Desperate Romantics (2009–…): Season 1, Episode 2 - Episode #1.2 - full transcript

By discovering a most beautiful
woman in a hat shop back room,

I had ingratiated myself with the
three most exciting artists in London,

and joined their quest for
credibility, success, and celebrity.

I'll see to it that your
beauty is shared with the world.

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

She is the key that unlocks
the treasure of my talent.

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

Are you saying everything
I did before was shit?

Significantly, we had caught the attention
of the pre-eminent art critic of the day,

a man of taste, influence
and authority, John Ruskin.

Just cover yourself up.



I need more.

- No woman needs more.
- I sense we are becoming rather dull.

I am, in fact, working in oil on
something brand new.

It's about a fallen woman.

There's possibly no greater
subject than fallen women.

I want to save you.

You're a virgin.

I hardly think that's relevant.

Ah, Jesus Christ!

Surely you aren't comparing
these men to Turner?

I'm perfectly sincere
in this opinion.

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

With this acknowledgement
of their rich potential,

there was nothing there standing
in the Brotherhood's way.



Nothing, except perhaps, rivalry,
jealousy and self interest.

Here we go.

"They 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."

That's splendid.

Mr Ruskin has been as good as his word.

Well, this is far from good news.

"Millais has sunk into extravagance bordering on
irreverence and is again followed by Mr Hunt...

"till nothing remains of perspective or truth."

What about the Athenaeum?

"Pure ugliness for its own sake."

I'm glad you find it amusing, Gabriel.

We have Ruskin.

We have a letter from Ruskin.

That's not the same thing.

That should be easy.
We'll all paint a masterpiece.

There's a turn up. I was going
to paint a masterpiece this week.

Ophelia Drowning.

I've already painted the riverbank
and flowers, as you know.

Yes, I know.

Do you want me to tour the
brothels to find a model for you?

I have quite an eye, you know.

I shall need tin, of course,
to cover my expenses.

No need, Gabriel.

I mean to hire Miss Siddal.

Sid?

She's not available.

Who's Sid?

Miss Siddal.
Just a little nickname I have for her.

You've got as far as nicknames.

But Miss Siddal is perfect.

And I can draw no other model.

- Without Sid, I am nothing.
- But Ruskin thinks Ophelia quite the thing!

When did you talk to Ruskin about it?

I bumped into him at the Academy.

Well, he bumped into me, actually.

Asked me what I was painting next and so forth.

Did he mention me at all?

I enquire purely out of interest.

Of course.

Did my name come up?

We have tickled the great trout
Ruskin and now we must land him.

Well, I shall certainly be
doing my bit to get him to buy.

And remember, Johnny,
Ruskin must have no favourites.

But what if he prefers
one of us to the others?

Then that "favourite" tells Ruskin that he chooses
to buy from all three of us or none of us at all.

That's the plan, all right?

You won't ask Lizzie to sit for Ophelia, will you?

- It would be an important step for her.
- Well, what about me?

Sat at home with a blank
canvas and a blank mind.

How do you mean?

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

- That's why I want to keep her.
- So you need her because of your art?

Of course. Of course.

For a moment there, I thought it was because
you were in love with her or something.

Fred!

Of course I'm in love with her!

A promise is a promise, but then
one thought keeps prodding me.

And it is this.

What would Rossetti do if he
found himself in my circumstances?

What would Rossetti do?

I woke up in the night in a mug of sweat, Lizzie,

on account of thinking about you in the bath.

I thought you would get cold.

Then I thought, candles.

That's the thing.

Candles.

Keep you warm as warm.

And be spared the fate of the real Ophelia.

Quite so.
And none of us would want that.

Especially not me.

Now...

remember that Hamlet has rejected her

and she is taking her own life, Miss Siddal.

Fred, you might want to write this down.

Fred is our official diarist, Miss Siddal.

He records our every word for posterity.

So...if you could capture that in a look of...

sad resignation, then it would
make my life so much easier.

Fred?

If you wouldn't mind.

