HN MEMQEIAM, Chester Harvey Rowell ^-A$~ \<2< v db: 1 . , DUP\iAL AT 5EA Or DAVID THESE PAGES RECOUNT LITTLE JOURNEYS MADE TO THE HOMES OF RUSKIN and TURNER BY ELBERT HUBBARD Done into a Book at the ROYCROFT PRINT ^ ING SHOP that is in East Aurora, New U. S. A. MDCCCXCV1 OF THIS EDITION BUT FOUR HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-THREE COPIES WERE PRINTED, AND TYPES THEN DISTRIBUTED MMT EACH COPY IS SIGNED AND NUMBERED AND THIS BOOK IS NUMBER Q *i C^ I ^ Copyright by G. P. Putnam's Sons R1592510 A LIST OF PHOTOGRAVURE REPRODUCTIONS OF TURNER MASTERPIECES *g& MADE FROM NEGATIVES TAKEN ESPECIALLY FOR THIS BOOK, AT THE NATIONAL GALLERY, LONDON : Burial at Sea of Sir David Wilkie Frontispiece Bay of Baix: Caligula's Palace and Bridge 13 Crossing the Brook 16 Spithead Boats Recovering an Anchor 21 Childe Harold's Pilgrimage 24 Death of Nelson 33 The Bay of Baix : Apollo and the Sibyl 36 Calais Pier: Fishing Boats Departing for Sea; English Packet Arriving 40 On Kingston Bank 43 Ulysses Deriding Polyphemus 46 The Fighting Temeraire 51 Carthage : Dido Directing the Equipment of the Fleet 52 Put roses in their hair, put precious stones on their breasts ; see that they are clothed in purple and scarlet, with other delights ; that they also learn to read the gilded heraldry of the sky ; and upon the earth be taught not only the labours of it but the loveliness. DEUCALION. BAY Or BA1X: CALIQULA\5 PALACE TWINDERMERE a good friend told me i that I must abandon I all hope of seeingMr. Ruskin ; for I had no special business *^ with him, no letters of introduction, and then the fact that I \ am an American made it final. Amer- icans in England are {supposed to pick -jV flowers in private [gardens, cut their names on trees, laugh boisterously at trifles, and make in- vidious comparisons. Very properly Mr. Ruskin does not admire these things r^> Then Mr. Ruskin is a very busy man & Occasionally he issues a printed manifesto to his friends request- ing them to give him peace c %&' A copy of one such cir- cular was shown to me. It runs, " Mr. J. Ruskin is about to begin a work of great importance and therefore begs that in reference to calls and correspondence you will consider him dead for the next two months." A similar notice is reproduced in Arrows of the Chace, and this one thing, I think, illustrates as forcibly as anything in Mr. Raskin's work the self-contained characteristics of the man himself t^a Surely if a man is pleased to be considered " dead" occasionally, even to his kinsmen and friends, he should not be expected to receive an enemy with open arms to steal away his time. This is assuming, of course, that all individuals who pick flowers in other folks'gardens, cut their names on trees, and laugh boisterously at trifles, 13 Q&USKIN AND BURNER USKIN AND URNER are enemies. I therefore decided that I would simply walk over to Brantwood, view it from a distance, tramp over its hills, row across the lake, and at nightfall take a swim in its waters. Then I would rest at the Inn for a space and go my way r^> Lake Coniston is ten miles from Grasmere, and even alone the walk is not long. If, however, you are delightfully at- tended by King's Daughters' with whom you sit and com- mune now and then on the bankside, the distance will seem to be much less. Then there is a pleasant little break in the journey at Hawkshead & Here one may see the quaint old school-house where Wordsworth when a boy dangled his feet from a bench and proved his humanity by carving his initials on the seat. Then this whole coun- try is rich in Wordsworth incident and Wordsworth sug- gestion. The Inn at the head of Coniston Water appeared very inviting and restful when I saw it that afternoon. Built in sections from generation to generation, half cov- ered with ivy and embowered in climbing roses, it is an institution entirely different from the *' Grand Palace Ho- tel " at Oshkosh. In America we have gongs that are fiercely beaten at stated times by gentlemen of color, just as they are supposed to do in their native Congo jungles. This din proclaims to the "guests" and the public at large that it is time to come in and be fed. But this refinement of civilization is not yet in Coniston and the Inn is quiet and home- like. You may go to bed when you are tired, get up when you choose, and eat when you are hungry. HERE were no visitors about when I [arrived and I thought I would have the coffee room all to myself at luncheon time ; but presently there came in a pleasant-faced old gentleman in knick- erbockers. He bowed to me and then took a place at the table. He said that it was a fine day and I agreed with him, adding that the mountains were very beautiful. He assented, putting in a co- dicil to the effect that the lake was very pretty. Then the waiter came for our or- "Together,! s'pose?" remarked Thomas inquiringly, as he halted at the door and [balanced the tray on his finger tips. "Yes, serve lunch for us