Book IV: Three Love Problems

How convenient! Valentine's Day is just a few days away, so in honor of Book IV—Three Love Problems—I share with you some pictures of a genre I didn't know existed until 10 minutes ago: "vinegar" Valentines.

Chapters 34 – 35 

Funeral and reading of will all in the same morning—how efficient! I find it interesting that in the first pagaraph, Eliot effectively says: Featherstone was not a good man. But of course she knows what will emerge when the wills (plural) are read. For a moment, it seems that Fred Vincy will inherit £10,000 (the equivalent, one source tells me, of $1.7 million today), but a later will alters most of the inheritances so that money will be left to build poorhouses for old men. Except for the manor and land that will go to the "frog-faced" stranger, Joshua Rigg—who will now become Joshua Featherstone.

One other detail in Ch. 34 is of note: Will Ladislaw is near (staying at Tipton Grange with Mr. Brooke), and Dorothea is aware of the displeasure this provokes in Casaubon (though he doesn't show it publicly).

I find the description of Mary Garth  in Ch. 35 interesting—she notes Fred's unease on p. 313 and switches seats with him (as if to protect him from embarrassing himself), and on p. 315 she observes everyone closely while they're all thinking about how much money they'll get. Again I have to think that Eliot is half-portraying herself—the keen observer, somewhat above (or at least outside) the fray.

Ch. 36

We return our focus to the Vincys and gain some new insights into Mr. Vincy's character. He's prickly in part because he shares Fred's frustration at being left empty-handed from Featherstone's will, and he's broadly concerned about money—specifically, whether or not Lydgate has any. He thinks Rosamond should call off the engagement because he doesn't intend to provide any money to the new couple. But he can't quite bring himself to say it to her. He tells his wife to do it. Interesting detail here; Mrs. Vincy resists, noting that Rosamond has already "begun to buy in the best linen and cambric for her underclothing" (322). In short: Rosamond has expensive tastes. 

One other pattern I notice in this chapter (as in many other places in the book) is the gentle depiction of men as slightly bumbling and clueless. Mr. Vincy can't bring himself to confront Lydgate about his financial prospects/standing, and later in the chapter Mrs. Bulstrode (his sister) confronts him directly about this fact. And the way she does so is revealing, too, as she accuses him of having brought up Rosamond in a too "worldly" a way, with too much "luxury." My point is that it's frequently the women in the novel who are direct, clear, and almost uncompromising. Though I credit Eliot for not making the men into caricatures.

(I don't think I expressed the above well; I'll keep thinking about it as the novel progresses.)

Then again, Mrs. Bulstrode later (326) thinks her respectable-seeming husband (Bulstrode) should write his memoirs because he's so honorable and good. More on this later....

The chapter concludes with a couple of scenes involving Lydgate and Rosamond, and what I find most interesting about these two is how they feed each others' illusions about what married life will bring them. Eliot sums this up nicely in the final image, with the "innate submissiveness of the goose [Lydgate's perception of Rosamond] as beautifully corresponding to the strength of the gander [R's perception of L.]" (335).

Ch. 37 (important)

You can make your way quickly through the first few pages of the chapter, which are important for some historical reasons but don't bear to much on the key developments in this part of the novel. Thinking of the first-time reader, you shouldn't get bogged down in any of the material related to Mr. Brooke—or his newspaper or politicking. 

Starting on page 338, though, we get some great insights into how the minds of Casaubon, Will, and Dorothea are evolving (particularly with regard to each other). On page 339, Eliot does all but say it plainly: Dorothea finds Will far more appealing as a companion than her husband. The prospect of a visit from Will is like a "[window] opened in the wall of her prison" (339). I half-recall Will describing her time at Lowick in a similar way (a "tomb" at least, if not a prison) some chapters back. I know there's at least one other reference to Lowick being like a prison to Dorothea elsewhere in the novel.

Further along, we see more fully how devoted Will is to Dorothea; at one point, he thinks "irritably of beautiful lips kissing holy skulls" (342), obviously a reference to Dorothea and Casaubon. The most important part of the scene, though, comes when Will reveals the complexity of his family connection to Casaubon. Suffice to say that he convinces Dorothea that his side of the family has been wronged by the Casaubon's, and that Casaubon's support of Will financially was not generosity—but rather obligation, a debt to be paid. Dorothea accepts all that he has said and will later use this information to try to persuade her husband to give her less in terms of an inheritance. 

Will wants an assurance from Dorothea that she wants him to stay in the area (he hopes Casaubon will not object to it), and here I find myself slightly incredulous at Dorothea's inability to recoginze Will's ardour (for her, duh). Eliot even emphasizes her obliviousness, writing of Dorothea's enthusiastic response to Will remaining nearby, "There was not the shadow of a reason in her mind at the moment why she should not say so" (345). 

But then she worries that Casaubon will not see it that way. She wants Will to talk to Casaubon, but that's the last thing he wants (he gets out of there fast). So Dorothea asks Casaubon herself, a few hours later. He says nothing, but the next morning (without discussing it further with Dorothea) writes a letter to Will more or less forbidding him from taking the job working on Mr. Brooke's newspaper. The nerve of this guy! And what a nasty little letter. Check out that first sentence. Talk about circumlocution. I think I detest Casaubon nearly as much for his bloated writing as his treatment of Dorothea. (More on the latter in a moment.)

