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Dissertations, Theses, and Masters Projects Theses, Dissertations, & Master Projects

1989

Blindness and Vision in "Middlemarch"

Sarah Ellen Arnold
College of William & Mary - Arts & Sciences

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Recommended Citation
Arnold, Sarah Ellen, "Blindness and Vision in "Middlemarch"" (1989). Dissertations, Theses, and Masters
Projects. Paper 1539625528.
https://dx.doi.org/doi:10.21220/s2-0147-6p72

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 BLINDNESS AND VISION IN MIPfrkEJKARgfl

A Thesis

Presented to

The F a c u l t y of the Department of English

The College of Willia m and Ma r y in Virginia

In Partial Fu lfi llment

Of the Requirements for the Degree of

Master of Arts

by

Ellen Arnold

1989
 APP ROV AL SHEET

This thesis is submitted in partial fulfillment

the require men ts for the degree of

Master of Arts

Author

Approved, Ma y 1989

James Savage

Deborah Morse

lUJJbuU
Elsa Nettels
 ACK NOW LED GM EN TS

The writer wishes to express thanks to Professor James

Savage, under whose dire ct io n this paper was written, for his
patient encourag em en t and judicious criticism. A p pr eciat io n
also goes to Pr ofe ssors Deborah Morse and Elsa Nettels for
their careful re ading and helpful comments on the
manuscr i p t .

iii
 ABSTRACT

This st u d y explores how George Eliot uses the many

instances of impaired vision in Mi ddle m a r c h to illustrate the
theme of egoism. By nature, each of the major characters is
egoistic and thus suffers from some form of false perception.

The first part of the paper focuses on some of the

specific mani fe stat io ns of impaired sight that occur in the
book. Both Edward Casaubo n and Dorothe a Brooke are desc ri bed
as being " s h o r t - s i g h t e d ” : too pr eoc cu pie d with the details
of personal desires to notice the needs of other people.
Other characters, such as Tertius Lydgate and Rosamond Vincy,
are able to see the broad spectrum, but onl y in certain
situations, and thus they too are blind to those around them.

Visual met ap ho rs illustrate the "moral stupidity" into

which each person is born, but they also give emphasis to the
possib i l i t y of es ca ping from that insensitivity. The second
part of the paper deals with the theme of d i s i l lu si on ment and
its power to change an egoist into a s ym pa th et ic person
con cerned with the needs of other people, and how that theme
fits into the met ap ho ri ca l corr ela tion betwe en sight and
sympathy, bli ndness and egoism.

In M i d d l e m a r c h . Dorothea is the cleare st instance of the

saving power of disillusionment . Throu gh the painful
experience of marriag e to Casaubon, she comes to realize the
ego ism of her ea r l y desires, and she g r a d u a l l y becomes able
to g e n u i ne ly sympathize with her husband and with other
people.
BLINDNESS AND VISION IN M I D D L E M A R C H
 2

The ma ny images of impaired or distorted vi si on in

Middlem ar ch illustrate George Eliot's concern with clear

perception, p a r ti cu larly its co rrela tio n with a person's

a b i l i t y to sympathize with others. In fact the book

contains metaphors in a pro gression from blindness to

clear sight ac cor ding to characters* levels on a scale

from se lf- center edn ess to unselfishness. Man y

characters in Mid dl em arch struggle, as Dorothea does

ea rly in the book, "against the perception of facts."

This inability or unwillingness to see clearly, whether

it is used only figuratively, as in Lydgate's "blind"

ignorance to Rosamond's designs, or whether it is

present as a physical as well as a psychological prob lem

(Dorothea's myopia, for example, or Casaubon's incessant

blinking) is an indication of a character's

e g o c en tr ic ity and his or her obliviousness to the

concerns and needs of other people. Likewise, the rare

moment of unclouded vision signals an equ all y clear

pe rception of one's res po ns ib ility to others.

In the character of Casaubon, egoism takes the form

of extreme se ns it iv ity and self-preoccupation; the

images used are narrowed focus and short-sightedness.

"Will not a tiny speck very close to our vision blot out

the glory of the world and leave only a margin by which

we see the blot?," asks the narrator. "I know no speck

so troublesome as self" (409). Casaubon sees only the

smallest details and is unable to visualize the "larger,

 3

quieter masses"; he focuses on parts onl y and neglects

the wholes. Cas aubon never completes his ambitious

(though outdated and futile) Kev to A l l Mythologies

because he is unable to visualize the finished work. He

h op el essly buries himself in his piles of notebooks,

perhaps because he is inwardly frightened that the book

will prove to be worthless if he ever does a c t u al ly

write it. Indeed, the reason he becomes so an g r y at

Dorothea in Rome is that she gives voice to the

insidious que sti on that haunts his subconscious: When

will you begin to incorporate your years of work into

the promised book? Wh y have you not yet begun to write?

He becomes mired in the particulars of researching and

taking notes, ex pe ndi ng his effort on obscure details

while failing to que sti on their relevance to anythin g

beyond his e x t r em el y limited s c h o la rly scope.

Poor Mr. Cas aub on himself was lost among small

closets and windi ng stairs, and in an agitated
dimness about the Cabeiri, or in an exposure of
other m y t h o l o g i s t s * ill-considered parallels,
easily lost sight of any purpose which had prompted
him to these labours. With his taper stuck before
him he forgot the absence of windows, and in bitter
manuscript remarks on other m e n ’s notions about the
solar deities, he had become indifferent to the
sunlight (19 2).

C a s a u b o n 1s short- sig htedness protects his fragile ego

from the painful truth. It is his wa y of " b l i n k i n g ” at

anything that does not fit into his illusions about

himself; whatever does not come within that narrow focus

is simply disregarded. In this way, Casaubon's egoism

causes him to live his life "always in b l i n k e r s ” (162),

 4

sh eltered from anythin g that might frighten or dist ur b

him as he trudges through his life.

