10.13125/2039-6597/2139
This contribution explores the relationship between Thomas Hardy and his contemporary readers from The Poor Man and the Lady, his first, unpublished, novel, to The Well- Beloved, his last one. It discovers a writer split into two, with Hardy, the artist, striving to cohabitate with Hardy-the serial writer for the three decades his career as a novelist lasted. In order to fully appreciate Hardy's novels as they have reached us nowadays, after the 1912 Wessex edition, we should focus on the contradictions between their initial manuscripts, their edited versions for the family magazines and their final reconstructions into volume forms. Although Hardy certainly wanted quick success with the Victorian masses he never let go of his "higher aspirations" to be received differently by a more select readership, even if this alternative reading had to be done between the lines at a later stage.
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2039-6597
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11
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Adelina Sánchez Espinosa
Between
Aestheticism
Thomas Hardy and His Readers:  Contradictions of the Rebellious Serial Writer
Text.Serial.Journal
https://ojs.unica.it/index.php/between
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Seriality in Literature
2016-12-02
2016-04-12
2016-06-23
2016-12-02
1
Adelina Sánchez Espinosa
2016/12/02
10.13125/2039-6597/2139
2039-6597
11
Aestheticism
en
Thomas Hardy and His Readers:  Contradictions of the Rebellious Serial Writer
https://ojs.unica.it/index.php/between/article/download/2139/2140
6
  




    Thomas  Hardy  and  His  Readers:    
 Contradictions  of  the  Rebellious  Serial  
                 Writer  
                               Adelina  Sánchez  Espinosa  


      The   ambiguous   relationship   established   between   Thomas   Hardy  
and   his   readers   marked   the   three   decades   in   which   his   career   as   a  
novelist  took  place.  Looking  into  this  aspect  is  essential  if  we  want  to  
fully   comprehend   his   novels.   We   can   approach   this   rapport   in   two  
different  manners:  one  way  is  to  attend  to  what  Hardy  himself  have  to  
say  about  his  novels  in  their  prefaces;  the  other  leads  us  to  a  tracing  of  
the  differences  between  the  serial  publication  of  each  one  of  the  novels  
and  their  final  publication  in  volume  form.  Such  differences  respond  to  
Hardy'ʹs   editing,   revising   and   deleting   material   from   the   original  
manuscripts   when   it   came   to   serial   publication   in   family   magazines  
followed   by   a   persistent   attempt   to   reconstruct   his   original   intentions  
when  it  eventually  came  to  the  volume  publications.    
      Such   cutting   and   pasting   operations   could   only   result   in  
contradictory  versions  of  the  same  novel,  as  can  easily  be  appreciated  
when  comparing  the  serial  versions  of  his  novels  with  the  final  volume  
versions,   something   we   can   now   do   thanks   to   the   fundamental  
scholarship   by   earlier   textual   critics   such   as   R.L.   Purdy,   F.   B.   Pinion  
and  John  Paterson  in  the  1950s  and  60s  and  the  later  seminal  studies  by  
John  Laird,  Patricia  Ingham  and  Rosemarie  Morgan  on  Tess,  Jude  and  
Far   respectively.   All   these   works   contrast   the   various   versions   of  
Hardy'ʹs  novels  and  allow  us  to  trace  the  evolution  of  each  one  of  them  




Between,  vol.  VI,  n.  11  (Maggio/  May  2016)    
Adelina  Sánchez  Espinosa,  Thomas  Hardy  and  His  Readers  



from   its   primitive   manuscript   conception,   through   its   serial  
publication,  to  the  finally  authorised  1912  Wessex  edition1.  
        
      Hardy'ʹs   artistic   oscillation   between   ripping   his   manuscripts   (in  
obedience   to   the   standards   of   decorum   imposed   by   popular  
magazines)   and   rebelliously   reconstructing   them   for   volume  
publication   has   attracted   ample   scholarly   attention.   Three   relevant  
instances   of   this,   at   three   different   stages   in   the   history   of   Hardyan  
scholarship  can  be  D.  H.  Lawrence'ʹs  “Study  of  Thomas  Hardy”  in  1914  
which  referred  to  Hardy'ʹs  contradictions  as  “Prédilection  d'ʹartiste”;  R.  
P.  Draper  who  states,  in  the  1970s,  that,    

          [Hardy'ʹs]  instinctive  sense  of  the  falsity  of  conventional  values  
       asserted  itself  in  forms  that  increasingly  disturbed  his  attempts  to  
       write   for   the   market,   and   particularly   alarmed   the   editors   of  
       magazines   to   which   Hardy   sold   the   serial   rights   of   his   novels.  
       (Draper  1975:  13)  

       And  Peter  Widdowson  who  remarks  in  the  1990s  that,    

           Perhaps   the   most   striking   contradiction   in   Hardy'ʹs   novel-­‐‑
       writing  career  is  his  willingness  to  accommodate  these  pressures,  
       to  change,  revise,  cut  suppress,  to  play  the  system  for  all  its  worth  
       and,   conversely,   to   produce   novels   which   time   and   again   reject  
       fictional   stereotypes...and   which   were   bound   to   shock   the  
       Victorian  moral  conscience.  (Widdowson  1989:  136)    

       On  the  one  hand,  Hardy  would  do  anything  to  succeed,  whether  
or  not  that  involved  initial  mutilation  of  his  texts  in  order  to  have  them  
accepted  for  serial  publication.  On  the  other,  he  felt  an  imperious  need  
to  stand  his  ground  and  defend  his  original  themes  and  his  convictions  
about  the  role  of  the  novel.  This  was,  obviously,  an  almost  impossible  
feat   of   prestidigitation,   which   he,   nevertheless,   practiced   for   thirty  
                                                                                                 
