Home Discover George Eliot Finding Middlemarch Historicising The Recent Past
Historicising The Recent Past
This online exhibition, curated by Dr Rosalind White (Royal Holloway, University of London) opens out the history of nineteenth-century Coventry through the lens of George Eliot’s Middlemarch: A Study of Provincial Life (1871).
How to cite this research: White, Rosalind. (2022) ‘Part One: Historicising the Past’, Finding Middlemarch [Online Exhibition]. Royal Holloway, University of London. In collaboration with Nuneaton Museum & Art Gallery, Nuneaton Library, Coventry Archives and the Herbert Art Gallery & Museum and funded by the Arts Humanities Research Council. Retrieved from Exploring Eliot [https://exploringeliot.org/discover-george-eliot/finding-middlemarch/historicising-the-recent-past/]
MARY ANN EVANS WAS BORN in 1819 at South Farm in Arbury, Nuneaton – a small market town in Warwickshire to the north of Coventry. Her father, Robert Evans, managed the lands and farms of the Arbury Estate for the Newdigate Family, the owners of Arbury Hall.
In 1841, when her brother Isaac became estate manager, Mary Ann (then 21) accompanied her retired father to a house in Foleshill, a village now a part of Coventry.
Mary Ann had already become a famous writer under the pseudonym George Eliot when Middlemarch was first published. The novel is set in a fictional version of Coventry as she remembered it in her younger days and borrows many details from local history and scandals.
Exhibit 1 – South Farm, birthplace of George Eliot, by Thomas Wakeman, (1919), Nuneaton Museum & Art Gallery. Wakeman painted a number of landscapes showing sites of importance in Eliot’s life and works.
Middlemarch takes place in the early 1830s, in the lead-up to the Great Reform Act of 1832, an act that gave the vote to small landowners, tenant farmers, shopkeepers, and householders who paid a yearly rental of over £10. Though this increased the electorate from around 366,000 to 650,000 (about 18% of the adult male population), the act did little to improve the lives of many. The working classes were still denied the right to vote and the act formally excluded women, by explicitly defining a voter as a ‘male person’.
Taking up her pen in the years that followed the Second Reform Act of 1867 — the first piece of legislation to enfranchise working-class men — Eliot approaches Middlemarch, notably subtitled ‘A Study of Provincial Life’, as a historian of the memorable past, intimately afforded with knowledge of what is to come. Her story is set in a period when she would have been approaching her teens: when Coventry, was a silk-ribbon manufacturing town; and when Coventry society was largely led by a select group of manufacturing families.
This was an epoch in recent memory, a time that would neither overwhelm her reader with the strangeness of a bygone era nor divert them with present-day concerns. Setting her story in the 1830s enabled Eliot to both hypostatize the past and bring the humanity of her characters to the fore.
“Those long days measured by my little feet,
Had chronicles which yield me many a text,
Where irony still finds an image meet,
Of full-grown judgments in this world perplex…”
GEORGE ELIOT, ‘Brother and Sister’, (3. Jul. 1869).
Eliot’s great artistic breakthrough was to create novels that feel like real life. She makes us sympathise with her characters and try to understand their choices even though the stories are set in the past and many characters are selfish or flawed.
The objects on display in ‘Finding Middlemarch‘ help us to understand the enduring appeal of Middlemarch as well as contextualise the time in which it was wrought.
Central to the exhibition, is an acknowledgement of the parallel temporalities that have informed Eliot’s writing. How might readers in the 1870s have construed the relationship between their epoch and the time of the first Reform Bill? How would Eliot’s treatment of the past have informed their understanding of the present? Moreover, moving into our final chapter into the modern-day we ask — how are some of the dilemmas faced by characters in Middlemarch still relevant? In what ways do we deal with the same difficulties, face the same choices or rebel against the same prescribed roles recognised by Eliot all those years ago?