C a s a u b o n Ts t e n de nc y to take the narrowest

perspective infects more than just his professional

life. His inability to see beyond the minute details of

his research is repres ent ative of his inab il ity to see

outside of his own inner pains and fears to understand

those of other people. Casaubon's most di st in gu ishin g

ch aracteri sti cs are explored in great depth in Chapter

29: he believes that he is expected to fulfill some

outward requirem ent (the com ple tion of the Key, for

example, or the proper, formal d e l i v e r y of information

in conversation); he d e e p l y fears that he ma y not

fulfill that requirement; and, greatest of all, he fears

that someone (like Dorothea) will sense that self-doubt

and pit y him for it. All of these are pro fo un dl y

self-preoccupied, eg oc en tri c emotions; his pe rsonal ity

is character ize d by "that proud narrow sensitiveness

which has not mass enough to spare for transforma tion

into sympathy, and quivers thread-like in small currents

of se lf -p re occup at io n or at best of an egoistic

scrupulosity" (273). During their courtship, Dorothea

admires Casaubon for his schola rly knowledge and

believes him to be eq ua ll y capable of emotional

understanding. But, ea rl y in the marriage, she begins

to realize that he is un willing to em pl oy an y degree of

sym pathetic un derst and ing in his dealings with people;

 5

an y "capacity of thought and feeling as had ever been

stimulated in him by the general life of mankin d had

long shrunk to a sort of dried preparation, a lifeless

e mb alm me nt of k n o w l e d g e ” (191). He twists the most

un sel fish aspect of human feeling until it revolves

s o l e l y around himself: he marries Doroth ea not for

un sel fish love but because of s el f- flatt er in g egoism,

beli ev in g that she is "pro vi de nt ially made" for him and

c o n s i deri ng her only in the light of her fitness to help

him (83); he supports Will not out of a sense of

u n t h in ki ng g e n e r o s i t y but out of a s e l f - c o n g r a t u l a t o r y

feeling of do ing his duty. Just as he co nst ricts the

en e r g y of his pro fes sional life into the res ea rch for

his me an in gle ss project, so he concen tra tes the e n e r g y

of his personal life on his own se lf-ce nte red desires

and fears. The n ar row focus of a person like Casaub on

is tragic because, in order to protect himself from the

unknown, the painful, or the uncomfortable, he must

limit his ex per ience to what is familiar, dull, and

mundane. George Eliot's portrayal of the limiting and

ult i m a t e l y se lf - d e f e a t i n g c a p a c i t y of an e go is m such as

Casaubon's is masterful:

It is an u ne as y lot at best, to be what we call

high ly taught and yet not to enjoy: to be present
at this great spectacle of life and never to be
liberated from a small hun gry shiver in g self --
never to be fully pos sessed by the g lory we behold,
never to have our cons cio usness r a pt ur ousl y
tr ans formed into the vivi dness of a thought, the
ardour of a passion, the energ y of an action, but
always to be s c h o l a r l y and uninspired, ambitious
and timid, scrupulous and dim -s ight ed (273-4).
 6

Despite the r ef re shin g lack of morbid

self-consc io us ne ss that makes Dorothe a so differen t from

Casaubon, she shares with her husband a narrowness of

vision that leads her to make false judgments and even

blocks other people out of her range of concern. Near

the be gin ni ng of the novel, Celia comments on this trait

of her sister, injecting, as she will throughout the

book, a dose of com mon sense into Dorothea's

over-zealousness: "You always see what no bo dy else

sees; it is impossible to sa ti sf y you; yet you never see

what is quite plain" (36). And, much later, the

narrator reminds us that "of lower experience such as

plays a great part in the world, poor Mrs. Casaubon had

a v e r y blurred, sh ort-s igh ted knowledge, little helped

by her imagination" (742). The impression which the

reader receives is of Dorothea with a book held close to

her myopic eyes, pre oc cupied with "great thoughts,"

ab s e n t - m i n d e d l y bumblin g her w a y through ev er yd ay life.

She quite li ter all y steps on Celia's little terrier

because she cannot see it, and she treads on poor James

Chet tam 's heart for the same reason. She unc on scio us ly

leads him to believe that she might accept an offer from

him and then engages herself to Casaubon. Sir James's

heart mends qu ickl y — he is soon co ur ting the other

sister with equal ent hus ia sm -- but other con se quences

of Dor othea's sho rt-s ig ht ed ness are more drastic. Most

notably, she idealizes Mr. Casaubon before they are

 7

married, exa ggera ti ng his positive qualities and failing

to notice the undesirable aspects of his character.

After only their first meeting, she announces to Celia

that Casaubon has a "great soul"; she saw it in his face

at dinner (20). Upon the conclusion of their first

co nversa tio n with one another, Dorothea has alr ea dy

begun to think of him as a prospective husband, and her

reasons for feeling so are strongl y narcissistic:

Dorothea by this time had looked deep into the

ungauged reservoir of Hr. C a s a u b o n ’s mind, seeing
reflected there in vague labyrinthine ext ension
ev ery qu al it y she herself brought (23).

The image is d o u b l y critical of Dorothea: not only is

she attracted to Ca saubon prim ar ily because she imagines

him to possess the same qualities she (rather

s e l f - r i g h t e o u s l y ) values in herself, but she fosters the

illusion that those qualities are am pli fied and extended

in Casaubon. Barbara Ha rdy refers to this passage in

her explorat ion of the mirror imagery in M i d d l e m a r c h :

"When Dorothea saw herself reflected in the waters of

the reservoir, she saw a di st ort ing mirror reflecting

herself, not showing through clear glass a true image"

(Novels of Georae Eliot 228). The illusion of Casaubon

whic h Dorothea creates is so stubborn that it blinds her

to c o n tr ad ic tory facts. "Dorothea's faith supplied all

that Mr. Casaubon's words seemed to leave unsaid," as

she listens to his c hi ll y procl ama tion of love for her.

"What believer sees a di st urbing omission or

infelicity?" (50).
 8

According to Hardy, the e g o c e n t r i c i t y ex pr es sed by

the mirror image is an example of D or ot hea' s "inturned

vision," but ve might gr oup this interpretation with

other aspects of Dor ot hea's disto rt ed vision. Her

short-s ig ht ed ness is, after all, an ina bil ity to focus

on a n y th in g far a w a y from her, an unv il lin gn es s to see

beyond herself and her desires. No less than Casaubon,

though perhaps in a more subtle way, she vievs her

future spouse as " p r o v iden ti al ly made" for her. She

does not look for Casaub on' s worth as an individual, but

only sees him as a fulfillment of her own need for

knowledge and a wo rthw hi le purpose.

The union which at tr acted her was one that would

deliver her from her girlish s ubj ec ti on to her own
ignorance, and give her the freedom of vo l u n t a r y
submission to a guide who would take her along the
grandest path.
"I should learn eve ry th in g then. . . . There
would be nothing trivial about our lives.
Eve ry da y- thin gs wit h us would mean the greatest
things. It would be like marryi ng Pascal. I
should learn to see the truth by the same light as
great men have seen it by" (28).

