Charles Eliot Goodspeed was significant both as a personal collector of
Ruskin and as a seller to other
Ruskin collectors,
operating from his shop in
Boston, Massachusetts, first opened in
1898 (
Whitehill, “Charles Eliot Goodspeed”, 261).
In his memoir,
Yankee Bookseller (
1937),
Goodspeed dates his
Ruskin collecting from his youth in the
1880s,
giving two reasons for “the spell of
Ruskin”. First, his books occupied, “if not the highest, at least high rank in modern English literature”,
for “although his style is criticised”, he “is conceded to be a great prose writer”. Second, for collectors,
Ruskinʼs books presented outstanding
“examples of book‐making”, excelling “principally in illustration” but also in the “minute attention” that the author gave to all aspects
of book‐making in such works as “
Praeterita,
Deucalion,
Proserpina, and the other books issued [originally] in parts” (pp. 263, 264).
It was perhaps the bibliophileʼs enchantment with the illustrations in
Ruskinʼs books that caused
Goodspeed to take a special interest in
Ruskinʼs own drawings.
Ruskinʼs standard for “book‐making” inspired
Goodspeed also as a publisher. In the
1939 edition of
The Book in America,
Hellmut Lehmann‐Haupt characterized
Goodspeed as “a disciple of
Ruskin, and moved by many interests which he shared with the Stone and Kimball generation” (p. 254),
referring to the small art‐nouveau publishers of the
1890s, such as Stone & Kimball in
Chicago and
Copeland & Day in
Boston. These publishers, according to
Lehmann‐Haupt, “had in common their determination
to publish only works of literary quality and to bring out their selections in an attractive and distinctive format” (p. 211).
From the founding of his bookselling business through the early
1930s,
Goodspeed realized these art‐book ambitions in small publishing projects of his own,
which were printed by the Merrymount Press (
Mahoney, “C. E. Goodspeed and Company”, 180).
The spell of
Ruskin for
Goodspeed was not confined to bibliographical appeal, however.
Goodspeed was a thorough and admiring student of
Ruskinʼs ideas,
as demonstrated by the scholarship he brought to a not insignificant bibliographical contribution to
Ruskin studies in the
1930s, his
Catalogue of Paintings, Drawings, and Manuscripts by John Ruskin,
published by Goodspeedʼs Book Shop
(see
Sothebyʼs Sale of Ruskin Manuscripts and Library, 1931: The Buyers).
Goodspeedʼs approach to thinking through
Ruskin appears to have been primarily biographical.
His most cherished collectorʼs possession was the manuscript of
Praeterita;
and according to a record of a talk he gave at Wellesley College Library in
1933,
he chose to interest his listeners in “
Ruskinʼs youth” and “his love in later life for
Rose La Touche”,
illustrating the talk with “his own collection of early
Ruskin drawings and other material illustrative of his life”,
including
Ruskinʼs portrait drawing of
Rose La Touche, and one of
George Richmondʼs portrait drawings of
Ruskin
(
Wellesley College, “Annual Reports . . . 1932–33”, 42‐43).
In
Yankee Bookseller, he planned to devote part of the chapter on
Ruskin to “the story of
Ruskin and
Rose La Touche, prefaced by an account of
Ruskinʼs
marriage with
Euphemia Gray”, ultimately deciding to save the topic for treatment elsewhere (p. 268).
Goodspeed also took a practical interest in
Ruskin. Judging by
Walter Muir Whitehillʼs remarks about the hobbies that the bookseller pursued in his retirement years,
Goodspeedʼs interests appear to have been inspired by
Ruskinʼs works, such as tending to rare, wild plant species in his woodland garden
(
“Charles Eliot Goodspeed”, 361). His most regretted loss at the final
Brantwood estate sale in
July 1931 was
Ruskinʼs
mineral cabinet, an “item [that] excited me greatly, for it revived my early interest in mineralogical specimens, never entirely lost”
(
Yankee Bookseller, 269).
Goodspeed and the New England Ruskin Collecting Community
As one of most prominent
Ruskin collectors stateside in the first half of the twentieth century,
Goodspeed exhibited characteristics of the trend for
Collecting of Modern Authors in the Late Nineteenth and Early Twentieth Centuries,
which committed collectors to assembling comprehensive runs of an authorʼs first editions in their original condition.
In his memoir,
Goodspeed comments on his “mistake” as a young collector in causing his fledgling
Ruskin collection to be uniformly rebound,
instead of preserving the items in their original state. He therefore disposed of that false start and rebuilt his
Ruskin collection
on “the primary rule that pamphlet issues of all kinds, if intended for sale to collectors,
must be preserved in their original form”. Eventually,
Goodspeedʼs
Ruskin collection reached over five hundred items
of first editions along with “all the authorized editions of
Ruskin and his biographies” (
Yankee Bookseller, 261–62, 265).
