SOME EARLY CORRESPONDENCE OF DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI.

SOME EARLY CORRESPONDENCE OF DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI.

In the course of some recent researches among old family documents I put together the enclosed specimens—consisting of twenty-four letters from Dante Gabriel Rossetti to various persons, 1835 to 1854, and of two letters addressed to him by his father, 1853.

I have more than once had occasion to confute a current misconception that Dante Rossetti could be adequately described as a sentimentalist, a dreamer, a mystic, an æsthete, and the like, without allowance being made for a considerable counterbalance of attributes of a very opposite character. Certainly he had some sentiment; he dreamed several dreams, asleep and awake; he may have been a mystic (though I never quite understood what a mystic is); and he had a passion for art in various forms, and for the word “art” we now often substitute the word “æsthetics”—a term which Rossetti seldom, if ever, pronounced. But it is not the less true that he was full of vigour and buoyancy, full of élan, well alive to the main chance, capable of enjoying the queer as well as the grave aspects of life, by no means behindhand in contributing his quota to the cause of high spirits—and generally a man equally natural and genial. In youth these qualities had not been overclouded by some troubles which beset his later years—although indeed, like other men, he had at all periods of life his troubles and his glooms. The present correspondence belongs all to the years of his youth; and I think readers will say that, whatever else Dante Rossetti may have been, he was a quick-blooded, downright-speaking man, with plenty of will and an abundant lack of humbug. People who take an interest in him may depend upon it that the more they learn about him—of an authentic kind—the more will the masculine traits of his character appear in evidence, and the less will room be left for the notion of a pallid and anæmic “æsthete,” a candidate for the sunflowers of a Du Maurier design. He did not “yearn.” All this is said without at all derogating from the fact that in the very essence of his mind and temperament Dante Rossetti was a poet—a poet who expressed himself in verse and in form and colour.

I have appended several headnotes and one or two footnotes to these letters; and will only add here a few observations, in the form of a Dramatis Personæ, on some persons not otherwise accounted for:

John Lucas Tupper, Sculptor, intimate associate of the Præraphaelite Brothers; a selection of his poems was published posthumously in 1897.

Frederic George Stephens, Student of Painting, P.R.B., now a leading Art-Critic.

Walter Howell Deverell, Painter, nominated for election into the P.R.B.

Thomas Seddon, Painter: produced the picture of Jerusalem now in the National Gallery.

John P. Seddon, Architect.

Charles A. Collins, Painter and Author; became son-in-law of Dickens.

James Hannay, Novelist and Essayist; was British Consul at Barcelona in his later years.

Francis McCracken, Shipping Agent at Belfast, an early purchaser of “Præraphaelite” pictures.

John Marshall, Surgeon, ultimately President of the Royal College of Physicians.

William Allingham, Poet and Essayist.

Thomas Woolner, Sculptor and R.A.

Bernhard Smith, Sculptor; he settled in Australia, and there died.

LETTER I.

Dante Rossetti to Margaret Polidori, Swithland, Leicestershire.

This childish epistle from Dante Gabriel would have little or no claim to appear here, were it not for the fact (as noted in a few accompanying words by his mother) that it is “the second letter of his writing—the first was to his Grandmother.” It is written on lines, in a large text-hand—childish, of course, but correctly formed. Dante Rossetti must have been backward rather than otherwise—or one might say lazy—at letter-writing, for at this date he was close upon seven years of age. I add a second childish letter, of nearly similar date. Margaret Polidori, his eldest maternal aunt, was at this date a governess in Leicestershire; Eliza Polidori, a younger aunt, addressed in the second letter, lived at home with her parents.

38 Charlotte Street, London. 7 April 1835.

Dear Aunt M.

Papa has bought two shawls for Maria and Christina. Dr. Curci, a great friend of papa’s, came from Naples, and has given Christina a little locket without hair, of the Virgin Mary with Jesus Christ in her arms; it has a rim of mother-of-pearl. Papa introduced Dr. Curci to a party where there was the Turkish Ambassador, who asked papa to improvise.

I remain Your affectionate nephew, Gabriel Rossetti.

LETTER II.

To Eliza Polidori, Holmer Green, Bucks.

38 Charlotte Street, London. 9 July 1835.

Dear Aunt Eliza,

We went to a fancy fair in the Regent’s Park, where I bought a box of paints, Maria an album, and Christina two fishes and a hook. The fair was for the benefit of a Charity School. I have been reading Shakespeare’s Richard the Third for my amusement, and like it exceedingly. I, Maria, and William, know several scenes by heart. I have bought a picture of Richard and Richmond fighting, and I gilded it, after which I cut it out with no white. My Aunt⁠[1] came yesterday, and gave Maria a pretty little basket: it was worked in flowers of green card.

I remain, my dear Aunt, Your affectionate nephew, Gabriel C. D. Rossetti.

LETTER III.

To Gaetano Polidori.

