‘So Unlike Ordinary Great Men’

Abstract

I have in my mind still a perfectly distinct picture of the bright, elegant interior of Tavistock House, and of its inmates — of my host himself, then in his early prime — of Mrs. Dickens, a plump, rosy, English, handsome woman, with a certain air of absent-mindedness, yet gentle and kindly — Miss Hogarth, a very lovely person, with charming manners — and the young ladies, then very young — real English girls, fresh and simple,and innocent-looking as English daisies. I was received in the library. Mr. Dickens — how clearly he stands before me now, with his frank, encouraging smile and the light of welcome in his eyes — was then slight in person, and rather pale than otherwise. The symmetrical form of his head, and the fine, spirited bearing of the whole figure, struck me at once — then the hearty bonhomie, the wholesome sweetness of his smile; but more than anything else, the great beauty of his eyes. They were the eyes of a master, with no consciousness of mastery in them; they were brilliant without hardness, and searching without sharpness. I felt, I always felt, that they read me clearly and deeply, yet could never fear their keen scrutiny. They never made you feel uncomfortable. I can but think it a pity that in so many of the pictures we have of him the effect of his eyes is nearly lost by their being cast down.