together," I said the ruddy old gentleman as he looked at me and smiled, " to eat alone | is bad for the digestion." I nodded assent. "Can you tell me how far it is to iBrantwood?" I asked. " Oh, not far, just across the lake." He arose and flung the shutter open I so I could see the old yellow house about a mile across the water, nestling in its wealth of green on the hillside. Soon the waiter brought our lunch, and (while we discussed the chops and new potatoes we talked Ruskiniana. The old gentleman knew a deal more of Stones of Venice and Modern Painters than I ; but I told him how Thoreau introduced Ruskin to America and how Concord was the first place in the QRlJSKIN AND BURNER AND BURNER New World to recognize this star in the East. And upon my saying this, the old gentleman brought his knife-han- dle down on the table, declaring that Thoreau and Whit- man were the only two men of genius that America had produced. I begged him to make it three and include Emerson, which he finally consented to do "v^^" Y AND by the waiter cleared the table prepara- tory to bringing in the coffee. The old gentleman pushed his chair back, took the napkin from un- der his double chin, brushed the crumbs from his goodly front, and remarked: " I'm going over to Brant- wood this afternoon to call on Mr. Ruskin just to pay my respects to him, as I always do when I come here. Can't you go with me ? " I think this was about the most pleas- ing question I ever had asked me. I was going to request him to " come again " just for the joy of hearing the words, but I pulled my dignity together, straightened up, swal- lowed my coffee red hot, pushed my chair back, flourished my napkin, and said : " I shall be much pleased to go." *f* So we went. We two : he in his knickerbockers and I in my checks and outing shirt. I congratulated myself on looking no worse than he, and as for him, he never seemed to think our costumes were not exactly what they should be ; and after all it matters little how you dress when you call on one of nature's noblemen they demand no livery. We walked around the northern end of Coniston Water, along the eastern edge, past Tent House, where Tennyson once lived (and found it " outrageous quiet,") and a mile farther on we came to Brantwood <9t The road curves in to the back of the house which by the way, is the front and the driveway is lined with great trees that form a complete archway. There is no lodge- keeper, no flower beds laid out with square and compass, no trees trimmed to appear like elephants, no cast-iron 16 CF\O.5^INQ THE EF\2K dogs, nor terra cotta deer, and, strangest of all, no sign of the lawn-mower. There is nothing, in fact, to give forth a sign that the great Apostle of Beauty lives in this very old-fashioned spot. Big bowlders are to be seen here and there where nature left them, tangles of vines running over old stumps, part of the meadow cut close with a scythe, and part growing up as if the owner knew the price of hay. Then there are flower beds where grow clus- ters of poppies and hollyhocks, purple, and scarlet, and white ; prosaic gooseberry bushes, plain Yankee pieplant (from which the English make tarts) , rue, and sweet mar- joram, with patches of fennel, sage, thyme, and catnip, all lined off with boxwood, making me think of my grand- mother's garden at Roxbury ^^ On the hillside above the garden we saw the entrance to the cave that Mr. Ruskin once Riled with ice, just to show the world how to keep its head cool at small expense. He even wrote a letter to the papers giving the bright idea to humanity that the way to utilize caves was to fill them with ice. Then he forgot all about the matter. But the following June when the cook, wishing to make some ice cream as a glad surprise for the Sunday dinner, opened the natural ice-chest, she found only a pool of muddy water, and exclaimed: "Botheration!" Then they had custard instead of ice-cream. Q&USKIN AND BURNER USKIN AND URNER E walked up the steps, and my friend let the brass knocker drop just once, for only Americans give a rat-a-tat-tat, and the door was opened by a white-whis- kered butler, who took our cards and ushered us into the library. My heart beat a trifle fast as I took inventory of the room ; for I never before had called Ion a man who was believed to have (refused the poet laureatship. A dimly [lighted room was this library walls painted brown, running up to mellow lyellow at the ceiling; high book-shelves [with a step-ladder, and only five pic- jtures on the walls, and of these three Iwere etchings, and two water colors lof a very simple sort ; leather covered chairs, a long table in the centre, on Iwhich were strewn sundry magazines land papers, also several photographs, land at one end of the room a big fire- place, where a yew log smouldered.