chapter xlv till this moment she had never seen orheard from d'urberville since her departure from trantridge. the rencounter came at a heavy moment, oneof all moments calculated to permit its impact with the least emotional shock. but such was unreasoning memory that,though he stood there openly and palpably a converted man, who was sorrowing for hispast irregularities, a fear overcame her, paralyzing her movement so that she neitherretreated nor advanced. to think of what emanated from thatcountenance when she saw it last, and to
behold it now!... there was the same handsome unpleasantnessof mien, but now he wore neatly trimmed, old-fashioned whiskers, the sable moustachehaving disappeared; and his dress was half- clerical, a modification which had changed his expression sufficiently to abstract thedandyism from his features, and to hinder for a second her belief in his identity. to tess's sense there was, just at first, aghastly bizarrerie, a grim incongruity, in the march of these solemn words ofscripture out of such a mouth. this too familiar intonation, less thanfour years earlier, had brought to her ears
expressions of such divergent purpose thather heart became quite sick at the irony of the contrast. it was less a reform than atransfiguration. the former curves of sensuousness were nowmodulated to lines of devotional passion. the lip-shapes that had meant seductivenesswere now made to express supplication; the glow on the cheek that yesterday could betranslated as riotousness was evangelized to-day into the splendour of pious rhetoric; animalism had become fanaticism;paganism, paulinism; the bold rolling eye that had flashed upon her form in the oldtime with such mastery now beamed with the
rude energy of a theolatry that was almostferocious. those black angularities which his face hadused to put on when his wishes were thwarted now did duty in picturing theincorrigible backslider who would insist upon turning again to his wallowing in themire. the lineaments, as such, seemed tocomplain. they had been diverted from theirhereditary connotation to signify impressions for which nature did not intendthem. strange that their very elevation was amisapplication, that to raise seemed to falsify.yet could it be so?
she would admit the ungenerous sentiment nolonger. d'urberville was not the first wicked manwho had turned away from his wickedness to save his soul alive, and why should shedeem it unnatural in him? it was but the usage of thought which hadbeen jarred in her at hearing good new words in bad old notes. the greater the sinner, the greater thesaint; it was not necessary to dive far into christian history to discover that.such impressions as these moved her vaguely, and without strict definiteness. as soon as the nerveless pause of hersurprise would allow her to stir, her
impulse was to pass on out of his sight.he had obviously not discerned her yet in her position against the sun. but the moment that she moved again herecognized her. the effect upon her old lover was electric,far stronger than the effect of his presence upon her. his fire, the tumultuous ring of hiseloquence, seemed to go out of him. his lip struggled and trembled under thewords that lay upon it; but deliver them it could not as long as she faced him. his eyes, after their first glance upon herface, hung confusedly in every other
direction but hers, but came back in adesperate leap every few seconds. this paralysis lasted, however, but a shorttime; for tess's energies returned with the atrophy of his, and she walked as fast asshe was able past the barn and onward. as soon as she could reflect, it appalledher, this change in their relative platforms. he who had wrought her undoing was now onthe side of the spirit, while she remained unregenerate. and, as in the legend, it had resulted thather cyprian image had suddenly appeared upon his altar, whereby the fire of thepriest had been well nigh extinguished.
she went on without turning her head. her back seemed to be endowed with asensitiveness to ocular beams--even her clothing--so alive was she to a fanciedgaze which might be resting upon her from the outside of that barn. all the way along to this point her hearthad been heavy with an inactive sorrow; now there was a change in the quality of itstrouble. that hunger for affection too long withheldwas for the time displaced by an almost physical sense of an implacable past whichstill engirdled her. it intensified her consciousness of errorto a practical despair; the break of
continuity between her earlier and presentexistence, which she had hoped for, had not, after all, taken place. bygones would never be complete bygonestill she was a bygone herself. thus absorbed, she recrossed the northernpart of long-ash lane at right angles, and presently saw before her the road ascendingwhitely to the upland along whose margin the remainder of her journey lay. its dry pale surface stretched severelyonward, unbroken by a single figure, vehicle, or mark, save some occasionalbrown horse-droppings which dotted its cold aridity here and there.
while slowly breasting this ascent tessbecame conscious of footsteps behind her, and turning she saw approaching that well-known form--so strangely accoutred as the methodist--the one personage in all the world she wished not to encounter alone onthis side of the grave. there was not much time, however, forthought or elusion, and she yielded as calmly as she could to the necessity ofletting him overtake her. she saw that he was excited, less by thespeed of his walk than by the feelings within him."tess!" he said. she slackened speed without looking round.
"tess!" he repeated."it is i--alec d'urberville." she then looked back at him, and he cameup. "i see it is," she answered coldly. "well--is that all?yet i deserve no more! of course," he added, with a slight laugh,"there is something of the ridiculous to your eyes in seeing me like this. but--i must put up with that....i heard you had gone away; nobody knew where.tess, you wonder why i have followed you?" "i do, rather; and i would that you hadnot, with all my heart!"
"yes--you may well say it," he returnedgrimly, as they moved onward together, she with unwilling tread. "but don't mistake me; i beg this becauseyou may have been led to do so in noticing- -if you did notice it--how your suddenappearance unnerved me down there. it was but a momentary faltering; andconsidering what you have been to me, it was natural enough. but will helped me through it--thoughperhaps you think me a humbug for saying it--and immediately afterwards i felt thatof all persons in the world whom it was my duty and desire to save from the wrath to
come--sneer if you like--the woman whom ihad so grievously wronged was that person. i have come with that sole purpose in view--nothing more." there was the smallest vein of scorn in herwords of rejoinder: "have you saved yourself?charity begins at home, they say." "i have done nothing!" said heindifferently. "heaven, as i have been telling my hearers,has done all. no amount of contempt that you can pourupon me, tess, will equal what i have poured upon myself--the old adam of myformer years! well, it is a strange story; believe it ornot; but i can tell you the means by which
my conversion was brought about, and i hopeyou will be interested enough at least to listen. have you ever heard the name of the parsonof emminster--you must have done do?--old mr clare; one of the most earnest of hisschool; one of the few intense men left in the church; not so intense as the extreme wing of christian believers with which ihave thrown in my lot, but quite an exception among the established clergy, theyounger of whom are gradually attenuating the true doctrines by their sophistries, till they are but the shadow of what theywere.
i only differ from him on the question ofchurch and state--the interpretation of the text, 'come out from among them and be yeseparate, saith the lord'--that's all. he is one who, i firmly believe, has beenthe humble means of saving more souls in this country than any other man you canname. you have heard of him?" "i have," she said. "he came to trantridge two or three yearsago to preach on behalf of some missionary society; and i, wretched fellow that i was,insulted him when, in his disinterestedness, he tried to reason withme and show me the way.
he did not resent my conduct, he simplysaid that some day i should receive the first-fruits of the spirit--that those whocame to scoff sometimes remained to pray. there was a strange magic in his words. they sank into my mind.but the loss of my mother hit me most; and by degrees i was brought to see daylight. since then my one desire has been to handon the true view to others, and that is what i was trying to do to-day; though itis only lately that i have preached hereabout. the first months of my ministry have beenspent in the north of england among
strangers, where i preferred to make myearliest clumsy attempts, so as to acquire courage before undergoing that severest of all tests of one's sincerity, addressingthose who have known one, and have been one's companions in the days of darkness. if you could only know, tess, the pleasureof having a good slap at yourself, i am sure--" "don't go on with it!" she criedpassionately, as she turned away from him to a stile by the wayside, on which shebent herself. "i can't believe in such sudden things!
i feel indignant with you for talking to melike this, when you know--when you know what harm you've done me! you, and those like you, take your fill ofpleasure on earth by making the life of such as me bitter and black with sorrow;and then it is a fine thing, when you have had enough of that, to think of securing your pleasure in heaven by becomingconverted! out upon such--i don't believe in you--ihate it!" "tess," he insisted; "don't speak so! it came to me like a jolly new idea!and you don't believe me?
what don't you believe?""your conversion. your scheme of religion." "why?"she dropped her voice. "because a better man than you does notbelieve in such." "what a woman's reason! who is this better man?""i cannot tell you." "well," he declared, a resentment beneathhis words seeming ready to spring out at a moment's notice, "god forbid that i shouldsay i am a good man--and you know i don't say any such thing.
i am new to goodness, truly; but newcomerssee furthest sometimes." "yes," she replied sadly."but i cannot believe in your conversion to a new spirit. such flashes as you feel, alec, i feardon't last!" thus speaking she turned from the stileover which she had been leaning, and faced him; whereupon his eyes, falling casuallyupon the familiar countenance and form, remained contemplating her. the inferior man was quiet in him now; butit was surely not extracted, nor even entirely subdued."don't look at me like that!" he said
abruptly. tess, who had been quite unconscious of heraction and mien, instantly withdrew the large dark gaze of her eyes, stammeringwith a flush, "i beg your pardon!" and there was revived in her the wretchedsentiment which had often come to her before, that in inhabiting the fleshlytabernacle with which nature had endowed her she was somehow doing wrong. "no, no!don't beg my pardon. but since you wear a veil to hide your goodlooks, why don't you keep it down?" she pulled down the veil, saying hastily,"it was mostly to keep off the wind."
"it may seem harsh of me to dictate likethis," he went on; "but it is better that i should not look too often on you. it might be dangerous.""ssh!" said tess. "well, women's faces have had too muchpower over me already for me not to fear them! an evangelist has nothing to do with suchas they; and it reminds me of the old times that i would forget!" after this their conversation dwindled to acasual remark now and then as they rambled onward, tess inwardly wondering how far hewas going with her, and not liking to send
him back by positive mandate. frequently when they came to a gate orstile they found painted thereon in red or blue letters some text of scripture, andshe asked him if he knew who had been at the pains to blazon these announcements. he told her that the man was employed byhimself and others who were working with him in that district, to paint thesereminders that no means might be left untried which might move the hearts of awicked generation. at length the road touched the spot called"cross-in-hand." of all spots on the bleached and desolateupland this was the most forlorn.
it was so far removed from the charm whichis sought in landscape by artists and view- lovers as to reach a new kind of beauty, anegative beauty of tragic tone. the place took its name from a stone pillarwhich stood there, a strange rude monolith, from a stratum unknown in any local quarry,on which was roughly carved a human hand. differing accounts were given of itshistory and purport. some authorities stated that a devotionalcross had once formed the complete erection thereon, of which the present relic was butthe stump; others that the stone as it stood was entire, and that it had been fixed there to mark a boundary or place ofmeeting.
anyhow, whatever the origin of the relic,there was and is something sinister, or solemn, according to mood, in the sceneamid which it stands; something tending to impress the most phlegmatic passer-by. "i think i must leave you now," heremarked, as they drew near to this spot. "i have to preach at abbot's-cernel at sixthis evening, and my way lies across to the right from here. and you upset me somewhat too, tessy--icannot, will not, say why. i must go away and get strength....how is it that you speak so fluently now? who has taught you such good english?"
