Commonplace 49 George and Marianne PART FOUR - Biography: It's Just Not Cricket.

“A self that goes on changing is a self that goes on living': so too with the biography of that self. And just as lives don't stay still, so life-writing can't be fixed and finalised. Our ideas are shifting about what can be said, our knowledge of human character is changing. The biographer has to pioneer, going 'ahead of the rest of us, like the miner's canary, testing the atmosphere, detecting falsity, unreality, and the presence of obsolete conventions'. So, 'There are some stories which have to be retold by each generation'. She is talking about the story of Shelley, but she could be talking about her own life-story. 
(Virginia Woolf, p. 11)” ― Hermione Lee, Virginia Woolf

Odalisque With A Turkish Chair by Henri Matisse 1928

Do we English (well, I'm half Scot, but who's counting?) get our deep-seated love of all things 'fair play' (or 'fair-play', as the French would say, albeit with the addition of the Gallic shrug) from Magna Carta, that thirteenth century document forced upon the monarchy, and which, today, still informs the world on all things Justice (or, as the French would say, 'Justice', albeit with a ...)? Does it go deep into our DNA? Is this why we British insist a person is presumed innocent until proven guilty? Abroad is another country, of course, and they do things differently there, but we Brits tend to assume everyone on the planet is using working toward being fair. We Brits have woven this concept into the fabric of our argot: when we think something is not fair - we say 'it's not cricket'. Do we not also say, when there is an unfair advantage, that 'the dice are loaded'? And when there is no sign of equality, then there is no 'level playing field'.

Whenever we need to get back to some of the original sources of all things Gissing, we turn to the Diaries and to the nine volumes of Letters; to the Heroic Life of..' trio, and to countless other publications edited by Pierre Coustillas, that Colossus who bestrides the world of Gissing like a ... Colossus. How he loves George! How he holds him close. How he stacks the cards unfairly in his favour! Take his depictions of Marianne aka Nell - Coustillas has done more to vilify her than anyone else. Despite having had access to primary source material, he frequently gives us - especially in his reading of George's wives - not facts, but opinion posing as fact. Some of it is tainted with cultural bias, some of it is sexist, much of it is snobbish, but all delivered in the sort of patrician tone that precludes anyone from disagreeing - or even daring to think contra to the party line. He is like a prophet bringing down tablets of stone from the mountain. Is it that having English as a second language ensures something gets lost in translation?

Robe Jaune et Robe Arlequin (Nezy et Lydia)
by Henri Matisse 1941

Take, for example, Marianne's death certificate. M. Coustillas overrides the doctor's medical opinion and inserts his own un-medically trained claim that Marianne did not die of 'acute laryngitis', but that she died of  'alcoholism and syphilis' (see The Heroic Life Part One). To be fair to the French biographer (and I like to be fair), he probably didn't think to look up the definition of 'acute laryngitis' - that's the down-side to meddling in someone else's area of expertise. In fact, 'acute laryngitis' is a sudden-onset condition that compromises the airway and can lead to death in a relatively short space of time. If you doubt it, click. This is a transcript of this text:

A “FIT and healthy” father of one died suddenly from acute laryngitis – despite thinking he was on the mend from a simple sore throat, an inquest has heard.

A coroner yesterday recorded a verdict of natural causes over the death Paul “Oggy” Horrigan, 42, who died in May at his home in Llanrumney, Cardiff.

His partner told the inquest of the anguish of waking to find him struggling to breathe.

The construction worker had been ill for a few days but, after using some throat spray, said he felt much better and it “had done the job”.

However, in the early hours of the morning, things took a tragic turn for the worst for Mr Horrigan.

In a statement read out at Cardiff Coroner’s Court, his partner of 12 years Claire Stark said: “I was woken up at about 2.30am by Paul pulling on my leg.

“He was rasping for breath and punching himself in the chest and then he spat on the floor.

“He was struggling to speak but he told me to call an ambulance.

“He went into the living room and sat on the arm of the sofa.

“I was on the phone and I turned away for a second, but when I turned back he was just sitting there, eyes and mouth wide open, not breathing.

“I started giving him CPR but I could tell when I was blowing into his mouth that there was no air going in. I knew his throat was totally blocked.”

In another statement, paramedic Gary Evans said: “At 2.21am on May 10 we received a call requesting an ambulance for a patient who was having trouble breathing.

“When we arrived at the patient’s home at 2.39am, I could hear the voice of a woman who was obviously distressed.

“I entered the flat and saw a man lying on the floor and a woman on her knees performing CPR.

“I took over from her and established very quickly there were no signs of life.

“His lips were blue and he was cyanosed.

“I continued for 20 minutes but at 3.10am I recognised his life to be extinct.”

Pathologist Dr Allen Gibbs, of Llandough Hospital, said tests showed there was more fluid in the lungs than there should have been.

He added: “One had almost doubled in weight because of it.

“My conclusion to the death is acute pulmonary oedema and laryngitis.

“I don’t think it’s likely the throat spray would have had any effect on his problems.”

Coroner Mary Hassell recorded a verdict of natural causes.

She said: “The evidence suggests Paul died from acute laryngitis, and this, combined with fluid in his lungs, made it difficult for him to breathe.

“Therefore I record he died from natural causes as laryngitis is a natural cause.”

Speaking after the inquest, chef Claire said: “I’m not surprised the spray didn’t cause Oggy’s death – it just masked the condition.

“You don’t expect something like laryngitis to kill you – people get it all the time.

“He was so fit and healthy, that’s the irony of it.”

But Pierre Coustillas didn't have access to google when he wrote his biography, so perhaps - in the interest of fairness - I should make allowances.

