SILAS MARNER -CHAPTER

Meet Silas Marner. He's a linen-weaver who lives in the village of Raveloe, and
people don't like him. Well, they don't really trust him. Weaving requires a lot of skill,
and peasants are suspicious of people who have any particular "cleverness" (1.1.1).
They figure he's got other powers than weavinglike the kind of powers that can
cure sickness and maybe even make people sick.
Raveloe is a two-horse, one-stoplight, no-good-movie-theater town. It's far away
from everything, it's got no nightlife, and its residents have no ambition.
Silas has been the village outcast there for fifteen years. He doesn't flirt with the
girls, he doesn't farm, and he doesn't have friends. He's totally the guy making
puppets while all the other dudes are playing football.
Jem Rodney even saw him in a fit one day, leaning on a fence like a dead guy.
But he weaves fine cloth, so the villagers tolerate him. For fifteen years he lives with
them, unchanged.
Or so it seems.
Here's a little backstory:
Before Silas came to Raveloe, he was way involved with a Dissenting church in a
place called Lantern-Yard, a section of a manufacturing city up north.
Brief digression: In the 19th century, most people were Anglicans, part of the state-
sponsored Protestant Church of England. People who didn't belong to the church,
mostly Baptists or Methodists, were called Dissenters. Dissenters went to "chapel"
while Anglicans went to "Church," and they were often workers and manufacturers.
Anyway, Silas is a Dissenter. He and the church are one big happy family, until he
falls into a trance during a prayer-meeting.
The church members are pretty cool about it, even though Silas refuses to pretend
that he's had a spiritual vision.
Silas also has a good friend in the church, William Dane. The two talk a lot, mostly
regular dude stuff like whether or not they've been granted eternal salvation. Even
Silas's fiance, Sarah, can't get between them.
After Silas's trance, William starts acting funny, almost like he's jealous of the
attention Silas gets.
Now we get to the climax of this backstory: one night, Silas sits by the deathbed of
one of the church members. The next day, the church elders accuse him of stealing
money. He denies it, of course, but what's this? William found the bag of money in
Silas's dresser, and Silas's knife in the man's drawer. Of course he did.
Silas suddenly remembers something: "the knife wasn't in my pocket" (1.1.11-12), he
tells the accusers. William had borrowed the knife. Do you see where this is going?
No trial by jury here: Silas is subject to special church laws, and so he has to play a
game of chance to determine his guilt or innocence. He draws the short straw, which
means he's guilty.
Silas is exiled. Before he leaves, he accuses William of taking the money and rejects
God: "there is no just God that governs the earth righteously, but a God of lies"
(1.1.15).
Guess what happens next? Sarah and William marry. Ooh, burn.

Our somewhat verbose narrator waxes philosophic about how hard it is to move
to new places.
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Silas might as well be an alien in the midst of the merry crew of Raveloe
peasants. He feels like God has deserted him.
All work and no play makes Silas a rich man. He only starts weaving for
something to do, but the first time he gets his hands on that gold something
magical happens. It's more money than he's ever had in his life, and now he's got
the bug.
Around the same time, Silas tries to make friends. He hooks up the cobbler's
wife, Sally Oates, with some medicine made of foxglove (a flower that even today
doctors use to make the drug digitalis for people with heart disease).
The medicine works so well that Silas has a new problem on his hands: he's
popular for all the wrong reasons. The villagers think he's some kind of witch, but,
instead of trying to burn him, they flood him with requests for charms.
He sends them away, and the villagers respond by blaming him for all their
woes.
Meanwhile, Silas adds to his money collection. He doesn't need the money, but
he sure likes piling it up. (Who wouldn't?) At night, Silas hangs out with his hoard,
admiring the shape and color of the coins. He keeps it hidden, even though he
doesn't really fear robbers.
Silas gradually starts to wither and shrink, as misers do.
Beside money, the only thing he loves is an old clay pot. When he breaks it one
day, he keeps the pieces as a kind of shrine.
This goes on for fifteen years: Silas weaves all day and fondles his money all
night. Then everything changes.

But first, let's meet Squire Cass.

