MRS. FENWICK MILLER: ‘Harriet Martineau.’
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[Sidenote: An Ambleside story.]
A right of way was in dispute, at one time, through certain fields (a portion, I think, of Rydal Park), in the neighborhood of Ambleside, and the owner closed them to the public. Miss Martineau, though a philanthropist on a large scale, could also (which is not so common with that class) pick up a pin for freedom’s sake, and play the part of a village Hampden. When the rest of her neighbors shrank from this contest with the Lord of the Manor, she took up the cudgels for them, and “the little tyrant of those fields withstood.” She alone, not, indeed, “with bended bow and quiver full of arrows,” but with her ear-trumpet and umbrella, took her walk through the forbidden land, as usual. Whereupon the wicked lord (so runs the story, though I never heard it from her own lips) put a young bull into the field. He attacked the trespasser, or at all events prepared to attack her, but the indomitable lady faced him and stood her ground. She was quite capable of it, for she had the courage of her opinions, ... and, at all events, whether from astonishment at her presumption, or terror of the ear-trumpet (to which, of course, he had nothing to say), the bull in the end withdrew his opposition, and suffered her to pursue her way in peace. I wish I could add that she had the good-fortune of another patriotic lady, “to take the tax away,” but I am afraid the wicked lord succeeded in his designs. More than once, however, I have had pointed out to me over the wall--for the bull was still there--the little eminence wherefrom, with no weapon but her ear-trumpet (for she had her umbrella over her head all the time to keep the sun off) this dauntless lady withstood the horrid foe.
JAMES PAYN: ‘Some Literary Recollections.’
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[Sidenote: A good neighbor.]
I was pleased to find that, notwithstanding her heresies, the common people in Ambleside held her in gentle and kindly remembrance. She was a good neighbor, charitable to all, considerate toward the unlettered, never cynical or ill-tempered, always cheerful and happy as the roses and ivy of “The Knoll” she so much loved.
MONCURE D. CONWAY, in _Harper’s Magazine_, January, 1881.
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[Sidenote: Her manner of working.]
I wrote a vulgar, cramped, untidy scrawl till I was past twenty; till authorship made me forget manner in matter, and gave freedom to my hand. After that I did very well, being praised by compositors for legibleness first, and in course of time for other qualities.... I found that it would not do to copy what I wrote, and discontinued the practice forever--thus saving an immense amount of time which, I humbly think, is wasted by other authors. There was no use in copying it. I did not alter; and if ever I did alter, I had to change back again; and I, once for all, committed myself to a single copy.... I have always used the same method in writing. I have always made sure of what I meant to say, and then written it down without care or anxiety--glancing at it again only to see if any words were omitted or repeated, and not altering a single phrase in a whole work. I mention this because I think I perceive that great mischief arises from the notion that botching in the second place will compensate for carelessness in the first.... It has always been my practice to devote my best strength to my work, and the morning hours have therefore been sacred to it, from the beginning. I never pass a day without writing, and the writing is always done in the morning. I have seldom written anything more serious than letters by candlelight. [While at work on the ‘Political Economy Tales’] on an average I wrote twelve pages a day on large letter paper (quarto, I believe it is called), the page containing thirty-three lines.
[Sidenote: Desk, etc.]
The impending war [1853] rendered desirable an article on England’s Foreign Policy, for the _Westminster Review_, and I agreed to do it. I went to the editor’s house for the purpose.... On taking possession of my room there, and finding a capital desk on my table, with a singularly convenient slope, and of an admirable height for writing without fatigue, it struck me that during my whole course of literary labor, of nearly five-and-thirty years, it had never once occurred to me to provide myself with a proper, business-like desk. I had always written on blotting-paper, on a flat table, except when in a lazy mood, in winter, I had written as short-sighted people do (as Mrs. Somerville and “Currer Bell” always did), on a board, or something stiff, held in the left hand. I wrote a good deal of the ‘Political Economy’ in that way, and with steel pens, ... but it was radically uncomfortable; and I have ever since written on a table, and with quill pens. Now I was to begin on a new and luxurious method--just, as it happened, at the close of my life’s work. Mr. Chapman obtained for me a first-rate Chancery-lane desk, with all manner of conveniences, and of a proper sanitary form; and, moreover, some French paper of various sizes, which has spoiled me for all other paper; ink to correspond; and a pen-maker, of French workmanship, suitable to eyes which were now feeling the effects of years and over-work.
HARRIET MARTINEAU: ‘Autobiography.’
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[Sidenote: Appearance of MS.]
I have seen the original manuscript of one of the ‘Political Economy Tales.’ The writing has evidently been done as rapidly as the hand could move; every word that will admit of it is contracted, to save time. “Socy.,” “opporty.,” “agst.,” “abt.,” “independce.,” these were amongst the abbreviations submitted to the printer’s intelligence; not to mention commoner and more simple words, such as “wh.,” “wd.,” and the like. The calligraphy, though very readable, has a somewhat slipshod look. Thus, there is every token of extremely rapid composition. Yet the corrections on the MS. are few and trifling; the structure of a sentence is never altered, and there are but seldom emendations of even principal words. The manuscript is written (in defiance of law and order), on both sides of the paper.
MRS. FENWICK MILLER: ‘Harriet Martineau.’
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[Sidenote: Fluctuations of mind about work.]
The fluctuations of mind which I underwent about every number of my work, were as regular as the tides. I was fired with the first conception, and believed that I had found a treasure. Then, while at work, I alternately admired and despised what I wrote. When finished, I was in absolute despair; and then, when I saw it in print, I was surprised to see how well it looked.
HARRIET MARTINEAU: ‘Autobiography.’
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[Sidenote: George Eliot on ‘The Crofton Boys.’]