Harmony in Red - Reclining Odalisque
by Henri Matisse 1927 

Take another of M. Coustillas' hobby-horses - that Marianne was an out-of-control alcoholic and that is why her relationship with George broke down. You know how it goes: George kept forgiving her for being a waster and 'taking her back' but she always left him for a life of drink and debauchery. On what does M. Coustillas base these claims? Let's go to Volume Two of the Letters series covering 1881-1885. These are letters from our boy to Algernon. Take a look at this decisive year in the lives of George and Marianne: 1881.
January 13th: 'Nell is not at all up to the mark. She wishes to be kindly remembered.'
February 11th: 'Nell is aliling again, as usual. By the by, it's her birthday on the 25th of this month. Perhaps you could send her a letter of that day? She would be very pleased, I know.'
February 21st: 'Nell has no copy at all of Lamb's Tales; I have often thought of getting it her.'
February 25th: 'It was very kind of you to send such a fine present to Nell. It arrived last night and she was very delighted with it. She herself will write as soon as ever she is able, but asks me to thank you heartily in the meanwhile. One cause of her delay I will now proceed to explain.'
He goes on to detail plans to move to Wornington Crescent, then goes on to ask Algernon to pass on to their mother a request to lend him ten pounds, explaining his lack of funds on tailors' bills, book-buying, travelling expenses, and 'indispensable doctors' bills (twice calling in for Nell at midnight)'. Then, he adds, 'Nell will write to you as soon as ever we are settled. Two nights last week, she had a strange attack of delirium, lasting each time nearly two hours. I certainly thought she had gone mad. The prospect of this occurring without any money to pay a doctor is scarcely agreeable.'
They move house to Wornington Crescent - which was north of the old address, and supposedly better for the health being on drier ground.

Odalisque With a Board by Henri Matisse 1928

March 13th: 'I am glad to say that the change seems to benefit Nell greatly.'
April 9th: 'I write in no very good spirits, & fear my letter will have no very joyful effect upon you. But then it is only on very rare occasions that I am able to express myself joyfully.
Nell has had such serious relapses lately, that I have been compelled to take a somewhat hazardous step. Last night there was a frightful piece of business. I had just returned home from a visit (about half past ten) when there came a a (sic) violent knock at the door; a man had cone to say that nell was in a fit in a chemist's shop close by. I ran off, & found her in a fearful state, one moment insensible, the next delirious. A doctor had to be sent for at once, &, with the help of two of the shopmen, we carried her home. I was up half the night, until at length she got to sleep. 
The doctor called again today; he seems a reputable man, & trustworthy. The affair was discussed, & he told me he would visit regularly - thinking the cure will take a good time - for a fee of 10/6 a week, medicine included. But this is useless, unless there can be someone to do housework; an expense, I presume of three shillings a week. Well, my receipts from pupils are at present 45/- weekly, so I have taken the step of accepting his services. Whether it can be continued, I know not; but what else is to be done? 
Business of this kind is completely crushing to me. I work under an almost insupportable load; & fear there is little hope of turning out anything good under the circumstances. In fact, I am fast coming to the conclusion, that no man could hope to do anything of value, weighted as I am. I must direct my energies to mere earning a living, - a hard enough task under the circumstances, goodness knows. I feel utterly broken, discouraged, hopeless, - & and see no way to better things.
Of course my thoughts for Easter are all but out of the question, though the rest would have done me vast good, doubtless. Moreover, I could not spare a single one of those precious free mornings which will be left me by the Harrisons' holidays. perhaps this doctor's visits, & the help of a servant will introduce more order into the house., & perhaps - perhaps - I might advance with my novel. But who knows what frightful things may turn up to balk me!
When I told Harrison some time ago of my position, - domestic circumstances, &c, - he said that indeed it was an unusual burden at my age. Often, I wonder how the burden will continue to be borne. 
I have not the courage to write of other things. Perhaps I ought not to trouble you in this useless way, yet it is not a little to have someone's sympathy'.

Poor, hopeless, helpless, whining George! When he wrote this, he was 23 years old! A proper job would have made a man of him - some might say. And, what had become of his legacy from the previous year? He spent half of it on vanity-publishing 'Workers', but that still left a huge (for the time) chunk of change. All gone on building a library, perhaps?

On June 19th, he writes that their grandfather has complained neither George nor Algernon has been kind enough to correspond with him. George says he hasn't had the old gentleman round to the house very often because of lack of time to entertain him, and he can't leave that to Marianne: 'For me to leave him alone with Nell is quite impossible, seeing that she has about as much idea of entertaining a visitor as my writing-chair has, - indeed, the chair would do it better, at least being able to keep from foolish and prejudicial gossip'.
By June 24th 1881, the real George has emerged.
'We have just come to a rather important decision here. Having regard to the incessant illnesses from which Nell suffers, & being utterly tired out by doctors & hospitals, we have determined that Nell should go to Hastings next Saturday, 2nd July & live there for some little time, not improbably right away through the coming winter. It really seems as if doctoring were futile if not sided by a thorough change of air & circumstances, & this step seems to be the only one left to take. People whom she knows will be in Hastings for some weeks just now, so that she will get over the first change without difficulty. Foy myself, such a decision as this has become unavoidable, if I was not to utterly throw up all work & drift into imbecility. The perpetual anxieties & torments of our late life have driven me sometimes to the verge of a serious illness. Now regularly once a fortnight I have a prostrating headache, & am become most morbidly nervous: I often feel as if I should have fainting-fits.'
August 3rd. 'Nell talks about coming back very soon - perhaps end of this week. She seems not to know what to do with herself aone there; &, as she says, she feels vastly better in health, she might just as well come & try to keep my house in order.'
August 8th 'Nell is back here, now, & my leisure & ability for productive work consequently suffer diminution, but I absolutely must complete my novel this year' If I do not, it is as good as giving up all hope of ever finishing another book, for perpetual procrastination is like a disease & bit by bit impairs every faculty. What I would give for a portion of the spirit & energy with which I wrote the first book! I am doomed to do everything under the most harassing difficulties, in nothing is my path ever lightened, but rather forever more & more encumbered. I struggle with absolute anguish for a couple of hours of freedom every day, & can only obtain the semblance of whole-hearted application. To say that I am like a man toiling up a hill with a frightful burden upon his back is absolutely no figure of speech with me; often, very often, I am on the point of stumbling & going no further.'