At times, one can har d l y suppress the desire to exclaim,

along with George Eliot, "Poor Dorothea!" Dorothea's

ambitions are, after all, well-intended; she wants only

to learn how she can use her life to better serve her

fellow humans.

She did not want to deck herself wit h knowledge —

to wear it loose from the nerves and blood that fed
her action. . . . But so mething she yearn ed for by
which her life might be filled with actio n at once
rational and ardent; and since the time was gone
by for guiding visions and spiritual directors,
since prayer hei gh te ne d yea rni ng but not
instruction, what lamp was there but knowledge?
 9

S u r e l y learned men kept the on ly oil; and who more

learned than Mr. Casau bon ? (85).

Nevertheless, despite their a p p a r e n t air of

selflessness, Dor ot hea's amb it io ns are man if es ta tions of

egoism, for they are her personal dreams. Dorothea

convince s herself that her reasons for ma rr yi ng were

un self is h — she says that she wants to assist Casa ub on

in his work — but she inward ly hopes that marriag e will

s a t i s f y her personal ambitions. Her frustrated hope to

help Ca sa ub on in his work and perhaps learn a great deal

in the process leads her to qu e s t i o n Casaubon

insen si ti vely about his notes in Rome, causing their

first disagree men t. While te ll in g herself that her only

desire is to help Casaubon, she h y p o c r i t i c a l l y remains

aloof from his innermost fears and pains, content with

imagining "how she would devote herself to Mr. Casaubon,

and become wise and strong in his strengt h and wisdom"

(205). Again, emotional insen si ti vi ty is expressed in

terms of a physical impairment of the senses: "She was

as blind to his inward troubles as he to hers: She had

not yet learned those hidden conflicts in her husband

wh i c h claim our pity. She had not yet listened

pat i e n t l y to his heart-beats, but only felt that her own

was beating violently" (194). Thus, D o r o t h e a ’s

sh o rt -s ig ht ed tend en cy to ignore anythi ng outside of her

personal desires not only causes her to form faulty and

sometimes dis ast rous judgments, but it also makes her

c a l l o u s l y oblivious to the feelings of other people.

 10

C e r t a i n l y the logical method of cor re ct in g a visual

field as nar ro w as that of Casaubon or even Dorothea is

to broad en it. But if the novel proposes that one's

focus m a y be too narrow, it also insists that it m a y be

too broad; oversight of small details is as de bi litat in g

as preo cc up at ion with them. Mr. Fa rebroth er recalls

Lydg ate 's ea r l y saying that "there must be a systole and

diastole in all inquiry. . . . a man's mind must be

c o n t i n u a l l y ex pa ndin g and sh rinking between the whole

human horiz on and the horizon of an object glass" (628).

The giant Tom in the s to ry which M a r y asks Farebrother

to tell to the small V in cy children at the New Year's

Day p ar ty is an ex aggerate d per so ni fi ca tion of vision

which is not d i s c er ni ng enough. Acc or di ng to Mary, the

story is about "ants whose beautiful house was knocked

down by a giant named Tom, and he thought they didn't

mind because he couldn' t hear them cry, or see them use

their pocket -h andke rc hi ef s" (631). The ants's tears are

e v i d e n t l y too minute to be disce rne d by giant eyes.

F a r e b r o t h e r 's fictional invention is not the only

character who fails to perceive detail because of a

focus that is too coarse. Rosamond, especially, has

removed herself from the details of e v e r yd ay life and

lives in a world that is determi ned by her personal

desires alone. She some how connects Will Ladislaw's

visit to Midd l e m a r c h with Lydgate's agr eement to move to

London since both of these are events which she wishes

 11

to occur; she comes to believe that Lad isl aw's visit

will so meh ow bring about the move to London. But in

focusing on the future events which she desires,

Ros amo nd ne gle cts to consider the detai ls of how they

will happen:

To see how an effect m a y be produced is often to

see possible missings and checks; but to see
nothing except the desirable cause, and close upon
it the de sirab le effect, rids us of doubt and makes
our minds s t r o n g l y intuitive. That was the process
goin g on in poor Rosamond (759).

Not only does Ros am ond 's oversight cause her to be

unable to foresee events which ma y affect or prevent

what she desires, but it also makes her unable to

foresee possible undesirab le effects brought on by the

same cause, and it makes her unable to consider any

a lt ernati ve to what she wants. When Ly dgate tells her

that to go out ridi ng again with Ca ptain Lydgate will

c er t a i n l y risk their unborn baby and her own health,

Ro sam ond s i mply d isre ga rd s his warning. "There is the

chance of ac cident indoors," she tells Lydgate (570).

She wants the pleasure of being seen on a fine horse

with a baronet's son beside her, and she will not

consider a n y reasons for w h y she should not follow her

inclination: "What she liked to do was to her the right

thing, and all her clever ness was d ir ec te d to getting

the means of doing it" (570). Even after she has an

accide nt and loses the baby she insists that she did not

do an yt hing wrong; she believes that even if she had

 12

stayed at home the b a b y would have been born

prematurely.

Inevitably, a long wi t h miss ing the detai ls and

addition al conseq ue nc es o£ what she desires, Rosamon d

also overlooks the feelings of the other people who are

af fe cted b y her actions. She not on l y ignores the

p o s s i b i l i t y that her horseback ride might cause her to

lose the baby; she also ignores the pain and wo r r y that

she will give to Ly dg at e by di sr eg a r d i n g his warning.

Toward the end of the novel it is clear that Lydgate

recognizes his w i f e ’s s e l f - c e n t e r e d n e s s . As Lydgate and

Dorothea discuss the p o s s i b i l i t y of his c o n t in uing to

live in M i dd lema rc h and work in the New Fever Hospital,

Dorothea learns that Ro sa mon d's de te r m i n a t i o n to leave

M i d d l em ar ch has s e v e r e l y weakened Ly dga te' s resolve to

stay. "She has set her mind against staying,'' Lydgate

tells Dorothea,

"She wishes to go. The troubles she has had

here have wearied her." . . .

"But when she sa w the good that might come of

staying — " said Dorothea, remonstrantly, looking
at Lydgate as if he had forgotten the reasons which
had just been considered. He did not speak
immediately.

"She would not see it," he said at last, c ur tl y

(755).

