Jonathan Ned Katz: Francis Davis Millet and Charles Warren Stoddard, 1874-1912
Empty Chair, Empty Bed, Empty House
Adapted without source citations from Jonathan Ned Katz's book Love Stories: Sex Between Men Before Homosexuality.
Photo (right): Charles Warren Stoddard
By 1874, the American travel journalist Charles Warren Stoddard had
given up on the South Seas, the site of earlier sensual adventures recorded coyly coded form in published articles. He was now pursuing his erotic destiny in Italy.[1]
There
in romantic, legendary Venice at the end of the year, "a young man quietly
joined me" in a box at the opera during intermission, Stoddard recalled.
"We looked at each other and were acquainted in a minute. Some
people understand one anotherer at sight, and don't have to try, either."
Stoddard's recollection of this meeting was published in Boston's National Magazine
in 1906.
Photo: Francis Davis Millet
Stoddard's new friend was the American artist Francis Davis Millet. The two had heard of each other, but never met. Stoddard was thirty-one in 1874, and Millet was twenty-eight.
During the Civil War, Millet's father,
a Massachusetts doctor, had served as a Union army surgeon, and in
1864, the eighteen-year-old Frank Millet had enlisted as a private, serving
first as a drummer boy and then as a surgeon's assistant.
Young Millet
graduated from Harvard in 1869, with a master's degree in modern
languages and literature.
While working as a journalist on Boston newspapers,
he learned lithography and earned money enough to enroll in
1871 in the Royal Academy, Antwerp. There, unlike anyone before him,
he won all the art prizes the school offered and was officially hailed by the
king of Belgium.
As secretary of the Massachusetts commission to the Vienna
exposition in 1873, Millet formed a friendship with the American
Charles Francis Adams, and then traveled through Turkey, Romania,
Greece, Hungary, and Italy, finally settling in Venice to paint.
At the opera, as Stoddard recalled, Millet immediately asked, "Where
are you going to spend the Winter?" He then invited Stoddard to live in
his eight-room rented house. "Why not come and take one of those
rooms?" the painter offered, "I'll look after the domestic affairs" -- is this
a Stoddard double entendre?
Stoddard accepted Millet's invitation,
recalling that they became "almost immediately very much better
acquainted." Did Stoddard go home with Millet that night?
The two lived together during the winter of 1874-75, though Stoddard
did not take one of the extra rooms. Millet's romantic letters to Stoddard
indicate that the men shared a bed in an attic room overlooking the
Lagoon, Grand Canal, and Public Garden.
Lack of space did not explain
this bed sharing, and Stoddard's earlier and later sexual liaisons with men,
his written essays and memoirs, and Millet's letters to Stoddard, all
strongly suggest that their intimacy found active affectionate and erotic
expressIon.
Though Stoddard's erotic interests seem to have focused exclusively
on men, Millet's were more fluid. In the last quarter of the nineteenth
century, Millet's psychic configuration was probably the more common,
Stoddard's exclusive interest in men the less usual. In any case, the ranging
of Millet's erotic interest between men and women was not then understood
as "bisexual", a mix of "homo" and "hetero." The hetero-homo division has not yet been invented.
Another occupant of the house was Giovanni, whom Stoddard called
"our gondolier, cook, chambermaid and errand-boy." His use of "maid"
and "boy" hint at gender doubling, and, perhaps, at sexual nonconformity.
(Giovanni's last name, not mentioned, is lost to history, typical in
masters' accounts of servants.)
That winter, Millet taught Giovanni to
prepare two classic New England dishes, baked beans and fish balls, and
during the cold months, Stoddard recalled, he and Millet dined Massachusetts
style in their warm Italian kitchen.
From the window of this kitchen in warmer weather, Stoddard recalled,
they watched "the supple figures of half-nude artisans" working in
an adjoining shipyard. It was "no wonder that we lingered over our meals
there," said Stoddard, without explaining that lingering. Visual, alimentary, and erotic
pleasures are repeatedly linked in Stoddard's and Millet's writings, as we
will see.
During the daytime, Millet painted in their home's courtyard while
Stoddard dozed, smoked, and wrote columns about Venice and other
Italian cities for the San Francisco Chronicle. They dined early and took
gondola rides at sunset.
In a newspaper column that Stoddard published
early in his relationship with Millet, the journalist wrote of "spoons" with
"my fair" (an unnamed woman) in a gondola's covered "lovers' cabin," and
of "her memory of a certain memorable sunset-but that is between us
two!" Stoddard here changed the sex of his fair one when discussing
"spooning" (kissing) in his published writing. Walt Whitman also employed the literary subterfuge, changing the sex of the male who inspired a poem to a female in the final, published version.