^ [Here my inventory was cut short by a (cheery voice : " Ah ! now, gentlemen, I am glad to [see you." There was no time nor necessity for a formal introduction. The great man took my hand as if he had always [known me, as perhaps he thought he had. Then he greeted my friend in the same way, stirred up the fire, for it was a north of England summer day, and took a seat by the table. We were all silent for a space a silence without embarrassment 18 " You were looking at the etching over the fireplace it was sent to me by a young lady in America," said Mr. Ruskin, " and I placed it there to get acquainted with it. I like it more and more. Do you know the scene ? " I knew the scene and explained somewhat about it **& R. RUSKIN has the faculty of making his in- terviewer do most of the talking. He is a rare listener, and leans forward, putting a hand be- hind his right ear to get each word you say jft He was particularly interested in the industrial conditions of America, and I soon found myself " occupying the time," while an occasional word of interrogation from Mr. Ruskin gave me no chance to stop. I came to hear him, not to defend our "republican experiment," as he was pleased to call the United States of America. Yet Mr. Rus- kin was so gentle and respectful in his manner, and so complimentary in his attitude of a listener, that my im- patience at his want of sympathy for our " experiment " only caused me to perspire a trifle '*&& II The fact of women being elected to mayoralties in Kan- sas makes me think of certain African tribes that exalt their women into warriors you want your women to fight your political battles ! " " You evidently hold the same opinion on the subject of equal rights that you expressed some years ago," inter- posed my companion ^lUf "What did I say really I have forgotten most of the opinions I once held? " " You replied to a correspondent, saying : You are cer- tainly right as to my views respecting the female fran- chise. So far from wishing to give votes to women, I would fain take them away from most men.' " " Surely that was a sensible answer. My respect for wom- an is too great to force on her increased responsibilities. 19 Q^USKIN AND BURNER USKIN AND URNER Then as for restricting the franchise with men I am of the firm conviction that no man should be allowed to vote who does not own property, or who cannot do consider- able more than read and write. The voter makes the laws, and why should the laws regulating the holding of prop- erty be made by a man who has no interest in property beyond a covetous desire ; or why should he legislate on education when he possesses none ! Then again, women do not bear arms to protect the state." MWIP " But what do you say to the argument that inasmuch as men do not bear children they have no right to vote : going to war possibly being necessary and possibly not, but the perpetuity of the state demanding that some one bear children ?" Jfjfs*' " The argument is ingenious but lacks force when we consider that the bearing of arms is a matter relating to statecraft, while the baby question is Dame Nature's own, and is not to be regulated even by the sovereign." & IHEN Mr. Ruskin talked for nearly fifteen minutes on the duty of the state to the in- dividual talked very deliberately, but with Ithe clearness and force of a man who be- Ilieves what he says and says what he be- flieves. So my friend by a gentle thrust un- der the fifth rib of Mr. Ruskin' s logic caused him to come to the rescue of his previously expressed opinions, and we had the satisfaction of hearing him discourse earnestly and eloquently Jg^b Maiden ladies usually have an opinion ready on the sub- ject of masculine methods, and, conversely, much of the world's logic on the " woman question" has come from the bachelor brain V*H? Mr. Ruskin went quite out of his way on several occasions in times past to attack John Stuart Mill for heresy " in 20 EOAT5 f\CCOVCK!NQ AN opening up careers for women other than that of wife and mother." When Mill did not answer Mr. Ruskin's news- paper letters, the author of Sesame and Lilies called him a " cretinous wretch " and referred to him as "the man of no imagination." Mr. Mill may have been a cretinous wretch (I do not exactly understand the phrase), but the preface to On Liberty, is at once the tenderest, highest, and most sincere compliment paid to a woman, of which I know *&&> .