In insisting to Lyd ga te that they move aw a y from

Middlemarch, Ros amond se l f i s h l y closes her eyes to what

Lydgate wants and what would be best for him. "No one

quicker than Ros amond to see causes and effects which

 13

lay within the tracks of her own tastes and interests”

(571), but it is on ly wi thi n those limits that she is

t ru ly farsighted. She is able to focus on and, usually,

obtain what she desires, but in doing so she overlooks

the undesirable results of her actions, ignores

alternative actions, and neglects to consider the

interests of others.

In a similar way, Lydgate also overlooks important

details in the face of a broader vision. At one of his

first introductions to Middle ma rc h society, a dinner at

the Vincy's, Lydgate has a l r e a d y begun, quite

innocently, to alienate himself from the other members

of the medical profession. Lydgate finds himself in a

debate with C h i ch el y over the appr op riate ne ss of legal

training for a coroner. Lydgate takes the positio n that

formal training in law will not help a coroner at all

during a medical investigation; in fact, he says, it

will make him more incompetent. A lawyer, he argues,

"is no better than an old woman at a post-m ort em

e x a m i n a t i o n ” (155). Caught up in proving his argument,

Lydgate succeeds in insulting Chichely, who is

M i d d l e m a r c h 's coroner and who has u n d o u b te dl y received

the legal trainin g which Lydgate disparages. To make

matters worse, he also insults Dr. Sprague, one of the

most influential doctors in the area, by implying that

co u n t r y doctors (excluding Lydgate himself, of course)

are as incompetent, if not more so, than coroners.

 14

Characteristi cal ly, Lydgate spies a broad gen eral iz atio n

which he feels to be true and tramples a n y minor (but

nonetheless important) consi de ra ti ons as he rushes to

grasp it.

Another aspect of L y d g a t e ’s obtuseness is his

t e n de ncy to overlook important aspects of his personal

life and the people in it as he focuses on his

professional aspirations. This trait appears again and

again in George Eliot's d e s c r ip ti on of Lydgate's

character. His "spots of c o m m o n n e s s , ” she tells us,

exist despite his evident potential for greatness in

medicine: "That d i s t i nct io n of mind which belonged to

his intellectual ardour, did not penetrate his feeling

and judgment about furniture, or women, or the

d e s i r a b i l i t y of its being known (without his telling)

that he was better born than other c o untr y s u r g e o n s ”

(147-8). After his first co nv ers a t i o n with Rosamond at

the Vincy's dinner party, he goes home to read a book on

typhoid fever, "bringing a much more testi ng vision of

details and relations into this patholog ica l stu dy than

he had ever thought it ne c e s s a r y to a p p l y to the

co mplexit ies of love and marriage" (161). Within

sc ientif ic study, Lydgate is well aware of the need for

att en tiv en es s to detail, but he does not ap ply his

c a p ac ity for intent ob ser vation to his personal life.

It is part of his nature to have "numerous strands of

exp erience lying side by side and never compare them

 15

with each o t h e r ” (574). Lydgate's pe r s o n a l i t y is pulled

in two directions. One aspect of his chara cte r is

do min ated by his scie nt ific study, and here obser va tio n

is thorough, both precise and all-encompassi ng. But the

other half, the personal side of his life, relies on

ge ne ra li zat ions only, r ar el y examined in a n y detail.

The most s t r ik in g d ra ma ti z a t i o n of this

charac te ri st ic is L y d g a t e ’s mistaken as sess me nt of each

of the women with wh om he becomes ro ma n t i c a l l y involved.

In Chapter 15 we learn som et hi ng of Lydga te's

background, including his past infatuation and

disi ll us ionme nt with Madame Laure, a simple case of

being de cei ved by external appearances. He falls in

love with Laure after m e r e l y seeing her on stage, before

he has even spoken with her. When she stabs her

husband, Lydgate is quick to champion her; he is

perfec tl y con vinced of her innocence a l t hou gh he has no

proof of it. Really, the only proof he thinks that he

needs, George Eliot implies, is readi ly before him:

"Dark eyes, a Greek profile, and rounded ma je stic form,

. . . that sort of be a u t y which carries a sweet

ma tr onl in ess even in youth," and a "soft cooing" voice

(148). He is u n d e r s t a n d a b l y devast ate d when she tells

him that she did, in fact, murder her husband and for no

stronger reason than that he wearied her. Su dd en ly he

faces an unknown aspect of her character to which her

bea ut y had p r e v io usly blinded him.

 16

Lydgate vows that he will never again make the same

mistake, that he will devote himself to his work. But,

ironically, the woman he e v e n t u a l l y marries is v e r y much

like Laure. Despite her lack of physical likeness to

Laure, Rosamond is s i m i l a r l y selfish and almost amoral

— both wome n judge the right or wron g of an action

ac co rd ing to whether it will help or hurt themselves,

regardless of how it affects others. When he meets

Rosamond, Lydgate is h ap py enough to flirt with her,

b el ieving that she is the kind of girl who will

underst and such things as they are meant. But what he

sees as an innocent flirtat ion with Ro sam ond is regarded

by her as c o u r tshi p in earnest. While he returns home

to his medical studies and his search for the primitive

tissue, un dis turbed by their conversations, she plans

their future together. "Circumstance was almost sure to

be on the side of Rosamond's idea, which had a shapi ng

ac t i v i t y and looked th rou gh watchful blue eyes, whereas

Lyd gate's lay blind and unconcerne d as a jellyfish which

gets melted without knowi ng i t ” (266). Thus he finds

himself helpless when he learns of Rosamond's a tt ac hmen t

to him; his state of mind at the moment when he s u d de nly

realizes Rosamond's infatuation with him is

''warm-hearted,1' " r a s h , ” " l a v i s h , ” and "impulsive" (293),

quite di ffe re nt from the mea sur ed care with which he

 17

a pp ro ac hes medicine. In a momen t of sur pr is ed reaction,

he marri es her a g ai ns t all of his earlier resolutions.

But L y d g a t e ’s pr eoccu p a t i o n with his career can

also take on a more eg oc entr ic aspect, and what is

sometime s a lack of awar en ess of other people becomes a

lack of interest and concern; often, he is not so much

unable to see those around him as he is unwill ing to

take his eyes off of his pro fes sional am bi tio ns in order

to look at them. Lydgate's a s s u m p t i o n that Rosamo nd

Vincy's charms are his to mo no polize at will before

their en gagem en t is indicative of the wa y he will think

of her as m e r e l y an ornament to his own life when they

are married. P r eo cc up ied with dist an t dreams of where

his medical resea rc h might take him, he is often blind

to the feelings of the wife right under his nose.

