In Thomas Hardy's novel Tess of the D'Urbervilles there is a pivotal scene where Tess slides a letter under Angel Clare's door. She thinks he's read it and has forgiven her for past transgressions but the letter was actually slid under a rug on the other side. Not only has he not read it, but he didn't even know it existed. I don't know much about Hardy (only recently did I learn that he was a farmer, which explains a lot, since farming seems to feature largely in the few works I've read by him--I think it is referred to as the "pastoral"), but he must have been a fatalist (or, at least there is something else at work in his stories).
In Far From the Madding Crowd (which was written before Tess), there is yet another pivotal scene where Bathsheba, the main character, is handed an anonymous note giving her information about her husband. She is inside a tent, has the note held loosely in her hand and someone outside the tent reaches under and pulls it from her fingers. Another missed opportunity for our heroine to, in this case, learn something of importance of her husband who has gone missing. Is it fate or sheer bad luck? Or something else?
At about the moment that the note was slid from the heroine's hand, things began to heat up in the story. I must admit my feelings towards it and the main characters ran the gamut. Beginning with high expectations, lulling into something a little more routine or mundane, and then reaching a low point where nothing anyone could do in this story would make me sympathetic towards them. Hardy pulled it off, even with a "happy" (happier for some more than others . . . ) ending. I quite like the Bathsheba who finds some modicum of happiness at the end. She's a wiser and more humble woman. It was an interesting journey getting there, however.
But let me go back to the beginning. Far from the Madding Crowd is the story of beautiful Bathsheba Everdene and the three men who fall for her. One is the practical suitor, one a little bit silly and the last a complete rogue. Bathsheba is an interesting character, too,--by turns maddening and sympathetic. She's an independent woman, a farmer in her own right, a landowner and manager of men and property. She's never quite ready to give up her heart, or maybe she just doesn't know her own mind when it comes to love. But then she does the oddest and most unexpected thing. She makes the mistake of offering one of the men a proposal of marriage, and on the eve of St. Valentine's Day no less.
"Of love as a spectacle Bathsheba had a fair knowledge; but of love subjectively she knew nothing."
The story opens with farmer Gabriel Oak, an eminently practical and intelligent man, who owns a flock of sheep and by all appearances will be a successful young man in his trade. He crosses paths with Bathsheba, a rather haughty young woman on first introduction. Of course he falls for her. She's on her way to take over a family farm and when next the two meet, his circumstances have changed considerably. He's willing to take on nearly any job so long as he finds employment and eventually he finds it on Bathsheba's farm. It doesn't take long before he proposes to her and is turned down.
Residing in the same neighborhood is William Boldwood, an older, established and successful farmer who seems quite content on his own despite his high potential as a marriage mate. I'm not sure what possesses Bathsheba to make the mistake of sending to him a playful Valentine. But the moment she does, he really 'sees her' for the first time and sets his sights on her. As a matter of fact he becomes almost obsessed by her.
And then there is Sgt. Troy. Let's throw him into the mix, too. He's a handsome, devil-may-care young man. He looks good in uniform but you can tell a mile away just how loyal he's going to be towards any woman. As a matter of fact he already has one love interest who he is ready to throw over for someone else. Why are women always so attracted to the 'bad boys' rather than the stalwart young men when given a choice? Excitement and thrills? Pure orneriness?
Bathsheba truly is headstrong. She doesn't like to lose and she doesn't like to appear incapable of taking care of herself, though on more than one occasion Gabriel Oak (despite her rejection) comes to her aid. And she doesn't always think beyond herself either. She plays about with the men's emotions (perhaps not in any malicious way, but certainly not very considerately) and then chooses the worst partner of the bunch. What's the saying? Marry in haste and repent in leisure? She's played a fool, but over time she subtly changes. Her hard edges are softened and her place in the world perhaps not solely in the center.
Can I describe this story as both a tragedy and a romance? I was a little shocked by a few of the things that took place--I just wasn't expecting them, though really I shouldn't have been too surprised. Hardy is known for his bleak outlooks and plotlines but this is considered one of his happier stories. And while the road is rocky indeed, (and there is the drama, I guess), the destination is actually a pleasing one.
I'm glad I read Far from the Madding Crowd and am always happy to have another Hardy novel under my belt. I will let you in on a little secret, however. I read this along with Stefanie at So Many Books, and had I not had a reading partner, I fear (though don't read anything bad into this--there is a reason Hardy's works are classics), this might have remained half read on my reading pile and quietly shuffled out of the stack at some point. She does a terrific job discussing the story, so do check out what she has to say about the novel.
I'm now contemplating a new classic read. I think I have the choice narrowed down to Willa Cather, William Dean Howells and Evelyn Waugh. I think I am ready for something a little different now.