&> The life of Mr. and Mrs. John Stuart Mill shows that the perfect mating is possible ; yet Mr. Ruskin has only scorn for the opinions of Mr. Mill on a subject which Mill came as near personally solving in a matrimonial " experiment " as any other public man of modern times, not excepting even Robert Browning. Therefore we might suppose Mr. Mill entitled to speak on the woman question, and I intimated as much to Mr. Ruskin. " He might know all about one woman, and if he should regard her as a sample of all woman- kind, would he not make a great mistake ? " I was silenced. Q&USKIN AND BURNER (RUSKIN AND BURNER a t N Fors Clavigera, Letter LIX, the author says : " I never wrote a letter in my life which all the world is not welcome to read." From this one might imagine thai Mr. Ruskin never loved no pressed flowers in books, no passages of poetry double marked and scored, no bundles of letters faded and yellow, sa- cred for his own eye, tied with white or dainty blue rib- bon ; no little nothings hidden away in the bottom of a trunk. And yet Mr. Ruskin has his ideas on the woman question, and very positive ideas they are, too often sweetly sympathetic and wisely helpful "*& I see that one of the encyclopedias mentions Ruskin as a bachelor, which is giving rather an extended meaning to the word, for although Mr. Ruskin was married he was not mated. According to Collingwood's account, this marriage was a quiet arrangement between parents. Anyway the genius is like the profligate in this : when he marries he generally makes a woman miserable. And misery is reac- tionary as well as infectious. Ruskin is a genius. Genius is unique. No satisfactory analysis of it has yet been given. We know a few of its indications that's all. First among these is ability to concentrate. No seed can sow genius ; no soil can grow it ; its quality is inborn and defies both cultivation and extermination v The elder Turner considered that the proper use of a brush was to lather chins. But the boy thought differently, and once surreptitiously took one of his father's brushes to paint a picture ; the brush on being returned to its cup was used the next day upon a worthy haberdasher, whose cheeks were shortly colored a vermilion that matched his nose. This lost the barber a customer and secured the boy a thrashing ,&> <&@S> Young Turner did not always wash his father's shop win- dows well, nor sweep off the sidewalk properly. Like all boys he would rather work for some one else than " his folks." M^ When ten years of age the sorrow that came to his boyish 35 (KUSKIN AND BURNER Q^USKIN heart was grimmer, ghastlier, than any other sorrow that can cloud the sky of childhood, worse than orphanage, worse than death. The last look at the cold, calm face of the dead BURNER may bring with it a tithe of peace : grief gives way to ac- quiescence, and we are moved to nobler thoughts. By ac- cepting a sorrow we divest it of its sting. But for the darkened mind, where the body lives and the soul has seemingly withdrawn, there is no compensation. In her times of aberration young Turner's mother attacked her children, disowned them, disclaimed them ; until there came a time when strong men had to bind her with cords and she was carried screaming away. And these were the last impres- sions of her who bore him, made on the tender, sensitive heart that hungered for a mother's love. DAT Or DA'X: APOLLO AND TMC [HE lad used to run errands for an engraver by the name of Smith Ijohn Raphael Smith. Once when 1 Smith sent the barber's boy with a letter to a certain art gallery with orders to "get the answer and hurry back, mind you ! " the boy forgot to get the answer and to hurry back. |Then another boy was despatched after the first, and boy Number Two found boy Number One sitting, with staring eyes and open mouth, in the art gallery before a painting of Claude Lorraine's. When boy Number One was at last half forcibly dragged away and reached the shop of his master he got his ears well cuffed for his forgetfulness. But from that day forth he was not the same being that he had been before his eyes fell on that Claude Lorraine v&tHF He was transformed, as much so as was Lazarus after he was called from beyond the portals of death and had come back to earth, bearing in his heart the secrets of the grave. From that time he thought of Claude Lorraine during the day and dreamed of him at night, and he stole away into every exhibition where a Claude was to be seen. And now I wish that Claude Lorraine was the subject of this sketch, as well as Turner, for his life is a picture full of the sweet- est poetry, framed in a world of dullest prose ^^ The eyes of this boy whom they had thought dreamy, dull, and listless, now shone with a different light. He thirsted to achieve, to do, to become yes, to become a greater painter than Claude Lorraine. His employer saw the change and smiled at it, but he allowed the lad to put in back-grounds and add the skies to cheap prints, just be- cause the youngster teased to do it *4& Then one day a patron of the shop came and looking 37 (RUSKIN AND BURNER (RuSKIN over the shoulder of the Turner boy, said: "He has ' ANn s ^^ perhaps talent." And I think that the Recording An- gel should give this man a separate page on the Book of BURNER Remembrance and write his name in illumined colors, for he gave young Turner access to his own collection and to his library, and he never cuffed him, nor kicked him, nor called him dunce ; whereat the boy was much surprised. But he encouraged the youth to sketch a pic- ture in water colors and then he r*-i bought the picture and paid him ten shillings for it ; ' and the name of this