When Margaret describes her home village of Helstone to her friend Henry Lennox, she makes an allusion to the poems of Alfred, Lord Tennyson.
Early in the novel, Margaret is still living with her relatives in London. Henry Lennox has just teased Margaret that her description of Helstone is “like a village in a tale rather than in real life.” Defensively, Margaret replies, “I am trying to describe Helstone as it really is,” but quickly agrees with Henry that it is “like a village in a poem—in one of Tennyson’s poems.” The comparison shows how much Margaret idealizes the birthplace she has missed for many years. Essentially, she thinks Helstone is perfect.
Tennyson's poetry famously celebrates rural England and its natural beauties, and he identified with those parts of England most strongly, even as the country rapidly industrialized under Queen Victoria. This ambivalence about England's changes made him the perfect poet for Gaskell to highlight in North and South. Notably, Tennyson was England's Poet Laureate from 1850 until his death in 1892, so he was a very popular contemporary figure at the time Gaskell wrote North and South in the mid-1850s. This can also be seen in the fact that Gaskell uses phrases or longer excerpts from several Tennyson poems throughout the novel—either as an epigraph for a chapter ("In Memoriam" for Chapter 6) or as allusions within the story (from "A Dream of Fair Women" in Chapter 23 and "The Princess" in Chapter 46). Gaskell seems especially drawn to Tennyson's recurrent theme of sorrowful longing for times gone by—a theme that's recurrent in Margaret's life, too.
So, from Margaret's perspective, Helstone "in real life" really is like a village in a romantic poem. But, given the melancholy that infuses much of Tennyson's poetry, Gaskell uses the allusion pointedly here. The romanticized way Margaret talks about Helstone hints that absence has slightly distorted her impressions of the village, and that her return to Helstone might not be as perfect as she nostalgically imagines.
While Thornton uses the metaphor of "beasts" to refer to his angry workers, Margaret insists that he look at them as human beings.
During the confrontation at Marlborough Mills, Thornton says that bringing in soldiers is the only way to deal with rioters, who are “men that make themselves into wild beasts.” An angry mob, he implies, will only respond to the use of brute force. Nevertheless, Margaret begs him to “face them like a man [… ] speak to your workmen as if they were human beings.” Though frightened herself by the “demoniac desire” of the crowd, she perceives that seeing the masses as humans who can be reasoned with, instead of as irrational beasts, is the only hope for avoiding violence. Notably, in making this plea, she also appeals to Thornton's own humanity, suggesting he'll be less than a man if he doesn't speak to his workers face to face.
The beast metaphor, and Margaret's counter to it, suggest that failing to regard workers as fully human is how manufacturers like Thornton have gotten into such bitter clashes with their employees.
The term "demoniac" is likely an intentional biblical allusion. The word refers to a person who is demon-possessed, notably to the Gerasene demoniac whose evil spirits caused him to be so strong and violent that no one but Jesus could heal him. So "demoniac desire" evokes the idea of the crowd's potential for unrestrained violence. Since Margaret takes the risk of regarding the "demoniac" mob as if they're rational people, this could be Gaskell's subtle way of setting her up as a Christlike figure (especially since she suffers on Thornton's behalf in the same chapter).
Early in the novel, when the Hales are still living in Helstone, Margaret expresses a dislike of “shoppy people," or people who've made money in trade, while talking with her mother. To show her disdain, she alludes to a children's nursery rhyme:
I think we are far better off, knowing only cottagers and labourers, and people without pretence [...]. I’m sure you don’t want me to admire butchers and bakers, and candlestick-makers, do you, mamma?
"Shoppy" was a 19th-century pejorative for people in retail trade. Shopkeepers were neither gentlefolk (born into propertied status) nor commoners (like "cottagers and labourers"). As such, this emerging class didn't fit tidily into the established social hierarchy. In Victorian England, where everyone knows their place, Margaret's dismissiveness and reluctance to associate with tradespeople seems to be connected to this social ambiguity. The disdain also seems to be a form of snobbery, as tradespeople's newer wealth is characterized as "pretence," unlike the wealth accumulated over generations by the aristocracy.
Margaret alludes to the English nursery rhyme "Rub-a-Dub-Dub" when she refers to "butchers and bakers, and candlestick-makers." The rhyme was published in a children's songbook in 1798, though it dates back earlier, and it seems to have originated as a way to teach listeners not to associate with those—like shady merchants—who enjoy morally questionable activities ("three men in a tub," or peep-show). By the time of the novel, the line "butchers and bakers, and candlestick-makers" seems to have resonated with the broader cultural belief that tradespeople weren't very respectable—hence Margaret's disgust.
There's also a note of situational irony here because Margaret soon moves to Milton and has no choice but to associate with "shoppy people"—and as she gets to know them, her opinion of them gradually changes from disdain to deep respect and friendship.
