FORS CLAVIGERA.

FORS CLAVIGERA.LETTER XLII.I must construct my letters still, for a while, of swept-up fragments; every day provokes me to write new matter; but I must not lose the fruit of the old days. Here is some worth picking up, though ill-ripened for want of sunshine, (the little we had spending itself on the rain,) last year.1st August, 1873.“Not being able to work steadily this morning, because there was a rainbow half a mile broad, and violet-bright, on the shoulders of the Old Man of Coniston—(by calling it half a mile broad, I mean that half a mile’s breadth of mountain was coloured by it,—and by calling it violet-bright, I mean that the violet zone of it came pure against the grey rocks; and note, by the way, that essentially all the colours of the rainbow are secondary;—yellow exists only as a line—red as a line—blue as a line; but the zone itself is of varied orange, green, and violet,)—not being able, I say, for steady work, I opened[116]an old diary of 1849, and as the third Fors would have it, at this extract from the Letters of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu.(Venice.)“The Prince of Saxony went to see the Arsenal three days ago, waited on by a numerous nobility of both sexes; the Bucentaur was adorned and launched, a magnificent collation given; and we sailed a little in it. I was in company with the Signora Justiniani Gradenigo and Signora Marina Crizzo. There were two cannons founded in his (the Prince of Saxony’s) presence, and a galley built and launched in an hour’s time.” (Well may Dante speak of that busy Arsenal!)“Last night there was a concert of voices and instruments at the Hospital of the Incurabili, where there were two girls that in the opinion of all people excel either Faustina or Cuzzoni.“I am invited to-morrow to the Foscarini to dinner, which is to be followed by a concert and a ball.”The account of a regatta follows, in which the various nobles had boats costing £1000 sterling each, none less than £500, and enough of them to look like a little fleet. The Signora Pisani Mocenigo’s represented the Chariot of the Night, drawn by four sea-horses, and showing the rising of the moon, accompanied with stars, the statues on each side representing the Hours, to the number of twenty-four.Pleasant times, these, for Venice! one’s Bucentaur[117]launched, wherein to eat, buoyantly, a magnificent collation—beautiful ladies driving their ocean steeds in the Chariot of the Night—beautiful songs, at the Hospital of the Incurabili. Much bettered, these, from the rough days when one had to row and fight for life, thought Venice; better days still, in the nineteenth century, being—as she appears to believe now—in store for her.You thought, I suppose, that in writing those numbers of Fors last year from Venice and Verona, I was idling, or digressing?Nothing of the kind. The business of Fors is to tell you of Venice and Verona; and many things of them.You don’t care about Venice and Verona? Of course not. Who does? And I beg you to observe that the day is coming when, exactly in the same sense, active working men will say to any antiquarian who purposes to tell them something of England, “We don’t care about England.” And the antiquarian will answer, just as I have answered you now, “Of course not. Who does?”Nay, the saying has been already said to me, and by a wise and good man. When I asked, at the end of my inaugural lecture at Oxford, “Will you, youths of England, make your country again a royal throne of kings, a sceptred isle, for all the world a source of light—a centre of peace?”—my University friends came to me, with grave faces, to remonstrate against irrelevant and Utopian topics of that nature being introduced in[118]lectures on art; and a very dear American friend wrote to me, when I sent the lecture to him, in some such terms as these: “Why will you diminish your real influence for good, by speaking as if England could now take any dominant place in the world? How many millions, think you, are there here, of the activest spirits of their time, who care nothing for England, and would read no farther, after coming upon such a passage?”That England deserves little care from any man nowadays, is fatally true; that in a century more she will be—where Venice is—among the dead of nations, is far more than probable. And yet—that you do not care for dead Venice, is the sign of your own ruin; and that the Americans do not care for dying England, is only the sign of their inferiority to her.For this dead Venice once taught us to be merchants, sailors, and gentlemen; and this dying England taught the Americans all they have of speech, or thought, hitherto. What thoughts they have not learned from England are foolish thoughts; what words they have not learned from England, unseemly words; the vile among them not being able even to be humorous parrots, but only obscene mocking birds. An American republican woman, lately, describes a child which “like cherubim and seraphim continually did cry;”1such their feminine learning of the European fashions of ‘Te Deum’! And, as I tell[119]you, Venice in like manner taught us, when she and we were honest, our marketing, and our manners. Then she began trading in pleasure, and souls of men, before us; followed that Babylonish trade to her death,—we nothing loth to imitate, so plausible she was, in her mythic gondola, and Chariot of the Night! But where her pilotage has for the present carried her, and is like to carryus, it may be well to consider. And therefore I will ask you to glance back to my twentieth letter, giving account of the steam music, the modern Tasso’s echoes, practised on her principal lagoon. That is her present manner, you observe, of “whistlingat her darg.” But for festivityafterwork, or altogether superseding work—launching one’s adorned Bucentaur for collation—let us hear what she is doing in that kind.From the Rinnovamento (Renewal, or Revival,) “Gazette of the people of Venice” of 2nd July, 1872, I print, in my terminal notes, a portion of one of their daily correspondent’s letters, describing his pleasures of the previous day, of which I here translate a few pregnant sentences.“I embarked on a little steamboat. It was elegant—it was vast. But its contents were enormously greater than its capacity. The little steamboat overflowed2with men, women, and boys. The Commandant, a proud young man, cried, ‘Come in, come in!’ and the[120]crowd became always more close, and one could scarcely breathe” (the heroic exhortations of the proud youth leading his public to this painful result). “All at once a delicate person3of the piazza, feeling herself unwell, cried ‘I suffocate.’ The Commandant perceived that suffocation did veritably prevail, and gave the word of command, ‘Enough.’“In eighteen minutes I had the good fortune to land safe at the establishment, ‘The Favourite.’ And here my eyes opened for wonder. In truth, only a respectable force of will could have succeeded in transforming this place, only a few months ago still desert and uncultivated, into a site of delights. Long alleys, grassy carpets, small mountains, charming little banks, châlets, solitary and mysterious paths, and then an interminable covered way which conducts to the bathing establishment; and in that, attendants dressed in mariners’ dresses, a most commodious basin, the finest linen, and the most regular and solicitous service.“Surprised, and satisfied, I plunged myself cheerfully into the sea. After the bath, is prescribed a walk. Obedient to the dictates of hygiene, I take my returning way along the pleasant shore of the sea to ‘The Favourite.’ A châlet, or rather an immense salon, is become a concert[121]room. And, in fact, an excellent orchestra is executing therein most chosen pieces. The artists are all endued in dress coats, and wear white cravats. I hear with delight a pot-pourri from Faust. I then take a turn through the most vast park, and visit the Restaurant.“To conclude. The Lido has no more need to become a place of delights. It is, in truth, already become so.“All honour to the brave who have effected the marvellous transformation.”Onori ai bravi!—Honour to the brave! Yes; in all times, among all nations, that is entirely desirable. You know I told you, in last Fors, that to honour the brave dead was to be our second child’s lesson. None the less expedient if the brave we have to honour be alive, instead of long dead. Here are our modern Venetian troubadours, in white cravats, celebrating the victories of their Hardicanutes with collection of choicest melody—pot-pourri—hotch-potch, from Faust. And, indeed, is not this a notable conquest which resuscitated Venice has made of her Lido? Where all was vague sea-shore, now, behold, “little mountains, mysterious paths.” Those unmanufactured mountains—Eugeneans and Alps—seen against the sunset, are not enough for the vast mind of Venice born again; nor the canals between her palaces mysterious enough paths. Here are mountains to our perfect mind, and more[122]solemn ways,—a new kingdom for us, conquered by the brave. Conquest, you observe also, just of the kind which in our ‘Times’ newspaper is honoured always in like manner, ‘Private Enterprise.’ The only question is, whether the privacy of your enterprise is always as fearless of exposure as it used to be,—or even, the enterprise of it as enterprising. Let me tell you a little of the private enterprise of dead Venice, that you may compare it with that of the living.You doubted me just now, probably, when I told you that Venice taught you to be sailors. You thought your Drakes and Grenvilles needed no such masters. No! but a hundred years before Sir Francis’s time, the blind captain of a Venetian galley,—of one of those things which the Lady Mary saw built in an hour,—won the empire of the East. You did fine things in the Baltic, and before Sebastopol, with your ironclads and your Woolwich infants, did you? Here was a piece of fighting done from the deck of a rowed boat, which came to more good, it seems to me.“The Duke of Venice had disposed his fleet in one line along the sea-wall (of Constantinople), and had cleared the battlements with his shot (of stones and arrows); but still the galleys dared not take ground. But the Duke of Venice, though he was old (ninety) and stone-blind, stood, all armed, at the head of his galley, and had the gonfalon of St. Mark before him; and he called to his people to ground his ship, or[123]they should die for it. So they ran the ship aground, and leaped out, and carried St. Mark’s gonfalon to the shore before the Duke. Then the Venetians, seeing their Duke’s galley ashore, followed him; and they planted the flag of St. Mark on the walls, and took twenty-five towers.”The good issue of which piece of pantaloon’s play was that the city itself, a little while after, with due help from the French, was taken, and that the crusading army proceeded thereon to elect a new Emperor of the Eastern Empire.Which office six French Barons, and six Venetian, being appointed to bestow, and one of the French naming first the Duke of Venice, he had certainly been declared Emperor, but one of the Venetians themselves, Pantaleone Barbo, declaring that no man could be Duke of Venice, and Emperor too, gave his word for Baldwin of Flanders, to whom accordingly the throne was given; while to the Venetian State was offered, with the consent of all, if they chose to hold it—about a third of the whole Roman Empire!Venice thereupon deliberates with herself. Her own present national territory—the true ‘State’ of Venice—is a marsh, which you can see from end to end of;—some wooden houses, half afloat, and others wholly afloat, in the canals of it; and a total population, in round numbers, about as large as that of our parish of Lambeth. Venice feels some doubt whether, out of[124]this wild duck’s nest, and with that number of men, she can at once safely, and in all the world’s sight, undertake to govern Lacedæmon, Ægina, Ægos Potamos, Crete, and half the Greek islands; nevertheless, she thinks she will try a little ‘private enterprise’ upon them. So in 1207 the Venetian Senate published an edict by which there was granted to all Venetian citizens permission to arm, at their own expense, war-galleys, and to subdue, if they could manage it in that private manner, such islands and Greek towns of the Archipelago as might seem to them what we call “eligible residences,” the Senate graciously giving them leave to keep whatever they could get. Whereupon certain Venetian merchants—proud young men—stood, as we see them standing now on their decks on the Riva, crying to the crowd, ‘Montate! Montate!’ and without any help from steam, or encumbrance from the markets of Ascension Day, rowed and sailed—somewhatoutsidethe Lido. Mark Dandolo took Gallipoli; Mark Sanudo, Naxos, Paros, and Melos;—(you have heard of marbles and Venuses coming from those places, have not you?)—Marin Dandolo, Andros; Andrea Ghisi, Micone and Scyros; Dominico Michieli, Ceos; and Philocola Navigieri, the island of Vulcan himself, Lemnos. Took them, and kept them also! (not a little to our present sorrow; for, being good Christians, these Venetian gentlemen made wild work among the Parian and Melian gods). It was not till 1570 that the twenty-first Venetian Duke of Melos[125]was driven out by the Turks, and the career of modern white-cravated Venice virtually begun.“Honour to the brave!” Yes, in God’s name, and by all manner of means! And dishonour to the cowards: but, my good Italian and good English acquaintances, are you so sure, then, you know which is which? Nay, are you honestly willing to acknowledge there is any difference? Heaven be praised if you are!—but I thought your modern gospel was, that all were alike? Here’s the ‘Punch’ of last week lying beside me, for instance, with its normal piece of pathos upon the advertisements of death. Dual deaths this time; and pathetic epitaphs on the Bishop of Winchester and the Baron Bethell. The best it can honestly say, (and ‘Punch’ as far as I know papers, is an honest one,) is that the Bishop was a pleasant kind of person; and the best it can say for the Chancellor is, that he was witty;—but, fearing that something more might be expected, it smooths all down with a sop of popular varnish, “How good the worst of us!—how bad the best!” Alas, Mr. Punch, is it come to this? and is there to be no more knocking down, then? and is your last scene in future to be—shaking hands with the devil?—clerical pantaloon in white cravat asking a blessing on the reconciliation, and the drum and pipe finishing with a pot-pourri from Faust?A popular tune, truly, everywhere, nowadays—“Devil’s hotch-potch,” and listened to “avec delices!” And,[126]doubtless, pious Republicans on their death-beds will have a care to bequeath it, rightly played, to their children, before they go to hear it, divinely executed, in their own blessed country.“How good the worst of us!