Sid, Sid, Sid.

The first time I laid eyes on Miss
Siddal, I noticed that look she had.

That look of a lover driven
mad by unrequited love.

Quite.

Are you quite dry, Miss Siddal?

- I think so.
- I shall accompany you to your door, Lizzie.

No need for that, Fred.

I was passing anyway
and can accompany Sid home.

Gabriel.

I had no idea you'd be calling.

I have business in the area.

What business?

Fred, I've a cab waiting, so, you know...

How can you afford a cab?

That's true.
Terrible cheek, I know, but...

Thank you.

Sid?

Don't you want to see the painting?

If it's good enough for Ruskin,
I'm sure it's good enough for me.

I'm sorry I lied about the cab.

I thought the walk'd warm you up.

And you weren't really passing
by either, were you?

I was.

I was, really.

And there was me thinking you were insanely
jealous because Millais was painting me.

The truth is, I'm jealous of
any man who's looking at you

when I could be looking at you.

Fred said I should do it because John Millais is
about to become the most famous painter in Europe.

Well, I'm sure that Fred has
your best interests at heart.

What are you implying?

I'm afraid Fred has grown sweet on you, and
he's made it his mission to keep us apart.

Why would he do that?

Because he thinks that we may have
more than a professional relationship.

Oh.

And he is right, is he not?

Perhaps you make connections
like this all the time but I...

Well...

...let's say I find it very hard
to think of any other subject but you.

I think you're very pleasant company.

Well, I have been called worse, I suppose.

And a good painter.

Only you...

I am only good with you.

Now, the man will be sitting at the piano.

If you think I'm having anything to do with
that dead bird, you've got another think coming.

The poor beast represents
the fallen woman.

Fallen woman?

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

I prefer the term "Inspired
by" rather than "Copied".

Now, sit here.

- You need to be facing out.
- Oh, reverse farm-girl.

Why didn't you just say so?

Oh, sun rises early today.

No, no. You need to be sat on
the edge of the seat. Stand up.

Facing out.

Perhaps remembering a
childhood home.

I'd rather not.

And, in that moment, you are
breaking away from your gilded cage

with a look of startled...

holy...

resolve.

A bit more holy resolve and a little
less surprised by a broom handle.

Well, I'm more familiar with
one than the other.

And the man sings on at the piano,

ignorantly intensifying
your repentant purpose.

And there shouldn't be
a single object in the room

that isn't either common or vulgar.

Even the fruit should be left to
be preyed on by thievish birds.

Perhaps her repentant purpose
can wait until tomorrow.

Lizzie, where've you been?

You look exhausted.

It is exhausting posing as Ophelia.

Did you hear that, Alfred?

A figure from Shakespeare!

Was she of high birth?

She drowned herself.

That's what passes for art these days, is it?

What a life our little Lizzie has embarked upon.

Is it Fred or is it Millais?

- Is what Fred or Millais?
- The reason you can't sleep.

Both Fred and Millais are sweet
boys. But it isn't either of them.

So it's as I feared. It is Rossetti.

You don't know the man.

I know that he's not to be trusted.

I knew that the moment I laid eyes on him,

with his wild hair and strange
clothes and that insistent stare.

You have just listed three of the
reasons why I may just love him.

Love him?

Love him?! You haven't told
him you love him, have you?

No.

I have been cool and distant.

Thank God. Because as soon as a
man like that hears the word love,

he thinks he can behave as he likes.

And I have no say in the matter?

Look at how Mr Hunt used you.

Gabriel is different.

I know.

It's his difference that worries me.

You promised me! You promised
me you would dissuade her.

- Did my feelings have no influence?
- Whatever do you mean?

She only became valuable to you once
I made it clear she was valuable to me.

You should be flattered!

It means I trust your
judgement better than my own.

So that's my role, is it?

Food taster to the King?

It takes more than a pair of
pointy boots and your mother's scarf

to make you a Pre-Raphaelite, you know.

Hello, Fred.

