--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Steele, Frank C. collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 32 number: 4 published: 1929-02 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: "Frank C. Steele, “Thomas Hardy—An Appreciation,” *Improvement Era* 32, no. 4 (February 1929): 305–307." source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera3204unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera3204unse start_page: 305 end_page: 307 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1929-02) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera3204unse publication_year: 1929 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1929, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # Thomas Hardy—An Appreciation Thomas Hardy — An Appreciation By Frank C. Steele WHEN death removes a great man it is the customary thing, not only to become reminiscent, but also to form estimates of the man and his work. So it has been with Thomas Hardy, who recently closed a long and beautiful life, leaving to Eng- lish letters a heritage that gave him a resting place in the poet's corner of Westminster Abbey among others of Britain's honored dead. High and low loved Thomas Hardy and his tales of the Wessex wolds and rural folk. It is hard to believe that he is dead, that no longer will the world be enriched by his pen. He was so long a commanding figure in the literary world that his place is high and secure, so high indeed that when tender hands and adoring hearts turned to his entombment his last escort was composed of the great men of his country: Baldwin. McDonald, Kipling. Shaw, Gals- worthy, Barrie, Gosse, Ramsay. Walker, and Housman. What more significant tribute could be paid a man than this? Since his death editors and critics in Europe and America have given their appraisal of his work and not a few have ranked him first among the Moderns. This estimate is not too high, for Hardy's was a place apart. He may, in fact, be called the forerunner of the Moderns for his leadership in letters had been established when the majority of the contemporary members of this group, here and abroad, appeared on the scene. Hardy was poet and novelist long before many of us were born. His career as a poet began in 1865. and as a novelist in 1871. He really began life as an architect, then turned to poetry. Later. Hardy deserted poetry for fiction, and after three decades of astonish- ing success in that field, he returned to his first love — poetry. He achieved mastery in both poetry and fiction. In which field did he excel? Since his death that point has been raised. But such specu- lation is fruitless. It is to choose between two perfect blossoms. Future generations may exhibit a preference, but viewing his work today one would feel safe in forecasting that, like the work of Scott, it will be appreciated in its entirety. Hence, it would serve no good purpose now to weigh Hardy, the novelist, against Hardy, the poet. Thomas Hardy's novels stand in the very first ranks of English fiction. If they are at times grim, morbid, even terrible in their por- trayal of events and the reactions on his characters, it is because Hardy is more sincere than most of us. He is not afraid of truth, of the facts of life. He looked out upon his world and the simple rustics who 306 IMPROVEMENT ERA Feb.. 1929 inhabited it, writing what he found there. His was a comparatively small world, and yet, somehow, it yielded him material for novels of universal appeal. And therein lies a lesson for the young writer who, overlooking the simple things about him, goes far afield for his material. Usually the result is disappointment and failure. But this is in passing. Returning to Thomas Hardy, no one who has read The Return of the Native, Tess of the D'Ubervilles, and Far from the Madden- ing Crowd will deny, even though they picture the stark realities of life, that they lack warmth and sympathy and love for humanity. Hardy's dogged adherence to things as he found them must not be wrongly interpreted. His knowledge of the elemental passions and problems that vex men and women served only to mellow the strings of his understanding heart. The Victorians did not like "Tess" when their prudish eyes read her story. The book was pronounced offensive to refined taste. Then came Judge the Obscure, and that novel suffered an even worse fate. It was branded immoral and cruel and undesirable and it is said that this open resentment, fatuous though it was, so offended the sensitive feelings of Hardy that he turned abruptly from fiction to poetry. But what splendid compensations accrued from that de- cision! It was Edwin Markham, whose "Man With the Hoe" is one of the most powerful things in American literature, who said: "The, poet comes to behold and to express the hidden loveliness of the world, to point out the ideal that is ever seeking to push through the husk of things and to reveal the inner spiritual meaning. So all of life is material for his seeing eye and his thinking heart, as he makes the wonderful familiar and the familiar wonderful." Truly, Thomas Hardy had the "seeing eye" and the "thinking heart." His poetry may not possess the degree of music found in the work of some poets who might be cited, but it maintains a beauty, nobility and warmth that make it impressive. It is always refreshing and stimulating. Moreover, it is philosophical but never didactic. His pictures are keenly drawn; his themes strongly, fluently, com- pletely developed. Out of his contacts with life and humanity flowed the wisdom of years couched in pure, vivid lines. Hardy's poetry may not be for the masses, but surely it is for those who are dis- criminating in their literary tastes. To appreciate Thomas Hardy's poetry one must read it and re-read it. Collections of his work may be obtained at any good library. Thomas Hardy held intimate communion with nature and many of his finest poems were inspired by the free, open world about him. "The Wind Blew Words" is one of these: Feb., 1929 THOMAS HARDY 307 The wind blew words across the skies, And these it blew to me Through the wide dusk: "Lift up thine eyes, Behold this troubled tree. Complaining as it sways and plies; It is a limb of thee. "Yea, too, the creatures sheltering round — Dumb figures, wild and tame, Yea, too, thy fellows who abound — Either of speech the same Of far and strange — black, dwarfed, and brown, They are stuff of thy own frame." I moved on in a surging awe Of inarticulateness At the pathetic Me I saw In all his huge distress, Making self-slaughter of the law To kill, bind, or suppress. "Jesus Wept" (John 11:35) Claimed by death, our dear ones leave us, With sad hearts bereft and torn, By the loss which can but grieve us — It is mete that we should mourn. Even Christ, though conscious, very, How their friend and brother slept, There with Martha and with Mary, Over Lazarus, "Jesus wept." Though He sensed the great salvation Which through Him was brought to earth, And could call with animation To the sleeping dead — "Come forth!" He, "the life — the resurrection," Unto all who will accept — ■ With cold, mortal death's connection, In compassion, "Jesus wept." "Jesus wept." And we are weeping, Though we know our dead shall be Safe and happy in His keeping Who hath said: "Come, follow me!" We accept His full salvation And must follow where He stepped. He, our hope and consolation — Jesus suffered — "Jesus wept'" Lula Greene Richards