"i have learnt things in my troubles," shesaid evasively. "what troubles have you had?"she told him of the first one--the only one that related to him. d'urberville was struck mute."i knew nothing of this till now!" he next murmured."why didn't you write to me when you felt your trouble coming on?" she did not reply; and he broke the silenceby adding: "well--you will see me again." "no," she answered."do not again come near me!" "i will think.
but before we part come here."he stepped up to the pillar. "this was once a holy cross. relics are not in my creed; but i fear youat moments--far more than you need fear me at present; and to lessen my fear, put yourhand upon that stone hand, and swear that you will never tempt me--by your charms orways." "good god--how can you ask what is sounnecessary! all that is furthest from my thought!" "yes--but swear it."tess, half frightened, gave way to his importunity; placed her hand upon the stoneand swore.
"i am sorry you are not a believer," hecontinued; "that some unbeliever should have got hold of you and unsettled yourmind. but no more now. at home at least i can pray for you; and iwill; and who knows what may not happen? i'm off.goodbye!" he turned to a hunting-gate in the hedgeand, without letting his eyes again rest upon her, leapt over and struck out acrossthe down in the direction of abbot's- cernel. as he walked his pace showed perturbation,and by-and-by, as if instigated by a former
thought, he drew from his pocket a smallbook, between the leaves of which was folded a letter, worn and soiled, as frommuch re-reading. d'urberville opened the letter.it was dated several months before this time, and was signed by parson clare. the letter began by expressing the writer'sunfeigned joy at d'urberville's conversion, and thanked him for his kindness incommunicating with the parson on the subject. it expressed mr clare's warm assurance offorgiveness for d'urberville's former conduct and his interest in the young man'splans for the future.
he, mr clare, would much have liked to seed'urberville in the church to whose ministry he had devoted so many years ofhis own life, and would have helped him to enter a theological college to that end; but since his correspondent had possiblynot cared to do this on account of the delay it would have entailed, he was notthe man to insist upon its paramount importance. every man must work as he could best work,and in the method towards which he felt impelled by the spirit.d'urberville read and re-read this letter, and seemed to quiz himself cynically.
he also read some passages from memorandaas he walked till his face assumed a calm, and apparently the image of tess no longertroubled his mind. she meanwhile had kept along the edge ofthe hill by which lay her nearest way home. within the distance of a mile she met asolitary shepherd. "what is the meaning of that old stone ihave passed?" she asked of him. "was it ever a holy cross?""cross--no; 'twer not a cross! 'tis a thing of ill-omen, miss. it was put up in wuld times by therelations of a malefactor who was tortured there by nailing his hand to a post andafterwards hung.
the bones lie underneath. they say he sold his soul to the devil, andthat he walks at times." she felt the petite mort at thisunexpectedly gruesome information, and left the solitary man behind her. it was dusk when she drew near toflintcomb-ash, and in the lane at the entrance to the hamlet she approached agirl and her lover without their observing her. they were talking no secrets, and the clearunconcerned voice of the young woman, in response to the warmer accents of the man,spread into the chilly air as the one
soothing thing within the dusky horizon, full of a stagnant obscurity upon whichnothing else intruded. for a moment the voices cheered the heartof tess, till she reasoned that this interview had its origin, on one side orthe other, in the same attraction which had been the prelude to her own tribulation. when she came close, the girl turnedserenely and recognized her, the young man walking off in embarrassment. the woman was izz huett, whose interest intess's excursion immediately superseded her own proceedings.
tess did not explain very clearly itsresults, and izz, who was a girl of tact, began to speak of her own little affair, aphase of which tess had just witnessed. "he is amby seedling, the chap who used tosometimes come and help at talbothays," she explained indifferently."he actually inquired and found out that i had come here, and has followed me. he says he's been in love wi' me these twoyears. but i've hardly answered him." > chapter xlvi
several days had passed since her futilejourney, and tess was afield. the dry winter wind still blew, but ascreen of thatched hurdles erected in the eye of the blast kept its force away fromher. on the sheltered side was a turnip-slicingmachine, whose bright blue hue of new paint seemed almost vocal in the otherwisesubdued scene. opposite its front was a long mound or"grave", in which the roots had been preserved since early winter. tess was standing at the uncovered end,chopping off with a bill-hook the fibres and earth from each root, and throwing itafter the operation into the slicer.
a man was turning the handle of themachine, and from its trough came the newly-cut swedes, the fresh smell of whoseyellow chips was accompanied by the sounds of the snuffling wind, the smart swish of the slicing-blades, and the choppings ofthe hook in tess's leather-gloved hand. the wide acreage of blank agriculturalbrownness, apparent where the swedes had been pulled, was beginning to be striped inwales of darker brown, gradually broadening to ribands. along the edge of each of these somethingcrept upon ten legs, moving without haste and without rest up and down the wholelength of the field; it was two horses and
a man, the plough going between them, turning up the cleared ground for a springsowing. for hours nothing relieved the joylessmonotony of things. then, far beyond the ploughing-teams, ablack speck was seen. it had come from the corner of a fence,where there was a gap, and its tendency was up the incline, towards the swede-cutters. from the proportions of a mere point itadvanced to the shape of a ninepin, and was soon perceived to be a man in black,arriving from the direction of flintcomb- ash.
the man at the slicer, having nothing elseto do with his eyes, continually observed the comer, but tess, who was occupied, didnot perceive him till her companion directed her attention to his approach. it was not her hard taskmaster, farmergroby; it was one in a semi-clerical costume, who now represented what had oncebeen the free-and-easy alec d'urberville. not being hot at his preaching there wasless enthusiasm about him now, and the presence of the grinder seemed to embarrasshim. a pale distress was already on tess's face,and she pulled her curtained hood further over it.d'urberville came up and said quietly--
"i want to speak to you, tess." "you have refused my last request, not tocome near me!" said she. "yes, but i have a good reason.""well, tell it." "it is more serious than you may think." he glanced round to see if he wereoverheard. they were at some distance from the man whoturned the slicer, and the movement of the machine, too, sufficiently prevented alec'swords reaching other ears. d'urberville placed himself so as to screentess from the labourer, turning his back to the latter."it is this," he continued, with capricious
compunction. "in thinking of your soul and mine when welast met, i neglected to inquire as to your worldly condition.you were well dressed, and i did not think of it. but i see now that it is hard--harder thanit used to be when i--knew you--harder than you deserve.perhaps a good deal of it is owning to me!" she did not answer, and he watched herinquiringly, as, with bent head, her face completely screened by the hood, sheresumed her trimming of the swedes. by going on with her work she felt betterable to keep him outside her emotions.
"tess," he added, with a sigh ofdiscontent,--"yours was the very worst case i ever was concerned in! i had no idea of what had resulted till youtold me. scamp that i was to foul that innocentlife! the whole blame was mine--the wholeunconventional business of our time at trantridge. you, too, the real blood of which i am butthe base imitation, what a blind young thing you were as to possibilities! i say in all earnestness that it is a shamefor parents to bring up their girls in such
dangerous ignorance of the gins and netsthat the wicked may set for them, whether their motive be a good one or the result ofsimple indifference." tess still did no more than listen,throwing down one globular root and taking up another with automatic regularity, thepensive contour of the mere fieldwoman alone marking her. "but it is not that i came to say,"d'urberville went on. "my circumstances are these.i have lost my mother since you were at trantridge, and the place is my own. but i intend to sell it, and devote myselfto missionary work in africa.
a devil of a poor hand i shall make at thetrade, no doubt. however, what i want to ask you is, willyou put it in my power to do my duty--to make the only reparation i can make for thetrick played you: that is, will you be my wife, and go with me?... i have already obtained this preciousdocument. it was my old mother's dying wish." he drew a piece of parchment from hispocket, with a slight fumbling of embarrassment."what is it?" said she. "a marriage licence."
"o no, sir--no!" she said quickly, startingback. "you will not?why is that?" and as he asked the question adisappointment which was not entirely the disappointment of thwarted duty crossedd'urberville's face. it was unmistakably a symptom thatsomething of his old passion for her had been revived; duty and desire ran hand-in-hand. "surely," he began again, in more impetuoustones, and then looked round at the labourer who turned the slicer.tess, too, felt that the argument could not be ended there.
informing the man that a gentleman had cometo see her, with whom she wished to walk a little way, she moved off with d'urbervilleacross the zebra-striped field. when they reached the first newly-ploughedsection he held out his hand to help her over it; but she stepped forward on thesummits of the earth-rolls as if she did not see him. "you will not marry me, tess, and make me aself-respecting man?" he repeated, as soon as they were over the furrows."i cannot." "but why?" "you know i have no affection for you.""but you would get to feel that in time,
perhaps--as soon as you really couldforgive me?" "never!" "why so positive?""i love somebody else." the words seemed to astonish him."you do?" he cried. "somebody else? but has not a sense of what is morallyright and proper any weight with you?" "no, no, no--don't say that!" "anyhow, then, your love for this other manmay be only a passing feeling which you will overcome--""no--no."
"yes, yes! why not?""i cannot tell you." "you must in honour!""well then ... i have married him." "ah!" he exclaimed; and he stopped dead andgazed at her. "i did not wish to tell--i did not meanto!" she pleaded. "it is a secret here, or at any rate butdimly known. so will you, please will you, keep fromquestioning me? you must remember that we are nowstrangers."
