Mr. Richmond's are caricatures on the good side. But I dislike my face on entirely simple and certain laws-because it is bad in colour and form. I judge it as I would anybody else's, and don't like it; but I'm glad to know other people can put up with it if they are used to it, and am glad to know that its expression is intelligible when I'm talking. I'm not going to talk any more yet, though, for some time. Also, I'm glad to know you weren't so much put out about the Sidonia. I've been to Rossetti's to-day; the picture is safe, and I have made him assured that I should think it entirely unfriendly and false of him if he touched it. He can't bear to be forced to anything, and so muttered that "it wasn't going to be touched," so my mind is at rest about it for the present. I had no excuse for taking it away, as I'm not at Denmark Hill just now; but after he has had it a little longer, if he has not used it, I shall insist on having it. He has improved the work I saw some time back considerably, and is in better state of mind, I hope coming round. What do you quarrel with "faithfully" for? It is one of the most serious words I ever use. I would often write "gratefully "— and do-don't I?-to you, and I don't write that to many people. Hardly any now get an "affectionately," for I've very little affection left-it dries out of one as one gets old. But I'm very heartily yours (Will that do?). J. RUSKIN. To his FATHER 1 WINNINGTON, Monday Evening, November 23, 1863. As I was running down here I scribbled a letter to Bayne, merely to show him that I paid him some attention and did not despise his paper. I promised you to publish no more letters without letting you see them, so just glance over this and send it or not as you like I rather think you will not like, and I daresay you are quite right. I cannot possibly write now in a proper temper of anything, or to anything, clerical. This letter may perhaps amuse 1 [A few words of this letter have been printed in Vol. XVII. p. lxix. ; and a few others in Vol. XVIII. p. lxxi. The Weekly Review of November 21, 1863, had (1) a letter by "J. D." defending the policy of non-intervention from the attacks of " impulsive men like Mr. Ruskin," and (2) a leading article upon the same letter, taking the other view, and saying: "A sketch of British policy in its ethical bearings, since the period of the Russian war, from the pen of Mr. Ruskin would be worth perusing; and if he enters the lists against J. D.'-a foeman not unworthy of his steel-we shall joyfully give place to these right noble warriors."] 1863] YOUTH AND AGE 459 Carlyle a little some day. If you do not send it, perhaps this torn off might go? "To the Editor of the Weekly Review' "SIR, I am grateful to you for the notice you have taken of my letter to the Liverpool Institute: but I cannot take up the challenge in your leader of the 21st. If the religious people of England as a body do not themselves discern their duty, it is not I who can show it them: and you have yourself, in your excellent article, anticipated the greater part of what I should have endeavoured to advance in reply to your correspondent. Might I request you to correct the misprint of 'anything' for 'any' in the last sentence of my Liverpool letter,1 and to believe me, very respectfully yours, J. RUSKIN." If you tear this off and send it, it will do nicely. It is curious that I feel older and sadder, very much, in now looking at these young children—it is especially the young ones between whom and me I now feel so infinite a distance-and they are so beautiful and so good, and I am not good, considering the advantages I've had, by any means. The weary longing to begin life over again, and the sense of fate for ever forbidding it, here or hereafter, is terrible. I daresay I shall get over it in a day or two, but I was out in the playground with them this afternoon, and the sun was on the grass, and on them, and the sense of loveliness in life, and of overbrooding death, like winter, was too strong. If it were not that they are very happy to have me, and that I can do them good, I should run away again to Abbeville directly: I was very cheerful there -perhaps if I get to drawing instead of play here I shall be better. P.S.-On second thoughts, I am so sure you won't like this letter that I've merely made one of the children copy it that you might see it, and sent this scrap of thanks to Bayne-so never mind about it. To his FATHER WINNINGTON, Wednesday, December 15, 1863. I have your nice letter to Hereford. I have quite given up all thoughts of that house in Switzerland now, though my doing so indicates a certain hopelessness and abandonment of all old thoughts 1 [In this edition, Vol. XVIII. p. 547.] [Where Ruskin had been staying (in a "mopy" condition, as he wrote) after a visit to Lord Somers at Eastnor Castle. and ways which would be little likely to serve me for church-building. I could build a beautiful little museum-or gallery-I could not build a church—most deeply do I wish I could. And it would be wrong in me to wish that you or my mother could suffer the pain of knowing assuredly and clearly how irrevocably this is impossible; and yet, so long as you think that my present ways and words are things of the surface, not of the deep, how can we in anything understand each other? I never answered that nice letter of yours about the Glasgow paper and your "first appearance associated with my fame." It is really very hard upon you that my courses of thought have now led me out of the way of fame-and into that of suffering-for it is a dark world enough towards the close of life, with my creed. One thing, however, I wish you could put out of your mind-that either Carlyle, Colenso, or Froude, much less any one less than they, have had the smallest share in this change. Three years ago, long before Colenso was heard of, I had definitely refused to have anything more to do with the religious teaching in this school: my promises to Mrs. La Touche1 would never have been made if I had thought it likely any such stir would be caused thus early, as Colenso has excited, but I was then far beyond the point at which he is standing now. Alas, I cannot build churches. Would you please send over directly and ask for Mrs. Carlyle ? I hear she is seriously ill. P.S.