Part 18 (1/2)
She has been compared to the portraits of Savonarola (who was frightful) and of Dante (who though stern and bitter-looking, was handsome). _Something_ there was of both faces in George Eliot's physiognomy. Lewes told us in her presence, of the exclamation uttered suddenly by some one to whom she was pointed out at a place of public entertainment--I believe it was at a Monday Popular Concert in St.
James's Hall. ”That,” said a bystander, ”is George Eliot.” The gentleman to whom she was thus indicated gave one swift, searching look and exclaimed _sotto voce_, ”Dante's aunt!” Lewes thought this happy, and he recognised the kind of likeness that was meant to the great singer of the _Divine Comedy_. She herself playfully disclaimed any resemblance to Savonarola. But, although such resemblance was very distant--Savonarola's peculiarly unbalanced countenance being a strong caricature of hers--some likeness there was.
Her speaking voice was, I think, one of the most beautiful I ever heard, and she used it _conscientiously_, if I may say so. I mean that she availed herself of its modulations to give thrilling emphasis to what was profound in her utterances, and sweetness to what was gentle or playful. She bestowed great care too on her enunciation, disliking the slipshod mode of p.r.o.nouncing which is so common. I have several times heard her declare with enthusiasm that ours is a beautiful language, a n.o.ble language even to the ear, when properly spoken; and imitate with disgust the short, _snappy_, inarticulate way in which many people utter it. There was no touch of pedantry or affectation in her own measured, careful speech, although I can well imagine that she might have been accused of both by those persons--unfortunately more numerous than could be desired--who seem to take it for granted that _all_ difference from one's neighbour, and especially a difference in the direction of superiority, must be affected.
It has been thought by some persons that the influence of George Henry Lewes on her literary work was not a fortunate one, that he fostered too much the scientific bent of her mind to the detriment of its artistic richness. I do not myself hold this opinion. I am even inclined to think that but for his companions.h.i.+p and encouragement she might possibly never have written fiction at all. It is, I believe, impossible to over-estimate the degree to which the suns.h.i.+ne of his complete and understanding sympathy and his adoring affection developed her literary powers. She has written something to this effect--perhaps more than once; I have not her biography at hand at this moment for reference--in a letter to Miss Sara Hennell. And no one who saw them together in anything like intimate intercourse could doubt that it was true. As I have said before, Lewes wors.h.i.+pped her, and it is considered a somewhat unwholesome experience to be wors.h.i.+pped. Fortunately the process is not so common as to const.i.tute one of the dangers of life for the average human being! But in George Eliot's case I really believe the process was not deleterious. Her nature was at once stimulated and steadied by Lewes's boundless faith in her powers, and boundless admiration for their manifestation. Nor was it a case of sitting like an idol to be praised and incensed. Her own mental att.i.tude towards Lewes was one of warm admiration. She thought most highly of his scientific attainments, whether well foundedly or mistakenly I cannot pretend to gauge with accuracy. But she also admired and enjoyed the sparkling brightness of his talk, and the dramatic vivacity with which he entered into conversation and discussion, grave or gay. And on these points I may venture to record my opinion that she was quite right. I always used to think that the touch of Bohemianism about Lewes had a special charm for her. It must have offered so piquant a contrast with the middle-cla.s.s surroundings of her early life. I observed that she listened with great complacency to his talk of theatrical things and people. Lewes was fond of talking about acting and actors, and in telling stories of celebrated theatrical personages, would imitate--half involuntarily perhaps--their voice and manner. I remember especially his doing this with reference to Macready.
Both of them loved music extremely. It was a curious, and, to me, rather pathetic study to watch Lewes--a man naturally self-sufficient (I do not use the word in any odious sense), of a combative turn of intellect, and with scarcely any diffidence in his nature--so humbly admitting, and even insisting upon, ”Polly's” superiority to himself in every department. Once when he was walking with my wife in the garden of their house in Surrey, she turned the conversation which had been touching other topics to speak of George Eliot. ”Oh,” said Lewes, stopping short and looking at her with those bright eyes of his, ”_Your blood be on your own head_! I didn't begin it; but if you wish to speak of her, _I_ am always ready.” It was this complete candour, and the genuineness of his admiring love for her, which made its manifestations delightful, and freed them from offence.
CHAPTER XVI.