The volume count is comparable in scope with a contemporaneous comprehensive
Ruskin collection assembled by the American collector,
R. B. Adam II (1863–1940)
and his father by adoption,
Robert Borthwick Adam I (
1833–1904).
As a bookseller,
Goodspeed held to the standard of “
Ruskin firsts”, just as he had done as a collector;
and he believed he “bought more” of these editions “abroad than any other American dealer”. As a
Ruskin specialist,
he distinguished his shop from the “larger booksellers”, who could be counted on to stock
“the nine‐volume set comprising
Modern Painters,
The Seven Lamps of Architecture, and
The Stones of Venice”
in a uniform size with illustrations—the latter caveats obscuring what the initiated
Ruskin collector would have recognized,
that these sets were made up with later editions of
Modern Painters I and
Modern Painters II rather than the first editions of those two volumes,
not so much because the firsts were a different size than the other volumes (and in the case of
Modern Painters I, lacked illustrations), but because the first editions of those two volumes were extremely rare.
Scouring
London for
Ruskin firsts,
Goodspeed says that, other than the prized
Modern Painters I and
II and
Poems (1850) by J.R.,
he “found no competition” for first editions of lesser‐known
Ruskin titles—namely, the dozens of books and pamphlets beyond the titles making up the standard
nine‐volume sets always available “on the shelves of the larger booksellers“ (
Yankee Bookseller, 262–63).
Goodspeed credited the influence of
Ruskinʼs American friend and Harvard professor of the history of art,
Charles Eliot Norton (1827–1908)
for the “mild local interest in
Ruskin then prevalent” in the first third of the twentieth century,
and he believed his own “earnestness” contributed to upholding the “fading
Ruskin tradition” at least in New England.
(He hoped that the chapter on
Ruskin in his memoir would “arouse a new interest in
Ruskin, at least with collectors”,
when the author had become so “strangely neglected today”). While he knew the
Ruskin collector
R. B. Adam only by reputation, not as a client,
Goodspeed supplied other important American collectors, including
Caleb Benjamin Tillinghast (
1843–1909),
librarian of the Massachusetts State Library; and
John G. Winant (
1889–1947),
governor of
New Hampshire and ambassador to the
United Kingdom
(
Yankee Bookseller, 262, 264–65; and see
Bolton, “Memoir of Caleb Benjamin Tillinghast”).
Goodspeedʼs alertness for the totality of the
Ruskin bibliography, including very early as well as very late titles appears to have marked his strategy as a buyer and seller
not only for print but also for manuscripts. His knowledge about the full scope of
Ruskinʼs writing and bibliography
probably made him unique among American dealers, and certainly the single most influential force in the provenance of manuscripts constituting
ERM.
Goodspeedʼs affection for and interest in the juvenilia was very strong,
particularly if he was able to relate these early manuscripts to
Ruskinʼs narrative about his childhood in
Praeterita (see
Sothebyʼs Sale of Ruskin Manuscripts and Library, 1931: Charles Eliot Goodspeed).
In
1920–21,
Goodspeed donated his personal
Ruskin collection to Wellesley College, “in consideration of
Ruskinʼs interest in the education of girls
and from the fact that both of [his] daughters were graduated” from that institution (
Yankee Bookseller, 265).
Along with the print holdings, the collection included
Ruskin drawings, proofs of engravings touched by
Ruskin, marked printer proofs,
and other unique items (
Wellesley College, “Annual Reports . . . 1919–21”, 45–46).
Goodspeed continued to contribute to the collection from the
1920s through the 1940s, the collection presently totaling nearly nine hundred items.
Goodspeed and the Acquisition of Ruskin Manuscripts
As a
Boston dealer,
Goodspeed was well positioned to acquire
Ruskin rarities connected with the region—for example,
acquisitions from the estate of
Ruskinʼs friend,
Francesca Alexander, which he gave to Wellesley.
The thoughtful variety and scope of his collection when donated to Wellesley shows, however, that he had long searched beyond the antiquarian book trade
to build up his holdings. His most significant opportunity to contibute stateside to
Ruskin archives came in
1930–31,
when he played a highly competitive role in the
Sothebyʼs Sale of Ruskin Manuscripts and Library, 1930, the
Sothebyʼs Sale of Ruskin Manuscripts and Library, 1931, and the
Sothebyʼs Sale of Ruskin Pictures and Drawings, 1931.
Goodspeedʼs strategy as a buyer at these sales of manuscripts and drawings appears to have corresponded to his approach as a dealer
in printed
Ruskin items—that is, to seize on what was then considered less canonical
Ruskin,
an area in which competition could be expected to be less keen. (His agent at the Sothebyʼs sales, the
London firm, B. F. Stevens & Brown,
felt able to assure their other major
Ruskin client,
J. H. Whitehouse, that the firm could work with mutual advantage for both
Goodspeed and
Whitehouse.
