of that same distribution, it is all very well in theory, but if you over bake your verses in the poetic fire, who is to chop them up? We will have it out, when we meet. I was truly obliged to you for introducing Mr. Tilten and Mr. Jarves.1 I liked them both exceedingly. I haven't been able yet to look at Mr. Jarves's book with any care, but it seems well felt. I hope the Americans will soon create a school of art for themselves. Accept all our sincerest regards both for yourself and Mr. Browning. I am so glad I like the same poem that he does. Good-bye and Good-speed.-Ever most faithfully yours, J. RUSKIN. My mother's especial and most sincere thanks for the bit about your boy. To Mrs. ACLAND 2 TUESDAY, 10th July, 1855. DEAR MRS. ACLAND, I write to you, by Henry's bidding, touching a partly planned expedition in search of foam, very typical of wiser men's pursuits in general. I find for this year that I must give it up. The arrangement of materials which I have been collecting for ten years brings with it perpetual memories of things which were left to be done at the last— i.e., just now-and the quantity of mortar which I want, to put all together, is so great that I must needs go to gather stubble, for myself nobody being able to help me, and time a hard taskmaster. But, God permitting, I mean to have a book out at the New Year which will settle a good many things about art that will be better settled. Meantime, every morning that I wake, I find more things in my head, to be fitted into it, here and there, than the day serves me to put down; and it is so excessively difficult to keep a good grasp on the whole thing that I dare not distract myself in any way till it is done. If I should have to go to bed it does not matter, for a 1 [James Jackson Jarves, of Boston, author of Art Hints (1855) and other books of art and travel, and the owner of a collection of pictures formed by him during a residence of many years in Italy. "Our American friend Mr. Jarves," Mrs. Browning had written to Ruskin (June 2, 1855), "wrote to us full of gratitude and gratification on account of your kindness to him, for which we also should thank you." It was Mr. Jarves who presently introduced Charles Eliot Norton to Ruskin.] 2 [Some sentences of this letter ("These geniuses. . in J. B. Atlay's Memoir of Acland, pp. 228-229.] any good") are printed 3 [In the third and fourth volumes of Modern Painters, which came out in January and April 1856.] 1855] WAYWARD GENIUS 217 little resting illness only delays, does not confuse me. But if I were to go with Henry and Liddell anywhere, I should fall into all kinds of new trains of thought-not manageable together with this. I don't think I shall need rest of any kind, for when I say I "have not time" for a thing I don't mean, as Henry does, that I have worked since five in the morning and that it is now twelve at night. But I mean that I have worked for four hours and that it is my time for going to see how the grass grows, and what the ants are about, and that I haven't time for anything but that. But next year—if all should be well, I will make a promise to meet Henry in any part of Switzerland, at any time he likes. I don't know exactly how that wilful Ida1 has behaved to you. As far as I can make out, she is not ungrateful but sick, and sickly headstrong-much better, however, for what Henry has done for her. But I find trying to be of any use to people is the most wearying thing possible. The true secret of happiness would be to bolt one's gates, lie on the grass all day, take care not to eat too much dinner, and buy as many Turners as one could afford. These geniuses are all alike, little and big. I have known five of them-Turner, Watts, Millais, Rossetti, and this girl-and I don't know which was, or which is, wrong-headedest. I am with them like the old woman who lived in the shoe, only that I don't want to send them to bed, and can't whip them or else that is what they all want. Poor Turner went to bed before I expected, and "broth without bread" the rest are quite as likely to get, as with it, if that would do them any good. My father and mother are at Tunbridge Wells, or would desire to be kindly remembered to you. All anecdotes about Tiny, or Angie, or Harry are very acceptable to my mother, should you have time to set them down; and by no means unacceptable to me. My kind love to them all.-Always truly yours, J. RUSKIN. To Dr. W. C. BENNETT 3 DENMARK HILL, July 11th, 1855. I DEAR MR. BENNETT,-Many thanks for your interesting poems. like all the war songs very much, but am truly sorry to see you taking up that Dickensian cry against Capital Punishment. You, with all 1 [Ruskin's name for Miss Siddal: see above, p. 208 n.] [Compare below, p. 303.] [No. 27 in Art and Literature, pp. 71-73. The book referred to is Poems, by W. C. Bennett; London, 1850.] 4 [See "The Execution and how it Edified the Beholders"; pp. 17-22 of Dr. Bennett's Poems. And on "the Dickensian cry," see Vol. XXVII. p. 667.] others on that side, seem to think that a man is hanged by way of an example. A man is hanged because it is written (wholly irrespective of the Mosaic Law) that "whoso, etc.," Genesis ix. 6; and you might as reverently try, and as mercifully, to take the rainbow out of heaven, as to overthrow or disobey that ordinance. A man is hanged publicly, because it is necessary that the fact of his being hanged should be incontrovertibly known-not for a lesson to the mob. Those who go to see it will not be mended by it; but the assurance (and I would make it an assurance that should include every kind of murderer-mad, drunk, or what not-except of course accidental murderers) that every one who kills will be killed, has a most wholesome restraining influence on thousands of villains in a progressive state. I need not say a word after Wordsworth' as to the other, and more far-extending, phases of the question. But I cannot forbear protesting, whenever I come across it, against the fallacy of thinking that people are hanged by way of a salubrious show.