Part 7

... I should indeed like to see our skittish Christina, with those rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes, so like her grandmother’s, walking all alone about the garden, like a little butterfly among the flowers. I hope that, thanks to the beneficial change of air, I shall soon see her still prettier and still healthier than you describe her to me now. To tell you the truth, I think Mr Tallent’s advice is better than Mr MacIntyre’s. It is high time to wean her.... You cannot think how much pleasure those childish English words which you gathered from the lips of Maria and Gabriel gave me. If they are truthful, I thank Heaven that they are good children, and that they do not tire your mother too much with their noise and their impudence. I mean to send them some new little picture-books which will amuse them; and also a box of figs, in order that you may at times reward their good behaviour and satisfy their small greed. Poor little things! They used to await my return home so eagerly, so as to receive the trifles I had brought them! And now neither they nor I have that pleasure....

This evening Casella arrived here quite out of breath to announce that the King has again dismissed the Duke of Wellington from the ministry, and has recalled Lord Grey with all his ministerial following; thus rectifying the error he had committed. And indeed he could not act otherwise in order to calm the huge agitation which was on foot throughout the country, and principally in this metropolis. The Duke of Wellington has had the mortification of being unable to find any one who would consent to form the Cabinet with him; Sir Robert Peel refused, Lord Aberdeen refused; all refused when they perceived the peril in which they would place themselves. A pretty figure they have cut--the great Captain and His Majesty,--this latter so changeable and deceitful, and the former first deserted and then sent about his business! It is a hard task to oppose the will of a whole people. It is just 11 o’clock as I write to you, and I hear “_The Courier_, fourth edition,” being called out by several voices past the house....

Let us take heart, Providence will not forsake us. You know, my wife, that we have had recent proofs of its assistance; here is another. Yesterday the son of the Maestro Negri called on me bringing me the answer from those young ladies who, as you know, wished for a drama; he showed me a letter from them in which the matter is revived. I have had to lower my price, however, and content myself with thirty guineas....

Two days ago, a great Italian littérateur, Professor Orioli, head of the Bologna University, and head of the Italian Government during last year’s revolution, visited me, and paid me a great compliment on my new work. Mr Scrope, with whom I dined last Saturday, also said some very laudatory things about it, which he based on the opinion of _Mr Charles_, who had read it; the latter afterwards expressed his admiration to me in person. Last week I wrote two long letters to Malta to thank Mr and Miss Frere for their very opportune generosity, which saved us from imminent anxieties.

The day before yesterday I bought myself a pair of spectacles, which I felt badly in need of; and now, if you could see what an imposing figure I cut, and what a grave air they give me, it would inspire even you with respect. When you return you will certainly take me for a president. I will not tell you how much they cost, because you would immediately conclude that my spectacles were bad, and yet they serve their purpose wonderfully well....

Hitherto my stupid prophecy has not been at all fulfilled, and this letter is witness to the fact: and I pray to God that he may not fulfil it till I have been able, with your help, to educate and give a start in life to our four dear offshoots, who have rendered life extremely dear to me; and I hope to pass it in your sweet company, in that reciprocal affection which has hitherto bound us together....

Your most affectionate husband, GABRIELE.

C.

[The “garden” here spoken of is the enclosure of Park Square, Regent’s Park; I can remember being in it more than once in early childhood. Sangiovanni, a strange impetuous southern Italian, was now an artist-modeller in clay. Dr Maroncelli was a brother of the prisoner who was sent to the Spielberg along with Silvio Pellico, as recorded in Pellico’s book, once highly celebrated, _Le Mie Prigioni_. “My letter for the King of Naples” appears to have been a memorial or petition. Pistrucci (Filippo) had been run down in London streets, and remained lame (yet still active) up to the close of his life, which terminated towards 1857.]

[38 CHARLOTTE STREET, LONDON.] _29th May 1832._

MY DEARLY LOVED FRANCES,

I would that I had not received your letter this time, although I had looked forward to it and desired it so eagerly. Every word you wrote pierced like a dagger into my heart. My sweetest Gabriel, then, is so ill! My baby Christina suffers with her teeth and has wounded her forehead! Oh my poor children! If the distance were less great, I would come immediately to see my four treasures, and you, my beloved wife, who must be immensely afflicted, as I am myself. And William, you tell me nothing about him. You told me in your last letter that he had a return of those fevers from which he suffered here: and now, how is that going on?--how is he? As you do not speak about it, I will hope and trust that he has recovered. Be good enough, dear Frances, to write to me at once and tell me all about them; hide from me nothing, absolutely nothing. I wish to know the facts, be they better or be they worse.... I beg you, I beg you urgently, to return immediately if Gabriel’s condition permits. I wish to share with you the care of my bantlings. I would never have written you this but for this painful circumstance, but would have been content to remain a cheerless hermit for another month; but, now that I see that your presence instead of improving only aggravates the condition of your honoured mother to whom we owe every consideration, now that I see that our children, instead of benefiting by the country air, have rather derived harm from it (although I ought perhaps to attribute this to other causes), I should feel dreadfully anxious if you remained any longer away from me. Who knows but what the figs I sent may have done them harm! But this constant change of weather has more likely been the cause, first hot, then cold, now hot again. This belief is strengthened by your telling me that Maria and Christina have sore throats.... I should be the most frantic and inconsolable man in the world if I were to lose a son, that dearest little Gabriel, the very core of my heart, and lose him thus, far from my sight. My eyes are already full of tears whilst writing these words, and unless I dry them I cannot continue writing, as I do not see the paper. But take heart, my wife, it may turn out to be nothing serious.

