The Distracted Preacher (9 page)

The Wessex of Thomas Hardy's Novels & Poems
Map from
The
Wessex of Thomas Hardy
by B.C.A. Windle & E.H. New.

Introduction from
The Wessex of Thomas Hardy
by
B.C.A. Windle & E.H. New.

Whilst Thackeray was engaged upon his story “The Virginians,” he confided to Motley that “he intended to write a novel of the time of Henry V., which would be his
capo d'opera,
in which the ancestors of all his present characters, Warringtons, Pendennises, and the rest, should be introduced. It would be a most magnificent performance,” he said, “and nobody would read it.” This idea, which was probably never seriously entertained and certainly never was realized, would, had it been carried out, have been quite in harmony with Thackeray's plan of linking novel to novel by a use, if not always of identical characters in successive books, at least of members of the same family. The genealogist can easily trace the family tree of the Esmond Warringtons from “Henry Poyns, gent., who married Dorothea, daughter and heiress of Edward, Earl and Marquis Esmond, and Lord of Castlewood,” through the Georgian Esmonds and Warringtons, down to “the Stunner,” friend and mentor of Pendennis—of Pendennis, who is himself the hero of one novel, the putative author of another, and a prominent figure in a third. Then, again, amongst minor personages, there is Voelcker or Foker the brewer, whose son was pupil to George Warrington, of “ The Virginians,” and whose better known descendant Harry Foker appears in “Pendennis” to frustrate on two occasions the love-affairs of the young gentleman after whom the book is named. Such a plan of welding into one organic whole what would otherwise be the isolated efforts of a novelist's imagination, imparts without doubt a considerable air of verisimilitude to the series. It was not, of course, the sole property of the greatest of this century's novelists, but has been employed by other writers, and notably by Zola in his Rougon Macquart memoirs. Mr. Hardy himself has used it to some extent, for the name of William Dewey, that fine old man, of whom his author seems to be particularly fond, occurs in several of the novels, whilst in “The Mayor of Casterbridge” mention is made of James Everdene, the uncle from whom Bathsheba, of “Far from the Madding Crowd,” inherited her farm, and of Boldwood, then “a silent, reserved young man,” as figuring amongst the creditors of the unfortunate Henchard. But Mr. Hardy has his own plan for binding together the links of his chain of tales—a different plan from that of Thackeray, but not less effectual. The former may perhaps be spoken of as the method of genealogical, the latter of scenic continuity. For Mr. Hardy has annexed unto himself a small—a relatively small—stretch of country, and has steadily, in novel after novel, proceeded to people it with a new population, a population which never had any existence outside the dreamland of its creator's thoughts, but a population made so real to us by his genius, that the pilgrim through Wessex can scarcely bring himself to believe that Bathsheba and Oak, Dick Dewey and his wife Fancy, with all the other characters which pass before the inner eye when one thinks of the Wessex novels, might not be perceptible to the ordinary senses, were it possible to pierce the veil which, it seems, must hide them as one strolls through the little country towns and villages to which they belong. The late William Morris once said that we must no more expect to see the rustics of Hardy than those of Mason and Walker, both being ideal creations without actual existence; yet how much more real are they to many of us than those flesh-and-blood rustics with whom it may have been our fate to have been brought in contact! Whilst peopling these scenes with the creatures of his imagination, Mr. Hardy has achieved a feat which he was probably far from contemplating when he first commenced his series of novels. For incidentally he has resuscitated, one may even say re-created, the old half-forgotten kingdom of Wessex. Before his time, those who used this term at all were thinking of a land made memorable by the ravages of a horde of sea-borne adventurers, who gradually drove before them, in conflict after conflict of those “battles of kites and crows” of which Milton scornfully spoke, the earlier possessors of the country-side. It was the land which later was ruled over by Ine, the law-giver, the founder of Taunton, the land of Alfred, greatest and wisest of early kings. But Wessex as a living, breathing reality, Wessex as a part of nineteenth-century life, sprang first into existence under the touch of the magic wand of its novelist. In the introduction to the last edition of “Far from the Madding Crowd,” its author, reminding himself and his readers that it was in its pages that he first made use of the ancient name of Wessex in the sense in which he has made us understand it, explains the reasons which led him to make choice of that title.