As she argued in ‘Historic Imagination’, a memorandum, posthumously published in Essays and Leaves from a Notebook (1884): ‘the exercise of a veracious imagination in historical picturing [can] … help the judgment greatly with regard to present and future events.’ Through ‘veracious imagination’, she theorised, one could work out in detail ‘the various steps by which a political or social change was reached, using all extant evidence and supplying deficiencies by careful analogical creation’. In other words, Eliot thought that the best way to understand present-day politics was for one to imaginatively inhabit the lived experiences of previous decades. Exercising empathy through literature, she believed, could provide insight into the intricacies of both previous cultures and the culture that was to come.
In Middlemarch Eliot repackages the history of Coventry as a story of middle England on the brink of massive social and industrial transformation. As a town of high-skilled weaving and watchmaking workshops, surrounded by rich farmland and coal deposits, Coventry went through rapid cycles of boom and depression in Eliot’s lifetime. At the same time the relationship between the town’s industrialists and the surrounding farmers and wealthy landowners was transformed.
The Coventry of the 1830s was a province on the precipice of seismic change. Like Middlemarch, it was a town troubled by the imminent horrors of the cholera epidemic, apprehensive about the new railway lines already in construction, and briskly falling into step with the march of modernity — as the town’s textile trade transformed from a cottage industry made up of artisan, hand-loom weavers to a mechanised machine-led enterprise. Like George Eliot, who moved to Coventry shortly after the founding of the Coventry and Warwickshire Hospital, Lydgate arrives in Middlemarch as the New Fever Hospital is reaching completion.
In 1820, a decade before the novel is set, William Cobbett described Coventry as follows:
‘Coventry … is a City containing about twenty thousand souls, and the business of which is, principally, Watch-making and Ribbon-weaving. It is in the County of Warwick, and is within a few miles of the centre of England. The land all around it, for many many miles, is very rich indeed … and yet, good God! What a miserable race of human beings! What a ragged, squalid, woe-worn assemblage of creatures!
Exhibits 3, 4 and 5 all present the cultural divide between the provincial outskirts and the metropolitan centre, a major theme in Middlemarch.
‘Coventry from the East’ juxtaposes a tranquil patchwork field of grazing animals, framed by trees and a ramshackle fence with a constellation of close-knit buildings, newly grafted upon the land.
Exhibit 3 – ‘Coventry from the East’, (c. 19thC), the Herbert Art Gallery & Museum.
J. M. W. Turner’s ‘Coventry; viewed from a hill-side’ (1832), depicts the city in the decade Middlemarch is set. The technological marvel that is modern Coventry, illuminated by the heavens rises between the countryside fields of old. John Ruskin, famed art critic and advocate of “truth to nature”, described it in his first volume of Modern Painters (1842):
“Impetuous clouds, twisted rain, flickering sunshine, fleeting shadow, gushing water and oppressed cattle, all speak the same story of tumult, fitfulness, power, and velocity. Only one thing is wanted, a passage of repose to contrast with it all; and it is given. High and far above the dark volumes of the swift rain-cloud, are seen on the left, through their opening, the quiet, horizontal, silent flakes of the highest cirrus, resting in the repose of the deep sky.”
Exhibit 4 – Coventry, Warwickshire; viewed from a hill-side on which cattle, donkeys and sheep are grazing, horses pulling carriages at right by Joseph Mallord William Turner, (1832), watercolour © The Trustees of the British Museum.
Sara Sophia Hennell (1812-1899) was a close friend of George Eliot. She met Mary Ann for the first time in 1842 at Rosehill, Coventry, the home of her sister Cara Bray (1814-1905) and her sister’s husband, prosperous ribbon manufacturer and social reformer Charles Bray (1811-1884).
Hennell’s 1833 watercolour of Coventry, immortalised her first visit to city, on a trip to her Uncle Sam’s in Hill Street. Her work, like the previous two exhibits, evokes the sense of a momentous cultural threshold about to be crossed. The animals, hay wagon and cart highlight the contrast between the countryside around the city and the urban centre, signified by the three spires of Coventry looming in the distance.
