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 Abstract

The t h e s i s e x a m i n e s t h e e b b a n d f l o w o f Thomas H a r d y ' s

c r i t i c a l and popular appeal i n l i g h t of h i s treatment of h i s

c h a r a c t e r s ' p e r c e p t i o n of Fate. 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 e n g a g e w i t h and r e s p o n d 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 F a r 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 T r o y , 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 H a r d y ' s works, i s f i r s t

introduced i n t h i s novel.

The Hand o f 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 a n d 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

t w i n " o f F a r 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

of t h e i r l i v e s a r e e x t e r n a l l y determined. Edred F i t z p i e r s i s

p a r t i c u l a r l y n o t e w o r t h y i n t h a t Hardy h a s him c o n s c i o u s l y a n d
 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 . "

C h a p t e r Four d e a l s w i t h H a r d y ' 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 Fate-driven. The n o v e l i s 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 b e c a u s e Hardy changed t h e s u i c i d e of

the o r i g i n a l p s r i o d i c a l ending t o the mediated happiness of

P i e r s t o n i n t h e n o v e 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 J u d e t h e O b s c u r e . 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 r e v i e w s 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 "only

o u r s e l v e s a n d 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 r o u n d o u t Hardy's complex t r e a t m e n t of F a t e .

 Preface

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 CO

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 a b i l i ~ 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

work.

Ln a d d i t i o ~ ,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.
 Table of Contents
Abstract

Preface

T a b l e of C o n t e n t s

Chapter 1 - F a r From t h e Madding Crowd

Chcpter 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

Chapccr 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 t w e n ~ i e t hcentury 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 egeological 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 g r i l i s i l zead2i,
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t h e workingman's " ... i m p e r a t i v e need f o r escape . . . " 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 n e e d 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 a s 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

career progressed, causing several c r i t i c s t o pine 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 a n d a c a d e m i c 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 CO

a s p i r e t o tne same "Legitirnacy" i n f i c t i o n t h a t was e x p e c t e d

i n poetry. 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

"respecîability":

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

take i t so. 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 i t 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 t o w a r d a n y 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 j o k e .... 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 w h i c h 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~ectationswere 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."

A L the i i n i e u i 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 CO 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~hcentury, 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 r o 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

A s 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 s p a c e , infinite tirne, and

the i n f i n i t e number of possible individuals

therein are h e r kingdorn. Therefore n a t u L e 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.

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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 e g a r d 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 at

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 D a v i d

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

is, an a c t i o n without p r a c t i c a l o r temporal, r a t h e r than

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

"concatenation" of e v e n t s t o suggest 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 a n d time t e n d t o w o r k a g a i n s t t h e w i l l o f

the protagonists, r a t h e r than i n t h e i r favour.

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 , the

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

Aristotle's anagnorisis - a p o i n t o f d i s c o v e ~ yo r r e v e l a t i o n

- t o account 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 , the

better translation is "reccgniïion." The r e a d e r

knows w h a t i s g u i n g t o h a p p e n , b u t w i s h e s t o s e e ,

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

design. (Frye 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 Obscure," b e l i e v e s t h a t the appeal of 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:

... myths, 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 a n d w o r l d , a n d t o

r e p r e s e ~ i ia b c i i e i ifileCjïZtèd p c ï ~ e p t i ûûf
~ 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

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 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

choices.

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 meanings c o n s t a n t . I n The W o o d l a n d e r s , H a r d y 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 h e

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 " (Canadian College Diccionary)

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 of 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 j u d g e m e n t " (OED). T h u s when

G r a c e t e l l s F i t z p i e r s t h e y w e r e "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 d o o m . " I n each

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

which 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

outside h i s o r her control. The o p e r a t i v e w o r d s 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 , characrers interpret

t h e e v e n t s of t h e i r :ives a s being e x t e r n a l l y controlled -

e i t h e r t o t h e i r advantage, o r CO t h e i r detriment. I n the

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 b e

u s e a a s a s p e c i e s of e x c u s e : once Giles f e e l s h i s w i l l i s

"doomed" :O f a i l , he v i r t u a l l y abandons h i s w i i l . Grace

s i m i l a r l y f e e l s t h e c h o i c e between Giles 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 G i l e s .
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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 iljL,~~LtiüïL; ~ C ~ ~ I Sh Vc E~S~ 2 1;.;hiL~

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o b j e c t of 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

lack.

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 determines h i s c a p a c i t y f o r "mediated happiness," 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 of 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 b e the w o r s t t h i n y t h a t can h a p p e n . Frequently i n

H a r d y ' s w o r k s 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 a n d

m e a n i n g t o t h e m s e l v e s a n d t h ~ i rw 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 chey have found i n t h e

l o v e d o n e a power o f t h i s s o r t . Their 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 w h a 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

experience. (Miller 183)

When F i t z p i e r s a t t a i n s G r a c e , he d i s c o v e r s t h a t t h e human

being does 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

irnportantly, perhaps, 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

m o r e 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 h e b e l i e v e s

he "wants."

ijarciy:s i ~ e d i i i l e i i iui iiie will 2 3 d i 3 L i ï i ~ tf ï û ~

~ZS~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 ...you are mine and on'y

mine; for she forqot ' e e at last, although for her you

died!" (460) .
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 .

( T h e Well B e l o v e d 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

s u b s u m e d b y 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 o f

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 Marty S o u t h . Of Sue s h e

s a y s : " S h e ' s never found peace s i n c e she l e f t h i s arms, 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" (JO 494). 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 of 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 end of t h e i r s t o r i e s , c o m o n t o both " g r e a t " and

"minor" works, a f f i r m s B u r s t e i n ' s n o t i o n of t h e c h a r a c t e r s '

movement t o w a r d 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 of Design

I n a d d i t i o n t o t h e thematic and symbolic concerns of

Hardy's f i c t i o n , h i s n a r r a t i v e form 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 - a n d p o s t - m o d e r n - reader,

who h a s grown a c c u s t o m e d t o t h e s t y l e o f c o n s c i o u s n a r r a t i v e

which he 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 r o m 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 w h i c h

is self-consciously "fiction." 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 a w a r e 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 w i l l 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 w r i t e s of t h e " a r n b i g u i t y

i n t h e noninally h a p p y 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 sa m b i g u i t y , o n c e 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 h a p p y 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 ) . In

H a r d y ' s works, d i s t a n c e f u e l s desire, 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 . Since both Ethelberta

and 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 without 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 "satisfactory" as those 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 rt h e u n e v e n n e s s of h i s a r t i s d u e 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 w o r d s 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 W i d d o w s o n ' s c o n c l u s i o n

t h a t Hardy "knew w h a t 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 H a r d y 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

character:

. . .H a r d y ' s c h a r a c t e r s may b e a t t r i b u t e d t h e n , n o t
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 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 s c a 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 Ci-iiïi LECC~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 m a s 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,

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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

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c r e a t i v e f o r c e s , a n d 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

arms of 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 doomsters" c r e a t e , determines, i n t h e end,

their a b i l i t y t o thrive despite their unfulfilled

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

sudden, 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 throughout t h e c a u r s e of 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 degree of t h e i r evolution, i i k e t h e d e f i n i t i o n of t h e i r

will, a f f e c t s t h e r e a d e r ' s response t o t h e i r p e r s o n a l

failure o r success. Perhaps t h e s i n g l e b e s t e x a m p l e 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 , is

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 r o m t h e r h w a r t i n g

of h i s i n t e n t i o n dernonstrate Hardy's preoccupation w i t h t h e

d i s t i n c t i o n between 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 ; h e 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 v F s s , Lie
"take [s] it careless-like," and in the end his fortune is

restored.

