Mrs Transome, From Felix Holt: The Radical, By George Eliot

Enjoy a taster chapter of George Eliot's political novel, Felix Holt: The Radical, set in England in 1832. In this rather touching and beautifully written scene, Mrs Transome, talking to her loyal maid Denner, dreads her son's forthcoming marriage to the lovely Esther Lyon and bemoans the fate of women in general.

For writing set in a similar era, see Cranford by Elizabeth Gaskell, narrated by me in Free Tracks.

Transcript

Hello,

It's Mandy here.

Thanks very much for joining me tonight and I'm trying a bit of an experiment tonight really,

In that I quite often find myself reading some sort of monstrous tome of 19th century literature and thinking I bet my listeners would enjoy hearing some of this.

But of course to do the whole book would be crazy because it's just way too long to serialise on Insight Timer.

Anyway,

Recently I've been reading Felix Holt,

The Radical by George Eliot.

So I thought it might be an idea to give you an extract from this book,

A kind of flavour of it if you like.

So I've had a look for a chapter that I think is fairly self-contained and I thought maybe to do this with some other books as well.

So do feel free to let me know what you think.

Don't worry if you can't be bothered,

That's fine.

The piece I'm going to read to you is actually the whole of chapter 39.

So we're quite a long way into the book but one of the characters,

Mrs Transom,

Is reflecting some of what she feels to be true about being a woman in the time that the book is set.

Felix Holt,

The Radical is set in 1832 and this novel is not considered one of George Eliot's finest and plenty of people felt it was a bit of a failure and referred to it rather disparagingly as her political novel that didn't really come off.

But I have to say I actually have been really enjoying reading it and there certainly are some very fine passages and chapters in it that I think are really worth reading and listening to.

Anyway,

So this is one of them.

Before I go ahead,

Please make yourself really comfortable and settle down into your chair or your bed.

Relax your hands,

Release your shoulders and soften your jaw.

That's great and if you're feeling comfortable then I shall begin.

Some days after Esther's arrival at Transom Court,

Denner,

Coming to dress Mrs Transom before dinner,

A labour of love for which she had ample leisure now,

Found her mistress seated with more than ever of that marble aspect of self-absorbed suffering which,

To the waiting woman's keen observation,

Had been gradually intensifying itself during the past week.

She had tapped at the door without having been summoned and she had ventured to enter,

Though she'd heard no voice saying,

Come in.

Mrs Transom had on a dark warm dressing gown hanging in thick folds about her and she was seated before a mirror which filled the panel from the floor to the ceiling.

The room was bright with the light of the fire and of wax candles.

For some reason,

Contrary to her usual practice,

Mrs Transom had herself unfastened her abundant grey hair which rolled backward in a pale sunless stream over her dark dress.

She was seated before the mirror,

Apparently looking at herself,

Her brow knit in one deep furrow and her jeweled hands laid one above the other on her knee.

Probably she had ceased to see the reflection in the mirror for her eyes had the fixed wide open look that belongs not to examination but to reverie.

Motionless in that way,

Her clear-cut features keeping distinct record of past beauty,

She looked like an image faded,

Dried and bleached by uncounted suns rather than a breathing woman who had numbered the years as they passed and had a consciousness within her which was the slow deposit of those ceaseless rolling years.

Denner,

With all her ingrained and systematic reserve,

Could not help showing signs that she was startled when,

Peering from between her half-closed eyelids,

She saw the motionless image in the mirror opposite her as she entered.

Her gentle opening of the door had not roused her mistress,

To whom the sensations produced by Denner's presence were as little disturbing as those of a favourite cat.

But the slight cry and the start reflected in the glass were unusual enough to break the reverie.

Mrs Transom moved,

Leaned back in her chair and said,

So you'll come at last,

Denner.

Yes,

Madam,

It is not late.

I'm sorry you should have undone your hair yourself.

I undid it to see what an old hag I am.

These fine clothes you put on me,

Denner,

Are only a smart shroud.

Pray don't talk so,

Madam.

If there's anybody doesn't think it pleasant to look at you,

So much the worse for them.

For my part,

I've seen no young ones fit to hold up your train.

Look at your likeness down below,

And though you're older now,

What signifies?

I wouldn't be Letty in the scullery because she's got red cheeks.