This letter appears to have been written in 1843, which was the date of the privately-printed volume by my grandfather (La Magion del Terrore, etc.) containing the lyric, A Clori. The first verse of the lyric is “Quante stelle cancella la luna.” Polidori’s reply is not forthcoming; but there can be little doubt that Dante Rossetti was right in considering that the Italian poem is a free adaptation of the English one.

50 Charlotte Street, London. [? 1843.]

Dear Grandpapa,

On returning home yesterday and looking over your volume of poetry, I was greatly surprised at discovering in your ode, A Clori, at page 136, a most singular resemblance to a little poem contained in Percy’s Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, it being the same, verse by verse, and sometimes almost word for word.

The poem to which I allude is written by Sir Henry Wotton, who lived in the reign of James 1st, and is intended as an expression of his admiration for Elizabeth, daughter of that monarch.

It runs as follows:

The only difference between your composition and the above is, as you perceive, the addition by you of two stanzas—judiciously, I think, inasmuch as they complete the idea.

Now I do not for a moment suppose that you have translated these lines and afterwards intentionally inserted them among your original poems; but I should think it possible that you might have rendered them into Italian some years ago, and that, on looking over your manuscripts in order to compile the volume in question, you might have found them, and, forgetting their origin, placed them with the rest among your Versi Lirici. Should this idea of mine, however, not be founded on fact, it is certainly a most singular literary coincidence.

I remain, dear Grandpapa, Your affectionate Grandson, Gabriel Chas. Rossetti.

LETTER IV.

To the Editor of a Magazine.

In my Memoir of Dante Rossetti (published in 1895) I have spoken of a very inefficient ballad which he wrote at the age of fifteen, named William and Marie, and of an illustration which he concocted for it. I possess a copy which he made of the ballad, followed by the letter here reproduced. I am not sure what was the magazine to which he forwarded the poem and its illustration, in the vain hope of getting published: should suppose it to be Smallwood’s Magazine, but for the fact that in that serial there were no illustrations. Possibly he sent the letter and its contents to one Editor after another, but I have no recollection of any such fact. From a reference which I saw in a literary review, 1898 or ’99, I infer that the ballad of William and Marie has by this time been printed, in whole or in part, though without any authority from Rossetti’s representatives.

50 Charlotte Street, London. [? 1843.]

Sir,

Should you consider the accompanying ballad not wholly unworthy of a place in your magazine, you would highly oblige me by inserting it. If it meet not with a favourable reception, and should you answer me among your “Correspondents,” would you favour me by doing so under the initials “A. B.” instead of my real name.

I am, sir, Yours etc. etc. Gabriel Rossetti.

P.S.—I have also executed the enclosed sketch, which is intended, if considered sufficiently good, as a headpiece to the ballad.

LETTER V.

To James Collinson.

Mr. Collinson was a painter, chiefly of domestic subjects, and a member of the Præraphaelite Brotherhood. The letter was addressed to him during the tour which was made by Holman Hunt and Rossetti to Paris and Belgium.

My brother was mistaken in referring to certain pictures as “the capture and execution of Cambyses”; they are the works of Gerard David, representing Cambyses punishing an unjust Judge.—Bride-Chamber Talk is the poem published in 1881 under the title of The Bride’s Prelude.

The initials of Mr. Hunt, added to this letter, are written in by Rossetti.

BETWEEN GHENT AND BRUGES.

(Wednesday night, 24 October.)

Bruges: Hôtel du Commerce. 25 October 1849.

Dear P.R.B.

On the road hither last night I perpetrated only the above atrocious sonnet, in answer to the voice which urged upon me a more worthy exercise of my energies. It is all therefore that I can give you.

I believe we have seen to-day almost everything very remarkable at Bruges; but I assure you we shall want to see much of it again. This is a most stunning place, immeasurably the best we have come to. There is a quantity of first-rate architecture, and very little or no Rubens.

But by far the best of all are the miraculous works of Memling and Van Eyck. The former is here in a strength that quite stunned us—and perhaps proves himself to have been a greater man even than the latter. In fact, he was certainly so intellectually, and quite equal in mechanical power. His greatest production is a large triptych in the Hospital of St. John, representing in its three compartments: firstly, the Decollation of St. John Baptist; secondly, the Mystic Marriage of St. Catherine to the Infant Saviour; and thirdly, the Vision of St. John Evangelist in Patmos. I shall not attempt any description; I assure you that the perfection of character and even drawing, the astounding finish, the glory of colour, and above all the pure religious sentiment and ecstatic poetry of these works, is not to be conceived or described. Even in seeing them, the mind is at first bewildered by such Godlike completeness; and only after some while has elapsed can at all analyse the causes of its awe and admiration; and then finds these feelings so much increased by analysis that the last impression left is mainly one of utter shame at its own inferiority. Van Eyck’s picture at the Gallery may give you some idea of the style adopted by Memling in these great pictures; but the effect of light and colour is much less poetical in Van Eyck’s; partly owing to his being a more sober subject and an interior, but partly also, I believe, to the intrinsic superiority of Memling’s intellect. In the background of the first compartment there is a landscape more perfect in the abstract lofty feeling of nature than anything I have ever seen. The visions of the third compartment are wonderfully mystic and poetical.

