In an example of dramatic irony, readers are aware of the fact that Mr. Featherstone died with two wills, but most of the people of Middlemarch are not. While Mr. Featherstone’s family—particularly Fred—become excited at the reading of the first will because it divides Mr. Featherstone’s wealth up amongst known family members, they are shocked to learn of a second will and are alarmed by its contents (since all of his money goes to the unknown entity Mr. Rigg), as seen in the following passage:
And at the sound of the first "give and bequeath" she could see all complexions changing subtly, as if some faint vibration were passing through them, save that of Mr. Rigg. He sat in unaltered calm, and, in fact, the company, preoccupied with more important problems, and with the complication of listening to bequests which might or might not be revoked, had ceased to think of him. Fred blushed, and Mr. Vincy found it impossible to do without his snuff-box in his hand, though he kept it closed.
The descriptions that, as they learned about the money going to Mr. Rigg, Mr. Featherstone’s family’s “complexions chang[ed] subtly”—with Fred blushing and Mr. Vincy anxiously playing with his snuff-box—show that they were shocked by this ironic change of events.
In addition to dramatic irony, the fact that the second will states Mr. Featherstone’s money will go to a son he had from a secret relationship is also an example of situational irony—Fred has been banking on receiving that money in order to get himself out of debt and everyone in town assumed he would receive it.
In an example of situational irony, Mr. Brooke runs for office on a progressive platform (that includes tenants’ rights) even though he is an exploitative landlord. Mr. Dagley—one of Mr. Brooke’s tenants—communicates the irony of this in a conversation with Mr. Brooke:
“There's to be a Rinform, and them landlords as never done the right thing by their tenants 'ull be treated i' that way as they'll hev to scuttle off. An' there's them i' Middlemarch knows what the Rinform is—an' as knows who'll hev to scuttle. Says they, 'I know who your landlord is.' An' says I, 'I hope you're the better for knowin' him, I arn't.' Says they, 'He's a close-fisted un.' 'Ay ay,' says I. 'He's a man for the Rinform,' says they. That's what they says. An' I made out what the Rinform were—an' it were to send you an' your likes a-scuttlin'.”
Using a lower-class dialect, Mr. Dagley explains how he sees Mr. Brooke as a hypocrite since he is known for supporting “Rinform” (or the Reform movement) while not doing “the right thing” by his tenants. This is the irony that underlies Mr. Brooke’s character—he is not a particularly intelligent man, and struggles to understand why Mr. Dagley takes issue with his hypocrisy, while also feeling confident enough to run for public office.
Dorothea falling in love with and marrying Will is an example of situational irony because she has been explicitly forbidden from marrying him by her late husband Casaubon (who was deeply jealous of his younger cousin Will). Part of the irony is that Dorothea did not even consider marrying Will until Causabon’s will forbade it, as seen in the following passage:
Then again she was conscious of another change which also made her tremulous; it was a sudden strange yearning of heart towards Will Ladislaw. It had never before entered her mind that he could, under any circumstances, be her lover: conceive the effect of the sudden revelation that another had thought of him in that light—that perhaps he himself had been conscious of such a possibility,—and this with the hurrying, crowding vision of unfitting conditions, and questions not soon to be solved.
As the narrator makes clear, “it had never before entered [Dorothea’s] mind” that Will could be a romantic partner for her—it was only because Casaubon suggested it that it has now entered her mind. Here Casaubon’s greed and desire to control Dorothea backfire.
There is also a more subtle layer of dramatic irony at play in that readers have been able to sense over the course of the novel that Dorothea has been in love with Will, so her "big" revelation that she has been in love with him since Rome is not entirely surprising.
In an example of verbal irony, the narrator sarcastically explains how little Middlemarch residents support railway development:
In the hundred to which Middlemarch belonged railways were as exciting a topic as the Reform Bill or the imminent horrors of Cholera, and those who held the most decided views on the subject were women and landholders.
Here the narrator claims that the townspeople of Middlemarch find railways an “exciting” topic. They mean the opposite of this, of course, as becomes clear in the rest of the quote—these rural residents are not excited about railway development or the Reform Bill, and certainly not the horrors of cholera. All three topics in this list are upsetting to Middlemarch residents—railways because they require taking land from landowners on which to build and are, at this point in time, seen as dangerous (particularly by uppity women like Mrs. Cadwallader); the Reform Bill because it expands voting rights to people who had long been disenfranchised (something the conservative town is overwhelmingly against); and cholera because it is a terrifying epidemic. Here Eliot is showing the ways that Middlemarch residents resist progressive reform, and that this was characteristic of small-minded rural communities in England at the time.
Rosamond intentionally chooses to marry Lydgate due to the fact that he comes from a wealthy family (and she believes this could help her move up in rank) but, in an example of situational irony, she and Lydgate quickly end up in debt. Rosamond herself is aware of the irony, as is evident in the following passage:
Rosamond sat perfectly still. The thought in her mind was that if she had known how Lydgate would behave, she would never have married him.
This ironic twist is one of the ways that Eliot shows how women are limited by their gender—if Rosamond were a man she wouldn’t have to marry for financial security and could have made a more informed choice before agreeing to marry the first upper-class man who proposed to her.
This moment also highlights the ways that class status is highly valued in a small-town community like Middlemarch—Rosamond wants to be respected and knows that she could become an outcast if she chose her partner incorrectly. This is, in fact, why she is so upset to learn that Lydgate is in debt, as it leaves her with an uncertain social status in the town in which she has spent her entire life.
When describing the town’s reaction to the news that Raffles died on Bulstrode’s watch (and that Bulstrode had paid Dr. Lydgate a thousand pounds right around that time), the narrator uses hyperbole and verbal irony:
The business was felt to be so public and important that it required dinners to feed it, and many invitations were just then issued and accepted on the strength of this scandal concerning Bulstrode and Lydgate; wives, widows, and single ladies took their work and went out to tea oftener than usual; and all public conviviality, from the Green Dragon to Dollop's, gathered a zest which could not be won from the question whether the Lords would throw out the Reform Bill.
By writing that the gossip was so “important that it required dinners to feed it” and that the news was more exciting than the Reform Bill, Eliot is clearly exaggerating—gossip does not “require” people to have dinners to discuss it and the political implications of Reform Bill are certainly more important to the townspeople than idle chatter (as has been clear over the course of the novel).
The tongue-in-cheek tone is also clearly ironic—the narrator believes that the townspeople are overreacting. This is one of the many examples of the people of Middlemarch caring more about gossip than about the well-being of the members of their community.
In an example of verbal irony, the narrator describes Celia’s baby Arthur as “the infantine Bouddha”:
Mrs. Cadwallader, the Dowager Lady Chettam, and Celia were sometimes seated on garden-chairs, sometimes walking to meet little Arthur, who was being drawn in his chariot, and, as became the infantine Bouddha, was sheltered by his sacred umbrella with handsome silken fringe.
This passage is Eliot’s way of highlighting how spoiled and overly-worshipped Arthur is, and hints at the resentment Dorothea feels about how women’s energies are supposed to be directed at their children at all times. It is unlikely that a baby would be so well-behaved that they would be perceived as an enlightened being, and, more likely, the language signals that this is how Arthur’s doting mother Celia is treating him as he is the center of her world (and at the center of the worlds of the other women who are present).
Middlemarch overall portrays Celia as a woman who fulfills traditional gender roles and is content to do so, while Dorothea tries to resist those roles and ends up unhappy. Dorothea, of course, does end up with children by the end of the novel, but still never quite feels satisfied or like she has reached her full potential.