Brooke (1772-1860) was a pupil of the prolific history painter Samuel Drummond (1765-1844) and under his influence he progressed rapidly, exhibiting at the Royal Academy in 1810.
In 2011 the Herbert Art Gallery and Museum obtained the topographical album, following an appeal that raised £12,000 to keep the historic item in Coventry for future generations.
St Mary’s Guildhall, and the posterior gate of Whitefriars Monastery, Coventry – c. 1819, by William Henry Brooke, and c. 2019 via Wikimedia Commons.
Many of the locations featured in William Henry Brooke’s album are still visible today. Drag the slider to see the same locations two hundred years apart.
Can you take a picture of modern Coventry that corresponds with a painting from the past? Locations still to capture include: Bablake Hospital, Old Golden Cross Inn, (corner of Pepper Lane), Gateway of the Old White Horse Inn (Bayley Lane), Greyfriars Hospital, and the Old Black Bull Inn (Smithford Street). You can visit our Google Map to find an approximate location of the artist’s vantage point and post your photo on Twitter under the hashtag #FindingMiddlemarch.
When George Eliot’s first stories, Scenes of Clerical Life, were published there was great speculation about who the author behind the pseudonym was. So many details were drawn from local lives in the town of Nuneaton that everyone there knew it had to be someone from the neighbourhood. It is only the chance rediscovery of John Astley’s diaries that lets us see just how much Eliot took from what she overheard as a young girl about scandals in the neighbourhood.
On the 18th of January 1878, a curious article was published in the Nuneaton Observer. At a butcher’s shop in town, a woman’s attention was ‘caught by some wastepaper which was being used to wrap up the meat’. Recognising a rough pen and ink drawing on the paper of what she knew to be the old market cross at Nuneaton, she rescued what later proved to be a priceless fragment of Nuneaton history – the manuscript diary of local townsman, John Astley.
From 1810 until 1845, Astley had amused himself by keeping a diary of all that passed in his native town and enriched his recordings with outline sketches of old houses and other buildings of interest — particularly those which were about to be pulled down or rebuilt. The manuscript meticulously documented nearly half a century of Nuneaton life at the time of the Great Reform Bill, including the years in which Eliot lived there and the years in which Middlemarch is set.
As the Nuneaton Observer notes, ‘the old gentleman gossips curiously on all sorts of matters… he records with equal precision the laying down of a new pavement, and the projects for the railways: the improvement of a gutter. and the price of meat.’ The diary was published in parts in the Nuneaton Observer over the next few years. As we shall see, many of the themes threaded throughout Middlemarch — from ribbon manufacturing to provincial debt — feature in Astley’s manuscript.
“You are like a great giant walking about among us and fixing everyone you meet upon your canvas.”
JOHN BLACKWOOD, publisher of Middlemarch, 1871.
As Jerome Beaty notes, the first nine chapters of the manuscript, belonging to the original ‘Miss Brooke’ tale are written on different paper, watermarked ‘Parkins and Gotto’ (a second type of paper, watermarked ‘T & J H 1869,’ is used throughout the remaining parts of the manuscript).
This emphasis replaced an earlier focus (in the embryonic “Middlemarch”) on Fred Vincy’s and Lydgate’s attempts to determine their “proper vocation” and evolved into a more complex, rewarding theme: ‘the interrelationship of high aspiration and “domestic reality”’ (57).
As Jerome Beaty notes, the first nine chapters of the manuscript, belonging to the original ‘Miss Brooke’ tale are written on different paper, watermarked ‘Parkins and Gotto’ (a second type of paper, watermarked ‘T & J H 1869,’ is used throughout the remaining parts of the manuscript).
This emphasis replaced an earlier focus (in the embryonic “Middlemarch”) on Fred Vincy’s and Lydgate’s attempts to determine their “proper vocation” and evolved into a more complex, rewarding theme: ‘the interrelationship of high aspiration and “domestic reality”’ (57).