Touring Italy: February 1875
In February 1875, Stoddard, seeking new cities to write about for the Chronicle, made a three-week tour of northern Italy, revising these memoirs twelve years later for the Catholic magazine Ave Maria, published at Notre Dame University. Stoddard wrote that his unnamed painter friend accompanied him as guide and "companion-in-arms," a punning name for his bed mate--the companion in his arms. This definitely intended pun allowed Stoddard to imply more about this companionship than he could say directly. A variety of other, barely coded references lace Stoddard's writing with allusions to eros between men.
In Padua, for example, Stoddard wrote that he and his companion were
struck by views of "lovely churches and the tombs of saints and hosts of college boys." Casually including "hosts of college boys" among the
"lovely" religious sights of Padua, and substituting "hosts of ... boys" for
the proverbial "angels," Stoddard's sacrilege-threatening run-on sentence
suggested that, to these two tourists, at least, the boys looked heavenly.
In another case, on the train to Florence, Stoddard and his companion
noticed a tall "fellow who had just parted with his friend" at a station. As
"soon as they had kissed each other on both cheeks -- a custom of the
country;' Stoddard explained to nonkissing American men, the traveler
was "hoisted into our compartment." But "no sooner did the train move
off, than he was overcome, and, giving way to his emotion, he lifted up
his voice like a trumpeter;' filling the car with "lamentations." For half an
hour "he bellowed lustily, but no one seemed in the least disconcerted at
this monstrous show of feeling; doubtless each in his turn had been similarly affected."
Suggesting, slyly, that bellowing "lustily" was common among parting
men friends and represented the expression of a deep, intense, and by
no means unusual feeling, Stoddard pointed to a ubiquitous male eros,
not one limited to men of a special, unique, man-loving temperament.
Typically keeping a sharp eye out for the varieties of physically expressed
attachment between males, he also invoked Walt Whitman's poem on the
tender parting of men friends on a pier: "The one to remain hung on the
other's neck and passionately kiss'd him, / While the one to depart tightly
prest the one to remain in his arms." That poem, and Stoddard's essay,
suggest that parting provided, in the nineteenth century, a public occasion
for the physical expression of intense love between men, a custom
that had special resonance for men, like Stoddard, attracted to men.
Among the statues that Stoddard admired in Florence were "The
Wrestlers, tied up in a double-bow of monstrous muscles"- another culturally
sanctioned icon of physical contact between, in this case, scantily
clad men.
In Genoa, Stoddard recalled seeing a "captivating" painting of the
"lovely martyr" St. Sebastian, a "nude torso" of "a youth as beautiful as
Narcissus"--yet another classic, undressed male image suffused with
eros. The "sensuous element predominates," in this sculpture, said Stoddard,
and "even the blood-stains cannot disfigure the exquisite lustre of
the flesh." <<ADD PICTURE OF SAINT SEBASTIAN, if possible from Genoa>>
In Sienna, Stoddard recorded, he and his companion-in-arms slept in
a "great double bed ... so white and plump it looked quite like a gigantic
frosted cake-and we were happy." The last phrase directly echoes
Stoddard's favorite Walt Whitman Calamus poem in which a man's friend lies
"sleeping by me under the same cover in the cool night" -- "and that night I was happy. Sleeping happily with Millet in that cake/bed, Stoddard
again linked food and bodily pleasure.
Back in Venice: Spring 1875
Back in their Venice home in spring 1875, Stoddard recalled one day seeing "a tall, slender and exceedingly elegant figure approaching languidly."
A. A. Anderson
This second American artist, A. A. Anderson, appeared one Sunday at Millet's wearing a "long black cloak of Byronic mold," one corner of which was "carelessly thrown back over his arm, displaying a lining of cardinal satin." The costume was enhanced by a gold-threaded, damask scarf and a broad-brimmed hat with tassels.
In Stoddard's published
memoirs, identifying Anderson only as "Monte Cristo," the journalist recalled
the artist's "uncommonly comely face of the oriental--oval and almond-
eyed type. Entranced by the "glamor" surrounding Monte
Cristo, Stoddard soon passed whole days "drifting with him" in his gondola,
or walking ashore.
Invited to dinner by Monte Cristo, Stoddard and his friend (Millet)
found Monte occupying the suite of a "royal princess, it was so ample and
so richy furnished. (Monte was a "princess,"' Stoddard hints.) Funded
by an inheritance from dad, Monte had earlier bought a steam yacht and
cruised with an equally rich male friend to Egypt, then given the yacht
away to an Arab potentate. Later, while Stoddard was visiting Paris, he
found himself at once in the "embrace of Monte Cristo," recalling: "That
night was Arabian, and no mistake!" Stoddard's reference to The Arabian Nights)
a classic text including man-love scenes, also invoked a western mystique of "oriental" sex.
