Middlemarch Discussion

[Dark Muse]

I have decided to start reading Middlemarch and it seems like the kind of book that would be profitable and interesting to disscuss while reading, so I thought I would open this thread for any who may be interested.

There are no deadlines or due dates for reading, and you can join in at anytime and post as we read along. It is only asked if you have finnished the book to post SPOILER warnings if you will be giving anything away.

so enjoy!

[Nightshade]

Ive got it but I wont be joining in, I suffeerd enough through Danial Derronda. To have another Eliot so soon after.

[Dark Muse]

Ahh well that is a shame, for me this is my first time reading Eliot

[Dark Muse]

I find there is something quite compelling in Eliot's prose. I cannot quite put my finger on just what it is, but I find that I was quite quickly engaged and drawn into the story, and find there is a sort of elegance in the way in which she writes. At the same time there is also a great deal of complexity in her writing and it seems there are many layers within the story. It is difficult to fully comprehend all of the intricacies within the story. It is loaded with allusions and I find the strong religious overtones to be interesting. I also feel there is something comic within her writing, the characters and their interactions are quite humorous at times.

Dorothea is a most fascinating character I think and she herself is quite complex as well in some ways I feel contradictory. Though she seems like she would be annoying to say the least to know her in person, as a character it is difficult not to have some admiration to her for I find her to be so thoroughly interesting.

[Nightshade]

Obviously nott reading it, but as a note on Eliot, yes I think that of all of her works I have read, there tends to be a fair amout of religious overtones, I hink it probably comes from her upbringing.
:D

[Albion]

Middlemarch is a story of great depth and psychological insight.
None of us know what the closing Georgian years (not Victorian) were like but I can believe George Eliot has captured the essence of the age of her youth and its social structures although set 40 years prior to writing.

In particular, she juxtaposes the genteel poverty of the Garths with the opulence of the Brooks and Chettams; the ardent desire of impoverished clergymen to minister to their parishioners contrasted with the smug Christianity of Bulstrode; and the entrapment of women within a man's world where they are unable to exert influence except by stifling their personalities in the roles of a servant or governess, or in marriage.

In her desire for achievement, Dorothea makes a burdensome marriage, Celia opts for convention, whilst Rosamund is blind to responsibility and Lydgate identifies too closely with Bulstrode.

George Eliot also revealingly portrays the conflicts suffered by the protagonists: Dorothea remains fiercely loyal to her husband although loving Ladislaw; Ladislaw disdains Casuabon but is reliant upon him financially; the practical Mary loves Fred but they have no money and she despises Fred's dreams of easy riches; despite Farebrother loving Mary he dutifully represents Fred to Mary; Lydgate is passionate about medical reform but his ambitions are dashed when he disastrously overstretches himself financially by his early marriage; Bulstrode is the epitome of rectitude but harbours a very dark secret.

There are also transformations: Dorothea through a disastrous marriage into a mature woman; Fred through a satisfying job into responsibility; Lydgate from idealism into the realities of an uncompromising world. George Eliot places these human dramas against a background of political and social reform to achieve a sense of change and movement.

The weaving of all these stories and their resolution is masterly. George Eliot describes the grand sweep of events and the detailed lives of her numerous characters with exactitude and persuasiveness.
There are tragedies and happy endings; love and innocence; romance and realism; riches and poverty.

It is ironic, however, that George Eliot relied for effect on her misunderstanding of the law of Wills: burning a will does not destroy its existence and the validity of Casuabon's precatory will is also doubtful.

The story is, nonetheless, compelling. The characters are, for me, real people (they still live in a secret world, somewhere) with real desires, faults, ambitions and duties. There are wonderful human examples: not least Mary and Dorothea, Caleb Garth and Lydgate; but I reserve my greatest admiration for Harriett Bulstrode who proves how love transcends disaster.

Who are the main protagonists of this story? Certainly Dorothea but Fred and Mary, with Lydgate, are very close seconds. Readers will identify with their ambitions and live the setbacks with them. My disappointment was that the book had to end; but 900 pages offers a treasury of delight. This book is a social commentary as well as several love stories. Do not rush: it deserves to be read slowly over several months.

[fb0252]

Henry James, the Henry James, writes an interesting review in the Norton Edition of Middlemarch. Several, including James, point to shortcomings in the book and Eliot's writing, while praising it. I read Middlemarch some time ago, and recall its superb themes of the dynamics of marriage. It is memorable, but also something uneasy about it. Mary Ann Evans was anything but religious, which makes perception of religious themes ironic. I'm thinking those with a higher I.Q., me excluded, might get more out of this sort of highly intelligent writing. I certainly enjoyed it, but as you go on there is a certain "machine gun" quality of ever raining down thoughts coming at you like bullets. This lady has a never ending didactic style to which I developed a certain resistance. You marvel at the insights and her ability but you also commence to figure out an irritating, depressing pattern to the metaphors. James faulted the book for failure to lead the characters to an appropriate conclusion. Must reading, with a powerful ending!

[Janine]

I should read the book eventually, since I own the BBC miniseries and I love the story. It's sort of Dickenish at times with quirky character; but with much more depth and layering, referring more to the main characters; and Dorthea is very significant in her (progressive for the times) ideas. I believe she personified Elliot herself. I think the most complex of the characters is her husband. He is very strange and yet you can begin to understand where he is coming from with his obsessive study of old texts; underneath his facade he is only human. I'm sure I would enjoy reading the book. It's on my 'must read' list.

