The Club Scene: The Influence of George Eliot’s novel “Daniel Deronda” on the creation of the modern Jewish State




The Club Scene: The Influence of George Eliot’s “Daniel Deronda” in the History of the Proto-Zionist Movement

By James Trevor Jackson

Abstract: This essay explores one very significant but for the most part forgotten milestone in the history of Zionism: the publication in 1876 of George Eliot’s Daniel Deronda and the nearly simultaneous publication of one section of the novel, nicknamed The Club Scene, that was widely disseminated in numerous periodicals throughout Europe. The Club Scene, informed by Charles Darwin’s recent publications as well as a much older tradition of racial theory, was a fictional depiction of a meeting of ‘The Philosopher’s Club” whose characters, particularly Mordecai, a Jewish mystic, suggested an intriguing new way of looking at the relationship between Christians and European Jews. It suggested a much more secular connection than had been widely envisioned before, downplaying religion as a sole motivating force for the establishment of a Jewish homeland in the east, and putting forward a joint restoration project that emphasized kindred races rather than kindred religions.


Most in-depth historical accounts of nineteenth century Zionism give acknowledgement to Daniel Deronda (1876) as being one of the most influential pieces of literature, and certainly the most influential piece of fiction, within the various strands of the proto-Zionist movement in the second half of the nineteenth century. It details the life of a young British aristocrat who learns that he is of Jewish birth, and as a result goes through a profound conversion of identity, more racial than religious, that inspires him to sail off to Palestine at novel’s end, ostensibly to lay the foundations for a new Jewish state. The novel weighs-in at a hefty 800 pages or so, and was rarely if ever read from cover-to-cover by those who were most influential in the early movement. Years later, Theodor Herzl would scribble in his notebook, “I must read Daniel Deronda,”[1] and credited the book for being instrumental in inspiring his burgeoning movement, but there is no evidence that he actually read it, and all indications point to the probability that he didn’t.[2]


How could Daniel Deronda be so revered by so many when so few actually read it? One possible answer is that the main theme of the novel was well-encapsulated within a widely disseminated section of the novel nicknamed The Club Scene. It was this brief section which Herzl and many others were much more likely to have read in its entirety. Of more interest is the fact that The Club Scene’s central idea, namely race as a fundamental principle of social organization, is rarely discussed today in the same context as it was in 1876.


Daniel Deronda was written in a very particular sliver of time within the history of racial discourse. It was published five years after Darwin’s The Descent of Man, which brought race to the forefront of Victorian consciousness, yet a decade before the eugenics movement took any kind of firm hold, and several decades more before that movement  would transform into the more horrifying racial discourses of the twentieth century. The uninhibited nature of Eliot’s theories on race, informed by Darwin as well as a much older tradition, were unencumbered by the events of the next century, enabling her to explore racial issues in a way that would have been impossible shortly before and even more impossible shortly after. With a liberal agenda that now seems incongruent with its underlying assumptions of racial difference (assumptions our modern age has now, for the most part, discarded) the racial discourse in Daniel Deronda that would inspire many within the proto-Zionist movement of the fin de siècle and after has today become submerged in history’s ever-growing pile of obsolete ideas, many of which now strike many modern readers as puzzling and hard to integrate within the trajectory of subsequent developments.
A few months after the novel’s final publication (it had been released previously in serial form) George Eliot wrote to an old friend:


I have had some delightful communications from Jews and Jewesses both at home and abroad. Part of The Club Scene in D.D. is flying about in the Hebrew tongue through the various Hebrew newspapers which have been copying the ‘Magid’ in which the translation was first sent to me three months ago. The Jews naturally are not indifferent to themselves.[3]



The segment of the novel that was “flying about in the Hebrew tongue” describes a unique way of viewing Jewish nationalism that had not been fully conceived of before its publication in 1876. It was indeed flying about Europe, having been almost instantly translated into Hebrew and other languages and published in a wide variety of periodicals in different countries.


