Desperate Romantics (2009–…): Season 1, Episode 1 - Episode #1.1 - full transcript

This was the
happiest day of my life.

Here I was, me, Fred Walters.

A close acquaintance of
the three most radical

and celebrated painters
of their generation,

the Pre-Raphaelite brotherhood.

It wasn't always like this.

There was a time when they
weren't considered fashionable.

They weren't considered popular.

They weren't even considered.

But in spite of their faults,
of which there were some,

I always believed in them.



Their enigmatic leader,

Dante Gabriel Rossetti.

A man whose full potential was
often on the losing side in its battle

with that other interest
of the committed artist.

The pursuit of beauty.

John Millais, an artist whose
modesty was the equal of his genius.

And William Holman Hunt.

He was...a bit complicated.

But, of course, an artist is nothing at all

without a subject, a model, a muse.

First, they would have to find her.

Now, let me show you.

This, this one here, let's go have a look.

Can I help you, madam?



Ah, yes.
Now I like this very much.

This is exactly the sort of thing.

Fred!

Fred!

Just, adjust you slightly.

This one, here..

No.

- No.
- Rosalind can be woman or man.

She has a most cheerful disposition.

I think the problem with your girls
is that they are too beautiful.

We are looking for something more...

more ordinary.

There's a hunchback works out of Marylebone Station.

She's very much on the "ordinary" side!

Mr Rossetti, Hunt, Millais!

I think that I have found
exactly what you are looking for!

for the perfect young lady.

We barely know you!

Shut up and answer me this.

Is she a redhead?

Hair like molten lava.

You should be ashamed.

Four young men and not a hard prick between you!

Give the lady tin, Johnny!

She has to be both ordinary and extraordinary.

I think you'll find she's all of those things.

When I was at the Academy I had the pick of models,

but now I can never seem to hang on to them.

Vanity or the promise of better
money always drives them away.

Which brothel did you say she worked out of?

I didn't. She works down there,
at the back of a hat shop.

Have you any idea how important it
is for us to find the perfect model?

And you drag us to meet a Hat Shop Girl?

I promise you!
You have to see her!

They like the idea of modelling,
but when it comes to posing,

they simper like spaniels in heat.

I would have thought you found that quality

very much to your depraved taste, Gabriel.

This is a complete waste of time.

Please, stay!
They must finish soon!

What's in this for you?

I just want to help you in your mission.

I believe in your values,

"to sympathise with what is true and serious"

"and heartfelt in previous art."

You like that, do you?

I wrote that, you know.

I know, Mr Rossetti.

I know.

I'm Gabriel.

Call me Gabriel.

Fred...

You are right.

She is truly spectacular.

Perfect for my Sylvia.
I'll speak to her straight away.

Not you, Maniac!

Why ever not?

Here's a clue.

Your nickname is "Maniac", Maniac.

That alludes to my almost insane work ethic.

- If that's what you want to believe...
- Doesn't it?

OK.
Here's our strategy.

She should be approached by one who
carries no sexual threat whatsoever.

Go on, Fred!

Ask her if she will model for us!

Excuse me!

Excuse me!

Excuse me!

This is going to sound strange.

It already does.

These gentlemen here are the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood.

Really?
The Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood!

So you have heard of them?

- No.
- No.

They are looking for models just like you.

Does my sister look like the
kind of girl who would be a model!

They mean to paint girls living ordinary lives

which makes their beauty all the more striking.

I'm sorry. I'm afraid that my mother would never allow it.

She has my personal guarantee
that your virtue and your reputation

will remain intact throughout
any professional engagement.

I'm not sure my mother would be
reassured by a young man's promises.

What about the word of my mother?

Your mother! What did you
say that for, Mr Walters?

I thought it was inspired, Fred.

I hope shop girl doesn't need my
mother to vouch for my reputation.

The entire world knows you're
no threat to the ladies, John.

Where does an artist start,
if he is to change the world?

