“He regretted that she should never have been painted in later life. ‘When she came into a studio, it was like a glorious vision.’ His wife said how often he spoke of Lady Waterford, and that to herself it was a lifelong regret that she should never have looked upon one who so occupied his thoughts and admiration.
“Mr. Watts took us into his studio, an immense and beautiful room added to the cottage. Here were many of his pictures, the work of years, on which, from time to time, he adds a few touches. He likes to have many of his works around him, and to add to them thus.
“At the end of the room hangs his vast ‘Court of Death,’ which can be lowered by pulleys whenever he wishes to add to it. He was greatly pleased with a photograph of it, which has the effect of a Tintoretto, and which, while preserving the grand masses, blots out the detail. ‘Death’ is throned in the upper part of the picture. ‘I have given her wings,” said Mr. Watts, ‘that she may not seem like a Madonna. In her arms nestles a child—a child unborn, perhaps, who has taken refuge there. By her side the angels of silence guard the portals of the unseen. Beneath is the altar of Death, to which many worshippers are hastening: the old mendicant comes to beg; the noble offers his coronet; the warrior does not offer—but surrenders—his sword; the sick girl clings for refuge to the feet of Death. I have wished to paint Death entirely without terrors.
“‘You wonder what that is, that other picture of a figure of a rich man in Eastern dress whose face is half-hidden, buried away in the folds of his garment. I meant that for the man who was “very sorry, for he had great possessions.” He cannot give them up. He has tried, but he cannot. He is going out into the world again, and yet—and yet he is very sorry. I have only got to give him a number of rings and to put a gold chain round him, and I think his story will be told.’
“‘And that great picture?’ we asked. ‘Oh, that is the Angel of Rest. He has come to that old man, by whom all the instruments of music and science are lying, that weary old man, and he is touching his hand and bidding him come with him and rest.’
“Besides these, Mr. Watts produced from a corner a grand chalk portrait of Lady De Vesci—a most noble picture, giving all the dignity and all the sympathy and pity of her expression. Mr. Watts said he was going to give it to her little girl.
“He said, ‘I am within two years of eighty, and I have worked all my life, but I do not feel old or feeble. I do not even use a maul-stick, and I intend to do my best work yet.’
“On the walls were photographs from Lady Waterford’s drawings, placed beside Titians, and in their ideas as fine.
“Mr. Watts took me to the window of the other room to look out into ‘the half-clothed trees of the winter world.’ In the foreground, a number of cocoa-nuts, open at the ends, were hung up, and wrens and other tiny birds were fluttering in and out of them. ‘They like cocoa-nut,’ he said, ‘and I like to see them enjoy it.’
“He said he had no wish to go into the world again. Living was outliving. Holland House, the second home of many years, was swept away for him, and all its intimates were passing away, and its memories perishing. Nothing else in London could attract him.