To England and Robert William Jones
After the beautiful Anderson left Venice, Stoddard, the perennial rover, found it impossible to settle down any longer in the comfortable, loving domesticity offered by Millet. The journalist may also have needed new sights to inspire the travel writing that supported him. He therefore set off for Chester, England, to see Robert William Jones, a fellow with whom, a year earlier, he had shared a brief encounter and who had since been sending him passionate letters.
Stoddard's flight, after living with
Millet for about six months, marked a new phase in their relationship.
Millet now became the devoted pursuer, Stoddard the ambivalent pursued.
Millet to Stoddard, May 10, 1875
From Venice, Millet wrote affectionately to Stoddard on May 10, 1875, calling him "Dear Old Chummeke"--explaining, "I call you chummeke," the "diminutive of chum,"' because "you are already 'chum' but have never been chummeke before. Flemish you know." "Chum" and its variations constituted a common, positive name among nineteenth-century male intimates, one of the terms by which they affirmed the special character of their tie.
Claiming he had not much to say because he "let out" so much in his
first letter (not extant, significantly and unfortunately) Millet reported
that he had a new pet. He had told their mutual friends, the Adamses, that
he had "named the new dog Charles Warren Stoddard Venus, though "it
wasn't that kind of a dog" (not, that is, a dog of mixed, ambiguous sex). To Stoddard, Millet certainly referred to Stoddard's large admixture of
the feminine and perhaps to Stoddard's sexual intrest in men. To the
Adamses, Millet was probably perceived to refer only to Stoddard's effeminacy.
The dog's name "was not a question of sex,"' Millet had stressed to the
Adamses, "but of appropriateness."
The dog's-and Stoddard's-ambiguous masculinity had obviously
been the subject of some lighthearted banter between Millet and the
Adamses. But Millet's reference to Stoddard's effeminacy probably did not
then bring erotic infractions to this Adams family's mind, nor is it likely to
have suggested to them the sexual aspect of the relationship between these
men. Gender deviance and erotic nonconformity were not yet linked as
they would be after the installation of homosex and heterosex.
Another dog, Tom, "sleeps in your place now and fills it all up, that is,
the material space he occupies, crowding me out of bed very offen." Stoddard's
body was absent, but his spirit lingered on.
"Miss you?" Millet asked. He answered: "Bet your life. Put yourself in
my place. It isn't the one who goes away who misses, it is the one who
stays. Empty chair, empty bed, empty house." Millet's desire for Stoddard's
bodily presence is palpable in his words.
"So, my dear old cuss;' Millet ended warmly, "with lots of love I am
thine -- as you need not be told." He had obviously declared his love many times earlier.
Millet to Stoddard: May 26, 1875
He was working on a painting that called for two boy models, "posing two small cusses--the naked ones-together,"' Millet wrote to Stoddard on May 26 (again, the talk was of nude male flesh). But the hot, dustladen, dry wind of Venice, lightning flashes, and "the mercurial little cusses" made him feel that he had "nearly ruined what good there was on the canvas." Millet wished Stoddard was present to "make me feel that I have not done so awfully bad work today."
"No gossip to speak of," Millet reported, except that a mutual male
friend "does no work but spoons with Miss Kelley. "Spoon" appeared repeatedly
in Millet's letters and in Stoddard's published journalism, with
varying degrees of romantic and sexual intimation.
Spooning reminded Millet that he had had "a squaring up" with Charlotte
("Donny") Adams, the eighteen-year-old daughter of their good
friends. Millet had told Donny "exactly what I thought of her going off with one fellow and coming home with another." In response, she had
tried to "put it all on to me:' saying "I alone was touchy." But Millet had
told her Stoddard agreed with his criticism, "and then she seemed very
anxious to beg my pardon etc. which was not granted."
Millet's high-handed objection to what he considered Donny's breach
of dating etiquette shows him identifying with a man done wrong, supposedly,
by a woman. Criticizing Donny's inconstancy in ditching one
man for another, Millet may have applied to her the same standard to
which he held himself. He was certainly constant in his romantic devotion
to Stoddard, despite the journalist's inconstancy. Stoddard, off with
Monte Cristo and Robert William Jones, clearly applied a less rigid rule
to his own liaisons.
Donny Adams had ended this confrontation by reporting one of her
men friends' suggestions: Millet was gaining weight that winter "because
I liked her and did not care to see another fellow go with her." Donny and
her man friend did not perceive that Millet's romantic-erotic interest was
focused then on Stoddard. Men's erotic romances with men were invisible
because at this time in the public consciousness, there was only one
kind of erotic-romantic attraction-toward the other, different sex.