“Revive the organic center,” commands Mordecai, a sickly yet charismatic Jewish mystic who befriends Daniel, the novel’s main character. He is speaking to The Philosopher’s Club, a rag-tag group of working men who meet regularly in the smoky back room of The Hand and Banner to discuss philosophical and social issues of the day. The concept of racial organicity forms the basis of Eliot’s polemic in The Club Scene. Mordecai continues:

…let the unity of Israel which has made the growth and form of its religion be an outward reality. Looking toward a land and a polity, our dispersed people in all the ends of the earth may share the dignity of a national life which has a voice among the peoples of the East and the West – which will plant the wisdom and skill of our race so that it may be, as of old, a medium of transmission and understanding.[4]


The idea voiced here of a unified race’s wisdom and skill being planted, although outmoded today, conveyed a much more liberal agenda to Eliot’s first readers. Victorians were familiar with the idea that different races had different missions on earth, the Jewish race, as many believed, forming a central component of this organic racial whole.  Mordecai continues:

Each nation has its own work, and is a member of the world, enriched by the work of each. But it is true, as Jehuda-ha-Levi first said, that Israel is the heart of mankind, if we mean by heart the core of affection which binds a race and its families in dutiful love, and the reverence for the human body which lifts the needs of our animal life into religion…


The idea of the different races of man forming different parts of a human body, with Jews representing the ‘heart’ is a concept that can be traced back at least a thousand years to another Jewish philosopher, poet,  and racial theorist, Jehuda Ha-Levi who, in the 10th century, said Israel is “to other nation’s as the body’s heart”.[5]  Eliot quotes this brief remark a total of three times in her work[6], and it is the guiding principle of The Club Scene’s racial rhetoric.



While portraying Judaism as being the ‘heart’ of mankind, in relation to other racial organs, was not unique, Eliot offered an important and timely update to Ha-Levi by inverting the vast majority of pre-Darwinian religious thought (both Jewish and Christian)  which almost invariably represented “reverence for the human body” as a result of religion rather than a prior condition. It is literally within the human body, rather than through figurative poetics, that Mordecai locates the justification for Jewish nationhood:


“The heritage of Israel is beating in the pulses of millions; it lives in their veins as a power without understanding, like the morning exultation of herds; it is the inborn half of memory… Ours is an inheritance that has never ceased to quiver in millions of human frames.” [7]


When Eliot’s character Mordecai refers to the Jewish race as an ‘organic center’ and as being ‘a medium of transmission and understanding’ it would be more correct to place her in league with another of her contemporaries, the proto-Zionist and influential thinker Moses Hess,  rather than Francis Galton. In Rome and Jerusalem, fourteen years prior to Eliot’s novel, Hess wrote:

Humanity is a living organism, of which races and peoples are the members. In every
organism changes are continually going on. Some, quite prominent in the embryonic
stage, disappear in the later development. There are organs, on the other hand, hardly
noticeable in the earlier existence of the organism, which become important
only when the organism reaches the end of its development. To the latter class of
members of organic humanity…belongs the Jewish people.[8]
Years later, in 1901, Theodor Herzl would say of Hess and Rome and Jerusalem: “What an exalted noble spirit! Everything that we have tried is already in his book…. Since Spinoza, Jewry has brought forth no greater spirit than this forgotten Moses Hess.”[9]

While religion certainly plays a role in the discussion of The Club Scene, it is kindred races sharing a common, eastward-bound project that is the emphasis of this evening’s meeting. Mordecai passionately outlines his vision of European Jewry and British Gentility uniting, as ‘a race and its families’ in a common quest to reclaim the Holy Land. In emphasizing reverence for the racial body as a prior condition to religion,  The Club Scene offers an important update to the earlier millenarian, or conversion projects which some believed would be instrumental in heralding the Second Coming. Gideon, one of the other philosophers in the club, downplays these well-worn ideas. He tells Mordecai:

I know you don’t hold with the restoration of Judea by miracle, and so on; but you are as well aware as I am that the subject has been mixed with a heap of nonsense both by Jews and Christians. And as to the connection of our race with Palestine, it has been perverted by superstition till it’s as demoralizing as the old poor-law. The raff and scum go there to be maintained like able-bodied paupers, and to be taken special care of by the angel Gabriel when they die. It’s no use fighting against facts. We must look where they point; that’s what I call rationality. The most learned and liberal men among us who are attached to our religion are for clearing our liturgy of all such notions as a literal fulfillment of the prophecies about restoration, and so on.[10]

In 1876, these sentiments were widely shared by the reading public — both Jewish and Gentile, the majority of whom were looking with growing skepticism on religiously motivated restoration projects, such as those advocated by The London Society for Promoting Christianity Among the Jews, which after decades had proven to be a dismal and embarrassing failure.[11]Mordecai’s vision, as depicted in The Club Scene, offered a newly-conceived secular component which certainly welcomed the continuing cooperation of both Jewish and Christian religious factions, yet firmly rejected conversion, replacing it with the principle of racial separateness:  “I say that the effect of our separateness will not be completed and have its highest transformation unless our race takes on again the character of a nationality.”[12] Mordecai insists. This was an important update which placed the Jewish race prior to the Jewish religion, and Jewish nationhood prior to ‘its highest transformation’. The Philosophers are silenced, while Daniel, a guest at the meeting, listens intently.

