GE to Sara Sophia Hennell, Wandsworth, 19 February 1859
Title
GE to Sara Sophia Hennell, Wandsworth, 19 February 1859
Title
GE to Sara Sophia Hennell, Wandsworth, 19 February 1859
Sender
George Eliot
Recipient
Sara Sophia Hennell
Date(s)
- 1859-02-19
Place
Wandsworth
Letter Content
GE to Sara Sophia Hennell, Wandsworth, 19 February 1859
MS: Yale. Endorsed: 1860. Extracts published: Cross, II, 82-84.
Holly Lodge | South Fields | Wandsworth | February 19. 59.
Dear Sara
Your letter was doubly pleasant after the long cessation of such batches of interesting gossip. You have the art of writing just the sort of letters I care for -- sincere letters, like your own talk.
We are tolerably settled now, except that we have only a temporary servant, and I shall not be quite at ease until I have a trustworthy woman who will manage without incessant dogging. We have the hope of getting the phoenix we want next week. 21
Our house is very comfortable -- with far more of vulgar indulgences in it than I ever expected to have again; but you must not imagine it a snug place, just peeping above the holly bushes. Imagine it, rather, as a tall cake, with a low garnish of holly and laurel. There was a house after my own heart at Mortlake, which we were kept in suspense about for some weeks -- a place where I should have liked to think of living and dying; but it turned out at last to have a premium affixed to the lease, which made it too expensive for prudence. As it is we are very well off, with glorious breezy walks and wide horizons, well-ventilated rooms and abundant water. If I allowed myself to have any longings beyond what is given, they would be for a nook quite in the country, far away from Palaces crystal or otherwise, with an orchard behind me full of old trees and rough grass, and hedgerow paths among the endless fields where you meet nobody. We talk of such things sometimes along with old age and dim faculties and a small independence to save us from writing drivel for dishonest money. In the meantime the business of life shuts us up within the environs of London and within sight of human advancement, which I should be so very glad to believe in without seeing.
Among my household cares I have had time to think now and then of your book 22 which has been giving you so much happy labour, and to imagine you reading it to the reticent John Sibree -- terribly chary of praise that could commit himself. But who that reads the newspapers would desire praise when they can get criticism? Every fool gets praise: the little real criticism there is in the world is given only to the writers capable of making an impression.
I was sorry to see that rather tradeswoman-like advertisement of Isa Craig 23 as a writer in the Eng[lish] Woman's Journal, and a poem "in our present number which we are proud to include in our paper," and wished when I read it that Bessie had a hypercritical friend at her elbow. As to the Ode on Burns, I thought it very creditable as a bit of prize poetry, but the principle of prize poetry is so bad that nothing of a high character can be expected to come out of it. I should think Isa Craig, as an industrious energetic young woman, is much more admirable than her poetry.
Pretty Arabella Goddard 24 we heard play at Berlin -- play the very things you heard as a bonne bouche at the last -- none the less delightful from being so unlike the piano-playing of Liszt and Clara Schumann whom we had heard at Weimar, both great, and one the greatest.
Thank you for sending me that authentic word about Miss Nightingale. I wonder if she would rather rest from her blessed labours or live to go on working. Sometimes, when I read of the death of some great, sensitive human being, I have a triumph in the sense that they are at rest, and yet along with that, such deep sadness at the thought that the rare nature is gone for ever into darkness and we can never know that our love and reverence can reach him, that I seem to have gone through a personal sorrow when I shut the book and go to bed. I felt in that way the other night when I finished the Life of Scott aloud to Mr. Lewes. He had never read the book before, and has been deeply stirred by the picture of Scott's character -- his energy and steady work, his grand fortitude under calamity, and the spirit of strict honour to which he sacrificed his declining life. He loves Scott now as well as I do. 25
Mr. Lewes thanks you for sending the story of the Pholax, 26 not the less because he knew it before, being frightfully "up" in that kind of information.
Give my love to Mr. Bray and thank him for his letter which told me what I wanted to know. He surely has been close to our present home, for I believe Mr. Richard Congreve 27 lives near us -- how near I am not quite sure, but he was mentioned to us by our landlord as a gentleman who visited with no one in the neighbourhood -- which eccentric course we had declared our intention of following. Amusingly enough, said landlord, Captain Rivers, and his wife, had begun to recommend the place by saying, "We visit with every one about here, and there are very pleasant soir'e9es." Oh! we exclaimed, in horror, "Pray tell '91every one'92 that we don't visit and don't desire to be called on." Whereupon Mr. Richard Congreve was cited as an encouraging proof that we might be as isolated as we desired. He takes pupils, however, and I should imagine is not in the interesting state of destitution that Mr. Bray's enthusiastic sympathy gave us the idea of. We have met a pleasant-faced, bright-glancing man whom we set down to be worthy of the name Richard Congreve. I am curious to see if our ahnung will be verified.