"strangers--are we?strangers!" for a moment a flash of his old ironymarked his face; but he determinedly chastened it down. "is that man your husband?" he askedmechanically, denoting by a sign the labourer who turned the machine."that man!" she said proudly. "i should think not!" "who, then?""do not ask what i do not wish to tell!" she begged, and flashed her appeal to himfrom her upturned face and lash-shadowed eyes.
d'urberville was disturbed."but i only asked for your sake!" he retorted hotly. "angels of heaven!--god forgive me for suchan expression--i came here, i swear, as i thought for your good.tess--don't look at me so--i cannot stand your looks! there never were such eyes, surely, beforechristianity or since! there--i won't lose my head; i dare not. i own that the sight of you had waked up mylove for you, which, i believed, was extinguished with all such feelings.but i thought that our marriage might be a
sanctification for us both. 'the unbelieving husband is sanctified bythe wife, and the unbelieving wife is sanctified by the husband,' i said tomyself. but my plan is dashed from me; and i mustbear the disappointment!" he moodily reflected with his eyes on theground. "married. married!... well, that being so," he added, quitecalmly, tearing the licence slowly into halves and putting them in his pocket;"that being prevented, i should like to do
some good to you and your husband, whoeverhe may be. there are many questions that i am temptedto ask, but i will not do so, of course, in opposition to your wishes. though, if i could know your husband, imight more easily benefit him and you. is he on this farm?""no," she murmured. "he is far away." "far away?from you? what sort of husband can he be?""o, do not speak against him! it was through you!
he found out--""ah, is it so!... that's sad, tess!""yes." "but to stay away from you--to leave you towork like this!" "he does not leave me to work!" she cried,springing to the defence of the absent one with all her fervour. "he don't know it!it is by my own arrangement." "then, does he write?""i--i cannot tell you. there are things which are private toourselves." "of course that means that he does not.you are a deserted wife, my fair tess--"
in an impulse he turned suddenly to takeher hand; the buff-glove was on it, and he seized only the rough leather fingers whichdid not express the life or shape of those within. "you must not--you must not!" she criedfearfully, slipping her hand from the glove as from a pocket, and leaving it in hisgrasp. "o, will you go away--for the sake of meand my husband--go, in the name of your own christianity!" "yes, yes; i will," he said abruptly, andthrusting the glove back to her he turned to leave.
facing round, however, he said, "tess, asgod is my judge, i meant no humbug in taking your hand!" a pattering of hoofs on the soil of thefield, which they had not noticed in their preoccupation, ceased close behind them;and a voice reached her ear: "what the devil are you doing away fromyour work at this time o' day?" farmer groby had espied the two figuresfrom the distance, and had inquisitively ridden across, to learn what was theirbusiness in his field. "don't speak like that to her!" saidd'urberville, his face blackening with something that was not christianity."indeed, mister!
and what mid methodist pa'sons have to dowith she?" "who is the fellow?" asked d'urberville,turning to tess. she went close up to him. "go--i do beg you!" she said."what! and leave you to that tyrant?i can see in his face what a churl he is." "he won't hurt me. he's not in love with me.i can leave at lady-day." "well, i have no right but to obey, isuppose. but--well, goodbye!"
her defender, whom she dreaded more thanher assailant, having reluctantly disappeared, the farmer continued hisreprimand, which tess took with the greatest coolness, that sort of attackbeing independent of sex. to have as a master this man of stone, whowould have cuffed her if he had dared, was almost a relief after her formerexperiences. she silently walked back towards the summitof the field that was the scene of her labour, so absorbed in the interview whichhad just taken place that she was hardly aware that the nose of groby's horse almosttouched her shoulders. "if so be you make an agreement to work forme till lady-day, i'll see that you carry
it out," he growled. "'od rot the women--now 'tis one thing, andthen 'tis another. but i'll put up with it no longer!" knowing very well that he did not harassthe other women of the farm as he harassed her out of spite for the flooring he hadonce received, she did for one moment picture what might have been the result if she had been free to accept the offer justmade her of being the monied alec's wife. it would have lifted her completely out ofsubjection, not only to her present oppressive employer, but to a whole worldwho seemed to despise her.
"but no, no!" she said breathlessly; "icould not have married him now! he is so unpleasant to me." that very night she began an appealingletter to clare, concealing from him her hardships, and assuring him of her undyingaffection. any one who had been in a position to readbetween the lines would have seen that at the back of her great love was somemonstrous fear--almost a desperation--as to some secret contingencies which were notdisclosed. but again she did not finish her effusion;he had asked izz to go with him, and perhaps he did not care for her at all.
she put the letter in her box, and wonderedif it would ever reach angel's hands. after this her daily tasks were gonethrough heavily enough, and brought on the day which was of great import toagriculturists--the day of the candlemas fair. it was at this fair that new engagementswere entered into for the twelve months following the ensuing lady-day, and thoseof the farming population who thought of changing their places duly attended at thecounty-town where the fair was held. nearly all the labourers on flintcomb-ashfarm intended flight, and early in the morning there was a general exodus in thedirection of the town, which lay at a
distance of from ten to a dozen miles overhilly country. though tess also meant to leave at thequarter-day, she was one of the few who did not go to the fair, having a vaguely-shapedhope that something would happen to render another outdoor engagement unnecessary. it was a peaceful february day, ofwonderful softness for the time, and one would almost have thought that winter wasover. she had hardly finished her dinner whend'urberville's figure darkened the window of the cottage wherein she was a lodger,which she had all to herself to-day. tess jumped up, but her visitor had knockedat the door, and she could hardly in reason
run away. d'urberville's knock, his walk up to thedoor, had some indescribable quality of difference from his air when she last sawhim. they seemed to be acts of which the doerwas ashamed. she thought that she would not open thedoor; but, as there was no sense in that either, she arose, and having lifted thelatch stepped back quickly. he came in, saw her, and flung himself downinto a chair before speaking. "tess--i couldn't help it!" he begandesperately, as he wiped his heated face, which had also a superimposed flush ofexcitement.
"i felt that i must call at least to askhow you are. i assure you i had not been thinking of youat all till i saw you that sunday; now i cannot get rid of your image, try how imay! it is hard that a good woman should do harmto a bad man; yet so it is. if you would only pray for me, tess!" the suppressed discontent of his manner wasalmost pitiable, and yet tess did not pity him. "how can i pray for you," she said, "when iam forbidden to believe that the great power who moves the world would alter hisplans on my account?"
"you really think that?" "yes.i have been cured of the presumption of thinking otherwise.""cured? by whom?" "by my husband, if i must tell.""ah--your husband--your husband! how strange it seems!i remember you hinted something of the sort the other day. what do you really believe in thesematters, tess?" he asked. "you seem to have no religion--perhapsowing to me."
"but i have. though i don't believe in anythingsupernatural." d'urberville looked at her with misgiving."then do you think that the line i take is all wrong?" "a good deal of it.""h'm--and yet i've felt so sure about it," he said uneasily."i believe in the spirit of the sermon on the mount, and so did my dear husband... but i don't believe--"here she gave her negations. "the fact is," said d'urberville drily,"whatever your dear husband believed you
accept, and whatever he rejected youreject, without the least inquiry or reasoning on your own part. that's just like you women.your mind is enslaved to his." "ah, because he knew everything!" said she,with a triumphant simplicity of faith in angel clare that the most perfect man couldhardly have deserved, much less her husband. "yes, but you should not take negativeopinions wholesale from another person like that.a pretty fellow he must be to teach you such scepticism!"
"he never forced my judgement!he would never argue on the subject with me! but i looked at it in this way; what hebelieved, after inquiring deep into doctrines, was much more likely to be rightthan what i might believe, who hadn't looked into doctrines at all." "what used he to say?he must have said something?" she reflected; and with her acute memoryfor the letter of angel clare's remarks, even when she did not comprehend theirspirit, she recalled a merciless polemical syllogism that she had heard him use when,
as it occasionally happened, he indulged ina species of thinking aloud with her at his side. in delivering it she gave also clare'saccent and manner with reverential faithfulness."say that again," asked d'urberville, who had listened with the greatest attention. she repeated the argument, and d'urbervillethoughtfully murmured the words after her. "anything else?" he presently asked. "he said at another time something likethis"; and she gave another, which might possibly have been paralleled in many awork of the pedigree ranging from the
dictionnaire philosophique to huxley'sessays. "ah--ha!how do you remember them?" "i wanted to believe what he believed,though he didn't wish me to; and i managed to coax him to tell me a few of histhoughts. i can't say i quite understand that one;but i know it is right." "h'm.fancy your being able to teach me what you don't know yourself!" he fell into thought."and so i threw in my spiritual lot with his," she resumed."i didn't wish it to be different.
what's good enough for him is good enoughfor me." "does he know that you are as big aninfidel as he?" "no--i never told him--if i am an infidel." "well--you are better off to-day that i am,tess, after all! you don't believe that you ought to preachmy doctrine, and, therefore, do no despite to your conscience in abstaining. i do believe i ought to preach it, but,like the devils, i believe and tremble, for i suddenly leave off preaching it, and giveway to my passion for you." "how?"
"why," he said aridly; "i have come all theway here to see you to-day! but i started from home to go tocasterbridge fair, where i have undertaken to preach the word from a waggon at half-past two this afternoon, and where all the brethren are expecting me this minute. here's the announcement." he drew from his breast-pocket a posterwhereon was printed the day, hour, and place of meeting, at which he,d'urberville, would preach the gospel as aforesaid. "but how can you get there?" said tess,looking at the clock.
