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A b s t r a c t
The t h e s i s examines t h e ebb and f low o f Thomas Hardy ' s
c r i t i c a l and p o p u l a r a p p e a l i n l i g h t o f h i s t r e a t m e n t o f h i s
c h a r a c t e r s ' p e r c e p t i o n o f F a t e . Though a l 1 h i s works d e p l o y t h e
c o n c e p t o f F a t e , t h e y Vary g r e a t l y i n t h e d e g r e e t o which t h e
c h a r a c t e r s engage w i t h and respond t o c h e i r p e r c e i v e d F a t e .
The f i r s t c h a p t e r examines Far Frorn t h e Madding Crowà a s
H a r d y ' s f i r s t "major" o r " c a n o n i c a l " work. The c h a r a c t e r s o f
G a b r i e l Oak, Bathsfieba Everdene, S e r g e a n t Troy, and Farmer
Boldwood a r e shown t o a t t a i n succes o r f a i l u r e i n t h e i r d e s i r e s
a s a d i r e c t outcome of t h e i r p e r s o n a l p e r c e p t i o n s o f t h e e x t e r n a l
elernent of F a t e . I n a d d i t i o n , t h e c o n c e p t o f "rnediated
h a p p i n e s s , " which r e c u r s i n many of Hardy ' s works, i s f i r s t
i n t r o d u c e d i n t h i s n o v e l .
The Hand of E r h e l b e r t a is t h e s u b j e c c of C h a p t e r Two.
E t h e l b e r t a C h i c k e r e l , more :han any o t h e r c h a r a c t e r i n Hardy ' s
works, i s t h e a u t h o r o f h e r own d e s t i n y . Her c o n t r o l o f h e r f a t e
f a i l s t o c r e a t e t h e engagement and ï e n s i o n f o r t h e r e a d e r which
mark t h e more s u c c e s s f u l works o f t h e Hardy "canon."
The t h i r d c h a p t e r d i s c u s s e s The Woodlanders a s t h e " d a r k
twin" o f Far From t h e Madding Crowd. The c h a r a c t e r s , l i k e t h o s e
i n FFMC, a r e d r i v e n by a s e n s e t h a t t h e i r a c t i o n s a n d t h e e v e n t s
o f t h e i r l i v e s a r e e x t e r n a l l y d e t e r m i n e d . Edred F i t z p i e r s i s
p a r t i c u l a r l y no tewor thy i n t h a t Hardy h a s him c o n s c i o u s l y and
iii
d e l i b e r a t e l y abandon t h e p h i l o s o p h i c a l n o t i o n s of F a t e which
i n t e r f e r e w i t h h i 5 "mediated h a p p i n e s s . "
Chap te r Four d e a l s w i t h Hardy ' s l a s t "minor" work, The
Well-Beloved. The p r o r a g o n i s t , J o c e l y n P i e r s t o n , i ç t h e
d i a m e t r i c o p p o s i t e o f E t h e l b e r t a C h i c k e r e l , i n t h a t he p e r c e i v e s
h i s l i f e t o be e n t i r e l y F a t e - d r i v e n . The n o v e l is p a r t i c u l a r l y
i n t e r e s t i n g f o r t h i s s t u d y because Hardy changed t h e s u i c i d e of
t h e o r i g i n a l p s r i o d i c a l e n d i n g t o t h e m e d i a t e d h a p p i n e s s o f
P i e r s t o n i n t h e nove l form. I n t h e e n d i n g , Hardy r e f e r s
p o i n t e d l y t o t h e c r i t i c s and g e n e r a l p u b l i c who demand "happy
e n a i n g s . "
The f i n a l c h a p t e r examines Jude t h e Obscure . A r ç u a b l y h i s
f i n e s t r .ovel , JO r e c e i v e d rnixed rev iews a t i t s p u b l i c a t i o n ,
l a r g e l y b e c a u s e o f i t s c o n c l u s i o n t h a t we a r e a l o n e , , d i t h "on ly
o u r s e l v e s and c i r c u m s t a n c e s . " The n i h i l i s t i c p o n d e r i n g s of ~ h e
d y i n g Juce round o u t Hardy's complex t r e a t m e n t of F a t e .
Pref ace
The primary purpose of this thesis is to examine the
£ive works in terms of their popülar and critical appeal
over the century since their first publication, and C O
account for their varying degrees of "success" in those
terms. 1 realize that the actual basis for their success
is more a matter for s o c i o l o g i c a l / p s y c h o l o g i c a l stuày, yot
I Deliove that their strengths are based on their abili~y
to engage readers on a literary as well as ernotional level.
The textual references are al1 drawn from ~ h e
MacMilian Wessex Edi tions of 1912, with the exception of
Far £rom the Maddinq Crowd, for which 1 used the 1958
Edition of The Heritage Press.
1 am exrremely grateful for the support of 2 wide
range of groups and individuals who made my work ?ossiBlè.
I n 1995-96, I was granted a sabbatical year by the
Department of Educarion and the New Brunswick Teacher's
Federàtion, which enabled me to complete the initial course
w o r k .
Ln additio~, 1 am appreciative of the assistance of
the faculry and staff of both campuses of the University of
v
New Brunswick, particularly the departments of English,
and the staffs of Ward Chipman and Harriec Irving
libraries.
1 am indebted to my mother, Yarion Biok, for al1 her
support, both moral and cernporal. 1 am o l s o fervently
grateful ta my "technical crew" - Maureen Desmond, John
Gahagan, Ann Perry, and J @ n Simpson - whom I consulied
daiiy on the vagaries of conpurers. Derek Hamiiton,
rny former department head a t Soint John High School,
provided much enrouraqement ana insight.
Finally, 1 very thankful fcr the wise direction of Dr.
Mary Rimrner, who never flacged in her good humour and
patience.
A b s t r a c t
P r e f a c e
T a b l e of Conten ts
Table of Contents
Chapter 1 - F a r From t h e Madding Crowd
C h c p t e r I I - The Hand o f C t h e l b e r t a
C h a p t e r TI1 - The 7iocdlanders
C h a p t e r IV - The Well Beloved
C h a p c c r V - Jude t h e Obscure
Conclusion
Introduction
1. Historical/Literary Context
The novels of Thomas Hardy have enjoyed over a century
of critical dissension. His popular appeal has equally
waxed and waned in the course of the same period. A revival
of popular, as well as critical interest in his works in the
latter part of the twen~ieth century may be seen to affirrn
the contention that Hardy was a "modern" novelist, hampered
by the fact that he wrote in the nineteenth century.
The nineteenth century saw tremendous evolution in the
novel, as a result of the climate of scientific discovery,
and the consequential shift in religious belief and
practice, and political and social reform. Darwin's views
on evolution, ~ h e geological discoveries of Lyell, and
philosophical and political movements, such as
Utilitarianism, socialisrn, and secular hurnanism, combined to
threaten traditional notions of religion and morality.
The growth of industrialism and the burqeoning of
literacy widened and diversified the demographics of the
reading public, which in turn created a greater diversity of
reader expectations. As a result of this new readership,
the shape of the novel, as well as its perceived "purpose,"
changed rapidly.
in l i i e gri l i s i l ~ u i i u i i u i l zead2i, n: -L - . - - 1 T 7 -: - 1 - " - 2 - - - ,r nLLllaLu A L L L L ~ W L L L C ~ U L
t h e workingman 's " . . . i m p e r a t i v e need f o r e s c a p e . . . " and
" . . . t h e d e e p - s e a t e d d e s i r e f o r imaginative and e m o t i o n a l
r e l e a s e which d i s p o s e s o r d i n a r y p e o p l e t o r e a d . . . " (Altick 9 7 ) . The need f o r " r e l e a s e " t h r o u g h t h e r e a d i n g of n o v e l s
u n d o u b t e d l y c r e a t e d t h e r e a d i n q p u b l i c ' s e q u i v o c a l view o f
H a r d y ' s works d u r i n g h i s l i f e t i m e . The e s c a p i s m of n o v e l s
s u c h as Under t h e Greenwood Tree was r e p l a c e d b y more
e m o t i o n a l l y and i n r e l l e c t u a l l y c h a l l e n g i n g works a s H a r d y ' s
c a r e e r p r o g r e s s e d , c a u s i n g s e v e r a l c r i t i c s t o p i n e f o r h i s
more c o r n f o r t a b l e , l e s s e m o t i o n a l l y c h a l l e n g i n q f i c t i o n
From a l i i e r a r y and academic p e r s p e c t i v e , new dernands
were made u n t h e g e n r e of t h e n o v e l , a s i t s w r i t e r s began C O
a s p i r e t o tne same "Legit i rnacy" i n f i c t i o n t h a t was e x p e c t e d
i n p o e t r y . I n 1 8 8 4 , Henry James w r o t e of t h i s d e s i r e f o r
" r e s p e c î a b i l i t y " :
I t must t a k e i t s e l f s e r i o u s l y f o r t h e p u b l i c t o
t ake i t s o . The o l d s u p e r s t i t i o n a b o u t f i c t i o n
b e i n g "wicked" h a s d o u b t i e s s d i e d o u t i n England;
b u t t h e s p i r i t of it l i n g e r s I n a c e r t a i n o b l i q u e
r e g a r d d i r e c t e d toward any s t o r y w h i c h does n o t
more o r l e s s admit it i s o n l y a joke . . . . It is
s t i l l e x p e c t e d , though p e r h a p s p e o p l e a r e ashamod
to s a y it, t n a t a p r o d u c t i o n wh ich i s a f t e r a l 1
shall renounce the pretension of atternpting to
really represent life. (James 423)
James' argument for the "seriousness" of the genre reveals
to some extent the nature of Hardy's quandary: the telling
of a serious story, as if it were rue," without apology,
was certain to discomfit a large portion of the reading
public, who were perhaps more accustomed to being amused or
cheered by a work of fiction.
Popular ex~ectations were not yet in accord with the
new idea of the novel; the educated and affluent readership,
while perhaps engaging in the occasional salacious pamphlec
or "penny-dreadful," were still largely influenced by the
high-minded and clever creations of the earlier part of the
century, s u c h as those of Jane Austen, with whom Hardy was
frequently and unfavorably compared. Austen herself
eloquently defended the novel as a genre in Nortnanger
Abbey:
. . . there seems an almost general wish of decrying
the capacity and undervaluing the labour of the
novelist, and of slighting the performances which
have only genius, wit, and test to recommend them.
(Austen 29)
In the latter half of the century, the desire for a novel to
be entertaining and morally uplifting still pervaded the
Dickens' works were acceptable and desirable within
this moral and social framework because, despite his
championship of the lower classes and the underprivileged,
his rewarding of the good and the punishing of the wicked
supported the Victorian notions of balance and optimism.
Henry James also addresses this thorny issue of the
"appropriateness" of a novel's subject:
Art is essentially selection, but it is a
selection whose main care is to b e cypical, to be
inclusive. For many people, art means rose-
coloured windowpanes, 2nd selection means picking
a bouquet for Mrs. Grundy. They will tell you
glibly that artistic considerations have nothing
to do with the disagreeable, with the ugly; rhey
will rattle off shallow cornmonplaces about the
province of art and the limits of art iill you are
moved to some wonder in turn as to the province
and iimits of ignorance. (James 4 3 4 )
There can be no doubt that the mixed reviews which Hardy
received in his life-time were largely due to his lack of
"rose-coloured window-panes." His depiction of homely, if
not always "ugly," realism earned him much chagrined
criticism. Yet his use of the genre has also earned bim
accolades £rom modern critics for his "realism."
AL the i i n i e ui i?l?iï p ü b ; i ~ d t i ~ i ï , ~ Ü X S V E ~ , EüE?
Hardy's "great" works were criticized for the sordidness
of their subject-matter. Havelock Ellis writes in the Savoy
Magazine that he is " . . . inclined to question altogether the
fitness of bloodshed for the novelist's purpose at the
present period of history." R.Y. Tyrell accuses Hardy of:
. . . creeping nearer and nearer to the fruit which as been so profitable to the French novelist, but
which ri11 quite recently his English fellow-
craftsman has been forbidden to touch.
(Fortnightly Review June 1896)
A.J. Butler, while aligning Hardy with the decadents, views
his approaching the "forbidden fruit" as a mark of his
progress as a novelist:
I t is hardly too mucn C O Say that each successive
book has shown not merely a development of his
original qualities, but the acquirement or
manifestation of new aptitudes. (National Review
May 1896)
Another factor which adversely affected Hardy's reviews
was the prevalent perception that entertainment and
aesthecic value were inextricably linked. In the latter half
of the nineteen~h century, there was a strong movement
towards the "1 don't know much about Art, but 1 know what 1
like" school of criticism:
arrived at the firm belief that popular
acceptability formed a test not only of success,
but even of arristic merit . . . . (Woolford 114)
Given the demands of Hardy's readership, as well as his
contemporary critics, it is not surprising that the Hardy
"canon" has undergone great changes over the decades.
The development of Hardy's approach to his narratives
may be, of course, attributed to a variety of factors, but
the single feature common to al1 of Hardy's works is a
concern with Fate. W.D. Howells writeç of the reader's
engagement with the notion of F z t e :
1 do not know how instinctively or how voluntarily
[Hardy] has appealed tc Our Lnherent superstition
of Fate, which used ro be a religion; but 1 am
sure that in the world where his hapless people
have their being, there is not only no Providence,
but there is Fate alone, and the environment is
such that the characters cannot avail against it."
(Harper's Weekly 7 Dec. 18953
Howells' conclusion goes to the heart of the issue of Fate
in Hardy's novels, explaining both readers' engagement and
the structure of his narrative universe. Despite the fact
that Hardy's morally conventional readers might have been
appalled by some of his subjects, there can be no doubt of
As Howells suggests, even the most religious are frequently
beset by superstiïious nations of hubris and retribution.
Hardy's alignrnent with determinism became more f o r c e f u l
as his career progressed; wnen he began reading
Schopenhauer, in the early 1890's or before, h e saw in h i s
work a reflection of h i s own emerqing philosophy.
For it is not the individual that n a t u r e cares
for, b u t unly the species . . . . The individual, on
the contrary, has n o value for nature, and can
have n o n e , for infinite space , infinite tirne, and
the i n f i n i t e number of possible individuals
therein are h e r kingdorn. Therefore natuLe is
a l w a y s ready to let the individual f a l l , and the
individual is accordingly not only e x p o s e d to
destruction i n a thousand ways from the most
insignificanc accidents, but is even destined for
this and is led towards it by nature herself . . . .
(Schopenhauer 276)
Tho unwillingness of H a r d y ' s Victorian readers to hear
of s u c h pessimistic or morally ambiguous conclusions
explains their reluctance to accept the validity of some of
his subject-matter. Hence for some readers, Hardy's - The
Hand of Ethelberta and The Well-Beloved are his best works,
while for o t h e r s the pastoral works such as Under the
Woodlanders mark his greatest achievements. The rejection
by some critics of what later came to be known as Hardy's
"canonical" works may be accurately attributed to a skewed
vision of "reality," which suggests that conventional
Victorian society was not yet ready for art to imitate life.
Henry James addresses this "cautious silence on certain
s~bjectç":
In the English novel . . . there is a traditional
difference between that which people know and
that which chey agree to admit they know, that
which they see and that which they speak of, thac
which they feel to be a part of life and chat
which they allow to enter into literature. (James
4371
Thus Hardy found himself in the unenviable position g f
wanting to write literature which was both "seriousn and
"true," but which at the same time appealed to the standards
of "uplifting" prose for whicn many critics and r e a d e r s
still ciamoured. Hardy's refusal to confine hirnself to
"uplifting" narratives drew much criticism. His
consideration of marriaqe, in virtually al1 of his works, is
an apt point of reference. His questioning of both the
desire for, and desirability of marriage, which in its most
extreme form in Jude led to his castigation in Mrs.
n 1 I - iirnL- n-6: -MT--: 3-o T o ~ r r % - o y . 1 ~ 5 3~ ~ 6 f r r i n t +Q v ~ ~ p i i a i i ~ a I L L < ; niiLr L ~ ~ I - L - U Y b - - - - -..
p o l i t e Victorian values. Even in h i s lighter works, which
might be said to end "happily," Hardy's condemnation of the
strictures of marriage is scathing. Ethelberîa's marriage
of convenience and Pierston's marriage "by default" show no
greater r ega rd for the "sanctity" of marriage than Jude and
Sue's avoidance of the institution.
In addition, Hardy's "rain falls on the just and t h e
unjust"; the deserving and iaithful Giles Winterborne is
struck down despite his concern for Grace's virtue, while
the profligate Fitzpiers is rewarded, to the disgust of a t
least one c r i c i c , despite his t o t a l disregard for moral
convenrion. In the same way, Jude is repuaiated for his
desire tc surpass h i s beginnings through hard work and
study. Unlike Fitzpiers, Jude atones again and again for rhe
"folly" of rnarrying Arabella.
ündoubtedly Hardy's pessimism rnarked him as a difficult
noveiisï in his own tirne, yet it F s also the cnderlying
cause of his resurgent popularity in t h e l a t e twentieth
century, T h e disillusionment of Jude, the sordidness of his
children's dearhs, and t h e general hopelessness of the
n o v e l ' s conclusion are more at home in the arristic clirnate
of this century than, Say, t h e optimism of David
Copperfield.
II. Validity of Tragedy
Yet despite the controversial nature of Hardy's works, some
contemporary critics prefigure more recent assessments of
their worth, finding in the pessimism of his tragedies a
greater value than that cf his lighter works. In 1895,
fellow novelist W.D. Howells writes:
It is certain that we do get pleasure fro~n
traqedy, and it i s commonly allowed that the
pleasure we qet from tragedy is nobler than the
pleasure we get from comedy. (Harper's Weekly, 7
Dec. 1895)
The "nobiiity" of Hardy's tragedy may be ascribed to a
number of ambiguous, elusive sources. Why, for example, cio
Shakespearean audiences value his tragedies above his
comedies? Surely transcendental "truth" may be found in
comedy as well as trageay. Perhaps the solemnity of traqedy
and its accompanying catharsis provide the type of release
which Richard Altick describes. Possibly the scope of
Hardy's tragedies is reminiscent of the classic Greek
tragedies where the heroes are punished at a whim of tne
gods, rather than for any fault of their own other than the
expression of their will. Certainly by the time Hardy
created Jude Fawiey, his conclusions regarding the Immanent
i s , a n a c t i o n w i t h o u t p r a c t i c a l o r t e m p o r a l , r a t h e r t h a n
m o r a l o r s p i r i t u a l , c o n s e q u e n c e s ) were i n p l a c e . Even i n
t h e e a r l i e r works , however , Hardy employs t h e
" c o n c a t e n a t i o n " o f e v e n t s t o s u g g e s t t h a t i n h i s u n i v e r s e ,
a c c i d e n t , c h a n c e and time t e n d t o work a g a i n s t t h e w i l l o f
t h e p r o t a g o n i s t s , r a t h e r t h a n i n t h e i r f a v o u r .
The q u e s t i o n r e m a i n s , t h e n : why do r e a d e r s , a u d i e n c e s ,
a n d c r i t i c s p r e f e r t h e t ï a g i c works t o t h e p a s t o r a l , t h e
cornic , a n d t h e m e l o d r a m a t i c ? N o r t h r o p F r y e p r o p o s e s t h a t iL
i s Our i d e n t i f i c a t i o n w i t h t h e " d e s i g n " o f t r a g e d y . He u s e s
A r i s t o t l e ' s a n a g n o r i s i s - a p o i n t o f d i s c o v e ~ y o r r e v e l a t i o n
- t o a c c o u n t f o r t h i s i d e n t i f i c a t i o n :
But i n t h e most s e r i o u s works o f l i t e r a t u r e a n d
more p a r t i c u l a r l y i n e p i c s and t r a g e d i e s , t h e
b e t t e r t r a n s l a t i o n i s " r e c c g n i ï i o n . " The r e a d e r
knows what i s g u i n g t o happen , b u t w i s h e s t o see,
o r r a t h e r p a r t i c i p a t e i n , t h e c o m p l e t i o n of t h e
d e s i g n . ( F r y e 8 )
J a n e t B u r s t e i n , i n "The J o u r n e y Beyond Myth i n J u d e
t h e O b s c u r e , " b e l i e v e s t h a t t h e a p p e a l o f t r a q e d y d e r i v e s
f r o m t h e p r o t a g o n i s t ' s and t h e r e a d e r ' s d e s i r e t o r e c o n n e c t
w i t n t h e " c o h e r e n c e " o f myth:
. . . m y t h s , t h e r e f o r e , were u n d e r s t o o d t o e x p r e s s a
f u n d a m e n t a l c o h e r e n c e o f man and w o r l d , a n d t o
r e p r e s e ~ i i a bciiei ifileCjïZtèd p c ï ~ e p t i û ~ ûf th^ ~ ~ r l d
t h a n the self-conscious modern mind could achieve. (Burstein
Self-consciousness, then, renders integration impossible. In
the context of both Hardy's "minor" and "major" works,
Burstein's assertion rings true; only those characters whose
consciousness is "half-roused" like Arabella, cr who are
able to suppress thair self-consciousness, like GaDriel Oak,
are permitted to escape tragedy. Yet the appeal of the
fully-conscious characters is augmented by their realization
of their loss or defeat.
Burstein also uses this desire for coherence to account
for the worldly "failure" of characters ç u c h as Sue
Bridehead and Jude. Reqarding Sue she says:
Though she seeks to re-enter an older, more
mythic coherence of man and world, she remains
imprisoned witnin the frame of the self. (Burstein
28 1
On another level, the desire for reintegration with the
mythic Leads to self-annihilation, which explains the
universal silence of Hardy's characters at the end of their
respective narratives. With specific reference to Jude
Burstein contends:
One notes that the narrator assumes a function here
that he performs throughout the novel: his is
actually the only voice left to speak the richness of
. - - : - 1 . - - ) 1 2 ~ - - - A L : - - IlY..---cr.l - 7 7 \ a V ~ L ~ L ~ L L C U L L L C allu L L I L ~ C . . . . \ U U A J LLI,I
Jude's death scene, in Burstein's analogy, marks the
impossibility of modern man's reconnection with the mythic,
in a world in which, as Nietzsche asserts, God is dead:
The scene images both the disappearance of a persona1
God and the undeniable disharmony in Jude's world -
the cruel absence of coherence amcng men.
(Burstein 3 5 )
The realization of tnis absence of God cr gods from the
universe drives Jude to bitter icughter, as he is dying,
because he knows that his struggLes have been both futile
and unnecessary. For the reader, however, this loss of
connection creates desire and engagement, which is the
source of the novel's polder.
III. Desire/Will in Hardy's Protagonists
Part of the inherent difficulty in any reading of
Hardy's works is the lack of fixed terminology by which to
"translate" him. This quality, dismissed frequently as a
weakness in Hardy's writing, actually contributes to the
force of his works. In the poem "Hap" for instance, Hardy
refers to a variety of inhuman, random elements - "Crass
Casualty," "dicing Tine," "Purblind Doomsters" - which
control a character's destiny, and he employs these, along
with other terms, s u c h as chance, f a t e , and accident, to
c h o i c e s .
However, t h e s e t e r m s a r e n o t i n t e r c h a n g e a b l e , n o r a r e
t h e i r m e a n i n g s c o n s t a n t . I n The Wood lande r s , Hardy h a s t h e
c h a r a c t e r s r e f e r c o n s t a n t l y t o t h e , n o t i o n o f "doom," y e t he
d o e s n o t ernploy t h e n o r d i n i t s t w e n t i e t h - c e n t u r y s e n s e o f
" an unhappy f a t e o r d e s t i n y " ( C a n a d i a n C o l l e g e D i c c i o n a r y )
b u t r a t h e r i n t h e c o n n o t a t i o n o f i t s o r i g i n a l f o u r c e e n t h -
c e n t u r y s e n s e : "outcorne or judgement" ( O E D ) . Thus when
G r a c e t e l l s F i t z p i e r s t h e y were "doomed t o m e e t , " s h e r e f e r s
t o a n i n e v i t a b l e outcorne, n o t t o a n i n e x o r a b l e p u n i s h m e n t .
By t h e same t o k e n , G i l e s W i n t e r b o r n e sees t h e a p p e a r a n c e o f
t h e worrn a t h i s d i n n e r p a r t y a s a " s i g n o f doom." I n e a c h
c a s e , however , t h e c h a r a c t e r e v o k e s a s e n s e ci f a t a l i s m
wh ich d e f e r s t o powers which he o r s h e b e l i e v e s t o be
o u t s i d e h i s o r h e r c o n t r o l . The o p e r a t i v e words h e r e a r e
" b e l i e v e s t o bel'; i n H a r d y ' s u n i v e r s e , c h a r a c r e r s i n t e r p r e t
t h e e v e n t s of t h e i r : i v e s a s b e i n g e x t e r n a l l y c o n t r o l l e d -
e i t h e r t o t h e i r a d v a n t a g e , o r C O t h e i r d e t r i m e n t . I n t h e
c a s e s o f G r a c e a n d G i l e s , t h e s e r e f e r e n c e s t o "àoom" may be
u s e a a s a s p e c i e s o f e x c u s e : o n c e Giles f e e l s h i s w i l l i s
"doomed" :O f a i l , h e v i r t u a l l y a b a n d o n s h i s w i i l . G r a c e
s i m i l a r l y f e e l s t h e c h o i c e be tween Gi les and F i t z p i e r s i s
s e t t l e d f o r h e r b y h e r e x t e r n a l "doom," a n d a b a n a o n s h e r
e x p e c t a t i o n s of Gi les .
;ls L - A - , - . . i & L L C - --.*-CI?: ç i * C n r ~ - p h x n r a L I = UUCJ W L L 1 1 L b L L LALLLi*'..- Luururl* -..-...--,
accident, fate - Hardy also distinguishes between the
interna1 qualities - will, desire, and intention. In the
"great" works, it is invariably the intentions of the
protagonists which drive their wills, while in the "minor"
works, such as The Hand of Ethelberta and The Weli-Beloved,
the will is the servant of Fate, rather than its opponent.
The desire drives the will, which formulates the intention.
Desire in Hardy's characters is based on emotion, or even
sexual longing, while intention is a decidedly intellectual,
rational force. While the desire may be stronger, in some
characters their capacity for mediated happiness depends on
their ability to subjugate it to their will.
When a character meets with opposition to his
intention, his interpretation of the source of this
opposition determines his response. In other words, if he
sees the adversity as a personal message of doom, he may
react by withdrawing from the intention, or, in the case of
the more successful charac~ers, altering his intention t o
fit his new circumstances.
Jude Fawley's desiro for meaning, for transcendence of
his obscurity, leads him to form the intention of becoming
Eirst a scholar, then a priest, thereby setting himself up
for the forces of the First Cause to destroy; Ethelberta, on
the other hand, subjugates her desire for Christopher Julian
Lu i l j L , ~ ~ L t i ü ï L ; ~ C ~ ~ I S V E S h c ~ ~ ~ 2 1 , ;.;hiL~ 1 ~ ~ i . i ; t h e
o b j e c t o f h e r d e s i r e . N e i t h e r o f thern a c t u a l l y o b t a i n s h i s
o r h e r d e s i r e , b u t o n l y Jude i s u l t i r n a t e l y d e s t r o y e d by i t s
l a c k .
The f l e x i b i l i t y o r r i g i d i t y o f t h e i n d i v i d u a l ' s d e s i r e
a l s o d e t e r m i n e s h i s c a p a c i t y f o r " m e d i a t e d h a p p i n e s s , " t h a t
i s , h i s a b i l i t y t o s u r v i v e t h e f r u s t r a t i o n o f h i s w i l l .
However, Hardy d c e s n o t b e l i e v e t h e f r u s t r a t i o n o f o n e ' s
w i l l t o be the w o r s t t h i n y t h a t can happen . F r e q u e n t l y i n
H a r d y ' s works t h e a t t a i n m e n t of w i l l l e a v e s t h e c h a r a c t e r
w i t h o u t t h e t r u e o b j e c t of h i s d e s i r e :
. . . Hardy s e e s i n l o v e o n l y a s u b j e c t i v e i n f a t u a t i o n ,
b u t h i s c h a r a c t e r s c r e p o s s e s s e d of a l o n g i n g f o r
God o r s o m e t h i n g l i k e a God t o q i v e o r d e r and
meaning t o t h e m s e l v e s a n d t h ~ i r w o r l d s . When t h e y
f a 1 1 i n l o v e t h e y t h i n k c h e y h a v e found i n t h e
l o v e d o n e a power of t h i s s o r t . T h e i r d i s i l l u s i o n
when t h e y o b t a i n p o s s e s s i o n o f wha t t h e y h a v e s o
i n t e n s e l y d e s i r e d is a n e g a t i v e r e l i g i o u s
e x p e r i e n c e . ( M i l l e r 1 8 3 )
When F i t z p i e r s a t t a i n s Grace , he d i s c o v e r s t h a t t h e human
b e i n g d o e s n o t f u l f i l l h i s d e s l r e f o r t h e i d e a l . More
i r n p o r t a n t l y , p e r h a p s , he d i s c o v e r s t h a t d e s i r e i t s e l f h a s
more power o v e r him t h a n t h e c r e a t u r e o r t h i n g he b e l i e v e s
he " w a n t s . "
ijarciy:s i ~ e d i i i l e i i i ui iiie will 23 d i 3 L i ï i ~ t f ï û ~ ~ Z S ~ I ' Z -
is pivota1 in the discussion of the relative success of his
"major" and "minor" works. Even before his exposure to the
writings of Schopenhauer, Hardy created characters whose
appeal to the reader is their own desire and will. The
strength of their ability CO engage the reader is directly
proportional to the strength of their own engagement with
apparently hostile Fate. In the "minor" works, the absence
of tragedy is a result of two facets CI£ will: first, as in
the case of Ethelberta, the individual's will is not
frustrated, and second, as is evident in Pierston, the will
is a flexible characteristic, rather than a driving force.
Since it is the desire - the unfulfilled longing - of rne
characters which creates the literary tension essential to
the reader's engagement with a work, the lack of desire in
these works may account for their "lesser" status.
Although works such as The Hand of Ethelberta and The -
Well-Beloved lack tension, they nonetheless do not deviate
from Hardy's pattern of the "unfulfilled intentionl'(W 7 ) .
Ethelberta's will is satisfied but her desire rernains
unfulfilled. She achieves the completion of her plan, but
she does not attain the true object of her affection, and
rnoreover, she appears to pay heavily for this exchange.
Pierston, on the other hand, never has a fixed desire,
when he attains it, or more accurately, the disappearance of
his desire when she becomes attainable prevents a lasting
tension. Yet even in the second, so-called "happy" ending
of The Well-Beloved, Pierston achieves only a mediated
happiness.
The fact that Hardy chooses to end these works
"happily," that is with the protagonists' marriages and
subsequently fruitful lives, appears to be merely a noci in
the direction of Victorian convention. Ethelberta and
Pierston marry, assume "productive" roles in society, and no
more is said of their desires. Yet their silence evokes the
same tragedy of "unfulfilled intentions" that is central to
al1 of Hardy's works.
IV. "The rest is silence."
In each of the £ive works examined here, the voice of the
protagonist is silenced and the closing passages are
articulated either throuqh the cmniscient narrator, or more
frequently, through the musings of one of the minor
characters.
In Far From the Madding Crowd, one of the ruçtics
articulates Gabriel and Bathsheba's mediated happineçs:
"But since 'tis as 'tis, why, it might have been worse, and
1 feel my thanks accordingly" (Far From the Madding Crowd
by her sister, who assures Christopher that their marriage
will satisfy the condition of Ethelberta's "will" : "1 think
he [her father] will be very glad ... Berta will, 1 know"
(The Hand of Ethelberta 459).
In The Woodlanders, Fitzpiers and Grace, who like
Gabriel and Bathsheba achieve contentment only through the
subjugation of their desire to their circumstances, are
voiceless by the end of the novel. Again a rustic, Creedle,
describes their situation: "At present Mrs. Fitzpiers can
lead the doctor as your mis'ess could lead you . . . . She's
got him quite tame. But how long 'twill last 1 can't say"
(The Woodlanders 4581. Finally, it Fs the voice of Marty
South who assures the long-dead Giles of both Grace's
withdrawal and her own happiness in attaining Giles' sole
possession: "Now, my own, own love ...y ou are mine and on'y
mine; for she forqot ' e e at last, although for her you
died!" ( 4 6 0 ) .
Pierston's pursuit of the Well-Beloved ends not with
his own articulation of his nappiness, but with an ironic
narrative voice, describing the "good works" of the now-dezd
protagonist:
At present he is soinetirneç rnentioned as "the late
Mr. Pierston" by gourd-like young art-critics and
journalists; and h i s productions are alluded to as
were i n s u f f i c i e n t l y r e c o q n i z e d i n h i s l i f e t i m e .
(The Well Beloved 2 1 8 )
And f i n a l l y , J u d e ' s v o i c e , s t i l l e d i n d e a t h , i s
subsumed by t h e e a r t h y , p r a c t i c a l A r a b e l l a , whose n o t i o n of
c o m p l e t e n e s s seems t o e c h o c h a t o f Mar ty S o u t h . Of Sue s h e
s a y s : " S h e ' s n e v e r found p e a c e s i n c e s h e l e f t h i s a r m s , and
n e v e r w i l l a g a i n t i l l s h e ' s a s h e i s now" ( J O 4 9 4 ) . Only i n
d e a t h , t h e n , i s t h e d e s i r e of Sue and J u d e t o be f u l f i l l e d .
T h i s p a t t e r n o f t h e s i l e n c i n g o f t h e main p r o t a j o n i s t s
b e f o r e t h e e n d o f t h e i r s t o r i e s , c o m o n t o b o t h " g r e a t " a n d
"minor" works , a f f i r m s B u r s t e i n ' s n o t i o n o f t h e c h a r a c t e r s '
movement t oward s e l f - a n n i h i l a t i o n .
V . C o n s c i o u s n e s s o f Des ign
I n a d d i t i o n t o t h e t h e m a t i c a n d s y m b o l i c c o n c e r n s o f
H a r d y ' s f i c t i o n , h i s n a r r a t i v e fo rm and a u t h o r i a l v o i c e
h a v e g r e a t a p p e a l f o r t h e modern - and pos t -modern - r e a d e r ,
who h a s grown accus tomed t o t h e s t y l e of c o n s c i o u s n a r r a t i v e
wh ich h e employs . The d e v i c e o f t h e n a r r a t o r who i s
s e p a r a t e f rom t h e a u t h o r , and o c c a s i o n a l l y g o d - l i k e i n h i s
d e t a c h m e n t £rom t h e c h a r a c t e r s , e s t a b l i s h e s a d e s i g n which
i s s e l f - c o n s c i o u s l y " f i c t i o n . " I a n Gregor e x p l a i n s :
I n o t h e r words, t h e p r e s s u r e o f t h e d e s i g n i s s u c h
t h a t t h e r e a d e r i s c o n t i n u a l l y made aware t h a t i t
authenticity, its own fabrication: it is 'once
upon a tirne'. . . . (Gregor 27)
Ethelberta and Pierston, like the reader, are aware
of their role in the narrative. Each of them is constantly
attuned to the nature of the events (s)he experiences, co
the extent that they actually critique their lives, rather
than living them.
The fact that Ethelberta sees her experience as a game
from which she can withdraw at any point extinguishes to
some degree our engagement with her chararter. Similarly,
Pierston's abandonment of his will to Fate diminishes the
tension in his character. For the reader, then, the
detachment of the Iwo characters within self-conscious
narratives does not invite the degree of engagement found in
less overt "fictions." While this quality of self-conscious
narrative enjoys great appeal in post-modern criticism, for
the realist readers of both Victorian and earlier twentieth-
century times, this failure may be sufficient to explain
their denigration.
In Distance and Desire, Hillis Miller argues that
Hardy's own consciousness "separates him from the world."
He insists that, like Hardy, his protagonists respond to the
experience of life with a "movement of passive withdrawal."
He concludes: "The spontaneous withdrawal of the mind to a
will" (Miller 3). Furthermore, the protagonist's detachment
is justified by the outcome of his desire and his
observation of the world àround him. "Successful"
characters, that is, those who are not literally destroyed
by their perception of Fate, are able to manipulate
circumstance to resenble their desire. The tragic figures,
on the other hand fail in that they are unable to maintain
their detachment; instead they succumb to the frustration of
their will. Some, like Jude in his final nours, experlence
\\ . . . a grim satisfaction that things have, as foreseen, come
out for the worst in this worst of al1 possible worlds"
(Miller 7) Miller believes both the pessimisrn and the
detachment are shared by Hardy's characters:
Such a perspective is also possessed by many of
the protagonists of Hardy's novels, those watchers
£rom a distance like Gabriel Oak in Far From the
Maddinq Crowd, Christopher Julian in The Hand of
Ethelberta . . . or Giles Winterborne in The - Woodlanders. (Miller 8 1
The "refusa1 of involvement" appiies equally to the main
protagonists of The Hand of Ethelberta and The Well-Beloved:
Ethelberta, who describes her life as a chess game, and
Pierston, who regards himself as a complete pawn in the game
p r o t a g o n i s t s , i t i s n o t s u r p r i s l n g then t h a r a n o t h e r ~ u a l i t y
w h i c h l e a d s t o t h e d i s m i s s a l of h i s "minor" works ,
p a r t i c u l a r l y t h o s e m e n t i o n e d h e r e , Ls t h e i r d e p l o y m e n t of
n o t i o n a l "hâppy e n d i n g s . " M i l l e r writes of t h e " a r n b i g u i t y
i n t h e noninally happy e n d i n g s of h i s l a t e r novels" ( 1 5 3 ) ,
a c c o u n t i n g f o r ~ h i s a m b i g u i t y , once a g a i n , t h r o u q h t h e i r
q u a l i t y o f u n a t t a i n e d d e s i r e : "The c n l y happy l o v e
r e l a t i o n s h i p f o r Hardy i s one which i s n o t u n i o n b u t t h e
l o v e r s ' a c c e p t a n c e of t h e g a p beizween them (Miller 1 5 4 ) . I n
H a r d y ' s works , d i s t a n c e f u e l s des i re , c r e a t i n g t e n s i o n , and
t h e r e b ÿ engagement f o r t h e r e a d e r . S i n c e b o t h E t h e l b e r t a
a n d P i e r s t o n e v e n t u a l l y a c h i e v e s t a s i s w i t h o u t a t t a i n i n g
t h e i r t r u e d e s i r e s , t h e r e s o l u t i o n of t h e i r s t o r i e s i s n o t
a s " s a t i s f a c t o r y " a s t h o s e 1~ H a r d y ' s " q r e a t " works.