I have a great many letters from G.H. Lewes, and from George Eliot.
Many of the latter are addressed to my wife. And many, especially of those from Lewes, relating as they do mainly to matters of literary business, though always containing characteristic touches, are not of sufficient general interest to make it worth while to transcribe them for publication. In no case is there any word in any of them that would make it expedient to withhold them on any other ground. I might perhaps have introduced them into my narrative as nearly as possible at the times to which chronologically they refer. But it has seemed to me so probable that there may be many readers who may be glad of an opportunity of seeing these letters without feeling disposed to give their time to the rest of these volumes, that I have thought it best to throw them together in this place.
I will begin with one written from Blandford Square, by George Eliot to me, which is of great interest. It bears no date whatever, save that of place; but the subject of it dates it with considerable accuracy.
”DEAR MR. TROLLOPE,--I am very grateful to you for your notes.
Concerning _netto di specchio_, I have found a pa.s.sage in Varchi which decides the point according to _your_ impression.” [Pa.s.sages equally decisive might be found _pa.s.sim_ in the old Florentine historians.
And I ought to have referred her to them. But as she had altogether mistaken the meaning of the phrase, I had insinuated my correction as little presumptuously as I could.]
”My inference had been gathered from the vague use of the term to express disqualification [_i.e._ NON _netto di specchio_ expressed disqualification]. But I find from Varchi, b. viii. that the _specchio_ in question was a public book, in which the names of all debtors to the _Commune_ were entered. Thus your doubt [no doubt at all!] has been a very useful caveat to me.
”Concerning the Bardi, my authority for making them originally _popolani_ is G. Villani. He says, c. x.x.xix., '_e gia cominciavano a venire possenti i Frescobaldi e Bardi e Mozzi_ ma di piccolo cominciamento.' And c. lx.x.xi. '_e questi furono le princ.i.p.ale case de Guelfi che uscirono di Firenze. Del Sesto d' Oltr' Arno, i Rossi, Nerli, e parte de' Manelli, Bardi, e Frescobaldi de' Popoloni dal detto Sesto_, case n.o.bili _Canigiani_,' &c. These pa.s.sages corrected my previous impression that they were originally Lombard n.o.bles.
[It needs some familiarity with the Florentine chroniclers to understand that the words quoted by no means indicate that the families named were not of patrician origin. ”There walked into the lobby with the Radicals, Lord ---- and Mr. ----,” would just as much prove that the persons named had not belonged to the cla.s.s of landowners. But the pa.s.sage is interesting as showing the great care she took to make her Italian novel historically accurate. And it is to be remembered that she came to the subject absolutely new to it. She would have known otherwise, that the _Case_ situated in the Oltr'
Arno quarter, were almost all n.o.ble. That ward of the city was the Florentine _quartier St. Germain_.]
”Concerning the phrase _in piazza_, and _in mercato_, my choice of them was partly founded on the colloquial usage as represented by Sacchetti, whose dialogue is intensely idiomatic. Also _in piazza_ is, I believe, used by the historians (I think even by Macchiavelli), when speaking of popular _turn-outs_. The ellipse took my fancy because of its colloquial stamp. But I gather from your objection that it seems too barbarous in a modern Italian ear. Will you whisper your final opinion in Mr. Lewes's ear on Monday?
[I do not remember what the ellipse in question was. As regards the use of the phrase _in piazza_ she is perfectly right. The term keeps the same meaning to the present day, and is equivalent in political language to _the street_.]
”_Boto_ was used on similar grounds, and as it is recognised by the _Voc. della, Crusca_, I think I may venture to keep it, having a weakness for those indications of the processes by which language is modified.
[_Boto_ for _voto_ is a Florentinism which may be heard to the present day, though the vast majority of strangers would never hear it, or understand it if they did. George Eliot no doubt met with it in some of those old chroniclers who wrote exactly as not only the lower orders, but the generality of their fellow citizens, were speaking around them. And her use of it testifies to the minuteness of her care to reproduce the form and pressure of the time of which she was writing.]
”Once more thank you, though my grat.i.tude is in danger of looking too much like a lively sense of antic.i.p.ated favours, for I mean to ask you to take other trouble yet.
”Yours very truly,
”MARION E. LEWES.”
The following letter, written from Blandford Square on the 5th July, 1861, is, as regards the first three pages, from him, and the last from her.