In a proph eti c scene while the Lyd gate s are still

newlyweds, Ro sa mo nd plays the piano as her husband

reflects upon the life and work of Vesalius. The music

forms the ba ck gr oun d for his thoughts; likewise, the

presence of Rosamond is to him "no more than a spoonful

brought to the lake" of his c on te nt ment (449). The

scene is marked by Rosa mon d's indifference to Lydgate's

passionate de v o t i o n to medicine, but it also shows

Lydgate's own lack of conc ern with his wife's feelings.

When Ro sa mo nd exp resses disgu st at the idea of robbing

graves in order to s tudy anatomy, L yd gate vi r t u a l l y

ignores her, "going on too ear n e s t l y to take much notice

 18

o£ her answer" (449); wh en she says that she some times

wishes, like the cousi ns at Quallingham, that he were

not a doctor, he asks her not to sa y it agai n instead of

trying to u nd er stand wh y she feels that way. Lydgate,

in a phrase that echoes F a r e b r o t h e r 1s tale of the giant

Tom, is an "emotional elephant," too pre occ up ie d by his

giant dreams and am bi tion s to notice how he is cru shi ng

those around him. When, much later, Ro sa mo nd and

Lydgate are de s c r i b e d as being "adrift on one piece of

wreck and lookCing] a w a y from each other" (746), we

cannot be too surp ri se d at the distan ce the y have come;

from the beginn ing both of them have been unable to

c l e a r l y see that wh ich was closest to them -- each

other.

Of course there are m a n y more exampl es of

cha rac ters who fail to see clearly; in fact, the

pe rcepti on of al mos t e v e r y major character in the book

is so me ho w imperfect. Mr. Brooke allows himself to

ignore the ha rdships of his tenants until the cri ti ci sm

of the "Trumpet" forces him to look at his duties as a

landlord in a new light and make Improvements.

Similarly, Bul strode blocks out the me m o r y of his past

sins, belie vin g that th e y are hidden from everyone, even

from the eyes of God. But, regardless of the particular

metaphor, the charac ter s who suffer from "visual"

impairments are alike in that each indulges the illusion

that he or she is of central importance. It is this

 19

sense of self-importance, in fact, which causes faulty

perception, for such su bj ec t i v i t y nec e s s a r i l y affects

the aspect of events and other people, as we have seen.

The oft-quoted but nonetheless apt parable of the pier

glass encapsulates this idea so central to the novel:

Your pier-glass or extensive surface of polished

steel made to be rubbed by a housemaid, will be
mi nu te ly and m u l t i t u d i n o u s l y scratched in all
directions; but place now against it a lighted
candle as a centre of illumination, and lo! the
scratches will seem to arrange themselves in a fine
series of co ncentr ic circles round that little sun.
It is dem ons tr ab le that the scratches are going
everywhere impartially, and it is only your candle
which produces the flattering Illusion of a
concentric arrangement, its light falling with an
exclusive optical selection. These things are a
parable. The scratches are events, and the candle
is the ego ism of an y person now absent (258).

Althoug h the passage refers di r e c t l y to Rosamond,

it is also relevant for an y character in the novel, or

for an y of its readers. To J. Hillis Miller, the

e x t re mely subjective vie wpoint of egoism is the onl y one

possible:

Seeing . . . is for Eliot not a neutral, objective,

dispassionate, or passive act. It is the creative
project ion of light from an egotistic center
mot ivated by desire and need. This projected
radiance orders the field of vision acc or ding to
the presuppo sitions of the seer. The act of seeing
is the spontaneous affirm at ion of the will to power
over what is seen (138).

For Miller, the t e r ri bl y lonely fate of going through

life en counter ing only projections of oneself is

escapable only by the narrator of the novel. But Philip

Fisher convi nc i n g l y suggests that the se lf -inter est ed

point of view is only the starting point of all

 20

int erp retati on and interaction. This, Fisher argues, is

what Eliot means by the "moral s t u p i d i t y ” into which

each of us is born, an inherent sel f- cen te re dn ess where

everyon e begins but out of which it is possible to grow

(185). The d i s p a r i t y be twe en the interpretations of

Fisher and Miller revolve s around F i s h e r ’s inco rpo ration

of this ess ential asp ect of the novel, which Miller

fails to acknowledge: the p o t e n t i a l l y en hancing effect

of expe ri en ce on a c h a r a c t e r ’s perception. In Adam

B e d e f Eliot tells us that so r r o w and pain, especially,

have the power to teach a more sy mp at he tic point of

view:

Deep, uns peakable sufferi ng m a y well be called a

baptism, a regeneration, the initiation into a new
state. . . . Doub tles s a great a n gu is h ma y do the
work of years, and we ma y come out from that
ba ptis m with a soul full of new awe and new pity
(309-10).

And later in the same work she reitera tes this idea:

"Our sorrow lives in us as an indestructible force, only

c ha ngi ng its form, as forces do, and passin g from pain

into sympathy — the one poor word which includes all

our best insight and our best love ” (353).

In M i d d l e m a r c h . the me tamor ph os is from selfi shness

t hr ough experie nce to sy m p a t h y is not so miracul ous or

spon tan eous as the earlier work might suggest, but the

c o rr el atio n remains. Bernard J. Paris has said that

this moral growth stems from an "awakening to the

d i s p a r i t y between the inward and the o u t w a r d ” which

"makes clear to the individual the real relations of

 21

things and is the ba ptism of sorrow which renders him

capable of true s y m p a t h y and f e l l o w s h i p ” (28-29). With

experience comes disillusionment, what Paris calls a

re co gn it ion of the "real relations of t h i n g s ” and what

Barbara Ha rdy terms the "moment of disenc han tment." It

is literally a removal of illusion, pr i m a r i l y that

"flattering illusion of a concent ri c ar ran geme nt, " and

its ideal result is the a b ilit y to ac kno wl edg e the

v a l id ity of others' points of view and the willingness

to enter into sy m p a t h y wi th them. By some, usually

painful, e nc ro achm ent of reality upon the illusory world

in which a character occupies the po sit ion of most

importance, the character is jarred into recognizing his

or her true place in the world of reality.