"i cannot get there!i have come here." "what, you have really arranged to preach,and--" "i have arranged to preach, and i shall notbe there--by reason of my burning desire to see a woman whom i once despised!--no, bymy word and truth, i never despised you; if i had i should not love you now! why i did not despise you was on account ofyour being unsmirched in spite of all; you withdrew yourself from me so quickly andresolutely when you saw the situation; you did not remain at my pleasure; so there was one petticoat in the world for whom i hadno contempt, and you are she.
but you may well despise me now!i thought i worshipped on the mountains, but i find i still serve in the groves! ha! ha!""o alec d'urberville! what does this mean? what have i done!""done?" he said, with a soulless sneer in the word. "nothing intentionally.but you have been the means--the innocent means--of my backsliding, as they call it. i ask myself, am i, indeed, one of those'servants of corruption' who, 'after they have escaped the pollutions of the world,are again entangled therein and overcome'--
whose latter end is worse than theirbeginning?" he laid his hand on her shoulder. "tess, my girl, i was on the way to, atleast, social salvation till i saw you again!" he said freakishly shaking her, asif she were a child. "and why then have you tempted me? i was firm as a man could be till i sawthose eyes and that mouth again--surely there never was such a maddening mouthsince eve's!" his voice sank, and a hot archness shotfrom his own black eyes. "you temptress, tess; you dear damned witchof babylon--i could not resist you as soon
as i met you again!" "i couldn't help your seeing me again!"said tess, recoiling. "i know it--i repeat that i do not blameyou. but the fact remains. when i saw you ill-used on the farm thatday i was nearly mad to think that i had no legal right to protect you--that i couldnot have it; whilst he who has it seems to neglect you utterly!" "don't speak against him--he is absent!"she cried in much excitement. "treat him honourably--he has never wrongedyou!
o leave his wife before any scandal spreadsthat may do harm to his honest name!" "i will--i will," he said, like a manawakening from a luring dream. "i have broken my engagement to preach tothose poor drunken boobies at the fair--it is the first time i have played such apractical joke. a month ago i should have been horrified atsuch a possibility. i'll go away--to swear--and--ah, can i! tokeep away." then, suddenly: "one clasp, tessy--one! only for old friendship--""i am without defence. alec!a good man's honour is in my keeping--
think--be ashamed!" "pooh!well, yes--yes!" he clenched his lips, mortified withhimself for his weakness. his eyes were equally barren of worldly andreligious faith. the corpses of those old fitful passionswhich had lain inanimate amid the lines of his face ever since his reformation seemedto wake and come together as in a resurrection. he went out indeterminately. though d'urberville had declared that thisbreach of his engagement to-day was the
simple backsliding of a believer, tess'swords, as echoed from angel clare, had made a deep impression upon him, and continuedto do so after he had left her. he moved on in silence, as if his energieswere benumbed by the hitherto undreamt-of possibility that his position wasuntenable. reason had had nothing to do with hiswhimsical conversion, which was perhaps the mere freak of a careless man in search of anew sensation, and temporarily impressed by his mother's death. the drops of logic tess had let fall intothe sea of his enthusiasm served to chill its effervescence to stagnation.
he said to himself, as he pondered againand again over the crystallized phrases that she had handed on to him, "that cleverfellow little thought that, by telling her those things, he might be paving my wayback to her!" chapter xlvii it is the threshing of the last wheat-rickat flintcomb-ash farm. the dawn of the march morning is singularlyinexpressive, and there is nothing to show where the eastern horizon lies. against the twilight rises the trapezoidaltop of the stack, which has stood forlornly here through the washing and bleaching ofthe wintry weather.
when izz huett and tess arrived at thescene of operations only a rustling denoted that others had preceded them; to which, asthe light increased, there were presently added the silhouettes of two men on thesummit. they were busily "unhaling" the rick, thatis, stripping off the thatch before beginning to throw down the sheaves; andwhile this was in progress izz and tess, with the other women-workers, in their whitey-brown pinners, stood waiting andshivering, farmer groby having insisted upon their being on the spot thus early toget the job over if possible by the end of the day.
close under the eaves of the stack, and asyet barely visible, was the red tyrant that the women had come to serve--a timber-framed construction, with straps and wheels appertaining-- the threshing-machine which, whilst it was going, kept up a despoticdemand upon the endurance of their muscles and nerves. a little way off there was anotherindistinct figure; this one black, with a sustained hiss that spoke of strength verymuch in reserve. the long chimney running up beside an ash-tree, and the warmth which radiated from the spot, explained without the necessityof much daylight that here was the engine
which was to act as the primum mobile ofthis little world. by the engine stood a dark, motionlessbeing, a sooty and grimy embodiment of tallness, in a sort of trance, with a heapof coals by his side: it was the engine- man. the isolation of his manner and colour lenthim the appearance of a creature from tophet, who had strayed into the pellucidsmokelessness of this region of yellow grain and pale soil, with which he had nothing in common, to amaze and todiscompose its aborigines. what he looked he felt.he was in the agricultural world, but not
he served fire and smoke; these denizens ofthe fields served vegetation, weather, frost, and sun. he travelled with his engine from farm tofarm, from county to county, for as yet the steam threshing-machine was itinerant inthis part of wessex. he spoke in a strange northern accent; histhoughts being turned inwards upon himself, his eye on his iron charge, hardlyperceiving the scenes around him, and caring for them not at all: holding only strictly necessary intercourse with thenatives, as if some ancient doom compelled him to wander here against his will in theservice of his plutonic master.
the long strap which ran from the driving-wheel of his engine to the red thresher under the rick was the sole tie-linebetween agriculture and him. while they uncovered the sheaves he stoodapathetic beside his portable repository of force, round whose hot blackness themorning air quivered. he had nothing to do with preparatorylabour. his fire was waiting incandescent, hissteam was at high pressure, in a few seconds he could make the long strap moveat an invisible velocity. beyond its extent the environment might becorn, straw, or chaos; it was all the same to him.
if any of the autochthonous idlers askedhim what he called himself, he replied shortly, "an engineer." the rick was unhaled by full daylight; themen then took their places, the women mounted, and the work began. farmer groby--or, as they called him, "he"--had arrived ere this, and by his orders tess was placed on the platform of themachine, close to the man who fed it, her business being to untie every sheaf of corn handed on to her by izz huett, who stoodnext, but on the rick; so that the feeder could seize it and spread it over therevolving drum, which whisked out every
grain in one moment. they were soon in full progress, after apreparatory hitch or two, which rejoiced the hearts of those who hated machinery. the work sped on till breakfast time, whenthe thresher was stopped for half an hour; and on starting again after the meal thewhole supplementary strength of the farm was thrown into the labour of constructing the straw-rick, which began to grow besidethe stack of corn. a hasty lunch was eaten as they stood,without leaving their positions, and then another couple of hours brought them nearto dinner-time; the inexorable wheel
continuing to spin, and the penetrating hum of the thresher to thrill to the verymarrow all who were near the revolving wire-cage. the old men on the rising straw-rick talkedof the past days when they had been accustomed to thresh with flails on theoaken barn-floor; when everything, even to winnowing, was effected by hand-labour, which, to their thinking, though slow,produced better results. those, too, on the corn-rick talked alittle; but the perspiring ones at the machine, including tess, could not lightentheir duties by the exchange of many words.
it was the ceaselessness of the work whichtried her so severely, and began to make her wish that she had never some toflintcomb-ash. the women on the corn-rick--marian, who wasone of them, in particular--could stop to drink ale or cold tea from the flagon nowand then, or to exchange a few gossiping remarks while they wiped their faces or cleared the fragments of straw and huskfrom their clothing; but for tess there was no respite; for, as the drum never stopped,the man who fed it could not stop, and she, who had to supply the man with untied sheaves, could not stop either, unlessmarian changed places with her, which she
sometimes did for half an hour in spite ofgroby's objections that she was too slow- handed for a feeder. for some probably economical reason it wasusually a woman who was chosen for this particular duty, and groby gave as hismotive in selecting tess that she was one of those who best combined strength with quickness in untying, and both with stayingpower, and this may have been true. the hum of the thresher, which preventedspeech, increased to a raving whenever the supply of corn fell short of the regularquantity. as tess and the man who fed could neverturn their heads she did not know that just
before the dinner-hour a person had comesilently into the field by the gate, and had been standing under a second rickwatching the scene and tess in particular. he was dressed in a tweed suit offashionable pattern, and he twirled a gay walking-cane. "who is that?" said izz huett to marian.she had at first addressed the inquiry to tess, but the latter could not hear it."somebody's fancy-man, i s'pose," said marian laconically. "i'll lay a guinea he's after tess.""o no. 'tis a ranter pa'son who's been sniffingafter her lately; not a dandy like this."
"well--this is the same man." "the same man as the preacher?but he's quite different!" "he hev left off his black coat and whiteneckercher, and hev cut off his whiskers; but he's the same man for all that." "d'ye really think so?then i'll tell her," said marian. "don't.she'll see him soon enough, good-now." "well, i don't think it at all right forhim to join his preaching to courting a married woman, even though her husband midbe abroad, and she, in a sense, a widow." "oh--he can do her no harm," said izzdrily.
"her mind can no more be heaved from thatone place where it do bide than a stooded waggon from the hole he's in. lord love 'ee, neither court-paying, norpreaching, nor the seven thunders themselves, can wean a woman when 'twouldbe better for her that she should be weaned." dinner-time came, and the whirling ceased;whereupon tess left her post, her knees trembling so wretchedly with the shaking ofthe machine that she could scarcely walk. "you ought to het a quart o' drink into'ee, as i've done," said marian. "you wouldn't look so white then.why, souls above us, your face is as if
you'd been hagrode!" it occurred to the good-natured marianthat, as tess was so tired, her discovery of her visitor's presence might have thebad effect of taking away her appetite; and marian was thinking of inducing tess to descend by a ladder on the further side ofthe stack when the gentleman came forward and looked up.tess uttered a short little "oh!" and a moment after she said, quickly, "ishall eat my dinner here--right on the rick." sometimes, when they were so far from theircottages, they all did this; but as there
was rather a keen wind going to-day, marianand the rest descended, and sat under the straw-stack. the newcomer was, indeed, alecd'urberville, the late evangelist, despite his changed attire and aspect. it was obvious at a glance that theoriginal weltlust had come back; that he had restored himself, as nearly as a mancould do who had grown three or four years older, to the old jaunty, slapdash guise under which tess had first known heradmirer, and cousin so-called. having decided to remain where she was,tess sat down among the bundles, out of
sight of the ground, and began her meal;till, by-and-by, she heard footsteps on the ladder, and immediately after alec appeared upon the stack--now an oblong and levelplatform of sheaves. he strode across them, and sat downopposite of her without a word. tess continued to eat her modest dinner, aslice of thick pancake which she had brought with her. the other workfolk were by this time allgathered under the rick, where the loose straw formed a comfortable retreat."i am here again, as you see," said d'urberville.
