Gareth Wilson

False Relationships and Other Impediments to Love in Adam Bede and Doctor Thorne

In George Eliot’s Adam Bede and Anthony Trollope’s Doctor Thorne, there is a fundamental difference in the stylistic structures, which becomes increasingly apparent when we examine the novels’ various romantic relationships. In the case of Adam Bede, the narrator intentionally leads us astray through the use of false partners and other barricades, even though we know none of these relationships will work out. Essentially, the novel sets up a paradigm in which relationships are doomed to failure from the start, leaving us with little to no hope for the future of our romantic heroes. There are very few examples of well-matched couples in Adam Bede, which already sets a skeptical tone, and most of the relationships we do see are quickly doomed to failure. Even the relationship between Adam and Dinah seems a little problematic, though it is a basically happy one. In contrast, the narrator of Doctor Thorne takes an entirely different route in his description of the romantic escapades of Frank and Mary. False relationships and impediments abound, but the narrator still makes it explicit that the two will overcome all the obstacles in the end. As the ending is laid out for us from the beginning, we view the novel merely as an unfolding of expected events, preparing us for the final marriage. Despite differences in structure and tone, the endings of both novels are intended as happy occurrences. The final result is similar, but the means of achieving that end are almost entirely opposite.
            Fittingly, Adam Bede begins with a rejected proposal. Within the first few pages, we have already witnessed a romantic relationship that is doomed to failure. When Seth proposes to Dinah, she flatly rejects him, and there seems to be little chance that they will end up together in the end. She tells him, “I thank you for your love towards me, and if I could think any man more than a Christian brother, it would be you” (Eliot 35). Even if Dinah had been willing, the two don’t seem like a well-matched couple. Seth is the more likeable character, even though he is doomed to romantic isolation, while Dinah, who claims to desire a life free of amorous love, ends up finding marital bliss at the end. It seems a little unfair that Dinah can be happy when the likeable Seth can’t. Dinah’s character strikes us as self-righteous and one-dimensional; her religious fervor overrides any other personality she might have. On the other hand, Seth is an amiable, all-around good guy, willing to go to great lengths to make others comfortable.

Given Seth and Dinah’s quite dissimilar personalities, it might be a little difficult for us to understand his feelings for Dinah. But his admiration is somewhat understandable. Besides her prim and proper beauty, Dinah’s passionate religious feelings appeal to Seth. In fact, his feelings towards Dinah almost rival Dinah’s own spirituality. As the narrator explains, “He was but three-and-twenty, and had only just learned what it is to love—to love with that adoration which a young man gives to a woman whom he feels to be greater and better than himself. Love of this sort is hardly distinguishable from religious feeling” (Eliot 37). Seth looks upon Dinah with so much respect that he’s satisfied just to merely be around her, and know that she’s happy. He “had no hope left that she would ever love him well enough to marry him; but he had often said to himself, it was better to be Dinah’s friend and brother than any other woman’s husband” (Eliot 399). This kind of love seems much more like blind admiration than a real romantic relationship; his feelings are superficial and naive. He has fallen in love with the image of Dinah as a symbol of uprightness, not as an actual person. Ironically, if Dinah were interested in returning Seth’s feelings and agreed to marry him, he might very well lose some of his respect for her.

            There’s a lot of this sort of naïve love in the novel. In fact, much of the relationships in this novel are based on superficial feelings. Even the final relationship between Adam and Dinah is fraught with potential problems of this kind, in my opinion. But, in the tangled web of relationships, perhaps the most utterly naïve and false is Adam’s infatuation with Hetty. As readers, we only respect Hetty once she has been through the worst, but Adam is not nearly as discriminating. While Hetty is an obviously dimwitted and childishly infuriating character, Adam is the epitome of a strong-willed hero. Nevertheless, we see his weakness in his misguided love of Hetty, (which brings to mind a comparison with David Copperfield’s bizarre yet potent feelings for the juvenile Dora). Though Adam seems to legitimately care for Hetty, the source of his affection is a bit mysterious. Arthur Donnithorn is only after Hetty because, “Every man likes to flirt with a pretty girl, and every pretty girl likes to be flirted with” (Eliot 298), but Adam seems to have some real feelings for this childish woman. Still, it’s hard to imagine these feelings are borne out of anything other than initial attraction.

