Chapter VI: 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.