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George eliot's versions of the pastoral Harker, Mary J. 1971

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GEORGE ELIOT'S VERSIONS OF THE PASTORAL by MARY J . HARKER B. A., Queen's University, 1967 A THESIS SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF MASTER OF ARTS i n the Department of ENGLISH We accept t h i s thesis as conforming to the required standard THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA May, 1971 In p r e s e n t i n g t h i s t h e s i s i n p a r t i a l f u l f i l m e n t o f the r e q u i r e m e n t s f o r an advanced degree a t the U n i v e r s i t y o f B r i t i s h C o l u m b i a , I a g r e e t h a t t h e L i b r a r y s h a l l make i t f r e e l y a v a i l a b l e f o r r e f e r e n c e and s t u d y . I f u r t h e r agree t h a p e r m i s s i o n f o r e x t e n s i v e c o p y i n g o f t h i s t h e s i s f o r s c h o l a r l y p u r p o s e s may be g r a n t e d by the Head o f my Department o r by h i s r e p r e s e n t a t i v e s . I t i s u n d e r s t o o d t h a t c o p y i n g o r p u b l i c a t i o n o f t h i s t h e s i s f o r f i n a n c i a l g a i n s h a l l not be a l l o w e d w i t h o u t my w r i t t e n p e r m i s s i o n . Department o f E n g l i s h The U n i v e r s i t y o f B r i t i s h Columbia Vancouver 8, Canada Date May, 1971 ABSTRACT In an attempt to explain the discrepancy between the i n t e l l e c t u a l and imaginative elements i n George E l i o t ' s art, her version of the pastoral i n Adam Bede, The M i l l on  the Floss, and S i l a s Marner i s examined. Based on the Warwickshire countryside of her childhood and on the Wordsworthian notion of childhood, her pastoral i s the en-vironmental c o r r e l a t i v e to the s p i r i t u a l development of a character according to Ludwig Feuerbach's "Religion of Humanity." The pastoral i s used to portray man's i n i t i a l happy state* that i s informed by h i s own egoism and li m i t e d viewpoint. The pastoral i s also used to portray a kind of second Eden that i s inherited by those men who have achieved a wider v i s i o n i n the "Religion of Humanity." At the same time, the pastoral has certa i n unconscious associations for George E l i o t which produce an imaginative pattern that i s d i f f e r e n t from the one she consciously intends. The appeal of a sense of womb-like enclosedness generated by her pastoral and her apprehension of the world of i n t e l l e c t u a l and emotional maturity that l i e s beyond the i n f a n t i l e m i l i e u create an imaginative pattern of psycholo-g i c a l regression. The chief character within t h i s pattern (who may also be the chief character within the in t e n t i o n a l pattern) f i n a l l y "dies" i n the f a t a l attempt to remain within the i n f a n t i l e realm. At t h i s low ebb i n the imagin-ative pattern, the new celebrant i n the "Religion of Humanity," having achieved an understanding of the not-self, i s about to enter h i s new and shining second Eden. Thus, the enclosed and narrow point of view that corresponds to the i n i t i a l stage i n man's s p i r i t u a l development i s never imaginatively abandoned. Adam Bede i s the chief inhabitant of Hayslope which shares h i s l i m i t e d and self-centred outlook. The malfeasance of Adam's fiancee, Hetty Sor r e l , i n i t i a t e s Adam and Hayslope into new awareness. F i n a l l y , Adam returns to an apocalyptic Hayslope with h i s superior Eve, Dinah Morris. Hetty Sorrel i s the focus of the imaginative i n t e r e s t i n the novel. Although the c h i l d - l i k e Hetty i n i t i a l l y seeks to quit the security of the H a l l Farm, she l a t e r " d i e s " i n the attempt to return. Her "death" and Adam's i n i t i a t i o n i n t o the "Religion of Humanity" are almost simultaneous. Through suffering and resignation, Maggie T u l l i v e r learns to imitate Christ according to the precepts of Thomas a Kempis (and Ludwig Feuerbach). Her reward, i n death, i s a second childhood Eden which i s much superior to the f i r s t one which was often shaken with e g o i s t i c squabbles. Imaginatively, Maggie's resignation takes on the form of a f a t a l t i m i d i t y towards l i f e and an i n a b i l i t y to quit the i n f a n t i l e r e l a t i o n s h i p s within the family c i r c l e . She "dies" at the end of a regressive journey into the s e l f at the same point where she receives the cross i n recognition of her r e l a t i o n s h i p and duty to others. In S i l a s Marner, the i n t e l l e c t u a l and imaginative elements are more c l o s e l y aligned. S i l a s "dies" at the conclusion of a regressive journey into the s e l f which also corresponds to h i s s o c i a l withdrawl and s p i r i t u a l death. S i m i l a r l y , he i s reborn and grows into an awareness of a b e a u t i f u l pastoral world as h i s v i s i o n i s widened ft to include the love and sympathy of fellow human beings. After S i l a s Marner, George E l i o t seldom returned to the pastoral material she developed i n the t r i l o g y . I'int.ellectually her pastoral did not lend i t s e l f to a more c r i t i c a l examination of ideas and b e l i e f s while imaginat-i v e l y , i t had become ultimately uncomfortable and u n s a t i s f a c t o r y . That she had outgrown her p a s t o r a l and t h a t she was unable t o r e p l a c e i t with another i m a g i n a t i v e system h e l p e x p l a i n her a r t i s t i c s t e r i l i t y d u r i n g the e i g h t e e n - s i x t i e s . Chapter Page I. THE PASTORAL OF INTELLECT AND THE PASTORAL OF IMAGINATION . . . . 1 I I . ADAM BEDE - IN SEARCH OF EDEN 31 III. THE MILL ON THE FLOSS - THE LOSS OF EDEN . . . . 67 IV. SILAS MARNER - EDEN REVISITED 131 V. BEYOND RAVELOE: THE LIMITS OF GEORGE ELIOT'S PASTORAL 155 LIST OF REFERENCES 164 THE PASTORAL OF INTELLECT AND THE PASTORAL OF IMAGINATION Concern over the problems of a r t i s t i c inconsistency in George Eliot's novels i s not new. For a long time, c r i t i c s have complained about an apparent conflict between the intellectual and imaginative elements in her novels. Henry James, one of George Eliot's earliest and most astute c r i t i c s , notes, under the guise of his persona, Constantius: There seems to be two very distinct elements in George E l i o t — a spontaneous one and an a r t i f i c i a l one. There i s what she i s by inspiration, and what she i s because i t i s expected of her. 1 Eighty years later, David Cecil essentially recapitulates James• criticism: The intel l e c t was the engine which started the machinery of the imagination working. But the engine was too powerful for the machine: It kept i t at a strain at which i t could not run smoothly and easily. So that i t never produced a wholly satisfactory work of a r t . 2 In this study, an attempt w i l l be made to examine more f u l l y the nature of this discrepancy between the intellectual and imaginative elements in George Eliot's three early novels: Adam Bede, The M i l l on the Floss, and Silas Marner. These three novels have been selected for this purpose since they represent George Eliot's adaptation of the pastoral to the ful l e s t extent. The pastoral i s especially important for the purposes of this study since i t i s perhaps the one point where the intellectual and imaginative elements of George Eliot's novels overlap. More precisely, i t w i l l be shown how George E l i o t incorporates her version of the pastoral into the intellectual pattern, that i s , the a r t i s t i c pattern which she consciously strives to produce, in the three novels mentioned above. At the same time, i t w i l l be shown how the pastoral has certain emotional attrac-tions for George E l i o t which gives to the rendering of her pastoral an imaginative intensity. These imaginative aspects of George Eliot's pastoral, when analyzed further, can be seen to produce a patterning quite distinct from the one which George E l i o t intended. In fact, the imaginative pattern often contradicts in varying degrees the intellectual pattern. The extent to which George E l i o t herself was aware of some of the emotional connotations of her pastoral i s almost impossible to determine. Certainly, there i s the occasional place where the author attempts to adjust inconsistencies in the intellectual design that have grown out of certain affective values which she attributes to the pastoral. Such inconsistencies w i l l be indicated in the discussion of the individual novels in which they appear. For the most part, however, the wide differences between the intellectual and imaginative designs would seem to suggest that George El i o t was largely unaware of the psychological meanings implicit in her use of the pastoral. Therefore, for the sake of c l a r i t y in this study, the intellectual pattern w i l l be referred to as the intentional pattern and the imaginative pattern w i l l be referred to as the unintentional pattern. This chapter w i l l f i r s t outline in general terms the central intellectual pattern of the three novels to be later discussed in d e t a i l . Then, George Eliot's version of the pastoral w i l l be examined as i t forms an integral part of the intellectual pattern. Following this, a description of the psychological implications in George Eliot's use of the pastoral w i l l be given. Finally, the overall imaginative pattern that evolves from the psychological associations of her version of the pastoral w i l l be described. The outlines of both the intellectual and imaginative patterns are in general terms and are intended to give a framework with which the specific treatment of these patterns within the individual novels can be approached. The fundamental impetus behind the formation of the intellectual or intentional pattern of Adam Bede, The M i l l  on the Floss, and Silas Marner can be best summarized by two separate excerpts from U.C. Knoepflmacher*s discussion of George E l i o t in his Religious Humanism and the Victorian  Novel: The 1850's and the early 1860's had seen the f i n a l consolidation of an empirical s p i r i t which challenged, quite tentatively at f i r s t and then more directly, the old Mosaic cosmogony, as well as the miraculous element, in the Scripture . . . . In the 1860's, but above a l l in the 1870's and 1880*s, there was a pro-lif e r a t i o n of imaginative efforts to reconcile the new findings with the moral verities of the old religion . . . . 'The thing,' in Arnold's words, was 'to recast religion.' Feuerbach and the 'Higher Criticism' had taught her [George Eliot] that Christianity was a fable, a beautiful f i c t i o n which contained only a 'Religion of Humanity,1 teaching the perennial truth of human love and selfishness. In her own f i c t i o n , . . . she sought to recreate this 'truth' with something of the fierce intensity which marked her evangelical upbring-ing. 3 George Eliot's renovation of the old carlylian vestments of religion with new meanings i s not restricted, however, to a portrayal of "Peuerbachian stereotypes, earthly 'Madonna' and working-man 'Savior'" as Knoepflmacher maintains (p. 61). Instead, i t w i l l be shown that she attempts to use the old Mosaic cosmogony as a framework to portray the "Religion of Humanity" just as Milton, her "demigod,"4 had used a Ptolemaic universe to jus t i f y the ways of God to men.^ Milton had been a favorite author of George E l i o t since her childhood: her letters abound with reference to his works and towards the end of her l i t e r a r y career she even wrote a rather inferior poem, "Oh May I Join the Choir Invisible" which i s essentially emulatory of Milton's "The Nativity Ode." In view of this strong attachment to Milton, i t i s not surprising that George E l i o t chose to retell,; in her novels the story of man's fortunate f a l l in terms of i t s "perennial truth." The "truth," however, had to be consistent with the truth George E l i o t acknowledged in Ludwig Feuerbach's The Essence of Christianity. "With the ideas of Feuerbach," she t e l l s her correspondent, Sarah Hennell, "I everywhere agree." The state of man's f i r s t happiness, his subsequent f a l l from this state and his ultimate attainment of a far better paradise in his heart i s the central myth of Christianity which George E l i o t reshapes according to the man-oriented "Religion of Humanity." " A l l the attributes of the divine Nature are," says Feuerbach, "attributes of 7 the human nature." Man, therefore, in the "religion of humanity" becomes the instrument of his own redemption. In George Eliot's reshaping of the myth of the for-tunate f a l l according to the "truth" of Feuerbach's "Religion of Humanity," paradise before The F a l l i s an early, primitive stage in man's spir i t u a l development. Egoistic, unaware of any "other" in his world, man i s like Narcissus and sees only himself in Nature. Yet this limited Q solitude, prior to what Feuerbach calls "consciousness," i s an eminently happy one: To a limited being i t s limited understanding i s not f e l t to be a limitation; on the contrary, i t i s per-fectly happy and contented with this understanding, i t regards i t , praises and values i t , as a glorious, divine power; and the limited understanding on i t s part, values the limited nature whose understanding i t i s (P. 8) . When this narrow nature finds " i t s limit, i t s restraint, in the activity of another being," however, paradise i s exploded in an awareness of the world as something objective and distinct from i t s e l f : "the ego . . . attains to conscious-ness of the world through consciousness of the thou." 9 Crushed with the new sense of his own limitations, man, now baffled and melancholy at the prospect of a hard, cold, indifferent reality, enters the wasteland that l i e s beyond the tightly circumscribed world of paradise. The conversion of the wasteland into a second Eden, the alleviation of the hard and indifferent reality, i s to be achieved for Peuerbach's man only through love and suffer-ing for his fellow man. "Love which attests i t s e l f by suffering," says Peuerbach, i s the key to salvation for fallen man (p. 59). Suffering, the supreme affirmation of Love, initiates him into the "Religion of Humanity:" "he who suffers for the others, who lays down his l i f e for them, acts divinely, i s a God to men" (p. 60). The powers of Love thus widen man's vision into f u l l consciousness which enables him to contemplate "the perfection, the infinitude of his species . . . as an object of feeling, of conscience or of thinking consciousness" (p. 7): Love i s . . . the principle of reconciliation between the perfect and the imperfect, the sinless and sinful being, the universal and the individual . . . . Love makes man God and God man. Love strengthens the weak and weakens the strong, abases the high and raises the lowly, ideal-ises matter and materialises s p i r i t . . . . What faith, creed, opinion separates, love unites (p. 48). Feuerbachian Man can regain a "paradise within . . . happier far" by realizing that "no being i s a limited one to i t s e l f * and that i t " i s in and by i t s e l f i n f i n i t e — h a s i t s God, i t s highest conceivable being, in i t s e l f " (p. 7). The former limited sense of unity, happiness and perfection in paradise can be replaced in man's Second Eden by an i n f i n i t e sense of these things—"the realization," as Frye, speaking of man's recovery of his true identity, puts i t , "that there i s only one man, one mind and one world, and that a l l walls of partition have been broken down forever." 1 0 The spiritual progression implicit in George Eliot's r e t e l l i n g of man's fortunate f a l l according to the truths of Feuerbach's "Religion of Humanity" i s substantiated by Feuerbach's concept of the "historical progress of religion:" What by an earlier religion was regarded as objective, i s now recognized as subjective . . . . What was at f i r s t religion becomes at a later period idolatry; man is seen to have adored his own nature . . . every advance in religion i s therefore a deeper self-knowledge (p. 13) . This notion of "progress" or "advancement" in religion was important to George E l i o t as i t was important to other Victorians. I t afforded a way of including the old evangelical religion (in George Eliot's case) as an important stage towards "deeper knowledge." Her adapta-tion of the myth of man's fortunate f a l l was also, there-fore, consonant with her "meliorist" views which were based on Comte's Positive Philosophy that claimed "to unite past and present into a harmonious whole [by] recognizing 'the fundamental law of continuous human development.' 1 , 1 1 George El i o t ' s use of the pastoral in her presenta-tion of man's fortunate f a l l can be partially explained by the importance she habitually gave to the depiction of environment as well as to the depiction of character. "It i s the habit of my imagination," she says, "to strive after as f u l l a vision of the medium in which a character moves as 12 of the character i t s e l f . " Also, since Milton had used the pastoral to help jus t i f y human existence in a world that had become meaningless, George E l i o t too could conceivably remold i t for her depiction of the "Religion of Humanity" in the novel. Although the English novel has a tenuous link with the pastoral that goes as far back as Sidney's Arcadia, George E l i o t had a more recent demonstration of this a f f i n -i t y i n the novels of Sir Walter Scott whose influence as one of her favorite novelists has already been noticed in other aspects of her f i c t i o n . F i n a l l y , her imagination had long been fed on a r i c h assortment of pastoral authors— Milton, Cowper, Spenser, Wordsworth and Shakespeare—so that she had substantial material at her disposal from which to fashion her own v e r s i o n . 1 ^ The d i f f i c u l t y of ascertaining a universally ac-cepted definit ion of the pastoral i s summarized by Jeanette Marks when she complains that "out of a score of definitions not one can be selected which seems incontrovertible, and the last word to be said upon the s u b j e c t . " 1 5 However, for the purposes of this study, the def init ion of the pastoral given by John Lynen i n The Pastoral Art of Robert  Frost w i l l be adopted: The pastoral genre can best be defined as a particular synthesis of attitudes toward the r u r a l world . . . . Though r u r a l l i f e i s the subject of pastoral, i t i s not seen i n and for i t s e l f : the poet always tends to view i t with reference to the more sophisticated plane of experience upon which he and h i s audience l i v e . 1 * * Walter Greg, i n Pastoral Poetry and Drama, essential ly agrees with Lynen when he claims "a constant element i n the pastoral [to be] the recognition of a contrast, i m p l i c i t or expressed, between pastoral l i f e and some more complex type of c i v i l i z a t i o n . " Greg goes on to explain by way of example that "the e a r l i e s t pastoral poetry with which we are acquainted . . . was i t s e l f d i r e c t l y borne of the contrast between the r e c o l l e c t i o n s of a childhood spent among the S i c i l i a n uplands and the crowded s o c i a l and I n t e l -l e c u a l c i t y l i f e of Alexandria." "As a r e s u l t of t h i s contrast," continues Greg, "there arises an idea which comes ^ perhaps as near being universal i n pastoral as any — t h e idea . . . of the 'golden age.'" (p. 15). This notion of a golden or ide a l way of l i f e i n the past has been r e f i n e d i n some versions of the pastoral to represent man's prelap-sarian state i n paradise. V i r g i l ' s Fourth or "Messianic" lEclogue i s one point where the concepts of the golden age and of a paradisal state come together i n the past o r a l . This same ecologue i s also s i g n i f i c a n t , however, i n that the golden age or state of man *s happiness can also occur i n the future as well as i n the past. Frank Kermode i n h i s i n t r o -duction to English Pastoral Poetry summarizes the s i g n i f i -cance of the eclogue: I t [the Fourth Eclogue] i s the point at which the Golden Age of Saturn, the return of which the poet foresees, mingles with the C h r i s t i a n v i s i o n of man i n a paradisal state before Adam's s i n and after redemption i s complete. (p. 27) While these more specialized aspects of the pastoral w i l l be shown to be important i n describing George E l i o t ' s version, the romantic notion of the c h i l d as part of the pastoral i s also important. The romantics, especially Wordsworth, acknowledged childhood as a time when men l i v e d an innocent and blessed l i f e , obeying the good and happy impulses implanted i n them by Mother Nature. Childhood, then, came to represent a kind of paradise that man enjoyed prior to his growing up and away from his early and ideal 1 8 a f f i n i t y with nature. George E l i o t employs her version of the pastoral as a kind of environmental correlative for the i n i t i a l and f i n a l stages i n the s p i r i t u a l development of the character o r , sometimes, of the whole community, or both. Since, according to Feuerbach's theology, man i s i n i t i a l l y "perfect-l y happy and contented" (p. 8) within the limitations of his egoism, George E l i o t chooses to portray him at this i n i t i a l stage i n a kind of a paradise where he i s supremely s a t i s f i e d with the unity he perceives between himself and the external world. It i s i n fact one of those paradises where "Man, the natural world, and God [are] one, an 1 9 identity, rather than one and one and one." While this unity of man's f i r s t Eden i s undercut by the fal lacy of the egoism which informs i t , i t i s never-theless meant to be a pattern for the Second Eden inherited by the celebrant i n the "Religion of Humanity." When man no longer views the world solely i n terms of himself but acquires through pain and suffering a sympathetic under-standing for others, he becomes part of a greater unity of i n f i n i t e dimensions that yokes together a l l mankind i n the "Religion of Humanity." Thus, the f i r s t Eden i s r e a l l y the t iny seed of a vast second Eden which w i l l contintually unfold and expand i n men's hearts. The materials George E l i o t uses i n fashioning her pastoral are chiefly drawn from two sources: the Warwickshire countryside that she remembered from her c h i l d -hood and the Wordsworthian notion of the state of childhood i t s e l f . Like Theocritus who, amidst the i n t e l l e c t u a l l i f e of Alexandria, wrote of the S i c i l i a n uplands where he spent h i s childhood, George E l i o t , among the dust and chimney pots of London, turned away from her labours as editor of the Westminster Review to recreate the scenes of her c h i l d -hood i n the landscapes and inhabitants of Hayslope, Raveloe and DDrlcote M i l l . Although her pastoral world embraces a l l the classes within a rural landscape, her interest focuses on the hard-working rustics who are presented according to the strictures of what she called "naturalistic ideal-ism." In her review of Ruskin's Modern Painters for the Westminster Review (1856), George E l i o t describes this "naturalistic idealism" which she was soon to attempt her-self as an art which "accepts the weaknesses, faults, and wrongnesses in a l l things that i t sees, but so places them 20 that they form a noble whole." This aesthetic method-ology i s admirably suited to the depiction of paradise in the Feuerbachian scheme of regeneration. 'While the pastoral communities and their inhabitants can be shown to be natur-a l i s t i c a l l y self-engrossed and imperfect, they can at the same time be made to represent an image of ideal harmony and accord between man and man, and man and God. George E l i o t also makes use of the Wordsworthian notion of childhood in shaping her pastoral. Childhood can be combined with the other pastoral materials as in Silas  Marner or i t can be employed by i t s e l f as in The M i l l on the  Floss. Wordsworth, whose poetry George E l i o t admired through-out her l i f e , interpreted childhood as an ideal state in 21 which man and nature were at one. Since the child can be seen to be in "the right relation to Nature, not divid- , ing what should be unified," George E l i o t can use c h i l d -hood to depict the i n i t i a l paradise where man enjoyed an 22 identity with his world. As this sense of identity i s also a pattern of that greater unity with a l l men to be achieved in the Second Eden, the child i s , in a sense, a tiny pattern for the man matured into f u l l consciousness in the "Religion of Humanity." Within this context, the child thus becomes the "father of the man," "the root of piety." However, man's i n i t i a l state i s s t i l l one of im-maturity and egoism and, significantly, Feuerbach describes this early time as man's "childhood" (p. 13) . George Eli o t , therefore, i s also anxious to reveal the s e l f -centredness and even primitive cruelty that belong to this period of spiritual infancy. The scheme of regeneration in terms of Feuerbach's "Religion of Humanity" i s predicated on a progressive and expansive movement as man moves out of the small c i r c l e of his own egoism into an ever-widening c i r c l e of sympathy with a l l humanity. In her execution of this scheme of spiritual development in the three novels to be discussed, however, George E l i o t renders the i n i t i a l and imperfect paradise with a much greater imaginative c l a r i t y and intensity than she devotes to her portrayal of the struggles in man's spiritual development and to the f i n a l climax of those struggles in a regenerate Eden. A number of c r i t i c s have noticed an imaginative emphasis in George Eliot's representation of the world of her childhood. Some attempt to explain the 23 phenomenon by blaming her natural conservativism. Another c r i t i c more frankly suggests that she escapes from unpleasant contemporary r e a l i t i e s "into the ideal land of her ch i l d -hood and youth." 2 4 These ideas are not without merit. George E l i o t was often beset with doubts, and in this she was not atypical of her time. Her letters are sprinkled with complaints like the following to C l i f f o r d Albutt in 1868: For even with the most perfect love to cheer me, there i s s t i l l a past which widens more and more in the consciousness as a wasted good, and there i s the vi s i b l y narrowing future. 2* It i s very l i k e l y that many of George Eliot's reservations were religious, temperamental and intellectual at their basis. When these reservations strongly affect the artistry of her novels, however, i t i s also useful to look to the emotional and a f f e c t i v e roots of her imagination. George E l i o t often stresses the emotive q u a l i t y of her a r t — " t h e choice and sequence of images . . . being (determined] by emotion" or by "such a medium as [her] own nature gives [her]."26 Therefore, an examination of the psychological s i g n i f i c a n c e that l i e s within her version of the pastoral may also help to explain i t s peculiar imaginative a t t r a c -t i o n , p a r t i c u l a r l y as the i n i t i a l and imperfect paradise i n the scheme of man's s p i r i t u a l development. In h i s authoritative a r t i c l e , "The Oaten Flute," R. Poggioli describes the psychological root of the pastoral 27 as being a r e t r e a t into innocence and happiness. George E l i o t ' s imaginative i n t e r e s t i n her pastoral can at l e a s t be p a r t i a l l y explained, then, by her desire to return to her childhood m i l i e u which she conceives to have been extremely happy i n i t s security and unshaken f a i t h i n a C h r i s t i a n God. On the other hand, the intense imaginative r e a c t i v a -t i o n of the childhood m i l i e u can also be explained by George E l i o t ' s assiduous adoption of Feuerbach's " r e l i g i o n . " Feuerbach's theology i s based on assumptions which p o t e n t i -a l l y could be psychologically destructive since the funda-mental inversion that exalts man int o God i n Feuerbach's r e l i g i o n can be seen to be emotionally unsatisfactory. Jung, i n h i s Symbols of Transformation, demonstrates the essential importance of man's creation of a God-image: Psychic energy of l i b i d o creates the God-image by making use of archetypal patterns, and . . . man i n consequence worships the psychic force active within him as something d i v i n e . 