A Disgraceful Toad

‘O ne does not argue about The Wind in the Willows. The young man gives it to the girl with whom he is in love, and, if she does not like it, asks her to return his letters. The older man tries it on his nephew, and alters his will accordingly.” It’s been nearly five years since I first heard this A. A. Milne quote, presented to the class by my Children’s Literature professor at Hillsdale. In what was hands down my favorite college course (thank you, Dr. Coupland), we ended the semester by reading Kenneth Grahame’s masterpiece, a delightful and thought-provoking work.

If you’ve not read it (which, when you consider Milne’s quote, you really should), it’s the tale of a mole. Mole, Rat, Badger, and Toad, actually. Set in the glorious English countryside next to a river (though if you ask Rat, it is the River), it is, in a sense, a series of vignettes illustrating the daily doings of animals who live rather human-like lives. Grahame, unlike similarly animal-centered author Brian Jacques, takes no pains to delineate between the animal world and the human world. Hence the whimsy of the tale: toads in motorcars, rats in rowboats, and mice singing carols.

This seemingly simple tale is thematically rich: What is home? What is hospitality? How does the spirit of adventure affect us?  As friendship is another of the book’s important themes, I shall focus here on how it affects Mr. Toad. Some commentaries I’ve read over the years consider Toad to be the darling of young readers. Indeed, his breezy manners and madcap deeds, splendid wealth and self-laudatory songs contrast considerably with the measured, warm, genuine partnership of Rat and Mole. I disliked Toad the moment we met, not because he was an unpleasant character, but because he was just so absurd, and I could not comprehend how Rat, Mole, and Badger (a sort of guardian figure throughout the tale) put up with him.

Continuously leaping from one new fad to another, Toad reminds one of those mid-1920s English gents — a Bertie Wooster type in amphibian form with too much money and too little to do. When we first meet him, boats are all the rage, and he is splashing furiously down the formerly peaceful river. Each variety of craft in its turn is acquired and then rowed, punted, and poled about by the fully outfitted creature. Then, suddenly, boats are a “silly boyish amusement,” and he must have a “gipsy caravan”:

“There you are,” cried the Toad, straddling and expanding himself. “There’s real life for you, embodied in that little cart. The open road, the dusty hedgerows, the rolling downs! Camps, villages, towns, cities! Here today, up and off to somewhere else to-morrow! Travel, change, interest, excitement! The whole world before you, and a horizon that’s always changing.”

No stability, no sense, and too many exclamation points. Why would Grahame inflict on us such an overexcited, rule-breaking creature? Why, Toad — besides a brief stint in gaol — doesn’t ever truly answer for his crimes, lies, and rude comments. Perhaps this is the crucial point about Toad, though. Friendship, not Toad’s friendship with others, but theirs with him, is the key.

Lest I be accused of unfair characterizations, Toad is not a malicious individual, merely pompous, impractical, and selfish. In certain areas, his friends will humor him or accompany him because they fear for his safety or don’t want to hurt his feelings. Even when he offends the good-natured Rat, the noble creature considers Toad’s safety over his own feelings. Settling down for the night after a long journey in the caravan, Toad extolls the joys of the open road while his friends long for home:

“This is the real life for a gentleman! Talk about your old river!”

“I don’t talk about my river,” replied the patient Rat. “You know I don’t, Toad. But I think about it,” he replied pathetically, in a lower tone: “I think about it—all the time!”

The Mole reached out from under his blanket, felt for the Rat’s paw in the darkness, and gave it a squeeze. “I’ll do whatever you like, Ratty,” he whispered. “Shall we run away tomorrow morning, quite early—very early—and go back to our dear hole on the river?”

“No, no, we’ll see it out,” whispered back the Rat. “Thanks awfully, but I ought to stick by Toad till this trip is ended. It wouldn’t be safe for him to be left to himself. It won’t take very long. His fads never do. Good night!”

However much Toad pooh-poohs their suggestions or imposes on their lives — particularly when they attempt to break him of his dangerous obsession with motorcars — his friends see his better qualities and refuse to write him off. They are well-enough aware of his flaws to know when not to encourage him, when to chastise him over his rash decisions, and when to indulge his propensity for self-aggrandizing tales. Mole and Badger even go so far as to attempt to protect Toad’s ancestral home, Toad Hall, from invasion when its owner is in a dungeon for stealing a motorcar.

As that Milne quote goes on to say, “the book is a test of character. We can’t criticize it, because it is criticizing us.” Indeed, “when you sit down to it, don’t be so ridiculous as to suppose that you are sitting in judgment on my taste,” says Milne, “or on the art of Kenneth Grahame. You are merely sitting in judgment on yourself. You may be worthy: I don’t know. But it is you who are on trial.”

Yes, this book is full of quaintness and charm, but it is also a novel-length lesson in consideration of others, care for their good name, the meaning of being a gentleman, and how to rid ancestral homes of invading weasels and stoats.

Toad’s extravagancies may frustrate us and his silly songs embarrass us, but the devotion of his friends should inspire us. If you have a moment, slip into the watery, sun-dappled world of Mole, Rat, Badger, and Toad. There, you will learn the joys of the River, the comforts of home, and the true meaning of friendship.