Tess of the D’Urbervilles. Томас Харди
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of practising the great historical method. However, they may have causes to advance, privilege to guard, traditions to keep going; some of which a mere tale-teller, who writes down how the things of the world strike him, without any ulterior intentions whatever, has overlooked, and may by pure inadvertence have run foul of when in the least aggressive mood. Perhaps some passing perception, the outcome of a dream hour, would, if generally acted on, cause such an assailant considerable inconvenience with respect to position, interests, family, servant, ox, ass, neighbour, or neighbour’s wife. He therefore valiantly hides his personality behind a publisher’s shutters, and cries ‘Shame!’ So densely is the world thronged that any shifting of positions, even the best warranted advance, galls somebody’s kibe. Such shiftings often begin in sentiment, and such sentiment sometimes begins in a novel.
July 1892
The foregoing remarks were written during the early career of this story, when a spirited public and private criticism of its points was still fresh to the feelings. The pages are allowed to stand for what they are worth, as something once said; but probably they would not have been written now. Even in the short time which has elapsed since the book was first published, some of the critics who provoked the reply have ‘gone down into silence,’ as if to remind one of the infinite unimportance of both their say and mine.
In the present edition it may be well to state, in response to inquiries from readers interested in landscape, prehistoric antiquities, and especially old English architecture, that the description of these backgrounds in this and its companion novels has been done from the real. Many features of the first two kinds have been given under their existing names; for instance, the Vale of Blackmoor or Blakemore, Hambledon Hill, Bulbarrow, Nettlecombe 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, &c—.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: such as Shaftesbury in ‘Shaston,’ Sturminster Newton in ‘Stourcastle,’ Dorchester in ‘Casterbridge,’ Salisbury in ‘Melchester,’ Salisbury Plain in ‘The Great Plain,’ Cranborne in ‘Chaseborough,’ Cranborne Chase in ‘The Chase,’ Beaminster in ‘Emminster,’ Bere Regis in ‘Kingsbere,’ Woodbury Hill in ‘Greenhill,’ Wool Bridge in ‘Wellbridge,’ Hartfoot or Harput Lane in ‘Stagfoot Lane,’ Hazelbury in ‘Nuzzle-bury,’ Bridport in ‘Port-Bredy,’ Maiden Newton in ‘Chalk Newton,’ a farm near Nettlecombe Tout in ‘Flintcomb Ash,’ Sherborne in ‘Sherton Abbas,’ Milton Abbey in ‘Middleton Abbey,’ Cerne Abbas in ‘Abbot’s Cernel,’ Evershot in ‘Evershead,’ Tauton in ‘Toneborough,’ Bournemouth in ‘Sandbourne,’ Winchester in ‘Wintoncester,’ and so on. 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.
January 1895
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. They occur in Chapter X.
Respecting the sub-title, to which allusion was made above, I may add that it was appended at the last moment, after reading the final proofs, as being the estimate left in a candid mind of the heroine’s character—an estimate that nobody would be likely to dispute. It was disputed more than anything else in the book. Melius fuerat nonscribere. But there it stands.
The novel was first published complete, in three volumes, in November 1891.
T. H., March 1912
On an evening in the latter part of May a middle-aged man was walking homeward from Shaston to the village of Marlott, in the adjoining Vale of Blakemore or Blackmoor. The pair of legs that carried him were rickety, and there was a bias in his gait which inclined him somewhat to the left of a straight line. He occasionally gave a smart nod, as if in confirmation of some opinion, though he was not thinking of anything in particular. An empty egg-basket was slung upon his arm, the nap of his hat was ruffled, a patch being quite worn away at its brim where his thumb came in taking it off. Presently he was met by an elderly parson astride on a gray mare, who, as he rode, hummed a wandering tune.
‘Good night, t’ee,’ said the man with the basket.
‘Good night, Sir John,’ said the parson.
The pedestrian, after another pace or two, halted, and turned round.
‘Now, sir, begging your pardon; we met last market-day on this road about this time, and I said “Good night,” and you made reply “Good night, Sir John,” as now.
‘I did,’ said the parson.
‘And once before that—near a month ago.’
‘I may have.’
‘Then what might your meaning be in calling me “Sir John” these different times, when I be plain Jack Durbeyfield, the haggler?’
The parson rode a step or two nearer.
‘It was only my whim,’ he said; and, after a moment’s hesitation: ‘It was on account of a discovery I made some little time ago, whilst I was hunting up pedigrees for the new county history. I am Parson Tringham, the antiquary, of Stagfoot Lane. Don’t you really know, Durbeyfield, that you are the lineal representative of the ancient and knightly family of the d’Urbervilles, that renowned knight who came from Normandy with William the Conqueror, as appears by Battle Abbey Roll?’
‘Never heard it before, sir!’
‘Well it’s true. Throw up your chin a moment, so that I may catch the profile of your face better. Yes, that’s the d’Urberville nose and chin—a little debased. Your ancestor was one of the twelve knights who assisted the Lord of Estremavilla in Normandy in his conquest of Glamorganshire. Branches of your family held manors over all this part of England; their names appear in the Pipe Rolls in the time of King Stephen. In the reign of King John one of them was rich enough to give a manor to the Knights Hospitallers; and in Edward the Second’s time your forefather Brian was summoned to Westminster to attend the great Council there. You declined a little in Oliver Cromwell’s time, but to no serious extent, and in Charles the Second’s reign you were made Knights of the Royal Oak for your loyalty. Aye, there have been generations of Sir Johns among you, and if knighthood were hereditary, like a baronetcy, as it practically was in old times, when men were knighted from father to son, you would be Sir John now.’
‘Ye don’t say so!’
‘In short,’ concluded the parson, decisively smacking his leg with his switch, ‘there’s hardly such another family in England.’
‘Daze my eyes, and isn’t there?’ said Durbeyfield. ‘And here have I been knocking about, year after year, from pillar to post, as if I was no more than the commonest feller in the parish…And how long hev this news about me been knowed, Pa’son Tringham?’
The clergyman explained that, as far as he was aware, it had quite died out of knowledge, and could hardly be said to be known at all. His own investigations had begun on a day in the preceding spring