At the centre of that world,
the Royal Academy.

Hunt and Millais had already
being accepted for its exhibition.

Adoration and celebration of their
radical style was sure to follow.

I don't believe this.

What a regal cheek!

Who did this? Hey!
Who committed this intolerable outrage!

For God's sake, keep your voice down!

- Hold on.
- Something troubling you, gentlemen?

We were just a little concerned
about the position of our paintings.

What appears to be the problem?

The problem isn't so much that you put the work

of these two men of genius so...

so far above the line that you
would need a ladder to see them.

It is what you put on the line.

On the line, Mr Stone!

I mean, look at this!

I've seen stains on a chamberpot
with more artistic merit!

If you don't like the paintings of Mr Hunt and Mr Millais
hanging above the line, then there is a solution.

- Good. Glad to hear it.
- We'll take them down altogether.

Mr Cooper, please bring a ladder!

- No, no, no!
- Let's not be too hasty here, Mr Stone...

Mr Millais, when you cameto us as an 11-year-old

I could see you were destined
for great things.

Thank you.

But by aligning yourself with
a bunch of pavement artists,

you arouse the Academy's utter disgust.

The Academy's utter disgust is what
gets us all out of bed in the morning!

Well, I wouldn't go that far...

Where is the naturalism?

Where is the life?
The flesh?

The blood?
The...the nature?

Mr Rossetti.
I have one piece of advice to you.

Learn... to... paint.

Mr Hunt and Mr Millais,
I have one piece of advice for you.

Lose the idiot!

We are a Brotherhood, Mr Stone.

We will never desert each other.

You just remember who we are.

You just remember who we are!

Isn't that...?

It's Ruskin.

Mr Ruskin.

It's an honour to meet you.

I have read all your books.

Not always to the end admittedly... but...

Well, you know, enough to get the gist.

Thank you.

I give you John Millais...child
prodigy on the verge of puberty.

William Holman Hunt,
painter, pugilist...

and myself,

Dante Gabriel Rossetti,

artist, poet...

Half Italian, half mad!

I enjoyed your Isabella, Mr Millais.

Oh.

Well, thank you.

Why didn't you offer him the
painting right there and then?

I sold it twelve months ago.

Before I joined the Brotherhood
and people still bought my work.

So sell it again!

I once sold a sketch fourteen times over
and it's still in my wardrobe.

Well, I hardly think I can go and
remove it from my buyer's wall.

If John Ruskin says he likes your painting,

then you offer him that painting

and then the next one and the one after that...

and then ours.

If John Ruskin says, "Yes"
then the world of art follows.

That's a perfect plan, Gabriel,
spoiled by one tiny detail.

We've yet to secure the services
of the hat shop stunner.

Our good friend Fred here is going
to take his mother to vouch for us.

We can hardly split her three ways, can we?

I think you'll find I have
first pick of all redheads.

I have the exact painting I need her for.

I am sure my need is greater.
But our eyes met.

There was an instant connection.

Your eyes meet those of every woman, Gabriel.

That hardly gives you any
claim on her. She models for me.

I need an angel.

She models... for... me.

Um... Bread, mutton stew, and er,
a little leftover cheese, perhaps?

Landlord says to stand you no more credit.

Tell him I'll paint him a portrait!

You did him one already,
and he said the arms are all wrong.

I think his sense of perspective
is much compromised by gin.

Would you consider sitting for me?

Me?

A model?

I don't think so.

If I could just capture that...

the pulse that flutters just...

.. just there.

Mutton stew, was it?

And a little cheese.

If the mice can spare it.

Mr Rossetti.

Where is my painting?

I'm working day and night Sir, but..

You either pay me back the money you owe me
or deliver the picture in one week's time!

Yes, yes, yes.
Of course, of course.

There we go! Smoothed it over
with my patron, got myself a model.

I'll have a masterpiece in three weeks.

A masterpiece with no gallery to hang in.