            There’s little to like about Hetty, besides her appearance. The narrator describes her beauty as “like that of kittens, or very small downy ducks making gentle rippling noises with their soft bills, or babies just beginning to toddle and engage in conscious mischief” (Eliot 83). Her cutesy appearance draws attention wherever she goes; she is attractive even to women. But she is shallow, and not very bright. “Hetty had never read a novel: if she had ever seen one, I think the words would have been too hard for her: how then could she find a shape for expectations?” (Eliot 136). She has no knowledge of what love should be, so she forms immature fixations, not based firmly in reality. “Hetty was quite uneducated—a simple farmer’s girl, to whom a gentleman with a white hand was dazzling as an Olympian God” (Eliot 100). She might have been better off choosing Adam, who actually cares for her, even though this clearly is not a match that is destined to be. But this is irrelevant because the only feeling she has towards Adam is one of smug satisfaction at having attracted him. As the narrator puts it, “She felt nothing when his eyes rested on her, but the cold triumph of knowing that he loved her” (Eliot 99). This kind of unfeeling attitude is typical of Hetty. At one point, Mr. Irwine warns Arthur not to let Hetty’s ego go to her head. He says, “I must not have you feeding her vanity, and filling her little noodle with the notion that she’s a great beauty, attractive to fine gentlemen, or you will spoil her for a man’s wife”(Eliot 101). Unfortunately, Hetty is already spoiled in this regard. She is blind to everything but her own desires, and there is no match that would suit her.

By presenting us with these doomed matches, and very few examples of other, existing happy relationships, the narrator conveys a pessimistic attitude about love (echoed by Bartle Massey’s constant tirades). We wonder if maybe this is not a story, like Doctor Thorne, in which everything will work out in the end. Therefore, it’s a bit of a shock to find out Adam and Dinah end up together. Dinah has already expressed her commitment to her religion; by betraying this promise, she no longer has the moral high ground. Furthermore, it doesn’t seem completely right that Adam should end up with the woman that Seth loves. Even Adam wants Seth and Dinah to be together. He thinks, “There was one thing that might have been better; she might have loved Seth, and consented to marry him. He felt a little vexed for his brother’s sake, and he could not help thinking regretfully how Dinah, as Seth’s wife, would have made their home as happy as could be for them all” (Eliot 489). Perhaps Adam’s wishes are really just a cover for his own feelings for Dinah, but he seems to truly and unselfishly want the best for his brother.

Seth more than returns the sentiment. For most people, it would come as quite a blow to find out the woman you love is marrying your bother. But Seth is the self-sacrificing kind, and he’s not upset by the notion of Adam ending up with Dinah. Both brothers treat each other with mutual consideration. When Adam is deciding whether or not to pursue his relationship with Dinah, he considers how their relationship would affect Seth: “Would the lad be hurt? Hardly; for he had seemed quite contented of late, and there was no selfish jealousy in him; he had never been jealous of his mother’s fondness for Adam” (Eliot 502). Of course, Adam is right; after Dinah and Seth are married, Seth is more than happy to live side by side with the couple and their many children, remaining ever jovial, but eternally single. Rather than finding a romantic partner more suited to his personality, Seth lives out his days basking in the glow of his brother’s relationship. There’s something vaguely incestual about his willingness to live out his fantasies through his brother. The ending is a joyous occasion for all involved, and yet there’s a disturbing undercurrent to the solution. We want everything to fall neatly into place, and we’re satisfied after reading the novel’s serene epilogue. But, despite the happy ending, we’re left with some lingering feelings of disquietude.