Hey, boy Johnny!

How is Ophelia progressing?

I think it may save my career.

- Our career.
- Yes, of course. "Our" career.

Ruskin knows and is happy
with your choice of Lizzie?

Is he? For a model?

My choice of Lizzie?
Why wouldn't he be?

Well, just that he took against
Lizzie so badly in Hunt's painting.

Don't you recall?
He said she was sluttish.

Surely that's just the way I painted her.

Yes...

Yes, you're right.

Be a terrible pity for us
to lose Ruskin's patronage

because you went
against his wishes, though.

Erm...

I'll meet with you later, Gabriel.

I've just remembered an appointment.

Indeed.
I'm sure you have.

What are you doing?

If he alerts Ruskin of his choice of model, then
Ruskin might go off the whole idea of Ophelia.

I can't help it.
I don't want him using Lizzie.

Even though I know it's
probably our only chance.

You speak as if Millais is the
only one Ruskin is interested in.

Well, I can only paint Lizzie
and she isn't available

and you told me you had a
complete dearth of ideas. So...

Well, actually, that's changed
since the last time we spoke.

- Really?
- Mm.

What are you painting?

Oh, nothing really.
It's just...

... something inspired by Annie.

Effie?

Is this why you cannot bring
yourself to face real flesh and blood?

How dare you interfere with my work!

She looks like a very happy wife!

I am studying them to see if there
is any artistic merit in them.

John. John.

For a clever man, that is
a very stupid excuse indeed!

They're part of Turner's estate.
I've been entrusted to catalogue them.

I discovered these sketches after his death and,
despite their technical brilliance,

I am compelled to destroy them.

- Why?
- Because it would damage Turner's reputation.

And a great man should not have his
reputation shredded by tittle-tattle!

And what do you prefer, John?

The tittle or the tattle?

Just give me the sketches and
we'll talk no more about it.

No, I rather like them.

I think we should keep
them for inspiration!

Effie! Effie!

Everything's fine, Mrs Bradshaw.

Please go back to bed. Mrs Ruskin
has become a little over agitated.

What shall we try first, John?

This?

Or this? Or this?

Am I so very different from these women?

This is your sickness talking.

My sickness? Well, I appear to
share my sickness with Turner.

Turner was a genius!

Turner was the truest painter
Britain has ever produced!

And I'm what? I'm what?!
What am I?

You tell me,
because I feel like nothing at all.

Your best conduct would be
encouraged by regular exercise

and mental labour of a
dull and exacting character.

Now, I have mentioned French,
Italian and botany as subjects

and I had hoped that you would
endeavour to occupy your mind

by giving a little time each
day to these healthful and...

unexciting studies.

I'm very excited about the
prospect of your Ophelia, John.

- Thank you.
- Mr Ruskin is seldom excited.

A painting that deals with
one of the great themes.

There are practically no other
themes I like to deal with, sir.

What greater subject than a
woman trapped in a relationship

with a man who promised love
but only delivered rejection?

- Driven mad.
- Driven mad.

Although I often wonder if Ophelia was
already mad before Hamlet rejected her.

Because that can happen, can't it, dearest?

A madness hidden from one lover to
another and only revealed too late.

I think it is fair to say
that her behaviour is more

that of a creature driven
into a corner by her master.

What do you think, Mr Millais?

- Me?
- Yes, Johnny, what is your opinion?

I don't have much room in my head
for thoughts, let alone opinions too.

Well, now, have you settled on a model?

Well, that is what I wanted
to see you about.

What about Effie here?

I was thinking of Miss Lizzie Siddal,

who Hunt used before me and of whom...

But I'm serious.
Effie here.

Do you not think she
would look well in water,

slowly drifting to her death?

But modelling...

Your wife, sir, I mean...

Sir, it isn't a job for a respectable woman.

No.

You're right. It isn't.

Would Miss Siddal meet with your approval?

I've made some sketches.

I was wrong about Miss
Siddal, John. She's perfect.

I apologise for ever thinking her sluttish.