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 F a t e 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." C r i t i c s 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

v i c ~ i m sof 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 o f

success. Their definitions have perhaps revealed more of

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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 destructive purposes. I n his p e r s o n i i i c a t i o n o r

anrhropornorphizing of Hardy's u n i v e r s a l f o r c e , he resembles

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 h e 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 ~ , a n d

rnisciming:

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 c o man. I n o t h e r words, C h a r a c t e r i s

not Fate. 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

beings a r e not broughr CO g r i e f becagse of

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

aefeat it. !Elliott 57)

I n ïhe f i r s t place, 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 m o r o 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

personal raiher than a l i r u i s t i c . W h i l e 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 e v e n 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 rneaninglesç e v e n t s . Since, l i k e other characters

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persona1 enerny, his interpretation of events is always

coloured b y 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 LO 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

...
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cons~antlyaware 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 l a c k 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

narciy's iasc great p r u i c c y o r i i s i , Zude FdwLeÿ, i e i t ~ l i t sL L L C

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

" m a j o 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 o f

"indifferentism." A s c h a r a c t e r s a r e a c t e d upon b y 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 responses. The a c t u a l e v e n t s w h i c h 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 twho s e e s

h i m s e l f i n t h e l a r q e r framework o f F a t e h a s a g r e a t e r power

to e n g a g e 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 , a n d 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 a n d 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 a n d t h e c h a r a c t e r s i s p r e s e n t h e r e , a s i n

a l 1 H a r d y ' s work, a n d 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 i e w e d f r o m 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

involved coconspirator.

I n a d d i t i o n , a s m o s t 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

view-points. A l t h o u g h a a t h s h e b a a n d 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 w a s 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 bird's-eye v i e w , a s M i l t o n ' s S a t a n f i r s t saw

Paradise" ( 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 view 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

experience. The d e s c r i p t i o n a l s o evokes 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

i m m i n e n t " f a l l t ' i s e n h a n c e d by t h e b a l a n c e with w h i c h

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 b e t w e e n t h a t

of Comedy and T r a g e d y , G a b r i e 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

incident of Gabriel's near suffocation i n the hut, Gabriel's

r e s p o n s e is t o t a k e h e r a l a n b a n d p r o p o s e r n a r r i a g e . Aqain

Hardy i n s i s t s o n 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

b e t w e e n 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 ..."

(251.

B a t h s h e b a ' s r e f u s a l of G a b r i e l marks t h e b e g i n n i n g of

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 o f h i s own y o u n g e 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 b a l a n c e : "- 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 between doing a

t h i n g wêll e n o u g h , a n d doing i t t o o w e l l " (34).

 Tne death of Gabriel's sheep first evokes i n him a sense

of gratitude that h e is not rnarried, and then the praqmatic

response of destroying the agent of his loss:

George's s o n 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 o f t h a t

untoward fate w h i c h 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

a b o u t the "other philosophers" rings true to his disposition

of the human characters in his works; it is no accident that

t h e doq i s "tragically" shot, but perhaps a suggestion that

al1 philosophers of the sort meet a similarly tragic end

because their logical r e a s o n i n g 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 ~ othe very slime-pits of Siddim;

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 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 "chancetfwhich 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 B a t h s h e b a b e c a u s e s h e 1s o u t o f 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 r e a d 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 of "chance" which have

d r a w n Boldwood end B a t h s h e b a t o g e t h e r k e e p Fanny and T r o y

spart. 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 b y 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 '

Church. 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 a n d B a t h s h e b a o n 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 h a v e Deen p l a n n i n g to c a l 1

o n F a n n y , 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 , Bathsheba

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 B o l d w c o d ' s t h a t h e h a d 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

introspection:

W i î h h i m t h e p a s t was y e s t e r d a y ; the future

to-rnorrow; never t h e day 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 )

T h e 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 c o m p r e h e n s i o n became e n g a g e d 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, a n d 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 e a d e 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

UIILlfirly LUhCii
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 went t o u n l o c k t h e d o o r and dropped t h e key, and

i t f e l l u p o n 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 b o d e m e n t .

(215)

The m a r r i a g e o f B a t h s h e b a a n d T r o y o f c o u r s e l i v e s u p t o

M a r y a n n ' s " b o d e m e n 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

w e d d i n g 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

choice.

The c h a n c e m e e t i n g o f B a t h s h e b a a n d T r o y w i t h F a n n y ,

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 e x a m p l e o f Hardy t h e p u p p e t - m a s t e r playing w i t h

timing. He a l s o u s e s t h i s o c c a s i o n t o r e m a r k 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

extremity of 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 . She

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 a n d 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 of 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

and 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

all. (263)

Hardy's i r o n i c detachment i s e s p e c i a l l y noteworthy i n t h a t

he has her d i e i n childbirth a f t e r reaching her goal. In

a a a i t i c n , cne d r r w i y u o u s c - -- L -
L C L C L ~ I I L ~C U
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 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

h e r V ( 2 9 9 ) . 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
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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 w e a k n e s s

t h a t h a s l e d t o h i s bad j u d g m e n t . However, t h e nariacor

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 h i m r h r o u g h t h e l a s t

four-and-twenty hours"i308).

