GE Journal, Richmond, 6 December 1857
Title
GE Journal, Richmond, 6 December 1857
Title
GE Journal, Richmond, 6 December 1857
Sender
Ge Journal
Recipient
U
Date(s)
- 1857-12-06
Place
Richmond
Letter Content
GE Journal, Richmond, 6 December 1857
MS: Yale. Extracts published: Cross, I, 414-417, 428-429, 457.
How I Came to Write Fiction
September 1856 made a new era in my life, for it was then I began to write Fiction. It had always been a vague dream of mine that some time or other I might write a novel, and my shadowy conception of what the novel was to be, varied, of course, from one epoch of my life to another. But I never went farther towards the actual writing of the novel than an introductory chapter describing a Staffordshire village and the life of the neighbouring farm houses, and as the years passed on I lost any hope that I should ever be able to write a novel, just as I desponded about everything else in my future life. I always thought I was deficient in dramatic power, both of construction and dialogue, 'abthough'bb but I felt I should be at my ease in the descriptive parts of a novel. My "introductory chapter" was pure description though there were good materials in it for dramatic presentation. It happened to be among the papers I had with me in Germany and one evening at Berlin, something led me to read it to George. He was struck with it as a bit of concrete description, and it suggested to him the possibility of my being able to write a novel, though he distrusted -- indeed disbelieved in, my possession of any dramatic power. Still, he began to think that I might as well try, some time, what I could do in fiction, and by and bye when we came back to England and I had greater success than he had ever expected in other kinds of writing, his impression that it was worth while to see how far my mental power would go towards the production of a novel, was strengthened. He began to say very positively, "You must try and write a story," and when we were at Tenby he urged me to begin at once. I deferred it, however, after my usual fashion, with work that does not present itself as an absolute duty. But one morning as I was lying in bed, 1022 thinking what should be the subject of my first story, my thoughts merged themselves into a dreamy doze, and I imagined myself writing a story of which the title was -- "The Sad Fortunes of the Reverend Amos Barton." I was soon wide awake again, and told G. He said, "O what a capital title!" and from that time I had settled in my mind that this should be my first story. George used to say, "It may be a failure -- it may be that you are unable to write fiction. Or perhaps, it may be just good enough to warrant your trying again." Again, "You may write a chef-d'oeuvre at once -- there's no telling." But his prevalent impression was that though I could hardly write a poor novel, my effort would want the highest quality of fiction -- dramatic presentation. He used to say, "You have wit, description and philosophy -- those go a good way towards the production of a novel. It is worth while for you to try the experiment."
We determined that if my story turned out good enough, we would send it to Blackwood, but G. thought the more probable result was, that I should have to lay it aside and try again.
But when we returned to Richmond I had to write my article on Silly Novels and my review of Contemporary Literature for the West-minister; so that I did not begin my story till September 22. 1023 After I had begun it, as we were walking in the Park, I mentioned to G. that I had thought of the plan of writing a series of stories containing sketches drawn from my own observation of the Clergy, and calling them "Scenes from Clerical Life" opening with "Amos Barton." He at once accepted the notion as a good one -- fresh and striking; and about a week afterwards when I read him the early part of [Amos,] he had no longer any doubt about my ability to carry out the plan. The scene at Cross Farm, 1024 he said, satisfied him that I had the very element he had been doubtful about -- it was clear I could write good dialogue. There still remained the question whether I could command any pathos, and that was to be decided by the mode in which I treated Milly's death. 1025 One night G. went to town on purpose to leave me a quiet evening for writing it. I wrote the chapter from the news brought by the shepherd to Mrs. Hackit, to the moment when Amos is dragged from the bedside and I read it to G. when he came home. We both cried over it, and then he came up to me and kissed me, saying "I think your pathos is better than your fun."
So when the story was finished G. sent it to Blackwood, who wrote in reply, that he thought the "Clerical reminiscences would do," congratulated the author on being "worthy the honours of print and pay," but would like to see more of the series before he undertook to print. However, when G. wrote that the author was discouraged by this editorial caution, Blackwood disclaimed any distrust and agreed to print the story at once. The first part appeared in the January number 1857. Before the appearance of the Magazine -- on sending me the proof, Blackwood already expressed himself with much greater warmth of admiration, and when the first part had appeared, he sent me a charming letter with a cheque for fifty guineas, and a proposal about republication of the series. When the story was concluded he wrote me word 1026 how Albert Smith had sent him a letter saying he had never read anything that affected him more than Milly's death, and, added Blackwood, "the men at the club seem to have mingled their tears and their tumblers together. It will be curious if you should be a member and be hearing your own praises!" There was clearly no suspicion that I was a woman. It is interesting, as an indication of the value there is in such conjectural criticism generally, to remember that when G. read the first part of "Amos" to a party at Help's, they were all sure I was a clergyman -- a Cambridge man. Agnes 1027 thought I was the father of a family -- was sure I was a man who had seen a great deal of society etc. etc. Blackwood seemed curious about the author, and when I signed my letter "George Eliot" hunted up some old letters from Eliot Warburton's brother, to compare the handwritings, though, he said, "Amos seems to me not in the least like what that good artillery man would write."
