Dante Gabriel Rossetti

VOL. II.



  Dante Gabriel Rossetti

HIS FAMILY-LETTERS



WITH A MEMOIR

BY

WILLIAM MICHAEL ROSSETTI



VOL. II.

AMS PRESS

NEW YORK

 

---

• Letters A.—To Charlotte Lydia Polidori:— pp. 3, 4, 34, 35, 36, 37,
  
  46, 82, 86, 91, 100-2-10-32-4-6-43-4-8-50-1-9-74-85, 227-37, 315-26-30.

• Letters B.—To Francis Mary Lavinia Rossetti:— pp. 5, 10, 12, 16,
  
  19, 30, 32, 43, 85, 97, 99, 101-6-7-8-11-6-26-37-43-7-53-5-8-60-5-8-9-70,
  
  172-3-7-9-81-4-5-7-9-92-3-7, 200-1-6-23-4-6-8-30-1-4-7-40-50-5-63-71-83,
  
  287-9-91-4-6, 300-3-7-8-11-3-5-7-9-20-1-4-7-9-31-3-6-7-8-43-4-7-9-50-1,
  
  352-5-7-8-60-2-4-5-7-71-7-9-81-5-6-7-9-90-1.

• Letters C.—To William Michael Rossetti:— pp. 7, 23, 27, 31, 39, 40,
  
  44, 48, 52, 54, 55, 60, 62, 71, 83, 90, 92, 93, 94, 97, 98, 103-4-25-7-8-30,
  
  131-5-6-45-6-8-52-4-5-7-8-61-4-6-8-9-71-3-6-8-92-3-4-5-6-9, 204-7-11-3,
  
  214-8-20-1-2-8-9-30-2-3-6-45-7-8-9-51-2-4-6-8-9-61-2-4-5-6-7-9-70-2-3-4,
  
  275-6-7-8-9-80-2-6-90-3-5-9, 300-1-2-5-6-9-13-4-5-6-7-8-21-5-32-44-5-6,
  
  347-8-9-54-5-6-7-9-60-3-4-8-9-71-6-7-9-80-1-2-7-8-90-3.

• Letter D.—To Gaetano Polidori . . . . . . p. 20

• Letters E.—To Gabriele Rossetti . . . pp. 22, 26, 114-22

• Letters F.—To Christina Georgina Rossetti:— pp. 82, 95, 119-62-3,
  
  171-83, 224, 322-37-53-61-7-83-6-92-4-5.

• Letters G.—To Henry Francis Polydore . . pp. 181, 243, 340-2

• Letters H.—To Lucy Madox Rossetti . pp. 310-2-39-56-66-9-70-2-3

 

---

• I. Frances M.L. Rossetti (Polidori), 1854. BY
  
  D.G. Rossetti . . . . . . . Frontispiece
• II. Facsimile of D.G. Rossetti's Writing . . After p. viii
• III. William M. Rossetti, 1847. By the Same . . To face p. 39
• IV. Charlotte L. Polidori, 1853. By the Same . ,, 117
• V. Henry F. Polydore, 1855. By the Same . . ,, 181
• VI. Lucy M. Rossetti (Brown), 1874. By the Same . ,, 312

     

• Page 3, line 2, for fifteenth read fourteenth
• 
  
   ,, 34 ,, 14, after may have been add the most probable is Theodore von Holst
• 
  
   ,, 53 ,, 10 from bottom, after grave add.
• 
  
   ,, ,, ,, 8 from bottom, for that readthe
• 
  
   ,, 56 ,, last, after day add.
• 
  
   ,, 57 ,, 7, for nearly read merely
• 
  
   ,, 73 ,, last, after this add —
• 
  
   ,, 77 ,, 18, after strong add ;
• 
  
   ,, 104 ,, 10 from bottom, for then I think already read soon afterwards
• 
  
   ,, 123, head-line, for 1853 read 1854
• 
  
   ,, 183, line last, for I have not any distinct idea read it was probably one named
• 
  
  Husband and Wife
• 
  
   ,, 184 ,, 16, for ead read dead
• 
  
   ,, 185 ,, 5, after Christina add (but there was a crayon-head in September 1866)
• 
  
   ,, 188 ,, 17, after Beatrice dele ;
• 
  
   ,, 210 ,, last, for phras read phrase
• 
  
   ,, 272 ,, 8 from bottom, before 99 add C
• 
  
   ,, 274 ,, 9 from bottom, for o. read of
• 
  
   ,, 287 ,, 8, before Letter of 27 March 1873 add B 63
• 
  
   ,, 302 ,, 10, for 1892 read 1893
• 
  
   ,, 352 ,, 5 from bottom, for 564 read 344
• 
  
   ,, 380 ,, 1, after language add .
• 
  
   ,, 391 head-line, for 1881 read 1882

THE FAMILY-LETTERS

OF

DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI.





 

---

         

[50 Charlotte Street, Portland Place, London.]

1 February 1842.

My Dear Aunt Charlotte,

I send you twelve drawings for the Bazaar, which I hope will not arrive too late for admission. Julian Peveril, the Turk, the Pygmy, the Brigand, Barnaby Rudge, the Butterfly, the Huntsman, the Harp, and the Shamrock, are

copies. Quentin Durward, the Highlander, and the Dandy, are originals. The Huntsman and the Highlander are intended for Fitzjames and Roderick Dhu, from The Lady of the Lake.

