YOUTHFUL STUDIES AND FRIENDSHIPS.
The period from about twenty to thirty is usually the most momentous in
the lives of illustrious men and women. It is true that the most abiding
impressions, those which the future author will reproduce most vividly,
have been absorbed by the growing brain previous to this age; but the
fusion of these varied impressions of the outward world with the inner
life, and the endless combinations in which imagination delights, rarely
begin before. Then, as a rule, the ideas are engendered to be carried
out in the maturity of life. Alfred de Vigny says truly enough:
"Qu'est-ce qu'une grande vie?
Une pensee de la jeunesse, executee par l'age mur."
Moreover, it is a revolutionary age. Inherited opinions that had been
accepted, as the rotation of the seasons, with unhesitating
acquiescence, become an object of speculation and passionate
questioning. Nothing is taken upon trust. The intellect, stimulated by
the sense of expanding and hitherto unchecked capacity, delights in
exercising its strength by critically passing in review the opinions,
laws, institutions commonly accepted as unalterable. And if the
intellect is thus active the heart is still more so. This is
emphatically the time of enthusiastic friendship and glowing love, if
often also of cruel disenchantment and disillusion. In most biographies,
therefore, this phase of life is no less fascinating than instructive.
For it shows the individual while still in a stage of growth already
reacting on his environment, and becoming a motive power according to
the measure of his intellectual and moral endowments.
It is on this state of George Eliot's life that we are now entering. At
Foleshill she acquired that vast range of knowledge and universality of
culture which so eminently distinguished her.
The house she now inhabited though not nearly as picturesque or
substantial as the former home of the Evanses, was yet sufficiently
spacious, with a pleasant garden in front and behind it; the latter,
Marian Evans was fond of making as much like the delicious garden of her
childhood as was possible under the circumstances. In other respects she
greatly altered her ways of life, cultivating an ultra-fastidiousness in
her manners and household arrangements. Though so young she was not only
entire mistress of her father's establishment but, as his business
required him to be abroad the greater part of each week, she was mostly
alone.
Her life now became more and more that of a student, one of her chief
reasons for rejoicing at the change of residence being the freer access
to books. She had, however, already amassed quite a library of her own
by this time. In addition to her private studies, she was now also able
to have masters to instruct her in a variety of subjects. The Rev. T.
Sheepshanks, headmaster of the Coventry Grammar-school, gave her
lessons in Greek and Latin, as she particularly wished to learn the
former language in order to read AEschylus. She continued her study of
French, German, and Italian under the tuition of Signor Brezzi, even
acquiring some knowledge of Hebrew by her own unassisted efforts. Mr.
Simms, the veteran organist of St. Michael's, Coventry, instructed her
in the pianoforte; and probably Rosamond Vincy's teacher in
'Middlemarch' is a faithful portraiture of him. "Her master at Mrs.
Lemon's school (close to a country town with a memorable history that
had its relics in church and castle) was one of those excellent
musicians here and there to be found in the provinces, worthy to compare
with many a noted Kapellmeister in a country which offers more plentiful
conditions of musical celebrity." George Eliot's sympathetic rendering
of her favourite composers, particularly Beethoven and Schubert, was
always delightful to her friends, although connoisseurs considered her
possessed of little or no strictly technical knowledge. Be that as it
may, many an exquisite passage scattered up and down her works, bears
witness to her heartfelt appreciation of music, which seems to have had
a more intimate attraction for her than the fine arts. She shows little
feeling for archaeological beauties, in which Warwickshire is so rich: in
her 'Scenes of Clerical Life' dismissing a fine monument of Lady Jane
Grey, a genuine specimen of old Gothic art at Astley Church, with a
sneer about "marble warriors, and their wives without noses."
