Ruskin begins volume 1 with the fatherʼs absence,
Lucy remarking “
papa has gone out to town earlyer than usual”;
and when
Papa comes home at the start of chapter 2, his presence significantly eclipses
Mammaʼs role as interlocutor in the text.
Ruskin even neglects to make a place for
Mamma in the seating arrangements of the traveling carriage that carries the family on the excursion to
Hastings (see contextual glosses for volume 1).
At the beach,
Mamma is represented as a voice calling
Harry to lessons, a voice he “did not hear” and “staid away a whole hour later than he should” (chap. 10).
Ruskinʼs desire for his real father during
John Jamesʼs lengthy business travels can therefore be taken as a powerful emotion animating his adaptation of the lesson in dialogue form,
just as he makes that desire an explicit theme in the poems that fill the remaining space
in his
“Harry and Lucy” Red Books (
MS I,
MS II,
MS III, and
MS IIIA; and see, e.g.,
“On Papaʼs Leaving Home” and
“The Monastery”).
At the same time,
Ruskinʼs adaptation of the dialogue form to represent domestic life at
Herne Hill delivers at times convincing and lively exchanges between his female characters,
Lucy and
Mamma.
While
Ruskinʼs narrative can be read biographically for an emotional truth, his
“Harry and Lucy” is strikingly embedded in its textual origins,
albeit creatively so.
Aileen Fyfe comments that the appeal of eighteenth‐ and nineteenth‐century books of science for children
lay in the practical applications that readers could undertake in real life (
“Tracts, Classics and Brands”, 213). In
Ruskinʼs
“Harry and Lucy”,
however, the dialogues often seem less a record of “early lessons” put in practice at
Herne Hill than a fantasized praxis at one remove—
Ruskinʼs
Harry
enacting imaginatively what
Edgeworthʼs,
Barbauldʼs, and
Joyceʼs fictional children do. Certainly, some portions of
Ruskinʼs narrative can be most convincingly explained in terms of direct experience
(see
“Records of the Ruskin Family Travel”). But a number of the scientific experiments lifted from
Joyce and
Edgeworth
were obviously too exotic or dangerous to have been been permitted to disturb the peace of
Herne Hill
(e.g.,
Ruskinʼs
Lucy tending to silkworms, or
Harry setting off gunpowder); and specialized apparatus such as the air pump, though omnipresent in the world
of
Edgeworthʼs
Harry and
Lucy, seems unlikely to have been household objects in
Camberwell.
John Jamesʼs
meticulous household accounts reveal largesse with books for the library but nothing for a laboratory. (In
eighteenth‐century popular science lectures for the middling classes,
the use of instruments tended to be emphasized as an alternative to the forbidding mathematics required to understand
Newtonʼs Principia;
see
Huang, “Theatres, Toys, and Teaching Aids”, 136–42.)
Nonetheless, the bookish quality of
Ruskinʼs appropriation of experiments may in itself shed light on a biographical connection.
A surviving book from the Ruskin family library that is inscribed as an early possession of
John James Ruskin rather than of
John, is
Conversations on Chemistry by
Jane Marcet
(
1769–1858), a popular writer on science and political economy.
(See
Dearden, Library of John Ruskin, 187 [no. 1433],
where
John Jamesʼs
1809 copy of
Marcetʼs
Conversations is misattributed to
Jeremiah Joyce,
and the book confused with the provenance of
Joyceʼs
Scientific Dialogues in the Ruskin household.
Joyce did author a similarly titled
Dialogues in Chemistry, Intended for the Instruction and Entertainment of Young People [
1807], but if
Deardenʼs bibliographical details are correct,
it is undoubtedly
Marcetʼs book that
John James owned.)
Marcet first published the
Conversations in
1805,
close on the heels of
Joyceʼs
Scientific Dialogues (which she represents as having co‐opted rather than having influenced her own project).
