TOWARD PIN m^ SIECI£ EMANCIPATION: THE

DEVELOPMENT OF INDEPENDENCE IN

THOMAS HARDY'S WESSEX

WOMEN

by MARTHA LUAN CARTER BRUN30N, B.S., M.A.

A DISSSr.TATION IN ENGLISH

Submitted to the Graduate Faculty of Texas Technoloc:ical College in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree of DOCTOR OP PHILOSOPHY

Approved AC 90)

ACKN j^yLL-roM;- NTS

I am deeply Indebted to Dr. Roger L, Brooks for aerving as director of this disserfefitloa and for his con- atant assistance end encouragement over T;he past several yearStt I am also grateful to the other members of my com-» mittee^ Dr» J« T, HcCullen and rr# Jacqueline Collins, for their generous aid anri interest.

ii TABL:^ OF CONTENTS

Page

ACKHOWLED(H^

TVT ONE

INTFiODUCTION •.. 1

?^nT -TWO

HAPDY»S WOMEN RiilACT TO SJCIAL CO?^V..IiTIul^S

Chapter I Conventional Reaction in uhe Early ^.lovels ••••••••••15 Chapter II Rebels Hevolt. Others Conio/m: The HldfUe Ifovels • • 1^.6 Chapter III A Finer Dividing Line for Con­ ventions: The Mayor of Caster- bridge and The Woodlanders • . • 35

Chapter IV The New Compounds: teas of the D

PART TiAih^::

CO'ICLUSION ••••••• •...••• 1U9

BIBLIOG APrlY • • 159

iii PART ONE

INTPODUCTI.N

Critics, even though they do not consistently inter­ pret his oharaoterizations, consider among the foremost of Thomas Hardy*s achievements his characterization of women* One does not have to go beyond major critical studies, how­ ever, to find ample comment on the women as well as to estab­ lish the general trends of critical thinking* Because Hardy's women will be easier to understand if the drift in Hardy criticism is clear, one is obligated first to review briefly the critical trends tbat have emerged since Hardy began see­ ing his works through the press in the early 1870»s*^ As difficult as it is to reduce a full-length work or a com­ prehensive study to a neat formula, usually a point of view emerges from each work* In turn, from an analysis of the

^Instead of giving a cumbersome list of authors, works and dates within the text of the chapter, a list that is per­ haps out of place in the main body of a study limited to Hardy development of the role of independence in the Wessex women, a chronological, annotated bibliography is placed at the end of the study^ It should prove helpful in charting the trends in Hardy scholarships The list is obviously selectl^'e, but includes most of the major studies^ It seems fitting, however to mention in the text more of the recent studies, which may b( leas familiar to Victorian scholars because of the constant flow from the presses of works by sundry present-day autaors and critics^ points of view, one discerns four major views that have per­ sisted among Hardy scholars as to what Hardy is attempting to do in his novala* Some critics present Hardy as a nostalgic traditional­ ist who laments the passing of England's agricultural age and all of its folk traditions, the vestiges of which he preserves as a part of his Wessex world where the natural life of the peasant is the only satisfactory and fulfilling way of life* Any intruder in Wessex, aristocrat or foreigner, conflicts with his sturdy peasant* Others conceive of Hardy as a philosopher, pessimistic or even fatalistic in temperament* Hence he is so steeped in nineteenth-century scientism and agnosticism that he envisions no human will free to cope with a mechanistic universe* His characters are not tragic figures but poor puppets in the nands of a malevolent force (some say indifferent force after following the lead of Hardy's inter­ pretation of the Immanent Will in The Dynasts)• Then othsrs see Hardy as essentially an arcist, an aesthetic and romantic teller of tales who often leans toward the sensational, the grotesque, and the unusual. These critics judge his style as often reminiscent of the ballad makers, the writers of idylls, and the creators of sensational Stuart dramas or of their successors, the Gothic romance&• But these critics emphasize his natural genius as the factor that causes him to tap the universal stream of mythmaking so essential to a classic writ<:r* Finally some see Hardy as a humanist who echoes his own brand of John Stuart Mill's socialism or perhaps Auguste Conpte's positivism, but who possesses neither man's faith in automatic progressive betterment of mankind* Instead he is strongly convinced that man's improved lot will evolve gradually and, then, only if man chooses to determine his destiny by keeping willfully involved in the positive pro­ cesses of living* Thus man must make his own opportunities for improvement of self and of his fellow man if the oppor­ tunities do not arise of cheir own accord*

The first two views have been the most prevalent among those who wish to read Hardy as a product of his age* In the first instance, he represents one who wishes to escape to the past because the present is too complex and decadent* In the second. Hardy is so overwhelmed by the tempers of Victorian doubters that he sees no hope for deterministic development* But the cricics, who see him as a figure in transition or as an early modern novelist, ordinarily see him in terms of the third or fourth view* Either they emphasize his aestheticisro and artistry, which they see emerging into modern symbolism, surrealism, impressionism, and raythopoeism, or they stress his humanism, which they see emerging into the views of modern sociologists or existentialists* The view of each critic must be granted a hearing; for only slowly has the essential uardy evolved from the warp and woof of his writing* Perhaps Hardy's intense will to know, wnich persisted despite his lack of formal training. explains his striking out in all directions for ideas* His indiscriiainata eclecticism allows him to filter into his unique crucible all ideas and methods that he snatches at in wide reading and in closeness to the contemporary scene* Too, he makes it clear that his intention is that his ideas remain impressions^ upon which his artistry can play* Thjs it is difficult to pin Hardy down to any one philosophic point of view* But beside Hardy's individuality must stand another explanation for the various readings of his works; the critics have judged him accor^^ing to the shifts in lit­ erary points of view that accompany the passing from one literary age to another*

His own age is in the hands of the Victorian magazine critic, who is primarily conservative, sensible almost to a fault, and suspicious of radical thinking imagined or real* Such conservative critics ere sensitive to Hardy's open jabs at convention, which they view as his desire to sweep away all orthodoxy or to preoccupy himself with indelicate sex relationships heretofore covered by innuendo*'^ Some of his

^Eerdy himself insists upon his art as impression not philosophy. See, for example, the preface to Late Lyrics and Earlier (London, 1922) as reprinted in Thomas H^rdy"^ Personal Writings* ed* Harold Orel (Lawrence, Kansas, 1966), PP« 50-38, and Later Years of Thomas Hardy (New York, 1930), p. 217, p. 219^ 3'rtritten in 191U, D^ .!• Lawrence's '*3tudy of I'aomas Hardv" printed in Phoenix; The Posthumous Papers (New York, 1936), pp^ 398-5I6, openly discusses Hardy's preoccupation with sex^ Lawrence, along with Havelock Ellis (1883) and Pier D'Exideuil (1929) handles psycaolo^ic^l problems involved in the sexual relationships^ See bibliography^ more sympathetic, contemporary critics are not bothered by the pruderies of the major magazine critics^ Instead they either praise his affinity with the past and spend their time searching out the historical name-places in ^Wessex" and re­ cording the folklore which he preserved In his novels,^ or they perform the more Important service of placing him in the universal stream of writers who serve humanity and hence produce traditional, at times classic, literature*^

Post-Victorian critics are still inclined to reject the ideas of radical nineteenth-century scientism, socialism, and agnosticism in favor of tradition, orthodoxy, and order* Thus they perpetuate the prejudice against Hardy's radicalism and shade his allusions to nineteenth-century thou^t into Schopenhauer's and von Hartmann's philosophy as well as Ibsen's reading of life in their attempt to explain what they insist is Hardy's pessimistic or fatalistic view of life in the hands of an indifferent will* They see him, as a result, as opposed to the open optimism of most of the radicals that he is supposed to be following as well as to their own inclination toward optimism pnd romanticism*^ The

Usee F* Outwin Saxelby (1911), Randall Williams (1921L) and Rith Firor (1931) in the bibliography* ^See Lionel Johnson (1891;), Annie Macdonell (189U), and William Dean Howells (19ol) in the bibliography* ^See Lascelles Abercrombie (1912), Henry Charles Dufil] (1916), Harold Child (1916), Samuel Cla:;2et;t Chew (1921), and Ernest Brennecke (192li, 1925) in the bibliography. critics in the early 1900's have firmly identified Hardy with the pessimists and nave caused that point of view to over­ shadow any other* Thus Hardy is established as a dark pessimist with an over-concern for unhappiness in individual lives that are controlled by external mechanistic forces* The turning point in Hardy criticism comes when critics begin to re-read Hardy's works, or frankly to read them for the first time Instead of a long line of critical studies* The change is partially a result of the publication in 1928 and 1930 of his edited journals* Altiough they appear as an integral part of a two-volume biography, ostensibly written by his second wife P^lorence Emily Hardy, they are actually an autobiographical study, only che last chapters of which his wife completed after his death on January 11, 1928* Here, views which he persistently set forth in pre­ faces and published articles'—that he is no pessimist" or

^The most important preface remains the one to Late Lyrics and Earlier (1922) in which he denies the charges of pessimism as Irrelevant and coins the term "evolutionary meliorism" to exnlain his attitude toward the remediable social ills, which had already been alluded to in conversation with William Archer, who published them in 190U* He wrote prolificaily in the journals and magazines of his day-- samples of these articles are found in Ernest Brennecke, Jr*»s edition of 1925 of some of the more important ones in Life and Art (New York)* See also Harold Orel's edition of 1966,''"l?Sbma3 Hardy's Personal Writinp;3 for otherwise inaccessible material, ®Florence Emily Hardy, Lat-ir Year** ^of^ Thomas Hardy* 1892-1928 (New York, 1930), p^ W. HereTrl'"t >r cited as Later Years^ naturalist;^ that his purpose in art is to present the exceptional whieh is worth telling, not the commonplace alone;^^ that he is not a philosopher, but a recorder of 11 impressions; and many others—are once again emphasized* These volumes prove, as do subsequent critics,^^ that E^rdy is deeply read in contemporary ideas* They also confirm, as later critics begin to realize,^^ that he often uses these ideas to foster his artistic purposes, namely to bolster the points of view of his characters, not always to promote his own thoughts* Too, these volumes establish that Hardy follows the advice of the novelist, George Meredith, who, as a reader for the publisher Chapman, discourages Hardy from publishing his first manuscript The Poor Man and the Lady and who suggests that he "express his views more in­ directly*"^^ From his acquiescence to Meredith's suggestion

9Florenee Emily Hardy, Early Life of Thoma s Hardy, 18U0-1891 (New York, 1928), p* 2k.2. Hereinafter cited as Early Li7e* ^^Later Years* pp* 15-17• illbid*, p^ 217, p^ 219^ i2seo especially William R^ Rutland (193'^) and Harvey Curtis Webster (19U7) in the bibliography'• I3ln addition to Rutland and Webster see Roy Morrell (1965) in the bibliography• ^Usevera1 have reconstructed the plot of Phe Poor Man an^ the Lady* among them Florence ii^mily Hnr^y, 'villiam ^, Rutland, Carl Jefferson Weber, and Itoy Morrell, whose discussio in Thomas Hardy: The Will nad the Way (Kuala Lumpur, 1965), p^ l|.3 ff • is most informative^ The last mentioned work is hereinafter cited as Morrell* 8 stems much successive critical speculation that he often covers his motives in his novels* His main methods of in­ direction, irony and contrast, do force one to read his novels carefully* In turn, these careful readings have prompted recent critics to confirm that Hardy is intermingling ideas of the past and the present to demonstrate, some­ times positively, but more often negatively ("a look at the worst" as he calls it in his apology—preface of 1922), how human beings can disengage themselves from their duty to self and to society*

The four trends in criticism are brought together in 191*^0 in a volume of The Southern Re view ^^ that celebrates the centennial of Hardy's birth* The volume, wnich deals more extensively with Hardy's poetry than with his novels, none­ theless re-examines the general ideas in Hardy's works* Here are juxtaposed the nostalgic traditionalist school with an eye to Hardy's idealistic handling of his \vessex native; the philosopher-pessimist school, still unable to detach Hardy from nineteenth-century thought; the aesthetic school, still insistent that romanticism not realism dominates his art; and the traditionalist-numanist school, still intent upon attach­ ing Hardy to a concern for the individual will. Here, too, is a putting to bed of Hardy's so-called philosophy by such writers as John Crowe Ransom and R. ?. Blackmur, who have

I53ee this bibliographical entry for corijients on the individual articles* found in clearing away the "thicket of ideas" a "sensibility great enough—locked enough in life—to survive the vio­ lation. "^^ Since the appearance of the centennial issue in 19lj^0, the critical air seems cleared* Hardy, the philosopher and thinker, is played down* The one aiajor piece that traces his thought, perhaps the definitive one, Harvey Curtis Webstt^r's work of X9kl9 connects his thought with his art and points to a contradiction in his art that can be either pessimistic or amelioristic* Webster views the dual concepts as not satis­ factory for a philosophic system, but allowable to an artist whose role is more "metaphorically" directed*^' Nonetheless to other recent critics. Hardy remains a traditionalist who laments the passing of "Wessex" peasant­ ry* Arnold Kettle, louglas Brown, and G* D. Klingopulos follow this point of view.^^ The major scholar of the nostalgic school, John Holloway, by 1962, however, has conceded that Hardy does not consistently hold the peasant in sentimental awe, especially in the later novels.-^^

^^» ?• Blackmur, "The Shorter Poems of Thomas Hardy," The Southern Review* VI (191^0), 21, k^. ^^Harvey Curtis Webster, On _a Darklinp; fie in: Ttie Art enir IhJught of Thomas Hardy (Chicago, 19147), p. 63• Herein­ after cited a s V.'ebster • l^See Arnold Kettle (195l)» Touglas Brown (195';), and 0. D» Klingopulos (1958) in the bibliography• ^9john Holloway, The Charted Mirror (New ^ork, 1962), pp^ 9i4.-107« Hereinafter cited as C::aF"ted Mirror• These views should be compared with those he expresses in The Victorian Sa, Studies in Argument (New York, 1953)» PP. ^'^--'^^ 10 Much Hardy criticism remains aesthetic* Albert Guarard, for example, in his study of 19ii.9 considers Hardy an anti-realist*^ An issue of Modern Fiction Studies,^^ appear­ ing in I960, abounds in studies of Hardy's use of imagery^ symbol, and myth in his major novels* One of the latest critics, Richard C^ Carpenter, emphasizes Hardy's art and use of myth in a full-length work published in 196l4.*^2 Finally Hardy has remained a humanist* Ian Gregor and Brian Nicholas, in 1962, partially prepare the way for a strong reading of the human will as a directing force in the make up of Hardy's characters* In the conclusion of their study of Hardy's Tess in their larger work. The Moral and the ••^tory* they grant at least external or conscious will to Tess as she openly challenges Alec D'Urberville, who has been her seducer and has continued to harass her throughout the novel* As she stands beside him in the field by the threshing machine, they point out that she acts overtly:

Hardy may talk of 'tliin^s willed' but here everything is externally 'done'; the gauntlet is visibly thrown* The individual physically confronts her antagonist. But the way is beginning to clear lor 'things willed' to find their imaginative expression in art, for the contest

^^See Albert Guerard (19149) and Albert Guerard (1961) in the bibliography* 21see bibliographical entry for coirinients on the individual articles* 223ee Richard C. Carpenter {1961+) in the bibllo;;raphy^ 11 between eorruption and innoeenoe to take plaoa not in the field, but within the human heart itself,^3

The major full-length work to approach Hardy as a humanist is Roy Morrell*s Thomas Hardy: The Will and the Way, which appears in 1965*^ The Webster, Holloway, Querard, Carpenter, and Morrell studies represent the major recent trends in Hardy criticism* The philosophical school, already weakened by the Florence Hardy biography, is now placed on the periphery of Hardy criticism; the ingenuous historical strain of the traditional school, which is dying harder, is beginning to be placed there* Both, however, remain backgroiind areas for the serious Hardy scholar* Aestheticism is now left to be reconciled with humanism—if indeed such a re concilia ticm ia necessary; for, as one title mentioned here points out, there will always be a moral and a story* The development of independence in Hardy's women must be approached primarily through human will; therefore, the humanist school lends more to the purpose at hand* Such an approach, however, does not imply that Hardy, the artist, does not achieve depth and dimension through his aestheticism, Indeed the moral is barren, and Hardy is no classic artist if he is not granted his penchant for developing images and

23lan Grecor and Brian Nicholas, The Moral and the Story (London, 1962), p* 150• 2Usee Morrell (1965) in the bibliography• 12 symbols and for tying his ephemeril uh^raris to the mythmaking universalities Chat tianacend time and suaco^ Even those critics who follow the psrioheril trenc's, in adc^ition to furnishing critical comment on much of the meat used to develop the symbols and Images, make observations ttiE t add to our undei'standing of taa wo;von^ )f aoirse, the best place to study the women is in uao aovola^^^ if the critics have done anything in their scudy of Hardy, they have, by tiheir example of constantly reuurni.jj to the text to prove thsir theses, chastened those who have a tendency to road tr^ critics and r.>'z tcy? au^iior hir^i^^lf. As these -IV ] 71- or':-13 3 o^vr^ lone general stur'ies, one does not exuect them to .r:s^nt a comolete view of the

•• •- • devel6pmant of thf^ rola of Aoaien In aorr^y's novels. Liut in the light of criticiprr, ciiJcciMily che humanise school, and from the novels themselves, emerges a signillcant picture of the devaloi-ment oi' in^'epen'-O'ici la 'I''"^j*3 wotion, as uaey look forward to tiieir more emancipated role in the Tv^entioth Century *

25i^oveIs usee: in ..'; ^.^.^'ipar nuioa ot unis disseru scion have come fron uv;o ser*^.''. ' r :)ri une ai^rper »s \nnivei'3sry Edition (1920), I iisve used L'espei^a ue i-emec^i^js, unror Lne^ Greenv^ood Tre-., A ralr of -ll}]^ •j2:'^^9 LliL. ' ^.-^ZI ^-^^ iltl^llilLI Crowd, The ;^;'a: Ji -.t .OL/^J: U ' , ^-_atj_ ':L ^ i..; ; t;»i4?-j or , ^ Laodicean, J'MO on i^ xcv ^r, c.-.'^r in^ ;. ,:.-oe xo/tic'. T ro^a ^tio Harper's Clasr^ics, I '•ir.V3 user' Toe Ke :;urn of uirie .

Hardy develops a twofold attitude toward the woman's role in society because it involves both her natural in­ stincts and her cultivated traits* His earlier novels, for the most part, explore many facets, both internal and ex­ ternal which Influence her life* His early explorations culminate in the roles of the women in his first master­ pieces. The Mayor of Casterbridge and The Woodlanders* Although his later works, starting with Tess of the D'Drbervilles, contain many of the earlier impressions, he is prone to present a fuller-textured women and a deeper dimension of characterization. Thus his comments on the role of the Wessex woman reaches a climax in the characterization of Tess in Tess of the D'Urbervilles, in which he first reshuffles into a more complex compound the elements of charactor which he has developed more singularly in his earlier women* Then in the characterizations of Arabella Donn and Sue Bridehead in Jude the Obscure, he shows drastic fin de allele readings, also in new compounds, of the natural woman and of the cultivated woman as eachreactsto society* Finally, he again achieves a balance in his presentation of the Wessex woman in his characterization of Marcia Benscomb in The Well-Beloved*

If one were to relate the position of Hardy's last heroines to that of his other Wessex women, he would certainly find grounds for seeing Hardy's women grow from creatures of narrow dimension to those of a deeper, more complex, and shifted dimension* This study expects, then, to present the working out of that shift in the characterization of Hardy's women as they approach the end of the Nineteenth Century, bound by the strictures of a social convention and their own nature as that convention woulr" have it; bathed in the philosophy of Darwin, Mill, and many others; clothed in the garments of such idealists as Shelley; counted among nature's or society's childi en, but consistently children of the parent, Thomas H*^rdy, as he remains ever more keenly aware of the shifting role of the women in his novels* PART TWO

HARDY'S WOMEH REACT TO SOCIAL CONVENTIONS

Chapter I

Conventional Reaction in the Early Novels

The women in the earlier novela^ conform to accepted aocial patterna that allow a brief ahow of independence in the young heroinea* That brief ahow of spirit is most often worked out in their supposed fling against convention, which evolves in their diaplaylng fickleneaa, caprice, or whim, uaually aa a meana for choosing a mate* Their fling is one that arbiters of social convention ordinarily consider as natural to young women* The heroines also reach the thresh­ old of womanhood equipped with standards that society dic­ tates* Thus they eventually compromise their natural honesty with a narrow view of social conduct, the patterns for which external conditions have set and forced upon them* The

^he novels Included in Chapter One are Desperate Remedies* Under ttm Greenwood Tree, A Pair of Blue Syes, and Far'^from tEs Maddin^^ Crowd"^ ^le^ss otherwise indicated, all references to these novels and subsequent novls and prefaces in this chspter and succeeding chapters are from The WritiuRS of Thomas Hardy in Prose and Verse (New York, 1920), also known as the Harper's Anniversary Edition, and hereafter will be cited in the text by volume and page number only* 15 16 patterns usually encompass more passive roles than they naturally would follow if left to thsir own devices* Hardy's first novels, then, present a superficial dimension of be­ havior, mainly centered around Che external influences that mold the heroines* They are ultimately guided by what others might think of their actions, not by their own natural incli­ nations, which may guide them at first, but which finally are put to the test of conventional judgment. In his early works Hardy focuses his attention on the young heroines' preparation for involvement in a more mature world. Their reactions to the initial participation in life as younj adults becomes his focal point. Their pre­ paration, in gener^^l, has removed them at least one step from the untaught cnildren of natuie, who still work in the fields of Wessex, since such a heroine is a daughter of a professional man, a yeoman fjiiiiux, or a country vicar. The parent's ambition for uo-j d\.u 'xUui, in aacU case, has caused him to educate her so ^.x^t jhe x,ic ^ bec^Liit a uoacher, a governess, or a companion to a member of a rich family, if indeed she must work. His main goal, however, is that she might, by her acquired intellectuality and grace, marry above her station. Indeed the working out of the attitic'es of the two generetioQs is often t:ie bo els for com lict in the novel, as the younger generation mu^t often be "taught" to follow the patcorn to which the olo.:i ^^erioi a oiv.'.i ao^^iieii x or her.

As the j-^orw womnn bccv)ri.-3s Involved 'vila Lue P^OLILIHG of 17 growing up, she is made to react to different social pressures which force her to a poaition that will shape her acult life* Haoh novel, then, works out some impression that Hardy wishes to convey ooncerning these reactions* Hardy's first published novel. Desperate Remedies (1371), is built around the life of an ingenue, Cytherea Graye, who is going through the change from immaturity to adulthood* Because the complicated plot is designed to add "mystery, entanglement, surprise, and moral obliquity" (XIV, vii),2 her role is intertwined with many questions that are left unanswered until the end of the novel. For instance, mystery covers the actions of Miss Al(iclyffe, the rich lady who becomes the employer of the young heroine Cytherea Graye* Slowly, however, it is clear that Miss Aldolyffe is the original Cytherea, Ambrose Graye'a beauti­ ful sweetheart of many years ago whose name the architect father has given his daughter, the heroine, Cytherea Graye* Graye, never able to overcome being renounced by his first love, has henceforward drifted through life less able to commit himself positively to his finally chosen mate, who dies young, although she is equally deserving; of his love

^Many critics explain the complicated plot structure as Hardy's attempt to follow the sug^restions of publishers* readers of his first novel, which was never published. These readers sugf.eat, among otner things, tuao no suppress his radical social views and write more in the manner of thp day if he wishes to acquire a following as a writer of popular novels* 18 and "fairly endowed with money and good gifts" (XIV, i|,)* Nor can he successfully pursue his occupation and provida adequately for his family* His death, early in the novel, leaves the children, late teenagera, on the brink of ma­ turity, free to make their own way, but with very little material means for doing so*

The most poaitive commitments that Cytherea and her brother Owen make are initiated ir that brief period when they are left on their own between the time of their father's death and that of Cytherea's entanglement with Miss Aldclyffe* They are fully equipped with a youthful directness of purpose, which makes them strong enough to break away from a society that they have known in their youth, the stultifying atmos­ phere of which, one is allowed to believe, will ultimately engulf them and stifle them without their ever having had the opportunity to live (XIV, ll^ff*)* Each sees an advantage in accepting temporarily less than he desires in hopes of eventually attaining more* Owen takes a job as a temporary clerk for an architect in the distant seaport city of Budmouth Regis* Cytherea, who plans to use her training to find a position as governess, goes with him in hopes that there will be an early answer to an advertisement for employ­ ment which by stages changes her desired position from the more exalted position of governess to that of lady's maid^

In Budmouth, Cytherea's natural interest in her future inevitably leads her to thoughts of marriage, although 19 both she and her brother have known enough about their father's first involvement to realize that they ahould exercise e:^.treme caution in affairs of the heart* Owen better follows the advice of his father to "cultivate the art of renunciation" (XIV, 13); ^93? he clianziels his ambitions and nopes l:xto aapirations for social and material advancement and leaves little or no room for love* Cytherea, however, becomes involved in her first lo/o affair, a natural attraction to Edward Sprin;;rove, a promising young architect in the sums office as her brotnor* Betvoon Cytherea n:nd Ldwnrd a riutual love grows quickly* Cytherea c^mnot dismiss the lo/e, al­ though she viewa with alarm Edward's icluotsnce Lo clMriiy a secret in his past, ft reminder of her father's sad ex­ perience* The nov^l rovoives around a series of GV-:rita ta^t test the young pair's relauionahip* Cyuu^roa, in her re­ actions to life, changers from a young, iiffii&turj ^^^^ ^^ a responsible adult* The pth^ "1 e:iperiai_CQ ttirou^h wLich slia passes, while it strea :taumj hci r-.oral fiber nr: p«d{ 3 to her social awaronesti, ai:;o tiU'cadiiis to de^^tioy hor will and iut3|?^rity* hors i;;^ njt •? br.t.lo af ;>in:it fnto or destiny; her conflict is insto'>d wort:o(; out in iiJu'i.'.n tcrr-is* Her advorsarius arc none othor '.r>r^u ucr benefr.cto.? :i, • .• ir each case mean v»ell in trylr':^, to direct her llic* One is Miss Aldclyffe, who hrs sucou,\bcd to soci-l prossar jg tt.^t cause her to cover her prist *Mcid thus to y.ir :e ^ 11 vo 1^ a by 20 hiar ovn dabaaed aatimata of haraelf* Another ia her own brother Oiiaa» vixo aeea hiaaalf aa Cytherea'a protector mainly from bad social or material choices* And at times the man who loves her most, Edward Springrove, is guilty of causing her adversities* Mainly ha heaitates to explain hla paat that hidea an engagement to his cousin, whom he no longer plana to marry* By exchanging hia naturally direct and active nature for a teiiq;>orarily passive one, he leaves Cytherea confused about his intentions* Nonetheless, Edward's love for Cytherea eventually re-dlreots him to his usual positive role* Sadly Miss Aldclyffe's original conflict with the strict moral standards of her day is one that her position in society will never allow her to admit to openly* Con­ vention dictates that she must keep secret her affair as a young girl with her soldier-cousin, whom she would have married had he not died in battle• She must forever suffer from the Indiscreet result of the affair, the birth of an illegitimate son Aeneas Manston, whose existence, a closely guarded secret, is a source of guilt f^nd fear for the rest of h^ life^ iCven thou^ a ye'^r after the son's birth a love affair with Ambrose Graye follows and, one is reason­ ably certain, might have given her happiness, the young girl does not have the courage to test the strength of the affair with simple honesty* Instead she turns Graye away without explanation and forever covers her past* As a result she 21 •aoumbara her own aa well as Graye's future with oonfuaion and doubta* When the unfortunate lady learna that Cytherea, ifho cornea to her aa a lady's maid, ia the daughter of the man aha might have married, her guilt and fear give way to an inherent motherly lova^ She gains a perverted sense of ultimate fulfillment of her love for Cytherea's father that oulminates in her obsession for a plan for Cytherea to marry her illegitimate son Manston* She will stop at nothing to make the match*

First Miss Aldclyffe makes Cytherea a companion and almost a number of the family; slowly she undermines the young girl's trust in Edward's firm devotion to her* The taak is made easier because Edward has not told Cytherea of his former love, who is still very much a part of the pic­ ture as his fiancee in the eyes of those who live in the vicinity of Miss Aldclyffe's estate Knapwater, which is also Edward's home area* The determined woman's campaign involves much elaborate subterfuge. At the time of her father's death, for example. Miss Aldclyffe brings Manston, like Edward a young architect, to Knapwater House and establishes him es her steward* Soon she mannges Manston's and Cytherea's meet­ ing as a part of a series of meetings for Cytherea* First, Cytherea meets Edward's fiancee, Adelaide Hinton, then his father, the innkeeper Springrove* Since both of them are in ignorance about Edward's feelings for Cytheree and are, of 22 ooursa, still operating under the premise that the two oousins will marry, they do much to undermine Cytherea's confidence in Edward's love for her* The meetings are accomplished by Miaa Aldclyffe*a aending Cytherea to collect charity aub- aoriptiona in these strategic spots* She achieves her goal; for Cytherea goes to Old-Manor where she will call on Manston well convinced that "Edward had trifled with her love" (XIV, 11|7). Manston has a natural,fascinating, and magnetic pres­ ence* Encountering it after ahe calls on Adelaide and the innkeeper, Cytherea is unconsciously influenced by it* Admittedly their meeting is given even greater impact by an approaching thunder storm ^nd by Manston's unusual musical performance at his organ* These elements, together x^ith Cytherea'3 mood, exercise such a gre^t power ov3r her that Cytherea agrees to a meeting with Manston so that he :iight present her a copy of a piece of music that she paj^ticulcrly admires* Once Cytherea is out of Manston's presence, hcjr better judgment causes her to call off the meeting utd to explain In a note that "the emotion. . ./she/ felt raar^e. . . /!Ter7 forgetful '^^ ra^^lities" (XIV, 159). At th? s^no time, however, ahe breaks her tie with F.dward. In a ffarewell letter to him, she explains th? t slm knows about his enyyige- ment and mu^^t not see hli again; "yet it wa?- all unconscious­ ly said in words which betrayed a linger lag teni'^rncss. . • . " (XIV, 15^)« Cytherea does not, carii:)t, lovi 'lan.-i':on, bat 23 hia love flourishaa even though he at fir at seems to try to control it* Nonethelaas the first stage—the meeting, the planting of ideaa, and the underminiiig of she former relation* ship—Miaa Aldolyffe aucceaafully handles* Now she can apply preasure to Cytherea as opportunities arise* They do quite aoon, when her brother becomes too ill to support himself, let alone her, if ahe ahould wish to leave*

