Harriet Martineau
it is, therefore, each individual's business to comprehend the science
which treats of his daily life. A science is nothing but a collection
of facts, considered in their relationship to each other. Miss
Martineau's plan, in her series, was strictly what I have indicated as
being always her aim; namely, to deduce from an abstract science rules
for daily life--the secondary, practical or concrete science. It was
the union of a scientific basis with practical morals that made this
subject attractive to her mind, and led her (in the words of her
preface,) to "propose to convey the leading truths of political
economy, as soundly, as systematically, as clearly and faithfully, as
the utmost painstaking and the strongest attachment to the subject
will enable us to do."
She did her work very methodically. Having first noted down her own
ideas on the branch of the subject before her, she read over the
chapters relating to it in the various standard works that she had at
hand, making references as she read. The next thing to do was to draw
out as clearly and concisely as possible the truths that she had to
illustrate; this "summary of principles," as she called it, was
affixed to each tale. By this time she would see in what part of the
world, and amongst what class of people, the principles in question
were operating most manifestly; and if this consideration dictated the
choice of a foreign background, the next thing to be done was to get
from a library works of travel and topography, and to glean hints from
them for local coloring.
The material thus all before her in sheets of notes, she reduced it to
chapters; sketching out the characters of her _dramatis personae_,
their action, and the features of the scenes, and also the political
economy which they had to convey either by exemplification or by
conversation. Finally, she paged her paper. Then "the story went off
like a letter. I did it," she says, "as I write letters; never
altering the expression as it came fresh from my brain."
I have seen the original manuscript of one of the Political Economy
Tales. It shows the statement just quoted to be entirely accurate. 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 even
of principal words. The manuscript is written (in defiance of law and
order) on both sides of the paper; the latter being quarto, of the
size now commonly called _sermon_ paper, but, in those pre-envelope
ages, it was letter paper.
Her course of life in London was as follows: she wrote in the morning,
rising, and making her own coffee at seven, and going to work
immediately after breakfast until two. From two till four she saw
visitors. Having an immense acquaintance, she declined undertaking to
make morning calls; but people might call upon her any afternoon. She
was charged with vanity about this arrangement; but, with the work on
her hands and the competition for her company, she really could not do
differently. Still, Sydney Smith suggested a better plan; he told her
she should "hire a carriage, and engage an inferior authoress to go
round in it to drop the cards!" After any visitors left, she went out
for her daily "duty walk," and returned to glance over the newspapers,
and to dress for dinner. Almost invariably she dined out, her host's
or some other friend's carriage being commonly sent to fetch her. One
or two evening parties would conclude the day, unless the literary
pressure was extreme, in which case she would sometimes write letters
after returning home. During the whole time of writing her series, she
was satisfied with from five to six hours' sleep out of the
twenty-four; and though she was not a teetotaller, but drank wine at
dinner, still she took no sort of stimulant to help her in her work.
This was the course of life that a woman, of no extraordinary physical
strength, was able to maintain with but little cessation or interval
for two years. When I look at the thirty-four little volumes which she
produced in less than as many months, and when I consider the
character of their contents, I am bound to say that I consider the
feat of mere industry unparalleled, within my knowledge.
The _Illustrations of Political Economy_ are plainly and inevitably
damaged, as works of art, by the fact that they are written to convey
definite lessons. The fetters in which the story moves are necessarily
far closer than in the ordinary "novel with a purpose;" for here the
object is not merely to show the results, upon particular characters
or upon individual careers, of a certain course of conduct, and thence
to argue that in similar special circumstances all persons would
experience similar consequences: but the task here is to show in
operation those springs of the social machinery by which we are _all_,
generally quite unconsciously, guided in our _every-day_ actions, the
natural laws by which _all_ our lives are _inevitably_ governed. To do
this, the author was compelled to select scenes from common life, and
to eschew the striking and the unusual. Again, it was absolutely
necessary that much of the doctrine which had to be taught must be
conveyed by dialogue; not because it would not be possible to
exemplify in action every theory of political economy--for all those
theories have originally been derived from observation of the facts of
human history--but because no such a small group of persons and such a
limited space of time as must be taken to _tell a story about_, can
possibly display the whole consequences of many of the laws of social
science. The results of our daily actions as members of society are
not so easily visible as they would be if we could wholly trace them
out amongst our own acquaintances or in our own careers. The
consequences of our own conduct, good or bad, must _come round_ to us,
it is true, but often only as members of the body politic. Thus, they
are very often in a form as little distinguishable to the uninstructed
mind as we may suppose it would be comprehensible to the brain, if the
organs of the body had a separate consciousness, that it was
responsible for its own aches arising from the disturbance of the
liver consequent upon intemperance. But in a tale it is obviously
impossible to show _in action_ any more of the working of events than
can be exemplified in one or two groups of persons, all of whom must
be, however slightly, personally associated. The larger questions and
principles at issue must be expounded and argued out in conversations,
or else by means of an entire lapse from the illustrative to the
didactic method. Now, as ordinary people do not go about the world
holding long conversations or delivering themselves of dissertations
on political economy, it is clear that the introduction of such talks
and preachments detracts from the excellence of the story as a work of
art. Still less artistically admirable does the fiction become when a
lesson is introduced as a separate argument intruded into the course
of the tale.