The l a c k of E u I l r e v e l a t i o n o f even H a r d y ' s s t r o n g e s t
c h a r a c t e r s h a s o f t e n l e d c r i t i c s , b o t h p a s t and p r e s e n t , t o
c o n c l u d e ~ h a r t h e unevenness of h i s a r t i s due l a r g e l y t a
h i s " u n c o n s c i o u s n e s s " o r i n t h e words of V i r g i n i a Woolf, t h e
i d e a t h a t h i s " g e n i u s was o b s t i n a t e a n d p e r v e r s e " (Woolf
2 7 6 ) . C h a r l e s Lock s u p p o r t s P e t e r Widdowson's c o n c l u s i o n
t h a t Hardy "knew what h e was d o i n g a l 1 a l o n g . " Lock p r o p o s e s
t h a t Hardy a c t u a l l y waç e x p e r i m e n r i n g w i t h a new type of
c h a r a c t e r :
. . . H a r d y ' s c h a r a c t e r s may be a t t r i b u t e d t h e n , n o t
Lu z d L d y # > v 4 T T L*.L + * L.:- U I ~ L W I ~ ~ L L V U ~ L ~ ~ ~ u u c cu & r r ~
dissatisfaction with the unified, coherent, and
thoroughly cornprehended characters in "traditional
fiction." (Lock 79)
The most fully "revealed" of his characters (in the sense of
self-awareness and consciousness of will) are those who most
frequently disengage from the events of their narratives.
The position of detachment assumed by Gabriel Oak, for
instance, enables him to be a spectator who shares a sort of
harrnony with Fate. Like Pierston's and Ethelbertafs, his
de ta ch men^ removes him £rom the danger of destruction.
The device of distance, which Hardy employs ;O some
deqree in each of his novels, controls the protagonisc's
"desire" and thus the degree of the reader's "engagement".
In looking a i the "great works," one cannot help but notice
the sca l e of the desire, and the physical, emotional, and
philosophicai distance between the protagonist and the
object of his desire. In the lesser works, on the other
hand, the proximity of the desired goal or person subverts
the desire, so that Pierston, nearing Eulfillment of his
desire, questions its worth, while Ethelberta subjugates her
desire to her will. She is able to do this effectively
because she never fully cornmits to or engages herself with a
single intention, relying inçtead on opportunisrn Co
determine her will. The object of her desire is always
w i C i - i i ï i L E C C ~ L ,
VI Classification of Hardy's Works
Much of the controversy surrounding Hardy's work, both
during his life-time and in nore modern times, is a result
of the fact that his writing ciefies classification. Whether
the "true" Hardy is the "Historian of Wessex," the writer of
amusing character studies, or the great tragedian, was, and
remains a source of heated contention.
An unidentified reviewer in the Spectator writes of
The Trumpet-Major:
Hardy is the mas t e r of pathos, but he is incapable
of writing tragedy. He conceives powerfui tragic
episodes, but he cannot conceive characters strong
enough to carry them out.
In some respects, this reviewer has âctually isolated the
"flaw" of Hardy's so-calied "minor" works: the characters
fail to engage the reader because they lack the will to
engage with Fate. Their tragedies remain personal, rather
than universal. When Hardy does match an "engaging"
cnaracter with truly tragic circumstances, his work achieves
the sublimity of great tragedy. Despite Virginia Woolf's
criticism of Hardy as an "unconscious writer," she
acknowledges the superiority of his tragic works:
"...if we are to place hirn among his fellows, we must cal1
him the greatest tragic writer among English novelists"
(wooif 2 7 6 j .
In Hardy's true tragedies, the characters are conscious
of the active universal opposition to their will. Although
Hardy did not formally postulate the "Immanent Will" until
The Dynasts, even his earlier tragedies like Far From the
Maddinq Crowd and The Wcodlanders give evidence of his
qrowing belief in the ide3 that consciousness of will leads
to human unhappiness.
Conrad Aiken, writing in 1958, sugqests that as Herdy
matured as a novelist, his use of the Fate became more
deterministic:
In A Pair of Blue Eyes and al1 those novels in
which chance, or mere coincidence, dominates -
that is by purely external and unpredictable force
- we have melodrama; but by degrees Mr. Hardy
substituted a gloomy determinisrn for chance, and
thus greatly extended the dimensions of his tragic
view . . . . (Aiken 2221
Two decades later, Dale Kramer takes the aspect of tragedy
in Hardy's works one step f u r t h e r , in that he connects it
with the great Greek drarnatists:
Hardy's "gods" are as punctilious in their
workings as those of Aeschylus and Euripides . . . ,
Threat or defiance towards social laws deserves no
Greek tragedy is maintained only by human taboov and
convention in Hardy's work, although as he states here, the
punishment is no less severe. In Hardy's "great" works, the
protagonists invite the disapprobation not of traditional
gods (either mythical or Christian) but of the driving force
of the Universe, the Immanent Will. It is the individual's
struggle against this acknowledged foe which elevstes i-iis or
her story from mere melodrama to "kingly" tragedy. Paul de
Man writes (in reference to Nietzsche's The Will r o Power):
. . . the idea of the human subject as a privileged
viewpoint, is a mere metaphor by means of which
man protects himself from insignificance by
forcing his own interpretation of the world upon
the entire universe, substitütinq a human-centred
set of meanings that is reassuring to his vanity
for a set of meanings that reduces him to being a
mere transitory accident in the cosmic order. (de
Mzn 111)
The exertion of "will" to deny insignificance and to assert
control over destiny is what inevitably marks Hardy's
"great" protagonists for tragedy. Finally, it is their
recognition chat their will is powerless against the forces
which oppose it which leads to their annihilation. As
Nietzsche himself describes it, "Understanding kills action,
r . - - - A - - * - - - 4 - ..- ---..- -- * L n .*-; 1 LUL 111 "Lucl Lu uLL rrc IcyulLL L i r L ~f ill~~iî". . ."
(Nietzsche 51) .
So it is for Hardy's "trayic heroes"; when finally
they reach the point of recognition or as Frye calls it,
anagnorisis, their complete understanding precludes further
action. The certainty that their desire is unattainable
Leads to the destruction of their will, their own life-
force, and to their literal deaths. For Jude, death is
preceded by a loss even greater than the unfuifilled
intention: he recognizes his own insignificance.
In Thomas Hardy, Charles Lock discusses Jean Brooks'
existentialist reading of Hardy. While he finds tne
application of a twentieth-century philosophy to nineteenth-
century literature problernatic, there is nonetheless some
merit in Jean Brooks' comparison of Hardy's writinqs to
those of Albert Camus, because both deal with an essentially
godless, and therefore incoherent universe, where meaning is
achieved only through individual will. Much of the
controversy whicn surrounded Hardy's work during his life-
time may be accounted for by his characters' tendency to
self-annihilation in the face of the defeated will.
The degree to which the protagonist "succeeds" in
achieving his or her will varies, but the end result is
always the sarne: self-annihilation. Jusc as Jude Fawley
literally dies at the end of his struggles, Pierston
- . ~ ~ q ~ ~ d i i v r l ~ U i é ~ ï ï i ù ï ï i û ~ ~ ~ ù ï k ~ th; U~; th ~f h i 2
c r e a t i v e f o r c e s , and h i s abandonment o f a r t . Farmer
Boldwood a t t e m p t s a l i t e r a l d e a t h , w h i l e E t h e l b e r t a " k i l l s "
h e r d e s i r e f o r C h r i s t o p h e r J u l i a n by t h r u s t i n g him i n t o t h e
a rms o f h e r s i s t e r .
The e v o l u t i o n o f H a r d y ' s c h a r a c t e r s a s t h e y p r o g r e s s
t h r o u g h t h e v a r i o u s t r i a l s which " F a t e , " " c h a n c e " a n d t h e
o t h e r " p u r b l i n d d o o m s t e r s " c r e a t e , d e t e r m i n e s , i n t h e e n d ,
t h e i r a b i l i t y t o t h r i v e d e s p i t e t h e i r u n f u l f i l l e d
i n t e n t i o n s . E v o l u t i o n i n some c h a r a c t e r s i s p r o f o u n d a n d
s u d d e n , w h i l e i n o t h e r s i t c c c u r s p r o g r e s s i v e l y and
p a i n f u l l y t h r o u g h o u t t h e c a u r s e o f t h e n a r r a t i v e . Some
c h a r a c t e r s - u s u a l l y t h o s e whose e v o l u t i o n i s n e v e r c o m p l e t e
- succumb e a r l y t o t h e m a n i p u l a t i o n s o f F a t e . Once a g a i n ,
t h e d e g r e e o f t h e i r e v o l u t i o n , i i k e t h e d e f i n i t i o n o f t h e i r
w i l l , a f f e c t s t h e r e a d e r ' s r e s p o n s e t o t h e i r p e r s o n a l
f a i l u r e o r s u c c e s s . Perhaps t h e s i n g l e b e s t example o f t h e
u n e v o l v e d c h a r a c t e r , i n t h e works u n d e r d i s c u s s i o n , i s
S e r g e a n t T r o y i n Far From t h e Madding Crowd. His a s s u m p t i o n
t h a t h e w i l l be ( i n t h e words o f D i c k e n s ) " t h e h e r o o f [ h i s ]
own l i f e , " a n d h i s i n a b i l i t y t o r e c o v e r f rom t h e r h w a r t i n g
o f h i s i n t e n t i o n d e r n o n s t r a t e H a r d y ' s p r e o c c u p a t i o n w i t h t h e
d i s t i n c t i o n be tween w i l l and d e s i r e .
G a b r i e l Oak i s t h e c o u n t e r p o i n t t o T r o y ' s u n e v o l v e d
s e l f ; he i s a b l e t o c o m p i e t e l y i o r f e i t h i s own w i l l t o t h e
n e c e s s i c y of c i r c u m s ~ a n c e u . As iiie r u s L i i s a ï i vFss , Lie
"take [s] it careless-like," and in the end his fortune is
r e s t o r e d .
Giles Winterborne in The Woodlanders is the furthest
extreme in terms of susceptibility to circumstance. His
will succumbs totally to his belief that he is "doomed" to
forfeit his ciesire. In the end, l y i n g within fifty f e e t of
the object of his d e s i r e , he achieves self-annihilacion, the
only option of which he remains capable.
VIT F a t e and Mr. H ~ r d y
The pervasive sense of Fate as the operative force in
Hardy's work has been attributed to Hardy's own pessimism,
to his self-professed " s e a r c h for God." Cri t ics have
variously clairned that in Hardy "Cnaracter is Tate" or
"Circumstance is Fate." Ultirnately, 1 believe it is a
mistake to accept tnat Hardy felî inaividuals to be mere
vic~ims of destiny or circumstance. However, it is possible
t o prove that Hardy recognized a causal relaLionship between
an individual's perception of Fate and his response to it.
Even in what some s c h o l a r s have c a l l e d his "worst" novel The -
Hand of E t h e l b e r c a - the observation is indisputable.
Many twentieth-century critics have sought to define
Hardy's own perception of Fate, w i t h varying degrees of
success. Their definitions have perhaps revealed more of
7 - L 1 A l L . , , r - c l l ; * + + l S c n e i ~ persur idl ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ L V J U ~ L L L C ~ L I t a l i I I~lur L i . r r r u L i u.c+ryr
a s s e s s m e n t o f F a t e i n H a r d y ' s work, p u b l i s h e d Eirst i n 1 9 3 2 ,
r e l i e s h e a v i l y on t h e n o t i o n t h a t t h e Immanent W i l l ü c t s f o r
e v i l o r d e s t r u c t i v e p u r p o s e s . I n his p e r s o n i i i c a t i o n o r
a n r h r o p o r n o r p h i z i n g o f H a r d y ' s u n i v e r s a l f o r c e , h e r e s e m b l e s
t h e p r o t a g o n i s t s who f a i l , b e c a u s e he i n t e r p r e t s intent i n
c h e e v e n c s which o c c u r t h r o u g h c h a n c e , a c c i d e n ~ , and
rn i sc iming :
I hove s t a i e d t h a t t o Hardy, F a t e i s a f o r c e
e x t e r n a 1 co man. I n o t h e r words , C h a r a c t e r i s
n o t F a t e . Plan i s o f t e n d e s t r o y e d by instinct,
b u t Hardy h a r d l y e v e r s e e s i t :hiç way. Human
b e i n g s a r e n o t b r o u g h r C O g r i e f b e c a g s e o f
i n s t i n c t i v e l o v e o f g o o d n ê s s , b u t Ehey a r e
d r a g g e d down by t h e f o r c e s c u t s i d e them hi ch
a e f e a t i t . ! E l l i o t t 5 7 )
I n ï h e f i r s t p l a c e , 1 am n o t c e r t a i n c h a t H a r u ÿ ' s
c h a r s c i e r s ' d e s i r e s o r w i ? l d e s e r v e a moro l ludgmenc s u c n
a s "good" , ç i n c e , f o r t h e most p a r t , t h e i r d e s i r e s a r e
p e r s o n a l r a i h e r t h a n a l i r u i s t i c . While E l l i o t t may b e r i g h î
i n d e n y i n g t h a t C h a r a c t e r i s Face , he f a i l s ï o a i l o w H a r d y ' s
c h a r a c t e r s even a modicum o f c n o i c e i n t h e i r own u n d o i n g .
The f a c z t h â i a c h a r a c t e r s u c h a s G i l e s W i n t e r b o r n e b e l i e v e s
i n F a t e c a u s e s him t o a s s i g n s i g n i f l c a n c e t o c ~ h e r w i s e
n e u t r ô l or rnean ing le sç e v e n t s . S i n c e , l i k e o t h e r c h a r a c t e r s
.. , . . , - 1 . - L - ----- --. - C , : ^ . - ^ l g T t n i f LIL .TbLUy 3 V l U l h J , r i c Luiiicd LU u ~ i r ~ r ~ c - ~ u r -ri-, ,- -
persona1 enerny, his interpretation of events is always
coloured by this superstition or fear, so that in the final
analysis he abandons his own desire for fear of evoking more
of Fate's retribution.
Another factor which Elliott ignores is the aspect of
serendipity or "happy chance" which also occurs - albeit
less frequently - in Hardy's novels. About thirty years
after Elliott, Roy Morrell reminds us that:
. . . chances in his books are not always disastrous
ones.... Bathsheba happens L O pas5 near Gabriel's
hut and to notice borh ventilacors are closed.
Her chance discovery saves Gabriel's life . . . .
(Morrell 70)
Morrell divulges another aspect of the readers' engagement
with the narrative. We notice negative chance, which
appears to thwart intention, but overlook positive chance,
which may favour intention, and, as in the above example,
avert disaster. As a corollciry to this idea, Morrell
contends that the characters' own w i l l (or lack thereof) is
the source of their failure or success in achieving their
intentions. Giles Winterborne perceives himself to be
singled out for failure; he retires from the struggle.
Morrell sees this as "negligencr": "Hardy's irony (as we
have seen) is that man fails through neglrcting chances of
... succesç" \morreii O ô ; . GL>L,~U,L~Z, ûïi ü t ? , ~ : FL~:U, i~
cons~antly aware of the potential failure, but sees each
chance event as something which sne must actively atternpt to
control. Her eventual "success," while not engaging the
reader to the same degree as Giles' failure, can be
attributed to her perception that she can control her
circumstances to avoid disaster.
Hardy's authorial manipulation of variaus "agents" of
Fate i s secondary to the way in which he has his
protagonists respond. Elliott errs in the same fashion as
the characters, ascribing "intent" to each event which
"chances" to occur in their lives:
In the novels of [Hardy's] late life, coincidences
are allied with a unity of purpose which persuades
us that they are not only parts of a determined
system, but parts of a system determined for evil.
(Elliott 59)
ElLiott's insistence on "evil" determinism ignores the
obvious argument: some characters are victims; others remain
unscathed. He forgets the fine example of young Jude
guarding the cornfields, wondering why God creates sysEems
where, in order for one creature to prosper another must
suffer.
Roy Morrell's vision of Hardy's determinism iç closer
concentrates more effectively on the one area
of blame: man's lack of will, his taking iife too
easily, his imagining that it is a trivial game
where the players can afford to "act like
puppets," to be so contemptibly unaware.
(Morrell 166)
His argument is valid, in terms of attaining desire.
Characters like Giles Winterborne, Sergeant Troy, and Jude
Fawley do fail because of their belief that a purposeful
Fate has set itself aqainst them. However, more importancly
for Hardy's readers, the failures of Giles and Troy and Jude
are engaging and powerful 8ecause of their perception of
Fate.
The idea that a single human being is of sufficient
worth or consequence to attract the retribution of Fate is
at the heart of al1 of the works considered here. Giles
Winterborne reads "signs" that his will is unattainable;
Jocelyn Pierston sees himself as the servant of the qoddess
Aphrodite; Sue Bridehead believes that she and Jude have
incurred the wrath of an implacable God. Each of them in
his or her own way believes in the significance of human
life, and his or her own in particular. In Aristotelian
terms, each of them believes him/herself to be worthy of tne
notice of the gods, and i s therefore guilty of hubris. Only
L L L C narciy's iasc great p r u i c c y o r i i s i , Zude FdwLeÿ, iei t~l i ts
conclusion which Hardy expresses in "Hap": there is neither
purpose nor significance in his suffering or struggling.
The gods or the Immanent Will or the "purblind doomsters" of
the universe have no persona1 enmity towards the Judes of
Hardy's world: "These purblind Doomsters had as readily
strown/ Blisses about [his] pilgrimage as pain" ("Hap"] .
Yet despite the acknowledgement of futility which
concludes their struggles, the protagonists who engage in
the contest with Fate, who believe their desires and their
strengths to be worthy fodder for the gods, are those who b
reader. Their lost potential and unfulfilled intention
distinguish them £rom the "successful" characters of the
"minor" works .
Chaptew 1 - F a r From the Madding Crowd
F a r From t n e Madding Crowd, Thomas H a r d y ' s f i r s t
"ma jo r " work, e x p l o r e s H a r d y ' s p h i l o s o p h y of
" i n d i f f e r e n t i s m . " A s c h a r a c t e r s a r e a c t e d upon by F a t e o r
c i r c u m s t a n c e , t n e i r own p e r c e p t i o n s o f t h e e x p e r i e n c e
d i c t a t e t h e i r r e s p o n s e s . The a c t u a l e v e n t s which a f f e c t t h e
c h a r a c t e r s a r e of l2sser i m p o r t a n c e t h a n r h e c h a r a c t e r s '
belief i n t h e i r s i g n i f i c a n c e . A ~ r o t a g o n i s t who s e e s
h i m s e l f i n t h e l a r q e r framework of F a t e h a s a g r e a t e r power
to engage t h e r e a d e r s ' i n t e r e s t , because h e a c t i o e l y
s t r u g g l e s with F a t e , and he a s s e r t s t h a t h i s s t r u g g l e h a s
both meaning and p u r p o s e .
T h e a e t a c h m e n t of H a r d y ' s n a r r a t i v e v o i c e a s i t
o c c a s i o n a l l y i n t e r j e c t s t o remina t h e r e a d e r o f t h e d i s t a n c e
Detween n i m s e l f and t h e c h a r a c t e r s i s p r e s e n t he re , a s i n
a l 1 H a r d y ' s work, and t h e v a r i o u s t r a g i c i n s t a n c e s a r e
t h e r e f o r e v iewed f rom a remove. The i r o n y w i t h which Hardy
i n v e s t s h i s n a r r a t o r t s cornments e s t a b l i s h e s h i m a s an
i m p e r s o n a l o b s e r v e r o f human f o i b l e s , r a t h e r t h a n a n
i n v o l v e d c o c o n s p i r a t o r .
I n a d d i t i o n , a s most c r i t i c s a g r e e , t h e rnany main
c h a r a c t e r s a r e z l m o s t equally w e i g h t e d i n i m p o r t a n c e , s o
t h a t t h e r e a d e r t s sympathy s h i f t s a l o n g w i t h t h e s h i f t i n g
v i e w - p o i n t s . A l t h o u g h a a t h s h e b a and G a b r i e l Oak a r e p l a l n l y
the protagonists of the text, their thoughts and feelings
are rarely expressed in any greàter depth than those of
Boldwood and Troy, for example. In addition the main
characters fa11 into two distinct types: those who have an
anthropocentric or even egocentric view of Fate and those
who adopt an attitude of stoic indifference to their
circumstances.
The elements of Fate, if they may be called such in - Far
From the Madding Crowd, are primarily the result of chance
or coincidence. The larger representatives of Fate are
actually natural forces, such as weather and animal
behaviour, which rnay indicate Hardy's belief in the
unknowing oppositicii of Nature to the puny will of man.
Gabriel ûak may be seen as a natural man who adjusts his
will to the forces of Mature to the point where he seems to
reconcile himself with it, thereby securing his triumph.
Unlike some of Hardy's later works, Far From
the Madding Crowd does not present the rsader with the
conscious articulation of the characters' perception of
Fate; instead the narrator's asides provide the only insight
into these perceptions. The actions of the characters
demonstrate their appreciation of the external forces which
afflict their lives, yet even Gabriel, perhaps the most
fully evolved character, does not actively practise self-
His personality suggests balance, as well as the
quality of the "average man":
. . . one who felt himself to occupy that vast
middle space of Laodicean neutrality . . . . Or, to
state his character as it stood in the scale of
public opinion, when his friends and critics were
in tantrums, he was considered rather a bad man;
when they were pleased, he was rather a good man;
when they were neither, he was a man whose moral
colour was a kind of pepper-and-salt mixture. (1)
The reference to "Laodicean neutrality" evokes the Hardyan
stance of detachment which promotes survival. Clearly
Gabriel is the prototypic "indifferentist" who does not
overrate his "place" in the universe, and is therefore not
in danger of comrnitting nubris. The opinions of his
"friends and critics" suggest a balance in Gabriel Oak,
which is supported by the solidity of his name.
Indeed, the narrator tells us that Gabriel has a sense
of his own "charmed life":
Being a man not without a frequent consciousness that
there was some charm in this life hc led, he stood
still after lookinq at the sky as a useful instrument,
and regarded it with an appreciative spirit, as a work
of art superlatively beautiful. ( 1 2 )
P e r h a p s t h e a u t h o r i n t e n d s u s t o see Oak a s a p r e l a p s a r i a n
Adam, f o r h e d e s c r i b e s G a b r i e l ' s f i r s t v i s i o n o f B a t h s h e b a :
" . . . i n a b i r d ' s - e y e v iew, a s M i l t o n ' s S a t a n f i r s t saw
Pa rad i se" ( 1 3 ) . L i k e Adam, o r S a t a n b e f o r e h i s fall,
G a b r i e l ' s v i ew i s n o t y e t t a i n t e d by n e g a t i v e w i l l o r
e x p e r i e n c e . T h e d e s c r i p t i o n a l s o e v o k e s t h e b i b l i c a l
D a v i d ' s first s i q h t i n g of h i s B a t h s h e b a , w i t h a l 1 i t s
a t t e n d a n t perils 12 Samuel 11:2). The s u g g e s t i o n of a n
imminent " f a l l t ' i s enhanced by t h e b a l a n c e with which
G a b r i e l responds t o h e r d e p a r t u r e : "With a n a i r be tween t h a t
of Comedy and T r a g e d y , Gabr ie l r e t u r n e d t o h i s w o ~ k " (19).
When F a t e t h r o w s t h e t w o t o g e c h e r a g a i n t h r o u q h t h e
i n c i d e n t o f G a b r i e l ' s n e a r s u f f o c a t i o n i n t h e h u t , G a b r i e l ' s
r e s p o n s e is t o t a k e h e r a l a n b and p r o p o s e r n a r r i a g e . A q a i n
Hardy i n s i s t s on t h e t o t a l b a l a n c e o f h i s p r o t a g o n i s t : "He
h a d made a t o i l e t of a n i c e ' y - a d j u s t e d kind o f a n a t u r e
be tween the c a r e f u l l y n e a t a n d t h e c a r e f u l l y o r n a t e ..."
( 2 5 1 .
B a t h s h e b a ' s r e f u s a l o f G a b r i e l marks t h e b e g i n n i n g o f
h i s d e c l i n e , t h o u g h t h e c r u c i a l blow cornes £rom N a t u r e , i n
t h e form of h i s own younge r doq. U n l i k e h i s m a s t e r , t h e doq
h a s n o p e r c e p t i o n o f ba lance : "- s t i l l f i n d i n g an
i n s u p e r a b l e d i f f i c u l t y i n d i s ï i n g u i s h i n g be tween d o i n g a
t h i n g wêll enough , and doing i t t o o wel l " ( 3 4 ) .
Tne death of Gabriel's sheep first evokes i n him a sense
of gratitude that he is not rnarried, and then the praqmatic
response of destroying the agent of his loss:
George's son had done h i s work so thoroughly that
he was considered too good a worknan to live, and
was, in fact, taken and r r a g i c a l l y shot at twelve
o'clock that same day - another instance of t h a t
untoward fate which so o f r e n attends dogs and
other philosophers who follow out a train of
reasoninq t o its logical conclusion, and attempt
perfectly consistent conduct in a world made up so
largely of compromise. ( 3 8 )
Despite the seeming lightness of Hardy's tone in
describing the f a t e of the hapless sheepdog, the moralizing
about the "other philosophers" rings true to his disposition
of the human characters in his works; it is no accident that
t h e doq is "tragically" shot, but perhaps a suggestion that
al1 philosophers of the sort meet a similarly tragic end
because their logical r e a son ing cannot cope with illogical
reality.
Havinq completed the last task demanded by his former
position, the fully-evolved Gabriel leaves for Casterbridge:
H e h a d sunk frcm his modest elevation as a
pastoral king i n ~ o the very slime-pits of Siddim;
L u i i i ~ r ~ r WÜS l + f E tû L i i i ~ s Y i ~ ~ i f i ~ i ~ 2 1 7 , h~ h2U
never before known, and that indifference to fate,
which, though it often makes a villain of a man,
is the basis of his sublimity when it does not.
And thus the abasement had been exaltation, and
the loçs a gain" (39).
The dignity and indifference referred to here are the hall-
marks of Hardy's "successful" chdracters. Their self--
knowledge and readiness in the face of the "fate" which
befalls them allows their will to eventually triumph. Oak's
ordeal has swiftly transformed him into c h e sort of
"indifferentist" whom Fate supports.
In the next interlude, Haray's rustics give their views
on scch esoteric matters as Fate and "Luck." Jan Coggan
describes his late wife's virtüe, Dut Leaves tne question of
her salvation to "luck":
Xye, poor Charlotte. I wonder if she had the good
fortune to get into heaven when 'a died! But 'a
was never much in luck's ;$ay, and perhaps she went
downwards after all, poor s o u l ! (61)
The randomness which Coggan ascribes to Fate is partly
undermined by the remarks of Mark Clark, who attempts to
comfort Gabriel with the suggestion of Time as a rectifying
force: "You should take it careless-like, shepherd, and your
time will come" ( 6 5 ) . The "philosophy" of Hardy's rustics
of the man of action Troy. Like Dick Dewey in Under the
Greenwood Tree, the labourers who frequent the malt-house
are untroubled by the larger questions because, as Edwin
Muir maintains:
They are too low to fear a fall. They are in the
position the universe wants to have them; there-
fore beyond the reach of tragedy . . . . !Muir 117)
The fact that the rustics are "happy" is a result of their
unconsciousness of any "will" to change their circumstances,
and their consequent lack of "unfulfilled intentions."
The case of Fate as regards Bathsheba is different
from that of Gabriel in that it revolves aimost totally
arounà "crass casualty," like the affairs of the characters
in Hardy's "comedies." The first "chance" which
precipitates Bathsheba's involvement with Farmer Boldwood is
her tossinq the hymnal to determine whether or not to send
the card to Teddy Cogqan. The author asserts the
unlikelihood of the book landing closed, yet this minor
event leads to her decision to address the carà to Boldwood.
The second "chancetf which seems equally inconsequential is
that she "happenç" to possess a seal which says "Marry Me."
Hardy does not speculate on i h ~ reasons behind Bathsheba's
possessing such a seal in the first place, or the
impetuousness of her impulse. There has been no previous
inkling of her interest in Boldwood, let alone her
attraction to him.
The improbability of the action notwithstanding, the
enterprise itself seems silly at best, malicious at worst,
but apparently devoid of negative consequence. However, as
David Cecil suggests, Hardy invests each act, however
trivial, with a response:
For by this means he can convey how the fate of
the characters is determined by forces nidden £rom
them. To tne characters the p a s t maÿ be dead; they
may have put their past actions behina them. But
they cannot escape their consequences. (Cecil 40)
Hardy is not long in revealing the consequence of
Bathsheba's action. Boldwood's reaction to receiving the
"proposal" demonstrates the extent to which he attaches
"fateful" significance to events:
The vast difference between starting a train of
events and directing into a particular groove a
series already started, is rarely apparent to the
person confounded by the issue. ( 97)
The implication of the narrator's comment here suggests the
element of "disorder" which may provoke the most profound of
tragedies. However, Bathsheba's letter might not have set
the tragedy in motion had it not been for another instance
Gabriel Oak is misdirected to Boldwood's home, the farmer
seizes the occasion cc cal1 on Bathsheba. Bathsheba regrets
her impetuous act "to disturb a man she respected too highly
to deliberately tease" ( 1 1 6 3 . The description of Farmer
Boldwood's temperament establishes him as the diametric
opposite of Gabriel Oak. The surface caln in Boldwood:
. . . may have been the perfect balance of encrmous
antagonisiic forces - positive and negative in
Fine adjustment. His equilibrium disturbed, he
was in extremity at once. If emotion possessed
him at all, it rulea hi^ . . . . He was always hit
mortally, or he was missed. (118)
The susceptibility of Boldwood's character provides the
ideal circumstance for the seemingly random tragedy
engineered by Fate.
Boldwood's "desire" increases berause he cannot easiLy
reach Bathsheba. The first time he goes to see her she is
with Gabriel; the second tirne, she is not at home, with the
result that:
. . . the smaller human elements were kept out of
sight; the pettishnesses that enter so largely
into al1 earthlÿ living and doing were disguised
by the accident of lover and loved one not being
on visiting terms. . . . (121)
Boldwood i d e a l i z e s Ba thsheba b e c a u s e s h e 1s out of bis
reach; t h e r e f o r e t h e c o n t i n u i n q t h read o f t h e i r
" r e l a t i o n s h i p " i s m a i n t a i n e d , b u t o n l y by " a c c i d e n t . "
A t a n o t h e r l e v e l , t h e f o r c e s o f " chance" w h i c h h a v e
d rawn Boldwood end B a t h s h e b a t o g e t h e r keep Fanny and T r o y
s p a r t . T r o y ' s p r o m i s e to m a r r y Fanny i s t h w a r t e d by a
casual e r r o r - t h e m i s t a k i n g o f Al1 S a i n t s ' f o r Al1 S o u l s '
C h u r c h . T h i s m i s c h a n c e i s compounded b y t h e a c c i d e n t a l
m e e t i n g o f T r o y and Ba thsheba on Rer l a n d . While l a t e r
events suqgest he m i g h t a c t u a l l y have Deen p l a n n i n g to ca l1
on Fanny, h i s presence i s not a c c o u n r e d f o r , n o r d o e s
B a t h s h e b a a s k why h e i s t h e r e . Upon r e f l e c t i o n , B a t h s h e b a
d e c i d e s t o be f l a t t e r e d by T r o y ' s a t t e n t i o n : " T C was a f a t a l
o m i s s i o n of Bo ldwcod ' s t h a t h e had never o n c e told h e r s h e
was b e a u e i f u l " { 1 6 3 ) . T r o y i s subsequently p r e s e n t e d b y t h e
n a r r a t o r a s a man o f a c t i o n , t o t a l l y l a c k i n q i n
i n t r o s p e c t i o n :
W i î h h i m t h e p a s t was y e s t e r d a y ; t h e f u t u r e
to-rnorrow; n e v e r t h e d a y a f t e r . . . . S e r g e a n t Troy,
b e i n g e n t i r e l y i n n o c e n t o f t h e practice of e x p e c t a t i o n ,
was n e v e r d i s a p p o i n t e d . ( 1 6 4 )
The r e s u l t of T r o y ' s f r i v o l o u s n a t u r e F s a p a u c i t y of will:
. . . t h e comprehens ion became engaged w i t h t r i v i a i i t i e s ,
w h i l s t w a i t i n q f o r t h e w i l l t o d i r e c t it, and t h e force
wasted itself in useless grooves, through unheeding t h e
comprehension. ( 1 6 5 )
Troy's wzsteful preoccupation with trivialities makes him
Fate's victim; in describing Troy's " u s u a l " attitude towards
women, Hardy refers to "This philosopher," clearly linking
his fate with that of Gabriel's wrong-headed sheepdog.
The inappropriateness of the match between herseif and
Troy causes essentially the same sort of desire for
Bathsheba as her inaccessibility creates for Boldwood.
Hardy r e f e r s to the "folly" of Bathsheba a s a contrlbutinq
factor:
We now see the elements of folly distinctly
mingling with the many vzrying particulars
which make up the character of Bathsheba Everdene.
(185)
Hardy's detachment from her cnaracter and his almost
clinical analysis of his creation have a curious effect: the
r eade r anticipates dire consequences from t h i s folly,
despite the narrative disengagement. In addilion, the word
"now" suggests a cuirninacion of events, which makes the
situation ripe for change.
This sense of foreboding is echoed by Maryann on the
night of Bathsheba's elopement with Troy:
I hope nothing is wrong about miçtress . . . but an ---- + - -- - . . A * * * - b h ; -
U I I L l f i r l y L U h C i i L'2iiiC L" iiiG liiuuuld L A . - " .,,.4&. . -.Ay. 1
went t o u n l o c k t h e d o o r and d r o p p e d t h e key , a n d
i t f e l l upon t h e s t o n e f l o o r a n d b r o k e i n t o two
p i e c e s . B r e a k i n g a key i s a d r e a d f u l bodemen t .
( 2 1 5 )
The m a r r i a g e o f B a t h s h e b a and Troy o f c o u r s e l i v e s up t o
M a r y a n n ' s "bodemen t , " a n d a s e a r l y a s t h e n i g h t of t h e
wedding c e l e b r a t i o n , B a t h s h e b a may b e s e e n t o r e g r e t h e r
c h o i c e .
The c h a n c e m e e t i n g o f Ba thsheba and T r o y w i t h Fanny,
when i t i s f a r t o o l a t e t o b e o f a n y use t o t h e l a t t e r , is
y e t a n o t h e r example o f Hardy t h e p u p p e t - m a s t e r p l a y i n g w i t h
t i m i n g . He a l s o u s e s t h i s o c c a s i o n t o r emark r a t h e r
c y n i c a l l y on t h e u t i l i t y o f " f a i t h " :
T h i s woman was n o t g i v e n t o s o l i l o q u y ; b u t
e x t r e m i t y o f f e e l i n g l e s s e n s t h e i n d i v i d u a l i t y o f
t h e weak, a s i t i n c r e a s e s t h a t o f t h e s t r o n g . S h e
s a i d a g a i n i n t h e same t o n e " 1 ' 1 1 b e l i e v e t h a t t h e
e n d l i e s £ i v e p o s t s f o r w a r d and no f u r t h e r , a n d ço
g e t s t r e n g t h t o p a s s them." T h i s was a p r a c t i c a l
a p p l i c a t i o n o f t h e p r i n c i p l e t h a t a h a l f - f e i g n e d
a n d f i c t i r i o u s f a i t h i s b e t t e r t h a n no f a i t h a t
a l l . ( 2 6 3 )
H a r d y ' s i r o n i c d e t a c h m e n t i s e s p e c i a l l y n o t e w o r t h y i n t h a t
h e h a s h e r d i e i n c h i l d b i r t h a f t e r r e a c h i n g h e r g o a l . I n
c - - - L - I 1 . c - 2 & L I 1 --.c--- 1 1 . . a a a i t i c n , cne d r r w i y u o u s L C L C L ~ I I L ~ CU ~a~~~~ I c L c L a LyuuArl
to the ability to deceive oneself, to render one's
circumstances tolerable - a technique employed by the more ?
"successful" of Hardy's protagonists. The comment regarding
the weak's loss of individuality, although a seeming aside,
is actuâily a partial key to Hardy's attitude towards
tragedy as it afflicts the individual, singling him or her
out in a way that makes the outcome consequential. Tragedy
in Hardy's works derives from the consciousness of will, anu
the belief that will is deliberately foiied by powers beyond
human control. Hardy's subjects are not the noble, elevated
characters of Shakespearean tragedy, but the "Everyman" of
twentieth century works. Fanny's death, therefore, becomes
a pivotal point in the narrative, in spite of h e r apparent
obscurity.
Most scholars do not number Far From the Madding Crowd
among Hardy's tragedies, because, as Dale Kramer says: "
. . . it possesses a resolution that awards happiness to the
hero and heroine" (Kramer 45). J.M. Barrie, on the other
hand, argues that the death of Fanny lends the narrative its
tragic focus :
True humour and pathos can no more exist apart
than we can have a penny-piece with only one side.
Fanny crawling home to die is too awful for
pathos. It is tragedy. (Barrie 1 5 6 )
Barrie's claims regarding the impact of Fanny's death may be
borne out by Bathsheba's reaction to the sight of her (and
her child) in the coffin:
The one fact alone - that of dying - by which a
mean condition could be resolved into a grand one,
Fanny had achieved. And to that had destiny
subjoined tnis rencounter tonight, which had, in
Bathsheba's wild imagining, turned her companion1s
failure to success, her humiliation to triumph,
her lucklessness to ascendancy; it had thrown over
herself a garish light of mockery, and set upon
al1 things about her an ironical smile. (295-6)
The transcendence of Fanny is actually described as being a
product of Bathsheba's "wild imaginings," yet there can be
no doubt that Hardy intended to ironize her situation in
regard to Fanny and Troy. Troy's subsequent behaviour as he
renounces his marriage to Bathsheba supports her conviction
that she has lost her lover to a dead woman. Troy's
unaccustomed introspection is an interesting character
development; he blames his defection £rom Fanny to Bathsheba
on "Satan": "If Satan had not tempted me with that face of
yours, and those cursed coquetries, 1 should have married
herV(299). Troy's sense of having been deceived is doubly
ironic in that, while he now appears to realize his error,
i3 deîeïr,iiLE.d L - Ll --- . . A .,...-.Ti1 ç vnt L U U L Ç L I I L C Z pV""LL " U L r > A U C k.1 ,,&4 CIL. L b C ,
q i v e n T r o y ' s p o o r c r e d i b i l i t y b e c a u s e o f bis h a b i t u a 1 l a c k
of m o r a l i n t r o s p e c t i o n , t h e r e a d e r is i n c l i n e d t o S e l i e v e
t h e o p p o s i t e ; t h a t i s , it i s n o t F a t e b u t h i s own weakness
t h a t h a s l e d t o h i s bad judgment . However, t h e n a r i a c o r
r e m a r k s : l t F a t e had d e a l t g r i m l y w i t h him r h r o u g h t h e l a s t
f o u r - a n d - t w e n t y h o u r s " i 3 0 8 ) .
