The Readers Review: Literature from 1714 to 1910 discussion

We have reached the end! And this book did not slow down even the tiniest bit at the end, although in my view we could have skipped Book Six.

In this section Clym learns what precipitated his mother's death, and while he holds himself responsible, he casts much aspersion on his wife Eustacia, who flees to her grandfather's. Both Clym and Eustacia proceed to exist in a depressed and sorry state, and Wildeve, upon learning of Eustacia's depression, plots to enable her escape to Paris. Thomasin is suspicious when her husband mysteriously leaves in the middle of the night after grabbing a wad of cash, and she runs to Clym to request that he track down her wayward husband and, presumably, Clym's wife. As they set off to do so, they hear a body fall in the water and Wildeve, on his way to pick up Eustacia, also hears it and plunges in to save her. Of course Thomasin and Clym arrived at the exact same moment also, and Clym jumps in the water as well. But wait! Of course Venn is ALSO there at the exact same time and jumps in. Alas, the ill fated lovers Wildeve and Eustacia perish, and Thomasin eventually marries Venn, while Clym proceeds to live his life as a semi-mediocre itinerant preacher.

A few questions about this section and the book in general:

1. What did you think of Book Six? It sounds like it was a compulsory addition based on the anticipated reaction of the readers and its publication in serial form. Was it believable that Venn married Thomasin?

2. Do you think Eustacia's fall into the water was accidental?

3. Do you think Clym achieved the professional, if not personal, life that he originally sought when returning to the heath? Did guilt play a role in his life's direction?

4. Does it seem Hardy has a positive view of human nature? Do you think Hardy believed that human beings have free will or is their destiny fated?

Dianne wrote: "Do you think Eustacia's fall into the water was accidental? "

Oh, definitely. She is far too self-centered to commit suicide, and she was about to get rid of that furze-cutting never-leave-Egdon bore of a husband and finally get to go to Paris and live, as she thinks, the gay life.

Or are you suggesting not that she jumped, but that she was pushed??

Oh no I never thought she was pushed! But she had been looking at those guns ...

Some of the important Eustacia moments for me in Book 5:

'She had used to think of the heath alone as an uncongenial spot to be in; she felt it now of the whole world'.

'The wings of her soul were broken by the cruel obstructiveness of all about her.'

'"How I have tried and tried to be a splendid woman, and how destiny has been against me! I do not deserve my lot!"'

And wonderful description of the heath as Eustacia crosses it in the dark and rain: 'occasionally stumbling over twisted furze-roots, tufts of rushes, or oozing lumps of fleshy fungi, which at this season lay scattered on the heath like the rotten liver and lungs of some colossal animal.'

I, too, think she just stumbled into the water: it's in keeping with all the other instances of mis-chance, accident, bad luck, unlucky coincidence and so on which haunts the book.

I had never considered her death anything other than accidental.

On the Book 6 'epilogue', my edition (Penguin) has a note from Hardy:

'The writer may state here that the original conception of the story did not design a marriage between Thomasin and Venn. He was to have retained his isolated and weird character to the last, and to have disappeared mysteriously from the heath, nobody knowing wither - Thomasin remaining a widow.'

It goes on to say that readers can choose between the actual and first-intended ending but Hardy's own intimations seem to be with the harsh end: 'those with an austere artistic code can assume the more consistent conclusion to be the true one.'

I'm not sure if all editions include this so have added it here. I certainly feel that the happy ending with the marriage feels at odds with the rest of the book, even though we end with that bleak view of Clym.

The ending reminds me of that of Great Expectations. Both authors had originally planned to leave their most sympathetic characters alone after their experiences.

I found the drownings of the characters as shocking initially. I was imagining one person dead and then when three bodies, apparently dead, were loaded into Venn's van I found my 'gallows humour' coming into play. I could feel the corners of my mouth twitching with a desire to laugh. It was almost Pythonesque! (From Monty Python). Then, gasps of relief as one person was alive! I was genuinely glad that one had survived though I wasn't sure that I would have chosen Clym to be the one. Once he was back with us I began to like him.

I found Clym's strange open-air preaching to be rather depressing. I find it hard to imagine why anyone would wish to listen to a 'preacher' spouting forth on issues of morality. The New Testament Sermon on the Mount had love at its core, but I fail to see what would attract an audience to listen to random thoughts on morality.

