My mother had a singular power of abstraction. When occupied with some difficult problem, or even a train of thought which deeply interested her, she lost all consciousness of what went on around her, and became so entirely absorbed that any amount of talking, or even practising scales and solfeggi, went on without in the least disturbing her. Sometimes a song or a strain of melody would recall her to a sense of the present, for she was passionately fond of music. A curious instance of this peculiarity of hers occurred at Rome, when a large party were assembled to listen to a celebrated improvisatrice. My mother was placed in the front row, close to the poetess, who, for several stanzas, adhered strictly to the subject which had been given to her. What it was I do not recollect, except that it had no connection with what followed. All at once, as if by a sudden inspiration, the lady turned her eyes full upon my mother, and with true Italian vehemence and in the full musical accents of Rome, poured forth stanza after stanza of the most eloquent panegyric upon her talents and virtues, extolling them and her to the skies. Throughout the whole of this scene, which lasted a considerable time, my mother remained calm and unmoved, never changing countenance, which surprised not only the persons present but ourselves, as we well knew how much she disliked any display or being brought forward in public. The truth was, that after listening for a while to the improvising, a thought struck her connected with some subject she was engaged in writing upon at the time and so entirely absorbed her that she heard not a word of all that had been declaimed in her praise, and was not a little surprised and confused when she was complimented on it. I call this, advisedly, a power of hers, for although it occasionally led her into strange positions, such as the one above mentioned, it rendered her entirely independent of outward circumstances, nor did she require to isolate herself from the family circle in order to pursue her studies. I have already mentioned that when we were very young she taught us herself for a few hours daily; when our lessons were over we always remained in the room with her, learning grammar, arithmetic, or some such plague of childhood. Any one who has plunged into the mazes of the higher branches of mathematics or other abstruse science, would probably feel no slight degree of irritation on being interrupted at a critical moment when the solution was almost within his grasp, by some childish question about tense or gender, or how much seven times seven made. My mother was never impatient, but explained our little difficulties quickly and kindly, and returned calmly to her own profound thoughts. Yet on occasion she could show both irritation and impatience—when we were stupid or inattentive, neither of which she could stand. With her clear mind she darted at the solution, sometimes forgetting that we had to toil after her laboriously step by step. I well remember her slender white hand pointing impatiently to the book or slate—"Don't you see it? there is no difficulty in it, it is quite clear." Things were so clear to her! I must here add some other recollections by my mother of this very interesting portion of her life.
I was a considerable time employed in writing this book, but I by no means gave up society, which would neither have suited Somerville nor me. We dined out, went to evening parties, and occasionally to the theatre. As soon as my work was finished I sent the manuscript to Lord Brougham, requesting that it might be thoroughly examined, criticised and destroyed according to promise if a failure. I was very nervous while it was under examination, and was equally surprised and gratified that Sir John Herschel, our greatest astronomer, and perfectly versed in the calculus, should have found so few errors. The letter he wrote on this occasion made me so happy and proud that I have preserved it.
LETTER FROM SIR JOHN HERSCHEL TO MRS. SOMERVILLE.
Dear Mrs. Somerville,
I have read your manuscript with the greatest pleasure, and will not hesitate to add, (because I am sure you will believe it sincere,) with the highest admiration. Go on thus, and you will leave a memorial of no common kind to posterity; and, what you will value far more than fame, you will have accomplished a most useful work. What a pity that La Place has not lived to see this illustration of his great work! You will only, I fear, give too strong a stimulus to the study of abstract science by this performance.
I have marked as somewhat obscure a part of the illustration of the principle of virtual velocities.... Will you look at this point again? I have made a trifling remark in page 6, but it is a mere matter of metaphysical nicety, and perhaps hardly worth pencilling your beautiful manuscript for.
Ever yours most truly,
J. Herschel.
In publishing the following letter, I do not consider that I am infringing on the rule I have followed in obedience to my mother's wishes, that is, to abstain from giving publicity to all letters which are of a private and confidential character. This one entirely concerns her scientific writings, and is interesting as showing the confidence which existed between Sir John Herschel and herself. This great philosopher was my mother's truest and best friend, one whose opinion she valued above all others, whose genius and consummate talents she admired, and whose beautiful character she loved with an intensity which is better shown by some extracts from her letters to be given presently than by anything I can say. This deep regard on her part he returned with the most chivalrous respect and admiration. In any doubt or difficulty it was his advice she sought, his criticism she submitted to; both were always frankly given without the slightest fear of giving offence, for Sir John Herschel well knew the spirit with which any remarks of his would be received.
FROM SIR JOHN HERSCHEL TO MRS. SOMERVILLE.