Oh, it will have a gallery, don't
you worry about that, Johnny Boy.

Where? No gallery will take us
as long as the Academy hates us.

But we have John Ruskin.

- He barely acknowledged us.
- We've met.

How can he possibly refuse an
invitation to see more of our work?

And how do you propose we
get him to do that?

We invite him to our exhibition!

What exhibition?

Perhaps I could help to
publicise such an exhibition.

- I do have one or two well-connected friends...
- There we are.

Fred is going to advertise it,
so that is settled.

So, such an exhibition does not really exist

unless Mr Ruskin becomes involved,

but he has not yet agreed
to his involvement.

That, my friend, is the beauty of the plan.

Isn't it all a trifle dishonest?

Oh!

A man cannot eat scruples, Johnny Boy.

A man cannot eat scruples.

This is it... This is it.
This is Ruskin's house.

It's this one. Definitely.

Go on.

Oh, come on, Johnny!

I've got it.

For God's sake, Johnny,
try and make a little less noise!

It's the gin. it's the gin
that's making the noise, not me.

Now all we need is a model.

To capture a man of Ruskin's
moral certainty and judgement,

The Brotherhood needed
to secure a model.

For that they needed me.

And I...

I needed my mother.

And you say you are in the cutlery trade, Mr Siddal?

That is correct, Madam.

Finest Sheffield steel.

That is one of my spoons you are using right now.

I am sure Mrs Walters has no
interest in spoons, Mr Siddal.

Although by rights I should not be in "trade" at all.

I am, much like yourself, a propertied gentleman,

the rightful owner of Hope Hall in Yorkshire

which you may well have heard of.

When the ancestral home is
duly restored to its rightful owner,

you and I will be very much on an equal footing.

Perhaps we could curtail our
ramblings amongst the dead

and get down to the business of the living.
And the making of a living?

I can assure you there will be no impropriety.

And I can promise you that Fred is a good young man

who would not lead Miss Siddal into any circumstances

that would compromise her reputation.

Father, the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood are
very famous indeed within artistic circles!

Particularly their own circle.
All three of them!

Why are you determined to
ruin my chances of a better life?

A better life? An artist's model is
little more than a whore or an actress!

I walk five miles to work and back every day

to rip my nails and finger ends
in a dark room making hats

I will never be able to afford,
for ladies who should know better.

- And of course we will pay a shilling an hour.
- A shilling?!

Well, I can't say "yes" immediately...

We'd be delighted to take you up on your offer.

Lizzie has always had a very
keen interest in the arts.

Miss Siddal was delighted to be whisked from
her old life into this new and glamorous world,

little realising that before art succeeds,

it must first suffer.

And no-one suffered with quite the
determination of William Holman Hunt.

For Goodness sake, Maniac!
You could have warned us.

Miss Siddal, please avert your gaze.

Unlike Gabriel,

we are not all slaves to our lust, Fred.

I loved your painting of The Eve of St. Agnes.

You've acquainted yourself with my work?

That's a good start.

Now your, eh, your costume is behind the screen,

and there's a hair tie for you to tie your hair back.

Are you ready, Miss Siddal?

I'm feeling a little self-conscious.

Believe me.

Nothing we haven't seen before.

Now,

eh, if you would like to kneel down, here,

Miss Siddal.

Perhaps this cushion will make
you more comfortable, Miss Siddal.

And the position is quite respectable,

given its historical accuracy.

Since Sylvia is a character from Shakespeare
how exactly is it "historically" accurate?

Miss Siddal, you've been posing for
me now for less than two minutes,

and in that time you have spoken more

than my last model spoke in six months.

And what was she wearing?

She wasn't.

It was a nude study.

Well, I can understand how that might
inhibit the easy flow of conversation.

I've been evicted.

Unbelievable!

A misunderstanding over rent and the
brutal landlord has sent me packing!

It's enough to make a man run
off and join the Chartists!

Evicted?

My God!
What are you going to do?

