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"Such things, uttered in low broken tones by the one voice that has first stirred the fibre of young passion, have only a feeble effect -- on experienced minds at a distance from them."

— Eliot, George (1819-1880)

Author

The Mill on the Floss

Place of Publication

Edinburgh and London

Publisher

William Blackwood and Sons

Date

1860

Metaphor

"Such things, uttered in low broken tones by the one voice that has first stirred the fibre of young passion, have only a feeble effect -- on experienced minds at a distance from them."

Metaphor in Context

Maggie, now really faint and trembling with fear, was taken on board, making an interesting object of contemplation to admiring Dutchmen. The mate feared the lady would have a poor time of it on board, for they had no accommodation for such entirely unlooked-for passengers - no private cabin larger than an old-fashioned church-pew. But at least they had Dutch cleanliness, which makes all other inconveniences tolerable; and the boat-cushions were spread into a couch for Maggie on the poop with all alacrity. But to pace up and down the deck leaning [end page 488] on Stephen -- being upheld by his strength -- was the first change that she needed: -- then came food and then quiet reclining on the cushions, with the sense that no new resolution could be taken that day. Everything must wait till to-morrow. Stephen sat beside her, with her hand in his; they could only speak to each other in low tones, only look at each other now and then, for it would take a long while to dull the curiosity of the five men on board, and reduce these handsome young strangers to that minor degree of interest which belongs in a sailor's regard, to all objects nearer than the horizon. But Stephen was triumphantly happy. Every other thought or care was thrown into unmarked perspective by the certainty that Maggie must be his. The leap had been taken now: he had been tortured by scruples, he had fought fiercely with overmastering inclination, he had hesitated; but repentance was impossible. He murmured forth in fragmentary sentences his happiness - his adoration -- his tenderness -- his belief that their life together must be heaven -- that her presence with him would give rapture to every common day - that to satisfy her lightest wish was dearer to him than all other bliss -- that everything was easy for her sake except to part with her: and now they never would part; he would belong to her for ever - and all that was his was hers -- had no value for him except as it was hers. Such things, uttered in low broken tones by the one voice that has first stirred the fibre of young passion, have only a feeble effect -- on experienced minds at a distance from them. To poor Maggie they were very near: they were like nectar held close to thirsty lips: there was, there must be, then, a life for mortals here below which was not hard and chill -- in which affection would no longer be self-sacrifice. Stephen's passionate words made the vision of such a life more fully present to her than it had ever been before; and the vision for the time excluded all realities -- all except the returning sun-gleams which broke out on the waters as the evening approached, and mingled with the visionary sun-light of promised happiness -- all except the hand that pressed hers, and the voice that spoke to her, and the eyes that looked at her with grave unspeakable love. (pp. 488-9)