Manston has flown false colors from ths beginning* One stipulation of ths job as steward la that the person ahould be aingle* Hia hesitancy to press the affair with Cytherea rests upon the fact that he is already married to a young American actreas of whom he has grown tired* Althou^ Miss Aldclyffe's lawyer calls Manston a "voluptuary with activity" (XIV, 126) when he first sees him during Manston's interview for the position of steward. Miss Aldclyffe cannot BOO hia faults* They become even more pronounced when he learns that she is actually his mother in time to force her to help him with his suit for Cytherea more tnan she might have been willing to help earlier* Thus he adds blackmail to his mounting sins* When the young wife does not remain patient and eventually pressures Manston to install her properly at Knapwater, a series of mischances leaver her supposedly dead in a fire that destroys Springrove's inn, where she has gone when Manston is late to meet her train* At the same time the fire wipes out Edward's father fi­ nancially* Seconded by Manston, Miss Aldclyffe, a? lease 2h holder, brings aconomio pressures to bear on the formrr Inn- keaper, which ahe hinta will be alleviated if bis son ciould ohooae to many Adelaide aoon* By now Cytherea'a brother is too ill to work, and Miss Aldclyffe is able to use the 111- neaa by assuria^i: help if Cychere'i but bo agreeable to the match with Manston*

The presburea of Owen's illness, Edw«rc"s Vinparent deceptions now cliisxijd by an announcenicnt thjR t he v.'ill narry Adelaide t«t ^rii latiuDS, fur^^hf.r ui-lnga froa Miss Aluoxyrfa, And finally open courtship and ostensible kindnesp to h«^r invalid brother by ttoiston push Cytherea to an agreeii jnt to marry* She does not love Mansion, «nd »he knows thM t the marriage will bo p^i sonaily uiibefrable. •^lus :*.n-.ot, hovjov; r, overlook the external benefits thnt the mBin In o will brinr about* She knows lii^it Owen will bo o;*r''>d Tor. >Uir^ s''>'-- cr.ii- not overlook Edward's actions tii t seem to point to his dis­ missal of h^^T' love* Hero it uppoara thr^ t 2iij3 Aldcijfie will oe irlun- phsnt and taat weapons of ao^iuX press^ju-e will defoat t'o here­ tofore sxjlrlt'sd girl, who -iss at l?'.Jt bocorio puaslve. Indee-", acquiescence to her f-itw vjoal' r.ve be«a c »:apl<--t*j lir.d not cir- cumst'^nces set into laotioa a s^^riea of oounoeracti ms to a seemingly iirposaibie tiiou .i'n* Tne s^iviu, XOTJ' la not Cytherea, who hati acoepted aer f>iGo; uor 0-^on, w.io Is too far coinuijuod to ktse^ji.ig SOCIPI app ^^iMr.ce:! ^r-i!" pTcsrrvl.; reputacion; nor liids Aldcl^fie, -^'iio i'j Dii':dsd b;, .lor proju- 25 dioaa and har matchmaking oauae; nor Manston, who now will stop at nothing to satisfy his paaaion for Cytherea* Only Edward Springrove acts with direct forthrlghtness once ha realizes that Cytherea still loves him and taat he has been duped into thinking otherwise by "half miarepresentationa" (XIV, 283). It ia not to his credit that Springrove waits until it ia apparently too late to win her back; for her marriage has already taken place* Nor is it particularly admirable that he does not take the initiative to break his relation­ ship with his cousin* Most likely he never would have dis­ covered the way that he had been used if Adelaide, ironically feeling that it is a cousin's privilege to break a marriage promise, had not Jilted him for a neighboring rich farmer* Released from his promise and assured by his father that Cytherea still ahowa symptoms of love for him, he rushes to her, too late* But in his interview with her, he begins to realize that he has been used* It is to his credit, however, that he remains actively involved in resolving the affair once he reaffirms Cytherea's love and understands the circumstances of his bein*; duoed by Miaa Aldclyffe* Upon hearing that a rail attendant whom ahe had bribed to alienee has seen Manston's wife alive after the fire, he springs into action that remains steady until he separates the newly-married couple so that the report can be investigated* He subsequently discovers thPt Manston attempts 26 to oovar hia ourdaring hia fir at wife on the night of the fira by Inatalling one of hia former miatreaaea aa a aubsti- tuta vifa when Cytherea onoe again elude a him during the invaatigaticQ* Finally, aftar Manston's suicide in hia jail oall (for Manaton ia truly Cytherea's husband), Springrove aees his way clear to marry Cytherea* The last part of the book is Edward's, except for the poetic touch of Cytherea's inheriting Miaa Aldclyffe's property, just as the middle part ia Miaa Aldclyffe'a*

Cytherea, a maturer woman for the experience, and oonaiatently loyal in heart to her first love, never would have married Edward had his battle not been her own* Once she becomea paasive and accepts the position forced upon her, ahe ahowa little initiative In attempting to overcome her dilemma, aa right-minded aa she consistently remains* As ths mobile Wessex society becomes more complex, the more spirited women learn and practice a cultivated art of deception that Miss Aldclyfie falsely assumes Cytherea possesses* Hence Hardy's heroines find it more and more distressing to live under the double standard of existence that even Cytherea recognizes when she sees that her fate has been sealed by acquiescence to her duty to society, which her brother reminds her of when he fears she might rashly dis­ regard her vows and elope with Springrove* He does have some basis for his fears as she demonstrates her real feelings when she sees Springrove at ths church after her marriage to 27 ManatonI

•Yea—my duty to aociety,» ahe murmured*

Hare Cytherea expresses a view about existence at once as old as the Greeks but aa new as the existentialists* Certainly it is significant that Hardy puts the words into the mouth of a woman who is not ordinarily given status equal to that of man* ^^ Desperate Remedies, too. Hardy establishes another dilemma which at that time made the role of women more diffi­ cult to cope witio:

• • *for in spite of a fashion which pervades the whole community at the present day—the habit of exclaiming that woman is not underdeveloped man, but diverse, the fact remains that, after all, women are M*^nkind, and that in many of the sentiments of life the difference of sex is but a difference ol degree (XIV, 201)*

In this statement, which implies potential likenesses in the 28 aexea. Hardy recognizee a woman's frustracion in trying to find a place in a society that does not give her any of the privileges of the male* In his fir at published novel, he reveala a heroine who has the proper raw material for indi­ viduality, a factor that society must extract from her; and he proceeds to show how social pressure—even operating at the close range of family members—does disrupt the life of an otherwise level-hended member of the human race* From the beginning, then, a credo for the Hardy heroine establishes that she must face the dilemma of emancipating^ uyrt'trlf f 2 om an uver cono

Fancy Day, the heroine of Hardy's next novel. Under the Greenwood Tree (1872), demonstrates a strong measure of independence in the important affair of choosing a mate, but hers is a Pyrrhic victory measured In terms of her gaining a permanent role of independence. It is certain that lancy has won the husband she wants in spite of her father's ambitions for her, but it is also clear tiiat she fias done little more than make the socially accepted metamorphosis from a fickle, immature, young girl who tninks mainly of herself and her appearance to a young woman dutifully subservient to her husband and to customs and convention

around her* Alongside depicting Fancy's change, howev-r. Hardy adds an Important seconci dimension to his novel. He explores the potential change in the provincial citizens of /.ellstock as they become less isolated. Fancy is provincial as tney are; yet she is the most forward-looking figure in He11stock. Her parents have educated her for a possible saift in social status. She is polisnod in manner, knowledgeaole, ::eli- assured, and conscious of the proper way to act by finisaing 30 school naasurea; yet she ia still a romping, natural, iapulsive girl, as yet not affected so strongly by her aoquirad traita that she is ruled by them* Two of the suit­ ors that aha soquiraa. Farmer Shiner and Dick Dewy, are typi- oal of aagmenta of Mellstoek society, and in them Hardy worka out the conflict between those who passively allow the world to go by and leave them and those who finally must engage actively in the changes that are inevitable* Farmer Shiner, the well-to-do gentleman, who is her father's choice of a suitor, is already assured of a position in Mellstoek society higher than Fancy's* As a result he is set in his ways—static* On the other hand, Dick Dewy, ths tranters' son, in pursuing and winning Fancy, changes from a paasive, unambitious youth, to a lovesick dreamer, and finally to a reaponsible, ambitious, and active young man whose potential for success is greater than that of the static farm?^. One must note taat of the two only Dick interests the vital Fancy* Thus for those who think of Hardy as one vtxo nostalgically laments the passing of peasant life in England, even this quiet pastoral novel issues its complaints against ths passive acceptance of li'e that is often put into the mouths of his Wessex natives as a philosophy to live by and is seen in such Mellstoek citizens as Farmer Shiner: "Twas to be, and none can gainsay it" (Vll, 10)* Hardy further empaasif.es that Fancy has furnished the apark that haa awakened an otherwise sleeping community in her ^ •

31 relatloQship with the Mellstoek church choir* Vly tover the personal motives of Farmer Shiner atiO Par.ion Haylold, v;ho for a moment hlmaelf ©nte. talr.s the idea of marrying Fa:i_7,

for wanting the pretty yoiaig maiden at V.^CL. organ each "^un .'\y, she is the cause of th«3 ^.^:[,^ from the traditional caolr performance that has heretofore cai^rled ttiti rost of the UJU- participating oon^;x'egatlo.i* Vj\T6y l:..piioo !:a^t; tiKJ ch>>:-,^e unites in v?':)i^3hip a jlrigir:^^ GO!i^jrega-ion the t is accoM,:iinled by her orgsn music* That r niiC;' c .n b*^ the -.g:;nt \/hich guiros conJ/llctlag elements to a s:;i>oth f,.'''Ju;^t-lon'w to chung-o is cor: .or.*.'.olc;; but that she cn-not \v'.vz^x\^\\\y r^'lxx n stronger posl^i >r "or her­ self aa en iud'-/;duHl, o:.co \v:-v vv'or k r.z o«to±yBo Ir^ -^ow^-, is not* Her actions show ti.'iL wo-a^n aa yet c^n acconi,-llEh temporary, almost" unco :i3c,Vou3, f louiit^^'.o 3 of i'ldoperi^-ao-y but that in the end she follows JIi^; .^^.xil 3ubrd.;aivo pjic^uin of behavior* ! aacy ir.rjr;: lei -Kid ,. .3f:iv:ily Tollowi. h^r hisb'^r.c", a situation bliOt soaijwy or .'Iruii ily acr;opwj, but t::v^t rvjri Tick hS3 reco^lzoc^ as "ej^rc^aia,,;, to '-. ;ia. ir.je re jL'^tiiMa-Ap. E-c- Her he has lr.iieuue^ c'lat ais p'-r naL3 ^:..d o^her uai-:ieO .^L: )ple

that he obS'^rveii, bjc^'jit* "bliai"^ oO rvaMaou'* ^V].L, ol). ^' L >r:ie ul:..o, ho is "q;,.l^e c-rUj^ln tiii^'u If ho fvcjr t 'o'i: :;o -s/lfc z'.i\ dear iii-oa^^il^le ^a^ncy, h: nir^ ^ac^ woal^^ r^o^''r bt.; ;V'' ^'i-a c^fuliy pr3otic.\l aad undoi'iais::: t^ jlvtj or T^-IO paiajl.n. • . -" (V: ", nl). Yet na tlv oourtsMp pro, r r-sst-ss, ho cMspi^ys >ho i^-u^'^ -t-airi- 'urds ::h'^t he coar-aririo* Ke r.nkoa aiii.npui'i:*>:. t -'eva.u's ^T '''.jy: 32 aha muat wear a bonnet instead of a 'flirty* hat; aba muat draas more conservatively; she must wear her hair in curls only for him* Some mig^t call his demanda possessiveness or Jealousy, but Dick ia fast on the way of taking all the romance out of life by such fastidious requests* Fancy is not as prone as Dick to extract all of ths romance from their relationship, as she demonstrates in the final sequence of the novel* Some critics have seen Fancy's last thou^ts in the novel as unfortunate deception on her part befitting a vain young girl* Actually they represent reasoned, clear thought befitting a young women who has learned to control much of her immature caprice* The last words of the novel ironically reflect a supposed deception of not telling Dick of a marriage proposal from Maybold, which in haste Fancy accepts but in calm retrospect she rejects: "* . * she thought of a secret she would never tall" (VII, 211)* However, to her credit, one must recall both Dick's specific proposal that they "have no secrets from each other" and her literal last words: "none from today" (VII, 211)* Certainly such a promise does not preclude earlier secrets* The subsequent thought of an earlier secret that Fancy would not tell only emphasizes that she has rejected a point of view that one might recall is that of Parson Maybold, a stickler for the conventional approach, who insists that she must tell Dick of his proposal* Thus one miKht accuse those 33 who emphasize har last thought as deception as being like- minded to Maybold, a point of view that Hardy hardly meant to prevail in the novel* Surely Fancy, who has consistent­ ly been more rigjht-minded than any of her suitors or her father, has enough presence of mind to see the hollowness present in bragging of past conquests to no end except those designed to inflict unnecessary pain* Hence the novel does not end on the bitter note of deception that so many have given it, but on an ironic note that hits at narrow convention* The whole novel, however, does snow that Fancy and Dick's generation have been handed a real challenge to adjust successfully to the changing scene in Wessex* Like Fancy and Cytherea, Elf ride Swancourt, the young heroine of A Pair of Blue Eyes (1^^73)» acts as a passive agent who sparks understanding of life in at least one of two young men whose narrow views obstruct their judgment* Her first lover, Stephen Smith, is another striv­ ing young architect who is more ingenuous than Edward Springrove* As many do, who try to m:>ve up the social ladder, he sees success in terms of material gain much as does Owen Graye* Unfortunately Smith never overcomes measuring life in material terms, alth u^ii he does succeed in covering his ua- polisiied ways with an acquired gentility* Her aeoond lover, Henry Knight, is already sophisticated in the ao:;iract, a state which leaves him an idealist with a ^ood rjiay untried theories; yet he is little di'iven by the material arxitions 3k of thoss trying to ehanga their social level, mainly because ha was bom to a standing high enough* Thus, at first, ha acts solely in terms of his ideals* Those that affect his relationship with Slfrida center in his obsession that he be "first oomer" (X, 213) in bis chosen mate's heart* Knight is the one who grows in the course of his relationahip with Slfrida, though he ironically sees his position with her aa one of mentor and master, and realizes too late that his love cannot be measured in terms of an abstract principle* Such Irony as Knight's false assumption pervades the novel: the money and position that Smith seeks by taking a job in India do not mean as much as would his mastering the true values of life; Knight's ideals, when measured by strict logic and not conventional reasoning, are met in Elfride's pure love for him as the "real" first comer to her heart* The supreme irony Is centered in the fact that when Elf ride does marry the widowed Lord Luxellian, she has acquired a husband who possibly could have made her happier than either of the other young men*

Unfortunately by the time ^Ifride marries, she has become passive and has been crushed by the two earlier love affairs* She has especially felt the cruel rejection of Knight and no longer has a will to live* Thus she dies as much of a broken heart as of complications in miscarrias^e* Even though the match with Luxellian gives pleasure to her status-conscious father f^nd step-mother, a motner to his two 35 little daughters, snd a renewed sense of purpose to the noble Lord himself, it comes too late to help Elfrida* Some might criticize Elfride for her indecisiveness* Sspacially might they think that she shouid have married Smith when she elopes to London with him instead of coming back when she is not sure* better still she sho .Id not have gone at all* Others will see fault in her inability to explain to Knight about tier misadventures with Smith once she has discovered that his untested ideals preclude her having loved another* But to find fault here is to forget her ingenuous nature* She has admittedly been book-educated and urged to seek a place beyond her station, but elm hss also been sheltered fr^jm the experiences, both moral and intellectual, that would have equipped her to understand or combat the idiosyncrasies of such a man as Knight* There is irony here, too* Not only does Elfride lack the cultivated art of deception, but she also possesses the childishly direct honesty that properly nurtured would have given her fulfillment, not heartache and unhappiness. That she ia reticent and hesitant when Knight approaches her on the subject of lovers is as much explained by her lack of social knowledge as is her misleading honesty explained by her childlike simplicity, once Knight forces her to explain that she did go to London with a lover intending to marry him but that she came back again uomai^ried. That Smith and Kni^iit should lose a love which they would possess only b> the 36 aqfopio standards that soeiaty diotatea is justice; that such a fragile girl should have been so misiased by those who supposedly lova her is tragic* From the beginninp:, Elfride's acquiescence to her father•s wishes stifles her will before it has a chance to grow past the impulses of childish charm* Elfride is a Cytherea Oraya, as she mipht have been had she stayed in che smothering atmosphere of her native city; she is a Fancy Day as she mi^-ht have been had she obeyed her father's wishes that she nmrry Farmer Shiner* Elfride has the r^w material for maturity, but her emotions are never disciplined much more than a child's are* By his innumerable and consistent references to her childlike qualities throughout the novel. Hardy makes it quite clear that Elfride remains emotionally a childs

* • *st nineteen—no fartt'a- on ia so?:*'! c^>nsolou:^}v^t?s than a young urban lady of fiftf'en (X, 1); * * * MirBa''--l'.ke cu-lonU/ (X, P.) t Fl'tt'..'.j; like a l^a^ t-ri'iy (X, 25); childish burst of confidence (X, 26); like a shil^ i-^te at achool (>., ^h)f ^^^'^i«n's ruliaj pn^'il >a • . */rn Elfride/ purooaelef^s (X, 215); Elfride's simplicity (X, 3^;^) I chiXdlikB uar'e-aonirs (r, 3"^').

The closest that Elfride copies to a aamce for maturity is in her affair with Knipht. He mlsjudres her, how ever, and attributes her chil^Ush behavior to one of Lis own abstract notions:

Her backwardness n^y b^ ra>t because she irj t iovj :o develop, but because she soon exnnuso.d her CMpocIuy for developing (X, 1V8)* 37 Aetually his own obtuse handling of their love sffair in the naae of oonvanti<»i«^''lfarry the man with whom you went to London^ Slfrida, for your good name" (X, 383)-•does more to atrophy Elfrida*a development than any other known factor* She has done more than her share to prove to any man other than a Henry Kni^t, who indeed ^perhaps was not shaped by Hature for a marrying man" (X, 366), that she loves him foremost* She even performs the supreme act of rescuing him from certain death as ne iif*ngs helplessly from a rur?; ed ollff above the sea* Stephen Smith observes Tshst ^ he is a mora "mature Elfrida" (X, 273) the first time he sees tne lovers together after his return from India* Wheo Knij^ht realizea his folly, he has indeed reached a depth of character commendable to the man; but his understendiiir has come t >o late to be of value to Slfric'e, the on© person he oould have helped to bridge the .^sp successfully between ohildhood and responsible youri);; worianliood* Kifride's coffin, being edored in the family vault of o-r husbmd, is all tnft ia left for him to view* After uhe trn^edy of xulfr.de, iairdy turns to ^ao>t^ei childlike woman, Bauhshoba a'verdeae, the heroine of • r^r fr^ a the MadrUnn Crowd (lB7r')» his enrliost rin^t' roioce i^nr his fullest comment on the ty^^e of ^^ oung i^o^nan he hnr b-<:n pre­ occupied with from the beginala,"; of his c re^r* Th^' dificr- ence between Bathsheba and *aie earlier hcr^lnec—.Ifi-ide, Fancy, or Cytherea, is t.i^t she rf ^^lisos, before sue hcs r\r\y 38 emotional entanglements, that she needs a firm hand to nelp har gain emotional maturity* As she puts it to her : irst lover Gabriel Oak, whom she rejects: "I want some one to tame me; I am too independent; and you would never be able to, I know"(II, 3I4.). Perhaps Bathsheba has more insight than the other young heroines—at any rate her metamorphosis is successfully, if painfully, accomplisned* She does have the help of a rl^ht-minded, steadying, external force, in the form of Oabriel Oak, that none of the earlier heroines has even though they have parents to guide them* In a sense Oak becomes very much like an understanding, detached advisor who has been able to set values for himself and hence is subtly, if patiently, able to stabilize principle, respect, and responsibility in the young girl, whose forthri atness he admires from the begiuixln^, but w.iose vonlcy he also sees as a trait to be curbed* That he gains his position as advisor at great cost to his own suit and, it appears, at i;ae expense of his own material advaaoemeat f,'ves him just the ri,iit distance from the dilemma to win in zhe ond the much more attractive w ^m^.n Bathsheba* That )3k is not pushia- his own affair and must stnnd by in tiie bnckground while Bnuishebn does a good bit of her own Tjwaig up—by t;rial nnr e. ror — even grave erior—makes liin appear to othors at tim^jL pai-aive and unambitious* Yet a close 1 ^ok at Jiardy's ch'^rn^torization of Oak3 readily dispels any real conviction tiira. toono t: nits

3Morrell, p* 61 ff* Morroll'c discassl^a of );;k. 39 are a part of his nature* Bathsheba*s is a three-phased experience with ths heart that moves from the open frankness of her initial encounter with Oak, when aha can aay, "I don't want to marry you" (II, 33) and "I hate to be thought men's property that way /^ marriafl^T** ^^^t 33) to two damaging encounters, one that tames her vanity and the other that tames her excessive independence* The first damaging encounter involves the subatantial farmsr Boldwood, whose greatest fault in Bathsheba's eyes ia that he ignores her* Oak would say that he does not flatter her vanity* Certainly he does not at first cater to Bathsheba, the newly-installed independent lady-farmer, who haa Juat inherited her uncle's farm and is determined to be her own steward* Worse than that, he does not even know she exists except aa the employer of Fanny Robin, a servant girl about whom he ia concerned when she is missing and found to be a run-away wno plans to marry her soldi r lover* Boldwood, except for Oak, is the only one in Weatherbury to learn that Fanny's soldier is a none-too-trustworthy native. Sergeant Troy*

That Boldwood must be conquered shows Bathsheba's vain nature at its most unattractive and unfeeling pitch* not as a native subservient to zhe code of Wessex and nature, but as an individual whose will ca not be squelched bv over­ whelming social and natural pressures is one of the best character studies of Oak* ko First she follows the impulsive sug^^estion of her ser van t- oompanion, Liddy, whoae limited upbringing has not afforded her the position of sound advisor, that she send ths aloof farmer an anonymous valentine that is purchased to be given aa a thoughtful memento to one of the young boys on the farm* In tioB, Boldwood's passion is awakened* When aroused, his is a "hotbed of tropical Intensity" (II, I38) that pur­ sues with single purpose any goal that becomes a fixed p<^rt of his nature* Bathsheba now discovers, at great cost, that impulsive fits of vanity must be tempered with discretion* To her credit, however, she takes enough responsibility for setting the affair into motion to feel great sorrow and ultimately to be willing to sacrifice herself by promising to marry a man she does not love, as she can see that her act haa stirred him to a form of madness. But before she can go so far as to sacrifice herself to Boldwood, she must lose irier own independence* The next phase in Bathsheba's "taming" comes wnen ahe enters into the irrational hinte. land of infatuation with Fanny Robin's soldier, Frank Troy, the dashing, world­ ly sergeanc* She is helpless in the h^^nds of a man who immediately conquers her with his external charms, but never gains her respect and confidence, a fact demonstr^?ted by her being able to talk openly to Liddy and Oak aboot Boldwood, whom she does respect, and not beinr able to speak to them of Troy* Instead she must seek counsel from her own he^rt. kl Sha oan only bag Liddy to aay that Troy is not a bad man, and she cannot heed Oak'a unsolicited warning about Troy's reputation* In this affair she is much like a cnild who doea not wish to take advice from a wiser, more experienced parent* In addition to not listening to advice, she fool­ ishly follows Troy to Bath, ostensibly to wsrn him th«t Boldwood has learned of their affair and that he may do him harm If Troy returns to Weatherbury. Once there, she loses the rationality that distance from him gives her and a^^ain falls victim of hia pressure, that has played to her vanity with great success. This time he warns her th«tt he does not know how long he can remain faithful unless he marry her, as he has seen aomeone else whom he considers "more beautiful" (II, 209)• A marriage contracted on physical attraction is fragile to say the least* In Bathsheba and Troy's marriage Hnrdy explores for the first tiae one of his main themes, zho conflict between rational and Irrational msrringe contracts. Here he demon- strates that when the strong force of unreasoning physical passion causes the unfortunate miEt*?ke of a raisni'3tch, it can be corrected only by release inste-^d of ar;onlzin^;;ly prolonged torture* Perhaps he hoodies tba th^me more openly in his later novels, especially in Jude; but ha undoubtedly de-ion- strates here, as a prelude to more editorializing let^r, chat such affairs of the heart ^re crush'nrly Inevit'.bl^ in a society with double standards, narrow social conventions. U2 and ingenuous men or %fomen who have not been prepared for duplicity* Bathahaba, in the process of acquiring the proper balance between her emotions and her reason, is undoubtedly a viotija, but one who iias been given ample warning both external and internal* Her bitter stru;; le to become r. mature woman reaches its tumin^j i^oint In the endin^^ of her affair with Troy, who leaves her aftot* dra^y^'ing down both herself and Fanny llobin, w iom he leaves with ciiild at olie altar and then moved by giillt at h::^r dooth in childbirth comes to regard her aa his *true wife" (II, 3k^)m Bathshebn la at once le«a vain, henoe r.iore dignified, and less independ­ ent, hence more convinced that sha ir; a aocial beia, viho can­ not act nlone* Next COVINS the Inf-vltaole meetlr^, betwe«in Troy ^•lnd Boldwood, still crazed by a perverted love for Bntt^soeba r^nd still persistent thPt he should marry her now thnt Troy is presumed de&d by drowning* Troy, however, is v-ry iiich alive and still attracted to pi,<*thsheb.'>» ^ bofiuty f^nd nntta IMI vj'alth* Tragedy is Inevit'^ble whea Boldwood Dnd Troy encouo.tcr e'^ch oth^r on the Christmas Eve vjhen Bnt .sheba attends n i-ar y at Boldwood'a home* After ;'ho proalses ^.u z s^e wlii rinioy Boldwood, viho ahe iasi.^ts iaa-;t wait nn interia ox six years, Troy bursts in* ri'^>y»n dewuh at ;>.»ldwood»s hnnd is a lo l.aa climax of the crazed man'.^> noti-^as, rae deetri, MOAQV r, brings another test to Batnchobn's char*?ct©r. Sha doaon- k3 strates the strength of a stole in her last duty to Troy by preparing hin herself for his funeral and arranging that ha be buried by Fanny's aide* Surely her last acta on behalf of her huaband are as great a penance aa would have been her marriage to Boldwood, who la finally institutionalized instead of hanged for the murder* After a complete physical collapse, Bathsheba demon­ strate a the regenerative powers of a woman of strong will, whose emotions are finally in harmony with her reason* When spring comes, she regains much of her physical and emotional stability* When winter brings Oak's statement of resig­ nation as her bailiff, she is ready to face the climax of her period of testing with humility* She must approach the ever-faithful Oak, whom she hss heretofore regarded as hers by "inalienable right" (II, 14-52), but who has been a man of his word that he will never ask again for her hand* Thu? with her act of final sacrifice, the two blend their natures in the harmony of a true marriage that has a rare, proper attachment which Hardy phrases as a "subst.^ntial affection":

Theirs was that substantial affection which arises (if any arises at all) when the two who are thrown together begin first by knowing the rougher sides of each other's character, f^nr^ not the best till furthor or, the romance growing up in the interstices of a mass of nard prosaic reality* This p:ood-fellowship—camaraderie— usually occurring throu^^h similarity of pursuits, is unfortunately seldom superadded to love b3twoGn the sexes, because men :^nd women associste, not in taoir labours, but in their pleasure merely. Wno"r3, however, happy circumstance permits its development, the compounded feeling proves Itself to be the only love which is strong as death—that love which many waters cannot quanoh, nor the floods drown, beside which the passion usually called by the name ia evanescent aa steam (II, 1^56-^57 )•

The novel ends with the Weatherbury natives yet to realize the strength of the marrInge, which they see mainly 88 Oak's victory in gained status by marrying his "idol":

* * *8aid Joseph Poorglass with a cheerful sigh as they moved away; 'and I wish him joy o' her; though I were onoe or twice upon aaying to-day with holy Hosea, in my scripture manner, which is ray second nature, '•Ephraim is joined to idols: let him alone." But since 'tis as 'tis, why, it might h^ve been worse, and I feel my thanks accordingly" (II, U63- k6k)»

But anyone who has followed Bathsheba's and Oak's careers and who knows Hardy's leaning toward an ending filled with ironic overtone realizes that many levels of understanding separate Oak and nls new bride from the yet untried natives of Weatherbury* The novel ends satisfactorily for our heroine, but the price she paya for her maturity is indeed great* Hardy will not again paint such a harmonious finale for any heroine in Wessex* In his first four novels Hardy has shown that a young woman, for that matter any yoxing person, has the raw materials fcr a fulfilling existence at her fingertips, out that her road to maturity is littered with many unnecessary pitfalls often imposed in tne name of society by those whose natural affaction ahould protect not hamper development. He also k5 makes it clear that a young person's natural imbalance toward emotion must be tempered with reason* without obvious moralizing Hardy has developed the technique in hia writing of taking a look at the worst, no doubt harboring a hope that his readers will be encouraged to avoid the pitfalla in a world that has other challenges with which to contend, by at least shedding false values built upon too narrow a view of aocial behavior* By doing so, one can help, not hinder, the natural development of a young person* His first bouts with aocial behavior patterna are, on the whole, less embittered than they will become in his succeeding novels* He has shown that acquiescence to unreasonable points of view concerning social status can have dire c<»isequences* He has also reaffirmed that only the natural honesty of humanity is a corrective and a basic deterring agent to any corrosion in human nature in conflict with restricting conventions* If indeed there must be comproxJiise to find happiness. Hardy demonstrstes that the compromise must come from a reasoned free choice without the un­ necessary impediments of superficial social pressure* r '^r--- •

Chapter II

Hebals Revolt, Others Conformi The Middle Novels

The women in Hardy'a earlier novels are characterized as young innocents who, in suffering the pains of becoming women, complicate their lives by allowing social pressures to hamper thsir natural inclinations toward honest straight­ forwardness* Starting with The Hand of Sthelberta (1876),^ the stronger women in the novels find the will to struggle, sometimes successfully, sometimes not, against narrow con­ ventions even though these social strictures present for­ midable obstacles* In this period Hardy is Inclined to separate those who successfully revolt against established standards and at the same time acquire a balance of tem­ perament from tnose who do not* He uses the elements of realism or romanticism in their make up to measure their success* The women, who, because of their realistic facing of life, put their romantic inclinations in proper per-

^The Hand of Sthelberta, The Trumpet-Major, A Laodicean, and Two on ai Tower will be referred to within the text of the cEapter by the volume and page number from Harper's Anniversary Edition, 1920, of Hardy's works* The Return of che Native will be referred to by the symbol RN and page nTi^era from Harper's Classics, 1922 edition* k^ fWT^-

kl apective, are the most successful in the long run*^ The heroines of the first two novels of the period represent the extremes of the realist and the romanticist* Ethelberta, the heroine of The Hend of Ethelberta, is de- plcted aa the strongest of the realists. She is successful in achieving a socially enlightened type of independence* Sustacia Vye, the heroine of Th£ Return of the Native (I878), is depicted as the strongest of the romantic dreamers. She is in no measure successful in furthering her selfish, hedonistic type of independence* Whereas the previous heroines have adjusted to the narrow social dictates by acquiescing to their socially acceptable and passive roles, these young women, thr>ugh their willful acts defy society* Sthelberta attempts to rise from a lower level of society to one of social status* iustaoia quests after selfish pleas­ ures*

