GEORGE ELIOT

Many Victorian novels are driven by the prospect of marriage, and George Eliot's
masterpiece, Middlemarch, embodies through its various couples a nuptial kaleidoscope
not matched since Chaucer's Wife of Bath. Conditions surrounding marriages in Victorian
times for women were considerably different from what modern readers would surmise.
Partly due to the deprivation of an equal opportunity to education, Victorian women were
confronted with limited survival tactics. Richard Altick reminds readers in his Victorian
People and Ideas that women could enter the female colleges of Cambridge and Oxford
in 1869 and 1879 respectively but could not take degrees until 1920-21 (55).
Middlemarch takes place in the years leading up to 1832, the year of the Reform Bill,
and this bill was for the benefit of middle class men. Without an education women were
subjected to vocations, actually jobs, not callings, that could hardly be called careers. The
male defense of this narrowing of options was simply "the female brain was not equal to
the demands of commerce or the professions, and women, simply by virtue of their sex,
had no business mingling with men in a man's world" (Altick 54). Competing with men
and male-indoctrinated commerce without the added benefit of a formal education caused
many Victorian women to seek the only alternative available, marriage as a vocation.

In Middlemarch Dorothea Brooke, the community's do-gooder, a virtual St. Theresa,

longs to perfect amelioration for the entire town by architecturally improving housing.
Her initial chance for this improvement comes in the person of Edward Casaubon though
she could have been courted by Royalty in Sir James Chettam. In her attempts to fulfill
her marriage career, Dorothea was more captivated by the vast library learning of
Casaubon, and she exclaimed "what a lake compared with my little pool" (Carroll 24).
Her sense of fulfillment in this boring but learned man was vested in her hope to become
educated, to have her curiosity nurtured, and to be of constant usefulness to a man of
sixty who really needed her nineteen year old eyes for reading. It is doubtful that modern
readers would consider the above adequate reasons for marriage, but Dorothea "retained
very childlike ideas about marriage" (Carroll 10). Part of Dorothea's naive formula for
marriage stems from her bachelor uncle's Protestant upbringing.

Mr. Brooke, Dorothea's uncle, was well connected though not aristocratic and possessed
property. He had acted as guardian for Dorothea and her younger sister Celia since the
girls lost their parents at age twelve. The girls came to him with an inheritance of "seven
hundred a-year each from their parents", but Dorothea's religious notions and her
intensity given to causes might keep suitors at bay (Carroll 9). Whether Uncle Brooke or
the girls' parents were responsible for Dorothea's fanatical flares, Eliot did not make clear.
The evidence readers do know about is vested in the uncle, a man who reigns in his
"Puritan energy" and is somewhat stingy with his wealth and estate: ". . . he would act
with benevolent intentions, and that he would spend as little money as possible in
carrying them out" (Carroll 8).

The conservative uncle was criticized by many neighbors of Middlemarch for not
introducing a new 'mother' to his nieces that might better prepare them for marriage. In
the absence of the female perspective on the topic of marriage, Dorothea and Celia are
still orphans to the selection process of good husbands. Whereas Mr. Brooke would
consider religion "the dread of a Hereafter", Dorothea was in need of "the bridle" of
motherhood, sadly lacking on Mr. Brooke's estate (Carroll 19). Perhaps "bridle" should
be bridal.

Had Dorothea had a mother's advice, she might have made some changes to Mr.
Casaubon's Lowick Manor, her future home, to accomplish two things minimally: first,
she would have made her feminine mark on her own environment which would have
psychologically sent a message to her husband that life is to be shared; and secondly, by
altering the drapes, for instance, to allow more light into her world and his, she could
have made her world more conducive to her own preferences -- those of enlightenment.
Instead, Eliot chooses to have Miss Brooke deny even the advice of the narrator.

A woman dictates before marriage in order that she may have an appetite for submission
afterwards. (Carroll 71)

Dorothea's first opportunity on that "grey but dry November morning" even in the
company of her uncle and sister to Lowick Manor failed to alter the "small-windowed
and melancholy-looking" home she was to share with her dismal husband (Carroll 71).
Eliot forecasts the punishing tuition Dorothea is to experience for her education, for her
vocation, and she does it eloquently with setting, mood, and character, but Dorothea, "on
the contrary, found the house and grounds all that she could wish" (Carroll 72). DoDo's
obsequiousness remains her helpmate to duty, and she treats her duty like an apotheosis
to the exclusion of her own emotional well being.

