as a large exhibition of fireworks, see them explode, clap their hands,
and have done with them; or they may treat them as an exhaustless
library of noble learning. To this end, they need, first, space and
proper light--north light, as clear of smoke as possible, and large
windows; and then proper attendance--that is to say, well-paid
librarians and servants.
The space will of course be difficult to obtain, for while the British
public of the upper classes are always ready to pay any money whatever
for space to please their pride in their own dining-rooms and
ball-rooms, they would not, most of them, give five shillings a year to
get a good room in the National Gallery to show the national drawings
in. As to the room in which it is at present proposed to place them in
the new building, they might just as well, for any good that will ever
be got out of them there, be exhibited in a railway tunnel.
And the attendants will also be difficult to obtain. For--and this is
the final fact to which I beg your notice--these drawings now in
question were, as I above stated, framed by me in 1858. They have been
perfectly “accessible” ever since, and are so now, as easily as any
works[109] in the shops of Regent Street are accessible over the
counter, if you have got a shopman to hand them to you. And the British
public have been whining and growling about their exclusion from the
sight of these drawings for the last eighteen years, simply because,
while they are willing to pay for any quantity of sentinels to stand in
boxes about town and country, for any quantity of flunkeys to stand on
boards for additional weight to carriage horses, and for any quantity of
footmen to pour out their wine and chop up their meat for them, they
would not for all these eighteen years pay so much as a single attendant
to hand them the Turner drawings across the National Gallery table; but
only what was needful to obtain for two days in the week the withdrawal
from his other duties in the Gallery of the old servant of Mr. Samuel
Rogers.
I am, Sir, your obedient servant,
J. RUSKIN.
BRANTWOOD, _July_ 3.
[From “The Daily Telegraph,” July 19, 1876.]
_TURNERS DRAWINGS._
_To the Editor of “The Daily Telegraph.”_
SIR: In justice to our living water-color artists, will you favor me by
printing the accompanying letter,[110] which I think will be
satisfactory to many of your readers, on points respecting which my own
may have given some of them a false impression? In my former letter,
permit me to correct the misprint of “works” in Regent Street for
“wares.”
I have every reason to suppose Mr. Collingwood Smith’s knowledge of the
subject entirely trustworthy; but when all is conceded, must still
repeat that no water-color work of value should ever be constantly
exposed to light, or even to the air of a crowded metropolis, least of
all to gaslight or its fumes.
I am, Sir, yours, etc.,
J. RUSKIN.
BRANTWOOD, CONISTON, LANCASHIRE, _July_ 16.
[From “The Times,” April 25, 1876.]
_COPIES OF TURNER’S DRAWINGS._
_To the Editor of “The Times.”_
SIR: You will oblige me by correcting the misstatement in your columns
of the 22d,[111] that “only copies of the copies” of Turner exhibited at
148 New Bond Street, are for sale. The drawings offered for sale by the
company will, of course, be always made by Mr. Ward from the originals,
just as much as those now exhibited as specimens.
You observe in the course of your article that “surely such attempts
could not gratify any one who had a true insight for Mr. Turner’s
works?” But the reason that the drawings now at 148 New Bond Street are
not for sale is that they _do_ gratify _me_, and are among my extremely
valued possessions; and if among the art critics on your staff there be,
indeed, any one whose “insight for Mr. Turner’s work” you suppose to be
greater than mine, I shall have much pleasure in receiving any
instructions with which he may favor me, at the National Gallery, on the
points either in which Mr. Ward’s work may be improved, or on those in
which Turner is so superior to Titian and Correggio, that while the
public maintain, in Italy, a nation of copyists of these second-rate
masters, they are not justified in hoping any success whatever in
representing the work of the Londoner, whom, while he was alive, I was
always called mad for praising.
I am, Sir, your obedient servant,
JOHN RUSKIN.
PETERBOROUGH, _April_ 23.
[From “The Times,” January 24, 1871.]
