Love that Makes A Difference: The Transformation of Paul Dombey in the Novel 'Dombey and Son' by Charles Dickens
Charles Dickens had a knack for capturing the essence of human nature in his writings and, in this inspiring tale, he insightfully explored the miraculous ability of love to transform the human heart.
The novel, Dombey and Son , by Charles Dickens, paints a particularly vivid picture of both the nature and the redemptive power of love. Throughout the novel's myriad twists of plot and turns of phrase, that mightiest of transforming influences is depicted--with singular literary skill and creative cunning, by a master of metaphor and king of characterization--as the only successful means of regenerating the dead and decaying spirit.
As the story unfolds, we witness the sacrificial, generous, merciful, and steadfast character of love (epitomized in Florence Dombey,) weathering virtually innumerable and increasingly turbulent and soul-chilling storms of rejection, neglect, and bitterness-turned-to-hatred (issuing from her father.) Yet through it all, this love remains, true to its nature, stable and constant, until finally, emerging triumphant--and strong as ever it was--it is able to realize its long-deferred goal of reconciliation and mutual endearment and to enjoy the unique privilege of effecting the timely rescue and tender restoration of the now-bereft and broken object of its enduring affections.
Transcendent Love
Such transcendent love--the only form capable of effecting such a transformation in human affairs and human hearts--is characterized by certain qualities which work together in perfect harmony to generate its unparalleled power: the power which runs, like an unbreakable cord, through every chapter of Dombey and Son , binding the entire novel together throughout the gradual revelation of its eternal theme.
Selflessness
Through this inspiring tale, we learn that love is marked by a selflessness that is perfectly willing to sacrifice for the benefit of the beloved, with Florence Dombey illustrating this truth quite vividly in her actions toward both her father and her brother, Paul.
Her love for her unresponsive father is strong enough to bear his slights and yet continue to flourish. We see this on the evening on which she shyly ventures into his study--after one of her nightly visits finds his door ajar--and, aching to share the burden of their common loss (of mother and wife,) is spurned once again, and yet finds within her, nonetheless, sufficient affection to enable her to respond, through her tears, "Good night, dear Papa" (p. 216, par. 13,) before retreating and returning to her solitary room--and world .
On a later visit to the same study--now empty during her father's journey--she thinks of him; and despite his inexcusable treatment of her during their last encounter in that room, she "...(lays) her face upon his desk, and (leaves) a kiss there, and a tear." (p. 268, par.2)
Self-Sacrifice
The self-sacrificing nature of Florence's love for her father is also revealed in her desire to expend her energies on his behalf by the tender care of his rooms in his absence--despite the fact that neither he nor anyone else is aware of her labor of love. Dickens tells us that "she could render him such little tokens of her duty and service, as putting everything in order for him with her own hands, binding little nosegays for his table, changing them as one by one they withered and he did not come back, preparing something for him every day, and leaving some timid mark of her presence near his usual seat....Still no one knew of this." (p.268, par. 2, 3)
This same sacrificial aspect can be seen in Florence's love for little Paul by her unselfish application of herself to extra study in order to lighten his academic burden during his labors at the formidable Blimber establishment. We are told that "...after her own daily lessons were over, Florence sat down at night to track Paul's footsteps through the thorny ways of learning; and being...taught by that most wonderful of masters, love, it was not long before she gained upon Paul's heels, and caught and passed him." (pp.138-139, par. 11, 1) We also learn that, during Paul's illness, and right up until his untimely death, his selfless , loving sister, "Florence...was always at his side..." (p. 187, par. 3)
Florence's love is, in fact, so entirely selfless , that she sacrifices the only consolation she has to mitigate the loneliness and desolation caused by her father's coldness toward her, and she does it for his sake. Finding comfort in her thoughts of her mother and brother "in the dim world beyond the present life" and "of some present consciousness in both of her: some commiseration for her: and some knowledge of her as she (goes) her way upon the earth...(it is) a soothing consolation to Florence to give shelter to these thoughts, until...the fancy (comes) upon her that, in weeping for his alienated heart, she might stir the spirits of the dead against him." And we are told that, "from that hour Florence strove against the cruel wound in her breast, and tried to think of him whose hand had made it, only with hope." (p. 269, par. 2)
Generosity of Spirit
This stirring novel also reveals that, in addition to self-sacrifice , the selfless nature of love is distinguished by a generosity of spirit which always seeks the beloved's highest good; and once again, Florence Dombey epitomizes this quality in her touching concern for her father.
