The poem opens with a mythological account of Britain’s founding. After the fall of Troy, we are told, various heroes left to build cities. Romulus founded Rome, Ticius founded Tuscany, and Brutus founded Britain. The author introduces Britain’s greatest leader, the legendary King Arthur. This brief introduction ends with the poet telling us he will relate a story he heard told in a hall about a great Arthurian adventure.

The story begins at Christmastime at King Arthur’s court in Camelot. The knights of the Round Table join Arthur in the holiday celebrations, and Queen Guinevere presides in their midst. The lords and ladies of Camelot have been feasting for fifteen days, and now it is New Year’s Day. Everyone participates in New Year’s games, exchanging gifts and kisses. When the evening’s feast is about to be served, Arthur introduces a new game: he refuses to eat his dinner until he has heard a marvelous story.

While the lords and ladies feast, with Arthur’s nephew Gawain and Guinevere sitting together in the place of privilege at the high table, Arthur continues to wait for his marvel. As if in answer to Arthur’s request, an unknown knight suddenly enters the hall on horseback. The gigantic knight has a beautiful face and figure. Every piece of his elaborate costume is green, with flourishes of gold embossing. His huge horse is green, and his green hair and beard are woven together with gold thread. He holds a holly bob in one hand and a huge green and gold axe in the other.

Without introducing himself, the knight demands to see the person in charge. His question meets dead silence—the stunned lords and ladies stare at him silently, waiting for Arthur to respond. Arthur steps forward, inviting the knight to join the feast and tell his tale after he has dismounted from his horse. The knight refuses the invitation, remaining mounted and explaining that he has come to inspect Arthur’s court because he has heard so much about its superior knights. He claims to come in peace, but he demands to be indulged in a game. Arthur assumes the knight refers to some kind of combat and promises him a fight. However, the knight explains that he has no interest in fighting with such young and puny knights. Instead, he wants to play a game in which someone will strike him with his own axe, on the understanding that he gets to return the blow in exactly a year and a day.

The strange conditions of the game shock the court into silence once again. The Green Knight begins to question the reputation of Arthur’s followers, claiming that their failure to respond proves them cowards. Arthur blushes and steps forth defend his court, but just as he begins to swing the giant axe at the unfazed Green Knight, Gawain stands up and requests that he be allowed to take the challenge himself. The king agrees, and Gawain recites the terms of the game to show the Green Knight that he understands the pact he has undertaken. The Green Knight dismounts and bends down toward the ground, exposing his neck. Gawain lifts the axe, and in one stroke he severs the Green Knight’s head. Blood spurts from the wound, and the head rolls around the room, passing by the feet of many of the guests. However, the Green Knight does not fall from his horse. He reaches down, picks up the head, and holds it before him, pointing it toward the high table. The head speaks, reiterating the terms of Gawain’s promise. The Green Knight rides out of the hall, sparks flying from his horse’s hooves. Arthur and Gawain decide to hang the axe above the main dais. They then return to their feast and the continuing festivities.

Analysis

By framing the central plot of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight with an account of Britain’s founding by the Trojan Brutus, the poet establishes Camelot’s political legitimacy. He also links his own story with classical epics such as Virgil’s Aeneid, thereby creating a literary connection to the ancient world. In the second stanza, the poet claims that he heard the original story of Sir Gawain recited “in hall” (31), but also that it was “linked in measures meetly / By letters tried and true” (that is, it appeared in written format) (35–36). Iin addition to giving his poem both political and literary roots, the poet gives his poem both an oral and a written history, all in two brief stanzas.

The author devotes a lot of space to describing the lavish, intricate details of the feast, including the guests, their clothing, and the hall itself. The knights and ladies of Arthur’s court are full of vitality and joy, resembling the New Year that they celebrate. The poet describes them as “fair folk in their first age,” and he uses words like fresh, lovely, comely, young, and mirthful to describe them (54). Later, the Green Knight echoes these descriptions but exaggerates them, calling Arthur and his knights “beardless children” (280). These descriptions of Arthur’s courtiers as children in their “first age” implicitly compare the court to humankind in its “first age,” before the Fall in the Garden of Eden. The emphasis on the court’s youth and lack of experience suggests that these youthful people might be capable of failure, error, bad judgment, and sinfulness, just as Adam and Eve were.

The poet’s description of Queen Guinevere sitting on her dais, surrounded by exotic tapestries and jewels, suggests that the queen herself is first and foremost a beautiful object. The fact that Guinevere sits surrounded by tapestries from the far reaches of the earth supports the poet’s hyperbolic insistence that Guinevere’s beauty surpasses that of all women in the world. The poet does not touch on the moral or ethical aspects of Guinevere’s character—whether her exceptional body hides an ugly soul or enshrines a pure one remains for the reader to decide. However, any medieval reader would recognize Guinevere’s youthful beauty as the very thing that will later bring about the fall of Camelot: she is destined to betray her husband with Lancelot.

The Green Knight provides a less ambivalent commentary on Arthur and his courtiers by branding them inexperienced children in need of testing. At the same time, the Green Knight’s own character remains ambiguous, so we don’t know whether or not we can trust his judgment. The knight’s green costume and the holly bob he holds in one hand symbolize nature and fertility, but his costume is also ornamented with gold and he carries an axe, symbols of artifice and civilization. The Green Knight represents both the artificial and the natural worlds, and he seems to be a superhuman as well as a supernatural figure. These implications are confirmed when the Green Knight survives decapitation, showing himself to have the power of resurrection.

Gawain’s placement at the high table and his blood ties with Arthur characterize him as someone who maintains a high status among the knights of the Round Table. Yet, when Gawain steps forth to accept the Green Knight’s challenge, he claims he is the weakest of Arthur’s knights. Again, the author refuses to indicate whether Gawain’s self-deprecation stems from a real sense of his own inadequacy or whether it hides a kind of boastful knowledge of his own knightly stature. Many scholars of medieval chivalry believe Gawain’s behavior in this scene accords with the rules of knightly courtesy, but the poem gives us no commentary on Gawain’s motivations at this crucial plot juncture.

Although the Green Knight refers to his agreement with Gawain as a “game,” suggesting that the challenge is no different from any of the other games played by Arthur’s court, the Green Knight words his challenge like a legal contract. He refers to the agreement as a “covenant” and mentions dues, and he makes Gawain repeat the terms multiple times. The Green Knight’s language foreshadows the fact that the his game will have serious ethical implications; it will test not only Gawain’s bravery, but also his honesty and integrity.

Part 2 (lines 491–1125)

A year passes apace, and proves ever new:
First things and final conform but seldom.

Summary

Part 2 begins with a brief summary of the New Year’s feast in Part 1. The poet calls the Green Knight’s game with Gawain King Arthur’s New Year’s gift, since it provided him with the marvelous story he had waited to hear. The poet describes in elaborate language the change of seasons, from Christmas to the cold season of Lent with its ritual fasting, to a green young spring and summer, then into harvest time, and finally back to winter. In late autumn, on the Day of All Saints, the knights of Camelot prepare to send a mournful Gawain off on his quest for the Green Chapel.

Worried but resigned, Gawain calls for his armor, which the poet describes in great detail. He devotes space to each and every piece, down to the shimmering skirts on Gawain’s horse, Gringolet. The description lingers on Gawain’s shield, which depicts on its outside a gold five-pointed star, or pentangle, on a red background. On the inside of the shield is the face of Mary, Christ’s mother. Each of the five points of the pentangle, which is described as an “endless knot” (630), represents a set of Gawain’s virtues: his five senses; his five fingers; his fidelity, founded on the five wounds of Christ; his force, founded on the five joys of Mary; and the five knightly virtues.

After dressing, Gawain says goodbye to his friends and leaves the court. Sparks fly from Gringolet’s hooves as they ride off. He heads out into the wilderness, traveling through North Wales and the west coast of England in his search for the mysterious Green Chapel. He encounters various foes—wolves and dragons, bulls and bears, boars and giants—but always prevails over his enemies. He sleeps in his armor and has frequent nightmares. As the winter grows colder, he nearly freezes to death.

Finally, on Christmas Eve, the desperate Gawain prays to the Virgin Mary that he might find a place to attend Christmas Mass. He repents his sins, crosses himself three times, and, when he looks up, he sees a beautiful castle. Surrounded by a green park and a moat, the castle shimmers in the distance through the trees, and Gawain, full of thanks to God for saving him, approaches the drawbridge. The castle is so white and its crowns and turrets so tall and intricately carved that the whole building looks as if it were cut out of paper. Gawain salutes, and a guardian allows him to enter.

The porter welcomes Gawain warmly, inviting him in to meet the courtiers and the lord of the castle. The host’s lords and ladies repeatedly express their joy that Gawain (a minor celebrity because he is Arthur’s nephew and a knight of the Round Table) can show them the latest in knightly behavior and help them to become more courtly themselves. Like Arthur’s followers, the courtiers seem inexperienced and carefree. But Gawain’s host presents a much more imposing figure than Arthur. The lord appears to be middle-aged, with a thick, gray-black beard and solid, sturdy legs. Though the host’s fiery face and stocky figure make him appear fierce, his speech reveals him to be gracious and gentle.

The lord takes Gawain to a rich chamber, where he feeds Gawain sumptuous food and wine, and introduces Gawain to two women. The host’s wife is young, beautiful, and elegantly dressed, her firm neck and bosom exposed. The other, an old woman, is wrinkled, stocky, hairy, black-browed, and covered entirely in clothing. Only her nose, eyes, and blistered lips are exposed by the fabric. After the introductions, the lords and ladies play games and celebrate late into the night, when Gawain retires for bed.

Part 3 (lines 1126–1997)

Sir, if you be Gawain, it seems a great wonder—
A man so well-meaning, and mannerly disposed,
And cannot act in company as courtesy bids,

Summary

Early in the morning, the host and his guests get out of bed and prepare to ride forth from the castle. They attend Mass, eat a small breakfast, and leave with their hunting dogs as dawn breaks. They ride through the woods, chasing after the deer and herding the does away from the bucks and harts. In the fields, they slay the deer dozens at a time with their deadly arrows. The hounds hunt down the wounded animals, and the hunters follow to kill them off with their knives.

Back at the castle, Gawain lingers in bed until daybreak. While still half asleep, he hears the door open quietly. Peeking out of his bed’s canopy, he sees the host’s wife creeping toward his bed. Gawain lies back down, pretending to be asleep. Stealthily, the lady climbs inside the bed curtains and sits beside Gawain. Confused but curious, Gawain stretches and pretends to wake up. Upon seeing the lady in his bed, he feigns surprise and makes the sign of the cross. The host’s wife smiles and greets him, teasing him for sleeping so deeply that he didn’t notice her entering his chamber. She jokes that she has captured him, and she threatens to tie him to the bed, laughing at her own game. Gawain laughs and “surrenders” to her, then asks her leave to get up and put on his clothes. She refuses, saying that instead she will hold him captive. She tells Gawain that she has heard many stories about him and wants to spend time alone with him. She offers to be his servant and tells him to use her body any way he sees fit.

The two continue bantering, and the lady tells Gawain that she would have chosen him for her husband if she could have. Gawain responds that her own husband is the better man. Until mid-morning, the lady continues to lavish Gawain with admiration, and Gawain continues to guard himself while still being gracious.

When the lady gets up to leave, she laughs and then sternly accuses her captive knight of not being the real Gawain. Alarmed and worried that he has failed in his courtesy, Gawain asks her to explain what she means. She responds that the real Gawain would never let a lady leave his chamber without taking a kiss. Gawain allows one kiss, and then the lady leaves. He dresses immediately and goes to hear Mass, then spends the afternoon with the host’s wife and the old woman.

Meanwhile, the lord has been hunting deer with his men all day. As evening comes on, the hunters begin to flay the animals, separating the meat and skin from the carcasses. The poet describes the dismembering of the deer in gory detail, from the removal of their bowels to the severing of their heads. After they finish their bloody task, the hunters return home with their meat.

The host greets Gawain and gives him the venison he won during the hunt that day. Gawain thanks him and in return gives him the kiss he won from the lady. The host jokingly asks where Gawain won such a prize, and Gawain points out that they agreed to exchange winnings, not to tell where or how they were acquired. Happy, the men feast and retire to bed, agreeing before they part to play the game again the next day.

The next two days follow a similar pattern. On the second day, the lord hunts a wild boar, risking his life as he wrestles it to the ground and stabs it with his sword. At the castle, the lady continues to teasingly challenge Gawain’s reputation, pressuring him into allowing her two kisses and continuing to make convincing arguments for how his acceptance of her love would be chivalrous. That night, the host brings home the boar’s head on a stick and exchanges it with Gawain for the two kisses.

On the third day the host hunts a fox, and Gawain, awakened by the lady from horrible nightmares about the Green Knight, receives three kisses from the lady during the course of their conversation. However, while they banter, the lady asks Gawain for a love token. Gawain refuses to fulfill her request, claiming he has nothing to give, so the lady offers him a ring, which he also refuses. She then offers him her green girdle, which she claims has magical properties: it possesses the ability to keep the man who wears it safe from death. Tempted by the possibility of protecting his life, Gawain accepts the girdle.

That afternoon, Gawain goes to confession. At the end of the day, he gives the three kisses to his host but fails to mention the lady’s gift. After the exchange, the host and his courtiers hold a farewell party for Gawain, who later retires to his chamber, prepared to leave the next day to seek out the Green Chapel. Whether he sleeps or not, the poet cannot say.

Analysis

The alternating hunting scenes and bedroom scenes narrated in Part 3parallel one another, suggesting an analogous relationship between the lady’s attempts to entrap Gawain and the lord’s attempts to catch his prey. Each of the three days begins and ends with the violent, fast-paced action of the chase, and embedded at the center of each day is the courtly, bawdy bedroom scene. For both the hunters and Gawain, each day leads to a more valuable—and more dangerous—set of winnings. The three hunting scenes portray the larger patterns of the poem in brief allegories. The hunting scenes and the seduction scenes together address all the major issues of the poem.

There are a number of parallels between the hunt scenes and Gawain’s own quest. The host considers his gory and dangerous hunts “sport” in the same way the Green Knight considers his pact with Gawain a “game,” and, like the Green Knight’s challenge, the hunt scenes test the hunters’ nobility. The way the doe hunt starts out by separating the victims from the herd brings to mind the Green Knight’s challenge to Arthur and his company. The deer hunt happens at a group level, with multiple hunters and the mass execution of dozens of animals. In medieval hunting guides and bestiaries, deer are ranked as “beasts of venery” or “beasts of chase.” Though not fierce or confrontational, the animals were considered noble to hunt because they challenged their hunters’ skill and because their meat and hides have use value.

The boar hunt, on the other hand, engages the host and his prey in one-on-one combat. Boars were also considered beasts of venery, but were among the most dangerous game when cornered. That the host decapitates the boar and carries his head into the castle on a pike also recalls Gawain’s imminent decapitation. Interestingly, the foxes hunted on the third and final hunt were, in the Middle Ages, considered mere rodents, of the lowest class of the beasts of venery. Though difficult to hunt, they represented no real nobility or value, and were considered ignoble and deceitful animals whose fur possessed little usefulness or beauty. Thus, to spend the entire day hunting and to bring back nothing but what the host calls a “foul fox pelt” seems like time and energy wasted (1944). On this third day, we might expect the prize to have more value, but the host’s winnings have no worth at all, a fact he points out to Gawain during the exchange.

The three bedroom scenes also take the form of games, and they also build toward an anticlimax. The lady plays a new kind of game with Gawain, putting him in a precarious situation by testing two knightly virtues that she places at odds with one another: his courtesy and chastity. When Gawain refuses to give in to the lady sexually, she accuses him of being discourteous; as soon as he responds in a more courteous manner, the lady again pushes him toward being unchaste. The lady’s arguments, which are duplicitous and highly persuasive, vary between complex subtlety and bawdy suggestion. During their first bedroom encounter she claims innocently that she wants to “pass an hour in pastime with pleasant words” (1253), and she seems pious when she praises God for putting in her hands “all hearts’ desire” (1257). Yet we know that she is pinning a naked Gawain to the bed, holding him in her arms.

By claiming that she possesses Gawain only through God’s grace, the lady evokes a complicated system of religious and political imagery. As the host’s wife and as a noblewoman more generally, the lady exceeds Gawain in rank, and his chivalry requires him to obey her, facts of which she reminds him when attempting to seduce him. Also, the notion that courtly love—the love a knight might have for a lady of higher rank than himself—leads to spiritual ennoblement had been popularized centuries earlier in continental literature. Invoking religion at this erotically charged moment reminds Gawain that part of his spiritual education as a knight should involve courtly love. For Gawain to refuse her advances, he must break his knightly responsibility to be courteous; for him to accept, he must break his chastity.

On the third day, Gawain’s resolve weakens when the stakes shift radically from courtesy versus chastity to honesty versus safety. On the surface, the green silk girdle that the lady offers Gawain looks exactly like the kind of token that a courtly lady might give her lover (and Gawain initially rejects it for this reason), yet the ethical dilemma it represents is related to self-preservation rather than to chastity. When the lady tells him that the girdle also protects its wearer from being wounded or killed, Gawain is eager to be able to fulfill his promise to the Green Knight and still survive. What Gawain wants is a loophole through which he can escape death but still honor his covenant with the Green Knight. Unfortunately, using this loophole requires him to deceive his host—a breach of honesty and gratitude for hospitality. Gawain does not notice that the girdle’s silk is green and gold, like the Green Knight’s clothing, and he disassociates the girdle itself from the lady’s body, which it surely symbolizes, despite its magical properties, or else accepting it would not have been taboo in the first place.

Though in the end Gawain does not sleep with the host’s wife, and though he does not view lying about the magical girdle to save his life to be as big a crime as adultery, the omission nevertheless breaks his vow with the host. In desiring to find a loophole in his covenant with the Green Knight, Gawain also seeks to create one in his agreement with the host. The fact that Gawain goes to confess his sins immediately after taking the girdle indicates that he knows he has broken his vow.

One medieval scholar famously asked what Gawain would have to give the host if he had in fact slept with the lady, and the possibility of Gawain and the host’s wife having sex certainly raises this question. Consequently, homoeroticism is at the heart of the exchange-of-winnings game, since Gawain’s winnings are inevitably in the form of sexual favors, and since he is required by his pact with the host to give his winnings to the host at the end of the day. The logical outcome, if the lady had succeeded, would be that Gawain and the host would have to sleep together. The erotic scenario in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight creates a triangulation of desire: through their mutual attentions to the host’s wife, Gawain and the host establish an implicitly sexual connection with one another.

Part 4 (lines 1998–2531)

Summary

Gawain lies in bed during the early hours of New Year’s morning, listening to the harsh wind wailing outside the castle. Before the sun comes up, he rises and prepares to depart, putting on his armor and ordering servants to saddle his horse. Despite Gawain’s anxiety, his armor shines as brightly as it did when he left Camelot. He does not forget to tie the lady’s girdle around his waist. The girdle’s green color stands out against the red cloth of Gawain’s surcoat.

As Gawain and Gringolet prepare to ride off, Gawain silently blesses the castle, asking Christ to keep it safe from harm and wishing joy on the host and the host’s wife. Accompanied by a guide, Gawain crosses the drawbridge and rides back out into the wilderness, up to the heights of the neighboring snowy hills. There, the guide turns to Gawain and proposes a solution to his impending problem: if Gawain leaves now without facing the knight, the guide promises not to tell anyone. No one survives an encounter with the Green Knight, the guide informs Gawain, so continuing is tantamount to suicide. Gawain thanks the guide for his concern, but he refuses to be a coward. The guide wishes Gawain well and leaves at a breakneck pace, afraid to go any farther into the woods.

Gawain strengthens his resolve and heads onward into the strange forest. He sees no sign of buildings and searches without success for a chapel in the wilderness. Finally he notices a strange mound and investigates it. He spots a kind of crevice or cave, fringed with tall grass, and realizes it must be the Green Chapel.

Suddenly certain that the place belongs to the devil, Gawain curses the chapel and is proceeding toward the cave with his lance in hand when he hears the horrifying sound of a weapon being sharpened on a grindstone. Terrified, and fully aware that the sound means his own doom, Gawain calls out to the lord of the place, stating that he has come to fulfill his agreement. The Green Knight replies, telling Gawain to stay put, and continues to sharpen his weapon. The Green Knight emerges from around a crag, carrying a Danish axe. He welcomes Gawain warmly and compliments him on his punctuality, then tells him he will repay him for his own beheading a year ago. Gawain tries to act unafraid as he bares his neck for the deadly blow.

The Green Knight lifts the axe high and drops it. When the Green Knight sees Gawain flinch he stops his blade, mocking Gawain and questioning his reputation. Gawain tells him he will not flinch again, and the Green Knight lifts the axe a second time. Gawain doesn’t flinch as the axe comes down, and the Green Knight holds the blade again, this time congratulating Gawain’s courage. He then threatens Gawain, saying that the next blow will strike him. Angry, Gawain tells the knight to hurry up and strike, and the knight lifts his axe one last time. He brings it down hard, but causes Gawain no harm other than a slight cut on his neck. Gawain leaps away, draws his sword gleefully, and challenges the Green Knight to a fight, telling him that he has withstood the promised blow. The Green Knight leans on his axe and agrees that Gawain has met the terms of the covenant, but refuses to fight. He points out that he has spared Gawain. He feinted the first two times, in accordance with their contract on the first two days, when Gawain gave him the gifts he had received from the lady. The nick from the third blow was punishment for Gawain’s behavior on the third day, when he failed to tell the truth about the green girdle.

This speech reveals that the Green Knight is the host of the castle where Gawain was staying. He again congratulates Gawain on his bravery, calling him the worthiest of Arthur’s knights and excusing his transgression on the third day. Gawain responds by untying the girdle and cursing it, and asking to regain the host’s trust if possible. The Green Knight laughs and absolves Gawain, now that he has adequately confessed his sin. He gives Gawain the girdle to keep and asks him to come back to the castle and stay there longer to celebrate New Year’s, but Gawain refuses.

Gawain thanks the Green Knight and sends his best wishes to the lady and the old woman, then complains about the deceitfulness of women, who have brought about the downfalls of great men such as Adam, Solomon, Samson, and David. He accepts the girdle, though, and asks that the Green Knight tell him his true name. The knight agrees and reveals himself as Bertilak de Hautdesert, servant of Morgan le Faye, who is the old woman in the castle. Le Faye is also Gawain’s aunt and Arthur’s half sister, as well as Merlin’s mistress; she sometimes helps and sometimes makes trouble for Arthur. Bertilak reveals that Le Faye sent him in disguise as the Green Knight to Camelot in order to scare Queen Guinevere to death. One last time, Bertilak asks Gawain to return with him to the castle and celebrate New Year’s with Morgan le Faye and the others, but Gawain refuses and hurries back toward Camelot.

On his journey back to Arthur’s castle, Gawain’s wound heals, but he continues to wear the green girdle on his right shoulder. When he enters the court, he meets a gleeful reception and tells the story of his encounter with Bertilak. He explains that he intends to wear the green girdle forever as a sign of his failure and sin. Arthur and the court try to comfort Gawain, and they decide that they will all wear belts of green silk as a sign of respect and unity.

The poet concludes by reaffirming the truth of his story, which happened in the days of King Arthur, and which is recorded in “[t]he books of Brutus’ deeds” (2523). In the last wheel of the poem, the poet praises Christ.

And one and all fell prey
To women they had used;
If I be led astray,
Methinks I may be excused.

Analysis

Echoing the opening of Part 2, Part 4 opens with a description of the passing of time and a general description of the atmosphere, followed by an account of Gawain putting on his armor and leaving the castle. Though briefer and more somber in tone, this second description balances the earlier one and begins to bring the poem toward its close. The harshness of the winter, with its howling wind and numbing cold, fits Gawain’s bleak mood.

The date on which Gawain sets out to find the Green Chapel is important. In the medieval liturgical calendar, January first marked the Feast of the Circumcision. (In the Judaic tradition, circumcision took place exactly eight days after a child’s birth, so Christ’s circumcision occurred on January 1, eight days after December 25.) The Green Knight’s beheading occurred a year and a day earlier, on the eve of the Feast of the Circumcision, suggesting a parallel between the Green Knight’s head and the foreskin of Christ. That the Green Knight is able to reassemble himself after his decapitation recalls Christian belief in Christ’s resurrection and in the resurrection of all bodies after Judgment Day. On the New Year’s Day a year and a day after the Green Knight’s symbolic circumcision, the Green Knight punishes Gawain not by decapitating him, but by lightly cutting his neck. This cut symbolizes circumcision as well, but it lacks the supernatural elements of the Green Knight’s punishment.

The axe that the Green Knight is sharpening when Gawain finds him is evidence of the knight’s contrast to the courtly tradition from which Gawain comes. At Camelot, the knight’s axe is described at length, and in the forest, we discover that the Green Knight possesses a new Danish axe that replaces the one Gawain and Arthur hung up in the hall at Camelot. The Danish axe connects the Green Knight with England’s Anglo-Saxon roots. Originally associated with the Vikings, the presence of the Danish war axe aligns the Green Knight with a regime that is older than the one Gawain’s lance represents. As such, the Green Knight represents a relationship with a primeval human existence.

When the Green Knight spares Gawain, it is clear that the knight has changed from a character obsessed with the absolute justice of pacts and agreements into one who understands the possibility of compassion and mercy. Up until this part, the Green Knight has seemed to privilege the exact letter of his covenant with Gawain above mercy or even justice. But at the end of the story, he transforms into a much more compassionate figure. He calls it his right to spare Gawain from decapitation, and explains, “You are so fully confessed, your failings made known, / And bear the plain penance at the point of my blade” (2391–2392). The combination of an Old Testament rite, the circumcision, with a New Testament one, the confession, frees Gawain from the sin of lying about the girdle.

Themes, Motifs & Symbols

Themes

Themes are the fundamental and often universal ideas explored in a literary work.

The Nature of Chivalry

The world of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight is governed by well-defined codes of behavior. The code of chivalry, in particular, shapes the values and actions of Sir Gawain and other characters in the poem. The ideals of chivalry derive from the Christian concept of morality, and the proponents of chivalry seek to promote spiritual ideals in a spiritually fallen world.

The ideals of Christian morality and knightly chivalry are brought together in Gawain’s symbolic shield. The pentangle represents the five virtues of knights: friendship, generosity, chastity, courtesy, and piety. Gawain’s adherence to these virtues is tested throughout the poem, but the poem examines more than Gawain’s personal virtue; it asks whether heavenly virtue can operate in a fallen world. What is really being tested in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight might be the chivalric system itself, symbolized by Camelot.

Arthur’s court depends heavily on the code of chivalry, and Sir Gawain and the Green Knight gently criticizes the fact that chivalry values appearance and symbols over truth. Arthur is introduced to us as the “most courteous of all,” indicating that people are ranked in this court according to their mastery of a certain code of behavior and good manners. When the Green Knight challenges the court, he mocks them for being so afraid of mere words, suggesting that words and appearances hold too much power over the company. The members of the court never reveal their true feelings, instead choosing to seem beautiful, courteous, and fair-spoken.

On his quest for the Green Chapel, Gawain travels from Camelot into the wilderness. In the forest, Gawain must abandon the codes of chivalry and admit that his animal nature requires him to seek physical comfort in order to survive. Once he prays for help, he is rewarded by the appearance of a castle. The inhabitants of Bertilak’s castle teach Gawain about a kind of chivalry that is more firmly based in truth and reality than that of Arthur’s court. These people are connected to nature, as their hunting and even the way the servants greet Gawain by kneeling on the “naked earth” symbolize (818). As opposed to the courtiers at Camelot, who celebrate in Part 1 with no understanding of how removed they are from the natural world, Bertilak’s courtiers joke self-consciously about how excessively lavish their feast is (889–890).

The poem does not by any means suggest that the codes of chivalry be abandoned. Gawain’s adherence to them is what keeps him from sleeping with his host’s wife. The lesson Gawain learns as a result of the Green Knight’s challenge is that, at a basic level, he is just a physical being who is concerned above all else with his own life. Chivalry provides a valuable set of ideals toward which to strive, but a person must above all remain conscious of his or her own mortality and weakness. Gawain’s time in the wilderness, his flinching at the Green Knight’s axe, and his acceptance of the lady’s offering of the green girdle teach him that though he may be the most chivalrous knight in the land, he is nevertheless human and capable of error.

The Letter of the Law

Though the Green Knight refers to his challenge as a “game,” he uses the language of the law to bind Gawain into an agreement with him. He repeatedly uses the word “covenant,” meaning a set of laws, a word that evokes the two covenants represented by the Old and the New Testaments. The Old Testament details the covenant made between God and the people of Israel through Abraham, but the New Testament replaces the old covenant with a new covenant between Christ and his followers. In 2 Corinthians 3:6, Paul writes that Christ has “a new covenant, not of letter but of spirit; for the letter kills, but the Spirit gives life.” The “letter” to which Paul refers here is the legal system of the Old Testament. From this statement comes the Christian belief that the literal enforcement of the law is less important than serving its spirit, a spirit tempered by mercy.

Throughout most of the poem, the covenant between Gawain and the Green Knight evokes the literal kind of legal enforcement that medieval Europeans might have associated with the Old Testament. The Green Knight at first seems concerned solely with the letter of the law. Even though he has tricked Gawain into their covenant, he expects Gawain to follow through on the agreement. And Gawain, though he knows that following the letter of the law means death, is determined to see his agreement through to the end because he sees this as his knightly duty.

At the poem’s end, the covenant takes on a new meaning and resembles the less literal, more merciful New Testament covenant between Christ and his Church. In a decidedly Christian gesture, the Green Knight, who is actually Gawain’s host, Bertilak, absolves Gawain because Gawain has confessed his faults. To remind Gawain of his weakness, the Green Knight gives him a penance, in the form of the wound on his neck and the girdle. The Green Knight punishes Gawain for breaking his covenant to share all his winnings with his host, but he does not follow to the letter his covenant to decapitate Gawain. Instead of chopping Gawain’s head off, Bertilak calls it his right to spare Gawain and only nicks his neck.

Ultimately, Gawain clings to the letter of the law. He cannot accept his sin and absolve himself of it the way Bertilak has, and he continues to do penance by wearing the girdle for the rest of his life. The Green Knight transforms his literal covenant by offering Gawain justice tempered with mercy, but the letter of the law still threatens in the story’s background, and in Gawain’s own psyche.

Motifs

Motifs are recurring structures, contrasts, or literary devices that can help to develop and inform the text’s major themes.

The Seasons

At the beginning of Parts 2 and 4, the poet describes the changing of the seasons. The seasonal imagery in Part 2 precedes Gawain’s departure from Camelot, and in Part 4 his departure from the host’s castle. In both cases, the changing seasons correspond to Gawain’s changing psychological state, from cheerfulness (pleasant weather) to bleakness (the winter). But the five changing seasons also correspond to the five ages of man (birth/infancy, youth, adulthood, middle age, and old age/death), as well as to the cycles of fertility and decay that govern all creatures in the natural world. The emphasis on the cyclical nature of the seasons contrasts with and provides a different understanding of the passage of time from the more linear narrative of history that frames the poem.

Games

When the poem opens, Arthur’s court is engaged in feast-time customs, and Arthur almost seems to elicit the Green Knight’s entrance by requesting that someone tell him a tale. When the Green Knight first enters, the courtiers think that his appearance signals a game of some sort. The Green Knight’s challenge, the host’s later challenge, and the wordplay that takes place between Gawain and the lady are all presented as games. The relationship between games and tests is explored because games are forms of social behavior, while tests provide a measure of an individual’s inner worth.

Symbols

Symbols are objects, characters, figures, or colors used to represent abstract ideas or concepts.

The Pentangle

According to the Gawain-poet, King Solomon originally designed the five-pointed star as his own magic seal. A symbol of truth, the star has five points that link and lock with each other, forming what is called the endless knot. Each line of the pentangle passes over one line and under one line, and joins the other two lines at its ends. The pentangle symbolizes the virtues to which Gawain aspires: to be faultless in his five senses; never to fail in his five fingers; to be faithful to the five wounds that Christ received on the cross; to be strengthened by the five joys that the Virgin Mary had in Jesus (the Annunciation, Nativity, Resurrection, Ascension, and Assumption); and to possess brotherly love, courtesy, piety, and chastity. The side of the shield facing Gawain contains an image of the Virgin Mary to make sure that Gawain never loses heart.

The Green Girdle

The meaning of the host’s wife’s girdle changes over the course of the narrative. It is made out of green silk and embroidered with gold thread, colors that link it to the Green Knight. She claims it possesses the power to keep its wearer from harm, but we find out in Part 4 that the girdle has no magical properties. After the Green Knight reveals his identity as the host, Gawain curses the girdle as representing cowardice and an excessive love of mortal life. He wears it from then on as a badge of his sinfulness. To show their support, Arthur and his followers wear green silk baldrics that look just like Gawain’s girdle.

“The Canterbury Tales” Chaucer, G

A) The Nun’s Priest’s Prologue, Tale, and Epilogue

Fragment 7, lines 2768–3446

Summary: The Prologue of the Nun’s Priest

After the Monk has told his tale, the Knight pleads that no more tragedies be told. He asks that someone tell a tale that is the opposite of tragedy, one that narrates the extreme good fortune of someone previously brought low. The Host picks the Nun’s Priest, the priest traveling with the Prioress and her nun, and demands that he tell a tale that will gladden the hearts of the company members. The Nun’s Priest readily agrees, and begins his tale.

Summary: The Tale of the Nun’s Priest

A poor, elderly widow lives a simple life in a cottage with her two daughters. Her few possessions include three sows, three cows, a sheep, and some chickens. One chicken, her rooster, is named Chanticleer, which in French means “sings clearly.” True to his name, Chanticleer’s “cock-a-doodle-doo” makes him the master of all roosters. He crows the hour more accurately than any church clock. His crest is redder than fine coral, his beak is black as jet, his nails whiter than lilies, and his feathers shine like burnished gold. Understandably, such an attractive cock would have to be the Don Juan of the barnyard. Chanticleer has many hen-wives, but he loves most truly a hen named Pertelote. She is as lovely as Chanticleer is magnificent.

As Chanticleer, Pertelote, and all of Chanticleer’s ancillary hen-wives are roosting one night, Chanticleer has a terrible nightmare about an orange houndlike beast who threatens to kill him while he is in the yard. Fearless Pertelote berates him for letting a dream get the better of him. She believes the dream to be the result of some physical malady, and she promises him that she will find some purgative herbs. She urges him once more not to dread something as fleeting and illusory as a dream. In order to convince her that his dream was important, he tells the stories of men who dreamed of murder and then discovered it. His point in telling these stories is to prove to Pertelote that “Mordre will out” (3052)—murder will reveal itself—even and especially in dreams. Chanticleer cites textual examples of famous dream interpretations to further support his thesis that dreams are portentous. He then praises Pertelote’s beauty and grace, and the aroused hero and heroine make love in barnyard fashion: “He fethered Pertelote twenty tyme, / And trad hire eke as ofte, er it was pryme [he clasped Pertelote with his wings twenty times, and copulated with her as often, before it was 6 a.m.” (3177–3178).

One day in May, Chanticleer has just declared his perfect happiness when a wave of sadness passes over him. That very night, a hungry fox stalks Chanticleer and his wives, watching their every move. The next day, Chanticleer notices the fox while watching a butterfly, and the fox confronts him with dissimulating courtesy, telling the rooster not to be afraid. Chanticleer relishes the fox’s flattery of his singing. He beats his wings with pride, stands on his toes, stretches his neck, closes his eyes, and crows loudly. The fox reaches out and grabs Chanticleer by the throat, and then slinks away with him back toward the woods. No one is around to witness what has happened. Once Pertelote finds out what has happened, she burns her feathers with grief, and a great wail arises from the henhouse.

The widow and her daughters hear the screeching and spy the fox running away with the rooster. The dogs follow, and pretty soon the whole barnyard joins in the hullabaloo. Chanticleer very cleverly suggests that the fox turn and boast to his pursuers. The fox opens his mouth to do so, and Chanticleer flies out of the fox’s mouth and into a high tree. The fox tries to flatter the bird into coming down, but Chanticleer has learned his lesson. He tells the fox that flattery will work for him no more. The moral of the story, concludes the Nun’s Priest, is never to trust a flatterer.

Summary: The Epilogue to the Nun’s Priest’s Tale

The Host tells the Nun’s Priest that he would have been an excellent rooster—for if he has as much courage as he has strength, he would need hens. The Host points out the Nun’s Priest’s strong muscles, his great neck, and his large breast, and compares him to a sparrow-hawk. He merrily wishes the Nun’s Priest good luck.

Analysis

The Nun’s Priest’s Tale is a fable, a simple tale about animals that concludes with a moral lesson. Stylistically, however, the tale is much more complex than its simple plot would suggest. Into the fable framework, the Nun’s Priest brings parodies of epic poetry, medieval scholarship, and courtly romance. Most critics are divided about whether to interpret this story as a parody or as an allegory. If viewed as a parody, the story is an ironic and humorous retelling of the fable of the fox and the rooster in the guise of, alternately, a courtly romance and a Homeric epic. It is hilariously done, since into the squawkings and struttings of poultry life, Chaucer transposes scenes of a hero’s dreaming of death and courting his lady love, in a manner that imitates the overblown, descriptive style of romances. For example, the rooster’s plumage is described as shining like burnished gold. He also parodies epic poetry by utilizing apostrophes, or formal, imploring addresses: “O false mordrour, lurkynge in thy den!” (3226), and “O Chauntecleer, acursed be that morwe / That thou into the yerd flaugh fro the bemes!” (3230–3231). If we read the story as an allegory, Chanticleer’s story is a tale of how we are all easily swayed by the smooth, flattering tongue of the devil, represented by the fox. Other scholars have read the tale as the story of Adam and Eve’s (and consequently all humankind’s) fall from grace told through the veil of a fable.

The Nun’s Priest’s Tale is the only one of all the tales to feature a specific reference to an actual late-fourteenth-century event. This reference occurs when the widow and her daughters begin to chase the fox, and the whole barnyard screeches and bellows, joining in the fray. The narrator notes that not even the crew of Jack Straw, the reputed leader of the English peasants’ rebellion in 1381, made half as much noise as did this barnyard cacophony: “Certes, he Jakke Straw and his meynee / Ne made nevere shoutes half so shrille / Whan that they wolden any Flemyng kille, /As thilke day was maad upon the fox” (3394–3397). This first and only contemporary reference in The Canterbury Tales dates at least the completion of the tale of Chanticleer to the 1380s, a time of great civil unrest and class turmoil.

B) The Wife of Bath’s Prologue

From the beginning through the Wife of Bath’s description of her first three husbands Fragment 3, lines 1–451

Summary

The Wife of Bath begins the Prologue to her tale by establishing herself as an authority on marriage, due to her extensive personal experience with the institution. Since her first marriage at the tender age of twelve, she has had five husbands. She says that many people have criticized her for her numerous marriages, most of them on the basis that Christ went only once to a wedding, at Cana in Galilee. The Wife of Bath has her own views of Scripture and God’s plan. She says that men can only guess and interpret what Jesus meant when he told a Samaritan woman that her fifth husband was not her husband. With or without this bit of Scripture, no man has ever been able to give her an exact reply when she asks to know how many husbands a woman may have in her lifetime. God bade us to wax fruitful and multiply, she says, and that is the text that she wholeheartedly endorses. After all, great Old Testament figures, like Abraham, Jacob, and Solomon, enjoyed multiple wives at once. She admits that many great Fathers of the Church have proclaimed the importance of virginity, such as the Apostle Paul. But, she reasons, even if virginity is important, someone must be procreating so that virgins can be created. Leave virginity to the perfect, she says, and let the rest of us use our gifts as best we may—and her gift, doubtless, is her sexual power. She uses this power as an “instrument” to control her husbands.

At this point, the Pardoner interrupts. He is planning to marry soon and worries that his wife will control his body, as the Wife of Bath describes. The Wife of Bath tells him to have patience and to listen to the whole tale to see if it reveals the truth about marriage. Of her five husbands, three have been “good” and two have been “bad.” The first three were good, she admits, mostly because they were rich, old, and submissive. She laughs to recall the torments that she put these men through and recounts a typical conversation that she had with her older husbands. She would accuse her -husband of having an affair, launching into a tirade in which she would charge him with a bewildering array of accusations. If one of her husbands got drunk, she would claim he said that every wife is out to destroy her husband. He would then feel guilty and give her what she wanted. All of this, the Wife of Bath tells the rest of the pilgrims, was a pack of lies—her husbands never held these opinions, but she made these claims to give them grief. Worse, she would tease her husbands in bed, refusing to give them full satisfaction until they promised her money. She admits proudly to using her verbal and sexual power to bring her husbands to total submission.

Analysis

In her lengthy Prologue, the Wife of Bath recites her autobiography, announcing in her very first word that “experience” will be her guide. Yet, despite her claim that experience is her sole authority, the Wife of Bath apparently feels the need to establish her authority in a more scholarly way. She imitates the ways of churchmen and scholars by backing up her claims with quotations from Scripture and works of antiquity. The Wife carelessly flings around references as textual evidence to buttress her argument, most of which don’t really correspond to her points. Her reference to Ptolemy’sAlmageste, for instance, is completely erroneous—the phrase she attributes to that book appears nowhere in the work. Although her many errors display her lack of real scholarship, they also convey Chaucer’s mockery of the churchmen present, who often misused Scripture to justify their devious actions.

The text of the Wife of Bath’s Prologue is based in the medieval genre of allegorical “confession.” In a morality play, a personified vice such as Gluttony or Lust “confesses” his or her sins to the audience in a life story. The Wife is exactly what the medieval Church saw as a “wicked woman,” and she is proud of it—from the very beginning, her speech has undertones of conflict with her patriarchal society. Because the statements that the Wife of Bath attributes to her husbands were taken from a number of satires published in Chaucer’s time, which half-comically portrayed women as unfaithful, superficial, evil creatures, always out to undermine their husbands, feminist critics have often tried to portray the Wife as one of the first feminist characters in literature.

This interpretation is weakened by the fact that the Wife of Bath herself conforms to a number of these misogynist and misogamist (antimarriage) stereotypes. For example, she describes herself as sexually voracious but at the same time as someone who only has sex to get money, thereby combining two contradictory stereotypes. She also describes how she dominated her husband, playing on a fear that was common to men, as the Pardoner’s nervous interjection reveals. Despite their contradictions, all of these ideas about women were used by men to support a hierarchy in which men dominated women.

The Wife of Bath’s Prologue (continued)

From the Wife of Bath’s description of her fourth husband through the end of her prologue Fragment 3, lines 452–856

Summary

The Wife of Bath begins her description of her two “bad” husbands. Her fourth husband, whom she married when still young, was a reveler, and he had a “paramour,” or mistress (454). Remembering her wild youth, she becomes wistful as she describes the dancing and singing in which she and her fourth husband used to indulge. Her nostalgia reminds her of how old she has become, but she says that she pays her loss of beauty no mind. She will try to be merry, for, though she has lost her “flour,” she will try to sell the “bran” that remains. Realizing that she has digressed, she returns to the story of her fourth husband. She confesses that she was his purgatory on Earth, always trying to make him jealous. He died while she was on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem.

Of her fifth husband, she has much more to say. She loved him, even though he treated her horribly and beat her. He was coy and flattering in bed, and always won her back. Women, the Wife says, always desire what is forbidden them, and run away from whatever pursues or is forced upon them. This husband was also different from the other four because she married him for love, not money. He was a poor ex-student who boarded with the Wife’s friend and confidante.

When she first met this fifth husband, Jankyn, she was still married to her fourth. While walking with him one day, she told him that she would marry him if she were widowed. She lied to him and told him he had enchanted her, and that she had dreamed that he would kill her as she slept, filling her bed with blood, which signifies gold. But, she confides to her listeners, all of this was false: she never had such a dream. She loses her place in the story momentarily, then resumes with her fourth husband’s funeral. She made a big show of crying, although, she admits, she actually cried very little since she already had a new husband lined up.

As she watched Jankyn carry her husband’s casket, she fell in love with him. He was only twenty and she forty, but she was always a lusty woman and thought she could handle his youth. But, she says, she came to regret the age difference, because he would not suffer her abuse like her past husbands and gave some of his own abuse in return. He had a “book of wicked wives” she recalls, called Valerie and Theofraste. This book contained the stories of the most deceitful wives in history. It began with Eve, who brought all mankind into sin by first taking the apple in the Garden of Eden; from there, it chronicled Delilah’s betrayal of Samson, Clytemnestra’s murder of Agamemnon, and other famous stories. Jankyn would torment the Wife of Bath (whom we learn in line 804 is named Alisoun) by reading out of this book at night.

One evening, out of frustration, the Wife tears three pages out of the book and punches Jankyn in the face. Jankyn repays her by striking her on the head, which is the reason, she explains in line 636, that she is now deaf in one ear. She cries out that she wants to kiss him before she dies, but when he comes over, she hits him again. They finally manage a truce, in which he hands over all of his meager estate to her, and she acts kindly and loving.

Her tale of her marriages finished, the Wife announces that she will tell her story, eliciting laughter from the Friar, who exclaims, “This is a long preamble of a tale!” (831). The Summoner tells him to shut up, and they exchange some angry words. The Host quiets everybody down and allows the Wife of Bath to begin her story.

Analysis

In her discussion of her fourth and fifth husbands, the Wife of Bath begins to let her true feelings show through her argumentative rhetoric. Her language becomes even less controlled, and she loses her place several times (at line 585, for instance), as she begins to react to her own story, allowing her words to affect her own train of thought. Her sensitivity about her age begins to show through, and, as she reveals psychological depth, she becomes a more realistic, sympathetic, and compelling character.

When the Wife of Bath describes how she fell in love with her fifth husband, despite her pragmatism, she reveals her softer side. She recognizes that he used the same tactics against her as she used against other men, but she cannot stop herself from desiring him. Jankyn even uses one of the satires against women to aggravate her, the kind of satire that the Wife mocked earlier in her Prologue. Despite all this, we can see that Jankyn, though the most aggravating of her husbands, is the only one that she admits she truly loved. Even as she brags about her shameless manipulation of her husbands and claims that her sexual powers can conquer anyone, she retains a deep fondness for the one man she could not control.

The Wife seems to enjoy the act of arguing more than the end of deriving an answer by logic. To explain why clerks (meaning church writers) treat wives so badly, for example, she employs three different arguments. First, she blames the entire religious establishment, claiming that church writings breed hostility toward wives because they were written by men (690–696). Then, she gives an astrological explanation, asserting that the children of Mercury (scholars) and of Venus (lovers) always contradict one another. A third reason she gives is that when clerks grow old, their impotence and decreased virility makes them hostile and slanderous toward wives (705–710).

Twice in her Prologue, the Wife calls attention to her habit of lying—“and al was fals,” she states (382, 582). These statements certainly highlight our awareness of the fact that she’s giving a performance, and they also put her entire life story in question. We are left wondering to what extent we should even believe the “experience” of the Wife of Bath, and whether she is not, in fact, a mean-spirited satire on Chaucer’s part, meant to represent the fickleness of women.

The Wife of Bath’s Tale

Fragment 3, lines 857–1264

Summary

In the days of King Arthur, the Wife of Bath begins, the isle of Britain was full of fairies and elves. Now, those creatures are gone because their spots have been taken by the friars and other mendicants that seem to fill every nook and cranny of the isle. And though the friars rape women, just as the incubi did in the days of the fairies, the friars only cause women dishonor—the incubi always got them pregnant.

In Arthur’s court, however, a young, lusty knight comes across a beautiful young maiden one day. Overcome by lust and his sense of his own power, he rapes her. The court is scandalized by the crime and decrees that the knight should be put to death by decapitation. However, Arthur’s queen and other ladies of the court intercede on his behalf and ask the king to give him one chance to save his own life. Arthur, wisely obedient to wifely counsel, grants their request. The queen presents the knight with the following challenge: if, within one year, he can discover what women want most in the world and report his findings back to the court, he will keep his life. If he cannot find the answer to the queen’s question, or if his answer is wrong, he will lose his head.

The knight sets forth in sorrow. He roams throughout the country, posing the question to every woman he meets. To the knight’s dismay, nearly every one of them answers differently. Some claim that women love money best, some honor, some jolliness, some looks, some sex, some remarriage, some flattery, and some say that women most want to be free to do as they wish. Finally, says the Wife, some say that women most want to be considered discreet and secretive, although she argues that such an answer is clearly untrue, since no woman can keep a secret. As proof, she retells Ovid’s story of Midas. Midas had two ass’s ears growing under his hair, which he concealed from everybody except his wife, whom he begged not to disclose his secret. She swore she would not, but the secret burned so much inside her that she ran down to a marsh and whispered her husband’s secret to the water. The Wife then says that if her listeners would like to hear how the tale ends, they should read Ovid.

She returns to her story of the knight. When his day of judgment draws near, the knight sorrowfully heads for home. As he rides near a forest, he sees a large group of women dancing and decides to approach them to ask his question. But as he approaches, the group vanishes, and all he can see is an ugly old woman. The woman asks if she can be of help, and the knight explains his predicament and promises to reward her if she can help him. The woman tells the knight that he must pledge himself to her in return for her help, and the knight, having no options left, gladly consents. She then guarantees that his life will be saved.

The knight and the old woman travel together to the court, where, in front of a large audience, the knight tells the queen the answer with which the old woman supplied him: what women most desire is to be in charge of their husbands and lovers. The women agree resoundingly that this is the answer, and the queen spares the knight’s life. The old hag comes forth and publicly asks the knight to marry her. The knight cries out in horror. He begs her to take his material possessions rather than his body, but she refuses to yield, and in the end he is forced to consent. The two are married in a small, private wedding and go to bed together the same night. Throughout the entire ordeal, the knight remains miserable.

While in bed, the loathsome hag asks the knight why he is so sad. He replies that he could hardly bear the shame of having such an ugly, lowborn wife. She does not take offense at the insult, but calmly asks him whether real “gentillesse,” or noble character, can be hereditary (1109). There have been sons of noble fathers, she argues, who were shameful and villainous, though they shared the same blood. Her family may be poor, but real poverty lies in covetousness, and real riches lie in having little and wanting nothing. She offers the knight a choice: either he can have her be ugly but loyal and good, or he can have her young and fair but also coquettish and unfaithful. The knight ponders in silence. Finally, he replies that he would rather trust her judgment, and he asks her to choose whatever she thinks best. Because the knight’s answer gave the woman what she most desired, the authority to choose for herself, she becomes both beautiful and good. The two have a long, happy marriage, and the woman becomes completely obedient to her husband. The Wife of Bath concludes with a plea that Jesus Christ send all women husbands who are young, meek, and fresh in bed, and the grace to outlive their husbands.

Analysis

“Wommen desiren to have sovereyntee
As wel over hir housbond as hir love,
And for to been in maistrie hym above.”

The tale the Wife of Bath tells about the transformation of an old hag into a beautiful maid was quite well known in folk legend and poetry. One of Chaucer’s contemporaries, the poet John Gower, wrote a version of the same tale that was very popular in Chaucer’s time. But whereas the moral of the folk tale of the loathsome hag is that true beauty lies within, the Wife of Bath arrives at such a conclusion only incidentally. Her message is that, ugly or fair, women should be obeyed in all things by their husbands.

The old hag might be intended to represent the Wife of Bath herself, at least as she would like others to see her. Though the hag has aged, she is capable of displaying all of the vigor and inner beauty of her youth if the right man comes along, just as the Wife did with her fifth and favorite husband, the youthful Jankyn. Although the old hag becomes a beautiful young woman in response to the young knight’s well-timed response, it is unclear whether he truly had enough respect for the old woman that he allowed her to choose for herself, or whether he had simply learned how to supply her with the correct answer.

If we agree with the former, we may see the Wife as an idealistic character who believes that bad men can change. If we choose the latter, the Wife becomes a much more cynical character, inclined to mistrust all men. In the second interpretation, both transformations—the knight’s shallow change in behavior (but not in soul) and the hag’s transformation into the physical object of desires—are only skin deep. Perhaps she is giving him exactly what he deserves: superficiality.

The Wife begins her tale by depicting the golden age of King Arthur as one that was both more perilous and more full of opportunity for women. Every time a woman traveled alone, the Wife suggests, she was in danger of encountering an incubus, or an evil spirit who would seduce women (880). But the society is also highly matriarchal. After the knight commits a rape, the king hands him over to Arthur’s queen, who decides to send him on an educational quest. His education comes through women, and the queen’s challenge puts him in a situation where what is traditionally thought of as a shortcoming—a woman’s inability to keep a secret—is the only thing that can save him. The Wife’s digression about King Midas may also be slightly subversive. Instead of finishing the story, she directs the reader to Ovid. In Ovid’s version of the story, the only person who knows about Midas’s ass’s ears is not his wife but his barber. The wife could, therefore, be slyly trying to point out that men, too, are gossips.

C) The Miller’s Prologue and Tale

Fragment 1, lines 3109–3854

Summary

The pilgrims applaud the Knight’s Tale, and the pleased Host asks the Monk to match it. Before the Monk can utter a word, however, the Miller interrupts. Drunk and belligerent, he promises that he has a “noble” tale that will repay the Knight’s (3126). The Host tries to persuade the Miller to let some “bettre” man tell the next tale (3130). When the Miller threatens to leave, however, the Host acquiesces. After the Miller reminds everyone that he is drunk and therefore shouldn’t be held accountable for anything he says, he introduces his tale as a legend and a life of a carpenter and of his wife, and of how a clerk made a fool of the carpenter, which everyone understands to mean that the clerk slept with the carpenter’s wife (3141–3143). The Reeve shouts out his immediate objection to such ridicule, but the Miller insists on proceeding with his tale. He points out that he is married himself, but doesn’t worry whether some other man is sleeping with his wife, because it is none of his business. The narrator apologizes to us in advance for the tale’s bawdiness, and warns that those who are easily offended should skip to another tale.

The Miller begins his story: there was once an Oxford student named Nicholas, who studied astrology and was well acquainted with the art of love. Nicholas boarded with a wealthy but ignorant old carpenter named John, who was jealous and highly possessive of his sexy eighteen-year-old wife, Alisoun. One day, the carpenter leaves, and Nicholas and Alisoun begin flirting. Nicholas grabs Alisoun, and she threatens to cry for help. He then begins to cry, and after a few sweet words, she agrees to sleep with him when it is safe to do so. She is worried that John will find out, but Nicholas is confident he can outwit the carpenter.

Nicholas is not alone in desiring Alisoun. A merry, vain parish clerk named Absolon also fancies Alisoun. He serenades her every night, buys her gifts, and gives her money, but to no avail—Alisoun loves Nicholas. Nicholas devises a plan that will allow him and Alisoun to spend an entire night together. He has Alisoun tell John that Nicholas is ill. John sends a servant to check on his boarder, who arrives to find Nicholas immobile, staring at the ceiling. When the servant reports back to John, John is not surprised, saying that madness is what one gets for inquiring into “Goddes pryvetee,” which is what he believes Nicholas’s astronomy studies amount to. Nevertheless, he feels sorry for the student and goes to check on him.

Nicholas tells John he has had a vision from God and offers to tell John about it. He explains that he has foreseen a terrible event. The next Monday, waters twice as great as Noah’s flood will cover the land, exterminating all life. The carpenter believes him and fears for his wife, just what Nicholas had hoped would occur. Nicholas instructs John to fasten three tubs, each loaded with provisions and an ax, to the roof of the barn. On Monday night, they will sleep in the tubs, so that when the flood comes, they can release the tubs, hack through the roof, and float until the water subsides. Nicholas also warns John that it is God’s commandment that they may do nothing but pray once they are in the tubs—no one is to speak a word.

Monday night arrives, and Nicholas, John, and Alisoun ascend by ladder into the hanging tubs. As soon as the carpenter begins to snore, Nicholas and Alisoun climb down, run back to the house, and sleep together in the carpenter’s bed. In the early dawn, Absolon passes by. Hoping to stop in for a kiss, or perhaps more, from Alisoun, Absalon sidles up to the window and calls to her. She harshly replies that she loves another. Absolon persists, and Alisoun offers him one quick kiss in the dark.

Absolon leaps forward eagerly, offering a lingering kiss. But it is not her lips he finds at the window, but her “naked ers [arse]” (3734). She and Nicholas collapse with laughter, while Absolon blindly tries to wipe his mouth. Determined to avenge Alisoun’s prank, Absolon hurries back into town to the blacksmith and obtains a red-hot iron poker. He returns with it to the window and knocks again, asking for a kiss and promising Alisoun a golden ring. This time, Nicholas, having gotten up to relieve himself anyway, sticks his rear out the window and farts thunderously in Absolon’s face. Absolon brands Nicholas’s buttocks with the poker. Nicholas leaps up and cries out, “Help! Water! Water!” (3815). John, still hanging from the roof, wakes up and assumes Nicholas’s cries mean that the flood has come. He grabs the ax, cuts free the tub, and comes crashing to the ground, breaking his arm. The noise and commotion attract many of the townspeople. The carpenter tells the story of the predicted flood, but Nicholas and Alisoun pretend ignorance, telling everyone that the carpenter is mad. The townspeople laugh that all have received their dues, and the Miller merrily asks that God save the company.

Analysis

Thus swyved was this carpenteris wyf,
For al his kepyng and his jalousye;
And Absolon hath kist hir nether ye;
And Nicholas is scalded in the towte.

In the Miller’s Prologue, we perceive tension between social classes for the first time in The Canterbury Tales. The Host clearly wants the Monk to tell the second tale, so that the storytelling proceeds according to social rank. By butting in, the Miller upsets the Host’s plan. Like the Knight’s Tale, which fits his honorable and virtuous personality, the Miller’s Tale is stereotypical of the Miller’s bawdy character and low station. However, nothing about the drunken, immoral, and brutal Miller could possibly prepare the reader for the Miller’s elegant verse and beautiful imagery. The Miller’s description of Alisoun draws on a completely different stock of images from the Knight’s depiction of Emelye, but it is no less effective. Whereas Emelye is compared to a rose, a lily, the spring, and an angel, Alisoun’s body is delicate and slender like a weasel, her apron is as white as morning milk, and her features are compared to plums and pear trees. The Miller’s imagery is less conventional and less elevated than the Knight’s, drawn instead from the details of village or farm life.

Although the narrator is unforgiving in his depiction of the drunk, rowdy Miller, whom he presents according to the stereotypes of the Miller’s class and profession, there are a few intriguing points of similarity between the narrator and the Miller. For instance, the Miller apologizes for the tale he is about to tell, and transfers all blame to the “ale of Southwerk”—in effect, to the Host himself (3140). Thirty lines later, the narrator himself makes a similar apology, and reminds his audience to blame the Miller if it finds the tale offensive. Also, the Miller begins his story by giving little portraits of each of his characters, just as the narrator begins his story of the pilgrimage by outlining each of its members.

The Host asks the Monk to “quite,” or repay, the Knight’s Tale (3119). But when the Miller interrupts and cries out that he can “quite the Knyghtes [Knight’s] tale,” he changes the word somewhat to mean “revenge” (3127). Indeed, the Miller does take “revenge” upon the Knight to an extent. Just as he transforms the meaning of the word “quite,” the Miller takes several of the themes from the Knight’s Tale and alters them. For instance, the Knight’s Tale suggested that human suffering is part of a divine plan that mortals cannot hope to know. In a completely different tone and context, the Miller, too, cautions against prying into “God’s pryvetee,” meaning God’s secrets (3164). He first raises this idea in his Prologue, arguing that a man shouldn’t take it upon himself to assume that his wife is unfaithful. In the Miller’s Tale, John repeats the caution against prying into “God’s pryvetee.” Several times, John scolds Nicholas for trying to know “God’s pryvetee,” but when Nicholas actually offers to let John in on his secret, John jumps at the chance. John also jealously tries to control his young wife, reminding us that the Miller equated an attempt to know God’s “pryvetee” with a husband’s attempt to know about his wife’s “private parts.” The two round tubs that the foolish carpenter hangs from the roof of his barn, one on either side of a long trough, suggest an obscene visual pun on this vulgar meaning of “God’s pryvetee.”

The Miller’s Tale also responds to the Knight’s by turning the Knight’s courtly love into a burlesque farce. The Miller places his lovers’ intrigues in a lower-class context, satirizing the pretensions of long-suffering courtly lovers by portraying Nicholas and Alisoun in a frank and sexually graphic manner—Nicholas seduces Alisoun by grabbing her by the pudendum, or “queynte” (3276). Absolon, the parish clerk, represents a parody of the conventional courtly lover. He stays awake at night, patiently woos his lady by means of go-betweens, sings and plays guitar, and aspires to be Alisoun’s page or servant. For his pains, all he gets is the chance to kiss Alisoun’s anus and to be farted on by Nicholas.

In addition to parodying tales of courtly love, the Miller’s Tale also plays with the medieval genres of fabliaux and of mystery plays. Fabliaux are bawdy, comic tales that build to a ridiculous and complex climax usually hinging on some joke or trick. Nicholas is parody of the traditional clever cleric in a fabliau. As the deviser of the scheme to trick John, he seems to be attempting to write his own fabliau, although Absolon foils his plan. Yet, John is still the big loser in the end. The moral of the play is that John should not have married someone so young: “Men sholde wedden after hire estaat [their estate], / For youthe and elde [old age] is often at debaat” (3229–3230). Justice is served in the Miller’s eyes when Alisoun commits adultery, because she revenges her husband “[f]or . . . his jalousye” (3851). Despite their differences, the two clerics ally at the story’s end to dupe the carpenter, and so nobody believes John’s story about Nicholas’s trick.

The Miller’s Tale also includes references to different scenes acted out in medieval mystery plays. Mystery plays, which typically enacted stories of God, Jesus, and the saints, were the main source of biblical education for lay folk in the Middle Ages. As John’s gullibility shows, his education through mystery plays means that he has only a slight understanding of the Bible. The Miller begins his biblical puns in his Prologue, when he says that he will speak in “[Pontius] Pilates” place. His statement that he will tell “a legende and a lyf / Bothe of a carpenter and of his wyf” is a reference to the story of Joseph and Mary. “Legends and lives” were written and told of the saints, and the story in which Joseph finds out that Mary is pregnant (and the many jokes that could be made about Mary being unfaithful) was a common subject of mystery plays. The stories of Noah’s flood, and of Noah’s wife, are also obviously twisted around by the Miller. These biblical puns work up to the climax of the tale. When he says that Nicholas’s fart was as great as a “thonder-dent,” the Miller aligns Nicholas—the creator of the action—with God (3807). Absolon, who cries out, “My soule bitake I unto Sathanas [Satan]” (3750), becomes a version of the devil, who damns God by sticking him with his red-hot poker. The result of Absolon’s actions is that John falls from the roof in a pun on the fall of humanity.

“Paradise Lost” Milton, J.

Plot Overview

M ilton’s speaker begins Paradise Lost by stating that his subject will be Adam and Eve’s disobedience and fall from grace. He invokes a heavenly muse and asks for help in relating his ambitious story and God’s plan for humankind. The action begins with Satan and his fellow rebel angels who are found chained to a lake of fire in Hell. They quickly free themselves and fly to land, where they discover minerals and construct Pandemonium, which will be their meeting place. Inside Pandemonium, the rebel angels, who are now devils, debate whether they should begin another war with God. Beezelbub suggests that they attempt to corrupt God’s beloved new creation, humankind. Satan agrees, and volunteers to go himself. As he prepares to leave Hell, he is met at the gates by his children, Sin and Death, who follow him and build a bridge between Hell and Earth.

In Heaven, God orders the angels together for a council of their own. He tells them of Satan’s intentions, and the Son volunteers himself to make the sacrifice for humankind. Meanwhile, Satan travels through Night and Chaos and finds Earth. He disguises himself as a cherub to get past the Archangel Uriel, who stands guard at the sun. He tells Uriel that he wishes to see and praise God’s glorious creation, and Uriel assents. Satan then lands on Earth and takes a moment to reflect. Seeing the splendor of Paradise brings him pain rather than pleasure. He reaffirms his decision to make evil his good, and continue to commit crimes against God. Satan leaps over Paradise’s wall, takes the form of a cormorant (a large bird), and perches himself atop the Tree of Life. Looking down at Satan from his post, Uriel notices the volatile emotions reflected in the face of this so-called cherub and warns the other angels that an impostor is in their midst. The other angels agree to search the Garden for intruders.

Meanwhile, Adam and Eve tend the Garden, carefully obeying God’s supreme order not to eat from the Tree of Knowledge. After a long day of work, they return to their bower and rest. There, Satan takes the form of a toad and whispers into Eve’s ear. Gabriel, the angel set to guard Paradise, finds Satan there and orders him to leave. Satan prepares to battle Gabriel, but God makes a sign appear in the sky—the golden scales of justice—and Satan scurries away. Eve awakes and tells Adam about a dream she had, in which an angel tempted her to eat from the forbidden tree. Worried about his creation, God sends Raphael down to Earth to teach Adam and Eve of the dangers they face with Satan.

Raphael arrives on Earth and eats a meal with Adam and Eve. Raphael relates the story of Satan’s envy over the Son’s appointment as God’s second-in-command. Satan gathered other angels together who were also angry to hear this news, and together they plotted a war against God. Abdiel decides not to join Satan’s army and returns to God. The angels then begin to fight, with Michael and Gabriel serving as co-leaders for Heaven’s army. The battle lasts two days, when God sends the Son to end the war and deliver Satan and his rebel angels to Hell. Raphael tells Adam about Satan’s evil motives to corrupt them, and warns Adam to watch out for Satan. Adam asks Raphael to tell him the story of creation. Raphael tells Adam that God sent the Son into Chaos to create the universe. He created the earth and stars and other planets. Curious, Adam asks Raphael about the movement of the stars and planets. Eve retires, allowing Raphael and Adam to speak alone. Raphael promptly warns Adam about his seemingly unquenchable search for knowledge. Raphael tells Adam that he will learn all he needs to know, and that any other knowledge is not meant for humans to comprehend. Adam tells Raphael about his first memories, of waking up and wondering who he was, what he was, and where he was. Adam says that God spoke to him and told him many things, including his order not to eat from the Tree of Knowledge. After the story, Adam confesses to Raphael his intense physical attraction to Eve. Raphael reminds Adam that he must love Eve more purely and spiritually. With this final bit of advice, Raphael leaves Earth and returns to Heaven.

Eight days after his banishment, Satan returns to Paradise. After closely studying the animals of Paradise, he chooses to take the form of the serpent. Meanwhile, Eve suggests to Adam that they work separately for awhile, so they can get more work done. Adam is hesitant but then assents. Satan searches for Eve and is delighted to find her alone. In the form of a serpent, he talks to Eve and compliments her on her beauty and godliness. She is amazed to find an animal that can speak. She asks how he learned to speak, and he tells her that it was by eating from the Tree of Knowledge. He tells Eve that God actually wants her and Adam to eat from the tree, and that his order is merely a test of their courage. She is hesitant at first but then reaches for a fruit from the Tree of Knowledge and eats. She becomes distraught and searches for Adam. Adam has been busy making a wreath of flowers for Eve. When Eve finds Adam, he drops the wreath and is horrified to find that Eve has eaten from the forbidden tree. Knowing that she has fallen, he decides that he would rather be fallen with her than remain pure and lose her. So he eats from the fruit as well. Adam looks at Eve in a new way, and together they turn to lust.

God immediately knows of their disobedience. He tells the angels in Heaven that Adam and Eve must be punished, but with a display of both justice and mercy. He sends the Son to give out the punishments. The Son first punishes the serpent whose body Satan took, and condemns it never to walk upright again. Then the Son tells Adam and Eve that they must now suffer pain and death. Eve and all women must suffer the pain of childbirth and must submit to their husbands, and Adam and all men must hunt and grow their own food on a depleted Earth. Meanwhile, Satan returns to Hell where he is greeted with cheers. He speaks to the devils in Pandemonium, and everyone believes that he has beaten God. Sin and Death travel the bridge they built on their way to Earth. Shortly thereafter, the devils unwillingly transform into snakes and try to reach fruit from imaginary trees that shrivel and turn to dust as they reach them.

God tells the angels to transform the Earth. After the fall, humankind must suffer hot and cold seasons instead of the consistent temperatures before the fall. On Earth, Adam and Eve fear their approaching doom. They blame each other for their disobedience and become increasingly angry at one another. In a fit of rage, Adam wonders why God ever created Eve. Eve begs Adam not to abandon her. She tells him that they can survive by loving each other. She accepts the blame because she has disobeyed both God and Adam. She ponders suicide. Adam, moved by her speech, forbids her from taking her own life. He remembers their punishment and believes that they can enact revenge on Satan by remaining obedient to God. Together they pray to God and repent.

God hears their prayers, and sends Michael down to Earth. Michael arrives on Earth, and tells them that they must leave Paradise. But before they leave, Michael puts Eve to sleep and takes Adam up onto the highest hill, where he shows him a vision of humankind’s future. Adam sees the sins of his children, and his children’s children, and his first vision of death. Horrified, he asks Michael if there is any alternative to death. Generations to follow continue to sin by lust, greed, envy, and pride. They kill each other selfishly and live only for pleasure. Then Michael shows him the vision of Enoch, who is saved by God as his warring peers attempt to kill him. Adam also sees the story of Noah and his family, whose virtue allows them to be chosen to survive the flood that kills all other humans. Adam feels remorse for death and happiness for humankind’s redemption. Next is the vision of Nimrod and the Tower of Babel. This story explains the perversion of pure language into the many languages that are spoken on Earth today. Adam sees the triumph of Moses and the Israelites, and then glimpses the Son’s sacrifice to save humankind. After this vision, it is time for Adam and Eve to leave Paradise. Eve awakes and tells Adam that she had a very interesting and educating dream. Led by Michael, Adam and Eve slowly and woefully leave Paradise hand in hand into a new world.

Analysis of Major Characters

Satan

Some readers consider Satan to be the hero, or protagonist, of the story, because he struggles to overcome his own doubts and weaknesses and accomplishes his goal of corrupting humankind. This goal, however, is evil, and Adam and Eve are the moral heroes at the end of the story, as they help to begin humankind’s slow process of redemption and salvation. Satan is far from being the story’s object of admiration, as most heroes are. Nor does it make sense for readers to celebrate or emulate him, as they might with a true hero. Yet there are many compelling qualities to his character that make him intriguing to readers.

One source of Satan’s fascination for us is that he is an extremely complex and subtle character. It would be difficult, perhaps impossible, for Milton to make perfect, infallible characters such as God the Father, God the Son, and the angels as interesting to read about as the flawed characters, such as Satan, Adam, and Eve. Satan, moreover, strikes a grand and majestic figure, apparently unafraid of being damned eternally, and uncowed by such terrifying figures as Chaos or Death. Many readers have argued that Milton deliberately makes Satan seem heroic and appealing early in the poem to draw us into sympathizing with him against our will, so that we may see how seductive evil is and learn to be more vigilant in resisting its appeal.

Milton devotes much of the poem’s early books to developing Satan’s character. Satan’s greatest fault is his pride. He casts himself as an innocent victim, overlooked for an important promotion. But his ability to think so selfishly in Heaven, where all angels are equal and loved and happy, is surprising. His confidence in thinking that he could ever overthrow God displays tremendous vanity and pride. When Satan shares his pain and alienation as he reaches Earth in Book IV, we may feel somewhat sympathetic to him or even identify with him. But Satan continues to devote himself to evil. Every speech he gives is fraudulent and every story he tells is a lie. He works diligently to trick his fellow devils in Hell by having Beelzebub present Satan’s own plan of action.

Satan’s character—or our perception of his character—changes significantly from Book I to his final appearance in Book X. In Book I he is a strong, imposing figure with great abilities as a leader and public statesmen, whereas by the poem’s end he slinks back to Hell in serpent form. Satan’s gradual degradation is dramatized by the sequence of different shapes he assumes. He begins the poem as a just-fallen angel of enormous stature, looks like a comet or meteor as he leaves Hell, then disguises himself as a more humble cherub, then as a cormorant, a toad, and finally a snake. His ability to reason and argue also deteriorates. In Book I, he persuades the devils to agree to his plan. In Book IV, however, he reasons to himself that the Hell he feels inside of him is reason to do more evil. When he returns to Earth again, he believes that Earth is more beautiful than Heaven, and that he may be able to live on Earth after all. Satan, removed from Heaven long enough to forget its unparalleled grandeur, is completely demented, coming to believe in his own lies. He is a picture of incessant intellectual activity without the ability to think morally. Once a powerful angel, he has become blinded to God’s grace, forever unable to reconcile his past with his eternal punishment.

Adam

Adam is a strong, intelligent, and rational character possessed of a remarkable relationship with God. In fact, before the fall, he is as perfect as a human being can be. He has an enormous capacity for reason, and can understand the most sophisticated ideas instantly. He can converse with Raphael as a near-equal, and understand Raphael’s stories readily. But after the fall, his conversation with Michael during his visions is significantly one-sided. Also, his self-doubt and anger after the fall demonstrate his new ability to indulge in rash and irrational attitudes. As a result of the fall, he loses his pure reason and intellect.

Adam’s greatest weakness is his love for Eve. He falls in love with her immediately upon seeing her, and confides to Raphael that his attraction to her is almost overwhelming. Though Raphael warns him to keep his affections in check, Adam is powerless to prevent his love from overwhelming his reason. After Eve eats from the Tree of Knowledge, he quickly does the same, realizing that if she is doomed, he must follow her into doom as well if he wants to avoid losing her. Eve has become his companion for life, and he is unwilling to part with her even if that means disobeying God.

Adam’s curiosity and hunger for knowledge is another weakness. The questions he asks of Raphael about creation and the universe may suggest a growing temptation to eat from the Tree of Knowledge. But like his physical attraction to Eve, Adam is able to partly avoid this temptation. It is only through Eve that his temptations become unavoidable.

Eve

Created to be Adam’s mate, Eve is inferior to Adam, but only slightly. She surpasses Adam only in her beauty. She falls in love with her own image when she sees her reflection in a body of water. Ironically, her greatest asset produces her most serious weakness, vanity. After Satan compliments her on her beauty and godliness, he easily persuades her to eat from the Tree of Knowledge.

Aside from her beauty, Eve’s intelligence and spiritual purity are constantly tested. She is not unintelligent, but she is not ambitious to learn, content to be guided by Adam as God intended. As a result, she does not become more intelligent or learned as the story progresses, though she does attain the beginning of wisdom by the end of the poem. Her lack of learning is partly due to her absence for most of Raphael’s discussions with Adam in Books V, VI, and VII, and she also does not see the visions Michael shows Adam in Books XI and XII. Her absence from these important exchanges shows that she feels it is not her place to seek knowledge independently; she wants to hear Raphael’s stories through Adam later. The one instance in which she deviates from her passive role, telling Adam to trust her on her own and then seizing the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge, is disastrous.

Eve’s strengths are her capacity for love, emotion, and forebearance. She persuades Adam to stay with her after the fall, and Adam in turn dissuades her from committing suicide, as they begin to work together as a powerful unit. Eve complements Adam’s strengths and corrects his weaknesses. Thus, Milton does not denigrate all women through his depiction of Eve. Rather he explores the role of women in his society and the positive and important role he felt they could offer in the divine union of marriage.

God

An omniscient, omnipresent, and omnipotent character who knows everything before it happens. Attempting to present such an unimaginable character accurately, Milton appropriates several of God’s biblical speeches into his speeches in Paradise Lost. God loves his creation and strongly defends humankind’s free will. He presents his love through his Son, who performs his will justly and mercifully.

God, in Paradise Lost, is less a developed character than a personification of abstract ideas. He is unknowable to humankind and to some extent lacks emotion and depth. He has no weaknesses, embodies pure reason, and is always just. He explains why certain events happen, like Satan’s decision to corrupt Adam and Eve, tells his angels what will happen next, and gives his reasoning behind his actions in theological terms. God allows evil to occur, but he will make good out of evil. His plan to save humankind by offering his Son shows his unwavering control over Satan.

The Son

For Milton, the Son is the manifestation of God in action. While God the Father stays in the realm of Heaven, the Son performs the difficult tasks of banishing Satan and his rebel angels, creating the universe and humankind, and punishing Satan, Adam and Eve with justice and mercy. The Son physically connects God the Father with his creation. Together they form a complete and perfect God.

The Son personifies love and compassion. After the fall, he pities Adam and Eve and gives them clothing to help diminish their shame. His decision to volunteer to die for humankind shows his dedication and selflessness. The final vision that Adam sees in Book XII is of the Son’s (or Jesus’) sacrifice on the cross—through this vision, the Son is able to calm Adam’s worries for humankind and give Adam and Eve restored hope as they venture out of Paradise.

Themes, Motifs & Symbols

Themes

Themes are the fundamental and often universal ideas explored in a literary work.

The Importance of Obedience to God

The first words of Paradise Lost state that the poem’s main theme will be “Man’s first Disobedience.” Milton narrates the story of Adam and Eve’s disobedience, explains how and why it happens, and places the story within the larger context of Satan’s rebellion and Jesus’ resurrection. Raphael tells Adam about Satan’s disobedience in an effort to give him a firm grasp of the threat that Satan and humankind’s disobedience poses. In essence,Paradise Lost presents two moral paths that one can take after disobedience: the downward spiral of increasing sin and degradation, represented by Satan, and the road to redemption, represented by Adam and Eve.

While Adam and Eve are the first humans to disobey God, Satan is the first of all God’s creation to disobey. His decision to rebel comes only from himself—he was not persuaded or provoked by others. Also, his decision to continue to disobey God after his fall into Hell ensures that God will not forgive him. Adam and Eve, on the other hand, decide to repent for their sins and seek forgiveness. Unlike Satan, Adam and Eve understand that their disobedience to God will be corrected through generations of toil on Earth. This path is obviously the correct one to take: the visions in Books XI and XII demonstrate that obedience to God, even after repeated falls, can lead to humankind’s salvation.

The Hierarchical Nature of the Universe

Paradise Lost is about hierarchy as much as it is about obedience. The layout of the universe—with Heaven above, Hell below, and Earth in the middle—presents the universe as a hierarchy based on proximity to God and his grace. This spatial hierarchy leads to a social hierarchy of angels, humans, animals, and devils: the Son is closest to God, with the archangels and cherubs behind him. Adam and Eve and Earth’s animals come next, with Satan and the other fallen angels following last. To obey God is to respect this hierarchy.

Satan refuses to honor the Son as his superior, thereby questioning God’s hierarchy. As the angels in Satan’s camp rebel, they hope to beat God and thereby dissolve what they believe to be an unfair hierarchy in Heaven. When the Son and the good angels defeat the rebel angels, the rebels are punished by being banished far away from Heaven. At least, Satan argues later, they can make their own hierarchy in Hell, but they are nevertheless subject to God’s overall hierarchy, in which they are ranked the lowest. Satan continues to disobey God and his hierarchy as he seeks to corrupt mankind.

Likewise, humankind’s disobedience is a corruption of God’s hierarchy. Before the fall, Adam and Eve treat the visiting angels with proper respect and acknowledgement of their closeness to God, and Eve embraces the subservient role allotted to her in her marriage. God and Raphael both instruct Adam that Eve is slightly farther removed from God’s grace than Adam because she was created to serve both God and him. When Eve persuades Adam to let her work alone, she challenges him, her superior, and he yields to her, his inferior. Again, as Adam eats from the fruit, he knowingly defies God by obeying Eve and his inner instinct instead of God and his reason. Adam’s visions in Books XI and XII show more examples of this disobedience to God and the universe’s hierarchy, but also demonstrate that with the Son’s sacrifice, this hierarchy will be restored once again.

The Fall as Partly Fortunate

After he sees the vision of Christ’s redemption of humankind in Book XII, Adam refers to his own sin as a felix culpa or “happy fault,” suggesting that the fall of humankind, while originally seeming an unmitigated catastrophe, does in fact bring good with it. Adam and Eve’s disobedience allows God to show his mercy and temperance in their punishments and his eternal providence toward humankind. This display of love and compassion, given through the Son, is a gift to humankind. Humankind must now experience pain and death, but humans can also experience mercy, salvation, and grace in ways they would not have been able to had they not disobeyed. While humankind has fallen from grace, individuals can redeem and save themselves through continued devotion and obedience to God. The salvation of humankind, in the form of The Son’s sacrifice and resurrection, can begin to restore humankind to its former state. In other words, good will come of sin and death, and humankind will eventually be rewarded. This fortunate result justifies God’s reasoning and explains his ultimate plan for humankind.

Motifs

Motifs are recurring structures, contrasts, and literary devices that can help to develop and inform the text’s major themes.

Light and Dark

Opposites abound in Paradise Lost,including Heaven and Hell, God and Satan, and good and evil. Milton’s uses imagery of light and darkness to express all of these opposites. Angels are physically described in terms of light, whereas devils are generally described by their shadowy darkness. Milton also uses light to symbolize God and God’s grace. In his invocation in Book III, Milton asks that he be filled with this light so he can tell his divine story accurately and persuasively. While the absence of light in Hell and in Satan himself represents the absence of God and his grace.

The Geography of the Universe

Milton divides the universe into four major regions: glorious Heaven, dreadful Hell, confusing Chaos, and a young and vulnerable Earth in between. The opening scenes that take place in Hell give the reader immediate context as to Satan’s plot against God and humankind. The intermediate scenes in Heaven, in which God tells the angels of his plans, provide a philosophical and theological context for the story. Then, with these established settings of good and evil, light and dark, much of the action occurs in between on Earth. The powers of good and evil work against each other on this new battlefield of Earth. Satan fights God by tempting Adam and Eve, while God shows his love and mercy through the Son’s punishment of Adam and Eve.

Milton believes that any other information concerning the geography of the universe is unimportant. Milton acknowledges both the possibility that the sun revolves around the Earth and that the Earth revolves around the sun, without coming down on one side or the other. Raphael asserts that it does not matter which revolves around which, demonstrating that Milton’s cosmology is based on the religious message he wants to convey, rather than on the findings of contemporaneous science or astronomy.

Conversation and Contemplation

One common objection raised by readers of Paradise Lost is that the poem contains relatively little action. Milton sought to divert the reader’s attention from heroic battles and place it on the conversations and contemplations of his characters. Conversations comprise almost five complete books ofParadise Lost, close to half of the text. Milton’s narrative emphasis on conversation conveys the importance he attached to conversation and contemplation, two pursuits that he believed were of fundamental importance for a moral person. As with Adam and Raphael, and again with Adam and Michael, the sharing of ideas allows two people to share and spread God’s message. Likewise, pondering God and his grace allows a person to become closer to God and more obedient. Adam constantly contemplates God before the fall, whereas Satan contemplates only himself. After the fall, Adam and Eve must learn to maintain their conversation and contemplation if they hope to make their own happiness outside of Paradise.

Symbols

Symbols are objects, characters, figures, and colors used to represent abstract ideas or concepts.

The Scales in the Sky

As Satan prepares to fight Gabriel when he is discovered in Paradise, God causes the image of a pair of golden scales to appear in the sky. On one side of the scales, he puts the consequences of Satan’s running away, and on the other he puts the consequences of Satan’s staying and fighting with Gabriel. The side that shows him staying and fighting flies up, signifying its lightness and worthlessness. These scales symbolize the fact that God and Satan are not truly on opposite sides of a struggle—God is all-powerful, and Satan and Gabriel both derive all of their power from Him. God’s scales force Satan to realize the futility of taking arms against one of God’s angels again.

Adam’s Wreath

The wreath that Adam makes as he and Eve work separately in Book IX is symbolic in several ways. First, it represents his love for her and his attraction to her. But as he is about to give the wreath to her, his shock in noticing that she has eaten from the Tree of Knowledge makes him drop it to the ground. His dropping of the wreath symbolizes that his love and attraction to Eve is falling away. His image of her as a spiritual companion has been shattered completely, as he realizes her fallen state. The fallen wreath represents the loss of pure love.

Book I, lines 1–26

Summary: Lines 1–26: The Prologue and Invocation

Milton opens Paradise Lost by formally declaring his poem’s subject: humankind’s first act of disobedience toward God, and the consequences that followed from it. The act is Adam and Eve’s eating of the forbidden fruit of the Tree of Knowledge, as told in Genesis, the first book of the Bible. In the first line, Milton refers to the outcome of Adam and Eve’s sin as the “fruit” of the forbidden tree, punning on the actual apple and the figurative fruits of their actions. Milton asserts that this original sin brought death to human beings for the first time, causing us to lose our home in paradise until Jesus comes to restore humankind to its former position of purity.

Milton’s speaker invokes the muse, a mystical source of poetic inspiration, to sing about these subjects through him, but he makes it clear that he refers to a different muse from the muses who traditionally inspired classical poets by specifying that his muse inspired Moses to receive the Ten Commandments and write Genesis. Milton’s muse is the Holy Spirit, which inspired the Christian Bible, not one of the nine classical muses who reside on Mount Helicon—the “Aonian mount” of I.15. He says that his poem, like his muse, will fly above those of the Classical poets and accomplish things never attempted before, because his source of inspiration is greater than theirs. Then he invokes the Holy Spirit, asking it to fill him with knowledge of the beginning of the world, because the Holy Spirit was the active force in creating the universe.

Milton’s speaker announces that he wants to be inspired with this sacred knowledge because he wants to show his fellow man that the fall of humankind into sin and death was part of God’s greater plan, and that God’s plan is justified.

Analysis

The beginning of Paradise Lost is similar in gravity and seriousness to the book from which Milton takes much of his story: the Book of Genesis, the first book of the Bible. The Bible begins with the story of the world’s creation, and Milton’s epic begins in a similar vein, alluding to the creation of the world by the Holy Spirit. The first two sentences, or twenty-six lines, of Paradise Lostare extremely compressed, containing a great deal of information about Milton’s reasons for writing his epic, his subject matter, and his attitudes toward his subject. In these two sentences, Milton invokes his muse, which is actually the Holy Spirit rather than one of the nine muses. By invoking a muse, but differentiating it from traditional muses, Milton manages to tell us quite a lot about how he sees his project. In the first place, an invocation of the muse at the beginning of an epic is conventional, so Milton is acknowledging his awareness of Homer, Virgil, and later poets, and signaling that he has mastered their format and wants to be part of their tradition. But by identifying his muse as the divine spirit that inspired the Bible and created the world, he shows that his ambitions go far beyond joining the club of Homer and Virgil. Milton’s epic will surpass theirs, drawing on a more fundamental source of truth and dealing with matters of more fundamental importance to human beings. At the same time, however, Milton’s invocation is extremely humble, expressing his utter dependence on God’s grace in speaking through him. Milton thus begins his poem with a mixture of towering ambition and humble self-effacement, simultaneously tipping his hat to his poetic forebears and promising to soar above them for God’s glorification.

Milton’s approach to the invocation of the muse, in which he takes a classical literary convention and reinvents it from a Christian perspective, sets the pattern for all of Paradise Lost. For example, when he catalogs the prominent devils in Hell and explains the various names they are known by and which cults worshipped them, he makes devils of many gods whom the Greeks, Ammonites, and other ancient peoples worshipped. In other words, the great gods of the classical world have become—according to Milton—fallen angels. His poem purports to tell of these gods’ original natures, before they infected humankind in the form of false gods. Through such comparisons with the classical epic poems, Milton is quick to demonstrate that the scope of his epic poem is much greater than those of the classical poets, and that his worldview and inspiration is more fundamentally true and all-encompassing than theirs. The setting, or world, of Milton’s epic is large enough to include those smaller, classical worlds. Milton also displays his world’s superiority while reducing those classical epics to the level of old, nearly forgotten stories. For example, the nine muses of classical epics still exist on Mount Helicon in the world of Paradise Lost, but Milton’s muse haunts other areas and has the ability to fly above those other, less-powerful classical Muses. Thus Milton both makes himself the authority on antiquity and subordinates it to his Christian worldview.

The Iliad and the Aeneid are the great epic poems of Greek and Latin, respectively, and Milton emulates them because he intends Paradise Lost to be the first English epic. Milton wants to make glorious art out of the English language the way the other epics had done for their languages. Not only must a great epic be long and poetically well-constructed, its subject must be significant and original, its form strict and serious, and its aims noble and heroic. In Milton’s view, the story he will tell is the most original story known to man, as it is the first story of the world and of the first human beings. Also, while Homer and Virgil only chronicled the journey of heroic men, like Achilles or Aeneas, Milton chronicles the tragic journey of all men—the result of humankind’s disobedience. Milton goes so far as to say that he hopes to “justify,” or explain, God’s mysterious plan for humankind. Homer and Virgil describe great wars between men, but Milton tells the story of the most epic battle possible: the battle between God and Satan, good and evil.

Book I, lines 27–722

Summary: Lines 27–722: Satan and Hell

Immediately after the prologue, Milton raises the question of how Adam and Eve’s disobedience occurred and explains that their actions were partly due to a serpent’s deception. This serpent is Satan, and the poem joins him and his followers in Hell, where they have just been cast after being defeated by God in Heaven.

Satan lies stunned beside his second-in-command, Beelzebub, in a lake of fire that gives off darkness instead of light. Breaking the awful silence, Satan bemoans their terrible position, but does not repent of his rebellion against God, suggesting that they might gather their forces for another attack. Beelzebub is doubtful; he now believes that God cannot be overpowered. Satan does not fully contradict this assessment, but suggests that they could at least pervert God’s good works to evil purposes. The two devils then rise up and, spreading their wings, fly over to the dry land next to the flaming lake. But they can undertake this action only because God has allowed them to loose their chains. All of the devils were formerly angels who chose to follow Satan in his rebellion, and God still intends to turn their evil deeds toward the good.

Once out of the lake, Satan becomes more optimistic about their situation. He calls the rest of the fallen angels, his legions, to join him on land. They immediately obey and, despite their wounds and suffering, fly up to gather on the plain. Milton lists some of the more notable of the angels whose names have been erased from the books of Heaven, noting that later, in the time of man, many of these devils come to be worshipped as gods.

Among these are Moloch, who is later known as a god requiring human sacrifices, and Belial, a lewd and lustful god. Still in war gear, these fallen angels have thousands of banners raised and their shields and spears in hand. Even in defeat, they are an awesome army to behold.

Satan’s unrepentant evil nature is unwavering. Even cast down in defeat, he does not consider changing his ways: he insists to his fellow devils that their delight will be in doing evil, not good. In particular, as he explains to Beelzebub, he wishes to pervert God’s will and find a way to make evil out of good. It is not easy for Satan to maintain this determination; the battle has just demonstrated God’s overwhelming power, and the devils could not even have lifted themselves off the lake of fire unless God had allowed it. God allows it precisely because he intends to turn their evil designs toward a greater good in the end. Satan’s envy of the Son’s chosen status led him to rebel and consequently to be condemned. His continued envy and search for freedom leads him to believe that he would rather be a king in Hell than a servant in Heaven. Satan’s pride has caused him to believe that his own free intellect is as great as God’s will. Satan remarks that the mind can make its own Hell out of Heaven, or in his case, its own Heaven out of Hell.

Satan addresses his comrades and acknowledges their shame in falling to the heavenly forces, but urges them to gather in order to consider whether another war is feasible. Instantly, the legions of devils dig into the bowels of the ground, unearthing gold and other minerals. With their inhuman powers they construct a great temple in a short time. It is called Pandemonium (which means “all the demons” in Greek), and the hundreds of thousands of demonic troops gather there to hold a summit. Being spirits, they can easily shrink from huge winged creatures to the smallest size. Compacting themselves, they enter Pandemonium, and the debate begins.

Analysis

Throughout the first two or three books of Paradise Lost, Satan seems as if he’s the hero of the poem. This is partly because the focus of the poem is all on him, but it is also because the first books establish his struggle—he finds himself defeated and banished from Heaven, and sets about establishing a new course for himself and those he leads. Typically, the hero or protagonist of any narrative, epic poem or otherwise, is a person who struggles to accomplish something. Milton plays against our expectations by spending the first quarter of his epic telling us about the antagonist rather than the protagonist, so that when we meet Adam and Eve, we will have a more profound sense of what they are up against. But even when the focus of the poem shifts to Adam and Eve, Satan remains the most active force in the story.

One important way in which the narrator develops our picture of Satan—and gives us the impression that he is a hero—is through epic similes, lengthy and developed comparisons that tell us how big and powerful Satan is. For example, when Satan is lying on the burning lake, Milton compares him to the titans who waged war upon Jove in Greek mythology. Then, at greater length, he compares him to a Leviathan, or whale, that is so huge that sailors mistake it for an island and fix their anchor to it. In other epics, these sorts of similes are used to establish the great size or strength of characters, and on the surface these similes seem to do the same thing. At the same time, however, the effect of these similes is to unsettle us, making us aware that we really do not know how big Satan is at all. No one knows how big the titans were, because they were defeated before the age of man. The image of the Leviathan does not give us a well-defined sense of his size, because the whole point of the image is that the Leviathan’s size generates deception and confusion.

More than anything, the similes used to describe Satan make us aware of the fact that size is relative, and that we don’t know how big anything in Hell is—the burning lake, the hill, Pandemonium, etc. Milton drives this fact home at the end of Book I with a tautology: while most of the devils shrink in size to enter Pandemonium, the important ones sit “far within / And in their own dimensions like themselves” (I.792–793). In other words, they were however big they were, but we have no way of knowing how big that was. Finally, it is important to note that the first description of Satan’s size is the biggest we will ever see him. From that point on, Satan assumes many shapes and is compared to numerous creatures, but his size and stature steadily diminishes. The uncertainty created by these similes creates a sense of irony—perhaps Satan isn’t so great after all.

The devils in Paradise Lost are introduced to the story here in Book I in almost a parody of how Homer introduces great warriors in the Iliad. The irony of these descriptions lies in the fact that while these devils seem heroic and noteworthy in certain ways, they just lost the war in Heaven. As frightening and vividly presented as these creatures are, they did not succeed in killing a single angel.

In Book I, Milton presents Satan primarily as a military hero, and the council of devils as a council of war. In doing so, he makes Paradise Lost resonate with earlier epics, which all center around military heroes and their exploits. At the same time, Milton presents an implicit critique of a literary culture that glorifies war and warriors. Satan displays all of the virtues of a great warrior such as Achilles or Odysseus. He is courageous, undaunted, refusing to yield in the face of impossible odds, and able to stir his followers to follow him in brave and violent exploits. Milton is clearly aware of what he’s doing in making Satan somewhat appealing in the early chapters. By drawing us into sympathizing with and admiring Satan, Milton forces us to question why we admire martial prowess and pride in literary characters. Ultimately he attempts to show that the Christian virtues of obedience, humility, and forbearance are more important.

“The Faerie Queene” Spenser , E.

Summary

In The Faerie Queene, Spenser creates an allegory: The characters of his far-off, fanciful "Faerie Land" are meant to have a symbolic meaning in the real world. In Books I and III, the poet follows the journeys of two knights, Redcrosse and Britomart, and in doing so he examines the two virtues he considers most important to Christian life--Holiness and Chastity. Redcrosse, the knight of Holiness, is much like the Apostle Peter: In his eagerness to serve his Lord, he gets himself into unforeseen trouble that he is not yet virtuous enough to handle. His quest is to be united with Una, who signifies Truth--Holiness cannot be attained without knowledge of Christian truth. In his immature state, he mistakes falsehood for truth by following the deceitful witch Duessa. He pays for this mistake with suffering, but in the end, this suffering makes way for his recovery in the House of Holiness, aided by Faith, Hope, and Charity. With newfound strength and the grace of God, he is able to conquer the dragon that represents all the evil in the world.

In a different manner, Britomart also progresses in her virtue of chastity. She already has the strength to resist lust, but she is not ready to accept love, the love she feels when she sees a vision of her future husband in a magic mirror. She learns to incorporate chaste resistance with active love, which is what Spenser sees as true Christian love: moderation. Whereas Redcrosse made his own mistakes (to show to us the consequences of an unholy life), it is not Britomart but the other characters in Book III who show the destructive power of an unchaste life. Spenser says in his Preface to the poem that his goal is to show how a virtuous man should live. The themes of Book I and Book III come together in the idea that our native virtue must be augmented or transformed if it is to become true Christian virtue. Spenser has a high regard for the natural qualities of creatures; he shows that the satyrs, the lion, and many human characters have an inborn inclination toward the good. And yet, he consistently shows their failure when faced with the worst evils. These evils can only be defeated by the Christian good.

High on Spenser's list of evils is the Catholic Church, and this enmity lends a political overtone to the poem, since the religious conflicts of the time were inextricably tied to politics. The poet is unashamed in his promotion of his beloved monarch, Queen Elizabeth; he takes considerable historical license in connecting her line with King Arthur. Spenser took a great pride in his country and in his Protestant faith. He took aim at very real corruption within the Catholic Church; such attacks were by no means unusual in his day, but his use of them in an epic poem raised his criticism above the level of the propagandists.

As a purely poetic work, The Faerie Queene was neither original nor always remarkable; Spenser depends heavily on his Italian romantic sources (Ariosto & Tasso), as well as medieval and classical works like The Romance of the Rose and The Aeneid . It is Spenser's blending of such diverse sources with a high-minded allegory that makes the poem unique and remarkable. He is able to take images from superficial romances, courtly love stories, and tragic epics alike, and give them real importance in the context of the poem. No image is let fall from Spenser's pen that does not have grave significance, and this gives The Faerie Queene the richness that has kept it high among the ranks of the greatest poetry in the English language.

Book I, Cantos i & ii

Book I tells the story of the knight of Holiness, the Redcrosse Knight. This hero gets his name from the blood-red cross emblazoned on his shield. He has been given a task by Gloriana, "that greatest Glorious Queen of Faerie lond," to fight a terrible dragon (I.i.3). He is traveling with a beautiful, innocent young lady and a dwarf as servant. Just as we join the three travelers, a storm breaks upon them and they rush to find cover in a nearby forest. When the skies clear, they find that they are lost, and they end up near a cave, which the lady recognizes as the den of Error. Ignoring her warnings, Redcrosse enters and is attacked by the terrible beast, Error, and her young. She wraps him up in her tail, but he eventually manages to strangle her and chops off her head. Error's young then drink her blood until they burst and die. Victorious, the knight and his companions set out again, looking for the right path. As night falls, they meet an old hermit who offers them lodging in his inn. As the travelers sleep, the hermit assumes his real identity--he is Archimago, the black sorcerer, and he conjures up two spirits to trouble Redcrosse.

One of the sprites obtains a false dream from Morpheus, the god of sleep; the other takes the shape of Una, the lady accompanying Redcrosse. These sprites go to the knight; one gives him the dream of love and lust. When Redcrosse wakes up in a passion, the other sprite (appearing to be Una) is lying beside him, offering a kiss. The knight, however, resists her temptations and returns to sleep. Archimago then tries a new deception; he puts the sprite disguised as Una in a bed and turns the other sprite into a young man, who lies with the false Una. Archimago then wakes Redcrosse and shows him the two lovers in bed. Redcrosse is furious that "Una" would spoil her virtue with another man, and so in the morning he leaves without her. When the real Una wakes, she sees her knight is gone, and in sorrow rides off to look for him. Archimago, enjoying the fruits of his scheme, now disguises himself as Redcrosse and follows after Una.

As Redcrosse wanders on, he approaches another knight--Sansfoy, who is traveling with his lady. He charges Redcrosse, and they fight fiercely, but the shield with the blood-red cross protects our hero; eventually, he kills Sansfoy. He takes the woman into his care--she calls herself Fidessa, saying that she is the daughter of the Emperor of the West. Redcrosse swears to protect her, attracted to her beauty. They continue together, but soon the sun becomes so hot that they must rest under the shade of some trees. Redcrosse breaks a branch off of one tree and is shocked when blood drips forth from it, and a voice cries out in pain. The tree speaks and tells its story. It was once a man, named Fradubio, who had a beautiful lady named Fraelissa--now the tree next to him. One day, Fradubio happened to defeat a knight and win his lady (just as Redcrosse did)--and that lady turned out to be Duessa, an evil witch. Duessa turned Fraelissa into a tree, so that she could have Fradubio for herself. But Fradubio saw the witch in her true, ugly form while she was bathing, and when he tried to run away, she turned him into a tree, as well. When Fradubio finishes his story, Fidessa faints--because she is, in fact, Duessa, and she fears that she will be found out. She recovers though, and Redcrosse does not make the connection, so they continue on their way.

Commentary

Redcrosse is the hero of Book I, and in the beginning of Canto i, he is called the knight of Holinesse. He will go through great trials and fight fierce monsters throughout the Book, and this in itself is entertaining, as a story of a heroic "knight errant." However, the more important purpose of the Faerie Queene is its allegory, the meaning behind its characters and events. The story's setting, a fanciful "faerie land," only emphasizes how its allegory is meant for a land very close to home: Spenser's England. The title character, the Faerie Queene herself, is meant to represent Queen Elizabeth. Redcrosse represents the individual Christian, on the search for Holiness, who is armed with faith in Christ, the shield with the bloody cross. He is traveling with Una, whose name means "truth." For a Christian to be holy, he must have true faith, and so the plot of Book I mostly concerns the attempts of evildoers to separate Redcrosse from Una. Most of these villains are meant by Spenser to represent one thing in common: the Roman Catholic Church. The poet felt that, in the English Reformation, the people had defeated "false religion" (Catholicism) and embraced "true religion" (Protestantism/Anglicanism). Thus, Redcrosse must defeat villains who mimic the falsehood of the Roman Church.