_“TURNERS,” FALSE AND TRUE._
_To the Editor of “The Times.”_
SIR: I have refused until now to express any opinion respecting the
picture No. 40[112] in the Exhibition of the Old Masters, feeling
extreme reluctance to say anything which its kind owner, to whom the
Exhibition owes so much, might deem discourteous.
But I did not suppose it was possible any doubt could long exist among
artists as to the character of the work in question; and, as I find its
authenticity still in some quarters maintained, I think no other course
is open to me than to state that the picture is not by Turner, nor even
by an imitator of Turner acquainted with the essential qualities of the
master.
I am able to assert this on internal evidence only. I never saw the
picture before, nor do I know anything of the channels through which it
came into the possession of its present proprietor.
No. 235 is, on the contrary, one of the most consummate and majestic
works that ever came from the artist’s hand, and it is one of the very
few now remaining which have not been injured by subsequent treatment.
I am, Sir, your obedient servant,
JOHN RUSKIN.
DENMARK HILL, _Jan._ 23.
[From “The Life of Turner,” by Walter Thornbury.]
_THE CHARACTER OF TURNER.[113]_
[The following admonition, sent by Mr. Ruskin in 1857 to Mr. Thornbury,
and coupled with the advice that for the biographer of Turner there was
no time to be lost, “for those who knew him when young are dying daily,”
forms a fit conclusion to this division of the letters.]
Fix at the beginning the following main characteristics of Turner in
your mind, as the keys to the secret of all he said and did.
_Uprightness._
_Generosity._
_Tenderness_ of heart (extreme).
_Sensuality._
_Obstinacy_ (extreme).
_Irritability._
_Infidelity._
And be sure that he knew his own power, and felt himself utterly alone
in the world from its not being understood. Don’t try to mask the dark
side....
Yours most truly,
J. RUSKIN.
[See the preface to the first edition of the “Life of Turner;” that to
the second contains the following estimate of Mr. Thornbury’s book:[114]
“Lucerne, Dec. 2, 1861.--I have just received and am reading your book
with deep interest. I am much gratified by the view you have taken and
give of Turner. It is quite what I hoped. What beautiful things you have
discovered about him! Thank you for your courteous and far too
flattering references to me.”]
LETTERS ON ART.
V.
PICTURES AND ARTISTS.
JOHN LEECH’S OUTLINES. 1872.
ERNEST GEORGE’S ETCHINGS. 1873.
THE FREDERICK WALKER EXHIBITION. 1876.
V.
PICTURES AND ARTISTS.
[From the “Catalogue of the Exhibition of Outlines by the late John Leech, at the
Gallery, 9 Conduit Street, Regent Street.” 1872.[115]]
_JOHN LEECH’S OUTLINES._
I am honored by the request of the sister of John Leech that I should
give some account of the drawings of her brother, which remain in her
possession; and I am able to fulfil her request without departing from
the rule which has always bound me, not to allow any private interest to
weigh with me in speaking of matters which concern the public. It is
merely and simply a matter of public concern that the value of these
drawings should be known and measures taken for their acquisition, or,
at least, for obtaining a characteristic selection from them, as a
National property. It cannot be necessary for me, or for any one, now to
praise the work of John Leech. Admittedly it contains the finest
definition and natural history of the classes of our society, the
kindest and subtlest analysis of its foibles, the tenderest flattery of
its pretty and well-bred ways, with which the modesty of subservient
genius ever amused or immortalized careless masters. But it is not
generally known how much more valuable, as art, the first sketches for
the woodcuts were than the finished drawings, even before those drawings
sustained any loss in engraving.
John Leech was an absolute master of the elements of character,--but not
by any means of those of _chiaroscuro_,--and the admirableness of his
work diminished as it became elaborate. The first few lines in which he
sets down his purpose are invariably of all drawing that I know the
most wonderful in their accurate felicity and prosperous haste. It is
true that the best possible drawing, whether slight or elaborate, is
never hurried. Holbein or Titian, if they lay only a couple of lines,
yet lay them quietly, and leave them entirely right. But it needs a
certain sternness of temper to do this.