Nothing I can do. No tin.

I'll have to move back in here.

- No.
- I'll leave the armadillo at my mother's.

No!

You remember Miss Siddal, my new model.

Our new model!

She's posing for my newer piece

based on the last scene of
the Two Gentlemen of Verona.

I always like Shakespeare's final scenes.

Mainly because it means it's nearly over.

It's a tale of morality
overcoming sexual urgings.

A tale so frequent in art, but so
rare in real life, hey, Miss Siddal?

Please, Gabriel!

You do realise that it is your
destiny to sit for me, don't you?

A shop girl can't afford to
believe in destiny, Mr Rossetti.

There were many advantages to
hanging out with the glamour boys.

But perhaps the greatest
advantage of all

was that sometimes
a girl wasn't impressed

by all that wit and bluster

and might even find herself wanting
the quiet one in the corner...

the steady type.

And I was as steady as they came.

Mr Walters, I can only thank you.

Miss Siddal is a wonderful discovery.

I have great plans for her.

She has a high stately neck, does she not...

And a lower lip sucked in as
if it strives to kiss itself.

Ssssucked in!

I mean to raise her up
from her humble beginnings.

To educate her in the arts.

And then,

eventually, to make her my wife.

Your wife?

If there is anything more attractive

than a working woman with potential,

then God is yet to show it to me.

I couldn't help seeing her potential

peeping out of the gap where
her fastenings didn't meet.

Do you think Hunt meant it?

About marrying Lizzie?
Because er...

Well, if the truth be known,
I am rather sweet on her myself.

So, the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood.

The group of radical young painters
who announce themselves by...

thrusting notes through letter
boxes in the middle of the night.

I apologise if we were a little over-zealous.

There's no time to waste.

The revolution is needed!

Which is why you must attend
our exhibition, Mr Ruskin.

I'm sorry.

If I attended every exhibition to
which I was invited, I'd go insane.

Mr Walters!

No more interfering!

No, no, no, no - let him go.

"The Young Artists of England should
go to nature in all singleness of heart!

"And walk with her laboriously
and trustingly,

"having no other thought but how
best to penetrate her meaning,

"rejecting nothing, selecting nothing,

and scorning nothing".

- Your words, sir.
- I am aware they are my words.

You could be describing these
daring young men, sir!

You could be describing these very artists...

men who are committed, like you, to what is true,

and real,

and heartfelt.

Very well then, I shall visit your
studio and see your work in progress,

and if it lives up to your manifesto,
I shall attend your exhibition.

And if it does not, will you please
leave me alone?

- It's a promise, sir.
- Although the work will be good, sir.

- Very well, next week, then, Friday?
- That would be perfect, Sir.

Fred, Fred! I thought you were
little more than a hanger-on.

We need to make you an
honorary brother immediately!

Really sweetly done, Fred.
I could kiss you!

I don't know why you arranged it so soon.

You know it takes me
a week to sharpen my pencil!

Mr Rossetti! Mr Rossetti!

Thank you.

If you don't object, I was going to make a few
notes as I mean to record your views for posterity.

I have yet to find the perfect model.

Hence the lack of face and hair on the Virgin Mary.

And the lack of paint.

Perhaps you are afraid of oils.

No, no, no! I am in fact working in oils on
something brand new! It's about a fallen woman.

Well...

There is possibly no greater subject
than the fallen woman.

Exactly!

In the foreground a merchant will be
gripping his wife's hand, thus.

This is very...
Well, it's extraordinary.

There's a beauty of extreme
minuteness and precision here...

John.

Thank you.

I was worried it might be a little too... real.

Beauty deprived of its proper foils and
adjuncts will cease to be enjoyed as beauty.

Wasn't I saying that very thing
just this morning?

I must have missed that.

The model?

- She's new. Her name is Miss Siddal.
- I'm painting her next!

Common feature, sluttish type.

Sluttish?

Do you think so?