"why do you trouble me so!" she cried,reproach flashing from her very finger- ends."i trouble you? i think i may ask, why do you trouble me?" "sure, i don't trouble you any-when!""you say you don't? but you do!you haunt me. those very eyes that you turned upon mywith such a bitter flash a moment ago, they come to me just as you showed them then, inthe night and in the day! tess, ever since you told me of that childof ours, it is just as if my feelings, which have been flowing in a strongpuritanical stream, had suddenly found a
way open in the direction of you, and hadall at once gushed through. the religious channel is left dryforthwith; and it is you who have done it!" she gazed in silence. "what--you have given up your preachingentirely?" she asked. she had gathered from angel sufficient ofthe incredulity of modern thought to despise flash enthusiasm; but, as a woman,she was somewhat appalled. in affected severity d'urbervillecontinued-- "entirely. i have broken every engagement since thatafternoon i was to address the drunkards at
casterbridge fair.the deuce only knows what i am thought of by the brethren. ah-ha!the brethren! no doubt they pray for me--weep for me; forthey are kind people in their way. but what do i care? how could i go on with the thing when i hadlost my faith in it?--it would have been hypocrisy of the basest kind! among them i should have stood likehymenaeus and alexander, who were delivered over to satan that they might learn not toblaspheme.
what a grand revenge you have taken! i saw you innocent, and i deceived you.four years after, you find me a christian enthusiast; you then work upon me, perhapsto my complete perdition! but tess, my coz, as i used to call you,this is only my way of talking, and you must not look so horribly concerned.of course you have done nothing except retain your pretty face and shapely figure. i saw it on the rick before you saw me--that tight pinafore-thing sets it off, and that wing-bonnet--you field-girls shouldnever wear those bonnets if you wish to keep out of danger."
he regarded her silently for a few moments,and with a short cynical laugh resumed: "i believe that if the bachelor-apostle, whosedeputy i thought i was, had been tempted by such a pretty face, he would have let gothe plough for her sake as i do!" tess attempted to expostulate, but at thisjuncture all her fluency failed her, and without heeding he added: "well, this paradise that you supply isperhaps as good as any other, after all. but to speak seriously, tess." d'urberville rose and came nearer,reclining sideways amid the sheaves, and resting upon his elbow."since i last saw you, i have been thinking
of what you said that he said. i have come to the conclusion that theredoes seem rather a want of common-sense in these threadbare old propositions; how icould have been so fired by poor parson clare's enthusiasm, and have gone so madly to work, transcending even him, i cannotmake out! as for what you said last time, on thestrength of your wonderful husband's intelligence--whose name you have nevertold me--about having what they call an ethical system without any dogma, i don'tsee my way to that at all." "why, you can have the religion of loving-kindness and purity at least, if you can't
have--what do you call it--dogma." "o no!i'm a different sort of fellow from that! if there's nobody to say, 'do this, and itwill be a good thing for you after you are dead; do that, and if will be a bad thingfor you,' i can't warm up. hang it, i am not going to feel responsiblefor my deeds and passions if there's nobody to be responsible to; and if i were you, mydear, i wouldn't either!" she tried to argue, and tell him that hehad mixed in his dull brain two matters, theology and morals, which in the primitivedays of mankind had been quite distinct. but owing to angel clare's reticence, toher absolute want of training, and to her
being a vessel of emotions rather thanreasons, she could not get on. "well, never mind," he resumed. "here i am, my love, as in the old times!""not as then--never as then--'tis different!" she entreated."and there was never warmth with me! o why didn't you keep your faith, if theloss of it has brought you to speak to me like this!""because you've knocked it out of me; so the evil be upon your sweet head! your husband little thought how histeaching would recoil upon him! ha-ha--i'm awfully glad you have made anapostate of me all the same!
tess, i am more taken with you than ever,and i pity you too. for all your closeness, i see you are in abad way--neglected by one who ought to cherish you." she could not get her morsels of food downher throat; her lips were dry, and she was ready to choke. the voices and laughs of the workfolkeating and drinking under the rick came to her as if they were a quarter of a mileoff. "it is cruelty to me!" she said. "how--how can you treat me to this talk, ifyou care ever so little for me?"
"true, true," he said, wincing a little."i did not come to reproach you for my deeds. i came tess, to say that i don't like youto be working like this, and i have come on purpose for you.you say you have a husband who is not i. well, perhaps you have; but i've never seenhim, and you've not told me his name; and altogether he seems rather a mythologicalpersonage. however, even if you have one, i think i amnearer to you than he is. i, at any rate, try to help you out oftrouble, but he does not, bless his invisible face!
the words of the stern prophet hosea that iused to read come back to me. don't you know them, tess?--'and she shallfollow after her lover, but she shall not overtake him; and she shall seek him, butshall not find him; then shall she say, i will go and return to my first husband; forthen was it better with me than now!'... tess, my trap is waiting just under thehill, and--darling mine, not his!--you know the rest." her face had been rising to a dull crimsonfire while he spoke; but she did not answer. "you have been the cause of mybacksliding," he continued, stretching his
arm towards her waist; "you should bewilling to share it, and leave that mule you call husband for ever." one of her leather gloves, which she hadtaken off to eat her skimmer-cake, lay in her lap, and without the slightest warningshe passionately swung the glove by the gauntlet directly in his face. it was heavy and thick as a warrior's, andit struck him flat on the mouth. fancy might have regarded the act as therecrudescence of a trick in which her armed progenitors were not unpractised. alec fiercely started up from his recliningposition.
a scarlet oozing appeared where her blowhad alighted, and in a moment the blood began dropping from his mouth upon thestraw. but he soon controlled himself, calmly drewhis handkerchief from his pocket, and mopped his bleeding lips.she too had sprung up, but she sank down again. "now, punish me!" she said, turning up hereyes to him with the hopeless defiance of the sparrow's gaze before its captor twistsits neck. "whip me, crush me; you need not mind thosepeople under the rick! i shall not cry out.once victim, always victim--that's the
law!" "o no, no, tess," he said blandly."i can make full allowance for this. yet you most unjustly forget one thing,that i would have married you if you had not put it out of my power to do so. did i not ask you flatly to be my wife--hey? answer me.""you did." "and you cannot be. but remember one thing!" his voice hardened as his temper got thebetter of him with the recollection of his
sincerity in asking her and her presentingratitude, and he stepped across to her side and held her by the shoulders, so thatshe shook under his grasp. "remember, my lady, i was your master once!i will be your master again. if you are any man's wife you are mine!" the threshers now began to stir below."so much for our quarrel," he said, letting her go."now i shall leave you, and shall come again for your answer during the afternoon. you don't know me yet!but i know you." she had not spoken again, remaining as ifstunned.
d'urberville retreated over the sheaves,and descended the ladder, while the workers below rose and stretched their arms, andshook down the beer they had drunk. then the threshing-machine started afresh;and amid the renewed rustle of the straw tess resumed her position by the buzzingdrum as one in a dream, untying sheaf after sheaf in endless succession. chapter xlviii in the afternoon the farmer made it knownthat the rick was to be finished that night, since there was a moon by which theycould see to work, and the man with the engine was engaged for another farm on themorrow.
hence the twanging and humming and rustlingproceeded with even less intermission than usual. it was not till "nammet"-time, about threeo-clock, that tess raised her eyes and gave a momentary glance round. she felt but little surprise at seeing thatalec d'urberville had come back, and was standing under the hedge by the gate. he had seen her lift her eyes, and wavedhis hand urbanely to her, while he blew her a kiss.it meant that their quarrel was over. tess looked down again, and carefullyabstained from gazing in that direction.
thus the afternoon dragged on. the wheat-rick shrank lower, and the straw-rick grew higher, and the corn-sacks were carted away.at six o'clock the wheat-rick was about shoulder-high from the ground. but the unthreshed sheaves remaininguntouched seemed countless still, notwithstanding the enormous numbers thathad been gulped down by the insatiable swallower, fed by the man and tess, through whose two young hands the greater part ofthem had passed. and the immense stack of straw where in themorning there had been nothing, appeared as
the faeces of the same buzzing red glutton. from the west sky a wrathful shine--allthat wild march could afford in the way of sunset--had burst forth after the cloudyday, flooding the tired and sticky faces of the threshers, and dyeing them with a coppery light, as also the flappinggarments of the women, which clung to them like dull flames.a panting ache ran through the rick. the man who fed was weary, and tess couldsee that the red nape of his neck was encrusted with dirt and husks. she still stood at her post, her flushedand perspiring face coated with the
corndust, and her white bonnet embrowned byit. she was the only woman whose place was uponthe machine so as to be shaken bodily by its spinning, and the decrease of the stacknow separated her from marian and izz, and prevented their changing duties with her asthey had done. the incessant quivering, in which everyfibre of her frame participated, had thrown her into a stupefied reverie in which herarms worked on independently of her consciousness. she hardly knew where she was, and did nothear izz huett tell her from below that her hair was tumbling down.by degrees the freshest among them began to
grow cadaverous and saucer-eyed. whenever tess lifted her head she beheldalways the great upgrown straw-stack, with the men in shirt-sleeves upon it, againstthe gray north sky; in front of it the long red elevator like a jacob's ladder, on which a perpetual stream of threshed strawascended, a yellow river running uphill, and spouting out on the top of the rick. she knew that alec d'urberville was stillon the scene, observing her from some point or other, though she could not say where. there was an excuse for his remaining, forwhen the threshed rick drew near its final
sheaves a little ratting was always done,and men unconnected with the threshing sometimes dropped in for that performance-- sporting characters of all descriptions,gents with terriers and facetious pipes, roughs with sticks and stones. but there was another hour's work beforethe layer of live rats at the base of the stack would be reached; and as the eveninglight in the direction of the giant's hill by abbot's-cernel dissolved away, the white-faced moon of the season arose fromthe horizon that lay towards middleton abbey and shottsford on the other side.