                   1
                       See  Purdy  1954;  Paterson  1960;  Pinion  1968;  Laird  1975;  Ingham  1976;  
Morgan  1992.  


2  
                                                             Between,  vol.  VI,  n.  11  (Maggio/May  2016)  



years,  the  time  span  which  separates  his  first  novel  from  his  last  one,  at  
the  turn  of  the  century.  After  that  he  decided  to  devote  his  talent  to  the  
writing  of  poetry,  which  proved  to  be  a  much  less  troublesome  task.    
       The   whole   process   is   marked,   as   I   say   above,   by   the   response   of  
his   readers.   When   Hardy'ʹs   first   novels   are   published,   in   the   1870s,  
conventional  readership  demands  entertainment,  melodramatic,  happy  
ending  plots  and  the  strictest  adherence  to  moral  “decorum”  which  is  
to  be  expected  from  any  prim  and  proper  mid-­‐‑Victorian  writer.  These  
were  the  readers  who  devoured  instalments  published  every  fortnight  
in   one   of   the   popular   magazines   of   the   times2.   They   were   often   men  
reading  episodes  out  to  the  female  members  of  the  family  well  before  
television   would   replace   them.   Nevertheless,   from   the   1880s   onwards  
Hardy   starts   catering   also   for   an   alternative   readership,   aesthetic  
readers  who  take  pride  in  their  different  taste.  As  R.  G.  Cox  points  out  
in  his  study  of  the  reception  of  Hardy’s  novels,  

         It  was  only  as  his  work  progressed  that  it  became  clear  that  he  
       was   aiming   at   a   more   intellectually   advanced   public,   though   in  
       some   respects,   such   as   sensationalism   of   incident   and   plot  
       development,   he   appeared   to   be   influenced   by   popular  
       expectations  up  to  a  late  stage.  (Cox  1970:  xxi)  

     Throughout   the   evolution   of   his   career   as   a   novelist,   Hardy  
combines  the  elements  taken  from  his  most  popular  novels  with  others  
intended   to   simultaneously   attract   a   more   demanding   audience   who  
                                                                                                 
                   2
                        Since   the   study   of   19th   Century   serialisation   and   readership   has  
already  received  ample  scholarly  attention,  and  given  the  space  contraints  of  
this   article,   it   is   not   my   intention   to   go   into   it   here   further   than   offering   a  
short   selection   of   contributions   along   these   lines.   On   serialisation   see,   for  
instance,   Altick   1957;   1998;   Vann   1985;   Hughes   and   Lund,   1991;   Langbauer  
1999;  Law,  2000  and  his  contribution  to  Brake  and  Demoor  2009;  Payne  2005  
and   Rodensky   2013   (particularly   section   II   on   “publishing,   reading,  
reviewing,   quoting   and   censoring”).   On   readership   see   Jordan   and   Patten  
1995;  Glavin,  1999;  Waller  2006;  Rooney  and  Gasperini  2016.  
                       


                                                                                                            3  
Adelina  Sánchez  Espinosa,  Thomas  Hardy  and  His  Readers  



would  prefer  quality  to  moral  decorum.  This  weird  ménage  à  trois  can  
only   be   attained   by   writing   what   I   have   elsewhere   described   as  
“palimpsests”,   i.e.,   texts   which   could   aptly   be   read   in   two   different  
ways  by  two  different  types  of  reader3.  We,  therefore,  come  across  two  
different   authors   when   we   read   his   serialised   novels   and   the   final  
volume  versions.  Hardy  can  be  the  conventional  writer  who  willingly  
submits  to  the  expectations  of  an  equally  conventional  reader.  On  the  
other  hand,  Hardy  is  also  the  rebel  whose  opposition  to  the  established  
canons   of   late   Victorian   literature   is   intended   to   be   received   by   a  
similarly   rebellious   reader,   relentlessly   emerging   in   his   fiction.   The  
evolution   of   this   contradiction   can   be   seen   at   four   climatic   moments  
represented   by   his   four   most   important   novels:   Far   from   the   Madding  
Crowd  (1974),  Tess  of  the  d'ʹUrbervilles  (1891),  Jude  the  Obscure  (1895)  and  
The  Well-­‐‑Beloved  (1892  &  1897).  
      The   love-­‐‑hate   relationship   established   between   Hardy   and   his  
readers  started  with  the  rejection  of  his  first  novel,  The  Poor  Man  and  the  
Lady,  en  1869,  a  novel  which,  according  to  his  own  words  in  The  Life  of  
Thomas  Hardy,  was  exceedingly  bold  «the  tendency  of  the  writing  being  
socialistic,  not  to  say  revolutionary»,  since  it  presented  

           A   sweeping   dramatic   satire   of   the   squirearchy   and   nobility,  
       London   society,   the   vulgarity   of   the   middle   class,   modern  
       Christianity,  church-­‐‑restoration,  and  political  and  domestic  morals  
       in  general.  (Life  :  56)  4  



                                                                                                 
                   3
                          I   have   studied   the   mythological   subtexts   in   Hardy’s   novels   since   my  
MPhil   and   PhD   dissertations   at   University   of   Birmingham   (1993)   and  
University   of   Granada   (1995),   respectively.   A   recent   publication   on   the  
novels  as  palimpsests  is  in  Monnickendam  and  Owen  2013.  
                           4
                              Although  The  Early  Life  of  Thomas  Hardy  1840-­‐‑1891  and  The  Later  Years  
of   Thomas   Hardy   1892-­‐‑1928   were   published   in   1928   and   1930   respectively   by  
Florence   Emily   Hardy,   it   is   general   knowledge   that   these   works   are   Hardy'ʹs  
autobiography.   All   references   to   these   two   works   from   now   on   will   be  
included  in  the  text  and  abbreviated  to  Life.  The  edition  used  is  Millgate  1984.    