What newsworthy worldly conditions existed at the time of Eliot's writing

Middlemarch? After 1850 wage earners' income improved allowing them to purchase
"penny dreadfuls" and "shilling shockers," a sort of dime novel, to tease a reading public
(Altick 61). Serialized fiction, such as Middlemarch initially was, became a serious art
form (Altick 63). The middle class became a reading class, and the written word was not
the only area of change. Railroads connected smaller towns allowing a competitive
commerce and more jobs. The support industries of hotels and added health care
advanced the population. Charles Darwin's Origin of Species, which changed the way
the medical profession viewed genetics, and upset a many religious beliefs. It was an age
of industrial revolution and reform that had a sweeping cadence that caught everyone in
its rhythm, trumpeting the offer of new jobs and careers for everyone except women. The
effect of political reform and laws favoring women that inevitably follow change would
take place early in the next century. For women "marriage is the only conceivable career"
(Bennett 165).

As the Victorian world was a complex, multifaceted fast-paced arena, powered by

industrial innovations and sweeping reforms that added many threads to the fabric of
society, so, too, were novels that attempted to weave the spin-offs from the reforming
blanket of Victorian England and cover the feelings and philosophies of that time period.
Eliot's concept of marriage in Middlemarch is showcased through many couples.
Readers will form their own opinions about what makes a mutually beneficial marriage,
but Eliot peels away the layers of trust in Dorothea and Edward as Mr. and Mrs.
Casaubon. If trust is the cornerstone of a sound relationship, then its eroding would
certainly collapse a marriage. Erosion occurs with the Casaubons. Edward's jealousy and
insensitivity, along with his selfish compulsive drive to finish and publish his gargantuan
treaty, "Key to All Mythologies," prevents him from loving Dorothea romantically, a need
that she has. Her choice in Casaubon is met with askance by modern readers even from
the moment of Casaubon's letter of engagement and, consequently, Dorothea's three-time
written response. Though Mr. Casaubon writes flatteringly only of Dorothea's cerebral
qualities and her "devotedness", the engagement letter reads like an employment contract
for a secretary (Carroll 42). Disappointment and unhappiness surrounds Dorothea's
career. And precisely this is what Eliot is indicating when she portrays marriage vocation
for girls like Dorothea and Celia. England was full of such girls in Victorian days; their
choices already narrowed for living a fulfilled life by virtue of their sex, what were the
alternatives? They could serve as maids, work in a textile factory, or teach school
provided they had a modest education. Old maids could remain in their father's home but
would endure unfavorable treatment by parents or guardians, mocked for being childless,
thus, becoming the topic of the town's gossip. Their best choice was to marry well, but
there they are at the mercy of the novelist.

Unlike Edward's failure to inform Dorothea of his work, which was his life, the Garths of
Middlemarch are touchingly communicative and share everything with each other.
When Fred Vincy was on the verge of losing Mary Garth due to his clerical vocation, he
proposed to Caleb Garth employment within the Garth business, which Caleb thought
was a practical option. Caleb's habit was to "take no important step without consulting
Susan," his wife and mother to Mary (Carroll 554). The Garths communicate everything
to each other and enjoy the most blissful marriage in Middlemarch. Susan even knows
when to "make herself subordinate" to Caleb, which the narrator declares is only one
percent of the time (Carroll 555). Fred apparently reminds Caleb of himself when he was
courting Susan, for Caleb fell short of the matrimonial measure as well, and Mrs. Garth
knows her daughter could be engaged to a man "worth twenty Fred Vincys" (Carroll
555). Caleb affirms his daughter through loving her mother dearly and is rewarded with
Susan's reciprocal feelings:

She rose and kissed him, saying, "God bless you, Caleb! Our children have a good
father." (Carroll 556)