man was Doc- !?r tor Munro. I HEN young Turner was fourteen, the following year, Dr. Munro had him admitted to the Royal Academy as a student,and in 1790 he exhibited a water color of the Archbishop's Palace at Lambeth ^3 The picture took no prize, and, doubt- less was not worthy of one, but from mow on Joseph M. W. Turner was an [artist, and other hands had to sweep Jthe barber shop t^&> JBut he sold few pictures they were [not popular. Other artists scorned him, [possibly intuitively fearing him, for me- [diocrity always fears when the ghost of [genius does not down at its bidding. [Then Turner was accounted unsoci- [able ; besides he was ragged, uncouth, [independent, and did not conform to [the ways of society ; so the select cir- [cle cast him out, more properly speak- ing, did not let him in V *MP Still he worked and exhibited at every Academy Exhibition; yet he was often hungry, and the London fog crept cold and damp through his threadbare clothes. But he toiled on, for Claude Lorraine was ever before him "V^ In 1802, when twenty-seven years of I age, he visited France and made a tour through Switzerland, tramping over many long miles with his painting kit on his back, and he brought back rich treasures in the way of sketches and quickened imagina- tion. In the years following he took many such trips, and 39 Q&USKIN AND BURNER QptuSKIN AND BURNER came to know Venice, Rome, Florence and Paris as per- fectly as his own London t= ^&p > When thirty-three years of age he was still worshipping at the shrine of Claude Lorraine. His pictures painted at this time are evidence of his ideal, and his book, Liber Studiorum, issued in 1808, is modeled after the Liber Veri- tatis. But the book surpasses Claude's, and Turner knew it, and this may have led him to burst his shackles and cast loose from his idol. For in 1815 we find him working according to his own ideas, showing an originality and au- dacity in conception and execution that made him the butt of the critics, and caused consternation to rage through the studios of competitors ^s> Gradually it dawned upon a few scattered collectors that things so strongly condemned must have merit, for why should the pack bay so loudly if there were no quarry ! So to have a Turner was at least something for your friends to discuss. Then carriages began to stop before the dingy building at 47 Queen Anne Street and broadcloth and satin mounted the creaking stairs to the studio. It happened about this time that Turner's prices began to increase. Like the Sibyl of old, if a customer said " I do not want it," the painter put an extra ten pounds on the price. For Dido Building Carthage, Turner's original price was five hun- dred pounds. People came to see the picture and they said, " The price is too high." Next day Turner's price for the Carthage was one thousand pounds. Finally Sir Robert Peel offered the painter five thousand pounds for the picture, but Turner said he had decided to keep it for himself, and he did. 40 CALA1J PICf\: . FOR PACKET AF^IVINQ N THE forepart of his career he sold few pictures ; for the simple reason that no one wanted them. And he sold few pictures dur- ing the latter years of his life, for the reason that his prices were so high that none but the very rich could buy (3k First the public scorned Turner. Next Turner scorned the public. In the beginning it would not buy his pictures, later it could not MWIP A frivolous public and shallow press from his first exhibition, when fifteen years of age, to his last,when seventy.made sport of his orig- inalities. But for merit there is a recompense in sneers, and a benefit in sarcasms, and a compensation in hate : for when these things get too pronounced, a champion appears. And so it was with Turner. Next to having a Boswell write one's life, what is better than a Ruskin to uphold one's cause ? J J J Success came slowly ; his wants were few, but his ambition never slackened, and finally the dreams of his youth became the realities of his manhood 4ftfc When twenty-two Turner loved a beautiful girl they became engaged. He went away on a tramp sketching tour and wrote his lady- love just one short letter each month. He be- lieved that " absence only makes the heart grow fonder," not knowing that this state- ment is only the vagary of a poet. When he returned the lady was betrothed to another. He gave the pair his blessing and remained a bachelor a very con- firmed bachelor. Perhaps, however, the reason his fiance proved untrue was not through lack of the epistles he 41 (RUSKIN AND BURNER QfvUSKIN wrote her, but on account of them. In the British Museum I examined several letters written by Turner. They ap- AND peared very much like copy for a Josh Billings Almanac. Such originality in spelling, punctuation, and use of capi- tals ! It was admirable in uniqueness $% Turner did not think in words he could think only in paint *&& But the young lady did not know this, and when a letter came from