‘Middlemarch’ is not a charming book, yet it remains popular on several grounds. Not least of which is its length. It is not an inconsiderable read, and it cannot be taken lightly if someone has actually bothered to wade through the eight hundred and ninety-nine pages and a half of nineteenth century narrative for the killer last paragraph. I won’t reproduce it here for fear of destroying part of its significance within the book, indeed its impact is so great at the end of the book that it would be almost defiling to copy it here. ‘Middlemarch’ is a book of historical and socio-political importance. It mentions the Great Reform act of 1832, which gives a wider context and yet the majority of politics within the book are confined to within the characters.
In ‘The Masters’ by C.P. Snow, the book opens with news of the impending death of the present Master, Royce, of cancer. Herein lies the first dilemma of the book. The decision has been made not to tell him, as to minimize his agonising over death and, although not mentioned it is probably of importance, the succession of the Mastership. If Royce were to have expressed strong preference before his death then it would have surely affected the voting between the fellows. Royce lasts months longer than is originally forecast and this makes the formation of little parties within the college very difficult. Two candidates emerge in the form of Jago and Crawford. The consensus in the college is that they would both make very good Masters, but there are arguments against them. Against Jago, fellows speculate as to whether he has made his name enough outside the college and it seems that he hasn’t. It also transpires that Jago may not necessarily be suited to the role. Against Crawford, the general problem seems to be that he is a Scientist and to elect him Master would be to go against a great tradition of Classics in the college (in the last chapter, Snow typifies the perception of a Cambridge fellow; ‘…middle-aged or elderly men, trained exclusively in the classics, stupefying themselves on port.’). For a minority, it seems as if voting for either is choosing the lesser of two evils. Chrystal is the example that springs to mind in the beginning at least. Not on excellent personal terms with Jago, he switches at the last minute to Crawford.
While all this is going on, the college is trying desperately hard to attract the funding of Sir Horace Timberlake, who seems willing to donate a significant amount on the grounds that part of it is spent solely on the Sciences and attracting more young men to furthering their studies in that field. Negotiations do occur but eventually Sir Horace donates a sum of a hundred thousand pounds to the college, the largest in its history. To ‘The Masters’ there is also a wider political context. There is mention of the Spanish civil war, and this ties in with the plot very slightly. It does not affect the book on such a level as the Reform Act does to ‘Middlemarch’, but it is there. Within the college, there is one mention of Crawford being a bolshevik, but the accuser quickly reprimands himself on the grounds that that may be a little harsh.
Yet what is significant to both books is the emphasis placed by their respective authors upon lower level politics. These base-level politics determine how characters comment on the various plots in ‘Middlemarch’ and who they vote for in ‘The Masters’. What is interesting is that it is not always (sometimes, but not always) personal gain that governs the decisions and political stance of the characters involved.
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There are, as in life, occasions within the two novels where the characters do not say and do the same thing. Some of the occasions are obvious, others not so until later but the situation remains highly political when dealing with relationships between the characters.
In ‘Middlemarch’, a great deal is left unspoken by the characters that the reader is told either by narration or by assumption. It is not always for the character to speak what he or she thinks at the time, but this is broken in some amusement by Celia Brooke in the fifth chapter:
“ ‘Then I think the commonest minds must be rather useful. I think it is a pity Mr Casaubon’s mother had not a commoner mind : she might have taught him better.’ Celia was inwardly frightened, and ready to run away, now she had hurled this light javelin. Dorothea’s feelings had gathered to an avalanche, and there could be no further preparation.
‘It is right to tell you, Celia, that I am engaged to marry Mr Casaubon.’ Perhaps Celia had never turned so pale before.”
p.72
This small faux pas on the part of Celia is brushed aside by Dorothea after a swift apology, and Celia soon changes here spoken opinion of Mr Casaubon when she is in company not suited to her unspoken opinions. The relationship between Celia and Dorothea does not suffer greatly as a result of Celia’s slip of tongue, but it resulted in embarrassment for Celia whilst Dorothea was left ‘hurt and agitated’. This perhaps best illustrates what can happen when there is not a difference between what a character says and thinks, from thereon in Celia tends to censor her speech and actions when talking to Dorothea. There are occasions on which she does say what she thinks, but these are always intentional and hardly ever in error. When Casaubon dies, for example, great volumes of water have passed under the bridge of the Casaubon’s marriage and it has not turned out to be at all happy. The codicil to his will, cancelling Dorothea’s share of Casaubon’s estate if she marries his cousin Ladislaw leaves Dorothea in a much different frame of mind to the optimistic and ever-loving Dorothea of the fifth chapter.