for the last hour or two marian had feltuneasy about tess, whom she could not get near enough to speak to, the other womenhaving kept up their strength by drinking ale, and tess having done without it through traditionary dread, owing to itsresults at her home in childhood. but tess still kept going: if she could notfill her part she would have to leave; and this contingency, which she would haveregarded with equanimity and even with relief a month or two earlier, had become a terror since d'urberville had begun tohover round her. the sheaf-pitchers and feeders had nowworked the rick so low that people on the
ground could talk to them. to tess's surprise farmer groby came up onthe machine to her, and said that if she desired to join her friend he did not wishher to keep on any longer, and would send somebody else to take her place. the "friend" was d'urberville, she knew,and also that this concession had been granted in obedience to the request of thatfriend, or enemy. she shook her head and toiled on. the time for the rat-catching arrived atlast, and the hunt began. the creatures had crept downwards with thesubsidence of the rick till they were all
together at the bottom, and being nowuncovered from their last refuge, they ran across the open ground in all directions, a loud shriek from the by-this-time half-tipsy marian informing her companions that one of the rats had invaded her person--aterror which the rest of the women had guarded against by various schemes ofskirt-tucking and self-elevation. the rat was at last dislodged, and, amidthe barking of dogs, masculine shouts, feminine screams, oaths, stampings, andconfusion as of pandemonium, tess untied her last sheaf; the drum slowed, the whizzing ceased, and she stepped from themachine to the ground.
her lover, who had only looked on at therat-catching, was promptly at her side. "what--after all--my insulting slap, too!"said she in an underbreath. she was so utterly exhausted that she hadnot strength to speak louder. "i should indeed be foolish to feeloffended at anything you say or do," he answered, in the seductive voice of thetrantridge time. "how the little limbs tremble! you are as weak as a bled calf, you knowyou are; and yet you need have done nothing since i arrived.how could you be so obstinate? however, i have told the farmer that he hasno right to employ women at steam-
threshing. it is not proper work for them; and on allthe better class of farms it has been given up, as he knows very well.i will walk with you as far as your home." "o yes," she answered with a jaded gait. "walk wi' me if you will!i do bear in mind that you came to marry me before you knew o' my state. perhaps--perhaps you are a little betterand kinder than i have been thinking you were. whatever is meant as kindness i am gratefulfor; whatever is meant in any other way i
am angered at.i cannot sense your meaning sometimes." "if i cannot legitimize our formerrelations at least i can assist you. and i will do it with much more regard foryour feelings than i formerly showed. my religious mania, or whatever it was, isover. but i retain a little good nature; i hope ido. now, tess, by all that's tender and strongbetween man and woman, trust me! i have enough and more than enough to putyou out of anxiety, both for yourself and your parents and sisters. i can make them all comfortable if you willonly show confidence in me."
"have you seen 'em lately?" she quicklyinquired. "yes. they didn't know where you were.it was only by chance that i found you here." the cold moon looked aslant upon tess'sfagged face between the twigs of the garden-hedge as she paused outside thecottage which was her temporary home, d'urberville pausing beside her. "don't mention my little brothers andsisters--don't make me break down quite!" she said."if you want to help them--god knows they
need it--do it without telling me. but no, no!" she cried."i will take nothing from you, either for them or for me!" he did not accompany her further, since, asshe lived with the household, all was public indoors. no sooner had she herself entered, lavedherself in a washing-tub, and shared supper with the family than she fell into thought,and withdrawing to the table under the wall, by the light of her own little lampwrote in a passionate mood-- my own husband,--
let me call you so--i must--even if itmakes you angry to think of such an unworthy wife as i.i must cry to you in my trouble--i have no one else! i am so exposed to temptation, angel.i fear to say who it is, and i do not like to write about it at all.but i cling to you in a way you cannot think! can you not come to me now, at once, beforeanything terrible happens? o, i know you cannot, because you are sofar away! i think i must die if you do not come soon,or tell me to come to you.
the punishment you have measured out to meis deserved--i do know that-- well deserved--and you are right and just to beangry with me. but, angel, please, please, not to be just--only a little kind to me, even if i do not deserve it, and come to me!if you would come, i could die in your arms! i would be well content to do that if so beyou had forgiven me! angel, i live entirely for you. i love you too much to blame you for goingaway, and i know it was necessary you should find a farm.do not think i shall say a word of sting or
bitterness. only come back to me.i am desolate without you, my darling, o, so desolate! i do not mind having to work: but if youwill send me one little line, and say, "i am coming soon," i will bide on, angel--o,so cheerfully! it has been so much my religion ever sincewe were married to be faithful to you in every thought and look, that even when aman speaks a compliment to me before i am aware, it seems wronging you. have you never felt one little bit of whatyou used to feel when we were at the dairy?
if you have, how can you keep away from me? i am the same women, angel, as you fell inlove with; yes, the very same!--not the one you disliked but never saw.what was the past to me as soon as i met you? it was a dead thing altogether.i became another woman, filled full of new life from you.how could i be the early one? why do you not see this? dear, if you would only be a little moreconceited, and believe in yourself so far as to see that you were strong enough towork this change in me, you would perhaps
be in a mind to come to me, your poor wife. how silly i was in my happiness when ithought i could trust you always to love me!i ought to have known that such as that was not for poor me. but i am sick at heart, not only for oldtimes, but for the present. think--think how it do hurt my heart not tosee you ever--ever! ah, if i could only make your dear heartache one little minute of each day as mine does every day and all day long, it mightlead you to show pity to your poor lonely one.
people still say that i am rather pretty,angel (handsome is the word they use, since i wish to be truthful).perhaps i am what they say. but i do not value my good looks; i onlylike to have them because they belong to you, my dear, and that there may be atleast one thing about me worth your having. so much have i felt this, that when i metwith annoyance on account of the same, i tied up my face in a bandage as long aspeople would believe in it. o angel, i tell you all this not fromvanity--you will certainly know i do not-- but only that you may come to me!if you really cannot come to me, will you let me come to you?
i am, as i say, worried, pressed to do whati will not do. it cannot be that i shall yield one inch,yet i am in terror as to what an accident might lead to, and i so defenceless onaccount of my first error. i cannot say more about this--it makes metoo miserable. but if i break down by falling into somefearful snare, my last state will be worse than my first. o god, i cannot think of it!let me come at once, or at once come to me! i would be content, ay, glad, to live withyou as your servant, if i may not as your wife; so that i could only be near you, andget glimpses of you, and think of you as
mine. the daylight has nothing to show me, sinceyou are not here, and i don't like to see the rooks and starlings in the field,because i grieve and grieve to miss you who used to see them with me. i long for only one thing in heaven orearth or under the earth, to meet you, my own dear!come to me--come to me, and save me from what threatens me!-- your faithful heartbrokentess chapter xlix
the appeal duly found its way to thebreakfast-table of the quiet vicarage to the westward, in that valley where the airis so soft and the soil so rich that the effort of growth requires but superficial aid by comparison with the tillage atflintcomb-ash, and where to tess the human world seemed so different (though it wasmuch the same). it was purely for security that she hadbeen requested by angel to send her communications through his father, whom hekept pretty well informed of his changing addresses in the country he had gone toexploit for himself with a heavy heart. "now," said old mr clare to his wife, whenhe had read the envelope, "if angel
proposes leaving rio for a visit home atthe end of next month, as he told us that he hoped to do, i think this may hasten his plans; for i believe it to be from hiswife." he breathed deeply at the thought of her;and the letter was redirected to be promptly sent on to angel. "dear fellow, i hope he will get homesafely," murmured mrs clare. "to my dying day i shall feel that he hasbeen ill-used. you should have sent him to cambridge inspite of his want of faith and given him the same chance as the other boys had.
he would have grown out of it under properinfluence, and perhaps would have taken orders after all.church or no church, it would have been fairer to him." this was the only wail with which mrs clareever disturbed her husband's peace in respect to their sons. and she did not vent this often; for shewas as considerate as she was devout, and knew that his mind too was troubled bydoubts as to his justice in this matter. only too often had she heard him lyingawake at night, stifling sighs for angel with prayers.
but the uncompromising evangelical did noteven now hold that he would have been justified in giving his son, an unbeliever,the same academic advantages that he had given to the two others, when it was possible, if not probable, that those veryadvantages might have been used to decry the doctrines which he had made it hislife's mission and desire to propagate, and the mission of his ordained sons likewise. to put with one hand a pedestal under thefeet of the two faithful ones, and with the other to exalt the unfaithful by the sameartificial means, he deemed to be alike inconsistent with his convictions, hisposition, and his hopes.
nevertheless, he loved his misnamed angel,and in secret mourned over this treatment of him as abraham might have mourned overthe doomed isaac while they went up the hill together. his silent self-generated regrets were farbitterer than the reproaches which his wife rendered audible.they blamed themselves for this unlucky marriage. if angel had never been destined for afarmer he would never have been thrown with agricultural girls. they did not distinctly know what hadseparated him and his wife, nor the date on
which the separation had taken place. at first they had supposed it must besomething of the nature of a serious aversion. but in his later letters he occasionallyalluded to the intention of coming home to fetch her; from which expressions theyhoped the division might not owe its origin to anything so hopelessly permanent asthat. he had told them that she was with herrelatives, and in their doubts they had decided not to intrude into a situationwhich they knew no way of bettering. the eyes for which tess's letter wasintended were gazing at this time on a
limitless expanse of country from the backof a mule which was bearing him from the interior of the south-american continenttowards the coast. his experiences of this strange land hadbeen sad. the severe illness from which he hadsuffered shortly after his arrival had never wholly left him, and he had bydegrees almost decided to relinquish his hope of farming here, though, as long as the bare possibility existed of hisremaining, he kept this change of view a secret from his parents. the crowds of agricultural labourers whohad come out to the country in his wake,
dazzled by representations of easyindependence, had suffered, died, and wasted away. he would see mothers from english farmstrudging along with their infants in their arms, when the child would be stricken withfever and would die; the mother would pause to dig a hole in the loose earth with her bare hands, would bury the babe thereinwith the same natural grave-tools, shed one tear, and again trudge on. angel's original intention had not beenemigration to brazil but a northern or eastern farm in his own country.