Odalisque a la Culotte Rouge by Henri Matisse 1924/5

You can see from these 1881 letters that Marianne is doomed. George has tired of supporting her, both financially and emotionally, and every move she makes now means her situation is more precarious. The 'we' of the decision I suspect was 100% George - because he is talking about a lengthy period in Hastings, not just a holiday. Why would she need to go there for so long - for about nine months? Hastings is a nice place, but... it makes you think, doesn't it?

M. Coustillas insists on translating the information in these entries as evidence of Marianne leading a life of dissolution. What do you think? Would George waste money getting a doctor in for a drunken wife? And, if it were so, wouldn't George - if only for that accursed sympathy he so craved - make mileage out of it? Marianne suffered from scrofula and epilepsy. I think the scrofula - probably contracted in childhood when the developing brain is most vulnerable - caused the epilepsy; what is termed 'meningeal tuberculosis' (the meninges are the protective coverings of the brain) can permanently damage the delicate brain tissues. Seizures in Marianne's day were untreatable except with very powerful sedatives and barbiturates click- which brought a range of problems of their own, depending on how skilled the doctors were in adjusting dosages of these life-threatening compounds. The side effects of these treatments could exacerbate the raft of problems caused by the initial condition: drowsiness leading to unconsciousness, delirium, personality changes, memory loss, organic-dysfunctional brain disorders such as hallucinations and delusions and even epilepsy itself (!!) are all possible side effects of bromides and barbiturates. George might not have known all this - but M. Coustillas should have researched the topic. That is, if he wanted to be fair. I want to be fair - Gillian Tindall (in Born in Exile, her biography of George) is dismissive of Marianne's scrofula: 'Scrofula was then an imprecise term used to cover a variety of things, many of which we should now diagnose rather as dermatitis'. It might have been described thus at the beginning of the nineteenth century, but not in the 1880s. The pre-eminent British specialist in scrofula at the time when Marianne had it, was Frederick Treves - he of the 'Elephant Man' and the London Hospital. He wrote the definitive work: 'Scrofula and Its Gland Diseases' (published by Smith, Elder and Co) in 1882 (the clue in is the title!) where he states clearly it is a glandular disorder affecting multiple organs. He mentions an association between scrofula and TB, but there was no proven link in 1882. We know now scrofula is the glandular form of TB.

Odalisque With Magnolias by Henri Matisse 1923/4

Biographies, then - what are they good for? Well, they set us off on the road to enlightenment. They get us started. At some point, you have to take over and research stuff for yourself - if you have the interest. And, if you think being fair is important!

“In many ways. . .the completeness of biography, the achievement of its professionalization, is an ironic fiction, since no life can ever be known completely, nor would we want to know every fact about an individual. Similarly, no life is ever lived according to aesthetic proportions. The "plot" of a biography is superficially based on the birth, life and death of the subject; "character," in the vision of the author. Both are as much creations of the biographer, as they are of a novelist. We content ourselves with "authorized fictions.” 
― Ira Bruce Nadel, Biography: Fiction, Fact & Form

Two Odalisques by Henri Matisse 1928

Commonplace 48 George & Marianne PART THREE: Marianne and Prostitution.

February 25th is Marianne's birthday. 

“The cultured person is one who accepts no idea, no statement, without carefully considering its worth, whose mind is not fettered by prejudice on any matter whatever, but who tries on every point to see things in the light of simple reason.” George in a letter to sister Margaret; June 18^th 1881. 

Woman With Fan by Gustav Klimt 1917

Anyone who has already dipped into this blog knows I am convinced Marianne aka Nell has had a bum deal from George's biographers - in addition to the bum deal she had from the man, himself. I do not buy the notions she was ever a working prostitute or an alcoholic/drunkard. I simply do not believe what is taken as evidence for these claims is anything of the kind, but is supposition and propaganda, designed to explain why George stole when he was at Owens, and to exonerate him for the way he treated Marianne when he tired of fulfilling the 'in sickness and in health' part of his marriage vows.  

What I try to do is offer an alternative way of thinking about Marianne, based on my own interpretation of what is put forward as evidence by biographers who abdicate their responsibility to challenge the received wisdom when they produce work that is simply cut and pasted from previous accounts. Harsh, but fair - you know who you are!

Sea Serpents by Gustav Klimt 1907

First, let's look at the claim Marianne was a prostitute. All we have to go on is what is in the letters not lost when George destroyed his papers (diaries, etc) for the time Marianne was alive - in itself a highly suspicious act of concealment of guilt, in my opinion - and a few contemporary accounts from the discredited Morley Roberts (whose Henry Maitland is riddled with inaccuracies) and the likes of Henry Hick, George's childhood friend and something of a real brick to him when he needed respite from Edith. He seems to have reluctantly written a brief account of his friendship with George but who admits he has no real proof for anything as he had lost touch with him in the post-Owens years, and did not even know the names of george's first two wives! 

Neither of these associates ever met Marianne in the flesh. Anyone who claimed Marianne was a working prostitute when she met George would have been employing hearsay amounting to gossip - that thing george so despised! There never was any proof to the claim, not even when George was caught red-handed having a girlfriend he took to Southport for a mock honeymoon. I suggest that, if George ever referred to her as such it was in the context of saying 'I want to save her from being a prostitute'. To 'save' means two things in common English parlance: to prevent something happening, and to put an end to something. As in 'I am going to save that plate from falling off the table by moving it', and 'I am going to save myself the trouble of missing the bus by leaving home earlier'. I suggest he wanted to prevent her from descending to being a girl who had to sell herself to men for money, rather than stop her already doing it.  

The Tree of Life by Gustav Klimt 1909

Why am I so convinced Marianne was not a prostitute? 

