M. d'Albert and his charge left Geneva towards the end of
March, and as the railway was not yet opened all the way to
France, they had to cross the Jura in sledges, and suffered
terribly from the cold. They joined the railway at Tonnerre,
and came through Paris, arriving in England on the 23d of
March. After a day in London, Miss Evans went straight to her
friends at Rosehill, where she stayed for a few days before
going on to Griff. It will have been seen that she had set
her hopes high on the delights of home-coming, and with her
too sensitive, impressionable nature, it is not difficult to
understand, without attributing blame to any one, that she
was pretty sure to be laying up disappointment for herself.
All who have had the experience of returning from a bright,
sunny climate to England in March will recognize in the next
letters the actual presence of the east wind, the leaden sky,
the gritty dust, and _le spleen_.
[Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, end of Mch. 1850, from
Rosehill.]
No; I am not in England--I am only nearer the beings I love best. I
try to forget all geography, and that I have placed myself
irretrievably out of reach of nature's brightest glories and beauties
to shiver in a wintry flat. I am unspeakably grateful to find these
dear creatures looking well and happy, in spite of worldly cares, but
your clear face and voice are wanting to me. But I must wait with
patience, and perhaps by the time I have finished my visits to my
relations you will be ready to come to Rosehill again. I want you to
scold me, and make me good. I am idle and naughty--_on ne peut
plus_--sinking into heathenish ignorance and woman's frivolity.
Remember, you are one of my guardian angels.
[Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, beginning of April, 1850, from
Griff.]
Will you send the enclosed note to Mrs. C. Hennell? I am not quite
sure about her direction, but I am anxious to thank her for her
kindness in inviting me. Will you also send me an account of Mr.
Chapman's prices for lodgers, and if you know anything of other
boarding-houses, etc., in London? Will you tell me what you can? I am
not asking you merely for the sake of giving you trouble. I am really
anxious to know. Oh, the dismal weather and the dismal country and the
dismal people. It was some envious demon that drove me across the
Jura. However, I am determined to sell everything I possess, except a
portmanteau and carpet-bag and the necessary contents, and be a
stranger and a foreigner on the earth for evermore. But I must see you
first; that is a yearning I still have in spite of disappointments.
From Griff she went to stay with her sister, Mrs. Clarke, at
Meriden, whence she writes:
[Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 24th April, 1850.]
Have you any engagement for the week after next? If not, may I join
you on Saturday the 4th, and invite M. d'Albert to come down on the
following Monday? It appears he cannot stay in England longer than
until about the second week in May. I am uncomfortable at the idea of
burdening even your friendship with the entertainment of a person
purely for my sake. It is indeed the greatest of all the great
kindnesses you have shown me. Write me two or three kind words, dear
Cara. I have been so ill at ease ever since I have been in England
that I am quite discouraged. Dear Chrissey is generous and
sympathizing, and really cares for my happiness.
[Illustration: Rosehill.]
On the 4th of May Miss Evans went to Rosehill, and on the 7th
M. d'Albert joined the party for a three days' visit. The
strong affection existing between Mr. and Mrs. Bray and their
guest, and the more congenial intellectual atmosphere
surrounding them, led Miss Evans to make her home practically
at Rosehill for the next sixteen months. She stayed there
continuously till the 18th November, and, among other things,
wrote a review of Mackay's "Progress of the Intellect." In
October Mr. Mackay and Mr. Chapman, the editor of the
_Westminster Review_, came to stay at Rosehill, and there was
probably some talk then about her assisting in the editorial
work of the _Review_, but it was not until the following
spring that any definite understanding on this subject was
arrived at. Meantime the article on Mackay's "Progress of the
Intellect" came out in the January, 1851, number of the
_Westminster_. It contains the following remarkable passages:
"Our civilization, and yet more, our religion, are an anomalous
blending of lifeless barbarisms, which have descended to us like so
many petrifactions from distant ages, with living ideas, the offspring
of a true process of development. We are in bondage to terms and
conceptions, which, having had their roots in conditions of thought no
longer existing, have ceased to possess any vitality, and are for us
as spells which have lost their virtue. The endeavor to spread
enlightened ideas is perpetually counteracted by these _idola
theatri_, which have allied themselves, on the one hand, with men's
better sentiments, and, on the other, with institutions in whose
defence are arrayed the passions and the interests of dominant
classes. Now, although the teaching of positive truth is the grand
means of expelling error, the process will be very much quickened if
the negative argument serve as its pioneer; if, by a survey of the
past, it can be shown how each age and each race has had a faith and a
symbolism suited to its need and its stage of development, and that
for succeeding ages to dream of retaining the spirit, along with the
forms, of the past, is as futile as the embalming of the dead body in
the hope that it may one day be resumed by the living soul.... It is
Mr. Mackay's faith that divine revelation is not contained exclusively
or pre-eminently in the facts and inspirations of any one age or
nation, but is coextensive with the history of human development, and
is perpetually unfolding itself to our widened experience and
investigation, as firmament upon firmament becomes visible to us in
proportion to the power and range of our exploring-instruments. The
master-key to this revelation is the recognition of the presence of
undeviating law in the material and moral world--of that invariability
of sequence which is acknowledged to be the basis of physical science,
but which is still perversely ignored in our social organization, our
ethics, and our religion. It is this invariability of sequence which
can alone give value to experience, and render education, in the true
sense, possible. The divine yea and nay, the seal of prohibition and
of sanction, are effectually impressed on human deeds and aspirations,
not by means of Greek and Hebrew, but by that inexorable law of
consequences whose evidence is confirmed instead of weakened as the
ages advance; and human duty is comprised in the earnest study of this
law and patient obedience to its teaching. While this belief sheds a
bright beam of promise on the future career of our race, it lights up
what once seemed the dreariest region of history with new interest;
every past phase of human development is part of that education of the
race in which we are sharing; every mistake, every absurdity, into
which poor human nature has fallen, may be looked on as an experiment
of which we may reap the benefit. A correct generalization gives
significance to the smallest detail, just as the great inductions of
geology demonstrate in every pebble the working of laws by which the
earth has become adapted for the habitation of man. In this view
religion and philosophy are not merely conciliated, they are
identical; or, rather, religion is the crown and consummation of
philosophy--the delicate corolla which can only spread out its petals
in all their symmetry and brilliance to the sun when root and branch
exhibit the conditions of a healthy and vigorous life."
Miss Evans seems to have been in London from the beginning of
January till the end of March, 1851; and Mr. Chapman made
another fortnight's visit to Rosehill at the end of May and
beginning of June. It was during this period that, with Miss
Evans's assistance, the prospectus of the new series of the
_Westminster Review_ was determined on and put in shape. At
the end of July she went with Mrs. Bray to visit Mr. and Mrs.
Robert Noel, at Bishop Steignton, in Devonshire. Mrs. Bray
had some slight illness there, and Miss Evans writes:
[Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 5th Aug. 1851.]
I am grieved indeed if anything might have been written, which has not
been written, to allay your anxiety about Cara. Her letter yesterday
explained what has been the matter. I knew her own handwriting would
be pleasanter to you than any other. I have been talking to her this
morning about the going to London or to Rosehill. She seems to prefer
London. A glance or two at the Exposition, she thinks, would do her no
harm. To-day we are all going to Teignmouth. She seems to like the
idea of sitting by the waves. The sun is shining gloriously, and all
things are tolerably promising. I am going to walk on before the rest
and have a bath.
They went to London on the 13th of August, saw the Crystal
Palace, and returned to Rosehill on the 16th. At the end of
that month, Mr. George Combe (the distinguished phrenologist)
arrived on a visit, and he and Mrs. Combe became good friends
to Miss Evans, as will be seen from the subsequent
correspondence. They came on a second visit to Rosehill the
following month--Mr. Chapman being also in the house at the
same time--and at the end of September Miss Evans went to
stay with the Chapmans at No. 142 Strand, as a boarder, and
as assistant editor of the _Westminster Review_. A new period
now opens in George Eliot's life, and emphatically the most
important period, for now she is to be thrown in contact with
Mr. Lewes, who is to exercise so paramount an influence on
all her future, with Mr. Herbert Spencer, and with a number
of writers then representing the most fearless and advanced
thought of the day. Miss Frederica Bremer, the authoress, was
also boarding with the Chapmans at this time, as will be seen
from the following letters:
[Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, end of Sept. 1851.]
Mr. Mackay has been very kind in coming and walking out with me, and
that is the only variety I have had. Last night, however, we had an
agreeable enough gathering. Foxton[31] came, who, you know, is
trying, with Carlyle and others, to get a chapel for Wilson at the
West End--in which he is to figure as a seceding clergyman. I enclose
you two notes from Empson (he is the editor of the _Edinburgh Review_)
as a guarantee that I have been trying to work. Again, I proposed to
write a review of Greg for the _Westminster_, not for money, but for
love of the subject as connected with the "Inquiry." Mr. Hickson
referred the matter to Slack again, and he writes that he shall not
have room for it, and that the subject will not suit on this occasion,
so you see I am obliged to be idle, and I like it best. I hope Mr.
Bray is coming soon to tell me everything about you. I think I shall
cry for joy to see him. But do send me a little note on Monday
morning. Mrs. Follen called the other day, in extreme horror at Miss
Martineau's book.
[Sidenote: Letter to Mr. Bray, end of Sept. 1851.]
Dr. Brabant returned to Bath yesterday. He very politely took me to
the Crystal Palace, the theatre, and the Overland Route. On Friday we
had Foxton, Wilson, and some other nice people, among others a Mr.
Herbert Spencer, who has just brought out a large work on "Social
Statics," which Lewes pronounces the best book he has seen on the
subject. You must see the book, if possible. Mr. Chapman is going to
send you Miss Martineau's work, or rather Mr. Atkinson's,[32] which
you must review in the _Herald_. Whatever else one may think of the
book, it is certainly the boldest I have seen in the English language.
I get nothing done here, there are so many _distractions_--moreover, I
have hardly been well a day since I came. I wish I were rich enough
to go to the coast, and have some plunges in the sea to brace me.
Nevertheless do not suppose that I don't enjoy being here. I like
seeing the new people, etc., and I am afraid I shall think the country
rather dull after it. I am in a hurry to-day. I must have two hours'
work before dinner, so imagine everything I have not said, or, rather,
reflect that this scrap is quite as much as you deserve after being so
slow to write to me.
The reference, in the above letter, to Mr. Lewes must not be
taken as indicating personal acquaintance yet. It is only a
quotation of some opinion heard or read. Mr. Lewes had
already secured for himself a wide reputation in the literary
world by his "Biographical History of Philosophy," his two
novels, "Ranthorpe," and "Rose, Blanche, and Violet"--all of
which had been published five or six years before--and his
voluminous contributions to the periodical literature of the
day. He was also, at this time, the literary editor of the
_Leader_ newspaper, so that any criticism of his would carry
weight, and be talked about. Much has already been written
about his extraordinary versatility, the variety of his
literary productions, his social charms, his talent as a
_raconteur_, and his dramatic faculty; and it will now be
interesting, for those who did not know him personally, to
learn the deeper side of his character, which will be seen,
in its development, in the following pages.
[Sidenote: Letter to Mr. Bray, end of Sept. 1851.]