The fates of the characters in Doctor Thorne are much more clearly charted, and the ending is a little more satisfying. But this novel also contains more than a few misconceived relationships. The first such incident is Doctor Thorne’s failed affair, which occurs sometime before the start of the novel. After his former lover tells him they can never be together, Doctor Thorne “rushed forth with a bursting heart, and said to himself that the world was bad, all bad” (Trollope 31). Because of this incident, the doctor decides to be a perpetual bachelor—he “never again made matrimonial overtures to any one” (Trollope 31). The second instance is the failed marriage of Thorne’s brother, which is ruined by the sordid affair that results in Mary’s birth. Since Mary comes out of an illegitimate relationship, and has been raised by a man embittered toward love, she has few examples of happy marriages in her life. In fact, most of what she hears about love and marriage comes from Lady Arabella and her similarly minded sister, Lady de Courcy, who consider good blood and money to be the only criteria by which a romantic partner should be selected. Somehow, Mary escapes this influence, as does Frank, but we can see how this attitude has been ingrained into Frank’s sister, who decides to marry the downright villainous Mr. Moffat purely for status: “She thought she had shown good judgment in accepting Mr. Moffat’s offer, though she did not pretend to any romance of affection”(Trollope 62). In the beginning of the novel, failed relationships and highly flawed notions of love and marriage dominate.

Even Frank, who we come to see as an idealized romantic figure, has quite muddled notions of love in the beginning of the novel. While he has somehow evaded the negative influence of his mother, his greatest problem is his immaturity, which we see in his boyish flirtations with Miss Oriel. Of course, we already know that Frank’s true love is Mary, but he’s unable to control his youthful inclinations. The narrator, an extremely active commentator on the action of the novel, laments this situation. As Frank makes a fool of himself in his false praise of Miss Oriel, the narrator addresses Frank directly, declaring, “Oh, Master Frank! Master Frank! If you act thus in the green leaf, what will you do in the dry?” (Trollope 86). To Frank, his flirtations are a just game. Miss Oriel is never an actual impediment to Frank and Mary’s relationship, but Frank’s flirtations are a definite indication that he needs to grow up before he and Mary can be happy together.

In his dealings with Miss Dunstable, Frank once again shows his juvenile behavior. After Lady de Courcy thrusts the unwitting Miss Dunstable on her nephew, Frank plays along and does his best to woo this wealthy, slightly homely woman, despite the fact that he still loves Mary. When Miss Dunstable first arrives, Lady de Courcy comments that she is “looking extremely well,” gloating over her “distingué appearance.” But Frank finds that “he could not altogether go along with his aunt in this opinion” (Trollope 209). Frank is taken aback by her age (she’s thirty, but Frank thinks she must be “ten years older”), finding “her style of beauty” (meaning her lack of beauty) not to his liking. Nevertheless, Frank feels obligated to play along with his aunt’s game, and does his best to win over this wealthy lady, in spite of himself. “He was prepared to go through a certain amount of courtship, in obedience to his aunt’s behests” (Trollope 208).

As it turns out, the two get along amazingly well, and they spend hours talking, laughing uproariously at each other’s jokes. But though they are both quite companionable, the narrator observes that, “People, when they are in love with each other, or even when they pretend to be, do not generally show it by loud laughter”(Trollope 237). Frank finds a fast friend in Miss Dunstable, but a romantic relationship is out of the question for both of them. Still, Frank persists in upholding a romantic pretence, whether to keep his aunt happy or, more likely, as a means of stroking his own ego. But when Frank begins to profess false love for Miss Dunstable, she stops him abruptly, telling him, “How is it possible that you should love me? I am Heaven knows how many years your senior. I am neither young nor beautiful, nor have I been brought up as should be whom you in time will really love and make your love”(Trollope 269). Miss Dunstable’s wise words do a good deal to help Frank’s maturity. With her influence, he finally begins to realize the dangers of playing such a reckless game. But he still has a lot to learn.

Given that Frank needs to mature before he deserves Mary, it’s fitting that, when he first proposes to her, she abruptly rejects him. In no other situation do we better see Frank’s immaturity than in this aloof, though heartfelt declaration of his love: “Oh, oh! Mary; do you love me? Don’t you love me? Won’t you love me? Say you will. Oh, Mary dearest, Mary, will you? Won’t you? Do you? Don’t you? Come now, you have a right to give a fellow an answer” (Trollope 91). Even the narrator makes fun of Frank’s stumbling, incoherent words, mockingly referring to the “eloquence” with which he spoke. But though Mary rejects this first proposal (she has little choice), the situation is much less dire than in the case of Dinah and Seth. With Mary and Frank, we’re sure the two are meant to be together. Though Mary rejects Frank, we know she would gladly accept under different circumstance. We know it’s an exaggeration when she says, “it never for a moment occurred to her to take Frank’s offer in earnestness,” because just a few paragraphs later, she says, “Did she not feel that there was that about him, about him and about herself, too, which might so well fit them for each other” (Trollope 97). We know they will end up with each other, but they have to go through a lot before this can occur.