I should have drawn some more, for I have remaining three cards and two pieces of cardboard; but I was fearful that they should reach you too late.

I hope that, should you answer this letter, you will favour me with a “full, true, and particular account” of the proceedings, how many and which of my drawings were sold, and the price which they fetched.

Having nothing more to say, I remain,

My dear Aunt Charlotte,

Your affectionate Nephew,

Gabriel C. Rossetti.

P.S.—The Harp (but this is a strict secret) is copied off a halfpenny.

         

[50 Charlotte Street.]

Thursday 2 June 1842.

My Dear Aunt Charlotte,

Perhaps you remember that, one day when you were admiring the drawings which I sent to the Bazaar, I said that I would draw you one. In fulfilment of this promise I send you the accompanying figure, hoping that it will meet with your approbation. It is pronounced by every one to be the

best figure I have ever drawn, and I trust that such will also be your opinion. It is intended as an illustration of the following verses by Sir Walter Scott:—

The Cavalier.

• “While the dawn on the mountain was misty and grey
• My true love has mounted his steed and away:
• Over hill, over valley, o'er dale and o'er down,
• Heaven shield the brave gallant that fights for the Crown!”

---

P.S.—Mamma sends you her love, and wishes me to tell you that she has just been talking to Papa of procuring a music-master for Maria, and that he says he will see about it(?).

P.P.S.—The figure is entirely original.

         

Chalfont-St.-Giles.

Thursday 1 September 1842.

My Dear Mamma,

We arrived safely at Chalfont at 12 o'clock yesterday. The village is larger than I expected. The first thing we did

on our arrival was to demolish some bread and butter, of which I at least was much in want. We then, with considerable difficulty, opened Uncle Henry's trunks, and, after depositing a part of their contents in a chest of drawers, we sallied forth to reconnoitre. I saw Milton's house, which is unquestionably the ugliest and dirtiest building in the whole village. It is now occupied by a tailor. . . .

Yesterday I commenced reading The Infidel's Doom, by Dr. Birch, which valuable work forms part and parcel of Uncle Henry's library. However, I have abandoned the task in despair. I then began The Castle of Otranto, which shared the same fate, and am now engaged on Defoe's History of the Plague. This morning we deposited Uncle Henry's books (exclusive of the law books, which are in the parlour) in a closet in Uncle Henry's bedroom, which, in common with all the other closets in this house, possesses a lock but no key.

I do not think that I shall go to church on Sunday, for in the first place I do not know where I can sit, and in the second place I find that we are so stared at wherever we go that I do not much relish the idea of sitting for two hours the lodestone of attraction in the very centre of the aborigines, on whose minds curiosity appears to have taken a firm hold.

I have just had some luncheon, of which however Uncle Henry did not partake, asserting that he was unwell, and would take some pills for his luncheon. Milk is an extremely rare article here; so much so that it was with great difficulty that we obtained a pint this morning and half a pint yesterday, and it still remains in doubt whether we shall be able to procure half a pint this evening for tea. I “in longing expectation wait” the appearance of my dinner; for which however I need not yet look, since it is now nearly 3 o'clock, which is the nominal dinner-hour, but, the fire having gone out, Uncle Henry prophesies that it will not come till 4.

I remain, dear Mamma,

Your affectionate Son,

Gabriel Rossetti.

P.S.—I intend to make, for Maria's accommodation, a sketch of the church, which I think pretty, but which Uncle Henry condemns as exceedingly flat and ugly.

P.P.S.—I am sure that by this time you must be tormenting yourself because I forgot to take a Prayer-Book; however, you may set your mind at rest on that subject, since Uncle Henry's Swearing-book combines both Bible and Prayer- Book, out of which I can read the Psalms and Lessons on Sunday in case I stay at home.

         

[50 Charlotte Street.]

Wednesday evening, 28 December 1842.

My Dear William,

I took up my pen, fully intending to commence by hoping that you found yourself comfortable at Chalfont-St.- Giles; but I rejected the idea almost as soon as formed, for sad experience has taught me that over the portal of

“the lawyer” (to make use of a Philippic expression) might well be inscribed, in the words of the poet, “All hope abandon, ye who enter here.” I make no enquiries as to the particulars of your sufferings and agony both in the 7 1/2 miles' walk to, and in the residence at, said Chalfont. I do not ask how you relished the “odours of Edom” which emanate (at least according to Uncle Henry) from your downy couch. . . . I do not, I say, ask all this, because I know that I shall have an opportunity of receiving answers to these enquiries, and as many more as I please to make, within a short time after you have perused this precious epistle. I would not mind staking any sum, if I had any sum to stake (for Heaven knows my Christmas-box has been long since landed safely on the classic shores of pot), that you and our mutual relative have ere this had recourse for amusement to the pages of Horace or Virgil. With the former the above-mentioned relative has disgusted me by constantly showing me that he does understand it, and then telling me that I do not. Of the latter we have my favourite poet's opinion—

• “That Virgil's songs are good, except that horrid one
• Beginning with Formosum pastor Corydon.”

So said Byron—so say not I. The Eclogue which he seems to dislike is the very one by construing which from beginning to end (having learnt it at school in capacity of an imposition) I can defeat the malice of Uncle Henry when he defies me so to do.

