chapter xxxii this penitential mood kept her from namingthe wedding-day. the beginning of november found its datestill in abeyance, though he asked her at the most tempting times. but tess's desire seemed to be for aperpetual betrothal in which everything should remain as it was then. the meads were changing now; but it wasstill warm enough in early afternoons before milking to idle there awhile, andthe state of dairy-work at this time of year allowed a spare hour for idling.
looking over the damp sod in the directionof the sun, a glistening ripple of gossamer webs was visible to their eyes under theluminary, like the track of moonlight on the sea. gnats, knowing nothing of their briefglorification, wandered across the shimmer of this pathway, irradiated as if they borefire within them, then passed out of its line, and were quite extinct. in the presence of these things he wouldremind her that the date was still the question. or he would ask her at night, when heaccompanied her on some mission invented by
mrs crick to give him the opportunity. this was mostly a journey to the farmhouseon the slopes above the vale, to inquire how the advanced cows were getting on inthe straw-barton to which they were relegated. for it was a time of the year that broughtgreat changes to the world of kine. batches of the animals were sent away dailyto this lying-in hospital, where they lived on straw till their calves were born, afterwhich event, and as soon as the calf could walk, mother and offspring were driven backto the dairy. in the interval which elapsed before thecalves were sold there was, of course,
little milking to be done, but as soon asthe calf had been taken away the milkmaids would have to set to work as usual. returning from one of these dark walks theyreached a great gravel-cliff immediately over the levels, where they stood still andlistened. the water was now high in the streams,squirting through the weirs, and tinkling under culverts; the smallest gullies wereall full; there was no taking short cuts anywhere, and foot-passengers werecompelled to follow the permanent ways. from the whole extent of the invisible valecame a multitudinous intonation; it forced upon their fancy that a great city laybelow them, and that the murmur was the
vociferation of its populace. "it seems like tens of thousands of them,"said tess; "holding public-meetings in their market-places, arguing, preaching,quarrelling, sobbing, groaning, praying, and cursing." clare was not particularly heeding."did crick speak to you to-day, dear, about his not wanting much assistance during thewinter months?" "no." "the cows are going dry rapidly.""yes. six or seven went to the straw-bartonyesterday, and three the day before, making
nearly twenty in the straw already. ah--is it that the farmer don't want myhelp for the calving? o, i am not wanted here any more!and i have tried so hard to--" "crick didn't exactly say that he would nolonger require you. but, knowing what our relations were, hesaid in the most good-natured and respectful manner possible that he supposedon my leaving at christmas i should take you with me, and on my asking what he would do without you he merely observed that, asa matter of fact, it was a time of year when he could do with a very little femalehelp.
i am afraid i was sinner enough to feelrather glad that he was in this way forcing your hand.""i don't think you ought to have felt glad, angel. because 'tis always mournful not to bewanted, even if at the same time 'tis convenient.""well, it is convenient--you have admitted that." he put his finger upon her cheek."ah!" he said. "what?""i feel the red rising up at her having been caught!
but why should i trifle so!we will not trifle--life is too serious." "it is.perhaps i saw that before you did." she was seeing it then. to decline to marry him after all--inobedience to her emotion of last night--and leave the dairy, meant to go to somestrange place, not a dairy; for milkmaids were not in request now calving-time was coming on; to go to some arable farm whereno divine being like angel clare was. she hated the thought, and she hated morethe thought of going home. "so that, seriously, dearest tess," hecontinued, "since you will probably have to
leave at christmas, it is in every waydesirable and convenient that i should carry you off then as my property. besides, if you were not the mostuncalculating girl in the world you would know that we could not go on like this forever." "i wish we could. that it would always be summer and autumn,and you always courting me, and always thinking as much of me as you have donethrough the past summer-time!" "i always shall." "o, i know you will!" she cried, with asudden fervour of faith in him.
