The Ethics of Acceptance in Hardy's The Return of the Native
In Thomas Hardy's The Return of the Native, the author uses the theme of death-and-rebirth to illustrate how the guilt and despair associated with the death of a loved one can motivate subjects to undergo a spiritual or emotional transformation. In a sense, man must choose to sublimate his past regrets into positive avenues of growth and change. Only then can individuation occur. Ironically, the extent of one's heroic potential is directly proportional to the cruelty of his fate. Thus, a character's tragic stature largely depends upon the strength of his struggle against Nature's opposing forces. The major thrust of the novel focuses upon this ethical choice "to take up arms against a sea of troubles," even if it costs them their lives. During her life, Eustasia Vye chooses to confront the harshness of Nature and provincialism with courage, dignity, and love; following her death, Clym uses her spiritual inspiration to commence a spiritual odyssey for his fellow man. In a sense, Eustasia serves as a muse who vicariously encourages her bereaved husband into a new way of life. Just as Peter must overcome his guilt in denying Christ, so must Clym recognize his cruelty to his wife and his mother; otherwise, he cannot create from his past experiences a meaningful future existence.
In the opening chapters of the novel, Hardy juxtaposes the internal suffering of the characters with the opposing external forces of Nature. Thus, guilt and despair form the tragic backdrop for a pair of star-crossed lovers whose untimely deaths reflect the author's tone of loss and betrayal. Like the chthonic setting of an inverted paradise, the oppressive character of Egdon Heath permeates the novel's tragic tone. Like the forlorn environs of Macbeth's kingdom and barren terrain in which Catherine and Heathcliff find their ultimate resting place, the sinister quality of the landscape contributes to the loneliness and isolation in the hearts of Eustasia Vye and Clym Yeobright. Hardy creates this desolate atmosphere to show how fate serves to victimize its subjects and to foreshadow the catastrophe that awaits them. The author also uses the supernatural in the form of superstition from the traditional folklore of the Egdon citizens to enhance the aura of suspense and add to the sense of futility. Just as the witches form a clay figure to represent the curse they place upon Macbeth, so does a vengeful neighbor form a figure of wax to cast a spell upon a lost and frantic Eustasia on the night of her tragic drowning. Just as Lady Macbeth appeals to the forces of evil to unsex her, so does this village sorceress recite The Lord's Prayer backward as an incantation to the spirits of darkness (356). In this respect, Hardy uses the conflict between good and evil to reinforce the spiritual dimensions of the story. He also uses the ritual of the Maypole to show the extent to which the pagan traditions still permeate the minds of the villagers, and to suggest that in such a rural setting, mysterious and inscrutable forces are still at work to undermine the hopes and dreams of newcomers. Hardy describes the festival fires as "the instinctive and resistant act of man" at the start of winter, which suggests "a spontaneous Promethean rebelliousness against the fiat that this recurrent season shall bring foul times, cold darkness, misery and death." Only during this period of darkness do the "fettered gods of the earth say,' Let there be light'" (23). Here, the author illustrates the eternal struggle between the forces of good and evil by alluding to Prometheus' gift of fire to man, a gift resulting in his eternal punishment on Mount Caucasus. Thus, the malevolent presence of Nature symbolizes an external conflict that corresponds with the internal struggle in the minds of the characters. Hardy utilizes this idea of dual tension in Eustasia and Wildeve's case, when their final attempt at freedom ends tragically during a violent storm.