- Surely that's the composition?
- Pipe down, Fred.

So, you think Sylvia's face is unsuitable, then?

Well, you have painted a woman
displaying sexual appetite and...

that is never attractive.

Thank you.

S...so we'll see you at our exhibition,
then, Mr Ruskin?

Well, I'm sorry.

Perhaps another time.

My parents have already paid for the hall.

How will I break this to them?

We shall just have to cancel it

and press on with our ambitions.

And what will we eat?

Oh, don't tell me.

Ambition on toast with a side dish of potential.

We have to go ahead with the exhibition
and just hope that somebody likes us!

Indeed you do.

The only point of putting it on was so that we could
say Ruskin had appeared in public to support us!

You have to go ahead with the exhibition
because I have placed an article on your behalf...

in the The Weekly Dispatch.
Page three.

Unfortunately, I do mention that Ruskin will
be there in support, but...

You did what?

Well, you all seemed so confident
he would like your work.

As you were that Miss Siddal
would be the perfect model!

As she will be.

I also wrote that in the article.

I'm going to find a new model.

I'm going to paint over Miss Siddal's face.

And I'll beg Ruskin to give us a second chance.

Very sensible, Maniac.

Do Miss Siddal's feelings count for nothing?

For a word of praise from Ruskin,
I'd paint over my mother's face.

What kind of revolutionary are you?

A very hungry one.

Now, try a shot of the best
condolence for the collapse of ideals.

Drink disagrees with me.

Me too.
But I enjoy the argument.

At least assure me that you will break the news
to Miss Siddal with some regard for her feelings.

What do you take me for?

I will handle it with gentleness and sensitivity.

"The husband should fulfil his marital duty to his wife,

"and likewise the wife to her husband.

"The wife's body does not belong to
her alone but also to her husband."

Are you ill?
You seem to be babbling.

"In the same way,

the husband's body does not belong
to him alone but also to his wife."

1 Corinthians 7. Verses 3 to 5.

Just as I thought.
Your sickness is returning.

In which case God is sick, John!

- Would you argue with God?
- How dare you bring God into this?

He's the only one you consider
good enough to listen to.

Just cover yourself up!

We have been married for five years.

And in that time you have
kissed my shoulder four times,

cupped my breast in your hand twice and once
nuzzled my neck and whimpered like a dog.

I thought you understood that this marriage was based
on mutual love, mutual respect and companionship.

- I need more.
- No woman needs more.

You go quite against nature
when you demand it.

Please tell me what I can do
to help you overcome your fear.

Please tell me what
it is you dream about.

I am...

You are what?
You are what, my love?

I am very, very...

.. disappointed in you.

Are you buying?

I'm in no mood for time wasters.

- I want to save you.
- Perhaps you could try, lovey...

Perhaps you could try.

I thought we could make an early start today.

You've got to be Lizzie!

I'm right, aren't I?

Recognised you straight away from the painting
so he must know what he's doing then, eh?

When he first told me he only wanted to paint me I thought,
"Well, I've never heard it called that before."

But he's been as good as his word.

Sketch, sketch, sketch all night, a bit of a
Bible-reading and not as much as a half a penny's grope!

- Mr Hunt?
- Miss Siddal.

Err...

I'm afraid there's a problem with your look.

Just for this particular work.

A problem that wasn't apparent
until Mr Ruskin viewed it.

No. But once...
Once he'd pointed it out...

Am I permitted to know the nature of this problem?

Ah, Fred.

Miss Siddal.
I tried to intercept you...

I think perhaps it would be courteous
to offer me some explanation.

Mr Ruskin considered you too sluttish, love.

Is this true?

I don't think he phrased himself
quite so crudely, Miss Siddal. No.

So why did you tell me he did, then?

Fred?
Is this true?

What do you think sounds better, Fred?

"Failed model" or
"disgraced shop girl?"

You're not disgraced.

That's not what my former employer just told me.

She said I would be a whore within the month.