Here, meanwhile, is one cause for rejoicing. I have already obtained the key of the garden for which you so often wished.... I have already been five times for a stroll in the garden, the first time alone, the second time with Polidori, the third with him and Sangiovanni, the fourth again with him and Doctor Maroncelli, one of those two who called on me one evening in company with Lablache. This walk is very convenient, and the children will find plenty of space to walk and run about here and there....

I have already written three scenes of that play for the young ladies, which I have given to the son of Maestro Negri....

Count Lucchesi has told me a thing which he had never mentioned to me before. When he went with my letter to the King of Naples, about which you heard, he found the Minister of Naples reading my last work, dedicated to Mr Lyell. The Minister said to him: “What a talented man this Rossetti is! You see what persons the government of Naples exiles!” It is well, dear Frances, that this diplomatist should not be ignorant of what I have written; and, if it is granted me to return to my country, before doing so I will send the work to the King of Naples, so that he will not be able to say later on that I had committed some old faults of which he was unaware. On Friday I dined with that painter whom I described to you by the name of Mr Charles....

I will close this letter begging you again to write to me at once, during the course of this week. Remember that until I hear from you again I shall be extremely agitated. Don’t conceal anything from me, I repeat. If you did so, you would force me to rush off to you like a madman, to ascertain with my own eyes the real state of things. Besides which it might cause me a somewhat serious ill; since for some six days I have felt distressing and strong symptoms of gout, which causes me much uneasiness. I needn’t ask you to look after the children, because I hold it unnecessary; I know you too well. I doubt whether there lives a better mother than you, and a wife more amiable and affectionate has yet to be born. And so your husband idolizes you, and his sincerest love increases with years, and he considers himself fortunate in possessing such a rare woman.

Goodbye, dearly loved Frances, I am going to bed for it is one o’clock. I bless one by one the infant pledges of our love, and invoke on them health and prosperity. Kiss them for me, speak about me to them, and--along with theirs--preserve your precious health, which is my greatest treasure.

Yesterday poor Pistrucci wrote me a letter which really is fit to make one weep. He says he is suffering horrible torments, and it has been discovered that his thigh was broken in three parts, so that he is crippled. Poor man!

Your most affectionate husband, GABRIELE ROSSETTI.

D.

[I have no recollection of the Marchesa Marchigiana, nor of Signor Ferri. The physiognomical estimate of Signor Janer is curious, because that gentleman, a cultivated Tuscan whom we saw continually in these years, was regarded as somewhat prone to backbiting; he was always, however, on good terms with my father and his family, and I should say that he was really amicable with all of us. Margaret, named towards the end of the letter, was my mother’s elder sister.]

50 CHARLOTTE STREET [LONDON]. _6th September 1836._

MY DEAREST FRANCES,

... At the moment of my writing a very deluge is coming down--lightning, thunder, buckets of water. I am sorry for poor Gabriel, who is out for a walk with Henry....

That Marchesa Marchigiana left yesterday morning (Sunday), and in the last two days she called on me thrice. On the evening of Saturday she came at eight, and left at midnight. She talked for ten. She expressed great concern for your illness, and exclaimed several times--“Oh, if I had seen her, I would have made her know what a husband she possesses!” To hear her, I am the idol of Italy. She knows by heart a great quantity of my verses, some of which I had as good as forgotten. Suffice it to say that she knows more of them than Curci, and is more enthusiastic than Curci about me and my doings. But the greatest wonder is that she recites long snatches of my _Analytic Comment on the Divina Commedia_. She told me that, being unable to procure it in print (as it is prohibited in Italy), she copied it all out from one that was lent her in secret. That many other people have done the like. That of my _Salterio_ (the _whole_ of which she truly knows by heart) she is acquainted with a great number of manuscript copies. That in Rome a liberal Monsignore named Muzzarelli has, like herself, copied it out, and learned it off. That, were I to return, in passing through Romagna, youthful admirers would come about me in shoals, and would unharness the horses from my carriage to drag me in triumph. Matter for laughter! Sangiovanni, who was present at all this (which I can but suppose exaggerated), had to wipe his eyes from time to time--the loving friend. In short, dear Frances, without your having observed it nor yet myself, you have as husband the greatest man of Italy, indeed the idol of Italy! Who would ever have fancied it?

