Neither Dorking nor the Abbey

In Short

This tribute serves as a poignant, imaginative farewell to George Meredith, the towering Victorian novelist. It bypasses the somber reality of a funeral in Dorking to depict the author’s spirit being reclaimed by his own fictional creations. By framing his death as a "coronation day," the narrative transforms a moment of national mourning into a celebration of literary immortality. It remains a beautiful example of how one artist honors another, emphasizing that a writer’s true life resides not in a burial plot, but within the enduring power of their work.

The Story

The narrative opens on a quiet, unremarkable day in Dorking. A funeral coach carries a small casket—representing all that remains of a "great man"—to a local graveyard. The surrounding scene is still and deserted, seemingly marking the final chapter for the esteemed author who once lived nearby on Box Hill. However, the stillness is deceptive. Back at his cottage, the characters he brought to life—men and women like Diana, Roy Richmond, and Sir Willoughby—gather in a silent, expectant line, waiting for their creator to emerge.

Inside the cottage, the author sits in his armchair, frail, white-haired, and hard of hearing. As the funeral procession recedes, a transformation occurs. The weight of his advanced years falls away, his eyes regain the sharpness of an eagle, and he is restored to the strength and vigor of his youth. He rises from his chair, no longer hindered by the physical decay that preceded his passing. He steps out into the garden, which is now bathed in the golden light of a renewed morning.

His characters, standing in wait, do not mourn. They greet him as a general reviewing his troops, dressed in the vibrant, expressive clothing he once chose for them. They understand the significance of the hour; this is his coronation. He acknowledges them with a bow, particularly noting the Countess de Saldar, who alone possesses the wit to strike a pose of mourning that "fits the occasion." He accepts their floral tributes, leaving them behind so they may carry his influence and glory out into the world.

Freed from his physical burden, he wanders briefly through his garden, visiting the small house where so many of these figures were born in his imagination. He calls for his dogs, and they join him as he prepares to ascend his beloved Box Hill. Along the way, he hears the distant sound of the funeral coach and, for one final moment, perceives the earthly squabble regarding whether his remains belong in Westminster Abbey or Dorking. He responds with a laugh so hearty and broad it echoes his famous, robust vitality.

At the summit of the hill, the atmosphere shifts into the realm of the eternal. The landscape is no longer empty, for the "immortals"—the great writers of history—are waiting for him. They appear to him as young, vital figures. One of them, a slight, youthful presence, rushes down the slope to meet him, eagerly identifying him to the others as "the fellow" he had long awaited. As the empty carriage completes its journey toward a burial site in the valley, the author completes his own climb, reaching out to grasp the hand of his peer and entering the company of the giants.

How It Unfolds

The funeral departs The scene begins with the somber reality of a small casket being driven to a Dorking cemetery, leaving the author’s cottage feeling hollow and abandoned. This moment establishes the contrast between the world’s perception of death and the internal truth of the author's spirit.

The characters gather A silent, loyal army of fictional figures assembles at the cottage gate, waiting for their master to appear. They are not ghosts, but the manifestations of his intellectual and emotional legacy.

The restoration of youth The author experiences a miraculous shedding of his infirmities, transitioning from a frail, deaf old man into a figure of radiant, youthful strength. This transition suggests that for the great artist, death is a shedding of the mortal shell rather than a loss of self.

The final review He steps into the sunlight to address his creations, recognizing their specific, crafted identities with a commander’s grace. He leaves them to go their own way, ensuring that his influence persists through the characters themselves.

The laugh at the world Upon hearing the rumors of the burial dispute, he dismisses the triviality of the argument with a powerful, joyous laugh. This beat highlights his transcendence over the bureaucratic concerns of the living.

The immortal greeting He ascends the hill to be welcomed by the great writers of the past, who recognize him as their equal. The story concludes with his arrival among the legends, completing his journey from a local grave to a place among the stars.

The People

The author is the central figure, a man defined by his "eagle" eyes and his immense capacity for life. He moves from a state of fragile, isolated age to a state of restored, eternal vigor, representing the triumph of the creative spirit.

His characters—Lucy, Clara, Diana, Sir Willoughby, and the others—act as his children and his subjects. They are "the mighty company," and their presence serves as an externalization of his life’s work. They stand in loyalty, waiting to see him off, demonstrating that his legacy is a collective force.

The Countess de Saldar stands apart as the only one who truly understands the theatrical nature of the moment. Her ironic, airily staged mourning demonstrates her creator’s sharp, observant wit, even in death.

Finally, the "slight unspeakably" stripling who runs to meet him serves as the bridge between the author and the pantheon of literary giants. He represents the eager, validating recognition of one great artist by another, signaling that the author has finally arrived home.

In Its Own Voice

The cottage was not deserted, as they knew who now trooped into the round in front of it, their eyes on the closed door.

The characters gather at the cottage, waiting for their creator to emerge and join them.

He flung back his head with the old glorious action, and laughed a laugh "broad as a thousand beeves at pasture."

The author dismisses the petty arguments about his burial site with a burst of vitality that confirms his personality remains intact.

What It's Really About

This work explores the intersection of life, art, and the nature of legacy. It challenges the reader to consider whether an artist’s true existence is tied to their physical remains or to the vibrant, enduring personas they leave behind in their prose. The argument suggests that a great author is not diminished by death, but is instead liberated, moving from the constraints of time into a sphere of permanent, creative relevance. It asks who truly "owns" a writer—the public, who argues over where to bury them, or the characters who live on, forever shaped by the writer's hand.

Why Read It Today

Reading this tribute is an exercise in appreciating the relationship between a writer and their craft. It feels like a beautiful, quiet ceremony, written with a rhythmic, almost musical prose that reflects the grace of its subject. Readers who appreciate the literary history of the Victorian era will find it particularly moving, as it offers a glimpse into how the writers of the early 20th century viewed their own titans.

The primary difficulty for a modern reader may be the period-specific references, such as the debate over the Westminster Abbey burial, which requires a basic understanding of Victorian literary prestige to fully grasp. However, one does not need to have read every novel by George Meredith to feel the power of the central image: a master being welcomed by his own creations. It is a work that manages to be both deeply personal and grandly universal. It stays with you because of its central premise—that the energy we pour into our work can eventually become a living force of its own. If you enjoy character studies that touch upon the sublime, or if you simply appreciate a well-wrought, sincere eulogy, this piece provides a short, reflective, and ultimately hopeful reading experience.