I will not let that happen!

You're beautiful, and I will see to it
that your beauty is shared with the world.

And now a whore is sitting in my place for Hunt

because I am considered too sluttish!

There's a stroke of luck.

You are a lifesaver!

Could you spare the tin for a hot drink?

No nourishment has passed my lips for days.

It would be my pleasure.

Excellent. A large pot of coffee and
perhaps some bread and cheese, Violet?

Oh, and if you have the apple pie
that was on yesterday...

that would be perfection!

Now...

Miss Siddal.

Shouldn't you be inspiring Hunt's salvation?

- He thinks I'm too whore-like.
- He didn't actually say that.

- He has dispensed with my services.
- Good.

I'm leaving.

Thank you for ruining my life, Mr Walters.

The reason I said "good"

was because I have wanted you to sit
for me since I first laid eyes on you.

Please do not humiliate me.

I know you're the one.

I know you are going to change everything.

Look at you.

I mean, look at you!

Your...

... high stately neck and your...

Your lower lip, sucked in as if
it strives to kiss itself.

And that hair,

like dazzling copper which shimmers
with lustre as you wave it down.

I think you are mocking me.

Then why would I want you to sit for me?

In my naivety, I felt almost
flattered that Rossetti

had chosen my words to make the woman
I loved feel better about herself.

Perhaps...next time I would summon up
the courage to say what I really felt.

Chin up a bit.

Remember, you are a woman who is afraid. Who is...

.. about to be ravished.

Who is an object of lust.

What if I just popped a breast out,
or something? Nothing sordid.

No. No! No!

"Lead us not into temptation."

I meant just the one. Just to
make it clear what was on offer.

I think that will be perfectly clear without
you exposing yourself, Miss Miller.

You know, Miss Miller, I think
this is completely wrong for you.

- Oh, well, it was nice while it lasted.
- No, no. Not the modelling.

The subject matter.

I think we should be painting something
that tells me something of... Of you.

Of your life.

Who on earth rented this out to you?

The owners are away, so

I am looking after it for them.

And they wanted you to stay here?

Well...

I'm sure they would if they knew me.

What do you think, Miss Siddal?

I'm not sure you are paying me for my opinion.

So much the better.

I can rely on your honesty.

None of them are complete.

And that is your only response?

- So you were looking to be flattered.
- Don't attack flattery!

Sometimes it's the only friend I have.

I think too many people have
flattered you for too long.

I think all this talk of your brilliant potential
has turned your head and holds you back.

Ah, but you do at least thinkI have potential.

You and every rag-and-bone man in London.

If you were this direct in the hat shop, it's
a wonder you ever sold so much as a ribbon.

I am always truthful.

I am sorry if you are not used to that.

So tell me the truth.

- Why did you decide to sit for me?
- Because it seems I have no choice.

Because my reputation is so damaged already
by my brief modelling career

that no respectable establishment would take me on.

And because you feel at home. Hm?

What do you mean?

I saw your eyes the first time Fred Walters
spoke to you outside that wretched hat shop.

I saw the excitement there that your
life might be going somewhere different,

somewhere new.

I am correct though, aren't I?

Reject the world before it rejects you, Miss Siddal.

Embrace a new way of being.

That way you'll always
have the upper hand...

.. and an empty belly.

I will sit for you on one condition.

- Which is?
- You give me drawing lessons.

- Drawing lessons?
- Well, if I'm to become part of your world

then at least arm me with
the skills to make a living

should you reject me as brutally as Hunt.

That isn't going to happen, Miss Siddal.

I assure you, that isn't going to happen.

Now, I think this is a much
more fitting composition for you.

A troubling combination of temptation
spurned and temptation accepted.

- Temptation?
- Yes. Temptation.

Um...

there will also be a young shepherd.

He will be neglecting his flock of
sheep, which will be behind you, here.

And he will have his muscular arm

over you, like so...

- May I be frank with you, Hunty?
- It seems to me you're rarely anything else.