I have already told you that my Christmas-box has taken up its residence at pot. I will now proceed to acquaint you with the means by which it found its way to that “undiscovered country from whose bourne no traveller returns.” To you probably this will be interesting news—to Uncle Henry it will be one continued nuisance. I well know his abhorrence of a long list of purchases.

I will begin, then, with the prints I have bought for my Waverley Novels—viz., a proof of The Pass of Aberfoil— Stand, which you already know, and for which I gave 9 d.;

Leslie's Charles and Lady Bellenden, and McIvor and the Grey Spirit (1 s. 6 d. the couple); Sir W. Scott in his study (4 d.); a splendid engraving of The Fortress, which I suppose to be the Fortress of Man in Peveril (6 d.); Gilbert's Richard trampling on the Austrian Flag, which, on a second inspection, I find to be not nearly so good as I expected, but which is nevertheless very good, like everything of Gilbert's (1 d.); and lastly, Warren's Escape, from the Protestant Annual, which I intend to introduce into The Pirate, and of which, as well as of The Widow Maclure's Son, plenty of copies are to be had at the Publisher's in Oxford Street. I have purchased a proof of The Shipwreck in Don Juan, which you already know, and which I got (at Palser's) for 1 s., the original price being 1 s. 6 d.; also (at Reynolds's) a print of The Widow by Boxall (2 d.); also a scene in the Merry Wives of Windsor, which I have put into my Shakespear (3 d.). I have likewise procured 4 parts of the Shakespear itself. I had almost forgotten to tell you of one more purchase which I have made—viz., A Shillingsworth of Nonsense, by the editors of Punch, which you have no doubt seen, and which is indeed a shillingsworth of the vilest twaddle that was ever written down. It possesses however one redeeming quality which, in my eyes at least, more than compensates for all its defects—it contains 48 splendid wood-engravings by Phiz.

So much for every one of my purchases, so much for every farthing of my money, and so much for almost every syllable of my letter; except that Mamma and all send you their loves, and that Dr. Locock, whom we visited again this morning, says that I must not recommence my studies till after New Year's Day; and so

Believe me,

My dear William,

Yours affectionately,

G. Rossetti.

P.S.—I forgot to tell you that, if you want to get splendid prints dirt-cheap, now's your time. Reynolds told me that

he would have (to-morrow most probably) a set of Finden's engravings (either the Tableaux or the series of Groups from Different Nations; I believe the latter) for rather more than three shillings! I intended to have bought them myself, only I found after I had bought the Shakespear that my pockets were a vacuum.

         

50 Charlotte Street.

Sunday 2 June 1843.

My Dear Mamma,

“Better late than never,” as the cat said to the kitten when the latter relinquished the Wellington boot in despair. And now, having sent preliminaries to pot in one pithy and well-concocted sentence, I shall proceed forthwith to news.

Yesterday Aunt Margaret, William, and myself, betook ourselves in the afternoon to 15 Park Village East, having been thereunto invited. The first thing I did on my arrival was to enter the office of Uncle Henry. The air therein was

however so suffocating, owing to the press of clients, that I effected a hasty retreat, leaving William to the full enjoyment of the black hole of Calcutta. I then proceeded to the parlour, where I dawdled about till teatime. . . .

I finished yesterday the first volume of Ten Thousand a Year, the commencement of which, as Aunt Margaret intends to testify in her next epistle, is very unpromising. As it proceeds however it becomes splendid; and, having completed the volume, I laid it down with the impression that it was equal to Dickens. To-morrow I hope to begin the second volume. William is also perusing Charles O'Malley, which he finds very entertaining.

Dr. Heimann has called several times since your departure, and testifies great interest in Papa's health. He was here yesterday to give us our lesson. He intends to take us out with him, and will write a note to fix the day. He surveyed our libraries, and was glad to see that Maria possessed Keble, which he has read, and admires exceedingly (!) Mr. Leader called to-day; and, on hearing that Papa was in the country, seemed pleased, and asked us for his address, which we gave him. The visits of enquiring friends since your disappearance have been so numerous that it would be impossible to remember them. Suffice it to say that all the “amici” small and great have been here. Sangiovanni says that he intends to write(!) The Cavaliere wishes that your correspondence was more voluminous, and says that the Signora Carlotta, having nothing else to do, should write letters ad infinitum.

I have nearly finished studying the bones, and my next drawing will most probably be an anatomy-figure.

Everybody at 15 Park Village East and at 50 Charlotte Street sends his or her love to everybody at 9 High Street, Hastings. And so, having nothing more to say,

Believe me,

My dear Mamma,

Your affectionate Son,

Gabriel Rossetti.          

50 Charlotte Street.7 July 1843.

My Dear Mamma,

On Monday last (the first day of opening) I visited the exhibition at Westminster Hall of the cartoons for decorating the New Houses of Parliament. When I say cartoons I mean of course the large drawings executed in chalks which are afterwards to be painted in fresco on the walls. It is indeed a splendid sight; by far the most interesting exhibition in fact at which I have ever been, more so even than the Royal Academy. The tout ensemble on first entrance is most imposing. The figures are, almost without exception, as large as life, and in many instances considerably larger; added to which Westminster Hall is of itself a most magnificent structure. The subjects are taken chiefly from English history, and a great part of them relate to the times of the ancient Britons and the introduction of Christianity. A full third of the exhibition (not to say more) is occupied by subjects from Milton. There are also a great many from Shakespear and Spenser, a few foreign subjects, and one or two national allegories. Scriptural subjects were I believe excluded; however that may be, not one has made its appearance on the walls. The plan of the exhibition was as follows: Whatever cartoons were sent in (so long as they belonged to the class of subjects specified in the prospectuses— viz., history or some great English author) the Committee promised to exhibit them; and, in proof of the strict manner in which they have kept their word, a quantity of abominations have been hung up which are a disgrace to British Art,

