Valentine Blyth
Valentine Blyth stands as one of Wilkie Collins's most endearing and morally upright characters, embodying the Victorian ideal of善良 kindness and artistic integrity. As a struggling painter who has never achieved commercial success, Valentine represents the eternal optimist who refuses to compromise his principles despite financial hardship. His character serves as the moral compass of the novel, demonstrating that true wealth lies not in monetary success but in the richness of human compassion and familial love.
What makes Valentine particularly compelling is his unwavering commitment to Mary, whom he and his wife Lavinia adopted as a child. Despite his poverty and the mysterious circumstances surrounding Mary's origins, Valentine never wavers in his protective devotion to her. His blindness to the machinations of those around him—particularly regarding the scheming Jubber and the complexities of Mary's true identity—might initially appear as a character flaw, but Collins presents it as a form of noble innocence. Valentine's trust in humanity, though sometimes exploited, ultimately proves to be his greatest strength rather than his weakness.
Valentine's profession as an artist is crucial to understanding his character. His paintings, which combine historical and biblical scenes with an almost childlike enthusiasm, never sell because they lack the fashionable sophistication that the art market demands. Yet he continues to paint with undiminished passion, finding joy in the creative process itself. This artistic dedication mirrors his approach to life: he values authenticity over pretense, substance over style, and emotional truth over social convention. His studio becomes a sanctuary where genuine feeling and honest expression triumph over the hypocrisies of Victorian society.
The relationship between Valentine and his wife Lavinia further illuminates his character. He manages her volatile temper and occasional unreasonableness with patience and gentle humor, demonstrating a profound understanding of human nature. His ability to see past Lavinia's faults to the loving heart beneath reveals a man of exceptional emotional intelligence and generosity of spirit. Through Valentine Blyth, Collins creates a character who proves that goodness and integrity can survive—and even flourish—in a world that often seems designed to punish such qualities.
Mary Grice (Madonna)
Mary Grice, known affectionately as "Madonna" by Valentine due to her resemblance to his favorite painting, embodies innocence, resilience, and the tragic consequences of secrets kept from the past. Her character arc represents one of Collins's most nuanced explorations of identity and belonging. Blind, poor, and unaware of her true heritage, Mary navigates her world with remarkable grace and inner strength, her disability serving as both a literal and metaphorical blindness to the complex web of deception surrounding her origins.
Mary's blindness is central to Collins's characterization, but he carefully avoids making her merely a figure of pathos. Instead, she possesses a heightened sensitivity to voice, touch, and emotional atmosphere that often gives her insight beyond that of sighted characters. Her musical talent, particularly her skill at the piano, provides her with a means of expression and connection to others that transcends her physical limitation. Through music, Mary communicates depths of feeling and demonstrates an artistic sensibility that rivals Valentine's painting, though hers finds a more appreciative audience.
The revelation of Mary's true identity as the legitimate daughter of Arthur Carr creates a fascinating tension within her character. She must reconcile the humble, loving upbringing provided by the Blyths with her rightful claim to wealth and social position. Collins uses this duality to explore questions of nature versus nurture, examining whether identity is determined by birth or by the relationships and experiences that shape us. Mary's ultimate choices regarding her inheritance and her loyalty to the Blyths reveal a character whose moral education under Valentine's care has created a person of principle who values love over material advantage.
Mary's romantic relationship with Zack Thorpe adds another dimension to her character. Despite her vulnerability, she demonstrates agency in matters of the heart, and her love for Zack is portrayed as genuine and discriminating rather than the desperate gratitude of a dependent. Her willingness to wait for Zack to mature and prove himself worthy shows a quiet strength and self-respect that belies her seemingly helpless position. Through Mary, Collins presents a female character who, despite every disadvantage society could impose, maintains her dignity and moral autonomy.
Zachary "Zack" Thorpe
Zachary Thorpe begins the novel as a reckless, irresponsible young man trapped between his artistic aspirations and the rigid expectations of his tyrannical father. His character represents the struggle of youth against oppressive authority and the painful journey toward maturity and self-knowledge. Zack's initial appearance as a rebellious art student who frequents Valentine's studio establishes him as a character in need of transformation, and Collins traces this development with psychological acuity throughout the narrative.
Zack's relationship with his father, the stern minister Reverend Goodge Thorpe, forms the crucible in which his character is tested. The oppressive religious atmosphere of his home, combined with his father's unbending moral severity, has created in Zack a desperate desire for freedom that manifests in irresponsible behavior and poor judgment. His secret meetings with Mary, his financial improprieties, and his general aimlessness all stem from a young man who has never been allowed to develop his own moral compass. Yet beneath this wayward exterior, Collins reveals glimpses of genuine feeling and nascent honor that suggest the man Zack might become.