2 This a c t i v i t y , says Jung, constantly reminds man of the God within himself and this awareness i s psychologically b e n e f i c i a l : To carry a God around i n yourself means a great deal; i t i s a guarantee of happiness, of power, and even omnipotence, i n so far as these are attributes of d i v i n i t y . To carry a god within oneself i s p r a c t i -c a l l y the same as being God oneself (p. 86). When man carries this a step further, however, and actu-l l y becomes a God, a dangerous psychological phenomenon occurs: Whoever introverts l i b i d o , [that i s j withdraws i t from the external object [in George E l i o t ' s case, her evangelical God] suffers the necessary consequences of introversion: the l i b i d o which i s turned inwards into the subject, reverts to the individual past and digs up from the treasure-house of memory those images glimpsed long ago, which bring back the time when the world was a f u l l and rounded whole. F i r s t and foremost are the memories of childhood, among them the images of father and mother. These are unique and imperishable, and i n adult l i f e not many d i f f i c u l t i e s are needed to reawaken those memories and make them a c t i v e . The regressive r e a c t i v a t i o n of the father-and-mother-images plays an important r o l e i n r e l i g i o n . The benefits of r e l i g i o n are equivalent, i n t h e i r e f f e c t s , to the parental care lavished upon the c h i l d , and r e l i g i o u s feelings are rooted i n unconscious memories of cer t a i n tender emotions i n early infancy . . . (pp. 88-89). A l l the energy associated with the love and omnipotence of George E l i o t ' s evangelical God are therefore channelled back into a past that her imagination finds i r r e s i s t i b l e . Like her a l t e r ego, Theophrastus Such, she finds i t impossible to overcome t h i s "inborn beguilement which c a r r i e s [her] a f f e c t i o n and regret continually i n t o an imagined p a s t . " 2 9 Her landscapes are populated with parental figures, p a r t i c u l a r l y paternal ones, as a l l the family r e l a t i o n s h i p s are resuscitated. Quite often, George E l i o t i m p l i c i t l y i d e n t i f i e s with a person whose psycholo-g i c a l o r i e n t a t i o n w i l l be shown to be that of a c h i l d around whom the entir e pastoral firmament becomes a kind of womb that arches over and protects the a r t i s t - a s - c h i l d for whom i t was made and e x i s t s . Once t h i s pastoral world with a l l i t s psychological implications has been established, i t s emotional appeal i s r e i n f o r c e d by the f a c t t h a t i t i n c l u d e s w i t h i n it', an .-imagin-a t i v e t r i b u t e t o c e r t a i n lower and unconscious elements o f the p e r s o n a l i t y . The i n c l u s i o n o f these elements serve s t o make the p a s t o r a l as i t i s i n i t i a l l y i n t r o d u c e d more complete p s y c h o l o g i c a l l y and hence more a p p e a l i n g emotion-a l l y . A t times, the p a s t o r a l i s even a s s o c i a t e d with an image of p s y c h i c t o t a l i t y , i n d i c a t i n g t h a t the c r e a t o r un-c o n s c i o u s l y acknowledges both r a t i o n a l and i r r a t i o n a l elements o f the p e r s o n a l i t y t o be l i n k e d t o g e t h e r i n a p e r f e c t whole w i t h i n the c h i l d h o o d world o f her p a s t o r a l . The i r r a t i o n a l lower f o r c e s a re u s u a l l y a s s o c i a t e d with an important c h a r a c t e r whose p s y c h o l o g i c a l o r i e n t a t i o n , w i t h i n the p a s t o r a l can be shown t o be e s s e n t i a l l y i n f a n t i l e . These dark and sensuous f i g u r e s such as Maggie T u l l i v e r and H e t t y S o r r e l are a l s o , w i t h i n the moral context t h a t George E l i o t c o n s c i o u s l y c r e a t e s , i n i t i a l l y immature and pr o f o u n d l y s e l f - c e n t e r e d . For reasons which l i e beyond the scope of t h i s d i s c u s s i o n , George E l i o t tends t o equate the a n i m a l i t y o f these c h a r a c t e r s w i t h a form of s e l f - i n d u l g e n t egoism. Consequently, i f they are t o ent e r the chastened second Eden, the r i g h t f u l home of those men matured i n t o f u l l c onsciousness, these c h a r a c t e r s must l e a r n t o abandon the promptings of t h e i r self-indulgent lower natures or be l e f t outside the new world given to a l l celebrants i n the "Religion of Humanity." While t h i s second paradise may be i n t e l l e c t u a l l y and morally better i n terms of Feuerbach's and George E l i o t ' s theology, i t i s imaginative-l y much weaker without the reinforcement of the i r r a t i o n a l elements ascribed to the i n i t i a l and morally imperfect paradise. And since the second paradise i s not founded on a recognition or assim i l a t i o n of the dark, forces but rather on a denial and suppression of them, i t i s highly vulnerable to destruction by these lower forces i n th e i r ignored and chaotic form. George E l i o t ' s " p u r i f i e d " pastoral world i s just as precarious i n t h i s respect as Hansel and Gretel's d e l i c a t e gingerbread house that h i d within i t a child-eating monster. In view of the imagin-ative languor with which the second paradise i s rendered, then, the imaginative i n t e n s i t y of the i n i t i a l paradise i n the scheme of man's regeneration can at lea s t be p a r t i -a l l y explained. Another explanation for the i n i t i a l vigour and grad-ual weakening of George E l i o t ' s pastoral could l i e i n the way i n which her imagination seems circumscribed by the l i m i t s of her pastoral. For George E l i o t , the world beyond the borders of her childhood m i l i e u contains a l l the adult nightmares of i n s e c u r i t y and doubt. For the i n f a n t i l e psyche within the borders of George E l i o t ' s pastoral, the outside world represents a sexual maturity and an unhappy future which must be avoided i n order to preserve the d e l i c i o u s security and innocence of childhood. There i s a curious p a r a l l e l between the point of view within George E l i o t ' s pastoral and the perceptions of Latimer, the chief character i n "The L i f t e d V e i l , " a b i z a r r e short story she wrote around the same time as the three pastoral novels. Endowed with supernatural powers of foresight, Latimer l i v e s i n perpetual horror and despair as he contemplates a world void of a l l love, goodness and happiness. 3 0 His greatest misfortune, however, i s that, "without the poet's voice," he i s without the means of a l l e -v i a t i n g h i s misery. Unlike Latimer, George E l i o t , with the powers of her imagination, can create a happy world out of her memories of a childhood past where hopefully, she can 31 remain safel y "anchored within the v e i l . " x The contentment of r e s t i n g secure within the cozy pastoral world i s not altogether unmitigated, however. Occasionally the psychologically i n f a n t i l e personality within t h i s world expresses c e r t a i n d i s s a t i s f a c t i o n s and yearnings a f t e r some unspecified d e s i r e . While these promptings are ra r e l y , and then only p a r t i a l l y , acted upon, they may represent an unconscious impulse on the part of George E l i o t to explore imaginatively the unhappy realms of doubt and maturity which l i e beyond the " v e i l " of her p a s t o r a l . Although seemingly unpleasant, t h i s unexplored realm nevertheless o f f e r s the p o s s i b i l i t y of a much greater happiness than the one enjoyed i n the childhood m i l i e u . Encountering those b e n e f i c i a r i e s which Jung describes as "the healing power of nature, the deep wells of being and conscious communion with l i f e i n a l l i t s countless forms" the explorer would have the opportunity to e s t a b l i s h a 32 mature and integrated personality. Instead,, George E l i o t ' s imagination c l i n g s to the world recreated from her memories of childhood and to an i m p l i c i t i d e n t i t y with an i n f a n t i l e psyche within that world. She has, to use Campbell's terms i n The Hero of a Thousand Faces, "refused the c a l l " with the r e s u l t that the once pleasing i n f a n t i l e m i l i e u 33 begins to lose i t s charms. The "flowering world" of the one who refuses the c a l l says Campbell, "soon becomes a wasteland of dry stones" (p. 62). In other words, George E l i o t ' s pastoral world, having been denied the waters of l i f e and renewal that l i e outside i t , must i n e v i t a b l y wither and d i e . The psychological implications of the pastoral as outlined above can be shown to present an imaginative pattern which i n many places undercuts and contradicts the pattern of man's i n i t i a t i o n into the "Religion of Humanity." At the outset, George E l i o t ' s pastoral i s a recrea-t i o n of her childhood m i l i e u which usually has q u a l i t i e s of womb-like and cozy enclosedness for i t s creator. George E l i o t often i m p l i c i t l y i d e n t i f i e s with a character within the pastoral firmament whose psychological o r i e n t a t i o n i s e s s e n t i a l l y that of a c h i l d within a womb-like environment. There i s also a qu a l i t y of psychic wholeness about t h i s childhood world which makes i t even more emotionally a t t r a c -t i v e . In many respects the imaginative patterning of the pastoral as i t i s i n i t i a l l y v p r e s e n t e d i s a good emotional reinforcement for the ideas of e g o i s t i c enclosedness and immaturity associated with man's f i r s t paradise i n the various stages of h i s s p i r i t u a l regeneration according to Feuerbach's r e l i g i o n . I t i s at that point i n the pattern of man's s p i r i t u a l development however, where h i s bubble of egoism bursts and he finds himself i n the cold world of objective r e a l i t y that the imaginative patterning ceases to r e i n f o r c e the pattern of s p i r i t u a l development. The e g o i s t i c character within the l i t t l e womb-like world never i n fact abandons i t i n order to mature. Instead, she makes every attempt to remain within i t , s t r i v i n g to exorcise the lower and b e s t i a l q u a l i t i e s of her nature so that she i s s t i l l able to f i t inside the supposedly innocent i n f a n t i l e realm. Pear of what lie s , out-side t h i s realm and the intense r e a c t i v a t i o n of a l l the i n f a n t i l e r e l a t i o n s h i p s within i t prevent her from following unconscious promptings that would lead her to a f u l l and rounded mature l i f e outside the c h i l d i s h m i l i e u . With the d e n i a l of the i r r a t i o n a l forces that l i e without and, to a lesser extent, within the pastoral world, i t s beauty and lushness soon turn into a desolate waste. Although the character within the womb-like environment that has now become a prison-house i s tremendously frustrated, fear of the world outside prevents her escape. Eventually, as the pastoral world continues to disintegrate, the character within i t also gradually deteriorates u n t i l both the character and her This low ebb i n the imaginative pastoral usually corresponds to the point at which the chief character, who may or may not be the chief character i n the unintentional p a s t o r a l , i s about to enter h i s second Eden, having learned to overcome h i s i n i t i a l egoism through s u f f e r i n g and love on behalf of some other person. In order to orchestrate h i s or her entry i n t o a f i n a l Eden, George E l i o t resorts to an imaginative tour de force, and portrays the environment of the new celebrant i n the "Religion of Humanity" as a new and shining version of h i s former Eden. Yet since the dark v i t a l i z i n g powers have been expelled from t h i s new world, the second Eden lacks the emotional appeal and hence the imaginative affirmation of the i n i t i a l unregenerate Eden. This second Eden i s r e l a t i v e l y p a l l i d , quiet and l i s t l e s s ; i t i s a pastoral akin to Claude Debussy's musical pastoral. The Afternoon of a Faun. At the same time, t h i s unemphatic pastoral i s vulnerable to the unassimilated and chaotic lower forces which i t has walled out. Precarious i n t h i s way, the pastoral i s at one point near the end of The M i l l  on the Floss v i r t u a l l y destroyed by the forces of nature which i t has ignored. While the underlying movement of the scheme of man's s p i r i t u a l development according to the "Religion of Humanity" i s e s s e n t i a l l y an expansive and progressive one, the imagin-ative movement of the three pastoral novels i s , on the other hand, introverted and ultimately s t a t i c . Imaginatively, Eden i s never abandoned, and the wasteland l i e s at i t s very heart. The Eden that i s r a i s e d i n the wilderness i s l i t t l e more than a w i s t f u l i n t e l l e c t u a l mirage to which the imagin-ation has not assented. Through an examination of the i n t e l l e c t u a l and imag-i n a t i v e s i g n i f i c a n c e of George E l i o t ' s version of the past-o r a l i n Adam Bede. The M i l l on the Floss, and S i l a s Marner i n the following chapters, an attempt w i l l be made to o f f e r one explanation for the c o n f l i c t between i n t e l l e c t and imag-in a t i o n i n these early novels. At t h i s point, however, perhaps the best summary of the d i f f i c u l t i e s inherent i n the nature of George E l i o t ' s pastoral i s one she gives her-s e l f i n the description of the lamentable "Mixtus" of Theophrastus Such: An early deep-seated love to which we become f a i t h l e s s has i t s u n f a i l i n g Nemesis, i f only i n that d i v i s i o n of soul which narrows a l l newer joys by the in t r u s i o n of regret and the established presentiment of change. I re f e r not merely to the love of a person, but to the love of ideas, p r a c t i c a l b e l i e f s , and s o c i a l habits . . , . In t h i s sort of love i t i s the forsaker who has the melancholy l o t ; for an abandoned b e l i e f may be more e f f e c t i v e l y vengeful that Dido . . . . This involuntary renegade has h i s character hopelessly jangled and out of tune. He i s l i k e an organ with i t s stops i n the lawless condition of obtruding themselves without method, so that hearers are amazed by the most unexpect-ed t r a n s i t i o n s . . . . 3 /* Henry James, "Daniel Deronda: A Conversation." A t l a n t i c Monthly, XXXVTII (December 1876), 684-694 i n A Century of George E l i o t C r i t i c i s m , ed. Gordon S. Haight (Boston: Houghton M i f f l e n Co., 1965), p. 106. David C e c i l , V i c t o r i a n Novelists: Essays i n Revalua-t i o n (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1958), p. 306. 3(Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1965) pp. 5, 53. See also The George E l i o t Letters, ed. Gordon S. Haight (New Haven: Yale University Press), IV, 64-65; I I I , 231 (Hereafter refer r e d to as GEL) . 4GEL, V. 238. ^In a chapter of h i s most recent book, George E l i o t ' s  E a r l y Novels: the L i m i t s : of Realism^ Knoepflmacher has seen some p a r a l l e l s between "Paradise Lost" and Adam Bede. (Berkeley: University of C a l i f o r n i a Press, 1968), pp. 99-104, 109-110. 6GEL, I I , 153. 7The Essence of C h r i s t i a n i t y , trans. George E l i o t (New York: Harper, 1957), p. 14. ^Perhaps on account of the l i m i t a t i o n s of tr a n s l a t i o n , t h i s term i s used rather loosely throughout The Essence. Feuerbach s p e c i f i c a l l y defines i t as that f u l l consciousness of the i n f i n i t e nature of one's species (p. 2) . On the other hand, i t i s also used to mean any awareness of an objective r e a l i t y (pp. 82-83). 9 D i e Philosophie der Zukunst, edited and annotated by H. Ehrenberg i n Frommanns Philosophische Taschenbucher (Stuttgart, 1922), p. 28 c i t e d i n Karl Barth, "An Introduct-ory Essay", The Essence of C h r i s t i a n i t y , p. x i i i . Also i n Feuerbach, p. 83. 1 0The Return of Eden: Five Essays on Milton's Epics (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1965), p. 143. 1 1 B a s i l Willey bases h i s summary on the Philosophie  Pos i t i v e , trans, Harriet Martineau (1875), I I , v i , 9. Nineteenth Century Studies: From Coleridge to Matthew  Arnold (Penguin, 1964), p. 202. 1 2GEL IV, 97. 1 3Knoepflmacher, George E l i o t ' s Early Novels, pp. 123-25, 14 Gordon S. Haight, George E l i o t : - A Biography (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1968), pp. 24-29. 1 5 E n g l i s h Pastoral Drama (London: Methuen, 1908), p. 19. 1 6(New Haven: Yale University Press, 1960), p. 9. 1 7(New York: Russell and Russell, 1959, p. 4. See also John Kermode i n English Pastoral Poetry (London: Harrop & Co., 1952), p. 12: "The f i r s t condition of pastoral poetry i s that there should be a sharp difference between two ways of l i f e , the r u s t i c and the urban." l^Charles Haney puts the romantic notion of the c h i l d as symbolic of a paradise i n s l i g h t l y d i f f e r e n t terms: "To the i n d i v i d u a l man d i s s a t i s f i e d with h i s l o t , the happiness he wants now i s the happiness he had then, the happiness tasted once but l o s t i n the process of growing up. And what childhood i s to the i n d i v i d u a l man, Eden i s to man c o l l e c t i v e l y — p a r a d i s e l o s t . " Charles W. Haney, The Garden and the C h i l d : A Study of Pastoral Transformation (Unpublish-ed doctoral d i s s e r t a t i o n , Yale University, 1965), p. 13. 19 Haney, p. 13. 2 0 C i t e d i n Irene Simon, "Innocence i n the Novels of George E l i o t , " English Studies Today, 2nd series, ed. G. A. Bonnard (Berne: Francke, 1961), p. 200. See e s p e c i a l l y Ode: Intimations of Immortality from  E a r l y Childhood; The Prelude, I . W. Empson, Some Versions of Pastoral (Penguin, 1935), p. 209. 9 3 Thomas Pinney i n "The Authority of the Past i n George E l i o t ' s Novels, "Nineteenth Century F i c t i o n XXI, (September, 1956), 131-147, gives the most thorough assessment of her conservatism. 2 4 w . Naumann, "The Architecture of George E l i o t ' s  Novels," Modern Language Quarterly IX, (1948), 37-50. 2 5GEL, IV, 499. 2 6"Notes on Form i n Art", (from George E l i o t ' s notebook, 1868) i n Essays of George E l i o t , ed. Thomas Pinney (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1963), p. 434. GEL, I I , 362 . See also Adam Bede, Ch. 17. 2 7Harvard Library B u l l e t i n , XI (1957), 147. 2^Trans. R.F.G. H u l l (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1956), p. 86. 9 Q "Looking Backward," Theophrastus Such (Edinburgh: Blackwood), p. 29. •an "The L i f t e d V e i l , " The Complete Works of George E l i o t (London: Postlethwaite, Tayor and Knowles, 1908), 374. GEL, I. 30. 3 1GEL, VI, 98. 3 2Jung, Symbols, p. 205. 3 3The Hero of a Thousand Faces (New York: Pantheon, 1961), p. 62. 3 4Theophrastus Such, pp. 131-32 CHAPTER II ADAM BEDE - IN SEARCH OF EDEN " I t w i l l be a country story f u l l of the breath of cows and the scent of hay." 1 Such was the introduction which George E l i o t gave to Adam Bede i n a l e t t e r written to her publisher, John Blackwood. "A scene to sicken for with a sort of calenture i n hot dusty streets," Mrs. Poyser's dairy and the entir e world of Hayslope that surrounds i t i s a picture of l i f e as i t had been s i x t y years e a r l i e r . 2 I t was a time when "steam engines" and "ingenious philosophers" had not yet done away with "Old Leisure" who " l i v e d c h i e f l y i n the country, among pleasant seats and homesteads, and was fond of sauntering by the f r u i t tree wall, and scenting the apricots when they were warmed by the morning sunshine." "Happy i n h i s i n a b i l i t y to know the causes of things, pre-f e r r i n g the things themselves,". t h i s old gentleman was "not . . . made squeamish by doubts and qualms" (p. 525) . The wholesome merriment, honesty and s i m p l i c i t y of t h i s past are saluted i n an old-fashioned country dance which i s preferred to the urbane decadence of contemporary "low dresses . . . , scanning glances exploring costumes, and languid men i n lackered boats smiling with double meaning" (p. 290). Out of the unremarkable Warwickshire countryside which Cross describes as "a monotonous succession of green 3 f i e l d s and hedgerows," George E l i o t shapes her pastoral according to the way t h i s landscape and i t s inhabitants are "mirrored," however " d e f e c t i v e [ l y ] , " i n her mind (p. 178). By "showing how kindly the l i g h t of heaven f a l l s " on the everyday things she remembers, she i s consciously imitating i n f i c t i o n the school of Dutch painters she ad-mires (pp. 180-82). Without a d i r e c t invocation to divine presence, George E l i o t f e l t that these a r t i s t s were able to portray "a peace more divine than that of the paradises depicted i n the canvases of o t h e r s . " 4 By imitating t h e i r t r a n s f i g u r a t i o n of d a i l y existence, George E l i o t trans-forms the monotonous Warwickshire countryside she fondly remembers into man's i n i t i a l paradise i n h i s o v e r a l l s p i r i t u a l development according to the precepts of Feuerbach's r e l i g i o n . Hayslope i n Loamshire i s a lush, f a t land. I t s l i f e i s characterized by the quiet contentment and divine beneficence of the Twenty-Third psalm: "'the people lead a quiet l i f e among the green pastures and the s t i l l waters, t i l l i n g the ground and tending the earth'" (p. 92). George E l i o t portrays the community l i f e of Hayslope as being i d e a l i n that a l l s o c i a l and economic classes can work and r e j o i c e together as a whole society. As one c r i t i c has pointed out, "the t i e s of lo y a l t y , duty, [and] responsi-b i l i t y " l i n k "labourer, farmer, clergyman, and squire" i n "a moral framework that i s seen as strong, good and enduring." 5 The unity that exists i n Hayslope between man and man as well as the greater unity between man and God i s demonstrated i n the church-going (Ch. 18) and symbolized i n "the moment of the f i n a l blessing, when the forever sublime words, 'the peace of God, which passeth a l l understanding,' seemed to blend with the calm afternoon sunshine that f e l l on the bowed heads of the congregation" (p. 206). Although the community of Hayslope evinces a d e s i r -able s o c i a l unity, i t i s li m i t e d and narrow i n i t s outlook. Geographically, Loamshire i s enclosed by "the huge conical masses of h i l l , [which are] l i k e giant mounds intended to f o r t i f y t h i s region of corn and grass against the keen and and hungry winds of the north" (p. 14). "Overlooked" by these "barren h i l l s " that form part of "a green o u t s k i r t of Stonyshire," Hayslope i s nevertheless self-centred, caring to have l i t t l e association with that shire (p. 14). George ereeger, i n h i s e a r l y study of Adam Bede, noticed a peculiar "hardness" i n some of the inhabitants of Hayslope who "never having known pri v a t i o n and suffering, cannot . . . understand or sympathize with [the] want, poverty, or even ugliness" that i s represented i n the Stonyshire world t h a t l i e s beyond Hayslope. C e r t a i n l y there are such people i n Hayslope as Reverend Irwin, Bartie Massey and Seth Bede who have suffered and who are therefore sen s i t i v e to the wants and sufferings of others. But these figures are f o i l s to the hardness which Creager sees i n Mrs. Irwine, Squire Donnithorne, Martin Poyser, Hetty So r r e l and Adam Bede. George E l i o t i s c a r e f u l to point out t h i s unregenerate qua l i t y of the paradise of Hayslope by pre-senting us with a strangely mingled picture near the begin-ning of the novel. Adam and Seth are carrying to Broxton the c o f f i n which Adam has fi n i s h e d : I t was a strangely mingled p i c t u r e — t h e fresh youth of the summer morning, with i t s Eden-like peace and loveliness, the stalwart strength of the two brothers i n t h e i r rusty working clothes, and the long c o f f i n on th e i r shoulders, (p. 50) The c o f f i n i s not only a reminder of Adam's harshness towards h i s father, but i t also foreshadows the one Adam soon w i l l b u i l d for that father. At t h i s moment, Thias Bede l i e s dead—the r e s u l t of h i s attempt to escape i n alcoholism from a home that lacks sympathy and understanding. S p i r i t u a l l y , too, Hayslope i s inadequate. While Parson Irwine's e t h i c a l p r i n c i p l e s are undoubtedly admirable (Ch. XVII), t h i s kind-hearted preacher l i v e s outside Hayslope i n Broxton since, as Mr. Casson of Hayslope puts i t , "'the parsonage here's a tumble-down place'" (p. 11). In view of the enduring hardness of several people i n Hayslope, those p r i n c i p l e s which are the bases for Parson Irwine's virtues would seem to be almost as i n e f f e c t u a l as Dinah's preaching on the green. Dinah complains of a "strange deadness to the Word" i n Hayslope, of the v i l l a g e r s ' i n a b i l i t y to "see" her l i v i n g C h r i s t . As Jerome Thale neatly puts i t : " C h r i s t i a n i t y i n Hayslope i s bankrupt, has l o s t a l l i t s dynamism and exi s t s c h i e f l y as a t r a d i t i o n 7 rather than a force for shaping people's l i v e s . " Hayslope needs to be acquainted with su f f e r i n g i n order to awaken a sympathetic understanding i n several of i t s inhabitants. Just as that peace and s a t i s f a c t i o n of the Twenty-Third Psalm represents only part of the t o t a l v i s i o n of the Psalms, Hayslope i n a l l i t s summer t r a n q u i l i t y , i s also incomplete. The central figure of the paradise of Hayslope i s Adam Bede. "An uncommon clever stiddy fellow, an' wonderful strong", Adam i s a suitable complement to h i s pastoral environment (p. 13). As the chief r u s t i c i n a Vi c t o r i a n pastoral, he i s also ennobled i n h i s subscrip-t i o n to the doctrine of work. He was one of those men, the narrator t e l l s us, who "make t h e i r way upward . . . as painstaking honest men, with the s k i l l and conscience to do well the tasks that l i e before them" (p. 217). At the same time, Adam i s a r e f l e c t i o n of h i s environment i n what Mr. Irwine r e f e r s to as h i s "excess of pride" (p. 102) . His harsh c r i t i c i s m of h i s father i s an aspect of the p r i g -gishness that Wiry Ben finds so annoying: "'Ye war a-finding f a t wi' preachers awile agoo—y' are fond enough o' preachin' yoursen'" (p. 8). The general opinion of Adam i s expressed by Mr. Casson of the Donnithorne Arms who f e e l s that Adam i s a fine fellow but "a l i t t l e l i f t e d Adam needs to learn "patience" and "charity" towards h i s fellows, and the "one way" he i s to achieve this, says George E l i o t , i s "by getting h i s heart strings bound round the weak and erring, so that he must share not only the outward consequences of t h e i r error, but th e i r inward s u f f e r -ing" (p. 214). Like h i s famous namesake, Adam i s destined to suffer on account of h i s Eve, Hetty Sorrel, "'the p r e t t i e s t thing God had made [him] — s m i l i n g up at [him] '" (p. 432). They court i n the para d i s i a c a l abundance of the farmhouse garden where "hardy perennial flowers, unpruned f r u i t - t r e e s , and kitchen vegetables" grow and mingle t o -gether (p. 222). To Adam, Hetty i s " l i k e a bright-cheeked apple hanging over the orchard wall" (p. 213) and t h e i r future marriage would be "such as they made i n the golden age, when the men were a l l wise and majestic, and the women a l l l o v e ly and loving" (p. 154). However, Adam i n h i s love for Hetty i s " l i k e a c h i l d who plays at s o l i t a r y hide-and-seek; i t i s pleased with assurances that i t a l l the while disbelieves" (p. 118). Enclosed i n h i s own self-centered point of view, he mistakenly sees h i s world as a paradise where he and h i s Eve are chief actors (p. 154) . Adam i s intoxicated by Hetty, her smile i s " l i k e wine" to him and he often finds i t impossible to d i s t i n g u i s h where i l l u s i o n s and dreams int e r s e c t with r e a l i t y (pp. 107-108; 116). Adam's Eve, Hetty, i s b l a t a n t l y linked with the pastoral beauty of her surroundings (pp. 83-84). Hers i s a "spring-tide beauty" and her youthfulness and beauty l i k e that of a "perfect Hebe" i s repeatedly emphasized (pp. 84, 102). More often she i s portrayed as a c h i l d (pp. 84, 102) and t h i s childishness serves as a metaphor for her profound egoism. Hetty's " s e l f engrossed loveliness" (p. 142) i s l i k e that of Hayslope i t s e l f , but far more extreme i n i t s narrowness. Isolated "by a b a r r i e r of her dreams" (p. 101), she fashions a t i n y world " a l l of luxuries" where she i s clothed i n " b r i l l i a n t costumes, shimmering gauze, soft s a t i n and velvet" (pp. 99, 256). At the same time, Hetty's self-centred immaturity has the p o t e n t i a l for w i l l f u l and undisciplined conduct similar to the conscious naughtiness of the "young star-browed c a l f " with which she i s compared (p. 84). This imperfection i n Hetty's character i s r e f l e c t -ed i n the wildness and exuberance of the H a l l Farm garden where the roses grew "large and diso r d e r l y for want of t r i m -ming" (p. 222) . Thus, the paradise where Adam and Hetty picked currants together rests precariously i n i t s uncon-t r o l l e d splendour. The Satan who tempts Hetty i s Arthur Donnithorne, "a d e v i l of a fellow" (p. 125) . He too i s e g o i s t i c and l i v e s i n h i s own r e f l e c t i o n as a heroic and kind-hearted gallant who, as a good-natured landlord, would be adored by h i s tenantry (pp. 124-25). What makes him necessarily " e v i l , " however, i s h i s lack of self-mastery, the fac t that "he couldn't quite depend on h i s own resolutions" (p. 140) . I t i s t h i s absence of r e s t r a i n t which c a r r i e s him into the "borderland of s i n " as a "courtier of Vice" (p. 126). He cannot subdue