he had come to this place in a fit ofdesperation, the brazil movement among the english agriculturists having by chancecoincided with his desire to escape from his past existence. during this time of absence he had mentallyaged a dozen years. what arrested him now as of value in lifewas less its beauty than its pathos. having long discredited the old systems ofmysticism, he now began to discredit the old appraisements of morality.he thought they wanted readjusting. who was the moral man? still more pertinently, who was the moralwoman?
the beauty or ugliness of a character laynot only in its achievements, but in its aims and impulses; its true history lay,not among things done, but among things willed. how, then, about tess?viewing her in these lights, a regret for his hasty judgement began to oppress him.did he reject her eternally, or did he not? he could no longer say that he would alwaysreject her, and not to say that was in spirit to accept her now. this growing fondness for her memorycoincided in point of time with her residence at flintcomb-ash, but it wasbefore she had felt herself at liberty to
trouble him with a word about hercircumstances or her feelings. he was greatly perplexed; and in hisperplexity as to her motives in withholding intelligence, he did not inquire. thus her silence of docility wasmisinterpreted. how much it really said if he hadunderstood!--that she adhered with literal exactness to orders which he had given andforgotten; that despite her natural fearlessness she asserted no rights, admitted his judgement to be in everyrespect the true one, and bent her head dumbly thereto.
in the before-mentioned journey by mulesthrough the interior of the country, another man rode beside him. angel's companion was also an englishman,bent on the same errand, though he came from another part of the island.they were both in a state of mental depression, and they spoke of home affairs. confidence begat confidence. with that curious tendency evinced by men,more especially when in distant lands, to entrust to strangers details of their liveswhich they would on no account mention to friends, angel admitted to this man as they
rode along the sorrowful facts of hismarriage. the stranger had sojourned in many morelands and among many more peoples than angel; to his cosmopolitan mind suchdeviations from the social norm, so immense to domesticity, were no more than are the irregularities of vale and mountain-chainto the whole terrestrial curve. he viewed the matter in quite a differentlight from angel; thought that what tess had been was of no importance beside whatshe would be, and plainly told clare that he was wrong in coming away from her. the next day they were drenched in athunder-storm.
angel's companion was struck down withfever, and died by the week's end. clare waited a few hours to bury him, andthen went on his way. the cursory remarks of the large-mindedstranger, of whom he knew absolutely nothing beyond a commonplace name, weresublimed by his death, and influenced clare more than all the reasoned ethics of thephilosophers. his own parochialism made him ashamed byits contrast. his inconsistencies rushed upon him in aflood. he had persistently elevated hellenicpaganism at the expense of christianity; yet in that civilization an illegalsurrender was not certain disesteem.
surely then he might have regarded thatabhorrence of the un-intact state, which he had inherited with the creed of mysticism,as at least open to correction when the result was due to treachery. a remorse struck into him.the words of izz huett, never quite stilled in his memory, came back to him.he had asked izz if she loved him, and she had replied in the affirmative. did she love him more than tess did?no, she had replied; tess would lay down her life for him, and she herself could dono more. he thought of tess as she had appeared onthe day of the wedding.
how her eyes had lingered upon him; how shehad hung upon his words as if they were a god's! and during the terrible evening over thehearth, when her simple soul uncovered itself to his, how pitiful her face hadlooked by the rays of the fire, in her inability to realize that his love andprotection could possibly be withdrawn. thus from being her critic he grew to beher advocate. cynical things he had uttered to himselfabout her; but no man can be always a cynic and live; and he withdrew them. the mistake of expressing them had arisenfrom his allowing himself to be influenced
by general principles to the disregard ofthe particular instance. but the reasoning is somewhat musty; loversand husbands have gone over the ground before to-day.clare had been harsh towards her; there is no doubt of it. men are too often harsh with women theylove or have loved; women with men. and yet these harshnesses are tendernessitself when compared with the universal harshness out of which they grow; theharshness of the position towards the temperament, of the means towards the aims, of to-day towards yesterday, of hereaftertowards to-day.
the historic interest of her family--thatmasterful line of d'urbervilles--whom he had despised as a spent force, touched hissentiments now. why had he not known the difference betweenthe political value and the imaginative value of these things? in the latter aspect her d'urbervilledescent was a fact of great dimensions; worthless to economics, it was a mostuseful ingredient to the dreamer, to the moralizer on declines and falls. it was a fact that would soon be forgotten--that bit of distinction in poor tess's blood and name, and oblivion would fallupon her hereditary link with the marble
monuments and leaded skeletons atkingsbere. so does time ruthlessly destroy his ownromances. in recalling her face again and again, hethought now that he could see therein a flash of the dignity which must have gracedher grand-dames; and the vision sent that aura through his veins which he had formerly felt, and which left behind it asense of sickness. despite her not-inviolate past, what stillabode in such a woman as tess outvalued the freshness of her fellows. was not the gleaning of the grapes ofephraim better than the vintage of abiezer?
so spoke love renascent, preparing the wayfor tess's devoted outpouring, which was then just being forwarded to him by hisfather; though owing to his distance inland it was to be a long time in reaching him. meanwhile the writer's expectation thatangel would come in response to the entreaty was alternately great and small. what lessened it was that the facts of herlife which had led to the parting had not changed--could never change; and that, ifher presence had not attenuated them, her absence could not. nevertheless she addressed her mind to thetender question of what she could do to
please him best if he should arrive. sighs were expended on the wish that shehad taken more notice of the tunes he played on his harp, that she had inquiredmore curiously of him which were his favourite ballads among those the country-girls sang. she indirectly inquired of amby seedling,who had followed izz from talbothays, and by chance amby remembered that, amongst thesnatches of melody in which they had indulged at the dairyman's, to induce the cows to let down their milk, clare hadseemed to like "cupid's gardens", "i have parks, i have hounds", and "the break o'the day"; and had seemed not to care for
"the tailor's breeches" and "such a beauty i did grow", excellent ditties as theywere. to perfect the ballads was now herwhimsical desire. she practised them privately at oddmoments, especially "the break o' the day": arise, arise, arise!and pick your love a posy, all o' the sweetest flowers that in the garden grow. the turtle doves and sma' birds in everybough a-building, so early in the may-time at the break o' the day! it would have melted the heart of a stoneto hear her singing these ditties whenever
she worked apart from the rest of the girlsin this cold dry time; the tears running down her cheeks all the while at the thought that perhaps he would not, afterall, come to hear her, and the simple silly words of the songs resounding in painfulmockery of the aching heart of the singer. tess was so wrapt up in this fanciful dreamthat she seemed not to know how the season was advancing; that the days hadlengthened, that lady-day was at hand, and would soon be followed by old lady-day, theend of her term here. but before the quarter-day had quite come,something happened which made tess think of far different matters.
she was at her lodging as usual oneevening, sitting in the downstairs room with the rest of the family, when somebodyknocked at the door and inquired for tess. through the doorway she saw against thedeclining light a figure with the height of a woman and the breadth of a child, a tall,thin, girlish creature whom she did not recognize in the twilight till the girlsaid "tess!" "what--is it 'liza-lu?" asked tess, instartled accents. her sister, whom a little over a year agoshe had left at home as a child, had sprung up by a sudden shoot to a form of thispresentation, of which as yet lu seemed herself scarce able to understand themeaning.
her thin legs, visible below her once-longfrock, now short by her growing, and her uncomfortable hands and arms revealed heryouth and inexperience. "yes, i have been traipsing about all day,tess," said lu, with unemotional gravity, "a-trying to find 'ee; and i'm very tired.""what is the matter at home?" "mother is took very bad, and the doctorsays she's dying, and as father is not very well neither, and says 'tis wrong for a manof such a high family as his to slave and drave at common labouring work, we don'tknow what to do." tess stood in reverie a long time beforeshe thought of asking 'liza-lu to come in and sit down.
when she had done so, and 'liza-lu washaving some tea, she came to a decision. it was imperative that she should go home. her agreement did not end till old lady-day, the sixth of april, but as the interval thereto was not a long one sheresolved to run the risk of starting at once. to go that night would be a gain of twelve-hours; but her sister was too tired to undertake such a distance till the morrow. tess ran down to where marian and izzlived, informed them of what had happened, and begged them to make the best of hercase to the farmer.
returning, she got lu a supper, and afterthat, having tucked the younger into her own bed, packed up as many of herbelongings as would go into a withy basket, and started, directing lu to follow hernext morning. chapter l she plunged into the chilly equinoctialdarkness as the clock struck ten, for her fifteen miles' walk under the steely stars. in lonely districts night is a protectionrather than a danger to a noiseless pedestrian, and knowing this, tess pursuedthe nearest course along by-lanes that she would almost have feared in the day-time;
but marauders were wanting now, andspectral fears were driven out of her mind by thoughts of her mother. thus she proceeded mile after mile,ascending and descending till she came to bulbarrow, and about midnight looked fromthat height into the abyss of chaotic shade which was all that revealed itself of thevale on whose further side she was born. having already traversed about five mileson the upland, she had now some ten or eleven in the lowland before her journeywould be finished. the winding road downwards became justvisible to her under the wan starlight as she followed it, and soon she paced a soilso contrasting with that above it that the
difference was perceptible to the tread andto the smell. it was the heavy clay land of blackmoorvale, and a part of the vale to which turnpike-roads had never penetrated. superstitions linger longest on these heavysoils. having once been forest, at this shadowytime it seemed to assert something of its old character, the far and the near beingblended, and every tree and tall hedge making the most of its presence. the harts that had been hunted here, thewitches that had been pricked and ducked, the green-spangled fairies that "whickered"at you as you passed;--the place teemed
with beliefs in them still, and they formedan impish multitude now. at nuttlebury she passed the village inn,whose sign creaked in response to the greeting of her footsteps, which not ahuman soul heard but herself. under the thatched roofs her mind's eyebeheld relaxed tendons and flaccid muscles, spread out in the darkness beneathcoverlets made of little purple patchwork squares, and undergoing a bracing process at the hands of sleep for renewed labour onthe morrow, as soon as a hint of pink nebulosity appeared on hambledon hill. at three she turned the last corner of themaze of lanes she had threaded, and entered
marlott, passing the field in which as aclub-girl she had first seen angel clare, when he had not danced with her; the senseof disappointment remained with her yet. in the direction of her mother's house shesaw a light. it came from the bedroom window, and abranch waved in front of it and made it wink at her. as soon as she could discern the outline ofthe house--newly thatched with her money-- it had all its old effect upon tess'simagination. part of her body and life it ever seemed tobe; the slope of its dormers, the finish of its gables, the broken courses of brickwhich topped the chimney, all had something
in common with her personal character. a stupefaction had come into thesefeatures, to her regard; it meant the illness of her mother. she opened the door so softly as to disturbnobody; the lower room was vacant, but the neighbour who was sitting up with hermother came to the top of the stairs, and whispered that mrs durbeyfield was nobetter, though she was sleeping just then. tess prepared herself a breakfast, and thentook her place as nurse in her mother's chamber. in the morning, when she contemplated thechildren, they had all a curiously
elongated look; although she had been awaylittle more than a year, their growth was astounding; and the necessity of applying herself heart and soul to their needs tookher out of her own cares. her father's ill-health was the sameindefinite kind, and he sat in his chair as but the day after her arrival he wasunusually bright. he had a rational scheme for living, andtess asked him what it was. "i'm thinking of sending round to all theold antiqueerians in this part of england," he said, "asking them to subscribe to afund to maintain me. i'm sure they'd see it as a romantical,artistical, and proper thing to do.