In spite of excessive study, this period of Marian's life is not without
faint echoes of an early love-story of her own. In the house of one of
her married half-sisters she met a young man who promised, at that
time, to take a distinguished position in his profession. A kind of
engagement, or semi-engagement, took place, which Mr. Evans refused to
countenance, and finally his daughter broke it off in a letter, showing
both her strong sense and profoundly affectionate nature. At this time
she must have often had a painful consciousness of being cut off from
that living fellowship with the like-minded so stimulating to the
intellectual life. Men are not so subject to this form of soul hunger as
women; for at their public schools and colleges they are brought into
contact with their contemporaries, and cannot fail to find comrades
amongst them of like thoughts and aspirations with themselves. A fresh
life, however, at once vivifying to her intellect and stimulating to her
heart, now began for Marian Evans in the friendship she formed with Mr.
and Mrs. Charles Bray of Rosehill, Coventry. Rahel--the subtly gifted
German woman, whose letters and memoirs are a treasury of delicate
observation and sentiment--observes that people of marked spiritual
affinities are bound to meet some time or other in their lives. If not
entirely true, there is a good deal to be said for this comforting
theory; as human beings of similar nature seem constantly converging as
by some magnetic attraction.
The circle to which Miss Evans now happened to be introduced was in
every sense congenial and inspiriting. Mr. Bray, his wife, and his
sister-in-law were a trio more like some delightful characters in a
first-rate novel than the sober inhabitants of a Warwickshire country
town. Living in a house beautifully situated on the outskirts of
Coventry, they used to spend their lives in philosophical speculations,
philanthropy, and pleasant social hospitality, joining to the ease and
_laisser aller_ of continental manners a thoroughly English geniality
and trustworthiness.
Mr. Bray was a wealthy ribbon manufacturer, but had become engrossed
from an early age in religious and metaphysical speculation as well as
in political and social questions. Beginning to inquire into the dogmas
which formed the basis of his belief, he found, on careful
investigation, that they did not stand, in his opinion, the test of
reason. His arguments set his brother-in-law, Mr. Charles C. Hennell, a
Unitarian, to examine afresh and go carefully over the whole ground of
popular theology, the consequence of this close study being the 'Inquiry
concerning the Origin of Christianity,' a work which attracted a good
deal of attention when it appeared, and was translated into German at
the instance of David Strauss. It was published in 1838, a few years
after the appearance of the 'Life of Jesus.' In its critical examination
of the miracles, and in the sifting of mythological from historical
elements in the Gospels it bears considerable analogy to Strauss's great
work, although strictly based on independent studies, being originally
nothing more than an attempt to solve the doubts of a small set of
friends. Their doubts were solved, but not in the manner originally
anticipated.
Mrs. Bray, of an essentially religious nature, shared the opinions of
her husband and brother, and without conforming to the external rites
and ceremonies of a creed, led a life of saintly purity and
self-devotion. The exquisite beauty of her moral nature not only
attracted Marian to this truly amiable woman, but filled her with
reverence, and the friendship then commenced was only ended by death.
In Miss Sara Hennell, Marian Evans found another congenial companion who
became as a sister to her. This singular being, in most respects such a
contrast to her sister, high-strung, nervous, excitable, importing all
the ardour of feeling into a life of austere thought, seemed in a manner
mentally to totter under the weight of her own immense metaphysical
speculations. A casual acquaintance of these two young ladies might
perhaps have predicted that Miss Hennell was the one destined to achieve
fame in the future, and she certainly must have been an extraordinary
mental stimulus to her young friend Marian. These gifted sisters, two of
a family, all the members of which were remarkable, by some are
identified as the originals of the delightful Meyrick household in
'Daniel Deronda.' Each member of this genial group was already, or
ultimately became, an author of more or less repute. A reviewer in the
'Westminster,' writing of Mr. Bray's philosophical publications, some
years ago, said: "If he would reduce his many works to one containing
nothing unessential, he would doubtless obtain that high place among the
philosophers of our country to which his powers of thought entitle him."
His most popular book, called 'The Education of the Feelings,' intended
for use in secular schools, deals with the laws of morality practically
applied. Mrs. Bray's writings, on the same order of subjects, are still
further simplified for the understanding of children. She is the
authoress of 'Physiology for Schools,' 'The British Empire,' 'Elements
of Morality,' etc. Her 'Duty to Animals' has become a class book in the
schools of the midland counties, and she was one of the first among
those noble-hearted men and women who have endeavoured to introduce a
greater degree of humanity into our treatment of animals.