I don't know how long Miss Bremer will stay, but you need not wish to
see her. She is to me equally unprepossessing to eye and ear. I never
saw a person of her years who appealed less to my purely instinctive
veneration. I have to reflect every time I look at her that she is
really Frederica Bremer.
Fox is to write the article on the Suffrage, and we are going to try
Carlyle for the Peerage, Ward refusing, on the ground that he thinks
the improvement of the physical condition of the people so
all-important that he must give all his energies to that. He says,
"Life is a bad business, but we must make the best of it;" to which
philosophy I say Amen. Dr. Hodgson is gone, and all the fun with him.
I was introduced to Lewes the other day in Jeff's shop--a sort of
miniature Mirabeau in appearance.[33]
[Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 2d Oct. (?) 1851.]
Professor Forbes is to write us a capital scientific article, whereat
I rejoice greatly. The Peerage apparently will not "get itself done,"
as Carlyle says. It is not an urgent question, nor does one see that,
if the undue influence of the Peers on the elections for the Commons
were done away with, there would be much mischief from the House of
Lords remaining for some time longer _in statu quo_. I have been
reading Carlyle's "Life of Sterling" with great pleasure--not for its
presentation of Sterling, but of Carlyle. There are racy bits of
description in his best manner, and exquisite touches of feeling.
Little rapid characterizations of living men too--of Francis Newman,
for example--"a man of fine university and other attainments, of the
sharpest cutting and most restlessly advancing intellect, and of the
mildest pious enthusiasm." There is an inimitable description of
Coleridge and his eternal monologue--"To sit as a passive bucket and
be pumped into, whether one like it or not, can in the end be
exhilarating to no creature."
[Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 15th Oct. 1851.]
All the world is doing its _devoir_ to the great little authoress
(Miss Bremer). I went to the exhibition on Saturday to hear the final
"God save the Queen" and the three times three--"C'êtait un beau
moment." Mr. Greg thought the review "well done, and in a kindly
spirit," but thought there was not much in it--dreadfully true, since
there was only all his book. I think he did not like the apology for
his want of theological learning, which, however, was just the thing
most needed, for the _Eclectic_ trips him up on that score. Carlyle
was very amusing the other morning to Mr. Chapman about the
Exhibition. He has no patience with the prince and "that Cole"
assembling Sawneys from all parts of the land, till you can't get
along Piccadilly. He has been worn to death with bores all summer, who
present themselves by twos and threes in his study, saying, "Here we
are," etc., etc.
[Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 19th Oct. 1851.]
I wish you could see Miss Bremer's albums, full of portraits, flowers,
and landscapes, all done by herself. A portrait of Emerson,
marvellously like; one of Jenny Lind, etc. Last night we had quite a
charming _soirée_--Sir David Brewster and his daughter; Mackay, author
of a work on popular education you may remember to have seen reviewed
in the _Leader_; the Ellises, the Hodgsons, and half a dozen other
nice people. Miss Bremer was more genial than I have seen her--played
on the piano, and smiled benevolently. Altogether, I am beginning to
repent of my repugnance. Mackay approves our prospectus _in toto_. He
is a handsome, fine-headed man, and a "good opinion." We are getting
out a circular to accompany the prospectus. I have been kept
down-stairs by Mr. Mackay for the last two hours, and am hurried, but
it was a necessity to write _ein paar Worte_ to you. Mr. Mackay has
written an account of his book for the catalogue. I have been using my
powers of eloquence and flattery this morning to make him begin an
article on the "Development of Protestantism." Mr. Ellis was
agreeable--really witty. He and Mrs. Ellis particularly cordial to me,
inviting me to visit them without ceremony. I love you all better
every day, and better the more I see of other people. I am going to
one of the Birkbeck schools.
[Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 3rd Nov. 1851.]
I must tell you a story Miss Bremer got from Emerson. Carlyle was very
angry with him for not believing in a devil, and to convert him took
him amongst all the horrors of London--the gin-shops, etc.--and
finally to the House of Commons, plying him at every turn with the
question, "Do you believe in a devil noo?" There is a severe attack on
Carlyle's "Life of Sterling" in yesterday's _Times_--unfair as an
account of the book, but with some truth in its general remarks about
Carlyle. There is an article, evidently by James Martineau, in the
_Prospective_, which you must read, "On the Unity of the Logical and
Intuitive in the Ultimate Grounds of Religious Belief." I am reading
with great amusement (!) J. H. Newman's "Lectures on the Position of
Catholics." They are full of clever satire and description. My table
is groaning with books, and I have done very little with them yet, but
I trust in my star, which has hitherto helped me, to do all I have
engaged to do. Pray remember to send the MS. translation of
Schleiermacher's little book, and also the book itself.
[Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 15th Nov. 1851.]
When Mr. Noel had finished his farewell visit to-day, Mr. Flower was
announced, so my morning has run away in chat. Time wears, and I don't
get on so fast as I ought, but I must scribble a word or two, else
you will make my silence an excuse for writing me no word of
yourselves. I am afraid Mr. Noel and Mr. Bray have given you a poor
report of me. The last two days I have been a little better, but I
hardly think existing arrangements can last beyond this quarter. Mr.
Noel says Miss L. is to visit you at Christmas. I hope that is a
mistake, as it would deprive me of my hoped-for rest amongst you.
[Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, Monday, 23d Nov. 1851.]
On Saturday afternoon came Mr. Spencer to ask Mr. Chapman and me to go
to the theatre; so I ended the day in a godless manner, seeing the
"Merry Wives of Windsor." You must read Carlyle's denunciation of the
opera, published in the _Keepsake_! The _Examiner_ quotes it at
length. I send you the enclosed from Harriet Martineau. Please to
return it. The one from Carlyle you may keep till I come. He is a
naughty fellow to write in the _Keepsake_, and not for us, after I
wrote him the most insinuating letter, offering him three glorious
subjects. Yesterday we went to Mr. Mackay's, Dr. Brabant being there.
[Sidenote: Letter to Charles Bray, 27th Nov. 1851.]
Carlyle called the other day, strongly recommending Browning, the
poet, as a writer for the _Review_, and saying, "We shall see," about
himself. In other respects we have been stagnating since Monday, and
now I must work, work, work, which I have scarcely done two days
consecutively since I have been here. Lewes says his article on "Julia
von Krüdener"[34] will be glorious. He sat in the same box with us at
the "Merry Wives of Windsor," and helped to carry off the dolorousness
of the play.
[Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, Tuesday, 22d Dec. 1851.]
Alas! the work is so heavy just for the next three days, all the
revises being yet to come in, and the proof of my own article;[35] and
Mr. Chapman is so overwhelmed with matters of detail, that he has
earnestly requested me to stay till Saturday, and I cannot refuse, but
it is a deep disappointment to me. My heart will yearn after you all.
It is the first Christmas Day I shall have passed without any
Christmas feeling. On Saturday, if you will have me, nothing shall
keep me here any longer. I am writing at a high table, on a low seat,
in a great hurry. Don't you think my style is editorial?
Accordingly, on Saturday, the 29th December, 1851, she did go
down to Rosehill, and stayed there till 12th January, when
she returned to London, and writes:
[Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 12th Jan. 1852.]
I had a comfortable journey all alone, except from Weedon to
Blisworth. When I saw a coated animal getting into my carriage, I
thought of all horrible stories of madmen in railways; but his white
neckcloth and thin, mincing voice soon convinced me that he was one of
those exceedingly tame animals, the clergy.
A kind welcome and a good dinner--that is the whole of my history at
present. I am in anything but company trim, or spirits. I can do
nothing in return for all your kindness, dear Cara, but love you, as I
do most heartily. You and all yours, for their own sake first, but if
it were not so, for yours.
[Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 21st Jan. 1852.]
Harriet Martineau called on Monday morning with Mr. Atkinson. Very
kind and cordial. I honor her for her powers and industry, and should
be glad to think highly of her. I have no doubt that she is
fascinating when there is time for talk. We have had two agreeable
_soirées_. Last Monday I was talking and listening for two hours to
Pierre Leroux--a dreamy genius. He was expounding to me his ideas. He
belongs neither to the school of Proudhon, which represents Liberty
only--nor to that of Louis Blanc, which represents Equality only--nor
to that of Cabet, which represents Fraternity. Pierre Leroux's system
is the _synthèse_ which combines all three. He has found the true
_pont_ which is to unite the love of self with love of one's neighbor.
He is, you know, a very voluminous writer. George Sand has dedicated
some of her books to him. He dilated on his views of the "Origin of
Christianity." Strauss deficient, because he has not shown the
_identity of the teaching of Jesus with that of the Essenes_. This is
Leroux's favorite idea. I told him of your brother. He, moreover,
traces Essenism back to Egypt, and thence to India--the cradle of all
religions, etc., etc., with much more, which he uttered with an
unction rather amusing in a _soirée tête-à-tête_. "Est ce que nous
sommes faits pour chercher le bonheur? Est ce là votre idée--dites
moi." "Mais non--nous sommes faits, je pense, pour nous développer le
plus possible." "Ah! c'est ça." He is in utter poverty, going to
lecture--_autrement il faut mourir_. Has a wife and children with him.
He came to London in his early days, when he was twenty-five, to find
work as a printer. All the world was in mourning for the Princess
Charlotte. "Et moi, je me trouvais avoir _un habit vert-pomme_." So he
got no work; went back to Paris; by hook or by crook founded the
_Globe_ journal; knew St. Simon; disagrees with him entirely, as with
all other theorists except Pierre Leroux.
We are trying Mazzini to write on "Freedom _v._ Despotism," and have
received an admirable article on "The New Puritanism,"[36] _i.e._,
"Physical Puritanism," from Dr. Browne, the chemist of Edinburgh,
which, I think, will go in the next number.
I am in a miserable state of languor and low spirits, in which
everything is a trouble to me. I must tell you a bit of Louis Blanc's
English, which Mr. Spencer was reciting the other night. The _petit
homme_ called on some one, and said, "I come to tell you how you are.
I was at you the other day, but you were not."
[Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 2d Feb. 1852.]
We went to quite a gay party at Mrs. Mackay's on Saturday. Good Mr.
Mackay has been taking trouble to get me to Hastings for my
health--calling on Miss Fellowes, daughter of the "Religion of the
Universe," and inducing her to write me a note of invitation. Sara
will be heartily welcome. Unfortunately, I had an invitation to the
Parkes's, to meet Cobden, on Saturday evening. I was sorry to miss
that. Miss Parkes[37] is a dear, ardent, honest creature; and I hope
we shall be good friends. I have nothing else to tell you. I am
steeped in dulness within and without. Heaven send some lions to-night
to meet Fox, who is coming. An advertisement we found in the _Times_
to-day--"To gentlemen. A _converted_ medical man, of gentlemanly
habits and fond of Scriptural conversation, wishes to meet with a
gentleman of Calvinistic views, thirsty after truth, in want of a
daily companion. A little temporal aid will be expected in return.
Address, Verax!"
[Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 8th Feb. 1852.]
We are going to Mr. Ellis's, at Champion Hill, to-morrow evening. I am
better now. Have rid myself of all distasteful work, and am trying to
love the glorious destination of humanity, looking before and after.
We shall be glad to have Sara.
Miss Sara Hennell arrived on a visit to the Strand next
day--the 9th February--and stayed till the 17th.
[Sidenote: Letter to Mr. Bray, 16th Feb. 1852.]