[Dark Muse]

I started out liking Casuban but than after a while I just cannot stand him anymore, though I personally do not find anything complex about his character, I find his is one of the simplest characters in the story as he doesn't really change at all, it just becomes more and more obnoxious in the way he treats Dorothea. He just turns out to be a pathetic old man jealous of his younger nephew because of the things that his nephew accomplished that he cannot achieve with his own life because he is as dusty as his books and cannot accept that everything he dedicated his life to is just one big failure and he takes it out upon his wife in an immature and unbecoming way.

[fb0252]

possibly the BBC series treats Causabon with greater kindness than the book, in the short clip I saw.

[Dark Muse]

Yes, that is possible as I have not seen the mini-series. But in the book there really isn't any sympathetic view of him, as well as a character he doesn't really develop or change much in a way to make him particularly complicated or interesting. He just grows increasingly more bitter and it is drawn primarily from the fact that he has been pretty much wasting all his time on his life's work because he is too stuck in archaic systems that no one cares about anymore but he cannot accept this fact. So he misuses his nephew out of personal jealousy of his own rising Intellectual career and lashes out against Dorothea whose only wish and desire was to be a good and loyal wife and learn from his wisdom. But he ends up pushing her away and his meanness and pettiness are what ultimately cause Dorothea to develop feelings for Casuban's nephew, but even so she never actually acts out in anyway that is unfaithful to her husband.

[Veho]

I agree with Dark Muse respecting Causabon, and I do think the BBC production softens his less agreeable qualities. As someone said, Dorothea remains loyal to him throughout their marriage and he repays her with suspicion and (SPOILER) the clause in his will is evidence of this.

[Dark Muse]

I agree with Dark Muse respecting Causabon, and I do think the BBC production softens his less agreeable qualities. As someone said, Dorothea remains loyal to him throughout their marriage and he repays her with suspicion and (SPOILER) the clause in his will is evidence of this.

Yes, and ultimately Doothea's reputation becomes scandalilized within the town becasue of that unfair clause. It was a last jabbing act of spite against his wife and his own kin.

[Janine]

I agree with Dark Muse respecting Causabon, and I do think the BBC production softens his less agreeable qualities. As someone said, Dorothea remains loyal to him throughout their marriage and he repays her with suspicion and (SPOILER) the clause in his will is evidence of this.

Actually, the first time I saw the BBC production, I felt only hatred and was outraged towards Causbon. I guess on additional viewings, I began to see something more, because I kept saying to myself "what did Dorothea first see in him that others could not?" I do think you probably are right, that the series treats his character a bit more softly. I could not forgive his last action, which I will not mention, since it would spoil the book for readers. If anything, in the film version I began to feel revulsion but also some bit of pity; because Causbon was truly obsessive with his old world texts and studies and he was quite pathetic. He actually was a sad character himself and therefore he didn't really know how to relate to a wife. He is the type man should never be married at all. Perhaps the actor, Patrick Malahide, came across differently from the novel. I have seen him now in several productions and he is a fine actor; even though most times one feels very negative about the character he is portraying. He seems to play those type character roles.

[Veho]

Actually, the first time I saw the BBC production, I felt only hatred and was outraged towards Causbon. I guess on additional viewings, I began to see something more, because I kept saying to myself "what did Dorothea first see in him that others could not?" I do think you probably are right, that the series treats his character a bit more softly. I could not forgive his last action, which I will not mention, since it would spoil the book for readers. If anything, in the film version I began to feel revulsion but also some bit of pity; because Causbon was truly obsessive with his old world texts and studies and he was quite pathetic. He actually was a sad character himself and therefore he didn't really know how to relate to a wife. He is the type man should never be married at all. Perhaps the actor, Patrick Malahide, came across differently from the novel. I have seen him now in several productions and he is a fine actor; even though most times one feels very negative about the character he is portraying. He seems to play those type character roles.

I agree that he inspires pity, but pity is all, I think. I don't feel any sympathy towards him. Ultimately he is selfish, not necessarily with his money, but with his time and his affections. But that is not necessarily all his fault, I think Dorothea was very naive in marrying him, but then he did pursue her and propose marriage.

[Dark Muse]

I agree that he inspires pity, but pity is all, I think. I don't feel any sympathy towards him. Ultimately he is selfish, not necessarily with his money, but with his time and his affections. But that is not necessarily all his fault, I think Dorothea was very naive in marrying him, but then he did pursue her and propose marriage.


I think that is part of his selfishness in the fact that he actively sought Dorothea and really took advantage of your youngness and naivety, in spite of what Dorothea was attracted to within him, and her delusions of her romantic ideal about the daughters of Milton, he out of his own personal desire took advantage of that. He decided that he should have a wife, and sought a particularly young girl because she had deluded ideas of what it would be like to be married to him. I do not think he truly gave Dorothea's feelings any true account at all.

While one might argue that he could not help himself and lacked the ability to know how to express affection to another, I cannot believe that he was completely oblivious about this fact of himself and to a degree he did mislead Dorothea, he knew she wanted to actively help him in his work and yet he showed no intent or interest in allowing her to do so once they were married.