-Those verses Miss Bell sent you were mine: I wrote them for the children to dance to.2 To his FATHER WINNINGTON, Thursday, December 16, 1863. I have your nice letter of 15th. I'm so glad you were moped at Hereford. For though you think me so weak in indulging regrets of the past, the fact is, my main mistake is perhaps attributing a quite natural dulness to illness. I have always been so able until now to shake off regret and amuse myself with work of some sort, that now, when my mountains and cathedrals fail me, and I find myself feeling dull in a pine forest or a country town, I directly think I must be dying. Those extracts you sent me from St. Olave's are excellent-but you see the first implies that "people of more ardent temperament are crushed by dead hopes." It is not that we have [See above, p. 435.] The verses headed" Awake! awake!" in Vol. II. p. 245. See also Vol. XXXV. p. 641.] 1863] "THE DAYS THAT ARE NO MORE" 461 not the will to work, but that the work exhausts us after the distress. I stopped at this Bishop's Castle to draw, and if I could have drawn well, should have been amused, but the vital energy fails (after an hour or two) which used to last one all day, and then for the rest of the day one is apt to think of dying, and of the “ days that are no more." It is vain to fight against this-a man may as well fight with a prison wall, The remedy is only in time, and gradual work with proper rest. Life properly understood and regulated would never be subject to trials of the kind. Men ought to be severely disciplined and exercised in the sternest way in daily lifethey should learn to lie on stone beds and eat black soup, but they should never have their hearts broken-a noble heart, once broken, never mends-the best you can do is to rivet it with iron and plaster the cracks over-the blood never flows rightly again. The two terrific mistakes which Mama and you involuntarily fell into were the exact reverse in both ways you fed me effeminately and luxuriously to that extent that I actually now could not travel in rough countries without taking a cook with me!-but you thwarted me in all the earnest fire of passion and life. About Turner you indeed never knew how much you thwarted me-for I thought it my duty to be thwarted -it was the religion that led me all wrong there; if I had had courage and knowledge enough to insist on having my own way resolutely, you would now have had me in happy health, loving you twice as much (for, depend upon it, love taking much of its own way, a fair share, is in generous people all the brighter for it), and full of energy for the future-and of power of self-denial: now, my power of duty has been exhausted in vain, and I am forced for life's sake to indulge myself in all sorts of selfish ways, just when a man ought to be knit for the duties of middle life by the good success of his youthful life. No life ought to have phantoms to lay. Yes, I shall be home (D.V.) on Saturday, and will go to the Cowpers on Monday. I am much better in general tone of mind, for all thisbut what I might have been!-you are happy in not being able to fancy. I hope you are right about my general health, but am more nervous than ever I was before about physical symptoms. I shall enjoy my mineralogy, etc., but I don't know how to get exercise. The house is empty now-comparatively-only fourteen children in it; we had such a game of hide-and-seek yesterday in the attics and empty rooms. I was as hot at last as if I had been up and down the Montanvert, and it did me good. I must have wood to saw or something to work at daily. 1 [Tennyson: The Princess.] To Mrs. WILLIAM COWPER 1 WINNINGTON, NORTHWICH, Friday [December, 1863]. DEAR MRS. COWPER,-Thank you for your pretty letter-I'll come and dine, then; there's always a sense of hurry after breakfast. But it will be ten days or a fortnight, yet, before I can get home. I will write to you as soon as I know, and then you have only to tell me your day. Don't tremble; if I can be of use to you at all, it will be in casting out all Fear. If I hurt you it can only be in crushing an uncertain hope. If it should seem even that the Faith of Virgil was founded as firmly as Dante's, and more reasonably, it might be conceived as not the less happy.-With sincere regards to Mr. Cowper, ever faithfully yours, J. RUSKIN. 1864 [On March 3, 1864, Ruskin's father died. Except for some lectures in the provinces and visits to Winnington, Ruskin remained throughout the year with his mother at Denmark Hill. Some letters on his father's death, in addition to those here given, will be found in Vol. XVIII. pp. xxvii.-xxix. It was in this year that he was led through his friend Mrs. Cowper (Lady Mount-Temple) to attend some spiritualist séances: see the letters to D. D. Home and to her in Vol. XVIII. pp. xxxi.-xxxiii. An account of his literary and artistic studies during this year is given in a letter to Acland, ibid., p. xxxiv.] To GEORGE ALLEN [DENMARK HILL] 1st January, 1864. MY DEAR ALLEN,-I have not written, being quite unable to give you any accounts of myself, or any clue as to my possible plans. Perhaps I am getting a little better, but do not know, and at all events, I have not energy enough at present to carry out any of the plans I had about Switzerland. The people have disgusted me beyond endurance, and I find I have a painful association now with every place I have been staying at. Also, I hear on further inquiry that there is real danger-almost certainty-of goitre coming if one stays in Savoy in the winter; it will be of no consequence if you now bring your children home, or if I took you into Italy, but I must give up my Savoy plans. This has unsettled and vexed me, and I cannot tell you what is likely to be my next notion. The etching is very nice can't be 1 [Afterwards Lady Mount-Temple: see the Introduction, above, p. xcviii.] |