On another occasion with Fred still the focus of Caleb's heart, Caleb proposed to Mr.
Bulstrode, Middlemarch's prosperous banker with a dubious past, that Fred serve as
tenant at Bulstrode's Stone Court and to enjoy the option of buying stock when he could
afford it. Caleb would still be responsible for its management. As always Caleb let his
dear wife in on the plans immediately taking her into his confidence and giving credence
to her suggestions. Caleb can wave his hand, and the sign is not misinterpreted by his
wife. Susan knows "a sign of his not intending to speak further on the subject" (Carroll
685). Susan, unlike Dorothea, made wiser choices in her matrimonial career or at least
made the necessary changes to become a happy marriage partner. The Garth marriage of
communication is enjoyed by readers especially by contrast to others less communicable.
As Mary Garth would never engage herself "to one who has no manly independence,"
Rosamond Vincy did marry Mr. Lydgate, an innovative surgeon, a man of "good birth",
most important to Rosamond, and a man who unfortunately Eliot gives poor political
skills and a failing practice at least initially (Carroll 164). Mr. Lydgate is an outsider to
Middlemarch, which causes the town's doctors to distrust his modern notions of
medicine. As a newcomer, Mr. Lydgate is building his practice and does not consider
marriage from romantic interests but from practical ones; perhaps marrying would
increase his clientele, and he shallowly wants a wife for ornamentation. Rosy's
motivations for marriage and her future vocation as wife also deserve close scrutiny. Her
prescription for marital vocation did not include "the inward life of a hero, or his serious
business in the world," but rather she just wanted to climb the social status ladder and
find a seat among the aristocracy (Carroll 164). This element of Victorian snobbery was
critical to middle-class women seeking to advance to the next level (Newton 81).
Rosamond's first hint of being found attractive by Lydgate causes her to groom herself as
an upper-middle-class lady, playing the piano, sketching, considering her wardrobe,
reading novels and poetry, and "having an audience in her own consciousness" (Carroll
165). Despite the fact that she could afford and did attend the best preparatory school for
young ladies (Mrs. Lemon's establishment), she would soon waste her education when
taking Lydgate as her husband (Carroll 165) -- wasted in the sense that what came after
her wedding has little to do with thre skills she learned at Mrs Lemon's. What has Rosy
absorbed through her upbringing and education that prepare her for the hardships of
marriage distress inevitably to be experienced by all couples at one time or another? And,
furthermore, what has Mr. Lydgate developed in his character traits that will spare the
storm of threatening divorce? They will both rethink their vocations before Eliot
introduces the St. Theresa rescue.

Lydgate felt sure that if ever he married, his wife would have that feminine radiance, that
distinctive womanhood which must be classed with flowers and music, that sort of beauty
which by its very nature Virtuous, being molded was only for pure and delicate
joys. (Carroll 162)

Eliot's words certainly bear fruit near the conclusion of her novel when Mr. Lydgate and
Rosy by proxy suffer social shame, unjustly, but shame nonetheless. Of all the things to
befall "poor" Rosamond with her superficial importance on what others believe or
perceive about her station in life, financial shame and a husband's darkened reputation
certainly depicts poetic justice (Allen 158).

If it were a known fact that daughters advance their lives by the marriage vocation, why
did not Mr. and Mrs. Vincy school Rosamond in the art of selecting a suitable husband?
Eliot knows the human factor that enters the marriage equation can not be interpreted by
anyone other than the bride. Rosy is given to readers with a shallow outlook on life
indicative of the importance she places on appearances. Even her premature baby born
dead by the tragic disobedient horse ride has unused "embroidered robes and caps"
signifying membership and ownership of the Lydgate Crest, something Rosamond
esteemed worthy, not her husband (Carroll 571). Furthermore, it was Rosy who believed
the visit by "Captain Lydgate, the baronet's third son," would be pleasantly interpreted by
the public with amplified implication as to her station in life (Carroll 571). In the Dickens
novel, Our Mutual Friend, Rosy could have been the daughter of the Veneerings. The
marriage of openness and consultation enjoyed by the Garths was a road seldom traveled
by Rosamond. Her "aloof and independent" nature that the doctor found attractive from
the beginning was now a source of aggravation and sorrow in the Lydgate marriage
(Carroll 576). She was not practical, and he was in debt.