4  
                                                                 Between,  vol.  VI,  n.  11  (Maggio/May  2016)  



       Can  we  then  be  surprised  that  conservative  Alexander  Macmillan  
should  have  rejected  it?  or  that  George  Meredith,  censor  for  Chapman  
and  Hall,  would  also  refuse  to  publish  it  and  advise  Hardy  to  change  
direction   «for   if   he   printed   so   pronounced   a   thing   he   would   be  
attacked   on   all   sides   by   the   conventional   reviewers,   and   his   future  
injured»  (Life:  63)?  Hardy  had  no  way  out  other  than  follow  Meredith'ʹs  
advice.   He   discarded   the   novel   and   ventured   to   write   a   second   one:  
Desperate   Remedies,   published   anonymously   by   Tinsley'ʹs   Magazine   in  
1871.   Positive   reviews   to   the   novel   appeared   in   Athenaeum   and   The  
Morning   Post   but   there   were   also   negative   reviews   in   The   Spectator,  
which   accused   Hardy   of   immorality,   advised   readers   against   it   and  
suggested  that  the  writer  should  remain  anonymous  until  he  managed  
to  write  better  novels5.  Indeed  some  scenes  in  the  original  manuscript  
had  had  to  be  removed  before  final  publication  in  Tinsley  but  even  this  
had   not   been   enough   to   fit   the   type   of   fiction   Meredith   had  
recommended.   Thus,   although   this   was   the   beginning   of   a   pact   with  
the   conventional   reader   which   would   make   Hardy   one   of   the   most  
popular   writers   with   mass   Victorian   audiences,   this   pact   was   never  
solid,  not  even  at  this  moment.    
       Also   apparently   the   result   of   this   search   for   harmony   with   the  
conventional  reader  are  the  following  two  novels:  Under  the  Greenwood  
Tree   (1872)   and   A   Pair   of   Blue   Eyes   (1873)   which   define   Hardy   as   the  
chronicler   of   rural   bliss,   a   cliché   which   would   set   his   fame   and   make  
the  delights  of  generations  of  readers  reaching  our  days.  In  both  novels  
Hardy  cultivated  the  image  of  the  pastoral  writer,  as  testified  by  their  
prefaces6.   The   preface   to   Under   the   Greenwood   Tree,   for   instance,  
comments  on  the  importance  of  rural  traditions  such  as  church  choirs,  
(which  explains  the  subtitle  of  the  novel,  The  Mellstock  Quire).  A  Pair  of  


                                                                                                 
                           5
                              «we  have  said  enough  to  warn  our  readers  against  this  book,  and,  we  
hope,  to  urge  the  author  to  write  far  better  ones»  (Anonymous  review  in  The  
Spectator,  22  April  1871:  481-­‐‑3).    
                   6
                          An   image   he   took   good   care   to   subvert   by   adding   notes   to   the   1912  
edition,  as  we  will  see  later  on  in  this  article.  


                                                                                                                    5  
Adelina  Sánchez  Espinosa,  Thomas  Hardy  and  His  Readers  



Blue  Eyes  focuses  the  preface  on  country  live,  tradition  and  his  creation  
of  “Wessex”,  the  mythic  pastoral  world  he  had  just  created.  
      The  topic  would  consolidate  the  following  year  and  so  would  his  
compromise   with   the   readers   of   serial   novels.   Far   from   the   Madding  
Crowd,   is   published   by   Cornhill   Magazine,   one   of   the   most   important  
magazines  at  the  time,  particularly  popular  with  middle  class  readers.    
Critics   acclaim   the   novel   and   compare   Hardy   with   the   best   George  
Eliot.  Indeed,  such  was  the  success  that  the  novel  was  reprinted  seven  
times   within   1874.   The   truth   is   that   the   final   product   is   significantly  
different  from  the  original  manuscript,  which  was  heavily  censored  by  
Leslie   Stephen,   editor   of   Cornhill   Magazine7.   By   accepting   Stephen'ʹs  
offer,   Hardy   continues   the   learning   process   he   had   started   with  
Meredith.  On  this  respect  Life  comments  that  

          In   addition   to   providing   invaluable   advice   about   periodical  
       writing,   such   as   the   importance   of   sustaining   narrative   pace   and  
       keeping  the  plot  in  line,  Stephen  also  provided  Hardy  with  a  short  
       sharp   course   in   Grundyan   conventions-­‐‑-­‐‑   conventions   of   literary  
       propriety   and   decorum   that   were   deeply   ingrained   in   Stephen'ʹs  
       consciousness  but  not  in  Hardy’s,  who  appeared,  as  far  as  Stephen  
       was   concerned,   to   have   “no   more   consciousness   of   these   things  
       than  a  child”.  (Life:  99)    

    Stephen,   let   us   not   forget,   addressed   his   magazines   to   a   most  
conservative   readership   of   whose   tastes   he   prided   himself   of   being   a  
connoisseur.   Since   the   first   commandment   for   every   writer   should,   in  
                                                                                                 
                   7
                         Stephen   justified   his   censorship   by   describing   Cornhill   Magazine   as   a  
periodic   publication   devoted   to   inoffensive   issues   and   hence   avoiding   «the  
only   subjects   in   which   reasonable   men   can   take   any   interest:   politics   and  
religion».   As   Rosemarie   Morgan   points   out,   Stephen'ʹs   exclusions   extended  
much  further:  class  struggles,  “improper”  behaviour  in  women,  sexuality,  etc.  
(Morgan,  Cancelled  Words:  137).  More  on  Victorian  censorship  can  be  found,  for  
instance,   in   Hyland   and   Sammels   1992;   Thompson   1996;   Larson   2001   or  
Patterson  2013.    
                     


6  
                                                        Between,  vol.  VI,  n.  11  (Maggio/May  2016)  



his   opinion,   be   «Thou   shalt   not   shock   a   young   lady»   (Matland   1906:  
266),  it  is  no  surprise  that  on  receiving  a  letter  from  three  «respectable  
ladies»   who   complained   on   the   content   of   some   of   the   episodes   from  
Far  from  the  Madding  Crowd  already  serialised  he  should  ask  Hardy  to  
cancel   anything   that   could   generate   such   complaints.   A   letter   to  
Stephen   shows   the   extent   to   which   the   writer   would   surrender   his  
authority   over   his   text   for   the   benefit   of   mass   consumption   of   his  
product,    

         The   truth   is   I   am   willing,   and   indeed   anxious,   to   give   up   any  
      points   which   may   be   desirable   in   a   story   when   read   as   a   whole,  
      for   the   sake   of   others   which   shall   please   those   who   read   it   in  
      numbers.  (Life:  100)  

