Christmas is almost upon us again, and I find myself in the familiar
place of bringing you little-known Victorian Christmas poetry as has become my
custom here for the last couple of years. However, for my first Christmas poem
this year (last week’s was only a poem
about winter) I have decided to opt for a piece of poetry by someone
famous.
My usual source for Christmas poetry is Victorian periodicals, which
published poems by members of the public, aspiring writers and little-known
published writers alike. I must reiterate here that I am not into poetry, but I
can appreciate a simple poem, and I find something a little more sincere and
interesting about poetry written by non-famous Victorians.
That said, I have chosen to usher in the Christmas season this year with
quite a famous poem by quite a famous Victorian poet.
Born in London in 1830, Christina Rossetti was, as you may have guessed,
if you don’t already know, the sister of the great pre-Raphelite artist Dante
Gabriel Rossetti, as well as of the writer and founding member of the
Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood William Michael Rossetti and author Maria Francesca
Rossetti. She was the youngest child in this great artistic family; and as well
as her talented siblings, her father was an Italian poet, and her mother,
whilst not herself of an artistic bent, was the sister of John William Polidori
– the author of one of the first English vampire stories, The Vampyre, in 1819.
Christina, growing up in a household overflowing with artistic ideas,
soon began to show promise as a poet. By the age of twelve she had written a
book of poetry, and by eighteen she had published her first two poems (Death’s Chill Between and Heart’s Chill Between) in the literary
magazine Athenaeum. Many of her early poems focused on death and loss and were
somewhat melancholy. When she was nineteen Christina began contributing poems
to the (ultimately unsuccessful)
Pre-Raphaelite journal The Germ, under the pseudonym Ellen Alleyn.
Christina Rossetti by Dante Rossetti, 1866 |
Goblin Market and Other
Poems – by far her most famous collection – was first published in 1862, when
Christina was thirty-one. This was her first work widely available to the
public and proved to be very successful, receiving critical acclaim from, not
only the press, but eminent and popular poets of the day, including Tennyson. In
the year prior to the release of Goblin Market the great female poet Elizabeth
Barrett Browning had died in Italy, leaving her place as Britain’s premier
female poet vacant. The success of Goblin Market and Other Poems saw Christina
take on that mantle, becoming the most popular female poet in the country,
although she never quite reached the same heights of fame and popularity as
Browning.
Christina sat as a model for her brother, Dante, for some of his best
known paintings, including his first oil painting The Girlhood of Mary Virgin, for which, at the age of eighteen, she
was the model for the Virgin Mary. This painting was was the first instance of
a piece of work bearing the initials ‘PRB’,
which signified the Pre Raphaelite Brotherhood.
In the paintings it is quite plain to see that she was a handsome woman;
despite this, as well as her great talent, Christina never married. She was
engaged to James Collinson, a painter and founding member of the pre Raphaelite
Brotherhood, but his converting back to Catholicism following a crisis of
conscience (having reverted to
Anglicanism in order to marry Christina) caused staunch Anglican Christina
to end the relationship in 1850. She also turned down the hand of Charles
Cayley – the linguist best known for his translations of the work of Dante
Alighieri – on religious grounds, and also the offer of painter and agnostic
John Brett.
'The Girlhood of Mary Virgin' by Dante Rossetti, 1848 |
From 1859 until 1870 she volunteered at the St Mary Magdelene House of
Charity in Highgate, which was a refuge for former prostitutes. Her experiences
here with the fallen women lead many to believe the idea for her poem Goblin
Market – the protagonists of which are two sisters, and there being a distinct
undercurrent of sexual imagery throughout – to have been born there.
In the early 1870’s Christina was diagnosed with Graves’ disease, a
thyroid disorder that includes insomnia, palpitations and hair and weight loss
amongst a long list of possible symptoms. By the 1880’s the bouts of the
disease had become so severe that she was made an invalid, but she continued to
write. The following decade saw further health complications when, in 1893 she
developed breast cancer. The tumour was removed, but returned in September
1894. Three months later she died in London.
Christina is buried in the Rossetti family plot in Highgate Cemetery West.
In the Bleak Midwinter by Christina Rossetti, c. 1872
Snow on snow,
In the bleak mid-winter
Long ago.
Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him
Nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away
When He comes to reign:
In the bleak mid-winter
A stable-place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty,
Jesus Christ.
Enough for Him, whom cherubim
Worship night and day,
A breastful of milk
And a mangerful of hay;
Enough for Him, whom angels
Fall down before,
The ox and ass and camel
Which adore.
Angels and archangels
May have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim
Thronged the air,
But only His mother
In her maiden bliss,
Worshipped the Beloved
With a kiss.
What can I give Him,
Poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd
I would bring a lamb,
If I were a wise man
I would do my part,
Yet what I can I give Him,
Give my heart.
Christina never achieved the heady heights of success – in life or after – that her brother Dante did, but she did leave behind a body of work, which, unlike a lot of nineteenth century poetry, is quite accessible and enjoyable to read, particularly the fairy-tale-esque Goblin Market.
If you’re interested in learning more about the Pre Raphaelites, or seeing their work, the Tate is currently running an exhibition entitled ‘Pre-Raphaelites: Victorian Avant-Garde’ but hurry, the exhibition ends on 13th January! See details here:
This is such a wonderful and great Christmas poem. Though I really prefer some short Christmas poems, my likeness to classic and great poems like this one is immeasurable. Breathtaking. Love it!
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