Recent Family Deaths
As proposed in
Stage One of Composition, circa 1828,
Ruskinʼs composition of
“The Monastery”
may have been prompted by the death of his
Aunt Jessie in
May 1828, and the adoption of his cousin,
Mary Richardson (1815–49), into the household in
July 1828.
(
John James also committed to financial support of the three surviving sons; see
Jessie Richardson [1783–1828].)
These events can be seen reflected in the outcome of
stage one of composition, books 1 and 2 of
“The Monastery”, especially if these two books are considered
as constituting a work in itself, finished off with a colophon on p. 80. Book 1 narrates a haunting by a supernatural spirit of Scottish lore,
followed by book 2 and its banter about possible adoption—the latter being almost the sole theme represented in the
MS IA draft fragment of book 2. Even the comedy in book 1,
the
White Ladyʼs fording the river with
Father Philip after he was denied passage across the bridge,
suggests uncanny connections with family history. The Richardsons lived at
Bridge End on the east end of
Perth Bridge,
before moving across the river to
Rose Terrace, on the
North Inch. In
Praeterita,
Aunt Jessie is credited with a “foresight dream” of river crossings, foreboding her own death as well as the deaths
of
Ruskinʼs younger cousin,
Jessie (
1820–27), and an old servant,
Mause
(
Ruskin, Works, 35:70–71; for more on the thematic resonance of
Scottʼs
Monastery throughout
Ruskinʼs career, see
Sawyer, Ruskinʼs Poetic Argument, 17–19).
Aunt Jessieʼs death interrupted a family tour to the west country and the
Lake District. The family was in
Plymouth when the news
reached them on
24 May 1828
(see
Tour of 1828; and
Travel Itinerary and Tour Notes [1828];
“The Sound of the Sea”).
Ruskin recalls in
Praeterita returning from a walk with his nurse,
Anne Strachan, “on the hill east of the town [
Plymouth Hoe], looking out on the bay and breakwater, and came in to find my father, for the first time I had ever seen him,
in deep distress of sobbing tears” (
Ruskin, Works, 35:71). The Ruskins abbreviated but did not immediately terminate their tour,
continuing to visit sites in the southwest. There is no evidence that they traveled to
Scotland, but
Ruskin may have begun stage one of composition
of
“The Monastery” soon after the return home. Cousin
Mary came to
Herne Hill
in
July 1828 (see
Burd, introduction to A Tour to the Lakes in Cumberland, 7),
an event that may well have put
Ruskin in mind of the two families, the Avenels and the Glendinnings,
coming together in a single household in
The Monastery.
Ruskin may even have been conscious of some class tension surrounding
the adoption of his northern cousin—just as, in the novel, the two widows,
Lady Avenel
and
Dame Glendinning, form an amiable relationship, while maintaining class differences
that the servant
Tibb Tacket continuously observes in order to secure her own status.
More enigmatic is how the spirit of that deceased cousin,
Jessie, may also hover over
Ruskinʼs adaptation of the novel.
In
Praeterita,
Ruskin memorializes
Jessie as an inseperable playmate, both in their exhibitions of precocious infant piety
and in their unhindered romps among streams and fields on the
North Inch of
Perth
(
Ruskin, Works, 35:63, 66, 69). Three years passed after her death in
1827,
before
Ruskin directly acknowledged her passing in
“On the Death of My Cousin Jessy”. The exact date of her death at age eight is not recorded
by
Viljoen in
Ruskinʼs Scottish Heritage, presumably because the date is not discoverable (pp. 157, 182, 185), but one wonders if this loss
contributed to delaying the Ruskinsʼ
Scotland journey in
1827, and then solemnized the long two‐month visit in
September and October
(see
Tours of 1826–27).
This death too, then, would have contributed to
Ruskinʼs feelings when choosing to summarize
Scottʼs novel in the next year.
Most engimatic of all, perhaps, is
Ruskinʼs abandonment of his project (in fair copy, and so far as we know, also in draft) just short of bearing witness
to the death, not of a mother or daughter, but of a father—
Mary Avenelʼs haunting by the spirit of
Sir Walter Avenel.