Dianne, your opening comment had me laughing. Of course they all arrived at the same moment.

Agree about Book 6. I could sense Hardy's tiredness as I read it. He's not very good at happy endings, or command performances, as this add-on apparently was.

I have to agree with Roman on the Accidental or not question. No matter how "desolate " Eustacia felt as she stumbled about in the rain, she was too much of a fighter to jump. She LIKED extreme emotions, including the feeling of desolation.

Roman Clodia wrote: "'"How I have tried and tried to be a splendid woman, and how destiny has been against me! I do not deserve my lot!"'."

Her idea of a splendid woman isn't mine.

Roman Clodia wrote: "
I'm not sure if all editions include this so have added it here. I certainly feel that the happy ending with the marriage feels at odds with the rest of the book, even though we end with that bleak view of Clym. "

Thanks for giving us that addition. I certainly think that the original planned ending was much more Hardy-like. The convenient happy-ever-after marriage seemed contrived and unrealistic to me. I wonder which friend or publisher persuaded him to make the change. (It was a friend, I think perhaps Wilkie Collins, who persuaded Dickens to give the happier (maybe) ending to Bleak House.)

Hilary wrote: "
I found Clym's strange open-air preaching to be rather depressing. I find it hard to imagine why anyone would wish to listen to a 'preacher' spouting forth on issues of morality."

George Eliot also has a woman open-air preacher, Dinah, in Adam Bede. Most of the dissident sects -- Quakers, Methodists, Wesleyans, etc. -- had to preach in the open air because, of course, they were banned from the churches. George Fox famously preached to large crowds from Firbank Fell, preaching which is generally considered to be the founding preaching of Quakerism.

There were few options for entertainment at the time so people would go to hear preachers as something to do. The last quote from Clym shows that he was trying to expiate his guilt about his mother. After her death, he thinks what a sweet woman she was, who didn't hold a grudge. That's not how I perceived her! Of course she was going to him on the day of her death. That was one of many missed connections, from the failed marriage in the beginning to the money that gets rerouted to the letter from Clym to Eustacia. But even if she had received that letter, I don't think she would have gone back to Clym.

So we feel Eustacia's death was an accident. What exactly happened with Clym and Wildeve? I think they were more interested in fighting or competing to save her than in working together to save her.

I think Hardy has sympathy for strong women who have no power in the society of that time. We see this with Tess and with Sue in Jude. He may be limited in options of what to do with them but they are interesting characters.

Everyman wrote: "Her idea of a splendid woman isn't mine."

Robin wrote: "I think Hardy has sympathy for strong women who have no power in the society of that time. We see this with Tess and with Sue in Jude. He may be limited in options of what to do with them but they are interesting characters."

In partial defence of Eustacia, she's so young, just 19 (though I appreciate this was culturally older in the 1840s than for us) and hungry for life and experience but everywhere she turns, she's thwarted and disappointed.

I agree with Robin, Hardy sympathises with characters, regardless of gender, who strive to achieve something but have the odds stacked against them. Often this is women but we could say the same of Jude whose burden is class.

Robin wrote: "So we feel Eustacia's death was an accident. What exactly happened with Clym and Wildeve? I think they were more interested in fighting or competing to save her than in working together to save her."

Yes, the love triangle made visceral! Eustacia must have something to make two such different men so obsessed that they're willing to die for her.

Robin wrote: "I think Hardy has sympathy for strong women who have no power in the society of that time. We see this with Tess and with Sue in Jude. He may be limited in options of what to do with them but they are interesting characters."

But not in Far From the Madding Crowd, written 15 years before this. Bathsheba does some foolish things, but grows and matures by the end. One of my favorite strong women.

Dianne wrote: "Oh no I never thought she was pushed! But she had been looking at those guns ..."

Yes I think she committed suicide. She had just been feeling trapped and crying over her realisation that she didn't have any money and that even if she manage to go where she wished nothing would change, oh weal, oh woe!. The water was pretty tempestuous by the sound of it, I don't think it would have been likely that someone wouldn't know it was there from the noise of the water.