The turning point in Zack's character comes through his love for Mary and the consequences of his actions. When his mistakes threaten those he cares about, particularly the Blyths, Zack begins to understand the difference between mere rebellion against authority and genuine moral responsibility. His decision to reform himself—to prove himself worthy of Mary's love—represents a maturation that is hard-won rather than easily achieved. Collins doesn't allow Zack an easy redemption; instead, he must work to rebuild trust and demonstrate through sustained effort that his transformation is genuine.
What makes Zack's character particularly effective is Collins's refusal to make him entirely sympathetic or entirely contemptible. He possesses real faults—selfishness, thoughtlessness, weakness of will—but also genuine virtues including eventual honesty, capacity for love, and willingness to change. His artistic abilities, while not as pure as Valentine's, show promise when disciplined by purpose. By the novel's conclusion, Zack has evolved from a boy playing at rebellion into a man capable of taking responsibility for his choices and their consequences, embodying Collins's belief in the possibility of moral growth and redemption.
Reverend Goodge Thorpe
Reverend Goodge Thorpe stands as one of Collins's most scathing portraits of religious hypocrisy and paternal tyranny. As a minister who preaches Christian charity while practicing domestic despotism, Thorpe embodies the Victorian critique of religious enthusiasm divorced from genuine compassion. His character serves as a counterpoint to Valentine's instinctive goodness, demonstrating how rigid adherence to doctrine without love can create a hollow morality that damages rather than uplifts.
Thorpe's treatment of his son Zack reveals the destructive nature of his character. Rather than guiding his son with understanding and patience, he attempts to break Zack's spirit through intimidation and control. His religious severity lacks any warmth or flexibility, creating an environment where obedience is demanded but moral development is stunted. Collins presents Thorpe as a man who has confused godliness with joylessness, confusing spiritual discipline with emotional cruelty. The minister's inability to see the harm he causes stems from his absolute conviction in the righteousness of his methods.
The minister's relationship with his wife provides further evidence of his character's failings. Mrs. Thorpe exists in a state of nervous submission, perpetually anxious about displeasing her husband. This domestic dynamic reveals Thorpe as a man who has weaponized religion to maintain absolute authority over his household. Collins suggests that such tyranny, though cloaked in religious language, represents a profound betrayal of genuine Christian principles. The fear that permeates the Thorpe household stands in stark contrast to the loving chaos of Valentine's home.
Yet Collins avoids making Thorpe a complete caricature. The minister genuinely believes in his mission and sees himself as saving souls, including his son's. His self-deception is complete; he cannot recognize that his methods contradict his stated goals. This psychological complexity makes Thorpe a more effective critique of religious hypocrisy than a simple villain would be. Through this character, Collins explores how good intentions, when filtered through pride and lack of self-awareness, can produce outcomes as harmful as malicious intent. Thorpe's eventual confrontation with the consequences of his parenting style provides a moment of potential recognition, though Collins leaves ambiguous whether true change is possible for such a rigidly constructed personality.
Mat Marksman (Matthew Grice)
Mat Marksman, whose real name is Matthew Grice, represents one of Collins's most complex character creations—a figure who embodies both menace and pathos, mystery and eventual revelation. As Mary's father, long believed dead, his return from obscurity drives much of the novel's plot while his characterization explores themes of revenge, justice, and the possibility of redemption after a life of degradation and suffering.
When Mat first appears in the narrative, he is a frightening figure—a rough circus performer with a mysterious connection to Mary that he refuses to explain. His apparent threats toward the Blyth household create genuine suspense, and his physical appearance, marked by hardship and a life lived on society's margins, makes him seem dangerous and unpredictable. Collins skillfully maintains this ambiguity, allowing readers to suspect Mat of sinister intentions while gradually revealing the protective love that actually motivates his actions. This slow revelation of his true character creates a powerful emotional trajectory.
The backstory that emerges regarding Mat's past marriage, his betrayal, and his loss of Mary transforms him from a threatening presence into a tragic figure. His discovery that his wife's death and Mary's disappearance were engineered by his brother Arthur reveals Mat as a victim of cruel machinations rather than a villain. The years he spent believing his daughter dead, working in degrading circus performances, and nursing his grief and rage, establish him as a character who has endured extraordinary suffering. Yet despite this suffering, Mat has retained enough humanity to put Mary's wellbeing above his own need for recognition.
Mat's decision to remain hidden from Mary, to protect her from the shock of discovering her true parentage and to preserve her happiness with the Blyths, represents a profound act of parental sacrifice. Unlike Reverend Thorpe, whose parenting serves his own ego and religious pride, Mat's love for his daughter manifests in self-abnegation. He watches over her from a distance, ensures her safety, and seeks justice for the wrongs done to her without demanding acknowledgment or gratitude. This restraint, given his rough exterior and justified anger, reveals unexpected depths of character.
Through Mat Marksman, Collins creates a character who challenges Victorian class assumptions. Despite his degraded circumstances and lack of education or refinement, Mat possesses a moral clarity that surpasses many of his social superiors. His quest to expose Arthur Carr's villainy and secure Mary's inheritance is motivated by love and justice rather than personal gain. The contrast between Mat's rough exterior and noble heart serves Collins's broader critique of a society that judges worth by appearance and social position rather than character and action. Mat's ultimate fate and his relationship with Mary by the novel's end provide one of the book's most emotionally satisfying resolutions.