The Royal Academy here possesses also some most stupendous works of Memling—among them one of a Virgin and Child, quite astounding. In the same collection is a very wonderful Van Eyck, some of the heads of which, however, are dreadfully vulgar in character; and two pictures by some unknown author, representing the capture and execution of Cambyses—equal to any one for colour and individuality, and most remarkably fine in drawing. They are powerfully dramatic—the second perhaps a trifle too much so, as it represents a man being flayed alive, and is revolting from its extreme truthfulness.

We have seen here a great many other stunning pictures, in which this town is marvellously rich. There are several Memlings besides those named above, and some glorious portraits by one of the Porbus family—perhaps the finest specimens of portraiture we ever saw.

I forgot to mention that Memling’s pictures in the Hospital of St. John were presented to the Institution by that stunner in return for the care bestowed upon him when he was received here, severely wounded and in great want, after the battle of Nancy. The interior of the hospital has undergone since his time but very little alteration. His pictures are not painted with oil—he having preceded Van Eyck—but with some vehicle of which brandy and white of egg are the principal components. They have cracked very slightly indeed; and one cannot conceive the colours to have been more brilliant on the day of their completion.

Another great treat we had to-day was in visiting the Chapelle du Sang de Dieu, a wonderful little place: also the Jerusalem, which is in all respects a facsimile of the Holy Sepulchre at Palestine.

Friday 26.

I have been rash enough to sit down for the purpose of continuing this letter—but begin to suspect, after all, that I have nothing to say. All that we have seen to-day was merely in re-visiting yesterday’s glories. It is stupendous to see again, certainly—even better perhaps than the first time; but I fear that my pen scarcely suffices for a second bill of fare. I must therefore see what is to be done with some older topic.

Before leaving Ghent we visited the great Convent of the town—the Béguinage. It is of a vast extent, containing entire streets and squares of its own. Each nun has a house to herself, over which is written not her name, but that of some saint under whose protection she has been pleased to put it. In some cases where the name was more than usually quaint, we felt disposed to knock at the door and to ask if he was in; but refrained, as it was rather late, and we feared he might be gone to bed. We witnessed the vesper service, which rather surprised us, as we thought that among the tunes played we could recognize “Jim Crow” and “Nix my dolly.” At the end, each nun finds a kind of towel somewhere, which she folds up and puts on the top of her head; during the service, a rather sloshy⁠[2] one goes about with a policeman’s bull’s eye, collecting coppers. At our entrance and departure, Hunt dipped his fingers in the holy-water stoup, and commenced some violent gesticulations, which I was obliged to bring to an abrupt conclusion.

We have bought an extraordinary self-concocting coffee-pot for state-occasions of the P.R.B. We have likewise purchased a book containing a receipt for raising the Devil, and in Paris a quantity of Gavarni’s sketches, which I long to look over with you.

When I left London I had the intention of finishing Bride-Chamber Talk during my absence. I have not written a line of it. The only thing I have done, that nobody has had, are two songs, one wanting the last verse, and the other the first. The former I will proceed to copy here in spite of its shortcomings; as news seems to come shorter still. I intend adding the last stanza to-morrow, when we shall ascend the Belfry here.

The Carillon. (Antwerp and Bruges.)

[Here follows the poem printed in The Germ to end of Stanza 5.]

I wish I had finished this blessed ditty, dear P.R.B.; but I have not, “and there an end,”—or no end at all rather. I will not delay posting the letter, as we do not know exactly when we may leave Bruges for our return, and the letter might chance to reach after Hunt and self.

I must inform you that Memmelinck⁠[3] is an authentic variation in the orthography of that stunner’s name, and not of mine own evil devising. The song is, of course, quite original; there is in particular a Yankee of the name of Longfellow with whose works it has no affinity.

I forgot to tell you that there is a Square here called Place Jean van Eyck. Some of the houses in it, as indeed throughout the town, are in all likelihood quite as old as his days. Rubens seems here to be considered a common fool enough.

I shall not bore you to answer this rubbish, as I hope very soon to have the real pleasure of again seeing you and the rest of the P.R.B. I long to see what you have done to your picture, and shall rush down at once to Brompton on my return.

Till then, believe Hunt and myself to remain, dear P.R.B., Your affectionate P.R. Brothers, D. G. R., W. H. H.

LETTER VI.

To John Tupper.