Most, in the prettiest sense of the word, _gentle_ artists indulge
themselves in the ease, and even trust to the felicity of rapid--and
even in a measure inconsiderate--work in sketching, so that the beauty
of a sketch is understood to be consistent with what is partly
unintentional.
There is, however, one condition of extreme and exquisite skill in which
haste may become unerring. It cannot be obtained in completely finished
work; but the hands of Gainsborough, Reynolds, or Tintoret often nearly
approach completion at full speed, and the pencil sketches of Turner are
expressive almost in the direct ratio of their rapidity.
But of all rapid and condensed realization ever accomplished by the
pencil, John Leech’s is the most dainty, and the least fallible, in the
subjects of which he was cognizant. Not merely right in the traits which
he seizes, but refined in the sacrifice of what he refuses.
The drawing becomes slight through fastidiousness not indolence, and the
finest discretion has left its touches rare.
In flexibility and lightness of pencilling, nothing but the best
outlines of Italian masters with the silver point can be compared to
them. That Leech sketched English squires instead of saints, and their
daughters instead of martyrs, does not in the least affect the question
respecting skill of pencilling; and I repeat deliberately that nothing
but the best work of sixteenth century Italy with the silver point
exists in art, which in rapid refinement these playful English drawings
do not excel. There are too many of them (fortunately) to be rightly
exemplary--I want to see the collection divided, dated carefully, and
selected portions placed in good light, in a quite permanent arrangement
in each of our great towns in connection with their drawing schools.
I will not indeed have any in Oxford while I am there, because I am
afraid that my pupils should think too lightly of their drawing as
compared with their other studies, and I doubt their studying anything
else but John Leech if they had him to study. But in our servile schools
of mechanical drawing, to see what drawing was indeed, which could
represent something better than machines, and could not be mimicked by
any machinery, would put more life into them than any other teaching I
can conceive.
It is, therefore, with the greatest pleasure that I accept the honor of
having my name placed on the committee for obtaining funds for the
purchase of these drawings; and I trust that the respect of the English
public for the gentle character of the master, and their gratitude for
the amusement with which he has brightened so many of their days, will
be expressed in the only way in which expression is yet possible by due
care and wise use of the precious possessions he has left to them.
(Signed) J. RUSKIN.
[From “The Architect,” December 27, 1873.]
_ERNEST GEORGE’S ETCHINGS._
_To the Editor of “The Architect.”_
MY DEAR SIR: I am entirely glad you had permission to publish some of
Mr. Ernest George’s etchings;[116] they are the most precious pieces of
work I have seen for many a day, though they are still, like nearly
everything the English do best in art, faultful in matters which might
have been easily conquered, and not a little wasteful, sometimes of
means and time; I should be glad, therefore, of space enough in your
columns to state, with reference to these sketches, some of the
principles of etching which I had not time to define in the lectures on
engraving I gave this year, at Oxford,[117] and which are too often
forgotten even by our best draughtsmen.
I call Mr. George’s work precious, chiefly because it indicates an
intense perception of points of character in architecture, and a sincere
enjoyment of them for their own sake. His drawings are not accumulative
of material for future use; still less are they vain exhibitions of his
own skill. He draws the scene in all its true relations, because it
delights him, and he perceives what is permanently and altogether
characteristic in it. As opposed to such frank and joyful work, most
modern architectural drawings are mere diagram or exercise.
I call them precious, in the second place, because they show very great
powers of true composition. All their subjects are made delightful more
by skill of arrangement than by any dexterities of execution; and this
faculty is very rare amongst landscape painters and architects, because
nearly every man who has any glimmering of it naturally takes to figure
painting--not that the ambition to paint figures is any sign of the
faculty, but that, when people have the faculty, they nearly always have
also the ambition. And, indeed, this is quite right, if they would not
forsake their architecture afterwards, but apply their power of figure
design, when gained, to the decoration of their buildings.