       We  must,  nevertheless,  doubt  the  sincerity  of  such  generous  offer.  
For  a  start,  Hardy  was  never  comfortable  with  his  servility  to  Stephen,  
as  the  different  poses  adopted  in  Life  make  evident.  Thus,  many  years  
after   the   incidents   he   remembers   them   in   his   autobiography   as   mere  
trivialities.  They  come  out  as  funny  anecdotes  or  else  just  as  indicators  
of   his   utter   indifference   towards   his   reputation   as   a   writer   or   the  
quality  of  his  novels.  As  Rosemarie  Morgan  (1992:  106)  points  out,  both  
attitudes   simply   mask   his   discomfort   before   his   own   self-­‐‑betrayal,   a  
discomfort  that  can  only  find  relief  in  the  painful  reconstruction  of  his  
mutilated  novels  once  it  came  to  gathering  all  episodes  together  for  the  
volume  publication.  Besides,  Hardy  insists  that  he  does  not  give  up  in  
his  intentions  of  becoming  a  serious  writer,      

         Perhaps   I   may   have   higher   aims   some   day,   and   be   a   great  
      stickler  for  the  proper  artistic  balance  of  the  completed  work,  but  
      for   the   present   circumstances   lead   me   to   wish   merely   to   be  
      considered  a  good  hand  at  a  serial.    (Ibid.)  

    These   «higher   aims»   were   closer   in   time   than   what   «some   day»  
seems   to   indicate.   In   spite   of   his   professed   intention   to   remain   as  
simply  «a  good  hand  at  a  serial»,  surprisingly,  and  paradoxically  after  



                                                                                                      7  
Adelina  Sánchez  Espinosa,  Thomas  Hardy  and  His  Readers  



the   enormous   popularity   of   Far   from   the   Madding   Crowd,   Hardy  
swerves  again  in  1876  and  publishes  The  Hand  of  Ethelberta,  a  novel  that  
represents  the  urban  antithesis  to  its  bucolic  predecessor.    
         Faithful  to  his  assertion  that  «he  had  not  the  slightest  intention  of  
writing   forever   about   sheep   farming,   as   the   reading   public   was  
apparently   expecting   him   to   do»   (103),   Hardy   «set   off,   with   what  
seems  in  retrospect  an  almost  perverse  determination,  upon  an  entirely  
different   task»   (Millgate   1982:   171).   The   Hand   of   Ethelberta   is   an   urban  
novel,   which   stands   out   for   its   radical   treatment   of   social   differences  
and   its   sarcastic   tone,   reminiscent   of   The   Poor   Man   and   the   Lady   and  
proleptic   of   the   notorious   novels   of   the   90s8.   It   is   first   serialised   by  
Cornhill  and  then  published  in  volume  form  by  Smith,  Elder  &  Co.  The  
reception   was   cold,   as,   according   to   Stephen,   it   was   to   be   expected  
since  Hardy  had  diverted  from  his  real  talent,  the  gift  he  had  exhibited  
in   Far   (Morgan   179)9.   Under   Stephen'ʹs   influence   Hardy,   once   again,  
tries   to   counteract   the   effect   of   the   novel   and   uses   the   preface   to   this  
effect.   Hence   the   1895   preface   trivialises   the   novel   by   describing   it   as  
«This  somewhat  frivolous  narrative»  and  «an  interlude  between  stories  
of   a   more   sober   design»   (Personal   Writings:   11).10   The   1912   “Wessex”  
edition,   however,   undoes   these   words   by   describing   Hand   as   too  
advanced   for   its   time   and   hence   misunderstood   by   contemporary  
readers,  

                               Imaginary   circumstances   that   on   its   first   publication   were  
                   deemed  eccentric  and  almost  impossible  are  now  paralleled  on  the  
                                                                                                 
                           8
                              This  novel  is  full  of  self-­‐‑conscious  passages  which  direct   the  reader'ʹs  
attention  to  Hardy’s  own  situation  as  an  artist  at  the  time  and  at  his  difficult  
relation  with  Victorian  readers.  It  is,  as  Richard  H.  Taylor  (1982:  71)  puts  it  «a  
study  of  the  physical  and  personal  deracination»  which  he  would  later  come  
back  to  in  his  fiction  of  the  90s.    
                           9
                                In  a  letter  from  Stephen  to  Hardy  dated  May  16,  1876  (Matland:  291-­‐‑2).  
                         10
                               All  references  to  the  prefaces  of  Hardy'ʹs  novels  are  taken  from  Harold  
Orel  edition  of  The  Personal  Writings  of  Thomas  Hardy  (1967)  and  referred  to  in  
the  text  as  Personal  Writings.  
                     


8  
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       stage   and   in   novels,   and   accepted   as   reasonable   and   interesting  
       pictures   of   life;   which   suggests   that   the   comedy   (or,   more  
       accurately,  satire)…  appeared  thirty-­‐‑five  years  too  soon.  (Ibid:  12).    

       At  any  rate,  this  novel  raised  Stephen'ʹs  mistrust  so  that  he  ended  
up   refusing   to   publish   Hardy'ʹs   next   novel,   The   Return   of   the   Native,  
which   was   then   sent   to   Blackwood   Magazine   with   the   following   note:  
«Should   there   accidentally   occur   any   word   or   reflection   not   in  
harmony  with  the  general  tone  of  the  magazine,  you  would  be  quite  at  
liberty   to   strike   it   out   if   you   chose»   (Life:   188).   His   concessions   were  
useless,   though,   since   Blackwood   also   rejected   the   novel   and   it   was  
finally   Belgravia   that   bought   it   for   much   less   than   what   Hardy   had  
received  for  the  serialisation  of  his  previous  novels.    
       Two   on   a   Tower,   published   in   1882,   also   contained   elements   that  
were   deemed   immoral   and   anticlerical   by   contemporary   critics.   The  
Saturday   Review,   for   instance,   accused   Hardy   of   filling   his   novel   with  
“repellent”   episodes11,   while   Harry   Quilter'ʹs   article   in   The   Spectator  
labelled  the  novel  as  simply  “repulsive”12.  Hardy  uses  the  1895  preface  
in   order   to   respond   to   this.   In   it   he   denies   any   type   of   relationship   in  
the   novel   other   than   conventional   marriage   and   he   insists   that   his  
intentions   had   always   been   to   represent   the   Church   in   a   most  
respectful  way.  
       The   situation   is   similar   with   the   volume   publication   of   The  
Woodlanders   in   1887,   which   generates   negative   reviews   such   as   R.   H.  
Hutton’s   in   The   Spectator,   complaining   about   Hardy’s   attack   on  
marriage   and   his   too   permissive   attitude   towards   his   characters’  
immorality.  Hardy  felt  again  the  need  to  defend  himself  and  used  the  
preface   to   the   1895   edition   to   this   effect.   Here   he   defines   himself   as   a  

                                                                                                 
                           11
                               The  episode  which  so  perturbed  the  critic  in  the  Saturday  Review  was  
the  marriage  of  one  of  the  characters  to  a  bishop  in  order  to  legitimise  her  son,  
described  by  the  magazine  as  «a  most  repellent  incident,  which  the  author  was  
extremely   ill   advised   to   include   in   the   scheme   of   his   plot»   (18th   November  
1882)    
                           12
                               Spectator  3rd  February  1883:  154.    