As Margaret gets to know her new friend Bessy Higgins, she's taken aback by very different expressions of Christianity than she's been used to in her more privileged upbringing. Bessy's faith is typically expressed through allusions to the Bible and popular religious literature, and often, she alludes longingly to death and heaven.
One day when Bessy is feeling especially weak and ill, she admits to Margaret:
I’m weary and tired o’ Milton, and longing to get away to the land o’ Beulah; and when I think I’m farther and farther off, my heart sinks, and I’m no better; I’m worse.
The "land of Beulah" is a reference to the land of Israel found in Isaiah 62:4. The name "Beulah" means "married" and basically refers to the joyful state of the people of Israel living in covenant with God, as opposed to living in exile due to their sin against God. Though "Beulah" is a rather obscure biblical reference (it only appears once), it was picked up in Christian hymnody and literature to express the bliss of eternity in God's presence—most notably in Pilgrim's Progress by John Bunyan. This extraordinarily popular allegory, written in the 17th century, describes Beulah as a beautiful, peaceful country on the border of Heaven. Bunyan's book was so widely read for centuries, by Christians of all social classes, that it's quite likely Bessy is thinking of its descriptions of Beulah and not specifically of the verse in Isaiah. For her, "longing to get away to the land o' Beulah" basically means going to heaven and leaving worldly sufferings behind.
What's surprising about teenaged Bessy's use of this allusion is her stark desire for death. Instead of shrinking from death, Bessy longs for it, and her "heart sinks" when death feels far off. Margaret is shocked to hear someone her age longing for death, and her first instinct is to encourage Bessy to hope for recovery from her illness instead (a hope that Bessy knows is pointless).
Thus Bessy's use of the "Beulah" allusion, and Margaret's reaction, highlights the stark difference in their backgrounds, and how Christian faith functions differently for each of them. Margaret has been relatively sheltered and feels that her whole life is ahead of her; death isn't a pressing concern, so Heaven is a more abstract hope. Bessy, on the other hand, has worked hard for years already and has contracted a fatal illness at the factory; she knows her earthly life will be cut short, so she clings to the Bible's promises of eternal life.
When Margaret feels guilty about attending the Thorntons' fancy dinner-party while many in Milton go hungry, Bessy attempts to reassure Margaret, using a rather confused allusion to a biblical parable.
Some’s pre-elected to sumptuous feasts, and purple and fine linen,—may be yo’re one on ’em. Others toil and moil all their lives long—and the very dogs are not pitiful in our days, as they were in the days of Lazarus. But if yo’ ask me to cool yo’r tongue wi’ th’ tip of my finger, I’ll come across the great gulf to yo’ just for th’ thought o’ what yo’ve been to me here.
Bessy is referring to the story of the rich man and Lazarus in the Gospel of Luke. In the parable, a rich man dressed in "purple and fine linen" enjoyed luxurious feasts while a poor beggar lay outside his gate, where dogs licked his sores. Later, after both men die, the rich man is tormented in hell while Lazarus is comforted in heaven. The rich man asks that Lazarus be sent down to dip his finger in water and cool the rich man's tongue to relieve his agony, but because the rich man has already received good things during his earthly life, his request is denied.
Bessy is ill and perhaps misremembering or mixing up the story, but her application of it is nevertheless interesting. She regards Margaret as somehow being predestined to finer things, like the rich man, and identifies herself with poor Lazarus, meant to "toil and moil" all her life without even a merciful dog to lick her. But while the Bible story clearly offers a warning to the rich, suggesting that they get too attached to worldly wealth and pay too little attention to mercy, Bessy is more ambiguous. She implies that Margaret will languish in hell like the rich man, but that she will gladly cross the "great gulf" to cool Margaret's tongue out of gratitude for her friend's earthly kindness. Though Bessy apparently hasn't thought through this implication (if she's so good, why would Margaret be in hell in the first place?), she makes the point that Margaret is an exception to the parable's rule—wealthier people can be merciful.
Although Bessy's allusion doesn't follow the biblical logic, it suggests two interesting perspectives. First, that rich and poor are "pre-elected" to their positions—there's little idea of social mobility in Bessy's world, and she even believes that God appoints people to specific lots in life. Second, that however fixed it might be, one's social class doesn't limit one's moral character—a rich person can be kind, and a poor person can be cruel.
After Bessy Higgins's death, her father—who denies having conventional Christian beliefs—argues with Mr. Hale about the role that religion holds in most Milton people's lives:
“I reckon you’d not ha’ much belief in yo’ if yo’ lived here… Lord, sir, d’ye think their first cry i’ the morning is, ‘What shall I do to get hold on eternal life?’ or ‘What shall I do to fill my purse this blessed day?’”
