The Romance of the Forest

The second half of Volume II shows Adeline’s fortunes turning again as Thedore’s rescue is foiled, both by the apparatus of the army, as there is severe punishment for deserters, and by the wrath of the Marquis. Her protectors try to liberate her, her persecutors imprison her, and Adeline herself perceives her sheer helplessness as the pawn caught between them. With no way to earn her own income and support herself, her only choice is where to turn for protection.

Theodore offers marriage, but Adeline is wary of this outcome as she knows little of him or his family, on whose mercy she will be cast. (This apprehension presents an irony as, in the next volume, Adeline unknowingly falls in with that very family, finding the refuge Theodore proposed for her all along.) She proposes finding protection in a convent, which in her earlier experience was nothing short of prison. Instead—another irony—she ends up imprisoned again, back in the abbey with the La Mottes, and still pursued by the Marquis, only now with the suggestion that he intends a new harm to her. The suspense of this question ends Volume II and urges the reader on to Volume III, which promises to resolve not only the problem of Adeline’s danger with the Marquis but also the newly established love story.

The surgeon, introduced to tend to the injured Theodore, introduces comic relief with his self-important manner, much as Peter’s rambling conversations added a note of humor earlier. The surgeon introduces a new debate into the book in the opposition of art and nature, a topic of much philosophical discussion among 18th-century writers. The question was, at its heart, a contention over whether art should improve upon nature, or whether nature should provide the model for art. The Romantics, as a whole, tended toward the second opinion, equating art with artifice, which was meant to deceive, while communion with nature was thought to ennoble and instruct (an example is how perceiving nature’s beauty spurs Adeline to compose poetry). The surgeon’s reference to art, which he views as superior to nature, also encompasses the concept of skill, that is to say, human intervention. In insisting his patient is going to die, and congratulating himself for his power to observe this, the surgeon comes across as a buffoonish figure. This reflects poorly on his faith in art as well as his skill.

The surgeon, however, was also lower on the hierarchy of esteem when it came to medical practices in early modern Europe. His realm would have been seen as concerned with more mechanical elements like bloodletting and was thus in the class of the tradesman. The physician, who would have received more education, was considered a professional and thus more respected. Adeline reflects this in her preference for the physician, which is another instance of how her preferences and tastes fall in line with what was appropriate for a well-born woman of her time and culture. Her modesty about communicating with Theodore via letter before she is properly invited to visit him in his sickbed is another demonstration of her refinement, as much as her insistence on sexual purity, which she preserves by having her own room at the inn.

The physician also shows himself superior to the surgeon on the grounds of moral character, a question with which the novel is concerned. While the surgeon is out to aggrandize himself and is preoccupied with his reputation, the physician shows a more noble dedication to the care of his patient. One’s attention is self-directed; the other’s is focused on the good of another. This distinction bears out the contrast between Theodore, who shows genuine care for others—specifically Adeline—and the Marquis, who manipulates others for his ends, the premium example of self-interest. The example of these two men further the novel’s exploration of Self-Interest, Self-Preservation, and the Insistence of Virtue—specifically the opposition between self-interest and generosity toward others in its investigations of virtuous character.

In entering this discussion, Radcliffe touches on a larger 18th-century debate about the foundations and formation of human nature and culture. As the notes to the Oxford World Classics edition show, Radcliffe makes frequent reference to the works of the French philosopher Jean-Jacques Rousseau, who made formative contributions to this subject. One work Radcliffe draws on is Rousseau’s popular novel La nouvelle Hélöise (1761), which is about a love affair complicated by class difference and social constraints. Another is Rousseau’s essay Emile: On Education (1763), which was considered radical for the time. In Emile, Rousseau argues for the beneficial influences of exposure to the natural world and for cultivating a child’s inherent interests along with reasoning skills and moral precepts. The goal of education, Rousseau advises, is to produce a disciplined, principled, compassionate person who can contribute to the social good.

This philosophy informs the character of Theodore, whom Radcliffe says “had received from nature many of the qualities of genius, and from education all that it could bestow; to these were added, a noble independency of spirit, a feeling heart, and manners, which partook of a happy mixture of dignity and sweetness” (190). Theodore is the model not just for the ideal lover but also the ideal man. His generosity toward and care of Adeline indicate his compassion for others. Most notably, the baser passions to which the Marquis is subject, like lust and vengeance, do not overpower him. His cause is for justice, and while he keenly feels the pull of emotions, he does not fall prey to them as do the Marquis and La Motte. This self-control and ability to discipline his mind are marks of his superior virtue and in accordance with the philosophical ideal.

Adeline demonstrates the same power of her mind. Though she is often stricken to the point of inertia or paralysis by the power of her feelings, this is only to demonstrate the sensitivity of her faculties and the modesty that is considered a feminine virtue. Demonstrating The Power of Imagination, she frequently imagines scenarios that add to her distress and heighten the pathos of a scene, as when she agonizes over thoughts of Theodore in prison for her sake. However, she is always able to master herself, either with nature, sleep, literature, or logic. This shows her to be a virtuous heroine and a worthy partner for Theodore.

The Marquis’s conversation with La Motte at the end of Chapter 14 invokes contemporary European prejudices and beliefs about race and culture. In referring to the “simple, uninformed American” (222), the “Indian” (which may refer to residents of the Indian subcontinent or Indigenous peoples of the Americas, in European usage of the time), the “wild Asiatic,” or the passionate “Turk,” the Marquis relies on a set of stereotypes used to construct what to Radcliffe’s audiences would be the other. These are invoked as cultures far different from, and considered inferior to, European and particularly English standards. His reference to the “polished Italian” who, “distracted by jealousy, or tempted by a strong circumstance of advantage, draws his stiletto” is not simply a foreshadowing of what the Marquis will ask of La Motte (222). Rather, it is a demonstration that even the presumably civilized European can descend to conduct that serves his ends, as barbaric as that action may be perceived. The Marquis frames this as self-preservation, a notion of deep interest to La Motte. The question of whether self-preservation, along with self-love, works with or against the definition of virtuous character is another philosophical question of the novel. This is also a debate of great interest to the Romantics, who were concerned with notions of the self and subjectivity.