One might speculate that the omission was related to
Ruskinʼs alarm over his fatherʼs vulnerability, exposed to him
when witnessing
John James in “distress of sobbing tears” over his sister
Jessieʼs death—“the first time I had ever seen him” so,
Ruskin adds, when recalling this powerful image in
Praeterita
(
Ruskin, Works, 35:71).
Beyond reflecting the impact of immediate family losses, the mystery of the
White Lady
seems to have been further deepened for
Ruskin by association with
Byronʼs
Witch of the Alps.
Francis Jeffrey, as well, noticed the derivation from
Manfred. Reviewing
The Monastery for the
Edinburgh Review in
1822, he considered
“the first apparition of the spirit [the
White Lady] by her lonely fountain (though borrowed
from
Lord Byronʼs
Witch of the Alps in
Manfred)” to be “very beautifully imagined”, justifying the powerful
“effect of the interview on the mind of the young aspirant to whom she reveals herself
[
Halbert Glendinning]”. While
Jeffrey draws the line, like other reviewers, at the
White Ladyʼs bizarre “descent” with
Halbert
“into an alabaster cavern, and the seizure of a stolen Bible from an altar blazing with cold flames”,
which he compares to “an unlucky combination of a French fairy tale and a dull German romance”,
he did not consider the Romantic‐inspired image of the
White Lady “the worst blemish of
‘the Monastery’”
(
Review of The Fortunes of Nigel, by the Author of Waverley, 205;
see also
Jeffrey, Contributions to the Edinburgh Review, 3:483). For
Ruskin, the
White Lady seems to resonate
with a fascination deeply rooted in the juvenila, starting with
“Harry and Lucy”, Vol. 1 (
1826–27),
in which Harry “observed a rainbow and a rising mist under it which his fancy soon transformed into a female form”,
and he “remembered the witch of the waters at
the Alps”
who in
Byronʼs
Manfred “was raised from them by takeing some water in the hand and throwing it into the air pronouncing
some unintelligable words”. In book 3 of
Ruskinʼs
“The Monastery”,
the
White Lady is a “form appearing like a fog” (see
“The Monastery”).
Anti‐Catholicism in the Ruskin Family
On
14 February 1829, shortly before
Ruskin started the
second phase of composing
“The Monastery”,
Margaret flashed out in a postscript to a
letter to John James,
“I may be prejudiced but it seems to me that all that is urged by the R Catholics and their favourers is weak equivocal underhand
equally devoid of sincerity or honesty & integrity[. I]n short they appear to me not to care what they do or say to gain their end[.] I believe they would
take
Satan himself into their cabals to further their purposes to bring every thing under their subjection”
(
Burd, ed., Ruskin Family Letters, 177).
Such hostility and suspicion would not have been shared by
Scott, who as a Scottish Episcopalian approved of moderation and compromise,
and “in his expression of his personal religious views”
George Marshall remarks,
“consistently placed a high value on common sense and civic, as well as individual, virtue”
(
Marshall, “Scott and the Reformation of Religion”, 83).
Knowing that his even‐handed treatment of the Scottish Reformation in
The Monastery
would not be popular with many readers,
Scott prefaced the novel with fictitious epistles that
“raise the question of partiality and impartiality, in a jocular, self-deprecating, and sometimes slightly ironic, way”
(
Marshall, “Scott and the Reformation of Religion”, 84).
The first epistle, by a local antiquarian of
Kennaquhair,
Captain Clutterbuck,
relates how he was entrusted with the manuscript of
The Monastery by a stranger, a Benedictine monk—“‘a gentleman every inch of him’”, and a scholar—who
traveled to the abbey ruin to disinter the entombed heart of his ancestor (
Abbot Ambrose,
Edward Glendinning). The
Captain is respectful toward
the monk and assists him, but scrupulously declines, as “a sound protestant”, “to implicate myself in any recruiting . . . for the advancement of popery”.
