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THE ROAD TO KELMSCOTT
What better place than this, then, could we find, This is a story of idealism and disillusionment, of love and betrayal--in short, of the human condition. It is also the story of an extraordinary man and an Elizabethan manor by the River Thames that came to symbolize for him a slice of heaven here on Earth. The man in question is William Morris, a creative giant of the Victorian era, and the place is Kelmscott Manor, located in the remote English countryside, where Morris lived for the last 25 years of his busy life. His artistic output was so prodigious that when he died, the doctor proclaimed "The disease is simply...having done more work than most ten men". During this storm of activity, he excelled not only as a designer, but also as a poet, novelist, political philosopher, printer, weaver, calligrapher, typesetter and bookbinder. William Morris was born in Walthamstow, North London, in 1834, and studied at Oxford University, where he met Edward Burne-Jones (1833-98), who was to become a lifelong friend. Along with Dante Gabriel Rosetti (1828-82), Burne-Jones was a member of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, which spurned the 'modern' approach of Victorian artists in favour of a return to the symbolism, purity and simplicity of art in the pre-Renaissance era. Morris himself was highly critical of the shoddy, mass-produced goods of the industrial age, and began to make designs inspired by the arts and crafts of the Middle Ages. In 1861 he formed The Firm in London, assisted by Rossetti, Burne-Jones and other talented friends. The lovingly-crafted furniture, stained glass, carvings and murals that they produced were instantly popular and orders for custom-made items rolled in. Morris’ attitude to home decor was summed up neatly in the words: "Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful". Morris was intense about everything: as with art, so with politics. He lived in an era of gross inequalities, and by 1871, he felt stifled by the polluted air and grim expressions on the faces of workers in London, so he began to look for an abode in the countryside where his spirit could be free. His search ended in a tiny village in Oxfordshire called Kelmscott, on the banks of the infant River Thames, where the natural surroundings provided the inspiration for his best-known designs, such as floral tiles, woodpecker tapestries and willow and tulip wallpaper. It is possible to see examples of Morris' work in the Tate Gallery, the Victoria & Albert Museum or the William Morris Gallery in Walthamstow, all of which are in London, but to get an intimate sense of this larger-than-life character, a visit to Kelmscott Manor is essential.
Built around 1570, the Elizabethan building has now been restored to look exactly as Morris sketched it for the cover of his book 'News From Nowhere' (1892), with its gable roof and mullioned windows gazing over trim lawns and rose bushes. Morris was particularly fond of the way the walls of the house are 'battered', or lean slightly outward, as well as the way the slates on the roof are 'sized down', with smaller tiles at the apex and larger ones at the eaves. Looking at the tiles, writes Morris, "gives one the same sort of pleasure in their orderly beauty as a fish's scale or a bird’s feather". He felt that the place was "organic", that it had "grown up out of the soil", and said of it "As others love the race of man through their lovers and children, so I love the earth through that small piece of it". Yet, almost as if scripted into the drama of Morris' life, his idyll was soon shattered by events that shook sleepy Kelmscott into a hotbed of gossip. He moved there in the summer of 1871 with his wife Janey, two daughters and friend Dante Gabriel Rossetti, who initially shared the tenancy. Though Rossetti shared Morris' views on new directions for artists, he did not share the fascination with Kelmscott, which he described as 'the doziest clump of old beehives'. Nor could he restrain his obsession with Janey, who he described simply as a 'stunner'. She modelled for many of his best-known paintings, such as Proserpine (1874), and also became his lover for a while. William Morris dealt with these domestic discomforts by immersing himself in his true lifelong passion--his work. Shortly after moving into Kelmscott, he set off to Iceland on a research trip that would result in a translation of Nordic legends and fables. Meanwhile, Rossetti painted pictures of Janey, grumbled about the boredom of Kelmscott, and dosed himself with chloral (a Victorian remedy for insomnia) washed down with copious quantities of whiskey. Eventually he became paranoid about the locals and their gossip, and after an argument with a neighbour in 1874, he fled back to the anonymity of London, leaving Janey and William to pick up the pieces of their relationship. Not surprisingly, this stormy love triangle is discreetly avoided in the information on the walls at Kelmscott Manor today. However, several volunteers are on hand to answer questions, and the interior includes chairs, chests, textiles and painted designs by William Morris. Particularly impressive is the tapestry round a four-poster bed, embroidered with the words of a Morris poem, 'For the bed at Kelmscott’. The rooms in the attic are also full of character, each being on a different level and with a different shape.
