Certainly, if I had been asked to choose what should be written about my book and who should write it, I should have sketched—­well, not anything so good as what you have written, but an article which must be written by a Jew who showed not merely sympathy with the best aspirations of his race, but a remarkable insight into the nature of art and the processes of the artistic mind.  Believe me, I should not have cared to devour even ardent praise if it had not come from one who showed the discriminating sensibility, the perfect response to the artist’s intention, which must make the fullest, rarest joy to one who works from inward conviction and not in compliance with current fashions.  Such a response holds for an author not only what is best in “the life that now is,” but the promise of “that which is to come.”  I mean that the usual approximative, narrow perception of what one has been intending and professedly feeling in one’s work, impresses one with the sense that it must be poor perishable stuff without roots to hike any lasting hold in the minds of men; while any instance of complete comprehension encourages one to hope that the creative prompting has foreshadowed, and will continue to satisfy, a need in other minds.

Excuse me that I write but imperfectly, and perhaps dimly, what I have felt in reading your article.  It has affected me deeply, and though the prejudice and ignorant obtuseness which has met my effort to contribute something to the ennobling of Judaism in the conception of the Christian community and in the consciousness of the Jewish community, has never for a moment made me repent my choice, but rather has been added proof to me that the effort has been needed,—­yet I confess that I had an unsatisfied hanger for certain signs of sympathetic discernment, which you only have given.  I may mention as one instance your clear perception of the relation between the presentation of the Jewish element and those of English social life.

I work under the pressure of small hurries; for we are just moving into the country for the summer, and all things are in a vagrant condition around me.  But I wished not to defer answering your letter to an uncertain opportunity....

My husband has said more than once that he feels grateful to you.  For he is more sensitive on my behalf than on his own.

Hence he unites with me in the assurance of the high regard with which I remain

Always yours faithfully,
M.E.  LEWES.

This first letter was followed a few months later by a second.

THE PRIORY, 21 NORTH BANK, REGENT’S PAKE,
Oct. 12, ’77.

MY DEAR SIR,—­I trust it will not be otherwise than gratifying to you to know that your stirring article on Daniel Deronda is now translated into English by a son of Prof.  Ferrier, who was a philosophical writer of considerable mark.  It will be issued in a handsomer form than that of the pamphlet, and will appear within this autumnal publishing season, Messrs. Blackwood having already advertised it.  Whenever a copy is ready we shall have the pleasure of sending it to you.  There is often something to be borne with in reading one’s own writing in a translation, but I hope that in this case you will not be made to wince severely.