The sacrifice of selling furniture and jewelry to live responsibly was not part of
Rosamond's marriage formula. Her first response to the news of living within one's
means was to suggest getting the money from "papa" so as to continue to live
impractically (Carroll 585). Her next suggestion centered on their leaving Middlemarch
which Rosy calculated would require less money, but more importantly would rid her of
imagined gossip and shame, and perhaps she could still live as a queen among the
imagined aristocratic Lydgates of London. When her suggestions were negated and
trumped by her wiser and more practical husband, "the thought in her mind was that if
she had known how Lydgate would behave, she would never have married him" (Carroll
587). After Rosy leaves her husband's negotiation table without resolution or partnered
comfort, readers anticipate a Victorian divorce, perhaps a first in Victorian literature. The
real laws did not favor women in divorce court. Fortunately for this pair, Eliot had a more
benign treatment in mind. In fact she constantly has a compassionate "feeling expressing
itself in knowledge" with all of her couples (Newton 52). Eliot's depth of understanding
of human frailty is paramount to her characterization in all of her novels. The fatal
marriages that occur in Middlemarch are at times temporary due to one of its members
dying. It is not the efficaciousness of the death tactic that demonstrates Eliot's genius but
rather her sensitive suffering treatment during the couples' trying times that captures the
attention and sympathy of readers. There are many egregious marriages today just as in
Victorian times, but the marital fallout during Victorian times left women without any
options other than to suffer. Their job was marriage. Consequently, in the absence of
divorce "yoked lonliness" ruled their lives for worse, having once enjoyed the better
(Pinney 304).

As Eliot used Eppie, the "golden-haired child" that Silas adopted in Eliot's novel, Silas
Marner, to win this miser back to society, so did the author use Dorothea to "warm" the
cold Middlemarch marriages facing fatalistic demise (Ashton 48). Confessions by
Tertius Lydgate to Dorothea that he had no knowledge of Raffles' secrets and that his
medical treatment of Raffles was within practical and reasonable limits was
communicated to Rosamond by Dorothea. Readers know through the narrator that
Bulstrode was responsible for the aborted recovery and consequential death of Raffles,
but Dorothea's intimate conversation with Rosamond and the latter's character
development are some of literature's most touching moments:

But you will forgive him. It was because he feels so much more about your happiness
than anything else -- he feels his life bound into one with yours, and it hurts him more
than anything, that his misfortunes must hurt you. (Carroll 781-2)
It is Dorothea through her own pain of unrequited love for Ladislaw, fearing his affection
for Rosamond, and Lydgate's confessions that lead her to rectify the damaging
misconceptions choking Rosamond's marriage. Dorothea convinces Mr. Brooke, Mr.
Farebrother, and Sir James Chettam, the town's strata of nobility and whose opinions
Rosy holds dear, of Lydgate's innocence. Had the town's opinion not been reversed, it is
doubtful that Rosy would have been obliging to her husband even knowing herself that he
was innocent. Yet, she does break down in this scene and confesses to Dorothea that the
Ladislaw/Rosamond togetherness the previous day was "not as you thought" (Carroll
784).

'He was telling me how he loved another woman, that I might know he could never love
me,' said Rosamond . . . He has never had any love for me . . He said yesterday that no
other woman existed for him beside you. (Carroll 785)

The soul purging that takes place in this scene not only remedies Middlemarch rumors
but also brings to the surface Rosamond's previously latent strength of character, the kind
that provides the basis for rebuilding a marriage. Dorothea tells her: "Marriage is so
unlike everything else. There is something even awful in the nearness it brings" (Carroll
784). Dorothea's remarks to Rosamond enable her to repair her marriage and enjoy "solid
mutual happiness" (Carroll 816). Dorothea's truthful benevolence helps Will Ladislaw as
well.