"angel, i will fix the day when i willbecome yours for always!" thus at last it was arranged between them,during that dark walk home, amid the myriads of liquid voices on the right andleft. when they reached the dairy mr and mrscrick were promptly told--with injunctions of secrecy; for each of the lovers wasdesirous that the marriage should be kept as private as possible. the dairyman, though he had thought ofdismissing her soon, now made a great concern about losing her.what should he do about his skimming? who would make the ornamental butter-patsfor the anglebury and sandbourne ladies?
mrs crick congratulated tess on the shilly-shallying having at last come to an end, and said that directly she set eyes on tessshe divined that she was to be the chosen one of somebody who was no common outdoor man; tess had looked so superior as shewalked across the barton on that afternoon of her arrival; that she was of a goodfamily she could have sworn. in point of fact mrs crick did rememberthinking that tess was graceful and good- looking as she approached; but thesuperiority might have been a growth of the imagination aided by subsequent knowledge. tess was now carried along upon the wingsof the hours, without the sense of a will.
the word had been given; the number of theday written down. her naturally bright intelligence had begunto admit the fatalistic convictions common to field-folk and those who associate moreextensively with natural phenomena than with their fellow-creatures; and she accordingly drifted into that passiveresponsiveness to all things her lover suggested, characteristic of the frame ofmind. but she wrote anew to her mother,ostensibly to notify the wedding-day; really to again implore her advice. it was a gentleman who had chosen her,which perhaps her mother had not
sufficiently considered. a post-nuptial explanation, which might beaccepted with a light heart by a rougher man, might not be received with the samefeeling by him. but this communication brought no replyfrom mrs durbeyfield. despite angel clare's plausiblerepresentation to himself and to tess of the practical need for their immediatemarriage, there was in truth an element of precipitancy in the step, as becameapparent at a later date. he loved her dearly, though perhaps ratherideally and fancifully than with the impassioned thoroughness of her feeling forhim.
he had entertained no notion, when doomedas he had thought to an unintellectual bucolic life, that such charms as he beheldin this idyllic creature would be found behind the scenes. unsophistication was a thing to talk of;but he had not known how it really struck one until he came here. yet he was very far from seeing his futuretrack clearly, and it might be a year or two before he would be able to considerhimself fairly started in life. the secret lay in the tinge of recklessnessimparted to his career and character by the sense that he had been made to miss histrue destiny through the prejudices of his
family. "don't you think 'twould have been betterfor us to wait till you were quite settled in your midland farm?" she once askedtimidly. (a midland farm was the idea just then.) "to tell the truth, my tess, i don't likeyou to be left anywhere away from my protection and sympathy."the reason was a good one, so far as it went. his influence over her had been so markedthat she had caught his manner and habits, his speech and phrases, his likings and hisaversions.
and to leave her in farmland would be tolet her slip back again out of accord with him.he wished to have her under his charge for another reason. his parents had naturally desired to seeher once at least before he carried her off to a distant settlement, english orcolonial; and as no opinion of theirs was to be allowed to change his intention, he judged that a couple of months' life withhim in lodgings whilst seeking for an advantageous opening would be of somesocial assistance to her at what she might feel to be a trying ordeal--herpresentation to his mother at the vicarage.
next, he wished to see a little of theworking of a flour-mill, having an idea that he might combine the use of one withcorn-growing. the proprietor of a large old water-mill atwellbridge--once the mill of an abbey--had offered him the inspection of his time-honoured mode of procedure, and a hand in the operations for a few days, whenever heshould choose to come. clare paid a visit to the place, some fewmiles distant, one day at this time, to inquire particulars, and returned totalbothays in the evening. she found him determined to spend a shorttime at the wellbridge flour-mills. and what had determined him?
less the opportunity of an insight intogrinding and bolting than the casual fact that lodgings were to be obtained in thatvery farmhouse which, before its mutilation, had been the mansion of abranch of the d'urberville family. this was always how clare settled practicalquestions; by a sentiment which had nothing to do with them. they decided to go immediately after thewedding, and remain for a fortnight, instead of journeying to towns and inns. "then we will start off to examine somefarms on the other side of london that i have heard of," he said, "and by march orapril we will pay a visit to my father and
mother." questions of procedure such as these aroseand passed, and the day, the incredible day, on which she was to become his, loomedlarge in the near future. the thirty-first of december, new year'seve, was the date. his wife, she said to herself.could it ever be? their two selves together, nothing todivide them, every incident shared by them; why not?and yet why? one sunday morning izz huett returned fromchurch, and spoke privately to tess. "you was not called home this morning.""what?"