There was also no cry heard; when people accidentally fall into things they usually cry out.

Clym thinks she went in deliberately and Wildeve is puzzled as to why he would think that the splash was caused by Eutascia until he explains. He clearly doesn't automatically imagine an accident.

LindaH wrote: "I have to agree with Roman on the Accidental or not question. No matter how "desolate " Eustacia felt as she stumbled about in the rain, she was too much of a fighter to jump. She LIKED extreme emo..."

I don't see her as a fighter in the least. As soon as she encounters any obstacles she collapses into a 'woe is me, the fates are against me!' heap and just gives up. Even Thomasin showed more of a fighting spirit at the end.

She certainly liked strong emotions though and saw herself as a tragic figure. And one who was clearly destined for a tragic end....

Everyman wrote: "Dianne wrote: "Do you think Eustacia's fall into the water was accidental? "

Oh, definitely. She is far too self-centered to commit suicide, and she was about to get rid of that furze-cutting neve..."

Ah but she wasn't! Wildeve wasn't grand enough for her. She had no money and (in typical fashion) she had just realised the extent of her hopelessness which was what caused her complete emotional collapse. Unable to stay, unable to go, what can this poor, misfortunate maiden do?!

I enjoyed this read - there were a lot of crazy and pretty unbelievable coincidences and I also laughed when the corpses started piling up because it was just soooo predicably Hardy. And even Clym who survived he couldn't not pour burning coals over his head - turning him into a broken wreck of a creature. Oh Hardy! Unfortunately your pathos is diminished when I'm going mentaly in my head 'Ding - Corpse Number One!; Ding Ding! - Corpse Number Two!; Ding Ding Ding!! - Corpse Number Three!'

I suppose he was going for a Greek tragedy/ Shakespeare tragedy feel. People are doomed, it's just a question of when and how. And it's related to the setting, like no one can be really happy on the heath (which is why the ending seems a bit out of place.)

If anyone hasn't read it, a very funny answer to Hardy is Cold Comfort Farm, where a "modern" girl straightens out all the tortured souls. And a variation on the theme of rustic tragedy is Precious Bane. It was written in 1924, so too late for this group but I think it's beautifully written and outstanding on audio.

It's not open-air preaching per se that I take issue with, Everyman (my lovely husband has done it in his day - what a strange thought!), it's the content. From Hardy's description it seemed that Clym chose any (mostly) moral topic that appealed to him on that day, more in keeping with 'Speaker's Corner' in London.

I do appreciate the history behind 'al fresco' preaching, as you have indicated. There has been a long tradition of it in this wee country of mine. Dangling the unsuspecting over the fires of Hell used to be a favourite pastime; metaphorically you understand! I never thought that I would ever miss this 'entertainment for masochists' until one day in Jerusalem I felt a pang of homesickness. I would have paid good money to hear some red-faced, well-meaning, fellow countryman, standing on his street corner (essential! :D) and warning of the wrath to come. Life's rich tapestry ...

Nicola, I loved your wickedly funny 'ding', 'ding ding', 'ding ding ding'. Reminiscent of Noah counting them (animals not people) into the Arc while Hardy counted them (people not animals) out. For me, though, his unpredictability was intact since he had the good grace to allow one, our friend Clym, to breathe the fresh air of the Heath again.

I felt that Eustacia likely jumped-as others have pointed out her weeping on the heath in realizing her poverty, her realization that she would need to flee with Wildeve (and put herself under his protection) who she no longer considered a worthy partner, her likely inability to make it to Paris and certainly not to make it into Parisian society, and this depression would have been exacerbated by the rain over the heath-I think she was in despair.

I had very mixed feelings about Clym-if he was so bent on a reconciliation with Eustacia-why wait for her to come to him? He was the one that had ended the relationship and tossed her out, why would he think she would feel she could return? There was a cold core both in him and in his mother which would permit them to sit and wait in silence for the other party to come supplicating back to them. His idealization of his mother, the daily visits to the grave, the weeks of mourning are not in keeping with a son who left her without any attempt at reconciliation because she didn't like his choice of wife.

