London, April 25.
Dear Fay,—You are rather a bad boy not to have given either Ad. or me a signe de vie, but as I have not seen her to-day, she may have heard from you. We both want to do so very much, so pray write me a line directly. I only do so to-day to say that at my suggestion Ad. and I rushed off yesterday again to Colnaghi to find out if the Queen or Albert knew of your picture being at his shop; and if not, to ask him to let them know it, if he could do so with propriety. He said he would at once send the picture to B. Palace, as he was in the habit of doing other works; though he did not think that it was likely they would buy another picture of yours, he admitted that it might be advantageous to you that they should see it. He again praised the picture greatly, and told us that it was universally admired. My sister prefers it infinitely to "Cimabue" in all respects, but the fact is, the subject is more attractive to English people than the other. I have nothing else to tell you. I am very seedy with an affection of the bronchial tubes, and very low, and would give anything to see you, my dear boy, but must have patience till the pleasant moment of having you under my roof arrives. You will be glad to hear that my mother is better. I have not seen Ellesmere, as he was at the Review, but you may depend on my not forgetting your interests. The said Review was a most glorious spectacle, and they had a splendid day for it. I am starved to death here, and Ad. and I do nothing but grumble. She and I dined tête-à-tête last night, and slept and coughed through the evening with the occasional intermission of talking of you—you old Fay! To-night I am going with her to Eli, though I ought to be in my bed. Theo is ill and can't come, and Fanny reads. Oh! that you were to be with us! Tell me if you would object to a very slight gold frame to the drawings—merely a line, because, as my rooms are all white, and that everything in them has gilt, the drawings want a sort of background—which this slight frame would give them. Tell me what you think. I don't mean to hang up my Vintage, but keep it near me on an easle (how do you spell it?). Charley, being highly coloured, looks lovely, and don't want any frame—nasty Charley! Now pray write and tell me all about yourself—and the moddles—and how you are—and how you get on—and what you do. Don't drag off to dull parties, but go to bed early.
God bless you. Amami, ne ho gran bisogno. Colnaghi said he had heard from one Cooper a very good report of "Orpheus."
H.
How have the photographs turned out? I like your portrait less now that you are away—but it can't be helped, it is better than none, but it looks so sad. I have hung you and Ad. up side by side in sweet companionship in my dressing-room, so that I may see you both the first thing on waking.
London, April 26th.
Dearest Bimbo,—You have made us pass some very anxious hours, as the telegraph which I sent off at seven this morning will have testified, though it will also have surprised and perhaps alarmed you until you read its contents. The fact is, I thought it odd that we did not hear from you, yesterday at all events, as I felt sure you would have written immediately on getting our joint note from Boulogne, Wednesday, and certainly on the following day. However, I felt sanguine that on going to dine at 79, I should find that Ad. had heard from you, but, on the contrary, I found her full of anxiety at no letter, imagining every species of cause for your silence, which she said was so very unlike you, that I directly caught the same state of worry, and we determined that I should telegraph the first thing this morning to know if you were ill, or if anything had happened. I never slept all night, and of course had worked myself, with her assistance, into a wretched state of anxiety about you—when at nine your letter arrived, and a blessed relief it was. I should not probably have been in such a state, had Adelaide not been convinced that illness or some catastrophe had prevented your writing, because, she said, your wont was to do so immediately on parting with her, and she could account for it in no other way. In short, dear Fay, we were very foolish; but I assure you our folly met its own punishment by the anxiety, and which spoilt our "Eli" entirely. Poor Fay! I daresay you little thought that we were tormenting ourselves about you, and I, for one, shall try and not do so any more. Your letter is like yourself—dear and kind. With regard to the enclosure, my opinion is that you would not do wisely or handsomely by Colnaghi to withdraw your picture from his keeping, unless he wished to get rid of it to make room for the supposed exhibition of drawings; moreover, my own opinion is that you would not do well to exhibit at the Crystal Palace. I have no faith in that institution, and I think it will be a pity to rob your studio of the "Pan" and "Venus" for that purpose; but as I do not consider myself a good judge of these matters or competent to advise you, I think I should be very much guided by what other artists of the same standing as yourself think and do in the matter, and before deciding or answering Mr. Magwood, I should write to Buckner or any one else competent to advise you and ask their opinion. I don't know what Sister Adelaide will say, but I have sent her your letter and the enclosure, and she will probably write to you on the subject. You are too dear and nice about my mother. I fear that before you come she will have left London, and I don't think you would like to paint her, because her sweet face is entirely hidden by the shade she is obliged to wear over her poor eyes; but you know whether I should like her portrait painted by you! But, dear Fay, you are too lavish of your time on others, and do not think enough of yourself. Here I was interrupted by a visit from Adelaide, overjoyed at hearing all is well with you, and agreeing entirely with me in re C. Palace, Colnaghi, &c. She says if C. wishes the picture to be removed, it is for him to express that wish and not you, that a better order of people go to him than those who frequent the C.P., that he is well-disposed towards you, and that it is advisable you should keep him as your friend.
We think Mogford's reference useless, being a foreigner, and we are certain that unless Millais and others of the same class exhibit at the C.P., you had best have nothing to do with it. I took Ad. up to your room, and she says you will be comfy in it; and she saw your nice face, patted it, and said, "Dear Fay, but it looks so sad!" She thinks both drawings will be better for a slight gilt rim, but I won't put it on without your leave. I am so glad you are leading a wholesome life, and getting the b. who planted you, rather than dawdle proudly, and be without a good moddle. I have nothing to say, dear Bimbo, and you will have had enough of me. I am very bad with an ulcerated throat, cough, and inflamed bronchia, and altogether below par. I have seen hardly anybody since I came. Adelaide would have been pleased with "Eli," had she been in a vein where pleasure was possible. Pauline sang to perfection the lovely music allotted to her. And now, dearest Bimbo, God bless you. Write very often, if only a line, as it is comfortable to hear that all is well with you—that is always the news I most wish to get; and tell me how the pictures progress, and your real state of mind about them.—Your old and loving Babbo,
H.
I send back Mogford. Penelope B. (Bentinck) tells me that the great judge, George, condescends to approve "Romeo" mightily!!