Our Mutual Friend explores what happens to the deceased old Mr. Harmon’s immense fortune. The money was originally supposed to go to his son, John Harmon (on the condition that he marry Bella), but it ends up going to Noddy Boffin after John’s supposed death. Boffin struggles at first to adapt to his new wealthy lifestyle. But soon, greed seems to consume him, as he becomes obsessed with saving money and with collecting books about misers. Boffin seems to represent the worst of miserliness, as his obsession with saving money causes him to fire his loyal secretary Rokesmith, toss out his adopted daughter figure Bella, and neglect his wife Henerietty. In this way, the novel presents greed as a corrupting force, one capable of turning once-generous people into stingy shells of their former selves. Ultimately, Boffin reveals that his miserliness was just an act, but his act nevertheless effectively showed the toll miserliness could take on a person, educating Bella and helping her develop immunity of sorts to greed—and ultimately, because of this, Bella finds genuine happiness when she marries John Harmon.
Boffin’s miserliness might be an act, but the novel offers several characters whose genuine greed severely corrupts their character. Disputes over scavenging the river ultimately lead to a falling out between the partners Gaffer and Roger Riderhood, with Roger blaming his former partner for murder in an attempt to get the reward money. Greed also doesn’t have to be strictly about money: Another one of the biggest misers in the story is Bradley Headstone, who becomes obsessed with possessing Lizzie and preventing any other man from having her. Headstone’s obsession with Lizzie is so great that he resents any of Lizzie’s other prospective suitors, even going so far as to attempt to murder his main rival for Lizzie’s affection, Eugene Rayburn. Our Mutual Friend depicts how greed and miserliness seem at first to offer a route to achieving comfort and happiness but how ultimately, they have a corrupting effect, causing characters to become cutthroat in a way that hurts others and, ultimately, themselves.
Greed and Corruption ThemeTracker
Greed and Corruption Quotes in Our Mutual Friend
Over against a London house, a corner house not far from Cavendish Square, a man with a wooden leg had sat for some years, with his remaining foot in a basket in cold weather, picking up a living on this wise:—Every morning at eight o’clock, he stumped to the corner, carrying a chair, a clothes-horse, a pair of trestles, a board, a basket, and an umbrella, all strapped together. Separating these, the board and trestles became a counter, the basket supplied the few small lots of fruit and sweets that he offered for sale upon it and became a foot-warmer, the unfolded clothes-horse displayed a choice collection of halfpenny ballads and became a screen, and the stool planted within it became his post for the rest of the day.
“And now, Pa,” pursued Bella, “I’ll make a confession to you. I am the most mercenary little wretch that ever lived in the world.”
“I should hardly have thought it of you, my dear,” returned her father, first glancing at himself; and then at the dessert.
“I understand what you mean, Pa, but it’s not that. It’s not that I care for money to keep as money, but I do care so much for what it will buy!”
“I have hoped and trusted not too, Pa; but every day he changes for the worse, and for the worse. Not to me—he is always much the same to me—but to others about him. Before my eyes he grows suspicious, capricious, hard, tyrannical, unjust. If ever a good man were ruined by good fortune, it is my benefactor. And yet, Pa, think how terrible the fascination of money is! I see this, and hate this, and dread this, and don’t know but that money might make a much worse change in me. And yet I have money always in my thoughts and my desires; and the whole life I place before myself is money, money, money, and what money can make of life!”
“Do you like what Wegg’s been a-reading?”
Mr Venus answered that he found it extremely interesting.
“Then come again,” said Mr Boffin, “and hear some more. Come when you like; come the day after to-morrow, half an hour sooner. There’s plenty more; there’s no end to it.”
Mr Venus expressed his acknowledgments and accepted the invitation.
“It’s wonderful what’s been hid, at one time and another,” said Mr Boffin, ruminating; “truly wonderful.”
There was no sleep for Bradley Headstone on that night when Eugene Wrayburn turned so easily in his bed; there was no sleep for little Miss Peecher. Bradley consumed the lonely hours, and consumed himself in haunting the spot where his careless rival lay a dreaming; little Miss Peecher wore them away in listening for the return home of the master of her heart, and in sorrowfully presaging that much was amiss with him. Yet more was amiss with him than Miss Peecher’s simply arranged little work-box of thoughts, fitted with no gloomy and dark recesses, could hold. For, the state of the man was murderous.
Plashwater Weir Mill Lock looked tranquil and pretty on an evening in the summer time. A soft air stirred the leaves of the fresh green trees, and passed like a smooth shadow over the river, and like a smoother shadow over the yielding grass. The voice of the falling water, like the voices of the sea and the wind, were as an outer memory to a contemplative listener; but not particularly so to Mr Riderhood, who sat on one of the blunt wooden levers of his lock-gates, dozing. Wine must be got into a butt by some agency before it can be drawn out; and the wine of sentiment never having been got into Mr Riderhood by any agency, nothing in nature tapped him.
He had sauntered far enough. Before turning to retrace his steps, he stopped upon the margin, to look down at the reflected night. In an instant, with a dreadful crash, the reflected night turned crooked, flames shot jaggedly across the air, and the moon and stars came bursting from the sky.
Was he struck by lightning? With some incoherent half-formed thought to that effect, he turned under the blows that were blinding him and mashing his life, and closed with a murderer, whom he caught by a red neckerchief—unless the raining down of his own blood gave it that hue.
“Let go!” said Riderhood. “Stop! What are you trying at? You can’t drown Me. Ain’t I told you that the man as has come through drowning can never be drowned? I can’t be drowned.”
“I can be!” returned Bradley, in a desperate, clenched voice. “I am resolved to be. I’ll hold you living, and I’ll hold you dead. Come down!”
Riderhood went over into the smooth pit, backward, and Bradley Headstone upon him. When the two were found, lying under the ooze and scum behind one of the rotting gates, Riderhood’s hold had relaxed, probably in falling, and his eyes were staring upward. But, he was girdled still with Bradley’s iron ring, and the rivets of the iron ring held tight.