Patricia Cornwell – Portrait Of A Killer Jack The Ripper

Whistler would be getting married in London five days later, on Au­gust 11th. Although Sickert hadn’t been invited to the small, intimate wedding, he wasn’t the sort to miss it – even if he had to spy on it.

The great painter James McNeill Whistler had fallen deeply in love with the “remarkably pretty” Beatrice Godwin, who was to occupy the most prominent position in his life and entirely change the course of it. Likewise, Whistler occupied one of the most prominent positions in Sickert’s life and had entirely changed the course of it. “Nice boy, Walter,” Whistler used to say in the early 1880s when he was still fond of the as­piring and extraordinarily gifted young man. By the time of Whistler’s engagement their friendship had cooled, but Sickert could not have been prepared for what must have seemed a shockingly unexpected and com­plete abandonment by the Master he idolized, envied, and hated. Whistler and his new bride planned to honeymoon and travel the rest of the year in France, where they hoped to reside permanently.

The anticipated connubial bliss of the flamboyant artistic genius and egocentric James McNeill Whistler must have been disconcerting to his former errand boy-apprentice. One of Sickert’s many roles was the irre­sistible womanizer, but offstage he was nothing of the sort. Sickert was dependent on women and loathed them. They were intellectually inferior and useless except as caretakers or objects to manipulate, especially for art or money. Women were a dangerous reminder of an infuriating and humiliating secret that Sickert carried not only to the grave but beyond it, because cremated bodies reveal no tales of the flesh, even if they are exhumed. Sickert was born with a deformity of his penis requiring sur­geries when he was a toddler that would have left him disfigured if not mutilated. He probably was incapable of an erection. He may not have had enough of a penis left for penetration, and it is quite possible he had to squat like a woman to urinate.

“My theory of the crimes is that the criminal has been badly disfig­ured,” says an October 4, 1888, letter filed with the Whitechapel Mur­ders papers at the Corporation of London Records Office, ” – possibly had his privy member destroyed – & he is now revenging himself on the sex by these atrocities.” The letter is written in purple pencil and enig­matically signed “Scotus,” which could be the Latin for Scotsman. “Scotch” can mean a shallow incision or to cut. Scotus could also be a strange and erudite reference to Johannes Scotus Eriugena, a ninth-century theologian and teacher of grammar and dialectics.

For Walter Sickert to imagine Whistler in love and enjoying a sexual relationship with a woman might well have been the catalyst that made Sickert one of the most dangerous and confounding killers of all time. He began to act out what he had scripted most of his life, not only in thought but in boyhood sketches that depicted women being abducted, tied up, and stabbed.

The psychology of a violent, remorseless murderer is not defined by connecting dots. There are no facile explanations or infallible sequences of cause and effect. But the compass of human nature can point a cer­tain way, and Sickert’s feelings could only have been inflamed by Whistler’s marrying the widow of architect and archaeologist Edward Godwin, the man who had lived with actress Ellen Terry and fathered her children.

The sensuously beautiful Ellen Terry was one of the most famous ac­tresses of the Victorian era, and Sickert was fixated on her. As a teenager, he had stalked her and her acting partner, Henry Irving. Now Whistler had links to not one but both objects of Sickert’s obsessions, and these three stars in Sickert’s universe formed a constellation that did not include him. The stars cared nothing about him. He was truly Mr. Nemo.

But in the late summer of 1888 he gave himself a new stage name that during his life would never be linked to him, a name that soon enough would be far better known than those of Whistler, Irving, and Terry.

The actualization of Jack the Ripper’s violent fantasies began on the carefree bank holiday of August 6, 1888, when he slipped out of the wings to make his debut in a series of ghastly performances that were des­tined to become the most celebrated so-called murder mystery in history.

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