I have not merely had a headache--I have been really ill, and feel
very much shattered. We (Miss Evans and Miss Sara Hennell) dined
yesterday at Mrs. Peter Taylor's,[38] at Sydenham. I was not fit to
go, especially to make my _début_ at a strange place; but the country
air was a temptation. The thick of the work is just beginning, and I
am bound in honor not to run away from it, as I have shirked all labor
but what is strictly editorial this quarter.
[Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 20th Feb. 1852.]
We went to the meeting of the Association for the Abolition of the
Taxes on Knowledge on Wednesday, that I might hear Cobden, in whom I
was wofully disappointed. George Dawson's speech was admirable. I
think it undesirable to fix on a London residence at present, as I
want to go to Brighton for a month or two next quarter. I am seriously
concerned at my languid body, and feel the necessity of taking some
measures to get vigor. Lewes inquired for Sara last Monday, in a tone
of interest. He was charmed with her, as who would not be that has any
taste? Do write to me, dear Cara; I want comforting: this world looks
ugly just now; all people rather worse than I have been used to think
them. Put me in love with my kind again, by giving me a glimpse of
your own inward self, since I cannot see the outer one.
[Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor, 6th Mch. 1852.]
I can sympathize with you in your troubles, having been a housekeeper
myself, and known disappointment in trusted servants. Ah, well! we
have a good share of the benefits of our civilization, it is but fair
that we should feel some of the burden of its imperfections.
Thank you a thousand times for wishing to see me again. I should
really like to see you in your own nice, fresh, healthy-looking home
again; but until the end of March I fear I shall be a prisoner, from
the necessity for constant work. Still, it is possible that I may have
a day, though I am quite unable to say when.
You will be still more surprised at the notice of the _Westminster_ in
_The People_, when you know that Maccoll himself wrote it. I have not
seen it, but had been told of its ill-nature. However, he is too good
a man to write otherwise than sincerely; and our opinion of a book
often depends on the state of the liver!
[Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 25th Mch. 1852.]
I had two offers last night--not of marriage, but of music--which I
find it impossible to resist. Mr. Herbert Spencer proposed to take me
on Thursday to hear "William Tell," and Miss Parkes asked me to go
with her to hear the "Creation" on Friday. I have had so little music
this quarter, and these two things are so exactly what I should like,
that I have determined to put off, for the sake of them, my other
pleasure of seeing you. So, pray, keep your precious welcome warm for
me until Saturday, when I shall positively set off by the two o'clock
train. Harriet Martineau has written me a most cordial invitation to
go to see her before July, but that is impossible.
[Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor, 27th Mch. 1852.]
I am grieved to find that you have to pay for that fine temperament
of yours in attacks of neuralgia. Your silence did not surprise me,
after the account you had given me of your domestic circumstances, but
I have wished for you on Monday evenings. Your cordial assurance that
you shall be glad to see me sometimes is one of those pleasant
things--those life-preservers--which relenting destiny sends me now
and then to buoy me up. For you must know that I am not a little
desponding now and then, and think that old friends will die off,
while I shall be left without the power to make new ones. You know how
sad one feels when a great procession has swept by one, and the last
notes of its music have died away, leaving one alone with the fields
and sky. I feel so about life sometimes. It is a help to read such a
life as Margaret Fuller's. How inexpressibly touching that passage
from her journal--"I shall always reign through the intellect, but the
life! the life! O my God! shall that never be sweet?" I am thankful,
as if for myself, that it was sweet at last. But I am running on about
feelings when I ought to tell you facts. I am going on Wednesday to my
friends in Warwickshire for about ten days or a fortnight. When I come
back, I hope you will be quite strong and able to receive visitors
without effort--Mr. Taylor too.
I _did_ go to the _conversazione_; but you have less to regret than
you think. Mazzini's speeches are better read than heard. Proofs are
come, demanding my immediate attention, so I must end this hasty
scribble.
On the 3d April Miss Evans went to Rosehill, and stayed till
the 14th. On her return she writes:
[Sidenote: Letter to Mr. Bray, 17th April, 1852.]
There was an article on the bookselling affair in the _Times_ of
yesterday, which must be the knell of the Association. Dickens is to
preside at a meeting in this house on the subject some day next week.
The opinions on the various articles in the _Review_ are, as before,
ridiculously various. The _Economist_ calls the article on Quakerism
"admirably written." Greg says the article on India is "very
masterly;" while he calls Mazzini's "sad stuff--mere verbiage."
[Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 21st April, 1852.]
If there is any change in my affection for you it is that I love you
more than ever, not less. I have as perfect a friendship for you as my
imperfect nature can feel--a friendship in which deep respect and
admiration are sweetened by a sort of flesh-and-blood sisterly feeling
and the happy consciousness that I have your affection, however
undeservedly, in return. I have confidence that this friendship can
never be shaken; that it must last while I last, and that the
supposition of its ever being weakened by a momentary irritation is
too contemptibly absurd for me to take the trouble to deny it. As to
your whole conduct to me, from the first day I knew you, it has been
so generous and sympathetic that, if I did not heartily love you, I
should feel deep gratitude--but love excludes gratitude. It is
impossible that I should ever love two women better than I love you
and Cara. Indeed, it seems to me that I can never love any so well;
and it is certain that I can never have any friend--not even a
husband--who would supply the loss of those associations with the past
which belong to you. Do believe in my love for you, and that it will
remain as long as I have my senses, because it is interwoven with my
best nature, and is dependent, not on any accidents of manner, but on
long experience, which has confirmed the instinctive attraction of
earlier days.
[Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 22d April, 1852.]
Our fortunes here are, as usual, checkered--
"Twist ye, twine ye, even so
Mingle human weal and woe."
Grote is very friendly, and has propitiated J. S. Mill, who will write
for us when we want him. We had quite a brilliant _soirée_ yesterday
evening. W. R. Greg, Forster (of Rawdon), Francis Newman, the Ellises,
and Louis Blanc, were the stars of greatest magnitude. I had a
pleasant talk with Greg and Forster. Greg was "much pleased to have
made my acquaintance." Forster, on the whole, appeared to think that
people should be glad to make _his_ acquaintance. Greg is a short man,
but his brain is large, the anterior lobe very fine, and a moral
region to correspond. Black, wiry, curly hair, and every indication of
a first-rate temperament. We have some very nice Americans here--the
Pughs--friends of the Parkes's, really refined, intellectual people.
Miss Pugh, an elderly lady, is a great abolitionist, and was one of
the Women's Convention that came to England in 1840, and was not
allowed to join the Men's Convention. But I suppose we shall soon be
able to say, _nous avons changé tout cela_.
I went to the opera on Saturday--"I Martiri," at Covent Garden--with
my "excellent friend, Herbert Spencer," as Lewes calls him. We have
agreed that we are not in love with each other, and that there is no
reason why we should not have as much of each other's society as we
like. He is a good, delightful creature, and I always feel better for
being with him.
[Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 2d May, 1852.]
I like to remind you of me on Sunday morning, when you look at the
flowers and listen to music; so I send a few lines, though I have not
much time to spare to-day. After Tuesday I will write you a longer
letter, and tell you all about everything. I am going to the opera
to-night to hear the "Huguenots." See what a fine thing it is to pick
up people who are short-sighted enough to like one.
On the 4th of May a meeting, consisting chiefly of authors,
was held at the house in the Strand, for the purpose of
hastening the removal of the trade restrictions on the
Commerce of Literature, and it is thus described in the
following letter:
[Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 5th May, 1852.]
The meeting last night went off triumphantly, and I saluted Mr.
Chapman with "See the Conquering Hero Comes" on the piano at 12
o'clock; for not until then was the last magnate, except Herbert
Spencer, out of the house. I sat at the door for a short time, but
soon got a chair within it, and heard and saw everything.
Dickens in the chair--a position he fills remarkably well, preserving
a courteous neutrality of eyebrows, and speaking with clearness and
decision. His appearance is certainly disappointing--no benevolence in
the face, and, I think, little in the head; the anterior lobe not by
any means remarkable. In fact, he is not distinguished-looking in any
way--neither handsome nor ugly, neither fat nor thin, neither tall nor
short. Babbage moved the first resolution--a bad speaker, but a great
authority. Charles Knight is a beautiful, elderly man, with a modest
but firm enunciation; and he made a wise and telling speech which
silenced one or two vulgar, ignorant booksellers who had got into the
meeting by mistake. One of these began by complimenting
Dickens--"views held by such worthy and important gentlemen, _which is
your worthy person in the chair_." Dickens looked respectfully
neutral. The most telling speech of the evening was Prof. Tom
Taylor's--as witty and brilliant as one of George Dawson's. Prof.
Owen's, too, was remarkably good. He had a resolution to move as to
the bad effect of the trade restrictions on scientific works, and gave
his own experience in illustration. Speaking of the slow and small
sale of scientific books of a high class, he said, in his silvery,
bland way--alluding to the boast that the retail booksellers
_recommended_ the works of less known authors--"for which limited sale
we are doubtless indebted to the kind recommendation of our friends,
the retail booksellers"--whereupon these worthies, taking it for a
_bonâ fide_ compliment, cheered enthusiastically. Dr. Lankester, Prof.
Newman, Robert Bell, and others, spoke well. Owen has a tremendous
head, and looked, as he was, the greatest celebrity of the meeting.
George Cruikshank, too, made a capital speech, in an admirable moral
spirit. He is the most homely, genuine-looking man; not unlike the
pictures of Captain Cuttle.
I went to hear the "Huguenots" on Saturday evening. It was a rich
treat. Mario and Grisi and Formes, and that finest of orchestras under
Costa. I am going to a concert to-night. This is all very fine, but,
in the meantime, I am getting as haggard as an old witch under London
atmosphere and influences. I shall be glad to have sent me my
Shakespeare, Goethe, Byron, and Wordsworth, if you will be so good as
to take the trouble of packing them.
[Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, Monday, 12th(?) May, 1852.]
My days have slipped away in a most mysterious fashion
lately--chiefly, I suppose, in long walks and long talks. Our Monday
evenings are dying off--not universally regretted--but we are
expecting one or two people to-night. I have nothing to tell except
that I went to the opera on Thursday, and heard "La Juive," and,
moreover, fell in love with Prince Albert, who was unusually animated
and prominent. He has a noble, genial, intelligent expression, and is
altogether a man to be proud of. I am going next Thursday to see Grisi
in "Norma." She is quite beautiful this season, thinner than she was,
and really younger looking.
[Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 27th May, 1852.]
My brightest spot, next to my love of _old_ friends, is the
deliciously calm, _new_ friendship that Herbert Spencer gives me. We
see each other every day, and have delightful _camaraderie_ in
everything. But for him my life would be desolate enough. What a
wretched lot of old, shrivelled creatures we shall be by and by. Never
mind, the uglier we get in the eyes of others the lovelier we shall be
to each other; that has always been my firm faith about friendship,
and now it is in a slight degree my experience. Mme. d'Albert has sent
me the sweetest letter, just like herself; and I feel grateful to have
such a heart remembering and loving me on the other side of the Jura.
They are very well and flourishing.
[Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, Wednesday, 2d June, 1852.]
I am bothered to death with article-reading and scrap-work of all
sorts: it is clear my poor head will never produce anything under
these circumstances; _but I am patient_. I am ashamed to tease you so,
but I must beg of you to send me George Sand's works; and also I shall
be grateful if you will lend me--what I think you have--an English
edition of "Corinne," and Miss Austen's "Sense and Sensibility."