                                                                                                             9  
Adelina  Sánchez  Espinosa,  Thomas  Hardy  and  His  Readers  



neutral   observer   who   simply   recalls   things   as   they   are   and   who   fully  
sympathises  with  the  majority  of  his  readers  on  the  degenerate  nature  
of  extra  marital  connections  (20).  One  is  tempted  to  believe  Hardy  were  
it  not  for  the  fact  that  he  was  seven  years  away  from  publishing  Jude,  
his   notorious   attack   on   the   Church.   It   is   certainly   curious   that,   up   to  
this   point   in   time,   Hardy   would   always   counteract   his   provoking  
boldness  in  the  texts  via  the  prefaces  to  the  volume  editions.  He  comes  
out  as  an  oversensitive  author  who  opposes  conservatism  in  his  fiction  
but   cannot   do   the   same   when   it   comes   to   non-­‐‑fictional   interactions  
with  his  editors  and  audience.    
        Hardy’s   modus   operandi   would   change   soon,   though,   as   the  
editing  story  of  the  1890s  novels  testify.  The  story  of  the  making  of  Tess  
of   the   d'ʹUrbervilles   also   starts   with   a   desperate   Hardy   accepting   heavy  
mutilation   of   his   text.   In   October   1889   the   writer   had   offered   the  
manuscript   to   Murray'ʹs   Magazine   whose   editor   had   rejected   it   on   the  
bases  of  «improper  explicitness»    (the  same  reasons  which  had  led  this  
editor  to  reject  Wilde’s  The  Picture  of  Dorian  Gray).  He  then  resorted  to  
The   Macmillan'ʹs   Magazine,   which   also   rejected   the   manuscript.   Hardy  
got  nervous  and  started  editing  heavily  He  removed  passages,  some  of  
which   were   published   separately   under   the   generic   title   of   «Episodic  
adventures   of   anonymous   personages».   Among   these   were   “A  
Midnight   Baptism,   a   Study   of   Christianity”   and   “Saturday   Night   in  
Arcady”,  published  by  The  Fortnightly  Review  and  The  National  Observer  
of   Edinburgh,   respectively.   Between   July   and   December   1891   The  
Graphic   and   Harper'ʹs   Bazar   finally   serialised   the   novel   in   Great   Britain  
and  the  United  States,  respectively  and  the  volume  form  also  appeared  
at  the  end  of  1891.  Parts  of  the  two  detached  episodes  were  restored  to  
the   volume   edition   but   some   passages,   with   references   to   classical  
mythology,   were   still   not   included   in   their   totality   until   the   1912  
“Wessex  Edition”13.  In  its  preface  Hardy  refers  to  them  as  follows,    


                                                                                                 
                           13
                                For   more   on   the   many   changes   that   the   novel   went   through   from  
Manuscript   to   the   1912   final   version   see   N.   Furbank’s   notes   to   the   “New  
Wessex”  edition  of  the  novel    (469-­‐‑71)  and  Laird.    


10  
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         The  present  edition  of  this  novel  contains  a  few  pages  that  have  
       never   appeared   in   any   previous   edition.   When   the   detached  
       episodes   were   collected   as   stated   in   the   preface   of   1891,   these  
       pages   were   overlooked,   though   they   were   in   the   original  
       manuscript.  (Personal  Writings:  29)  

       What  this  “overlook”  hides  is  the  fact  that  those  pages  contained  
references   to   mythological   stories,   which   covertly   alluded   to   sexual  
desire.   Hardy   knew   that   restoring   the   passages   in   their   wholeness   in  
1891   would   have   automatically   meant   the   rejection   of   the   novel   for  
volume   publication.   On   the   other   hand,   this   ripping   and   restoring   of  
Tess   of   the   d'ʹUrbervilles   contradicts   the   author'ʹs   brave   insistence   on  
subtitling   the   volume   “A   Pure   Woman”,   an   aspect   that   did   not   go  
unnoticed   by   contemporary   critics.   Mowbray   Morris,   for   instance,  
commented   on   the   contradiction   between   Hardy'ʹs   willingness   to   edit  
his  text  and  his  dignified  insistence  on  the  subtitle,  

          Putting  the  sense  of  self-­‐‑respect  out  of  the  question,  one  might  
       have  thought  of  a  writer  who  entertains  such  grandiose  views  of  
       the  mission  of  the  novelist  would  see  something  derogatory  in  this  
       hole-­‐‑and-­‐‑corner  form  of  publication.  (Cox  1970:  217)14  

       And  he  concluded  that  with  Tess  Hardy  had  told  «a  disagreeable  
story  in  an  extremely  disagreeable  manner».  Margaret  Oliphant  shared  
his   opinion   and   talked   of   «grossness,   indecency,   and   horror»   (Lerner  
and   Holmstrum   1968:   126-­‐‑27)   and   Andrew   Lang   defined   it   as   «a  
sermon  on  modern  misery»  (Oliphant  1896:  135-­‐‑49;  Lang  1982:  247-­‐‑49).  
       This   clamorous   rejection   was   partly   provoked   by   Hardy.   In   his  
preface   to   the   first   edition   of   Tess   he   abandons   for   the   first   time   his  
defensive   attitude,   faces   his   potential   critics   and   refuses   to   censor   his  
text:   «If   an   offense   come   out   of   the   truth,   better   it   is   that   the   offense  

                                                                                                 
                   14
                           The   article   was   called   “Culture   and   Anarchy”   and   appeared   in   April  
1892.   Mowbray,   editor   of   Macmillan'ʹs   Magazine,   had   already   rejected   the  
serialisation  of  Tess.    