her homely little lover she was shocked, then she laughed, then she showed these letters to a nice young man whowas clerk to a fishmonger and he laughed, then they both laughed. Then this nice young man and this n beautiful young lady became en- gaged,and they were married at St. Andrew's on a love- ly May morning. And they lived happily ever afterward. ON KINGSTON BANK IURNER was small, and in appearance jplain. Yet he was big enough to paint a big (picture, and he was not so homely as to jfrighten away all beautiful women jfr But (Philip Gilbert Hamerton tells us : " Fortu- mate in many things, Turner was lamentably unfortunate in this : that throughout his whole life he never came under the ennobling and refining influence of a good woman *V^ Like Plato, Michael Angelo, Sir Isaac Newton, and his own Claude Lorraine, he was wedded to his art. But at sixty-five his genius suddenly burst forth afresh, and his work, Mr. Ruskin says, at that time exceeded in daring brilliancy and in the rich flowering of imagination any- thing that he had previously done. Mr. Ruskin could give no reason, but rumor says : " A woman." The one weakness of our hero, that hung to him for life, was the idea that he could write poetry. The tragedian always thinks he can succeed in comedy, the comedian spends hours in his garret rehearsing tragedy; most preach- ers have an idea that they could have made a quick for- tune in business, and many business men are very sure that if they had taken to the pulpit there would now be fewer empty pews. So the greatest landscape painter of modern times imagined himself a poet. Hamerton says that Turner's verse would serve well for remarkable specimens of grammar, spelling, and construction to be given to little boys to correct *&&> IURNER' S studio was plain, dingy, unpainted, luncarpeted, unkempt. He did not decorate with (Oriental tissues or strange vases from beyond [the sea or swords or spears or strange artistic bits: his life was simple as that of a carpenter. He surround- ed himself with no luxuries, no marble statuary or ebony 43 Q&USKIN AND BURNER AND BURNER cabinets inlaid with malachite or lapis lazuli. His life was plain to severity and stern to the verge of hardship, but to a man in good health, who holds beauty in his heart, there is a satisfaction in simplicity that can never come from the ownership of things. In ownership there is often a curse. One spot in Turner's life over which I like to linger is his friendship with Sir Walter Scott. They collaborated in the production of Provincial Antiquities and spent many happy hours together tramping over Scottish moors and mountains. Sir Walter lived out his days in happy ignor- ance concerning the art of painting, and although he liked the society of Turner, he confessed that it was quite be- yond his ken why people bought his pictures. " And as for your books," said Turner, " the covers of some are cer- tainly very pretty." Yet these men took a satisfaction in each other's society, such as brothers might enjoy, but without either appreciating the greatness of the other. Turner's temperament was audacious, self-cen- tred, self-reliant, eager for success and fame, yet at the same time scorning public opin- ion a paradox often found in the ar- tistic mind of the first class ; si- lent always with a bitter si- lence, disdaining to tell his meaning when the crit- ics could not per- ceive it. 44 He was above all things always the artist, never the real- QyUSKIN ist. The realist pictures the things he sees ; the artist ex- * Aiun presses that which he feels. Children, and all simple folk who use pen, pencil, or brush, describe the things they BURNER behold. As intellect develops and goes more in partnership with hand, imagination soars and things are outlined that no man can see except he be able to perceive the invisi- ble. To appreciate a work of art you must feel as the ar- tist felt. Now it is very plain that the vast majority of people are not capable of this high sense of sublimity which the creative artist feels ; and therefore they do not understand, and not understanding they wax merry, or cynical, or sarcastic, or wrathful, or envious ; or they pass by unmoved J And I maintain that those who pass by un- moved are more right- eous than they who scoff. 