For some ti-^ie co come Hardy explores vori^itiers of the young rebel's role. Anae Garland, heroine of The I'rumpet- Major (1880), is the most subtle delineation as she appears on the surface to be the most scrupulously conventional. Paula Powers in A Laodicean (1"^0) and Viviette Constunvine

2l'lorrell establishes the ronaral che sir tint H'^rc'y pits the successful realist a-a last the unsuccessful rv)iaflntic in his discuscion of Boldwood Bnr^ j-'^'^^y* d^^picted as un­ successful romantics against Oak, the successful realist in Far from the Madding Crowd* T.ie applic?^.LI^H is aptly carried over to bouh men and women in iiis novels. 3e^ Ivorrell, p. 60 ff* 1|8 in Two on a Tower (1882) follow as variable impressions of naturea that are similar in the former to tnat of l::thelberta and in the latter to that of Euatacla*

In all of the novels, the role of the heroine is complicated by a contrasting figure who emphasizes thf. t part of the heroine's nature that is least developed or most submerged* Hence Faith Julian and Picotee Chickerel demonstrate aspects of romanticized idealism end passive femininity to contrast with Ethelberta»s realistic, assertive will* Thomasin Yeobrir;ht, the passive yet practical realist, contrasts with the romantic Eustacia Vye* The foils for Anne, Paula, and Viviette are not so fully developed; yet Mathilda Johnson, Charlotte De Stancy, and Tabltha Lark do serve as contrasts to the dominant characteristics of ths respective heroines*

Ethelberta, whose "claim to distinction. . */J.nJ rather one of brains than blood" (XV, 1), has already accomplished a social coup by being "stealthily married by the son" (XV, 1) of the wealthy family in which she hss be­ come governess* Because she feels inclined to retain the position that the marriage brlns:s her after the premature death of her husband, she might appear to a superficial reader as en unattractive social climber whose aaibition forces her to stop at nothing to maintain her posioioa* 3he is willing to divorce herself from her family, wr.ica is neaded by a long-time butler, a stioulation placed upon \\QV if sue U9 wishes to remain a companion to her mother-in-law. Lady Pstharwin, also newly widowed* Once her mother-In* law dies leaving har only tba life lease on her London town- house but no Bioney with which to maintain her holding, aha stops at nothing to advance her cause, which she feels is bast assured by a carefully executed marriage of convenience, a quest that leads her to a series of prominent conquests until at last the penultimate conquest, an hereditary lord of tba realm, beoomes available* She uses to ths fullest all social contacts that her early marriage afforda her, always shrouding her past in secrecy, allowing rumors to her advantage to displace her family of low estate with a more reputable deceased clergyman father*

Hers is admittedly social maintenance by con­ trivance, ingenuity, and at times deception, but the softer more romantic side of Ethelberta's character, which ahe works hard to control,but wnich never is completely sub­ merged, shows that she is not the hard, scheming, selfish female that sha might be* Her separation from her family is temporary, and her ultimate and consistent aim to better their position in life remains clear in her actions toward them* She provides for the education of the younger of the ten Chickerel children even to the extent of takinn; them and her crippled mother into her home at the risk of her ambitions for them being thwarted by discovery* Tnen she personally instructs them so that they will ultimately nave an accept- 50 able presence in society* She sees that her brothers, rlroady competent eountry oarpenters, h(\vt*. a ch'^nco to specl*^li?e, to study abroad, and to establish independent London trades* Fi­ nally, after her marriage to Lord Montclere, she induces her father to retire from his m*iny years of service as bacX r ^nd provides a comfortaole living for her parents* Etnelberti overcome:^ the -^ost difficult ron/'atlc hu^*- dle when sha severs her relationship w3th Julian Chrintophsr* Their m«rriago mi^ht have meant personal happiness, but it would not have helped Etiolbarta to accomplish her .^oal^^* A young musician, Chi'istophcr has talent, cut ao -iea been de­ feated to passivity booaur:; he ?ad his sister Faith, tie l-=i8t of an aristocratic line, hosvo V^-r^t tliaii- wealth '^nd sooinl status* 12thelberta, becau-ie 3bB soos potential in Cariatopher, is not hesitfint to pro:note n marri:»c:^ botwo^^n hin sn^ her sister ?iooi;ee wiien abrs disoovsrr hor siator's irifjij a ration with the younp. man* Kthclbert'i blondn hor ron-^ai^ic nnturc with her \i\t and talent to create a pop;il-r vol.me of nnonynvis po^^try. She then shows surprisin^j; in,^omiity by followinG U:. hjr succoas by modo3t:ly ndnituiug nataorc:iip r^:\r' oala hor tal- ant to appear In /ublio as a -to.y t:ni;-r of no>^ own ro- nan tic tnles* Hor antro- IriuO socio ::y 1^ ^insir-^d by Vv jo )d reception of her porfornnnccs. A.I30 six attrnots ttie ntt-ni- tion of a nobleman. Lord Iljntclor«, wiio ojo -o CJ: -^^t lo . ti^s to meat the now famous Xad-j -t ;i dimuy? por^y, vii.ic'i Ethelberta cii-^rmini!;ly but painfully fiuteuds at the Pouostle 51 eststs where sha must ba served by her own father* Her own ingenuity, calm control, and careful cal­ culations make her a chp.racter of the r^^.d not of the neart, but tliera is ample lllustrstlj>n tmt tempering of her romantic inclinations causes her great personal suffering* Her encounter with the lecherous nobleman, whose debaucha.y appears to be representative of the state of the aristocracy at its worst, gives her the means to complete the raising of her family by its proverbial bootstraps* 3ut the greatest Importance of her rise snd conquest is tiifi t she, like the ingenuous Fancy Day or i^lfri^'e Swancoiurt of form.r novels, serves as a catalyst tnat brings together two levels of society in such a way ttiat the best quailtlus in each is revitalized. By her will, she rebuilds Lord. Montclere's domain and reinstills the spirit of act:ive particinntion in the servants, as she has already done in her own fTilly, It is almost as though she symbolically delivers ^ passive serving cl«3ss and a balking arlstocrDcy out of an inert past into an active presont, rendy to shed tlie ir rospec:;ive weak­ nesses in or'-^^^r to fulfill a n:or© posi-ive enlightened social role* Porhopo the ir;plioation of the rhoto^-iol question -:.thelberta asks aftor she suiri/iarizes her rise 1:^ sooioty just before she sets her mi-id to enjose trie utili ca ri'iii p&;.h of marriage to Kontcle-re is t JO hcrnh: "VQS tli'. r^r-l ir.c .ine upward or down?'* (XY, 321)* The cuiu^ary itiel:, ..ov 7-.:, 52 vsll Indioatas that Ethelberta recognizes the great peraonal ohanga she foross upon herself in sapping her own selfish •xistenca of its romantic fulfillment:

In looking back upon her paat as ahe retired to rest, Sthelberta could almost doubt herself to be the idontioal woman with her who had entered on a romantic oareer a few short years ago* For that doubt ahe had good reason* She had begun as a poet of the Satanic school in a sweetened form; she was ending as a pseudo- utilitarian* Was there ever such a transmutation effected before by the action of a hard environment? It was not without a qualm of regret that she discerned how the last infirmity of a noble mind had at length nearly departed from her* She wondered if her early no tea had had the genuine ring in them, or whether a poet who could be thrust by realities to a stance beyond recognition as such as a true poet at all* Yet Sthelberta's gradient had been regular; emotional poetry, light verse, romance as an object, romance as a means, thoughts of marriage as an eld to her pursuits, a vow to marry for the good of her family; In other words, from soft and playful Romanticism to distorted Benthamism (XV, 320-321)*

Yet Hardy's general implication, that direct and honest use of the human will must force positive change in society, remains the same as in his earlier novels* Ethelberta, as the agent, is now more aware of the vital role she must play* Hence she is more involved than her more sheltered pred­ ecessors* Thus she, more than they, must act to an extreme to control more strictly her romantic tendencies, of wnich she is aware, to use them to the best social advantage. In doing so, she suffers a greater personal sacrifice, but r:Rins a greater social reward for those around her* At no time, however, does Ethelberta lose her 53 fsainity* Ear physical beauty, after all, is the initial attraction and final holding power for total victory over Montclera* Ha has heretofore enjoyed lust in the abstract by viewing sensual, illustrated magazines that feature beautiful women and In the flesh by maintaining a series of mistresses whom he establishes on his estate, but who are now ejected* Consistently her feminine charm and grace have helped her to dupe the reigning aristocrats, the more enlightened of whom, once the initial shock of her back­ ground and of her successful campaign wears off, can accept what has happened* Doncastle himself, when his butler Chickerel gasps out his relationship as father of Ethelberta and rushes to prevent her marriage to the laaoivious Montclere, reflects respect fcr Ethelberta: "It is a great credit to the man ^hickerel/ to have such a daughter, and I am not sure that we do not derive some luster of a humbler kind from his presence in the house" (XV, 377). The great race by members of all clssses—the noble lord's brother, Ethelberta's father, brother, and former lover—to prevent ths marriage is symbolic of their lack of insight into the total benefit of the match* All they can think of is the dls{T:race that society will see in the match* Montclere's brother thinks the nobleman has been duped by a woman of overweening self-ambition* Ethelberta»s fsnily and lover think she has been unscrupulosly captured by a man 5k of loose morals* Both assumptions are proved false* The marriaga takes place to the benefit of all who work to pre­ vent it* To show the benefit to aociety that the marriage promotes is Hardy's most consistent aim* In addition to rehabilitating her own family. Hardy demonstrates that Ethelberta causes the aristocracy, at least in her own domain, to accept its positive, active, and enlightened role to the benefit of all the others, who in turn labor more honestly in the "new" vineyard* He also shows that Julian Christopher, who, in the end, proposes marriage to Picotee, may become a vital person* For example, he tells Picotee that they can reject Ethelberta's offer to help should they ever think they need it: "We will endeavor not to trouble her" (XV, L|.59)* If the promise these words Indicate is followed by deadni then surely Picotee's last statement, also the last vtorde of the novel, will take on added meanirigj "Berta will be /glad7, I know" (XV, i4-59). That Hardy Intonds jithelber ta to represent a fi^^ure larger than life, a kind of holy a^ent fir 'lankind, is olear when one reads his description of ::tiielbo'ta'a ride on the back of an ass through the warring natural eler.eita of nhade and sunlight as she approaches a castle rain wharo on elite gathering of antiquarians, among 3nem her nolle lord, is to take place* The parallel of Christ's ride Into Jerus^l.3m and the similar ride with a "new JsrusslairJ* on ono zlde in the 55 light and the uncertainties of the shaded elements on ths other gives final symbolic meaning to Ethelberta's role when the shade that had alternated over her head with the sunlight breaks, and "sunlight spreads on both sides of her" {XV, 259)* Hence her mission receives symbolic sanction in a 8K)8t startling simile* In turn that sanction supports the overwhelming general impression In the novel that in performing a great social function at personal sacrifice, Ethelberta has willfully apportioned a corner of hope to all of humanity that she touches* Ethelberta, the most socially enlightened of Hardy's heroines, whose revolt against society's narrow strictures is for the betterment of mankind, forms a perfect contrast for Eustacia Vye, the most socially blinded of his heroines, whose revolt against society's dictates in hia next novel The Return of the Native is a personal campaign for hedonistic ends* Sustacia sees her independence totally in terms of her own goals* Her extreme, almost perverted obsession for things Impossible serves to emphasize her chaotic, romantic nature* To do justice to Hhistscia, however, one must admit that this "queen of the night,"^ as ths most striking Chapter in the novel dubs her, captures our sympathy nnd points succinctly to the unfulfilled and inposciblo dre-^ms

33ee RN, Chapter VII, p. 75 ^^* wnich vividly describes Sustacia Vye* 56 that frustrate many of our own prectloal alms* Her dreams support her desire for possessing material finery and living in axdlting places* She continuously Indulges in abstract idealizatlona of ths happlneas that these ephemeral gains must represent, once attained* And the attainment of them must come through her first aim:

To be loved to madnesa—such was her great desire* Love was to her ths one cordial which could drive away the eating loneliness of her days* And she seemed to long for the abstraction called passionate love more than for any particular lover (RN, 79).

She cennot adjust her dreams to the reality of life on the Heath, a condition which one comes to re?lize would be the same or worse anywhere else—even in Budmouth or pRrls, where she longs to be—unless she can temper the excessive emotions that hold her captive* Thus her peth is littered with false starts and perverted aims, and It must without redirection end in tragedy***^ Sustacia's traffic waste, hovever. Is brought about

^At the seme time Hardy is dev-lopin^r The Peturn of the Native, he records a revealing motivation for human tragedy in hie journal: "\ Plot, or Traysdy, should rise from the gradual closing in of a situation that comes of ordinary human passions, prejudices, and cmbitions, by reason of characters taking no trouble to ward off the disastrous eventc produced by the said passlor.s, prejudices, and ambitions" (Early Years* p. 157). This statement, surely meant to apply to hia current vork, '^.«^kes it clear that Eustacia's, or any other person's, true fulfillment as Hardy envisions it, will come only if she cpn t^k^ cteps to cootrol her own romantic nature* 57 also, much as ElTrida'a is in A Pair of Blue Eyes* by the poopla about her, who might aid her after she has beome so obsessed with her dresms that she cannot help herself by direct, logical correctives or compromises* These people, because of their own narrow prejudices or misplaced Ice-^la, which they blindly and selfishly follow without true under­ standing of the total human sltuatlcai, cannot see the ways in which they are furthering the tragic situation* Although this obtuse lack of coimaunication is aptly climaxed in the working out of her relationship with the returned native, Clya Yeobright, to whom she is married. It Is operative from the first of the novel* The primary offender in the first part of the novel is Dif^gory Venn, the reddleman, whose actions, thou^-h only indirectly connected with liustacia, are instrumental in her reachln^^^ the first stages of her own selfish goals, ills seemingly unattainable love for Thomasin Yeobrirht, who unknowinrtly shares Damon Wildeve as lover with Eustacia, Is like Gabriel Oak's love for Bathsheba in Far from the Maddiuj:;; Crowd* The women they love, at first, reject them; yet the two men react differently when they are rejected. Oak, who sees logic in Bathsheba's rejecting him while he is still makinr^ his place in the world, goes his way actively committed to makinr^ his fortune, wh^re*^?^ Venn becomes pag-^ive, gives up his profitable d*>iry farm, *»nd oonipletely loses als identity by taking up the reddle trade* He isolates nims'^lf 58 from husianlty and even takes on the aura of mysterious reserve, if not that of a '•Maphistophelian vioitant" (RN, ^9) tJiot all raddlaman are anipposed by superstition to have* Like Onk, who ia again thrown in Bathsheba's path, Venn is onco ar;nin put in the path of Thomasin on the day that her wed- la?; to Wilde ve Qoes awry because of a mi sunder stand In.'r about the lioanoe* Onoe he sees hrr nnd recognizes the precarious social position she places herself In by not marrying the man she has set out to marry, he helps her return to hfr home but becomes her self-appointed protector raid the abettor of her course* Venn un.'ortun&tely lacks Oak's insight; thus he fails to understand Thomasin's re Ition- ship with Wlldeve as the infatuation th-^t it is* Thus instead of diverting or ignoring hei misapplied eraotiona, he goes behind the scene and secretly manipulates her marrietiG in the name of convoatioanl e-peax-'^aoes, ev;ri U.-. >ayh he knows full well tar^t « ildeve's . istf^ol© ch'^mcter rai^ht throw hiir: back to Eustacia at any tlRic. Through riijuudei- stnnding, rat:K;r tin intent, all of Veni'i^ oneirXes are apcmt to ht^rm the wom-ia he lovc;s oad inadvertently to -^id lilustncia* Just at thf* timn whoa i.yjint'-ci?? w:nts Wllde^/o >ut of the way so that .3'K> ona imsiU>ro Clym RS a ,or- li^^jly suitor to fulfill hor dx s.naj: of cscapinp; Lhc? iie&ci, Veaii forces Wildove to marry Toor^icriin* When Clym returns to t ic hoatn, nuca o t lo ncc on thr-t af: ects Eustacia is CfniCered in h r Rtte .pt to ner^t him. 59 aftsrwarda to promote her affair with him, and finally to attain her goals by marriage to him* Clym is at first blinded by his own idealistic dream of bringing social enlightenment to the Heath dwellers by instilling in them a vague philosophical system that he will teach in a proposed school* He assumes he can imprirt to the natives automatic recognition of a need for social change even though they have not been throu^ hla own cathartic and corrective encounter with the shallow society of the outside world—namely as tm encountered it in Paris where he had thrived as a diamond merchant* Eustacia, Clym views as a helpmate who will use her education to Its best advantages by dedlcatinhj herself to his plans for the Heath people, from whom the reader knows she has consistently held herself aloof, all the v/hile harbor­ ing the single hope that the day vjill arrive when she might escape to a place like tnat which Clym now rejects. Knowing his dreams, but inwardly convinced th*^t he, in tine, can be swayed to her own, E'ustacip allows the courtship to culminate in a marrisge that actually hns the pi-oriise of a true nutual love at its base even though it is founded on fand.^m:ital false hopes on the pnrt of both pnrtles. Wlic; t nt I ir s t 1 r bIiri'' misundtr ^^ t^ad 1:i^; ta v-- a DQ deeper dinonslon when Clyi-'s 1 i^urf-t.iv e lliricni?. c-coneL' e liter^*^!, if ^ t-smporary, one, jy overuse; of his e^os, he ^ast discontinue his work for » t ;::<-. riu't hps btv.n 5. tv?i^.-rpv^j thwartirig of her plan to c scai>e the h. auh no\', tijou^r^ delay 60 in Clyats plana, idilch he will surely not abandon until tm hen triad his system, becomes a test of Eustacia's pstience while her husband regains the use of his eyes* That Clym raekss a better outward adjustment to the life that he now leads as ftirze cutter to occupy him while ho recuperaten oaly lowers Eustacia»s estimation of him as © .nnn*

To add to the corr>l^c"^tl >nf?, Clym, In mnrrylnp; Eustacia has alienat d his motiier, who Ironically hps the same goal a? Eustacia for Cl'-m, %• lose bc^t witJ: sociolov she considers a r^^nslnr, fancy* Althou-h ahe, likr. r?ur*:ncir;, tends to men sure auocess In life in n m?5tor'nl so'-isr, i^h^ is more conventional* Her soctnl standards disallow 9 wife for her son like BustRcis, whose «ff?«ir vjth ^'ildovo is w'r:.s^-'>r- ed about on the Heath and i^ho^a self-imnosod isolation from the other He^.th dwellers—still a superstitious, in^fuiuous lot—ha^ r-f^lned for her trie reputation of being a witch* Ac­ tually on« does not h^-vc to -rmdor \rv\t tj-g. Yr.ooi ;T':ht ?jp[>rov?s for her oon in marri^.^gf^* '')hc -^^k-?" It clr-^r ia h jr nd 'v.r ron ar.r^ ^iis ':'fo t;oo l?to. The situation haa n Ire ^ ^"^j beeo:--.'" do spuvo 10 . f.l.• e r.vn kr.? 1;i>i> trip across tho Heoth after the in^ii-^tcnt ur in/-'; 01 T\:r-^M-in, who in acofiptin^^ hei' pn s .ive rolo .-.3 V/ii^^ove^r wif^ ^r-•:, learned th^t for life to work out at all s"^ tisf veto, ilv -or 61 har ahe must eonproaiiss* Morrell, who insists that Mrs* Yaobright, when she tries to bring about reconciliation, takes **the 'closed door'5 all across the Heath with her," feels sha would hsve found "something* * *to misconstrue" as sn excuse for rejecting a healthy relationship with Sustaoia, even had the door been opened when she knocked*^ That she never had a chance to face Eustacia and Clym keeps us from knowing what the encounter would have been like* Eustacia mlatakenly thinka that Clym, who mutters 'Mother' (HH, 337) In his sleep, has heard his mother and will let her in* Thus she goes shead to let out the back door Wlldeve, who haa come fcr "a sight of ^ustacia/* . .no more" (RM, 338)* She hopes, in that way, to avoid an un­ timely meeting between him and Mrs. Yeobright* All parties are culpable in the miaunder standings that arise from the strained relationahip* Direct actions to mend the breach before the abortive effort to visit, at the time of the visit, or as an aftermath would have prevented the cruel tragedy that follows* Obviously nothing Is tried before the visit* And now, when Eustacia discovers Clym still sleeping and the door still closed, she does little to retrieve her mother-in- law, who is already out of sight when she opens the door*

5The fourth section of the novel significantly bears the headnote "The Closed Door*" %orroll, ?* 51. 62 When Clyxa awake a, a dream precipitated by the knock, decides him to see his mother immediately*

The principals now allow the situation to run its course, without in any way, trying to alter the miaunder- atandinga* Sustacia, who realizes that she should not delay in telling Clym of the visit, weakly attempts to dissuade him from going to his mother's home* When sha is unsuccessful, she remains silent except for a resigned "Let it be as you say then" (RH, 3^6)* Then Mrs. Yeobright Buffers an un­ timely and tragic death on the Heath as a combined result of exposure, exhaustion, and an adder's sting, but mainly as a result of a lack of will to live now that she is convinced that her son has allov;ed his wife to reject her* Clym, because he feels guilt for not having attempted to mend the breach with his moti.er before, listens witn a prejudiced ear as the child, Johnny Nunsuch, gives his version of rirs* Yeobright's visit* He construes as incriminating evidence without giving Eustacia a hearing, the child's report of hia mother's knocking on the cottage door, of ::.u3tacia»s peering out the window, and of another man's departing by the back door while Mrs. Yeobright is at admitted to the front. After Clym jumps to conclusions, accuses xuustncia of killing; his mother by her rash act, and rejects hei^ because slie refuses to disclose the naiae of Giie man wno has called, ^ustacia explains simply taat sno has not iatanGionaily shut oat .'LTZ. i^eobright* 63 Even under the cireumstances, thRre Is no doubt that Clym, who still loves Eustacia, desires to forgive her afto* he tempers hia first Impressions* Eustacia, once again at her grandfather's home, would be reconciled and "at tinif5S seemed anxious that something should happen to thwart her own intentions" (RK, i;16) to leave the Heath* Instead her decision to leave is made easier for her by i^ildeve, wno because of his own s^iltJ and ambivalent nature, volunteers to take her to Budmouth and thence to Paris snould she give him the signal* Thomasin agains serves as mediatrix by prodding Clym to write Eustacia to ask her to come back* But when Clym does write, instead of taking the letter himself or in some way assuring that it will reach Sustacia, he entrusts it to Timothy Fairway, who like the other Kenth natives lacks a sense of responsibility and delays his delivery until late evening* tiustacia's grandfather, seeing that the letter is in Clym's handwriting, decides to "let her have It at once" (PH, UlB), but he does not disturb her when no light shines through her key hole as he concludes that she Is sleeping* Thus circumstances, formed by ambivalent atte'npte to change the situaticxi, lead Eustacia to keeping; her midni^^t appointment with Wlldeve* uven now, however, she reluctantly makes her way In a raging storm, one ru3:ie*? forward only when she sees the light of Wlldeve »s coach lantern, a beacon tii*? t guides her to her headlong plunge to ''eath in thti Weir that stretches forth batwaen her and the coaeh* Just as Venn has been the misguided protector of Thomasin, now Wlldeve, who has assumed that role on behalf of Sustacia, expends his last effort to save her* The result is trjit he loses his own life* Left open to conjectui© is the question of whether Eustacia would have allowed him to ^o with her to a new life in Paris, a task he knows he would nave per­ formed if asked (RH, I4.39)*

Clym, after having been aroused by both Captain Vye and Thomasin, who tell him their stories of Eustacia»s and Wlldeve's departures, arrives in time to plunge into the Weir in an effort to save the pair* Although of the three only Clym lives, he knows that his delays and misguided love have done much to cause Wlldeve's death and Eustacia's tragic suicide; for he and the others are convinced that Eustacia's death ia a suicide, although the reader cannot be sure* Again Clym reaches a sense of self enlightenment about the human condition, but still he does not gain the social insight tt\£it allows him to comiaunicate his creams beyond himself. Instead he remains an object for pity among the natives because of his well-kriown tragic loss* They listen to hia pragmatic sormons to toeri out of respect, but with little uacei'otcinditig*

Hardy onoe a^ain leaves us with the tuought tnat the power of direct, honest action is more effective tnnn Pba::.'8Ct romantic idaals left in the form of hollow words or post­ ponement, delays, and passivity* Eustacia has used her 65 Indapandanoe salfishlyi she has revolted to the end* But those around ner, aspecially Clya, Venn, Wlldeve, and x*lrs* Yaobright, have performed deads just as self-centered with­ out regard to the consequences of their blindness to reality and muat ahara the blame for Eustacia's failure to achieve meaningful fulfillment as well as for the tragedy of the whola miaguided affair*^

After creating Ethelberta, waosc actions Hardy's contemporaries criticize as impossible. Hardy, perhaps be­ oomes once again aware of Meredith's earli-r critical admonishmsnt against too drastic a reading of social be­ havior* He admits that Ethelberta Is too much ahead of the times." After creating Eustacia and Clym, whose fate

7l have chosen to analyze the novel as Hardy originally Intended it to end» When, however, he bowed to public pressure and added a happy ending in which I'homasin and the self-reinstated dairy farmer Venn finally marry and presumably live happily ever after, he still tells us in a footnote (see HH, U73) that he Intended to have ^enn "disappear mysteriously from the heath* . .Thomasin remain­ ing a widow*" This is certainly a satisfactory ending for the unenlightened though well-meaning Venn, but less than satisfactory for Thomasin, who by circumstances, not true enlightenment, hits upon the most realistic, Irsvel-headod way of life* Actually such an ending does little to change Hardy's original intent except to make Vena's role in the tragedy at first blush a bit harder to interpret. ^:jJarly Life, p. 1U3* Hardy says regarding ethelberta: "The most impossible situation in it was fciiat of che hor jine sitting at table at a dinner-party of 'best people,' at which her father was present by the side board as butler. Yet a similar situation had been applauded in a play in recent years by Mr. Bernard Shaw, witnout any sense of improbability." 66 Hardy's oontsmporarias condemn as too darkened by aome uneontrollabla destiny to ba real, perhaps because they rend too much into the complaints of Eustacia about her lot^ and see only Eustacia's and Wlldeve's shadowy side of tbe Heath, not Thomasin's and Clym's brighter side. Hardy must have fexw c> ^en more that he is losing touch with his audience* Perhaps his sensitivity to contemporary comment explains the lighter over-a 11 tone of his subsequent works of the period, the heroines of which seem to present a Bioderate yet consistent variatl >n of his views concerning the role of women in society* Although these heroines deserve attention in regard to their development, no new statement about their fulfillment or their proper use of independence emerges until he depicts Viviettie in Two on a Tower (1982), the last novel of the period. For the most part these heroines serve to reinforce, but more subtly, Hardy's reading of human nature* Here, as earlier, he portrays those whose revolt is against nar ow conventions as the ones who will succeed. He still characterizes those

9 Eustacia's lament against her destiny are many in the novel* Following are three typical exanoles: "She could show a most reproachful look at times, but it was directed less against human beings taan agaiast certain creatures of her mind, the chief of these being Destiny. ..." (HN, 79); Yet, instead of blaming herself fear the issue she laic tne fault upon the shoulders of some Indistinct, colossal irince of the World, who had framed her situation and ruled her lot (RU, 353); and "I was capable of much? but I hpve been injured and sliffhted and crushed by things beyond my cjntroli 0 how hard It is of Heaven to devise such tortures for me, who hfive done no harm to Heaven at all (K.^, U22)l" 67 whose dreams are in conflict with realities as the ones who will fail*

Anne Garland, the heroine of The Trumpet-Major (1880), which is set in the time ^an all Englanders fear that NRpoleon will attack their coastline at any moment, has enough emo­ tional independence to use socially acceptable behavior as an excuse for her actions when she is hesitant to follow a course that she emotionally questions* Althofjgh she is by all standards m^de well aware of aocial know-how by her widow- mother, who preaches status and marrying well while she her­ self marries Miller Loveday even thrxf^ he Is "beneath her," Anne is never a sl^ve to convention* Certainly she has enough ballast to realize that status will not bring her happlneas If she marries her mother's choice for her, Pestus Derriman* He is by all measurov^? a laughable caricature of a country squire* He is openly recognized as covetous of his uncle's property and as too cowardly to t^ke his place with the yeomanry brigade should Nspoleon really attack. Yet he is also of such mean temperament that ne would cause narm by stealth If he should be crossed.

Anne is playing almost a strai^it role in the corripaay of a series of caricatured t^ pes. Her most obvious flaw is an outwardly fastidious lip-service to status and conventional behavior. In addition to Derrimsn, the ooW''3rdly squire. Hardy depicts the overly zealous John Lo^redr^y and his irre sponoible brother. Bob Loveday, as suitors for Anoe. The a^^rnost, s^^lf- 68 aacrificing Trumpet-Major, John, Miller Loveday's eldest son, loaea his heart to Anne, who try as she might can do no more than admire his fine qualities and charish his friend­ ship* Then the fickle yet loveable, roving-sailor son, 3ob Loveday, known to be mildly rash in judgment, returns aome to retire from seafaring life, to take his place at the mill, and to marry hia version of the perfect woman, Mathilda Johnson* Conacientioua John, after recognizing Mathilda as everybody!s girl in his division when it was stationed at Southhampton and fearing a scandal if her past ahould be discovered, immediately takes steps to remove ner from the house without at first explaining to Bob* Now thanks to John, Bob renews a love for Anne, who has steadfastly nourished a childhood crush on the none-too-stable Bob.

