They, to
be sure, deduced from what they saw a vague theory of evolution in
which the best (who were themselves) somehow were to come out best
in the end. He, though gentle as they were, deduced nothing so
cheerful, saw rather the terrible discrepancies between fact and
theory, so that his very gentleness made him pessimistic, where
Browning was optimistic. Then, like Hawthorne in the generation
before him, Hardy went back to an earlier, simpler life than his
own, and there made his inquiries. Hawthorne, who did not accept
the theology of Puritanism, was yet strangely troubled by the
problem of sin. Hardy, accepting the implacability of evolution
without its easy optimism, was intensely moved to pity. This is
his open secret.
The clearest statement is in his poetry, where again and again, in
our conversation that day, he seemed to be placing it--most of
all, I think, in "The Dynasts."
"The Dynasts" was published too soon. We English speakers, in
1904-1906, were beginning to read plays again, under the stimulus
of a dramatic revival, and the plays we read were successful on
the stage. As I recollect the criticism of "The Dynasts," much of
it at least was busied with the form of the drama, its great
length and unwieldiness.
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