H i s f r u s t r a t i o n a t h i s a p p a r e n t l y i l l - f a t e d q e s t u r e o f
p l a n t i n g f l o w e r s on F a n n y ' s g r a v e i s t h e E i rs t i n d i c a t i o n
t h a t Troy , t o o , is a p o t e n t i a l l y t r a y i c c h a r a c t e r :
The p l a n t i n g o f f l o w e r s on F a n n y ' s g r a v e had been
a s p e c i e s of e l u s i o n o f t h e p r i m a r y g r i e f , and now
it was a s i f h i s i n t e n t i o n had been known and
c i r c u m v e n t e d . ( 3 1 5 )
T r o y ' s r e c o g n i t i o n of t n e t h w a r t i n g of h i s w i l l , by a
seerning " h i g h e r power , " is t h e f i r s t s t a g e o f h i s e v o l u t i o n
a s a c h a r a c t e r . Hardy r e m a r k s on h i s p r e v i o u s f e e l i n g s of
s i n g u i a r i t y , o f i n d i v i d u a l i t y , which exempt him f rom t h e l o t
of t h e a v e r a g e :
It i s seldorn t h a t a p e r s o n w i t h nuch a n i m a l s p i r i t
d o e s not f e e l t h a t t h e f a c t of h i s i iEe b e i n g his
own i s t h e one q u a l i f i c a ï i o n which s i n g l e s it o u t
a s a more h o p e f u l l i f e t h a n c h a t o f o t h e r s who rnay
a c t u z l l y resemble hirn i n e v e r y p a r t i c u l a r . ( 3 1 5 )
A s " t h e h e r o of h i s s t o r y , " Troy h a s e x p e c t e d " t h a t m a t t e r s
would right themselves at some proper date, and wind up
well." It is not so much the death of Fanny but the
realization that he is no longer "immune" to Fate, but
rnerely like anyone else, which causes his despair: "This
morning the illusion completed its disappearance, and, as it
were, al1 of a sudden, Troy hated himself" ( 3 1 0 ) . In this
state of self-loathing, Troy decides to swim - a curious
undertaking - but when it seems certain he will drown Fate
intervenes again, providing a "passing ship" and with it the
opportunity for Troy to reinvent hirnself.
When Troy resurfaces, in the chapter "At the Sheep
Fair," Hardy actively draws the audience into his own
knowledge, therefore making us a party to the irony tnat
attends al1 the characters' doings:
. . . in the circus tent there was sitting on the
grass, putting on a pair of jeck-boots, a young
man whom we instantly recognize as Sergeant Troy.
(337
The use of the present tense not only creates a sense of
foreshadowing, but also heightens the illusion of narrative
distance, inviting the audience to observe the machinations
of a lesser creature.
The circus setting provides an atmosphere of unreality
and theatricality which belies the consequential nature of
rii l . . trie chapcerZs e v e r i i s . rit: p ï ù x i l l i i t ~ ûf Eât111~1i~bü ù;;d Tï~y,
separated only by the material of the tent, has potential to
thwart Troy's new purpose, thereby increasinq his desire,
but he is able to intercept the note £rom Pennyways, leavinq
Bathsheba open to the surprise revelation of her husband's
continued existence. This sequence, in many ways resemblinq
a bedroom farce, actually lays the groundwork for the
tragedy which follows, demonstrating yet again Hardy's
conviction that comedy may have traqic outcornes; that rhere
is no act without consequence.
Since her husband's presumed death, Bathsheba has been
intent on somehow making amends for the thoughtlessness
of her approach to Boldwood. Hardy avoids clarifying
her thouqhts on the natter of Boldwooa's proposa1 by an
interestinq piece of feminist deconstruction. The notion
that the words of men are inadequate, or at least unsuited
to the task of expressing a woman's mind underlines
Bathsheba's inability to explain herself to Boldwood: "Tt
is difficult for a woman to define her feelings in languaqe
which is chiefly made by men to define theirs" (350). The
difficulty wnich she experiences in decidinq whether to
agree to marry Boldwood in six years' time is given almost
cosmic proportions; it is as if, having once incurred Fate's
wrath by trivializing it, she is now reluctant to act at
all:
It is hardly too much to Say that she felt coerced
by a force stronger than own will, not only into
the act of prornising upon this singularly remote
and vague matter, but into the emotion of fancying
she ouqht to promise. (352)
She tells Gabriel "1 feel 1 hold that man's future in my
hand" (352). Gabriel responds that her reason for agreeinq
is important:
If wild heat had to do w'it, making ye long to
overcome the awkwardness about your husband's
vanishing, it mid be wrong; but a cold-hearted
agreement to oblige a man seerns different,
somehow. ( 3 5 2 )
Gabriel's voice, advocating reason over passion, appears
to sway Bathsheba in Boldwood's favour, so that on Christmas
Eve, following her agreement with the farmer, she is
apparently prepared to commit to the promise. This choice
compounds the irony of her first act towards Boldwood,
because despite Gabriel's belief that her choice is
"reasonable," it is still based on emotion - this time,
guilt - and remains an example of the inadequacy of men's
words to express her desires. In the intervening time,
Boldwood's own perception of Fate has comrnitted him to the
course suggested by his will; that is, like Troy, he
. 3 - . imagines ~ i i d i FdLe W A L L L U L L L i~ k i i ~ f i i v û ü * ~ U C C Ü ~ Z E bis ni: ls
i t t o be s o . He b e l i e v e s he is s e r v i n g a s t i p u l a t e d p e r i o d
of t r i a l , l i k e t h e b i b l i c a l Jacob, 2nd t h a t h i s d i l i g e n c e i s
p u r p o s e f u l :
. . . h i s f a i t h t h a t a time was coming - verÿ f a r o f f
p e r h a p s , y e t s u r e l y n e a r i n q , when h i s w a i t i n g on
e v e n t s s h o u l d have i t s r e w a r d . ( 3 3 0 - 1 )
A l though Hardy shows t h a t p a t i e n t r e c e p t i v e n e s s h a s irs
r e w a r d , t h r o u g h t h e c h a r a c t e r of G a b r i e l Oak, Boldwood Lacks
t h e i n s i g h t , and t h e s u b l i m a t i o n of s e l f which enables
G a b r i e l t o e v e n t u a i l y escape t h e n e g a t i v e i n f l u e n c e of F a t e .
When T r o y e n c e r s his home i n d i s g u i s e , Boldwood i s t h e
l a s t t o r e c o g n i z e h i m . More i m p o r t a n t l y , he d o e s not
r e c o g n i z e t h a t t h e " s t r a n g e r " i s more r h a n an a a v e r s a r y and
i n f a c t h i s n e m e s i s :
Even t h e n Boldwood d i d no t r e c o g n i z e the
i m p e r s o n a t o r of H e a v e n ' s p e r s i s t e n t i r o n y t o w a r d s
hirn, who h a d once b e f o r e b r o k e n i n upon h i s bliss,
s c o u r g e d hirn, and s n a t c h e d h i s d e l i q h t away, had
corne t o do t h e s e t h i n g s a s e c o n d time. ( 3 7 6 )
Even a f t e r T r o y ' s d e a t h , Boldwood f i n d s h i s w i l l t h w a r t e d ,
a s h i s s u i c i d e i s p r e v e n t s d b y "a t i m e l y blow f rom Samway"
( 3 7 8 ) . The " t i r n e l i n e s s " of t h e a c t a p p e a r s t o b e a f i n a l
w h i m o f Fate i n the d e s t r u c t i o n o f Farmer Boldwood.
The man who p r o f i t s £rom t h e r emova l of T r o y a n d
. . E u i d w u u d 13, ~ ï ü t ~ ü ï ~ ~ i ; ; ~ ~ l ÿ , th2 C ~ Z Z Z C ~ C Z C ~ Z E U2:dï
c h o s e as t h e e a r l y v i c t i m of F a t e . S i n c e h i s f i r s t
a s s o c i a t i o n w i t h B a t h s h e b a , a f t e r t h e " p a s t o r a l t r a g e d y "
c a u s e d by h i s o v e r z e a l o u s s h e e p d o q , G a b r i e l Oak h a s
d e v e l o p e d i n t ~ what Hardy d e s c r i b e s i n l a t e r works a s a n
" i n d i f f e r e n t i s t ; " t h a t i s , o n e who r e s p o n d s t o b o t h good a n d
il1 f o r t u n e w i t n e q u a n i m i t y .
The b a t t l e s which G a b r i e l wages a r e l a r g e l y w i t h t h e
f o r c e s of N a t u r e . The f i r s t of t h e s e , which c o n v i n c e s
B a t h s h e b a of h i s v a l u e t o h e r a s a n e m p l o p e , i s t h e fire i n
t h e h a y s t a c k s . i a t e r , w h i l e t h e newly-wed Troy and t h e
o t h e r f a rm-worke r s s l e e p o f f a n e v e n i n g of d e b a u c h e r y , O a k
n o t i c e s t h e s i g n s which f o r e t e l l a sEorm, p o t e n t i a l l y f a t a l
t o S a t h s h e b a ' s c r o p s . He r e f e r s t o t h e s e s i g n s - a f l e e i n g
t o a d , a huge brown g a r d e n s l u q , t h e s h e e p h u d d l e d t o q e t h e r -
a s "messages i rom t h e Great M o t h e r . " His s e n s e of
c o n n e c t e d n e s s t o t h e n a t u r a l w o r l d e n a b l e s him t o f i g h t t h e
p e n d i n g s t o r m .
In a d d i t i o n , h i s * d i l l i n g n e s s t o s a c r i f i c e h i s 1 L f e t o
p r o t e c t t h e c r o p s i s g a l l a n t and f a t a l i s t i c :
Wos his l i f e s o v a l u a b l e a f t e r a l l ? What were his
p r o s p e c t s t h a t h e s h o u l d be s o c h a r y of r u n n i n g r i s k ,
when i m p o r t a n t and u r g e n t l a b o u r c o u l d n o t b e c a r r i e d
o u t w i t h o u t s u c h risk? ( 2 4 6 1
As the storm worsens, Gabriel's struggle takes on almost
mythic proportions, but its overall effect on his character
is humbling:
Heaven opened then, indeed.... The forms of
skeletons appeared in t h e air, shaped with blue
fire for bones . . . . With these were intertwined
snakes of green . . . . . . . love, l i f e , everything
human, seemed small and trifling in such close
juxtaposition with an infuriated universe. (250)
Gabriel's sense of his "place" in the universe is
remarked upon by Sathsheba when Fanny dies. It is
interesting to note chat she values his stoicism, while
clairning no like insight for herself:
What a way Oak had, she thought, of enduring
things. Boldwood, who seemed so much deeper and
higher and stronger in feeling than Gabriel, had
not yet learnt any more than she hers-lf, the
simple lesson which Oak showed a mastery of by
every turn and look he gave - that arnong the
multitude of interests by which he was surrounded,
those which affected his persona1 weli-being were
not the most absorbing and important in his eyes.
Oak meditatively iooked upon the horizon of
circumstances without any special regard to his
i qn î r o w r i S L C I ~ ~ ~ ~ U ~ I L L i i l L 1 i é i r t i d ~ t .
In this respect, Gabriel is unlike Troy, or indeed any of
the other principal characters, and Hardy appears to comrnend
the indifference he shows by rewarding him as the novel
progresses.
When Boldwood asks Gabriel to oversee his farm in
addition to Bathsheba's, Hardy describes it as a change in
fortune which is linked to the "stars," rather than the
individual's choices or merit: "Gabriel's malignant star was
assuredly setting fast" ( 3 2 8 ) . It is interesting to note
that Hardy ascribes the improvement to the departure of il1
luck, rather than to the coming of good fortune, underlining
the idea that Gabriel, had for a time, been singled out as
Fate's victim, but as Mark Clark suggests at the outset, his
"time" has indeed come.
Even as Gabriel's own s ~ a r rises, ço to speak, he
rnaintains a healthy fear of the caprices of Fate, warning
Farmer Boldwood, without success, not to rely on obtaining
his desire:
"Pray don't speak of it, sir . . . . We don't know what
may happen. So rnany upsets may befall 'ee. There's
many a slip, as theÿ say - and 1 would advise you
- 1 know you'll pardon me this once - not to be
too sure." (362)
Dale Kramer explains the seeming superstition of Hardy's
Hardy's emotional allegiance may be with the
strugglers . . . but his vision of the universe
urges upon him the awareness that exertion of ego
or desire brings on chastisement and suffering.
(Kramer, 34)
Clearly Gabriel is allowed to "succeed" in the long run
because he has chosen to repress both ego and desire,
aligning himself with the rustic characters who do not fail
spectacularly because they do not desire spectacularly.
Hardy's treatment of the rustics is noteworthy because,
as Kramer suggests, he appears to approve of them, even
while gently satirizing them. It is through these
philosophers that Hardy discusses notions of God or
Providence, and their views are diverse and provocative:
"Your lot is your lot and Scripture is nothing;
for if you do good you don't get rewarded
according to your works, but be cheated in some
way out of your recompense.
"No, no; I don't agree with 'ee there," said Mark
Clark. "God's a perfect gentleman."
"Good works, good pay, so to speak it," attested
Joseph Poorgrass. (104)
The rustics argue the justice of God in relatively desultory
terms; the question of distance in their dealings with that
. . iofcy beiny credies CA c*~L&i i"~ ~ û ~ ~ ~ ü i L i ; ~ . T ~ L S Y Ü ï E
c o m p l a c e n t l y g r a t e f u l f o r t h e " g i f t " of b e i n g a b l e to d r i n k ,
f o r a s Mark C l a r k m a i n t a i n s : " T i s a t a l e n t t h e Lord h à s
m e r c i f u l l y bestowed on u s , a n d we o u g h t n o t t o n e g l e c t i t "
( 2 8 3 ) . A t t h e same t i m e h e u n d e r l i n e s t h e d i s t a n c e be tween
h i r n s e l f a n d nis b e n e f a c t o r , r e f e r r i n g t o "a q r e a t g a f f e r
l i k e t h e Lord . "
T h e major c h a r a c t e r s more o f t e n regard F a t e o r N a t u r e
o r some s o r t of j u s t d e s t i n y a s t h e c o n t r o l l i n g f o r c e of
t h e i r l i v e s . B a t h s h e b a , f o r example , i s d e p i c t e d a s a n
unacknowledged pagan:
A l t h o u g h s h e s c a r c e l y knew t h e divinity's name,
Diana was che g o d d e s s whom B a t h s h e b a i n s t i n c t i v e l y
a d o r e d . ( 2 7 3 )
Her i d e n t i f i c a t i o n w i t h t h e g o d d e s s o f b o t h c h a s t i t y and tne
h u n t may r e p r e s e n t h e r d e s i r e f o r t h e c o n t r s l which h e r
" d e s t i n e d " c i r c u r n s t a n c e s do n o t p e r m i t .
On ly on one occas ion d o e s Hardy d e p i c t any s o r t of
o r t h o d o x r e l i q i o u s b e l i e f on t h e p a r t of t h e major
c h a r a c t e r s : upon t h e d e a t h of Fanny Robin, Gabr ie l k n e e l s t o
p r a y . L a t e r , when B a t h s h e b a i s d i s t r e s s e d o v e r her
d i s c o v e r y of F a n n y ' s baby, s h e k n e e l s i n a n e f f o r t t o
compose h e r s e l f : "Whether from a p u r e l y m e c h a n i c a l , o r £rom
a n y o t h e r cause, when B a t h s h e b a rose, i t was w i t b a q u i e t e r
s p i r i t . . . " ( 2 9 6 ) . The i m p l i c i t i r o n y of Hardy 's a s s e s s r n e n t
of prdyer i i i i i i b i F f i ~ t d Ï ~ t e i 3 f ü ï t k i ~ i ~û;;ip:i~ütCid hy hi^
description of Troy's reaction to seeing Fanny in the
coffin:
What Troy did was to sink upon his knees with
an indefinable union of remorse and reverence
upon his face, and bending over Fanny Robin,
qently kissed her, as one would an infant asleep
to avoid waking it. ( 2 9 8 )
The ambiguity which Hardy expresses reqardinq the efficacy
of prayer is typical of his treatment of God throughout rne
work. Since Hardy clearly intends the audience to respect
Gabriel, it would appear that his prayer is admirable as, in
this instance at least, are t he seeningly sincere actions of
Troy. Yet Hardy suqgests that Bathsheba's prayer rnay be
effective for "purely mechanical" reasons.
The final words of the novel are given to one of the
rustics, Joseph Poorqrass, who acts as an ironic paraqon of
religious fervour throuqhout the narrative. His allusion to
the biblical book of Hosez suggests that Gabriel has married
a pagan: "Ephraim is joined to idols: let him alone."
However, his concluding sentiment has a flavour of "All's
well that ends well" that dirninishes the ominousness of the
previous comment: "But since 'tis as 'tis, why it might have
been worse, and 1 feel my thanks accordinqly" (399).
The suggestion of a qualified success or a compromised
cr iu rnpn i s ci r i i i i f i j 2ïidiiiij f ~ ï Zi ;lû-<s: ;kL2r2 th^ ù ü t h û ~
argues in favour of indifference, and yet many critics see
the "happy endinq" for Bathsheba and Gabriel as the work's
chief flaw, speculating that the " f a l s e quality" (Kramer 4 5 )
is a result of Hardy's pandering to reader expectations.
Yet the ending is a very apt one when considered in light of
Hardy's "redemption" of his characters: those who are not
destroyed by the act of asserting their wills aqainst that
of a higher power are frequently given a sort of
"consolation prize" in lieu of cheir actual desires.
The quality of "mediated happiness" which Hardy
provides for these protagonists presages subsequent works,
such as The Woodlanders and The Well Belovea, where those
wno relinquish or adapt their desire are permitted to
survive the defeat of their will. After their initial
battering at Fate's hands, neither Gabriel nor Bathsheba has
the temerity to express "will" again; instead they convince
chemselves that what Fate has provided is actually what they
"desire. "
C h a p t e r 2 - The Hand of Ethelberta
The Hand of Ethelberta, though Hardy it dismisses as
a "light work", still centres around the protagonist's
perception of Fate. Unlike some of his creations, however,
Ethelberta is able to separate her will £rom her desire.
Her will is altruistic in that she strives to achieve
security and education for her extensive family. Her
desire, however, is another thing entirely. Ethelberta must
suppress her desire for Christopher Julian in order to
achieve her stated goal, and in this she is successful.
Again, as in the case of "the indifferentist" Gabriel Oak,
Ethelberta succeeds largely because of her indifference to
the outcome of her efforts. She likens her pursuits to a
garne £rom which she may withdraw rather than lose.
The opening image of the hawk and the duck is a most
apt symbol for the struggles of Ethelberta, by whose hand
the events of the story are orchestrated. The duck's wiles
in escaping his more powerful would-be killer reflect the
skillful sleight of hand of the heroine who, despite her low
birth, manages to control and choreograph the behaviour of
those who are her social "superiors." On the other hand, it
is equally possible to identify Ethelberta with the pursuing
hawk, whose desire is slightly out of reach - temporarily at
least.
A l t h o u g h Hardy's d i s c l a i m e r a t t h e b e g i n n i n g of t h e
n o v e l p r o p o s e s a l i g h t - h e a r t e d t a l e "produced a s a n
i n t e r l u d e be tween s t o r i e s of more s o b e r d e s i g n " ( v ) , t h e
hand of Hardy i s c l e a r i y p r r s e n t i n t h e m a n i p u l a t i o n s o f
" F a t e " a s w e l i . Nowhere else i n h i s works i s a c h a r a c t e r
g i v e n s u c h a " f r e e hand" i n d e r e r m i n i n g h e r Ea t e . I n t h i s
c a s e , Hardy i n s t r u c t s c n a n c e , F a t e , time, and e v e n t h e
wearher t o f a v o u r , r a t h e r t h a n oppose, h i s c h a r a c t e r ' s w i l l .
A s i s t h e c a s e f o r many of H a r d y ' s works, c r i t i c s we re
and c o n t i n u e t o be undec ided a s t o i t s m e r i t . An anonymous
r e v i e w i n t h e London S p e c t a t o r m a i n t a i n s : "A more
e n t e r t a i n i n g book h a s n o t baen w r i t t e n f o r many y e a r s . "
Edmund G o s s e , l o n g - t i m e f r i e n d and confidante o f Hardy ,
numbers T h e Hand o f E t h e l b e r t a along w i t h Two on a Tower a s
t h e w r i t e r ' s " w o r s t " b o o k s . R i c h a r d C a r p e n t e r , writinq i n
more modern times, a d m i r e s the s t r e n g t h of E t h e l b e r t a ' s
c h a r a c t e r :
E t h e l b e r t a h e r s e l f d o m i n a t e s t h e n o v e i t o a
greater extent t h a n a n y o t h e r p r o t a g o n i s t of
H a r d y ' s e x c e p t Michael Henchard and . . . w e c a n
o n l y r e g r e t t h a t Hardy wasted s u c h a p o t e n t i a l l y
m a g n i f i c e n t c h a r a c t e r on s u c h a t r i v i a l s u b j e c t .
( C a r p e n t e r 54 )
A l t h o u g h he a g r e e s t h a t i t is "one of h l s l e a s t i n g r a t i a t i n g
wor~s'!, d s ~ e r i - s i i ~ d i if Z p ï d ~ k~âd ïïtâd~ t k ~ ~ ~ û ï k ù
tragedy, it might have been: "...one of our most effective
studies of Victorian social prejudice and discrimination"
{Carpenter 57). In terms of its structural unity, a survey
in New Quarterly Magazine - in October, 1879, ranks The Hand
of Ethelberta as the equal of Hardy's other works:
The story has of course no thrilling interest b ~ t
it excites a lively curiosicy which is sustained
almost to the end; and as an instance of the
author's construction skill, it is inferior to
nothing he has written. (New Quarterly Magazine,
October 1879)
The unnamed reviewer goes on to suggest, like Corpenter,
that Ifif the novel could be taken seriously," it would be
very potent social criticism.
Of the works considered in this study The Hand of
Ethelberta is the lsast Fate-driven. The obvious reason for
this is that the novel's heroine is actually the dziving
force behind the actions of most of the characters, so that
lit~le happens by "chance" or "accident." When F a t e appears
to intervene in the events of the plot, ir is usually
through the device of timing, and only once through the
fcrcer of Mature. More significantly, the intervention of
Fate is usually to the advantage of the heroine's express
purpcse; rather than resisting her will, it may be secn to
~ Ù v ~ ~ I I L ~ üi ~üppûït It .
The a m b i g u i t y which a p p e a r s t h r o u g h o u t t h e work l i e s i n
t h e c h a r a c t e r o f E t h e l b e r t s h e r s e l f . AS p r e v i o u s l y s t a t e d ,
s h e i s a b l e t o a c h i e v e h e r e x p r e s s p u r p o s e , and i n s o d o i n g
c r e a t e a " s u c c e s s f u l " l i f e , l a r g e l y based on h e r own r e a s o n
and pragmat ism. However, i t a p p e a r s i n rnany i n s t a n c e s t h a t
ber e m o t i m a l s e l f , which i s s u b l i m a t e d , would p r e f e r a f a r
d i f f e r e n t outcorne.
To t h e ex ren t t h a t s h e governs h e r a c t i o n s by
i n t e l l i g e n c e r a t h e r t h a n emot ion, E t h e l b e r t a r e s e m b l e s
G a b r i e l Oak. I n h e r r e a d i n e s s f o r wha tever F a t e o f f e r s s h e
de rnons t ra te s t h e same pragmatiçm a s h e . ut i n t h e f i n a l
a n a l y s i s , because s h e s e e s h e r s e l f a s a p i v o t a l p o i n t i n
b o t h her own u n i v e r s e and t h a t of h e r f a m i l y , s h e i s u n a b l e
t o t o t a l l y s h a r e t h e " i n d i f f e r e n c e " of G a b r i e l Oak, o r o f
c h a r a c t e r s l i k e Neigh i n h e r own n a r r a t i v e .
E a r l y i n n o v e l E t h e l b e r t a e x p l a i n s t h a t s h e is w i l l i n g
t0 engage i n h e r d a r i n g gamble because s h e h a s no f e a r a b o u t
i t s consequences :
Now 1 am g o i n g t o move f o r m y s e l f , and c o n s i d e r
t h a t 1 have a good chance o f s u c c e s s i n what 1
u n d e r t a k e , b e c a u s e o f an i n d i f f e r e n c e 1 f e e l a b o u t
s u c c e e d i n g which g i v e s t h e n e c e s s a r y c o o l n e s s t h a t
any g r e a t t a s k r e q u i r e s . ( 1 0 2 )
Al though t h e task i s " g r e a t , " h e r l a c k o f e m o t i o n a l
a t t a c n m e n c ::O ic removes ariy rra; p c ï ~ s ~ ~ l r i v k .
The i n d i f f e r e n c e s h e p r o f e s s e s i s t w o - i o l d : f i r s t , s h e
s e e s ner c h a l l e n g e a s " e x p e r i r n e n t a l , " and s e c o n d , s h e
r e a l i z e s t h a t t h e o b j e c t f o r which s h e s t r i v e s i s n o t a
m a t t e r o f l i f e o r d e a t h , b u t rnerely a m a t t e r o f e a s e and
cornfor t ; i t has a game- l ike q u a l i t y , a s e x p r e s s e d below. I f
h e r exper i rnent f a i l s , f o r wha tever r e a s o n , s h e rnay s i m p l y
wi thdraw from t h e c o r n p e t i t i o n :
L i f e i s a b a t t l e , t-hey Say; b u t i t i s o n l y s o i n t h e
s e n s e t h a t a game of c h e s s i s a b a t t l e - ~ h e r e i s no
s e r i o u s n e s s i n i t ; i t may be p u t an end t o a t any
i n c o n v e n i e n t moment by owning y o u r s e l i b e a t e n , w i t h a
c a r e l e s s "Ha-ha" and sweeping your pieces i n t o t h e box .
E x p e r i m e n t a l l y , 1 c a r e t o succeed i n s o c i e t y ; b u t a t
t h e bot tom of rny h e a r t , 1 d o n ' t c a r e . ( 1 3 1 - 2 )
Al though "sweeping your p i e c e s i n t o t h e box" rnay mean
a c t u a i l y wi thdrawing from l i f e , pe rhaps t h r o u g h s u i c i d e , i t
a p p e a r s t n a t E t h e l b e r t a rnay i n s t e a d be r e f e r r i n g t o a
w i t h d r a w a l from t h e l i f e of s o c i e t y and a r e t u r n t o h e r
anonyrnous b e g i n n i n g s , a rnove s h e c o n t e m p l a t e s a t d a r k e r
moments.
Her l a c k of r e g a r d f o r "winning" on t h e w o r l d ' s t e r m s
i s a n echo of a p r e v i o u s s e n t i m e n t of t h a t q u i n t e s s e n t i a l
i n d i f f e r e n t i s t , A l f r e d Neigh:
Everybody i s s o t a l e n t e d now-a-days t h a t t h e o n l y
p o n p l ~ T r a r e i - . ~ honour a s d e s e r v i n a r e a l d i s t i n c t i o n
are those who rernain i n o b s c u r i t y . ( 7 2 )
His own i n d i f f ~ r e n c e p r o t e c t s him from risk; it a l s o
p r e v e n t s hirn £rom a t t a i n i n g t h e p r i z e d hand of E t h e l b e r t a .
Neigh's b l a s é u t t e r a n c e may be the key to the g r e a t e r
success o f s u c h n o v e l s a s The Woodlanders and J u d e ; the
u n f u l f i l l e d d e s i r e s of cha rac te r s who a c t u a l l y c a r e a b o u t
w i n n i n g a n d l o s i n g , o r a t t h e v e r y l e a s t , s u c c e e d i n g , c r e a t e
much g r e a t e r t e n s i o n f o r t h e r e a d e r , and t h e r e f o r e more
engagemen t w i t h t h e c h a r a c t e r s . C h a r a c t e r s s u c h a s
E t h e l b e r t a and Jocelyn F i t z p l e r s c r e a t e no t r u e tension f o r
t h e r e a d e r i n t h a t t h e y themselves f e e l no t r u e d e s i r e t o
" w i n " or " s ü c c e e d , " s i n c o t h e y h a v e no r e a l f e a r of f a i l u r e .
Even C h r i s t o p h e r J u l i a n , who is t h e mos t c o n v e n t i o n a l l y
e m o t i o n a l o f a l 1 rhe c h a r û c t e r s i s , a t h e a r t , a p r a g m a t i s t .
H i s i n i t i a l d i s a p p o i n t m e n t a t b r e a k u p o f his romance w i t h
E t h e l b e r t a i s o v e r s h a d o n e d by t h e d e a t h o f h i s f a t h e r and
r e s u l t a n t "famliy c o l l a p s e " 1 1 4 ) :
... it i s a blessed a r r a n g e m e n t t h a t o n e d o e s n o t
f e e l a s e n t i m e n t a l g r i e f a t a l 1 when a d d i t i o n a l
g r i e f cornes i n t h e s h a p e cf p r a c t i c a l m i s f o r r u n e .
( 201
The s t r a n g e pragmatism which p e r v a d e s a l 1 o f the c h a r a c t e r s
i s perhaps b e s t e x p l a i n e d by a c o n s c i o u s n e s s t h a t v i c t o r y
and d e f e a t a r e o f t e n , i n H a r d y ' s w o r l d , m e r e l y a matter o f
t i m i n n ~ e r y r ~ ~ ~ frnm W y n r l w a y ! - i n ~ i s ~ w h n d i rncts ,T i11 i a n Y '
into the house remarks on a painting depicting the death of
an ancestor of the family "who was kilied in the battle of
Salamanca at the moment of victory":
When 1 am in one of my meditations, as 1 wait here
with the carriage sometimes, 1 think how many more get
killed at the moment of victory than at the moment
of defeat. ( 3 7 )
The idea of tragedy and comedy being, not worlds apart, but
mere seconds apart, recurs elsewhere in Hardy. The
servant's meditations may also refer to the irony inherent
in a victory which arrives "too iate." In either scenario
his words evoke the central ambiguity of the novel.
From another perspective, Ethelberta may be exempt from
the whims of Fate because she is herself Fate personified.
Her "hand" directs the course of the narrative as surely as
Hardy writes it. At t h2 dance where Julian plays, he
remarks to his s i s t e r on his sense of an external
controlling force: "1 have a feeling of being moved about
like a puppet in the hands of a person who legally can be
nothing to me" (40). Faith herself sees Ethelberta's sudden
reappearance in her brother's life as an unwelcome twist of
fate, although she does not know or recognize her:
. . . she [goes] on . . . ta theorize upon this gratuitously charming woman, who, striking
t o do him no qood. . . ( 4 4 )
The n o t i o n o f E t h e l b e r t a a s an e t h a r e a l f o r c e r a t h e r t h a n
a n i n d i v i d u a l i s v o i c e d by Mrs. Napper a t a Hyde Park P a r t y ,
i n r e s p o n s e t o t h e s u g g e s t i o n t h a t s h e h a s a "good
p r o s p e c t " :
Yes; and i t i s t h r o u g h h e r b e i n g o f t h a t c u r i o u s l y
u n d e f i n e d c h a r a c t e r which i n t e r p r e t s i t s e l f t o
e a c h a d m i r e r a s whatever he would l i k e t o have i t .
(77)
I n more mundane terms, E t h e l b e r t a h a s s u c h t o t a l c o n ~ r o l of
b o t h h e r emct ions and h e r c h a r a c t e r a s t o p r e s e n t e x a c t l y
t h e image which i s d e s i r a b l e i n e a c h s i t u s t i o n .
J u l i a n ' s w i l l , on t h e o t h e r hand , i s overcome by a
p r o f o u n d s e n s e of pess imism, which o f t e n p roduces a s o r t o f
l e t h a r g y . When he a r r i v e s a t E t h e l b e r t a ' s London a d d r e s s , he
seems ready t o g i v e up: " . . . no Lamp shone from t h e f a n l i g h t
o v e r t h e door - a s p e c i a l i t y which, i f he c a r e d f o r omens,
was h a r d l y encourag ing" ( 9 0 ) . D e t e r r e d by t h i s omen from
f u r t h e r a c t i o n , he d o e s n o t approach t h e house a g a i n f o r a
c o u p l e of d a y s , o n l y t o d i s c o v e r t h a t E t h e l b e r t a and Lady
P e t h e r w i n have gone t o F rance . When he f i n a l l y manages t o
t r a c e h e r t o h e r f a m i l y hzme a t Arrowthorne , he f e e l s a s i f
he h a s been t h e object of a t r i c k :
UnabLe, l i k e many o t h e r p e o p l e , t o e n j o y b e i n g
s a t i r i z e a i n woras because u f iiie i ~ ~ i i a i i u ~ i ii
caused hirn as the aimed-at victim, he sometimes
had philosophy enough to appreciate satire of
circumstance, because nobody intended it. (97)
That his overall outlook is gloomy he attributes to
"reason," explaining that an intelligent man is constantly
aware of an impending mischance:
It is from a more general cause: sirnply an
underfeeling I have that at tne most propitious
moment the distance to the possibility of
misfortune is so short that a man's spirits must
not r i se higher than mere cheerfulness cut of bare
respect to his insight. (97)
This sense of victory and defeat, joy and sorrow as being
closely related echoes the servant's earlier thoughts, and
typifies Julian's world-view. It also accounts for the
reader's failure to engage with him to the point of actually
caring about his success.
Ethelberta herself refuses to consider him as a
possible suitor because of his lack of "prospects," and yet
there are several occasions where Julian might actually have
captured hec interest by exhibiting more "desirl:." Perhaps
the best example of this is the case of the ill-timed
letter. After Ethelberta has "severed" romzntic relations
with Julian for the second time, he sends a letter proposing
to visit her at halt-past slx, to "say k'arewell." Since he
believes it will be too late when she receives the letter
for her to reply, he will assume her permission. Ethelberta
is annoyed by his presumption, and sends him a letter
forbidding him to come - but she does not expect him to
actually receive her reply. The Royal Mail service being
substantially more prompt than Canada Post, however,
Ethelberta finds that her missive has the overtly desired
effect; that is, Julian receives her instruction and, as
most people do, conforms with her express will.
Ethelberta's reaction gives insight into her "real" wiil:
. . . a dread was filling her: her letter might actually have had, in addition to the moral effect
which she had intended, the practical effect which
she did not intend, by arriving before, instead of
after, his purposed visit to her, thoreby stopping
him in s p i t e of al1 her care. ( 1 6 3 )
It is difficult at this juncture tc pcrceive whether
Ethelberta is more perturbed by missing the visit or by the
fact that her plan has gone awry. The word "dread" lends
significance to an apparently frivolous gesture, revealing
that Ethelberta truly wishes Christopher to visit, despite
her written claims to the contrary.
Irony in the form of circumstances also plaques Julian,
and through him, Picotee. That the meeting of the two has
been orchestrated by Ethelberta adds to the image of
E t h e l b e r t a as F a t e . P i c o t e e ' s s u b m i s s i o n of ber w i l l t o ber
o l d e r s i s t e r ' s c r e a t e s p r o b a b l y t h e o n l y r e a l i n s t a n c e o f
f r u s t r a t e d d e s i r o i n t h e n a r r a t i v e :
T h i s a r r o n q e m e n t , by which s h e g a i n e d a n
u n t r o u b l e d e x i s t e n c e i n exchange f o r h e r f r e e w i l l
had worked v e r y p l e a s ô n r l y f o r P i c o t e e u n t i l ~ h e
anomaly of f a l l i n g i n l o v e on h e r own a c c o u n t
c r e a t e d a j a r i n t h e rnach ine ry . ( 1 3 8 )
P i c o t e e ' s n a i v e t e seerns t o r e p r e s e n t h e r e n t i r e f a m i l y ' s
r e l u c t a n c e t o oppose t h e "hand o f E t h e l b e r t a . " When
E t h e l b e r t a l e a r n s of P i c o t e e ' s f e e l i n g s f o r J u l i a n , s h e
a c k n o w l e d g e s i t o h e r s e l f ) t h a t : " . . . t h e i n t e n d e d ways o f
h e r l i f e were b l o c k e d and broken up b y t h i s j a r of
i n t e r e s t s . . . " 1 1 7 3 ) . Tt i s s i g n i f i c a n t t h a t b o t h P i c o t e e
a n d E t h e l b e r t a r e g a r d t h i s p r o b l e m a s a " j a r i n t h e
m a c h i n e r y " ; i t s u q q e s t s thât t r u e d e s i r e , based on e m o t i o n ,
h a s no p l a c e i n t h e i n t e l l e c t - d r i v e n w i l l o f E t h e l b e r t a .
S i n c e t h e p h r a s e o c c u r s i f i t h e n a r r a t i o n , r a c h e r c h a n
i n d i a l o g u e , it may p o i n t t o a d e l i b e r a t e e x p e r i m e n t on
H a r d y ' s p a r t . "What would happen" h e a p p e a r s t o a s k , " i f a
c h a r a c t e r were a l m o s t c o m p l e t e l y r e s p o n s i b l e f c r h e r own
fate?" T h e a n s w e r f o r many H a r d y ' s c r i t i c s i s t h a t s h e
would f a i l t o e n g a g e h e r a u d i e n c e .
T h e o t h e r p l a y e r s i n E t h e l b e r t a ' s garne o f c h e s s seen
e q u a l l y s u b j e c t t o t h e s t o r y - t e l l e r ' s w i l l . A l t h o u g h
Laaywell and Neigh seem reluctant to act, or even incapable
of asserting their own wills to obtain their desires, each
of them professes his interest in marrying Ethelberta. The
men whom Ethelberta overhears at the exhibit of Ladywell's
portrait feel that since Neigh has expressed his intention,
it is virtually a fait iiccompli:
"Some men, you see, with extravagant expectations
of thernselves, cooly ger them gratified, while
others hope rationally and are disappointed.
Luck, that's what it is. And the more easily a
man takes life the more perçistently does luck
follow hirn."
"Of course; because if he's industrious he does
not want luck's assistance. Natural laws will
help hirn instead." (193)
Whether Neigh is doomed to failurr because of his lack of
industry in pursuit of his intention, or whether Ethelberta
acts as nemesis to the hubris of his desire is unclear. Her
reaction is similar to that in the incident of the mis-timed
letter:
She was piqued into a practical undertaking by the
man who could Say to his friend with such
sangfroid, "1 mean to rnarry that lady." (197)
Ethelberta's visit to Neigh's country estate leaves her
horrified by its desolation, and somewhat repulsed by its
owner:
But for many other reasons she had been gradually
feeling within this hour that she would not go out
of her way at a beck £rom a man whose interest was
so unimpassioned. (200)
She acknowledges her attraction to him based on the fact
that he is "handsome, grim-natured, rather wicked, and an
indifferentist" (201), but believes that she and Meigh are
"tao nearly cattle of one colour" (201) for him to accept
the "matter of lineage," concluding that "the antipathy of
resemblance would be ineradicable" (201). Ethelberta's seems
unaware of her irony in rejecting a fellow indifferentist on
the basir of a shared lack of passion; however, she is
pragmatic as always in her recognition that their classes
are too close for him to disregard the difference.