I also found Hardy's description of Clym's half-hearted decision to try to woo his cousin strange-his assertion that Clym's love for Eustacia had been so strong that he could never love anyone else again in the same way-that sounds as if it came from the author's personal experience and I doubt it would hold true for most young men. Even worse was his reasoning that he and Thomasin should marry because this is what his mother wanted and it would be a way of making amends to her.

Whether or not it was Hardy's intention, I did enjoy the Thomasin/Diggory relationship and marriage. Venn had been so good to Thomasin throughout the book, he clearly worked hard to make himself marriageable once she was free without pushing her into something she did not want, and Thomasin seemed a good-hearted young woman who wanted to love.

It's been awhile since I read this, but also remember assuming that Eustacia had jumped.

Eustacia would not have been happy with Wildeve even if he had some money. She probably would have left him for someone richer and more exciting, then found that person wanting too. She doesn't bring much to a relationship except her beauty and sensuality. It's fortunate she had no child (maybe she knew some old wives' methods of birth control?) She wouldn't have enjoyed a child the way Thomasin did.

But are these all flaws or are they reflections of society at the time? If she had been a man, she would have had more control over her life. I think that's something that really pains her, not just being poor. Thomasin is fine with a traditional women's role but Eustacia isn't. It's symbolized in her dressing as a boy for the play. And at the end, she can't leave on her own and she can't make money on her own.

Frances wrote: "I felt that Eustacia likely jumped- ..."

We haven't seen much religious belief from Eustacia, but I think we need to keep in mind that in her society, and particularly in a rural society, at that time suicide would have been considered a major sin, condemned her permanently to hell, and prohibited her burial in consecrated ground. It would have been a terrible blow to her grandfather. Was she really in such a mental state as to overlook all of this, when she thought she was running off to Paris with Wildeve (whether or not she loved him)?

And then we have this from Book 3 Chapter 5, Wildeve and Eustacia:
What shall I assist you in?”
“In getting away from here.”
“Where do you wish to go to?”
“I have a place in my mind. If you could help me as far as Budmouth I can do all the rest. Steamers sail from there across the Channel, and so I can get to Paris, where I want to be. Yes,” she pleaded earnestly, “help me to get to Budmouth harbour without my grandfather’s or my husband’s knowledge, and I can do all the rest.”
“Will it be safe to leave you there alone?”
“Yes, yes. I know Budmouth well.”
“Shall I go with you? I am rich now.”
She was silent.
“Say yes, sweet!”
She was silent still.
“Well, let me know when you wish to go. We shall be at our present house till December; after that we remove to Casterbridge. Command me in anything till that time.”
“I will think of this,” she said hurriedly. “Whether I can honestly make use of you as a friend, or must close with you as a lover—that is what I must ask myself. If I wish to go and decide to accept your company I will signal to you some evening at eight o’clock punctually, and this will mean that you are to be ready with a horse and trap at twelve o’clock the same night to drive me to Budmouth harbour in time for the morning boat.”
“I will look out every night at eight, and no signal shall escape me.”
“Now please go away. If I decide on this escape I can only meet you once more unless—I cannot go without you. Go—I cannot bear it longer. Go—go!”
Wildeve slowly went up the steps and descended into the darkness on the other side; and as he walked he glanced back, till the bank blotted out her form from his further view.

At this point she's clearly not considering suicide, but planning her escape to Paris.

Then in Chapter 7:

At eight o’clock, the hour at which Eustacia had promised to signal Wildeve if ever she signalled at all, she looked around the premises to learn if the coast was clear, went to the furze-rick, and pulled thence a long-stemmed bough of that fuel. This she carried to the corner of the bank, and, glancing behind to see if the shutters were all closed, she struck a light, and kindled the furze. When it was thoroughly ablaze Eustacia took it by the stem and waved it in the air above her head till it had burned itself out.
She was gratified, if gratification were possible to such a mood, by seeing a similar light in the vicinity of Wildeve’s residence a minute or two later. Having agreed to keep watch at this hour every night, in case she should require assistance, this promptness proved how strictly he had held to his word. Four hours after the present time, that is, at midnight, he was to be ready to drive her to Budmouth, as prearranged.

Still, it seems clear to me, planning to go to Budmouth and then Paris. Is there any thought of suicide here?

