Edith Simcox, Autobiography, 17 November 1877
Title
Edith Simcox, Autobiography, 17 November 1877
Title
Edith Simcox, Autobiography, 17 November 1877
Sender
Edith Simcox
Recipient
U
Date(s)
- 1877-11-17
Place
London
Letter Content
Edith Simcox, Autobiography, 17 November 1877
MS: Bodleian. Extract published: McKenzie, pp. 91-92.
Saturday 17 November 1877
November 17. Last Sunday -- the 11th -- it rained with such preternatural violence and constancy that very slowly and diffidently I came round to the conclusion -- that I had better go to the Priory! I arrived at a quarter to 3. My only terror was lest they should have had people to luncheon by invitation. My spirits rose when I saw the hall innocent of hats and cloaks, and when I found them alone together, the world began to smile again. I laid the blame deprecatingly on the rain -- thought if I didn't come there would be nobody to ask after Mr. Lewes's headache; and they said, well, I should have the afternoon to myself and we had better sit down, which I proceeded to do on the rug at her feet, which I kissed; while observing that Lady Paget 385 had adopted the same seat, she intimated a preference for my taking another, which of course I also did.
She gave me a book of Miss Phelps to read "Avis," which the writer had sent her, 386 seeming to think that her promise to read the book when she could might be supplemented by any charitable judgment I could give more promptly. She said Miss Phelps would know my name from Tr'fcbner's series 387 being published in America. Before that, apropos of bonnets, she said her recollections of people's clothes was a part of her general mental image of them, and that she suffered much when worthy men were unfortunate in their choice of trouserings. Herbert Spencer had improved in that particular -- but improvement had been needed. This led to the mention of his having been one of the visitors the Sunday before, his companion was an American admirer. 388 Everyone, Mr. Lewes observed, had an American admirer.
I suggested there might be a few books that didn't get even as far as across the Atlantic, to which he replied with the story of two books, both of which were puffed in 4 or 5 leading papers, of which one did not sell a single copy and the other only 50 copies taken on speculation by the trade. I can't recal in what context it was that Mr Lewes spoke of the unreasonableness of people who ask your advice when the last thing they would think of would be to take it "if it didn't fall in with their intention." Then I said, I should have asked his advice, if I hadn't known it would not fall in with my intention -- about Tr'fcbner. She said, of course, what business had I to have the book printed if I didn't mean it to sell and to be read, that anyway the edition had to take its chance, that there would be no second edition unless it were all sold off pretty quickly, and he suggested that the only thing to be done if one were dissatisfied with a written book was to write a better. I intimated that that was not exactly my difficulty, I don't know what I succeeded in saying at last. I kissed her hand -- I guard my own -- I implied that her approval or blame ended everything for me. I think she said, Why should I have supposed she -- not disapproved -- that was too arrogant a word, but failed to sympathize? Then as by an effort of recollection: "I think I never told you what I thought of the book after the first chapters?" 389 -- I could not say, that was just why I despaired. I did say that these were stern judgments she had pronounced, which I had been loth to think deserved -- though of course she must know best -- that I had reason to despair if the book gave her no reason to modify those. Of course she has never known how every word of hers enters into my flesh, but this much at least she said to me now: That there had been nothing that jarred on her in reading the book -- if there had she would have remembered it, of course she did not always agree, but the general impression was of sympathy, there were no passages that struck her as cynical -- she had been somewhat uneasily on the lookout for them; she thought what I said of religion was good, -- barring the somewhat too impersonal, unconcerned or hypothetical way of saying it; -- it rather confirmed what she had thought before that I might write a history of religious thought or a natural history of Christianity! I said I had been glad the book gave no scandal: she, that it could not, its tone was perfectly reverent. I told her that I had had the fear -- or rather the love, of her before my eyes and had struck out any of the little malicious tails to a sentence I thought she might not like, but explained that theology had always been so uninteresting and meaningless to me that I should not care to have to get up its history. She said that Charles Lewes had read some of the book with interest, and appealed to Mr. Lewes if he himself had not sympathized with its spirit -- to which he in a somewhat uninviting tone -- oh yes, what I read of it. -- In my desperation I had just utterly ignored his presence, which is perhaps hardly the way to a man's tender mercies. She used the words "sound and wholesome" and thought it would be useful. I did not deserve to be told this, but she had had serious thought of recommending the book to a lady who had "difficulties" -- one who would be flattered by the argumentative apparatus and the rigidly meagre assumptions of the first page. She had not done so on the whole because the said lady would have known I was a friend of hers and so might either I suppose have identified us too much, or have attached less weight to the supposed echo. In all she said there was nothing to flatter any author's vanity -- rather the contrary in tone and implication -- so I have the more respect for my spiritual sincerity seeing that I can write that the clouds of misery and despair lifted themselves from my heart. I walked back through the pelting rain with inward sunshine, and I have been soberly glad and happily loving ever since.
I had a note from her yesterday, referring to the remainder of the conversation. I had been more than an hour alone with them. Locker and his daughter came and afterwards Myers; the former was talking to them about some unpublished poems of Tennyson -- whose dramas, by the way, they admire. On Thursday I was fortunately able to get her a copy of Cobbett's "Rural Rides" which she had expressed a wish for.