[Uberzensch]

Dark Muse, how far along in the book are you? I started a little over a week ago and am about 200 pages in.

[Dark Muse]

I have by now acutally fininished the book, I first started the thread sometime back a while ago.

[Uberzensch]

Yeah, I figured. I'll still try to post some stuff here as I go...

[fb0252]

I would like to know what you all thought of the book, now that your finished.

[Dark Muse]

I really liked it. There were moments that felt a bit tedious to read at times, and it could be a bit of a difficult book, but it was so involved, and it was quite amazing the great wealth of knowledge on such a variety of subjects the Elliott displaced within the book. And I thought she did a marvelous job at capturing the many different angles of Victorian Society.

I loved the different stories of the various different characters and I particularly loved Dorothea. I thought she was quite a fascinating character.

It was a very involved, intricate book, and the prose I found to be quite appealing and loved the humor which was also threaded through the pages.

It was definitely worth the effort.

[fb0252]

just finished a second reading. On closer perusal, I think Causabon is treated very kindly, really personifying Elliot herself , as a scholar after the impossible. Eliot complains in one of her letters and with Causabon makes fun of her self of the difficulty, futility and finally a certain humor in attempting the Key To All Mythologies. This is in contrast to a scientist such as Lydgate studying a specific body of knowledge and trying to move it forward. Eliot also writes of the distractions of marriage and life in general on scholarship and achievement. She made Causabon human. I think that comes more across on second reading, which I recommend. This is a very brilliant book. Rivals Shakespeare in its intelligence.

[Ecurb]

I read Middlemarch for the first time recently. It is a great book. The first 600 pages merely set the stage – it is in the last quarter or so of the book that Eliot comes out swinging, landing every punch with power and accuracy.

Like Austen's, Eliot’s most romantic and moving scenes often play out between two women, or a woman and her father, rather than between the enamored couple. The meeting of Dorothea and Rosamond, where Rosamond explains Ladislaw’s behavior, is one example. Dorothea’s meeting with Celia, near the end, is equally moving. And, of course, no reader can possibly read the passage where Mary Garth tells her father that he is the best man in the world without shedding a tear, although it is no more than the simply stated truth.

Dorothea annoyed me (slightly) throughout the book. She has a martyr complex that I don’t quite understand. Eliot, it seems to me, values her too highly. Mary Garth is wonderful (and Caleb Garth absolutely unexceptionable). Celia is great, too. I like Fred Vincey, and I would have feared the intrusion of Mr. Farebrother onto the Garth scene had it not been for his name, which set me at ease.

Here’s the last paragraph of the novel (no spoilers):

“Her finely touched spirit had still its fine issues, though they were not widely visible. Her full nature, like that river of which Cyrus broke the strength, spent itself in channels which had no great name on the earth. But the effect of her being on those around her was incalculably diffusive: for the growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been, is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs.”

Very moving and well done, of course – but isn’t it a more apt description of Celia or Mary Garth than of Dorothea? Perhaps Eliot is suggesting that Dorothea has learned to be more like her sister, and to value those qualities that Mary and Celia had in such abundance, and that Dorothea had to learn to cultivate in herself and to admire.

[fb0252]

nice job. am impressed how carefully you read. Eliott is very nuanced, subtle and highly intelligent. a lot passed over me on first reading that u seemed to have picked up. indeed, analyzing the treatment of Dorothea she seems overblown. she was also a character that seemed to grow as the book progressed. there is some nice commentary on this in the Norton edition.

[Gladys]

I agree that he [Causabon] inspires pity, but pity is all, I think. I don't feel any sympathy towards him. Ultimately he is selfish, not necessarily with his money, but with his time and his affections.


I think that is part of his [Causabon's] selfishness in the fact that he actively sought Dorothea and really took advantage of your youngness and naivety...


Eliot also writes of the distractions of marriage and life in general on scholarship and achievement. She made Causabon human. I think that comes more across on second reading, which I recommend.

Perhaps the truest judgement on Causabon comes not from Ladislaw and his ilk, but from Dorothea once Causabon's ill health is apparent. She sympathises with the plight and the mindset of this decidedly immature and pathetic scholar. And she is pure of heart.

At the end, Dorothea almost works a miracle with the intractable Rosamund.


Here’s the last paragraph of the novel (no spoilers):

“Her finely touched spirit had still its fine issues, though they were not widely visible. Her full nature, like that river of which Cyrus broke the strength, spent itself in channels which had no great name on the earth. But the effect of her being on those around her was incalculably diffusive: for the growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been, is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs.”

Very moving and well done, of course – but isn’t it a more apt description of Celia or Mary Garth than of Dorothea? Perhaps Eliot is suggesting that Dorothea has learned to be more like her sister, and to value those qualities that Mary and Celia had in such abundance, and that Dorothea had to learn to cultivate in herself and to admire.

Cecilia is delightful but ethically myopic. Mary Garth and Dorothea make an interesting moral comparison, the prime difference being the latter's vision, soaring on eagles wings.