"it should ha' been the first time ofasking to-day," she answered, looking quietly at tess."you meant to be married new year's eve, deary?" the other returned a quick affirmative."and there must be three times of asking. and now there be only two sundays leftbetween." tess felt her cheek paling; izz was right;of course there must be three. perhaps he had forgotten!if so, there must be a week's postponement, and that was unlucky. how could she remind her lover?she who had been so backward was suddenly
fired with impatience and alarm lest sheshould lose her dear prize. a natural incident relieved her anxiety. izz mentioned the omission of the banns tomrs crick, and mrs crick assumed a matron's privilege of speaking to angel on thepoint. "have ye forgot 'em, mr clare? the banns, i mean.""no, i have not forgot 'em," says clare. as soon as he caught tess alone he assuredher: "don't let them tease you about the banns. a licence will be quieter for us, and ihave decided on a licence without
consulting you. so if you go to church on sunday morningyou will not hear your own name, if you wished to.""i didn't wish to hear it, dearest," she said proudly. but to know that things were in train wasan immense relief to tess notwithstanding, who had well-nigh feared that somebodywould stand up and forbid the banns on the ground of her history. how events were favouring her!"i don't quite feel easy," she said to herself."all this good fortune may be scourged out
of me afterwards by a lot of ill. that's how heaven mostly does.i wish i could have had common banns!" but everything went smoothly. she wondered whether he would like her tobe married in her present best white frock, or if she ought to buy a new one. the question was set at rest by hisforethought, disclosed by the arrival of some large packages addressed to her. inside them she found a whole stock ofclothing, from bonnet to shoes, including a perfect morning costume, such as would wellsuit the simple wedding they planned.
he entered the house shortly after thearrival of the packages, and heard her upstairs undoing them.a minute later she came down with a flush on her face and tears in her eyes. "how thoughtful you've been!" she murmured,her cheek upon his shoulder. "even to the gloves and handkerchief!my own love--how good, how kind!" "no, no, tess; just an order to atradeswoman in london--nothing more." and to divert her from thinking too highlyof him, he told her to go upstairs, and take her time, and see if it all fitted;and, if not, to get the village sempstress to make a few alterations.
she did return upstairs, and put on thegown. alone, she stood for a moment before theglass looking at the effect of her silk attire; and then there came into her headher mother's ballad of the mystic robe-- that never would become that wife that hadonce done amiss, which mrs durbeyfield had used to sing to her as a child, so blithelyand so archly, her foot on the cradle, which she rocked to the tune. suppose this robe should betray her bychanging colour, as her robe had betrayed queen guinevere.since she had been at the dairy she had not once thought of the lines till now.
> chapter xxxiii angel felt that he would like to spend aday with her before the wedding, somewhere away from the dairy, as a last jaunt in hercompany while there were yet mere lover and mistress; a romantic day, in circumstances that would never be repeated; with thatother and greater day beaming close ahead of them. during the preceding week, therefore, hesuggested making a few purchases in the nearest town, and they started together.