Mother and Child from
The Three Ages of Woman by Gustav Klimt 1905

In Commonplace 47 we looked at the letters of John George Black. He does not refer to the girl as a prostitute neither does he mention rewarding her for what happened (though I also hold nothing happened at all!) and he refers to her as 'this poor girl'. Now, does he mean poor in terms of lacking money or the other usage - that she is in need of sympathy? Either way, it doesn't sound to me like he is thinking of her as a working girl, because if she was a 'poor girl' that would place him in a bad light for dallying with her when she was vulnerable - added to which she was emotionally upset and clearly unwell when he spent time with her. 

Henry Hick refers to her in his 'Recollections': 'I do not know the name of either of his wives. He was much in love with the Manchester girl (Marianne) and had exalted notions of rescuing her from a life of shame.' Odd he should claim to know her 'life of shame' and not know her name! Again, this is hearsay as he never met her, only visited George a few times during the Owens years, and would have heard the gossip from Wakefield, and accounts of the Owens College team's justifications for rusticating him - so, not independent evidence. Or, is it the tendency of the middle classes to think all working class people - women in particular - are vicious? Hick might have closed ranks with his class peers to vilify Marianne - though he stops short if it in his account of the small amount of knowledge he has on the subject. 

The Owens College principal says George was living a 'dissolute and immoral life' - after reading the letter John wrote concerning his own and George's penis problems which hint at venereal disease, There is nothing in the letter of February 30th/March 1st 1876 (see Commonplace 47) to definitely prove either of the boys had a full sexual relationship with anyone, including Marianne, or had venereal disease. It is possible, but there are alternative explanations for a sore cock. However, if you think having sex with anyone is wrong outside marriage you might be biased against Marianne - Pierre Coustillas says George and John George Black were having 'immoral relationships' (as he wrote in the Heroic Life) - presumably he means with Marianne. Well, that must be the girl's fault of course. And, we don;t know for sure the girl they both dated was Marianne, do we? We assume it was! What is to say both George and JGB had sex whenever they could - Marianne might very well have 'saved' George from self!

Another piece of nonsense is the the police sergeant who offered to snoop on Marianne who couldn't come up with any evidence she was either a drunk or a working girl/adulteress (the only way George could divorce her was for adultery). See Commonplaces 35-37 for more on this. If this man couldn't - when he had access to police files and had made claims that she was a well-known 'bad character' in her neighbourhood - then that must mean she had no police record and no-one could be found (or bribed!) to testify against her - including her landlady, I presume! Would she not have come to the attention of the courts if she had been such a flagrantly bad egg?

Death and Life by Gustav Klimt 1910-15

 More than any other reason for not accepting Marianne was ever a prostitute is my belief that George would never have exposed his two brothers to that sort of influence - or that his mother would allow it. Both William and Algernon were minors and would have fully come under her control. I doubt either would have rebelled against her wishes to the extent they would have sneaked around behind her back about things. So, if Marianne was such a shaming presence, would the two boys be allowed to stay under the same roof as Marianne - as both did. Let's examine one of these encounters.

On May 17^th 1879, Marianne went to stay in Wilmslow with her ‘brother-in-law’, William. It was a holiday intended to improve the state of her health - she had been suffering from the dreadful effects of scrofula, and her epilepsy had become more debilitating. To give George a break from his role of carer, William took on that role for a few weeks. He exhibited a marked degree of affection and empathy for Marianne, providing her with what might have been one of the happiest times of her life. Subsequently, Algernon joined them for a few days - and both George's brothers went on to correspond with her and exchange gifts and affectionate remembrances.

During this time, William writes to George of Marianne having four episodes of convulsions on the first night, which he attends with his landlady. He subsequently feeds Marianne up – much as the HG Wells’ do with George in 1900 and 1901 – for William believes, rightly, that one of the pillars of health is adequate nutrition. The change of environment, tasty food and free and easy occupation work their magic on Marianne. Not unexpectedly, the fits return when she goes home.

Adele Bloch-Bauer by Gustav Klimt 1901

When you read the tenderness of William's letters, you begin to see the effect Marianne had on people. He never mentions her lower class or any manners or etiquette out of tune with his own tender sensibilities. If she had behaved coarsely or shown signs of commonness or vulgarity, William would not have been so drawn to her in such a genuinely caring way. He was worried she might die in her sleep (from a seizure); he was concerned at how little she ate; he sits up listening for her cries; he ends the letter of May 18th: 'With love from Nell and myself'. Is this how he would have reacted to a reformed prostitute? Would he have spent time alone with her - when she was ailing and even possibly contagious - this man who was a victim of TB himself? Would he have allowed himself to enjoy her company? He makes her fresh egg and milk food supplement drinks - he implores George to write to Marianne and to visit. He gives regular updates on his progress and his successful treatment plan of 'good feeding' and mental stimulation. He delights in welcoming Algernon and George to stay... almost a whole happy family. I have no doubt he will have reported back to mother on how Marianne was not a foul influence on her son, and might one day be welcomed into the home at Wakefield. Do you think this would have happened with a reformed prostitute in a small house? Would William, this upright, fastidious and self-conscious young man have ever offered to expose his landlady to a reformed prostitute? He had a small social circle in Wilmslow, and was trying to support himself by teaching music - would he have jeopardised that? No, he would not.

Portrait of Emilie Floege by Gustav Klimt 1902

This brings me to the next allegation - that Marianne was an alcoholic. There is no evidence for this. In fact, George mentions the subject of 'my first wife was an habitual drunk' in a letter to Clara Collet - in a desperate bid to gain Miss Collet's support and sympathy. But, in the same letter, he claims Marianne died in 1881 - when she died in 1888! So, can he be believed? However, I don't believe she was a drinker to excess at all because, when George went to Lambeth to view her body, he tells us Marianne still had perfect teeth. Alcohol quickly erodes tooth enamel - would she have still had perfect teeth if she had drunk herself to death? I think not.