“I am going, I hope to-day to effect a breach into the thick wall of indifference behind which the denizens of Coventry seem inclined to intrench themselves.”
GEORGE ELIOT, November 1841.
There are just under 100 named characters in Eliot’s Middlemarch. This sense of a world packed with people with their own lives, daily business and points of view on the action is crucial for the immersive feeling of reading the novel.
In 1873, Eliot’s partner George Henry Lewes remarked in a letter to their mutual friend Mary Cash, that Eliot ‘forgets nothing that has ever come within the curl of her eyelash’. That same year, in a letter to the artist Edward Burne Jones, Eliot jested that she had ‘a fine feminine memory for useless things’ (20 Mar. 1873).
As Maria Damkjaer notes in Time, Domesticity and Print Culture in Nineteenth-Century Britain (2016), in the twenty-first century domestic time ‘tends to be described primarily in negative terms: not public, not historical, not productive, not measurable, not narratable, not there’ (3). However, The mid-Victorians firmly believed that ‘the mechanisms of daily lives [were] in and of themselves worthy of elaboration’ (Damkjaer 3). George Eliot was a passionate proponent of this belief and had a great love for enshrining everyday, idiosyncratic details into her prose.
More so than any of her other novels, Middlemarch, is lovingly laced with the minutiae of human experience. One contemporary reviewer referred to the novel as a ‘portrait gallery’, another suggested a ‘library of novels’ might be made from the detail embedded in its many plots.
“We do not expect people to be deeply moved by what is not unusual.”
GEORGE ELIOT, Middlemarch: A Study of Provincial Life, 1871.
In 1856 George Eliot penned a review of W. H. Riehl’s A Natural History of German Life for The Westminster Review. In the review’s opening section, she sets forth a manifesto for her realist mode of writing: calling upon ‘any man of sufficient moral and intellectual breadth, whose observations would not be vitiated by a foregone conclusion’ to devote themselves to studying ‘the natural history of our social classes’ and ‘the degree in which they are influenced by local conditions’ — giving us ‘the result of his observation in a book well-nourished with specific facts’.
Adopting the role of the conscientious naturalist, Eliot pays close attention throughout Middlemarch to the town’s rural rhythms and domestic minutiae. This involved trusting in what George Henry Lewes termed ‘long deliberate scrutiny’ — allowing one’s ‘eyes to ‘rest long enough on [a] spot to lose the perplexity occasioned by a hundred different details’ (Seaside Studies 21).
That which might appear trivial is revealed to have hidden significance. The seemingly petty gossip of women like Mrs. Plymdale, Mrs. Bulstrode, Mrs Vincy, Mrs. Cadwallader, Mrs. Dollop, Mrs Hackbutt, and Mrs. Toller emerges as the social fabric that knits together the whole community. Middlemarch’s resident naturalist, Rev. Camden Farebrother, is one of the few characters not to underestimate the strength of such networks. Throughout the novel he acts as a foil to Tertius Lydgate — an idealistic young doctor, that, fatally, thinks of others as satellites to his own reality.
“In natural science, I have understood, there is nothing petty to the mind that has a large vision of relations, […] It is surely the same with the observation of human life.”
GEORGE ELIOT, The Mill on the Floss (1860)
Fossil hunting was a popular pastime during Eliot’s younger days when great discoveries took place about the age of the earth and the existence of dinosaurs. But the fossil record also suggested past and future mass extinction events were possible. For Eliot the process of fossilisation was a way for her to think about how she used memory and the past in her writing.
Exhibit 9 – An ammonite fossilised amid rock, the Herbert Art Gallery & Museum.
This pteridosperm fossil was found in the Warwickshire coalfield. The specimen contains one large leaf in the centre, surrounded by leaf and stem debris. It originates from the Carboniferous period some 300 million years ago, when the land around Coventry, Bedworth and Nuneaton was covered in a forested swamp and long before the dinosaurs walked the Earth.