Anne's and Bob's faults—her priggishly scrupulous reminders to him of hor higher social status snd his overt acknowledgment of his lower ststus, do not Impede their developing a strong attachment for each otner* The relation­ ship, however, is tested several times. Once again Anne must tell Bob good-bye as he ^ces to sea with Captain Hardy on Hla Majesty's ship Victory, the man-of-war thPt carries Admiral Nelson* Bob tells his brother as he leaves that he is "giving up" {XI, 303) Anne, mainly because he has dis­ covered John's love for her. He *;oes on to gain distinction with Nelson at Trafalgar snd status throur^ pro.iotlon. ]ie also has another affair when he comes to port, fnue, who is 69 frustrated by Bob's outwardly fickle actions, although sha secretly nurses her love for him, is constantly pursued by her suitors at home* She must contend with persistent kind­ ness and attentiveness from John, hot pursuit from the displcable Festus Terrlx'^n, snd pninful ru-^ors of Bob's affair*. Yet ahe rejoices in news of Bob's promotion* Finally Bob realizes thB t he c"nrot give up Anne and writes his decision to John just SLS John's own suit seams to progress* The Trumpet-Mnjor once again renounces his claim to make way for his wayward brother, who returns to rebuild his waning position vlth An-se. At last the couple res ones the perspective and temperance that will end in n -^o.d mairiege. Anoe' s is an inward revolt against convention. She has consistently and honestly loved Bob, while she has outwardly paid lip service to a strict social code, Coaver^jely fob's Is an outward revolt against the social co-'e, v-fteh c -ue^ cv-ryo^.e to question his stability as he sows his wild oats, fxternsl appearances do not impede him, as tie iai;-rdly r/ullds such a strong feeling for Anne that he can ternpfa his outward frivolities. Once tneir differences &rv v-.solved, f f rmony rei.':ns for ciem, even though their diver^unt paths come dnnrerously clo.-e to n'^vtz^ meeting. To see the pursuit of an affair wich A:ns as fob's rlKht as much as John's, one r.ust i6/at.iib:r tn^t che riov^^l bears the whole title —Ihe lru;.:,.et-a^^.1or John LovQ^?.y, ^ ooldicr Ijn 70 ths War with Buonaparte and Robert Kls Brother, rirst M-^te in the Merchant Service; then it is easier to apply Hardy's consistent theme, wnich suggests that the way to happiness is to balance the romantic with the realistic. This pursuit brings success in love and war to the active realist 3ob, -ace ha has controlled his romantic temperament, and f^iilure, ^t least In love, for ths ambivalently passive, romantic idealist John, who chivalrously sacrifices Anne when he has nlmost won her and gallantly marines to martyrdom for his country on the fields of Spain* Having created in The Trjrtpet-Hajor his itost ch^rmin^ heroine since tbe li^-ht-hesrted "^ancy P^y in Under the Greenwood Tree and the lir^'tcst total atr.osphere throughout a novel. Hardy next turns to ^ different type of heroine in A Laodicean (1380)* Paala yo\i of the Vessex countryside in toe form of a r^ilroid w c: n^.3 msde nor fortune; the other, n.^r oastle ro-^ns, lares hor to recsrture th.^ past by restorl-.T it find its r-r;-.iai;: disposses^->:^d heirs to rfi^ir '^-.r-Ti-r splondor. I'ho atlo y' 71 the book, rasiiniaoent of the pli^^ht of the ancient inliab- itants of Laodicea in Aaia Minor, who dangle ti^cfusclves be­ tween a "hot and cold** (XVI, 17) attitude toward Christi­ anity, points up the IndccisivenGss tiict i:uLp6n(^s rnui? 's life between the realities of the pre sent i^nd the lure of tlie romanticiaed aristocratic past* Tt;© novel takei: Pcula past overcoialng her "precilaction d'artistt" (XVI, 12;,) for ancestry amon^ the axlctocrLcy, u pieoccupatiii she /droits to from the beglnniaj; of tlie iiovul* As is usuol in c iiai f"*^ novc;l, the people ei .Lnf tho heroine help test hor chrofctei r.r*c Lence helj. x^lci it* ^u this instsnoe Kerry piti. the rrtioaaxe of tlie c:.tieMe utilitarit«n-re&lists a^i^ainct the ©xtreriO roruanoiciriuL* On one side is the ...ru core utiliuraien, who would tot(>lly sacrifice roraantiolsm to narrow uvi tei iaiistic pio^riiiii* 'Jn the other is the v.aniug sa-istoar'^cy. ft i-j w.vrst, .i-t Is rep2 eseuueu by an illiwiiti'.Kitv; svix v^f t^\c 1 <>. Ut'^iC^. Ix .e,

William fere, who \V-JUJH'I iji-^p :. o uot^iiix^; i.^ pe. pi.ta;:;te tiie 11.je* At IwS moat typfcol, 1J IZJ i\^.^... ci>e:-J^C UJ uf:^ , <•• -.i l...[ie of the Do Jtaao^ f:.iTi..lj', who ...xltt Xi^ a oU;-tic .:.watc ^f pacsivit^y* ^j ost:-.u^i3hin^, tuo «.-:tj. o.:.*.3, ..M-CJ^ ir>::o.^ i t clt.ar tu^u i.-- piji v^i'sivvu ui" x.i.lt\ ^>i' r . •.^-aiulOo. o.: cja »..:. uiic idu.:.x b ioiice uhKt 3u->-^lv' h..ip :H^asv>n ^riaiiacx ...otl a iiito v^oruhwhllo eadi::. Tijut. ohe o.i^x^^ v;toxi::Mti :'n;i J^ L^U peoplt., who iariueaco Ptulf' a^ sfv; sira ^;.';li t^ ^ or J 1 ace, show n^a d j ' s buut to coiideriii 1 i<'idcii;.\i.i<'; uof> -ii .r/-^rdo>ie 72 of either extreme* The first influence, a utilitarian one, is that of the diasentiag preacher Woodwell, who has carried forward the last request of the young heroine's father, that she be baptized at the church he endoved. Woodwell is successful to the point of getting faula to the water's edge* But he has not considered pnula'n personal feelings at all* His is a pragmatic misaion which ae S6 s with serious conviction as necessary for Paula's salvation; for ne is a man sincere in, if blinded b;;, his beliefs* kV.iea .aula caiiaot complete the act of beptism in the stsr^i::!;; sce.-ie taat opens tne novel, he strongly r^iminds iier af i,-r lukewarm conviction in a sermon that comparers her ^ ctio s to the lukewarm Lsodiceons. Unfortunately he has foi gotten trie human factor in his over- zealousness, and as a result deepens ^'aula's skepticism, already existent thr/J :^h :f>- iJier^l education ^.er father has provided her. It is cuitr- jinintentl >ri?l on his pert that he helps drive her toward the romantic side of her nature. The other pole of iafljeace, the lomantic one, conies mainly from the members of tne Do atency family. P-iula tnkes as ner friend and com-a:ni^n, Cr.firlotte De itnncy, wao rep­ resents alonr with her fatiier ^n^. brother. Captain James De Stancy, chn l?,:iti''.:^ GO :e'.ai'is )/ tai.^lr -'U'ic t J3rt; ^io xlr.u. Paula estaolisaes hersjlf and Caai lotte in tho livepole portion of the castle ?uid bccjitets ..iOia DOLC :UO^ J imiTiorse'* in n^r dr^ait to submerge herself in a te otancy neritac. 73 One must note that each De Stancy has in some way adopted the art of renunciation, which echoes the Hardy theme first encountered In Ambrose Graye's philosophy to renounce strong attachments after his bitter experience with a love affair in Desperate Remedies* Renunclati:a, a passive attitude toward life, which Harc^y alao show^ consistently as a char­ acteristic of the tVes^ex native, who variously expresses the words ^vVhatever is to be, will be," now comes to the front in the attitude of the decayltx^, «ristocraoy* Uhe elder De Stancy illustrates the attitude well* he has lon^^ ago renounced life and nas sat back in splendid poverty to a.vait his death* Her reaction to the De atmcy family demonstrates how dangerously close Paula chines to renouncing her active Spirit in favor of identifying too closely witn tne past* She considers, for example, tiarrying the brother, James De Stancy, whom her better judg:aeat force a her GO rejacc. James De Stancy's renunci^^tion of an active life, wnioi.: li'^s left him passive and sensitive, results from an affair by which ao has acquired an ill9giti::iat3 son, Willijm fure. De Stancy, a.id the family still iTiaintainod tho wealth tact allows aristocracy to indul^je in double sc-'ndards, mi,,;i:C t^a ve accepted his natural son as ais rssponsioiiity. Instead in his dirainlsaed state, he develops sn attitude of hoping fare will turn out well, but doia^, litule to furrier ais iiorfii or material developmsat. Pnula IJ ejpeclally susoepui.le t;o 71; De Stancy's advances after Dare, who auffers from none of the main-line renunciation, desperately attempts to use Faula to re-eatabllsh the line by promoting the larri^tge* Because he has no moral base, he thinks little of the means whereby he attains hia goal* For example, he slmost destroys the rep­ utation of George Soraet-set, the young architect, whom Paula has grown to love, so that Paula will be more likely to accept De Stancy's proposal*

Charlotte De Stancy, because she is so close LO Paula, is an obvious contrast to Paula's active personality* Charlotte secretly loves her family line, though she defensively makes light of her ancestry and does little to revitalize it. She also secretly loves 'George Somerset. Again she does nothing to promote her own cause even w'aen Paula rejects him. Harbor­ ing her secrets in the deepest recesses of ner he?^rt, never allowing them to see the li^ht of day, keeps her physically weak and spiritually sapped. Aftar her father's desbh and her brother's rejeotim by pRula, Charlotte totally renounces an active life by choosing to retire to the cloisters of an

Anglican nunnery. Paula is by no means passive when she discovers ta^it she has been taken in by Tare's deceptive tactics. -he seeks out Somerset on the Continent. 3he not only hopes to r.ake anends for her lapse but also hopes th?»t -omir set will reaew his suit to marry her. Naturally Somerset does not, ciES,-oint her. She thus commits her^^elf to tho present by -.erry'ng the 75 young architeot, whose affair with Faula has broadened his horisons, too* After their marriage Pauls and George return to an inn near the castle, which is partially restored* That night they see the castle in flames at the hands of the bastard remains of the De Stsncy line, the malevolent Dare. Paula, ironically and wryly laments to her new huabandj "I wish ray oaatle wasn't burnt; snd I wish ^ a were a De Stancyi" (XVI, l|.Bl)* But once a.ain Hardy has ended his novel with misleading last words If they are read out of context* As much as Paula might wish it in her weaker moments, she has rejected her dream even before the castle burns* Evan wnile ahe toys with the idea of manning a De Stfmcy, she accepts Somerset's plan to build aer home beside tho ruin in such a way that it will blend with the restored castle, JOW, how­ ever, the ruin will remain ivy-covere^ Bnr "beautiful in its docay," snd the house will be riioi e "eclectic in st. le" (XVI, h/1). But if i'o ila'a last words are mlsleadi ir-, tho co i- versation between her and SonerERt, which prece^^e tho-, leave little doubt whore i?iuls»s sentiment lies:

•», , .You Pauln, will be yourself n m In, '^nd reo;v i-, if you f.ave not nlre,j-dy, from the wnrp r.ivea joiir mind* * .by tho mediaeVf^iism of thRt pine©." "And bo a perfect r':'prGScntf) tive of » baP aodern spirit'?" she inquired; "represi^atin •, nei ta;;r tao sonaes and anderstaadlafr, nor the hesrii and lantdriM t i oa; out what a xiiilsiied writei calls »irici^^ina tive -eas^^a'?" "•yes; for since it is ratiier in ,, JM lino yau nny 76 a a well keep atraight on*** "Vary well, I'll keep atraight on; and we'll build a new house beside the ruin, and show the modern spirit for evermore* . . ."J-O (XVI, I4.8I)*

One la almost grateful ttmt Paula can be realistic enough to utter her last wish; otherwise she would have succeeded in stifling her romantic notions at great cost to an over­ balance of realism. Then the word "Imaginative" would have had to be removed from "reason" in Paula's conversation with Somerset*

Still exploring tt» problem connected with the romantic and realistic balance in human nature when it Is pitt-ad against social adjustment. Hardy in his last novel of the period. Two on a Tower (1892), presents a heroine who has already bowed to narrow demondg of conventional behavior by aiming for status instead of love in hei f li'st ^a^jrria-e* Viviette Constantine, by her "marriage of convenience" (XII, 201), has taken the step to gsin position taf?.t 1 Rula csnnot honestly take* .low at nearly thirty, she is l^ft v;lone, her

'^•^A journal entry c .:)nt .mi;oraj'y with itard^'*;^ writing ^ Laodician is sigaifleant here: "ftyle—Consider the -fordsvjortflan dictum (the more porfoctly the n^-:ar^.l 3oject is reproduced, the more truly poetic the pic tare j. i?nis reproduction is achieved by seein.v; into tao £io-^r;_t of ^ tnioA (33 rain, wind, for instance), ^nd is realism. In ^'^ot, thouK^h conf 3uadod witl^ iiiv.iati KI, waich is pursued by uhe same means* It Is, in short, reached by wn^-^ t 11. Arnold cells ' the ima rina t i ve r c ^: no a.' " /The l^t^t und rllriinr; Is mine./ Earjy Life, p. 191. 77 husband having left her almost two years before to pursue his hobbies by going on a safari to Africa* Before leaving, he has extracted from her the rash promise that she will not appear socially while he is gone* In her isolation. Lady Conatantine writhes and withers; for she needs activity* Hardy auggescs waat she could have satisfied her cravings if "a concert, bazaar, lecture, or Dorcas meeting [n^fj required patronage and aupport. . ." (XIII, 50). Instead, she discovers the handsome and fair youth, Switain 3t* Cleeve, who lives with his maternal grendmota^;r, an esG»te woman* St* Cleeve has been schooled beyond his station be­ cause of his father's background as a curate, nis parents now dead, iie has returned to establish himself on Eings-Hill Speer, a tower that is a landmark on the estate, there to pursue his ambition to become Royal Astronomer. Vivette is fascinated with the ambitious youth and begins to further his career by furnishing him with a lens for his telescope 9_nd finally an expensive equatorial* St* Cleeve is lost in the vastness of the universe and unconscious of the world at his fingertips* Viviette, her emotions already starved by her isol^.tion, indul._,es in what et first is a one-sided, vcll-secre ted affair with the young astronomer* As Viviette's Infatuation progresses, ot. Cleeve receives a blow by beiag beaten to the press with an astronomical discovery and is convinced trjat his friiaio to gain his reputation Is sealed. Just as he has be^un to rally 78 from despair beoauae of the appearance of a rarely seen comet, Viviatte receivea news that her husband has been dend for over a year* With the news, she also lenrns that he has frittered away the estate and left her Lady in name only* Shortly thereafter St. Cleeve overhears the estate hands discussing Viviette and him as a good match:

"I'd up and marry en, if I were shs; since her down­ fall has brought 'em quite na^r together, and made him as good as she is in rank, as he was afore in bone and breeding" (XII, 96).

Suddenly he is awakened to a romantic infatuation typical of a youth's first love;

The scales fell from Swithin St. Cleeve's eyes as he heard the words of his neighbours* How suddenly the truth dawned upon him; how it bewildered him, till he scjircely knew where he was; now he recalled the full force of what he had only half apprehended at earlier times ^Ints of Viviette's feelings for him/ (^11, 97).

For a time both are hopelessly lost in their dre in-llke love world* Viviette, however, is unable to remove the conditions of secrecy that ahe has insisted upon from their first meeting atop the tower to scan the heavens. ^ven thour^h she is older -and more experiancod an--'' knows tho feasors of rash acts snd secret pacts, Vlvietua agrees to 3t. Cicov-j's plan that they secretly many in hopes taat tho youth -^111 then bo able to concentr-ite on his ^ork. after the ^lorrio^e has ta^oa place, ';ivle;:':o io iriiS that her nucb-nd has died Inter caan ^ririr^'^Hy i-^-'Ortod, a 79 few weeks after tho secret marriage, and that they must narry again to make the matoh legal* At the sa^ie time she acci­ dentally learns what St. Cle ?ve has known even before the first marriage, that he must give up a leracy of six hundred pounds a year that a weelthy, pate nal uncle has left him so that he may pursue his studies if he does not rriarry before he is twenty-five* St. Cleave, having already dismissed the legacy as a possibility, su:;[;9st3 that they should marry openly* Viviette, already conscience stricken because she has deprived him of advencement in his careor and now too poor to help him, stands outwardly firm in rejectlnr his plan* Thus she magnanimously, yet painfully, lesves the way oprn for him to travel, to study the southern constellations, and to make his npme and fame* All the while she fears that, when he returns, still e youth, to marry her ss he vows he will do, he will react negatively to her loss of youthful beauty thst is bound to subside while he is abroad* She discovers, after he has finally accepted her views and has left to pursue hia studies, that she is evpactin^ his cnild. ilow f»Aced witn the shame of oearing a child that circumstances will call Ille­ gitimate, she finds her sacrifice a tareat to her reputation. She frantically tries to trace Sz. Cleeve, wno hes adher-ed to her condition tnat he leave no way for her to reacn him. Knowin'3 thst St. Cleeve cannot be f ;und and tn^t Viviette's reputation is ?t st-^ke, Viviette'a brotaer now promotes a hfisty, but deceptively motivated, matoh between 80 Viviatte and the Bishop of Winchester, whose suit he has all the while been promoting* The defeated Viviette passively assents to the strategy*

Viviette, when the Bishop dies shortly after the marriage, returns with her young son to Welland House where she still has a life holding* St. Cleeve, now nearing twenty- five, his work at the Cape completed and ready to compile, also returns to the estate* Already having heard from hia grandmother of Viviette's marriage, then from Viviette herself of the circumstances and finally of the Bishop's death, he returns determined to keep his vow to marry her* But his first glimpse of Viviette, as she stands in front of him atop the tower where they have met so often before, tells hiTi that sha la no lonf^er the vlaicjn of his idealized, youthful love* Besides he has just seen Tabitha Lark, the fully-blossomed young estate woman, who has gone ahead to establish herself In a London music career and to acquire the polish that her new status affords her* She now presents an apt contrast to Viviette, whose youthful hue has faded* Viviette, reeding his face, knows that what she in her dreams has longed for is no longer possible and that what she has feared is a reality:

^Swithin, you don't love me," she said simply. . . . **. . .you scarcely knew me for the same woman, did you?" .... "You look 3s if you did not. 3ut you mxizt not be surprised at me. I be Ion,': to an earll-r ^ener^tlon then you, remember?" Thus, in sheer bitterness of spirit did she Inflict wounds on herself by ox a v<;-ere ting the '-'it f 3r'3oce —the 81 years* But she spoke truly* Sympatnlse with her as hs might, and hs unquestionably did, he loved her no longer (XII, 3II-3I2)*

Her words send him away; for the scientiat in him causes him to take words literally* The "inexorably simple logic of such men which partakes of the cruelty of the natural laws that are their study" lasts only "half way down" the tower steps, however, T^en St. Cleeve realizes that "she oould not mean what she said" (XII, 312)• I^or the first time, as a whole man, not a dreamer or a scientist, he is In con­ trol of his actions and he returns to says "Vivieute, Viviette, * . *I came to marry you, and I willl" (Xil, 313)• But tha ahocked Viviette collapses in a fatal swoon; Swlthln's sacrifice cannot be completed! "Sudden joy after despair had touched an overstrained heart too smartly* Viviette was deed (XII, 31'^)»" Viviette is unfortunately unable to control aer emotions; yet she fears social criticism when, under tho influence of her emotions, she revolts* The more deeply she becomes involved with her emotioaol dreams, the more scrupulously she feels she must cover ner acts that she sees as contrary to socir.l acceptance. Jnder the circumstances her conscience is no longer guided by nsr direct, honest will to act decisively and positively. Suffering because of her undisciplined nature, Viviette is trapped alternately by her acquiescence to 82 narrow convention then by her over-indulgence in her emo­ tions* Her initial false step is her bow to convention in her first marriage to attain stitus. The resultia^ isol^ tlon from aooiety makes her emotions over-operative and l«»^ds her to involvement with ^t. Cleeve* Evan here, she acquiesces to convention in ord r to preserve status by insisting on a secret marriage, to be acknowledged when St. Cleeve stt^ialna fame* Then she impulsively sends St. Cleeve awny. The act itself is temparad with some judgment; but the met :od, which demands secrecy and vows, is typici^l of hor romaatic hyper- .MCtivity* Later, she miarrles tho unfortuaita Bishop in order to preserve her reputation and avon more deeply betrays tier conscience to aocial prassures. Hor final act, aotivated by emotion, causes h^r to revert to her isolated lli e near tiie tower where she awaits tlie ful^illmant of her deluded dreams to marry St. Cleeve. Her dreams ali^iost become reality, except thai; the shock of finally aeaing the way GO a suc­ cessful culmiuatiou of taem is too much for her emtion- ally charged existence to endure* T\4o on a lower a ain explores a'udy's conaistmt motif that passive acquiesconco to narrow oonveatijn ^.s well as to untamed emotions defeats -a irifivido^.l* s iadepender^t worth find active will* iiis neioino fo.ls a stroa.^o.^ senne of G^iilt* 3he knowingly vacillotas botvca two va .a,. ..aursos, one of Siilfish revolt and tne otaer or hypoo: i uio-.l a.)cinl 63 ambition* Heretofore that feeling of guilt has not been a major elem'snt in the make-up of tha Ingenuous young heroines, who have been guided more by ext^ji*nal social forces when thay stray from their willful honesty* Tfey hnve never used deep deception to betray their social conscience* Ouilt has not been particularly a part of the make-up of Ethelberta or ^lustacia in their revolts a^aiost soclecy, mainly because tha former operates successfully within the framework of healthy social goals and the latter lacks a social conscience at all* But now guilt becomea a larger factor with which Hardy's WesBex wonen must cope* especially do those suffer, who allow their emotions to carry them into conscious immoral deception. They knowingly trap themselves into more culpable acts by catering to their selfish emotion wnile they still try to play the pr':;carious game of maintaininf^ outward appearance oi coi*. wtlonal behavior. Henoe the stronger conscious desire to revolt a.gainst society thnt the heroines of the period possess robs them of their na'lvete* Such a development, in turn, brings on a faster rate of social maturity. Tn^it type of maturity .-^ives the heroines an understanding of how to conduct themselves according to the very conventions that deidy has been showing to be shallow ^n'^ contr-ry to forChri-ht human nstare. It does not give the young women strength of chflra.;ter at all. These young heroines are in much die same position as tl-e Heath natives, whom Clym Yeoorli^ht plans to jolt fi-on >'ieir 81+ passive axlstenoe by bringing social consciousness to them without taking them throu^^ the middle step of cathartic fulfillment, which will instill in them a conscious will to prooaad with honest directness* These young heroines have been made aware of the aelflah aspects—status, personal pleasurea, or material galna—thst poaition in socii cy will f^lve them, but they run the risk of not experiencing^ enou^^h of life to f^lsolpllne their emotions* Thus they may not achieve the dimension needed to monitor their social con- aeience* The weeker of those who revolt, llk« Eustacia and Viviette, are In danger of falling to understand tnnt a balance ahould exist in humanlt^^ that does not allow purely aelflsh whims of emotion GO oper^^te at the expense of a reasonable adjustment to society. The stronp-er, like Ethelberta, Anne, end Paula, will reach the necessary balance* All of thm will be put to the test of siftinj: out and overcoming m^n-mnde strictures tnfnj run counter to direct, forthright human action* All of r>a.^m, to succeed, must tame their emotions* Chapter III

A Finer Dividing Line for Conventions: The Mayor of Caaterbridge and The Woodlanders

By the mid iSSC's Hardy has added definite perspective to his understanding of the pattern of r^sction to social con­ ventions that his Wessex women follow as they siilf t to a different cultural milieu* Hence in The Mayor of Casterbridge (1685) and The Woodlanders (If06),^ he backs avay from the heretofore singular developments and reactions in the earlier novels, that have empaasized either the challenges facing the ingenue aa ahe copes with attaining maturity or those facing the heroine in revolt against social conventions or in f«vor of her own selfish dreams* Thus, he galas distance from the intrusiona of civilization upon the isolated natives' more natural Inclination toward independent aonesty or passive acceptance of life as it comes* As a result he is able to evolve a panoramic series of brief insi;;hts into the re- actloris of his native women as they collide with a new way of life, first in Susan Henchard, lucetta LaSueur, and alizabeth-

^The novels of this period, i:he i'i>A},or of Caster or id ;^e (MC) and The iw/oodlanders (WL), will be refen ed to witnin the text of the ciiapter b^ the above symbols and the pa^e number from the Harper's Modern Clr. scics, the 1922 and 195o editions respectively* 85 86 Jans Nawson in The Mayor of Casterbridge and then in Ilarty South, Grace Melbury, Felice Chsrraond, and Suke Demaon in Tha Woodlenders.^

In categorizing the reactiotis. Hardy never loses eight of his theory, well-established in his characterizatijaa, that the trait to be nurttured bv the natives as they enter a dif­ ferent social level, bound to siaake the foundation of their character, is the simple and honest strsightfordwHrdness that has been present in each woman since Cytherea ':>raye in Desperate Remedies*^ One can therefore infer th^t H^rdy believes direct action to be a basic Ingrodluat of human natxire* With it his Wessex women mi:?ht corabat the well-aimed intrusions of a new way of life. In his stock taking. Hard/ once again IndivlduRlizes in his women ths conifers thht are bound to cause their greatest problems. Some revert to a passive, superstitious, dastiny-shrouded philosophy, which asserts that exerting, oae's will ji;. a.ot pi-evjat v/hr t is con­ trolled by fate* Others build idle sad rom^atic dxearus, that i^,lorify tha artificial tinsel of civllizatioa and do aDt mature a deeper, more realistic, E-^^nsc oi' the social snd per-

2 The panorar.lc tec^inique Hsrdy uso3 in zh^se novels is likened by Joseph Ward Beech to the movie technique in The Mayor of Cagterbridf.e and to the chronicle teclinioue in The Woodlanders, neither of which methods leaves room for deep characterization. Nonetheless r?nyone familiar with Horry's previous novels is immediately aware of the similarities of the characteri'.ations heretofore measured. 3c = The "fechnique of Thomas Hardy (Chicago, 1922), Part One, Chapt rs ^ive and

3see above, p. Ik ff* 87 sonal responsibilitiss* Others idealize their intellectual or emotional extremes, that often lead to aeeia- life not as it Is, but as an abstraccioa* Hardy still scos successful adjustnent to the change in V/essex for the wonen who can tring an enlijatened balance to the influencing factors witain the framework of tatlr new surroundings. LIQ depicts successful adj istment aa becoming more difiicult to achieve, however. Hence instead of em­ phasizing the heroines who are successful ia achieving a balanced existence, he blends ^heir successes with u.ie other women's failures* Aside from zaQ leveling ef-ect Hardy's ti aatment gives the heroines' roiea, the aauural sympathy, wnich one often feels for the person who fails, promotes as heroiaes either tne passive natives, who are clo>;est JO the soil and hoace a part of the decline of tne pastoral tradition, or th^-! ones vjho elicit sy-npathy because taoy oliadly ^nd unsuccessfully covet Dhe matorial tax i^_,t of life or succumb to the lures of r.a::ir ideals. .;on tiholoss, iicrdy continues to present his balanced a-roiaos as aae :>aes to ;sin di- r..ction and fulfillment. Taey adjust roaliatloali- ^o the demands of a bewilderiaj, cut coaquc^ra^ia, cocie^y ..v.' to their own iateraal frustr-ti as. ae 2li;o ti''^ s -'^" o:her women, if they would use t xeir inasue sease o_ s^raijnt- forwardnc^Sw*?, sev^^r-'.l co'-.aces to -Achieve triO sa.-i-j Urcotion and fulfliinent ta.7 c ais suco^s'.ful a^ao-acj ^.t-^aia. f.^a^ must, to Guocood, aowov^r, /aakc oaoicos vMlcta ta^-y ro". ..L3 u?:ist. 58 but which they cannot force themselves to make* The important aspect of the so tvjo novo Is is the evenness, which Hardy achieves in them by pre sent in'^ balnnced relationships between the past, the present, and the promise of the future* Evenness and assimilation are especlplly marked in his development of the women's roles* The one distortion that disrupts the balance of The Mayor of Casterbrid.n;e, 9imll«?r to that which gives Imbalance to tha structure In The Return of the Native, is the strong emotional pull of the hero, Michael Henchard, whose forceful, if misp;alded, energy dominates the atmosophere of ths novel much as Eustacia's mJ.S::iuided e.Totion doe s* Thero Is no doubt ta«^ t Henchard is the tr^^r^ic hero of the novel and that his catapoltlnn; to th?^ hoimts of achievement and then plunginr: to the senseless depths of matorl^^.l failure have the ^--re-^test effect on tho re^^or. ?at it Is difficult for the reader, unless he places Henchard in perspective with the othT? ch^rf^ctrs, to real-ze that "enchard finally undrrstPnds that his senseless pride has elierated him from those who would have helped him lesrn how to accept life* Kpny of the chnrncters in the novel perve to poirt the w^y, not to self-centerf!d, frrssrin-, nnd mis,:;ul'^ed R1-S, bnt to str«irhtforwnrd -.cts th-t f llcw for both a5v" '^od tp'^e. Henchard doe P. finally learn the wny, but he is still not able to swallovi his prido nnd actively follow thr >- h by co— munlcntln^: his understand in- effoct5-t;ly. On thf» •^ry of h r 89 wedding, Hsnohard approaches Elizabeth-Jane, but hs cannot explain why ha is so possessive of her that he has told ner real father *Jewson that she is dead* He cannot face hsr singular display of consternation, caused by the discovery of his lie to Sewson, and be X&svee witnout explaining any­ thing* Thus hia plight leaves a feu^liag not only of tragic waste, but also of hope taat such a rebufi will not have to be tha downfall of tne a3:

But most probably luck had little to do with it /Ferfrae^s success rmd Henchard's failure/* Chiractar is Pate, said Novalis, and Farfrae's character was just the reverse of Henchard's, who mi^ht not inaptly be described as Faust has be n described—aa a vehement gloomy belnj? who had been quitted the ways of vul;-:ar men without light to guide him on a better way (MC, 131),

Hardy here suga^ests that Henchard succeeds in gainia^^ material ends the Incorrect way and that now Parfrae, wich the same raw material and the same cast of characters, succeeds the correct way*^ The cast of characters, for the most part, limited to the three women of the novel, have a direct influ^^nce on Henchard's and 1 arfrae's life and in turn aave a chaaoe to develop their own directions in life* One, Susan Hencherd, Henchard's young peas-iat wife, is not far removed, like Henchard himself from chattel status by the very nature of her backgroun'^ as a child of the soil. When she first appears, she has succumbed to the typicnl role of passivity that leaves many of the peasant women in a vacuous limbo* She has withdrawn in spirit from her husb-^nd, who curses their early marrinv;e, that has alrs-^dy r^iven them tho responoibility of a child and a nomadic existon^e. She is a hindrance to his nmbitioaa, now alive to tlie need foi-

'^3ee Morrell, pp. 16-19, pp. 21-25 f^r the best detailed discusri.)n of Ht'nchird»e •-:^.d Farfrs:*.-: rol^. in novel. 91 material wealth and socl!^! status. Suenn, vho has become the convenient scapegoat for all of his fQ?lint;;s, is finally reduced to the loweat human denominator when Henchard, caught up In the spirit of the Weyden Priors Fair auction and his drunkenness, offers her like the animals for sale in aucticHi and Ironically has a tBker in the startli:!- climax of the dramatic opening chapter of the novel* That Susan accepts ths s^le ns final is attributed to her **simplicity" by aencn^rd as well as by hor hu.^l=r'ne buyer, the nomadic sailor, hichard iewson* Althoi^-h -l^o tv;o men view her "simplicity" basically in the same lij^it, :hey react to it differently* At first blench're seis at?r acceot- ance of the sale rightly as her naively belioviai< ^hr>t such a bargain Is v^.lid, cut also as a si-^n of Q.x^rorr.a provocntion brought about by his na^^^iag and bad habits:

He knew that she must have been somewhat excited to do thisj moreover, she must asve believed thn t thjre was some sort of binding force in the transaction* On this latter point he felt almost certain, kno-^lutj her freedom from levity of character, and the extreme simplicity of her intellect. There may, too, onvG been enough recklessness and resentment beneath her ordinary placi-^ity to '^.ake her stifle nny romsntnr; doubts* On a previous occasion when he had declared during a fuddle th^t ae v^uld diS:-ose of h^jr is he had done, she had replied that she would not hear him say tn-T t msny ti-.es •r.oro befor- it nappcaed (:iC, 17) ... •

Yot he xxst, tae S;^lf-02a 3:ij ed :iu:i '.::>'. .:-. is, iato.vr;;t ajr act a? dctri:\ = awal to hie 0-,n r i^^u*.: ui ja : 92 **3aize her, why didn't ahe know better than brin-^ me into diagraoel** he roared out* "She wasn't queer if I waa* 'Tia like Susan to show such idiotic sim­ plicity* Meek—that meekness has done me more harm than bitterest teniperl"(MC, 17)^

Henoe Henchard, knowing the hurt that must have provoked acceptance of the aale, feels guilt and respon­ sibility for it to the extent that ae looks for her* Retaining hia feeling of self-esteem, he ia unsuccessful because his pride will not allow him to tell enough of the oiroumstanoes to roake the search effective (MC, 19)* When he learns in a seaport city that a trio "answering somewhat his description has emigrated," he decides that he will "search no longer" (MC, 19) and makes his way to Casterbridge. Of course, Henchard feels compelled to accept Susan back when ahe and Elisabeth-Jane make themselves known to him eighteen years later, but again he devises the subterfuge of a man of pride who cannot admit past error. Thus Susan and he follow a conventional game of courtsnip and marriage as if it were for tne first time* It is easy ior him to use protection of Elizabeth-Jane's feelings as an excuse, but he is thinking of himself too: 'You have heard 1 am in a large way here" (aL, 8I4.)* Henchard nevGT feels mure than a superficial obligation to Susan to make up -i or tae past error, mere is no mairiage

in spirit even now. Newson views ausan's simplicity from the standpoint of her straightforward nature: 93 "She was a warm-hearted, home-spun woman* • *not what thay call shrewd or sharp* . * simple-minded enough to think that the sale was in a way blndinr^,* She was as guiltless of wrong-doing in that particular as a saint in the clouds"(MC, 336).