You're a virgin, aren't you?

I hardly think that's relevant!

How can you paint temptation without
knowing what's on the other side?

I know what it is to be tempted!

- That is good enough.
- But you don't know what it's like to give in.

What are you thinking about?

Jesus Christ!

He'll forgive you, Hunty,
that's what he does.

Can't you see?

He doesn't look angry.

He just looks disappointed.

I think that's just the
way you've painted him.

This is it.

My parents have agreed to pay
the rent for a full week.

They said it's the last time
they'll subsidise me.

What do you think, Maniac?

I'm sorry.
I am feeling a little spent.

Thank you, Maniac!

For what?

For your stupidity in letting a stunner
like Miss Siddal slip through your hands.

It was only the want of a model
that was holding me back.

- And your want of application.
- No, but look. Look!

She transforms my style!

It's true, Gabriel
This looks like the work of an artist.

I know! I know!

Are you saying everything I did before was shit?

I think Johnny means the
improvement is truly remarkable.

You're right. She is the key that
unlocks the treasure of my talent!

Without her, I am just a...

dusty old box with a stubborn lock!

Nothing will ever be the same again!

That much is true.

Now it's down to you two to persuade Ruskin's
wife to bring John Ruskin to our exhibition!

What?

It's an idea of towering genius.

You two sweet whelps are going to call on Mrs Ruskin.

You will charm her and you will persuade
her to persuade her husband to attend.

If the future really matters.

Oh, you've not lost another model, have you?

No, no.

Miss Annie Miller will present an even
greater challenge than Miss Siddal.

I mean to transform her, to educate her,
to give her lessons in manners and literacy.

Maybe cleanliness too, if it's
the Annie Miller I'm thinking of.

Don't you speak of her like that!

- Don't you use her name like that!
- Oh, my God.

You've launched her, haven't you?

Oh you have, haven't you?

Maniac would no more succumb to
temptation than Christ in the wilderness.

The Christ in the Wilderness never met
Annie Miller, as far as I can recall!

The New Testament might have been
a very different book if he had.

I really thought better of you than that, William.

I know.

- I am very ashamed.
- Oh, hey...

Don't worry about it. I'm sure
you'll get better with...practice.

I am ashamed of my depravity.
Not the mechanics!

Oh...

When you say depravity...

would you care to elaborate?

For pity's sake, Maniac!
What's got into you?

I don't think what's got into him is the issue!

We have in fact met once before, Mrs Ruskin.

Really?

Yes, at Ewell Castle.

I had rather boldly asked to be introduced to you
but you had made it quite clear that I bored you.

A terrible assumption for which I now apologise.

Oh, no, no.
You were quite right!

I was such a precocious little upstart.

I cannot imagine you being
anything other than charming.

Try telling that to the boys at the Academy.

They used to hang me
over the balcony by my ankles!

How taxing that must have been for you.

And what about you, Mr Walters?

I was never to my knowledge
dangled over a balcony.

I mean...

Have we also met before?

I doubt that.

But it would be a great pleasure
if we could meet again,

at our exhibition...

if you were to accompany Mr Ruskin?

I will try to persuade Mr Ruskin to attend.

And you must come too, Mrs Ruskin.

We absolutely insist.
Even if you were to come alone!

We are very unconventional and
most fond of ladies coming alone!

Fred.
Try not to be too modern.

You will shock Mrs Ruskin.

I shall insist that Mr Ruskin attends.

We have not socialised since we returned from
Venice and I sense we are becoming rather dull.

Oh I am sure that could never be the case.

Yes!

It's perfect.

They will either be falling at
our feet or spitting in our eyes.

But what they won't be doing is ignoring us!

- The Brotherhood.
- The Brotherhood.

- The Brotherhood.
- The Brotherhood.

Weak... Puerile...

Unintelligent.

Great art is precisely that
which never was, Mr Stone.

Any sign of Ruskin?