To return to Mr. George’s work. It is precious, lastly, in its fine
sense of serene light and shade, as opposed to the coruscations and
horrors of modern attempts in that direction. But it is a pity--and this
is the first grand principle of etching which I feel it necessary to
affirm--when the instinct of chiaroscuro leads the artist to spend time
in producing texture on his plate which cannot be ultimately perfect,
however labored. All the common raptures concerning blots, burr,
delicate biting, and the other tricks of the etching trade, merely
indicate imperfect feeling for shadow.
The proper instrument of chiaroscuro is the brush; a wash of sepia,
rightly managed, will do more in ten minutes than Rembrandt himself
could do in ten days of the most ingenious scratching, or blurt out by
the most happy mixtures of art and accident.[118] As soon as Mr. George
has learned what true light and shade is (and a few careful studies with
brush or chalk would enable him to do so), he will not labor his etched
subjects in vain. The virtue of an etching, in this respect, is to
express perfectly harmonious sense of light and shade, but not to
realize it. All fine etchings are done with few lines.
Secondly--and this is a still more important general principle (I must
let myself fall into dictatorial terms for brevity’s sake)--Let your few
lines be sternly clear, however delicate, or however dark. All burr and
botch is child’s play, and a true draughtsman must never be at the mercy
of his copper and ink. Drive your line well and fairly home; don’t
scrawl or zigzag; know where your hand is going, and what it is doing,
to a hairbreadth; then bite clear and clean, and let the last impression
be as good as the first. When it begins to fail break your plate.
Third general principle.
Don’t depend much on various biting. For a true master, and a great
purpose, even one biting is enough. By no flux or dilution of acid can
you ever etch a curl of hair or a cloud; and if you think you can etch
the gradations of coarser things, it is only because you have never
seen them. Try, at your leisure, to etch a teacup or a tallow candle, of
their real size; see what you can make of the gradations of those
familiar articles; if you succeed to your mind, you may try something
more difficult afterwards.
Lastly. For all definite shades of architectural detail, use pencil or
charcoal, or the brush, never the pen point. You can draw a leaf surface
rightly in a minute or two with these--with the pen point, never, to all
eternity. And on you knowing what the surface of a form is depends your
entire power of recognizing good work. The difference between
thirteenth-century work, wholly beautiful, and a cheap imitation of it,
wholly damnable, lies in gradation of surface as subtle as those of a
rose-leaf, and which are, to modern sculpture, what singing is to a
steam-whistle.
For the rest, the limitation of etched work to few lines enables the
sketcher to multiply his subjects, and make his time infinitely more
useful to himself and others. I would most humbly solicit, in
conclusion, such advantageous use of his gifts from Mr. George. He might
etch a little summer tour for us every year, and give permanent and
exquisite record of a score of scenes, rich in historical interest, with
no more pains than he has spent on one or two of these plates in drawing
the dark sides of a wall. Yours faithfully,
JOHN RUSKIN.
[From “The Times,” January 20, 1876.]
_THE FREDERICK WALKER EXHIBITION._
DEAR MR. MARKS:[119] You ask me to say what I feel of Frederick Walker’s
work, now seen in some collective mass, as far as anything can be seen
in black-veiled London. You have long known my admiration of his genius,
my delight in many passages of his art. These, while he lived, were all
I cared to express. If you will have me speak of him now, I will speak
the whole truth of what I feel--namely, that every soul in London
interested in art ought to go to see that Exhibition, and, amid all the
beauty and the sadness of it, very diligently to try and examine
themselves as to the share they have had, in their own busy modern life,
in arresting the power of this man at the point where it stayed. Very
chief share they have had, assuredly. But he himself, in the liberal and
radical temper of modern youth, has had his own part in casting down his
strength, following wantonly or obstinately his own fancies wherever
they led him. For instance, it being Nature’s opinion that sky should
usually be blue, and it being Mr. Walker’s opinion that it should be the
color of buff plaster, he resolutely makes it so, for his own isolated
satisfaction, partly in affectation also, buff skies being considered by
the public more sentimental than blue ones. Again, the laws of all good
painting having been long ago determined by absolute masters, whose work
cannot be bettered nor departed from--Titian having determined forever
what oil-painting is, Angelico what tempera-painting is, Perugino what
fresco-painting is, two hundred years of noble miniature-painting what
minutest work on ivory is, and, in modern times, a score of entirely
skillful and disciplined draughtsmen what pure water-color and pure
body-color painting on paper are (Turner’s Yorkshire drawing of Hornby
Castle, now at Kensington, and John Lewis’s “Encampment under
Sinai,”[120] being nameable at once as unsurpassable standards), here is
Mr. Walker refusing to learn anything from any of those schools or
masters, but inventing a semi-miniature, quarter fresco, quarter wash
manner of his own--exquisitely clever, and reaching, under such clever
management, delightfullest results here and there, but which betrays his
genius into perpetual experiment instead of achievement, and his life
into woeful vacillation between the good, old, quiet room of the
Water-Color Society, and your labyrinthine magnificence at Burlington
House.