—how bad the best!” Jeanie Deans, and St. Agnes, and the Holy Thursday fairing, all the same!My good working readers, I will try to-day to put you more clearly in understanding of this modern gospel,—of what truth there is in it—for some there is,—and of what pestilent evil.I call it a modern gospel: in its deepest truth it is as old as Christianity. “This man receiveth sinners, and eateth with them.” And it was the most distinctive character of Christianity. Here was a new, astonishing religion indeed; one had heard before of righteousness; before of resurrection;—never before of mercy to sin, or fellowship with it.But it is only in strictly modern times (that is to say, within the last hundred years) that this has been fixed on, by a large sect of thick-headed persons, as theessenceof Christianity,—nay, as so much its essence, that to be an extremely sinful sinner is deliberately announced by them as the best of qualifications for becoming an extremely Christian Christian.But all the teachings of Heaven are given—by sad law—in so obscure, nay, often in so ironical manner[127]that a blockhead necessarily reads them wrong. Very marvellous it is that Heaven, which really in one senseismerciful to sinners, is in no sense merciful to fools, but even lays pitfalls for them, and inevitable snares.Again and again, in the New Testament, the publican (supposed at once traitor to his country and thief) and the harlot are made the companions of Christ. She out of whom He had cast seven devils, loves Him best, sees Him first, after His resurrection. The sting of thatoldverse, “When thou sawest a thief, thou consentedst to him, and hast been partaker with adulterers,” seems done away with. Adultery itself uncondemned,—for, behold, in your hearts is not every one of you alike? “He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.” And so, and so, no more stones shall be cast nowadays; and here, on the top of our epitaph on the Bishop, lies a notice of the questionable sentence which hanged a man for beating his wife to death with a stick. “The jury recommended him strongly to mercy.”They did so, because they knew not, in their own hearts, what mercy meant. They were afraid to do anything so extremely compromising and disagreeable as causing a man to be hanged,—had no ‘pity’ for any creatures beaten to death—wives, or beasts; but only a cowardly fear of commanding death, where it was due. Your modern conscience will not incur the responsibility of shortening the hourly more guilty life of a single rogue; but will contentedly fire a salvo of mitrailleuses into a[128]regiment of honest men—leaving Providence to guide the shot. But let us fasten on the word they abused, and understand it. Mercy—misericordia: it does not in the least mean forgiveness of sins,—it means pity of sorrows. In that very instance which the Evangelicals are so fond of quoting—the adultery of David—it is not the Passion for which he is to be judged, but thewantof Passion,—the want of Pity.Thishe is to judge himself for, by his own mouth:—“As the Lord liveth, the man that hath done this thing shall surely die,—because he hath done this thing, and because he hadno pity.”And you will find, alike throughout the record of the Law and the promises of the Gospel, that there is, indeed, forgiveness with God, and Christ, for the passing sins of the hot heart, but none for the eternal and inherent sin of the cold. ‘Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy’;—find it you written anywhere that theunmerciful shall? ‘Her sins, which are many, are forgiven, for she loved much.’ But have you record of any one’s sins being forgiven who loved not at all?I opened my oldest Bible just now, to look for the accurate words of David about the killed lamb;—a small, closely, and very neatly printed volume it is, printed in Edinburgh by Sir D. Hunter Blair and J. Bruce, Printers to the King’s Most Excellent Majesty in 1816. Yellow, now, with age, and flexible, but not unclean, with much use, except that the lower corners of[129]the pages at 8th of 1st Kings, and 32nd Deuteronomy are worn somewhat thin and dark, the learning of these two chapters having cost me much pains. My mother’s list of the chapters with which, learned every syllable accurately, she established my soul in life, has just fallen out of it. And as probably the sagacious reader has already perceived that these letters are written in their irregular way, among other reasons, that they may contain, as the relation may become apposite, so much of autobiography as it seems to me desirable to write, I will take what indulgence the sagacious reader will give me, for printing the list thus accidentally occurrent:—Exodus,chapters15th and 20th.2 Samuelchapters,,1st, from 17th verse to the end.1 Kingschapters,,8th.Psalms23rd, 32nd, 90th, 91st, 103rd, 112th, 119th, 139th.Proverbschapters,,2nd, 3rd, 8th, 12th.Isaiahchapters,,58th.Matthewchapters,,5th, 6th, 7th.Actschapters,,26th.1 Corinthianschapters,,13th, 15th.Jameschapters,,4th.Revelationchapters,,5th, 6th.And truly, though I have picked up the elements of a little further knowledge,—in mathematics, meteorology, and the like, in after life,—and owe not a little to the[130]teaching of many people, this maternal installation of my mind in that property of chapters, I count very confidently the most precious, and, on the whole, the one essential part of all my education.For the chapters became, indeed, strictly conclusive and protective to me in all modes of thought; and the body of divinity they contain, acceptable through all fear or doubt: nor, through any fear or doubt or fault have I ever lost my loyalty to them, nor betrayed the first command in the one I was made to repeat oftenest, “Let not Mercy and Truth forsake Thee.”And at my present age of fifty-five, in spite of some enlarged observations of what modern philosophers call the Reign of Law, I perceive more distinctly than ever the Reign of a Spirit of Mercy and Truth,—infinite in pardon and purification for its wandering and faultful children, who have yet Love in their hearts; and altogether adverse and implacable to its perverse and lying enemies, who have resolute hatred in their hearts, and resolute falsehood on their lips.This assertion of the existence of a Spirit of Mercy and Truth, as the master first of the Law of Life, and then of the methods of knowledge and labour by which it is sustained, and which the ‘Saturday Review’ calls the effeminate sentimentality of Mr. Ruskin’s political economy, is accurately, you will observe, reversed by the assertion of the Predatory and Carnivorous—or, in plainer English, flesh-eating spirit in Man himself, as[131]the regulator of modern civilization, in the paper read by the Secretary at the Social Science meeting in Glasgow, 1860. Out of which the following fundamental passage may stand for sufficient and permanent example of the existent, practical, and unsentimental English mind, being the most vile sentence which I have ever seen in the literature of any country or time:—“As no one will deny that Man possesses carnivorous teeth, or that all animals that possess them are more or less predatory, it is unnecessary to argue, à priori, that a predatory instinct naturally follows from such organization. It is our intention here to show how this inevitable result operates on civilized existence by its being one of the conditions of Man’s nature, and, consequently, of all arrangements of civilized society.”The paper proceeds, and is entirely constructed, on the assumption that the predatory spirit is not only one of the conditions of man’s nature, but the particular condition on which the arrangements of Society are to be founded. For “Reason would immediately suggest to one of superior strength, that however desirable it might be to take possession by violence, of what another had laboured to produce, he might be treated in the same way by one stronger than himself, to which he, of course, would have great objection. In order, therefore, to prevent or put a stop to a practice which each would object to in his own case,” etc., etc. And so the Social Science interpreter proceeds to sing the[132]present non-sentimental Proverbs and Psalms of England,—with trumpets also and shawms—and steam whistles. And there is concert of voices and instruments at the Hospital of the Incurabili, and Progress—indubitably—in Chariots of the Night.[133]NOTES AND CORRESPONDENCE.Corriere Dei Bagni.M’imbarcai su di un vaporetto; era elegante, era vasto, ma il suo contenuto era enormemente superiore al contenente; il vaporetto rigurgitava di uomini, di donne, e di ragazzi.Il commandante, un fiero giovanotto, gridava:Montate! Montate!e la calca si faceva sempre più fitta, ed appena si poteva respirare.Tutto ad un tratto un sensale di piazza si sentì venir male, e gridò;io soffoco!Il commandante si accorse che si soffocava davvero, ed ordino;basta!Il vapore allora si avv ò (sic) ed io rimasi stipato fra la folla per diciotto minuti, in capo ai quali ebbi la buona ventura di sbarcare incolume sul pontile dello stabilimento laFavorita—Il pontile è lunghissimo, ma elegante e coperto. Il sole per conseguenza non dà nessuna noia.Una strada che, fino a quando non sia migliorata, non consiglierei di percorrere a chi non abbia i piedi in perfetto stato, conduce al parco della Stabilimento Bagni del signor Delahant.—E qui i miei occhi si aprirono per la meraviglia. E diffati, solo una rispettibile forza di volontà ed operosita poté riuscire a trasformare quel luogo, pochi mesi fa ancora deserto ed incolto, in un sito di delisie.—Lunghi viali, tappeti erbosi, montagnole, banchine,[134]châlet, strade solitarie e misteriose, lumi, spalti, e poi un interminabile pergolato che conduce allo stabilimento bagni, ed in questo inservientivestiti alla marinara, comodissima vasca, biancheria finissima, e servizio regolare e premuroso.Sorpreso e contento, mi tuffo allegramente nel mare.Dopo il bagno è prescritta una passeggiata. Ossequiente ai dettami dell’ igiene, riprendo la via e lungo la piacevole spiaggia del mare ritorno allaFavorita.Un châlet, o piuttosto una sala immensa, addobbata con origi nalità e ricchezza, è divenuta una sala di concerto. Diffatti una eccellente orchestra sta eseguendo pezzi sceltissimi.Gli artisti indossana tutti la marsina e la cravatta bianca.Ascolto con delizia unpotpourridelFauste poi torno a girare per il vastissimo parco e visito ilRestaurant.Concludeno, il Lido non ha più bisogno di diventare un luogo di delizie; esse lo è in verità diggià diventato, e fra breve i comodi bagni del Lido di Venezia saranno fra i più famosi d’Italia.Onore ai bravi che hanno operata la meravigliosa trasformazione!‘Ii Rinnovamento,’ Gazetta del Popolo di Venezia; (2nd July, 1872).This following part of a useful letter, dated 19th March, 1873, ought to have been printed before now:—“Sir,—Will you permit me to respectfully call your attention to a certain circumstance which has, not unlikely, something to do with the failure (if failure it is) of your appeal for the St. George’s Fund?“At page 22 of Fors Clavigera for May, 1871, your words were, ‘Will any such give a tenth of what they haveandof what they earn?’ But in May of the following year, at page 8, the subject is referred to as the giving of ‘the tenth of what[135]they have, or make.’ The two passages are open to widely differing interpretations. Moreover, none of the sums received appear to have any relation to ‘tenths’ either of earnings or possessions.“It is not probable that the majority of your readers understood you either to mean literally what you said, or to mean nothing but jest? They would naturally ask themselves, ‘Must it be a tenth of both, or nothing?’ ‘A tenth of either?’ Or, ‘After all, only what we feel able to give?’ Their perplexity would lead to the giving of nothing. As nobody who has a pecuniary title to ask for an explanation appears to have called your attention to the subject, I, who have no such title, do so now,—feeling impelled thereto by the hint in this month’s ‘Fors’ of the possible ‘non-continuance of the work.’“May I presume to add one word more? Last Monday’s ‘Times’ (March 17th) gave a report of a Working Men’s Meeting on the present political crisis. One of the speakers said ‘he wanted every working man to be free.’ And his idea of freedom he explained to be that all workmen should be at liberty ‘to leave their work at a moment’s notice.’ This, as I have reason to know, is one of the things which working men have got into their heads, and which the newspapers ‘get their living by asserting.’“Lastly, the present English notion of civilizing China by inches, may be worth keeping record of.“We have Philistines out here, and a Philistine out here is a perfect Goliath. When he imagines that anything is wrong, he says—let it be a Coolie or an Emperor—‘Give him a thrashing.’ The men of this class here propose their usual remedy: ‘Let us have a war, and give the Chinese a good licking, and then we shall have the audience question granted, and everything else will follow.’ This includes opening up the country for trade, and civilizing the people, which according to their[136]theories can be best done by ‘thrashing them.’ The missionaries are working to civilize the people here in another way, that is by the usual plan of tracts and preaching; but their system is not much in favour, for they make such very small progress among the 360,000,000, the conversion of which is their problem. The man of business wants the country opened up to trade, wants manufactures introduced, the mineral wealth to be used, and generally speaking the resources of the country to be developed, ‘and that sort of thing you know—that’s the real way to civilize them.’ This, of course, implies a multitudinous breed of Mr. Ruskin’s demons, or machinery, to accomplish all this. I am here giving the tone of the ideas I hear expressed around me. It was only the other day that I heard some of these various points talked over. We were sailing on the river in a steam launch, which was making the air impure with its smoke, snorting in a high-pressure way, and whistling as steam launches are wont to do. The scene was appropriate to the conversation, for we were among a forest of great junks—most quaint and picturesque they looked—so old-fashioned they seemed, that Noah’s Ark, had it been there, would have had a much more modern look about it. My friend, to whom the launch belonged, and who is in the machinery line himself, gave his opinion. He began by giving a significant movement of his head in the direction of the uncouth-looking junks, and then pointing to his own craft with its engine, said ‘he did not believe much in war, and the missionaries were not of much account. This is the thing to do it,’ he added, pointing to the launch; ‘let us get at them with this sort of article, and steam at sixty pounds on the square inch; that would soon do it; that’s the thing to civilize them—sixty pounds on the square inch.’ ”[137]1‘Pall Mall Gazette,’ July 31st, 1873.↑2“Rigurgitava”—gushed or gorged up; as a bottle which you have filled too full and too fast.↑3Sensale, an interesting Venetian word. The fair on the Feast of the Ascension at Venice became in mellifluous brevity, ‘Sensa,’ and the most ornamental of the ware purchaseable at it, therefore, Sensale.A “Holy-Thursday-Fairing,” feeling herself unwell, would be the properest translation.↑