I'm a poor judge of women, Johnny.

You will have to forgive me.

Effie!

Lizzie?

Lizzie! Lizzie!

Lizzie!
Oh, my God, what have I done?

What have I done.
Lizzie, wake up!

Idiots!
What were you thinking, you lunatics?!

Keep breathing, Lizzie, my love.

I promise you, I value her life above my own.

- I've found a cab. He's waiting outside.
- Go! Go!

Get the door.
Get the door.

Quick, put her down there.

Mr Siddal! Mr Siddal!

Our Lizzie's been overcome!

You need to call a doctor, Mr Siddal.
She may have exposure or

pneumonia or some...

Exposure?!
What have you been doing with her?

She was posing as Ophelia, dying, in a river!

- At this time of year?
- If I could just explain...

Can you just send out for a doctor?!

Charlotte, go and fetch Dr Etchells
and tell him to come straight away!

Don't either of you touch her! You've done
enough damage already! Don't touch her!

She's upstairs. She's upstairs.
Hurry.

My daughter...

my beautiful Lizzie...

aristocratic by birth...

.. lying in open water...

in a second hand dress!

It wasn't exactly open water.

Well, let's hope it's not "exactly" fatal
pneumonia, then shall we?

She will not die.

Then you're a qualified medical man,
are you, Mr Rossetti?

- I won't allow her to die.
- Oh, I see, you're God Almighty.

Oh no need of a Doctor, dear,

we have Jesus Christ himself
standing in our parlour!

Please, no blasphemy, Mr Siddal.

If I'm to understand the doctor,

the chill may have a grip on her lungs.

And you know, our Lizzie has
the constitution of a lady

and is therefore without
the means of fighting it.

- No.
- This can't be true.

- Please, no.
- I must see her. I can't leave. Not now!

Get out, the pair of you!

You've as good as killed my daughter!

Out of my house and never come near again,

else as God's my judge, I shall
run you through with my own steel!

You've killed her.

You and Johnny have killed her.

She is not dead, Gabriel.

If Johnny had kept his eye on the lamps.

It was a foolproof system.

Well, there's the flaw in
your plan straightaway, Fred.

Because this man is the
biggest fool in Christendom!

Come, Gabriel, I'm sure it was an accident.

The tragedy is that Ruskin had finally
recognised Lizzie for the stunner she is.

Under that cherubic face, you really are
an ambitious little turdwipe, aren't you?!

The tragedy is that she may die!

She may die!

My love.

My Sid!

And my masterpiece? What of my
masterpiece, should that be the case?

You have everything!

You are handsome, you have
commissions coming out of your arse!

You have everything. I have
nothing, except Lizzie's affection.

And you dare talk as though
you're the injured party in this?!

She is not dead.

Don't you see?

Even if she survives, she is dead to us.

Do you really think her father will
allow her to model for us again?

Do you think it could be over for Johnny?

Try and keep the smile out of your voice, Mad.

It ruins your show of fake concern.

Well, It's just that if we are
going to be taken on by Ruskin,

then it's up to you or me to impress him now.

I shan't ever paint again.

Not until I know she's alive.

You are very sweet on Miss
Siddal, Fred? Am I right in that?

Sweet doesn't do justice to how I feel.

If she is sweet, then, by my reckoning,
she is the sugar plum of the universe.

Well, perhaps now would be
a good time to visit her.

But her father warned us against
visiting her on pain of death.

What greater demonstration of your feelings for
Miss Siddal than for you to risk death to see her?

And what greater romantic
gesture could there be?

That isn't an altogether foolish suggestion.

It isn't, is it?

And...

if you do gain access to Miss Siddal...

perhaps you could ask her
when she might return to work,

for Ophelia?

At least Johnny acknowledged
my feelings in all this.

And besides, he was probably right.

How could I have better demonstrated
my feelings towards Miss Siddal?

What greater romantic gesture could I make?

I wasn't so much sneaking behind
Rossetti's back, but rather,

as he himself would put it, nobly
assisting another brother in need.'