                                                                                                               11  
Adelina  Sánchez  Espinosa,  Thomas  Hardy  and  His  Readers  



come   than   that   the   truth   be   concealed»   (Personal   Writings:   25-­‐‑26).   He  
extends   his   vindication   in   the   preface   to   the   5th   edition   when   he  
explains  the  purpose  of  the  novel  as  being  «the  plan  of  laying  down  a  
story  on  the  lines  of  tacit  opinion,  instead  of  making  it  to  square  with  
the   merely   vocal   formulae   of   society»   (ibid).   This   constitutes   Hardy'ʹs  
first   direct   attack   on   the   "ʺtoo   genteel   reader"ʺ,   a   change   of   direction  
which  means  his  beginning  of  the  end  as  a  novelist,  as  Hardy  himself  
admits   in   Life,   «the   book,   notwithstanding   its   exceptional   popularity,  
was  the  beginning  of  the  end  of  [Hardy’s]  career  as  a  novelist»  (240).      
        Despite   the   scandal   raised   by   Tess   not   only   in   literary   circles   but  
also  within  the  whole  of  Victorian  society,  Hardy  keeps  adding  wood  
to   the   fire   when   he   publishes   Jude   the   Obscure   four   years   later.   Once  
again   he   is   forced   to   alter   the   original   manuscript   in   order   to   get   it  
published   in   instalments   and   once   again,   in   spite   of   his   own  
anticipation   of   the   scandal   which   was   to   follow,   Hardy   restores   his  
novel   to   its   original   conception   when   he   gets   it   together   into   volume  
form.   Readers   were   quick   to   react,   hence   the   famous   incidents   which  
followed   the   publication:   the   Bishop   of   Wakefield   showed   his   utter  
indignation  in  a  letter  addressed  to  The  Yorkshire  Post  where  he  labelled  
Jude  as  “rubbish”  and  explained  that  he  could  only  calm  his  anger  after  
reading  it  by  throwing  the  book  into  the  fire;  Margaret  Oliphant  wrote  
“The   Anti-­‐‑Marriage   League”,   an   article   which   has   since   become   an  
essential   document   to   understand   the   fin-­‐‑de-­‐‑siècle   which   concluded  
with   the   famous   indictment   that   «nothing   so   coarsely   indecent   as   the  
whole  history  of  Jude  ...  has  ever  been  put  in  English  print» (Cox 2005:
270)15;   National   Review   also   accused   Hardy   of   being   one   of   the  
“decadent”   writers   in   A.   J.   Butler'ʹs   “Mr   Hardy   as   a   Decadent”   which  
stated  that  «there  can  be  nothing  more  certain  in  literature  than  that  a  
tendency   to   dwell   on   foul   details   has   never   been   a   “note”   of   any   but  
third-­‐‑rate   work» (ibid: 300);   Pall   Mall   Gazette   renamed   the   novel   as  
                                                                                                 
                   15
                           This   famous   article   was   published   originally   published   in  
“Blackwood'ʹs  Magazine”,  in  January  1896.  Her  thesis  was  that  Hardy  was  the  
promoter   of   a   pact   against   marriage.   As   such   he   would   be   on   a   league   with  
Walter  Allen  and  Oscar  Wilde,  amongst  others.    


12  
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“Jude  the  Obscene”  and  urged  Hardy  to:  «Give  us  quickly  another  and  
cleaner   book   to   take   the   bad   taste   out   of   our   mouths» (ibid: xxviii);    
R.Y.  Tyrrell  pointed  out  in  Fortnightly  Review  that  «the  book  is  steeped  
in   sex»   and   suggested   that:   «Either   Mr   Hardy’s   powers   have  
undergone   a   sad   deterioration...or   he   has   determined   to   try   the  
patience   of   his   public   and   to   see   whether   they   will   accept   in   lieu   of   a  
novel  a  treatise  on  sexual  pathology» (ibid: 302);  In  Academy  J.  B.  Allen  
wondered   why   Hardy   should   include   in   his   novel   topics   which   were  
normally   excluded   from   decent   conversation   and   B.   Williams  
concluded   in   Athenaeum   that   the   novel   was   simply   «a   titanically   bad  
book  by  Mr  Hardy» (ibid:261).  
       As   with   his   previous   novels   Hardy   uses   the   first   preface   as  
preventive   remedy.   This   time   his   discursive   tool   is   irony,   which  
functions  as  a  protective  shield  against  such  potential  antagonism.  In  it  
Hardy   starts   by   deviating   attention   from   the   conflictive   issues   within  
the   novel   and   he   does   so   by   adopting   precisely   the   type   of   discourse  
the   novel   was   set   to   attack.   Hence,   he   says   that   the   struggle   between  
“flesh”   and   “spirit”   is   what   makes   Jude   fail,   thus   contradicting   the  
novel  critique  on  how  Victorian  institutions  were  repressing  both  flesh  
and   spirit.   The   strategy   backfires,   however,   and   the   hinting   at  
sexuality,   the   big   Victorian   taboo,   in   these   words   sets   readers   on   fire.  
Years  later  Hardy  would  correct  his  mistake  in  the  prologue  to  the  1912  
“Wessex   Edition”   when,   now   from   the   position   of   the   consolidated  
writer   who   had   stopped   writing   fiction   over   a   decade   before,   he   can  
actually   express   himself   freely   and   protest   that   his   novel   was  
misunderstood  at  the  time.  His  tone  now  is  much  more  in  accordance  
with   the   transgressive   message   Jude   contains:   it   ridicules   the  
conventional  reader  who  opposes  his  novel  simply  on  the  grounds  that  
it   does   not   express   «a   view   of   life   that   [those]   who   thrive   on  
conventions   can   permit   to   be   painted»   (Personal   Writings:   35)   and,  
finally   facing   Victorian   bourgeois   discourse,   Hardy   dismantles   the  
sanctification  of  marriage  as  a  sacrament  by  redefining  it  as  a  contract:  
«the  famous  contract  —  sacrament  I  mean  —  is  doing  fairly  well  still»  
(ibid).    