The best of it is that another gentleman from Lugo has arrived, Conte Carducci, who brings me a letter from Comendator Borgia (a descendant of that scoundrel Alexander VI.), and both Carducci and Borgia speak to me in the same style.... This shows once again that the physical optics are the reverse of the imaginary; for, as by physics distant objects seem to us small, so by imagination small objects, the further off they are, seem the larger. I should be almost afraid of returning, even if I could, so that I might not verify that saying, _Minuit præsentia famam_.

The Marchesa gave us a proof of her physiognomic science which made me and Sangiovanni laugh a great deal. She saw here Janer, whom she knew not in the least, and who showed her a thousand civilities. After Janer had left, she, who had treated him distantly, called me aside, and said: “Beware of that man, who has the face of a great intriguer and a very cunning fellow.” Isn’t this queer?...

With her came a very handsome young man from Fermo, named Ferri, nephew of Cardinal Ferri. He, on hearing the nature of your illness, spoke of one of his of the same class, from which he has recovered to the most perfect health. He was reduced, as he described it, to a truly deplorable condition, from which he rallied by continual exercise; and if one sees him now!

“Di due rivali i pregi in sè compone-- Marte alla forza, alla bellezza Adone--”[81]

(old verses of mine). So, my dear Frances, take as much exercise as you can....

Lo and behold, the day is again beautiful, and what a brilliant sun! Truly the climate of London is more changeable than a Frenchwoman. Gabriel is knocking with that double knock of his like the postman. I trust he avoided the rain under some shelter--will go and ask. He has returned all drenched, and Margaret will make him change clothes....

I embrace you, and bless Maria. Repeat to her that her letter gave me great pleasure; and tell her that I expect one in Italian, which will serve not only to show me how you are, when you don’t want to be writing yourself, but also to keep her in the practice of the language of “the beautiful land.” Believe me, full of unalterable affection,

Your Husband, GABRIELE.

E.

[50 CHARLOTTE STREET, LONDON. _21st October 1836._]

MY DEAREST FRANCES,

Ever since you informed us that the day of your longed-for return would be the 25th of this October (which will complete two full months of your absence) we have never ceased to count, every day, how many days remain before reaching the one which is to restore you to us. The most steady computer of this sum is Christina. This morning, barely just out of bed, she came in great glee into the room where I was studying, and the first words she spoke were these--“Not counting to-day, only three days remain” (you will understand that the day of my writing is Friday evening). And I’m sure that to-morrow morning she will come and say, “There are only two remaining.” ... If you will tell us at about what hour you will arrive at the Coach-office, we will all come to meet you, and will bring you home in triumph, outbidding the most pompous ovations of ancient Rome.... Oh that I had two arms as long as from here to Holmer Green! you would find your neck clasped of a sudden by the warmest marital embrace, and you would then be softly seized hold of and deposited in Charlotte Street, saving you the trouble of the journey by the road: yours should be aërial, to beat those of Mrs Graham and Mr Green.... The true, the one treasure of my life is my dear Frances, and to restore her to me renewed in health is to restore my existence. Goodbye to the better portion of myself. Three days hence you, by God’s help, will be here with me, and I will prove to you how much you are loved by

Your Husband, GABRIELE.

F.

[Dante Gabriel had been commissioned by his godfather, Mr Lyell, to paint an oil-portrait of our father; he was now, after some seeming neglectfulness, giving full attention to the matter. The portrait, nearly his first painting, turned out a creditable work; it remains in the Lyell family, the property of Sir Leonard Lyell, and is reproduced in this volume.]

[50 CHARLOTTE STREET, LONDON.] _21st August 1848._

MY DEAREST FRANCES,

I have the satisfaction of informing you that this (Monday) morning our Gabriel has for an hour and a half been working at my portrait in colours, which appears to me to come very like, if I can trust my poor eyesight, and the exclamations of our emphatic Maria. Moreover, I asked Gabriel whether he would go on to-morrow, and he replied yes. If he takes a fancy to it, he will not leave off until he has finished the work; you know that character of his better than myself. I am fain to hope that all I wrote you in my recent letter was only the outcome of the over-much anxiety of a father who gets distressed at any appearance of evil in what concerns a beloved son....