Mr Siddal.

I thought I would just
enquire into Lizzie's health.

- She's alive.
- Oh, thank God.

When John was about to marry you,

he confided in me that he felt
as fearful as Sinbad the Sailor

when his ship was drawing nearer
to a loadstone mountain, Effie.

Do you follow?

We were both nervous.
As any couple is...

"I hope she will not pull my
bolts out, Mother" he said.

"Love does such a thing sometime."

- His bolts?
- His bolts.

Do I make myself clear?

Not, not entirely.

You always knew my son to
be a special kind of man.

Unique in many ways.

Does it strike you as odd that I'm having
this conversation with you and not my husband?

A marriage is not a negotiation
between equals, Effie.

A good wife must sacrifice
everything to duty.

She's alive?

Oh, thank God!

Why didn't you stay and beg to see her?

Because I was bleeding profusely and it
would have been the height of bad manners.

I hear that Mr Millais has
taken to drowning his models now.

He'd be better off drowning
the head of the Academy.

I blame the company he keeps.

- Do you mean John Ruskin?
- No, of course not.

Well, I shall tell John tonight when I dine
with him that you were disparaging him.

You dine with the Ruskins?
I doubt that.

He likes to dine with all his
proteges to check on our progress.

- What?
- Haven't you heard?

Ruskin is now our patron.

The Brotherhood are all commissioned by him.

I can assure you the Academy
will take a very dim view of this.

That isn't true, Gabriel.

I know. But it's worth it just
to see the look on his face.

Here.
Best laudanum money can buy.

Should take the edge off the pain.

My physical pain,
or my spiritual pain?

Nose ache or heartache.

It's all the same to Sister Laudanum.

So will you try and see Lizzie?

I think the best thing we can do for
Lizzie right now is to leave her alone.

Gabriel!
We're so glad you've come!

We're all simply dying to see you.

- You were?
- Our daughter's saviour!

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

No false modesty, Gabriel.
I will not hear of it.

This is a little study of
Lizzie I've been working on.

Oh, Mr. Rossetti.

You've captured her completely.

Her upright posture.

Have you seen, Mr S?

- And her stern, intense frown.
- Gabriel!

It's a very brave man indeed
who takes on Lizzie.

But then we know you are a very
brave man indeed, don't we, Gabriel?

I don't know about that. I just did what any
man would have done in the circumstances.

"Plunged into the icy waters, risking
at the very least, a terrifying death."

Who did you say wrote that report again?

It doesn't say.

Were the waters very icy, Gabriel?

I can say with great certainty that they were.

Indeed.

And whereabouts in the
river was Lizzie lying exactly?

The newspaper seems ever so vague.

"The waters of the angry
Thames lapping around her."

She was lying in the waters very
close to Blackfriars, as I recall.

But you must remember that journalists
do tend to embellish the truth rather.

No more questions, Charlotte.

Anyone can see that Gabriel isn't the kind
of man who likes to dwell on his own heroism.

Thank you, Mrs Siddal.

I can see that Lizzie gets her
perception as well as her beauty from you.

Mr Rossetti, you'll be making an old lady blush.

Careful. I wouldn't want to
incur the wrath of Mr Siddal.

I'm barely clinging on
to my good looks as it is.

If I can have a word with you, Mr Rossetti.

Of course.

- You're a very charming man.
- Thank you, sir.

I don't trust charm in a man.

No, it speaks of weak
character and restless genitals.

I can assure you, sir, that I have neither.

You think you've made good, do
you? On what happened to Lizzie?

I can only apologise with the most heartfelt...

An apology means nothing in this modern world
unless it is backed by cash, Mr Rossetti.

Compensation?

Well, it was neglect.

And Lizzie doesn't pose
again unless we receive some

recompense from the
neglectees, ie Mr John Millais.

Anybody can see that
Lizzie is a lady by birth.

That's not a body suited to punishment.

It's more decorative, like
an expensive vase or bonnet.