[Ecurb]

Celia is not a philosopher -- but neither is she "ethically myopic". She has a natural goodness that shines through her simple, loving nature. Dorothea, on the other hand, is myopic (at first). She is ambitious to leave her mark on the world -- either by building housing for the poor, or helping Causabon theorize about religion. Her ambition led her into a loveless marriage, that served no good purpose for either her or her husband. Her DESIRE for accomplishment led her into error, and into an inability to accomplish anything of value. Only when she forsakes her ambition for love can Eliot say, " the effect of her being on those around her was incalculably diffusive: for the growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been, is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs.”

Dorothea wanted to be Ozymandias, and only when she forsook that ambition did she "live faithfully a hidden life", and make things "not so ill with you and me."

[joelavine]

"I find there is something quite compelling in Eliot's prose. I cannot quite put my finger on just what it is, but I find that I was quite quickly engaged and drawn into the story, and find there is a sort of elegance in the way in which she writes. At the same time there is also a great deal of complexity in her writing and it seems there are many layers within the story. It is difficult to fully comprehend all of the intricacies within the story. It is loaded with allusions and I find the strong religious overtones to be interesting. I also feel there is something comic within her writing, the characters and their interactions are quite humorous at times."

Well said. She is as discerning and insightful a judge of human character, relations, judgment and choice but never loses sight of the power of humor and good will to engage the reader. Through this technique, I think we develop a strong bond not only with select characters but with the narrative voice herself as if she is a trusted friend; the kind of person we would meet and immediately be charmed by and whose values and judgements we would respect implicitly. And then, there is the language at once completely accessible and simultaneously firing on all cylinders as if she were continuously possessed by genius.

[Gladys]

Celia...has a natural goodness that shines through her simple, loving nature. Dorothea, on the other hand, is myopic (at first).

Unlike Dorothea, Celia nature readily aligns her views with the mediocre prejudice of her influential friends, foremost among them (the rather self interested) Sir James Chettam (Sir James never liked Ladislaw). For instance, Celia is happy to prejudge the motives of Ladislaw and Lydgate. Dorothea mistakes are not those of ethical mediocrity, but those inherent in the forgiveable idealism and naivete of youth.


Only when she [Dorothea] forsakes her ambition for love can Eliot say, " the effect of her being on those around her was incalculably diffusive...

Does Dorothea forsake her ambition for love? She marries Ladislaw...for love. And lives happily every after it seems.


Dorothea wanted to be Ozymandias, and only when she forsook that ambition did she "live faithfully a hidden life", and make things "not so ill with you and me."

Your interpretation of the closing paragraph of Middlemarch seems at odds with the literal meaning of the text.


Her finely touched spirit had still its fine issues, though they were not widely visible. Her full nature, like that river of which Cyrus broke the strength, spent itself in channels which had no great name on the earth. But the effect of her being on those around her was incalculably diffusive: for the growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been, is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs.

I understand the text to say that Dorothea retained all her ambition for love but that societal opposition, reduced wealth and the subservient role of women redirected her once grander efforts into a myriad of small, yet noble, channels. As Lydgate, Ladislaw, Farebrother and Rosamund had been blessed but Dorothea's angelic touch, so her future loving but unhistoric acts would make things not so ill with you and me. She was born and remains an angel.

[Ecurb]

Of course it's all a matter of taste, but Dorothea annoys me. She has a martyr complex; she hungers for a false accomplishment (Causabon's coattails); she wants to be noble, but can't quite pull it off.

It is true that Celia is influenced by her husband. She is not a deep thinker. Nonetheless, her love for her sister is pure and shining. Is Dorothea's love for anyone "pure"? Was her love for Causabon "pure", or was it some sort of self-interested, ambitious, almost Machiavellian ploy on her part? She does forsake her ambition by marrying Ladislaw, but that's the worst part of the book. Let's compare two love scenes , that between Dorothea and Ladislaw, and that between Mary Garth and Fred (with Mr. Garth involved too). Here are Dorothea and Ladislaw, making love in a phony, overheated manner:





They stood silent, not looking at each other, but looking at the evergreens which were being tossed, and were showing the pale underside of their leaves against the blackening sky. Will never enjoyed the prospect of a storm so much: it delivered him from the necessity of going away. Leaves and little branches were hurled about, and the thunder was getting nearer. The light was more and more sombre, but there came a flash of lightning which made them start and look at each other, and then smile. Dorothea began to say what she had been thinking of.

"That was a wrong thing for you to say, that you would have had nothing to try for. If we had lost our own chief good, other people's good would remain, and that is worth trying for. Some can be happy. I seemed to see that more clearly than ever, when I was the most wretched. I can hardly think how I could have borne the trouble, if that feeling had not come to me to make strength."

"You have never felt the sort of misery I felt," said Will; " the misery of knowing that you must despise me."

"But I have felt worse -- it was worse to think ill -- " Dorothea had begun impetuously, but broke off.

Will colored. He had the sense that whatever she said was uttered in the vision of a fatality that kept them apart. He was silent a moment, and then said passionately --

"We may at least have the comfort of speaking to each other without disguise. Since I must go away -- since we must always be divided -- you may think of me as one on the brink of the grave."

While he was speaking there came a vivid flash of lightning which lit each of them up for the other -- and the light seemed to be the terror of a hopeless love. Dorothea darted instantaneously from the window; Will followed her, seizing her hand with a spasmodic movement; and so they stood, with their hands clasped, like two children, looking out on the storm, while the thunder gave a tremendous crack and roll above them, and the rain began to pour down. Then they turned their faces towards each other, with the memory of his last words in them, and they did not loose each other's hands.