George Eliot, writing to Mrs. Bray in March 1873 on this very subject,
says:
"A very good, as well as very rich, woman, Mrs. S----, has founded a
model school at Naples, and has the sympathy of the best Italians in her
educational efforts. Of course a chief point in trying to improve the
Italians is to teach them kindness to animals, and a friend of Mrs.
S---- has confided to her a small sum of money--fifty pounds, I
think--to be applied to the translation and publication of some good
books for young people, which would be likely to rouse in them a
sympathy with dumb creatures.
"Will you kindly help me in the effort to further Mrs. S----'s good work
by sending me a copy of your book on animals, and also by telling me the
periodical in which the parts of the book first appeared, as well as the
titles of any other works which you think would be worth mentioning for
the purpose in question?
"Mrs. S---- (as indeed you may probably know) is the widow of a German
merchant of Manchester, as rich as many such merchants are, and as
benevolent as only the choicest few. She knows all sorts of good work
for the world, and is known by most of the workers. It struck me, while
she was speaking of this need of a book to translate, that you had done
the very thing."
A few days later the following highly interesting letter came from the
same source:
"Many thanks for the helpful things you have sent me. 'The Wounded
Bird' is charming. But now something very much larger of the same kind
must be written, and you are the person to write it--something that will
bring the emotions, sufferings, and possible consolations of the dear
brutes vividly home to the imaginations of children: fitted for children
of all countries, as Reineke Fuchs is comprehensible to all nations. A
rough notion came to me the other day of supposing a house of refuge,
not only for dogs, but for all distressed animals. The keeper of this
refuge understands the language of the brutes, which includes
differences of dialect not hindering communication even between birds,
and dogs, by the help of some Ulysses among them who is versed in the
various tongues, and puts in the needed explanations. Said keeper
overhears his refugees solacing their evenings by telling the story of
their experiences, and finally acts as editor of their autobiographies.
I imagine my long-loved fellow-creature, the ugly dog, telling the
sorrows and the tender emotions of gratitude which have wrought him into
a sensitive soul. The donkey is another cosmopolitan sufferer, and a
greater martyr than Saint Lawrence. If we only knew what fine motives he
has for his meek endurance, and how he loves a friend who will scratch
his nose!
"All this is not worth anything except to make you feel how much better
a plan you can think of.
"Only you must positively write this book which everybody wants--this
book which will do justice to the share our 'worthy fellow-labourers'
have had in the groaning and travailing of the world towards the birth
of the right and fair.
"But you must not do it without the 'sustenance of labour'--I don't say
'pay,' since there is no pay for good work. Let Mr. ... be blest with
the blessing of the unscrupulous. I want to contribute something towards
helping the brutes, and helping the children, especially the southern
children, to be good to the creatures who are continually at their
mercy. I can't write the needed book myself, but I feel sure that you
can, and that you will not refuse the duty."
Mrs. Bray's answer to this humorous suggestion may be gathered from
George Eliot's amiable reply:
"I see at once that you must be right about the necessity for being
simple and literal. In fact I have ridiculous impulses in teaching
children, and always make the horizon too wide.
"'The Wounded Bird' is perfect of its kind, and that kind is the best
for a larger work. You yourself see clearly that it is an exceptional
case for any one to be able to write books for children without putting
in them false morality disguised as devout religion. And you are one of
the exceptional cases. I am quite sure, from what you have done, that
you can do the thing which is still wanted to be done. As to
imagination, 'The Wounded Bird' is full of imagination."
These extracts pleasantly illustrate both the writer and recipient of
such humane letters; and, though written at a much later period, not
only give an idea of the nature of Mrs. Bray's literary pursuits, but of
the friendly relations subsisting to the end between her and George
Eliot.
Of Miss Hennell's work it is more difficult to speak without entering
more deeply into her subject-matter than is compatible with the scope of
the present work. In one of her best known books, entitled 'Thoughts in
Aid of Faith,' she makes the daring attempt to trace the evolution of
religion, her mode of thought partaking at once of the scientific and
the mystical. For the present she seems to be one of the very few women
who have ventured into the arena of philosophy; and, curiously enough,
her doctrine is that there should be a feminine method in metaphysics as
well as a masculine, the sexes, according to this singular theory,
finding their counterpart in religion and science. It may be remembered
that George Eliot, in one of her essays, is of opinion that women should
endeavour to make some distinctively feminine contributions to the
intellectual pursuits they engage in, saying, "Let the whole field of
reality be laid open to woman as well as to man, and then that which is
peculiar in her mental modification, instead of being, as it is now, a
source of discord and repulsion between the sexes, will be found to be a
necessary complement to the truth and beauty of life. Then we shall have
that marriage of minds which alone can blend all the hues of thought and
feeling in one lovely rainbow of promise for the harvest of happiness."