Lavinia Blyth
Lavinia Blyth presents a fascinating study in contradictions—a woman of volatile temper and rigid opinions whose heart is fundamentally generous and whose devotion to her family is absolute. Collins portrays her with both humor and sympathy, creating a character whose flaws are presented as inseparable from her virtues. As Valentine's wife and Mary's adoptive mother, Lavinia provides much of the novel's domestic comedy while also serving as a more practical counterbalance to her husband's otherworldly optimism.
Lavinia's most prominent characteristic is her temper, which erupts at regular intervals throughout the narrative, often over relatively minor domestic matters. Her outbursts, while genuinely felt in the moment, tend to dissipate quickly, leaving no lasting resentment. Collins presents these explosions with gentle comedy, showing how Valentine and even Mary have learned to weather them with patience, knowing that Lavinia's bark is worse than her bite. Yet beneath the comedy, Collins also suggests that Lavinia's temper stems from genuine frustration with their poverty and her husband's commercial failures, making her anger understandable even when it's disproportionate.
What prevents Lavinia from becoming merely a comic harridan is Collins's careful attention to her deeper qualities. Her love for Mary is fierce and protective, and her initial resistance to taking in the mysterious child gives way to absolute devotion. When Mary's well-being is threatened, Lavinia reveals a capacity for courage and determination that transcends her usual domestic concerns. Similarly, her love for Valentine, though expressed through complaint and criticism, is profound and unwavering. She understands her husband's limitations and loves him not despite them but, in some sense, because of them—recognizing that his impracticality is inseparable from his goodness.
Lavinia's social aspirations and her acute awareness of the family's poverty add depth to her character. Unlike Valentine, who seems genuinely unconcerned with their lack of status or money, Lavinia feels the sting of their reduced circumstances and occasionally yearns for the respectability that financial security would bring. This desire is not presented as mere vanity but as a natural human wish for comfort and security, particularly as she ages. Her practical concerns about money, household management, and social appearances ground the novel in domestic reality, providing necessary ballast to Valentine's flights of idealism.
Through Lavinia, Collins creates a portrait of a marriage that works despite—or perhaps because of—the partners' differences. Her exasperation with Valentine's artistic pursuits and his patience with her temper create a dynamic that feels psychologically authentic. Lavinia represents the countless women of her era who managed households on inadequate budgets, dealt with impractical husbands, and somehow held families together through sheer force of will. Collins treats her with affection and respect, recognizing that her brand of love, though less obviously noble than Valentine's, is equally essential to the family's survival and happiness.
Arthur Carr
Arthur Carr serves as the novel's primary antagonist, though his villainy operates largely in the past and through its long-reaching consequences. As Mat's brother who orchestrated the theft of Mary's inheritance and the destruction of Mat's happiness, Arthur represents the type of calculated, cold-blooded selfishness that Collins found particularly contemptible. Unlike characters whose flaws stem from passion or weakness, Arthur's crimes emerge from deliberate planning and callous disregard for others' suffering.
Arthur's past actions—arranging his brother's wife's apparent death, hiding Mary's existence, and claiming the Carr inheritance for himself—establish him as a character motivated purely by greed and self-interest. What makes him particularly effective as a villain is his respectability; he has successfully maintained a veneer of social acceptability while concealing his crimes. This duality allows Collins to critique Victorian society's tendency to equate social position with moral worth. Arthur's ability to hide his villainy behind a fa?ade of respectability suggests that society's markers of status and success often obscure rather than reveal true character.
The revelation of Arthur's crimes and their impact on multiple lives demonstrates Collins's interest in how past sins ramify through time, affecting innocent parties and creating cascading consequences. Arthur's villainy has not only robbed Mat and Mary but has also shaped the Blyths' lives, influenced Zack's story, and created the complex web of relationships and secrets that drives the plot. This expansive impact elevates Arthur beyond a simple antagonist into a force whose actions have structured the entire narrative world.
Arthur's fate and the ultimate exposure of his crimes provide the novel with its sense of justice achieved. Collins, working within the conventions of Victorian fiction, ensures that villainy is punished and truth revealed. Yet the cost of Arthur's crimes—the years of suffering endured by Mat, Mary's blindness and poverty, the Blyths' struggles—cannot be entirely undone by his exposure. Through Arthur Carr, Collins explores the limitations of earthly justice and the permanent damage that calculated evil can inflict, even when it is eventually brought to light and punished.
Mr. Jubber
Mr. Jubber, though a relatively minor character in terms of page time, embodies a particular type of Victorian villainy—the scheming, self-serving hanger-on who exploits others' goodness for personal gain. As a former barber turned legal clerk who has knowledge of Mary's true identity, Jubber represents the potential for corruption that exists in those with access to secrets and legal information. His willingness to manipulate this knowledge for his own