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Squire Cass is the most important man in Raveloe. The farmers have low
standards, so they assign him the title "squire" even though he doesn't really
deserve it. (Squires traditionally owned lots of land, had a coat of arms, and were
related to peers.) Like a real landlord, he collects rent from tenants.
Brief historical digression: this is all taking place about the time of the Napoleonic
Wars (beginning of the 19th century), which is good for people who own land.
The wars finally ended when England, and the Russian winter, put an end to
Napoleon's rather successful march across Europe.
In Raveloe, what's good for the rich is good for the poor, since the poor get the
leftovers of the rich.
During the Christmas season, all the rich travel from house to house at each
other's parties. Parties at Squire Cass's are the best, because his wife is dead
which means that there's no limit to the food.
Sadly, the villagers think, his sons are a little wild. Dustan (Dunsey to his friends)
likes to drink and gamble, and the older Godfrey seems to be following his
example. If only Godfrey would marry Nancy Lammeter! She's a nice girl, thrifty
without being cheap.
Anyway, it's fifteen years after Silas moved to Raveloe, and now the action is
starting. Godfrey stands in a dark parlor with his back to the fire and his hands in
his pockets.
Dunsey walks in, and Godfrey scowls. (Looks like there's not much brotherly love
here.)
Both guys are a little drunk. They start to fight. It seems that Godfrey gave some
rent money to Dunsey rather than handing it over to his father. Why doesn't
Godfrey just rat his brother out? Because Dunsey might rat him out. Godfrey's
married alreadyand his wife, Molly Farren, is a drunk. (We sense a theme.)
So Dunsey tells Godfrey to get the money himself, nagging at him to borrow or to
sell his horse until Godfrey threatens to just come clean to their father.
Godfrey's got a big strong body but a weak mind, and he can't decide what to do.
He's afraid to lose Nancy Lammeter, but the only solution he can come up with is
enlistment in the army. Dunsey comes up with a potentially less lethal option. He
offers to sell the horse for him, and Godfrey agrees.
As miserable as Godfrey is, he'd be more miserable if his secret came out.
Nancy would reject him, and (worse!) his father would disinherit him.
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The next morning, Dunstan sets off on his new horse, Wildfire. He passes Silas
Marner's cottage and suddenly realizes he should have suggested that Godfrey
borrow money from Silas. He almost heads home to do just that and then
decides it's much more fun to watch Godfrey squirm.
Dunstan sells the horse to men named Keating and Bryce and agrees to deliver it
after he's done hunting for the day. Big mistake. The horse promptly impales
himself on a fence stake and dies.
Dunstan is less upset about this than you might think. He's mostly grateful that no
one's around to see the accident, and he starts walking home because he
doesn't want to appear at the stable to hire a horse and let the stableman know
that he'd had an accident.
He's got a whip in his hand, a nice gold one. It happens to be his brother's, but
that doesn't bother himheck, it probably adds to the experience.
As the night grows darker and wetter, he finds himself near Silas's cottage.
Silas's gold starts to seem powerfully interesting. He decides to bypass Godfrey
and ask Silas for the money himself.
But Silas isn't home.
Not one for social graces, Dunsey lets himself in and sits down by the fire.
There's a sausage roasting in the fireplace, and Dunsey wonders where Silas is.
Maybe he's dead? He notices some sand on the floor.
In a second, he's moved the sand, got the bricks up, snatched two heavy leather
bags, and leftrather ominously, he steps "forward into the darkness" (1.4.11).
Yeah, we're thinking that's metaphorical.
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Here comes Silas. He was, in fact, not dead, but only a hundred yards away from
the cottage while Dunstan was making off with his life's savings.
He was out buying thread and didn't lock the door because the lock-string was
currently holding his sausage up to cook. Since nothing has happened to his
money for fifteen years, he feels pretty secure about his stash. That nice hot
sausage cooking on the fire makes him feel even more complacent than usual.
Plus, he figured that no thief was going to be out on such a gloomy night. (Maybe
invest in a good deadbolt, next time?)
Everything looks good when he gets back. As he's waiting for his sausage to
cook, he goes to pull out his gold for his nightly love festbut it's gone.
Wait, what?
Shaking, he looks again in the hole and frantically searches the cottage for the
gold. He screams in despair.
And thenwhy not?he starts to weave.
He tries to figure out who could have taken is money: a thief? A "cruel power"
that just really loved ruining his life? (1.5.6). It must have been a robber: maybe
Jem Rodney, the town deadbeat. Yep, definitely Jem Rodney.
Silas runs out of the cottage toward the village.
Usually, the Rainbow's parlor is full of Raveloe's powers that be, while the lesser
citizens hang out in the kitchen. Tonight only the kitchen is fullall the fancy folk
are at Mrs. Osgood's birthday party.