FORS CLAVIGERA.LETTER XLII.I must construct my letters still, for a while, of swept-up fragments; every day provokes me to write new matter; but I must not lose the fruit of the old days. Here is some worth picking up, though ill-ripened for want of sunshine, (the little we had spending itself on the rain,) last year.1st August, 1873.“Not being able to work steadily this morning, because there was a rainbow half a mile broad, and violet-bright, on the shoulders of the Old Man of Coniston—(by calling it half a mile broad, I mean that half a mile’s breadth of mountain was coloured by it,—and by calling it violet-bright, I mean that the violet zone of it came pure against the grey rocks; and note, by the way, that essentially all the colours of the rainbow are secondary;—yellow exists only as a line—red as a line—blue as a line; but the zone itself is of varied orange, green, and violet,)—not being able, I say, for steady work, I opened[116]an old diary of 1849, and as the third Fors would have it, at this extract from the Letters of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu.(Venice.)“The Prince of Saxony went to see the Arsenal three days ago, waited on by a numerous nobility of both sexes; the Bucentaur was adorned and launched, a magnificent collation given; and we sailed a little in it. I was in company with the Signora Justiniani Gradenigo and Signora Marina Crizzo. There were two cannons founded in his (the Prince of Saxony’s) presence, and a galley built and launched in an hour’s time.” (Well may Dante speak of that busy Arsenal!)“Last night there was a concert of voices and instruments at the Hospital of the Incurabili, where there were two girls that in the opinion of all people excel either Faustina or Cuzzoni.“I am invited to-morrow to the Foscarini to dinner, which is to be followed by a concert and a ball.”The account of a regatta follows, in which the various nobles had boats costing £1000 sterling each, none less than £500, and enough of them to look like a little fleet. The Signora Pisani Mocenigo’s represented the Chariot of the Night, drawn by four sea-horses, and showing the rising of the moon, accompanied with stars, the statues on each side representing the Hours, to the number of twenty-four.Pleasant times, these, for Venice! one’s Bucentaur[117]launched, wherein to eat, buoyantly, a magnificent collation—beautiful ladies driving their ocean steeds in the Chariot of the Night—beautiful songs, at the Hospital of the Incurabili. Much bettered, these, from the rough days when one had to row and fight for life, thought Venice; better days still, in the nineteenth century, being—as she appears to believe now—in store for her.You thought, I suppose, that in writing those numbers of Fors last year from Venice and Verona, I was idling, or digressing?Nothing of the kind. The business of Fors is to tell you of Venice and Verona; and many things of them.You don’t care about Venice and Verona? Of course not. Who does? And I beg you to observe that the day is coming when, exactly in the same sense, active working men will say to any antiquarian who purposes to tell them something of England, “We don’t care about England.” And the antiquarian will answer, just as I have answered you now, “Of course not. Who does?”Nay, the saying has been already said to me, and by a wise and good man. When I asked, at the end of my inaugural lecture at Oxford, “Will you, youths of England, make your country again a royal throne of kings, a sceptred isle, for all the world a source of light—a centre of peace?”—my University friends came to me, with grave faces, to remonstrate against irrelevant and Utopian topics of that nature being introduced in[118]lectures on art; and a very dear American friend wrote to me, when I sent the lecture to him, in some such terms as these: “Why will you diminish your real influence for good, by speaking as if England could now take any dominant place in the world? How many millions, think you, are there here, of the activest spirits of their time, who care nothing for England, and would read no farther, after coming upon such a passage?”That England deserves little care from any man nowadays, is fatally true; that in a century more she will be—where Venice is—among the dead of nations, is far more than probable. And yet—that you do not care for dead Venice, is the sign of your own ruin; and that the Americans do not care for dying England, is only the sign of their inferiority to her.For this dead Venice once taught us to be merchants, sailors, and gentlemen; and this dying England taught the Americans all they have of speech, or thought, hitherto. What thoughts they have not learned from England are foolish thoughts; what words they have not learned from England, unseemly words; the vile among them not being able even to be humorous parrots, but only obscene mocking birds. An American republican woman, lately, describes a child which “like cherubim and seraphim continually did cry;”1such their feminine learning of the European fashions of ‘Te Deum’! And, as I tell[119]you, Venice in like manner taught us, when she and we were honest, our marketing, and our manners. Then she began trading in pleasure, and souls of men, before us; followed that Babylonish trade to her death,—we nothing loth to imitate, so plausible she was, in her mythic gondola, and Chariot of the Night! But where her pilotage has for the present carried her, and is like to carryus, it may be well to consider. And therefore I will ask you to glance back to my twentieth letter, giving account of the steam music, the modern Tasso’s echoes, practised on her principal lagoon. That is her present manner, you observe, of “whistlingat her darg.” But for festivityafterwork, or altogether superseding work—launching one’s adorned Bucentaur for collation—let us hear what she is doing in that kind.From the Rinnovamento (Renewal, or Revival,) “Gazette of the people of Venice” of 2nd July, 1872, I print, in my terminal notes, a portion of one of their daily correspondent’s letters, describing his pleasures of the previous day, of which I here translate a few pregnant sentences.“I embarked on a little steamboat. It was elegant—it was vast. But its contents were enormously greater than its capacity. The little steamboat overflowed2with men, women, and boys. The Commandant, a proud young man, cried, ‘Come in, come in!’ and the[120]crowd became always more close, and one could scarcely breathe” (the heroic exhortations of the proud youth leading his public to this painful result). “All at once a delicate person3of the piazza, feeling herself unwell, cried ‘I suffocate.’ The Commandant perceived that suffocation did veritably prevail, and gave the word of command, ‘Enough.’“In eighteen minutes I had the good fortune to land safe at the establishment, ‘The Favourite.’ And here my eyes opened for wonder. In truth, only a respectable force of will could have succeeded in transforming this place, only a few months ago still desert and uncultivated, into a site of delights. Long alleys, grassy carpets, small mountains, charming little banks, châlets, solitary and mysterious paths, and then an interminable covered way which conducts to the bathing establishment; and in that, attendants dressed in mariners’ dresses, a most commodious basin, the finest linen, and the most regular and solicitous service.“Surprised, and satisfied, I plunged myself cheerfully into the sea. After the bath, is prescribed a walk. Obedient to the dictates of hygiene, I take my returning way along the pleasant shore of the sea to ‘The Favourite.’ A châlet, or rather an immense salon, is become a concert[121]room. And, in fact, an excellent orchestra is executing therein most chosen pieces. The artists are all endued in dress coats, and wear white cravats. I hear with delight a pot-pourri from Faust. I then take a turn through the most vast park, and visit the Restaurant.“To conclude. The Lido has no more need to become a place of delights. It is, in truth, already become so.“All honour to the brave who have effected the marvellous transformation.”Onori ai bravi!—Honour to the brave! Yes; in all times, among all nations, that is entirely desirable. You know I told you, in last Fors, that to honour the brave dead was to be our second child’s lesson. None the less expedient if the brave we have to honour be alive, instead of long dead. Here are our modern Venetian troubadours, in white cravats, celebrating the victories of their Hardicanutes with collection of choicest melody—pot-pourri—hotch-potch, from Faust. And, indeed, is not this a notable conquest which resuscitated Venice has made of her Lido? Where all was vague sea-shore, now, behold, “little mountains, mysterious paths.” Those unmanufactured mountains—Eugeneans and Alps—seen against the sunset, are not enough for the vast mind of Venice born again; nor the canals between her palaces mysterious enough paths. Here are mountains to our perfect mind, and more[122]solemn ways,—a new kingdom for us, conquered by the brave. Conquest, you observe also, just of the kind which in our ‘Times’ newspaper is honoured always in like manner, ‘Private Enterprise.’ The only question is, whether the privacy of your enterprise is always as fearless of exposure as it used to be,—or even, the enterprise of it as enterprising. Let me tell you a little of the private enterprise of dead Venice, that you may compare it with that of the living.You doubted me just now, probably, when I told you that Venice taught you to be sailors. You thought your Drakes and Grenvilles needed no such masters. No! but a hundred years before Sir Francis’s time, the blind captain of a Venetian galley,—of one of those things which the Lady Mary saw built in an hour,—won the empire of the East. You did fine things in the Baltic, and before Sebastopol, with your ironclads and your Woolwich infants, did you? Here was a piece of fighting done from the deck of a rowed boat, which came to more good, it seems to me.“The Duke of Venice had disposed his fleet in one line along the sea-wall (of Constantinople), and had cleared the battlements with his shot (of stones and arrows); but still the galleys dared not take ground. But the Duke of Venice, though he was old (ninety) and stone-blind, stood, all armed, at the head of his galley, and had the gonfalon of St. Mark before him; and he called to his people to ground his ship, or[123]they should die for it. So they ran the ship aground, and leaped out, and carried St. Mark’s gonfalon to the shore before the Duke. Then the Venetians, seeing their Duke’s galley ashore, followed him; and they planted the flag of St. Mark on the walls, and took twenty-five towers.”The good issue of which piece of pantaloon’s play was that the city itself, a little while after, with due help from the French, was taken, and that the crusading army proceeded thereon to elect a new Emperor of the Eastern Empire.Which office six French Barons, and six Venetian, being appointed to bestow, and one of the French naming first the Duke of Venice, he had certainly been declared Emperor, but one of the Venetians themselves, Pantaleone Barbo, declaring that no man could be Duke of Venice, and Emperor too, gave his word for Baldwin of Flanders, to whom accordingly the throne was given; while to the Venetian State was offered, with the consent of all, if they chose to hold it—about a third of the whole Roman Empire!Venice thereupon deliberates with herself. Her own present national territory—the true ‘State’ of Venice—is a marsh, which you can see from end to end of;—some wooden houses, half afloat, and others wholly afloat, in the canals of it; and a total population, in round numbers, about as large as that of our parish of Lambeth. Venice feels some doubt whether, out of[124]this wild duck’s nest, and with that number of men, she can at once safely, and in all the world’s sight, undertake to govern Lacedæmon, Ægina, Ægos Potamos, Crete, and half the Greek islands; nevertheless, she thinks she will try a little ‘private enterprise’ upon them. So in 1207 the Venetian Senate published an edict by which there was granted to all Venetian citizens permission to arm, at their own expense, war-galleys, and to subdue, if they could manage it in that private manner, such islands and Greek towns of the Archipelago as might seem to them what we call “eligible residences,” the Senate graciously giving them leave to keep whatever they could get. Whereupon certain Venetian merchants—proud young men—stood, as we see them standing now on their decks on the Riva, crying to the crowd, ‘Montate! Montate!’ and without any help from steam, or encumbrance from the markets of Ascension Day, rowed and sailed—somewhatoutsidethe Lido. Mark Dandolo took Gallipoli; Mark Sanudo, Naxos, Paros, and Melos;—(you have heard of marbles and Venuses coming from those places, have not you?)—Marin Dandolo, Andros; Andrea Ghisi, Micone and Scyros; Dominico Michieli, Ceos; and Philocola Navigieri, the island of Vulcan himself, Lemnos. Took them, and kept them also! (not a little to our present sorrow; for, being good Christians, these Venetian gentlemen made wild work among the Parian and Melian gods). It was not till 1570 that the twenty-first Venetian Duke of Melos[125]was driven out by the Turks, and the career of modern white-cravated Venice virtually begun.“Honour to the brave!” Yes, in God’s name, and by all manner of means! And dishonour to the cowards: but, my good Italian and good English acquaintances, are you so sure, then, you know which is which? Nay, are you honestly willing to acknowledge there is any difference? Heaven be praised if you are!—but I thought your modern gospel was, that all were alike? Here’s the ‘Punch’ of last week lying beside me, for instance, with its normal piece of pathos upon the advertisements of death. Dual deaths this time; and pathetic epitaphs on the Bishop of Winchester and the Baron Bethell. The best it can honestly say, (and ‘Punch’ as far as I know papers, is an honest one,) is that the Bishop was a pleasant kind of person; and the best it can say for the Chancellor is, that he was witty;—but, fearing that something more might be expected, it smooths all down with a sop of popular varnish, “How good the worst of us!—how bad the best!” Alas, Mr. Punch, is it come to this? and is there to be no more knocking down, then? and is your last scene in future to be—shaking hands with the devil?—clerical pantaloon in white cravat asking a blessing on the reconciliation, and the drum and pipe finishing with a pot-pourri from Faust?A popular tune, truly, everywhere, nowadays—“Devil’s hotch-potch,” and listened to “avec delices!” And,[126]doubtless, pious Republicans on their death-beds will have a care to bequeath it, rightly played, to their children, before they go to hear it, divinely executed, in their own blessed country.“How good the worst of us!