The ancient Greeks are, by definition, anything but modern yet they had a Goddess of fame, her name was Pheme, the Roman version was Fama, see where this is going?
Both were Goddesses of rumour.
In the 'Aeneid' Virgil describes her as a 'swift, birdlike monster with as many eyes, lips, tongues, and ears as feathers, traveling on the ground but with her head in the clouds.'
Ovid in his 'Metamorphoses', describes Fama as living at the center of the world, where earth, sea, and sky meet. From there she can see and hear everything that goes on in the world. She lives in a house atop a tall peak, it has no doors but instead has a thousand windows.
If you found favour with her, notability followed. Fall foul of her and rumours would spread, she is often portrayed with her trumpet, blowing good or bad, depends on how she felt about you.
So, no more disapproving 'sucking-a-sour-lemon' faces please when you see the celeb mags by the checkout at the supermarket. The ancients were at it too.
Which brings me to the book to go down the rabbit hole with.
Pheme seems to have looked over the shoulder of Lizzie Siddal.
Lizzie was born into a working class London family in 1829, her upbringing was uneventful and by the age of 20 she was working as a milliners apprentice when the artist Walter Deverell met her and invited her to model for him. He was a friend of the Pre-Raphaelites and introduced them to her.
The rabbit hole was being dug.
Through this introduction she met leading light of the Pre-Raphaelites Dante Gabriel Rosetti. An ill-starred relationship was born.
The rigid class constraints of the time led Rosetti to repeatedly promise to marry Lizzie and repeatedly he broke it off. She, in return used frequent bouts of ill-health to blackmail him to the altar before it was too late. The same ill-health also introduced Lizzie to laudanum, to which she became addicted.
A love/hate relationship ensued as Rossetti painted and drew Lizzie to the point of obsession. Their love for each other was never in doubt but it was as if they competed for who loved the other the most.
They finally arrived at the altar in 1860. Sadness and the rabbit hole followed.
Lizzie's first child was stillborn, the grief that followed sharpened her addiction to laudanum, she died of an overdose aged 32 in 1862.
Rossetti was consumed with grief and Lizzie was buried with a journal containing Rossetti's poetry nestling in her hair.
By 1869 Rossetti was in the grip of booze and chloral hydrate, the attendant paranoia convinced him he was going blind and could no longer paint. Writing poetry would be his salvation. He became obsessed with the poems buried with Lizzie. He applied for, and received, permission to have Lizzie exhumed.
The exhumation took place at night, Rossetti was not present but his agent, Charles Augustus Howell, was. He retrieved the journal and told Rossetti that Lizzies hair had grown after her death and filled the coffin. Rossetti published the poems but the poor response depressed him and he fell into a miasma of chloral hydrate and whisky. He died a recluse in 1882.
Lizzie fell deep down the rabbit hole and found Rossetti, who then found his own rabbit hole.
Their story, the epitome of the tragedy that love sometimes becomes, is best told by Lucinda Hawksley, nip to your local bookshop with this ISBN 9780233002583 for a copy of a beautifully produced hardback which is full of romance, intrigue, tragedy and, as you look at the cover, and think "Yeah, I know that picture!" look for Pheme, she might be watching you!
Another rabbit hole soon....