Several pleasant bits of admiration came about that time: -- a letter from the Rev. Mr. Swaine, saying that "Amos," in its charming tenderness, reminded him of the "Vicar of Wakefield," is the only one I remember just now. The adverse critics mentioned by Blackwood were Colonel Hamley and Prof. Aytoun. Professor Aytoun came round afterwards, said he had been quite mistaken in his estimate of the powers of the author of "Amos Barton," and expressed great admiration of "Mr. Gilfil's Love Story" -- or rather at the conclusion of it. Colonel Hamley said I was "a man of science, but not a practised writer." Blackwood was eager for the second story, and much delighted with the two first parts of "Mr. Gilfil's Love Story," which I sent him together. I wrote the fourth part at Scilly -- the epilogue, sitting on the Fortification Hill, one sunshiny morning. 1028 Blackwood himself wrote in entire admiration of it, and in the same letter told us that Thackeray "thought highly of the series." When we were at Jersey, he was in London, and wrote from thence that he heard nothing but approval of "Mr. Gilfil's Love Story." Lord Stanley, among other people, had spoken to him about the "Clerical Scenes" at Bulwer's, and was astonished to find Blackwood in the dark as to the author.
I began "Janet's Repentance" at Scilly and sent off the first Part from Jersey, G. declaring it to be admirable, almost better than the other stories. But to my disappointment, Blackwood did not like it so well, seemed to misunderstand the characters, and be doubtful about the treatment of clerical matters. I wrote at once to beg him to give up printing the story if he felt uncomfortable about it, and he immediately sent a very anxious, cordial letter, saying the thought of putting a stop to the series "gave him quite a turn" -- "he didn't meet with George Eliots every day" -- and so on.
One of the pleasantest little incidents at Jersey was a letter from Archer Gurney to the unknown author of "Mr. Gilfil's Love Story," expressing simply but warmly his admiration of the truth and originality he found in the Clerical Scenes. Dear G. upstairs to me with the letter in his hands, his face bright with gladness, saying, "Her fame's beginning already!"
I had meant to carry on the series beyond "Janet's Repentance," and especially I longed to tell the story of the Clerical Tutor, but my annoyance at Blackwood's want of sympathy in the first two parts of "Janet,"
(although he came round to admiration at the third part) determined me to close the series and republish them in two volumes.
The first volume is printed, and the advertisements greet our eyes every week, but we are still wondering how the public will behave to my first book.
December 6. 57.
MS: Yale. Extracts published: Cross, I, 414-417, 428-429, 457.
How I Came to Write Fiction
September 1856 made a new era in my life, for it was then I began to write Fiction. It had always been a vague dream of mine that some time or other I might write a novel, and my shadowy conception of what the novel was to be, varied, of course, from one epoch of my life to another. But I never went farther towards the actual writing of the novel than an introductory chapter describing a Staffordshire village and the life of the neighbouring farm houses, and as the years passed on I lost any hope that I should ever be able to write a novel, just as I desponded about everything else in my future life. I always thought I was deficient in dramatic power, both of construction and dialogue, 'abthough'bb but I felt I should be at my ease in the descriptive parts of a novel. My "introductory chapter" was pure description though there were good materials in it for dramatic presentation. It happened to be among the papers I had with me in Germany and one evening at Berlin, something led me to read it to George. He was struck with it as a bit of concrete description, and it suggested to him the possibility of my being able to write a novel, though he distrusted -- indeed disbelieved in, my possession of any dramatic power. Still, he began to think that I might as well try, some time, what I could do in fiction, and by and bye when we came back to England and I had greater success than he had ever expected in other kinds of writing, his impression that it was worth while to see how far my mental power would go towards the production of a novel, was strengthened. He began to say very positively, "You must try and write a story," and when we were at Tenby he urged me to begin at once. I deferred it, however, after my usual fashion, with work that does not present itself as an absolute duty. But one morning as I was lying in bed, 1022 thinking what should be the subject of my first story, my thoughts merged themselves into a dreamy doze, and I imagined myself writing a story of which the title was -- "The Sad Fortunes of the Reverend Amos Barton." I was soon wide awake again, and told G. He said, "O what a capital title!" and from that time I had settled in my mind that this should be my first story. George used to say, "It may be a failure -- it may be that you are unable to write fiction. Or perhaps, it may be just good enough to warrant your trying again." Again, "You may write a chef-d'oeuvre at once -- there's no telling." But his prevalent impression was that though I could hardly write a poor novel, my effort would want the highest quality of fiction -- dramatic presentation. He used to say, "You have wit, description and philosophy -- those go a good way towards the production of a novel. It is worth while for you to try the experiment."
We determined that if my story turned out good enough, we would send it to Blackwood, but G. thought the more probable result was, that I should have to lay it aside and try again.