and to exclude which it appears to me that the Committee should have deviated from the general rule. There is one especially, representing the signing of Magna Charta, which I am convinced must either be the work of some child of six or seven years old, or else that it must have been sent in by somebody for a joke, to prove to what lengths the Committee would go in keeping their engagement. But to return to the regulations. All the cartoons having been sent in and hung up in Westminster Hall, a day was set apart, previous to the exhibition being opened to the public, in order that the Committee, with Mr. Eastlake at their head, might take a private view, and decide upon those which were to receive the prizes. Accordingly on the day when I went, which was, as I have before stated, the first day of the exhibition, the fortunate competitors were already known. I forgot to say that it was one of the rules that every cartoon should be accompanied on sending in by the artist's name, but that only those of the successful candidates should be published in the printed catalogue. Thus I was only able to recognize a few of the rejected, either by the style being known to me or by the reports of others. The prizes are universally acknowledged to have been most justly awarded. There is only one which appears to me an exception to this rule, and this one is, I am sorry to say, no other than Mr. Severn's. The subject is Queen Elinor sucking the Poison from her Husband's Arm. It is almost completely wanting in expression; which can however scarcely be avoided, as the artist has been so injudicious as too choose the moment when Edward becomes insensible. The drawing is generally good, but this also is in some parts sadly defective. Mr. Cary has exhibited one, the subject of which is from Spenser. It possesses considerable merit, but not enough to receive a prize.

I will now mention a few of those which particularly elicited my admiration. The three which are perhaps generally thought the most of are: The Landing of Julius Cæsar in Britain and his Opposition by the Natives , by Armitage; Caractacus led captive through the Streets of Rome, by Watts; and Boadicea

addressing her Army before her last Battle with the Romans , by Selous. Among these, that which I like the best, and indeed more than any other in the exhibition, is the Caractacus, the artist of which, a young man by name Watts, has been, ever since he took to the arts, struggling with the greatest poverty. He is however as good as he is talented, and has been for many years, in spite of his miserable circumstances, the sole support of his mother. Good fortune has however found him out at last in the shape of a £300 prize, which will be followed by much greater remuneration as soon as his picture (of which, as I said before, the cartoon is but a rough sketch) shall have been painted. All this I learnt from one of the models who sat to him, and with whom he agreed that, if his cartoon gained a prize, he (Watts) would pay the model three times the usual sum, but that, if it was rejected, he should not be considered in any way his debtor, since it was utterly impossible that he should pay, owing to the wretched state of his finances. The model will now reap a rich harvest from the £300 prize.

I find that I have not room to dilate any further on the merits of the individual cartoons, as I had intended, and so I must finish with a few general remarks. Taken on the whole, this exhibition may be considered as a proof that High Art and high talent are not confined to the Continent. The common accusation brought against British painters cannot be brought forward here with any show of reason. The accusation to which I allude is that the English clothe their figures too much; that they conceal their ignorance of anatomy by working up satin and jewels and cloth of gold to the highest state of finish; and thus, by forcing the spectator as it were to admire these outside ornaments, cause him to overlook the want of correct drawing. Here, however, such artifices are utterly out of the question. In the first place, the absence of colour renders it impossible that such stratagems should be resorted to; and in the second place, the subjects (principally taken from Milton and the early English history) make the naked figure positively necessary,

and thus cut off effectually any such means of escape. There is also another very gratifying feature in this exhibition. Almost all the successful competitors are young men who now appear for the first time before the public, thus directly giving the lie to the vile snarling assertion that British Art is slowly but surely falling, never more to rise. After the first fortnight (during which the price of admission is one shilling) the exhibition will be opened gratuitously—a step which, it is feared, will prove somewhat rash on the part of the Committee, as they have not an Italian public to deal with but an English one.

I shall now relinquish this topic, fearing that I may perhaps have tired you, although it is so interesting to me that I can scarcely imagine that it is not equally so to everybody else. I will now proceed to what little other news I have in store.

I have, since I wrote last, drawn some more bones, as well as an entire skeleton. I am now engaged on an outline of the Hercules. There have been two meetings of the Sketching Club since your departure, for which I have made three drawings, one of which was the Death of Marmion , and the other two were of the same subject—viz., The old Soldier relating his battles to the Parson, from The Deserted Village. One of the two which I made for this subject is the most finished and perhaps the best pen-and-ink drawing which I have ever executed. I have given them both to the Cavaliere, who seemed to like them very much. The next subject is to be the Parting of two Lovers, unspecified and indefinite, which I intend to treat in several different manners, and to get up in prime style.

I have just finished Ten Thousand a Year, which is indeed one of the most splendid works (not to say the most splendid) which I ever read. It is a most interesting story, and evidently written by a religious person. It relates almost entirely to a series of law proceedings (not, however, dry and disgusting ones), in which the author seems so much at home that I am convinced he must belong to the profession which

has “proved a step-mother” to Uncle Henry. . . . Will you give my love to Papa with thanks for all his kind messages? After which having no more to say,

Believe me,

My dear Mamma,

Your affectionate Son,

Gabriel C.D. Rossetti.          