h i s passions and when he t r i e s to "exor-c i s e the demon" on Rat t l e r , he s t i l l r i d e s "the d e v i l ' s own pace" (p. 129) . Consequently, the former d i s t i n c t i o n which he makes about h i s own character breaks down. He sees h i s "agreeable" f a u l t s as being "impetuous, warm-blooded, leonineJ never crawing, crafty, r e p t i l i a n " (p. 125). Un-fortunately, as George E l i o t indicates, i t i s the f o o l i s h intemperance of the "agreeable" f a u l t s which lead to the disagreeable ones. Arthur's wild impetuosity leads him to the clandestine encounters with Hetty i n the "d e l i c i o u s l a b y r i n t i n e wood" (p. 130) of the F i r - t r e e Grove where he conceals h i s " e v i l genius" (p. 139). On h i s journey to the scene of Hetty's temptation Q i n the woods, Arthur becomes ominous and f a i n t l y satanic as h i s "shadow f l i t t e d rather faster among the sturdy oaks of the Chase than might be expected from the shadow of a t i r e d man on a warm afternoon" (p. 130) . Hetty i s enchant-ed with the "poisonous delights" (p. 341) which Arthur o f f e r s 9 " her. Like Milton's Eve, she dreams of becoming high, a grand lady, and r i d f i n g ] i n her coach, and dress [ing] for dinner i n a brocaded s i l k " (p. 1 5 3 ) — f a r above Adam who could at best hope to supply her with a "spring-cart" (p. 236). Arthur encourages her fantasies with the expen- , sive presents of a locket and earrings, which, l i k e the cheap baubbles of her likeness, Chad's Bess, are "stinging adders . . . , poisoning [herj soul, . . . dragging [her] down into a dark bottomless p i t " (p. 28). Chaos has been loosed and the damage i s done. The satanic Arthur f e e l s "that h i s horse ha[sj wheeled from a leap, and dared to dispute h i s mastery," and he s l i t h e r s away i n serpent-like fashion, losing "himself among the narrow openings i n the fern, winding about without seeking any issue, t i l the t w i l i g h t deepen[~s] almost to night" (p. 139). The mood of careless licentiousness surrounding the temptation sequence i s enforced by an a l l u s i o n to c l a s s i c a l p a s t o r a l i a . Arthur "may be a shepherd i n Arcadia for aught he knows, he may be the f i r s t youth k i s s i n g the f i r s t maiden, he may be Eros himself, sipping the l i p s of Psyche — i t i s a l l one" (p. 138). For Hetty, " i t was i f she had been wooed by a river-god, who might any time take her to h i s wondrous h a l l s below a watery heaven" (p. 137) . Yet the apparent freedom that Arthur and Hetty enjoy i n t h e i r Arcadian paradise i s undercut by George E l i o t ' s use of water imagery i n terms of the sp e c i a l s i g n i f i c a n c e i t has i n Feuerbach's theology. "Water," says Feuerbach, "reminds us of our o r i g i n from Nature, an o r i g i n which we have i n common with plants and animals;" i t i s "the element of natural equality and freedom, the mirror of the golden age." As men, however, we must be "distinguished from the plants and animals" and therefore baptism with water " i s imparted only to infants" (pp. 276-77). Hetty had always been described i n terms of flowers or animals (pp. 154; 83-84) and her world was the "beautified" one, "such as the sun l i g h t s up for us i n the waters" (p. 100). Now, i n an Arcadia that i s sustained by "natural freedom," she i s , so to speak, i n her element as "queen of the white footed nymphs" that are distinguished by t h e i r " s o f t l i q u i d laughter" (pp. 130-31): "Her c h i l d i s h soul has passed into a w a t e r - l i l y , r e s t i n g on a l i q u i d bed, and warmed by the midsummer sunbeams" (p. 132) . While Hetty may be "queen of the white footed nymphs," her soul i s s t i l l " c h i l d i s h . " Both she and her lover are, because of t h e i r immature self-indulgence, s t i l l at a primitive stage of moral development. As children i n t h i s sense, they must eventua-l l y countenance change as well as consequences. While Arthur and Hetty convert t h e i r i n c l i n a t i o n s into actions "as e a s i l y as two brooklets that ask for nothing but to entwine themselves and r i p p l e with everlasting curves" (p. 133), t h e i r golden world i s circumscribed and ultimately doomed by the chaotic e f f e c t s of t h e i r egoism: I t was . . . an afternoon i n which destiny disguises her cold awful face behind a hazy radiant v e i l , encloses us i n warm downy wings, and poisons us with violet-scented breath, (p. 131) The s h o r t - l i v e d nature of the Elysium of the Grove i s empha-sized just before i t i s shattered i n the in e v i t a b l e encounter with the world beyond i t s borders: The sun was on the point of setting, and was sending l e v e l crimson rays among the great trunks of the old oaks, and touching every bare patch of ground with a transient glory, that made i t look l i k e a jewel dropt upon the grass, (p. 301) The next moment, Adam steps back from a beech tree he had been examining and discovers how he has been "robbed treacherously" of h i s Eve (p. 305). For Adam, the beech at the edge of the Grove was "the boundary mark of h i s youth" (p. 475). At the same time, "the t a l l narrow gate" where he saw Arthur and Hetty standing (pp. 130, 302) r e -presents for them the end of t h e i r moral childhood and t h e i r entry into experience. After Eve's temptation i n Milton's Paradise Lost, "mute signs i n Nature" presage change and " i n the East" there was "Darkness ere Dayes mid course" (XI, 11.194, 203-204). S i m i l a r l y , i n Adam Bede, paradise i s changing. For Hetty, her watery Eden has l o s t i t s beauty: "she fis] alone on her l i t t l e i s l a n d of dreams, and a l l around her [is] the dark unknown water where Arthur had gone" (p. 327). Meeting Hetty again i n the Eden of the H a l l Farm garden, Adam w i s t f u l l y meditates how "the sunlight through the apple tree boughs, the red bunches, [and] Hetty's sweet blush" of a former time p a i n f u l l y contrast "with the low-hanging clouds" of the sad evening" (p. 327). In the wider sphere of Hayslope i t s e l f , the summer paradise i s now quickly waning into autumn and ultimate winter. "Clouds" have r e -placed sunshine, "yellow leaves" f a l l i n g "from pure decay" supersede the "lea f y , flowery, bushy time" (p. 222), and the once vigorous Mrs. Poyser i s a i l i n g (p. 364). The "furder change" augured by Milton's Adam comes when Hetty i s forced to quit Eden and wander through a wasteland of "sand" and "scorching sun" (p. 385). Adam, who l i k e h i s M i l t o n i c prototype, had forgiven Hetty and planned to marry her must follow h i s Eve i n t o the wilder-ness. Eventually, the anxiety of a l l Hayslope i s directed beyond i t s own borders to the proceedings of Hetty's t r i a l at Stoniton ("Stoney Town"). A representative from every l e v e l of Loamshire society must make h i s pilgrimage there: Arthur Donnithorne, the new squire; Rev. Irwine; Bartle Massey, the school teacher; Martin Poyser, tenant farmer; Adam Bede, tradesman. Hayslope, Adam and h i s Eve have been turned into the wilderness so they may redeem a better paradise than was formerly t h e i r s . Adam's i n i t i a t i o n into the "Religion of Humanity" 1 has already been given a v a r i e t y of c r i t i c a l d e s c r i p t i o n s . For the sake of continuity, however, a b r i e f outline w i l l be given i n terms of the framework established here. The eg o i s t i c world of dreams and i l l u s i o n s which Adam has inhabited i s abandoned afte r h i s f r u i t l e s s search for Hetty at Oakbourne and Snowfield. He returns home to f i n d " f a m i l i a r objects . . . forever robbed of th e i r charm" as he confronts for the f i r s t time " r e a l i t y — t h e hard i n e v i t -able r e a l i t y " (p. 407). At Broxton Parsonage t h i s r e l i n -quishing of immaturity i s manifested p h y s i c a l l y i n a "look of sudden age" (p. 419). I t i s also at Mr. Irwine's that Adam, according to the scheme of Feuerbach's conversion, becomes himself Christ, the Second Adam. This i s confirmed when, during the prelude to h i s su f f e r i n g he utters a cry of protestation similar to that of C h r i s t i n Gethsemane —"'O God, i t ' s too hard to lay upon me , M (p. 419). After a week of watching i n the upper room i n Stoniton, Adam acquires "a soul f u l l of new awe and p i t y " : Deep, unspeakable suffering may well be c a l l e d a baptism, a regeneration i n t o a new state . . . . A l l the intense emotions which had f i l l e d the days and nights of the past week . . . made Adam look back on a l l the previous years as i f they had been a dim sleepy existence, and he had only now awaked to f u l l consciousness, (p. 436) Now Adam i s e l i g i b l e to j o i n with Bartie Massey i n a com-munion of bread and wine which, according to Feuerbach, symbolizes the adoration of "the supernatural power of mind, of consciousness, of man" (p. 277). With the altruism and fellow f e e l i n g of a new celebrant i n the "Religion of Humanity," Adam i s now determined to "'stand by'" h i s Eve "'for a l l she's been so d e c e i t f u l ' " (p. 440). Meanwhile, Hetty has undergone a similar "awakening" to misery with "the shattering of a l l her l i t t l e dream world" when she received Arthur's farewell l e t t e r (p. 340) . And, as a r e s u l t , she too becomes v i s i b l y "harder, older, less c h i l d - l i k e " (p. 360). Unfortunately, however, her suffering i s a l l for her own p l i g h t , and she f a i l s to under-stand the ramifications her deeds have for others. Hetty remains " c h i l d i s h , " egocentric and unregenerate (p. 377). In the prison c e l l she behaves " l i k e an animal that gazes and gazes and keeps aloof" (p. 457), and Mr. Irwine laments that "some f a t a l influence seems to have shut up her heart against her fellow creatures" (p. 431). Even her f i n a l con-fession comes from a desire to assuage her own conscience, to'*'take away that crying and the place i n the wood'" (p. 465). Although "'she i s c o n t r i t e , ' " says Dinah, "'her poor soul i s very dark, and discerns l i t t l e beyond the things of the f l e s h " ' (p.467) . Despite Hetty's transportation, there-fore, she can no longer be the worthy mate of an Adam matured into f u l l consciousness. The new Adam now has-a "'greater need . . . for a greater and better comfort'" (p. 526) which he w i l l share with Dinah the chaste who, i n the wilderness of Snowfield, had long ago come to understand the necessity of suffering i n order to love (p. 336). Unlike the sensuous animality of Adam's former Eve, Dinah's i s a "higher" and cooler nature that i s above satanic temptation (p. 163). As such, she i s immune to the flaming sword which keeps Milton's s i n f u l Adam and Eve and George E l i o t ' s Hetty from Eden-(P.L. XII, 11.632-36). Instead, she can accompany Adam down the " C l i f f " at Snowfield and back into the newly regen-erated paradise of Hayslope ( c f . P.L• XII, 11.638-643). Adam and h i s new Eve are married i n Hayslope on a "rimy morning i n departing November," the date being suitable to a more mature r e l a t i o n s h i p than the springtime one between Hetty and Adam (p. 544). For the changed Adam however, h i s love for Dinah i s r e a l l y the f i n a l culmination of h i s e a r l y love for Hetty and a l l the concomitant sorrow? His f e e l i n g towards Dinah, the hope of passing h i s l i f e with her, had been the distant unseen point towards which that hard journey from Snowfield eighteen months ago had been leading him. Tender and deep as h i s love for Hetty had been—so deep that the roots of i t would never-be torn away—his love for Dinah was better and more precious to him; for i t was the outgrowth of that f u l l e r l i f e which had come to him from h i s acquaintance with deep sorrow, (p. 541) Redeemed by suffering and completed by Dinah's love, Adam enters a new and better paradise. As he walks to the H a l l Farm, a l l the golden landscape of Hayslope becomes charged with the apocalyptic b r i l l i a n c e of an earthly New Jerusalem: The low westering sun shone r i g h t on the shoulders of the old Binton H i l l s , turning the unconscious sheep into bright spots of l i g h t ; shone on the windows of the cottage too, and made them a-flame with a glory beyond that of amber or amethyst. I t was enough to make Adam f e e l that he was i n a great temple, and that the distant chant was a sacred song. (p. 526) The "sacred song" i s "Harvest Home" sung by the labourers coming i n to the Harvest Supper. The earthly counterpart of the "table of C e l e s t i a l food" which refreshes Milton's "Second Adam" after h i s t r i a l i n the wilderness, t h i s t r a d i -t i o n a l feast represents Adam's refreshment and celebration upon regaining the paradise of Hayslope after h i s t r i a l of agony and sorrow. Throughout the Harvest Supper, the narrative point of view i s noticeably d i f f e r e n t towards the lower echelons of the bucolic company. Primitive, c h i l d i s h , "bovine" (p. 530) and i n t h e i r drinking manners more l i k e "ducks" than "human bipeds" (p. 527), they have become con-siderably less enviable than when they were seen around the H a l l Farm or at Arthur's majority celebrations. The viewpoint i s now from the regenerate paradise of Hayslope that has been acquired with the sufferings of Adam and the Poysers. We are, i n a sense, looking down on the old Hayslope, the former and i n f e r i o r paradise. Yet t h i s past is included i n the present i n the t r a d i t i o n a l drinking ceremony which brings together man and servant, past and present i n an ever-widening human community of the future. The imaginative pattern of Adam Bede which f i r m l y repudiates t h i s underlying progression of the d i d a c t i c structure i s not based on the ostensible regeneration of the hero. Adam's i n i t i a t i o n into the "Religion of Humanity" i s presented with a r t i s t i c o b j e c t i v i t y and considerable g l i b -ness. We are simply t o l d i n the vague abstractions of p h i l -osophic discourse that Adam has come through "into a newer state" by means of "deep, unspeakable suffering" (p. 436),, and we are to be s a t i s f i e d with h i s unshaven visage as evidence for t h i s . The imaginative i n t e n s i t y of the novel, as many c r i t i c s have pointed o u t , 1 1 centres around George E l i o t ' s p o r t r a i t of Hetty S o r r e l . Hetty's characterization has ce r t a i n emotional over-tones which make her a unique figure i n the novel. George E l i o t seems far less sympathetic and rele n t i n g i n pointing out Hetty's moral inadequacies than, she i s i n her descrip -tions of the unregenerate Arthur Donnithorne, or indeed, the egoism of any other character. Then, during Hetty's long journey, the c r i t i c a l voice of the author softens as a strong i n t e r i o r dramatization of Hetty's dilemma evolves. "The reader," as Joan Bennett explains, now "becomes a par t i c i p a t o r i n her misery instead of a superior person, merely measuring and p i t y i n g her moral and i n t e l l e c t u a l inadequacy." 1 2 One explanation of these two d i f f e r e n t a t t i t -udes towards Hetty on the part of George E l i o t l i e s i n a form of i d e n t i f i c a t i o n with Hetty. I n i t i a l l y , the i d e n t i f i c a t i o n with Hetty rests on a kind of s e l f - f l a g e l l a t i o n . At lea s t one c r i t i c has specu-lated that, i n Hetty, George E l i o t punishes h e r s e l f for the "sins" she he r s e l f committed. 1 3 Although P r i t c h e t t i s presumably r e f e r r i n g to George E l i o t ' s g u i l t about her unorthodox l i a i s o n with George Lewes and her e a r l i e r a f f a i r with John Chapman, her "sins" that she seeks to punish i n the figure of Hetty go very much deeper . I t was George E l i o t ' s e a r l y personal d i s s a t i s f a c t i o n with her p r o v i n c i a l surroundings that prompted her adoption of an i n t e l l e c t u a l l i f e 1 4 which i n turn engendered the unortho-dox b e l i e f s and actions that ultimately effected an eternal severance from home and family. In Adam Bede, Hetty can be seen to enjoy an enviable po s i t i o n within p r o v i n c i a l surroundings which she i s nevertheless anxious t o q u i t . For t h i s , she i s punished. Hetty i s treated as a daughter by Mr. and Mrs. Poyser and she l i v e s within the womb-like security of the H a l l Farm. Furious bull-dogs are forever on the watch at the gate and even on the day of Arthur's birthday celebration, the farmyard i s never without a human sentinel as well (p. 257) . At the end of the day, Hetty r e t i r e s to the comforting sound of "the heavy wooden bolt s beginning] to r o l l i n the house doors" (p. 149) . Inside "that wonderful house-place," everything has an unworldly cleanliness and pu r i t y which i s only outdone by the "coolness," "purity" and "pure water" of the dairy (p. 82) where Hetty presides as dairy maid. Hetty's l i f e at the H a l l Farm i s "far away from "world s t i r r i n g actions." I t i s rather a "monotonous homely existence" which George E l i o t portrays with a "d e l i c i o u s sympathy" (p. 180) . While Hetty remains a c h i l d i n the Feuerbachian and moral sense, she-matures, p h y s i c a l l y and emotionally, i n her r e l a t i o n s h i p with Arthur Donnithorne. Although her a f f a i r with Arthur i s s i g n i f i c a n t l y simultaneous with Arthur's "coming of age," Hetty too suffers from a ""growing pain' of passion" (p. 211). Psychologically, the a f f a i r between Arthur and Hetty i s offensive to George E l i o t for two chief reasons. In the f i r s t place, i t represents the betrayal of the paternal Adam Bede by Hetty as former ' c h i l d . ' I t i s no secret that George 15 E l i o t modelled her hero on her remembrance of her father, and c e r t a i n l y the vague, superior presence which Adam suffuses throughout the book i s less that of an inco n s i s -tent and erring fellow-creature than of an awe-inspiring fat h e r - f i g u r e . In the second place, the growth of Hetty's passionate nature had made her impatient of her womb-like environment. "Her short ; poisonous delights," says George E l i o t ' s r e t r i b u t i v e voice, "[have] spoiled forever a l l the l i t t l e joys that had once made the sweetness of her l i f e . " Now, "she [ w i l l ] carry about forever a hope-less t h i r s t and longing" (pp. 341-42). Desperate for "some change" (p. 347), Hetty, by v i r t u e of Arthur's c h i l d within her, has p h y s i c a l l y and emotionally become too b i g for her womb-like environment. She c r i e s because she "*want[s] to get r i d o [her home^'" (p. 345). For these reasons, George E l i o t castigates Hetty for her newly found womanhood. In the famous mirror scene i n Hetty's bedchamber, Hetty's egoism and moral i n s u f f i c i e n c y are ostensibly being attacked. In r e a l i t y , however, George E l i o t i s lashing out at Hetty's emotional awakening. "The vainest woman," says the d i s c i p l i n a r y voice, " i s never thoroughly conscious of her own beauty t i l l she i s loved by the man who sets her passion v i b r a t i n g i n return" (p. 152) . Yet Hetty, gazing i n her t i n y mirror, imagining "an i n v i s i b l e spectator whose eye rested on her l i k e morning on the flowers" (p. 152), i s r e a l l y Psyche with Persephone's box who wishes to be b e a u t i f u l for the sake of her beloved. Like Idione, her counterpart i n George E l i o t ' s t a l e , "A L i t t l e Fable with a Great Moral," Hetty i s a b e a u t i f u l Hamadryad who loves to contemplate her own r e f l e c t i o n . This sort of e g o i s t i c contemplation, however, leads to an awareness of growing up and aging and f i n a l l y to an unhappy death. While George E l i o t can punish Hetty i n t h i s way, Hetty nevertheless remains a threat to the womb-like envi r -onment. In her state of awakened passion, she has the potent i a l to completely destroy i t s security and p u r i t y . This i s perhaps one psychological reason why George E l i o t d e l i b e r a t e l y characterizes Hetty as being so hate f u l of children, baby chickens and other young creatures (p. 157). On the other hand, George E l i o t undoubtedly intends us to see Hetty's carelessness and destructiveness as part of her "lower nature," that amoral nature which another V i c t o r i a n 17 described as being "red i n tooth and claw." Yet the p o r t r a i t of t h i s dark and sensual woman i s more highly charged than her creator possibly r e a l i z e s . Associated with the sun, flowers, vegetation and various animals, Hetty i s also a symbol of a l l that i s v i t a l and l i f e - g i v i n g . Thus, when the passion of Arthur and Hetty has been e f f e c t i v e -l y exorcised by the paternal Adam and when Hetty seeks to destroy h e r s e l f , the wasteland begins to creep over the flowering world of Hayslope. Hetty's beauty and charm have 18 always been analogous to her surroundings and, now, as she wanders aimlessly under the cold, accusing rays of the chaste moon, the labyrinthine paths of the woods of Arcady give place to a maze of c i t y s t r e e t s . At f i r s t , the waste-land i s a t i n y corner of Mr. Poyser's Farm, the Scantlands (p. 372), but soon the sunny meadows of a l l Hayslope become a dark, monotonous countryside. During Hetty's long journey through the wasteland, George E l i o t ' s attitude towards Hetty changes. The punitive and accusatory voice diminishes as Hetty experiences fear and bewilderment at the world that l i e s beyond the happy security she knew i n Hayslope. Here, the author's own fears of the world she encountered when she "grew up" and her unconscious urge to return to her Warwickshire c h i l d -hood j o i n with Hetty's despair and longing, E s s e n t i a l l y the journey i t s e l f i s a kind of birth-trauma interspersed with regret for the l o s t flowering world that once was within the womb. Beginning i n fear and "terror of wandering out into the world," of "moving away from the familiar to the strange," the i n i t i a l movement i s downwards, towards Windsor. F i n a l l y , at an inn c a l l e d "The Green Man," Hetty f a i n t s and becomes a picture of death; she "lookfsj l i k e a b e a u t i f u l corpse" (p. 384). However, she does not 'die' as a c h i l d to be born into the regenerative experience 19 which the "Green Man" symbolizes. Instead, she revives and begins moving upward, towards her home. Now, "she yearnfs] to be back- i n her safe home again, cherished and cared for as she had always been" where "she had only t r i f l e s to hide." George E l i o t ' s own deep yearning can possi b l y be detected i n Hetty's expressed longing to "be the same Hetty that used to make up the butter i n the dairy with the Gueldres roses peeping i n at the window" (p. 386). This longing i s often repeated as Hetty, from whom " a l l love and b e l i e f i n love [have] departed" (p. 392), moves aimlessly around the wasteland. The second movement of the birth-trauma occurs when Hetty "at l a s t " finds h e r s e l f "among the f i e l d s she had been dreaming of, on a long narrow pathway leading towards a wood. I f there should be a pool i n that wood," she would then be able to "leap towards death" (p. 392). After a considerable delay, she comes to the point of e x i t : There, at the corner of t h i s pasture,, there was a break i n the hedges; the land seemed.to dip down a l i t t l e , and two trees leaned towards each other across the opening . . . . It was as i f the thing were come i n spite of herself, instead of being the object of her search, (p. 393) Yet Hetty procrastinates—"there was no need to hurry." After she satisf ies her hunger, Hetty assumes a dormant fetal position: The soothed sensation that came over her from the sat-isfaction of her hunger, and this fixed dreamy attitude, brought on drowsiness, and presently her head sank down on her knees. She was fast asleep, (p. 393) She wakes up i n "deep night" and the "horror" of the "cold" and "darkness" makes her feel as i f she were "dead already" (p. 394). Yet "she [is] al ive s t i l l ; she [has] not taken the dreadful leap" (p. 394). The desire to hang on to the sl ight p o s s i b i l i t y of s t i l l being a c h i l d i s too powerful: The bright hearth and the warmth and the voices of home, —the secure uprising and lying down,—the familiar f i e l d s , the familiar people, the Sundays and holidays with their simple joys of dress and f e a s t i n g , — a l l the sweets of her young l i f e rushed before her now, and she seemed to be stretching her arms towards them across a great gulf . (p. 394) Instead, she moves around u n t i l she gets herself settled i n "a hovel of furze near a sheepfold," and inside i t s warmth and shelter she sheds tears "of hysterical joy that she [has] s t i l l hold of l i f e " (p. 395). This temporary re t r e a t soon proves i n e f f e c t u a l when "the l i g h t of early morning" and a "face looking down on her" appear "through the open door" (p. 395) . Now the l i f e within the womb seems as f u l l y hope-less as that "death" which l i e s beyond the womb: The passionate joy i n l i f e she had f e l t i n the night, after escaping from the brink of blank cold death i n the pool, was gone now. L i f e now, with the morning l i g h t , with the impression of that man's hard wondering look at her, was as f u l l of dread as death: i t was worse; i t was a dread to which she f e l t chained, from which she shrank and shrank as she d i d from the black pool, and yet could f i n d no refuge from i t . (p. 397) While Hetty i s u m b i l i c a l l y "chained" to a womb she refuses to leave, that womb becomes as deathly as a prison-house. S i g n i -f i c a n t l y , the next image of Hetty i s i n the darkened c e l l at Stoniton, crouched i n a pre-natal position, " s i t t i n g on her straw p a l l e t with her face buried i n her knees" (p. 457). The dry death (because "there was no water") of Hetty's c h i l d (p. 463) i s a symbolic reverberation of the death of Hetty-as-child within the deadening enclosure of the womb (p. 463). She i s "held f a s t " to the spot where her dead c h i l d l i e s and she shares with the c h i l d the e t e r n i t y of death: " ' I t seemed l i k e as i f I should stay there f o r i v e r , and nothing 'ud ever change,*" Hetty t e l l s Dinah (pp. 464-5). Later, at the t r i a l , the parental Adam f e e l s a "mother's yearning" for Hetty. He sees her as the "corpse" of h i s former "cherished c h i l d " , "the Hetty who had smiled at him i n the garden under the apple-tree boughs" (p. 441) . The death of Hetty as c h i l d at the end of Book Five represents the conclusion of an imaginative sequence and presents the d i f f i c u l t y of a s i x t h book without the emotional and imaginative heightening which has sustained the novel to t h i s point. The problem i s p a r t i a l l y circumvented by putting Dinah Morris i n Hetty's former p o s i t i o n within Hayslope. Dinah now becomes l i k e a daughter to the Poysers and she even assumes Hetty's r o l e as dairymaid. Ultimately, she w i l l take Hetty's place as Adam's fiancee. For George E l i o t , Dinah can be shown to be i n some respects psychologically superior to Hetty i n that Dinah enjoys a c h i l d l i k e happiness and security which, at the same time, she i s c a r e f u l not to destroy. From the psychological point of view, Dinah i s a c h i l d that i s enclosed and protected by a huge, over-arching sky. Her God i s emphatically paternal. She prays by closing her eyes i n order "to f e e l h e r s e l f enclosed by the Divine Presence" (p. 159). She describes to Mr. Irwine the "wonderful sense of Divine Love" which she feels at the sight of the "heavens of her Father's " l i t t l e children" (p. 90). Like Hieria, the admirable companion of the less than admirable Hamadryad, Idione, in the " l i t t l e Fable" mentioned earlier, Dinah cares only to watch the heavens, with the result that she w i l l die "without knowing that she ha [s] become o l d . " 2 0 Considering Dinah's strong attachment to a paternal god, i t i s not surprising that this attachment i s sometimes en-forced by incestuous energy. 