“ ‘What I think, Dodo,’ Celia went on, observing nothing more than that Dorothea was leaning back in her chair, and likely to be passive, ‘is that Mr Casaubon was spiteful. I never did like him, and James never did… If he has been taken away, that is a mercy, and you ought to be grateful.’ ”
p.533
Dorothea is quite passive here, and does not interrupt the announcement of the arrival of Lydgate with a crushing defense of her late husband. Celia is without doubt the best illustrator of discrepancy between thought and spoken opinions, whether in fault of her self or the positions she is placed in by Eliot.
In ‘The Masters’, two themes stand out as examples of differences between spoken and thought opinions. Firstly, the death of Royce. As Royce is not initially told, it places the characters in the awkward position of having to visit him whilst giving the pretence that it is just a stomach ulcer and everything will be alright and back to normal before Christmas. When they learn of the situation some have no hesitation in telling Lady Muriel exactly they think, even if they know it is unmoderated and controversial. Joan, in the second chapter:
“ ‘Then for God’s sake don’t go on with this farce.’ The girl was torn with feeling, the cry welled out of her. ‘Give him his dignity back.’
‘His dignity is safe,’ said Lady Muriel. She got up…”
p.14
Once again, it is a younger female with difficulty restraining her opinion, even if it would be tactful. When the fellows discuss it, they do so outside of Lady Muriel’s earshot, and do try not to make a difficult situation worse for her. They may not agree with her, but don’t try to confront her about it because they consider their judgement better.
“ ‘He’s quite certain he’ll soon be well,’ Jago said. ‘That is the most appalling thing.’
‘You would have told him?’
‘Without the shadow of a doubt.’ ”
p.22
“ ‘There are not many serious things in a man’s life – but one of them is how he shall meet his death. You can’t be tactful about death : all you can do is leave a man alone.’ ” (Jago)
p.23
By no means do the fellows all share Lady Muriel’s view on the best thing to do, but they demonstrate the difference between spoken and thought opinions.
The second occasion within ‘The Masters’ when there is a great difference between speech and thought is during the election of the Master’s successor. It could well be expected that each man would make himself clear about who he was to support, and to a certain extent they do. Two reasonably clear parties emerge. For Jago, vote Luke, Calvert, Eliot, Brown, Crawford and Gay. In the beginning, Pilbrow pledges allegiance to the Jago camp, and in the end Chrystal switches as well. When Chrystal crosses over to Crawford, it transpires that he was never a keen supporter of Jago. He admits freely that Jago may well have the advantage over Crawford in some areas, but at the end of the day:
“ ‘You know as well as I do,’ said Jago, ‘that seeing him elected is the last thing any of us want.’
‘I take you up on that.’
p.237
How does the difference between spoken and thought opinions matter to the question. Well, the question is essentially a question about power and how that it is distributed. If a character says something out of turn (even if it is what they really think), it can have grave consequences on the distribution of power. One of the factors that influences who the fellows vote for is which of the candidates is likelier to give them a better job. Nightingale is dead set on an office under the new Master. He approaches Jago and as well as tells him that he expects to have an office, should he be elected.
“ ‘I’ll take your word for it that the other tutorship isn’t earmarked yet. I want you to know that I expect to be considered for it myself.’”
p.88
Jago does not take this at all well, and has to be very blunt with Nightingale when approached, somewhat arrogantly. As it happens, Jago did not mean to totally rule Nightingale of the job but Nightingale’s arrogance angered Jago so greatly that he could not restrain himself enough to leave the door open. Jago regrets this, but it doesn’t trouble his conscience for more than half an hour or so after the event. Had Nightingale not approached Jago in such a manner, it may have come to pass that he ended up with the tutorship he obviously thought he deserved so greatly. Had he controlled himself, had there been a difference between his thoughts and speech, he would have stood a much better chance.
“ ‘I hope you didn’t give him the impression that you’d never offer him the job,’ said Brown.
‘I should be less ashamed,’ said Jago, ‘if I could think I had.’”
p.104
This is perhaps the best example of the discrepancy between speech and thought affecting politics within not only ‘The Masters’ but both of the books. In ‘Middlemarch’, Celia’s outbursts are of interest, but don’t really affect how power between characters is distributed.
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Both books are set in a larger political context, in this sense my essay is on politics within politics – an interesting thought. ‘Middlemarch’ is set in the months before and after the Great Reform Act, whereas ‘The Masters’ is touched by the hand of the Spanish Civil War.