50 Charlotte Street.

14 August 1843.

My Dear Mamma,

We received this morning Papa's letter of the 12th, which caused us, as you may well imagine, the greatest pleasure. Dr. Heimann, however, who came to-day to give

us our lesson (not having been able to do so on Saturday), was much concerned on hearing of Papa's intention to leave Paris so soon, since he fears that a London winter may be productive of a relapse. He strongly recommended us on this account to prevent, if possible, so early a return. Dr. Heimann has manifested throughout a great interest in Papa's health.

You wish me to inform you of my progress in drawing, and of the time at which I hope to become a student of the Academy. Upon the first point I answer that I have finished the outline of the Hercules, and drawn the anatomy- figure. I am now engaged on a finished drawing of the Antinous, which, supposing it to prove good enough, I may perhaps send in to the Academy. The next opportunity for so doing will be at Christmas, when I may probably try, though certainly not unless I feel sure of success, for a rejection is a thing I should by no means relish. Besides this there are other matters to be attended to; for, even granted that in the first instance I am admitted, still this is not all. Every successful candidate is required to execute a second drawing, in order to prove that the merit of the first is entirely his own. Added to which he must make drawings of the anatomy-figure and of the skeleton, in any of which if he fail he ceases to be a student; and very few have the courage to venture on a second trial after the disgrace of a rejection. Having considered these things, I shall certainly decline making the attempt at Christmas unless by that time I shall be fully competent to the ordeal; my knowledge of anatomy, in spite of my efforts at improvement, being at present less than imperfect. I intend to commence drawing at home from those casts which I possess, and thus endeavour to get into the habit of working without assistance of any kind. For this purpose I shall want an easel, since I have lately been so accustomed to use one that I find it impossible now to draw otherwise. It is a thing that I must have sooner or later, and it is not so expensive as I supposed, since I find that a very decent one can be got for five shillings.

The Sketching Club continues, and I derive great improvement from it. The subjects I have drawn since I last wrote to you are: The Parting of Two (indefinite) Lovers , for which I made no less than six different drawings, which may perhaps take rank as my best sketches; The Death of Virginia , which, being lazy, I am ashamed to confess I copied from Pistrucci; and Orlando and Adam in the Forest , which I have prepared for the day after to-morrow, being the next club-day. It will then be my turn to propose the new subject, and I have fixed upon Minotti firing the Train from the Siege of Corinth.

The Illustrated Scrap-book continues swimmingly. It improves with every number. Of the number on which William and myself are at present employed I am particularly proud. It contains some of my choicest specimens of sketching. Its pages are likewise adorned with two poetic effusions by Christina, the one entitled Rosalind and the other Corydon's Resolution, both of which are very good, especially the latter, which elicited the warm admiration of Dr. Heimann. Maria has also authorized me to insert in the victorious Scrap-book her Vision of Human Life, originally written for the fallen Hodge-podge, the ”weekly efforts” contained in which have I fear given their last gasp, since not a single perfect number has appeared since your departure.

William has written an enormous quantity of Ulfred the Saxon, which increases in interest as it proceeds. His description of the battle of Hastings and death of Harold is acknowledged by every one to be excellent.

I have not written anything new lately except a third chapter of Sorrentino ; an unfortunate work, the tribulations whereof have been so many and so great that, if the approbation of others were the only encouragement to an author to continue his literary labours, the romance in question would long since have found its way behind the grate. The new chapter has not been more fortunate than its predecessors, since Maria eschews it and obstinately refuses to hear it, under the impression that it is “horrible”. No one however pretends to deny that it is my chef-d'œuvre, an opinion in

which I hope you will coincide after having perused it. The charge of indecency can no longer be laid upon the former portion with any show of reason, since I have purged and purified it most effectually, and burnt up the chaff with unquenchable fire. On the completion of this work I intend offering it to some publisher, for, defying all accusations of vanity and self-esteem, I cannot help considering that it is equal to very many of the senseless productions which daily issue from the press.

I have finished reading Earnest Maltravers, which is indeed a splendid work. I also began Alice, or The Mysteries, but could get no further than the first two or three chapters, so stupid did I find it. As to the indecent books which you speak of in your last letter to me (and of which report I find that Aunt Margaret was the origin), I am completely in the dark, since I have not read a single volume, except those of which I have spoken to you, from the day of your departure up to the time at which she wrote. I really wish that Aunt Margaret would refrain from circulating such falsehoods.— On enquiry I have succeeded in eliciting that the origin of all this was my having hinted at a vague intention of purchasing at some indefinite period the works of Shelley—which I should peruse solely on account of the splendid versification, and not from any love of his atheistical sentiments.

---

         

6 Rue De La Coupe, Boulogne-Sur-Mer.

20 October 1843.

Dear Mamma,

I arrived here yesterday a little before six, after having suffered considerably during the voyage. Fortunately for me the weather has suddenly become fine, after having been very rough for a considerable time. I like Boulogne exceedingly, but I am, if possible, yet more pleased with the Maenza family. They are some of the kindest people I ever knew. I find that Peppino's tastes coincide in every respect with mine. He draws splendidly, and is very fond of poetry, especially Byron.

---

         

6 Rue De La Coupe, Boulogne.

Thursday 26 October 1843.