“The series of novels I projected,” he writes, “being mainly of the kind called local, they seemed to require a territorial definition of some sort to lend unity to their scene. Finding that the area of a single county did not afford a canvas large enough for this purpose, and that there were objections to an invented name, I disinterred the old one. The press and the public were kind enough to welcome the fanciful plan, and willingly joined me in the anachronism of imagining a Wessex population living under Queen Victoria—a modern Wessex of railways, the penny post, mowing and reaping machines, union workhouses, labourers who could read and write, and National School children. But I believe I am correct in stating that, until the existence of this contemporaneous Wessex was announced in the present story, in 1874, it had never been heard of, and that the expression, ‘a Wessex peasant,' or
‘
a Wessex custom,' would theretofore have been taken to refer to nothing later in date than the Norman Conquest. . . . Since then the appellation which I had thought to reserve to the horizons and landscapes of a merely realistic dream-country, has become more and more popular as a practical provincial definition; and the dream-country has, by degrees, solidified into a utilitarian region which people can go to, take a house in, and write to the papers from.”

This feat, the re-creation of an old territory, Mr. Hardy has achieved as much by his marvellous powers of describing natural objects and scenery, as by his skill in delineating rustic character. Indeed, it is chiefly by the former great and excellent gift that the deed has been done. Others can draw character, even rustic character—might not Master Gammon occupy a place on the line in any gallery of British yokels?—but who is Mr. Hardy's rival in description of nature? Here those who believe in him as one of the great masters in the art of fiction may take their stand and fear the attack of no opponent.

The knowledge of rustic character must not be left out of count, though it is no part of the purpose of this book to dwell upon that aspect of the question, nor must the way in which the characters belong to and form the complement of their environment be forgotten. Can any reader fail to recognize that Marty South and Giles Winterborne would have been impossible elsewhere than in the regions of Little Hintock; or can he ramble over Egdon Heath without being constrained to feel that it has existed from ages long gone by, in order to form a setting for that noble tale, “The Return of the Native”?

It is the opinion of some of those who have written on the Wessex novels that the thin veil which the author has cast over the localities which he describes should not be lifted, and that readers do better to remain in ignorance of the actual scenes, contenting themselves with the descriptions to be found within the pages of the books.

Such is not the experience of the present writer, nor is it that of other lovers of the novels in whose company he has explored the district with which they deal, for he and they have learnt how much a knowledge of the country helps the reader to appreciate and realize the stories. Those who desire to follow in this path will, it is hoped and believed, find in these pages a guide, which will enable them to trace the scenes described in the novels, and visit the houses in which his characters have played their parts in the comedy or tragedy of life.

Mr. Hardy has himself given some account of the method on which his topographical scheme was worked out—an account which may be quoted here before any comment is made upon it. In the introduction to the last edition of “Tess of the D'Urbervilles” he tells us, “In response to inquiries from readers interested in landscape, prehistoric antiquities, and especially Old English architecture, it may be said that the description of these backgrounds in this and its companion novels has been drawn from the real. Many features of the first two kinds have been given under their existing names; for instance, the Vale of Blackmore or Blakemore, Hambledown Hill, Bulbarrow, Nettlecomb Tout, Dogbury Hill, High Stoy, Bubb-Down Hill, The Devil's Kitchen, Cross-in-Hand, Long-Ash Lane, Benvill Lane, Giant's Hill, Crimmercrock Lane, and Stonehenge. The rivers Froom or Frome and Stour are, of course, well known as such. And in planning the stories, the idea was that large towns and points tending to mark the outline of Wessex, such as Bath, Plymouth, The Start, Portland Bill, Southampton, etc., should be named outright. The scheme was not greatly elaborated, but, whatever its value, the names remain still. In respect of places described under fictitious or ancient names—for reasons that seemed good at the time of writing—discerning persons have affirmed in print that they clearly recognize the originals;” and then follows a list, which need not be reproduced here, terminating with the observation, “I shall not be the one to contradict them: I accept their statements as at least an indication of their real and kindly interest in the scenes.”

