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rectify their dispositions； and it is these people—amongst whom
your life is passed—that it is needful you should tolerate； pity； and
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love： it is these more or less ugly； stupid； inconsistent people
whose movements of goodness you should be able to admire—for
whom you should cherish all possible hopes； all possible patience。
And I would not； even if I had the choice； be the clever novelist
who could create a world so much better than this； in which we get
up in the morning to do our daily work； that you would be likely to
turn a harder； colder eye on the dusty streets and the common
green fields—on the real breathing men and women； who can be
chilled by your indifference or injured by your prejudice； who can
be cheered and helped onward by your fellow…feeling； your
forbearance； your outspoken； brave justice。
So I am content to tell my simple story； without trying to make
things seem better than they were； dreading nothing； indeed； but
falsity； which； in spite of one’s best efforts； there is reason to
dread。 Falsehood is so easy； truth so difficult。 The pencil is
conscious of a delightful facility in drawing a griffin—the longer
the claws； and the larger the wings； the better； but that marvellous
facility which we mistook for genius is apt to forsake us when we
want to draw a real unexaggerated lion。 Examine your words well；
and you will find that even when you have no motive to be false； it
is a very hard thing to say the exact truth； even about your own
immediate feelings—much harder than to say something fine
about them which is not the exact truth。
It is for this rare； precious quality of truthfulness that I delight
in many Dutch paintings； which lofty…minded people despise。 I
find a source of delicious sympathy in these faithful pictures of a
monotonous homely existence； which has been the fate of so many
more among my fellow…mortals than a life of pomp or of absolute
indigence； of tragic suffering or of world…stirring actions。 I turn；
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Adam Bede 235
without shrinking； from cloud…borne angels； from prophets； sibyls；
and heroic warriors； to an old woman bending over her flower…pot；
or eating her solitary dinner； while the noonday light； softened
perhaps by a screen of leaves； falls on her mob…cap； and just
touches the rim of her spinning…wheel； and her stone jug； and all
those cheap common things which are the precious necessaries of
life to her—or I turn to that village wedding； kept between four
brown walls； where an awkward bridegroom opens the dance with
a high…shouldered； broad…faced bride； while elderly and middle…
aged friends look on； with very irregular noses and lips； and
probably with quart…pots in their hands； but with an expression of
unmistakable contentment and goodwill。 “Foh！” says my idealistic
friend； “what vulgar details！ What good is there in taking all these
pains to give an exact likeness of old women and clowns？ What a
low phase of life！ What clumsy； ugly people！”
But bless us； things may be lovable that are not altogether
handsome； I hope？ I am not at all sure that the majority of the
human race have not been ugly； and even among those “lords of
their kind；” the British； squat figures； ill…shapen nostrils； and
dingy complexions are not startling exceptions。 Yet there is a great
deal of family love amongst us。 I have a friend or two whose class
of features is such that the Apollo curl on the summit of their
brows would be decidedly trying； yet to my certain knowledge
tender hearts have beaten for them； and their miniatures—
flattering； but still not lovely—are kissed in secret by motherly
lips。 I have seen many an excellent matron； who could have never
in her best days have been handsome； and yet she had a packet of
yellow love…letters in a private drawer； and sweet children
showered kisses on her sallow cheeks。 And I believe there have
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been plenty of young heroes； of middle stature and feeble beards；
who have felt quite sure they could never love anything more
insignificant than a Diana； and yet have found themselves in
middle life happily settled with a wife who waddles。 Yes！ Thank
God； human feeling is like the mighty rivers that bless the earth： it
does not wait for beauty—it flows with resistless force and brings
beauty with it。
All honour and reverence to the divine beauty of form！ Let us
cultivate it to the utmost in men； women； and children—in our
gardens and in our houses。 But let us love that other beauty too；
which lies in no secret of proportion； but in the secret of deep
human sympathy。 Paint us an angel； if you can； with a floating
violet robe； and a face paled by the celestial light； paint us yet
oftener a Madonna； turning her mild face upward and opening her
arms to welcome the divine glory； but do not impose on us any
aesthetic rules which shall banish from the region of Art those old
women scraping carrots with their work…worn hands； those heavy
clowns taking holiday in a dingy pot…house； those rounded backs
and stupid weather…beaten faces that have bent over the spade
and done the rough work of the world—those homes with their tin
pans； their brown pitchers； their rough curs； and their clusters of
onions。 In this world there are so many of these common coarse
people； who have no picturesque sentimental wretchedness！ It is
so needful we should remember their existence； else we may
happen to leave them quite out of our religion and philosophy and
frame lofty theories which only fit a world of extremes。 Therefor