Harriet Martineau's article on "Niebuhr" will not go in the July
number. I am sorry for it; it is admirable. After all, she is a
_trump_--the only Englishwoman that possesses thoroughly the art of
writing.
On Thursday morning I went to St. Paul's to see the charity children
assembled, and hear their singing. Berlioz says it is the finest thing
he has heard in England; and this opinion of his induced me to go. I
was not disappointed; it is worth doing once, especially as we got out
before the sermon. I had a long call from George Combe yesterday. He
says he thinks the _Westminster_, under _my_ management, the most
important means of enlightenment of a literary nature in existence;
the _Edinburgh_, under Jeffrey, nothing to it, etc.!!! I wish _I_
thought so too.
[Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 21st June, 1852.]
Your joint assurance of welcome strengthens the centripetal force that
would carry me to you; but, on the other hand, sundry considerations
are in favor of the centrifugal force, which, I suppose, will carry me
to Broadstairs or Ramsgate. On the whole, I prefer to keep my visit to
you as a _bonne-bouche_, when I am just in the best physical and
mental state for enjoying it. I hope to get away on Saturday, or on
Wednesday at the latest. I think the third number of the _Review_ will
be capital; thoroughly readable, and yet not frothy.
[Sidenote: Letter to Charles Bray, 23d June, 1852.]
I have assured Herbert Spencer that you will think it a sufficiently
formal answer to the invitation you sent him through Mr. Lewes, if I
tell you that he will prefer waiting for the pleasure of a visit to
you until I am with you--if you will have him then. I spent the
evening at Mr. Parkes's on Monday. Yesterday Herbert Spencer brought
his father to see me--a large-brained, highly informed man, with a
certain quaintness and simplicity, altogether very pleasing.
[Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 25th June, (?) 1852.]
After all, I begin to hope that our next number will be the best yet.
Forbes is good; Froude ditto; and James Martineau, if I may judge from
a glance at a few of his pages, admirable. Lewes has written us an
agreeable article on "Lady Novelists." There is a mysterious
contribution to the independent section. We are hoping that an
article on "Edinburgh Literary Men," yet to come, will be very good.
If not, we shall put in "Niebuhr;" it is capital.
[Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, end of June, 1852.]
The opera, Chiswick Flower Show, the French play, and the Lyceum, all
in one week, brought their natural consequences of headache and
hysterics--all yesterday. At five o'clock I felt quite sure that life
was unendurable. This morning, however, the weather and I are both
better, having cried ourselves out and used up all our clouds; and I
can even contemplate living six months longer. Was there ever anything
more dreary than this June?
[Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, Friday morning, 2d July,
1852.]
I am busy packing to-day, and am going to Mr. Parkes's to dinner. Miss
Parkes has introduced me to Barbara Smith,[39] whose expression I like
exceedingly, and hope to know more of her. I go to Broadstairs on
Saturday. I am sadly in want of the change, and would much rather
present myself to you all when I can do you more credit as a friend.
[Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 4th July, 1852.]
I warn you against Ramsgate, which is a strip of London come out for
an airing. Broadstairs is perfect; and I have the snuggest little
lodging conceivable, with a motherly good woman and a nice little
damsel of fourteen to wait on me. There are only my two rooms in this
cottage, but lodgings are plentiful in the place. I have a
sitting-room about eight feet by nine, and a bedroom a little larger;
yet in that small space there is almost every comfort. I pay a guinea
a week for my rooms, so I shall not ruin myself by staying a month,
unless I commit excesses in coffee and sugar. I am thinking whether it
would not be wise to retire from the world and live here for the rest
of my days. With some fresh paper on the walls, and an easy-chair, I
think I could resign myself. Come and tell me your opinion.
[Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 16th July, 1852.]
I thought of you last night, when I was in a state of mingled rapture
and torture--rapture at the sight of a glorious evening sky, torture
at the sight and hearing of the belaboring given to the poor donkey
which was drawing me from Ramsgate home.
I had a note from Miss Florence Nightingale yesterday. I was much
pleased with her. There is a loftiness of mind about her which is well
expressed by her form and manner. Glad you are pleased with the
_Westminster_. I do think it a rich number--matter for a fortnight's
reading and thought. Lewes has not half done it justice in the
_Leader_. To my mind the "Niebuhr" article is as good as any of them.
If you could see me in my quiet nook! I am half ashamed of being in
such clover, both spiritually and materially, while some of my friends
are on the dusty highways, without a tuft of grass or a flower to
cheer them. A letter from you will be delightful. We seem to have said
very little to each other lately. But I always know--rejoice to
know--that there is the same Sara for me as there is the same green
earth and arched sky, when I am good and wise enough to like the best
thing.
[Sidenote: Letter to Charles Bray, 21st July, 1852.]
Do not be anxious about me--there is no cause. I am profiting, body
and mind, from quiet walks and talks with nature, gathering "lady's
bedstraw" and "rest-harrow," and other pretty things; picking up
shells (not in the Newtonian sense, but literally); reading Aristotle,
to find out what is the chief good; and eating mutton-chops, that I
may have strength to pursue it. If you insist on my writing about
"emotions," why, I must get some up expressly for the purpose. But I
must own I would rather not, for it is the grand wish and object of my
life to get rid of them as far as possible, seeing they have already
had more than their share of my nervous energy. I shall not be in town
on the 2d of August--at least, I pray Heaven to forbid it.
Mrs. Bray paid a visit to Broadstairs from the 3d to the 12th
August, and the next letter is addressed to her.
[Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, Thursday, 14th (?) Aug. 1852.]
Are you really the better for having been here? Since you left I have
been continually regretting that I could not make your visit
pleasanter. I was irritable and out of sorts; but you have an
apparatus for secreting happiness--that's it. Providence, seeing that
I wanted weaning from this place, has sent a swarm of harvest-bugs and
lady-birds. These, with the half-blank, half-dissipated feeling which
comes on after having companions and losing them, make me think of
returning to London on Saturday week with more resignation than I have
felt before. I am very well and "plucky"--a word which I propose to
substitute for happy, as more truthful.
[Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor, 19th Aug. 1852.]
For the last two months I have been at this pretty, quiet place, which
"David Copperfield" has made classic, far away from London noise and
smoke.
I am sorry now that I brought with me Fox's "Lectures," which I had
not managed to read before I left town. But I shall return thither at
the end of next week, and I will at once forward the volume to Gary
Lane.
One sees no novels less than a year old at the sea-side, so I am
unacquainted with the "Blithedale Romance," except through the
reviews, which have whetted my curiosity more than usual. Hawthorne
is a grand favorite of mine, and I shall be sorry if he do not go on
surpassing himself. It is sad to hear of your only going out to
consult a physician. Illness seems to me the one woe for which there
is no comfort--no compensation. But perhaps you find it otherwise, for
you have a less rebellious spirit than I, and suffering seems to make
you look all the more gentle.
[Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Houghton, 22d Aug. 1852.]
Thinking of you this morning--as I often do, though you may not
suppose so--it was "borne in on my mind" that I must write to you, and
I obey the inspiration without waiting to consider whether there may
be a corresponding desire on your part to hear from me. I live in a
world of cares and joys so remote from the one in which we used to
sympathize with each other that I find positive communication with you
difficult. But I am not unfaithful to old loves--they were sincere,
and they are lasting. I hope you will not think it too much trouble to
write me a little news of yourself. I want very much to know if your
health continues good, and if there has been any change in your
circumstances, that I may have something like a true conception of
you. All is well with me so far as my individuality is concerned, but
I have plenty of friends' troubles to sorrow over. I hope you have
none to add to the number.
[Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 20th Aug. 1852.]
I celebrated my return to London by the usual observance--that is to
say, a violent headache, which is not yet gone, and of course I am in
the worst spirits, and my opinion of things is not worth a straw. I
tell you this that you may know why I only send you this scrap instead
of the long letter which I have _in petto_ for you, and which would
otherwise have been written yesterday.
[Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 2d Sept. 1852.]
Somehow my letters--except those which come under the inexorable
imperative _must_ (the "ought" I manage well enough to shirk)--will
not get written. The fact is, I am in a croaking mood, and I am
waiting and waiting for it to pass by, so if my pen croaks in spite of
my resolutions to the contrary, please to take no notice of it. Ever
since I came back I have felt something like the madness which
imagines that the four walls are contracting and going to crush one.
Harriet Martineau (in a private letter shown to me), with
incomprehensible ignorance, jeers at Lewes for introducing
_psychology_ as a science in his Comte papers. Why, Comte himself
holds psychology to be a necessary link in the chain of science. Lewes
only suggests a change in its relations. There is a great, dreary
article on the Colonies by my side, asking for reading and abridgment,
so I cannot go on scribbling--indeed, my hands are so hot and
tremulous this morning that it will be better for you if I leave off.
Your little loving notes are very precious to me; but I say nothing
about matters of feeling till my good genius has returned from his
excursions; the evil one has possession just now.
[Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 11th Sept. 1852.]
The week has really yielded nothing worth telling you. I am a few
degrees more wizened and muddle-headed; and the articles for the
_Review_ are, on the whole, unsatisfactory. I fear a discerning public
will think this number a sad falling-off. This is the greater pity,
that said public is patronizing us well at present. Scarcely a day
passes that some one does not write to order the _Review_, as a
permanent subscriber. You may as well expect news from an old spider
or bat as from me. I can only tell you what I think of the "Blithedale
Romance," of "Uncle Tom's Cabin," and the American Fishery
Dispute--all which, I am very sure, you don't want to know. Do have
pity on me, and make a little variety in my life, by all sending me a
scrap--never mind if it be only six lines apiece. Perhaps something
will befall me one day or other. As it is, nothing happens to me but
the ringing of the dinner-bell and the arrival of a proof. I have no
courage to walk out.
[Sidenote: Letter to Charles Bray, 18th Sept. 1852.]
Lewes called on me the other day and told me of a conversation with
Professor Owen, in which the latter declared his conviction that the
cerebrum was not the organ of the mind, but the cerebellum rather. He
founds on the enormous comparative size of brain in the grampus! The
professor has a huge anterior lobe of his own. What would George Combe
say if I were to tell him? But every great man has his paradox, and
that of the first anatomist in Europe ought to be a startling one.
[Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, Saturday, Sept. 1852.]
We shall make a respectable figure after all--nine articles, and two
or three of them good, the rest not bad. The _Review_ has been selling
well lately, in spite of its being the end of the quarter. We have
made splendid provision for January--Froude, Harriet Martineau,
Theodore Parker, Samuel Brown, etc., etc. The autumnal freshness of
the mornings makes me dream of mellowing woods and gossamer threads. I
am really longing for my journey. Bessie Parkes spent last evening
with me, chatting of experience.
[Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 2d Oct. 1852.]
Pity me--I have had the headache for four days incessantly. But now I
am well, and even the Strand seems an elysium by contrast. I set off
on Tuesday for Edinburgh by express. This is awfully expensive, but it
seems the only way of reaching there alive with my frail body. I have
had the kindest notes from the Combes and from Harriet Martineau.
[Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 7th Oct. 1852.]