Ladywell is never a serious contender for the "hand" of
Ethelberta. Mis indolence may represent a true lack of
"will" or may serve as a foi1 to Ethelberta's industry,
which refuses to submit readily to an apparent "Fate." He
att~ibutes his poor prospects in this regard to the "stars":
"1 am glad to hear that your star is higher than mine"
(218). These words to Neigh signify Ladywell's witharawal
from the "game" and his relegation to the role of spectator.
In his subsequent appearances in the narrative, his presence
has no significant effect on the course of events.
Ethelberta's family members are consistently ready
to defer to her, perhaps because of her education, but more
likely because of her forceful will. Yet her mother has
prophetic misgivings as to the safety of her course, iearing
that Ethelberta's background will be "found out":
People will find you out as one of a family of
servants, and their pride will be stung at having
gone CO hear your romancing; then they will go no
more, and what will happen to us and the poor
litcle ones? ( 1 7 8 )
This "lament" prompts Ethelberta to develop a "contingency
plan," in which she will pursue "The way of rnarriaqe" ( 1 8 3 ) .
When Picoiee remarks on the cold-blcodedness of her
intention E t h e l b e r t a replies, with a reference to
scriptures, "1 had no such intention. But havinq once put
my hand to ~ h e plow, how shall 1 turn back?" (183). Her
father displays a similar devotion to her prospective
elevation, despite its possible social and moral hazards:
"As 1 s a i d before, you chose your course. You have begun to
fly high, and you had better keep there" ( 2 3 2 ) .
It is in this course, however, that the first, and
perhaps the only real inkling of a possibly adverse Fate
appears. The farnily comments with resignation on the
inappropriate affection young Joey feels for a much clder
woman. The coincidence of this woman's being the ubiquitous
Menlove signals impending dcom for the Chickerel family:
"The idea of the boy singling out her - why it is ruin to
him, to me, and to us all" ( 2 3 4 ! ! Although the term "ruin"
suggests a genuine fear of disaster to her plans,
Ethelberta's previous statement regarding the game-like
nature of her undertakings deprives the statement of serious
threat. On a pragmatic level, as Kramer suggests, the
Chickerel family is not elevated in stature, and therefore
can have no great fall.
Rather than "ruining" Ethelberta, however, the chance
of Menlove's discovering her real identity actually makes
her more desirable in the eyes of the very sort of man whom
she feels she must marry, Lord Mountclere:
. . . the scion of some farnily, hollow and fungcus
with antiquity, and as yet unmarked by m~salliance,
[who might] . . . be won over by her story.. . (197) In plotting to maintain ber social success, and family
security Ethelberta aligns herself in a curious way wich
Macbeth:
What, seeing the precariuusness of her state, was
the day's triunph worth after all, unless, before
her beauty abated, she could ensure her position
against the attacks of chance?
To be thus is nothing;
But to be safely thus.(271-2)
Whether she believes herself to be equal in ambition to the
character she quotes, or fears the same defeat, is not
clear, and this indicates yec another ambiguity in
Ethelberta's own character. This insight does, however,
create some tension in the otherwise indifferent Ethelberta.
When Lord Mountclere learns of Ethelberta's true identity
through Menlove's plotting, his reaction is genuine
amusement; Mountclere is clearly an appreciator of irony,
and a first-class plotter in his own right:
Cut down my elms to please a butler's daughter
what a joke - certainly a good joke! To interest
me on the r iokit side inscead of the wrong side was
strange. But it can be made to change sides -
heehee! - it can be made to change sides! (276)
His ardour for the servant's daughter, with its sociai
taboos, is greater than his conventional desire for the
society matron. Because of Mountclere's dissipated nature,
the illicit thrill oi his desire "on the wrong side" compels
him to pursue that which should be outside his reach. Thus
Fate appears to favour the indifferentist Ethelberta.
The visit of Ethelberta and Mountclere to the top of
the cathedra1 tower to admire the "prospect" at f i r s t seems
destined for frustration because of the dense fog.
Ethelberta's intentional double entendre suggests that
Mountclere, too, will be frustrated in his efforts to secure
her "hand":
" We have lost our labour; there is no prospect for
you, after all, Lord Mountclere . . . . . . . Shall we
descend, and own ourselves disappointed?"
"Whatever you choose." (295)
Lord Mountclere's indifference, and his süggestion that he
defers to her "choice," appears to turn Fate in his favour,
for before they begin their descent, the fog lifts, enabling
them to see their "prospect."
In tne meanwhile a comic turn of F a t e has provided
another potential "mischance" for Ethelberta. Her p r e -
arranged visit with Nr. Neigh is complicated by the
simultaneous arrival of Ladywell, and Mountclere's
insistence that his rnust see her ogain that day. Ethelberta
again distances herself from her predicament by quoting a
verse from Hosea:
"She shall follcw after her lovers, but she shall
not overtake them; and she shall seek them, but
shall not find them; then she shall say, 1 will go
and retürn to my first" - however, that's no
matter. ( 3 0 2 )
Believing that her background will soon be revealed to
London society, she teils both Ladywell and Neigh to wait a
month before seeking a reply to their proposals. By chance
they observe the arrival or Mountciere, ana iearn c n a c n e
has been given the same delaying response as themselves.
Naturally the two younger men are disgusted by Ethelberta's
treatment, and resolve to sever their acquaintance with her.
The resultant havoc in her romantic prospects causes
Ethelberta to develop yet another "contingency plan": she
will train to be a schoolmistress, and eventually acquire a
school for herself and Picotee. She tells her mother:
1 am sick of ambition. My only longing now is
to fly from Society altogether, and go to any
hovel on earth where 1 can be at peace. (315)
Despite her "longing" for peace, for withdrawal £rom the
game, Ethelberta soon returns to her intention to "marry
well." She refuses to consider the option of marrying for
happiness:
But once having decided to pass over Christopher
Julian, whom she loved, there could be no pausing
for Ladywell because she liked him, or for Neigh
in that she was influenced by him. (318)
In other words, since she is not to fulfill her most heart-
felt desire by marrying Julian, she will not be put off her
course by marrying these others who are both "too near her
level to be trusted to bear the shock" (318); instead she
must adhere to her intention of attaching herself to an old
family - such as that of Mountclere.
In an interlude which must surely have been a moment or
self-satire, Hardy has Ethelberta formally attempt to
establish her philosophy. Like the author himself,
Ethelberta attempts a loqical and systematic approach to a
thorny philosophical problem, finding in the readings a
justification for her acts. In her pragmatic search she
first examines "a well-known treatise on Utilitarianism"
(318) in an effort to settle "the marriage question." From
it she concludes that her duty to act as a "benefactor" to
the Chickerel clan supersedes her right to persona1
happiness. Her megalomania in assuming that she is the "one
in a thousand" who is callod on to make a sacrifice for the
"public utility" is perhaps an act of hubris, for the
narrator interjects, in a manner reminiscent of the
description of Gabriel's sheepdog (Far From the Madding
Crowd), on the folly of being driven by "logic":
By a sorry but unconscious misapplication of sound and
wide reasoning did the active mind of Ethelberta thus
find itself solace. (319)
The narrator sugqests that her conclusion about her duty is
erroneous, but Ethelberta herself is comforted by her
reasoning. Having satisfied herself about the "loqic" of
the choice, she must now convince herself of its moral
soundness, so she turns to "An old treatise on Casuistry"
which falls open, conveniently, to a chapter on the doctrine
of reserve. Despite the book's rullnq tnat the "iesser aucy
would yield to the greater," she finds herself unable to
accept this justification, and determines to reveal the
truth to Mountclere. Again the narrator remarks ironically
on the progress of Ethelberta:
Yet Ethelberta's grzdient had been reqular . . . from soft and playful Romanticism to distorted Benthamism.
Was the moral incline up or downl ( 3 2 1 )
The narratorts ironizing o f Ethelberta's specious logic
calls attention to the idea that she has no intention of
being instrücted; inscead she is determined to find what she
is looking for - affirmation of her will.
From this point forward, Rardy introduces many
incidents which he would likelÿ term "crass casualty."
Plans are left unfulfilled through the intervention of
"accidents," which mainly result £rom "dicing Time." The
first such incident is the proposed visit of Christopher
Julian, whose arriva1 might have Fnfluenced Ethelberta to
change her mind, His happening upon the carriage-accident in
which Mountclere is injured prevents his visit. Ethelberta
rernains firm in her resclve to marry the old Lord.
After Ethelberta's "story" of her lifc, which
Mountclere recognizes as trüe, the narriage aate is seL
quite soon, presumably because Mountclere and Ethelberta
believe she will renege on her prcmise if given time to
reconsider. Nonetheless, Mountclere tests ner o y invicinq
her to attend an organ recital of Christopher Julian's.
Ethelberta's misery at seeing Julian is tempered by her
anger at Mountclere's scheming; even now it is clêar that
she is prepared to subordinate her "desire" to her "will."
In ceding to Mountclere's wish for a prompt wedding,
Etheiberta uses his desire to advance her own plans for
Julian and her sister Picotee. To Mountclere she vows:
Could you but ensure a marriage between her and
him . . . 1 would do anything that you wish. . . .
But remember what lies on your side of contract.
1 fancy 1 have given you a task beyona your
powers. (350)
Her implication that her promise may be withdrawn if
Mountclere reneges on his "side of the contract" is another
instance where Ethelberta's allows a margin of possibility
for her desire, rather than her will, to be satisfied.
Her attitude to the pending nuptials is very atypical.
When Mountclere tells her "Two days and you will be mine",
her reply borders on the despondent: "That 1 believe 1 shall
never be. . . . Some Catastrophe will prevent it. 1 shall be
dead perhapsU(351). The almost superstitious attitude of
Ethelberta is not expiained through any narrative device,
but it invites speculation. Perhaps she fears that Fate,
which has for al1 intents and purposes acted in her favour,
- 7 II wili now turn against nerf cnwar~ing ber d p p d ~ e ~ ~ i ' ' w ~ L L .
L i k e G a b r i e l Oak, s h e may s i m p l y be r e l u c t a n t t o " c o u n t " on
a n y p o s s i b i l i t y . A n o t h e r i n t e r p r e t a t i o n a l s o p r e s e n t s
i t s e l f : s h e may be a s s e r t i n g t h a t s h e w i l l n e v e r be " h i s " i n
t h e s e n s e t h a t M o u n t c l e r e i n t e n d s ; i n O t h e 1 words , she w i l l
Ildie Il b e f o r e s u b l i m a t i n g h e r w i l l t o h i s . F i n a l l y , i t may
a c t u a l l y b e a t y p e o f f a l s e f o r e s h a d o w i n g on t h e p a r t o f t h e
a u t h o r , t o m a i n t a i n s u s p e n s e i n t h e e p i s o d e s which
f o l l o w , whe re , i f t h e " w i l l " o f t h e o t h e r c h a r a c t e r s
p r e v a i l s , E t h e l b e r t a may b e p r e v e n t e d f rom m a r r y i n g Lord
M o u n t c l e r e .
I n a n y c a s e , Hardy d i r e c t s F a t e t o o n c e a g a i n a l l o w
E t h e l b e r t a t o c o m p l e t e h e r p r o p o s e d c o u r s e . The e f f o r t s o f
f a m i l y members a n d s u i t o r s t o f o r e s t a l l t h e m a r r i a g e a r e
more s u i t e d , p e r h a p s , t o a bedroom f a r c e . The o v e r t
t h e a t r i c a l i t y o f t h e c h a s e i s r e m i n i s c e n t o f "At t h e Sheep
F a i r " i n F a r From t h e Madding Crowd, where t h e r e a d e r i s
c o n s c i o u s t h a t t h e e v e n t i s " s t a g e d " by F a t e . A t e v e r y t u r n
t h e would-be r e s c u e r s a r e f o i l e d by c h a n c e , i n t h e f o r m o f
bad t i m i n g , u n e x p e c t e d d e l a y s , and i n c l e m e n t w e a t h e r . Hardy
s u g g e s t s t h a t t h e i r f a i l u r e may be d u e t o a n e x c e s s o f
p a s s i o n . M r . C h i c k e r e l h a s t o l d E t h e l b e r t a t h a t h e n o u l d
r a t h e r see h e r d e a d t h a n m a r r i e d t o M o u n t c l e r e . C h r i s t o p h e r
J u l i a n i s warned b y h i s s i s t e r t h a t h e i s " t o o w a r m " :
- i t c a n n o t b e a s bad a s t h a t . I t is n o t t h e t h i n g ,
b u t t h e s e n s i t l v e n e s s t o t n e c n i n g , wnicn i s ne c r u e
measure of its pain. (362)
The importance which the various rescuers attach to their
mission seems to doom them to failure.
Sol and Montclere's brother propose to journey by rail,
which would have been a surer means but "Accident, however,
deterrnine[s] otherwise" (381). They are persuaded by
another traveller to take the boat to expedite their trip.
Again, chance intervenes: "Some unforeseen incident delayed
the boat ..." (381). When the boat finally arrives, the
weather turns, making the voyage difficult, if not
impossible. The vessel's captain, out of fear of hubris,
refuses to guarantee her arrival: "We1ll do what we can.
But no one must boast"(382). His fear of "boasting" that his
will is equal to the stronger elements of Nature is typical
of the "successful" characters in Hardy's works. The news
that his wife has safely given birth removes his desire to
reach his home port, so he rurns the ship around.
Ethelberta's wedding clothes are aboard the ship thac is not
able to land, but she regards the incident with typical
sangfroid. As she discusses her marriage to Mountclere with
Picotee, she voices some reservations about her intended
groom, but in the end concludes:
. . . 1 have seen marriages neither joyful nor sorry,
that have become as accident forced them to become,
- - the persons naving no voice in it aE ail. weiï, t h e ~ ~ ,
why should 1 be afraid to make a plunge when chance is
as trustworthy as calculation. (391)
While Ethelberta awaits her fate dispassionately, Sol
and Mountclere continue to struggle against time. Mountclere
rejects the suggestion of meeting the mailtrain: "We'll
have nothing more to do with chance" (394). Their journey
is once again delayed by Sol's "contingency plan" of hiring
horses £rom a friend who lives in Flychett. They are forced
to stay the night and, ndturally, oversleep. The urgency of
their desire seems to doom them to mischance.
Chickerel and Julian appear to have better "luck" in
their haste, but they, too, are delayed by the "accident" of
their collision with Mountclere and Sol, with the result
that the whole group travels along the shore to Knollsea.
The sea is personified as an agent of Fate: "The element by
which they had been victirnized on the previous evening, now
smiled falsely to the low morning sun" (407-8). The sea's
false smile indicates its insincerity; clearly it is
complicit with Ethelberta in assisting her will.
Initially the would-be resruers believe they have
arrived in time, but upun examining the signatures in the
marriage registry, they observe that "The viscount's was
very dark, and not yet dried" (410). The clerk underlines
the irony of their bad timing by confirming: "It was over
. ^ . I
rlve minuces before you cdrne i r i " i r ~ ~ , .
Despite his obvious chagrin at this turn of events,
Ethelberta's father seems still to believe that ber
judgement is to be trusted:
Hence he had resolved to return at once to town
and there await the news, together with the
detailed directions as to his own future
movernents, carefully considered and laid aown,
which were to be given by the far-seeing
Ethelberta. (414)
Chickerel himself seems oblivious to the irony that he is
totally receptive to the plans of a woman whom, a few
moments eârlier, he had not trusted to choose her own
husband. He tells Sol "1 never believe in anything that
cornes in the shape of wonderful luck" (418), yet he decides
nonetheless to await further direction from the author of
that luck. The contradiction between Chickerel's actions
and his words underlines the force of Ethelberta's wili.
When Sol and Chickerel meet the Mountcleres' carriage
by chance on their return journey, they do not acknowledge
Ethelberta. Lacer, when she speaks to Sol at her new home,
his assessment thât she has "worked to false lines" (424)
causes a rare moment of self-doubt in Ethelberta which in
turn prompts her to wander about her husband's estate in an
effort to compose herself. She "happens" upon a small
coLtage, w.nicn sRe discuveLj ia Li-le 1- - - - -' " - - ' . - - " - - A l - L ~ W ~ L L C W L I ~ C L I I U J U ~ I L U 3
mistress. It no more t h a n this for ber to decide s h e
must leave Mountclere, and she constructs a rather cornplex
plan involving c r y p t i c notes and clandestine meetings.
For the first, and perhaps o n l y tlme, the hand of
Ethelberta fails, as s h e i s outmanoeuvred by h e r new husband
who intercepts h e r note to h e r brother and r e p l a c e s i~ with
one "written in imitation of Lady Mountclere's hand" ( 4 4 6 ) .
Ironically, when she believes h e r escape from he r home
is achieved "Happily, and as if by Providence" (4421, it is
in fact her husband's c o u n t e r p l o t which facilitates her
departure. Yet even this apparent failure becornes a success
for Ethelberta when h e r husband açrees , with litile
prompt ing , to dispatch h i s mistress. The r e s u i t a n t "truce"
reaffirms Ethelberta's e a r l i e r cornent that "L i f e is a
game" :
It was strategem against strategem. Mine was
lnqenious; yours was m a s t e r l y ! Accept my
acknowledgement. Ne will e n t e r upon an armed
neutrality. (447)
This statement marks the last time Ethelberta speaks for
herself in the course of t h e narrative.
Christopher Julian, irnagining himself h e r rescuer, sees
himself "put[ting] ber into the train, and bid[ding] her
adieu for ever." His romantic notions frustrated by her
f a l l u r e to a p p e a r , n e r e L u r n s iioliit! Lu dis cuva^ ilrai: lit: üiïd
F a i t h h a v e u n e x p e c t e d l y i n h e r i t e d a s m a l l a n n u a l incorne.
The t i m i n g o f t h e i n h e r i t a n c e seems f o r t u i t o u s ; a t l a s t h e
b e l i e v e s he may rernove h i m s e l f from t h e s p h e r e o f
E t h e l b e r t a ' s i n f l u e n c e .
S o t h e p l o t might have ended - t o e v e r y o n e ' s c o m p l e t e
s a t i s f a c ~ i o n , Save E t h e l b e r t a ' s . Hardy, however , i s
d e t e r m i n e d t h a t i f he must have a happy e n d i n g , i t w i l l b e
t h o r o u q h l y , i n a n e l y s o . When C h r i s t o p h e r J u l i a n r e t u r n s
f rom I t a l y , it i s r o d i s c o v e r h e no l o n g e r " d e s i r e s "
E t h e l b e r t a ; h e c a t c h e s a g l i m p s e of h e r p a s s i n g i n h e r
c a r r i a q e :
S h e l e s s e n e d i n h i s g a z e and was soon o u t of s i g h t .
He s t o o d a l o n g tirne t h i n k i n g ; b u t h e d i d n o t w içh h e r
h i s . I n t h i s wholesome f r ame of mind he p r o c e e d e d o n
h i s way, t h a n k f u l h e had e s c a p e d m e e t i n g h e r . ( 4 5 4 )
The d e s c r i p t i o n of h e r p h y s i c a l l y " l e s s e n i n g " i n h i s gaze
s u g g e s t s a c o r r e s p o n d i n g m e n t a l d i m i n i s h m e n t ; s h e no l o n g e r
h o l d s h i s a t t e n t i o n o r nis d e s i r e . However, s h e s t i l l i s
a b l e t o i n f l u e n c e h i s w i l l .
When he g o e s t o t h e C h i c k e r e l home, h e l e a r n s of
E t h e l b e r t a t h r o u g h h e r f a m i l y . I t seems t h a t s h e now h a s
t h e e n t i r e M o u n t c l e r e e s t a t e a n d i t s a p p u r t e n a n c e s b e n d i n g
t o h e r w i l l , h a v i n g s i n g l e - h a n d e d l y s a v e d h e r husband f rom
u n s c r u p u l o u s employees a n d g o u t . A s t o h e r " h a p p i n e s s "
t h e r e 1s no f u r t n e r e v i a e n c e . i o w t t v e r , i r i iiiz ~ u i i c i u d i i i y
episode, when Julian and Picotee decide to marry, there is a
guarantee of the satisfaction of her will.
In response to Christopher's doubts regarding their
financial security, Picotee assures him: "Berta will never
let us come to want. . . . She always gives me what is
necessary" i 4 5 9 ) . In the sarne way she replies to
Christopher's question concerning her father's permission:
"1 think he will be very g l a d . . . . Berta will, 1 know"
(459). Even in a b s e n t i a Ethelberta remains not only the
hand which guides the Chickerel family's fortune, but
Providence itself.
The conclusion is an obvious sop to the reading public,
but at the same time, it is a rather broad-sided blow to al1
those who were critical of Hzrdy's more pessimistic works.
Early in the narrative, Hardy dtpictç a "literary"
discussion in a drawing room. One of the ladies remarks:
Shakespeare is not everybody, and 1 am sure that
thousands of people who have seen those plays
would have driven home more cheerfully afterwards
if by some contrivance the characters could al1
have been joined together respectively. (56)
Here most assuredly is the very answer to the old lady's
desire. However, a delicious Hardian ambiguity rernains
unresolved: it is clear that Ethelberta's will has
p r e v a i l s d , b u t h a s s h ~ obtained t h e object o f h e r own
ciesire?
Chapter 3 - The Woodlanders
If Great Expectations is the "dark version" of David
Copperfield, then The Woodlanders is the dark twin of
Far From the Madding Crowd. In terms of atmosphere,
character, and consciousness of Fate, the novel is
infinitely more somber than Hardy's earlier work,
demonstrating a greater cognizance of what the author has
corne to describe as "the Unfulfilled Intention which makes
life what it is" (62).
In 1887 an unnamed reviewer in the London Globe
predicts: "The Woodlanders will not be ranked with the best
of Hardy's novels. It does not convey a sustained sense of
power." In this century' Dale Kramer contends that it is
"the least acclaimed" of Hardy's great novels . . . " (Kramer
9 3 ) . He accounts for this by noting the absence of will in
rwo key characters: "[Giles and Grace] . . . are chary of
exerting will; thus neither is able to build and maintain a
tragic tension" (Kramer 97)
It w0uld seem Kramer's assessment of Giles and Grace is
accurate; unlike their counterparts - Gabriel and Bathsheba
- their own wills are constantly subjugated to their
perception of Fate, or as it is more frequently called in
The Woodlanders, "doom."
1 use the expression "perception of Fate" deliberately,
because it seerns less their inability to act freely than
their unwillingness to oppose what they believe to be their
Fate which prevents the fulfillment of their intentions.
When Gabriel Oak is thwarted by Fate, he attempts to
reconcile himself with his circumstance; Giles Winterborne,
on the other hand, is not sufficiently evolved to confront
Fate in this manner. Instead he withdraws from the active
pursuit of his will. While Oak waits for his "tirne" to
corne, Winterborne fails to recognize the opportunities when
they do come, or rejects them as rnorally questionable.
This concept of implacable Fate is perhaps best
articulated by Grammer Oliver's explanation of Fitzpiers'
philosophy:
"Ah, Grammer" [he s a i d ] "let me tell you that
Everything is Notning. There is only Me and Not Me in
the whole world."
And he told me that no man's nands could help what they
did, any more than the hands of a clock . . . . (57-8)
The idea of men's actions being regulated "like rlockwork"
evinces a mechanistic view of destiny. The cyclical nature
of a clock's function also implies a tireless order over
which man has no control. Characterç like Fitzpiers believe
that they are acting out a prescribed pattern, which has
little to do with "will."
Kicnara Carperi ier d r q u e s i-lia"L'L;ie ï a i ~ d û m r ~ e s s ûf Tate, âs
seen in Hardy's earlier works, is what The Woodlanders
lacks :
It demonstrates clearly the necessity to Hardy's
best work of those two villains, Chance and Tirne,
who are so far in the background here as to be
of negligible importance. (Carpenter 1 2 4 )
Such criticisrns notwithstanding, The Woodlanders also has
its share of notable supporters. Robert Louis Stevenson
delayed his return to America so that he might procure a
copy as soon as it wzs published. (He hated Tess.)
Arthur B. Wakley in a review in Cosmopolis in January
1897 clairned: "Your true Hardy-lover will prefer The -
Woodlanders - a "failure" for the general reader - to such
acclairned successes as Tess and Jude. Hardy himself is
reported to have said "in some respects The Woodlanders was
his best novel" (Early Life 243).
Certainly The Woodlanders possesses a sense of the
inevitability of Fate which is not even rivalled by Jude. In
the opening sequence, when Marty South is introduced, Hardy
makes plain both the randomness and the relentlessness of
her destiny:
Nothing but a cast of the die of destiny had decided
that the girl should handle the tool; and the fingers
W i l i C l i l LIQJped & L - L --.-.. --L L- r i - 4 , k t L,.,, ? I , ; i i $,,i 1 ,, LLiT l i c a v y a a i r r i u ~ c i i & ~ y i ~ ~ r ~ u r c - r i ~ r - - ~ ~ - - ~
guided the pencil or swept the string, had they only
been set to do it in good time. (8)
Hardy's juxtaposition of the "heavy ash haft" with the
"pencil" and the "string" suggests a capability which might
be aptly applied to any endeavour, but it also irnplies that
Marty's destiny is linked with the arduous natural life,
rather than the more comfortable existence of letters and
music. In addition, the closing phrase "haa they only been
set to do it in good time" stresses the inevitability of
Marty's life - the verb tense suggests it is now too late
for her to "turn her nand" to somerhing different.
Marty's distinguishing physical feature is her hair,
" . . . this bright gift of Time, to tnis particular victim of
his now before us" (9). Although the small "gift" of
Marty's can scarcely be interpreted as significant at this
stage, Hardy draws Our attention to her as "victim."
Marty's hair, her "gift," becomes the article which helps
create Fitzpiersf desire for Felice Charmond, in effect
preventing her from attaining her own desire for Giles
Winterborne. Having established her hair as Marty's syrnbol,
the narrator next directs Our attention to Marty's father
and his obsession with the large tree which stands over
their cottage. To Mr. South, the tree suggests impending
doom: "And the tree will do it - that trae will be the death
of me:: i i 3 j . A y d i ~ ~ i i l r ~ ü t i - ~ ü ï a ~ ; a U l i ~ F i ~ 3 û 3r;;k~: f ü r ù
character without providing an indication as to why the
symbol is important. The imbuing of everyday, natural
objects with special significance is a frequent device in
The Woodlanders, and it partly accounts for the inclusion of
the novel among Hardy's "great works." At the same time,
however, the characters' almost superstitious regard for
such symbolism separates them from the more powerful
protagonists in his works.
In addition to the weight given to the everyday, Hardy
introduces the element of persona1 duty, which influences
charactersf choices in that they feel bound by the
obligation of their word or their temperament to maintain a
balance in their microcosmic world. Thus Melbury feels
obliged to allow his daughter to "marry poor"(l81 because of
an event which took place twenty years previously. His own
marriage to the woman that Giles Winterborne's father first
loved seems to predicate that he make amends by allowing
Giles to marry Grace. Since his daughter is now educated
beyond the level of the poor woodsman, he worries: "1 feel I
am sacrificing her for my own sin . . . "(20).
Again the weight which Melbury attaches to this "duty"
seems out of proportion with the act which precipitated it.
The narrator quickly draws Our attention to the
sentimentality of the father's feelings:
. . I V I ~ ; ~ U ~ ~ ~ peï;-,aps rra3 âii ü z l ü ~ h y ;ci;; i;; hu-:L~,y :;:thin
him the sentiment which could indulge in this
fondness about the imprint of a daughter's footprint.
Nature does not carry on her government with a view
to such feelings.. . ( 2 0 )
The detachment of the narrator's comment seerns to foreshadow
a natural order which operates outside the realm of the
human will. When Melbury observes the "chance" encounter
between Giles and Grace, he is moved once again by the
apparent unsuitability of what he proposes to do, but
reasserts his intenrion:
'Tis a pity to let s u c h a girl throw herself away
upon him - a thousand pities! . . . And yet 'tis my duty
for his father's sake. ( 3 8 )
The narrator soon makes i~ apparent that the character
of Giles Winterborne lacks the quality of self-knowledge
whicn is present in al1 Hardy's "successful" protagonists.
It is this failure to examine his "inner self" which
prevents Giles from achieving his desire:
Had h e regarded his inner self spectacularly, as
lovers are daily more wont to do, he might have
felt pride in the discernment of a somewhat rare power
in him - that of keeping not only judgment but emotion
suspended in difficult cases. But he did not. (39)
Although Hardy ironizes the self-examination - "as lovers
this regard is consequential - "But he did not." Hir blind-
ness to what might be his greatest strength in a Hardy
narrative is contrasted with the self-awareness of Gabriel
Oak in Far Frorn the Madding Crowd, whose same qualities of
forebearance allow hirn to endure, and eventually, overcome.
While Gabriel does not verbalize his appreciation of his own
strength of character, he is conscious of his "charmed life"
and his connection with the natural world. Giles is aware
only of the perceived opposition to his will.
In a similar vein, Grace's reluctance to examine
herself is noted by Giles, with a subseqüent narrative
comment to the effect that it would profit her to indulge in
"developing" her self-knowledge:
. . . cultivation had so far advanced in the sou1 of
Miss Melbury's mind as to lead her to talk of
anything, Save of that she knew well, and had the
greatest interest in developing: herself. (51)
This notion of her deliberate blindness is reinforced by the
narrator's assertion that she has "failen £rom the good old
Hintock ways." In one thing at least her father is correct:
her education and cultivation have alienated ber £rom her
natural setting, making her at odds with her former
lifestyle and her former lover.
In the next sequence, Giles and Grace pas s Marty and
. L A -- + n--:" +hm m-,rrl+,,r l n 3 A C +Ln t . 1 ~ 3 . ~ i ~ a ~ ~ i i u i i u vii c i ic LUUU. ~ r y u ~ ~ r
cornmonplace event with a heavy portent: "Thus these people
with converging destinies went along the road together"
(52). The simultaneous introduction of the elements "from
outside" establishes the contrasting views of Fate, which
disrupt the woodlanders' normal societal order. Grammer
Oliver attempts to explain Fitzpiers' perception of "clock-
work" fate. This view is contrasted in the next chapter
with forest of the "Unfulfilled Intention."
Here, as everywhere, the Unfulfilled Intention, which
makes life what it is, was as obvious as it could be
among the depraved crowds of a city slum. (62)
The stunted trees rnake an excellent symbol for the
intentions of the characters, as well as suggesting that
even in the idyllic country landscape, the pattern of
thwarted intentions is perceptible.
Fitzpiers' sense that his fate is out of his control is
mirrored by Mrs. Charmond's description of her own inertia
and purposelessness:
1 am the most inactive woman when I'm here . . . .
1 think sometimes 1 was born to live and do
nothing, nothing, nothing but float about, as
we fancy we do sometimes in dreams. But that
cannot really be my destiny, and 1 must struggle
against such fancies. (721
. . - v ----: T: --L: -- &-h-e - h m Ç n n l ch; i.,3,, Il,.,hmn MES. L ~ ~ ~ L I L L U I I ~ ' 5 a p c ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ a ~ r u i , c r i u L ~ A ~ L . s u , ...-..
[she's] here" sugqests that for her, Hintock and the forest
are a kind of alternative reality, underlining her status as
"outsider" and perhaps explaining her disregard for the
conventions of her present setting.
The speculations of boch Fitzpiers and Mrs.Charmond are
contrasted in the next seccion with the active pursuits of
Giles and Marty. While planting young trees, Marty muses
upon the order in which she participates:
She erected one of the younq pines into its hole, and
held up her finger; the soft musical breathing
instantly set in, which was not to cease night or day
till the grown tree should be felled - probably long
after the two planters had been felled themselves. (77)
Marty's sense of natural order does not imply that she has
an exaggerated idea of her own purpose; in fact, she appears
to show great contentment with the cycle of which she and
Giles are a part. Soon after, however, she cornments on the
sighing of the young trees, linking it to humankind's own
discontent and apprehension:
"It seems to me," the qirl continued, "as if they
sigh because they are very sorry to begin life in
earnest - just as we be." (78)
The words of Marty South concerning the "earnestness" of
life are later echoed by Hardy in his description of Jude
to ache a g r e a t deal before the fa11 of the curtain of his
unnecessary life . . . " (Jude t h e Obscure 14). Death is seen
as an antidote to an "earnest" life of sorrow and struggle.
The e f f e c t of exercising will leads to the seductive desire
for oblivion. The suggestion that life is a burden w h i c h
can only be relieved by death is common to H a r d y ' s
characters; even the indomitable Ethelberta longs:
. . . like a tired child for the conclusion of
and the evening corne; when she might draw her
boat upon the shore, and in some thymy n o o k
awai t eternal night with a placid mind.(HE 2 2 2 )
Giles Winterborne's response to Marty's introspection is
typical of his l a c k of purpuse o r "will": "You ought not to
feel that way, M a r t y . " Typically, Giles withdraws. it may
be argued that he feels no desire for oblivion because hc
never f u l l y engages in t h e çtrugqles which leave Jude and
Ethelberta longing for the d e a t h of their desires. His
refusal to examine the nature of bis life, or to question
the cause of his dissarisfaction, lessens his stature a s a
tragic figure. Yet as an example of Hardy's treatment of
Fate, Giles is an alrnost ideal candidate. Because he fails
moved by the information that Grace will go to the
continent with Mrs. Charmond. He feels he muçt force the
issue of their betrothal: "1 must bring matters to a point,
and there's an end of it" (82). Perhaps because he fails to
grasp the consequence of his desire in this instance, or
conversely, because he feels that his actions will speak for
themselves, Giles attaches an almost obsessive significance
to the party he holds for the Melburys. His chagrin at the
boy's use of furniture polish on the chairs is
disproportionate to its importance: "Giles scolded the boy;
but he felt that the fates were against him" (89). It is
interesting to note that Giles refuses to examine the larger
concerns of his Life in terrns of destiny or will, but is
quick to attribute his rninor failures in entertaining to the
whims of "the fates."
Creedle implies a similar sense of destiny when Giles
enquires about the "success" of the party:
" I ' m afraid, too that it was a failure there."
"If so, 'twere doomed to be so. Not but what that
slug rnight as well have come upon any body else's
plate as hers ." ( 9 6 )
The garden slug is regarded as a sign of failure for Giles'
desires, which would be comical but for the effect it has on
the party, and the effect of the party on Grace's father who
. . Deiieves "a c r i s ~ s i l s j L - I Ü ~ â p p ï û a ~ h i ~ g ."
The relations between Melbury and his family become
strained, as they struggle with their impotence or more
importantly, with the inscrutability of Fate, of which they
believe they are equal victims:
The petulance that relatives show towards each other is
in truth directed against that intangible Cause which
has shaped the situation no less for the offenders than
the offended, but it is too elusive to be discerned and
cornered by poor humanity in irritated rnood. (99)
The detachment of the narrator £rom "poor humanity" creates
a seemingly comic situation, and yet the consequences of
this "petulance" are almost irrevocable for the lives of
Giles and Grace.
While the Melburys contemplate his fate, Giles seeks
the confirmation of his fears. While little is actua1l.y
said, the narrator confirms that Giles' fears are justified:
On theil faces, as they regarded Giles, were written
their suspended thoughts and compounded feelings
concerning him, could he have read them through old
panes. But he saw nothing. (101)
Giles' blindness is ironic in that he sees omens in accident
or chance, but overlooks the "real" signs around him.
Because he feels the match is "doomed" to fail, he does not
argue when Melbury breaks the engagement - again allowinq i i i S PeLCcpLiVM Gf F - L - * -
ïaLe LU ~ L C Y C L L C U C L I V I A .
A t t h e same t i m e a s h i s i n a c t i o n r e g a r d i n g G r a c e
p r e v e n t s h i s r n a r r i a g e t o h e r , a n o t h e r c r i s i s p r e c i p i t a t e s
f u r t h e r m i s f o r t u n e . Giles knows he must s o o n a c t t o amend
t h e d e e d to h i s home, t o p r e v e n t l o s i n g i t . However, h i s
s e n s e o f d u t y t a k e s h i m f i r s t t o the home of John S o u t h ,
whose l i i e seerns t h r e a t e n e d by h i s o b s e s s i o n w i t h t h e l a r g e
t r e e i n f r o n t of h i s home. The d e l a y c a u s e d by t h e
c o n s u l t a t i o n w i t h t h e doctor and t h e a c t u a l f e l l i n g of t h e
t r e e p r e v e n t s Giles f r o m a c t i n g on h i s own b e h a l f , w i t h t h e
r e s u l t t h a t h e l o s e ç h i s h o u s e . To compound t h e f u t i l i t y o f
G i l e s ' a c t i o n s , John S o u t h d i e s t h e n e x t d a y , a s a r e s u l t o f
rhe s h o c ~ of l o s i n g t h e t r e e . T h e c o n t r a s t be tween what
S o u t h b e l i e v e s to be h i s Fate and what a c t u a l l y o c c u r s
ü n d e r l i n e s t h e f l a w i n G i l e s ' own p e r c e p t i o n .
G i l e s l o o k s f o r a l o o p - h o l e i n t h e c o n t r a c t w i t h t h e
l a n d o w n e r , and d i s c o v e r s t h a t he must a p p r c a c h M r s .
Charmond, whom h e had o f f e n d e d t h e p r e v i o u s d a y :
. . . t h e u p s h o t o f the m a t t e r was t h a t it d e p e n d e d
upon t h e mere c a p r i c e of t h e woman he had met t h e
day before i n such a n u n f o r t u n a t e way, w h e r h e r h e was
t o p o s s e s s h i s h o u s e f o r l i f e o r n o . (131)
b i a t u r a l l y , the " c a p r i c e " of Mrs. Charmond works a g a i n s t
Gi les ' p u r p o s e , a n a h e becomes e v e n more r e s i g n e d t o t h e
Grace herself feels that her act is a challenge to
Fate, and in her turn feels forced to accept Fate's
decision:
Could he have seen her write on the wall? She did net
know. Fate, it seemed, would have it this way, and
there was nothing to do but acquiesce.(l37)
The act is again misinterpreted as an "omen," because Giles
is, as usual, misguided as to the significance of what he
sees.
At this juncture, Hardy sets up Dr. Fitzpiers, as a
counterpoint to Giles:
. . . the doctor was not a practical man, except by
Eits, and much preferred the ideal world to the real,
and the discovery of principles to their application.
(143)
Fitzpiers is inactive, like Giles, but his reason is that he
prefers contemplation; Giles, on the other hand, rejects
contemplation in favour of stoic silence. Fitzpiers, like
Grace, feels that circumstances dictate behaviour, and that
the will is unequal to the task of controlling circumstance:
"Such miserable creatures of circumstances are we a111'(146).