Millet asked Stoddard to meet him in Belgium in July. Then, for the
first time in his letters, he acknowledged the imbalance in their need for
each other: "My dear old Boy, I miss you more than you do me." He wondered
"constantly--after dark;' he confessed, "why should one go and
the other stay. It is rough on the one who remains"--a repeated refrain.
"Harry" (another dog) "sends a wave of her tail and a gentle swagger
of her body"--"Charles/Venus" was not the only mixed-sex dog name.
"Tom;' Millet added, "sends you his brightest smile and Venus wags his
aimless tail in greeting."
Millet to Stoddard: May 30, 1875
He had not "passed one good night" since they parted, Millet admitted to Stoddard on May 30, and he was "completely played out from want of sleep and rest." He had not mentioned it before, "and I don't dare tell you why I haven't."
What was it, exactly, that Millet dared not say? Was ~ simply that he
missed Stoddard too much and was depressed? Or did he believe, possibly,
that he had exhausted himself: in Stoddard's absence, from voluntary
or involuntary seminal emissions? Or, did Millet believe, perhaps, that
he received from Stoddard's physical presence some spiritual, or material,
vitality-enhancing substance? We cannot know for sure. But other evidence
that we will consider supports a sexual interpretation.
Whatever Millet did not say, he was also probably worrying again
about their unequal need for each other and about coming on too strong to Stoddard. We have already heard Stoddard's reference to two men
friends' "monstrous show of feeling." Displays of emotion were evidently
threatening, as well as intriguing, to Stoddard.
Millet had supposed for a while that it "was our old attic chamber that
made me restless."' and he had ordered Giovanni to move his bed elsewhere
in the house. He had not "been into our attic room since and don't
intend to go"--strong feelings about their old bedroom. But the "change
of room does not cure me."
"What is the matter?" asked Millet, struggling to understand the
source of his distress: "I know I miss you, my old chummeke, but isn't it
reasonable that my other self misses you still more and cant let me sleep
because he wants your magnetism! I think it must be so."
Millet was two-sided, he suggested, and one of his sides lacked the vital
force provided by Stoddard's physical, bodily presence. "Magnetism"
was a common nineteenth-century name for an individual's power to attract,
his force of personality, and his energy.
Was it possible that Millet missed, specifically, the vivifying ingestion
of Stoddard's spirit via oral sex? This is not as far-fetched as it may sound.
Three years after Millet wrote to Stoddard, in 1878, Dr. Mary Walker
warned readers of her popular medical manual not to believe the common
folklore that women's ingestion of men's semen, and men's ingestion
of women's vaginal secretions, promoted health, life, and beauty. The benefits of an older man ingesting a younger man's semen
was actually extolled by the English sex reformer Edward Carpenter to an
American visitor (Gavin Arthur) with whom he tested the practice in the early twentieth
century.
Mrs. Adams "is spooney on you, you know," Millet told Stoddard. But
the roaming Stoddard was not thinking about Mrs. Adams, however
affectionate their relationship. At long last, Stoddard admitted that he
missed Millet, who was extremely pleased to hear it: "Bet your life, dear
Boy, that it soothes me to learn that I am not the only one who misses
his companion in arms." ("Companion-in-arms" appears here, again, as
these bedfellows' private, affectionate name for each other.)
Millet sent Stoddard "much love," declaring himself "yours to put
your finger on" -- he was still available for the taking. Millet played Penelope,
stay-at-home wife, to Stoddard's wandering Odysseus.
Millet to Stoddard: June 9, 1875
"Since I got your last letter;' Millet reported on June 9, "I have passed two good nights dreamless and waking only in the morning." Reassured of Stoddard's love, he slept: "I reckon it was the influence of the letter, or the prayer."
Stoddard was still much on Millet's mind, however: The Adamses "say I am always thinking of you,"' and Millet did not deny it. But Mr. and
Mrs. Adams probably did not understand Millet's infatuation as sexual.
Earlier, Millet and Stoddard had conspired with Donny Adams for her
to meet a young woman she idolized from afar, Julia ("Dudee") Fletcher,
an androgynous, aspiring writer (later, the author of the noveI Kismet, the
source of the musical). But Donny had decided that she was afraid to
meet Dudee at home-to "beard the lion in his den," as Millet put it. (Julia,
the lion, is an intriguing, sex-mixed metaphor). So Millet had
arranged to introduce Donny to Dudee on some neutral ground, and, he
reported, "Donny at last has met her idol!!" He hoped that Donny "has
not created too exalted an ideal."
The Donny/Dudee introduction, in
fact, proved a bust. A few weeks later Millet reported to Stoddard that
Donny "has given up the study of girls and is going to devote herself to
the law. A profitable change, I think."
What, exactly, "the study of girls" meant to Donny is not clear. But
Donny's "interest in girls" and in men again suggests a historical fluidity
of libido that only later hardens into an exclusive, either/or devotion to
girls or boys. In 1875, neither Millet, Stoddard, nor Donny seem surprised
at her shift in interest from men to women.