My Dear Grandfather,

It is now exactly a week since I arrived in Boulogne. I like the place exceedingly. The views are most beautiful,

and the sailors and fishermen, with their wives and children, extremely picturesque. . . .

My gigantic literary pursuits . . . have prompted me to write a new Romance, which I have already commenced, and which Peppino has undertaken to illustrate. I have made several purchases here, both of books and prints. Among others I have bought Bulwer's Leila, or the Siege of Granada, Calderon the Courtier, and The Lady of Lyons, all in one volume—which I purchased, entirely new and uncut, for two shillings; their price in England, exclusive of the last-named work, being fourteen shillings. I shall however be obliged to smuggle it in under my coat, since I hear that they do not allow French editions of English works to enter the latter country. The other day I went out with Peppino for the purpose of taking a view, but the wind was so high that we found it impossible to draw, and were forced to retreat from the scene of action.

Mr. Maenza has been reading Papa's Beatrice, which he admires very much. My Ballad has also been read, and received the necessary amount of compliments. I find that Mr. M[aenza] is a great admirer of English literature, and is particularly well-acquainted with Byron. I have been reading here The Deformed Transformed by that author, which is a strange drama relative to the Siege of Rome by Bourbon the Constable of France. It is perhaps not equal to many of his works, but nevertheless contains some sublime passages, particularly a quantity of songs and choruses. They have some most splendid books in this house, one of which is a Molière, illustrated by Tony Johannot in a manner so exquisitely comic that it almost made me split my sides with laughing. La Bourgeois Gentilhomme and Monsieur de Pourceaugnac are particularly fine.

---

Believe me, my dear Grandfather,

Your affectionate Grandson,

Gabriel Chas. Rossetti.      

6 Rue De La Coupe, Boulogne-Sur-Mer.

1 November 1843.

My Dear Father,

I was much grieved yesterday evening on receiving Mamma's letter, and no less ashamed of myself for my unpardonable neglect in not enquiring after your health. I assure you, and I hope you will believe me, that it seems as unkind to myself, now that I reflect upon it, as it possibly can to you. Nevertheless I cannot imagine that you, who have hitherto enjoyed such excellent sight, are now about to be deprived of it. Had this defect of vision come over you when in a perfect state of health, I should certainly have entertained great fears that you were about to become blind; but, as it is, I cannot but hope, and even trust, that it is merely a temporary consequence of the weakness attendant on your long illness. Did you represent this to Mr. Lawrence, and if so did he not lay some weight upon it?

Mr. Maenza agrees with me on this point. He told me of a woman he knew—and who is still living in Boulogne—who had been given over by the doctors as completely blind, but who, in spite of this, recovered naturally in a short time, and sees now, and has for years, as well as he does.

Nevertheless this belief which I venture to entertain cannot prevent me from feeling great anxiety and uneasiness on your account. You say that William is unhappy; can you believe that I am less so? I assure you that Mamma's letter has made me very dull; it does not contain one single piece of good news. . . . The only good I can gather from the letter is that, as Mamma does not mention the state of your health in other respects, I presume that the illness has entirely left you.

As to my own health, which you so kindly enquire after, I am convinced that you will scarcely recognize me on my return. . . . I now feel better than ever I did in my life. Mrs. Maenza says she should not know me for the same

person, and that she is convinced you will find me considerably grown as well as improved in looks! I walk generally for nearly half the day, the views hereabouts being enough to drag out of his bed the greatest sluggard who ever snored. I intend to coy some of Mr. M[aenza]'s landscapes, since I have picked up a little taste that way.

To conclude: the whole family join in affectionate regards and confident hopes for your recovery with

Your affectionate Son,

Gabriel Chas. Rossetti.          

35 Grande Rue [Boulogne].

Saturday [1 December 1844].

My Dear William,

I received yesterday evening your unsightly missive containing the two Chuzzlewits, which were much admired. They greeted Mr. Maenza and myself on our return from an evening walk, during which we met the postman, who informed us that he had left a “gros paquet” at our house, which proved on inspection to be your epistolary eyesore.

The only passages in Byron's mad drama which have left any impression on my mind are the battle-choruses, which are sublime, and the last scene, which is lively and spirited. It was never finished.

I walk out here a great deal, gloating over all manner of Gavarnis, Johannots, Nanteuils, and other delicacies. I have got a large advertisement of the Beautés de l'Opéra, containing a cut by the last-named artist, as fine as anything in the Tasso. I begin already to feel better here. The weather is cold, but clear and beautiful. None of the filthy vapours— half-fog, half-smoke—through which you are doubtless endeavouring to decipher my epistle, while a poetical mind might figure forth the sun ”taking a sight” at you—his face twisted into that comical expression which Phiz is in the habit of inflicting upon him.

Our house is in a most beautiful situation. The window of what Mrs. Wood would call our “salon” looks out upon the market, which Mamma doubtless remembers, and whose pretty groups of pretty girls are at this moment regaling my eye.

Boulogne is certainly, as Mr. Maenza says, a splendid place for an artist. The evening before last Mr. Maenza and I walked about the principal church of the town during mass or vespers or whatever they call it. What between the fine old Gothic interior, adorned with pictures and images of saints—the music and the chanting—the magnificent groups of old fishwomen, whose intense devotion has in it something sublime—and the ”dim religious light” of the lamps placed against the Gothic pillars, which glimmered faintly up and struggled through the gathering darkness—the scene was so solemn and impressive that Maria (whom I wished for much) might have gone a Protestant, but would most certainly have returned a Catholic.

