 his best.« I
can assure this great critic that to exclaim illogically against the gods,
singular or plural, is not such an original sin of mine as he seems to imagine.
True, it may have some local originality; though if Shakespeare were an
authority on history, which perhaps he is not, I could show that the sin was
introduced into Wessex as early as the Heptarchy itself. Says Glo'ster in Lear,
otherwise Ina, king of that country:
 
As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods;
They kill us for their sport.
 
The remaining two or three manipulators of Tess were of the predetermined sort
whom most writers and readers would gladly forget; professed literary boxers,
who put on their convictions for the occasion; modern »Hammers of Heretics«;
sworn Discouragers, ever on the watch to prevent the tentative half-success from
becoming the whole success later on; who pervert plain meanings, and grow
personal under the name of practising the great historical method. However, they
may have causes to advance, privileges to guard, traditions to keep going; some
of which a mere taleteller, who writes down how the things of the world strike
him, without any ulterior intentions whatever, has overlooked, and may by pure
inadvertence have run foul of when in the least aggressive mood. Perhaps some
passing perception, the outcome of a dream hour, would, if generally acted on,
cause such an assailant considerable inconvenience with respect to position,
interests, family, servant, ox, ass, neighbour, or neighbour's wife. He
therefore valiantly hides his personality behind a publisher's shutters, and
cries »Shame!« So densely is the world thronged that any shifting of positions,
even the best warranted advance, galls somebody's kibe. Such shiftings often
begin in sentiment, and such sentiment sometimes begins in a novel.
    July 1892.
 
The foregoing remarks were written during the early career of this story, when a
spirited public and private criticism of its points was still fresh to the
feelings. The pages are allowed to stand for what they are worth, as something
once said; but probably they would not have been written now. Even in the short
time which has elapsed since the book was first published, some of the critics
who provoked the reply have »gone down into silence,« as if to remind one of the
infinite unimportance of both their say and mine.
    January 1895.
 
The present edition of this novel contains a few pages that have never appeared
in any previous edition. When the detached episodes were collected as stated in
the