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 of

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 r s t i n d i c a t i o n

t h a t T r o y , 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 h a d 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 , a n d now

it was a s i f h i s i n t e n t i o n h a d b e e n known and

circumvented. (315)

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

s e e r n i n g " h i g h e r p o w e r , " 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

as a character. Hardy r e m a r k s o n 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 , w h i c h exempt him f r o m 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 n u c h 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 i E e 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 w h i c h s i n g l e s it o u t

a s a m o r e 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 . (315)

A s " t h e h e r o of h i s s t o r y , " T r o y 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

trie chapcerZs e v e r i i s .
rii

rit:
l . . ù;;d
p ï ù x i l l i i t ~ûf Eât111~1i~bü 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, s h e 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

imagines ~ i i d iFdLe .
WALL
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i t t o be s o . He b e l i e v e s h e 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 J a c o b , 2nd t h a t h i s d i l i g e n c e i s

purposeful:

... h i s f a i t h t h a t a time was coming - verÿ f a r o f f

perhaps, 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 reward. (330-1)

A l t h o u g h H a r d y 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 recognize him. More i m p o r t a n t l y , h e 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 a n a a v e r s a r y a n d

i n f a c t h i s nemesis:

Even t h e n Boldwood d i d n o 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 o n c e b e f o r e b r o k e n i n u p o n h i s bliss,

s c o u r g e d hirn, a n d 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. (376)

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 r o m Samway"

(378). 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 F a t e i n the d e s t r u c t i o n o f Farmer Boldwood.

T h e man who p r o f i t s £rom t h e r e m o v a l of T r o y a n d

. .
Euidwuud 13, ~ ï ü t~ ü ï ~ ~ i ; ; ~th2 ÿ ~,Z Z Z C ~ CCZ ~ Z EU2:dï
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c h o s e a s t h e e a r l y v i c t i m of F a t e . Since h i s first

a s s o c i a t i o n with Bathsheba, a f t e r t h e " p a s t o r a l tragedy"

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 w o r k s 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

the haystacks. i a t e r , w h i l e t h e newly-wed T r o y and t h e

o t h e r f a r m - w o r k e 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 fleeing

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 " m e s s a g e s i r o m 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

pending storm.

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 w e r e 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 o f r u n n i n g r i s k ,

when i m p o r t a n t a n d 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 qnî r
o w r i S L C I ~ ~ ~ ~ Ui i~l I LL1Li 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 rrises, 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 c r e d i e s CA c * ~ L & i i~" ~û ~ ~ ~ ü i L Ti ~; 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 L o r d 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 "

(283). 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 b e t w e e n

h i r n s e l f a n d n i s 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 r e g a r d F a t e o r N a t u r e

o r some s o r t o f 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 o f

their lives. Bathsheba, f o r example, i s d e p i c t e d a s a n

u n a c k n o w l e d g e d 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,

D i a n a was c h e 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

adored. (273)

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 a n d 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 w h i c h 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 .

O n l y o n o n e o c c a s i o n d o e s Hardy d e p i c t a n y 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 m a j o r

c h a r a c t e r s : upon t h e d e a t h of F a n n y R o b i n , G a b r i e l k n e e l s t o

pray. 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 b a b y , 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 : " W h e t h e r 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 r o s e , i t was w i t b a q u i e t e r

s p i r i t ..." (296). The i m p l i c i t i r o n y of H a r d y ' s a s s e s s r n e n t

of p r d y e r i i i iiibi F f i ~ t d Ï ~ ti e3 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 h e seeningly sincere actions of

Troy. Yet Hardy suqgests that Bathsheba's prayer rnay b e

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

criurnpn i s ci r i i i i f i j 2ïidiiiij f ~ Ziï ;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 b e t w e e n s t o r i e s of more s o b e r d e s i g n " ( v ) , t h e

h a n d 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

"Fate" as 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 E a t e . In this

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, a n d 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 were

and c o n t i n u e t o b e u n d e c i d e d 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 b a e n 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 a n d confidante o f H a r d y ,

n u m b e r s 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 writer's "worst" books. 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 t h e s t r e n g t h o f E t h e l b e r t a ' s

character:

E t h e l b e r t a h e r s e l f dominates t h e novei 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 H e n c h a r d and ... w e can

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 - si i ~ d iif Z p ï d ~k ~ â dïïtâd~ t k ~~ û ~ ï kù

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 October, 1879, ranks The Hand

in New Quarterly Magazine

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

l i t ~ l ehappens 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 ~ ~ üi ~ ü~p p û ï tIt
I I L .
 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 of 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 b a s e d on h e r own r e a s o n

and p r a g m a t i s m . 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 e x r e n t t h a t s h e g o v e r n s 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 emotion, E t h e l b e r t a resembles

G a b r i e l Oak. I n h e r r e a d i n e s s for whatever Fate o f f e r s she

d e r n o n s t r a t e 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 she 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 o f 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 .

Early i n novel 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 e n g a g e i n h e r d a r i n g gamble b e c a u s e 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 h a v e a good c h a n c e 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 . (102)

Although t h e task i s " g r e a t , " h e r l a c k of emotional

attacnmenc :O ic removes ariy rra; p c ï ~ s r~i v~k .l

 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 : first, she

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 a n d

cornfort; i t has a game-like q u a l i t y , a s expressed below. I f

h e r e x p e r i r n e n t f a i l s , f o r w h a t e v e r r e a s o n , s h e rnay s i m p l y

w i t h d r a w 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 ei s no

s e r i o u s n e s s i n i t ; i t may b e p u t a n 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 s w e e p i n g your p i e c e s i n t o t h e b o x .

Experimentally, 1 c a r e t o succeed i n s o c i e t y ; but a t

t h e b o t t o m of rny h e a r t , 1 d o n ' t c a r e . (131-2)

A l t h o u g h "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 w i t h d r a w i n g from l i f e , p e r h a p s 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 e c h o 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 the only

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 . (72)

His own i n d i f f ~ r e n c ep r o t e c t s him from r i s k ; 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 h a n d 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 b e 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 W o o d l a n d e r s a n d J u d e ; the

u n f u l f i l l e d d e s i r e s of c h a r a c t e r s who a c t u a l l y c a r e a b o u t

winning and losing, o r a t t h e very l e a s t , succeeding, 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 , a n d t h e r e f o r e more

engagement w i t h t h e c h a r a c t e r s . Characters such a s

E t h e l b e r t a a n d 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 " o r " 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 m o s 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 r o m a n c e 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 a n d

r e s u l t a n t "famliy c o l l a p s e " 114) :

... 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 w h i c h 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

timinn
Y '
~ e r y frnm
r ~ ~W y~n r l w a y ! - i n ~ i sw~h n d i r n c t s ,Ti11 i a n
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 h 2 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

l i k e 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 q o o d . .. ( 44 )

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 b y Mrs. Napper a t a Hyde P a r k 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

prospect":

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 w h a t e v e r 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 lo f

b o t h h e r e m c t i o n s 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 h a n d , i s overcome by a

p r o f o u n d s e n s e of p e s s i m i s m , which o f t e n p r o d u c e s 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 , h e

seems r e a d y t o g i v e up: "... no Lamp s h o n e from t h e f a n l i g h t

over 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 e n c o u r a g i n g " (90). 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 a p p r o a c h t h e h o u s e 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 a n d Lady

P e t h e r w i n have g o n e t o F r a n c e . When h e 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 A r r o w t h o r n e , 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 b e c a u s e u f iiie i ~ ~ i i a i i ii
u ~ i
 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 s e 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 o f ber w i l l t o ber

older s i s t e r ' s creates probably the only r e a l instance of

frustrated desiro i n the narrative:

T h i s arronqement, 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

a n o m a l y of f a l l i n g i n l o v e o n 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 rnachinery. (138)

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 of 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

acknowledges 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 a n d b r o k e n u p b y t h i s j a r of

interests..." 1173). 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

and E t h e l b e r t a regard t h i s problem as 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 , b a s e d o n 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 of E t h e l b e r t a .