In a way he ia reflecting his own strai^rhtforward nature, which actually parallels Susan's* If ever there are two destined to be happily married, it is they; but that hap­ piness is shattered by the Intrusion of civilization when Susan learns from someone to whom she confides her history that riewson'8 "claim to her" is "a mockery"; from then she "pines" and feela "she must leave" (MC, 33?)• Susan's reaction to the revelation of the relationship finally brings about Newson's decision to pretend drowning. In that way he forces her to a decision to return to aencaerd* It Is not until her actions are lelnted to the situation, however, that one sees Susan in proper perspective* Yes, she is simple in exactly the way aencai^rd basically sees her and in the way News;)n tells us. Thus she is strei^^t- fo^-ward and trusting ia her unde/standing of zhe transaction as well as in her subsequent happy relationship with Newson. When ahe is awakened to the judgsient of society tant deaies legal sanction to her innocent act, sue c=ir. no lon-xr r-ni t^ke of the idyllic relationship with i^ewson, her nnt'iral hu??b^nd. She cannot et this point adjust ner private sense of t-i^ht r.nd wrong with tha social code that counters hsr n?,turnl :i:>rality. Susan never rs'.'lly loses her p«rsonnl Intf^rcrity; 91^ for, when Newson by his supposed drowning opens the way for her to return to Henchard, she does so, but tells Henchrrd th8t her return is for the sake of tllizabeth-Jane's future* Of course, in this act taere is deception as well es sac­ rifice similar to that in the act of Hewson's pretended drowning* She leads Hencnard to believe tart ilizabeth-Jane, to whom ahe ia giving a position by returnfif:, is truly his child* The deception would make little differonce ercspt for Henchnrd's obtuse and self-centered nature that, until the very end when he can come to f^lizabeth-Jane on the d'^y of her marriage, allows him no true social contact with other than that which ho considers his own and thus causes him, for a tirae, to reject Elizabeth-Jane after mQr;n^nimously acceotlng

her* Much la tor when Henca^.rd encounters tne returned i^ewson, who is searcning for ais d^ucuter, he, too, e:orclses deceit; but it is deceit without the sacrifice tnat has accompanied both that of Susan and ilewsoa. He tells Hewaon that i::ii2abeth-J'?ae, as well as Susan, is ds".d* iewson accepts the lie on trust, end -akes it even clearer taat he is tho true counterp^^rt of t::e "sl-plc" Susan. It is also clear ths s Hoacasrd, even tho >.i'h he lacks emotional maturity, sees his responsibility. He otters in r^tros-eot t.-x.-^ t Ue haa apoken the "mad lies like n cnild, in pure riockory of the consequences" (MC, 339). ^'-^ r-;all?es, as ne nas ovsr ond over again, how he should have acted. tiuch P re^lizptior, if not 95 backed by action, however, does not forgive his breaches with humanity or give him the emotional balance that he needs. There is no doubt that Susan and, by the same token, Newson have maintained a concern for others; but Hardy has demonstrated that such concern is not enou.h for their own fulfillment. Susan leaves the dominant impression of being unsuccessful in taking her place as a human being actively engaged In life. In a sense she reads herself out of the human race because of an excessive passivity thnt allows her to benefit othnrs but never herself. Thus Susnn dies midway through the novel, passively content with her sacrifice for the sake of her daur;hter just as Newson, in the end, c^n drift back to a nearby seaport snd, one supposes, passive oblivion once he has seen to Elizabeth-Jane»s v;elfare. Susan Hencherd, seen in the lirht of her reaction to society, appears personally shattered by passive acquiescence to the pressures conventional understandian; of her lot force upon her, especially as it centers in her narrio^o relation­ ship. These conventional stricv.ures, the reader has olready discovered, sinply do not opplj to her bad first riorrio-e to Honchnrd, which in the n^mc of humanity nust bo a'"jartc^ or dissolved. Nor do they apply to hor ^ood nr-tur^-l marr f--e to Newson or to her compromiGiaa r^nd convenieac ro- :s/r'-p;e to Henchard, which is a passive s-ocrlfice nfter roe :I s beyond aay personal fulfillment. The observe tiot ch^-t fua ffn'-^rd does aot firvc ti.e 96 "light to guide him to a better way" could also be applied to Susan* Even though she has maintained the moral point of view thst is essential to fulfillment, she «. s also allowed poor advice thai, coadoaec- anbenrln.?: nam-made scigmas to sway her* Thus -ae thr )v?s fti--=^y h^a- ;.-•>> .lonnl fulfillment. Therein lies aer personal tr^ ?;edy and nar^-^y's point in devel­ oping such a character as oujaa* Coavantlonal behavior patterns, which def^9t such a woman as ^^usan aenchard, should be flexible enour^h to fit ind^vi''u"l cares, funr^ peoole should be enlightened enough to see laws in that perspective* iuven so, Susan's pnsslveness, '^ p !rt ^r b-^r a^ttl'?e heritage, which saps her of her only hope for persoaal growth, nas aev r been tested by any standard excdpj aax- ow convention*. As a result, Susan can only maintain her sia-tulrtr dimf»nsion of natural conctirn for others vjit.iout to. irio^iat of fulfillia^o herself* If Susan is self less ia u.i lU s.ie can never ac ,ieve any personal fulfllLiaac, Luceciia ^aiueur, ^ho j^aar womoa who would bo Heac.Trc's wiio, is sal. i^a. .:.ie, like liencf/ird, is anxious to g^*in persorial rov^-.rds and is the victim of her unstable emotions. Yet it is even possible that Lucetta could havo given herself ^md >Paica-?rc happiness and lulilllmeat. Elisabeth-Jane, who is like aa altsr-ep^o lor LuceCoa, predicts her success, r^lizsbe; ta-Jar.o, wiaa sae at flr^i mist^ic-nly thinks th'^t Lucetta has ^n^^rrisd aenchard, not ^ "-rfrne ex- clai s:

". . .aovj vei y a :^aoai-foj.e JS ^ J xl .le -"i"' c^.-r, t :.\y motaor 97 badly once, it seems, in a momisat of intoricDtioa* And it ia true that he is atom sonotinos. But you will rule him entirely* I am sure, \^ith your be'^uty and wealth find accomplisaxt^nts* You are the woman he will adore, and we shall all t'ji oe bo haooy to et'i^r now!'' (HC, 2iv9).

Since both Henchard sn-' Lucetta n':'ve the some volnfle, impulsive drives, their i ^lati ns'rips may a^ve been v?hr t Slizabeth-J^ne predicted* Lucetta, as is obvious from "^rr unreasoning cllnactic decision to marry Farfrne, allowJ her emotions to overrule her j^,ood ju^.^n'^nt. She, like anyone who is overly emotional, y;3t ivho allows the world to intrude to monitor her reputation, suffers from the fear of exposure and a consequent fee liar of ,-;;uilt. She teeters between enotional, impulsive r^rvolt nnd deceptive counter-measures to cover her mlsdeods, the importaace of vaich ari' often enlar-^od in her own eyes because of her emotional nature* Lucetta lacks the courft^s to break the sequence of her life find to follow the iaaar dictaten of h'^r ov.'a con­ science, t'a*5t allznbQth-J«ne outw?r''ly erpress©!? waen ahe tells her that she must nnrry tae man who h'^s corpr^r.i^cd a^r or rem-^ln slar,le. Lucetta is aware of the fact t::^t "he n-'s had choices. ^ftar she ana iahcrited her sunt'? noaey -nd is able to ostablish herself RS n lady, she conl'^ -.'^ve le^ ; r-cr past benind in?;te?>d of cnooa'a:*; to ntteipt t^ n^ri y aoa--:-r^, with vhom she ha?? becoTi'^^ intir?t^ in Jer^^^y vhile ao.^^^ia • him b«ck to health. 3it, in r.^ r eyes, tae r-1-tV^nsilp, v-'cn ^s caused tht. rumors, taat hrr ovor-s?n'=:ltl/o n-^tr-c so s r.s a 98 permanent threat to her reputation, must be given the sanction of conventional behavior* Hence she must attempt to riarry Henchard, whose first wife is now dead* By the time she es­ tablishes herself In Casterbridge f-nd promises to marry Henchard, she has only two decent choices left, the ones to which Elisabeth-Jane hes succinctly pointed: she can marry Henchard after ahe has gone so fer as to brin,:; abut the match, which she, more than Hencaard, i9s acti aoly promoted over a period of many months, or she can remain single. It is no longer important that eerl'^r she could have acted positively and with coura TO that would have allowed her to defy con­ vention*

It is even made clear tat t Lucetca views the path she in^.pulsively chooses—to marry FarfrQe--a3 nothing more than a wish for day to day security. If she had been youn^^^r and h>id possessed a stronger hold on ner will, she would not have considered such a match:

Lucetta as a young girl would hardly nave looked at a tradesman. 3ut aei ups and down^^, copped by her in­ discretions with Henchard, had made her uncritical as to statl:>a. In her poverty she had met with reoulse from the society to which she had belonged, and sne had no ,^-ent zest for renewing nn attempt upon it now. Her heart longed for some ark into which it co Id fly and be at rest. Rough or smooth she did not care so long as it was warm (HC, 1^7).

She nurtures aer infatuation for F^rfrne. on pasrion-- partly ar >used because aencaard does nji. lmr.f'^Xfkteiy pwy co^ u to hor warn sf>c cot.es to o«,st-a bridge fis c... v^ala^j .A^z 99 Tsmpleman;

n wUl lovs him ^arfrae/l" ahe cried paaalonateiy; as for him ^enchard/—he's hot-tempered and stern, and it would be madness to bind myself to him know­ ing that* I won't be a slave to tne pj^st—I'll love where I choose I" (MC, 20U).

Her judgment at this point is n^ver alloved to function be­ cause of the heat of her open revolt:

Yet having decided to break away from Henchard one might have supposed her capable of ?ininr; hi, her tnan Farfrr-e* But Lucetta reasoned nothing: she feared hard words from people with whom she had earlier associated; she had no relativea left; and with native ligntness of neart took kindly to what fnte offered (HC,^20U)*

Lucetta is riding a collision course littered with secrets that grow out of proportion in importance oecause they lie in darkness* She must, therefore, perform desperate acta of deceit in carder to guard the secrets. Her death, ostensibly caused by tbe skimmlty ride. Is actuelly a result of ttj dc~ apalr over all her machinations being exposed, an event which ahe supposes will wreck her marrit^ige witn f'arfree. One sees her untimely death as unnecessary if she hp^d been able to face her problems at any one of several turning poinds in aer life* But such is not her "ff3te"--Qn^ iiar^^y has told us "Cbarf cter is Fate.*' If Lucetta is seli'ish md fusnn is selfless, ullzaboth- Jane retains enou^^h of her motaer pnd father's native honesty to be unselfish, while she gains enough of civilization's 100 regard for self-eateem to understand that self-fulfillnont is important too* Thus she has a genuine concern for others; yet she seoks self-lr.provement that leads to her own fuller development* Indeed, Hardy depicts alizabeth-Jane as finally achieving a balance which he grants his more successful her­ oines* It is natural that she and her counterpart, Donald Farfrae, whose characteristics are complementary to hers, finally enter Into a happy marriage once they have gained balanced maturity*

Fortunately Farfrae's erratic vacillation between the rational and the emotional in his nature is corrected by one major encounter* He la able to gain the b':lance that he needs in his affair with Lucetta LaSueur, whom he marries under the influence of youthful, romantic infntuatioa that is te.^porary, yet, for the time, operative in the extreme:

* * *the curious double strands of Parfrae's thread of life —the commercial nnd jhe ro^nant ic—were very distinct at times* Like the colours in a varlagated cord that contrasts would be seen intertwisted, yet not min'-lia^: (MC, 183)*

T*lnaliy, v^hen he does "minrTie*' the extroaes in his rv^ure, he takes adventa e of his position as widower to marry _liz3be.h- Jane. Also he has i-aiasd enouf:h cersoective to second bev plan to find Hench^'rd in order to show hir. :;iPt they undo'stond his overture toward social adjust-nont thnt his /i^it '^.t tne time of their weddlo'- Indicf^tes. On z\ie '.od^i'^,r (^-y, fJenc'i'^-d has attempted to explain himself to ICllzabeth-Jaat> rn^ to 101 deliver a wedding present which the servants latr^ find abandoned* The newlyweds now recognize his vi3it as a step toward unselfish fulfilLr.ent that he has heretofore never been able to make* i::ilzabeth-Jan6's one understandnble lapse in her consistent course of loyalty t) Henchard has been a result of her pique at his lie to -Tewson. At last she sees that lie, not as cold bloodedness, but as a des­ perate effort to cling to the one possession Henchard still has, her lo^/e* lonald agre^^s with her and helps her se?»rch the Heath for Iienobard so that they can let him know th??t they finally understand.

No one can doubt tnat the more compassionate stoicism of Sli2flbeth-Jane's charict r, not ever to b's jjdpfsd as total passivity, is her mainstay in adversity* vot only must she adjust to the supoosed death of her father snd the stranf:e rejection of Hendh^ird after he hfis wsrmly clai-ed her frs his real daughtctr; she must also stand by to set her intended lover Ferfrae marry Lucetta. Yet the advor? ty in tnese cases, as veil a s in the others, sf^ ^^ctlvcly turns to positive v-lue; in I'enchrrd's t-^j^ctl^n she finds tne will to improve her nind an^" social demeanor and in Farfrrc'p, the will to ^a''int*^ln her strelyhtfor^^erd soci'^1 awrenesf; of other people's needs when t!"a.iy aro und^r such piesrurer of stress a.^ Lucetts^'? f^nd H^^nch^r''^'c np-tures allov. fTll-r, had it not b*-; a for h^r ;^\ii'^lor h^nc'', the r-o^e y-r c -ivc -usan wojld t.e vei ii'^ve b^'tner'vd tha pr-ospcT ou.^ If^ncimrd once thc^y 102 fottnd hia« Later shs is the only one openly to stand by tha frlghtsnsd Laostta at the time of the skimmlty ride* She also remains loyal to tha slienated pillar of pride ilenchnd at tha tiflw of his lo%fest abb in Casterbridge* Elizabeth-Jane deaerves a place among the adjusted, balanced natures in whcna remains the hope of the vvessex woman for status with her fellow man* Although her atature is borne cut by her actions. It is also confirmed in the re- aotions to her of the sturdier men at the "Three Mariners Inn*** Hardy has already represented these men as the hope for revitalization in Casterbridge (MC, 356)* Henoe tlieir opiniona are iiuportant ones* They come to admire Elizabeth- Jane's staying power and to see her position of dignity as even higher than Farfrae's, who, except for his fiasco with Luoetta, is amply proved in good stead with the some group:

"* . . *'Tis she that's a stooping to he—that's my opinion* A widow man—whose first wife was no credit to him—what is it for a youag perusing woman that's her own mistress ond well liked? But as a neat patch- in-^ up of thiri^^i? I see much y:ood in it. . .well, he may do worse than riot to take her, if she's tendor- inclined" (MC, 356).

Slizabeth-Jaae's unselfishness stems from clearaoaded understandia^i; of life's dileri:ias, a trait th-^t is a-^tur a to her* The ap.aication of this trait at f. 11 odds, to P 11 people, even when ttiey are frowned upon by the society tiiat aace em­ braced tbom, represents her malnten-ace of a straightforv; ad sense of human conduct* She enjoys tiie bnlaace in ar?r nature 103 that gives her a positive sense of human concern and a will to gain Inner fulfillment as well* She is, in the novel, Hsrdyts "poor only heroine" (MC, 356), as he calla her, at the moment whan ha gives her atotua with an enlightened husband, Farfras, and with the only group In Caaterbridgs that oounts, the men at "Tha Three Mariners*** Muoh aa Susan, lAicetta, and Eliza bath-Jane mark Hardy*a surrEnation of the course thst Wessex women follow in attempting to reach a atar;e above chattel, so do the women of Ths Woodlanders* The plot of this novel, however, is not con­ fused by the presence of a volatile personality like Henchard* The women'a lives are inatead interrelated with the lives of Giles Winter* borne and Edred fitzpiers* i» inter borne is a pas­ sive native, %^o backs away from life as he feels he can ot eompete, a position th?^t Hardy condemns over and ovf^r* Winterborne'8 foil, F^itzplers, an aristocrat, h*^s likewise passively backed away from life by taking an Isolated medical praotice In Little Hintock, not because he cannot compete, but inatead because he hias idealized his intellectual pursuits. He is already a competent physlclnn, but he has not satlstled his Faustian desire to make all knowlod;ye his proviice. In addition to distorting his intellectunl aGUPirn, hla isolation nurtures in him a perverted sensuality, whicn libor: Ixy educates two notivos, Suke Damson and es ao t ha/c-, howeva', tlie will to t^-.tcaf tact trslt. laote'u:, aha ^^loiies in the ngriculturail feats of ^aa pact and iac'ividu;:li2.v:?a them in her worahip of 'fiatcrboia^c- aad aer ai-tlve cbi^ltfOw. Slie caiuiot, aa a it; suit, ^;oe ..ao difio^cacc bcti.coa the pact and thliy s^-^'U^ -.icli ui.v-iui pui'-.o^c uad ;.-4.'o aov; existing ia passivtj dec^»y aLdlar co avrs ^ac l.ln:,or?.orao»j^. fil nature ci'ies ou- : or a ci*d^_:o, but .*arty coa.oj hoi..i it; ahe can only aoui iiil: c. „oa ,-3uf ior i^4, lo/o i oi' wlajcrb.a'.x that 3h^, aovor Ot^<:^,iiy p. cjoiU-.^ t: hlM. The oaly iLiv: :l:^t £:i*: r...tj i^ ::o o^a w'c L. ^ o .-jorot conao-Lcacc lov uao.a; ^f'^jut uu'i ^^.m v,o, ca^o ."..:J': '."'nij, V-O-* late the integrity to w.iiof jiie nfUi-a't'o. . ot JUL^ it ^iL<. Llt'-;;ory Ve.in in Tii-:: i o t.,.ra oi zh's Ifffa o. aor .. a;, ^uu^'ui;^od, 105 though well meaning, acts do more harm than good* One such sot is hsr random soribbllng of doggerel on Giles' wall waen shs sees the loss of his Isass hold aa the and of his marital ohsnoss with Oraoe Melbury;

'0 Gilaa, you've lost your dwelling place. And therefore, Giles, you'll lose your Grace' (wL, 128)*

The sentiment, thou^ honestly expressed, is not essentially ths truth of the matter, which is more complex than Marty's sifi^le nature can understand or appreciate* Another* Is her magnetic hold on Grace Melbury-Fitzpiers aft^r Giles' tragic death, which would have drawn Grace to a senseless, though magnanimoua, passive sacrifice had she continued to limit her life to worshipping at Giles' grave* Marty Is impossible to hate and easy to love, just as ia Giles Winterborne, whom she remolas faithful to even after his death when she at last sees him as her own love;

*'Now, my owi, own love," she whispered, '*you are mine, and oaly mine; for she has forgot 'ee at last, al trough for her you dledi But I—whenever I get up I'll think of 'ee, nnd whenever I lie down I'll think oi 'ee ar;9in. Whenever I plant the young larches I'll think thnt none can plant as you planted; snd whenever 1 split a gQd, and whenever I torn the cider wring, I'll say none could do it like you* If ever I f ny^et your n^me let me forret home and heavenl . * .But no, no, ray love, I nevnr can forget 'ee; for you wac^ a -ood man, and did .:3ood tiia si" (WL,' Wii}.)*

The tragedy of Marty's life is i i^'.'t slie si.i ;s paeans to the past without any commitment to the future except to carry on 106 Giles* work Just as sha did her father's work before his death* Hera is s self Is sa, living death, eaay to underatand, but equally hard to appreciate beoause it is the reason for hsr unnecessary pain* Ths more one moves away from an idyllic existence, the more she oan understand and appreciate it as a haven of escape* Suoh is ths 08sa with Grace Melbury, who, when life becomes most oomplioated, escapes to that romantic past beyond which her father haa educated her ^nd her subsequent experiences are to lead hor* In reaching both baekwnrd and forward, Grace ultimately assirdlates her best points and is able to comi:it herself actively to life* She learns that social adjustment is not easy and that it challenges her at every turn* Her days at school have been filled with snobb ry which she has come to hate* Yet, like '^ny scliool drl who must return to a "parental circle which falls to gratify" (WL, 207), e^ fit first finds fault with the pastoral existence that iias been hers from Infancy* But Grace finds mich to challenge her growing awareness of life as she continues to mature in Little

Hintock* Her first challeaGQ Is to handle a ohildhood ro once with Giles, who might have be«n a i^/iod nartch if he ha^ been able to maint?^ln contact with life last d of escn-ing froju it into the woodland* Of co .rse the affrir is complicqtod b^, her father's ryuilt about an evmt in mo p-^tst. ^s n result he vacillates between promotiag tho nnrrinje to make amende for 107 his hsving Buirrisd Giles's father's first betrothed and his ovsrwsening prids snd ambition that causes him to see his aooomplished daughter, upon whom he has lavished ths benefits of an sduoaticm and enriching travel abroad, as the wife of a man of highsr social atatus than the humble Giles* Yet it is also oomplioated by Giles' own withdrawal from the situation bsoause of a growing feeling of inadequacy, which causes him to allow life to defeat him* It is clear that he could have prevented ths expiration of his leases and ti:^t he could have presented himself as more favorable in Grace's eyes; for shs has always valued him* If he coald have prop-aly pursued her as an active man, he could aave won her* Yet Grace finally, but reluctantly, turna elsewhere when her aubtle hints, such as her changing the key word of Marty's defeatist jln^-le from "lose" to "keep" (WL, 129), fall* Another early challenge is her reaction to the cessa­ tion of a relationship with Felice Ch^rrrond, the lady of the nearby manor* Felice, one dlscov rs, rather quickly, iias made her compromises with convention at great cost to hor con­ science* She has aimed hlp;h in a marriage of convenience and has be n left an Isolr^ted widow wita >ut the least ability to change her emotionally chary^ed, yet Innyuid nature* felloe is at first attracted to Grace's ctiains and acconplis led manner, but is at last repelled by the freshnes-s and iaaoceace of her beauty to wnich Kelice's own faded :^.nd worn bonity can­ not hold up* Whimsically she has talked of ^rnce as hor p^

108 traveling companion on a continental tour, but at last her Tanity forees her to retioenoe* She calla Grace to the amnor no more* The young girl and her family are simply left to wonder what offence on their part haa caused the slight* Hot until later, when Grace has more experience, doea ahe fully underatand Felice* Grace's greatest test Is to cope with a comcllcated relationship with the young Dr. Edred Fitzpiers* In his iso­ lation, he originates an ^^ffair although he can ot, in the beginning, see Grace as a part of his future:

One thing was clear—any acquaintance with hex could only, with a due regard to his future, be casual, at most in the nature of a mild flirtation; for he had high aims, snd they would some day le'^'d him into other spheres then this (^L, 1U^)»

Finally he finds that his attraction to her is more than he originelly is willing to allow, and ae, too, tests ahe fibers of his nature* Their marriage co-ne^^, alt loufjh it is entered into hesitantly. On fitzpiers' part, he thinks of the rinr- riage as degrading to his social position* He unconsciouoly fe^as i^s'iil^y ^^^^ *^^® material benefits of the la^^tch make it attractive* On Grace's part, she ^nov.'S there is a oossiole morel conflict* Mie is alr^^a^^y alert enourh to see flaws in Fitzpiers' ch'^rnoter, especiaiy in his as yet .asctaed philosophy of life nnd in his eq.-Uy unset;.lod e.-.oti ^as. Mie accideatolly witnesses nls encoaater vjit:i tne cot n e 3ii 1, Suke Dr-nsoa, snd rl-htly sus. ects the Rif«ir ^s f-ct, out sae 109 oan dismiss it when Fitzplsrs artfully explains the early morning rendssvous as merely a patient's calling to ha e a tooth extracted* Oraoe sees in Fltspiers, despite his weaknesses, a basis for a healthy relationshipt

His material standing of itself, either pres-nt or future, had little in it to feed her ambition, but the posal- bilities of a refined and cultivr>ted inner life, of subtla psychological intercoirae, had their charm* It was this rather than any vulgar idea of marrying well which caused her to float with the current (WL, 196)* . . .