Lastly, and in worst error, the libraries of England being full of true
and noble books--her annals of true and noble history, and her
traditions of beautiful and noble--in these scientific times I must say,
I suppose, “mythology”--not religion--from all these elements of mental
education and subjects of serviceable art, he turns recklessly away to
enrich the advertisements of the circulating library, to sketch whatever
pleases his fancy, barefooted, or in dainty boots, of modern beggary and
fashion, and enforce, with laboriously symbolical pathos, his adherence
to Justice Shallow’s sublime theology that “all shall die.”
That theology has indeed been preached by stronger men, again and again,
from Horace’s days to our own, but never to so little purpose. “Let us
eat and drink, for to-morrow we die,” said wisely in his way, the Latin
farmer: ate his beans and bacon in comfort, had his suppers of the gods
on the fair earth, with his servants jesting round the table, and left
eternal monuments of earthly wisdom and of cricket-song. “Let us labor
and be just, for to-morrow we die, and after death the Judgment,” said
Holbein and Durer, and left eternal monuments of upright human toil and
honorable gloom of godly fear. “Let us rejoice and be exceeding glad,
for to-morrow we die, and shall be with God,” said Angelico and Giotto,
and left eternal monuments of divinely-blazoned heraldry of Heaven. “Let
us smoke pipes, make money, read bad novels, walk in bad air, and say
sentimentally how sick we are in the afternoon, for to-morrow we die,
and shall be made ourselves clay pipes,” says the modern world, and
drags this poor bright painter down into the abyss with it, vainly
clutching at a handful or two of scent and flowers in the May gardens.
Under which sorrowful terms, being told also by your grand Academicians
that he should paint the nude, and, accordingly, wasting a year or two
of his life in trying to paint schoolboys’ backs and legs without their
shirts or breeches, and with such other magazine material as he can pick
up of sick gypsies, faded gentlewomen, pretty girls disguised as
paupers, and the red-roofed or gray remnants of old English villages and
manor-house, last wrecks of the country’s peace and honor, remaining yet
visible among the black ravages of its ruin, he supplies the demands of
his temporary public, scarcely patient, even now that he has gone, to
pause beside his delicate tulips or under his sharp-leaved willows, and
repent for the passing tints and fallen petals of the life that might
have been so precious, and, perhaps, in better days, prolonged.
That is the main moral of the Exhibition. Of the beauty of the drawings,
accepting them for what they aim at being, there is little need that I
should add anything to what has been already said rightly by the chief
organs of the London Press. Nothing can go beyond them in subtlety of
exhibited touch (to be distinguished, however, observe always from the
serene completion of master’s work, disdaining the applause to be gained
by its manifestation); their harmonies of amber-color and purple are
full of exquisite beauty in their chosen key; their composition always
graceful, often admirable, and the sympathy they express with all
conditions of human life most kind and true; not without power of
rendering character which would have been more recognized in an inferior
artist, because it would have been less restrained by the love of
beauty.