they spend lots o' money in keeping up oldruins, and finding the bones o' things, and such like; and living remains must be moreinteresting to 'em still, if they only knowed of me. would that somebody would go round and tell'em what there is living among 'em, and they thinking nothing of him!if pa'son tringham, who discovered me, had lived, he'd ha' done it, i'm sure." tess postponed her arguments on this highproject till she had grappled with pressing matters in hand, which seemed littleimproved by her remittances. when indoor necessities had been eased, sheturned her attention to external things.
it was now the season for planting andsowing; many gardens and allotments of the villagers had already received their springtillage; but the garden and the allotment of the durbeyfields were behindhand. she found, to her dismay, that this wasowing to their having eaten all the seed potatoes,--that last lapse of theimprovident. at the earliest moment she obtained whatothers she could procure, and in a few days her father was well enough to see to thegarden, under tess's persuasive efforts: while she herself undertook the allotment- plot which they rented in a field a coupleof hundred yards out of the village.
she liked doing it after the confinement ofthe sick chamber, where she was not now required by reason of her mother'simprovement. violent motion relieved thought. the plot of ground was in a high, dry, openenclosure, where there were forty or fifty such pieces, and where labour was at itsbriskest when the hired labour of the day had ended. digging began usually at six o'clock andextended indefinitely into the dusk or moonlight. just now heaps of dead weeds and refusewere burning on many of the plots, the dry
weather favouring their combustion. one fine day tess and 'liza-lu worked onhere with their neighbours till the last rays of the sun smote flat upon the whitepegs that divided the plots. as soon as twilight succeeded to sunset theflare of the couch-grass and cabbage-stalk fires began to light up the allotmentsfitfully, their outlines appearing and disappearing under the dense smoke aswafted by the wind. when a fire glowed, banks of smoke, blownlevel along the ground, would themselves become illuminated to an opaque lustre,screening the workpeople from one another; and the meaning of the "pillar of a cloud",
which was a wall by day and a light bynight, could be understood. as evening thickened, some of the gardeningmen and women gave over for the night, but the greater number remained to get theirplanting done, tess being among them, though she sent her sister home. it was on one of the couch-burning plotsthat she laboured with her fork, its four shining prongs resounding against thestones and dry clods in little clicks. sometimes she was completely involved inthe smoke of her fire; then it would leave her figure free, irradiated by the brassyglare from the heap. she was oddly dressed to-night, andpresented a somewhat staring aspect, her
attire being a gown bleached by manywashings, with a short black jacket over it, the effect of the whole being that of awedding and funeral guest in one. the women further back wore white aprons,which, with their pale faces, were all that could be seen of them in the gloom, exceptwhen at moments they caught a flash from the flames. westward, the wiry boughs of the bare thornhedge which formed the boundary of the field rose against the pale opalescence ofthe lower sky. above, jupiter hung like a full-blownjonquil, so bright as almost to throw a shade.a few small nondescript stars were
appearing elsewhere. in the distance a dog barked, and wheelsoccasionally rattled along the dry road. still the prongs continued to clickassiduously, for it was not late; and though the air was fresh and keen there wasa whisper of spring in it that cheered the workers on. something in the place, the hours, thecrackling fires, the fantastic mysteries of light and shade, made others as well astess enjoy being there. nightfall, which in the frost of wintercomes as a fiend and in the warmth of summer as a lover, came as a tranquillizeron this march day.
nobody looked at his or her companions. the eyes of all were on the soil as itsturned surface was revealed by the fires. hence as tess stirred the clods and sangher foolish little songs with scarce now a hope that clare would ever hear them, shedid not for a long time notice the person who worked nearest to her--a man in a long smockfrock who, she found, was forking thesame plot as herself, and whom she supposed her father had sent there to advance thework. she became more conscious of him when thedirection of his digging brought him closer.
sometimes the smoke divided them; then itswerved, and the two were visible to each other but divided from all the rest.tess did not speak to her fellow-worker, nor did he speak to her. nor did she think of him further than torecollect that he had not been there when it was broad daylight, and that she did notknow him as any one of the marlott labourers, which was no wonder, her absences having been so long and frequentof late years. by-and-by he dug so close to her that thefire-beams were reflected as distinctly from the steel prongs of his fork as fromher own.
on going up to the fire to throw a pitch ofdead weeds upon it, she found that he did the same on the other side.the fire flared up, and she beheld the face of d'urberville. the unexpectedness of his presence, thegrotesqueness of his appearance in a gathered smockfrock, such as was now wornonly by the most old-fashioned of the labourers, had a ghastly comicality thatchilled her as to its bearing. d'urberville emitted a low, long laugh. "if i were inclined to joke, i should say,how much this seems like paradise!" he remarked whimsically, looking at her withan inclined head.
"what do you say?" she weakly asked. "a jester might say this is just likeparadise. you are eve, and i am the old other onecome to tempt you in the disguise of an inferior animal. i used to be quite up in that scene ofmilton's when i was theological. some of it goes-- "'empress, the way is ready, and not long,beyond a row of myrtles... ...if thou accept my conduct, i can bringthee thither soon.' 'lead then,' said eve.
"and so on.my dear tess, i am only putting this to you as a thing that you might have supposed orsaid quite untruly, because you think so badly of me." "i never said you were satan, or thoughtit. i don't think of you in that way at all.my thoughts of you are quite cold, except when you affront me. what, did you come digging here entirelybecause of me?" "entirely.to see you; nothing more. the smockfrock, which i saw hanging forsale as i came along, was an afterthought,
that i mightn't be noticed.i come to protest against your working like this." "but i like doing it--it is for my father.""your engagement at the other place is ended?""yes." "where are you going to next? to join your dear husband?"she could not bear the humiliating reminder."o--i don't know!" she said bitterly. "i have no husband!" "it is quite true--in the sense you mean.but you have a friend, and i have
determined that you shall be comfortable inspite of yourself. when you get down to your house you willsee what i have sent there for you." "o, alec, i wish you wouldn't give meanything at all! i cannot take it from you! i don't like--it is not right!""it is right!" he cried lightly. "i am not going to see a woman whom i feelso tenderly for as i do for you in trouble without trying to help her." "but i am very well off!i am only in trouble about--about--not about living at all!"
she turned, and desperately resumed herdigging, tears dripping upon the fork- handle and upon the clods."about the children--your brothers and sisters," he resumed. "i've been thinking of them."tess's heart quivered--he was touching her in a weak place.he had divined her chief anxiety. since returning home her soul had gone outto those children with an affection that was passionate. "if your mother does not recover, somebodyought to do something for them; since your father will not be able to do much, isuppose?"
"he can with my assistance. he must!""and with mine." "no, sir!""how damned foolish this is!" burst out "why, he thinks we are the same family; andwill be quite satisfied!" "he don't.i've undeceived him." "the more fool you!" d'urberville in anger retreated from her tothe hedge, where he pulled off the long smockfrock which had disguised him; androlling it up and pushing it into the couch-fire, went away.
tess could not get on with her diggingafter this; she felt restless; she wondered if he had gone back to her father's house;and taking the fork in her hand proceeded homewards. some twenty yards from the house she wasmet by one of her sisters. "o, tessy--what do you think! 'liza-lu is a-crying, and there's a lot offolk in the house, and mother is a good deal better, but they think father isdead!" the child realized the grandeur of thenews; but not as yet its sadness, and stood looking at tess with round-eyed importancetill, beholding the effect produced upon
her, she said-- "what, tess, shan't we talk to father neverno more?" "but father was only a little bit ill!"exclaimed tess distractedly. 'liza-lu came up. "he dropped down just now, and the doctorwho was there for mother said there was no chance for him, because his heart wasgrowed in." yes; the durbeyfield couple had changedplaces; the dying one was out of danger, and the indisposed one was dead.the news meant even more than it sounded. her father's life had a value apart fromhis personal achievements, or perhaps it
would not have had much. it was the last of the three lives forwhose duration the house and premises were held under a lease; and it had long beencoveted by the tenant-farmer for his regular labourers, who were stinted incottage accommodation. moreover, "liviers" were disapproved of invillages almost as much as little freeholders, because of their independenceof manner, and when a lease determined it was never renewed. thus the durbeyfields, once d'urbervilles,saw descending upon them the destiny which, no doubt, when they were among theolympians of the county, they had caused to
descend many a time, and severely enough, upon the heads of such landless ones asthey themselves were now. so do flux and reflux--the rhythm ofchange--alternate and persist in everything under the sky.
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