Within the novel’s plot, Daniel’s Jewish birth, combined with his aristocratic English upbringing, make him the perfect fictional embodiment of a new sort of messiah to carry out Mordecai’s vision. With the racial credentials of a Jew and the social credentials of a refined British aristocrat, It is Daniel whom Mordecai looks to for the hybrid leadership necessary for the shared, eastward-bound, nationalist project that the novel ends with.


‘Blood’, ‘Race’, and Nationalism

In looking at how race as a justification for nationhood was uniquely depicted in The Club Scene, it is helpful to understand the rapidly evolving meaning of the word ‘race’as it was commonly used in 1876. It needs to be distinguished from how it was used before Darwin’s publications and also needs to be examined in conjunction with the much older, and significantly overlapping word ‘blood’, which is also frequently used in The Club Scene  and throughout the novel.


Before Darwin, the everyday usage of the words ‘blood’ and ‘race’ both harkened backwards in time. To the average Victorian, they were both words that were most often used to describe ancestry as opposed to progeny.  One spoke of ‘blood’ to describe components of personal and group identity in relation to the past.  Quite frankly, futurity was simply not a burning topic prior to the second half of the nineteenth century: it became more so after Darwin’s theory on natural selection was widely transmitted,  and even more so with his later theory on sexual selection, which confronted human evolution, past and future, much more directly. The etymology of the word ‘blood’ is deep and wide, and disappears with its myriad signifiers into the primordial ooze of ancient tongues that were precursors to the English language. The word ‘race’, however, as it is understood today, is a much more modern concept.Charles Darwin had been instrumental in grafting the notion of futurityonto the word ‘race’ with the publication of The Descent of Man, in 1871, along with the idea that we were, as a species, somewhere in the middle of an evolutionary trek that must be measured in millions, or billions of years, rather than the five thousand-or-so years of the Judeo-Christian myth.


To this day, futurity is still not an attribute normally associated with the word ‘blood’. Although both words are capable of conveying notions of kinship, ‘blood’ was a word which George Eliot understood in a manner relatively consistent with our own understanding today. In terms of kinship, it still primarily denotes ancestry, social class, and personal characteristics inherited from previous generations. The distinction between forward and backward-looking human evolution, as depicted as a theme in Daniel Deronda, is important not only in relation to Eliot’s now outdated notions concerning the Jewish race, but also in terms of the emerging scientific perspective which encompassed it. The novel was published in its final form seventeen years after Darwin’s The Origin of Species, but only five years after The Descent of Man. Readers had had ample time to consider Darwin’s first publication (which omitted any lengthy discussion of mankind) and to begin to absorb its immense implications within the stream of their previous knowledge of natural history. In doing so, Victorians began to make some rather novel connections between their religious and ethical beliefs and the nature of their ethnic identity, as viewed on an evolutionary scale. This was a profound shift on many levels, of course, but enough time had passed  between The Origin of Species and Daniel Deronda for Darwin’s ideas to become a familiar subject to most literate Victorians, as well as to begin inspiring other discourses and precipitating what would become a slow but certain reorganization of many branches of human knowledge. In the Origins wake came ideas that were both commonly disseminated and that had a profound effect on how the word ‘race’ was understood, as well as what sorts of issues were associated with it in the educated Victorian mind.
The Descent of Man, Darwin’s second book on the subject of evolution, was a text in which the notion of futurity was much more apparent than his first, and which discussed human futurity, specifically: In The Origins, Darwin hinted: “…we may safely inferthat not one living species will transmit its unaltered likeness to a distant futurity,”[13]   This was unsettling news. Twelve years later, in The Descent, he is more blunt: “At some future period, not very distant as measured by centuries, the civilized races of man will almost certainly exterminate and replace throughout the world the savage races…”[14]  The cataclysmic possibilities resulting from the attempted social control of racial difference were slowly emerging in a process that would take several decades longer to play itself out on the world stage.
The Descent of Man confronted issues that were obviously related to natural selection with regards to man’s own evolution (a feature that Origins noticeably lacked). The budding notion of man’s control over his own evolution, creating a new set of anxieties which would soon inspire its own lexicon of terminologies having to do with different concerns related to sexual selection and race, but preceding  this scientific and social restructuring, a linguistic shift occurred, and the word ‘race’ took on much more social significance than it had before. No longer understood solely in the sense it was immediately perceived in The Origin of Species, that is, of the human race as opposed to monkeys or turtles, ‘race’ denoted the idea of  human subspecies: the ‘civilized races’ versus the ‘savage races’. The update instilled much greater significance to the fact that  “subspecies’ could be understood to be capable of ‘interbreeding’.