I'm not saying she didn't drink any alcohol at all - in a world where waterborne diseases flourished, it made health sense to drink alcohol - just not to excess; but, the main reason I believe she was never an alcoholic is that Marianne was epileptic. Epilepsy mixed with things like alcohol and some drugs - laudanum, for example - leads to unpredictable, but very bad, results. For a start, it wouldn't take much of either to lower what is termed the 'seizure threshold' and induce a fit.

Convulsions (aka seizures or fits) are sudden, recurrent episodes of sensory disturbance and loss of consciousness generally associated with abnormal electrical activity in the brain. A seizure is an embarrassing and frightening event for sufferer and observer alike, with a range of signs that can easily be misread by persons unacquainted with the disorder. Typical seizures present a range of observable behaviours immediately before unconsciousness sets in, known as a ‘fugue state’. These can appear quite disturbing to the onlooker. There might be evidence of slurred speech, problems with balance, the appearance of stupefaction, and hallucination-like sensations of touch and sight which upset the sufferer and may result in bizarre reactions to stimuli. In the classic grand mal fit there is sudden collapse often resulting in injury producing bleeding wounds (particularly to the head region), frequently accompanied by disturbing, frightening, sounds. Unconsciousness follows, then a process of bodily rigidity, uncontrolled thrashing movements, possible incontinence, and tongue-biting with bloody frothing saliva. Clothes may have become torn or dishevelled, embarrassing for all when undergarments or intimate body parts are inadvertently displayed. Seizures of the grand mal type are usually single events, but in ‘status epilepticus’, the sufferer does not regain consciousness but returns to the restart the fit process perhaps several times. This is often a life-threatening situation due to problems with getting enough air to the lungs. Anyone with, for example, underlying lung disease is particularly vulnerable.

On regaining consciousness the sufferer may be confused and disoriented and exhibit ‘post- seizure automatism’, a situation leading to socially inappropriate behaviours, such as removing clothes or interacting in an uncharacteristically sexually provocative way with strangers. Belligerence and aggression with swearing and shouting are also possible, pre- and post-seizure. More often than not, the ignorant will assume the sufferer is paralytically drunk.

Avenue in Schloss Kammer Park 1912

We now know there are many forms of epilepsy that result in a broad range of signs and symptoms. The causes of epilepsy are largely still a mystery, but damage to the brain by injury, infection, genetic abnormality, or environmental factors is often a contributory factor. What might have caused Marianne’s fits? Some Gissing biographers suggest she suffered from the ‘great imitator’: syphilis, which is known to damage the nervous system. In referring to this, Pierre Coustillas, in his The Heroic Life of George Gissing Vol 1 ‘The death certificate ascribed the immediate cause of the decease to an acute form of laryngitis, but there is no doubt that Nell succumbed to the combined effects of drink and syphilis’. Morley Roberts says, ‘She died of what I may call, euphemistically, specific laryngitis’, whilst subsequently implying the real cause was syphilis. Neither biographer has medical training; neither explains why a doctor would falsify a death certificate for a destitute nobody by claiming she died of acute or specific laryngitis when she really died of syphilis. Of course, both biographers want their readers to sympathise with George, and so Marianne is sacrificed. If Gissing biographers want Marianne to be worthless, she is termed a whore, and they go to syphilis as their proof; if they need to see her as a corrosive influence on Gissing’s creative genius, she is made into a scheming alcoholic. The death certificate – a legal document - did not give alcoholism or venereal disease as cause or contributory cause of death, so we must accept that acute laryngitis ended the heroic struggle for Marianne. Acute laryngitis is a specific diagnosis and not to be confused with simple laryngitis. It is sudden in onset, difficult even nowadays to treat and is still often fatal, particularly for anyone suffering respiratory problems. And, from what we read in Gissing’s letters, this diagnosis is entirely consistent with the pattern of Marianne’s medical history.

In recording his observations of Marianne’s ill-health, Gissing often employs specific terms. In addition to the convulsions, he writes about Marianne’s rheumatism, abdominal neuralgia, haemoptysis (spitting blood); tonsillitis, congestion; insomnia; tumours on her arm and face; toothache; ‘erysipelas-like’ facial lesions; confusion; weight loss; delirium; headache; and serious eye problems. Of most significance is the entry for November 3^rd 1880. Gissing writes of her in a letter to Algernon: ‘I hear from her physician she was afflicted when quite a child with a form of scrofula and that still clings in her system’. And, here we have it: the diagnosis – the credible cause of the seizures and that lethal ‘acute laryngitis’. Certainly everything listed above is a sign of it.

Detail from the Beethoven Frieze
by Gustav Klimt 1902

Scrofula is Tuberculous Cervical Lymphadenitis, a disease first presenting as painless lumps that disfigure the skin and tissues of the neck and face. There is usually inflammation of the eyes and nose, anorexia, persistent cough, haemoptysis, tonsillitis, difficulty swallowing, laryngitis, glossitis (inflammation of the tongue) and feverish, nocturnal fretfulness leading to insomnia. Until the discovery of antibiotics, there was nothing that arrested its progress throughout the whole body as it developed into systemic tuberculosis. TB can set up home in any organ: pulmonary tuberculosis (phthisis) afflicts lungs; Pott’s disease affects the spine, the pain from which could present as rheumatism or pain in the loins, hips and knees. TB affects the liver, the kidneys, and the heart - causing a type of potentially fatal heart condition termed pericardial tamponade (George, himself, may have succumbed to this form of TB, though the evidence would suggest something more systemic and chronic). And, then there is the brain form of TB, causing headaches, organic and functional brain disorder leading to seizures, behavioural changes and problems with bodily systems malfunctioning.  Scrofula, usually contracted in childhood, can lay dormant during adolescence, only to re-emerge in immunosuppressed persons in early adulthood. Poor nutrition, psychological stress, environmental factors and exposure to viruses and infections can cause immunosuppression.