—how bad the best!” Jeanie Deans, and St. Agnes, and the Holy Thursday fairing, all the same!My good working readers, I will try to-day to put you more clearly in understanding of this modern gospel,—of what truth there is in it—for some there is,—and of what pestilent evil.I call it a modern gospel: in its deepest truth it is as old as Christianity. “This man receiveth sinners, and eateth with them.” And it was the most distinctive character of Christianity. Here was a new, astonishing religion indeed; one had heard before of righteousness; before of resurrection;—never before of mercy to sin, or fellowship with it.But it is only in strictly modern times (that is to say, within the last hundred years) that this has been fixed on, by a large sect of thick-headed persons, as theessenceof Christianity,—nay, as so much its essence, that to be an extremely sinful sinner is deliberately announced by them as the best of qualifications for becoming an extremely Christian Christian.But all the teachings of Heaven are given—by sad law—in so obscure, nay, often in so ironical manner[127]that a blockhead necessarily reads them wrong. Very marvellous it is that Heaven, which really in one senseismerciful to sinners, is in no sense merciful to fools, but even lays pitfalls for them, and inevitable snares.Again and again, in the New Testament, the publican (supposed at once traitor to his country and thief) and the harlot are made the companions of Christ. She out of whom He had cast seven devils, loves Him best, sees Him first, after His resurrection. The sting of thatoldverse, “When thou sawest a thief, thou consentedst to him, and hast been partaker with adulterers,” seems done away with. Adultery itself uncondemned,—for, behold, in your hearts is not every one of you alike? “He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.” And so, and so, no more stones shall be cast nowadays; and here, on the top of our epitaph on the Bishop, lies a notice of the questionable sentence which hanged a man for beating his wife to death with a stick. “The jury recommended him strongly to mercy.”They did so, because they knew not, in their own hearts, what mercy meant. They were afraid to do anything so extremely compromising and disagreeable as causing a man to be hanged,—had no ‘pity’ for any creatures beaten to death—wives, or beasts; but only a cowardly fear of commanding death, where it was due. Your modern conscience will not incur the responsibility of shortening the hourly more guilty life of a single rogue; but will contentedly fire a salvo of mitrailleuses into a[128]regiment of honest men—leaving Providence to guide the shot. But let us fasten on the word they abused, and understand it. Mercy—misericordia: it does not in the least mean forgiveness of sins,—it means pity of sorrows. In that very instance which the Evangelicals are so fond of quoting—the adultery of David—it is not the Passion for which he is to be judged, but thewantof Passion,—the want of Pity.Thishe is to judge himself for, by his own mouth:—“As the Lord liveth, the man that hath done this thing shall surely die,—because he hath done this thing, and because he hadno pity.”And you will find, alike throughout the record of the Law and the promises of the Gospel, that there is, indeed, forgiveness with God, and Christ, for the passing sins of the hot heart, but none for the eternal and inherent sin of the cold. ‘Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy’;—find it you written anywhere that theunmerciful shall? ‘Her sins, which are many, are forgiven, for she loved much.’ But have you record of any one’s sins being forgiven who loved not at all?I opened my oldest Bible just now, to look for the accurate words of David about the killed lamb;—a small, closely, and very neatly printed volume it is, printed in Edinburgh by Sir D. Hunter Blair and J. Bruce, Printers to the King’s Most Excellent Majesty in 1816. Yellow, now, with age, and flexible, but not unclean, with much use, except that the lower corners of[129]the pages at 8th of 1st Kings, and 32nd Deuteronomy are worn somewhat thin and dark, the learning of these two chapters having cost me much pains. My mother’s list of the chapters with which, learned every syllable accurately, she established my soul in life, has just fallen out of it. And as probably the sagacious reader has already perceived that these letters are written in their irregular way, among other reasons, that they may contain, as the relation may become apposite, so much of autobiography as it seems to me desirable to write, I will take what indulgence the sagacious reader will give me, for printing the list thus accidentally occurrent:—Exodus,chapters15th and 20th.2 Samuelchapters,,1st, from 17th verse to the end.1 Kingschapters,,8th.Psalms23rd, 32nd, 90th, 91st, 103rd, 112th, 119th, 139th.Proverbschapters,,2nd, 3rd, 8th, 12th.Isaiahchapters,,58th.Matthewchapters,,5th, 6th, 7th.Actschapters,,26th.1 Corinthianschapters,,13th, 15th.Jameschapters,,4th.Revelationchapters,,5th, 6th.And truly, though I have picked up the elements of a little further knowledge,—in mathematics, meteorology, and the like, in after life,—and owe not a little to the[130]teaching of many people, this maternal installation of my mind in that property of chapters, I count very confidently the most precious, and, on the whole, the one essential part of all my education.For the chapters became, indeed, strictly conclusive and protective to me in all modes of thought; and the body of divinity they contain, acceptable through all fear or doubt: nor, through any fear or doubt or fault have I ever lost my loyalty to them, nor betrayed the first command in the one I was made to repeat oftenest, “Let not Mercy and Truth forsake Thee.”And at my present age of fifty-five, in spite of some enlarged observations of what modern philosophers call the Reign of Law, I perceive more distinctly than ever the Reign of a Spirit of Mercy and Truth,—infinite in pardon and purification for its wandering and faultful children, who have yet Love in their hearts; and altogether adverse and implacable to its perverse and lying enemies, who have resolute hatred in their hearts, and resolute falsehood on their lips.This assertion of the existence of a Spirit of Mercy and Truth, as the master first of the Law of Life, and then of the methods of knowledge and labour by which it is sustained, and which the ‘Saturday Review’ calls the effeminate sentimentality of Mr. Ruskin’s political economy, is accurately, you will observe, reversed by the assertion of the Predatory and Carnivorous—or, in plainer English, flesh-eating spirit in Man himself, as[131]the regulator of modern civilization, in the paper read by the Secretary at the Social Science meeting in Glasgow, 1860. Out of which the following fundamental passage may stand for sufficient and permanent example of the existent, practical, and unsentimental English mind, being the most vile sentence which I have ever seen in the literature of any country or time:—“As no one will deny that Man possesses carnivorous teeth, or that all animals that possess them are more or less predatory, it is unnecessary to argue, à priori, that a predatory instinct naturally follows from such organization. It is our intention here to show how this inevitable result operates on civilized existence by its being one of the conditions of Man’s nature, and, consequently, of all arrangements of civilized society.”The paper proceeds, and is entirely constructed, on the assumption that the predatory spirit is not only one of the conditions of man’s nature, but the particular condition on which the arrangements of Society are to be founded. For “Reason would immediately suggest to one of superior strength, that however desirable it might be to take possession by violence, of what another had laboured to produce, he might be treated in the same way by one stronger than himself, to which he, of course, would have great objection. In order, therefore, to prevent or put a stop to a practice which each would object to in his own case,” etc., etc. And so the Social Science interpreter proceeds to sing the[132]present non-sentimental Proverbs and Psalms of England,—with trumpets also and shawms—and steam whistles. And there is concert of voices and instruments at the Hospital of the Incurabili, and Progress—indubitably—in Chariots of the Night.[133]NOTES AND CORRESPONDENCE.Corriere Dei Bagni.M’imbarcai su di un vaporetto; era elegante, era vasto, ma il suo contenuto era enormemente superiore al contenente; il vaporetto rigurgitava di uomini, di donne, e di ragazzi.Il commandante, un fiero giovanotto, gridava:Montate! Montate!e la calca si faceva sempre più fitta, ed appena si poteva respirare.Tutto ad un tratto un sensale di piazza si sentì venir male, e gridò;io soffoco!Il commandante si accorse che si soffocava davvero, ed ordino;basta!Il vapore allora si avv ò (sic) ed io rimasi stipato fra la folla per diciotto minuti, in capo ai quali ebbi la buona ventura di sbarcare incolume sul pontile dello stabilimento laFavorita—Il pontile è lunghissimo, ma elegante e coperto. Il sole per conseguenza non dà nessuna noia.Una strada che, fino a quando non sia migliorata, non consiglierei di percorrere a chi non abbia i piedi in perfetto stato, conduce al parco della Stabilimento Bagni del signor Delahant.—E qui i miei occhi si aprirono per la meraviglia. E diffati, solo una rispettibile forza di volontà ed operosita poté riuscire a trasformare quel luogo, pochi mesi fa ancora deserto ed incolto, in un sito di delisie.—Lunghi viali, tappeti erbosi, montagnole, banchine,[134]châlet, strade solitarie e misteriose, lumi, spalti, e poi un interminabile pergolato che conduce allo stabilimento bagni, ed in questo inservientivestiti alla marinara, comodissima vasca, biancheria finissima, e servizio regolare e premuroso.Sorpreso e contento, mi tuffo allegramente nel mare.Dopo il bagno è prescritta una passeggiata. Ossequiente ai dettami dell’ igiene, riprendo la via e lungo la piacevole spiaggia del mare ritorno allaFavorita.Un châlet, o piuttosto una sala immensa, addobbata con origi nalità e ricchezza, è divenuta una sala di concerto. Diffatti una eccellente orchestra sta eseguendo pezzi sceltissimi.Gli artisti indossana tutti la marsina e la cravatta bianca.Ascolto con delizia unpotpourridelFauste poi torno a girare per il vastissimo parco e visito ilRestaurant.Concludeno, il Lido non ha più bisogno di diventare un luogo di delizie; esse lo è in verità diggià diventato, e fra breve i comodi bagni del Lido di Venezia saranno fra i più famosi d’Italia.Onore ai bravi che hanno operata la meravigliosa trasformazione!‘Ii Rinnovamento,’ Gazetta del Popolo di Venezia; (2nd July, 1872).This following part of a useful letter, dated 19th March, 1873, ought to have been printed before now:—“Sir,—Will you permit me to respectfully call your attention to a certain circumstance which has, not unlikely, something to do with the failure (if failure it is) of your appeal for the St. George’s Fund?“At page 22 of Fors Clavigera for May, 1871, your words were, ‘Will any such give a tenth of what they haveandof what they earn?’ But in May of the following year, at page 8, the subject is referred to as the giving of ‘the tenth of what[135]they have, or make.’ The two passages are open to widely differing interpretations. Moreover, none of the sums received appear to have any relation to ‘tenths’ either of earnings or possessions.“It is not probable that the majority of your readers understood you either to mean literally what you said, or to mean nothing but jest? They would naturally ask themselves, ‘Must it be a tenth of both, or nothing?’ ‘A tenth of either?’ Or, ‘After all, only what we feel able to give?’ Their perplexity would lead to the giving of nothing. As nobody who has a pecuniary title to ask for an explanation appears to have called your attention to the subject, I, who have no such title, do so now,—feeling impelled thereto by the hint in this month’s ‘Fors’ of the possible ‘non-continuance of the work.’“May I presume to add one word more? Last Monday’s ‘Times’ (March 17th) gave a report of a Working Men’s Meeting on the present political crisis. One of the speakers said ‘he wanted every working man to be free.’ And his idea of freedom he explained to be that all workmen should be at liberty ‘to leave their work at a moment’s notice.’ This, as I have reason to know, is one of the things which working men have got into their heads, and which the newspapers ‘get their living by asserting.’“Lastly, the present English notion of civilizing China by inches, may be worth keeping record of.“We have Philistines out here, and a Philistine out here is a perfect Goliath. When he imagines that anything is wrong, he says—let it be a Coolie or an Emperor—‘Give him a thrashing.’ The men of this class here propose their usual remedy: ‘Let us have a war, and give the Chinese a good licking, and then we shall have the audience question granted, and everything else will follow.’ This includes opening up the country for trade, and civilizing the people, which according to their[136]theories can be best done by ‘thrashing them.’ The missionaries are working to civilize the people here in another way, that is by the usual plan of tracts and preaching; but their system is not much in favour, for they make such very small progress among the 360,000,000, the conversion of which is their problem. The man of business wants the country opened up to trade, wants manufactures introduced, the mineral wealth to be used, and generally speaking the resources of the country to be developed, ‘and that sort of thing you know—that’s the real way to civilize them.’ This, of course, implies a multitudinous breed of Mr. Ruskin’s demons, or machinery, to accomplish all this. I am here giving the tone of the ideas I hear expressed around me. It was only the other day that I heard some of these various points talked over. We were sailing on the river in a steam launch, which was making the air impure with its smoke, snorting in a high-pressure way, and whistling as steam launches are wont to do. The scene was appropriate to the conversation, for we were among a forest of great junks—most quaint and picturesque they looked—so old-fashioned they seemed, that Noah’s Ark, had it been there, would have had a much more modern look about it. My friend, to whom the launch belonged, and who is in the machinery line himself, gave his opinion. He began by giving a significant movement of his head in the direction of the uncouth-looking junks, and then pointing to his own craft with its engine, said ‘he did not believe much in war, and the missionaries were not of much account. This is the thing to do it,’ he added, pointing to the launch; ‘let us get at them with this sort of article, and steam at sixty pounds on the square inch; that would soon do it; that’s the thing to civilize them—sixty pounds on the square inch.’ ”[137]1‘Pall Mall Gazette,’ July 31st, 1873.↑2“Rigurgitava”—gushed or gorged up; as a bottle which you have filled too full and too fast.↑3Sensale, an interesting Venetian word. The fair on the Feast of the Ascension at Venice became in mellifluous brevity, ‘Sensa,’ and the most ornamental of the ware purchaseable at it, therefore, Sensale.A “Holy-Thursday-Fairing,” feeling herself unwell, would be the properest translation.↑