She may know she's a poor creature,

But I know it,

And that's enough for me.

I know what sort of dowdy draggle tail she'll be in 10 years time.

I would change with nobody,

Madam,

And if troubles were put up to market,

I'd sooner buy old than new.

It's something to have seen the worst.

A woman never has seen the worst until she is old,

Denner,

Said Mrs Transom bitterly.

The keen little waiting woman was not clear as to the cause of her mistress's added bitterness,

But she rarely brought herself to ask questions when Mrs Transom did not authorise them by beginning to give her information.

Banks the bailiff and the head servant had nodded and winked a good deal over the certainty that Mr Harold was none so fond of German,

But this was a subject on which Mrs Transom had never made up her mind to speak,

And Denner knew nothing definite.

Again,

She felt quite sure that there was some important secret connected with Esther's presence in the house.

She suspected that the close Dominic knew the secret and was more trusted than she was in spite of her 40 years service,

But any resentment on this ground would have been an entertained reproach against her mistress,

Inconsistent with Denner's creed and character.

She inclined to the belief that Esther was the immediate cause of the new discontent.

If there's anything worse coming to you,

I should like to know what it is,

Madam,

She said after a moment's silence,

Speaking always in the same low,

Quick way and keeping up her quiet labours.

When I awake at Cockcrow,

I'd sooner have one real grief on my mind than 20 false.

It's better to know one's robbed than to think one's going to be murdered.

I believe you are the creature in the world that loves me best,

Denner,

Yet you will never understand what I suffer.

It's of no use telling you.

There's no folly in you and no heartache.

You are made of iron.

You have never had any trouble.

I've had some of your trouble,

Madam.

Yes,

You good thing,

But as a sick nurse that never caught the fever.

You never even had a child.

I can feel for things I never went through.

I used to be sorry for the poor French queen when I was young.

I'd have lain cold for her to lie warm.

I know people have feelings according to their birth and station,

And you always took things to heart,

Madam,

Beyond anybody else,

But I hope there's nothing new to make you talk of the worst.

Yes,

Denner,

There is,

There is,

Said Mrs.

Transom,

Speaking in a low tone of misery while she bent for her headdress to be pinned on.

Is it this young lady?

Why,

What do you think about her,

Denner,

Said Mrs.

Transom,

In a tone of more spirit,

Rather curious to hear what the old woman would say?

I don't deny she's graceful,

And she has a pretty smile and very good manners.

It's quite unaccountable by what Banks says about her father.

I know nothing of these treeby town folk myself,

But for my part I'm puzzled.

I'm fond of Mr.

Harold.

I always shall be,

Madam.

I was at his bringing into the world,

And nothing but his doing wrong by you would turn me against him,

But the servants all say he's in love with Miss Lyon.

Oh,

I wish it were true,

Denner,

Said Mrs.

Transom,

Energetically.

I wish he were in love with her,

So that she could master him and make him do what she pleased.

Then it's not true,

What they say.

Not true that she will ever master him.

No woman ever will.

He will make her fond of him and afraid of him.

That's one of the things you have never gone through,

Denner.

A woman's love is always freezing into fear.

She wants everything.

She is secure of nothing.

This girl has a fine spirit,

Plenty of fire and pride and wit.

Men like such captives,

As they like horses that champ the bit and paw the ground.

They feel more triumph in their mastery.

What is the use of a woman's will?

If she tries,

She doesn't get it,

And she ceases to be loved.

God was cruel when he made women.

Denner was used to such outbursts as this.

Her mistress's rhetoric and temper belonged to her superior rank,

Her grand person and her piercing black eyes.

Mrs.

Transom had a sense of impiety in her words,

Which made them all the more tempting to her impotent anger.

The waiting woman had none of that all which could be turned into defiance.

The sacred grove was a common thicket to her.

It may be good luck to be a woman,

She said,

But one begins with it from a baby.

One gets used to it,

And I shouldn't like to be a man to cough so loud and stand straddling about on a wet day and be so wasteful with meat and drink.

They're a coarse lot,

I think.

Then I needn't make a trouble of this young lady,

Madam,

She added after a moment's pause.

No,

Denner,

I like her.

If that were all,

I should like Harold to marry her.

It would be the best thing.

If the truth were known,

And it will be known soon,

The estate is hers by law,

Such law as it is.

It's a strange story.