The first of these is Error. When Redcrosse chokes the beast, Spenser writes, "Her vomit full of bookes and papers was (I.i.20)." These papers represent Roman Catholic propaganda that was put out in Spenser's time, against Queen Elizabeth and Anglicanism. The Christian (Redcrosse) may be able to defeat these obvious and disgusting errors, but before he is united to the truth he is still lost and can be easily deceived. This deceit is arranged by Archimago, whose name means "arch-image"--the Protestants accused the Catholics of idolatry because of their extensive use of images. The sorcerer is able, through deception and lust, to separate Redcrosse from Una--that is, to separate Holiness from Truth. Once separated, Holiness is susceptible to the opposite of truth, or falsehood. Redcrosse may able to defeat the strength of Sansfoy (literally "without faith" or "faithlessness") through his own native virtue, but he falls prey to the wiles of Falsehood herself--Duessa. Duessa also represents the Roman Church, both because she is "false faith," and because of her rich, purple and gold clothing, which, for Spenser, displays the greedy wealth and arrogant pomp of Rome. Much of the poet's imagery comes from a passage in the Book of Revelation, which describes the "whore of Babylon"--many Protestant readers took this Biblical passage to indicate the Catholic Church.

The Faerie Queene, however, also has many sources outside of the Bible. Spenser considers himself an epic poet in the classical tradition and so he borrows heavily from the great epics of antiquity: Homer's Iliad and Odysseyand Virgil's Aeneid. This is most evident at the opening of Book I, in which Spenser calls on one of the Muses to guide his poetry--Homer and Virgil established this form as the "proper" opening to an epic poem. The scene with the "human tree," in which a broken branch drips blood, likewise recalls a similar episode in the Aeneid. However, while these ancient poets mainly wrote to tell a story, we have already seen that Spenser has another purpose in mind. In the letter that introduces the Faerie Queene, he says that he followed Homer and Virgil and the Italian poets Ariosto and Tasso because they all have "ensampled a good governour and a vertuous man." Spenser intends to expand on this example by defining the characteristics of a good, virtuous, Christian man.

Book I, Cantos iii, iv & v

Summary

Canto iii follows Una, who continues to wander in search of her companion, the Redcrosse knight. Stopping to rest under a tree, she is suddenly confronted by a lion; the beast is about to attack her, but seeing her gentle beauty and sensing her innocence, he forgets his rage and instead follows her around as a protector and companion. Soon, Una comes upon a damsel carrying a pot of water; terrified at seeing the lion, the girl, who happens to be deaf and dumb, flees home to her mother, who is blind. Una follows the girl to her house and asks for a place to sleep; when the women inside will not open the door for her, the lion forces it open. During the night, a church robber, who commonly gives his plunder to Abessa (the daughter) and Corceca (the mother), stops by with his latest spoils. But when he enters, the lion attacks and tears him to pieces. In the morning, Una sets off again. Riding along, she suddenly thinks she sees her knight on a nearby hill. It is not actually Redcrosse but Archimago in disguise; however, Una is fooled and welcomes back her knight with tears of joy, and they now journey together. Soon, though, they happen upon the knight Sansloy, who is eager to avenge the death of his brother Sansfoy and who also takes Archimago to be Redcrosse. He charges, knocks down Archimago, and is about to kill him when the sorcerer's disguise falls off. Seeing that it is not in fact Redcrosse, Sansloy spares him and takes Una as his prize, killing the lion, which tries to save her.

Meanwhile, the real Redcrosse has been led by Duessa to a wonderful palace--the House of Pride. It is beautiful and lavish, with a wide entrance, but it is built weakly on a poor foundation. Redcrosse and Duessa are brought in and marvel at the richness. They are welcomed by the whole court but especially by Lucifera, the Queen of the palace. Full of pride, Lucifera shows off for the knight by calling her couch, which is pulled by six beasts upon which ride her six counselors. They are: Idleness, Gluttony, Lechery, Avarice, Envy, and Wrath, their appearances appropriate to their names. The parade has just gone by when Sansjoy suddenly arrives, and seeing Redcrosse, challenges him to a duel to avenge the death of Sansfoy. Redcrosse is willing, but the Queen demands that they wait until the next morning.

When dawn breaks, the two knights ride out in front of the palace, and with the whole court watching, they begin their fight. They bloody each other, but Redcrosse proves the stronger--he is about to kill Sansjoy when the latter suddenly disappears in a black cloud. Redcrosse is then put to bed to heal his wounds, but Duessa, mourning the loss of Sansjoy, goes to awaken Night. Together they recover the body of Sansjoy and descend into Hell itself. There they find Aesculapius, a physician who was sent to Hell because he had the skill to bring men back to life, a power that Jove did not want mortals to enjoy. Duessa and Night persuade him to try and restore Sansjoy's life. Meanwhile, Redcrosse's dwarf makes a horrible discovery: In the dungeons of the palace lie the bodies of thousands who were overcome by pride and could never leave this House. To avoid the same fate, Redcrosse realizes he must leave at once, and with the dwarf, he flees the house as dawn breaks.

Commentary

The lion, though it has no name, is also part of Spenser's allegory. As a part of brutish nature, it represents natural law, which may be violent at times but is sympathetic to Christian truth. According to Christian theology, natural law makes up part of God's divine law, and so the Christian is not an adversary of nature but acts in unison with it--thus, the lion naturally aids Una. However, it is no match for Sansloy ("without the law of god"), who operates outside the domain of divine law. The natural law, embodied in the lion and closely connected to Christian Truth, holds no sway over Sansloy. Not subject to the laws of nature or religion, he is capable of destroying the lion. The lion can, however, defeat the robber, who violates the natural law by stealing from others. (This also violates divine law, but Spenser would have held that man's own natural conscience forbids theft.) The two women who benefit from Kirkrapine ("church robber") represent monasticism; Abessa's name recalls "Abbess," the head of an abbey. Monasticism is a feature of the Catholic Church, and in Spenser's time, monasteries were often accused of taking donations to the poor for themselves. Abessa's deafness and dumbness, and Corceca's blindness, display Spenser's belief that monasteries (monks, friars, and nuns) are ignorant of the needs of the world as they live in seclusion.

The House of Pride is a collection of ancient and medieval thought about sin and evil. Christian theology holds that Pride is the greatest sin, from which all other vices come. Pride was the sin of Satan, which caused his fall from Heaven; thus, the Queen of Pride is associated with Lucifer by her name. The parade of the seven major vices, each with some prop or costume to indicate their nature (Pride holds a mirror, for she is vain), was a common feature of medieval morality plays--Spenser borrows it for this scene in Canto iv. The Queen, however, is not simply an allegory for Pride; she also has a political meaning. Spenser intentionally contrasts her with the true Queen, to whom the poem is dedicated: Queen Elizabeth. The poet notes that Lucifera "made her selfe a Queene, and crowned to be, / Yet rightfull kingdome she had none at all, / Ne heritage of native soveraintie / But did usurpe with wrong and tyrannie / Upon the scepter (I.iv.12)." This is in contrast to Elizabeth, who held her power lawfully, ruled with justice and "true religion," and was descended from a noble race (as Spenser will later establish).

Again, Spenser uses a variety of sources in constructing his imagery. The House of Pride, the poet writes, "Did on...weak foundation ever sit: / For on a sandie hill, that still did flit, / And fall away, it mounted was full hie (I.iv.5)." This recalls the Gospel of Matthew, in which Jesus says that those who do not follow His words "shall be likened to a foolish man who built his house on sand (Mt.7.26)." The house shall fall, as Redcrosse sees when he discovers the bodies of those ruined by pride. The details of the castle, though, such as the surrounding wall covered by gold foil (outward beauty hiding inner weakness) are borrowed from Orlando Furioso, by the Italian poet Arisoto, whom Spenser admired. Finally, in describing the descent into Hell by Duessa and Night, the poet borrows from Virgil, who in the Aeneid describes Aeneas' travel through Hell to meet his father. We must keep in mind that to a late medieval/early Renaissance audience, such borrowing from other authors without citation was not by any means considered plagiarism. In fact, it was taken to be the sign of a well-educated poet who could command different sources and integrate different styles. The medieval style was one of incorporation, not originality, and this carries on from Dante to Spenser to Milton.

Book I, Cantos vi, vii & viii

Summary

Sansloy, having captured Una, now means to have his lustful way with her; she cries out for help. Fortunately, the forest they are in has many woodgods--Faunes and Satyres, creatures half-human and half-animal--which come to her aid when they hear her cries. Sansloy flees, terrified at the sight of the beasts, who bow down before Una as if she were a goddess. Soon, a knight comes by-- Satyrane, born of a satyr and a human. He pledges to protect Una and goes with her as she continues her journey to find Redcrosse. On their way, they come across an old man, who claims to have seen the Redcrosse knight killed that day, by a pagan knight. Una is filled with grief; Satyrane, eager for revenge, asks where the pagan is now. The old man leads them to him--it is Sansloy, who did not, in fact, kill Redcrosse but defeated Archimago disguised as the hero. Nevertheless, the pagan and Satyrane draw swords and fight; after many hours there is still no victor, and Una slips away in fear while they do battle.

Meanwhile, the Redcrosse knight rests on the side of the road; he has not recovered from his battle with Sansjoy. Duessa had followed him and found him lying by a stream; he welcomes her company, not having learned his lesson. As they talk, a monstrous giant, Orgoglio, comes upon them. Only the pleas of Duessa keep the giant from killing Redcrosse; instead, he takes Duessa as his lover and throws the knight in the dungeon of his castle. The dwarf, however, manages to escape and, going back along the road, meets Una. Hearing the dreadful news of Redcrosse's capture, she faints twice but at last recovers. The dwarf then tells her how the deceit of Archimago first led Redcrosse away. Una "up arose, resolving him to find / Alive or dead: and forward forth doth pas, / All as the Dwarfe the way to her assynd [showed] (I.vii.28)." On the way to the giant's castle, she meets a good knight, arrayed in marvelous armor: His shield is pure diamond and gleams in the sunlight. This is King Arthur, traveling with his squire, and he asks Una to say what grieves her.

She pours out her whole story: She is the daughter of a king and queen, who are held captive by a fierce dragon. Gloriana, the Faerie Queene, sent Redcrosse to kill the dragon and free her parents, but that brave knight now lies captive to a giant. Arthur swears to free Redcrosse and goes with them to the gate of the giant's castle. There, he blows his great horn, summoning out Orgoglio; Duessa follows, riding on a seven-headed beast. The giant attacks, and misses with his first blow; Arthur then hacks off his arm. Meanwhile, the squire tries to hold off the seven-headed beast, but he is drugged by Duessa and nearly killed. Arthur, furious, cuts off one of the heads of the beast. But Orgoglio knocks him down from behind and would have killed him had not Arthur unveiled his shield, which blinded both beast and giant. Now the knight brings the giant to the ground and chops off his head. Seeing Arthur victorious, Una runs into the castle and finds the dungeon where her knight lies. Redcrosse has been weakened almost unto death, and he must be helped out by Una and Arthur. Once outside, they take Duessa and strip her, so that Redcrosse can see that she is truly a witch. Then, they leave her to flee into the woods as they rest in the castle, victorious.

Commentary

The woodgods, although they live in the forest, watch over nature, and are instinctively kind to Una, are not representative of "pure" nature like the Lion was. Because they are creatures of Greek and Roman mythology, and because they worship Una like an idol, they represent the primitive, idolatrous beliefs of the ancients. They bow down to Una but do not realize the Christian truth that she represents, and this is Spenser's dismissal of the gods of the Greeks and Romans. Satyrane, because he is only part woodgod, still has the goodness of nature and can help Una. However, because he does not represent anything Christian he cannot defeat Sansloy; Spenser repeatedly maintains that nature's best cannot perform the deeds that a Christian warrior must accomplish. These deeds must be performed by Redcrosse, who has been weakened by his visit to the House of Pride. Although he had the instinctive good sense to flee from that castle (his conscience at work), he still does not recognize the falseness of Duessa. This failure leads him near to death in the dungeon of Orgoglio. The giant represents godless pride, which can overcome the weak Christian who is still separated from Truth.

Arthur then becomes identifiable as a Christ figure, because he helps Redcrosse rise up from his lowest state. The allegory is not that simple, however; later, Redcrosse himself will be likened to Christ, and Arthur has more diverse meanings within The Faerie Queene. On the first level, he is the hero of the whole poem; Spenser intended to have him appear briefly in each book, usually to save the day when things look hopeless. Beyond that, the character of King Arthur had deep significance for a 16th-century English audience. Arthurian legend was well developed by Spenser's time and had turned a semi-historical fifth-century king into a timeless hero. Arthur represents Britain's golden age. Spenser suggests that this age could, in a way, return to England in his time--by championing religion, instead of damsels in distress. This connection will be strengthened later in the book when the poet suggests a connection between Arthur and Queen Elizabeth.

The return of the Catholic Church as the main enemy of this Book is also emphasized in the battle outside Orgoglio's caste. Duessa rides out on a very strange beast, in a scene that, more than any other passage, is a direct parallel to the Book of Revelation. That book, which is supposed to be a prediction of the future of Christianity in the world, reads: "And I saw a woman sitting upon a scarlet-colored beast...having seven heads and ten horns. And the woman was clothed in purple and scarlet, and covered with gold...having in her hand a golden cup full of abominations (Rev.17.3-4)." The woman in the Biblical passage is known as the whore of Babylon, and Protestants traditionally associate her with the Catholic Church. Her "golden cup" pours out the filth that temporarily overcomes the squire. Thus, the battle outside the giant's castle firmly associates Duessa with the Roman Church. And yet, she is not the greatest evil in the poem; Una finally reveals Redcrosse's ultimate goal: to free her parents from the giant dragon. This beast represents all evil--the evil that Spenser claimed was in the Catholic Church and all other forms.

Book I, Cantos ix & x

As Arthur, Redcrosse, and Una rest after their victory at Orgoglio's castle, the lady asks Arthur to tell them about his name and lineage. This is a sore spot for Arthur; he says that he does not know who his parents were. He grew up in Wales (in Great Britain) and was tutored by the magician Merlin. Una then asks what brought him to Faerie Land, and this is an even more painful memory. It was the love of a maid, who had briefly appeared to him and called herself the Queen of Fairies, which led him to search for her in Faerie Land for the past nine months. Redcrosse and Una give their sympathy, but now they must continue on their quest; after exchanging gifts, they leave Arthur. They continue toward Una's home, but she is worried that Redcrosse is now too weak from his imprisonment to defeat the dragon keeping her parents captive.

Suddenly, they see a knight running toward them in fright; his name is Sir Trevisan, and he claims to be fleeing a terrible man named Despair. This Despair had already caused one of Trevisan's friends, Terwin, to kill himself. Redcrosse is eager to challenge Despair, and Trevisan reluctantly leads them back to the cave where Despair, a gloomy old man, sits. There they see Terwin's body, and Redcrosse eagerly desires to exact revenge upon Despair. But the old man remains calm and wearily asks Redcrosse what problem he has with death. Death, he says, simply brings an end to a life of sin and, thus, cannot come too soon. He even knows of Redcrosse's sins and weaknesses and almost persuades the knight to take his own life. However, Una steps in and stops him and pulls him out of the cave of Despair.

Seeing her knight's weakness, Una now knows for certain that he needs help, and so, she leads him to the House of Holiness. There, Caelia reigns with her three daughters, Fidelia, Sperenza, and Charissa, and many other virtuous people live with them. Caelia greets Una and, hearing of Redcrosse's condition, commands her daughters to aid his recovery. First, Fidelia instructs him in discipline and the gospel; then, Sperenza comforts him, so that his sins do not again lead to despair. Next, hard Patience and bitter Penance make him suffer for the crimes he has committed, to purge himself. Finally, Charissa comes to Redcrosse, and "Gan him instruct, in every good behest [behavior] / Of love, and righteousnesse, and well to donne (I.x.33)."

After instructing him, she takes him to a hospital where seven charitable men tend to his physical ailments. Now fully recovered in body and spirit, Redcrosse receives one more grace--he is taken up to a high hill by Contemplation, a wise old hermit. There, he can see the new Jerusalem (God's city) and Cleopolis (the city of the Faerie Queene). Contemplation tells Redcrosse his history and future: He is not a faerie but born from a mortal king--he was stolen by a faerie and brought to Faerie Land. He is destined to become a great saint of England, and his true name is George. Much amazed by this news, Redcrosse returns down the hill to the House of Holiness. There, Una is eager to make for her castle, and so they soon depart.

Commentary

Spenser glorifies Queen Elizabeth by connecting her with the line of King Arthur in Canto ix. Arthur claims to have been born in western Wales, which connects him with the house of Tudor, Elizabeth's family. The history is vague enough that it cannot be disproved; there is just enough information that a connection can be guessed at. And so, in Spenser's mind, Elizabeth has the same secular power and religious authority that Arthur held. Of course, Arthur remains partly a Christ figure, as well. In the exchange of gifts, he gives Redcrosse a "few drops of liquor pure, / Of wondrous worth and vertue excellent, / That any wound could heal incontinent (I.ix.19)." This liquid probably represents the Eucharist, which for Protestants is the symbol of Christ giving his body and blood to the Apostles at the Last Supper. Redcrosse, for his part, gives Arthur "his Saveours testament" (I.ix.19)--that is, the New Testament, which tells of Christ's life on Earth. This foreshadows Redcrosse's eventual role as a Christ figure and, in fact, a more important one than Arthur.

First, though, he must deal with despair. We saw earlier that the lion could not conquer despair in the form of Sansjoy; here in its purest form, it almost defeats Redcrosse, except that he has the truth, Una, and the truth of God's mercy is greater than despair. This is one of the lessons that Redcrosse learns in the House of Holiness, which is an exact counterpart to the House of Pride from Canto iv.

Instead of Lucifera, there is Caelia ("Heavenly"); instead of a parade of vices, there is a multitude of virtues. The three daughters are Faith, Hope, and Charity--the three greatest virtues, according to St. Paul--and each one instructs Redcrosse in her own specialty. The seven physicians who tend to his body are the counterparts to the seven bodily vices of the House of Pride; however, they do not all correspond to a specific vice. Rather, they follow a pattern taken in Christ's words in the Gospel of Matthew: "For I was hungered, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in: Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me (Mt.25.35-36)." Thus, one of the seven provides food, another provides clothing, another visits the sick, etc. Spenser's emphasis here is that holiness is not simply a reaction to evil; it has its own positive source in Christ. This makes it greater than evil and gives Redcrosse the strength to ride into battle again.

Book I, Cantos xi & xii

Summary

At last, Una leads Redcrosse to her native soil. As they approach her parents' castle, they hear the terrible roar of the dragon. Redcrosse has Una stand aside at a distance, and then he confronts the beast. The dragon is covered in a flawless coat of scales, stronger than any metal, has a long tail with razor sharp spikes, and powerful wings that carry him to meet the knight. Redcrosse charges at him and strikes, but his spear glances off the dragon's impenetrable hide, and both knight and horse fall to the ground. The dragon grabs them in its massive claws and lifts them into the air. Redcrosse struggles until the dragon is forced to let them down; thrusting once more with his lance, he happens to strike one of the beast's wings, and finally manages to leave a wound. Furious, the dragon knocks Redcrosse off his horse. Undaunted, the knight takes his sword and slices at the dragon's head, but it only stuns the dragon; angered, it lets out a fiery breath that scorches the whole field. Redcrosse's armor is heated so much that it burns him; he writhes in agony. The dragon knocks him backward, moving in for the kill, but the knight is fortunate enough to fall back into the Well of Life, which has great powers to heal wounds. The dragon, however, simply assumes it has won, and Una fears the worst for her hero.

The next morning, though, Redcrosse emerges as good as new. Better, in fact, because through the magical power of the water he and his blade are stronger, and confronting the dragon again he cuts a deep wound in the beast's head. In retaliation, the dragon wounds Redcrosse's shoulder with its tail and then tries to pull away the sacred shield with its claws. The knight manages to cut off the claws, but as he retreats he again falls, this time into a mire where a sacred tree grows, which, like the well, has magical healing powers. Another night passes, as Una frets and the dragon nurses its wounds. On the third day, Redcrosse emerges from the grove refreshed and healed. The dragon is furious to see the knight still alive; it bends down its open mouth, intending to swallow its opponent whole. But Redcrosse holds his ground and rams his sword deep into the dragon's throat. The beast crashes to the earth like a mountain falling from heaven, and it is dead.

Una's father and mother, the King and Queen of that land, see the defeat of the dragon and rush out to give thanks to Redcrosse. The whole kingdom, which had been hiding in fear of the dragon for months, now comes out and celebrates with music, parades, feasting, and many gift for the victorious knight. All expect him to marry Una, but Redcrosse announces that he still has a duty to serve the Faerie Queene for six years in her battle against a proud king. Una's father agrees that after that time, his daughter shall marry the knight. At that moment, though, a messenger runs onto the scene; he claims that the engagement cannot be made because Redcrosse has already pledged his hand to another woman. The king demands an explanation; Redcrosse tells him that the woman is Duessa, who only got his pledge by deceit and witchcraft. He gave his love to an imaginary woman, Fidessa, played by Duessa, and now he sees the truth and so he is free to love another. Una seconds all of this and also suggests that they examine the messenger to see if he is disguised as well. In fact, it turns out to be Archimago. The celebration of the engagement continues until Redcrosse must sadly leave to fulfill his duty and destiny.

Commentary

The final battle between Redcrosse and the dragon brings the allegory of the entire first book to a climax and encompasses all the different levels of religious and political meaning that Spenser has put into the story. Redcrosse's victory represents three distinct events: Christ's victory over death and the devil in the Crucifixion and Resurrection, the triumph of the individual Christian over the temptation of sin, and the "defeat" of the Roman Catholic Church by the Church of England and all Protestantism. We have already seen much evidence establishing Redcrosse both as the Christian "Everyman" and as the champion of Protestants against Catholics. Here in Canto xi, he is also portrayed as a Christ figure, because he falls and triumphs on the third day and because the dragon he defeats is damnation; its mouth was "like the griesly mouth of hell (I.xi.12)." Just as Christ had to descend to Hell to defeat it, Redcrosse had to enter the hellish mouth of the dragon to finally kill it.

Redcrosse is not victorious alone, however; he is saved twice by very timely help. In this respect, he better represents the individual Christian in need of God's aid. The Well of Life he first falls into is Baptism, always symbolized by immersion in water. The Tree of Life is the Eucharist, the symbol of Christ's body and blood. Both well and tree represent the grace that God bestows on mankind through the sacraments, which help a Christian in danger of falling prey to sin. Redcrosse's lucky stumbling into these two places of healing almost seems too lucky; even in Faerie land, does Spenser really expect us to believe that a miraculous swell or tree simply pops up behind the hero when he is about to get killed? In fact, the poet emphasizes that this was no coincidence at all: "eternal God that chaunce did guide (I.xi.45)." Spenser's point is that no matter how well a Christian is equipped or prepared, he is no match for sin and death without the undeserved grace of God. Because Redcrosse is saved through such miraculous circumstances, we cannot give him full credit for the victory; all the glory is to God. Thus, Spenser's message about the Christian life is one of humility; we can never take the credit for God's victory.

Finally, Redcrosse is again established as the hero of Protestantism against Catholicism in the last Canto. Even though he has conquered the dragon, his marriage to Una must be delayed; his work is not yet finished. The knight must "Backe to return to that great Faerie Queene / And her to serve six yeares in warlike wize, / Gainst that proud Paynim king (I.xii.18)." This brings the allegory back from the general to the specific and back from the purely religious to the political. We know that the Faerie Queene represents Queen Elizabeth; thus, the "proud Paynim king" whom she is fighting must be either the pope or a Catholic king; either way, the enemy is the Roman Church. Spenser is bringing us back to his own time where, although England now is Protestant, the Catholic Church is still powerful. Redcrosse will be united with Una only when the battle against false religion is over--we see that Duessa is still working her evil ways in defeat. And the battle, of course, will not end until the end of the world, when Christ will reveal which religion is false and which is true.

“Essay on Man” Pope , A.

Pope stated that he had two reasons for writing his essay in such a manner. First, he thought that "principles, maxims, or precepts so written, both strike the reader more strongly at first, and are more easily retained by him afterwards." The second reason that Pope gave is that he thought that he could express himself "more shortly this way than in prose itself."

My copy of Pope's "Essay on Man" runs approximately 30 pages, 30 pages of a smaller poetry book. It is broken down into four epistles.1

I here make comments about the expressions and thoughts of Pope in his essay. I have quoted at length from his essay. Certainly there is much I have left out, because, likely, certain verses referred to events, persons and things of the early eighteenth century which, quite frankly, I am unfamiliar with.

Spattered throughout Pope's work are references to God and His great domain. Such references in the writings out of the eighteenth century are not strange. The livelihood of writers, by and large -- as was with the case of all artists back then -- depended almost entirely on the generosity of church and state, so it was necessary in those days that writers give due regard to religious authority. Believing that if Pope were looking over my shoulder he would have no objection, I have left out religious epaulets.

EPISTLE I

Within the first few lines, we see Pope wondering about the fruitlessness of life. We have no choice: we come to it, look out and then die. What we see as we look out on "the scene of man" is a "mighty maze!" But Pope does not think this complex of existence is "without a plan." Man might sort through the maze because he has a marvelous mental faculty, that of reason; man can determine the nature of the world in which he lives; he can see that all things have bearings, ties and strong connections and "nice dependencies."

He, who thro' vast immensity can pierce,
See worlds on worlds compose one universe,
Observe how system into system runs,
What other planets circle other suns,
...
Look'd thro'? or can a part contain the whole?
Is the great chain that draws all to agree, -
And, drawn, supports - upheld by God or thee?

In his next stanza, Pope makes reference to presumptuous man! Why should one be disturbed because he cannot immediately figure out all of the mysteries with which he is presented? It cannot be expected that one part of existence (man) should understand all the other parts, he then continues:

As of thy mother Earth, why oaks are made
Taller or stronger than the weeds they shade.
...
And all that rises, rise in due degree;
Then, in the sale of reas'ning life, 'tis plain
There must be, somewhere, such a rank as Man.
...
When the dull ox, why now he breaks the clod,
Is now a victim, and now Egypt's god, -
...
Then say not Man's imperfect, Heav'n in fault, -
Say rather Man's as perfect as he ought:
His knowledge measur'd to his state and place,
His time a moment, and a point his space.

Pope continues with this theme into his third stanza, in saying "Heav'n from all creatures hides the book of fate," and continues:

The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to-day,
Had he thy reason, would he skip and play?
Pleas'd to the last he crops the flow'ry food,
And licks the hand just rais'd to shed his blood.
...
Who sees with equal eye, as God of all,
A hero perish, or a sparrow fall,
Atoms or systems into ruin hurl'd,
And now a bubble burst, and now a world.

Then giving way to his religious bent, makes reference to the "great teacher Death" and continues with his most famous lines:

Hope springs eternal in the human breast;
Man never is, but always to be blest:
The soul uneasy and confin'd from home,
Rest and expatiates in a life to come.

Next, Pope deals with native people of the uncivilized territories of the world, and how they do not get hung up on such large questions as are expressed in Pope's essay:

Lo, the poor Indian! whose untutor'd mind
Sees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind;
His soul proud Science never taught to stray
Far as the solar walk or milky way;
Yet simple Nature to his hope has giv'n,
Behind the cloud-topp'd hill, a humbler heav'n;
Some safer world in depth of woods embrac'd,
Some happier island in the wat'ry waste,
Where slaves once more their native land behold,
No fiends torment, no Christians thirst for gold!
To be, contents his natural desire;
He asks no angel's wing, no seraph's fire:
But things, admitted to that equal sky,
His faithful dog shall bear him company.

Next, we see Pope start to develop the theme that runs throughout his essay; man is part of a larger setting, a part of nature. Man depends on nature for his very substance, and yet, treats her roughly.

Destroy all creatures for thy sport or gust,
Yet cry, if Man's unhappy, God's unjust;
...
Ask for what end the heav'nly bodies shine,
Earth for whose use, Pride answers, "'Tis for mine!
"For me kind Nature wakes her genial pow'r,
"Suckles each herb and spreads out ev'ry flow'r;

Pope asserts that man is ruled from within, by his reason and by his passion.

Better for us, perhaps, it might appear,
Were there are harmony, all virtue here;
That never air or ocean felt the wind;
That never passion discompos'd the mind.
But all subsists by elemental strife;
And passions are the elements of life.
The gen'ral Order since the whole began
Is kept in Nature, and is kept in Man.

Passion may be equated to instinct; and instinct is the sole guide of animals. Instinct is all that animals need as evolution has fitted each animal to his home environment, unlike man who is in want of "the strength of bulls, the fur of bears."

Here with degrees of swiftness, there of force:
All in exact proportion to the state;
Nothing to add, and nothing to abate.
Each beast, each insect, happy in its own:
Is Heav'n unkind to Man, and Man alone?
Shall he alone, whom rational we call,
Be pleas'd with nothing, if not bless'd with all?

Again, Pope emphasizes how nature "all good and wise... and what it gives, and what denies" has perfected itself and many of its creations:

The spider's tough how exquisitely fine!
Feels at each thread, and lives along the line:
In the nice bee, what sense so subtly true
From pois'nous herbs extracts the healing dew?

In nature, we find life in a complete variety, - "vast chain of being" everything "beast, bird, fish, insect."

Or in the full creation leave a void,
Where, one step broken, the great scale's destroy'd:
From Nature's chain whatever link you strike,
Tenth or ten thousandth, breaks the chain alike.

The point, I think, is that there is a fearful balance of nature in all its variety, and we dare not destroy one aspect of nature for fear of destroying the whole.

All this dread order break - for whom? for thee?
Vile worm! - oh madness! pride! impiety!

In the last line of Pope's first epistle, he bangs home the importance of the "ruling mind" of nature, that while some parts might seem to us to be absurd, it is part of the "general frame" that all of nature, including ourselves, are but "parts of one stupendous whole." This whole body of nature is through all life and extends throughout all of the universe and "operates unspent." Pope concludes his first epistle:

Safe in the hand of one disposing Pow'r,
Or in the natal, or the mortal hour.
All Nature is but Art, unknown to thee;
All chance, direction, which thou canst not see
All discord, harmony not understood,
All partial evil, universal good:
And, spite of pride, in erring reason's spite,
One truth is clear, whatever is, is right.

EPISTLE II

Pope opens his second Epistle much the same as he opened his first. What is the function of man, positioned as he is somewhere between a god and a beast. Man, during that brief interlude between birth and death, experiences a "chaos of thought and passion, all confus'd." He finds on earth the "Great lord of all things, yet a prey to all." Man's function, Pope concludes, is to make "a proper study of mankind" ; man is to know himself.

What man will come to know is that he is ruled by passion; passion is the ruler and reason it's counsellor.

Alas what wonder! Man's superior part
Uncheck'd may rise and climb from art to art;
But when his own great work is but begun,
What Reason weaves, by Passion is undone.

It is in the nature of man to first serve himself; but, on account of reason, to do so with the long range in view.

Two Principles in human nature reign;
Self-love, to urge, and Reason, to restrain;
...
Self-love still stronger, as its objects nigh;
Reason's at distance, and in prospect lie:

A person is driven by passion, driven by his desire for pleasure; temptation is strong and passion is "thicker than arguments." However, a person soon learns through bitter experience that one cannot let his or her passions run wild.

Attention, habit and experience gains;
Each strengthens Reason, and Self-love restrains.
...
Self-love and Reason to one end aspire,
Pain their aversion, Pleasure their desire,
...
Pleasure, or wrong or rightly understood,
Our greatest evil, or our greatest good.
...
Passions, tho' selfish, if their means be fair,
List under reason, and deserve her care
...
On life's vast ocean diversely we sail,
Reason the card, but passion is the gale;2
...
Love, Hope, and Joy, fair Pleasure's smiling train,
Hate, Fear, and Grief, the family of Pain,
These mix'd with art, and to due bounds confin'd,
Make and maintain the balance of the mind:

Pope's theme is again repeated: the two driving forces of man are his reason and his passion. However, passion is the king and reason but a "weak queen."

What can she more than tell us we are fools?
Teach us to mourn our nature, not to mend.
A sharp accuser but a helpless friend!

Reason ("th' Eternal Art, educing good from ill") is not a guide but a guard. Passion is the "mightier pow'r." Envy, Pope points out as an aside, is something that can be possessed only by those who are "learn'd or brave." Ambition: "can destroy or save, and makes a patriot as it makes a knave."

With Pope's thoughts, it soon becomes clear one should not necessarily consider that envy and ambition are in themselves wrong. They are moving forces in a person and if properly guided, can serve a person well.

As, in some well-wrought picture, light and shade
And oft so mix, the diff'rence is too nice,
Where ends the virtue, or begins the vice.
...
And virtuous and vicious ev'ry man must be,
Few in the extreme, but all in the degree;

Each person is driven by self-love, but on the same occasion "each on the other to depend, a master, or a servant, or a friend, bids each on other for assistance call." Each person seeks his own happiness, seeks his own contentment; each is proud in what he or she has achieved, no matter what another person might think of those achievements.

Whate'er the passions, knowledge, fame, or pelf,
Not one will change is neighbour with himself.
The learn'd is happy nature to explore,
The fool is happy that he knows no more;
The rich is happy in the plenty given,
The poor contents him with the care of Heaven,
See the blind beggar dance, the cripple sing
The sot a hero, lunatic a king;
The starving chemist in his golden views
Supremely bless'd, the poet in his Muse.

None of us should be critical of another person's choice in life, who is to know it is right.

Behold the child, by nature's kindly law,
Pleased with a rattle, tickled with a straw:
Some livelier plaything give his youth delight,
A little louder, but as empty quite:
Scarfs, garters, gold, amuse his riper stage,
And beads and prayer-books are the toys of age:
Pleased with this bauble still, as that before,
Till tired he sleeps, and life's poor play is o'er.

EPISTLE III

Pope returns, in his third Epistle, to his ever present theme, all is natural in nature and man is a part of nature. He first observes how "plastic" nature is, how everything is dependant on one and the other, is attracted to one and the other, down even to "single atoms." Everything "it's neighbour to embrace." (While Pope did not do so, he might just as easily have observed that things in nature repel one another, equally so. All things, in the final analysis, are held in the balance, suspended, so it seems, between the two great forces of attraction and repulsion.)

All forms that perish other forms supply,
(By turns we catch the vital breath, and die)
Like bubbles on the sea a matter borne,
They rise, they break, and to that sea return
Nothing is foreign; parts relate to whole:

Then, Pope picks up once again his theme of the ruling principles, reason and passion. Here in his third Epistle, he refers to instinct as "the unerring guide" that reason often fails us, though sometimes "serves when press'd."

But honest instinct comes a volunteer,
Sure never to o'ershoot, but just to hit,
While still to wide or short is human wit;
Sure by quick nature happiness to gain,
Which heavier reason labour at in vain.

Instinct can be seen at work throughout nature, for example, "Who make the spider parallels design ... without rule or line?" Not just the spider does things by instinct, man does. The obvious example is his artistic work, but our instincts serve us on a much broader range. Think! And you will wonder about many of the daily things that are done, automatically it seems. What, exactly, is it that prompts us to do things.

Who calls the council, states the certain day,
Who forms the phalanx, and who points the way?

Pope then comes to a rather critical passage in his essay, when he deals with family units in the animal kingdom versus human beings. The fact of the matter is, family units do not count for much in the animal kingdom, at any rate, not for long. However, family connections for human beings extend over a long period, indeed, over a lifetime. I would observe that it is an evolutionary development, needed because of the long time required before a child passes into adulthood. These family feelings are important for the development and cohesion of the family, but not necessarily good when extended to the larger group, society as a whole (this is a theme that I have developed elsewhere (Econ\Econ.doc) and which someday I hope to put up on the 'net.).

Thus beast and bird their common charge attend,
The mothers nurse it, and the sires defend:
The young dismiss'd to wander earth or air,
There stops the instinct, and there ends the care;
The link dissolves, each seeks a fresh embrace,
Another love succeeds, another race.
A longer care man's helpless kind demands;
That longer care contracts more lasting bands:
Reflection, reason, still the ties improve,
At one extend the interest, and the love;
With choice we fix, with sympathy we burn;
Each virtue in each passion takes its turn;
And still new needs, new helps, new habits rise
That graft benevolence on charities.
Still as one brood, and as another rose,
These natural love maintain'd, habitual those:
The last, scarce ripen'd into perfect man,
Saw helpless from him whom their life began:
Memory and forecast just returns engage;
That pointed back to youth, this on to age;
While pleasure, gratitude, and hope, combined,
Still spread the interest, and preserved the kind.

Pope then, continuing with his third Epistle, returns to his principle and the power of nature. Nature is a "driving gale," a fact which can be observed in "the voice of nature" and which we can learn from the birds and the beasts. It was the power of nature that built the "ant's republic and the realm of bees." Pope observes "anarchy without confusion."

Their separate cells and properties maintain.
Mark what unvaried laws preserve each state;-
Laws wise as nature, and as fix'd as fate.
In vain thy reason finer webs shall draw;
Entangle justice in her net of law;
And right, too rigid, harden into wrong,
Still for the strong too weak, the weak too strong.
Yet go! and thus o'er all the creatures sway;
Thus let the wiser make the rest obey;
And for those arts mere instinct could afford,
Be crown'd as monarchs, or as gods adored.

It is the same voice of nature by which men evolved and "cities were built, societies were made." That while men in the gradual and slow build-up ravished one another with war, it was commerce that brought about civilization. Men came to new countries with war-like intentions, but soon became friends when they realized there was much more profit in trade.

When love was liberty, and nature law:
Thus states were form'd; the name of king unknown,
Till common interest placed the sway in one
'Twas Virtue only, or in arts or arms,

So, it was trade that built civilizations, and Pope observes, that it was tradition that preserves them.

Convey'd unbroken faith from sire to son;
The worker from the work distinct was known,

Then, continuing in this historical vein, Pope deals with the development of government and of laws.

So drives self-love, through just and through unjust
To one man's power, ambition, lucre, lust:
The same self-love, in all, becomes the cause
Of what restrains him, government and laws:
For, what one likes if others like as well,
What serves one will, when many wills rebel?
How shall we keep, what, sleeping or awake,
A weaker may surprise, a stronger take?
His safety must his liberty restrain:
All join to guard what each desires to gain.
Forced into virtue thus by self-defence,
Ev'n kings learn'd justice and benevolence:
Self-love forsook the path it first pursued,
And found the private in the public good.
'Twas then, the studious head or generous mind,
Follower of God or friend of human-kind,
Poet or patriot, rose but to restore
The faith and moral Nature gave before;
Relumed her ancient light, not kindled new;
If not God's image, yet his shadow drew;
Taught power's due use to people and to kings;
Taught not to slack nor strain its tender strings;
The less or greater set so justly true,
That touching one must strike the other too;
Till jarring int'rests of themselves create
Th' according music of a well-mix'd state.
Such is the world's great harmony, that springs
From order, union, full consent of things:
Where small and great, where weak and mighty made
To serve, not suffer, strengthen, not invade;
More pow'rful each as needful to the rest,
And in proportion as it blesses, blest;
Draw to one point, and to one centre bring
Beast, man, or angel, servant, lord, or king.

Pope makes a side observation that while government is necessary, its form is of less importance, what is important, is a good administration:

For forms of government let fools contest;
Whate'er is best administer'd is best:

Pope then concludes in his third Epistle, emphasizing that regard for oneself and his family has to be different than regard for the whole of society, that nature "link'd the gen'ral frame and bade self-love and social be the same."

EPISTLE IV

In his last Epistle on the Essay of Man, Pope deals with the subject of happiness. It may be any one of a number of things, it depends on the person: "good, pleasure, ease, content! whatever thy name." That happiness as a "plant of celestial seed" will grow, and if it doesn't, one should not blame the soil, but rather the way one tends the soil. Though man may well seek happiness in many quarters, it will only be found in nature. Man should avoid extremes. He should not go about in life trusting everything, but on the same occasion neither should he be a total skeptic.

Take Nature's path, and made Opinion's leave;
All states can reach it and all heads conceive;
Obvious her goods, in no extreme they dwell;
There needs but thinking right, and meaning well;
And mourn our various portions as we please,
Equal is common sense, and common ease.

To Pope, pleasure does not last, it "sicken, and all glories sink." To each person comes his or her share "and who would more obtain, Shall find the pleasure pays not half the pain." To be rich, to be wise: these are both laudable goals and a person looking about will always be able to find others who have riches and wisdom in varying degrees, but it cannot be concluded to any degree that they are happy. Happiness comes when one has "health, peace, and competence." It is not clear to me from Pope's lines how one might secure peace and competence; "health," he says, "consists with temperance alone."

It is in the nature of man to attempt to change things; he is never happy with things as he finds them; never happy with his fellow man; never happy with the world about him. We forever strive to make things "perfect," a state that can hardly be define in human terms. Those that reflect on man's condition will soon have Utopian dreams.

But still this world, so fitted for the knave,
Contents us not. A better shall we have?
A kingdom of the just then let it be:
But first consider how those just agree.
The good must merit God's peculiar care;
But who but God can tell us who they are?

It all too often appears to us that "virtue starves, while vice is fed." One might wish for man to be a God and for earth to be a heaven, both God and heaven coming from the imaginations of man. But, Pope concludes:

'Whatever is, is right.' -- This world, 'tis true,...

Of fame, Pope says, it is but "a fancied life in others' breath ... All that we feel of it begins and ends in the small circle of our foes and friends ..." It will get you nothing but a crowd "of stupid starers and of loud huzzas." Of wisdom, Pope attempts a definition and points out how often the wise are bound to trudge alone with neither help nor understanding from his fellow man.

In parts superior what advantage lies!
Tell, for you can, what is it to be wise?
'Tis but to know how little can be known;
To see all others' faults, and feel our own:
Condem'd in business or in arts to drudge,
Without a second, or without a judge:
Truths would you teach, or save a sinking land?
All fear, none aid you, and few understand.

And so we arrive at the last of Pope's lines.

Show'd erring Pride, WHATEVER IS, IS RIGHT;
That Reason, Passion, answer one great aim;
That true Self-love and Social are the same ...

_______________________________
NOTES:

¹ The Poetical Works of Alexander Pope which includes Dr. Johnson's 65 page biography on pope, Essay on Man (31 pp.); Essay on Criticism (17 pp.), Rape of the Lock (19 pp.), The Dunciad (31 pp.). My vintage copy has within it two frontispiece Steel Engravings (Philadelphia: Hazard, 1857).

² Here, again, we see Pope refer to the analogy of the sailing ship on the sea finding its way only with compass (card) for direction and the wind in the sails to drive the vessel along.

“The Rape of the Lock” Pope, A.

Canto 1

Summary

The Rape of the Lock begins with a passage outlining the subject of the poem and invoking the aid of the muse. Then the sun (“Sol”) appears to initiate the leisurely morning routines of a wealthy household. Lapdogs shake themselves awake, bells begin to ring, and although it is already noon, Belinda still sleeps. She has been dreaming, and we learn that the dream has been sent by “her guardian Sylph,” Ariel. The dream is of a handsome youth who tells her that she is protected by “unnumber’d Spirits”—an army of supernatural beings who once lived on earth as human women. The youth explains that they are the invisible guardians of women’s chastity, although the credit is usually mistakenly given to “Honour” rather than to their divine stewardship. Of these Spirits, one particular group—the Sylphs, who dwell in the air—serve as Belinda’s personal guardians; they are devoted, lover-like, to any woman that “rejects mankind,” and they understand and reward the vanities of an elegant and frivolous lady like Belinda. Ariel, the chief of all Belinda’s puckish protectors, warns her in this dream that “some dread event” is going to befall her that day, though he can tell her nothing more specific than that she should “beware of Man!” Then Belinda awakes, to the licking tongue of her lapdog, Shock. Upon the delivery of a billet-doux, or love-letter, she forgets all about the dream. She then proceeds to her dressing table and goes through an elaborate ritual of dressing, in which her own image in the mirror is described as a “heavenly image,” a “goddess.” The Sylphs, unseen, assist their charge as she prepares herself for the day’s activities.

Commentary

The opening of the poem establishes its mock-heroic style. Pope introduces the conventional epic subjects of love and war and includes an invocation to the muse and a dedication to the man (the historical John Caryll) who commissioned the poem. Yet the tone already indicates that the high seriousness of these traditional topics has suffered a diminishment. The second line confirms in explicit terms what the first line already suggests: the “am’rous causes” the poem describes are not comparable to the grand love of Greek heroes but rather represent a trivialized version of that emotion. The “contests” Pope alludes to will prove to be “mighty” only in an ironic sense. They are card-games and flirtatious tussles, not the great battles of epic tradition. Belinda is not, like Helen of Troy, “the face that launched a thousand ships” (see the SparkNote on The Iliad), but rather a face that—although also beautiful—prompts a lot of foppish nonsense. The first two verse-paragraphs emphasize the comic inappropriateness of the epic style (and corresponding mind-set) to the subject at hand. Pope achieves this discrepancy at the level of the line and half-line; the reader is meant to dwell on the incompatibility between the two sides of his parallel formulations. Thus, in this world, it is “little men” who in “tasks so bold... engage”; and “soft bosoms” are the dwelling-place for “mighty rage.” In this startling juxtaposition of the petty and the grand, the former is real while the latter is ironic. In mock-epic, the high heroic style works not to dignify the subject but rather to expose and ridicule it. Therefore, the basic irony of the style supports the substance of the poem’s satire, which attacks the misguided values of a society that takes small matters for serious ones while failing to attend to issues of genuine importance.

With Belinda’s dream, Pope introduces the “machinery” of the poem—the supernatural powers that influence the action from behind the scenes. Here, the sprites that watch over Belinda are meant to mimic the gods of the Greek and Roman traditions, who are sometimes benevolent and sometimes malicious, but always intimately involved in earthly events. The scheme also makes use of other ancient hierarchies and systems of order. Ariel explains that women’s spirits, when they die, return “to their first Elements.” Each female personality type (these types correspond to the four humours) is converted into a particular kind of sprite. These gnomes, sylphs, salamanders, and nymphs, in turn, are associated with the four elements of earth, air, fire, and water. The airy sylphs are those who in their lifetimes were “light Coquettes”; they have a particular concern for Belinda because she is of this type, and this will be the aspect of feminine nature with which the poem is most concerned.

Indeed, Pope already begins to sketch this character of the “coquette” in this initial canto. He draws the portrait indirectly, through characteristics of the Sylphs rather than of Belinda herself. Their priorities reveal that the central concerns of womanhood, at least for women of Belinda’s class, are social ones. Woman’s “joy in gilded Chariots” indicates an obsession with pomp and superficial splendor, while “love of Ombre,” a fashionable card game, suggests frivolity. The erotic charge of this social world in turn prompts another central concern: the protection of chastity. These are women who value above all the prospect marrying to advantage, and they have learned at an early age how to promote themselves and manipulate their suitors without compromising themselves. The Sylphs become an allegory for the mannered conventions that govern female social behavior. Principles like honor and chastity have become no more than another part of conventional interaction. Pope makes it clear that these women are not conducting themselves on the basis of abstract moral principles, but are governed by an elaborate social mechanism—of which the Sylphs cut a fitting caricature. And while Pope’s technique of employing supernatural machinery allows him to critique this situation, it also helps to keep the satire light and to exonerate individual women from too severe a judgment. If Belinda has all the typical female foibles, Pope wants us to recognize that it is partly because she has been educated and trained to act in this way. The society as a whole is as much to blame as she is. Nor are men exempt from this judgment. The competition among the young lords for the attention of beautiful ladies is depicted as a battle of vanity, as “wigs with wigs, with sword-knots sword-knots strive.” Pope’s phrases here expose an absurd attention to exhibitions of pride and ostentation. He emphasizes the inanity of discriminating so closely between things and people that are essentially the same in all important (and even most unimportant) respects.

Pope’s portrayal of Belinda at her dressing table introduces mock-heroic motifs that will run through the poem. The scene of her toilette is rendered first as a religious sacrament, in which Belinda herself is the priestess and her image in the looking glass is the Goddess she serves. This parody of the religious rites before a battle gives way, then, to another kind of mock-epic scene, that of the ritualized arming of the hero. Combs, pins, and cosmetics take the place of weapons as “awful Beauty puts on all its arms.”

Analysis: Themes and Form

The Rape of the Lock is a humorous indictment of the vanities and idleness of 18th-century high society. Basing his poem on a real incident among families of his acquaintance, Pope intended his verses to cool hot tempers and to encourage his friends to laugh at their own folly.

The poem is perhaps the most outstanding example in the English language of the genre of mock-epic. The epic had long been considered one of the most serious of literary forms; it had been applied, in the classical period, to the lofty subject matter of love and war, and, more recently, by Milton, to the intricacies of the Christian faith. The strategy of Pope’s mock-epic is not to mock the form itself, but to mock his society in its very failure to rise to epic standards, exposing its pettiness by casting it against the grandeur of the traditional epic subjects and the bravery and fortitude of epic heroes: Pope’s mock-heroic treatment in The Rape of the Lock underscores the ridiculousness of a society in which values have lost all proportion, and the trivial is handled with the gravity and solemnity that ought to be accorded to truly important issues. The society on display in this poem is one that fails to distinguish between things that matter and things that do not. The poem mocks the men it portrays by showing them as unworthy of a form that suited a more heroic culture. Thus the mock-epic resembles the epic in that its central concerns are serious and often moral, but the fact that the approach must now be satirical rather than earnest is symptomatic of how far the culture has fallen.

Pope’s use of the mock-epic genre is intricate and exhaustive. The Rape of the Lock is a poem in which every element of the contemporary scene conjures up some image from epic tradition or the classical world view, and the pieces are wrought together with a cleverness and expertise that makes the poem surprising and delightful. Pope’s transformations are numerous, striking, and loaded with moral implications. The great battles of epic become bouts of gambling and flirtatious tiffs. The great, if capricious, Greek and Roman gods are converted into a relatively undifferentiated army of basically ineffectual sprites. Cosmetics, clothing, and jewelry substitute for armor and weapons, and the rituals of religious sacrifice are transplanted to the dressing room and the altar of love.

The verse form of The Rape of the Lock is the heroic couplet; Pope still reigns as the uncontested master of the form. The heroic couplet consists of rhymed pairs of iambic pentameter lines (lines of ten syllables each, alternating stressed and unstressed syllables). Pope’s couplets do not fall into strict iambs, however, flowering instead with a rich rhythmic variation that keeps the highly regular meter from becoming heavy or tedious. Pope distributes his sentences, with their resolutely parallel grammar, across the lines and half-lines of the poem in a way that enhances the judicious quality of his ideas. Moreover, the inherent balance of the couplet form is strikingly well suited to a subject matter that draws on comparisons and contrasts: the form invites configurations in which two ideas or circumstances are balanced, measured, or compared against one another. It is thus perfect for the evaluative, moralizing premise of the poem, particularly in the hands of this brilliant poet.

“Tom Jones” Fielding, H.

Plot Overview

The distinguished country gentleman Allworthy, who lives in Somersetshire with his unmarried sister Bridget Allworthy, arrives home from a trip to London to discover a baby boy in is bed. Allworthy undertakes to uncover the mother and father of this foundling, and finds local woman Jenny Jones and her tutor, Mr. Partridge, guilty. Allworthy sends Jenny away from the county, and the poverty-stricken Partridge leaves of his own accord. In spite of the criticism of the parish, Allworthy decides to bring up the boy. Soon after, Bridget marries Captain Blifil, a visitor at Allworthy's estate, and gives birth to a son of her own, named Blifil. Captain Blifil regards Tom Jones with jealousy, since he wishes his son to inherit all of Allworthy possessions. While meditating on money matters, Captain Blifil falls dead of an apoplexy.

The narrator skips forward twelve years. Blifil and Tom Jones have been brought up together, but receive vastly different treatment from the other members of the household. Allworthy is the only person who shows consistent affection for Tom. The philosopher Square and the reverend Thwackum, the boys' tutors, despise Tom and adore Blifil, since Tom is wild and Blifil is pious. Tom frequently steals apples and ducks to support the family of Black George, one of Allworthy's servants. Tom tells all of his secrets to Blifil, who then relates these to Thwackum or Allworthy, thereby getting Tom into trouble. The people of the parish, hearing of Tom's generosity to Black George, begin to speak kindly of Tom while condemning Blifil for his sneakiness.

Tom spends much time with Squire Western—Allworthy's neighbor—since the Squire is impressed by Tom's sportsmanship. Sophia Western, Squire Western's daughter, falls deeply in love with Tom. Tom has already bestowed his affection on Molly Seagrim, the poor but feisty daughter of Black George. When Molly becomes pregnant, Tom prevents Allworthy from sending Molly to prison by admitting that he has fathered her child. Tom, at first oblivious to Sophia's charms and beauty, falls deeply in love with her, and begins to resent his ties to Molly. Yet he remains with Molly out of honor. Tom's commitment to Molly ends when he discovers that she has been having affairs, which means Tom is not the father of her child and frees him to confess his feelings to Sophia.

Allworthy falls gravely ill and summons his family and friends to be near him. He reads out his will, which states that Blifil will inherit most of his estate, although Tom is also provided for. Thwackum and Square are upset that they are each promised only a thousand pounds. Tom experiences great emotion at Allworthy's illness and barely leaves his bedside. A lawyer named Dowling arrives and announces the sudden and unexpected death of Bridget Allworthy. When the doctor announces that Allworthy will not die, Tom rejoices and gets drunk on both joy and alcohol. Blifil calls Tom a "bastard" and Tom retaliates by hitting him. Tom, after swearing eternal constancy to Sophia, encounters Molly by chance and makes love to her.

Mrs. Western, the aunt with whom Sophia spent much of her youth, comes to stay at her brother's house. She and the Squire fight constantly, but they unite over Mrs. Western's plan to marry Sophia to Blifil. Mrs. Western promises not to reveal Sophia's love for Tom as long as Sophia submits to receiving Blifil as a suitor. Blifil thus begins his courtship of Sophia, and brags so much about his progress that Allworthy believes that Sophia must love Blifil. Sophia, however, strongly opposes the proposal, and Squire Western grows violent with her. Blifil tells Allworthy that Tom is a rascal who cavorted drunkenly about the house, and Allworthy banishes Tom from the county. Tom does not want to leave Sophia, but decides that he must follow the honorable path.

Tom begins to wander about the countryside. In Bristol, he happens to meet up with Partridge, who becomes his loyal servant. Tom also rescues a Mrs. Waters from being robbed, and they begin an affair at a local inn. Sophia, who has run away from Squire Western's estate to avoid marrying Blifil, stops at this inn and discovers that Tom is having an affair with Mrs. Waters. She leaves her muff in Tom's bed so that he knows she has been there. When Tom finds the muff, he frantically sets out in pursuit of Sophia. The Irishman Fitzpatrick arrives at the inn searching for his wife, and Western arrives searching for Sophia.

On the way to London, Sophia rides with her cousin Harriet, who is also Fitzpatrick's wife. In London, Sophia stays with her lady relative Lady Bellaston. Tom and Partridge arrive in London soon after, and they stay in the house of Mrs. Miller and her daughters, one of whom is named Nancy. A young gentleman called Nightingale also inhabits the house, and Tom soon realizes that he and Nancy are in love. Nancy falls pregnant and Tom convinces Nightingale to marry her. Lady Bellaston and Tom begin an affair, although Tom privately, continues to pursue Sophia. When he and Sophia are reconciled, Tom breaks off the relationship with Lady Bellaston by sending her a marriage proposal that scares her away. Yet Lady Bellaston is still determined not to allow Sophia and Tom's love to flourish. She encourages anoter young man, Lord Fellamar, to rape Sophia.

Soon after, Squire Western, Mrs. Western, Blifil, and Allworthy arrive in London, and Squire Western locks Sophia in her bedroom. Mr. Fitzpatrick thinks Tom is his wife's lover and begins a duel with Tom. In defending himself, Tom stabs Fitzpatrick with the sword and is thrown into jail. Partridge visits Tom in jail with the ghastly news that Mrs. Waters is Jenny Jones, Tom's mother. Mrs. Waters meets with Allworthy and explains that Fitzpatrick is still alive, and has admitted to initiating the duel. She also tells Allworthy that a lawyer acting on behalf of an unnamed gentleman tried to persuade her to conspire against Tom. Allworthy realizes that Blifil is this very gentleman, and he decides never to speak to him again. Tom, however, takes pity on Blifil and provides him with an annuity.

Mrs. Waters also reveals that Tom's mother was Bridget Allworthy. Square sends Allworthy a letter explaining that Tom's conduct during Allworthy's illness was honorable and compassionate. Tom is released from jail and he and Allworthy are reunited as nephew and uncle. Mrs. Miller explains to Sophia the reasons for Tom's marriage proposal to Lady Bellaston, and Sophia is satisfied. Now that Tom is Allworthy's heir, Squire Western eagerly encourages the marriage between Tom and Sophia. Sophia chastises Tom for his lack of chastity, but agrees to marry him. They live happily on Western's estate with two children, and shower everyone around them with kindness and generosity.

Character Analysis

Tom Jones

Tom Jones, Fielding's imperfect and "mortal" hero, is the character through whom Fielding gives voice to his philosophy of Virtue. In contrast to the moral philosophizing of many of Fielding's contemporaries, Fielding does not suggest that Tom's affairs with Molly Seagrim, Mrs. Waters, and Lady Bellaston should reflect badly on his character. Rather, keeping with the Romantic genre, Fielding seems to admire Tom's adherence to the principles of Gallantry, which require that a man return the interest of a woman. Interestingly, all of Tom's love affairs, including his relationship with Sophia, his true love, are initiated by the woman in question, which is Fielding's way of excusing Tom from the charge of lustful depravity.

Moreover, the fact that Tom's lovers include a feisty, unfeminine wench and two middle-aged women suggest that his motives are various. Tom also treats women with the utmost respect, obliging their desire to be courted by pretending to be the seducer even when they are seducing him. Tom refuses to abandon Molly for Sophia and is plagued by his obligations to Lady Bellaston. Nonetheless, Tom's refusal of the tempting marriage proposal of Arabella Hunt—whose last name underscores the fact that Tom is hunted more often than he is the hunter—indicates that he has mended his wild ways and is ready to become Sophia's husband. Tom's gallantry reveals itself in his relationships with men as well as women, however. This spirit is evident in Tom's insistence on paying the drinking bill for the army men at Bristol, and in his gallant defense of himself in the duel.

Sophia Western

Sophia Western, according to critic Martin Battestin, is an allegorical figure, meant to represent the feminine ideal and therefore kept as anonymous as possible. For example, the narrator does not provide concrete details of Sophia's appearance and character when he introduces her at the beginning of the novel, and by the end of the novel, we do not know much more. Although Sophia's decision to run away from her violent father Squire Western signals her courage and bravery—which the narrator says is becoming in a woman—she actually does very little in the novel. As a woman and obedient daughter, Sophia must allow herself to be acted upon, and even though she falls in love with Tom Jones before he falls in love with her, she cannot, in all decency, say anything. Similarly, Sophia puts up little resistance to her father's violence toward her.

Sophia becomes the spokeswoman for male chastity at the end of the novel—ironically, through her lecture to Jones, she provides the final obstacle to their marriage and thus to the fulfillment of the comic plot. Through her generosity and genuine courtesy, Sophia becomes a representative, along with Jones and Allworthy of Fielding's vision of Virtue. She combines the best of the country and the city, since she has manners, unlike her country father, but they are genuine, unlike those of her courtly aunt, Mrs. Western. Similarly, Sophia combines the merits of the novel's two other heroes without any of their faults—she is kind like Tom, but also remains chaste, and is generous toward others, like Allworthy, without being blind to their faults.

Allworthy

Allworthy, as his name implies, is also an allegorical figure of sorts. His character does not undergo any dramatic changes and thus possesses the consistency and stability found in stock characters in theatrical comedy. Allworthy, as Fielding's moral yardstick and as the novel's ultimate dispenser of justice and mercy, almost takes on the role of a god, although he is still mortal enough to make incorrect judgments. Allworthy's blindness to the evil designs of his nephew Blifil and to Thwackum's insidiousness lead him to make mistakes which propel the plot of the novel forward. For example, it is Allworthy who banishes Tom Jones from his county.

Blifil

Blifil, the antagonist of Tom Jones, is a foil to his uncle Allworthy. In contrast to Allworthy, whose altruism is almost excessive, Blifil not only acts vilely, but coats his evil with sugary hypocrisy. When Allworthy and Tom confront Blifil with his crimes, Blifil weeps not out of remorse, but rather out of terror. He does not reform his ways, but merely his religion, expediently converting to Methodism in order to marry a rich woman. As the static villain, Blifil stands opposite the consistent goodness of Allworthy. Fielding uses Blifil's lack of passion to condone Tom's abundance of "animal spirits" and to sharpen his definition of love. The reader does not admire Blifil's chastity, since it stems from an excessive interest in Sophia's fortune and in a desire to eclipse Tom. Fielding's claim that physical pleasure is a necessary part of true love is further validated when Tom's philandering is contrasted with Blifil's bitter chastity.

Themes, Symbols, and Motifs

Themes

Virtue as action rather than thought

Fielding contrasts the concept of Virtue espoused by characters like Square and Thwackum with the Virtue actually practiced by Jones and Allworthy. Tom, as the active hero who saves damsels-in-distress and plans on fighting for his country, is the embodiment of the very active type of Virtue that Fielding esteems.

The impossibility of stereotypical categorization

Fielding's novel attempts to break down numerous boundaries. In terms of genre, Fielding cannot decide whether his novel is a "philosophical History," a "Romance," or an "epi-comic prosaic poem." Yet, through these confounded musings, Fielding subtly suggests that cataloguing fiction is silly, and that he would rather think of himself as "the founder of a new Province of Writing."

In another example of broken stereotypes, Fielding's characters cannot be distinguished by "masculine" or "feminine" traits: in this novel both men and women fight and cry.

The tension between Art and Artifice

Although the narrator upholds the value of natural art in his characters, he uses artifice himself in the construction of his novel. For example, he often closes chapters by hinting to the reader what is to follow in the next chapter, or he warns the reader that he is going to omit a scene. In such a way, he prevents us from suspending our disbelief and giving ourselves up to the "art" of the narrative—instead, Fielding constantly entices us to reflect on and review the process of construction.

Motifs

Food

The narrator invokes the motif of food in relation to the process of writing, the process of reading, love, and war. He begins the novel by referring to himself as a Restauranteer who will provide the reader with a feast. He later defines lust as a person's appetite for a good chunk of white flesh.

Travel

Where the narrator opens the novel with a reference to food, he concludes the novel with a reference to travel, casting himself as the reader's fellow traveler. This represents the culmination of a travel motif throughout the novel. As the characters journey from the country to the city, the narrator includes himself as a fellow traveler, remarking that he will not plod through the journey, but will hasten and slow down as he pleases.

The Law

The narrator infuses his language—and the speech of his characters—with legal terms. For example, after a petty domestic argument with Squire Western, Mrs. Western refers to their reconciliation as the signing of a "treaty." Such examples reveal the narrator's technique of hyperbole—he uses technical jargon to build up events that are actually irrelevant. However, there are also cases in which the narrator's legal motif is genuine, as both Allworthy and Western are Justices of the Peace, and the lawyer Dowling plays a large part in the plot against Tom.

The Stage

It is noteworthy that Fielding constantly alludes to the theater, since his novel is in some ways more "dramatic" than it is "literary." The motif of the stage reminds one that Fielding thinks of his characters as "actors." Nevertheless, the fact that Fielding refuses to provide detailed visual descriptions of his characters slightly undermines his theatrical motif. Clearly, he wishes to vacillate between the visual world of the dramatic and the written word of the prose novel.

Symbols

Sophia's muff

Sophia's muff stands in for her in situations when Sophia cannot physically be present herself. This is made evident by the fact that she attaches her name to the muff before leaving it in Jones's bed at Upton. Since both Jones and Sophia kiss the muff, it allows them to achieve a closeness despite their physical distance.

Book I

Summary

Chapter I

The narrator sets up a contract with the Reader, casting himself as a Restauranteur, his work as a "Feast," and the Reader as his patron. Since the Reader must pay for what he eats—the book—the narrator invites the Reader to mull over the menu, which he promises to provide in the way of an introductory clause at the opening of each Book and each Chapter. The type of cuisine is none other than "human nature," a topic which has been written about in the cheaper kind of literature, —thought it has been grossly bandied about in stall-bound "Romances, Novels, Plays and Poems"—may have refinement depending on the "Cookery of the Author." The narrator intends to mimic the cookery of Heliogabalus, a Roman emperor who initiated his guests with simple fare, slowly building to more sophisticated delicacies. After serving up his simple fare of country characters, the narrator will present the Reader with the "high French and Italian Seasoning of Affectation and Vice which Courts and Cities afford."

Chapter II

In the western domain of England lives a retired gentleman, Mr. Allworthy, blessed by Nature with good looks, robust health, understanding, an altruistic disposition, and one of the most prosperous estates in the county of Somersetshire. Five years before the story begins, Allworthy's beautiful and virtuous wife passed away, following their three children, who died as infants. Allworthy, however, still considers himself married—a sentiment that inspires the praise of his neighbors. Allworthy lives with his only sibling, his beloved sister, Miss Bridget Allworthy, who is called an "old Maid" because she is thirty years old and unmarried. Miss Bridget is one of those "very good sort of Women," which is the description women give to other women who are deprived of beauty.

Chapter III

The reader may assume, based on the previous chapter's description, that Allworthy does nothing other than perform benevolent deeds. But if this were the case, the narrator says, he would not have wasted his time producing a work of such epic length. If the Reader would rather read such matter, he can peruse instead one of those boring books called The History of England.

An exhausted Allworthy, returning from business in London, retires to bed. On pulling back the sheets he discovers a baby boy, swaddled in linen, sleeping sweetly. Although greatly surprised, Allworthy cannot help but feel empathy for the little being, and awe at its beauty. Allworthy rings his bell to summon his old-time servant, Mrs. Deborah Wilkins. Mrs. Deborah takes some time to preen herself, in spite of the urgency of Allworthy's summons, and it should therefore come as no surprise, the narrator says, that she is shocked to find Allworthy, who in his haste has forgotten to dress, wearing only his nightshirt. After delivering a long monologue on the indecency of unchaste women—whom she calls "wicked Sluts", Mrs. Deborah advises Allworthy to discard the baby at the parish door. But, during Mrs. Deborah's speech, the baby has clasped Allworthy's finger in his tiny hand, winning the man's heart. Allworthy orders Mrs. Deborah to carry the boy to her bed, prepare food for him, and to seek out appropriate clothes the next day. Mrs. Deborah, always loyal to her master, now calls the boy a "sweet little Infant" and whisks the child away in her arms.

Chapter IV

Allworthy's Gothic-style house, which resides on a hill beneath a grove of old oaks, is on a property that stretches out beyond lawns, meadows, and woods, and out to the sea. Allworthy takes in this view during a mid-May morning walk, in which his mind stews over the noble question of how he "might render himself most acceptable to his Creator, by doing most Good to his Creatures." At breakfast, Allworthy tells Miss Bridget he has a gift for her, which she suspects will be a gown, or jewelry. She is therefore speechless with surprise on first being presented with the baby boy Allworthy found in his bed the night before. Miss Bridget calls the unknown mother every vile name she knows, but she nevertheless shows some compassion for the child. All the female servants in the house are suspected, but all are "acquitted" by Mrs. Wilkins, to whom the task of inspecting all the women in the parish is given. Miss Bridget agrees to take care of the child, at her brother's request.

Chapter V

Once Allworthy departs, Mrs. Deborah waits for contradictory orders from Miss Bridget, since she knows that the brother and sister's opinions begin to differ as soon as they are apart. Miss Bridget, after staring for a little while at the baby sleeping in Mrs. Deborah's lap, cannot refrain from kissing it and praising its beauty. She then sets about ordering "Necessaries" for the child, and appoints one of the best rooms in the house to be its nursery. This is not without a sly and contradictory quip at her brother, however, whom she scorns for desiring to support Vice by adopting "the little Brat."

Chapter VI

Mrs. Deborah hurries to the parish in pursuit of the mother of the baby. Due to her habit of treating the parish inhabitants with disdain and ill will, none of the matrons there look forward to Mrs. Deborah's visit, but one old woman, who is equal to Mrs. Deborah in age and ugliness, likes her better than the others. The two women discuss the characters of various young women, and decide that a certain Jenny Jones must have committed the crime.

Though Jenny is not beautiful, she has been endowed with "Understanding." She has developed this quality through study, as she is the servant of a schoolmaster who has undertaken to teach Latin to Jenny. The narrator grants that Jenny is "perhaps, as good a Scholar as most of the young Men of Quality of the Age," but, because of her superior intellect and accompanying pride, Jenny has become the envy of her neighbors. This is why the elderly woman suspects Jenny to be the mother of the foundling. Mrs. Wilkins, has additional reason to suspect Jenny, because Jenny has recently spent time at Allworthy's house nursing Miss Bridget out of an illness.

Summoned to face Mrs. Deborah, who dubs her an "audacious Strumpet," Jenny confesses to being the mother of the child. Even though Jenny shows remorse, Mrs. Deborah upbraids her even more, backed up by a chorus of female on-lookers who have gathered around. Mrs. Deborah conveys the news to Mr. Allworthy, who is greatly surprised, since he intended to reward Jenny's diligencet self- improvement by arranging for her a decent living and a marriage with a neighboring Curate. Mrs. Bridget is sent to summon Jenny to a conference with Allworthy.

Chapter VII

Jenny meets Allworthy in his study, where he delivers an effusive monologue on the crime of a woman's spoiling her Chastity. Allworthy reminds Jenny that fleeting pleasure can overwhelm reason, which should remind one of the dire consequences of passion. He argues that a woman cannot invoke love as an excuse for her behavior, since no man who truly loved a woman would use her in so base a way.

On a more positive note, Allworthy expresses admiration for Jenny's decision not to abandon the child, as some callous mothers might have. He appreciates her judgment in leaving the child to his care. When Allworthy asks the name of the child's father, Jenny pleads with him, claiming she is "under the most solemn Ties and Engagements of Honour, as well as the most religious Vows and Protestations" not to reveal the father's name. Allworthy asserts that he does not desire to know the man's name out of curiosity, but so that he may at least know who to avoid doing favors for in the future. Jenny assures Allworthy that the man is "entirely out of his Reach." Allworthy therefore respects Jenny's wish that the man's name remain private and bids her to seek forgiveness from God.

Chapter VIII

Miss Bridget and Mrs. Deborah, who have used the keyhole of the adjoining room as a conduit to eavesdrop on Allworthy and Jenny's conversation, debate the proceedings. Mrs. Deborah speaks out first, shrilly proclaiming that Mr. Allworthy should have been harsher in his treatment of Jenny. She swears that if she had been in his position, she would certainly have extracted the name of the father. At this Miss Bridget smiles, a rare occurrence. Miss Bridget contradicts Mrs. Deborah's outburst by praising Jenny for confessing to her crime and hypocritically chastises Miss Bridget for prying into other people's business. Mrs. Deborah, who normally reserves her judgment until her mistress has spoken, now retracts all she said earlier. The women essentially take Jenny's side because, like them, she is not beautiful, and the conversation ends with "a general and bitter Invective against Beauty, and with many compassionate Considerations for all honest, plain Girls, who are deluded by the wicked Arts of deceitful Men."

Chapter IX

When the neighbors learn that instead of sending Jenny to a House of Correction, Allworthy has simply banished her from the parish, they unleash invectives against her. Jenny's distance prevents her from being the recipient of their animosity, so the neighbors begin directing their maliciousness toward Mr. Allworthy himself and spread rumors that he is the father himself. The narrator assures the Reader that "Mr. Allworthy was, and will hereafter appear to be, absolutely innocent of any criminal Intention whatever."

Chapter X

Although he favors "Men of Merit" and "Men of Genius and Learning," Allworthy opens his house and heart to anyone. Men flock to Allworthy's company not only because they are certain of being showered with hospitality, but because Allworthy allows every guest to spend his time according to that guest's inclination. The gentleman Dr. Blifil, one such visitor, has won Allworthy's pity. This is due to the fact that Dr. Blifil's father forced him to study medicine or "Physic" against his will and Allworthy pities anyone who has found misfortune because of the "Folly or Villainy of others." Since he detests his profession, Dr. Blifil hardly practices and, thus, has accumulated very little fortune. Dr. Blifil's one shining quality, which is his "great Appearance of Religion," attracts Miss Bridget to him. A romance springs up between the two based on their particular "sympathy" of religious views. The narrator expresses no surprise at this event, since he wryly observes that "Sympathies of all Kinds are apt to beget Love; so Experience teaches us that none have a more direct Tendency this Way than those of a religious Kind between Persons of different Sexes."

One obstacle stands in Miss Bridget and Dr. Blifil's way: Dr. Blifil is married. There is nothing for Dr. Blifil to do but try to conjure a match between Miss Bridget and his brother. The narrator muses as to the reason for such a decision, especially since Dr. Blifil "had no great Friendship for his Brother." The narrator speculates that Dr. Blifil might just have an evil nature, or that he wishes to be an accomplice in the "Theft" of a wealthy lady, or that he hopes his status will vicariously be raised through his brother's marriage.

Captain Blifil, Dr. Blifil's brother, arrives at Allworthy's house almost immediately after receiving the summons from his brother. The thirty-five-year- old Captain is well built and has a scar on his forehead. His demeanor and voice are rough, yet he is "not ungenteel, nor entirely void of Wit." The Captain's father wanted his son to become a priest, but died before the ordination, and the Captain became an army man instead. After an argument with his Colonel, however, the Captain was forced to resign his commission and has since been devoting himself to Biblical study in the countryside. Only a week after his arrival at Allworthy's estate, Captain Blifil begins to make an impression on the "Saint-like" character of Miss Bridget, thus fulfilling his brother's hopes for him.

Chapter XI

Miss Bridget falls for Captain Blifil, even though the Captain is not good- looking, which the narrator ascribes to Bridget's search for something profound and meaningful. Bridget is not beautiful either, making it unnecessary for the narrator to "draw her Picture." Moreover, the narrator relates, a better artist—the famous Mr. Hogarth—has already undertaken that task. Once the Captain catches scent of Bridget's passion for him, he returns it. The Captain, however, has actually fallen in love with Mr. Allworthy's estate. He harbors a fear that Allworthy will not approve of a match between his sister and a man who is so much poorer than her, so he attempts to conceal his brief courtship from Allworthy. The Captain proposes and is rejected twice before Miss Bridget finally submits.

Chapter XII

Dr. Blifil takes the task of breaking the news of Dr. Blifil and Miss Bridget's marriage to Allworthy upon himself. Finding Allworthy strolling in the garden, Dr. Blifil greets him with a bitter speech about men's self- interestedness and women's debauchery. Mr. Allworthy, however, already knows about his sister's marriage and wholeheartedly supports it in spite of Captain Blifil's lack of finances. Allworthy stops Dr. Blifil mid-sentence with his angelic philosophies about marriage being based on love. Allworthy does not believe that physical attraction and financial concerns should be renounced entirely, but he also believes that they should not be the sole basis for matrimony.

Chapter XIII

Dr. Blifil tells his brother about how he pretended to be angry when he met Allworthy in the garden, saying that he wanted to dismiss any suspicions Allworthy might have that Dr. Blifil set up the marriage. The narrator says that the Captain will later make use of this disclosure. Now that the Captain possesses Miss Bridget and her money, he treats his brother with the utmost disdain. No one can help noticing this behavior, not even Allworthy, to whom the Captain confides that he can never forgive his brother for a past injury. Allworthy protests so loudly against not forgiving that the Captain affects a pretense of goodwill toward his brother when they are in company, but in private his contempt continues. Dr. Blifil appeals to his brother, but the Captain rudely tells him to quit the house if he is not content. The narrator hints that Dr. Blifil is indeed guilty of some former crime, and submits to his brother's behavior because he does not want the Captain to reveal this secret to Allworthy. Moreover, the Captain, who is proud and fierce, has long resented his brother's intellectual capacities. The narrator concludes that envy mangled with contempt and obligation tends to breed indignation rather than gratitude. Dr. Blifil can no longer bear his brother's cruelty and departs for London, where he dies of a broken heart.

Analysis

By beginning Book I with some self-conscious reflections on the role of an author, Fielding immediately incorporates his "Reader" into the novel. In Chapter I, Fielding refers to the reader in the third person, and in the rest of Book I he addresses the reader directly—a form of address known as apostrophe. Fielding's deep concern for establishing a relationship between author and reader reflects on the context in which he was writing: with the "novel" as a newly emerging form of literature, the act of reading was shifting from a public to a private experience, which explains why Fielding always refers to a single reader, not to a group of readers. Fielding's concern is not without irony, however, since Fielding often makes the reader aware of how little power he or she has. While the narrator promises in Chapter I to provide a menu at the beginning of each chapter, the reader soon realizes that this menu is not to be as lucid and useful as promised.

By involving the Reader in the novel, Fielding invites us to reflect on the construction of the work and on the reading process itself. By relentlessly alluding to writers and figures from Classical Antiquity and Mythology, Fielding reminds the reader of the strong intellectual foundation on which this work has been built. Yet Fielding greets even these references with some irony. Indeed, Fielding questions the very definition of a "novel" by creating a pastiche of various styles of writing. He expresses scorn towards the "Romances, Novels, Plays and Poems, with which the Stalls abound" and implies in Chapter III that his work deserves to be placed among the more reputable "History" genre.

Yet the plot that drives Book I—Mr. Allworthy's discovery of the foundling in his bed, and the marriage of Miss Bridget Allworthy to Captain Blifil—suggests that Fielding is trying to revolutionize the very notion of "History," by rejecting dour political histories and trying to construct a set of personal histories instead. Instead of probing into his characters' psychologies, as a more traditional novel might, Fielding insists on presenting "scenes" to the reader—faithful transcriptions of their actions and dialogue that read like historical facts.

Book II

Summary

Chapter I

This is to be a different kind of History, the narrator informs us, one that chooses carefully where to devote its "Pains" and "Paper." The narrator invokes the simile of a lottery, declaring that he will focus on the prizes drawn, not on the blanks. The narrator dubs himself "the Founder of a new Province of Writing" and states that this entitles him to operate by his own laws, which readers will have to respect. The narrator hopes that the Reader will recognize his authority, but he promises not be a tyrant nor to make the readers his slaves.

Chapter II

Eight months after Miss Bridget and Captain Blifil's wedding, Miss Bridget gives birth to a boy. Even though Mr. Allworthy relishes the fact that his sister has given birth to an heir, it does not diminish his love for the foundling, whom he has named Thomas after himself, and for whom he has taken on the role of godfather. Allworthy visits the baby Tom in his nursery at least once a day. Allworthy tells Bridget that her son will be brought up with Tom, and after some resistance, she finally agrees. The Captain voices more opposition than his wife by quoting scripture about the unworthy status of children born out of wedlock. Allworthy counters with his own set of quotations, arguing that children are born innocent and should not have to bear their parents' guilt. The truth is that the Captain envies Allworthy's attentions to Tom. Miss Bridget, while verbally abusing Allworthy and Tom behind their backs, has a tongue of honey in public. Mrs. Deborah, the narrator concludes, has discovered Tom's rascal of a father.

Chapter III

The narrator explains the history of Tom's mother, Jenny Jones, and the schoolmaster, Mr. Partridge. Although Partridge and his shrew of a wife have been married for nine years, they have no children. The narrator confides that the reason for this is that "Children are rightly called the Pledges of Love; and [Partridge] … had given [his wife] no such Pledges…" Terrified that her husband will be less abstinent with other women, Mrs. Partridge handpicks her maidservants, choosing the least attractive women. Jenny Jones is one such maidservants.

Jenny, however, is allowed to set aside her housework in order to pursue her studies with Mr. Partridge. One day, about four years after Jenny has arrived, Mrs. Partridge strolls past her husband's study and notices Jenny suddenly rise up from her reading. Mrs. Partridge interprets this as evidence that Jenny and her husband are having an affair. She believes that their guilt is proven beyond reasonable doubt when, at dinner, she witnesses Jenny smiling when Partridge asks her to "give him some drink" in Latin. Mrs. Partridge glares at Jenny, who blushes. Taking this blush as even further corroboration, Mrs. Partridge grabs a knife and threatens Jenny and her husband. Jenny escapes by running from the room, while Partridge simply sits and trembles. That night Mrs. Partridge orders Jenny to leave her house. Jenny protests her innocence, but Partridge does not defend her. Instead, he wins back his wife's favor by making love to her. Partridge is secretly happy that Jenny has been dismissed, since the girl was beginning to exceed his intellectual heights.

Chapter IV

Mrs. Partridge, once frigid, now lavishes her husband with affection. However, the narrator warns, this is the calm before the storm, for the women in the parish now report that Jenny has given birth to a second bastard. Since it is less than nine months since Mrs. Partridge ousted Jenny, Mrs. Partridge assumes that Mr. Partridge must also be the father of this child. Tearing home, Mrs. Partridge attacks her husband, scratching him into a bloody mess. He attempts to restrain her, but she fights so furiously that her cap falls off, and the "stays" at the front of her dress split open, leaving her breasts exposed. Mad with terror, Mr. Partridge runs into the street imploring his neighbors to help his wife. A gaggle of women attend to him. Mrs. Partridge slanders her husband, accusing him of wrenching off her cap and stays, pulling hair from her head, and beating her. Mr. Partridge, his face scarred from his wife's nails, stands stunned and speechless. The parish women, interpreting this silence as guilt, scream at his insolence.

Chapter V

Rumors begin to fly around the Little Baddington parish that Partridge has beaten his wife. Different reasons are given for Partridge's behavior: some report that he was having an affair, while others believe that Mrs. Partridge is the guilty party. Mrs. Wilkins scavenges for information that might reduce Allworthy's affection for Tom in an effort to please the Captain. When she hears that Partridge is Tom's father, she passes the news on to Captain Blifil. Instead of rewarding Mrs. Wilkins, however, the Captain, who does not want to ally himself with a servant for fear of being blackmailed, dismisses Mrs. Wilkins.

Mrs. Wilkins says nothing to Mr. Allworthy, nor does she mention her secret to Mrs. Blifil, with whom her friendship has faded due to their differing opinions of Tom. Captain Blifil debates the meaning of "Charity" with Allworthy. The Captain believes that "Charity" does not stipulate the actual distribution of money, whereas Mr. Allworthy believes that it does. At the conclusion of the conversation, the Captain subtly drops the news that Partridge is Tom's father. Allworthy summons Mrs. Wilkins to corrobate the story, which she does. The Captain advises Allworthy to treat Partridge with mercy.

Chapter VI

The news of Partridge's guilt comes as a shock to Allworthy, who is the only person in the county who has not already heard the rumors. Mrs. Wilkins, having been sent to unearth more evidence of the scandal, returns to Allworthy with "confirmation," which is actually the word of a neighbor. The Partridge couple appears before Allworthy to make their "Defence." Allworthy, in the Chair of Justice, first listens to Mrs. Partridge's story. Mr. Partridge then proclaims his innocence, at which point Mrs. Partridge bursts into tears and launches into further accusations, now attesting that Mr. Partridge has had affairs with numerous women. The narrator takes this opportunity to refer to the common law, which states that a wife cannot provide evidence either for or against her husband. Mr. Partridge pleads that Jenny be allowed to testify to his innocence, but a messenger who is sent to find her brings the news that Jenny has run away with a recruiting officer. Allworthy decides that the testimony of "such a Slut" could not be trusted, and that Mrs. Partridge has won the case. Mr. Partridge loses his annuity and falls into slothful poverty. Mrs. Partridge dies of smallpox shortly after. Mr. Partridge leaves the county.

Chapter VII

In spite of what Captain Blifil hopes, Allworthy's affections for Tom are steadily increasing, and the narrator observes that it is as though Allworthy feels a need to atone for his severity to Partridge through extra affection for Tom. This disgruntles the Captain, who fears that Tom's existence will lessen his own inheritance. Captain Blifil and Bridget's marriage has rapidly descended from infatuation to hatred. Their religious views are diametrically opposed, and the narrator reveals that during their courtship, the Captain made a point of conceding to Bridget even when he did not agree. Now that the Captain has no reason to comply with Bridget, he belittles her arguments. They remain together, however, because, the narrator philosophizes, married couples sometimes find more enjoyment in tormenting one another than in being separated. Although Allworthy notices the tenstion, he does not realize the magnitude of the discord, and the Captain and Bridget try to conceal it before him. In spite of his noble character, Allworthy "might" notice some flaws in the Captain, but the narrator condones this, since he believes that a good friend will recognize the faults of others and not try to cure them.

Chapter VIII

Captain Blifil meditates on how much he will inherit, and what improvements he will make to Allworthy's house and gardens once Allworthy has died. Captain Blifil's greed prompts him to lay his hands on every book available about life expectancy, from which he calculates how long he will have to wait for Allworthy's death. One night, as he takes his solitary evening walk to ponder such questions, Captain Blifil dies of Apoplexy.

Chapter IX

Mr. Allworthy, concerned about the Captain's absence from the dinner table, orders the outside bell to be rung. Allworthy himself heads for the gardens while a friend who has joined them for dinner attempts to calm Bridget down with words and wine. When Allworthy returns, silent and upset, Bridget wails and laments that someone must have murdered her husband. Suddenly a servant bursts in, crying that the Captain has been found. Two servants carry in his dead body, and Allworthy weeps at the sight, while Bridget screams and faints. Two doctors Dr. Y. and Dr. Z., arrive and debate the cause of death. Each doctor has a favorite disease that he invokes for every autopsy. Although Captain Blifil is now confirmed to be dead, Dr. Y and Dr. Z need to invent an excuse to stay longer so they will receive more money. Bridget remains bed-ridden for a month and Allworthy generously commissions an epitaph for the Captain's grave.

Analysis

At first sight the narrator seems to treat all of his characters with deference, but on closer inspection, we notice Fielding's irony toward his characters. For example, Fielding slyly undercuts Partridge's authority by describing Partridge as a "Pedagogue" rather than as a "teacher." The names Fielding chooses for characters are also parodies, following the eighteenth-century custom of using names that magnify the essential qualities of each character. Allworthy, for instance, is a genuinely worthy man, a moral yardstick against which the other characters should be evaluated.

However, Book II introduces us to Allworthy's greatest flaw, which is that he is unable to perceive the cunning and conniving of others. While this may be a minor flaw, one that stems from virtue rather than vice, Allworthy's inability to sport the machinations of others drives much of the plot of Tom Jones. It may seem contradictory that Fielding has constructed this character with a flaw, but Allworthy's characterization is consistent with the narrator's stated refusal to believe that anyone can be perfect. This attitude was a precocious one in the eighteenth century, and distinguishes Fielding from authors such as Samuel Richardson, who intended for his novels to be read as instruction manuals for morality. Fielding desires to record life more accurately, and this desire demands the creation of imperfect characters.

The lack of perfect characters in Tom Jones does not mean that the novel is devoid of morality. Indeed, Book II centers on Allworthy's kindness to the foundling child, Tom. Many of the characters, particularly Captain Blifil and Mrs. Wilkins, condemn Allworthy's decision to keep the boy, arguing that he is thereby supporting "Vice." Yet the narrator subtly reveals how the characters most critical of Allworthy's decision to raise Tom are driven by questionable motives in their own right. In such a way, Fielding allows questions of morality to take the form of debates among his characters, rather than writing dogmatic authoritative lectures. The lengthy debate between the Captain and Allworthy on the topic of "Charity" indicates Fielding's interest in solving moral dilemmas through philosophy rather than religion. Philosophy, Fielding implies, presents a variety of questions but no definitive answers.

Book III

Summary

Chapter I

The narrator reminds us of his earlier warning that his History will not document every second of time, and that the reader must therefore flesh out the time by arriving at his own opinions of the characters. Through a series of rhetorical questions, the narrator suggests that he does not need to describe the grief Allworthy experienced at the death of Captain Blifil, nor does he need to elaborate on the character of Mrs. Bridget Blifil. The narrator says that such analysis would be for a lower class of reader, and he expects much more from "the upper Graduates in Criticism." Since the narrator knows that most of his readers are of superior intellect, he has granted them twelve years in which to exercise their skills of penetration. Now he is impatient to introduce the novel's hero at fourteen years of age.

Chapter II

Tom Jones, is introduced with an unfortunate anecdote. Tom possesses many faults, chief among them being his passion for stealing. Tom has recently stolen fruit from an orchard, a farmer's duck, and a ball from the pocket of Master Blifil, the son of the late Captain Blifil. Master Blifil abounds in "Virtues" and is praised by the neighborhood whereas Tom is despised. Blifil's virtues, in a nutshell, are sobriety, discretion, and piety.

The narrator presenta us with a vignette to reveal these boys' opposing characters. Tom's only friend is one of the servants of the household, a gamekeeper, and Tom's give the things he steals to this man's family. One day, Tom goes hunting with the game-keeper, and, at Tom's bidding, they follow some partridges into the estate of Allworthy's neighbor, which Allworthy has warned the game-keeper not to do. The neighbor hears the sound of the game- keeper shooting one of the partridges and, arriving at the scene of the crime, finds Tom with the dead bird, since the game-keeper has leapt into a bush to hide himself. The neighbor goes straight to Allworthy and tells Allworthy there must have been two people involved because he found two guns. Yet when Allworthy asks Tom who his accomplice was, but the boy maintains that he was alone. The game-keeper also pleads innocent. Tom receives a flogging from Mr. Thwackum, the Reverend whom Allworthy has hired to educate Tom and Master Blifil. Later, Allworthy relents and tries to remedy the situation by giving Tom a little horse as a present. The narrator predicts that a dinner between Allworthy, Thwackum, and a third unnamed gentleman will soon ensue.

Chapter III

Mr. Square, who has been living some time with Allworthy, is introduced. Although not naturally intelligent, Square has improved himself through education, and is well-read in the ancient philosophers. Square believes that a man should always be a speculator and sees virtue as a "Matter of Theory." Square and Thwackum are always arguing, and their only similarity is that neither will ever refer to the concept of "Goodness" in arguments. Square maintains that human nature is inherently virtuous, while Thwackum believes in original sin. Over dinner at Allworthy's table, Square and Thwackum debate whether honor can exist independent of religion. Their voices rise in volume and anger until something interrupts their debate. The narrator tells us we will have to wait until the next chapter to find out the nature of the interruption.

Chapter IV

Before continuing his story, the narrator takes it upon himself to rebut the arguments of both Square and Thwackum, arguing that neither of them should ignore the "natural Goodness of Heart."

The dinner is interrupted by Master Blifil who has a bloody nose from a fight with Tom. Tom is smaller, but is by far the better boxer, and Blifil has "Tears galloping… from his Eyes." Tom explains that he punched Blifil after the latter called him a "Beggarly Bastard." Blifil denies this and accuses Tom of lying. Blifil reveals that Tom's accomplice in the partridge incident was Black George, the game-keeper. Tom pleads with Allworthy to have mercy on Black George and his family, and takes full blame for the incident, saying it was his idea to trespass. Allworthy dismisses the boys, asking them to treat one another more amicably in future.

Chapter V

As usual, Square and Thwackum take Blifil's side, praising him and denouncing Tom. Allworthy refuses to let Thwackum beat Tom, but he summons Black George and dismisses him from the Estate, albeit with a generous severance package. Allworthy's harsh punishment stems from his belief that it is worse to lie to save yourself than it is to save another. When the story begins to circulate, many people applaud Allworthy's judgment, commend Tom as "a brave Lad," and indict Blifil as a "sneaking Rascal."

Blifil has won over Square and Thwackum by always agreeing with their doctrines, which means that he has to keep silent when they are together, since their teachings always clash. Blifil, young as he is, has also learnt the art of "second-hand flattery"—praising Square and Thwackum to Allworthy, who goodheartedly conveys all of Blifil's compliments back to the men. Thwackum was recommended to Allworthy by a friend, and although Allworthy perceives Thwackum's faults, he has faith that Square will balance them out. Square and Thwackum despise Tom, who, the narrator admits, is "a thoughtless, giddy Youth, with little Sobriety in his Manners." Allworthy, however, allows Tom to call him "father."

Chapter VI

Both Square and Thwackum are interested in Bridget. The narrator says that one may wonder why so many male visitors to Allworthy's house have been attracted to Bridget, who is neither beautiful nor young. He then elaborates that men "have a Kind of natural Propensity to particular Females at the House of a Friend … when they are rich." Both of the men have discovered that the easiest way to curry favor with Bridget is to show kindness to Blifil and contempt for Tom. Although Bridget flirts with both Square and Thwackum, all she truly desires is "Flattery and Courtship," for she does not wish to remarry. Square notices, however, that Bridget has hardly anything to do with the upbringing of her son, and harbors animosity towards Blifil because of the bitter memory of his father. On the other hand, she thrives on carrying out Allworthy's plans for Tom's well-being. The neighbors attribute Bridget's devotion to Tom to her obedience to her brother, but the narrator suggests that the maturing Tom has become attractive to women. Once the neighbors realize that Bridget is smitten with Tom, they call him a "rival" to Square and Thwackum. Bridget now revels in Tom's company.

Chapter VII

As soon as Allworthy realizes that Bridget now neglects Blifil in favor of Tom, his relentless compassion for the underdog induces him to protect Blifil. The narrator preaches prudence and circumspection, arguing that it is not enough to be virtuous inside, and that one must take care to ensure that one's virtue shines through to the outside as well. The narrator hails himself as a kind of "Chorus."

Chapter VIII

Half a year has passed since Tom sold the horse Allworthy gave him at a fair. When Tom will not tell Thwackum what he has done with the money from the sale, Thwackum prepares to beat him. Allworthy walks in and questions Tom in private. Tom calls Thwackum a "tyrannical Rascal," and Allworthy cautions him against using such language. Tom tells Allworthy he gave all the money from the horse to Black George and his family, who have been living in poverty since Allworthy dismissed them. Allworthy sheds some tears in appreciation of Tom's compassion.

Chapter IX

Some time before, Tom sold a Bible given to him by Allworthy to Blifil. Blifil has been wielding the book about the house, reading from it more than he ever did from his own. Because Blifil flaunts the book so much, Thwackum eventually notices Tom's name on the Bible, "obliging" Blifil to divulge how he obtained the book. Thwackum condemns Tom's action as sacrilege, but Square and Bridget Blifil do not agree.

Squire Western, Allworthy's neighbor, arrives with further accusations against Black George head. On an evening walk, however, Tom leads Allworthy and Blifil to Black George's abode, where the family's poverty excites Allworthy's empathy. Allworthy gives money to Black George's wife for clothes for the children. At home, Tom further on the family's behalf, and Allworthy promises to support them. Tom runs through the rain to tell them the good news. The narrator warns, however, that Black George's fortune is about to take a down turn.

Chapter X

Although Blifil remains mute in Tom's presence, when Tom leaves he recalls an incident that occurred about a year after Allworthy dismissed Black George: with his family on the brink of starvation, Black George killed and sold a hare to a middleman. The middleman was suspected of poaching and, obliged to provide a scapegoat named Black George to Squire Western. In telling the story, Blifil contorts the facts and says that Black George poached dozens of hares. Disgusted, Allworthy promises Tom he will continue to support Black George's family, but he does not want to hear Tom mention the game-keeper's name again.

Tom attempts to clear Black George's name by appealing directly to Squire Western, with whom he has become friendly through his sporting skills. Squire Western, vastly impressed with Tom, now shares his horses, dogs, and guns freely with Tom. Squire Western loves his seventeen-year-old daughter, and Tom therefore decides to take his appeal to her. However, since this girl is "the intended Heroine of this Work," the narrator does not deem it appropriate to introduce her at the end of a book. The narrator cautions us that he himself is in love with her, and expects many readers to fall in love with her by the end of the novel.

Analysis

Book III charts the maturation of the novel's hero, Tom Jones, from age fourteen to nineteen. Although the narrator feigns reserve in Chapter II at having to introduce a flawed hero, his admiration for Tom's generosity and altruism subtly emerges in the way that he contrasts Tom Jones with his foil, Master Blifil. The characterization of these rivals is typical of Fielding's characterization throughout the novel: he couches bad characters' vices in a favorable light, while feigning a cheeky disapproval of the good characters' vices. For example, the narrator makes it clear that Blifil's "virtues" breed nothing but a sniveling predilection for tattling. This method of characterization results in the narrator developing an ironic stance toward Blifil, and the obvious differences between what the narrator claims he wants to show of Blifil and what he actually does show creates a rift that works to reveal Blifil's hypocrisy.

The narrator does not intend, however, for us to see Tom and Allworthy as perfect. Indeed, by calling Tom his "Heroe," he means to reinvent the term, for, as he clearly states in Chapter V, he does not "pretend to introduce any infallible characters into this History."

The narrator mockingly elevates the small scale of his plot by using hyperbolical language. The exaggerated idea of Blifil's tears "galloping" from his eyes in Chapter IV underscores Blifil's parochial small-mindedness. In spite of his concern for language and terminology, the narrator admits that he prefers to show rather than tell, and his use of stage metaphors in relation to the writing process underscores his desire to depict scenes rather than states of mind. The worthiest characters in the book conform to this style of narration by being particularly active: Allworthy and Jones constantly engage in charitable actions, while the only action the allegedly pious Square and Thwackum indulge in is whipping Tom.

Book IV

Summary

Chapter I

The narrator claims that Truth is the vital ingredient setting his story apart. The narrator, however, does not want this history to be the kind that is so boring it cannot be digested without a bout of ale. Since the heroine is to be presented in the following chapter, the narrator traces literary examples of hero introductions. He praises the tragic poets, who knew best how to welcome their heroes (with a resounding of drums) and their lovers (with gentle melodies). He self-consciously states: "Our Intention, in short, is to introduce our Heroine with the utmost Solemnity in our Power, with an Elevation of Stile, and all other Circumstances proper to raise the Veneration of our Reader."

Chapter II

Miss Sophia Western, Squire Western's daughter, is ushered into the spotlight. At first the narrator does not provide exact details, hailing instead a string of female characters from high literature and high society, with whom he compares Sophia. Reinforcing his reluctance to paint Sophia's portrait, the narrator elusively says: "most of all, she resembled one whose Image never can depart from my Breast, and whom if thou dost remember, thou hast then, my Friend, an adequate Idea of Sophia." Finally we are graced with the information that Sophia is symmetrical, of medium height, of perfect proportions, with saber-colored hair, black eyes, and "two Rows of Ivory" in her mouth. Moreover, her inside matches her exquisite exterior. If jealousy should look to find fault with her, the narrator supposes that Sophia's forehead could be a little higher. He incorporates the words of John Suckling,John Donne, and Horace in his description of Sophia. Although Sophia's manners lack that polished finish found in the "Polite Circle," such airs are not needed in a character with such "sense" and "natural Gentility." Sophia has been educated by her aunt.

Chapter III

Sophia, at eighteen years old, loves her father more than any other living being. This is why Tom chooses to direct his plea on Black George's behalf to Sophia. The narrator steps back in time to describe the relationship between the neighboring households—they have lived pleasantly enough as neighbors, and Tom, Sophia, and Blifil were playmates as children. Tom's gregariousness appealed more to little Sophia than Blifil's cautious solemnity. In their early youth, Tom presented Sophia with a bird that he had stolen from a nest and trained to sing. Sophia christened the bird "little Tommy" and became so attached to it that feeding and playing with the bird was her greatest pastime.

One day in the garden Blifil persuades Sophia to let him hold little Tommy for a moment. On acquiring the bird, Blifil quickly removes the string from the bird's leg and releases it. Beckoned by Sophia's screams, Tom runs to them and climbs the tree where the bird has perched itself. The branch breaks and Tom tumbles into the canal below. When the adults arrive at the scene, Blifil confesses that it is his fault and explains that he cannot stand to see anything not have its liberty. Tom and Blifil are sent home, Sophia retires to her chamber, and the adults return to their alcohol.

Chapter IV

Square, Thwackum, Squire Western, Allworthy, and a lawyer friend of Western's argue about whether Blifil's actions were right or wrong. Square and Thwackum praise Blifil. Western, annoyed with Blifil for depriving Sophia of her bird, simply urges his guests to continue drinking. Allworthy thinks that the action was wrong, but the motivation good, and therefore resolves not to punish the boy. The lawyer enigmatically declares that property rights are "nullius in bonis," confounding the rest of the participants. Soon after, Allworthy whisks Square and Thwackum away.

Chapter V

From the day of the bird's death, Sophia develops a "Kindness" for Tom and an "Aversion" to Blifil. Many events, unnecessary to relate, further these sentiments. Sophia realizes that Tom has no enemy in the world but himself, while Blifil has few enemies but loves only himself. Some people keep good people to themselves, for fear of losing dominion over their goodness. But Sophia acts otherwise—publicly praises Tom, and publicly disparages Blifil. Sophia has returned to her father's house after more than three years of living and studying with her aunt. She hears the story of Black George and the partridge one night while dining with Squire Western, her aunt, and Allworthy. Later, when her maidservant is undressing her, Sophia vents her hatred for Blifil.

In Squire Western's house, Sophia now reigns supreme. Tom often dines with the father and daughter, since he shares Squire Western's passion for hunting. However, Tom has gallantry, which sets him apart from the "boisterous Brutality of mere Country Squires." Tom is now twenty, and has earned a reputation of being a "pretty Fellow" by all the ladies of the neighborhood. Sophia's natural ebullience increases whenever she has the pleasure of Tom's company, but Tom is too young to notice, and Squire Western is too much absorbed in his animals and sports. Unsuspecting, Squire Western allows Tom and Sophia plenty of time alone together. Sophia's heart is "irretrievably lost" to Tom before she even suspects it is in Danger.

