262: A Few Reviews

It is difficult, at this removal of years, for we moderns to get a good sense of how celebrated Ruskin was in his time. I have tried, throughout the post of this blog, to include, on a number of occasions, some of these praises–and they were many and usually effusive! – that he and his work were accorded. If you would like to read some, glance over to the right-hand side of this page and, under the option, “Previous Posts by Topic,” choose “Encomia.” Any of the posts which are offered to your choice when the drop-down menu appears will give you a sense of some of the applause he garnered.

Today, however, I am going to try a different approach. Of late I have been reading J. L. Bradley’s The Critical Ruskin (1984). What this editor has done (which I believe no other has) is scour the surviving literature from Ruskin’s era for published commentaries by his contemporaries assessing his work and, those found, offer a sampling to modern readers. His selections–and not all are laudatory–span the arc of our subject’s writing career (roughly 1837 to 1889). Included are reviews of all five of the Modern Painters books, The Seven Lamps of Architecture, The Stones of Venice, Unto this Last, his autobiography (Praeterita), some of the smaller (but not necessarily lesser) works of later years and collections of his public lectures. Below, I’ve selected a handful so that you might get a feeling for how much his words and paragraphs affected and meant to those who read him.

His first book, The Poetry of Architecture, appeared in 1837 when he was but 18 years old. In it, his love of the built environment–which would be considerably more developed in The Seven Lamps of Architecture.in 1843–is characterized by an infectious youthful enthusiasm and brims with flashes of the compositional brilliance which will characterize his later works.. However, the first pages to put him solidly on the celebrated map of literary Britain was the first volume of Modern Painters, published in 1843 when he was 24. Its passion, love of art, particularly, the works of the then-living landscape painter, J. M.W. Turner, was received with enormous enthusiasm, for, to that point, no one had written with such eloquence and presented his theses so convincingly (briefly: that the best artists of the19th century were not only the equal of but, in many respects, superior to the greatest painters of antiquity). Reviews by dozens of critics lauding his paragraphs appeared in newspapers and journals across the English-speaking world. A typical example was written by the young (28) American poet, Walt Whitman, who, at the time, a dozen years before his Leaves of Grass appeared (a book Ruskin would admire) was editor of a New York daily, The Brooklyn Eagle.

In part, his review read:

The first dip one takes in this book will, in all probability, make [the reader] pleased with the dashy, manly, clear-hearted style of its author. He tells us, in his “Preface,” that he began [writing this volume out of] a feeling of indignation at the shallow and false criticism of the periodicals of the day regarding the works of a certain artist [Turner]. That his writing is entirely devoid of selfish or partial motives we feel entirely confident. No other than a sincere man could make such eloquence as fills these pages. The wisest expanse of the ideal, and the most rigid application of mechanical rules of art, appear to have been mastered by the author of Modern Painters. As for artists…such a work will be invaluable. [While for] the general reader, it will present many fresh ideas and a fund of intellectual pleasure. Indeed, it is worthy of…[being read by] every lover of what we must call intellectual chivalry, enthusiasm, and a high-toned sincerity–disdainful of the flippant tricks and petty arts of small writers.

But the first volume Of Modern Painters had merely dented Ruskin’s thoughts on the subject of what constituted great art, And so, almost immediately after the appearance of the first volume, as he basked in the extensive approval of his fellows, he began work on a second volume, one which would appear in 1846. It received the same level of enthused applause as the first. The Seven Lamps of Architecture, published two years later, only added to the appreciation. Here, as a representative example of the sort of lauding his work generated, is a portion of a review of the first two MPs volumes written by Dr. John Brown of Edinburgh. It appeared in The North British Review. Reading, it is hard not to come to the conclusion that it is the sort of review any writer of any book would cherish:

“This is a very extraordinary and very delightful book, full of truth and goodness, power and beauty. If genius may be considered (and it is as serviceable a definition as is current) as that power by which one man produces for the pleasure of his fellow man something at once new and true, then here we have its unmistakable and inestimable handiwork. Let our readers take our word for it and read these [two] volumes thoroughly, giving themselves up to the guidance of the most original thinker and most attractive writer, and they will find not only that they are richer in true knowledge, and quickened in pure and heavenly affections, [and discover that] their eyes have opened] upon a new world, [and that they] walk under an ampler heaven, and breathe finer air.

“There are few things more delightful or more rare than to feel such a kindling of the whole faculties as is produced by a work such as this. It adds a ‘precious seeing to the eye,’ [it] makes the ear more quick of apprehension  and opens our whole ‘inner-man’ to a new discipline. It fills us with gratitude as well as admiration towards him to whom we owe so much enjoyment. And what is more and better than all this, everywhere throughout this work, we trace evidence of a deep reverence and godly fear–a perpetual, though subdued–acknowledgment of the Almighty as the sum and substance, as the beginning and ending of all truth, of all power, of all goodness, and all beauty.”          