clare's life at the dairy had been that ofa recluse in respect the world of his own class. for months he had never gone near a town,and, requiring no vehicle, had never kept one, hiring the dairyman's cob or gig if herode or drove. they went in the gig that day. and then for the first time in their livesthey shopped as partners in one concern. it was christmas eve, with its loads aholly and mistletoe, and the town was very full of strangers who had come in from allparts of the country on account of the day. tess paid the penalty of walking about withhappiness superadded to beauty on her
countenance by being much stared at as shemoved amid them on his arm. in the evening they returned to the inn atwhich they had put up, and tess waited in the entry while angel went to see the horseand gig brought to the door. the general sitting-room was full ofguests, who were continually going in and out. as the door opened and shut each time forthe passage of these, the light within the parlour fell full upon tess's face.two men came out and passed by her among the rest. one of them had stared her up and down insurprise, and she fancied he was a
trantridge man, though that village lay somany miles off that trantridge folk were rarities here. "a comely maid that," said the other."true, comely enough. but unless i make a great mistake--" andhe negatived the remainder of the definition forthwith. clare had just returned from the stable-yard, and, confronting the man on the threshold, heard the words, and saw theshrinking of tess. the insult to her stung him to the quick,and before he had considered anything at all he struck the man on the chin with thefull force of his fist, sending him
staggering backwards into the passage. the man recovered himself, and seemedinclined to come on, and clare, stepping outside the door, put himself in a postureof defence. but his opponent began to think better ofthe matter. he looked anew at tess as he passed her,and said to clare-- "i beg pardon, sir; 'twas a completemistake. i thought she was another woman, fortymiles from here." clare, feeling then that he had been toohasty, and that he was, moreover, to blame for leaving her standing in an inn-passage,did what he usually did in such cases, gave
the man five shillings to plaster the blow; and thus they parted, bidding each other apacific good night. as soon as clare had taken the reins fromthe ostler, and the young couple had driven off, the two men went in the otherdirection. "and was it a mistake?" said the secondone. "not a bit of it.but i didn't want to hurt the gentleman's feelings--not i." in the meantime the lovers were drivingonward. "could we put off our wedding till a littlelater?"
tess asked in a dry dull voice. "i mean if we wished?""no, my love. calm yourself. do you mean that the fellow may have timeto summon me for assault?" he asked good- humouredly."no--i only meant--if it should have to be put off." what she meant was not very clear, and hedirected her to dismiss such fancies from her mind, which she obediently did as wellas she could. but she was grave, very grave, all the wayhome; till she thought, "we shall go away,
a very long distance, hundreds of milesfrom these parts, and such as this can never happen again, and no ghost of thepast reach there." they parted tenderly that night on thelanding, and clare ascended to his attic. tess sat up getting on with some littlerequisites, lest the few remaining days should not afford sufficient time. while she sat she heard a noise in angel'sroom overhead, a sound of thumping and struggling. everybody else in the house was asleep, andin her anxiety lest clare should be ill she ran up and knocked at his door, and askedhim what was the matter.
"oh, nothing, dear," he said from within. "i am so sorry i disturbed you! but the reason is rather an amusing one: ifell asleep and dreamt that i was fighting that fellow again who insulted you, and thenoise you heard was my pummelling away with my fists at my portmanteau, which i pulledout to-day for packing. i am occasionally liable to these freaks inmy sleep. go to bed and think of it no more." this was the last drachm required to turnthe scale of her indecision. declare the past to him by word of mouthshe could not; but there was another way.
she sat down and wrote on the four pages ofa note-sheet a succinct narrative of those events of three or four years ago, put itinto an envelope, and directed it to clare. then, lest the flesh should again be weak,she crept upstairs without any shoes and slipped the note under his door. her night was a broken one, as it wellmight be, and she listened for the first faint noise overhead.it came, as usual; he descended, as usual. she descended. he met her at the bottom of the stairs andkissed her. surely it was as warmly as ever!he looked a little disturbed and worn, she
thought. but he said not a word to her about herrevelation, even when they were alone. could he have had it?unless he began the subject she felt that she could say nothing. so the day passed, and it was evident thatwhatever he thought he meant to keep to himself.yet he was frank and affectionate as before. could it be that her doubts were childish?that he forgave her; that he loved her for what she was, just as she was, and smiledat her disquiet as at a foolish nightmare?
had he really received her note? she glanced into his room, and could seenothing of it. it might be that he forgave her. but even if he had not received it she hada sudden enthusiastic trust that he surely would forgive her. every morning and night he was the same,and thus new year's eve broke--the wedding day. the lovers did not rise at milking-time,having through the whole of this last week of their sojourn at the dairy been accordedsomething of the position of guests, tess
being honoured with a room of her own. when they arrived downstairs at breakfast-time they were surprised to see what effects had been produced in the largekitchen for their glory since they had last beheld it. at some unnatural hour of the morning thedairyman had caused the yawning chimney- corner to be whitened, and the brick hearthreddened, and a blazing yellow damask blower to be hung across the arch in place of the old grimy blue cotton one with ablack sprig pattern which had formerly done duty there.