Tom asks Sophia one afternoon if she will do him a favor. Sophia blushes, but Tom soon puts her beating heart to rest with his plea for Black George. Tom says that if Squire Western takes action against Black George, it will be surely be the death of him and his family. Sophia, having recovered her composure, smiles and says that this is not a big favor to ask. Indeed, the previous day she herself sent a "small Matter" to Black George's wife. The narrator informs us that this "small Matter" was in fact one of Sophia's own gowns, linen, and ten shillings. Tom had heard of Sophia's generosity, which encouraged him to ask for her assistance. Tom begs Sophia to urge her father to find employment for Black George. Sophia promises to try her best if Tom will return a favor. After exclaiming "I would sacrifice my Life to oblige you," Tom kisses Sophia's hand. This is the first time Tom's lips have ever touched Sophia's body, and she now feels "a Sensation to which she had been before a Stranger." Once Sophia regains her voice, she begs Tom not to take her father on such dangerous hunts. Tom gives his word, and then leaves.

Squire Western likes to hear Sophia play on the harpsichord every afternoon. Sophia, although an accomplished musician, has learned her father's favorite songs—mainly lewd ballads—to make him happy. On this night, Sophia plays his favorites, which elates him. Sophia takes this moment to make her request on behalf of Tom, and her father whole-heartedly agrees. The next morning, Squire Western summons his lawyer to write out a Deputation. Tom's actions are now made public and while some sing his praises others, including Square and Thwackum, harshly criticize him. Allworthy, however, is an advocate for Tom's virtue, which he says lies in the "Perseverance and Integrity of his Friendship." The narrator hints that Fortune will not be as kind to Tom in the following chapters.

Chapter VI

While Tom appreciates Sophia's beauty and abilities, he has not fallen in love with her. The narrator speculates that this may stem from idiocy, or from bad taste, but the truth is that Tom is in love with another woman. The narrator imagines that the reader will be indignant that he has heard nothing of this girl, who is in fact the second eldest of the five children of Black George. Molly Seagrim, one of the country's best-looking girls, has transfixed Tom's attentions to the point where his inclinations are to try and force himself upon her. Tom's morals, however, prevent him from doing so.

Molly's beauty is of a rough, unfeminine hue, and her personality is not particularly feminine either—we learn that "Jones had more Regard for her Virtue than she herself." Tom tries to stay away so that Molly will keep her chastity, but she is insistent and eventually has her way. Tom convinces himself, however, that he seduced Molly. Tom is the kind of hero who cannot receive without returning, in love, and he has therefore not returned Sophia's affections because he cannot bear to leave Molly in poverty. Nor does Tom wish to deceive Sophia as long as he is still attached to Molly.

Chapter VII

Mrs. Seagrim is the first to notice that Molly is pregnant and she tries to hide it from the neighbors by dressing her daughter in Sophia's gown. The following Sunday, Molly arrives at church looking extremely glamorous in this gown and some adornments from Tom. The other women do not recognize Molly at first, but when they do, they sneer at her.

Chapter VIII

Sophia is at church and is touched by Molly's beauty. Sophia later calls on Black George to tell him she would like to hire Molly as her maid servant. Black George is secretly shocked that Sophia has not noticed that Molly is pregnant. He heads home for advice from his wife, but the family is in an uproar over what happened at church, when the women assaulted Molly with "Dirt and Rubbish." In retaliation, Molly knocked out the leader of the pack and cleared herself a path using a skull and thighbone from the graveyard as her weapons. The narrator tells the story in an ironic Virgilian style, listing the names of the men and women who fell victim to Molly. Goody Brown is the only woman to fight back. She attacks Molly and tears out her hair. The narrator observes that since women never fail to aim for each other's breasts when fighting, Goody Brown, who is flat-chested, has the upper hand. Tom's arrival quells the fight.

Chapter IX

Tom covers Molly with his own clothes and gives orders for Molly to be transported home. Tom departs with Square and Blifil after stealing a quick kiss from Molly. Back in the Seagrim household, Molly is chastised by her sisters. Mrs. Seagrim calls Molly a whore, and Molly reminds her mother that she was also pregnant with her first child before she was married. Black George tells his family about Sophia's offer. Molly does not want to wash dishes for Sophia, and after Molly slips her mother some money, Mrs. Seagrim agrees that Molly is too good to be a maid. Mrs. Seagrim accuses her husband of being a villain who causes trouble for the family by fighting everyone, and it is decided that Mrs. Seagrim will take the job herself.

Chapter X

The following morning, Tom goes hunting with Squire Western and returns to dine with him, Sophia, and Parson Supple the parish curate. Sophia radiates with charm and beauty, finally conquering Tom. Parson Supple is known for his reticence while eating, but after dinner he makes amusing conversation. He happens to drop the news that Molly Seagrim is pregnant and that her father is swearing to send her to Bridewell. Tom excuses himself from the table, which leads Western to exclaim that Tom must be the father of the child. Now he says he understands why Tom pleaded so heartily on Black George's behalf. Parson Supple takes Tom's side, and Western calls Allworthy a "whoremaster," and implies that he was a lover-boy while at university. Parson Supple retorts that Allworthy never attended university. Sophia, having noticed Tom blush during Parson Supple's story, begins to suspect that her father is right. After the guests have left, Western wants Sophia to play the harpsichord for him, but she complains of a raging headache.

Chapter XI

Tom returns home on foot to find Molly about to be whisked off to Bridewell. He embraces her in front of everyone and swears he will protect her. Tom speaks to Allworthy and confesses that he is the father of the child. Allworthy sends Molly home and gives Tom a lecture on chastity. The narrator says there is no point in his transcribing this, since we have already witnessed Allworthy's speech to Jenny Jones, and most of what applies to women applies likewise to men. Allworthy disapproves of Tom's behavior but appreciates Tom's honesty. Blifil relates the story to Thwackum, who is enraged that Tom is too old for a whipping. Thwackum conceives of a plan to corrupt Allworthy's opinion of Tom. Square suggests to Allworthy that Tom has only been friendly to Black George in order to win over Molly. The seeds of suspicion are laid in Allworthy's mind.

Chapter XII

Sophia does not sleep well and her maid, Mrs. Honour, finds her awake and fully dressed the next morning. Mrs. Honour imparts to Sophia that Tom is indeed the father of Molly's child. Sophia does not want to hear about it, and sends Mrs. Honour to see whether Sophia has to attend to her father at breakfast. The narrator reminds us of Sophia's burgeoning love for Tom, which has now overwhelmed her. Sophia decides that the only cure for her lovesickness is to avoid Tom by making a visit to her aunt. However, an accident will prevent her from leaving.

Chapter XIII

Mr. Western insists that Sophia join him on a hunting expedition, even though she has no love for violent sports. On the second day, Sophia's horse throws her off and Tom gallops in and catches her, breaking his left arm in the process. Western is elated that his daughter has been rescued and Sophia secretly cherishes Tom's bravery. The narrator delves into examples of philosophers who believe men to outshine women in bravery, and women who love courage in men. Whatever the case, the accident brings Tom and Sophia closer together.

Chapter XIV

A surgeon bleeds Sophia and performs surgery on Tom's arm. Mrs. Honour prattles to Sophia about Tom's magnamity and good looks, and accuses Sophia of being in love with Tom. Mrs. Honour also tells Sophia that she saw Tom passionately kissing Sophia's muff, which he found lying on a chair. Moreover, when Sophia was playing the harpsichord one day, Tom observed that he could not speak while Sophia was playing. Sophia hushes Honour, protesting that she does not want to hear such talk, but when Honour tells Sophia that Tom once called her a "goddess" Sophia listens intently.

Analysis

Book IV initiates the love affair between Tom and Sophia. Fielding undercuts the romantic notion of love, however, with the manner in which he describes Sophia, and with the introduction of Molly Seagrim. After rallying his poetic powers in Chapter I for a theatrical presentation of his heroine, the narrator remains elusive in his description of Sophia in Chapter II. It may seem strange that a writer as concerned with detail as Fielding would avoid providing a full picture of his heroine, but his awareness of literary stereotypes of beauty encourage him to treat the topic of beauty with some irony and humor. Reminding the reader of the effort it takes to create a Sophia, the narrator promises to "endeavour with our utmost Skill to describe this Paragon, though we are sensible that our highest Abilities are very inadequate to the Task." Fielding's false modesty parodies previous writing in which heroines are described as walking perfections.

Fielding's vision of the "novel" begins to truly emerge in Book IV. Fielding's narrative certainly takes precedence over florid descriptions and, as mentioned above, he even parodies classical writers' passion for extravagant language. Fielding's writing is pithy and pointed, and he packs each scene with narrative detail. He substitutes flowery, poetic language with a hardened, ironic sort of fictional reporting, and his main interest is to distinguish his characters from one another. Fielding also alludes, however, to people whom he actually knew in England at the time he was writing the novel, thereby grounding the novel in a real historical context. Fielding constantly uses hyperbole to achieve a comic effect. For example, in mock pomp he summons a muse in Chapter VIII to help describe the fight that breaks out between Molly and the parish women at church. With the muse's help, Fielding casts the scene as a widespread war, sprinkling the description with military jargon. The humor of the scene comes from the contrast between Fielding's overflowing, grandiose prose and the grotesque image of two topless women fighting in front of their church.

Book V

Summary

Chapter I

The narrator prides himself on being the founder of "prosai-comi-epic Writing." He explains that the chapters that preface every book are meant philosophical and historical treatises. He then turns his focus on "critics," to whom he believes have received such authority that they think they can create rules for authors. The rules that critics have attempted to instigate, however, only "curb and restrain Genius." Returning to his prefacing remarks, the narrator explains that the introductory chapters are also intended to provide contrast: in their seriousness, they should excite the reader to reach the comic parts.

Chapter II

While Tom is in confinement because of his broken arm, Mr. Allworthy visits him every day and tries to make him deliberate on his misconduct. Thwackum often visits Tom to deliver dictatorial speeches out of his "duty" to urge reprobates, such as Tom, to repent. Thwacker says that Tom's broken arm is God's punishment for his sins. Square lectures Tom in a similar manner, but argues instead that a broken arm is nothing in the grand universal scheme. Blifil rarely visits, saying that he is scared to sully his character by spending time with Tom. Squire Western leaves Tom's room only to drink or hunt, while Sophia struggles to make herself stay at bay.

One day, while Tom and Squire Western listen to Sophia playing the harpsichord, Tom tells Western that, since his broken arm saved Sophia, he thinks of it as "the happiest Accident" of his life. Western wants to give Tom one of his horses as a reward. Sophia begins to play very badly, in such a way that Tom notices that something is bothering Sophia, and begins to suspect that she might be attracted to him.

Chapter III

Tom's love for Sophia is "bittersweet," since he is not completely sure that he has won her affection. Moreover, knowing that fortune and status are of fundamental importance to parents, Tom anticipates that Squire Western prohibit a marriage between him and Sophia. He does not want to abuse Western's hospitality to him, nor does he desire to offend Allworthy. Tom also thinks of Molly, to whom he has made promises of "eternal Constancy." He cannot bear to reflect on the image of Molly dying, which she has sworn to do if Tom deserts her. Molly's poverty has not once represented an obstacle to Tom. After a sleepless night, Tom resolves to remain faithful to Molly.

Chapter IV

Mrs. Honour visits Tom on his sick-bed. She was deserted after being fooled by a nobleman's footman, and has never trusted another man with her heart, but she still loves men. Mrs. Honour tells Tom that Sophia has sent her to check on Molly, and Tom begs her for any information on Sophia. After a good deal of wheedling, Honour reveals that Sophia will not buy a new muff, but holds on to the one that Tom had kissed earlier. Squire Western enters to summon Tom to the harpsichord, where Sophia sits, wearing her muff and looking lovelier than ever. While Sophia is performing one of her father's favorite songs, the muff falls onto her fingers and prevents her from playing properly. Enraged, Western throws the muff into the fire, but Sophia immediately retrieves it from the flames.

Chapter V

Tom cannot get Molly out of his mind, and his compassion for her makes him overlook the fact that Sophia eclipses Molly in both appearance and character. Tom hopes that maybe he can apologize to Molly by offering her money, since her desperation might be greater than her love for him. One day, with his broken arm in a sling, Tom goes to visit Molly. Tom finds the upstairs door locked, and Molly eventually appears and tells Tom she has been sleeping. Tom tells Molly that Allworthy would be furious if he knew they were together, and says he wants Molly to find a man with whom she can lead a reputable life. She bursts into tears and accuses him of ruining and deserting her.

Suddenly, a rug that Molly has hung up to cover her clothes closet falls down, revealing Square. The narrator then tells the story of how Square and Molly came to be together. Square could not help noticing her beauty at church, and when he heard that her "Fortress of Virtue had already been subdued" by Tom, he felt perfectly justified in usurping Tom's place. Indeed, Square relishes the fact that Molly's lack of chastity allows him to have his way with her. Tom bursts into laughter and helps Square out of the cupboard. Square says that Tom cannot blame him for "corrupting Innocence," and Tom assures Square that he will keep the discovery a secret. Square agrees with Tom that sexual desire evolves out of a healthy natural appetite. Tom tells Molly that not only will he forgive her, but he will continue to assist her as much as he can. After Tom leaves, Molly chastises Square for being the reason she has lost Tom, but Square's caresses and his money restore Molly's devotion to him.

Chapter VI

Jones worries that he has set Molly off on a course of debauched behavior, but Betty, Molly's eldest sister, assures Tom that a certain Will Barnes deserves that blame. Moreover, the child could just as easily belong to Will as Tom. Now Tom can turn his thoughts to Sophia, whom he loves. Tom cannot conceal his awkwardness in front of Sophia, and he has become unusually quiet and shy in her company. Western does not notice, but Sophia does, and she happily realizes the reason. One day, the two of them chance to cross paths in the garden. They meet suddenly and stroll together. When they arrive at the tree that Jones climbed to catch Sophia the bird when they were children, Sophia reminds him of the incident. She suspects that the memory must be emotional for him since he risked his life. Tom says he wishes he had died that day so he would not have to deal with the heartache of loving Sophia. Sophia, trembling, says that she must leave, but she stays to hear all that Tom has to say. They "totter" back together, hand in hand, with Sophia admonishing Jones not to say anything more on the matter. The narrator warns us that Jones must now face some bad news.

Chapter VII

Tom has stayed with Western for two weeks without visiting Allworthy once, and in this time, Allworthy has fallen dangerously ill. Quoting the words of the Latin poet Cato, the narrator praises Allworthy for being calm in the face of death. He has no fears since he has lived an honest life. Allworthy summons his family to him and Tom races home, forgetting all thoughts of love.

At the bed, Blifil starts to cry and Allworthy delivers a long speech about the inevitability of death. He outlines the contents of his will to ascertain whether all are satisfied with their lot. The estate is to go to Blifil, with a smaller estate of 500 pounds a year set aside for Tom. In addition, Tom is to receive a flat sum of 1000 pounds. Tom throws himself at Allworthy's feet, thanking him for his generosity but insisting that he cannot think of anything as long as Allworthy's health lies in danger. Thwackum and Square are each to receive 1000 pounds and Allworthy has also made provisions for his servants. An attorney from Salisbury arrives and Allworthy composes himself to die.

Chapter VIII

Mrs. Wilkins launches on a long tirade about how she should not be grouped with the other servants in her master's will, and Thwackum and Square are not pleased with their inheritance either. Blifil returns from speaking to the attorney, from whom he has discovered that his mother has died from gout. Thwackum tells Blifil to bear the news like a "Christian" while Square tells him to bear it like a "Man." Blifil assures his tutors that he would not be able to survive if he did not have their sound lessons to fall back on. They debate whether or not to tell Allworthy about the death of his sister or not. In the sick room, the doctor declares that a miracle has occurred, and that Allworthy has recovered completely. The narrator lets the reader know that the situation was not actually as bad as the doctor had represented it. Blifil tells Allworthy about Bridget's death and Allworthy commissions Blifil to arrange the funeral.

Chapter IX

Tom remains with Allworthy, consternated by his illness. The doctor assures the family that Allworthy's state has improved and that he will survive. Delighted at this report, Tom gets drunk, and the doctor has to quell a fight between Tom and Thwackum. Blifil, who detests Tom's unruly behavior since it is so different from his own, retorts that Tom should not behave in such a way when his mother has just died. Tom begs Blifil's pardon, but Blifil sneers that Tom cannot understand the pain of a parent's death since he does not even know who his parents were. Thwackum and the doctor have to stop Tom and Blifil from fighting.

Chapter X

On a beautiful June evening, Tom walks into a grove where nightingales are singing and breezes are fluttering the leaves. Alone, he meditates aloud on the beauty and charms of Sophia and swears eternal constancy to her. Suddenly Molly emerges from the brush and, after a brief conversation, Tom and Molly disappear together into the densest section of the grove. Thwackum and Blifil walk into this same grove and pursue Tom and his woman.

Chapter XI

Tom is like a wild beast defending his mate. Thwackum swears he will track down the guilty woman, but Tom restrains him. The three men begin to fight, and are eventually joined by a "fourth Pair of Fists" that belong to Squire Western, who takes Tom's side. Tom and Western win the battle.

Chapter XII

Sophia and Mrs. Western arrive at the scene of combat. Everyone rushes to help Blifil, who appears dead, but Sophia's fainting distracts them. Tom grasps Sophia in his arms and revives her in a brook. Western is so pleased with Tom for saving Sophia's life that he offers to give anything—except, of course, Sophia or his estate. Sophia sighs on seeing Tom's bruises from the brawl, and these sighs send Tom into a state of rapture. The narrator philosophizes on war, and wishes that all people could resolve disputes with their fists instead of with unnatural weapons. Thwackum tells Western what initiated the fight and Western chuckles, calling Tom a "liquorish Dog." Sophia, on the cusp of fainting again, begs to be taken home.

Analysis

Allworthy's illness and the other characters' reaction to it makes the core of Book V, as does Tom's burgeoning love for Sophia. Tom's genuine concern for his benefactor contrasts with the selfish, pecuniary desires of Mrs. Wilkins, Thwackum, and Square, who shamelessly voice their disappointment over their inheritances. Of Mrs. Wilkins, the narrator observes that "Much more of the like Kind she muttered to herself; but this Taste shall suffice to the Reader." In such a way, the narrator places himself as a mediator between the reader and the world of his characters.

Thwackum and Square attempt to justify their anger through their religious and philosophical doctrines. Indeed, Thwackum and Square are indivisible—as a pair they highlight Fielding's claim that philosophy resting in theory alone signifies nothing. Thwackum and Square's views cancel each other out—by combining their theories, one can justify any behavior in the world. Fielding subtly implies that virtue stems from action rather than theory. Tom fits the bill of the "action hero", coming to Sophia's rescue twice. Tom's only fault is that he does not have moderation—as Allworthy advises him, he needs to learn "Prudence and Religion." Yet Tom's excessive behavior may be condoned, Fielding implies, since it is not born out of malice.

War imagery—in relation to love, disease, and domestic fighting—dominates Book V. In Chapter IV, Jones's realization of his love for Sophia is described as follows: "the Citadel of Jones was now taken by Surprize. … the God of Love marched in in Triumph." In Chapter VII, the narrator philosophizes that a "Doctor and the Disease [should] meet in fair and equal Conflict … by giving Time to the latter, we often suffer him to fortify and entrench himself, like a French Army." In such a manner, Fielding parodies domestic struggles by comparing them to national struggles.

Book VI

Summary

Chapter I

Since the previous book was about the "Passion of Love," this book will probe the notion of love even further. The narrator defines love by means of four points: first, there are minds that do not experience love; second, love cannot be ruled by lust; third, love does seek self-satisfaction; lastly, when love acts toward one of the opposite sex, it appeals to lust for help. The narrator believes many people exist who enjoy giving happiness to others and this is the highest form of love.

Chapter II

Back at Western's house, everyone celebrates Allworthy's recovery except for Sophia. Her father does not notice Sophia's melancholy, but Mrs. Western, who has "lived about the Court, and … seen the World," quickly discerns that Sophia has fallen in love. Although Mrs. Western has not suffered this state herself, she is as well read in love as she is in politics. When Mrs. Western tells her brother that Sophia is in love with Mr. Blifil, Western is furious that Sophia has fallen in love without his permission. Mrs. Western pities his "Country Ignorance," while he scorns her "Town Learning." Mrs. Western eventually wins the Squire's approval of the match, but he worries that Allworthy will not agree to it, since "Money hath no Effect" on him. The Squire believes that "Petticoats should not meddle" in politics, but when Mrs. Western threatens to leave, the Squire remembers that he is to inherit her fortune, and tries to mollify her. She suggests that they "sign a Treaty of Peace."

Chapter III

Sophia suspects that her aunt has realized her affection for Tom, and she attempts to conceal her feelings by paying more attention to Blifil than to Tom. This baffles Mrs. Western, who reckons that Sophia's behavior must be "extreme Art in Sophia" to deflect her from the truth. Mr. Western invites Allworthy to dinner and proposes a match between Sophia and Blifil directly afterward. Allworthy considers the "Alliance" to be a sensible one, and greatly praises Sophia. He appreciates Sophia's grand fortune, but will only ratify the plan only if Sophia and Blifil profess mutual tenderness. This answer upsets Western, who believes that parents have a better knack for choosing marriage partners than their children. The narrator suggests that Allworthy is an avatar of moderation.

Chapter IV

Allworthy proposes the match to Blifil, who admits he has not once entertained the thought of marrying Sophia. His appetites, the narrator confides, are so moderate that they can easily be supplanted with philosophy or study. Since Blifil does possess a healthy portion of "Avarice and Ambition," however, he gravitates toward the idea of Sophia's fortune. Allworthy disapproves of the cold answer from Blifil; Allworthy himself "possessed much Fire in his Youth, and had married a beautiful Woman for Love." Blifil subdues Allworthy's concern with a learned exposition on "Love and Marriage." Allworthy and Western, by letter, arrange a courtship opportunity for the young lovers.

Chapter V

Mrs. Western finds Sophia reading in her bedroom and they debate the merits of the book. Mrs. Western tells Sophia that she has long perceived the aura of love about her. Sophia need disclose her passion no further, since Squire Western has proposed the match to Allworthy, who has wholeheartedly complied. Sophia, overcome with surprise and joy, blurts out: "So brave, and yet so gentle; so witty, yet so inoffensive; so humane, so civil, so genteel, so handsome! What signifies his being base born, when compared with such Qualifications as these?" The words "base born" alert her aunt to the fact that they are talking about different men. Mrs. Western is enraged that Sophia can consider dishonoring the prestigious Western family line by marrying a bastard. Sophia begs Mrs. Western not to tell her father her secret. Her aunt agrees on the condition that Sophia will agree to meet Blifil that afternoon.

Chapter VI

Mrs. Honour finds Sophia in tears and begs Sophia to tell her what has happened, even though she has, in fact, been listening to the conversation through the keyhole. Mrs. Honour responds to Sophia's dire news with a long speech in her country dialect. She believes Sophia should be free to choose the man she finds "most handsomest." After Honour mentions having seen Tom walking by the canal that morning, Sophia immediately dons her hat, but, deciding that the ribbon in the hat does not suit her, orders Honour to fetch her another. The ribbon exchange results in Sophia's missing Tom by a few minutes. The narrator takes this opportunity to warn all female readers against vanity.

Chapter VII

Blifil and Sophia have an awkward courtship meeting. For the first quarter of an hour Blifil can hardly get a word out. Suddenly he breaks into a "Torrent of farfetched and high-strained Compliments." Sophia bears as much as she can, then exits the room. Blifil leaves perfectly satisfied with the meeting, since he does not care about possessing Sophia's heart, but only "her Fortune and her Person." Blifil entertains no idea that Tom loves Sophia because Tom has stopped confiding in Blifil since their brawl. Western begins to "caper and dance about his Hall" when he hears from Blifil how successfully the meeting went. Seeing that her father is so happy, Sophia decides this is the best time to break the bad news to him. Confirming first that her father does indeed "place all his Joy in his Sophy's Happiness," Sophia begs him not to force her to marry a man whom she utterly despises. Mr. Western damns Sophia and threatens to turn her out of the house. He agrees to let Tom try to talk some sense into the girl.

Chapter VIII

Sophia trembles with fear when Tom appears in her room. Tom laments that he has been sent by Mr. Western to praise Blifil to Sophia. He declares his love for her and intimates that he hopes to have some in return. Sophia, however, warns of the terrible repercussions of crossing her father. It will be the ruin of Tom, and therefore of herself. Tom says that he fears nothing except losing Sophia. The lovers cannot draw their hands from each other. The narrator breaks the chapter, since some readers might think it has "lasted long enough."

Chapter IX

During the conversation in the previous chapter, Mrs. Western chanced to meet her brother in the hall. Hearing that Tom is with Sophia, Mrs. Western decides that Sophia has breached her trust. She divulges Sophia's secret to Squire Western, who cannot comprehend that Sophia would fall in love with a poor man. In his eyes, equality of fortune is as necessary to a marriage as difference of sex. Western descends on the two lovers, who are compared to two quaking doves. Finding that his daughter has fainted, however, Western ignores Tom and rushes to the assistance of Sophia. Western then curses Tom and the local parson urges Tom to leave.

Chapter X

Allworthy, satisfied with Blifil's account of the courtship, sincerely wishes for the match between his nephew and Sophia. Western suddenly appears and accuses Allworthy of "breeding up a Bastard like a Gentleman, and letting un come about to Vok's Houses." Allworthy reminds Western that he was averse to Tom's spending so much time at Western's estate. Allworthy asks if the Squire has observed any tokens of love between Sophia and Tom. The Squire has not.

Blifil declares that he will continue his pursuit of Sophia and calls Tom "one of the worst Men in the World." Allworthy asks what he means by this. Blifil tells Allworthy a completely distorted story about Tom's behavior during Allworthy's illness. He says that Tom drank and danced every night, and that when Blifil tried to calm him, Tom beat him. Allworthy calls on Thwackum so as to "examine all the Evidence of this Matter." Thwackum confirms everything Blifil has said and displays his bruises from the fight.

Chapter XI

Allworthy confronts Tom with the story, omitting his own illness, which forces Tom to admit to his drunkenness. Tom is so stunned that he cannot excuse himself, and instead decides to confess to everything and beg mercy of Allworthy. Allworthy insists that he has given Tom too much forgiveness in the past, and thus sends him out in the world with some money to support himself until he finds a job to make an honest living. He particularly disapproves of Tom's behavior toward Blifil, who has treated Tom with the utmost "Tenderness and Honour." The neighbors criticize Allworthy for his harshness to Tom, overlooking the fact that Allworthy sent Tom away with no less than five hundred pounds.

Chapter XII

The banished Tom sits by a brook and tears out his hair like a Homeric hero. His biggest quandary rests in how to deal with Sophia. He is worried about breaking his own heart by leaving her, but he cannot entertain the idea of "reducing her to Ruin and Beggary," or of betraying Allworthy's wishes. Tom decides the most honorable action is to leave Sophia, and he writes her a letter explaining this. He cannot find any wax to seal the letter, since, in a fit, he threw out everything, including the five hundred pounds from Allworthy. Black George has already found the book and pocketed it, but helps Tom search for it all the same. He promises to deliver Tom's letter to Mrs. Honour. Tom receives a letter from Sophia in return, promising that she will marry no other. Tom reads and kisses the letter one hundred times, then departs from the estate.

Chapter XIII

Sophia has passed the day listening to lectures from her aunt about how women should exercise Prudence and seek marriages for money. Western confines Sophia to her room and gives the key to Honour. Sophia weeps over Tom's letter, and Honour tries to console her by praising Blifil's appearance and manners. Sophia sends all her money—sixteen guineas—to Tom. Honour gives the money to Black George who, after some deliberation, gives it to Tom.

Chapter XIV

Mrs. Western chastises her brother for incarcerating Sophia and for ruining all the good she has done with her lectures on prudence. She reminds him of her superior knowledge of the world. When Western invokes politics in his rant, Mrs. Western says he should think about Sophia, who is "in greater Danger than the Nation." The Squire eventually agrees to turn Sophia's care over to his sister, but only because "Women are the properest to manage Women."

Analysis

Book VI fleshes out the beleaguered love affair of Tom and Sophia, who must rally against Squire Western's traditional view of marriage. Marriages based on fortune were prevalent in Fielding's era, and are condoned by both Mrs. Western and by Mr. Allworthy. Sophia's filial piety creates a further obstruction to the consummation of the lovers' affection for one another.

Tom's banishment from at the end of Book VI foreshadows a shift in the story's milieu, from a static depiction of two country households to the constantly changing environment brought on by travel. Indeed, Fielding's own concerns seem to widen in Book VI, as evidenced by his frequent references to the political conflicts of the time. Western's character is a satire of the conservative country gentleman who opposes the new Hanoverian government led by King George II. In Chapter II, Squire Western reads theLondon Evening-Post, a Tory newspaper that criticized the Whig government, and which Fielding criticized in some of his other writings.

Where Mrs. Western is thus the stock "city woman," Squire Western is the stock "country man"—making the pair a caricature of the country-city rivalry prevalent in Fielding's time. Their interactions also provide insight into the relationship between men and women of the day. The Squire argues that "Petticoats should not meddle" in political affairs, while Mrs. Western claims to have a "sovereign Contempt" for the male sex. In Chapter XIV, she remarks: "English Women, Brother, I thank Heaven, are no Slaves. We are not to be locked up like the Spanish and Italian Wives. We have as good a Right to Liberty as yourselves." The tension between the Squire's violent methods of dealing with Sophia and Mrs. Western's gentle, diplomatic conversations with her niece will flourish into a point of contention throughout the novel.

Book VII

Summary

Chapter I

The narrator expounds on the analogy between world and stage, so often made in literature. From this, he says, we might applaud those who have been so good at mimicking the world that we cannot tell the copy from the original. He says, however, that the audience has always been forgotten in these comparisons. The narrator predicts how his spectators' reactions to Black George stealing Tom's five hundred pounds. He says that the people of worst character are the first to criticize.

Chapter II

Jones is sent his possessions by Allworthy, with an accompanying letter from Blifil telling him that Allworthy no longer wants to speak to Tom. Blifil urges Tom to change his lifestyle. Tom laments having to abandon Sophia, then, having decided to go to sea, hires horses to take him to Bristol. Here we will leave Tom's story, says the narrator, and return to Sophia.

Chapter III

Sophia is now released from her prison. She says that her refusal of Blifil is the only matter on which she will disobey her aunt and her father. She despises him. This confession makes Mrs. Western even more resolved to marry her off to Blifil. She asserts that in a marriage, the "Alliance between the Families is the principal Matter." Western swears at Sophia, causing Mrs. Western to remind him not to intervene. Western accuses his sister of filling Sophia's head "with a Pack of Court Notions." He says that she has "made a Whig of the Girl." Mrs. Western storms out of the house, leaving Sophia concerned and Squire Western enraged.

Chapter IV

Mr. Western moans to Sophia that men are always mistreated. He claims it was hard enough with Sophia's mother. Sophia's mother died when Sophia was eleven years old. She was a faithful wife to Mr. Western, who "returned that Behaviour, by making what the World calls a good Husband. He very seldom swore at her (perhaps not above once a Week) and never beat her." Western gets satisfaction out of complaining of Sophia's late mother since he is envious of the greater love Sophia bore for her mother than for him.

Chapter V

Sophia refuses to say a word during her father's invective against her mother. This makes him even angrier. He supposes that she will take her aunt's side too. Sophia does not want to seem ungrateful to her father, but she must remind him that her aunt loves him more than any sister loves a brother. He accuses Sophia of causing his sister such "violent Passions." Sophia encourages him to stop Mrs. Western from departing, to which Western finally agrees. Sophia rereads Tom's letter and cries over her muff. Mrs. Honour comforts her by recounting a list of the most eligible bachelors in the neighborhood, which results in Sophia angrily dismissing Honour.

Chapter VI

Squire Western and Mrs. Western reunite as they plan the match between Sophia and Blifil. Blifil visits Sophia but the narrator says that he is going to omit the details of this scene. Blifil is happy with the courtship, but Western, who has eavesdropped with his sister on the meeting, is not, and wants the youths to tie the knot the following day. Blifil agrees with Western, since he was in fact not satisfied with the meeting. To stop the reader's suspense, the narrator confides that Blifil is not entirely devoid of Lust and now thinks of Sophia as "a most delicious Morsel." Moreover, Blifil savors the fact that he has triumphed over Tom. Allworthy gives his assent and the "Treaty" is closed. Sophia's actions will soon disrupt the Treaty, however.

Chapter VII

Honour tells Sophia she is to be married the following morning. Honour says she would not object to marrying Blifil, whom she thinks to be "a charming, sweet, handsome Man." Sophia announces her plan to run away from the house that evening and to stay with a lady relative in London, whom she met at her aunt's house, and who invited Sophia to her house whenever Sophia was in London. She says that if Honour really possesses the friendship she has always claimed, then she will accompany her. Honour expresses concern at the idea of them walking alone in the freezing cold of winter, but Sophia promises compensation. Together, they plot how Honour can get herself dismissed by Mr. Western.

Chapter VIII

Honour weighs up the pros and cons of running away with Sophia. She desires to see London, and Sophia's generosity promises more monetary rewards. Mrs. Western's maid provokes Honour by calling Sophia a "Country Girl," and Honour retaliates by saying that Sophia is "younger, and ten thousand Times more handsomer" than Mrs. Western. Mrs. Western's maid tells Mrs. Western that Honour called her "ugly." Mrs. Western refuses to sleep another night in the house unless Squire Western discharges her.

Chapter IX

After threatening to send Honour to Bridewell prison, Squire Western, who is also a Justice of Peace, merely dismisses her. Honour now has no qualms about running away with Sophia, and they pick a place to meet at midnight. Sophia consents to her father's wish for her to marry Blifil, and he rewards her with a generous bank bill. Sophia so enjoys making her father happy that she now has some doubts about leaving, but then Sophia's thoughts of Tom destroy all her filial obedience. The narrator hopes the reader is not disappointed with Sophia, but pleads that he cannot "vindicate the Character of our Heroine, by ascribing her Actions to supernatural Impulse."

Chapter X

Tom and his guide have lost their way. At the first village, Tom asks some men for directions. A quaker by the name of Broadbrim points out to Tom that he is on the wrong route and recommends a reputable public house to Tom, since it is dark and there have been robberies nearby. At this public house, the Landlord Robin tells Jones his history. He has nothing in the house because his wife and his wife's favorite daughter, who has just married, have taken everything. Broadbrim tells Tom that his daughter ran away with a man, rejecting the prosperous marriage he arranged for her. Tom pushes Broadbrim violently out of the room. Robin accuses Tom of being a bastard, and Tom is made to sleep in a chair. Robin cannot sleep, terrified that Tom will rob his bare house.

Chapter XI

During the night, a troop of soldiers arrives and demands beer from the landlord. Tom mingles with the men. Some soldiers leave the house without paying for their drinks and a dispute arises. Tom, who has been speaking to the Sergeant about becoming a volunteer in the army to confront the Jacobite rebels, offers to pay the bill. This wins Jones the appellations of "honourable, noble, and worthy Gentleman." Tom is attracted to the army by his love of liberty and the Protestant religion. He marches off with the Serjeant, who tells Tom made-up stories about his conquests. Tom is introduced to the Lieutenant, who marvels at Tom's "Air of Dignity."

Chapter XII

The Lieutenant, who is almost sixty years old, has not received many promotions despite his forty-year military career. It does as not help that his wife, whom his commander fancied, refused to sacrifice her virtue for her husband's career. The Lieutenant is a "religious, honest, good-natured Man."

Analysis

With Tom's adventures on the road to Bristol and Sophia's preparations to flee her father, the novel's picaresque form takes control. The picaresque is the novel form used to describe journeys whose aim or destination is unclear from the outset. Neither Tom nor Sophia have a fixed destination, since they are traveling to escape somewhere.

The wars that have merely been alluded to by Squire Western and Mrs. Western in previous books become a reality as Tom confronts the army at the public house in Bristol. However, Fielding does not concern himself as much with the plight of the army as with the relationships between its members. For instance, Tom pays a bar tab to stop a brawl from erupting amongst the officers, and listens to the invented war stories of the Sergeant. Tom will never actually reach the wars, but they remain a constant presence throughout the novel.

This "historical" novel, then, is not a history of the Jacobite Rebellion, but is rather a collage of personal "histories," or stories. When Jones arrives at the public house, the landlord Robin and the quaker Broadbrim assail Tom with their narratives. They desire to hear his background, too, which Tom's guide has already divulged. The narrator contrasts Tom's genuine interest in stories with other characters' nosy curiosity.

Book VIII

Summary

Chapter I

The narrator distinguishes his genre as that of the "Marvellous" but not "Incredible." Writers should confine themselves not only to possibility, but to probability, and should not invoke the aid of "supernatural Agents" as Homerunfortunately did. "Man" is the highest subject and writing should not be sullied by the inventions of "Elves and Fairies, and other such Mummery."

Chapter II

The landlady visits Tom Jones, thinking he is a gentleman, and asks him why a decent man like himself is spending time with army ruffians. She mentions that Sophia has "lain" in her house many a time. Enraptured, Tom tells her his story. He shakes out his purse to indicate the reason he has joined the army—he has no money. As soon as the landlady perceives this, she snubs Tom.

Chapter III

In fact, the landlady knows nothing of Sophia, and is only repeating what she overheard the Lieutenant saying. Tom injures his head in a fight with Broadbrim, and a surgeon arrives to bleed his head. The landlady warns the surgeon that Tom has no money with which to pay him for his services, and the doctor leaves in a rage.

Chapter IV

Refreshed from sleep, Tom rises with an appetite. He manages to win back the landlady's affection with his sweet-natured temper. A barber by the name of little Benjamin comes to shave him. Warming to the barber's sense of humor, Tom invites him to share a drink with him. Freshly dressed and shaven, Tom wins the love of Nanny, the chambermaid, who is pretty and coy. In Tom's absence, however, the landlady tells the barber and company a contorted story about Tom's past. The barber says he has heard that Tom is the son of Allworthy. The landlady asks why Tom does not then go by his father's name.

Chapter V

The conversation of the previous chapter occurs while Tom eats his dinner. Eventually the barber arrives to drink with Tom, and tells Tom he has heard from many people about Tom's kind deeds to Black George. These deeds, says the barber, have made Tom "beloved by every body." Jones tells the Barber his "whole History." The narrator warns that a man's recounting of his own story differs greatly from his enemy's depiction of the same events. The barber desires to hear the name of Tom's beloved. Tom decides to tell him, since Sophia's name has already been made public.

Chapter VI

Little Benjamin reveals to Tom that he is in fact the very Partridge with whom Jenny Jones was reported to have had an affair. Partridge assures Tom, however, that he is not his father. He has nevertheless loved Tom Jones ever since he heard about his kind treatment of Black George. He asks Tom to make amends for the misfortune Tom's existence has caused him. Tom agrees to this, but admits that he can do nothing at present since he is penniless. Partridge says that, since he is presently wealthier, he will share everything he has with Tom. Satisfied with each other's company, Tom and Partridge set off for war together.

Chapter VII

Partridge is shocked to hear that Allworthy banished Tom, since he truly that Tom is Allworthy's own son. He secretly believes that Tom ran away from home, and begins to devise a plan to send Tom back to Allworthy so that he can, in turn, be restored to Allworthy's favor. Jones has bonded with the landlord, who is bed-ridden from gout, over horse-racing. This man spends much of his time fighting with his wife, who constantly invokes her first husband. Tom and Partridge leave for their expedition. The landlady does not condescend to say farewell.

Chapter VIII

Tom Jones and Partridge head for Gloucester and, on arriving there, decide to lodge at the Bell, which the narrator recommends to his readers. The landlord's wife, Mrs. Whitefield, is beautiful and good-natured and generally free of silly notions. She notices "in the Air of our Heroe something which distinguished him from the Vulgar" and invites Jones to dine with her that night. At dinner, Jones meets Dowling, the attorney from Salisbury who conveyed the news of Mrs. Blifil's death, and a petty-fogger, a term for a lawyer willing to take any case. Displeased with the paltry conversation, Tom leaves the table as soon as the food has been cleared. After he has left, the petty-fogger proceeds to tell a distorted history of Tom's life. He claims that Tom is "the Bastard of a Fellow who was hanged for Horse-stealing." When the Petty-fogger says the man's name is "Thomas Jones," Dowling gets excited, saying he has heard about many good things about him. The landlady no longer likes Tom and refuses to drink tea with him. She is so rude to him that he pays his bill and leaves the house.

Chapter IX

Tom and Partridge depart from Gloucester early in the morning. It would be dark if it were not for the full, red moon. Tom launches into quotations about the moon, but Partridge complains of the cold. Partridge wishes to return to Gloucester, since they are unsure of their route. Tom wants to go forward and Partridge is forced to comply. As they walk, Tom wonders whether Sophia might be watching that same moon. Tom asks if Partridge was ever in love. Partridge says not only has he experienced the enjoyments of love, but the nastiness too, for his wife was very unkind to him. Partridge says he knows a way for Tom to be in Sophia's arms. Tom claims that at present his greatest desire is to effect "a glorious Death in the Service of my King and Country." Partridge suddenly realizes that he and Tom are on opposing sides of the conflict—whereas Tom supports King George, he himself supports the Jacobite rebellion.

Chapter X

Tom and Partridge arrive at the base of a sheer hill. Through the trees on the hill, they see lights shining and approach to investigate. No one answers their knocking, but eventually an old woman appears at a window. Partridge promises her that Tom is a gentleman and she lets them in for half a crown. The woman, whom Partridge thinks is a witch, warns the men that her Master, the Man of the Hill, will be home soon and that he is a hermit who "keeps no Company with any Body." Suddenly there is hollering outside of the door and voices demanding money. Tom grabs a sword from the wall and scares some robbers away from the Man of the Hill, who was returning home. The Man of the Hill, at first suspicious, now calls Jones his "Deliverer" and "Preserver."

Chapter XI

The Man of the Hill begins his history. Born in the village of Mark-in- Somersetshire in 1657, he is the younger son of a "Gentleman Farmer" and his "arrant Vixen of a Wife." The Man of the Hill's older brother cares for nothing but hunting. The Man of the Hill, however, advances rapidly in his studies and attracts the attention of learned men in the neighborhood. He is sent to Exeter College at Oxford where he meets a rich, debauched man called Sir George Gresham, who corrupts him. He becomes so rebellious that he is almost expelled by the vice chancellor. His father refuses to loan him more money, so he steals forty guineas from a friend. The Man of the Hill escapes punishment by running away with a lady to London, where he continues his wild lifestyle. This lady informs on him and soon he is thrown into jail, where he reflects on his behavior. He is allowed to return to Oxford, where he finds that his friend has dropped the charges. Partridge interrupts, telling a story about a man who was hanged for stealing a horse and came back as a ghost to torment the plaintiff.

Chapter XII

The Man of the Hill continues his story. Now that he has ruined his reputation at Oxford, he returns to London. He has no money and no friends. One night he meets up with an old Oxford friend named Watson, with whom he eats and gambles.

Chapter XIII

The Man of the Hill now becomes part of Watson's gambling gang and lives a life of roller-coaster fortunes. One night, he assists a man who has been robbed and beaten in the street—it turns out to be his father, who came to London specifically to search for him. The Man of the Hill goes home with his father and immerses himself in Philosophy and the Scriptures. Four years later, his father dies and life becomes difficult as his older brother runs the household and often entertains "Sportsmen" in the house. On the advice of a doctor, he leaves home to drink Bath waters. There he saves a man who attempts suicide by throwing himself into a river. The Man of the Hill, on visiting this man, discovers that it is his old friend Watson.

Chapter XIV

The Man of the Hill gives Watson one hundred pounds on the condition that he use it to set himself up in an honest profession. He catches Watson gambling some of the money away, however. Watson and the Man of the Hill talk politics. The Man of the Hill is anti-Jacobite, and is worried about what the Protestant religion will suffer under a "popish Prince." Tom interrupts and informs the Man of the Hill that two rebellions aimed at putting the son of King James on the throne have taken place. The Man of the Hill returns to his story. He and Watson join the army, but Watson betrays the Man of the Hill to the Jacobite forces trying to restore King James to the throne. The Man of the Hill manages to escape, but resolves in the future to avoid all humans. He visits his brother, who gives him a stingy payment, then settles on his hill. He has, however, traveled to most places in Europe.

Chapter XV

The Man of the Hill gives a brief summary of the people of various nations. He says his main purpose in traveling was to see nature. He says that people are the one creation of God that "doth him any Dishonour." Jones argues for the diversity of humanity and expresses surprise that the Man of the Hill can fill up so many hours in solitude. He strongly opposes the Man of the Hill's hatred for humankind, arguing that he has generalized the behavior of the worst men, when he should have generalized the behavior of the best. Partridge has fallen asleep during this debate. The narrator invites the reader, like Partridge, to rest, since this is the end of the eighth book.

Analysis

Book VIII traces Tom's journey from Bristol to Gloucester, and witnesses the beginning of his relationship with Partridge, who becomes his servant. The abundance of characters and scenes introduced in this chapter is further complicated by the fact that Partridge, when he first meets Jones, is living under the pseudonym of "little Benjamin." Fielding uses this ploy of entangling people's names and stories later in the novel to magnify the novel's intrigue. As the novel progresses into more and more social terrain, people's identities become more suspect. In Chapter II, Fielding mocks the attitude of landlords and landladies, who flock to travelers whom they perceive to be of the gentry and reject those of the lower classes. Typically, Fielding dresses up this criticism as a positive quality, but the perceptions of these sycophants are based on appearance alone.

It is noteworthy that the final five chapters of Book VIII are dominated by the history of the Man of the Hill, this being the longest of the narrator's deviations from the central story. These digressions allow one to group Tom Jones with Laurence Sterne's novel Tristram Shandy, which self-consciously rejects coherent, linear narrative in favor of a sporadic, disrupted narrative. Both Fielding and Sterne distinguished themselves from their time by their tendency toward fragmentation.

Yet Fielding's structural decisions could also be put down to the fact that he thinks of his work as an epic, along the lines of the twelve-book Aeneid.. Tom's adventures, and the integration of other characters' adventures, propel the novel to epic heights. Yet in Chapter I of Book VIII, Fielding separates his epic from Classical epics by distinguishing his genre—the "Marvellous"—from the "Incredible." Aeneas, the hero of Virgil's Aeneid, and Ulysses, the hero of Homer's Odyssey, are constantly saved from calamity by "supernatural Agents." Fielding refuses to write according to such laws—his characters must all be human—and even introduces real people into his fictional work. In Chapter VIII he refers in passing to a "Mr. Timothy Harris," who was an inn-keeper during Fielding's time. Such references not only keep Fielding's work grounded in reality, but also add an authenticity to Fielding's narrative.

Book IX

Summary

Chapter I

These prefatory chapters have been inserted as a gauge for readers to sort out "what is true and genuine in this historic Kind of Writing, from what is false and counterfeit." The narrator sets himself apart as a "Historian." This brand of author requires genius, learning, conversation, and "a good Heart."

Chapter II

Tom and the Man of the Hill climb Mazard Hill at dawn. They hear a woman screaming and Tom slides down the hill to investigate. He finds a man forcing a woman, who is half naked, against a tree. Tom knocks the man out with his stick and beats him until the woman begs him to stop. On her knees, she thanks him profusely. He lifts her up, expressing joy that he was able to save her from the terrible situation. She likens him to an angel. Even though the woman is middle- aged and not possessed of a beautiful face, her voluptuous and very white breasts attract Tom's attention. The two spend a couple of moments staring at each other until the attacker on the ground begins to move. Tom now realizes that this man is Northerton, a low-ranking soldier with whom Tom joined the army. Tom bids the Man of the Hill farewell and carries the woman to Upton. He offers the woman his coat but she refuses to accept it.

Chapter III

Tom Jones carries the woman into an inn, where he appeals for clothes from the landlady, who threatens him with her broom, telling him her house is a reputable place. Partridge arrives just in time to prevent Tom from being clobbered. Soon the naked woman and Susan, the landlady's Chambermaid, join the brawl, which is interrupted by the arrival of a lady and her maid. Susan has straddled Partridge, whom she is beating with all her might. The naked woman tells Tom she hopes to see him soon so as "to thank him a thousand Times more."

Chapter IV

A Sergeant and his musketeers arrive in the kitchen with hails for beer. Tom is comforting the naked lady, who has been covered by a pillowcase. One of the soldiers approaches her and asks if she is the lady of Captain Waters. She says that she is indeed that "unhappy Person." When the landlady hears that the woman is actually a gentlewoman, she apologizes profusely, using the title "your Ladyship" an inordinate number of times. After some haughty resistance, Mrs. Waters deigns to accept the landlady's offer of a gown. Partridge and Susan make peace, and the Sergeant urges that a toast be made.

Chapter V

Heroes are more mortal than Divine. While Minds may aspire to the highest principles, everyone's bodies are subject to the same natural desires. In other words, everyone needs to eat. Tom is presently consuming three pounds of ox in the room of Mrs. Waters, who is preening herself for Tom. The narrator apologizes for being spare with descriptions of Tom's appearance and calls him "one of the handsomest young Fellows in the World." The narrator calls on a Muse of War to help him describe Mrs. Waters's attempted seduction of Tom, who cannot succumb until he has finished his food.

Chapter VI

While Mrs. Waters and Tom are engaged upstairs, the Sergeant entertains the rest of the company with the history of Mrs. Waters. She is the wife of Mr. Waters, a Captain of the Regiment. The Sergeant is not sure if they were lawfully married or not. At their last station, Mrs. Waters developed an intimacy with the ensign Northerton. The interest turns to Tom, whom Partridge declares to be the heir to the renowned Allworthy. The young lady staying in the inn wishes to depart, but her coachman is too drunk. The landlady joins Jones and Mrs. Waters upstairs for tea and praises the young lady's beauty. Tom sighs, inducing Mrs. Waters' to believe she has a rival. However, since she cares only for his body, she is not greatly concerned.

Chapter VII

The narrator imagines that the reader must possess some curiosity as to the relationship between Mrs. Waters and Northerton. Mrs. Waters has assumed Captain Waters's name after living for some time with him. She was indeed intimate with Northerton and, after Northerton was released from jail, the two began to plan an escape to Wales. On the morning they set out, Northerton decided to rob Mrs. Waters of her money and diamond ring. This is the incident from which Tom so heroically saved Mrs. Waters.

Analysis

Book IX, with merely seven chapters, is one of the shortest books of the novel. It focuses on Tom's rescue of Mrs. Waters from Northerton. The reappearance of Northerton, who enlisted to the army with Tom in Book VIII, reflects Fielding's interwoven structure.

Fielding explains his philosophy of history and of characterization in Chapter I. He sets out the criteria for historians as genius, learning, conversation, and humanity. These principles in turn shape Fielding's method of characterization—although critical, he seems to scold his characters lovingly rather than to condemn them. For instance, his description in Chapter II of Tom and Mrs. Waters' attraction for each other is humorous. With Tom's first liaison on the road, Fielding's sexual innuendo unleashes itself. When Mrs. Waters tells Tom in Chapter III that she wants "to thank him a thousand Times more," we have no doubt that these thanks are intended to sound sexual. Much of Fielding's humor resides in burlesque ribaldry, and although this offended some critics, Partridge and Susan's speedy reconciliation after their fist-fight indicates that Fielding intends for us to laugh at such incidents rather than take them seriously.

It could be argued that much of Tom Jones is a reaction to the idea of virtue put forward by Samuel Richardson in Pamela, in which to be virtuous simply means to be chaste. Although Sophia's chastity is important to her status as heroine, Fielding does not censure men and women as "un-virtuous" if they give in to their sexual desires. Moreover, Fielding suggests that perfect abstinence is unnatural.

In Chapter V, the narrator reminds the reader that this is an epic of mortal rather than immortal characters, and of "wars" of love rather than military battles. Fielding relies on delay to magnify the sense of the epic in his novel and then deflate it—for instance, at the end of Book IX we learn that what seemed like the horrendous rape and assault of Mrs. Waters is in fact a common robbery.

Book X

Summary

Chapter I

The narrator likens critics to reptiles and tells the reader not to judge the work too soon. The reader should not mind if he finds characters too similar. It is natural for characters—like humans—to be akin in many aspects. In fact, there is more refinement in the critic who can distinguish between more closely aligned characters.

Chapter II

An Irish Gentleman, Mr. Fitzpatrick, arrives at the inn that night looking for his wife. The maid leads him to Mrs. Waters's room. Fitzpatrick breaks down the door and Tom leaps out of bed. The man apologizes for making a mistake, but then sees the room strewn with women's clothing and attacks Tom. Another Irishman, Mr. Macklachlan, who knows Fitzpatrick, runs in and points out that the woman is not Fitzpatrick's wife. The landlady arrives and Mrs. Waters accuses all three men of breaking into her room to violate and kill her. Fitzpatrick asks pardon for his mistake and leaves. Tom tells the landlady that he was trying to save Mrs. Waters.

Chapter III

A brief history of Mr. Fitzpatrick is given. He married for money and spent his wife's fortune, then treated her so badly that she ran away from him. A post-boy arrives at the inn with a young lady and her maid. The lady very politely asks if she may retire for a couple of hours. Her manners are magnificent, and she does not want any one to be disturbed. The landlady tells the maid Susan to light a fire in the Rose room. Once the lady and her maid leave, the company falls to praising the beauty of the lady's face, dress, and manners.

Chapter IV

Mrs. Abigail, the young lady's maid, demands a hearty feast. She does not act with the gentility of her mistress, but greedily occupies most of the space before the fire. She asks the landlady whether it is true that her house is filled with "People of great Quality." The landlady cites the young squire Allworthy as an example. Mrs. Abigail expresses great surprise, saying that she knows the squire Allworthy very well, and he has no sons. Partridge says the young man is not generally acknowledged to be the Squire's son, but that he is most certainly the Squire's heir, and that his name is Jones. Mrs. Abigail drops her bacon and hurries to tell her mistress.

Chapter V

The young lady eulogized in the previous chapter is Sophia Western herself, and the so-called Mrs. Abigail is Mrs. Honour. Honour scurries to tell Sophia that Tom is in the house. Sophia sends Honour to request Tom's presence, but Partridge, who is tired and drunk, tells Honour that Tom is in bed with a "wench." Sophia bribes the maid Susan to see whether Tom is in his own bed, and Susan discovers that he is not. She tells Sophia that Partridge has told everyone that Sophia is madly in love with Tom, who is heading to fight in the wars to escape her. In tears, Sophia tells Honour it is now easy for her to leave. She can forgive Tom's behavior with the wench, but not his misusing her name. Sophia leaves her muff with her name on a piece of paper pinned to it in Tom's bed as "some Punishment for his Faults."

Chapter VI

Partridge tells Tom he would rather not fight in the rebellion, but that if they must, Tom should at least let him steal horses so they do not have to walk. They argue and Partridge lets slip that the previous night he had to bar two women from getting to Tom. He points out that one of the ladies has left her muff on Tom's floor. Frantically, Tom demands to know where the women have left for and orders the horses. Maclachlan suggests that the lady who arrived the previous night might have been Fitzpatrick's wife, who he has yet to find. A gentleman enters the kitchen just as Fitzpatrick is returning.

Chapter VII

Squire Western has arrived in pursuit of his daughter. The kitchen is filled with confusion as Western asks for Sophia and Fitzpatrick searches for his wife, who is also Western's niece. Tom enters holding Sophia's muff. Western attacks Tom and Parson Supple, who has accompanied Western, points out that Tom has Sophia's muff. Western charges the house and bursts into Mrs. Waters's room. Fitzpatrick argues that the stolen muff represents a felony, and a "trial" ensues. Tom's witnesses are Susan and Partridge, and he is acquitted. Western departs to follow Sophia, as do Tom and Partridge.

Chapter VIII

The narrator retraces his steps to the morning after Sophia made her escape. A serving-man, sent to summon Sophia to meet Blifil, returns to say that Sophia cannot be found. Mrs. Western launches into a grand speech in which she blames her brother for Sophia's disappearance. She says that English women are not to be bullied in such a way.

Chapter IX

The night before these events, Sophia courageously escapes at midnight. She meets Mrs. Honour at their prearranged place of rendezvous, a town five miles away. Honour wishes to head straight for London, but Sophia, hearing from her guide that Tom journeyed to Bristol, pays the guide to take her there. In Hambrook, Sophia and Honour meet Mrs. Whitefield, who tells them how much Jones has spoken about Sophia. Honour wrathfully calls Tom a "saucy Fellow." Mrs. Whitefield advises Sophia not to chase any man, but the narrator says he can forgive her due to her tumultuous state of mind, which is torn between her duty to her father, her hatred of Blifil, and her love for Tom. En route to London, Sophia and Honour happen to rest at the Inn at Upton, where the uproar of Chapter V occurs. Western has been able to track down his daughter by following Tom's trail, which Partridge has made as public as possible by announcing Tom to everyone he meets.

Analysis

Book X witnesses the converging of most of the main characters at the inn at Upton as the raucous comedy of errors unravels. This book brings Tom, Sophia, Mrs. Waters, Fitzpatrick, and Western into the same physical space without having them congregate at the same time.

It is notable that Fielding leaves Sophia and Honour unnamed at first—they are simply a "young lady and her maid," and this delay suggests that we should judge characters not by their names and titles, but by their disposition. The landlady in Chapter II of Book XI, for example, assumes that Sophia is not a gentlewoman since she is courteous to the servants but this precisely one of the values Fielding is trying to promote in Tom Jones.

Sophia is not as concerned with the fact that Tom is sleeping with other women as she is with the fact that he is misusing her name. Reputation determines social standing at this time. Fielding shows how much freer women like Mrs. Waters are with their bodies than they are with their reputations. Fielding does not criticize Mrs. Waters, however, and when she embellishes the comedy of the scene in which Fitzpatrick barges in on her and Jones, she is to be admired for her ingenuity rather than criticized for her lack of chastity.

In Chapter I, the narrator preempts critics who might object to the faults and follies of his characters. He thus warns the critic "not to condemn a Character as a bad one, because it is not perfectly a good one." The narrator, claiming that he has never encountered a perfect person in conversation. Fielding was known to converse with people of all types and his knowledge of people's manner of acting and speaking reveals itself particularly in his characters' realistic dialogue.

Book XI

Summary

Chapter I

The word "critic" is Greek and denotes "Judgment." Most critics are slanderers since they only find fault with the books and authors they read. There have, however, been some fine critics—for instance, the ancient critics Aristotle and Horace, or the French critics Dacier and Bossu. Critics need to have mercy, and not condemn an entire work if they only find fault with one part of it.

Chapter II

On the road to London, Sophia and Mrs. Honour meet up with another young lady and her maid on horseback. They exchange compliments and civilities. As daylight breaks, Sophia recognizes that the lady is her cousin Harriet, the wife of Fitzpatrick. They eventually arrive at an inn, where Sophia can barely muster the strength to dismount from her horse. The landlord attempts to help her, but they both fall over backwards, to the amusement of all on-lookers. This landlord convinces himself that Sophia and Harriet are "Rebel Ladies," and that Sophia is in fact Jenny Cameron, whom the Whigs allege is the lover of the Jacobite leader Bonnie Prince Charlie. The landlord does not support the Jacobites, but when he hears that the rebels are making headway in London, he decides to flatter Sophia and Harriet in the hopes that they will later reward him. The landlady cannot believe that Sophia is a gentlewoman since she is courteous to people of all classes.

Chapter III

Mrs. Fitzpatrick would be deemed beautiful if she were not with Sophia, who looks more radiant now than ever before. Harriet has agreed to accompany Sophia to London. The landlady has become a "staunch Jacobite" since Sophia, who she also believes to be Jenny Cameron, has treated her with such deference. Sophia and Harriet agree to relate their histories in turn.

Chapter IV

Mrs. Fitzpatrick reminisces about the days when she and Sophia lived at their Aunt Western's house. She was "Miss Giddy" while Sophia was "Miss Graveairs." She tells Sophia that she met her husband in Bath on a trip with their aunt. Her husband, although he had no title, was the envy of all the men because he was much admired by the ladies. He was one of the favorites of Mrs. Western, with whom he shamelessly flirted. He flirted with Harriet too, however, and eventually revealed that he was only feigning interest in her aunt in order to win Harriet's love. Flattered, Harriet agreed to marry him, much to the fury of Mrs. Western, who departed immediately from Bath. Harriet laments to Sophia that she based her opinion of Mr. Fitzpatrick on the opinions of others.

Chapter V

Mrs. Fitzpatrick continues her story. Mr. Fitzpatrick wanted to return to his native Ireland after the wedding, but she did not care to leave England. One day she discovered a letter lying on the floor, from which she learned that her husband had married her only for her money. When she confronted him, however, he mollified her by means of caresses and protestations of love. In Ireland, she grew more and more depressed, and her husband attempted to drag her down further with snide remarks. She became pregnant by him—the man she "scorned, hated, and detested."

Chapter VI

Distraught from her cousin's story, Sophia has lost her appetite. Harriet has not. The landlady interrupts their conversation to impart some "good News." Mrs. Honour suddenly bursts in, shouting "they are come, they are come!" Sophia thinks Honour means her father. She is secretly relieved to discover that it is the Jacobite rebels who have arrived.

Chapter VII

Mrs. Fitzpatrick concludes her story. In Ireland, she made friends with a lieutenant and his wife, of whom Mr. Fitzpatrick grew jealous since he did not share their intellect. Mrs. Fitzpatrick lived in utter solitude most of the time after her child died, and her husband frequently traveled to Dublin and London. One day, a lady relation of Mr. Fitzpatrick's informed Mrs. Fitzpatrick that her husband was having an affair. Mr. Fitzpatrick returned from London having lost all his money, and demanded that they sell one of her estates. She refused, and accused him of having a mistress. He locked her in her room, but she managed to escape and has been running away from him ever since.

Chapter VIII

Sophia tells Mrs. Fitzpatrick her story without saying a word about Tom. At the conclusion, they hear an awful screeching noise—Mrs. Honour has learned that the landlord believes Sophia to be Jenny Cameron and has begun to scratch him indignantly. The landlord now believes Sophia to be of even greater consequence than Jenny Cameron. He announces to Sophia and Mrs. Fitzpatrick that an Irishman has arrived to see them. This man happens to be the person who helped Harriet escape from Ireland. This friend denounces the institution of marriage and offers to take Sophia and Harriet to London in his coach.

Chapter IX

Having settled their bill at the Inn, Sophia and Harriet prepare to leave for London with Harriet's friend. Sophia discovers that she has lost the one hundred pounds her father gave her. The narrator praises Sophia's ability to present a cheerful face to others while she feels dismayed inside. Moreover, Sophia leaves a present for the landlord, over which he rejoices. After a journey of two days, Sophia and Harriet arrive in London.

Chapter X

Out of propriety, Harriet will not stay her friend's house since his wife is out of town. She and Sophia therefore find lodging for the night. The next morning, Sophia seeks out her relation since she is a little suspicious of Harriet's behavior. Sophia suspects that Harriet seeks a man to rescue her from her dire situation. Sophia tracks down her relation Lady Bellaston, since "there was not a Chairman in Town to whom her House was not perfectly well known."

Analysis

Although Sophia and Harriet appear to be making a normal journey to London, they are in fact both fleeing. This vacillation between incarceration and escape is one of the most important themes of the novel—Sophia's existence fluctuates between being locked up and regaining her liberty. Harriet's history, which takes Book XI away from the chief narrative to a secondary plot, likewise tells the story of a woman locked up—albeit by her husband—who manages to escape. Hand in hand with the idea of escape is the idea of pursuit. It is no accident that Western is literally a hunter.

The novel also revolves around the pursuit of money. Although Fielding characterizes the lower classes with more leeway and affection than he does the upper classes, he idealizes neither. The landlord in Chapter II of Book XI has so little political integrity that he is willing to defect from being an anti- Jacobite to being a Jacobite in order to earn a financial reward. This motivation is not unlike the motivation of most of the servants in the novel: Captain Blifil falls down dead while musing on how much money he will make out of Allworthy; Black George steals Tom's five hundred pounds; Mrs. Honour deliberates whether or not to accompany Sophia by weighing up the pecuniary advantages; and Partridge becomes Tom's servant in the hopes of being financially rewarded. Fielding does not exempt the upper class characters from this critique, and even criticizes them more for their greed in coveting more money than they already possess.

Book XII

Summary

Chapter I

The narrator has made quotations without citing books or their authors throughout this history. He believes that the "Antients" to the "Moderns" are as the rich to the poor.

Chapter II

Squire Western, tracking Sophia on the Worcester Road, bursts into a volley of oaths and curses the fact that hunting for his daughter is preventing him from hunting on this fine morning. At this moment, to Western and Parson Supple's great surprise, a pack of hounds races by. Western leaps into action and joins the hunt. However, since nature always conquers reason in every character, we should not "arraign the Squire of any Want of Love for his Daughter." The master of the hunt, impressed with Western's skills, invites him to dinner. Western wishes to hunt the following day, but his host and Supple discourage him from it.

Chapter III

Finally, the narrator returns to the story of Tom Jones and Partridge. After departing from the Inn at Upton, Partridge wants to go home. But Jones laments that he has no home and wishes only to join the army. Partridge argues that perhaps the Man of the Hill was a spirit who was sent to warn them against entering the military. He peppers his speech with non-sequitur Latin quotations, which Tom brings to his attention. Although Partridge preaches that no Christian should kill another man, he is terrified of losing an arm or leg, or even his life, in battle.

Chapter IV

At a crossway, Partridge shoos away a beggar, but Tom hands the man a shilling, chastising Partridge for his hypocrisy. The beggar gives Tom something that he has picked up—to Tom's elation, it is Sophia's pocket-book, which was a present from Mrs. Western. Unfortunately, the beggar cannot read, or he might have realized that inside the pocket-book lies one hundred pounds that Western entrusted to his daughter. Tom gives the beggar a guinea for his honesty, and the man leads them to the place where he found the pocket-book. He then demands more money, but Tom insists that the money must be given to its rightful owner. He writes down the man's name and address so that he can compensate him in the future.

Chapter V

Tom and Partridge hear the noise of a drum, and Partridge fears that the rebels are advancing. Partridge is eager to see a puppet show they pass by, "The Provoked Husband." The show fetches high acclaim from the spectators and from the puppet-master himself, who praises his show for its ability to "improve the Morals of young People." A clerk agrees that everything base should be excluded from theaters. Tom offends the puppet-master by saying that he would rather have watched the merry pranks of Punch and Joan.

Chapter VI

The landlady is in a frenzy after finding her maid, Grace, backstage with the puppeteer who played Merry Andrew. She reminisces about the old days when puppet shows staged Bible stories, silencing the puppeteer's boasts. Tom is prevailed upon by Partridge, the puppet-master, and the landlady to sleep at the inn before continuing his journey—he has hardly slept since the "Accident of the broken Head" at Bristol. Partridge prefers eating to sleeping or drinking. The uproar caused by Grace has passed and calm has been restored among hosts and guests.

Chapter VII

Although Partridge's pride prevents him answering to the title of "servant," his constant bragging about Tom's superior status leads people to believe that Tom is his master. Indeed, Partridge greatly embellishes Tom's fortune, convinced that Tom is Allworthy's heir. Now Partridge tells the company at the inn that he thinks Tom has gone mad. Some say that Tom should not be allowed to roam the countryside in such a state, as he might cause trouble. Partridge perks up at this idea—he is still keen to induce Tom to return to Allworthy. The landlady cautions that no one should treat Tom with violence, admiring Tom's pretty eyes and modesty in the process. The rest of the company debates how they can prove Tom's insanity to a jury. The landlord enters the kitchen and announces that the rebels are almost in London. The conversation now turns to the rebellion and whether a right descends to a son if a father dies. The landlord fears that the rebel leader Bonnie Prince Charlie will try to convert everyone into Catholics.

Chapter VIII

Jones rescues the Merry Andrew puppeteer from the puppet-master, who is beating him for his misconduct with Grace. Merry Andrew accuses the puppet-master of wanting to violate "one of the prettiest Ladies that was ever seen in the World." Tom perks up at these words and has a private conference with Merry Andrew, who tells him that he saw Sophia ride through the town the day before. Tom and Partridge set out along the route Merry Andrew points out, but a violent rainstorm rises and they have to take shelter in an inn. Here they find the boy who acted as Sophia's guide. Tom does not mention Sophia's name in public—it is Partridge who has been bandying about stories of her.

Chapter IX

Tom manages to get the boy to take them to London by horse. Jones insists on sitting in the side-saddle—usually reserved for ladies—since this is where his beloved Sophia sat. Partridge is delighted that Tom's thoughts are no longer tending towards the rebellion. At three in the morning, Tom is trying to convince the boy to take them to Coventry, when they are interrupted by Dowling, the lawyer from Salisbury with whom Tom dined in Gloucester. Dowling urges Tom to halt for the night, but he will not, even if it means traveling on foot. Tom accepts Dowling's invitation to share a bottle of wine.

Chapter X

Dowling drinks to Allworthy and Blifil. Tom warns him not to confound the names of the best and worst of men, shocking Dowling. Dowling in fact has never met Allworthy, but has only heard reports of his goodness. His opinion of Blifil is based on the boy's "pretty behavior on the news of his mother's death." Tom explains that recently he has realized that Blifil has the "basest and Blackest Designs." He does not elaborate on the details of these designs, however. The narrator reminds the reader that even Tom Jones does not realize how dark these designs in fact are. Tom admits that he is not a relation of Allworthy. Dowling wishes to hear Tom's history. Dowling has much empathy for Tom in spite of his being a lawyer. Tom avows that he has no interest in Allworthy's fortune—he prefers the enjoyments of benevolent thoughts and acts to material goods.

Chapter XI

Tom, Partridge, and the guide boy lose their way. Partridge, who has a wild imagination, is terrified. He thinks a witch has cast a spell on them. When the guide boy and his horse fall over, Partridge's believes his fears are confirmed. Jones helps the guide boy recover while Partridge gripes.

Chapter XII

Tom and Partridge spot a light and, as they approach, notice music and lanterns. Partridge's superstition leads him to think it must be a witches' den. It is in fact an Egyptian gypsy wedding in a barn. The King of the Gypsies welcomes Tom, who has such an "open Countenance and courteous Behaviour" that he makes an astounding first impression on everyone that he meets. Partridge has now relaxed and has been decoyed by a young female gypsy pretending to tell his fortune. The gypsy's husband catches them, and a trial ensues. The husband demands two guineas from Partridge, but the king chastises him for putting a price on the virtue of his wife. The king sentences the man to wear horns and his wife to be called a "whore." The narrator expresses his support for the institution of monarchy.

Chapter XIII

The narrator chides himself for his didactic digression in the previous chapter. Tom Jones and Partridge travel from Coventry to St. Albans, which Sophia left two hours earlier. Partridge wants to borrow some of Sophia's one hundred pounds—he says that Fortune must have sent it for their use. Jones calls this dishonest. Partridge, garbling some Greek into his speech, says that Tom will understand life better when he grows older. They have offended each other, but Partridge apologizes and Tom forgives him.

Chapter XIV

A stranger asks to join Jones and Partridge to London. They speak about the dangers of robbery. Partridge alludes to the hundred pounds in Jones's pocket. Near Highgate, the stranger suddenly whips out a pistol and demands the money from Jones. Jones grabs the pistol and restrains the man, who calls for mercy—he says that the gun is not loaded and that this is his first robbery. Partridge, terrified, is still yelling. The man tells Jones that he has five children and a pregnant wife and does not have money to feed them. Jones gives the man a couple of guineas. Partridge says that Jones should have punished the man—stealing deserves death by hanging. Jones reminds him that not long ago Partridge stole some horses.

Analysis

Book XII is one of the most eventful books of the novel, packed to the brim with the adventures of Tom and Partridge: they discover Sophia's pocket- book, they attend a puppet-show, Tom drinks with Dowling, they attend the Gypsy wedding, and they are almost robbed on the highway. Before the narrator takes us into the courtly realm of London for good, he escalates Tom's ribald road adventures. While the book may seem to jump from one scenario to the next, many of the events are important precursors to Tom's experience in London.

In the final chapter of the book, Fielding distinguishes Tom's sense of honor from Partridge's hypocrisy—the worst characters in the book, including Thwackum, Square, and Blifil, act in contradiction to their words. Partridge's hypocrisy may be excused, however, on account of his pathetic character—he believes the Gypsies to be witches, and he cannot come to Tom's assistance on the highway because he cannot stop yelling. His is thus a less invidious hypocrisy than Blifil's, whose evil is discovered only in the final book of the novel.

Book XIII

Summary

Chapter I

The narrator creates his own Muse of the "Love of Fame." He has been tempted by Fortune and Money to write this novel, which he hopes will achieve fame for posterity. He implores the assistance of genius, humanity, learning, and experience.

Chapter II

Jones and Partridge have never been to London before. They search for the house of the Irishman who brought Sophia to London. He has returned to Ireland. The following day Tom searches for Sophia, but he is turned away from the Irishman's door by the porter. Tom bribes the porter to lead him to Mrs. Fitzpatrick's doorstep. He arrives ten minutes after Sophia has left. Tom strikes the waiting woman with his civility and comeliness. She agrees to approach Mrs. Fitzpatrick with Tom's request to see Sophia. Mrs. Fitzpatrick, who suspects that Tom is one of Squire Western's party, sends a reply that Sophia has left. Jones believes that Sophia is there but is still offended over the Upton affair. That night, after Tom has kept vigil near the door all day, Mrs. Fitzpatrick deigns to meet with him. She thinks that he is Blifil. Her maid Abigail believes that the visitor is Jones, since Mrs. Honour has been "more communicative" than Sophia. Mrs. Fitzpatrick agrees with Abigail.

Chapter III

Mrs. Fitzpatrick plots to return Sophia to her father, in order to reinstate herself in the favor of Mrs. Western and Squire Western. Mrs. Fitzpatrick is also distantly related to Lady Bellaston, whom she for help in dissuading Sophia from pursuing Tom. Lady Bellaston receives her with a smile and asks if Tom is as handsome as she has been told by her dressing lady, Etoff. Mrs. Fitzpatrick says that he is, so that Lady Bellaston begins to think of him as "a kind of Miracle in Nature." She desires to see Tom.

Chapter IV

Tom, having watched Mrs. Fitzpatrick's door all day, meets her an hour early. Lady Bellaston swoops in, curtseying to Tom. The women show Tom some attention until Mrs. Fitzpatrick's Irish friend arrives. The conversation now becomes too dainty for the narrator to describe to vulgar ears. Jones retires after entrusting Mrs. Fitzpatrick with his address. Lady Bellaston declares that Sophia can be in "no danger" from such a fellow.

Chapter V

Tom knocks at Mrs. Fitzpatrick's door five times the following day, but every time the maid says that she is not at home. Tom and Partridge lodge themselves at a house in Bondstreet. A young man is residing on the first floor. He is one of those privileged "Men of Wit and Pleasure" who spend their days and nights in coffee-shops. That night, Jones hears an uproar downstairs. He runs downstairs and saves a young man, who is being beaten by his footman. A young woman stands nearby, wringing her hands. This woman is in fact Nancy, the boarding-house landlady's daughter, and the young man is Nightingale, who lives on the first floor. Nightingale asks Tom to drink with him, and Nancy joins the men. Nightingale explains that his footman referred to a young lady in a manner that enraged him.

Nancy's mother and sister return from a play. Although Tom is feeling despondent, he puts forward a gracious and entertaining front. Nightingale, Nancy, and Nancy's mother are delighted with Tom and invite him to breakfast. He is similarly pleased with them—Nancy is a pretty girl, as is her mother, who is almost fifty. Jones admires Nightingale for his "Generosity and Humanity" in spite of his foppishness. The man professes complete disinterestedness in affairs of love.

Chapter VI

Partridge tells Jones that Mrs. Fitzpatrick has left her house, and that he does not know where she has gone. Jones cannot conceal his disappointment at breakfast, where the conversation revolves around love. A maid arrives with a parcel for Tom—it holds a domino mask and a masquerade ticket. Nightingale declares that Tom has a female admirer. Nancy and her mother, Mrs. Miller, now agree with Nightingale, but Tom secretly thinks that Mrs. Fitzpatrick must have sent the billet since she is the only woman who knows his address. Nightingale offers to accompany Jones to the ball. He invites Nancy and Mrs. Miller to join them, but Mrs. Miller says such an event is too extravagant for women who have to earn their living. Nightingale, who likes Tom's company, invites him to dinner in a tavern—Tom, not wanting to admit he has no money, says that his dining clothes have not yet arrived. Tom is ravenous and Partridge urges him to use Sophia's bank bill. Tom absolutely refuses. Partridge cries and begs Tom to take him home to Somersetshire. Tom tells Partridge that Allworthy never wants to speak to him again.

Chapter VII

Nightingale immediately walks off with a woman at the masquerade, and encourages Tom to do the same. Tom searches the place for Sophia, but neither sees nor hears a sign of her. A Lady in a Domino mask suddenly slaps him on his shoulder and leads him to a separate room. She tells him he should end the affair with Sophia. Tom maintains that his love is a selfless one—he wants only the best for Sophia. This adds to the Domino lady's affection for him. Jones's gallantry emerges as he realizes that he needs to win this woman's favor in order to get to Sophia. An old lady interrupts their conversation and begins to follow them around the room. Nightingale saves Tom by deflecting her. Jones offers to chaperone the Domino lady home. She says that she has to visit a friend, and that she hopes he will not follow her—which puts that very idea in his head. He follows the lady into a house and, since her friend is nowhere to be seen, she asks Jones what people would think of the two of them being alone in a house at that time of the night. Then she unmasks herself—it is Lady Bellaston. She will contrive an interview with Sophia for him if he promises then to quit all thoughts of her.

Chapter VIII

Jones sends Partridge to change a fifty-pound note that he received from Lady Bellaston. Jones and Nightingale wait for Mrs. Miller to return for dinner. She arrives two hours late. She says that she has been to visit her cousin, who is giving birth in a cold house with no fire. Mrs. Miller warns her daughters not to marry into such poverty. Tom takes Mrs. Miller aside and, with tears in his eyes, wants to give her the fifty pounds he received from Lady Bellaston. Mrs. Miller compares him to Mr. Allworthy and takes ten guineas from him for the family. At the table, Nightingale offers to give the family a guinea. Nancy turns pale. The narrator remarks that some people regard charity as voluntary, and some regard it as a duty.

Chapter IX

Jones meets with Lady Bellaston many times, but she does not fulfill her promise of fixing an interview with Sophia for him. Indeed, she begins to balk whenever Sophia is even mentioned. Jones sends Partridge to try to discover Sophia's whereabouts from the servants. Jones still worries about how to deal with Squire Western, who will disinherit Sophia if she marries against his will. Lady Bellaston has set Tom up in a "State of Affluence." He feels burdened by his obligations to her for her financial support. One night he receives a letter from her saying that they cannot meet at their usual place. Then a second epistle arrives, telling Tom to meet her at her home at seven o'clock that night. The lady owner of the house in Hanover Place has refused to provide cover for Lady Bellaston and her male friends any longer. Lady Bellaston decides to send Sophia to the play to get her out of the way for her rendezvous with Tom.

Chapter X

Jones has just dressed to visit Lady Bellaston when Mrs. Miller invites him to take tea with her cousin, Mr. Anderson. Jones and the man recognize each other instantly—it is the man who tried to rob Jones on the highway. The man thanks Jones profusely for saving his family, calling him an "Angel from Heaven." Mrs. Miller says that Jones will meet a great reward one day for his generosity. Jones says that witnessing the man's happiness has been the greatest reward. Mr. Anderson almost tells Mrs. Miller about the robbery, but then decides against it.

Chapter XI

Tom arrives early at Lady Bellaston's house and waits in the drawing room. She has been held up on the other side of town. Sophia leaves the play after the first act and returns to the house. Unaware that anyone else is in the drawing room, Sophia walks up to a mirror and contemplates her face. Then she notices Jones, who has frozen in a corner.

After a couple of mutual exclamations of surprise, Sophia asks Tom if he has any business at Lady Bellaston's house. Tom says he has brought her pocketbook for her. On his knees, he begs pardon from her for his misbehavior in Upton with Mrs. Waters. Sophia says she does not mind this as much as the fact that he has bandied her name about the countryside. He clears himself of this accusation by informing her that it was Partridge who misused her name. Tom mumbles a marriage proposal, but Sophia says that she cannot disobey her father. Jones thumps his breast and says that he will never ruin her. Sophia starts crying into Jones's bosom, and he kisses away her tears.

Sophia asks him how he came to be in Lady Bellaston's drawing room, at which point Lady Bellaston herself enters the room. Realizing that Tom has not admitted to Sophia that he knows her, Lady Bellaston pretends not to know Tom. Sophia pretends that Tom is simply some man who has delivered her pocketbook. Lady Bellaston thinks that Sophia must have secretly prearranged the meeting with Tom. Tom, feigning ignorance of Lady Bellaston, tells her that he was given her address by a lady at a masquerade. Tom begs that his honesty in delivering the pocketbook be rewarded by his being allowed to visit Sophia again. Lady Bellaston consents. On the stairs Jones passes Mrs. Honour and tells her his address.

Chapter XII

Once Jones has departed from Lady Bellaston's house, the woman exclaims to Sophia how good-looking he is. Sophia says that she did not take much notice of him and that she found him rather ungentlemanly. Lady Bellaston agrees, and decides aloud that she will not admit him to visit. Lady Bellaston makes a snide comment about Tom's clothing. Sophia upbraids her for her cruelty and lets slip that the man is Tom Jones. She attempts to cover up her mistake. Lady Bellaston enjoys tormenting Sophia. Sophia cannot sleep from her guilt at lying.

Analysis

With the powerful, ruthless Lady Bellaston at its helm, Book XIII ushers in the city scene with all its accessories: the extravagant masquerade, and the financial and sexual temptations of Lady Bellaston. Book XIII works to introduce the reader to Lady Bellaston who, at this stage, appears daunting but not malicious. It also introduces the important characters of Mrs. Miller and Nightingale, who are to become Jones's closest friends in London, and his most loyal supporters. These characters appreciate Jones's goodness, which is immediately apparent to them—Jones wins Mrs. Miller's eternal devotion by offering the fifty pounds he has received from Lady Bellaston to her beleaguered cousin. This scenario indicates that Jones consistently thinks of others, in spite of his own troubles.

Nightingale is a lovable city character—he and Mrs. Miller are London people who are able to act selflessly and show true concern for others. Lady Bellaston and Mrs. Fitzpatrick, on the other hand, act merely out of selfishness. For example, Mrs. Fitzpatrick, wishing to ingratiate herself with her aunt and uncle, is quite happy to connive against her cousin Sophia.

Interestingly, the narrator does not transcribe much of the dialogue between the "upper-class" characters—in Chapter IV he states that he will omit the conversation on account of its being "too dainty for Vulgar ears." The reader realizes, however, that the narrator simply thinks that it is too boring and uninteresting to relate.

The narrator increases the weight of the intrigue by showering the reader with a plethora of new names and characters. He calls Lady Bellaston's maid Abigail, the name he used for Mrs. Honour at Upton, and he calls Mr. Anderson's children Tom and Molly, a technique of recycling similar names that deepens the mystery. He also introduces gives his hero hints of the supernatural in the eyes of others—Lady Bellaston, before she has even met Tom, thinks of him as a "Miracle of Nature" and Mrs. Miller, knowing Tom well, calls him her "good Angel."

Book XIV

Summary

Chapter I

Since some gentlemen have recently made their literary mark without having any learning, modern critics are now claiming that a writer does not require learning. However, the narrator believes that writing—like any art—requires knowledge and study. A writer especially needs to have knowledge of their subject&mash;for instance, if one brought together Homer, Virgil, andAristotle, they would not write a very good book on the art of dance.

Chapter II

Jones receives two letters from Lady Bellaston. The first asks him whether he arranged to meet Sophia in the drawing room of her house. She warns him that she can hate as passionately as she can love. The second urges him to come and visit her at her house immediately. As Jones is preparing to leave, Lady Bellaston walks in with her dress in disarray. She asks if Jones has betrayed her, and he promises her on his knees that he has not. Suddenly Partridge prances into the room announcing Mrs. Honour's arrival. Tom hides Lady Bellaston behind his bed before Honour enters. Honour prattles on about how Lady Bellaston meets men at a house where she pays the landlady's rent. Then she hands Jones a letter from Sophia. Once Honour leaves, Lady Bellaston emerges from behind the bed, enraged that she has been "slighted for a Country Girl." Lady Bellaston now realizes that Sophia will always occupy first place in Jones's affections, but resigns herself to the second prize. She and Jones decide to camouflage the purpose of his visits by pretending that Tom has come to visit Sophia.

Chapter III

Jones receives a letter from Sophia saying that if he cares for her at all, he should not visit her that day—she is worried that Lady Bellaston suspects something. Jones pretends to be ill so as not to offend Lady Bellaston—he writes an explanatory letter to her ladyship, as well as a letter to Sophia. Lady Bellaston sends a note announcing that she will visit Jones at his room at nine that night. Mrs. Miller asks Tom, very courteously, to leave her house, as she does not approve of him entertaining strange women in his room from ten at night to two in the morning. She is worried about the virtue of her daughters. Jones, slightly annoyed, says that he will not defame her house, but he needs to see whomever he pleases. Tom learns from Mrs. Miller that Partridge has told her about the highway robbery and of Tom's relation to Allworthy. Tom is furious. Partridge blames Mrs. Honour for disclosing these facts.

Chapter IV

Nightingale tells Tom that he is also planning to leave Mrs. Miller's house, but without saying farewell. Tom insinuates that he knows this surreptitious mood has some relation to Nancy. He accuses Nightingale of using too much gallantry in order to make Nancy fall in love with him. Nightingale professes that he likes Nancy more than any woman he has ever met, but that his father has prearranged a marriage for him with a woman he has never seen before. He begs Tom not to reveal his secret. The narrator praises Nightingale's honorable character—although this honor, he says, does not extend to affairs of love.

Chapter V

Mrs. Miller invites Tom to tea—she does not wish to part on bad terms with him. She tells him her story, saying that, without Allworthy's assistance, her family could not have survived. Mrs. Miller's father left his three daughters poverty-stricken, and Mrs. Miller was the only daughter to survive. She married a clergyman, who died five years after their wedding. Mrs. Miller reads Tom the generous letter that Allworthy wrote to her at this time. He sent her an initial twenty guineas, then bought her a furnished house, and bestowed a fifty-pound annuity on her. Tom relates his history to Mrs. Miller—without mentioning Sophia. That night Jones waits in his room from nine until midnight, but Lady Bellaston makes no appearance.

Chapter VI

Jones is woken by an uproar. He summons Partridge, who relates that Nancy, Mrs. Miller, and Betty are crying in the kitchen. He jokes that there is a new delivery for the "Foundling-Hospital." Mrs. Miller tells Jones that Nightingale—"that barbarous Villain"—has deflowered her daughter, who is pregnant with his child. She shows Tom the letter Nightingale left for Nancy, in which he promises to provide for her and the child. Nancy's reputation might have been preserved if she had not fainted in public after receiving the letter. Nancy has twice attempted suicide, says Mrs. Miller. She admits that she noticed Nightingale's attentions to Nancy, but sincerely thought that he would marry her daughter. Tom resolves to find Nightingale.

Chapter VII

Jones finds Nightingale sitting despondently beside the fireplace in his new dwelling—he is worrying about Nancy. He says that he is upset she showed the letter to others—if she had not, her reputation would still be intact and he would not have to worry. Tom tells Nightingale that he should marry her, and Nightingale now admits that he had given Nancy a promise of marriage. He worries, however, about what people will think of him for marrying a "whore." Tom argues that Nightingale's "Honour" will not be reinstated by his rejection of a woman whom he corrupted. Nightingale now argues that he is obliged to uphold his duty to his father. He is to meet the woman his father has arranged for him to marry the following day. Jones insists on meeting with Nightingale's father, and orders Nightingale to visit Nancy. Nightingale suggests that it will be easier for Jones if he tells his father that he is already married.

Chapter VIII

When Jones arrives at the house of Nightingale's father, the latter is meeting with the father of Nightingale's prospective wife. He thinks that Tom has come to claim a debt from his son. Jones begins by praising Nancy, but without mentioning her name. Nightingale's father, believing Tom to be talking about the lady he wishes his son to marry, is pleasantly surprised by the new attractions of this lady—her beauty, her education, her sweet temper. Tom slowly suggests that it would be silly for Nightingale's father to reject the woman simply because she has no fortune. At this point Nightingale's father asks whether Tom is speaking about Miss Harris. Tom replies that he is speaking of Miss Nancy Miller. Nightingale's uncle enters the room and argues that a parent should have the prerogative to veto a marriage partner, but not to prescribe one. Nightingale was raised more by this uncle than by his father.

Chapter IX

Jones returns to Mrs. Miller's house to find everyone rejoicing. Nightingale and Nancy are to be married the next day. Mrs. Miller calls Tom her good Angel. Nightingale's uncle arrives and, in private, congratulates his nephew on his recent marriage. Nightingale admits that he is not actually yet married, and his uncle rejoices at this news. He advises Nightingale to leave Nancy, since he does not have any formal obligations to her until the matrimony. Nightingale tells his uncle that honor demands that one carry through one's promises as well as one's actions. Moreover, he loves Nancy. He reminds his uncle that he always promised to let his daughter, Harriet, choose her own marriage partner. Nightingale's uncle tells Nightingale to accompany him to his lodging so that they can debate the matter more.

Chapter X

Downstairs, Nancy, Mrs. Miller, and Tom are wondering why Nightingale and his uncle have taken so much time for their conference. When the two men emerge, everyone feigns that nothing is amiss. Mrs. Honour arrives with awful news about Sophia. Tom can think of nothing but his "unfortunate Angel."

Analysis

From Book XIV onwards, the novel gives way to a new writing mode: it becomes in part epistolary, filled with the letters of Lady Bellaston, Sophia, and Tom Jones. This serves to embellish Fielding's eclectic style, which is composed of a pastiche of genres and modes of narration. The narrator flits between essays, dramatic dialogues, and letters. The epistolary mode perhaps heightens the sense of separation that the city introduces into the characters' lives—letters now substitute for people. The irony of Lady Bellaston's letters is that, instead of following the rules of polite conduct, they are often explicitly emotional and lascivious.

Although Lady Bellaston remains a presence in Book XIV, the narrator takes a detour to follow the story of Nancy and Nightingale. Nightingale must learn and adopt Tom's code of honor before he can achieve marital bliss. Nightingale, born and bred in the city, can only think of his external reputation. Tom's insistence on the beauty of a clean conscience provides an alternative model to the false image-based status most of the city characters seek.

Nevertheless, Fielding does not seem to condemn city-dwellers; rather, his attitude in Chapter I seems merely dismissive. A comedic writer does not need to possess a good knowledge of the upper classes, he states, since the upper classes induce boredom.

Book XV

Summary

Chapter I

The narrator disagrees with "Moral Writers" who believe that virtue leads to happiness and vice to grief.

Chapter II

Lord Fellamar, a nobleman who brought Sophia home from the play, is a frequent visitor at Lady Bellaston's house. He has fallen in love with Sophia. One morning he visits Sophia for two hours before realizing that he has stayed too long. Lady Bellaston is pleased with Fellamar's lengthy visit—she is hoping to deflect Sophia from Tom through Fellamar. Lady Bellaston advertises Sophia to Fellamar by telling him about her great fortune. She complains, however, that Sophia is in love with "one of the lowest Fellows in the World … a Beggar, a Bastard, a Foundling." She invites Fellamar to dine with them the following day so that she can prove to him that Sophia is attached to such a man.

Chapter III

Lady Bellaston is a member of the "Little World," a high-class club. She devises a plan for the dinner that night with Fellamar and calls on the assistance of Edwards, another member of the club. Specifically, Edwards has to say that a certain Colonel Wilcox was killed by Tom Jones in a duel. Sophia faints on hearing the news, proving to Fellamar that Lady Bellaston was correct in her assertions about Sophia's love for Tom. Lady Bellaston contrives to have Fellamar and Sophia meet at seven the following evening. She has secretly been encouraging Fellamar to rape Sophia so that Sophia will be obliged to marry him. Fellamar is tortured by the thought of the crime, and resolves that his "Honour" will subdue his "Appetite." The following day Sophia begs Lady Bellaston not to admit Fellamar. Her aunt chastises her, and snides that country girls think every man who is courteous to them intends to make love to them.

Chapter IV

Lady Bellaston distorts literary examples of rape to try to convince Fellamar to ravish Sophia. It is ultimately for Sophia's good, she argues, since Fellamar will be a fine husband for her. Fellamar agrees to carry through with Lady Bellaston's plan, extolling Sophia's beauty and fortune.

Chapter V

Lord Fellamar enters Sophia's room and throws himself at her feet, offering her the world. She rejects him in harsh terms. He grabs hold of her and she screams out, but Lady Bellaston has removed everyone from earshot. At this moment Sophia hears her father's voice as he thunders up the stairs. She calls out to her father, and Fellamar releases her. Squire Western explodes into the room, drunk and verbally abusive. Western orders Sophia to marry Blifil. Fellamar thinks that Western is speaking of him, and thanks him for the honor of considering him as his son-in-law. Western curses Fellamar, who departs as quickly as possible. Lady Bellaston chastises Western for his rudeness to so great a man. Western declares that he wants a country man, not a city fop, for Sophia. He violently drags his daughter down to his coach, swearing to lock her up.

Chapter VI

Mrs. Fitzpatrick is the one who betrayed Sophia's whereabouts to Squire Western and Mrs. Western. The narrator presents her fawning, obsequient letter to Mrs. Western.

Chapter VII

At Mrs. Miller's house, Mrs. Honour laments losing Sophia. Jones, thinking that Sophia must have died, frantically begs Honour to tell him what has happened. When Jones finally extracts the news that Western has locked up Sophia and dismissed Honour, Tom is thankful that Sophia is alive. Honour chides Jones for not having compassion for her misfortune, since she says that she has always taken his part against Blifil. Honour is scared that Western will hurt Sophia. She says she wishes Sophia had some of her courage—if her father withheld her from the man she loved, she would tear out his eyes. Partridge runs into the room to inform Jones that Lady Bellaston has arrived. Jones hides Honour behind the bed. Lady Bellaston plops herself on the bed and scolds Jones for not contacting her. Then she flirts with him. Lady Bellaston waits in surprise as Jones stands awkwardly, not knowing what to do. A very drunk Nightingale suddenly bursts into Tom's room, mistaking it for his own. Partridge manages to lead Nightingale away. While Tom was occupied with Nightingale, Lady Bellaston tried to hide herself behind the bed, coming face to face with Honour. The ladies are horrified. Lady Bellaston implies that she will bribe Mrs. Honour, after which Honour calms down. Lady Bellaston leaves, shunning Tom's attempts to hold her hand. Honour is upset about Tom's infidelity to Sophia, but Tom "at last found means to reconcile her."

Chapter VIII

Mrs. Miller gently scolds Tom for the upheaval in his room the previous night. Nightingale and Nancy are married that day, with Tom acting as father to Nancy. Before the wedding, Nightingale's uncle tries to intoxicate him and dissuade him from marrying Nancy. News arrives during this meeting that Harriet, the daughter of Nightingale's uncle, has run away with a neighboring clergyman. This destroys his case with Nightingale.

Chapter IX

Tom receives three letters from Lady Bellaston summoning him immediately. Nightingale enters the room while Tom is reading and reveals that he knows about Tom's affair with Lady Bellaston. Tom asks for more details on the affairs of Lady Bellaston, but the narrator refuses to repeat Nightingale's words for fear of being accused of spreading scandals.

Nightingale's stories greatly reduce Tom's gratitude to Lady Bellaston and he realizes that he has been in "commerce" with this lady rather than in "love." Nightingale advises Jones that the easiest way for him to rid himself of Lady Bellaston is by proposing marriage. Together they compose a letter of proposal, to which Lady Bellaston replies that she is offended that Tom is so covetous of her fortune. Tom responds that he is insulted by her suspicion and will return her gifts to him. At the wedding dinner that night, Mrs. Miller devotes more attention to Tom than to Nightingale and Nancy.

Chapter X

Mrs. Miller has received a letter from Allworthy informing her that he and Blifil are coming immediately to London. He wishes to reserve the first and second floors of her house. The truth is that when Allworthy started paying Mrs. Miller an annuity of fifty pounds, it was on condition that he could occupy the first floor of her house whenever he came to town. Mrs. Miller thus has to comply with Allworthy's wishes, but she is distressed that Jones and Nightingale have to leave. Jones says that he does not mind at all. Honour sends Jones a letter saying that she is sure he will attain Sophia in the end, but she can no longer be of service to him. Lady Bellaston has hired her.

Chapter XI

Mrs. Arabella Hunt, a friend of Mrs. Miller's, sends Tom a marriage proposal. She is twenty-six and a little plump, but otherwise attractive. She has recently been widowed by a turkey merchant who left her a rich woman. Tom is at first excited by the prospect of having so much money, but—thinking of Sophia—writes a courteous refusal.

Chapter XII

Partridge capers into Jones's room with good tidings. He has found out that Black George is now a servant in Squire Western's apartment in London, by which means Tom may send letters to Sophia. Much to Tom's frustration, however, Partridge cannot remember the name of the street on which Western lives.

Analysis

Book XV reveals the extent of Lady Bellaston's wickedness when she attempts to convince Lord Fellamar to rape Sophia. Fielding prevents the reader from seeing the "rape scene" in a tragic light, however, by the manner in which he describes it. Fielding further achieves this by including Lady Bellaston's humorous distortions of Classical literary descriptions of rape in Chapter IV. Fielding makes fun of many characters on the basis of their poor Classical knowledge—such as Partridge, and literary critics.

The introduction of Lord Fellamar, first as a nameless gentleman who takes Sophia home from a play and then as a suitor, is indicative of Fielding's characterization method throughout the novel—he often withholds characters' names until a few chapters after their introduction. This delay is perhaps intended to rouse the reader's analytical energies—indeed, the narrator urges his reader not to be lazy, but to constantly interpret characters' words and actions for themselves. Fielding often provides an explanation or analysis himself, but always after some delay. For example, in Chapter III Fielding first praises Lady Bellaston's "Little World Society" as "an honourable Club," but a couple of paragraphs later refers to it as a "comical Society."

The behavior of Squire Western deserves some attention in this book, as his rejection of Lord Fellamar stems not only from his conservative nature, but also from his loyalty to the country and to tradition. The fact that Western is not simply ravenous for the status and riches Lord Fellamar would bring to his family, as is Mrs. Western, allows the reader to grant him some integrity.

Book XVI

Summary

Chapter I

The narrator claims that it is difficult to write introductory chapters. They are not ordered in a particular manner—any of them could grace the beginning of any chapter. Their purpose is simply to whet the critic's appetite.

Chapter II

Western and Sophia—who is still confined to her room—argue about Blifil. A messenger arrives from Lord Fellamar, who intends to pay his respects to Sophia that afternoon. Western answers that Sophia is already "disposed of." The messenger asks whether Western knows what kind of man he is declining. Western rudely retort that he hates all lords and begins to caper angrily about the room. Sophia joins in her father's rancor by stomping her foot on the floor and running screaming from her room. Once Fellamar's messenger has departed, Western heads straight for Sophia's room, where they weep together and express their love for each other. Sophia says that she promises not to marry at all—she will devote herself to her father. This refuels his anger.

CHAPTER III

The narrator confides in the reader that Western "really doated on his Daughter, and to give her any Kind of Pleasure was the highest Satisfaction of his Life." Black George carries up a pullet with eggs for Sophia's dinner. Although Sophia has been refusing food, Black George manages to entice her with the pullet, which is her favorite dish. She finds a letter from Tom inside its belly. The letter labors the point that Tom only wishes to see Sophia happy. While she reads the letter, Sophia hears a fracas downstairs between her father and her Aunt Western, who has just arrived in London.

Chapter IV

Mrs. Western asks for her niece. When Squire Western reports that he has locked the wayward Sophia in her room, Mrs. Western reminds him of his promise not to take such drastic actions against his daughter's disobedience. She stresses the ideal of female liberty, and the narrator compares her to Thalestris, that Amazonian champion of women. Eventually Squire Western tosses down the key and Mrs. Western departs to find Sophia. No sooner has she left than her brother damns her and invites Parson Supple for a drink. Squire Western allows Mrs. Western to take Sophia to her own lodging. Mrs. Western begs her brother not to see Mrs. Fitzpatrick if she seeks him out.

Chapter V

Black George delivers a letter to Tom from Sophia. She tells Tom that she is with her Aunt Western and has promised not to write any further to Tom. She does give her word, however, that she will marry no other man. Tom is torn by happiness and grief. Tom spends three hours reading and kissing the epistle, after which he joins Mrs. Miller, Betsey, and Partridge at the playhouse to watch a performance of Hamlet. Partridge becomes fully immersed in the play and trembles at the ghost of Hamlet's father—whom he believes to be a real ghoul. He shouts out to Hamlet when the latter picks up the skull of Yorrick, and amuses all the spectators around him with his running commentary on the play. After the performance, Mrs. Fitzpatrick approaches Jones and invites him to meet with her the following afternoon.