"There is no hope for me," said Will. "Even if you loved me as well as I love you -- even if I were everything to you -- I shall most likely always be very poor: on a sober calculation, one can count on nothing but a creeping lot. It is impossible for us ever to belong to each other. It is perhaps base of me to have asked for a word from you. I meant to go away into silence, but I have not been able to do what I meant."

"Don't be sorry," said Dorothea, in her clear tender tones. "I would rather share all the trouble of our parting."

Her lips trembled, and so did his. It was never known which lips were the first to move towards the other lips; but they kissed tremblingly, and then they moved apart.

The rain was dashing against the window-panes as if an angry spirit were within it, and behind it was the great swoop of the wind; it was one of those moments in which both the busy and the idle pause with a certain awe.

Dorothea sat down on the seat nearest to her, a long low ottoman in the middle of the room, and with her hands folded over each other on her lap, looked at the drear outer world. Will stood still an instant looking at her, then seated himself beside her, and laid his hand on hers, which turned itself upward to be clasped. They sat in that way without looking at each other, until the rain abated and began to fall in stillness. Each had been full of thoughts which neither of them could begin to utter.

But when the rain was quiet, Dorothea turned to look at Will. With passionate exclamation, as if some torture screw were threatening him, he started up and said, "It is impossible!"

He went and leaned on the back of the chair again, and seemed to be battling with his own anger, while she looked towards him sadly.

"It is as fatal as a murder or any other horror that divides people," he burst out again; " it is more intolerable -- to have our life maimed by petty accidents."

"No -- don't say that -- your life need not be maimed," said Dorothea, gently.


"Yes, it must," said Will, angrily. "It is cruel of you to speak in that way -- as if there were any comfort. You may see beyond the misery of it, but I don't. It is unkind -- it is throwing back my love for you as if it were a trifle, to speak in that way in the face of the fact. We can never be married."

"Some time -- we might," said Dorothea, in a trembling voice.

"When?" said Will, bitterly. "What is the use of counting on any success of mine? It is a mere toss up whether I shall ever do more than keep myself decently, unless I choose to sell myself as a mere pen and a mouthpiece. I can see that clearly enough. I could not offer myself to any woman, even if she had no luxuries to renounce."

There was silence. Dorothea's heart was full of something that she wanted to say, and yet the words were too difficult. She was wholly possessed by them: at that moment debate was mute within her. And it was very hard that she could not say what she wanted to say. Will was looking out of the window angrily. If he would have looked at her and not gone away from her side, she thought everything would have been easier. At last he turned, still resting against the chair, and stretching his hand automatically towards his hat, said with a sort of exasperation, "Good-by."

"Oh, I cannot bear it -- my heart will break," said Dorothea, starting from her seat, the flood of her young passion bearing down all the obstructions which had kept her silent -- the great tears rising and falling in an instant: " I don't mind about poverty -- I hate my wealth."

In an instant Will was close to her and had his arms round her, but she drew her head back and held his away gently that she might go on speaking, her large tear-filled eyes looking at his very simply, while she said in a sobbing childlike way, " We could live quite well on my own fortune -- it is too much -- seven hundred a-year -- I want so little -- no new clothes -- and I will learn what everything costs."

Good grief! Is this the work of George Eliot, the great Realist, or of some hack melodramatist? How noble of Dorothea to accept living on 700 pounds a year (that would be about $50k in modern money). How convenient of the thunder and lightening to augment the kiss! How pathetic of Will Ladislaw to dissemble with the "my life is over" bit (who could love such a twit?).

Contrast that scene with the following, involving Mary Garth, who is actually charming. She won't have 700 pounds a year, but that doesn't bother her. She looks at herself and her love for Fred in a practical, sensible manner. She doesn't need bolts of lightening or claps of thunder to heat up her love scene. It springs from the depths of her noble and loving heart. "My romance, doesn't need a castle rising in Spain...." wrote Rogers and Hart in their famous love song. Dorthea's love scene needs a little help from a brooding sky -- Mary Garth's needs only a simple, straightforward conversation with her father, and then with Fred. But it is by far (for me, at least) the more moving of the two scenes.




"It will be a sad while before you can be married, Mary," said her father, not looking at her, but at the end of the stick which he held in his other hand.

"Not a sad while, father -- I mean to be merry," said Mary, laughingly. "I have been single and merry for four-and-twenty years and more: I suppose it will not be quite as long again as that." Then, after a little pause, she said, more gravely, bending her face before her father's, "If you are contented with Fred?"

Caleb screwed up his mouth and turned his head aside wisely.

"Now, father, you did praise him last Wednesday. You said he had an uncommon notion of stock, and a good eye for things."

"Did I?" said Caleb, rather slyly.


"Yes, I put it all down, and the date, anno Domini, and everything," said Mary. "You like things to be neatly booked. And then his behavior to you, father, is really good; he has a deep respect for you; and it is impossible to have a better temper than Fred has."

"Ay, ay; you want to coax me into thinking him a fine match."

"No, indeed, father. I don't love him because he is a fine match."

"What for, then?"