this renovated aspect of what was the focusindeed of the room on a full winter morning threw a smiling demeanour over the wholeapartment. "i was determined to do summat in honouro't", said the dairyman. "and as you wouldn't hear of my gieing arattling good randy wi' fiddles and bass- viols complete, as we should ha' done inold times, this was all i could think o' as a noiseless thing." tess's friends lived so far off that nonecould conveniently have been present at the ceremony, even had any been asked; but as afact nobody was invited from marlott. as for angel's family, he had written andduly informed them of the time, and assured
them that he would be glad to see one atleast of them there for the day if he would like to come. his brothers had not replied at all,seeming to be indignant with him; while his father and mother had written a rather sadletter, deploring his precipitancy in rushing into marriage, but making the best of the matter by saying that, though adairywoman was the last daughter-in-law they could have expected, their son hadarrived at an age which he might be supposed to be the best judge. this coolness in his relations distressedclare less than it would have done had he
been without the grand card with which hemeant to surprise them ere long. to produce tess, fresh from the dairy, as ad'urberville and a lady, he had felt to be temerarious and risky; hence he hadconcealed her lineage till such time as, familiarized with worldly ways by a few months' travel and reading with him, hecould take her on a visit to his parents and impart the knowledge while triumphantlyproducing her as worthy of such an ancient line. it was a pretty lover's dream, if no more.perhaps tess's lineage had more value for himself than for anybody in the worldbeside.
her perception that angel's bearing towardsher still remained in no whit altered by her own communication rendered tessguiltily doubtful if he could have received it. she rose from breakfast before he hadfinished, and hastened upstairs. it had occurred to her to look once moreinto the queer gaunt room which had been clare's den, or rather eyrie, for so long,and climbing the ladder she stood at the open door of the apartment, regarding andpondering. she stooped to the threshold of thedoorway, where she had pushed in the note two or three days earlier in suchexcitement.
the carpet reached close to the sill, andunder the edge of the carpet she discerned the faint white margin of the envelopecontaining her letter to him, which he obviously had never seen, owing to her having in her haste thrust it beneath thecarpet as well as beneath the door. with a feeling of faintness she withdrewthe letter. there it was--sealed up, just as it hadleft her hands. the mountain had not yet been removed. she could not let him read it now, thehouse being in full bustle of preparation; and descending to her own room shedestroyed the letter there.
she was so pale when he saw her again thathe felt quite anxious. the incident of the misplaced letter shehad jumped at as if it prevented a confession; but she knew in her consciencethat it need not; there was still time. yet everything was in a stir; there wascoming and going; all had to dress, the dairyman and mrs crick having been asked toaccompany them as witnesses; and reflection or deliberate talk was well-nighimpossible. the only minute tess could get to be alonewith clare was when they met upon the landing. "i am so anxious to talk to you--i want toconfess all my faults and blunders!" she
said with attempted lightness. "no, no--we can't have faults talked of--you must be deemed perfect to-day at least, my sweet!" he cried."we shall have plenty of time, hereafter, i hope, to talk over our failings. i will confess mine at the same time.""but it would be better for me to do it now, i think, so that you could not say--" "well, my quixotic one, you shall tell meanything--say, as soon as we are settled in our lodging; not now.i, too, will tell you my faults then. but do not let us spoil the day with them;they will be excellent matter for a dull
time.""then you don't wish me to, dearest?" "i do not, tessy, really." the hurry of dressing and starting left notime for more than this. those words of his seemed to reassure heron further reflection. she was whirled onward through the nextcouple of critical hours by the mastering tide of her devotion to him, which closedup further meditation. her one desire, so long resisted, to makeherself his, to call him her lord, her own- -then, if necessary, to die--had at lastlifted her up from her plodding reflective pathway.
