Book 2, Chapter 11 finds Ms. Peecher helplessly—paradoxically—in love with Bradley Headstone. While visiting Lizzie, the schoolmaster and Charley pass by her house and cannot avoid attracting her attention:
Love, though said to be afflicted with blindness, is a vigilant watchman, and Ms. Peecher kept him on double duty over Mr. Bradley Headstone.
Dickens’s remark is a clever twist on the age-old saying that “love is blind”—namely, that the feeling can obscure any fault in its object. By personifying love as a “watchman,” he assigns human-like qualities to an otherwise abstract feeling and presents a paradox. Love sees and doesn’t, a contradiction that emphasizes the emotion’s complexity. As if to demonstrate these difficulties, the novel constructs an elaborate pair of love triangles. Eugene Wrayburn and Bradley Headstone each vie for Lizzie’s affections. But Bradley Headstone himself gets pursued by Miss Peecher as well. Our Mutual Friend unravels a tangle of unmet desires and attractions.
Combining love’s attempted vigilance with its partiality adds a deeper meaning to “blindness.” Love is not only “blind,” but “blinds”—it thwarts Miss Peecher from finding any fault in a violent, “mechanical” villain just as it prevents Headstone from appreciating gestures of true affection. Love creates a tunnel vision that denies both from actually overcoming their romantic obsessions. Ignoring a lover’s flaws is one kind of blindness; but the novel shows how continuing to pursue that flawed lover may be an even greater form of blindness. By leading them ever deeper in their misguided romantic pursuits, love only further blinds its victims.
The Six Jolly Fellowship-Porters is all astir when the shipmen pull up a nearly drowned Rogue Riderhood at the end of Book 3, Chapter 2. Meanwhile, Pleasant Riderhood watches as the public-house’s habitues revive the waterside scavenger and stumble into a seeming paradox:
The short-lived delusion begins to fade. The low, bad, unimpressible face is coming up from the depths of the river, or what other depths, to the surface again. As he grows warm, the doctor and the four men cool. As his lineaments soften with life, their faces and their hearts harden to him.
The moment presents an apparent contradiction: everyone in the bar leaps “at once in action,” and “lends a hand, and a heart and soul.” The sense of camaraderie crescendos as all hands work to sustain the “spark of life.” The habitues at the Six Jolly Fellowship-Porters work desperately to revive Riderhood, even as they reject the crude gracelessness that he represents. They pity Riderhood when he is weak but distance themselves from him once he gets back onto his feet. The doctor and the others “cool” as Riderhood “warms.” This moment deals a complex yet understandable mix of humanitarian concern and personal disapproval.
The episode bears relevance to some of the novel’s larger dynamics. Riderhood’s recovery triangulates with the other characters to create foil-like comparisons: Gaffer drowns with no one to save him. John Rokesmith fares similarly, though he somehow survives. The struggle between charity and aversion also repeats itself within the novel’s other plot strands. The Boffins’ hefty generosity attracts freeloaders and Silas Wegg’s bitter vengeance. The motivations of goodwill and humanity sometimes stand at odds against deeper selfish interests.