I was talking with Mr. Maenza the other day about Papa's poems, and I mentioned among others Minaccioso l'Arcangel di Guerra, which I find he has not seen. Would Papa be so kind (if he does not mind the postage) as to forward me a copy, should any remain?

Franconi is here, with his manège, which we intend visiting —perhaps to-night. Conspicuous likewise among the fashionable arrivals stands that wandering Spaniard, that dramatic cholera, the accursed De Bazan.

Do not tell me how Sue's novel goes on, since I do not wish to have it stale on my return. Does Papa continue to like it, and was he not pleased with the scene where Gabriel “flayres uppe” so strong?

Is the Barbe-bleue finished? If so, not a word about the end.

Tell the Cavaliere (whom I often remember) that I left his parcel at Lady Hartwell's door, and should have delivered it in person but for the best of reasons—that she was not at home.

I am glad that Papa's eyes are no worse. How is Grandpapa, how is Aunt Charlotte, and how are all the family?

I have bought several things here. Among others I picked up yesterday for fifteen sous (7 1/2 d. English) no less than five coloured Gavarnis, being three Enfants Terribles, one Fourberies de Femmes, and one Étudiants de Paris—all splendid specimens, and which usually sell at a franc apiece. I have likewise got six numbers of Johannot's Don Quixote, which is actually being re-issued at four sous the number! I have likewise got several of the Voyage, and ordered the rest. I have got several other things, but must defer mentioning them for want of space.

Remember me most extra especially to those real friends the Heimanns, and tell the Doctor that I shall write to him as soon as I have the slightest pretence for so doing.

Love to all the family, including the Barone and Cavaliere, and (if you see them) Sangiovanni and Pistrucci.

Mr. and Mrs. Maenza salute you all warmly.

Your affectionate Brother,

Gabriel Chas. Rossetti.

P.S.—Looking over some of Peppino's sketches to-day I found one which he made of me last year, and which I begged for Mamma, thinking she might care to have it.

         

35 Grande Rue [Boulogne].

Thursday 10 December 1844.

My Dear Father,

I hope that you will excuse my writing this letter in English, but my Italian is so “stentato” [strained] that, although perhaps, when finished, it may be passably decent, still the labour of composing in a language in which I am so imperfect is an agony that I would willingly avoid.

I was much grieved to hear that your sight had deteriorated, especially as I had hoped that what remained was almost secure. Have you consulted the German you mentioned? and, if so, would you tell William or somebody to write to me as soon as possible on the subject? Mr. Maenza, who will contribute his part to this letter, is of opinion that Paris is the best place for the treatment of your malady. I fear you must have thought me very remiss in not writing sooner. I should have done so, had I had anything to say which I thought would interest you. In fact I have not much even now, and only write to avoid the appearance of having forgotten you.

My health continues good, with the exception of the toothache—which however confines itself to meal-times. I go out as much as the cold permits me, which, between wind and frost, is biting in these parts. There are no beastly

stifling fogs however, and the sun looks out brightly every day at noon. We are anxiously expecting Peppino, whom we hope to see in about a week. His letters lead us to think that he has become more settled and steady. His last, which Mr. M[aenza] received a few days ago, was very sentimental, and spoke of some most amiable private pupil, “with whom” (to use his own words), “through the kindness of the mother, I am very intimate.”

After much racking of the brains I am sorry to find that this first piece of news is likewise the last. I have therefore only to forward you Mrs. Maenza's kind remembrances (letting Mr. M[aenza] speak for himself), and [to beg] that you will deliver that valuable article, my love, to all friends at home, keeping a large portion for yourself and Mamma.

         

[Boulogne] Tuesday 17 December 1844.

My Dear Brother,

Following your example, I hasten, as in duty bound, to acquit me of the commission contained in your last. I have enquired at the two principal shops in the town for Ragon's Cours Philosophique, and find that neither of them has got it. Ask Cavalier Mortara whether or not he wishes me to order it from Paris.

I am glad to say that the weather has changed since Saturday, and that the cold is no longer so severe. On Sunday I spent a most agreeable day in the country at the house of a friend who lives about five or six miles from Boulogne

in a most delightful situation, and close to a village which contains some of the most splendid sketches imaginable.

I have been reading George Sand's Horace and Paul de Kock's Ce Monsieur. As regards the first, it certainly contains some splendid and even sublime pieces of writing; but it is full of Saint Simonisme, communism, and sermons of all kinds, which render it both tedious and disgusting. Besides which, there is a great deal of French sentimentalism, and not a single possible character or probable incident. Ce Monsieur, as you may imagine, is glorious from title-page to finis. After all, Paul de Kock is unquestionably the most amusing and the most natural of the novelists. The interest of his works never flags for a moment, and even his pathetic scenes are perfectly true and unaffected. To-day or to-morrow I shall get another by the same author. Should you wish to see a more extended critique on these two works, you may look for it in a letter which I wrote yesterday to Dr. Heimann, wherein I have set forth my opinion at greater length.