2 1 For instance, Dinah's description of her religious experience is charged with sexual overtonesr "'I f e l t a great movement in my soul, and I trembled as i f I was shaken by a strong s p i r i t entering into my weak body'" (p. 91). Dinah's reluctance to marry Adam i s the antithesis of Hetty's sin against Adam in particular and against the womb-like environment in general. Dinah fears to lose the "blessedness", "joy" and "peace" that she has had since childhood, to turn her "back on the light that has shone oh" her (pp. 519-20, 522). Her fear was Hetty's greatest sadness soul might hereafter yearn for that early blessedness which [she] had forsaken" (p. 522). The problem i s resolved i n that Adam, not only to George E l i o t but also to Dinah, i s a father figure, a "patriarch Joseph" (p. 92). Also, her r e l a t i o n s h i p to Adam i s one of a c h i l d to i t s father: ""my heart waits on your words and looks, almost as a l i t t l e c h i l d waits on the help and tenderness of the strong on whom i t depends'" (p. 522). Adam and Dinah are f i n a l l y betrothed on a h i l l - t o p under "the great embracing sky" (p. 543). As the figures of lover, father and God are fused i n t o one, Dinah's reaction to Adam i s reminiscent of her c h a r a c t e r i s t i c r e l i g i o u s experience: Dinah's l i p s became pale, l i k e her cheeks, and she trembled v i o l e n t l y under the shock of pa i n f u l joy. Her hands were cold as death between Adam's. (p. 518) In one sense, George E l i o t possibly achieves some emotion-a l s a t i s f a c t i o n from the marriage of Adam and Dinah. Having f l a g e l l a t e d her own emotional and i n t e l l e c t u a l maturity i n the form of Hetty, she can now, i n the form of Dinah, embrace the re s u s c i t a t i o n of her l o s t f a i t h and broken family r e l a t i o n -ships within the longed for security of a pastoral r e t r e a t . However, the pale and l i f e l e s s Dinah, as the c h i l d within the womb-like environment, has a much weaker emotional appeal for George E l i o t than had the elemental v i t a l i t y of the dark-featured Hetty S o r r e l . A number of c r i t i c s , i n complaining about the unconvincing r e s o l u t i o n of Adam Bede and of the marriage of Dinah and Adam, have indicated that the chief i n t e r e s t i n 22 the novel i s focused around Hetty S o r r e l . For George E l i o t , Hetty, as i t has been shown here, i s the f o c a l point of her imagination. Unfortunately, however, Hetty "dies" within the imprisoning womb that has become a wasteland. She i s replaced by Dinah, a "lovely corpse", who could be said to be l i t t l e e l s e imaginatively than the shadowy ghost (Lisbeth c a l l s her a " • s p e r r i t ' " ) of the c h i l d - l i k e figure that l i v e d within the once-flowering world of Hayslope. In any case, Hetty's absence and the absence of the imaginative i n t e r e s t associated with her helps to explain the r e l a t i v e p a l l o r of the conclusion i n which Adam as a celebrant i n the "Religion of Humanity", enters h i s Second Eden with h i s superior Eve. The imaginative sequence forms a pattern of increased narrowing as Hetty moves about within a womb-like environment which becomes more and more inhospitable u n t i l she f i n a l l y "dies" within i t . On the other hand, the i n t e l l e c t u a l pattern of the novel delineates the expansion of Adam's i n i t i a l others. It i s this antithesis of imaginative and intellectual patternings, then, that can be offered as one explanation of 23 why Adam Bede i s not a "wholly satisfactory work of art." 1GEL, I I , 387. 2Adam Bede, i n t r o . Gordon S. Haight (New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1965), p. 82. 3George E l i o t ' s L i f e as Related i n Her Letters and  Journals, ed. J . W. Cross (Edinburgh: Blackwood), p. 3. ^ a r i o Praz, The Hero i n E c l i p s e i n V i c t o r i a n F i c t i o n , trans. Angus Davidson (London: Oxford University Press, 1956) , P- 3. A. Foakes, "Adam Bede Reconsidered," English, XII, (Summer, 1959), 174. 6"An Interpretation of Adam Bede," ELH, XXIII, (1956), 222-3. 7Jerome Thale, The Novels of George E l i o t (New York: Columbia University Press, 1961), p. 20. o Hetty's temptation also has aspects of the courtly pastourelle i n which a knight, wandering through a country-side, meets a young shepherdess i n a wood. Entranced with the natural beauty of the shepherdess, the knight o f f e r s her f i n e g i f t s i n the hope of winning her love. W. P. Jones, The Pastourelle: A Study of the Origins and Tr a d i t i o n of a  L y r i c Type (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1931), pp. 4-9. 9U. C. Knoepflmacher, i n George E l i o t ' s Early Novels:  The Limits of Realism (Berkeley: University of C a l i f o r n i a Press, 1968), p. 109, has also noticed t h i s s i m i l a r i t y between Hetty and Milton's Eve. 1 0Barbara Hardy, The Novels of George E l i o t (London: Athlone Press, 1963), pp. 38-45; Knoepflmacher, Early  Novels, pp. 110-112; Bernard J . Paris, Experiments i n L i f e : George E l i o t ' s Quest for Values (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1956), passim. •^Joan Bennett, George E l i o t , Her Mind and Art (London: Cambridge University Press, 1962), p. 94; Henry James* "Adam Bede," A Century of George E l i o t C r i t i c i s m , ed. G.S. Haight (Boston: Houghton M i f f l i n , 1965), p. 48. 1 2George E l i o t , Her Mind and Art, p. 94. 1 3 V . S. P r i t c h e t t , The L i v i n g Novel (New York: Random House, 1957), p. 92. 1 4 C r o s s , I, 19-40, passim. 1 5GEL, I I , 503; I I I , 99; IV, 26. 16 x o " P o e t r y and Prose from the Notebook of an Eccentric," Essays of George E l i o t , ed. Thomas Pinney (London:- Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1963), pp. 21-22. 1 7 A l f r e d Lord Tennyson, In Memoriam, LVI, 1. 15. U. C. Knoepflmacher points out that Hetty i s "made to stand for a l l that i s inhuman i n 'Nature'" and claims that t h i s i s why George E l i o t makes her careless and destructive. George  E l i o t ' s E a r l y Novels, p. 22. l 8 H e t t y ' s charms are i n i t i a l l y compared to those of a "bright spring day" (p. 83-4), l a t e r she i s described as the "queen of the white-footed nymphs" that haunt the grove of beeches and limes and i n the H a l l Farm Garden, the sun beams f a i l to discriminate between her "round cheeks and neck" and the "thick apple-tree boughs" (p. 224) . 1 9See James G. Frazer, The Golden Bough; A Study i n Magic  and Religion, 3rd ed., V o l . I I , Part I: The Magic Art and  the Evolution of Kings (London: Macmillan, 1963), pp. 45-87 for various forms of the "Green Man" as representative of the forces of growth and vegetation. 2^Pinney, Essays, pp. 21-22. 2•'•Freud, i n New Introductory Lectures - on Psychoanalysis, trans. W. J . H. Spratt (London: Hogarth Press and I n s t i t u t e of Psychoanalysis, 1933), Chapter 7, indicates that God, the father i n heaven, i s r e a l l y the father on earth, clothed i n the grandeur i n which he once appeared to the small c h i l d . Gerald B u l l e t , George E l i o t , Her L i f e and Books (London: C o l l i n s , 1947), p. 174; Charles Cox, "George E l i o t : The Conservative Reformer," The Free S p i r i t : A Study of L i b e r a l  Humanism i n the Novels of George E l i o t , Henry James, E.M.  Forster, V i r g i n i a Woolf, Angus Wilson (London: Oxford University Press, 1963), p. 20; L e s l i e Stephen, George E l i o t (London: Macmillan, 1919), pp. 73-77. 2 JSee David C e c i l ' s c r i t i c i s m of George E l i o t ' s art quoted i n Chapter One. CHAPTER III THE MILL ON THE FLOSS - THE LOSS OF EDEN "A sort of companion picture of p r o v i n c i a l l i f e " , 1  The M i l l on the Floss portrays a society considerably d i f f e r -ent from that of the Eden-like Hayslope. St. Ogg's i s an "old, old town" that has become "' f a m i l i a r with forgotten 2 years.'" The former agrarian way of l i f e with "that prim-i t i v e rough s i m p l i c i t y of wants, that hard submissive i l l -paid t o i l , that c h i l d - l i k e spelling-out of what nature has written, which gives i t s poetry to peasant l i f e " has given way to a crass materialism—"worldly notions and habits with-out i n s t r u c t i o n " — t h a t i s supported by an i n d u s t r i a l society (p. 238). Having long ago l o s t the sense of h i s t o r i c a l con-t i n u i t y , the progeny of Adam dwell i n a present that lacks the si g n i f i c a n c e and il l u m i n a t i o n of a remembered past. The town i s simply a product of "widely-sundered generations" which have had l i t t l e r e l a t i o n s h i p to one another: St. Ogg's did not look extensively before or a f t e r . I t inherited a long past without thinking of i t . . . . Since the centuries when St. Ogg with h i s boat and the V i r g i n Mother at the prow had been seen i n the wide water, so many memories had been l e f t behind, and had gradually vanished l i k e the receding hill - t o p s ' . And the present time was l i k e the l e v e l p l a i n where men 67 lose t h e i r b e l i e f i n volcanoes and earthquakes, thinking tomorrow w i l l be l i k e yesterday, and the giant forces that used to shake the earth are forever l a i d to sleep, (p. 106) Since the townspeople no longer have "eyes for the s p i r i t s that walk the streets" nor can be "greatly wrought upon by t h e i r f a i t h , " the ancient b e l i e f i n St. Ogg i s dead (p. 106). The saint for whom the town was named was symbolic of a l i v i n g r e l i g i o n of love and p i t y , the recogni-t i o n of the "heart's need" (p. 105) . Now, l i t t l e more than a "pagan" creed i s evident i n various "moral notions" which "seem to have no standard beyond hereditary custom" (p. 238). Action has become devoid of meaning i n the mechanical and b l i n d observance of the fragmented remnants of a t r a d i t i o n a l conduct that no longer corresponds to feelings or b e l i e f . The incongruous bundle of things which amounts to the Dodson a r t i c l e s of f a i t h can only be held together by a large quantity of self-defensive family pride which l i e s " i n the utter f r u s t r a t i o n of a l l desire to tax them [the Dodsons] with a breach of t r a d i t i o n a l duty or propriety": A Dodson would not be taxed with the ommission of anything that was becoming, or that belonged to that eternal f i t -ness of things which was p l a i n l y indicated i n the practise of the most substantial parishioners, and i n the family t r a d i t i o n s — s u c h as, obedience to parents, f a i t h f u l n e s s to kindred, industry, r i g i d honesty, t h r i f t , the thorough scouring of wooden and copper u t e n s i l s , the hoarding of coins l i k e l y to disappear from the currency, the production of f i r s t - r a t e commodities for the market, and the general preference for whatever was home-made. (pp. 239-240) Def i c i e n t i n sympathy, the Dodsons and th e i r i l k w i l l not l e t t h e i r kindred starve for lack of bread "but only require them to eat i t with b i t t e r herbs" (p. 240). S i m i l a r l y , a l l the business of the f l o u r i s h i n g economy of St. Ogg's i s conducted with an unsentimental, machine-like expediency that i s unmindful of human f e e l i n g s . Milton's Michael i n Paradise Lost describes a society l i k e that of St. Ogg's as one i n which "Fame s h a l l be achieved, renown on Earth/ And what most merits fame i n silence hid" (XI, 11.689-99) and predicts i t s destruction i n a universal deluge i n i t i a t e d by divine wrath. Although when George E l i o t ' s novel opens, i t i s "far on i n the afternoon" and "the clouds are threaten-ing" (p. 7 ) , 3 the worldly society of the Dodsons and T u l l i v e r s i s not as vulnerable to divine r e t r i b u t i o n as the one which Michael describes. The nineteenth-century cosmos i s not supernaturally regulated but capricious—"what most merits fame" (what George E l i o t c a l l s "the obscure v i t a l i t y " ) can e a s i l y "be swept into the same o b l i v i o n with the genera-tions of ants and beavers" (p. 238). While the c e n t r a l v i s i o n of t h i s second n o v e l i n the p a s t o r a l t r i l o g y i s t h a t of the w i l d e r n e s s , the myth of t he l o s s and r e i n s t a t e m e n t o f p a r a d i s e i s s t i l l a s s e r t e d as the b a s i c p a t t e r n f o r man's redemption. Eden has dwindled i n t o the t i n y and p r e c a r i o u s world o f c h i l d h o o d , but George E l i o t c a r e f u l l y f uses Wordsworth's myth wi t h Feuerbach's t h e o l o g y i n molding i t i n t o a p a r a d i s e consonant with the o v e r a l l moral framework. Childhood f o r Tom and Maggie i s p a r t i a l l y d i s t i n g u i s h e d by t h e i r c l o s e a f f i n i t y w i t h Nature and a concomitant Wordsworthian awe and d e l i g h t i n i t : The m i l l with i t s booming—the g r e a t chestnut t r e e under which they p l a y e d a t h o u s e s — t h e i r own l i t t l e r i v e r , the R i p p l e , where the banks seemed l i k e home, and Tom was always see i n g the w a t e r - r a t s w h i l e Maggie gathered the p u r p l e plumy tops of the reeds, which she f o r g o t and dropped a f t e r w a r d s — a b o v e a l l , the g r e a t F l o s s , along which they wandered wi t h a sense o f t r a v e l , t o see the r u s h i n g s p r i n g - t i d e , the awful Eagre, come up l i k e a hungry monster, or t o see the Great Ash which had once w a i l e d and groaned l i k e a man . . . . (p. 37) T h e i r sense of home i n Nature i s based on an i d e n t i t y with i t . C h i l d h o o d i s where "the outer world seem[s] o n l y an e x t e n s i o n of our own p e r s o n a l i t y . " We t h e r e f o r e " a c c e p t f l and l o v e L J i t fNature and the outer world] as we accept our own sense o f e x i s t e n c e and our own limbs" (p. 135). E v e r y t h i n g " i s l o v e d because i t i s known" (p. 37) and the " v i v i d j o y s " (p. 135) of the c h i l d r e n s t i l l " t r a i l i n g c l o u d s o f g l o r y " are t h e r e f o r e a c e l e b r a t i o n o f a Oneness wi t h Nature t h a t i s supported by a l o v e of Nature. The c h i l d r e n themselves are " s t i l l v e r y much l i k e young animals" and t h e i r " i m p u l s i v e -ness", u n l i k e a d u l t " r e s t r a i n t " and " d i g n i f i e d a l i e n a t i o n " , p r e s e r v e s the a f f e c t i o n a t e r e l a t i o n s h i p between each other and t h e i r world (p. 35). The f i s h i n g episode r e p r e s e n t s a momentary c r y s t a l l i z a t i o n o f p a r a d i s e f o r Tom and Maggie. U n i t e d by the "im p u l s i v e n e s s " t h a t q u i c k l y mended y e s t e r d a y ^ anger, the c h i l d r e n s i t t o g e t h e r b e s i d e the Round P o o l . At home i n t h e i r n a t u r a l environment, they pass the hours whi s p e r i n g and q u i e t l y l i s t e n i n g t o "the wi l l o w s and the reeds and the water [ t h a t have] t h e i r happy whisperings a l s o " (P. 37). D e s p i t e such "happy mornings" (p. 37), the c h i l d r e n have many days t h a t are darkened by q u a r r e l s and v e x a t i o n s t h a t a r i s e from t h e i r c h i l d i s h egoism. Tom's greed and s e l f -i s h n e s s i s apparent i n the haggle he i n s t i g a t e s over the b e s t h a l f o f the jam p u f f (pp. 41-2). T h i s episode a l s o r e v e a l s a c r u e l s e l f - r i g h t e o u s n e s s i n Tom which i s r e v e a l e d e a r l i e r i n h i s d e t e r m i n a t i o n t o punish Maggie f o r her f a i l u r e t o f e e d h i s pet r a b b i t s . S i n c e Tom i s i n the h a b i t o f se e i n g h i m s e l f above a l l reproach (p. 35), he i s "co n s c i o u s o f having a c t e d very f a i r l y " i n the matter of the jam puff (p. 42) . He therefore leaves Maggie to endure the miseries of unmerited reproof for her supposed greediness. While George E l i o t sympathetically portrays how Maggie's exceptional i n t e l l i -gence and affectionate nature are constantly being thwarted by the c h i l d ' s mediocre surroundings, the author also gently points to the egoism at the root of much of Maggie's unhappi-ness i n her desires to be acclaimed as exceptionally clever and to be loved as much as she wishes. Maggie wants Mr. R i l e y to "have respect for her" (p. 16) and she t r i e s to impress Luke so that he w i l l "think well of her understand-ing" (p. 27). She goes to bed i n "rather low s p i r i t s " when she thinks that Mr. S t e l l i n g who, she supposed, "admired her cleverness" does "not think much of her after a l l " (p. 133). Some of the i n i t i a l a t t r a c t i o n of gypsydom for Maggie i s that the gypsies would "pay her much respect on account of her superior knowledge" (p. 24). S i m i l a r l y , Maggie wishes that Tom would love her more and also acknowledge her c l e v e r -ness. When Tom goes o f f to play with Bob Jakin, Maggie jealo u s l y categorizes Bob as "wicked" (p. 43) . She then goes about "refashioning her l i t t l e world into just what she should l i k e i t to be" (p. 44). In her fancy, Maggie envisions a world where "Tom loved her . . . more, even than she loved him, so that he would always want to have her with him and be a f r a i d of vexing her; and [wherej he as well as everyone 4 else, thought her very clever." F i n a l l y , when Tom prefers Lucy's company to h i s s i s t e r ' s , Maggie becomes so jealously enraged at Tom's disregard that she pushes Lucy i n the mud. In the minuscule Eden of the c h i l d , however, the dynamics of egoism, those "small demons" (p. 84) which take possession of Maggie at Garurn F i r s , lack the "certain magni-tude" (p. 90) which i s present at the disruption of paradise i n Hayslope. At Dorlcote M i l l , i t i s time rather than character that destroys the p o s s i b i l i t y of future "happy mornings" for Tom and Maggie. Thus, the e t e r n i t y which the children ascribe to th e i r happiness by the Round Pool i s i r o n i c a l l y undercut by th e i r ignorance of time: They tr o t t e d along and sat down together, with no thought that l i f e would ever change much for them: they would only get bigger and not go to school, and i t would always be l i k e the holidays; they would always l i v e together and be fond of each other. (p. 37) The constant companion of the children i n a l l t h e i r adventures, the Floss, l i k e the young Wordsworth's Derwent, affirms in e v i t a b l e change and f l u x . 5 Flowing "forever onward" (p. 238), the F l o s s r e f l e c t s , "with a s o f t p u r p l e hue," the weathered monuments of time and h i s t o r i c a l change-—the "aged, f l u t e d r e d r o o f s and the broad gables" of S t . Ogg's (p. 7 ) . Always present, the r i v e r a c t s as a k i n d o f g l o s s t o the v a r i o u s a l t e r a t i o n s i n p o i n t of view which accompany the c h i l d r e n as they g r a d u a l l y move out o f the Eden where t h e y enjoyed an a f f i n i t y with Nature. When Tom goes o f f " t o the g r e a t r i v e r " (p. 43) with Bob J a k i n , Tom's"manly f e e l i n g " with r e s p e c t t o r a t - c a t c h i n g i s aroused and the i n f a n t i l e i d e n t i t y with Nature i s superseded. He now becomes a plunderer and d e s t r o y e r of N a t u r e . 7 E x t o l l i n g the "beauty" of "'nasty b i t i n g ' " f e r r e t s (p. 45), Bob d i s t i n g u i s h e s h i m s e l f i n Tom's eyes by a f f o r d i n g such naughty p l e a s u r e s as "throw-i n g stones a f t e r the sheep, and k i l l i n g a c a t t h a t j[is] wandering i n c o g n i t o " (p. 43). L a t e r , when Tom a r r i v e s home f o r Christmas, "the dark r i v e r . . . f l o w [ s ] and moan^s} l i k e an u n r e s t i n g sorrow" through a landscape where snow s t i l l l i e s " s o f t e r than the limbs of i n f a n c y " (p. 136). Christmas i s "as i t had always been s i n c e Tom c o u l d remember" (p. 137), but i t i s not " q u i t e so happy as i t had always been b e f o r e " (p. 136) . The q u a r r e l s of a d u l t s o c i e t y are b e g i n n i n g t o make in r o a d s i n t o the r e p u b l i c of c h i l d h o o d j o y s and "the a t t e n t i o n that Tom might have concentrated on h i s nuts and wine [ i s 3 d i s t r a c t e d by a sense that . . . the business of grown-up l i f e could hardly be conducted without a good deal of qu a r r e l l i n g " (p. 137) . This q u a r r e l l i n g w i l l soon prematurely complete the gradual withdrawal from childhood for Tom and Maggie when Mr. T u l l i v e r loses h i s law s u i t over the r i g h t s to water-power. Again, the r i v e r seems aligned with the forces of change, i n t h i s case Mr. Pivart's i r r i g a t i o n project. Somewhat unorthodoxly, Mr. T u l l i v e r l i n k s the forces of change with a demonic conspiracy. "Water", he says, has been "nuts to Old Harry and the lawyers" (p. 138). Whether fiendish or not, Time and the onward tendency of a l l things shatters Eden and forces Tom and Maggie into the wilderness. After the cata-strophe, Maggie goes to fetch Tom from school and t h e i r de-parture from Mr. S t e l l i n g ' s i s strongly reminiscent of Milton's Adam and Eve sadly q u i t t i n g t h e i r former "happie seat" (1.642) i n paradise. Growing " i n d i s t i n c t on the distant road", the children are "soon l o s t behind the projecting hedgerow": They had gone forth together into t h e i r new l i f e of sorrow, and they would never more see the sunshine undimmed by remembered c a r e s . They had e n t e r e d the thorny w i l d e r n e s s , and the golden gates o f t h e i r c h i l d h o o d had f o r e v e r c l o s e d behind them. (pp. 171) A t t h i s p o i n t , time f o r c e s i t s e l f i n t o the c o n s c i o u s -ness of Tom and Maggie. "A n x i e t y about the f u t u r e had never e n t e r e d Tom's mind" (p. 168) and he i s "now awakened with a v i o l e n t shock" (p. 169). Maggie t o o i s submerged i n "time when day f o l l o w s day i n d u l l unexpectant sameness" (p. 241). R e t a i n i n g the e g o i s t i c p o i n t of view of t h e i r c h i l d h o o d , however, both f a s h i o n dreams i n an attempt t o make the h a r d r e a l i t y o f the f u t u r e more p a l a t a b l e . Tom f i n d s some "escape" i n " i l l u s i o n and s e l f - f l a t t e r y , " b e l i e v i n g he can make h i m s e l f supremely v a l u a b l e t o Guest & Co. I n t h i s way, he " l e a p [ s j over the years" and f a i l s t o "see how they would be made up of slow days, hours, and minutes" (p. 199). But a few hours l a t e r he i s d i s i l l u s i o n e d and m i s e r a b l e about h i s p r o s p e c t s , f e e l i n g t h a t "the p r e s e n t [ i s ] v e r y hard" (p. 206) . The s e l f - c e n t r e d dream world has proved t o be p a i n f u l l y i n c o m p a t i b l e w i t h outward r e a l i t y . With "a s i n k i n g o f h e a r t , " Tom p e r c e i v e s t h a t he i s " l i k e l y t o be h e l d of s m a l l account i n the world" (p. 206). D i f f e r e n t " i l l u s i o n s o f s e l f - f l a t t e r y " i n s p i r e Maggie's s t r u g g l e a f t e r a "mirage . . . on the d e s e r t of t h e f u t u r e , i n which she "see[s] h e r -s e l f honoured for her surprising attainments" i n masculine wisdom (p. 251). She too becomes d i s i l l u s i o n e d on her " t h i r s t y , trackless, uncertain journey" when "the r e l a t i o n between A l d r i c h and t h i s l i v i n g world" seems "extremely remote" (p. 252). Maggie no longer wants a "dream-world" but some "explanation of t h i s hard, r e a l l i f e " : The unhappy-looking father, seated at the d u l l breakfast-table; the c h i l d i s h , bewildered mother; the l i t t l e sordid tasks that f i l l e d the hours, or the more oppress-ive emptiness of weary, joyless l e i s u r e ; the need of some tender, demonstrative love, the cr u e l sense that Tom didn't mind what she thought or f e l t , and that they were ho longer play fellows together; the p r i v a t i o n of a l l pleasant things that had come to her more than to others: she wanted some key that would enable her to understand, and, i n understanding, endure, the heavy weight that had f a l l e n on her young heart. (p. 251) The "key" or "explanation" comes to Maggie when Bob Jakin replaces the books which were the guides to understanding i n childhood with other volumes, among them The Imitation of  C h r i s t by Thomas a Kempis. Similar to Feuerbach's "Religion of Humanity", the doctrine of a Kempis represents a p o t e n t i a l antidote for Maggie's egoism. 8 S e l f - d e n i a l and suffering are pre-requisite, according to both a Kempis and Feuerbach, i f man i s to imitate the love of C h r i s t : 'Know that the love of t h y s e l f doth hurt thee more than anything i n the world . . . . Both above and below, which way soever thou dost turn thee, everywhere thou shalt f i n d the Cross: and everywhere of necessity thou must have patience, i f thou w i l t have inward peace, and enjoy an everlasting crown . . . . Thou oughtest . . . to c a l l to mind the more heavy sufferings of others, that thou must the easier bear thy l i t t l e a d v ersities . . . . For sake thyself, resign thyself, and thou shalt enjoy much inward peace . . . . Then s h a l l a l l vain imaginations, e v i l perturbations, and superfluous cares f l y away; then s h a l l immoderate fear leave thee, and inordinate love s h a l l d i e . ' (pp. 253-254) The assertion of the a Kempis philosophy at t h i s stage i n the novel r e f l e c t s George E l i o t ' s endorsement of the Wordsworthian notion of the t r a n s i t i o n from the love of Nature t o the love of Man. The "shades of the prison-house" have already closed around Maggie, the former "glory" has de-parted from Nature. Her eyes " f i x themselves blankly on the out-door sunshine" (p. 250) i n search of something not disclosed by i t (p. 246): A l l the f a v o r i t e out-door nooks about home, which seemed to have done t h e i r part with her parents i n nurturing and cherishing her, were now mixed up with the home-sadness, and gathered no smile from the sunshine, (p. 250) S i t t i n g by her father's bedside, enclosed by the " d u l l walls of t h i s sad chamber", Maggie longs for "something that would l i n k t o g e t h e r the wonderful impressions of t h i s mysterious l i f e , and g i v e her s o u l a sense o f home i n i t " (p. 208). Maggie's new sense of l o s s can be assuaged o n l y by a sympa-t h e t i c u n i t y w i t h the h e a r t s o f men. As Wordsworth, i n the Ode; I n t i m a t i o n s o f Immortality, e x p l a i n s : Though n o t h i n g can b r i n g back the hour Of splendour i n the grass, of g l o r y i n the flower, We w i l l g r i e v e not, r a t h e r f i n d S t r e n g t h i n what remains behind; I n the p r i m a l sympathy Which h a v i n g been must ever be; I n t h e s o o t h i n g thoughts t h a t s p r i n g Out o f human s u f f e r i n g . . . . (11.178-185) In George E l i o t ' s n o v e l , Maggie can r e g a i n a sense of home i n the world i f the s e l f - c e n t r e d l o v e which s u s t a i n e d her c h i l d -hood p a r a d i s e i s r e p l a c e d with a s e l f l e s s l o v e and a wider sympathy f o r humanity. That e a r l y sense of harmony and u n i t y w i t h Nature was, then, a p a t t e r n o f a h i g h e r union w i t h the h e a r t s o f men t o be achieved i n m a t u r i t y . T h i s new u n i t y which i s t o be achieved through the " p r i m a l sympathy" among men i s immune t o time and change. I t r e p r e s e n t s , as Wordsworth says, i n h i s Ode, "a f a i t h t h a t l o o k s through death" (1. 186). " A l l t h i n g s pass away, . . . beware thou cleave not unto them, l e s t thou be entangled and perish," admonishes a Kempis. A man must "leave himself-,-, and go wholly out of himself, and r e t a i n nothing of s e l f - l o v e " i f he i s to conquer the temporal world (p. 254). In Maggie's p o s i t i o n where "everything i s going away" from her (p. 212), the only salvation from a worldly egoism l i e s i n memory, the receptacle for a l l "the love and s a n c t i t i e s of our l i f e " (p. 135) . As a corrective to the s e l f i s h i n c l i n a t i o n s of the moment, memory reminds us of the duty we owe to the r e l a t i o n -ships and t i e s formed i n the past and based on the a f f e c t i o n s . Memory, i n t h i s way, q u a l i f i e s the uncontrolled " s t r i v i n g a f t e r something better and better" (p. 135) that has beset the amoral and savage world of St. Ogg's and converts the flux i n t o a meaningful and continuous whole. S i g n i f i c a n t l y , the key to Maggie's salvation i s brought by Bob Jakin, a character whose actions i n the present are informed by the memory of past r e l a t i o n s h i p s . When a l l kindness had forsaken the T u l l i v e r s , Bob appeared with an offe r of nine guineas which he would otherwise have used to equip himself for the " ' l o v e l y l i f e ' " of a pack man. Instead, he remembers h i s childhood a f f e c t i o n for Tom and o f f e r s him a " ' s l i c e o' [ h i s ] luck'" for "'old 'quinetance sake'" (p. 213). Returning l a t e r with h i s g i f t of the books for Maggie, Bob i s a l l the more remarkable because "there had been no abundance of kind acts to efface the r e c o l l e c t i o n of Bob's generosity" (p. 246). Symbolically, then, i t i s Bob's sympathetic action based on memory that p o t e n t i a l l y rescues Maggie. Although she possesses the key to salvation, Maggie has only an imperfect understanding of i t s meaning. "For the f i r s t time she [seesj the p o s s i b i l i t y of . . . looking at her own l i f e as an i n s i g n i f i c a n t part of a divinely-guided whole" (p. 254), but she f a l s e l y conceives t h i s renunciation to be "the entrance into that s a t i s f a c t i o n which she had so long been craving i n vain" (p. 255): She had not perceived—how could she u n t i l she had l i v e d l o nger?—the inmost truth of the old monk's out-pourings, that renunciation remains sorrow, though a sorrow borne w i l l i n g l y . (p. 255) Like Milton's C h r i s t i n Paradise Regained, Maggie can only achieve through experience, or what Milton c a l l e d "merit" (I, 1. 