The rugged landscape further contributes to the sense of primordial dominance and timelessness, an environment completely impervious to change. Hardy uses the simile of "a man slighted and enduring" to describe the setting, which in its form "had a lonely face, suggesting tragic possibilities" (13-14). Even the faces of the villagers, when merged with the night fires of the Maypole festival, appear ghastly. The ever-changing effect of the firelight upon the joyous participants transforms their appearance into the macabre. This is the heath's fatalistic effect upon man. Hardy expresses this contrast in the following passage: "Shadowy eye sockets, deep as those of a death's head, suddenly turned into pits of luster: a lantern-jaw was cavernous, then it was shining; wrinkles were emphasized to ravines, or obliterated entirely by a changed ray. Nostrils were dark well; sinews in old necks were gilt mouldings." The distinction is clearly drawn. The archetypal image of man-in-harmony with Nature differs from Hardy's concept of Egdon Heath, rough in tooth-and-claw. This grotesque feature, he suggests, even assumes "preternatural" proportions (24). Here, an underlying current of fierce animosity manifests itself in much the same way as Freud would describe the unrestrained vengeance of the Id, or the evil lurking in the dark waters of Grendel's lair. "Civilization was its enemy," Hardy says. These bleak surrounding "had been from prehistoric times as unaltered as the stars overhead" (14). The author uses the metaphor of friendship and affection to show the heath's affinity for dread and gloom (13). Hardy says that "the storm was its lover, and the wind its friend." Egdon is known as "the home of strange phantoms" whose "wild regions of obscurity" evoke terrifying "midnight dreams of flight and disaster" (13). ln essence, Hardy capitalizes on the pagan view of nature as a harsh, uncontrollable force that withstands the strength and cruelty of Grendel's onslaughts, the violent storms of King Lear, and the human sacrifices from Egdon's Druid past. This is the land of Stonehenge, an ageless terrain whose contours still retain traces of Roman occupation.
Hardy uses the concept of fate to show how circumstances serve to destroy Clym and Eustasia's quest for happiness. Ironically, Eustasia marries Clym Yeobright because she believes he will rescue her from her provincial environment; however, she soon laments her husband's plans to abandon his diamond business in Paris in order to become a teacher for the youths in the Egdon precinct. As fate would have it, Clym no longer cares for his for diamond sales, and considers it "the idlest, vainest, most effeminate business that ever a man could be put to" (175). Consequently, the young bride suffers the loneliness and isolation unique to those with dreams and aspirations of higher sentiment. The contrast in their characters is obvious. Hardy expresses the difference in the following passage" "Take all the varying hates felt by Eustacia Vye toward the heath, and translate them into loves, and you have the heart of Clym" (178). Her circumstances worsen when Yeobright experiences partial blindness from preparing his teaching lessons by lamplight so many evenings. No longer able to read, Clym becomes a field hand earning his living as a furze cutter (253). Hardy describes Clym the laborer as a "man from Paris" who "was now so disguised by his leather accoutrements "and "by the goggles that he was obliged to wear over his eyes" that his dearest friend might not even recognize him (253). Eustasia is appalled by the very idea of her husband, whose affluence and refinement at one time inspired hopes of a sophisticated existence in France, now find fulfillment as a common laborer. When talking to Wildeve, Eustasia uses an allusion to one of Christ's sayings to describe how unfortunate her circumstances have become: "The marriage is no misfortune in itself. It is simply the accident which has happened since that has been the cause of my ruin. I have certainly got thistles for figs in a worldly sense, but how could I tell what time would bring forth?" (283). Ironically, from the start, fate stands in the way of Eustasia's marriage because the license was made out for Budmouth instead of Anglebury, where she and Wildeve travel to be wed. In desperation, Eustasia realizes that Wildeve entertains no such plans, even after she proposes to him. Wildeve only uses the mistaken license as an excuse to spend time with her, and for it, Eustasia suffers public scorn for not returning home immediately. Wildeve's insensitivity severs their relationship, and Eustasia once more suffers loneliness and isolation until she meets Clym, newly arrived from France. Her prospects for escape brighten when she marries Clym, but now her dreams are once again shattered by her husband's blindness. Ironically, she must now assume the position as caretaker of her handicapped spouse. She must play nursemaid to a man who derives his sole sense of dignity from the meanest of occupations. Sadly, the young bride foresees no end to her daily trials, and slowly falls into a state of despair. Circumstances worsen when Wildeve visits Eustasia's home while Clym is sleeping from his morning's labor. Fearing that her husband will awaken and suspect an affair, she quietly dismisses Wildeve at the back of the house, surprisingly just as Clym's mother knocks on the front door on what is her first visit to her son's new home. Trapped, Eustasia bids Wildeve adieu and returns to welcome her mother-in-law, only to arrive a moment too late. Humiliated, Clym's mother departs angrily after seeing her daughter-in-law peering at her from the front window yet denying her admittance. The despair of rejection, the strain of walking alone several miles to her home, and the sting of an adder induce the unfortunate death of the embittered