Something of the same idea lies at the root of much in Miss Hennell's
mystical disquisitions.
This circumstantial account of the circle to which Miss Evans was now
introduced has been given, because it consisted of friends who, more
than any others, helped in the growth and formation of her mind. No
human being, indeed, can be fully understood without some knowledge of
the companions that at one time or other, but especially during the
period of development, have been intimately associated with his or her
life. However vastly a mountain may appear to loom above us from the
plain, on ascending to its summit one always finds innumerable lesser
eminences which all help in making up the one imposing central effect.
And similarly in the world of mind, many superior natures, in varying
degrees, all contribute their share towards the maturing of that
exceptional intellectual product whose topmost summit is genius.
The lady who first introduced Marian Evans to the Brays was not without
an object of her own, for her young friend--whose religious fervour,
tinged with evangelical sentiment, was as conspicuous as her unusual
learning and thoughtfulness--seemed to her peculiarly fitted to exercise
a beneficial influence on the Rosehill household, where generally
unorthodox opinions were much in vogue.
Up to the age of seventeen or eighteen Marian had been considered the
most truly pious member of her family, being earnestly bent, as she
says, "to shape this anomalous English Christian life of ours into some
consistency with the spirit and simple verbal tenor of the New
Testament." "I was brought up," she informs another correspondent, "in
the Church of England, and have never joined any other religious
society; but I have had close acquaintance with many dissenters of
various sects, from Calvinistic Anabaptists to Unitarians." Her inner
life at this time is faithfully mirrored in the spiritual experiences of
Maggie Tulliver. Marian Evans was not one who could rest satisfied with
outward observances and lip-worship: she needed a faith which should
give unity and sanctity to the conception of life; which should awaken
"that recognition of something to be lived for beyond the mere
satisfaction of self, which is to the moral life what the addition of a
great central ganglion is to animal life." At one time Evangelicalism
supplied her with the most essential conditions of a religious life:
with all the vehemence of an ardent nature she flung her whole soul into
a passionate acceptance of the teaching of Christianity, carrying her
zeal to the pitch of asceticism.
This was the state of her mind, at the age of seventeen, when her aunt
from Wirksworth came to stay with her. Mrs. Elizabeth Evans (who came
afterwards to be largely identified with Dinah Morris) was a zealous
Wesleyan, having at one time been a noted preacher; but her niece, then
a rigid Calvinist, hardly thought her doctrine strict enough. When this
same aunt paid her a visit, some years afterwards, at Foleshill,
Marian's views had already undergone a complete transformation, and
their intercourse was constrained and painful; for the young evangelical
enthusiast, who had been a favourite in clerical circles, was now in
what she afterwards described as a "crude state of freethinking." It was
a period of transition through which she gradually passed into a new
religious synthesis.
Her intimacy with the Brays began about the time when these new doubts
were beginning to ferment in her. Her expanding mind, nourished on the
best literature, ancient and modern, began to feel cramped by dogmas
that had now lost their vitality; yet a break with an inherited form of
belief to which a thousand tender associations bound her, was a
catastrophe she shrank from with dread. Hence a period of mental
uncertainty and trouble. In consequence of these inward questionings, it
happened that the young lady who had been unwittingly brought to convert
her new acquaintances was converted by them. In intercourse with them
she was able freely to open her mind, their enlightened views helping
her in this crisis of her spiritual life; and she found it an intense
relief to feel no longer bound to reconcile her moral and intellectual
perceptions with a particular form of worship.