166), the f u l f i l l m e n t of her r o l e as the imitator of C h r i s t . She must be severely tempted i n the wilderness before s e l f - d e n i a l and suffering become r e a l i t i e s . For Maggie who i s by her nature so much above "the mental l e v e l of the generation before [her]" (p. 239), the temptation to destroy a l l the t i e s of affectionate r e l a t i o n s h i p which bind her to that generation (p. 239) and to pursue her s e l f i s h desires of knowledge, love and beauty (p. 208) i s very strong: She rebelled against her l o t , she fainted under i t s loneliness, and f i t s even of anger and hatred towards her father and mother, who were so unlike what she would have them to be—towards Tom, who checked her, and met her thought or f e e l i n g always with some thwart-ing difference—would flow over her affections and conscience l i k e a lava stream, and frighten her with a sense that i t was not d i f f i c u l t for her to become a demon. Then her brain would be busy with wild romances of a f l i g h t from home i n search of something less sordid and dreary: she would go to some great man—Walter Scott, perhaps—and t e l l him how wretched and clever she was, and he surely would do something for her. (p. 252) y i e l d i n g to the "inward impulse" that i s i n such strong con-f l i c t with "outward fact" (p. 241) i s , however, much more serious i n the world of the adult than i t was i n the t i n y world of the c h i l d . Now, an impetuous egoism can p o t e n t i a l l y annihilate a l l values and affections and convert the world into a satanic dimension where everything i s governed by the immediate g r a t i f i c a t i o n of d e s i r e . The c o n f l i c t s i n Maggie's soul, "one shadowy army f i g h t i n g another" have therefore assumed epic proportions (p. 269) as she s t a r t s out on her long apprenticeship i n the "Religion of Humanity." These c o n f l i c t s between the "inward impulse" and the "outward fact" can also be seen as the elements of a t r a g i c struggle, according to George E l i o t ' s d e f i n i t i o n of tragedy. In her "Notes on the 'Spanish Gypsy,'" written i n 1868, George E l i o t describes tragedy as "the irreparable c o l l i s i o n between the i n d i v i d u a l and the general," the " t e r r i b l e d i f f i c u l t y " of the "adjustment of our i n d i v i d u a l needs to the d i r e necessities 9 of our l o t . " In an e a r l i e r essay, "The Antigone and i t s Moral" (1856), George E l i o t explains the t r a g i c nature of the Antigone as "that struggle between elemental tendencies and established laws by which the outer l i f e of man i s gradually and p a i n f u l l y being brought into harmony with h i s inward needs." 1 0 For Maggie T u l l i v e r i n The M i l l on the Floss, the "contrast between the outward and the inward," between a denial of s e l f i n action based on memory and an egoism i n -formed- by the g r a t i f i c a t i o n of the demands of a superior i n t e l l e c t and a passionate nature, produces "p a i n f u l c o l l i s i o n s " (p. 208). However, "the imaginative and passionate nature" that i s c h a r a c t e r i s t i c a l l y a f f l i c t e d with the t r a g i c l o t (p. 241) has a c a p a b i l i t y for "loving, w i l l i n g submission, and for heroic Promethean e f f o r t towards high p o s s i b i l i t i e s . " 1 1 Thus, Maggie, with "one shadowy army fi g h t i n g another" i n her soul (p. 269) as she wanders through the wilderness, has the p o t e n t i a l to produce an"imitation of C h r i s t . Maggie's f i r s t temptation i n the wilderness i s i n -tended as a comparatively weak forerunner of "The Great Temptation" which w i l l assault her l a t e r i n the company of Stephen Guest. Although P h i l i p Wakem's state of mind i s not analyzed unsympathetically by George E l i o t , h i s chief r o l e i n the clandestine meetings with Maggie i s that of "tempter" (p. 88). "The good force" (p. 290) has not had time to triumph i n P h i l i p yet, and he i s beset by a "savage impulse to snatch an offered joy" (p. 289). Tempting Maggie with pleasure, vanity, love, knowledge and poetry, P h i l i p t r i e s to lure her away from the past into an egoism that l i v e s from moment to moment: "'Don't think of the past now, Maggie,'" he whispers, "'think only of our love'" (p. 293). Maggie, on her part, f e e l s that her secretive behavior i s wrong and possibly " w i l l lead to e v i l " (p. 293), but she puts o f f the moment of resolution and i n the end y i e l d s to the defeat of "sophistry" (p. 288). Attempting to j u s t i f y her actions, she persuades h e r s e l f that "the wrong [ l i e s ] a l l i n the f a u l t s and weaknesses of others" and that her affectionate p i t y for the deformed P h i l i p i s "not only innocent, but good" (p. 265). Yet t h i s p i t y , even i n her childhood, was at basis merely a disguised egoism. As a young g i r l , Maggie f e l t "a tenderness for deformed things" because "she was e s p e c i a l l y fond of pet-t i n g objects that would think i t very d e l i g h t f u l to be petted by her" (p. 158). In her encounters with P h i l i p , i t i s her "innate delight i n admiration and love" (p. 262)—"the a f f e c -tionate admiring looks that would meet her . . . the cert a i n t y that P h i l i p would care to hear every thing she said, which no one else cared f o r " — t h a t makes her res o l u t i o n "to say an affectionate farewell" ' so impossible to keep (pp. 284-285) . By "the charm of the faery evening", the Red Deeps are converted from a scene of c h i l d i s h fears (p. 260) to a kind of p a r a d i s e — " a green hollow" almost completely enclosed "by an amphitheatre of the pale pink dog-roses" (p. 263). But i t i s emphatically a r t i f i c i a l , ' f a e r y - l i k e ' and unreal, l i k e the unnatural Eden with which Satan tempts C h r i s t i n Paradise  Regained. P h i l i p ' s words of impatience and s e l f - p i t y provoke Maggie's old feelings of discontent so that she complains, "'I have impatient thoughts a g a i n — I get weary of my home . . . .'" (p. 293). When P h i l i p f i n a l l y succeeds i n eroding her r u l e of renunciation by undermining her imperfect under-standing of a Kempis, Maggie r e a l i z e s that she i s now thrown "under the seductive guidance of i l l i m i t a b l e wants" (p. 284). She has succumbed to a present which she knows to be a con-t r a d i c t i o n of the past, but before the dangerously r i s i n g t i d e s of present f e e l i n g (p. 294) are allowed to carry her away, the friendship i s f o r c i b l y ended by Tom who a n g r i l y denounces P h i l i p ' s "base treachery" and "crooked notion of honour" (p. 302) . The lesser temptation i s over for Maggie, but she sadly r e a l i z e s that her apprenticeship i s going to be longer and harder than she imagined: She used to think . . . that she had made great conquests, and won a l a s t i n g stand on serene heights above worldly temptations and c o n f l i c t . And here she was down again i n the thick of a hot s t r i f e with her own and others' passions. L i f e was not so short then, and perfect r e s t was not so near as she had dreamed when she was two years younger. There was more struggle for her—perhaps more f a l l i n g . (p. 305) Two years l a t e r Maggie enters the "paradise" which w i l l be the scene of her "Great Temptation". Far more comprehensive than the mock Eden of the Red Deeps, Mr. Deane's drawing room and adjacent garden assume the gigantic proportions of a v i r t u a l paradis d' a r t i f i c e . A h ighly d i s t o r t e d v i s i o n of a corrupt s o c i e t y , 1 2 t h i s paradis d' a r t i f i c e i s an a l l u r i n g mirage of a true paradise. Not only Stephen Guest's "diamond ri n g , attar of roses, and a i r of nonchalant l e i s u r e , at twelve o'clock i n the day" but also Mr. Deane's "well-furnished drawing-room, with the open piano, and the pleasant outlook down a sloping garden to a boat-house by the side ^of the Floss" are r e s u l t s "of the largest o i l - m i l l and the most extensive wharf i n St. Ogg's" (p. 316). Far away from the childhood Eden at Dorlcote M i l l , t h i s "paradise" within St. Ogg's has been r a i s e d by the unregenerate forces of exped-ient business and blatant materialism, i t s owner, one of the chief protagonists of change i n the novel (p. 345), i s a figure of the kind of success that i s measured by "'growing c a p i t a l , and growing outlets for i t ' " (p. 346). Necessarily a r t i f i c i a l , t h i s paradis d' a r t i f i c e i s therefore endowed with a l l the paraphernalia of mock e p i c — t h e scissors, r i n g -l e t s , r a t a f i a s and p o l i t e banter. Like Haydn's The Creation which Stephen and Lucy sing " ' i n paradise'", " ' i t has a sort of sugared complacency and f l a t t e r i n g make-believe i n i t ' " (p. 320) . At the time of Maggie's a r r i v a l at the Deanes', the old d i s s a t i s f a c t i o n s show dangerous signs of reawakening: "after years of contented renunciation, she had slipped back into desire and longing: she found joyless days of d i s t a s t e -f u l occupation harder and harder" (p. 326). Laid before her i s a par a d i s i a c a l v i s i o n which makes her yearnings a l l the more importunate—"sunshine f a l l i n g on the r i c h clumps of spring flowers," "the sweet fresh garden-scent" and "the bird s . . . busy f l i t t i n g and l i g h t i n g , gurgling and singing" (p. 326) . Within a week, Maggie shows signs of being charmed and morally numbed by t h i s paradise. L i v i n g more and more i n the present because l i f e " j u s t now" was "very pleasant," Maggie has come to f e e l that she belongs to t h i s enchanting place as "one of the b e a u t i f u l things of t h i s spring-time": The new sense of l e i s u r e and unchecked enjoyment amidst the soft-breathing a i r s and garden-scents of advancing spring—amidst the new abundance of music, and li n g e r i n g s t r o l l s i n the sunshine, and the d e l i c i o u s dreaminess of g l i d i n g on the r i v e r — c o u l d hardly be without some in t o x i c a t i n g e f f e c t on her, after years of pr i v a t i o n . . . . (p. 350) She has returned to "her brighter a e r i a l world again" and that time when she had "counted priva t i o n , when she had thought a l l longing, a l l impatience was subdued" i s "irrecoverably gone." Having tasted the dangerous opiate, she can no longer "stay i n the r e c o l l e c t i o n of that bare, lonely past" (p. 336). Already overpowered by the s p e l l of t h i s b a s i c a l l y s i n i s t e r Eden, Maggie i s assaulted by her arch-tempter, Mr. Stephen Guest. Stephen i s driven by a savage " t h i r s t " far s t r o n g e r than t h a t o f the f e e b l e P h i l i p (pp. 356, 385). I n the course o f events he f a i l s t o s l a y "'the g i a n t Python'" (p. 380) t h a t governs h i s most odious and compulsive a c t s and e v e n t u a l l y t u r n s i n t o a "hunted d e v i l " (p. 392). Stephen's a t t r a c t i v e powers are a l l the more i r r e s i s t i b l e because they are b a s i c a l l y i n s t i n c t i v e and s e n s u a l — e l e m e n t s which were absent i n the weaker temptation i n v o l v i n g P h i l i p . O f t e n r e p r e s e n t e d i n d i s t i n c t l y feminine terms, P h i l i p ' s p e c u l i a r s e n s i t i v i t y produced i n him "some o f the woman's i n t o l e r a n t r e p u l s i o n towards . . . the d e l i b e r a t e p u r s u i t of sensual enjoyment" (p. 289). Consequently, Maggie who becomes " o p p r e s s i v e l y " c o nscious of Stephen's presence, "even t o the f i n g e r - e n d s , " i s i n t r i g u e d by the n o v e l t y o f her experience, the sense t h a t " l i f e was r e v e a l i n g something q u i t e new t o her" (p. 352) . Stephen's deep bass v o i c e " p l a y s upon her s o u l " (p. 364) w i t h music and, Maggie, overcome by t h i s momentary excitement, i s "borne along by a wave t o o s t r o n g f o r her" (p. 366). P h i l i p ' s p l a i n t i v e t enor, by c o n t r a s t , can o n l y produce " d i s t i n c t memories and thoughts" along with a " q u i e t r e g r e t " (p. 365). Maggie had r i s e n t o have a b e t t e r look a t t h a t tempting garden o u t s i d e the drawing room (p. 327) when Lucy had f i r s t mentioned P h i l i p ' s name, but i t i s Stephen's entreaty that magically draws her "out a l i t t l e way int o the garden" where she walks on h i s arm i n a "dim dreamy state" (p. 356) . G U n t i l her walk i n the garden with Stephen, Maggie had been too absorbed i n "the d i r e c t , immediate experience," to have "any energy l e f t for taking account of i t and reasoning about i t " (p. 352). Only after she has run away from her evening s t r o l l with Stephen does she recognize her new ex-periences as part of a d e f i n i t e temptation—"an a l l u r i n g i n -fluence which the best part of he r s e l f must r e s i s t " (p. 359). P h i l i p , so recently a symbol of her betrayal of the past, now becomes "a sort of outward conscience" since h i s appeal does not so much res t on the dangerous " e g o i s t i c e x c i t a b i l i t y of her nature" (p. 359). To be with P h i l i p "so qu i e t l y i n the Red Deeps" (p. 357) now represents a state which i s a com-parative good after her momentary submission to Stephen's influence. Meanwhile Maggie has been set on the pinnacle of St. Ogg's society and i s tempted with a l l the powers concomitant with that height. Metamorphosed into a C i n d e r e l l a by Lucy, her f a i r y godmother (p. 360), Maggie i s queen of the bazaar, her "simple, noble beauty appear[ing] with marked d i s t i n c t i o n among the more adorned and c o n v e n t i o n a l women around her" (p. 376). Although the temptation t o have her s e c r e t p r i n c e charming, Stephen Guest, " a t her f e e t , o f f e r i n g her a l i f e f i l l e d w ith a l l l u x u r i e s , with d a i l y i n c e n s e o f a d o r a t i o n near and d i s t a n t , and w i t h a l l p o s s i b i l i t i e s of c u l t u r e a t her command" i s v e r y s t r o n g , the " l o n g deep memories of e a r l y d i s c i p l i n e and e f f o r t , of e a r l y c l a i m s on her l o v e and p i t y " o c c a s i o n a l l y prove s t r o n g e r (p. 382). These l a t t e r f e e l i n g s are uppermost when, a t t i r e d i n white raiment, she succeeds i n t e m p o r a r i l y b a n i s h i n g her tempter who, h a l f hidden i n the d r a p e r i e s , whispers a temptation o f " f r u i t or j e l l y " i n her e a r . L a t e r on a t the b a l l , when she i s d r e s s e d i n b l a c k l a c e , however, she q u i c k l y becomes b e g u i l e d by the b r i g h t g a i e t y of the o c c a s i o n . She f e e l s t h a t " t h i s one, t h i s l a s t n i g h t , she might expand u n r e s t r a i n e d l y i n the warmth of the present, without those c h i l l e a t i n g thoughts o f the p a s t and the f u t u r e " (p. 386). In the next moment, she i s with Stephen i n the "enchanted land" of the c o n s e r v a t o r y where, s i g n i f i c a n t l y , the t r e e s and f l o w e r s look "strange" and " u n r e a l " with the l i g h t s among them (p. 386). When Stephen's i m p u l s i v e behavior i n the l i t t l e p l e a s u r e dome of the c o n s e r v a t o r y h u m i l i a t e s her, she m i s t a k e n l y b e l i e v e s t h a t h e r r e a c t i v a t e d p r i d e w i l l p r e -serve " a l l the o l d calm purposes" from f u t u r e a s s a u l t s (p. 388). But while v i s i t i n g with her Aunt Moss, that "savage enemy who had feigned death" suddenly "leap^s} to l i f e " (p. 390). Stephen urges her to ""break a l l these mistaken t i e s that were made i n blindness, and determine to marry'" him (p. 393) . His specious argument that they should follow t h e i r present i n -c l i n a t i o n s seems to Maggie l i k e a "current, so f t and yet strong as the summer stream" which she must "struggle against" (p. 393). When she was a c h i l d i n Mr. S t e l l i n g ' s drawing room, Maggie had reminded P h i l i p of those legendary princesses who were turned into animals (p. 158). Now, she seems i n danger of becoming l i k e one of these princesses. "Like a lovely wild animal timid and struggling under cares-ses" (p. 393), Maggie pauses an instant, but then reaffirms her old b e l i e f i n the p o s i t i v e value of " p i t y and f a i t h f u l -ness and memory" (p. 394). Prior to her f i n a l and greatest temptation i n the paradis d' a r t i f i c e the c o n f l i c t between "cruel selfishness" and " f a i t h and sympathy" i n Maggie's soul becomes more f i e r c e — " i t seemed to her as i f a l l the worst e v i l i n her had l a i n i n ambush t i l l now, and had suddenly started up full-armed, with hideous, overpowering strength" (p. 402). A l l the e a r l i e r scenes of lesser temptation culminate i n the moment when Maggie, deferring the decision of renunciation, i s " led down the garden among the roses" (p. 407) by Stephen. "Memory [i s ] excluded" i n the "haze" (p. 407) of the present as she i s "borne along by.the t i d e . " 1 3 Any remonstrances urged by her conscience are s k i l l f u l l y "transmuted into mere self-regard" (p. 409) by Stephen's sophistry as, with "every influence . . . l u l l [ i n g ] her into acquiescence", she y i e l d s to the "present happiness of being with him" (p. 410). The " s p e l l " which had seemed broken at the b a l l reasserts i t -s e l f i n the all-pervading form of an " o b l i v i o n " which has d i s -solved the t i e s of the past i n an a l l u r i n g yet a r t i f i c i a l kingdom of b l i s s : Now nothing was d i s t i n c t to her: She was being l u l l e d to sleep with that sof t stream s t i l l flowing over her, with those d e l i c i o u s visions melting and fading l i k e the wondrous a e r i a l land of the West. (p. 412) The turning point comes when Maggie wakes up to the " t e r r i b l e t r u t h " — t h a t "she ha[s] rent the t i e s that had given meaning to duty, and ha[sj made h e r s e l f an out-lawed soul, with no guide but the wayward choice of her own passion" (p. 413). Having determined to leave Stephen, she t r i e s to explain her motives: " ' I f the past i s not to bind us, where can duty l i e ? We should have no law but the i n c l i n a t i o n of the moment'" (p. 417). But Stephen only i n s i s t s on the present t i e s which render her duty, f i r s t and foremost to him. Rea l i z i n g that " l i f e with Stephen could have no sacredness" (p. 413), Maggie obeys "'the divine voice within'" (p. 419) and chooses the "'calmer affections'" (p. 418) that are associated with a l l that her "'past l i f e has made dear and holy'" (p. 420). Making her way from Mudport and Stephen, f i l l e d with "love", "deep p i t y " and "remorseful anguish", she i s now face to face with the r e a l meaning of renunciation and sees that the "thorns [a 1^] forever pressing on i t s brow" (p. 413) . As Maggie walks through the streets of St. Ogg's, bear ing her crown of thorns, she i s denied by former friends and r i d i c u l e d as i f she were a " f r i e n d l y bar-maid" (p. 431). Her treatment i s similar to that which C h r i s t received i n Jerusalem prior to h i s c r u c i f i x i o n . Spurned by her brother, Maggie i s at the mercy of a community i n which "'the ideas of d i s c i p l i n e and C h r i s t i a n f r a t e r n i t y are e n t i r e l y relaxed"" (p. 432). Even Dr. Kenn cannot p r e v a i l on h i s unregenerate flock, the s o c i a l embodiment of a l l the e v i l forces which Maggie has t r i e d to r e s i s t i n h e r s e l f : 'I should o f t e n l o s e h e a r t a t o b s e r v i n g the want o f f e l l o w -s h i p and sense o f mutual r e s p o n s i b i l i t y among my f l o c k . At p r e s e n t e v e r y t h i n g seems tending towards the r e l a x a -t i o n o f t i e s — t o w a r d s the s u b s t i t u t i o n of wayward c h o i c e f o r the adherence t o o b l i g a t i o n , which has i t s r o o t s i n the p a s t . ' (p. 433) In such an environment, her s u f f e r i n g can have no o u t l e t i n t h a t l a r g e r l i f e informed by l o v e and sympathy. Although P h i l i p can w r i t e a l e t t e r o f f o r g i v e n e s s , a s s u r i n g her of "the new l i f e " he has found i n c a r i n g f o r her j o y and sorrow and of the " s t r o n g sympathy" which has i n i t i a t e d him " i n t o t h a t e n l a r g e d l i f e which grows and grows by a p p r o p r i a t i n g the l i f e of o t h e r s " , " c r u e l tongues" keep him a p a r t from Maggie. T h e i r f r i e n d s h i p , based on " s t r o n g sympathy", must be kept h i d d e n . S i m i l a r l y , Lucy pays a c l a n d e s t i n e v i s i t t o Maggie, f u r t i v e l y o f f e r i n g her f o r g i v e n e s s and sympathy. There i s "no home, no h e l p " i n t h i s world f o r Maggie. The l a s t and most d i f f i c u l t temptation comes when Stephen's l e t t e r a s s a u l t s h e r anguish with s e l f - d o u b t . For a moment, "the balance trembles" but then "the long p a s t [comes] back t o her, and w i t h i t the f o u n t a i n s of s e l f - r e n o u n c i n g p i t y and a f f e c t i o n , o f f a i t h f u l n e s s and r e s o l v e " (p. 450). With the understanding o f her r o l e as " I m i t a t o r o f C h r i s t " complete she now " r e c e i v e s the Cross" which she must bear u n t i l death (p. 4 5 1 ) . 1 4 At the point of her declaration of f a i t h , however, Maggie's words are overpowered by the storm outside. The s o c i a l forces of cruel selfishness and wayward choice which the storm can be said to represent are too powerful for Maggie to per-form the sacred duties of "bless[ing] and comfort[ing] others" (p. 451). At the same time, Maggie's own nature could i n t e r -vene to prevent her from performing these sacred duties. While she can achieve a true understanding of her r o l e as. imitator of C h r i s t now, there i s s t i l l the p o s s i b i l i t y that her e g o i s t i c nature w i l l rebel again i n the future. "Am I to struggle and f a l l and repent again?" i s Maggie's anguished question (p. 451). When the flo o d comes, then, i t i s a blessed deliverance for Maggie, a " f i n a l r e s c u e , " 1 6 both from an unregenerate society that would seek to c r u c i f y her and from the p o t e n t i a l agony of endless years spent struggling and f a l l i n g i n the wilderness: She had suddenly passed away from that l i f e which she had been dreading: i t was the t r a n s i t i o n of death, without i t s agony—and she was alone i n the darkness with God. (p. 452) As Maggie paddles on the flood, the r a i n ceases and dawn breaks. Symbolically i t i s a new creation with the f i r s t glimmer of l i g h t and the separation of the firmament from the waters (p. 452). But the wasteland of "watery desolation . . . spread out i n dreadful clearness" (p. 256) i s not Maggie's legacy. The world currently so devastated by the flood w i l l return to i t s former state, repaired but not renewed (p. 456). Maggie's future i s i n the apocalyptic world that l i e s beneath "the golden water" (p. 456). The flood, i n removing " a l l the a r t i f i c i a l vesture of our l i f e " (p. 453), has pre c i p i t a t e d Maggie's reconcilement with her brother. "The deep, underlying, unshakable memories of earl y union" (p. 453) are brought into strong r e l i e f as she rows towards Dorlcote M i l l . Overcome with "awe and h u m i l i -ation" at Maggie's "miraculous" e f f o r t , Tom loses h i s former hardness and self-righteousness as he i s given "a new r e v e l -ation . . . of the depths of l i f e that had l a i n beyond h i s v i s i o n " (p. 455). To have Tom's a f f e c t i o n and forgiveness had always been for Maggie a supreme happiness. Now, bound together i n a "close embrace" which i s symbolic of the new unity they have achieved i n strong sympathy and s e l f l e s s love, the children regain a paradise far superior to the e a r l i e r one that was continually shaken by e g o i s t i c squabbles. During "one supreme moment" which annihilates a l l time i n eternity, they "claspf J t h e i r l i t t l e hands i n love, and roamCj the d a i s i e d f i e l d s together" (p. 456), having found at l a s t the s t i l l centre of the "unresting wheel" (p. 8). In one sense, Maggie's death r e f l e c t s the capricious-ness of the nineteenth-century cosmos: that the superior Maggie should be swept away with the helpless c a t t l e and that an i n f e r i o r and unregenerate world should be l e f t i : n t a c t (pp. 456 -7) . In another sense, Maggie's death seals the triumph of her martyrdom i n the "Religion of Humanity." She i s cut o f f at the highest point i n her Promethean struggle, having sus-tained her worst temptation and turned to the larger l i f e of love and p i t y for her fellow men. Delivered from the persec-utions of a morally wayward society and from the potential weaknesses of her own nature, Maggie enters a second Eden, the home of a l l celebrants i n the "Religion of Humanity", i n death. In the darkness of men's hearts that remains when her s o l i t a r y candle f l i c k e r i n g i n the gloom has been put out, the few who remember her, commemorate her "'large-souled'" nature (p. 441) and "goodness" (p. 449). For these people and p o t e n t i a l l y for a l l men, the universal emulation of Maggie's struggle leads eventually into the regenerate world of l i g h t where, under the rainbow, the wayward t i d e of egoism w i l l be subdued forever. In the meantime, however, Maggie, l i k e Milton's C h r i s t i n the wilderness, has "lay[ed] down the rudiments" of the "great warfare" In the souls of a l l mankind and demonstrated, how "by Humiliation and strong Sufferance,-. . . weakness s h a l l o'recome Satanic strength" (11. 157-161). Apart from George E l i o t who wept copiously "throughout the writing of the f i n a l chapters," few c r i t i c s have f e l t that Maggie's reunion with her brother i n a reconstituted childhood Eden i s p a r t i c u l a r l y c a t h a r t i c and u p l i f t i n g . 