In Marianne’s time, treatment for scrofula was ineffectual, bordering on the iatrogenic. Toxic substances such as antimony; mercury; baryta (bromide); hemlock; belladonna; and opium were prescribed. Ironically, even in the eighteenth century, these toxic substances were known to produce seizures and neurological damage. There was the option of surgery to remove the disfiguring pustules but this was often ill-advised as surgical intervention was known to carry the risk of spreading the disease to other organs.

Marianne’s end in abject misery is attributed by George's biographers to vicious self-indulgence on her part, but this is grossly unfair, inaccurate and untrue. Marianne died of the complications of scrofula contracted in childhood; it ruined her relationship with George; it caused her to be cast aside and deserted by a husband too selfish to care enough for the girl he took out of one miserable existence and forced into enduring another. Her heroic struggle outshone his by a mile; no amount of biographers' lies will ever change that. Happy birthday, Marianne. 

Commonplace 47 George and Marianne PART TWO:  The John George Black letters.

February 25th is Marianne aka Nell Gissing's birthday so we are spending some time looking into her brief, truly heroic life. To unravel the facts from the often repeated supposition we have to go to the matter of the John George Black letters and how these was interpreted by the Owens principal, the college authorities, and the Gissing industry. All these letters are reproduced in The Collected Letters of GG Vol One click


The Promise by Henry Scott Tuke 1888

These four letters are a real nightmare for anyone who seeks to see George as some sort of studious idiot savant autisitcally gifted dough bag who led a monastic, sheltered life at Owens. He is not, it seems, a special needs case after all. Rather, he was a typical youth of his Age and age when he was at Owens. He developed the carapace of solitary, pessimistic obdurate self pity after things in life did not go as planned. But, at Owens, he was the real George - who made bad choices as often as good ones - as behoves a youth of 18.


Helen Vary (detail)
by Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec 1889

George made much of his brush with the lives of the poor, but the wilder claims of his life of want and deprivation have long ago been debunked as nonsense by those who had a more balanced view of him (Austin Harrison, his pupil; and Bouwe Postmus, a renowned Gissing scholar). He never knew poverty in its truest sense - because poverty does not mean choosing to live on lentils while you smoke and buy books; it does not mean having to live in a squalid garret when you have a nice bedroom waiting for you any time you choose in Wakefield. It does not mean choosing to live among poor people when you can up sticks and go home to mother. You can't claim to be starving when your employer feeds you slap up dinners after you've taught his children for a few hours. George Orwell knew this when he set off to Paris and Wigan, and kept this very much in his mind when he washed pots and pans or dossed in spikes with itinerants. George's poverty is as meaningless as his alleged bohemianism - farcically shallow but they look good on the old cv. Apart from his year in America when he might have been hard up (but which according to Bouwe Postmus in George's 'American Notebooks' - page 13 - was much exaggerated) Marianne was the only legitimate link he had to a world of deprivation that wasn't self-inflicted. Marianne's experience of poverty was authentic, and there was no Romance (in the aesthetic sense) in it. No doubt her version of it informed George's writing and allowed him to describe elements of it - from her life story, certainly not his!

However, the biographers who want George to be a victim, who prefer to think George was living in some sort of precarious second inner circle of hell in a squalid slum while he was in Manchester, need only look at this click to realise it was not a sordid, failing neighbourhood when George lived there. The authorities at Owens said Marianne lived in a house of ill repute - but what evidence is there for this other than the landlady allowed male guests to visit and sit in a reception room? Should we not factor in the prejudices of straight-laced narrow-minded middle class tutors and a principal who taught exclusively male students, in order to understand their stance on the subject? Anywhere that allowed young people to mix socially would have been considered a place of 'ill-repute' to these cloistered tutors who probably feared the wrath of parents who might seek to blame the college if their sons went off the rails. We know the whole topic of Owens' student accommodation was being debated at this time, so the college authorities were probably fearful a scandal involving this sort of malarkey would not look good in the press. But, once again, if you want to frame Marianne as a prostitute, then you say she lived in a cat house.

Two Male Models
by Fyodor Bruni 1813

The Black letters demonstrate George might have been as a vital, energetic, rambunctious young hedonistic, irresponsible, amorously predatory, sexually experienced young ruffian; a boy who courted controversy and was not afraid to baulk authority, an arch manipulator, a liar and a delinquent who had scant respect for his teachers and the authorities of the college. So far, a typical undergraduate with 'street' credentials and brains.

Today, George would be the sort of student who skipped lectures, went out on the piss as often as his student loan would allow, poured scorn on the establishment, ate on the hoof, slept until noon, tossed off a brilliant essay by the last seconds of the deadline, showed off at every opportunity, had no plans for the future, valued his social life over all else, could charm the birds off the trees, and who was a 'ledge' - as in 'legend' - to all who came within his orbit. No wonder John George Black adored him!

These letters do reveal embarrassing facts about the sort of time George was having in between the easy-peasy odds and ends of college work he managed to trot out and the vast amounts of girl action he pursued. John George Black was an older fellow who seems to have genuinely worshipped George as some sort of hero figure, and there is a touching hint of mild homoeroticism about his devotion - though we only have John's POV. As most boarding school boys will have been exposed to boy-on-boy crushes and emotional intrigues, this is not surprising, and in no way should be interpreted as signs of overt homosexuality - in fact, this gushing stuff (!) is rather endearing. John has only recently become friends with his hero - he states in the first letter, 'My dear fellow, you don't know me yet, you don't know how I have felt towards you. Gradually we have come together, & gradually an affection has sprung up in me for you such as I never felt for any other...'  Perhaps no-one was ever more in love with George than JGB - except for that old repressed queen, Eduard Bertz!! However, we must bear in mind, John was writing to wriggle out of a deeply embarrassing situation, and his prime motive is to keep in with George - the hero he worships. Can we rely on him to be 100% truthful?