I had hoped yesterday to see Pistrucci, whom I supposed likely to come to London, to promote the concert for the benefit of the Italian School. But I was disappointed. I trust he was not offended at that outburst I sent him regarding the demagogues who have contributed to the present ruin of Italy. He, as the perfectly sincere patriot whom all men recognize, must deplore, or rather detest, whatever can have been a cause of the pitiful state to which our country is reduced. But let us hope that the disaster is reparable, and I am certain that his heart desires this no less fervently than my own. I am aware of the glorious event at Bologna, where the Germans got a good lesson. May this be the glorious beginning of a still more glorious re-arising! I know that France and England have become mediators between Italy and Austria in this bloody strife; may they be sincere and effectual mediators for the good of both, and may the _reasonable liberty_ of our poor country result from their efforts! Not every evil comes to do harm--an old adage: let us hope this may be so in our case. Perhaps the republican over-zeal will be toned down, after the events which we are deploring....

Now that I can give you better news from home, I remain with a more cheerful heart

Your loving Husband,

G. ROSSETTI.

NO. 2.—FROM EIGHT LETTERS FROM GABRIELE ROSSETTI TO CHARLES LYELL, KINNORDY

[As to Mr Lyell, see p. 72. I give the following extracts, bearing upon Rossetti’s theories and speculations regarding Dante and a great number of other writers, not because I suppose him to have been constantly right in detail, nor even as adopting his views in a broad sense, but because the allegations which he here puts forward are certainly both curious and startling; and they formed so intimate a portion of his thought and life, chiefly between the years 1825 and 1842, that no true picture of him could be given without taking matters of this kind into account. The correspondence between Mr Lyell and my father was frequent, and often lengthy. I used to possess the general bulk of the letters written by Mr Lyell, and had been authorized by the present head of the family, Sir Leonard Lyell, to use, in a compilation which I was undertaking, extracts from many of them. In 1898, however, an interchange took place between Sir Leonard and myself; and I now own the letters which my father wrote, in lieu of letters coming from Mr Lyell. In comparison with the full extent of these Rossetti epistles, the extracts which I give are a mere trifle. I have selected not always the most important passages, but such as tend to show the very wide range along which he applied his theory of a covert, esoteric, and perilous meaning in the writings of authors of many centuries and many nations. Copies of Rossetti’s letters to Lyell, one hundred and twenty-eight in number, are deposited in the Taylor Institution, Oxford; the copying was done by Signor de Tivoli.

There is another copious correspondence which my father carried on regarding the like topics--that with Mr Hookham Frere. I possess the letters of Mr Frere appertaining to this correspondence, and also (through the courtesy of Mr John Tudor Frere and Miss Festing) those of Rossetti. I had at one time thought of publishing ample extracts from this series; but ultimately I found it more suitable to place the correspondence at the disposal of Miss Festing, who, in her interesting book named _John Hookham Frere and his Friends_ (1899), has drawn upon it so far as was consistent with her scheme. She has also quoted the passage in verse about Hookham Frere (see p. 60 of the present work). Miss Festing naturally did not publish all the letters _in extenso_, nor even so much of them as I had at first proposed to extract. Several passages which Miss Festing did not use seem well worthy of being printed at some time or another--Mr Hookham Frere’s letters, not to speak of my father’s, being capital reading; at present, however, I leave all this aside, chiefly with a view to condensing my whole account of Gabriele Rossetti into a moderate space.]

A.

_29th October 1831._

MY VERY DEAR SIR,

... I have by me _decisive_ historical records and documents, researches into works in the sect-language,[82] treatises on the use of the sect-language; in fine, I have as much as would make all our adversaries remain frost-bound and mute. And to me it is a kind of enigma to see how matters so multiple, so consentaneous, so palpable, which have been going on in a lapse of six centuries (from Frederick II. up to our time), have not ever been either discerned or revealed. There is not the least doubt that that Emperor projected a change of religion, and the destruction of the Roman Church. The Popes had no alternative but either to destroy him and his party, or else to be themselves destroyed, and their cult with them. That opinion of Foscolo, regarded by all as a fantasy, which led him to say that _Dante wished to change the religion_, is a certain fact; and his fantasy consists only in his having supposed that this was an idea of Dante’s own, and not that of a most numerous, most potent, and most wide-spread sect, upheld by men of great power....

Never will I set it down, _never_, that there was a project of expelling Jesus Christ from the altars--only that there was a project for restoring His worship to its primitive simplicity, and that they profaned the Catholic doctrine by a concerted phraseology which involved a political scheme. Wherefore scandalize the world by the revelation of a daring purpose which may do discredit to illustrious authors, and bring down upon myself the ill-will of the sect which still exists, and has power and influence in the social world? The fact is that the true intention of that secret society, to which belonged all the authors whom I am engaged in examining, manifested itself plainly in the effects of the French Revolution at the close of last century....

Reghellini says openly that Dante’s poem is a Masonic poem; and, before he wrote this, I had already seen it for myself....

I have also made some examination of English poetry--that of the time of Cromwell; I know, however, and know for certain, that Chaucer is in the same boat....

Your highly obliged GABRIELE ROSSETTI.

B.

_1st October 1832._

MY VERY DEAR SIR,