Chapter VI

The narrator considers all the characters in the novel as children. He harbors an "extraordinary Tenderness" for Sophia. Soon after Mr. Western departed for London, he sent a note to Blifil encouraging the lad to come to London as soon as possible to be married to Sophia. Blifil's motive for marrying Sophia has become pure hatred. Since Sophia ran away from home, Allworthy has suspected Sophia's dislike for Blifil. Blifil and Thwackum tried to convince Allworthy that Blifil should still pursue the young lady. Allworthy's tenderness eventually conquered his prudence and he agreed to accompany Blifil to London. Allworthy and Blifil arrive in London while Jones is watching Hamlet.Western insists on taking Blifil to Mrs. Western's residence immediately.

Chapter VII

Mrs. Western is reading Sophia a lecture on the prudence and politics of marriage when Mr. Western barges in with Blifil. Mrs. Western chastises him for not following the principles of a decorous entrance and sends Sophia—who she claims has been shaken by the event—to her bedroom. Blifil blubbers and blunders in fear. Mrs. Western says that he may leave a message for Sophia. Blifil leaves, less pleased with the meeting than Western. Western puts their failure down to Mrs. Western's mood, but Blifil suspects something more lurks beneath the surface.

Chapter VIII

Fellamar is still passionately in love with Sophia and, inspired by Lady Bellaston, has commissioned Captain Egglane to force Tom onto a ship. Mrs. Western sent a greeting card to Lady Bellaston on her arrival in London. Lady Bellaston, delighted to have a female partner in crime, runs to Mrs. Western with her news about Lord Fellamar. Mrs. Western dubs Blifil a "hideous kind of Fellow" like "all country Gentlemen." Lady Bellaston now gives Mrs. Western the marriage proposal she received from Tom. She says she hopes the letter will change Sophia's mind. It was directly after this conference that Western and Blifil made their appearance, which explains Mrs. Western's icy behavior to the latter.

Chapter IX

Jones meets with Mrs. Fitzpatrick, who suggests that Jones should try to get access to Sophia by flirting with Mrs. Western. She reminds him that this is what Mr. Fitzpatrick did in order to court her, and it worked. Jones politely declines the suggestion, infuriating Mrs. Fitzpatrick. Jones attempts to assuage Mrs. Fitzpatrick, who now takes a fancy to Jones. Out of vanity she believes herself to be one of the finest ladies in the world. As Jones leaves, Mrs. Fitzpatrick gazes at him seductively and invites him to visit her the following day. Jones's thoughts, however, tend only toward Sophia and he resolves not to call on Mrs. Fitzpatrick.

Chapter X

Mr. Fitzpatrick, who has tracked his wife to London, arrives at her doorstep as Jones is departing. Jones recognizes him from the inn at Upton and greets him amicably, but Fitzpatrick punches him and draws his sword out. Jones knows nothing about fencing but manages to retaliate and plunges the sword into Fitzpatrick. Jones, calling for assistance for Fitzpatrick, is apprehended by a gang of men employed by Lord Fellamar. Jones lands up in jail after a trial. Partridge visits Jones at the prison with news of Fitzpatrick's death. Sophia sends Tom a letter saying that she has seen his proposal letter to Lady Bellaston and wishes to have nothing more to do with him.

Analysis

Book XVI brings the novel to its climax: it builds steadily through the collusion of Mrs. Western, Lady Bellaston, and Mrs. Fitzpatrick—each of whom harbors her own reason for wanting to contrive a marriage between Sophia and Lord Fellamar—and culminates in the duel between Tom Jones and Fitzpatrick. Fellamar's courtly status as a "lord" and the fact that he is one of the richest men in England appeals to Mrs. Western, who now calls Blifil a "vile" countryman. Her attitude contrasts with that of Squire Western, which sets the two fighting for control of Sophia in Chapter IV. Squire Western grows in the reader's estimation in this chapter since the narrator admits in Chapter III that Western "really doated on his Daughter, and to give her any Kind of Pleasure was the highest Satisfaction of his Life." Although Lady Bellaston has lost all chances with Tom, out of spite she wishes to keep him apart from Sophia. Mrs. Fitzpatrick is still trying to restore herself to the favor of her aunt and uncle by procuring a good marriage for Sophia.

Fielding's philosophy about his prefacing chapters, expressed in Chapter I, contrasts with the finely designed linear narrative of Book XVI. By claiming that the prefacing chapters have been randomly placed and deserve no particular order, Fielding sets up a "timeless" axis as opposed to his "time-dependent" axis. His introductory chapters and intrusive philosophical musings belong to the former axis, while his highly contrived narrative belongs to the latter category.

Book XVII

Summary

Chapter I

A comic writer concludes when his characters reach the happiest of states; a tragic writer concludes when his characters descend to the most wretched of states. If this were a tragedy, the narrator's work would be finished. He provides a possible tragic ending: Sophia could be given in marriage to Blifil or Fellamar, and Jones could be hanged at Tyburn. The ancient writers had the benefit of bringing Divine Intervention to their assistance in saving their characters; he has to rely on natural methods. Jones still has worse news to face.

Chapter II

Blifil finds Allworthy and Mrs. Miller at breakfast and tells them that Tom is a villain. Mrs. Miller vehemently stands up for Tom, surprising Allworthy, who tells her not to treat Blifil so rudely. Mrs. Miller says that although she has to acknowledge that Tom has faults, they are merely the "Faults of Wildness and of Youth." She promises to tell Allworthy stories of Tom's humanity and generosity. Blifil now recounts that Tom has killed a man. Mrs. Miller argues that Tom must have been provoked. A visitor arrives for Allworthy.

Chapter III

Squire Western arrives in Mrs. Miller's kitchen and tells the company about Mrs. Western's plan for Sophia to marry Lord Fellamar. Allworthy has to translate Western's dialect. After listening to Western's speech, Allworthy strongly discourages Western from forcing Sophia into any marriage. Western bellows that he begat Sophia and thus has a right to govern her. Blifil begs that he may be allowed to persevere with Sophia. Allworthy is concerned that he is pursuing Sophia out of lust rather than love and encourages Blifil to examine his heart. When Blifil alludes to the fact that Tom has committed a "murder," Western sings and dances about the room in joy. The narrator promises to return to Sophia's story, since he "can no longer bear to be absent" from her.

Chapter IV

The narrator compares Sophia, pursued now by Lord Fellamar as well as by Blifil, to a hunted doe. Mrs. Western threatens to take Sophia back to her father if she does not agree to meet with Fellamar.

Sophia tells her aunt that Fellamar attempted to violate her—the proof of which she still has on her left breast. Mrs. Western is horrified—no man has ever treated a woman of the Western family in such a way before. Sophia reminds her aunt that she herself has turned down many suitors. Sophia wants to know why she cannot do the same. This sets Mrs. Western boasting of her love "conquests" and "cruelty" for half an hour. Mrs. Western's mood improves to the point that she agrees that some distance between Sophia and Fellamar is appropriate.

Chapter V

Mrs. Miller, Nightingale, and Partridge—the most faithful of friends—visit Jones in jail. Partridge announces the happy news that Fitzpatrick has not died. Relief washes over Jones—until he begins to think of the helpless situation with Sophia. Mrs. Miller, who has learned about Sophia from Partridge, offers to speak to Sophia on behalf of Jones. Tom thus entrusts a letter for Sophia with Mrs. Miller, who has already been "so warm an Advocate to Mr. Allworthy" on account of Tom. Nightingale promises to investigate Fitzpatrick's state of health, and to discover who else was at the duel.

Chapter VI

Sophia and Mrs. Western have been on great terms since Sophia allowed her aunt to brag about her ex-suitors. Sophia may thus admit whomever she pleases to the house. She permits Mrs. Miller to visit her, but when she sees that Mrs. Miller has a letter from Tom, she refuses to accept it. Mrs. Miller falls to her knees and tells Sophia the stories of Tom's goodwill to Mr. Anderson and to her daughter Nancy. She surprises Sophia with her vehemence on Tom's behalf. Sophia says that since she cannot prevail over Mrs. Miller, she will have to accept the letter. She opens it as soon as Mrs. Miller leaves the room. In his letter Tom says that he can account for the marriage proposal to Lady Bellaston and that he did not wish to marry her at all. However, he does not provide any details in his letter that mollify her anger towards him. Sophia is obliged to attend a party with Lady Bellaston and her aunt that evening, at which she struggles to maintain a cheerful countenance.

Chapter VII

Mrs. Miller tells Allworthy about her many obligations to Tom. Allworthy accepts that even the worst villains have some goodness in them, but he begs her never to mention Tom's name to him. Moreover, he resents the fact that Mrs. Miller compares Blfil unfavorably to Tom. Mrs. Miller, however, cannot say enough about Tom's beauty, goodness, and generosity. Allworthy is moved by her speech, but changes the topic of conversation to Nancy. He visits Nightingale's father to try to reconcile him to the family. Blifil and the lawyer Dowling arrive. Blifil, greatly pleased with his new friend, has made Dowling his steward.

Chapter VIII

Mrs. Western's good spirits continue, but she has not abandoned her plan for Sophia to marry Fellamar. She is further encouraged by Lady Bellaston, who argues that most marriages are arranged. Sophia agrees to a visit from Fellamar, who showers her with compliments and professions of love. Sophia asks him how he can reconcile such sentiments with his violent behavior to her in the past. He pleads madness from love. Sophia says that if he truly wishes to attune himself to her happiness, he should leave. He asks whether she has another suitor—she retorts that it is not her responsibility to tell him. A flushed Mrs. Western enters the room and begins to chide Sophia for her "silly Country Notions of Bashfulness."

Mrs. Western's fury stems from more than one reason: her new maid, warned by Mrs. Honour to keep a close eye on Sophia, has told Mrs. Western all about Sophia's conversations with Mrs. Miller. Sophia refuses to hand over the letter that Mrs. Miller brought her from Tom, and Mrs. Western threatens to evict Sophia from her house and take her back to Squire Western's house.

Chapter IX

Jones has spent twenty-four hours alone in prison before Partridge and Nightingale return. Nightingale has tracked down two of the men who claim to have witnessed the start of the duel. He bears bad news: both of the men say that they saw Tom provoke the fight. Mrs. Miller arrives with news of Mrs. Western's rebuff. Once his friends have left, Jones receives a surprise visit from Mrs. Waters. The narrator updates the reader on all that has happened since Tom parted with Mrs. Waters at the inn at Upton: Fitzpatrick courted her in the coach on the way to Bath, where they were married. He did not tell her that he was already married. When Mrs. Waters learned that the man who wounded her husband was none other than Jones, she decided to visit him in prison. Mrs. Waters tells Tom that Fitzpatrick is beyond danger of dying and that he has admitted to initiating the duel. This information improves Jones's spirits dramatically. He suffers, however, over the thought that Sophia has abandoned him.

Analysis

In Chapter I, the narrator forecast that he would raise the novel to its highest pitch by the end of Book XVII. He reminds us of his own artifice and authority by suggesting that, if he were a tragic writer, he could end the novel after Book XVI with Tom's death by hanging and Sophia's marriage to either Blifil or Lord Fellamar. From Chapter II of Book XVII onward, however, the narrator begins to fulfill his promise of bringing resolution to what had previously seemed an irresolvable situation.

This is the beginning of Fielding's version of "Virtue Rewarded" the alternate name for Samuel Richardson's novel, Pamela, which defines virtue as chastity. Tom's generosity to his friends in the past now means that they return his loyalty and friendship—Partridge visits Tom constantly in jail, Nightingale discovers the eyewitnesses to the duel, and Mrs. Miller undertakes to effect a reunion between Tom and Sophia. Characters are distinguished at this point by their loyalty or their lack of loyalty—while Tom's friends support him, Mrs. Honour betrays Sophia.

Book XVIII

Summary

Chapter I

The narrator wishes the reader farewell. He compares the reading process to a journey in which he and the reader are fellow passengers in a coach. He hopes that he has been an entertaining companion.

Chapter II

Partridge visits Jones at the prison to break the horrifying news that Mrs. Waters is Tom's mother. Tom receives a letter from Mrs. Waters in which she alludes to this fact and says she has been greatly affected by it. She adds as a postscript that Fitzpatrick is on the recovery. Black George arrives next at the prison, and he and Tom exchange warm greetings. Black George reports that Squire Western and Mrs. Western have had a vicious argument that has concluded with Mrs. Western declaring she never wants to see her brother again. The Squire has been reconciled with Sophia, however. The narrator retraces his footsteps to describe how this reunion came about. Sophia took her father's side when arguing with her aunt about Lord Fellamar—this delighted Squire Western and endeared Sophia to him once more.

Chapter III

Allworthy visits Nightingale's father and, after three hours, convinces the old man to see his son. On his entrance to the house, Allworthy spots Black George, but takes no notice of him. Later, he asks Nightingale's father what business he had with Black George. Nightingale's father shows him five bank bills of one hundred pounds each that Black George has given him to invest. Allworthy recognizes the bills as those he gave to Tom.

Mrs. Miller is depressed about Tom's situation, but Allworthy cheers her somewhat by telling her he has no doubt there will soon be a reconciliation between Nightingale and his father. Allworthy summons Dowling from Blifil's room to ask him what should be done about the case of the bank bills. Mrs. Miller interrupts their conversation and introduces Allworthy to Nightingale, who brings the tidings that Fitzpatrick has recovered and admitted provoking the duel. Mrs. Miller urges Nightingale to remind Allworthy in what great esteem Tom holds him. Tears come to Allworthy's eyes and he reminisces briefly about the time he discovered the infant Tom between his sheets. The narrator hints that Allworthy's tears have been partly caused by a letter that he received from Square.

Chapter IV

The narrator presents Square's letter to Allworthy. Square writes that he is terminally ill, and that he has been reflecting on his past behavior. He feels worst about his behavior to Tom, who is innocent of the crime for which Allworthy condemned him. In fact, during Allworthy's illness, Tom was the only person who showed any real concern and compassion. Tom's mirth was motivated by Allworthy's recovery. Square hints at the dark designs of "another Person." The narrator also presents a letter from Mr. Thwackum to Allworthy, in which Thwackum haughtily and arrogantly tells Allworthy to consider him for the position of Vicar of Aldergrove if the current vicar should die.

Chapter V

Mrs. Miller tells Allworthy that Nightingale discovered that the men who accused Tom were commissioned to do so by a Lord who wanted Tom sent off on a ship. Nightingale also happened to see Mr. Dowling with these men in the tavern. Shocked, Allworthy calls for Dowling, but he has already left. Allworthy asks Blifil if he knows whether Dowling has seen the eyewitnesses of Tom's duel. Blifil does not speak for some moments, which leads Mrs. Miller to shout "Guilty!" Allworthy asks Blifil why it is taking him so long to answer. Blifil answers that he sent Dowling to mollify the evidence of the witnesses. Allworthy now feels even more tenderness for Blifil. He proposes that they all pay a visit to Tom in prison. Partridge arrives and privately tells Mrs. Miller that Mrs. Waters is Tom's mother. Allworthy, hearing that the man with Mrs. Miller is Tom's servant, summons him. He immediately recognizes him to be Partridge. Surprised, he asks if he is indeed Tom's servant. Allworthy asks Partridge many questions about Jones.

Chapter VI

Allworthy asks Partridge why he has been serving his own son. Partridge tells Allworthy that he is not actually Tom's father. He tells Allworthy what has happened in his life since he was found guilty. First Partridge worked for a lawyer in Salisbury. Then he moved to Lymington, where he worked for a lawyer for three years, after which he set up a school. One day, one of his pigs broke into his neighbor's yard and Partridge was taken to court. Allworthy tells him to get to the point. After seven years in the Winchester jail, Partridge taught at Cork in Ireland. He then moved to Bristol, where he met Tom. Partridge now tells Allworthy that Mrs. Waters, with whom Tom has had a relationship, is Tom's own mother. As Allworthy expresses his horror at the situation, Mrs. Waters walks in and asks to talk to Allworthy alone.

Chapter VII

Mrs. Waters tells Allworthy the story of Tom's conception and birth: his father, Mr. Summer, was the son of a clergyman whom Allworthy raised and even sent to the university. Mrs. Waters is not Tom's mother, although she did put the baby Tom in Allworthy's bed. She reveals that Bridget Allworthy, Allworthy's own sister, was Tom's mother. After Allworthy left for London, Bridget approached Jenny's mother and confided her secret in her. Together they contrived to send Deborah Wilkins, the maid, to Dorsetshire to have her out of the way. Allworthy is shocked that his sister did not tell him the truth. Jenny exculpates her, however, by saying that she intended to tell Allworthy one day. Bringing the conversation back to the present, Mrs. Waters tells Allworthy that Dowling approached her and promised her money from a "very worthy Gentleman" if she continued her prosecution of Tom. Allworthy guesses that this gentleman must be Blifil.

Chapter VIII

Squire Western arrives. He has discovered Sophia's letters from Tom. Allworthy offers to speak to Sophia after he has spoken to Dowling. Once Western has left, Jenny tells Allworthy that she spent twelve years with a man who swore to marry her but never actually did. She fled to Captain Waters for protection, and lived with him for many years under the alibi of being his wife. She met Tom when Captain Waters left to oppose the Jacobite rebels.

Mrs. Waters falls to her knees and praises Tom's goodness in saving her. Dowling interrupts them. Motioning to Jenny, Allworthy asks Dowling if he knows "this Lady." Dowling has to admit that he does. Allworthy now carries out a kind of trial by which he finds out that Blifil was indeed responsible for trying to bring further prosecution against Tom. Allworthy asks how Dowling could have been Blifil's accomplice. Dowling confesses that he already knows that Tom is Allworthy's nephew—on her deathbed, Bridget Allworthy took Dowling's hand and bid him tell Allworthy that Tom was her son. She also wrote a letter to Blifil explaining the story. Dowling entrusted the letter and story to Blifil, who promised to pass on the information to Allworthy.

Mrs. Miller returns and Allworthy tells her the shocking news. Mrs. Miller is overjoyed that Tom has been proven innocent. Before she leaves, Mrs. Waters tells the company that Tom will soon be released from prison. Allworthy summons Blifil and tells him to produce the letter that Bridget wanted him to deliver to Allworthy. Blifil's situation is "to be envied only be a Man who is just going to be hanged."

Chapter IX

Allworthy reads Tom's letter to Sophia. The beauty of it brings tears to his eyes. Allworthy visits Sophia and congratulates her on her refusal to marry Blifil, which shows foresight on her part. Allworthy says that he has a different proposal for her—he has another nephew, whom he would like her to marry. Sophia expresses surprise at never having met this mysterious nephew, and Allworthy tells her that it is Tom. Sophia says she can appreciate that Tom must be a worthy nephew, but she cannot accept him as a husband. Squire Western suddenly bursts in and chastises Sophia. In his country dialect, Western bellows that he has a letter from Lady Bellaston relating that Tom is out of prison and on the loose. Western warns Sophia to stay away from the man. Allworthy takes this opportunity to acquaint Western with recent events. Squire Western now begs Allworthy to bring Tom to court Sophia that afternoon.

Chapter X

Allworthy apologizes to Tom for his past behavior. Tom says that there is no need for retribution; the joy he is experiencing now atones for his suffering. Tom laments his follies and vices, but Allworthy brushes them away, praising Tom for not being a hypocrite. Allworthy tells Tom that he has visited Sophia, and urges Tom to submit to Sophia's will. Mrs. Miller meets with Tom and tells him that she has explained to Sophia that Tom's proposal letter to Lady Bellaston was not meant seriously. Sophia still complained that Tom was a "Libertine," but Mrs. Miller told her that Tom turned down Mrs. Hunt. Mr. Western arrives, extremely impatient for the afternoon courtship festivities.

Chapter XI

Jones tells Allworthy and Mrs. Miller how he gained his liberty from the prison. Mrs. Waters assured Fitzpatrick that Tom did not have an affair with his wife and, consequently, Fitzpatrick admitted that he initiated the duel. Moreover, Fitzpatrick is so delighted with what Mrs. Waters has told him that he praises Tom to Lord Fellamar, who decides that he should assist this man whom he affronted by his advances to Sophia.

Allworthy wishes to punish Blifil, but Tom argues for forgiveness. Mrs. Miller and Allworthy want Blifil to leave the house as soon as possible. Tom asks that he may be the messenger of the news. He finds Blifil bawling on his bed, although Blifil is frightened rather than contrite. Tom tells Blifil the news—he comforts Blifil and offers to provide for him. Blifil thanks Tom profusely, then departs. Allworthy reveals Black George's corruption to Tom. Tom tells Allworthy of Black George's generosity to him while he was in prison, but Allworthy is determined to punish Black George for his dishonesty. Partridge and Tom are reunited.

Chapter XII

Tom meets Sophia at Western's house. They are both finely dressed and look breathtaking. At first they remain silent. Sophia suggests that Tom judge his own behavior—she tells him that only time will prove whether he can cast aside his wild desires. She does not understand how he could have been unchaste in Upton. Tom argues that the delicacy of women prevents them from imagining how sordid men can be. He argues that amours of the body do not affect the amour of the heart. Sophia accepts his reply, but says that she will only marry him after twelve months. They kiss. Mr. Western bursts in and, after teasing the lovers with bawdy jokes, orders Sophia to marry Tom immediately. Sophia says that she cannot disobey her father. Western looks forward to having a grandson in nine months.

Chapter the last

The wedding is filled with mirth, and those who were unhappy before are happy now. The narrator summarizes the future. Tom makes Allworthy agree to give Blifil an annuity of 200 pounds, even though Allworthy refuses to speak to Blifil. Blifil converts to Methodism in the hopes of marrying a rich Methodist widow who lives near to him. Mrs. Fitzpatrick separates from Fitzpatrick. Mrs. Waters marries Parson Supple, and Allworthy grants her an annuity of sixty pounds. Partridge sets up a school with the help of Tom. He is engaged to Molly Seagrim. Sophia and Tom now live on Western's estate and have two children, a boy and a girl. Western has retired to a smaller estate, but visits the couple frequently. Tom has conquered his cheeky streak. He and Sophia are still very much in love, and hold each other in the highest esteem. They show kindness and respect to all around them.

Analysis

Book XVIII follows the archetypal comic finale in that it consists of the resolution of a series of misunderstandings: Square's letter dispels Blifil's false accusations, and Mrs. Waters's testimony reveals Tom's true parentage.

The summary of future events that concludes the novel is typical of Romantic comedy, and it serves to show which characters have experienced a "Revolution," and which ones have not. Blifil, for example, shows no contrition about his wicked acts and instead begins plotting afresh. It is appropriate that Tom, the protagonist, has undergone the greatest transformation—he now lives in perfect chastity with Sophia as his wife. Tom's forgiveness of Blifil makes Tom a better man even than Allworthy, who wishes to punish Blifil. In such a way, rather than simply being born good, Tom achieves the status of "hero" by the novel's end. The vast arc that Tom makes from beggarly bastard to wealthy, dignified gentleman makes the novel a kind of Bildungsroman"—that is, a novel that charters the growth of a single character from infancy to maturity.

“Pride and Prejudice” Austin, J.

Plot Overview

The news that a wealthy young gentleman named Charles Bingley has rented the manor of Netherfield Park causes a great stir in the nearby village of Longbourn, especially in the Bennet household. The Bennets have five unmarried daughters—from oldest to youngest, Jane, Elizabeth, Mary, Kitty, and Lydia—and Mrs. Bennet is desperate to see them all married. After Mr. Bennet pays a social visit to Mr. Bingley, the Bennets attend a ball at which Mr. Bingley is present. He is taken with Jane and spends much of the evening dancing with her. His close friend, Mr. Darcy, is less pleased with the evening and haughtily refuses to dance with Elizabeth, which makes everyone view him as arrogant and obnoxious.

At social functions over subsequent weeks, however, Mr. Darcy finds himself increasingly attracted to Elizabeth’s charm and intelligence. Jane’s friendship with Mr. Bingley also continues to burgeon, and Jane pays a visit to the Bingley mansion. On her journey to the house she is caught in a downpour and catches ill, forcing her to stay at Netherfield for several days. In order to tend to Jane, Elizabeth hikes through muddy fields and arrives with a spattered dress, much to the disdain of the snobbish Miss Bingley, Charles Bingley’s sister. Miss Bingley’s spite only increases when she notices that Darcy, whom she is pursuing, pays quite a bit of attention to Elizabeth.

When Elizabeth and Jane return home, they find Mr. Collins visiting their household. Mr. Collins is a young clergyman who stands to inherit Mr. Bennet’s property, which has been “entailed,” meaning that it can only be passed down to male heirs. Mr. Collins is a pompous fool, though he is quite enthralled by the Bennet girls. Shortly after his arrival, he makes a proposal of marriage to Elizabeth. She turns him down, wounding his pride. Meanwhile, the Bennet girls have become friendly with militia officers stationed in a nearby town. Among them is Wickham, a handsome young soldier who is friendly toward Elizabeth and tells her how Darcy cruelly cheated him out of an inheritance.

At the beginning of winter, the Bingleys and Darcy leave Netherfield and return to London, much to Jane’s dismay. A further shock arrives with the news that Mr. Collins has become engaged to Charlotte Lucas, Elizabeth’s best friend and the poor daughter of a local knight. Charlotte explains to Elizabeth that she is getting older and needs the match for financial reasons. Charlotte and Mr. Collins get married and Elizabeth promises to visit them at their new home. As winter progresses, Jane visits the city to see friends (hoping also that she might see Mr. Bingley). However, Miss Bingley visits her and behaves rudely, while Mr. Bingley fails to visit her at all. The marriage prospects for the Bennet girls appear bleak.

That spring, Elizabeth visits Charlotte, who now lives near the home of Mr. Collins’s patron, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, who is also Darcy’s aunt. Darcy calls on Lady Catherine and encounters Elizabeth, whose presence leads him to make a number of visits to the Collins’s home, where she is staying. One day, he makes a shocking proposal of marriage, which Elizabeth quickly refuses. She tells Darcy that she considers him arrogant and unpleasant, then scolds him for steering Bingley away from Jane and disinheriting Wickham. Darcy leaves her but shortly thereafter delivers a letter to her. In this letter, he admits that he urged Bingley to distance himself from Jane, but claims he did so only because he thought their romance was not serious. As for Wickham, he informs Elizabeth that the young officer is a liar and that the real cause of their disagreement was Wickham’s attempt to elope with his young sister, Georgiana Darcy.

This letter causes Elizabeth to reevaluate her feelings about Darcy. She returns home and acts coldly toward Wickham. The militia is leaving town, which makes the younger, rather man-crazy Bennet girls distraught. Lydia manages to obtain permission from her father to spend the summer with an old colonel in Brighton, where Wickham’s regiment will be stationed. With the arrival of June, Elizabeth goes on another journey, this time with the Gardiners, who are relatives of the Bennets. The trip takes her to the North and eventually to the neighborhood of Pemberley, Darcy’s estate. She visits Pemberley, after making sure that Darcy is away, and delights in the building and grounds, while hearing from Darcy’s servants that he is a wonderful, generous master. Suddenly, Darcy arrives and behaves cordially toward her. Making no mention of his proposal, he entertains the Gardiners and invites Elizabeth to meet his sister.

Shortly thereafter, however, a letter arrives from home, telling Elizabeth that Lydia has eloped with Wickham and that the couple is nowhere to be found, which suggests that they may be living together out of wedlock. Fearful of the disgrace such a situation would bring on her entire family, Elizabeth hastens home. Mr. Gardiner and Mr. Bennet go off to search for Lydia, but Mr. Bennet eventually returns home empty-handed. Just when all hope seems lost, a letter comes from Mr. Gardiner saying that the couple has been found and that Wickham has agreed to marry Lydia in exchange for an annual income. The Bennets are convinced that Mr. Gardiner has paid off Wickham, but Elizabeth learns that the source of the money, and of her family’s salvation, was none other than Darcy.

Now married, Wickham and Lydia return to Longbourn briefly, where Mr. Bennet treats them coldly. They then depart for Wickham’s new assignment in the North of England. Shortly thereafter, Bingley returns to Netherfield and resumes his courtship of Jane. Darcy goes to stay with him and pays visits to the Bennets but makes no mention of his desire to marry Elizabeth. Bingley, on the other hand, presses his suit and proposes to Jane, to the delight of everyone but Bingley’s haughty sister. While the family celebrates, Lady Catherine de Bourgh pays a visit to Longbourn. She corners Elizabeth and says that she has heard that Darcy, her nephew, is planning to marry her. Since she considers a Bennet an unsuitable match for a Darcy, Lady Catherine demands that Elizabeth promise to refuse him. Elizabeth spiritedly refuses, saying she is not engaged to Darcy, but she will not promise anything against her own happiness. A little later, Elizabeth and Darcy go out walking together and he tells her that his feelings have not altered since the spring. She tenderly accepts his proposal, and both Jane and Elizabeth are married.

Analysis of Major Characters

Elizabeth Bennet

The second daughter in the Bennet family, and the most intelligent and quick-witted, Elizabeth is the protagonist of Pride and Prejudice and one of the most well-known female characters in English literature. Her admirable qualities are numerous—she is lovely, clever, and, in a novel defined by dialogue, she converses as brilliantly as anyone. Her honesty, virtue, and lively wit enable her to rise above the nonsense and bad behavior that pervade her class-bound and often spiteful society. Nevertheless, her sharp tongue and tendency to make hasty judgments often lead her astray; Pride and Prejudiceis essentially the story of how she (and her true love, Darcy) overcome all obstacles—including their own personal failings—to find romantic happiness. Elizabeth must not only cope with a hopeless mother, a distant father, two badly behaved younger siblings, and several snobbish, antagonizing females, she must also overcome her own mistaken impressions of Darcy, which initially lead her to reject his proposals of marriage. Her charms are sufficient to keep him interested, fortunately, while she navigates familial and social turmoil. As she gradually comes to recognize the nobility of Darcy’s character, she realizes the error of her initial prejudice against him.

Fitzwilliam Darcy

The son of a wealthy, well-established family and the master of the great estate of Pemberley, Darcy is Elizabeth’s male counterpart. The narrator relates Elizabeth’s point of view of events more often than Darcy’s, so Elizabeth often seems a more sympathetic figure. The reader eventually realizes, however, that Darcy is her ideal match. Intelligent and forthright, he too has a tendency to judge too hastily and harshly, and his high birth and wealth make him overly proud and overly conscious of his social status. Indeed, his haughtiness makes him initially bungle his courtship. When he proposes to her, for instance, he dwells more on how unsuitable a match she is than on her charms, beauty, or anything else complimentary. Her rejection of his advances builds a kind of humility in him. Darcy demonstrates his continued devotion to Elizabeth, in spite of his distaste for her low connections, when he rescues Lydia and the entire Bennet family from disgrace, and when he goes against the wishes of his haughty aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, by continuing to pursue Elizabeth. Darcy proves himself worthy of Elizabeth, and she ends up repenting her earlier, overly harsh judgment of him.

Jane Bennet and Charles Bingley

Elizabeth’s beautiful elder sister and Darcy’s wealthy best friend, Jane and Bingley engage in a courtship that occupies a central place in the novel. They first meet at the ball in Meryton and enjoy an immediate mutual attraction. They are spoken of as a potential couple throughout the book, long before anyone imagines that Darcy and Elizabeth might marry. Despite their centrality to the narrative, they are vague characters, sketched by Austen rather than carefully drawn. Indeed, they are so similar in nature and behavior that they can be described together: both are cheerful, friendly, and good-natured, always ready to think the best of others; they lack entirely the prickly egotism of Elizabeth and Darcy. Jane’s gentle spirit serves as a foil for her sister’s fiery, contentious nature, while Bingley’s eager friendliness contrasts with Darcy’s stiff pride. Their principal characteristics are goodwill and compatibility, and the contrast of their romance with that of Darcy and Elizabeth is remarkable. Jane and Bingley exhibit to the reader true love unhampered by either pride or prejudice, though in their simple goodness, they also demonstrate that such a love is mildly dull.

Mr. Bennet

Mr. Bennet is the patriarch of the Bennet household—the husband of Mrs. Bennet and the father of Jane, Elizabeth, Lydia, Kitty, and Mary. He is a man driven to exasperation by his ridiculous wife and difficult daughters. He reacts by withdrawing from his family and assuming a detached attitude punctuated by bursts of sarcastic humor. He is closest to Elizabeth because they are the two most intelligent Bennets. Initially, his dry wit and self-possession in the face of his wife’s hysteria make him a sympathetic figure, but, though he remains likable throughout, the reader gradually loses respect for him as it becomes clear that the price of his detachment is considerable. Detached from his family, he is a weak father and, at critical moments, fails his family. In particular, his foolish indulgence of Lydia’s immature behavior nearly leads to general disgrace when she elopes with Wickham. Further, upon her disappearance, he proves largely ineffective. It is left to Mr. Gardiner and Darcy to track Lydia down and rectify the situation. Ultimately, Mr. Bennet would rather withdraw from the world than cope with it.

Mrs. Bennet

Mrs. Bennet is a miraculously tiresome character. Noisy and foolish, she is a woman consumed by the desire to see her daughters married and seems to care for nothing else in the world. Ironically, her single-minded pursuit of this goal tends to backfire, as her lack of social graces alienates the very people (Darcy and Bingley) whom she tries desperately to attract. Austen uses her continually to highlight the necessity of marriage for young women. Mrs. Bennet also serves as a middle-class counterpoint to such upper-class snobs as Lady Catherine and Miss Bingley, demonstrating that foolishness can be found at every level of society. In the end, however, Mrs. Bennet proves such an unattractive figure, lacking redeeming characteristics of any kind, that some readers have accused Austen of unfairness in portraying her—as if Austen, like Mr. Bennet, took perverse pleasure in poking fun at a woman already scorned as a result of her ill breeding.

Themes, Motifs & Symbols

Themes

Themes are the fundamental and often universal ideas explored in a literary work.

Love

Pride and Prejudice contains one of the most cherished love stories in English literature: the courtship between Darcy and Elizabeth. As in any good love story, the lovers must elude and overcome numerous stumbling blocks, beginning with the tensions caused by the lovers’ own personal qualities. Elizabeth’s pride makes her misjudge Darcy on the basis of a poor first impression, while Darcy’s prejudice against Elizabeth’s poor social standing blinds him, for a time, to her many virtues. (Of course, one could also say that Elizabeth is guilty of prejudice and Darcy of pride—the title cuts both ways.) Austen, meanwhile, poses countless smaller obstacles to the realization of the love between Elizabeth and Darcy, including Lady Catherine’s attempt to control her nephew, Miss Bingley’s snobbery, Mrs. Bennet’s idiocy, and Wickham’s deceit. In each case, anxieties about social connections, or the desire for better social connections, interfere with the workings of love. Darcy and Elizabeth’s realization of a mutual and tender love seems to imply that Austen views love as something independent of these social forces, as something that can be captured if only an individual is able to escape the warping effects of hierarchical society. Austen does sound some more realist (or, one could say, cynical) notes about love, using the character of Charlotte Lucas, who marries the buffoon Mr. Collins for his money, to demonstrate that the heart does not always dictate marriage. Yet with her central characters, Austen suggests that true love is a force separate from society and one that can conquer even the most difficult of circumstances.

Reputation

Pride and Prejudice depicts a society in which a woman’s reputation is of the utmost importance. A woman is expected to behave in certain ways. Stepping outside the social norms makes her vulnerable to ostracism. This theme appears in the novel, when Elizabeth walks to Netherfield and arrives with muddy skirts, to the shock of the reputation-conscious Miss Bingley and her friends. At other points, the ill-mannered, ridiculous behavior of Mrs. Bennet gives her a bad reputation with the more refined (and snobbish) Darcys and Bingleys. Austen pokes gentle fun at the snobs in these examples, but later in the novel, when Lydia elopes with Wickham and lives with him out of wedlock, the author treats reputation as a very serious matter. By becoming Wickham’s lover without benefit of marriage, Lydia clearly places herself outside the social pale, and her disgrace threatens the entire Bennet family. The fact that Lydia’s judgment, however terrible, would likely have condemned the other Bennet sisters to marriageless lives seems grossly unfair. Why should Elizabeth’s reputation suffer along with Lydia’s? Darcy’s intervention on the Bennets’ behalf thus becomes all the more generous, but some readers might resent that such an intervention was necessary at all. If Darcy’s money had failed to convince Wickham to marry Lydia, would Darcy have still married Elizabeth? Does his transcendence of prejudice extend that far? The happy ending of Pride and Prejudice is certainly emotionally satisfying, but in many ways it leaves the theme of reputation, and the importance placed on reputation, unexplored. One can ask of Pride and Prejudice, to what extent does it critique social structures, and to what extent does it simply accept their inevitability?

Class

The theme of class is related to reputation, in that both reflect the strictly regimented nature of life for the middle and upper classes in Regency England. The lines of class are strictly drawn. While the Bennets, who are middle class, may socialize with the upper-class Bingleys and Darcys, they are clearly their social inferiors and are treated as such. Austen satirizes this kind of class-consciousness, particularly in the character of Mr. Collins, who spends most of his time toadying to his upper-class patron, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Though Mr. Collins offers an extreme example, he is not the only one to hold such views. His conception of the importance of class is shared, among others, by Mr. Darcy, who believes in the dignity of his lineage; Miss Bingley, who dislikes anyone not as socially accepted as she is; and Wickham, who will do anything he can to get enough money to raise himself into a higher station. Mr. Collins’s views are merely the most extreme and obvious. The satire directed at Mr. Collins is therefore also more subtly directed at the entire social hierarchy and the conception of all those within it at its correctness, in complete disregard of other, more worthy virtues. Through the Darcy-Elizabeth and Bingley-Jane marriages, Austen shows the power of love and happiness to overcome class boundaries and prejudices, thereby implying that such prejudices are hollow, unfeeling, and unproductive. Of course, this whole discussion of class must be made with the understanding that Austen herself is often criticized as being a classist: she doesn’t really represent anyone from the lower classes; those servants she does portray are generally happy with their lot. Austen does criticize class structure but only a limited slice of that structure.

Motifs

Motifs are recurring structures, contrasts, and literary devices that can help to develop and inform the text’s major themes.

Courtship

In a sense, Pride and Prejudice is the story of two courtships—those between Darcy and Elizabeth and between Bingley and Jane. Within this broad structure appear other, smaller courtships: Mr. Collins’s aborted wooing of Elizabeth, followed by his successful wooing of Charlotte Lucas; Miss Bingley’s unsuccessful attempt to attract Darcy; Wickham’s pursuit first of Elizabeth, then of the never-seen Miss King, and finally of Lydia. Courtship therefore takes on a profound, if often unspoken, importance in the novel. Marriage is the ultimate goal, courtship constitutes the real working-out of love. Courtship becomes a sort of forge of a person’s personality, and each courtship becomes a microcosm for different sorts of love (or different ways to abuse love as a means to social advancement).

Journeys

Nearly every scene in Pride and Prejudice takes place indoors, and the action centers around the Bennet home in the small village of Longbourn. Nevertheless, journeys—even short ones—function repeatedly as catalysts for change in the novel. Elizabeth’s first journey, by which she intends simply to visit Charlotte and Mr. Collins, brings her into contact with Mr. Darcy, and leads to his first proposal. Her second journey takes her to Derby and Pemberley, where she fans the growing flame of her affection for Darcy. The third journey, meanwhile, sends various people in pursuit of Wickham and Lydia, and the journey ends with Darcy tracking them down and saving the Bennet family honor, in the process demonstrating his continued devotion to Elizabeth.

Symbols

Symbols are objects, characters, figures, and colors used to represent abstract ideas or concepts.

Pemberley

Pride and Prejudice is remarkably free of explicit symbolism, which perhaps has something to do with the novel’s reliance on dialogue over description. Nevertheless, Pemberley, Darcy’s estate, sits at the center of the novel, literally and figuratively, as a geographic symbol of the man who owns it. Elizabeth visits it at a time when her feelings toward Darcy are beginning to warm; she is enchanted by its beauty and charm, and by the picturesque countryside, just as she will be charmed, increasingly, by the gifts of its owner. Austen makes the connection explicit when she describes the stream that flows beside the mansion. “In front,” she writes, “a stream of some natural importance was swelled into greater, but without any artificial appearance.” Darcy possesses a “natural importance” that is “swelled” by his arrogance, but which coexists with a genuine honesty and lack of “artificial appearance.” Like the stream, he is neither “formal, nor falsely adorned.” Pemberley even offers a symbol-within-a-symbol for their budding romance: when Elizabeth encounters Darcy on the estate, she is crossing a small bridge, suggesting the broad gulf of misunderstanding and class prejudice that lies between them—and the bridge that their love will build across it.

Chapters 1–4

Summary: Chapters 1–2

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.

The news that a wealthy young gentleman named Charles Bingley has rented the manor known as Netherfield Park causes a great stir in the neighboring village of Longbourn, especially in the Bennet household. The Bennets have five unmarried daughters, and Mrs. Bennet, a foolish and fussy gossip, is the sort who agrees with the novel’s opening words: “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.” She sees Bingley’s arrival as an opportunity for one of the girls to obtain a wealthy spouse, and she therefore insists that her husband call on the new arrival immediately. Mr. Bennet torments his family by pretending to have no interest in doing so, but he eventually meets with Mr. Bingley without their knowing. When he reveals to Mrs. Bennet and his daughters that he has made their new neighbor’s acquaintance, they are overjoyed and excited.

Summary: Chapters 3–4

She is tolerable; but not handsome enough to tempt me.

Eager to learn more, Mrs. Bennet and the girls question Mr. Bennet incessantly. A few days later, Mr. Bingley returns the visit, though he does not meet Mr. Bennet’s daughters. The Bennets invite him to dinner shortly afterward, but he is called away to London. Soon, however, he returns to Netherfield Park with his two sisters, his brother-in-law, and a friend named Darcy.

Mr. Bingley and his guests go to a ball in the nearby town of Meryton. The Bennet sisters attend the ball with their mother. The eldest daughter, Jane, dances twice with Bingley. Within Elizabeth’s hearing, Bingley exclaims to Darcy that Jane is “the most beautiful creature” he has ever beheld. Bingley suggests that Darcy dance with Elizabeth, but Darcy refuses, saying, “she is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me.” He proceeds to declare that he has no interest in women who are “slighted by other men.” Elizabeth takes an immediate and understandable disliking to Darcy. Because of Darcy’s comments and refusal to dance with anyone not rich and well bred, the neighborhood takes a similar dislike; it declares Bingley, on the other hand, to be quite “amiable.”

At the end of the evening, the Bennet women return to their house, where Mrs. Bennet regales her husband with stories from the evening until he insists that she be silent. Upstairs, Jane relates to Elizabeth her surprise that Bingley danced with her twice, and Elizabeth replies that Jane is unaware of her own beauty. Both girls agree that Bingley’s sisters are not well-mannered, but whereas Jane insists that they are charming in close conversation, Elizabeth continues to harbor a dislike for them.

The narrator then provides the reader with Bingley’s background: he inherited a hundred thousand pounds from his father, but for now, in spite of his sisters’ complaints, he lives as a tenant. His friendship with Darcy is “steady,” despite the contrast in their characters, illustrated in their respective reactions to the Meryton ball. Bingley, cheerful and sociable, has an excellent time and is taken with Jane; Darcy, more clever but less tactful, finds the people dull and even criticizes Jane for smiling too often (Bingley’s sisters, on the other hand, find Jane to be “a sweet girl,” and Bingley therefore feels secure in his good opinion of her).

Analysis: Chapters 1–4

The opening sentence of Pride and Prejudice—“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife”—establishes the centrality of advantageous marriage, a fundamental social value of Regency England. The arrival of Mr. Bingley (and news of his fortune) is the event that sets the novel in motion. He delivers the prospect of a marriage of wealth and good connections for the eager Bennet girls. The opening sentence has a subtle, unstated significance. In its declarative and hopeful claim that a wealthy man must be looking for a wife, it hides beneath its surface the truth of such matters: a single woman must be in want of a husband, especially a wealthy one.

The first chapter consists almost entirely of dialogue, a typical instance of Austen’s technique of using the manner in which characters express themselves to reveal their traits and attitudes. Its last paragraph, in which the narrator describes Mr. Bennet as a “mixture of quick parts, sarcastic humour, reserve, and caprice,” and his wife as “a woman of mean understanding, little information, and uncertain temper,” simply confirms the character assessments that the reader has already made based on their conversation: Mrs. Bennett embodies ill breeding and is prone to monotone hysteria; Mr. Bennet is a wit who retreats from his wife’s overly serious demeanor. There is little physical description of the characters in Pride and Prejudice, so the reader’s perception of them is shaped largely by their words. Darcy makes the importance of the verbal explicit at the end of the novel when he tells Elizabeth that he was first attracted to her by “the liveliness of [her] mind.”

The ball at Meryton is important to the structure of the novel since it brings the two couples—Darcy and Elizabeth, Bingley and Jane—together for the first time. Austen’s original title for the novel was First Impressions, and these individuals’ first impressions at the ball initiate the contrasting patterns of the two principal male-female relationships. The relative effortlessness with which Bingley and Jane interact is indicative of their easygoing natures; the obstacles that the novel places in the way of their happiness are in no way caused by Jane or Bingley themselves. Indeed, their feelings for one another seem to change little after the initial attraction—there is no development of their love, only the delay of its consummation. Darcy’s bad behavior, on the other hand, immediately betrays the pride and sense of social superiority that will most hinder him from finding his way to Elizabeth. His snub of her creates a mutual dislike, in contrast to the mutual attraction between Jane and Bingley. Further, while Darcy’s opinion of Elizabeth changes within a few chapters, her (and the reader’s) sense of him as self-important and arrogant remains unaltered until midway through the novel.

Chapters 5–8

Summary: Chapters 5–6

The Bennets’ neighbors are Sir William Lucas, his wife, and their children. The eldest of these children, Charlotte, is Elizabeth’s closest friend. The morning after the ball, the women of the two families discuss the evening. They decide that while Bingley danced with Charlotte first, he considered Jane to be the prettiest of the local girls. The discussion then turns to Mr. Darcy, and Elizabeth states that she will never dance with him; everyone agrees that Darcy, despite his family and fortune, is too proud to be likable.

Bingley’s sisters exchange visits with the Bennets and attempt to befriend Elizabeth and Jane. Meanwhile, Bingley continues to pay attention to Jane, and Elizabeth decides that her sister is “in a way to be very much in love” with him but is concealing it very well. She discusses this with Charlotte Lucas, who comments that if Jane conceals it too well, Bingley may lose interest. Elizabeth says it is better for a young woman to be patient until she is sure of her feelings; Charlotte disagrees, saying that it is best not to know too much about the faults of one’s future husband.

Darcy finds himself attracted to Elizabeth. He begins listening to her conversations at parties, much to her surprise. At one party at the Lucas house, Sir William attempts to persuade Elizabeth and Darcy to dance together, but Elizabeth refuses. Shortly afterward, Darcy tells Bingley’s unmarried sister that “Miss Elizabeth Bennet” is now the object of his admiration.

Summary: Chapters 7–8

The reader learns that Mr. Bennet’s property is entailed, meaning that it must pass to a man after Mr. Bennet’s death and cannot be inherited by any of his daughters. His two youngest children, Catherine (nicknamed Kitty) and Lydia, entertain themselves by beginning a series of visits to their mother’s sister, Mrs. Phillips, in the town of Meryton, and gossiping about the militia stationed there.

One night, while the Bennets are discussing the soldiers over dinner, a note arrives inviting Jane to Netherfield Park for a day. Mrs. Bennet conspires to send Jane by horse rather than coach, knowing that it will rain and that Jane will consequently have to spend the night at Mr. Bingley’s house. Unfortunately, their plan works out too well: Jane is soaked, falls ill, and is forced to remain at Netherfield as an invalid. Elizabeth goes to visit her, hiking over on foot. When she arrives with soaked and dirty stockings she causes quite a stir and is certain that the Bingleys hold her in contempt for her soiled clothes. Jane insists that her sister spend the night, and the Bingleys consent.

That night, while Elizabeth visits Jane, the Bingley sisters poke fun at the Bennets. Darcy and Mr. Bingley defend them, though Darcy concedes, first, that he would not want his sister ever to go out on such a walking expedition and, second, that the Bennets’ lack of wealth and family make them poor marriage prospects. When Elizabeth returns to the room, the discussion turns to Darcy’s library at his ancestral home of Pemberley and then to Darcy’s opinions on what constitutes an “accomplished woman.” After he and Bingley list the attributes that such a woman would possess, Elizabeth declares that she “never saw such capacity, and taste, and application, and elegance, as you describe, united,” implying that Darcy is far too demanding.

Analysis: Chapters 5–8

The introduction of the Lucases allows Austen to comment on the pretensions that accompany social rank. Recently knighted, Sir William is described as having felt his new distinction “a little too strongly” and moved away from town in order to “think with pleasure of his own importance.” Sir William remains a sympathetic figure despite his snobbery, but the same cannot be said of Bingley’s sister, whose class-consciousness becomes increasingly evident. Awareness of class difference is a pressing reality in Pride and Prejudice. This awareness colors the attitudes that characters of different social status feel toward one another. This awareness cuts both ways: as Darcy and Elizabeth demonstrate, the well-born and the socially inferior prove equally likely to harbor prejudices that blind them to others’ true natures.

Charlotte Lucas’s observation that Jane does not display her affection for Bingley illuminates the careful structure of the novel. Darcy notices the same reticence in Jane, but he assumes that she is not in love with Bingley. Charlotte’s conversation with Elizabeth, then, foreshadows Darcy’s justification for separating Bingley from Jane. Similarly, the author prepares the reader for subsequent developments in other relationships: Charlotte’s belief that it is better not to know one’s husband too well foreshadows her “practical” marriage to Collins, while Elizabeth’s more romantic view anticipates her refusal of two proposals that might have been accepted by others.

As in Sense and Sensibility, Austen emphasizes the matter of entailment in order to create a sense of urgency about the search for a husband. Though Jane is the eldest child in a fairly well-off family, her status as a woman precludes her from enjoying the success her father has experienced. When her father dies, the estate will turn over to Mr. Collins, the oldest male relative. The mention of entailment stresses not just the value society places on making a good marriage but also the way that the structures of society make a good marriage a prerequisite for a “good” life (the connotation of “good” being wealthy). Austen thus offers commentary on the plight of women. Through both law and prescribed gender roles, Austen’s society leaves women few options for the advancement or betterment of their situations.

Language proves of central importance to relationships in Pride and Prejudice, as Austen uses conversation to reveal character. The interactions between Darcy and Elizabeth primarily take the forms of banter and argument, and Elizabeth’s words provide Darcy access to a deeper aspect of her character, one that appeals to him and allows him to begin to move past his initial prejudice. While their disagreement over the possibility of a “perfect” woman reinforces his apparent egotism and self-absorption, it also gives Elizabeth a chance to shine in debate. Whereas she does not live up to Darcy’s physical and social requirements for a perfect woman, she exceeds those concerning the “liveliness” of the perfect woman’s mind.

The novel begins to undermine the reader’s negative impression of Darcy by contrasting him with Miss Bingley. Though his arrogance remains unpleasant, he is unwilling to join in Miss Bingley’s snobbish dismissals of Elizabeth and her family. Like Lady Catherine de Bourgh later on, Miss Bingley serves as the voice of “society,” criticizing Elizabeth’s middle-class status and lack of social connections. Also like Lady Catherine, her primary motivation is jealousy: just as Lady Catherine wants Darcy to marry her niece, Miss Bingley wants him for herself. Both women exhibit a spite colored by self-interest.

Chapters 9–12

Summary: Chapters 9–10

The next day, Mrs. Bennet arrives with Lydia and Catherine to visit Jane. To Elizabeth’s dismay, Mrs. Bennet spends much of her visit trying to convince Bingley to remain at Netherfield. During her stay, Mrs. Bennet makes a general fool of herself, first by comparing country life to the city and then by prattling on about Jane’s beauty. Near the end of the visit, fifteen-year-old Lydia asks Bingley whether he will hold a ball at Netherfield Park. He replies that he must wait until Jane is fully recovered to hold a ball.

In the evening, Elizabeth observes Miss Bingley piling compliments upon Darcy as he writes to his sister. The conversation turns to Bingley’s style of letter writing and then to Bingley’s impetuous behavior, which entangles Elizabeth and Darcy in an argument over the virtues of accepting the advice of friends. Afterward, Miss Bingley plays “a lively Scotch air” on the pianoforte, and Elizabeth again refuses to dance with Darcy. Her refusal only increases his admiration, and he considers that “were it not for the inferiority of her connections, he should be in some danger.” Miss Bingley, observing his attraction, becomes jealous and spends the following day making fun of Elizabeth’s family, inviting Darcy to imagine them connected to his proud and respectable line.

That night, Miss Bingley begins reading in imitation of Darcy—a further attempt to impress him. She chooses her book merely because it is the second volume of the one that Darcy is reading. Of course, being uninterested in literature, she is quickly bored and says loudly, “I declare after all there is no enjoyment like reading! How much sooner one tires of any thing than of a book!—When I have a house of my own, I shall be miserable if I have not an excellent library.”

Summary: Chapters 11–12

Miss Bingley spends the following night in similar fashion, trying to attract Darcy’s attention: first by reading, then by criticizing the foolishness of balls, and finally by walking about the room. Only when she asks Elizabeth to walk with her, however, does Darcy look up, and then the two women discuss the possibility of finding something to ridicule in his character. He states that his only fault is resentment—“my good opinion once lost is lost forever.” Elizabeth replies that it is hard to laugh at a “propensity to hate every body,” and Miss Bingley, observing Elizabeth’s monopolization of Darcy’s attention once again, insists on music.

The next morning, Elizabeth writes to her mother to say that she and Jane are ready to return home. Mrs. Bennet wishes Jane to stay longer with Bingley, and she refuses to send the carriage. Elizabeth, anxious to be away, insists on borrowing Bingley’s carriage and she and her sister leave Netherfield Park. Darcy is glad to see them go, as Elizabeth attracts him “more than he liked,” considering her unsuitability as a prospect for matrimony.

Analysis: Chapters 9–12

The continuation of Elizabeth’s visit to Netherfield accentuates the respective attitudes of Miss Bingley and Darcy toward their guest: jealousy on the part of the former, admiration on that of the latter. Elizabeth poses a separate threat to each of them. Miss Bingley fears her as a rival for Darcy’s affection, and Darcy fears that he will succumb to his growing attraction to her despite the impracticality of marriage to one of such inferior rank and family. The anxiety created by class-consciousness thereby becomes a self-perpetuating, warping institution. Darcy, concerned that he may affect his own reputation by linking it to the poor reputation of another, tries to avoid talking to Elizabeth entirely on the final day she spends at Netherfield. He must tie himself up in a sort of logical knot; class-consciousness transforms Elizabeth, who is perfect for him, as something to be feared. Miss Bingley demonstrates how, once a class system develops, it maintains its coherence. Miss Bingley feels threatened by Elizabeth and knows she cannot compete with Elizabeth on the basis of her virtues or talents. Her means of defense is to bring class-anxiety to bear; by the luck of her birth, Miss Bingley has been stamped as superior. She now uses the entire social institution of class to maintain her superiority, even though all logic and experience show that superiority to be a lie.

In these chapters, the narrator portrays Miss Bingley as Elizabeth’s opposite—foolish where the heroine is quick-witted, desperate for Darcy’s attention while Elizabeth disdains him. Bingley’s sister spends her energy attempting to conform to what she perceives to be Darcy’s idea of a perfect woman. Her embarrassingly obvious flirtation makes her a figure of amusement for the reader—she is a parody of the man-hungry, snobbish, upper-class woman. By toadying up to Darcy, she ends up losing him to Elizabeth, despite the fact that Elizabeth does not make any attempt to appeal to him. By showing Miss Bingley as a scheming rival for Darcy’s love whose tactics are uninspired, the novel highlights Elizabeth’s originality and independence of spirit, and suggests that these, not the laundry list of accomplishments that Darcy gives, are the qualities that Darcy truly desires in a woman. His rejection of Miss Bingley’s advances, then, serves to improve the reader’s opinion of Darcy, as his ability to admire a social inferior separates him from ultra-elitist snobs such as Miss Bingley.

Chapters 13–17

Summary: Chapters 13–15

The morning after his daughters return from Netherfield, Mr. Bennet informs his wife of an imminent visit from a Mr. William Collins, who will inherit Mr. Bennet’s property. Mr. Collins, the reader learns from a letter he sends to the Bennets, is a clergyman whom the wealthy noblewoman Lady Catherine de Bourgh has recently selected to serve her parish. His letter, as Mr. Bennet puts it, contains “a mixture of servility and self-importance,” and his personality is similar. He arrives at Longbourn and apologizes for being entitled to the Bennets’ property but spends much of his time admiring and complimenting the house that will one day be his.

At dinner, Mr. Collins lavishes praise on Lady Catherine de Bourgh and her daughter, a lovely invalid who will one day inherit the de Bourgh fortune. After the meal, he is asked to read to the girls, but he refuses to read a novel and reads from a book of sermons instead. Lydia becomes so bored that she interrupts his reading with more gossip about the soldiers. Mr. Collins is offended and abandons the reading, choosing to play backgammon with Mr. Bennet.

Mr. Collins is in search of a wife and when Mrs. Bennet hints that Jane may soon be engaged, he fixes his attention on Elizabeth. The day after his arrival, he accompanies the sisters to the town of Meryton, where they encounter one of Lydia’s officer friends, Mr. Denny. Denny introduces his friend, Mr. Wickham, who has just joined the militia, and the young women find Wickham charming. While they converse, Darcy and Bingley happen by, and Elizabeth notices that Wickham and Darcy are extremely cold to each other.

Darcy and Bingley depart, and the company pays a visit to Mrs. Phillips, Mrs. Bennet’s sister, who invites the Bennets and Mr. Collins to dine at her house the following night. The girls convince her to invite Wickham as well. They return home and Mr. Collins spends the evening telling Mrs. Bennet how greatly her sister’s good breeding impresses him.

Summary: Chapters 16–17

At the Phillips’s dinner party, Wickham proves the center of attention and Mr. Collins fades into the background. Eventually, Wickham and Elizabeth find themselves in conversation, and she hears his story: he had planned on entering the ministry, rather than the militia, but was unable to do so because he lacked money. Darcy’s father, Wickham says, had intended to provide for him, but Darcy used a loophole in the will to keep the money for himself.

Elizabeth, who instinctively likes and trusts Wickham, accepts his story immediately. Later in the evening, while she is watching Mr. Collins, Wickham tells her that Darcy is Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s nephew. He describes Lady Catherine as “dictatorial and insolent.” Elizabeth leaves the party thinking of nothing “but Mr. Wickham, and what he had told her, all the way home.” She decides that Darcy deserves nothing but contempt.

Elizabeth expresses these feelings to Jane the next day, and Jane defends Darcy, saying that there is probably a misunderstanding between the two men. Elizabeth will have none of it, and when Bingley invites the neighborhood to a ball the following Tuesday, she looks forward to seeing Wickham. Unfortunately, she is forced to promise the first two dances to Mr. Collins.

Analysis: Chapters 13–17

These chapters introduce Mr. Collins, the target of Jane Austen’s greatest satire, and Wickham, the novel’s most villainous character. Collins, a parody of a serious cleric, serves as a vehicle for criticism of the practice of entailment, by which the law forces Mr. Bennet to leave his property to such a ridiculous man instead of his own daughters. Collins functions as another example of Austen’s criticism of snobbery. He differs, however, from Miss Bingley and Lady de Bourgh in that he is not snobbish because of his own rank; rather, he is snobbish by association. He is a man who believes wholeheartedly in class, even though he gains only the second helpings of its benefits. And in order to receive those benefits, he must toady himself to Lady de Bourgh. Rather than feel embarrassment at his behavior, he believes so strongly in the value conferred upon a person by class that he is full of self-importance because he has a noblewoman as his patroness.

Additionally, Collins’s long, foolish speeches render him a prime example of Austen’s talent for making stupidity comical. His absurdity increases as the story progresses, but even when the reader first meets him, he reveals himself to be so full of self-importance and exaggerated politeness that Mr. Bennet cannot resist making fun of him (Elizabeth’s father suggests that Collins’s pretense runs even deeper when he asks if his compliments are thought up in advance). With no sense of how foolish he sounds—none of the ridiculous characters in Pride and Prejudice are aware of their own absurdity—Mr. Collins replies that his flattering remarks “arise chiefly from what is passing at the time, and though I sometimes amuse myself with suggesting and arranging such elegant compliments as may be adapted to ordinary occasions, I always wish to give them as unstudied an air as possible.” The reader can only agree with Mr. Bennet that “his cousin was as absurd” as he had hoped.

The arrival of Collins immediately precedes the first appearance of Wickham, and the clergyman’s foolishness contrasts with Wickham’s ability to charm. Wickham himself is one of the only male characters described by Austen as being extremely good-looking: his appeal exists only on the surface, but it is an attractive surface. This superficial appeal is crucial because it makes his story about Darcy’s mistreatment of him believable, at least to Elizabeth. Darcy’s pride has been obvious from his first appearance in the novel, but Elizabeth’s decision to trust Wickham introduces her “prejudice” into the story. The reader may wonder about a man who tells self-pitying stories about his own life to a woman he barely knows, but Elizabeth seems to have few doubts—a testament, again, to the power of “first impressions” that is so important in the novel. She dislikes Darcy the first time she meets him. In contrast, she likes Wickham at their first acquaintance, leading her to believe his story even without hearing Darcy’s side of it, and against Jane’s greater sensibility.

These chapters also bring the reader to Mrs. Phillips’s house for the first time. Mrs. Phillips is less shrill than her sister, Mrs. Bennet, but remains another low-class connection for the Bennet sisters to live down. Mr. Phillips is a Meryton attorney, which places him in a significantly lower station than the Darcys and Bingleys of the world.

Chapters 18–23

Summary: Chapter 18

Much to Elizabeth’s dismay, Wickham does not attend the ball. Mr. Denny tells Elizabeth and Lydia that Darcy’s presence keeps Wickham away from Netherfield. Elizabeth’s unhappiness increases during two clumsy dances with Mr. Collins and reaches its peak when she finds herself dancing with Darcy. Their conversation is awkward, especially when she mentions Wickham, a subject Darcy clearly wishes to avoid. At the end of the dance, Elizabeth encounters Miss Bingley, who warns her not to trust Wickham. Elizabeth assumes that Bingley’s sister is only being spiteful, however, and chooses to ignore the warning. Jane then tells her sister that she has asked Bingley for information about Wickham. But everything Bingley knows about the officer comes from Darcy and is therefore (in Elizabeth’s mind) suspect.

Mr. Collins, meanwhile, realizes that Darcy is related to his patroness, Lady Catherine. In spite of Elizabeth’s best attempts to dissuade him, he introduces himself. Darcy treats Mr. Collins with contempt, but Mr. Collins is so obtuse that he does not notice.

At supper, Mrs. Bennet discusses the hoped-for union of Bingley and Jane so loudly that Elizabeth criticizes her, noting that Darcy is listening. Mrs. Bennet, however, ignores Elizabeth and continues rambling about the impending marriage. At the end of the meal, Mary performs a terrible song for the company, and Mr. Collins delivers a speech of epic and absurd pomposity. Elizabeth feels that her family has completely embarrassed itself.

Summary: Chapters 19–21

The next day, Mr. Collins proposes marriage to Elizabeth, assuming that she will be overjoyed. She turns him down as gently as possible, but he insists that she will change her mind shortly. Mrs. Bennet, who regards a match between her daughter and Mr. Collins as advantageous, is infuriated. She tells Elizabeth that if she does not marry Mr. Collins she will never see her again, and she asks Mr. Bennet to order Elizabeth to marry the clergyman. Her husband refuses and, befitting his wit and his desire to annoy his wife, actually informs his daughter that if she were to marry Mr. Collins, he would refuse to see her again.

A few days after the refused proposal, Elizabeth encounters Wickham in Meryton. He apologizes for his absence from the ball and walks her home, where Elizabeth introduces him to her parents. That same day, a letter arrives for Jane from Miss Bingley, informing her that Bingley and his party are returning to the city indefinitely and implying that Bingley plans to marry Darcy’s sister, Georgiana. Elizabeth comforts Jane, telling her that this turn of events is all Miss Bingley’s doing, not her brother’s, and that Bingley will return to Netherfield.

Summary: Chapters 22–23

Suddenly, news arrives that Mr. Collins has proposed to Charlotte Lucas and that Elizabeth’s friend has accepted. Elizabeth is shocked, despite Charlotte’s insistence that the match is the best for which she could hope. Mrs. Bennet, of course, is furious with her daughter for allowing a husband to escape her, and as the days go by with no word from Bingley, Jane’s marriage prospects, too, begin to appear limited.

Analysis: Chapters 18–23

Elizabeth’s prejudice against Darcy survives these chapters, despite Miss Bingley’s warning. It is difficult to blame Elizabeth for not seeing the truth, however. Austen has established Miss Bingley as a spiteful, treacherous figure in the preceding chapters, and Elizabeth has no reason to value her warning about Wickham more than the trust she instinctively places in him. Elizabeth’s failure to ask Darcy about the matter directly while they are dancing is less excusable, however: she brings the issue up in a manner that assumes Wickham to be telling the truth (an assumption that is her key error). Unsurprisingly, Darcy is unwilling to talk given those terms.

The absurdity of Collins’s snobbery is played to the hilt when he approaches Darcy and fails to notice the contempt with which Darcy replies to his introduction. Disdain and rejection do not have a place in Mr. Collins’s perception of himself, by which his connection to Lady Catherine guarantees him a lofty place in society. His behavior in proposing to Elizabeth further illustrates his obtuseness. Austen tends to describe proposals in full only when they meet with rejection, primarily because rejections have so many comic and dramatic possibilities. Elizabeth’s later rebuff of Darcy constitutes a thrilling moment in the story; here, Mr. Collins’s lengthy speech is an opportunity for Austen to make him completely ridiculous. His refusal to accept “no” as an answer is, of course, unsurprising. His complete self-absorption blinds him to any answer other than “yes.”

Mr. Collins’s subsequent proposal to Charlotte Lucas, on the other hand, is far from comic because Charlotte accepts. Readers often argue that Pride and Prejudice and the rest of Austen’s novels are unrealistic in their frequent portrayals of happy marriages. Charlotte’s marriage to Collins injects a grim note into the romantic happiness that Elizabeth will later find. Indeed, one can interpret Charlotte’s fate as a component of Austen’s critique of a male-dominated society that leaves unmarried women without a future. Whereas Elizabeth is an idealist who will not marry solely for money, to either a fool (Collins) or a man she dislikes (Darcy, at first), Charlotte, six years older than her friend and lacking a fortune, is a pragmatist: she must capitalize on any opportunity that presents itself in order to avoid the societal scorn that accompanies old maid status. As Austen says of Charlotte: she “accepted [Mr. Collins] solely from the pure and disinterested desire of an establishment.”

While the novel ultimately delivers Jane and Elizabeth to happiness, at this point in the story it seems as though the Bennet girls are losing out in their respective pursuits of husbands. When Charlotte says, “I am not a romantic you know . . . I ask only a comfortable home,” it seems as though romanticism compels Elizabeth to ask for too much, to seek more than her society is willing to grant her.

Jane must now cope with the snobbery of Miss Bingley, who is apparently not content to disparage the Bennets solely orally, just as Elizabeth earlier faced Miss Bingley’s scorn in reaction to Darcy’s attraction to her. The suggestion in her letters that Bingley may marry Darcy’s sister makes it clear that Miss Bingley, like Darcy himself, considers Jane too “low” to marry her brother. Indeed, while Darcy is later blamed for the temporary separation of Bingley and Jane, Miss Bingley’s words and behavior suggest that she, too, plays a role in it.

Chapters 24–26

Summary: Chapters 24–25

Miss Bingley sends another letter, this one praising the beauty and charm of Darcy’s sister. The letter further states that Bingley will remain in London all winter, putting an end to the Bennets’s hopes that he might return to Netherfield. Elizabeth is very upset by this news and complains to Jane that people lack “merit or sense,” referring to Bingley for apparently abandoning Jane, and to Charlotte Lucas for agreeing to marry Mr. Collins. Meanwhile, Mrs. Bennet’s hopes of seeing her daughters wed fade rapidly. Mr. Bennet seems amused: he encourages Elizabeth’s interest in Wickham, so that she, like her sister, can be “crossed in love.”

Mrs. Bennet’s brother, Mr. Gardiner, comes to stay with the family. Immediately recognizing Jane’s sadness, the Gardiners invite Jane to accompany them back to London when they finish their visit, hoping that a change in scenery might raise Jane’s spirits. Jane accepts, excited also that in London she might get an opportunity to see Mr. Bingley. In the course of evenings spent with various friends and the military officers, Mrs. Gardiner notices that Elizabeth and Wickham, though not in any serious sort of love, show a definite preference for each other. Because of his lack of money, Mrs. Gardiner does not think of Wickham as a good match for Elizabeth, though she is fond of Wickham’s stories of his life around Darcy’s estate at Pemberley, which is near where Mrs. Gardiner grew up.

Summary: Chapter 26

At the first opportunity, Mrs. Gardiner warns Elizabeth that Wickham’s lack of money makes him an unsuitable match. She further says that Elizabeth should be careful not to embarrass her father by becoming attached to Wickham. Elizabeth responds carefully, stating that she will try to keep Wickham from falling in love with her and that she devoutly wishes not to upset her father, but concluding that all she can do is her best.

After Jane and the Gardiners depart for London, Mr. Collins returns from a visit to his parish for his wedding. Elizabeth reluctantly promises to visit Charlotte after her marriage. Meanwhile, Jane’s letters from London recount how she called on Miss Bingley and how Miss Bingley was cold to her and visited her only briefly in return. Jane believes that Bingley’s sister views her as an obstacle to her brother’s marrying Georgiana Darcy.

Mrs. Gardiner writes to Elizabeth to ask about Wickham, and Elizabeth replies that his attentions have shifted to another girl, a Miss King, who has just inherited a large fortune. This turn of events touches Elizabeth’s heart “but slightly . . . and her vanity was satisfied with believing that she would have been his only choice, had fortune permitted it.” The narrator then goes on to point out that Elizabeth’s equanimity about Wickham trying to marry for money is somewhat out of joint with her disgust that Charlotte would do the same thing. As for Elizabeth, the very limited pain that Wickham’s transfer of affections causes her makes her believe she was never in love with him.

Analysis: Chapters 24–26

The first three chapters of Book Two introduce the Gardiners, who prove to be Elizabeth’s most sensible relatives. They often seem to act as surrogate parents to Jane and Elizabeth. The nurturing and supportive Gardiners take Jane to London to distract her from her unhappiness over Bingley. However amusing the reader finds him, Mr. Bennet, in contrast, seems to have no real understanding of when his children even need help. He prefers withdrawing into the peace of his library to coping with the problems facing his family. In particular, Mr. Bennet’s amusement at his wife’s distress and his suggestion that Elizabeth develop a crush on Wickham emphasize the extent to which he has abandoned the paternal role in the family. His wit and intelligence make him a sympathetic character in many ways, but he seems to absent himself from important matters. Later in the novel, his negligence allows Lydia to go to Brighton for the summer and then to elope with Wickham. At this point in the novel, Austen compels her reader to contrast Mr. Bennet’s unhelpful suggestion about Wickham with Mrs. Gardiner’s recognition that the officer is not a suitable match for her niece.

Mrs. Gardiner’s observation about Wickham raises an interesting irony. Wickham is not suitable for Elizabeth for the same reason Elizabeth is not suitable for Darcy. Elizabeth’s response to Mrs. Gardiner’s warning is equivocal, suggesting first that she recognizes this irony but also that she is aware that, though social strictures on marriage might be illogical and unromantic, were she to break them she would be negatively affecting her family. Elizabeth and Austen are both saved from having to worry about this moral conundrum when Wickham shifts his affections to the suddenly wealthy Miss King. The narrator’s comment that Elizabeth’s feelings about Wickham’s decision to marry for money do not match her feelings about Charlotte’s similar decision imply that there is a double standard at work in Elizabeth’s logic: though she seems to consider it acceptable for men to marry for money, she believes so strongly in love that she believes her female friends should ignore such considerations.

While Elizabeth may forgive Wickham for chasing Ms. King’s money, the reader is more likely to see him as a simple fortune hunter. By establishing this aspect of his character, Austen prepares the reader for the revelation that Wickham attempted to elope with Darcy’s sister in order to obtain her fortune. In this seemingly minor fact, which Elizabeth herself seems to brush aside, resides a clue to Wickham’s generally poor character.

Chapters 27–34

Summary: Chapters 27–29

In March, Elizabeth travels with Sir William Lucas to visit Charlotte and her new husband, Mr. Collins. On the way, they spend a night in London with Jane and the Gardiners. Elizabeth and Mrs. Gardiner speak about Wickham’s attempts to win over Miss King. Mrs. Gardiner is critical of him, calling him a “mercenary,” but Elizabeth defends him, calling him prudent. Before Elizabeth leaves London, the Gardiners invite her to accompany them on a tour, perhaps out to the lakes. Elizabeth gleefully accepts.

When Elizabeth arrives in Hunsford, the location of Mr. Collins’s parish, the clergyman greets her enthusiastically, as does Charlotte. On the second day of her visit, she sees Miss de Bourgh, Lady de Bourgh’s daughter, from a window. The girl is “sickly and cross,” Elizabeth decides, and she imagines with some satisfaction Darcy’s marrying such an unappealing person. Miss de Bourgh invites them to dine at Rosings, a mansion that awes even Sir William Lucas with its grandeur.

At dinner, Lady Catherine dominates the conversation. After the meal, she grills Elizabeth concerning her upbringing, deciding that the Bennet sisters have been badly reared. The failure of Mrs. Bennet to hire a governess, the girls’ lack of musical and artistic talents, and Elizabeth’s own impudence are all mentioned before the end of the evening.

Summary: Chapters 30–32

Sir William departs after a week, satisfied with his daughter’s contentment. Shortly thereafter, Darcy and a cousin named Colonel Fitzwilliam visit their aunt at Rosings. When Mr. Collins pays his respects, the two men accompany him back to his parsonage and visit briefly with Elizabeth and Charlotte.

Another invitation to Rosings follows, and Colonel Fitzwilliam pays special attention to Elizabeth during the dinner. After the meal, she plays the pianoforte and pokes fun at Darcy, informing Colonel Fitzwilliam of his bad behavior at the Meryton ball, at which he refused to dance with her. Lady Catherine lectures Elizabeth on the proper manner of playing the instrument, forcing Elizabeth to remain at the keyboard until the end of the evening.

The next day, Darcy visits the parsonage and tells Elizabeth that Bingley is unlikely to spend much of his time at Netherfield Park in the future. The rest of their conversation is awkward, and when Darcy departs, Charlotte declares that he must be in love with Elizabeth, or he would never have called in such an odd manner. In the days that follow, both Darcy and his cousin visit frequently, however, and eventually Charlotte surmises that it is perhaps Colonel Fitzwilliam who is interested in Elizabeth.

Summary: Chapters 33–34

“My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”

Elizabeth encounters Darcy and his cousin frequently in her walks through the countryside. During one conversation, Colonel Fitzwilliam mentions that Darcy claims to have recently saved a friend from an imprudent marriage. Elizabeth conjectures that the “friend” was Bingley and the “imprudent marriage” a marriage to Jane. She views Darcy as the agent of her sister’s unhappiness.

Alone at the parsonage, Elizabeth is still mulling over what Fitzwilliam has told her when Darcy enters and abruptly declares his love for her. His proposal of marriage dwells at length upon her social inferiority, and Elizabeth’s initially polite rejection turns into an angry accusation. She demands to know if he sabotaged Jane’s romance with Bingley; he admits that he did. She then repeats Wickham’s accusations and declares that she thinks Darcy to be proud and selfish and that marriage to him is utterly unthinkable. Darcy grimly departs.

Analysis: Chapters 27–34

Mrs. Gardiner tends to function as the voice of reason in the novel, and her criticism of Wickham counters Elizabeth’s unwillingness to question his purposes. Mrs. Gardiner ascribes a mercenary motive to Wickham’s interest in Miss King, whereas Elizabeth defends him by asking her aunt “what . . . the difference [is] in matrimonial affairs, between the mercenary and the prudent motive.” This does seem a fine question, and not one her aunt can readily answer. But in asking the question, Elizabeth seems to violate her own principles—she herself has already refused to marry Mr. Collins for social advantage, and she does so again when Darcy proposes. It appears that sympathy for Wickham leads Elizabeth to betray her conscience.

The visit to Rosings introduces Lady Catherine de Bourgh, who serves as another vehicle for Austen’s criticism of snobbery. Lady Catherine’s favorite pastime is ordering everyone else about (“Elizabeth found that nothing was beneath this great Lady’s attention, which could furnish her with an occasion of dictating to others”). The only individual who dares to stand up to the haughty Lady Catherine is Elizabeth (unsurprisingly, as elsewhere she sees through the pretensions of pompous and arrogant people like Mr. Collins and Miss Bingley). When Lady Catherine criticizes the Bennet sisters’ upbringing, Elizabeth defends her family, “suspect[ing] herself to be the first creature who had ever dared to trifle with so much dignified impertinence.” The same dignified impertinence with which Elizabeth combats Lady Catherine’s preconceptions reappears later in her refusal to let Lady Catherine prevent her from marrying Darcy.

Darcy’s proposal is the turning point of Pride and Prejudice. Until he asks her to marry him, Elizabeth’s main preoccupation with Darcy centers around dislike; after the proposal, the novel chronicles the slow, steady growth of her love. At the moment, however, Elizabeth’s attitude toward Darcy corresponds to the judgments she has already made about him. She refuses him because she thinks that he is too arrogant, part of her first impression of him at the Meryton ball, and because of the role she believes he played in disinheriting Wickham and his admitted role in disrupting the romance between Jane and Bingley.

Just as Elizabeth yields to her prejudices (she has not yet heard Darcy’s side of the story), Darcy allows his pride to guide him. In his proposal to Elizabeth, he spends more time emphasizing Elizabeth’s lower rank than actually asking her to marry him (“he was not more eloquent on the subject of tenderness than of pride”). This turning point thus occurs with the two central characters occupying seemingly irreconcilable emotional locations, leaving the reader, in the words of critic Douglas Bush, “almost exactly in the middle of the book, wondering if and how the chasm . . . can be bridged.”

Chapters 35–42

Summary: Chapters 35–36

The following day, Elizabeth takes a walk and runs into Darcy, who gives her a letter. He walks away, and Elizabeth begins to read it. In the letter, Darcy again admits to attempting to break Bingley’s romance with Jane, but he defends himself by arguing that Jane’s attachment to his friend was not yet strong enough to lead to heartbreak. He adds that he did not wish Bingley to involve himself with the social encumbrance of marrying into the Bennet family, with its lack of both wealth and propriety. In relation to Wickham, the letter states that Darcy did provide for him after his father’s death and that the root of their quarrel lay in an attempt by Wickham to elope with Darcy’s sister, Georgiana, in the hopes of obtaining her fortune.

Elizabeth is stunned by this revelation, and while she dismisses some of what Darcy says about Jane and Bingley, his account of Wickham’s doings causes her to reappraise the officer and decide that she was probably wrong to trust him. Her feelings toward Darcy suddenly enter into flux.

Summary: Chapters 37–39

Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam leave Rosings. A week later, Elizabeth departs the parsonage, despite Lady Catherine’s insistence that she stay another two weeks. Before Elizabeth leaves, Mr. Collins informs her that he and Charlotte seem to be made for one another (which is clearly not true). He wishes Elizabeth the same happiness in marriage that he himself enjoys.

After a short stay at the Gardiners’s London house, Elizabeth, joined by Jane, returns home. The two are met by Catherine and Lydia, who talk of nothing but the soldiers as they ride home in their father’s coach. The regiment is to be sent to Brighton for the summer, and the two girls are hoping to convince their parents to summer there also. In the course of the conversation, Lydia mentions, with some satisfaction, that Wickham is no longer interested in Miss King, who has gone to Liverpool to stay with her uncle.

Mr. and Mrs. Bennet welcome their daughters home, and the Lucases come for dinner. Lydia prattles about the exciting coach ride and insists that the girls go to Meryton to see the officers. Not wanting to see Wickham, Elizabeth refuses.

Summary: Chapters 40–42

Elizabeth tells Jane the truth about Wickham. They debate whether to expose him publicly, ultimately deciding against it. Meanwhile, Mrs. Bennet continues to bemoan the loss of Mr. Bingley as a husband for Jane and voices her displeasure at the happy marriage of Charlotte and Mr. Collins. Lydia is invited to spend the summer in Brighton by the wife of a Colonel Forster. Mr. Bennet allows her to go, assuming that the colonel will keep her out of trouble.

Elizabeth sees Wickham once more before his regiment departs, and they discuss Darcy in a guarded manner. Elizabeth avoids any mention of what she has discovered. The soldiers leave Meryton for Brighton; Kitty is distraught to see them go and even more distraught that her sister is allowed to follow them.

In July, Elizabeth accompanies the Gardiners on a tour of the Derbyshire countryside, and their travels take them close to Darcy’s manor, Pemberley. Hearing that Darcy is not in the neighborhood, she agrees to take a tour of the estate.

Analysis: Chapters 35–42

Darcy’s letter begins a humbling process for both Elizabeth and him, which results in a maturation of each of their attitudes toward the other. In Darcy’s case, the rejection of his proposal strikes a blow to his pride and compels him to respond to Elizabeth’s anger. The resulting letter reveals to Elizabeth how she misjudged both him and Wickham. With the extent of her mistaken prejudice suddenly apparent, she is humbled enough to begin to look at Darcy in a new light.

Some critics maintain that Darcy’s letter is unrealistic, contending that such a proud and reserved man would never reveal so many details of his private life. In this view, the letter functions primarily as an artificial device through which Austen is able to introduce a large quantity of information while vindicating Darcy. One can argue, however, that the “dreadful bitterness of spirit” in which Darcy claims to have written the letter explains its uncharacteristic nature. Regardless of its realism, the letter serves its purpose: it reveals the truth about Wickham’s relationship to Darcy and consequently shifts sympathy from Wickham to Darcy. It is interesting to note that the idea of a man eloping with a young woman was clichéd in the literature of Austen’s era; nevertheless, its appearance in Pride and Prejudiceserves a vital function, as it later provides Darcy with a motive (besides his love of Elizabeth) for helping Lydia after she elopes with Wickham.

After the reception of the letter, the novel contrives to separate Darcy and Elizabeth, giving each of them space in which to adjust their feelings and behavior. In the meantime, Austen lays the groundwork for Lydia’s whirlwind romance with Wickham and establishes a contrast between Elizabeth’s maturity concerning Darcy and Lydia’s girlish imprudence. Whereas Elizabeth assumes a passive stance in matters of love, consenting to go to Pemberley only because she thinks Darcy will not be there, Lydia actively pursues her beloved officers and stakes her claim to Wickham now that he has lost interest in Miss King: “I will answer for it that he never cared three straws for her.”

That Mr. Bennet is unaware of Lydia’s infatuation with the officer and permits her to follow the militia to Brighton reminds us of his irresponsible detachment from family life. Because of their decision not to expose Wickham, Jane and Elizabeth are also partly responsible for Lydia’s imminent romance. Darcy maintains a similar silence about Wickham’s past, which brings him into the beginnings of an alignment with Elizabeth.

Chapters 43–45

Summary: Chapter 43

. . . and at that moment she felt that to be mistress of Pemberley might be something!

As Elizabeth tours the beautiful estate of Pemberley with the Gardiners, she imagines what it would be like to be mistress there, as Darcy’s wife. The housekeeper, Mrs. Reynolds, shows them portraits of Darcy and Wickham and relates that Darcy, in his youth, was “the sweetest, most generous-hearted boy in the world.” She adds that he is the kindest of masters: “I have never had a cross word from him in my life.” Elizabeth is surprised to hear such an agreeable description of a man she considers unbearably arrogant.

While Elizabeth and the Gardiners continue to explore the grounds, Darcy himself suddenly appears. He joins them in their walk, proving remarkably polite. Elizabeth is immediately embarrassed at having come to Pemberley after the events of recent months, and she assures Darcy that she came only because she thought that he was away. Darcy tells her that he has just arrived to prepare his home for a group of guests that includes the Bingleys and his own sister, Georgiana. He asks Elizabeth if she would like to meet Georgiana, and Elizabeth replies that she would. After Darcy leaves them, the Gardiners comment on his good looks and good manners, so strikingly divergent from the account of Darcy’s character that Elizabeth has given them.

Summary: Chapters 44–45

The next day, Darcy and Georgiana, who is pretty but very shy, visit Elizabeth at her inn. Bingley joins them, and after a brief visit, they invite Elizabeth and the Gardiners, who perceive that Darcy is in love with their niece, to dine at Pemberley. The following morning, Elizabeth and Mrs. Gardiner visit Pemberley to call on Miss Darcy. Bingley’s sisters are both present; when Darcy enters the room, Miss Bingley makes a spiteful comment to Elizabeth, noting that the departure of the militia from Meryton “must be a great loss to your family.” Elizabeth dodges the subject of Wickham. This deflection proves fortunate given the presence of Georgiana, as references to the man with whom she almost eloped would embarrass her.

After the guests depart, Miss Bingley attempts to criticize Elizabeth to Darcy, and makes a light remark about how he once thought Elizabeth “rather pretty.” Darcy replies that he now considers Elizabeth “one of the handsomest women of my acquaintance.”

Analysis: Chapters 43–45

Elizabeth’s visit to Pemberley constitutes a critical step in her progress toward marrying Darcy. The house itself is representative, even a symbol, of its owner—the narrator describes it as a “large, handsome, stone building, standing well on rising ground . . . in front, a stream of some natural importance was swelled into greater, but without any artificial appearance. Its banks were neither formal, nor falsely adorned.” Darcy is similarly large and handsome, elevated socially just as his house is elevated physically. The description of the way the stream’s “natural importance was swelled into greater” reminds the reader of Darcy’s pride; that the stream is “neither formal, nor falsely adorned,” however, reminds the reader of Darcy’s honesty and lack of pretense. Most importantly, the property delights Elizabeth, foreshadowing her eventual realization that the master of Pemberley similarly delights her.

Mrs. Reynolds’s glowing descriptions of Darcy continue the process of breaking down Elizabeth’s initial prejudice against him. As Mrs. Reynolds reveals a hidden side of Darcy, Elizabeth realizes how hastily she has judged him. This ability to admit the error of her ways demonstrates Elizabeth’s emotional maturity; unlike Miss Bingley, who resorts to denigrating Elizabeth when she realizes that Darcy favors her, Elizabeth does not allow arrogance to prevent her from confronting her own shortcomings.

The arrival of Darcy himself further encourages Elizabeth’s change of heart. Humbled by her rejection of his marriage proposal, Darcy has altered his conduct toward her and become a perfect gentleman. This courteous behavior both illustrates his love for her and compels the growth of her estimation of him. His ability to overcome his pride in much the same way that Elizabeth overcomes her prejudice gives Elizabeth and the reader hope that her rejection of him has not caused him to give up and that he may propose again under different terms.

The reader meets Georgiana Darcy for the first time in these chapters. Previously, she has been described as a possible wife for Mr. Bingley because of her beauty and accomplishments. In person, however, she is painfully shy; as a result, the reader ceases to see her as a threat to Jane. She cuts a very different figure—and one with whom the reader can sympathize—from the overeager Miss Bingley, whose aggressive pursuit of Darcy highlights her obnoxiousness. Indeed, Miss Bingley reappears with more spite than before. The mean-spiritedness behind her derisive insinuation about the Bennet girls’ unladylike obsession with the soldiers contrasts with Elizabeth’s thoughtful protection of the vulnerable Georgiana.

Chapters 46–49

Summary: Chapter 46

When Elizabeth returns to her inn, she finds two letters from Jane: the first relates that Lydia has eloped with Wickham, the second that there is no word from the couple and that they may not be married yet. Elizabeth panics, realizing that if Wickham does not marry Lydia, the reputations of both Lydia and the entire family will be ruined.

As Elizabeth rushes out to find the Gardiners, Darcy appears and she tells him the story. Darcy immediately blames himself for not exposing Wickham, and Elizabeth blames herself for the same reason. She decides to return home immediately. After an apology to Darcy and his sister for breaking their dinner engagement, Elizabeth and the Gardiners hasten back to the Bennet home in Longbourn.

Summary: Chapter 47

On the way home, Mr. Gardiner attempts to reassure his niece that Wickham will certainly marry Lydia because he will not want his own career and reputation ruined. Elizabeth replies by telling them generally about Wickham’s past behavior, without revealing the details of his romance with Darcy’s sister. When she gets home, Elizabeth learns that her father has gone to London in search of Lydia and Wickham. Mrs. Bennet, of course, is hysterical, blaming Colonel Forster for not taking care of her daughter. In private, Jane assures Elizabeth that there was no way anyone could have known about their sister’s attachment to Wickham. Fretfully, they examine the letter that Lydia left for Colonel Forster’s wife, in which she looks forward to signing her name “Lydia Wickham.”

Summary: Chapter 48

Mr. Gardiner follows Mr. Bennet to London and writes to Longbourn a few days later with the news that the search has been unsuccessful so far. He reports that Mr. Bennet is now going to every hotel in turn looking for the couple. Meanwhile, a letter arrives from Mr. Collins that, in his usual manner, accuses the Bennets of poor parenting and notes that Lydia’s behavior reflects poorly on the family as a whole. More time passes before Mr. Gardiner writes to say that attempts to trace Wickham through friends and family have failed. The letter further says, to Mrs. Bennet’s consternation, that Mr. Bennet is returning home.

Summary: Chapter 49

Two days after Mr. Bennet returns to Longbourn, Mr. Gardiner writes to tell him that Wickham and Lydia have been found and that Wickham will marry her if the Bennets will guarantee him a small income. Mr. Bennet gladly acquiesces, deciding that marriage to a scoundrel is better than a ruined reputation.

The Bennets assume that the Gardiners have paid Wickham a sizable amount to get him to agree to the wedding. Not “a farthing less than ten thousand pounds,” Mr. Bennet guesses. The Bennets assume that they owe a deep debt to their relatives. Mrs. Bennet is deliriously happy at having Lydia married, even when her husband and daughters point out how much it has probably cost. Her happiness is tempered when her husband refuses to allow Wickham and Lydia to visit or to provide his newly married daughter with money to purchase clothes.

Analysis: Chapters 46–49

The plot, which had slowed since Darcy’s proposal, now picks up speed as it rushes toward its conclusion. Amid the turmoil of Lydia’s folly, Elizabeth turns immediately to Darcy, illustrating the closeness developing between them. Their shared sense of guilt about failing to expose Wickham’s true nature (which they believe would have prevented the elopement) aligns them emotionally and gives them a common purpose.

Though she and her husband are obviously at fault, Mrs. Bennet reacts to the news of Lydia’s elopement by blaming Colonel Forster. The Bennet parents come across as highly inadequate at this point in the text—Mrs. Bennet because of her stupidity and Mr. Bennet because of his refusal to take responsibility for his children. The issue for Jane and Elizabeth about family connections has receded somewhat into the background, but here it reappears and reminds the reader that the Bennet parents’ lack of refinement still threatens the prospective romances of the two eldest Bennet daughters.

During the crisis, the Gardiners again step forward to act responsibly. It is Mr. Gardiner, rather than Mr. Bennet, who takes charge of the search in the city—Mr. Bennet even returns home after a time. (Mrs. Bennet’s fear that her husband will die in London and leave her destitute typifies her general tendency to ignore real problems and magnify trivial ones.) It is not terribly surprising that Mr. Gardiner apparently finds Lydia, or even that he apparently pays Wickham to convince him to marry her. He is simply filling the adult role that the Bennet parents have vacated.

Pride and Prejudice is critical of the difficulties faced by women in English society of the period. Whereas Austen passes judgment on both the practice of entailment and the necessity of marriage for women to avoid public scorn (which leads to Charlotte’s union with Mr. Collins for practicality’s sake), she does not question the idea that living with a man out of wedlock ruins a girl. Elizabeth, the voice of reason and common sense at this point in the novel, condemns Lydia’s behavior as “infamy” and declares that if Lydia does not marry Wickham, “she is lost forever.” The only voice of moral relativism belongs to Mrs. Bennet, who is so happy to have Lydia married that she does not care about the manner of the marriage’s accomplishment. While Lydia may have escaped social stigma, Mr. Bennet still condemns her and Wickham, saying, “I will not encourage the impudence of either, by receiving them at Longbourn.” Though she criticizes sexism, Austen lets bourgeois morality alone.

Chapters 50–55

Summary: Chapters 50–51

Elizabeth realizes that her opinion of Darcy has changed so completely that if he were to propose to her again, she would accept. She understands, however, that, given Lydia’s embarrassing behavior and the addition of Wickham to the Bennet family, such a proposal seems extremely unlikely.

Mr. Gardiner writes to Mr. Bennet again to inform him that Wickham has accepted a commission in the North of England. Lydia asks to be allowed to visit her family before she goes north with her new husband. After much disagreement, the Bennets allow the newlyweds to stay at their home. The ten-day visit is difficult: Lydia is oblivious to all of the trouble that she has caused, and Wickham behaves as if he has done nothing wrong. One morning while sitting with Jane and Elizabeth, Lydia describes her wedding and mentions that Darcy was in the church. Elizabeth is amazed and sends a letter to Mrs. Gardiner asking for details.

Summary: Chapters 52–53

Mrs. Gardiner replies to Elizabeth that it was Darcy who found Lydia and Wickham, and Darcy who paid Wickham the money that facilitated the marriage. She drops hints that Darcy did so because of his love for Elizabeth. Elizabeth’s surprise is immense, and she is unsure whether to be upset or pleased.

After Wickham and Lydia depart for their new home in the North, news arrives that Bingley is returning to Netherfield Park for a few weeks. Mr. Bennet refuses to visit him, much to the family’s discomfort. Three days after his arrival at Netherfield, however, Bingley comes to the Bennets’s home, accompanied by Darcy. Mrs. Bennet is overly attentive to Bingley and quite rude to Darcy, completely unaware that he was the one who saved Lydia. Before departing, the gentlemen promise to dine at Longbourn soon.

Summary: Chapters 54–55

Darcy and Bingley come to dinner; Bingley places himself next to Jane and pays her much attention while Darcy finds a seat at the opposite end of the table from Elizabeth, rendering conversation between the two impossible. Elizabeth accepts that having been refused by her once, Darcy will not ask her to marry him again.

Bingley visits the Bennets a few days later, and Mrs. Bennet invites him to dinner. He tells her that he is already engaged for the day but eagerly accepts an invitation for the following day. He calls so early in the morning that he arrives before the women have gotten dressed. After the meal, Mrs. Bennet manages (clumsily) to leave Bingley alone with Jane but he does not propose. The following day, however, Bingley goes shooting with Mr. Bennet and stays for dinner. After the meal, he finds himself alone with Jane again. This time, he tells her that he will ask Mr. Bennet for permission to marry her. Mr. Bennet happily agrees and Jane tells Elizabeth that she is “the happiest creature in the world.”

The engagement settled, Bingley comes to visit often. Jane learns that he had no idea that she was in London over the winter, and she realizes that his sisters were attempting to keep him away from her. Meanwhile, the neighborhood agrees that the Bennets are extremely fortunate in their daughter’s marriage.

Analysis: Chapters 50–55

Elizabeth’s realization that Darcy is “exactly the man, who, in disposition and talents, would most suit her” is ironic, since she not only rejected his marriage proposal earlier but did so in a manner that made it clear that she despised him. To Elizabeth, the irony is obvious: “she became jealous of his esteem, when she could no longer hope to be benefited by it . . . she wanted to hear of him, when there seemed the least chance of gaining intelligence.” Her feelings toward Darcy are now what his were toward her earlier; she assumes that he has changed his mind and that her change of heart has come too late. For even if Darcy were still interested in her, Lydia’s elopement seems likely to have destroyed any chance of his proposing again. The Lydia-Wickham affair serves as a reminder of Darcy’s original objection to marrying Elizabeth, and Elizabeth believes that he must certainly consider it a symptom of the poor breeding of her family and an example of the embarrassment that association with her family would bring him.

While Elizabeth’s hope of Darcy’s still loving her slowly grows in these chapters, the reader receives hints all along that Darcy’s feelings for her have not altered. He has paid for Lydia’s wedding, and the insightful Mrs. Gardiner, who provides levelheaded analyses of situations at various points in the novel, can think of only one reason for him to do so. Elizabeth’s instincts tell her the same thing: “Her heart did whisper, that he had done it for her.” Nevertheless, she insists on squashing that whisper, as her embarrassment about Lydia and her sense of Darcy’s pride compel her to the assumption that Darcy would never connect himself with her family, especially now that the odious Wickham is her brother-in-law.

The happy conclusion to Bingley’s courtship of Jane suggests that Darcy no longer cares about the Bennet sisters’ low social status. As evidence that Darcy has overcome this important obstacle at least to some, he now does nothing to dissuade his friend from tying himself to a disreputable family. Whereas Darcy previously disrupted the romance between Bingley and Jane in order to protect his friend’s social status, he now allows their love to triumph over their class difference, despite Lydia’s elopement scandal, which he could easily have used as an excuse to distance himself and his friends from the Bennets. Austen does not allow Elizabeth to assume anything from Jane’s engagement, but the reader is allowed to assume that another wedding will follow.

Chapters 56–61

Summary: Chapter 56

A week after Bingley and Jane become engaged, Lady Catherine de Bourgh visits the Bennets. The noblewoman wants to speak with Elizabeth and insists that they walk outside to hold a conversation. There, Lady Catherine informs Elizabeth that she has heard a rumor that Darcy is planning to marry her. Such a notion, Lady Catherine insists, is ridiculous, given Elizabeth’s low station in life and the tacit engagement of Darcy to her own daughter.

Elizabeth conceals her surprise at this news and acts very coolly toward Lady Catherine. She admits that she and Darcy are not engaged but, despite the noblewoman’s demands, refuses to promise not to enter into an engagement to him. Lady Catherine claims that Elizabeth is bound to obey her by “the claims of duty, honour, and gratitude.” She presents the familiar objection: the Bennets have such low connections that Darcy’s marrying Elizabeth would “ruin him in the opinion of all his friends, and make him the contempt of the world.” Elizabeth defends her family, declaring, “I am a gentleman’s daughter,” and then asserts her independence from the exasperating control that such snobs as Mr. Collins, Miss Bingley, and Lady Catherine herself always attempt to exert over their social inferiors. “I am . . . resolved,” she says, “to act in that manner, which will, in my own opinion, constitute my happiness, without reference to you, or to any person so wholly unconnected with me.” Lady Catherine leaves, furious and frustrated, and Elizabeth keeps their conversation secret.

Summary: Chapters 57–58

“My affections and wishes are unchanged, but one word from you will silence me on this subject forever.”

A short time later, a letter arrives from Mr. Collins that suggests that an engagement between Darcy and Elizabeth is imminent. The letter comes to Mr. Bennet, who reads it to Elizabeth and comments on the absurdity of the idea of an engagement with Darcy—“who never looked at any woman but to see a blemish, and who probably never looked at you in his life.”

A little while after Lady Catherine’s visit, Darcy again comes to stay with Bingley at Netherfield. The two friends visit the Bennets, and everyone takes a walk together. Elizabeth and Darcy lag behind, and when they are alone, Elizabeth thanks him for his generosity in saving Lydia’s good name. Darcy replies that he did so only because Lydia is her sister. He then says that his feelings toward her have not changed since his proposal. Elizabeth tells him that her own feelings have changed and that she is now willing to marry him.

Summary: Chapters 59–60

That night, Elizabeth tells Jane about Darcy’s intention to marry her. Jane, stunned, cannot believe that Elizabeth truly loves Darcy. Elizabeth promises Jane that she does. The next day, Darcy and Elizabeth walk together again, and that night Darcy goes to Mr. Bennet to ask him for his consent to the match.

Like Jane, Mr. Bennet needs Elizabeth to convince him that she does indeed care for Darcy. After she assures him of her love, she tells him how Darcy paid off Wickham. Mrs. Bennet then learns of her daughter’s engagement and is actually struck dumb for a time before bursting into cries of delight.

Darcy and Elizabeth discuss how their love began and how it developed. Darcy writes to inform Lady Catherine of his engagement, while Mr. Bennet sends a letter to Mr. Collins to do likewise. The Collinses come to Longbourn to congratulate the couple (and escape an angry Lady Catherine), as do the Lucases and Mrs. Phillips.

Summary: Chapter 61

After the weddings, Bingley purchases an estate near Pemberley, and the Bennet sisters visit one another frequently. Kitty is kept away from Lydia and her bad influence, and she matures greatly by spending time at her elder sisters’ homes. Lydia and Wickham remain incorrigible, asking Darcy for money and visiting the Bingleys so frequently that even the good-humored Bingley grows tired of them. Elizabeth becomes great friends with Georgiana. She even comes to interact on decent terms with Miss Bingley. Lady Catherine eventually accepts the marriage and visits her nephew and his wife at Pemberley. Darcy and Elizabeth continue to consider the Gardiners close friends, grateful for the fact that they brought Elizabeth to Pemberley the first time and helped to bring the two together.