See
Ralph Brownʼs 17 July 1931 letter to Whitehouse, quoted in
Dearden, Ruskin, Bembridge, and Brantwood, 88.)
It seems likely, however, that, although avoiding squaring off against competitors like
Whitehouse who targeted the more canonical
Ruskin manuscripts,
Goodspeed took on considerable risk. Not only had the Great Depression begun in
America,
but, even before the crash, interest in
Ruskin was declining, as
Goodspeed later admitted in
Yankee Bookseller.
The decline was evident by
1929 even before
Black Tuesday, since by that date
R. B. Adam had already donated his
Ruskin collection to Yale,
after having unsuccessfully attempted for the previous six years to sell the collection through the major
New York dealer,
A. S. W. Rosenbach
(see
R. B. Adam II [1863–1940]).
At first,
Goodspeed was fortunate. Within only four months of the
1930 Sothebyʼs Sale of Ruskin Manuscripts and Library,
he sold most of his acquisitions to Yale University Library. He had less luck following the
1931 Sothebyʼs Sale of Ruskin Manuscripts and Library and
the
1931 Sothebyʼs Sale of Ruskin Pictures and Drawings.
A quotation of items from the
1931 manuscript sale on file at the
Beinecke Library suggests that
Goodspeed
offered first chance at these items to Yale, but the library purchased only two items
(see
Sothebyʼs Sale of Ruskin Manuscripts and Library: Goodspeed, the 1931 Acquisitions, and Yale University Library.
He then compiled the offerings in the scholarly and elegantly produced
Catalogue of Paintings, Drawings, and Manuscripts by John Ruskin,
which must have entailed a significant expense in itself. One recipient of the catalogue in 1932 was
J. H. Whitehouse,
whom
Goodspeed hoped to interest especially in
Ruskin drawings, though
Whitehouse
is believed to have delayed acquiring a group of these drawings until
1936 (
Dearden, Ruskin, Bembridge, and Brantwood, 138–39).
In
Yankee Bookseller, published in
1937,
Goodspeedʼs
observation of declining interest in
Ruskin, and his bid to revive interest at least among collectors,
must have been prompted by the slowing sales of his Sothebyʼs acquisitions. Not until
1939 were many of the items in
Goodspeedʼs
Catalogue finally sold to Princeton University Library
(see
Sothebyʼs Sale of Ruskin Manuscripts and Library: Goodspeed and Princeton University Library).
The Damage by Fire to the Goodspeed Ruskin Collection and Its Donation to Yale University Library
A decade after the Sothebyʼs sales, the items remaining unsold
from
Goodspeedʼs
Catalogue
along with his personal collection were damaged or destroyed when his house in
Shirley, Massachusetts, caught fire on
22 February 1941
(
Whitehill, “Charles Eliot Goodspeed”, 361, 363).
Salvaging viable remains of books and manuscripts from the catastrophe,
Goodspeed donated
Ruskin manuscripts to Yale University Library in the hope that they could be preserved in spite of damage.
He chose the
Sterling Library because “it was his wish to complete Yaleʼs holdings of the available major
Ruskin manuscripts,
so many of which had passed through his hands on their way to
New Haven”
(
Hogan, “Yale Collection of the Manuscripts of John Ruskin”, 69).
The first of these gifts, sent soon after the fire in
March 1941, was the manuscript of
Praeterita,
which he had kept for himself from the
1930
Sothebyʼs Sale.
As he had boasted before the fire in
Yankee Bookseller, it was “for the manuscript of
Praeterita
that I have most regard. I had bought . . . [the autobiography] when published in periodical form, looking forward to each succeeding number
with a keener interest than the modern reader would have for the weekly installment of a story by
Agatha Christie
in the
Saturday Evening Post. . . . I cannot imagine a temptation sufficent to make me part with
Ruskinʼs portrait of
Rose La Touche
and his manuscript of
Praeterita” (
Yankee Bookseller, 269). When that time of parting did come,
not as a temptation, but as an unthinkable catastrophe,
Goodspeed was devastated with remorse. Writing to
Chauncey B. Tinker (1876–1963), the keeper of rare books at Yale University Library,
whether he would “care to be bothered with material in such damaged condition”,
Goodspeed thought it “fitting that what is left of it should be preserved there. . . .
I myself do not feel like putting it in shape for better preservation. . . .
I hardly need to say how keenly I regret that, as the custodian of a manuscript of this kind, I have been so negligent in properly caring for it.
We think of these things, however, when it is too late”. In a subsequent letter,
Goodspeed rejoiced in having recovered more of the manuscript,
but two octavo volumes had perished altogether
(
Goodspeed to Tinker, 25 March 1941 and 31 March 1941).