When Fitzpiers first sees Grace, and asks Giles her
name, Giles avoids telling him, but at the same time
believes it inevitable that Fitzpiers and Grace should
\. L - --.. ~ - I - - L ' Beconle i i ~ i ' n r d ; . . . i r c LVULU l l V L ~ I E ~ E Z :;h~t ::YS UZCECU t~
a r r i v e , a n d m i g h t j u s t a s w e l l h ave b e e n o u t s p o k e n " ( l 4 8 ) . A s
G i l e s p r e d i c t s , t h e m e e t i n g o f G r a c e a n d F i t z p i e r s i s s o o n
e f f e c t e d , t h r o u g h t h e agency o f Grarnrner O l i v e r and h e r
p r e o c c u p a t i o n w i t h d e a t h . Upon a c t u a l l y m e e t i n g w i t h G r a c e ,
F i t z p i e r s i s c o n v i n c e d t h a t s h e i s t h e P l a t o n i c i d e a l :
" N a t u r e h a s a t l a s t r e c o v e r e d h e r l o s t u n i o n w i t h t h e ides"
( 1 6 4 ) . F i t z p i e r s ' comment on t h e " i d e a , " which r e c u r s i n
s e v e r a l fo rms t h r o u g h o u t t h e n a r r a t i v e , i s a f o r e r u n n e r o f
t h e d r i v i n g f o r c e b e h i n d P i e r s t o n ' s p u r s u i t o f t h e " i d e a l "
i n The W e l l - B e l o v e d . L ike F i t z p i e r s ' , P i e r s t o n ' s o b s e s s i o n
w i t h t h e " I d e a l " p r e v e n t s him f rom e n g a g i n q a c t i v e l y i n
a d v a n c i n g h i s w i l l , b e c a u s e h i s r e a l d e s i r e f o r c e s him t o
become a n o b s e r v e r .
F i t z p i e r s i s engaged i n e x a m i n i n g a f r a g m e n t of J o h n
S o u t h ' s b r a i n u n d e r t h e m i c r o s c o p e , an a c t i v i t y which G r a c e
f i n d s r e p u g n a n t . He a t t e m p t s t o c l a r i f y t h e n a t u r e o f h i s
s t u d i o s :
Here am 1 . . . e n d e a v o u r i n g t o c a r r y on s i m u l t a n e o u s l y
The s t u d y of p h y s i o l o g i c a l a n d t r a n s c e n d e n t a l
p h i l o s o p h y , t h e m a t e r i a l w o r l d a n d t h e i d e a l , so a s t o
d i s c o v e r i f p o s s i b l e a p o i n t o f c o n t a c t be tween them;
a n d y o u r f i n e r s e n s e i s q u i t e o f f e n d e d . (166)
F i t z p i e r s ' p u r s u i t o f t h e i d e a l c o n t r i b u t e s t o h i s
i n s t a b i l i t y i n h i s l a t e r r e l a t i o n s h i p w i t h G r a c e . I n h i s
e a r i i e s c percep i io r i o i G L ~ G ~ , sht: i ep ïéa t l i t ; t>ia; ideai:
Tha t t h e Idea had f o r once c o m p l e t e l y f u l f i l l e d
i t s e l f i n t h e o b j e c t i v e s u b s t a n c e (which ho had
h i t h e r t o deemed an i m p o s s i b i l i t y ) he was e n c h a n t e d
enough t o f a n c y must be t h e c a s e a t l a s t . ( 1 8 2 )
The words "enchan ted" and "fancy" r e v e a l t h e r o m a n t i c
n a t u r e o f F i t z p i e r s ' temperarnent, The i n s t a b i l i t y o f h i s
p e r c e p t i o n o f t h e i d e a l i s e v i d e n t i n h i s s e l f - a d m i t t e d
" i n f a t u a t i o n s " :
He had once declared , though n o t t o h e r [ G r a c e ] ,
t h a t he had on one o c c a s i o n n o t i c e d h i m s e l f t o be
p o s s e s s e d by f i v e d i s t i n c t i n f a t u a t i o n s a t t h e same
time. ( 2 6 5 )
Again h i s d i c t i o n i s r e v e a l i n g ; " p o s s e s s e d " s u g g e s t s t h a t
he i s c o n t r o l l e d by a f o r c e o u t s i d e h i r n s e l f . More
i m p o r t a n t l y , p e r h a p s , h e d e s c r i b e s î h e s e d e s i r e s a s
" i n f a t u a t i o n s , " acknowledging t h e i r f l e e t i n g and
i n s u b s t a n t i a l n a t u r e . For F i t z p i e r s , and t o a l e s s e r e x t e n t
Grace , t h e i n a c c e s s i b i l t y of t h e o b j e c t of d e s i r e i n c r e a s e s
i t s v a l u e :
The l o v e of Winterborne f o r Grace o r of Marty f o r
Win te rborne i s more O E less s t a t i c o n l y b e c a u s e it
i s made h o p e l e s s by t h e i n t e r p o s i t i o n of a s u c c e s s f u l
r i v a l , b u t t h e l o v i n g o f t h e p h i l a n d e r i n g F i t z p i e r s and
even o f t h e m i l d e r and more c o n v e n t i o n a l Grace wavers
i i k e d w e d i i ~ r ~ ~ ü ~ ~ t i ï ~ Q fitfül. b ï e e z e U e p ~ ~ U i z y Û E
w h e t h e r t h e l o v e d p e r s o n i s a c c e s s i b l e o r i s h i d d e n
Deh ind some b a r r i e r . ( M i l l e r 1 6 4 )
A s e a r l y a s t h e i r f i r s t m e e t i n g , F i t z p i e r s b e g i n s t o re-
s t r u c t u r e h i s t h i n k i n g i n p r e p a r a t i o n f o r t h e i r u n i o n . He
c o n s i d e r s t h e p o s s i b i l i t y o f s t a y i n g i n H i n t o c k , d e s p i t e h i s
p r e v i o u s i n t e n t i o n o f l e a v i n g f o r a p r a c t i c e i n a more
c u l t i v a t e d town. He s p e a k s o f c h a n g i n g h i s d e s i r e s : " T h e
s e c r e t o f h a p p i n e s s l a y i n l i m i t i n g t h e a s p i r a t i o n s r r ( 1 7 7 ) .
He b e l i e v e s h e may abandon h i s i n t e l l e c t u a l p u r s u i t s i n
f a v o u r o f t h e more mundane l i f e o f a m a r r i e d man:
. . . i n s t e a d o f g o i n g on e l a b o r a t i n g c o n c e p t i o n s w i t h
i n f i n i t e p a i n s , t o a c c e p t q u i e t d o m e s t i c i t y , a c c o r d i n g
t o t h e o l d e s t and h o m e l i e s t n o r i o n s . ( 1 7 6 )
The r n u t a b i l i t y o f F i t z p i e r s ' d e s i r e u n u e r l i n e s h i s l a c k o f
t r u e " w i l l " ; i t a l s o makes him v e r y s e n s i t i v e t o h i s
p e r c e p t i o n o f " F a t e . " Because o f h i s d e s i r e f o r G r a c e ,
F i t z p i e r s i n t e r p r e t s e a c h c a s u a l m e e t i n g w i t h h e r a s a n a c t
o f F a t e p r o m p t i n g him t o p u r s u e h e r . When G r a c e j o i n s h e r
f a t h e r t s p i c n i c t i i t h F i t z p i e r s , s h e r e m a r k s l i g h t l y :
" T h e r e ' s d e s t i n y i n i t , you see . 1 was doomed t o j o i n y o u r
p i c n i c , a l t h o u g h 1 d i d n o t i n t e n d t o d o so" ( 1 7 4 ) . I n
G r a c e ' s mind t h e r e i s a c l e a r d i s t i n c t i o n be tween h e r will
a n d h e r "doom" o r d e s t i n y ; e v i d e n t l y she f e a r s t h a t h e r
w i i i i s i rnpoter i i i r l iiie t a c e ûf tlle l â r g z r f û r z s . Th2
incident reinforces Giles' earlier prediction that she and
Fitzpiers were "doomed to rneet."
Fitzpiers' own concept of Fate is more pronounced even
than Grace's. He comrnents: "We almost always meet in odd
circumstances . . . . 1 wonder if it means anything?" (178) .
Despite her own attribution of her presence at the picnic to
"doom," Grace is reluctant to acknowledge the possibility:
"O no, I'm sure it doesn't . . . " (178). While the language
may be attributed to mere flirtation, the idea that they are
somehow "meant" to meet remains in Grace and Fitzpiers'
minds.
As Fitzpiers' presence begins to assume a more potent
influence over Grace, not only does she recognize a
declininy desire for Giles; she also recognizes its cause.
Giles' lack of will rnakes the differences between them seem
insurmountable. Grace fears that "Winterborne . . . had not
much perseverance" (179). The mating ritual on Midsurnmer's
Eve gives further evidence of this. Grammer Oliver enlists
the aid of Marty South in attempting to place Giles in
Grace's path in the man-hunt. She explains her actions as
an effort to affect destiny: "Marty, we ought to act the
part o ' Providence sornetimes" ( 1 8 5 ) . Mrs. Nelbury, with the
same purpose in mind, senas Fitzpiers to stand near Giles.
The failure of Giles to achieve Grammer's intentions is not
diLLibGîAd tG - - * - :- *L:- :--L ---- L -..----- L..* "-+Ln- C O L C 1 1 1 L I I L J LL13LLIIILS, I I " . I L V L L , U U L L U L - I i L A hi2
own indifference to the purpose. He is described as
"adhering to the off-hand manner which had grown upon him
since his dismissal"(l85). Later, Giles begins to perceive
his lack of will as "a certain laxity [which has] crept into
his life" (214).
As the power of Giles' will declines, Grace becomes
more Eascineted with the Less accessible Fitzpiers. Her
disclaimer regarding the "meaning" of their frequent
meetings may be seen as mere coquetry, but on another levei
it reflects her unwillingness to acknowledge the force of
her attraction to him.
This reluctance gradually evolves into a type of fear;
Grace is at once repelled and attracted by the strength of
Fitzpiers' influence over her. Even after her observation
of Suke Damson leaving Fitzpiers' home, she feels herself to
be almost in thrall to him: "A premonition that she could
not resist hirn if he came strangely moved her"(200). While
Fitzpiers is away at medical meetings, Grace's desire for
him increases, mainly because of her awareness of the danger
he represents:
In an excitement which was not love, not ambition,
rather a fearful consciousness of hazard in the air,
she awaited his return. ( 2 0 4 )
On hi5 return, Fitzpiers, too, becomes conscious of the
his aecision to "love" Grace is impulsive, rather than
reasoned:
Over and above the genuine ernotion which she raised in
his heart there hung the sense that he was casting a
die by impulse which he might not have thrown by
judgment. (214)
The whimsical nature of Fate, which first threw Grace and
Fitzpiers together, appears to nove equally quickly to
strain their marriage. Hardy again demonstrates how a
seemingly srnall, unrelated incident has far-reaching
consequences, beyond the imediate perception of his
unevolved characters.
The concatenation, to borrow Hardy's term, of events in
the lives of the woodlanders is illustrated by the irony of
Felice Charmond's carriage accident. In his ill-humour and
worry, Giles rudely refuses to yield the "right of way" to
Felice on the same stretch of road nhere he and Grace
originally meet her carriage. This uncharacteristic
behaviour on Giles' part, hast of course, significant
consequences: after the date for the renewal of his lease
passes, he learns thaf it is she to whom he must appeal for
clernency. Because she has no particular reason to favour
Giles, and the unpl~asant memory is fresh in her mind, she
refuses his request, with the result That his home is torn
7 . " , P - 1 1 C i l n c l il;- Y V C L U S L I L d iU IL l i rL i lL , U A - C I
I I I
considered act has far-reaching effects. Later Felice's own
apparently consequenceless action returns to punish her:
. . . she had been deceived by the removal of the house, imagining the gap caused by the demolition to be the
opening of the road. (235)
B u t the consequences of the act are even more extensive:
Felice seizes the occasion to summon Fitzpiers to treat her
injuries, reviving in him a dormant desire:
While the scene and the moment were new to hirn and
unan~icipated, the sentiment and essence o f the moment
were indescribably familiar. What could be the cause
of it? Probably a dream. (237)
When the sense of "déjà vu" is accounted for by an actual
previous encounter, when Fitzpiers was "an impecunious
student", he concludes that their present rnee~ing is
determined by Fate: "But see how powerless is the human will
against predestination! We were prevented meeting; we met"
(239).
Felice Charmond herself perceives the Unfulfilled
Intention in terms of hunger and desire:
O ! Why were we given hungry hearts and wild desires if
we have to live in a world like this? Why should DeatR
alone lend what Life is compelled to borrow - rest?
( 2 4 9 )
iirL ;j,;ief L L - L - --1 -~:--~h:r. . . t ; t h C i t - 7 m i 0 7 ~ Fz yrcnrr L I I O L u L = r i i L r v r i 4 i r r y ..Ac.. L A - - rA--- =, It
least in the eyes of "a world like this," is in conflict
with her desire, yet she attempts to sever the relationship.
She is sufficiently self-conscious to acknowledge the irony
of her own role in defeating her desire, by preventing
Gilesl marriage to Grace: "In refusing that poor man his
reasonable request, 1 foredoomed my revived girlhood's
romance" ( 2 5 2 ) .
Like Felice, Fitzpiers feels his desire increase in
proportion to the opposition to it. He believes that he nas
"clipped his own wings" through his lack of insignt:
Why do 1 never recognize an opportunity until 1 have
missed it, nor the good or il1 of a step till it is
irrevocable? . . . 1 f e l l in love! (276)
J. Hillis Miller believes this changeability of desire is:
. . . a Law of life in Hardy's world, that if someone by nature seeks complete possession of another
person he is doomed to be disappointed over and over,
either by his failure to obtain the woman he loves
or by his discovery that he does not have what he
wants when he possesses her. (Miller 149)
The notion that desire increases in proportion to the
distance between self and object here, as elsewhere in
Hardy's works, accounts for the problematic nature of his
"love relationships." Fitzpiers' desire for Grace decreases
7 . - -r- & L e ---- as SOOn d y iie i i idy ut. oâid tü " ~ Û Z S E ~ Z " k r . A L I & L I &
way, when Grace discovers her husband's unfaithfulness, she
turns her desire towards Giles Winterborne, who is now, by
societal law, inaccessible to her. In her mind he takes on
the aspect of a "qift of Nature":
Nature was bountiful, she thouqht. No sooner had
she been cast aside by Edred than another being,
impersonatinq chivalrous and undiluted manliness,
had arisen out of the earth, ready to her hand. (260)
It is his suffering in particular which has changed him in
her eyes, investing him with a touch of the sublime:
. . . a man who had been unfortunate in his worldly transactions; who notwithstanding these things, had,
like Hamlet's friend, borne himself throughout his
scathina: As one, in suffering all, that suffers
nothing. (281)
The remoteness of Giles' new stance makes him interesting to
Grace again, because he is now an unknown man. The
knowledge of his loss, his unfulfilled intention, makes
Grace recall her own failed intentions, and she realizes
that this knowledge is at the heart of her persona1 tragedy.
She wishes that she had never been educated "[blecause
cultivation has only brought [her] inconveniences and
troubles" ( 2 8 2 ) .
Her confrontation with Felice Charmond leads to an
1 t h o u g h t t h a t what was g e t t i n g t o b e a t r a g e d y t o m e
was a comedy t o you . But now 1 s e e t h e t r a g - d y l i e s on
y o u r s i d e o f t h e s i t u a t i o n no l e s s t h a n mine . . . ( 3 0 2 )
I n H a r d y ' s work, t r a g e d y i s a two-edged sword; t h e
p e r p e t r a t o r o f t h e t r a g i c e v e n t i s no more removed f r o m i t s
c o n s e q u e n c e s t h a n t h e v i c t i m . G r a c e ' s words a l s o s u p p o r t Our
engagemen t w i t h h e r a s a c h a r a c t e r : s h e o b v i o u s l y v i e w s h e r
F a t e a s h a v i n g " t r a g i c " o v e r t o n e s , T h i s "engagement" on t h e
p a r t o f b o t h t h e c h a r a r t e r and t h e r e a d e r is what makes - The
Wood lande r s a g r e a t n o v e l ; i t s a b s e n c e r e l e g a t e s The WelL-
B e l o v e d t o t h e s t a t u s o f "mino r work."
A f t e r t h e i r d i s c u s s i o n , b o t h Grace and Mrs. Charmond
become l o s t i n t h e woods - a r n e t a p h o r i c a l r e p r e s e n t a t i o n o f
t h e i r s h a r e d s t a t e o f c o n f u s i o n . They see no one e l s e i n
t h e i r w a n d e r i n g s , and e v e n t u a l l y n a k e t h e i r way " o u t o f t h e
woods" t h r o u g h t h e i r j o i n t e f f o r t s , e s t a b l i s h i n g a s p e c i e s
o f r a p p o r t which miqh t have a l t e r e d t h e c o u r s e o f t h e
n a r r a t i v e , b u t f o r t h e " a c c i d e n t " o f L i t z p i e r s ' f a 1 1 f rom
t h e h o r s e .
The " c h a n c e " which l e a d s F i t z p i e r s t o t a k e t h e more
s p i r i t e d h o r s e i n s t e a d of h i s u s u a l mount , combined w i t h t h e
h a s t e o f h i s e f f o r t s t o r e a c h F e l i c e , c a u s e s nim t o b e l e f t
c o n f u s e d and h o r s e l e s s i n t h e woods ( i n much t h e sarne way a s
F e l i c e and Grace had been e a r l i e r ) . The "chance" o f h i s
, . c - . . - - 1 L.. %#-IL..-*- l - - A + . + - .=,.w+l.p,". - , 1 4 m " 3 + 4 m n u r l l i q L V U L ~ U uy r x r ; ~ u u L y Lcuud L u LUAL. . . -& Zf hi5
father-in-law, as Fitzpiers speaks disparagingly of the
village, his wife and in-laws, and boasts of his own
superiority.
He comments on the "ill-timing" of his marriage to
Grace: "1 was just two months too early in conrnitting
myself. Had 1 only seen the other first -" (322). In his
anger, Melbury knocks him off the horse, but he instantly
regrets his action, fearing that he rnay have killed
Fitzpiers. He attributes this narrow escape to an act of
"Providence": "It might have been a crime but for the mercy
of Providence in providing leaves for his fall" (322).
Melburyfs gratitude to "Proviaence" for sparing Fitzpiers is
deliciously ironic: if Fitzpiers had been killed, Grace
would then be free to marry Winterborne, and âchieve the
"Unfulfilled Intention." Instead, Fitzpiers' "accident"
inspires "tender feelings" in Suke Damson and Felice
Charmond, and even in his estranged wife, her desire renewed
by the possibility of his permanent loss.
Melburyfs encounter with Fitzpiers in the forest renews
his his regret over Grace's rnarriage, so after he
"coincidentally" neets with Beaucock, he believes rnay yet
see his daughter married to his old friend's son. He tells
Giles:
... there's a new law in the land. Grace can be free
- - - 1 . 7 kney it hy t h e m e r e s t 2 c c i d o n t . Y U L L L G U d A A l .
1 rnight not have found out in the next ten years. (341)
Grace's attraction to GiLes increases as she begins to see
him in larger-than-human terms. In her rnind he becomes "the
fruit-god and the wood-god in alternation . . . " (349).
Melbury's information causes them to speculate hopefully on
the possibilities of the "new law", but Hardy reminds his
reader that optimism is "unbalanced":
The duologue had been affectionate comedy up to this
point. The gloomy atmosphere of the past and the sri11
gloomy horizon of the present, had been for the
interval forgotten. Now the whole environment came
back; the due balance of shade among the light was
restored. (353)
Hardy again speaks from the stance of "Olympian
detachment" to underline the tragedy inherent in their
hopefulness; Grace and Giles are not sufficiently evolved or
self-aware to be spared their Fate :
To hear t h e s e two Arcadian innocents talk of imperial
law would have made a humane person weep who should
have known what structures t h e y were building on their
supposed knowledge . (354
The narrator invites the "humane" reader to share his
pity for the self-deceived characters, while at the same
time acknowledging the worldliness of the reader, who would
noE Le dece ive , i UY Li-,e ' - 3 - - " - - - -' J - L - - - "'--A---+- 1' T - ~ a ~ a c I I U ~ C U A C L I C J C I~II~VLLL,LL>. A..
t h i s way h e c r e a t e s a n a t t a c h m e n t t o t h e s e c h a r a c t e r s , which
i n v i t e s engagement on t h e p a r t o f t h e r e a d e r . Yet d e s p i t e
t h e r e a d e r ' s d e s i r e f o r t h e u n i o n o f Grace a ~ d Gi les , t h e i r
u n s u i t a b i l i t y i n t e r m s o f c u l t i v a t i o n a n d e d u c a t i o n i s
u n d e r l i n e d by t h e woodsman's p r o v i s i o n f o r t h e l a d y ' s mea l
a t t h e p u b l i c h o u s e . Hardy r emarks i n s c r u t a b l y :
F o r t u n a t e l y , o r u n f o r t u n a t e l y , a t t h a t moment t h e y
saw M e l b u r y ' s men d r i v i n g v a c a n t l y a l o n g t h e s t r e e t
i n s e a r c h o f h e r . . . ( 3 5 8 )
Because t h e s i t u a t i o n be tween t h e two r e m a i n s unexamined ,
a n d t h e r e f o r e , u n r e s o l v e d , t h e i r m u t u a l d e s i r e f o r o n e
a n o t h e r i s l e f t i n t a c t , a l t h o u g h e a c h s u s p e c t s t h a t t h e
d e s i r e w i l l n o t be f u l f i l l e d . Gi les f e a r s t h e c o n ç e q u e n c e
o f h i s a c t i o n s : "Move a n o t h e r s t e p t o w a r d h e r he would n o t "
( 3 5 9 ) . G r a c e s h a r e s h i s f e e l i n g t h a t t h e " c h o i c e " w i l l n o t
be t h e i r s t o make, r e f e r r i n g t o Time a s t h e a g e n t o f s o r r o w ,
i n t h e i r c a s e :
The s a d s a n d s were r u n n i n g s w i f t l y t h r o u g h T i m e ' s
g l a s s ; s h e o f t e n f e l t i t i n t h e s e l a t t e r d a y s , a n d l i k e
Giles, s h e f e l t i t d o u b l y a f t e r t h e so lemn and p a t h e t i c
r e m i n d e r i n h e r f a t h e r ' s communica t ion . ( 3 6 2 )
G i l e s a n d G r a c e ' s c o n v i c t i o n s r e g a r d i n q t n e i m p l z c a b i l i t y of
F a t e a r e s o o n b o r n e o u t . Giles l e a r n s t h a t t h e i r h o p e s a r e
Grace . . . . She was apparently doomed to be his wife to
the end of the chapter. (363)
His response to the "doom" is to upbraid himself: "How could
they al1 have been so simple as to suppose this thing could
be done?"i363) This moment of recognition, or as Frye refers
to it, "anagnorisis," is what elevates Giles to the status
of tragic hero. His consciousness of the renewed distance
between himself and the object of his desire serves to
heighten the readerfs engagement with his character's fate.
Despite, or perhaps because of the inevitability of what
must follow, the reader is once again made ccmplicit with
the unfolding tragedy: "Th? reader knows what is going to
happen, but wishes to see, or rather participate in, the
completion of the design" (Frye 8 1 . A further element of
Giles' new status is his defiance of Fate. He kisses Grace
after he knows their relationship can never be
"legitimized." When Melbury arrives and hastily interrupts
the embrace of the lovers, Grace's own thoughts echo those
of Giles:
How could she have been so simple as to suppose she
was in a position to behave as she had done! Thus she
mentally blamed her ignorance; and yet in the centre of
her heart she blessed it a little for what it had
momentarily brought her. (369)
.ïhne ::coincidence!? Giirs dlid ~ i b , - e l L L - L L - - - C l , ,L - C I l U U Y I I L 3 L C L L C L L J
wha t t h e Hardy r e a d e r "knows" t o b e t r u e : a l t h o u g h Chance
c o u l d work i n e q u a l m e a s u r e f o r o r a g a i n s t human d e s i r e a n d
e n d e a v o u r , w e h a v e no r e a s o n o r r i g h t t o h o p e . Whether o u t
o f r e s i d u a l s u p e r s t i t i o n £rom p r e - h i s t o r y or a d e s i r e t o
a n t i c i p a t e t h e w o r s t , r e a d e r s r e c o g n i z e t h e r e s o n a n t " t r u t h "
i n t r a g e d y . I n a d d i t i o n , t h e r e g r e t o f b o t h Gi les a n d G r a c e
f o r t h e i r l o s t i n n o c e n c e e c h o e s t h e human l o n g i n g f o r a p r e -
l a p s a r i a n s t a t e o f p e r f e c t i o n when al1 a s p i r a t i o n s were
" p o s s i b l e . "
When Grace i s s t a y i n g i n G i l e s ' h u t i n t h e woods, a n d
Gi les l i e s d y i n g i n t h e n e a r b y l e a n - t o , G r a c e re rnarks on t h e
e n v i a b l e a r n o r a l i t y o f t h e woodland c r e a t u r e s . C l e a r l y h e r
knowledge i s burdensome t o h e r : "Watching t h e s e n e i g h b o u r s ,
who knew n e i t h e r l aw n o r s i n , d i s t r a c t e d h e r a l i t t l e £rom
h e r t r o u b l e s . . ." ( 3 8 4 ) . Yet i t i s h e r d a r k e r e x p e r i e n c e
t h a t e n a b l e s h e r t o see F i t z p i e r s i n new terms:
. . . s h e h a s been s t r u c k by t h e change i n h i s a s p e c t ;
t h e e x t r e m e l y i n t e l l e c t u a l l o o k t h a t h a d a l w a y s b e e n
i n h i s f a c e was wrough t t o a f i n e r p h a s e by
t h i n n e s s , a n d a ca re -worn d i g n i t y had b e e n s u p e r a d d e d .
( 4 0 4 )
By t h e same t o k e n , F i t z p i e r s h a s c l e a r l y u n d e r g o n e a s i m i l a r
r e c o g n i t i o n p r o c e s s , b r o u g h t a b o u t i n h i s c a s e by t h e
c o n v e n i e n t d e a t h o f F e l i c e Charmond, who h a s b e e n s h o t by
iiie ~ ~ ~ y s i t z ~ i " ~ i s I i t t l ~ Z ~ I L X?,Û âpl;Eâï~d ÜÏ,:~ ;;;ce b ~ f û ï ~ 5:
t h e n a r r a t i v e . The d e a t h o f F e l i c e i s more t h a n a
c o n v e n i e n t n a r r a t i v e d e v i c e , s i n c e one o f h e r e a r l i e s t
s p e e c h e s i n t h e n o v e l r e f e r s t o h e r l o n g i n g f o r " r e s t . "
S i n c e , l i k e G i l e s W i n t e r b o r n e , s h e i s u n a b l e t o a t t â i n h e r
w o r l d l y d e s i r e , s h e a c h i e v e s t h e o n l y c e r t a i n d e s i r e i n
Hardy - " r e s t " t h r o u g h o b l i v i o n . A s w i t h J u d e , i t i s t h e
s i g n a l t h a t "al1 [ i s ] o n c e a g a i n w e l l w i t h [ h e r ] . "
I n a d d i t i o n , t h e d e â t h o f Mrs. Charmond i s a f u r t h e r
i l l u s t r a t i o n o f t h e i m p a c t which t h e wood lande r s h a v e on
o n e a n o t h e r ' s l i v e s . Because s h e f i n d s Mar ty S o u t h ' s
l e t t e r , r e g a r d i n g t h e f a l s e h a i r - p i e c e , i n F i t z p i e r s '
w a l l e t , s h e q u a r r e l s w i t h him. F i t z p i e r s l e a v e s , a n d t n e
m y s t e r i o u s f o r m e r l o v e r i s a b l e t o s h o o t h e r w i t h o u t
r e s i s t a n c e . I n a s e n s e , i t r e s u l t s i n t h e i r o n i c a l m i s -
f i r i n q o f M a r t y ' s p l a n , w i t h F i t z p i e r s r e t u r n i n y t o h i s w i f e
b e c a u s e h i s mistress i s d e a d :
F i t z p i e r s had had a m a r v e l l o u s e s c a p e f rom b e i n g
d r a g g e d i n t o t h e i n q u i r y which f o l l o w e d t h e
c a t a s t r o p h e , t h r o u g h t h e a c c i d e n t o f t h e i r h a v i n g
p a r t e d j u s t b e f o r e u n d e r t h e i n f l u e n c e o f M a r t y
S o u t h ' s l e t t e r - t h e t i n y i n s t r u m e n t o f a c a u s e d e e p
i n n a t u r e . ( 4 2 0 )
A s F i t z p i e r s a t t e m p t s t o r e - i n g r a t i a t e h i m s e l f w i t h
Grace, a f t e r G i l e s ' d e a t h :
-. l n e crdsii oi ieild t ï e é iiï î k i s 3cpth3 ü f ;I~E ï i ~ ü ï z z t
wood recall[s] the past at that moment, and al1 the
homely faithfulness of Winterborne. ( 4 2 7 )
The tree serves as a reminder of Giles' "Unfulfilled
Intention" as well as Melbury's failure to ultimately atone
for his "sin" of stealing Grace's mother from Giles' father.
The practical implication of the felling of the tree in
terms of Fitzpiers and Grace is that it creates the distance
between them which is necessary ro promote and maintain
Fitzpiers' desire.
Grace unconsciously increases his desire by limiting
her contact with him, and this ultimately leads to changes
in her "former husband." He asks Grace to dispose of al1
his books of philosophy, perhaps in an attempt to lead the
"unexamined life." For her part, Grace begins to
contemplate "Platonic relations" with Fitzpiers, although
her father advises her to "trouble him no more" (430).
At this point, an unthinking act on the part of Tim
Tangs becomes, in fact, an agent of F a t e . His creation of a
"man-trap" to punish Fitzpiers before he and Suke go to
Australia is actually instrumental in obtaining Fitzpiers'
desires for him: "The hour which had brought these movements
of Tim to birth had been operating actively elsewhereU(443).
The implication that Time conspires and contrives the
meeting of Fitzpiers and Grace, through the auspices of the
,. "man-crap;. is i ~ l e s c d p d L i e . Yï*ce fté13 L h a t 3 h e k,às Ueez
protected by Providence; since she is running when she trips
the trap, she avoids serious injury. She also suggests to
Fitzpiers that their encounter is providential: "Oh, Edred,
there has been an Eye watching over us tonight, and we
should be thankful" (448) .
Since the original "eye" in question is the jealous one
of Suke Damson's husband, the reader appreciates the
delusion of Grace's perception. The purgation which Grace
and Fitzpiers have undergone, combined with their ability to
persuade themselves of a benign intentionality in their
lives, leads them to what Hillis Miller refers to as
"medlated happiness" in much the same manner as Gabriel Oak
and Bathsheba Everdene.
Again the final words of the work are given to the
rustic characters, as they comment whimsically on the
peculiar ways of men and women in love, in a tone
reminiscent of A Midsununer Night's Dream: "The course of
true love never did run smooth." In the last passage, Marty
South reclaims her "own, own love" who has now finally been
abandoned by her rival Grace. Her satisfaction at achieving
her own "intention" in this rather macabre fashion is laden
with ambiguity: "But no, no, my love, 1 can never forqet
'ee; for you was a qood man, and did good things (460).
Whether Hardy is merely salvaging a happy ending from a
lGss Gf l l - - - A - - - I l LL--..-L. -h* trageay, or r e i i e r d i i i i j '-'- Y u u U A L L U I L C l , L U U Y l , C i . I &
failure of his intentions is unclear. That Marty is
satisfied by "possessing" a dead man is one of the greatest
examples of irony in Hardy's work.
Chapter 4 - The Well-Beloved
A s i s t h e c a s e w i t h a l 1 o f H a r d y ' s m a j o r works , and mos t
o f h i s m i n o r o n e s , The Wel l -Beloved - i n s p i r e d a s wide a
v a r i e t y of c r i t i c a l r e s p o n s e s a s t h e r e a r e c r i t i c s . D . H .
Lawrence c a l l e d t h e n o v e l " s h e e r r u b b i s h . " An anonymous
r e v i e w i n t h e A p r i l 1 8 9 7 e d i t i o n o f t h e Athenaeum a p p l a u d s
H a r d y ' s r e t u r n t o " p l e a s a n t r e l a t i o n s w i t h h i s r e a d e r s " :
One c a n o n l y hope t h a t t h e f a c t of h i s now b r i n g i n g
i t o u t i n book form i n d i c a t e s zi d e s i r e t o renew
t h o s e p l e a s a n t r e l a t i o n s w i t h h i s r e a d e r s which s h o u l d
n e v e r have been i n t e r r u p t e d .
The Athenaeurn c r i t i c r e f e r s t o t h e f a c t t h a t , a l t h o u g h The -
Wel l -Be loved a p p e a r e d i n s e r i a l form p r i o r t o t h e
p u b l i c a t i o n o f J u d e , t h e book form a c t u a l l y p o s t d a t e s t h e
t r a g i c f i n a l n o v e l . O b v i o u s l y , t h i s c r i t i c was no a d m i r e r o f
J u d e t h e O b s c u r e . P e r h a p s t h e c r i t i c who cornes c l o s e s t t o
t h e mark i n a s s e s s i n g t h e r e a l w e i g h t o f t h e work i s t h e
London Times c r i t i c who w r o t e : "The romance i s a ' p a s s i o n
p l a y r ; i t i s s a d a n d c y n i c a l and a p p r o a c h e s t r a q e d y . "
The s u i c i d e o f P i e r s t o n i n t h e n o v e i ' s s e r i a l e n d i n g
c e r t a i n l y s u g g e s t s t h e t r a g i c p a t t e r n . However, s i n c e t h e
a b o v e r e v i e w was p u b l i s h e d a f t e r t h e n o v e l ' s r e l e a s e i n
book form, w i t h a r e v i s e d " h a p p i e r e n d i n g , " i t i s r e a s o n a b l e
t o c o n c l u d e t h a t t h i s r e v i e w e r r e f e r s t o t h a t t r a d e - m a r k o f
t h e Hardy n o v e l , t h e u n f u l f i l l e d i n t e n t i o n .
In many ways, The Well-Beloved is a more sophisticated
novel than his other works. The characters operate £rom a
position of cynical self-knowledge that does not derive from
any notion of Christian moraiitÿ, but rather £rom their own
observance of a pagan or natural order to which their wills
are subject. Unlike any other Hardy character, Pierston is
fully complicit with Fa t e , or more accurately, his
perception of Fate.
Pierston's total abandonment of his will to Fate means
that his desire is always changing, always within reach, yet
never attained. Aithough he recognizes this quality in
himself, he is unwilling or unable to oppose the force of
Fate, and remains, even at the novel's end, in a sort of
limbo. Like Ethelberta, he is neither defeated by, nor
triumphant over Fate, as he does not achieve his true
desire, but rather the remission of his desire.
It is interesting to note the place Hardy gives to
creative force, in tnis work as well as in Jude the Obscure.
While Pierston is thwarted in his pursuit of the "well-
beloved," he is at the peak of his creative powers in terms
of art and architecture. When he finally concludes his
pursuit through the "mediated happiness" of his marriage,
hir creative energies cease.
Pierston is also reminiscent of Fitzpiers in - The
woociianaers, in Cnai i i i e y a i t d ~ e Q clesiïe füï ;kie icleal ;;kLick
prevents them from fully engaging with the real. Both
characters are dissatisfied with the attainment of what they
believe to be the object of their desire, so that ultimately
each man responds to the next act of Fate as though it were
the one which will achieve his desire. In this respect they
resemble the much weightier character of Jude, who perceives
the hand of Fate at work througkLout his existence as a
benign force, concluding only at the end of his life that
Fate is not a pr~vidential force, but merely an agent of his
own unhappiness.
Pierston's own perception of Fate is based on his
conviction that the goddess Aphrodite takes human form in
each successive incarnation of his "well-beloved." In the
beginning of the novel, it appears that Pierston may be
simply a fickle romantic, but as the narrative progresses
his unwavering, indeed slavish, aaherence to the "ideal"
which he pursues takes on the nature of a quest.
Pierston's self-kncwledge, combined with the detachment
he demonstrates towards even his most current "well-
beloved," make him as much an observer of his own life as a
participant; as a result he, like Ethelberta, does not
engage the reader in his struggles, because they appear
unimportant even to him. The irony with which Pierston
addresses his pursuit suggests that he, like Ethelberta,
LeLievea Lice L ü ii 9âiTtE:
Eor he had q u i t e d i s a b u s e d h i s mind o f t h e a s s u m p t i o n
t h a t t h e i d 0 1 o f h i s f a n c y was a n i n t e g r a l p a r t o f t h e
p e r s o n a l i t y i n which i t had s o j o u r n e d f o r a l o n g o r a
s h o r t w h i l e . . . . By making t h i s c l e a r t o h i s mind some
t i m e b e f o r e t o d a y , he had e s c a p e d a good d e a l o f u g l y
s e l f - r e p r o a c h . ( 1 0 - 1 1 )
P i e r s t o n r e f u s e s t o a l l o w t h e v o l a t i l i t y o f h i s a t t r a c t i o n
t o d i s t u r b h i s c o n s c i e n c e , s o t h a t he a p p e a r s t o h a v e a n
a l m o s t a m o r a l a p p r o a c h t o h i s p u r s u i t s .
The n a r r a t o r , n a t u r a l l y , r e g a r d s t h e m a c h i n a t i o n s o f
P i e r s t o n f rom t h e u s u a l H a r d i a n d i s t a n c e , a n d i n s i s t s t h a t
t h e r e a d e r d o t h e same:
The r e a d e r i s a s k e d t o remember t h a t t h e d a t e , t hough
r e c e n t i n t h e h i s t o r y o f t h e I s l e o f S l i n g e r s , was
more t h a n f o r t y y e a r s a g o . . . ( 1 2 )
By c r e a t i n g de t achmen t t h r o u g h b o t h t i m e and s p a c e , t h e
n a r r a t o r i n v i t e s t h e r e a d e r t o examine t h e l i v e s o f Av ice
Caro a n d t h e i s l a n d ' s o t h e r i n h a b i t a n t s a s a n i n t e r e s t i n g
a n t h r o p o l o g i c a l s t u d y . He r e l a t e s t h e t r a d i t i o n a l i s l a n d
cus tom o f a b e t r o t h e d c o u p l e ' s "consurnrnating" t h e i r
engagement a s r v i d e n c e t h a t V i c t o r i a n s o c i e t a l l a w s d o n o t
a l w a y s p r e v a i l on t h e I s l e o f S l i n g e r s .
The f a c t t h a t P i e r s t o n a n d Av ice do n o t , i n f a c t ,
o b s e r v e t h e cus tom b e f o r e h i s r e t u r n t o t h e rna in land
- G , ."l 7 , i r i v o i v e s d l lu i i le i ~ L - L S ~ S Ï L C E û f =>~E:S~Û;;' 2 ''~;zÜI;c . . .
self-reproach." Pierston is therefore free, when chance
places him in the path of Miss Bencomb, to pursue the well-
beloved in its new form. He also convinces himself that the
union of his family with hers would bridge the rift between
the two families which has resulted from long-standing
business competition. His reference to Romeo and Juliet may
further suqgest that he sees himself and Miss Bencomb as
"star-crossed lovers":
Jocelyn thought it strange that he should be thrcwn
by fate i n c o a position to play the son of the
Montagues to this daughter of the Capulets. (24)
When he and Miss Bencomb are at the inn waiting for her
clothing to dry, Pierston already feels the shift from Avice
Caro to the "new" form of the well-beloved:
The Well-Beloved was moving house - had gone over to
the wearer of this attire. In the course of ten
minutes he adored her. ( 2 7 )
Althouqh Hardy assiduously avoids ~ h e direct sexual
implications of the situation, Miss Bencombts nearness and
near-nakedness, suggest that Pierston's view of the "ideal"
is not always "platonic." By the same token, Pierston's
awareness of his predilection and his lack of control over
it is at the heart of his failure to engage the reader.