The antagonism she met with in certain quarters, the social persecution
from which she had much to suffer, are perhaps responsible for some of
the sharp, caustic irony with which she afterwards assailed certain
theological habits of thought. It is not unlikely that in some of her
essays for the _Westminster Review_ she mainly expressed the thoughts
which were stirred in her by the opposition she encountered at this
period of her life--as, for example, in the brilliant paper entitled
'Worldliness and Otherworldliness,' which contains such a scathing
passage as the following:
"For certain other elements of virtue, which are of more obvious
importance to untheological minds,--a delicate sense of our neighbour's
rights, an active participation in the joys and sorrows of our
fellow-men, a magnanimous acceptance of privation or suffering for
ourselves when it is the condition of good to others, in a word, the
extension and intensification of our sympathetic nature, we think it of
some importance to contend, that they have no more direct relation to
the belief in a future state than the interchange of gases in the lungs
has to the plurality of worlds. Nay, to us it is conceivable that to
some minds the deep pathos lying in the thought of human mortality--that
we are here for a little while and then vanish away, that this earthly
life is all that is given to our loved ones, and to our many suffering
fellow-men, lies nearer the fountains of moral emotion than the
conception of extended existence.... To us it is matter of unmixed
rejoicing that this latter necessity of healthful life is independent of
theological ink, and that its evolution is ensured in the interaction of
human souls as certainly as the evolution of science or of art, with
which, indeed, it is but a twin ray, melting into them with undefinable
limits."
It was, of course, inevitable that her changed tone of mind should
attract the attention of the family and friends of Marian, and that the
backsliding of so exemplary a member should afford matter for scandal in
many a clerical circle and evangelical tea-meeting. Close to the Evanses
there lived at that time a dissenting minister, whose daughter Mary was
a particular favourite of Marian Evans. There had been much neighbourly
intimacy between the two young ladies, and though there was only five
years' difference between them, Marian always inspired her friend with a
feeling of awe at her intellectual superiority. Yet her sympathy--that
sympathy with all human life which was the strongest element of her
character--was even then so irresistible that every little trouble of
Mary's life was entrusted to her keeping. But the sudden discovery of
their daughter's friend being an "infidel" came with the shock of a
thunderclap on the parents. Much hot argument passed between the
minister and this youthful controversialist, but the former clinched the
whole question by a triumphant reference to the dispersion of the Jews
throughout the world as an irrefutable proof of the divine inspiration
of the Bible. In spite of this vital difference on religious questions,
Miss Evans was suffered to go on giving the minister's daughter lessons
in German, which were continued for two or three years, she having
generously undertaken this labour of love twice a week, because she
judged from the shape of her young friend's head--phrenology being rife
in those days--that she must have an excellent understanding. But,
better than languages, she taught her the value of time, always cutting
short mere random talk by simply ignoring it. Altogether the wonderful
strength of her personality manifested itself even at this early period
in the indelible impression it left on her pupil's memory, many of her
sayings remaining graven on it as on stone. As, for instance, when one
day twitting Mary's too great self-esteem she remarked, "We are very apt
to measure ourselves by our aspiration instead of our performance." Or
when on a friend's asking, "What is the meaning of Faust?" she replied,
"The same as the meaning of the universe." While reading _'Wallenstein's
Lager_,' with her young pupil, the latter happened to say how life-like
the characters seemed: "Don't say _seemed_," exclaimed Marian; "we know
that they _are_ true to the life." And she immediately began repeating
the talk of labourers, farriers, butchers, and others of that class,
with such close imitation as to startle her friend. Is not this a
fore-shadowing of the inimitable scene at the 'Rainbow?'
By far the most trying consequence of her change of views was that now,
for the first time, Marian was brought into collision with her father,
whose pet she had always been. He could not understand her inward
perplexities, nor the need of her soul for complete inward unity of
thought, a condition impossible to her under the limiting conditions of
a dogmatic evangelicalism, "where folly often mistakes itself for
wisdom, ignorance gives itself airs of knowledge, and selfishness,
turning its eyes upwards, calls itself religion." She, on the other
hand, after a painful struggle, wanted to break away from the old forms
of worship, and refused to go to church. Deeply attached though she was
to her father, the need to make her acts conform with her convictions
became irresistible. Under such conflicting tendencies a rupture between
father and daughter became imminent, and for a short time a breaking up
of the home was contemplated, Marian intending to go and live by herself
in Coventry. One of the leading traits in her nature was its
adhesiveness, however, and the threat of separation proved so painful to
her that her friends, Mr. and Mrs. Bray, persuaded her to conform to her
father's wishes as far as outward observances were implied, and for the
rest he did not trouble himself to inquire into her thoughts or
occupations.