Political economy as a science was then but fifty years old. Adam
Smith had first promulgated its fundamental truths in his immortal
_Wealth of Nations_, in 1776. Malthus, Ricardo, and one or two others
had since added to the exposition of the facts and the relationship
between the facts (that is to say, the science) of social
arrangements. But it was not then--nor is it, indeed, yet, in an age
when the great rewards of physical research have attracted into that
field nearly all the best intellects for science of the time--a
complete body of reasoned truths. Some of the positions laid down by
all the earlier writers are now discredited; others are questioned. In
a few passages, accordingly, these tales teach theories which would
now require revision. It must be added at once that these instances
are few and far between. The reasoning, the grasp of the facts of
social life and the logical acumen with which they are dissected and
explained in these tales are, generally speaking, nearly perfect, and
therefore such as all competent students of the subject would at this
day indorse. The slips in exposition of the science as it was then
understood are _exceedingly_ rare. Greater clearness, and more
precision, and better arrangement could hardly have been attained had
years been spent upon the work, in revising, correcting, and
re-copying, instead of each "Illustration" being written in a month,
and sent to press with hardly a phrase amended.
The accuracy and excellence in the presentation of the science were
admitted at once by the highest authorities. Mr. James Mill early made
honorable amends for his previous doubts as to the possibility of Miss
Martineau's success. Whately and Malthus expressed their admiration of
the work. Lord Brougham called upon her, and engaged her pen to
illustrate the necessity for reform in the treatment of the social
canker of pauperism. The Gurneys, and the rest of the Quaker members
of Parliament got Mrs. Fry to make an appointment to ask Miss
Martineau's advice as to their action in the House on the same
subject, when it was ripe for legislation. The Chancellor of the
Exchequer (Lord Althorp) even sent his private secretary (Mr.
Drummond, the author of the world-famous phrase "Property has its
duties as well as its rights") to supply Miss Martineau with
information to enable her to prepare the public for the forthcoming
Budget. The chairman of the Royal Commission on Excise Taxes gave her
the manuscript of the evidence taken, and the draft of the report of
the Commission, before they were formally presented to the Ministers
of the Crown (a thing without precedent!), in order that she might use
the facts to pave the way for the reception of the report in the House
and by the people. The whole public of male students of her science
paid her work what men consider in their unconscious insolence to be
the highest compliment that they _can_ pay a woman's work: the
milder-mannered ones said she had "a masculine intelligence"; the
stronger characters went further, and declared that the books were so
good that it was impossible to believe them to be written by a woman.
Newspaper critics not infrequently attributed them to Lord Brougham,
then Lord Chancellor; that versatile and (at the moment) most popular
politician was supposed either to write them all himself, or to supply
their main features for the inferior mind to throw into shape.
While statesmen, politicians, thinkers, and students were thus
praising the clearness and appreciating the power of the work as
political economy, the general public eagerly bought and read the
books, both for their bearing on the legislative questions of the day
and for their vividness and interest as stories. And indeed, they
richly deserved to be read as works of fiction. Remembering the
limitations to their artistic excellence previously adverted to, they
may be with justice praised for most of the essential features of good
novel-writing.
The characters are the strongest point. Clearly individualized,
consistently carried out, thinking, speaking, and acting in accordance
with their nature, the characters are always personages; and some of
them must live long in the memories of those who have made their