Here I am in this beautiful Auld Reekie once more--hardly recognizing
myself for the same person as the _damozel_ who left it by the coach
with a heavy heart some six years ago. The Combes are all kindness,
and I am in clover--an elegant house, glorious fires, and a
comfortable carriage--in short, just in the circumstances to nourish
sleek optimism, convince one that this is _le meilleur des mondes
possibles_, and make one shudder at the impiety of all who doubt it.
Last evening Mr. Robert Cox came to tea, to be introduced to me as my
_cicerone_ through the lions of Edinburgh. The talk last night was
pleasant enough, though, of course, all the interlocutors besides Mr.
Combe have little to do but shape elegant modes of negation and
affirmation, like the people who are talked to by Socrates in Plato's
dialogues--"Certainly," "that I firmly believe," etc. I have a
beautiful view from my room window--masses of wood, distant hills, the
Firth, and four splendid buildings, clotted far apart--not an ugly
object to be seen. When I look out in the morning, it is as if I had
waked up in Utopia or Icaria, or one of Owen's parallelograms. The
weather is perfect--all the more delightful to me for its northern
sharpness, which is just what I wanted to brace me. I have been out
walking and driving all day, and have only time before dinner to send
this _paar Worte_, but I may have still less time to-morrow.
[Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 12th Oct. 1852.]
Between the beauty of the weather and the scenery, and the kindness of
good people, I am tipsy with pleasure. But I shall tell you nothing of
what I see and do, because that would be taking off some of the edge
from your pleasure in seeing me. One's dear friend who has nothing at
all to tell one is a bore. Is it not so, honor bright? I enjoy talking
to Mr. Combe; he can tell me many things, especially about men in
America and elsewhere, which are valuable; and, besides, I sometimes
manage to get in more than a negative or affirmative. He and Mrs.
Combe are really affectionate to me, and the mild warmth of their
regard, with the perfect order and elegance of everything about me,
are just the soothing influence to do me good. They urge me to stay
longer, but I shall adhere to my original determination of going to
Miss Martineau's on the 20th, and I do not _mean_ to stay with her
longer than the 25th. We are going to-day to Craigcrook (Jeffrey's
place), a beautiful spot, which old October has mellowed into his
richest tints. Such a view of Edinburgh from it!
[Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 12th Oct. 1852.]
Those who know the article on Whewell to be Mill's, generally think it
good, but I confess to me it is unsatisfactory. The sun _does_ shine
here, albeit this is the 12th October. I wish you could see the view
from Salisbury Crag.
[Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 19th Oct. 1852.]
Yes, he is an apostle. An apostle, it is true, with a back and front
drawing-room, but still earnest, convinced, consistent, having fought
a good fight, and now peacefully enjoying the retrospect of it. I
shall leave these good friends with regret, almost with repentings,
that I did not determine to pay them a longer visit. I have had a
pleasant note from Miss Martineau this morning, with a vignette of her
house--I suppose to make me like all the better the idea of going
there.
[Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, Thursday night, 22d Oct. 1852.]
The coach brought me to Miss Martineau's gate at half-past six
yesterday evening, and she was there, with a beaming face, to welcome
me. Mr. Atkinson joined us this morning, and is a very agreeable
addition. There has been an intelligent gentleman visitor to-day, who
is interested in Miss Martineau's building society; and we have been
trudging about, looking at cottages and enjoying the sight of the
mountains, spite of the rain and mist. The weather is not promising,
that is the worst of it. Miss M. is charming in her own home--quite
handsome from her animation and intelligence. She came behind me, put
her hands round me, and kissed me in the prettiest way this evening,
telling me she was so glad she had got me here. I send you her note
that you may have an idea of "The Knoll."
[Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 24th Oct. 1852.]
We had a fine day yesterday, and went to Borrowdale. I have not been
well since I have been here. Still I manage to enjoy, certainly not
myself, but my companions and the scenery. I shall set off from here
on Tuesday morning, and shall be due at the Coventry station, I
believe, at 5.50.
After a pleasant ten days' visit to Rosehill, Miss Evans
returned to London on the 3d November.
[Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 6th Nov. 1852.]
To get into a first-class carriage, fall asleep, and awake to find
one's self where one would be, is almost as good as having Prince
Hussein's carpet. This was my easy way of getting to London on
Thursday. By 5 o'clock I had unpacked my boxes and made my room tidy,
and then I began to feel some satisfaction in being settled down where
I am of most use just now. After dinner came Herbert Spencer, and
spent the evening. Yesterday morning Mr. Greg called on his way to
Paris, to express his regret that he did not see me at Ambleside. He
is very pleasing, but somehow or other he frightens me dreadfully. I
am going to plunge into Thackeray's novel now ("Esmond").
[Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, Saturday, Nov. (?) 1852.]
Oh, this hideous fog! Let me grumble, for I have had headache the last
three days, and there seems little prospect of anything else in such
an atmosphere. I am ready to vow that I will not live in the Strand
again after Christmas. If I were not choked by the fog, the time would
trot pleasantly withal, but of what use are brains and friends when
one lives in a light such as might be got in the chimney? "Esmond" is
the most uncomfortable book you can imagine. You remember how you
disliked "François le Champi." Well, the story of "Esmond" is just the
same. The hero is in love with the daughter all through the book, and
marries the mother at the end. You should read the debates on the
opening of Parliament in the _Times_. Lord Brougham, the greatest of
English orators, perpetrates the most delicious _non sequitur_ I have
seen for a long time. "My Lords, I believe that any disturbance of the
repose of the world is very remote, _because it is our undeniable
right and an unquestionable duty_ to be prepared with the means of
defence, should such an event occur." These be thy gods, O Israel!
[Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, Monday, 20th Nov. 1852.]
I perceive your reading of the golden rule is "Do as you are done by;"
and I shall be wiser than to expect a letter from you another Monday
morning, when I have not earned it by my Saturday's billet. The fact
is, both callers and work thicken--the former sadly interfering with
the latter. I will just tell you how it was last Saturday, and that
will give you an idea of my days. My task was to read an article of
Greg's in the _North British_ on "Taxation," a heap of newspaper
articles, and all that J. S. Mill says on the same subject. When I had
got some way into this _magnum mare_, in comes Mr. Chapman, with a
thick German volume. "Will you read enough of this to give me your
opinion of it?" Then of course I must have a walk after lunch, and
when I had sat down again, thinking that I had two clear hours before
dinner, rap at the door--Mr. Lewes, who, of course, sits talking till
the second bell rings. After dinner another visitor, and so behold me,
at 11 P.M., still very far at sea on the subject of Taxation, but too
tired to keep my eyes open. We had Bryant the poet last evening--a
pleasant, quiet, elderly man. Do you know of this second sample of
plagiarism by D'Israeli, detected by the _Morning Chronicle_?[40] It
is worth sending for its cool impudence. Write me some news about
trade, at all events. I could tolerate even Louis Napoleon, if somehow
or other he could have a favorable influence on the Coventry trade.
[Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 4th Dec. 1852.]
Another week almost "with the years beyond the flood." What has it
brought you? To me it has brought articles to read--for the most part
satisfactory--new callers, and letters to nibble at my time, and a
meeting of the Association for the Abolition of Taxes on Knowledge. I
am invited to go to the Leigh Smiths on Monday evening to meet Mr.
Robert Noel. Herbert Spencer is invited, too, because Mr. Noel wants
especially to see him. Barbara Smith speaks of Mr. R. Noel as their
"dear German friend." So the Budget is come out, and I am to pay
income-tax. All very right, of course. An enlightened personage like
me has no "ignorant impatience of taxation." I am glad to hear of the
Lectures to Young Men and the banquet of the Laborers' Friend Society.
"Be not weary in well-doing." Thanks to Sara for her letter. She must
not mind paying the income-tax; it is a right principle that Dizzy is
going upon; and with her great conscientiousness she ought to enjoy
being flayed on a right principle.
[Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 10th Dec. 1852.]
I am not well--all out of sorts--and what do you think I am minded to
do? Take a return ticket, and set off by the train to-morrow 12
o'clock, have a talk with you and a blow over the hill, and come back
relieved on Monday. I the rather indulge myself in this, because I
think I shall not be able to be with you until some time after
Christmas. Pray forgive me for not sending you word before. I have
only just made up my mind.
This visit to Rosehill lasted only from the 11th to 13th
December, and the following short note is the next
communication:
[Sidenote: Letter to Charles Bray, 19th (?) Dec. 1852.]
I am very wretched to-day on many accounts, and am only able to write
you two or three lines. I have heard this morning that Mr. Clarke is
dangerously ill. Poor Chrissey and her children. Thank you for your
kind letter.
[Sidenote: Letter to Charles Bray, 21st Dec. 1852.]
I dare say you will have heard, before you receive this, that Edward
Clarke is dead. I am to go to the funeral, which will take place on
Friday. I am debating with myself as to what I ought to do now for
poor Chrissey, but I must wait until I have been on the spot and seen
my brother. If you hear no more from me, I shall trust to your
goodness to give me a bed on Thursday night.
[Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, Christmas Day, 25th Dec. 1852, from
Meriden.]
Your love and goodness are a comforting presence to me everywhere,
whether I am ninety or only nine miles away from you. Chrissey bears
her trouble much better than I expected. We hope that an advantageous
arrangement may be made about the practice; and there is a
considerable sum in debts to be collected. I shall return to town on
Wednesday. It would have been a comfort to see you again before going
back, but there are many reasons for not doing so. I am satisfied now
that my duties do not lie _here_, though the dear creatures here will
be a constant motive for work and economy.
[Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 31st Dec. 1852.]
I arrived here only yesterday. I had agreed with Chrissey that, all
things considered, it was wiser for me to return to town; that I could
do her no substantial good by staying another week, while I should be
losing time as to other matters.
[Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 7th Jan. 1853.]
I am out of spirits about the _Review_. I should be glad to run away
from it altogether. But one thing is clear, that it would be a great
deal worse if I were not here. This is the only thought that consoles
me. We are thinking of sending Chrissey's eldest boy to Australia. A
patient of his father's has offered to place him under suitable
protection at Adelaide, and I strongly recommend Chrissey to accept
her offer--that is, if she will let it be available a year hence; so I
have bought Sidney's book on Australia, and am going to send it to
Chrissey, to enlighten her about matters there, and accustom her mind
to the subject. You are "jolly," I dare say, as good people have a
right to be. Tell me as much of your happiness as you can, that I may
rejoice in your joy, having none of my own.
[Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, Jan. 1853.]
I begin to feel for other people's wants and sorrows a little more
than I used to do. Heaven help us! said the old religion; the new one,
from its very lack of that faith, will teach us all the more to help
one another. Tell Sara she is as good as a group of spice-islands to
me; she wafts the pleasantest influences, even from a distance.
[Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 10th Jan. 1853.]
Pray do not lay the sins of the article on the "Atomic Theory" to poor
Lewes's charge. How you could take it for his I cannot conceive. It is
as remote from his style, both of thinking and writing, as anything
can be.
[Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 18th Jan. 1853.]
This week has yielded nothing to me but a crop of very large
headaches. The pain has gone from my head at last, but I am feeling
very much shattered, and find it easier to cry than to do anything
else.
[Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor, 1st Feb. 1853.]
My complaint, of which I am now happily rid, was rheumatism in the
right arm; a sufficient reason, you will see, for my employing a
scribe to write that promise which I now fulfil. I am going into the
country, perhaps for a fortnight, so that, if you are kind enough to
come here on Wednesday evening, I shall not have the pleasure of
seeing you. All the more reason for writing to you, in spite of cold
feet and the vilest pens in the world.
