January 18th, 1863.
To Miss Baumgartner.
RUSKIN’S APPEAL TO OCTAVIA
We are all reassembled for work after Xmas dispersion; and my little troop occupy much of my time. We are all well, and busy. I am succeeding capitally. Ruskin, you know, perhaps, has gone, giving me the grandest drawing lesson, an hour and a half quite alone,—thorough teaching; and then it is so nice; I do feel we are such thorough friends. He talks so quietly, so trustfully, so (I had almost written) reverently; and then the thought made me laugh. But I think you’ll know what I mean. He saw me again the next day at Burne-Jones’s, introducing me to him and his wife; and after a little time, asking to speak with me on business. We went into a quiet little room; and, after business was over, had the most delicious talk. He asked me to write to him in Switzerland, saying that I was “the one” (and then with his accustomed accuracy correcting the statement to), “one of the few” people from whom he wished to hear; and then once more he qualified it by saying, “You tell me just the things I wish to hear.” All this, however, this quiet acknowledged friendship can hardly be described even in words, to me so precious, which expressed it, because it depended on the way, and slight accents and actions impossible to describe. So to come to more important things; Ruskin was so delighted with the trumpet Fra Angelico, that I am to leave Turners and all else and devote myself to Fra Angelico and Orcagna, wherever I can find them; also a little water-colour drawing won the remark that now I had “delicacy” of touch for anything. Nevertheless Ruskin’s heart is with social things; and I was earnestly charged to leave any drawing, if I saw what of help I could give anywhere, believing (which is not difficult) that in doing any good, I was fulfilling Ruskin’s wish and will as much as in drawing. “Never argue that it is not my work,” he said; “I believe you have power among people, which I ought not to monopolise. I’m going away myself too; so just look upon it that I leave you charged to do anything you may see good to be done; only mind, Octavia! one way there is in which you may both grieve and vex me, namely by hurting yourself. Don’t be proud and foolish; remember your strength is worth keeping. Rest for months or years, if you ought, but don’t lose it.” Rather a strange, rather a proud, a very thankful and glorious position,—isn’t it, Emma? It doesn’t make much practical change. The social work is best done by the way. He didn’t mean “help people with money,” for he didn’t leave me any. I meant to rest a good deal; but the confidence and the freedom, if it is wanted,—these make a difference.
14, Nottingham Place, W.,
February 4th, 1863.
To Florence.
... I only began my physiology yesterday, but have done a great deal since, and if Mrs. M. has the sense not to object to the children’s learning it, I shall go on with it steadily, preparing a lesson for them each week, and so shall learn much myself.—I think you would think all our little flock very much improved, if you could see them....
... You will have heard, I suppose, of our magnificent concert for the blind. It was one of the most splendid evenings of my life.... M.E. is so delightful a child to me. I can’t tell you how I enjoy her. I often long for you, dear, with all your sympathy with people in general, and power of making children happy. You know I’ve a damping cool sort of way that just stabs all their enjoyment. I don’t think I’ve any child nature left in me. However, it will injure them less, that what they all want is to grow up. I mean S. and I. and M.E. want qualities, that will fit them for early usefulness, developed.
July 25th, 1863.