Even as he attrmpts to explain his situation to his friend
Somers, iie L ~ Y ~ L & L i - 1 ~ C B Ü S ë tü LE ~ û ~ ~ t h i ~ ~ ûüt~id:
himself :
1 am under a curious curse or influence. 1 am posed,
puzzled and perplexed by the legerdemain of a creature
a deity rather; by Aphrodite, as a poet would put it,
as 1 should put it myself in marble . . . . But 1 forget -
this is not to be a deprecatory wail but a defence - a
sort of Apologia pro v i t 2 meS. ( 3 2 )
He describes the ELight of the well-beloved, which appears
to occur as soon as he is on the verge of attaining her. His
first encounter wirh the well-beloved, when he was a young
boy, ends "after [he has] kissed [his] Little friend" ( 3 4 ) .
Without evincing any apparent irony at his earlier
experience, Pierston rernarks upon his feelings for the
unattained Avice:
Upon the whole, 1 have decidea that, after all,
she did nol enter the form of Avice Caro, because 1
retain so great a respect for her still. ( 3 5 )
This revelation is suggestive of two qualities: first that
the well-beloved is only desirable if unartainable, and
second, that Pierston loses his "regard" or respect for the
object of his desire, having once attained it. Somers
dismisses the possibility that this is a grave charactêr
flaw: "Essentially, al1 men are fickle like you; but without
such perceptiveness" ( 3 5 ) .
1 1 , cuL5e , V I .-L---C--- Piersioi i s L I I ~ L C L U L C , iS nvt 'L- c:- l* l - - , . "" " F
C I L = L L L I \ A C * , L 3 3 " L
his desire or the unachievable goal of the well-beloved, but
rather his perception of his fate. In this, he resembles
even Hardy's greatest tragic hero, Jude Fawley.
When Pierston loses Marcia Bencomb, or rather the
present form of the well-beloved, because of a quarrel over
her father's treatment of his own, he remains receptive to
the possibility that Marcia will return to him until he
observes " . . . the mournful departure of the Well-Beloved
from the form he had lately cherished . . . " (46). His loss of
the incarnate form of the well-beloved leads him to greater
endeavours in his art:
Jocelyn threw into plastic creations that ever-bubbling
spring of emotion which, without some conduit into
space, will surge upwards and ruin al1 but the greatest
men. (49)
The frustration of his desire in the matter of love gives
energy to his creative purposes, so that he succeeds
"without effort" in achieving membership in the Royal
Academy. His public success is attributed to his
detachment:
... indifference to the popular reception of his dream-
figures [lends] him a curious artistic aplomb that
carrie [s] him through the gusts of opinion .... (49)
This indifference to external assessment is counter-
" , : L . 1 -LI^--- 7 - ..: LL LL... .,....l 1 _CICI l .--.*A ._th* v IL L u a l u u a ~ a a r u i i rr r L ~ A ~ i i c . ir L A A LU, . i r . v
remains as inaccessible as before because of "ber
instability of tenure" (51). Pierston recognizes the
frivolity of his pursuit even as he devotes his energy to
its creation in sculpture:
"lt is odd," he said to himself, "that this experience
of mine, or idiosyncrasy, or whatever it is, which
would be a sheer waste of time for other men, creates
sober business for me." (51)
And so twenty years pass lightly, until Pierston is "a
young man of forty." The narrator describes his passivity
and inaction; it is as though he waits for Late, in the
person of "the deity" to make express his purpose:
. . . he was like a stone in a purlinq brook, waiting
for some peculiar floating objecr to be broughr
to stick upon his mental surface.(58)
He finds himself "seized with a presentiment . . . that he
might be going to encounter the Well-Beloved that
night"(57). Pierston further believes that the woman whose
form the well-beloved has entered has even less power than
himself in the hands of "the Goddess":
In this he nas aware, however, that though it might
be now, as heretofore, the Loved who danced before him,
it was the Goddess behind her who pulled the string of
that Jumping Jill. (64)
.. - ne *.~umping G i i i " appedrs ds ci iiiiiidless Jül;, xCü
nonetheless is able to provoke desire in the eyes of the
cursed observer. Pierston believes that he and bis well-
beloved are equally at the mercy of Fate, but in describing
himself as "cursed," he affirms his own significance.
When Mrs. Pine-Avon, the current container of the Well-
Beloved, rejects him because of a mistaken report of his
previous marriage to Marcia Bencomb, he resolves to remain
aloof £rom her. His resolve wavers with her renewed
friendlineçs, and "he re-admiro[s] her," but the chance
discovery of a lerter in his pocket once again checks his
desire, as he learns of the death of Avice Caro.
Pierston's link with Avice is explained by the
"potential" relationship which is n e v e r fulfilled:
The sou1 of Avice - the only woman he had never loved
of those who had loved him - surrounded him like a
firmament. (73)
Avice becomes tangible and concrete to Pierston only when
she is totally beyond his reach. This recalls the longing
Grace Melbury feels for her estranged husband when it
appears he may be out of reach through death. The narrator
comments ironically: "He loved the woman dead and
inaccessible as he had never loved her in l i f e " (73). To
Pierston, the deceased Avice becomes "the only one 1 ought
to have c a ~ e d for" ( 7 7 ) , so that when he encounters the
seconci Hvice, i i e 15 i i i u ï ~ ~ d i d t ~ ~ j ; d ï ü ~ ï i tz t h e " ï ~ - i t , ~ ü ï r ; û t c d "
form of the Well-Beloved, wishing "he could be living here
an illiterate and unknown man." His desire to reject what
might be termed his advantages is typical of Pierston's
pursuit of his ideal.
He suspects "the capricious Divinity" of making him
the object of satire, but chooses îo deiiberately avoid
recognizing the fact, in favour of foliowing what he
believes to be his prescribed course: "But it was recklessly
pleasant to leave the suspicion unrecognized as yet, and
follow the lead"(88). He continues in this vein,
purposefully deceiving himself that the second Avice is the
complete ernbodiment of the first, and ignoring evidence to
the contrary:
He could not help seeing in her al1 that he knew of
another, and veiling in her a11 that did not harmonize
with his sense of meternpsychosis. (92)
He believes his present state, at forty, to be preferable
to the earnestness of his youth in that he now may enjoy the
fruits of his "madness":
There was a strange difference in his regard of his
present folly and of his love in his youthful time. Now
he could be mad with method, knowing it to be madness;
then he was compelled to make believe his madness
wisdom. ( 102 )
which he cannot control or overcome, Pierston has met an
exact soul-mate in temperament, for she also is subject to
the whims of the Goddess in terms of her own romances:
... 1 get tired of my lovers as soon as 1 get to know
them well. What 1 see in one young man for a while
soon leaves him and goes into another yonder and 1
follow, and then what 1 admire fades out of hirn and
springs up somewhere else . . . . 1 have loved i i f t e e n
already ... (105)
Pierston's desire for her is directly proportional to her
inaccessibility. The fact that she presently has a suitor
makes him more determined to have her, and he believes his
wealth will compensate for his age.
When he describes Anne Avice to Somers, he acknowledges
al1 of the deterrents to his desire, but affirms his will to
have her despite the numerous objections:
Behind the mere pretty island-girl (to the world) is,
in my eye, the Idea, in Platonic phraseology - the
essence and epitome of al1 that is desirable in this
existence . . . That girl holds me, thouqh rny eyes a r e
open, and though 1 see that 1 am a £001. (110)
Like Fitzpiers in his constant desire for the unattainable,
Pierston believes the curent Avice to embody the Ideal, and
he is held by desire for her, regardlêss of the intercession
of reason.
In a manner which recalls Melbury's wish to marry his
daughter to Giles Winterborne, to satisfy an old "debt,"
Pierston further believes that the Immanent Will must be
fulfilled by his marriage to the daughter of the woman he
abandoned:
. . . the desire to make reparation to the original
woman by wedding and enriching the copy . . . was thwarted, as if by the set intention of his destiny.
(113)
It is important to recognize that although he "believes" he
must satisfy a universal force, his perception is clearly
limited; his "destiny" proves to be different from what he
perceives it to be. His belief in his own importance - his
ability to rectify a perceived wrong, or to excite Fate to
retribution - is typical of the fate-driven Hardy
protagonist. However, Pierston is compelled to realize that
his own will is still subject to the force which
consistently drives him, and he maintains his course even
when Mrs. Fine-Avon attempts to re-assert her place in his
desire. When he parts Company with her, his eye is drawn to
the island's church:
[It] nad arisen near the foundatians of the Pagan
temple, and a Christian emanation from the former
might be wrathfully torturing hirn through the very
Eaise g o u s io wiiuiii iie ilad U e ~ ü t e U ; i i ~ ~ ~ l f U ü t h ;il ?,IJ
craft, like Demetrius of Ephesius, and his heart.
Perhaps Divine punishment for his idolatries had corne.
i 115
He feels his loss of Mrs. Pine-Avon as judgment by the
Christian God throuqh the offices of pcgan deities. It is a
moment of intense introspection which qives more weight to
Pierston's character than we have yet seen. However, since
the torture to which he r e f e r s involves neither death no:
pestilence, the wayward thought does not evoke greater
engagement on the part of the reader.
The passage is, however, siqnificant for its
foreshadowing of Sue Bridehead in Jude the Obscure, who
inspires a similar juxtaposition of the pagan and the
Christian through her worship of the deities Aphrodite and
Apollo. In each case the char acte^ is drawn by forces which
predate Christianity, and which therefore permit him/her to
behave in a way which ignores the boundaries of conventional
Victorian society. The idealistic introspection of Pierston
is sharply contrasted in the next passage with the
pragmatism of Somers, who upon seeing Mrs. Pine-Avon for tne
first time, is determined to marry her:
"1'11 marry her if she's willing!" With the phlegrnatic
dogmatism that was part of him, Somers added: "When you
have decided to marry, take the first nice woman you
-. m e e ~ . ~ r i e y d ~ e d l 1 d l i h= . " I L L I J " 1 7 '
I n P i e r s t o n ' s a t t e m p t t o c a p t u r e t h e s e c o n d A v i c e ' s
f e a t u r e s i n h i s s c u l p t u r e , h e f i n d s h e i s u n a b l e t o u n i f y
t h e fo rm and t h e s p i r i t : " . . . w h i l e c a t c h i n g [ h e r f a c e ] i n
s u b s t a n c e , [ h e h a s ] l o s t s o m e t h i n g t h a t was e s s e n t i a l "
( 1 2 9 ) . His f a i l u r e i n t h i s r e g a r d r e f l e c t s t h e i n s t a b i l i t y
o f t h e u n i o n o f t h e r e a l and t h e i d e a l , a s well a s h i s own
i n c o n s t a n c y i n t h e i r p u r s u i t . H i s d e s i r e t o " c r e a t e " t h e
" r e a l " Av ice i n c l a y i s a s t h w a r t e d a s h i s d e s i r e t o p o s s e s s
h e r . For h e r p a r t , Av ice i s a b l e t o p e r c e i v e o n l y t h e r e a l ;
t h e c r e a t i o n s o f P i e r s t o n ' s a r t a r e i n a c c e s s i b l e t o h e r .
She l o o k s a t h i s s c u l p t u r e s :
. . . w i t h t h e w i s t f u l i n t e r e s t o f a s o u 1 s t r u g g l i n g t o
r e c e i v e i d e a s o f b e a u t y v a g u e l y d i s c e r n e d y e t e v e r
e l u d i n g h e r . " (131)
When P i e r s t o n t a k e s t h e s e c o n d Av ice back t o t h e i s l a n d
t o r e s t o r e h e r t o h e r husband he f e e l s t h e d i s a p p r o b a t i o n of
t h e pagan d e i t i e s a t h i s a p p a r e n t r e j e c t i o n o f t h e i d e a l i n
f a v o u r o f t h e p r a c t i c a l :
A p h r o d i t e , A s h t a r o t h , F r e y j a , o r whoever t h e l o v e - q u e e n
o f h i s i s l e m i g h t have been , was p u n i s h i n g him s h a r p l y ,
a s s h e knew b u t t o o w e l l how co p u n i s h h e r v o t a r i e s
when t h e y r e v e r t e d frorn t h e e p h e m e r a l t o t h e s t a b l e
mood. ( 1 3 6 )
H i s c h a g r i n a t t h i s outcome o f h i s p u r s u i t o f t h e i d e a l i s
i l l ~ ~ e d s e d Uÿ LkLé h i r t h û f A - ; i r ~ ' ~ ~ h i l d , 22d th2 d i ç r v ï z z y
two days later, of the pending marriage of Somers and Mrs.
Pine-Avon.
As on the previous occasion of his 105s of rhe ideal,
Pierston becomes more and more "fruitful" in the pursuit of
his art. He subsequently learns of the trials which Anne
Avice and her husband experience before prosperity in the
bus.inoss which h e had established for Ike enables tnem to
a t t a i n a "mediaced Happiness":
. . . that kind of domestic reconciliation which is so calm ana durable, having as its chief inoredient
neither hate nor love, but an all-embracing
indifference. ( 1 4 6 )
Hardy once a g a i n appears to reward the indifferentist
with a species of happiness or contentment whicn is not
offered t o the idealist. Gabriel Oak succeeds in his dream
only when he has ceased to strive for it; Ethelberta
Chickerel achieves her goals only because she views life as
a game; Avice and Ike Pierston reach a peaceful marriage
when they feel o n i y indifference towards each other. It is
perhaps a dark caricature of the rnarriage of Oak and
Sathsheba, more in keeping with the cynicism of The Well-
Beloved.
Pierston's attention is again drawn to his birth-place
when, while in Rome, he overhears a conversation concerning
- - L U - - . . 2 . 1 A , " - - 7 ------- T l - - A * . 2 ---, : A - arci id Dericu~ilL, iiuw ctrc w ~ u u w c u r i ~ a . L I T = V T = L L = . l m L U 1 ilbLpAALci
that the forces of synchronicity are in place because the
Italian quarries remind Pierston of the Isle of Slingers.
This coincidence is compounded by a letter which he receives
£rom Avice "a little after this date," informing him of her
husband's death.
He finds her, naturally, much changed - "the sorry
shadow of Avice the Second" - but s h e verifies his own
feelings about himself: "Why - you are just the same!"
(150). There is almost a suggestion of the supernatural
about Pierston's continued youthfulness, as though in the
pursuit of his ideal love he has somehow been preserved by
his patroness, Aphrodite. Pierston's view of this state is
marked by sadness because he is: " . . . out of proportion wi:h
the time. Moreover, while wearing the aspect of comedy, it
[is] of the nature of tragedy" (150). Later events bear out
the narratorts comment, for while his youchful appearance
attracts Avice the third, it is not sufficient to win her.
When he meets her he sees ".. . a still more modernized,
up-to-date edition of the two Avices of that blood . . . . I l
(153) . He is not, however, comforted by this insight, but
rather feelç destined to complete yet another cycle with the
Well-Beloved:
, . . he now felt that his old trouble, his doom - his curse indeed he had sometimes called it - was come back
& " L L - , i t ÿ . .- agair i . w a s l,VLL ..-& Y C L ---- pLuplLAaLcu L L : , L , . J L u L c,, LI..- L A & L
original sin against her image in the person of Avice
the first, and now, at the age of one-and sixty, he was
urged on and on like the Jew Ahasuerus - or, in the
phrase of the islanders thernselves, like a blind ram.
(156)
So convinced is he that he will find the Well-Beloved in
the form of Avice the Third that when he tells Avice that he
is hoping to mret her daughter, he knows "...that he might
[add] with predestined truth... 'my new tenderly-beloved'"
( 1 5 7 ) .
Pierston continues to regard the mutability of the
Well-Beloved, and his seemingly helpless pursuit of her, as
the product of an external force which he is powerless to
resist, although the narrator suggests he may not wish to
resist: "The curse of his qualities (if it were not a
blessing) was far from having spent itself yet" (158).
At sixty-one years of age, Pierston looks back on the
period of his criginal attraction to Avice the First, and
ponderç the significance of a single incident to the course
of his life:
It was in this very spot that he was to have met the
grandmother of the girl at his side, and in which he
would have met her, had she chosen to keep the
appointment, a meeting which might - nay, must - have
cnangea ~ i i e wiiuit: C U L L ~ I I C üL ;-La l i f e . (:VV)
As e l s e w h e r e i n Hardy, t h e p r o t a g o n i s t i s c o n s c i o u s of the
s l i m m a r g i n which d e t e r m i n e s outcornes, and t h e effect o f
a p p a r e n t l y mino r e v e n t s . P i e r s t o n a l s o acknowledges t h e
r e a l i t y of h i s a g e and t h e p r o b a b i l i t y t h a t h e w i l l n e v e r
possess t h e o n j e c t of nis desire: "Tirne was a g a i n s t him a n d
l o v e , and t i m e would p r o b a b l y win" (169).
D e s p i t e h i s r e s e r v a t i o n s a b o u t m a r r y i n g t h i s y o u n g e s t
v e r s i o n of Av ice , P i e r s t o n becomes enqaged t o h e r , b u t on
t h e e v e n i n g of t h e i r engagement h e h a ç a n a t h e r presentiment.
H i s v i s i o n of hi rnse i f i n the windowpane a p p e a r s t o mock t h e
f r i v o l i t y of h i s d e s i r e :
The p e r s o n he a p p e a r e d was t o o g r i e v o u s l y f a r ,
c h r o n o l o g i c a l l y , i n advance o f t h e p e r s o n h e f e l t
hirnself t o be. P i e r s î o n d i d no t ca re t o r e g a r d t h e
f i g u r e c o n f r o n t i n g him so rnockingly . I t s v o i c e seemed
t o s a y "There's t r a g e d y h a n g i n g on t o t h i s . " ( 1 7 5 )
Avice i s shocked when h e r e v e a l s h i s t r u e age, b u t s h e
a p p e a r s t o r a l l y , a n d P i e r s t o n has a sense t h a r he w i l l a t
l a s r c o m p l e t e t h e i n t e n t i o n of m a r r y i n g "one of t h e
line"(l81). Her m o t h e r , A v i c e the Second, s h a r e s P i e r s t o n ' s
hope f o r t h i s c o m p l e t i o n :
The widow t h o u g h t t h e second Avice rniqht p r o b a b l y n o t
h a v e rejected P i e r s r o n on t h a t o c c a s i o n i n t h e London
s t u d i o s o many y e â r s ago i f d e s t i n y had not a r r a n g e d
another.. . ( 1 9 0 )
It is perhaps significant that neither Pierston nor
Avice the Second desires his marriage to Avice the Third in
particular; rather they are both operating £rom the desire
to redress an old wrong. Pierston feels he must marry an
Avice; Avice the Second urges him not to marry an off-
islander or "kimberlin."
When Avice the Third thwarts her mother and Pierston's
intentions, she ascribes her actions to chance: "Tell Mr.
Pierston it was not premeditated, but the result of an
accident" (195). Leverre's illness creates the opportunity
for her to withdraw from the inappropriatc. marriage, and sne
perceives it as an act of God:
. . . But God sent this necessity of my haviny to give
shelter to my Love, to prevent, 1 think, my doing
what 1 am now convinced would have been wrong. ( 1 9 5 )
Pierston's response to the l o s s of what h e believes tu be
his last opportunity to attain "the Well-Beloved" is a wish
to end his pursuit. In the original ending, thiç wish leads
to his suicide attempt. In the second "happier" ending: "He
desire[s] to sleep away his tendencies, to make something
happen which would put an end to his bondage to beauty in
the ideal" (202). At his meeting and reconciliation with
Marcia Leverre, the mother of Avice the Third's young lover,
V f m: - - i Pierston remarks c n a c h i s i o s s UT Avice 13 n - - 1 l i t t e 3
revenges" (203), underlining the notion that Time redresses
what destiny has misdirected. His sentiment is reminiscent
of both Far From the Madding Crowd and The Woodlanders,
where Time is seen to restore what is lost. He concludes bis
speculations on Time by asserting: "As for me . . . 1 have
lived a day too long" ( Z O G ) , echoing Shakespeare's Macbeth
as he contemplates his last battle.
Pierston's decline in health, brought on by an illness
he contracts at Avice the Second's funeral, actually marks
the end of his "curse": "1 have lost a faculty, for which
loss, Heaven be praised" (210). His eârlier ailegiance to
"the goddess" or more specifically "Aphrodite" has been
replaced by the Christian notion of "Heaven," which may
indicate a feeling of reconciliation with Christianity after
his departure from the Pagan. In another sense, his
connection to the ideal or abstract rnay be replaced by a
return to the real and the mundane.
At the same time as the "faculty" leaves him, his
appreciation for the beauty of art, and parîicularly for his
own finished and partiy-finished works, declines: "They are
as ugliness to me!" (213). The desire for the ideal, once
removed, destroys Pierston's creative impulse. In addition,
the quest of the ideai which has kept him unnaturaily
youthful is gone; Jocelyn Pierston begins, at last, to age:
"Yes. Thank Heaven 1 am old at last. The curse iç
removed" (213).
The novel might easily have ended at this point.
Hardy, however, cedes to some critics and readers, while at
the same time gently satirizing their wishes for a
"syrnmetricaltt conclusion:
That's how people are - wanting to round off other
people's histories in the best machine-made
conventional manner. (214)
So, as Hardy's conventional readers evidently demanded,
Pierston is at last married to Marcia, who is by this point
in a wheelchair because of crippling arthriïis: "-And so the
zealous wishes of the neighbours to give a geometrical shape
to their story were fulfilled.. ." (216) .
Hardy does, however, have the final Say. Aftor
dispatching Pierston to a meeting, the narrator enumerates
his many philanthropic acts, which have replaced both art
and the Well-Beloved as his purpose in his rernaining years.
As a parting shot at the critics, the novel concludes:
At present he is sometimes mentioned as "the late
Mr.PierstonH by gourd-like young critics and
journalists; and his productions are alluded to as
those of a man not without genius, whose powers were
insufficiently recognized in his lifetime. ( 2 1 8 )
y - . 1 . t - h t h amnf-1,- y v u ~ u r r i i ~ y u u i i y L L I L A L ~ ~ G ~ . . c L ~ u L ~ L - C . I . , C.A..r II
skulled reviewers of Mr. Hardy's work - may have needed no
greater motivation than this insult, to praise or denigrate
his work.
The fact of the novel's mostly luke-warm reception is
attributable to the character of Pierston and his perception
of Fate. He is not merely, as Somers describes him,
"fickle"; he truly is so rnindful of the role of an external
"Fate" in his life that he is powerless to exercise personal
will. Since he believes himself to be entirely Fate-driven,
his struggles create no real tension for the reader, so it
is impossible to engage with his history. Even the suicide
of the original enaing, although truer to Hardy's treatment
of "unsuccessful" protaqonists, would not have evoked such
an engagement in the reader, because the character's will
has so little impact on the course of the narrative. Like
Ethelberta, he would be simply withdrawing £rom the game.
Chapter 5 - Jude the Obscure
Jude the Obscure: Hardy's final novel, arquably his finest
novel, had, at the time of its publication, no more
consistent treatment at the hands of its critics than any of
the author's previous works. Jeannette Gilder wrote in the
New York World magazine:
What has gone wrong with the hand that wrote Far From
the Madding Crowd? Jude the Obscure is almost the
worst book 1 have ever read.
An unsigned review in the Athenaeum calls it a "titanically
bad book," citing Hardy's latest manipulation of Destiny as
the source of the novel's "weakness":
But Mr.Hardyts view of Destiny is by no means
stationary, and in its latest development in this book
it becomes almost grotesque.
Mrs. Oliphant reviles the work as an interdiction of
marriage:
There may be books more disgusting, more impious as
regards human nature, more fou1 in detail, in those
dark corners where the amateurs of filth find garbaçe
to their taste; but not, we repeat, from any Master's
hand.
To be sure, Mrs. Oliphant enjoys a certain blindness to the
irony of her own statements, so it should not be surprlsrng
that she completely misses the significance of Hardy's
irony. But it is a no doubt serendipitous turn that leads
her to her conclusions about Hardy's "impiety" towards human
nature. For how can Hardy be "impious" unless man is the god
of his own universe? In Jude the Obscure, Hardy reaches a
conclusion of his own regarding the "concatenation" of human
life that would not be fully articulated until the
twentieth-century existentialists: we have only ourselves to
placaîe in the universe.
Richard le Gallienne responded to Mrs. Oliphant's
criticism of Jude:
. . . Mr. Hardy's novel, in so far as it is an indictment,
is an indictment of far crueler laws than those
relating to marriage, the laws of the universe . . . .
His assessment of the work demonstrates the breadth of the
powers at work in the course of the narrative; crass
casuality and chance have little to do with the forces that
afflict Jude Fawley. In calling attention to himself
through his will, Jude excites a preternatural force whose
only purpose appears to be the opposition of his will. His
realization that it is this force, not God nor Providence,
nor destiny, which "dices" with him, finally leads to Jude's
destruction. At the same time, it is this realization that
gives Jude power as a tragic figure. Dale Kramer compares
P"i Y "f L I - .. L ' - - - - - 1 ' . - E T * ' c l r . L.ri L h - C -C c h - - , o r ; Rn+ CLIC: ~ ~ a y c u y U A uuur; LU L r i ~ L uriLAr.ic
Greek " i n v e n t o r s " of t r a g e d y :
H a r d y ' s "gods" a r e a s p u n c t i l i o u s i n t h e i r w o r k i n g s a s
t h o s e of A e s c h y l u s a n d E u r i p i d e s . Threat o r defiance
t o w a r d s s o c i a l laws d e s e r v e s no mercy . (Kramer 1 6 2 )
It i s t r u e t h a t , l i k e Tess, Jude i s d r i v e n b y a p p a r e n t l y
w a r r i n g f o r c e s ; t h e C h r i s t i a n "God" whom J u d e would s e r v e i s
c o u n t e r p o i n t e d by S ü e t s " h e a t h e n " d e i t i e s , A p h r o d i t e and
A p o l l o . I n t h e end, however , Sue is "convinced" t h a r "God"
h a s t r i u m p h e d :
. . . when t h e c r a g e d y cornes, a n d he r c h i l d r e n a r e
k i l l e d , h e r p o o r e x t r a v a g a n t b r a i n s l i p s one g r a d e
f u r t h e r down, and s h e s e e s i n t h i s c a l a m i t y t h e
c h a s t i s e m e n t o f God. (Gosse , C o s m o p o l i s )
J u d e , on t h e o t h e r h a n d , f i n a l l y r e j e c t s any n o t i o n o f a
G o d - c e n t e r e d u n i v e r s e : "1 am glad 1 had n o t h i n g t o do w i t h
D i v i n i t y - damn q lad - i f i t ' s g o i n g t o r u i n you i n t h i s
way" ( 4 2 3 ) .
The t i t l e of t h e novel h a s b e e n t h e o b j e c t o f much
c r i t i c a l c o n j e c t u r e , i m p l y i n q a n ironic duality i n J u d e ' s
c h a r a c t e r . M i c h a e l M i l l g a t e s u g g e s t s t h e r e i s a p a r o d i c
element o f " r o y a l t y " a t t a c h e d t o h i s name; u n l i k e " A l e x a n d e r
t h e G r e a t , " J u d e ' s d e s t i n y L s o b s c u r i t y . M i l l g a t e f u r t h e r
s p e c u l a t e s t h a t J u d e i s a p r o l e t a r i a n Oed ipus , doomed t o
live o u t t h e f a r e which he i s a t p a i n s t o avoid. I n
. . . ? Y ---..-- #l - r . .A* tT : - a a u i i i u i l , L Y I I L Y C L L C ~ L Y U C ~ , uuui: A d ü p V S ~ i b l : r;f;r:;;~c t~
J u d a s I s c a r i o t , J u d e ' s b e t r a y a l of h i m s e l f r e f l e c t i n g J u d a s '
b e t r a y a l of C h r i s t .
T h e r e a r e s e v e r a l s a i n t s who s h a r e t h e name " J u d e , " t h e
most l i k e l y c a n d i d a t e f o r Jude F a w l e y f s p a t r o n a g e b e i n g t h e
p o p u l a r " p a t r o n s a i n t of l o s t c a u s e s . " O f c o u r s e , a n o t h e r
p a r a l l e l which canno t be over looked i s t h e compar ison, m d e
by t h e pagan S u e , t o J u l i a n t h e A p o s t a t e , t h e Roman Emperor
who a t t e m p t e d t o r e i n s t a t e paganism a s t h e n a t i o n ' s
r e l i g i o n . S u e ' s a l l u s i o n i s undoub ted ly t o J u l i a n ' s
d i s c o u r s e on cyr i ic ism - f a l s e and t r u e - and i t s p l a c e i n a
b e l i e f - s y s t e m , h e r p o i n t be ing J u a e ' s l a c k of " t r u e "
cyn ic i s rn .
R i c h a r d C a r p e n t e r comrnents t h a t t h e o p e r a t i v e word i n
t h e t i t l e i s " o b s c u r e " :
The n o v e l i s well-named because Jude i s "obscure" b o t h
i n t h a t he i s a mere workingman of no s o c i a l p o s i t i o n
and i n t h a t he does n o t u n d e r s t a n d h i m s e l f nor t h e
f o r c e s a t work i n h i s l i f e . ( C a r p e n t e r 1 2 9 )
The i d e a t h a t J u d e Fawley i s p r e - d e s t i n e d t o a t r a g i c f a t e
i s i n t r o d u c e d by h i s Aunt D r u s i l l a ' s d e s c r i p t i o n of t h e
f a m i l y " c u r s e " : "Jude , my c h i l e , d o n ' t you e v e r mar ry .
' T i s n ' t f o r t h e Fawleys t o t a k e t h a t s t e p anymore" ( 9 ) . Yet
t h e men t ion o f t h e c u r s e seems d e s u l t o r y , a l m o s t comic, a t
t h i s j u n c t u r e . However, t h e c h a r a c t e r of Aunt D r u s i l l a
a c c o u n c s , t o some e x ~ e n E , Tor L i t e rdLr i l ~ i ~ ü ~ p = ~ t i ü ï ~ û f
young Jude Fawley, who is bemused by the realization that
the variety of desires at work in Nature are sometimes
mutually exclusive:
He worked the clacker till his arm ached, and at length
his heart grew sympathetic with the birds thwarted
desires. They seemed, like himself, to be living
in a world that did not want them.(ll)
Here Jude is reminiscent of Gabriel Oak's overenthusiastic
sheepdog, whose philosophizing leads to his destruction.
Jude's beating at the hands of his employer suggests the
inevitability of punishment for the wondering mind. It is
in keeping with the frequent theme in Hardy of the evolved
character as the more likely to be destroyed, in effect by
his own perception of Fate.
This notion of the "evolved" character is supported by
Paul de Man's arguments in "What is Modern?":
As consciousness develops and progresses, it is bound
to encounter an increasing resistance to ils own
g r o w t h . The more it understands its own progression,
the more difficult or even painful rhis progression
becomes. Naturally enough, this increased resistance
leads to a nûstalgiz regret f o ï eaïiier, less advanced
stages of self-awareness that may seem surrounded by an
aura of innocent simplicity. (de Man 142)
As C i l d L d c i e L 3 Li, ~ a ï ~ L . ' 3 . . - - 1 . - - - - e l - - - -- 2 - 4- " 7 - 1 - v..mwA W U L A 3 CVUIYF, V L III ub L I U I I c> ..IVLU,
"proqress," their increasing self-awareness leads them to
recognize the resistance to their progress as an external
force, which in the case of Jude, is the "First CauseW(418)
which overrides and supersedes conventional and paqan
concepts of order.
It is particularly siqnificant, then, that in the space
of two pages Hardy presents two different "causes" for the
f a t e which awaits Jude Fawley. A u n t Drusilla's hint at the
Fawleys' poor fortune in marriage amplifies Jude's
predisposition to philosophic thinking. When Jude is
discharged by the farmer, Hardy describes the boy's unusüal
sensitivity to the situation - naturally from a Hardian
distance:
Jude . . . walked along the trackway weeping - not from
pain, though that was keen enough; not from the
perception of t h e flaw in the terrestrial scheme, by
which what was good fur God's birds was bad for God's
gardener; but with the a w f u l sense that he had wholly
disgraced himself before he had been a year in the
p a r i s h , and hence might be a burden to his great-aunt
f o r l i f e . (12-13!
Jude's vision of himself as burden later e v o l v e s to his
identification with the Old 'Testament Job. It is also a
precursor of his son Jude's notion that he must remove his
1 d i - i ~ ~ ~ arid SÜC'S h ü ~ d ~ ï i 2~ h i : : i ~ ~ 55s h l f - ~ i h 1 i ? . r ; ~ 2r.d
himself.
This extreme sensitivity extends to the trees which are
felled; Jude's empathy for their pain is reminiscent of
Marty South's comments on the trees' "sorrow." Hardy as
narrator calls the reader's attention to the likelihood of
Jude's suffering:
. . . he was the sort of man who was born to ache a good
deal before the curtain of his unnecessary life should
signify that al1 was w e l l with him again. (13)
Unquestionably, Jude's long-suffering nature is inherent;
his family's short-comings in the nuptial experience may be
equally "hereditary." But the characteristic which dooms
Jude to defeat is actually a "pcsitive" quality: hope. Even
as he walks home in disgrace from the farmer's field, he
glances backward, trying to catch a glimpse of his "Holy
City," Christminster. The fact that the city lies in the
same direction as tne place of his failure disturbs him to
some degree, but it also increases his "desire":
There was something unpleasant about the coincidence
for the moment, but the fearsomeness of this fact
rather increased his curiosity about the city. (15)
He prays that the mists will lift, and is rewarded by
aglimpse of Christminster, which appears to him to
sugcjest"God's" approval of his desire. Yet even though Jude
is redssured " 2 Li-ie s ü i t a h i l i t y " û f hi; U~siï:, hz iz
conscious of the futility of his will to obtain it.
Phillotson's gift of the book underlines his frustration:
\\ . . . he wished he had never seen a book, that he might never
see another, that he had never been born"(32). In aligning
himself with Job, Jude tacitly acknowledges the burden of
hi5 desire, as well as the hostile elements which oppose it.
While Jude contemplates his future at Christminster,
and his eventual ecclesiastical triumph, the voice of
"Fate," in the form of Arabella, is heard from behind the
hedge: "Hoity-toity!" ( 4 1 1 . The collision of Jude's
partially evolved self witb the earthy, unevolved Arabella
marks the end of Jude's aspirations. Even here, Hardy's
assessment of the situation is quite light-hearted,
suggesting a mere diversion, rather than a complete reversa1
of Jude's direction:
She saw that he had singled her out from the three,
as a woman is singled out in such cases, for no
reasoned purpose but in cornmonplace obedience to
conjunctive orders from headquarters, unconsciously
received by unfortunate men when the last intention
of their lives i s to be occupi~d with the feminine. ( 4 3 )
The timing of Jude's meeting with Arabella recalls the
random nature of "chance" which invests a seemingly
insignificant moment with the power to cornpletely alter the
-. coxrse of an existence. lne i dc i i i i d i ii i.3 3 ~ d e ' 5 ' ' l dsL
intention . . . to be occupied with the feminine" gives a
weiqht to the coincidence which is subverted by Hardy's
humorous tone.
At the same time, the dedicated Hardy r eade r recognizes
that no action is withcut consequence, so the meeting is
clearly a species of foreshadowing. Jude himself realizes
almost immediately that t he re is:
. . . something in her quite antipathetic to that s i d e
of him that haa been occupied with literary study and
the magnificent Christminster dream. (45-46)
That Jude refers to Christminster a s a "dream" at this
juncture is quice revealing, for i t demonstrates a comrnon
Hardy motif: the object of desire increases in value when it
becomes less arrainable. At this moment, Jude's desire for
Arabella and Christminster are almost balanced. His
awareness that one is "antipathetic" to the other almost
persuades hirn to avoid visiting Arabel la , but he finally
yields to an almost preternatural compulsion:
I n short, as if materially, a compelling arm of
extraordinary muscular power seiced hola of hirn -
something which had nothing in comrnon with the spirits
and influences that had moved hirn hitherto. (48)
The rnuscular power, of course, may be a Hardy euphemism for
a particalar bodily desire of which Jude has apparently had
no previous experierice. t ' 1 iduuULeU1~ A ï ; t U s 1 i a is ri5tübl.i3kied
as a fleshly temptress whu lures Jude away £rom the pursuit
of the spiritual. The narratorts attitude to the change in
Jude is heavily ironic. His detachment £rom the character
is evident in such disparaginq descriptions as this:
. . . Jude, the incipient scholar, prospective D. D. , professor, Bishop, or what not, felt himself honored
and glorified by the condescension of this handsome
country wench a g r e e i n g to take a walk with him . . . . ( 5 0 )
Arabella replaces Christminster temporarily as the o b j e c t of
Jude's "unfulfilled intention." In the scene following ïhe
pig-chasing, Jude and Arabella sit on a hill:
. . . and the distant landscape around Christminster
could be discerned from where they l a y . But Jude
did n o t think of that then. (59)
She refuses to kiss Jude, and, in time-honoured fashion, his
desire for her increases, supplanting his loftier
intentions. Jude's "forced rnarriage" to Arabella i s
acknowledged by the people of the parish as the end of his
aspirations: "Al1 of his reading had corne only to this, that
h e would have to sel1 his books to by saucepans" ( 6 5 ) .
The replacement of the Platonic ideal by the very earthiy
Arabella marks the transition in Jude £rom dreamer to
struggler. His aunt predictably sees the marriage as
equivalent to his self-destruction: " . . . it would have been 1 L - . - LI b e ~ ~ e r ii, i i i s i edd uf ' i i i ~ L L V L I I Y Cu L L " u " l = r rL ?,;U ~ G E C
underground years before . . . " ( 66).
As soon as Jude is actually married te Arabella, his
desire for her virtually ends, due largely to his
realization of her deceptions. The revelation of Arabella's
"mistake" in declaring herself pregnant is the necessary
condition for Jude's transition to a truly tragic figure.