I don’t know the date of this doggrel (which gives twenty several rhyme-words in “ack”); it was probably the Spring or Summer of 1850. The men who “would squeeze a pun in Syriac” may probably have been of the James Hannay connexion; the men of that connexion were not, however, entirely likely to indulge in “sloshy tea,” but rather in ardent spirits. As to the nicknames which appear towards the close of the epistle—The Prince was George Tupper; The Baron, his brother Alexander; Spectro-cadaveral Rex, John (or Jack) Tupper; the Maniac, Holman Hunt. It is not worth while expounding (even were it practicable to do so) how these epithets arose. Rossetti was not the inventor of any of them. The reference to “Nature, sky, sun,” &c., suggests that he had been invited to join in a pedestrian excursion—such as the P.R.B.’s and their intimates got up occasionally. In the present instance the party, as we see, was to consist of Holman Hunt, Stephens, and the three Tuppers.

[? April 1850.] 72 Newman Street. Saturday Afternoon.

LETTER VII.

To Margaret Polidori.

The “unlucky pickle” into which my brother had got was that, as the tenant of No. 72 Newman Street decamped without payment of rent, the furniture &c. of Rossetti, who was sub-tenant of a studio there, were under seizure for the tenant’s default. The picture here mentioned was Kate the Queen.

[50 Charlotte Street, London. 1850—? September.]

Dear Aunt Margaret,

Many thanks for your kind gift, which reached me this morning through Mamma. I need scarcely tell you that it comes very àpropos, since I have not come out of the late unlucky pickle without some expense,—or, rather I fear I shall not, since as yet I cannot say I have lost anything, as in any case I should have had to pay my rent to some one. But I fear the bad part is yet to come.

I am glad you liked the sketch of my picture, which is itself in progress. The size is very large—seven feet and a half by four feet. There will thus be plenty of scope to put your present to its use in the procuring models, which I shall proceed to do as soon as I get to work again—that is, I hope, not later than Monday.

I remain, my dear Aunt, Your affectionate nephew, D. G. Rossetti.

LETTER VIII.

To John Tupper.

I cannot now say what Mr. Tupper’s “pet theory” may have been; apparently (from some law of optics) that the real tint of foliage is green, even when the eye sees it of some different colour. The subject of my brother’s picture was to be The Meeting of Dante and Beatrice in the Garden of Eden: but the landscape background which he now painted was finished up years afterwards for a subject of quite another kind, named The Bower-meadow.

High Street, Sevenoaks. Friday evening [October 1850.]

Dear Jack,

Before ever I saw your note to Hunt of this morning, you had already been forcibly recalled to my mind, on arriving here, by the desire that I should be endowed with the privileges that would result from a pet theory of yours. The fact is, between you and me, that the leaves on the trees I have to paint here appear red, yellow, &c., to my eyes; and, as of course I know them on that account to be really of a vivid green, it seems rather annoying that I cannot do them so; my subject shrieking aloud for Spring.

I will not tell you my subject, as I wish to show you the design on my return, having it here at present. I have not seen you for an age, though I marked you among the four or five to be routed out before I left town—after which I was forced at last to bolt o’ the sudden, with my tail between my legs, whereby hang particulars of acute anguish. My canvas is a whopper again, more than seven feet long. Ai! Ai!

Hunt gets on swimmingly—yesterday, indeed, a full inch over the ankles: I myself had to sketch under the canopy of heaven, without a hat, and with my umbrella tied over my head to my buttonhole—a position which, will you oblige me by remembering, I expressly desired should be selected for my statue—(N.B. Trousers turned up). This last item is chiefly to suit Woolner’s ideas of sculpture, should he get the commission. Stephens, being under a course of philosophy, paints in the house. His band is still, however, an inch or so short of Epicurus’s. To-day I began painting on my picture in the Park; and began to profit by the views of the public thereon. One man told another that I was drawing a map, and analysed my outline to that end. One boy was kicked by another for insulting me by doubting that my landscape was meant for a deer. I saw the back of a pair of top boots, and a cut-away coat; Lord Amherst, I was told, was sneaking inside, but he refrained from exposing either his person or his ideas on Art. His house is visited with artists in Egyptian swarms, poor wretch! Hunt remarked—how disagreeable to enter one of your rooms for the purpose of delivering a soliloquy, and find a man there behind an easel; which was bobbish for Hunt.

The cold here is awful when it does not rain, and then the rain is awful. “And what shall guard me but my naked love?”—and a railway rug....

Believe me, dear Jack, Your sincere friend, D. G. Rossetti.

LETTER IX.

To Margaret Polidori.

My brother was now engaged in moving into No. 14 Chatham Place, Blackfriars Bridge—the house in which he remained up to March 1862. It was demolished several years ago.

[38 Arlington Street, Camden Town.] 16 November 1852.

My dear Aunt Margaret,

Many thanks for your kind present, which surprised me here half an hour ago. Nothing could possibly have been more useful to me in moving, as I had no lamp but one whose dilapidated condition only promised to make darkness visible. I shall now bear you in grateful recollection, not only when I look at the lamp, but when the lamp enables me to look at anything else.

My things will be moved to-morrow, and I hope within a few days to be comfortably settled; meanwhile I remain,

My dear Aunt Margaret, Your affectionate nephew, D. G. Rossetti.