FORS CLAVIGERA.LETTER XLII.

I must construct my letters still, for a while, of swept-up fragments; every day provokes me to write new matter; but I must not lose the fruit of the old days. Here is some worth picking up, though ill-ripened for want of sunshine, (the little we had spending itself on the rain,) last year.1st August, 1873.“Not being able to work steadily this morning, because there was a rainbow half a mile broad, and violet-bright, on the shoulders of the Old Man of Coniston—(by calling it half a mile broad, I mean that half a mile’s breadth of mountain was coloured by it,—and by calling it violet-bright, I mean that the violet zone of it came pure against the grey rocks; and note, by the way, that essentially all the colours of the rainbow are secondary;—yellow exists only as a line—red as a line—blue as a line; but the zone itself is of varied orange, green, and violet,)—not being able, I say, for steady work, I opened[116]an old diary of 1849, and as the third Fors would have it, at this extract from the Letters of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu.(Venice.)“The Prince of Saxony went to see the Arsenal three days ago, waited on by a numerous nobility of both sexes; the Bucentaur was adorned and launched, a magnificent collation given; and we sailed a little in it. I was in company with the Signora Justiniani Gradenigo and Signora Marina Crizzo. There were two cannons founded in his (the Prince of Saxony’s) presence, and a galley built and launched in an hour’s time.” (Well may Dante speak of that busy Arsenal!)“Last night there was a concert of voices and instruments at the Hospital of the Incurabili, where there were two girls that in the opinion of all people excel either Faustina or Cuzzoni.“I am invited to-morrow to the Foscarini to dinner, which is to be followed by a concert and a ball.”The account of a regatta follows, in which the various nobles had boats costing £1000 sterling each, none less than £500, and enough of them to look like a little fleet. The Signora Pisani Mocenigo’s represented the Chariot of the Night, drawn by four sea-horses, and showing the rising of the moon, accompanied with stars, the statues on each side representing the Hours, to the number of twenty-four.Pleasant times, these, for Venice! one’s Bucentaur[117]launched, wherein to eat, buoyantly, a magnificent collation—beautiful ladies driving their ocean steeds in the Chariot of the Night—beautiful songs, at the Hospital of the Incurabili. Much bettered, these, from the rough days when one had to row and fight for life, thought Venice; better days still, in the nineteenth century, being—as she appears to believe now—in store for her.You thought, I suppose, that in writing those numbers of Fors last year from Venice and Verona, I was idling, or digressing?Nothing of the kind. The business of Fors is to tell you of Venice and Verona; and many things of them.You don’t care about Venice and Verona? Of course not. Who does? And I beg you to observe that the day is coming when, exactly in the same sense, active working men will say to any antiquarian who purposes to tell them something of England, “We don’t care about England.” And the antiquarian will answer, just as I have answered you now, “Of course not. Who does?”Nay, the saying has been already said to me, and by a wise and good man. When I asked, at the end of my inaugural lecture at Oxford, “Will you, youths of England, make your country again a royal throne of kings, a sceptred isle, for all the world a source of light—a centre of peace?”—my University friends came to me, with grave faces, to remonstrate against irrelevant and Utopian topics of that nature being introduced in[118]lectures on art; and a very dear American friend wrote to me, when I sent the lecture to him, in some such terms as these: “Why will you diminish your real influence for good, by speaking as if England could now take any dominant place in the world? How many millions, think you, are there here, of the activest spirits of their time, who care nothing for England, and would read no farther, after coming upon such a passage?”That England deserves little care from any man nowadays, is fatally true; that in a century more she will be—where Venice is—among the dead of nations, is far more than probable. And yet—that you do not care for dead Venice, is the sign of your own ruin; and that the Americans do not care for dying England, is only the sign of their inferiority to her.For this dead Venice once taught us to be merchants, sailors, and gentlemen; and this dying England taught the Americans all they have of speech, or thought, hitherto. What thoughts they have not learned from England are foolish thoughts; what words they have not learned from England, unseemly words; the vile among them not being able even to be humorous parrots, but only obscene mocking birds. An American republican woman, lately, describes a child which “like cherubim and seraphim continually did cry;”1such their feminine learning of the European fashions of ‘Te Deum’! And, as I tell[119]you, Venice in like manner taught us, when she and we were honest, our marketing, and our manners. Then she began trading in pleasure, and souls of men, before us; followed that Babylonish trade to her death,—we nothing loth to imitate, so plausible she was, in her mythic gondola, and Chariot of the Night! But where her pilotage has for the present carried her, and is like to carryus, it may be well to consider. And therefore I will ask you to glance back to my twentieth letter, giving account of the steam music, the modern Tasso’s echoes, practised on her principal lagoon. That is her present manner, you observe, of “whistlingat her darg.” But for festivityafterwork, or altogether superseding work—launching one’s adorned Bucentaur for collation—let us hear what she is doing in that kind.From the Rinnovamento (Renewal, or Revival,) “Gazette of the people of Venice” of 2nd July, 1872, I print, in my terminal notes, a portion of one of their daily correspondent’s letters, describing his pleasures of the previous day, of which I here translate a few pregnant sentences.“I embarked on a little steamboat. It was elegant—it was vast. But its contents were enormously greater than its capacity. The little steamboat overflowed2with men, women, and boys. The Commandant, a proud young man, cried, ‘Come in, come in!’ and the[120]crowd became always more close, and one could scarcely breathe” (the heroic exhortations of the proud youth leading his public to this painful result). “All at once a delicate person3of the piazza, feeling herself unwell, cried ‘I suffocate.’ The Commandant perceived that suffocation did veritably prevail, and gave the word of command, ‘Enough.’“In eighteen minutes I had the good fortune to land safe at the establishment, ‘The Favourite.’ And here my eyes opened for wonder. In truth, only a respectable force of will could have succeeded in transforming this place, only a few months ago still desert and uncultivated, into a site of delights. Long alleys, grassy carpets, small mountains, charming little banks, châlets, solitary and mysterious paths, and then an interminable covered way which conducts to the bathing establishment; and in that, attendants dressed in mariners’ dresses, a most commodious basin, the finest linen, and the most regular and solicitous service.“Surprised, and satisfied, I plunged myself cheerfully into the sea. After the bath, is prescribed a walk. Obedient to the dictates of hygiene, I take my returning way along the pleasant shore of the sea to ‘The Favourite.’ A châlet, or rather an immense salon, is become a concert[121]room. And, in fact, an excellent orchestra is executing therein most chosen pieces. The artists are all endued in dress coats, and wear white cravats. I hear with delight a pot-pourri from Faust. I then take a turn through the most vast park, and visit the Restaurant.“To conclude. The Lido has no more need to become a place of delights. It is, in truth, already become so.“All honour to the brave who have effected the marvellous transformation.”Onori ai bravi!—Honour to the brave! Yes; in all times, among all nations, that is entirely desirable. You know I told you, in last Fors, that to honour the brave dead was to be our second child’s lesson. None the less expedient if the brave we have to honour be alive, instead of long dead. Here are our modern Venetian troubadours, in white cravats, celebrating the victories of their Hardicanutes with collection of choicest melody—pot-pourri—hotch-potch, from Faust. And, indeed, is not this a notable conquest which resuscitated Venice has made of her Lido? Where all was vague sea-shore, now, behold, “little mountains, mysterious paths.” Those unmanufactured mountains—Eugeneans and Alps—seen against the sunset, are not enough for the vast mind of Venice born again; nor the canals between her palaces mysterious enough paths. Here are mountains to our perfect mind, and more[122]solemn ways,—a new kingdom for us, conquered by the brave. Conquest, you observe also, just of the kind which in our ‘Times’ newspaper is honoured always in like manner, ‘Private Enterprise.’ The only question is, whether the privacy of your enterprise is always as fearless of exposure as it used to be,—or even, the enterprise of it as enterprising. Let me tell you a little of the private enterprise of dead Venice, that you may compare it with that of the living.You doubted me just now, probably, when I told you that Venice taught you to be sailors. You thought your Drakes and Grenvilles needed no such masters. No! but a hundred years before Sir Francis’s time, the blind captain of a Venetian galley,—of one of those things which the Lady Mary saw built in an hour,—won the empire of the East. You did fine things in the Baltic, and before Sebastopol, with your ironclads and your Woolwich infants, did you? Here was a piece of fighting done from the deck of a rowed boat, which came to more good, it seems to me.“The Duke of Venice had disposed his fleet in one line along the sea-wall (of Constantinople), and had cleared the battlements with his shot (of stones and arrows); but still the galleys dared not take ground. But the Duke of Venice, though he was old (ninety) and stone-blind, stood, all armed, at the head of his galley, and had the gonfalon of St. Mark before him; and he called to his people to ground his ship, or[123]they should die for it. So they ran the ship aground, and leaped out, and carried St. Mark’s gonfalon to the shore before the Duke. Then the Venetians, seeing their Duke’s galley ashore, followed him; and they planted the flag of St. Mark on the walls, and took twenty-five towers.”The good issue of which piece of pantaloon’s play was that the city itself, a little while after, with due help from the French, was taken, and that the crusading army proceeded thereon to elect a new Emperor of the Eastern Empire.Which office six French Barons, and six Venetian, being appointed to bestow, and one of the French naming first the Duke of Venice, he had certainly been declared Emperor, but one of the Venetians themselves, Pantaleone Barbo, declaring that no man could be Duke of Venice, and Emperor too, gave his word for Baldwin of Flanders, to whom accordingly the throne was given; while to the Venetian State was offered, with the consent of all, if they chose to hold it—about a third of the whole Roman Empire!Venice thereupon deliberates with herself. Her own present national territory—the true ‘State’ of Venice—is a marsh, which you can see from end to end of;—some wooden houses, half afloat, and others wholly afloat, in the canals of it; and a total population, in round numbers, about as large as that of our parish of Lambeth. Venice feels some doubt whether, out of[124]this wild duck’s nest, and with that number of men, she can at once safely, and in all the world’s sight, undertake to govern Lacedæmon, Ægina, Ægos Potamos, Crete, and half the Greek islands; nevertheless, she thinks she will try a little ‘private enterprise’ upon them. So in 1207 the Venetian Senate published an edict by which there was granted to all Venetian citizens permission to arm, at their own expense, war-galleys, and to subdue, if they could manage it in that private manner, such islands and Greek towns of the Archipelago as might seem to them what we call “eligible residences,” the Senate graciously giving them leave to keep whatever they could get. Whereupon certain Venetian merchants—proud young men—stood, as we see them standing now on their decks on the Riva, crying to the crowd, ‘Montate! Montate!’ and without any help from steam, or encumbrance from the markets of Ascension Day, rowed and sailed—somewhatoutsidethe Lido. Mark Dandolo took Gallipoli; Mark Sanudo, Naxos, Paros, and Melos;—(you have heard of marbles and Venuses coming from those places, have not you?)—Marin Dandolo, Andros; Andrea Ghisi, Micone and Scyros; Dominico Michieli, Ceos; and Philocola Navigieri, the island of Vulcan himself, Lemnos. Took them, and kept them also! (not a little to our present sorrow; for, being good Christians, these Venetian gentlemen made wild work among the Parian and Melian gods). It was not till 1570 that the twenty-first Venetian Duke of Melos[125]was driven out by the Turks, and the career of modern white-cravated Venice virtually begun.“Honour to the brave!” Yes, in God’s name, and by all manner of means! And dishonour to the cowards: but, my good Italian and good English acquaintances, are you so sure, then, you know which is which? Nay, are you honestly willing to acknowledge there is any difference? Heaven be praised if you are!—but I thought your modern gospel was, that all were alike? Here’s the ‘Punch’ of last week lying beside me, for instance, with its normal piece of pathos upon the advertisements of death. Dual deaths this time; and pathetic epitaphs on the Bishop of Winchester and the Baron Bethell. The best it can honestly say, (and ‘Punch’ as far as I know papers, is an honest one,) is that the Bishop was a pleasant kind of person; and the best it can say for the Chancellor is, that he was witty;—but, fearing that something more might be expected, it smooths all down with a sop of popular varnish, “How good the worst of us!—how bad the best!” Alas, Mr. Punch, is it come to this? and is there to be no more knocking down, then? and is your last scene in future to be—shaking hands with the devil?—clerical pantaloon in white cravat asking a blessing on the reconciliation, and the drum and pipe finishing with a pot-pourri from Faust?A popular tune, truly, everywhere, nowadays—“Devil’s hotch-potch,” and listened to “avec delices!” And,[126]doubtless, pious Republicans on their death-beds will have a care to bequeath it, rightly played, to their children, before they go to hear it, divinely executed, in their own blessed country.“How good the worst of us!—how bad the best!” Jeanie Deans, and St. Agnes, and the Holy Thursday fairing, all the same!My good working readers, I will try to-day to put you more clearly in understanding of this modern gospel,—of what truth there is in it—for some there is,—and of what pestilent evil.I call it a modern gospel: in its deepest truth it is as old as Christianity. “This man receiveth sinners, and eateth with them.” And it was the most distinctive character of Christianity. Here was a new, astonishing religion indeed; one had heard before of righteousness; before of resurrection;—never before of mercy to sin, or fellowship with it.But it is only in strictly modern times (that is to say, within the last hundred years) that this has been fixed on, by a large sect of thick-headed persons, as theessenceof Christianity,—nay, as so much its essence, that to be an extremely sinful sinner is deliberately announced by them as the best of qualifications for becoming an extremely Christian Christian.But all the teachings of Heaven are given—by sad law—in so obscure, nay, often in so ironical manner[127]that a blockhead necessarily reads them wrong. Very marvellous it is that Heaven, which really in one senseismerciful to sinners, is in no sense merciful to fools, but even lays pitfalls for them, and inevitable snares.Again and again, in the New Testament, the publican (supposed at once traitor to his country and thief) and the harlot are made the companions of Christ. She out of whom He had cast seven devils, loves Him best, sees Him first, after His resurrection. The sting of thatoldverse, “When thou sawest a thief, thou consentedst to him, and hast been partaker with adulterers,” seems done away with. Adultery itself uncondemned,—for, behold, in your hearts is not every one of you alike? “He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.” And so, and so, no more stones shall be cast nowadays; and here, on the top of our epitaph on the Bishop, lies a notice of the questionable sentence which hanged a man for beating his wife to death with a stick. “The jury recommended him strongly to mercy.”They did so, because they knew not, in their own hearts, what mercy meant. They were afraid to do anything so extremely compromising and disagreeable as causing a man to be hanged,—had no ‘pity’ for any creatures beaten to death—wives, or beasts; but only a cowardly fear of commanding death, where it was due. Your modern conscience will not incur the responsibility of shortening the hourly more guilty life of a single rogue; but will contentedly fire a salvo of mitrailleuses into a[128]regiment of honest men—leaving Providence to guide the shot. But let us fasten on the word they abused, and understand it. Mercy—misericordia: it does not in the least mean forgiveness of sins,—it means pity of sorrows. In that very instance which the Evangelicals are so fond of quoting—the adultery of David—it is not the Passion for which he is to be judged, but thewantof Passion,—the want of Pity.Thishe is to judge himself for, by his own mouth:—“As the Lord liveth, the man that hath done this thing shall surely die,—because he hath done this thing, and because he hadno pity.”And you will find, alike throughout the record of the Law and the promises of the Gospel, that there is, indeed, forgiveness with God, and Christ, for the passing sins of the hot heart, but none for the eternal and inherent sin of the cold. ‘Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy’;—find it you written anywhere that theunmerciful shall? ‘Her sins, which are many, are forgiven, for she loved much.’ But have you record of any one’s sins being forgiven who loved not at all?I opened my oldest Bible just now, to look for the accurate words of David about the killed lamb;—a small, closely, and very neatly printed volume it is, printed in Edinburgh by Sir D. Hunter Blair and J. Bruce, Printers to the King’s Most Excellent Majesty in 1816. Yellow, now, with age, and flexible, but not unclean, with much use, except that the lower corners of[129]the pages at 8th of 1st Kings, and 32nd Deuteronomy are worn somewhat thin and dark, the learning of these two chapters having cost me much pains. My mother’s list of the chapters with which, learned every syllable accurately, she established my soul in life, has just fallen out of it. And as probably the sagacious reader has already perceived that these letters are written in their irregular way, among other reasons, that they may contain, as the relation may become apposite, so much of autobiography as it seems to me desirable to write, I will take what indulgence the sagacious reader will give me, for printing the list thus accidentally occurrent:—Exodus,chapters15th and 20th.2 Samuelchapters,,1st, from 17th verse to the end.1 Kingschapters,,8th.Psalms23rd, 32nd, 90th, 91st, 103rd, 112th, 119th, 139th.Proverbschapters,,2nd, 3rd, 8th, 12th.Isaiahchapters,,58th.Matthewchapters,,5th, 6th, 7th.Actschapters,,26th.1 Corinthianschapters,,13th, 15th.Jameschapters,,4th.Revelationchapters,,5th, 6th.And truly, though I have picked up the elements of a little further knowledge,—in mathematics, meteorology, and the like, in after life,—and owe not a little to the[130]teaching of many people, this maternal installation of my mind in that property of chapters, I count very confidently the most precious, and, on the whole, the one essential part of all my education.For the chapters became, indeed, strictly conclusive and protective to me in all modes of thought; and the body of divinity they contain, acceptable through all fear or doubt: nor, through any fear or doubt or fault have I ever lost my loyalty to them, nor betrayed the first command in the one I was made to repeat oftenest, “Let not Mercy and Truth forsake Thee.”And at my present age of fifty-five, in spite of some enlarged observations of what modern philosophers call the Reign of Law, I perceive more distinctly than ever the Reign of a Spirit of Mercy and Truth,—infinite in pardon and purification for its wandering and faultful children, who have yet Love in their hearts; and altogether adverse and implacable to its perverse and lying enemies, who have resolute hatred in their hearts, and resolute falsehood on their lips.This assertion of the existence of a Spirit of Mercy and Truth, as the master first of the Law of Life, and then of the methods of knowledge and labour by which it is sustained, and which the ‘Saturday Review’ calls the effeminate sentimentality of Mr. Ruskin’s political economy, is accurately, you will observe, reversed by the assertion of the Predatory and Carnivorous—or, in plainer English, flesh-eating spirit in Man himself, as[131]the regulator of modern civilization, in the paper read by the Secretary at the Social Science meeting in Glasgow, 1860. Out of which the following fundamental passage may stand for sufficient and permanent example of the existent, practical, and unsentimental English mind, being the most vile sentence which I have ever seen in the literature of any country or time:—“As no one will deny that Man possesses carnivorous teeth, or that all animals that possess them are more or less predatory, it is unnecessary to argue, à priori, that a predatory instinct naturally follows from such organization. It is our intention here to show how this inevitable result operates on civilized existence by its being one of the conditions of Man’s nature, and, consequently, of all arrangements of civilized society.”The paper proceeds, and is entirely constructed, on the assumption that the predatory spirit is not only one of the conditions of man’s nature, but the particular condition on which the arrangements of Society are to be founded. For “Reason would immediately suggest to one of superior strength, that however desirable it might be to take possession by violence, of what another had laboured to produce, he might be treated in the same way by one stronger than himself, to which he, of course, would have great objection. In order, therefore, to prevent or put a stop to a practice which each would object to in his own case,” etc., etc. And so the Social Science interpreter proceeds to sing the[132]present non-sentimental Proverbs and Psalms of England,—with trumpets also and shawms—and steam whistles. And there is concert of voices and instruments at the Hospital of the Incurabili, and Progress—indubitably—in Chariots of the Night.[133]NOTES AND CORRESPONDENCE.Corriere Dei Bagni.M’imbarcai su di un vaporetto; era elegante, era vasto, ma il suo contenuto era enormemente superiore al contenente; il vaporetto rigurgitava di uomini, di donne, e di ragazzi.Il commandante, un fiero giovanotto, gridava:Montate! Montate!e la calca si faceva sempre più fitta, ed appena si poteva respirare.Tutto ad un tratto un sensale di piazza si sentì venir male, e gridò;io soffoco!Il commandante si accorse che si soffocava davvero, ed ordino;basta!Il vapore allora si avv ò (sic) ed io rimasi stipato fra la folla per diciotto minuti, in capo ai quali ebbi la buona ventura di sbarcare incolume sul pontile dello stabilimento laFavorita—Il pontile è lunghissimo, ma elegante e coperto. Il sole per conseguenza non dà nessuna noia.Una strada che, fino a quando non sia migliorata, non consiglierei di percorrere a chi non abbia i piedi in perfetto stato, conduce al parco della Stabilimento Bagni del signor Delahant.—E qui i miei occhi si aprirono per la meraviglia. E diffati, solo una rispettibile forza di volontà ed operosita poté riuscire a trasformare quel luogo, pochi mesi fa ancora deserto ed incolto, in un sito di delisie.—Lunghi viali, tappeti erbosi, montagnole, banchine,[134]châlet, strade solitarie e misteriose, lumi, spalti, e poi un interminabile pergolato che conduce allo stabilimento bagni, ed in questo inservientivestiti alla marinara, comodissima vasca, biancheria finissima, e servizio regolare e premuroso.Sorpreso e contento, mi tuffo allegramente nel mare.Dopo il bagno è prescritta una passeggiata. Ossequiente ai dettami dell’ igiene, riprendo la via e lungo la piacevole spiaggia del mare ritorno allaFavorita.Un châlet, o piuttosto una sala immensa, addobbata con origi nalità e ricchezza, è divenuta una sala di concerto. Diffatti una eccellente orchestra sta eseguendo pezzi sceltissimi.Gli artisti indossana tutti la marsina e la cravatta bianca.Ascolto con delizia unpotpourridelFauste poi torno a girare per il vastissimo parco e visito ilRestaurant.Concludeno, il Lido non ha più bisogno di diventare un luogo di delizie; esse lo è in verità diggià diventato, e fra breve i comodi bagni del Lido di Venezia saranno fra i più famosi d’Italia.Onore ai bravi che hanno operata la meravigliosa trasformazione!‘Ii Rinnovamento,’ Gazetta del Popolo di Venezia; (2nd July, 1872).This following part of a useful letter, dated 19th March, 1873, ought to have been printed before now:—“Sir,—Will you permit me to respectfully call your attention to a certain circumstance which has, not unlikely, something to do with the failure (if failure it is) of your appeal for the St. George’s Fund?“At page 22 of Fors Clavigera for May, 1871, your words were, ‘Will any such give a tenth of what they haveandof what they earn?’ But in May of the following year, at page 8, the subject is referred to as the giving of ‘the tenth of what[135]they have, or make.’ The two passages are open to widely differing interpretations. Moreover, none of the sums received appear to have any relation to ‘tenths’ either of earnings or possessions.“It is not probable that the majority of your readers understood you either to mean literally what you said, or to mean nothing but jest? They would naturally ask themselves, ‘Must it be a tenth of both, or nothing?’ ‘A tenth of either?’ Or, ‘After all, only what we feel able to give?’ Their perplexity would lead to the giving of nothing. As nobody who has a pecuniary title to ask for an explanation appears to have called your attention to the subject, I, who have no such title, do so now,—feeling impelled thereto by the hint in this month’s ‘Fors’ of the possible ‘non-continuance of the work.’“May I presume to add one word more? Last Monday’s ‘Times’ (March 17th) gave a report of a Working Men’s Meeting on the present political crisis. One of the speakers said ‘he wanted every working man to be free.’ And his idea of freedom he explained to be that all workmen should be at liberty ‘to leave their work at a moment’s notice.’ This, as I have reason to know, is one of the things which working men have got into their heads, and which the newspapers ‘get their living by asserting.’“Lastly, the present English notion of civilizing China by inches, may be worth keeping record of.“We have Philistines out here, and a Philistine out here is a perfect Goliath. When he imagines that anything is wrong, he says—let it be a Coolie or an Emperor—‘Give him a thrashing.’ The men of this class here propose their usual remedy: ‘Let us have a war, and give the Chinese a good licking, and then we shall have the audience question granted, and everything else will follow.’ This includes opening up the country for trade, and civilizing the people, which according to their[136]theories can be best done by ‘thrashing them.’ The missionaries are working to civilize the people here in another way, that is by the usual plan of tracts and preaching; but their system is not much in favour, for they make such very small progress among the 360,000,000, the conversion of which is their problem. The man of business wants the country opened up to trade, wants manufactures introduced, the mineral wealth to be used, and generally speaking the resources of the country to be developed, ‘and that sort of thing you know—that’s the real way to civilize them.’ This, of course, implies a multitudinous breed of Mr. Ruskin’s demons, or machinery, to accomplish all this. I am here giving the tone of the ideas I hear expressed around me. It was only the other day that I heard some of these various points talked over. We were sailing on the river in a steam launch, which was making the air impure with its smoke, snorting in a high-pressure way, and whistling as steam launches are wont to do. The scene was appropriate to the conversation, for we were among a forest of great junks—most quaint and picturesque they looked—so old-fashioned they seemed, that Noah’s Ark, had it been there, would have had a much more modern look about it. My friend, to whom the launch belonged, and who is in the machinery line himself, gave his opinion. He began by giving a significant movement of his head in the direction of the uncouth-looking junks, and then pointing to his own craft with its engine, said ‘he did not believe much in war, and the missionaries were not of much account. This is the thing to do it,’ he added, pointing to the launch; ‘let us get at them with this sort of article, and steam at sixty pounds on the square inch; that would soon do it; that’s the thing to civilize them—sixty pounds on the square inch.’ ”[137]