The relationship between Dorothea and Will Ladislaw has been regarded by many of
Eliot's readers "as one of the artistic weaknesses of Middlemarch" (Newton 134). The
grounds for this criticism lie in the beklief that "Ladislaw is too idealized or too
lightweight to be worthy of Dorothea" (Newton 134). After all, he is a romantic character
despite -- or perhaps because of -- his dilettante nature. He has been educated at
Heidelberg, one of the centers of German Romanticism (Newton 135). Mr. Brooke
compares him to Shelley twice, and Mrs. Cadwallader, a wise but town gossiper,
described him as "a sort of Byronic hero" in Chapter 38 (Carroll 375). Eliot uses 'pride',
'defiance', and 'rebellion' to describe Ladislaw -- all of which words have a Byronic
connotation (Newton 135). Dorothea's prescription for a marriage partner would certainly
take these attributes into consideration, especially after she experienced essentially the
opposite as Mrs. Casaubon. In addition, Ladislaw is an outsider to Middlemarch though
is connected to Mr. Casaubon as his cousin. He is as ardent as Dorothea in his feelings
which is significant for her. They feel passionately about life and share the power that
'passionates' emanate. A qualifying question asked by Dorothea to Ladislaw in her quest
for vocation and his response indicates the romanticism Eliot develops:

What is your religion? I mean not what you know about religion, but the belief that helps
you most? [Dorothea]

To love what is good and beautiful when I see it. But I am a rebel: I don't feel bound, as
you do, to submit to what I don't like. [Ladislaw] (Carroll 387)
Eventually, Dorothea molds this romantic 'Byron' into doing much more good for
Middlemarch society than he ever could with his rootless existence. The shaping of
men's character by women is a favorite theme in many of Eliot's novels. Silas Marner's
love for Eppie and her refusal to live with her biological father, Godfrey, is but one
example where feminine love brings about change in the men of Eliot's novels. Silas, like
Ladislaw, is brought back to a social nucleus where "an ardent public good" can be
harvested (Newton 137). Dorothea's garden for this harvest, like Eppie's actual garden, is
her soft criticism of Will which brings forth his change for the better. Only Dorothea
knows that Will could be strong by her idealistic conception of him, and he draws
strength by measuring up to this concept. Will has a need "to earn her respect," and this
need "brings out tendencies in himself that might otherwise have been overwhelmed by
his attraction to egotistic Romantic attitudes" (Newton 137). Dorothea is the lamp for
most of Middlemarchers, holding up an ideal for others, which is the cornerstone of her
womanhood. Being helpful to her friends and loved ones is far more important than her
Casaubon inheritance which she ultimately sacrifices in her marriage to Ladislaw. Her
vocation of marriage which yielded a son by Ladislaw seems to some readers a mild
concession when considering Dorothea's full potential. However, this son does inherit Mr.
Brooke's estate upon his death, and Dorothea's second marriage proved infinitely happier
than her first. Since Sir James "never ceased to regard Dorothea's second marriage as a
mistake," then most Middlemarchers thought the same way (Carroll 821).

Society's judgment whether a couple's marriage will succeed when their engagement is
known sometimes hinges on that couple's collective income. Sometimes it hinges on
valid parentage. Other times it might be the age difference that casts dispersion upon the
couple's uniting. Dorothea's ability to select a good husband and fulfill her vocation
seems suspect when her only income in the absence of Casaubon dollars is derived from
her parents, 700 pounds yearly, still a considerable sum but not enough to own a coach
and carriage. As an editor of The Pioneer, Ladislaw has no real income. And Will's
parentage makes him despised by society. After Rosamond's disclosure to Dorothea that
Will loved her and not Rosamond, nothing now prevented honest communication
between Will and Dorothea. Eliot's "Sunset and Sunrise" chapter finds Dorothea and
Ladislaw alone in the Lowick library illuminated by lightening when Dorothea declares:
"I don't mind about poverty -- I hate my wealth" (Carroll 798). Without an estate or
family approved bloodline, Dorothea and Will sealed their engagement. She has found a
new vocation, one where she will be loved, and Middlemarch opinions can be damned,
especially those from nobility like Sir James, her new brother-in-law via Celia.