LETTER X.

To Madox Brown, Hampstead.

[38 Arlington Street.] 22 November 1852.

My dear Brown,

My beastly foot has hitherto kept me here, but I shall positively go down to Chatham Place to-morrow; if therefore you are inclined to do a charitable action, let me earnestly solicit you to find your way thither, as the arrangement will otherwise be likely to result in mere chaos and catastrophe. I suppose I shall leave here early; but, if you go down straight to Blackfriars a little later, you will be sure to find me there. This, of course, is supposing that you are not at work, in which case pray come if possible.

Yours, D. G. R.

LETTER XI.

To Madox Brown, Hampstead.

“Summat on the Dook” means the poem Wellington’s Funeral.

14 Chatham Place, Blackfriars. 29 November 1852.

My dear Brown,

Hunt, Millais, Stephens, and Deverell, will be here on Thursday evening, not with any reference to exhibition projects, which are likely to result, I believe, in exhibiting nothing but our usual inconsistency. I absented myself from Hunt’s on Friday, but understand that such is the case. I met the fellows at Stephens’ last night, where I invited them for Thursday, and now write to get you; intending also to invite the Seddons, Collins, and perhaps Hannay.

I saw a portrait which Stephens is painting of his father, and which is almost as surprising an advance on former productions as Seddon’s landscape.

I should be immensely glad to see you this evening if you can call in late after the school. Before, I suppose, is impossible, but I am sure to be at home, and can give you half my bed if you like. I am getting my rooms a little in order now; yet I fear they will scarcely be decent by Thursday, as the window seems an endless job.

D. G. R.

I have asked the Seddons for to-night.

P.S.—Do come to-night: to-morrow I am engaged. I have done “summat on the Dook.”

LETTER XII.

To Madox Brown, Hampstead.

As I have said elsewhere, I incline to think that my brother was mistaken in supposing that his sketches had been “kicked out”; at any rate, some water-colours of his were on exhibition.

14 Chatham Place, Blackfriars. [4 December 1852.]

My dear Brown,

I have asked Hannay to come round to-morrow evening. He and you were the only defaulters on Thursday except John Seddon, who it seems is out of town. Can you come in to-morrow instead? Do if you can. I will try and get William also, though I heard last night at Millais’ that he was rather unwell.

What do you think? My sketches are kicked out at that precious place in Pall Mall. I am, of course, more than ever resolved to paint my picture of the pigs. Alas! my dear Brown, we are but too transcendent spirits—far, far in advance of the age. Do not let us bring up this subject to-morrow if Hannay or any one else is present, as it is of no use trumpeting one’s grievances. But do come.

Your friend, Dante G. Rossetti.

LETTER XIII.

To Madox Brown, Hampstead.

“The blessed white eyesore” was the picture Ecce Ancilla Domini, now in the National Gallery.

14 Chatham Place. [1 January 1853.]

My dear Brown,

This blessed afternoon the blessed white eyesore will be finished. Therefore, if you have any last directions about your pictures now in Green’s hands, you had better give them. Yesterday after giving up the Angel’s head as a bad job (owing to William’s malevolent expression) at about one o’clock I took to working it up out of my own intelligence, and got it better by a great deal than it has yet been. I have put a gilt saucer behind his head, which crowns the China-ese character of the picture.

Yours, D. G. R.

LETTER XIV.

To Madox Brown, Hampstead.

14 Chatham Place. [14 January 1853.]

My dear Brown,

I find that the blessed white daub will not be finished before to-morrow evening, but then it will be finished. Green has still got the frame; and herewith I write to him to send for the picture. I suppose your case is not gone yet, but write in order that you may not be in doubt as to my movements. The fact is, I have been very lazy.

Your affectionate D. G. R.

LETTER XV.

To Madox Brown, Hampstead.

Chatham Place, London. Sunday morning. [24 January 1853.]

My dear Brown,

Just as you are gone, it occurs to me that, if in writing to McCracken you mention about the alterations in my picture, it would be better not to call them alterations, as that indicates that the work required amendment, but to leave him to suppose them additions; also not to say that I have done much to the thing, but merely that what I have done is greatly for the better. I do not mean to make any charge for the additional labour, and therefore to let him suppose that I have done too much for nothing would look like undignified enthusiasm.

You will say I am improving when mere diplomacy can make me write all this, so long past bed-time. Good morning.

D. G. R.

LETTER XVI.

To Madox Brown, Hampstead.

“My pupil” must, no doubt, have been Miss Siddal. In the P.S. she figures as “dear G.,” which indicates the pet name “Guggum.” Her drawing from Wordsworth was an illustration of the poem, We are Seven.

Albany Street. ½ past 9 Saturday evening. [29 January 1853.]