I must construct my letters still, for a while, of swept-up fragments; every day provokes me to write new matter; but I must not lose the fruit of the old days. Here is some worth picking up, though ill-ripened for want of sunshine, (the little we had spending itself on the rain,) last year.

1st August, 1873.

“Not being able to work steadily this morning, because there was a rainbow half a mile broad, and violet-bright, on the shoulders of the Old Man of Coniston—(by calling it half a mile broad, I mean that half a mile’s breadth of mountain was coloured by it,—and by calling it violet-bright, I mean that the violet zone of it came pure against the grey rocks; and note, by the way, that essentially all the colours of the rainbow are secondary;—yellow exists only as a line—red as a line—blue as a line; but the zone itself is of varied orange, green, and violet,)—not being able, I say, for steady work, I opened[116]an old diary of 1849, and as the third Fors would have it, at this extract from the Letters of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu.

(Venice.)

“The Prince of Saxony went to see the Arsenal three days ago, waited on by a numerous nobility of both sexes; the Bucentaur was adorned and launched, a magnificent collation given; and we sailed a little in it. I was in company with the Signora Justiniani Gradenigo and Signora Marina Crizzo. There were two cannons founded in his (the Prince of Saxony’s) presence, and a galley built and launched in an hour’s time.” (Well may Dante speak of that busy Arsenal!)

“Last night there was a concert of voices and instruments at the Hospital of the Incurabili, where there were two girls that in the opinion of all people excel either Faustina or Cuzzoni.

“I am invited to-morrow to the Foscarini to dinner, which is to be followed by a concert and a ball.”

The account of a regatta follows, in which the various nobles had boats costing £1000 sterling each, none less than £500, and enough of them to look like a little fleet. The Signora Pisani Mocenigo’s represented the Chariot of the Night, drawn by four sea-horses, and showing the rising of the moon, accompanied with stars, the statues on each side representing the Hours, to the number of twenty-four.

Pleasant times, these, for Venice! one’s Bucentaur[117]launched, wherein to eat, buoyantly, a magnificent collation—beautiful ladies driving their ocean steeds in the Chariot of the Night—beautiful songs, at the Hospital of the Incurabili. Much bettered, these, from the rough days when one had to row and fight for life, thought Venice; better days still, in the nineteenth century, being—as she appears to believe now—in store for her.

You thought, I suppose, that in writing those numbers of Fors last year from Venice and Verona, I was idling, or digressing?

Nothing of the kind. The business of Fors is to tell you of Venice and Verona; and many things of them.

You don’t care about Venice and Verona? Of course not. Who does? And I beg you to observe that the day is coming when, exactly in the same sense, active working men will say to any antiquarian who purposes to tell them something of England, “We don’t care about England.” And the antiquarian will answer, just as I have answered you now, “Of course not. Who does?”

Nay, the saying has been already said to me, and by a wise and good man. When I asked, at the end of my inaugural lecture at Oxford, “Will you, youths of England, make your country again a royal throne of kings, a sceptred isle, for all the world a source of light—a centre of peace?”—my University friends came to me, with grave faces, to remonstrate against irrelevant and Utopian topics of that nature being introduced in[118]lectures on art; and a very dear American friend wrote to me, when I sent the lecture to him, in some such terms as these: “Why will you diminish your real influence for good, by speaking as if England could now take any dominant place in the world? How many millions, think you, are there here, of the activest spirits of their time, who care nothing for England, and would read no farther, after coming upon such a passage?”

That England deserves little care from any man nowadays, is fatally true; that in a century more she will be—where Venice is—among the dead of nations, is far more than probable. And yet—that you do not care for dead Venice, is the sign of your own ruin; and that the Americans do not care for dying England, is only the sign of their inferiority to her.

For this dead Venice once taught us to be merchants, sailors, and gentlemen; and this dying England taught the Americans all they have of speech, or thought, hitherto. What thoughts they have not learned from England are foolish thoughts; what words they have not learned from England, unseemly words; the vile among them not being able even to be humorous parrots, but only obscene mocking birds. An American republican woman, lately, describes a child which “like cherubim and seraphim continually did cry;”1such their feminine learning of the European fashions of ‘Te Deum’! And, as I tell[119]you, Venice in like manner taught us, when she and we were honest, our marketing, and our manners. Then she began trading in pleasure, and souls of men, before us; followed that Babylonish trade to her death,—we nothing loth to imitate, so plausible she was, in her mythic gondola, and Chariot of the Night! But where her pilotage has for the present carried her, and is like to carryus, it may be well to consider. And therefore I will ask you to glance back to my twentieth letter, giving account of the steam music, the modern Tasso’s echoes, practised on her principal lagoon. That is her present manner, you observe, of “whistlingat her darg.” But for festivityafterwork, or altogether superseding work—launching one’s adorned Bucentaur for collation—let us hear what she is doing in that kind.

From the Rinnovamento (Renewal, or Revival,) “Gazette of the people of Venice” of 2nd July, 1872, I print, in my terminal notes, a portion of one of their daily correspondent’s letters, describing his pleasures of the previous day, of which I here translate a few pregnant sentences.

“I embarked on a little steamboat. It was elegant—it was vast. But its contents were enormously greater than its capacity. The little steamboat overflowed2with men, women, and boys. The Commandant, a proud young man, cried, ‘Come in, come in!’ and the[120]crowd became always more close, and one could scarcely breathe” (the heroic exhortations of the proud youth leading his public to this painful result). “All at once a delicate person3of the piazza, feeling herself unwell, cried ‘I suffocate.’ The Commandant perceived that suffocation did veritably prevail, and gave the word of command, ‘Enough.’

“In eighteen minutes I had the good fortune to land safe at the establishment, ‘The Favourite.’ And here my eyes opened for wonder. In truth, only a respectable force of will could have succeeded in transforming this place, only a few months ago still desert and uncultivated, into a site of delights. Long alleys, grassy carpets, small mountains, charming little banks, châlets, solitary and mysterious paths, and then an interminable covered way which conducts to the bathing establishment; and in that, attendants dressed in mariners’ dresses, a most commodious basin, the finest linen, and the most regular and solicitous service.

“Surprised, and satisfied, I plunged myself cheerfully into the sea. After the bath, is prescribed a walk. Obedient to the dictates of hygiene, I take my returning way along the pleasant shore of the sea to ‘The Favourite.’ A châlet, or rather an immense salon, is become a concert[121]room. And, in fact, an excellent orchestra is executing therein most chosen pieces. The artists are all endued in dress coats, and wear white cravats. I hear with delight a pot-pourri from Faust. I then take a turn through the most vast park, and visit the Restaurant.

“To conclude. The Lido has no more need to become a place of delights. It is, in truth, already become so.

“All honour to the brave who have effected the marvellous transformation.”

Onori ai bravi!—Honour to the brave! Yes; in all times, among all nations, that is entirely desirable. You know I told you, in last Fors, that to honour the brave dead was to be our second child’s lesson. None the less expedient if the brave we have to honour be alive, instead of long dead. Here are our modern Venetian troubadours, in white cravats, celebrating the victories of their Hardicanutes with collection of choicest melody—pot-pourri—hotch-potch, from Faust. And, indeed, is not this a notable conquest which resuscitated Venice has made of her Lido? Where all was vague sea-shore, now, behold, “little mountains, mysterious paths.” Those unmanufactured mountains—Eugeneans and Alps—seen against the sunset, are not enough for the vast mind of Venice born again; nor the canals between her palaces mysterious enough paths. Here are mountains to our perfect mind, and more[122]solemn ways,—a new kingdom for us, conquered by the brave. Conquest, you observe also, just of the kind which in our ‘Times’ newspaper is honoured always in like manner, ‘Private Enterprise.’ The only question is, whether the privacy of your enterprise is always as fearless of exposure as it used to be,—or even, the enterprise of it as enterprising. Let me tell you a little of the private enterprise of dead Venice, that you may compare it with that of the living.

You doubted me just now, probably, when I told you that Venice taught you to be sailors. You thought your Drakes and Grenvilles needed no such masters. No! but a hundred years before Sir Francis’s time, the blind captain of a Venetian galley,—of one of those things which the Lady Mary saw built in an hour,—won the empire of the East. You did fine things in the Baltic, and before Sebastopol, with your ironclads and your Woolwich infants, did you? Here was a piece of fighting done from the deck of a rowed boat, which came to more good, it seems to me.

“The Duke of Venice had disposed his fleet in one line along the sea-wall (of Constantinople), and had cleared the battlements with his shot (of stones and arrows); but still the galleys dared not take ground. But the Duke of Venice, though he was old (ninety) and stone-blind, stood, all armed, at the head of his galley, and had the gonfalon of St. Mark before him; and he called to his people to ground his ship, or[123]they should die for it. So they ran the ship aground, and leaped out, and carried St. Mark’s gonfalon to the shore before the Duke. Then the Venetians, seeing their Duke’s galley ashore, followed him; and they planted the flag of St. Mark on the walls, and took twenty-five towers.”

The good issue of which piece of pantaloon’s play was that the city itself, a little while after, with due help from the French, was taken, and that the crusading army proceeded thereon to elect a new Emperor of the Eastern Empire.

Which office six French Barons, and six Venetian, being appointed to bestow, and one of the French naming first the Duke of Venice, he had certainly been declared Emperor, but one of the Venetians themselves, Pantaleone Barbo, declaring that no man could be Duke of Venice, and Emperor too, gave his word for Baldwin of Flanders, to whom accordingly the throne was given; while to the Venetian State was offered, with the consent of all, if they chose to hold it—about a third of the whole Roman Empire!

Venice thereupon deliberates with herself. Her own present national territory—the true ‘State’ of Venice—is a marsh, which you can see from end to end of;—some wooden houses, half afloat, and others wholly afloat, in the canals of it; and a total population, in round numbers, about as large as that of our parish of Lambeth. Venice feels some doubt whether, out of[124]this wild duck’s nest, and with that number of men, she can at once safely, and in all the world’s sight, undertake to govern Lacedæmon, Ægina, Ægos Potamos, Crete, and half the Greek islands; nevertheless, she thinks she will try a little ‘private enterprise’ upon them. So in 1207 the Venetian Senate published an edict by which there was granted to all Venetian citizens permission to arm, at their own expense, war-galleys, and to subdue, if they could manage it in that private manner, such islands and Greek towns of the Archipelago as might seem to them what we call “eligible residences,” the Senate graciously giving them leave to keep whatever they could get. Whereupon certain Venetian merchants—proud young men—stood, as we see them standing now on their decks on the Riva, crying to the crowd, ‘Montate! Montate!’ and without any help from steam, or encumbrance from the markets of Ascension Day, rowed and sailed—somewhatoutsidethe Lido. Mark Dandolo took Gallipoli; Mark Sanudo, Naxos, Paros, and Melos;—(you have heard of marbles and Venuses coming from those places, have not you?)—Marin Dandolo, Andros; Andrea Ghisi, Micone and Scyros; Dominico Michieli, Ceos; and Philocola Navigieri, the island of Vulcan himself, Lemnos. Took them, and kept them also! (not a little to our present sorrow; for, being good Christians, these Venetian gentlemen made wild work among the Parian and Melian gods). It was not till 1570 that the twenty-first Venetian Duke of Melos[125]was driven out by the Turks, and the career of modern white-cravated Venice virtually begun.

“Honour to the brave!” Yes, in God’s name, and by all manner of means! And dishonour to the cowards: but, my good Italian and good English acquaintances, are you so sure, then, you know which is which? Nay, are you honestly willing to acknowledge there is any difference? Heaven be praised if you are!—but I thought your modern gospel was, that all were alike? Here’s the ‘Punch’ of last week lying beside me, for instance, with its normal piece of pathos upon the advertisements of death. Dual deaths this time; and pathetic epitaphs on the Bishop of Winchester and the Baron Bethell. The best it can honestly say, (and ‘Punch’ as far as I know papers, is an honest one,) is that the Bishop was a pleasant kind of person; and the best it can say for the Chancellor is, that he was witty;—but, fearing that something more might be expected, it smooths all down with a sop of popular varnish, “How good the worst of us!—how bad the best!” Alas, Mr. Punch, is it come to this? and is there to be no more knocking down, then? and is your last scene in future to be—shaking hands with the devil?—clerical pantaloon in white cravat asking a blessing on the reconciliation, and the drum and pipe finishing with a pot-pourri from Faust?