            On the basis of reviews like Brown’s (there were many), brisk sales of Ruskin’s books, and widely-circulating reports praising his remarkable intelligence and affability in personal interaction (although often confronted with new acquaintances who disagreed with some of his views on art or the unquestioned superiority of Turner, Ruskin almost never attacked or treated such disputants harshly), burnished his reputation, and as the months and years passed, that reputation only grew, not only in the English-speaking portions of Europe, but in North America, where his books (frequently in pirated editions–there being, at the time, no international copyright laws of any substance) were widely available. Indeed, so popular and in demand was he, that, when he delivered public lectures–a practice that became more common as time elapsed–he was often accorded, before he spoke (as well as during the obligatory “after” moments) standing ovations accompanied by cheers and stentorian applause.

By the midpoint of the 1850s, Ruskin, apparently indefatigable, had added to his celebrated list no fewer than six new volumes, each attesting further to his genius and cementing his status as the greatest art critic the English-speaking world had produced: In addition to MPs II and The Seven Lamps, he published The Stones of Venice (three volumes, 1851/52), and two more hefty volumes (III and IV) in the Modern Painters series {ca. 500 pages each; both, 1856).

Each brimmed with his–by now expected–eloquent passages, passages praising in awe-inspiring and lyrical sentences not only the instances of art or architecture which were his principal focus, but the wonders of nature he saw everywhere and which he regarded as the fundamental font of all creative imagination. There were passages saluting the beauties of pines, the glories of clouds, the sweetness and significance of grass (!), of the mountains for their beauty and essential role in sustaining life, the loveliness of fields, flowers, streams – even rivulets! –not to forget one reminding readers of the beauty of the gentle green mosses that grow on gravestones. His audience luxuriated in it all. There were, of course, a few critics: some objected to his “ornate language,” others had grown tired of his incessant praise of Turner and his works but, on the whole, there was little other than celebration. One more contemporary review—one from the applauded pen of the famed novelist, George Eliot—of the third volume of Modern Painters –sets the tone. It appeared in the Manchester Review for April 1856 and provides a sense of the general panoply of praise. The author begins by telling her readers how pedestrian the recent crop of books have been:

“Our table, this  time, does not, according to our favorite metaphor, ‘groan’ under the weight of the literature of [this recent] quarter–for this quarter has not been very [weighty].  But we ourselves ‘groan’ under it rather more than usual, for the [recent] harvest [has been] principally of straw, and precious few grains of corn remain after winnowing.  We except one book, however, which is a rich sheaf and which will serve as bread and seed corn for many days. We mean the new volume of Mr. Ruskin’s “Modern Painters, to which he, appropriately, gives a subordinate title, “Of Many Things.” It may be taken up with equal pleasure whether the reader be acquainted or not with the previous volumes [in the series], but no special artistic culture is necessary in order to enjoy its excellences or profit from its suggestions. Everyone who cares about nature or poetry or the story of human development–everyone who has a tinge of literature or philosophy–will find something…which will ‘gravitate to him’ in this volume. Since its predecessors appeared, Mr. Ruskin his devoted ten years to loving study of his great subject – the principles of Art–which, like all great subjects—carries any student into many fields…

“The fundamental principles of all just thought and beautiful action or creation are the same [he tells us herein], and, in making clear to ourselves what is best and noblest in Art, we are making clear to ourselves what is best and noblest in morals. In learning how to estimate the artistic products of a particular age according to the mental attitude and eternal life of that age, we are widening our sympathy and deepening the basis of our tolerance and charity…Very correct singing of very fine music will avail little without a voice which can thrill an audience and take possession of [its] souls.

“Mr. Ruskin has [such] a voice, and one of such power that whatever error may mix with his truths, he will make more converts to those truths than less erring advocates who are hoarse and feeble. Considered merely as a writer, he is in the very highest rank of English stylists. The vigor and splendor of his elegance are not more remarkable than his precision, and the delicate truthfulness of his epithets.”

Eliot concluded–reluctantly–thus: “[T]he more we look into Mr. Ruskin’s volume, the more we want to quote or tell the reader about. [But] we have other books to tell [the] reader of, and so] we must shut this very seductive one, and content ourselves with merely mentioning the chapters on ‘The Moral of Landscape’  and ‘The Teachers of Turner,’ which [occupy the later pages of the book–] preparing the way for the special consideration of Turner which is to follow in a fourth [MPs] volume.  If the matter of this book had arrested us less, we should, perhaps, have laid more stress on its illustrations, some of which are very beautiful… ”

A few typical reviews. then, my good friends!

Until next time!

Please do continue well out there!

🙂

Jim 

“In  the short time you have, be kind, and do all the sure good you can.

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