in dressing, she moved about in a mentalcloud of many-coloured idealities, which eclipsed all sinister contingencies by itsbrightness. the church was a long way off, and theywere obliged to drive, particularly as it was winter. a closed carriage was ordered from aroadside inn, a vehicle which had been kept there ever since the old days of post-chaise travelling. it had stout wheel-spokes, and heavyfelloes a great curved bed, immense straps and springs, and a pole like a battering-ram. the postilion was a venerable "boy" ofsixty--a martyr to rheumatic gout, the
result of excessive exposure in youth,counter-acted by strong liquors--who had stood at inn-doors doing nothing for the whole five-and-twenty years that hadelapsed since he had no longer been required to ride professionally, as ifexpecting the old times to come back again. he had a permanent running wound on theoutside of his right leg, originated by the constant bruisings of aristocraticcarriage-poles during the many years that he had been in regular employ at the king'sarms, casterbridge. inside this cumbrous and creakingstructure, and behind this decayed conductor, the partie carree took theirseats--the bride and bridegroom and mr and
mrs crick. angel would have liked one at least of hisbrothers to be present as groomsman, but their silence after his gentle hint to thateffect by letter had signified that they did not care to come. they disapproved of the marriage, and couldnot be expected to countenance it. perhaps it was as well that they could notbe present. they were not worldly young fellows, butfraternizing with dairy-folk would have struck unpleasantly upon their biasedniceness, apart from their views of the match.
upheld by the momentum of the time, tessknew nothing of this, did not see anything, did not know the road they were taking tothe church. she knew that angel was close to her; allthe rest was a luminous mist. she was a sort of celestial person, whoowed her being to poetry--one of those classical divinities clare was accustomedto talk to her about when they took their walks together. the marriage being by licence there wereonly a dozen or so of people in the church; had there been a thousand they would haveproduced no more effect upon her. they were at stellar distances from herpresent world.
in the ecstatic solemnity with which sheswore her faith to him the ordinary sensibilities of sex seemed a flippancy. at a pause in the service, while they werekneeling together, she unconsciously inclined herself towards him, so that hershoulder touched his arm; she had been frightened by a passing thought, and the movement had been automatic, to assureherself that he was really there, and to fortify her belief that his fidelity wouldbe proof against all things. clare knew that she loved him--every curveof her form showed that-- but he did not know at that time the full depth of herdevotion, its single-mindedness, its
meekness; what long-suffering it guaranteed, what honesty, what endurance,what good faith. as they came out of church the ringersswung the bells off their rests, and a modest peal of three notes broke forth--that limited amount of expression having been deemed sufficient by the church builders for the joys of such a smallparish. passing by the tower with her husband onthe path to the gate she could feel the vibrant air humming round them from thelouvred belfry in the circle of sound, and it matched the highly-charged mentalatmosphere in which she was living.
this condition of mind, wherein she feltglorified by an irradiation not her own, like the angel whom st john saw in the sun,lasted till the sound of the church bells had died away, and the emotions of thewedding-service had calmed down. her eyes could dwell upon details moreclearly now, and mr and mrs crick having directed their own gig to be sent for them,to leave the carriage to the young couple, she observed the build and character ofthat conveyance for the first time. sitting in silence she regarded it long."i fancy you seem oppressed, tessy," said clare. "yes," she answered, putting her hand toher brow.
"i tremble at many things.it is all so serious, angel. among other things i seem to have seen thiscarriage before, to be very well acquainted with it.it is very odd--i must have seen it in a dream." "oh--you have heard the legend of thed'urberville coach--that well-known superstition of this county about yourfamily when they were very popular here; and this lumbering old thing reminds you ofit." "i have never heard of it to my knowledge,"said she. "what is the legend--may i know it?"
"well--i would rather not tell it in detailjust now. a certain d'urberville of the sixteenth orseventeenth century committed a dreadful crime in his family coach; and since thattime members of the family see or hear the old coach whenever--but i'll tell youanother day--it is rather gloomy. evidently some dim knowledge of it has beenbrought back to your mind by the sight of this venerable caravan." "i don't remember hearing it before," shemurmured. "is it when we are going to die, angel,that members of my family see it, or is it when we have committed a crime?"
