Tess of the D'Urbervilles

Hardy structures his novel as a tragedy in which the protagonist, Tess, moves inexorably towards her fate. Seemingly chance events conspire to create inescapable consequences and render Tess a passive victim who cannot escape her destiny. This passivity and sense of fatefulness is important because it removes any moral agency, and thus moral responsibility, from Tess. Angel’s brief, early appearance during the May Day festival is a prime example of the novel’s fatalism. As Tess herself will later suggest, events might have gone very differently if Angel had interacted with her that day; an apparently minor twist of fortune has devastating consequences.

Equally, Tess might not have gone to work at the d’Urberville estate if Alec had not been walking the grounds at precisely the moment she was there. When Tess and Alec first encounter one another, Hardy writes, “[T]hus the thing began. Had she perceived this meeting’s impact, she might have asked why she was doomed to be seen and coveted that day by the wrong man” (48). This quotation establishes a sense of fatefulness and foreboding, literally stating that Tess is “doomed” to a fate she cannot escape or control. Hardy was writing at a time when depicting a female character who experienced sexual activity outside of wedlock (even if that activity was rape) was controversial and even a matter for condemnation. By insisting that Tess has no control over her fate, the novel makes it more possible for its contemporary readers to sympathize with Tess as an innocent victim rather than a sinful woman.

The inciting event that triggers the rising action of the novel’s plot occurs almost immediately, when Tess’s father learns of his aristocratic past. All of the subsequent tragedy flows from John Durbeyfield’s ignorant belief in class mobility. Significantly, the Durbeyfield family does genuinely have ancient Norman roots; by showing how a once noble and wealthy family has descended into poverty and ignorance, Hardy critiques how modernity, industrialization, and the greed of the upper classes have resulted in honest and honorable individuals falling upon hard times. Upon learning of her family’s heritage, Tess asks her mother, “[W]ill it do us any good?” (27), showing her practical and sensible nature. The question becomes ironic because the discovery of their lineage comes to do no good—and in fact great harm—to the Durbeyfield family in general and to Tess in particular.

The opening chapters establish symbolism reflecting important themes in the novel. When Tess first appears, she is dancing with a group of maidens at a traditional May Day festival; the festival, her companions, and the white dresses that they wear all symbolize purity and a connection to an ancient and more “natural” past, uncorrupted by modernity. As Hardy’s narrator comments, the festival reflects “days before the habit of taking long views had reduced emotions to a monotonous average” (19). However, Tess is distinguished from the other village maidens because “she [wears] a red ribbon in her hair and [is] the only one of the white company who could boast of such a pronounced adornment” (20). The red ribbon symbolizes Tess’s fate of becoming a fallen woman and eventually a killer, evoking the blood associated with sexual initiation, motherhood, and violence.

The death of Prince (the horse) also holds symbolic significance. When Prince is injured, “the pointed shaft of the cart […] enter[s] the breast of the unhappy Prince like a sword” (38). The sword simile suggests violent imagery of stabbing, penetration, and phallic symbolism, connecting the horse’s fate to both Tess (whose equally innocent body Alec d’Urberville will violently penetrate) and to Alec’s subsequent stabbing at Tess’s hands. That the accident—like the later sexual encounter—begins with Tess asleep (i.e., unconscious) further links the events while underscoring Tess’s powerlessness and therefore guiltlessness. Nevertheless, in Tess’s effort to help the horse, “[S]he [becomes] splashed from face to skirt with the crimson drops” (38), foreshadowing the taint of both illicit sexuality and a violent crime.

The death of the horse reflects the theme of John and Joan Durbeyfield as irresponsible parents and Tess as a parentified child. Tess only sets out on the journey because her father is too drunk to go. The incident also reveals the impact of money and capitalism as driving engines of the plot. The accident that kills Prince results from the need to get to market to sell their products; as Tess tells her mother, “If we put off taking ’em till next week’s market the call for ’em will be past” (35). With both the honey that is made at the Durbeyfield farm and later the milk from the dairy, products that result from the bounty of nature enter the nexus of capitalism. The rhythms of nature, in which certain crops and products are produced at certain times of year, contrast with the more regimented and mechanized schedule of buying and selling.

Likewise, Tess only agrees to go to the d’Urberville estate because she is concerned about the economic consequences of losing the horse (essential for transporting and selling goods). As she laments, “[W]hat will mother and father live on now?” (39). Ironically, while characters like Angel perceive Tess as a child of nature who is untainted by modernity, the need to earn money shapes the entire course of her life. Because Tess has had a position of exaggerated maturity and responsibility foisted on her, she also assumes too much responsibility for Prince’s death and feels that she must act to save her family, whereas providing financial security should really be the concern of her parents. As the narrator explains, in the aftermath of Prince’s death, “[E]very day seemed to throw upon her young shoulders more of the family burdens” (43).