In a reply to
Clutterbuck, the
Author of Waverley
undertakes publication of the manuscript on condition of “alter[ing] whatever seemed too favourable
to the Church of
Rome, which I abominate, were it but for her fasts and penance”. Thus, with this urbane joke,
Scott deflates what
Margaret Ruskin considered a national crisis
(
Scott, The Monastery, ed. Fielding,
9, 15, 30 [
“Introductory Epistle from Captain Clutterbuck . . . to the Author of ‘Waverley’”,
“Answer by ‘the Author of Waverley’ to the Foregoing Letter from Captain Clutterbuck”]).
Ruskin likely heard heated opinions about Roman Catholicism expressed in the household
while he was engaged with the second phase of composing
“The Monastery”, during which
Catholic Emancipation was being debated.
Since
Margaret commented approvingly on his “writing a novel & a Sermon both as far as they have gone
very tolerable I assure you”, she may have perceived these compositions as exercises in anti‐Catholicism
(
Burd, ed., Ruskin Family Letters, 185).
While
Ruskin was perhaps not equal to or interested in versifying the more polemical passages of the novel—passages that,
in any case, conveyed a more judicious view of the Protestant‐Catholic divide during the Reformation than his mother would have approved—he
did, as previously suggested, implicitly favor the Protestant cause through his arrangement of episodes
(
Ruskinʼs Arrangement of Episodes from Scottʼs Novel).
That a ten‐year‐old achieved this emphasis by concentrating on episodes involving the
White Ladyʼs interventions on behalf of the Avenels would,
in the view of most reviewers of
Scottʼs novel, have only confirmed what they regarded as the “childishness” of those episodes
(
The Critical Context of Scottʼs Novel versus Ruskinʼs Supernatural Emphasis).
Yet
Ruskinʼs fixation on the
White Lady may not be adequately explained
as a means to appease his
motherʼs anti‐Catholicism combined with Gothic excitement; arguably, his response was an authentically spiritual expression,
reacting positively to the supernaturalism in
Scottʼs novel that critics found jarring.
Chad T. May argues that The Monastery
is “unlike any other novel Scott wrote” in the directness with which he represented religious mystery.
Whereas “supernatural elements are incorporated throughout Scottʼs novels”,
May argues, these elements are “always presented within a rational framework that allows readers
to see them as simply the product of a prior belief system”. In The Monastery, however,
“the White Ladyʼs presence and actions . . . exceed the skeptical frame
of the narrator”. Scott licensed this excess, May believes,
in order to employ “the White Lady as a figure to represent the mysteries of religious faith”:
In other words, instead of offering an account of the psychological or emotional conflicts that must surely precede any type of religious conversion,
the text offers a symbolic account that alludes to instances of religious transformation throughout the Christian tradition
as well as the central theological disputes that animated the Protestant reformers. . . . The White Lady may have been a failure
from the perspective of Scottʼs critics, but she stands as a marker for that which lies outside historical explanation,
in this case faith. Without the dominant rational or skeptical framework present in his other novels,
Scott makes it clear that what is at stake is not simply representing a belief system of the past,
but giving voice to those qualities of human existence which remain, even in the present day, beyond the purview of reason.
As a comparatively naive, but intensive reader,
Ruskin perhaps held an advantage over
Scottʼs critics
in responding emotionally and without embarrassment to this representation of religious mystery. Textual evidence exists that
Ruskin
specifically rejected a rational, historicized explanation of spiritual phenomena in the novel. In the the draft fragment,
“come on good horse and let us see”,
Ruskin initially wrote that it was the family “avenels fate /
to see things that nobody saw / except themselves, and would say pshaw”.
Ruskin deleted this gruff expression of skepticism
and, in an intricate substitution, replaced the couplet with “but it was great avenels fate /
to have a spirit in their line / and so it was this odd time”.
