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151 pages

English

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Dip into this delightful volume of short stories from famed British author Thomas Hardy. Spanning myriad aspects of nineteenth-century life, this eclectic collection of tales -- by turns quaint and caustic -- is sure to sate your craving for stories from the English countryside.

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Short story

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Publié par	The Floating Press
Date de parution	01 juillet 2011
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781775454014
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0134€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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WESSEX TALES
* * *
THOMAS HARDY

*
Wessex Tales First published in 1888 ISBN 978-1-775454-01-4 © 2011 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
*
Preface An Imaginative Woman The Three Strangers The Withered Arm Fellow-Townsmen Interlopers at the Knap The Distracted Preacher
Preface
*
An apology is perhaps needed for the neglect of contrast which is shownby presenting two consecutive stories of hangmen in such a smallcollection as the following. But in the neighbourhood of county-townstales of executions used to form a large proportion of the localtraditions; and though never personally acquainted with any chiefoperator at such scenes, the writer of these pages had as a boy theprivilege of being on speaking terms with a man who applied for theoffice, and who sank into an incurable melancholy because he failed toget it, some slight mitigation of his grief being to dwell upon strikingepisodes in the lives of those happier ones who had held it with successand renown. His tale of disappointment used to cause some wonder why hisambition should have taken such an unfortunate form, but its noblenesswas never questioned. In those days, too, there was still living an oldwoman who, for the cure of some eating disease, had been taken in heryouth to have her 'blood turned' by a convict's corpse, in the mannerdescribed in 'The Withered Arm.'
Since writing this story some years ago I have been reminded by an agedfriend who knew 'Rhoda Brook' that, in relating her dream, myforgetfulness has weakened the facts our of which the tale grew. Inreality it was while lying down on a hot afternoon that the incubusoppressed her and she flung it off, with the results upon the body of theoriginal as described. To my mind the occurrence of such a vision in thedaytime is more impressive than if it had happened in a midnight dream.Readers are therefore asked to correct the misrelation, which affords aninstance of how our imperfect memories insensibly formalize the freshoriginality of living fact—from whose shape they slowly depart, asmachine-made castings depart by degrees from the sharp hand-work of themould.
Among the many devices for concealing smuggled goods in caves and pits ofthe earth, that of planting an apple-tree in a tray or box which wasplaced over the mouth of the pit is, I believe, unique, and it isdetailed in one of the tales precisely as described by an old carrier of'tubs'—a man who was afterwards in my father's employ for over thirtyyears. I never gathered from his reminiscences what means were adoptedfor lifting the tree, which, with its roots, earth, and receptacle, musthave been of considerable weight. There is no doubt, however, that thething was done through many years. My informant often spoke, too, of thehorribly suffocating sensation produced by the pair of spirit-tubs slungupon the chest and back, after stumbling with the burden of them forseveral miles inland over a rough country and in darkness. He said thatthough years of his youth and young manhood were spent in this irregularbusiness, his profits from the same, taken all together, did not averagethe wages he might have earned in a steady employment, whilst thefatigues and risks were excessive.
I may add that the first story in the series turns upon a physicalpossibility that may attach to women of imaginative temperament, and thatis well supported by the experiences of medical men and other observersof such manifestations.
T. H. April 1896.
An Imaginative Woman
*
When William Marchmill had finished his inquiries for lodgings at a well-known watering-place in Upper Wessex, he returned to the hotel to findhis wife. She, with the children, had rambled along the shore, andMarchmill followed in the direction indicated by the military-lookinghall-porter
'By Jove, how far you've gone! I am quite out of breath,' Marchmillsaid, rather impatiently, when he came up with his wife, who was readingas she walked, the three children being considerably further ahead withthe nurse.
Mrs. Marchmill started out of the reverie into which the book had thrownher. 'Yes,' she said, 'you've been such a long time. I was tired ofstaying in that dreary hotel. But I am sorry if you have wanted me,Will?'