I will tell you a few of my purchases. Imprimis seven heads in lithography by Gavarni, which I got cheap at the same shop as the others I told you of. Item, Contes des Fées par Perrault. This little book contains all our old friends, Blue-beard, Cinderella, etc., which I find were originally written by one Charles Perrault, born in 1633. It is full of most exquisite cuts, by Nanteuil, Devéria, Giraud, and, though last not least, a man of the name of Thomas, who is as fine as anybody I know. The misfortune is that, as they are published very cheap in order I suppose to be within the reach of every child, the cuts are printed on the same paper as a little book called the Tour de Nesle, which, as you doubtless remember, I bought last year, and many of the impressions are consequently completely ruined. Nevertheless they will be a capital acquisition for our scrap-book. Item, twelve more numbers of Don Quixote. Item, some numbers of the Musée Philipon, full of first-rate Chams, Grandvilles, and Daumiers, and containing even a few most sublime Gavarnis.

There are a few other things, to see which you must, in the words of Scripture, “tarry till I come.”

By-the-bye, you give me a long account of some Phizes; but you omit something even more interesting—namely, a description of the last Diables and Juif.

Have you seen lately anything of our friend Gilbert, or procured any of his works? I hope his style continues in good health.

Get in Wellington Street the Illustration for Sunday 8 December, being the one before last. I could not procure a copy in this place, they being all sold. It contains some capital Chams, some excellent Bertalls, and two or three landscapes by Calame of rather a sublime character.

You remember two or three cuts in our portfolio signed P.S.G. The name, I find, is Saint-Germain. The other day I actually saw, in a barber's shop on the port, some of the finest cuts from Vernet's Napoleon (among others, the Kremlin and the Battle of Wagram) cut out and pasted on some bottles of eau-de-Cologne. My blood boils within me as I write it.

The other night I went to Franconi's to see the horsemanship. It certainly beats our Astley's. Franconi is the very image of the Duke of Wellington. There was a horse which danced the polka.

I have got the rest of the Voyage with the exception of one number. Unfortunately I do not know which it is. On my return however I shall endeavour to find out by reference to the numbers I bought last year, and shall order it accordingly.

I trust that Papa's sight has improved, or at least remains stationary. Mr. Maenza greatly admired the Canto Marziale, and was particularly delighted with the lines commencing “Sette siri ci colman di mali.” I have a favour to ask for him as soon as I return to London.It is that Papa will make me a present of a Salterio for —, ¹ who admires his

poetry exceedingly, and begged me, if possible, to coax him out of a copy.

We are still expecting Peppino. I anticipate his advent with great pleasure, since he will be a wonderful acquisition in the way of cheerfulness.

Love to all, especially Mamma. Love likewise from Mr. and Mrs. Maenza.

Your most affectionate Brother,

Gabriel Chas. Rossetti.

P.S.—Is Maria yet arrived?

         

[Boulogne.] Wednesday 22 January 1845.

My Dearest Mother,

About a couple of hours ago I received your letter, and hasten to answer it. My health improves daily, so much so that yesterday and to-day I have been able to go out. The pustules have almost entirely disappeared, my eyes have not suffered in the least, and I feel much stronger. There is not the least necessity for my staying here after the present week. I shall return (by Folkestone, which the Doctor tells me is necessary) on Saturday or Sunday. He (Dr. R.) says there is not the slightest danger of contagion.

---

I am sorry to say that we are all invalids here, inasmuch as Mrs. Maenza has a violent cold, and Mr. Maenza (who has been unwell in one way or another ever since my arrival) has been seized to-day with a pain in the leg, which troubles him much and almost prevents his walking. Both wish to be remembered to you, and the former says that she should have made it a duty to answer your letter, had she not been ill.

Did you not think Peppino greatly improved? We have

agreed to keep up a weekly correspondence, in which I intend to spur him on to follow up his plan of making a water-colour for the exhibition. It is perfectly shameful that with his talents, which (in portrait, landscape, and in fact in everything except original composition) are of a very high order, he should consent to remain buried in a country- school.

Being afraid, dear Mamma, that any news I might have to tell would not be of a nature to interest you, I shall address it instead to William; hoping to see you all very soon, and begging you to believe me

Your affectionate Son,

Gabriel Chas. Rossetti.          

[Boulogne.22 January 1845.]

Dear William,

I was rejoiced to hear of the prospect of employment which has opened for you. Let us hope that it will be permanent.

Did Peppino show you his Gavarni book? If so, vous m'en direz des nouvelles on my return. If not, you will soon be able to console yourself with the store of treasures to be laid before your admiring eyes on the aforesaid occasion.

I have read several books lately, the principal ones being: M. Dupont, by Paul de Kock; Les Jolies Filles, by Langon and Touchard; and Colomba and other tales, by Prosper Mérimée. The first is excellent, of course, though not so good as some by the same author. The second is a combination of extreme stupidity with the highest pitch of disgusting obscenity.

As regards Colomba, it is perfectly sublime. There is about it a manly and vigorous style which has seldom indeed been equalled. It contains likewise some Corsican ballads, exactly in the style of the old English poetry; one of which in particular pleased me so much that I took the trouble of translating it. It is, I am sorry to say, a fragment, consisting of a very few verses. Among the other tales in the same volume there is a supernatural one, called La Vénus d'Ille, which is unutterably fine.

I have read several other things: among the rest, a poem by Barthélémy entitled L'Art de Fumer, carried through three cantos with a most amusing cheek.

I have bagged a few sketches of Peppino's, with which I am sure you will be greatly pleased. Certainly, as long as he keeps to Nature, his powers are perfectly gigantic.

Having no more room, believe me

Your affectionate Brother,

Gabriel Chas. Rossetti.