Since the phrase occurs ifi t h e narration, racher chan

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

Hardy's p a r t . "What would h a p p e n " h e a p p e a r s t o a s k , "if 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

equally subject t o the s t o r y - t e l l e r ' s w i l l . Although

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~ibuteshis 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 eplow, 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 a n 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 i o k i t 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. (302)

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 (321)

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, R a r d y introduces many

incidents which he would likelÿ term " c r a s s 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~ingber d p p d ~ e ~' '~w ~i L L .
L i k e G a b r i e l Oak, s h e may s i m p l y b e r e l u c t a n t t o " c o u n t " on

any p o s s i b i l i t y . Another 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 b e " 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 , where, i f t h e " w i l l " of 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 r o m m a r r y i n g L o r d

Mountclere.

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 complete h e r proposed 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 S h e e p

F a i r " i n F a r From t h e Madding Crowd, w h e r e 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 every turn

t h e w o u l d - b e 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 , a n d 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

passion. M r . C h i c k e r e l has t o l d E t h e l b e r t a t h a t he nould

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 by h i s sister t h a t he i s " t o o warm":

- 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 crue
 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 r ~. ~ ,
.^. I

rlve minuces before you cdrne iri"

 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 d i s c u v e L j i a Li-le L

1- - - - - 'I"~-C- L ' . - - " - - A l
~ W ~ L LWCL 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 h e 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 a ç r e e s , with litile

p r o m p t i n g , 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 h e may rernove h i m s e l f from t h e s p h e r e o f

Ethelberta's influence.

S o t h e p l o t might have ended - t o e v e r y o n e ' s complete

s a t i s f a c ~ i o n ,S a v e 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 m u s t h a v e a h a p p y e n d i n g , i t w i l l b e

thorouqhly, inanely so. 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 r o m 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

carriaqe:

S h e l e s s e n e d i n h i s g a z e a n d was s o o n 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 i ç h h e r

h i s . I n t h i s wholesome f r a m e 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 he had escaped meeting h e r . (454)

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

able t o influence his w i l l .

When h e 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 through her family. I t s e e m s t h a t s h e now h a s

t h e e n t i r e Mountclere e s t a t e and i t s appurtenances bending

t o her w i l l , having single-handedly saved h e r husband from

u n s c r u p u l o u s employees and g o u t . As t o her "happiness"

t h e r e 1s no f u r t n e r e v i a e n c e . iowttver, iri 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

93). He accounts for this by noting the absence of will in

r w o k e y 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 t h a n 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 C a r p e r i i e r d r q u e s i-lia"L'L;ie ï a i ~ d û m r ~ e sûsf Tate, â s

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
L - r i- 4 , k t L,.
, , 1 ,,
$,,i
W i l i C l i l LIQJped LL
& Li T
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lLi c a v y r i u ~ ci i & ~ yr i ~ ~ c
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~ - r
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 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 . ~ 33r;;k~: f ü r
A y d i ~i i~l r ~ ü t i - ~ üa ï~ ; a U l i ~ F i û 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 ~ ; peï;-,aps
~ U ~ ~ ~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... (20)

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. (38)

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 b e r £rom her

natural setting, making her at odds with her former

lifestyle and her former lover.

In the next sequence, Giles and Grace p a s s Marty and

. L A --
t . 1 ~ 3 . ~ i ~ a ~ ~ i i u
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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 w a s 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

..
MES.
- v - - - - T:
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L ~ ~ ~ L I L L5 U aI Ip ~ c' ~ ~ ~ ~ ~c r a
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[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

a w a i t eternal night w i t h a placid mind.(HE 2 2 2 )

Giles Winterborne's response to Marty's introspection is

typical of his l a c k of p u r p u s e 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 h e 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 ~ si l s j â p p ï û a ~ h i ."
L-IÜ~ ~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 UCLIVIA.
 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 rnarriage t o h e r , a n o t h e r crisis p r e c i p i t a t e s

further misfortune. G i l e s knows he m u s t 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 J o h n 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 b y t h e

c o n s u l t a t i o n w i t h t h e doctor a n d 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 he l o s e ç h i s house. 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 South d i e s t h e n e x t day, a s a r e s u l t of

rhe s h o c ~of l o s i n g t h e t r e e . The c o n t r a s t between what

S o u t h b e l i e v e s to b e h i s Fate a n d w h a t 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 .

Giles looks f o r a loop-hole 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 , a n d 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 h a d 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

u p o n t h e mere c a p r i c e of t h e woman h e h a d met t h e

day b e f o r e 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 house f o r l i f e or no. (131)

biaturally, the " c a p r i c e " of Mrs. Charmond works a g a i n s t

G i l e s ' 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

\.
Beconle i i ~ i ' n r d ; . . . L -
irc
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llVL
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~ I E ~ E :;h~t
Z ::YS UZCECU t~
a r r i v e , and might j u s t a s w e l l have been o u t s p o k e n " ( l 4 8 ) . A s

Giles predicts, t h e meeting of Grace and F i t z p i e r s i s soon

e f f e c t e d , t h r o u g h t h e a g e n c y o f Grarnrner O l i v e r and h e r

preoccupation with death. 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 convinced t h a t she 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"

(164). F i t z p i e r s ' comment o n t h e " i d e a , " w h i c h r e c u r s i n

s e v e r a l forms throughout 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 of

t h e d r i v i n g f o r c e behind P i e r s t o n ' s p u r s u i t of t h e " i d e a l "

i n The W e l l - B e l o v e d . Like F i t z p i e r s ' , Pierston's obsession

w i t h t h e " I d e a l " p r e v e n t s him f r o m 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 e n g a g e d 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 under t h e microscope, an a c t i v i t y which Grace

finds repugnant. 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

studios:

H e r e am 1 ... endeavouring 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 and 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 world and 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 between them;

a n d your f i n e r sense i s q u i t e offended. (166)

