In _Tess of the D'Urbevilles_ (published by Messrs. OSGOOD, MCILVAINE
& CO.), Mr. THOMAS HARDY has given us a striking work of fiction,
bold in design, and elaborate in finish. The characters, with one
exception, are as true to life as are his graphic descriptions of
nature's own scenery; true that is to the types of such rural life as
he professes to represent,--the life led in our Christian country by
thousands and thousands of genuine Pagans, superstitious Boeotians,
with whom the schoolmaster can do but little, and the parson still
less. As to the clergymen who appear in this story, two of them are
priggishly academic, a third is a comfortable antiquarian, and the
fourth unacquainted with even the A.B.C. of his own pastoral theology.
[Illustration: A BRIGHT PARTICULAR STAR IN THE MILKY WAY.
Showing how an Angel without wings played on the harp to Milkmaid Tess
of the Tubbyveals, who was so proud of her calves.]
Since THACKERAY's _Captain Costigan_, and TOM ROBERTSON's dramatic
variation of him as _Eccles_ in _Caste_, no more original type of the
besotted, no-working working-man, has been given us ("at least, as far
as I am aware," interpolates the Baron, with a possible reservation)
than _Tess's_ father, _Durbeyfield_. His foolish wife, _Joan_, kindly
in a way, a fair housewife and helpmate, yet deficient in moral sense,
is another admirably-drawn character.
The only blot on this otherwise excellent work is the absurdly
melodramatic character of that "villain of the deepest dye," _Alec
D'Urbeville_, who would be thoroughly in his element in an Adelphi
Drama of the most approved type, ancient or modern. He is just the
sort of stage-scoundrel who from time to time seeks to take some mean
advantage of a heroine in distress, on which occasions said heroine
(of Adelphi Drama) will request him to "unhand her," or to "stand
aside and let her pass;" whereupon the dastardly ruffian retaliates
with a diabolical sneer of fiendish malice, his eyes ablaze with
passion, as, making his melodramatic exit at the O.P. wing, he growls,
"Aha! a day will come!" or "She must and shall be mine!" or, if
not making his exit, but remaining in centre of stage to assist in
forming a picture, he exclaims, with fiendish glee, "Now, pretty one,
you are in my power!" and so forth. 'Tis a great pity that such a
penny-plain-and-two-pence-coloured scoundrel should have been allowed
so strong a part among Mr. HARDY's excellent and unconventional
_dramatis personæ_. Even the very, very strong ejaculations wherein
this bold bad man indulges on the slightest provocation belong to the
most antiquated vocabulary of theatrical ruffianism. However, there
he is, and all the perfumes of the Vale of Blackmoor will not suffice
for dispelling the strong odour of the footlights which pervades
every scene where this unconscionable scoundrel makes his appearance.
That he is ultimately disposed of by being stuck to the heart with
the carving-knife that had been brought in for cold-beef slicing at
breakfast, is some satisfaction. But far be it from the Baron to give
more than this hint in anticipation of the tragic _dénoûment_. Some
might accuse Mr. THOMAS HARDY of foolhardiness in so boldly telling
ugly truths about the Pagan Phyllises and Corydons of our dear old
Christian England; but we, his readers, have the author's word for
the truth of what he has written, as "the fortunes of _Tess of the
D'Urbevilles, a Pure Woman_," are "faithfully presented," by THOMAS
HARDY, and so his honour is pledged to the truth of this story which
his powers of narration have made so fascinating to a host of readers
besides the one who is a host in himself, namely,