While this may have been realized by many before, its implications for the future of different races was not something that had been dwelt upon as it was in the decades after Darwin’s publications, when it would become a preoccupation of many. The understanding conveyed by the word ‘blood’, denoting the past, was not the focus of this shift. It was ‘race’, denoting the future, that would capture and preoccupy the Victorian imagination. ‘Race’, with its accompanying notion of futurity, became the source of great anxiety, and the significance of ‘interbreeding’ between other races – such as ‘the Jewish race’ – a distinction being made increasingly by both Jewish and Christian authors, would begin to take on scientific as well as social significance that had not existed before.


It was in uniting the principles of racial organicity and futurity that Eliot inspired both Christian and Jewish Zionists. The reason The Club Scene was embraced with such fervor, rather than the novel as a whole, was because it offered a succinct description of common ideological ground on which a wide coalition of both Christians and Jews of all social classes could join forces on a project that differed significantly in its ideological underpinnings from any implemented before. Uniting Jews and Christians in this unique manner was difficult neither emotionally nor intellectually, nor did it involve the need to fully absorb a hefty Victorian novel like Eliot’s (or any other text) although it was within such a text that these ideas were fully conceived and elaborated.

Where Money, Land, Race, and Religion Met

In September of 1876, soon after the novel’s publication, Eliot began corresponding with a man named Haim Guedalla. Guedalla was the nephew of Moses Montefiore, one of the wealthiest Jews of the 19th century, who had long been associated with attempts at establishing and funding communities in Palestine. Guedalla had previously travelled to the Middle East with Montefiore on a diplomatic mission involving Moroccan Jews that had the backing of the British government.[15] He  was well-versed in middle eastern politics and eminently well connected with the aristocratic Jewish community that included not only his uncle Moses, but Montefiore’s other relatives, the Rothschilds, who had recently had a significant hand in financing the British Empire’s push east, by loaning the government the  necessary funds for a 44% stake in the Suez Canal,  and who would later be instrumental in financing the first forays of the New Yishuv into Palestine.

A frequent contributor to the Jewish press, Guedalla was also, in 1876,  the chairman of the Turkish Bondholders of the General Debt of Turkey; a group to whom the Ottoman Empire was heavily leveraged in debentures. Two letters were exchanged between Guedalla and Eliot. In the first exchange, Guedalla thanked her, on behalf of the Jewish community, “for having represented us in so favorable a light and in so attractive and scholarly a manner before the world.”  His letter also contained a pamphlet he had written which outlined the possibility of swapping land that could be used for Jewish settlement in return for canceling the Ottoman debt that his group controlled. He described to Eliot “a vision of Syria again in the hands of the Jews.”[16]

Eliot wrote back, “it is a deeply felt encouragement to me, that at the date you mention, last winter, when I happened to be writing precisely that scene at the club, your practical judgment was occupied with projects not in disagreement with my conceptions.”[17] This implied endorsement, from such a prominent figure as Eliot, for the idea of outright purchase was enough to motivate Guedalla to try to turn the brief correspondence into a public relations coup. He answered her letter immediately, asking if he could send a copy of her letter to The Jewish Chronicle, along with his original pamphlet describing the potential of an Ottoman land-for-debt swap, and also included with it the Hebrew translation of The Club Scene.This was the same translation that Eliot would later refer to as ‘flying about in the Hebrew tongue.’It was Guedalla who had commissioned the translation of The Club Scene and had it published in the Magid, from where it spread.
Why was somebody of Guedalla’s millieu so interested in seeing the idea of swapping debt-for-land, along with a Hebrew translation of The Club Scene in print, together with Eliot’s implied endorsement of his idea? Guedalla was prescient in realizing early on the possibility of a large-scale buyout of Palestinian land. With his family connections, and as chairman of the Turkish Bondholders of the General Debt of Turkey, he had considerable influence within the Jewish community and wrote several letters concerning the idea in The Jewish Chronicle and other publications. The idea, however, while attracting a great deal of attention within the Jewish community, had not attracted the support that Guedalla had hoped — a point of great frustration for him.  At that time, Jewish settlement in the east was an issue marked by the infighting of different factions in different communities with different goals and different motivations.  The movement, although potentially well-funded,  lacked a cohesive vision. Guedalla had the foresight to see that with Eliot’s notoriety attached, The Club Scene, with its newly-conceived theme of racial rather than religious cohesion,could provide that vision.