Millet ended this letter playfully, sending Stoddard "more than the
sum total of the whole with a sandwich of love between the slices," bidding
him, "Eat & be happy." Millet's love sandwich echoed Stoddard's
earlier linking of food and sensual satisfaction. "Yours with all my heart;'
Millet signed himself.
Millet to Stoddard: June 10, 1875
But Millet's needy heart now sometimes bled for his wandering loved one. A note that the artist wrote the next day concluded with a drawing of a heart dripping blood, an arrow through it, and the slang query "How high is that?"--meaning "What do you think of that?"
Millet to Stoddard: June 18, 1875
A few weeks later, however, on June 18, Millet was telling Stoddard: "You can't imagine what pleasure I take in anticipating our trip in Belgium and Holland. Don't fail to come, old chummeke, and we'll have a busting time."
But, true to Millet's anxious premonition, his slippery, intimacy-shy
friend failed to appear in Belgium. And, by the summer of 1875, Millet
had run out of money and had returned to America, writing to Stoddard,
first from Boston, then from his parents' home in East Bridgewater,
Massachusetts, where he had a studio. In the States, Millet sought writing
and illustration work as a journalist, as well as commissions for
painted portraits.
Millet to Stoddard: August 13, 1875
In Massachusetts, Millet reported on August 13, he was "bored to death" and felt himself "the prey of a thousand vulturous individuals who suck the vitality out of me in ten thousand different ways." This draining of his vitality was the exact opposite of the vitality provided by Stoddard's "magnetism;' and Millet's sucking metaphor may hint again at an aspect of their energy interchange.
Millet to Stoddard: August 15, 1875
A letter from Stoddard had "brought an odor of the old country with it that was refreshing in this desert," a gloomy Millet reported on August 15, from East Bridgewater, a place he detested: "If there ever was a soul killing place this is it. Crowds of people ... swoop down upon me and bore me to death."
If Stoddard, his "dear old fellow;' was with him, Millet imagined, "we
could be happy a few months and do some good work." Only his own
death, or his father's, could keep him in America, Millet declared dramatically, adding, "I hope for a long life for both of us yet." Intimations of mortality.
"You know that I only feel whole when you are with me;' Millet now
confessed, admitting for the first time his full, profound need for Stoddard.
Millet then referred, again, to Stoddard's "magnetism of the soul
that can not be explained and had better not be analyzed." Close analysis
of Stoddard's magnetism was dangerous for Millet. Stoddard's magnetic
attraction led Millet to a humiliating pursuit of an unavailable beloved,
perhaps even a loss of self.
His and Stoddard's "Venetian experience is unique;' declared Millet,
summing up their former romance at its height. He hoped for as good an
experience in the future, "if not a similar one." He still seemed to be expecting
a similar future intimacy with Stoddard, whom he urged to join
him on his travels through Europe (and, implicitly, through life): "We
can do the world if you keep up your courage."
Millet ordered Stoddard, jokingly, to "Tell Mrs Swoon" (Mrs. Adams,
no doubt) that he would send his photograph. But, in the meantime, he
enclosed for Stoddard "a crumpled proof of one as Juliette." The faded
proof of Millet in a long, curly, blond wig is still enclosed in his letter.
Playing with sex inversions was not, among these friends, limited to
dogs' names.
<ADD PHOTO OF MILLET AS JULIET>
Stoddard had written earlier that if Millet did not return to Europe
soon, he would find a new "boy"--his tease simultaneously expressed desire
for Millet and suggested that he was replaceable. Once again (as documented by historians), "boy"
and "man" name the partners in a nineteenth-century intimacy of males,
though, in this case, the actual age difference was slight. Millet was Stoddard's
"boy" only metaphorically, and temporarily, for the younger Millet
usually acted the active, pursuing "man," the older Stoddard, the hard-to-get "boy."
The ever-traveling Stoddard was impossible to pin down. Millet
finally understood, admonishing his flighty friend: "I see indications of
butterflying in your threat to try another boy if I wont come back." "Butterflying"
was slang then for "fickleness," "inconstancy in love," or "sexual
unfaithfulness"; only later did the butterfly come to symbolize effeminate,
men-lusting men.
"Go ahead!" (Try another boy!) Millet urged Stoddard, "You know
I'm not jealous, if I were I should be of Bob [Robert William Jones]. Anyone
who can cut me out is welcome to. Proximity is something but you
know I'm middling faithful."
Millet's faithfulness was now, for the first time, qualified, but his devotion
was still steady. Millet promised to write "pretty offen:' so that the
straying Stoddard "may not entirely forget me." He called Stoddard "my
windward anchor:' declaring himself "thine."