1 7 In fact, the ending of The M i l l on the Floss and Maggie's drowning have been the object of much c r i t i c a l d i s s a t i s f a c t i o n . Instead of the i n s p i r a t i o n generated by Maggie's t r a g i c "suffering . . . which belongs to every h i s t o r i c a l advance of mankind" (p. 239), there nevertheless remain contradictory feelings of incompletion and even f u t i l i t y . Admittedly, George E l i o t possibly intends us to f e e l some sense of f u t -i l i t y and d i s s a t i s f a c t i o n at Maggie's i n a b i l i t y to f i n d f u l -filment for her superior i n t e l l e c t and passionate nature. Yet i t i s Maggie's nobleness evolving out of her resignation and suffering and not the waste of her various talents that 1 9 • George E l i o t i s stressing i n the f i n a l scene. * Maggxe i s l i k e the grand o l d Scotch F i r trees with whom she shares a "Kinship." Just as the "broken ends of branches," the "records of past storms," make "the red stems [of the trees] soar higher" (p. 261), deprivation and suff e r i n g are intended to increase Maggie's moral stature. One explanation for the unsatisfactory ending of the novel could l i e i n the very nature of Maggie's renunciation. Within the p a r t i c u l a r imaginative context which George E l i o t creates, the pattern of Maggie's renunciation can be seen to be based on Maggie's f a t a l t i m i d i t y toward l i f e and her r e f u s a l to quit the family c i r c l e . Assuming that George E l i o t did not intend a neurotic i n a b i l i t y to come to terms with l i f e to be part of Maggie's characterization, t h i s imagin-ative portrayal of Maggie can be seen to ar i s e from certain values which George E l i o t unconsciously attributes to Maggie and to the world of Maggie's childhood. There i s an i d e n t i f i c a t i o n between the author and her heroine which originates i n the f i r s t pages of the novel where dreamer, narrator and c h i l d blend i n t o one. In the i n i t i a l dream sequence, the movement up the r i v e r Floss i s also a movement backwards i n time that allows the dreamer-narrator to become once again a l i t t l e c h i l d i n the arche-typal experience of a retr e a t to the womb. The dreamer turns away from the i n i t i a t i o n into maturity represented i n the highly charged imagery describing the meeting of r i v e r and sea: A wide p l a i n , where the broadening Floss hurries on between i t s green banks to the sea, and the loving t i d e , rushing to meet i t , checks i t s passage with an impetuous embrace, (p. 7) Retreating further and further up the r i v e r , the narrator-dreamer f i n a l l y comes to r e s t at Dorlcote M i l l , the childhood home of Maggie T u l l i v e r . This l i t t l e world i s not only en-closed and sheltered "from the world beyond" by "the great curtain of sound" (p. 8) produced by the m i l l , but i t i s soothing, moist, and watery, o f f e r i n g a longed-for balm similar to that of Mrs Poyser's dairy: Even i n t h i s l e a f l e s s time of departing February i t i s pleasant to look at—perhaps the c h i l l damp season adds a charm to the trimly-kept, comfortable dwelling-house, as old as the elms and chestnuts that shelter i t from the northern b l a s t . The stream i s brimful now, and l i e s high i n t h i s l i t t l e withy plantation, and h a l f drowns the grassy fringe of the house. As I look at the f u l l stream, the v i v i d grass, the d e l i c a t e bright-green powder softening the outline of the great trunks and branches that gleam from under the bare purple boughs, I am i n love with moistness, and envy the white ducks t h a t are d i p p i n g t h e i r heads f a r i n t o the water here among the withes, unmindful of the awkward appearance they make i n the d r i e r world above, (pp. 7 - 8 ) One b a s i c appeal which the world o f Maggie's c h i l d h o o d has f o r George E l i o t i s t h a t i t i n c l u d e s w i t h i n i t c e r t a i n dark v i t a l i z i n g powers which have an amiable d i m i n u t i o n . I n the opening l i n e s , the dreamer q u i c k l y r e t r e a t s from the "broadening F l o s s " h u r r y i n g t o t h e . s e a and a f f e c t i o n a t e l y e u l o g i z e s the l i t t l e n e s s o f the t r i b u t a r y R i p p l e : How l o v e l y the l i t t l e r i v e r i s , with i t s dark, changing wavelets I I t seems t o me l i k e a l i v i n g companion w h i l e I wander along the bank and l i s t e n t o i t s low p l a c i d v o i c e s as t o the v o i c e of one who i s deaf and l o v i n g . (p. 7) S i m i l a r l y , Maggie as c h i l d with her dark, f l a s h i n g eyes and u n r u l y masses of b l a c k h a i r , i t s e l f c u r i o u s l y r e m i n i s c e n t of the R i p p l e ' s "dark, changing wavelets," i s compared wi t h such harmless domestic l i t t l e animals as a "skye t e r r i e r " (p. 15), or a "Shetland pony" (p. 13). L a t e r on, these lower f o r c e s a s s o c i a t e d with Maggie w i l l l o s e t h e i r unconscious appeal f o r George E l i o t when, i n an aggrandized form, they are a s s o c i a t e d w i t h Maggie as young woman. In t h e i r d i m i n u t i v e form, however, these lower f o r c e s merely serve t o make the i n i t i a l scene of Maggie i n her c h i l d h o o d m i l i e u a l l the more a p p e a l i n g i n i t s psychological inclusiveness. There i s an e x p l i c i t image of psychic wholeness that the author unconsciously attributes to Maggie's childhood. The image i s linked with the f i s h i n g t r i p that represents, i n the in t e n t i o n a l pattern of the novel, the quintessence of Tom's and Maggie's childhood Eden. The "wonderful" Round Pool (p. 36) i n i t s perfect c i r c u l a r i t y can be said to be symbolic of the psychological completion which the narrator unconscious-l y connects with the childhood episode: No one knew how deep i t was; and i t was mysterious, too, that i t should be a most perfect round, framed i n with willows and t a l l reeds, so that the water was only to be seen when you got close to the brink, (p. 36) Since the t i n y pool was made by the floods "a long while ago" (p. 36), i t i s also symbolic of a psychic t o t a l i t y that was achieved far back i n the past. From the point of view of the dreamer-narrator, t h i s image of emotional f u l l n e s s could well be the psychological impetus behind the regressive momentum engendered at the beginning of the novel. However, George E l i o t finds i t very d i f f i c u l t to ac-commodate her adult psyche to the small but psychologically perfect world that she unconsciously associates with Maggie's childhood when she i n i t i a l l y formulates that world i n her imagination. In Adam Bede, the author could not embrace the womb-like security of the H a l l Farm i n Hayslope without punishing her own emotional and, to a certa i n extent, i n -t e l l e c t u a l maturity i n the figure of Hetty S o r r e l . As the i d e n t i f i c a t i o n with Maggie i s sustained i n The M i l l on the Floss, George E l i o t has Maggie T u l l i v e r share the dimensions of her own i n t e l l e c t u a l and emotional s u p e r i o r i t y that pre-vent her, as dreamer-narrator, from inhabiting the t i n y womb-l i k e world of childhood. Certainly, the descriptions of Maggie's fr u s t r a t i o n s i n a much i n f e r i o r world are part of George E l i o t ' s intentions. At the same time, however, these descriptions can be seen to contribute to an imaginative patterning which very possibly was not part of the author's i n t e n t . Maggie's problems of adapting to the l i t t l e world of Dorlcote M i l l are most often portrayed i n terms of s i z e . Very r a r e l y i s Maggie just the r i g h t s i z e for her world. Happy moments l i k e those i n the m i l l ' s i n t e r i o r , a " l i t t l e world apart from her outside everyday l i f e " (p. 27), are r e l a t i v e l y r a r e . There, out of reach of punishment and dwarfed by the huge millstones, she takes delight i n "the fin e powder softening a l l the surfaces" and "the sweet pure scent of the meal" (p. 27). For the most part, however, she i s p a i n f u l l y cramped by her environs. Facing Hetty's dilemma on a much grander scale, Maggie i s too b i g for the womb that e n c i r c l e s her. She i s , i n t e l l e c t u a l l y and emotionally, a ve r i t a b l e giant who in v a r i a b l y commits blunders that offend and enrage the dwarfs among whom she l i v e s . The l i t t l e g i r l who can read books "'better nor h a l f the folks as are growed up"" (p. 16) haughtily denounces as "nonsense" the remarks of the venerable Mr. R i l e y . Exasperated by the petty concerns of the Gleggs and Pu l l e t s , she succeeds at another time i n clumsily overturning the neat and polished drawing room at Garum F i r s with i t s t i n k l i n g musical snuff-box and t i n y tea cakes (I, i x and x ) . However, i t i s Maggie h e r s e l f i n a la t e r conversation with Lucy who best describes the sense of limit e d dimension that characterizes so much of her portrayal i n the novel: 'It i s with me as I used to think i t would be with the poor uneasy white bear I saw at the show. I thought he must -have got so stupid with the habit of turning backwards and forwards i n that narrow space, that he would keep doing i t i f they set him free.' (p. 325) Si g n i f i c a n t l y , the chief area of offence and concomit-ant punishment within the womb-like environment i s the feminine world. Maggie constantly incurs the wrath of her mother and aunts for not being "a l i t t l e lady" (p. 13) and commodiously f i t t i n g i n . A rather unpleasant image r e f l e c t s t h i s aggrava-t i o n as Maggie perpetuates her "Fetish" i n the hideous womb of the dark, worm-eaten and cobweb infested a t t i c . Forcing her d o l l (her "baby") to suffer the grievances i n f l i c t e d on her by various feminine persecutors (in t h i s case, her mother) , Maggie sobs v i c a r i o u s l y as she " a l t e r n a t i v e l y grind[s] and beatfs] the wooden head against the rough b r i c k of the great chimneys" (p. 26). Later, when the "world's wife" of St. Ogg's i s battered with strong s a t i r e (pp. 428-30), the dreamer-narrator h e r s e l f adopts t h i s F e t i s h i n a d i f f e r e n t form. For the most part, though, the dreamer-narrator i s s a t i s f i e d with the weaker castigation of the Dobson matri-archy i n p a r t i c u l a r and of the whole society of "these emmet-l i k e Dobsons and T u l l i v e r s " i n general for t h e i r narrowness, meanness and general s o r d i d i t y . At the same time, punishment can be h e l p f u l since i t d i s c i p l i n e s the sprawling giant, making her f i t better. There i s c e r t a i n l y an aspect of s e l f - m u t i l a t i o n i n a l l the pounding and grinding of the a t t i c Fetish, for instance. The performance i s somehow necessary, too, before more affectionate r e l a t i o n s between Maggie and her d o l l can be resumed. After her "fury" subsides, we are t o l d , Maggie customarily "makefs] believe to poultice" her d o l l and "comfort£sJ i t " (p. 26). From one point of view, the self-induced disfigurement that Maggie seeks to achieve through the Fetish i s the f a i n t , shadow of the wider and more sustained action of Maggie's r i t e s of renunciation. The great boon of s e l f - d e n i a l , she t e l l s P h i l i p , i s a "peace" l i k e that enjoyed by l i t t l e "children that someone who i s wiser i s taking care of" (p. 286). Doubtless George E l i o t consciously intends us to see a good deal of truth i n P h i l i p ' s c r i t i c i s m of Maggie's "narrow self-defensive fanaticism" and "stupefaction" (p. 286). The reproof i s intended to lay bare the shallow conception of renunciation which Maggie holds at t h i s point. True renunciation, we are to believe, i s born out of the knowledge of severe temptation and deep suffering, not out of the absurdities of l i t t l e penances practised i n one's bed chamber. This l a t t e r c l o s e l y resembles Aunt Glegg's periodic r e t i r e -ment with Baxter's Saint's Rest and gruel. George E l i o t saw genuine s e l f - d e n i a l as the source of Maggie's po t e n t i a l heroism, and she portentously juxtaposes the t a l l and queenly Hamadryad beside the s t a t e l y Scotch f i r - t r e e s whose "broken ends of branches, . . . the records of past storms, . . . only made the red stems soar higher" (p. 261). However, there i s another image which describes Maggie as a tree i n one of P h i l i p ' s meditations. Here, Maggie i s more accurately symbolized i n terms of suffocated l i f e - f o r c e s : she i s l i k e "a young forest-tree" that i s "withering i n i t s very youth . . . for want of the l i g h t and space i t was formed to f l o u r i s h i n " (p. 269) . The v i s i o n of a l i t t l e g i r l s i t t i n g happily beside her brother at the edge of the Round Pool remains l a r g e l y a t a n t a l i z i n g mirage i n the drearner-narrator's imagination. As Maggie gets bigger and the home i s simultaneously a f f l i c t e d with tragedy, her d i s s a t i s f a c t i o n s are increasingly aggra-vated. The grown up brother has no time for her now "that they [are] no longer playfellows together" (p. 251), and the once "sweet spring of f a t h e r l y love [ i s ] now mingled with bitterness" (p. 245). Although the r e l a t i o n s h i p with her father was usually more g r a t i f y i n g (perhaps because he was consistently kind and loving), the a f f l i c t i o n s of petty tragedy tend to diminish Mr. T u l l i v e r i n r e l a t i o n s h i p to h i s g i a n t - l i k e daughter u n t i l t h e i r r e l a t i o n s h i p i s v i r t u a l l y inverted. Maggie becomes parent and her father c h i l d when Mr. T u l l i v e r "seem[s] t o have a s o r t of i n f a n t i l e s a t i s f a c t i o n " i n Maggie's presence, "as a baby ha[s] when i t i s r e t u r n e d t o t h e nurse's l a p " (p. 176). The sense of emotional d i s c o m f o r t 20 which becomes so acute w i t h the T u l l i v e r s ' " d o w n f a l l " n e a r l y d e s t r o y s Maggie as c h i l d w i t h i n her e n c i r c l i n g and pinched world. " ' I t i s l i k e death'", she laments to P h i l i p (p. 263). The s o l u t i o n t o the dilemma t h a t she must a p p a r e n t l y "always l i v e i n t h i s r e s i g n e d imprisonment" (p. 284) l i e s through "an opening i n the r o c k y w a l l " which shuts her i n . The opening does not l e a d out of her t o r t u o u s womb and i n t o the world but i n t o another e n c l o s e d haven i n the Red Deeps t h a t seems a l l the more b e a u t i f u l and e n t i c i n g s i n c e i t o f f e r s a s u r r o g a t e b r o t h e r i n the form o f P h i l i p Wakem. S i n c e P h i l i p l a t e r becomes a r e l a t i v e l y benevolent f o r c e i n the f a c e of the g r e a t e r temptations of Stephen Guest, h i s i n -tended r o l e as Maggie's l e s s e r "tempter" i s r a t h e r p e r p l e x i n g . George E l i o t p r obably sensed the i n c o n g r u i t y when she t r i e d t o brush i t o f f w i t h a somewhat g l i b g l o s s : Her t r a n q u i l , tender a f f e c t i o n f o r P h i l i p , w i t h i t s r o o t deep down i n her c h i l d h o o d , and i t s memories of l o n g q u i e t t a l k c o n f i r m i n g by d i s t i n c t s u c c e s s i v e impres-s i o n s the f i r s t i n s t i n c t i v e b i a s — t h e f a c t t h a t i n him the appeal was more s t r o n g l y t o her p i t y and womanly de-votedness than t o her v a n i t y or other ego state e x c i t -a b i l i t y of her nature . . . . (p. 359) When he i s viewed as an important part of Maggie's f a m i l i a l environment, however, P h i l i p acquires consistent s i g n i f i c a n c e . Like her r e a l "home" l a t e r , "the sanctuary where the sacred r e l i c s lay—where she would be rescued from more f a l l i n g " (p. 420), P h i l i p also provides Maggie with "a sort of sacred place, a sanctuary where she could f i n d refuge" (p. 359). During her meetings with P h i l i p Wakem, Maggie resuscitates "that c h i l d i s h time" at Lorton when P h i l i p was her "brother and teacher": "What a dear, good brother you would have been P h i l i p , ' said Maggie, smiling through the haze of her te a r s . 'I think you would have made as much fuss about me, and been as pleased for me to love you, as would have sa t -i s f i e d even me. You would have loved me well enough to bear with me, and forgive me everything. That was what I always longed that Tom should do . . . .' (p. 287) Although P h i l i p had once feared that Maggie would never take notice of him when she had "grown up", Maggie "fe[els]j her-s e l f a c h i l d again" when she encounters P h i l i p i n the Red Deeps (p. 262). Even during the f i n a l "second love scene", her behavior i s emphatically c h i l d i s h : The r e c o l l e c t i o n of that c h i l d i s h time [[at Lorton3 came as a sweet r e l i e f to Maggie. I t made the present moment seem les s strange to her. She kissed him almost as simply and q u i e t l y as she had done when she was twelve years o l d . Despite the appeal of t h i s new s i b l i n g r e l a t i o n s h i p , Maggie i s held by the powerful grip of o r i g i n a l family t i e s . She i s constantly a f r a i d of "a sudden meeting with her father or Tom when . . . walking with P h i l i p " (p. 295). The separation between Maggie and P h i l i p which Tom forces Maggie to accept i s symbolic of the tremendous power those o r i g i n a l family t i e s have on her. Walking with her brother to the f i n a l encounter with P h i l i p , Maggie sees i n her imagination her " t a l l strong brother grasping the feeble P h i l i p bodily, crushing him and trampling on him" (p. 302). In a l a t e r demon-st r a t i o n of the ascendency of o r i g i n a l family relationships over surrogate ones, she witnesses her father horse-whipping P h i l i p ' s father. This scene between Mr. T u l l i v e r and Lawyer Wakem i s said to haunt Maggie as a "new b a r r i e r between her-s e l f and P h i l i p " . But i t i s also, and more importantly, a s o l i d i f i c a t i o n of the b a r r i e r between h e r s e l f within the family c i r c l e and the world outside. Since the quest for happiness and security within a childhood Eden i s usually an i r r i t a t i n g and unhappy one, both for Maggie and for George E l i o t , i t i s not surprising that George E l i o t sometimes unconsciously endorses Maggie's prompt-ings to burst out of her small and f r u s t r a t i n g world with i t s f e t t e r s of family t i e s . , While these promptings are imagin-a t i v e l y and emotionally p o s i t i v e for George E l i o t , they are, i n t e l l e c t u a l l y and morally, negative i n that they correspond to the demands of Maggie's egoism. Any actions based on Maggie's s e l f i s h yearnings would be careless of the l i v e s and needs of others and would, i n fact, increase the l o t of human suf f e r i n g . Maggie l a t e r r e c i t e s t h i s important lesson on behalf of George E l i o t when she t e l l s Stephen, "I must not, cannot, seek my own happiness by s a c r i f i c i n g others" (p. 394). S i t t i n g inside the " d u l l walls" of her a i l i n g father's bedroom, Maggie has yearnings to move outwards into a f u l l e r , r i c h e r l i f e : Cshe] was a creature f u l l of eager, passionate longings for a l l that was b e a u t i f u l and glad; t h i r s t y for a l l knowledge; with an ear s t r a i n i n g after dreamy music that died away and would not come near her; with a b l i n d , unconscious yearning for something that would l i n k t o -gether the wonderful impressions of t h i s mysterious l i f e . . . . (p. 208) Although George E l i o t frequently uses the symbology of music i n t e n t i o n a l l y , music also had a private s i g n i f i c a n c e for her which i s important here. Once drawn inside by the music coming from a church i n Numberg, George E l i o t r e l a t e s i n her journal "how the music . . . blends everything in t o harmony,— which makes one f e e l part of one whole, which one loves a l l a l i k e , losing the sense of a separate s e l f ." x Music af f e c t s Maggie T u l l i v e r i n a similar way: "her s e n s i b i l i t y to the supreme excitement of music was only one form of that passionate s e n s i b i l i t y which belonged to her whole nature, and made her f a u l t s and virtues a l l merge i n each other" (p. 350). Although i n these instances, music has a p o s i t i v e value which seems associated with a desirable sense of com-pl e t i o n or wholeness, i t i s often used i n a negative i n t e l -l e c t u a l context. When Maggie debates whether she should con-tinue meeting P h i l i p , for example, the argument i n behalf of the clandestine encounters was l i k e "sweet music," " l i k e chimes borne onward by a recurrent breeze" (p. 265) . Again, i n the sequel with Stephen Guest, i t i s h i s singing which i n i t i a l l y rouses her and c a r r i e s her "by a wave too strong for her" i n t o the currents of the Floss that could eventually take her over the seas to a f u l l l i f e . Despite i t s context, music, for George E l i o t , i s unconsciously linked with outward moving regenerative forces. The "recurrent breeze" moves with a progression "onward" that i s imitative of the outward flow-ing currents of the Floss issuing i n the sea. Maggie hears t h i s c a l l that beckons to her, but she never follows her unconscious promptings to t h e i r ultimate conclusion. One reason for t h i s i s her i n a b i l i t y to break out of the o r i g i n a l family c i r c l e . Another, and one that she shares with her creator, i s the horror vacui of the world outside that i n i t i a l l y fostered the pastoral mood and continues to preserve i t . I f Maggie i s to leave the imprisoning womb retreat, she must come to terms with the potential of the dark forces w i t h i n h e r s e l f . Back i n the worm-eaten a t t i c , she had once peered out through the wire l a t t i c e covering the t i n y window. Outside, a b e a u t i f u l sunny world entreated her to come o u t — " i t was i r r e s i s t i b l e " (p. 26). But when she does go, she turns i n t o a "whirling Pythoness", a momentary r e a l i z a t i o n of the wild animality that i s ominously part of her own nature. A more detailed encounter with the hideous realm out-side the small pastoral environment i s described i n the f l i g h t to the gypsies. This time, having turned into a l i t t l e "Medusa" and already possessed by "small demons", Maggie peeps through the bars of the gate which leads out of the unhappy domain of childhood. Gypsydom i s envisaged as an escape from the punishment i n f l i c t e d by the Dobson matriarchy and as "the only way of . . . being e n t i r e l y i n harmony with circumstances" (p. 94). The journey to the land of the gypsies i s a "great c r i s i s i n her l i f e " (p. 94), but i t i s also a means of achiev-ing psychological f u l f i l l m e n t . There, Maggie expects to meet that gypsy-like "'half wild'" (p. 94) aspect of he r s e l f that makes her adaptation to the l i f e of Dor1cote M i l l - s o d i f f i c u l t and f r u s t r a t i n g . ~ - , At f i r s t Maggie i s very g r a t i f i e d with the mirror image of h e r s e l f which she contemplates i n the face of the gypsy woman. There i s even a s l i g h t i n d i c a t i o n of p o t e n t i a l psychic completion and of pot e n t i a l maturity i n the image of the " l i t t l e semicircular black tent" i n front of which stands the "gypsy-mother" with "a baby on her arm" (p. 96). But t h i s v i s i o n i s completely overshadowed by the fear of 'dying' as a c h i l d i n the necessary acceptance of sexual maturity. Creeping through the gate, she i s t e r r i f i e d by images of "a highwayman with a p i s t o l , and a b l i n k i n g dwarf i n yellow, with a mouth from ear to ear" (p. 96)—undoubtedly for the con-venience of eating her. Another p h a l l i c v i s i o n "of a small pair of bare legs s t i c k i n g up, feet uppermost, by the side of a h i l l o c k " (p. 96) u t t e r l y paralyzes her with the sense that i t i s "a d i a b o l i c a l kind of fungus" (p. 96). Further t r e p i -dation i s r a i s e d by the rough mannered man with "a great s t i c k " who steals her thimble. The fear of death and dismemberment ("that they meant perhaps to k i l l her as soon as i t was dark and cut up her body for gradual cooking") builds to a crescendo with the approach of the t w i l i g h t r i d e with the gypsy man who takes her through a landscape inhabited by witches and d e v i l s (p. 100). The journey, however, leads back to Dorlcote M i l l . Maggie's f l i g h t from gypsydom, i t s e l f an image of p o t e n t i a l maturity, i s reminiscent of the way i n which the drearner-narrator, at the opening of the novel, turns away from the meeting of r i v e r and sea, connotative of an i n i t i a t i o n into maturity, to embrace the c h i l d ' s world of Dorlcote M i l l . Although Maggie i s s t i l l a c h i l d at t h i s point, the imagin-ative pattern of her f l i g h t to and from gypsydom i s repeated l a t e r on when she attempts to run away to Holland with Stephen Guest. I t i s as i f George E l i o t , unconsciously f e a r -f u l of the world beyond the childhood m i l i e u she has e s t -ablished i n her imagination, refused to allow Maggie to quit that realm. Instead, George E l i o t keeps Maggie within the bounds of the family c i r c l e . Maggie i s therefore "taken up" by her father, exchanging a nightmarish r i d e similar to that of Leonore with her phantom lover for the incomparable happiness of r i d i n g home with her father. Fettered within the omni-potent family c i r c l e , and paralyzed by fear of the world that l i e s outside i t , Maggie w i l l always be powerless to s h i f t the father-and brother-images onto a mate. Her reply to Mr. T u l l i v e r ' s plea that she "'mustn't think o' running away from father'" reverberates with the f a t a l negativism that eventually seals her doom: "'O no, I never w i l l again, father—never'" (p. 103). When the t h i r d volume (Book Five) of the novel opens, the inward and regressive imaginative movement that character-i z e s much of the f i r s t two volumes has become defunct. Having been nearly always awkward and unsatisfying, t h i s imaginat-ive sequence expires with the termination of the surrogate r e l a t i o n s h i p with P h i l i p Wakem, i t s e l f an antidote to the "death" which Maggie f e e l s i n her home at Dorlcote M i l l . The p l o t unwinds further, though, u n t i l the flogging of Mr. Wakem prec i p i t a t e s the death of Mr. T u l l i v e r and the f i n a l breaking up of the family. A l l the imaginative i n t e r e s t i s now d i r e c t -ed towards Maggie's desires to break out of her d u l l imprison-ment. Contrary to the imaginative nature of the f i r s t two volumes, t h i s section i s characterized by an expansive and progressive momentum. At the same time, "the image of the intense and varied l i f e " that Maggie "yearn[sj for, and despairfs] of, becoming more and more importunate" (p. 326) i s the signpost of a sequence that has a l y r i c i s m and imagistic emphasis that i s unique i n the novel. The e a r l i e r scene where Maggie sat i n the dark a t t i c looking out on a beckoning sunny landscape i s now returned to i n Mr. Deane's drawing room where Maggie s i t s looking out to "the sunshine f a l l i n g on the r i c h clumps of spring flowers" and "beyond" to "the s i l v e r y breadth of the dear o l d Floss" (p. 326) . Within the i n t e l l e c t u a l pattern of the novel, the Deane garden represents a s i n i s t e r temptation for Maggie to break the t i e s of memory and duty. Imaginatively, however, the garden represents an i r r e s i s t i b l e c a l l i n g of the forces of l i f e and growth, both for Maggie and her creator. Perhaps t h i s i s the reason why the magical p u l l of the garden and r i v e r i s so compelling. Surely these i r r e s i s t i b l e l i f e forces are the secret of Stephen Guest's mysterious powers as archtempter. 2 2 Like Hetty's Arthur Donnithorne, Stephen i s Maggie's rivergod who comes "from the r i v e r " (p. 354) which "flows forever onward" (p. 238). He draws Maggie "'out a l i t t l e way into the garden'" (p. 356) of l i f e . In h i s presence, Maggie f e e l s that she wants to "expand unrestrained-l y " (p. 386) " l i k e a budding w i l d f l o w e r . " 2 3 . He i s r e a l l y Maggie's sun t h a t awakens the sun-flower t o the r e a l i z a t i o n o f i t s e s s e n t i a l v i t a l i t y : Something s t r a n g e l y powerful t h e r e was i n the l i g h t o f Stephen's long gaze, f o r i t made Maggie's f a c e t u r n towards i t and look upward at i t — s l o w l y , l i k e a flower a t the ascending b r i g h t n e s s . (p. 386) With Stephen Maggie v i s i t s H e t t y ' s world of "sun-gleams" t h a t p l a y on the "waters" (p. 411) i n the f o r e s t s of A r c a d y — t h o s e "summer woods" where "low cooing v o i c e s f i l l the a i r " (p. 386) . S p e l l - b o u n d by Stephen's magic, Maggie i s g r a d u a l l y l e d f u r t h e r and f u r t h e r out i n t o the garden and then down the r i v e r . The outward and downward i m a g i n a t i v e movement reaches i t s c u l m i n a t i o n i n the b e a u t i f u l world t h a t seems t o surround Maggie and Stephen as they f l o a t down the r i v e r t o the sea: They g l i d e d r a p i d l y along, Stephen rowing, h e l p e d by the backward-flowing t i d e , p a s t the T o f t o n t r e e s and houses — o n between the s i l e n t sunny f i e l d s and p a s t u r e s , which seemed f i l l e d with a n a t u r a l j o y t h a t had no reproach f o r t h e i r s . The b r e a t h of the young, unwearied day, the d e l i c i o u s rhythmic d i p o f the oars, the fragmentary song o f a p a s s i n g b i r d heard now and then, as i f i t were o n l y the o v e r f l o w i n g of b r i m - f u l l gladness, the sweet s o l i t u d e o f a two f o l d c onsciousness t h a t was mingled i n t o one by t h a t grave u n t i r i n g gaze which need not be a v e r t e d — . . . . (p. 407) Here i s a paradise reminiscent of the Wordsworthian Eden shared by Tom and Maggie beside the Round Pool. Stephen and Maggie are i n harmony with nature/ i n f a c t , they are at one with nature i n the unity they themselves have momentarily formed. I r o n i c a l l y , however, t h i s image of happiness that so t a n t a l i z i n g l y echoes the v i s i o n which inspire d much of the regressive momentum of the f i r s t two volumes, i s achieved through an outward and downward imaginative movement, away from a womb-like enclosure. Since i t also shows up one of the more glaring p h i l o -sophical discrepancies i n the novel, t h i s picture of "brim-f u l l gladness" i s important i n a d i f f e r e n t way. The childhood paradise beside the Round Pool was composed of a unity be-tween brother and s i s t e r and between children and nature that was supposedly f a c i l i t a t e d by t h e i r own natural "impulsive-ness" . Thus, the quarrel which separated the children on the day p r i o r to the f i s h i n g t r i p i s quickly mended and not care-f u l l y preserved by adult " d i g n i f i e d a l i e n a t i o n . " Admittedly, George E l i o t intends t h i s i n s t i n c t u a l behavior to be s l i g h t l y ambiguous i n the Feuerbachian moral framework, but one of the chief purposes of the calamitous flood i s to remove a l l the " a r t i f i c i a l vesture" of l i f e and to allow for the affectionate reunion of brother and s i s t e r . In both c h i l d -hood Edens, the primitive i n s t i n c t s are therefore considered by George E l i o t to be superior teachers compared with the more restrained modes of adult behavior. In the adult world of Stephen and Maggie, however, the pursuit of natural f e e l i n g suddenly becomes a moral transgression. This p h i l o -sophic inconsistency can possibly be explained by George E l i o t ' s unconscious attitude towards the lower or i n s t i n c t -ual aspects of personality i n the novel. I n i t i a l l y , i n the childhood world of Dorlcote M i l l , the dark v i t a l i z i n g powers are happily embraced i n t h e i r diminutive form by the dreamer-narrator. In the larger world of the broadening Floss, however, these powers are considered more dangerous i n t h e i r a b i l i t y to p r e c i p i t a t e Maggie into a f e a r f u l maturity outside the realm of the i n f a n t i l e psyche. The outward and progressive sequence i n the imaginative pattern concludes at Mudport where the Floss rushes into the ocean. Once again, l i k e the dreamer-narrator at the novel's opening, Maggie turns her back on the mature experience Stephen o f f e r s h e r — t h e thought of him haunts her " l i k e a throbbing pain"—and she retreats back up the Floss to Dorlcote M i l l . When she ran away e a r l i e r to become queen of the Gypsies, she r e c o i l e d from grappling with the dark side of her nature and longed to be "taken up by her father." Now Maggie attempts to elope with Stephen and become h i s queen, but the fear of her own e v i l nature once more drives her back home. On the Dutch riverboat that i s nearing Mudport, she wakes up to "her own dread", that she "ha[sj made her-s e l f an outlawed soul, with no guide but the wayward choice of her own passion" (p. 413). Both George E l i o t and Maggie unconsciously fear the "uncertain impulse"within Maggie that could drive her into the depths of being where "she must forever sink" and wander vaguely (p. 413) , beyond the secure c h i l d i s h m i l i e u . George E l i o t therefore has Maggie argue against p o t e n t i a l l i f e and maturity through Stephen's love with " p i t y and f a i t h f u l n e s s and memory" (p. 394): 'I have never consented to i t ^ Stephen's lovej with my whole mind. There are memories, and affections, and longings after perfect goodness, that have such a strong hold on me; they would never quit me for long; they would come back and be pain to me—repentance.