Certain sacrifices occur when Victorian women choose a husband for their career. Celia
reveals Dorothea's sacrifices when she says:

-- you never can go and live in that way. And then there are all your plans! You never can
have thought of that. James would have taken any trouble for you, and you might have
gone on your life doing what you liked. . . . to think of marrying Mr. Ladislaw, who has
got no estate or anything. (Carroll 806)
Celia's concern for her sister stems partly from the fear of never seeing Dorothea if she
movesw to London. Dorothea, who does not feel the sting of those sacrifices at first,
continues to educate her worried sister about how fond she is of Ladislaw, telling her,
"you would have to feel with me, else you would never know" (Carroll 807). Eliot
emphasizes the importance of feelings as a way of knowing. Knowledge comes to
Dorothea through her feelings, and she causes all those around her to come to grips with
theirs. Eliot concludes that Dorothea's marriage to Ladislaw is not totally triumphant as
there was always "something better she might have done" (Pangallo 167). It seems a
sacrifice to some readers that Dorothea, a woman of extraordinary breath and character,
should "be absorbed" into a man's vocation and "be known in certain circles as a wife and
mother" (Pangallo 167). How does one applaud the millions of women who do just that?

What would modern day readers say of Mrs. Bulstrode's loyalty to her husband? Modern
critics might note that the advanced age of Mrs. Bulstrode prevented her from a
successful second marriage if she chose as the younger Dorothea did. Mr.Bulstode has
not passed away like Mr. Casaubon leaving few options for Mrs. Bulstrode. She, unlike
her husband, was not "an object of dislike", and the townspeople considered her "a
handsome comfortable woman" though some exclaimed "Ah, poor woman" (Carroll
731). Before she married, Mrs. Bulstrode was Harriet Vincy. Eliot does not consider the
courtship of the Bulstrodes, but readers are reminded of duty in marriage, loyalty in
marriage, and a woman's heart in Mrs. Bulstrode's commitment to her husband. She does
not act upon Mrs. Hackbutt's advice: "she ought to separate from him" (Carroll 733). As
Mr. Bulstrode has replaced Mr. Casaubon late in the novel as an evil character, Mrs.
Bulstrode persists in trying to save what she considers a redeemable husband:

But this imperfectly-taught woman, whose phrases and habits were an odd patchwork,
had a loyal spirit within her. The man whose prosperity she had shared through nearly
half a life, and who had unvaryingly cherished her -- now that punishment had befallen
him it was not possible to her in any sense to forsake him. (Carroll 739)

Mr. Bulstrode kept his past hidden from Harriet Vincy twenty years earlier when she was
receiving marriage proposals. His robbing his stepchildren's inheritance for his own
selfish gain was forgiven by a loyal wife, a wife who thought better of her vocation. Eliot
indicates that delayed communication in marriages can be unhealthy. Mrs. Bulstrode
balances Mr. Bulstrode and "society's conflicting values regarding religion, medicine,
money, status, and marriage" (Doyle 119).

When readers finish Middlemarch and its marriage narratives, they find as Dorothea did
that feelings serve as both a blessing and a curse. Through them Dorothea matured and
served as a catalyst for many of Middlemarch's couples including her own. Fatalistic
threats to happy marriages are common place in all marriages, whether Victorian or
otherwise, but the heroines of Eliot's novels prove that women more than men safeguard
success in marriages. After all, marriage is a vocation, a precious business to women.
Eliot sums up women vocational responsibilities of marriage in the voice of Mary when
she says: "husbands are an inferior class of men, who require keeping in order" (Carroll
814). Perhaps the fact that Mary gives birth to only boy-children is Eliot's irony.
Dorothea's child by Ladislaw is likewise a boy. Imaginative readers like to think that
these boys will grow up to become gentlemen who will treat their wives with sensitivity,
and they will respect the wifely taps of correction as husbands and as employers who
stand a chance for improvement.

George Eliot's Complex Characters in Middlemarch

The mature reader's ability to understand the extensive range of emotions felt by
characters in fiction stems from the reader's own life experiences, as George Eliot was
well aware when writing Middlemarch. According to Virginia Wolfe, Eliot's novel is
"one of the few English novels for grown-up people." Middlemarch has characters
disillusioned by the self-deception and deception of others that they see around them.
Middlemarch is about the process of understanding the experiences and perceptions of
others, and of suffering through self-deception and disillusionment, social positioning,
class consciousness, and the ambition for self-improvement with its concomitants:
education and money.