The Green Waterways by Henry Scott Tuke 1926

Letter 1. Dated February 30th (!) but probably March 1st 1876.
The first of these letters John concerns some sort of encounter with a girl George fancied. By letter (being the passive-aggressive that he is, avoiding a face-to-face confrontation) George has restated an interest which John previously did not take seriously, and John is panicking. 'I have suffered in body, and now that I receive your letter, I am utterly downcast & full of anguish at its tone', he writes. John wants to apologise and make George believe spending time with the girl was not his fault, he was persuaded to stay by the girl (the girl is always to blame is she not?), and now he desperately wants to make amends for what might be seen as disloyalty in muscling in on his hero's squeeze. It went like this:

Probably on Monday, February 21st 1876, John called at a house in Water Street, allegedly hoping to find George there, possibly visiting a girl. He writes that, on arrival at the house, 'I felt unusually miserable and ill (you will hear more of this)'. He goes on: 'They told me there she had gone out with a young person.' He is told to come back in an hour when the girl is due back for her tea. When he returns, the landlady shows him in and John can see George is not in either of the reception rooms. Then John decides he wants to spend time with the girl, and she 'came up' to the reception room. They chatted and she lets John know that George confided in her that he was an Owen's student, which John hurriedly denies - he thinks George 'could not have known what you were doing'.

He does not say exactly what happened. 'I had no desire for her, - I never felt so peculiar in my life; my head swam, & I hardly knew what I was doing. I am not saying this in excuse, for I saw no reason then why you should care in the least. I had great difficulty in leaving her; & as I was going, she made me promise I would say nothing to you.' (Obviously he is not a man of his word as here he is telling George all about it.) 
'On Tuesday, after getting home (John lived in Crumpsall, about 3 miles north of George's digs), I felt peculiarly weak & went to bed early. In the morning I woke with my heart beating hard, & had just strength to call before I fainted away. What is the matter with me, I don't know; but I tremble, cannot eat, & am utterly prostrated, whether from the effects of Monday night or not, I cannot say: I fear I have caught some disease, & intended coming down to see you & let you know all about it to-day...'

The Genius of Art by Karl Brullof 1817-1820

Some points to remember:
1) John George turned up at the girl's house feeling 'unusually miserable and ill', so he is clearly coming down with something before he sets foot inside the door. This is important because it suggests whatever subsequently ailed him was already making him ill before he visited the girl - so, it can't be that the girl he visited was to blame for whatever sickness he had.
2) The reference to having 'caught some disease' is usually taken to mean he caught an STD - however, if this supposition is correct - then it can't possibly be anything to do with this girl as no STD flares up before you do anything. There is always the possibility John was a serial chaser after girls, in which case he might have contracted an STD any time prior to visiting the girl, from someone else. Or, that George told John he was on familiar terms with the girl and John wanted to try his luck with her - and so he is being disloyal.
3) It is always assumed by biographers that sexual intercourse occurred but John does not say what went on. What he describes is his somatic reaction to an experience, but is this any more than guilt for what he was doing after realising George was interested? Maybe what really happened is that he got so excited by being in the presence of a girl that he didn't need sexual intercourse after all. This kind of unplanned event might have been a deep shock to his young mind - akin to being caught masturbating. We know the Victorians worked themselves up into all sorts of states of combustion about young people having sexual feelings, and, even worse, sexual experiences. Nocturnal emissions were considered a sickness - and it was termed 'spermatorrhoea' to give it a medical name. Masturbation was seen as a sign of perversion aligned to madness, and all young men would have been drilled in the evils of 'self abuse' at school. A whole industry had grown up around tackling this 'vice', and it would all sound terribly amusing if we didn't know the amount of cruelty, torture and assault that went into the 'treatment' of this healthy and zestful behaviour. For example, Kellogg - he of the famous breakfast food - advocated female genital mutilation and male circumcision without anaesthetic for girls and boys caught masturbating, or even to deter them from contemplating it.
4) The ailment John complains of  - palpitations, syncope (fainting), anorexia, malaise... it sounds like textbook anxiety state, to me click. John does not emphatically link his illness to the visit - 'whether from the effects of Monday night or not, I cannot say.' We don't know to which part of Monday night he refers, but the encounter with the girl is clearly not the reason he is feeling unwell - because he has already told us he felt ill when he arrived at the house. He seems to need to let George know he is being punished for betraying the friendship he values, but as this is self-serving it is impossible to know how truthful it is.
5) 'I fear I have caught some disease...' John's concerns might be linked to some sexual matter, but that does not have to involve sex with a girl - any girl. Think of all those conflicted feelings coursing round a young mind - girls were so near, and yet so far away. The body was not always under the control of the mind - it did strange, wanton things to humiliate and shock. Shame and fear of exposure must have been unbearable - at least girls are afforded some secrecy because they don't manifest clear outward signs of arousal. One of the ways Victorians terrified their young over sexual matters was to emphasise the lethal results of unclean sex - and sexual thoughts. John wants to be seen as being deeply affected by it in a negative way - how true this is we don't know - but he cleverly incorporates a little histrionics into his performance when he says, 'I have almost felt the pangs of death to-day when I fainted again.... You must forgive everything now you see how it happened.' Is this an authentic account of what went on, or a desperate bid to dig himself out of a hole?

Inject into the !?

6) and 7) are two small points worth mentioning: there is no proof the girl in the Water Street lodgings was Marianne, and there is no talk of money or payment in kind changing hands. The girl is never named or described, so she could be any girl George took a shine to. The girl doesn't seem to know George very well, so, if the letter is written on March 1st - and if it is Marianne - this means she and George are only recently acquainted. If so, then how come she is blamed for the mini crime spree that Morley Roberts states plagued the college locker rooms - thefts of books, coats and money- all term? Pierre Coustillas in the Heroic Life Vol 1 states the thefts went on throughout the winter of 1875-6. If George had only just met Marianne (if she was the girl in Water Street), then Marianne can't have been the reason he stole. And, why had she been crying? Did it have anything to do with  George?