A popular tune, truly, everywhere, nowadays—“Devil’s hotch-potch,” and listened to “avec delices!” And,[126]doubtless, pious Republicans on their death-beds will have a care to bequeath it, rightly played, to their children, before they go to hear it, divinely executed, in their own blessed country.

“How good the worst of us!—how bad the best!” Jeanie Deans, and St. Agnes, and the Holy Thursday fairing, all the same!

My good working readers, I will try to-day to put you more clearly in understanding of this modern gospel,—of what truth there is in it—for some there is,—and of what pestilent evil.

I call it a modern gospel: in its deepest truth it is as old as Christianity. “This man receiveth sinners, and eateth with them.” And it was the most distinctive character of Christianity. Here was a new, astonishing religion indeed; one had heard before of righteousness; before of resurrection;—never before of mercy to sin, or fellowship with it.

But it is only in strictly modern times (that is to say, within the last hundred years) that this has been fixed on, by a large sect of thick-headed persons, as theessenceof Christianity,—nay, as so much its essence, that to be an extremely sinful sinner is deliberately announced by them as the best of qualifications for becoming an extremely Christian Christian.

But all the teachings of Heaven are given—by sad law—in so obscure, nay, often in so ironical manner[127]that a blockhead necessarily reads them wrong. Very marvellous it is that Heaven, which really in one senseismerciful to sinners, is in no sense merciful to fools, but even lays pitfalls for them, and inevitable snares.

Again and again, in the New Testament, the publican (supposed at once traitor to his country and thief) and the harlot are made the companions of Christ. She out of whom He had cast seven devils, loves Him best, sees Him first, after His resurrection. The sting of thatoldverse, “When thou sawest a thief, thou consentedst to him, and hast been partaker with adulterers,” seems done away with. Adultery itself uncondemned,—for, behold, in your hearts is not every one of you alike? “He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.” And so, and so, no more stones shall be cast nowadays; and here, on the top of our epitaph on the Bishop, lies a notice of the questionable sentence which hanged a man for beating his wife to death with a stick. “The jury recommended him strongly to mercy.”

They did so, because they knew not, in their own hearts, what mercy meant. They were afraid to do anything so extremely compromising and disagreeable as causing a man to be hanged,—had no ‘pity’ for any creatures beaten to death—wives, or beasts; but only a cowardly fear of commanding death, where it was due. Your modern conscience will not incur the responsibility of shortening the hourly more guilty life of a single rogue; but will contentedly fire a salvo of mitrailleuses into a[128]regiment of honest men—leaving Providence to guide the shot. But let us fasten on the word they abused, and understand it. Mercy—misericordia: it does not in the least mean forgiveness of sins,—it means pity of sorrows. In that very instance which the Evangelicals are so fond of quoting—the adultery of David—it is not the Passion for which he is to be judged, but thewantof Passion,—the want of Pity.Thishe is to judge himself for, by his own mouth:—“As the Lord liveth, the man that hath done this thing shall surely die,—because he hath done this thing, and because he hadno pity.”

And you will find, alike throughout the record of the Law and the promises of the Gospel, that there is, indeed, forgiveness with God, and Christ, for the passing sins of the hot heart, but none for the eternal and inherent sin of the cold. ‘Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy’;—find it you written anywhere that theunmerciful shall? ‘Her sins, which are many, are forgiven, for she loved much.’ But have you record of any one’s sins being forgiven who loved not at all?

I opened my oldest Bible just now, to look for the accurate words of David about the killed lamb;—a small, closely, and very neatly printed volume it is, printed in Edinburgh by Sir D. Hunter Blair and J. Bruce, Printers to the King’s Most Excellent Majesty in 1816. Yellow, now, with age, and flexible, but not unclean, with much use, except that the lower corners of[129]the pages at 8th of 1st Kings, and 32nd Deuteronomy are worn somewhat thin and dark, the learning of these two chapters having cost me much pains. My mother’s list of the chapters with which, learned every syllable accurately, she established my soul in life, has just fallen out of it. And as probably the sagacious reader has already perceived that these letters are written in their irregular way, among other reasons, that they may contain, as the relation may become apposite, so much of autobiography as it seems to me desirable to write, I will take what indulgence the sagacious reader will give me, for printing the list thus accidentally occurrent:—

Exodus,chapters15th and 20th.2 Samuelchapters,,1st, from 17th verse to the end.1 Kingschapters,,8th.Psalms23rd, 32nd, 90th, 91st, 103rd, 112th, 119th, 139th.Proverbschapters,,2nd, 3rd, 8th, 12th.Isaiahchapters,,58th.Matthewchapters,,5th, 6th, 7th.Actschapters,,26th.1 Corinthianschapters,,13th, 15th.Jameschapters,,4th.Revelationchapters,,5th, 6th.

And truly, though I have picked up the elements of a little further knowledge,—in mathematics, meteorology, and the like, in after life,—and owe not a little to the[130]teaching of many people, this maternal installation of my mind in that property of chapters, I count very confidently the most precious, and, on the whole, the one essential part of all my education.

For the chapters became, indeed, strictly conclusive and protective to me in all modes of thought; and the body of divinity they contain, acceptable through all fear or doubt: nor, through any fear or doubt or fault have I ever lost my loyalty to them, nor betrayed the first command in the one I was made to repeat oftenest, “Let not Mercy and Truth forsake Thee.”

And at my present age of fifty-five, in spite of some enlarged observations of what modern philosophers call the Reign of Law, I perceive more distinctly than ever the Reign of a Spirit of Mercy and Truth,—infinite in pardon and purification for its wandering and faultful children, who have yet Love in their hearts; and altogether adverse and implacable to its perverse and lying enemies, who have resolute hatred in their hearts, and resolute falsehood on their lips.

This assertion of the existence of a Spirit of Mercy and Truth, as the master first of the Law of Life, and then of the methods of knowledge and labour by which it is sustained, and which the ‘Saturday Review’ calls the effeminate sentimentality of Mr. Ruskin’s political economy, is accurately, you will observe, reversed by the assertion of the Predatory and Carnivorous—or, in plainer English, flesh-eating spirit in Man himself, as[131]the regulator of modern civilization, in the paper read by the Secretary at the Social Science meeting in Glasgow, 1860. Out of which the following fundamental passage may stand for sufficient and permanent example of the existent, practical, and unsentimental English mind, being the most vile sentence which I have ever seen in the literature of any country or time:—

“As no one will deny that Man possesses carnivorous teeth, or that all animals that possess them are more or less predatory, it is unnecessary to argue, à priori, that a predatory instinct naturally follows from such organization. It is our intention here to show how this inevitable result operates on civilized existence by its being one of the conditions of Man’s nature, and, consequently, of all arrangements of civilized society.”

The paper proceeds, and is entirely constructed, on the assumption that the predatory spirit is not only one of the conditions of man’s nature, but the particular condition on which the arrangements of Society are to be founded. For “Reason would immediately suggest to one of superior strength, that however desirable it might be to take possession by violence, of what another had laboured to produce, he might be treated in the same way by one stronger than himself, to which he, of course, would have great objection. In order, therefore, to prevent or put a stop to a practice which each would object to in his own case,” etc., etc. And so the Social Science interpreter proceeds to sing the[132]present non-sentimental Proverbs and Psalms of England,—with trumpets also and shawms—and steam whistles. And there is concert of voices and instruments at the Hospital of the Incurabili, and Progress—indubitably—in Chariots of the Night.[133]

NOTES AND CORRESPONDENCE.Corriere Dei Bagni.M’imbarcai su di un vaporetto; era elegante, era vasto, ma il suo contenuto era enormemente superiore al contenente; il vaporetto rigurgitava di uomini, di donne, e di ragazzi.Il commandante, un fiero giovanotto, gridava:Montate! Montate!e la calca si faceva sempre più fitta, ed appena si poteva respirare.Tutto ad un tratto un sensale di piazza si sentì venir male, e gridò;io soffoco!Il commandante si accorse che si soffocava davvero, ed ordino;basta!Il vapore allora si avv ò (sic) ed io rimasi stipato fra la folla per diciotto minuti, in capo ai quali ebbi la buona ventura di sbarcare incolume sul pontile dello stabilimento laFavorita—Il pontile è lunghissimo, ma elegante e coperto. Il sole per conseguenza non dà nessuna noia.Una strada che, fino a quando non sia migliorata, non consiglierei di percorrere a chi non abbia i piedi in perfetto stato, conduce al parco della Stabilimento Bagni del signor Delahant.—E qui i miei occhi si aprirono per la meraviglia. E diffati, solo una rispettibile forza di volontà ed operosita poté riuscire a trasformare quel luogo, pochi mesi fa ancora deserto ed incolto, in un sito di delisie.—Lunghi viali, tappeti erbosi, montagnole, banchine,[134]châlet, strade solitarie e misteriose, lumi, spalti, e poi un interminabile pergolato che conduce allo stabilimento bagni, ed in questo inservientivestiti alla marinara, comodissima vasca, biancheria finissima, e servizio regolare e premuroso.Sorpreso e contento, mi tuffo allegramente nel mare.Dopo il bagno è prescritta una passeggiata. Ossequiente ai dettami dell’ igiene, riprendo la via e lungo la piacevole spiaggia del mare ritorno allaFavorita.Un châlet, o piuttosto una sala immensa, addobbata con origi nalità e ricchezza, è divenuta una sala di concerto. Diffatti una eccellente orchestra sta eseguendo pezzi sceltissimi.Gli artisti indossana tutti la marsina e la cravatta bianca.Ascolto con delizia unpotpourridelFauste poi torno a girare per il vastissimo parco e visito ilRestaurant.Concludeno, il Lido non ha più bisogno di diventare un luogo di delizie; esse lo è in verità diggià diventato, e fra breve i comodi bagni del Lido di Venezia saranno fra i più famosi d’Italia.Onore ai bravi che hanno operata la meravigliosa trasformazione!‘Ii Rinnovamento,’ Gazetta del Popolo di Venezia; (2nd July, 1872).This following part of a useful letter, dated 19th March, 1873, ought to have been printed before now:—“Sir,—Will you permit me to respectfully call your attention to a certain circumstance which has, not unlikely, something to do with the failure (if failure it is) of your appeal for the St. George’s Fund?“At page 22 of Fors Clavigera for May, 1871, your words were, ‘Will any such give a tenth of what they haveandof what they earn?’ But in May of the following year, at page 8, the subject is referred to as the giving of ‘the tenth of what[135]they have, or make.’ The two passages are open to widely differing interpretations. Moreover, none of the sums received appear to have any relation to ‘tenths’ either of earnings or possessions.“It is not probable that the majority of your readers understood you either to mean literally what you said, or to mean nothing but jest? They would naturally ask themselves, ‘Must it be a tenth of both, or nothing?’ ‘A tenth of either?’ Or, ‘After all, only what we feel able to give?’ Their perplexity would lead to the giving of nothing. As nobody who has a pecuniary title to ask for an explanation appears to have called your attention to the subject, I, who have no such title, do so now,—feeling impelled thereto by the hint in this month’s ‘Fors’ of the possible ‘non-continuance of the work.’“May I presume to add one word more? Last Monday’s ‘Times’ (March 17th) gave a report of a Working Men’s Meeting on the present political crisis. One of the speakers said ‘he wanted every working man to be free.’ And his idea of freedom he explained to be that all workmen should be at liberty ‘to leave their work at a moment’s notice.’ This, as I have reason to know, is one of the things which working men have got into their heads, and which the newspapers ‘get their living by asserting.’“Lastly, the present English notion of civilizing China by inches, may be worth keeping record of.“We have Philistines out here, and a Philistine out here is a perfect Goliath. When he imagines that anything is wrong, he says—let it be a Coolie or an Emperor—‘Give him a thrashing.’ The men of this class here propose their usual remedy: ‘Let us have a war, and give the Chinese a good licking, and then we shall have the audience question granted, and everything else will follow.’ This includes opening up the country for trade, and civilizing the people, which according to their[136]theories can be best done by ‘thrashing them.’ The missionaries are working to civilize the people here in another way, that is by the usual plan of tracts and preaching; but their system is not much in favour, for they make such very small progress among the 360,000,000, the conversion of which is their problem. The man of business wants the country opened up to trade, wants manufactures introduced, the mineral wealth to be used, and generally speaking the resources of the country to be developed, ‘and that sort of thing you know—that’s the real way to civilize them.’ This, of course, implies a multitudinous breed of Mr. Ruskin’s demons, or machinery, to accomplish all this. I am here giving the tone of the ideas I hear expressed around me. It was only the other day that I heard some of these various points talked over. We were sailing on the river in a steam launch, which was making the air impure with its smoke, snorting in a high-pressure way, and whistling as steam launches are wont to do. The scene was appropriate to the conversation, for we were among a forest of great junks—most quaint and picturesque they looked—so old-fashioned they seemed, that Noah’s Ark, had it been there, would have had a much more modern look about it. My friend, to whom the launch belonged, and who is in the machinery line himself, gave his opinion. He began by giving a significant movement of his head in the direction of the uncouth-looking junks, and then pointing to his own craft with its engine, said ‘he did not believe much in war, and the missionaries were not of much account. This is the thing to do it,’ he added, pointing to the launch; ‘let us get at them with this sort of article, and steam at sixty pounds on the square inch; that would soon do it; that’s the thing to civilize them—sixty pounds on the square inch.’ ”[137]

NOTES AND CORRESPONDENCE.Corriere Dei Bagni.M’imbarcai su di un vaporetto; era elegante, era vasto, ma il suo contenuto era enormemente superiore al contenente; il vaporetto rigurgitava di uomini, di donne, e di ragazzi.Il commandante, un fiero giovanotto, gridava:Montate! Montate!e la calca si faceva sempre più fitta, ed appena si poteva respirare.Tutto ad un tratto un sensale di piazza si sentì venir male, e gridò;io soffoco!Il commandante si accorse che si soffocava davvero, ed ordino;basta!Il vapore allora si avv ò (sic) ed io rimasi stipato fra la folla per diciotto minuti, in capo ai quali ebbi la buona ventura di sbarcare incolume sul pontile dello stabilimento laFavorita—Il pontile è lunghissimo, ma elegante e coperto. Il sole per conseguenza non dà nessuna noia.Una strada che, fino a quando non sia migliorata, non consiglierei di percorrere a chi non abbia i piedi in perfetto stato, conduce al parco della Stabilimento Bagni del signor Delahant.—E qui i miei occhi si aprirono per la meraviglia. E diffati, solo una rispettibile forza di volontà ed operosita poté riuscire a trasformare quel luogo, pochi mesi fa ancora deserto ed incolto, in un sito di delisie.—Lunghi viali, tappeti erbosi, montagnole, banchine,[134]châlet, strade solitarie e misteriose, lumi, spalti, e poi un interminabile pergolato che conduce allo stabilimento bagni, ed in questo inservientivestiti alla marinara, comodissima vasca, biancheria finissima, e servizio regolare e premuroso.Sorpreso e contento, mi tuffo allegramente nel mare.Dopo il bagno è prescritta una passeggiata. Ossequiente ai dettami dell’ igiene, riprendo la via e lungo la piacevole spiaggia del mare ritorno allaFavorita.Un châlet, o piuttosto una sala immensa, addobbata con origi nalità e ricchezza, è divenuta una sala di concerto. Diffatti una eccellente orchestra sta eseguendo pezzi sceltissimi.Gli artisti indossana tutti la marsina e la cravatta bianca.Ascolto con delizia unpotpourridelFauste poi torno a girare per il vastissimo parco e visito ilRestaurant.Concludeno, il Lido non ha più bisogno di diventare un luogo di delizie; esse lo è in verità diggià diventato, e fra breve i comodi bagni del Lido di Venezia saranno fra i più famosi d’Italia.Onore ai bravi che hanno operata la meravigliosa trasformazione!‘Ii Rinnovamento,’ Gazetta del Popolo di Venezia; (2nd July, 1872).