Her insight into Fitzpiers' character nnd the pressures of her father, who envisions gaining f?*raily status because of the match, which iadeod Fitzpiers has In an almost worn-out aris­ tocratic line, are enhanced by finte^borne's passive attitude about his rala tloashlps with Grace. Thus she o-n subm -r^e her misgivin_;s and mer y Fitzpiers. As one would expect, Grace and ritzplers have trouble adjusting to the marri'?ge. Fitzpiers writhes under the un­ couth behavior of his wlfe*s f'^mily in whose iiome he can accept shelter, but whose customs he canaot tolerate. The young couple's trouble compounds mw.n Fitzpiers, still not emotionally matured, is r^ttrncLod to ielice, whom i\e views not only as a missed opporUuaity for imtori-iX uif aocinl advantap,e but also as •> g*»ost from ais pact i-.at stirs lo- msntic nostalgia* 3ae proves to bo a ^ oua.y :';irl vn^jn no mot on a tour of t.^ie Gontiiicat in his youth and wf JI he ieols he 110 night have lovsd if hsr parents had not whisked her from him bsf ore hs oan even find out her name* Ironically, just a a Melbury has pushed (hrace, it turns oat that Felice's socially aaibitious parents have been interested in priming her to climb hi^ar socially* But Grace is different from Felice because she can gain more than emotional satisfaction from her relationship with Fltspiers* Grace finally understands when Fitzpiers falls from his horse and Is rumored to be seriously Injured* Ths incident brings both Suke and Felice to Grace in order that they might find out about Fitzpiers. Grace, In observ­ ing their reactions, realizes that Suke's and Felice's emo­ tionally based love causes pain more deadening to their lives than to her reputation* As "wives all" (WL, 313)» sbe and the two distraught females enter Fitzpiers' empty bedroom to await the supposed seriously wounded man, who does not come* Actually his wounds have been more serious to nis pride in the form of a so .nd thi^asni.ig by Melbury, who nas become exasperated at his affair with *ellce. Both the husband f^nd the wife now h^ve a moment of escape from their unhappy situ^itlon. Becease of Fitzpiers' still ovorly active pride, he temporarily se ks refuyo wUh Felice, who achieves a moment of happiness, by cnrinr for him and later meeting him on the Continent woere the ait>lr in­ evitably dwindles when Fitzpiers se.s the sh^illownoB.- of it. w

111 Qrsost in his desertion, momsntarily sees release from their Intolarabls marital situstion when an incompetent lawyer tells hsr father that a new law will surely release her from her msrriags* Thus she once again aeeks refuge in a possible rsoonoilistlon with Winterborne* She Is not to have the ohanoe of renewing her relationship with Winterborne, how­ ever* She Isarna that Fitzpiers has not been "sufficiently oruel" (WL, 314,9) and that ahe must henceforward remain in her uncertain state as his wife* She can cling to the vestiges of the paat, but she cannot indulge in them fully*

Soon Grace is forced to en entirely different position when Fitzpiers returns to attempt a reconciliation* She pan- ios at tbe thought of their seeing each other and flees her own home in the middle of the night in order to avoid hiui* Her plan is to reach the home of one of her former school m9tes with the help of her only friend, Giles. 3he goes as far as Giles's shack* Giles, of course, agrees to help her. In order to preserve her reputation, he vrives har zhe use of his meager facilities for the ni:^ht while uhey wait out e storm. Preoocupled with her own troubles, Grace does not perceive the danger of Giles' lingering illness, ab)ut whica he says nothing* Nor does slie understand tha raeaiyjraesso f ais alternate shelter* She simply allows him to leave. The night's sojourn stretcfies into d'ys becaupo of the we^tn r* One is perplexed at the rnismanaf^e at at a ad i^ok of

communication between Grace and GXXes in tais seque.icj of 112 STsnts* 0ns is squally perplexed, however, ot the actions of Marty South, who later confesses to Grace that she has known all along of her stay at the shack. Marty acts with less than her usual aplomb* As a verse scribbler and letter writer (she has in this Istter capacity Informed Fitzpiers of Felice's artificial hair, which is, in fact, her own and which has been the immsdiate cause of their separation on the Continent), she haa heretofore reported any unusual situation In Little Hintock* Thus It Is surprising that she does not In some way let Melbury or Fitzpiers know of Grace's whereabouts* Whether Marty ever realizes it or not, she is inadvertently to blame for Giles' exposure as much as the "proper" Grace, who, when ahe finally understands Giles' condltioa, thinks little of sacrificing her reputation to acquire tho best doctor, her own husband, to tend tho now hopelessly ill, "gentle" man* Grace in her sacrifice to the past, sti^ s Bn in­ teresting renewal of love In the he?Jrt of her husb??ad. Ho, for one thing, admires her display of spirit when she allows him to assume the worst about hor innocent stay at the shock, a deception which he in retrospect cnnnot accept* The whole affair has helped him to rain once more nctlvo control of his emotions, which were h-odln,- to a dend end in ooato-iplfltlon and over-sensuBllty. Thus in seokia?^ to -sin 'frace back, he sets about to re-ente^r tho medicnl proctice ta^t ao ns.- noglect d and to renew his search for a practice of uis own. It is .0 113 Qraos^s oradit, however, as well as to his own, that they finally aohiavs another of Hardy's balanced relationships* The other two "wives" of Fitzpiers reveal two dif­ ferent aspects of Hardy'a attitude toward the role of women in Wessex* Felice, typical of an already eatablished strain that is reminiscent of Viviette and Lucetta, has tried to forge her own emotional kingdom at extreme cost to her morality* She has dallied in her rolationships; but, because she knows better, shs ia more culpable than her cottay;e-^lrl counterpart, Suke Damaon* Torn by her emotional Impulaea and the resulting fear of social censure, Felice is finally trapped in death at the hands of one of her former lovers; she has played the game, but not well*

Significantly, Suke Damson is trapped by hor new hua­ band, Timothy Tangs, whose eyes are open to her uncontrollable animial attraction for Fitzpiers* Tangs, however, does not know enough of the relationship to understand toDt he mi^^,ht now little fear litzpiars, whose sole aim is to vjin Grnce back* Yet Fitzpiers' appearance in Little Hintock to Tangs is explained only aa a renewed attmpt to see Suke, since Felice Is now dead ^nd there is no open effort on = itzplers' part to yo back to Grace* Sadly disillusiotied, tao youn.^ husband plains to remove his co.nely bride from iier t^nptation by emlgrotlng; but also he wisaes to svoa ^e his ova honor which leads him, on tho ni^ht before he is to le«ve, to set a literal trap—a deadly man-trap—t.u't is Intended to injure 114 Fitspisrs*

But ths trap, unknown to Tangs, no longer necessary as a means to protect his own, serves a muoh more valuable purpose when it snaps at Grace, who is on her way to one of many secret meetings with Fitzpiers* Fitzpiers, upon hearing a oommotion and running down the path to see Grace's garment in the trap, thinks that Grace has been injured and openly declares an unmasked concern for her that Grace can now see as genuine love* The scene, tne climax of Fitzpiers' and Grace's testing, leads them to leave Little uiatock together and to depend upon the renewed vigor of their active commit­ ment to life to sustain them* The characterization of Suke, however, gives stntus to another type of woman, the cottage girl, that Hardy now begins to characterize more fully* Her typo has heretofore been relegated to a position in the chorus* She has been among the hoydenish country maids snd mistresses who h«ve scoffed at the fancy ways of their betters whose r?iornls they have seen 03 no better, perhaps worse, th-^n their own—in siiort in the jX^^P that frequents the Three Flayers Inn on Hlxen Lane in Casterbridge ^nd is responsible for the akirirnlty ride in The^ Ma,or of Caatei bridge* )r sao ras been, like ^aay if.bin in Far from the Mpddin^: Crowd, an innocent victia of acts per­ petrated upon her by hsr betters* •Jow arises tho first of ?<. liae of nnuive n^ids wi'.o have prompted s nic critics to say .riMt wa-t is hurloti:, in 115 London la vistiad as innocence in Hardy's Wessex, a point of view true enough as far as it goes, but certainly not the full intention of Hardy's characterization here or I'^tor* For llks any other cottage girl who has not yet collided with eivilization, Suke, at first, has not been "educated" on any level and enters into the satisfaction of her natural urges with Fltspiers with little moral misgiving* But at last when she Is bonded or domesticated by taking a husband, h

Of the three "wives," only Gr.^ce learns tha art of balanced womenhocxS* Felice, beyond the pale of adjuntnt^nt, must die unfulfilled* Suke, Jjst barexy to tlie uorosaold of humanity's testiac, ^^'ist experionco rriore oi liff^. The -reotcst tragedy is that Marty, never h- viii,__ aad the will to eator the game at all, dies untested -nd oaf uli ili.ed, unless .jaaslvel^ doiat; "f^ood things" as rifles did, but aovor actively oeo.jng a part of the cn^ia^^ia,; ^Jasrax, is oaouyaf Had ani-dy aevei 116 allows thst it is* With these two novels Hardy closes his period of early exploration of the women's role in a changln£: Wessex* Hs works out within their framework his sunsmation of tbe various ways ths women ml ht react to the change* In chal­ lenging them to adjust to the change, he haa rataor conaist- ently brought success to the women who have maintained a steady, if constantly tested, will to remain positively in­ volved in finding their way* for those who nave, as yet, not reached taat stage, he still sees passivity, immature emotions, or a romantic tendency to idealize abstractions as the greatest problems yet to be overcome* Chspter IV

•His New Compounds: Tsss of th©^ D'Urbervilles* Jude the Qbsours. and'^he Well-Beloved

Hsrdy has already established that many of his Wessex natives are overwhelmed by the existent social patterna that allow littla room for flexible behavior* In both The Mayor of Casterbridge and The Woodlanders* he demonstrntes more strong­ ly than before that blind obedience to Impersonal laws, cus­ toms, and prejudices, such as hf^ve evolved In man-made institU" tlons, has taken much of humanity out of religion, politics, education, for that matter all institutions that have at their base social intercourse. In his last nQvels--Tesa of the D'Urbervilles (1892), Jude the Obscure (I096), and The Well- Beloved (1897)» Hardy does not depart from his previous stand that his native's basic strflyhtforwardness is a mainstoy when

iThe three novels of this Period—Tes£ ££ the D'Urbervilles (Teas), Judo the Obscure (Jude)* and T^he Well- Beloved (XIiI)—will be referred to by .ho above s ort titles or volume number and by pa^iinatlon in Tess and Jude of the Harper's Modern Classics, 1950 -^ d 1957 editions respectively and in Tiie Wo 11-Beloved, VOIUTJKS XIII of the Hart.)r's Anniver­ sary EdTlTon, 1920* Tm dates of publicatim yiven in the text are those of the volume forms of the novels inste'id of the serialization dates, as the novels—espocifily Teas a nd Jude— were extensively revised before th:?y appeaod in volume for.n. It is th^t form which is tO'%^y perpetuated. 3eo blbli )-rn 'hy for reference to Mary Ellen ^h^Sw's Ttio-u-^ s .a'r-^ from Soripl to Novel* 117 hs sncountsrs a differout luvel of .-;o^ .x iavol-enent, zle does, however, reveal that the str^-a-yir -yriinst tao a-ai.d^rds of a socirrty fchft coapi-ncoatly uad rioiictly adi.tiie^i ;o .^fsolete habits is more cjhfilleasia;^ for Lao aa^ive;^. In Li- ^--:i ;AOvels, it becomea ^.l^sarer t ; t If n ..^^rs^a is u? .r-^ca a positi^'a of poi 3oai^i oaf 3-;oi^a --orth, he rnust uut follow the labyrinthine paths tict ccue hi^ ^:--:';,-re cinubioaa, r:.:..- placed idoals, or sdfish c„'.'e::rr;:j to ovorpower iiis a-: L..r:-.l integrity. •^•- ho is -Alio :yd u-j do 30, av suJoid iioj be !udged by ririd and impe-^aonal me^.sui'os v'>!'u do n-t "'•'''? 1^.^> ucc )-.int the trav6;=5ty of ^^dheriay to oat-iodod ;3:>ci'il 3::'a:'''M*''3.

In uhe dovclopne^at of -JUO lunon ia •lis I^ist ao-*/.;l3, Hardy depicts their iavolvo.ioat ia n U':^H -i^acujx wu-i'-o •:ho;7 no ioaj^er find, as readily f^:^ A^^zy 3ou:h did, paaslvo ijifatL.)a in a ooinfortaoj.0 aidoaaay oor*:i;jr of »/e2 -o.*. I." ; 1^/ -^ '6 to survivo, tnoy ..nuat f'^os f.i3 O.^-M^O -.ji;^! .u. lo.:;!/-; .^ ;:i;jlT": to rv'5t-.5in zh^Xv iaaaco di'^ai:y. f-i;y :av} a;t all ^ir^a ': :;.-./:OOQ to muster 3uah o risolvm ;io UVJ -tit../ )•'•' tfi';.:; -jill ujt ^A-^vive with uh.^ir i'^td-r,:''•:y iiiZ'-^'z^ :3;0:ii.>.^ 'aiO/ a.^v^ lo^n; nod l.^ss of nn r^'^rva)o '^i^on naa:' wili oa 1-ft evoa ir>ro V'-u.:^t^ ' z.\^-^ j; th.^ir offort3 to fiad aXzopa'^z'^ na.iot3* fho;; 'I-7, iastiod, alienate ioomselv^c f :• :>.^: aum^aai:;/ '^Ito,,,^ c.^-a.' or '^.i;'3p-> loso t .ea the tn-host nun-"-?a ^/;afA i.:; ia :)r"er .0 .:..:rv*;o :^t oil,

:ir,r'^y vj^riis out .rr'a_, of ...^iQ tiObt C'iliiiT; st to:;}'a:s of his aw.;tr.aitt; poJi:ioa lor ..ic :.^t.ivoi? ia rao "h-iTo.-r- izations of his wo-ra* He -vitinuec 'y> vh^w . J^^ r. [h .y hr/•: 119 fsrther to go to reach a human balance in their nature bs­ oause of s prevailing view that theirs is an unequal posi­ tion in sooisty to that of the male* He, nonethelesa, per­ sists in ohallsnging them to attain enlightened status* Now that all Wsssex is on the move, they have a better opportunity to take an equal place with their male counterparts* He still finds, however, that in their mobility there is a threat from standards of the past that make them, in their unakllled oottags-girl status, susceptible to physical misuse and osllous eonventlonal Jud^fnent* As they advance to the various stsges beyond the cottage girl, they are prone to be pulled at by the same Internal emotional imbal nee th t caunes all immature young women, not yet tempered by reason, to bend to their own bursts of impulse, untried idealism, or selfish whims* They are also tempted to settle for the superficial and artificial gloss of .heir new-found status instec5d of the more valualle aspects of beia;^, more emsncipatod. The first of Hardy's mfstei strokes of ca

^See full reference to the works b;, low la ttic biblior,- 120 iUustrste Hardy^s «any-sidsd oritlcal spectrum*^ Shs is the most ooi^lsx ooaipound that Hardy ever attempted to create* Stm faces suoh a concatenation of reversals and rallies that shs amply snoompassas all of the fin de siecle soundings

The aeven phases of the novel chart Tess's way in her uncertain course nnd at the same time point to the typical external pressures nnd resultant Internal reactions thnt hamper the pure native* At the beginning of phase one, simply entitled '•The Maiden" (Teas* p* 3 ff*). Hardy establishes th t Teaa possesses in pure form his essential ingredient, honest and simple straightforwardness* He also mokes it clear that ahe is the one who holds her family toi^ether* iier mother and father have already made uhelr escape from the min stream of humanity into elcholic oblivion in a nenr-by tavern* Joan I>urbeyfl0ld is trying to shut out a beaten-down, passive acceptance of life* John Durbeyfield is boostirig even greater delusions of grandeur thnt will not -^llow him to care grnphy, all of w lich make extensive use of les?. in :helr assessment of Hardy's moral and ert'^^ic ia^eao in his novols; Kettle, II, U9 ff.. 1951; Van ah^mt, p. 195 ff., 1953; Holloway, The Victorian ;^r:e, p. 285 ff., Iv53; Ore^^or nnd Nicholas, p. 13s ff., 19tJ2r"C0rpent-r, p. 12h f .» VJoh; md Morrell, pp. 52-53* PP* 65-66, pp. B.-93# PP. 106-10^", p... 15^^ 161, pp. 168-169, 1965. 3See Introduction, pp. 1-2. 121 for his fsfltily Iqr honsat labor* Thsir sxlstencs at ths bottom Isvel of sooisty in Hsrlott, mainly because of ^irbeyfield's Issinsss, hss reoently been rejuvenated, at least in their own unsdttoated snd unsophistieated syes, by dreams centered around his imagined arlstooratic lineage* These dreams imve been aroused by an amateur antiquarian wao reveals to ti::^ easily deluded IHu*beyfield that he is undoubtedly the last authentic member of the aristocratic d'Urbervills line* Such a position is s doubtful distinction, ons is assured, ta. t could be be­ stowed upon many cottage dwellers who are the declining re­ mains of other noble families* Tess scoffs at her father's pride In diminishing aneestry and takes stoio stock of her mother's equally un­ realistic ©nd resigned self-pity* She becomes, nonetheless, unconsciously addicted to her father's pride and her mother's fateful re sign© tion that will later cause in her surges of desperation and lapses of passive acceptance of her lot* Her ImmediaLC concern, however, is that her parents turn to her as a hope to establish contact with those waom they believe to be rich relatives at Trantridne, where one of the d'urberville country estates. The Chase, is located* Ironically the estate is in tae aaads of a pseudo- d'Urbervilie family, whose son has assumed the IB e to add arlstocr^'itic prestige to ais now-deceased father's nealy acquired wealth* Alec d«Jrbervllle, the only aciivo aor^.bor of the family, haa as-uied the airs of on nristocr-t ta t he 122 •upposas BBist go along with ths name even down to practicing ths doubls moral stsndsrd )mo\m to exist among the aristocracy irithout assuming any of ttm moral responslblity that; tradi­ tionally goes with being a member of a noble fRmily* In soliciting the aid of her "rich relations," Tesa senses the crass artifioiall^ of the situation, which Is innately repugnant to her finer Instincts even tho-gh she doss not yet know ths full histcary of Alec's usurpation of hsr fsBiily name* She has steadfastly refused to go to The Chase until ahe c^^siders herself responsible for destroying the family's chance for a livelihood* The fsirally horse. Prince, is killed in a collision with the mall coach when Tesa falls asleep and allows the warning lantern on her war^on to go out* Although she is performing a task thnt Is her drunken father's responsibility, she is so sensitive, proud, snd emotionally immature that she feels excessive respon­ sibility for the accident* Now she feels she must assume the unnatural social responsibility for her family that should still be in the hands of her parents, who are too ineffectual to arise to the crisis* After her father buries Prince, a ritual he expends more enerr^j on thnn any otat;r positive labor on bean If of the f orally, fess seas ao otht^r courae th-^a uo follow her pereats» dictates and visit hor supposed rel^^tives*

The contBot is easily n^de. Tess's nr.tur^^a beauty attracts Alec, who sees his "coz" as a cottaL^e r irl ^\nc*. like others of her kind fnir u,nme in the fine j^rt of seduction. 123 Hs hss slready entrapped, disillusioned, and hardened at least two Trantridgs lasses, now bearing the dubious titles Qussn of Spsdss and ^ueen of Diamonds and has set the deca­ dent moral tons of the whole Trantrldge peasantry* Now he is attraoted to another possible conquest, Tess* By the time Tess reluctantly takes her place as keeper of poultry for Alec's blind mother, she has established in Alec's leohsrous heart uncontrolled desires to possess her* She inadvertantly encourages his lust by making herself less available to his advances* Tess needs more than her innate integrity to avert tragedy* When she readier tiie climax of her Traatrldge aojourn on a fateful night, she is cau^^ht between two tiireats* On the one hand, she is threatened with physicpl h^^rm when she stirs the wrath of the hoydenish native girls, who have already compromised their virtue and see in Tess, whose purity is beyond tiielr comprehoasion becau e of their "educa­ tion" in the ways of the world that hss taken a more expedient course, a threat to their favored positl »n with ^^lec. On the other a-nd, she is at last tut in the patn of the passion of Alec, who aes been aw^itiag his cusnce to eatrnp the wiasone Tess* Ho now rescues her fron the -ai e- t of pu^ysic-l violence of the aroused Tranti id^^e mob oaly to do, in his seduction of her, such dama^je that it will follow less aie r^ st of h^r llfo. As the second phR;:e of aer life donoasti •» tos, fess is a "maiden no more" (Tesa, p* 93 ff •)» ^^^ sae still r.^s por- 121^ sonal integrity and will not tend to the custom of becoming Also^s aistrsss to bs treated aa he wlahea and, no doubt, later diacarded as hsr predsesssora are* She re turna to Marlott to have her child. Sorrow, who dies in Infancy and is given a "Christian" burial with Tess as priestess,as her fsther is too proud to call a raiaist r undei the circumstances, As long as she remai s at home, Tess faces the scorn and shame of the seduction and its results* Her neighbors, who oannot comprehend her pure nature any more than ths Trantrldge mob, sae the whole affair as her fault* Even her own mother has seen Alec's advances as Tess's chance to entrap him in marriage, an offer on his part thst uas been one of Joan Durbe>yfield's dreams for Tesa and the family, not one of his Intentions* The whole affair Increases in Tess, a sensitive and immature young rorl, her sense of guilt, thnt In her more en­ lightened moments she can iot accept, but that she, nonethe­ less, cannot overcome. One taing is clenr to Tess, she would not have accepted a proposal from Mec unless as a "con­ vulsive snntchiai^i at social salvation" (Tesa* p. 10?). i:von in her disgrace, she can in no way see him as a mf^te:

She never wholly carod for hi,-?, she did not '^t all care for him now. She h.nd dre?a"©d bin, winced bof ae iiiit, succuifibed to adroit advanta^^us he took oi i.ei hol-jlesa­ ne ss; then terfiporarilj bliaded by his ardont nna^iers, hod been stirred to coofused suriendor a-vaiile: and sud oaly despised and disliked iiim, aad a^d run aw^y. f^jat vos all* Hate him she did not quite; >)ut ao WPS dust ftnd aaaes to her, ond even for hor ai.e's snke she so^-rcely 125 Wished to marry him (Tsss* p* XOk).

It is almostt blasphemous for Tess's mother to tell her, •You ought to have been more oareful if you didn't mean to get him to make you his wlfel" (Teas, p. 10l|)* Tess is no doubt right to subdue her mother by making her face the error of sending her daughter unprepared to Ti»antrldge:

'•O mother, my mothorl" cried the agonized ^irl, turning pasrlonately upon her parent as if her poor heart would break* "How could I be expected to knowT I was a child when I left this house four months ago* Why didn't you tell m© there was danger in menfolk? Why didn't you warn me? Ladles know waat to fend iiands against, because they read novels that tell them of these tricks; but I never had a chance o' learning in that way, and you did not help me J" (Tess. p. 10l|)*

Actually, however, Joan already understands her daughter's nature well enough to know tiiat she will never promote an affair of her own free will* i/hat she has not undei stood is that Tess's straightforward nature will not allow her to promote the affair after she has been misused. Duly chos- tened, Joan can only find sol-ce in the tpical native philos­ ophy that demonstrates her ^acquiescence to fate: "Wnll, we must make the beat of it, I suppose. 'Tis a .u.-e, after all, and what do please Godi" (Teas* p. 104). Hers is n ,-ross nls- repre sent ration of the actual situ'tion taot aer urxpK; pared and misused daughter has seen more clersriy ac s socinl tiev.sty upon iier inexperience* But the wa^-es of the "sin" tell on tir^ still proud 126 tsss* She wslks only after dark, ahuna and is shunned by her friends, and nurturea a feeling of guilt in the name of abusing correct social behavior, even though she still in­ herently knows it ia not her own reaponaibillty* She doea, sftsr the child is born, "taste anew sweet independence" (Tsss* p* lll|.), by going to the fields to help with tha har­ vest* But she carries iier guilt with her in the form of her pride and stole bearing that "courts attention" and makes her neighbors say "Ah, she snakes herself unhappy" (Tess* p* 1114.)* If she had been able to read her true position in humanity — as Insignificant enough to be only a "passing thoufait" to her otherwise preoccupied neighbors (Teas* p* 115)» ahe mi^t have attained maturity early; but ahe is unable to gain that per­ spective* The most important straggle for Tesa and tiie one she does not yet have the under stand ia-^; to face is one iv'ithin herself; for as Hardy tells us "she was not an existence, an experience, a p© sslon, a structure of senssuims, to nnybody but herself" (Tess* p. 115). In reality Tess's tra^yody is that slw never fully makes that interaal adjustment. It rersains the cvuso of "her convoatio.ial misery" (less, p. 115)# w:;ioh u i<- aoxt tries to put behind her by startia;j e aow liie aa :- dairy­ maid at Talbotiiays* "The H^aiy" (Teas, p. 12', ff.), HS riacy labels tiie next phr;se of her life, is iadeed o. refrf-s.ia- escape for Tesa, but it is not * vicujr',. As reju/oiati ..: B'^ the new life away from those who kaov; aer pii't is, T^^ss do-.s 127 not mustsr enough fslth in hsrself to meet the one great ohallsngs that comes to her at Talbothays* A mutual love grows bstwsen her and Angel Clare that must be met with the full fores of the honesty in her nature* She oannot over­ come the fsar of what exposure will do to the relati nshlp, which she allows to grow* She even placates her conscience by making futile attempts to divert the inevitable by in­ sisting that she cannot marry without ever giving valid reasons and by forwarding the posltlou of the othr dairy maids—Isz, Marion, and Betty—as more deserving of wifehood for a future farn^r than she* As the crisis In their relationanip near a, her Infat­ uation, grown into deep blinding lovo—almost worship—impels Tess to go on* She sets the wedding date witnout giving Angel olear perspective about har that will force him to see har as a real person instead of the ideal f^oddess thnt he persists in making hor* Instead of heeding her inner directix^s, she becomes susceptible to idle stories about Innocent maids who have been left to siiarae by chair lovers mid needless alluslHis to superstitions th^t the nauives view with surface erause- ment, but underneath feel more sa.iously. Tess, toin asunder by superstition, custom, i^nd convention caa-.oo fiad strea,;tn to use aer will; she in aot yot redely, in spitn ol' hi pur it:^, to do bntble when she thinks she scsnds to lono .-• lo/e tnnt s^ie knovjs Is right* The consequences (Tess* p. 197 ff.) of her rali-y are 128 as devastating as Tsss knows they will be* She has helped to create an unreal atmoaphsre in the relationship, and she knows that Angel is unequal to facing reality unless she makes her background known* His Initial and abrupt rejection of the real Tess, when she finally tells him of her eacountar with Alec, is a natural result of his upbringing that Tess hss read correctly all along* But she has also read his steady vision of humanity that disallows hypocrisy and f'^lse stsndards and has iience caused his father to deprive bin of a Cambridge education because he has announced that he can­ not take the vows of the church, which lie sees has lost its humane vision. It is, therefore, unfortunate that Tess's token efforts to Inform him of her past before the marriage do not materialize I the letter she writes goes under the rug by his door and her promise to divulge secrets of hnr past fritters off into the confession that she Is a d'Urberville, a fact tiiat she knows can make a differonce, as Angel has been kaov... to scorn those who live on the p«st laurels of watered-down Bn6 extinct aristocracy* Angel, himself so modern in many v.ays, uas been 8ole to slouch off the hypocritical porti ma of coavontion such as cr?>vi-ig aft&r atatus, coveting matorif^l frills, or blindly following church dogma. Still, he, like his evn j?l!c«lly Inclined low-church pareats, possesses the saiine fastidious fear of anything tti' t appe^^rs iminoral; w

129 Xndssd, dsspits his own heterodoxy. Angel often felt thst hs waa nsarer to his father on ths human sids than was slther of his brstheren (Tess* p* 215)*

Ho doubt his adherence to a strict moral code would h-^ve carried over to his father's tendeaoy to forgive the sinner, but in Tess's case it would have taken more emotional maturity than Angel possesses to cope with an untimely con­ fession that comes after their marriae;e* The fact that Angel haa Just confessed a slmir r moral lapse, that took place earlier in London, does not soften the blow of Tess's rev­ elation abcwt her seduction* Angel, like Tess in her affair with Alec, has been able to see his affair in proper per­ spective, now that he has gained distance from it. It is distance which Angel requires from Tess's startling confession* Thus he is determined to leave hor* Unfortunately he is unable to give her enough courage to sustain her in the trials that 31e ahead in his vague stnte- ment that he will return for h^r* Tess, who iins also allowed her emotional Infrtuation to depersonalize Angel into an idol to be worshipped, must a^^rin ov^i ooxm the blow that his obtuse reading of her moral status h^^s den It aer* In ?. war, hov:ev r. Angel's reaction is an outaard maaisfostetioa of Giie iaterri'^l turmoil that Tess has alvjays possesoed ^^n^^ tn.nt luust be sv.'ept away before eitiior can :;:ain perspective* Tess has yet to subject li.Tself to caoth^. pnrlod of testln^^* She Involves herself In cru.'l Bnd mnsochistic 130 psnanoe in sn isdlated, god-forsaksn outpost in Wessex, Fintoomb«Ash* There, as a field hand and reed-drawer, Tsss doss indsed "psy" (Tsss* Phase Five, "The Woman Paya," p* 289 ff.) with great physical snguish,whils she now know­ ingly withstands other possible attacks on her person by making herself unattractive*

Suoh humbling as she submits to, however, does not olsar away Tess's deeply imbedded guilt* For instance, she lacks the couiage to visit her in-laws and seek aid as her husband has directed her to do should she ne^d it* She does maka the journey to their home, but when she hears Angel's prigp.lsh brothers hold fortii on some of their idle conven­ tional prattle that does not in any way reflect the elder Clares' humanity, sha turns back* Misguided as the prattle is,Tess recognises it aa "all sentiment, all baseless im­ pressibility" (Tess* p* 383)> but her false pride will not allow her to face a possible rebuffiaj fron the eld^r Clares* Turniac back, after sustainia.>^ another blow to her L; ;iiit, ahe is greatly susceptible to Alec's renewed advances v hen she happens upon him in the iacantT^<^^s Z^Xae of a "fantor"

preacher* Aloe, "the coavort" (Tess* fhase f>ix, "i'ae Convort," p* 389 ff*), has seen the error of iiis ways after lie repeals of his Insultia/r, beViovior toward f overoad Ci-ira, ^nr^el's father. Alec has gone one step fartu^r ti:'a tba lo -church vicar to become a "ranter" who appeals oaly to the enotlons of 131 his converts* Hs has actually sif^ly shif tsd his hyper- ssnsuali^ for hyper-ssalousnsss in religion* Hence, once Tsss appears again to tsrapt him, the one cottage girl whom hs never really mastered, he easily backslides to his former emotional indulgence* He oan, however, appeal to Tess's sensitivity by making her feel she is a temptress who causes his religious downfall* His argument Tess knows better than to accept, but shs must abaorb It into tiie collective guilt that has become a part of her emotional make up* Alec's reappearance, her family's pressing needs tiiat onoe af?;aln fall to her after her father's death, and Aa^el's interminabls absence and reticence while iie finds his bearings cause Tess to do that which she would never have done ; she returns to Aleo* She bravely wlthstaads Alec, howev r, to the e>ctent of flashing a symbolic gauntlet of challenge la to Alec's face when he tries to lure her away as his mist ess after tauntingly r riinding her that he would have made her his wife if she had not foolishly mari led:

One of her leath r gloves, w.iich she ad taken off to oat her skinner crke, ley in her lap, and witnout tiie sligiit- est wnrnia;: she passlonr-tely swun^ the c^ove by tiie Ksuntlot directly in ills face. It was he^vy r..n<^ thick as a warrior's, and it struck iiia flat on the ^outa. Fancy mirrht have regarded tiie act as the recrudesceuoe of a trick in which her armed progenitors were not unpracticed* Alec florcoly storte^^ up. . . .'Be-nnbor, my lady, I was your master oncei I will De y oixr n^^ster again* . * ." (Tess, pp. li.22-U23).

Tess desporPtely needs ^n eX now if she is to wltostrr^id the 132 prsasitrss brought upon her, but hs arrives too Ists* She has forfsitsd hsr dual* Shs hss given up her now passive physiosl being to AIAO and lost hsr will to contlnus to struggle a,^2Inst suoh odds.

