Silas Marner

by

George Eliot

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Silas Marner: Imagery 9 key examples

Definition of Imagery
Imagery, in any sort of writing, refers to descriptive language that engages the human senses. For instance, the following lines from Robert Frost's poem "After Apple-Picking" contain imagery that engages... read full definition
Imagery, in any sort of writing, refers to descriptive language that engages the human senses. For instance, the following lines from Robert Frost's poem "After... read full definition
Imagery, in any sort of writing, refers to descriptive language that engages the human senses. For instance, the following lines... read full definition
Chapter 2
Explanation and Analysis—A Thirst for Gold:

In Chapter 2, Eliot compares Silas Marner's desire for gold to his need for sustenance using simile, personification, and sensory language. Silas has been hoarding his earnings for so long that just having the pot of gold coins and watching the pile grow is the most satisfying thing he does:

He began to think it [the money] was conscious of him, as his loom was, and he would on no account have exchanged those coins, which had become his familiars, for other coins with unknown faces. He handled them, he counted them, till their form and colour were like the satisfaction of a thirst to him; but it was only in the night, when his work was done, that he drew them out to enjoy their companionship.

The money has ceased to be just a pile of physical objects to Silas; the coins themselves are precious to him individually. Each coin is a friend. Eliot says he would "on no account" trade or exchange them, as he feels that the money is self-aware, and the pile's growing size brings him comfort. The reader can sense how intensely he feels about his treasure as he fondles and coos over it, craving its presence. It is of note here that Eliot contrasts a very tangible, touchable thing (coins, not "wealth") with thirst, a need of Silas's physical body. This association between the real and the psychological pervades the whole passage. Three verbs describing obsession appear one after the other—"handled," "counted," "drew"— all words which refer to both mental and physical action. Through this tactile language, the reader sees that accumulating and protecting the gold has consumed Silas body and soul.

The way that Eliot personifies the gold in this passage also emphasizes the weaver's loneliness. Silas's work isolates him from the world, and his reliance on the gold for "company" is a sad substitute for human love. When Eppie enters the story as Silas's replacement "treasure," she brings him happiness and real companionship. She is a real solution to Silas's problem, whereas the gold only made his detachment from society worse.

Chapter 4
Explanation and Analysis—Dunstan the Thief:

Eliot foreshadows both Dunstan's grim accidental death and his decision to steal Silas's gold in the imagery in Chapter 4, which directly precedes Cass's stealthy entry into the weaver's house. As Dunstan walks in the dusk, he observes that:

The spot looked very dreary at this season, with the moist trodden clay about it, and the red, muddy water high up in the deserted quarry. That was Dunstan’s first thought as he approached it; the second was, that the old fool of a weaver, whose loom he heard rattling already, had a great deal of money hidden somewhere.

The "moisture" of the clay and the "red, muddy water" of the quarry-ponds foreshadow the destruction of Dunstan's mortal body in the hole he doesn't know is waiting for him. As he thinks about the dreariness of the Stone-Pits "first," and the realization that Silas's gold is hidden comes "second," Eliot links his future crime of theft with his impending punishment.

The "rattling" of Silas's loom reminds Dunstan that the expert weaver's money must be hidden somewhere; the silence of the "deserted" quarry is only broken by this sensory language of production. As the sounds of Silas's loom interrupt his life and prevent him from seeing people, it seems fitting that Dunstan hears them just before his own life is interrupted, and the deep water of the pit prevents people from seeing him at all.

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Chapter 10
Explanation and Analysis—The Sounds of the Loom:

The rhythmic sounds of Marner's loom punctuate his days, drowning out the sounds of Lantern Yard and then Raveloe outside. An instance of this powerful auditory language occurs in Chapter 10, when Dolly remarks that she doesn't think Silas knows it's time for church:

'I doubt you didn’t know it was Sunday. Living so lone here, you lose your count, I daresay; and then, when your loom makes a noise, you can’t hear the bells, more partic’lar now the frost kills the sound.'

‘Yes, I did; I heard ’em,’ said Silas, to whom Sunday bells were a mere accident of the day, and not part of its sacredness.

Silas's work literally interrupts and subsumes his religious life. The sound of the loom implicitly covers the sound of the church bells, as does the "frost" outside his windows. The "frost" here also refers to Silas's own coldness. His own nature is "killing" the sound as much as his loom does. In other words, it's the frost inside Marner's house, his coldness and loneliness, that is actually the problem.

His solitude is nourished by the isolation his work brings: all noise, even the bells, is "an accident of the day," just a part of time passing. The sounds of the loom cut him off from the village, keeping him from important social gatherings like those at church, and scaring the village children. Silas's relationship with his work takes the place of religion after the disaster of luck he experiences in Lantern Yard. The rhythmic clatter of the loom sets the rhythm of his days.

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Explanation and Analysis—Tiny Rivers:

Silas Marner is as miserly and dry as sand before his real good nature is "unblocked" through his relationship with his adopted daughter. Eliot uses the metaphor of a rivulet (a tiny stream) to describe the flow of goodness working its way through his "soul" in Chapter 10:

The fountains of human love and of faith in a divine love had not yet been unlocked, and his soul was still the shrunken rivulet, with only this difference, that its little groove of sand was blocked up, and it wandered confusedly against dark obstruction.