Unbeknownst to Eliot,Guedalla had already tried to link Daniel Deronda to his visions of colonization in a previous letter to the Jewish Chronicle, two months earlier, in July of 1876.  “The matter is not as visionary as many seem to imagine,” he wrote, and noted that Eliot had “eloquently sketched out a new Judea, poised between East and West, a covenant of reconciliation…”[18]  His usage of the word ‘visionary’ needs qualification. Eitan Bar-Yosef notes that “throughout most of the nineteenth century, projects concerning the Jewish restoration to Palestine were continuously associated with charges of religious enthusiasm, eccentricity, sometimes even madness—all of them categories of differentiationwhich located Christian Zionism beyond the cultural consensus.”[19]  What Eliot offered within her novel was a vision that could very well reside within “the cutural concensus” Guedalla and others were trying to promote. Participants within Eliot’s formulation could choose for themselves what admixture of race and religion this “covenant of reconciliation” contained: a racial reconciliation; as viewed from the perspective of the budding social and scientific discourses of the age, was an idea not inconsistenent with the premillenarianists’ religious fervor, yet also attracted the interest of a much larger segment of the population who might have political or social motivations unconnected with the “eccentric” motivations of other proto-Zionist groups, past and present. In short, the ideas contained in The Club Scenebridged the gap not only from the past to the future, but as Guedalla suggested in his letter to the Jewish Chronicle, also that between “the sphere of prophecy to the sphere of practical politics…” [20]


Eliot subsequently rejected Guedalla’s request to have her letter publsihed with his other promotional materials, but twelve years later, he would still be glowing from his brief correspondence with her. Years after her death,  In 1888, in the introduction to another pamphlet entitled “Jews and Christians” he wrote, “The club scene in Daniel Deronda  was most ably translated for me into Hebrew by the Editor of the Magid within a few days of its appearance in English, to the great delight of George Eliot as conveyed to me.”[21]
The Club Scene resonated more with political rather than religious proto-Zionists. Yet it  cannot be called a politcal manifesto simply because it suggested no concrete political action. Indeed, one of the most persistent criticisms of the novel is how it ends with the hero and his Jewish bride sailing off to Palestine without the vaguest indication of what they are actually going to do there, though it is clear their designs are nationalistic. [22]  Near the end of the novel, Daniel says of his plans, “I am going to the East to become better acquainted with the condition of my race. “ It is important to note here that his interest is in the condition of his ‘race’, not religion. His formal religious conversion to Judaism, while obligatory to the functioning of the novel’s plot (he needed to convert in order to make his marriage to Mordecai’s sister valid) transpired with almost comical rapidity, as did his preparatory lessons in Hebrew. Daniel’s conversion of identity is, aside from these obligatory details, entirely racial. Daniel continues:

The idea that I am possessed with is that of restoring a political existence to my people, making them a nation again, giving them a national center, such as the English have, though they too are scattered over the face of the globe. That is a task which presents itself to me as a duty; I am resolved to begin it, however feebly. I am resolved to devote my life to it. At the least, I may awaken a movement in other minds, such as has been awakened in my own.[23]

Eliot ironically equates the Jewish diaspora with the English, who were, at that time, ‘scattered over the face of the globe’ for glaringly different reasons. Yet, by suggesting a diasporic bond between Jew and English Gentile, she managed to transcend the many earlier bonds of kinship based on highly unstable and constantly evolving religious values. Here, Eliot is concerned only with ‘race’, ‘political existence’, and ‘a national center’, leaving it to future writers to work out the details of these elements in the relationship that would emerge and develop in the coming decades. Mordecai envisions this new national center as “a neutral ground for the East as Belgium is for the West,” yet never details how this utopian national existence will be conceived.  “Difficulties?” Mordecai continues, “I know there are difficulties. But let the spirit of sublime achievement move in the great among our people, and the work will begin.”[24]