Taking the advice of Philip Henry Gosse’s A Naturalist’s Rambles on the Devonshire Coast, Eliot and her partner, George Henry Lewes, set off in 1856 for Devon to practice natural history along the shoreline. During this time, Eliot honed her increasingly precise naturalist’s eye: observing and taxonomizing those she met as surely as she did her specimens.
In an 1839 letter to her friend Maria Lewis Eliot considered her literary mode through the materiality of a fossil.
She writes that her ‘mind is more than usually chaotic […] like a stratum of conglomerated fragments […] encrusted and united with some unvaried and uninteresting but useful stone’.
Her thoughts present ‘such an assemblage of disjointed specimens …all arrested and petrified and smothered by the fast thickening [of] everyday accession’; while her memories — impressions or traces of a once-living thing, compressed by the thickening sediment of ‘actual events, relative anxieties, and household cares’ — fossilise amid the strata of her mind.
Quarrying fossils and stones also played a part in Eliot’s research process. She called her notebooks in which she recorded everything she learned from old newspapers and her contacts about the history of Coventry her ‘Quarry for Middlemarch’.
From 1868 until the novel’s completion in 1872, George Eliot regularly consulted what she called her Quarry for Middlemarch — a small, leather notebook packed with detailed particulars to furnish her imagined provincial town. Extending the elaborate geological metaphor she had earlier used in 1839 to describe her compositional process, these ‘quarries’ served as an imaginative site for narrative excavation — a repository where she could keep track of all the careful contextual mining that comprised her historical research.
Jottings include relevant dates (such as when Fred would have taken his degree examinations), the ages and ancestry of various characters, potential mottoes and quotes for chapter epigraphs, and notes on the central themes that underpin Middlemarch’s many plots. Such information was vital when it came to embedding her characters in a specific time and locality.
Much of the ‘quarry’ is made up of quotes or extracts relating to scientific or medical matters. As we shall explore later on in the exhibition, this strong bedrock of scientific knowledge proved invaluable — from notes on the cholera epidemic of the 1830s, to information that helped solidify tensions between the Middlemarch Infirmary and the New Fever Hospital.
As Eliot noted in her journal in September 1869, this included any information that she judged necessary to ‘imagining the conditions of [her] hero’.
Exhibit 11 – Eliot, George, 1819-1880. Quarry for Middlemarch [cover and map], MS Lowell 13. Houghton Library, Harvard University. See Medical Reform for further selected pages.
Middlemarch is acutely aware of its identity as a work of fiction that will eventually be read in different ways by a diverse range of individuals, each with their own predilections and prejudices.
It is a novel that purposefully views events from the perspective of multiple individuals — Dorothea lonely in her blue-green boudoir at Lowick Manor, Mary Garth tirelessly attending to Old Featherstone at Stone Court, Lydgate wholly in the thrall of the billard-room at The Green Dragon.
As we can see from the small, private map drawn in her Quarry, Eliot evidentially took great care in envisioning various characters’ relative proximity to one another — in creating a realistic, localised frame through which she could imagine their lives.
Twenty-first-century students of Eliot have continued this practice of literary mapping…
Exhibit 12 — A Fictional Map of Middlemarch (2015) by contemporary illustrator Caitlin Kuhwald, watercolour and digital.
CONTEMPORARY REVIEWS
CONTEMPORARY REVIEWS
Please cite this exhibition as follows: White, Rosalind. (2022) ‘Part One: Historicising the Past’, Finding Middlemarch [Online Exhibition]. Royal Holloway, University of London. In collaboration with Nuneaton Museum & Art Gallery, Nuneaton Library, Coventry Archives and the Herbert Art Gallery & Museum and funded by the Arts Humanities Research Council. Retrieved from Exploring Eliot [https://exploringeliot.org/discover-george-eliot/finding-middlemarch/historicising-the-recent-past/]