'Well, I have had trouble to suit myself. When you see the airy andcomfortable rooms heard of, you find they are stuffy and uncomfortable.Will you come and see if what I've fixed on will do? There is not muchroom, I am afraid; hut I can light on nothing better. The town is ratherfull.'
The pair left the children and nurse to continue their ramble, and wentback together.
In age well-balanced, in personal appearance fairly matched, and indomestic requirements conformable, in temper this couple differed, thougheven here they did not often clash, he being equable, if not lymphatic,and she decidedly nervous and sanguine. It was to their tastes andfancies, those smallest, greatest particulars, that no common denominatorcould be applied. Marchmill considered his wife's likes and inclinationssomewhat silly; she considered his sordid and material. The husband'sbusiness was that of a gunmaker in a thriving city northwards, and hissoul was in that business always; the lady was best characterized by thatsuperannuated phrase of elegance 'a votary of the muse.' Animpressionable, palpitating creature was Ella, shrinking humanely fromdetailed knowledge of her husband's trade whenever she reflected thateverything he manufactured had for its purpose the destruction of life.She could only recover her equanimity by assuring herself that some, atleast, of his weapons were sooner or later used for the extermination ofhorrid vermin and animals almost as cruel to their inferiors in speciesas human beings were to theirs.
She had never antecedently regarded this occupation of his as anyobjection to having him for a husband. Indeed, the necessity of gettinglife-leased at all cost, a cardinal virtue which all good mothers teach,kept her from thinking of it at all till she had closed with William, hadpassed the honeymoon, and reached the reflecting stage. Then, like aperson who has stumbled upon some object in the dark, she wondered whatshe had got; mentally walked round it, estimated it; whether it were rareor common; contained gold, silver, or lead; were a clog or a pedestal,everything to her or nothing.
She came to some vague conclusions, and since then had kept her heartalive by pitying her proprietor's obtuseness and want of refinement,pitying herself, and letting off her delicate and ethereal emotions inimaginative occupations, day-dreams, and night-sighs, which perhaps wouldnot much have disturbed William if he had known of them.
Her figure was small, elegant, and slight in build, tripping, or ratherbounding, in movement. She was dark-eyed, and had that marvellouslybright and liquid sparkle in each pupil which characterizes persons ofElla's cast of soul, and is too often a cause of heartache to thepossessor's male friends, ultimately sometimes to herself. Her husbandwas a tall, long-featured man, with a brown beard; he had a ponderingregard; and was, it must be added, usually kind and tolerant to her. Hespoke in squarely shaped sentences, and was supremely satisfied with acondition of sublunary things which made weapons a necessity.
Husband and wife walked till they had reached the house they were insearch of, which stood in a terrace facing the sea, and was fronted by asmall garden of wind-proof and salt-proof evergreens, stone steps leadingup to the porch. It had its number in the row, but, being rather largerthan the rest, was in addition sedulously distinguished as Coburg Houseby its landlady, though everybody else called it 'Thirteen, New Parade.'The spot was bright and lively now; but in winter it became necessary toplace sandbags against the door, and to stuff up the keyhole against thewind and rain, which had worn the paint so thin that the priming andknotting showed through.
The householder, who bad been watching for the gentleman's return, metthem in the passage, and showed the rooms. She informed them that shewas a professional man's widow, left in needy circumstances by the rathersudden death of her husband, and she spoke anxiously of the conveniencesof the establishment.
Mrs. Marchmill said that she liked the situation and the house; but, itbeing small, there would not be accommodation enough, unless she couldhave all the rooms.
The landlady mused with an air of disappointment. She wanted thevisitors to be her tenants very badly, she said, with obvious honesty.But unfortunately two of the rooms were occupied permanently by abachelor gentleman. He did not pay season prices, it was true; but as hekept on his apartments all the year round, and was an extremely nice andinteresting young man, who gave no trouble, she did not like to turn himout for a month's 'let,' even at a high figure. 'Perhaps, however,' sheadded, 'he might offer to go for a time.'
They would not hear of this, and went back to the hotel, intending toproceed to the agent's to inquire further. Hardly had they sat down totea when the landlady called. Her gentleman, she said, had been soobliging as to offer to give up his rooms for three or four weeks ratherthan drive the new-comers away.
'It is very kind, but we won't inconvenience him in that way,' said theMarchmills.
'O, it won't inconvenience him, I assure you!' said the landladyeloquently. 'You see, he