She's a bycliff,

Really.

Denner did not look amazed,

But went on fastening her mistress's dress,

As she said.

Well,

Madam,

I was sure there was something wonderful at the bottom of it,

And turning the old lawsuits and everything else over in my mind,

I thought the law might have something to do with it.

Then she is a born lady.

Yes,

She has good blood in her veins.

We talked that over in the housekeeper's room.

What a hand and an instep she has,

And how her head is set on her shoulders,

Almost like her own,

Madam.

But her lightish complexion spoils her,

To my thinking.

And Dominic said,

Mr.

Harold never admired that sort of a woman before.

There's nothing that smooth fellow couldn't tell you,

If he would.

He knows the answers to riddles before they're made.

However,

He knows how to hold his tongue.

I'll say that for him,

And so do I,

Madam.

Yes,

Yes,

You will not talk of it until other people are talking of it.

And so,

If Mr.

Harold married her,

It would save all fuss and mischief.

Yes,

About the estate.

And he seems inclined,

And she'll not refuse him.

I'll answer for that.

And you like her,

Madam.

There's everything to set your mind at rest.

Dana was putting the finishing touch to Mrs.

Transom's dress,

By throwing an Indian scarf over her shoulders.

And so,

Completing the contrast between the majestic lady in costume,

And the dishevelled,

Hecuba-like woman,

Whom she had found half an hour before.

I am not at rest,

Mrs.

Transom said,

With slow distinctness,

Moving from the mirror to the window,

Where the blind was not drawn down,

And she could see the chill white landscape,

And the far off,

Unheeding stars.

Dana,

More distressed by her mistress's suffering,

Than she could have been by anything else,

Took up,

With the instinct of affection,

A gold vinaigrette,

Which Mrs.

Transom often liked to carry with her,

And going up to her,

Put it into her hand,

Gently.

Mrs.

Transom grasped the little woman's hand hard,

And held it so.

Dana,

She said,

In a low tone,

If I could choose at this moment,

I would choose that Harold should never have been born.

Nay,

My dear,

Dana had only once before in her life said,

My dear,

To her mistress,

It was happiness to you then.

I don't believe I felt the happiness then,

As I feel the misery now.

It is foolish to say people can't feel much when they are getting old.

Not pleasure,

Perhaps,

Little comes,

But they can feel they are forsaken.

Why,

Every fibre in me seems to be a memory that makes a pang.

They can feel that all the love in their lives is turned to hatred or contempt.

Not mine,

Madam,

Not mine.

Let what would be,

I should want to live for your sake,

For fear you should have nobody to do for you as I would.

Ah,

Then,

You are a happy woman,

Dana.

You have loved somebody for forty years,

Who is old and weak now,

And can't do without you.

The sound of the dinner-gong resounded below,

And Mrs Transom let the faithful hand fall again.

Reviews

I loved it! This book and author are going on my ‘to read’ list. Please continue your ‘experiment’, providing us with a sampling of an author or book.

I love this experiment ! More of same, please! Mary

Loved it! Great experiment Mandy! Thank you. I’m one of the minority I guess that loves the long stories😊
Sounds like a very interesting book. 📕 ❤️❤️

What beautiful descriptions, insights into the time period. Thanks for selecting this.💐🕊️❤️

Tantalizing! But (or and) I Loved it, Mandy! Thank you! 🙏🏻😊❤️
PS: a book 📖 I’m reading right now could be a possible candidate for you: The Correspondent by Virginia Evans. Just a suggestion.

I like the idea of sharing excerpts, especially with complex and weighty tomes like Eliot’s. I did get “through” Middlemarch and missed it when I finished; I consider it to be the best example of Victorian writing. Eliot’s life is so interesting and her keen awareness of having brains but not beauty in an age which valued the opposite in women is reflected in much of her writing. Would you ever consider reading some biographies to us? Thanks for trying something new Mandy🙏🏻

That was a wonderful piece of writing you shared with us Mandy. Thank you. We do not need the entire “monstrous tome” to appreciate the skill of the author. You can consider this a successful experiment.

I love this idea of yours, Mandy, and the only problem is that now I want to know what happens next!! What beautiful writing, bringing us right into that warm, brightly lit, exquisite misery …
Cheers, Mandy — you are my comfort in the night✨🙏🏼✨