Absolutely.

And if you damaged
an expensive vase or bonnet,

you'd expect to pay compensation,
would you not?

Well, when you explain it like that.

Thirty pounds.

Thirty pounds?

Thirty pounds or she never
poses again, for anybody.

Her modelling career is over.

Fifty pounds? Fifty pounds?

I had to battle him down from a hundred guineas.

Thank you, Gabriel, for letting bygones be
bygones and for going in to battle on my behalf.

Well, I know, I know how much
Ophelia means to the brotherhood.

I did it for all of us,
Johnny, for all of us.

But a fifty pounds!

It's abundant tin, there's no doubting it.

- Where am I going to find fifty pounds?
- I don't know.

What would Annie Miller do in
the circumstances, I wonder?

You're not suggesting I prostitute myself?

She's not a prostitute!

Unless you can think of another way of raising the
money then, you won't be seeing Ophelia anymore.

Of course.
Of course.

Four gins, please.

Four gins. Yes, sir.

Thank you, Fred.

For what?

There's only one person who
could have written that account.

I may have submitted a small piece to the Talk
and Table column of the Illustrated London News.

You even had me rescuing her from the Thames.

I think you will find I wrote that she
was lying in the icy waters of the Thames.

Which indeed she was,
even if I omitted to mention

that the said icy waters had
been decanted into a bath.

But why would you do such a thing, knowing it
would make me look better in her father's eyes?

I didn't think of that.

But I felt you deserved some praise because
you did, after all, save Lizzie's life.

I suppose that's true. I didn't
know you could write that well.

Have you read none of my other work?

I make it a point to never
to read about myself, Fred.

I don't care what the world
thinks of Dante Gabriel Rossetti.

Right, well, I see. I feared it might be because
I am not taken seriously by the Brotherhood.

No, no!
You are the most vital Brother of all.

You are the Brother that stops the rest
of us from tearing each other apart.

I, for one, would never take your
love or loyalty for granted, Fred.

Here we are.
Four gins, sir.

Hey.

Look at me, grateful for every
scrap of attention I get from the man.

A man who yet again gains the benefits
of my own efforts to better myself.

Not content with his own abundant good luck,
he seems to have taken my share as well.

I feel dashed ashamed to be asking, but...

I didn't know where else to turn.

John.
It's my pleasure to help you.

I don't know how I will ever
get the money to repay you.

Once you have displayed Ophelia at the
Academy show I am sure you'll find a buyer.

There is no guarantee it will be accepted.

I think you'll find that it will be.

Thirty pounds, as promised.

I have to say, you've surprised me,
Mr Rossetti.

I'm a man of my word, Mr Siddal.

And a man of honour too, as
I hope one day you'll realise.

Well, I took your dirty and unsavoury appearance
as a sign of Mediterranean moral weakness

but I realise now it was merely a
sign of your artistic temperament.

I knew that all along, Gabriel.

Here.

Thank you, sir.

Goodbye.

Thank you, Gabriel.

- What for?
- For saving my life...

for saving my vocation as a model...

.. and for the poems, which I loved.

I only did what any man
would do for a sweetheart.

We are sweethearts, are we not?

Of course.

As long as you think such a title
isn't too conventional and stifling.

No arrangement could be conventional and stifling
as long as it had you and I at the centre.

Sweethearts...lovers...

- ... husband and wife.
- Now, come.

You've made it very clear that you
do not believe you will ever marry.

If ever a woman could change my
mind, it is you, Lizzie Siddal!

Lizzie! Lizzie!

So he didn't actually
propose marriage then?

He never would.

That isn't the kind of man he is.

No. I realise. I'm very concerned
about the kind of man he is.

His world is not the same as ours.

It would not be as simple or
unimaginative as a proposal.

So you are secretly engaged.

So secretly engaged, in fact, that only one
of you knows for sure that you are engaged!

What if marriage wasn't yet possible

but a young lady's feelings for a gentleman
were greater than the prospect of any shame?

I'd say the young lady was
heading for potential disgrace.