-Believe me, always faithfully yours, J. RUSKIN. To F. J. FURNIVALL 3 DOVER, July 17th, 1855. MY DEAR FURNIVALL,-I shall be delighted to see Munro with French, and he can then tell me what he thinks can be done with this ugly head of mine, which I often look at very carefully, asking myself what I should think of it if it were on anybody else's shoulders, with much discomfiture and humiliation. If I could paint I could make something of the front face, but I cannot conceive how Munro could make anything fit to be seen, without gross fallacy, out of the side. He knows best, however, and, merely as a matter of curious difficulty, I should like to see him try. When people know me better, I have 1 [In reference to the closing lines of Dr. Bennett's poem : "And lovers of the good old times and gibbet walk off loud [See his Sonnets upon the Punishment of Death, 1839: "Lawgivers, beware, Lest, capital pains remitting till ye spare The murderer, ye, by sanction to that thought, Seemingly given, debase the general mind; Tempt the vague will tried standards to disown," etc.] [No. 19 in Furnivall, pp. 52-54.] Alexander Munro, sculptor: see above, p. 201 n.] [See below, pp. 365, 467.] 1855] PORTRAITURE 219 no objection to their knowing as much about my nose and cheeks as may in anywise interest them; but I should like neither to be flattered, nor to leave what appear to me to be the facts in my face subjected, at all events for a year or two yet, to public animadversion. Whatever of good or strength there is in me comes visibly, as far as I know myself, only sometimes into the grey of my eyes,1 which Millais ought to have got, but didn't, and which Munro certainly cannot get. On the whole, I think (while I am very much delighted that Munro thinks he could make something of me) that nothing should be done, or shown, for a year or two yet. I will promise Munro faithfully that no one but he shall try it, when it is a proper time to try it, and shall be very grateful to him if he then will. I scratched out "faithfully" because I don't mean my promises generally to be anything else; but you may bring the scratched-out word down to the Yours always, J. RUSKIN. On the twenty-fifth, then, I expect you all three. I fear I cannot see you sooner, unless you are at the College on Thursday. To F. J. FURNIVALL 2 CAMBERWELL, July 25th, 1855. DEAR FURNIVALL,-I am very happy to know that your friends were so yesterday, and I can only assure them in return that I had very great pleasure from their visit-meaning what I say, though the thing is said so often that it seems to have no meaning. How can, or could, it be otherwise? You let me ride my hobbies over you all, backwards and forwards. What can human being desire more? I fully appreciated your delicacy in not speaking again of Mrs. Browning; and yet, as it happened, both you and I suffered for your politeness, for I wanted you to stay, and was truly vexed when it suddenly came into my head that you were gone! In general, with me, do not be delicate. Ask for what you want, and if I have not answered speak to me about it again, for you may be sure I have forgotten it. It is never a form of refusal with me. If I don't want to do the thing, I shall say so at once; and if I hadn't wanted you to stay, I should have remembered, and said so, early in the day. And so I 3 1 [Compare what Ruskin says of his face in Præterita, Vol. XXXV. p. 281.] 2 No. 21 in Furnivall, pp. 56-57.] To meet Mrs. Browning, who was coming to tea at Denmark Hill.] 1 shall do always, simply, so that you must always simply ask for everything you want, and then I shall neither hesitate to say no nor feel uncomfortable in saying so, if it has to be said.-Ever affectionately yours, J. RUSKIN. You must come the next time Mrs. Browning comes, which I hope will be soon. To DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI 1 [? July 1855.] DEAR ROSSETTI,-I am truly sorry to hear of your illness and all your vexations. Nothing would give me more pleasure than to take a little holiday with you, and ramble about sketching and talking. You know I do not say this-or anything else—without meaning it. But this pleasure I must at present deny myself. I am deep in difficult chapters of Modern Painters. I cannot be disturbed even by my best friends or greatest pleasures. When I have to work out a chapter on a difficult subject, it is precisely the same to me as a mathematical calculation-to break into it is to throw it all down back to the beginning. I do as much in dreamy and solitary walks through lanes as I do at home. I could not have a companion. I want you next year to take a little run to Switzerland. I will either go with you or meet you, if our times should not suit for starting. And then we will do some Alpine roses and other things which the world has no notion of. Will you come? Meantime, as soon as you get this, pack up your drawing, finished or not, in the following manner : 1. Sheet of smoothest possible drawing-paper laid over the face, and folded sharply at the edges over to the back, to keep drawing from possibility of friction. 2. Two sheets of pasteboard, same size as drawing, one on face, the other behind. 3. Sheet of not too coarse brown paper, entirely and firmly enclosing drawing and pasteboards. 4. Wooden board, a quarter of an inch thick, exact size of drawing, to be applied to the parcel-drawing to have its face to board. 5. Thickest possible brown paper firmly enclosing board, parcel, and all, lightly corded, sealed, and addressed to me, "Calverley Hotel, Tunbridge Wells. Paid, per fast train.” Take it to London Bridge Station yourself, and be sure to say it is to go by fast train. And there is no fear. [From Ruskin, Rossetti, and Pre-Raphaelitism, pp. 90-92. This letter has been given in part in Vol. V. p. xlix.] |