                                                                                                    13  
Adelina  Sánchez  Espinosa,  Thomas  Hardy  and  His  Readers  



      Thus,   Tess   and   Jude   mark   Hardy'ʹs   final   breaking   away   from  
Victorian   literary   conventions   and   mainstream   readership   and   his  
attempt  to  capture  the  attention  of  an  alternative  readership,  the  sort  of  
"ʺdegenerate"ʺ   readers   which   Margaret   Oliphant   intuited   in   her   review  
of  Jude  when  she  wrote,  

           I  do  not  know  […]  for  what  audience  Mr  Hardy  intends  his  last  
       work  [....]  Is  it  possible  that  there  are  readers  in  England  to  whom  
       this   infamy   can   be   palatable?   The   transaction   is   insulting   to   the  
       public,  with  whom  he  trades  the  viler  wares  under  another  name  
       [....]  If  the  English  public  supports  him  in  it,  it  will  be  to  the  shame  
       of  every  individual  who  thus  confesses  himself  to  like  and  accept  
       what  the  author  himself  acknowledges  to  be  unfit  for  the  eyes  —
       not  of  girls  and  young  persons  only,  but  of  the  ordinary  reader  —
       the   men   and   women   who   read   the   Magazines,   the   public   whom  
       we  address  in  these  pages  (126).    

       Oliphant   is   right   in   spotting   that   such   reader   is   not   exactly   «the  
ordinary  reader»,  nor  is  he  the  reader  of  popular  magazines  which  had  
been  Hardy'ʹs  forum  for  so  long.  This  said,  she  was  wrong  in  her  guess  
that   there   were   few   readers   of   this   type.   Indeed,   there   were   many  
readers   who   admired   the   transgressive   elements   in   Hardy'ʹs   novels  
since  they  believed  that  moral  decorum  was  hindering  artistic  freedom  
of  expression.  These  readers  sympathised  or  were  members  of  the  anti-­‐‑
system  artistic  movements  that  had  proliferated  during  the  last  third  of  
the   19th   century,   from   Aestheticism   to   its   later   facets:   the   so-­‐‑called  
“Decadence”  and  the  “New-­‐‑fiction  movement”.  
       One   of   these   sympathetic   readers   is   Algernon   Swinburne   who  
expresses  his  deep  admiration  for  Jude  the  Obscure  in  a  letter  to  Hardy,  
in  which  he  refers  to  other  like-­‐‑minded  readers,    

          I  will  risk  saying  how  thankful  we  should  be  (I  know  that  I  may  
       speak   for   other   admirers   as   cordial   as   myself)   for   another  
       admission   into   the   English   paradise   “under   the   greenwood   tree”  
       (Life:  288-­‐‑89).  




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       Other   aesthetes   express   themselves   in   a   similar   way.   Richard   Le  
Gallienne,   frequent   collaborator   in   Yellow   Book,   the   famous   journal   of  
the   Aesthetic   movement,   writes   in   Star   (1891)   that   he   adores   Tess,  
which   to   him   represents   the   best   novel   by   Hardy   to   date.   He   adds   to  
this   that   what   he   really   likes   about   the   novel   is   Hardy’s   political  
compromise   with   causes   such   as   the   fight   against   the   sexual  
discrimination   of   women   in   late   Victorian   society   (Cox:   178-­‐‑80)16.  
Likewise,   William   Watson,   poet   and   also   contributor   to   Yellow   Book,  
reviews  Tess  for  Academy  (1892)  as  «a  tragic  masterpiece»  and,  just  like  
Le   Galliene,   ends   up   applauding   Hardy’s   brave   side-­‐‑taking   on   the  
unjust   inequality   between   men   and   women   (Ibid:   125-­‐‑26).   Certainly,  
women   critics,   other   than   Oliphant,   did   appreciate   Hardy'ʹs  
contribution  to  the  woman’s  cause  and  Clementina  Black  is  an  example  
of  this.  Her  article  on  Tess  appears  in  Illustrated  London  News  in  1892.  In  
it   she   classifies   Hardy   as   «one   of   that   brave   and   clear-­‐‑sighted  
minority».  Black  is  accurate  in  accounting  for  Hardy’s  transgression  by  
a  very  precise  x-­‐‑ray  of  the  conventional  reader  and  its  ways,  

          [T]his   very   earnestness,   by   leading   him   to   deal   with   serious  
       moral   problems,   will   assuredly   cause   this   book   to   be   reprobated  
       by   numbers   of   well-­‐‑intentioned   people   who   have   read   his  
       previous   novels   with   complacency.   The   conventional   reader  
       wishes  to  be  excited,  but  not  to  be  disturbed;  he  likes  to  have  new  
       pictures   presented   to   his   imagination,   but   not   to   have   new   ideas  
       presented   to   his   mind.   He   detests   unhappy   endings   mainly  
       because   an   unhappy   ending   nearly   always   involves   an   indirect  
       appeal   to   the   conscience,   and   the   conscience,   when   aroused,   is  
       always   demanding   a   reorganization   of   that   traditional   pattern   of  
       right   and   wrong   which   it   is   the   essence   of   conventionality   to  
       regard  as  immutable.  (Ibid)  

                                                                                                 
                           16
                               Years  later  Le  Galliene  would  also  come  out  in  defense  of  Hardy  by  
writing   a   praising   review   of   Jude   in   Idler,   a   magazine   which   was   also  
associated  with  the  Aesthetic  movement.  
                     