In 1876, what the budding movement required more than anything else was a larger number of supporters within the middle ground of English and European society. Clearly, religious fervor for an eastern adventure would not provide a strong enough motivation to transform European popular opinion on the prospects for a Jewish homeland, and Eliot wisely does not provide the details for one.  A shift in how race was perceived – specifically, the concept of kindred races with a shared destiny was, in 1876, a fresh idea that could be woven seamlessly into the many other strands of Jewish, as well as Christian communal feeling with remarkable ease: strands that existed in different admixtures in different communities and that were partially embraced by some individuals, wholly discarded by others, throughout eastern as well as western Europe. Strands of Jewish identity — religious, ethnic and national – were rapidly transforming and also growing much more complex throughout Europe. Different political and social situations were effecting different Jewish communities in different ways in different countries. Restoration was something that was widely discussed in different communities with different outlooks and often very little consensus between them. A joint pilgrimage such as the one suggested in The Club Scene could include or discard any of the other underlying motivations according to the particular preferences of any individual or group, yet retain the crucial element of race which Mordecai trumpets repeatedly to his fellow philosophers in The Hand and Banner.Untainted by the genocidal ideologies that were to come decades later, these were fresh new ideas that Jew as well as Gentile, from the slums of eastern Europe to the upper echelons of English society, could rally around together. It is not difficult to see why Guedalla wanted his latest pamphlet published in the same light as these new ideas, authored by such a prominent and influential figure as Eliot.


In 1876, the idea of controlling our own racial evolution was very much apparent in The Club Scene when Mordecai concludes:

The divine principle of our race is action, choice, resolved memory. Let us contradict the blasphemy, and help to will our own better future and the better future of the world – not renounce our higher gift and say, ‘Let us be as if we were not among the populations;’ but choose our full heritage, claim the brotherhood of our nation, and carry into it a new brotherhood with the nations of the Gentiles. The vision is there; it will be fulfilled.”[25]



[1] The Complete Diaries of Theodor Herzl, ed. Raphael Patai, trans. Harry Zohn (New York, 1960), 5 vols. 1:72. Cited inShlomo Avineri, ‘Theodor Herzl’s Diaries as a Bildungsroman’,  Jewish Social Studies. Volume: 5. Issue: 3. 1999, 19.

[2]Ibid, 19

[3] Gordon S. Haight, ed., The George Eliot Letters, (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1954-55) Vol. 6 p 321

[4] George Eliot,  Daniel Deronda (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999) 454, Questia, Web, 25 Jan. 2011.

[5] Quoted in: Brenda McKay, George Eliot and Victorian Attitudes to Racial Diversity, Colonialism, Darwinism, Class, Gender, and Jewis Culture and Prophecy (Lewiston: The Edwin Mellen Press, 2003) 84

[6] Ibid

[7]  Deronda  P. 458

[8] Moses Hess, Rome and Jerusalem A Study in Jewish Nationalism, Trans. Meyer Waxman (New York: Bloch Publishing Co.,) 1918

[9] Theodor Herzl, Complete Diaries, Raphael Patai, ed. ( 5 vols., 1960), entry for 2 May 1901, 3:1090.” Cited in Moses Hess, and Melvin I. Urofsky, The Revival of Israel: Rome and Jerusalem, the Last Nationalist Question trans. Meyer Waxman, (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1995), xvi,

[10] Deronda  P. 455

[11] See Eitan Bar-Yosef, The Holy Land in English Culture (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2005).

[12]Deronda, P. 456

[13]  Charles Darwin, The Origin of Species ed. Gillian Beer, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996), 395,

[14] Charles Darwin, The Descent of Man and Selection in Relation to Sex, August 2000 [Etext #2300], retrieved on January 22, 2011.

[15] See David Littman ‘Mission to Morocco’ in The Century of Moses Montefiore (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1985) 171-239

[16] Gordon S. Haight, ed., The George Eliot Letters, (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1954-55) Vol. 6 pp. 288-289

[17] Ibid

[18] Jewish Chronicle, 21 July 1876, 251. Cited in Eitan Bar-Yosef, The Holy Land in English Culture 1799-1917, (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2007)

[19] Holy Land, p. 184

[20] Chronicle, Ibid

[21]Haim Guedalla, Introductory notes to Jews and Christians, Princess Nathalie Gortschakoff-OuvaroffLondon : Darling  &Son. Limited, 1888 from Accessed January 22, 2011.

[22] See for instance Henry James, “Daniel Deronda: A Conversation”, Atlantic Monthly (December 1876), xxxviii, 684-94, repr. In David Carroll (ed.) George Eliot: The Critical Heritage (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1971), 423, 417.

[23]Deronda, 688

[24]Deronda, 456-457

[25] Deronda,  459

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