From a letter written at this period it appears that the 'Inquiry
Concerning the Origin of Christianity' had made a most powerful
impression on her mind. Indeed, she dated from it a new birth. But so
earnest and conscientious was she in her studies, that before beginning
its longed-for perusal, she and a friend determined to read the Bible
through again from beginning to end.
The intimacy between the inmates of Rosehill and the girl student at
Foleshill meanwhile was constantly growing closer. They met daily, and
in their midst the humorous side of her nature expanded no less than her
intellect. Although striking ordinary acquaintances by an abnormal
gravity, when completely at her ease she at times bubbled over with fun
and gaiety, irradiated by the unexpected flashes of a wit whose full
scope was probably as yet unsuspected by its possessor. Not but that
Miss Evans and her friends must have been conscious, even at that early
age, of extraordinary powers in her, destined some day to give her a
conspicuous position in the world. For her conversation was already so
full of charm, depth, and comprehensiveness, that all talk after hers
seemed stale and common-place. Many were the discussions in those days
between Mr. Bray and Marian Evans, and though frequently broken off in
fierce dispute one evening, they always began again quite amicably the
next. Mr. Bray probably exercised considerable influence on his young
friend's mind at this impressible period of life; perhaps her attention
to philosophy was first roused by acquaintance with him, and his varied
acquirements in this department may have helped in giving a positive
direction to her own thoughts.
Mr. Bray was just then working out his 'Philosophy of Necessity,' the
problems discussed being the same as those which have occupied the
leading thinkers of the day: Auguste Comte in his 'Positive Philosophy;'
Buckle in his 'History of Civilization;' and Mr. Herbert Spencer in his
'Sociology.' The theory that, as an individual and collectively, man is
as much subject to law as any of the other entities in nature, was one
of those magnificent ideas which revolutionise the world of thought.
Many minds, in different countries, of different calibre, were all
trying to systematise what knowledge there was on this subject in order
to convert hypothesis into demonstration. To what extent Mr. Bray may
have based his 'Philosophy of Necessity' on independent research, or how
much was merely assimilated from contemporary sources, we cannot here
inquire. Enough that the ideas embodied in it represented some of the
most vital thought of the age, and contributed therefore not a little to
the formation of George Eliot's mind, and to the grip which she
presently displayed in the handling of philosophical topics.
In 1842 the sensation created by Dr. Strauss's _Leben Jesu_ had even
extended to so remote a district as Warwickshire. Some persons of
advanced opinions, deeply impressed by its penetrating historical
criticism, which was in fact Niebuhr's method applied to the elucidation
of the Gospels, were very desirous of obtaining an English translation
of this work; meeting at the house of a common friend, the late Mr.
Joseph Parkes of Birmingham, they agreed, in the first blush of their
enthusiasm, to raise amongst them whatever sum might be required for the
purpose. Mr. Hennell, the leading spirit in this enterprise, proposed
that the translation should be undertaken by Miss Brabant, the
accomplished daughter of Dr. Brabant, a scholar deeply versed in
theological matters, who was in friendly correspondence with Strauss and
Paulus in Germany and with Coleridge and Grote in England. The lady in
question, though still in her teens, was peculiarly fitted for the task,
as she had already translated some of Baur's erudite writings on
theological subjects into English. But when she had done about one half
of the first volume, her learned labours came to an unexpected
conclusion, as she became engaged to Mr. Hennell, who to great mental
attainments joined much winning buoyancy of manner. And on her marriage
with this gentleman she had to relinquish her task as too laborious.