Not yet. I was wondering if
you could give me some advice.

I have grown quite sweet
on a certain young lady.

What did his wife say, exactly?

I was wondering if it would be
a good idea to court Miss Siddal.

- It's all right...
- It's a disaster!

You'll have to excuse me, Fred.
Johnny is crying again.

Hello, love. Got your face
on a painting in the end, then.

That's me, that is, love.

- Where's Ruskin?
- I don't know.

You did give them the right date,
didn't you, Johnny Boy?

It's different for you. You've never
been popular. People used to love me!

This day can get no worse!

It just did.
Charles Dickens just walked in.

- He hates us.
- Oh, perfect!

It's Chadwick...
Talk to me!

- What?
- Say something.

- Ah, Mr Rossetti.
- Chadwick!

I've come for the money I am owed.

Gabriel, he's here!

Which of these young men
persuaded you to attend?

John Millais.
A very sweet young man.

Indeed he is. Well, I am encouraged
by your renewed interest in the arts.

Most encouraged.

Why didn't you just paint
something like this for me?

I didn't really think
it was what you had in mind.

What with the complete
absence of dogs and fields.

Who needs fields when you've got a
model of this magnitude, Mr Rossetti?

I want to spend the rest
of my life drawing just you.

I'll take this in exchange
for the money I advanced you.

Then we'll call it straight.

Well, unfortunately it's worth rather more, now
that Ruskin has given it his seal of approval.

- Ruskin?
- Mm.

- Really?
- Mm.

Well, what would you think was a reasonable price?

Ooh...

- Thirty pounds?
- Thirty?

Yeah, I know, you're probably right.

Fifty pounds, maybe?

Well, at that price maybe I should just check

if Mr Ruskin's opinion of you is
as high as you say it is, eh?

Behold, the carpenter's shop.

Behold a hideous, wry-necked,
blubbering, red-headed boy,

who appears to have received a poke in the hand.

He attempt to associate the Holy Family

with the meanest of details of the
carpenter's shop is disgusting.

Pictorial blasphemy.

And that snuffy old woman

seems to have mistaken that shop
for the tobacconist's next door!

Looks like your price just went back
down to five pounds, Mr Rossetti.

Of course, Wordsworth mocked Turner.

Mr Ruskin?

Wordsworth said of Turner,

"It looks as though the painter had
indulged in raw liver until he was unwell,"

and a room full of critics like
yourselves stood and laughed...

at Turner.

So when I hear the laughter of critics,
I am compelled to pay attention.

Surely you aren't comparing
these young men to Turner?

I think, in spite of their unfortunate name
the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood may,

as they gain experience, lay in our
England the foundation of a school of art

nobler than the world has seen for 300 years.

I'm perfectly sincere in these opinions.

I shall be writing a letter to The
Times to that effect in the morning.

Good day.

Did you see Dickens' face?!

Well, all in all I think we can safely say
that we have had a very good day indeed!

- To the Brotherhood!
- The Brotherhood!

An exhibition that began with
no art, no hall and no patrons

had delivered critical acclaim,
money, and Ruskin for a champion.

Millais, Rossetti, and Hunt had conjured
success from the illusion of success.

And in doing this, they had not
just transformed their own lives,

but Annie's and Lizzie's,
and, I hoped, mine.

All of us were embarking on
a journey with Rossetti at the helm

and at that moment in time, none
of us wanted to be anywhere else.

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Now we move on with our mission.

We persuade Ruskin to buy our work.

This should be easy...
we'll all paint a masterpiece!

The difference between a good artist
and a bad artist is Lizzie Siddal.

Isn't this just like Rossetti's idea
for the painting?

What do you think of my wife, John?
Do you think she would make a good model?

- Sir, it isn't a job for a respectable woman.
- No.

It isn't.

Idiots!
Lunatics!

Mr Siddal!
Our Lizzie's been overcome!

You've as good as killed my daughter.

Out of my house and
never come here again.