Barbara Ha rdy cites evidence from Eliot's own life

that illustrates this pattern. She quotes a letter

from Eliot to Sara Hennell which speaks of an experience

common to all people of awaking from the poe try of the

past to the "naked prose" of the present ("Moment of

Disenchantment" 55). The poetry which Eliot speaks of,

says Hardy, is "erected on a dream, a dr ea m in which the

dreamer occupies the centre, and dis en ch antm en t is the

waking which forces the dreamer to look pai nful ly at a

reality which puts him in his place" (61). Once this is

accomplished, one is able to look outside of oneself to

recognize the importance of others.

 22

In M i d d l e m a r c h . the experi ence of Dorothea is the

best illustration of this pattern of moral growth. Her

marri ag e to Ca s au bo n is the initial painful experien ce

which leads her from e goism to genuine sympathy.

Dorothea's growth out of the ins ensitivity which we have

a l r e a d y explored is a continuous process composed of

several instances of di si l l u s i o n m e n t and enlightenment,

but perhaps the most important of these are two scenes

in wh ich she is rejected outright by Casaubon.

The first of Do rothea's di si ll usio nm en ts occurs

while she and her husband are in Rome, after they argue

over Dorothea's qu es tion of when Casaub on will begin to

organize his notes. Dor othe a is at first indignant and

resentful, but, helped by Ladisla w' s hint that

Casaubon's work is r e al ly worthless, she gr a d u a l l y

realizes that Ca sa ubo n's pain must feel ve r y much like

her own rec e n t l y wo unded pride, and she begins to feel

some true sy m p a t h y for him, "the first sti rring of a

pitying tenderness fed by the realities of his lot and

not by her own dreams" (203), which leads her to humble

herself and apol ogi ze for her behavior. Casaubon's

rejec ti on of her hear tfe lt ap ol og y is the final blow to

her drea m of ever e s t ab li shin g an ardent, reciprocal

re la ti onship with her husband, and, along with the grief

that she feels at the dea th of that dream, she becomes

aware of a possible similar sadness in his life:

Dorothea rememb ered it to the last with the

vividness with which we all remember epochs in our
 23

exp eri ence when some dear e x pe ct at io n dies, or some

new motive is born. To - d a y she had begun to see
that she had been under a wild illusion in
ex pect in g a response to her feeling from Mr.
Casaubon, and she felt the wak in g of a presentime nt
that there might be a sad consc io us ne ss in his life
wh ich made as great a need on his side as on her
own (204-5).

This d a y marks the be gin nin g of her dep artu re from

seeing things only in the light of how they ma y affect

her, toward the kno wledge that C a s au bo n — and, by a

logical extension, a n y other person — has "an eq ui val ent

centre of self, whence the lights and shadows must

always fall with a c e rt ai n d i f f e r e n c e ” (205).

The second scene comes at the end of Book IV, when

Lydgate tells Cas au bo n that his illness might result in

ea r l y death and the end of his life's work. Dorothea

has learned, through the months of marriage, to read the

signs of her h u s b a n d ’s mood, so she senses that he is

de e p l y troubled by the news. She goes out to join him

in the garden after Lydgate leaves, hoping to relieve

his burden in some way, or at least to share his grief.

But Cas au bo n p e r p e t u a l l y fears that someone might pi ty

him. He responds to her sympa the tic look with a chi lly

glance and remains impassive when she attempts to link

arms with him. When they reach the house, Casaubon

locks himself alone in the library with out a word of

explana ti on or a p o l o g y to Dorothea. Her reaction to

this reje cti on is anger, "stronger than a n y she had felt

since her m a r r i a g e ” (416). But after her initial

 24

outburst of sel f-justification, she checks herself and

has a sudden clear vision of her situation:

Like one who has lost his way and is weary, she sat
and saw as in one glance all the paths of her young
hope which she should never find again. And just as
cl ear ly in the miserable light she saw her own and
her husband's solitude -- how th ey walked apart so
that she was obliged to s ur ve y him (417).

From this moment of intense disillusio nmen t, she is

able to feel an even greater sy mpat hy for her husband.

It takes her the whole evening to fully conquer her

anger, but she remembers her earlier feeling of how much

it must have hurt him to learn the serio usn ess of his

illness, and she final ly resolves to meet him when he

comes upstairs, even if it means facing rej ection again;

"she would never again expect any th ing else" (418). But

when he sees her waiting for him on the stairs with a

light in her hand, he seems almost grateful and gently

warns her against using up her young life in waiting for

him. Dorothea rejoices that her powers of s y mp at hy won

over her anger, feeling "something like the thankfulness

that might well up in us if we had n a r r o w l y escaped

hurting a lamed creature" (419).

Dorothea's experiences during her marriage better

enable her to sympathize with other people after her

husband dies. When she learns that Lydgate is suspected

of taking a bribe from Bulstrode, she immediately plans

to do som ething to convince them of his innocence. "'I

believe that people are almost always better than their

neighbours think the y are,'" she tells Farebrother.

 25

"Some of her lntensest experi enc e in the last two years

had set her mind s t r o n g l y in opposition to an y

unfavourable co n st ru ct ion of others" (723). Reluctantly,

she allows Farebrother, Sir James, and Mr. Brooke to

convince her that a n y dir ect ac tion would have adverse

effects, but when Ly dgate comes to discuss the hospital,

she leaps at the o p p o r t un it y to let him know that she

believes in his innocence and is willin g to support him.

For the first time since the trouble began, he is able to

tell his stor y from the beginning, with the ass urance

that his listener believes in his innocence.

Lydgate also fina lly decides to talk to Dorothea

about his married life because he knows she has had a

similar experience and will sympathize. "Why should I

not tell you?," he asks her. "— you know what sort of

bond marriage is. You will understand everything" (755).

Dorothea is able to help Lydgate as few people could,

in tuitivel y knowing what to sa y and what to avoid saying.

"Dorothea refrained from saying what was in her mind --

how well she knew that there might be invisible barriers

to speech between husband and wife. This was a point on

which even s y m pat hy might make a wound" (756). At the

end of their co nvers a t i o n she is able to give him some

hope by promising to talk to Farebrother and Rosamond and

lending him the mo n e y to pay back Bulstrode.