In the earnestness of her love, Florence does everything in her power to secure her father's happiness and lessen his burden of sorrow. She decides, one day, that the reason he cannot know how much she loves him is that she has never learned to express that love to him, and determines that "she (will) be patient, and (will) try to gain that art in time, and win him to a better knowledge of his only child...(and) this (becomes) the purpose of her life...Through all the duties of the day, it (animates) her; for Florence (hopes) that the more she (knows,) and the more accomplished she (becomes,) the more glad he (will) be when he (comes) to know and like her." (p. 269, par. 3, 4)
She also appeals to Edith, shortly after her marriage to Mr. Dombey, to teach her how to win her father's affection (oblivious, in her innocence, to her new mother's inability to do this,) crying, "...Oh, let me learn from you how to become dearer to Papa. Teach me! you, who can so well!" (p.425, par. 15)
This same sweet, giving spirit , so characteristic of his slighted daughter, seeks, in vain, to bring comfort to Mr. Dombey after each of his personal losses (Fanny, Paul, and Edith,) expressing, each time, the same deep love and concern which consistently rises in her tender nature whenever she imagines the depth of his pain. Dickens describes her feelings after Edith's flight, thus: "Compassion for her father was the first distinct emotion that made head against the flood of sorrow which overwhelmed her. Her constant nature turned to him in his distress as fervently and faithfully, as if, in his prosperity, he had been the embodiment of that idea which had gradually become so faint and dim...and her yearning love impelled her to his side." (p. 536, par. 8)
Concern
Florence's boundless love for her father likewise gives rise to a deep concern for his physical safety and personal well-being. After his riding accident, she envisions him "wounded and in pain, alone in his own room, untended by those who should be nearest to him, and passing the tardy hours in lonely suffering." (p.508, par. 2) This moves her to steal down to his room, sneak inside, kiss him gently as he sleeps, and pray to God to bless him. (pp. 508-509)
This ever-present concern is the same which later brings Florence back to her father's side after the collapse of the House, of his fortune, and of his entire world around him, despite their years of estrangement. And it is this concern which induces her to take in the homeless, penniless, and grievously ailing shadow of a man who is her father, to care for him, to nurse him in his illness, and to shelter him with her love. Dickens tells us that "he laid his weary head down on the bed his daughter's hands prepared for him, and...she was always with him." (p. 719, par. 2, 3)
Forgiveness
Dickens depicts for us, in Dombey and Son , an embodiment of true charity (as the Bible calls the highest form of love,) which--in addition to a selflessness that is expressed through willing self-sacrifice and great generosity of spirit--is just as surely marked by a spirit of forgiveness . And this merciful quality, also, is presented as a natural component of Florence's love for her father.