F i t z p i e r s ' p u r s u i t of 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 Grace. In his

~ , i e p ï é a t l i t ; t>ia;
e a r i i e s c p e r c e p i i o r i o i G L ~ G sht: ideai:
 T h a t t h e I d e a had f o r o n c e 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 a n 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 b e t h e c a s e a t l a s t . (182)

The words " e n c h a n t e d " and " f a n c y " 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 of t h e i d e a l i s evident i n h i s s e l f - a d m i t t e d

"infatuations":

He h a d o n c e d e c l a r e d , though n o t t o h e r [ G r a c e ] ,

t h a t h e 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 b e

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. (265)

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

h e 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

importantly, perhaps, he describes 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

insubstantial nature. F o r 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

G r a c e , 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 value:

The l o v e of W i n t e r b o r n e f o r G r a c e o r of Marty f o r

W i n t e r b o r n e i s more OE 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

e v e n 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 G r a c e w a v e r s

iike d w e d i i ~ r ~ i~ ïü ~Q~ ~fitfül.

t b ï e e z e U e p ~ ~ U i zÛyE
 whether t h e loved person i s a c c e s s i b l e o r i s hidden

D e h i n d some b a r r i e r . ( M i l l e r 164)

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 the p o s s i b i l i t y of s t a y i n g i n Hintock, 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 of happiness 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 a b a n d o n 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 of going 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 pains, t o accept quiet domesticity, according

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 . (176)

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 "will"; 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 of " F a t e . " Because of h i s d e s i r e f o r Grace,

F i t z p i e r s i n t e r p r e t s each c a s u a l meeting with 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 tiith F i t z p i e r s , she remarks 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 s e e . 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 do so" ( 1 7 4 ) . In

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 b e t w e e n 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 irnpoterii i r l iiie t a c e û f 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

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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 i t is she to whom he must appeal for

clernency. Because she has no particular reason to favour

Giles, and the unpl~asantmemory is fresh in her mind, she

refuses his request, with the result That his home is torn
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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 b y a n 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?

(249)
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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

as S O O n dy iie iiidy
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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 o f 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 w h a t 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 y o u . 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 n o 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 s w o r d ; 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 w o r d s a l s o s u p p o r t Our

engagement w i t h her a s a c h a r a c t e r : s h e obviously views h e r

Fate a s having "tragic" overtones, T h i s " e n g a g e m e n t " 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 a n d t h e r e a d e r is what makes -
The

W o o d l a n d e 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 T h e WelL-

B e l o v e d t o t h e s t a t u s o f " m i n o 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 a n d Mrs. Charmond

become l o s t i n t h e woods - a rnetaphorical representation of

t h e i r shared s t a t e of confusion. They see no o n e e l s e i n

t h e i r w a n d e r i n g s , a n d 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 m i q h t h a v e 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 " of L i t z p i e r s ' f a 1 1 from

t h e horse.

The " c h a n c e " w h i c h 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 o f 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 a n d 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 a n d G r a c e h a d been e a r l i e r ) . The " c h a n c e " o f h i s

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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

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kney it hy t h e m e r e s t 2 c c i d o n t .
 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 F a t e :

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

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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 , w h i c h

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

d iles, t h e i r
t h e r e a d e r ' s d e s i r e f o r t h e union of Grace a ~ G

u n s u i t a b i l i t y i n terms of c u l t i v a t i o n and education 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 m e a l

a t t h e p u b l i c house. Hardy r e m a r k s 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 of h e r . . . (358)

B e c a u s e t h e s i t u a t i o n b e t w e e n t h e two r e m a i n s u n e x a m i n e d ,

and t h e r e f o r e , unresolved, t h e i r mutual d e s i r e f o r one

another i s l e f t i n t a c t , although each suspects 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 . Giles f e a r s t h e conçequence

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 h e would n o t "

(359). Grace shares h i s f e e l i n g t h a t t h e "choice" w i l l not

b e 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 case:

The s a d s a n d s w e r e 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 ; she o f t e n f e l t i t i n t h e s e l a t t e r days, and l i k e

Giles, s h e f e l t i t doubly a f t e r t h e solemn and p a t h e t i c

reminder i n h e r f a t h e r ' s communication. (362)

G i l e s and 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

Fate are soon borne o u t . Giles l e a r n s t h a t t h e i r hopes 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 h i s 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 s o 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
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w h a 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 . W h e t h e r 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 o r a d e s i r e t o

a n t i c i p a t e the worst, readers recognize t h e resonant "truth"

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 of both Giles and Grace

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

"possible."

When G r a c e 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

G i l e s 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 r e r n a r k s 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 . Clearly her

k n o w l e d g e i s b u r d e n s o m e 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 a w 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 b e e n s t r u c k by t h e c h a n g e i n h i s a s p e c t ;

t h e extremely i n t e l l e c t u a l l o o k t h a t had always been

i n h i s f a c e was w r o u g h t t o a f i n e r p h a s e by

t h i n n e s s , and a care-worn d i g n i t y had been s u p e r a d d e d .

(404)

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 ~ iI" i~ ti ts l ~
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the narrative. 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 of h e r e a r l i e s t

speeches i n t h e novel r e f e r s t o h e r longing f o r " r e s t . "

Since, l i k e G i l e s Winterborne, she i s unable t o a t t â i n h e r

worldly d e s i r e , she achieves t h e only c e r t a i n d e s i r e i n

Hardy - "rest" through oblivion. A s with Jude, 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 w o o d l a n d e r s h a v e on

one a n o t h e r ' s l i v e s . Because s h e f i n d s Marty S o u t h ' s

letter, regarding the f a l s e hair-piece, in Fitzpiers'

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 leaves, and tne

mysterious former l o v e r i s a b l e t o shoot her without

resistance. I n a sense, it r e s u l t s i n the i r o n i c a l m i s -

f i r i n q of 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 h a d a m a r v e l l o u s e s c a p e f r o m b e i n g

dragged i n t o t h e i n q u i r y which followed t h e

c a t a s t r o p h e , through t h e a c c i d e n t of 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 under t h e i n f l u e n c e of Marty

South's letter - t h e t i n y instrument of a c a u s e deep

i n nature. (420)

As Fitzpiers attempts to re-ingratiate himself w i t h

Grace, a f t e r G i l e s ' d e a t h :
-.l n e crdsii o i ieild t ï e é iiï î k i s 3 c p t h 3 ü f ;I~E
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 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 f t é 1 3 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 ll---A ---Il LL--..-L. -h*
trageay, or r e i i e r d i i i i j '-'- YuuU ALLUIL Cl,LUUYl, Ci.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 with a l 1 o f Hardy's major works, and most

o f h i s m i n o r o n e s , The W e l l - B e l o v e -
d 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 novel " 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