Analysis: Chapters 56–61

Lady Catherine is the last of the many obstacles facing the romance between Darcy and Elizabeth, and Elizabeth’s confrontation with her marks the heroine’s finest moment. This encounter crystallizes the tensions that their difference in social status has created. All of the qualities that Elizabeth has embodied thus far—intelligence, wit, lack of pretense, and resistance to snobbery—are evident in her dialogue. Lady Catherine, with the weight of birth and money on her side, responds to Elizabeth’s brazenness with a snobbishness that reflects her unassailable preoccupation with social concerns and demonstrates her lack of appreciation for the richness of Elizabeth’s character. Elizabeth, of course, has not yet received a new proposal of marriage from Darcy and has no way of knowing if one is forthcoming, but her pride in herself and her love of Darcy allow her to stand up to the domineering Lady Catherine. With the expression of her beliefs, Elizabeth demonstrates the enduring strength of her will and self-respect.

After the dynamic confrontation between these two firebrands, Darcy’s proposal, theoretically the climax of the novel, is almost a letdown. As noted previously, Austen rarely stages successful proposals in full; accordingly, the narrator summarizes Elizabeth’s affirmative response to Darcy’s bid in a brief paragraph. Some critics argue that the novel becomes simplistic in this third and final part—that Darcy’s character changes too drastically from the arrogant figure of the opening chapters. One can also argue, however, that his initial pride feeds to some extent off of Elizabeth’s initial prejudice, and that as one dissolves as its bearer matures, so does the other.

It is the nature of Austen’s novels that romance must win out over all of the obstacles, whether social or personal, that it faces. Just as love triumphs over pride in social status for Darcy, it triumphs over prejudice for Elizabeth. Elizabeth’s friends and family, thinking that she dislikes Darcy, ask her if she is marrying for love; in the end, in Austen, despite the undeniably relevant social issues of class, money, and practicality, this question always proves most important.

“Whuthering heights” Bronte, E.

Context

W uthering Heights, which has long been one of the most popular and highly regarded novels in English literature, seemed to hold little promise when it was published in 1847, selling very poorly and receiving only a few mixed reviews. Victorian readers found the book shocking and inappropriate in its depiction of passionate, ungoverned love and cruelty (despite the fact that the novel portrays no sex or bloodshed), and the work was virtually ignored. Even Emily Brontë’s sister Charlotte—an author whose works contained similar motifs of Gothic love and desolate landscapes—remained ambivalent toward the unapologetic intensity of her sister’s novel. In a preface to the book, which she wrote shortly after Emily Brontë’s death, Charlotte Brontë stated, “Whether it is right or advisable to create beings like Heathcliff, I do not know. I scarcely think it is.”

Emily Brontë lived an eccentric, closely guarded life. She was born in 1818, two years after Charlotte and a year and a half before her sister Anne, who also became an author. Her father worked as a church rector, and her aunt, who raised the Brontë children after their mother died, was deeply religious. Emily Brontë did not take to her aunt’s Christian fervor; the character of Joseph, a caricature of an evangelical, may have been inspired by her aunt’s religiosity. The Brontës lived in Haworth, a Yorkshire village in the midst of the moors. These wild, desolate expanses—later the setting of Wuthering Heights—made up the Brontës’ daily environment, and Emily lived among them her entire life. She died in 1848, at the age of thirty.

As witnessed by their extraordinary literary accomplishments, the Brontë children were a highly creative group, writing stories, plays, and poems for their own amusement. Largely left to their own devices, the children created imaginary worlds in which to play. Yet the sisters knew that the outside world would not respond favorably to their creative expression; female authors were often treated less seriously than their male counterparts in the nineteenth century. Thus the Brontë sisters thought it best to publish their adult works under assumed names. Charlotte wrote as Currer Bell, Emily as Ellis Bell, and Anne as Acton Bell. Their real identities remained secret until after Emily and Anne had died, when Charlotte at last revealed the truth of their novels’ authorship.

Today, Wuthering Heights has a secure position in the canon of world literature, and Emily Brontë is revered as one of the finest writers—male or female—of the nineteenth century. Like Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre,Wuthering Heights is based partly on the Gothic tradition of the late eighteenth century, a style of literature that featured supernatural encounters, crumbling ruins, moonless nights, and grotesque imagery, seeking to create effects of mystery and fear. But Wuthering Heights transcends its genre in its sophisticated observation and artistic subtlety. The novel has been studied, analyzed, dissected, and discussed from every imaginable critical perspective, yet it remains unexhausted. And while the novel’s symbolism, themes, structure, and language may all spark fertile exploration, the bulk of its popularity may rest on its unforgettable characters. As a shattering presentation of the doomed love affair between the fiercely passionate Catherine and Heathcliff, it remains one of the most haunting love stories in all of literature.

Plot Overview

I n the late winter months of 1801, a man named Lockwood rents a manor house called Thrushcross Grange in the isolated moor country of England. Here, he meets his dour landlord, Heathcliff, a wealthy man who lives in the ancient manor of Wuthering Heights, four miles away from the Grange. In this wild, stormy countryside, Lockwood asks his housekeeper, Nelly Dean, to tell him the story of Heathcliff and the strange denizens of Wuthering Heights. Nelly consents, and Lockwood writes down his recollections of her tale in his diary; these written recollections form the main part of Wuthering Heights.

Nelly remembers her childhood. As a young girl, she works as a servant at Wuthering Heights for the owner of the manor, Mr. Earnshaw, and his family. One day, Mr. Earnshaw goes to Liverpool and returns home with an orphan boy whom he will raise with his own children. At first, the Earnshaw children—a boy named Hindley and his younger sister Catherine—detest the dark-skinned Heathcliff. But Catherine quickly comes to love him, and the two soon grow inseparable, spending their days playing on the moors. After his wife’s death, Mr. Earnshaw grows to prefer Heathcliff to his own son, and when Hindley continues his cruelty to Heathcliff, Mr. Earnshaw sends Hindley away to college, keeping Heathcliff nearby.

Three years later, Mr. Earnshaw dies, and Hindley inherits Wuthering Heights. He returns with a wife, Frances, and immediately seeks revenge on Heathcliff. Once an orphan, later a pampered and favored son, Heathcliff now finds himself treated as a common laborer, forced to work in the fields. Heathcliff continues his close relationship with Catherine, however. One night they wander to Thrushcross Grange, hoping to tease Edgar and Isabella Linton, the cowardly, snobbish children who live there. Catherine is bitten by a dog and is forced to stay at the Grange to recuperate for five weeks, during which time Mrs. Linton works to make her a proper young lady. By the time Catherine returns, she has become infatuated with Edgar, and her relationship with Heathcliff grows more complicated.

When Frances dies after giving birth to a baby boy named Hareton, Hindley descends into the depths of alcoholism, and behaves even more cruelly and abusively toward Heathcliff. Eventually, Catherine’s desire for social advancement prompts her to become engaged to Edgar Linton, despite her overpowering love for Heathcliff. Heathcliff runs away from Wuthering Heights, staying away for three years, and returning shortly after Catherine and Edgar’s marriage.

When Heathcliff returns, he immediately sets about seeking revenge on all who have wronged him. Having come into a vast and mysterious wealth, he deviously lends money to the drunken Hindley, knowing that Hindley will increase his debts and fall into deeper despondency. When Hindley dies, Heathcliff inherits the manor. He also places himself in line to inherit Thrushcross Grange by marrying Isabella Linton, whom he treats very cruelly. Catherine becomes ill, gives birth to a daughter, and dies. Heathcliff begs her spirit to remain on Earth—she may take whatever form she will, she may haunt him, drive him mad—just as long as she does not leave him alone. Shortly thereafter, Isabella flees to London and gives birth to Heathcliff’s son, named Linton after her family. She keeps the boy with her there.

Thirteen years pass, during which Nelly Dean serves as Catherine’s daughter’s nursemaid at Thrushcross Grange. Young Catherine is beautiful and headstrong like her mother, but her temperament is modified by her father’s gentler influence. Young Catherine grows up at the Grange with no knowledge of Wuthering Heights; one day, however, wandering through the moors, she discovers the manor, meets Hareton, and plays together with him. Soon afterwards, Isabella dies, and Linton comes to live with Heathcliff. Heathcliff treats his sickly, whining son even more cruelly than he treated the boy’s mother.

Three years later, Catherine meets Heathcliff on the moors, and makes a visit to Wuthering Heights to meet Linton. She and Linton begin a secret romance conducted entirely through letters. When Nelly destroys Catherine’s collection of letters, the girl begins sneaking out at night to spend time with her frail young lover, who asks her to come back and nurse him back to health. However, it quickly becomes apparent that Linton is pursuing Catherine only because Heathcliff is forcing him to; Heathcliff hopes that if Catherine marries Linton, his legal claim upon Thrushcross Grange—and his revenge upon Edgar Linton—will be complete. One day, as Edgar Linton grows ill and nears death, Heathcliff lures Nelly and Catherine back to Wuthering Heights, and holds them prisoner until Catherine marries Linton. Soon after the marriage, Edgar dies, and his death is quickly followed by the death of the sickly Linton. Heathcliff now controls both Wuthering Heights and Thrushcross Grange. He forces Catherine to live at Wuthering Heights and act as a common servant, while he rents Thrushcross Grange to Lockwood.

Nelly’s story ends as she reaches the present. Lockwood, appalled, ends his tenancy at Thrushcross Grange and returns to London. However, six months later, he pays a visit to Nelly, and learns of further developments in the story. Although Catherine originally mocked Hareton’s ignorance and illiteracy (in an act of retribution, Heathcliff ended Hareton’s education after Hindley died), Catherine grows to love Hareton as they live together at Wuthering Heights. Heathcliff becomes more and more obsessed with the memory of the elder Catherine, to the extent that he begins speaking to her ghost. Everything he sees reminds him of her. Shortly after a night spent walking on the moors, Heathcliff dies. Hareton and young Catherine inherit Wuthering Heights and Thrushcross Grange, and they plan to be married on the next New Year’s Day. After hearing the end of the story, Lockwood goes to visit the graves of Catherine and Heathcliff.

Chronology

The story of Wuthering Heights is told through flashbacks recorded in diary entries, and events are often presented out of chronological order—Lockwood’s narrative takes place after Nelly’s narrative, for instance, but is interspersed with Nelly’s story in his journal. Nevertheless, the novel contains enough clues to enable an approximate reconstruction of its chronology, which was elaborately designed by Emily Brontë. For instance, Lockwood’s diary entries are recorded in the late months of 1801 and in September1802; in 1801, Nelly tells Lockwood that she has lived at Thrushcross Grange for eighteen years, since Catherine’s marriage to Edgar, which must then have occurred in 1783. We know that Catherine was engaged to Edgar for three years, and that Nelly was twenty-two when they were engaged, so the engagement must have taken place in 1780, and Nelly must have been born in 1758. Since Nelly is a few years older than Catherine, and since Lockwood comments that Heathcliff is about forty years old in 1801, it stands to reason that Heathcliff and Catherine were born around 1761, three years after Nelly. There are several other clues like this in the novel (such as Hareton’s birth, which occurs in June, 1778). The following chronology is based on those clues, and should closely approximate the timing of the novel’s important events. A “~” before a date indicates that it cannot be precisely determined from the evidence in the novel, but only closely estimated.

1500 - The stone above the front door of Wuthering Heights, bearing the name of Hareton Earnshaw, is inscribed, possibly to mark the completion of the house.

1758 - Nelly is born.

~1761 - Heathcliff and Catherine are born.

~1767 - Mr. Earnshaw brings Heathcliff to live at Wuthering Heights.

1774 - Mr. Earnshaw sends Hindley away to college.

1777 - Mr. Earnshaw dies; Hindley and Frances take possession of Wuthering Heights; Catherine first visits Thrushcross Grange around Christmastime.

1778 - Hareton is born in June; Frances dies; Hindley begins his slide into alcoholism.

1780 - Catherine becomes engaged to Edgar Linton; Heathcliff leaves Wuthering Heights.

1783 - Catherine and Edgar are married; Heathcliff arrives at Thrushcross Grange in September.

1784 - Heathcliff and Isabella elope in the early part of the year; Catherine becomes ill with brain fever; young Catherine is born late in the year; Catherine dies.

1785 - Early in the year, Isabella flees Wuthering Heights and settles in London; Linton is born.

~1785 - Hindley dies; Heathcliff inherits Wuthering Heights.

~1797 - Young Catherine meets Hareton and visits Wuthering Heights for the first time; Linton comes from London after Isabella dies (in late 1797 or early 1798).

1800 - Young Catherine stages her romance with Linton in the winter.

1801 - Early in the year, young Catherine is imprisoned by Heathcliff and forced to marry Linton; Edgar Linton dies; Linton dies; Heathcliff assumes control of Thrushcross Grange. Late in the year, Lockwood rents the Grange from Heathcliff and begins his tenancy. In a winter storm, Lockwood takes ill and begins conversing with Nelly Dean.

1801–1802 - During the winter, Nelly narrates her story for Lockwood.

1802 - In spring, Lockwood returns to London; Catherine and Hareton fall in love; Heathcliff dies; Lockwood returns in September and hears the end of the story from Nelly.

1803 - On New Year’s Day, young Catherine and Hareton plan to be married.

Character List

Heathcliff - An orphan brought to live at Wuthering Heights by Mr. Earnshaw, Heathcliff falls into an intense, unbreakable love with Mr. Earnshaw’s daughter Catherine. After Mr. Earnshaw dies, his resentful son Hindley abuses Heathcliff and treats him as a servant. Because of her desire for social prominence, Catherine marries Edgar Linton instead of Heathcliff. Heathcliff’s humiliation and misery prompt him to spend most of the rest of his life seeking revenge on Hindley, his beloved Catherine, and their respective children (Hareton and young Catherine). A powerful, fierce, and often cruel man, Heathcliff acquires a fortune and uses his extraordinary powers of will to acquire both Wuthering Heights and Thrushcross Grange, the estate of Edgar Linton.

Catherine - The daughter of Mr. Earnshaw and his wife, Catherine falls powerfully in love with Heathcliff, the orphan Mr. Earnshaw brings home from Liverpool. Catherine loves Heathcliff so intensely that she claims they are the same person. However, her desire for social advancement motivates her to marry Edgar Linton instead. Catherine is free-spirited, beautiful, spoiled, and often arrogant. She is given to fits of temper, and she is torn between her wild passion for Heathcliff and her social ambition. She brings misery to both of the men who love her.

Edgar Linton - Well-bred but rather spoiled as a boy, Edgar Linton grows into a tender, constant, but cowardly man. He is almost the ideal gentleman: Catherine accurately describes him as “handsome,” “pleasant to be with,” “cheerful,” and “rich.” However, this full assortment of gentlemanly characteristics, along with his civilized virtues, proves useless in Edgar’s clashes with his foil, Heathcliff, who gains power over his wife, sister, and daughter.

Nelly Dean - Nelly Dean (known formally as Ellen Dean) serves as the chief narrator of Wuthering Heights. A sensible, intelligent, and compassionate woman, she grew up essentially alongside Hindley and Catherine Earnshaw and is deeply involved in the story she tells. She has strong feelings for the characters in her story, and these feelings complicate her narration.

Lockwood - Lockwood’s narration forms a frame around Nelly’s; he serves as an intermediary between Nelly and the reader. A somewhat vain and presumptuous gentleman, he deals very clumsily with the inhabitants of Wuthering Heights. Lockwood comes from a more domesticated region of England, and he finds himself at a loss when he witnesses the strange household’s disregard for the social conventions that have always structured his world. As a narrator, his vanity and unfamiliarity with the story occasionally lead him to misunderstand events.

Young Catherine - For clarity’s sake, this SparkNote refers to the daughter of Edgar Linton and the first Catherine as “young Catherine.” The first Catherine begins her life as Catherine Earnshaw and ends it as Catherine Linton; her daughter begins as Catherine Linton and, assuming that she marries Hareton after the end of the story, goes on to become Catherine Earnshaw. The mother and the daughter share not only a name, but also a tendency toward headstrong behavior, impetuousness, and occasional arrogance. However, Edgar’s influence seems to have tempered young Catherine’s character, and she is a gentler and more compassionate creature than her mother.

Hareton Earnshaw - The son of Hindley and Frances Earnshaw, Hareton is Catherine’s nephew. After Hindley’s death, Heathcliff assumes custody of Hareton, and raises him as an uneducated field worker, just as Hindley had done to Heathcliff himself. Thus Heathcliff uses Hareton to seek revenge on Hindley. Illiterate and quick-tempered, Hareton is easily humiliated, but shows a good heart and a deep desire to improve himself. At the end of the novel, he marries young Catherine.

Linton Heathcliff - Heathcliff’s son by Isabella. Weak, sniveling, demanding, and constantly ill, Linton is raised in London by his mother and does not meet his father until he is thirteen years old, when he goes to live with him after his mother’s death. Heathcliff despises Linton, treats him contemptuously, and, by forcing him to marry the young Catherine, uses him to cement his control over Thrushcross Grange after Edgar Linton’s death. Linton himself dies not long after this marriage.

Hindley Earnshaw - Catherine’s brother, and Mr. Earnshaw’s son. Hindley resents it when Heathcliff is brought to live at Wuthering Heights. After his father dies and he inherits the estate, Hindley begins to abuse the young Heathcliff, terminating his education and forcing him to work in the fields. When Hindley’s wife Frances dies shortly after giving birth to their son Hareton, he lapses into alcoholism and dissipation.

Isabella Linton - Edgar Linton’s sister, who falls in love with Heathcliff and marries him. She sees Heathcliff as a romantic figure, like a character in a novel. Ultimately, she ruins her life by falling in love with him. He never returns her feelings and treats her as a mere tool in his quest for revenge on the Linton family.

Mr. Earnshaw - Catherine and Hindley’s father. Mr. Earnshaw adopts Heathcliff and brings him to live at Wuthering Heights. Mr. Earnshaw prefers Heathcliff to Hindley but nevertheless bequeaths Wuthering Heights to Hindley when he dies.

Mrs. Earnshaw - Catherine and Hindley’s mother, who neither likes nor trusts the orphan Heathcliff when he is brought to live at her house. She dies shortly after Heathcliff’s arrival at Wuthering Heights.

Joseph - A long-winded, fanatically religious, elderly servant at Wuthering Heights. Joseph is strange, stubborn, and unkind, and he speaks with a thick Yorkshire accent.

Frances Earnshaw - Hindley’s simpering, silly wife, who treats Heathcliff cruelly. She dies shortly after giving birth to Hareton.

Mr. Linton - Edgar and Isabella’s father and the proprietor of Thrushcross Grange when Heathcliff and Catherine are children. An established member of the gentry, he raises his son and daughter to be well-mannered young people.

Mrs. Linton - Mr. Linton’s somewhat snobbish wife, who does not like Heathcliff to be allowed near her children, Edgar and Isabella. She teaches Catherine to act like a gentle-woman, thereby instilling her with social ambitions.

Zillah - The housekeeper at Wuthering Heights during the latter stages of the narrative.

Mr. Green - Edgar Linton’s lawyer, who arrives too late to hear Edgar’s final instruction to change his will, which would have prevented Heathcliff from obtaining control over Thrushcross Grange.

Themes, Motifs & Symbols

Themes

Themes are the fundamental and often universal ideas explored in a literary work.

The Destructiveness of a Love That Never Changes

Catherine and Heathcliff’s passion for one another seems to be the center ofWuthering Heights, given that it is stronger and more lasting than any other emotion displayed in the novel, and that it is the source of most of the major conflicts that structure the novel’s plot. As she tells Catherine and Heathcliff’s story, Nelly criticizes both of them harshly, condemning their passion as immoral, but this passion is obviously one of the most compelling and memorable aspects of the book. It is not easy to decide whether Brontë intends the reader to condemn these lovers as blameworthy or to idealize them as romantic heroes whose love transcends social norms and conventional morality. The book is actually structured around two parallel love stories, the first half of the novel centering on the love between Catherine and Heathcliff, while the less dramatic second half features the developing love between young Catherine and Hareton. In contrast to the first, the latter tale ends happily, restoring peace and order to Wuthering Heights and Thrushcross Grange. The differences between the two love stories contribute to the reader’s understanding of why each ends the way it does.

The most important feature of young Catherine and Hareton’s love story is that it involves growth and change. Early in the novel Hareton seems irredeemably brutal, savage, and illiterate, but over time he becomes a loyal friend to young Catherine and learns to read. When young Catherine first meets Hareton he seems completely alien to her world, yet her attitude also evolves from contempt to love. Catherine and Heathcliff’s love, on the other hand, is rooted in their childhood and is marked by the refusal to change. In choosing to marry Edgar, Catherine seeks a more genteel life, but she refuses to adapt to her role as wife, either by sacrificing Heathcliff or embracing Edgar. In Chapter XII she suggests to Nelly that the years since she was twelve years old and her father died have been like a blank to her, and she longs to return to the moors of her childhood. Heathcliff, for his part, possesses a seemingly superhuman ability to maintain the same attitude and to nurse the same grudges over many years.

Moreover, Catherine and Heathcliff’s love is based on their shared perception that they are identical. Catherine declares, famously, “I am Heathcliff,” while Heathcliff, upon Catherine’s death, wails that he cannot live without his “soul,” meaning Catherine. Their love denies difference, and is strangely asexual. The two do not kiss in dark corners or arrange secret trysts, as adulterers do. Given that Catherine and Heathcliff’s love is based upon their refusal to change over time or embrace difference in others, it is fitting that the disastrous problems of their generation are overcome not by some climactic reversal, but simply by the inexorable passage of time, and the rise of a new and distinct generation. Ultimately, Wuthering Heights presents a vision of life as a process of change, and celebrates this process over and against the romantic intensity of its principal characters.

The Precariousness of Social Class

As members of the gentry, the Earnshaws and the Lintons occupy a somewhat precarious place within the hierarchy of late eighteenth- and early nineteenth-century British society. At the top of British society was the royalty, followed by the aristocracy, then by the gentry, and then by the lower classes, who made up the vast majority of the population. Although the gentry, or upper middle class, possessed servants and often large estates, they held a nonetheless fragile social position. The social status of aristocrats was a formal and settled matter, because aristocrats had official titles. Members of the gentry, however, held no titles, and their status was thus subject to change. A man might see himself as a gentleman but find, to his embarrassment, that his neighbors did not share this view. A discussion of whether or not a man was really a gentleman would consider such questions as how much land he owned, how many tenants and servants he had, how he spoke, whether he kept horses and a carriage, and whether his money came from land or “trade”—gentlemen scorned banking and commercial activities.

Considerations of class status often crucially inform the characters’ motivations in Wuthering Heights. Catherine’s decision to marry Edgar so that she will be “the greatest woman of the neighborhood” is only the most obvious example. The Lintons are relatively firm in their gentry status but nonetheless take great pains to prove this status through their behaviors. The Earnshaws, on the other hand, rest on much shakier ground socially. They do not have a carriage, they have less land, and their house, as Lockwood remarks with great puzzlement, resembles that of a “homely, northern farmer” and not that of a gentleman. The shifting nature of social status is demonstrated most strikingly in Heathcliff’s trajectory from homeless waif to young gentleman-by-adoption to common laborer to gentleman again (although the status-conscious Lockwood remarks that Heathcliff is only a gentleman in “dress and manners”).

Motifs

Motifs are recurring structures, contrasts, and literary devices that can help to develop and inform the text’s major themes.

Doubles

Brontë organizes her novel by arranging its elements—characters, places, and themes—into pairs. Catherine and Heathcliff are closely matched in many ways, and see themselves as identical. Catherine’s character is divided into two warring sides: the side that wants Edgar and the side that wants Heathcliff. Catherine and young Catherine are both remarkably similar and strikingly different. The two houses, Wuthering Heights and Thrushcross Grange, represent opposing worlds and values. The novel has not one but two distinctly different narrators, Nelly and Mr. Lockwood. The relation between such paired elements is usually quite complicated, with the members of each pair being neither exactly alike nor diametrically opposed. For instance, the Lintons and the Earnshaws may at first seem to represent opposing sets of values, but, by the end of the novel, so many intermarriages have taken place that one can no longer distinguish between the two families.

Repetition

Repetition is another tactic Brontë employs in organizingWuthering Heights. It seems that nothing ever ends in the world of this novel. Instead, time seems to run in cycles, and the horrors of the past repeat themselves in the present. The way that the names of the characters are recycled, so that the names of the characters of the younger generation seem only to be rescramblings of the names of their parents, leads the reader to consider how plot elements also repeat themselves. For instance, Heathcliff’s degradation of Hareton repeats Hindley’s degradation of Heathcliff. Also, the young Catherine’s mockery of Joseph’s earnest evangelical zealousness repeats her mother’s. Even Heathcliff’s second try at opening Catherine’s grave repeats his first.

The Conflict Between Nature and Culture

In Wuthering Heights, Brontë constantly plays nature and culture against each other. Nature is represented by the Earnshaw family, and by Catherine and Heathcliff in particular. These characters are governed by their passions, not by reflection or ideals of civility. Correspondingly, the house where they live—Wuthering Heights—comes to symbolize a similar wildness. On the other hand, Thrushcross Grange and the Linton family represent culture, refinement, convention, and cultivation.

When, in Chapter VI, Catherine is bitten by the Lintons’ dog and brought into Thrushcross Grange, the two sides are brought onto the collision course that structures the majority of the novel’s plot. At the time of that first meeting between the Linton and Earnshaw households, chaos has already begun to erupt at Wuthering Heights, where Hindley’s cruelty and injustice reign, whereas all seems to be fine and peaceful at Thrushcross Grange. However, the influence of Wuthering Heights soon proves overpowering, and the inhabitants of Thrushcross Grange are drawn into Catherine, Hindley, and Heathcliff’s drama. Thus the reader almost may interpret Wuthering Heights’s impact on the Linton family as an allegory for the corruption of culture by nature, creating a curious reversal of the more traditional story of the corruption of nature by culture. However, Brontë tells her story in such a way as to prevent our interest and sympathy from straying too far from the wilder characters, and often portrays the more civilized characters as despicably weak and silly. This method of characterization prevents the novel from flattening out into a simple privileging of culture over nature, or vice versa. Thus in the end the reader must acknowledge that the novel is no mere allegory.

Symbols

Symbols are objects, characters, figures, and colors used to represent abstract ideas or concepts.

Moors

The constant emphasis on landscape within the text of Wuthering Heightsendows the setting with symbolic importance. This landscape is comprised primarily of moors: wide, wild expanses, high but somewhat soggy, and thus infertile. Moorland cannot be cultivated, and its uniformity makes navigation difficult. It features particularly waterlogged patches in which people could potentially drown. (This possibility is mentioned several times in Wuthering Heights.) Thus, the moors serve very well as symbols of the wild threat posed by nature. As the setting for the beginnings of Catherine and Heathcliff’s bond (the two play on the moors during childhood), the moorland transfers its symbolic associations onto the love affair.

Ghosts

Ghosts appear throughout Wuthering Heights, as they do in most other works of Gothic fiction, yet Brontë always presents them in such a way that whether they really exist remains ambiguous. Thus the world of the novel can always be interpreted as a realistic one. Certain ghosts—such as Catherine’s spirit when it appears to Lockwood in Chapter III—may be explained as nightmares. The villagers’ alleged sightings of Heathcliff’s ghost in Chapter XXXIV could be dismissed as unverified superstition. Whether or not the ghosts are “real,” they symbolize the manifestation of the past within the present, and the way memory stays with people, permeating their day-to-day lives.

Chapters I–V

Summary: Chapter I

But Mr. Heathcliff forms a singular contrast to his abode and style of living. He is a dark-skinned gypsy in aspect, in dress and manners a gentleman. . . .

Writing in his diary in 1801, Lockwood describes his first days as a tenant at Thrushcross Grange, an isolated manor in thinly populated Yorkshire. Shortly after arriving at the Grange, he pays a visit to his landlord, Mr. Heathcliff, a surly, dark man living in a manor called Wuthering Heights—“wuthering” being a local adjective used to describe the fierce and wild winds that blow during storms on the moors. During the visit, Heathcliff seems not to trust Lockwood, and leaves him alone in a room with a group of snarling dogs. Lockwood is saved from the hounds by a ruddy-cheeked housekeeper. When Heathcliff returns, Lockwood is angry, but eventually warms toward his taciturn host, and—though he hardly feels that he has been welcomed at Wuthering Heights—he volunteers to visit again the next day.

Summary: Chapter II

On a chilly afternoon not long after his first visit, Lockwood plans to lounge before the fire in his study, but he finds a servant dustily sweeping out the fireplace there, so instead he makes the four-mile walk to Wuthering Heights, arriving just as a light snow begins to fall. He knocks, but no one lets him in, and Joseph, an old servant who speaks with a thick Yorkshire accent, calls out from the barn that Heathcliff is not in the house. Eventually a rough-looking young man comes to let him in, and Lockwood goes into a sitting room where he finds a beautiful girl seated beside a fire. Lockwood assumes she is Heathcliff’s wife. He tries to make conversation, but she responds rudely. When Heathcliff arrives, he corrects Lockwood: the young woman is his daughter-in-law. Lockwood then assumes that the young man who let him in must be Heathcliff’s son. Heathcliff corrects him again. The young man, Hareton Earnshaw, is not his son, and the girl is the widow of Heathcliff’s dead son.

The snowfall becomes a blizzard, and when Lockwood is ready to leave, he is forced to ask for a guide back to Thrushcross Grange. No one will help him. He takes a lantern and says that he will find his own way, promising to return with the lantern in the morning. Joseph, seeing him make his way through the snow, assumes that he is stealing the lantern, and looses the dogs on him. Pinned down by the dogs, Lockwood grows furious, and begins cursing the inhabitants of the house. His anger brings on a nosebleed, and he is forced to stay at Wuthering Heights. The housekeeper, Zillah, leads him to bed.

Summary: Chapter III

Catherine Earnshaw . . . Catherine Heathcliff . . . Catherine Linton. . . . a glare of white letters started from the dark, as vivid as spectres—the air swarmed with Catherines. . . .

Zillah leads Lockwood to an out-of-the-way room from which Heathcliff has forbidden all visitors. He notices that someone has scratched words into the paint on the ledge by the bed. Three names are inscribed there repeatedly:Catherine Earnshaw, Catherine Linton, and Catherine Heathcliff. He also finds a diary written approximately twenty-five years earlier. Apparently the diary belonged to Catherine Earnshaw, and Lockwood reads an entry that describes a day at Wuthering Heights shortly after her father died, during which her cruel older brother Hindley forces her and Heathcliff to endure Joseph’s tedious sermons. Catherine and Heathcliff seem to have been very close, and Hindley seems to have hated Heathcliff. The diary even describes Hindley telling his wife, Frances, to pull the boy’s hair.

Lockwood falls asleep and enters into a pair of nightmares. He awakes from the second when the cone from a fir branch begins tapping on his window. Still half asleep, he attempts to break off the branch by forcing his hand through the window glass. But instead of a branch, he finds a ghostly hand, which seizes his own, and a voice, sobbing the name Catherine Linton, demands to be let in. To free himself, Lockwood rubs the ghost’s wrist on the broken glass until blood covers the bed sheets. The ghost releases him, and Lockwood tries to cover the hole in the window with a pile of books. But the books begin to fall, and he cries out in terror. Heathcliff rushes into the room, and Lockwood cries out that the room is haunted. Heathcliff curses him, but, as Lockwood flees from the room, Heathcliff cries out to Catherine, begging her to return. There are no signs that the ghost was ever at the window. In the morning, Heathcliff treats his daughter-in-law cruelly. He later escorts Lockwood home, where the servants, who believed their master dead in the storm, receive him with joy. Lockwood, however, retreats into his study to escape human company.

Summary: Chapter IV

Having rejected human contact the day before, Lockwood now becomes lonely. When his housekeeper, Nelly Dean, brings him his supper, he bids her sit and tell him the history of the people at Wuthering Heights. She attempts to clarify the family relationships, explaining that the young Catherine whom Lockwood met at Wuthering Heights is the daughter of the Catherine who was Nelly’s first mistress at Wuthering Heights, and that Hareton Earnshaw is young Catherine’s cousin, the nephew of the first Catherine. The first Catherine was the daughter of Mr. Earnshaw, the late proprietor of Wuthering Heights. Now young Catherine is the last of the Lintons, and Hareton is the last of the Earnshaws. Nelly says that she grew up as a servant at Wuthering Heights, alongside Catherine and her brother Hindley, Mr. Earnshaw’s children.

Nelly continues by telling the story of her early years at Wuthering Heights. When Catherine and Hindley are young children, Mr. Earnshaw takes a trip to Liverpool and returns home with a scraggly orphan whom the Earnshaws christen “Heathcliff.” Mr. Earnshaw announces that Heathcliff will be raised as a member of the family. Both Catherine and Hindley resent Heathcliff at first, but Catherine quickly grows to love him. Catherine and Heathcliff become inseparable, and Hindley, who continues to treat Heathcliff cruelly, falls into disfavor with his family. Mrs. Earnshaw continues to distrust Heathcliff, but Mr. Earnshaw comes to love the boy more than his own son. When Mrs. Earnshaw dies only two years after Heathcliff’s arrival at Wuthering Heights, Hindley is essentially left without an ally.

Summary: Chapter V

Time passes, and Mr. Earnshaw grows frail and weak. Disgusted by the conflict between Heathcliff and Hindley, he sends Hindley away to college. Joseph’s fanatical religious beliefs appeal to Mr. Earnshaw as he nears the end of his life, and the old servant exerts more and more sway over his master. Soon, however, Mr. Earnshaw dies, and it is now Catherine and Heathcliff who turn to religion for comfort. They discuss the idea of heaven while awaiting the return of Hindley, who will now be master of Wuthering Heights.

Analysis: Chapters I–V

The strange, deliberately confusing opening chapters of Wuthering Heightsserve as Brontë’s introduction to the world of the novel and to the complex relationships among the characters, as well as to the peculiar style of narration through which the story will be told. One of the most important aspects of the novel is its second- and third-hand manner of narration. Nothing is ever related simply from the perspective of a single participant. Instead, the story is told through entries in Lockwood’s diary, but Lockwood does not participate in the events he records. The vast majority of the novel represents Lockwood’s written recollections of what he has learned from the testaments of others, whether he is transcribing what he recalls of Catherine’s diary entry or recording his conversations with Nelly Dean. Because of the distance that this imposes between the reader and the story itself, it is extremely important to remember that nothing in the book is written from the perspective of an unbiased narrator, and it is often necessary to read between the lines in order to understand events.

The reader can immediately question Lockwood’s reliability as a conveyer of facts. A vain and somewhat shallow man, he frequently makes amusing mistakes—he assumes, for instance, that Heathcliff is a gentleman with a house full of servants, even though it is apparent to the reader that Heathcliff is a rough and cruel man with a house full of dogs. Nelly Dean is more knowledgeable about events, as she has participated in many of them first hand, yet while this makes her more trustworthy in some ways, it also makes her more biased in others. She frequently glosses over her own role in the story’s developments, particularly when she has behaved badly. Later in the novel, she describes how she took the young Linton to live with his cruel father after the death of his mother. She lies to the boy on the journey, telling him that his father is a kind man, and, after his horrible meeting with Heathcliff, she tries to sneak out when he is not paying attention. He notices her and begs her not to leave him with Heathcliff. She ignores his entreaties, however, and tells Lockwood that she simply had “no excuse for lingering longer.” Nelly is generally a dependable source of information, but moments such as this one—and there are many—remind the reader that the story is told by a fallible human being.

Apart from establishing the manner and quality of narration, the most important function of these early chapters is to pique the reader’s curiosity about the strange histories of the denizens of Wuthering Heights. The family relationships, including multiple Earnshaws, Catherines, Lintons, and Heathcliffs, seem at this point in the novel to intertwine with baffling complexity, and the characters, because Lockwood first encounters them late in their story, seem full of mysterious passions and ancient, hidden resentments. Even the setting of this history seems to possess its own secrets. Wild and desolate, full of eerie winds and forgotten corners, the land has borne witness to its residents’ nighttime walks, forbidden meetings, and graveyard visits. Indeed, the mysteries of the land cannot be separated from the mysteries of the characters, and the physical landscape of the novel is often used to reflect the mental and emotional landscapes of those who live there.

While the odd characters and wild setting contribute to a certain sense of mystery, this sense is most definitively established by the appearance of Catherine Earnshaw’s ghost. Yet while Lockwood’s account of the event greatly influences the feel of the novel, and while his subsequent account of it to Heathcliff provokes a reaction that may offer us clues as to his relationship with the late Catherine, the reader may still conclude that the ghost is a figment of Lockwood’s imagination. Because Lockwood has proven himself flighty and emotional, and he is still half asleep when he encounters the ghost, one could infer that he never actually sees a ghost, but simply has an intense vision in the midst of his dream. It seems likely, however, that Emily Brontë would have intended the ghost to seem real to her readers: such a supernatural phenomenon would certainly be in keeping with the Gothic tone pervading the rest of the novel. Moreover, Heathcliff refers to Catherine’s ghost several times during the course of the novel. Clearly he concurs with Lockwood in believing that she haunts Wuthering Heights. Thus the ghost, whether objectively “real” or not, attests to the way the characters remain haunted by a troubling and turbulent past.

Chapters VI–IX

Summary: Chapter VI

Hindley and his new wife, a simpering, silly woman named Frances, return to Wuthering Heights in time for Mr. Earnshaw’s funeral. Hindley immediately begins to take his revenge on Heathcliff, declaring that Heathcliff no longer will be allowed an education and instead will spend his days working in the fields like a common laborer. But, for the most part, Catherine and Heathcliff are able to escape Hindley’s notice, and when Heathcliff is free from his responsibilities they go off onto the moors together to play.

One evening, when Heathcliff and Catherine disappear, Hindley orders that the doors be bolted and that the children not be allowed into the house. Despite his charge, Nelly waits for them, and receives a shock when Heathcliff returns alone. He tells her that he and Catherine made the trip to Thrushcross Grange to spy on and tease Edgar and Isabella Linton, Mr. Linton’s children. Before they could succeed in their mission, Skulker, the Lintons’ guard dog, took them by surprise and chased them, biting Catherine’s ankle. Unable to return home, Catherine was taken inside Thrushcross Grange by a servant. However, the Lintons, repelled by Heathcliff’s rough appearance, forbade her playmate to stay with her. The following day, Mr. Linton pays a visit to Wuthering Heights to explain matters to Hindley and upbraids the young man for his mismanagement of Catherine. After Mr. Linton leaves, the humiliated Hindley furiously tells Heathcliff that he may have no further contact with Catherine.

Summary: Chapter VII

Catherine spends five weeks recuperating at the Grange. Mrs. Linton determines to transform the girl into a young lady and spends her time educating Catherine in manners and social graces. Catherine returns to Wuthering Heights at Christmastime, wearing a lovely dress. Hindley says that Heathcliff may greet Catherine “like the other servants,” and, when he does so, she says he is dirty in comparison with the Linton children, to whom she has grown accustomed. Heathcliff’s feelings are wounded, and he storms out of the room, declaring that he will be as dirty as he likes. The Linton children come for dinner at Wuthering Heights the next day. Nelly helps Heathcliff to wash himself and put on suitable clothes after the boy declares his intention to be “good,” but Mrs. Linton has allowed Edgar and Isabella to attend under the condition that Heathcliff be kept away from them. Accordingly, Hindley orders that Heathcliff be locked in the attic until the end of dinner. Before the boy can be locked away, however, Edgar makes a comment about Heathcliff’s hair, and Heathcliff angrily flings hot applesauce in his face. Catherine clearly appears unhappy with Hindley’s treatment of Heathcliff, and after dinner she goes up to see him. Nelly frees the boy and gives him some supper in the kitchen. Heathcliff confides to Nelly that he intends to seek revenge on Hindley.

At this point, Nelly interrupts her narrative and rises to go, remarking that the night is growing late. Lockwood says that he intends to sleep late the next day and wishes to hear the rest of her story now. He urges her to continue in minute detail.

Summary: Chapter VIII

Nelly skips ahead a bit in her story, to the summer of 1778, several months after the Lintons’ visit and twenty-three years before Lockwood’s arrival at the Grange. Frances gives birth to a baby boy, Hareton, but she dies not long afterwards, the strain of childbirth having aggravated her chronic consumption. Hindley assigns Nelly the task of raising the baby, as he takes no interest in the child. Miserable at Frances’s death, Hindley begins to drink excessively and behaves abusively toward his servants—especially toward Heathcliff, who takes great pleasure in Hindley’s steady decline. Catherine continues to spend time with Edgar Linton, and she behaves like a proper lady while with him. However, when she is with Heathcliff, she acts as she always has. One afternoon, when Hindley is out of the house, Heathcliff declares that he will stay home from the fields and spend the day with Catherine. She tells him ruefully that Edgar and Isabella are planning to visit. When Heathcliff confronts her about the amount of time she spends with Edgar, she retorts that Heathcliff is ignorant and dull. At that moment, Edgar enters—without Isabella—and Heathcliff storms away.

Catherine asks Nelly to leave the room, but Nelly refuses, having been instructed by Hindley to act as Catherine’s chaperone in Edgar’s presence. Catherine pinches her and then slaps her, and when Hareton begins to cry, she shakes him. Edgar, appalled at Catherine’s behavior, attempts to restore order, and Catherine boxes his ears. Edgar is unable to cope with Catherine’s unladylike temper and hurries out of the house. On his way out, however, he catches a last glimpse of Catherine through the window; lured by her beauty, he comes back inside. Nelly now leaves them alone and interrupts them only to tell them that Hindley has arrived home, drunk and in a foul temper. When she next enters the room, she can tell that Catherine and Edgar have confessed their love for one another. Edgar hurries home to avoid Hindley, and Catherine goes to her chamber. Nelly goes to hide little Hareton and takes the shot out of Hindley’s gun, which he is fond of playing with in his drunken rages.

Summary: Chapter IX

Heathcliff . . . shall never know how I love him . . . he’s more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same. . . .

Nelly is in the midst of hiding Hareton from Hindley when Hindley bolts in and seizes the boy. Stumbling drunkenly, he accidentally drops Hareton over the banister. Heathcliff is there to catch him at the bottom of the stairs.

Later that evening, Catherine seeks out Nelly in the kitchen and confides to her that Edgar has asked her to marry him, and that she has accepted. Unnoticed by the two women, Heathcliff listens to their conversation. Heathcliff hears Catherine tell Nelly that she cannot marry him because Hindley has cast him down so low; to marry him now would be to degrade herself. Heathcliff withdraws in a rage of shame, humiliation, and despair, and thus is not present to hear Catherine say that she loves him more deeply than anything else in the world. She says that she and Heathcliff are such kindred spirits that they are essentially the same person. Nonetheless, she insists, she must marry Edgar Linton instead.

That night, Heathcliff runs away from Wuthering Heights. Catherine spends the night outdoors in the rain, sobbing and searching for Heathcliff. She catches a fever, and soon she nears death. The Lintons take her to Thrushcross Grange to recuperate, and Catherine recovers. However, both Mr. and Mrs. Linton become infected and soon die. Three years later, Catherine and Edgar marry. Nelly transfers to Thrushcross Grange to serve Catherine, leaving Hareton in the care of his drunken father and Joseph, the only servant now remaining at Wuthering Heights.

Noticing the clock, Nelly again interrupts her narrative, saying that it is half past one, and that she must get some sleep. Lockwood notes in his diary—the same book in which he has set down Nelly’s story—that he, too, will go to bed now.

Analysis: Chapters VI–IX

In this section, Nelly brings to conclusion the story of Heathcliff and Catherine’s childhood, with Heathcliff leaving Wuthering Heights the night Catherine decides to marry Edgar Linton. In the climactic scene in which Catherine discusses with Nelly her decision to marry Edgar, Catherine describes the conflict between her love for Heathcliff and her love for Edgar. She says that she loves Edgar because he is handsome, rich, and graceful, and because he would make her the greatest lady in the region. However, she also states that she loves Heathcliff as though they shared the same soul, and that she knows in her heart that she has no business marrying Edgar. Nevertheless, her desire for a genteel and socially prominent lifestyle guides her decision-making: she would marry Heathcliff, if Hindley had not cast him down so low.

Heathcliff’s emotional turmoil is due in part to his ambiguous class status. He begins life as a lower-class orphan, but is raised to the status of a gentleman’s son when Mr. Earnshaw adopts him. He suffers another reversal in status when Hindley forces him to work as a servant in the very same household where he once enjoyed a life of luxury. The other characters, including the Lintons and, to an extent, Catherine—all upper-class themselves—prove complicit in this obliteration of Heathcliff’s hopes. Inevitably, the unbridgeable gap in Catherine’s and Heathcliff’s social positions renders their fervent romance unrealizable on any practical level.

Nevertheless, the passion between the two lovers remains rooted in their hearts, impervious to external contingencies. The text consistently treats the love between Catherine and Heathcliff as an incontestable fact of nature. Nothing can alter or lessen it, and the lovers know this. Heathcliff and Catherine know that no matter how they hurt each other, they can be sure of never losing their shared passion and ultimate mutual loyalty. Catherine can decide to marry Edgar, certain that this outward act will have no effect on her and Heathcliff’s inner feelings for one another. Similarly, it is in the knowledge of their passion’s durability that Heathcliff later undertakes his cruel revenge.

Chapters X–XIV

Summary: Chapter X

Lockwood becomes sick after his traumatic experience at Wuthering Heights, and—as he writes in his diary—spends four weeks in misery. Heathcliff pays him a visit, and afterward Lockwood summons Nelly Dean and demands to know the rest of her story. How did Heathcliff, the oppressed and reviled outcast, make his fortune and acquire both Wuthering Heights and Thrushcross Grange? Nelly says that she does not know how Heathcliff spent the three years that he was away and that it was at this time that he apparently acquired his wealth. But she agrees to continue with her tale.

About six months after Catherine’s marriage to Edgar Linton, Heathcliff returns home, surprising Nelly at Thrushcross Grange. When he comes indoors, Catherine becomes almost giddy with happiness at the sight of him, and their obvious affection for one another makes Edgar uncomfortable and jealous. Heathcliff has grown into a polished, gentlemanly, and physically impressive man, though some hint of savagery remains in his eyes. He announces that Hindley has invited him to stay at Wuthering Heights. This surprises both Catherine and Nelly, but Heathcliff tells Catherine that when he sought Nelly at Wuthering Heights earlier that day, he came across Hindley in a card game with his rough friends. Heathcliff joined them in the gambling, and, because his reckless bids seemed to bespeak a great wealth, Hindley excitedly invited him to return.

Catherine and Isabella begin to visit Wuthering Heights quite often, and Heathcliff returns the favor by calling at the Grange. Isabella begins to fall in love with Heathcliff, who, despite his obvious love for Catherine, does nothing to discourage her sister-in-law’s affections. Nelly suspects that he harbors wicked and vengeful motives, and vows to watch him closely.

Summary: Chapter XI

Nelly travels to Wuthering Heights to talk with Hindley, but instead she finds Hareton, who throws stones at her and curses. Nelly learns from Hareton that Heathcliff has taught the boy to swear at his father, Hindley, and has forbidden the curate, who offered to educate Hareton, to set foot on the property. Heathcliff appears, and Nelly flees.

The next day, at the Grange, Nelly observes Heathcliff embracing Isabella. In the kitchen, Catherine demands that Heathcliff tell her his true feelings about Isabella. She offers to convince Edgar to permit the marriage if Heathcliff truly loves the woman. Heathcliff scorns this idea, however, declaring that Catherine has wronged him by marrying Edgar, and that he intends to exact revenge. Nelly informs Edgar of the encounter occurring between Catherine and Heathcliff in the kitchen, and Edgar storms in and orders Heathcliff off of his property. When Heathcliff refuses to leave, Edgar summons his servants for help. However, Catherine locks herself and the two men inside the kitchen and throws the key into the fire, forcing Edgar to confront Heathcliff without the help of additional men. Overcome with fear and shame, Edgar hides his face. Still, Catherine’s taunts goad Edgar into striking Heathcliff a blow to the throat, after which Edgar exits through the garden. In terror of the larger and stronger Heathcliff, Edgar hurries to find help, and Heathcliff, deciding that he cannot fight three armed servants, departs.

In a rage, Edgar declares that Catherine must choose between Heathcliff and himself. Catherine refuses to speak to him, locking herself in a room and refusing to eat. Two days pass in this way, and Edgar warns Isabella that if she pursues Heathcliff, he will cast her out of the Linton family.

Summary: Chapter XII

At last, Catherine permits the servants to bring her food. Hysterical, she believes that she is dying, and cannot understand why Edgar has not come to her. She rants about her childhood with Heathcliff on the moors, and speaks obsessively about death. Nelly, worried that her mistress will catch a chill, refuses to open the window. Catherine manages to stumble to the window and force it open; from the window, she believes she can see Wuthering Heights. Catherine says that even though she will die, her spirit will never be at rest until she can be with Heathcliff. Edgar arrives and is shocked to find Catherine in such a weak condition. Nelly goes to fetch a doctor. The doctor professes himself cautiously optimistic for a successful recovery.

That very night, Isabella and Heathcliff elope. Furious, Edgar declares that Isabella is now his sister only in name. Yet he does not disown her, saying instead that she has disowned him.

Summary: Chapter XIII

Edgar and Nelly spend two months nursing Catherine through her illness, and, though she never entirely recovers, she learns that she has become pregnant. Six weeks after Isabella and Heathcliff’s marriage, Isabella sends a letter to Edgar begging his forgiveness. When Edgar ignores her pleas, she sends a letter to Nelly, describing her horrible experiences at Wuthering Heights. In her letter, she explains that Hindley, Joseph, and Hareton have all treated her cruelly, and that Heathcliff declares that since he cannot punish Edgar for causing Catherine’s illness, he will punish Isabella in his place. Isabella also tells Nelly that Hindley has developed a mad obsession with Heathcliff, who has assumed the position of power at Wuthering Heights. Hindley hopes that somehow he will be able to obtain Heathcliff’s vast fortune for himself, and he has shown Isabella the weapon with which he hopes to kill Heathcliff—a pistol with a knife attached to its barrel. Isabella says that she has made a terrible mistake, and she begs Nelly to visit her at Wuthering Heights, where she and Heathcliff are now living.

Summary: Chapter XIV

Nelly grants Isabella’s request and goes to the manor, but Edgar continues to spurn his sister’s appeals for forgiveness. When Nelly arrives, Heathcliff presses her for news of Catherine and asks if he may come see her. Nelly refuses to allow him to come to the Grange, however, and, enraged, Heathcliff threatens that he will hold Nelly a prisoner at Wuthering Heights and go alone. Terrified by that possibility, Nelly agrees to carry a letter from Heathcliff to Catherine.

Analysis: Chapters X–XIV

Heathcliff, who seemed an almost superhuman figure even at his most oppressed, emerges in these chapters as a demonically charismatic, powerful, and villainous man, capable of extreme cruelties. Tortured by the depth of his love for Catherine, by his sense that she has betrayed him, and by his hatred of Hindley and the Linton family for making him seem unworthy of her, Heathcliff dedicates himself to an elaborate plan for revenge. The execution of this plan occupies much of the rest of the novel.

Though Heathcliff’s first reunion with Catherine seems joyful, Nelly is right to fear his return, for he quickly exhibits his ardent malice, first through his treatment of the pathetic wretch Hindley, and then through his merciless abuse of the innocent Isabella. But though his destructive cruelty makes him the villain of the book, Heathcliff never loses his status as a sympathetic character. Although one can hardly condone his actions, it is difficult not to commiserate with him.

This ambiguity in Heathcliff’s character has sparked much discussion among critics, who debate whether his role in the novel is that of hero or villain. In some sense, he fulfills both roles. He certainly behaves cruelly and harmfully toward many of the other characters; yet, because he does so out of the pain of his love for Catherine, the reader remains just as attuned to Heathcliff’s own misery as to the misery he causes in others. The love between Catherine and Heathcliff constitutes the center of Wuthering Heightsboth thematically and emotionally, and, if one is to respond at all to the novel, it is difficult to resist sympathizing with that love. Correspondingly, as a participant in this love story, Heathcliff never becomes an entirely inhuman or incomprehensible character to the reader, no matter how sadistically he behaves.

Many scholars believe that Brontë intended her novel to be a moralizing, cautionary tale about the dangers of loving too deeply. If this is true, then one might argue that the book, in creating such charismatic main characters as Heathcliff and Catherine, defeats its own purpose. For instance, Isabella, though innocent and morally pure, never exerts the same power over the reader’s imagination as Heathcliff and Catherine. As a result, it becomes unnervingly easy to overlook Isabella’s suffering, even though her suffering would otherwise function as one of the novel’s strongest pieces of evidence in its condemnation of obsessive passions. Similarly, Heathcliff suffers the ill treatment of characters who seem his intellectual and spiritual inferiors; thus when he seeks revenge on a brute such as Hindley, the reader secretly wishes him success. As a result, once again, Brontë’s strong characterization of Heathcliff undermines any possible intent she might have had to warn her readers about the perils of an overly intense love.

In addition to exploring the character of Heathcliff as a grown man, this section casts some light on the character of Nelly Dean as a narrator. Her narrative has always shown certain biases, and throughout the book she harshly criticizes Catherine’s behavior, calling her spoiled, proud, arrogant, thoughtless, selfish, naïve, and cruel. It is true that Catherine can be each of those things, but it also seems clear that Nelly is jealous of Catherine’s beauty, wealth, and social station. It is important to remember that Nelly is not much older than Catherine and grew up serving her.

Some readers have speculated that Nelly’s jealousy may also arise from a passion for Edgar Linton—whom she praises extravagantly throughout the novel—or even for Heathcliff, whom she often heatedly denounces. This section of the book offers some evidence for the latter view. For instance, when Catherine teasingly tells Heathcliff in Chapter X that Isabella has fallen in love with him, she does so by saying, “Heathcliff, I’m proud to show you, at last, somebody that dotes on you more than myself. I expect you to feel flattered.” She then says, “Nay, it’s not Nelly; don’t look at her!” This comment suggests that Heathcliff looks at Nelly after Catherine’s first statement. Perhaps in the past he has suspected Nelly of having feelings for him. Certainly, a reader might interpret Catherine’s words in a different manner. Nevertheless, Catherine’s comments substantiate the idea that Nelly’s feelings for the other characters in the novel are deeper and more complicated than she reveals to Lockwood.

Chapters XV–XX

Summary: Chapter XV

Four days after visiting Wuthering Heights, Nelly waits for Edgar to leave for church, and then takes the opportunity to give Heathcliff’s letter to the ailing Catherine. Catherine has become so weak that she cannot even hold the letter, but nearly as soon as Nelly tells her that it is from Heathcliff, Heathcliff himself enters the room. Heathcliff and Catherine enter into a dramatic, highly charged conversation during which Catherine claims that both Heathcliff and Edgar have broken her heart. She says that she cannot bear dying while Heathcliff remains alive, and that she never wants to be apart from him. She begs his forgiveness. He says that he can forgive her for the pain she has caused him, but that he can never forgive her for the pain that she has caused herself—he adds that she has killed herself through her behavior, and that he could never forgive her murderer.

The church service over, Edgar reaches the house, but Catherine pleads with Heathcliff not to leave. He promises to stay by her side. As Edgar hurries toward Catherine’s room, Nelly screams, and Catherine collapses. Heathcliff catches her, and forces her into Edgar’s arms as he enters the room, demanding that Edgar see to Catherine’s needs before acting on his anger. Nelly hurries Heathcliff out of the room, promising to send him word about Catherine’s condition in the morning. Heathcliff swears that he will stay in the garden, wanting to be near her.

Summary: Chapter XVI

At midnight, Catherine gives birth to young Catherine two months prematurely. She dies within two hours of giving birth. Nelly solemnly declares that her soul has gone home to God. When Nelly goes to tell Heathcliff what has happened, he seems to know already. He curses Catherine for the pain she has caused him, and pleads with her spirit to haunt him for the rest of his life. She may take any form, he says, and even drive him mad—as long as she stays with him. Edgar keeps a vigil over Catherine’s body. At night, Heathcliff lurks in the garden outside. At one point, Edgar leaves, and Nelly permits Heathcliff a moment alone with the body. Afterwards, Nelly finds that he has opened the locket around her neck and replaced a lock of Edgar’s hair with a lock of his own. Nelly twines Edgar’s lock around Heathcliff’s, and leaves them both in the locket.

Hindley is invited to Catherine’s funeral but does not come, while Isabella is not invited at all. To the surprise of the villagers, Catherine is not buried in the Linton tomb, nor by the graves of her relatives. Instead, Edgar orders that she be buried in a corner of the churchyard overlooking the moors that she so loved. Nelly tells Lockwood that now, years later, Edgar lies buried beside her.

Summary: Chapter XVII

Not long after the funeral, Isabella arrives at Thrushcross Grange, out of breath and laughing hysterically. She has come at a time when she knows Edgar will be asleep, to ask Nelly for help. Isabella reports that the conflict between Hindley and Heathcliff has become violent. Hindley, she says, tried to stay sober for Catherine’s funeral, but could not bear to go. Instead, he began drinking heavily that morning. While Heathcliff kept a vigil over Catherine’s grave, Hindley locked him out of the house and told Isabella that he planned to shoot him. Isabella warned Heathcliff about Hindley’s plan, and when Hindley aimed his knife-gun out the window at Heathcliff, the latter grabbed it and fired it back at its owner’s wrist, wounding Hindley. Heathcliff forced his way in the window, then beat Hindley severely. The next morning, Isabella reminded Hindley what Heathcliff had done to him the previous night. Hindley grew enraged, and the men began fighting again. Isabella fled to Thrushcross Grange, seeking a permanent refuge from Wuthering Heights.

Soon after her visit to Nelly, Isabella leaves for London, where she gives birth to Heathcliff’s son, Linton. Isabella corresponds with Nelly throughout the following twelve years. Heathcliff learns of his wife’s whereabouts, and of his son’s existence, but he doesn’t pursue either of them. Isabella dies when Linton is twelve years old.

Six months after Catherine’s death, Hindley dies. Nelly returns to Wuthering Heights to see to the funeral arrangements, and to bring young Hareton back to Thrushcross Grange. She is shocked to learn that Hindley died deeply in debt, and that Heathcliff, who had lent Hindley large amounts of money to supply his gambling addiction, now owns Wuthering Heights. Heathcliff does not allow Hareton to return to Thrushcross Grange with Nelly, saying that he plans to raise him on his own. He also intimates that he plans to recover his son Linton at some point in the future. And so, Nelly tells Lockwood, Hareton, who should have lived as the finest gentleman in the area, is reduced to working for his keep at Wuthering Heights. A common, uneducated servant, he remains friendless and without hope.

Summary: Chapter XVIII

Young Catherine grows up at Thrushcross Grange, and by the time she is thirteen she is a beautiful, intelligent girl, but often strong-willed and temperamental. Her father, mindful of the tormented history of the neighboring manor, does not allow young Catherine off the grounds of Thrushcross Grange, and she grows up without any knowledge of Wuthering Heights, Heathcliff, or Hareton. She longs to visit the fairy caves at Penistone Crags, but Edgar refuses her request. He receives word one day, however, that Isabella is dying, and he hurries to London to take charge of young Linton. While he is gone, Catherine is left in Nelly’s care, and she is able to escape the confines of the Grange.

She travels toward Penistone Crags but stops at Wuthering Heights, where she meets Hareton and takes an instant liking to him. She and Hareton spend a delightful day playing near the crags. Nelly arrives in pursuit of her charge, and tries to hurry her back to Thrushcross Grange. But Catherine refuses to go. Nelly tells Catherine that Hareton is not the son of the master of Wuthering Heights—a fact that makes the girl contemptuous of him—but she also reveals that he is Catherine’s cousin. Catherine tries to deny this possibility, saying that her cousin is in London, that her father has gone to retrieve him there. Nelly, however, explains that a person can have more than one cousin. At last, Nelly prevails upon her to leave, and Catherine agrees not to mention the incident to her father, who might well terminate Nelly’s employment in rage if he knew she had let Catherine learn of Wuthering Heights.

Summary: Chapter XIX

Edgar brings young Linton to the Grange, and Catherine is disappointed to find her cousin a pale, weak, whiny young man. Not long after he arrives, Joseph appears, saying that Heathcliff is determined to take possession of his son. Edgar promises that he will bring Linton to Wuthering Heights the following day.

Summary: Chapter XX

Nelly receives orders to escort the boy to the Heights in the morning. On the way, she tries to comfort Linton by telling him reassuring lies about his father. When they arrive, however, Heathcliff does not even pretend to love his son—he calls Linton’s mother a slut, and he says that Linton is his property. Linton pleads with Nelly not to leave him with such a monster, but Nelly mounts her horse and rides away hurriedly.

Analysis: Chapters XV–XX

Wuthering Heights is, in many ways, a novel of juxtaposed pairs: Catherine’s two great loves for Heathcliff and Edgar; the two ancient manors of Wuthering Heights and Thrushcross Grange; the two families, the Earnshaws and the Lintons; Heathcliff’s conflicting passions of love and hate. Additionally, the structure of the novel divides the story into two contrasting halves. The first deals with the generation of characters represented by Catherine, Heathcliff, Hindley, Isabella, and Edgar, and the second deals with their children—young Catherine, Linton, and Hareton. Many of the same themes and ideas occur in the second half of the novel as in the first half, but they develop quite differently. While the first half ends on a note of doom and despair with Catherine’s death and Heathcliff’s gradual descent into evil, the novel as a whole ends on a note of hope, peace, and joy, with young Catherine’s proposed marriage to Hareton Earnshaw.

In the first of the chapters in this section, we witness the event that marks the dividing line between the two halves of the novel: Catherine’s death. The episodes surrounding her passing—her dramatic illness, her confrontation with Heathcliff, Heathcliff’s conflict with Edgar, and Heathcliff’s curse upon her soul to walk the earth after her death (contrasting immediately with Nelly’s gentle claim that she at last rests in heaven) rank among the most intense scenes in the book. In fact, many readers view the second half of the novel, in which Catherine figures only as a memory, as a sort of anticlimax. While the latter chapters may never reach the emotional heights of the earlier ones, however, they remain crucial to the thematic development of the novel, as well as to its structural symmetry.

Young Catherine grows up sheltered at Thrushcross Grange, learning only in piecemeal fashion about the existence of Heathcliff and his reign at Wuthering Heights. Unbeknownst to her, Heathcliff’s legal claim on the Grange (through his marriage to Isabella) may jeopardize her own eventual claim on it. Edgar Linton, however, painfully aware of this threat, searches for a way to prevent Heathcliff from taking the property. These events underscore the symbolic importance of the two houses. Wuthering Heights represents wildness, ungoverned passion, extremity, and doom. The fiery behavior of the characters associated with this house—Hindley, Catherine, and Heathcliff—underscores such connotations. By contrast, Thrushcross Grange represents restraint, social grace, civility, gentility, and aristocracy—qualities emphasized by the more mannered behavior of the Lintons who live there. The names of the two houses also bear out the contrast. While the adjective “wuthering” refers to violent storms, the thrush is a bird known for its melodious song, as well as being a symbol of Christian piety. In addition, whereas “Heights” evoke raw and imposing cliffs, “Grange” refers to a domestic site, a farm—especially that of a gentleman farmer. The concepts juxtaposed in the contrast of the two estates come into further conflict in Catherine’s inability to choose between Edgar and Heathcliff. While she is attracted to Edgar’s social grace, her feelings for Heathcliff reach heights of wild passion.

As the second generation of main characters matures, its members emerge as combinations of their parents’ characteristics, blending together qualities that had been opposed in the older generation. Thus young Catherine is impetuous and headstrong like her mother, but tempered by the gentling influence of her father. Linton, on the other hand, represents the worst of both of his parents, behaving in an imperious and demanding manner like Heathcliff, but also remaining fragile and simpering like Isabella. Hareton appears as a second Heathcliff, rough and unpolished, but possessed of a strength of character that refuses to be suppressed, despite Heathcliff’s attempts to stunt his development.

Chapters XXI–XXVI

Summary: Chapter XXI

Young Catherine despairs over her cousin’s sudden departure from Thrushcross Grange. Nelly tries to keep up with the news of young Linton, quizzing the housekeeper at Wuthering Heights whenever she meets her in the nearby town of Gimmerton. She learns that Heathcliff loathes his sniveling son and cannot bear to be alone with him. She also learns that Linton continues to be frail and sickly.

One day, when young Catherine is sixteen, she and Nelly are out bird-hunting on the moors. Nelly loses sight of Catherine for a moment, then finds her conversing with Heathcliff and Hareton. Catherine says that she thinks she has met Hareton before and asks if Heathcliff is his father. Heathcliff says no, but that he does have a son back at the house. He invites Catherine and Nelly to pay a visit to Wuthering Heights to see the boy. Nelly, always suspicious of Heathcliff, disapproves of the idea, but Catherine, not realizing that this son is her cousin Linton, is curious to meet the boy, and Nelly cannot keep her from going. At Wuthering Heights, Heathcliff tells Nelly that he hopes Catherine and his son will be married someday. For their part, the cousins do not recognize one another—they have changed much in three years—and because Linton is too sickly and self-pitying to show Catherine around the farm, she leaves with Hareton instead, all the while mocking the latter’s illiteracy and lack of education. Heathcliff forces Linton to go after them.

At Thrushcross Grange the next day, Catherine tells her father about her visit and demands to know why he has kept her relatives secret. Edgar tries to explain, and eventually Catherine comes to understand his disdain for Heathcliff. But although Edgar gently implores her not to have any contact with Linton, Catherine cannot resist exchanging letters with the boy covertly. Nelly discovers the correspondence, and, much to Catherine’s dismay, destroys Linton’s letters to her. She then sends a note to Wuthering Heights requesting that Linton desist in his part of the correspondence. However, she does not alert Edgar to the young people’s relationship.

Summary: Chapter XXII

Edgar’s health begins to fail, and, as a result, he spends less time with Catherine. Nelly attempts in vain to fill the companionship role formerly played by the girl’s father. One winter day, during a walk in the garden, Catherine climbs the wall and stretches for some fruit on a tree. In the process, her hat falls off her head and down to the other side of the wall. Nelly allows Catherine to climb down the wall to retrieve it, but, once on the other side, Catherine is unable to get back over the wall by herself. Nelly looks for the key to the gate, and suddenly Heathcliff appears, telling Catherine that it was cruel of her to break off her correspondence with Linton. He accuses her of toying with his son’s affections, and he urges her to visit Linton while he is away the following week. He claims that Linton may be dying of a broken heart. Catherine believes him and convinces Nelly to take her to Wuthering Heights the next morning. Nelly assents in the hope that the sight of Linton will expose Heathcliff’s lie.

Summary: Chapter XXIII

The following morning, Catherine and Nelly ride in the rain to Wuthering Heights, where they find Linton engaged in his customary whining. He speaks to Catherine about the possibility of marriage. Annoyed, Catherine shoves his chair in a fit of temper. Linton begins to cough and says that Catherine has assaulted him and has injured his already fragile health. He fills Catherine with guilt and requests that she nurse him back to health herself. After Nelly and Catherine ride home, Nelly discovers that she has caught a cold from traveling in the rain. Catherine nurses both her father and Nelly during the day, but, by night, she begins traveling in secret to be with Linton.

Summary: Chapter XXIV

After Nelly recuperates, she notices Catherine’s suspicious behavior and quickly discovers where she has been spending her evenings. Catherine tells Nelly the story of her visits to Wuthering Heights, including one incident in which Hareton proves to her that he can read a name inscribed above the manor’s entrance: it is his own name, carved by a distant ancestor who shared it. But Catherine asks if he can read the date—1500—and he must confess that he cannot. Catherine calls him a dunce. Enraged, Hareton interrupts her visit with Linton, bullying the weak young man and forcing him to go upstairs. In a later moment of contrition, he attempts to apologize for his behavior, but Catherine angrily ignores him and goes home. When she returns to Wuthering Heights a few days later, Linton blames her for his humiliation. She leaves, but she returns two days later to tell him that she will never visit him again. Distressed, Linton asks for her forgiveness. After she has heard Catherine’s story, Nelly reveals the girl’s secret to Edgar. Edgar immediately forbids her from visiting Linton again, but he agrees to invite Linton to come to Thrushcross Grange.

Summary: Chapter XXV

At this point, Nelly interrupts her story to explain to Lockwood its chronology: the events that she has just described happened the previous winter, only a little over a year ago. Nelly says that the previous year, it never crossed her mind that she would entertain a stranger by telling him the story. But she wonders how long he will remain a stranger, speculating that he might fall in love with the beautiful young Catherine. Lockwood confesses that he might, but says that he doubts his love would ever be requited. Besides, he says, these moors are not his home; he must return soon to the outside world. Still, he remains enraptured by the story, and he urges Nelly to continue. She obliges.

Young Catherine agrees to abide by her father’s wishes and stops sneaking out to visit Linton. But Linton never visits the Grange, either—he is very frail, as Nelly reminds Edgar. Edgar worries over his daughter’s happiness, and over the future of his estate. He says that if marrying Linton would make Catherine happy, he would allow it, despite the fact that it would ensure that Heathcliff would inherit Thrushcross Grange. Edgar’s health continues to fail, as does Linton’s. Eventually, Edgar agrees to allow Catherine to meet Linton, not at Wuthering Heights, but on the moors, not realizing that the young man is as close to death as he is himself.

Summary: Chapter XXVI

When Catherine and Nelly ride to their meeting with Linton, they do not find him in the agreed-upon spot—he has not ventured far from Wuthering Heights. He appears frail and weak, but he insists that his health is improving. The youth seems nervous and looks fearfully over his shoulder at the house. At the end of their visit, Catherine agrees to meet Linton again on the following Thursday. On the way home, Catherine and Nelly worry over Linton’s health, but they decide to wait until their next meeting before coming to any conclusions.

Analysis: Chapters XXI–XXVI

As Nelly tells Lockwood, her story has now nearly caught up with the present. Hareton was born in the summer of 1778; the first Catherine married Edgar in 1783 (a fact that can be extrapolated from Nelly’s claim in 1801 to have been living at Thrushcross Grange for about eighteen years); and young Catherine was born in 1784, first met her cousins in 1797, and carried on her romance with Linton in the winter of 1800–1801, just over a year ago (see “Chronology”). The realization that Nelly has been narrating recent events should come as something of a surprise to the reader, to whom these events have seemed strange and distant. Now, both the reader and Lockwood realize that the story he has been hearing is not remote history, but bears on the present. Indeed, the events that Lockwood has just heard recounted may partially explain the interactions of the characters at Wuthering Heights when he first visited.

Apart from supplying important chronological information, these chapters largely help to further the generational drama, illustrating the similarities and differences between the first and second generations of main characters. Young Catherine’s taunting of Hareton for his ignorance directly parallels the first Catherine’s taunting of Heathcliff, just as Heathcliff’s oppression of Hareton parallels Hindley’s oppression of Heathcliff. In addition, these chapters demonstrate that Heathcliff accomplishes his revenge methodically, punishing his dead contemporaries by manipulating and bullying their children. By this point in the novel, revenge has supplanted love as the main force bearing upon Heathcliff’s behavior. His acts take on a sense of urgency as he hurries to have young Catherine married to Linton before the boy dies. This plot evidences the way that Heathcliff makes a pawn of everyone—even his own son. Indeed, Heathcliff may despise Linton more than any other character in the novel. Worried that Linton will not outlive Edgar, Heathcliff hastens to secure his claim on Thrushcross Grange by uniting his son with Edgar’s daughter.

Chapters XXVII–XXX

Summary: Chapter XXVII

During the next week, Edgar’s health grows consistently worse. Worried for her father, young Catherine only reluctantly rides to her meeting with Linton on the moors. Nelly comes with her. The cousins talk, and Linton seems even more nervous than usual. He reveals that his father is forcing him to court Catherine, and that he is terrified of what Heathcliff will do if Catherine rejects him. Heathcliff arrives on the scene and questions Nelly about Edgar’s health. He says that he worries that Linton will die before Edgar. Heathcliff asks Catherine and Nelly to walk back to Wuthering Heights, and, though Catherine reminds him that she is forbidden to do so by her father, she agrees because she is afraid of Heathcliff. Heathcliff seems full of rage toward Linton, who is practically weeping with terror. Once he has Nelly and Catherine inside Wuthering Heights, Heathcliff locks them inside the house and refuses to allow them to leave until Catherine has married Linton. He allows Catherine to leave the bedroom in which they are locked, but he keeps Nelly imprisoned there for five days. During this time, the only soul Nelly sees is Hareton, who is ordered to guard and attend her.

Summary: Chapter XXVIII

At last, the housekeeper, Zillah, frees Nelly from her imprisonment, telling her that the villagers in Gimmerton have spread the news that both Nelly and Catherine have been lost in Blackhorse Marsh. Nelly searches through the house until she finds Linton, who tells her that Catherine is locked away in another room. The two are now husband and wife. Linton gloats over this development, claiming that all of Catherine’s possessions are now his, as Edgar is dying quickly. Fearing discovery by Heathcliff, Nelly hurries back to Thrushcross Grange. Here, she tells the dying Edgar that Catherine is safe and will soon be home. She sends a group of men to Wuthering Heights to retrieve Catherine, but they fail in their task. Edgar plans to change his will, placing Catherine’s inheritance in the hands of trustees and thus keeping it from Heathcliff. He summons Mr. Green, his lawyer, to the Grange. Nelly hears someone arriving and believes it to be Mr. Green, but it is Catherine. Thus Edgar sees his daughter once more before he dies, believing that his daughter is happily married to Linton, and knowing nothing about her desperate circumstances. Shortly after Edgar’s death, Mr. Green arrives, and dismisses all of the servants except Nelly. He tries to have Edgar buried in the chapel, but Nelly insists that he obey Edgar’s will, which states that he wishes to be buried in the churchyard next to his wife.

Summary: Chapter XXIX

“I got the sexton, who was digging Linton’s grave, to remove the earth off her coffin lid, and I opened it. . . .”

Heathcliff appears at Thrushcross Grange shortly after the funeral in order to take young Catherine to her new home. He tells her that he has punished Linton for having helped her escape, and says that she will have to work for her keep at Wuthering Heights. Catherine angrily retorts that she and Linton are in fact in love, despite Linton’s bad-temperedness, while Heathcliff has no one to love him. Thus no matter how miserable Heathcliff makes the young couple, Catherine says, they shall have the revenge of knowing that his cruelty arises from his greater misery.

As Catherine is packing her things, Nelly asks Heathcliff for Zillah’s position at Wuthering Heights, desperate to remain with Catherine. But Heathcliff interrupts Nelly to tell her his astonishing deed of the day before. While the sexton was digging Edgar’s grave, Heathcliff had him remove the earth from his beloved Catherine’s, and he opened her coffin to gaze upon her face, which he says is still recognizable. Heathcliff asserts that Catherine will not crumble to dust until he joins her in the ground, at which point they will share the transformation together. He says that he forced the sexton to remove one whole side of her coffin—the side not facing Edgar—and that when he dies, he will require in his will that the corresponding side of his coffin be removed, so that he and Catherine might mingle in the earth. Nelly chastises him for disturbing the dead, and Heathcliff tells her that Catherine’s ghost has tormented him every night for the last eighteen years. He explains that he has felt her presence without being able to reach her. As they leave, Catherine asks Nelly to visit her soon, but Heathcliff tells Nelly that she must never call at Wuthering Heights, noting that if he wishes to see her he will come to Thrushcross Grange.

Summary: Chapter XXX

Nelly has not seen Catherine since she left, and her only source of information about her is Zillah. Zillah says that Heathcliff refused to allow anyone at Wuthering Heights to be kind or helpful to Catherine after her arrival, and that Catherine tended to Linton by herself until the day he died. Since Linton’s death, Catherine has remained aloof from Zillah and from Hareton, with whom she has been in constant conflict. Desperate to help her, Nelly tells Lockwood that she has taken a cottage herself and wants to bring Catherine to live with her, but she knows that Heathcliff will not allow it. The only thing that could save Catherine would be another marriage, says Nelly, but she does not have the power to bring about such a thing.

Writing in his diary—where all of Nelly’s story has been recorded—Lockwood says that this is the end of Nelly’s story, and that he is finally recovering from his illness. He writes that he plans to ride out to Wuthering Heights and to inform Heathcliff that he will spend the next six months in London, and that Heathcliff may look for another tenant for the Grange. He emphatically states that he has no desire to spend another winter in this strange company.

Analysis: Chapters XXVII–XXX

As Edgar Linton grows weak and dies, Heathcliff’s cruelty rages unchecked. Without fear of repercussion, he abuses the other characters mercilessly, kidnapping Nelly and young Catherine. With no one left who is strong enough to counter Heathcliff, the course of events in these chapters seems inevitable. Heathcliff easily succeeds in marrying his son to young Catherine, and in inheriting Thrushcross Grange. However, a new force begins to rise up against the tyrant. Catherine shows a defiant spirit, and she triumphantly declares that the love between her and Linton will save them from misery and make them superior to Heathcliff. This foreshadows her eventual strong-willed rebellion against Heathcliff—and her redemption of her oppressed predecessors through her love for her other cousin, Hareton Earnshaw.

The young Catherine’s manifestation of her mother’s boldness, as well as Heathcliff’s progressing revenge, bring to mind the older Catherine and the defiant marriage to Edgar with which she first sparked Heathcliff’s wrath. Indeed, perhaps because of young Catherine’s behavior, Heathcliff himself seems to become increasingly preoccupied with thoughts of the late Catherine. The horrifying spectacle of Heathcliff uncovering her grave and gazing upon her corpse’s face, as well as his intense concern about the fate of Catherine’s body, testifies to the extreme depth of his obsession. In a sense, Heathcliff’s interest in the decomposition of his beloved is quite in keeping with the nature of their relationship. The text consistently describes their love not only in spiritual terms, but in material ones. Thus Catherine declares in Chapter IX, “Whatever souls are made of, his and mine are the same.” Moreover, the relationship between Heathcliff and Catherine has come to be associated with the soil where it has been conducted; its fate becomes intertwined with that of the earth, as the narrative repeatedly links both Heathcliff and Catherine to the severe and wild moors, which frequently symbolize the unruly nature of their love.

These chapters give us insight not only into the story’s main characters and their relationships, but also into the story’s narrator, Nelly Dean. First, Nelly chooses to lie to Edgar about his daughter’s condition as Edgar lingers near death, a well-meaning untruth that resembles her earlier lie to Linton, which she told en route to deliver him to Heathcliff. Just as she declared to Linton that his father was kind and generous, she now tells Edgar that his daughter is happily married. Nelly thus shows herself willing to lie and distort the truth in order to spare feelings and ease social situations. Nelly again displays a certain manipulative quality in a statement she makes outside the story, to Lockwood. She tells him that the young Catherine’s last hope for salvation would be a second marriage, but that she, Nelly, is powerless to bring about such a union. This remark seems intended to express more than idle wishfulness. As the reader may recall, Nelly insinuates in Chapter XXV that Lockwood might fall in love with Catherine himself. At the time, the comment seemed nothing more than speculation. Yet now the reader can see that Nelly may be pursuing a plot to rescue her former mistress.

Indeed, Nelly’s willingness to narrate the story to Lockwood in the first place may stem from this notion of saving Catherine. Nelly paints a far more flattering picture of young Catherine than she does of the girl’s mother, even when they exhibit similar traits. Nelly frequently emphasizes young Catherine’s beauty, and she may subtly frame her story in a certain way so as to pique Lockwood’s interest in the girl. Of course, this is merely one possible interpretation of the text, but again, it is extremely important to consider the motivations and biases of the character who narrates the story. One of the most impressive aspects of Emily Brontë’s achievement inWuthering Heights is her ability to include such finely drawn, subtle psychological portraits as that of Nelly Dean—many of whose most fascinating human qualities emerge only when one reads between the lines of her narration.

“Great Expectations” Dickens, Ch.

Context

C harles Dickens was born on February 7, 1812, and spent the first nine years of his life living in the coastal regions of Kent, a county in southeast England. Dickens’s father, John, was a kind and likable man, but he was incompetent with money and piled up tremendous debts throughout his life. When Dickens was nine, his family moved to London. When he was twelve, his father was arrested and taken to debtors’ prison. Dickens’s mother moved his seven brothers and sisters into prison with their father, but she arranged for the young Charles to live alone outside the prison and work with other children pasting labels on bottles in a blacking warehouse (blacking was a type of manufactured soot used to make a black pigment for products such as matches or fertilizer). Dickens found the three months he spent apart from his family highly traumatic. Not only was the job itself miserable, but he considered himself too good for it, earning the contempt of the other children. After his father was released from prison, Dickens returned to school. He eventually became a law clerk, then a court reporter, and finally a novelist. His first novel, The Pickwick Papers, became a huge popular success when Dickens was only twenty-five. He published extensively and was considered a literary celebrity until his death in 1870.

Many of the events from Dickens’s early life are mirrored in Great Expectations,which, apart fromDavid Copperfield,is his most autobiographical novel. Pip, the novel’s protagonist, lives in the marsh country, works at a job he hates, considers himself too good for his surroundings, and experiences material success in London at a very early age, exactly as Dickens himself did. In addition, one of the novel’s most appealing characters, Wemmick, is a law clerk, and the law, justice, and the courts are all important components of the story.

Great Expectations is set in early Victorian England, a time when great social changes were sweeping the nation. The Industrial Revolution of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries had transformed the social landscape, enabling capitalists and manufacturers to amass huge fortunes. Although social class was no longer entirely dependent on the circumstances of one’s birth, the divisions between rich and poor remained nearly as wide as ever. London, a teeming mass of humanity, lit by gas lamps at night and darkened by black clouds from smokestacks during the day, formed a sharp contrast with the nation’s sparsely populated rural areas. More and more people moved from the country to the city in search of greater economic opportunity. Throughout England, the manners of the upper class were very strict and conservative: gentlemen and ladies were expected to have thorough classical educations and to behave appropriately in innumerable social situations.

These conditions defined Dickens’s time, and they make themselves felt in almost every facet of Great Expectations. Pip’s sudden rise from country laborer to city gentleman forces him to move from one social extreme to another while dealing with the strict rules and expectations that governed Victorian England. Ironically, this novel about the desire for wealth and social advancement was written partially out of economic necessity. Dickens’s magazine, All the Year Round, had become extremely popular based on the success of works it had published in serial, such as his own A Tale of Two Cities and Wilkie Collins’s The Woman in White. But it had experienced a decline in popularity after publishing a dull serial by Charles Lever called A Day’s Ride. Dickens conceived of Great Expectations as a means of restoring his publication’s fortunes. The book is still immensely popular a century and a half later.

In form, Great Expectations fits a pattern popular in nineteenth-century European fiction: the bildungsroman, or novel depicting growth and personal development, generally a transition from boyhood to manhood such as that experienced by Pip. The genre was popularized by Goethe with his book Wilhelm Meister (1794–1796) and became prevalent in England with such books as Daniel Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe, Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre,and Dickens’s own David Copperfield. Each of these works, like Great Expectations, depicts a process of maturation and self-discovery through experience as a protagonist moves from childhood to adulthood.

Plot Overview

P ip, a young orphan living with his sister and her husband in the marshes of Kent, sits in a cemetery one evening looking at his parents’ tombstones. Suddenly, an escaped convict springs up from behind a tombstone, grabs Pip, and orders him to bring him food and a file for his leg irons. Pip obeys, but the fearsome convict is soon captured anyway. The convict protects Pip by claiming to have stolen the items himself.

One day Pip is taken by his Uncle Pumblechook to play at Satis House, the home of the wealthy dowager Miss Havisham, who is extremely eccentric: she wears an old wedding dress everywhere she goes and keeps all the clocks in her house stopped at the same time. During his visit, he meets a beautiful young girl named Estella, who treats him coldly and contemptuously. Nevertheless, he falls in love with her and dreams of becoming a wealthy gentleman so that he might be worthy of her. He even hopes that Miss Havisham intends to make him a gentleman and marry him to Estella, but his hopes are dashed when, after months of regular visits to Satis House, Miss Havisham decides to help him become a common laborer in his family’s business.

With Miss Havisham’s guidance, Pip is apprenticed to his brother-in-law, Joe, who is the village blacksmith. Pip works in the forge unhappily, struggling to better his education with the help of the plain, kind Biddy and encountering Joe’s malicious day laborer, Orlick. One night, after an altercation with Orlick, Pip’s sister, known as Mrs. Joe, is viciously attacked and becomes a mute invalid. From her signals, Pip suspects that Orlick was responsible for the attack.

One day a lawyer named Jaggers appears with strange news: a secret benefactor has given Pip a large fortune, and Pip must come to London immediately to begin his education as a gentleman. Pip happily assumes that his previous hopes have come true—that Miss Havisham is his secret benefactor and that the old woman intends for him to marry Estella.

In London, Pip befriends a young gentleman named Herbert Pocket and Jaggers’s law clerk, Wemmick. He expresses disdain for his former friends and loved ones, especially Joe, but he continues to pine after Estella. He furthers his education by studying with the tutor Matthew Pocket, Herbert’s father. Herbert himself helps Pip learn how to act like a gentleman. When Pip turns twenty-one and begins to receive an income from his fortune, he will secretly help Herbert buy his way into the business he has chosen for himself. But for now, Herbert and Pip lead a fairly undisciplined life in London, enjoying themselves and running up debts. Orlick reappears in Pip’s life, employed as Miss Havisham’s porter, but is promptly fired by Jaggers after Pip reveals Orlick’s unsavory past. Mrs. Joe dies, and Pip goes home for the funeral, feeling tremendous grief and remorse. Several years go by, until one night a familiar figure barges into Pip’s room—the convict, Magwitch, who stuns Pip by announcing that he, not Miss Havisham, is the source of Pip’s fortune. He tells Pip that he was so moved by Pip’s boyhood kindness that he dedicated his life to making Pip a gentleman, and he made a fortune in Australia for that very purpose.

Pip is appalled, but he feels morally bound to help Magwitch escape London, as the convict is pursued both by the police and by Compeyson, his former partner in crime. A complicated mystery begins to fall into place when Pip discovers that Compeyson was the man who abandoned Miss Havisham at the altar and that Estella is Magwitch’s daughter. Miss Havisham has raised her to break men’s hearts, as revenge for the pain her own broken heart caused her. Pip was merely a boy for the young Estella to practice on; Miss Havisham delighted in Estella’s ability to toy with his affections.

As the weeks pass, Pip sees the good in Magwitch and begins to care for him deeply. Before Magwitch’s escape attempt, Estella marries an upper-class lout named Bentley Drummle. Pip makes a visit to Satis House, where Miss Havisham begs his forgiveness for the way she has treated him in the past, and he forgives her. Later that day, when she bends over the fireplace, her clothing catches fire and she goes up in flames. She survives but becomes an invalid. In her final days, she will continue to repent for her misdeeds and to plead for Pip’s forgiveness.

The time comes for Pip and his friends to spirit Magwitch away from London. Just before the escape attempt, Pip is called to a shadowy meeting in the marshes, where he encounters the vengeful, evil Orlick. Orlick is on the verge of killing Pip when Herbert arrives with a group of friends and saves Pip’s life. Pip and Herbert hurry back to effect Magwitch’s escape. They try to sneak Magwitch down the river on a rowboat, but they are discovered by the police, who Compeyson tipped off. Magwitch and Compeyson fight in the river, and Compeyson is drowned. Magwitch is sentenced to death, and Pip loses his fortune. Magwitch feels that his sentence is God’s forgiveness and dies at peace. Pip falls ill; Joe comes to London to care for him, and they are reconciled. Joe gives him the news from home: Orlick, after robbing Pumblechook, is now in jail; Miss Havisham has died and left most of her fortune to the Pockets; Biddy has taught Joe how to read and write. After Joe leaves, Pip decides to rush home after him and marry Biddy, but when he arrives there he discovers that she and Joe have already married.

Pip decides to go abroad with Herbert to work in the mercantile trade. Returning many years later, he encounters Estella in the ruined garden at Satis House. Drummle, her husband, treated her badly, but he is now dead. Pip finds that Estella’s coldness and cruelty have been replaced by a sad kindness, and the two leave the garden hand in hand, Pip believing that they will never part again. (Note: Dickens’s original ending to Great Expectationsdiffered from the one described in this summary. The final Summary and Analysis section of this SparkNote provides a description of the first ending and explains why Dickens rewrote it.)

Analysis of Major Characters

Pip

As a bildungsroman, Great Expectations presents the growth and development of a single character, Philip Pirrip, better known to himself and to the world as Pip. As the focus of the bildungsroman, Pip is by far the most important character in Great Expectations: he is both the protagonist, whose actions make up the main plot of the novel, and the narrator, whose thoughts and attitudes shape the reader’s perception of the story. As a result, developing an understanding of Pip’s character is perhaps the most important step in understanding Great Expectations.

Because Pip is narrating his story many years after the events of the novel take place, there are really two Pips in Great Expectations: Pip the narrator and Pip the character—the voice telling the story and the person acting it out. Dickens takes great care to distinguish the two Pips, imbuing the voice of Pip the narrator with perspective and maturity while also imparting how Pip the character feels about what is happening to him as it actually happens. This skillfully executed distinction is perhaps best observed early in the book, when Pip the character is a child; here, Pip the narrator gently pokes fun at his younger self, but also enables us to see and feel the story through his eyes.

As a character, Pip’s two most important traits are his immature, romantic idealism and his innately good conscience. On the one hand, Pip has a deep desire to improve himself and attain any possible advancement, whether educational, moral, or social. His longing to marry Estella and join the upper classes stems from the same idealistic desire as his longing to learn to read and his fear of being punished for bad behavior: once he understands ideas like poverty, ignorance, and immorality, Pip does not want to be poor, ignorant, or immoral. Pip the narrator judges his own past actions extremely harshly, rarely giving himself credit for good deeds but angrily castigating himself for bad ones. As a character, however, Pip’s idealism often leads him to perceive the world rather narrowly, and his tendency to oversimplify situations based on superficial values leads him to behave badly toward the people who care about him. When Pip becomes a gentleman, for example, he immediately begins to act as he thinks a gentleman is supposed to act, which leads him to treat Joe and Biddy snobbishly and coldly.

On the other hand, Pip is at heart a very generous and sympathetic young man, a fact that can be witnessed in his numerous acts of kindness throughout the book (helping Magwitch, secretly buying Herbert’s way into business, etc.) and his essential love for all those who love him. Pip’s main line of development in the novel may be seen as the process of learning to place his innate sense of kindness and conscience above his immature idealism.

Not long after meeting Miss Havisham and Estella, Pip’s desire for advancement largely overshadows his basic goodness. After receiving his mysterious fortune, his idealistic wishes seem to have been justified, and he gives himself over to a gentlemanly life of idleness. But the discovery that the wretched Magwitch, not the wealthy Miss Havisham, is his secret benefactor shatters Pip’s oversimplified sense of his world’s hierarchy. The fact that he comes to admire Magwitch while losing Estella to the brutish nobleman Drummle ultimately forces him to realize that one’s social position is not the most important quality one possesses, and that his behavior as a gentleman has caused him to hurt the people who care about him most. Once he has learned these lessons, Pip matures into the man who narrates the novel, completing the bildungsroman.

Estella

Often cited as Dickens’s first convincing female character, Estella is a supremely ironic creation, one who darkly undermines the notion of romantic love and serves as a bitter criticism against the class system in which she is mired. Raised from the age of three by Miss Havisham to torment men and “break their hearts,” Estella wins Pip’s deepest love by practicing deliberate cruelty. Unlike the warm, winsome, kind heroine of a traditional love story, Estella is cold, cynical, and manipulative. Though she represents Pip’s first longed-for ideal of life among the upper classes, Estella is actually even lower-born than Pip; as Pip learns near the end of the novel, she is the daughter of Magwitch, the coarse convict, and thus springs from the very lowest level of society.

Ironically, life among the upper classes does not represent salvation for Estella. Instead, she is victimized twice by her adopted class. Rather than being raised by Magwitch, a man of great inner nobility, she is raised by Miss Havisham, who destroys her ability to express emotion and interact normally with the world. And rather than marrying the kindhearted commoner Pip, Estella marries the cruel nobleman Drummle, who treats her harshly and makes her life miserable for many years. In this way, Dickens uses Estella’s life to reinforce the idea that one’s happiness and well-being are not deeply connected to one’s social position: had Estella been poor, she might have been substantially better off.

Despite her cold behavior and the damaging influences in her life, Dickens nevertheless ensures that Estella is still a sympathetic character. By giving the reader a sense of her inner struggle to discover and act on her own feelings rather than on the imposed motives of her upbringing, Dickens gives the reader a glimpse of Estella’s inner life, which helps to explain what Pip might love about her. Estella does not seem able to stop herself from hurting Pip, but she also seems not to want to hurt him; she repeatedly warns him that she has “no heart” and seems to urge him as strongly as she can to find happiness by leaving her behind. Finally, Estella’s long, painful marriage to Drummle causes her to develop along the same lines as Pip—that is, she learns, through experience, to rely on and trust her inner feelings. In the final scene of the novel, she has become her own woman for the first time in the book. As she says to Pip, “Suffering has been stronger than all other teaching. . . . I have been bent and broken, but—I hope—into a better shape.”

Miss Havisham

The mad, vengeful Miss Havisham, a wealthy dowager who lives in a rotting mansion and wears an old wedding dress every day of her life, is not exactly a believable character, but she is certainly one of the most memorable creations in the book. Miss Havisham’s life is defined by a single tragic event: her jilting by Compeyson on what was to have been their wedding day. From that moment forth, Miss Havisham is determined never to move beyond her heartbreak. She stops all the clocks in Satis House at twenty minutes to nine, the moment when she first learned that Compeyson was gone, and she wears only one shoe, because when she learned of his betrayal, she had not yet put on the other shoe. With a kind of manic, obsessive cruelty, Miss Havisham adopts Estella and raises her as a weapon to achieve her own revenge on men. Miss Havisham is an example of single-minded vengeance pursued destructively: both Miss Havisham and the people in her life suffer greatly because of her quest for revenge. Miss Havisham is completely unable to see that her actions are hurtful to Pip and Estella. She is redeemed at the end of the novel when she realizes that she has caused Pip’s heart to be broken in the same manner as her own; rather than achieving any kind of personal revenge, she has only caused more pain. Miss Havisham immediately begs Pip for forgiveness, reinforcing the novel’s theme that bad behavior can be redeemed by contrition and sympathy.

Themes, Motifs & Symbols

Themes

Themes are the fundamental and often universal ideas explored in a literary work.

Ambition and Self-Improvement

The moral theme of Great Expectations is quite simple: affection, loyalty, and conscience are more important than social advancement, wealth, and class. Dickens establishes the theme and shows Pip learning this lesson, largely by exploring ideas of ambition and self-improvement—ideas that quickly become both the thematic center of the novel and the psychological mechanism that encourages much of Pip’s development. At heart, Pip is an idealist; whenever he can conceive of something that is better than what he already has, he immediately desires to obtain the improvement. When he sees Satis House, he longs to be a wealthy gentleman; when he thinks of his moral shortcomings, he longs to be good; when he realizes that he cannot read, he longs to learn how. Pip’s desire for self-improvement is the main source of the novel’s title: because he believes in the possibility of advancement in life, he has “great expectations” about his future.

Ambition and self-improvement take three forms inGreat Expectations—moral, social, and educational; these motivate Pip’s best and his worst behavior throughout the novel. First, Pip desires moral self-improvement. He is extremely hard on himself when he acts immorally and feels powerful guilt that spurs him to act better in the future. When he leaves for London, for instance, he torments himself about having behaved so wretchedly toward Joe and Biddy. Second, Pip desires social self-improvement. In love with Estella, he longs to become a member of her social class, and, encouraged by Mrs. Joe and Pumblechook, he entertains fantasies of becoming a gentleman. The working out of this fantasy forms the basic plot of the novel; it provides Dickens the opportunity to gently satirize the class system of his era and to make a point about its capricious nature. Significantly, Pip’s life as a gentleman is no more satisfying—and certainly no more moral—than his previous life as a blacksmith’s apprentice. Third, Pip desires educational improvement. This desire is deeply connected to his social ambition and longing to marry Estella: a full education is a requirement of being a gentleman. As long as he is an ignorant country boy, he has no hope of social advancement. Pip understands this fact as a child, when he learns to read at Mr. Wopsle’s aunt’s school, and as a young man, when he takes lessons from Matthew Pocket. Ultimately, through the examples of Joe, Biddy, and Magwitch, Pip learns that social and educational improvement are irrelevant to one’s real worth and that conscience and affection are to be valued above erudition and social standing.

Social Class

Throughout Great Expectations, Dickens explores the class system of Victorian England, ranging from the most wretched criminals (Magwitch) to the poor peasants of the marsh country (Joe and Biddy) to the middle class (Pumblechook) to the very rich (Miss Havisham). The theme of social class is central to the novel’s plot and to the ultimate moral theme of the book—Pip’s realization that wealth and class are less important than affection, loyalty, and inner worth. Pip achieves this realization when he is finally able to understand that, despite the esteem in which he holds Estella, one’s social status is in no way connected to one’s real character. Drummle, for instance, is an upper-class lout, while Magwitch, a persecuted convict, has a deep inner worth.

Perhaps the most important thing to remember about the novel’s treatment of social class is that the class system it portrays is based on the post-Industrial Revolution model of Victorian England. Dickens generally ignores the nobility and the hereditary aristocracy in favor of characters whose fortunes have been earned through commerce. Even Miss Havisham’s family fortune was made through the brewery that is still connected to her manor. In this way, by connecting the theme of social class to the idea of work and self-advancement, Dickens subtly reinforces the novel’s overarching theme of ambition and self-improvement.

Crime, Guilt, and Innocence

The theme of crime, guilt, and innocence is explored throughout the novel largely through the characters of the convicts and the criminal lawyer Jaggers. From the handcuffs Joe mends at the smithy to the gallows at the prison in London, the imagery of crime and criminal justice pervades the book, becoming an important symbol of Pip’s inner struggle to reconcile his own inner moral conscience with the institutional justice system. In general, just as social class becomes a superficial standard of value that Pip must learn to look beyond in finding a better way to live his life, the external trappings of the criminal justice system (police, courts, jails, etc.) become a superficial standard of morality that Pip must learn to look beyond to trust his inner conscience. Magwitch, for instance, frightens Pip at first simply because he is a convict, and Pip feels guilty for helping him because he is afraid of the police. By the end of the book, however, Pip has discovered Magwitch’s inner nobility, and is able to disregard his external status as a criminal. Prompted by his conscience, he helps Magwitch to evade the law and the police. As Pip has learned to trust his conscience and to value Magwitch’s inner character, he has replaced an external standard of value with an internal one.

Motifs

Motifs are recurring structures, contrasts, and literary devices that can help to develop and inform the text’s major themes.

Doubles

One of the most remarkable aspects of Dickens’s work is its structural intricacy and remarkable balance. Dickens’s plots involve complicated coincidences, extraordinarily tangled webs of human relationships, and highly dramatic developments in which setting, atmosphere, event, and character are all seamlessly fused.

In Great Expectations,perhaps the most visible sign of Dickens’s commitment to intricate dramatic symmetry—apart from the knot of character relationships, of course—is the fascinating motif of doubles that runs throughout the book. From the earliest scenes of the novel to the last, nearly every element of Great Expectations is mirrored or doubled at some other point in the book. There are two convicts on the marsh (Magwitch and Compeyson), two invalids (Mrs. Joe and Miss Havisham), two young women who interest Pip (Biddy and Estella), and so on. There are two secret benefactors: Magwitch, who gives Pip his fortune, and Pip, who mirrors Magwitch’s action by secretly buying Herbert’s way into the mercantile business. Finally, there are two adults who seek to mold children after their own purposes: Magwitch, who wishes to “own” a gentleman and decides to make Pip one, and Miss Havisham, who raises Estella to break men’s hearts in revenge for her own broken heart. Interestingly, both of these actions are motivated by Compeyson: Magwitch resents but is nonetheless covetous of Compeyson’s social status and education, which motivates his desire to make Pip a gentleman, and Miss Havisham’s heart was broken when Compeyson left her at the altar, which motivates her desire to achieve revenge through Estella. The relationship between Miss Havisham and Compeyson—a well-born woman and a common man—further mirrors the relationship between Estella and Pip.

This doubling of elements has no real bearing on the novel’s main themes, but, like the connection of weather and action, it adds to the sense that everything in Pip’s world is connected. Throughout Dickens’s works, this kind of dramatic symmetry is simply part of the fabric of his novelistic universe.

Comparison of Characters to Inanimate Objects

Throughout Great Expectations, the narrator uses images of inanimate objects to describe the physical appearance of characters—particularly minor characters, or characters with whom the narrator is not intimate. For example, Mrs. Joe looks as if she scrubs her face with a nutmeg grater, while the inscrutable features of Mr. Wemmick are repeatedly compared to a letter-box. This motif, which Dickens uses throughout his novels, may suggest a failure of empathy on the narrator’s part, or it may suggest that the character’s position in life is pressuring them to resemble a thing more than a human being. The latter interpretation would mean that the motif in general is part of a social critique, in that it implies that an institution such as the class system or the criminal justice system dehumanizes certain people.

Symbols

Symbols are objects, characters, figures, and colors used to represent abstract ideas or concepts.