Francis Newman is likely to come once or twice in the season; not
more. He has, of course, a multitude of engagements, and many more
attractive ones than a _soirée_ in the Strand.
Never mention me to him in the character of editress. I think--at
least, I am told--that he has no high estimate of woman's powers and
functions. But let that pass. He is a very pure, noble being, and it
is good only to look at such.
The article on "Slavery," in the last number of the
_Westminster_--which I think the best article of them all--is by W. E.
Forster, a Yorkshire manufacturer, who married Dr. Arnold's daughter.
He is a very earnest, independent thinker, and worth a gross of
literary hacks who have the "trick" of writing.
I hope you are interested in the Slavery question, and in America
generally--that cradle of the future. I used resolutely to turn away
from American politics, and declare that the United States was the
last region of the world I should care to visit. Even now I almost
loathe the _common_ American type of character. But I am converted to
a profound interest in the history, the laws, the social and religious
phases of North America, and long for some knowledge of them.
Is it not cheering to think of the youthfulness of this little planet,
and the immensely greater youthfulness of our race upon it? to think
that the higher moral tendencies of human nature are yet only in their
germ? I feel this more thoroughly when I think of that great western
continent, with its infant cities, its huge, uncleared forests, and
its unamalgamated races.
I dare say you have guessed that the article on "Ireland" is Harriet
Martineau's. Herbert Spencer did _not_ contribute to the last number.
_À propos_ of articles, do you see the _Prospective Review_? There is
an admirable critique of Kingsley's "Phaethon" in it, by James
Martineau. But perhaps you may not be as much in love with Kingsley's
genius, and as much "riled" by his faults, as I am.
Of course you have read "Ruth" by this time. Its style was a great
refreshment to me, from its finish and fulness. How women have the
courage to write, and publishers the spirit to buy, at a high price,
the false and feeble representations of life and character that most
feminine novels give, is a constant marvel to me. "Ruth," with all its
merits, will not be an enduring or classical fiction--will it? Mrs.
Gaskell seems to me to be constantly misled by a love of sharp
contrasts--of "dramatic" effects. She is not contented with the
subdued coloring, the half-tints, of real life. Hence she agitates one
for the moment, but she does not secure one's lasting sympathy; her
scenes and characters do not become typical. But how pretty and
graphic are the touches of description! That little attic in the
minister's house, for example, which, with its pure white dimity
bed-curtains, its bright-green walls, and the rich brown of its
stained floor, remind one of a snowdrop springing out of the soil.
Then the rich humor of Sally, and the sly satire in the description of
Mr. Bradshaw. Mrs. Gaskell has, certainly, a charming mind, and one
cannot help loving her as one reads her books.
A notable book just come out is Wharton's "Summary of the Laws
relating to Women." "Enfranchisement of women" only makes creeping
progress; and that is best, for woman does not yet deserve a much
better lot than man gives her.
I am writing to you the last thing, and am so tired that I am not
quite sure whether I finish my sentences. But your divining power will
supply their deficiencies.
The first half of February was spent in visits to the Brays
and to Mrs. Clarke, at Attleboro, and on returning to London
Miss Evans writes:
[Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 15th Feb. 1853.]
I am only just returned to a sense of the real world about me, for I
have been reading "Villette," a still more wonderful book than "Jane
Eyre." There is something almost preternatural in its power.
[Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 19th Feb. 1853.]
Mrs. Follen showed me a delightful letter which she has had from Mrs.
Stowe, telling all about herself. She begins by saying: "I am a little
bit of a woman, rather more than forty, as withered and dry as a pinch
of snuff; never very well worth looking at in my best days, and now a
decidedly used-up article." The whole letter is most fascinating, and
makes one love her.
"Villette," "Villette"--have you read it?
[Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 25th Feb. 1853.]
We had an agreeable evening on Wednesday--a Mr. Huxley being the
centre of interest. Since then I have been headachy and in a perpetual
rage over an article that gives me no end of trouble, and will not be
satisfactory after all. I should like to stick red-hot skewers through
the writer, whose style is as sprawling as his handwriting. For the
rest, I am in excellent spirits, though not in the best health or
temper. I am in for loads of work next quarter, but I shall not tell
you what I am going to do.
[Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 19th Mch. 1853.]
I have been ready to tear my hair with disappointment about the next
number of the _Review_. In short, I am a miserable editor. I think I
shall never have the energy to move--it seems to be of so little
consequence where I am or what I do.
[Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 28th Mch. 1853.]
On Saturday I was correcting proofs literally from morning till night;
yesterday ditto. The _Review_ will be better than I once feared, but
not so good as I once hoped. I suppose the weather has chilled your
charity as well as mine. I am very hard and Mephistophelian just now,
but I lay it all to this second winter. We had a pleasant evening last
Wednesday. Lewes, as always, genial and amusing. He has quite won my
liking, in spite of myself. Of course, Mr. Bray highly approves the
recommendation of the Commissioners on _Divorce_. I have been to
Blandford Square (Leigh Smith's) to an evening party this week. Dined
at Mr. Parkes's on Sunday, and am invited to go there again to-night
to meet the Smiths. Lewes was describing Currer Bell to me yesterday
as a little, plain, provincial, sickly looking old maid. Yet what
passion, what fire in her! Quite as much as in George Sand, only the
clothing is less voluptuous.
[Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 11th April, 1853.]
What do you think of my going to Australia with Chrissey and all her
family?--to settle them, and then come back. I am just going to write
to her, and suggest the idea. One wants _something_ to keep up one's
faith in happiness--a ray or two for one's friends, if not for one's
self.
[Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 16th April, 1853.]
We had an agreeable _soirée_ last Wednesday. I fell in love with Helen
Faucit. She is the most poetic woman I have seen for a long time;
there is the ineffable charm of a fine character which makes itself
felt in her face, voice, and manner. I am taking doses of agreeable
follies, as you recommend. Last night I went to the French theatre,
and to-night I am going to the opera to hear "William Tell." People
are very good to me. Mr. Lewes, especially, is kind and attentive, and
has quite won my regard, after having had a good deal of my
vituperation. Like a few other people in the world, he is much better
than he seems. A man of heart and conscience, wearing a mask of
flippancy. When the warm days come, and the bearskin is under the
acacia, you must have me again.
6th May.--Went to Rosehill and returned on 23d to Strand.
[Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 17th June, 1853.]
On Wednesday I dined at Sir James Clark's, where the Combes are
staying, and had a very pleasant evening. The Combes have taken
lodgings in Oxford Terrace, where I mean to go. It is better than the
Strand--trees waving before the windows, and no noise of omnibuses.
Last Saturday evening I had quite a new pleasure. We went to see
Rachel again, and sat on the stage between the scenes. When the
curtain fell we walked about and saw the green-room, and all the
dingy, dusty paraphernalia that make up theatrical splendor. I have
not yet seen the "Vashti" of Currer Bell in Rachel, though there was
some approach to it in Adrienne Lecouvreur.
[Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 28th June, 1853.]
On Saturday we will go to Ockley, near Dorking, where are staying Miss
Julia Smith, Barbara Smith, and Bessie Parkes. I shall write to the
Ockley party to-day and tell them of the probability that they will
see you.
[Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 3d Aug. 1853, from St. Leonards.]
I never felt the delight of the thorough change that the coast gives
one so much as now, and I shall be longing to be off with you again in
October. I am on a delightful hill looking over the heads of the
houses, and having a vast expanse of sea and sky for my only view. The
bright weather and genial air--so different from what I have had for a
year before--make me feel as happy and stupid as a well-conditioned
cow. I sit looking at the sea and the sleepy ships with a purely
animal _bien être_.
[Sidenote: Letter to Mr. Bray, 9th Aug. 1853.]
It would have been a satisfaction to your benevolence to see me
sitting on the beach laughing at the _Herald's_ many jokes, and
sympathizing with your indignation against Judge Maule. It always
helps me to be happy when I know that you are so; but I do not choose
to vindicate myself against doubts of that, because it is unworthy of
you to entertain them. I am going on as well as possible
physically--really getting stout. I should like to have a good laugh
with you immensely. How nice it would be to meet you and Cara on the
beach this evening, and instead of sending you such a miserable
interpreter of one's feelings as a letter, give you the look and the
hand of warm affection! This British Channel really looks as blue as
the Mediterranean to-day. What weather!
[Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 18th Aug. 1853.]
For the first time in my experience I am positively revelling in the
_Prospective_. James Martineau transcends himself in beauty of imagery
in the article on Sir William Hamilton, but I have not finished him
yet. Yesterday it rained _sans_ intermission, and of course I said
_cui bono?_ and found my troubles almost more than I could bear; but
to-day the sun shines, and there is blue above and blue below,
consequently I find life very glorious, and myself a particularly
fortunate _diavolessa_. The landlord of my lodgings is a German, comes
from Saxe-Weimar, knows well the Duchess of Orleans, and talked to me
this morning of _Mr._ Schiller and _Mr._ Goethe. _À propos_ of Goethe,
there is a most true, discriminating passage about him in the article
on Shakespeare in the _Prospective_. _Mr._ Goethe is one of my
companions here, and I had felt some days before reading the passage
the truth which it expresses.
Subjoined is the passage from the _Prospective Review_ of
August, 1853:
"Goethe's works are too much in the nature of literary
studies; the mind is often deeply impressed by them, but one
doubts if the author was. He saw them as he saw the houses of
Weimar and the plants in the act of metamorphosis. He had a
clear perception of their fixed condition and their
successive transitions, but he did not really (at least so it
seems to us) comprehend their motive power. In a word, he
appreciated their life but not their liveliness.... And we
trace this not to a defect in imaginative power--a defect
which it would be a simple absurdity to impute to Goethe--but
to the tone of his character and the habits of his mind. He
moved hither and thither through life, but he was always a
man apart. He mixed with unnumbered kinds of men, with courts
and academies, students and women, camps and artists, but
everywhere he was with them, yet not of them. In every scene
he was there, and he made it clear that he was there with a
reserve and as a stranger. He went there _to experience_. As
a man of universal culture, and well skilled in the order
and classification of human life, the fact of any one class
or order being beyond his reach or comprehension seemed an
absurdity; and it was an absurdity. He thought that he was
equal to moving in any description of society, and he was
equal to it; but then, on that account, he was absorbed in
none."
[Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 19th Sept. 1853.]
As for me, I am in the best health and spirits. I have had a letter
from Mr. Combe to-day, urging me to go to Edinburgh, but I have made
an engagement with Mr. Chapman to do work which will oblige me to
remain in London. Mrs. P. is a very bonny, pleasant-looking woman,
with a smart drawing-room and liberal opinions--in short, such a
friend as self-interest, well understood, would induce one to
cultivate. I find it difficult to meet with any lodgings at once
tolerable and cheap. My theory is to _live_ entirely--that is, pay
rent and find food--out of my positive income, and then work for as
large a surplus as I can get. The next number of the _Review_ will be
better than usual. Froude writes on the "Book of Job"! He at first
talked of an article on the three great _subjective_ poems--Job,
Faust, and Hamlet--an admirable subject--but it has shrunk to the Book
of Job alone.
[Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 1st Oct. 1853.]