If the young lady truly loves him then perhaps the
potential disgrace would be a small price to pay.

You must not take that step, Lizzie!

I know that you love him but that
is not enough. It's simply not enough!

You don't understand their world, Charlotte!
They don't live by the rules of society.

No man would if he thought he
could get away with such a thing!

Here...

.. take a guinea for yourself.

What did you do, kill someone?

I need a model.

And I need one rather quickly
in order to impress Mr Ruskin.

And you are absolutely my first choice.

I thought this was gonna be glamorous.

What are you doing here?

Before you came into my life,
it was set on a course so dull,

so conventional, so unrewarding

that it would have been better
if I had not lived at all.

- I'm sure that is not entirely true.
- You've opened up a world for me.

A world of new and exciting possibilities.

Well, I'm glad of that.

I see it as my life's work to open
up a world of exciting possibilities.

And you've helped me to realise...

that a life in which you deny your desires...

is no kind of life at all.

I'm not sure I know what you mean.

When I was ill...

I lay in my bed...

and I made myself a promise.

If I lived...

I would henceforth act on my desires.

There'll be no turning back.

Good. Good.

You've pledged yourself to me.

We're as good as engaged.

How could there possibly
be any shame in it?

I want you to read this to me.

Now?

Now.

Do you want me to stand on a chair and
declaim or just something more informal?

Just read it.

"You have been mine before.

"How long ago I may not know."

It's a little distracting to the poet,
if you don't mind me saying so.

Just read it.

"But when...at the swallow's soar,

"your neck turned so,

"Some veil did fall.

"I knew it all of yore

"Then now, perchance again!

"O round mine eyes your tresses shake

"Shall we not lie as we have lain

"Thus, for love's sake and sleep and wake,

"yet never break the chain."

With the unveiling of Millais' Ophelia, the
Brotherhood are on the verge of a new era.

You do realise that your life is
going to change forever, don't you?

It already has, my love.

It already has.

Miss Siddal? You nearly died
modelling for this painting.

Was it a sacrifice worth making?

My passion is art. When the artist
is as great as John Everett Millais,

it doesn't become a model to interrupt.

Even when she is freezing to death?

By the time I was freezing to
death, I was too cold to talk anyway.

So what appears to be dedication
may just have been biology.

No going back now.

What?

What did you say?

No going back now.

Millais has moved on, wouldn't you agree?

Didn't I tell you, Lizzie,
the first time I saw you in the hat shop?

Didn't I tell you that you
would be a famous model?

You did.

And there will always be a place
in my heart for you because of it.

Nothing is more important
to me than your well-being.

- Do you understand what I'm saying?
- Of course I do.

Miss Siddal, we hear you're sitting
for a work by Mr Rossetti next.

Would you like to tell us about that?

I'm sorry, but Miss Siddal will
only be speaking to me this evening.

No other interviews, please.

What the hell is this?

Awakening Conscience.

Surely I told you?

You know you did not!
This is my idea.

I told him that, and he said it's quite different.

I didn't know you had the
monopoly on fallen women, Gabriel.

I told you of my intention
to paint a fallen woman.

And you noted Ruskin's interest in it!

This theme is my life.
I am living this!

It must hurt that all your underhand
efforts aren't going to pay off.

Why?

Has Ruskin said something?

Does he need to?

Johnny will tell him our terms, won't he,

that Ruskin will be all of our
patrons or none of us at all?

Congratulations, John. You've
changed everything with this painting.

You've enhanced the reputation of
yourself and of the Brotherhood.

Thank you, sir.

What do you think, Mrs Ruskin?

I think it captures a very
real and familiar emotion.

Quite.

I think that anyone can be driven demented
when their lover inexplicably turns against them.

Thankfully, in these times we all
have more options than Ophelia.

What do you think of my wife, John?

I...

.. don't know.

Do you think she would make a good model?

Oh, I see!

You are teasing me again.

Do you find her beautiful, John?

There you go again!
Tease, tease, tease.

