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<h1> A PAIR OF BLUE EYES </h1>
<h2> by Thomas Hardy </h2>
<hr />
<p><SPAN name="link2H_PREF" id="link2H_PREF"></SPAN></p>
<h2> PREFACE </h2>
<p><br/>
'A violet in the youth of primy nature,<br/>
Forward, not permanent, sweet not lasting,<br/>
The perfume and suppliance of a minute;<br/>
No more.'<br/>
<br/></p>
<p>The following chapters were written at a time when the craze for
indiscriminate church-restoration had just reached the remotest nooks of
western England, where the wild and tragic features of the coast had long
combined in perfect harmony with the crude Gothic Art of the
ecclesiastical buildings scattered along it, throwing into extraordinary
discord all architectural attempts at newness there. To restore the grey
carcases of a mediaevalism whose spirit had fled, seemed a not less
incongruous act than to set about renovating the adjoining crags
themselves.</p>
<p>Hence it happened that an imaginary history of three human hearts, whose
emotions were not without correspondence with these material
circumstances, found in the ordinary incidents of such church-renovations
a fitting frame for its presentation.</p>
<p>The shore and country about 'Castle Boterel' is now getting well known,
and will be readily recognized. The spot is, I may add, the furthest
westward of all those convenient corners wherein I have ventured to erect
my theatre for these imperfect little dramas of country life and passions;
and it lies near to, or no great way beyond, the vague border of the
Wessex kingdom on that side, which, like the westering verge of modern
American settlements, was progressive and uncertain.</p>
<p>This, however, is of little importance. The place is pre-eminently (for
one person at least) the region of dream and mystery. The ghostly birds,
the pall-like sea, the frothy wind, the eternal soliloquy of the waters,
the bloom of dark purple cast, that seems to exhale from the shoreward
precipices, in themselves lend to the scene an atmosphere like the
twilight of a night vision.</p>
<p>One enormous sea-bord cliff in particular figures in the narrative; and<br/>
for some forgotten reason or other this cliff was described in the story<br/>
as being without a name. Accuracy would require the statement to be<br/>
that a remarkable cliff which resembles in many points the cliff of the<br/>
description bears a name that no event has made famous.<br/>
<br/>
T. H.<br/>
March 1899<br/></p>
<p>THE PERSONS<br/>
<br/>
ELFRIDE SWANCOURT a young Lady<br/>
CHRISTOPHER SWANCOURT a Clergyman<br/>
STEPHEN SMITH an Architect<br/>
HENRY KNIGHT a Reviewer and Essayist<br/>
CHARLOTTE TROYTON a rich Widow<br/>
GERTRUDE JETHWAY a poor Widow<br/>
SPENSER HUGO LUXELLIAN a Peer<br/>
LADY LUXELLIAN his Wife<br/>
MARY AND KATE two little Girls<br/>
WILLIAM WORM a dazed Factotum<br/>
JOHN SMITH a Master-mason<br/>
JANE SMITH his Wife<br/>
MARTIN CANNISTER a Sexton<br/>
UNITY a Maid-servant<br/>
<br/>
Other servants, masons, labourers, grooms, nondescripts, etc., etc.<br/></p>
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