But marriage to Casaubo n is not the only experience

which heightens D o r o t h e a ’s awareness of others through

 26

pain; the book holds yet another trial for Dorothea. Her

pain and so rr ow when she believ es Will is having an

affair with Rosamon d are greater than a n y she has ever

felt, and her emerg ence from pr eo cc u p a t i o n with her own

feelings to co nc er n for the other three people involved

is p r o p o r t i o n a t e l y dramatic. At first, as in her

previous struggles, her reaction is accus at io n and proud

indignation. As she leaves Ros amond' s house, she is

ani ma ted by a . . . s e l f -po ss es se d energy. . . . It

was as if she had drunk a great draug ht of scorn
that stim ul ated her beyond the s us c e p t i b i l i t y to
other feelings. . . . She had never felt an yth in g
like this tr iumphan t power of indignation in the
struggles of her ma rried life, in which there had
always been a q ui c k l y sub duing pang; and she took it
as a sign of ne w strength. . . . 'Dodo, how ve r y
bright your eyes are!' said Celia . . . 'And you
don't see an yt hi ng you look at, Arthur or anything*
(765).

Do rothea's sense of self-possession, her indignation, and

her blindness to ev er yt hi ng around her all prove that she

is facing this t r ag ed y in her old egoisti c way. She goes

t hr ough the rest of the da y driv en by the ener gy from her

anger, but when she is at last alone in her room, the

terrible pain of the sit ua ti on overtakes her. She

wrestles with her anger and pain all night, but she

finally overcomes them and reminds herself of yesterday's

errand. She draws upon her grief and her knowledge of

the troubles in the Lydgates' marriage, conv er ti ng them

into sympathy:

All the active thought with which she had before

been rep rese nt in g to herself the trials of Lyd gate's
lot, and this marria ge union which, like her own,
seemed to have its hidden as well as evident
 27

troubles -- all this vivid symp at he ti c exp erience

returned to her now as a power: it ass er ted itself
as acqu ire d knowle dg e asserts itself and will not
let us see as we sa w in the d a y of our ignorance.
She said to her own irremediable grief, that it
should make her more helpful, instead of drivin g
her back from effort (776).

From this ex pe rie nce she finally comes to a level

of unsel fishness toward which she has been mo vi ng all

along: "The objects of her rescue were not to be sought

out by her fancy: they were chosen for h e r ” (777). As

she realizes this supreme relinquish men t of egois m and

asks herself what she should do to help the other three

people involved in the incident, she sees that it is

daylight. In a scene which b r i l l i an tl y reverses the

self-co nc er n wh ich had di sto rted her vision, she looks

out of her win dow to see a man with a bundle, a woman

carrying her baby, a shepherd and his dog — and for the

first time she realizes that she is on ly one of the

living things that make the whole of life; she finally

sees herself in correct pro portion with ev er yth ing and

everyone around her:

Far off in the bendin g sky was the p e a r l y light;

and she felt the largeness of the world and the
manifold wakings of men to labour and endurance.
She was a part of that involuntary, pa lpitatin g
life, and could neither look out on it from her
luxurious shelter as a mere spectator, nor hide her
eyes in s el fish com pl aini ng (777).

Mrs. Garth tells Fred V in cy that "young people are

u s ual ly blind to e ve ry t h i n g but their own wishes, and

seldom imagine how much those wishes cost o t h e r s ” (560

emphasis added), s ugges ti ng that the exper ien ce that

 28

comes with age a u t o m a t i c a l l y brings a more sympa the tic

understanding. But, as we have seen, there are old

people who suffer the same blindness; likewise, there

are char act ers who experi enc e pain but nevert hel ess fail

to see more c l e a r l y as a result. Lydgate and Ros amond

are two such characters.

Lydgate, instead of gro wing m o r a l l y through his

exp eri en ce s with Mi d d l e m a r c h soc i e t y and with Rosamond,

is finally defeat ed and embittered by them. He

c on vinces himself that the o n l y wa y to deal with his

problems in M i d d l emarc h is to run aw a y from them, so he

makes up his mind to move a w a y and e st ablish a practice

that will bring money, not controversy. Dorothea offers

to give him financial help until he can support himself

and his wife again, but he has al read y given up:

It is ve ry clear to me that I must not count on

an ythi ng else than getting a w a y from M i dd le ma rch as
soon as I can manage it. I should not be able for a
long while, at the ve r y best, to get an income here,
and and it is easier to make n e c e ss ar y changes in
a new place. I must do as other men do and think
what will please the world and bring in money; look
for a little opening in the London crowd, and push
myself; set up in a watering-place, or go to some
sou th ern town where there are p len ty of idle
English, and get myself puffed -- that is the sort
of shell I must creep into and try to keep my soul
alive in (757).

It is a pitiful speech, es p e c i a l l y when we remember that

Lydgate is trying to provide for Rosamond. But it is also

bitter, and in the Finale we learn that there will be man y

times when L y d g a t e ’s resentme nt of the burden of R o s a m o n d ’s

life upon him will overcome his sy mp at hy for her: ”He once
 29

called her his basil plant, and when she asked for an

ex plana tio n said that basil was a plant w hi ch had flourished

w o n d e r f u l l y on a murder ed m a n ’s b r a i n s ” (821). Lydgate

sacrifices his dreams of sci entific success, but in the end

his bitterness de fe at s a n y positive co ns eq uence s of that

sacrifice.

The scene in which Dorothea fi na ll y carries out her

promise to speak to Rosamon d about Lydgate, besides

ill ustrating D o r o t h e a ’s hard-won powers of sympathy, also

invites co mp ar i s o n of the two women and underscores the

qua lities wh i c h a ll ow Rosamond to re mai n unaffec ted and

unsoft ene d by what happens to her. Dorothe a is motivated

by concer n for Rosamond, while Ros amon d is concerned about

her own feelings only. Dorothea takes off her gloves, "from

an impulse whic h she could never resist when she wanted a

sense of f r e e d o m , ” and puts out her hand when she sees

Rosamond; Ros am ond prepares herself to meet Dorothea by

wr apping a shawl about her shoulders, "in wardly wra ppin g her

soul in cold r e s e r v e ” (781). Each of the women is ini tially

une asy because of Ladislaw, but for v e r y differe nt reasons.

Dorothea thinks that Rosamond has been involved in some sort

of affair with him, and she is anxious not to appear jealous

or critical. Rosa mo nd believes that Dorothea is her rival,

that she knows she is the " p r e f e r r e d ” woman and has come to

flaunt it in front of her. D o r o t h e a ’s energ eti c concern

radiates outward; she looks out a w a y from herself to find the

needs of the other pers on involved. Rosamond, on the other

 30

hand, is still ruled by her inner feelings and vants; she

worries about how the m e et in g will affect her personally, how

she will appear to the other woman, and how she can protect

herself from further pain.

Rosamon d does have a moment of dis orientation, in which

she is m o m e n t a r i l y aware of an al ter native to her

selfishness, but its ef fects are diluted and short-lived.