Satis House

In Satis House, Dickens creates a magnificent Gothic setting whose various elements symbolize Pip’s romantic perception of the upper class and many other themes of the book. On her decaying body, Miss Havisham’s wedding dress becomes an ironic symbol of death and degeneration. The wedding dress and the wedding feast symbolize Miss Havisham’s past, and the stopped clocks throughout the house symbolize her determined attempt to freeze time by refusing to change anything from the way it was when she was jilted on her wedding day. The brewery next to the house symbolizes the connection between commerce and wealth: Miss Havisham’s fortune is not the product of an aristocratic birth but of a recent success in industrial capitalism. Finally, the crumbling, dilapidated stones of the house, as well as the darkness and dust that pervade it, symbolize the general decadence of the lives of its inhabitants and of the upper class as a whole.

The Mists on the Marshes

The setting almost always symbolizes a theme in Great Expectations and always sets a tone that is perfectly matched to the novel’s dramatic action. The misty marshes near Pip’s childhood home in Kent, one of the most evocative of the book’s settings, are used several times to symbolize danger and uncertainty. As a child, Pip brings Magwitch a file and food in these mists; later, he is kidnapped by Orlick and nearly murdered in them. Whenever Pip goes into the mists, something dangerous is likely to happen. Significantly, Pip must go through the mists when he travels to London shortly after receiving his fortune, alerting the reader that this apparently positive development in his life may have dangerous consequences.

Bentley Drummle

Although he is a minor character in the novel, Bentley Drummle provides an important contrast with Pip and represents the arbitrary nature of class distinctions. In his mind, Pip has connected the ideas of moral, social, and educational advancement so that each depends on the others. The coarse and cruel Drummle, a member of the upper class, provides Pip with proof that social advancement has no inherent connection to intelligence or moral worth. Drummle is a lout who has inherited immense wealth, while Pip’s friend and brother-in-law Joe is a good man who works hard for the little he earns. Drummle’s negative example helps Pip to see the inner worth of characters such as Magwitch and Joe, and eventually to discard his immature fantasies about wealth and class in favor of a new understanding that is both more compassionate and more realistic.

Chapters 1–3

Summary: Chapter 1

As an infant, Philip Pirrip was unable to pronounce either his first name or his last; doing his best, he called himself “Pip,” and the name stuck. Now Pip, a young boy, is an orphan living in his sister’s house in the marsh country in southeast England.

One evening, Pip sits in the isolated village churchyard, staring at his parents’ tombstones. Suddenly, a horrific man, growling, dressed in rags, and with his leg in chains, springs out from behind the gravestones and seizes Pip. This escaped convict questions Pip harshly and demands that Pip bring him food and a file with which he can saw away his leg irons.

Summary: Chapter 2

Frightened into obedience, Pip runs to the house he shares with his overbearing sister and her kindly husband, the blacksmith Joe Gargery. The boy stashes some bread and butter in one leg of his pants, but he is unable to get away quickly. It is Christmas Eve, and Pip is forced to stir the holiday pudding all evening. His sister, whom Pip calls Mrs. Joe, thunders about. She threatens Pip and Joe with her cane, which she has named Tickler, and with a foul-tasting concoction called tar-water. Very early the next morning, Pip sneaks down to the pantry, where he steals some brandy (mistakenly refilling the bottle with tar-water, though we do not learn this until Chapter 4) and a pork pie for the convict. He then sneaks to Joe’s smithy, where he steals a file. Stealthily, he heads back into the marshes to meet the convict.

Summary: Chapter 3

Unfortunately, the first man he finds hiding in the marshes is actually a second, different convict, who tries to strike Pip and then flees. When Pip finally comes upon his original tormentor, he finds him suffering, cold, wet, and hungry. Pip is kind to the man, but the convict becomes violent again when Pip mentions the other escapee he encountered in the marsh, as though the news troubles him greatly. As the convict scrapes at his leg irons with the file, Pip slips away through the mists and returns home.

Analysis: Chapters 1–3

The first chapters of Great Expectations set the plot in motion while introducing Pip and his world. As both narrator and protagonist, Pip is naturally the most important character in Great Expectations: the novel is his story, told in his words, and his perceptions utterly define the events and characters of the book. As a result, Dickens’s most important task as a writer in Great Expectations is the creation of Pip’s character. Because Pip’s is the voice with which he tells his story, Dickens must make his voice believably human while also ensuring that it conveys all the information necessary to the plot. In this first section, Pip is a young child, and Dickens masterfully uses Pip’s narration to evoke the feelings and problems of childhood. At the beginning of the novel, for instance, Pip is looking at his parents’ gravestones, a solemn scene which Dickens renders comical by having Pip ponder the exact inscriptions on the tombstones. When the convict questions him about his parents’ names, Pip recites them exactly as they appear on the tombstones, indicating his youthful innocence while simultaneously allowing Dickens to lessen the dramatic tension of the novel’s opening.

As befits a well-meaning child whose moral reasoning is unsophisticated, Pip is horrified by the convict. But despite his horror, he treats him with compassion and kindness. It would have been easy for Pip to run to Joe or to the police for help rather than stealing the food and the file, but Pip honors his promise to the suffering man—and when he learns that the police are searching for him, he even worries for his safety. Still, throughout this section, Pip’s self-commentary mostly emphasizes his negative qualities: his dishonesty and his guilt. This is characteristic of Pip as a narrator throughoutGreat Expectations. Despite his many admirable qualities—the strongest of which are compassion, loyalty, and conscience—Pip constantly focuses on his failures and shortcomings. To understand him as a character, it is necessary to look beyond his self-descriptions and consider his actions. In fact, it may be his powerful sense of his own moral shortcomings that motivates Pip to act so morally. As the novel progresses, the theme of self-improvement, particularly economic and social self-improvement, will become central to the story. In that sense, Pip’s deep-seated sense of moral obligation, which is first exhibited in this section, works as a kind of psychological counterpart to the novel’s theme of social advancement.

Pip’s surroundings—in this section, the “shrouded” marshes of Kent and the oppressive bustle of Mrs. Joe’s house—are also important to the novel. ThroughoutGreat Expectations,Dickens uses setting to create dramatic atmosphere: the setting of the book always sets the tone for the action and reinforces Pip’s perception of his situation. When the weather is dark and stormy, trouble is usually brewing, and when Pip goes alone into the mist-shrouded marsh, danger and ambiguity usually await. In this section, Pip’s story shifts rapidly between dramatic scenes with the convict on the marshes and comical scenes under Mrs. Joe’s thumb at home. Despite Mrs. Joe’s rough treatment of Pip, which she calls bringing him up “by hand,” the comedy that pervades her household in Chapter 2 shows that it is a safe haven for Pip, steeped in Joe’s quiet goodness despite Mrs. Joe’s bombast. When Pip ventures out alone onto the marshes, he leaves the sanctuary of home for vague, murky churchyards and the danger of a different world. This sense of embarking alone into the unknown will become a recurrent motif throughout the novel, as Pip grows up and leaves his childhood home behind.

In terms of narrative, the introduction of the convict is the most important occurrence in the plot of the first section. Though Pip believes that the convict’s appearance in his life is an isolated incident, he will feel this character’s influence in many ways throughout the novel. The convict will later reappear as the grim Magwitch, Pip’s secret benefactor and the chief architect of his “great expectations.” Though Dickens gives us no indication of the man’s future in Pip’s life, he does create the sense that the convict will return, largely by building a sense of mystery around the man’s situation and around his relationship to the second convict Pip encounters in the marsh.

Chapters 4–7

Summary: Chapter 4

As he returns home, Pip is overwhelmed by a sense of guilt for having helped the convict. He even expects to find a policeman waiting for him at Joe’s house. When Pip slips into the house, he finds no policemen, only Mrs. Joe busy in the kitchen cooking Christmas dinner. Pip eats breakfast alone with Joe. The two go to church; Mrs. Joe, despite her moralizing habits, stays behind.

Christmas dinner is an agonizing affair for Pip, who is crowded into a corner of the table by his well-to-do Uncle Pumblechook and the church clerk, Mr. Wopsle. Terrified that his sneaking out of the house to help the convict will be discovered, Pip nearly panics when Pumblechook asks for the brandy and finds the bottle filled with tar-water. His panic increases when, suddenly, several police officers burst into the house with a pair of handcuffs.

Summary: Chapter 5

My convict looked round him for the first time, and saw me. . . .

Pip is sure that the policemen have come to arrest him, but all they want is for Joe to fix their handcuffs. The bumbling policemen tell Pip and Joe that they are searching for a pair of escaped convicts, and the two agree to participate in the manhunt. Seeing the policemen, Pip feels a strange surge of worry for “his” convict.

After a long hunt, the two convicts are discovered together, fighting furiously with one another in the marsh. Cornered and captured, Pip’s convict protects Pip by claiming to have stolen the food and file himself. The convict is taken away to a prison ship and out of Pip’s life—so Pip believes—forever.

Summary: Chapter 6

Joe carries Pip home, and they finish their Christmas dinner; Pip sleepily heads to bed while Joe narrates the scene of the capture to Mrs. Joe and the guests. Pip continues to feel powerfully guilty about the incident—not on his sister’s account, but because he has not told the whole truth to Joe.

Summary: Chapter 7

After the incident, some time passes. Pip lives with his guilty secret and struggles to learn reading and writing at Mrs. Wopsle’s school. At school, Pip befriends Biddy, the granddaughter of the teacher. One day, Joe and Pip sit talking; the illiterate Joe admires a piece of writing Pip has just done. Suddenly, Mrs. Joe bursts in with Pumblechook. Highly self-satisfied, they reveal that Pumblechook has arranged for Pip to go play at the house of Miss Havisham, a rich spinster who lives nearby. Mrs. Joe and Pumblechook hope she will make Pip’s fortune, and they plan to send him home with Pumblechook before he goes to Miss Havisham’s the next day. The boy is given a rough bath, dressed in his suit, and taken away by Pumblechook.

Analysis: Chapters 4–7

In addition to the introduction of the convict, the other important plot development in the early chapters of Great Expectationsoccurs at the very end of Chapter 7, when Pip learns he is to be taken to Miss Havisham’s to play. His introduction to Miss Havisham and her world will determine a great part of his story and will change him forever. Though Pip has no sense of the importance of the event, Dickens conveys its importance to the reader through Mrs. Joe and Pumblechook, who are obviously ecstatic at the idea of Pip befriending the wealthy old woman. This is the first hint in the novel of the theme of social class and social improvement, which will quickly become the dominant idea.

Because he spends the first several chapters of the book exclusively among those of his own social station, the theme of social class is not particularly important in this section. But Pip’s low social standing makes itself felt in subtle ways—in the colloquial dialect spoken by Joe and his sister, the mean ambition of Mrs. Joe and Pumblechook, and the ineffective rigor of his country school (where he is taught by Mr. Wopsle’s great aunt), for example. By describing Pip’s early education, Dickens continues to emphasize the idea of self-improvement. Just as Pip’s behavior indicates a desire for moral improvement and Mrs. Joe’s ambition indicates a desire for social improvement, Pip’s struggle to learn to read indicates a desire for intellectual and educational improvement. To emphasize this point, Dickens contrasts Pip’s meager knowledge with the ignorance of Joe, who admires Pip’s poor writing because he himself is unable to read or write.

Dickens also uses this scene to develop Pip’s special relationship with Joe. Although Joe is not Pip’s father or even his brother, he is the most caring person in his life—a simple, honest man. Dickens contrasts Joe’s earnest good nature with the grasping ambition and self-satisfaction of Pumblechook and Mrs. Joe, implying even at this early stage of the novel that real self-improvement (the kind that leads to goodness) is not connected to social advancement or even education, but rather stems from honesty, empathy, and kindness. Pip will spend fifty chapters learning this lesson himself, and will then be struck by the fact that, in the figure of Joe, the best example had been in front of him all along.

As he did in the first three chapters, throughout this section Dickens demonstrates a masterful ability to tell his story effectively without ever losing the perspective of childhood. Though the novel itself is narrated by the adult Pip remembering his life, Pip the character is still a little boy in these chapters, and the narrator comically and sympathetically conveys his immature impressions. At the Christmas dinner in Chapter 4, for instance, Pip is terrified that his secret will be found out, but he balances his fear with a deep desire to tweak Mr. Wopsle’s large nose—to “pull it until he howled.” His sense of guilt for sneaking behind his guardians’ backs is so great that he believes the whole world is busy trying to discover his secret, and he fully expects to “find a constable in the kitchen, waiting to take me up.”

Chapters 8–10

Summary: Chapter 8

Over breakfast the next morning, Pumblechook sternly grills Pip on multiplication problems. At ten, he is taken to Miss Havisham’s manor, Satis House. The gate is locked, and a small, very beautiful girl comes to open it. She is rude to Pumblechook and sends him away when she takes Pip inside. She leads him through the ornate, dark mansion to Miss Havisham’s candlelit room, where the skeletal old woman waits by her mirror, wearing a faded wedding dress, surrounded by clocks stopped at twenty minutes to nine.

The girl leaves, and Miss Havisham orders Pip to play. He tells her earnestly that he is too affected by the newness and grandeur of the house to play. Miss Havisham forces him to call for the girl, whose name is Estella. Estella returns, and Miss Havisham orders her to play cards with Pip. Estella is cold and insulting, criticizing Pip’s low social class and his unrefined manners. Miss Havisham is morbidly delighted to see that Pip is nonetheless taken with the girl. Pip cries when he leaves Satis House.

Summary: Chapter 9

When Pip returns home, he lies to Joe, Mrs. Joe, and Pumblechook about his experience at Satis House, inventing a wild story in which Estella feeds him cake and four immense dogs fight over veal cutlet from a silver basket. He feels guilty for lying to Joe and tells him the truth in the smithy later that day. Joe, who is astonished to find out that Pip has lied, advises Pip to keep company with his own class for the present and tells him that he can succeed someday only if he takes an honest path. Pip resolves to remember Joe’s words, but that night, as he lies in bed, he can’t help but imagine how “common” Estella would find Joe, and he falls into a reverie about the grandeur of his hours at Satis House.

Summary: Chapter 10

Pip continues to suffer through his schooling, but a new desire for education and social standing makes him agree to take extra lessons from his sensible friend Biddy. Later the same day, when Pip goes to the pub to bring Joe home, he sees a mysterious stranger stirring his drink with the same file Pip stole for the convict. The stranger gives Pip two pounds, which Pip later gives to Mrs. Joe. He continues to worry that his aid to the convict will be discovered.

Analysis: Chapters 8–10

With the introduction of Miss Havisham and Estella, the themes of social class, ambition, and advancement move to the forefront of the novel. Pip’s hopes (encouraged by Mrs. Joe’s and Pumblechook’s suggestive comments) that Miss Havisham intends to raise him into wealth and high social class are given special urgency by the passionate attraction he feels for Estella. His feelings for the “very pretty and very proud” young lady, combined with the deep impression made on him by Satis House, with its ornate grandeur, haunted atmosphere, and tragic sense of mystery, raise in Pip a new consciousness of his own low birth and common bearing. When he returns from Satis House in Chapter 9, he even lies about his experience there, unwilling to sully his thoughts of it with the contrasting plainness of his everyday world: Estella and Miss Havisham must remain “far above the level of such common doings.”

Pip’s romantic sensibility, first visible in his tendency to linger around his parents’ gravestones, is powerfully attracted to the enigmatic world of Satis House. His desire for self-improvement compels him to idealize Estella. Her condescension and spite match Pip’s feelings about himself in the world of Satis House. He accepts her cruelty—“Why, he is a common labouring-boy!”—without defending himself because he sorrowfully believes her to be right. In fact, he only cries when he is forced to leave her. The differences between their social classes manifest themselves even in small things; while playing cards in Chapter 8, Estella remarks disdainfully, “He calls the knaves, jacks, this boy!”

Though the introduction of Satis House and Miss Havisham seem to have little to do with the early plotline of the convict and the marshes, Dickens keeps the earlier story in the reader’s mind with the appearance of the mysterious figure in Chapter10, who stirs his drink with the file Pip gave to the convict and gives Pip a small sum of money. This foreshadows not only the eventual return of the convict, but also the major plot twist of the novel, when Pip discovers that the source of his mysterious fortune (which he has not yet received in this section) is not Miss Havisham, as he thought, but the convict Magwitch.

Like the earlier chapters, this section abounds in mystery and foreshadowing, particularly relating to Miss Havisham’s character: what is the reason behind her bizarre appearance, her behavior, and her home decor, with its stopped clocks and crumbling relics of an earlier time? At this stage of the novel, Dickens does not answer questions, only raises them. The reader’s natural curiosity will help propel the book forward.

Chapters 11–13

Summary: Chapter 11

Not long after his encounter with the mysterious man in the pub, Pip is taken back to Miss Havisham’s, where he is paraded in front of a group of fawning, insincere relatives visiting the dowager on her birthday. He encounters a large, dark man on the stairs, who criticizes him. He again plays cards with Estella, then goes to the garden, where he is asked to fight by a pale young gentleman. Pip knocks the young gentleman down, and Estella allows him to give her a kiss on the cheek. He returns home, ashamed that Estella looks down on him.

Summary: Chapter 12

Pip worries that he will be punished for fighting, but the incident goes unmentioned during his next visit to Miss Havisham’s. He continues to visit regularly for the next several months, pushing Miss Havisham around in her wheelchair, relishing his time with Estella, and becoming increasingly hopeful that Miss Havisham means to raise him from his low social standing and give him a gentleman’s fortune. Because he is preoccupied with his hopes, he fails to notice that Miss Havisham encourages Estella to torment him, whispering “Break their hearts!” in her ear. Partially because of his elevated hopes for his own social standing, Pip begins to grow apart from his family, confiding in Biddy instead of Joe and often feeling ashamed that Joe is “common.” One day at Satis House, Miss Havisham offers to help with the papers that would officially make Pip Joe’s apprentice, and Pip is devastated to realize that she never meant to make him a gentleman.

Summary: Chapter 13

Joe visits Satis House to complete Pip’s apprenticeship papers; with his rough speech and crude appearance, he seems horribly out of place in the Gothic mansion. Estella laughs at him and at Pip. Miss Havisham gives Pip a gift of twenty-five pounds, and Pip and Joe go to Town Hall to confirm the apprenticeship. Joe and Mrs. Joe take Pip out to celebrate with Pumblechook and Mr. Wopsle, but Pip is surly and angry, keenly disappointed by this turn in his life.

Analysis: Chapters 11–13

Where the earlier sections of the novel focused very closely on short spans of time, this section covers several months and is mostly concerned with Pip’s general development from an innocent boy to an ambitious young man. The themes of ambition and social advancement are central to this development, as Pip increasingly uses his ambiguous relationship with Miss Havisham as a pretext for believing that the old woman intends him to marry Estella. The consequence of Pip’s intensifying social ambition is that he loses some of his innocence and becomes detached from his natural, sympathetic kindness. In the early chapters of the novel, Pip sympathized with the convict, despite the threat the man posed to his safety. Now, Pip is unable to sympathize even with Joe, the most caring figure in his life. Because he loves Estella, Pip has come to value what Estella seems to value, and when Joe visits Satis House in Chapter 13, Pip is mortified by his rough manners and poor clothes. They now seem out of place even to Pip, a measure of the extent to which he has adapted to life at Miss Havisham’s house during his months of regular visits.

Miss Havisham herself, with her maniacal energy and her inscrutable motives, is a frightening creature to Pip. Despite her wedding dress (an outfit that symbolizes hope, regeneration, and renewal), he constantly thinks of her as a symbol of death, describing her as a “skeleton” and picturing her hanging from a gallows. Her insane behavior—traipsing around her house in a wedding dress, with a wedding feast on her table and all the clocks stopped—will soon be explained, but for now it simply adds to her mysterious and powerful dramatic presence. Surely a woman this eccentric wouldn’t be above transforming an orphan boy into a gentleman, he thinks. With this line of thinking, the first of Pip’s “great expectations” creeps into his life.

The title of the novel, of course, refers to Pip’s hopes for social advancement and romantic success with Estella. The sight of something finer than what he himself has makes him intensely desire it, and he fiercely clings to his hopes of being elevated and married to Estella. He even ignores more realistic hopes, using his relationship with Biddy only to improve his education and his chances with Estella. He has little reaction to realistic dangers, as we saw earlier, when he was nonplussed by his encounter with the mysterious stranger in Chapter 10. His thoughts are for Estella alone.

Although Pip increasingly believes that Miss Havisham intends to make him a gentleman (at least until his disappointment in Chapter 13), Dickens creates dramatic irony by giving the reader a sense that the old woman has no such intention in mind. Rather, Dickens indicates that Miss Havisham is not really interested in Pip at all but only in somehow using Estella as a weapon against men. As the novel progresses, the source of her strange hostility will become clear, but in this section of the novel the reader is already able to make a fairly good guess: jilted on her wedding day (hence the dress and the feast), the old woman has raised Estella as a tool of revenge on men, training her to break men’s hearts as her own heart was broken years ago. Throughout this section, unbeknownst to him, Pip is her test case, an experiment to measure the young girl’s prowess at winning the love of men. Toward this purpose, Miss Havisham is delighted by the speed with which Pip falls in love with Estella.

Pip’s realization that the extent of Miss Havisham’s assistance will be her help on his apprenticeship papers—that he will be bound to Joe’s forge and to his social class after all—is devastating to him; it is the first of a series of disappointments that seem to be the inevitable result of Pip’s great expectations.

Chapters 14–16

Summary: Chapter 14

Time passes as Pip begins working in Joe’s forge; the boy slowly becomes an adolescent. He hates working as Joe’s apprentice, but out of consideration for Joe’s goodness, he keeps his feelings to himself. As he works, he thinks he sees Estella’s face mocking him in the forge, and he longs for Satis House.

Summary: Chapter 15

Pip still tries hard to read and expand his knowledge, and on Sundays, he also tries to teach Joe to read. One Sunday, Pip tries to persuade Joe that he needs to visit Miss Havisham, but Joe again advises him to stay away. However, his advice sounds confused, and Pip resolves to do as he pleases.

Joe’s forge worker, Dolge Orlick, makes Pip’s life even less pleasant. Orlick is vicious, oafish, and hateful, and he treats Pip cruelly. When Pip was still a young child, Orlick frightened him by convincing him that the devil lived in a corner of the forge. One day, Mrs. Joe complains about Orlick taking a holiday, and she and Orlick launch into a shouting match. Mrs. Joe gleefully calls on Joe to defend her honor, and Joe quickly defeats Orlick in the fight. Mrs. Joe faints from excitement.

Pip visits Miss Havisham and learns that Estella has been sent abroad. Dejected, he allows Wopsle to take him to Pumblechook’s for the evening, where they pass the time reading from a play. On the way home, Pip sees Orlick in the shadows and hears guns fire from the prison ships. When he arrives home, he learns that Mrs. Joe has been attacked and is now a brain-damaged invalid.

Summary: Chapter 16

Pip’s old guilt resurfaces when he learns that convicts—more specifically, convicts with leg irons that have been filed through—are suspected of the attack on his sister. The detectives who come from London to solve the crime are bumblers, and the identity of the attacker remains undiscovered. Mrs. Joe, who is now unable to talk, begins to draw the letter “T” on her slate over and over, which Pip guesses represents a hammer. From this, Biddy deduces that she is referring to Orlick. Orlick is called in to see Mrs. Joe, and Pip expects her to denounce him as her attacker. Instead, she seems eager to please Orlick and often calls for him in subsequent days by drawing a “T” on her slate.

Analysis: Chapters 14–16

In Chapter 10, Pip received an unwelcome reminder of the convict when the stranger in the pub appeared with the stolen file. In this section, he receives an even more unpleasant reminder when an escaped convict from the prison ships—possibly the stranger from the pub—is blamed for the attack on Mrs. Joe. Because of Pip’s powerful moral sense, he is racked with guilt over the incident. As he says in Chapter 16, “It was horrible to think that I had provided the instrument, however undesignedly.” Of course, Mrs. Joe’s strange interest in Orlick in the next chapters marks him as the true attacker, and Pip guesses this truth almost immediately. Even though Pip is in no way at fault in the incident, his conscience still troubles him.

Themes of guilt and innocence run powerfully through this section, as Pip’s adolescent mind wavers between right and wrong, between his desire to be good and his stark sense of evil. The play he reads at Pumblechook’s house tells the story of a man whose lover convinces him to kill his uncle for money. Pip will soon abandon Joe for money and the promise of Estella. Like the apparition of the convict and the figures of the police, the fight between Joe and Orlick emphasizes this theme of starkly divided good and evil: Orlick’s slouching, lumbering badness is a powerful contrast to Joe’s quiet inner goodness, and their fight gives a physical presence to Pip’s internal struggle.

Chapters 17–19

Summary: Chapter 17

Biddy moves in to help nurse Mrs. Joe. Pip visits Satis House again and notices how bleak it is without Estella. He walks with Biddy on Sunday and confides to her his dissatisfaction with his place in life. Although he seems to be attracted to Biddy, he tells her the secret of his love for Estella. When Biddy advises him to stay away from Estella, Pip is angry with her, but he still becomes very jealous when Orlick begins trying to flirt with her.

Summary: Chapter 18

At the pub one evening, Pip sits in a crowd listening to Wopsle read the story of a murder trial from a newspaper. A stranger begins questioning Wopsle about the legal details of the case. Pip recognizes him as the large, dark man he met on the stairs at Miss Havisham’s (in Chapter 11). The stranger introduces himself as the lawyer Jaggers, and he goes home with Pip and Joe. Here, he explains that Pip will soon inherit a large fortune. His education as a gentleman will begin immediately. Pip will move to London and become a gentleman, he says, but the person who is giving him the fortune wishes to remain secret: Pip can never know the name of his benefactor.

Pip’s fondest wish has been realized, and he assumes that his benefactor must be Miss Havisham—after all, he first met Jaggers at her house, and his tutor will be Matthew Pocket, her cousin. Joe seems deflated and sad to be losing Pip, and he refuses Jaggers’s condescending offer of money. Biddy is also sad, but Pip adopts a snobbish attitude and thinks himself too good for his surroundings. Still, when Pip sees Joe and Biddy quietly talking together that night, he feels sorry to be leaving them.

Summary: Chapter 19

Pip’s snobbery is back in the morning, however, as he allows the tailor to grovel over him when he goes in for a new suit of clothes. Pip even allows Pumblechook to take him out to dinner and ingratiate himself. He tries to comfort Joe, but his attempt is obviously forced, and Biddy criticizes him for it. Preparing to leave for London, he visits Miss Havisham one last time; based on her excitement and knowledge of the details of his situation, Pip feels even more certain that she is his anonymous benefactor. After a final night at Joe’s house, Pip leaves for London in the morning, suddenly full of regret for having behaved so snobbishly toward the people who love him most.

Analysis: Chapters 17–19

As Pip enters adolescence, Dickens gradually changes the presentation of his thoughts and perceptions. When Pip was a young child, his descriptions emphasized his smallness and confusion; beginning around Chapter 14, they begin to emphasize his moral and emotional turmoil. Pip becomes more aware of the qualities and characteristics of the people around him. He refrains from complaining about life in the forge out of respect for Joe’s role in his childhood: “Home was never a pleasant place for me, because of my sister’s temper. But Joe had sanctified it.” Though the respect he pays Joe is clearly admirable, Pip the narrator passes to Joe all the credit for his behavior. He says in Chapter 14, “It was not because I was faithful, but because Joe was faithful.”

Just as Orlick is an immediate contrast to Joe, Biddy emerges in this section as a contrasting figure to Estella. Her plainness, frankness, and kindness are diametrically opposed to Estella’s cold beauty, dishonesty, and cruelty. Pip seems to feel a natural attraction to Biddy, but his overpowering passion for Estella makes him use Biddy only as a means to an end, as a confidante and a teacher.

Pip’s desire to elevate his social standing never leaves him; he even seeks to better his surroundings by trying to teach Joe to read. When the ominous figure of the lawyer Jaggers appears with the message of Pip’s sudden fortune, the young man’s deepest wish comes true. But the exultant Pip is not content simply to enjoy his good fortune; rather, he reads more into it than he should, deciding that “Miss Havisham intended me for Estella” and that she must be his benefactor. His adolescent self-importance causes him to put on airs and act snobbishly toward Joe and Biddy, a character flaw that Pip will demonstrate throughout Great Expectations. In his career as a gentleman, he will cover up moments of uncertainty and fear by acting, as he says in Chapter 19, “virtuous and superior.”

In part, this poor behavior is caused by the same character trait that causes Pip to covet self-advancement. Pip has a deep-seated strain of romantic idealism, and as soon as he can imagine something better than his current condition (whether material, emotional, or moral), he immediately desires that improvement: when he sees Satis House, he longs for wealth; when he meets Estella, he longs for love and beauty; and when he acts poorly, he feels a powerful guilt that amounts to a longing to have acted more morally. This is the psychological center of the novel’s theme of self-improvement. But Pip’s romantic idealism is inherently unrealistic. Whatever he might wish, it is impossible to become a gentleman overnight and never again be a common boy, to immediately forget one’s old friends, family, and surroundings, and to abruptly change one’s inner self.

When Pip suddenly receives his fortune, he experiences a moment in which his romantic ideal seems to have come true. But the impediments remain, and Pip is forced to contend with the entanglements of his affection for his family and his home. Feeling his emotions clash, Pip is unsure how to behave, so he gives in fully to his romantic side and tries to act like a wealthy aristocrat—a person, he imagines, who would be snobbish to Joe and Biddy. Though he is at heart a very good person, Pip has not yet learned to value human affection and loyalty above his immature vision of how the world ought to be. In this section and throughout the novel, behaving snobbishly is a way for Pip to simplify the complicated emotional situations in which he finds himself as he attempts to impose his immature picture of the world on the real complexities of life.

When Pip moves to London, a new stage in his life begins. As we are told at the end of Chapter 19: “This is the end of the first stage of Pip’s expectations.”

Chapters 20–26

Summary: Chapter 20

Jaggers takes Pip to London, where the country boy is amazed and displeased by the stench and the thronging crowds in such areas as Smithfield. Jaggers seems to be an important and powerful man: hordes of people wait outside his office, muttering his name among themselves. Pip meets Jaggers’s cynical, wry clerk, Wemmick.

Summary: Chapter 21

Wemmick introduces Pip to Herbert Pocket, the son of Pip’s tutor, with whom Pip will spend the night. Herbert and Pip take an immediate liking to one another; Herbert is cheerful and open, and Pip feels that his easy good nature is a contrast to his own awkward diffidence. Whereas Pip’s fortune has been made for him, Herbert is an impoverished gentleman who hopes to become a shipping merchant. They realize, surprised, that they have met before: Herbert is the pale young gentleman whom Pip fought in the garden at Satis House.

Summary: Chapter 22

Pip asks Herbert to help him learn to be a gentleman, and, after a feast, the two agree to live together. Herbert subtly corrects Pip’s poor table manners, gives him the nickname “Handel,” and tells him the whole story of Miss Havisham. When she was young, her family fortune was misused by her unruly half brother, and she fell in love with—and agreed to marry—a man from a lower social class than her own. This man convinced her to buy her half brother’s share of the family brewery, which he wanted to run, for a huge price. But on their wedding day, the man never appeared, instead sending a note which Miss Havisham received at twenty minutes to nine—the time at which she later stopped all her clocks. It was assumed that Miss Havisham’s lover was in league with her half brother and that they split the profits from the brewery sale. At some later point, Miss Havisham adopted Estella, but Herbert does not know when or where.

Summary: Chapter 23

The next day, Pip visits the unpleasant commercial world of the Royal Exchange before going to Matthew Pocket’s house to be tutored and to have dinner. The Pockets’ home is a bustling, chaotic place where the servants run the show. Matthew is absentminded but kind, and his wife is socially ambitious but not well born; the children are being raised by the nurse. Pip’s fellow students are a strange pair: Bentley Drummle, a future baronet, is oafish and unpleasant, and a young man named Startop is soft and delicate. At dinner, Pip concentrates on his table manners and observes the peculiarities of the Pockets’ social lives.

Summary: Chapter 24

Pip returns to Jaggers’s office in order to arrange to share rooms with Herbert. There Pip befriends the lively Wemmick, who invites him to dinner. Pip sees Jaggers in the courtroom, where he is a potent and menacing force, frightening even the judge with his thundering speeches.

Summary: Chapter 25

Pip continues to get to know his fellow students and the Pockets, attending dinners at both Wemmick’s and Jaggers’s. Wemmick’s house is like something out of a dream, an absurd “castle” in Walworth that he shares with his “Aged Parent.” Pip observes that Wemmick seems to have a new personality when he enters his home: while he is cynical and dry at work, at home he seems jovial and merry.

Summary: Chapter 26

By contrast, Jaggers’s house is oppressive and dark, shared only with a gloomy housekeeper, Molly. Pip’s fellow students attend the dinner at Jaggers’s with Pip, and Pip and Drummle quarrel over a loan Drummle ungratefully borrowed from Startop. Jaggers warns Pip to stay away from Drummle, though the lawyer claims to like the disagreeable young man himself.

Analysis: Chapters 20–26

Structurally, this series of brief, quick chapters inaugurates the second phase of Great Expectations, marked by Pip’s receiving his new fortune and his move from Kent to London. Pip’s move to London marks a drastic shift of setting for the second main section of Great Expectations, away from the desolate marshes of Kent and into the teeming crowds of the city. Dickens, with his consummate knowledge of the London of his era, evokes the city masterfully, describing the stink, the run-down buildings, and the colorful mass of humanity through Pip’s stunned perceptions. One of the first things Pip sees after his arrival in London is the terrible gallows of Newgate Prison, which gives Pip “a sickening idea of London.” In a novel that places so much emphasis on the relationship between character and setting, it should come as no surprise that Pip encounters objects of punishment and justice everywhere he looks. Beneath his awkward desire to be a gentleman and advance socially, Pip is obsessed with ideas of guilt, innocence, and moral obligation, going all the way back to his first encounter with the convict in the marsh. The gallows evokes not only the memory of the convict, but also the themes of guilt and innocence that preoccupy Pip’s young mind.

Pip’s new acquaintances are unlike anyone he has ever known before, and they make his transformation into a gentleman an unpredictable one. Jaggers is hard, cold, and powerful, but beneath the surface he seems disgusted by his own work. In Chapter 20, he does not allow his clients to talk to him, and he scrubs his hands ferociously at the end of each workday, symbolically attempting to remove the moral taint of his work. Herbert (the “pale young gentleman” of Chapter 11) makes a natural contrast to the lawyer; he is everything Jaggers is not. Kind, relaxed, and poor, he is the perfect gentleman to educate Pip in the ways of the upper class. Herbert’s father, Matthew, is kind as well, but his absentminded carelessness makes him a weak figure even in his own household. Of his students, Drummle is an oaf and Startop is a weakling. Wemmick’s split personality—he acts hard and cynical in Jaggers’s office but wry and merry at home in Walworth—confuses Pip, but it also emphasizes the inner goodness beneath Wemmick’s callous exterior. His insistence on obtaining “portable property” and his good-natured teasing of his “Aged Parent” give him two of his most memorable catchphrases, which he uses throughout the novel.

The story of Miss Havisham mirrors some of the same themes—social class, romantic anguish, and criminality—that run throughout the main story of the book. The story explains the main mystery of Miss Havisham’s life, which was implied by her surroundings and her behavior much earlier in the novel. It answers many of Pip’s questions about her but raises many more. Who were the criminals who preyed on her, and what became of them? What is Estella’s history, and how is she related to Miss Havisham? As the novel progresses, these questions will become extremely important; for now, they are used primarily to continue the sense of mystery that is so important to the forward momentum of Dickens’s plot.

Chapters 27–35

Summary: Chapter 27

Joe comes to visit Pip in London. Because Pip worries that Joe will disapprove of his opulent lifestyle and that Drummle will look down on him because of Joe, Joe’s visit is strained and awkward. He tries to tell Pip the news from home: Wopsle, for instance, has become an actor. But Pip acts annoyed with him until Joe mentions that Estella has returned to Satis House and that she wishes to see Pip. Pip suddenly feels more kindly toward Joe, but the blacksmith leaves before Pip can improve his behavior.

“Pip, dear old chap, life is made of ever so many partings welded together, as I may say, and one man’s a blacksmith, and one’s a whitesmith, and one’s a goldsmith, and one’s a coppersmith. Diwisions among such must come. . . .”

Summary: Chapter 28

Hoping to see Estella and to apologize to Joe, Pip travels home, forced to share a coach with a pair of convicts, one of whom is the mysterious stranger who gave Pip money in the pub. Though this man does not recognize Pip, Pip overhears him explaining that the convict Pip helped that long-ago night in the marshes had asked him to deliver the money to Pip. Pip is so terrified by his memory of that night that he gets off the coach at its first stop within the town limits. When he arrives at his hotel, he reads a notice in a newspaper, from which he learns that Pumblechook is taking credit for his rise in status.

Summary: Chapter 29

When he travels to Satis House the next day, Pip pictures himself as a triumphant knight riding to rescue the Lady Estella from an evil castle. He encounters Orlick, now Miss Havisham’s porter, at the gate. When he sees Estella, he is stunned: she has become a ravishing young woman. Despite his newfound fortune, Pip feels horribly inadequate around her, as unworthy and clumsy as ever. Miss Havisham goads him on, snapping at him to continue to love Estella. Pip walks with Estella in the garden, but she treats him with indifference, and he becomes upset. Pip realizes that she reminds him of someone, but he can’t place the resemblance. Back inside, he discovers Jaggers there and feels oppressed by the lawyer’s heavy presence.

Summary: Chapter 30

The next day, Pip tells Jaggers about Orlick’s past, and Jaggers fires the man from Miss Havisham’s employ. Pip is mocked by the tailor’s apprentice as he walks down the street. He returns in low spirits to London, where Herbert tries to cheer him up, though he also tries to convince him that, even if Miss Havisham is his secret benefactor, she does not intend for him to marry Estella. Herbert confesses to Pip that he, too, is in love and, in fact, has a fiancée named Clara, but he is too poor to marry her.

Summary: Chapter 31

Pip and Herbert go to the theater, where Wopsle plays a ridiculous Hamlet. Pip takes the hapless actor out to dinner following the play, but his mood remains sour.

Summary: Chapter 32

Pip receives a note from Estella, ordering him to meet her at a London train station. He arrives very early and encounters Wemmick, who takes him on a brief tour of the miserable grounds of Newgate Prison. Pip feels uncomfortable in the dismal surroundings, but Wemmick is oddly at home, even introducing Pip to a man who has been sentenced to death by hanging.

Summary: Chapter 33

When Pip meets Estella, he is again troubled by her resemblance to someone he can’t place. She treats Pip arrogantly, but sends him into ecstatic joy when she refers to their “instructions,” which makes him feel as though they are destined to be married. After he escorts her through the gaslit London night to the house at which she is staying, he returns to the Pockets’ home.

Summary: Chapter 34

Pip feels terribly guilty for his snobbish treatment of Joe and Biddy, and he feels as though his degenerate lifestyle has been a bad influence on Herbert. The two young men catalog their debts, but they are interrupted by a letter carrying the news that Mrs. Joe has died.

Summary: Chapter 35

Pip is surprised by the intensity of his sadness about his sister’s death. He returns home at once for the funeral. He meets Pumblechook, who continues to fawn over him irritatingly. He tries to mend his relations with Joe and Biddy; Biddy is skeptical of his pledges to visit more often. Pip says goodbye to them the next morning, truly intending to visit more often, and walks away into the mist.

Analysis: Chapters 27–35

These chapters cover a dark and humiliating time for Pip. Ironically, Pip’s dizzying rise in social status is accompanied by a sharp decline in his confidence and happiness. He is humiliated in no fewer than four important scenes in this section. First, Joe’s visit to London reintroduces the theme of social contrast, showing just how awkward Pip’s position between the social classes has become; he worries both that Joe will disapprove of his new life and that the figures in his new life will disapprove of Joe. Second, he is frightened by the convicts in the coach, who remind him of his childhood encounter on the marsh. Third, even his return home is keenly embarrassing, as he learns of Pumblechook’s false boast and finds himself mocked by the tailor’s apprentice in Chapter 30. And, fourth, most painful of all, what he hopes will be a triumphant return to Satis House as a gentleman is a complete failure: Estella treats him just as cruelly as ever, reminding him coldly that she has “no heart.”

Pip’s behavior throughout this period is not admirable: he treats Joe with barely disguised hostility during Joe’s visit to London, and he behaves haughtily and coldly throughout this section. The difference between Pip the character and Pip the narrator becomes clear here. When he visits Satis House, Pip the character feels irritated and unhappy at the thought of visiting Joe, but Pip the narrator judges himself harshly for having felt that way, writing “God forgive me!” in Chapter 29. As a character, Pip is in the grip of his immediate emotions, but as a narrator, he has the capacity to look at his life from a broader perspective and to judge himself. Dickens uses that contrast well, giving Pip the wisdom of hindsight without sacrificing the immediacy of his story.

Pip’s guilt over his behavior toward Joe and Biddy reaches a high point at Mrs. Joe’s funeral. He is stunned by the news of his sister’s death. More than anyone else except for Joe, Mrs. Joe raised Pip, and her death marks an important point in his maturation toward adulthood and the development of his character. He tries to rectify his behavior toward his lower-class loved ones, but they are skeptical of his promises to improve, and with good reason. Pip really does mean to visit them more, as he promises Biddy in Chapter 35, but when he leaves, he walks into the rising mists, which symbolize ambiguity and confusion throughout Great Expectations; even he knows he is unlikely to honor his promise.

Mr. Wopsle’s rise as an actor works as a sort of parody of Pip’s rise as a gentleman. The country churchman is as ridiculous onstage in Chapter 31as Pip feels on the street when Trabb, the tailor’s boy, mocks him. Another important contrast to Pip in this section is Herbert, whose practical dream of becoming a merchant, earning money, and marrying Clara is virtually the opposite of Pip’s fairy-tale rise in status and his irrational belief that Miss Havisham means for him to marry Estella.

Chapters 36–37

Summary: Chapter 36

Pip’s twenty-first birthday finally arrives, meaning that he is an adult and will begin to receive a regular income from his fortune rather than having to go to Jaggers to access his money. He feels a great sense of excitement, because he hopes that his entrance into adulthood will cause Jaggers to tell him the identity of his mysterious benefactor. Despite Herbert’s warning, he feels increasingly certain that it is Miss Havisham and that she means for him to marry Estella. But during their interview, Jaggers is cold and brief; he reveals nothing about the source of Pip’s fortune, simply telling him that his income will be five hundred pounds a year and refusing to take responsibility for the outcome. For some reason, the encounter reminds Pip of his meeting with the convict in the graveyard so many years before. Still, Pip invites Jaggers to participate in his birthday dinner, but Jaggers’s oppressive presence makes the evening less enjoyable for Pip and Herbert.

Summary: Chapter 37

Upon receiving his income, Pip decides to help Herbert by buying Herbert’s way into the merchant business. He asks Wemmick for advice. At Jaggers’s office (in Chapter 36), Wemmick cynically advises Pip not to help Herbert, but later, at the Castle (where Pip also meets Wemmick’s girlfriend, Miss Skiffins), he jovially offers exactly the opposite advice and agrees to help Pip with the scheme. They find a merchant in need of a young partner, and Pip buys Herbert the partnership. Everything is all arranged anonymously, so that Herbert, like Pip, does not know the identity of his benefactor.

Analysis: Chapters 36–37

Pip’s twenty-first birthday marks his official transition to adulthood (Jaggers even begins calling him “Mr. Pip”). Jaggers’s refusal to comply with Pip’s wishes to know the truth about his benefactor is a bad omen, one borne out in the next section with the arrival of the convict and the downfall of Pip’s greatest expectations.

Even though Pip is still self-critical, he has legitimately matured into early adulthood and developed more sympathetic qualities. His decision to use his large income to help Herbert—being “very desirous,” as he says, “to serve a friend”—allows him to share his good fortune with a friend in need. Ironically, Pip adopts secrecy even as he is most anxious to know the identity of his own secret benefactor. Of course, he still believes his benefactor to be Miss Havisham, and he even accounts for Jaggers’s refusal to talk with the ridiculous deduction that “Miss Havisham had not taken him into her confidence as to her designing me for Estella; that he resented this, and felt a jealousy about it.” That Pip imagines the hard, powerful Jaggers feeling jealousy over anything involving Pip illustrates the extent to which Pip must delude himself to believe that Miss Havisham truly intends for him to marry Estella. It is obvious to the reader and to all the other characters in the book that Miss Havisham has no such idea in mind, but Pip remains blinded by love and continues to equate his social advancement with romantic advancement.

This section also continues to develop the character of Wemmick. The bizarre clerk’s two distinct sides become even more sharply divided in this section, as office-Wemmick advises Pip not to help Herbert, while Walworth-Wemmick wholeheartedly endorses the plan. Wemmick even acknowledges the split, saying in Chapter 36 that “my Walworth sentiments must be taken at Walworth; none but my official sentiments can be taken at this office.” Pip’s introduction to Miss Skiffins, Wemmick’s girlfriend (and future bride), in Chapter 37 allows Dickens to make an even more sentimental character out of Wemmick, but it also highlights Pip’s own romantic troubles. His love for Estella remains desperately impractical, and, as the next section demonstrates, his relationship with her has become humiliating in an entirely new way.

Chapters 38–39

Summary: Chapter 38

Pip spends a great deal of time with Estella in the house of her London hostess, Mrs. Brandley. However, he is not treated as a serious suitor. Rather, he is allowed to accompany Estella everywhere she goes, watching her treat her other suitors cruelly but being more or less ignored himself. He cannot understand why Miss Havisham does not announce the details of their engagement, in which he continues to believe. Pip and Estella go to visit the old woman, and Pip observes for the first time a combative relationship between her and Estella: Miss Havisham goads Estella on to break men’s hearts, but Estella treats Miss Havisham as coldly as she treats her suitors. Shortly thereafter, Pip learns to his horror that Drummle is courting Estella. He confronts Estella about the news, but she refuses to take his concern seriously, reminding Pip that he is the only suitor she doesn’t try to deceive and entrap. But this only makes Pip feel less important to her. That night, the young man imagines his fate as a heavy stone slab hanging over his head, about to fall.

“I begin to think,” said Estella, in a musing way, after another moment of calm wonder, “that I almost understand how this comes about.”

Summary: Chapter 39

Time passes, and Pip is now twenty-three. One night, during a midnight thunderstorm, he hears heavy footsteps trudging up his stairs. An old sailor enters Pip’s apartment, and Pip treats him nervously and haughtily before recognizing him. It is Pip’s convict, the same man who terrorized him in the cemetery and on the marsh when he was a little boy. Horrified, Pip learns the truth of his situation: the convict went to Australia, where he worked in sheep ranching and earned a huge fortune. Moved by Pip’s kindness to him on the marsh, he arranged to use his wealth to make Pip a gentleman. The convict, not Miss Havisham, is Pip’s secret benefactor. Pip is not meant to marry Estella at all.

With a crestfallen heart, Pip hears that the convict is even now on the run from the law, and that if he is caught, he could be put to death. Pip realizes that though the convict’s story has plunged him into despair, it is his duty to help his benefactor. He feeds him and gives him Herbert’s bed for the night, since Herbert is away. Terrified of his new situation, Pip looks in on the convict, who is sleeping with a pistol on his pillow, and then locks the doors and falls asleep. He awakes at five o’clock in the morning to a dark sky tormented by wind and rain.

Analysis: Chapters 38–39

As we saw in the previous section, Pip has now matured into an adult, marking a new phase in the novel; additionally, the reappearance of the convict and the solution of the mystery of Pip’s benefactor mark an important milestone in the book’s narrative development. Appropriately, the second important stage of the novel concludes at the end of this section; we are told here, “This is the end of the second stage of Pip’s expectations.”

Dickens opens this section by illustrating the extent to which Pip must now fool himself to believe that he is still meant to marry Estella. His relationship with Estella has gone from bad to worse: where he was once her innocent playmate, he is now expected to act as her innocuous companion, accompanying her to meet suitor after suitor at innumerable parties, essentially functioning as her chaperone. Dickens contrasts Pip’s romantic quandary with the romantic optimism of his friends, who all seem to find romantic happiness. Wemmick has Miss Skiffins and Herbert has Clara; Pip has only the bitter knowledge that the oafish Drummle has begun courting his beloved Estella.

Of course, the most important and most ominous development in these chapters, foreshadowed countless times in the earlier sections of the novel, is the reappearance of the convict, now a rugged old man, and the revelation that he, not Miss Havisham, is Pip’s secret benefactor. This revelation deflates Pip’s hopes that he is meant for Estella, and it completely collapses the stark social divisions that have defined him in the novel, first as a poor laborer envious of the rich, then as a gentleman embarrassed of his poor relations. Now Pip learns that his wealth and social standing come from the labor of an uneducated prison inmate, turning his social perceptions inside out. The fulfillment of his hope of being raised to a higher social class turns out to be the work of a man from a class even lower than his own. The sense of duty that compels Pip to help the convict is a mark of his inner goodness, just as it was many years ago in the swamp, but he is nevertheless unable to hide his disgust and disappointment.

“Look’ee here, Pip. I’m your second father. You’re my son—more to me nor any son. I’ve put away money, only for you to spend.

The convict’s reference to himself as Pip’s “second father” in Chapter 39allows us to track Pip’s development through a succession of father figures. The orphaned Pip identifies most closely with Joe as a father in the first section of the novel, and the blacksmith’s soft-spoken good nature most strongly defines his childhood. After the magical appearance of his wealth, adolescent Pip seems to treat Jaggers as a kind of distant father figure, referring to him repeatedly as “my guardian” and allowing him to set the parameters for his life in London. Now a young adult, Pip is confronted with the convict as an unwanted father, a relationship that will develop and deepen in the final section of the novel. With Pip’s discovery of his new father figure, this section ends on an extremely ominous note, as the morning sky is darkened by a violent storm. As setting is always connected to dramatic action and atmosphere in the world of Great Expectations, a storm can only mean that trouble lies ahead for Pip and his frightening benefactor.

Chapters 40–46

Summary: Chapter 40

In the morning, Pip trips over a shadowy man crouching on his staircase. He runs to fetch the watchman, but when they return the man is gone. Pip turns his attention to the convict, who gives his name as Abel Magwitch. To keep the servants from learning the truth, Pip decides to call Magwitch “Uncle Provis,” an alias Magwitch made up for himself on the ship from Australia to England. Pip arranges a disguise and calls on Jaggers to confirm Magwitch’s story. Magwitch tramps around the apartment, embarrassing Pip, “his” gentleman, with his bad table manners and rough speech.

Summary: Chapter 41

After five days of enduring his guest, Pip is forced to confront his problem head-on when Herbert returns home. Magwitch leaves, and Herbert and Pip discuss the situation, agreeing that Pip should no longer use Magwitch’s money. They plan for Pip to take Magwitch abroad, where he will be safe from the police, before parting ways with him.

Summary: Chapter 42

The next morning, Magwitch tells the young men his story. He was an orphaned child and lived a life of crime out of necessity. His earliest memory is of stealing turnips to feed himself. As a young man, he met a gentleman criminal named Compeyson and fell under his power. Compeyson had already driven another accomplice, Arthur, into alcoholism and madness. Arthur, Magwitch says, was driven to despair by the memory of a wealthy woman he and Compeyson had once victimized. Magwitch remembers a woman from his own past and becomes distraught, but he does not tell Herbert and Pip about her. He continues, saying that when he and Compeyson were caught, Compeyson turned on him, using his gentleman’s manners to obtain a light sentence at the trial. Magwitch wanted revenge, and Compeyson was the man Pip saw him struggling with that night on the marsh.

At this point, Herbert passes Pip a note that tangles the situation even further. The note reveals that Arthur was Miss Havisham’s half brother; Compeyson was the man who stood her up on their wedding day.

Summary: Chapter 43

Ashamed that his rise to social prominence is owed to such a coarse, lowborn man, Pip feels that he must leave Estella forever. After an unpleasant encounter with Drummle at the inn, he travels to Satis House to see Miss Havisham and Estella one final time.

Summary: Chapter 44

Miss Havisham admits that she knowingly allowed him to believe she was his benefactor, and she agrees to help Herbert now that Pip can no longer use his own fortune. Pip finally tells Estella he loves her, but she coldly replies that she never deceived him into thinking she shared his feelings. She announces that she has decided to marry Drummle. Surprisingly, Miss Havisham seems to pity Pip.

Upset beyond words, Pip walks the whole way back to London. At a gate close to his home, a night porter gives him a note from Wemmick, reading “don’t go home.”

Summary: Chapter 45

Afraid, Pip spends a night at a seedy inn called the Hummums. The next day, Pip finds Wemmick, who explains that he has learned through Jaggers’s office that Compeyson is pursuing Magwitch. He says that Herbert has hidden Magwitch at Clara’s house, and Pip leaves at once to go there.

Summary: Chapter 46

Upon arriving, he finds that Clara’s father is a drunken ogre and feels glad that he has helped Clara and Herbert escape him. He finds Magwitch upstairs and is surprised by the concern he now feels for the old convict’s safety; he even shields Magwitch from the news of Compeyson’s reappearance. Herbert and Pip discuss a plan to sneak Magwitch away on the river, and Pip begins to consider staying with his benefactor even after their escape. Pip buys a rowboat, keeping a nervous watch for the dark figure searching for Magwitch.

Analysis: Chapters 40–46

Throughout these chapters, Pip is again caught between powerful and conflicting feelings. When Joe visited London in Chapter 27, Pip was afraid both of how Joe would see his new life and of how the people in his new life would see Joe. Now, Pip is caught between his fear of Magwitch and his fearfor Magwitch: he is afraid of the convict, but he also fears for Magwitch’s safety. The news of Compeyson’s arrival coincides with the appearance of the “man crouching in the corner” in the darkness on Pip’s stairs, making the danger suddenly seem very real.

Magwitch’s story of Compeyson also causes the two plotlines that have defined Pip’s life—that of the convict and that of Miss Havisham and Estella—to collapse into one. This means that the world of Pip’s secret guilt and the world of his highest aspiration share a common history, and the stark polarities in which Pip has always believed—the rigid lines separating good from evil and innocence from guilt—are suddenly threatened. Interestingly, when Pip goes to break off his relations with Estella and Miss Havisham in Chapter 44, only to find that Estella has abandoned him to marry Drummle, Miss Havisham seems to pity him. He says, “I saw Miss Havisham put her hand to her heart and hold it there, as she sat looking by turns at Estella and at me.” Even as he tries to preserve his sense of their world by leaving it, protecting it from being tainted by the world of Magwitch, he finds Estella and Miss Havisham changing. Despite his efforts, his romantic ideals may be impossible to preserve.

The story of Compeyson also highlights the theme of class differences that has run throughout the novel. Magwitch is a low-born orphan, but Compeyson is an educated man. As Magwitch says in Chapter 42, “He set up fur a gentleman, this Compeyson . . . He was a smooth one to talk, and was a dab at the ways of gentle-folks.” As a result, Compeyson was able to negotiate a light sentence at his trial, while the rough-edged Magwitch received a heavier one. Estella’s cruelty spurred Pip to desire social status, but Compeyson’s betrayal spurred Magwitch to desire something even more: Pip wished to become a gentleman, but Magwitch wished to “own” a gentleman, thus inspiring his plans for Pip.

Pip is fortunate throughout this section to have such good friends, emphasizing the novel’s theme that loyalty and human affection are more important than social standing and ambition. Both Herbert and Wemmick are instrumental to the plot to rescue Magwitch. Herbert helps Pip from the beginning of the plan, and Wemmick even breaks the division between his office self and his Walworth self (subtly reflecting the collapse of other rigid categories throughout this section) to give Pip information about Compeyson that he learned at Jaggers’s office.

Miss Havisham’s softening toward Pip in this section is mirrored by Pip’s gradual softening toward Magwitch. Though at first he seems fearsome and rough, the convict slowly impresses both Pip and Herbert with the raw sense of honor underneath his powerful personality. In Chapter 46, Magwitch seems kind and noble compared to Clara’s brutish father, Bill Barley, and Pip is sincere when he tells him, “I don’t like to leave you here.” The subtle sense of suspicion and dread that seizes Pip’s world—he cannot “get rid of the notion of being watched”—alarms him more for Magwitch’s sake than it does for his own. He is in constant fear that Magwitch’s pursuers are “going swiftly, silently, and surely to take him.” The main mysteries of the novel (apart from that of Estella’s parentage) have been resolved; Dickens now relies on a sense of suspense and danger to keep the plot moving forward.

Chapters 47–52

Summary: Chapter 47

Pip anxiously waits for Wemmick’s signal to transport Magwitch downriver. Despite his softening attitude toward the convict, he feels morally obligated to refuse to spend any more of Magwitch’s money, and his debts pile up. He realizes that Estella’s marriage to Drummle must have taken place by now, but he intentionally avoids learning more about it. All of his worries are for Magwitch.

Pip goes to the theater to forget his troubles. After the performance, Wopsle tells Pip that in the audience behind him was one of the convicts from the battle on the marsh so many years ago. Pip tries to question Wopsle calmly, but inside he is terrified, realizing that Compeyson must be shadowing him. Pip rushes home to tell Herbert and Wemmick.

Summary: Chapter 48

Jaggers invites Pip to dinner, where he gives the young man a note from Miss Havisham. When Jaggers mentions Estella’s marriage shortly after Jaggers’s housekeeper Molly walks in, Pip realizes that Molly is the person he couldn’t place, the person Estella mysteriously resembles. He realizes at once that Molly must be Estella’s mother. Walking home with Wemmick after the dinner, Pip questions his friend about Molly, and he learns that she was accused of killing a woman over her common-law husband and of murdering her little daughter to hurt him. Pip feels certain that Estella is that lost daughter.

Summary: Chapter 49

Pip visits Miss Havisham, who feels unbearably guilty for having caused Estella to break his heart. Sobbing, she clings to Pip’s feet, pleading with him to forgive her. He acts kindly toward her, then goes for a walk in the garden. There, he has a morbid fantasy that Miss Havisham is dead. He looks up at her window just in time to see her bend over the fire and go up in a column of flame. Rushing in to save her, Pip sweeps the ancient wedding feast from her table and smothers the flames with the tablecloth. Miss Havisham lives, but she becomes an invalid, a shadow of her former self. Pip stays with her after the doctors have departed; early the next morning, he leaves her in the care of her servants and returns to London.

Summary: Chapter 50

Pip himself was badly burned trying to save Miss Havisham, and while Herbert changes his bandages, they agree that they have both grown fonder of Magwitch. Herbert tells Pip the part of Magwitch’s story that the convict originally left out, the story of the woman in his past. The story matches that of Jaggers’s housekeeper, Molly. Magwitch, therefore, is Molly’s former common-law husband and Estella’s father.

Summary: Chapter 51

Pip is seized by a feverish conviction to learn the whole truth. He visits Jaggers and manages to shock the lawyer by proclaiming that he knows the truth of Estella’s parentage. Pip cannot convince Jaggers to divulge any information, however, until he appeals to Wemmick’s human, kind side, the side that until now Wemmick has never shown in the office. Jaggers is so surprised and pleased to learn that Wemmick has a pleasant side that he confirms that Estella is Molly’s daughter, though he didn’t know Magwitch’s role in the story.

Summary: Chapter 52

Pip leaves to finish the task of securing Herbert’s partnership. He learns that Herbert is to be transferred to the Middle East, and Herbert fantasizes about escorting Clara to the land of Arabian Nights.

A message from Wemmick arrives, indicating that they should be ready to move Magwitch in two days. But Pip also finds an anonymous note threatening “Uncle Provis,” demanding that Pip travel to the marshes in secret. Pip travels to the inn near his childhood home, where he is reminded of how badly he has neglected Joe since he became a gentleman. Of all his losses, Pip thinks he regrets the loss of Joe’s friendship the most. That night, humbled and with an arm injured from the fire, he heads out to the mysterious meeting on the marshes.

Analysis: Chapters 47–52

Pip’s compulsion to solve the mystery of Estella’s origins fills him with a feverish purpose while he waits for Wemmick’s signal. The story he uncovers connects even more completely the world of Miss Havisham and the world of Magwitch. Pip, who was originally mortified to learn that his fortune came from someone so far beneath Estella, now learns that Estella is the daughter of his secret benefactor and therefore springs from even humbler origins than himself. The revelation, nevertheless, does not seem to change his feelings for her. This is due in part to Pip’s own changing feelings for Magwitch—Herbert and Pip are by this point loyal to the former convict—and in part to Pip’s self-critical nature. He is still harder on himself than on those around him, and it is perfectly in keeping with his character to overlook in Estella something he could not overlook in himself.

Aside from the continuing progress of the plot to escape with Magwitch—evading Compeyson, waiting for Wemmick’s signal—the most important development in this section is Miss Havisham’s full repentance for her behavior toward Pip. The original dynamic between the two, with Miss Havisham as the manic, powerful old woman and Pip the cowering child, is completely reversed in Chapter 49, when Miss Havisham drops to her knees before Pip, crying, “What have I done! What have I done!” But something of Pip’s original feeling for the dowager creeps back into his mind as he walks through the garden and imagines her hanging from a beam in the brewery, just as he used to do when he was a child.

When he looks through her bedroom window to reassure himself of her well-being, he sees her catching on fire and running at him, “shrieking, with a whirl of fire blazing all about her, and soaring at least as many feet above her head as she was high.” Although her injuries from the fire leave her bedridden and destroyed (just as Orlick’s attack left Mrs. Joe an invalid in Chapter 15), this dramatic ending to Miss Havisham’s story does not assuage her guilt and remorse or end her search for Pip’s forgiveness. From her bed, she continually entreats him, “Take a pencil and write under my name, ‘I forgive her!’”

Chapters 53–56

Summary: Chapter 53

The night is dark over the marsh; in the sky the moon is a deep red. Thick mists surround the limekiln to which Pip travels. He enters an abandoned stone quarry and suddenly finds his candle extinguished; a noose is thrown over his head in the darkness. He is bound tightly, and a gruff voice threatens to kill him if he cries out. A flint is struck, its flame illuminating Orlick’s wicked face.

Orlick accuses Pip of coming between him and a young woman he fancied, among other things, and declares his intention to have revenge. He also admits to killing Mrs. Joe, though he says that Pip is ultimately responsible for her death since Orlick did it to get back at him. “It was you, villain,” Pip retorts boldly, but inside he is worried: he is afraid that he will die and none of his loved ones will know how he hoped to improve himself and to help them. Orlick reveals that he has some connection with Compeyson and has solved the mystery of Magwitch, and that he was the shadowy figure lurking in Pip’s stairwell.

Orlick takes a swig of liquor, then picks up a stone hammer and advances menacingly toward Pip. Pip cries out, and suddenly Herbert bursts in with a group of men to save him. Herbert had found Orlick’s note asking Pip to meet him at the marshes and, worried, had followed Pip there. In the ensuing scuffle, Orlick manages to escape. Rather than pursuing him, Pip rushes home with Herbert to carry out Magwitch’s escape.

Summary: Chapter 54

In the morning, a sparkling sunrise dazzles London as Pip and Herbert prepare to put their plan in motion. With their friend Startop, the pair set out on the river; the Thames is bustling with activity and crowded with boats. When they stop for Magwitch at Clara’s house, he looks well and seems contemplative; he drags his hand in the water as the boat moves and compares life to a river. As they move out of London into the marshes, though, the mood darkens, the rowing becomes harder, and a sense of foreboding settles over the group. At the filthy inn where they stop that night, a servant tells them of an ominous boat he has seen lingering near the inn; Pip worries that it could be either the police or Compeyson. That night Pip sees two men looking into his boat, so the group arranges for Pip and Magwitch to sneak out early the next morning and rejoin the boat further down the river.

Making their way downriver, they see their goal—a German steamer that will take Pip and Magwitch away—in the distance. But suddenly another rowboat appears, and a policeman calls for Magwitch’s arrest. Magwitch recognizes Compeyson on the other boat and dives into the river to attack him. They grapple, and each slips under the surface, but only Magwitch resurfaces. He claims not to have drowned Compeyson, though he says he would have liked to, but he cannot avoid being chained and led away to prison. Now completely loyal to him, Pip takes his hand and promises to stand by him.

Summary: Chapter 55

Jaggers is certain that Magwitch will be found guilty, but Pip remains loyal. He does not worry when he learns that the state will appropriate Magwitch’s fortune, including Pip’s money. While Magwitch awaits sentencing, Herbert prepares to marry Clara and Wemmick enjoys a comical wedding to Miss Skiffins. Herbert offers Pip a job, but Pip delays his answer.

Summary: Chapter 56

Pip visits Magwitch, who is sick and imprisoned, and works to free the stricken convict. But when the old man is found guilty and sentenced to death, as Jaggers had predicted, Magwitch tells the judge that he believes God has decreed his death as an act of forgiveness. On the day of his death, he is too ill to speak. Pip eases his final moments by telling him that Estella—the child he believed to be lost—is alive, well, and a beautiful lady. Magwitch dies in peace, and Pip prays over his body, pleading with God to forgive his lost benefactor.

Analysis: Chapters 53–56

While the complex ambiguities of character have filled the previous chapters of Great Expectations, Orlick’s untimely reappearance reintroduces an element of pure evil. Orlick has no redeeming qualities; he is malicious and cunning and hurts people simply because he enjoys it. He blames Pip for many things (for having ruined his chances with Biddy, causing him to be fired by Miss Havisham, and having always been favored by Joe), but his hatred for Pip is largely irrational: he simply wants to destroy him. “I won’t have a rag of you, I won’t have a bone of you, left on earth,” he says in Chapter53. Orlick seems to have no self-awareness and repeatedly refers to himself in the third person as “Old Orlick.” In this way, Orlick contrasts powerfully with Pip, whose every action is subject to relentless self-scrutiny. If Pip, so aware of justice, punishment, and guilt everywhere he goes, represents an excess of reflection and self-judgment, Orlick represents a total lack of those qualities. He is a perfect tool for the manipulative Compeyson, who has no doubt orchestrated the entire attack.

In the world of Great Expectations, the brilliant sunrise that lights up the river the day of the escape attempt seems like a good omen. The trip down the Thames with Magwitch highlights the extent to which Pip has grown throughout the novel. The nervous, ambivalent child is now an adult confident in his actions, shepherding the once-terrifying Magwitch toward freedom.

Public and private morality are no longer one and the same for Pip and his friends. When they stop at the inn and learn of the ominous boat lingering outside, Pip’s group is uncertain whom they should fear: the police or Compeyson—that is, the law or an outlaw. Ironically, they are captured by both, since Compeyson had gone to the police; when Magwitch discovers what he had done, the gentleman criminal’s face is distorted by “white terror.” Magwitch gets his revenge on Compeyson, even though he is not directly responsible for Compeyson’s drowning. Unlike Pip’s other former antagonists, such as Miss Havisham and Magwitch, Compeyson ends his life with an act of betrayal. The strict sense of justice that guides the novel demands that any sinful character will either be redeemed or come to a bad end. Pip is redeemed by his newfound love for his secret benefactor; Magwitch is redeemed by his inner nobility and love for Pip; and Miss Havisham is redeemed by her repentance. Though Magwitch and Miss Havisham die, they die at peace, while Compeyson simply disappears, and Orlick will be dragged to prison (see Chapter 57).

“You had a child once, whom you loved and lost.”

The way in which Magwitch dies in Chapter 56 is a testament to his own inner strength, and Pip’s behavior immediately before Magwitch’s death is a sign of his newfound love for the convict. Though Wemmick’s comical wedding and Herbert’s joyous engagement lighten the mood of tragedy in these concluding chapters, it is the manner of Magwitch’s death—uncomplaining, believing death to be the reward of God’s forgiveness—that renders his life a victory. The sunrise the morning of the escape attempt did not foretell a successful ending to Magwitch’s escape attempt, but, instead, foreshadows his redemption in death. Pip has now completely accepted Magwitch as his “second father.” As he says in Chapter 54: “For now my repugnance to him had all melted away, and in the hunted wounded shackled creature who held my hand in his, I only saw a man who had . . . felt affectionately, gratefully, and generously toward me with great constancy through a series of years.” Pip is no longer concerned with social class: he simply sees that Magwitch has been better to him than he himself has been to Joe, signaling that Pip has at last learned the novel’s greatest moral lesson. Loyalty, love, and human affection are more important than social class and material grandeur, and are the only goals worth striving for.

Chapters 57–59

Summary: Chapter 57

After Magwitch’s death, Pip falls into a feverish illness. He is also arrested for debt and nearly carted away to prison; he is spared only because of his extreme ill health. He experiences wild hallucinations, reliving scenes with Orlick and Miss Havisham and continually seeing Joe’s face. But the last is not a hallucination: Joe has really come, and he nurses Pip through his illness.

As Pip recovers, Joe tells him the news from home: Miss Havisham has died, wisely distributing her fortune among the Pockets. After failing to kill Pip, Orlick robbed Pumblechook, and he since has been caught and put in jail. And Joe has news about himself: Biddy has helped him learn how to read and write.

Pip and Joe go on a Sunday outing, just as they used to do when Pip was a boy. But when Pip tries to tell Joe the story of Magwitch, Joe refuses to listen, not wanting to revisit painful memories. Despite Pip’s renewed affection, living in London makes Joe increasingly unhappy, and one morning Pip finds him gone. Before leaving, he does Pip one last good turn, paying off all of Pip’s debts. Pip rushes home to reconcile with Joe and decides to marry Biddy when he gets there.

Summary: Chapter 58

When Pip arrives at his childhood home, he finds Satis House pulled apart in preparation for an auction. Pumblechook tracks him down at his hotel and treats him condescendingly, but Pip rudely takes his leave and goes to find Biddy and Joe. Biddy’s schoolhouse is empty, as is Joe’s smithy. When Pip finds them, he is shocked to discover that they have been married. Despite his disappointed expectation of marriage to Biddy, he expresses happiness for them and decides to take the job with Herbert.

Summary: Chapter 59

Eleven years later, Pip returns to England. He says he has learned to work hard and is content with the modest living he makes in the mercantile firm. He goes to visit Joe and Biddy, and tries to convince Biddy that he has resigned himself to being a bachelor.

Pip then goes to Satis House and finds that it is no longer standing. In a silvery mist, Pip walks through the overgrown, ruined garden and thinks of Estella. He has heard that she was unhappy with Drummle but that Drummle has recently died. As the moon rises, Pip finds Estella wandering through the old garden. They discuss the past fondly; as the mists rise, they leave the garden hand in hand, Pip believes, never to part again.

Analysis: Chapters 57–59

The ending ofGreat Expectations is more controversial than it may seem at first. Before writing the scene in which Pip finds Estella in the garden and sees “no shadow of another parting from her,” Dickens wrote another, less romantic ending to the book. In this version, Pip hears that, after Drummle’s death, Estella married a country doctor in Shropshire. Walking through London one day with Joe and Biddy’s son, Pip runs into Estella and they have a very brief meeting and shake hands. Though they do not discuss the past, Pip says he could see that “suffering had been stronger than Miss Havisham’s teaching and had given her a heart to understand what my heart used to be.”

Dickens changed this ending at the suggestion of a friend, the novelist Edward Bulwer Lytton. He seems to have been motivated, at least in part, by the desire to please his reading public with a happy ending. Some critics have felt that the original ending of Great Expectations is more true to the tone of the novel, that the process of Pip’s redemption as a character is exactly the process that would make his continued love for Estella impossible. Others have felt that the original ending is too harsh, that their common past has destined Pip and Estella for one another, and that the main story of the novel is the story of their mutual development toward the conditions in which their love can be realized.

There is no clear historical reason to favor one of these endings over the other. Dickens stuck with the final version through every subsequent edition of the novel, but the original ending, changed only through outside influence, was Dickens’s first sense of how the story ought to end. Though the romantic ending remains the “official” ending of the book, each reader of Great Expectations may interpret the novel for him- or herself and decide which ending best fits his or her own understanding of the story.

In any case, Pip’s fundamental development by this final section remains clear, and it is emphasized in his reconciliation with Joe and Biddy in Chapters 57 and 58. Here, the lessons Pip has learned effectively summarize the thematic development of the novel as a whole. Pip has learned that social class is not a criterion for happiness; that strict designations of good and evil, and even of guilt and innocence, are nearly impossible to maintain in a world that is constantly changing (symbolized by the destruction of Satis House, which attempted to freeze time with its stopped clocks); and that his treatment of his loved ones must be the guiding principle in his life. Though his self-description as a narrator shows that he continues to judge himself harshly, he has forgiven his enemies and been reconciled with his friends. Whether he leaves the garden with Estella or only bids her farewell in her carriage, he has found a satisfying ending for himself.

“Tess of the D’Urbervilles” Hardy, T.

Context

T homas Hardy was born on June 2, 1840, in Higher Bockhampton in Dorset, a rural region of southwestern England that was to become the focus of his fiction. The child of a builder, Hardy was apprenticed at the age of sixteen to John Hicks, an architect who lived in the city of Dorchester. The location would later serve as the model for Hardy’s fictional Casterbridge. Although he gave serious thought to attending university and entering the church, a struggle he would dramatize in his novel Jude the Obscure,declining religious faith and lack of money led Hardy to pursue a career in writing instead. He spent nearly a dozen years toiling in obscurity and producing unsuccessful novels and poetry. Far from the Madding Crowd,published in 1874, was the author’s first critical and financial success. Finally able to support himself as a writer, Hardy married Emma Lavinia Gifford later that year.

Although he built a reputation as a successful novelist, Hardy considered himself first and foremost a poet. To him, novels were primarily a means of earning a living. Like many of his contemporaries, he first published his novels in periodic installments in magazines or serial journals, and his work reflects the conventions of serialization. To ensure that readers would buy a serialized novel, writers often structured each installment to be something of a cliffhanger, which explained the convoluted, often incredible plots of many such Victorian novels. But Hardy cannot solely be labeled a Victorian novelist. Nor can he be categorized simply as a Modernist, in the tradition of writers like Virginia Woolf or D. H. Lawrence, who were determined to explode the conventions of nineteenth-century literature and build a new kind of novel in its place. In many respects, Hardy was trapped in the middle ground between the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, between Victorian sensibilities and more modern ones, and between tradition and innovation.

Soon after Tess of the d’Urbervilles (1891) was published, its sales assured Hardy’s financial future. But the novel also aroused a substantial amount of controversy. In Tess of the d’Urbervilles and other novels, Hardy demonstrates his deep sense of moral sympathy for England’s lower classes, particularly for rural women. He became famous for his compassionate, often controversial portrayal of young women victimized by the self-righteous rigidity of English social morality. Perhaps his most famous depiction of such a young woman is in Tess of the d’Urbervilles. This novel and the one that followed it, Jude the Obscure (1895), engendered widespread public scandal with their comparatively frank look at the sexual hypocrisy of English society.

Hardy lived and wrote in a time of difficult social change, when England was making its slow and painful transition from an old-fashioned, agricultural nation to a modern, industrial one. Businessmen and entrepreneurs, or “new money,” joined the ranks of the social elite, as some families of the ancient aristocracy, or “old money,” faded into obscurity. Tess’s family in Tess of the d’Urbervilles illustrates this change, as Tess’s parents, the Durbeyfields, lose themselves in the fantasy of belonging to an ancient and aristocratic family, the d’Urbervilles. Hardy’s novel strongly suggests that such a family history is not only meaningless but also utterly undesirable. Hardy’s views on the subject were appalling to conservative and status-conscious British readers, and Tess of the d’Urbervilles was met in England with widespread controversy.

Hardy was frustrated by the controversy caused by his work, and he finally abandoned novel-writing altogether following Jude the Obscure. He spent the rest of his career writing poetry. Though today he is remembered somewhat more for his novels, he was an acclaimed poet in his time and was buried in the prestigious Poet’s Corner of Westminster Abbey following his death in1928.

Analysis of Major Characters

Tess Durbeyfield

Intelligent, strikingly attractive, and distinguished by her deep moral sensitivity and passionate intensity, Tess is indisputably the central character of the novel that bears her name. But she is also more than a distinctive individual: Hardy makes her into somewhat of a mythic heroine. Her name, formally Theresa, recalls St. Teresa of Avila, another martyr whose vision of a higher reality cost her her life. Other characters often refer to Tess in mythical terms, as when Angel calls her a “Daughter of Nature” in Chapter XVIII, or refers to her by the Greek mythological names “Artemis” and “Demeter” in Chapter XX. The narrator himself sometimes describes Tess as more than an individual woman, but as something closer to a mythical incarnation of womanhood. In Chapter XIV, he says that her eyes are “neither black nor blue nor grey nor violet; rather all these shades together,” like “an almost standard woman.” Tess’s story may thus be a “standard” story, representing a deeper and larger experience than that of a single individual.

In part, Tess represents the changing role of the agricultural workers in England in the late nineteenth century. Possessing an education that her unschooled parents lack, since she has passed the Sixth Standard of the National Schools, Tess does not quite fit into the folk culture of her predecessors, but financial constraints keep her from rising to a higher station in life. She belongs in that higher world, however, as we discover on the first page of the novel with the news that the Durbeyfields are the surviving members of the noble and ancient family of the d’Urbervilles. There is aristocracy in Tess’s blood, visible in her graceful beauty—yet she is forced to work as a farmhand and milkmaid. When she tries to express her joy by singing lower-class folk ballads at the beginning of the third part of the novel, they do not satisfy her—she seems not quite comfortable with those popular songs. But, on the other hand, her diction, while more polished than her mother’s, is not quite up to the level of Alec’s or Angel’s. She is in between, both socially and culturally. Thus, Tess is a symbol of unclear and unstable notions of class in nineteenth-century Britain, where old family lines retained their earlier glamour, but where cold economic realities made sheer wealth more important than inner nobility.

Beyond her social symbolism, Tess represents fallen humanity in a religious sense, as the frequent biblical allusions in the novel remind us. Just as Tess’s clan was once glorious and powerful but is now sadly diminished, so too did the early glory of the first humans, Adam and Eve, fade with their expulsion from Eden, making humans sad shadows of what they once were. Tess thus represents what is known in Christian theology as original sin, the degraded state in which all humans live, even when—like Tess herself after killing Prince or succumbing to Alec—they are not wholly or directly responsible for the sins for which they are punished. This torment represents the most universal side of Tess: she is the myth of the human who suffers for crimes that are not her own and lives a life more degraded than she deserves.

Alec d’Urberville

An insouciant twenty-four-year-old man, heir to a fortune, and bearer of a name that his father purchased, Alec is the nemesis and downfall of Tess’s life. His first name, Alexander, suggests the conqueror—as in Alexander the Great—who seizes what he wants regardless of moral propriety. Yet he is more slippery than a grand conqueror. His full last name, Stoke-d’Urberville, symbolizes the split character of his family, whose origins are simpler than their pretensions to grandeur. After all, Stokes is a blunt and inelegant name. Indeed, the divided and duplicitous character of Alec is evident to the very end of the novel, when he quickly abandons his newfound Christian faith upon remeeting Tess. It is hard to believe Alec holds his religion, or anything else, sincerely. His supposed conversion may only be a new role he is playing.

This duplicity of character is so intense in Alec, and its consequences for Tess so severe, that he becomes diabolical. The first part of his surname conjures associations with fiery energies, as in the stoking of a furnace or the flames of hell. His devilish associations are evident when he wields a pitchfork while addressing Tess early in the novel, and when he seduces her as the serpent in Genesis seduced Eve. Additionally, like the famous depiction of Satan in Milton’s Paradise Lost, Alec does not try to hide his bad qualities. In fact, like Satan, he revels in them. In Chapter XII, he bluntly tells Tess, “I suppose I am a bad fellow—a damn bad fellow. I was born bad, and I have lived bad, and I shall die bad, in all probability.” There is frank acceptance in this admission and no shame. Some readers feel Alec is too wicked to be believable, but, like Tess herself, he represents a larger moral principle rather than a real individual man. Like Satan, Alec symbolizes the base forces of life that drive a person away from moral perfection and greatness.

Angel Clare

A freethinking son born into the family of a provincial parson and determined to set himself up as a farmer instead of going to Cambridge like his conformist brothers, Angel represents a rebellious striving toward a personal vision of goodness. He is a secularist who yearns to work for the “honor and glory of man,” as he tells his father in Chapter XVIII, rather than for the honor and glory of God in a more distant world. A typical young nineteenth-century progressive, Angel sees human society as a thing to be remolded and improved, and he fervently believes in the nobility of man. He rejects the values handed to him, and sets off in search of his own. His love for Tess, a mere milkmaid and his social inferior, is one expression of his disdain for tradition. This independent spirit contributes to his aura of charisma and general attractiveness that makes him the love object of all the milkmaids with whom he works at Talbothays.

As his name—in French, close to “Bright Angel”—suggests, Angel is not quite of this world, but floats above it in a transcendent sphere of his own. The narrator says that Angel shines rather than burns and that he is closer to the intellectually aloof poet Shelley than to the fleshly and passionate poet Byron. His love for Tess may be abstract, as we guess when he calls her “Daughter of Nature” or “Demeter.” Tess may be more an archetype or ideal to him than a flesh and blood woman with a complicated life. Angel’s ideals of human purity are too elevated to be applied to actual people: Mrs. Durbeyfield’s easygoing moral beliefs are much more easily accommodated to real lives such as Tess’s. Angel awakens to the actual complexities of real-world morality after his failure in Brazil, and only then he realizes he has been unfair to Tess. His moral system is readjusted as he is brought down to Earth. Ironically, it is not the angel who guides the human in this novel, but the human who instructs the angel, although at the cost of her own life.

Themes, Motifs & Symbols

Themes

Themes are the fundamental and often universal ideas explored in a literary work.

The Injustice of Existence

Unfairness dominates the lives of Tess and her family to such an extent that it begins to seem like a general aspect of human existence in Tess of the d’Urbervilles. Tess does not mean to kill Prince, but she is punished anyway, just as she is unfairly punished for her own rape by Alec. Nor is there justice waiting in heaven. Christianity teaches that there is compensation in the afterlife for unhappiness suffered in this life, but the only devout Christian encountered in the novel may be the reverend, Mr. Clare, who seems more or less content in his life anyway. For others in their misery, Christianity offers little solace of heavenly justice. Mrs. Durbeyfield never mentions otherworldly rewards. The converted Alec preaches heavenly justice for earthly sinners, but his faith seems shallow and insincere. Generally, the moral atmosphere of the novel is not Christian justice at all, but pagan injustice. The forces that rule human life are absolutely unpredictable and not necessarily well-disposed to us. The pre-Christian rituals practiced by the farm workers at the opening of the novel, and Tess’s final rest at Stonehenge at the end, remind us of a world where the gods are not just and fair, but whimsical and uncaring. When the narrator concludes the novel with the statement that “‘Justice’ was done, and the President of the Immortals (in the Aeschylean phrase) had ended his sport with Tess,” we are reminded that justice must be put in ironic quotation marks, since it is not really just at all. What passes for “Justice” is in fact one of the pagan gods enjoying a bit of “sport,” or a frivolous game.

Changing Ideas of Social Class in Victorian England

Tess of the d’Urbervillespresents complex pictures of both the importance of social class in nineteenth-century England and the difficulty of defining class in any simple way. Certainly the Durbeyfields are a powerful emblem of the way in which class is no longer evaluated in Victorian times as it would have been in the Middle Ages—that is, by blood alone, with no attention paid to fortune or worldly success. Indubitably the Durbeyfields have purity of blood, yet for the parson and nearly everyone else in the novel, this fact amounts to nothing more than a piece of genealogical trivia. In the Victorian context, cash matters more than lineage, which explains how Simon Stokes, Alec’s father, was smoothly able to use his large fortune to purchase a lustrous family name and transform his clan into the Stoke-d’Urbervilles. The d’Urbervilles pass for what the Durbeyfields truly are—authentic nobility—simply because definitions of class have changed. The issue of class confusion even affects the Clare clan, whose most promising son, Angel, is intent on becoming a farmer and marrying a milkmaid, thus bypassing the traditional privileges of a Cambridge education and a parsonage. His willingness to work side by side with the farm laborers helps endear him to Tess, and their acquaintance would not have been possible if he were a more traditional and elitist aristocrat. Thus, the three main characters in the Angel-Tess-Alec triangle are all strongly marked by confusion regarding their respective social classes, an issue that is one of the main concerns of the novel.

Men Dominating Women

One of the recurrent themes of the novel is the way in which men can dominate women, exerting a power over them linked primarily to their maleness. Sometimes this command is purposeful, in the man’s full knowledge of his exploitation, as when Alec acknowledges how bad he is for seducing Tess for his own momentary pleasure. Alec’s act of abuse, the most life-altering event that Tess experiences in the novel, is clearly the most serious instance of male domination over a female. But there are other, less blatant examples of women’s passivity toward dominant men. When, after Angel reveals that he prefers Tess, Tess’s friend Retty attempts suicide and her friend Marian becomes an alcoholic, which makes their earlier schoolgirl-type crushes on Angel seem disturbing. This devotion is not merely fanciful love, but unhealthy obsession. These girls appear utterly dominated by a desire for a man who, we are told explicitly, does not even realize that they are interested in him. This sort of unconscious male domination of women is perhaps even more unsettling than Alec’s outward and self-conscious cruelty.

Even Angel’s love for Tess, as pure and gentle as it seems, dominates her in an unhealthy way. Angel substitutes an idealized picture of Tess’s country purity for the real-life woman that he continually refuses to get to know. When Angel calls Tess names like “Daughter of Nature” and “Artemis,” we feel that he may be denying her true self in favor of a mental image that he prefers. Thus, her identity and experiences are suppressed, albeit unknowingly. This pattern of male domination is finally reversed with Tess’s murder of Alec, in which, for the first time in the novel, a woman takes active steps against a man. Of course, this act only leads to even greater suppression of a woman by men, when the crowd of male police officers arrest Tess at Stonehenge. Nevertheless, for just a moment, the accepted pattern of submissive women bowing to dominant men is interrupted, and Tess’s act seems heroic.

Motifs

Motifs are recurring structures, contrasts, or literary devices that can help to develop and inform the text’s major themes.

Birds

Images of birds recur throughout the novel, evoking or contradicting their traditional spiritual association with a higher realm of transcendence. Both the Christian dove of peace and the Romantic songbirds of Keats and Shelley, which symbolize sublime heights, lead us to expect that birds will have positive meaning in this novel. Tess occasionally hears birdcalls on her frequent hikes across the countryside; their free expressiveness stands in stark contrast to Tess’s silent and constrained existence as a wronged and disgraced girl. When Tess goes to work for Mrs. d’Urberville, she is surprised to find that the old woman’s pet finches are frequently released to fly free throughout the room. These birds offer images of hope and liberation. Yet there is irony attached to birds as well, making us doubt whether these images of hope and freedom are illusory. Mrs. d’Urberville’s birds leave little white spots on the upholstery, which presumably some servant—perhaps Tess herself—will have to clean. It may be that freedom for one creature entails hardship for another, just as Alec’s free enjoyment of Tess’s body leads her to a lifetime of suffering. In the end, when Tess encounters the pheasants maimed by hunters and lying in agony, birds no longer seem free, but rather oppressed and submissive. These pheasants are no Romantic songbirds hovering far above the Earth—they are victims of earthly violence, condemned to suffer down below and never fly again.

The Book of Genesis

The Genesis story of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden is evoked repeatedly throughout Tess of the d’Urbervilles, giving the novel a broader metaphysical and philosophical dimension. The roles of Eve and the serpent in paradise are clearly delineated: Angel is the noble Adam newly born, while Tess is the indecisive and troubled Eve. When Tess gazes upon Angel in Chapter XXVII, “she regarded him as Eve at her second waking might have regarded Adam.” Alec, with his open avowal that he is bad to the bone, is the conniving Satan. He seduces Tess under a tree, giving her sexual knowledge in return for her lost innocence. The very name of the forest where this seduction occurs, the Chase, suggests how Eve will be chased from Eden for her sins. This guilt, which will never be erased, is known in Christian theology as the original sin that all humans have inherited. Just as John Durbeyfield is told in Chapter I that “you don’t live anywhere,” and his family is evicted after his death at the end of the novel, their homelessness evokes the human exile from Eden. Original sin suggests that humans have fallen from their once great status to a lower station in life, just as the d’Urbervilles have devolved into the modern Durbeyfields. This Story of the Fall—or of the “Pure Drop,” to recall the name of a pub in Tess’s home village—is much more than a social fall. It is an explanation of how all of us humans—not only Tess—never quite seem to live up to our expectations, and are never able to inhabit the places of grandeur we feel we deserve.

Variant Names

The transformation of the d’Urbervilles into the Durbeyfields is one example of the common phenomenon of renaming, or variant naming, in the novel. Names matter in this novel. Tess knows and accepts that she is a lowly Durbeyfield, but part of her still believes, as her parents also believe, that her aristocratic original name should be restored. John Durbeyfield goes a step further than Tess, and actually renames himself Sir John, as his tombstone epitaph shows. Another character who renames himself is Simon Stokes, Angel’s father, who purchased a family tree and made himself Simon Stoke-d’Urberville. The question raised by all these cases of name changing, whether successful or merely imagined, is the extent to which an altered name brings with it an altered identity. Alec acts notoriously ungentlemanly throughout the novel, but by the end, when he appears at the d’Urberville family vault, his lordly and commanding bearing make him seem almost deserving of the name his father has bought, like a spoiled medieval nobleman. Hardy’s interest in name changes makes reality itself seem changeable according to whims of human perspective. The village of Blakemore, as we are reminded twice in Chapters I and II, is also known as Blackmoor, and indeed Hardy famously renames the southern English countryside as “Wessex.” He imposes a fictional map on a real place, with names altered correspondingly. Reality may not be as solid as the names people confer upon it.

Symbols

Symbols are objects, characters, figures, or colors used to represent abstract ideas or concepts.

Prince

When Tess dozes off in the wagon and loses control, the resulting death of the Durbeyfield horse, Prince, spurs Tess to seek aid from the d’Urbervilles, setting the events of the novel in motion. The horse’s demise is thus a powerful plot motivator, and its name a potent symbol of Tess’s own claims to aristocracy. Like the horse, Tess herself bears a high-class name, but is doomed to a lowly life of physical labor. Interestingly, Prince’s death occurs right after Tess dreams of ancient knights, having just heard the news that her family is aristocratic. Moreover, the horse is pierced by the forward-jutting piece of metal on a mail coach, which is reminiscent of a wound one might receive in a medieval joust. In an odd way, Tess’s dream of medieval glory comes true, and her horse dies a heroic death. Yet her dream of meeting a prince while she kills her own Prince, and with him her family’s only means of financial sustenance, is a tragic foreshadowing of her own story. The death of the horse symbolizes the sacrifice of real-world goods, such as a useful animal or even her own honor, through excessive fantasizing about a better world.

The d’Urberville Family Vault

A double-edged symbol of both the majestic grandeur and the lifeless hollowness of the aristocratic family name that the Durbeyfields learn they possess, the d’Urberville family vault represents both the glory of life and the end of life. Since Tess herself moves from passivity to active murder by the end of the novel, attaining a kind of personal grandeur even as she brings death to others and to herself, the double symbolism of the vault makes it a powerful site for the culminating meeting between Alec and Tess. Alec brings Tess both his lofty name and, indirectly, her own death later; it is natural that he meets her in the vault in d’Urberville Aisle, where she reads her own name inscribed in stone and feels the presence of death. Yet the vault that sounds so glamorous when rhapsodized over by John Durbeyfield in Chapter I seems, by the end, strangely hollow and meaningless. When Alec stomps on the floor of the vault, it produces only a hollow echo, as if its basic emptiness is a complement to its visual grandeur. When Tess is executed, her ancestors are said to snooze on in their crypts, as if uncaring even about the fate of a member of their own majestic family. Perhaps the secret of the family crypt is that its grandiosity is ultimately meaningless.

Brazil

Rather surprising for a novel that seems set so solidly in rural England, the narration shifts very briefly to Brazil when Angel takes leave of Tess and heads off to establish a career in farming. Even more exotic for a Victorian English reader than America or Australia, Brazil is the country in which Robinson Crusoe made his fortune and it seems to promise a better life far from the humdrum familiar world. Brazil is thus more than a geographical entity on the map in this novel: it symbolizes a fantasyland, a place where dreams come true. As Angel’s name suggests, he is a lofty visionary who lacks some experience with the real world, despite all his mechanical know-how in farm management. He may be able to milk cows, but he does not yet know how to tell the difference between an exotic dream and an everyday reality, so inevitably his experience in the imagined dream world of Brazil is a disaster that he barely survives. His fiasco teaches him that ideals do not exist in life, and this lesson helps him reevaluate his disappointment with Tess’s imperfections, her failure to incarnate the ideal he expected her to be. For Angel, Brazil symbolizes the impossibility of ideals, but also forgiveness and acceptance of life in spite of those disappointed ideals.

Phase the First: The Maiden, Chapters I–III

Summary: Chapter I

“Don’t you really know, Durbeyfield, that you are the lineal representative of the ancient and knightly family of the d’Urbervilles . . . ?”

On his way home to the village of Marlott, a middle-aged peddler named John Durbeyfield encounters an old parson who surprises him by addressing him as “Sir John.” The old man, Parson Tringham, claims to be a student of history and says that he recently came across a record indicating that Durbeyfield descends from a noble family, the d’Urbervilles. Tringham says that Durbeyfield’s noble roots come from so far back in history that they are meaningless, but Durbeyfield becomes quite self-important following the discovery and sends for a horse and carriage to carry him home.

Summary: Chapter II

At the same moment, Durbeyfield’s daughter Tess enjoys the May Day festivities with the other women from her village. Durbeyfield rides by in the carriage, and though Tess is embarrassed at the spectacle, she defends her father from the mockery of the other girls. The group goes to the village green for dancing, where they meet three highborn brothers. Tess notices one of the brothers in particular, a young man named Angel Clare. While his two brothers want to keep traveling, Angel cannot pass up the opportunity to dance with these women. The girls ask him to choose his partner, and he chooses a girl other than Tess. They dance for a short time, and then Angel leaves, realizing he must catch up with his determined brothers. Upon leaving, Angel notices Tess and regrets his decision to dance with someone else.

Summary: Chapter III

When Tess returns home, she receives a twofold alarm from her mother, Joan, who tells her that her father comes from noble lineage and also that he has been diagnosed with a serious heart condition. Mrs. Durbeyfield has consulted the Compleat Fortune-Teller, a large, old book, for guidance. A believer in such astrology, she keeps the book hidden in the outhouse out of an irrational fear of keeping it indoors.

Mr. Durbeyfield is not home, but is instead at Rolliver’s, the local inn and drinking establishment, probably taking the opportunity to celebrate his newly discovered heritage. Tess and the family are not surprised to hear of his whereabouts. Tess’s mother goes to fetch her husband from the inn but does not return. The narrator explains that her failure to return may result from Mrs. Durbeyfield’s enjoyment in sitting at Rolliver’s with her husband, since it is time that they can share alone. Tess becomes worried and asks her little brother Abraham to go to Rolliver’s and see what is taking their mother and father so long to return. Sometime later, when still no one has returned home, Tess goes after them herself.

Analysis: Chapters I–III

Tess of the d’Urbervilles begins with a rich, lavish description of the landscape that provides the setting of the novel. This description helps establish the context and feel of the story that is to follow. The novel is set in Wessex, a rustic and historical part of southwestern England that relies heavily on farming. This area, as we see it, has its own distinct customs, rituals, beliefs, and culture, and its inhabitants speak with a noticeable rural accent. Hardy became well known for the richly detailed description in his novels, which serves an important function: as Hardy documents and includes many realistic details to present the area more fully, he enables us to enter into the story ourselves in a more concrete and richly imagined way.

We are introduced to the Durbeyfield family on the day in which the legend of their distant, defunct, yet still marvelous aristocratic heritage is revealed. When told of this legacy, Mr. Durbeyfield feels immediately liberated from his poverty and low social stature, even though his situation does not change. Mr. Durbeyfield has already become enraptured in a dream that takes him from rags to riches. Similarly, we first meet Tess at an event that marks a holiday from her everyday life. At the May Day dance, all the young women dress in white, carry white willow branches and white flowers, and dance with each other. This local custom is, at its root, a symbolic ritual of purity and springtime. These women seem to enjoy the custom, perhaps because it allows them the chance to play a symbolic function beyond their insignificant social roles. The arrival of the three young brothers excites the women, heightening the specialness of the affair. When Angel stops to dance with one of them, it is as if he is a prince who has come in search of a princess, even if only for a dance. Most of the women, including Tess, are anxious to be chosen, and somewhat jealous when they are not. Acceptance from a handsome man from a higher social class would mean a lot to them. Like Mr. Durbeyfield, these young local women yearn to escape poverty and the low social stature that their rural setting allots to them.

Mrs. Durbeyfield’s belief in superstitions and her trust in her fortune-telling book also demonstrate a strong, perhaps irrational hope in what the future holds. She believes that something good is meant to happen to her and her family and that it is only a matter of time until it does. Through all of these characters and actions we are introduced to the concept of fate, or a belief in a predetermined, unavoidable future. Ironically, Tess’s parents’ blind faith in their ability to climb the social hierarchy leads them to make costly decisions later in the novel. The news about their ancestry seems to augur a hopeful change in their fortunes, but it is really just an instrument in the catastrophe that fate brings about.

Chapters IV–VII

Summary: Chapter IV

At the inn, Tess’s young brother Abraham overhears Mr. and Mrs. Durbeyfield discussing their plans for Tess to take the news of her ancestry to the wealthy Mrs. d’Urberville in the hopes that she will make Tess’s fortune. When Tess arrives, she realizes her father will probably be too tired and drunk to take his load of beehives to the market in a few hours. Her prediction comes true, so she and her brother Abraham deliver them instead. On the way, Abraham tells Tess of their parents’ plans, and then the conversation veers onto the topic of astronomy. Knowing that stars contain clusters of worlds like their own, Abraham asks Tess if those worlds are better or worse than the world in which they live. Tess boldly answers that other stars are better and that their star is a “blighted one.” Tess explains that this shortcoming is the reason for all of her and her family’s misfortunes.

Abraham falls asleep, leaving Tess to contemplate. She too eventually falls asleep and dreams about a “gentlemanly suitor” who grimaces and laughs at her. Suddenly, Tess and Abraham are awakened by a calamity. Their carriage has collided with the local mail cart, and the collision has killed Prince, their old horse. Realizing that the loss of their horse will be economically devastating for her family, Tess is overcome with guilt. The surrounding foliage seems to turn pale and white as Tess does. The carriage is hitched up to the wagon of a local farmer, who helps them bring the beehives toward the market in Casterbridge.

Later, Tess returns home ashamed, but no one blames Tess more than she does herself. Tess remains the only one who recognizes the impact that the loss of the horse will have. The farmer helps them return Prince’s body back to the Durbeyfield’s home. Refusing to scrap or sell the body, Mr. Durbeyfield labors harder than he has in an entire month to bury his beloved horse.

Summary: Chapter V

In part because of her guilt over the horse, Tess agrees with her mother’s plan to send her to Mrs. d’Urberville. When she arrives, she does not find the crumbling old mansion she expects, but rather a new and fashionable home. She meets Mrs. d’Urberville’s son Alec, who, captivated by Tess’s beauty, agrees to try to help her. Alec says that his mother is unwell, but he says he will see what he can do for Tess.

Summary: Chapter VI

When Tess returns home, she finds a letter. It is from Mrs. d’Urberville, offering her a job tending the d’Urbervilles’ fowls. Tess looks for other jobs closer to home, but she cannot find anything. Hoping to earn enough money to buy a new horse for her family, Tess accepts the d’Urbervilles’ job and decides to go back to Trantridge.

Summary: Chapter VII

On the day Tess is scheduled to leave for the d’Urbervilles’ home, Mrs. Durbeyfield cajoles her into wearing her best clothes. Mrs. Durbeyfield dresses Tess up and is pleased by her own efforts, as is Mr. Durbeyfield, who begins speculating about a price at which he will sell their family title. When Alec arrives to retrieve Tess, they become uncertain that she is doing the right thing. The children cry, as does Mrs. Durbeyfield, who worries that Alec might try to take advantage of her daughter.

Analysis: Chapters IV–VII

Tess of the d’Urbervilles is rich in symbolism, which becomes noticeable in as Tess drives the wagon in Chapter IV. Tess has a dream about a man of nobility who stands laughing at her and looking down on her plight. Tess wakes up to realize that she has literally killed her Prince, the family’s horse, and along with it the family’s means of support. Symbolically, the inability of the Durbeyfields to deliver the load of beehives mirrors their inability to transcend their social class. Even with the knowledge of their supposed noble heritage, without physical productivity, the calamities that befall them in the present stunt the Durbeyfields’ dreams of future social mobilization and other lofty goals. The novel thus prioritizes work and contribution over nobility and entitlement. As Prince’s death immobilizes their only marketable good, the Durbeyfields must suffer the tragedy that lies ahead.

Tess of the d’Urbervilles follows a simple but carefully constructed pattern. Hardy establishes a set of basic plot mechanisms that govern the structure of his story and employs them without drastic variation. The novel is divided into seven phases, each of which tells a concise and particular story within the larger story of Tess’s life, and accomplishes some specific goals in moving Tess from her simple country life to her tragic circumstances at the end of her life. These chapters successively show Tess’s development into a responsible young adult. The responsibility she feels for the death of Prince compels her to pay her family back. This guilt leads her to visit the d’Urbervilles and puts her into an uncertain and potentially dangerous situation. These chapters also mark the beginning of her downfall, as she blindly offers to work at Trantridge for the sake of her family.