45 QfluSKIN AND BURNER F I should attempt to explain to my little girl the awe I feel when I contemplate the miracle of ma- ternity, she would probably change the subject by prattling to me about a kitten that she saw lapping milk from a blue saucer. If I should attempt to ex- plain to some men what I feel when I contemplate the miracle of maternity, they would smile and turn it all into an unspeakable jest. Is not the child nearer to God than the man ? c= && > "We thus see why Browning is only a joke to many, Whit- man an eccentric, Dante insane, and Turner a pretender. These have all sought to express things which the many cannot feel, and consequently they have been, and are, the butt of jokes and gibes innumerable. " Except ye be- come as little children," etc. And yet the scoffers are often people of worth. Nothing shows the limitation of humanity as this : genius often does not appreciate genius. The inspired, strangely enough, are like the fools, they do not recognize inspiration "VW N Englishman called on Voltaire and found him in bed reading Shakespeare. " What are you reading?" asked the visitor. " Your Shakespeare ! " said the philos- opher ; and as he answered he flung the book across the room. " He's not my Shakespeare," said the Englishman. Greene, Rymer, Dryden, Warburton, and Dr. Johnson used collectively or individually the following expressions in describing the work of the author of Hamlet : conceit, overreach, word-play, extravagance, overdone, absurdity, obscurity, puerility, bombast, idiocy, untruth, improba- bility, drivel. Byron wrote from Florence to Murray : " I know nothing of painting, and I abhor and spit upon all 46 DCRIDINQ POLYPHEMUS saints and so-called spiritual subjects that I see portrayed in these churches." *$*& UT the past is so crowded with vituperation that it is difficult to select besides that we do not wish to ; but let us take a sample of arro- gance from yesterday to prove our point and then drop the theme for something pleasanter Pew and pulpit have fallen over each other for the privil- ege of hitting Darwin ; a Bishop warns his congregation that Emerson is " dangerous ; " Spurgeon calls Shelley a sensualist ; Dr. Buckley speaks of Susan B. Anthony as the leader of "the short-haired; " Talmage cracks jokes about evolution, referring feelingly to " monkey an- cestry;" and a prominent divine of England writes the World's Congress of Religions down as " pious wax-works." These things being true, and all the sentiments quoted coming from " good " but blindly zealous men, is it a wonder that the artist is not understood ? QPIUSKIN AND BURNER 47 QptuSKIN AND BURNER i BRILLIANT picture called Cologne [Evening, attracted much attention at he Academy Exhibition of 1826. One ay the people who often collected round Turner's work were shocked to ee that the beautiful canvas had lost its rilliancy, and evidently had been tam- pered with by some miscreant. A friend ran to inform Turner of the bad news : " Don't say any- thing. I only smirched it with lampblack. It was spoiling the effect of Laurence's picture that hung next to it. The black will all wash off after the exhibition." MWf And his tender treatment of his aged father shows the gentle side of his nature. The old barber, whose trem- bling hand could no longer hold a razor, wished to remain under his son's roof in guise of a servant, but the son said : " No, we fought the world together, and now that it seeks to do me honor you shall share all the benefits." And Turner never smiled when the little wizened old man would whisper to some visitor : " Yes, yes, Joseph is the greatest artist in England, and I am his father." **%& Turner had a way of sending ten-pound notes in blank en- velopes to artists in distress, and he did this so frequently that the news got out finally, but never through Turner's telling, and then he had to adopt other methods of doing good by stealth *&MF DO not contend that Turner's character was immaculate, but still it is very probable that worldlings do not appreciate what a small 'part of this great genius touched the mire. To prove the sordidness of the man one critic tells, with vis- age awfully solemn, how Turner once gave an en- graving to a friend and then after a year sent demanding it back. But to a person with a groat's worth of wit the 48 matter is plain : the dreamy,abstracted artist,who bumped into his next door neighbors on the street and never knew them, forgot he had given the picture and believed he had only loaned it. This is made still more apparent by the fact that, when he sent for the engraving in question, he administered a rebuke to the man for keeping it so long. The poor dullard who received the note flew into a rage returned the picture sent his compliments and begged the great artist to " take your picture and go to the devil." Then certain scribblers who through mental disuse had lost the capacity for mirth, dipped their pens in aqua fortis and wrote of the " innate meanness," the "malice pre- pense," and the " Old Adam " that dwelt in the heart of Turner. No one laughed except a few Irishmen, and an American, who chanced to hear the story ^V 5 ^ F TURNER'S many pictures I will mention in detail but two, both of which are to be seen on the walls of the National Gallery. First, the old Temeraire. This warship had been sold out of service and was being towed away to be broken up. The scene was photographed on Turner's brain, and he immortalized it on canvas. We cannot do better than to borrow the words of Mr. Ruskin : *& " Of all pictures not visibly involving human pain this is the most pathetic ever painted. The