Millet to Stoddard: August 25, 1875
There is a "glorious sunset" but he "cannot enjoy it," a disgruntled Millet complained to Stoddard on August 25, blaming his unhappiness on the "the absence of the only one of my sex (or any other sex) with whom I could enjoy any beauties of nature or of art without the feeling that one or both of us was a porcupine with each quill as sensitive as a bare nerve."
The sex of his soulmates was not important, Millet indicated, only
their sharing an appreciation of nature or art. However prickly their present
relationship, Millet still looked to Stoddard for contentment: "If you
were here Charlie, I could perhaps, be happy:' He employed another
food/affection metaphor: "Hungry: I'd give all I possess if you were here
to lie down under the pines at the river side and yawn with me for a season." He ended, "With very much love," and "I am always yours."
Millet to Stoddard: September 6, 1875
He had spent the afternoon with Stoddard's brother Fred, Millet reported on September 6, adding that Fred was a "dear fellow, wonderfully like you." This resemblance, Millet knew, Charles was not happy about, for the wastrel, alcoholic Fred represented the drifting Charles's worst fears about his own future. Millet reassured Charles that his brother had "changed very much since you saw him."
Fred, Millet again insisted, "certainly resembles you in a remarkable
degree in more ways than one" -- Millet intimates that Fred, like Charles,
was interested sexually, and perhaps exclusively, in men.
Insistently reminding Charles that he resembled Fred, Millet got his
own back against his long-courted, long-fleeing friend. He even tried to
incite a little jealousy: He and Fred "embraced," then spent the "whole
afternoon ... together," Millet reported.
Millet was still hoping "to have you for myself for a season in the only
country in the world" -- Italy. He was fantasizing about collecting a little
money, and buying a small house in Venice, making "an artistic place of
it," where Stoddard could stay, even if he was not a convert to "Bohemia." The terms "artistic" and "Bohemia" included sexual nonconformity within the iconoclasm they invoked. Millet would like to "live
and die in Venice," he said later.
Stoddard had reported quarreling with Mrs. Adams and her daughter
Donny, and Millet now commanded: "You had better make it up again
and spoon as before." He called Stoddard a "Don Juan" (in this context,
a man feminized by associating too closely with women). And, Millet
added, "it is plain that you need masculinizing a little--association with
an active broad-shouldered large-necked fellow will do it." He continued:
"I'm not that, but will do as a substitute in a pinch and would gladly serve
if you would only come in my way." Millet here played aspiring butch to
Stoddard's retiring femme.
Millet to Stoddard: September 9, 1875
Millet eagerly anticipated reconnecting with Stoddard in Europe, but warned him, in a letter of September 9, not to "go skimming way off somewhere where I can't come to." Just as he was returning to Europe, Millet worried, "you will be on the move." He was "starving" for a letter, he said, again looking to Stoddard for metaphorical sustenance.
But Stoddard was busy that September, visiting Ostend, Belgium, and
a secluded beach called, appropriately, "Paradise;' where, as he reported
to the San Francisco Chronicle, the bathers, "mostly males," walk "to and
fro in the sunshine naked as at the hour of their birth." He had also spied
"one or two unmistakable females trip down to the water-line in Godivahabits," as well as "two Italians--lovers possibly, and organ grinders
probably," who, "guileless, olive-brown, sloe-eyed, raven-haired, handsome
animals, male and female, hand-in-hand, strode on the sand," then
loosened their clothes, and "with the placid indifterence of professional
models ... stepped forth without so much as a fig-Ieaffor shame's sake -- a
new Adam and Eve."
Given Stoddard's past practice of sex-reversal, it
is not difficult to imagine that this Italian Adam and Eve were actually
Adam and Steve, two male "lovers" and "organ grinders." To "grind" had
meant to "copulate with" since the 1600s, so Stoddard's "organ grinders"
certainly signified copulating lovers.
Millet to Stoddard: September 27, 1875
"If you are within grabbing distance," Millet wrote on September 27, imagining a hands-to-body connection, "I shall get my paws upon you suddenly, you bet!"
He had attended a "country cattle fair," and "a great ball," where he had
found "lots of stunning girls but none strong enough to anchor me to this
country, you may write your people." Stoddard was evidently charged
with informing their friends of any romantic adventures that might delay
Millet's return, and Millet's interest in girls was apparently unremarkable
to this group. But Millet's ship was still tied to Stoddard, his "windward
anchor."
Millet to Stoddard: October 19, 1875
He would never have enough money to buy a house in Venice, Millet despaired: "Such tight times I never experienced;' he complained on October 19. Stoddard's brother also wrote to say that he, "like many others," was "out of employment." ,
The panic of 1873, caused by unregulated speculation in railroads and
the overexpansion of industry, agriculture, and commerce, had weakened
the United States economy, which was eroded further by the contraction
of European demand for American farm products. The eftect of this crisis
was still being experienced in 1875.