Later she leaves her house for the rendezvous: At half-past eleven, finding that the house was silent, Eustacia had lighted her candle, put on some warm outer wrappings, taken her bag in her hand, and, extinguishing the light again, descended the staircase. When she got into the outer air she found that it had begun to rain, and as she stood pausing at the door it increased, threatening to come on heavily. But having committed herself to this line of action there was no retreating for bad weather.

Still no thought of suicide?

It is true that her grandfather pursued her with the thought, inspired by Charley, that she might want to harm herself, but would she have made such plans to go to Paris, packed her things, walked all the way down to the Inn, just in order to throw herself into the river?

When I read the book a couple of years ago, the idea that she committed suicide never crossed my mind. I thought it was just an unfortunate accident.

Everyman wrote: "Frances wrote: "I felt that Eustacia likely jumped- ..."

We haven't seen much religious belief from Eustacia, but I think we need to keep in mind that in her society, and particularly in a rural s..."

All those quotes are from before she had her emotional breakdown on the heath and so in my mind have no bearing on her actions from then on in. Eustacia was a highly strung teenager who had just had what she no doubt would think of as an epiphany and so come to the conclusion that her life was never going to improve. Feeling such humilation and her pride being what it was she was ripe for ending it all.

As for the thought that religion would hold her back I can hardly believe you to be serious. I'll just say that I don't think it would even have crossed her mind. And the idea of 'living in misery so as not to bring grief to her grandfather'. Well - we must have very different views on her character if you view her as remotely capable of such self denying behavior!

These are the statements from the book at the point where it all changes and are what makes me think that she committed suicide:


Eustacia at length reached Rainbarrow, and stood still there to think. Never was harmony more perfect than that between the chaos of her mind and the chaos of the world without. A sudden recollection had flashed on her this moment—she had not money enough for undertaking a long journey. Amid the fluctuating sentiments of the day her unpractical mind had not dwelt on the necessity of being well-provided, and now that she thoroughly realized the conditions she sighed bitterly and ceased to stand erect, gradually crouching down under the umbrella as if she were drawn into the Barrow by a hand from beneath. Could it be that she was to remain a captive still? Money—she had never felt its value before. Even to efface herself from the country means were required. To ask Wildeve for pecuniary aid without allowing him to accompany her was impossible to a woman with a shadow of pride left in her; to fly as his mistress—and she knew that he loved her—was of the nature of humiliation.

Anyone who had stood by now would have pitied her, not so much on account of her exposure to weather, and isolation from all of humanity except the mouldered remains inside the tumulus; but for that other form of misery which was denoted by the slightly rocking movement that her feelings imparted to her person. Extreme unhappiness weighed visibly upon her. Between the drippings of the rain from her umbrella to her mantle, from her mantle to the heather, from the heather to the earth, very similar sounds could be heard coming from her lips; and the tearfulness of the outer scene was repeated upon her face. The wings of her soul were broken by the cruel obstructiveness of all about her; and even had she seen herself in a promising way of getting to Budmouth, entering a steamer, and sailing to some opposite port, she would have been but little more buoyant, so fearfully malignant were other things. She uttered words aloud. When a woman in such a situation, neither old, deaf, crazed, nor whimsical, takes upon herself to sob and soliloquize aloud there is something grievous the matter.

“Can I go, can I go?” she moaned. “He’s not GREAT enough for me to give myself to—he does not suffice for my desire!... If he had been a Saul or a Bonaparte—ah! But to break my marriage vow for him—it is too poor a luxury!... And I have no money to go alone! And if I could, what comfort to me? I must drag on next year, as I have dragged on this year, and the year after that as before. How I have tried and tried to be a splendid woman, and how destiny has been against me!... I do not deserve my lot!” she cried in a frenzy of bitter revolt. “O, the cruelty of putting me into this ill-conceived world! I was capable of much; but I have been injured and blighted and crushed by things beyond my control! O, how hard it is of Heaven to devise such tortures for me, who have done no harm to Heaven at all!”

and now that she thoroughly realized the conditions she sighed bitterly and ceased to stand erect, gradually crouching down under the umbrella as if she were drawn into the Barrow by a hand from beneath.

That's a lovely image there - as if she is being pulled down into a grave by the realisations of her own mind... (Barrows are graves if anyone doesn't know).

