Chapter V (2)

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.]