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Adelina  Sánchez  Espinosa,  Thomas  Hardy  and  His  Readers  



       Along   similar   lines   we   must   also   highlight   the   Saturday   Review  
1896  review  on  Jude  where  the  author  states:  «whether  for  many  years  
any  book  has  received  quite  so  foolish  a  reception  as  has  been  accorded  
the  last  and  most  splendid  of  all  the  books  that  Mr  Hardy  has  given  the  
world»  an  unjust  reception  which  can  only  be  comparable  to  «the  New  
England  Witch  Mania»,  concluding  that,  all  circumstances  considered,  
perhaps  the  term  “readers”  should  better  be  transformed  into  «sanitary  
inspectors  of  fiction»  (ibid:  153-­‐‑54).  
       Last,   but   certainly   not   least,   we   should   mention   here   Havelock  
Ellis'ʹs  “Concerning  Jude  the  Obscure”,  an  article  he  publishes  in  1896  for  
the   Savoy   Magazine.   Ellis,   also   a   habitual   collaborator   in   Yellow   Book,  
states   that   Hardy'ʹs   narrative   career   has   been   an   evolution   of   gradual  
liberation   from   the   tyranny   of   his   contemporary   readers:   «The   whole  
course  of  Mr  Hardy'ʹs  development,  from  1871  to  the  present,  has  been  
natural   and   inevitable,   with   lapses   and   irregularities   it   may   be,   but  
with  no  real  break  and  no  new  departure»  (35-­‐‑39).  
       The   end   of   Hardy’s   bumpy   career   as   a   novelist   is   to   be   found   in  
his   last   and   most   autobiographical   novel,   The   Well-­‐‑Beloved.   The   novel,  
which   narrates   the   life   of   an   artist   in   a   constant   search   for   beauty,  
cannot  be  understood  without  considering  mind  the  oscillations  of  the  
story   which   have   just   told.   Curiously   The   Well-­‐‑Beloved   differs   from   all  
his   other   novels   since   there   are   two   different   versions   to   it.   The  
serialised   version   of   1892   was   called   The   Pursuit   of   the   Well-­‐‑Beloved:   A  
Sketch   of   a   Temperament   and   is   significantly   different   from   the   volume  
version  of  1897,  whose  title  is  shortened  to  The  Well-­‐‑Beloved.  While  the  
former  presents  a  rebellious  artist,  Jocelyn,  a  Romantic  hero  capable  of  
attempting   suicide   because   of   his   artistic   ideals,   the   latter   gives   us   an  
antihero   who   nonchalantly   abandons   his   search   for   beauty   at   the   end  
of  the  novel  and  becomes  a  fully  integrated  member  of  his  community.  
The   idealistic   artistic   search   is   substituted   for   a   practical   sense   of  
usefulness.  Jocelyn  Pierston  has  finally  become  an  ordinary  and  useful  
member   of   his   community   who   will   “ossify”   with   the   rest.   Similarly,  
Hardy,   having   defined   his   goals   in   novel   writing,   and   finding   it  
impossible   to   fulfil   them,   has   decided   to   bid   farewell   to   fiction,   pull  
down   his   image   as   an   immoral   fictionist   and   build   a   new   and   more  


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acceptable  image  of  Himself  as  Hardy  the  poet.  As  Life  puts  it  with  The  
Well-­‐‑Beloved   «ended   his   prose   contributions   to   literature…   his  
experiences  of  the  few  preceding  years  having  killed  all  his  interest  in  
this  form  of  imaginative  work»  (Life:  304).  And  the  closing  episodes  of  
Well-­‐‑Beloved  certainly  resonate  this  way,  

          At   present....   his   productions   are   alluded   to   as   those   of   a   man  
      not  without  genius,  whose  powers  were  insufficiently  recognized  
      in  his  lifetime.  (The  Well-­‐‑Beloved:  206)       

       Indeed,  as  Michael  Ryan  (1979:  189)  notes,  taking  into  account  that  
this   is   the   last   sentence   of   Hardy'ʹs   last   novel,   one   cannot   help   but  
interpret  it  as  a  portrait  of  a  late  version  of  himself,  whose  talent  as  a  
novelist   had   been   misunderstood   by   his   contemporaries.   Pierston'ʹs  
ultimate  abandonment  of  the  search  for  his  well-­‐‑beloved  is,  at  the  end  
of   the   day,   Hardy'ʹs   final   farewell   to   a   narrative   project   which   simply  
could  not  be.  




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Adelina  Sánchez  Espinosa,  Thomas  Hardy  and  His  Readers  




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Altick,  Richard,  The  English  Common  Reader:  a  Social  History  of  the  Mass  
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Bjork,   Lennart   A.   (ed.),   The   Literary   Notes   of   Thomas   Hardy,   Gotenborg,  
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Cox,   Reginald   G.   (ed.),   Thomas   Hardy.   The   Critical   Heritage,   London,  
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Hardy,  Thomas,  The  Personal  Writings  of  Thomas  Hardy,  ed.  Harold  Orel,  
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Larson,   Jill,   Ethics   and   Narrative   in   the   English   Novel   1880-­‐‑1914,  
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Adelina  Sánchez  Espinosa,  Thomas  Hardy  and  His  Readers  



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                                         The  author  
Adelina  Sánchez  Espinosa  
         
       Adelina   Sánchez   Espinosa   is   Senior   Lecturer   in   English  
Literature   and   Gender   Studies   at   the   University   of   Granada.   She   is  
currently   scientific   coordinator   for   GEMMA:   Erasmus   Mundus   joint  
master'ʹs   degree   in   Women'ʹs   Studies   and   Gender   in   Europe   and  
Principal   Investigator   at   UGR   for   GRACE:   Gender   and   Cultures   of  
Equality   in   Europe,   a   Marie   Curie   H2020   R+D   project.   Her   research  
focuses  on  the  sexual  politics  of  late  Victorian  literature  and  on  textual  
and  visual  cultures  of  equality  in  current  Europe.  


20  
                                              Between,  vol.  VI,  n.  11  (Maggio/May  2016)  



            
          Email:  adelina@ugr.es  



                                     The  paper  
Data  invio:  30/01/2016  
Data  accettazione:  15/04/2016  
Data  pubblicazione:  31/05/2016  



                         How  to  quote  this  paper  
Sánchez   Espinosa,   Adelina,   “Thomas   Hardy   and   His   Readers:  
Contradictions   of   the   Rebellious   Serial   Writer”,   Forme,   strategie   e  
mutazioni   del   racconto   seriale,   eds.   Andrea   Berardinelli,   Eleonora  
Federici,   Gianluigi   Rossini,   Between,   VI.11   (Maggio/May   2016),  
http://www.betweenjournal.it  
  

       
       
       
       
       
       

       

  




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