MS: Bodleian. Extract published: McKenzie, pp. 91-92.
Saturday 17 November 1877
November 17. Last Sunday -- the 11th -- it rained with such preternatural violence and constancy that very slowly and diffidently I came round to the conclusion -- that I had better go to the Priory! I arrived at a quarter to 3. My only terror was lest they should have had people to luncheon by invitation. My spirits rose when I saw the hall innocent of hats and cloaks, and when I found them alone together, the world began to smile again. I laid the blame deprecatingly on the rain -- thought if I didn't come there would be nobody to ask after Mr. Lewes's headache; and they said, well, I should have the afternoon to myself and we had better sit down, which I proceeded to do on the rug at her feet, which I kissed; while observing that Lady Paget 385 had adopted the same seat, she intimated a preference for my taking another, which of course I also did.
She gave me a book of Miss Phelps to read "Avis," which the writer had sent her, 386 seeming to think that her promise to read the book when she could might be supplemented by any charitable judgment I could give more promptly. She said Miss Phelps would know my name from Tr'fcbner's series 387 being published in America. Before that, apropos of bonnets, she said her recollections of people's clothes was a part of her general mental image of them, and that she suffered much when worthy men were unfortunate in their choice of trouserings. Herbert Spencer had improved in that particular -- but improvement had been needed. This led to the mention of his having been one of the visitors the Sunday before, his companion was an American admirer. 388 Everyone, Mr. Lewes observed, had an American admirer.
I suggested there might be a few books that didn't get even as far as across the Atlantic, to which he replied with the story of two books, both of which were puffed in 4 or 5 leading papers, of which one did not sell a single copy and the other only 50 copies taken on speculation by the trade. I can't recal in what context it was that Mr Lewes spoke of the unreasonableness of people who ask your advice when the last thing they would think of would be to take it "if it didn't fall in with their intention." Then I said, I should have asked his advice, if I hadn't known it would not fall in with my intention -- about Tr'fcbner. She said, of course, what business had I to have the book printed if I didn't mean it to sell and to be read, that anyway the edition had to take its chance, that there would be no second edition unless it were all sold off pretty quickly, and he suggested that the only thing to be done if one were dissatisfied with a written book was to write a better. I intimated that that was not exactly my difficulty, I don't know what I succeeded in saying at last. I kissed her hand -- I guard my own -- I implied that her approval or blame ended everything for me. I think she said, Why should I have supposed she -- not disapproved -- that was too arrogant a word, but failed to sympathize? Then as by an effort of recollection: "I think I never told you what I thought of the book after the first chapters?" 389 -- I could not say, that was just why I despaired. I did say that these were stern judgments she had pronounced, which I had been loth to think deserved -- though of course she must know best -- that I had reason to despair if the book gave her no reason to modify those. Of course she has never known how every word of hers enters into my flesh, but this much at least she said to me now: That there had been nothing that jarred on her in reading the book -- if there had she would have remembered it, of course she did not always agree, but the general impression was of sympathy, there were no passages that struck her as cynical -- she had been somewhat uneasily on the lookout for them; she thought what I said of religion was good, -- barring the somewhat too impersonal, unconcerned or hypothetical way of saying it; -- it rather confirmed what she had thought before that I might write a history of religious thought or a natural history of Christianity! I said I had been glad the book gave no scandal: she, that it could not, its tone was perfectly reverent. I told her that I had had the fear -- or rather the love, of her before my eyes and had struck out any of the little malicious tails to a sentence I thought she might not like, but explained that theology had always been so uninteresting and meaningless to me that I should not care to have to get up its history. She said that Charles Lewes had read some of the book with interest, and appealed to Mr. Lewes if he himself had not sympathized with its spirit -- to which he in a somewhat uninviting tone -- oh yes, what I read of it. -- In my desperation I had just utterly ignored his presence, which is perhaps hardly the way to a man's tender mercies. She used the words "sound and wholesome" and thought it would be useful. I did not deserve to be told this, but she had had serious thought of recommending the book to a lady who had "difficulties" -- one who would be flattered by the argumentative apparatus and the rigidly meagre assumptions of the first page. She had not done so on the whole because the said lady would have known I was a friend of hers and so might either I suppose have identified us too much, or have attached less weight to the supposed echo. In all she said there was nothing to flatter any author's vanity -- rather the contrary in tone and implication -- so I have the more respect for my spiritual sincerity seeing that I can write that the clouds of misery and despair lifted themselves from my heart. I walked back through the pelting rain with inward sunshine, and I have been soberly glad and happily loving ever since.
I had a note from her yesterday, referring to the remainder of the conversation. I had been more than an hour alone with them. Locker and his daughter came and afterwards Myers; the former was talking to them about some unpublished poems of Tennyson -- whose dramas, by the way, they admire. On Thursday I was fortunately able to get her a copy of Cobbett's "Rural Rides" which she had expressed a wish for.
Citation
Edith Simcox, Edith Simcox, Autobiography, 17 November 1877, Complete George Eliot Letters(2026), George Eliot Archive, edited by Beverley Park Rilett. https://GeorgeEliotArchive.org, Accessed September 7, 2026. https://georgeeliotarchive.org/items/show/91777