No more at present, except love to Cara, and all blessings to all, from the heart of
Pollian.
MS: Yale. Endorsed: 1860. Extracts published: Cross, II, 82-84.
Holly Lodge | South Fields | Wandsworth | February 19. 59.
Dear Sara
Your letter was doubly pleasant after the long cessation of such batches of interesting gossip. You have the art of writing just the sort of letters I care for -- sincere letters, like your own talk.
We are tolerably settled now, except that we have only a temporary servant, and I shall not be quite at ease until I have a trustworthy woman who will manage without incessant dogging. We have the hope of getting the phoenix we want next week. 21
Our house is very comfortable -- with far more of vulgar indulgences in it than I ever expected to have again; but you must not imagine it a snug place, just peeping above the holly bushes. Imagine it, rather, as a tall cake, with a low garnish of holly and laurel. There was a house after my own heart at Mortlake, which we were kept in suspense about for some weeks -- a place where I should have liked to think of living and dying; but it turned out at last to have a premium affixed to the lease, which made it too expensive for prudence. As it is we are very well off, with glorious breezy walks and wide horizons, well-ventilated rooms and abundant water. If I allowed myself to have any longings beyond what is given, they would be for a nook quite in the country, far away from Palaces crystal or otherwise, with an orchard behind me full of old trees and rough grass, and hedgerow paths among the endless fields where you meet nobody. We talk of such things sometimes along with old age and dim faculties and a small independence to save us from writing drivel for dishonest money. In the meantime the business of life shuts us up within the environs of London and within sight of human advancement, which I should be so very glad to believe in without seeing.
Among my household cares I have had time to think now and then of your book 22 which has been giving you so much happy labour, and to imagine you reading it to the reticent John Sibree -- terribly chary of praise that could commit himself. But who that reads the newspapers would desire praise when they can get criticism? Every fool gets praise: the little real criticism there is in the world is given only to the writers capable of making an impression.
I was sorry to see that rather tradeswoman-like advertisement of Isa Craig 23 as a writer in the Eng[lish] Woman's Journal, and a poem "in our present number which we are proud to include in our paper," and wished when I read it that Bessie had a hypercritical friend at her elbow. As to the Ode on Burns, I thought it very creditable as a bit of prize poetry, but the principle of prize poetry is so bad that nothing of a high character can be expected to come out of it. I should think Isa Craig, as an industrious energetic young woman, is much more admirable than her poetry.
Pretty Arabella Goddard 24 we heard play at Berlin -- play the very things you heard as a bonne bouche at the last -- none the less delightful from being so unlike the piano-playing of Liszt and Clara Schumann whom we had heard at Weimar, both great, and one the greatest.
Thank you for sending me that authentic word about Miss Nightingale. I wonder if she would rather rest from her blessed labours or live to go on working. Sometimes, when I read of the death of some great, sensitive human being, I have a triumph in the sense that they are at rest, and yet along with that, such deep sadness at the thought that the rare nature is gone for ever into darkness and we can never know that our love and reverence can reach him, that I seem to have gone through a personal sorrow when I shut the book and go to bed. I felt in that way the other night when I finished the Life of Scott aloud to Mr. Lewes. He had never read the book before, and has been deeply stirred by the picture of Scott's character -- his energy and steady work, his grand fortitude under calamity, and the spirit of strict honour to which he sacrificed his declining life. He loves Scott now as well as I do. 25
Mr. Lewes thanks you for sending the story of the Pholax, 26 not the less because he knew it before, being frightfully "up" in that kind of information.
Give my love to Mr. Bray and thank him for his letter which told me what I wanted to know. He surely has been close to our present home, for I believe Mr. Richard Congreve 27 lives near us -- how near I am not quite sure, but he was mentioned to us by our landlord as a gentleman who visited with no one in the neighbourhood -- which eccentric course we had declared our intention of following. Amusingly enough, said landlord, Captain Rivers, and his wife, had begun to recommend the place by saying, "We visit with every one about here, and there are very pleasant soir'e9es." Oh! we exclaimed, in horror, "Pray tell '91every one'92 that we don't visit and don't desire to be called on." Whereupon Mr. Richard Congreve was cited as an encouraging proof that we might be as isolated as we desired. He takes pupils, however, and I should imagine is not in the interesting state of destitution that Mr. Bray's enthusiastic sympathy gave us the idea of. We have met a pleasant-faced, bright-glancing man whom we set down to be worthy of the name Richard Congreve. I am curious to see if our ahnung will be verified.
No more at present, except love to Cara, and all blessings to all, from the heart of
Pollian.
Signature
Pollian.
Citation
George Eliot, GE to Sara Sophia Hennell, Wandsworth, 19 February 1859, 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/94130