldron, & prophesy. / You are not much in it are you dear? / or are you? - only your pretty foot has / dipped in it - I feel like Marat / when I think of it, & hear the / tocsin in my heart / & I think of you as a sweet shining thing / standing aside, with a dear look, / a lovely friendly look, that never / criticises & never sees evil & wishes / well, watching this pageant go by. / skurry & flutter & dazzle, jingle / & tinkle & ripples of laughter, so / bonny to look at - I wonder what you / think behind all things - behind the / little laugh I have grown to associate / with deepest sadness. / What do you think of most? / at any rate you dont frown & rail / like me. / May heaven send me sleep tonight - / & forgetfulness of all things - last / night I dreamed of Newman, the / old Cardinal & was with him again / - he in an omnibus of all places. / Good company it was - tonight I / want oblivion - / I would want you if you would come / but you wont. / DuMaurier has deceived me - a life / in dreams is not possible - else I / should have it. / Tell me every time you write that I am / good for you - & let it be true - / oh tired tired - & you are in the / world who could soothe & rest me & / make life perfect if God only said / FIAT, / ----------------- / 5 0'clock / you are not to rub sweet eyes so / fiercely with fingers, its very / bad for eyes & hurts the sight - I / could hardly get your fingers / away from them - & I wanted to / tell you its very bad for sight / to press them so / & rub so hard. / & now you'll never do that again / I feel sure /
5 / shall we make a plan for mutual help? / I have just thought of it - with one / admirable purpose, to eradicate / love from our hearts, tear it up / no matter how it hurts, & cast / it away - to seize it & pull / it with its countless burrowing / feelers will hurt hideously, & / it will come forth with a yell / like a mandrake when you / gutter it - & there will be a / horrid hole & we shall be / sick & faint for a bit. / because we both agree it / is so horrid. One cannot take / any delight in the sweet earth / because of it, & the seasons / no more mean rain time & / Sun-time, or fruit time or corn / time - and all dear human faces / except the longed for face are so unwelcome - and for one / delirious moment there comes / days & weeks of starved pining / & ? hunger - the poor / flesh of me aches with love / & night is endless wandering in / the same alleys of thought that / have no outlet - out one / comes by the place where one / entered - the very eyes are / aching as if they strained themselves / all day to see the thing that / is so longed for, that never / comes - that cannot come - / there must be a remedy somewhere / but salves & soft ointments & / ? are useless - only the / knife helps, & it is surgery not / medicine that wins. / So I could cure myself if I / would - could go away now - there / would be some evil months, but / bit by bit life would reassert / itself if I did not see her, nor / hear from her, nor write to her / - I could come back to London, & very / early contrive never to meet her - I / have passed years & not seen her once / or more than once - it would be certain / cure - might take less long than I think / to accomplish - or longer it might be, / but it would come - / how quietly I should work - praise / or blame I should never hear - nor / mix much with people - I could / avoid perilous streets - but I never have / met her - I shouldnt meet her - in / my heart I could bless her & feel / sweetly about her & tenderly - but / I would not cultivate that - / well, this is all mighty fine - / am I going to do it - I could begin / to-day for instance - send her a / message & not meet her - indeed / tell her outright - she would understand / & see it was best for me. / Would she mind? a little - I dont / think very much, because there has not / been enough to make memories, / & there would not be much for her / to miss - she would be sorry but it / would be little amongst her great / sorrows - / And can I do it? Yes I can. / and shall I? / no, never, never, never. / then why all this talk? / I dont know I like to / talk about her - I cant sleep it seems - /
