Where Angels Fear to Tread

Philip Herriton’s self-conception as a detached spectator is dismantled in the novel’s final chapters, exemplifying The Struggle to Develop an Individual Sense of Identity. Caroline Abbott’s accusation that he is emotionally inert forces him to confront the moral implications of his aestheticism. He admits his role, stating that “life to me is just a spectacle, which…is now more beautiful and heartening than it has ever been before” (110). This statement reveals his preference for observing life from a distance, a stance that insulates him from genuine feeling and responsibility. The baby’s death, a direct result of his inaction and Harriet’s fanaticism, shatters this insulation. His decision to face Gino alone is a significant departure from passivity and an acceptance of accountability. This movement toward engagement culminates in his “conversion” while witnessing Caroline’s compassion for Gino. This moment is an existential one, saving him from the spiritual death of spectatorship by initiating him into the world of profound human feeling, symbolized by the ritualized drinking of the milk. His final realization that all wonderful things have happened for him, despite his heartbreak, confirms his transformation; he has finally collided with life and been irrevocably changed.

The failure of English social convention is illustrated through Harriet’s actions, which represent the culmination of the Herriton worldview. Her kidnapping of the baby is not a spontaneous act but a calculated mission, sanctioned by her rigid moral code. Her reference to a prayer book opened to a psalm that teaches one’s “hands to war, and my fingers to fight” (114) demonstrates the use of religion to justify violence in the name of propriety. Furthermore, Harriett’s reading of the King James translation of the Bible— a symbol of English Protestantism—right before she kidnaps a child from his Catholic father alludes to the religious and cultural differences which she finds intolerable. She cannot allow a Protestant (or English) baby to be raised by Catholics (or Italians). In a sense, this act is the logical outcome of Sawston’s belief in its own superiority and its right to impose order on the perceived chaos of Italy. Harriet’s conviction, devoid of empathy, makes her a destructive force, turning a family conflict into a tragedy. The text thus dramatizes The Clashes Between Social Convention and Passionate Emotion, showing that the English obsession with control is not merely repressive but dangerous. The chaos of the carriage overturning in the dark serves as a literal and metaphorical collapse of the Herritons’ plans, revealing the consequences of their moral certainty when applied to complex human realities.

In contrast to Harriet’s rigid morality, Caroline embodies an alternative rooted in empathy. Her development culminates in the aftermath of Gino’s attack on Philip, where she redefines the terms of the conflict. Instead of aligning with English justice or Italian revenge, she introduces a third way grounded in compassion. By physically restraining Gino and declaring “there is to be no revenge” (126), she halts the cycle of violence. Her subsequent comforting of Gino and the symbolic sharing of the baby’s milk between the two men functions as a secular communion. This ritual forces Philip and Gino to acknowledge their shared humanity, establishing a connection that transcends their cultural enmity. In this act, Caroline’s authority stems not from social law but from an innate understanding of suffering and forgiveness. She becomes the novel’s moral center, demonstrating how The Possibilities of Connection Across Social Divides can be realized through an emotional intelligence that operates beyond conventional ethics.

The use of religious and mythological allusions recasts the novel’s central conflicts, moving them beyond social satire toward tragedy. Philip’s “conversion” is framed with the language of spiritual salvation, but the catalyst is Caroline’s human goodness, reinterpreting religious experience in humanistic terms. Caroline herself is repeatedly perceived by Philip as a goddess, a figure whose compassion and moral authority seem to exist on a higher plane. This framing becomes most explicit when Philip interprets Caroline’s love for Gino through classical myth. He rejects the image of Pasiphaë, who lusted after a bull, in favor of the myth of Endymion, in which the moon goddess Selene falls in love with a mortal shepherd. This intellectual leap reframes Caroline’s passion not as a social degradation but as something elemental, placing her “outside all degradation” (135). These allusions universalize the narrative, suggesting the characters are playing out archetypal conflicts between civilization and passion, reason and desire.

The novel’s conclusion is structured by dramatic irony, culminating in the symbolism of the St. Gotthard tunnel. Having learned to love, he is immediately confronted with the reality that his love for Caroline is unrequited. Likewise, Caroline, the champion of decisive moral action, resolves to suppress her own passion and return to the confines of Sawston. The dramatic irony is evident in Philip’s unspoken love. The reader is shown Caroline confessing her own unrequited love for Gino, as well as Philip choosing not to confess his love to Caroline. They are similar in the unrequitedness of their love, but this similarity only makes them more distant. The final image of Philip and Caroline closing the carriage windows to protect the sleeping Harriet from the tunnel’s soot is highly symbolic: The light of Italy—representing passion, beauty, and emotional truth—is decisively shut out. The characters retreat into the moral and emotional darkness of their English lives, carefully shielding the unrepentant agent of the tragedy from the consequences of the world she helped destroy. This ending offers no easy resolution, suggesting that while exposure to a more passionate existence can lead to self-discovery, the repressive structures of society are often inescapable.