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.)

Ah yes, exactly so; but when a man Has trundled out of England into France And half through Belgium, always in this prance Of steam, and still has stuck to his first plan-- Blank verse or sonnets; and as he began Would end;--why, even the blankest verse may chance To falter in default of circumstance, And even the sonnet lack its mystic span. Trees will be trees, grass grass, pools merely pools, Unto the end of time and Belgium--points Of fact which Poets (very abject fools) Get scent of--once their epithets grown tame And scarce. Even to these foreign rails--my joints Begin to find their jolting much the same.

* * * * *

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.