In other words, Mr. Higgins questions whether Mr. Hale would have such strong religious beliefs if he were part of Milton's working class. In doing so, Higgins alludes to the story of the rich young ruler, which appears in three of the four Gospels. In the story, the young man asks Jesus, "What shall I do that I may inherit eternal life?" Higgins implies that this is exactly the question that struggling working class people don't ask, because their most pressing question is how to "fill [their] purse" on any given day. That is, they don't have time to worry about getting to Heaven when they're busy fighting for earthly survival.
This allusion is pointed on Higgins's part, since in the Bible story, Jesus tells the wealthy young man that the only thing he lacks is to sell his possessions, give to the poor, and follow Jesus. In response, the young man walks away sadly, because he has many possessions he presumably doesn't want to give up. So by alluding to this story, Higgins suggests that only people who are materially comfortable have the luxury of asking questions about eternal life (and that they might not like the answers).
Mr. Higgins's larger implication is that a person's everyday sufferings, or the lack thereof, directly shape their capacity for religious faith. If Mr. Hale had experienced suffering like the Higginses have, then he might find faith harder to hold onto.
Interestingly, Higgins's own daughter's experience seems to contradict his view somewhat—after all, Bessy maintained a strong faith, clinging to the Bible's promises literally, until her death. It's worth considering that Higgins's criticisms are colored by the fact that his daughter has just died. In his grief, he might be speaking more harshly than intended—or blaming Bessy's faith and her fellow Christians for letting her down.
In any case, the allusion also shows how Bible-saturated much of England's working-class culture was at the time. Higgins isn't even much of a churchgoer, yet he can pull a Bible story from memory and apply it effectively, even at a difficult moment like this.
After Margaret's mother dies, Margaret not only takes on the role of comforter and sustainer of the entire family, but essentially does so through the expected actions of a clergyman—her father's former role. Because Mr. Hale's former position as Church of England priest was such a major part of his identity, and his abandonment of the priesthood is the primary driver of the Hales' move to Milton, it's ironic when Margaret suddenly and unexpectedly assumes aspects of that role herself. She does this while her father whimpers and her brother weeps over Mrs. Hale's body, instinctively reciting scripture and ministering to the grieving family:
The night was wearing away, and the day was at hand, when, without a word of preparation, Margaret’s voice broke upon the stillness of the room, with a clearness of sound that startled even herself: ‘Let not your heart be troubled,’ it said; and she went steadily on through all that chapter of unspeakable consolation.
"That chapter" refers to the Gospel of John chapter 14, in which Jesus goes on to promise his disciples that he will prepare a place for them in his Father's house, and that he is "the way, the truth, and the life." That Margaret suddenly recites this chapter from memory "without a word of preparation," and with startling confidence and clarity as she goes "steadily on," strongly implies that she is occupying the role that a clergyman would traditionally hold at a parishioner's deathbed—reciting one of the Bible passages most commonly used to console mourners. Again, given Mr. Hale's background, this is something that readers would expect Margaret's father to do, whether or not he's still serving as an official parish priest; yet it's Margaret who does the work of spiritual consolation, presumably having watched her father do it over the years. Margaret's striking assumption of a priestly role further establishes her character as a self-denying caregiver and supports the novel's theme of women's agency.
As Mrs. Hale nears death, Margaret has to be strong for her grieving father. The novel makes an allusion to the ancient figure of the "Roman daughter" to describe her role in the family, particularly her father's utter dependence on her:
Poor Margaret! All that afternoon she had to act the part of a Roman daughter, and give strength out of her own scanty stock to her father.
The figure of the "Roman daughter" is also called Roman Charity—a woman (Pero) who breastfed her starving father (Cimon) in prison in order to save his life. Though it's unclear when the story originated, it was first recorded by ancient Roman historian Valerius Maximus, and it was a common theme in ancient, Renaissance, and Victorian art. The story of Roman Charity embodied the ancient Roman virtue of pietas, or duty to one's parents.
It's easy to see why Gaskell alludes to Roman Charity to describe Margaret's actions. Mr. Hale obviously isn't languishing in jail, but he is so emotionally fragile that the ups and downs in his wife's condition devastate him, so it's up to Margaret to stay strong and supportive. Her own strength is "scanty," yet she has to give what little she has to her parents, leaving her no chance to express her own grief. The novel takes a sympathetic tone toward "poor Margaret," suggesting that while she has no choice but to act this way, it's a wearisome burden for her and that, ideally, she wouldn't have to be so relentlessly strong.
With Margaret living in London again, Edith has been teasing her brother-in-law Henry Lennox about her hopes that he will marry Margaret one day soon. Henry responds by warning her not to meddle, alluding to ancient queens to describe Margaret's aloof behavior.