Later that day, as Dorothea meditates further on the question of family obligations, she becomes convinced that she will persuade her husband to do the right thing. It does not go well. These are ordinary husband-wife relations/dynamics for the time, I suppose, but it's hard to read Casaubon at his domineering and insulting worst. Every time he says, "Dorothea, my love" (352, elsewhere), I want to punch the fucker in the face. Because what typically comes next is so utterly dismissive and superior—and, well, just plain mean.

But he does get what he deserves (at least a little) in this chapter in the form of a response (via letter again) from Will, who basically gives his uncle a big, firm middle finger. His sentences—in contrast to Casaubon's corpulent, pedantic style—are clever, sophisticated, and powerful. I love that he ends with the most polite (though I imagine Will smiling daggers as he wrote it) and conciliatory sentence imaginable. 

Casaubon now feels certain that Will is in Middlemarch because of Dorothea; he does not think his wife capable of having an affair, but he seems to understand clearly that Will's intentions may not be so platonic. The chapter ends with a brief meditation on Casaubon's jealousy—which he does not want to feel because to do so would be to admit that he is less than what he would like to be. But he feels it nonetheless, and resolves to make things difficult for Will somehow. 

Ch. 38 

Read this one quickly. Sir James Chettam talks with Mr. and Mrs. Cadwallader about Mr. Brooke's turn toward politics. They object for different reasons but agree that they'll try to dissuade him from continuing. In part, they fear he'll embarrass himself.

Then Mr. Brooke arrives and all three go at him, trying to get him to agree to stay away from politics. Sir James is maybe most concerned with the state of Brooke's land; in case it's not clear, Brooke owns a great deal of land and rents it out to tenant farmers. In these cases, it's the responsibility of the landlord to maintain fences, gates, and homes (no small expense). Brooke is tight-fisted about these expenditures, which may be one reason Caleb Garth (Mary's dad) stopped managing Brooke's land 12 years earlier.

These details are actually a little important, particularly in light of the fact that Sir James is now giving Garth more work on his land (to improve the cottages there, based on Dorothea's input.

Ch. 39 

Plenty going on in this chapter, including what I noted in 2016 as Dorothea's "Bernie Sanders moment" on page 365. On that theme, I don't believe the term socialism (as we understand it) was in use at the time, but I see traces of it everywhere—even in Mr. Brooke. Clarification: The Tories in the novel are the same Tories of the UK today: conservatives. The Whigs were that time period's equivalent of liberals, or the Labour Party in today's UK. That's approximate, and I hope one of you will correct me if it should be said more precisely.

Plenty of interaction between Will and Dorothea here, all of it clear, I'd say. Again Will references Dorothea's life at Lowick as "dreadful imprisonment" (371).

Mr. Brooke objects to Dorothea's suggestion that he needs to be a better landlord and improve the conditions for his tenant farmers (generations of whom have worked the same plot of land and are stuck in an endless cycle of mere subsistence), and he defends himself with some vigor. Then, of course, he has to see one of his tenants in order to scold him about his son's poaching of a bird. The man, Dagley, is drunk and lets Brooke have it—verbally, though it's not hard to imagine what he would have liked to have done with that pitchfork. I don't think he gets the concept of Reform right (he seems to think it's coming for Brooke, who is a supporter of Reform), but he knows whereof he speaks when he lists the indignities his family has had to suffer. 

Two interesting details in this chapter: Eliot's meditation on "picturesque" depictions of poverty in art (369-370) and her brief meditation on knowlege and privilege to close the chapter. Since I brought up epistemology earlier, this is a detail I'd revisit if I wanted to think further on the various ways Eliot treats the subject. Short version: the nature of knowledge is elusive, and it may not come from the sources we think it does/should.

Ch. 40 

I love this chapter. There's something about the Garth family that I find reassuring and fundamentally good. So it's nice to spend a bit of time with the entire family at home.

At first here, Mary faces the prospect of moving to York to work as a teacher. In that time, York would have seemed almost like a foreign country even though it was only 150 miles away—that would have likely been a 5- or 6-day journey. She only has to despair over this prospect (which she is resigned to—because, remember, the family needs money thanks to Fred's foolishness) momentarily, though, because Caleb Garth announces that he will be managing two estates and making significantly more money in the near future. 

It's funny—when Eliot indulges in slightly convenient plot turns, I'm unbothered, probably because she still makes it feel plausible. With Dickens, on the other hand, I can't stop thinking about the contrivance, and I enjoy his work less for this reason.

But let's stick with the book at hand. 

First, though, a brief aside: I love the moment on page 375 when Mrs. Garth scolds her son for using the word nasty, saying, "Do find a fitter word than nasty, my dear Alfred, for everything that you find disagreeable." If only someone had told Trump the same thing when he was young. (Not that he would have listened.)

Really, back to the book now. 