My dear Brown,

I am quite vexed with myself for having been away after being the originator in to-day’s invitation; but, after painting till nearly five and warming myself afterwards in the full certainty of abundant time, I ended by being completely set at nought by accursed shoe-strings and other domestic demons which turned up to be attended to before I could leave; and, when at last I got the better of them, behold it wanted but a quarter to six o’clock. My intention was to come and dine and get you to accompany me afterwards to the Photographic Exhibition, whither I had promised to take my pupil on this the last evening of the season. Being baffled of coming to dine, I dined at Chatham Place, went to the Photographic Exhibition, and then came on, still hoping to find you, knowing your intrepidity in late walks. This last chance is missed, however, as fate wills it, and I can only repeat how vexed and apologetic I feel about the matter, and hope to see you some other way soon—

Remaining yours ever, D. G. Rossetti.

P.S.—If you are in London any day, do look in at Chatham Place and see dear G.’s drawings—the one from Wordsworth is very advanced and nearly done.

LETTER XVII.

To Madox Brown, Hampstead.

Holman Hunt’s “moonlight” was for the picture of The Light of the World. Rossetti’s “Giotto’s Dante” was the water-colour of Giotto painting the Portrait of Dante, sold to Mr. John Seddon. I am not sure as to the commissions offered by McCracken of Belfast, and Miller of Liverpool; it does not appear to me that my brother, towards this date, actually pocketed any such sum as £150. The Dante and Beatrice must be the picture (intended but not executed) for which he had lately painted the background at Sevenoaks. Brown’s “School-nights” were at the so-called North London School for Drawing and Modelling. Bateman was a Decorative Artist, Edward Latrobe Bateman, who had gone out to Australia with Woolner, to seek his fortune.

Blackfriars Bridge. [1 March 1853.]

My dear Brown,

I have not seen you for an age. Can you not come down—to give you a long date—on Saturday evening? I will ask Seddon if you like, but shall not do so till I hear from you. I have just come from Hunt’s, who is dreadfully fagged, sitting up all night to paint his moonlight. Now do come. I think you have never seen my Giotto’s Dante here, which I shall not have much longer. Not that I have made any direct use of it as yet, nor am likely to do so just now, as I have got a £150 commission from McC[racken], and am in a fair way to get one from Miller of Liverpool—perhaps a better one. However, I may nail him for the Dante and Beatrice.

I hope I shall see you. I have allowed for all obstacles—both my engagements and your school-nights—and the date is a very long one.

Meanwhile I am Yours most sincerely, Dante G. Rossetti.

I saw the Howitts last night, who have heard of Bateman’s arrival at Melbourne, though not through him; but still nothing of Woolner. Have you heard anything through young W[oolner]?

P.P.S.—Please let me know in your answer (as soon as possible) whether you ever named to McC[racken] anything regarding the prices which I took for those sketches now exhibiting. Ruskin has written him some extravagant praises (though with obtuse accompaniments) upon one of them—I cannot make out which—and McC[racken] seems excited, wanting it, and not knowing (or making believe not to know) that it is sold. I therefore want to be sure whether he is actually acquainted with the price I had; as, in answering him, were I to propose to do him a similar one, I should not think of undertaking it at anything like a similar price, and want to know whether it is necessary to specify that those sketches were sold to friends.

LETTER XVIII.

To Madox Brown, Hampstead.

This is a characteristic epistle. The Mr. T. here mentioned (I use a fancy initial) was not a genius, but there was no real occasion for dubbing him “an ass.” Brown did not produce the proposed etching.

[Chatham Place, London. 4 May 1853.]

My dear Brown,

There is such a thing as one T., who is connected with a magazine to be called The Artist, on which my brother is engaged, and the first number of which is to come out, I think, on 1st July. The proprietor is Delf, publisher of Read’s poems, and this T. is rather a card among the staff. I met him casually to-day, and he told me that Millais (who had engaged if possible to do the etching for No. 1) found himself prevented by other business, and he asked me whether I thought you would undertake it. I understand they have plenty of tin to begin with, and I suppose would of course pay well. We agreed that T. had better call on you and come to some understanding, and he wanted me to get you to name a day when he could call at Hampstead. If you will let me know I will let him know.... The chief thing is, to lay it on thick as to payment, as I believe they really have tin. T. is, of course, an ass, and should on principle be treated with ignominy.

Remember me kindly to Mrs. Brown, and let me hear from you.

Yours most sincerely, D. G. Rossetti.

LETTER XIX.

To Madox Brown, Hampstead.

“Lizzy” is Miss Siddal. Her portrait, water-colour, is the one reproduced in the Family Letters of my brother. She painted eventually more than one water-colour from Tennyson, but not any that was exhibited, or offered for exhibition, in the R.A.

[Chatham Place, London. 25 August 1853.]

My dear Brown,

Some cad wrote to me from Highgate the other day to inquire after your respectability. In my answer, by some exercise of ingenuity, I avoided the mention of Coldbath Fields, Botany Bay, and other localities equally inseparable from your career.