"now, tess!"he silenced her by a kiss. by the time they reached home she wascontrite and spiritless. she was mrs angel clare, indeed, but hadshe any moral right to the name? was she not more truly mrs alexanderd'urberville? could intensity of love justify what mightbe considered in upright souls as culpable reticence?she knew not what was expected of women in such cases; and she had no counsellor. however, when she found herself alone inher room for a few minutes--the last day this on which she was ever to enter it--sheknelt down and prayed.
she tried to pray to god, but it was herhusband who really had her supplication. her idolatry of this man was such that sheherself almost feared it to be ill-omened. she was conscious of the notion expressedby friar laurence: "these violent delights have violent ends."it might be too desperate for human conditions--too rank, to wild, too deadly. "o my love, why do i love you so!" shewhispered there alone; "for she you love is not my real self, but one in my image; theone i might have been!" afternoon came, and with it the hour fordeparture. they had decided to fulfil the plan ofgoing for a few days to the lodgings in the
old farmhouse near wellbridge mill, atwhich he meant to reside during his investigation of flour processes. at two o'clock there was nothing left to dobut to start. all the servantry of the dairy werestanding in the red-brick entry to see them go out, the dairyman and his wife followingto the door. tess saw her three chamber-mates in a rowagainst the wall, pensively inclining their heads. she had much questioned if they wouldappear at the parting moment; but there they were, stoical and staunch to the last.
she knew why the delicate retty looked sofragile, and izz so tragically sorrowful, and marian so blank; and she forgot her owndogging shadow for a moment in contemplating theirs. she impulsively whispered to him--"will you kiss 'em all, once, poor things, for the first and last time?" clare had not the least objection to such afarewell formality--which was all that it was to him--and as he passed them he kissedthem in succession where they stood, saying "goodbye" to each as he did so. when they reached the door tess femininelyglanced back to discern the effect of that
kiss of charity; there was no triumph inher glance, as there might have been. if there had it would have disappeared whenshe saw how moved the girls all were. the kiss had obviously done harm byawakening feelings they were trying to subdue. of all this clare was unconscious. passing on to the wicket-gate he shookhands with the dairyman and his wife, and expressed his last thanks to them for theirattentions; after which there was a moment of silence before they had moved off. it was interrupted by the crowing of acock.
the white one with the rose comb had comeand settled on the palings in front of the house, within a few yards of them, and hisnotes thrilled their ears through, dwindling away like echoes down a valley ofrocks. "oh?" said mrs crick."an afternoon crow!" two men were standing by the yard gate,holding it open. "that's bad," one murmured to the other,not thinking that the words could be heard by the group at the door-wicket. the cock crew again--straight towardsclare. "well!" said the dairyman."i don't like to hear him!" said tess to
her husband. "tell the man to drive on.goodbye, goodbye!" the cock crew again."hoosh! just you be off, sir, or i'll twist yourneck!" said the dairyman with some irritation, turning to the bird and drivinghim away. and to his wife as they went indoors: "now,to think o' that just to-day! i've not heard his crow of an afternoon allthe year afore." "it only means a change in the weather,"said she; "not what you think: 'tis impossible!"
chapter xxxiv they drove by the level road along thevalley to a distance of a few miles, and, reaching wellbridge, turned away from thevillage to the left, and over the great elizabethan bridge which gives the placehalf its name. immediately behind it stood the housewherein they had engaged lodgings, whose exterior features are so well known to alltravellers through the froom valley; once portion of a fine manorial residence, and the property and seat of a d'urberville,but since its partial demolition a farmhouse.
"welcome to one of your ancestralmansions!" said clare as he handed her down.but he regretted the pleasantry; it was too near a satire. on entering they found that, though theyhad only engaged a couple of rooms, the farmer had taken advantage of theirproposed presence during the coming days to pay a new year's visit to some friends, leaving a woman from a neighbouring cottageto minister to their few wants. the absoluteness of possession pleasedthem, and they realized it as the first moment of their experience under their ownexclusive roof-tree.