I just noticed something that slipped past me previously; as Caleb and Susan (his wife) Garth finish their thoughts on what good fortune this new work is, Susan says, "And it will be a blessing to your children to have had a father who did such work: a father whose good work remains though his name may be forgotten" (378). I'm reminded of the final paragraph of the novel, which I won't give away now—but I want to file away this connection to think about later.

Part of what I love about Eliot's characterization of Caleb Garth is her attention to his lack of facility with language. For someone (Eliot, I mean) so virtuosic with words and syntax, she seems to have a special affection for this man who often struggles to express himself; when he defends Mary for an off-hand remark about the ridiculousness of Fred becoming a clergyman, Caleb says, "A bad workman of any sort makes his fellows mistrusted. Things hang together" (380). It's an apt analogy, plainly spoken, but Eliot adds the observation that he "[moved] his feet uneasily with a sense that words were scantier than thoughts" (380). See also the final paragraph of the chapter.

Further along, it is revealed that Mary has shared with her parents the tale of Featherstone's last night of life—and her refusal to help him destroy one of the wills. She has been feeling guilty that her act has effectively denied Fred £10,000. But they all, including Farebrother, agree not to reveal this information to Fred.

There's a great passage of physical (and other) description of Mary in this part of the chapter, and it will be worth returning to if you want to explore her character further.

Two other important facts are revealed before the close of the chapter: The first is that we learn of Farebrother's fond (or more than fond) feelings for Mary. 

The second development is that Caleb Garth has been asked by both the new owner (Joshua Rigg/Featherstone) of Stone Court and a prospective buyer (Bulstrode, the banker) of the property to put a value on the estate. Garth will do the job for Bulstrode, his brother-in-law. 

Ch. 41 

I wonder if I'm missing something when I pause over Eliot's comment on Joshua Rigg's appearance (I'll just call him that rather than Rigg Featherstone): "The result is a frog-faced male, desirable, surely, to no order of intelligent beings" (387). Given the fact that Eliot herself was not conventionally attractive, I find it odd that she would make this seemingly cutting remark about Rigg's appearance. 

In any case, I'll turn my attention briefly to Eliot's character names—or at least the two we have here. With Rigg, we should of course think of rig, which Cambridge Dictionary tells me means "to arrange dishonestly for the result of something." And the other in this scene, John Raffles. I don't immediately think of a raffle but instead the idea of "riff-raff," or "people with a bad reputation or of a low social class." In both cases, of course, Eliot is hinting at something we should keep in mind as these two characters will become a more prominent part of the narrative.

Raffles was Rigg's step-father (not father-in-law), and Rigg wants no part of him. The tables seem to have turned, with Rigg recalling clearly how poorly Raffles treated him as a boy. And now Raffles wants something from Rigg, but Rigg offers little. Raffles takes an unburnt piece of paper from the fireplace when Rigg isn't looking, and he hopes that it will come in handy as blackmail in the future. 

Ch. 42 

This is a heavy one, which is only appropriate for the final chapter of this book. First, Eliot takes us inside Casaubon's mind in order to understand (sympathize with?) his very specific concerns about both Dorothea and Will. He believes that Dorothea judges him a failure in his scholarly work, and while he has no real respect for her mind, he is convinced that her gentleness toward him is merely a veil for her contempt. (He's not entirely wrong.)

Even here Eliot leaves little sprigs of humor, like the fact that Casaubon does know that he is "not unmixedly adorable" (392). 

His thinking shifts quickly to Will, and we are able to peer inside his deepest fears and suspicions. He begins to think of his own health in regard to this question of Will (and Dorothea); he recognizes that his own death might be "large opportunity for some people to be the happier," but the prospect of Will being one of those people is cause for not merely "strong [objection]" but awareness that the perturbation associated with this fact in his mind would "make part of his disembodied existence" (394). In short, he imagines that Will stands to haunt him even in death.

In the next passage, Eliot offers Casaubon's reasoning through of why he needs to protect Dorothea from Will; what I notice here is not simply his sense of husbandly guardianship, but his utter inability to think that Dorothea is capable of carefully scrutinizing whatever Will might impose upon her for (love? part of the estate?). He sees Will as a master manipulator, and Dorothea as a helpless woman who could not possibly protect herself. 

What a line this is, from Casaubon's interior monologue: "He [Will] thinks of an easy conquest and of entering into my nest. That I will hinder!" (395). 

Casaubon then meets with Lydgate and learns that his life is likely not long. With this knowledge, he retreats into himself. Dorothea appears and attempts to console him with her presence, but he is cold and withdrawn. To her, it feels like the final insult or indignity, and she is fired with righteous anger at him as they come back inside and go their separate ways. She plans to tell him just how angry she is, in part for having been forced to "shut her best soul in prison" (400). In case we don't feel the full force of Dorothea's mind/heart, Eliot steps in: "In such a crisis as this, some women begin to hate" (400). 

She remains in her dressing room, refusing dinner, until much later she hears Casaubon coming upstairs. They have a brief, sad exchange—one that confirms in Dorothea's mind that she was right not to express her anger to her husband. She feels relief at this, one which Eliot likens to "the thankfulness that might well up in us if we had narrowly escaped hurting a lamed creature" (401). 

END BOOK IV