Rosamon d realizes that she is wrong about Dorothea, that in

fact Dorothea has come to tell her the truth about Lydgate,

and her acc us tom ed foundation of eas y confidence in herself

and cri ti ci sm of others begins to crumble:

This strange m a n i f e s t a t i o n of feeling in a woman

who m she had a pproa ch ed with a sh rinking ave rs ion
and dread, as one who must nec e s s a r i l y have a
jealous hatred towards her, made her soul totter
all the more with a sense that she had been walking
in an unknown world whic h had just broken in upon
her (784).

Dorothea mi s t a k e n l y assumes that R o s a m o n d ’s tears of

co nfus io n and hysteria are tears of guilt over Ladislaw.

She begins gently, fearfully, to tell Ro samond that her

d u t y is with her husband when Rosamond realizes what

Dorothea is thinking. Acting on a sudden impulse,

Rosamond tells Dorothea that La di sl aw is not in love

with herself but with Dorothea. Dorothea, typically,

ov erestima tes the goodness in Rosamond's words, which

are par tl y a ref lec ti on of her own ene rg y and p art ly a

reactio n against Ladisla w' s hurtful words of the day

before. In the Finale, we learn that Rosamond's

generous impulse was only temporary, p r a c t ic al ly

 31

accidental, for al t h o u g h she "never comm it ted a second

c o mpr om is in g indiscretion, " she "sim ply co ntin ued to be

mild in her temper, inflexible in her judgement" — that

is, as sel f- ce nter ed and blind to others as she ever was

(821).

It is important to reco gni ze that Dorothea, in

learning to sy mp ath ize and to ack no wled ge others' points

of view, does not leave her in divi du al it y behind. As

Karen Chase points out, the pier-gl ass image implies

that everyone remains bound by his or her unique

perspective. "Still, and crucia lly ," says Chase, "this

limitation does not dam n Doroth ea to moral stupidity.

She will grow, not by leaving her s u b j e c t i v i t y behind,

but by learning to feel withi n it that other

su bje ctiv it ie s are eq uivale nt" (168). This point is

important to an un ders t a n d i n g of Eliot's vision of a

person's place amon g other human beings. Convers ion to

al t r u i s m does not entail a b o litio n of the individual

personality, but ex pa nsio n of the self to include all

people in its field of sym pa th etic vision. The last

para gra ph of the novel contains a pungent image of

expa nsi on and com pre hensiv ene ss. It compares Dorothea

to a river that has been divided into m a n y small

channels for the good of the land aro und it: "Her

finely -to uched spirit had still its fine issues, though

they were not wi d e l y visible. Her full nature, like

that river of which Cyrus broke the strength, spent

 32

itself in channels whic h had no great name on the e a r t h ”

(825).

Phi lip Fisher draws a wo nderful a n a l o g y betwe en

this idea of e x p an si on as it refers to the ex pe rie nce of

a character in the novel, such as Dorothea, and as it

applies to the reader of the text:

The word ex pe rien ce is the great goal of the novel,

and the a l t e r na ti ve to the ego ism of a fixed point
of vie w is not some other charitable, selfless,
fixed point of view, but an epic c o mpr eh en si venes s
that weakens the dra ma of the self by dev e l o p i n g
the drama of a " w o r l d , ” a co mp re hens iv en es s that
replaces the single candle with a prismatic,
compl ex wa y of reading experience that reaches
behavior. This epic ex ha ust iveness is the method
of the novel itself (185).

Through the multipl e points of view which Eliot presents

in the book, the reader v i c a r i o u s l y lives the

experiences of the characters, gains a s y mp at heti c view

of each of them, and comes a w a y from the novel with a

better unde rs t a n d i n g of his or her fellow human beings

It is part ly through the use of met ap ho rs of vision

that Eliot a c co mp lish es her message of the narrown ess of

ego is m and the wort hin ess of sympat hetic altruism. In

her hands, blin dness or impaired vis ion illustrates

crippl in g se lf-cente red ness; d i s i l l u s i o n m e n t represents

the figurative removal of the "speck" of self which

distorts vision; and clear sight becomes a metaph or for

un de rs tandin g others and s ym pa thiz ing with them.

Th rou gh this device, an abs tr act p h i l o s o p h y of doing

good for others takes on personal meaning, a

"distinctness which is no longer reflecti on but feeling

 33

-- an idea wrought back to the directness o£ sense, like

the solidity of objects'* (205).

 34

Works Cited

Chase, Karen. Eros and P s v c h e : the Re pr e s e n t a t i o n of

P e r s o n a l i t y in Ch arl otte Bronte, Charles Dickens
and George E l i o t . Ne w York: Methuen, 1984.
136-187.

Eliot, George. Ad a m B e d e . The B e s t -K no wn Novels of

George E l i o t . N e w York: Rand om House. 1-390.

. M i d d l e m a r c h . Ed. David Carroll. Oxford:

Cl ar en do n Press, 1986.

Fisher, Philip. M a kin g U p Society: The N o v e l s o f

George E l i o t . Pittsburgh: U n i v e r s i t y of
Pi t t s b u r g h Press, 1981. 163-202.

Hardy, Barbara. "The Moment of Disencha nt me nt in George

E l i o t 's Novels ." George Eliot: A Co ll ection of
Critical E s s a v s . Ed. George R. Creeger. Eng lewood
Cliffs, New Jersey: Pre ntice-Hall, 1970. 55-65.

The Novels of George Eliot: A Study in F o r m .

London: The Athlone Press, 1981.

Miller, J. Hillis. "Optic and Semiotic in M i d d l e m a r c h ."

The Worlds of V i c t or ia n F i c t i o n . Ed. Jerome H.
Buckley. Cambridge: Harvard U n i v e r s i t y Press,
1975. 125-145.

Paris, Bernard J. "George E l i o t ’s Re li gi on of Humanity."

Qeo&qq. S l i Q t ; A C o ll ec ti on of Critical E s s a v s .
Ed. George R. Creeger. En glewo od Cliffs, New
Jersey: Prentice-Hall, 1970. 11-36.
 35

VITA

SARAH ELLEN ARNOLD

Born in Hotsprings, Arkansas, October 22, 1963.

Graduated from Montevallo High School in Montevallo,

Alabama, May 1982; Bachelor of Arts, U ni ve rs ity of

Montevallo, May 1986.

In September 1987, the author entered the College

of William and Mar y as a graduate ass istant in the

Department of English.