Benevolence
Love's benevolent tendencies temper her every thought and action toward him, from day to day, making her loath to keep an account of his wrongs, painful as they are to her. It is "she, his natural companion, his only child, who in her lonely life and grief (has) known the suffering of a breaking heart; who, in her rejected love, (has) never breathed his name to God at night, but with a tearful blessing...who (has), all through, repaid the agony of slight and coldness, and dislike, with patient unexacting love, excusing him, and pleading for him, like his better angel!" (p. 422, par. 5)
After he does the unthinkable, ruthlessly striking her, and sending her fleeing for refuge to her friends at the Wooden Midshipman, she still refuses to allow herself to dwell on his actions. Dickens tells us that "the cruel mark was on her bosom yet. It rose against her father with the breath she drew...but she forgot it...as if the last time she had seen her father, had been when he was sleeping and she kissed his face, she always left him so, and never, in her fancy, passed that hour." (pp. 660, 661; par. 5, 2)
The depth of her "unexacting love" is revealed even more poignantly in her tender reunion with her father whose sins she has so thoroughly erased from memory that she feels compelled to seek his pardon for having left him, and cries, "Papa! Dearest Papa! Pardon me, forgive me! I have come back to ask forgiveness on my knees...I am changed. I am penitent. I know my fault. I know my duty better now." (p 705, par. 7, 9) And we are told that, when "he would have raised his hands and besought her for pardon...she caught them in her own, and put them down hurriedly." (pp. 705-706; par. 13, 1)
Lack of Blame
In perfect harmony with her refusal to keep a mental record of his wrongs, is her disinclination to require him to bear the blame for them. She harbors no animosity at all toward "him (whom) she (has) never...blamed" for her pain. (p. 583, par. 14) The injurious treatment she receives at his hand "(moves) her to no anger against him," and in her heart of hearts, though "homeless and fatherless, she (forgives) him everything." (p. 569, par. 3)
The beauty of the unconditional forgiveness which Florence so graciously bestows upon her father throughout her life finds its ultimate expression in her sweet and tender avoidance of even the slightest action that might recall to his memory his final indignity to her, on that day so long ago, as they leave the empty and desolate house together after their reconciliation. We are told that "Florence, hardly glancing round her, lest she should remind him freshly of their last parting--for their feet were on the very stones where he had struck her in his madness--and keeping close to him, with her eyes upon his face, and his arm about her, led him out to a coach that was waiting at the door, and carried him away." (p. 706, par. 11)
Endurance
Dickens's moving portrayal of true love further reveals to us that--in addition to the qualities of selflessness and forgiveness--a third and equally important aspect, which compounds love's power to effect miraculous and lasting changes in the human heart, is its ability to endure ; and certainly Florence's love for her father is as illustrative of this aspect as it is of the others.
The enduring quality of her love is revealed immediately before Florence arrives to tenderly rescue her father, when Mr. Dombey finally recognizes the constancy of the love she has so consistently bestowed upon him throughout their life together--lamenting, at last, his past treatment of her and his present belief that she is lost to him forever. Dickens tells us that "he thought of her, as she had been that night when he and his bride came home. He thought of her as she had been, in all the home-events of the abandoned house. He thought, how, that of all around him, she alone had never changed...she alone had turned the same mild gentle look upon him always. Yes, to the latest and the last. She had never changed to him...and she was lost." (p.702, par. 3)
Constancy
But he soon learns that the love that once proves its constancy , will, for all time, remain constant , for that constancy is an inseparable part of its very nature. When she returns, to shower him, equally, with her tears and kisses, her caresses, and her pleas for pardon, he sees that she is "unchanged still." Of all the world, unchanged." (p. 705, par. 9)
Stability
The stability of her devotion, the unchangeable purity of her motives, and the singular constancy of her affection, are, in fact, the very things that make it possible for her to reap, at last, the unseasonable fruits of her long years of sacrificial giving and for giving. The enduring nature of her love enables her father--and her, as well--to finish the course ultimately victorious. Had her love wavered, before her father was able to reach out for, to treasure and respond to it, all the years of pain and suffering, of silent sacrifice and tender concern would have been in vain. But it is, happily, in the nature of love to endure to the end. The Bible tells us that "love is strong as death" (Song of Solomon 8:6,) and that "charity never faileth" (I Corinthians 13:8); and indeed it is, and indeed it doesn't .
Love that Makes a Difference
This is love that makes a difference . This is love that has the power to redeem the lost and wandering heart, to rescue the foundering soul, and finally, to restore the ravaged spirit. This is the love that earns the privilege of gathering the shattered pieces of the loved one's life, of tenderly binding up his wounds, and gently rebuilding that which was lost.
This is the love that enables Florence Dombey to utter the words which are the precious fulfillment of a life-long dream: "You will come home with me, Papa..." (p. 706, par. 4)
And this is the same love--selfless , forgiving , ever-constant, and enduring--which "the voices in the waves are always whispering...in their ceaseless murmuring...(the) love, eternal and illimitable, not bounded by the confines of this world, or by the end of time, but ranging still, beyond the sea, beyond the sky, to the invisible country far away!" (p. 679, par. 14)--the love which, strong as death, abides , and is alone able to redeem the wretched, wandering heart, and usher it gently and joyfully back to its long-neglected home.