"Oh, dear, because I have always loved him. I should never like scolding any one else so well; and that is a point to be thought of in a husband."

"Your mind is quite settled, then, Mary?" said Caleb, returning to his first tone. "There's no other wish come into it since things have been going on as they have been of late?" (Caleb meant a great deal in that vague phrase;) "because, better late than never. A woman must not force her heart -- she'll do a man no good by that."

"My feelings have not changed, father," said Mary, calmly. "I shall be constant to Fred as long as he is constant to me. I don't think either of us could spare the other, or like any one else better, however much we might admire them. It would make too great a difference to us -- like seeing all the old places altered, and changing the name for everything. We must wait for each other a long while; but Fred knows that."

Instead of speaking immediately, Caleb stood still and screwed his stick on the grassy walk. Then he said, with emotion in his voice, "Well, I've got a bit of news. What do you think of Fred going to live at Stone Court, and managing the land there?"

"How can that ever be, father?" said Mary, wonderingly.

"He would manage it for his aunt Bulstrode. The poor woman has been to me begging and praying. She wants to do the lad good, and it might be a fine thing for him. With saving, he might gradually buy the stock, and he has a turn for farming."


"Oh, Fred would be so happy! It is too good to believe."

"Ah, but mind you," said Caleb, turning his head warningly, "I must take it on my shoulders, and be responsible, and see after everything; and that will grieve your mother a bit, though she mayn't say so. Fred had need be careful."

"Perhaps it is too much, father," said Mary, checked in her joy. "There would be no happiness in bringing you any fresh trouble."

"Nay, nay; work is my delight, child, when it doesn't vex your mother. And then, if you and Fred get married," here Caleb's voice shook just perceptibly, "he'll be steady and saving; and you've got your mother's cleverness, and mine too, in a woman's sort of way; and you'll keep him in order. He'll be coming by-and-by, so I wanted to tell you first, because I think you'd like to tell him by yourselves. After that, I could talk it well over with him, and we could go into business and the nature of things."

"Oh, you dear good father!" cried Mary, putting her hands round her father's neck, while he bent his head placidly, willing to be caressed. "I wonder if any other girl thinks her father the best man in the world!"

"Nonsense, child; you'll think your husband better."

"Impossible," said Mary, relapsing into her usual tone; " husbands are an inferior class of men, who require keeping in order."

When they were entering the house with Letty, who had run to join them, Mary saw Fred at the orchard-gate, and went to meet him.

"What fine clothes you wear, you extravagant youth!" said Mary, as Fred stood still and raised his hat to her with playful formality. "You are not learning economy."

"Now that is too bad, Mary," said Fred. "Just look at the edges of these coat-cuffs! It is only by dint of good brushing that I look respectable. I am saving up three suits -- one for a wedding-suit."

"How very droll you will look! -- like a gentleman in an old fashion-book."

"Oh no, they will keep two years."

"Two years! be reasonable, Fred," said Mary, turning to walk. "Don't encourage flattering expectations."

"Why not? One lives on them better than on unflattering ones. If we can't be married in two years, the truth will be quite bad enough when it comes."

"I have heard a story of a young gentleman who once encouraged flattering expectations, and they did him harm."

"Mary, if you've got something discouraging to tell me, I shall bolt; I shall go into the house to Mr. Garth. I am out of spirits. My father is so cut up -- home is not like itself. I can't bear any more bad news."

"Should you call it bad news to be told that you were to live at Stone Court, and manage the farm, and be remarkably prudent, and save money every year till all the stock and furniture were your own, and you were a distinguished agricultural character, as Mr. Borthrop Trumbull says -- rather stout, I fear, and with the Greek and Latin sadly weather-worn?"

"You don't mean anything except nonsense, Mary?" said Fred, coloring slightly nevertheless.

"That is what my father has just told me of as what may happen, and he never talks nonsense," said Mary, looking up at Fred now, while he grasped her hand as they walked, till it rather hurt her; but she would not complain.

"Oh, I could be a tremendously good fellow then, Mary, and we could be married directly."

"Not so fast, sir; how do you know that I would not rather defer our marriage for some years? That would leave you time to misbehave, and then if I liked some one else better, I should have an excuse for jilting you."

"Pray don't joke, Mary," said Fred, with strong feeling. "Tell me seriously that all this is true, and that you are happy because of it -- because you love me best."

"It is all true, Fred, and I am happy because of it -- because I love you best," said Mary, in a tone of obedient recitation.

They lingered on the door-step under the steep-roofed porch, and Fred almost in a whisper said --

"When we were first engaged, with the umbrella-ring, Mary, you used to -- "
The spirit of joy began to laugh more decidedly in Mary's eyes, but the fatal Ben came running to the door with Brownie yapping behind him, and, bouncing against them, said --

"Fred and Mary! are you ever coming in? -- or may I eat your cake?"

[Gladys]

Of course it's all a matter of taste, but Dorothea annoys me. She has a martyr complex; she hungers for a false accomplishment (Causabon's coattails); she wants to be noble, but can't quite pull it off.

Shouldn't we make allowances for the idealism and naivete of youth? By the novel's final paragraph, which you quoted, it seems no longer true that Dorothea can't quite pull it off: she is noble through and through.