She wrote the book for the edification of women, particularly as a preliminary foundation for fashionable women
who attended the public lectures designed to introduce the British public to abstruse scientific topics
but which too often only bewildered their audiences with terminology and concepts over their heads
(
Marcet, Conversations on Chemistry, 1:v–x). The complaint is dramatized in an episode by
Edgeworth
in which a pompous lecturer on astronomy puts an audience of children to sleep
“listening to a vast number of words . . . of which nearly half were nothing to the purpose”. Even an eager boy like
Frank,
“after all his reading in [
Joyceʼs]
Scientific Dialogues, had much difficulty sometimes in understanding . . . [and]
‘how much more difficult it would have been . . . unless I had read the description and explanation beforehand’”
(
Edgeworth, Frank: A Sequel, 2:249, 255–56). In his earlier days in
London,
John James often attended lectures;
and it seems consistent with his habits of self‐culture that, as an aspiring wine merchant, he would have educated himself
in a basic course of chemistry; and that he would have acquired
Marcetʼs popular text, regardless of its specified female audience,
to privide a foundation of concepts and glossary of technical terms. What this opening on
John Jamesʼs scientific self‐culture may reveal
is a scenario for father and sonʼs—and motherʼs—home schooling with these scientific dialogues as shared texts. See
Reflections of Educational Approaches for how
Ruskinʼs written dialogues may incorporate the pedagogical method recommended for such study sessions.
How the Ruskins may have employed these educational texts as a family is lost to us, but
Ruskinʼs
written dialogues mention some hands‐on projects, which are independently documented in the family letters.
In
May 1826,
Margaret Ruskin reported to her husband that
John had almost finished a “cave”.
Whether this object was three‐ or two‐dimensional, it appears to have been inspired by Robinson Crusoeʼs refuge on his island; and play associated with it may have given rise
to a fantastical episode in volume 1 of
“Harry and Lucy”,
in which
Mamma is seated inside a cave to observe a motley parade of animals
(
Margaret to John James Ruskin, 25 May 1826,
in
Burd, ed., Ruskin Family Letters, 149;
and see “Harry and Lucy . . . Vol I”, chaps. 4–5). Another project described in volume 3 of
“Harry and Lucy”
may also have been based on a material object, a puppet show. While the construction described by
Harry
suggests a homemade project, it may have been based on or incorporated a product commonly available in stationersʼ shops in the first half of the century.
Printed sheets contained the sections of a proscenium, which could be cut out to form a toy theater,
while other sheets held characters from popular plays to be cut out and mounted on sticks for acting out performances
(see
Sheriko, “Patchwork Play”).
Records of the Ruskin Family Travels
W. G. Collingwood was certain that the content of
Ruskinʼs
Harry and Lucy narratives could be easily sorted between categories of real and “ideal”,
and that the travel accounts were self‐evidently biographical: “His
“Harry and Lucy” is mainly a dramatised account of tours;
himself being
Harry, with an imaginary sister, studied from
Jessie of Perth or
Bridget of Croydon, for he had nobody then to act permanently in that capacity,
as his cousin
Mary did afterwards. The moralising
mamma, and literary
papa represent his parents to the life”
(
Collingwood, Life and Work of John Ruskin [1893], 1:24).
Collingwoodʼs discernment of autobiographical “truth” from fiction
was based, one suspects, on extending the charm of
Ruskinʼs description of boyhood travels in
Praeterita to the travel narratives from fifty years earlier.
He ignored, or was not aware, that
Ruskinʼs model, the original
Harry and Lucy Concluded by
Maria Edgeworth, likewise contains
a lengthy account of a domestic tour—perhaps the first travel narrative that
Ruskin read as a youth,
apart from adventure tales such as
Robinson Crusoe.
Edgeworthʼs child characters accompany their parents
for a lengthy sojourn at a seaside cottage, just as
Ruskinʼs
“Harry and Lucy” visit one of the seaside resorts that were attracting
an increasingly middle-class tourism clientele in the early nineteenth century (see
The Ruskinsʼ Visits to Seaside Resorts and Spas).
Edgeworthʼs family travels from the northwest of
England to the southwest coast near
Bristol, stopping along the way at
sites showcasing
Britainʼs industrial achievements from the late eighteenth century.
