Wombie the World-Travelling Wombat looks nervous in the face of so much arsenic and adultery.
I emerge from a week of sinus infection horror raring to plough through the pile of books I’ve accrued and to – finally! – take part in #WombatFriday with the rest of the Victorianists on Twitter.
If you’re unaware of the long and illustrious saga of the noble marsupial in art history, pick up a copy of Rossetti’s Wombat: Pre-Raphaelites and Australian Animals in Victorian London and enjoy the account of Rossetti’s wombat, Top, plodding up to Ruskin (in mid-flow on the subject of communal artistic living as a means of saving humanity) to snuggle between his coat and waistcoat. Ruskin, being British and not the host, carried on “wring[ing] his hand and soul” as though nothing was happening.
Rosetti had a wombat! How droll! Why a wombat? As someone who actually lives in Australia, I can think of so many better animals to have as pets? I wonder if it ever bit anyone in the butt, I heard that they are wont to do that!
He had more than one! Neither lasted very long. He was always enchanted by them, even if they did eat his friends’ cigars and hats.