Ruskinʼs source passage in the novel
contained a cue that would have allowed for the “pshaw”, or at least for a more politely noncommital expression,
by relegating the
White Ladyʼs manifestations
to an “
old time” rather than an “
odd time”. In an exchange between
Tibb Tacket and
Elspet Glendinning
on the Halloween night when
Mary Avenel allegedly saw the ghost of her
father,
Tibb defends the Avenelsʼ privileged connection with the spirit world:
“‘Mony braw services’” the
White Lady
“‘has dune’” for the Avenels “‘in the auld histories’”,
Tibb proudly declares, although she admits that “‘I mind oʼ naething in my day, except it was her that the bairn saw in the bog’”
(
Scott, The Monastery, ed. Fielding,
56 [vol. 1, chap. 4]). Restricting the
White Ladyʼs actions to the “auld histories” of the novelʼs pre‐history or even
its sixteenth‐century setting would have served as a typical disclaimer in any other
Scott novel. In draft revision,
Ruskin specifically rejected this choice, however, supplanting a scornful “pshaw”,
not with a tolerance for beliefs of an “old” time, but with wonder over the mystery of an “odd” time
(see also
Stage Two of Composition: Surviving Draft).
At the same time, other religious aspects of the novel presented
Ruskin with choices about which he may have felt more ambivalent. As already suggested,
the projectʼs connection with
Recent Family Deaths is enigmatic; and the point at which
Ruskin abandoned the project, at least in fair copy,
suggests that he may have felt a particular challenge assimilating an episode that raises the spectre of a fatherʼs death. The novel may also have challenged
Ruskin
by presenting conflicts in his identification with the protagonists.
Halbert Glendinning
grows into the Protestant hero, a journey that begins with his summoning the
White Lady
by pronouncing “mystical rhymes”, as does
Ruskinʼs
Harry at the end of
“Harry and Lucy”, Vol. 1,
when invoking the
Witch of the Alps. According to the narrator,
Halbert
“‘came hither a boy’” to confront the
White Lady
but means to “‘return a man’”, determined to gain the the spiritʼs aid in
“learn[ing] the contents of that mysterious volume”,
Alice Avenelʼs vernacular bible,
and to understand “why the
Lady of Avenel loved it—why the priests feared, and would have stolen it”.
Compared to this scene,
Edward Glendinning exhibits no less resolution than his brother,
when defending
Mary Avenelʼs possession of her motherʼs bible against the pressure
by Sub‐Prior
Eustace to “borrow” it.
Yet, for a Protestant reader,
Edwardʼs independence
is ominously compromised by his acceptance of a pledge that
Eustace offers in place of the plain “black book”—a
“gay missal”, filled with images that excite his “eager curiosity”
(
Scott, The Monastery, ed. Fielding,
113, 115 [vol. 2, chap. 1]; 91 [vol. 1, chap. 9]).
Ultimately, tbe novel palliates Protestant anxiety about idolatry. Although
Eustaceʼs
distraction succeeds in gaining him temporary possession of the bible,
Edward
is not so “lost in wonder” over the missalʼs pictures that he forgets that
“‘
Mary may like that [black book] best which was her motherʼs’”.
Terrors do not lie in
Eustaceʼs parting promise to
Edward—to
“‘teach you to write and read such beautiful letters as you see there written, and to paint them blue, green, and yellow, and to blazon them with gold’”.
The greatest temptation raised in
Edwardʼs mind by the prospect of making graven images is merely to learn to “paint
Maryʼs picture”—
Mary Avenelʼs,
not the
Virginʼs—a fancy that reminds him to exact a parting promise from
Eustace to return the bible.
Even at the end of the novel, when
Edward, now a novitiate,
learns that he has lost
Mary to both his brother and the Protestant faith,
and the
Earl of Morayʼs army is closing on
Kennaquhair
and threatening destruction of the abbey,
Scott brings the preacher,
Henry Warden,
on the scene for little purpose other than to have even this most fanatical of the Protestant characters deliver “‘testimony’”
against “‘wanton devastation’” of the building and its treasures: “‘I would have these stately shrines deprived
of the idols which, no longer simply regarded as the effigies of the good and the wise, have become the objects of foul idolatry. I would otherwise have
its ornaments subsist, unless as they are, or may be, a snare to the souls of men; and especially do I condemn those ravages which have been made by the heady fury of the people’”
(
Scott, The Monastery, ed. Fielding,
91 [vol. 1, chap. 9]; 339 [vol. 3, chap. 12]).