# Recollections of Dante Gabriel Rossetti and his Circle/Chapter 4

CHAPTER IV.
Rossetti was now, at this period, in the prime and fullness of his mental powers. He was in that happy state when all that he painted was eagerly sought after. The abundance of his work in the years previous to my meeting him shewed ample proof, both in pen and pencil, that those years had been busy ones. And although as yet his poems were only known to a few of his friends, he had written enough to justify him in publishing a volume which, but for a strange romance in his life, would have appeared long ere it did,
It was now that the association started by William Morris, having its home in Queen Square, Bloomsbury, and for its object, it is said, the education of the upper classes in the knowledge and right discernment of the really beautiful in Art, began to bring forth fruit. Its work-contributing members were Morris, Rossetti, Ford Madox Brown, Edward Burne-Jones, and one or two others, with Morris as manager and controller. For this ​firm Rossetti made numerous designs for their stained glass department, and what always struck me in these conceptions of his was, that they worked up as finely into pictures as stained glass which, as far as my observation goes, is rarely the case in the majority of glass designers' inventions. For instance, his series of six illustrations for the story of St. George and the Dragon, and the very fine way in which he has treated the Parable of the Vineyard, rendered it unnecessary to make any alterations in them when some years later they were turned into important pictures.
In both series of designs—for St. George and the Dragon and the Parable of the Vineyard—Rossetti made great use of his friends, and introduced their heads freely into his conceptions. In one of the compartments of the Parable he has William Morris, who is generally the strong, wicked man of the lot, concealed by a door, in the act of dropping a big stone on the head of the Lord of the Vineyard's collector who has called for the vintage dues. In the last of the set he re-appears in a very dejected state, and in the company of the rest of the bad husbandmen, amongst whom are to be seen Algernon Charles Swinburne and Ernest Gambart, the then great picture dealer, all wobegone and roped together, on their way to receive condign punishment. Edward Burne-Jones, by reason of his gentle disposition and refined face, was the "good boy" of Rossetti's designs. Howell figures twice in the Saint ​George and the Dragon story—first, as St. George himself in the act of slaying the monster, and next in the final scene, where he enters triumphantly into the city with the Princess, as her deliverer, the dragon's head being borne in front of the procession as a trophy of his prowess. The cartoons of this romance were framed and used to hang from the staircase wall, but three of them having been removed and turned into water-colours—The Casting Lots for the Victim, The Slaying of the Dragon, and the Triumphant Entry—the rest were taken down and given away or lost.
Sketches for the wings of the altar piece of Llandaff Cathedral were also noticeable works. The subjects were David as shepherd for the one, and David as Psalmist and King, for the other. Rossetti always spoke very slightingly of this triptych to me, and considered it as a work that he would rather not discuss. But it surprised me by its originality and breadth of treatment when it made its appearance after his death in the exhibition of his collected works held at Burlington House. In execution it was by no means so weak as he had always led me to believe.
​the little band of the Præraphaelite Brotherhood in 1849, when he was about twenty years of age. The subject was "Mary the Virgin," who is represented seated, and embroidering a white lily upon a piece of dark-coloured cloth or silk, under the guidance of S. Elizabeth. In the foreground is a lily, growing from a vase, which she is evidently copying, whilst a child angel is employed in watering it. I learnt from Rossetti, that it was to a great extent painted under the instruction of Ford Madox Brown, from whom he had gained much of his knowledge in the practice of oil painting, and who had contributed to the same exhibition a work of his own, the subject being taken from King Lear.
Howell, who had joined us, wanted to show me a bit of old oak carving in Rossetti's bedroom, and, as the door was open, we went in. I thought it a most unhealthy place to sleep in. Thick curtains, heavy with crewel work in 17th century designs of fruit and flowers (which he had bought out of an old furnishing shop somewhere in the slums of Lambeth), hung closely drawn round an antiquated four-post bedstead. A massive panelled oak mantelpiece reached from the floor to the ceiling, fitted up with numerous shelves and cupboard-like recesses, all filled with a medley of brass repoussé dishes, blue china vases filled with peacock feathers, oddly-fashioned early English and foreign candlesticks, Chinese monstrosities in bronze, and various other curiosities, the whole surmounted by an ebony and ivory ​crucifix. The only modern thing I could see anywhere in the room was a Bryant and May's match box! On the other side of the bed was an old Italian inlaid chest of drawers, which supported a large Venetian mirror in a deeply-carved oak frame. Two or three very uninviting chairs, that were said to have belonged to Chang the Giant—and their dimensions seemed to warrant that statement, as they took up a considerable amount of space and an old-fashioned sofa, with three little panels let into the back, whereon Rossetti had painted the figures of Amor, Amans, and Amata, completed the furniture of the room. With its rich, dark green velvet seats and luxurious pillows, this sofa looked very pretty and formed the only comfortable piece of furniture visible.
The deeply-recessed windows, that ought to have been thrown open as much as possible to the fresh air and cheerful garden outlook, were shrouded with curtains of heavy and sumptuously-patterned Genoese velvet. On this fine summer's day, light was almost excluded from the room. The gloom of the place made one feel quite depressed and sad. Even the little avenue of lime-trees outside the windows helped to reduce the light, and threw a sickly green over everything in the apartment. It was no wonder poor Rossetti suffered so much from insomnia!
A few pictures, not of a very cheerful description, hung on the walls where there was space. One, I ​remember, was particularly gruesome. It represented a woman all forlorn in an oar-and-rudderless boat, with its sail flapping in the wind about her, alone on a wide expanse of water. In the distance was a city in flames, over which the artist had inscribed The City of Destruction, in the sky were numerous winged dragons and demons, whilst swarming around were horrible sea monsters, all intent upon upsetting the boat. It was not a bad picture as far as finish and colour went, but the subject was too dreadful.
On returning to the studio we found Rossetti engaged over some letters. Four little magazines called the Germ were lying on the table, and these I looked over with much interest. The Germ was a collection of prose and poetry published monthly, with an etching in each number contributed by one of the members of the brotherhood. Only four numbers made their appearance, the receipts arising from their sale not being sufficient to cover the cost of production. Rossetti contributed the poems the Blessed Damozel, and My Sister's Sleep, and a romance entitled Hand and Soul. My Sister's Sleep was afterwards included in his volume of Poems and Ballads that came out some time after. The etchings were by Holman Hunt, Ford Madox Brown, James Collinson, and Walter Howell Deverell.