* (p. 418) At the inn after she has l e f t Stephen, Maggie's dream harries her with feelings of deep need and hopeless loss at the moment of greatest anguish i n her r e a l tragedy: The love she had renounced came back upon her with a cruel charm, she f e l t h e r s e l f opening her arms to receive i t once more; and then i t seemed to s l i p away and fade and vanish, leaving only the dying sound of a deep t h r i l l i n g voice that said, "gone—forever gone.' (p. 421) Since George E l i o t refuses to allow Maggie to be born into maturity, the former regressive and inward-turning imaginative momentum i s now resumed. With c h a r a c t e r i s t i c "deep-rooted fear" (p. 423) of her brother, Maggie returns home where she can be "rescued from more f a l l i n g " (p. 420). With "her own weakness haunt[ing] her l i k e a v i s i o n of hideous p o s s i b i l i t i e s " (p. 430), she "craves" Tom's"severity" and "harsh disapproving judgement" (p. 423). She wants punish-ment and hardness from him and others i n order to curb her own "weakness", i n order to exorcise that passionate lower v i t a l i t y i n her nature which prompted her elopement with Stephen i n the f i r s t place. The aspect of s e l f - m u l i l a t i o n associated with the old Fetish reappears i n Maggie's desire for a d i s c i p l i n e that would enable her to f i t back into the "haven"- (p. 420) of Dorlcote M i l l . When she i s refused entry, she goes to St. Ogg's and there submits h e r s e l f to the per-secution of the "world's w i f e " — b u t s t i l l to no a v a i l . Slowly withering i n the cramped quarters of the dark and oppressive room i n Bob Jakin's house where she keeps her midnight watches, Maggie i s losing the energizing powers of the l i f e f o r c e s . Once so intent on leaving St. Ogg's and The M i l l , she has now l o s t a l l energy, a l l "heart to begin a strange l i f e again" (p. 434). "Unspeakably weary," she i s f i n a l l y paralyzed, "without active force enough even for the mental act of prayer" (p. 450). Like Hetty i n Adam Bede, Maggie i s slowly dying i n George E l i o t ' s imagination. Unable to quit the i n f a n t i l e realm and eager to expell from that realm a l l those v i t a l i z i n g dark powers that could p o t e n t i a l l y destroy i t , Maggie has become a corpse of her former s e l f that was once so "darkly radiant" beside the sparkling waters of the t r i b u t a r y Ripple (p. 36). This low point i n the imaginative pattern i s at the same time the climax within the i n t e l l e c t u a l pattern of the novel. Having sustained her worst anguish and temptation, Maggie i s supposedly "learning a secret of human tenderness and long-suffering, that the less erring could hardly know" (p. 451). George E l i o t attempts to f i l l t h i s imaginative hiatus at the point of Maggie's i n i t i a t i o n i n t o the "Religion of Humanity" with another imaginative r e t r e a t which undoubt-edly has an emotional i n t e r e s t for the author. The flood conveniently brings the " t r a n s i t i o n of death, without i t s agony" (p. 452). Maggie i s i n s t a n t l y removed from the con^ s t r i c t i n g anguish i n the l i t t l e room where she was slowly dying. "The threads of ordinary association [arej broken" and the action becomes "dream-like" (p. 452). Retracing the imaginative movement of the narrator-dreamer i n the f i r s t few l i n e s of the novel, Maggie moves upwards and backwards to Dorlcote M i l l , on "the way home" (p. 453) . Just as the i n i t i a l regressive movement i n George E l i o t ' s imagination culminates i n something " ' l i k e death'" for Maggie and the second regressive movement also concludes with Maggie's slow dying i n her t i n y room, t h i s f i n a l r e t r e a t back to Dorlcote M i l l ends with Maggie's l i t e r a l death. In t h i s l a s t instance, though, her death i s considerably more f u l f i l l i n g for Maggie and her creator since i t brings with i t the longed-for r e -union with Maggie's brother and the return to the "daisied f i e l d s " o f t h e i r childhood. While t h i s f a t a l journey to the M i l l i s very much a wish fu l f i l m e n t dream which achieves with considerable slickness the happiness and apparent perfection of childhood that the f i s h i n g episode represented for George E l i o t and that she pursues emotionally and imaginatively i n much of the novel, the r e s u l t of the f a t a l journey i s not without emotional disappointment for the author. The psychological wholeness of the childhood world of Dorlcote M i l l has been l o s t . Instead of a p l a c i d l i t t l e stream with i t s charming wavelets, the Ripple i s now "strangely altered" to "a rush-ing muddy current" (p. 454). S i m i l a r l y , Dorlcote M i l l , e a r l i e r distinguished by i t s d e l i c i o u s moistness, now l i e s "deep . . . i n the water" (p. 435). Once included i n George E l i o t ' s imaginative pastoral and then excluded from i t , these elemental forces now take t h e i r revenge on the t i n y lopsided Eden. The c i r c l e of psychic completion that was associated i n George E l i o t ' s imagination with the e a r l i e r Eden beside the "wonderful" Round Pool has now shrunk to an i n s i g n i f i c a n t "black speck on the golden water" (p. 456). Perhaps the absence of imaginative endorsement i n the scene where Maggie receives the cross and the psychological incompletion of her second Eden can be said to off e r one explanation for the c r i t i c a l furor that rages over the end-ing of The M i l l on the F l o s s . For the author, however, the f l e e t i n g and anaemic pastoral v i s i o n i s the soothing remnant of a larger and brighter one. Like A l i c e , a somewhat grown-up l i t t l e g i r l who longingly peered through the keyhole at Wonderland, George E l i o t discovers i t i s d i f f i c u l t to inhabit the seemingly happy and perfect world that l i e s at the heart of a pastoral r e t r e a t . Once within that retreat, 1 the i n i t i a l v i s i o n becomes elusive and hopeless and i t s victim, s t i l l held by i t s powerful s p e l l , grows more and more vulnerable to the f a t a l l y enticing e f f e c t s of that v i s i o n . In The M i l l on the Floss, the vapid pastoral v i s i o n that i s ultimately r e a l i z e d i s i t s e l f an image of death. The, "huge fragments, c l i n g i n g together i n f a t a l fellowship" (p. 456) hideously mirror the "close embrace" (p. 457) i n which brother and s i s t e r face t h e i r death and r e l i v e t h e i r childhood together. William Empson thought that the pastoral based on childhood was "more open to neurosis" than other versions and that, "less hopeful," i t was "more of a return into o n e s e l f . " 2 4 In The M i l l on the Floss, the imaginative exploration of the childhood world of Maggie T u l l i v e r i s pre-dicated on a regressive withdrawal to the realm of the i n -f a n t i l e psyche. Unfortunately, t h i s imaginative stance , tends to contradict the i n t e l l e c t u a l argument of the novel which i s predicated on the growth of an understanding of the not-self i n r e l a t i o n to the s e l f . This c o n f l i c t between an inward-turning imaginative pattern and an outward-turning i n t e l l e c t u a l p a t t e r n can be o f f e r e d as one e x p l a n a t i o n f o r the a r t i s t i c i n s u f f i c i e n c y o f the n o v e l . I n t e l l e c t u a l l y , The M i l l on the F l o s s i s a s t o r y about the h e r o i c s t r u g g l e s of Maggie T u l l i v e r who d i e s i n martyrdom i n " l o v i n g , w i l l i n g 2 5 submission" t o the needs of o t h e r s ; who has, t o p a r a -phrase a Kempis, fo r s a k e n h e r s e l f and gone out of h e r s e l f i n p i t y and lo v e f o r o t h e r s (pp. 253-54). I m a g i n a t i v e l y , The M i l l on the F l o s s , i s e s s e n t i a l l y a r e g r e s s i v e journey i n t o the s e l f t h a t ends wi t h a k i n d o f P r u f r o c k i a n i r o n y as the h e r o i n e , i n the robes o f Christ-Everyman, i g n o b l y drowns. ^GEL I I I , 41. George E l i o t , The M i l l on the Floss, ed. Gordon S. Haight (Boston: Houghton M i f f l i n Co., 1961), p. 104. 3 I n h i s introduction to the Riverside e d i t i o n , Gordon Haight points out that the flood was not an after thought to e x t r i c a t e the author from an impossible s i t u a t i o n , but the c o n t r o l l i n g idea at the novel's inception. (p. v) 4From the manuscript and l a t e r deleted i n the f i r s t e d i t i on, Haight's note 9, p. 44. 5 At l e a s t two c r i t i c s agree that the Floss i s symbolic of change and progress. Knoepflmacher, Early Novels, p. 168; William R. Steinhoff, "Intent and F u l f i l l m e n t i n the Ending of The M i l l on the Floss," Essays i n C r i t i c i s m ; University  of C a l i f o r n i a Press Publications, English Studies, XI (1955), 247. ^The handling of t h i s description of the Floss i s very similar to Wordsworth's description of the River Derwent which "received/On h i s smooth breast the shadow of those towers/That yet survive, a shattered monument/Of feudal sway . . . ." The Prelude, 11. 282-285. 7Again there i s a p a r a l l e l with the growth of the young Wordsworth who also adopted the "mean" and "inglorious" pursuit of "plunder," The Prelude,. 11. 327-330. ®Haight, i n h i s annotation, points out that George E l i o t "adopted her quotations f r e e l y " from the Challoner trans-l a t i o n of a Kempis. The M i l l on the Floss, p. 253. 9Cross, George E l i o t ' s L i f e , p. 425. lOEssays, ed. Pinney, p. 264. H"Notes on the 'Spanish Gypsy,'" p. 427. "Haney, The Garden and the Child, p. 197. 1 3Chapter heading, VI, x i i i . 1 4Maggie"s regeneration i s also described by B. Paris, Experiments i n L i f e , pp. 156-168. "Maggie," he concludes, "has arrived by a completely natural process at the Religion of Humanity" (p. 167). 1 5Haight, i n h i s introduction to the Riverside edition, has pointed out the s i m i l a r i t y which perhaps George E l i o t intends us to see between the storm i n The M i l l on the Floss and the storm i n King Lear, p. x i x . l 6Chapter heading, VII, v. 1 7GEL, I I I , 269. ISjoan Bennett, George E l i o t , Her Mind and Art, p. 130; Walter Allen , George E l i o t (New York: Macmillan, 1964), p. 116; U. C. Knoepflmacher, The Ea r l y Novels of George  E l i o t , p. 220. 1 9 I n her defence of contemporary allegations as to Maggie's dubious virtue, George E l i o t emphasizes that Maggie i s "a creature e s s e n t i a l l y noble but l i a b l e to great error." GEL, I I I , 317. 2 0Heading for Book Three. 2 1George E l i o t Journal, ( A p r i l 14, 1858) c i t e d i n Gordon S. Haight, George E l i o t : A Biography, p. 256. 22 The contemporary nineteenth century c r i t i c s were out-raged at Maggie's conduct with Stephen, so much so that George E l i o t was forced to defend i t a r t i s t i c a l l y i n a l e t t e r to one of the more r a t i o n a l c r i t i c s , Bulwer-Lytton, GEL I I I , 317-318. 2 3From the manuscript and l a t e r deleted i n the f i r s t e d i t i o n , Haight's note 7, 386. 24some Versions of Pastoral, p. 203. 2 5"Notes on the 'Spanish Gypsy,'" p. 427. CHAPTER IV SILAS MARNER - EDEN REVISITED Beginning i n the darkness that remains when Maggie's s o l i t a r y taper i s put out, S i l a s Marner culminates i n an effulgence of l i g h t generated by the love and sympathy of human fellowship. The bright pastoral world which i s i n -he r i t e d by a lonely weaver i s not only the r e a l i z a t i o n of the p o t e n t i a l society symbolized by Maggie's candle, but i s also the f i n a l e of the pastoral t r i l o g y as a whole. Often dismissed as l i t t l e more than a "charming minor masterpiece, S i l a s Marner focuses on a picture of paradise regained and, i n so doing, completes the central v i s i o n of paradise i n Adam Bede and of paradise l o s t i n The M i l l on the F l o s s . Taken together, then, the three novels of the t r i l o g y repeat on a larger scale the pattern that i s also developed within each i n d i v i d u a l novel. This i s perhaps why George E l i o t was unusually i n s i s t e n t on Blackwood's publishing S i l a s Marner d i r e c t l y after The M i l l on the Floss and not at a l a t e r date My chief reason for wishing to publish the story now, i s , that I l i k e my writings to appear i n the order i n which they are written, because they belong to succes-sive mental phases . . . . 2 131 Since she tended to be exasperatingly secretive about her art, i t i s d i f f i c u l t to be ce r t a i n as to what George E l i o t meant by "successive mental phases." In view of the emergent patterning of the t r i l o g y , however, i t i s very possible she was r e f e r r i n g to the various phases of the t r i l o g y ' s over-riding design as they are successively embodied i n each novel. While S i l a s Marner necessarily portrays the loss of a state of happiness and the ensuing despair i n the wilder-ness, the f i r s t of these stages i s only dealt with i n a b r i e f flashback and the second i s explored within the con-f i n e s of the f i r s t two chapters of the novel. S i l a s i s modelled on the B i b l i c a l Job 3 who laments the loss of a world when, i n the splendour of h i s youth, he was at one with God and the universe: Oh that I were as i n months past, as i n the days when God preserved me; When h i s candle shined upon my head, and when by t h i s l i g h t I walked through darkness: As I was i n the days of my youth, when the secret of God was upon my tabernacle . . . 4 Like Job who looks back to the time when "my glory was fresh i n me,"5 S i l a s p a i n f u l l y - f e e l s the absence of the l i g h t of Lantern Yard where he was p e c u l i a r l y marked for "sp e c i a l d e a l i n g s " . 6 Once "believed to be a young man of exemplary l i f e and ardent f a i t h , " S i l a s enjoyed "God's kingdom upon earth" (p. 16) i n Lantern Yard and l e d a l i f e " f i l l e d with movement, . . . mental a c t i v i t y , and . . . close fellow-ship" (p. 7). As was the case with Maggie T u l l i v e r i n a s l i g h t l y d i f f e r e n t way, youth wanes for S i l a s and with i t the happiness and delight bred of the close a f f i n i t y between man and nature or between man and God i n S i l a s * case. Job loses h i s early joy when he encounters Satan's antagonizing stratagems. S i m i l a r l y , the e v i l - p l o t t i n g of William Dane pre c i p i t a t e s S i l a s out of the heavenly-lit kingdom of h i s youth and into the wilderness of darkness and despair. Although the notion- of a former paradise infused with egoism i s not developed i n S i l a s Marner, S i l a s c a r r i e s into the wilderness the li m i t e d point of view, i f not the f a i t h , of the "narrow r e l i g i o u s sect" that inhabits the " l i t t l e . . . world" of Lantern Yard (p. 7). He can see no corres-pondence between the l i f e of Lantern Yard and that of Raveloe; there i s "nothing that c a l l [ s } out h i s love and fellowship toward the strangers he ha[s] come amongst" (pp. 17-18). Consequently, he turns inwards to f i n d solace i n the s a t i s f a c t i o n of h i s own immediate wants. E x i l e d for f i f t e e n years i n sullen seclusion, he passes h i s days which, l i k e Job's, are "swifter than a weavers shuttle and . . . spent without hope."^ His i n i t i a l blasphemy reverberates around him i n the darkness. Convinced "there i s no Love that carets] for him," he seeks neither Man nor God for fellowship. His existence converges on the worship of things, such as h i s earthen pot, and e s p e c i a l l y h i s golden guineas. Sym-b o l i c of the obscure and i n e r t l e v e l of h i s p o t e n t i a l humanity, the gold "gather[s] h i s power of loving together into a hard i s o l a t i o n l i k e i t s own" (p. 50). Both S i l a s and h i s b i b l i c a l prototype are at the mercy of t h e i r a f f e c t s . Providence i n i t i a l l y destroys S i l a s ' b e l i e f and happiness, and providence eventually restores them. The road to ultimate redemption i s opened for the weaver when providence whisks away h i s hoard, the object of h i s cold and i n d i f f e r e n t a l i e n a t i o n . With the theft, S i l a s i s immediately hurled into the a f f a i r s of Raveloe society. Minutes after discovering h i s loss, S i l a s i s s i t -t i n g i n the midst of the company of The Rainbow. The r a i n -bow i n Paradise Lost i s described by Michael as "betokening peace from God, and Cov'nant new" (XI, 1. 867). Here, as the scene of S i l a s ' f i r s t meeting with the townspeople, The Rainbow portends the return of S i l a s * happiness. The sensational robbery and the tedious a f f a i r of remanding the t h i e f soon draw S i l a s out more and more int o the community u n t i l h i s heart, so long shut up against h i s fellows, gradu-a l l y opens: Formerly, h i s heart had been as a locked casket with i t s treasure inside; but now the casket was empty, and the lock was broken. L e f t groping i n darkness, with h i s prop u t t e r l y gone, S i l a s had in e v i t a b l y a sense, though a d u l l and half-despairing one, that i f any help came to him, i t must come from without, and there was a s l i g h t s t i r r i n g of expectation at the sight of h i s fellowmen, a f a i n t consciousness of dependence on t h e i r good w i l l . . . . (p. 100) When Dolly Winthrop appears bearing the spec i a l lard-cakes, S i l a s "open[sJ the door wide to admit [her]" (p. 100). But the long process of h i s i n i t i a t i o n into the fellowship of mankind has only just begun. Although the communion table i s spread before him, he cannot yet j o i n Aaron i n eating the cakes with the "good meaning" (p. 100) stamped on them. No longer enclosed i n the narrow and s e l f i s h sphere of a miser, S i l a s i s now prepared to embrace the otherness, the not-himself, which can p o t e n t i a l l y redeem him from the wasteland. One night, while he stands beside h i s open door, looking out on the "wide trackless snow" with "yearning and unrest" (p. 138), the key to h i s redemption i s brought to him i n the t h i r d v i s i t a t i o n of providence. The c h i l d , as the being that w i l l l i n k him with the world of man and God, represents divine power and beneficience i n i t s Wordsworthian a f f i n i t y with Nature and God: That wide-gazing calm which makes us older human beings, with our inward turmoil, f e e l a ce r t a i n awe i n the presence of a l i t t l e c h i l d , such as we f e e l before some quiet majesty or beauty i n the earth or sky—before a steady glowing planet, or a full-flowered eglantine, or the bending trees over a s i l e n t pathway, (p. 148) Blessed with Eppie, S i l a s slowly begins to regain h i s l o s t f a i t h . The ch i l d ' s enigmatic presence causes him to "trembl[ej with an emotion mysterious to himself, at something unknown dawning on h i s l i f e " (p. 154). Through Eppie, S i l a s i s also magically reunited with h i s own l o s t youth: There was a v i s i o n of the old home and the old streets leading to Lantern Yard—and within that v i s i o n another, of the thoughts which had been present with him i n those f a r - o f f scenes . . . a message came to him from that f a r - o f f l i f e : i t s t i r r e d f i b r e s that had never been moved i n Raveloe--old quiverings of tenderness— old impressions of awe at the presentiment of some Power presiding over h i s l i f e . . . . (p. 140) At the same time, the c h i l d holds out a " f r e s h . l i f e " (p. 159) for S i l a s that extends into the future with a perpetual sense of change and renewal: Eppie was an object compacted of changes and hopes that forced h i s thoughts onward, and ca r r i e d them away to the new things that would come with the coming years . . . . (p. 158) More important, the c h i l d stimulates S i l a s ' growth into the world around him and ultimately into the r e a l i z a t i o n of h i s f u l l humanity: As the c h i l d ' s mind was growing into knowledge, h i s mind was growing into memory: as her l i f e unfolded, h i s soul, long stupefied i n a cold narrow prison, was unfolding too, and trembling gradually into f u l l consciousness. (p. 160) Eppie, by " s t i r r i n g the human kindness i n a l l eyes that lookf ] on her" (p. 158), not only connects S i l a s with an ever-widening c i r c l e of fellowship, but, i n her c h i l d i s h a f f i n i t y with Nature, she places S i l a s back i n the universe of Man and God: The l i t t l e c h i l d had come to l i n k him once more with the-whole world. There was love between him and the c h i l d that blent them int o one, and there was love between the c h i l d and the world—from men and women with parental looks and tones, to the red lady-birds and the round pebbles. (p. 165) Having i n i t i a l l y brought S i l a s to "share i n the observances held sacred by h i s neighbours" at her christening, Eppie has enabled him to j o i n i n the communion that celebrates the unity between man and man, man and God, and man and nature. I t i s t h i s unity that vouchsafes the return of paradise for S i l a s . Led out of the " c i t y of destruction" by the "white-winged angel" of a c h i l d (p. 166), S i l a s comes to enjoy the "calm and bright land" of a pastoral Eden: And when the sunshine grew strong and l a s t i n g , so that the buttercups were thick i n the meadows, S i l a s might be seen i n the sunny mid-day, or i n the late afternoon when the shadows were lengthening under the hedgerows, s t r o l l i n g out with uncovered head to carry Eppie beyond the Stone-pits to where the flowers grew . . . . (p. 159) This luminous pastoral v i s i o n i s framed by the r u s t i c per-manence of Raveloe i t s e l f . The fellowship and c o n v i v i a l i t y that d i s t i n g u i s h Raveloe society are preserved i n an un-swerving observance of t r a d i t i o n which renders the society timeless. The great New Year's Eve dance at Squire Cass', Christmas, and the gatherings at The Rainbow are almost a rehearsal of a l l the actions, feelings and conversation that have been part of Raveloe from "time out of mind" (p. 108). A group of these r u s t i c s form the backdrop of w e l l -wishers to Eppie's springtime wedding. For S i l a s , the event i s also a celebration of the f u l f i l l m e n t of the covenant of the rainbow. Eppie has promised she w i l l never forsake her foster father. As a symbol of God's goodness (p. 206), she therefore ensures S i l a s ' own f a i t h . As he confides to Dolly Winthrop: 'Since the time the c h i l d was sent to me and I've come to love her as myself, I've had l i g h t enough-to trusten by; and now she says s h e ' l l never leave me, I think I s h a l l trusten t i l l I d i e . ' (p. 224) Having "recovered a consciousness of unity between h i s past and present" along with "the sense of presiding goodness and the human tr u s t which come with a l l pure peace and joy" (p. 177), S i l a s has been redeemed by what George E l i o t c a l l e d g "the remedial influences of pure, natural human r e l a t i o n s . " L i v i n g beside the glad and shining flowers of Eppie's garden (p. 227), S i l a s has been i n i t i a t e d by the c h i l d into h i s f u l l humanity. Under the rainbow, the c h i l d i s indeed the 9 Father of the Man. Henry James i s one of the many c r i t i c s who have r e -marked on the unusual p r e c i s i o n of the a r t i s t r y of S i l a s Marner: I t has more of that simple, rounded, consummate aspect, that absence of loose ends and gaping issues, which marks a c l a s s i c work. 1 0 This aspect of a r t i s t i c unity which James attributes to the novel can also be demonstrated i n the way i n which c e r t a i n aspects of George E l i o t ' s two pastorals, the pastoral of i n t e l l e c t and the pastoral of imagination, come together and mutually enforce each other i n the novel. In the e a r l i e r novels, the o v e r a l l inward-turning and regressive experience delineated by the imaginative pastoral i s seen to be con-t r a d i c t o r y to the i n t e l l e c t u a l pattern i n which the hero or heroine i s presumably moving outwards toward a deeper and wider understanding of the n o t - s e l f . S i m i l a r l y , any outward or progressive momentum that occurs within the imag-inative pattern i s placed i n a negative i n t e l l e c t u a l con-text as i n The M i l l on the Floss, for example, where Maggie's i n c l i n a t i o n s to move away from Dorlcote M i l l are considered, for the most part, to be a form of reprehensible egoism. In S i l a s Marner, the regressive and eventually f a t a l journey into the s e l f i s made to correspond to S i l a s ' withdrawal from human society and to the withering e f f e c t t h i s with-drawal has for him. Raveloe, which i s i n i t i a l l y S i l a s ' imprisoning and f u t i l e womb-like environment according to the imaginative pattern, i s , at the same time, a hopeless wasteland i n the i n t e l l e c t u a l pattern. Later, when S i l a s i s magically "reborn" as a c h i l d , an outward and expansive imaginative momentum w i l l be seen to correspond to h i s i n i t -i a t i o n into a wider v i s i o n of humanity. Raveloe, both i n the i n t e l l e c t u a l and imaginative pattern, f i n a l l y can be seen, then, as a shining pastoral world for the c h i l d - l i k e S i l a s to enjoy. Within the i n t e l l e c t u a l pattern, S i l a s * removal to Raveloe i s h i s entry into the wilderness and h i s withdrawal from human society. Imaginatively, however, Raveloe i s i n i t i a l l y womb-like. A quiet and s t a t i c world away from the growth and change of an urban i n d u s t r i a l society, Raveloe i s "nestled i n a snug well-wooded hollow" (p. 4). "The deep morning quiet, the dewy brambles and the rank tufted grass" are l i k e the "blackness of night" (pp. 15, 17) • Yet S i l a s i s very unhappy i n the lap of the Raveloe. Perhaps the memory of Maggie's severe fr u s t r a t i o n s i s s t i l l too strong i n h i s creator's mind. In any case, there i s a number of s i m i l a r i t i e s between S i l a s and Maggie. Both are m i s f i t s i n t h e i r t i n y pastoral worlds: Maggie, by virtue of her unusual "' cuteness'" and dark beauty, and S i l a s , by vi r t u e of h i s membership i n the " d i s i n h e r i t e d race" of " a l i e n -looking" weavers (p. 1). Although S i l a s i s only once compared to a Goliath (p. 161), he shares with Maggie the problem of psychic bigness. Like the wild, Medusa-like g i r l , S i l a s has an aura of e v i l about him that seems p a r t i a l l y generated by the narrow and cramped environment around him. For the peasants of Raveloe, "the world outside t h e i r own d i r e c t experience a region of vagueness and mystery" (p.2). Consequently, they regard S i l a s ' mysterious advent from the "unknown region c a l l e d 'North'ard'" with as much suspicion as they view h i s questionable vocation which cer-t a i n l y cannot be c a r r i e d out without the aid of the " e v i l one." Among the peasantry of Raveloe and the matriarchies of St. Ogg's, there i s no tolerance for any "cleverness" (p. 2) greater than that