The Mystery of His Passing
The state of Crackanthorpe's marriage to Leila began to disintegrate rapidly after 1895. Leila miscarried in 1896 because of a venereal infection she contracted from Hubert; soon after, she left Hubert and traveled to Italy. Left to his own philandering devices, Hubert promptly began an affair with a woman named Sissie Welch. After a few months, Hubert managed a reconciliation with Leila. Leila was now living in Paris with a lover of her own. Hubert and Leila set up house once more with their respective lovers in tow. This complicated domestic arrangement did not last long, and Leila left Hubert on November 4, 1896.
Hubert Crackanthorpe was never seen alive again after his wife left him for the second time. Leila walked out the door of the Crackanthorpes' Paris home and boarded a boat for London in December 1896. Hubert's body was found in the Seine on Christmas Eve; it is unknown whether he was a victim of foul play, or if he succumbed to a suicidal impulse. In subsequent years the aristocratic Crackanthorpe family was eager to keep the story of Hubert Crackanthorpe from coming to public attention.
Critics tend to group Crackanthorpe together with a clutch of young British writers and artists of the 1890s who suffered untimely deaths caused by various factors, including suicide, alcohol abuse or tuberculosis; e.g. Oscar Wilde, Ernest Dowson, Lionel Johnson, and the two editors of the Yellow Book, Aubrey Beardsley and Henry Harland.
Read more about this topic: Hubert Crackanthorpe
Famous quotes containing the words mystery and/or passing:
“Married life requires shared mystery even when all the facts are known.”
—Richard Ford (b. 1944)
“We all end up living secret lives. We create what we are willing to admire and admiring what we shouldnt confess to the secret of our own sin, our own insufficiency, our own sadness. We all end up taking our secrets into the world and handing them over to strangers, only to realize its often too late to claim them back. The very nature of time passing is sad beyond words. Memories mean theyre gone.”
—Alexander Theroux (b. 1940)