GHL to Robert Lytton, London, 23 February 1866
Title
GHL to Robert Lytton, London, 23 February 1866
Title
GHL to Robert Lytton, London, 23 February 1866
Sender
George Henry Lewes
Recipient
Robert Lyt
Date(s)
- 1866-02-23
Place
London
Letter Content
GHL to Robert Lytton, London, 23 February 1866
MS: Lady Hermione Cobbold.
The Fortnightly Review, | Office -- 193, Piccadilly.
February 23rd 1866.
My dear Lytton
You can hardly imagine how pleased I was to get that letter from you containing an account of yourself which was a great relief. I had heard from Vienna that you had entirely lost the sight of one eye and that fears were entertained for the other. The shock this was, and the deep pity it excited you cannot guess; and now your letter comes to reassure us that the calamity has been enormously exaggerated and that you have only had an alarm. When I tell you that some years ago Greek type and midnight metaphysics brought on a somewhat similar terror to me -- and that for weeks I was forced to abstain altogether from reading or writing, you will understand that over and above my old personal regard for you there was a cause for sympathy in your affliction. As Mr. Winkle passionately urged the drowning Pickwick to save himself for his (Winkle's) sake 701 so I urge you to be careful for my sake -- and your wife's -- whom I hope some day to know -- all the more because she has been interested in the account of Comte.
As a part of this request to save yourself it would be ordinary logic to beg you at once to set to work on an article for the Review. But I have a higher logic which can reconcile your interests with my own, namely -- to get some of the poems that you are about to publish in a volume, and let them have a rehearsal in our pages before appearing in the volume. What say you to this?
I should be glad if the Fates would carry me anywhere in your direction partly because I should like to see Cintra and Portugal generally -- and partly because I gather from your letter that you would like to unbosom yourself on some points to a sympathetic friend. It has been my lot in life to be a large receptacle of confidences -- and I like it. Probably it's because I like it that it comes to me. But at present I know not what my movements may be. We talk of Spain, of the East, of Sicily, of many places.
As to our "little ones" which you hypothetically repudiate as travelling companions, know that they are all centered in a bulldog -- but such a bulldog -- such a synthesis of love and ugliness, and gentleness, and spoiled-childishness! -- and with him (to my sorrow) we never travel. Our eldest (boy, not bulldog!) is married and settled comfortably; the second is shooting tigers and Basutos in Natal; the third is a farmer in Warwickshire -- so you see we are alone in the nest and can fly away without other hindrances than editoring and novel-writing. Mrs. Lewes is hard at work on a book and will not move until it is finished. I am rewriting a great deal of the History of Philosophy for the 3rd edition, and I shan't move if my health will allow me to remain until that is finished. After that we shall take wing.
I send you the "Apple of Life" on the margin of which I have scribbled one or two impertinent cavils. I like the poem better every time I read it; and my mother (75) is constantly quoting it. So great and genuine a faculty as you have ought to find its proper element in which to work, but your external conditions seem to me to have been unfavorable hitherto. May your marriage 702 be a new birth and poetry the natural consequence.
Ever yours truly
G. H. L.
MS: Lady Hermione Cobbold.
The Fortnightly Review, | Office -- 193, Piccadilly.
February 23rd 1866.
My dear Lytton
You can hardly imagine how pleased I was to get that letter from you containing an account of yourself which was a great relief. I had heard from Vienna that you had entirely lost the sight of one eye and that fears were entertained for the other. The shock this was, and the deep pity it excited you cannot guess; and now your letter comes to reassure us that the calamity has been enormously exaggerated and that you have only had an alarm. When I tell you that some years ago Greek type and midnight metaphysics brought on a somewhat similar terror to me -- and that for weeks I was forced to abstain altogether from reading or writing, you will understand that over and above my old personal regard for you there was a cause for sympathy in your affliction. As Mr. Winkle passionately urged the drowning Pickwick to save himself for his (Winkle's) sake 701 so I urge you to be careful for my sake -- and your wife's -- whom I hope some day to know -- all the more because she has been interested in the account of Comte.
As a part of this request to save yourself it would be ordinary logic to beg you at once to set to work on an article for the Review. But I have a higher logic which can reconcile your interests with my own, namely -- to get some of the poems that you are about to publish in a volume, and let them have a rehearsal in our pages before appearing in the volume. What say you to this?
I should be glad if the Fates would carry me anywhere in your direction partly because I should like to see Cintra and Portugal generally -- and partly because I gather from your letter that you would like to unbosom yourself on some points to a sympathetic friend. It has been my lot in life to be a large receptacle of confidences -- and I like it. Probably it's because I like it that it comes to me. But at present I know not what my movements may be. We talk of Spain, of the East, of Sicily, of many places.
As to our "little ones" which you hypothetically repudiate as travelling companions, know that they are all centered in a bulldog -- but such a bulldog -- such a synthesis of love and ugliness, and gentleness, and spoiled-childishness! -- and with him (to my sorrow) we never travel. Our eldest (boy, not bulldog!) is married and settled comfortably; the second is shooting tigers and Basutos in Natal; the third is a farmer in Warwickshire -- so you see we are alone in the nest and can fly away without other hindrances than editoring and novel-writing. Mrs. Lewes is hard at work on a book and will not move until it is finished. I am rewriting a great deal of the History of Philosophy for the 3rd edition, and I shan't move if my health will allow me to remain until that is finished. After that we shall take wing.
I send you the "Apple of Life" on the margin of which I have scribbled one or two impertinent cavils. I like the poem better every time I read it; and my mother (75) is constantly quoting it. So great and genuine a faculty as you have ought to find its proper element in which to work, but your external conditions seem to me to have been unfavorable hitherto. May your marriage 702 be a new birth and poetry the natural consequence.
Ever yours truly
G. H. L.
Signature
G. H. L.
Citation
George Henry Lewes, GHL to Robert Lytton, London, 23 February 1866, 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/95004