What an exquisite little thing that is of Harriet Martineau’s--‘The Crofton Boys!’ I have had some delightful crying over it. There are two or three lines in it that would feed one’s soul for a month. Hugh’s mother says to him, speaking of people who have permanent sorrow, “They soon had a new and delicious pleasure, which none but the bitterly disappointed can feel--the pleasure of rousing their souls to bear pain, and of _agreeing with God silently_, when nobody knows what is in their hearts.”
MARIAN EVANS: _Letter to Mrs. Bray_, 1845. ‘George Eliot’s Life,’ edited by J. W. Cross.
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[Sidenote: Carlyle on ‘Deerbrook’.]
How do you like it [Deerbrook]? people ask. To which there are serious answers returnable, but few so good as none.
THOMAS CARLYLE: _Letter to Emerson_, 17th April, 1839.
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[Sidenote: On ‘The Hour and the Man.’]
The good Harriet is not well; but keeps a very courageous heart. She lives by the shore of the beautiful blue Northumbrian Sea; “a many-sounding” solitude which I often envy her. She writes unweariedly.... You saw her _Toussaint l’Ouvertour_; how she has made such a beautiful “black Washington” ... of a rough-handed, hard-hearted, semi-articulate, gabbling Negro; and of the horriblest phasis that ‘Sansculottism’ _can_ exhibit, of a Black Sansculottism, a musical Opera or Oratorio in pink stockings! It is very beautiful. Beautiful as a child’s heart,--and in so shrewd a head as that. She is now writing express Children’s Tales, which I calculate I shall find more perfect.
THOMAS CARLYLE: _Letter to Emerson_, 21st February, 1841. ‘Correspondence of T. Carlyle and R. W. Emerson.’
FOOTNOTES:
[1] _Haworth Churchyard_, by Matthew Arnold.
[2] The portrait alluded to is probably the caricature by D. Maclise, representing Miss Martineau seated, with a cat perched upon her shoulder, before a cooking-stove.
AURORE DUPIN (DUDEVANT).
(GEORGE SAND.)
1804-1876.
AURORE DUPIN (DUDEVANT).
(GEORGE SAND.)
Aurore Dupin was born in Paris, July 5, 1804. Her father, Maurice Dupin de Franceuil, was the son of an illegitimate daughter of Marshal Saxe. His wife, Sophie Delaborde, was “a child of the people.” The death of Captain Dupin, in 1808, left little Aurore “a bone of contention” between her plebeian mother and her patrician grandmother. Most of her youth was passed with the latter, at Nohant, in Berri. Her education was irregularly carried on under an old tutor named Deschatres. At thirteen, she was sent to the Convent des Anglaises, at Paris. Here a strong religious enthusiasm took possession of her; and she desired to become a nun. But, her grandmother having removed her from the convent, her lonely study of the works of philosophers and metaphysicians wrought a change, and she “became a Protestant without knowing it.” In 1821 the grandmother died. Aurore lived unhappily with her mother, a woman of violent temper (to whom she was nevertheless deeply attached), and this fact may have influenced her in accepting the hand of M. Casimir Dudevant, to whom she was married in 1822. The disparity in age was not great, M. Dudevant being twenty-seven; but the marriage proved a most uncongenial one. In 1823, Aurore’s beloved son, Maurice, was born; in 1828, her daughter, Solange. In 1831 she made an arrangement with her husband by which she was free to spend every alternate three months, in Paris, working with her pen. He allowed her 3,000 francs a year. The education of the children was carefully provided for in their compact. And now Aurore’s career really began. In 1832 she published, under the pseudonym, “George Sand,” her first novel, _Indiana_. This created a sensation and established her fame. It was followed during her long life by _Valentine_, 1832,[3] _Lélia_, 1833, _Jacques_, 1834, _Le Secrétaire intime_, 1834, _André_, 1835, _Leone Leoni_, 1835, _Simon_, 1836, _Mauprat_, 1837, _La Dernière Aldini_, 1837, _Les Maîtres Mosaïstes_, 1837, _Spiridion_, 1840, _Le Compagnon du Tour de France_, 1840, _Horace_, 1842, _Consuelo_, 1842-1843, _La Comtesse de Rudolstadt_, 1843-4, _Jeanne_, 1844, _Le Meunier d’ Angibault_, 1845, _La Mare au Diable_, 1846, _La Péché d’ M. Antoine_, 1847, _Lucrezia Floriani_, 1847, _La Petite Fadette_, 1849, _François le Champi_, 1850, _Le Château des Désertes_, 1851, _Les Maîtres Sonneurs_, 1853, _Les Beaux Messieurs de Bois Doré_, 1858, _Elle et Lui_, 1859, _L’ Homme de Neige_, 1859, _Constance Verrier_, 1860, _Jean de la Roche_, 1860, _Le Marquis de Villemer_, 1861, _Valvèdre_, 1861, _La Ville Noire_, 1861, _Mlle. La Quintinie_, 1863, _La Confession d’ une Jeune Fille_, 1865, _Cadio_, 1868, _Malgré tout_, 1870, _Pierre qui roule_, 1870, _Nanon_, 1872, _Contes d’ une Grand’ mère_, 1873, and numerous other novels and tales; _Cosima_, 1840, _Claudie_, 1851, _Le Mariage de Victorine_, 1851, _Le Pressoir_, 1853, _Maître Favilla_, 1855, and other plays; _Letters d’ un Voyageur_ (written 1834-6), _Un Hiver à Majorque_, 1842, _Histoire de ma Vie_, 1854-5, _Journal d’ un Voyageur pendant le Siège_, 1872, _Impressions et Souvenirs_, 1873, and other records of experience.