Corriere Dei Bagni.M’imbarcai su di un vaporetto; era elegante, era vasto, ma il suo contenuto era enormemente superiore al contenente; il vaporetto rigurgitava di uomini, di donne, e di ragazzi.Il commandante, un fiero giovanotto, gridava:Montate! Montate!e la calca si faceva sempre più fitta, ed appena si poteva respirare.Tutto ad un tratto un sensale di piazza si sentì venir male, e gridò;io soffoco!Il commandante si accorse che si soffocava davvero, ed ordino;basta!Il vapore allora si avv ò (sic) ed io rimasi stipato fra la folla per diciotto minuti, in capo ai quali ebbi la buona ventura di sbarcare incolume sul pontile dello stabilimento laFavorita—Il pontile è lunghissimo, ma elegante e coperto. Il sole per conseguenza non dà nessuna noia.Una strada che, fino a quando non sia migliorata, non consiglierei di percorrere a chi non abbia i piedi in perfetto stato, conduce al parco della Stabilimento Bagni del signor Delahant.—E qui i miei occhi si aprirono per la meraviglia. E diffati, solo una rispettibile forza di volontà ed operosita poté riuscire a trasformare quel luogo, pochi mesi fa ancora deserto ed incolto, in un sito di delisie.—Lunghi viali, tappeti erbosi, montagnole, banchine,[134]châlet, strade solitarie e misteriose, lumi, spalti, e poi un interminabile pergolato che conduce allo stabilimento bagni, ed in questo inservientivestiti alla marinara, comodissima vasca, biancheria finissima, e servizio regolare e premuroso.Sorpreso e contento, mi tuffo allegramente nel mare.Dopo il bagno è prescritta una passeggiata. Ossequiente ai dettami dell’ igiene, riprendo la via e lungo la piacevole spiaggia del mare ritorno allaFavorita.Un châlet, o piuttosto una sala immensa, addobbata con origi nalità e ricchezza, è divenuta una sala di concerto. Diffatti una eccellente orchestra sta eseguendo pezzi sceltissimi.Gli artisti indossana tutti la marsina e la cravatta bianca.Ascolto con delizia unpotpourridelFauste poi torno a girare per il vastissimo parco e visito ilRestaurant.Concludeno, il Lido non ha più bisogno di diventare un luogo di delizie; esse lo è in verità diggià diventato, e fra breve i comodi bagni del Lido di Venezia saranno fra i più famosi d’Italia.Onore ai bravi che hanno operata la meravigliosa trasformazione!‘Ii Rinnovamento,’ Gazetta del Popolo di Venezia; (2nd July, 1872).

Corriere Dei Bagni.

M’imbarcai su di un vaporetto; era elegante, era vasto, ma il suo contenuto era enormemente superiore al contenente; il vaporetto rigurgitava di uomini, di donne, e di ragazzi.

Il commandante, un fiero giovanotto, gridava:Montate! Montate!e la calca si faceva sempre più fitta, ed appena si poteva respirare.

Tutto ad un tratto un sensale di piazza si sentì venir male, e gridò;io soffoco!Il commandante si accorse che si soffocava davvero, ed ordino;basta!

Il vapore allora si avv ò (sic) ed io rimasi stipato fra la folla per diciotto minuti, in capo ai quali ebbi la buona ventura di sbarcare incolume sul pontile dello stabilimento laFavorita—Il pontile è lunghissimo, ma elegante e coperto. Il sole per conseguenza non dà nessuna noia.

Una strada che, fino a quando non sia migliorata, non consiglierei di percorrere a chi non abbia i piedi in perfetto stato, conduce al parco della Stabilimento Bagni del signor Delahant.—E qui i miei occhi si aprirono per la meraviglia. E diffati, solo una rispettibile forza di volontà ed operosita poté riuscire a trasformare quel luogo, pochi mesi fa ancora deserto ed incolto, in un sito di delisie.—Lunghi viali, tappeti erbosi, montagnole, banchine,[134]châlet, strade solitarie e misteriose, lumi, spalti, e poi un interminabile pergolato che conduce allo stabilimento bagni, ed in questo inservientivestiti alla marinara, comodissima vasca, biancheria finissima, e servizio regolare e premuroso.

Sorpreso e contento, mi tuffo allegramente nel mare.

Dopo il bagno è prescritta una passeggiata. Ossequiente ai dettami dell’ igiene, riprendo la via e lungo la piacevole spiaggia del mare ritorno allaFavorita.

Un châlet, o piuttosto una sala immensa, addobbata con origi nalità e ricchezza, è divenuta una sala di concerto. Diffatti una eccellente orchestra sta eseguendo pezzi sceltissimi.

Gli artisti indossana tutti la marsina e la cravatta bianca.Ascolto con delizia unpotpourridelFauste poi torno a girare per il vastissimo parco e visito ilRestaurant.

Concludeno, il Lido non ha più bisogno di diventare un luogo di delizie; esse lo è in verità diggià diventato, e fra breve i comodi bagni del Lido di Venezia saranno fra i più famosi d’Italia.

Onore ai bravi che hanno operata la meravigliosa trasformazione!

‘Ii Rinnovamento,’ Gazetta del Popolo di Venezia; (2nd July, 1872).

This following part of a useful letter, dated 19th March, 1873, ought to have been printed before now:—“Sir,—Will you permit me to respectfully call your attention to a certain circumstance which has, not unlikely, something to do with the failure (if failure it is) of your appeal for the St. George’s Fund?“At page 22 of Fors Clavigera for May, 1871, your words were, ‘Will any such give a tenth of what they haveandof what they earn?’ But in May of the following year, at page 8, the subject is referred to as the giving of ‘the tenth of what[135]they have, or make.’ The two passages are open to widely differing interpretations. Moreover, none of the sums received appear to have any relation to ‘tenths’ either of earnings or possessions.“It is not probable that the majority of your readers understood you either to mean literally what you said, or to mean nothing but jest? They would naturally ask themselves, ‘Must it be a tenth of both, or nothing?’ ‘A tenth of either?’ Or, ‘After all, only what we feel able to give?’ Their perplexity would lead to the giving of nothing. As nobody who has a pecuniary title to ask for an explanation appears to have called your attention to the subject, I, who have no such title, do so now,—feeling impelled thereto by the hint in this month’s ‘Fors’ of the possible ‘non-continuance of the work.’“May I presume to add one word more? Last Monday’s ‘Times’ (March 17th) gave a report of a Working Men’s Meeting on the present political crisis. One of the speakers said ‘he wanted every working man to be free.’ And his idea of freedom he explained to be that all workmen should be at liberty ‘to leave their work at a moment’s notice.’ This, as I have reason to know, is one of the things which working men have got into their heads, and which the newspapers ‘get their living by asserting.’“Lastly, the present English notion of civilizing China by inches, may be worth keeping record of.“We have Philistines out here, and a Philistine out here is a perfect Goliath. When he imagines that anything is wrong, he says—let it be a Coolie or an Emperor—‘Give him a thrashing.’ The men of this class here propose their usual remedy: ‘Let us have a war, and give the Chinese a good licking, and then we shall have the audience question granted, and everything else will follow.’ This includes opening up the country for trade, and civilizing the people, which according to their[136]theories can be best done by ‘thrashing them.’ The missionaries are working to civilize the people here in another way, that is by the usual plan of tracts and preaching; but their system is not much in favour, for they make such very small progress among the 360,000,000, the conversion of which is their problem. The man of business wants the country opened up to trade, wants manufactures introduced, the mineral wealth to be used, and generally speaking the resources of the country to be developed, ‘and that sort of thing you know—that’s the real way to civilize them.’ This, of course, implies a multitudinous breed of Mr. Ruskin’s demons, or machinery, to accomplish all this. I am here giving the tone of the ideas I hear expressed around me. It was only the other day that I heard some of these various points talked over. We were sailing on the river in a steam launch, which was making the air impure with its smoke, snorting in a high-pressure way, and whistling as steam launches are wont to do. The scene was appropriate to the conversation, for we were among a forest of great junks—most quaint and picturesque they looked—so old-fashioned they seemed, that Noah’s Ark, had it been there, would have had a much more modern look about it. My friend, to whom the launch belonged, and who is in the machinery line himself, gave his opinion. He began by giving a significant movement of his head in the direction of the uncouth-looking junks, and then pointing to his own craft with its engine, said ‘he did not believe much in war, and the missionaries were not of much account. This is the thing to do it,’ he added, pointing to the launch; ‘let us get at them with this sort of article, and steam at sixty pounds on the square inch; that would soon do it; that’s the thing to civilize them—sixty pounds on the square inch.’ ”[137]

This following part of a useful letter, dated 19th March, 1873, ought to have been printed before now:—

“Sir,—Will you permit me to respectfully call your attention to a certain circumstance which has, not unlikely, something to do with the failure (if failure it is) of your appeal for the St. George’s Fund?

“At page 22 of Fors Clavigera for May, 1871, your words were, ‘Will any such give a tenth of what they haveandof what they earn?’ But in May of the following year, at page 8, the subject is referred to as the giving of ‘the tenth of what[135]they have, or make.’ The two passages are open to widely differing interpretations. Moreover, none of the sums received appear to have any relation to ‘tenths’ either of earnings or possessions.

“It is not probable that the majority of your readers understood you either to mean literally what you said, or to mean nothing but jest? They would naturally ask themselves, ‘Must it be a tenth of both, or nothing?’ ‘A tenth of either?’ Or, ‘After all, only what we feel able to give?’ Their perplexity would lead to the giving of nothing. As nobody who has a pecuniary title to ask for an explanation appears to have called your attention to the subject, I, who have no such title, do so now,—feeling impelled thereto by the hint in this month’s ‘Fors’ of the possible ‘non-continuance of the work.’

“May I presume to add one word more? Last Monday’s ‘Times’ (March 17th) gave a report of a Working Men’s Meeting on the present political crisis. One of the speakers said ‘he wanted every working man to be free.’ And his idea of freedom he explained to be that all workmen should be at liberty ‘to leave their work at a moment’s notice.’ This, as I have reason to know, is one of the things which working men have got into their heads, and which the newspapers ‘get their living by asserting.’

“Lastly, the present English notion of civilizing China by inches, may be worth keeping record of.

“We have Philistines out here, and a Philistine out here is a perfect Goliath. When he imagines that anything is wrong, he says—let it be a Coolie or an Emperor—‘Give him a thrashing.’ The men of this class here propose their usual remedy: ‘Let us have a war, and give the Chinese a good licking, and then we shall have the audience question granted, and everything else will follow.’ This includes opening up the country for trade, and civilizing the people, which according to their[136]theories can be best done by ‘thrashing them.’ The missionaries are working to civilize the people here in another way, that is by the usual plan of tracts and preaching; but their system is not much in favour, for they make such very small progress among the 360,000,000, the conversion of which is their problem. The man of business wants the country opened up to trade, wants manufactures introduced, the mineral wealth to be used, and generally speaking the resources of the country to be developed, ‘and that sort of thing you know—that’s the real way to civilize them.’ This, of course, implies a multitudinous breed of Mr. Ruskin’s demons, or machinery, to accomplish all this. I am here giving the tone of the ideas I hear expressed around me. It was only the other day that I heard some of these various points talked over. We were sailing on the river in a steam launch, which was making the air impure with its smoke, snorting in a high-pressure way, and whistling as steam launches are wont to do. The scene was appropriate to the conversation, for we were among a forest of great junks—most quaint and picturesque they looked—so old-fashioned they seemed, that Noah’s Ark, had it been there, would have had a much more modern look about it. My friend, to whom the launch belonged, and who is in the machinery line himself, gave his opinion. He began by giving a significant movement of his head in the direction of the uncouth-looking junks, and then pointing to his own craft with its engine, said ‘he did not believe much in war, and the missionaries were not of much account. This is the thing to do it,’ he added, pointing to the launch; ‘let us get at them with this sort of article, and steam at sixty pounds on the square inch; that would soon do it; that’s the thing to civilize them—sixty pounds on the square inch.’ ”[137]

1‘Pall Mall Gazette,’ July 31st, 1873.↑2“Rigurgitava”—gushed or gorged up; as a bottle which you have filled too full and too fast.↑3Sensale, an interesting Venetian word. The fair on the Feast of the Ascension at Venice became in mellifluous brevity, ‘Sensa,’ and the most ornamental of the ware purchaseable at it, therefore, Sensale.A “Holy-Thursday-Fairing,” feeling herself unwell, would be the properest translation.↑

1‘Pall Mall Gazette,’ July 31st, 1873.↑2“Rigurgitava”—gushed or gorged up; as a bottle which you have filled too full and too fast.↑3Sensale, an interesting Venetian word. The fair on the Feast of the Ascension at Venice became in mellifluous brevity, ‘Sensa,’ and the most ornamental of the ware purchaseable at it, therefore, Sensale.A “Holy-Thursday-Fairing,” feeling herself unwell, would be the properest translation.↑

1‘Pall Mall Gazette,’ July 31st, 1873.↑

1‘Pall Mall Gazette,’ July 31st, 1873.↑

2“Rigurgitava”—gushed or gorged up; as a bottle which you have filled too full and too fast.↑

2“Rigurgitava”—gushed or gorged up; as a bottle which you have filled too full and too fast.↑

3Sensale, an interesting Venetian word. The fair on the Feast of the Ascension at Venice became in mellifluous brevity, ‘Sensa,’ and the most ornamental of the ware purchaseable at it, therefore, Sensale.A “Holy-Thursday-Fairing,” feeling herself unwell, would be the properest translation.↑

3Sensale, an interesting Venetian word. The fair on the Feast of the Ascension at Venice became in mellifluous brevity, ‘Sensa,’ and the most ornamental of the ware purchaseable at it, therefore, Sensale.

A “Holy-Thursday-Fairing,” feeling herself unwell, would be the properest translation.↑

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