Ruskinʼs
“Harry and Lucy” journey in the opposite direction, to the southeast coast at
Hastings,
taking in highlights of picturesque landscape. While differing in emphasis,
Ruskinʼs travelogue derives structural elements
from
Edgeworthʼs book to frame the journey, and he also imports some entirely fictional details.
As explained in the contextual glosses to
volume 1,
Ruskin borrowed from
Edgeworthʼs narrative to describe his
Harry and
Lucyʼs excited departure for the seacoast.
An adaptation from
Edgeworth is probably also responsible for an awkward segue where
Ruskin drops his travel narrative because his
Harry is “determined to go on with science”—a
long section of the volume consisting of a rote rehearsal of experiments copied from
Joyceʼs
Scientific Dialogues.
While
Edgeworth of course does not plagiarize from
Joyce, the seacoast destination of her fictional family seems nearly incidental
to the educational goal of the journey, which is to enhance the childrenʼs “practical education”
with on‐site demonstrations of industry and science that they would otherwise have to gather from books.
Along the road south to
Bristol, they tour mills and factories in the
Midlands to understand how the industries are powered and organized.
When settled in their seaside cottage, the children are ascribed a single episode of sublime encounter with the sea;
otherwise, their main attraction is access to the extensively equipped “workroom” and library at Digby Castle,
the residence of their seaside landlord,
Sir Rupert Digby. The castle offers fabulous opportunities for applied learning—a
sort of nineteenth‐century Epcot Center set inside a Disney castle featuring Gothic Revival exhibits such as a great hall and a hermitage.
Sir Rupert is an idealized master of ceremonies, an avuncular character who oversees a largesse of books and scientific equipment.
Thus, when
Ruskin determines that his
Harry must “go on with science”, he is not just filling space, but imitating the focus of
Edgeworthʼs children
on experiments in
Sir Rupertʼs wonderful workroom, where the “favourite book” of
Edgeworthʼs
Harry,
Joyceʼs
Scientific Dialogues,
“assisted” him in his investigations (
Edgeworth, Harry and Lucy Concluded, 3:319).
Yet, while
Ruskin relies on
Edgeworthʼs tale for ways to frame his travelogue (and borrows directly from
Edgeworth
for an exciting episode involving an exploding wagon, which occurs along the road to
Hastings), his account of
Harry and
Lucy at
Hastings
fundamentally differs from his source in its relish for the seashore and the surrounding cliffs.
Apart from the series of experiments copied from
Joyce,
Ruskinʼs account reflects little of
Edgeworthʼs educational program.
Instead, his narrative aligns convincingly with multiple travel guides to
Hastings from the period,
without copying directly from them. As detailed in the contextual glosses,
Harryʼs walks with his
Papa on the heights above the town
follow the topography of the place; and his activities in a boat, on the shore, and in a hotel
reflect the tourism industry in
Hastings of the
1820s. Sowewhat less clearly recognizable,
Ruskinʼs description of the road trip
from
London to the coast is at least reconcilable with the route through
Tunbridge Wells that the
Ruskin family probably followed.
There survives no independent evidence to confirm the fact or the dates of this journey (see
Tours of 1826–27).
Nonetheless,
Ruskinʼs account of the visit to
Hastings proper, as opposed to how he frames the beginning and end of the visit, is not carried out
in a laboratory but through activities associated with the picturesque—viewing, walking, collecting, drawing.
While
Collingwood too readily assumed that
Ruskinʼs tale recorded experience “to the life” with just the names changed,
his instinct was sound for the authenticity of
Ruskinʼs engagement with the picturesque tour, which corresponds to the recommendations
of
Hastings guidebooks of the period but is not copied from those sources, so far as presently discovered.
Dovetailing the end of
volume 1 of “Harry and Lucy” with the beginnning of the next,
Ruskin locates his characters at
Hastings
at the start of
“Harry and Lucy . . . Vol. 2”.
Although he did not begin composition until several months later, in
fall or winter 1827,
volume 2 carries his family from the seaside to
Wales and
Scotland. . .