Several scholars praise Eliot's novel because of the realistic characters that allow her
readers sympathetic identification and participation. Huge Witemeyer says, for example,
"The variety of meanings it [Middlemarch] can encompass, from the moral and
psychological to the historical and sociological, makes Eliot's literary portraiture richer
than that of any earlier novelist in English" (1). Although characters within her novel may
engage in deceit or suffer disillusionment, Eliot's focusing on their human condition
allows readers to connect with each character's situation. This attachment, this connection
between the reader and the character, enables Eliot to present a convincingly real world
and enables her novel to convey the essential truths about human nature. For example, the
women in Eliot's novel, though fictional, are faced with the same life decisions and
responsibilities as the women in Victorian society.

Upper-middle and upper-class Victorian women, for example, were expected to "marry
money," stay home to raise the family, and be responsible for the management of
domestic affairs. As a result, women, who lacked the opportunity for the kind of
education men had, were praised chiefly for their ability to act properly towards their
husbands. Dorothea Brooke is an intelligent and independent young woman, who differs
from the conventional woman of the Victorian Age. While other Victorian ladies worried
about fashion and marriage, Dorothea concerns herself with issues of philosophy,
spirituality, and service. Eliot points out Dorothea's genuine beauty in describing her
physical appearance:

Miss Brooke had the kind of beauty which seems to be thrown into relief by poor dress.
Her hand and wrist were so finely formed that she could wear sleeves not less bare of
style than those in which the Blessed Virgin appeared to Italian painters; and her profile
as well as her stature and bearing seemed to gain the more dignity from her plain
garments, which by the side of provincial fashion gave her the impressiveness of a fine
quotation from the Bible, -- or from one of our elder poets, -- in a paragraph of to-day's
newspaper. [7]
Eliot, who emphasizes the plainness of Dorothea's clothing, alludes to paintings of the
Virgin Mary to describe her, thereby accentuating Dorothea's dignity and purity (Chen 1).
Because Dorothea does not concern herself with fashion, most people in Middelemarch
perceive her to be odd, and "sane people did what their neighbors did, so that if any
lunatics were at large, one might know and avoid them" (9). Eliot mocks the social norm
by praising the purity of the young and "inexperienced" Miss Brooke.

I think Dorothea is almost too perfect, but she evolves from her immaculate persona after
she goes astray and marries Edward Casaubon. Dorothea's feelings for him are influenced
by his supposed wisdom and her hopes that it will allow her to "become educated, to have
her curiosity nurtured, and to be of constant usefulness to a man of sixty who really
needed her nineteen year old eyes for reading" (Thompson 1). Bernard J. Paris sees
Dorothea as a mimetic character whose desire for intensity, greatness, an epic life are not
manifestations of spiritual grandeur but of a compulsive search for glory. Her craving for
"illimitable satisfaction" is an expression of insatiable compensatory needs, and her "self-
despair" results from hopelessness about actualizing her idealized image of herself as a
person of world-historical importance. She misperceives Casaubon because "her need for
glory leads her to idealize him" (31-32). Dorothea realizes "the fault of her own spiritual
poverty" (192), and is "sobbing bitterly" when she is left alone by Mr. Casaubon, who
goes towork alone at the Vatican on their honeymoon.

In Middlemarch education and money "greatly determine" the characters' lives and
opportunities, and Eliot takes as her central topic the unfit preparation of women for life.
This theme is as crucial for understanding Rosamond Vincy as it is for understanding
Dorothea (Beer 159). Rosamond comes from a family familiar with the comfortable
lifestyle of middle-class society. Her egocentric character does not adapt to the sacrifices
or adjustments in one's style of living necessary when money is scarce. In contrast to
Dorothea's, Rosy's marital vocation does not include "the inward life of a hero, or his
serious business in the world"; rather, she just wants to climb the social ladder and find a
seat among the aristocracy (Thompson 3). Eliot reveals Rosamond's egotistical nature
when she describes how theyoung girl wishes her father would invite Lydgate to a dinner
party:

She was tired of the faces and figures she had always been use to -- the various irregular
profiles and gaits and turns of phrase distinguishing those Middlemarch young men
whom she had always known as boys. She had been at school [Mrs. Lemon's
establishment] with other girls of higher position, whose brothers, she felt sure, it would
have been possible for her to be more interested in, than in these inevitable Middlemarch
companions. [97]

Rosamond wants to meet Lydgate, "the new aspiring doctor," because she is utterly
disappointed with the eligible bachelors in her immediate community. Eliot utilizes
Rosamond's character to reveal her attitude towards provincial middle-class society by
describing Rosamond's social circle as "inevitable Middlemarch companions." Rosamond
knows what she wants out of life: to become a member of the aristocracy, but her
marriage to Lydgate is not what she expects. Her upbringing and education do not
prepare her for the hardships all married couples experience. Eliot uses her -- as a foil to
Dorothea -- as an example of the misfortunes of shallow women. Or, she may be
highlighting the importance of seeing reality instead of appearance.

