The Novelist of Country Life.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXVI, Issue 6, 10 February 1906, Page 55

The Novelist of Country Life.

SOME TRUE STORIES OE THOMAS HARDY. It is hot often that one hears anything of Thomas Hardy. An occasional book, and he is silent. He is not paragraphed in the papers. He shuns the society that must be written with a big S. In short, as Kipling said of •’Bobs,” he does not advertise. And yet he shares with Meredith the honour of being the greatest writer of the age, whose every book is literature. “When I am dead, the only one of my books that will be read is ’Jude the Obscure,’” he remarked a . short time ago. The publie will disagree with this statement, and usually the public is the best judge. Hardy’s life-story is not packed with romance; indeed, it is a very simple one. He has lived in Dorset all his life, for he is a lover of .Nature,’ and no man can wield his pen in Nature’s interest so well as he. On the outskirts of Dorchester you will find him, in a redbrick house' surrounded by tall trees that hide the building from the inquisitive. Here ■ Thomas Hardy, reeluse and genius, lives and writes. T do not think it is generally known that the first novel Thomas Hardy wiote was never published, and I believe it is Mr Edmund Gosse who tells the story. Hardy was not much over twenty at the time, and the novel in question was called “The Poor Man and the Lady.” It was not an ordinary story by.any njjeans, for it was packed with powerful-writing embodying some strong revolutionary and anti-social views. In due time the novel was sent to a publisher, and by a strange ehanee the publisher’s reader who took it in hand was no other than Mr Meredith. He sent for Hardy, and told him that although he thought the book was publishable, he suggested that the young author should assume a gentler guise for his first novel. Hardy there and then asked him to be allowed to withdraw the book, and going home he sat down and wrote another—his first novel published—" Desperate Remedies.” "Desperate Remedies” was published in 1871. and a year later Hardy wrote “Under the Greenwood Tree.” When Tinsley, his publisher, read the manuscript, he believed it to be the finest prose novel, he had ever eome across. He published it; but the public would have none of it, though it was published in three editions at varying prices. Moreover, no book has ever had such splendid Press notices as thia one. But, as it happened, Frederick .Greenwood, the great journalist, was one day travelling by rail when lie saw on a railway bookstall a heap of second hand books gt sixpence each. Among these was “Under the; Greenwood Tree,” and the name Greenwood being his own, he bought a copy, and read it. The book appealed to him so strongly that he

wrote to Hardy, who wgs unknown to him, and asked him to do a serial for the “Corubill,” which Greenwood was editing. Hardy did hi. The story he wrote was “Far From the Madding Crowd,” and it made him famous. In the old county town of Dorcester they tell a curious story of Hardy’s early days, which, if it is true, perhaps suggested “Tess of the D’Urbervilles” to Hardy. As a youngster he used to go to school in Dorchester, and while there he and another boy became acquainted with a very beautiful woman, who was the wife of a publican. Tlie publican, however, was a scoundrel, and treated her so badly that at last, driven to desperation. she killed him with a knife. In due course she was 1 ried and condemned to death. Then, impelled by that fascination for tire gruesome which is so strong in schoolboys. Hardy anti his ehum went to the prison-on tlie day of the execution, and eli nbed up a tree which overlooked the prison yard, and from this position they witnessed the execution. If the inhabitants of Dorchester are to be believed, then there can lie no doubt that it was this incident which gave Hardy the idea for “Tess.” Nevertheless, Thomas Hardy hao confessed that lie only saw the original ?f “Tess” on one occasion, and then she was riding in a cart in Dorset. Yet the swift glimpse he caught of her so impressed him'that it started in his fruitful brain the wonderful story, which, for sheer genius, takes a high place among the greatest novels of the last century. HARDY’S WAISTCOAT < Hardy is not fond of dress. He dresses as simply as lie lives—as, indeed, all geniuses have done since the beginning of the history. And if he has an aversion for one particular item of dress it is for the great-coat, ami the coldest weather_ will not persuade him to wear one. When the weather begins to get cold he puts on a thick waistcoat made of sheepskin in the old-fashioned country style. Then, as the weather beeont-os colder, he puts a woollen waistcoat above this, and adds waistcoat after waistcoat, according to tlie temperature. until he is wearing four or five in the depth of the wiater. HIS CURIOUS MISTAKE. As I have said,. Hardy is not fond of society; but an amusing story was told the other day of an episode which took place when he was attending a social function in London. Among the guests were Sarah Grand, the authoress of the “Heavenly Twins,” and the Bev. 11. R. and Mrs Haweis. As it happened. Hardy knew Mr Haweis. but did not know his wife, while Mrs Grand knew Mrs Haweis but not her husband, and they were each talking to file person with whom they were acquainted. Presently Mr Haweis remarked to Hardy; “They tell me that Sarah Grand, the authoress, is here. Will you introduce me to her?’’ Hardy at once walked across the room to where Sarah Grand was talking to Mrs Haweis.

“Excuse me,” he said, interrupting the conversation, ami quite in ignorance of the identity of the person to whom Mrs Grand was speaking, “but old Haweis over there wants to be introduced to you. If you think he will bore you. however, 1 can easily make some excuse!” What the feelings of Mrs Haweis were when she heard her husband thus spoken of is not recorded. A COMPLIMENT TO HARDY. Thomas Hardy does not like praise, but he deeply values an honest opinion of his work, provided he knows that the person who gives it is not inclined to flattery. Years ago, when “Far from the Madding Crowd” came out, Mr Kegan Paul, the publisher, was spending a holiday in Dorset witli his family, and he happened to read the book aloud. “Ah!” said his little daughter, when he was reading some of the dialogue that occurs in tlie book between the Wessex rustics, “the people in that book speak just like Mr Singleton.” Mr Singleton was the local carrier, and, of course, spoke only broad Dorset dialect. In due tiire the remark reached Hardy, and he always said that of all the compliments lie ever l ad this was the most sincere, and consequently the one he treasures most.