It is not sufficient that the narrator and the reader are
aware of Jude's thwarted des i re ; ths protagonist himself
mus t also know :
When Jude awoke the next morning, he seemed to see the
world with a different eye. . . . He was inclined to inquire what he had done, or she had lost, for that
matter, that he deserved to be caught in a gin which
would cripple him, if not her also, for the rest of a
lifetime. (71)
Jude's recognition of his own tragic potential is heightened
by his recognition that his desire to "better himself" is
"cornmon"; he implies that his real aim is to distinguish
himself from the average "working-man":
Yet he sometimes felt that by caring for books he was
not escaping cornmonplace nor gaining rare ideas, every
working-man being of that taste. (76)
When the marriage is dissolved, Jude turns once again to
the "dream" of Christminster as the object of his intention,
.. . as ne perceives cne , , n a i o " s u r r u u i i ù i r i y Li. i-ie a t t t i ï q t a tu
re-establish his goal as the pursuit of che spiritual
ideal. "
As Jude wanders around the walls of Christminster, his
sense of self is altered. He sees himself outside the
framework of the concret? world, existing only through his
own perceptions:
Knowing not a human Deing here, Jude began to be
impressed with the isolaîion of his own personality, as
with a self-spectre, the sensation being that of one
who walked, but could not make himself seen or heard.
( 9 2
The self-annihilation which Jude experiences outside the
lirnits of his desire anticipates the total self-annihilation
which is the final response to his desire; in effect, he
becomes subsumed by his unfulfilled intention.
His failure to attain the "Christminster dream" is
presaged by Matthew Arnold's voice in one of his books, who:
\\ . . , afterwards rail[s] a t Christminster as 'the home of
lost causes' though Jude [does] not remember this) . . . " (93).
Jude is almost "saved" frorn his own "lost cause" b y the
sight of the stone-cutter's workyard:
For a moment there fell on Jude a true illumination;
that here in the stone-yard was a centre as worthy as
that dignified by the narne of scholarly study within
tne nobiesc of c n e c u i i e y e s . E u L ;-te l ü ~ t it ü i ï d ~ ï
stress of his old idea. (98)
Jude's inability to see the value of his c r a f t because he is
constrained by his "ola" or "original" idea removes hirn from
the possibility of a favourable "hap" ; that is, his own
perception of the aesired object which is inaccessible
blinds him to the desirability of the accessible. This
conflict, apparently between the "real" and the "ideal," is
seen by Jude in t h e face of Christminster by daylight: "What
at niqht had been perfect and ideal was by day the more or
less defective real" ( 9 7 ) .
It is interestinq to note Hardy's use of the phrase
"more or less," which irnplies a favourable c o m p a r i s ~ n of the
real to the ideal, offering the possibility that the real
may be less d e f e c t i v e than the i d e a l in some instances.
As Jude passes t h r o u g h Christminster on h i s way to the
stoneyard, he feels some affinity with the scholars whose
work he would prefer: "Yet h e was as f a r from them as if he
had been at the antipodes" (100). This same notion of
distance increasing desire is mirrored in Jude's reaction to
his aunt's warning io avoid his cousin Sue. He defers to
her wishes at this point:
. . . the fact of her being powerless to controi hirn lent a pathetic f o r c e to a wish that would have been
inoperative as an argument. (103)
, * dude cnooses LQ resyeci i u s aui iL'5 ït5yüc5t k ~ â ü 8 E 5h2 i~
unable to enforce it, while he opposes larger forces because
they appear to be able to control him. Jude's will becomes
active in response to opposition or, as is the case with
Sue, apparent distance.
Since Jude does not actually communicate with Sue, she,
like Christminster, assumes the character of the unatrained
but ideal object of desire:
But she remained a more o r less ideal character, about
whose form he began to weave cucious and fantastic day-
dreams. (104)
Once again Hardy employs the term "more or less,"
suggesting that Süe is less desirable than Jude's dreams of
her, yet more desirable because she is out of reach. In this
respect, Jude resembles both Fitzpiers and Pierston: what he
has yet to obtain becomes the object of his desire, while
the near-at-hand and accessible hold no appeal for hirn.
While Jude idealizes the unreachable Sue, the narrator
speculates on the nature of his desire, alluding to a pagan,
rather than Christian source for Jude's longing:
Though he was Loth to suspect it, some people might
have said to hirn that the atmosphere blew as distinctly
from Cyprus as from Galilee. (107)
This reflection, attributed to "some people," rather
and Aphrodite is a manifestation of her attraction to the
pagan or Hellenistic rather than Jude's "God." Her
attraction to the writings of Julian the Apostate is
representative of her rejection of the constraints of
Christianity. Jude's attraction to her springs to some
extent £rom the foreignness of her beliefs and their
opposition to his own. Jude is able to reconcile his
religious sentiment with the potential immorality of his
attraction to Sue on the basis of intellectual affinity:
"...it is partly a wish for intellectual sympathy and a
craving for loving kindness in my solitude" (115). His
reference to the Hardy doctrine of "loving kindness" or
altruism, and "intellectual sympathy" suggests a Platonic
ideal in the relationship of Jude and Sue. When Sue learns
of Jude's proximity "by the merest chance," both she and
Jude convince themselves of the "fatedness" of their
relationship. Sue's tendency to embrace pagan rather than
Christian theology is represented by her calling Apollo and
Aphrodite icons of the intellect and the creative arts, as
well as physical beauty - her "patron saints" (121). She
rejects the Judeo-Christian Holy City of Jerusalem:
There was nothing first-rate about the place, or
people, after al1 - as there was about Athens, Rome,
Alexandria, and other old cities. ( 1 2 5 )
--. Her re) ectlon excencis Lo t h e reiigion i L s e i i . w l i t t r i iier
children are later killed by Little Father Time, Sue
believes the act to be the retribution of the Christian God
for her worship of the "pagan" ones.
Jude's attraction to Sue forces him, for the f i r s t tirne
in the narrative, to examine the consequences of
consequenceless actions. Phillotson has by now abandoned his
own "Christminster dream" and his relationship with Sue is
most assuredly the result of Jude's introduction:
The ironical clinch to his sorrow was given by the
thought that the intimacy between his cousin and the
schoolmaster had been brought about entirely by
himself. (129)
To compound Jude's realization of his thwarting of his
own intentions, his aunt reminds him that his marriage to
Arabella still has power to trouble him: "Your marrying that
woman Arabella was about as bad a thing as a man could
possibly do for himself by trying hard" (131). Her words
serve to emphasize what Jude has already begun to know: he
is the author of his own life's story. This self-
acknowledged failure, along with his rejection by the
"appreciative and Ear-seeing"(l35) Christminster Heads,
underlines Jude's propensity for desiring the unattainable.
The narrator refers to his desire as a "delusion":
It would have been far better for him in every way if
n e iidu r1t.vt.L c~iiie ~ i t k ~ i i ~ s i y k ~ t ai;d 3,;~i;d G: t h e
d e l u s i v e p r e c i n c t s , had gone i n s t e a d to some commerc i a l
town w i t h t h e so l e o b j e c t o f making msney by h i s w i t s ,
and thence s u r v e y e d h i s p l a n i n t r u e perspective.
( 1 3 6 )
The i d e a that J u d e ' s d e s i r e f o r C h r i s t m i n s t e r m i g h t b e
d i m i n i s h e d by d i s t a n c e - p l a c e d " i n t r u e p e r s p e c t i v e " - i s
contrary t o wha t we h a v e s e e n of J u d e ; the n a r r a t o r seems t o
d e v a l u e Jude ' s i n t e n t i o n by cornparing i t w i t h " m a k [ i n g ]
money by h i s wits."
A l t h o u q h J u d 2 e x p e r i e n c e s what i s d e s c r i b e d a s a n
"awaken ing t o t h e s e n s e o f his own l i m i t a t i o n s " ( 1 3 7 ) , h e i s
not r e a d y o r a b l e t o r e l i n q u i s h h i s d e s i r e :
He saw that h i s d e s t i n y l a y not w i t h t h e s e [ t h e a c a d e m i c s
o f t h e u n i v e r s i t y ] , b u t among t h e manual t o i l e r s i n t h e
s h a b b y p a r l i e u which h e h i m s e l f o c c u p i e d . . . ( 1 3 7 )
D e s p i t e h i s r e c o g n i t i o n of t h i s d e s r i n y , however , Jude is
i l l - p r e p a r e d f o r t h e l e t t e r £rom one of t h e " f a r - s e e i n g men"
wh ich c o n f i r m s i t :
. . . 1 v e n t u r e t o t h i n k that you w i l l h ave a much b e t t e r
c h a n c e of success l n l i f e by r e n a i n i n g i n you r own
s p h e r e , and s t i c k i n g 20 y o u r t r a d e t h a n b y a d o p r i n g a n y
o t h e r course. ( 1 3 8 )
Jude's r e s p o n s e to t h e a d v i c e of t h e c o l l e g e h e a d i s t o
becorne d r u n k and d e c l a i m t h e Creed i n L a t i n i n e x c h a n g e
C-.. ----a A - : - I . - U; - - n 4 r r r t ; ~n h r i f m h r i c t m ; nct -ar ;innoarc +n IUL ikruFc U L r i l ~ d . A , A ~ L L , L L ~ + V L . u J - ..-- db- . . - . . - - - - -rr ----
evoke a temporary renunciation of his own desire, so he
ridicules the outward trappings of Christianity, if not the
belief itself. When he considers his actions from a sober
perspective, he believes himself to have "fallen": "See what
1 have brought myself to - the crew 1 have corne among"
(145). He tells Sue of his irreverence in "repeating in idle
bravado words which ought never be uttered but reverently"
(146).
To remove himself from proximity to his desire he goes
to Marygreen:
. . . and when he awoke it was as if he had awakened in
hell. It was heli - "the hell of conscious failure"
both in ambition and in love. (147)
Jude's consciousness of his failure is reminiscent to some
degree of Giles Winterborne's feeling at the conclusion of
his failed dinner party: as the result of one isolated
incident, his desire is forever out of his reach. Each
notes a moment when the object is irrevocably beyond his
grasp, underlining his belief that everything which happens
to him has a heightoned significance. Jude introduces
himself to Mr. Highridge the clergyman as a complete
degenerate: " . . . a fellow gone to the bad, though 1 had the best intentions in the world at one time" (148).
Soon aftor this "conscious failure," Jude revises his
altruistic life as distinct from the intellectual and
emulative life1'(l51). Jude and, more surprisingly, the
narrator, draw an analogy between Jude and Jesus in an
apparently unironic aside:
He considered that he might so mark out his coming
years as to begin his ministry at the age of thirty
- an age which much attracted him as being that of his
exemplar when he first began to teach in Galilee. (155)
Despite the seeming lack of irony on the part of both Jude
and the narrator, the reader experiences a foreshadowing of
Jude's hubris: after being thwarted in his aspiration to
become a great theologian, Jude turns to an even greater
d e s i r e - to emulate his exemplar. In addition, to pursue
the analogy to its logical end, Jesus' actual destiny (in
practical terms) is death. Does Jude in fact seek the
ultimate goal of self-annihilation?
In the spirit of his new "intention," Jude is receptive
ta the notion of "signs." He chooses to interp~et them in a
way that accords with his desire, as when he goes to the
Melchester stoneyard:
He took it as a good omen that numerous blocks of Stone
were lying about . . . . It seemed to him, full of the
superstition of his beliefs, that this was an exercise of
forethought on the part of a ruling Power, that he might
fina piency C O do i r i iiie sri i i c p i a c t i ~ é d """- W I L L L C * ' - " ' - - W ~ L L I I L Y
f o r a c a l 1 t o h i g h e r l a b o u r s . ( 1 5 6 )
J u d e ' s o b s e s s i o n w i t h t h e "new i d e a u i ç s u c h t h a t he 1s
u n a b l e t o p e r c e i v e t h e "omen" a s p o i n t i n g t o a n end i n
i t s e l f ; r a t h e r h e sees i t a s p a r t o f t h e p r o c e s s o f
a t t a i n i n g h i s l a r g e r i n t e n t i o n .
J u d e ' s " f a i t h " t h a t he i s p a r t o f a l a r g e r d e s i g n i s
c o u n t e r p o i n t e d by S u e ' s i n s i s t e n c e on a more p r i m i t i v e
p a t t e r n . When h e c h a r g e s h e r w i t h b e i n g "modern , " s h e
r e s p o n d s by a l l u d i n g t o h e r more a n c i e n t b e l i e f s : "...I am
n o t modern , e i t h e r . 1 am more a n c i e n t t h a n m e d i e v a l i s m , i f
o n l y you knew" ( 1 6 0 ) . She p e r c e i v e s t h e i r d i f f e r e n c e s a s
r e l a t i n g t o t h e i r p l a c e s i n Che c o n t i n u u m o f b e l i e f ; s h e
b e l i e v e s s h e h a s " e s c a p e d " t h e C h r i s t i a n b e l i e f s which
" p u z z l e " J u d e :
I t was e v i d e n t t h a t h e r c o u s i n deep ly i n t e r e s t e d h e r ,
a s o n e m i g h t b e i n t e r e s t e d i n a man p u z z l i n g h i s way
a l o n g a l a b y r i n t h f rom whicn o n e had o n e ' s s e l f ( s i c )
e s c a p e d . ( 1 6 3 )
I t i s c h a n c e , r a t h e r t h a n w i l l , however , w h i c h l e a d s J u d e
away f r o m h i s d e s i r e . When Sue misses h e r c u r f e w by
a r r i v i n g t o o l a t e a t t h e t r a i n s t a t i o n , and s h e i s
s u b s e q u e n t l y c o n f i n e d a t t h e s c h o o l , her " e s c a p e " t o J u d e ' s
room c o m p l e t e s h e r a p o t h e o s i s i n J u d e ' s e y e s . A s h e
o b s e r v e s h e r s l e e p i n g form, " . . . h e [ s t a n d s ] w i t h h i s back
1 L A r 1 :, L n * j LU iile iiit. L c y a L u L i i g i i c ~ , aiiu LJFI;JJ L L L * . c - - u ~ . ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
divinity" (174).
For Jude, the worship of Sue replaces his original
intention. He admonishes her for her modernity and
cynicism, which he attributes to her "civilization." Again
she asserts her paganism: "You called me a creature of
civilization . . . . Well, . . . it is provokingly wrong. 1 am
more a negation of it" (176). Her anti-religious feelings
are juxtaposed against Jude's desire for the ministry as she
comments ironically upon the dissension in the forma1
Church:
At present intellect in Christminster is pushing one
way and religion the other; and so they stand
stockstill, like two rams butting each other. (181)
She offers to make Jude a "new New Testament" by rearranging
its books into chronological order but Jude feels "a sense
of sacrilege" and accuses her of being "Voltairean" (182).
Sue's argument for the intellectual as opposed to Jude's
clinging to his spiritual objective is the basis of the
tension in their relationship, increasing rather than
decreasing Jude's desire for her. Yet at the same time,
Jude regards her being a woman as an insurmountable obstacle
to an ideal or Platonic relationship. Sue's satire of Jude's
"Pantheon" reflects her disregard for the forces which
dominate Jude's religion:
7 c L - Ar,: , - A r li-. ..,,. r D7"+hnrrn - m-5- ~ V W w i s s L L L C U C L L L I yuuLi Ivuic
these legendary persons you cal1 Saints - intercede
for you after this [his estrangement £rom Arabella]?
(199)
Yet she appears nonetheless threatened by the equally
"mythical" Fawley family curse:
"Oh, but there can't be anything in it!" she said,
with nervous lightness. "Our family have been unlucky
of late years in choosing mates - that's all." (201)
Her use of the term "unlucky" appears to refer to a "randorn-
ness" in the occurrence, y e t the frequency implied by "of
late years" suggests a pattern which is repeated, so despite
her intellectualizing of the "curse", she clearly is not
above fearing its potential.
When Sue announces her intention to marry Phillotson,
Jude decides to stoically accept his presumed fate: " He
determined to play the Spartan . . . " (204). Yet Hardy
(intentionally?) contrasts Jude "the lover" with
Phillotson, the man whom çhe will marry. Jude invites
Phillotson and Sue to accompany hirn to a shop so that he may
purchase (another) wedding g i f t :
"No, said Sue, "1'11 go on to the house with him." And
requesting her lover not to be a long time, she
departed with the scnoolmaster. (208)
After the wedding, Jude attempts to comfort himself by
t n i n f i i r i q ui Su= diid i-~eï füîüï~ ~ k i i ~ d i ~ ~ , bü t h? is üZûh:z tz
ignore his sense that Nature is opposed to his ever
achieving his d e s i r e :
And then again he uneasily saw, as he had latterly seen
with more anu more frequency, the scorn of Nature for
man's finer emotions, and her lack of interest i n his
aspirations. (212 1
His increasing perception of forces which oppose his will is
underlined by his chance meeting with Arabella, which
prevents him £rom keeping an appointment with Sue: "Arabella
was perhaps an intended intervention to punish h i r n for his
unauthorizec love" ( 2 1 9 ) . In this instance at ieast, ~ h e
force which defeats Jude must be traditionally "moral,"
therefore supporting the idea of "providence"; Jude is
increasingly open to "signs" of the course he must choose,
despite his contention that he is a "fallen man."
At this point Arabella confesses to her bigamy but
withholds the truth about Jude's son; Jude refrains from
mentioning Arabella to Sue. 5 0 t h presumably feel that the
withheld information might be detrimental to their
intentions, if revealed. The deception is given added
weight when j u d e and Sue visit Aunt Drusilla and the aging
Cassandra reiterates her wacning about the fatality of
Fawley marriages:
"Ah . . . youfll rue this marrying as well as he," she ad+d, i u L t . L L I Y Lii t I & l l GGï = - - ; 1 - - 4 - - - - A
LaILLLAy UV UAiU I A L U L I I
al1 everybody else's." (228)
What is most interesting about Aunt Drusilla's warning in
this case ( a p a r t £rom its obvious humour) is the idea that
the "curse" applies to marriage in general, as opposed to
the Fawleys' marriages in particular - no doubt one of Mrs.
Oliphant's chief objections to the work.
Jude's next communication £rom Arabella reveals that
she, too, has "expectaticns" or intentions; she requ i res
Jude's complicity in concealing her first marriage. Jude
slides even more deeply into his contemplation of his
"conscious failure." Even that pursuit is, however rife with
irony. Upon hearing a Song called "The Foot of the Cross,"
Jude decides that he must meet the composer "for he must
have suffered and chrobbed and yearned" (2331. Subsequent
inquiry reveals that the great musician has aband~ned his
"calling" in favour of becoming a wine merchant. Far £rom
finding a kindred spirit, Jude has met his own antithesis: a
man who "markets" God to serve Mammon.
His d e s i r e for Sue continues to be thwarted by what
Jude terms "Providence"; while he is at Kennetbridge, he
misses an opportunity to meet her:
... and at last his chimerical expedition to Kennetbridqe
r e a l l y did seem to have been another s p e c i a l
intervention of providence to keep him away from
L a - - & - + : -, 1 9 7 C i LCllLp LU L L W i i . \ L J J )
A l t h o u g h sornewhat f r u s t r a t e d i n h i s d e s i r e f o r Sue , Jude i s
c o m f o r t e d by h i s b e l i e f t h a t P r o v i d e n c e i n t e r v e n e s i n h i s
a f f a i r s , t h e r e b y a s s u r i n g him t h a t h e i s i n a p o s i t i o n t o
f u l f i l l h i s e c c l e s i a s t i c a l a m b i t i o n s . T h i s m i s p e r c e p t i o n i s
t y p i c a l of t h e Hardy p r o t a g o n i s t who f e e l s h e i s c e r t a i n t o
s u c c e e d b e c a u s e h e i s h i m s e l f a n d n o t s u b j e c t t c t h e
p i t f a l l s o f no rma l m o r t a l s .
The i n t r o d u c t i o n o f t h e town o f S h a s t o n a t t h i s j u n c r u r e
s u b v e r t s J u d e ' s p i o u s s p e c u l a t i c n s . D e s c r i b e d a s " t h e c i t y
o f a d ream" ( 2 3 9 ) , S h a s t o n was o n c e t h e d e s t i n a t i o n o f
p i l g r i m a g e s t o t h e s h r i n e o f Edward t h e C o n f e s s o r . The
d e s t r u c t i o n of t h e a b b e y , c o u p l e d w i t h t h e p o v e r t y o f t h e
town i n t h e Midd le Ages, e f f e c t i v e l y ended i t s s p i r i t u a l
e r a :
I t was a l s o s a i d t h a t a f t e r t h e Middle Ages t h e
i n h a b i t a n t s were t o o p o o r t o pay t h e i r p r i e s t s , and
h e n c e were c o m p e l l e d t o p u l l down t h e i r c h u r c h e s , and
r e f r a i n a l t o g e t h e r f rom t h e p u b l i c w o r s h i p o f God - â
n e c e s s i t y which t h e y bemoaned o v e r t h e i r c u p s i n t h e
s e t t l e s o f t h e i r i n n s on Sunday a f t e r n o o n s . I n t h o s e
d a y s S h a s t o n i a n s were a p p a r e n t l y n o t w i t h o u t a s e n s e o f
humour. ( 2 4 1)
S h a s t o n , t h e n , i s a p l a c e o f which t h e n a r r a t o r a p p r o v e s ,
t h e a b s e n c e o f p u b l i c w o r s h i p making i t a s u i t a b l y "pagan"
Beîîiuy fGï L L - - - - & : - P . - E T,,Ae - - A Ci .n L L i c iu==CAaiy u u u c . uiiu ? h ~ 52jl ~f t h e
meeting, however, is Holy Thursday - almost the end of Lent
- and therefore demands abstinence of the sort which Jude
has practised since Sue's marriage.
When Sue prepares tea, Jude is conscious of the irony
of their situation: "The kettle of his gift sang with some
satire in its hole . . ." ( 2 4 4 ) . Sue attempts yet again to
explain her narure to Jude: "But you are so straightforward,
Jude, that you can't understand me" ( 2 4 5 - 4 6 ) . She believes
that Jude's very straightforwardness will lead to his
martyrdom, reiterating the idea of his misguided idealism:
You are Joseph, the dreamer of dreams, dear Jude.
And a tragic Don Quixote. And sometimes, you are
St. Stephen, who while they were stoning him, could see
Heaven opened. Oh, my poor friend and comrade, you'll
suffer yet! ( 2 4 6 )
Sue's evident detachment from Jude's fate is like the
narrator's; she foretells his pain, but believeç herself
to be immune to Jude's sort of suffering.
Jude's own perception of himself is much different; he
is incapable of emulating the saints - "his demi-gods" -
because he is too worldly: "He might fast and pray during
the whole intsrval, but the human was more powerful in him
than the Divine" (250). He knows he should not visit Sue
again, but he knows he will persist in seeing her because
- 1 1 nis ciesire is stronger Liidri iiis W A L L . ~Ywc .v r i - , n.. J U C -
i n t e r v e n e s where God r e m a i n s s i l e n t ; i n a r e v e r s a l o f the
adage "L'homme p r o p o s e ; le Dieu dispose ' ' Hardy has Sue , i n
many r e s p e c t s t h e "god" of J u d e ' s u n i v e r s e , c a n c e l t h e i r
nex t m e e t i n g : " . . . i f God disposed n o t , woman did" ( 2 4 9 ) .
Despite Sue's reso lve , c h a n c e t h r o w s them t o g e t h e r t h e
next Friday at t h e f u n e r a l of A u n t Drusilla. T h e i r talk
t u r n s t o marriage, and Jude l i e s a b o u t A r a b e l l a ' s r e t u r n t o
h i m : "A s p e c i a l P r o v i d e n c e , 1 s u p p o s e , he lped i t [her h e a r t ]
on i t s way" ( 2 5 4 ) . His l i e m i g h f h a v e s e p a r a t e d them b u t
f o r y e t a n o t h e r i n s t a n c e of c h a n c e : a r a b w i t i s caught i n a
trap a n d , h e a r i n g its c r i e s o f p a i n , J u d e goes o u t s i d e to
k i l l i t , and e n c o u n t e r s S u e , who h a s t h e same o b j e c t i v e i n
mind. J u s t a s Grace and Fitzpiers a r e r e - u n i t e d t h r o u g h t h e
d e u s ex mach ina of t h e m a n - t r a p , S u e and Jude a r e b r o u g h t
t o g e t h e r t h r o u g h the r a b b i t - t r a p . More i m p o r t a n t e v e n t h a n
their mee t ing , J u d e ' s c o n f e s s i o n a£ h i s d e c l i n i n g b e l i e f i n
c h u r c h dogrna: "That may have been my view, b u t rny d o c t r i n e s
and 1 b e g i n t o p a r t cornpany" ( 2 5 8 ) .
The c h o i c e i s i r r e v o c a b l y made when Sue a n d J u d e k i s s
a t t h e i r p a r t i n g : "The kiss was a t u r n i n g - p o i n t i n J u d e ' s
ca ree r" ( 2 6 1 ) . From t h i s point forward i n t h e n a r r a t i v e ,
J u d e ' s " w i l l " c o n t i n u e s t o succumb t o h i s " d e s i r e , "
e a r m a r k i n g him f o r t h e s u f f e r i n g of which Sue warned him.
Jude r e a l i z e s t h a t b i s " f a l l u i s c o m p l e t e ; h e can no l o n g e r
m a i n ~ a i n t n e seii-conCroi riecessdry r v e u tü iiis ~ L C W "--- ' "- yuas .
It had been his standing desire to become a prophet,
however humble, to his struggling fellow-creatures,
without any thought of persona1 gain . . . . he had only to
confront the obvious, which was that he had màde
himself quite an impostor as a law-abiding religious
teacher. (261)
In response to this sense of hypocrisy, he digs a hole in
the garden and in it places his theological and ethical
works, and proceeds to burn them. Clearly Jude consciously
chooses to bury the dream/intention he feels is no longer
open to his will. When he completes this purgative act, he
feeLs at least free from hypocrisy: "In his passion for Sue
he could now stand as an ordinary sinner, and not as a
whited sepulchre" (262). Later in her husband's home, Sue
attempts to explain her unhappiness as a sort of universal
angst: she blames "The universe . . . tnings in general,
becaüse they are so horrible and cruel" (266). She quotes
the philosophy of John Stuart Mill to Phillotson, in an
effort to explain her desire to live with Jude and flout the
conventions of the time:
She, or he, "who lets the world, or his own portion of
it, choose his plan of life for him, has no need of any
other faculty than the ape-like one of imitation."
(269)
~hliiotson:~ scruggie w i i i i Sue's s L ~ & i i y s ~ ~ y ü ~ ~ " , e a U ; hi;
to consult Gillingharn on the matter. His friend urges the
importance of convention, but Phillotson, amateur of "Roman
antiquities," decides to allow "reason" and humanity to
prevail; he permits Sue to leave him for Jude.
For a brief space Hardy lulls his reader into the
belief that al1 nay yet be well for Jude. When Sue writes
that she is coming, Jude leaves his stone-cutting work at
the Cathedral. Soon a f t e r , Arabella writes Jude to ask for a
divorce. Even Phillotson writes a letter to Zude, assuring
him that he and Sue "are made for each other" (288). But
their optimism, naturally, is not justified.
Jude and Sue go to the same inn where he has previously
met Arabella on her return £rom Australia. The waitinq-
rnaid's remembering Jude's earlier visit casts a pal1 of
foreboding on their current stay. Sue is unwilling to have
sexual relations with Jude, so the physical object of his
desire remains as yet beyond his reach. Lastly,
Phillotson's humane gesture of freeing is wife is rewarded
by his losing his job.
Hardy displays his Olympian detachment" in the
humorous account of the t o m meeting at which Phillotson is
fired :
. . . the result being a general scuffle, wherein a
blackboard was split, three panes of the school-windows
were Lruht. i i , Q r i iiik-bütî;c: ~FL:; ÛYÊï Ü t Û K I i -
councilor's shirt-front, and some black eyes and
bleeding noses given, one of which, to everybody's
horror, was the venerable incumbent's, owing to the
zeal of an ernancipated chimney-sweep, who took the side
of Phillotson's Party. (299)
His lightness in dealing with the subject belies the gravity
of the consequences, as is so often the case in Hardy's
work. J.M. Barrie, with his usual loyalty to Hardy,
describes this quality as an effect of "realism":
In one sense, Mr. Hardy may be said to have gone a
stage beyond the tragic writers of the world's younger
days, for he sees that in real life the comedy often
has a tragic ending, and he has no higher ambition than
to be true to life. (Barrie 158)
The imrnediate result of Phillotson's debacle is his
illness, which draws Sue back to her husband. Her deceit in
allowing him to think that her relationship with Jude is
sexual is puzzling, unless it is examined in light of Sue's
belief that no one understands her. She cannot explain her
spiritual connection to Jude, so she rnust allow Phillotson
to believe that her relationship with Jude is wholly
consummated. This equivocation prompts Phillotson to
divorce Sue, again apparently opening the path for Jude's
will to triumph.
~aruraiiy, wnen k i i e Ù i v u ~ ~ e ijt3r;ûiE5 tiï~â:, SÜE ~ ü ï i i c l s
that it has been granted on a false assumption, since she
and Jude are not literally adulterers: "Therefore is my
freedom lawful, however proper it may be?18(310). Her concern
for the legality of her freedom is yet another interesting
contradiction in Sue's character: although she is convinced
of the "propriety" of her state, in universal terms, she is
afraid of offending a set of conventions in which she
professes no belief. In the final tragedy of Jude, it is
Sue's sublimated regard for convention which completely
subverts her will.
Jude, on the other hand, cites the freedom he and Sue
have now attained as one of the benefits of "obscurity":
There's an advantage being poor, obscure people like
us - that these things [the divorce] are done for us in
rough and ready fashion . . . . If we'd been patented
nobility we should have had infinite trouble. (310-11)
Jude is, however, only partially right about his own
obscurity. His place in society sets him beneath the
recognition of the societal powers which control men's
lives. His aspirations, on the other hand, make it
impossible for him to remain "obscurer1 in this comforting
sense, because he has already decided that his life must
have significance.
Sue believes that the freedom to choose is what drives
inàivi&*is, *,,Ci L;-,&t L L - -L-: -Li.-,-.- A C -i.-i+-.-; v e r . 7 - q ChO L11C 3 L L * b L U l C J UL I L I U L L I U Y L U A & C I , &
cause of divorce. She offers this in explanation of her
reluctance to relinquish her freedom by marrying Jade. His
response to her argument is to remind her of Nemesis: "A
Nemesis attends the woman who plays the game of elusiveness
too often . . . " (313). Jude's allusion to "nemesis" -
lightly suggested as a nod to Sue's Neo-pagan theology - is
actually another instance of unwitting foreshadowing.
The visit of Arabella is perceived by Sue as an "ill-
omen" (316); subsequent events support her dread. The
second "piece of news" which Arabella has failed to reveal
to Jude years earlier will soon arrive to fulfill his role
in the tragedy. Jude refers to Arabella as "an erring,
careless, unreflecting fellow creature" (319): yet the words
might equally be applied to his own character. He lacks the
reflective qualities which might have forestalled the
arrival of his son - his own nemesis. The "unreflecting"
Arabella leaves, having still failed to "consult Jude on a
little matter of business" (325).
The time between Arabella's visit and the arrival of
Jude's son is marked by another period of equilibrium, in
wnich Jude and Sue continue to drfer action regarding their
marriage:
They thought it over, or postponed thinking.
Certainly they postponed action, and seemed to live
y û . (32V:
The a l l u s i o n t o p a r a d i s e s u g g e s t s Adam and Eve i n t h e i r P r e -
l a p s a r i a n s t a t e , b e f o r e t h e e n t r a n c e o f t h e s n a k e i n t o t h e
G a r d e n . When J u d e a n d Sue f i n d t h e y mus t Lake J u d e ' s c h i l d ,
t h e i r e q u i l i b r i u m i s d e s t r o y e d . J u d e s e e s h i s s o n a s a
s e c o n d J o b , whose l i f e h a s been a c o n t i n u o u s t r i a l : L e t t h e
d a y p e r i s h w h e r e i n I was b o r n , and t h e n i g h t i n which i t was
s a i d , T h e r e i s a man c h i l d c o n c e i v e d " ( 3 3 0 ) . J u d e ' s son,
l i k e h i s f a c h e r , h a s been " b o r n t o s u f f e r " ; t h e u s e o f t h e
b i b l i c a l q u o t e s u g g e s t s t h a t h e w i l l b e b e s e t by t h e t r i a i s
o f h i s own c r e a t o r - i n J u d e ' s c a s e , Thomas Hardy . The
a r r i v a 1 o f " L i t t l e F a t h e r Time" i s l o a d e d w i t h p o r t e n t , s o
t h a t t h e c h i l d becomes l e s s a c h a r a c t e r i n t h e n a r r a t i v e
t h a n an a g e n t o f F a t e f o r t h e n a r r a t o r . H a r d y ' s m e t a p h o r
f o r t h e boy makes h im l i t e r a l l y t h e embodiment o f Time, a n d
a s s u c h h e f u l f i l l s T i m e ' s p u r p o s e s f o r F a t e :
He was Age m a s q u e r a d i n g a s J u v e n i l i t y a n d d o i n g i t s o
b a d l y t h a t h i s r e a l s e l f showed t h r o u g h c r e v i c e s . A
g r o u n d swell f rom a n c i e n t y e a r s o f n i g h t seemed now a n d
t h e n t o l i f t t h e c h i l d i n t h i s h i s m o r n i n g - l i f e , when h i s
face t o o k a back v i ew o v e r some g r e a t A t l a n t i c o f t i m e ,
a n d a p p e a r e d n o t t o c a r e a b o u t what i t saw. ( 3 3 2 )
The image o f t h e boy a s a n i rnmor ta l r a t h e r t h a n a human
c r e a t u r e i s e n h a n c e d by t h e n a r r a t o r ' s r e f e r r i n g t o h im a s :
. . . an e n s l a v e d a n d d w a r f e d D i v i n i t y , s i t t i n g p a s s i v e ,
a n a r e g a r a i n g n i s corripciriio~is i1 l i t : adw Liieiï wiiül e
rounded lives, rather than their immediate figures.(332)
In his unreflecting state, Jude misreads the signs of the
arriva1 of his nemesis, who comes alone, unannounced, and
unexpectedly. The boy's entrance into their lives borders
on the sinister, yet Jude chooses to see Tirne as the
champion of his own ünfulfilied intention:
Never mind. Time may right things . . . . What 1 couldn't
accomplish in my own person perhaps 1 can carry out
through him. ( 3 3 5 )
The pun on "Time" r e c a l l s a similar staternent in Far From
the Madding Crowd, when Mark Clark urges the recently
destitute Gabriel Oak: "You should take it careless-like
shepherd, and your time will corne" (Far From the Maddinq
Crowd 6 5 1 . In the course of tirne, Gabriel's fate does
become favourable and his intention is fulfilled. Jude, on
the other hand, waits optimistically for a fate which proves
to be far worse than his present situation. IL is as if
Hardy ironizes the hopeful outlook of the rusric Mark Clark
in the reality of the urban Jude Fawley.
When Jude and Sue attempt to "make things right" by
marrying, Mrs. Edlin, who comes to witness the wedding,
questions the validity of the Fawley family "curse":
For they have been unlucky that way, God knows. . . .
But things happened to thwart 'em, and if everything
w a s n : ~ viciy i i i e y w r L r U P S ~ L L . ( 2 4 S j
She acknowledges the "unluckiness" of the family, but lays
the burden for their ill-fate on their response to what
"thwarted" them, rather than to the incident itself. Her
pragmatic view of Fate is consistent with that of the
"winners" in Hardy's fiction. It is also a simplified
synopsis that Jude evclves as his tragedy unfolds.
When Mrs. Edlin recounts the story of a supposed
ancestor of Sue and Jude's, whose marriage ended in murder,
Little Father Time remarks: "If 1 was you, mother, 1
wouldn't marry father" (340). Sue shares Time's sense of
impending disaster, feeling that past experience should
prevent her and Jude £rom such an undertaking:
1 am going to vow to you in the same words 1 vowed to
my other husband, and you to me in the same as you used
to your other wi£e, regardless of the deterrent lessons
we were taught by those experiments. (341)
Sue's approach to marriage is logical, almost clinical; she
feels that to marry "with open eyes" is "immoral":
It is not the same to her [a new bride], poor thing,
as it would be to me doing it over again with my
present knowledge . . . . But having been awakened to its
awful solemnity . . . by experience . . . it really does
seem immoral in me to go and undertaMe the same thing
again with open eyes. ( 3 4 4 )
Fier re iuc id i ice v e ~ y r s üii f e à ï - - - & - - -..- L - G 2 --?.* - 1 ;t,, iiuc J U i t i u ~ i i v c r i i u i i v ~ u r r c l
b u t o f t h e t y p e of h u b r i s which d i s r u p t s n a t u r a l o r d e r . Her
d i s r e g a r d f o r c o n v e n t i o n i s s h a r p l y c o n t r a s t e d w i t h h e r
d e s i r e t o a v o i d o f f e n s e t o some h i g h e r power.
Jude cons iders Mrs. E d l i n l s view t h a t t h e i r f a m i l y i s
o v e r l y s e n s i t i v e t o F a t e :
And J u d e s a i d he a l s o t h o u g h t t h e y were b o t h t o o Chin-
s k i n n e d ; t h a t t h e y o u g h t n e v e r t o h a v e Been b o r n , much
l ess have come t o q e t h e r f o r t h e mos t p r e p o s t e r o u s o f
a l 1 j o i n t - v e n t u r e s f o r t h e m - rnatrirnony. i 3 4 4 )
His c o n c L u s i o n r e v e r t s t o t h e o r i g i n a l i d e a of t h e i l l - f a t e d
n a t u r e of t h e F a w l e y s ' m a r r i a g e s , a l t h o u g h he d o e s a d m i t t o
h i s and Sue's p r e d i s p o s i t i o n t owards s e e i n g d i s a s t e r a t
e v e r y t u r n o f e v e n t s .
The n a r r a t i v e comment a r this p o i n t seens to d i v e r q e
£rom t h e d e t a c h e d t o n e o f t h e r e s t o f t h e n o v e l . Hardy
i n s e r t s what can o n l y be d e s c r i b e d a s a " d i s c l a i m e r " :
T h e p u r p o s e o f t h i s c h r o n i c l e r of moods a n d d e e d s d o e s
not ~ e q u i r e him t o e x p r e s s h i s p e r s o n a l v i ews upon t h e
g r a v e c o n t r o v e r s y a b o v e given. ( 3 4 8 )
I m p l i c i t i n t h e s t a t e m e n t is H a r d y ' s knowledge t h a t he
s h o u l d d i s a p p r o v e of t h e i r p h i l o s o p n i c a l srance, by
c o n t e m p o r a r y m o r a l s t a n d a r d s , b u t e q u a l l y p r e s e n t i s H a r d y ' s
d e s i r e t o a p p e a r " i m p a r t i a l . " Whether h e had some i n k l i n g
o f t h e f u r o r h i s t r u e v i ews on m a r r i a g e m i g h t e n g e n d e r , o r
w i l ~ i i l e ~ iie I ~ L t e i ~ i d e Y tû y ê i i ê ï ~ t ~ fü r ther Z C E ~ ~ Y V C Z S ; . is 7 , ~ û t .
The overail effect of the phrase "grave controversy" is to
enhance the atmosphere of foreboding already attached to the
much-deferred nuptials.