The greatest obstacle to their love is not false relationships, or even Frank’s immaturity, but Lady Arabella’s stubborn refusal to shed her notions of class and social standing. Lady Arabella is the greatest single barricade to our heroes’ love, so we despise her accordingly. But she is so blunt about her desire for Frank to marry money that it almost makes her behavior more excusable. If she attempted to hide her motives, we might consider her crafty and deceptive. Instead, she just seems like a poor old woman set in her ways. As the narrator explains it, “To do her justice, it should be stated, that she actually believed that the marriage was all but impossible” (Trollope 547). In another instance, the narrator again defends her, saying she was not entirely duplicitous. “At the present moment, she was not hypocritical. She did love her son, was anxious – very anxious for him…” (Trollope 572). Here we see that she is not only motivated by purely economic factors, but also by actual concern for her son’s well being.

            We can see some humanity in this comic monster, but that’s not to say that we aren’t hoping she’ll get her comeuppance. We are never allowed to forget that she is the primary barrier to Frank and Mary’s marriage. She is, in fact, the most clear-cut villain in the novel. No one else is as consistently unreasonable. Though many other characters are similarly minded, we see a much more striking stubbornness in Lady Arabella. When talking to Mary about her proposal, she makes every attempt to be reasonable. But, in this scene particularly, it becomes exceedingly obvious that she is partially motivated by resentment for Mary. At one point, she becomes uncharacteristically angry, rather than simply distraught. “Impudent hussy! Forward, ill-conditioned saucy minx! Such were the epithets which arose to Lady Arabella’s mind; but she politely suppressed them” (Trollope 548). But, even worse than her attempts to stop their relationship, is her sudden reversal of attitude when Mary inherits the fortune from Sir Roger. Upon hearing the news of her inheritance, she faints and, upon waking, mutters, “Dear Mary!” It’s hard to help feeling anything but pure revulsion for Lady Arabella at that moment. This drastic shift in attitude is so sudden and tactless that it truly puts her to shame. She cannot be forgiven for the role she has in blocking Frank and Mary’s marriage.

            But, though Lady Arabella is certainly a hindrance, in the end, she does not have the ultimate power. The greatest facilitator of their relationship is fortune, in the form of the deaths of Sir Roger and Sir Louis, providing Mary with the money she needs to satisfy Lady Arabella. Frank is not concerned about Mary’s social standing, which is the main reason he is so deserving of her affection, but Mary is a good deal more conservative. She views Lady Arabella with contempt, but she continues to abide by Arabella’s rules regarding class and propriety. It is for this reason that Mary writes Frank a letter telling him, “I do not generally agree with [Lady Arabella] about such matters, but she has said some things today which I cannot deny to be true. She says that our marriage would be distressing to your father, injurious to all your family, and ruinous to yourself” (Trollope 555). If Mary were not so extraordinarily prudent in her romantic dealings, she and Frank might very well have been married much sooner, and wouldn’t have needed to wait for a miracle. For this reason, Mary herself is one of the single most important impediments to the relationship.   

False relationships and other obstacles play an important role in both Doctor Thorne and Adam Bede, though they serve distinctly different purposes in each novel. In Adam Bede, false relationships are particularly prominent. For most of the novel, we do not know that Adam and Dinah are intended as a couple. Almost every relationship in the novel has either already failed, is destined to fail or, in the case of Dinah and Seth and Adam and Hetty, never even occurs at all. There is a quite cynical attitude toward love in general, which often seems to be based on superficial qualities rather than substance. Therefore, it’s somewhat surprising when Adam and Dinah end up together and are apparently happy. In the case of Frank and Mary in Doctor Thorne, failed relationships and false partners are also quite prominent. But the most important impediments to the marriage come in the form of Frank’s immaturity, the meddling of Lady Arabella, and Mary’s overly cautious attitude. The novels have extremely different structures and attitude towards love, but they seem to share a common belief that love can exist even under the worst circumstances.