I have been busied about my lodgings all afternoon. I am not going to
Albion Street, but to 21 Cambridge Street, Hyde Park Square. I hope
you will be pleased with our present number. If you don't think the
"Universal Postulate" first-rate, I shall renounce you as a critic.
Why don't you write grumbling letters to me when you are out of humor
with life, instead of making me ashamed of myself for ever having
grumbled to you? I have been a more good-for-nothing correspondent
than usual lately; this affair of getting lodgings, added to my other
matters, has taken up my time and thoughts. I have promised to do some
work to-night and to-morrow for a person[41] who is rather more idle
than myself, so I have not a moment to spare.
[Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 22d Oct. 1853.]
I am reading "The Religion of the Heart" (Leigh Hunt's), and am far
more pleased with it than I expected to be. I have just fallen on two
passages with which you will agree. "Parker ... is full of the poetry
of religion; Martineau equally so, with a closer style and incessant
eloquence of expression, perhaps a perilous superabundance of it as
regards the claims of matter over manner; and his assumptions of
perfection in the character of Jesus are so reiterated and peremptory
that in a man of less evident heart and goodness they might almost
look like a very unction of insincerity or of policy, of doubt forcing
itself to seem undoubting. Hennell's 'Christian Theism' is one long,
beautiful discourse proclaiming the great Bible of Creation, and
reconciling Pagan and Christian Philosophy."
Good Sir James Clark stopped me in the Park yesterday, as I was
sauntering along with eyes on the clouds, and made very fatherly
inquiries about me, urging me to spend a quiet evening with him and
Lady Clark next week--which I will certainly do; for they are two
capital people, without any snobbery. I like my lodgings--the
housekeeper cooks charming little dinners for me, and I have not one
disagreeable to complain of at present, save such as are inseparable
from a ground-floor.
[Sidenote: Letter to Mr. Bray, 29th Oct. 1853.]
Last night I saw the first fine specimen of a man in the shape of a
clergyman that I ever met with--Dawes, the Dean of Hereford. He is the
man who has been making the experiment of mingling the middle and
lower classes in schools. He has a face so intelligent and benignant
that children might grow good by looking at it. Harriet Martineau
called yesterday. She is going to her brother's at Birmingham soon.
[Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 3d Nov. 1853.]
Mr. Lewes was at Cambridge about a fortnight ago, and found that
Herbert Spencer was a great deal talked of there for the article on
the "Universal Postulate," as well as other things. Mr. Lewes himself
has a knot of devotees there who make his "History of Philosophy" a
private text-book. Miss Martineau's "Comte" is out now. Do you mean to
_do_ it? or Mr. Lewes's? We can get no one to write an article on
Comte for the next number of the _Westminster_--Bain, our last hope,
refusing.
[Sidenote: Letter to Mr. Bray, 5th Nov. 1853.]
I think you would find some capital extracts for the _Herald_
(Coventry), in the article on "Church Parties" in the _Edinburgh_. The
_Record_ is attempting a reply to it, in which it talks of the
truculent infidelity of _Voltaire_ AND _Robespierre_! Has A. sent you
his book on the Sabbath? If ever I write a book I will make a present
of it to nobody; it is the surest way of taking off the edge of
appetite for it, if no more. I am as well as possible; and certainly,
when I put my head into the house in the Strand, I feel that I have
gained, or, rather, escaped, a great deal physically by my change.
Have you known the misery of writing with a _tired_ steel pen, which
is reluctant to make a mark? If so, you will know why I leave off.
[Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Houghton, 7th Nov. 1853.]
Chrissey has just sent me a letter, which tells that you have been
suffering severely, and that you are yet very ill. I must satisfy my
own feelings by telling you that I grieve at this, though it will do
you little good to know it. Still, when _I_ am suffering, I do care
for sympathy, and perhaps you are of the same mind. If so, think of me
as your loving sister, who remembers all your kindness to her, all the
pleasant hours she has had with you, and every little particular of
her intercourse with you, however long and far she may have been
removed from you. Dear Fanny, I can never be indifferent to your
happiness or sorrow, and in this present sad affliction my thoughts
and love are with you. I shall tease you with no words about myself
_now_--perhaps by and by it will amuse you to have a longer letter.
[Sidenote: Letter to Mr. Bray, 8th Nov. 1853.]
Hitherto I have been spending £9 per month--at least after that
rate--but I have had frequent guests. I am exceedingly comfortable,
and feel quite at home now. Harriet Martineau has been very
kind--called again on Tuesday, and yesterday sent to invite me to go
to Lady Compton's, where she is staying, on Saturday evening. This,
too, in spite of my having vexed her by introducing Mr. Lewes to her,
which I did as a desirable bit of peacemaking.
[Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 22d Nov. 1853 (thirty-fourth
birthday).]
I begin this year more happily than I have done most years of my life.
"Notre vraie destinée," says Comte, "se compose de _resignation_ et
_d'activité_"--and I seem more disposed to both than I have ever been
before. Let us hope that we shall both get stronger by the year's
activity--calmer by its resignation. I know it may be just the
contrary--don't suspect me of being a canting optimist. We _may_ both
find ourselves at the end of the year going faster to the hell of
conscious moral and intellectual weakness. Still, there is a
possibility--even a probability--the other way. I have not seen
Harriet Martineau's "Comte" yet--she is going to give me a copy--but
Mr. Lewes tells me it seems to him admirably well done. I told Mr.
Chapman yesterday that I wished to give up my connection with the
editorship of the _Westminster_. He wishes me to continue the present
state of things until April. I shall be much more satisfied on many
accounts to have done with that affair; but I shall find the question
of supplies rather a difficult one this year, as I am not likely to
get any money either for "Feuerbach" or for "The Idea of a Future
Life,"[42] for which I am to have "half profits"=0/0!
I hope you will appreciate this _bon-mot_ as I do--"C'est un homme
admirable--il se tait en sept langues!"[43]
[Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 2d Dec. 1853.]
I am going to detail all my troubles to you. In the first place, the
door of my sitting-room doesn't quite fit, and a draught is the
consequence. Secondly, there is a piano in the house which has
decidedly entered on its second childhood, and this piano is
occasionally played on by Miss P. with a really enviable _aplomb_.
Thirdly, the knocks at the door startle me--an annoyance inseparable
from a ground-floor room. Fourthly, Mrs. P. scolds the servants
_stringendo e fortissimo_ while I am dressing in the morning.
Fifthly--there is no fifthly. I really have not another discomfort
when I am well, which, alas! I have not been for the last ten days;
so, while I have been up to the chin in possibilities of enjoyment, I
have been too sick and headachy to use them. One thing is needful--a
good digestion.
[Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 28th Dec. 1853.]
Spent Christmas Day alone at Cambridge Street. How shall I thank you
enough for sending me that splendid barrel of beet-root, so nicely
packed? I shall certainly eat it and enjoy it, which, I fancy, is the
end you sought, and not thanks. Don't suppose that I am looking
miserable--_au contraire_. My only complaints just now are idleness
and dislike-to-getting-up-in-the-morningness, whereby the day is made
too short for what I want to do. I resolve every day to conquer the
flesh the next, and, of course, am a little later in consequence. I
dined with Arthur Helps yesterday at Sir James Clark's--very
snug--only he and myself. He is a sleek man, with close-snipped hair;
has a quiet, humorous way of talking, like his books.
At the beginning of January, 1854, there was another visit to
Mrs. Clarke, at Attleboro, for ten days.
[Sidenote: Letter to Charles Bray, 6th Feb. 1854.]
In the last number of the _Scotsman_ which I sent you there was a
report of a speech by Dr. Guthrie at the Education meeting, containing
a passage which I meant to have copied. He is speaking of the
impossibility of teaching morality with the "Bible shut," and says
that in that case the teacher would be obliged to resort to "congruity
and the fitness of things," about which the boy knows nothing more
than that the apple is _fit_ for his mouth. What is wanted to convince
the boy of his sin is, "Thou God seest me," and "Thou bleeding Lamb,
the best morality is love of thee!" Mr. Lewes came a few minutes after
you left, and desired me to tell you that he was sorry to miss you.
[Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Houghton, 6th April, 1854.]
Thank you for your very kind letter, which I received this morning. It
is pleasant to think of you as quite well, and enjoying your
sea-breezes.
But do you imagine me sitting with my hands crossed, ready to start
for any quarter of the world at the shortest notice. It is not on
those terms that people, not rich, live in London. I shall be deep in
proof-sheets till the end of May, and shall only dismiss them to make
material for new ones. I dare say you will pity me. But, as one of
Balzac's characters says, after maturity, "La vie n'est que l'exercice
d'une habitude dans un milieu préféré;" and I could no more live out
of my _milieu_ than the haddocks I dare say you are often having for
dinner.
My health is better. I had got into a labyrinth of headaches and
palpitations, but I think I am out of it now, and I hope to keep well.
I am not the less obliged to you, dear Fanny, for wishing to have me
with you. But to leave London now would not be agreeable to me, even
if it were morally possible. To see you again would certainly be a
pleasure, but I hope that will come to pass without my crossing the
Irish Channel.
[Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, Saturday, 18th April, 1854.]
I am rather overdone with the week's work, and the prospect of what is
to come next. Poor Lewes is ill, and is ordered not to put pen to
paper for a month; so I have something to do for him in addition to my
own work, which is rather pressing. He is gone to Arthur Helps, in
Hampshire, for ten days, and I really hope this total cessation from
work, in obedience to a peremptory order, will end in making him
better than he has been for the last year. No opera and no fun for me
for the next month. Happily, I shall have no time to regret it. Plenty
of bright sun on your anemone bed. How lovely your place must look,
with its fresh leaves!
[Sidenote: Letter to Charles Bray, 23d May, 1854.]
It is quite possible that I may wish to go to the Continent, or twenty
other things. Mr. Lewes is going on a walking excursion to Windsor
to-day with his doctor, who pronounces him better, but not yet fit
for work. However, he is obliged to do a little, and must content
himself with an _approximation_ to his doctor's directions. In this
world all things are approximations, and in the system of the Dog Star
too, in spite of Dr. Whewell.
[Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, Friday, no date, 1854.]
My troubles are purely psychical--self-dissatisfaction, and despair of
achieving anything worth the doing. I can truly say they vanish into
nothing before any fear for the happiness of those I love. Thank you
for letting me know how things are, for indeed I could not bear to be
shut out from your anxieties. When I spoke of myself as an island, I
did not mean that I was so exceptionally. We are all islands--
"Each in his hidden sphere of joy or woe,
Our hermit spirits dwell and roam apart"--
and this seclusion is sometimes the most intensely felt at the very
moment your friend is caressing you or consoling you. But this
gradually becomes a source of satisfaction instead of repining. When
we are young we think our troubles a mighty business--that the world
is spread out expressly as a stage for the particular drama of our
lives, and that we have a right to rant and foam at the mouth if we
are crossed. I have done enough of that in my time. But we begin at
last to understand that these things are important only to our own
consciousness, which is but as a globule of dew on a rose-leaf, that
at mid-day there will be no trace of. This is no high-flown
sentimentality, but a simple reflection, which I find useful to me
every day. I expect to see Mr. Lewes back again to-day. His poor
head--his only fortune--is not well yet; and he has had the misery of
being _ennuyé_ with idleness, without perceiving the compensating
physical improvement. Still, I hope the good he has been getting has
been greater than he has been conscious of. I expect "Feuerbach" will
be all in print by the end of next week, and there are no skippings,
except such as have been made on very urgent grounds.
[Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, Tuesday, 6th June, 1854.]
Thanks for your assurance of welcome. I will trust to it when the gods
send favorable circumstances. But I see no probability of my being
able to be with you before your other midsummer visitors arrive. I
delight to think that you are all a little more cheery.
[Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, Wednesday, 28th June, 1854.]
I reached the Euston Station as dusty as an old ledger, but with no
other "incommodity." I went to the Lyceum last night to see "Sunshine
through the Clouds,"[44] a wonderfully original and beautiful piece by
Mme. de Girardin, which makes one cry rather too much for pleasure.
Vestris acts finely the bereaved mother, passing through all the
gradations of doubt and hope to the actual recovery of her lost son.
My idea of you is rather bright just now, and really helps to make me
enjoy all that is enjoyable. That is part of the benefit I have had
from my pleasant visit, which was made up of sunshine, green fields,
pleasant looks, and good eatables--an excellent compound. Will you be
so kind as to send my books by railway, _without_ the Shelley?
[Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, Monday, 4th July, 1854.]
Pray consider the Strauss MSS. waste paper. _I_ shall never want them
again. I dined with your old acquaintance, Dr. Conolly, at Sir James
Clark's, the other day. He took me down to dinner, and we talked of
you.
The translation of Ludwig Feuerbach's "Wesen des
Christenthums" was published in July in "Chapman's Quarterly
Series," with Miss Evans's name on the titlepage as the
translator, the first and only time her real name appeared in
print.
[Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 10th July, 1854.]
I am going to pack up the Hebrew Grammar, the Apocryphal Gospels, and
your pretty Titian, to be sent to you. Shall I despatch them by rail
or deposit them with Mr. Chapman, to be asked for by Mr. Bray when he
comes to town? I shall soon send you a good-bye, for I am preparing to
go abroad (?). Herbert Spencer's article on the "Genesis of Science"
is a good one. He will stand in the Biographical Dictionaries of 1854
as "Spencer, Herbert, an original and profound philosophical writer,
especially known by his great work, ... which gave a new impulse to
psychology, and has mainly contributed to the present advanced
position of that science, compared with that which it had attained in
the middle of the last century. The life of this philosopher, like
that of the great Kant, offers little material for the narrator. Born
in the year 1820," etc.
[Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 20th July, 1854.]
Dear friends--all three--I have only time to say good-bye, and God
bless you. _Poste Restante_, Weimar, for the next six weeks, and
afterwards Berlin. Ever your loving and grateful Marian.
We have now been led up to the most important event in George
Eliot's life--her union with Mr. George Henry Lewes. Here, as
elsewhere, it seems to me to be of the first importance that
she should speak for herself; and there is, fortunately, a
letter to Mrs. Bray, dated in September, 1855--fourteen
months after the event--which puts on record the point of
view from which she regarded her own action. I give this
letter here (out of its place as to date); and I may add,
what, I think, has not been mentioned before, that not only
was Mr. Lewes's previous family life irretrievably spoiled,
but his home had been wholly broken up for nearly two years.
In forming a judgment on so momentous a question, it is,
above all things, necessary to understand what was actually
undertaken, what was actually achieved; and, in my opinion,
this can best be arrived at, not from any outside statement
or arguments, but by consideration of the whole tenor of the
life which follows, in the development of which Mr. Lewes's
true character, as well as George Eliot's, will unfold
itself. No words that any one else can write, no arguments
any one else can use, will, I think, be so impressive as the
life itself.
[Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 4th Sept. 1855.]
If there is any one action or relation of my life which is, and always
has been, profoundly serious, it is my relation to Mr. Lewes. It is,
however, natural enough that you should mistake me in many ways, for
not only are you unacquainted with Mr. Lewes's real character and the
course of his actions, but also it is several years now since you and
I were much together, and it is possible that the modifications my
mind has undergone may be quite in the opposite direction of what you
imagine. No one can be better aware than yourself that it is possible
for two people to hold different opinions on momentous subjects with
equal sincerity, and an equally earnest conviction that their
respective opinions are alone the truly moral ones. If we differ on
the subject of the marriage laws, I at least can believe of you that
you cleave to what you believe to be good; and I don't know of
anything in the nature of your views that should prevent you from
believing the same of me. _How far_ we differ I think we neither of us
know, for I am ignorant of your precise views; and, apparently, you
attribute to me both feelings and opinions which are not mine. We
cannot set each other quite right in this matter in letters, but one
thing I can tell you in few words. Light and easily broken ties are
what I neither desire theoretically nor could live for practically.
Women who are satisfied with such ties do _not_ act as I have done.
That any unworldly, unsuperstitious person who is sufficiently
acquainted with the realities of life can pronounce my relation to Mr.
Lewes immoral, I can only understand by remembering how subtile and
complex are the influences that mould opinion. But I _do_ remember
this: and I indulge in no arrogant or uncharitable thoughts about
those who condemn us, even though we might have expected a somewhat
different verdict. From the majority of persons, of course, we never
looked for anything but condemnation. We are leading no life of
self-indulgence, except, indeed, that, being happy in each other, we
find everything easy. We are working hard to provide for others better
than we provide for ourselves, and to fulfil every responsibility that
lies upon us. Levity and pride would not be a sufficient basis for
that. Pardon me if, in vindicating myself from some unjust
conclusions, I seem too cold and self-asserting. I should not care to
vindicate myself if I did not love you and desire to relieve you of
the pain which you say these conclusions have given you. Whatever I
may have misinterpreted before, I do not misinterpret your letter this
morning, but read in it nothing else than love and kindness towards
me, to which my heart fully answers yes. I should like never to write
about myself again; it is not healthy to dwell on one's own feelings
and conduct, but only to try and live more faithfully and lovingly
every fresh day. I think not one of the endless words and deeds of
kindness and forbearance you have ever shown me has vanished from my
memory. I recall them often, and feel, as about everything else in the
past, how deficient I have been in almost every relation of my life.
But that deficiency is irrevocable, and I can find no strength or
comfort except in "pressing forward towards the things that are
before," and trying to make the present better than the past. But if
we should never be very near each other again, dear Cara, do bear this
faith in your mind, that I was not insensible or ungrateful to all
your goodness, and that I am one among the many for whom you have not
lived in vain. I am very busy just now, and have been obliged to write
hastily. Bear this in mind, and believe that no meaning is mine which
contradicts my assurance that I am your affectionate and earnest
friend.
_SUMMARY._
MARCH, 1850, TO JULY, 1854.
Return to England with M. d'Albert--Depressing effect of
change--Visit to Rosehill--Visit to brother and sister at
Griff and Meriden--Deeper depression--To Rosehill again with
M. d'Albert--Makes her home there for sixteen months--Reviews
Mackay's "Progress of the Intellect" in _Westminster_--Meets
Mr. Chapman, the editor of the _Westminster_--Helps to settle
Prospectus of new series of the _Review_--Visits Robert Noel
at Bishop Steignton with Mrs. Bray--Visit to London--Crystal
Palace--Returns to Rosehill, and meets Mr. and Mrs. George
Combe--Goes to London as assistant editor of the _Westminster
Review_--Letters to Brays--Review writing: Dr. Brabant,
Foxton, Wilson--Meets Mr. Herbert Spencer--Miss
Martineau--Distractions of London--Low health--Miss
Bremer--Introduction to Mr. Lewes--Opinion of House of
Lords--Carlyle's "Life of Sterling"--Carlyle
anecdotes--Mackay--James Martineau--J. H. Newman's
Lectures--Translation of Schleiermacher--Letter from
Carlyle--Intimacy begins with Mr. Lewes--Reviews Carlyle's
"Sterling" in _Westminster_--Visit to Rosehill--Returns to
Strand--Harriet Martineau--Pierre Leroux--Louis Blanc--Miss
Bessie Parkes--Mrs. Peter Taylor--"Margaret Fuller's
Life"--Description of _Westminster_ reviewers--Growing
intimacy with Mr. Herbert Spencer--Meeting of authors and
booksellers at Mr. Chapman's--Admiration of Prince
Albert--Grisi--Hack work of _Review_--Appreciation of Miss
Martineau's writings--Singing of charity children at St.
Paul's--George Combe's opinion of _Westminster_
editing--Barbara Leigh Smith--Visit to Broadstairs--Florence
Nightingale--Return to Strand--Depression--Professor Owen on
the Cerebellum--Visit to Combes at Edinburgh, and to Harriet
Martineau at Ambleside--Return to London--Reading
"Esmond"--Lord Brougham's speech--Work in
Strand--Bryant--Visit to Rosehill--Death of Edward
Clarke--Visit to widowed sister at Meriden--Return to
Strand--Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor--Views on
America--"Ruth"--Visit to Rosehill, and to Mrs. Clarke at
Attleboro--Return to Strand--Reading "Villette"--Letter from
Mrs. Stowe to Mrs. Follen--Meets Huxley--Thinks of going to
Australia to settle Mrs. Clarke--Admiration of Helen
Faucit--Growing regard for Mr. Lewes--Kindness of Sir James
Clark--Visit to Ockley--Change to St. Leonard's--Improvement
in health--Return to Strand--Spencer's "Universal
Postulate"--Removal to 21 Cambridge Street--Leigh Hunt's
"Religion of the Heart"--Dawes, Dean of Hereford--Harriet
Martineau--Comte--Contemplates publishing "The Idea of a
Future Life"--Meets Arthur Helps--Intimate relations with Mr.
Lewes--Translation of Feuerbach--Visit to Rosehill--Return to
London--Feuerbach completed--Estimate of Herbert
Spencer--Good-bye to Brays--Union with Mr. Lewes--Letter to
Mrs. Bray thereon.
FOOTNOTES:
[31] Frederick Foxton, author of "Popular Christianity: its Transition
State and Probable Development."
[32] "Man's Nature and Development," by Martineau and Atkinson.
[33] This was a merely formal and casual introduction. That George
Eliot was ever brought into close relations with Mr. Lewes was due to
Mr. Herbert Spencer having taken him to call on her in the Strand
later in this year.
[34] Appeared in January, 1852, number of the _Westminster Review_,
No. 1 of the New Series.
[35] Review of Carlyle's "Life of Sterling" in _Westminster_, Jan.
1852.
[36] Published in the April, 1852, number of the _Westminster_.
[37] Now Madame Belloc, who remained to the end one of George Eliot's
closest friends.
[38] Mrs. Peter Taylor remained a lifelong and a valued friend of
George Eliot's, and many interesting letters in this volume are
addressed to her. I am glad also to take this opportunity of
expressing my thanks to her for procuring for me two other sets of
correspondence--the letters addressed to Mrs. Beecher Stowe and to
Mrs. William Smith.
[39] Afterwards Madame Bodichon--one of the three or four most
intimate friends of George Eliot, whose name will very often appear in
subsequent pages.
[40] Funeral oration on the Duke of Wellington.
[41] Correcting _Leader_ proofs for Mr. Lewes.
[42] Advertised in 1853-54 as to appear by "Marian Evans" in
"Chapman's Quarterly Series," but never published.
[43] Lord Acton tells me he first heard this _bon-mot_, in 1855,
related of Immanuel Bekker, the philologist.
[44] Translated and adapted from the French, "La joie fait peur," by
Mr. Lewes, under the name of Slingsby Lawrence.