utmost pensiveness which can ordinarily be given to a landscape depends on adjuncts of ruin, but no ruin was ever so affecting as the gliding of this ship to her grave. This particular ship, crowned in the Trafalgar hour of trial with chief victory surely if ever anything without a soul deserved honor or affection we owe them here tD Surely some sacred care might have been left in our thoughts for her ; some quiet space amidst the lapse of English waters! Nay, not so. We have stern keepers to trust her glory to the fire and 49 Q^USKIN AND BURNER AND BURNER the worm. Nevermore shall sunset lay golden robe upon her, nor starlight tremble on the waves that part at her gliding. Perhaps where the low gate opens to some cot- tage garden,the tired traveller may ask, idly,why the moss grows so green on the rugged wood ; and even the sailor's child may not know that the night dew lies deep in the war rents of the old Temeraire." rf^Sfr I HE Burial of Sir David Wilkie at Sea has brought tears to many [eyes. Yet there is no burial. The [ship is far away in the gloom of the offing ; you cannot distinguish a single figure on her decks ; but you behold her great sails standing out against the leaden blackness of the I night and you feel that out there a certain scene is being enacted. And if you listen closely you can hear the solemn voice of the captain as he reads the burial service ; then there is a pause a swift sliding sound a splash and all is over. \ THE riQMTlNQ TCMCRAIKC ICTURES by Turner to the number of fRlJSKIN nineteen thousand were left to the Brit- ish Nation by the artist's will. Many of them, of course, are merely sketches. These pictures are now to be seen in the National Gallery in rooms set apart and sacred to Turner's work. For fear that it may be thought that the number mentioned above is a misprint, let us say that if he had produced one picture a day for fifty years, it would not equal the number of pieces bestowed by his will on the nation. This of course takes no ac- count of the pictures sold during his lifetime, and, as he left a fortune of one hundred and forty- four thousand pounds ($720,000.00), we may infer that not all of his pic- tures were given away. AND BURNER USKIN AND URNER [ING of modern painters, he has been called ; but neither during life nor at I his death was he surrounded by regal 'trappings. At Chelsea I stood in the 'little room where he breathed his last, 'that bleak day in 1851. The unlettered Lbut motherly old woman who took ^vcare of him in those last days never guessed his greatness ; none in the house or neighborhood knew. To them he was only Mr. Booth, an eccentric old man of moderate means who liked to muse, read, and play with children. He had no callers, no friends ; he went to the city every day and came back at night. He talked but little, he was absent-minded, he smoked and thought and smiled and muttered to himself. He never went to church; but once one of the lodgers asked him what he thought of " God, God what do I know of God, what does any one ! He is our life He is the All, but we need not fear Him all we can do is to speak the truth and do our work. To- morrow we go where ? I know not, but I am not afraid." Of art, to these strangers, he would never speak. Once they urged him to go with them to an exhibition at Ken- sington. He smiled feebly, as he lit his pipe, and said, " An Art Exhibition ? No, no ; a man can show on canvas so little of what he feels, it is not worth the while." T LAST he died passed peacefully away, and his attorney came and took charge of the re- mains. Many are the hard words that have been flung off by heedless tongues about Turner's taking an assumed name and living in obscurity, but "what you call fault I call accent." Surely if a great man and world famous desires to escape the flatterers and the silken mesh of so-called society and live the life of simplicity he 52 DIDO DIRECTING TME EQUIPMENT Or THE TLEET W/l. has a right to do so. Again, Turner was a very rich man in his old age ; he did much for struggling artists and assisted aspiring merit in many ways. So it came about that his mail was burdened with begging letters and his life made miserable by appeals from impecunious persons, good and bad, and from churches, societies, and associa- tions without number. He decided to flee them all; and he The " Carthage," mentioned on a former page,is one of his finest works, and he esteemed it so highly that he re- quested that when death came his body should be buried, wrapped in its magnificent folds. But the wish was dis- regarded & & & His remains rest in the crypt of St. Paul's, beside the dust of Reynolds. His statue, in marble, adorns a niche in the great cathedral, and his name is secure high on the roll of honor. And if for no other reason the name and fame of Chelsea should be deathless as the home of Turner. AND BURNER s 53 <* NUMQUAM HUIC LIBRO INJURIAM QUI VELIT BENEVOLEN TEM SANCTI PETRI FACIEM v