Do you not take the suggestions
of your patron seriously?

My patron?

If you wish it.

Of course I wish it!

Of course I do!

Who should he paint first,
Gabriel? Myself or my wife here?

I don't know, sir.

Johnny is, as ever, spoilt for choice.

Even if you feel a kind of gnawing pain
at not standing side by side with them now,

your time will come, Gabriel.

I know that, Mr Ruskin.

Is it true?

- It's true.
- Well, did he tell him of our terms?

Hand on heart, maniac,
would you issue Ruskin

with an ultimatum if he'd
just become your patron?

I suppose not.

That boy.

I'll wager his prick tastes of chocolate.

Thank you. Thank you.

Now, the man is a fool
and a pompous fool at that,

but it is the woman who I would
like you to concentrate on.

Now, she is a woman who is trapped.

Just as trapped as the poor
injured bird at her feet.

She is a broken whore who has
no other use than to be abused.

A discarded rag. And in this moment,
she's looking out to her past.

And she knows she can
never regain that innocence.

But she only knows this on an instinctual level,
clearly, because she has neither the intelligence,

the education or the vocabulary
to express such regret.

So there we have it.

A sad, helpless, humiliated victim.

Annie! Annie! I was describing
the woman in the painting.

I wasn't describing you.

Why not?
How is she different?

Am I cleverer than her? Am I more
of a whore or am I less of a whore?

I was describing the relationship
the woman has subjected herself to.

You were thinking your own filthy thoughts,

then making sure the woman got her share
by telling the world what a slut she was!

I do feel ashamed about my using you!

And that is why I want to help you.

I know what I am.
I don't need your help.

I want to buy you manners...
and education.

Why?
Because you're ashamed of me?

No.

Because whether we like it or not,

such attainments will help
you to thrive in polite society.

And if you want to continue modelling,

you will need these skills if modelling
isn't to lead you back to your old trade.

And why would you do that?

Cos I care for you.

And I'm training you up...

so that we might
one day step out together.

- You mean that?
- Of course I mean it.

Nobody admires the
noble poor more than me.

We'll see, Hunty.

You didn't mention us, did you?

To Ruskin.

I tried.

I tried!

But the words just wouldn't come out.

Relax, Johnny.

Had I been in your shoes, I would
have done exactly the same.

Oh.

You have saved my...

everything.

Without Lizzie there would
have been no painting.

Well, that's true.

However can I repay you?

Simple.

Whatever you need.

You've to promise me that you will never,

ever, take Lizzie away from me again.

Welcome back into the fold, Johnny.

I'm not sure I see it like that.

The Academy will.
Myself and Mr Ruskin will make sure of that.

Mr Stone.

Mr Ruskin.

I am proud to be a
member of the Brotherhood.

Without them,
there would be no Ophelia.

Ophelia is just the beginning.

Myself and Mr Hunt and Mr Rossetti
here are about to change the world.

Well, well.

The boy's balls have finally dropped, huh?

Perhaps not, Gabriel, perhaps not.

With great courage and
considerable gusto,

Millais has not only secured
a patron for the Brotherhood,

but a new model in Mrs Ruskin.

Though struggling with his
model and his principals,

Hunt has found a small consolation
in the trappings of notoriety.

While Rossetti seems to be
ever closer to the woman I love.

I have to know that Lizzie
has given her heart to Gabriel.

I have to be certain.

Isn't it always better that a man knows
the truth about the woman he loves?

I can tell you now...

it most avowedly is not.

I can't help thinking I'm expected
to do something other than painting

to repay Ruskin's loyalty.

You don't think that John Ruskin
is inviting you to seduce his wife?

You are leaving me for a goat.
What's wrong with an English goat?!

So your jealousy's of greater weight
than your desire to paint a masterpiece?

There's only one John Ruskin.

If you irritate Ruskin now,
then our careers will sink along with yours.

Impotence is our only hope.

You do see he's being tricked, don't you?

Resynchronisation: Agrestic
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