Hardy's r e t u r n to "pleasant r e l a t i o n s with h i s readers":

One c a n o n l y h o p e 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 f o r m 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 T he

Well-Beloved appeared 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 f o r m 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 n o a d m i r e r o f

Jude t h e Obscure. 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 T i m e s 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 and c y n i c a l and approaches 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 suggests the t r a g i c pattern. However, s i n c e t h e

above 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

b o o k 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 conclude t h a t t h i s reviewer r e f e r s t o t h a t trade-mark 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 F a 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 a t 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 C n a i i i i e y a i t d ~ eQ 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 h e 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 h a d s o j o u r n e d f o r a l o n g o r a

short while. ... 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 , h e had e s c a p e d a good d e a l o f u g l y

self-reproach. (10-11)

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 of 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

almost amoral approach 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 from t h e u s u a l Hardian d i s t a n c e , and 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 h o u g h

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 d e t a c h m e n t t h r o u g h b o t h t i m e a n d 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 A v i c e

Caro and 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 an i n t e r e s t i n g

anthropological study. 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

c u s t o m 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 laws 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 A v i c e d o n o t , i n f a c t ,

o b s e r v e t h e custom b e f o r e h i s r e t u r n t o t h e rnainland

irivoives dlluiilei ûE
~L-LS~SÏLC f =>~E:S~Û;;' 2 ''~;zÜI;c . .. -G ,."l 7 ,
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. (27)

Althouqh Hardy assiduously avoids ~ h edirect 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 i - 1 ~C B Ü S ë
L ~ Y ~ L & tü LE ~ û ~ ~ ûüt~id:
t h i ~ ~
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
Piersioii s
1, cuL5e, V I .-L---C---
L I I ~ L C L U L C ,
iS nvt 'L-
C I L =
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"F
" 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 - ..:
v I L L u a l u u a ~ a a r u i i rr r L
LL
~ A
LL...
~ i i c .
.,....l 1 _ C I C I l .--.*A
ir L A A LU, ._th*
.ir.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 *.~umpingG i i i " a p p e d r s d s 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 r e m a i n

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 dfor" ( 7 7 ) , so that when he encounters the

seconci Hvice, iie 15 iiiuï~~didtd ; ï itz
~ ï~üj ~ the " ï - i~
t,~üïr;ûtcd"
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 f a d e s 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 w o r l d ) 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 c u r e n t 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 b y 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 U ü~

ilad U e ~ ü t e U; i i ~ ~ t h l ;il
f ?,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 s e e n . 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 yd ~ d
e l 1 dlih=." I L7
" 1 L 'I J
 I n P i e r s t o n ' s attempt t o c a p t u r e t h e second Avice's

f e a t u r e s i n h i s s c u l p t u r e , he f i n d s he i s unable t o u n i f y

t h e form and t h e s p i r i t : " . . . w h i l e catching [her face] i n

substance, [ 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 "

(129). 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 union 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

inconstancy i n t h e i r pursuit. H i s desire t o "create" the

" r e a l " Avice i n c l a y i s a s thwarted a s h i s d e s i r e t o p o s s e s s

her. For h e r p a r t , A v i c e 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 of 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 :

... with t h e w i s t f u l i n t e r e s t of a sou1 s t r u g g l i n g t o

receive ideas of beauty vaguely discerned y e t ever

eluding her." (131)

When P i e r s t o n t a k e s t h e s e c o n d A v i c e b a c k 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 h u s b a n d h e 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

favour of the 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 h a v e b e e n , 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 c o 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. (136)

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 eUÿ
d LkLé h i r t h ûf 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 n o t

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

- arci
- id Dericu~ilL, iiuw
L U - -
ctrc
..2.1 A , " - - 7 -------
w ~ u u w c ur i ~ a . L I T = V T = L L = .
Tl- -A*.
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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 .... Il

(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

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 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'"

(157).

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 ewiiuit: 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 w h i c h d e t e r m i n e s o u t c o r n e s , a n d t h e effect o f

a p p a r e n t l y minor 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 age 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 h i m a n d

l o v e , a n d t i m e would p r o b a b l y w i n " (169).

Despite h i s r e s e r v a t i o n s about marrying t h i s youngest

v e r s i o n of A v i c e , P i e r s t o n becomes e n q a g e d t o h e r , b u t o n

t h e e v e n i n g of t h e i r e n g a g e m e n t h e h a ç a n a t h e r presentiment.

H i s v i s i o n of h i r n s e i f i n the windowpane a p p e a r s t o m o c k 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 h e 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 not care 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 r n o c k i n g l y . 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 o n t o t h i s . " (175)

Avice i s s h o c k e d when h e r e v e a l s h i s t r u e a g e , 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 h e 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 " o n e of t h e

line"(l81). Her m o t h e r , A v i c e the S e c o n d , s h a r e s P i e r s t o n ' s

hope f o r t h i s completion:

The widow t h o u g h t t h e second A v i c e 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 o n 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,

Pierston remarks c n a c h i s i o s s U T Avice 13 n - -

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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

"syrnmetricalttconclusion:

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 )

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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 o n 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

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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 workings as

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 . T h r e a t 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 m e r c y . (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

Apollo. I n t h e end, h o w e v e r , Sue is " c o n v i n c e d " t h a r "God"

has triumphed:

... when t h e c r a g e d y cornes, a n d h e 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, a n d 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, Cosmopolis)

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 a n y 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 h a d n o t h i n g t o do w i t h

Divinity - damn qlad - 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 d u a l i t y i n J u d e ' s

c h a r a c t e r . Michael M i l l g a t e suggests 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 Great," Jude's destiny Ls obscurity. Millgate 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 O e d i p u s , doomed t o

live o u t t h e f a r e w h i c h h e i s a t p a i n s t o avoid. I n

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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 J u d e 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 c a n n o t be o v e r l o o k e d i s t h e c o m p a r i s o n , m d e

by t h e p a g a n 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 p a g a n i s m a s t h e n a t i o n ' s

r e l i g i o n . Sue's a l l u s i o n i s undoubtedly t o J u l i a n ' s

d i s c o u r s e on c y r i i c i s m - f a l s e and t r u e - and i t s p l a c e i n a

belief-system, h e r p o i n t b e i n g J u a e ' s l a c k of " t r u e "

cynicisrn.

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 "obscure":

The n o v e l i s well-named b e c a u s e J u d e i s " o b s c u r e " b o t h

i n t h a t h e i s a mere workingman of no s o c i a l p o s i t i o n

a n d i n t h a t he d o e s n o t u n d e r s t a n d h i m s e l f n o r t h e

f o r c e s a t work i n h i s l i f e . (Carpenter 129)

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 o f t h e

f a m i l y " c u r s e " : " J u d e , my c h i l e , d o n ' t you e v e r m a r r y .