of the "'common run'" (p. 98) since "honest folk, born and bred i n a v i s i b l e manner, were mostly not overwise or clever" (p. 2). Not imperceptibly, the shadow of St. Ogg's narrow paganism and stupefying material-ism l i n g e r s over Raveloe: Orchards looking lazy with neglected plenty; the large church i n the wide churchyard, which men gazed at lounging at t h e i r own doors i n service-time; the purple-faced farmers jogging along the lanes or turning i n at the Rainbow; homesteads, where men supped heavily and slept i n the l i g h t of the evening hearth, and where women seemed to be laying up a stock of linen for the l i f e to come. (p. 16) The focus of S i l a s ' own existence i n the wilderness i s h i s quest for more and more gold. In order to increase hi s hoard, S i l a s must weave perpetually i n h i s loom—an a c t i v i t y which has a q u a l i t y of Maggie's se l f - m u t i l a t i o n i n i t . Marner's "face and figure s h r a n k and ben[d] themselves into a constant-mechanical r e l a t i o n " (p. 22) to h i s loom (which, i n c i d e n t a l l y , also sounds something l i k e "womb"). The incessant weaving forces S i l a s into a pre-natal c r o u c h — "the bent tread-mill attitude of the weaver" (p. 3)—which ensures a psychic diminution that Maggie never attained. Unlike her, S i l a s , i n h i s perverse existence, i s l u l l e d by a "sense of security;" he i s happily "free from the pre-sentiment of change" (p. 48). At the same time, though, "the unquestioning a c t i v i t y of a spinning insect" (p. 17) i s S i l a s ' doom as he entwines himself more and more i n the darkness which eventually w i l l devour him. Slowly dying, he-is, along with Maggie, i d e n t i f i e d with depleting l i f e f o r ces. His "withered and shrunken . . . l i f e " (p. 93) i s p a r t i c u l a r i z e d i n the image of a "withering and yellow" tree i n which the "sap of a f f e c t i o n " has been nearly destroyed (p.22). The mutilated l i f e of S i l a s Marner i s now l i t t l e more than a "shrunken r i v u l e t " (p. 106) "that has sunk far down from the grassy fringe of i t s o l d breadth into a l i t t l e shivering thread, that cuts a groove for i t s e l f i n the barren sand" (P. 24) . Maggie's slow deterioration ends incongrously when, crowned with thorns, she enters i n t o the wider l i f e of loving and suffering on behalf of humanity. Her death i s a pre-lude to her reward i n a second paradise. S i l a s , on the other hand, "dies" ignobly i n the form of h i s a l t e r ego, the avaricious Dunsey Cass. Dunsey enters the miser's cottage and takes h i s hoard to a watery death at the bottom of the Stone-pits. At the very moment of Dunsey's demise, S i l a s discovers the loss of h i s gold. S i g n i f i c a n t l y , he i s characterized as "a man f a l l i n g into dark waters [whoj seeks a momentary footing even on s l i d i n g stones" (p. 51). George E l i o t i s also c a r e f u l to give several additional macabre trappings to the the f t and "death." While S i l a s makes h i s way to The Rainbow i n order to report the burglary to the d i g n i -t a r i e s of Raveloe, the conversation at the inn ranges between the virtues of a "lovely carkiss" and the p r o b a b i l i t y of ghosts. -In the midst of t h i s company that consumes draughts of beer as "a funereal duty attended with embarrassing sadness" (p. 54), S i l a s appears i n the manner of a "ghost" or "apparition" (pp. 66-67). A few days l a t e r , S i l a s i s v i s i t e d by Dolly Winthrop, "a simply grave" woman, " i n c l i n e d to shake her head and sigh, almost imperceptibly, l i k e a funeral mourner who i s not a r e l a t i o n " (p. 99). S i l a s ' deadness i s emphasized again when the l i t t l e c h i l d mysteriously comes to him. While i n the throes of a ca t a l y p t i c f i t which renders him " s t i f f " and " r i g i d , " l i k e a "dead man" (p. 5), the c h i l d , the g i f t of l i f e , comes to replace the death engendered by the hoarded gold: "instead of the hard coin with the fam i l i a r r e s i s t i n g outline h i s fingers encounter C 3 soft warm cur l s " (p. 139). More important, S i l a s shares an i d e n t i t y with the c h i l d that goes back to the novel's inception. George E l i o t claims the novel to have some basis i n her childhood reminiscence of "a linen-weaver with a bag on h i s back." 1 1 This uterus-like bag c a r r i e s the "mysterious burden" (p. 1) which i s the r e s u l t of a l l the f a t a l s p i d e r - l i k e weaving and entwining. The sack i s therefore the membrane that nourishes the i n -creasing p i l e of dead golden guineas, the "unborn c h i l d (p. 21) soon to be born out of the darkness. From out of the c o l d depths of a w i n t e r ' s n i g h t and i n dingy rags t h a t betoken i t s low parentage, the d i v i n e c h i l d e n t e r s the " v e r y b r i g h t p l a c e " of Marner's cottage, b r i n g i n g i t s u n u t t e r a b l e mystery t o the "poor mushed" weaver: Marner took her on h i s l a p , t r e m b l i n g with an emotion mysterious t o h i m s e l f , a t something unknown dawning on h i s l i f e . Thought and f e e l i n g were so confused w i t h i n him, t h a t i f he had t r i e d to" g i v e them u t t e r -ance^,: he c o u l d o n l y have s a i d t h a t the c h i l d was come i n s t e a d o f the gold--and t h a t the g o l d had turned i n t o the c h i l d . (p. 154) P a r t of the c h i l d ' s mystery i s the p s y c h o l o g i c a l wholeness t h a t i t r e p r e s e n t s . Eppie forms the m a t r i x of the worlds of thought and f e e l i n g , consciousness and unconsciousness, s t e r i l i t y and f e r t i l i t y , goodness and e v i l , l i g h t and dark-ness, order and chaos. She i s conceived i n darkness i n " t h a t h i d d e n l i f e which l i e s , l i k e a dark b y - s t r e e t , behind the goodly ornamented facade t h a t meets the s u n l i g h t and the gaze of r e s p e c t a b l e admirers" (p. 143). Her mother i s a "dingy"barmaid who i s d r i v e n by the "demon Opium" and her f a t h e r , Godfrey Cass, i s d r i v e n by the " d i a b o l i c a l cunning" of h i s b r o t h e r Dunstan who l u r e s him i n t o a marriage of "low p a s s i o n " (p. 36). The Cass home i t s e l f a t the time of Epp i e ' s c o n c e p t i o n i s a scene of p e r p e t u a l chaos, d e s t i t u t e of "any hallowing charm" (p. 25) or the "fountains of wholesome love and fear" (p. 27): The fading grey l i g h t f e l l dimly on the walls decorated with guns, whips, and foxes' brushes, on coats and hats flung on the chairs, on tankards sending forth a scent of f l a t ale, and a half-choked f i r e , with pipes propped up on the chimney corners . . . . (p. 2 8 ) 1 3 When Eppie comes out of the winter darkness into the world of l i g h t on Marner's hearth, her dark, demon-driven mother d i e s . Her father, already released from Dunstan's satanic machinations, i s now able to espouse the "purity" (p. 114) of Nancy Lammenter, h i s "good angel" (p. 37). Nancy, as Mrs. Cass, converts the Red House to "purity and o r d e r " — t h e r e f l e c t i o n of her own "delicate p u r i t y and nattiness": Now a l l i s polish, on which no yesterday's dust i s ever allowed to rest, from the yard's width o f oaken boards round the carpet, to the old Squire's gun and whips and walking-sticks, ranged on the stag's antlers above the mantelpiece. A l l other signs of sporting and outdoor occupation Nancy has removed to another room . . . . The tankdards are on the side-table s t i l l , but the bossed s i l v e r i s undimmed by handling, and there are no dregs to send fort h unpleasant suggestions: the only p r e v a i l i n g scent i s of the lavender and rose-leaves that f i l l the vases of Derbyshire spar. (p. 188) Yet Godfrey's "promised land" (p. 168) that Nancy has brought him t o i s dead and s t e r i l e . The Red House has become l i t t l e o t her than a museum t h a t houses the a c c e s s o r i e s o f a more f e r t i l e l i f e i n the p a s t . I n s t e a d o f the e a r l i e r raucous g a i e t y , t h e r e i s now o n l y the o c c a s i o n a l sober r e u n i o n l i k e the " q u i e t f a m i l y p a r t y " gathered a f t e r church (p. 187). Godfrey, f r u s t r a t e d and unhappy l o o k s forward t o a c h i l d l e s s o l d age wh i l e h i s b a r r e n w i f e l o o k s from her prim p a r l o u r onto a graveyard (p. 200). The advent of the c h i l d w i t h i n the i n t e l l e c t u a l p a t t e r n s i g n a l s the be g i n n i n g of S i l a s ' i n t e g r a t i o n i n t o the human community. I n the i m a g i n a t i v e p a t t e r n of the no v e l , the c h i l d ' s coming i s the p o i n t at which the inward-turning momentum l e a d i n g up t o S i l a s ' "death" stops and an a n t i -t h e t i c a l outward and expansive momentum takes o v e r . I t i s almost as i f S i l a s has been reborn as a c h i l d . C e r t a i n l y , George E l i o t s t r e s s e s the " l o v e between him and the c h i l d t h a t b l e n t them i n t o one" (p. 165). In any case, "the c h i l d c r e a t e s f r e s h l i n k s between h i s l i f e , and the l i v e s from which he had h i t h e r t o shrunk c o n t i n u a l l y i n narrow i s o l a t i o n " (p. 158). Throughout the v i l l a g e and i n a l l the o u t - l y i n g homesteads, S i l a s i s "now met wit h open f a c e s and c h e e r f u l q u e s t i o n n i n g " (p. 158). Eppie draws S i l a s out i n t o the sunshine and into a world "compacted of changes and hopes that force h i s thoughts onward" (p. 158). At the same time, there i s a psychological s a t i s f a c t i o n for George E l i o t i n S i l a s ' achieving that supreme happiness of the pastoral experience which Hetty destroyed and which Maggie could never r e c l a i m — a p e r f e c t accommodation to the pastoral home. "By sharing the e f f e c t that everything produced" on Eppie, S i l a s "himself come[s] to appropriate the forms of custom and b e l i e f which Ta3re the mould of Raveloe l i f e " (p. 177). This perfect accommodation to the pastoral world which S i l a s enjoys as h i s l i f e "unfolds" into the " f u l l " and happy l i f e of a c h i l d (p. 160) i s possibly why the nar-r a t i v e occasionally pauses to notice Eppie's c h i l d i s h p r a t t l e and a n t i c s . In describing the newfound childhood of a man who t o i l e d for years i n a strange land without f a i t h or hope, George E l i o t i s perhaps v i c a r i o u s l y enjoying h i s happiness. Although S i l a s shares the point of view of the c h i l d , he does not share the psychological wholeness which the c h i l d represents. Throughout the novel, S i l a s i s the "innocent" Job-like sufferer, incapable of e v i l even i n the midst of the e n c i r c l i n g darkness. As George E l i o t assures us: Few men could be more harmless than poor Marner. In h i s t r u t h f u l simple soul, not even the growing greed and worship of gold could beget any vice d i r e c t l y injurious to others. (p. 50) In view of S i l a s ' ignorance of the p o t e n t i a l e v i l that l i e s within himself, h i s reward of the c h i l d lacks a psycholo-g i c a l truthfulness. Psychologically, S i l a s * true fate i s that of Godfrey Cass. Godfrey and S i l a s are intended to be very much a l i k e . George E l i o t pairs them with similar dark brothers (Dunsey and William Dane of the "brethern") and submits them both to the f i c k l e workings of f a t e . In the end, George E l i o t intends Godfrey to be cursed because he turned h i s c h i l d from h i s door and S i l a s to be blessed be-cause he takes the c h i l d i n . Psychologically, Godfrey's s t e r i l e "paradise" with Nancy Lammeter i s h i s punishment of death for refusing to recognize h i s own dark nature represented i n the c h i l d . When he belatedly confesses h i s paternity, he i s r e a l l y a kind of perverse Faustus who sold h i s soul into l i g h t . The rebuke of h i s barren wife i s h i s h e l l : "'Iwasn't worth doing wrong f o r — n o t h i n g i s i n t h i s world"" (p. 204). On the other hand, S i l a s ' acceptance of the c h i l d i s not equivalent to h i s recognition of the dark and e v i l side of h i s own personality. In t h i s sense, then, S i l a s ' magical redemption lacks a c e r t a i n emotional and imaginative conviction i n the novel. In the f i n a l v i s i o n of paradise under the sign of the Rainbow, George E l i o t returns imaginatively to the pre-lapsarian world of Hayslope. The bright world that Eppie secures for S i l a s and for George E l i o t i s sustained by the psychological wholeness which the c h i l d represents. In b u i l d i n g her new garden of order and brightness, Eppie i n s t i n c t i v e l y r e a l i z e s the necessity of including the furze bush against which her dark mother was found, so that the flowers w i l l never "'die out, but'11 always get more and more'" (p. 183). For George E l i o t , Eppie has an addi-t i o n a l appeal i n the l a t t e r ' s determination to remain f o r -ever a c h i l d . Eppie counterbalances Hetty's s i n i n her wish to remain forever a c h i l d . "'I don't want any change'", Eppie t e l l s S i l a s , "'l4hould l i k e to go on a long, long while just as we are'" (p. 182). While Hetty f a i l e d to ap-preciate the love of the paternal Adam, Eppie and S i l a s are bound together by "perfect love." In fact, the pastoral nuptials are more the celebration of an incestuous union between Eppie and her father than between Eppie and the "young and strong" Aaron who i s merely conceived as a work-horse to support father and daughter i n S i l a s ' old age. The f i r s t and f i n a l words of the new bride are for her father: "'0 father . . . what a pretty home ours is'. I think nobody could be happier than we are'" (p. 227). Despite the psychological wholeness which sustains S i l a s ' bright world, i t nevertheless evinces an element of a r t i f i c i a l i t y . The process by which the ever-innocent S i l a s would earn psychological wholeness i s never delineated i n the novel and h i s reward of a pastoral Eden i s therefore l i t t l e else than an a r t i s t i c tour de force. However, the novel as a whole, as Henry James points out, has a "simple, rounded, consummate aspect" that makes i t unique i n the pastoral t r i l o g y . This a r t i s t i c s u p e r i o r i t y could be ex-plained at least p a r t i a l l y by the greater degree to which the i n t e l l e c t u a l and imaginative aspects of George E l i o t ' s pastoral come together i n the novel. FOOTNOTES xFrank R. Leavis, The Great T r a d i t i o n ; George E l i o t , Henry James, Joseph Conrad (New York: New York University Press, 1964), p. 46. 2GEL, I I I , 382-383. 3U. C. Knoepflmacher i n George E l i o t ' s E a r l y Novels has noticed other p a r a l l e l s between S i l a s and Job, pp. 248-249. 4Job 29:2-4. 5Job 29:20. George E l i o t , S i l a s Marner: The Weaver of Raveloe (New York: Rinehart and Winston, 1962), p. 10. 7Job 7:6. 8George E l i o t , i n a l e t t e r to John Blackwood, claims that S i l a s Marner i s "intended to s e t — i n a strong l i g h t the remedial influences of pure, natural human r e l a t i o n s . " GEL, II I , 382. 9 I n her use of the symbolic value of the rainbow, George E l i o t was also perhaps r e l y i n g on the association i t has with the c h i l d i n Wordsworth's short poem, part of which was l a t e r prefaced to the "Ode: Intimations of Immortality": My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow i n the sky: So was i t when my l i f e began; So i s i t now I am a man; So be i t when I s h a l l grow old, Or l e t me die'. The C h i l d i s father of the Man; And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural.piety. x u"The Novels of George E l i o t " , A t l a n t i c Monthly, XVIII (October 1866), 482 c i t e d i n Richard Stang, ed., Discussions  of George E l i o t (Boston: Heath, 1960), p. 8. 1 : LGEL I I I , 382 . • ^ S i l a s l a t e r c a r r i e s E ppie on h i s back along with the l i n e n on h i s t r i p s t o the v i l l a g e and farm houses, p. 165. l 3 S e e a l s o pp. 83-84. CHAPTER V BEYOND RAVELOE: THE LIMITS OF GEORGE ELIOT'S PASTORAL As an i n t e g r a l p a r t i n her a d a p t a t i o n of the myth o f of man's f a l l from p a r a d i s e , George E l i o t ' s _ p a s t o r a l i s a v i s i o n o f happiness and harmony, once enjoyed i n t h e past and t o be achieved again i n a b e t t e r f u t u r e . I n t e l l e c t u a l l y and e m o t i o n a l l y , however, i t i s s e v e r e l y l i m i t e d . While the communities o f Hayslope and Raveloe and, i n t e r m i t t e n t l y , the world of Maggie T u l l i v e r ' s c h i l d h o o d are i d e a l i n t h e i r p a r a d i s i a c a l u n i t y , they are e x a s p e r a t i n g l y simple-minded and narrow. The M i l l on the F l o s s i s a prolonged e x p l o r a -t i o n o f the wretchedness i n c u r r e d by a c l e v e r g i r l who, with the knowledge of "Shakespeare and e v e r y t h i n g , " 1 t r i e s t o a t t a i n the c h i l d l i k e f a i t h i n "what Nature has w r i t t e n " 2 t h a t p r e s e r v e d the golden world o f Hayslope. Consequently, i n S i l a s Marner, t h e r e i s a c o n s i d e r a b l e d i s t a n c e between the n a r r a t o r and the Raveloe p e a s a n t r y . S i l a s ' happiness i s savoured and enjoyed f a r more remotely than was the v i c a r i o u s membership i n the community of Hayslope. By now, the author r e a l i z e s t h a t any attempt t o i d e n t i f y more c l o s e l y with the simple swains can only bring the profound miseries of Maggie T u l l i v e r . Described as "insects" (p. 66) or compared with "guinea pigs" (p. 122), the people of Raveloe are seen to l i v e out t h e i r "own petty history" i n d u l l "monotony" (pp. 35-36). Their "rude minds" (p. 35) are exempt from i n t e l l e c t u a l c u r i o s i t y , from that "dangerous spontaneity of waking thought" (p. 93) that t h e i r creator knew only too w e l l . I t i s not inconceivable, then, that the naivete of Dolly Winthrop's b l i n d t r u s t and the moral b e l i e f s engendered by Nancy Cass' "small experience" are i n -compatible with the r e s t l e s s and perspicacious i n t e l l e c t of George E l i o t . As Jerome Thale has said of S i l a s himself: What happens to the simple-minded S i l a s gives him grounds for t r u s t i n g , but i t seems to off e r a c r i t i c a l mind no p a r t i c u l a r grounds for t r u s t i n g , believing, or l o v i n g . 3 Imaginatively, the pastoral has also become insupport-able, a r t i f i c i a l and l i f e l e s s . A l l e v i l i s eventually cast out of the ultimately pure realm of Hayslope and Maggie's childhood. Furthermore, George E l i o t ' s heroes and hero-ines win t h e i r new paradise without ever grappling with the monster of e v i l that rages outside t h e i r narrow pastoral kingdom. Their heroism i s as absurd as that of Don Quixote who, at the end of h i s career of imaginary chivalry, s i g n i -f i c a n t l y opted for the shepherd's l i f e , b e l i e v i n g that "the pastoral dream may i n i t s turn replace the c h i v a l r i c i d e a l " (II, l x x i i i ) . In George E l i o t ' s t r i l o g y , the pastoral dream i s from the outset the preserve of the quixotic heroisms of the l a t t e r day saints of the "Religion of Humanity." While Hetty S o r r e l v i s i t s the hideous ex-tremities of Eden, Adam i s spared her v i s i o n of dread. Maggie T u l l i v e r , on the other hand, encounters the e v i l world of i n s t i n c t , but she runs away from the "giant python" instead of slaying i t . S i l a s Marner i s magically redeemed by a c h i l d while the psychologically more l o g i c a l and t r u t h -f u l machinations of e v i l are r e s t r i c t e d to the subplot. The pastoral, as a vehicle for i n t e l l e c t u a l and emotional content, gradually disintegrates as George E l i o t plumbs i t s depths i n the t r i l o g y . This i s perhaps why, when the image appears b r i e f l y i n the next novel, Romola, i t i s considerably a l t e r e d . Near the end of the novel Romola d r i f t s away i n a boat and i s reborn into a b e a u t i f u l pastoral world. As she contemplates " t h i s sequestered luxuriance," i t seems "that the afternoon dreams of her girlhood had r e a l l y come back to h e r . " 4 Unlike e a r l i e r images of George E l i o t ' s pastoral, however, t h i s landscape i s a c t u a l l y r o t t i n g and dying with the putrefaction of plague and disease. And, although Romola can remain within i t long enough to r e -store and heal i t , she must return to the more complicated and troublesome world outside rather than l i v e i n a state of happy and ignorant s i m p l i c i t y among the descendants of V i r g i l ' s r u s t i c s . Romola, i n more than one sense, marks a turning point i n George E l i o t ' s career as n o v e l i s t . 5 In terms of t h i s study, the novel i s important i n that i t represents the demise of the p a s t o r a l . And c e r t a i n l y , the loss of t h i s imaginative vehicle as well as the mythological and ideo-l o g i c a l framework which the pastoral held together, had much to do with the personal despair that haunted George E l i o t for nearly ten years after she had completed the t r i l o g y . While there are several theories that attempt to explain her mysterious a f f l i c t i o n i n the ' s i x t i e s , 6 George E l i o t ' s personal confession of a " h o r r i b l e scepticism about a l l t h i n g s — p a r a l y z i n g my mind," 7 seems only to emphasize the e f f e c t which the loss of the pastoral had on her. The ex-treme d i f f i c u l t y of writing, the despair of ever being able to write again i s voiced often i n her j o u r n a l . "Sticking i n the mud continually" and floundering i n "a swamp of 9 miseries," she t r i e s her hand at poetry i n a desperate attempt to get out of the morass. Yet she laments the absence of "a grand myth" 1 0 which would make the writing of A Spanish G V P S V SO much eas i e r . Of a l l the poetry, only the "Brother and S i s t e r Sonnets" have any a r t i s t i c merit. They represent a momentary return to the e a r l i e r pastoral material and, l i k e that material, are unfortunately too r e s t r i c t i v e for the more complex notions that i n t e r e s t t h e i r author. Meanwhile, the bare abstract scaffolding of philosophical discourse becomes more and more apparent i n Romola, F e l i x Holt, and Daniel Deronda. 1 1 That George E l i o t was sadly aware of t h i s i s r e f l e c t e d i n her l e t t e r to Frederic Harrison where she complains of "the severe e f f o r t of t r y i n g to make certa i n ideas thoroughly incarnate, as i f they had revealed themselves to me f i r s t i n the f l e s h and 1 2 not i n the s p i r i t . " The pastoral, i n these l a t e r works, becomes l i t t l e more than a vestige of an e a r l i e r imaginative system. In both F e l i x Holt and Daniel Deronda, the pastoral v i s i o n completely disappears, and i n Middlemarch the beauty and goodness of the l i f e of the Garths under the apple trees i s put to one side as a pretty picture but one not as i n t e r e s t i n g as the evolution of Dorothea Brooke. There i s some imaginative in t e r e s t surrounding the exploration of the nature of e v i l , c h i e f l y i n the character of Daniel Deronda's Gwendolen Harleth and to a considerably lesser extent i n Mrs. Transome of F e l i x Holt. But perhaps due to the precepts of V i c t o r i a n art and George E l i o t ' s own Arnoldian code as to the i r r e s -p o n s i b i l i t y of the "art which leaves the soul i n despair," the v i s i o n of e v i l i s never developed. 1 3 For the most part, the l i m i t s of George E l i o t ' s imagination are defined within the boundaries of the p a s t o r a l . As a taproot going down to her i n f a n t i l e past, i t had allowed her to construct i n Adam  Bede, The M i l l on the Floss and S i l a s Marner, a mythology with both i n t e l l e c t u a l and imaginative counterparts that, despite wide incongruities, p a r t i a l l y managed to coalesce. When she outgrew t h i s i n i t i a l stage of a r t i s t i c development, however, George E l i o t was at a loss to create a new imagin-at i v e structure which could embody the philosophical b e l i e f s she wished to present: "When one has to work out the dramatic action for one's s e l f under the i n s p i r a t i o n of an idea, instead of having a grand myth . . . ready to one's hand," she t o l d Frederic Harrison, "one f e e l s anything but omnipotent." 1 4 "The romance of the past," says V i r g i n i a Woolf, was "the only romance that George E l i o t allowed h e r s e l f . " 1 5 Thus, along with Wordsworth, one of her most revered pastoral writers, she too suffers the waning of imaginative powers that l i e almost wholly within the bounds of p a s t o r a l . Like Jubal who t r a v e l l e d beyond the borders of h i s homeland only to lose h i s powers of a r t i s t i c creation, she must also lament: New voices come to me where'er I roam, My heart too widens with i t s widening home: But song grows weaker, and the heart must break For lack of voice, or fingers that can wake The l y r e ' s f u l l answer; nay, i t s chords were a l l Too few to meet the growing s p i r i t ' s c a l l . . . . This i s the end: O'er a l l the earth to where the heavens bend And hem men's t r a v e l , I have breathed my soul: I l i e here now the remnant of that whole, The embers of a l i f e , a lonely pain; As f a r - o f f r i v e r s to my t h i r s t were vain, So of my mighty years naught comes to me again. 1 The M i l l on the Floss, p. 291. 2The M i l l on the Floss, p. 238. 3 The Novels of George E l i o t , p. 64. U. C. Knoepflmacher also has noted "the distance observed between the narrator and the central character" i n S i l a s Marner. The E a r l y Novels  of George E l i o t , p. 228. 4(London: Everyman, 1965), LXVIII, p. 536. 5"The writing of 'Romola' ploughed into her more than any of her other books. She t o l d me she could put her finger on i t as marking a well-defined t r a n s i t i o n i n her l i f e . 'I began i t a young woman,—I fi n i s h e d i t an old woman.'" Cross, L i f e and Letters, p. 361. 6See M. P a r l e t t , "The Influence of Contemporary C r i t i c i s m on George E l i o t , " Studies i n Philo;log.y/ (January, 1933), 103-132, for a summary of the various theories as well as P a r l e t t ' s own conjectures. 7G. E. Journal, 17 July 1864, c i t e d i n G. S. Haight, George E l i o t ; A Biography, p. 378. 8See Haight, Biography, pp. 382, 350-351 for c i t a t i o n s from Journal regarding the writing of Romola (May 1862) and F e l i x Holt (December 1865). 9G. E. Journal, 5 December 1864, c i t e d i n Haight, Biography, p. 379. 1 0 L e t t e r to Frederic Harrison, 15 August 1866, GEL, IV, 301. "^Henry James speaks for a number of c r i t i c s when he says that i n Romola "the equilibrium" between the "perception and r e f l e c t i o n " that "divided George E l i o t ' s great talent between them" broke down and "that r e f l e c t i o n began to weight down the scale." In Richard Stang, ed., Discussions of George E l i o t (Boston: Heath, 1960), pp. 9-10; Walter Al l e n , George E l i o t , p. 132; L e s l i e Stephen, C o r n h i l l  Magazine, 43 (Feb. 1881), 1952-169 i n Haight, ed., A Century  of George E l i o t C r i t i c i s m , pp. 145-146. 1 2GEL, IV, 300. l 3George E l i o t , "Notes on 'The Spanish Gypsy,'" Cross, L i f e and Letters, p. 427. 1 4 GEL, IV, 301. 1 5"George E l i o t , " The Common Reader (London: Hogarth, 1929), p. 213. 16 George Eliot,"The Legend of Jubal," The Legend of  Jubal and Other Poems, (London: Blackwood), pp. 29, 38; c f . Wordsworth's "Resolution and Independence," 11. 48-49. We poets i n our youth b e g i n i n gladness; But t h e r e o f come i n the end despondency and madness. LIST OF REFERENCES Primary Sources E l i o t , George. Adam Bede. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1965. . Essays of George E l i o t , ed. Thomas Pinney. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1963. . The George E l i o t Letters, ed. Gordon S. Haight. 7 v o l s . New Haven: Yale University Press, 1954. . George E l i o t ' s L i f e as Related i n Her Letters and Journals, ed. J . W. Cross. London: William Blackwood and Sons, n. d. . Impressions of Theophrastus Such. The Works of George E l i o t , V o l . IX. London: William Blackwood and Sons, N. d. . The Legend of Jubal and Other Poems, Old and New, The Works of George E l i o t , V o l . X. London: William Blackwood and Sons, n. d. . "The L i f t e d V e i l , " The Complete Works of George E l i o t , V o l . VI. London: Postlethwaite, Taylor and Knowles, 1908. . The M i l l on the Floss, ed. George S. Haight. Boston: Houghton M i f f l i n Company, 1961. . "Notes on 'The Spanish Gypsy,•" George E l i o t ' s L i f e as Related i n Her Letters and Journals, ed. J . W. Cross. London: William Blackwood and Sons, n. d., pp. 424-428. . Romola. London: J . M. Dent and Sons, 1965. . S i l a s Marner. 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