Lizzy has made a perfect wonder of her portrait, which is nearly done, and which I think we shall send to the Winter Exhibition. She has been very ill though lately.

Pray remember me most kindly at home, and believe me

Your friend, D. G. R.

Liz is going to begin a picture at once for the R.A., from Tennyson, I believe.

LETTER XX.

To Madox Brown, Hampstead.

I am unable to say anything to the purpose about Brown’s “Hogarthian Sonnets.”

The joke about “the nigger” was a sort of offshoot from Carlyle’s Occasional Discourse on the Nigger Question, a pronouncement which vastly amused my brother and several others in our set.

[Chatham Place, London. 24 September 1853.]

My dear Brown,

I shall be most glad to accept your invite for Sunday, to Finchley viâ Hampstead, and shall try at once for William, who I am sure will have equal pleasure if not pre-engaged—but these men of society!

The Hogarthian sonnets have great excellencies, especially the last; but they also present a few obscurities to which Browning alone might perhaps serve as a sort of introductory horn-book. Speaking of horn reminds me that like Desdemona I am “half asleep,” and must to bed. By the by, that play tends to show how the nigger, without due coercion, takes merely to beating his wife, and perhaps ends by choking her as an outlet for his waste energies.

I shall come on Sunday to Hampstead with or without William, at about three or half-past, and will bring the sonnets with me, and then go fully into them with you.

Meanwhile and ever I am your D. G. R.

LETTER XXI.

Gabriele Rossetti To Dante Rossetti. (Translation.)

The Arpa Evangelica was a volume of religious lyrics by my father, then recently published.

“My friend Di Negro” was the Marchese Gian Carlo di Negro, a Genoese patrician of good literary standing—known to my father by correspondence, not in person.

Frome. 4 October 1853.

My dearest Gabriel,

For some while past I have been feeling a strong impulse to write to you, my dearly beloved son; and to-day I will obey this imperious inner voice.

I am glad that you have undertaken to read the Arpa Evangelica.... You should, however, always bear in mind that this book is the outcome of only three months’ work, and was written with the intention of its being amenable to every grade of intelligence.

I am extremely pleased at the progress which you are making in your beautiful art, and at some profits which you are earning from it to maintain yourself with decorum in society. Remember, my dearly loved son, that you have only your abilities to rely upon for your welfare. Remember that you were born with a marked propensity, and that, from your earliest years, you made us conceive the brightest hopes that you would become a great painter. And such you will be, I am certain.

At this moment I have received a letter from Genoa, from my friend Di Negro. He rejoices at the arrival of the Arpa.... He says that throughout Piedmont, and in Liguria and Sardinia, it is well received and generally admired; but that in the other parts of Italy the governments prohibit its entry, on account of the author’s name, which has become a veritable scarecrow to Kings. If you had to go to Italy, I would recommend you, my dear son, always to call yourself Dante Rossetti. But, before a time comes for that, I trust that affairs will have changed.

I beg you to go frequently to visit your worthy grandfather. What an excellent old man!...

Good-bye, my most lovable Gabriel, and believe in the constant affection of

Your affectionate father, Gabriele Rossetti.

P.S.—I perceive I have not spoken to you at all about the state of my health. And what can I say of it? It is the same as it was in London; betwixt life and death, but more tending to the latter than the former.

LETTER XXII.

Dante Rossetti to Madox Brown, Hampstead.

My brother’s parody on Tennyson’s Kraken is published in my Memoir of him.

[Chatham Place, London. 7 November 1853.]

My dear Brown,

... I have had some news of Woolner (i.e., a letter to his father which was shown me). He and B[ernhard] Smith were seven months at the diggings (full accounts of which I have seen in letters from Bernhard Smith to his brother). Their work seems to have been something awful, and their result was the loss of £30 apiece, as they each made £50 and spent £80. Bernhard Smith went after this to his brother’s farm and W[oolner] to Melbourne to try Art. Here he seems to be getting on well. He has done several medallions at £25 each—one of the Governor—and there seems to be a good prospect of his getting a statue of the Queen to do for Melbourne, in which case he will be back again next summer. He sent two Australian papers in which he is spoken of as quite a great fact, and a leading article given to him and the projected statue. I thought I would write to you all this, not knowing when I may see you, and now it suddenly strikes me that it was all jawed over that night at Deverell’s.

I have made an admirable parody on Tennyson’s sonnet, The Kraken, which I enclose with the original for your ecstatic perusal.

Yours, D. G. R.

LETTER XXIII.

Gabriele Rossetti To Dante Rossetti— Translation.

The phrase “I can’t write clearer” may deserve a moment’s attention. The fact is that my Father’s handwriting was from the first singularly precise and perfect, and such it continued to the last. In the years when his sight had grievously declined he used powerful glasses, and his writing was minute and done with effort, but (with some casual exceptions) it was always uncommonly good. The present letter, though an inferior specimen, is nearly as clear as print.

Frome. 22 December 1853.

