Home Life of Great Authors

by Hattie Tyng Griswold

"So that very early, indeed, in my thoughts of trees I had got at the principle, given fifty years afterwards in Proserpina, that the seeds and fruits of them were for the sake of the flowers, not the flowers for the fruit. The first joy of the year being in its snowdrops, the second and cardinal one was in the almond-blossom, every other garden and woodland gladness following from that in an unbroken order of kindling flower and shadowy leaf; and for many and many a year to come—until, indeed, the whole of life became autumn to me—my chief prayer for the kindness of Heaven, in its flowerful seasons, was that the frost might not touch the almond-blossom."

His mother, who was a very religious woman, used to oblige him to learn long chapters of the Bible by heart at a very early age, and his favorite chapters were always from the Psalms, where there is so much of grand and glowing poetry. It was a fine diet for such a child as he, or, indeed, for any child; and he attributes his taste for the grand things in literature to his early knowledge of the matchless poetry of the Bible. Doubtless it gave also that devotional bent to his mind which has been one of his many striking characteristics through life. He is as essentially religious as one of the old Hebrew prophets, and has brought forward his religious precepts in season and out of season ever since he began to write.

He was taken on his travels when but a boy, and saw many of the beauties of Europe before he went to Oxford. He made acquaintance at that early age with most of the beautiful buildings about which he has since written so eloquently. The old Gothic buildings pleased him most of all,—even the rugged Gothic of the North. He spent much time in Italy and in Switzerland, which he says is a country to be visited and not lived in. He thinks that such sublimity of scenery should only be looked upon reverently, and that those who view it habitually lose their reverence, and, indeed, do not appreciate it at any time.

At Oxford he produced a prize poem; but he has never been heard of as a poet since, although there is more of poetry in his prose than in the verse of many of his contemporary poetical brethren, and if any man of his time has been endowed with the true poetic temperament, it is surely he.

His constitution has always been feeble, and he can bear no excitement, and has been known to sink into such exhaustion from a little over-tension of the nerves that it has been very difficult to bring him back to consciousness.

A person of this nature was probably very romantic in his youth, and he fell very violently in love with a Scottish lady when quite young. He says that never having been indulged with much affection in youth, or been allowed to bestow a great deal even upon his parents, when in later life love did come, "it came with violence, utterly rampant and unmanageable, at least to me, who never before had anything to manage."

He lived in a world of his own dreams for a long time, endowing the object of his affections with every grace and charm. He was an exacting as well as a passionate lover, and the lady was of far cooler blood than he. But after a variety of experiences, such as fall to the lot of most lovers, the lady became his wife. Of course the world knows little of the inner secrets of that married life, for John Ruskin is not a man to cry his sorrows in the market-place; but the world does know that the marriage proved very unhappy, and that it was finally followed by a separation. Of course there was a world of scandal at the time, which is now happily forgotten; for all this was very, very long ago, and the first scandal was as nothing compared to that which followed the lady's marriage with Millais, the artist of whom London is so proud. There was no moral blame imputed to either party at the time of the separation; and it was understood to have been only one of the numerous cases of incompatibility, of which the world is so full.

This most deplorable event in Ruskin's life was followed by long years of seclusion. He had never gone much into society, but after this he lived in almost utter solitude for years, writing his wonderful books, and making long stays in Venice and other distant cities. He was born to wealth, and never had to trouble himself about the more prosaic affairs of the world. In this country we have had until recently no large leisure class, and those who are now taking that place are few in number, and seem utterly at a loss how to pass their time amid the business and bustle of our hurrying life. More and more are they going to Europe, as is natural; for there they find people like themselves, and multitudes of them, who have nothing to do, and who therefore seek to enjoy their leisure. With such a man as Ruskin this was not difficult, and he became a hard worker, not from necessity, but from the pressure from within. He never made or sought to make any money from his books, but they gave him great delight in the writing, and brought him fame, which he did not disdain. One of the cardinal principles of his morality has always been that poverty is no bar to happiness, but that all that is best in life is open to poor as well as rich. This he proclaimed loudly in lectures to workingmen, which he inaugurated in London, Edinburgh, and other cities. If men can only be taught to see, and to think, and to worship, according to Ruskin they have always sources of happiness at hand, of which no outward force of circumstances can deprive them. This is a great and a true gospel, and would there were more such eloquent proclaimers of it as Ruskin! what could be better doctrine for the men and women of this generation than this:—

"In order to teach men how to be satisfied, it is necessary fully to understand the art and joy of humble life; this at present, of all arts and sciences, being the one most needing study. Humble life,—that is to say, proposing to itself no future exaltation, but only a sweet continuance; not excluding the idea of forethought, but only of fore-sorrow, and taking no troublous thought for coming days. The life of domestic affection and domestic peace, full of sensitiveness to all elements of costless and kind pleasure, therefore chiefly to the loveliness of the natural world."

Again he sums up these costless pleasures in sentences weighty with meaning:—