It's another reason beyond the directly stated prose that I think it was suicide. The thought that Eustacia does her thinking while standing on the remains of the dead and after reaching her depressing conclusions seems to almost melt in the rain (water) and slides down to join them. Hardy loves his imagery and I doubt he'd use such an obvious one at such a dramatic point in the story with any other object than to record the exact moment where unavoidable death fell upon Eustacia.

Being a Hardy novel, I knew she would have to die somehow. That is a wonderful quote,Nicola.
I love Hardy's novels even though they can be depressing-his writing is so powerful.

Rosemarie wrote: "Being a Hardy novel, I knew she would have to die somehow.

A lot of the mystery goes out it when you know how likely death is :-) Death can be depressing but it's rarely a surprise!

Nicola wrote: "These are the statements from the book at the point where it all changes and are what makes me think that she committed suicide:


Eustacia at length reached Rainbarrow, and stood still there to th..."
Thanks for checking-yes those are exactly the passages that made me think that it was probably suicide-she had left with some hope in her heart of escaping alone but now realized it was hopeless and she would simply be going from one unworthy man to another, from one unwanted situation to another. She likely knew the heath to well from all her ramblings to fall in accidentally.

I guess we are left to draw our own conclusions to some extent, but I would assume it was suicide.

Nicola wrote: "As for the thought that religion would hold her back I can hardly believe you to be serious. I'll just say that I don't think it would even have crossed her mind.."

I don't see how religion couldn't have crossed the mind of anybody living in Victorian England. They were steeped in it; it was as much a part of their atmosphere as the air they breathed.

Whether it affected her, I can't of course say. But that she would have been aware of the religious aspect of suicide I don't question.

Frances wrote: "I guess we are left to draw our own conclusions to some extent, "

Hardy does love to leave things ambiguous. Like the question of Tess. Was she or wasn't she?

Everyman wrote: "Nicola wrote: "As for the thought that religion would hold her back I can hardly believe you to be serious. I'll just say that I don't think it would even have crossed her mind.."

I don't see how ..."

Oh I know that she would be 'aware' of the prohibitions in the same way that I am (although I'm fairly sure that Victorian England was not the universally religiously educated land that 'being steeped in it' would seem to imply) and I believe that she would have given them the same weight in her mind as considerations of her grandfather, i.e. they wouldn't have occurred to her at that point in time at all and even if she 'had' happened to think of them right then they wouldn't have made her hesitate in doing whatever she had decided to do. More likely to have had the very opposite effect I would say.

I had a thought about Eustacia's death. By drowning she 'proved' she wasn't a witch :-)

Intentional by Hardy I'm sure.

Thinking about religion in relation to Hardy's works and this book in particular:

Hardy was/became an agnostic and much of his work seems to show a lack of belief in any kind of sympathetic governing power. In the heath, although there is a church, how much influence does it wield as opposed to the superstitions and traditions of the common folk who live there? Or on the more educated?

Susan Nunsuch goes to church (or did at least once, attendance seems pretty slack to say the least amongst some of the population!) but believes that Eustacia is a witch and shoves a needle into her to break her magic and also creates a voodoo doll which she impales with pins whilst repeating The Lords Prayer backwards (an irony which obviously doesn't seem to strike her) - there is no thought of using prayer and the power of god to confound evil. Is religion to her no more than another magical force that she mixes up with folklore and witchcraft? After all she uses a simple prayer as a magical spell/curse which no educated Christian would. Can you be considered Christian if you have no genuine understanding of the beliefs of the religion and turn to spells and magic rather than the church and prayer?

As for the men they seem exactly the same. They discuss & commiserate with 'Christian' about his misfortune on being born on a new? moon and various other folklore tales. 'Christian' himself is a credulous bundle of superstitious terrors, almost seeming afraid of his own shadow.

All through the book religion seems a transparent wisp as compared with the strongly prevalent pagan fatalism of these older beliefs and ways.

And to add to Nicola's post on religion, the heath itself is associated with the imagery of pre-Christian mythology e.g. at one point it is described as 'Titanic' referencing the rebellion against the Olympian gods.

I love the association between Eustacia's drowning and witchcraft customs - but for me, the accidental fall into the water, swollen by the rain, remains the ultimate mis-step in a life dogged by ill-chance.