In visiting the localities associated with the novels, it must ever be borne in mind that Mr. Hardy is a story-writer and not a guide-book maker, an artist and not a photographer.
Il
prend son bien ou il le trouve;
and if he fails to find, in the village in which the scene of his story is laid, some adequate house for its centrepiece, he does not scruple to import one which falls in with his idea and the needs of the story from a greater or less distance. Thus the house from which the description of Bathsheba's farm is taken is not to be found in Puddletown, the Weatherbury of “ Far from the Madding Crowd,” but at a spot some two miles distant from that place; and Great Hintock House, Mrs. Charmond's residence, is not in the country of “The Woodlanders,” but in quite another part of the county. Again, some places are of the nature of composite pictures, such as the Tower in “Two on a Tower,” which has features borrowed, as Mr. Hardy himself has pointed out in the introduction to the last edition of that novel, from two of the several obelisks and towers which are to be found in the county of Dorset. But in every case—or in almost every case—the houses described are real edifices, whether they occupy the sites allotted to them in the novels or not, and are drawn for us, as a general rule, with that architectural accuracy which Mr. Hardy's early studies in that profession have enabled him to impart to them. With regard to natural scenery the case is different. Here the descriptions paint for us the scenes as they are, and as we should wish to describe them, when we see them, were we endowed with the pen of a master. Instances of this may be found in the pictures of the Vale of Blackmore, the valley of the Frome as seen by Tess on her way to Talbothays, and the various accounts of Egdon Heath.

In certain cases Mr. Hardy has given an easy clue to the place which he had in his mind when writing, by transferring the name of the locality to his hero or some other character in the book. Thus Fawley, Jude's surname, is the real name of the village which figures in the book as Marygreen; Melbury, the timber-merchant of “The Woodlanders,” takes his name from the real appellation of one of the Hintocks; and Phillotson's friend and fellow-schoolmaster, Gillingham, is called after the place in which he taught, the Leddenton of the tale.

True to his devotion to Wessex, the names of many, perhaps of most, of Mr. Hardy's characters—to diverge for a moment into a bypath—are taken from the names of villages in the district, or will be found on tombstones, over shop-doors, or in pedigrees belonging to the same region. Thus the Chickerells are villages near Weymouth; the name of Tullidge, that hero who “fout at Valencien,” and showed his ruined arm to Maidy Anne in “The Trumpet-Major,” is on a tombstone at Abbotsbury; Derriman presides over a shop at Cerne Abbas; and Keyte finds a place in the pedigree of those descended from the old Jerseyman, Thomas Hardy, of whose stock are the novelist and that other celebrated Thomas Hardy, who sailed the ship which carried Nelson to death and glory at Trafalgar.

The visitor to Dorsetshire, who knows his Wessex novels, will constantly be struck with the small touches betraying the intimate knowledge which its novelist possesses of his country. Many of these will be alluded to in subsequent pages, and one only need here be mentioned as an example. It will be remembered that Tess, on her journey to Marlott, after her betrayal by Stoke-D'Urberville, met with a man whose simple method of evangelization was to paint texts, mostly of a denunciatory character, on the top bars of gates and stiles and other such places. Many such inscriptions may be found in the country around Dorchester, though the present writer, with a fair knowledge of rural England, has never come across them elsewhere. Thus, on a stile near Stinsford, as Mr. New shows in his picture, is inscribed, “Speak Evil of No Man;” and on a gate near Maiden Newton—one of several inscriptions in that part of the world—is, “Prepare to Meet Thy God.”