When Jude and Sue attend the Stoke-Burchill Fair, the
timing of their visit coincides with thât of Arabella and
her new husband, Cartlett. Although they do not see
Arabella, she observes their happiness with some jealousy,
suggesting a regret for her loss of Jude. She is approached
by a "physician" who is seliing "immunity from the ravages
of Time." The presence of both Arabella and the charlatan
doctor acts as a balance to the unusual happiness of Sue:
1 feel that we have returned to Greek joyousness and
have blinded ourselves to sickness and sorrow, and have
forgotten what twenty-£ive centuries have taught since
their time . . . . There is one irnrnediate shadow, however -
only one. (358)
Sue's use of the word "blinded" is apt; she and Jude are
both temporarily blind to the presence of Fate, in the
person of Time, yet his "shadow" is still present to her.
The fact that Tirne cannot enjoy the fair because he is so
conscious of the brevity of both joy and beauty casts a pal1
on Jude and Sue's pleasure: "1 should like the flowers very,
very much, if 1 diun't keep on thinking they'd be al1
withered in a Eew days!" (358). This reminder of the
cransience oi iiie is ciraily juntapüsed ~ i t h t k l ~
physician's sale of the antidote to "Time's ravages."
With Arabella's recognition of Jude and Sue comes a
renewal of village gossip. In a vain attempt to satisfy the
conventions of the town, they go to London to be quietly
married, with Sue assuming the title of Mrs. Fawley when
they return, but their efforts cannot fend off public
censure:
Nobody molested them, it is true; but an oppressive
atmosphere began to encircle their souls, particularly
after their excursion to the show, as if that visit had
brought some evil influence to bear on them. . . . Their
apparent attempt at reparation had corne too late to be
effective. (360)
They are prevented from leaving the town by a commission to
repair an inscription of The Ten Comrnandments on a nearby
c h u r c h . Jude's firing from this job because of his
unorthodox family situation leads to his forced resignation
from the Artisans' Mutual Improvement Society, of nhich he
is an officer. This defeat is a particularly poignant one
for Jude, as his:
. . . activity, uncustomary acquiremenLs, and above
all, singular intuition on what to read and how to
set about it - al1 begotten of his years of
struggle against malignant stars - ha[s] led to
i i i S 'ueiily r t - ----:LL.Ci.. 1 3 C 7 \ Ll4C L u ~ l u l l ~ c CC\ ; . a u # 1
With his resignation cornes his relegation to the obscurity
which his talent has allowed him to briefly escape.
However, it is significantly not the influence of malignant
stars which defeat hFs intention, but rather of the
relentless consequences of long-past actions, and the
merciless scrutiny of his fellow "erring creatures." As is
the case in al1 of Hardy's tragic works, consequences may be
deferred for a Lime, but they are never wholly escaped.
Jonathan Slance describes this trait a s :
. . . the tendency for human events to evolve towards disaster in Hardy's novels, despite (or more usually
because of) the characters' atzempts to alleviate
matters. [Glance 26)
To Father Time's query about the reason for their
leaving, Jude replies:
Because of a cloud which has gathered over us; though
"we have wronged no man, corrupted no man, defrauded no
man!" Thouqh perhaps we have "done that which was right
in Our own eyes." (371)
He draws again on the Book of Job as an explanation of the
tribulations they undergo, appearing to àccept these, as Job
did, as a specieç of "trial" by Goa. It is interesting to
note that while Jude has been rejected by Christminster, has
withdrawn from the ecclesiastical pursuit because of his
Eedr 01 i i y p ü c i i 5 ÿ , üiLz h ü s h~2r ; ~ s s t i y r t z d k y z t h c r
"Christians" for his unorthodox lifestyle, he has yet to
renounce his belief in Providence.
At the next meeting between Sue and Arabella, two and a
half years later, Sue describes her uncertainty as to her
"right" to bear children:
It is not that 1 am ashamed . . . . But it seems such
a terribly tragic thing to bring b e i n g s into the world
- so presumptuous - that I question my right to do it
sometimes! (375)
Echoing her reflection on the morality of marrying with
"open eyes," this speecn epitomizes Sue's fear of offending
unnamed gods. It is at once superstitious and tragic, in
the classic Greek sense, because she is conscious of being
at odds with both society and the universal forces. She
goes on to refer to Jude's continued fixation with
Christminster: "Of course, Christminster is a sort of fixed
vision with him . . . " (376). Arabella's reply demonstrates
the evolution in her character since the death of her second
husband; she believes that "the Lord" has been instrumental
in Jude's and her lives:
I am not the woman to f i n d fault with what the Lord
has ordained. I've reached a more resigned frame of
mind. ( 3 7 7 )
Arabella's resignation to "what the Lord has ordained" marks
! 3 - .- & - - - l e . - : - 1 ner as a s u r v i v v r U T d iype ~ ~ L L I I I Q L LU UQULLCL Sak ü ï Xâr ty
South. Her willingness to compromise her desires enables
her to align her will with her fate. At the sarne time,
however, her lack of questioning and her apparent
satisfaction remove her £rom the tragic framework of the
text. Barbara Hardy sees Arabella as a servant of the "life
force" :
Those who best serve the life-force, like Arabella,
prosper best, but those who have imagination and
aspiration meet with the frustrations of nature's blind
biological purpose and society's conventional
restrictions. (Hardy 71)
Arabella, however, is not so much the blind servant of the
"life force" but a realist who serves her own life force by
opportunistically seizing her desires. She aspires to
cornfort, not greatness, but she relies on her own will,
rather than that of the external universe.
Jude's level of "resignation" is tested by his wish to
return to Christminster for a visit. They go on Rernernbrance
Day, and it appears that Jude is attempting to "atone" for
his previous "vaulting ambition." He is chastened by the
sight of so many young men who share, he believes, his
desire:
My failure is reflected on me by every one of those
young fellows. . . . A lesson on presumption is awaiting ;Ciii,ili4îiUï, n-.. c--. ,- I i ~ n n r me iuddy i - u a y L U I L L L C . \ J J u J
To compound his humiliation, while waiting for the
procession, Jude meets his former CO-workers, who greet him
with jibes. He responds to their questions with a serious
detachment, as if they were actually seeking his advice:
It is a difficult question . . . whether [a man should]
follow uncritically the track he finds himself in,
without considering his aptness for it, or to consider
what his aptness or bent may bel and reshape his
course accordingly - 1 tried to do the latter and 1
f ailed. (392-3)
Clearly Jude's effort to express his will, as opposed to
following a randomly-chartered course, is at the root of his
consciousness of failure. Despite this knowledge, Jude
maintains that the process by which he determined his will
has not been faulty, that his failure does not: " . . . prove
[his] view to be a wrong one..." (393). He now recognizes
that the "essential soundness" of his efforts cannot be
judged by their "accidental outcomes" (393) . In this, Jude
affirms the frequent disparity between the actual and the
ideal. The greatness of the desire, asserts Jude, should
give it value regardless of its outcome. In his commitment
to the ideal, Jude is the Don Quixote that Sue had earlier
accused him of being, but it is his "quixotic" quality which
gives true power to the course of this narrative.
-, ~ i ~ i i L ü c i - ~ ï i 5 t f i i ~ d t ~ i 3 E ï V e S tû iSTiÛ-ÜE th2 ~ Z C Z ~ ,
quality which for so many years formed Jude's unfulfilled
intention. He now refers to the city as the "infernal
cursed place" (396). Sue continues to compare it to
"Jerusalem" with even more of hor previous disparagement.
The coincidence of Phillotson's returning to the "Holy City"
marks another intrusion of the past on a day when Jude's
failure is more than usually "present" to him. Sue refers
to their return pilgrimage to Christminster as a decline in
their circumstances: "Leaving Kennetbridge for this place is
like coming £rom Caiaphas to Pilate!" (397) . Her allusion
to the trial and crucifixion of Christ is significant on
several levels: it reminds the reader of Jude's aspirations
to emulate Christ, and where Christ's eventual destiny lay.
Tt also serves to contrast two ancient religions - Judaisrn,
represented by Caiaphas, and Roman pantheism, represented by
the Roman tribune, Pilate. In more mundane terms, it also
represents a movement towards more certain disaster,
regardless of Jude's and Sue's credos.
The ana logy of Jude to Christ is intensified by the
land-lady's refusal to accept Jude at her home - a version
of "no room at the inn." In addition, the situation thus
created ultimately contributes to, or even precipitates, the
deaths of Father Time and the other children. Sue accounts
for the family's depression in their new situation as a
aireci u u ~ c u i i i e "2 Li-ieiï ï E t ü ï E tû ;?LE JCEES ûf z ü d ~ ' ~
failure, which renews his consciousness of his unfulfilled
intention:
She thought of the strange operation of the simple-
minded man's passion, that it should have led Jude, who
loved her and the children so tenderly, to place them
here in this depressing parlieu, because he was still
hauntcd by his droam. ( 4 0 1 )
The depression to which she alludes leads Time to question
earnestly the "reason" for human life. He begins by asking,
"with misgiving": "1 ought not to have been born, ought I?"
(400). At Sue's explanation of their troubles, he
suggests: "It would be better to be out O' the world than in
it, wouldn't it?" ( 4 0 2 ) . He reiterates a desire for self-
annihilation which again calls to mind both his father and
the biblical Job: "1 wish 1 had never been born!" (402).
When Sue attempts to relieve him of the apparent
"guilt" he feels for the act of his birth, she feels
compelled to reveal t h e pending birth of another child. Time
regards this revelaîion as an a c t of self-destructive will:
For nobody would interfere with us like that unless
you agreed! 1 won't forgive you, ever! 1'11 never
believe you care for me, or father, or any of us any
more!" (403)
His comment on the "willfulness" of the act cf living
reiieccs t n e àiscorà creaceu becduse iiie UT i i i c l i u i d u a l ' a
perception that his conscious will is at odds with the
universe's Immanent Will, which, as Edmund Muir describes
it, "perpetually defeats M m , unintentionally but
intentionally" (Muir 113). Time's logical conclusion is
that non-existence is the only self-controlled response in
such a universe.
Sue's delay in leaving Jude's accommodations allows
Hardy to suggest the culpability of "timing1' in the tragedy.
However, when Sue and Jude discover their children dead,
they examine their own parts in the catastrophe, and Sue
recognizes her own poor judgment in speaking frankly to the
sensitive boy. Her acceptance of her own actions rather than
an external force as the cause, is short-lived. Jude's
view, that "the world" is at fault, though ascribed to the
doctor, may be an effort to remove himself £rom blame or
elevate his p e r s o n a l tragedy to universal significance:
The doctor says that there are such boys springing up
amongst us - boys of a sort unknown in the last
generation - the outcome of new views of life. They
seem to see al1 its terrors before they are old enough
to have staying power to resist them. He says it is
the beginning of the coming universal wish not to
live. (406)
Despite the spectacular implausibility and the
absoiute Dacnos of Tirne's rnur~er;sui~id~, it ÿct c ü n t ï i b ü t e s
to the scope of Jude's tragedy, aligning it with the
tragedies of classical Greece, whose heroes struggle against
forces which are literally impossible to overcome. The
description of the boy's face encapsulates the "ill-
fatedness" of Jude and Sue:
On that little shape had converged al1 the
inauspiciousness and shadow which had darkened the
first union of Jude, and al1 the accidents, mistakes,
fears, errors, of the last. (406)
It is important LO note that Hardy blames these human flaws,
not Fate, for the tragedy of Jude. In the same paragraph,
he goes on to ascribe the ultimate cause of Time's death to
"the rashness of these parents," their "ill-assortment" and
"misfortunes." There is an implication that Fate extracts a
punishment from the innocent for the Eailures of their
elders. Yet it is Tirne himself who exacts repararion from
the same people who, according to Hardy, were instrumental
in his death.
Sue's perception of Fate is ccrnpletely reversed by the
event: the pagan Sue believes her disregard for the will of
the Christian God has exacted punishment. She describes
Fate as a force which overrides Nature:
We said - do you remember? - that we should make a
virtue of joy. 1 said it was Nature's intention and
, , - 3 . *. . ,. .... -L -.., 2 Lr. '* . .Z.-l :- rais011 u . ~ L L ~ , L I L * ~ W C a t ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ uc J v l l u l . v L , u L
instincts she afforded us - instincts which
civilization had taken upon itself to thwart. What
dreadful things 1 said. And now Fate has given us this
stab in the back for being such fools as to take Nature
at her word. ( 4 0 8 - 9 )
The fact that the reasonable Sue, who originally bel.ieved
her will to be a free expression of Nature, now believes
that Fate is inescapable does not support Fate as the
driving force of the universe, but rather supports Gosse's
contention that her "brain [has] slipped." Her decline
eventually leads to the patently false conclusion that she
and Jude are being punished for their illicit relationship.
When she asks Jude "What ought to be done?" he replies with
predictable stoicism: "Things are as they are, and will be
brought to their destined issue" (409).
Subsequent events reinforce Sue's perception of Fate:
her miscarriage after visiting the children's grave affirms
her new conviction of the opposing forces which beset the
fully evolved, will-conscious intelligence:
. . . it was wonderfully excellent to the half-
aroused intelligence, but hopelessly absurd at the
full waking; that the First Cause worked automatically
like a somnambulist, and not reflectively like a sage;
that at the framing of the terrestrial conditions there
sttttiiied i i k v E L îü k i â ~ ~ beeïi ~ û i i t ~ i i i ~ : â t ~ d 3ü2ki 2
d e v e l o p m e n t o f e m o t i o n a l c o n d i t i o n s as t h a t r e a c h e d by
t h i n k i n g and e d u c a t e d h u m a n i t y . B u t a f f l i c t i c n makes
o p p o s i n g f o r c e s loom an th ropomorphous ; a n d t h o s e i d e a s
were now e x c h a n g e d f o r a s e n s e of Jude and herself
f l e e i n g £rom a p e r s e c u t o r . ( 4 1 3 )
Now, a s a f u l l y "awakened" b e i n g , Sue b e l i e v e s t h a t t h e v e r y
a c t of h e r w i l l has s t i m u l a t e d t h e o p p o s i t i o n f rom t h e
u n i v e r s e . J u d e , on t h e o t h e r hand , p e r c e i v e s h i s f a u l t a s
t h e f a i l u r e to r e c o g n i z e N a t u r e ' s w i l l : "You w e r e a d i s t i n c t
t y p e - a r e f i n e d c r e a t u r e i n t e n d e d by N a t u r e t o be l e f t
i n t a c t . But 1 c o u l d n ' t l e a v e you a l o n e t ' ( 4 1 4 ) . T h e i r
d i s p a r a t e p e r c e p t i o n s o f Fate a r e r e s p o n s i b l e f o r J u d e ' s
g rowing sense t h a t : "Sue a n d h i m s e l f had m e n t a l l y been
t r a v e l l i n g i n o p p o s i t e d i r e c t i o n s since t h e t ragedy" ( 4 1 5 ) .
T h i s l o s s o f a common " w i l l " is cornpounded by Sue's
d e s i r e t o be p u r g e d . S h e f e e l s t h a t T i rne ' s a c t i o n is
r e t r i b u t i o n on t h e p a r t o f F a t e , a n d s o s h e m u s t r e n o u n c e
h e r s e l f i n a t o n e m e n t :
I c a n n o t h u m i l i a t e m y s e l f t o o much. 1 s h o u l d l i k e t o
p r i c k m y s e l f a l 1 o v e r with p i n s , and b l e e d o u t t h e
b a d n e s s t h a t i s i n me. (417)
Her d e s i r e f o r penance l eads h e r t o p u r s u e f o r m a 1 r e l i g i o n ,
i r o n i c a l l y enough a t a p o i n t when Jude h i m s e l f grows f u r t h e r
away from his o r i g i n a l s p i r i t u a l l e a n i n g s . The e m o t i o n a l
s e p a r â t i o n of Zucie a n a Bue is G U L L L ~ ~ ~ L ~ U b ÿ t h e Le-
introduction of the unevolved Arabella. Jude's two "wives"
are contrasted in terms of perceptiveness:
Jude had known £rom the quality of Sue's tone that
her new and transcendental views lurked in ber words;
but al1 except their most obvious meaning was lost on
Arabella. (420)
Hardy continues to insist on the opposition of the two women
through his description of Arabella's "rnourning," as she:
. . . [goes] on to talk with placid bluntness about "her" boy, for whom, though in his lifetime she had shown no
care at all, she now exhibited a cereaonial mournful-
ness, apparently sustaining to the conscience. (420)
Arabella's blindness to the irony of her own situation is
emblematic of the quality which allows her to escape the
reach of Fate. Her lack of "true" feeling derives £rom her
general shallowness, and again suggests the view, that in
Hardy's works, only che unevolved, or as Sue earlier
concludes, those of "half-aroused intelligence" are capable
of happiness, or at least, satisfaction. The newly
"converted" Sue sees Arabella 's visit as a revelation of
the "cause" of her tragedy:
My babies have been taken from me to show me this!
Arabella's child killing mine was a judgment - the
right slaying the wrong! (422)
LL-A- & L - rl.?~~L*'l ner aisregaru for iiie T l c w Lïr tk i i a l ü q i c - L L I c A A y I I L
child has also been destroyed - and for Arabella's apparent
ignorant hypocrisy, which at one time she would have
satirized, signify the destruction of Sue's "will." Her
attribution of the tragedy to the will of God incenses Jude,
and completes his own transition £rom Christian belief:
You make me hate Christianity, or mysticism, or
Sacerdotalism, or whatever it may be called, if itts
that which caused thhs deterioration in you. . . . 1 am
glad I had nothing to do with Divinity - damn glad if
itts going to ruin you in this way. ( 4 2 3 )
He reminds her that she has abandoned her "old logic" and
her former deities - Aphrodite and Apollo, representing love
and reason.
Arabella's actions once more affect the tragic course
of the narrative. At her chance meeting with Phillotson,
she reports the strained situation of Sue and Jude, then
moves on. Her conventionality, despire her erratic lapses,
appears to insulate her from the tragedy to which she hzs
clearly contributed by ber own will to achieve her desires.
Hardy uses Phillotson to articulate the opposition
between the instinctual and the artificial or conventional.
He maintains, without obvious irony, that only observation
of convention provides the possibility of "comfort":
It was necessary to act under an acquired and
cujji"died 6 c szr,E r : . . - b : -- - - A -: - L b l : c .,-,, L J U ~ L L L C allu L L ~ L L L J LI- JUU
wished to enjoy an averàqe share of comfort and honour;
and to let crude lovinç-kindness take care of itself.
( 4 3 4 )
His words are bitingly ambiguous: his own efforts at
"loving-kindness" have led to public ridicule and infamy for
him, and his eventual restoration to his unwilling but
"lawful" wife can hardly afford the degree of comfort he
describes here. Phillotson's latent perception is opposed to
Hardy's belief in loving-kindness or altruism, yet it may be
said to represent the worldly view of success as depicted in
Jude. Sue's conversion to conventionality is evidsnt in her
wish to marry Phillotson for convention's sake, despite her
new religious conviction that they are still married "in
Heaven's eyes." At the same time, however, she acknowledges
that the conventional world is not the only view which
"matters." As she leaves Jude, she refers to the larger
universe by which he might be judged: "Your worldly failure,
if you have failed, is to your credit, rather than to your
blame" (437) .
Once again, however, Hardy undermines the views of his
characters: because Sue has adopted conventional views of
spirituality, her reassurance of Judo is suspect; the reader
does not accept that Jude's earthly suffering will be
rewarded on a heavenly plane. This undermining of Sue 's
character is compie~eci in ner r e k u r r i io r i i i i i u i s u i i , T W L
although she refers again to the idea of her children's
sacrifice achieving her purification, she still reacts with
aversion to her first husband.
The voice of "loving-kindness" and "reason" is left to
Mrs. Edlin, who in some ways is the human side of Hardy's
detached "chronicler." She tells Jude that the tragedy of
his children's death rnight have been overcome: " . . . you
might ha' lived on, and made it al1 right at last. After
a i l , it concerned nobody but your own two selves" (441) .
Her voice is contrasted with that of the Vicar, who insists
on the re-marriage of Phillotson and Sue as an escape £rom
further punishment through atonement: "Ail's well that ends
well . . . . May you long be happy together, after thus having
been 'saved as by fire"' (446). His tone suggests that "Tt
is better to marry than to burn"; it also reflects Sue's
patently false view that her children were sacrificed to
teach her the error of her ways. The Vicar's almost absurd
attachment to "conventionality" again stresses the notion
that happiness may only be attained by the ignorant
somnambulist. More importantly, its pious rhetoric
underlines Jude's contention, at the death of his children,
that tragedy derives £rom hurnan agency, either through error
or omission, rather than any external force. Sue's "new"
belief - that she must atone for her "sin" of loving Jude -
resuits Erom numan s o c i a l tdbuus, ~ d i i ~ e ~ i i ~ c i l ~ i l i t : ï i ~ ü ï a l
outrage of the universe.
It is Sue's abandonment of Jude - not the loss of his
children, nor even the loss of the "Christminster dream" -
which leads to Jude's self-annihilation. His renewed
drinking enables Arabella to trick him into marrying her a
second time, and he demonstrates a bitter appreciation of
the irony that "religion" has been satisfied: "Al1 right.
I've - married you. She said 1 ought to marry y o u again,
and 1 have straightaway. It is true religion! Ha - ha -ha!"
(464) . Despite his apparent resignation, however, J u d e
clings t o his original desire that sornehow Sue might y e t
return to hirn: He retains a "foolish Hope, that lives an a
drop and a crumb" (467). His last visit to Sue is, however,
the gesture which marks an end to his "will" to have her:
1 have seen her for the last time, and I've finished
myself - put an end to a feverish life which ought
never to have begun. (473)
He compares himself to Antigone, whose awareness of her
f a l s e placement among the living, and welcoming of death
matches his own: "As Antigone said, 1 am neiîher a dweller
among men nor ghosts" (475).
As Jude prepares himself for death, Sue, ironically, is
performing a supposedly life-affirming act with her
"rightful husband." The faithful (or perhaps "fateful")
. . - L(iii'll L L - L
M E S . L L I Q L SÜE â~lld F P ~ i l . L û t ~ û ~ ~ Ü ~ Z ïi~;; 1 2 7 ~ ~ ~ ~
o s t e n s i b l y a s a r e s u l t o f J u d e ' s l a s t v i s i t t o Sue , marks
t h e f i n a l b low t o J u d e ' s waning hope , and , c o n s e q u e n t l y , h i s
w i l l . L i k e G i l e s W i n t e r b o r n e , J o c e l y n P i e r s t o n , and h i s own
s o n i n t h e p r e s e n t n a r r a t i v e , J u d e ' s l a s t a c t o f w i l l o r ,
more a c c u r a t e l y , a b s e n c e o f w i l l , i s h i s s e l f - a n n i h i l a t i o n .
A s t h e o b s c u r e J u d e l i e s d y i n g , A r a b e l l a i s drawn t o
t h e f e s t i v a l . J u d e c a l l s f o r w a t e r - i n y e t a n o t h e r
p a r a l l e l t o t h e d e a t h o f C h r i s t - b u t no o n e i s t h e r e t o
h e a r him. He b e g i n s t o r e c i t e v e r s e s £rom t h e Book of J o b ,
a n d h i s l a s t words a r e p u n c t u a t e d by c h e e r s f rom t h e
Rernernbrance games. The j u x t a p o s i t i o n o f h i s l a m e n t s w i t h
t h e " H u r r a h s " £rom t h e d i s t a n t s p e c t a t o r s h a s a p o w e r f u l
p o i g n a n c y wh ich r a i s e s J u d e ' s d e a t h f rom o b s c u r i t y . Whi l e
t h e unknowing masses a p p l a u d , J u d e f i n a l l y a c h i e v e s f r eedom:
"The s m a l l a n d t h e g r e a t a r e t h e r e , a n d t h e s e r v a n t i s g i v e n
f r e e d o m £rom h i s m a s t e r " ( 4 8 8 ) .
Even J u d e ' s d e a t h , however, d o e s n o t d e t e r t h e
o p p o r t u n i s m o f A r a b e l l a , who d e f e r s acknowledg ing i t s o t h a t
s h e m a i gu t a t k A i 5ûst z z c = z . Her s u r v i v a l , a n d h e r
a t t a i n i n g h e r d e s i r e a f f i r m H a r d y ' s p o s i t i o n t h a t t h e
"awakened" c h a r a c t e r i s bound by d e f i n i t i o n t o f a i l , w h i l e
t h e u n e v o l v e d o r " h a l f - r o u s e d " c h a r a c t e r i s able t o d i s t a n c e
h e r s e l f £rom t h e c o n s e q u e n c e s o f h e r a c t i o n s , and a c h i e v e
h e r more d i m l y - p e r c e i v e d g o a l s . L i k e a l o w - c a l i b r e
L I . 1 hnr rr,.,n ,=5+h kOp=iiE* i C ÿ L I t e A u e l L a , f i ~ a u c s ~ ù ~ i i r j ~ i i ~ ~ ~ d ..cl sULc, Lirru--.. -..- --
a l w a y s a b l e t o abandon one d e s i r e i n f a v o u r o f a n o t h e r wh ich
may b e more a p p e a i i n g o r m e r e l y more a t t a i n a b l e .
The l a s t words i n J u d e , a s i n e a c h o f t h e works
examined h e r e , b e l o n g n o t t o t h e p r o t a g o n i s t b u t t o
A r a b e l l a , who p e r c e i v e s t h a t Sue i s u n a b l e t o a d a p t h e r w i l l
t o h e r c i r c u m s t a n c e s , a n d , l i k e Jude , may o n l y e s c a p e t h e
c o n s t r a i n t s of l i f e t h r o u g h d e a t h : "She h a s n e v e r found
p e a c e s i n c e s h e l e f t h i s arrns, and n e v e r w i l l a g a i n t i l l
s h e ' s a s he i s n o w " ( 4 9 4 ) . Her r e c o g n i t i o n o f t h e d i f f e r e n c e
be tween h e r s e l f and S u e a c c e n t u a t e s o n c e a g a i n t h e
p e r c e p t i o n o f F a t e which d i s t i n g u i s h e s H a r d y ' s " s u c c e s s f u l "
c h a r a c t e r s ( i n w o r l d l y , r a t h e r t h a n l i t e r a r y t e r m s ) £rom h i s
" f a i l u r e s . "
Conclusion
The debate around Hardy's work is as heated and diverse
in the lasc days of the twentieth century as it was when the
novels were first published a century ago. However, many of
the problems inherent in giving an "objective" reading to
Hardy's writing began to disappear in the decades following
World War II, as societal taboos regarding divorce,
premarital sex, and illegitimate children dissolved.
Hardy's greatest stumbling block in his own time was
unquestionably his apparent iconoclasm, especially the
repeated denunciation of 2 Christianity which lacked the
"loving-kindness" of his own philosophy. The challenge to
religious orthodoxy and the existence of a God which sparked
such furor in the nineteenth century seems ordinary in the
last half of ours. Therefore, it rnay be argued, we of the
post-modern age are able to regard Hardy with an unbiased
eye . Another a s s e t for Hardy studies in recent years is the
challenge to the literary canon. The idea that Hardy's
novels may divided into the canonical o r "major" works and
the "minor" works has been repeatedly challenged by critics
and scholars of the last two decades. Unfcrtunately, the
rejection of a canon has led, in some cases, to the mere
substitution or a more poii~icaiiy curreci Ù e s c ~ i p L 1 û ï ~ üf
the diverse works, which still relies heavily on comparative
evaluation, although the "minor" works are now termed "less
successiul" or "neglected."
One of the important ways in whicn the late twentieth
century has been able to investigate or "interrogatet'
Hardy's works i s through materialist, rather than
metaphysical readings. The Marxist approach to Hardy is
addressed by Joe Fisher, in The Hidden Hardy, as an
explanation of some of the difficulties in his works:
The s y s t e m of building a fiction with antithetical
traded text and counter-text places Hardy in a
uniquely strong position to disempower his craded
t e x t without weakening the novel's dramatic force,
and indeed to use this surrender of omniscience to
enforce mure, not less, on the consumer-
reproducer. (Fisher 154)
The notion that Hardy used a "trade-off" between what was
desirable to his publisher and readers, and what was
significanr to himself, explains many of what have
traditionally been considered "flaws" in his works. Fisher
sees the mediated happiness of The Well-Beloved's endinq,
for example, as a sop to critics and co those who insist on
happy endings.
A more specific materialist reading of the works
. . - - : : -- T L n -,**l ;,.>t-; nn =f C i e ~ i v y s L L V L U L C ~ ~ ~ L Ï ~ L ~ L ~ ~ ~ C ~ ~ ~ ~ U ~ . ayrA---b-- . . r---
feminist standards to nineteenth-century literature is, like
the existential reading of Hardy, problematic, yet Hardy has
suffered scathinq criticism for both voice appropriation and
the objectification of his fernale characters. On the other
hand, the 1990s have produced several potent arguments for
Hardy as a proponent of Fernale rights.
In The Sense of Sex: Feminist Perspectives on Hardy
(1993), several of the essayists, notably the editor
heïself, Margaret R. Higgonet, praise rather than castigate
Hardy's use of the fernale voice. Reqarding Tess she
maintains:
Opposed to men's maxims, then, we find complex
womanly experience, given expression in Tess's
voice, one of Hardy's moçt brilliant inventions.
Fluty, murmuring, quavering, stammerinq, panting,
its breaks and stops cal1 to rnind Julia Kristeva's
semeiotike, that theory O £ fluidity,
contradiction, disruption, and silence in
feminine, pre-Oedipal language. (Higgonet 191
Admiration for Hardy's fernale characters notwithstanding,
other writers object to the alignment of "positive" moral
traits with male protagonists. John Kucich sees the
association of truth with male characters as Hardy's attempt
to "augment his own moral authority":
. . . Hardy u i t i m a t e l y a l i g n s a r e s u r g e n t fo rm o f
h o n e s t y with b o t h a e s t h e t i c c o n s c i o u s n e s s , a n d ,
more g e n e r a l l y w i t h m a s c u l i n i t y . From t h i s p o i n t
o f v i ew , H a r d y ' s s u r p r i s i n g l y v i r u l e n t s t e r e o t y p e s
o f f e m a l e d i s h o n e s t y a r e more t h a n j u s t u n u s u a l l y
p r o n o u n c e d i n s t a n c e s o f t r a d i t i o n a l s e x i s m . They
have a c r u c i a l r o l e t o p l a y i n d e f i n i n g t h e
r e s u r g e n t m o r a l a u t h o r i t y o f t h e a r t i s t ,
d i s t i n g u i s h e d by h i s s u p e r i o r a b i l i t y t o speak t h e
t r u t h . ( K u c i c h 2 2 3 )
P o s s i b l y t h e mos t u s e f u l f e m i n i s t c r i t i c i s m , i n t h e c o n t e x t
o f l o o k i n g a t H a r d y ' s works a s a whole , i s t h e r e c e n t
r e a d i n g of H a r d y ' s wornen a s s o c i a l commentary. I n - The
D e c l i n e o f t h e Goddess : Nature , C u l t u r e , a n d Wornen (1995),
S h i r l e y A . S t a v e examines b o t h t h e a r c h e t y p a l n a t u r e of
Hardy 's f e m a l e p r o t a g o n i s t s , h i s " g o d d e s s e s , " and t h e i r roLe
i n a t t a c k i n g V i c t o r i a n s o c i a l s t r u c t u r e . S h e d e s c r i b e s "a
p a t t e r n i n t h r e e m a j o r n o v e l s " [ T e s s of t h e D r U r b e r v i l l e s ,
T h e R e t u r n o f t h e N a t i v e , a n d F a r From t h e Madding Crowd] :
. . . i n no o n e o f them d o e ç h e a l l o w t h e
p r o t a g o n i s t t o rnarry a v i r g i n . T e s s , E u s t a c i a ,
and B a t h s h e b a a l 1 h a v e s e x u a l e n c o u n t e r s w i t h
e x p e r i e n c e d , s e x u a l l y c o n s c i o u s men b e f o r e t h e y
m a r r y A n g e l , Clym, a n d G a b r i e l . I t a l l o w s him to
. . . c n a i i e n g e i n e V i c i u r i d ~ i r iu i iv r i L l i a î ü i ï C j i r i i t y
becomes the defining s tandard for morality in
women; one might argue convincingly that his
agenda in writing Tess of the DfUrbervilles is
precisely ta attack that position. (Stave 39)
The value, for this discussion, of both marxist and
feminist readings of Hardy's works is that they consider the
whole body of his fiction, and in some cases, his poetry as
well, without resorting to the former canonical evaluations.
Peter Widdowson, in both Hardy in History (1989) and Thomas
Hardy ( 1 9 9 6 ) , discusses the importance of rejecting "major"
and "minor" as valid ways of approaching Hardy's novels. In
"Making Thomas Hardy: a Critiography," he describes £ive
major results of this rejection. The last two are
particularly germane to t h e present thesis:
Fourth, once the evaluative categorization has
gone, a l 1 the novels are freed for much more
various and open reading: the closures of the
'majur/minor' opposition do not merely exclude
certain texts £rom the agenda, they limit the ways
in which the 'major' texts may be read. Fifth,
the relocation of the 'minor' t e x t s may pull into
relief aspects of the o t h e r texts which have been
minimized: for example, the obsession with social
class and gender relations in Hardy's 'minor
nove i s : forces iiiest! eleli~=liL5 il^ î1ite ' ~ à j ü ï ' û i i ~ d
into much greater prominence. (Widdowson, Hardy
in History 55)
The liberation of the texts £rom the closure of the
"major/minor" delineation is precisely the force which
allows us to see what is common t o al1 Hardy's works,
regardless of their relative popularity.
Although Richard Taylor, to Widdowsonts chagrin,
segregates the 'minor' works in his The Neglected Hardy,
he nonetheless examines them in the context of al1 Hardy's
novels, and draws valuable parallels between them and the
"big six." He finds the prototype for Jude t h e Obscure in
The Well-Beloved:
The Well-Beloved i s basically motivated by the
same impulses which afterwards directed Jude the
Obscure. Though their modes are disparate, and
the earlier work has a much Less obvious tragic
issue, the serial version of The Well-Beloved,
containing several subsequently omitted passages
which directly p~efigure Jude, makes explicit the
thernatic unity of the two novels. (Taylor 1 5 7 - 8 )
Taylor goes on t o enurnerate several instances in which
Hardy's views on marriage and sexual relations in
The Well-Beloved are paralleled in Jude the Obscure.
Taken tegether, the two works support the consistency
. . of cne r i o v e ; i s i ' ~ V i S i û L .
I n a d d i t i o n , h e c o n t e x t u a l i z e s t h e works among
t h e body o f H a r d y ' s works, c a l l i n g The Hand of E t h e l b e r t a
a " b l a c k comedy":
Hardy i s s a t i r i s i n g t h e f x p e c t e d forms o f f i c t i o n
o f t h e t i m e and l i g h t - h e a r t e d l y p l a y i n g w i t h t h e
k i n d o f i m p r o b a b i l i t y t h a t rnight f e a t u r e i n them.
( T a y l o r 6 0 )
A t t h e same c ime , however , he d raws Our a t t e n t i o n t o t h e
f a c t t h a t Hardy h i m s e l f d i d n o t p a r t i c u l a r l y " app rove" o f
E t h e l b e r t a b e c a u s e " . . . a u s u a l s i g n a l o f h i s r e g a r d [ f o r a
c h a r a c t e r ] i s a n unhappy e n d t o a l i f e o f h o n e s t s t r u g g l e "
( 6 3 ) . He sees t h e s u c c e s s o f E t h e l b e r t a ' s w i l l a s t h e
r e a s o n h e r c h a r a c t e r f a i l s t o e n g a g e t h e r e a d e r : " I n
E t h e l b e r t a ' s s u c c e s s t h e r e i s no g e n u i n e t r i u m p h by
compromise a n d s u r r e n d e r - ' s e l f - k i l l i n g ' a s Lawrence
c a l l s i t " ( 6 8 ) . T a y l o r ' s c o m p a r i s o n s a c r o s s Hardy f s works ,
h e r e a n d e l s e w h e r e , e n a b l e u s t o d o what Widdowson s u g g e s t s :
r e i n t e g r a t e t h e works t o examine t h e i r i m p a c t a s a body .
I n h i s 1 9 9 6 work Thomas Hardy, P e t e r Widdowson
d i s p a r a g e s t o some e x t e n t t h e r e c e n t s p a t e o f c r i t i c s
who have t o u t e d Hardy ' s s o c i a l commentary. T h e i r c h i e f
f a u l t , i n h i s v i ew , l i e s i n t h e i r s l a v i s h a d h s r e n c e t o t h e
canon :
A s p a r t o f t h e f a l l o u t f rom newer M a r x i s t ,
criticism of Hardy's fiction has, in the 1980s and
1 9 9 0 ~ ~ taken on a rather more radical and
subversive guise. .. .despite al1 this, the
"lesser novels, " where so much of Hardy's
fictional practice and cast of mind is almost
self-parodically delineated, çtill receive almost
minimalist treatment. Even a radicalized Hardy
remains the canonical one. (16-17)
Widdowson's insistence on the centrality of the so-called
"minor" works to Our understanding of Hardy explains to çome
extent why the workings of Fate, or more precisely, the
perception of Fate ~hroughout his novels appears so
significant. Despite their different degrees of success -
commercial or critical- or lack thereof, the works 1 have
exarnined have much more in common than their designation
suggests. The hand which penned the material success of
Ethelberta is the sarne hand which wrote the destruction of
Jude.
While 1 admit that there are works which are more
enjoyable, perhaps more powerful, and definitely more
critically acclaimed, the body of Hardy's work is always
recognizably his own, and I believe this is so largely
because of the consistency with which he treats the issue of
Fate.
The problem with undermining the canon of any author's
work is that it leaves critics and scholars without trie sort
of tool we like for measurement and appraisal. This begs
the question of the purpose of evaluation; even Widdowson
does not go so f a r as to say that al1 literary works are
equally entertaining or useful, or representative of an
author. It is, however, logical to assume that great
authors do not commit many actual "errors" in their writing.
Assuming this i s correct, then Hardy's apparent "flaws" nust
be purposeful ones; in other words, there must be a context
in which they serve a purpose. For this reason, if no
other, it is a valuable expenditure of time to examine the
works in a comparative way, as a route to a better
understanding of them as a body.
Charles Lock praises Widdowson's explanation of the
"odd" chronology of Hardy's work "in terms of the
inappropriateness of Our aesthetic categories":
The trouble with this device is that one is
tempted to generalize, and to declare any bad book
good by other (radical, non-bourgeois) stanaards.
But the conviction in Widdowson's argument derives
fron our growing awareness that Hardy may always
have known what he was doing. (Lock 115)
In rehabilitating Hardy's "minor" works, in forcing us to
examine t n e wnoie ùouy, IL"L uaaL Li-,e 1x1- - - L I I - - A - - - --: L : -- ue3 L, LLLUUCIII L I L L L L ~
l i k e L o c k and Widdowson force us to attempt to d i s c e r n
what t h e a u t h o r "was d o i n g . "
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