Though it is early in the novel, distinct pictures of each of the characters already start to emerge. We can see Tess’s highly developed sense of responsibility as she answers her brother Abraham’s questions and completes the work neglected by her parents. Tess’s beauty and nobility of character are also emphasized, as are her strong conscience and sense of familial duty. Mr. and Mrs. Durbeyfield’s weaknesses—his laziness and her simplemindedness—add a degree of urgency to Tess’s family responsibilities. If not for Tess, the Durbeyfields might be very badly off indeed. Alec is obviously lascivious and opportunistic, an impression reinforced in every scene in which he appears. He is repeatedly associated with darkness and dark colors, reflecting the shadiness of his own character. From his first meeting with Tess, he behaves awkwardly and inappropriately, addressing her with intimate nicknames like “my pretty coz.” Alec’s unappealing traits are easily recognizable. To an extent, at this point in the novel the characters seem somewhat one-dimensional. Even Angel Clare, who appears only briefly in this section, is portrayed as graceful, kind, and life-loving, presaging what we see of him later. But at the same time, by giving us a strong sense of these characters and what kinds of things they are likely to do, Hardy is able to generate a great deal of suspense, drawing us into his plots of seduction, betrayal, and loyalty. Moreover, the changes that we see later in the novel seem momentous, surprising, and important after this vivid beginning.

Chapters VIII–XI

Summary: Chapter VIII

On the way to the d’Urberville estate, Alec drives recklessly, and Tess pleads with him to stop. He continues at a fast pace and tells her to hold on to his waist. She complies only out of fear for her safety. When traveling down the next steep hill, he urges her to hold on to him again, but she refuses and pleads with him to slow down. He agrees to drive more slowly, but only if she will allow him to kiss her. Tess allows him to kiss her on the cheek, but when she unthinkingly wipes the kiss off with her handkerchief, he becomes angry and outraged at her unwillingness to submit to his advances. They argue, and Tess finishes the journey on foot.

Summary: Chapter IX

The next morning Tess meets Mrs. d’Urberville for the first time and discovers that the old woman is blind. Tess is surprised by Mrs. d’Urberville’s lack of appreciation for Tess’s coming to work for her. Mrs. d’Urberville asks Tess to place each of the fowls on her lap so she can examine and pet them. She tells Tess to whistle to her bullfinches every morning. Tess agrees and leaves. Tess is later unable to blow any whistles, and Alec agrees to help her remember how.

Summary: Chapter X

After several weeks at the d’Urbervilles’, Tess goes to the market. Tess has not frequented this market very often, but realizes that she likes it and plans to make future returns. Several months later, she goes to the market and discovers that her visit has coincided with a local fair. That evening, she waits for some friends to walk her home and declines Alec’s offer to take her himself. When her friends are ready to leave, Tess finds that some of them are drunk, and they express their irritation that she has Alec’s attention all to herself. The scene grows unpleasant. Suddenly Alec arrives on his horse, and Tess finally agrees to let him carry her away.

Summary: Chapter XI

Alec lets the horse wander off the path and deep into the woods, where he tries to convince Tess to take him as a lover. Tess is reticent, and Alec realizes that they have become lost in the fog. He gives Tess his coat and goes to look for a landmark. Still trying to win her favor as a lover, he tells Tess that he has bought her father a new horse. When he returns, Tess is asleep, and Alec uses the opportunity to take advantage of her sexually.

Analysis: Chapters VIII–XI

These chapters mark the second half of Phase the First, which is subtitled “The Maiden,” and establishes several of the major characters. Structurally, the main plot follows a linear progression, depicting the direct progress of Tess’s life from the time her father learns of their noble heritage to her falling prey to Alec d’Urberville’s advances. This event is truly a catastrophe for her, because in Victorian England any kind of sexual encounter would earn a young woman moral rebuke and social condemnation, regardless of how the man involved conducted himself. In a way, Tess’s fall can be seen as a direct result of her father’s discovery of their noble descent. Tess is sent to take advantage of the familial connection, but instead, Alec takes advantage of her.

The plot hinges on a great many unfortunate coincidences, including Simon Stokes’s fortuitous decision to call himself “d’Urberville,” the accidental death of old Prince, and Tess’s bad luck in being held up with her drunken friends after the fair. Throughout the novel, many events actually hinge on improbable coincidences. Hardy uses this technique to convey the sense that the universe itself, in the guise of fate, opposes Tess and foreordains her tragedy. Some critics, however, have accused these coincidences of straining the bounds of credulity, making the novel less believable.

With the plot mechanics so neatly worked out, Hardy is able to spend a great deal of time creating his world; indeed, one of the novel’s strongest characteristics is its evocation of landscape and scenery. The Vale of Blackmoor, where the novel is set, is presented as a kind of lovely rustic ideal, where the atmosphere “is so tinged with azure that what artists call the middle distance partakes also of that hue, while the horizon beyond is of the deepest ultramarine.” It is a place also where the weather and atmosphere tend to adapt to the action of the story, especially when the confusing, disorienting, eerie shrouds of mist cloak the forest on the night of Tess’s fall.

The imagery of mist and shadows mirrors Tess’s inner landscape, reflecting her own confusion and insecurity. This setting also reflects the mystery within which Hardy cloaks what actually happens to Tess that night. Hardy never reveals the specific details that would enable us to decide for ourselves whether Tess is a willing participant or a victim of rape. Hardy’s narrator does not seem to care about this distinction: the narrator describes Alec’s actions as ruthless, unjust, and coarse, whatever the details, but he does not judge Tess at all. This portrayal of Tess’s fall may have struck Hardy’s original readers as scandalous, since Victorian society would have tended toward the opposite perspective, judging the woman more harshly than the man, regardless of the circumstances. But the narrator avoids commenting on Tess’s behavior by remarking that her disgrace is simply meant to be—it is fated, and is part of the way of the world. If Tess’s misfortune is truly predestined, she is not responsible for it, and she cannot really be judged as good or bad. This conundrum is typical of Hardy—he makes us care deeply about Tess, inviting us to think carefully about the morality and practical wisdom of her decisions, and then shocks us by pronouncing sagely that all of these moral considerations are irrelevant. Even when Tess tries hardest to be good, her bad luck conspires to get her into trouble, as when her virtuous unwillingness to partake in the festivities makes her more susceptible to Alec’s depredations.

Phase the Second: Maiden No More, Chapters XII–XV

Summary: Chapter XII

After a few weeks of confused dalliance with Alec, Tess realizes she feels no love for him, and decides to flee from the d’Urberville mansion to her home during the early morning hours. Alec discovers her on the road, questions her early departure, and tries to convince her to return with him. When she refuses, he offers to drive her the rest of the way home, but she refuses even this offer. Alec tells Tess to let him know should she ever need help.

Tess continues on her way home, randomly passing by a sign painter who is busy painting Bible passages onto random walls and gates throughout the countryside. He interrupts his conversation with Tess to paint a sign, which says “THY DAMNATION SLUMBERETH NOT.” These words resound in Tess’s mind, and she asks the painter if he believes the words he paints. He answers affirmatively. She tries to ask him for advice about her plight, but he tells her to go see a clergyman at a nearby church. She continues home, where her mother is surprised to see her. Her mother is frustrated with her for refusing to marry Alec, but she softens when Tess reminds her mother that she never warned Tess of the danger she faced.

Summary: Chapter XIII

Some of Tess’s friends come to visit, and in their high-spirited company Tess feels cheered. But in the morning she lapses back into her depression: to her, the future seems endless and bleak. She tries to attend church but hears the crowd whispering about her. Shaken, she falls into the habit of only going out after dark.

Summary: Chapter XIV

The following August, Tess decides the time has come to stop pitying herself, and she helps her village with the harvest. Her baby boy, conceived with Alec, falls ill, and Tess becomes worried that he will die without a proper christening. She decides to christen him herself and names him Sorrow. When he dies the following morning, Tess asks the parson if her christening was sufficient to earn her baby a Christian burial. Moved, the parson replies that though he cannot bury the child himself, Tess may do so. That night Tess lays Sorrow to rest in a corner of the churchyard, and makes a little cross for his grave.

Summary: Chapter XV

Tess realizes she can never be happy in Marlott and longs to begin a new life in a place where her past is unknown. The next year, the chance arises for Tess to become a milkmaid at the Talbothays Dairy. She seizes the opportunity, in part drawn by the fact that the dairy lies near the ancestral estate of the d’Urbervilles and spurred on by “the invincible instinct towards self-delight.”

Analysis: Chapters XII–XV

Phase the Second, subtitled “Maiden No More,” lays out the consequences of Tess’s fall in Phase the First. Tess flees Trantridge, pledging violence to Alec in an uncharacteristic manner, which proves that she does not remain complicit with fate and instead promises to be proactive in changing it. At home, she incurs her mother’s disappointment, fueling the need to fulfill her familial obligations. Later, she bears her doomed son Sorrow and buries him, against the precepts of the church and proper society. She is miserably unhappy throughout this period, but her unhappiness seems to stem at least as much from her fall from the grace of society and from her own troubled conscience as from her child’s birth and death, which are treated almost tangentially. Tess is sad when he dies, but she seems just as upset when villagers whisper about her in church—she even begins shunning daylight to avoid prying eyes. Tess’s early one-sidedness gives way to an identity crisis in which she is torn apart by her hatred of Alec, her guilt toward her family, her shame within society, and her disappointment in herself.

However we view Tess’s struggle with what has happened to her, we are likely to consider her an innocent victim and to be sufficiently impressed with her character that we react with outrage to her unhappy fate. As she asks her mother, “How could I be expected to know? I was a child when I left this house four months ago. Why didn’t you tell me there was danger in men-folk? Why didn’t you warn me?” Tess sees herself as a victim of her own ignorance. She can claim that she did not know the dangers a man such as Alec d’Urberville posed and that it is not fair that she is made to suffer for succumbing to an unknown danger. When Tess refuses to marry Alec despite the social advantage the match would give her, and refuses his offers of help because she does not sincerely love him, we see her as more than an unwitting victim: her integrity and courage make her heroic.

Phase the Second is primarily a transitional period, taking Tess from the scene of her disgrace to the promise of a new life at Talbothays. But it also begins to crystallize some important themes in the novel. We see in the previous section that Tess is fated to tragedy. In this section, we learn about the human instinct that leads Tess to oppose her fate, “the invincible instinct towards self-delight.” Tess’s healthy desire simply to be happy is perhaps the source of her great courage and moral strength. Additionally, the novel’s exploration of nobility, which begins with Mr. Durbeyfield’s discovery of his aristocratic heritage, is developed further here. In the previous section, the upper-class Alec trifles shamelessly with the lower-class Tess. With Tess’s moral integrity shown to its fullest extent, we begin to see Tess as truly noble through her goodness and her determination. Of course, the irony is that Tess is actually the real possessor of the d’Urberville name, while Alec is simply an imposter, the amoral son of a merchant and, hence, a commoner.

Phase the Third: The Rally, Chapters XVI–XIX

Summary: Chapter XVI

In good spirits, Tess sets out to begin work at the Talbothays Dairy, located in the Valley of the Great Dairies. On her way, the new scenery enchants her as she travels through the mists of Blackmoor. The beautiful day and the beautiful landscape put Tess in an optimistic mood. She passes the burial ground of her ancient ancestors, but decides to keep going.

Summary: Chapter XVII

Tess finally arrives at the Talbothays Dairy. Richard Crick, the master dairyman, treats her kindly and offers to let her rest, but she prefers to begin work immediately. She quickly fits in and feels very much at home. One of the men at the dairy looks familiar to her, and she recognizes him as the highbrow man whom she noticed back at the May Day village dance in Marlott. That evening, Tess overhears the dairymaids talking about him and learns that he is Angel Clare, the son of a well-respected Wessex clergyman. Angel’s two brothers have also joined the church, but Angel himself prefers a life in agriculture and, thus, has come to the dairy to learn about its work. There is much talk about Angel among the other dairymaids, and many of them seem to have a crush on him.

Summary: Chapter XVIII

The narrator shifts away from Tess’s point of view to tell us Angel’s background story. Angel is the most gifted of the three brothers, but, because his father looked upon a university education solely as preparation for a clerical life, Angel decided not to go to Cambridge. He has doubts about the doctrines of the church and feels that it would be dishonest to join the clergy. He has spent time in London in an attempt to find a business profession and has been involved with an older woman. Finally, he decided that the life of the soil would enable him to preserve his intellectual liberty outside the stifling conditions of city life. Now twenty-six years old, he learns firsthand about farming by visiting sites devoted to the subject. He is gentlemanly and thoughtful and is treated as a superior by most of the workers at the dairy. Angel acts aloof and a bit shy at first, but he soon befriends the other workers and spends more time with them. He swiftly finds himself drawn to Tess’s beauty and thinks that she seems uncommonly virginal and pure. Tess, however, tries to stay away from him out of shame for her secret, woeful past.

Summary: Chapter XIX

After a few weeks, Tess discovers that Angel is breaking the dairy’s rules by lining up her favorite cows for her. She tells him of her discovery and, later that night, walks alone in the garden, listening to him strum his harp. He comes down to join her, and they have an intimate conversation. Angel finds it compelling that a girl as young and beautiful as Tess would have such a dark view of life. She deflects his questions about her with general comments about life, and then she inquires about him. Tess is interested in Angel’s education and learning, and she also wonders why such a well-bred and well-schooled man would choose to become a farmer instead of joining his father and brothers in the clergy. He offers to tutor her, but she refuses, claiming that the answers she seeks are not to be found in books.

Analysis: Chapters XVI–XIX

These chapters portray the beginning of the happiest period of Tess’s life. The narrator indicates that she “had never been in her recent life so happy as she was now, possibly never would be so happy again.” This turn in tone is matched by a healthier landscape, and she is perfectly suited to her surroundings. Tess’s simple, rustic beauty is matched by the country paradise of the dairy, and the ripening weather of summer matches the blossoming romance between Tess and Angel.

Tess is in control of her emotions and, it appears, of her life. The setting allows her to deal with her past melancholy, and these chapters serve as development, on a number of levels, of Tess’s newfound success: her return to normal life, her achievement as a worker, and her success as a more virtuous lover. This perspective is mirrored by the background of Talbothays, a quiet, slow-paced paradise where Tess can be calm and comfortable.

Tess’s assertion that the answers she seeks are not to be found in books indicates that she wants to learn directly from life experiences. Tess is ready to experience the world, and, of course, she has already made some mistakes as a result. Her assertion demonstrates that she wants to become knowledgeable and self-sufficient. In other words, she does not want to rely on anyone else. This independence contrasts with the way Tess’s mother used to consult the fortune-telling book for all her guidance. In the same way that Angel seeks to become independent from his family’s current legacy, Tess wants to become independent of hers.

These chapters fully introduce Angel into the novel. A great deal of narrative and an entire chapter are devoted to summarizing his recent accomplishments and family background. Given that Angel is introduced immediately after the saga between Tess and the ruthless Alec d’Urberville, the contrasts between these two men emerge vividly in these chapters. For instance, Angel has soothing, elegant conversations with Tess and gives her classical, idealistic nicknames like “Artemis” and “Demeter.” Alec, on the other hand, mocks her with demeaning words and low-society nicknames like “coz.” Through this juxtaposition, Angel appears an angel and a savior to the troubled but coping Tess.

Chapters XX–XXIV

Summary: Chapter XX

As the months pass, Angel and Tess grow closer, and Tess finds herself in the happiest phase of her life. They wake up early, before the others, and feel as if they are the only people on Earth. Indeed, the dairy seems to be an Eden, where Angel is Adam and Tess is Eve. Tess is Angel’s “visionary essence of woman,” and he playfully nicknames her “Artemis” and “Demeter.” Tess does not understand these nicknames and simply tells him to call her Tess. They continue to enjoy the morning, as the summer fog slowly lifts and birds swoop and play in the misty air.

Summary: Chapter XXI

Life on the dairy begins to change. There is worry about the butter, which is not churning properly. Mrs. Crick jokes that this sort of thing happens only when someone on the farm falls in love. Indeed, there are two people who are in love, and the milkmaids often discuss Angel’s noticeable love for Tess and imagine what the future will hold for them. Tess does not want to marry, though, because she is still ashamed of her past. After some further churning, the butter begins to set and everyone’s fears melt away—except for Tess’s.

Summary: Chapter XXII

Early in the morning, the Cricks receive a letter from a customer who complains that the butter he has bought from them “had a twang,” or a sharp taste. Mr. Crick realizes that this taste must be the result of the cows eating from garlic weeds. The dairymaids go out to the pasture to search for these disastrous weeds. Tess feels faint, and Mr. Crick encourages Tess to take a moment to rest. Angel stops with her, and she makes a point of mentioning the virtues of two of her close milkmaid friends, Izz and Retty. Angel agrees that they are nice women and capable dairymaids, but indicates that he has no romantic interest in them.

Summary: Chapter XXIII

Two months after her arrival at the dairy, Tess sets out with her friends to attend the Mellstock Church. There has been a torrential downpour the day before, and the girls come to a long stretch of flooded road. Angel offers to carry them across, and they agree. All the girls notice that Angel takes the longest with Tess, and they each realize that he prefers her.

Tess begins to avoid Angel, but she notices from afar his grace and self-discipline in the company of the girls who dote on him. One night, Marian, Izz, and Retty each confess to feeling love for Angel, and Tess feels guilty, since she too loves Angel but has already decided never to marry. She wonders if she is wrong to take so much of his time.

Summary: Chapter XXIV

Later that summer, Angel and Tess are milking cows, and Angel is overcome with his feeling for Tess. He embraces her, and she gives way to her feelings for a moment before trying to pull away. Angel tells Tess he loves her and is surprised to hear the words come out of his mouth. No one has noticed their encounter, and the two return to their milking, shaken.

Analysis: Chapters XX–XXIV

These chapters mark the end of Phase the Third, subtitled “The Rally,” which concerns Tess’s “invincible instinct toward self-delight” as she enjoys a happy period at the Talbothays Dairy and her new romance with Angel Clare. The harsh irony of Angel’s first impression of Tess, that she is “virginal,” is underplayed by Tess’s self-sacrificing virtue throughout these chapters—she even avoids him intentionally when she thinks her friends deserve him more. The plot of this phase is, like that of Phase the First, essentially linear: Tess meets Angel and their relationship grows closer until it becomes clear that he loves her.

A new conflict arises in these chapters between Tess’s new love for Angel and her moral reservations about acting on that love. This conflict and indecisiveness on Tess’s part is mirrored by the new problems that surface at Talbothays Dairy concerning the quality of the butter. Certain agents have caused the butter to become tainted, affecting its taste and attractiveness. Tess feels a similar inner turmoil with the agents that have affected her, which leads her to think that her attractiveness may be tainted even though Angel expresses his love for her.

With Tess’s virtue as uncompromisable as ever, her personal reservations about marrying Angel seem clearly designed to arouse both our sympathy and moral outrage. It seems ludicrous for poor Tess to have to refrain from acting on her passion. Surely any moral code that would force Tess to suffer for the rest of her life for a single error must be deeply flawed. This line of reasoning is Hardy’s argument, but still Tess seems to be fated to suffer, the victim of “the ill-judged execution of the well-judged plan of things.”

As Angel and Alec are compared and contrasted in previous chapters, Tess is compared and contrasted with the other dairymaids in these chapters. Tess views herself as equal or subordinate to her friends Marian, Izz, and Retty, but Angel sees her as his sole, perfect mate. All of the dairymaids have crushes on Angel, but Angel is interested only in Tess. The final scene in the section—in which Tess and Angel are overcome by their love—is a wonderful conclusion to these chapters, which have focused on the growing attraction between them. The conclusion satisfies the natural progression of their love in a way that is surely meant to appease us. Tess is surprised by Angel’s confession, and a bit shaken by its implications. She is torn because she knows her dark past will stand in the way of her future with Angel, and even as their love continues to grow, these issues and problems do not show any signs of disappearing.

Phase the Fourth: The Consequence, Chapters XXV–XXXI

Summary: Chapter XXV

Angel feels that he needs time to understand the nature of his relationship with Tess, so he decides to spend a few days away from the dairy visiting his family. At his father’s house in Emminster, he finds his parents breakfasting with his brothers: the Reverend Felix, a town curate, and the Reverend Cuthbert, a college dean at Cambridge. Angel’s family notices that his manners have worsened somewhat during his time with common farm folk, while Angel thinks that his brothers have become mentally limited and bogged down by their comfortable situations.

Summary: Chapter XXVI

After prayers that evening, Angel and his father discuss Angel’s marriage prospects. The Clares hope Angel will marry Mercy Chant, a pious neighbor girl, and they admonish their son about the importance of Christian piety in a wife. Angel contends that a wife who understands farm life would also be an asset, and he tells them about Tess, emphasizing her religious sincerity. The family agrees to meet her. Angel’s father also tells Angel that he has saved the money he would have needed for his college education, and, since Angel did not go to college, he is willing to give it to Angel to buy land. Before Angel leaves, his father tells him about his efforts to convert the local populace, and mentions his failed efforts to tame a young miscreant named Alec d’Urberville. Angel’s dislike for old families increases.

Summary: Chapter XXVII

Angel returns to the dairy, where he finds Tess just awakening from her afternoon nap. He takes her in his arms and asks her to marry him. Tess replies that she loves him but that she cannot marry. Angel replies that he will give her time to think it over, but she replies again that the marriage is impossible. Nevertheless, in the coming days Angel continues to try to persuade her, and Tess quickly realizes that she loves him too strongly to keep up her refusal.

Summary: Chapter XXVIII

In the early fall, Angel again asks Tess to marry him. Tess hesitates, saying that one of the other girls might make a better wife than she. Tess still feels that she cannot marry Angel because of the implications of her past indiscretions. But Angel still believes that Tess is objecting only because of her low social status, and he thinks that she will accept soon enough. Tess believes that she must tell Angel about her lineage and her dark past, but hesitates and resolves to tell him later.

Summary: Chapter XXIX

The farm floods with gossip about a failed marriage. A man named Jack Dollop married a widow, expecting to partake of her substantial dowry, only to discover that her financial stability and income vanishes as a result of the marriage. Most people at the dairy think the widow was wrong to deceive Jack Dollop of this fact and that she should have been completely truthful with him before marrying. This widespread opinion makes Tess nervous again about her past. She wonders whether she should reveal this past to Angel.

Summary: Chapter XXX

As they are taking care of some chores, Angel mentions offhandedly to Tess that they are near the ancestral territory of the ancient d’Urbervilles. She takes the opportunity to tell Angel that she descends from the d’Urbervilles, and he is pleased, realizing that her descent from noble blood will make her a better match in the eyes of his family. At last Tess agrees to marry him, and she begins to weep. Tess asks if she may write to her mother, and when Angel learns she is from Marlott, he remembers where he has seen her before—on May Day, when they did not dance.

Summary: Chapter XXXI

When Mrs. Durbeyfield receives Tess’s letter, she immediately writes back advising her daughter not to tell Angel about her past. Tess luxuriates throughout October, and, when Angel asks her to finalize the date of their wedding, she again appears reticent, saying she is reluctant to change things. When Angel announces their engagement to Mr. Crick in front of the dairymaids, Tess is impressed by their joyous reaction. She feels that she can finally express her happiness, but she soon feels unworthy of Angel. Tess decides that she will finally tell him about her past.

Analysis: Chapters XXV–XXXI

It is obvious that Angel has become very different from the rest of his family as a result of the time he has spent farming. His brothers have excelled in the ministry and in intellectual circles, and Angel feels that he has nothing in common with them anymore. Overall, Angel’s family is somewhat snobbish. They are quite respectable in their religious observances, but they seem to lack the ability to feel and to understand people on an emotional level.

Tess represents many bad things to Mrs. Clare. Angel’s mother sees in Tess the beginning of the fall of the great Victorian era of opulence and high society. She does not accept Tess as a suitable daughter-in-law because she believes that Tess will bring down the status of the family. The Clares hope that Angel will find a suitable bride, meaning a highborn, well-bred woman of society. For them, marriage is not about love, but rather social, financial, and religious prosperity. The difference between Angel and the rest of the Clares lies in his progressiveness. He has rejected the clerical profession because he does not believe in serving the church but, rather, working on land and supplying food.

Tess’s denial of Angel shows that she is concerned about what her past may mean to her future. To Angel, her denial seems to signify that Tess is even more virtuous than he thought. By denying him not because of a lack of love but, he believes, because of her lack of social status, her convictions seem almost too pure to him. In fact, Angel believes that both his family and Tess suffer from holding onto the belief in a privileged class.

The story of Jack Dollop’s wife makes Tess feel nervous again about her predicament. As Angel persistently seeks Tess’s acceptance of marriage, Tess continually seeks an opportunity to share her past with him. She understands that a woman’s virginity is regarded as supremely important by most of her society, and that Angel does not see her as anything but completely pure. Telling Angel of her family’s d’Urberville lineage is difficult enough for her. He takes the news well, but she does not gain confidence that her other, more shameful revelation will be met with the same excitement.

Mrs. Durbeyfield advises Tess against the ethically sound choice of telling Angel about her past. Mrs. Durbeyfield’s advice, however, stems from her love and concern for Tess. Like any mother, Mrs. Durbeyfield does not want anything to interfere with her daughter making an advantageous marriage. Tess is relieved to receive this advice from her mother, but she knows deep down that she cannot follow it. Although Tess’s mother can advise an unethical course of action in order to preserve her daughter’s happiness, Tess’s conscience is too strong to live with the secret, and she must free herself of the burden so that she can live comfortably and morally.

Chapters XXXII–XXXIV

Summary: Chapter XXXII

Tess agrees to leave the dairy with Angel around Christmas, and their wedding date is set for December 31. Angel hopes to spend that time visiting a flour mill and staying in a home that belonged to the d’Urbervilles. Angel buys Tess clothes for their wedding and, to her relief, quietly takes out a marriage license rather than publicizing his intent to marry Tess.

Summary: Chapter XXXIII

While out shopping, Angel and Tess encounter a man from Alec d’Urberville’s village, who disparages Tess and denies her virginity. Angel strikes the man, but when the man apologizes, Angel gives him some money. Tess is wracked with guilt, and that night she writes a confession and slips it under Angel’s door. Strangely, in the morning, Angel’s behavior toward her has not changed, and he does not mention the letter. Tess ascertains that it slipped under the carpet and that Angel never saw it. On the morning of the wedding, Tess again tries to tell Angel about her past, but he cuts her off, saying that there will be time for such revelations after they are married. The dairyman and his wife accompany them to church, and they are married. As they are leaving for the ceremony, however, a rooster crows in the mid-afternoon.

Summary: Chapter XXXIV

After the wedding, the couple travels to the old d’Urberville mansion, where they will have a few days to themselves before the farmer returns. Tess receives a package from Angel’s father, containing some jewelry that Angel’s godmother bequeathed to his future wife some years ago. The newlyweds enjoy a happy moment, which is broken when the man arrives from the dairy with their luggage, bringing bad news about Tess’s friends. After the wedding, Retty attempted suicide and Marian became an alcoholic.

After this disclosure, Angel asks Tess for forgiveness, telling her of his past indiscretion with an older woman in London. Tess says that she, too, has a confession and tells him of her past with Alec.

Analysis: Chapters XXXII–XXXIV

As these chapters mark the end of Phase the Fourth, “The Consequence,” they permit the phase to fit well with the seesaw scheme of the novel up to this point. Tess of the d’Urbervilles alternates sections that build up to a climax with sections that detail the result of the climax. Phase the First builds steadily toward Tess’s fall from grace, and Phase the Second lays out the consequences for Tess—her child and her loss of reputation. Phase the Third builds inexorably toward Tess’s union with Angel, while Phase the Fourth brings us the consequences of their love: Angel and Tess marry, and she confesses her past. Aside from the repeated instances of supernatural effect and mystical ill omen, such as the cock crowing in the afternoon and the creaky old mansion, the real conflict in this section is again moral, between Tess’s desire to be happily loved by Angel and her conscious obligation to tell him about her past. Because Tess has such a strong instinct for self-delight, she is able to delay and resist her conscience through October. Since Tess has an even stronger sense of moral duty, however, she cannot resist it forever; the section ends as she begins her story, “murmuring the words without flinching, and with her eyelids drooping down.”

The universe is still hostile to Tess, and fate still toys with her in the form of the accidental mishaps on which the plot turns. Had Angel received Tess’s note before they were married, the course of the story might have gone differently. But the letter happens to slip under the carpet, and another chance for Tess’s tragedy to be averted is lost. This fluke may seem like an unbelievable coincidence, except that the universe expresses its hostility toward Tess through the portentous mishaps that plague her throughout the novel. The cock crowing in the afternoon does not doom Tess to ill fortune, but simply announces her foreordained doom to the world.

Indeed, Angel’s decision to seek work at Talbothays is one of the most improbable circumstances in the novel. Although we see Angel as a progressive, new-thinking young man, his decision to give up a university education and an esteemed position in the clergy seems almost too idealistic to be true. While we see Tess as the responsible, patient, and persistent character that she is, Angel may appear rather spoiled—the youngest son in a privileged family who is not satisfied with his status quo and seeks adventure in murkier waters. In a sense, Angel is much more childish and naïve than the extremely responsible Tess. Angel may be angelic not in his morality, but in the sense that he is cherubic and childlike, indicating his need to grow and develop a truer love for Tess.

Talbothays Dairy is a kind of classless haven untroubled by social difference. Even Angel, the closest thing Talbothays has to an aristocrat, fits in quite seamlessly. Nevertheless, the themes of social prejudice and noble heritage continue to arise. Angel’s mother, who exhibits snobbery throughout the novel, wants Angel to marry a suitable girl—meaning highborn. Angel is pleased to discover Tess’s noble background in this section because he knows it will placate his mother, who will conclude that Tess must be worthwhile if she has such a remarkable pedigree. This situation can be interpreted in various ways. On the one hand, it is superficial and reprehensible of Mrs. Clare to place such a high stock in social class. On the other, Tess is nobly born, and she does possess all the stereotypical characteristics that are supposed to distinguish nobility, such as beauty, courage, and integrity.

Phase the Fifth: The Woman Pays, Chapters XXXV–XXXIX

Summary: Chapter XXXV

Angel is distraught by Tess’s confession. He begs her to deny it, but she cannot. He flees the house, and Tess follows after him. For hours, they walk the grounds of the mansion. Tess tells her husband that she will do anything he asks and even offers to drown herself. Angel orders her to go back to the house. When he returns, Tess is asleep. After an uncomfortable moment looking at the d’Urberville ladies’ portraits, Angel goes to sleep in a different room.

Summary: Chapter XXXVI

Three miserable days go by, during which Angel spends his time at the mill or with his studies. Tess wonders if they should get a divorce, but she learns that the law does not allow divorces. Finally, Tess offers to go home, and Angel tells her she should go.

Summary: Chapter XXXVII

Clare came close, and bent over her. “Dead, dead, dead!” he murmured.

That night, Tess wakes up and discovers that Angel is sleepwalking. He stumbles into Tess’s room and seizes her in his arms. Moaning that his wife is dead, he carries her over a narrow bridge and into the churchyard, where he lays her in a coffin. Tess carefully leads Angel back into the house, and in the morning he shows no recollection of the event.

The couple makes a brief stop at the dairy on their way to Marlott. They behave awkwardly together in public. Angel leaves Tess near her village, telling her that he will try to accept her past, but that she should not try to come to him until he comes for her.

Summary: Chapter XXXVIII

Tess returns home dolefully and confesses to her mother what has happened. Mrs. Durbeyfield calls her a fool, and Mr. Durbeyfield finds it hard to believe Tess is even married. Tess is miserable at home, and when a letter arrives from Angel informing Tess that he has begun looking for a farm in the north, Tess seizes the excuse to leave and tells her family that she is going to join her husband. She gives them half of the fifty pounds Angel gave her and leaves her home.

Summary: Chapter XXXIX

Three weeks after their marriage, Angel visits his parents and tells them he is traveling to Brazil and not taking Tess. His parents are alarmed and disappointed, but Angel tells them they will meet Tess in a year, when he returns.

Angel’s parents surprise him by reading a biblical passage about how virtuous wives are loving, loyal, selfless, and “working.” Mrs. Clare applies the passage directly to Tess, demonstrating her wholehearted acceptance of Angel’s choice not to marry a fine lady, but Angel, overcome with emotion, leaves the room. Following him, Mrs. Clare guesses that Angel discovered something dishonorable in Tess’s past, but he vehemently denies it.

Analysis: Chapters XXXV–XXXIX

Atmosphere is a very important component in these chapters, and as Tess nears the culmination of her tragedy, the sense of mystical gloom intensifies. The old, abandoned, Gothic d’Urberville mansion is a perfect setting for the emotional change that takes place. The setting also mirrors Tess’s feelings of emptiness and coldness toward her family legacy. In exploiting the setting for dramatic and psychological effect, Hardy draws heavily on the conventions of Gothic literature, sometimes creating very unrealistic effects.

In a similar vein, the scene in which Angel sleepwalks is Gothic almost to the point of being ridiculous. The scene represents the fact that, while Tess herself is still very much alive, Angel’s vision of her is dead. The woman he married does not seem to be the same woman now, and he cannot reconcile the difference. As Alec sexually violated Tess, Tess’s past has spiritually violated Angel. It seems inevitable that Angel’s idealized, pure vision of Tess must shatter and, given the importance he attaches to this vision, their marriage must shatter along with it. Angel’s reaction is a result of his childish decision to marry the Tess that he envisioned as opposed to Tess as she actually is.

The scene becomes even harder to believe when Angel scoops up his wife, and—still asleep—carries her to her ancestral cemetery and places her in a coffin. Hardy may have included such a scene to please a Victorian readership that loved Gothic gloom and mystery. But the scene also attests to the hostility of fate toward Tess. Hardy means for us to accept Tess’s tragedy as foreordained, willed by the universe, and executed by powers beyond mortal control. By suggesting such a deterministic view of events, Hardy makes us look at the story in a new and unsettling way. For much of the novel, Hardy seems to criticize the archaic and outmoded morality that unfairly judges and condemns Tess, as well as the social hierarchies that allow aristocrats to exploit the lower classes and men to abuse women. But if Tess’s tragedy is foreordained, it may not be solely the fault of outdated public moral judgment.

Angel thinks that Tess is somehow dead, and Tess herself actually wants to be dead. She loses her strength and tells Angel that she wishes to submit: “I will obey you, like your wretched slave, even if it is to lie down and die.” She never complains about his feelings, and she only criticizes and blames herself. As Angel carries her over the narrow bridge, she imagines both of them falling over the side to their deaths in each other’s arms. She wants to commit suicide but—as with her inability to tell Angel about her past—she cannot summon the courage. As they say good-bye, Tess is little more than a walking corpse. Indeed, it seems that Angel has killed her soul and her desire to live. It is apparent now that Tess can never escape the wrongs of the past, either socially or personally.

Chapters XL–XLIV

Summary: Chapter XL

Angel puts the jewelry in the bank and arranges to have some additional money sent to Tess, then travels to the Wellbridge Farm to finish some business there. He encounters Izz and impetuously invites her to go to Brazil with him. Izz agrees, and says that she loves him. He asks if she loves him more than Tess, and Izz replies that no one could love him as much as Tess did. Angel sadly takes Izz to her home and leaves for Brazil alone a few days later.

Summary: Chapter XLI

Tess finds sporadic work at different dairies and manages to conceal from her family that she is separated from her husband. When her money begins to run low, she is forced to dip into the money Angel left for her. Her parents write to her asking for money to help repair the cottage roof, and she sends them nearly everything she has. In the meantime, Angel is ill and struggling in Brazil as part of a desperate and failing community of British farmers. Even though she is short on money, Tess is too ashamed to ask the Clares for money.

Tess has heard from Marian of a farm where she might find work, and although it is purportedly a difficult place in which to get by, Tess decides to travel there. She encounters the man from Alec d’Urberville’s village who accused her of promiscuity in front of Angel and is forced to run and hide from him. She feels as if Alec is hunting her.

Continuing on her way, Tess stumbles upon a flock of pheasants, some of which have died and others that are in agony and pain. She suspects that hunters have shot them and will return to collect them. She feels an affinity for the birds in pain, and she instinctively breaks their necks to kill them and put them out of their misery. Afterward she compares her own plight with that of the pheasants and becomes angry at herself for thinking that she is the most miserable being on Earth.

“Poor darlings—to suppose myself the most miserable being on earth in the sight o’ such misery as yours!” she exclaimed, her tears running down as she killed the birds tenderly.

(See Important Quotations Explained)

Summary: Chapter XLII

Tess takes to making herself ugly to protect herself from lustful men, and she cuts off her eyebrows and dresses in old, unattractive clothing. When Tess reaches the farm near the village of Flintcomb-Ash, Marian is curious about Angel, but Tess asks her not to inquire about him. The proprietress of the farm agrees to give Tess a job, and Tess sends her new address to her parents—though she does not acknowledge her marital or financial difficulties.

Summary: Chapter XLIII

Tess and Marian work digging up rutabagas in rocky ground. After a time, Izz Huett joins them. They are sent to work in the barn in the winter, and Tess meets the man who owns the farm—it is the same man from Alec d’Urberville’s village. He accuses her of being a poor worker, and she offers to work harder to compensate. Marian tells Tess that Angel invited Izz to travel with him to Brazil, and Tess at first feels as though she should write to him. Before long, however, she is overcome by doubt as to whether she really should.

Summary: Chapter XLIV

Tess decides to visit Angel’s family to discover what has happened to him and begins the long walk to the vicarage. She takes off her boots and hides them, planning to put them on again for the walk home. She overhears Angel’s brothers discussing Angel’s unfortunate marriage, and when they find her boots, they assume they belong to a peasant. Tess is ashamed and unhappy and decides not to meet Angel’s family after all. She begins the walk home, but she stops before a barn in which a passionate sermon is being delivered. She looks inside, and sees none other than Alec d’Urberville.

Analysis: Chapters XL–XLIV

Phase the Fifth, “The Woman Pays,” moves the tragic forces of the novel into high gear. When Angel leaves Tess, Tess is too proud to ask his family for help. But since she is also too dutiful toward her own family not to give them half the money he leaves her, her life begins to unravel completely. In other words, because she remains loyal to her sense of self and to other people, the situation in which Alec and Angel have placed her becomes impossible. The happiness she knows at Talbothays is completely shattered, and the contrast between jovial Talbothays and cold, hard Flintcomb-Ash hammers home Tess’s new life situation.

In these chapters, Angel visits or runs into several family members and acquaintances who all try to tell him that Tess is a noble and loyal wife. When Angel visits his parents, it seems that Angel is more conventional than his parents in his definition of wifely virtue. The Bible passage that they read says nothing about premarital celibacy, but Angel seems to believe that chastity is an absolute virtue. While the Bible passage seems to describe Tess accurately, Angel cannot recognize her in it. He is blinded by his failure to accept Tess for who she really is. In this section, Angel proves himself more judgmental and inflexible than his mother, who turns out to be surprisingly adaptable. When Angel runs into Izz, she freely admits that no one could love him more than Tess, even though she too loves him. But Angel is unable to register these testaments to Tess’s worth, as he is still sleepwalking through life. He takes Tess’s transgression as a personal attack on him, which makes him unable to see her clearly. Even his family, who has been preoccupied with social distinctions, can actually accept Tess as she is—and they have not even met her.

In addition, the decline of Tess’s physical appearance also indicates the sharp downturn in her life: she even cuts off her eyebrows to make herself unattractive to lustful young men. Tess’s reencounter with Alec d’Urberville is staged at the moment of her greatest weakness, as she has gone to ask for help from Angel’s parents. While “[grieving] for the beloved man whose unyielding judgment has caused her all these later sorrows,” she encounters the man who condemned her to that judgment, and the stage is set for Tess’s hardest challenge: to avoid the temptation to give in to Alec d’Urberville again in order to help herself and her family. Hardy has arranged his story so that Tess’s most admirable strengths, such as her loyalty to her family, tempt her toward her worst mistake. Fate manifests itself again in Tess’s visit to Angel’s family, in which her tragic course is once again influenced by improbable circumstance. Had Tess not happened to overhear Felix and Cuthbert criticizing Angel’s marriage, she might not leave when she does and see Alec at such a despairing and vulnerable moment. Fate impinges upon Tess’s life at every turn. Often, when faced with a difficult decision, the choice she selects makes her situation much worse. But her bad decision-making is not due to a lack of thought and consideration, since Tess spends entire chapters deliberating about which course to take. Instead, the consequences of her actions seem predestined. Even in her spontaneous choices, like her impromptu decision to leave the church, there is no way Tess could possibly know that she would then, in turn, run into Alec. Moreover, Alec’s conversion from sexual predator to religious preacher appears the most improbable event of all. For this circumstance, Angel’s own father Reverend Clare is responsible, adding the final surprising touch.

Phase the Sixth: The Convert, Chapters XLV–XLVIII

Summary: Chapter XLV

Tess has not seen Alec since she left his family’s service. When she sees and hears him testifying to his religious conversion, she is struck dumb with a sudden terror. She withdraws, but Alec sees her and runs after her, claiming he has to save her soul. He says he has found God through the intercession of the Reverend Clare. Tess, angry and disbelieving, excoriates people like Alec, who ruin other people’s lives and then try to secure a place in heaven by suddenly converting. She then asserts that she cannot put her faith in Alec’s religion when a better man than he—meaning Angel—does not believe in that religion. Alec expresses fear of Tess, and as they come to a stone monument called the Cross-in-Hand, he asks Tess to swear that she will never tempt him again. She agrees and Alec leaves, reading a letter from Reverend Clare to calm himself. Tess asks a shepherd what the Cross-in-Hand signifies, and she learns that it is an object of ill omen.

Summary: Chapter XLVI

The omen proves correct a few days later, when Alec approaches Tess in the fields and asks her to marry him. He proposes that they go to Africa to be missionaries. Tess replies that she is already married, and she asks the distraught Alec to leave. She begins another letter to Angel but is unable to finish it.

At Candlemas, Alec again approaches Tess. This time, he asks her to pray for him. Tess replies that she cannot pray, and she recites Angel’s reasons for doubting the validity of church doctrine. Alec appears shaken, and Tess asserts that she has a religion but no belief in the supernatural. Alec says that he has missed an opportunity to preach in order to see her, and he says that he is bothered by the fact that he has no right to help or protect her, while the man who does have that right has chosen to abandon her. Tess asks him to leave before their conversation can taint her husband’s honor.

Summary: Chapter XLVII

In early spring, Tess has been assigned a stint of difficult work as a thresher on the farm. Alec appears again, saying that he is no longer a preacher and beseeching Tess to come away with him. He says his love for her has strengthened, and he is upset that her husband neglects her. Tess slaps his face with a leather glove. He becomes angry, but calms himself, asserting his desire to be her master and telling her that he is her true husband. He says he will be back in the afternoon to collect her.

Summary: Chapter XLVIII

Alec comes back that afternoon as he promised. He walks Tess home and asks her to trust him to take care of both Tess and her family. Tess again refuses his offers, and that night she writes a letter to Angel, finally confessing her loyalty and her love and asking for his help against the temptation presented by Alec.

Analysis: Chapters XLV–XLVIII

Though Alec d’Urberville seems at first to have undergone a remarkable transformation from a rake into a pious and religious man, he discards this posture so effortlessly and quickly that it seems to have been a superfluous charade—Alec’s attempts to contain his desire for Tess seem weak at best. Indeed, we may wonder why Hardy chooses to reintroduce Alec as a convert at this point in the novel, given that he seems to be very much the same man as before. One effect of this choice is to heighten dramatically the bitter irony of Tess’s predicament. Tess continues to suffer as a social outcast because of a disgrace that is much more Alec’s fault than hers, yet the hypocritical Alec has the luxury to repent and even win acceptance as a preacher. Tess’s plight as a woman thus appears incredibly unjust, reinforcing the message given in the subtitle of this section of the novel: “The Woman Pays.”

Alec’s reintroduction into the novel comes at Tess’s lowest moment, but his new pitch still does not work on her. She has not seen Alec for a long time, but she has clearly thought about him and what he did to her. Tess is observant and distrusting of Alec, and she views his conversion as a plot to win her back. The converted Alec appears to her as a wolf in sheep’s clothing, intending to prey on her, or like a devil in disguise, come to tempt her a final time. Indeed, we might well view the relationship between Tess and Alec as an allegory of good struggling with the temptation offered by evil.

Alec continues to tempt Tess with money and security, the two things that would help her family the most, and in doing so he tests her ability to resist evil. His promise of financial security is attractive, but not quite attractive enough. Tess has learned her lesson about risking herself and her happiness for the sake of money. She is a much stronger woman now and is more knowledgeable about conniving men, especially Alec. This strength deters Alec and makes him feel weaker and more vulnerable because his plot is not working. Alec is successful, however, in making Tess doubt herself.

As Tess struggles with Alec’s temptation, her need for Angel becomes more and more desperate. If Angel were to return to her and do his duty as her husband, her problems would greatly diminish. She writes to Angel and pleads that he not judge her on her irretrievable past. Ironically, Alec asks Tess to do the same thing for him, claiming that he has changed, that Tess tempted him, and that he must not be judged based on his past mistakes. Tess’s situation thus makes her very vulnerable to Alec’s persuasions. She is obviously heartbroken and needs to be loved more than ever. She is also distraught by her family’s ever-worsening financial situation. Alec’s reasoning seems more valid to Tess than it has in the past. In a way, Tess and Alec are similar in that they have both fallen and ask for forgiveness for their indiscretions.

Chapters XLIX–LII

Summary: Chapter XLIX

Tess’s letter goes to Angel’s parents, who forward it to Angel in Brazil. Mrs. Clare reproaches her husband for keeping Angel from attending Cambridge, whereas Reverend Clare feels justified in his decision but regrets the misery his son has endured. For his part, Angel is ready to abandon his idea of farming in Brazil. The suffering he has endured there has softened his feelings toward Tess, and when a more experienced man tells him he was wrong to leave her, Angel feels a powerful regret. When the man dies a few days later, his words assume even more power in Angel’s mind. Back at the farm, Tess encounters her sister, Liza-Lu, who comes with sorrowful news: Tess’s mother is dying, and her father is also very ill and can do no work. Tess tells Izz and Marian what has happened and leaves for home the next morning.

Summary: Chapter L

Upon her arrival, Tess does what she can to make her mother comfortable and then begins working in the garden and on the family’s land. One night, she looks over and sees Alec working next to her. He again offers to help Tess and her family. She is sorely tempted but declines again. Enraged, Alec leaves.

On the way home, Tess’s sister tells her that their father has died, which means that Tess’s family will lose their house. John Durbeyfield was the last person guaranteed a place in the terms of the lease, and the tenant farmer who owns the house wants to use it for his own workers.

Summary: Chapter LI

Tess prepares to move her family to a set of rooms in Kingsbere. Alec arrives and tells Tess the legend of the ghostly d’Urberville Coach—the message of which is that the sound of an invisible coach is a bad omen. Alec tries to persuade Tess to move her family to his family’s garden home, allow him to send her brothers and sisters to school, and have Tess’s mother tend the fowls. Tess is again sorely tempted, but she once more declines Alec’s offer, and he rides away. As he leaves, Tess admits to herself that Angel has treated her badly, and she writes him a letter saying she will do all she can to forget him, since she will never be able to forgive him. Joan asks what Alec said to her, but Tess refuses to divulge the story, saying she will tell her mother when they are in their rooms at Kingsbere.

Summary: Chapter LII

“The little finger of the sham d’Urberville can do more for you than the whole dynasty of the real underneath. . . . Now command me. What shall I do?”

The next day, Tess and her family begin their journey. On the way, they meet Marian and Izz, who are moving on to new work at a new farm. When they reach Kingsbere, they learn that Joan’s letter was late, and the rooms have already been rented. They cannot find more lodging and end up sleeping in the churchyard, in a plot called d’Urberville Aisle. Tess finds Alec lying on a tomb, and he tells her he can do more for her than all her noble ancestors. Tess tells him to leave, and angrily he does, promising that Tess will learn to be civil. Tess leans down toward the funeral vault and asks why she is still alive. Marian and Izz do their part for their friend by writing a note to Angel asking him to go back to Tess.

Analysis

Phase the Sixth tells the story of Tess’s struggle to remain free from Alec despite her family’s increasingly desperate plight, which Alec has the power to alleviate if Tess agrees to love him. Though Alec overtly plays the part of a villain in this section, the real conflict is within Tess, as two of her deepest virtues, her integrity and her loyalty to her family, prompt her in opposite directions. Her integrity demands that she stay away from Alec, whom she does not love, but her duty to her family tempts her to go with him to save her mother and her siblings. Integrity wins out throughout the section, but we get the sense that it is only a matter of time before Tess is forced to submit. As a result, the story in this section and part of the next is propelled along by a kind of race: Angel needs to forgive Tess and return to her before she surrenders to Alec.

In fact, Angel is in the process of changing as a result of his bad experiences in Brazil. He begins to alter his attitude toward Tess, slowly realizing that his way of thinking has been faulty. He undergoes an emotional and moral conversion that is much more real than Alec’s religious conversion a few chapters back. Angel is finally shedding his immaturity and growing to love Tess as a responsible adult. But the distance between Angel and Tess is still great, both physically and emotionally. Ironically, the distance may have led them closer together, as their loneliness and separation have shown Angel how much Tess means to him. Notably, Angel’s transformation comes when he is at a great distance from English society and its prevailing sentiments. Even though he remains the die-hard progressive of the Clares, the pressure of conforming to English propriety coupled with his troubled view of his marriage stifles Angel’s growth while in England.

As Alec’s courtship of Tess increases in intensity, so too does the string of misfortunes that plague Tess and her family. With her options narrowing, Tess becomes more desperate in her desire to reconcile with Angel: “Come to me!” she pleads, “Come to me and save me from what threatens me!” Throughout, Alec is portrayed as a sinister and threatening figure even when supposedly in the grip of religious conflict—at one point, the narrator notes that his face blackens “with something that was not Christianity.” Even when he appears most in love with Tess, he still seems the same old Alec, thinly disguised, hoping to seduce Tess by doing a good turn for her.

The supernatural, Gothic atmosphere of the old d’Urberville mansion reappears here at the d’Urberville Aisle in the churchyard. Here, Tess, a real d’Urberville, and Alec, an imposter, have one of their most solemn moments, as Alec asserts that he can do more for Tess than all her lofty dead ancestors. Tess begins to realize the futility of claiming such an aristocratic legacy, since her ancestors truly cannot help her at all. She begins to realize that Alec may be her only hope. In the yard, Alec’s legend of the d’Urberville Coach evokes the Gothic or supernatural yet again, providing an ill omen that foreshadows the deadly conclusion of their story.

Phase the Seventh: The Fulfillment, Chapters LIII–LIX

Summary: Chapter LIII

Angel returns to his parents’ home, haggard and gaunt after his tribulations abroad. He reads Tess’s angry letter, and he worries that she will never forgive him. His mother haughtily declares that he should not worry about the opinions of a poor commoner, and Angel reveals to her Tess’s exalted lineage.

Angel spends a few days at home regaining his strength. He writes a letter to Tess addressed to Marlott, and finally receives a reply from Tess’s mother informing him that they have left Marlott and that Tess is no longer with the family.

After a short time spent waiting, Angel decides that he must not delay his reunion with Tess. He is encouraged in this feeling by the revelation that Tess has not used any of the money Angel left with his father. Angel realizes that Tess must have suffered great poverty while he was abroad, and he is overcome with pity and guilt. Angel’s parents finally guess the secret cause of their son’s estrangement from Tess, and find that the knowledge disposes them to feel more kindly toward their daughter-in-law. Just before Angel leaves, he receives the letter from Marian and Izz.

Summary: Chapter LIV

Angel sets out to find his wife, traveling through the farm at Flintcomb-Ash and through Marlott, where he learns of the death of Tess’s father. He finds the elaborate gravestone of John Durbeyfield, and when he learns that it is unpaid for, he settles the bill. When he meets Joan, he finds his mother-in-law uncomfortable and hesitant to tell him where Tess has gone. At last she takes pity on him and reveals that Tess is in Sandbourne.

Summary: Chapter LV

In Sandbourne, Angel is unable to find a Mrs. Clare or a Miss Durbeyfield, but he does learn that a d’Urberville is staying at an expensive lodging called The Herons.

Angel hurries to The Herons and is impressed by its grandeur. He wonders how Tess could possibly afford it and thinks she must have sold his godmother’s diamonds. When Tess appears, she is dressed in expensive clothing. Angel pleads for her forgiveness and tells her that he has learned to accept her as she is and desperately wants her to come back to him. Brokenhearted, Tess replies that it is too late—thinking Angel would never come back for her, she gave in to Alec d’Urberville’s desires and is now under his protection. Tess leaves the room, and Angel rushes out of the house.

Summary: Chapter LVI

Mrs. Brooks, the landlady at The Herons, follows Tess upstairs and spies on her through the keyhole. She sees Tess holding her head in her hands, accusing Alec of deceiving her into thinking that Angel would never come back for her. Alec replies angrily, and Mrs. Brooks, startled, flees the scene. Back in her own room, she sees Tess go through the front gate, where she disappears onto the street. A short while later, Mrs. Brooks notices a dark red spot spreading on the ceiling. Terrified, Mrs. Brooks has a workman open the door of the d’Urberville rooms, where they discover Alec lying on the bed, stabbed to death. The landlady gives the alarm, and the news of Alec’s murder quickly spreads through the town.

Summary: Chapter LVII

Angel decides to leave on the first train. At his hotel, he finds a telegraph from his mother informing him that Cuthbert is going to marry Mercy Chant. Rather than waiting for the train, Angel decides to walk to the next station and meet it there. As he hikes out of the valley, he sees Tess running after him. He draws her off the main road, and she tells him that she has killed Alec. Tess says she had to kill Alec because he wronged Angel, but that she also had to return to Alec because Angel abandoned her. She begs Angel’s forgiveness, and he, thinking she is delirious, tells her he loves her. At last he realizes she is serious, though he still does not believe she has actually killed Alec. He agrees to protect her.

They walk toward the interior of the country, waiting for the search for Tess to be called off so they can escape overseas. That evening, they find an old mansion and slip in through the windows. After a woman comes to close up the house, Angel opens the shutters, and they are alone for the night.

Summary: Chapter LVIII

Five days pass, and Angel and Tess slowly lapse back into their original love. They make little mention of their estrangement. One day the woman who airs the house discovers their hiding place, and they decide it is time to leave. After a day of travel, they arrive in the evening at Stonehenge, where Tess feels quite at home. As she rests by a pillar, she says that she feels as if there are no people in the world but them.

Tess becomes distraught, and asks Angel to look after Liza-Lu when Tess is dead. She says she hopes Angel will marry Liza-Lu, then asks her husband if he believes they will meet again after death. Angel does not answer, and Tess, upset, drifts into sleep.

At dawn, Angel realizes that they are surrounded. Men are moving in from all sides, and Angel realizes Tess must truly have killed Alec. Angel asks the men not to take Tess until she wakes. When she sees them, she feels strangely relieved. Tess is glad she will not live, because she feels unworthy of Angel’s love.

Summary: Chapter LIX

“Justice” was done, and the President of the Immortals (in Aeschylean phrase) had ended his sport with Tess.

Sometime later, from a hillside outside Wintoncester, Angel and Liza-Lu watch as a black flag is raised above the tower. Tess has been put to death. Angel and Liza-Lu are motionless for a time, and then they join hands and go on.

Analysis: Chapters LIII–LIX

Phase the Seventh brings the novel to a tragic close through a shift in perspective. It begins in an aura of mystery, as Hardy chooses not to narrate the climax of Tess’s struggle—her return to the bed of Alec d’Urberville. The first part of this section is told instead from Angel’s perspective. When he arrives at The Herons, we have a gradual, sickening sense of what to expect, but Angel has no idea. He is too late because the race is over, and Tess’s loyalty to her family has overmastered her integrity. Torn apart, Tess now kills her lover in a murderous rage out of love for her husband. From that moment, the novel simply becomes a mechanical process leading to the inevitable conclusion—Tess’s death.

As Angel returns with renewed loyalty and love for Tess, it becomes apparent that Alec has considerably broken down Tess’s loyalty to Angel. Tess recovers this love and loyalty when she sees Angel again, and she feels guilty about how far she has drifted. Her pride in poverty when Angel is away stands in direct contrast with her fancy clothing and luxurious lodging, which physically measures how far into temptation she has gone with Alec. Her shame and grief cause her violent side to explode, and she kills Alec. Whether intentionally or not, Tess has fulfilled Angel’s proclamation that they cannot be together as long as Alec is alive. The murder may appear justified to us at this point, after everything through which Alec has put Tess. But, though we may sympathize with Tess’s actions, we know that Tess must now flee and live the life of a hunted criminal.

The short section narrated from the perspective of Mrs. Brooks is almost an exact double of the technique Hardy uses with Angel at the beginning of Phase the Seventh. Just as he excludes Tess’s return to Alec, he excludes her murder of Alec. Just as an unsuspecting third party shows us that she has gone back to him, another unsuspecting third party shows us that she has killed him. Tess’s mind has been at the center of the novel from its beginning, and practically everything that has happened has been shown solely in its relation to her. By shifting attention away from her so suddenly, Hardy creates the sense that Tess is already lost—though she is still alive, she has partially vanished into the gloom of her fate. At the end, despite the atmosphere of Gothic mystery and supernatural portent that infuses much of the novel, Hardy still manages to surprise us by setting the conclusion at Stonehenge, one of the most famous and mysterious monuments in the world.

“Heart of Darkness” Condrad, J.

Context

J oseph Conrad did not begin to learn English until he was twenty-one years old. He was born Jozef Teodor Konrad Korzeniowski on December 3, 1857, in the Polish Ukraine. When Conrad was quite young, his father was exiled to Siberia on suspicion of plotting against the Russian government. After the death of the boy’s mother, Conrad’s father sent him to his mother’s brother in Kraków to be educated, and Conrad never again saw his father. He traveled to Marseilles when he was seventeen and spent the next twenty years as a sailor. He signed on to an English ship in 1878, and eight years later he became a British subject. In 1889, he began his first novel, Almayer’s Folly, and began actively searching for a way to fulfill his boyhood dream of traveling to the Congo. He took command of a steamship in the Belgian Congo in 1890, and his experiences in the Congo came to provide the outline for Heart of Darkness. Conrad’s time in Africa wreaked havoc on his health, however, and he returned to England to recover. He returned to sea twice before finishing Almayer’s Folly in 1894 and wrote several other books, including one about Marlow called Youth: A Narrative before beginning Heart of Darkness in 1898. He wrote most of his other major works—including Lord Jim, which also features Marlow; Nostromo; and The Secret Agent, as well as several collaborations with Ford Madox Ford—during the following two decades. Conrad died in 1924.

Conrad’s works,Heart of Darknessin particular, provide a bridge between Victorian values and the ideals of modernism. Like their Victorian predecessors, these novels rely on traditional ideas of heroism, which are nevertheless under constant attack in a changing world and in places far from England. Women occupy traditional roles as arbiters of domesticity and morality, yet they are almost never present in the narrative; instead, the concepts of “home” and “civilization” exist merely as hypocritical ideals, meaningless to men for whom survival is in constant doubt. While the threats that Conrad’s characters face are concrete ones—illness, violence, conspiracy—they nevertheless acquire a philosophical character. Like much of the best modernist literature produced in the early decades of the twentieth century,Heart of Darkness is as much about alienation, confusion, and profound doubt as it is about imperialism.

Imperialism is nevertheless at the center of Heart of Darkness. By the 1890s, most of the world’s “dark places” had been placed at least nominally under European control, and the major European powers were stretched thin, trying to administer and protect massive, far-flung empires. Cracks were beginning to appear in the system: riots, wars, and the wholesale abandonment of commercial enterprises all threatened the white men living in the distant corners of empires. Things were clearly falling apart. Heart of Darknesssuggests that this is the natural result when men are allowed to operate outside a social system of checks and balances: power, especially power over other human beings, inevitably corrupts. At the same time, this begs the question of whether it is possible to call an individual insane or wrong when he is part of a system that is so thoroughly corrupted and corrupting. Heart of Darkness, thus, at its most abstract level, is a narrative about the difficulty of understanding the world beyond the self, about the ability of one man to judge another.

Although Heart of Darkness was one of the first literary texts to provide a critical view of European imperial activities, it was initially read by critics as anything but controversial. While the book was generally admired, it was typically read either as a condemnation of a certain type of adventurer who could easily take advantage of imperialism’s opportunities, or else as a sentimental novel reinforcing domestic values: Kurtz’s Intended, who appears at the novella’s conclusion, was roundly praised by turn-of-the-century reviewers for her maturity and sentimental appeal. Conrad’s decision to set the book in a Belgian colony and to have Marlow work for a Belgian trading concern made it even easier for British readers to avoid seeing themselves reflected in Heart of Darkness. Although these early reactions seem ludicrous to a modern reader, they reinforce the novella’s central themes of hypocrisy and absurdity.

Analysis of Major Characters

Marlow

Although Marlow appears in several of Conrad’s other works, it is important not to view him as merely a surrogate for the author. Marlow is a complicated man who anticipates the figures of high modernism while also reflecting his Victorian predecessors. Marlow is in many ways a traditional hero: tough, honest, an independent thinker, a capable man. Yet he is also “broken” or “damaged,” like T. S. Eliot’s J. Alfred Prufrock or William Faulkner’s Quentin Compson. The world has defeated him in some fundamental way, and he is weary, skeptical, and cynical. Marlow also mediates between the figure of the intellectual and that of the “working tough.” While he is clearly intelligent, eloquent, and a natural philosopher, he is not saddled with the angst of centuries’ worth of Western thought. At the same time, while he is highly skilled at what he does—he repairs and then ably pilots his own ship—he is no mere manual laborer. Work, for him, is a distraction, a concrete alternative to the posturing and excuse-making of those around him.

Marlow can also be read as an intermediary between the two extremes of Kurtz and the Company. He is moderate enough to allow the reader to identify with him, yet open-minded enough to identify at least partially with either extreme. Thus, he acts as a guide for the reader. Marlow’s intermediary position can be seen in his eventual illness and recovery. Unlike those who truly confront or at least acknowledge Africa and the darkness within themselves, Marlow does not die, but unlike the Company men, who focus only on money and advancement, Marlow suffers horribly. He is thus “contaminated” by his experiences and memories, and, like Coleridge’s Ancient Mariner, destined, as purgation or penance, to repeat his story to all who will listen.

Kurtz

Kurtz, like Marlow, can be situated within a larger tradition. Kurtz resembles the archetypal “evil genius”: the highly gifted but ultimately degenerate individual whose fall is the stuff of legend. Kurtz is related to figures like Faustus, Satan in Milton’s Paradise Lost, Moby-Dick’s Ahab, and Wuthering Heights’s Heathcliff. Like these characters, he is significant both for his style and eloquence and for his grandiose, almost megalomaniacal scheming. In a world of mundanely malicious men and “flabby devils,” attracting enough attention to be worthy of damnation is indeed something. Kurtz can be criticized in the same terms that Heart of Darkness is sometimes criticized: style entirely overrules substance, providing a justification for amorality and evil.

In fact, it can be argued that style does not just override substance but actually masks the fact that Kurtz is utterly lacking in substance. Marlow refers to Kurtz as “hollow” more than once. This could be taken negatively, to mean that Kurtz is not worthy of contemplation. However, it also points to Kurtz’s ability to function as a “choice of nightmares” for Marlow: in his essential emptiness, he becomes a cipher, a site upon which other things can be projected. This emptiness should not be read as benign, however, just as Kurtz’s eloquence should not be allowed to overshadow the malice of his actions. Instead, Kurtz provides Marlow with a set of paradoxes that Marlow can use to evaluate himself and the Company’s men.

Indeed, Kurtz is not so much a fully realized individual as a series of images constructed by others for their own use. As Marlow’s visits with Kurtz’s cousin, the Belgian journalist, and Kurtz’s fiancée demonstrate, there seems to be no true Kurtz. To his cousin, he was a great musician; to the journalist, a brilliant politician and leader of men; to his fiancée, a great humanitarian and genius. All of these contrast with Marlow’s version of the man, and he is left doubting the validity of his memories. Yet Kurtz, through his charisma and larger-than-life plans, remains with Marlow and with the reader.

Themes, Motifs & Symbols

Themes

Themes are the fundamental and often universal ideas explored in a literary work.

The Hypocrisy of Imperialism

Heart of Darkness explores the issues surrounding imperialism in complicated ways. As Marlow travels from the Outer Station to the Central Station and finally up the river to the Inner Station, he encounters scenes of torture, cruelty, and near-slavery. At the very least, the incidental scenery of the book offers a harsh picture of colonial enterprise. The impetus behind Marlow’s adventures, too, has to do with the hypocrisy inherent in the rhetoric used to justify imperialism. The men who work for the Company describe what they do as “trade,” and their treatment of native Africans is part of a benevolent project of “civilization.” Kurtz, on the other hand, is open about the fact that he does not trade but rather takes ivory by force, and he describes his own treatment of the natives with the words “suppression” and “extermination”: he does not hide the fact that he rules through violence and intimidation. His perverse honesty leads to his downfall, as his success threatens to expose the evil practices behind European activity in Africa.

However, for Marlow as much as for Kurtz or for the Company, Africans in this book are mostly objects: Marlow refers to his helmsman as a piece of machinery, and Kurtz’s African mistress is at best a piece of statuary. It can be argued that Heart of Darkness participates in an oppression of nonwhites that is much more sinister and much harder to remedy than the open abuses of Kurtz or the Company’s men. Africans become for Marlow a mere backdrop, a human screen against which he can play out his philosophical and existential struggles. Their existence and their exoticism enable his self-contemplation. This kind of dehumanization is harder to identify than colonial violence or open racism. While Heart of Darkness offers a powerful condemnation of the hypocritical operations of imperialism, it also presents a set of issues surrounding race that is ultimately troubling.

Madness as a Result of Imperialism

Madness is closely linked to imperialism in this book. Africa is responsible for mental disintegration as well as physical illness. Madness has two primary functions. First, it serves as an ironic device to engage the reader’s sympathies. Kurtz, Marlow is told from the beginning, is mad. However, as Marlow, and the reader, begin to form a more complete picture of Kurtz, it becomes apparent that his madness is only relative, that in the context of the Company insanity is difficult to define. Thus, both Marlow and the reader begin to sympathize with Kurtz and view the Company with suspicion. Madness also functions to establish the necessity of social fictions. Although social mores and explanatory justifications are shown throughout Heart of Darkness to be utterly false and even leading to evil, they are nevertheless necessary for both group harmony and individual security. Madness, in Heart of Darkness, is the result of being removed from one’s social context and allowed to be the sole arbiter of one’s own actions. Madness is thus linked not only to absolute power and a kind of moral genius but to man’s fundamental fallibility: Kurtz has no authority to whom he answers but himself, and this is more than any one man can bear.

The Absurdity of Evil

This novella is, above all, an exploration of hypocrisy, ambiguity, and moral confusion. It explodes the idea of the proverbial choice between the lesser of two evils. As the idealistic Marlow is forced to align himself with either the hypocritical and malicious colonial bureaucracy or the openly malevolent, rule-defying Kurtz, it becomes increasingly clear that to try to judge either alternative is an act of folly: how can moral standards or social values be relevant in judging evil? Is there such thing as insanity in a world that has already gone insane? The number of ridiculous situations Marlow witnesses act as reflections of the larger issue: at one station, for instance, he sees a man trying to carry water in a bucket with a large hole in it. At the Outer Station, he watches native laborers blast away at a hillside with no particular goal in mind. The absurd involves both insignificant silliness and life-or-death issues, often simultaneously. That the serious and the mundane are treated similarly suggests a profound moral confusion and a tremendous hypocrisy: it is terrifying that Kurtz’s homicidal megalomania and a leaky bucket provoke essentially the same reaction from Marlow.

Motifs

Motifs are recurring structures, contrasts, or literary devices that can help to develop and inform the text’s major themes.

Observation and Eavesdropping

Marlow gains a great deal of information by watching the world around him and by overhearing others’ conversations, as when he listens from the deck of the wrecked steamer to the manager of the Central Station and his uncle discussing Kurtz and the Russian trader. This phenomenon speaks to the impossibility of direct communication between individuals: information must come as the result of chance observation and astute interpretation. Words themselves fail to capture meaning adequately, and thus they must be taken in the context of their utterance. Another good example of this is Marlow’s conversation with the brickmaker, during which Marlow is able to figure out a good deal more than simply what the man has to say.

Interiors and Exteriors

Comparisons between interiors and exteriors pervade Heart of Darkness. As the narrator states at the beginning of the text, Marlow is more interested in surfaces, in the surrounding aura of a thing rather than in any hidden nugget of meaning deep within the thing itself. This inverts the usual hierarchy of meaning: normally one seeks the deep message or hidden truth. The priority placed on observation demonstrates that penetrating to the interior of an idea or a person is impossible in this world. Thus, Marlow is confronted with a series of exteriors and surfaces—the river’s banks, the forest walls around the station, Kurtz’s broad forehead—that he must interpret. These exteriors are all the material he is given, and they provide him with perhaps a more profound source of knowledge than any falsely constructed interior “kernel.”

Darkness

Darkness is important enough conceptually to be part of the book’s title. However, it is difficult to discern exactly what it might mean, given that absolutely everything in the book is cloaked in darkness. Africa, England, and Brussels are all described as gloomy and somehow dark, even if the sun is shining brightly. Darkness thus seems to operate metaphorically and existentially rather than specifically. Darkness is the inability to see: this may sound simple, but as a description of the human condition it has profound implications. Failing to see another human being means failing to understand that individual and failing to establish any sort of sympathetic communion with him or her.

Symbols

Symbols are objects, characters, figures, or colors used to represent abstract ideas or concepts.

Fog

Fog is a sort of corollary to darkness. Fog not only obscures but distorts: it gives one just enough information to begin making decisions but no way to judge the accuracy of that information, which often ends up being wrong. Marlow’s steamer is caught in the fog, meaning that he has no idea where he’s going and no idea whether peril or open water lies ahead.

The “Whited Sepulchre”

The “whited sepulchre” is probably Brussels, where the Company’s headquarters are located. A sepulchre implies death and confinement, and indeed Europe is the origin of the colonial enterprises that bring death to white men and to their colonial subjects; it is also governed by a set of reified social principles that both enable cruelty, dehumanization, and evil and prohibit change. The phrase “whited sepulchre” comes from the biblical Book of Matthew. In the passage, Matthew describes “whited sepulchres” as something beautiful on the outside but containing horrors within (the bodies of the dead); thus, the image is appropriate for Brussels, given the hypocritical Belgian rhetoric about imperialism’s civilizing mission. (Belgian colonies, particularly the Congo, were notorious for the violence perpetuated against the natives.)

Women

Both Kurtz’s Intended and his African mistress function as blank slates upon which the values and the wealth of their respective societies can be displayed. Marlow frequently claims that women are the keepers of naïve illusions; although this sounds condemnatory, such a role is in fact crucial, as these naïve illusions are at the root of the social fictions that justify economic enterprise and colonial expansion. In return, the women are the beneficiaries of much of the resulting wealth, and they become objects upon which men can display their own success and status.

The River

The Congo River is the key to Africa for Europeans. It allows them access to the center of the continent without having to physically cross it; in other words, it allows the white man to remain always separate or outside. Africa is thus reduced to a series of two-dimensional scenes that flash by Marlow’s steamer as he travels upriver. The river also seems to want to expel Europeans from Africa altogether: its current makes travel upriver slow and difficult, but the flow of water makes travel downriver, back toward “civilization,” rapid and seemingly inevitable. Marlow’s struggles with the river as he travels upstream toward Kurtz reflect his struggles to understand the situation in which he has found himself. The ease with which he journeys back downstream, on the other hand, mirrors his acquiescence to Kurtz and his “choice of nightmares.”

Part 1

Beginning through Marlow’s being hired as a steamboat captain.

Summary

At sundown, a pleasure ship called the Nellie lies anchored at the mouth of the Thames, waiting for the tide to go out. Five men relax on the deck of the ship: the Director of Companies, who is also the captain and host, the Lawyer, the Accountant, Marlow, and the unnamed Narrator. The five men, old friends held together by “the bond of the sea,” are restless yet meditative, as if waiting for something to happen. As darkness begins to fall, and the scene becomes “less brilliant but more profound,” the men recall the great men and ships that have set forth from the Thames on voyages of trade and exploration, frequently never to return. Suddenly Marlow remarks that this very spot was once “one of the dark places of the earth.” He notes that when the Romans first came to England, it was a great, savage wilderness to them. He imagines what it must have been like for a young Roman captain or soldier to come to a place so far from home and lacking in comforts.

This train of thought reminds Marlow of his sole experience as a “fresh-water sailor,” when as a young man he captained a steamship going up the Congo River. He recounts that he first got the idea when, after returning from a six-year voyage through Asia, he came across a map of Africa in a London shop window, which reinvigorated his childhood fantasies about the “blank spaces” on the map.

Marlow recounts how he obtained a job with the Belgian “Company” that trades on the Congo River (the Congo was then a Belgian territory) through the influence of an aunt who had friends in the Company’s administration. The Company was eager to send Marlow to Africa, because one of the Company’s steamer captains had recently been killed in a scuffle with the natives.

Analysis

Marlow’s story of a voyage up the Congo River that he took as a young man is the main narrative of Heart of Darkness. Marlow’s narrative is framed by another narrative, in which one of the listeners to Marlow’s story explains the circumstances in which Marlow tells it. The narrator who begins Heart of Darkness is unnamed, as are the other three listeners, who are identified only by their professional occupations. Moreover, the narrator usually speaks in the first-person plural, describing what all four of Marlow’s listeners think and feel. The unanimity and anonymity of Marlow’s listeners combine to create the impression that they represent conventional perspectives and values of the British establishment.

For the narrator and his fellow travelers, the Thames conjures up images of famous British explorers who have set out from that river on glorious voyages. The narrator recounts the achievements of these explorers in a celebratory tone, calling them “knight-errants” of the sea, implying that such voyages served a sacred, higher purpose. The narrator’s attitude is that these men promoted the glory of Great Britain, expanded knowledge of the globe, and contributed to the civilization and enlightenment of the rest of the planet.

At the time Heart of Darkness was written, the British Empire was at its peak, and Britain controlled colonies and dependencies all over the planet. The popular saying that “the sun never sets on the British Empire” was literally true. The main topic of Heart of Darkness is imperialism, a nation’s policy of exerting influence over other areas through military, political, and economic coercion. The narrator expresses the mainstream belief that imperialism is a glorious and worthy enterprise. Indeed, in Conrad’s time, “empire” was one of the central values of British subjects, the fundamental term through which Britain defined its identity and sense of purpose.

From the moment Marlow opens his mouth, he sets himself apart from his fellow passengers by conjuring up a past in which Britain was not the heart of civilization but the savage “end of the world.” Likewise, the Thames was not the source of glorious journeys outward but the ominous beginning of a journey inward, into the heart of the wilderness. This is typical of Marlow as a storyteller: he narrates in an ironic tone, giving the impression that his audience’s assumptions are wrong, but not presenting a clear alternative to those assumptions. Throughout his story, distinctions such as inward and outward, civilized and savage, dark and light, are called into question. But the irony of Marlow’s story is not as pronounced as in a satire, and Marlow’s and Conrad’s attitudes regarding imperialism are never entirely clear.

From the way Marlow tells his story, it is clear that he is extremely critical of imperialism, but his reasons apparently have less to do with what imperialism does to colonized peoples than with what it does to Europeans. Marlow suggests, in the first place, that participation in imperial enterprises degrades Europeans by removing them from the “civilizing” context of European society, while simultaneously tempting them into violent behavior because of the hostility and lawlessness of the environment. Moreover, Marlow suggests that the mission of “civilizing” and “enlightening” native peoples is misguided, not because he believes that they have a viable civilization and culture already, but because they are so savage that the project is overwhelming and hopeless. Marlow expresses horror when he witnesses the violent maltreatment of the natives, and he argues that a kinship exists between black Africans and Europeans, but in the same breath he states that this kinship is “ugly” and horrifying, and that the kinship is extremely distant. Nevertheless, it is not a simple matter to evaluate whether Marlow’s attitudes are conservative or progressive, racist or “enlightened.”

In the first place, one would have to decide in relation to whom Marlow was conservative or progressive. Clearly, Marlow’s story is shaped by the audience to whom he tells it. The anonymous narrator states that Marlow is unconventional in his ideas, and his listeners’ derisive grunts and murmurs suggest that they are less inclined to question colonialism or to view Africans as human beings than he is. His criticisms of colonialism, both implicit and explicit, are pitched to an audience that is far more sympathetic toward the colonial enterprise than any twenty-first-century reader could be. The framing narrative puts a certain amount of distance between Marlow’s narrative and Conrad himself. This framework suggests that the reader should regard Marlow ironically, but there are few cues within the text to suggest an alternative to Marlow’s point of view.

Part 1 (continued)

Marlow’s visit to the Company Headquarters through his parting with his aunt.

Summary

After he hears that he has gotten the job, Marlow travels across the English Channel to a city that reminds him of a “whited sepulchre” (probably Brussels) to sign his employment contract at the Company’s office. First, however, he digresses to tell the story of his predecessor with the Company, Fresleven. Much later, after the events Marlow is about to recount, Marlow was sent to recover Fresleven’s bones, which he found lying in the center of a deserted African village. Despite his reputation as mild mannered, Fresleven was killed in a scuffle over some hens: after striking the village chief, he was stabbed by the chief’s son. He was left there to die, and the superstitious natives immediately abandoned the village. Marlow notes that he never did find out what became of the hens.

Arriving at the Company’s offices, Marlow finds two sinister women there knitting black wool, one of whom admits him to a waiting room, where he looks at a map of Africa color-coded by colonial powers. A secretary takes him into the inner office for a cursory meeting with the head of the Company. Marlow signs his contract, and the secretary takes him off to be checked over by a doctor. The doctor takes measurements of his skull, remarking that he unfortunately doesn’t get to see those men who make it back from Africa. More important, the doctor tells Marlow, “the changes take place inside.” The doctor is interested in learning anything that may give Belgians an advantage in colonial situations.

With all formalities completed, Marlow stops off to say goodbye to his aunt, who expresses her hope that he will aid in the civilization of savages during his service to the Company, “weaning those ignorant millions from their horrid ways.” Well aware that the Company operates for profit and not for the good of humanity, and bothered by his aunt’s naïveté, Marlow takes his leave of her. Before boarding the French steamer that is to take him to Africa, Marlow has a brief but strange feeling about his journey: the feeling that he is setting off for the center of the earth.

Analysis

This section has several concrete objectives. The first of these is to locate Marlow more specifically within the wider history of colonialism. It is important that he goes to Africa in the service of a Belgian company rather than a British one. The map that Marlow sees in the Company offices shows the continent overlaid with blotches of color, each color standing for a different imperial power. While the map represents a relatively neutral way of describing imperial presences in Africa, Marlow’s comments about the map reveal that imperial powers were not all the same. In fact, the yellow patch—“dead in the center”—covers the site of some of the most disturbing atrocities committed in the name of empire. The Belgian king, Leopold, treated the Congo as his private treasury, and the Belgians had the reputation of being far and away the most cruel and rapacious of the colonial powers. The reference to Brussels as a “whited sepulchre” is meant to bring to mind a passage from the Book of Matthew concerning hypocrisy. The Belgian monarch spoke rhetorically about the civilizing benefits of colonialism, but the Belgian version of the practice was the bloodiest and most inhumane.

This does not, however, mean that Conrad seeks to indict the Belgians and praise other colonial powers. As Marlow journeys into the Congo, he meets men from a variety of European nations, all of whom are violent and willing to do anything to make their fortunes. Moreover, it must be remembered that Marlow himself willingly goes to work for this Belgian concern: at the moment he decides to do so, his personal desire for adventure far outweighs any concerns he might have about particular colonial practices. This section of the book also introduces another set of concerns, this time regarding women. Heart of Darkness has been attacked by critics as misogynistic, and there is some justification for this point of view. Marlow’s aunt does express a naïvely idealistic view of the Company’s mission, and Marlow is thus right to fault her for being “out of touch with truth.” However, he phrases his criticism so as to make it applicable to all women, suggesting that women do not even live in the same world as men and that they must be protected from reality. Moreover, the female characters in Marlow’s story are extremely flat and stylized. In part this may be because Marlow uses women symbolically as representatives of “home.” Marlow associates home with ideas gotten from books and religion rather than from experience. Home is the seat of naïveté, prejudice, confinement, and oppression. It is the place of people who have not gone out into the world and experienced, and who therefore cannot understand. Nonetheless, the women in Marlow’s story exert a great deal of power. The influence of Marlow’s aunt does not stop at getting him the job but continues to echo through the Company’s correspondence in Africa. At the Company’s headquarters, Marlow encounters a number of apparently influential women, hinting that all enterprises are ultimately female-driven.

Marlow’s departure from the world of Belgium and women is facilitated, according to him, by two eccentric men. The first of these is Fresleven, the story of whose death serves to build suspense and suggest to the reader the transformations that Europeans undergo in Africa. By European standards, Fresleven was a good and gentle man, not one likely to die as he did. This means either that the European view of people is wrong and useless or else that there is something about Africa that makes men behave aberrantly. Both of these conclusions are difficult to accept practically or politically, and thus the story of Fresleven leaves the reader feeling ambivalent and cautious about Marlow’s story to come.

The second figure presiding over Marlow’s departure is the Company’s doctor. The doctor is perhaps the ultimate symbol of futility: he uses external measurements to try to decipher what he admits are internal changes; moreover, his subjects either don’t return from Africa or, if they do, don’t return to see him. Thus his work and his advice are both totally useless. He is the first of a series of functionaries with pointless jobs that Marlow will encounter as he travels toward and then up the Congo River.

Part 1 (continued)

Marlow’s journey down the coast of Africa through his meeting with the chief accountant.

Summary

The French steamer takes Marlow along the coast of Africa, stopping periodically to land soldiers and customshouse officers. Marlow finds his idleness vexing, and the trip seems vaguely nightmarish to him. At one point, they come across a French man-of-war shelling an apparently uninhabited forested stretch of coast. They finally arrive at the mouth of the Congo River, where Marlow boards another steamship bound for a point thirty miles upriver. The captain of the ship, a young Swede, recognizes Marlow as a seaman and invites him on the bridge. The Swede criticizes the colonial officials and tells Marlow about another Swede who recently hanged himself on his way into the interior.

Marlow disembarks at the Company’s station, which is in a terrible state of disrepair. He sees piles of decaying machinery and a cliff being blasted for no apparent purpose. He also sees a group of black prisoners walking along in chains under the guard of another black man, who wears a shoddy uniform and carries a rifle. He remarks that he had already known the “devils” of violence, greed, and desire, but that in Africa he became acquainted with the “flabby, pretending, weak-eyed devil of a rapacious and pitiless folly.” Finally, Marlow comes to a grove of trees and, to his horror, finds a group of dying native laborers. He offers a biscuit to one of them; seeing a bit of white European yarn tied around his neck, he wonders at its meaning. He meets a nattily dressed white man, the Company’s chief accountant (not to be confused with Marlow’s friend the Accountant from the opening of the book). Marlow spends ten days here waiting for a caravan to the next station. One day, the chief accountant tells him that in the interior he will undoubtedly meet Mr. Kurtz, a first-class agent who sends in as much ivory as all the others put together and is destined for advancement. He tells Marlow to let Kurtz know that everything is satisfactory at the Outer Station when he meets him. The chief accountant is afraid to send a written message for fear it will be intercepted by undesirable elements at the Central Station.

Analysis

Marlow’s description of his journey on the French steamer makes use of an interior/exterior motif that continues throughout the rest of the book. Marlow frequently encounters inscrutable surfaces that tempt him to try to penetrate into the interior of situations and places. The most prominent example of this is the French man-of-war, which shells a forested wall of coastline. To Marlow’s mind, the entire coastline of the African continent presents a solid green facade, and the spectacle of European guns firing blindly into that facade seems to be a futile and uncomprehending way of addressing the continent.

“The flabby, pretending, weak-eyed devil of a rapacious and pitiless folly” is one of the central images with which Marlow characterizes the behavior of the colonists. He refers back to this image at a number of key points later in the story. It is thus a very important clue as to what Marlow actually thinks is wrong about imperialism—Marlow’s attitudes are usually implied rather than directly stated. Marlow distinguishes this devil from violence, greed, and desire, suggesting that the fundamental evil of imperialism is not that it perpetrates violence against native peoples, nor that it is motivated by greed. The flabby, weak-eyed devil seems to be distinguished above all by being shortsighted and foolish, unaware of what it is doing and ineffective.

The hand of the “flabby devil” is apparent in the travesties of administration and the widespread decay in the Company’s stations. The colonials in the coastal station spend all their time blasting a cliff for no apparent reason, machinery lies broken all around, and supplies are poorly apportioned, resting in abundance where they are not needed and never sent to where they are needed. Given the level of waste and inefficiency, this kind of colonial activity clearly has something other than economic activity at stake, but just what that something might be is not apparent. Marlow’s comments on the “flabby devil” produce a very ambivalent criticism of colonialism. Would Marlow approve of the violent exploitation and extortion of the Africans if it was done in a more clear-sighted and effective manner? This question is difficult to answer definitively.

On the other hand, Marlow is appalled by the ghastly, infernal spectacle of the grove of death, while the other colonials show no concern over it at all. For Marlow, the grove is the dark heart of the station. Marlow’s horror at the grove suggests that the true evils of this colonial enterprise are dehumanization and death. All Marlow can offer these dying men are a few pieces of biscuit, and, despite the fact that Marlow is “not particularly tender,” the situation troubles him.

In this section, Marlow finally learns the reason for the journey he is to take up the Congo, although he does not yet realize the importance this reason will later take on. The chief accountant is the first to use the name of the mysterious Mr. Kurtz, speaking of him in reverent tones and alluding to a conspiracy within the Company, the particulars of which Marlow never deciphers. Again, the name “Kurtz” provides a surface that conceals a hidden and potentially threatening situation. It is appropriate, therefore, that the chief accountant is Marlow’s informant. In his dress whites, the man epitomizes success in the colonial world. His “accomplishment” lies in keeping up appearances, in looking as he would at home. Like everything else Marlow encounters, the chief accountant’s surface may conceal a dark secret, in this case the native woman whom he has “taught”—perhaps violently and despite her “distaste for the work”—to care for his linens. Marlow has yet to find a single white man with a valid “excuse for being there” in Africa. More important, he has yet to understand why he himself is there.

Part 1 (continued)

Marlow’s journey to the Central Station through the arrival of the Eldorado Exploring Expedition.

Summary

Marlow travels overland for two hundred miles with a caravan of sixty men. He has one white companion who falls ill and must be carried by the native bearers, who start to desert because of the added burden. After fifteen days they arrive at the dilapidated Central Station. Marlow finds that the steamer he was to command has sunk. The general manager of the Central Station had taken the boat out two days before under the charge of a volunteer skipper, and they had torn the bottom out on some rocks. In light of what he later learns, Marlow suspects the damage to the steamer may have been intentional, to keep him from reaching Kurtz. Marlow soon meets with the general manager, who strikes him as an altogether average man who leads by inspiring an odd uneasiness in those around him and whose authority derives merely from his resistance to tropical disease. The manager tells Marlow that he took the boat out in a hurry to relieve the inner stations, especially the one belonging to Kurtz, who is rumored to be ill. He praises Kurtz as an exceptional agent and takes note that Kurtz is talked about on the coast.

The word ‘ivory’ rang in the air, was whispered, was sighed. You would think they were praying to it

Marlow sets to work dredging his ship out of the river and repairing it, which ends up taking three months. One day during this time, a grass shed housing some trade goods burns down, and the native laborers dance delightedly as it burns. One of the natives is accused of causing the fire and is beaten severely; he disappears into the forest after he recovers. Marlow overhears the manager talking with the brickmaker about Kurtz at the site of the burned hut. He enters into conversation with the brickmaker after the manager leaves, and ends up accompanying the man back to his quarters, which are noticeably more luxurious than those of the other agents. Marlow realizes after a while that the brickmaker is pumping him for information about the intentions of the Company’s board of directors in Europe, about which, of course, Marlow knows nothing. Marlow notices an unusual painting on the wall, of a blindfolded woman with a lighted torch; when he asks about it, the brickmaker reveals that it is Kurtz’s work.

The brickmaker tells Marlow that Kurtz is a prodigy, sent as a special emissary of Western ideals by the Company’s directors and bound for quick advancement. He also reveals that he has seen confidential correspondence dealing with Marlow’s appointment, from which he has construed that Marlow is also a favorite of the administration. They go outside, and the brickmaker tries to get himself into Marlow’s good graces—and Kurtz’s by proxy, since he believes Marlow is allied with Kurtz. Marlow realizes the brickmaker had planned on being assistant manager, and Kurtz’s arrival has upset his chances. Seeing an opportunity to use the brickmaker’s influence to his own ends, Marlow lets the man believe he really does have influence in Europe and tells him that he wants a quantity of rivets from the coast to repair his ship. The brickmaker leaves him with a veiled threat on his life, but Marlow enjoys his obvious distress and confusion.

Marlow finds his foreman sitting on the deck of the ship and tells him that they will have rivets in three weeks, and they both dance around exuberantly. The rivets do not come, however. Instead, the Eldorado Exploring Expedition, a group of white men intent on “tear[ing] treasure out of the bowels of the land,” arrives, led by the manager’s uncle, who spends his entire time at the station talking conspiratorially with his nephew. Marlow gives up on ever receiving the rivets he needs to repair his ship, and turns to wondering disinterestedly about Kurtz and his ideals.

Analysis

As Marlow describes his caravan journey through the depopulated interior of the colony, he remarks ironically that he was becoming “scientifically interesting”—an allusion to his conversation with the company doctor in Brussels. Given this, it is curious that Marlow talks so little about the caravan journey itself. In part, this is because it’s not directly relevant to his story—during this time he is neither in contact with representatives of the Company nor moving directly toward Kurtz. Nonetheless, something about this journey renders Marlow a mystery even to himself; he starts to think of himself as a potential case study. Africa appears to him to be something that happens to a man, without his consent. One way to interpret this is that Marlow is disowning his own responsibility (and that of his fellow employees) for the atrocities committed by the Company on the natives. Because of its merciless environment and savage inhabitants, Africa itself is responsible for colonial violence. Forced to deal with his ailing companion and a group of native porters who continually desert and abandon their loads, Marlow finds himself at the top of the proverbial slippery slope.

The men he finds at the Central Station allow him to regain his perspective, however. The goings-on here are ridiculous: for example, Marlow watches a man try to extinguish a fire using a bucket with a hole in it. The manager and the brickmaker, the men in charge, are repeatedly described as hollow, “papier-mâché” figures. For Marlow, who has just experienced the surreal horrors of the continent’s interior, the idea that a man’s exterior may conceal only a void is disturbing. The alternative, of course, is that at the heart of these men lies not a void but a vast, malevolent conspiracy. The machinations of the manager and the brickmaker suggest that, paradoxically, both ideas are correct: that these men indeed conceal bad intentions, but that these intentions, despite the fact that they lead to apparent evil, are meaningless in light of their context. The use of religious language to describe the agents of the Central Station reinforces this paradoxical idea. Marlow calls the Company’s rank and file “pilgrims,” both for their habit of carrying staves (with which to beat native laborers) and for their mindless worship of the wealth to be had from ivory.

“Ivory,” as it echoes through the air of the camp, sounds to Marlow like something unreal rather than a physical substance. Marlow suggests that the word echoes because the station is only a tiny “cleared speck,” surrounded by an “outside” that always threatens to close in, erasing the men and their pathetic ambitions. Over and over again in this section of the book human voices are hurled against the wilderness, only to be thrown back by the river’s surface or a wall of trees. No matter how evil these men are, no matter how terrible the atrocities they commit against the natives, they are insignificant in the vastness of time and the physical world. Some critics have objected to Heart of Darkness on the grounds that it brushes aside or makes excuses for racism and colonial violence, and that it even glamorizes them by making them the subject of Marlow’s seemingly profound ruminations.

On a more concrete level, the events of this section move Marlow ever closer to the mysterious Kurtz. Kurtz increasingly appeals to Marlow as an alternative, no matter how dire, to the repellent men around him. The painting in the brickmaker’s quarters, which Marlow learns is Kurtz’s work, draws Marlow in: the blindfolded woman with the torch represents for him an acknowledgment of the paradox and ambiguity of the African situation, and this is a much more sophisticated response than he has seen from any of the other Europeans he has encountered. To the reader, the painting may seem somewhat heavy-handed, with its overtly allegorical depiction of blind and unseeing European attempts to bring the “light” of civilization to Africa. Marlow, however, sees in it a level of self-awareness that offers a compelling alternative to the folly he has witnessed throughout the Company.

Part 2

Marlow’s overhearing of the conversation between the manager and his uncle through the beginning of his voyage up the river.

Summary

One evening, as Marlow lies on the deck of his wrecked steamer, the manager and his uncle appear within earshot and discuss Kurtz. The manager complains that Kurtz has come to the Congo with plans to turn the stations into beacons of civilization and moral improvement, and that Kurtz wants to take over the manager’s position. He recalls that about a year earlier Kurtz sent down a huge load of ivory of the highest quality by canoe with his clerk, but that Kurtz himself had turned back to his station after coming 300 miles down the river. The clerk, after turning over the ivory and a letter from Kurtz instructing the manager to stop sending him incompetent men, informs the manager that Kurtz has been very ill and has not completely recovered.

Continuing to converse with his uncle, the manager mentions another man whom he finds troublesome, a wandering trader. The manager’s uncle tells him to go ahead and have the trader hanged, because no one will challenge his authority here. The manager’s uncle also suggests that the climate may take care of all of his difficulties for him, implying that Kurtz simply may die of tropical disease. Marlow is alarmed by the apparent conspiracy between the two men and leaps to his feet, revealing himself to them. They are visibly startled but move off without acknowledging his presence. Not long after this incident, the Eldorado Expedition, led by the manager’s uncle, disappears into the wilderness.

In a few days the Eldorado Expedition went into the patient wilderness, that closed upon it as the sea closes over a diver.

Much later, the cryptic message arrives that all the expedition’s donkeys have died. By that time, the repairs on Marlow’s steamer are nearly complete, and Marlow is preparing to leave on a two-month trip up the river to Kurtz, along with the manager and several “pilgrims.” The river is treacherous and the trip is difficult; the ship proceeds only with the help of a crew of natives the Europeans call cannibals, who actually prove to be quite reasonable people. The men aboard the ship hear drums at night along the riverbanks and occasionally catch glimpses of native settlements during the day, but they can only guess at what lies further inland. Marlow feels a sense of kinship between himself and the savages along the riverbanks, but his work in keeping the ship afloat and steaming keeps him safely occupied and prevents him from brooding too much.

Analysis

Marlow’s work ethic and professional skills are contrasted, throughout this section, with the incompetence and laziness of the Company’s employees. Working to repair his ship and then piloting it up the river provides a much-needed distraction for Marlow, preventing him from brooding upon the folly of his fellow Europeans and the savagery of the natives. To Marlow’s mind, work represents the fulfillment of a contract between two independent human beings. Repairing the steamer and then piloting it, he convinces himself, has little to do with the exploitation and horror he sees all around him.

Nevertheless, Marlow is continually forced to interpret the surrounding world. The description of his journey upriver is strange and disturbing. Marlow describes the trip as a journey back in time, to a “prehistoric earth.” This remark reflects the European inclination to view colonized peoples as primitive, further back on the evolutionary scale than Europeans, and it recalls Marlow’s comment at the beginning of his narrative about England’s own past. What disturbs Marlow most about the native peoples he sees along the river, in his words, is “this suspicion of their not being inhuman”: in some deep way these “savages” are like Europeans, perhaps just like the English were when Britain was colonized by Rome. Marlow’s self-imposed isolation from the manager and the rest of the pilgrims forces him to consider the African members of his crew, and he is confused about what he sees. He wonders, for example, how his native fireman (the crewman who keeps the boiler going) is any different from a poorly educated, ignorant European doing the same job.

It was unearthly, and the men were—No, they were not inhuman. Well, you know, that was the worst of it—the suspicion of their not being inhuman.

The mysterious figure of Kurtz is at the heart of Marlow’s confusion. The manager seems to suggest that his own resistance against the consequences of the tropical climate reflects not just physical constitution but a moral fitness, or the approval of some higher power. That this could be the case is terrifying to Marlow, and in his shock he exposes his disdain of the manager to the man himself. Yet Marlow has a difficult time analyzing what he has overheard about Kurtz: if the manager’s story contains any truth, then Kurtz must be a monomaniacal if not psychotic individual. Next to the petty ambitions and sycophantic maneuverings of the manager, however, Kurtz’s grandiose gestures and morally ambiguous successes are appealing.

Perhaps the most remarkable aspect of this section, though, is how little actually happens. The journey up the river is full of threatened disasters, but none of them comes to pass, thanks to Marlow’s skill; the most explosive potential conflict arises from an act of eavesdropping. The stillness and silence surrounding this single steamer full of Europeans in the midst of the vast African continent provoke in Marlow an attitude of restless watchfulness: he feels as if he has “no time” and must constantly “discern, mostly by inspiration, [hidden] signs.” In this way, his piloting a steamboat along a treacherous river comes to symbolize his finding his way through a world of conspiracies, mysteries, and inaccessible black faces. Now that both Africa and Europe have become impenetrable to Marlow, only the larger-than-life Kurtz seems “real.”

Part 2 (continued)

Marlow’s discovery of the stack of firewood through the attack on the steamer.

Summary

Fifty miles away from Kurtz’s Inner Station, the steamer sights a hut with a stack of firewood and a note that says, “Wood for you. Hurry up. Approach cautiously.” The signature is illegible, but it is clearly not Kurtz’s. Inside the hut, Marlow finds a battered old book on seamanship with notes in the margin in what looks like code. The manager concludes that the wood must have been left by the Russian trader, a man about whom Marlow has overheard the manager complaining. After taking aboard the firewood that serves as the ship’s fuel, the party continues up the river, the steamer struggling and threatening at every moment to give out completely. Marlow ponders Kurtz constantly as they crawl along toward him.

By the evening of the second day after finding the hut, they arrive at a point eight miles from Kurtz’s station. Marlow wants to press on, but the manager tells him to wait for daylight, as the waters are dangerous here. The night is strangely still and silent, and dawn brings an oppressive fog. The fog lifts suddenly and then falls again just as abruptly. The men on the steamer hear a loud, desolate cry, followed by a clamor of savage voices, and then silence again. They prepare for attack. The whites are badly shaken, but the African crewmen respond with quiet alertness. The leader of the cannibals tells Marlow matter-of-factly that his people want to eat the owners of the voices in the fog. Marlow realizes that the cannibals must be terribly hungry, as they have not been allowed to go ashore to trade for supplies, and their only food, a supply of rotting hippo meat, was long since thrown overboard by the pilgrims.

The manager authorizes Marlow to take every risk in continuing on in the fog, but Marlow refuses to do so, as they will surely ground the steamer if they proceed blindly. Marlow says he does not think the natives will attack, particularly since their cries have sounded more sorrowful than warlike. After the fog lifts, at a spot a mile and a half from the station, the natives attempt to repulse the invaders. The steamer is in a narrow channel, moving along slowly next to a high bank overgrown with bushes, when suddenly the air fills with arrows. Marlow rushes inside the pilot-house. When he leans out to close the shutter on the window, he sees that the brush is swarming with natives. Suddenly, he notices a snag in the river a short way ahead of the steamer.

The pilgrims open fire with rifles from below him, and the cloud of smoke they produce obscures his sight. Marlow’s African helmsman leaves the wheel to open the shutter and shoot out with a one-shot rifle, and then stands at the open window yelling at the unseen assailants on the shore. Marlow grabs the wheel and crowds the steamer close to the bank to avoid the snag. As he does so, the helmsman takes a spear in his side and falls on Marlow’s feet. Marlow frightens the attackers away by sounding the steam whistle repeatedly, and they give off a prolonged cry of fear and despair. One of the pilgrims enters the pilot-house and is shocked to see the wounded helmsman. The two white men stand over him as he dies quietly. Marlow makes the repulsed and indignant pilgrim steer while he changes his shoes and socks, which are covered in the dead man’s blood. Marlow expects that Kurtz is now dead as well, and he feels a terrible disappointment at the thought.

One of Marlow’s listeners breaks into his narrative at this point to comment upon the absurdity of Marlow’s behavior. Marlow laughs at the man, whose comfortable bourgeois existence has never brought him into contact with anything the likes of Africa. He admits that his own behavior may have been ridiculous—he did, after all, throw a pair of brand-new shoes overboard in response to the helmsman’s death—but he notes that there is something legitimate about his disappointment in thinking he will never be able to meet the man behind the legend of Kurtz.