Is Dorothea's love for anyone "pure"? Was her love for Causabon "pure", or was it some sort of self-interested, ambitious, almost Machiavellian ploy on her part?

I think all pure love necessitates a respect for and righteous love of self. How well can you love others if you despise yourself?



Contrast that scene with the following, involving Mary Garth, who is actually charming.

Mary and Fred are decent, practical people, whereas Dorothea and Ladislaw are idealists and dreamers. I found both the love scenes you quoted quite moving.

[Ecurb]

I grant that Dorothea grows during the novel. And I think that final paragraph is meant to indicate that she grows even more after the novel - renouncing some of her ideals and becoming more like Celia or Mary.

Mary, of course, becomes an author. Is she the George Eliot (Mary Evans) surragate? In the love scene I quoted above, she says, "I don't think either of us could spare the other, or like any one else better, however much we might admire them. It would make too great a difference to us -- like seeing all the old places altered, and changing the name for everything." I like the "changing the name for everything" -- as if, especially for a writer, words are magical incantations, and changing the name for things changes the world.

By the way, I think some the final scenes between Celia and Dorothea (and the one between Rosumund and Dorothea) are far more moving than any scene involving Ladislaw. Also, I don't want anyone to think I'm dissing the book -- I love it.

[Gladys]

...she [Dorothea] grows even more after the novel - renouncing some of her ideals and becoming more like Celia or Mary.

All Dorothea renounces are juvenile and simplistic ideas about love for neighbour. Her raging river of love is, by necessity, wonderfully diverted into many rivulets (channels) with much enhanced effect. Neither Celia or Mary are visionary like her (and like Mary Ann Evans would likely wish to be).


Mary, of course, becomes an author.

There is more to life than being a visionary. Mary perhaps represents the goodness that is inherent in the best of honest pragmatism (a goodness Mary Ann Evans would likely wish for herself).


By the way, I think some the final scenes between Celia and Dorothea (and the one between Rosumund and Dorothea) are far more moving than any scene involving Ladislaw.

Reading those final scenes, I was reminded of the early, happier days of Tolstoy's Anna Karenina.

I too adore Middlemarch. It was a pleasant change after battling through Henry James' woeful novel, also about young women, The Awkward Age. I've read a dozen James novels in the last couple of years but that stands alone.

[kelby_lake]

George Eliot's style reminds me of Henry James in its verbosity.

I think that Ladislaw is a bit two-dimensional and it's hard to see the attraction (apart from him being pretty). His love for Dorothea is more like an infatuation.

[kelby_lake]

Reading those final scenes, I was reminded of the early, happier days of Tolstoy's Anna Karenina.


I can see similarities between Middlemarch and Anna Karenina- unintended of course as Middlemarch predates Anna Karenina and I doubt Tolstoy read Middlemarch.

[Gladys]

George Eliot's style reminds me of Henry James in its verbosity.

I think that Ladislaw is a bit two-dimensional and it's hard to see the attraction (apart from him being pretty). His love for Dorothea is more like an infatuation.

I too find something mildly distasteful about Ladislaw: his brashness perhaps. Still, he's way better than Edward Casaubon. Our marital choices are always very limited!

I have an even more uncomfortable feeling about brother and sister, Tom and Maggie Tulliver, just before that fateful collision on the river in flood at the end of The Mill on the Floss. Life is never straightforward and by these dissonances, George Elliot shows her subtle genius - as subtle in her way as Henry James.

[MANICHAEAN]

The point about limited marital choices is well made, or is it more a question of not learning from the relationships we have gone through? Dorothea, to me at least, comes across as either too intense or playing the martyr, neither of them desirable traits in any woman. Hence her initial attraction to Casaubon and later transient emotional purgatory with Ladislaw. Genteel ladies in those days were not exactly in a position to undertake the female equivalent of “sowing their oats!”

[kelby_lake]

What I really didn't get was all that fuss about the codicil. Seeing as Dorothea was already rich, she didn't need the money or the property. Yes, Casaubon might have been being spiteful, but you'd be annoyed if your cousin was sniffing around your wife.

At least Casaubon recognised that Dorothea was intelligent and she got an education, even if it was ultimately to be his secretary. I can't help feeling that her marrying Ladislaw is a regression. Ideally, she should have got together with Lydgate.

[Gladys]

What I really didn't get was all that fuss about the codicil. Seeing as Dorothea was already rich, she didn't need the money or the property. Yes, Casaubon might have been being spiteful, but you'd be annoyed if your cousin was sniffing around your wife.

At least Casaubon recognised that Dorothea was intelligent and she got an education, even if it was ultimately to be his secretary. I can't help feeling that her marrying Ladislaw is a regression. Ideally, she should have got together with Lydgate.

Dorothea was well off rather than rich. Casaubon's codicil made manifest the extent of his narcissistic detachment from reality, a reality that Dorothea embraces energetically. The "fuss" was all in the claustrophobic mind of Casaubon; his was a pathetic life in many ways.

As for Lydgate, he was already taken. Life is like that sometimes. And Dorothea makes the best of her situation in marrying Ladislaw - it's hardly love at first sight.

[Jackson Richardson]

I'm very surprised nobody seems to have mentioned Rosamund Vincey - I find her the most interesting character. GE doens't really do villains - there's always a bit of pity or sympathy even for the baddies (Casaubon or Bulstrode.)

