letters, that the last few months of her father's illness had been a terrible strain on his daughter's health and spirits. She did all the nursing herself, and Mrs. Congreve (who was then Miss Bury, daughter of the doctor who was attending Mr. Evans—and who, it will be seen, subsequently became perhaps the most intimate and the closest of George Eliot's friends) tells me that her father told her at the time that he never saw a patient more admirably and thoroughly cared for. The translating was a great relief when she could get to it. Under date of 19th April, 1849, Mrs. Bray writes to Miss Hennell, "M. A. is happy now with this Spinoza to do: she says it is such a rest for her mind."
The next letter to Rosehill pathetically describes how the end came at last to Mr. Evans's sufferings:
Letter to the Brays, half-past nine, Wednesday morning, 31st May, 1849.
Dear friends, Mr. Bury told us last night that he thought father would not last till morning. I sat by him with my hand in his till four o'clock, and he then became quieter and has had some comfortable sleep. He is obviously weaker this morning, and has been for the last two or three days so painfully reduced that I dread to think what his dear frame may become before life gives way. My brother slept here last night, and will be here again to-night. What shall I be without my father? It will seem as if a part of my moral nature were gone. I write when I can, but I do not know whether my letter will do to send this evening.
P.S.—Father is very, very much weaker this evening.
Mr. Evans died during that night, 31st May, 1849.
Portrait of Mr. Robert Evans.
SUMMARY.
MAY, 1846, TO MAY, 1849.
Visit to Mrs. Hennell at Hackney—Letters to Mrs. Bray—Strauss translation published—Visit to Dover with father—Classical books wanted—Pleasure in Strauss's letter—Brays suspect novel-writing—Letters to Miss Sara Hennell—Good spirits—Wicksteed's review of the Strauss translation—Reading Foster's life—Visit to Griff—Child's view of God (à propos of Miss Hennell's "Heliados")—Visit to London—"Elijah"—Likes London less—The Sibree family and Mrs. John Cash's reminiscences—Letter to Miss Mary Sibree—Letters to Miss Sara Hennell—Mental depression—Opinion of Charles Hennell's "Inquiry"—Visit to the Isle of Wight with father—Admiration of Richardson—Blanco White—Delight in George Sand's "Lettres d'un Voyageur"—Letters to Mr. John Sibree—Opinion of Mrs. Hannah More's letters—"Tancred," "Coningsby," and "Sybil"—D'Israeli's theory of races—Gentile nature kicks against superiority of Jews—Bows only to the supremacy of Hebrew poetry—Superiority of music among the arts—Relation of religion to art—Thorwaldsen's Christ—Admiration of Roberts and Creswick—The intellect and moral nature restrain the passions and senses—Mr. Dawson the lecturer—Satisfaction in French Revolution of '48—The men of the barricade bowing to the image of Christ—Difference between French and English working-classes—The need of utterance—Sympathy with Mr. Sibree in religious difficulties—Longing for a high attic in Geneva—Letters to Miss Sara Hennell—Views on correspondence—Mental depression—Father's illness—Father better—Goes with him to St. Leonard's—Letter to Charles Bray—Depression to be overcome by thought and love—Admiration of Louis Blanc—Recovery from depression—"Jane Eyre"—Return to Coventry—Meets Emerson—Strauss's pamphlet on Julian the Apostate—Carlyle's eulogium on Emerson—Francis Newman—Suffering from depression—Letter to Mrs. Houghton—Self-condemnation for evil speaking—Letters to Miss Hennell—Macaulay's History—On the influence of George Sand's and Rousseau's writing—Writes review of the "Nemesis of Faith" for the Coventry Herald—Opinion of the "Nemesis" and the "Shadows of the Clouds"—Translating Spinoza's "Tractatus Theologico-Politicus"—Letter to Mrs. Pears—The consolations of nursing—Strain of father's illness—Father's death.
CHAPTER IV.
It fortunately happened that the Brays had planned a trip to the Continent for this month of June, 1849, and Miss Evans, being left desolate by the death of her father, accepted their invitation to join them. On the 11th June they started, going by way of Paris, Lyons, Avignon, Marseilles, Nice, Genoa, Milan, Como, Lago Maggiore, Martigny, and Chamounix, arriving at Geneva in the third week of July. Here Miss Evans determined to remain for some months, the Brays returning home. Before they went, however, they helped her to settle herself comfortably en pension, and, as will be seen from the following letters, the next eight months were quietly and peacefully happy. The pension selected in the first instance was the Campagne Plongeon, which stands on a slight eminence a few hundred yards back from the road on the route d'Hermance, some ten minutes' walk from the Hôtel Métropole. From the Hôtel National on the Quai de Mont Blanc one catches a pleasant glimpse of it nestling among its trees. A good-sized, gleaming white house, with a centre, and gables at each side, a flight of steps leading from the middle window to the ground. A meadow in front, nicely planted, slopes charmingly down to the blue lake, and behind the house, on the left-hand side, there is an avenue of remarkably fine chestnut-trees, whence there is a magnificent view of the Jura mountains on the opposite side of the lake. The road to Geneva is very beautiful, by the lake-side, bordered with plane-trees. It was a delightful, soothing change after the long illness and the painful death of her father—after the monotonous dulness, too, of an English provincial town like Coventry, where there is little beauty of any sort to gladden the soul. In the first months following a great loss it is good to be alone for a time—alone, especially amidst beautiful scenes—and alone in the sense of being removed from habitual associations, but yet constantly in the society of new acquaintances, who are sufficiently interesting, but not too intimate. The Swiss correspondence which follows is chiefly addressed to the Brays collectively, and describes the life minutely.
Letter to the Brays, 27th July, 1840.
About my comfort here, I find no disagreeables, and have every physical comfort that I care about. The family seems well-ordered and happy. I have made another friend, too—an elderly English lady, a Mrs. Locke, who used to live at Ryde—a pretty old lady with plenty of shrewdness and knowledge of the world. She began to say very kind things to me in rather a waspish tone yesterday morning at breakfast. I liked her better at dinner and tea, and to-day we are quite confidential. I only hope she will stay; she is just the sort of person I shall like to have to speak to—not at all "congenial," but with a character of her own. The going down to tea bores me, and I shall get out of it as soon as I can, unless I can manage to have the newspapers to read. The American lady embroiders slippers—the mamma looks on and does nothing. The marquis and his friends play at whist; the old ladies sew; and madame says things so true that they are insufferable. She is obliged to talk to all, and cap their niaiseries with some suitable observation. She has been very kind and motherly to me. I like her better every time I see her. I have quiet and comfort—what more can I want to make me a healthy, reasonable being once more? I will never go near a friend again until I can bring joy and peace in my heart and in my face—but remember that friendship will be easy then.
Letter to the Brays, 5th Aug. 1849.
I hope my imagination paints truly when it shows me all of you seated with beaming faces round the tea-table at Rosehill. I shall be yearning to know that things as well as people are smiling on you; but I am sure you will not let me wait for news of you longer than is necessary. My life here would be delightful if we could always keep the same set of people; but, alas! I fear one generation will go and another come so fast that I shall not care to become acquainted with any of them. My good Mrs. Locke is not going, that is one comfort. She is quite a mother to me—helps me to buy my candles and do all my shopping—takes care of me at dinner, and quite rejoices when she sees me enjoy conversation or anything else. The St. Germains are delightful people—the marquise really seems to me the most charming person I ever saw, with kindness enough to make the ultra-politeness of her manners quite genuine. She is very good