The flow of emotion in Silas's "soul" is there, Eliot implies, and the horrible events of the weaver's previous existence in Lantern Yard have only "blocked" it. With the right impulse, it can be made to wash open. Silas now only has a trickle of "soul" he can access, but Eliot implies that "fountains" are forthcoming. This is yet more visual imagery that ties Silas's development to the power of growth in the natural world; elsewhere he is described as a flower blooming and as a tree budding. 

The essential goodness of Silas's character is emphasized by the smallness of the gesture needed to restore the flow. The "little groove of sand" blocking Silas's progress, a tiny rib of earth that blocks the "rivulet," only needs a tiny push to re-open. It gets a huge one, with Eppie, but that's beside the point. Through this description of a rivulet, the narrator confirms that Silas is a good man underneath all his miserliness. The "water" of his good nature just needs to be given a path.

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Explanation and Analysis—Christmas Carols:

In Chapter 10 of Silas Marner Dolly alludes to the British Christian tradition of carol-singing, remarking to Silas that nothing stirs her blood like Christmas music:

There’s no other music equil to the Christmas music—“Hark the erol angils sing.” And you may judge what it is at church, Master Marner, with the bassoon and the voices, as you can’t help thinking you’ve got to a better place a’ready—for I wouldn’t speak ill o’ this world, seeing as Them put us in it as knows best—but what wi’ the drink, and the quarrelling, and the bad illnesses, and the hard dying, as I’ve seen times and times, one’s thankful to hear of a better. [...]

The carol that Dolly mentions is "Hark! The Herald Angels Sing," a classic Christian hymn that celebrates the birth of Christ. Like the baby Jesus in the Christmas story, the baby Eppie has just appeared in Silas's home, bringing change and revitalizing his world. The "better" world that Dolly speaks of is just around the corner for Silas, just as Christians sing about when they celebrate the coming of Christ in this song. However, the "hammer-like rhythm"of the carols—as Eliot describes it when the narrative switches back to focusing on Silas—has a very different effect on the weaver than it does Dolly. The sound interferes with the rhythm of his weaving, and he doesn't get any encouragement from the music. It's not until Eppie opens his heart and he re-engages with a gentler version of Christianity that he's able to feel affected by it. 

Eliot makes a humorous use of Northern Dialect here.  "Erol angils" instead of "herald angels" implies that Dolly gets a sense of what the music is about without actually understanding what it's invoking. Carols transport Dolly to heaven in this segment, as she "can't help thinking" she is in a "better place," away from the "illnesses, and the hard dying." The Christmas music apparently offers an escape from the grindingly repetitive and hard "times and times" for England's rural poor. Dolly doesn't have to understand what the words mean to be moved by the carol. The intense sensory language of the swell and murmur of this affecting music, from the low notes of the "bassoon" to the "voices," carries Dolly's bliss and transportation through to the reader.

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Explanation and Analysis—Like the Ant:

The novel's protagonist is compared to many objects and creatures from the natural world in Silas Marner. These similes help the reader to understand the simplicity of Marner's approach to life and link him to the novel's rural scenery. For instance, when Marner discovers his gold has been stolen in Chapter 10, Eliot aligns Marner's total loss of direction and his sense of loss to that of a "baffled" insect:

Marner’s thoughts could no longer move in their old round, and were baffled by a blank like that which meets a plodding ant when the earth was broken away on its homeward path. The loom was there, and the weaving, and the growing pattern in the cloth; but the bright treasure in the hole under his feet was gone; the prospect of handling and counting it was gone: the evening had no phantasm of delight to still the poor soul’s craving.

Ants, like Silas Marner, are associated with total devotion to work and with stockpiling supplies and nesting materials. When his gold disappears, the old weaver is "baffled by a blank," like an ant whose journey to the nest is physically interrupted. He cannot understand the scene in front of him. Without the gold, he has no purpose. The author lists all the materials of his work: the loom, the weaving, and the "growing pattern in the cloth" as still present. However, the "hole in the ground" which Silas the "ant" has been filling with the fruits of his labors is empty and yawning.

Through the theft of his gold, Silas's psychological comfort and his imaginary companionship are also stolen. He is mentally reduced to the status of a lost insect. Even the thought of replenishing the gold doesn't help, as Eliot says in the same chapter that "The thought of the money he would get by his actual work could bring no joy." Before he adopts Eppie, losing the gold leaves him utterly abject and directionless.

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Chapter 12
Explanation and Analysis—Golden Hair:

In Chapter 12, when Silas finds Eppie sleeping by his hearth, he believes for a moment that the toddler is actually his stolen gold miraculously returned. Eliot uses the imagery of gold—previously only aligned with greed and miserliness—to foreshadow to the reader that the protagonist has come into possession of an even larger treasure than his mass of coin:

Gold!—his own gold—brought back to him as mysteriously as it had been taken away! He felt his heart begin to beat violently, and for a few moments he was unable to stretch out his hand and grasp the restored treasure. The heap of gold seemed to glow and get larger [...] but instead of hard coin with the familiar resisting outline, his fingers encountered soft warm curls. In utter amazement, Silas fell on his knees and bent his head low to examine the marvel: it was a sleeping child—a round, fair thing with soft yellow rings all over its head.