But when we returned to Richmond I had to write my article on Silly Novels and my review of Contemporary Literature for the West-minister; so that I did not begin my story till September 22. 1023 After I had begun it, as we were walking in the Park, I mentioned to G. that I had thought of the plan of writing a series of stories containing sketches drawn from my own observation of the Clergy, and calling them "Scenes from Clerical Life" opening with "Amos Barton." He at once accepted the notion as a good one -- fresh and striking; and about a week afterwards when I read him the early part of [Amos,] he had no longer any doubt about my ability to carry out the plan. The scene at Cross Farm, 1024 he said, satisfied him that I had the very element he had been doubtful about -- it was clear I could write good dialogue. There still remained the question whether I could command any pathos, and that was to be decided by the mode in which I treated Milly's death. 1025 One night G. went to town on purpose to leave me a quiet evening for writing it. I wrote the chapter from the news brought by the shepherd to Mrs. Hackit, to the moment when Amos is dragged from the bedside and I read it to G. when he came home. We both cried over it, and then he came up to me and kissed me, saying "I think your pathos is better than your fun."
So when the story was finished G. sent it to Blackwood, who wrote in reply, that he thought the "Clerical reminiscences would do," congratulated the author on being "worthy the honours of print and pay," but would like to see more of the series before he undertook to print. However, when G. wrote that the author was discouraged by this editorial caution, Blackwood disclaimed any distrust and agreed to print the story at once. The first part appeared in the January number 1857. Before the appearance of the Magazine -- on sending me the proof, Blackwood already expressed himself with much greater warmth of admiration, and when the first part had appeared, he sent me a charming letter with a cheque for fifty guineas, and a proposal about republication of the series. When the story was concluded he wrote me word 1026 how Albert Smith had sent him a letter saying he had never read anything that affected him more than Milly's death, and, added Blackwood, "the men at the club seem to have mingled their tears and their tumblers together. It will be curious if you should be a member and be hearing your own praises!" There was clearly no suspicion that I was a woman. It is interesting, as an indication of the value there is in such conjectural criticism generally, to remember that when G. read the first part of "Amos" to a party at Help's, they were all sure I was a clergyman -- a Cambridge man. Agnes 1027 thought I was the father of a family -- was sure I was a man who had seen a great deal of society etc. etc. Blackwood seemed curious about the author, and when I signed my letter "George Eliot" hunted up some old letters from Eliot Warburton's brother, to compare the handwritings, though, he said, "Amos seems to me not in the least like what that good artillery man would write."
Several pleasant bits of admiration came about that time: -- a letter from the Rev. Mr. Swaine, saying that "Amos," in its charming tenderness, reminded him of the "Vicar of Wakefield," is the only one I remember just now. The adverse critics mentioned by Blackwood were Colonel Hamley and Prof. Aytoun. Professor Aytoun came round afterwards, said he had been quite mistaken in his estimate of the powers of the author of "Amos Barton," and expressed great admiration of "Mr. Gilfil's Love Story" -- or rather at the conclusion of it. Colonel Hamley said I was "a man of science, but not a practised writer." Blackwood was eager for the second story, and much delighted with the two first parts of "Mr. Gilfil's Love Story," which I sent him together. I wrote the fourth part at Scilly -- the epilogue, sitting on the Fortification Hill, one sunshiny morning. 1028 Blackwood himself wrote in entire admiration of it, and in the same letter told us that Thackeray "thought highly of the series." When we were at Jersey, he was in London, and wrote from thence that he heard nothing but approval of "Mr. Gilfil's Love Story." Lord Stanley, among other people, had spoken to him about the "Clerical Scenes" at Bulwer's, and was astonished to find Blackwood in the dark as to the author.
I began "Janet's Repentance" at Scilly and sent off the first Part from Jersey, G. declaring it to be admirable, almost better than the other stories. But to my disappointment, Blackwood did not like it so well, seemed to misunderstand the characters, and be doubtful about the treatment of clerical matters. I wrote at once to beg him to give up printing the story if he felt uncomfortable about it, and he immediately sent a very anxious, cordial letter, saying the thought of putting a stop to the series "gave him quite a turn" -- "he didn't meet with George Eliots every day" -- and so on.
One of the pleasantest little incidents at Jersey was a letter from Archer Gurney to the unknown author of "Mr. Gilfil's Love Story," expressing simply but warmly his admiration of the truth and originality he found in the Clerical Scenes. Dear G. upstairs to me with the letter in his hands, his face bright with gladness, saying, "Her fame's beginning already!"
I had meant to carry on the series beyond "Janet's Repentance," and especially I longed to tell the story of the Clerical Tutor, but my annoyance at Blackwood's want of sympathy in the first two parts of "Janet,"
(although he came round to admiration at the third part) determined me to close the series and republish them in two volumes.
The first volume is printed, and the advertisements greet our eyes every week, but we are still wondering how the public will behave to my first book.
December 6. 57.
Signature
The first volume is printed, and the advertisements greet our eyes every week, but we are still wondering how the public will behave to my first book.
Citation
Ge Journal, GE Journal, Richmond, 6 December 1857, 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/91944