For the first time in his letters, Millet expressed anger directly at the
elusive Stoddard, swearing on November 15: "You D.B. [damn bastard? deadbeat?], "you haven't written me for ages you know you haven't and why? Two weeks in Munich spooning! Spooning! SPOONING! and
couldn't find time to write me[.] Che diavolo!"
Millet complained to Stoddard about a demanding visitor whose
three-week stay had left him "in agony." He added: "We'll have to take an
extra spoon to make up for all this," and confessed his own faithfulness,
"I haven't spooned a bit since I got back, you know l hnaven't but you, you
[here, he pasted a butterfly on the paper] you have had one solid spoon
with the Adamseseseseses and that's why I envy you." Millet's spooning
with Stoddard, and Stoddard's spooning with the Adamses, apparently
implied different sorts of spoons.
Jokingly, Millet directed his anger at Stoddard's lack of reciprocal feeling,
threatening him: "Now then you butterfly if you don't write more
I'll cut your --- off so you won't flutter about anymore." The missing
word is clearly "cock:' "dick:' "prick:' or some other slang term for
penis, and the slang suggests how the two may have talked sometimes
when alone. He could not speak freely in a letter, Millet several times told
Stoddard. Millet's threat also shows that he understood Stoddard's straying
as, specifically, sexual. The missing word also strongly, though indirectly,
suggests the sexual character of their own past relation.
Millet to Stoddard: December 2. 1875
"Do come up to Paris, chummeke!" Millet urged Stoddard on December 2: "Come and work!" he pleaded, begging, "Come up, Charlie, do! Come and spoon and ... produce something! We will live again the old Bohemian [life] in a different way." They would travel together, "and live as artists should in Paris. Do come!"
Millet was then assisting the artist John La Farge in the decoration of
Trinity Church in Boston ("The romantic and picturesque details of this
enterprise I shall take keen delight in elaborating to you when we
meet.")
In addition, Mark Twain, a mutual friend of his and Stoddard's,
had come into the church and had "asked me to come to Hartford and
paint his portrait." Millet's artistic career was beginning to take off, and
he became, in a few years, a well-known artist of his day.
Millet to Stoddard: January 15, 1876
In his next letter, on January 15, 1876, Millet was fantasizing once more about his and Stoddard's return to Venice: "If we could pass another season there together I think I would not begrudge any sacrifice." Financial sacrifice was Millet's obvious meaning, but emotional sacrifice was implied. His feeling for Stoddard was frustrated and painful, as well as sustaining.
Ending this letter with a postscript, Millet reported: "People here
think I am insane about a chum of mine and wonder why I don't find a
female attachment." The unnamed people did not expect that Millet's openly expressed, overwrought, persistent attachment to a male precluded
the more common attachment to a female. But even this new declaration
of Millet's affection provoked only silence from Stoddard, who
did not write again for about seven months.
The wandering Stoddard was having a jolly time. In "gay Paris," on
New Year's Eve, 1876, with a group of young men friends, as he reported
to the San Francisco Chronicle, he attended a masked ball. There, those
who had come only "to renew our feeble but I trust virtuous indignation
at such sights, turn at last from the girls in boys' clothes; from the jaunty
sailor girl-boy who has just ridden around the room on the shoulders of
her captain; from the queen of darkness who swept past us in diamonds
and sables, and never so much as suffered her languishing eyes to rest for
a moment on anyone of us."
Stoddard stayed at a hotel "like a great boys'
boarding school," where he and the other boy-guests had pillow fights
while "robed in the brief garments of our sleep." With these friends he
hied himself to "gay halls where sin skips nimbly arm in arm with innocence
and verdancy," and the noisy carousers later attracted the attention
of a "brace of gendarmes, the handsomest and most elegant fellows in
Paris."
Stoddard's "gay," "girl-boy;' and "queen" are certainly sexual in
implication, but I do not believe they yet had the specifically "homosexual"
meanings they did two decades later.
Millet to Stoddard: March 11, 1877
In March of the following year, 1877, Millet was in Paris, and Stoddard was somewhere else. On March 11, the persistent Millet was still urging Stoddard to come and "occupy a room with me. I dare say I can so arrange it with William who now is my bedfdlow and roommate."
Millet to Stoddard: April 24, 1877
On April 24, Millet again urged: "My bed is very narrow but you can manage to occupy it I hope." If Stoddard did not want to share that bed, "we can fix things in the study."
In the summer of 1877 Millet was employed by several newspapers as
a journalist and illustrator to cover the Russian-Turkish war.