Later in his life, Morris' interest shifted to printing, and in 1891 he founded the Kelmscott Press. He wanted to draw attention to the beauty of the printed word, and took great care over the layout, decoration and illustration of the text. His production of Chaucer's 'Canterbury Tales’ stands out as a superb example of such dedicated work. A small exhibition featuring the achievements of Kelmscott Press is on display in the barn beside the manor. Even stronger than his fascination with printing during his later years was his uncompromising criticism of Victorian society's ills, and his visualization of a community based on cooperation rather than competition. He declared himself a Socialist and gave a lot of time to lecturing at the Socialist League, of which he was a founder member. Of course, this was long before the great communist experiments in Russia and China, which might have dampened his enthusiasm. Yet his fervent dislike of the pursuit of financial profit as the driving force of society would probably cause him to be equally critical of contemporary society if he could return to take a look. During his lifetime, Morris' products were bought only by the rich, which upset him, but he might be pleased to know that these days his designs are appreciated and available worldwide. They are featured in stores like Liberty's in London, as well as at the Victoria & Albert Museum (also in London), where Morris-branded goods bring in over 30 million pounds a year. Indeed, we are living in an era of Morris-mania, and it is now possible to order fabrics, tapestries and stained glass panels in Morris designs via the Internet.
A solid, round, oak table in the entrance lobby to Kelmscott Manor displays a wide range of books both by and about Morris. These include his poetry, like 'The Earthly Paradise' (1868), his utopian fantasies, such as 'The Well at the World’s End' (1896), and weighty biographies. In 'William Morris: A Life for Our Time’ (1994), Fiona MacCarthy quotes one of his pessimistic projections of the future: "Art will utterly perish, as in the manual arts so in literature...science will grow more and more one-sided, more incomplete, more wordy and useless...and man will be an indescribable being--hopeless, desireless, lifeless." MacCarthy even suggests that what Morris is describing here has come to be in the form of 'the zombie culture of the electronic age'.
While in Kelmscott, it's worth taking a stroll around this archetypal English village, with its single church and pub, and there are several other works by Morris and friends in the nearby area. All the houses in the village are built of sturdy local stone, and the local community hall is decorated with a stone panel depicting William Morris deep in contemplation of nature. The local pub, 'The Plough’, has a welcoming landlord, hearty food, delicious ale and snug beds for wayfarers. Hidden behind a bay bush in the churchyard of St George's Church stands an unusual ridged tomb where Morris and his family are buried. The church itself emits an aura of great age, hardly surprising since parts of it date back to the 12th century. In the late 19th century, many churches were being renovated in an expensive yet vacuous style, and Morris put great effort into avoiding such tasteless changes, preferring to reinstate them as they had first been built.
Though Morris was not directly involved in the preservation of St George's Church at Kelmscott, he was responsible for the restoration of St John the Baptist's Church in nearby Inglesham. It appears a squat, uninteresting building from the outside, but the interior is very special. The worn and warped flagstones tell of a long history, and the ancient pew boxes and remnants of wall paintings whisper fragments of a world lost to us. Most ancient of all, however, is an Anglo-Saxon carving of the Virgin and Child that is probably over 1000 years old--a simple yet striking design.
St John the Baptist's Church stands on the banks of the Thames about a kilometre upstream from the navigable head of the river at Lechlade. As Kelmscott is an archetypal English village, so Lechlade is the epitome of an English country market town that has changed little through the years. It radiates around St Lawrence's Church, the spire of which is visible for kilometres around, and which echoes the town's prosperity of centuries ago when the river opened up trade. Antique shops display items like grandfather clocks and coronation crockery, and cosy pubs vie for the trade of locals and visitors. An intriguing arbour beside St Lawrence's Church, called 'Shelley's Walk' after an ode to the church penned by the famous poet, leads out of Lechlade to St John's Lock, the first of 45 locks that were built along the river to facilitate navigation. Here, gazing wistfully into space, reclines a statue of Old Father Thames that was fashioned in the Victorian era, and portrays a muscular male figure with long flowing hair and beard--not unlike Morris himself. From the 1950s to 1970s it sat beside the official source of the Thames in a remote Gloucestershire field, but it was so desecrated by vandals that it had to be moved to a spot under the lock keeper's gaze.
All art lovers, in particular admirers of the Pre-Raphaelite painters, should drop by Buscot Park, a stately home just a few kilometres from St John's Lock. Like Kelmscott Manor, it is open on limited days, but is well worth a visit to see the Faringdon Collection, which includes paintings by Rembrandt, Reynolds, Gainsborough and Sutherland, as well as striking works by Rossetti and Burne-Jones. The Legend of the Briar Rose (1885-90), by Burne-Jones, occupies four large panels of a salon and creates an aura of breath-taking beauty with its idyllic characters and vibrant colours. The Water Garden and Four-Season Walled Garden add plenty of interest in the spacious grounds outside. One final stop for Morris addicts, while in the vicinity, is to view the stained glass panels at the Church of St Michael and All Angels in Eaton Hastings, almost opposite Kelmscott on the south bank of the Thames. There are hardly enough buildings to call it a village, but the church contains some richly-coloured, stained glass windows of various saints that were crafted by Morris, Burne-Jones and Ford Maddox Brown. If you get this far in your Morris exploration, you may need to sit down at a pew for a few minutes to take in the visions in the windows and wonder at the tranquility of this forgotten corner of England, before heading back to the workaday world. |