My much-loved son Gabriel,

Long have I been thinking of sending you a letter, and I never do it.

Have you read more of the Arpa Evangelica? Your opinion is valued by me; tell me then something about it, besides what you have already said.

Excuse me, my dear son, I can’t write clearer—and I fear that shortly I shall be unable to write at all. My blindness increases daily, nay hourly.

We shall return to London on the 25th of March, and we return for ever. I trust to find in good health you, my dearest son, and your brother and your sister Maria. And you will rejoice in again seeing dear Christina, and your aged Father, who will soon go under-ground with beloved Polidori. I learned with pleasure that you and William and Maria all assisted at his last moments. Dearest Father-in-law and friend, how much did I love you!

Be heedful of your profession, dearly beloved son, and let the public see what you are capable of.

Your loving father, Gabriele Rossetti.

LETTER XXIV.

Dante Rossetti to Madox Brown, Hampstead.

Mr. Holman Hunt’s “day of departure” was for his journey to Egypt and Palestine.

I believe that Hannay’s proposed Magazine The Pen did actually run through a few numbers, but Rossetti’s Burden of Nineveh did not appear in it.

[Chatham Place, London. 3 January 1854.]

My dear Brown,

I am sorry my letter miscarried, as it prevented your coming and meeting Hunt, whom I asked after writing to you. His day of departure was then fixed for the next day, and now it is to be to-morrow, but one does not know whether it will be so after all. Till he is fairly off I will not fix an evening for coming to Hampstead, as it might possibly interfere with some opportunity of meeting him. My water-colour is still, to MacCrac, “vague as the watery moon.” I have no news. Lizzy sits by me at work on her design, which is now coming really admirable. She has also finished the Lady of Shalott sketch, and made quite another thing of it. She has followed your suggestion about her portrait, and done several things which improve it greatly. Hannay is going to start a penny weekly mag., to be called The Pen, and wants to have my poem about Nineveh for it. I suppose I shall give it him. I some time back gave Sister Helen to Mrs. Howitt for some English edition of a German something or other, which will be coming out now. No more news.

Good-bye. Your D. G. R.

LETTER XXV.

To Madox Brown, Finchley.

“Emma” was the second Mrs. Madox Brown. The Dr. Wilkinson here mentioned was Garth Wilkinson, an eminent Homœopathist, Editor of Blake’s Songs of Innocence and Experience, etc.

The picture by Miss Anna Mary Howitt at the Portland Gallery was Gretchen at the Fountain. My brother, in saying that Miss Howitt had been “kicking up quite a great row” with this picture, only meant that the work had been much noticed and admired. The statement that Miller (John Miller of Liverpool) had bought Deverell’s As You Like It is only one of several references to Walter Howell Deverell, and his then recent death, occurring in these letters to Madox Brown. The other references, being more appropriate in another connexion, are omitted here. The As You Like It was a picture from Shakespeare’s play—the mock marriage of Orlando and Rosalind.

[Chatham Place, London. 30 March 1854.]

My dear Brown,

What has become of you? You were not well when I last saw you, nor I believe was Emma. I have been meditating Finchley for a long while, but have never been able to get there. So would you write me a word to say that you are both better, and to make, if possible, some kind of arrangement for us to meet. Lizzy and I would be very glad if you could both fix an evening to come here,—only I fear a bed upstairs would not be possible, as those rooms are taken.

Lizzy has been very unwell lately. I have introduced her to the Howitts, and we have spent several evenings there. They are quite fond of her, and most delighted with her productions. I have also brought her and my sister Christina together, as our family are now in London again.

The Howitts insisted on Lizzy’s seeing a Dr. Wilkinson, a friend of theirs, and I believe an eminent man. He finds that the poor dear has contracted a curvature of the spine, and says she ought not to paint at present; but this, of course, she must. He says her case is a very anxious but by no means a hopeless one. You know, I suppose, that Miss Howitt has been kicking up quite a great row with her picture at the Portland Gallery. Miller has bought poor Deverell’s As You Like It for 50 guineas.

Lizzy is sitting by me working at the most poetical of all possible designs, and sends her love to both Emma and you.

Yours affectionately, D. G. Rossetti.

LETTER XXVI.

To Madox Brown, Finchley.

Miss Barbara Leigh Smith became after a while Mrs. Bodichon—a name held in high and deserved honour by persons interested in the cause which she served with lifelong zeal and liberality—the advancement of women. She was also a landscape-painter of considerable gift.

[Chatham Place, London.] Wednesday [? 1854.]

Dear Brown,

Dear Lizzy is very unwell indeed, and I think on Saturday I shall probably be taking her down to Hastings, for her to stay there some time at a place that Barbara Smith, who has got quite thick with her, has recommended as cheap and nice. Barbara Smith, the Howitts, and Dr. Wilkinson, are all enraptured with the dear. I mean to show her productions to Ruskin, who was here again this morning, and who I know will worship her.

Will you come on Tuesday? or sooner and better on Friday.

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