Analysis

Marlow makes a major error of interpretation in this section, when he decides that the cries coming from the riverbank do not portend an attack. That he is wrong is more or less irrelevant, since the steamer has no real ability to escape. The fog that surrounds the boat is literal and metaphorical: it obscures, distorts, and leaves Marlow with only voices and words upon which to base his judgments. Indeed, this has been Marlow’s situation for much of the book, as he has had to formulate a notion of Kurtz based only on secondhand accounts of the man’s exploits and personality. This has been both enriching and dangerous for Marlow. On the one hand, having the figure of Kurtz available as an object for contemplation has provided a release for Marlow, a distraction from his unsavory surroundings, and Kurtz has also functioned as a kind of blank slate onto which Marlow can project his own opinions and values. Kurtz gives Marlow a sense of possibility. At the same time, Marlow’s fantasizing about Kurtz has its hazards. By becoming intrigued with Kurtz, Marlow becomes dangerously alienated from, and disliked by, the Company’s representatives. Moreover, Marlow focuses his energies and hopes on a man who may be nothing like the legends surrounding him. However, with nothing else to go on and no other alternatives to the manager and his ilk, Marlow has little choice.

This section contains many instances of contradictory language, reflecting Marlow’s difficult and uncomfortable position. The steamer, for example, “tears slowly along” the riverbank: “to tear” usually indicates great speed or haste, but the oxymoronic addition of “slowly” immediately strips the phrase of any discernible meaning and makes it ridiculous. Marlow’s companions aboard the steamer prove equally paradoxical. The “pilgrims” are rough and violent men. The “cannibals,” on the other hand, conduct themselves with quiet dignity: although they are malnourished, they perform their jobs without complaint. Indeed, they even show flashes of humor, as when their leader teases Marlow by saying that they would like to eat the owners of the voices they hear coming from the shore. The combination of humane cannibals and bloodthirsty pilgrims, all overseen by a manager who manages clandestinely rather than openly, creates an atmosphere of the surreal and the absurd. Thus, it is not surprising when the ship is attacked by Stone Age weaponry (arrows and spears), and it is equally appropriate that the attack is not repelled with bullets but by manipulating the superstitions and fears of those ashore—simply by blowing the steamer’s whistle. The primitive weapons used by both sides in the attack reinforce Marlow’s notion that the trip up the river is a trip back in time. Marlow’s response to the helmsman’s death reflects the general atmosphere of contradiction and absurdity: rather than immediately mourning his right-hand man, Marlow changes his socks and shoes.

In the meantime, tension continues to build as Marlow draws nearer to Kurtz. After the attack, Marlow speculates that Kurtz may be dead, but the strange message and the book full of notes left with the firewood suggest otherwise. Marlow does not need to be told to “hurry up”: his eagerness to meet Kurtz draws him onward. To meet Kurtz will be to create a coherent whole in a world sorely lacking in such things; by matching the man with his voice, Marlow hopes to come to an understanding about what happens to men in places like the Congo.

Part 2 (continued)

Marlow’s digression about Kurtz through his meeting with the Russian trader.

Summary

Marlow breaks into the narrative here to offer a digression on Kurtz. He notes that Kurtz had a fiancée, his Intended (as Kurtz called her), waiting for him in Europe. Marlow attaches no importance to Kurtz’s fiancée, since, for him, women exist in an alternate fantasy world. What Marlow does find significant about Kurtz’s Intended, though, is the air of possession Kurtz assumed when speaking about her: indeed, Kurtz spoke of everything—ivory, the Inner Station, the river—as being innately his. It is this sense of dark mastery that disturbs Marlow most. Marlow also mentions a report Kurtz has written at the request of the International Society for the Suppression of Savage Customs. The report is eloquent and powerful, if lacking in practical suggestions. It concludes, however, with a handwritten postscript: “Exterminate all the brutes!” Marlow suggests that this coda, the “exposition of [Kurtz’s] method,” is the result of Kurtz’s absorption into native life—that by the time he came to write this note he had assumed a position of power with respect to the natives and had been a participant in “unspeakable rites,” where sacrifices had been made in his name. At this point, Marlow also reveals that he feels he is responsible for the “care of [Kurtz’s] memory,” and that he has no choice but to remember and continue to talk about the man.

At the time Marlow is telling his story, he is still unsure whether Kurtz was worth the lives lost on his behalf; thus, at this point, he returns to his dead helmsman and the journey up the river. Marlow blames the helmsman’s death on the man’s own lack of restraint: had the helmsman not tried to fire at the men on the riverbank, he would not have been killed. Marlow drags the helmsman’s body out of the pilot-house and throws it overboard. The pilgrims are indignant that the man will not receive a proper burial, and the cannibals seem to mourn the loss of a potential meal. The pilgrims have concluded Kurtz must be dead and the Inner Station destroyed, but they are cheered at the crushing defeat they believe they dealt their unseen attackers. Marlow remains skeptical and sarcastically congratulates them on the amount of smoke they have managed to produce. Suddenly, the Inner Station comes into view, somewhat decayed but still standing.

A white man, the Russian trader, beckons to them from the shore. He wears a gaudy patchwork suit and babbles incessantly. He is aware they have been attacked but tells them that everything will now be okay. The manager and the pilgrims go up the hill to retrieve Kurtz, while the Russian boards the ship to converse with Marlow. He tells Marlow that the natives mean no harm (although he is less than convincing on this point), and he confirms Marlow’s theory that the ship’s whistle is the best means of defense, since it will scare the natives off. He gives a brief account of himself: he has been a merchant seaman and was outfitted by a Dutch trading house to go into the African interior. Marlow gives him the book on seamanship that had been left with the firewood, and the trader is very happy to have it back. As it turns out, what Marlow had thought were encoded notes are simply notes written in Russian. The Russian trader tells Marlow that he has had trouble restraining the natives, and he suggests that the steamer was attacked because the natives do not want Kurtz to leave. The Russian also offers yet another enigmatic picture of Kurtz. According to the trader, one does not talk to Kurtz but listens to him. The trader credits Kurtz for having “enlarged his mind.”

Analysis

The interruption and digression at the beginning of this section suggests that Marlow has begun to feel the need to justify his own conduct. Marlow speaks of his fascination with Kurtz as something over which he has no control, as if Kurtz refuses to be forgotten. This is one of a number of instances in which Marlow suggests that a person’s responsibility for his actions is not clear-cut. The Russian trader is another example of this: Marlow does not clarify whether the trader follows Kurtz because of Kurtz’s charisma, or because of the trader’s weakness or insanity.

Marlow repeatedly characterizes Kurtz as a voice, suggesting that eloquence is his defining trait. But Kurtz’s eloquence is empty. Moreover, the picture that Marlow paints of Kurtz is extremely ironic. Both in Europe and in Africa, Kurtz is reputed to be a great humanitarian. Whereas the other employees of the Company only want to make a profit or to advance to a better position within the Company, Kurtz embodies the ideals and fine sentiments with which Europeans justified imperialism—particularly the idea that Europeans brought light and civilization to savage peoples. But when Marlow discovers him, Kurtz has become so ruthless and rapacious that even the other managers are shocked. He refers to the ivory as his own and sets himself up as a primitive god to the natives. He has written a seventeen-page document on the suppression of savage customs, to be disseminated in Europe, but his supposed desire to “civilize” the natives is strikingly contradicted by his postscript, “Exterminate all the brutes!” Marlow is careful to tell his listeners that there was something wrong with Kurtz, some flaw in his character that made him go insane in the isolation of the Inner Station. But the obvious implication of Marlow’s story is that the humanitarian ideals and sentiments justifying imperialism are empty, and are merely rationalizations for exploitation and extortion.

Marlow’s behavior in the face of an increasingly insane situation demonstrates his refusal to give in to the forces of madness. By throwing the dead helmsman overboard, Marlow spares him from becoming dinner for the cannibals, but he also saves him from what the helmsman might have found even worse: the hypocrisy of a Christian burial by the pilgrims. In contrast with the pilgrims’ folly and hypocrisy, Kurtz’s serene dictatorship is more attractive to Marlow. In fact, as Marlow’s digression at the beginning of this section suggests, right and wrong, sane and insane, are indistinguishable in this world gone mad. Force of personality is the only means by which men are judged. As Marlow’s ability to captivate his listeners with his story suggests, charisma may be his link with Kurtz. What the Russian trader says of Kurtz is true of Marlow too: he is a man to whom people listen, not someone with whom they converse. Thus, the darkness in Kurtz may repel Marlow mostly because it reflects his own internal darkness.

Part 3

The Russian trader’s description of Kurtz through the Russian trader’s departure from the Inner Station.

Summary

The Russian trader begs Marlow to take Kurtz away quickly. He recounts for Marlow his initial meeting with Kurtz, telling him that Kurtz and the trader spent a night camped in the forest together, during which Kurtz discoursed on a broad range of topics. The trader again asserts that listening to Kurtz has greatly enlarged his mind. His connection to Kurtz, however, has gone through periods of rise and decline. He nursed Kurtz through two illnesses but sometimes would not see him for long periods of time, during which Kurtz was out raiding the countryside for ivory with a native tribe he had gotten to follow him. Although Kurtz has behaved erratically and once even threatened to shoot the trader over a small stash of ivory, the trader nevertheless insists that Kurtz cannot be judged as one would judge a normal man. He has tried to get Kurtz to return to civilization several times. The Russian tells Marlow that Kurtz is extremely ill now. As he listens to the trader, Marlow idly looks through his binoculars and sees that what he had originally taken for ornamental balls on the tops of fence posts in the station compound are actually severed heads turned to face the station house. He is repelled but not particularly surprised. The Russian apologetically explains that these are the heads of rebels, an explanation that makes Marlow laugh out loud. The Russian makes a point of telling Marlow that he has had no medicine or supplies with which to treat Kurtz; he also asserts that Kurtz has been shamefully abandoned by the Company.

At that moment, the pilgrims emerge from the station-house with Kurtz on an improvised stretcher, and a group of natives rushes out of the forest with a piercing cry. Kurtz speaks to the natives, and the natives withdraw and allow the party to pass. The manager and the pilgrims lay Kurtz in one of the ship’s cabins and give him his mail, which they have brought from the Central Station. Someone has written to Kurtz about Marlow, and Kurtz tells him that he is “glad” to see him. The manager enters the cabin to speak with Kurtz, and Marlow withdraws to the steamer’s deck. From here he sees two natives standing near the river with impressive headdresses and spears, and a beautiful native woman draped in ornaments pacing gracefully along the shore. She stops and stares out at the steamer for a while and then moves away into the forest. Marlow notes that she must be wearing several elephant tusks’ worth of ornaments. The Russian implies that she is Kurtz’s mistress, and states that she has caused him trouble through her influence over Kurtz. He adds that he would have tried to shoot her if she had tried to come aboard. The trader’s comments are interrupted by the sound of Kurtz yelling at the manager inside the cabin. Kurtz accuses the men of coming for the ivory rather than to help him, and he threatens the manager for interfering with his plans.

The manager comes out and takes Marlow aside, telling him that they have done everything possible for Kurtz, but that his unsound methods have closed the district off to the Company for the time being. He says he plans on reporting Kurtz’s “complete want of judgment” to the Company’s directors. Thoroughly disgusted by the manager’s hypocritical condemnation of Kurtz, Marlow tells the manager that he thinks Kurtz is a “remarkable man.” With this statement, Marlow permanently alienates himself from the manager and the rest of the Company functionaries. Like Kurtz, Marlow is now classified among the “unsound.” As the manager walks off, the Russian approaches again, to confide in Marlow that Kurtz ordered the attack on the steamer, hoping that the manager would assume he was dead and turn back. After the Russian asks Marlow to protect Kurtz’s reputation, Marlow tells the Russian that the manager has spoken of having the Russian hanged. The trader is not surprised and, after hitting Marlow up for tobacco, gun cartridges, and shoes, leaves in a canoe with some native paddlers.

Analysis

Until this point, Marlow’s narrative has featured prominently mysterious signs and symbols, which Marlow has struggled to interpret. Now he confronts the reality of the Inner Station, and witnesses that symbols possess a disturbing power to define “reality” and influence people. The natives perceive Kurtz as a mythical deity and think that the guns carried by his followers are lightning bolts, symbols of power rather than actual weapons. Marlow and the Russian trader are aware of the guns’ power to kill, however, and they react nervously at Kurtz’s show of force. Kurtz himself acts as a symbol for all of the other characters, not only the natives. To the Russian trader, he is a source of knowledge about everything from economics to love. To Marlow, Kurtz offers “a choice of nightmares,” something distinct from the hypocritical evils of the manager. To the manager and the pilgrims, he is a scapegoat, someone they can punish for failing to uphold the “civilized” ideals of colonialism, thereby making themselves seem less reprehensible. The long-awaited appearance of the man himself demonstrates just how empty these formulations are, however. He is little more than a skeleton, and even his name proves not to be an adequate description of him (Kurtz means “short” in German, but Kurtz is tall). Thus, both words and symbols are shown to have little basis in reality.

Kurtz’s African mistress provides another example of the power of symbols and the dubious value of words. The woman is never given the title “mistress,” although it seems clear that she and Kurtz have a sexual relationship. To acknowledge through the use of the term that a white man and a black woman could be lovers seems to be more than the manager and the Russian trader are willing to do. Despite their desire to discredit Kurtz, the transgression implied by Kurtz’s relationship is not something they want to discuss. To Marlow, the woman is above all an aesthetic and economic object. She is “superb” and “magnificent,” dripping with the trappings of wealth. As we have seen in earlier sections of Marlow’s narrative, he believes that women represent the ideals of a civilization: it is on their behalf that men undertake economic enterprises, and it is their beauty that comes to symbolize nations and ways of life. Thus, Kurtz’s African mistress plays a role strikingly like that of Kurtz’s fiancée: like his fiancée, Kurtz’s mistress is lavished with material goods, both to keep her in her place and to display his success and wealth.

Marlow and the Russian trader offer alternate perspectives throughout this section. The Russian is naive to the point of idiocy, yet he has much in common with Marlow. Both have come to Africa in search of something experiential, and both end up aligning themselves with Kurtz against other Europeans. The Russian, who seems to exist upon “glamour” and youth, is drawn to the systematic qualities of Kurtz’s thought. Although Kurtz behaves irrationally toward him, for the trader, the great man’s philosophical mind offers a bulwark against the even greater irrationality of Africa. For Marlow, on the other hand, Kurtz represents the choice of outright perversion over hypocritical justifications of cruelty. Marlow and the Russian are disturbingly similar to one another, as the transfer of responsibility for Kurtz’s “reputation” from the Russian to Marlow suggests. The manager’s implicit condemnation of Marlow as “unsound” is correct, if for the wrong reasons: by choosing Kurtz, Marlow has, in fact, like the cheerfully idiotic Russian, merely chosen one kind of nightmare over another.

Part 3 (continued)

Marlow’s nighttime pursuit of Kurtz through the steamship’s departure from the Inner Station.

Summary

Remembering the Russian trader’s warning, Marlow gets up in the middle of the night and goes out to look around for any sign of trouble. From the deck of the steamer, he sees one of the pilgrims with a group of the cannibals keeping guard over the ivory, and he sees the fires of the natives’ camp in the forest. He hears a drum and a steady chanting, which lulls him into a brief sleep. A sudden outburst of yells wakes him, but the loud noise immediately subsides into a rhythmic chanting once again. Marlow glances into Kurtz’s cabin only to find that Kurtz is gone. He is unnerved, but he does not raise an alarm, and instead decides to leave the ship to search for Kurtz himself.

He finds a trail in the grass and realizes that Kurtz must be crawling on all fours. Marlow runs along the trail after him; Kurtz hears him coming and rises to his feet. They are now close to the fires of the native camp, and Marlow realizes the danger of his situation, as Kurtz could easily call out to the natives and have him killed. Kurtz tells him to go away and hide, and Marlow looks over and sees the imposing figure of a native sorcerer silhouetted against the fire. Marlow asks Kurtz if he knows what he is doing, and Kurtz replies emphatically that he does. Despite his physical advantage over the invalid, Marlow feels impotent, and threatens to strangle Kurtz if he should call out to the natives. Kurtz bemoans the failure of his grand schemes, and Marlow reassures him that he is thought a success in Europe. Sensing the other man’s vulnerability, Marlow tells Kurtz he will be lost if he continues on. Kurtz’s resolution falters, and Marlow helps him back to the ship.

The steamer departs the next day at noon, and the natives appear on the shore to watch it go. Three men painted with red earth and wearing horned headdresses wave charms and shout incantations at the ship as it steams away. Marlow places Kurtz in the pilot-house to get some air, and Kurtz watches through the open window as his mistress rushes down to the shore and calls out to him. The crowd responds to her cry with an uproar of its own. Marlow sounds the whistle as he sees the pilgrims get out their rifles, and the crowd scatters, to the pilgrims’ dismay. Only the woman remains standing on the shore as the pilgrims open fire, and Marlow’s view is obscured by smoke.

Analysis

Marlow describes his developing relationship with Kurtz in terms of intimacy and betrayal. The extravagant symbolism of the previous section is largely absent here. Instead, Marlow and Kurtz confront one another in a dark forest, with no one else around. Marlow seems to stand both physically and metaphorically between Kurtz and a final plunge into madness and depravity, as symbolized by the native sorcerer presiding over the fire at the native camp. It occurs to Marlow that, from a practical standpoint, he should strangle Kurtz. The nearness of the natives puts Marlow in danger, and Kurtz is going to die soon anyway. Yet to kill Kurtz would not only be hypocritical but, for Marlow, impossible. As Marlow perceives it, Kurtz’s “crime” is that he has rejected all of the principles and obligations that make up European society. Marlow “could not appeal [to him] in the name of anything high or low.” Kurtz has become an entirely self-sufficient unit, a man who has “kicked himself loose of the earth.” In a way, the Russian trader is right to claim that Kurtz cannot be judged by normal standards. Kurtz has already judged, and rejected, the standards by which other people are judged, and thus it seems irrelevant to bring such standards back to bear on him.

Marlow suggests that Africa is responsible for Kurtz’s current condition. Having rejected European society, Kurtz has been forced to look into his own soul, and this introspection has driven him mad. Kurtz’s illness, resulting from his body’s inability to function outside of a normal (i.e., European) environment, reflects his psyche’s inability to function outside of a normal social environment. Despite the hypocrisy latent in social norms, these norms provide a framework of security and defined expectations within which an individual can exist. In Freudian terms, we might say that Kurtz has lost his superego, and that it is the terror of limitless freedom, with no oversight or punishment, that leads to his madness. Kurtz now knows himself to be capable of anything. Marlow claims that his recognition of this capacity forces him to look into Kurtz’s soul, and that his coming face-to-face with Kurtz is his “punishment.” Marlow’s epiphany about the roots of Kurtz’s madness does lead to a moment of profound intimacy between the two men, as Marlow both comes to understand Kurtz’s deepest self-awareness and in turn is forced to apply this realization to himself, as he sees that Kurtz’s actual depravity mirrors his own potential depravity. Given this, for Marlow to betray Kurtz—whether by killing him or by siding with the manager against him—would be to betray himself. Later in the narrative, when Marlow speaks of his “choice of nightmares,” the alternatives of which he speaks are social injustice and cruelty on the one hand, and the realization that one’s soul is empty and infinitely capable of depravity on the other hand.

The pilgrims’ fervent desire to use the natives for target practice as the steamer departs clearly reflects the former choice. Kurtz’s mistress and, more generally, his level of control over the natives at the station are reminders that the kind of self-immolation that Kurtz has chosen has nothing inherently noble about it. Kurtz’s realization of his potential for depravity has not kept him from exercising it. Significantly, Kurtz’s mistress demonstrates that although Kurtz has “kicked himself loose from the earth,” he cannot help but reenact some of the social practices he has rejected. There is something sentimental about her behavior, despite her hard-edged appearance, and her relationship with Kurtz seems to have some of the same characteristics of romance, manipulation, and adoration as a traditional European male-female coupling. Moreover, as was noted in the previous section, with all her finery she has come to symbolize value and economic enterprise, much as a European woman would. Critics have often read her as a racist and misogynist stereotype, and in many ways this is true. However, the fact that Kurtz and Marlow both view her as a symbol rather than as a person is part of the point: we are supposed to recognize that she is actively stereotyped by Kurtz and by Marlow.

Part 3 (continued)

Marlow’s journey back down the river through his falling ill.

Summary

The current speeds the steamer’s progress back toward civilization. The manager, certain that Kurtz will soon be dead, is pleased to have things in hand; he condescendingly ignores Marlow, who is now clearly of the “unsound” but harmless party. The pilgrims are disdainful, and Marlow, for the most part, is left alone with Kurtz. As he had done with the Russian trader, Kurtz takes advantage of his captive audience to hold forth on a variety of subjects. Marlow is alternately impressed and disappointed. Kurtz’s philosophical musings are interspersed with grandiose and childish plans for fame and fortune.

The brown current ran swiftly out of the heart of darkness, bearing us down towards the sea with twice the speed of our upward progress; and Kurtz’s life was running swiftly, too. . . .

The steamer breaks down, and repairs take some time. Marlow is slowly becoming ill, and the work is hard on him. Kurtz seems troubled, probably because the delay has made him realize that he probably will not make it back to Europe alive. Worried that the manager will gain control of his “legacy,” Kurtz gives Marlow a bundle of papers for safekeeping. Kurtz’s ramblings become more abstract and more rhetorical as his condition worsens. Marlow believes he is reciting portions of articles he has written for the newspapers: Kurtz thinks it his “duty” to disseminate his ideas. Finally, one night, Kurtz admits to Marlow that he is “waiting for death.” As Marlow approaches, Kurtz seems to be receiving some profound knowledge or vision, and the look on his face forces Marlow to stop and stare. Kurtz cries out—“The horror! The horror!”—and Marlow flees, not wanting to watch the man die. He joins the manager in the dining hall, which is suddenly overrun by flies. A moment later, a servant comes in to tell them, “Mistah Kurtz—he dead.”

The pilgrims bury Kurtz the next day. Marlow succumbs to illness and nearly dies himself. He suffers greatly, but the worst thing about his near-death experience is his realization that in the end he would have “nothing to say.” Kurtz, he realizes, was remarkable because he “had something to say. He said it.” Marlow remembers little about the time of his illness. Once he has recovered sufficiently, he leaves Africa and returns to Brussels.

Analysis

Both Kurtz and Marlow experience a brief interlude during which they float between life and death, although their final fates differ. For Kurtz, the imminence of death ironically causes him to seek to return to the world from which he had “kicked himself loose.” Suddenly, his legacy and his ideas seem very important to him, and he turns to Marlow to preserve them. Kurtz’s final ambitions—to be famous and feted by kings, to have his words read by millions—suggest a desire to change the world. This is a change from his previous formulations, which posited a choice between acquiescence to existing norms or total isolation from society. However, these final schemes of Kurtz’s (which Marlow describes as “childish”) reflect Kurtz’s desire for self-aggrandizement rather than any progressive social program. Kurtz dies. His last words are paradoxically full of meaning yet totally empty. It is possible to read them as an acknowledgment of Kurtz’s own misguided life and despicable acts, as a description of his inner darkness; certainly, to do so is not inappropriate. However, it is important to note both their eloquence and their vagueness. True to form, Kurtz dies in a spasm of eloquence. His last words are poetic and profound, delivered in his remarkable voice. However, they are so nonspecific that they defy interpretation. The best one can do is to guess at their meaning.

I was within a hair’s-breadth of the last opportunity for pronouncement, and I found with humiliation that probably I would have nothing to say

Does this mean that Marlow is wrong, that Kurtz has “nothing,” not “something to say”? Kurtz’s last words could refer to the terrible nothingness at the heart of his soul and his ideas, the ultimate failure of his “destiny.” In a way this is true: Kurtz’s agony seems to be a response to a generalized lack of substance. In his dying words as in his life, though, Kurtz creates an enigma, an object for contemplation, which certainly is something. His legacy, in fact, would seem to be Marlow, who, like the Russian trader, seems to have had his mind “enlarged” by Kurtz. Marlow, though, finds that he himself has “nothing” to say, and thus Kurtz’s life and his dying words oscillate between absolute emptiness and an overabundance of meaning. The “horror” is either nothing or everything, but it is not simply “something.”

The actual moment of Kurtz’s death is narrated indirectly. First, Kurtz’s words—“The horror! The horror!”—anticipate and mark its beginning. Then flies, the symbol of slow, mundane decay and disintegration (as opposed to catastrophic or dramatic destruction), swarm throughout the ship, as if to mark the actual moment. Finally, the servant arrives to bring the moment to its close with his surly, unpoetic words. The roughness of “Mistah Kurtz—he dead” contrasts with Kurtz’s self-generated epitaph, again bringing a blunt reality (death) into conflict with a subjective state (horror). It is interesting to consider why T. S. Eliot might have chosen the servant’s line as the epigraph to his poem “The Hollow Men.” The impenetrability of the brief moment of Kurtz’s death and his reduction to something “buried in a muddy hole” indicate the final impossibility of describing either Kurtz or his ideas.

Kurtz’s death is very nearly followed by Marlow’s demise. Although both men’s illnesses are blamed on climate, it seems as if they are both also the result of existential crisis. Furthermore, an element of metaphorical contagion seems to be involved, as Kurtz transmits both his memory and his poor health to Marlow. Unlike Kurtz, though, Marlow recovers. Having “nothing to say” seems to save him. He does not slip into the deadly paradox of wanting to be both free of society and an influence on it, and he will not have to sacrifice himself for his ideas. For Marlow, guarding Kurtz’s legacy is not inconsistent with isolation from society. Remaining loyal to Kurtz is best done by remaining true to his experience, and by not offering up his story to those who will misinterpret or fail to understand it. Marlow keeps these principles in mind once he arrives in Brussels. His reasons for telling this story to his audience aboard the Nellie are more difficult to discern.

Part 3 (continued)

Marlow’s return to Brussels through the conclusion.

Summary

Marlow barely survives his illness. Eventually he returns to the “sepulchral city,” Brussels. He resents the people there for their petty self-importance and smug complacency. His aunt nurses him back to health, but his disorder is more emotional than physical. A bespectacled representative of the Company comes to retrieve the packet of papers Kurtz entrusted to Marlow, but Marlow will give him only the pamphlet on the “Suppression of Savage Customs,” with the postscript (the handwritten “Exterminate all the brutes!”) torn off. The man threatens legal action to obtain the rest of the packet’s contents. Another man, calling himself Kurtz’s cousin, appears and takes some letters to the family. The cousin tells him that Kurtz had been a great musician, although he does not elaborate further. Marlow and the cousin ponder Kurtz’s myriad talents and decide that he is best described as a “universal genius.” A journalist colleague of Kurtz’s appears and takes the pamphlet for publication. This man believes Kurtz’s true skills were in popular or extremist politics.

Finally, Marlow is left with only a few letters and a picture of Kurtz’s Intended. Marlow goes to see her without really knowing why. Kurtz’s memory comes flooding back to him as he stands on her doorstep. He finds the Intended still in mourning, though it has been over a year since Kurtz’s death. He gives her the packet, and she asks if he knew Kurtz well. He replies that he knew him as well as it is possible for one man to know another.

His presence fulfills her need for a sympathetic ear, and she continually praises Kurtz. Her sentimentality begins to anger Marlow, but he holds back his annoyance until it gives way to pity. She says she will mourn Kurtz forever, and asks Marlow to repeat his last words to give her something upon which to sustain herself. Marlow lies and tells her that Kurtz’s last word was her name. She responds that she was certain that this was the case. Marlow ends his story here, and the narrator looks off into the dark sky, which makes the waterway seem “to lead into the heart of an immense darkness.”

Analysis

Marlow’s series of encounters with persons from Kurtz’s former life makes him question the value he places on his memories of Kurtz. Kurtz’s cousin and the journalist both offer a version of Kurtz that seems not to resemble the man Marlow knew. Kurtz, in fact, seems to have been all things to all people—someone who has changed their life and now serves as a kind of symbolic figure presiding over their existence. This makes Marlow’s own experience of Kurtz less unique and thus perhaps less meaningful. The fact that he shares Kurtz with all of these overconfident, self-important people, most of whom will never leave Brussels, causes Kurtz to seem common, and less profound. In reality, Marlow’s stream of visitors do not raise any new issues: in their excessive praise of Kurtz and their own lack of perspective, they resemble the Russian trader, who also took Kurtz as a kind of guru.

Marlow goes to see Kurtz’s Intended in a state of profound uncertainty. He is unsure whether his version of Kurtz has any value either as a reflection of reality or as a philosophical construct. In response to the woman’s simple question as to whether he knew Kurtz well, he can only reply that he knew him “‘as well as it is possible for one man to know another.’” Given what the preceding narrative has shown about the possibilities for “knowing” another person in any meaningful sense, the reader can easily see that Marlow’s reply to Kurtz’s Intended is a qualification, not an affirmation: Marlow barely knows himself. By the end of Marlow’s visit with the woman, the reader is also aware, even if Marlow is not, that the kinds of illusions and untruths which Marlow accuses women of perpetuating are in fact not dissimilar from those fictions men use to understand their own experiences and justify such things as colonialism. Marlow has much more in common with Kurtz’s Intended than he would like to admit.

Kurtz’s Intended, like Marlow’s aunt and Kurtz’s mistress, is a problematic female figure. Marlow praises her for her “mature capacity for fidelity, for belief, for suffering,” suggesting that the most valuable traits in a woman are passive. Conrad’s portrayal of the Intended has thus been criticized for having misogynist overtones, and there is some justification for this point of view. She is a repository of conservative ideas about what it means to be white and European, upholding fine-sounding but ultimately useless notions of heroism and romance.

Although both Marlow and the Intended construct idealized versions of Kurtz to make sense out of their respective worlds, in the end, Marlow’s version of Kurtz is upheld as the more profound one. Marlow emphasizes his disgust at the complacency of the people he meets in Brussels in order to validate his own store of worldly experience. Marlow’s narrative implies that his version of Kurtz, as well as his accounts of Africa and imperialism, are inherently better and truer than other people’s because of what he has experienced. This notion is based on traditional ideas of heroism, involving quests and trials in the pursuit of knowledge. In fact, by seeming to legitimize activities like imperialism for their experiential value for white men—in other words, by making it appear that Africa is the key to philosophical truth—the ending ofHeart of Darkness introduces a much greater horror than any Marlow has encountered in the Congo. Are the evils of colonialism excusable in the name of “truth” or knowledge, even if they are not justifiable in the name of wealth? This paradox accounts at least partially for the novella’s frame story. Marlow recounts his experiences to his friends because doing so establishes an implicit comparison. The other men aboard the Nellie are the kind of men who benefit economically from imperialism, while Marlow has benefited mainly experientially. While Marlow’s “truth” may be more profound than that of his friends or Kurtz’s Intended, it may not justify the cost of its own acquisition.

“ A portrait of the artist as a young man “ Joyce, J.

Context

James Joyce was born on February 2, 1882, in the town of Rathgar, near Dublin, Ireland. He was the oldest of ten children born to a well-meaning but financially inept father and a solemn, pious mother. Joyce's parents managed to scrape together enough money to send their talented son to the Clongowes Wood College, a prestigious boarding school, and then to Belvedere College, where Joyce excelled as an actor and writer. Later, he attended University College in Dublin, where he became increasingly committed to language and literature as a champion of Modernism. In 1902, Joyce left the university and moved to Paris, but briefly returned to Ireland in 1903 upon the death of his mother. Shortly after his mother's death, Joyce began work on the story that would later become A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man.

Published in serial form in 1914–1915, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Mandraws on many details from Joyce's early life. The novel's protagonist, Stephen Dedalus, is in many ways Joyce's fictional double—Joyce had even published stories under the pseudonym "Stephen Daedalus" before writing the novel. Like Joyce himself, Stephen is the son of an impoverished father and a highly devout Catholic mother. Also like Joyce, he attends Clongowes Wood, Belvedere, and University Colleges, struggling with questions of faith and nationality before leaving Ireland to make his own way as an artist. Many of the scenes in the novel are fictional, but some of its most powerful moments are autobiographical: both the Christmas dinner scene and Stephen's first sexual experience with the Dublin prostitute closely resemble actual events in Joyce's life.

In addition to drawing heavily on Joyce's personal life, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man also makes a number of references to the politics and religion of early-twentieth-century Ireland. When Joyce was growing up, Ireland had been under British rule since the sixteenth century, and tensions between Ireland and Britain had been especially high since the potato blight of 1845. In addition to political strife, there was considerable religious tension: the majority of Irish, including the Joyces, were Catholics, and strongly favored Irish independence. The Protestant minority, on the other hand, mostly wished to remain united with Britain.

Around the time Joyce was born, the Irish nationalist Charles Stewart Parnell was spearheading the movement for Irish independence. In 1890, however, Parnell's longstanding affair with a married woman was exposed, leading the Catholic Church to condemn him and causing many of his former followers to turn against him. Many Irish nationalists blamed Parnell's death, which occurred only a year later, on the Catholic Church. Indeed, we see these strong opinions about Parnell surface in A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man during an emotional Christmas dinner argument among members of the Dedalus family. By 1900, the Irish people felt largely united in demanding freedom from British rule. In A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, the young Stephen's friends at University College frequently confront him with political questions about this struggle between Ireland and England.

After completing A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man in Zurich in 1915, Joyce returned to Paris, where he wrote two more major novels, Ulysses andFinnegans Wake, over the course of the next several years. These three novels, along with a short story collection, Dubliners, form the core of his remarkable literary career. He died in 1941.

Today, Joyce is celebrated as one of the great literary pioneers of the twentieth century. He was one of the first writers to make extensive and convincing use of stream of consciousness, a stylistic form in which written prose seeks to represent the characters' stream of inner thoughts and perceptions rather than render these characters from an objective, external perspective. This technique, used in A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Manmostly during the opening sections and in Chapter 5, sometimes makes for difficult reading. With effort, however, the seemingly jumbled perceptions of stream of consciousness can crystallize into a coherent and sophisticated portrayal of a character's experience.

Another stylistic technique for which Joyce is noted is the epiphany, a moment in which a character makes a sudden, profound realization—whether prompted by an external object or a voice from within—that creates a change in his or her perception of the world. Joyce uses epiphany most notably inDubliners, but A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man is full of these sudden moments of spiritual revelation as well. Most notable is a scene in which Stephen sees a young girl wading at the beach, which strikes him with the sudden realization that an appreciation for beauty can be truly good. This moment is a classic example of Joyce's belief that an epiphany can dramatically alter the human spirit in a matter of just a few seconds.

Analysis of Major Characters

Stephen Dedalus

Modeled after Joyce himself, Stephen is a sensitive, thoughtful boy who reappears in Joyce's later masterpiece, Ulysses. In A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, though Stephen's large family runs into deepening financial difficulties, his parents manage to send him to prestigious schools and eventually to a university. As he grows up, Stephen grapples with his nationality, religion, family, and morality, and finally decides to reject all socially imposed bonds and instead live freely as an artist.

Stephen undergoes several crucial transformations over the course of the novel. The first, which occurs during his first years as Clongowes, is from a sheltered little boy to a bright student who understands social interactions and can begin to make sense of the world around him. The second, which occurs when Stephen sleeps with the Dublin prostitute, is from innocence to debauchery. The third, which occurs when Stephen hears Father Arnall's speech on death and hell, is from an unrepentant sinner to a devout Catholic. Finally, Stephen's greatest transformation is from near fanatical religiousness to a new devotion to art and beauty. This transition takes place in Chapter 4, when he is offered entry to the Jesuit order but refuses it in order to attend university. Stephen's refusal and his subsequent epiphany on the beach mark his transition from belief in God to belief in aesthetic beauty. This transformation continues through his college years. By the end of his time in college, Stephen has become a fully formed artist, and his diary entries reflect the independent individual he has become.

Simon Dedalus

Simon Dedalus spends a great deal of his time reliving past experiences, lost in his own sentimental nostalgia. Joyce often uses Simon to symbolize the bonds and burdens that Stephen's family and nationality place upon him as he grows up. Simon is a nostalgic, tragic figure: he has a deep pride in tradition, but he is unable to keep his own affairs in order. To Stephen, his father Simon represents the parts of family, nation, and tradition that hold him back, and against which he feels he must rebel. The closest look we get at Simon is on the visit to Cork with Stephen, during which Simon gets drunk and sentimentalizes about his past. Joyce paints a picture of a man who has ruined himself and, instead of facing his problems, drowns them in alcohol and nostalgia.

Emma Clery

Emma is Stephen's "beloved," the young girl to whom he is intensely attracted over the course of many years. Stephen does not know Emma particularly well, and is generally too embarrassed or afraid to talk to her, but feels a powerful response stirring within him whenever he sees her. Stephen's first poem, "To E— C—," is written to Emma. She is a shadowy figure throughout the novel, and we know almost nothing about her even at the novel's end. For Stephen, Emma symbolizes one end of a spectrum of femininity. Stephen seems able to perceive only the extremes of this spectrum: for him, women are either pure, distant, and unapproachable, like Emma, or impure, sexual, and common, like the prostitutes he visits during his time at Belvedere.

Charles Stewart Parnell

Parnell is not fictional, and does not actually appear as a character in the novel. However, as an Irish political leader, he is a polarizing figure whose death influences many characters in A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man.During the late nineteenth century, Parnell had been the powerful leader of the Irish National Party, and his influence seemed to promise Irish independence from England. When Parnell's affair with a married woman was exposed, however, he was condemned by the Catholic Church and fell from grace. His fevered attempts to regain his former position of influence contributed to his death from exhaustion. Many people in Ireland, such as the character of John Casey in Joyce's novel, considered Parnell a hero and blamed the church for his death. Many others, such as the character Dante, thought the church had done the right thing to condemn Parnell. These disputes over Parnell's character are at the root of the bitter and abusive argument that erupts during the Dedalus family's Christmas dinner when Stephen is still a young boy. In this sense, Parnell represents the burden of Irish nationality that Stephen comes to believe is preventing him from realizing himself as an artist.

Cranly

Stephen's best friend at the university, Cranly also acts as a kind of nonreligious confessor for Stephen. In long, late-night talks, Stephen tells Cranly everything, just as he used to tell the priests everything during his days of religious fervor. While Cranly is a good friend to Stephen, he does not understand Stephen's need for absolute freedom. Indeed, to Cranly, leaving behind all the trappings of society would be terribly lonely. It is this difference that separates the true artist, Stephen, from the artist's friend, Cranly. In that sense, Cranly represents the nongenius, a young man who is not called to greatness as Stephen is, and who therefore does not have to make the same sacrifices.

Themes, Motifs, and Symbols

Themes are the fundamental and often universal ideas explored in a literary work.

Themes

The Development of Individual Consciousness

Perhaps the most famous aspect ofA Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man is Joyce's innovative use of stream of consciousness, a style in which the author directly transcribes the thoughts and sensations that go through a character's mind, rather than simply describing those sensations from the external standpoint of an observer. Joyce's use of stream of consciousness makes A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man a story of the development of Stephen's mind. In the first chapter, the very young Stephen is only capable of describing his world in simple words and phrases. The sensations that he experiences are all jumbled together with a child's lack of attention to cause and effect. Later, when Stephen is a teenager obsessed with religion, he is able to think in a clearer, more adult manner. Paragraphs are more logically ordered than in the opening sections of the novel, and thoughts progress logically. Stephen's mind is more mature and he is now more coherently aware of his surroundings. Nonetheless, he still trusts blindly in the church, and his passionate emotions of guilt and religious ecstasy are so strong that they get in the way of rational thought. It is only in the final chapter, when Stephen is in the university, that he seems truly rational. By the end of the novel, Joyce renders a portrait of a mind that has achieved emotional, intellectual, and artistic adulthood.

The development of Stephen's consciousness in A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man is particularly interesting because, insofar as Stephen is a portrait of Joyce himself, Stephen's development gives us insight into the development of a literary genius. Stephen's experiences hint at the influences that transformed Joyce himself into the great writer he is considered today: Stephen's obsession with language; his strained relations with religion, family, and culture; and his dedication to forging an aesthetic of his own mirror the ways in which Joyce related to the various tensions in his life during his formative years. In the last chapter of the novel, we also learn that genius, though in many ways a calling, also requires great work and considerable sacrifice. Watching Stephen's daily struggle to puzzle out his aesthetic philosophy, we get a sense of the great task that awaits him.

The Pitfalls of Religious Extremism

Brought up in a devout Catholic family, Stephen initially ascribes to an absolute belief in the morals of the church. As a teenager, this belief leads him to two opposite extremes, both of which are harmful. At first, he falls into the extreme of sin, repeatedly sleeping with prostitutes and deliberately turning his back on religion. Though Stephen sins willfully, he is always aware that he acts in violation of the church's rules. Then, when Father Arnall's speech prompts him to return to Catholicism, he bounces to the other extreme, becoming a perfect, near fanatical model of religious devotion and obedience. Eventually, however, Stephen realizes that both of these lifestyles—the completely sinful and the completely devout—are extremes that have been false and harmful. He does not want to lead a completely debauched life, but also rejects austere Catholicism because he feels that it does not permit him the full experience of being human. Stephen ultimately reaches a decision to embrace life and celebrate humanity after seeing a young girl wading at a beach. To him, the girl is a symbol of pure goodness and of life lived to the fullest.

The Role of the Artist

A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man explores what it means to become an artist. Stephen's decision at the end of the novel—to leave his family and friends behind and go into exile in order to become an artist—suggests that Joyce sees the artist as a necessarily isolated figure. In his decision, Stephen turns his back on his community, refusing to accept the constraints of political involvement, religious devotion, and family commitment that the community places on its members.

However, though the artist is an isolated figure, Stephen's ultimate goal is to give a voice to the very community that he is leaving. In the last few lines of the novel, Stephen expresses his desire to "forge in the smithy of my soul the uncreated conscience of my race." He recognizes that his community will always be a part of him, as it has created and shaped his identity. When he creatively expresses his own ideas, he will also convey the voice of his entire community. Even as Stephen turns his back on the traditional forms of participation and membership in a community, he envisions his writing as a service to the community.

The Need for Irish Autonomy

Despite his desire to steer clear of politics, Stephen constantly ponders Ireland's place in the world. He concludes that the Irish have always been a subservient people, allowing outsiders to control them. In his conversation with the dean of studies at the university, he realizes that even the language of the Irish people really belongs to the English. Stephen's perception of Ireland's subservience has two effects on his development as an artist. First, it makes him determined to escape the bonds that his Irish ancestors have accepted. As we see in his conversation with Davin, Stephen feels an anxious need to emerge from his Irish heritage as his own person, free from the shackles that have traditionally confined his country: "Do you fancy I am going to pay in my own life and person debts they made?" Second, Stephen's perception makes him determined to use his art to reclaim autonomy for Ireland. Using the borrowed language of English, he plans to write in a style that will be both autonomous from England and true to the Irish people.

Motifs are recurring structures, contrasts, or literary devices that can help to develop and inform the text's major themes.

Motifs

Music

Music, especially singing, appears repeatedly throughout A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. Stephen's appreciation of music is closely tied to his love for the sounds of language. As a very young child, he turns Dante's threats into a song, " [A]pologise, pull out his eyes, pull out his eyes, apologise." Singing is more than just language, however—it is language transformed by vibrant humanity. Indeed, music appeals to the part of Stephen that wants to live life to the fullest. We see this aspect of music near the end of the novel, when Stephen suddenly feels at peace upon hearing a woman singing. Her voice prompts him to recall his resolution to leave Ireland and become a writer, reinforcing his determination to celebrate life through writing.

Flight

Stephen Dedalus's very name embodies the idea of flight. Stephen's namesake, Daedalus, is a figure from Greek mythology, a renowned craftsman who designs the famed Labyrinth of Crete for King Minos. Minos keeps Daedalus and his son Icarus imprisoned on Crete, but Daedalus makes plans to escape by using feathers, twine, and wax to fashion a set of wings for himself and his son. Daedalus escapes successfully, but Icarus flies too high. The sun's heat melts the wax holding Icarus's wings together, and he plummets to his death in the sea.

In the context of A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, we can see Stephen as representative of both Daedalus and Icarus, as Stephen's father also has the last name of Dedalus. With this mythological reference, Joyce implies that Stephen must always balance his desire to flee Ireland with the danger of overestimating his own abilities—the intellectual equivalent of Icarus's flight too close to the sun. To diminish the dangers of attempting too much too soon, Stephen bides his time at the university, developing his aesthetic theory fully before attempting to leave Ireland and write seriously. The birds that appear to Stephen in the third section of Chapter 5 signal that it is finally time for Stephen, now fully formed as an artist, to take flight himself.

Prayers, Secular Songs, and Latin Phrases

We can often tell Stephen's state of mind by looking at the fragments of prayers, songs, and Latin phrases that Joyce inserts into the text. When Stephen is a schoolboy, Joyce includes childish, sincere prayers that mirror the manner in which a child might devoutly believe in the church, even without understanding the meaning of its religious doctrine. When Stephen prays in church despite the fact that he has committed a mortal sin, Joyce transcribes a long passage of the Latin prayer, but it is clear that Stephen merely speaks the words without believing them. Then, when Stephen is at the university, Latin is used as a joke—his friends translate colloquial phrases like "peace over the whole bloody globe" into Latin because they find the academic sound of the translation amusing. This jocular use of Latin mocks both the young men's education and the stern, serious manner in which Latin is used in the church. These linguistic jokes demonstrate that Stephen is no longer serious about religion. Finally, Joyce includes a few lines from the Irish folk song "Rosie O'Grady" near the end of the novel. These simple lines reflect the peaceful feeling that the song brings to Stephen and Cranly, as well as the traditional Irish culture that Stephen plans to leave behind. Throughout the novel, such prayers, songs, and phrases form the background of Stephen's life.

Symbols are objects, characters, figures, or colors used to represent abstract ideas or concepts.

Symbols

Green and Maroon

Stephen associates the colors green and maroon with his governess, Dante, and with two leaders of the Irish resistance, Charles Parnell and Michael Davitt. In a dream after Parnell's death, Stephen sees Dante dressed in green and maroon as the Irish people mourn their fallen leader. This vision indicates that Stephen associates the two colors with the way Irish politics are played out among the members of his own family.

Emma

Emma appears only in glimpses throughout most of Stephen's young life, and he never gets to know her as a person. Instead, she becomes a symbol of pure love, untainted by sexuality or reality. Stephen worships Emma as the ideal of feminine purity. When he goes through his devoutly religious phase, he imagines his reward for his piety as a union with Emma in heaven. It is only later, when he is at the university, that we finally see a real conversation between Stephen and Emma. Stephen's diary entry regarding this conversation portrays Emma as a real, friendly, and somewhat ordinary girl, but certainly not the goddess Stephen earlier makes her out to be. This more balanced view of Emma mirrors Stephen's abandonment of the extremes of complete sin and complete devotion in favor of a middle path, the devotion to the appreciation of beauty.

Chapter 1, Section 1

Summary

Once upon a time and a very good time it was there was a moocow coming down along the road and this moocow that was coming down along the road met a nicens little boy named baby tuckoo. . . .

Stephen's father, Simon Dedalus, tells his young son an old-fashioned children's story. Simon begins the story with the traditional "[o]nce upon a time" and uses babyish words like "moocow." With his childish yet vivid imagination, the young Stephen identifies with the story's character, "baby tuckoo." We see some of Stephen's impressions of early childhood: the cold bedsheets, the pleasant smell of his mother, the applause he receives from his governess Dante and his Uncle Charles when he dances to the hornpipe.

At one point, Stephen expresses his intention to marry the young girl, Eileen Vance, who lives next door. Eileen happens to be Protestant, however, and in response to his Catholic family's shock, Stephen crawls under the table. Stephen's mother assures the others that he will apologize, and Dante adds a threat that eagles will pull out Stephen's eyes if he does not apologize. Stephen turns these threatening words into a ditty in his mind.

The story shifts to Stephen's experience at Clongowes Wood College. Stephen watches other boys playing ball but does not participate himself. The other boys are mildly antagonistic toward Stephen, asking his name and questioning what kind of a name it is. They ask about Stephen's social rank and want to know whether his father is a magistrate. In class, Stephen is forced to compete in an academic contest in which the opposing teams wear badges with red or white roses—emblems of the noble York and Lancaster families from English history. Stephen does not perform well, and wonders whether green roses are possible.

Stephen tries to study, but instead meditates on himself, God, and the cosmos. He examines his own address written in his geography textbook, beginning with himself and listing his school, city, county, country, and so on in ascending order, ending in "The Universe." Stephen wonders whether the different names for God in different languages refer to the same being, and concludes that the names are in fact all the same being. When the bell rings for night prayers, Stephen addresses God directly. The chaplain's clear and formulaic prayer contrasts with Stephen's own quietly murmured prayer for his family's well-being. Dreading the cold sheets, Stephen climbs into bed and shivers. In a feverish vision, he thinks of a big black dog with bright eyes and of a castle long ago.

Later, various people ask whether Stephen is sick, and we find out that his sickness is probably the result of having been pushed into the "square ditch," or cesspool, the day before. Wells, the boy who pushed Stephen, is the ringleader of the school bullies. Wells again tormented Stephen by asking whether Stephen kisses his mother. Stephen was unsure whether to answer yes or no, and the boys laughed in both cases anyway.

Stephen's illness enables him to skip class as he recovers in the infirmary. The kind and humorous Brother Michael cares for Stephen, who wonders if he will die from his illness. Stephen tells himself that death indeed might be possible, and he imagines his own funeral. Another student patient in the infirmary, Athy, asks Stephen riddles that he cannot solve. Stephen daydreams about returning home to recover. At the end of the section, Brother Michael announces the death of Parnell, the Irish patriot.

Analysis

Stephen is the hero of A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, and, in fact, Joyce titled an early version of the novel Stephen Hero. The narrative is limited to Stephen's consciousness, so his misperceptions become part of the story—there is no narrator who explains the difference between Stephen's reality and objective reality. Stephen is essentially Joyce's alter ego, and there are many factual similarities between Stephen's life and Joyce's. Clongowes, for example, had been Joyce's boarding school in real life. The novel is more than just an autobiography, however, as Joyce is not merely recounting elements of his own boyhood, but also meditating on what it means to be a young man growing up in a confusing modern world. Stephen's bewilderment about the world and its strange rules reflects the sensation of alienation and confusion that Joyce and a number of his literary peers felt at the beginning of the twentieth century. We see Stephen's alienation on the playground, where he watches other boys playing ball but does not participate himself. Stephen's feeling of being a dissatisfied outsider develops steadily throughout the novel.

The fact that the novel opens with a story emphasizes the importance of art—particularly literary art—in Joyce's world. The fact that the story deeply influences Stephen demonstrates that art is not mere empty entertainment, but has the power to form people's identities and shape their thoughts. Stephen's reaction to the story is to imagine that "[h]e was a baby tuckoo": he becomes conscious of his own existence at this young age by identifying with a character in a fictional story. Similarly, Joyce implies that art can defend against danger or cure wounds. When Stephen is scolded for expressing his wish to marry a Protestant girl, he uses art to soothe his soul, making a song out of his governess's gruesome threat: "Pull out his eyes, / Apologise. . . ." Art also has a political dimension: in the academic competition at Clongowes, the teams take their emblems from the Wars of the Roses. Stephen, however, meditates on the red rose and the white rose only in terms of the fact that "those were beautiful colours to think of." It may seem that Stephen is ignoring politics and history, focusing only on beauty. But this feeling for beauty actually brings Stephen back to history and politics, as he wonders whether a rose could possibly be green, the traditional color of Ireland. With this image of the green rose, Joyce may be slyly hinting at the possibility of an independent Irish state. A sense of beauty may in this regard be quite revolutionary.

One of the most notable features of Stephen's artistic development in this first section is his interest in the sounds of language. Stephen notices sounds even in the very first passages, when he is young enough to use baby words like "moocow" and "tuckoo." When he is a bit older, he ponders the intriguing sound of the word "wine," and imagines that the cricket bats are saying, "pick, pack, pock, puck." This interest in sounds and wordplay reveals much about Joyce himself, who was one of the twentieth century's most important innovators of language. Joyce was also a pioneer in psychological fiction and stream of consciousness technique, capturing the illogical associations made by the human mind and its odd jumps from topic to topic. The montage of perceptions in Stephen's first memories lack traditional realistic description, giving us mental impressions instead, as if thoughts are flowing directly onto the page. Joyce would later refine this stream of consciousness technique to great effect in his novel Ulysses.

Chapter 1, Sections 2–3

Summary

Chapter 1, Section 2

The scene shifts to the Dedalus home, where Stephen has returned from boarding school for Christmas vacation. This is the first Christmas dinner during which the young Stephen is allowed to sit at the adult table. The Dedalus family, Dante, Uncle Charles, and a friend of Mr. Dedalus named Mr. Casey are waiting for the food to be brought in. Mr. Dedalus and Mr. Casey chat about an acquaintance who has been manufacturing explosives. The turkey is brought in, and Stephen says grace before the meal.

Mr. Dedalus speaks approvingly of a mutual friend who, by confronting a priest directly, has criticized the involvement of the Catholic Church in Irish politics. Dante strongly disapproves, saying that it is not right for any Catholic to criticize the church. The disagreement soon turns into an angry dispute. Dante quotes the Bible, saying that priests must always be respected. She feels that, as Catholics, it is their duty to follow orders from their priests and bishops without questioning them, even when those orders might be opposed to the Irish patriots' cause.

Stephen watches the dispute with bewilderment, not understanding why anyone would be against priests. He believes Dante is right, but remembers his father criticizing Dante because she used to be a nun. Mr. Casey tells a story of being accosted by an old Catholic woman who had degraded the name of Parnell and the name of the woman with whom Parnell had an adulterous affair. Casey had ended up spitting on the old woman. This anecdote amuses the men but infuriates Dante, who cries that God and religion must come before everything else. Mr. Casey responds that if Dante's words are true, then perhaps Ireland should not have God at all. Dante is enraged and leaves the table, and Mr. Casey weeps for his dead political leader Parnell.

Chapter 1, Section 3

Back at school after Christmas vacation, Stephen listens to a muted conversation between Wells and several other students. They are talking about a couple of boys who fled the school for wrongdoing and were later nabbed. Wells believes the boys stole wine from the school's sacristy. The other boys fall silent at the horror of this offense against God.

Athy gives a different account of the boys' crime. He says they were caught "smugging," or engaging in some sort of homosexual play. Stephen reflects on this suggestion, recalling the fine white hands of one of the students, and thinking also of the soft ivory hands of his neighbor Eileen Vance. One boy, Fleming, complains that all the students will be punished for the wrongdoing of two. Fleming suggests that they could mount a rebellion against such an injustice.

The boys are summoned back into the classroom. After the writing lesson, Father Arnall begins the Latin lesson. Fleming is unable to answer a question and the prefect of studies, Father Dolan, pandies him, or lashes his hands. Afterward, the prefect notices that Stephen is not working and demands to know why. Father Arnall tells Father Dolan that Stephen has been excused from class work because his glasses are broken and he cannot see well. Stephen is telling the truth, but the unbelieving prefect pandies him as well.

Later, the boys discuss the incident and urge Stephen to denounce the prefect to the rector. Stephen is reluctant. Finally, he summons the courage to march down the long corridors filled with pictures of saints and martyrs toward the rector's office. Stephen tells the rector what happened, and the rector says he will speak to Father Dolan. When Stephen tells the other boys he has reported on Dolan to the rector, they hoist him over their heads as a hero.

Analysis

The Christmas dinner dispute introduces the political landscape of late nineteenth-century Ireland into the novel. This is the first Christmas meal at which Stephen is allowed to sit at the grown-up table, a milestone in his path toward adulthood. The dispute that unfolds among Dante, Mr. Dedalus, and Mr. Casey makes Stephen quickly realize, however, that adulthood is fraught with conflicts, doubts, and anger. This discussion engenders no harmonious Christmas feeling of family togetherness. Rather, the growing boy learns that politics is often such a charged subject that it can cause huge rifts even within a single home.

Dante's tumultuous departure from the dinner table is the first in a pattern of incidents in which characters declare independence and break away from a group for political and ideological reasons. Indeed, the political landscape of Ireland is deeply divided when the action of the novel occurs. Secularists like Mr. Dedalus and Mr. Casey feel that religion is keeping Ireland from progress and independence, while the orthodox, like Dante, feel that religion should take precedence in Irish culture. The secularists consider Parnell the savior of Ireland, but Parnell's shame at being caught in an extramarital affair tarnishes his political luster and earns him the church's condemnation. This condemnation on the part of the church mirrors Stephen's shame over expressing a desire to marry Eileen Vance, who is Protestant. On the whole, however, Stephen's reaction to his family's dispute is sheer bafflement.

These chapters also explore the frequently arbitrary nature of crime and punishment. The fact that the boys in Stephen's class at Clongowes know that they will all be punished for the transgressions of the two caught "smugging" indicates that they are accustomed to unfair retribution. Furthermore, none of the instances of wrongdoing mentioned so far in the novel have been crimes of malice: neither Stephen when he wishes to marry Eileen, nor the boys caught in homosexual activity, nor Parnell caught in a relationship with another woman, demonstrates any overt ill will toward others. None of them robs, kills, or wishes harm directly upon another, yet they are all punished more severely than they deserve. Joyce explores this idea of undeserved punishment explicitly when Stephen is painfully punished for a transgression that he has not committed. When Stephen later defends himself and denounces the punishment as unfair, he acts as a representative of all the others who are unfairly punished.

There is great symbolic importance in the scene in which Stephen's peers lift him up over their heads and acclaim him as a hero, as it suggests a heroic side of the young boy that we have not seen before. Stephen's summoning of the courage to denounce Father Dolan's injustice is a moral triumph, rather than a more conventional heroic triumph in sports or fighting. Joyce highlights the difference between these two kinds of heroism in the pictures of martyrs that Stephen passes on his way to the rector's office. His walk among the images of upright men suggests that he may be joining their ranks, and his moral victory foreshadows his later ambitions to become a spiritual guide for his country. The role of hero does not necessarily come easily to Stephen, however. His schoolmates lift him up "till he struggled to get free," suggesting that heroism is a burden associated with constraints or a lack of freedom. Significantly, Stephen's heroic role does not ensure any new feeling of social belonging: after the cheers die away, Stephen realizes that he is alone. Joyce implies that becoming a hero may not bring an end to Stephen's outsider status or to his solitude.

Chapter 2, Sections 1–2

Summary

Chapter 2, Section 1

Stephen spends the summer in his family's new house in Blackrock, a town near Dublin. He enjoys the company of his Uncle Charles, a lively old man who smokes horrible "black twists" of tobacco and allows the boy to take handfuls of fruit from a local vendor. Every morning, Stephen and Uncle Charles take a walk through the marketplace to the park, where Stephen meets Mike Flynn, a friend of his father's. Flynn tries to train Stephen to be a runner, but Stephen doubts whether he will ever be very successful. After training, Stephen goes to the chapel with Uncle Charles for morning prayers. Stephen respects his uncle's piety but does not share it.

Stephen takes weekend walks through the town with his father and uncle, listening to their political discussions and their stories about the past. Stephen does not understand many of their references. At home, Stephen reads Alexandre Dumas's novelThe Count of Monte Cristo, and is deeply engrossed in its adventure and romance. Stephen imagines himself as the lover of Mercédès, the novel's heroine.Ashamed of his father's poor management of the family's finances, Stephen uses the imaginary adventures of Dumas's novel as an escape. He befriends a young boy named Aubrey Mills, who becomes his constant companion in reenacting the adventures of The Count of Monte Cristo.Stephen feels that he is different from the other children he knows, and that he is in touch with a higher world. He imagines a future moment in which he will be transfigured by some magic revelation.

Chapter 2, Section 2

The Dedalus family begins to feel its financial troubles more acutely, and the moving men arrive to dismantle the house for a move to Dublin. In Dublin, Stephen enjoys more freedom than before, as his father is busy and Uncle Charles has grown senile. Stephen explores the city and wanders along the docks, still imagining himself as the Count of Monte Cristo. He is taken on visits to see his aunt and to see another elderly female relative.

Stephen senses in himself a new mood of bitterness, as he criticizes his own foolish impulses but finds himself unable to control them. His interactions with his aunt are awkward and result in misunderstandings. At a birthday party for another child, Stephen feels no gaiety or fun, and merely watches the other guests silently. Though he sings a song with the others, he enjoys feeling separate from the other children. However, he is attracted to one of the girls, E. C., at the party. They leave the party together and take the same tram home, riding on different levels but conversing for the entire ride. Stephen is attracted to the black stockings she wears, and recalls Eileen Vance. He wonders whether E. C. wants him to touch her and kiss her, but he does nothing.

At home, Stephen writes a love poem in his notebook, titling it "To E— C—" in imitation of Byron. He finds himself confusingly overwhelmed by a longing for romance. As summer comes to an end, Stephen is told that he will be going to a new school because his father is no longer able to afford Clongowes.

Analysis

These early sections of Chapter 2 are dominated by a sense of decline, which manifests itself in several different forms. Stephen sees the reliable constancy of boyhood give way to a new sense that people and places change, and very often get worse. Uncle Charles is a sympathetic, eccentric figure in the first section of the chapter, but by the second has become senile and can no longer go out with Stephen. Similarly, Mike Flynn had once been a great runner, but now looks laughable when he runs. Most important, the Dedalus family's financial situation falls from relative prosperity to near poverty. The moving men's dismantling of the family home mirrors the dismantling of Stephen's earlier naïve faith in the world. Indeed, witnessing this slow slide into mediocrity affects Stephen deeply and directly. He is unhappy even in the company of all his relatives at Christmastime. In part, Stephen is angry with himself, but he is also angry with his change of fortune and his own changing relationship with the world around him. Stephen still feels set apart from the world, but here we begin to see the development of his capacity for moral criticism.

While the world around him declines, Stephen's own sensitivities become more acute. In particular, we see the development of his attitude toward literature. Just as Stephen identifies with the protagonist of the children's story that his father reads to him at the beginning of the novel, he now imagines himself as the Count of Monte Cristo. These two experiences of reading show how Stephen's identification with a literary character shapes his perceptions of himself. Unlike the young boy in the children's story, Stephen's new role model, the count, is active, adventurous, heroic, and even somewhat dangerous. Like the count, who is a pursuer of vengeance and a righter of wrongs, Stephen is frustrated with the unfairness he sees in the world. In showing these relationships that Stephen forges with literary characters, Joyce implies that literature is not necessarily a solitary pursuit. Indeed, Stephen's friendship with Aubrey Mills is largely based on a shared passion for imitating Dumas's novel. Literature also helps guide Stephen's newly burgeoning sexuality, which he is able to channel into dreams of pursuing Mercédès, the heroine of The Count of Monte Cristo. Stephen finds romantic models in literature again when he uses a love verse by Lord Byron as a model for the poem he writes to E. C., the girl after whom he lusts at the birthday party. The intertwining of life and literature foreshadows the later ways in which the "Artist" and the "Young Man" of the title—one who creates art, and another who lives life—complement and reinforce each other.

Stephen's love interests develop in a complex manner. He experiences a tension between his somewhat awkward real-life erotic encounters and his idealized vision of gallantly pursuing Mercédès, the heroine of Dumas's novel. Yet Stephen's vision of ideal love is less a desire for a perfect love object than a hope of possessing a woman. The Count of Monte Cristo, on whom Stephen models his own idea of love, ultimately rebuffs Mercédès with the pithy rejection, "Madam, I never eat muscatel grapes." Stephen's fantasy, then, is not one of a love-filled romance, but one of repudiating a woman who desires him. The ambivalent nature of Stephen's desire manifests itself again when he stares, smitten, at a girl at a party, but then lets nothing come of it. Indeed, while he is staring, Stephen actually contemplates not the girl at the party but his first crush, Eileen Vance, whom he had watched years before. Unlike that of a traditional romantic hero, Stephen's desire for women is jumbled and confusing.

Chapter 2, Sections 3–4

Summary

Chapter 2, Section 3

Stephen, now a teenager, is a student at Belvedere College, a Jesuit school. He is preparing for a performance in the play the school is putting on for Whitsuntide, the Christian feast of Pentecost. Stephen is to play the role of a farcical teacher, a role he has won because of his height and his serious manners. After watching various others get ready for the performance, he wanders outdoors, where his school friend Heron and Heron's friend Wallis greet him. Heron encourages Stephen to imitate the school rector when performing the role of the stodgy teacher. The two boys tease Stephen for not smoking. Wallis and Heron also playfully mention that they saw Mr. Dedalus arrive at the theater with a young girl. Stephen imagines that the girl is the one Stephen had flirted with earlier at the birthday party. Wallis and Heron playfully try to force Stephen to confess his dalliance with the girl.

Stephen suddenly recalls a dispute with Heron and two other students over the question of which English poet is the best. Stephen had named Byron, while the other student had said that Tennyson was obviously superior. Remembering this quarrel, Stephen reflects on his father's command for him to be a good gentleman and a good Catholic, but the words sound hollow in Stephen's ears now. Stephen is shaken from his reverie by a reminder that the curtain will go up soon. Stephen performs his role successfully. After the play, he does not stop to talk to his father, but goes walking in the town, highly agitated.

Chapter 2, Section 4

Stephen and his father sit in a railway carriage bound for the city of Cork, where his father is auctioning off some property. Stephen is bored by his father's sentimental tales of old friends and annoyed by his drinking. Falling asleep at Maryborough, Stephen is awakened by a frightening vision, in which he imagines the villagers asleep in the towns passing by outside his window. After praying, he falls asleep again to the sound of the train.

Stephen and Mr. Dedalus take a room at the Victoria Hotel. Stephen lies in bed while his father washes and grooms, softly singing a tune from a popular variety show. Stephen compliments his father on his singing. At breakfast, Stephen listens while his father questions the waiter about old acquaintances, and the waiter misunderstands which men Mr. Dedalus is discussing.

Visiting Mr. Dedalus's medical school, Stephen comes upon the startling word "Foetus" carved into the top of one of the desks in a lecture hall. Stephen has a vision of a mustached student carving the word years ago, to the amusement of onlookers. Leaving the college, Stephen listens to his father's stories of the old days. Mr. Dedalus tells Stephen that he should always socialize with gentlemen. Stephen feels overwhelmed by a sense of shame and alienation, and regains his grip on himself by telling himself his own name and identity. Going from bar to bar with Mr. Dedalus, Stephen is ashamed by his father's drinking and flirtation with the barmaids. They encounter an old friend of Mr. Dedalus, a little old man who jokingly claims to be twenty-seven years old. Stephen feels distant from his father, and recalls a poem by Shelley about the moon wandering the sky in solitude.

Analysis

Stephen grows increasingly alienated from his father, largely because of Mr. Dedalus's inability to connect with reality. Stephen is bored by his father's tales of the old days as he rides with him in the train to Cork. He sees how much his father has lost touch with the world: Mr. Dedalus is unable even to talk to the hotel waiter about common acquaintances, as he and the waiter get mixed up about which acquaintance they are discussing. Mr. Dedalus's failure to keep up with the times seems pathetic, and we sense that his constant drinking throughout this nostalgic trip home is an attempt to protect himself from the pain he cannot face directly. Mr. Dedalus revisits his former medical school, perhaps to recapture his lost youth, but the visit is repulsive to Stephen, who has a vision of a student from his father's era carving the disgustingly incongruous word he sees on the table. Here again, Mr. Dedalus's blithely sweet memories of the past seem irrelevant to the family's hard times in the present, and his drunken denial of the reality around him alienates his son. When Stephen states his name for his own reassurance, saying, "I am Stephen Dedalus," we sense that he feels the need to assert his own identity because his father's identity is rapidly crumbling.

Stephen's role in the Whitsuntide play foreshadows the role of hero he later aspires to fulfill. The fact that Stephen has been chosen to play a teacher is significant, but also ironic, as the role requires that Stephen play the teacher comically rather than seriously. This parody of a teacher figure hints at the novel's underlying doubt about the validity of leading or instructing others. Stephen performs the role successfully, and is amazed at how lifelike the play feels: the "disjointed lifeless thing had suddenly assumed a life of its own. It seemed now to play itself. . . ." The life Stephen discerns in the play makes him aware of the importance of acting as a metaphor for living. Stephen's awareness of life's drama becomes problematic, however, when the things he previously thinks real begin to appear false. He reflects on the moralizing voices of his early years that "had now come to be hollow-sounding in his ears." Art and life are, in a sense, switching places: while the artistic performance seems lifelike, life itself seems artificial.

Joyce's experimentation with the technique of stream of consciousness—capturing the processes and rhythms by which characters think—is especially evident in the sudden flashbacks of the play scene. Joyce narrates Heron's and Wallis's near violent teasing about Stephen's flirtation with the girl in the audience. Then suddenly, without any warning, Joyce takes us back to Stephen's first year at Belvedere, when he was accused of heresy because of a mistake he made in an essay. This memory segues into another memory from a few nights after the first, when Stephen was forced into a ridiculous schoolboy argument about the relative merits of Byron and Tennyson. When this argument is finished, the narration returns to the scene of the play in the present moment. Joyce wants us to feel unsettled and even a bit confused by these unannounced leaps from present to past. The time shifts represent the way Stephen's mind—and the human mind in general—impulsively makes constant connections between experiences from the present and memories from the past. We are never told why Stephen's mind links the girl, the literary dispute, and the heresy accusation, which leaves us with an impression of psychological complexity that we cannot fully unravel.

Chapter 2, Section 5–Chapter 3, Section 1

Summary

Chapter 2, Section 5

Stephen and Mr. Dedalus enter the Bank of Ireland, leaving the rest of the family waiting outside, so that Stephen can cash the check for thirty-three pounds he has received as a literary prize. Mr. Dedalus muses patriotically about the fact that the Bank of Ireland is housed in the former Irish Parliament building. Outside, the family discusses where to have dinner, and Stephen invites them to a fancy restaurant. This initiates a great spending spree in which Stephen regales his family members with costly gifts, treats, and loans.

Stephen's prize money is soon depleted, leaving him upset by his foolishness. He had hoped that spending the money would bring the family together and appease some of their animosities, but he realizes it has not worked—he feels as alienated from his family as ever. Stephen begins wandering the streets at night, tormented by sexual cravings. One night, a young prostitute dressed in pink accosts him. Stephen follows her to her room. He is reluctant to kiss her at first, but they eventually have sex. It is Stephen's first sexual experience.

Chapter 3, Section 1

In December, Stephen sits in his school classroom, daydreaming about the nice stew of mutton, potatoes, and carrots he hopes to have later. He imagines that his belly is urging him to stuff himself. Stephen's thoughts soon turn to the wandering he will embark on at night and the variety of prostitutes who will proposition him. He is unable to focus on the mathematical equation in his notebook, which seems to spread out before his eyes like a peacock's tail. He contemplates the universe, and imagines he hears a distant music in it. He is aware of a "cold lucid indifference" that grips him. Hearing a fellow student answer one of the teacher's questions stupidly, Stephen feels contempt for his classmates.

On his wall, Stephen has a scroll testifying to his leadership of a society devoted to the Virgin Mary. Mary fascinates him, and with pleasure he reads a Latin passage dedicated to her, reveling in its music. At first, Stephen does not see his veneration of Mary as being at odds with his sinful habit of visiting prostitutes, but he gradually becomes more worried by his sins of the flesh. He realizes that from the sin of lust, other sins such as gluttony and greed have emerged. The school rector announces a retreat in honor of the celebration of St. Francis Xavier, whom he praises as a great soldier of God. Stephen feels his soul wither at these words.

Analysis

These sections explore the relationship between worldly pleasures and sin. The scene in which Stephen cashes his prize money is the first of several episodes in the novel that focus intensely on money and the thrill money evokes. The prize money Stephen wins seems strangely connected to his religion: the sum, thirty-three pounds, echoes Christ's age when he was crucified. Stephen confuses monetary and spiritual matters when he attempts to purchase familial harmony with money and gifts. In Christian theology, the sin of trying to exchange spiritual things for worldly ones is known as simony, a word that recalls the name of Stephen's father, Simon. This implies that such confusion of the material with the spiritual—with concepts such as faith and love—may be part of Simon's legacy to his son. Indeed, Stephen does have trouble seeing the incompatibility of some of his actions with his religious beliefs, venerating Mary even as he daydreams about visiting prostitutes. However, when Stephen says that his soul withers as he hears the rector praise St. Francis Xavier, it is clear that Stephen knows the church would view his acts as sinful.

Stephen's relationship with women becomes more complex in this section. He simultaneously displays a fervent devotion to the Virgin Mary and an obsession with visiting whores. In both cases, Stephen relates to women not as individuals but as representatives of a type. Both Mary and the prostitutes are described more as myths or dreams than as any element of everyday life. Stephen portrays Mary in a highly poetic and exotic manner, using evocative words such as "spikenard," "myrrh," and "rich garments" to describe her, and associating her with the morning star, bright and musical. However, when Stephen muses that the lips with which he reads a prayer to Mary are the same lips that have lewdly kissed a whore, we see that he has mysteriously linked the images of the whore and the Virgin in his mind as opposite visions of womanliness. Indeed, Stephen describes his encounter with the prostitute in terms similar to a prayer to Mary: when he kisses her, he "bow[s] his head" and "read[s] the meaning of her movements." When Stephen closes his eyes, "surrendering himself to her," this quiet submission mimics the Christian surrender to the Holy Spirit. Moreover, both the Virgin Mary and the prostitute represent a refuge from everyday strife, doubts, and alienation. Stephen attempts to flee mentally to the pure realm of the Virgin Mary when he is repelled by the stupidity of his classmates. Similarly, Stephen flees to the prostitute after reaching the dismal realization that his financial efforts have done nothing to allay the discord in his family. Like Mary, the prostitute offers him a chance to escape the discord around him in an almost religious way, if only momentarily.

Chapter 3, Section 2

Summary

Stephen sits in the chapel as Father Arnall, appearing as a guest lecturer in Stephen's new school, reads a verse from the book of Ecclesiastes. The sight of his teacher reawakens Stephen's childhood memories of Clongowes, especially the time he was thrown into the cesspool and his subsequent recuperation in the infirmary. Father Arnall announces to the students that he is there to announce a retreat marking the day of St. Francis Xavier, patron saint of the college. The retreat, he explains, will not be simply a holiday from classes, but a withdrawal into inner contemplation of the soul, and of the soul's need to heed the four "last things": death, judgment, heaven, and hell. Father Arnall urges the boys to put aside all worldly thoughts and win the blessing of the soul's salvation.

Walking home in silence with his classmates, Stephen is aggrieved by the thought of the rich meal he has just eaten, and thinks it has made him into a bestial and greasy creature. The next day he falls even deeper into despair over the degraded state of his soul, suffering in agony and feeling a "deathchill." He imagines his weak and rotting body on its deathbed, unable to find the salvation it needs. Even worse, he pictures the Day of Judgment, when God will punish sinners with no hope of appeal or mercy.

Crossing the square, Stephen hears the laugh of a young girl. He thinks of Emma, pained by the thought that his filthy sexual escapades with prostitutes have soiled Emma's innocence. With feverish regret, he recalls all the whores with whom he has committed sins of the flesh. When this fit of shame passes, Stephen feels unable to raise his soul from its abject powerlessness. God and the Holy Virgin seem too far from him to help, until he imagines the Virgin reaching down to join his hands with Emma's in loving union. Stephen listens to the rain falling on the chapel and imagines another biblical flood coming.

When the service resumes, Father Arnall delivers a sermon about hell, recounting the original sin of Lucifer and his fellow angels who fell from heaven at God's command. Father Arnall describes the torments of hell in terrifying detail, beginning with the physical horrors. He graphically depicts the pestilential air of the place, spoiled by the stench of rotting bodies, and the fires of hell that rage intensely and eternally. The blood and the brains of the sinner boil with no hope of relief as he lies in hell's lake of fire. Even worse, warns Father Arnall, is the horrid company that must be endured by the hell-dweller: devils as well as other sinners.

The sermon leaves Stephen paralyzed with fear, recognizing that hell is his destination. After chapel, he numbly listens to the trivial talk of the other students, who are not as affected by the sermon as he is. In English class, Stephen can think only of his soul. When a messenger arrives with news that confessions are being heard, Stephen tries to imagine himself confessing, and is terrified. Back in chapel, Father Arnall continues his tour of hell by focusing on its spiritual torments, which horrify Stephen no less than the physical ones have earlier. Together with Father Arnall, all the boys pray for God's forgiveness.

Analysis

In this section, we see Joyce borrowing from classic works of literature in innovative ways. Father Arnall's vision of hell, which leads to a turning point in young Stephen's life, draws heavily from Dante Alighieri's poem Inferno,which tells the story of Dante's descent into hell. Inferno is a landmark in the genre of spiritual autobiography—the recounting of a soul's progression through righteous and sinful states. A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Manoffers another such spiritual autobiography, as Joyce explores his own spiritual history through the character of Stephen Dedalus. Joyce places Stephen's glimpse of hell at the exact center of his novel, giving it a structure similar to that of Dante's Divine Comedy, of which Inferno is the first part.Inferno places the devil at the center of the Earth, so that the pilgrim seeking God must go downward before he ascends upward toward salvation. Similarly, Stephen's path has been a decline into sin and immorality that brings him to this fearful central view of hell. Just as Dante's despair is eased by the appearance of the Virgin Mary beckoning him upward to heavenly union with his beloved Beatrice, Stephen receives a vision of Mary placing his hand in his beloved Emma's. The visit to the inferno reveals unspeakable torments, but nonetheless offers a way out, a path toward ultimate holy love.

In this chapter, Stephen undergoes more than a mere vision or tour of hell—the agonies he suffers during the sermon seem closer to the experience of hell itself. He does not simply picture hell's flames in his mind's eye, but actually feels the flames on his body: "His flesh shrank together as if it felt the approach of the ravenous tongues of flames." In addition, he does not just imagine the boiling brains described by the preacher, but actually senses that "[h]is brain was simmering and bubbling within the cracking tenement of the skull." Stephen's close identification with the subject of the sermon sets him apart from his fellow students, who later chat casually about it. This dissimilar reaction reiterates the fact that Stephen is a social outsider. He experiences spiritual yearnings more immediately and intensely than others, even feeling them physically.

Stephen's experience as he contemplates the religious sermon binds his perceptions of past and future. Stephen's horror of hell is largely a horror of sufferings to come in the future, which he experiences as if they are in the present. He lives through his own future death: "He, he himself, his body to which he had yielded was dying. Into the grave with it! Nail it down into a wooden box, the corpse." Stephen's imagination carries him still farther into the future, all the way to the equally terrifying Judgment Day. However, while religion forces Stephen to face the future, it also forces him to confront the past. Father Arnall visits the school like a figure out of Stephen's memory, a ghost from years gone by. Stephen responds to the visit with a return to infancy: "His soul, as these memories came back to him, became again a child's soul." Stephen's encounter with the past is more than just memory—it is a momentary change in his very soul. Thus, Arnall's sermon prompts Stephen both back toward childhood and forward toward death, reaching out to both extremes of his life. The novel suggests that the aims of autobiography and the aims of religion are similar, as both lead individuals to integrate their present, past, and future lives in an attempt to make sense of the whole.

Chapter 3, Section 3–Chapter 4, Section 1

Summary

Chapter 3, Section 3

Another life! A life of grace and virtue and happiness! It was true. It was not a dream from which he would wake. The past was past.

Stephen goes up to his room after dinner in order to "be alone with his soul." He feels fear and despair as he pauses at the threshold, worrying that evil creatures are in the room waiting for him. Going in, he is relieved to find that it is just his ordinary room. Stephen feels weak and numb. He admits to himself the horror of all the sins he has committed, and is amazed that God has not stricken him dead yet. Lying down, Stephen closes his eyes and has a fearful vision of a field covered in weeds and excrement, occupied by six ghoulish goatlike creatures with gray skin. Swishing their tails menacingly, the creatures trace ever-smaller circles around Stephen, uttering incomprehensible words.

Springing awake from this nightmare, Stephen rushes frantically to open the window for some fresh air. He finds that the rain has stopped and the skies are full of promise. He prays to Jesus, weeping for his lost innocence. Walking through the streets that evening, Stephen knows he must confess. He asks an old woman where the nearest chapel is, and goes to it immediately. He anxiously waits for his turn to enter the confessional. When it is finally Stephen's turn, the priest asks how long it has been since his last confession, and Stephen replies that it has been eight months. He confesses that he has had sexual relations with a woman and that he is only sixteen. The priest offers forgiveness and Stephen heads home feeling filled with grace. He goes to sleep. The next day he finds himself at the altar with his classmates and receives the Sacrament.

Chapter 4, Section 1

Stephen imposes a new system of religious discipline upon himself that transforms his life. He prays every morning before a holy image, yet his sense of triumph is lessened by his uncertainty whether his prayers are sufficient to counteract the ill effects of all his sins. He divides his daily schedule into parts that correspond to particular spiritual functions. Stephen keeps rosary beads in his trouser pockets so that he can touch them as he walks, and he divides each rosary into three parts devoted to the three theological virtues. Reading books of devotional literature, Stephen learns about the three aspects of the Holy Trinity. Though he cannot understand the solemn mystery of the Trinity, he finds the mystery easier to accept than God's love for his soul.

Gradually, however, Stephen comes to accept the fact that God loves him, and he begins to see the whole world as one vast expression of divine love. He is careful not to get carried away by his spiritual triumphs, and he pursues even the lowliest devotion carefully. Stephen avoids making eye contact with women, and sniffs the most objectionable odors he can find, in order to "mortify" his sense of smell. He never consciously changes positions in bed. Despite his attempts at self-discipline, he is periodically tempted by sin and bothered by sudden fits of impatience, as when his mother sneezes. Stephen comforts himself, however, with the knowledge that strong temptations prove that his fortress is holding tight against the devil's attacks. He asks himself whether he has corrected his life.

Analysis

Stephen begins fervently to apply spiritual discipline to his own actions, in contrast to his passive status as a member of the audience listening to Father Arnall's sermon and attempting to understand it academically. Long passages during the sermon make no mention of Stephen at all, as the focus is on hell itself. Here, however, we focus on Stephen's reaction, which is no longer passive. His withdrawal into himself is not only described in psychological terms, but in physical ones as well, as when he goes to his room "to be alone with his soul." In applying the knowledge from the sermon, Stephen becomes the master of his spiritual fate. Even his dream of hell indicates a more active relationship with the torments he undergoes, as the goatlike devils come from his own mind as his own creations. Since they are products of Stephen's own mind, he can disown them if he wishes. Therefore, as scary as the goat nightmare is, it is something of a release and a relief for Stephen, who runs to the window to be soothed by the fresh air. His decision to confess his sins is the next step in his gradual process of taking control of his spiritual state.

Stephen's rigorous program of spiritual self-discipline is impressive, and demonstrates his extraordinary earnestness. The unbelievable asceticism that he willingly adopts demonstrates his strength of will and suggests his heroism. Like some of the early ascetics and hermits of the Christian Church, who lived in the desert and ate locusts, Stephen displays an astonishing ability to overcome his bodily longings and to affirm the superiority of the soul. In doing so, he proves his similarity to martyrs and saints.

However, Joyce suggests that a saint's life may not be desirable for Stephen. Joyce's style, which is richly detailed and concretely sensual in earlier sections of the novel, now becomes extremely dry, abstract, and academic. This style corresponds with Stephen's psychological state: as Stephen becomes more ascetic and self-depriving, Joyce's language loses its colorful adjectives and complex syntax. The very difficulty of reading such dry language suggests the difficulty of the life that Stephen is leading. Stephen's question at the end of Chapter 4, Section 1—"I have amended my life, have I not?"—emphasizes the fact that Joyce himself has amended his prose. Importantly, though Stephen explicitly acknowledges that his life has been changed, he does not say that it has necessarily improved. His heroic efforts to deprive himself are impressive, but do not necessarily make him a better person.

Chapter 4, Sections 2–3

Summary

This was the call of life to his soul not the dull gross voice of the world of duties and despair, not the inhuman voice that had called him to the pale service of the altar.

Chapter 4, Section 2

Vacation has ended and Stephen is back in his Jesuit school, where he has been mysteriously summoned to a meeting with the director. Stephen goes to the director and listens to his idle discussion about whether or not the Capuchin priestly robe should be eliminated. The director laughingly refers to the robe as a "jupe," meaning "skirt" in French. Stephen feels awkward. The "jupe" reference calls up thoughts of women's undergarments in Stephen's mind. Stephen wonders why the director makes mention of skirts, and it occurs to him that the priest may be testing Stephen's response to the mention of women. The director asks Stephen whether he has ever felt he has a vocation, and urges him to consider a life in the church. The director says that the priesthood is the greatest honor bestowed on a man, but adds that it is a very serious decision to make.

At first, Stephen is intrigued by the thought of the priesthood, and pictures himself in the admired, respected role of the silent and serious priest carrying out his duties. As he imagines the bland and ordered life awaiting him in the church, however, he begins to feel a deep unrest burning inside him. He walks back home from school and passes a shrine to the Virgin Mary, but feels surprisingly cold toward it.

When Stephen sees his disorderly house, he knows that his fate is to learn wisdom not in the refuge of the church, but "among the snares of the world." Arriving home, he asks his brothers and sisters where their parents are. He learns that his parents are looking for yet another house because the family is about to be thrown out of its current one. Stephen reflects on how weary his siblings seem even before they have started on life's journey.

Chapter 4, Section 3

Stephen impatiently waits for his father and tutor to return with news about the possibility of his admission into the university. Stephen's mother is hostile to the idea, but Stephen feels that a great fate is in store for him. He sets off walking toward the sea, encountering a group of teacher friars on the way. He considers greeting them, but concludes that it is impossible to imagine them being generous toward him. He recites snatches of poetry and regards the light on the water. Stephen comes upon several of his schoolmates who are swimming, and they jokingly greet him as they say his name in Greek.

Reflecting on the myth of Daedalus that his name evokes, Stephen ponders his similarity to that "fabulous artificer" who constructed wings with which he flew out of imprisonment. Stephen is suddenly enraptured by this thought, and feels that he will soon begin building a new soul that will allow him to rise above current miseries. At that moment, he sees a beautiful girl wading in the water, her skirts hiked up high. He and the girl make eye contact for a moment. Stephen perceives her as an angel of youth and beauty, and he swoons inwardly. In the evening, he climbs a hill and watches the moon.

Analysis

Although Stephen's path through life continues to be guided by females, the kinds of women who influence him change as he grows older. The Virgin Mary has been Stephen's main object of devotion, but now she seems to have lost her power over him. When he passes by a shrine to the Virgin on his way home from school, he glances at it "coldly," no longer stirred by her presence. The school director's odd emphasis on the word "jupe," meaning "skirt," implies that some other woman may have replaced Mary in Stephen's heart. Stephen's turn away from the church and toward the world is emphasized when he turns from the Virgin to the beautiful girl he sees bathing. Importantly, this shift occurs directly after Stephen contemplates Daedalus's use of art to achieve freedom—a suggestion that Stephen will do the same. The bathing girl is a secular version of the Virgin Mary, an emblem of a means to rise to heaven, but without the church.

Joyce's novels are notable for their allusions to classic works of literature, as seemingly insignificant comments or phrases are often references to other novels, plays, or poems. One of the primary sources on which Joyce draws inA Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man is Greek myth. The mythic aspect of the novel emerges clearly in this section with the reference to Daedalus. In Greek mythology, Daedalus was a renowned craftsman who built a pair of wings for himself and a pair for his son, in an attempt to escape imprisonment on the island of Crete. In this novel, Stephen's view of himself changes when his friends address him with a Greek version of his name. He suddenly begins to reflect on certain affinities between himself and that mythical "fabulous artificer," no longer defining himself through Christian doctrine by relating himself to Christ and Mary. Rather, Stephen turns to pagan sources and inspirations in his quest for self-definition. His name is significant. His first name alludes to the first Christian martyr, St. Stephen. His surname, however, alludes to a pagan character whose skill allows him to rise high above the world. In this section, Stephen begins to shift his emphasis from his first name to his last name. He dwells on the idea of Daedalus's flight-giving wings, a piece of artisan handicraft that symbolizes the individual's ability to create art and the possibility of transcending worldly woes. Much as Daedalus escaped prison, Stephen dreams of escaping the misery of his impoverished family and narrow, sad life.

To Stephen, the vision of his mythical namesake is not just a hint of his own fate, but a prophecy of it, a prediction that cannot be avoided. Stephen's mental image of "a hawklike man flying sunward above the sea" strikes him as a "prophecy of the end he had been born to serve and had been following through the mists of childhood and boyhood." Daedalus is a "symbol of the artist forging anew in his workshop out of the sluggish matter of the earth a new soaring impalpable imperishable being." This vision is not simply an image of his future, but of his childhood and boyhood as well. His vision reveals a hidden thread that connects Stephen's past, present, and future into one whole. Most important, perhaps, Stephen realizes that the art that he will forge is not merely a beautiful object, but an entire eternal existence. Through his art, Stephen creates an "imperishable being" very much like a soul—he will not just create literature, but will create himself.

Chapter 5, Sections 1–2

—The language in which we are speaking is his before it is mine. How different are the words home,Christ,ale,master, on his lips and on mine!

Summary

Chapter 5, Section 1

Stephen eats a poor meal and examines the pawnshop tickets upon which his increasingly impoverished family survives. Mrs. Dedalus expresses her worry that Stephen's character has been changed by university life. From upstairs, Mr. Dedalus snaps that his son is a "lazy bitch." Annoyed and frustrated, Stephen leaves the house and wanders through the rainy Dublin landscape, quoting poems to himself and musing on the aesthetic theories of Aristotle and Aquinas. A nearby clock tolls eleven, reminding him of his friend MacCann. Stephen reflects on MacCann's accusation that Stephen is too socially disengaged. Stephen realizes that he is missing his English lecture, but is not overly concerned; he imagines the students meekly taking notes. On the whole, he is disappointed by university education.

As he walks to the campus, Stephen recollects a visit to his friend Davin, a handsome and athletic boy devoted to the Irish cause. Davin had told Stephen a story about being invited to spend the night with a housewife he does not know. Stephen notes that it is now too late to go to his French class and decides to head for the physics lecture hall, where he runs into the dean of studies. The dean is trying to start a fire, and the two discuss the art of igniting flames. Stephen and the dean speak about aesthetics, but Stephen is disappointed by the older man's spotty knowledge, and the conversation is awkward. When Stephen uses the word "tundish," referring to a funnel for adding oil to a lamp, the dean does not know the word, which Stephen concludes must be Irish. Stephen reflects that English will always be a borrowed language for him, "acquired speech."

Stephen then attends a physics class that is comic and ineffectual. Afterward, Stephen chats with Cranly, MacCann, and other classmates, joking with them in Latin. MacCann urges Stephen to sign a petition for universal peace. When Stephen seems reluctant, MacCann accuses him of being an antisocial minor poet. Temple, a classmate who idolizes Stephen for his independent spirit, defends Stephen. Another student, Lynch, greets them. Davin proudly asserts his own Irish nationalist fervor, and asks Stephen why he has dropped out of Irish language class. Davin says that Stephen is a true Irishman in his heart, but too proud.

Stephen explains that the soul takes time to be born, longer than the body. Stephen explains his aesthetic theory of the ideal stasis or immobility evoked by a work of art, a theory he derives from Aristotle and Aquinas. He also explains the ideals—integrity, consonance, and radiance—that he believes every artistic object must achieve. Stephen's concept of divinity lies in the aesthetic—his God has withdrawn from the world of men, "paring his fingernails" in solitude. Stephen's point is that truly transcendent art must be above the common fray of mankind. Lynch whispers to Stephen that Stephen's beloved, an unnamed girl, is present. Stephen wonders whether he has judged this girl too harshly, and muses upon her.

Chapter 5, Section 2

Stephen awakens in the morning in a mood of contentment and enchantment, having dreamed of erotic union with his beloved. Savoring the feeling, he undertakes to write down a romantic poem he has composed. He recollects being together with the girl in a room with a piano, singing and dancing, and remembers her telling him that she feels he is not a monk, but a heretic.

Stephen is jerked out of his reverie by jealous suspicions about Father Moran's interest in the girl, Emma. Stephen reflects that the last time he wrote verses to Emma was ten years ago, after they rode home together on the same tram after a birthday party. He accuses himself of folly, and wonders whether Emma has been aware of his devotion to her. Stephen feels desire flow through his body, and turns again to the villanelle, the poem he is composing.

Analysis

The dean's inability to understand Stephen's use of the word "tundish" may seem like a minor detail, but it actually symbolizes the clash of cultures that is at the heart of the Irish experience. The dean is English, and represents to Stephen all the institutional power and prestige England has wielded throughout its colonial occupation of Ireland. The dean is thus a representative of cultural domination. By failing to understand Stephen's word—which is derived from Irish rather than English—the dean reminds us of the linguistic and cultural divide between England and Ireland. With sadness and despair, Stephen reflects that this divide may be unbridgeable, and his disappointment underscores the discontent he already feels for stale university life. The episode with the dean shows Stephen the importance of creating his own language, as the English he has been using is not really his own. He realizes that English "will always be for me an acquired speech. I have not made or accepted its words. My voice holds them at bay."

Joyce reinforces this idea of speaking someone else's language throughout the novel through repeated uses of quoted speech from a variety of external sources. The opening lines of the novel, for instance, are a child's story told by someone else. Later, we find Stephen frequently quoting Aquinas and Aristotle. Yet despite these constant citations, no quotation marks are used in the novel, sometimes making it difficult to tell the difference between a character borrowing someone else's words and a character speaking in his or her own voice. The "tundish" episode with the dean shows Stephen the necessity of making this distinction and the importance of creating a distinctive and truly Irish voice for himself.

Joyce also uses these sections to explore the contrast between individuality and community. On one hand, Stephen is now more of a free-floating individual than ever before. His links with his family, whose sinking poverty level and carelessness repel him, are weaker than ever. His mother is disappointed with the changes university life has brought about in her son, and his father calls him a "lazy bitch." There seems to be little parental pride or affection to offset Mr. Dedalus's hostility. Moreover, Stephen's social life is hardly any less solitary. He fails to share the ideological position of any of his friends: he cannot adopt the Irish patriotism of Davin or the international pacifism of MacCann. Even the flattering adulation of Temple fails to inspire Stephen. Therefore, having given up hope on family, church, friends, and education, Stephen seems to be more alone than ever. This assessment is only partly true, however, as Stephen is never completely isolated in the novel. His family repels him, but he continues to see them and speak to them, and his warm address to his siblings shows that he still has family ties. Furthermore, even when composing epitaphs to dead friendships, Stephen is surrounded by his friends and interacts with them in a lively and outgoing way. The proximity of such human relationships is clearly important, as Stephen retains a powerful commitment to his society until the very end of the novel, even when dreaming of fashioning a new soul for himself.

Chapter 5, Sections 3–4

Summary

Chapter 5, Section 3

Old father, old artificer, stand me now and ever in good stead.

Sitting on the steps of the university library, Stephen watches a flock of birds circling above and tries to identify their species. He muses on the idea of flight and on the fact that men have always tried to fly. His thoughts turn to lines from a Yeats play that has recently opened, lines that characterize swallows as symbols of freedom. He remembers having heard harsh criticism of the play, as some young men accused Yeats of libel and atheism. Leaving the library, Stephen walks with Cranly and Temple, who fall into an argument. Stephen's beloved Emma leaves the library and nods a greeting to Cranly, ignoring Stephen. Stephen feels hurt and jealous, and envisions Emma walking home. A squat young man named Glynn approaches Stephen and his friends, and Temple engages them in a religious dispute about the fate of unbaptized children.

Leaving the rest of the students, Cranly and Stephen walk on alone. Stephen tells Cranly about an unpleasant conversation he has had at home. Stephen's mother wants him to attend Easter services in the church, but Stephen no longer feels religious faith and does not want to go. Cranly answers that a mother's love is more important than religious doubts, and advises Stephen to go. Cranly gently tests Stephen's new faithlessness by insulting Jesus and closely watching his friend's reaction. Cranly concludes that Stephen may still have vestiges of faith. Stephen sadly tells his friend that he feels he may soon have to leave the university and abandon his friends in order to pursue his artistic ambitions. Stephen says that he feels he must obey the dictum "I will not serve," refusing any ideology that is imposed upon him from above, even that of friends and family. Cranly warns Stephen of the risk of extreme solitude, but Stephen does not reply.

Chapter 5, Section 4

At this point, the narrative switches to a journal form, composed of dated entries written by Stephen himself, from a first-person perspective. Stephen records his scattered impressions of thoughts, perceptions, and events of each day. He tells of his conversation with Cranly about leaving the university, and mentions Cranly's father. He distractedly muses on the fact that John the Baptist lived on locusts in the desert, and comments on his friend Lynch's pursuit of a hospital nurse. Stephen notes a conversation with his mother regarding the Virgin Mary, in which his mother accuses Stephen of reading too much and losing his faith. Stephen, however, says that he cannot repent.

Stephen speaks of a squabble with a fellow student and of attempting to read three reviews in the library. He records two dreams: one of viewing a long gallery filled with images of fabulous kings, and another of meeting strange mute creatures with phosphorescent faces. He mentions meeting his father, who asks him why he does not join a rowing club. In his entry dated April 15, Stephen records meeting "her"—meaning Emma—on Grafton Street. Emma asks Stephen whether he is writing poems and why he no longer comes to the university. Stephen excitedly talks to her about his artistic plans. The following day, he has a vision of disembodied arms and voices that seem to call to him, urging him to join them. Stephen ends his journal with a prayer to his old father, Daedalus, whom he calls "old artificer," to stand him in good stead.

Analysis

Stephen's long meditation on the birds circling overhead is an important sign of his own imminent flight. He cannot identify what species the birds are, just as he is not sure about his own nature. All he knows is that the birds are flying, as he too will fly. He will build his wings alone, just as his mythical namesake Daedalus alone crafted the wings with which he escaped from his prison. The birds offer Stephen relief from his daily worries: although their cries are harsh, the "inhuman clamour soothed his ears in which his mother's sobs and reproaches murmured insistently." The significance of the birds is, however, morally ambiguous. Stephen is not sure whether the birds are "an augury of good or evil," just as he cannot be entirely sure whether his decision to leave his family, friends, and university will have good or bad consequences. Finally, the birds are a symbol of literature and national politics as well. They remind Stephen of a passage from a recent Yeats play he has just seen, lines that refer to the swallow that wanders over the waters. As the nationalist play has attracted patriotic criticism, this swallow is a potent political symbol to which Stephen responds deeply.

Joyce's transition to journal entries at the end of the novel is a formal change that highlights Stephen's continuing search for his own voice. The journal entry form explores the problem of representing a person through words. Stephen is no longer being talked about by an external narrator, but is now speaking in his own voice. This form also frames the final section of the novel with the first, which opens with a different external voice—Mr. Dedalus telling his son a story. Throughout the novel, Stephen has continued his search for a voice, first drawing on others' voices—citing Aquinas and Aristotle as authorities and quoting Elizabethan poems—and later realizing that he must devise a language of his own because he cannot be happy speaking the language of others. This last section of the novel finally offers a glimpse of Stephen succeeding in doing precisely that. We finally see him imitating no one and quoting no one, offering his own perceptions, dreams, insights, and reflections through his words alone. Stylistically, this section is not as polished and structured as the earlier portions of the novel, but this lack of polish indicates its immediacy and sincerity in Stephen's mind.

Stephen's ideas of femininity become more complex in the final sections of Chapter 5, when he finally confronts Emma and talks to her on Grafton Street. Stephen's relation to females throughout the novel has been largely conflicted and abstract to this point. This meeting with Emma, however, is concrete, placing Stephen himself in control. The conversation with Emma emphasizes the fact that women are no longer guiding Stephen: his mother no longer pushes him, the Virgin Mary no longer shows him the way, and prostitutes no longer seduce him. Women are no longer in a superior or transcendent position in his life. Finally, in actually speaking with Emma face-to-face, Stephen shows that he has begun to conceive of women as fellow human beings rather than idealized creatures. He no longer needs to be mothered and guided, as his emotional, spiritual, and artistic development has given him the vision and confidence to show himself the way.

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Epics texts, plots, summaries 2011

Table of content

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight

Part 1 (lines 1–490)

Summary

Analysis

Part 2 (lines 491–1125)

Summary

Part 3 (lines 1126–1997)

Summary

Analysis

Part 4 (lines 1998–2531)

Summary

Analysis

Themes, Motifs & Symbols

Themes

The Nature of Chivalry

The Letter of the Law

Motifs

The Seasons

Games

Symbols

The Pentangle

The Green Girdle

“The Canterbury Tales” Chaucer, G

A) The Nun’s Priest’s Prologue, Tale, and Epilogue

Summary: The Prologue of the Nun’s Priest

Summary: The Tale of the Nun’s Priest

Summary: The Epilogue to the Nun’s Priest’s Tale

Analysis

B) The Wife of Bath’s Prologue

Summary

Analysis

The Wife of Bath’s Prologue (continued)

Summary

Analysis

The Wife of Bath’s Tale

Summary

Analysis

C) The Miller’s Prologue and Tale

Summary

Analysis

“Paradise Lost” Milton, J.

Plot Overview

Analysis of Major Characters

Satan

Adam

Eve

God

The Son

Themes, Motifs & Symbols

Themes

The Importance of Obedience to God

The Hierarchical Nature of the Universe

The Fall as Partly Fortunate

Motifs

Light and Dark

The Geography of the Universe

Conversation and Contemplation

Symbols

The Scales in the Sky

Adam’s Wreath

Book I, lines 1–26

Summary: Lines 1–26: The Prologue and Invocation

Analysis

Book I, lines 27–722

Summary: Lines 27–722: Satan and Hell

Analysis

“The Faerie Queene” Spenser , E.

Summary

Book I, Cantos i & ii

Commentary

Book I, Cantos iii, iv & v

Summary

Commentary

Book I, Cantos vi, vii & viii

Summary

Commentary

Book I, Cantos ix & x

Commentary