Millet to Stoddard: June 29, 1877
On June 29 he wrote to Stoddard: "I've seen two battles and thirst for more." "Human nature;' he added, "is incomprehensible, it adapts itself much too easily to circumstances." His comment applied to his affection, as well as his aggressive urges. "I am quite warlike now. You wouldn't know me;' he later told Stoddard.
For the first time in his letters to Stoddard, Millet mentioned a new
love interest: "I am spooning frightfully with a young Greek here in
Oltenitza. He is a first rate fellow."
Millet to Stoddard: May 7, 1878
Back in London on May 7, 1878, after' receiving medals for services rendered to Russia, Millet for the last time addressed Stoddard as "My dear Chummeke." That change in address marked the end of Millet's fantasy of live-in domesticity with Stoddard, though the two remained friends for life.
February 19, 1879
Just eight months later, on February 19, 1879, Millet wrote friends about his forthcoming marriage to Elizabeth ("Lily") Greely Merrill, an accomplished musician and the sister of a successful newspaper editor, William Bradford Merrill.
Describing his love for Elizabeth, Millet joked
that he was suffering from a "malady that doesn't let go very soon when
it has once taken hold and the more it attacks one the more he wants."
This "contagion" he had caught "very badly some time ago," and "on the
Eleventh of march next I am going to marry Miss Merrill." Millet clearly
felt for Elizabeth the same strong, constant, romantic infatuation that,
just a few months earlier, he had still felt for Stoddard.
On the appointed date, in Paris, Mark Twain and the foremost American sculptor of the
time, Augustus Saint-Gaudens, served as witnesses for the groom, and
showman Phineas Taylor Barnum stood as a witness for the bride. In
time, Millet and his wife produced three children: Kate, John Parsons,
and Lawrence.
Five years later, Millet fulfilled a dream, founding a Bohemian colony
with the painters John Singer Sargent, Alfred Parsons, and Edwin Austin
Abbey in the little old town of Broadway in England.
In addition to
working as a journalist and an illustrator, in 1887 Millet published a
translation of a Tolstoy war novel (read and praised, incidentally, by Walt
Whitman), wrote a book about his own seventeen-hundred-mile canoe
trip down the Danube (1891), a book of short stories (1892), and his report
of the United States military expedition in the Philippines (1899).
In 1893, Millet was appointed Director of Decoration and Functions
for the World's Columbian Exhibition, in Chicago, on the grounds of
which he got the visiting Stoddard a room next to his own.
Millet received
major commissions for murals for the state capitols of Minnesota
and Wisconsin, the Baltimore Customs House, and the Cleveland Trust
Company. <<PHOTOS OF THOSE?>>
He served on the American Federation of the Arts, the National
Commission of Fine Arts, and as director of the American Academy
in Rome, which he helped to found.
1912
In 1912, Millet and his close friend and Washington, D.C., roommate, the bachelor Major Archie Butt, aide to President William Howard Taft, booked steamer passage to the United States.
From Southampton, Millet mailed a letter to the artist Alfred Parsons
describing their steamer's accommodations: "I have the best room I ever
had in a ship and it isn't one of the best either."
Millet added: "Queer lot of people on the ship," in particular, "a number
of obnoxious ostentatious American women, the scourge of any place they infest and worse on shipboard than anywhere. Many of them carry
tiny dogs and lead husbands around like pet lambs. I tell you when she
starts out the American woman is a buster. She should be put in a harem
and kept there." Millet's comment seems as much a critique of class arrogance
and the relations of men and women as a misogynistic statement
on human females, and he probably did not mean this to be his last word
on the subject of women.
Three days after writing that letter, on the night of April 14, 1912,
Millet was reportedly last seen encouraging Italian women and children
into the lifeboats of the Titanic on which he, age 60, and Butt, age 46,
lost their lives.
A joint monument to Frank Millet and Archie Butt, designed
by the sculptor Daniel Chester French and architect Thomas
Hastings, in President's Park, Washington, D.C., is described as a tribute
to friendship. <<PICTURE OF MONUMENT>>
Millet's Letters to Stoddard
Millet's wonderful, loving letters to Stoddard were among Stoddard's papers when he died in 1909, three years before Millet's death. Millet's letters were then sold to Charles E. Goodspeed, a Boston dealer in books and literary manuscripts, who seems to have held them off the market for years because they were love letters from one man to another, and because Millet, and, later, his wife, and immediate descendants were still alive. The letters were again sold, finally, to another dealer in literary manuscripts, from whom they were purchased by the library of Syracuse University, which today preserves these precious documents.
Notes
- ↑ Adapted and republished on OutHistory without the original backnote citations from Jonathan Ned Katz's "Empty Chair, Empty Bed, Empty House", Chapter 14, in Love Stories: Sex Between Men Before Homosexuality (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2001), pages 202-219.