Even so, Hsrdy allows for Tsss and Angel a form of fulfillment (Tess* p* l|.69 ff»)* The price they bi/e to pay, however, shows ^st he is now aware of the almost Insurmount- sbls barriers that his Wessex innocents must o. arcome in order to gain even a small measure of personal or social fulfill­ ment from life* He In no way sees as easily attainable for his cottage girls, who heve to achieve both intellectual and emotional balance, the a«me ease in gainluj^ It that, far instance, (^race Melbury has* He nonetheless grants them tiie right to attempt it* When Angel appeara at Ssndbourne where she is now automatically going through the motion of being Alec's mis­ tress, Tess sees thnt Alec's one flnsl nr;:ument thst Aajol would never return is Just another lie tlat social conditions have made it easy for her to believe* Hov? to'^t she is beyond exercising any reason, ahe kills flee only because she be­ lieves that such an act will wipe out any doubt An,n;*-1 ni,^;it have of her love for him* But An-el b^? i plrendy uuyde it cle.?r that he understaads tiie real Tess, and it is eMsy to ace tiir t if she had simply left with him. Alec would h^^ve had little reason to follow* Driven to the final desper.te ^^ct by hor overwrouji7ht emotions. Toss now finds a kind of r-co «ad fol- 133 lows hsr husband* But Angsl oan aot only as her temporary protsctcr and show hsr proof of his forgiveness that ths con­ summation of thsir ?narrla;^ oan jii e her* 3he still feels that shs has dsgradsd hsrself with Alec to such an extent thst it is right for society to punish her* Indeed society doss not disappoint her. She dies on ths gallows, mainly bsoauss 9kim offsrs little reason for aociety to Judge her any other way than guilty* In attaining her personal peace with kmmX, Tess lias unfortunately not gained the fulfillment thst on© woild have wisi»d for her* In tier distorted view of life, pressed upon hsr by external circumstance that encourages Instead of ohastens hsr immature weaknesses, she allows conventional Standards to Judge and execute iier without giving them all of tiie evidence* Tess canaot rally a7,ain aft^^ so many brave tries* She has been beaten to passivity end can only receive a sort of spiritual peace from Anfjel, the only one who really understands hsr wiiole story* Even he would be hard out to sxpliiin Tess's plight to obtuse humanity, tho igh he now knows it well. Angel takes Tess's jOixnz sister Lizo-r.u, whom Tess describes as having "all the best of me without tha bad of Rie" (Tess* p* 503), into co^r^o aftor Tess's death. Th\is he shows that he is still willing to see in th- t ooastar-t our^ty of Tess the moral fiber still existent in the Wossex nntive ta t has attracted him to his "ideal" Te'^s f. om the bet^in ilns. Hsrdy leaves open to specui^ti >n waeti r or n>t the relati )n- 13U ship grows on a personsl bssis, but hs does not leave sny doubt about Angsl's fulfillmsnt, which is evident in his last sots on bshslf of Tess* Ths huunane spirit that hovers over Tsss and Angel, oannot quite rellsvs them of tho pressures of a narrow read­ ing of traditional social behavior; thua they do not achieve total huslsn integration any more tiian do the hero and heroines of hia last mastsrpiscs, Jude ti>e Obscure* The same sr irit hovers over Jude and the two women who influence his life, Arabs lis Bonn and Sue Bridehead* They, howev&r, have a herder time keeping the spirit vital* In ills growth from a young, sensitive cottage lad, already out of contact with the Wessex countryside, Jude, like Tess, displays the pattern of rally, reversal, and passive acceptance* His par one a are dead, «uid his great-aunt, who cares for him, views the Fawley family as ill-fated to mismatches nnd failure. Her ,>hiloi3opay well fits a native atmosphere taat tlirives on self-pity and super­ stition, but it is soon clear taat Jude is out of tune with her and the society tliat she reprsscnts. Jude, a youag lad wiien he comas to his .5,roat-nunt, is iramedlQtvay set to work in the new community. In his first Job, scaring birds away from > armjr foutham's newly- 'i^mted field, he learns ta^t ta* re aro iaeqities. >'or eX8^ir>le, tha social systom of the Marygrem landowners will not allow its birds to fcost on a few of aie ^lent^.Tui seeds in uhoir i ields when tfioro is enough food for boi;h riai f\nd uird (Judo* p. 11)* 135 It is not long until hs Isarna that man has become iiardened to soospting thsss Insquitie a snd has carried them over in­ to his dealings with other human beings as well* Sach man, hs discoTsrs, osn eaaily bs alisnated from his fellows, sspsoially if hs attsmpts to go against social dictates* Juds*s early skirmish with man and the birds thus begins his education in the pain of aooial rejection for ideas that his innate sense of right can* ot allow. When he is roughly dis­ missed by the irate farmer because he allows tiw birds to feast, hs learna his fir at painful leason about humanity:

Juds leaped out of arm's r^ach, and walked along tiie trackway weeping—not from tiie pi in, though tiiat waa keen enough* • .but with the awful aense that he had wholly disgraced hlmaelf before he had i}een a year in the parish, and hence miglit be a burden to hia areat-aunt for life (Jude, pp. 12-13)•

Carrying his sensitivity iiito his adult life to mia,;rle with his idealistic ambitions that lif-ve cmr,ed him to w'sh to achieve in one lifetime whf t he later realizes will probnbly take several generations, Jude finds his lot almost impossible, He cannot "bear to hiurt aaythiat," (Jude* p. 13) or any >ae; hence he must take tha buffets of society without a n'^taral will to fij^ht bfick* Under such conditions, he is totally unprepared for the undorouijs society will dQ^)l him as he attempts to establish coacact with humanity* Jude's idepls hoap ui>on him misfortune. ''irabolla nnd Sue, tlie iiumijn bei^4:;s who iaflueacu rils life nost, lot fim down* CtiristiTiinster and the A.i lic.m Caurca, tho lastit iGi:j iS 136 In which hs aspires to fulfill his ambition to bs first a scholar snd then a minister, reject his brave, but awkward overtures* Hs can nsvsr bring harnK>ny to his own sensitlvs nature, so understanding of humanity, yet so incapable of taming itself* Hs is put upon by external forces that are too cold to react to his warmth; thus society loses imich* Yst hs does learn from all of his rebuffs; time he achieves a great personal victory,

Juds's victory is one of great cost* He is rejected by his matsrialistic wife Arabella, who iiad made her com­ promises with convention for the sake of getuiag on in a world tiiat siie has heen taught to accept as her own personal Jungle where she must make her way at all costs* lie Is also deserted by his spiritual soulmifite, Sue* She iias travelled some of the same Idealized patiis as Jude rnc- nas learned, even before him, many of thsi sane lessons about iiananity. She canaot, however, wltostnnd tae strain placed upon lior by fcier tendency to promote who t siie has learned with incon­ sistent i; pulse Bnd emotion* Sae iias, as a result, caused a society, not yet readily willing:" to accept her sanor prin­ ciples, to reject fill of her aoti:«s indiscrimi .Rtely. fue irony is tiiat Jude can separ? tc out uiie best in ArabeiiK, her passionate wf:rmth and honesty, ra.d in Sue, aer iiaicase ua .^r- standlng of humanity* Heace lie is aDie to coafiiit t .ote qualities in hi. own nature, af c.ui.or:, :iOv.eVb. , compreacad 137 thsir social ocH&promises t'mt Isavs them both human derelicts* In prsssnting how Arebelia and Sue aoquire the aids of their naturs that Isavss them incapable of fulfillment. Hardy ones again makes a significant comiricnt on tiie direction his Wesssx women taks as they approach fin de sfecle emancipation* His most tslllns discovery is that their independence i.=j not gained on the strength of hie original belief in native integ­ rity* In Arabella's case, it is gained tiirou>^ preying on tiia weaknesses of the convent! ;ns ti^at Hardy iias consistently con­ demned* In Sue's case, it is gained tiirough cateria.^ to har amotions in tbe nnxme of reGSon* It is no wonder tl.81 Jude Is Hardy's most devastating commont on iuiman conduct, ile has consistently worked out in hia wriiiia^,s tiie directioiis that will give womankind fulfillment and emanclpntloa* Yet he hns seen them turn to the vrry trrits t .st he has depicted r.s deadening to their natuie. Arabella, whom Hardy, wiien he first describes h»r, calls her a "complete and substantial foaf i^; aaimtil—no more, no less" (Jude, p* 1^2), is depicted in tiie oriciml state tiiat hs granted Suke Damson and Tess* Siie is the untiuj^ht daughter of a pig-breeder, but siio is open for instjuctio- in life Just like any other cottr ;c -irl. f.^r fix st eduoitioa nbout survivnl in tiie v;orld ra::5 been as n brraaid in nearby Aldbrlckiiam* aer experioaces hnve shown iicr tiir. lo iitior: of a hr^jd life, as V:G11 as the ^liutor oi r.:^ t>tr if. 1 j^..porfici- alitics. Slie lias ruturned to anrysicai witu an iacor., rous 138 oorabination of common sense, an artificial iialr piece, and a psnohant for sucking in her chseks to make false dinples* Hsr sojourn hss not, however, robbed her of her sense of morality* For instance, wiien she is ^s^tracted to Jude, she thinks only of s forthri;iit siege* Siie immediately sees him as good husband material, but the only way she sees to trap him is by "plain courting, and taking care iie don't go too farl" (Jude* p* 55)• Her first misfortune is that siie is innediatoly sduoated by her more enli|-htened country cousius on iiow to trap an innooent man like Jude, not by playing; safe, but by dsoeptive and indiscreet behnvior* They mske it quite clear, however, that tiiey should nevor attempt tiie same trick on a "sojer, or sailor, or c<»?im,rcial cent from the towns, or any of them th't be slippery with poor women!" (Judo, p. ^S)* Arabella, already derion?. trr^tin.:}; hor readiness to lenrn the expedient ways of civilization, does h^^r mentors one better by only pretending; pregnancy after iier seduction of Jde, who has appreciated Arabella's physical comeliness p.rid responded to her passion nnd returned it. He caariot, of courre, appro- cif^te her deception, thnt is reveled after sev rrl waolrc of marrinre* He f n r seen tho nprrln(-e as 9 mor^X duty, once she announces th?^t a calld is on the KH-. HOW .n^t it i:i too in.o, he can seo the white 11'at oi roFlitv tiv^t rojcclG Arno.air as a suitable mate* Jude's drcRias of beinr a sct.olf r at Ci.i ii';:aiastnr nre 139 St tills point, rsmotsi for Arabella expects Jude to furnish hsr with imsiediats material advantages and can never see tiis value of mental dsvslopment* Soon, however, she deserts her drsamsr husband, who cannot even kill a pig properly, and hunts for greener pastures in Australia* Arabella is a static pisos of humanity, even regressive in her moral potential, which dwindles with her "educ ttion," although she has started out as innooent and receptive of ideas as any other cotta;,e girl* After she emigrates with iier parents, a free a^ent, she leaves Jude to pursue his dreams* He makes his way to Ciiristminster wliore he is attracted, not to the iiallowed hnl^s of ths university, but to his cousin. Sue Bridehead* Sue has gone to ths extreme by rejectlni^ conveationnl beaf^vior. Her philosophy precludes Christianity, favors a conglomerate end distorted paganism, and promotes equal and platonic rel tion- ahips with the opposite sex that stiflos instead of balances the emotions and reason* Jude, who aee been attr.

Arsbslla Isarns to manipulate convention to serve her purpose without the least feeling of guilts She may be a des­ picable piece of humanity, but she has been tui^ned that way by Isarning the fine art of circumventing tiist part of life which it is most difficult to master, the mor* 1 part, in the name of getting on in tiie world* To add to her past maneuvera, ahe advantageously promotes a climate tiiat causes Sue to return to her original huaband Fhillotson, who has divorced her after allowing her to »;o with Jude* To do so she uses her supposed conversion to that same brand of Ciirlstlanity th«t Aleo d'Urberville teoiporarily fiado helpful, to convince both Phillotson and Sue taat tao^ are doinr: the mornlly ri^^tit thing to remarry* Actually her tactics are an act of expe­ diency on her part; for siie is no v. a widow and once again sees Jude as a meal ticket. Sue's unrealistic return to Phillotson renders Jude so passive to worldly care ttjiit iie cr.n easily be tricked into a marriage with Arabella, v:hose punisijuioat for the deed is iiaviag to nurse tiie now dyin,: Juce in ais 1^ st v«eks of life. Still selfi::aly iavolved in runkinrj iier va^^, tiie iiardened Arabelie spends Jude's der*ta dr,y pro .oi>ia£- an Plfnir with her next husband, a most deserving victim, tne ^uxk 11^1 doctor, Vilbsrt* Sus*s nature, contrary to Arabella's, has at first littls need for s physical outlet for her emotims* Siie has sstisfied hsr emotions in her intense intellectual pursuits that are forwarded in tiie name of reason, but are nor» tiie less highly charged with emotion* Contrary to being the purely rational being tiiat Sue talnks she Is, siie iias a need for physical relief and does attain her only period of happiness after she for'ces hurself to consummate iier affair with Jude, after Arabella's return* Arabella, tiie realist, performs her best service In tiie novel at this point; she makes Sue think that she c*in hold Jude only if she finally has - pi yaicsl as well as a mental relationahip wita him* It is only then that Sue has two and one-half years of relative happiness, siiaring mental association with Jude as well as carrylu; on the normal and enjoyable functions of childbearing and chlldcare. Sue, once more, allows conveatiopi^ 1 attitudes to intrude when tholr life Is disrupted* Jude is 111, and she is growing sensitive to wh^. t o hors think of uiieir reIr.ti un­ ship, even thou[;ii she h^s all alon^^ insistod taat tiie affair should not be made iBi^nX because of nor e.iotional fiAati -a that goia!- tiirou;h tiis form oi aarri ,o will dG:a:r:>y their love* She reinforces her r:^rgumeat wita her superstitious affinity to a belief in f.n ill-fated Fawley tr^aUtijn of mis- ma tchas. Sue has /rone so f'^r nho-.d of wh^t ^iir^y hn • oo: sist- 11^2 •ntly shown to bs neossssry human fulfillment tiiat one should bsvs littls troubls seeing that shs Is an extreme reading of dlstortsd resson* Shs would dsstroy all convention, instead of that part of it that h^^s become obsolete* She might, at one time, iisve ixad a olear understanding of wiiat part of tiis ninetssnth^century sthioal prooedure is hypocrisy and wiiat part is natural morality* Siie iias, however, allowed her over­ wrought nerves to push iier too far* They have been drawn tight by her fear of defying convention even though siio rustles at it full force* For example, she marrlf-s Phillotson only after she Isarns of Jude's marri^c-e to Arabella* Later shs performs ti:^ most damaging irapulsive act when she fanat- ioally espouses a brand of religion that demands more of her in self-sacrifice for her "sins" thpn ordinary humanity would ever have demanded* The rest of her life becomes a desperate ^^nd unreason­ ing attempt to absolve her soul of its guilt to Ood, whom Sue now believes to have sent a vlsitntlon of judf^itfut upon her for her unconventional relationsaip ^ich Jude in oiie form of Jude's and .irabelxa's child. Little Father Tlim. ^a« caaaot see th,*?t the child is alx^ady an abnonal eauit;) before he ev r oomea to live with taem* laus v;hon iie kills hur nnd Juds's children and then hinself "becnus . we nre too rioaay" (Jude, p. U05), she completely ci^en over to her emotions. She willfully subverts her ndv^ncod ide«a, return? to Phillotson, forces hers af to remarry him ^nd this ti-. to 1U3 «ible readia^j of convention that the reasonable aide of 3ue'v«3 nature tif^s allowed her to see so muoh earlier i

One tniag troubled him more tij^n any otaer; th'^t Sue nnd himself had ment-liy travelled in op osite directions sinoe the tj'f'^^edy; events whicn iiad entar^^^ed lils own views of life, laws, cuctorns, 'ond do^ms, had not Oj.e. eted in the same rma-er on flue's* iiiie was no loa er tfii? sai-ne as in the independent days, waen intellect pLjyed like lftnb--nt lightnia/* ov^ir coav^ntioas aad for^if-littles woicii he at t^i^t thiM rospoctad, ya>u;ii he did not now (Ju^v.^, pp* b.l5-'il6)*

iue, waose eir^otions h've ^awr^^-s bean aore oporf-Llvfu th^m ©lie tninks, fia?^lly s^iccur-^os to ?.i:if;t ^ide of zor iK-tuju* As © result she dostroys the r.otc:-)vlsl bolsnce tia-t c.^.i.'' h-.ve riven hor continued oeppl lass ^atu Jido* ^i^io, m can, do;s tiie groetor misdeed of destroyln^^ Judo'-J will to o on al- though hs has at last achieved direction tiiat iiaa come not fron ilia drsama and paasions but from tiis reality of ills sxpsrienoes with life* Sus*s smotlonal overindulgence causes the greatest tragady in the book; siie destroys Jude* Hardy doea not con- down Sue, however* Instead he cle/rly presents Sue's dilemms as brought about by tiie pressures of taose who narrowly inter­ pret tile moral code that has for centuries allowed inflexible marriage laws, as well as ot;her unbending attitudes, to per­ petuate incoii^>atlble, even deadening relatlonahlps* The final irony in tlie novel is thnt Arabella is the one who best under­ stands Sue's final position "She's never found peace since she left his ^ude^a/ arms, and never will again till she's a a he is nowi" (Jude* p. U9U)# Tiie two women in Jude's life, Arabella nnd Sue, h^ve smply demonstrated how convention can educate tiie Wessex innocents* Sue originjaiy reasons with mornl purpose and positive direction, but she Is pressured to such en eytont thst her frayed nerves and taut eraotionnl state defeat hor. Arabella manipulates life in terns of hor conception of expediency thst has shown her how to survive in the world witnout Instilling in iier any sense of mor^a r ooonslbillty* These, then, are imrdy's strongest coimn^nts on -lie direction thRt the Wessex women now tnke in assert in- their ladependrnoa. Sue, in hor underst.mdlng of a^umonity, la bofor© her tl.;:e (Jude, p* 3U5), but she also h'^s the sr ic problem of ti.; oCa r Ik5 Wssssx Momenp who must bring balance to their natures* Arsbslla is of her own time; she is the result of cottage- girl upbringing, but has beon badly instructed in the fine art of oompromiss* Siie has been given no moral bearing; thus sha oan use convention to her advanta^^e and suffer little guilt for imr indifference to ethical behavior* The only aaset her type of existence brings is that slie has har peace of mind bsoause siie is unconscious of morality* Hardy, who does not judge Arabella any more thnn he does any of his otiier Wessex women, ia, by her portrnyal. Judging the society that teaciies her its tricks nnd then permits her to functlcwi* If lie wishes to leave any impressions at all about her adjustment to life, by no means fulfillment, it is that many more woman will have to ne Arar/ollris to sur­ vive in the jungle world as it is at his viiting of Jude. And if he wishes to leave any 1 pression about Sue's p'^r- verted reversal. It is that women of iier- intellectual poteati.il must curb their emotions if thoj ulah their rep son to operate on behalf of humanity* Altaou-<;h Jude holds J- rdy's climactic comiemt oa tiie treads of developuient of independoace ia 'dr:i(^^*p > es ox women as they a^jproach tiie end of the century, oao is .antoful, if only for tae sj^^ke of b?anrico, th^'t he r-a/isod nad ,'ot.j.is ^.^ In volume form thn next yonr his .'luch IGS^ dory - ' " it'^sy The V/ell-Be loved. Tiio novel is bpsed on na e^rlior of fort that Is serialized tiv?o ^e-^rs before Judo Is ;aUjif -^fod. ^t is 1/^6 ths result. Hardy tells us, of earli r impressious that ho has rscordsd about plstonlo relationships of tiie Siielleyan typs* For our purposes, however, it is raore important be­ cause it also contains a fitting culmination of Hardy's viow that tiie supei'ficial elements of convention aiiould be re- adjuated, taat a person muiit maiatriin a balaace in his nature to acliieve fulfillment, and th^c he must use his realistic stralf^htforwardnoss to achieve it. Hei e -lardy svows little sympathy for hla hero, Jocelyn Pierston, wh-» has n ron^ntlc quirk whicix he interprets as his inobllity to remaia In love with one woman, but which ono of his noro realistic friends calls fickleness. Hons thole ss iie goes tiirough over sixt^- years of his life haunted by a salfting spirit Ihot he calls his well-beloved* The spirit, ho clsias, attacfes itself to a series of women Bnd cruises him to shift his affect! «i, in turn, to each of tiio new inc^^rnfitlons. Lrte in life, afuor a serious iilaes::, iier.:.tax discovers thnt iie hns sLcd his ror^^ntic ilj....slva6 ta^t a-^ve, ei.'ionij othor thin^^s, crvased him to atte:upt to nariy v^^acju in tiire e ge ner * 11 on s of one f c mi ly — tiio orli^la-.iX, ^. it; d ;\ u ;u t JS , and the ^r^nidcau^^t^r —all r.: nr^d A,vlce. -ie aov- dinoovor?: thot h& crai KtJ5VG 0 aarm, real rcl-tioas^iiiv wij:i oa- of -iis em iy nttnclirient s of the we 11-br loved, lime in Bc?isco::b, w..v> ia :;iie meHr-time bna saed hor extrmic views after nho 1- fans to face life reclis^:icf lly r.nd lior brought oatrol zo a dr^. c-t,ic" lly Independent nature*

L 11^7 Msrols hss Isarnsd, bsoause of straightforwardness that Hardy always grants his women if they allow It to operate, to ignore a narrow reading of social behavior that would iiavs insisted tiiat siie marry Pierston aft^r eloping with him and spending a few indiscreet days with him in London in her imrriature iiaste to defy her fatar* She is rational enough to back aw^y fru?n the affair, see It for what it is—an emotional fling, and go on to lead a full life tiiat leaves her a widow at sixty plus* At that time, siie once again encounters Pierston, nurses him back to health after a serious illness, and flnolly siieds the cosmetics biiat have artificially kept her youn^ looking, much as Pierston sheds his romantic Illusions about being young after sixty* Finally mature, Pierston enters into a leel rel tijnsoip with a womfjn not a spirit, find his Idea of purs tln-^ his chimeric well-beloved recedes permanently* Mnrcie, too, enters into the relationsaip, no loncor required to use artificirO props or compromisos to maintain it* A light piece, n>t by any nenns anrdy's masterjjiece, Tiie Well-iieloved, aonetuoless, aptly bria ;s to a close ais career as a novell^rt. Once ngnln he iterater> hii^ stron: est and most consistf^nt attitude thf^t ao person, ao mPtter uovj pressed he mf>y be by life nround him, sao .Id nlloa hln life to be overbalanced by emoti ns ^nc th-t he s ould by no nonns lose contact with real humnn vtil.-es by eso'^plnz into the omo- tional Impressions of fis dre^in world. Morrell n:;tly ^-ans up 1U8 the novel:

It seeks to siiow tiiat the beautiful appearances which glamorize our lives are devices of cowardice; and thic reality is life, and lifs is courage. . • .the two old people at tiie end of The Well-Beloved* Pierston and Maroia, face their ugliness and their Infirmities and otiier realities of life and time; and, for fierstpn aay- way, life is for tiie first time truly satisf:? ing*^

Thua Hardy's last novel to reach prlat, once agrin affirms his close tvouch with a consistent view about life that has become his guideline to human conduct and th«t has appropriate­ ly placed Marcia Benscomb alongside the other Wessex worsen, who have succeeded in using that guideline to their advantage.

^Morrell, p. 119. PART THIiEE

COHCLUSION

The preceding chapters have demonstrated that Hardy has a clear conception of the role that his Wessex women must play in a changing society. He grants them an opportunity to gain a form of independence that will erase an antiquated con­ ventional idea of his contemporaries thrt women are not so- olally co-equal to men* He also replaces that point of view with another—that truly to be co-equal with men, women must overcome a difference of degree only* This thesis, to whl :h iis consistently adheres, he establishes in his earliest pub­ lished novel Desperate Remedies. His semiaal idea, basic to the development of his Wessex women, is iaportant enou-h to be repeated here:

* . *for in spite of »i fashion which pervades che wiiole coraraunity of the prese it day—tiie fsbit of oxclrini.i ; th t woman Is not underdeveloped man, cut diverse, me fact re­ mains thPt, after all, women f*re liankind, and ch^t in many of the sentiments of life the difference of Sex is buz a difference of degree (XIV, 201).1

Hardy daaoastr'^tas thra. he undorstnnds th-a; c )nsuf'nt

Isee p* 22 ff* above for a discussi m oi this pt>int in context* 1U9 150 social pressures frustrate women* He records many exainples of internal adjuatments that they must make in order to cops with external aocial problems* Yat, iie consistently allows for development of Independence in women's make up th^t will bring them both individuality and well-integrFsted person­ alities* Thus tiisy are challenged to come rlive to their own worth as human beings who act from internal guidelines w^th fortiiright directness* They may also take advantage of tiieir newly acquired under staadin-^ of self-order and di-;aity to develop a sense of social responsibility that society hn9 heretofore granted primarily to men* Placing women on equal footing with men ;jives them extraordinary barriers to surpass, but Hardy granus his women tiie same natural strai^jhtforwnrdnass that lie believes all humans possess as their best asset to lie cultivate' if t ley are to succeed* He approaches their development, however, with an under standia^^^ of tiie proj;ressive difiiculties faciac them because, li3 knows th^^t society views th- noraol rol*^^ of women as more pa.^sivo then he is K'HIUI^ to nllow. lar-'y also hss r tendency to denoastr te as often the woK^a'r, defents Pt great odds as their sucoes^^s >»t even greater odds. In presenting bota succe<3s ^>n6 failure, he hopes, no do ibt, to give all women aubtle redirect loa; for it is ta^ s^a-^niiit- forword, active vjomen wiio succeed* Hard^-'s first aov-ls depict heroines of 90 i^if t sinaular diriension. They portmy hi? iiqa-es^^ion or .he rob- 151 lems oonfrenting young girls who are faced with the first frustrating attempts to grow from immature chlldron to re- sponsibls adults* Tiiese young heroines have alieady bejn given aocial awareness by ambitious parents, wno have seen to their education, hot to pionoto their equality but to furtrier their own ambitions for them* Tiie pare its are in­ terested mainly in tiielr marrying well* Social awareness, however, awakens in tiie youn_: women an uneasy fee Hag tlist aocial eonventiona often ^ against their nr tur^^l moral dlrsotness and honesty; hence tiiey find tiomsclvas frustrated* !7one the less they are pressured to conply with the narrow interprstiJtl >n of the won^n's role. Thus they acquiesce to pla2^ing tiie game of life b;^ tiie established rules oven though tiieir inherent understanding of life tells thorn tua :: the rules are wron4^> These first young women--Cytherea, T ancy, alfrlde, and Bathsheba—are variously presocd by socitl behrivior ^f -^erns. Bono of tho patierns tiiey cf.n reco^^nize as r-aaiabl' to their Inaer dictates. Others of then, however, tiicy realize, or at least innately sense, are contrnry to thoir a?^tural mortlidy. Thus as society tests tnem, it give^' tnen. moments of vi^i.a th^t cause them co see the behavior pattorns rr.ost ia koc lag w:th their nature 1 hone£:ty. The social pstterns also 'orce u.ajn l. er^. nil of the false st^nd?rds of beliavior ta^ t cluster PI ound the basic positive standards* Thus they pro-iote tnelr ctill i:n> ntae 152 smotlonal impulses to pursue selfish pleasure* Often, then, tiiese ingsnuss of Hardy's first works indulge in childish oaprioe or ths superficial rewards of life* The external cirouraatanoea, as a result, tisve a way of workin/; out their lives for them* Ultimately tiiey are prone to become accuies- oent to tiie system as it evolves wlt-iout gaininp; full under­ standing of the forces that mold them* If they succeed in adjusting, as Cytherea nnd fancy do, it is because externalities hf>ve guided th^m t'lr'oa^h temptations f^nd tedious Incidents without; Ivin- them many acars* If they fail, as Elfride does, it is n^t ao much trap;lc as pitiable th*'t those around her have been too obtuse to allow her to acquire any kind of fulfillment. Only Bathsheba, who graces the pages of finrdy«s earliest mast r- plece, re^^caes the full-textured status of wonenhood as riordy envisi Iz^tion of l-^thshebe, his r]>nl statement of the ef^rlv n ^ lad. After deoictin^ lir.thshebn, anrdy bca-iins to rcnUze th^t revolt ap^la^^t coavontlon-1 views, soma of vr.ich ^i^ths; obo 153 tries to oiroumvent, aay bs tiie next test of independence for ills heroines* Thus in his next novels he presents various im­ pressions tiiat strlks him concerning tiie successful and un­ successful attsmpts of the wcxnen to gain atatus without con­ forming entirely to tiie usual patterns of socle cy* Some of the heroines work raainly from the rational side of tiieir nature, namely Stiielberta, Anne, and Paula; tlie others tiirough the emotional side, naaely Eustacia and Viviette* The secret of success or failure in tiieir quests has to do with whether or not they can *'tame** their immature emotions, wilch at tiie outset of each novel the young heroines display in abundance* It is, however, personal mo\,ives based on emotion which make tiis initial step of their revolts possible. Jitneiberta, at first, wants social status for selfish reasons. Eustacia oonsistcL^tly seeks personal pleasure. Anne desires, at tirst, both status Bnd a match with her secret love, wiio does not have status bj conveatioaal me8sui*eneats although he gains it. Paula Initially wants to be an aristocrat by traditional measures to add to her status among the nouvoau riche. Her wealth gives her the means to purcanse a r^osition 11 she can tolerato Identity with a stultifyin/i past, but she finally perceives she c&a.:ot. Viviette a. ver overcoinos aer desire to have status and the love of a youn[-er man ti^t her enotions, fed by isolation, promote even thou^^h her reason tells ner th^it tiie match is not good. fhe t'ree--ii.thelborta, AU O, and fnuln--Wi)0 overcoae 15U thsir selfish, smotlonal tondenoies, bring a balance to their nature* Thus they succeed in their revolt* Ethelberta main­ tains hsr advance in social status, not just for herself, but for the good it doea society in general* Anns and Paula, not ao drastioally symbolic as catalysts for otiiers as Ethelberta, nonethslsss gain enough balance in tiieir nature to temper ttelr emotional predilectiona* Only Suatacla end Viviette remain in tiie emotional whirlpool thpt keeps them from achievia- a bal­ anced temperament* Viviette, however, learns that sii© must cultivate the art of sacrifice if she is to try to revolt against natural conduct and still try to keep up appearances of being conventional* The women of Hardy's best Integrated novels, Tiie Ma.^or of Casterbridp;e and The Woodlanders* represent all of tiie types Hardy has heretofore d3V^lo[>©d* Her^ his per3i>ective gives him enough dimension to achieve in the characteriz'^tlon of his women a blending with the back'-roiind in the novels. Thus he creates an atmosophere thnt allows him to explore more complex levels of em9rn;ont oh-^ i-;os in Wessex. Eliznbeth-Jnne ?few^'on (^nd Grace Melbury-Fltz^iors, the natural heroines of the two novels, whose line.n^^e r.of^s back to Bnthsn^ba, succeas- fully ,^o tiiroa:;h tiie motn ^orphosis fron inraaturlt^^ to rxnturity*'" Susnn Henooard and M«^rty f'outh ro^^inin th<^ passive nitivs nearor

%t is here, too, that ilnroi^ Be-iscornb, v.ho is the heroine of Hardy's Inter work, Tiie Well-l3eloved* b(;lnx,',s. 155 thsir cottsgs«>girl bseteground* Tiisir greatest asset, their nstural intsgrity, goes to waste because of their timidity in faoing a diffsrsnt Isvel of society that lashes out too fierce- ly at thsir placid naturss* Lucetta La Sueur and Felice Charmond follow In the footstepa of Viviette as weaker members of tlMilr sax, wiio know the proper coirse to take to meet life head on, but who lack the will to pursue it* Both want their dreams fulfilled at all costs and thus con^romlse their con- seienoes to hide their socisl breaches so often thit tiieir chances of rallying to a direct course of life dwindle to tiie point of no return and force them to emotloml desperation and defeat* ^'hen emerges another cottage-girl type, Suke Damson, who maintains a kind of natural integrity and innocence al­ though she unknowinf:ly cocsnits an act against the established moral code* She follows her uneducated instinct that phys­ ically attracts her to Fitzpiers, wrio is more culpable in tiie affair because he has enoU;7;h understanding of basic ajrality to know that iie should not take advantage of Suke's lano- cence* She faces a typic^^l attitude amoa - the nova sociolly advanced, however, tnnt s?>duction if the coltBrO -Irl is fnir gnme* WhRt Suke's fnte will be *^s sue becomes n are of tiie convcitionnl morol code, if iade';d she dojs, is not r^jvealed. Suke polrita the way to the type of innocent cot:i;a=;e girl who emerr:es from tho l-^st ouupost of Wessex .^oaoontr-y and who, alon,^ with all otucrs of the .'ossox populnce, hnn been forced into a new cultunl milieu. His m- nific^nt Tess is 156 his most oooqplsts oomment on the ohallsngs facing tills pure brssd* 3us snd Arsbslla in Juds form variants Jf Tess's lot* With these women all types of Wessex womankind have bssn forosd out of isolation into tiie stream of humanity that ia so much wiser in ttm ways of the world than tney* Tauo they must make drastic adjustments In order co survive, and tiiey must attain greater insight if tney are to gain fullflll- ment* Tiiey form Hardy's last comment on the direction iiafst SBiancipation for his Wessex women has taken as zhe century draws to an end* That comment, none coo optimistic, is that it is harder for them co shed the outmoded aspects of social i:>shavior in favor of positive moral values, but that tney must still find tiie way to do so if they wish to maintain their integrity and achieve the kind of independeace that matters* Tess is iiardy's fullest con^ient on the cliallentj.is facia-;: the fin de siecle heroine* Siie oispiays all oi uae vices ta^t hamper her in iruacia • a aatisfaciory 8dJ4Si.n1.nt to iier new role—passivity, super sol tion, emotionax In.LizurXty and sensitivity that fosters an overabundance 01 pride, un- reasoniar passion, and no rensoaable perspective a.j mt con- ventioa^il behavior. >ho raso nas witnin her ar.kc up pojoatiol ingredients for ail of the virtues as sao Mriaj-iias hor n'^tur^^l inte/;i'ity Rnc' shows aa ^..ir' 1 latelligonce. fhe con- plox interminsling of oxt-aa^'l ^^nc" inuorn .1 f^j^jro bring about hor tragic end* Admittodiv sne OP 3 ail Z'Vi cards 157 stsoksd sgsinst her* Hsr greatest personal tragedy, however, is thst siis hslps stack them* The pity is that social prea- surs hss mads her too weak, and snlightened persons have kept hsr too uninformed for tier to overcome such great pressures* Hardy»s Isst two heroines, Arabella and Sue in Jude, are his most sxtrems characterizations of tha role thnt Wesaex women learn to play as they encounter a new social level* Arabella is the compromised human being, who learns all of tiie ways to circumvent basic morality* Siie subscribes to all of the tricks of one who pretends to follow coaventionol standards, walle she does all she c»n to aavi; her own way* She, therefore, learna none of tiie positive benefits, bii^t come from maintaining some form of Integrity, beyond those which provide for the needs of survival* Sue, on che ottaa- hand, demonstrates tant evon ^ rational bela.^:, derrlved of natur«^l behavior, c^n lose iier iasi -ht if she nllows her emo­ tions to dominate her nata e* Arabella -md Sue stiil atteapt to c ):.o wi:h n-io tvo forces th'*t anvo hH:Ti;,'ei-8d .Inr-^'s uox JI'^CS f r la tm; be^gina a.;— external bi,atry nar' iatera^il imbalance. Itm3 tat.y demon- str-^te thnt Hardy records coaaistant impressi.;'a- co'-2era»:ij the laays of hum?m conduct, fo tne end of lii;: o^io: r B.:I n novelist, he o-ploreii pat.eini^ oi Hie l-'.t ioMc u> irdep.uid- ence for Wesocx \JO nen. M.i-^ily, aowevai, lu-m h.^ ais. e s tne most hu:nble of t. oe wom.ai iato uhe s^rcnm of life, ho siiows thnt t.ioir chaaces for j:f?iaia,, fulfilLiont are di:niai:i.ud oy r