Tess’s role as a de facto parent towards her younger siblings foreshadows how she will later become a young mother long before she is ready to be a parent. The demands on Tess to be more mature than she actually is lead to Alec perceiving her as a potential sexual conquest rather than an overwhelmed adolescent. Tess has “an attribute which amounted to a disadvantage just now […] a luxuriance of aspect, a fulness of growth, which made her appear more of a woman than she really was” (48). Ironically, Tess has to present herself as “more of a woman” in order to survive and care for her family, but this pretense of maturity also makes her vulnerable.

Just as Tess occupies a liminal position between child and woman, she holds an ambiguous class position. Unlike her parents, Tess has received a baseline of education, which has marked her with mannerisms and ways of speaking that distinguish her from the other farm laborers and villagers of her hometown. The narrator describes how Tess “spoke two languages; the dialect at home, more or less; ordinary English abroad and to persons of quality” (27); “dialect” refers to more colloquial and less standardized forms of English, commonly spoken amongst less educated individuals. Tess’s more sophisticated manners, as well as her physical beauty, make her attractive to educated and refined men who might find a completely uneducated woman too crass for their tastes. At the same time, Tess also possesses an innocent and sheltered outlook that differentiates her from (supposedly) sophisticated and crafty upper-class women.

Tess’s mother, in a bid for social mobility, correctly identifies these qualities in her eldest daughter and consciously hopes that Alec will become interested in Tess. Joan even goes so far as to muse that “if he don’t marry her afore he will after” (58), acknowledging that Tess may end up having premarital sex with Alec but naively believing that Alec would be willing to marry a woman from a humble background. Alec, however, views Tess as disposable due to her class position. A wealthy and upper-class man could often buy off a working-class woman after a sexual relationship had run its course; if he couldn’t, he could at least rest easy knowing a lower-class woman would have little recourse in legal and social systems that largely operated along class lines. When Alec comments to Tess that she is “mighty sensitive for a cottage girl” (61), he reveals his assumption that her class position makes her sexually available to him.

In one of the central ironies of the plot, Tess has a much more aristocratic heritage than either of the two men who treat her as insignificant and disposable: Alec and eventually Angel. This contrast between modernity and the older past is thrown into stark relief by a detail that Tess and her parents are never privy to: The existing d’Urberville family achieved their wealth through modern capitalism and then created a veneer of lineage in order to disguise their relatively humble origins. Hardy’s narrator takes a sarcastic tone towards this practice, commenting wryly that the man fabricating the d’Urberville family tree “was duly reasonable in framing his intermarriages and aristocratic links” (45). Regardless of the prestige that supposedly comes with an ancient lineage, what really matters for agency, security, and comfort is money: The Durbeyfields are an ancient but poor family, whereas the supposed d’Urbervilles simply buy whatever they need to cover up anything that doesn’t accord with the image they want to create.

Alec d’Urberville possesses privilege stemming from both his class and gender position; as a wealthy, upper-class man, he can effectively do whatever he wants. This entitlement leads him to violate Tess’s consent and boundaries in an escalating fashion. On their first carriage ride, Alec drives dangerously, ignoring Tess’s pleas, and he also gets angry when she rejects his kisses; this behavior positions Alec as someone who doesn’t care about Tess’s well-being. This initial drive foreshadows Tess and Alec later being alone on the road together at night, when she will again attempt to distance herself by dismounting the horse. Because Alec is so entitled, Tess’s boundaries merely goad him to be more aggressive with her; as he complains to her, “[W]hat am I, to be repulsed so by a mere chit like you? For near three mortal months have you trifled with my feelings, eluded me, and snubbed me; and I won’t stand it!” (79). Ironically, Tess’s integrity and self-respect actually make her more enticing and vulnerable. By calling her a “mere chit,” Alec signals how little he respects her.

The pivotal scene in which Tess and Alec have some sort of sexual encounter is both literally and figuratively shadowy and obscure. The night is foggy, leading to the pair losing their way, and when Alec comes back to where Tess is resting, “[T]he obscurity [is] […] so great that he [can] see absolutely nothing” (82). The imagery of it being difficult to see reflects Tess’s uncertainty about how to police her relationship with Alec; earlier on their journey, she mused, “I don’t know—I wish—how can I say yes or no” (79).

The poor visibility that comes with a dark and foggy night also reflects Tess’s inability to see Alec’s true intentions or the consequences of sexuality; it connects to the elderly and blind Mrs. d’Urberville, who both literally and symbolically cannot see what her son is up to. Readers are also left unable to clearly “see” what happens in this scene due to Hardy’s vague and evasive description. Notably, he withholds precise mention of whether Tess provides any form of consent, though given her vulnerability and economic dependence on the d’Urberville family, she is not in a position to give meaningful consent anyways (at least to modern eyes). What is clear about the encounter is that it represents a pivotal moment in Tess’s life and an event that she has no control over. The narrator comments that “an immeasurable social chasm was to divide our heroine’s personality thereafter from that previous self of hers who stepped from her mother’s door” (83), noting a patriarchal viewpoint in which this single sexual incident completely defines Tess’s future and—because she has absorbed this message—her view of herself.