Letter 2. Dated March 23rd.
Three weeks later, another letter concerns two important schemes - the first is George's plan for a holiday in Southport over Easter; John sends suitable addresses of landladies (he knows Southport well). He then tells the amusing tale of nearly damaging himself over moving this machine with another chap. This is always assumed to be a sewing machine that George bought for Marianne, and this has the added value for biographers of making it seem that George stole from his peers to subsidise her wanton lifestyle. John writes: 'I am nearly slain; the gross man of cowardly kind came to help with that machine & I forced him to go first. About half way down I saw his eyes begin to roll & his face look apoplectic; so I tugged with all my might, careless of brace buttons, and any mortal thing, and thus prevented the thing from running down, & and making a jelly of the clod. Only one limb was broken, ie of the machine.'
Now, it is obvious John is helping to carry a machine down, not up. So, is it being bought or sold? We simply don't have enough information to make any conclusion. Why is John doing it and not George - if it involves Marianne? If it did involve her, you would think John would want to avoid anything to do with her for fear of inciting his true love's ire. And, why buy an expensive machine when you can rent? We know all manner of things could be rented in those days - much later, George hired a piano, and whilst on holiday, a pram for Walter. Perhaps this sewing machine belonged to an employer of a totally different girl. Maybe if it was Marianne's, she rented it or paid for it herself. The first mention of it (as far as I know) is in the Henry Maitland fantasy, but its inclusion in this questionable account could well have been used to make us think his knowledge of George's life and friendship with him at Owens ran deeper than it did, and he could have learned about it much later than 1876 - he wrote Maitland in 1912.

Reclining Nude on a Sofa by Sergei Semenovich Egornov 1907

Letter 3. 26th March
This is the one that has caused the most uproar. John asks George for advice about some small blebs on his penis. This letter comes about five weeks after the encounter with the girl. JGB says: 'The irritation continued growing worse, & on examination, I found the prepuce swollen, & on turning it down, I found the whole of the inside salmon-coloured, as you called it, only little spots as though the skin had been eaten away so as to show the flesh, & almost looked as though it were bleeding. I applied a little of the subtilissimus, but the end continues to be irritated. The prepuce is a little hard as well; & there was a drop or two of yellow matter near the red spots. I don't know what an ulcer should look like. Are these anything like the symptoms of soft chancre? Or is it like your inflammation? Or do you think it is only balanitis?'  

Subtilissimus is a very old treatment for syphilitic chancre, made from a desert-dwelling plant, much used as a complement to ingested mercury (it helps offset the gastro-intestinal side effects of mercury) or mixed with animal fat to make an ointment in its own right. John asks for George's doctor's address. Dr Wahltuch click was a Russian émigré who had a practice in George's neighbourhood. Perhaps he favoured the old-fashioned cures, but we cannot assume this medication was prescribed for venereal disease. Many medications have more than one use - think of aspirin and we use it in pain, fever, to reduce swelling and to thin blood. A heart patient and someone with a sprained ankle might both be prescribed aspirin. Perhaps subtilissimus is just very good with penis problems of all stripes. And, mercury was prescribed for more than syphilis - it is still used in the proprietary medicine Mercurochrome, marketed as a topical antiseptic used for 'minor cuts and scrapes'. click

The three main venereal disease contenders are syphilis, gonorrhoea and herpes. (Some biographers have suggested George suffered from syphilis, and this is an old claim going back to Morley Roberts and Frank Swinnerton and the Gissing Biography wars of 1912. Much more on this in future posts!!) The Complete Letters editors have added a footnote to this March 26th letter saying what John describes is 'nonspecific balanitis' and I tend to agree (wow! Am I losing my touch?). What he describes does sound more like balanitis than an STD. It can be caused by poor personal hygiene particularly when a prepuce is too tight, but can also be caused by too much attention to personal hygiene or by excessive masturbation (define 'excessive', I hear you ask). For a look at a penis afflicted by balanitis click  (no-one can say I don't bring you educational content!) Soft chancre is (I am lifting this more or less entire from here click) 'a usually painless local genital ulcer that follows an infection by Haemophilus ducreyi. It is accompanied by suppuration of the inguinal lymphatic nodes, or inguinal buboes. Complications may include phimosis, urethral stricture or fistula, and marked tissue destruction'. What John describes is not this - he would be very aware of a bubo if he had one, and he doesn't mention pain. The remark about 'yellow matter near the red spots' is probably referring to the exudate of white blood cells that accumulate as they rid the wound of waste cells - a good sign of healing. However, JGB's query 'is it like your inflammation or only balanitis?' suggests George suffered from something else - ie, something known to be not balanitis. 

Used as a genital wash.

Whether or not George contracted a venereal disease at Owens or anywhere else is a contentious issue amongst Gissing scholars. The word JGB uses to identify George's problem is 'inflammation' - but this is a generic word used for redness and swelling, sometimes involving infection. George might have been, like guilty John, afraid any sexual experience might infect him with an STD and as a consequence of this vigilance, he might have been over-enthusiastic with his personal hygiene. Plenty of over-the-counter medicines and preparations played into this guilt with sexual matters, many of them were toxic or caustic and did more harm than good.



Letter 4, Dated April 11th 1876.
John writes in an amusing vein to ask 'What art thou doing? My soul desireth thee as the bird does the mountain.' Easter that year was 14-16th April, so vac has already started, and John is anxious to see his true love before going to Blackpool for a weekend of dissipation. Then as now, Blackpool was the Las Vegas of England, and a  step down from snooty Southport. This is a jokey letter about George being missed from lectures by his tutors, it lampoons teetotallers, and ends with: 'Let me hear from you, I beseech, I shall be gone on Thursday; so write instanter. Delicacy forbids me to commend myself to anyone but yourself, I suppose.' It seems John has lost touch with his best friend. Six weeks later, George would be wrenched from his bosom when he was arrested for theft.

Blackpool before the electric lights went up.

JOIN ME IN PART THREE.