Miss Brabant's acquaintance with Marian began in 1843, and in the
summer of that year the whole friendly group started on an excursion to
Tenby. During their stay at this watering-place the lady who had begun,
and the lady destined eventually to accomplish, the enormous labour of
translating the 'Life of Jesus' gave tokens of feminine frivolity by
insisting on going to a public ball, where, however, they were
disappointed, as partners were very scarce. It should be remembered that
Marian Evans was only twenty-three years old at this time, but, though
she had not yet done anything, her friends already thought her a
wonderful woman. She never seems to have had any real youthfulness, and
her personal appearance greatly improved with time. It is only to the
finest natures, it should be remembered, that age gives an added beauty
and distinction; for the most persistent self has then worked its way to
the surface, having modified the expression, and to some extent the
features, to its own likeness.
There exists a coloured sketch done by Mrs. Bray about this period,
which gives one a glimpse of George Eliot in her girlhood. In those
Foleshill days she had a quantity of soft pale-brown hair worn in
ringlets. Her head was massive, her features powerful and rugged, her
mouth large but shapely, the jaw singularly square for a woman, yet
having a certain delicacy of outline. A neutral tone of colouring did
not help to relieve this general heaviness of structure, the complexion
being pale but not fair. Nevertheless the play of expression and the
wonderful mobility of the mouth, which increased with age, gave a
womanly softness to the countenance in curious contrast with its
framework. Her eyes, of a grey-blue, constantly varying in colour,
striking some as intensely blue, others as of a pale, washed-out grey,
were small and not beautiful in themselves, but when she grew animated
in conversation, those eyes lit up the whole face, seeming in a manner
to transfigure it. So much was this the case, that a young lady, who had
once enjoyed an hour's conversation with her, came away under its spell
with the impression that she was beautiful, but afterwards, on seeing
George Eliot again when she was not talking, she could hardly believe
her to be the same person. The charm of her nature disclosed itself in
her manner and in her voice, the latter recalling that of Dorothea, in
being "like the voice of a soul that has once lived in an AEolian harp."
It was low and deep, vibrating with sympathy.
Mr. Bray, an enthusiastic believer in phrenology, was so much struck
with the grand proportions of her head that he took Marian Evans to
London to have a cast taken. He thinks that, after that of Napoleon, her
head showed the largest development from brow to ear of any person's
recorded. The similarity of type between George Eliot's face and
Savonarola's has been frequently pointed out. Some affinity in their
natures may have led her, if unconsciously, to select that epoch of
Florentine life in which he played so prominent a part.
Though not above the middle height Marian gave people the impression of
being much taller than she really was, her figure, although thin and
slight, being well-poised and not without a certain sturdiness of make.
She was never robust in health, being delicately strung, and of a highly
nervous temperament. In youth the keen excitability of her nature often
made her wayward and hysterical. In fact her extraordinary intellectual
vigour did not exclude the susceptibilities and weaknesses of a
peculiarly feminine organisation. With all her mental activity she yet
led an intensely emotional life, a life which must have held hidden
trials for her, as in those days she was known by her friends "to weep
bucketfuls of tears."
A woman of strong passions, like her own Maggie, deeply affectionate by
nature, of a clinging tenderness of disposition, Marian Evans went
through much inward struggle, through many painful experiences before
she reached the moral self-government of her later years. Had she not,
it is hardly likely that she could have entered with so deep a
comprehension into the most intricate windings of the human heart. That,
of course, was to a great extent due to her sympathy, sympathy being the
strongest quality of her moral nature. She flung herself, as it were,
into other lives, making their affairs, their hopes, their sorrows, her
own. And this power of identifying herself with the people she came near
had the effect of a magnet in attracting her fellow-creatures. If
friends went to her in their trouble they would find not only that she
entered with deep feeling into their most minute concerns, but that, by
gradual degrees, she lifted them beyond their personal distress, and
that they would leave her presence in an ennobled and elevated frame of
mind. This sympathy was closely connected with her faculty of detecting
and responding to anything that showed the smallest sign of intellectual
vitality. She essentially resembled Socrates in her manner of eliciting
whatsoever capacity for thought might be latent in the people she came
in contact with: were it only a shoemaker or day-labourer, she would
never rest till she had found out in what points that particular man
differed from other men of his class. She always rather educed what was
in others than impressed herself on them; showing much kindliness of
heart in drawing out people who were shy. Sympathy was the key-note of
her nature, the source of her iridescent humour, of her subtle knowledge
of character, and of her dramatic genius.