' 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 m e n t i o n 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 c o m i c , a t

t h i s juncture. However, t h e c h a r a c t e r o f 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 r d L r i l ~ i ~ ü ~ p = ~û ft i ü ï ~
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)

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"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 y e a r in the

p a r i s h , and hence might be a burden to his great-aunt

for life. (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

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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 " ûf 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~dwith 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 d c i i i i d i ii i.3 3 ~ d e ' 5' ' l d s L
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 e a d e r recognizes

that no action is withcut consequence, so the meeting is

clearly a species of foreshadowing. Jude himself realizes

almost immediately that t h e r e 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 A r a b e l l a , 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 i d u u U L e U 1 ~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 h i s books to by saucepans" ( 6 5 ) .

The replacement of the Platonic ideal by the very earthiy

Arabella marks the transition i n Jude £rom dreamer to

struggler. His aunt predictably s e e s the marriage as

equivalent to his self-destruction: "... it would have been

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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 d e s i r e ; 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.

(92

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 b y 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] at 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 b y the narne of scholarly study within

tne nobiesc of cne c u i i e y e s . E u L ;-te l ü ~ tit üiïd~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 b y his " o l a " or "original" idea removes hirn from

the possibility of a favourable " h a p " ; 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 b y 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 t h a n 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 h e 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 d e f e r s 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 a u i i L ' 5 ït5yüc5t k ~ â ü 8 E5h2 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 b o t h 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. (125)

Her re) ectlon excencis Lo t h e reiigion i L s e i i .

--.
wlittri 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 ~ si i iy ~k ~ tai;d 3,;~i;d G: the

 d e l u s i v e p r e c i n c t s , h a d g o n e i n s t e a d t o some c o m m e r c i a l

town w i t h t h e s o l e o b j e c t o f m a k i n g 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.

(136)

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 - placed " i n t r u e perspective" - is

contrary t o w h a t we h a v e s e e n of J u d e ; the n a r r a t o r s e e m s t o

d e v a l u e Jude's i n t e n t i o n by c o r n p a r i n g i t w i t h " m a k [ i n g ]

money b y h i s wits."

Althouqh 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

" a w a k e n i n g 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 " (137), he is

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 :

H e saw that h i s d e s t i n y l a y n o t 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 m a n u a l 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 ... (137)

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 , h o w e v e r , J u d e is

ill-prepared 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"

which c o n f i r m s it:

. . .1 v e n t u r e t o t h i n k that you w i l l h a v e 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 y o u 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 a n d 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
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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 i n 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~etthem 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 CO do iri iiie sri i i c p i a c t i ~ é d "W I"L L"L-C *'-"'--

W~LLIILY
 f o r a c a l 1 t o higher labours. (156)

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 iç s u c h t h a t h e 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 e n d 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

attaining his larger intention.

J u d e ' s " f a i t h " t h a t he i s p a r t of 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 b y 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

pattern. When h e c h a r g e s h e r w i t h b e i n g " m o d e r n , " s h e

r e s p o n d s b y 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 , if

o n l y you knew" (160). 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 "escaped" t h e C h r i s t i a n b e l i e f s which

"puzzle" Jude :

I t was e v i d e n t t h a t h e r c o u s i n d e e p l y 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 from whicn one had o n e ' s s e l f (sic)

escaped. (163)

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, which 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 b y

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 he

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

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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:

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 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~ h?
t n i n f i i r i q u i S u = diid i-~eïf ü î ü ï ~~ k i i ~ d ib ü , 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. (2121

His increasing perception of forces which oppose his will is

underlined by his chance meeting with Arabella, which

prevents him £rom keeping an appointment w i t h 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 f e e l 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 ... y o u f l l rue this marrying as well as he," she

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 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 r e q u i r e s

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 c h r o b b e d and yearned" (2331. Subsequent

inquiry reveals that the great musician has aband~nedhis

"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 b y 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

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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 S u e , 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 Providence 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 ambitions. This misperception is

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

succeed because he i s himself and n o t s u b j e c t tc t h e

p i t f a l l s o f normal 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

subverts Jude's pious speculaticns. Described as " t h e c i t y

o f a d r e a m " ( 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 M i d d l e Ages, e f f e c t i v e l y e n d e d i t s s p i r i t u a l

era:

I t was a l s o s a i d t h a t a f t e r t h e M i d d l e Ages t h e

i n h a b i t a n t s were t o o poor t o pay t h e i r p r i e s t s , and

h e n c e w e r e 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 , a n d

r e f r a i n a l t o g e t h e r f r o m 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 w h i c h 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 . In those

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 41)

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 worship making i t a s u i t a b l y "pagan"

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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! (246)

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

nis ciesire is stronger Liidri iiis

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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

a d a g e "L'homme p r o p o s e ; le Dieu d i s p o s e ' ' Hardy has S u e , 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

next meeting: " . .. i f God disposed n o t , woman did" ( 2 4 9 ) .

Despite Sue's r e s o l v e , 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, a n d 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 , h e l p e d i t [ h e r h e a r t ]

on i t s way" (254). 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 o f 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 g o e s 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 G r a c e 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 machina of t h e m a n - t r a p , S u e a n d 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 m e e t i n g , 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: " T h a t may h a v e been my view, b u t rny d o c t r i n e s

a n d 1 b e g i n t o p a r t cornpany" (258) .

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

career" ( 2 6 1 ) . From t h i s point forward i n t h e n a r r a t i v e ,

Jude'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 S u e w a r n e d 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 c a n no l o n g e r

m a i n ~ a i nt n e seii-conCroi riecessdry r v e u tü iiis ~ L C W"y-

ua .
-s- ' " -
 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)
~ h l i i o t s o n :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.ii, Qri iiik-bütî;c: ~FL:; ÛYÊï Ü tÛKIi-

 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 ~ ~ijt3r;ûiE5
e 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 -
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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 a n d 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 , before t h e entrance of t h e snake i n t o t h e

Garden. When J u d e a n d Sue f i n d t h e y m u s t Lake J u d e ' s c h i l d ,

t h e i r equilibrium i s destroyed. Jude s e e s h i s son a s a

s e c o n d J o b , whose l i f e h a s b e e n 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 , a n d t h e n i g h t i n w h i c h 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 " ( 330) . J u d e ' s son,

l i k e h i s f a c h e r , h a s been "born 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 H a r d y . 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 . Hardy's metaphor

f o r t h e boy makes h i m l i t e r a l l y t h e embodiment o f Time, a n d

a s such he f u l f i l l s Time's purposes f o r Fate:

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 r o m a n c i e n t y e a r s o f n i g h t seemed now a n d

then t o l i f t t h e c h i l d i n t h i s h i s morning-life, when h i s

f a c e t o o k a b a c k v i e w o v e r some g r e a t A t l a n t i c o f t i m e ,

and appeared n o t t o c a r e a b o u t what i t saw. (332)

The image o f t h e b o y a s a n i r n m o r t a 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 i m a s :

... an e n s l a v e d and dwarfed 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 lit: 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 c a n carry out

through him. (335)

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 UPS~LL. (24Sj

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 i s 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. (344)

Fier r e i u c i d i i c e v e ~ y r süii f e à ï - - - &

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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

disregard for convention i s sharply contrasted with her

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 c o n s i d e r s 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

overly sensitive to Fate:

And J u d e s a i d h e a l s o t h o u g h t t h e y were b o t h t o o C h i n -

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 , m u c h

l e s s h a v e come t o q e t h e r f o r t h e m o s t p r e p o s t e r o u s o f

a l 1 joint-ventures f o r them - rnatrirnony. i344)

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 towards s e e i n g d i s a s t e r a t

every t u r n of events.

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 ehim t o e x p r e s s h i s p e r s o n a l v i e w s 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. (348)

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 h e

s h o u l d d i s a p p r o v e o f t h e i r p h i l o s o p n i c a l srance, b y

contemporary moral 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 is Hardy's

d e s i r e t o appear "impartial." Whether h e h a d 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 e w s on m a r r i a g e m i g h t e n g e n d e r , o r

~ I ~ L t e i ~ i d etû
w i l ~ i i l eiie Y y ê i i ê ï ~ tf ü
~rther ZCE~~YVCZS;. is 7,~ût.
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 j u n t a p ü s e d ~ i t ht 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

church. 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

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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 h F s 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 , üiLzh ü s h ~ 2 r ;~ s s t i y r t z dk 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. (377)

Arabella's resignation to "what the Lord has ordained" marks

- .- --le.-: - 1
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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

me iuddy i - ;Ciii,ili4îiUï,
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T o 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

failed. (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 d o e s 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 ~ iL üic i - ~ ï i 5 t f i i ~ d3tE~ï Vi 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 a n a l o g y 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 ïEtüïE 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. (401)

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 U T iiicliuidual'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

it ÿ c t c ü n t ï i b ü t e s
absoiute Dacnos of Tirne's rnur~er;sui~id~,
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

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 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. (408-9)

The fact that the reasonable Sue, who originally bel.ieved

her will to be a f r e e 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

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 development 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 reached 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 a n t h r o p o m o r p h o u s ; 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 a n d herself

f l e e i n g £rom a p e r s e c u t o r . (413)

Now, a s a f u l l y "awakened" b e i n g , S u e 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 r o m t h e

universe. 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

type - 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

intact. But 1 c o u l d n ' t l e a v e you a l o n e t ' ( 4 1 4 ) . Their

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 r o w i n g s e n s e t h a t : " S u e a n d h i m s e l f h a d 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 r a g e d y " ( 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 r n e ' 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 atonement:

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 should 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 p e n a n c e l e a d s 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 e n o u g h 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 ~ ~b ÿ~ Lt h~eU 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)

ner aisregaru for iiie Tlcw Lïr t k i i a l ü q i c -

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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 i t t s

that which caused thhs deterioration in you. ... 1 am

glad I had nothing to do with Divinity - damn glad if

i t t s going to ruin you in this way. (423)

He reminds her that s h e 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

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 wished to enjoy an averàqe share of comfort and honour;

and to let crude lovinç-kindness take c a r e of itself.

(434)

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~eciin 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 a s b y 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 ~ i l i~l i t : ï i ~ ü ï a l

ec ~
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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")

..
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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 l o w t o J u d e ' s waning h o p e , a n d , c o n s e q u e n t l y , h i s

will. 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 , a n d h i s own

son i n the present narrative, Jude's l a s t a c t of w i l l or,

more a c c u r a t e l y , a b s e n c e o f w i l l , is his self-annihilation.

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

the festival. Jude c a l l s f o r water - i n yet another

p a r a l l e l t o t h e d e a t h of 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 o f 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 r o m 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

poignancy which r a i s e s J u d e ' s d e a t h from o b s c u r i t y . While

t h e unknowing m a s s e s 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 e e d o m :

"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 a c k n o w l e d g i n g i t s o t h a t

s h e m a i gu t a t k A i 5 û s t 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 Hardy'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 unevolved o r "half-roused" 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 , a n d 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 . Like a low-calibre

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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 of a n o t h e r which

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 w o r d s 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 J u d e , 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 o f 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 f o u n d

p e a c e s i n c e s h e l e f t h i s arrns, a n d 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

between h e r s e l f and Sue a c c e n t u a t e s once 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

"failures."
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~icaiiycurreci Ù e s c ~ i p L 1 û ïü~f

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

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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 f o r m 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 view, Hardy'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

pronounced instances o f t r a d i t i o n a l sexism. 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 moral a u t h o r i t y of 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

truth. (Kucich 223)

P o s s i b l y t h e most 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 w h o l e , 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. In -

The

D e c l i n e o f t h e G o d d e s s : N a t u r e , 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 e x a m i n e s 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 female p r o t a g o n i s t s , h i s "goddesses," 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 major novels" [ 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 C r o w d ] :

... 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 . Tess, Eustacia,

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 ~ ir i u i i v r i L l i a î üiïCjiriity
 becomes the defining s t a n d a r d for morality in

women; one might argue convincingly that his

agenda in writing Tess of the DfUrbervilles is

precisely ta attack t h a t 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 f r e e d 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

noveis: forces iiiest! eleli~=liL5 il^ î1ite ' ~ à j ü ï ' ûii~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~efigureJude, 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 w o r k s among

t h e b o d y 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 f o r m s 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 t h e m .

(Taylor 60)

A t t h e same c i m e , however, h e d r a w s 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 " a p p r o v e " of

Ethelberta because " ... a usual signal of h i s regard [ 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 "

(63). 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

reason h e r c h a r a c t e r f a i l s t o engage t h e r e a d e r : "In

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 - 'self-killing' a s Lawrence

c a l l s it" (68). T a y l o r ' s comparisons a c r o s s Hardyf 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 impact 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 h a v e t o u t e d H a r d y ' 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 view, 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 r o m 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 ~hroughouthis 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 ù o u y ,
IL"L uaaL Li-,eue3 L,
1x1- - - L II --A---
LLLUUCIII
--:L : --
L I L L L L ~
l i k e L o c k and Widdowson f o r c e 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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