The origin of the Reform Act came from within Lord Grey’s Whig government in a response to social unrest. The first bill was defeated by the Tories in April 1831 and the government resigned. The election returned the Whigs, who introduced a second reform bill in June. In October, it was rejected by the Lords, and riots (notably in Bristol) ensued. A third bill was introduced but met obstruction in the Lords. William IV intervened, threatening to create sufficient peers to pass the bill in response to Grey’s resignation and popular agitation. The act disenfranchised most rotten boroughs, and the released seats were distributed amongst previously unrepresented boroughs. The electorate was increased within England and Wales by 50%, but this only included the prosperous middle classes. It is unlikely that Eliot picked the date of 1831/2 out of thin air, indeed it must be intentional because it features as a subplot involving Bulstrode. These were unarguably socially important times, and this adds depth to Eliot’s ‘analysis of human nature’ to quote the blurb of the Penguin edition of W.J. Harvey, professor of English at Belfast up to 1967. By placing her characters in the time of the Reform Act, Eliot’s study becomes instantly more interesting than if it were just a story; this is what makes ‘Middlemarch’ a ‘study’, as opposed to a set of tragic love affairs.
Perhaps the most noticeable point in ‘Middlemarch’ regarding the Reform Act is when Mr Brooke gives a speech on the Hustings. For the first time in political history, voting was open to others than the upper classes. As Brooke speaks to the assembled ‘masses’, he is quite rudely (but rather amusingly) heckled. At one point a member of the crowd begins to mimic Brooke’s speech. This is where ‘Middlemarch’ breaks the mould. Such a scene wouldn’t be found in a Jane Austen novel, and this is where George Eliot breaks away; normally you’d expect them to tip their cap and walk on by.
‘The Masters’ is set around 1937, and there is some mention of the Spanish Civil War. Eliot makes some mention of the war in the opening chapters, but the theme does not continue throughout the book as the Reform Act does in ‘Middlemarch’. Presumably Eliot and his colleagues made some connection with the left-wing idealism of the war.
“The Spanish Civil War was a war of ideals fought by soldiers who thought that God or History was on their side. It foreshadowed many aspects of the Second World War whilst at the same time harking back to an earlier age; it seemed at times to be a war of medieval ferocity fought with twentieth century technology.”
It is likely that the only reason the war features in the book is because Snow might have had an interest. The book could stand without it, it is likely that Snow is just trying to make a point.
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How important is the manipulation of power to relationships within ‘Middlemarch’ and ‘The Masters’? Both books feature elections, the most drawn out example of politics within civilised society. The significance of politics in the books is therefore crucial. Both plots are about the manipulation of power on different levels; in ‘The Masters’, the real decisions are not made in the chapel but in the combination room, in the corridors and dining halls of the college. On the morning of the election come into play all the actions and reactions since the last election and the news of the impending death of the Master. Party politics and political views may have come into play, indeed they are often defining factors when people choose their friends – indeed, a Socialist doesn’t often jump into bed with a Fascist. In ‘Middlemarch’, the divide comes with those that desire reform and those that oppose it. There are the staunch Tories, in the form of James Chettam and Mrs Cadwallader, contrasting with the reformers that take on the guise of Mr Brooke and somewhat more successfully Will Ladislaw.
One method of discovering how important something is, is to take it out of the situation. What would the character’s relationships be like if there was no manipulation of power, if there was no difference between thought and spoken opinions? There would be much more truth and less deception, deliberately misleading or otherwise. Sometimes, as best demonstrated by Celia and Dorothea, it is best that there is a difference between thought and spoken opinions. But then in ‘Middlemarch’, it would have saved much trouble if everyone had made their intentions known, rather than misleading others about their preference. The relationships would be more truthful, but for the purposes of the book much less interesting. Part of the interest in the books is in the following of unpredictable relationships and situations. In ‘The Masters’, one really isn’t sure who will win the election in the dying chapters. If I had known Crawford eventually becomes Master, I might well have stopped reading. There is the chance that I would have continued to see how he did it, but it wouldn’t have been half as interesting.
In ‘Middlemarch’ and ‘The Masters’, the manipulation of power is crucial to relationships, and consequently the success of the books. If it was not there, the books would be predictable and not enjoyable; politics are of the greatest importance especially in the plots drawn up by Eliot and Snow respectively.
"LA ULTIMA CRUZADA" by Bob Cordery