She has been very farouche with me for a long time; and is only just beginning to thaw a little from her Zenobia ways. She has the making of a Cleopatra in her, if only she were a little more pagan.
"Farouche" means unsociable; Margaret repels Henry's attempts to get closer to her. So, contextually, the reader can figure out that Henry is comparing Margaret to famously cold and aloof women. Indeed, Zenobia was a third-century empress in Syria who ruled over a large swath of the ancient Near East at one point. Margaret's proud dignity has been likened to queens by different characters throughout, reflecting her independence and strong sense of personal agency; this seems to be what Henry is getting at with the Zenobia comparison. Cleopatra, meanwhile, was a queen of the Ptolemaic Kingdom in Egypt in the first century B.C.E, and Renaissance and Victorian literature often depicted her through a romantic lens, even portraying her as a bit of a seductress. So this comparison could be read as rather suggestive and forward on Henry's part ("if only she were a little more pagan," with "pagan" implying something like "less uptight"). In any case, Henry hopes that Margaret will continue to "thaw," especially towards him.
The novel uses the motif of individuals versus crowds to suggest that as long as people see each other primarily as groups or classes, they'll tend to be wary or even antagonistic toward one another; it's only through individual, personal connections, the novel suggests, that genuine regard, much less social progress, becomes thinkable.
When Margaret is a newcomer to Milton, she feels overwhelmed each time she finds herself caught in the crowd of workers leaving the mills. The crush of people, and the common people's frank, inquisitive, and often teasing manner throws her off guard and doesn't endear Milton to her, especially compared to the quieter, more genteel settings she's used to. But when particular individuals—Bessy and Nicholas Higgins—emerge from the crowd one day and strike up a conversation with her, and she begins to get to know them as individuals, her attitude about the working class as a whole gradually changes, too.
Similarly, in Chapter 50, Nicholas Higgins and Thornton learn to see each other as individuals, instead of as just representatives of antagonistic classes (worker vs. employer):
Once brought face to face, man to man, with an individual of the masses around him […] they had each begun to recognize that ‘we have all of us one human heart.’
Note that Romantic poets frequently wrote against Victorian-era economic theorists, hence the allusion here to a line from William Wordsworth's poem "The Old Cumberland Beggar." The allusion—about everyone having "one human heart"—underscores the novel's point that when people get to know each other as individuals, they ideally come to recognize their common humanity.
Near the end of the book, in Chapter 51, Thornton even states the conviction that:
no mere institutions … can attach class to class as they should be attached, unless the working out of such institutions bring the individuals of the different classes into actual personal contact.
This statement reflects a notable change in Thornton's view of the relationship between classes. Earlier in the novel, he seems unable to conceive of that relationship in anything but the most combative, even warlike terms. Yet, now, he advocates for the classes to be "attached" through "personal contact." Significantly, this change of view comes about, in large part, through his personal contact, even friendship, with Higgins and leads to Thornton conducting his business with greater human sensitivity.
The novel uses the motif of individuals versus crowds to suggest that as long as people see each other primarily as groups or classes, they'll tend to be wary or even antagonistic toward one another; it's only through individual, personal connections, the novel suggests, that genuine regard, much less social progress, becomes thinkable.
When Margaret is a newcomer to Milton, she feels overwhelmed each time she finds herself caught in the crowd of workers leaving the mills. The crush of people, and the common people's frank, inquisitive, and often teasing manner throws her off guard and doesn't endear Milton to her, especially compared to the quieter, more genteel settings she's used to. But when particular individuals—Bessy and Nicholas Higgins—emerge from the crowd one day and strike up a conversation with her, and she begins to get to know them as individuals, her attitude about the working class as a whole gradually changes, too.
Similarly, in Chapter 50, Nicholas Higgins and Thornton learn to see each other as individuals, instead of as just representatives of antagonistic classes (worker vs. employer):
Once brought face to face, man to man, with an individual of the masses around him […] they had each begun to recognize that ‘we have all of us one human heart.’
Note that Romantic poets frequently wrote against Victorian-era economic theorists, hence the allusion here to a line from William Wordsworth's poem "The Old Cumberland Beggar." The allusion—about everyone having "one human heart"—underscores the novel's point that when people get to know each other as individuals, they ideally come to recognize their common humanity.
Near the end of the book, in Chapter 51, Thornton even states the conviction that:
no mere institutions … can attach class to class as they should be attached, unless the working out of such institutions bring the individuals of the different classes into actual personal contact.
This statement reflects a notable change in Thornton's view of the relationship between classes. Earlier in the novel, he seems unable to conceive of that relationship in anything but the most combative, even warlike terms. Yet, now, he advocates for the classes to be "attached" through "personal contact." Significantly, this change of view comes about, in large part, through his personal contact, even friendship, with Higgins and leads to Thornton conducting his business with greater human sensitivity.