Lydgate exemplifies the desires of an epic life, as Dorothea does, but unlike her he finds
his vocation in the study of medicine, who works hard for success in his medical practice.
Eliot's introduction of Lydgate, however, hints at his coming failure:

For surely all must admit that a man may be puffed and belauded, envied, ridiculed,
counted upon as a tool and fallen in love with, or at least selected as a future husband,
and yet remain virtually unknown--known merely as a cluster of signs for his neighbours'
false suppositions. There was a general impression, however, that Lydgate was not
altogether a common country doctor, and in Middlemarch at that time such an impression
was significant of great things being expected from him. [142]

Lydgate has the drive and ambition to make a difference in the world by advancing
studies in the medical field. He is aware of the risk that such an unknown field of study
poses because the common people would have no proof that newly discovered cures
would work. On the other hand, Lydgate's belief that there is a vast field for discovery
and improvement in medicine makes him persevere. Lydgate's plan for his future is "to do
good work for Middlemarch, and great work for the world" (149). But he remains
"virtually unknown" in his because of his passion for women. He becomes enamored of
Laure when he sees her on stage while he is a student in Paris, but he is in love with her
"as a man is in love with a woman whom he never expects to speak to" (152). He does
speak to her, though, but only after she murders on stage her husband who plays the part
of her lover. Lydgate is convinced of her innocence until she confesses to him that she
"meant to do it" because her husband had wearied her by being "too fond" (153). Lydgate
realizes that his passion will lead to his own destruction, so he returns to his studies,
convinced that he will not make such a mistake again (Paris 65). Inevitably Lydgate's
passion resurfaces when he meets Rosamond, and his emotional neediness leads to an
impulsive proposal.

Lydgate's descent into debt makes Rosamond very unhappy, and his busy career makes
her and other characters believe she is neglected. After dinner Mrs. Vincy sympathetically
tells the other ladies around them: "It is dreadfully dull for her when there is no
company" (642). Rosamond is used to having company in a "cheerful house" which is
"very different from a husband out at odd hours, and never knowing when he will come
home" (642). Her unhappiness is encouraged by those around her. Perhaps Lydgate's
willingness to sacrifice his own interests to ensure her happiness could have been
appreciated by another wife. Instead, he sacrifices himself without any real hope of
reciprocated affection. Although Lydgate accepts his own doom, he still has the ambition
to make something in the world better, and that is his marriage. These are only a few
examples of the wide range of characters in Middlemarch with whom readers can either
identify with or understand. While representing an entire community, George Eliot invites
 her readers to become a part of Middlemarch, allowing them to enter into her characters'
lives because she gives readers access to the characters' thoughts throughout the novel.

Summary
Middlemarch is s the great epic of nineteenth-century English literature, and comes closest to matching the
success of Tolstoy and Turgenev's Russian sagas. As such, to summarize the novel would be practically
impossible but, like its Russian counterparts, it nonetheless follows several threads of storyline. Middlemarch is
a novel about youthful rebellion: Dorothea, a young girl, decides to marry an aged academic, Casaubon, against
the advice of her friends and family. Casaubon dies and Dorothea marries his nephew, Will. The novel is set in a
small town, Middlemarch, and traces the arrival of a young doctor, Lydgate, in the town and the start of his
practice. Rosamund, a woman who has spent her life in Middlemarch, marries Lydgate, and the two are taken in
by the corrupt banker Bulstrode. Fred Vincey waits to inherit money from Featherstone, a rich neighbour. When
this fails, he drifts towards joining the clergy and finally marries Mary Garth. The novel is concerned with the
fabric of Victorian society in the 1800s and about how various human passions: heroism, egotism, love, and lust
interrelate within this society.