158 unyielding social pressures* Hs never loses hope that tiiey will bs inspired to achieve greater fulfillment than finding a meana to survive* At the lef^st, they should gain an under­ standing of their worth as emancipated social beings, ^nd, at the moat, they siiould find the courage to act upon that under standing* BIBLIOORAPHY

Primary Sources

Hardy, Thoma *• SSS. Wri^*ln^^a of Thomas Hardy in Prose and Vsrss* Vol* III Far from theHgaBding browd* Vol* VII t Under tiie Greenwood Tree* Vol* X: A Pair of Bltts Eyes* 7oT*"Tr; The ^Htrnpet-Hajor* VoTTTlU Two onTrower* Vol* ITTu The We 11-Ieloved* Vol* XIVt DeTperate Remedies* Vol* XVt Tiie iiand 2£ HthelberTa^ Vol* TTH /^Laodicean* NewT^ork,

.• Si« Return of Jthe Native* New York, 192:?. • Lifs and Art* Edited by Ernest Brennecke, Jr*, Hew York7^i925* • The Mayor of Casterbrldiye, A Story of a iian of Character* New York, 1950* • Tsss of ttie D'Urbervilles* A Pure Woman* New York, ' X9W. "" .• Thomas Hardy^s Ho ebooks and 3o^^ Letters from ' Julia Augusta MsTrtin* Edited by Evelyn Hardy* London, i955«

.• Jude the Obscure* NO'A? York, 1957. • The Woodlanders* 'low York, 1958* • Thomas llai'dy's Personal >vritinRS* Prefect's, Literary Opinions, Romiaiscences. fditcd by Harold Orel* liawrende, Kanf-as, 1966*

159 AN ANHOTATSD CHRO^iOLOGICaL BIBLIOGRAPHY 0^' ^:XhrT^Y S)'TC::S

1880-1900 Ellis, Hsvslock* From Marlowe to Shawt The Studies, 1876- 1936, in En.^1 i ah Li t er a tur e of Havelock jillls* EditsdTy John Oawaworth* London, 195o* Ellis is among the first critics to recognise with favor Hardy's handling of human relationships* He re­ views his enrly works in l'^^3. He points to Hardy's "minute observations, . . .delicate lnsiv:ht, . • * /onS/ concept Icon of love as thr busiar:ss of life." (pp. 230-231)* He is the first to go against critical rejection of Jude the Obscure (1^9^). He praises It as Hardy's best novel. Indeed "the great- cat novel written in Ea;:;L'^nd for many years" (p. 27'i) and Judges it mainly on the basis of good art.

Johnson, Lionel* The Art of Tliomas Hardy * 1st ed* London, 1923* JoHnsun writes tho earliest irportttnt full- length critical study, which gives Hardy kinship to tfcfce mainstream of litorar:, tradition as oac of the "humanists in tiie liberal sense of tiie word. . . /phoj are tiie catr^olics in art: well bi.lanced md well proportioned in miad." (p. 11). Macdonell, Annie* Xhomo3 Inrdy. London, 1'9U. Hiss :incdonell is ano^Jhcr e^aly zv^'zic frvornblc to nn:d-. "^J-^r 3^,3 "his humanity and originality" ns "st/onger tnoi his educntion" (p. 15) ^^^^^ pr^^ises ill- h inor, etpecinlly in his Wessex natives. Altuou-h she sees him as no morali^^ft, sho thia;;s he iafnrnn^.i«ily "iaculoatr.s some tiiia-s thit nre i^portnnt to nornlity, nnd nearly all of uhusu, wlien Rpplit3d, r.ve wenpons h.^rled at the conventions." (p. 215). 1900-1920 Howells. William Peaa. Heroines iri jiictjoa. Vol. II. i^ev; uoweiis, ^i^^ ^^^^^ ,:oafil]« fi'^ros with Ua. nany cr-. nics rr^o ^ee Hardy's women "of a sisterhood" who are nore "self-willese d th^n f,tro:a-;-willed. (pf. l/^-ia J. iQ slnj^leilnj s out Bethslieba f^n^ at'iolbertn os two h:.roinos wh«hoo have more co- ^rol ovc^r tii.ir de.ti:iy rnr. .re acre 160 r

161 •high-aindsd** (p. I78, p. I80)* Saxelby, P* Outwin* A 3?h{»nas Hardy Dictionary; The Char­ acters and Scenes oT the Novels and PoemsXlpha- betieally Arranged antJC Described* London, 1911* Saxelby is busy wlt£~psripheral ma t er la 1 * Un- fortunately he is incomplete and often inaccurate in plot outlines* Garwood, Helen* Thomas Hardy; An Illustration of the Philos­ ophy of Sohopenbauer* Piiiiadelphia, I9T1. Hiss Garwoo? ooncludes tiiat one must wait for more def­ inite proof of a direct tie to •Schopenhauer, although the ideas of the indifferent will, which Hardy pro­ pounds, are similar to tiie German philosopiier's. Abercrombie, La3celles* Thomas Hardy; A Crioioal Study* London, 1927. (First publisha d""ln 1912: London *) Abercrombie lets fate control Hardy'3 ciiaracters* Hence he allows phllosopliy to cover Hardy's art, but 8dmj.t8 to Hardy »s knowing how to use "exquisite tenderness, a Justice of mercy, towards his crea­ tions. . .to Biitx.'Ote'' (pp. 214.-25) their fate* Lawrence, D* H* "Study of Taomaa Hardy" in Phoenix; Tne Posthumous Papers o£^ D. ii. Lawrence* Edited by Edward D. McDonald* Now York, 193^• Latjrence does his Hardy study in 19lU» but never publishes it dux'ing eitner autaor's lifetime* Lawi'eace feels tiiat Hardy stifles the rebels, to him tiie most Impor­ tant part of iium??aity, and gives them no room for reconciliaticai with life* As one critic aptly puts It, Lawrence is rewriting Hardy into Lawrentian terms, with everything interpreted in shades of male and female* Nonetheless, the study brings about in­ sight to the chf'racterization of Arabella -^nd Sue in Jude* Child* Harold* Thomas Hardy* London, 1916* Cnild presents the tra

Chase, hsr^ Ellen. Tiiomag Hardy from Serial to .-:OVB1. Minneapolis, 1927. Miss Chase writes a work helpful to our ander s ta ad 1 a_^ of ilfir dy ' s eoqalaticanoe to Victorian sonsibllity* She traces the revisions in scae. of Hardy»3 Si-rials bcfo/e tLe^ ^ae p .ollsaed ac novels* Hardy, Florence Emily* The, farly Life o£ liiipia,4-£±L, 1. 1391; ^ac L? t^a- Y^M is ox flioctiud •-.m c\} 1 ^9^-^lv^^. -'CVJ foric, lf50, 1930* Tho second Ilrs. xlsrdy is now recognized, by rriost critics, as ediua no^ auu..or of these two volumes* Actually they are ^lard^tg auto- bloj-raph:; (only the fia:^ oaapte- s of cao socaic volume are completed by hin wife), co-n^ilod fro-i his louriails, notobool':s, o-.i-^ oorros: oadeao^ to i oj.'o:

T>obreo, Bonamy* The Lamp and tiie Lute* New York, 192). foD^o^ seos "a: l-rrir^ic richaesji of li'U'^^»3 pe^^^ xiam In^^'the humanity, t\U synpr.thy wiiich he brin s to it" (p. 22), hut soa3 t'ao rolo of tho huitra \.'ill "uoa.'^. ^ly" r

163 as that "i^ioh dosa tiis iiarm," (p* 27), T»'Fjtldeull, Pierre. Ths Htyaan Pair in the Work of Thomas Hardy* Translated by FsIIx"¥."TJroIse7 "ToUHSifirn* d* '1930/ (rirat pabllsiiod in 1929: France.) ^•Bxidsuil extensively explores the motivation be­ hind ssxuGl relationships in thfi no^/ Is. IIo re r?als a natural conflict between man and woman* The man is more advanced tovnrd reanon. T ;e \iorun, !n nsed of intellectual growth, still operates on iostlnct* Firor, Ruth* Folkways in Thomaa Hardy* Philadelphia, 1931. Miss Firor compiles a colleotloa of folk custons as preaented in tiie Wessex novels* She elaborates upon them, but does not extensively Interpret t. em. McPowell, Arthur. Thorins Hgrdy; ,% Critical Study* L.^adon, 1931* McDowell sees Hardy' as a "tra^glcironlst" (p. 23), who ultlrntely rognrds the universe as "indif­ ferent to values" and the men and women in It without ran son "to exist In uhe world. . . , but they ^o." (P* k3). Woolf, Virginia* "The Hovels of Thomas Hardy" in The Second Common Header* iTcw York, 1932* Ki.-^s VooTT'rer.'^.rds Hardy as the greatest tragic writer among English novelists* His characters "suffer" ev(;n tho-gf. hr, is "driven by some sense thnt human beia-s are the sport of forces ouraiide taornsGl'c s*" (p. 267)* Puffin, f'onry Chnrles. Thonr^r. Unrcy: r ftady of tiiG Wo Jovels, The Poems,and the bynasts* Manchester* 1937. (riret publir^hnd in 1916. T In thir. t^.i; d editl)!-! of his orij^inal work publisiied in 1916, l\iTfln continues to criphr.nlr.o ff t^ nn ulti'i r-tei^y controlling Hardy's conmct-rs; however, he begins to sp^ "the mervcloun" in Hp>rd\ ond con: ects hie art with romance nnd mystery. Rutland, William K. Xaonris iaiidy; A Study of ni::-- Writia nnd their Back':.rQan^ OxfoFd, liV. ! uti^-a'-'' tr n ,- e s Hardy's self-educn bi >a and uis spiritual development He concludcc tr..-: t his dnrk resr.iainm lerds hlir. in Jude to a "denial of the will to live" (p. 257) a id to r ttultificatloa of f^s rrt. Jilckf:, Ornnville, "The Pej^sirtf r;m of f. or:r.s ilBrdy** In ^'1 aaes of Transition: n Study of frltisa Literntu. e at the ~d of th? Nineto'gnth Century. ':lc\, YorV., 193';. "o.- TowitT* leads In Florence Hardy's blo.Tiphy, Hicks r^co^,'n'7.CS Wnrr^^j^s r.olior lor. ^rj} iocs hln r.r occ.ipa- X6k tion with unhappineaa aa ^a full look at ths worst*" (p* 130)* Hs praises Hardy for "olear<»alghtednsss and oourags" and for a belief in the "decency of tha human raos*" Hia "psssimism," then, Hicka contends, stems from his being "robbed of the Viccorinn faith in Ood'a plan" and hla not having found, like William Horris, a "faith to talcs liEs place." (p* ll|.3)*

19U0-1965 Tiie Southern Review* VI (Suiamar, 19^0)• ^^be centennial volume of Har<^y*8 birth is a landmark in Hardy criticism* It briaga togeth r an impresiive list of critics whose points of view run tiie rjamut of Hardy criticism* Although many of the articles deal mainly with his poetry, all of tiiom take a stand on how his th u^ht is related to his art* It ia this point of view thit m kes o?ch article Invaluable as an indicator of futax»e treads in Hai^dy criticism* The foiiowia^ list of articles contains critical comment* Auden, W^ ,{. »A Literary Transference," pp* 78- 66* Auden pros uts a paean to hardy's de- tatciied vision of life. He allows aim to accept neioiiar "over-rational Humanism nor a pseudo-Marxiami, . .but claims instead that a human society can be autonomous*" (p* 3i4)* Baker, Howard* "Hardy'a roe tic Certitude,'' pp. k9-63. faker views «11 ood poetry as "essentl ixiy alike" in th^t "it sets foi-oh its portion of palpable humanity with under- stondiaa*" (p* U9). Baker sees "Hard;^»s /prevailing mechanistic determinism" (p* ir3),''hia search for* a faith, iiis rejection of the Inhumrm, and his return to the hui^'n" as the p&ttcrti of hlti sixty years of writin. * (p. 5B). iiRrz^z^n, Jr.cquos. "Truth ond dootry in fh air's Hr.rdy," pp. 179-192. Barzun assorts thez as a romanticist, anr'^y does not feel l-be coa- fliot b«twct-n poet taid r«^li^ u whi^^^i we tj y to make him fnco* Instead in hi3 world "trutli and p0Qt.>- do not fltiht a manicaofin lif^it which will leave Science of Ic',n3:arice nnstor of the field; thoy m.aa^e iaoO eech o-..cr by de I'Oes and const!o.tto to^rotiior tiie i.'Um uotal 01 mlad-iucaHu^ed reality." (p. 1^2). 165 Blackmur, R* P* "The Shorter Poems of Thomas Hardy," pp. 20-1^8* Blackmur sees Hsrdy's srt ss hampered by his "ideas*" He grants him, however, "s sensibility great enough. . .to survive ths violation**' (p. U8)* Davidson, Donald* "The Traditional Basis of Thomas Hardy'a Fiction," pp* 162-178* I>av- idscnplaces Hardy in the iiumanist tradition* Dobree, Bonamy* "The Dynasts," pp* 109-124* Dobr^e sees beyond Hardy's irony. He seos his sense of tiie dignity of man* Leavls, F. R* "Hnrdy the Poet," pp. 87-9B* Leavis does not view Hardy as a first rate poet* His most damaging observation is "I shouldn't have known iie ^ardy/ was a great novelist if I hadn't been told." (p. 87). Mizener, Arthur. "Jude tiie Obscure, as a Trag­ edy," pp, 193-213. Hlzener denlcts Jude as Hardy's attempt to contrast the Ideal life with the re 1 life of a man. Thus tiie book is naturalistic* He does not think that tiie final contrast Is made. The book, then, is not a tragedy but a naturnllstlc autobiog­ raphy* . Muller, Herbert J* "The Novels of •''homas Hnrdy,»• pp* 21^4-221}* Muller aees Hardy surviving today despite his "old-fashioned simplicity, lack of subtly, ond his intellectual con­ victions*" He tiinks his char^^cters are not the puppets that "he ^ardj/ specifically tells us they arc," but th^z they hf^ve a "vi::;or>us life of tuoir own, with di^mity and force* Hence his own orestive aculvity makes nonsense of his philosophy." (H. 222). Portei, Kata©>i-ie Aiiae. "rioter on Criticism of Thomas tir; d^ . .aie grants him the voice of dissent und inquiry, but she sees in iiim an underrruruKii i£^, of ta^ huraan .-.iiad os its eloiktais of "; .-JLovoloa.^c Hid benevolence" vjor "wicnin ^ne u ri/ , • . alone." (p. 157). 166 Ransom, Joim Crowe* "Honey end Gall," pp. 2- 19« Ransom propounds that Hardy's tons, not that of a public poet, "appears to bs ^y^ Higher level of freshness, innocence, and honesty." (p^ 13), He also sees that in ninety per cent of Hardy's poems. . . naturs ia destructive of. . ,tliat rational order which iiuman beings count on wiien they plan and labor*" (p, l5)* Schwartz, Del.noro* "Poetry and Belief in Thomas Hardy," pp. 6^4.-77. Schwartz sees Hardy aa a produce of tao nine teen th-centuiy scientific view of life* He believes tiiat Hardy con­ flicts with "the whole attitude toward life which has been traditional to western cul­ ture*" (p* 66).

Tate, Allen* "Hardy's Philosophic Metaphors," pp. 99-108* Tate grants Hardy "emotional reactions" to his Wessex people, but plaices tfism philosophically in tiie stream of Vic tori 3 a xaate rial ism. (p. 102). Zable, Morton* "ilurdy in Defense of ais Art: The Aesthetic of Incongruity," pp. 125-1)^9. Zable shows thrt the ambivalonce in Hardy's art keeps his poetry and fiction from bein^; destroyed oy critics. He sees liardy not as a naturalist but a humanist who makes tho transition from "doubt and aej^atioa to humanistic iiope." (p. U^O). He ploces him in the sucoeasion o'f a ..ine of novelists from Melville, Er-iily Bronte, ^nd Havtaorne, "ta-it tc;*:os ia Jamtjs \\n6 Fiaubuit in uae wider reach of tieir faculties, and taat has arrived at tao aoaiovenoat3 of Joyce, fr>ast, Qlde and Kafka." (p. li+8).

Weber, Carl Jefferson* aai-fy of Wessex; Hiai Life An'5- biography.^^ Blunden, Edmund, fiiomas Hai dy. London, X9h2. Blundcn irites, in The Enf.lish rien of Letters Series, a ff.ot-tol r

167 biography, perhaps more critical than Weber in approach, but not a deeply analytical study* Wsber, Carl Jefferson* The^ First Hundred Years of Thomas Hsrdx* 18U0-19U0. New York, 191^21 TSh'er Includes basic data on the primary texts of Hardy'a works and a wide representation of secondary studies to 19U0. Cecil, David (Lord Edward Christian)* Hardy the ?lovelist; M ^fW in Criticism* Indiana poll s7n[9l4.3. Lord csoil is a traditionalist among Hardy critics* He smphasizes Hardy's "melancholy view" (p. 29) of "indifferent Fate*** (p* 37)* He sees his work as "realistic stories" wjth "non-realistic plots." (p, 5k). Weber, Carl Jefferson* Hardy in Amerlo*^; £ Study of Thomas Hardy and His Amerio^jn headers* f/at'ervXlle, .la., T5BJ57 Weber's work is of value in showing Hnrdy's reputation in Ajita lea, his complicated printlof; hlstor'y, nnd his influence on American writers* Webster, Harvey Curtis. On ja Darkllav^ Plg.iat The ^rt nnd Thou,T.ht of Tnomas HaTrdy* Chloajco* 194?. Webster writes a"lfefinitlve study, which traces out the development of uardy's taou^^tit* Tno emphasis here is on tiie use of ideas that he gleaned from nine- teenta-century scioatiam, agaosticism, \nd soclr.l- ism* Webster, however, soes Hardy first as an artist* As suua ho does noz have a defined philos­ ophy, but an artist's prerogative of "metapnorioal" licence ta^it allows hiia seemiaj^^ly couaraciiot ay points of view without detriment to his art* Ouerard, Albert J. Thoma3 llerdy; The Novels aad Stories. Cambridge, Kass., 19U'?. vlu^^rord explorers hnr^y^s artistry In terms of his dssire th«t people be liappy (prefj^ce, p. .%) which leads aim to dissect the re^'sons for their unhappiuess. ills aytistic metriod, which Guerard o.nphasizes, la che study, Juxtaposes "the faatoatic -ad the everydr.:y ." (p. h). Artistically, t.ooo, he places Hnr-^y in the category of the tnti-ro-Jlitt, vaioso caief t-lont lies in tellia- a ^nl© f^nd venose pri. nry mo-iiods of symoolic ^olaoldonce ^nd raischnnce -r^ke Ivi-a -norn cioacly aicin to the aoderas. He pieces Hsr y witti Conrad and Gide. Unwklnr:, Desmond* Thomas Hsrdy* Loadon, 1950. :f'»T;i:lna 168 depicts Hsrdy as "continually tr;, lag to intsrpret lifs in terms of soientific theorizing of h's ^•'^?^S*^^'^* (p. 27). He makes much of "tito love I'^Ke^K^^^"^^ creates as the .ore of hia novels. (p. 28).

Baker, Ernest A. Ths History of tha English Novel, IX* New -xork . , 1950* Like sever a-l otiier literar^.y y historianhistorianss , aaicer xs disappointingly conservative and d«ted* fo him, Hardy's philo.sopiiy domiaat a hia ta-'t* Kettle, Arnold* "Hardy; Tess of the D'Urberville a" in Ah Introduction to the an gish Novel. II. New York, i951« iCettlo follows tae ideas of tiis critics, wao see Hardy aa one who laments tiie passing of tiie V/oasex peasantry, ae depicts fejs's fall as symbolic of their fall* Scott-James, Rolfe A* Thomas Hardy. London, 1951. Scott- Jamcs prosents a basically traditional biograohy, although he sees the Hardy pessimism limited to tiie "goverance of ta^ universe, . . .not to iiu.uan beings." (p. 27)* Van Ghent, Dor:>thy. "On Tesa of the D'Urbervilles" in The English I^ovel; ^ orm and FunotiotA* Now lurk, I953. Miss Van ^hent follows tiie lead of tiie romantic, mytiimakin^ critics oy aesocl'stiii^ i'esa's dileunua and destiny to mytholo,-,ical and primitive ur^ea cl>aa-^y tied to oai th, natui'w, and "folk Inatinc- tlvlsm." (p. 205). Holloway, Joiin* The Victorian Sefx^e; Studies in Argument. iCov/ fork, 1953» nollov/8j i ead* li^rdy as one wiio laments tiie passing of an ^ge* He fe-,ls toat Hardy's scale of vulaes insitta tant "to rxda^jt one's self to one's tr^^ditionnl situation is rpocf, to uproot on >' 3 self for rrtator Uil ends is bad, to do so for ron^ntic passion or an abstract ide^l is if anyijaing worse." (p. 2B6). Brown, fourlc^s. r-iv>m.iS i.^.r' y. Ijoadoa, 195i|.. iii'own liiults his biO;^rn0h 1 ^'i 1 study. He oxploros tiie the3is tfnt [ardy lan-^nts tho paatita?; oi the H;,^ricultar .1 a,.;e in "Wessex." Hardy, Evelyn. Thomas Hardy; A CrlCriticat l Biogro>ny. London, 195U. Kxcept for t..urs~in^ tnr; ^heoj-y zwot ^vi a Hardy, Hardy's first wife, is neer ins^^nity nnd un­ bearable to live witf. in the 1 st yeni s of rier lile. 169 a factor that causes Hardy's more drastic reading of life in hia laat novels and much of ills poetry. Miss Hardy's biograpay adds 11-tls to what has al- rsady been said*

Purdy, Riohard Littls* Thomas Hardy; A Blbllopyaphlcal Stud^* London, 195U# Purdy pFes.a.ts a valuable study of Hardy's publishing history with careful development of the aequeuce of publication of hla worka in aerial, novel, and complete worka form*

Klingopulos, G* D* "Hardy'a Talea Ancient and Modern" in From Dickens to Hardy. ii.dit

Modern Fiction Studies. VI (Autumn, I960). Lafayette, Ind* This voltui© is very Much in line with tiie critics, who emphasize Hardy the artist—his use of aymbol- iam, ais mythological soundiii^s, liiii afiiaity for the grotesque, tiie melodramatic, and traditional art iorms are mixed \^ita an ui%e to Idoatily tiiese traits with modern writers' teciiniques and inter­ pretations, iollowiii^ i« a 11 at of the hutiOt 3 and articles with a critical statement on each*

Beebe, Maurice, Bonnie Culotta, and ;rln M'ircus* "Criticisru of ihomas iaa< ;> : A lieleco.;d Check- List," pp. 258-279. Tiie check-list is a useful glide to oriuicism after 19)4.0. Carpenter, f ich r«j C. "hai'dy's Crui goylt.s,' pp. 223-232. Carpenter explores iiprdy's use of imagei> 01 tae [,rotcs-iUb, wai-jh W8J as iiis reader thnt things are not as they se m.

Drake, Jr., Robert Y. "The Woodlanders as Tr.MditiOiial ?astoral7"^PP. 251-257. Drake believes that tiardy is "never able to de- mytaolot iz^ the w^^rld ai oua<". nia." (p. tL'y'c:)^ Ee tr?^ces tie eff initio-s to tiie i.lizffb-tf.rn pfliitor^l tia/'iticn ia ItiO l^oodl ade; &. Kail, i;'ederiGk f. ^^foe lu-\:, 01 ^ fn^ta 01 i^'-e: A i-^ew Fiction DefinecfT" pp. 193-21'^. '<'^rl fcals tiiat acr'y's novels sfj.ld be ee^a iu ^.a ligat oi a "new realism,. . .nj loager soicly ifiu iiupoi't'-nit social document but. • .'^^a well a aignif leant p3^'Caolop,icol hist ay.'* (p. I76). lateipi etia^^t Tae >U' , or of CHst^j.b i-^-^e in 170 this light beccMies a tracing of Henchard's tragedy as one of an "unreasonable, guilt- stricken and aliaiated figure who ia de- nisd even the aavlng power of nature.** (o* 206)* Ttiua this and otiier Hardy novels be­ come "a parable for our tlmea," and "ths leason Is chat life itaelf destro^^a even when man is basically good*" (p. 213)* McDowell, Frederick ^* W* "Hardy's Seemin ,3 cr Pcraoaal Impressloas: Tiie Symoolioci use of Image and <^ontrasts in Jude the Obscure," PP» 233mZ^jO. As ^.ne t^tle implies, Hcb'owell examines major imagery, the various animal ima^us, as well as musioni, biblicGl, p«,-sn, classical, and otiiera, and demonstrates how ta \; ^iva deptii to tiic r^eaniaf/ of uut.e* Patterson, Joiin. "Tiae Poetics of Tae Poturu of the Native." pp. 21h-222. Patterson dev lopa the thesis ta.st Hardy'a iraar/iaotioa is dom­ inated "by the legend of literature of Greece and Rome." (p. 21i). Holloway, Joiin. Tiie Ciiarted Hiri or. n^v York, 1962. (i irst publlahe^ in 1960: Londm.) ii^raphaalzing Hardy'a major novels, Holloway demonstrstus thnt liardy IOB^S his "confidence in the strength of tiie rural tradi­ tional order" and is unable to fiad ^'a .ojltioa zo which to retreat." (p. 107)* Stevenson, Lionel. The Sn/^lish itovel; A^ F-'-'aQiar'ia. Boston, 19^0* otevonson dates his onaljais of II'\r*"-^ by placing him in the nv^instroam of Niaoteonth-Century philosopiiy* (>reijOr, fan and i^rian aichoi.ss. fiie aor a 1 arid wa^ -'tor:,. London, 1962. Jregor aad Nicholas Include an anal­ ysis of Tesa* waich deaoastrntes iiardy's haanliii ^ of external v/ill. i'hey leave deeper conflict of will from witiiia for' ,ie.ua Jbratij i.ui<' ouaera. Stew^^rt, J. I. ii. Ei,;iit i-iodern 'r iters. Londou, 1961.. ('irst publiraed In 1963: Loi-don.) Import A at ?s a p-rt of f ao Qj^f ord ni story of ^a .llan Li t^a-j^; tui^'o* that v^iil be used as a ^.uideline to ilr.rdy general sciolrrs, r;tow=)rt le^N/'oa ;i?a'dy ia -he aoxustr-js^ni of i:tor^::arr in which Lionel Joansoa^^ (lf^9'i) pL'^c-^s hi*... >ie aasi:'i"'ta, to ati.^^^tw zhe i'iiilos jp.-ic^l '^c;i .ol, t'.r' : Hardy "does not leave us in despair," but rother acknowledges in iiim, ia ;.he ivorda of -.ionel J'jna^jn, 171 "a sense of awe, in the presence of a landscape filled with immemorial aigna of a e; a sense of tranquility in the presence of human toll, so bound up and associated with the venerable needs of human life*" (p* 70)* Ouerard, Albert J* (ed*)* Hardy; A Collection of Critical Kssays* Snglewood Cliffs,""i^. J., 1963* Guerard compiles a useful collection of reprints of critical studies, most of which appear in the works of other major critical writers alro: dy recorded here. Guerard supports his own anti-ref^lij^ t thesis In his full-length work of 19U7.^''^ Wing, Geori';e* Thomas Hardy. lew Xork, I963. Win ^ presents a brief, factum?! biography with some riulpful critical analysis* Wing follows Guerard's lead tiiat Hardy's women shift in the novels from tiie betrayer to the betrayed, (see especioliy chapter 2) and empiiasizes Hardy's development of "sexup>l encounter" wiiich iiar-^'y "weights with bitterness, and a sense of pre­ destined failure. , , . {p. 1). Carpenter, Flciiard C, Tiiornas hardyc New York, 196''. Fol­ lowing the theory t'aat "a i^.reat deni of dardy was slipping throu; h the net" with the typlc:^l a-.pronch to Hardy that empiiasizes "his mastery of re ;liJ3it, hla skill cs a stylist, and especl'^ My t>:e oxjer of his ^^loomy, deterministic philosophy," (prefice) Carpenter cohcrtcaiily builds the basic nytii structui'e of Hardj's works, ne brin-.s, as have other critics of that bent, i;reater depth to iiordy'^ nrt. Morrell, foy. Thames Hardy; fhj^ jVlll f'nd tiie V'r'jm Kual/> Lurrjpur, 19^5• Horrell arosonta periiaps tao !'iO;it drastic ra^^ding of nard^*».-5 haa'aiism. As the title of tile w a^k implies, huripn will is aaen iu uae novels as a force w^iicLi Knrdy demonstr-'te,': .ri-in must nrjnipui- te pr^^perly if he is to bettor his lot, both r\B f^n iadivid.i-a 'ad ns n soci'^1 beir-?:.