mother. Consequently, Eustasia feels responsible for the loss of Mrs. Yeobright's life, although her motives prove honorable. At this moment, she tells Wildeve, "This is your first visit here; let it be your last" (285). In this respect, Hardy creates a series of unforeseen events that leave Eustasia in a state of hopeless desperation. In a fit of misunderstanding and rage, Clym accuses her of subterfuge, infidelity, and murder. Like Juliet's crying for mercy in the clouds, Eustasia exclaims, "O, you are too relentless—there's a limit to the cruelty of savages! I have held out long—but you crush me down. I beg for mercy—I cannot bear this any longer—it is inhuman to go further with this! If I had—killed your—mother with my own hands—I should not deserve such a scourging to the bone as this. O,O! God have mercy upon a miserable woman! . . . You have beaten me in this game—I beg you to stay your hand in pity!"(330). This soliloquy, like Juliet's exclamation that "the heavens should practice stratagems," forces the heroine to undergo a form of psychological death-and-rebirth which compels her to leave Clym and return to live with her grandfather, where her emotional transformation will commence.
Hardy also uses the concept of change to alter the course of the lovers' lives. Although psychological rebirth is essential for growth, because of different philosophies, their transformations unfortunately worsen the dilemma. As the result of the couple's bitter separation, Clym soon regrets his hasty remarks and begins to suffer for his passionate outbursts. Hardy here illustrates the irony of their relationship by showing how their different ideologies preclude the fulfillment of their love for one another. As an idealist, Clym learns to find a sense of dignity and self-worth even in the lowest of occupations. In this sense, he is a pragmatist. For instance, the loss of sight does not prove an impediment to the nobility of his character. As he adapts to changing circumstances, he also alters ideological approach to life. On the other hand, as a romantic, Eustasia preoccupies herself with the notion of loss, that is, a matter of degree and intensity. She refuses to focus upon the idea of contentment, but rather chooses to devise a means of transcending it intellectually. The harsher her circumstances, the greater her passion grows. Thus, adversity fosters heroic responses in both characters, only in different directions. Sadly, although the couple still retains a mutual attraction for the other, their radically different reactions at critical times sever their relationship. In essence, the moment of crisis, or change, fails to produce a comparable transformation, and consequently, a higher level of tension results. Here, Hardy uses Clym's anguish and frustration to reinforce the theme of suffering; his guilt associated with the loss of his mother manifests itself in a vengeance toward Eustasia. The young man's brutal accusations against his wife return to haunt him following her departure and subsequent death. Hardy compares Clym's madness to that of Oedipus who loses his family at the cruel decree of the gods (323). In contrast, the heath remains "imperturbable, having defied the cataclysmal onsets of centuries, reduced to insignificance by its seamed and antique features the wildest turmoil of a single man" (324). The author draws this contrast to show the impervious force of Nature over the lives of men. Feeling this sense of helplessness, Yeobright realizes too late that his refusal to consider her wishes and his relentless attack upon her character contributed to her sense of desperation. The guilt associated with his conduct leaves his heart empty and forlorn. Clym fails to realize the differences in their personalities, and only after Eustasia's demise does he realize the extent of his insensitivity. Like Othello, he is left alone with only the memory of the one he loves and the guilt of his having a part in it. Just as Hamlet must live with the knowledge that his madness contributed to the loss of his beloved Ophelia, so must Yeobright acknowledge his part in causing Eustasia's tragic death. A transcendentalist, at heart, Clym draws strength from Nature; while his wife, like Emma Bovary, longs for relief from the ennui of ordinary life. Eustasia tells Wildeve that in many respects her husband is a "good man," but she cannot feel justified in giving up what she has always wanted in life, that is, "Music, poetry, passion, war, and all the beating and pulsing that are going on in the great arteries of the world." She then adds, "That was the shape of my youthful dream; but I did not get it. Yet I thought I saw the way to it in my Clym" (283). To compound the tragedy, Clym blames himself for his mother's death because had he visited her sooner, she would not have been as reluctant to visit his family, or have traveled such a great distance to unite the households (376). Neither would she have suffered the bite from the adder (304). Ironically, it is Yeobright's self-condemnation over the untimely death of his wife and mother that induce him to choose a new way of life. In essence, the hero undergoes a psychological transformation from an existence of selfishness to one of piety. Like the phoenix rising from its ashes, the subject must emerge from the remorse of his memories to be reborn, from death to life. In his passage from innocence to experience, Clym redirects the energy from the unpleasant events of his past into avenues of spiritual growth. His itinerant preaching serves as a form of catharsis or atonement for the guilt he suffers over his mother's death (404). Despite his misfortune, the hero courageously chooses to live for the good of humanity, and is "kindly received" for it. This moral transformation denotes Hardy's optimism, an acceptance springing from the depths of separation and suffering.