The archive, which has remained with May Gaskell’s descendants, consists of more than 200 letters dating from 1892 up to the year of Burne-Jones’s death: three albums of intimate letters from the artist to Mrs Gaskell; two albums of illustrated letters to Mrs Gaskell and her daughter, Daphne; and other ephemera such as the artist’s brushes which he used when painting his famous portrait of Amy Gaskell. The letters are one of the most endearing records of all Burne-Jones’s friendships. They recount both his innermost thoughts and feelings and feature a cast of humorous characters, fictitious and real. They have been acquired for £200,000 with major support from the National Heritage Memorial Fund (NHMF); the Art Fund; the Arts Council England/Victoria and Albert Museum Purchase Grant Fund; the Friends of the National Libraries; and numerous private donations. Two of the albums are on display in the Museum for its Great British Drawings exhibition where they can be seen until 31 August. They will now enter the Ashmolean’s permanent collection. Following conservation, they will be made available as an invaluable resource to students and scholars of the Pre-Raphaelite movement, and they will be published online. The letters will add to the collection of drawings by Burne-Jones bequeathed to the Ashmolean in 1939 by Mrs Gaskell, forming one of the richest Pre-Raphaelite archives in the country. Many of the letters were published by Josceline Dimbleby, May Gaskell’s great-granddaughter, in her acclaimed book, A Profound Secret (2004), which recounts the author’s research into her family’s history. On the occasion of this major acquisition, Josceline Dimbleby will give a Saturday Talk on 8 August at the Ashmolean, in conversation with the curator of Great British Drawings, Colin Harrison. Josceline Dimbleby says: "My discovery of so many intimate and often witty letters from Burne-Jones to my great grandmother May Gaskell, forgotten for decades in an old chest of drawers, was one of the most exciting moments in my life, together with finding, wrapped in old paper and string at the back of one drawer, the paintbrushes he used for his famous portrait of my doomed great aunt Amy Gaskell, still with paint sticking to them. The letters revealed a passion that made it hard to think of this friendship as platonic and I spent a fascinating and happy three years piecing together and writing the story of what was A Profound Secret, feeling that I was getting to know my ancestors, and a very private side of Burne- Jones." Burne- Jones met May Gaskell in 1892, and she became the last in the succession of women with whom he enjoyed especially close, but platonic, friendships. She was the wife of a dull cavalry officer, and, in an unfulfilling marriage, she corresponded with Burne- Jones up to five times a day. The letters include a series of cartoon-like tales featuring characters such as the ‘fat lady’ and the artist himself, caught in mishap and misadventure. Beneath the surface lies the black humour endemic to Burne-Jones’s frequent moods of depression and insecurity. There is, for example, a superb sequence of caricatures of the artist suffering from flu. In the course of their friendship, Burne-Jones became dependent on May, confessing to her that she ‘reached the well of loneliness that is in me’. He also sent whimsical letters to the infant Daphne Gaskell (1887–1966). She was only six when she met Burne-Jones and he took an affectionate and fatherly interest in her, his own children having grown up. His letters to Daphne, written in phonetic spelling, include birds and animals familiar from his other letters to children, and several fantastic inventions such as the ‘Phlumbudge’ and ‘Flapdabble’. The archive also includes some letters to May’s elder daughter, Amy (1874–1910), whom Burne-Jones painted in 1893 in one of the greatest Pre-Raphaelite portraits (collection of Lord Lloyd-Webber). Colin Harrison, Senior Curator of European Art, Ashmolean Museum, says: "May Gaskell was Burne- Jones’s closest friend in his last years. He gave her a selection of his finest drawings, which she in turn gave to the Ashmolean in 1939. The opportunity to acquire the albums of intimate and humorous letters that he sent to May and to her daughter, Daphne, was unmissable; and we are most grateful for the support from the NHMF, the Art Fund, and other bodies, as well as numerous private donors. Their generosity has ensured that the letters have ended up in their rightful home, and that the Ashmolean now has one of the most representative, as well as distinguished, collections of Burne-Jones’s work in the world." Sir Peter Luff, Chair of NHMF, says: “Sir Edward Burne-Jones was the most prominent of the second generation Pre-Raphaelites and his work had an enormous influence. This exceptional collection of letters, which throws light on the last years of his life, was the most important part of his collection in private hands. I'm delighted that National Heritage Memorial Fund investment will mean they can be available for everyone to explore and enjoy.” Stephen Deuchar, Director of the Art Fund, says: "The Ashmolean owns one of the finest collections of works by Burne-Jones in the world, which will be greatly enriched by this important and delightful collection of letters."