Here are some of the quotes from the book which shows the relationship of the people of Edgon with the church:

“Ah, well, I was at church that day,” said Fairway, “which was a very curious thing to happen.”

“If ‘twasn’t my name’s Simple,” said the Grandfer emphatically. “I ha’n’t been there to-year; and now the winter is a-coming on I won’t say I shall.”

“I ha’n’t been these three years,” said Humphrey; “for I’m so dead sleepy of a Sunday; and ‘tis so terrible far to get there; and when you do get there ‘tis such a mortal poor chance that you’ll be chose for up above, when so many bain’t, that I bide at home and don’t go at all.”

and

“That’s my age by baptism, because that’s put down in the great book of the Judgment that they keep in church vestry;

Hah!

The day was Sunday; but as going to church, except to be married or buried, was exceptional at Egdon, this made little difference.

Eustacia ponders whether it's worth going to church because Clym will be there but doesn't think she'll bother because she doesn't think that he will be.

In an ordinary village or country town one can safely calculate that, either on Christmas day or the Sunday contiguous, any native home for the holidays, who has not through age or ennui lost the appetite for seeing and being seen, will turn up in some pew or other, shining with hope, self-consciousness, and new clothes. Thus the congregation on Christmas morning is mostly a Tussaud collection of celebrities who have been born in the neighbourhood...

But these tender schemes were not feasible among the scattered inhabitants of Egdon Heath. In name they were parishioners, but virtually they belonged to no parish at all... Eustacia knew it was ten to one that Clym Yeobright would go to no church at all during his few days of leave, and that it would be a waste of labour for her to go driving the pony and gig over a bad road in hope to see him there.


Church attendance seems so rare that they say that they can remember specific events which happen everytime one of them goes.


Susan Nunsuch had pricked Miss Vye with a long stocking-needle, as she had threatened to do as soon as ever she could get the young lady to church, where she don’t come very often. She’ve waited for this chance for weeks, so as to draw her blood and put an end to the bewitching of Susan’s children that has been carried on so long. Sue followed her into church, sat next to her, and as soon as she could find a chance in went the stocking-needle into my lady’s arm.”..

“Well, have ye heard the news? But I see you have. ‘Tis a very strange thing that whenever one of Egdon folk goes to church some rum job or other is sure to be doing. The last time one of us was there was when neighbour Fairway went in the fall; and that was the day you forbad the banns, Mrs. Yeobright.”

And Eustacia's reaction?

“Yes, it frightened me. I had not been to church for a long time. And now I shall not go again for ever so long—perhaps never.

Edgon Heath is definitely not what you could call a highly devout neighbourhood!

Everyman wrote: "Nicola wrote: "As for the thought that religion would hold her back I can hardly believe you to be serious. I'll just say that I don't think it would even have crossed her mind.."

I don't see how ..."

Everyman wrote: "Nicola wrote: "As for the thought that religion would hold her back I can hardly believe you to be serious. I'll just say that I don't think it would even have crossed her mind.."

I don't see how ..."

Everyman wrote: "Nicola wrote: "As for the thought that religion would hold her back I can hardly believe you to be serious. I'll just say that I don't think it would even have crossed her mind.."

I don't see how ..."

Brilliant example referencing Tess, Everyman. Absolutely astounding writing by Hardy in that pivotal scene with Tess and Alec. There have probably been many doctoral theses explaining what is really going on but Hardy, I think, leaves it to his reader and his or her own experience to decide.

As for Eustacia, I think of her as the Scarlet O'Hara of Egdon Heath--no evidence of her stamping her foot and saying "Fiddle-dee-dee" but I find them to be similar characters--supremely selfish and manipulative. Even Eustacia's drowning has an element of pique surrounding it that she somehow inflates to profound suffering. Not a fan of Miss Vye, as you can tell.

Roman Clodia wrote: "but for me, the accidental fall into the water, swollen by the rain,..."

Trying to cross the weir made slippery by the heavy rain and with limited rainy nighttime vision (can't recall whether she was carrying a lantern, but if so it wouldn't have given much light) and carrying a heavy bundle, a slip seems almost inevitable.