Hardy uses Eustasia's character to enhance the theme of tragedy. As a heroine, she definitely possesses the qualities that make her larger than life. An archetypal femme fatal like Emma Bovary or Anna Karenina, her only crime is her desire to live passionately, without reservation. As Hardy observes, "To be loved to madness—such was her great desire. Love was to her the 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" (75). Sadly, those who know Eustasia best suffer the most. Mrs. Yeobright dies feeling betrayed by her (286). Wildeve dies trying to rescue her (372). Thomasin is humiliated by Wildeve's affection for her (358); and the reddleman is indignant over Wildeve's favoring her instead of his wife Thomasin, the woman Venn loves (268). Nevertheless, Eustasia's personality embodies the life-force which sustains the story. Eustasia's relationship with Clym and Wildeve determine the behavior of Thomasin, Mrs. Yeobright, and Diggory Venn. Hardy compares her to the higher female deities Artemis, Athena, and Hera who possess an innate warmth, a radiant beauty, and a "true Tartarean dignity" (73). Speaking of Eustasia, the author says, "Eustasia Vye was the raw material of a divinity. On Olympus she would have done well with a little preparation" (71). If she possesses a flaw, it would be her passion for the idea of love rather than the act itself. Such is her relationship with Damon Wildeve (77) who ultimately offers her an escape in Paris. Clym also reaches this conclusion when he "could not but perceive at moments that she loved him rather as a visitant from a gay world to which she rightly belonged than as a man with a purpose opposed to that recent past of his which so interested her" (204). Ironically, as her loneliness intensifies, so does her desire for acceptance. To her, Egdon Heath symbolizes "a cruel taskmaster" (190), a jail (98), or even Hades, itself (73). Although she herself suffers at the hand of Damon Wildeve who tempts, betrays and manipulates her, Eustasia bravely perseveres, and to a degree, transcends conventionality. She also remains true to her dreams despite the circumstances in which fate places her. She never relinquishes her spirit of adventure. Only after her separation from Clym does she consider the possibility of escaping with Wildeve on that night of her tragic death. She works diligently to love and care for Clym during his time of misfortune, seldom voicing her displeasure. Her love and inner strength inspire Wildeve's pity and courage in risking his life. As fate would have it, she fails to read Clym's letter of repentance and thus begins the journey culminating in her death (346). In the same respect, only after their separation does Clym realize the extent of his neglect and cruelty. Only through the guilt and sadness of her loss does he undergo a spiritual transformation which leads to his coming-of-age. In his heart he will always remember her courage and love, a love that he can never reclaim.
Unlike her companions, Eustasia's greatness must not be judged by mortal standards. Hardy himself describes her as "a divinity" possessing "the passions and instincts which make a model goddess, that is, those which make not quite a model woman"(71). Certainly the gods were not subject to the morals of men, and possibly this explains Eustasia's tragic downfall. Her lust for life, spirit of adventure, courage, and dignity prove ennobling; but far greater than these is her capacity to love and inspire. This is her true gift to Clym, and Hardy's gift to the world.
Works Cited for Hardy's The Return of the Native
Hardy, Thomas. The Return of the Native. New York: New American Library, 1980.