Rosamund seems just an immature pretty charmer, but turns out to suck the life out of Lydgate bit by bit. Quite chilling when you think of it.

(And she seems to indicate a difference between Jane Austen and GE. Mr Bennett's life has been blighted by his marriage to a selfish woman, but there's still comedy whereas Lydgate's life is a tragedy.)

[kelby_lake]

Dorothea was well off rather than rich. Casaubon's codicil made manifest the extent of his narcissistic detachment from reality, a reality that Dorothea embraces energetically. The "fuss" was all in claustrophobic mind of Casaubon; his was a pathetic life in many ways.


I don't think he detatched himself from reality because he was narcisstic. He devoted himself to his studies but became narcissistic to distract himself from the failure of his work. Admitting failure in his studies would be tantamount to saying his life was a complete failure.

[Gladys]

I don't think he detached himself from reality because he was narcissistic. He devoted himself to his studies but became narcissistic to distract himself from the failure of his work.

Isn't Casaubon's narcissism - or selfishness - rather more complicated, as indicated by his relationship with Ladislaw's mother and later Ladislaw himself, way before Dorothea arrives?

[kelby_lake]

Isn't Casaubon's narcissism - or selfishness - rather more complicated, as indicated by his relationship with Ladislaw's mother and later Ladislaw himself, way before Dorothea arrives?

Could you explain?

[Gladys]

Early in MiddleMarch Dorothea visits Casaubon's house for the first time and is attracted by an old miniature of his aunt (his mother's elder sister). The aunt, according to Casaubon made an unfortunate marriage, disappeared entirely from view and, as we later learn, had a grandson named Ladislaw. Much later, her own marriage less rosy, Dorothea comes again to the miniature:



Here was a woman who had known some difficulty about marriage. Nay, the colors deepened, the lips and chin seemed to get larger, the hair and eyes seemed to be sending out light, the face was masculine and beamed on her with that full gaze which tells her on whom it falls that she is too interesting for the slightest movement of her eyelid to pass unnoticed and uninterpreted. The vivid presentation came like a pleasant glow to Dorothea: she felt herself smiling, and turning from the miniature sat down and looked up as if she were again talking to a figure in front of her. But the smile disappeared as she went on meditating, and at last she said aloud—

"Oh, it was cruel to speak so! How sad—how dreadful!"

We eventually learn that the aunt, acting with integrity, has left the family in the aftermath of a financial scam involving her father, the benefits eventually flowing to Casaubon himself - a man with gnawing feelings of guilt and shame. Casaubon's cool attitude and behaviour towards Ladislaw is a legacy of this tawdry past.

And later:



And now, since her conversation with Will, many fresh images had gathered round that Aunt Julia who was Will's grandmother; the presence of that delicate miniature, so like a living face that she knew, helping to concentrate her feelings. What a wrong, to cut off the girl from the family protection and inheritance only because she had chosen a man who was poor!

[kelby_lake]

Ah yes, I forgot that Casaubon would have inherited the dirty money.

[kev67]

Unlike Dorothea, Celia nature readily aligns her views with the mediocre prejudice of her influential friends, foremost among them (the rather self interested) Sir James Chettam (Sir James never liked Ladislaw). For instance, Celia is happy to prejudge the motives of Ladislaw and Lydgate. Dorothea mistakes are not those of ethical mediocrity, but those inherent in the forgiveable idealism and naivete of youth.

Does Dorothea forsake her ambition for love? She marries Ladislaw...for love. And lives happily every after it seems.

Your interpretation of the closing paragraph of Middlemarch seems at odds with the literal meaning of the text.


Her finely touched spirit had still its fine issues, though they were not widely visible. Her full nature, like that river of which Cyrus broke the strength, spent itself in channels which had no great name on the earth. But the effect of her being on those around her was incalculably diffusive: for the growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been, is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs.

I understand the text to say that Dorothea retained all her ambition for love but that societal opposition, reduced wealth and the subservient role of women redirected her once grander efforts into a myriad of small, yet noble, channels. As Lydgate, Ladislaw, Farebrother and Rosamund had been blessed but Dorothea's angelic touch, so her future loving but unhistoric acts would make things not so ill with you and me. She was born and remains an angel.

I understood it this way too. I found Celia almost as shallow as Rosamund, except that she does love her nearest and dearest. I was glad Dorothea married Ladislaw. I wondered whether she might think she could do more good by spending her money on philanthropic works than by renouncing her dead husband's property and marrying Ladislaw. Who would have got the property, I wonder? Presumably Mr Casaubon had relatives not mentioned in the book. Anyway, I am sure Dorothea was as much a help in her husband's career as a reformist Member of Parliament as she had hoped to be to her first husband. That sounds sexist, but hey. Unless you were a truly exceptional woman like Florence Nightingale or an author like Elliot herself, that was about as much as an ambitious woman could hope for. Lydgate may have been forced to give up his ideals and make the best of an unhappy marriage, but Dorothea did not.

[Gladys]

I was glad Dorothea married Ladislaw. I wondered whether she might think she could do more good by spending her money on philanthropic works than by renouncing her dead husband's property and marrying Ladislaw. Who would have got the property, I wonder?

I believe Dorothea would have lost no sleep wondering.