The sensory language of the adorable "soft yellow rings" of Eppie's hair in contrast to the "hard" coins Silas is expecting suggests the total change in his character that is about to unfold. Silas wasn't expecting to encounter human warmth in his cottage, let alone his life as a whole. The sweet little girl completely overturns his world, allowing him to "touch" other people again.

Eppie is so sweet and innocent that even the narrator seems lost for words to describe her; Eliot, who's rarely repetitive, uses the word "soft" twice here. Everything about Eppie is relaxed, "round," and pliant, which is quite the opposite of the "resisting outline" of coins. The metal treasure-heap Silas had previously guarded like a miserly dragon has been replaced, to his "utter amazement," with a little girl.

The violence of the old weaver's beating heart as he takes in the scene is also contrasted with Eppie's relaxation and peaceful slumber. Silas was obsessively excited by the gold coins when they were in his possession, and protecting and accumulating them overtook his life to the exclusion of everything else. However, after he adopts Eppie (whom he also wants to protect and help to grow), he stops being lonely and opens himself up to the world. Rather than making his heart pound, she becomes the site of his rest and his peace. Rather than keeping him prisoner inside with his loom, she opens the doors to his heart.

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Chapter 16
Explanation and Analysis—Nancy's Still Beautiful:

The motif of inner goodness shining through one's outward appearance recurs throughout this novel. For example, in Chapter 16 the narrator describes Nancy's looks as remaining pleasant even though she's no longer a young girl. The narrator explains that this is mostly due to Nancy's wonderful personal qualities:

[...] Nancy’s beauty has a heightened interest. Often the soul is ripened into fuller goodness while age has spread an ugly film, so that mere glances can never divine the preciousness of the fruit. [...] The firm yet placid mouth, the clear veracious glance of the brown eyes, speak now of a nature that has been tested and has kept its highest qualities; and even the costume, with its dainty neatness and purity, has more significance now the coquetries of youth can have nothing to do with it.

Eliot's novel portrays having a bad character as affecting one's looks negatively, and a good character as being visible in pleasant features and an inviting aura. If you're kind and benevolent, in Silas Marner it will be reflected in your appearance. 

This goes both ways, as pleasant countenances in Silas Marner allow a reader to diagnose things about characters' personalities that might not otherwise be obvious. Readers can "see" things in good people that aren't necessarily visible to the eye in this book; for example, Nancy's eyes are described here as "veracious," which means "truthful." Truthfulness as a character trait isn't really a thing one can usually see, but it's so present in Nancy's character that it's as clear as the color of her irises. Eliot also implies that perceptive people particularly like to see the evidence of a good life well lived on others' faces. She notes, pointing the reader towards this association, that Nancy's beauty would be of interest to those "who love human faces best for what they tell of human experience." Eliot's narrator is very interested in character studies and implies that the reader should be, too.

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Chapter 17
Explanation and Analysis—Foreshadowing Beauty:

At the end of Chapter 17, Nancy is standing by the door of her cottage anxiously awaiting Godfrey's return. In this scene, Eliot foreshadows the startling nature of Nancy's upcoming discussion with her husband; he is about to disclose finding Dunstan's skeleton and the truth about his relationships with Eppie and Molly. The author gives the reader a sense of foreboding by juxtaposing images of the sublime natural world with the language of death and shadow:

She continued to stand, however, looking at the placid churchyard with the long shadows of the gravestones across the bright green hillocks, and at the glowing autumn colours of the Rectory trees beyond. Before such calm external beauty the presence of a vague fear is more distinctly felt—like a raven flapping its slow wing across the sunny air. Nancy wished more and more that Godfrey would come in.

Images of "calm external beauty" and beckoning rural scenery dominate the first half of this passage. Although the vista is stunning, it's quickly marred by the "vague fear" that Nancy begins to feel. The raven's presence at the end of this quotation casts a shadow over the rest of the passage. Rather than being comforting, the gorgeous landscape only makes her unease with her current situation more acute. The "placid" churchyard, the "brightness" of the grass, and the "glowing autumn" of the Rectory contrast with the macabre simile of the "slow wing" of the raven that immediately follows them. The shadows of the gravestones "across the bright green hillocks," in hindsight, seem sinister, and the "glowing colors" of the leaves actually reflective of the death of summer foliage.

The raven is a symbol of death in all of Eliot's novels and in a great deal of the literature that precedes them. The bird is so recognizable as a harbinger of death that its mere presence is enough to chill Nancy deeply. Eliot uses these juxtaposed images of life and death to foreshadow the startling news Godfrey is about to convey to her about Molly and Eppie. Nancy feels that something bad is coming before she can even really know it, and so does the reader.

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