but he found that the mouldy old habitationsomewhat depressed his bride. when the carriage was gone they ascendedthe stairs to wash their hands, the charwoman showing the way. on the landing tess stopped and started."what's the matter?" said he. "those horrid women!" she answered with asmile. "how they frightened me." he looked up, and perceived two life-sizeportraits on panels built into the masonry. as all visitors to the mansion are aware,these paintings represent women of middle age, of a date some two hundred years ago,whose lineaments once seen can never be
forgotten. the long pointed features, narrow eye, andsmirk of the one, so suggestive of merciless treachery; the bill-hook nose,large teeth, and bold eye of the other suggesting arrogance to the point of ferocity, haunt the beholder afterwards inhis dreams. "whose portraits are those?" asked clare ofthe charwoman. "i have been told by old folk that theywere ladies of the d'urberville family, the ancient lords of this manor," she said,"owing to their being builded into the wall they can't be moved away."
the unpleasantness of the matter was that,in addition to their effect upon tess, her fine features were unquestionably traceablein these exaggerated forms. he said nothing of this, however, and,regretting that he had gone out of his way to choose the house for their bridal time,went on into the adjoining room. the place having been rather hastilyprepared for them, they washed their hands in one basin.clare touched hers under the water. "which are my fingers and which are yours?"he said, looking up. "they are very much mixed." "they are all yours," said she, veryprettily, and endeavoured to be gayer than
she was. he had not been displeased with herthoughtfulness on such an occasion; it was what every sensible woman would show: buttess knew that she had been thoughtful to excess, and struggled against it. the sun was so low on that short lastafternoon of the year that it shone in through a small opening and formed a goldenstaff which stretched across to her skirt, where it made a spot like a paint-mark setupon her. they went into the ancient parlour to tea,and here they shared their first common meal alone.
such was their childishness, or rather his,that he found it interesting to use the same bread-and-butter plate as herself, andto brush crumbs from her lips with his own. he wondered a little that she did not enterinto these frivolities with his own zest. looking at her silently for a long time;"she is a dear dear tess," he thought to himself, as one deciding on the trueconstruction of a difficult passage. "do i realize solemnly enough how utterlyand irretrievably this little womanly thing is the creature of my good or bad faith andfortune? i think not. i think i could not, unless i were a womanmyself.
what i am in worldly estate, she is.what i become, she must become. what i cannot be, she cannot be. and shall i ever neglect her, or hurt her,or even forget to consider her? god forbid such a crime!" they sat on over the tea-table waiting fortheir luggage, which the dairyman had promised to send before it grew dark. but evening began to close in, and theluggage did not arrive, and they had brought nothing more than they stood in.with the departure of the sun the calm mood of the winter day changed.
out of doors there began noises as of silksmartly rubbed; the restful dead leaves of the preceding autumn were stirred toirritated resurrection, and whirled about unwillingly, and tapped against theshutters. it soon began to rain."that cock knew the weather was going to change," said clare. the woman who had attended upon them hadgone home for the night, but she had placed candles upon the table, and now they litthem. each candle-flame drew towards thefireplace. "these old houses are so draughty,"continued angel, looking at the flames, and
at the grease guttering down the sides. "i wonder where that luggage is.we haven't even a brush and comb." "i don't know," she answered, absent-minded. "tess, you are not a bit cheerful thisevening--not at all as you used to be. those harridans on the panels upstairs haveunsettled you. i am sorry i brought you here. i wonder if you really love me, after all?"he knew that she did, and the words had no serious intent; but she was surcharged withemotion, and winced like a wounded animal. though she tried not to shed tears, shecould not help showing one or two.
"i did not mean it!" said he, sorry."you are worried at not having your things, i know. i cannot think why old jonathan has notcome with them. why, it is seven o'clock?ah, there he is!" a knock had come to the door, and, therebeing nobody else to answer it, clare went out.he returned to the room with a small package in his hand. "it is not jonathan, after all," he said."how vexing!" said tess. the packet had been brought by a specialmessenger, who had arrived at talbothays
from emminster vicarage immediately afterthe departure of the married couple, and had followed them hither, being under injunction to deliver it into nobody'shands but theirs. clare brought it to the light. it was less than a foot long, sewed up incanvas, sealed in red wax with his father's seal, and directed in his father's hand to"mrs angel clare." "it is a little wedding-present for you,tess," said he, handing it to her. "how thoughtful they are!"tess looked a little flustered as she took "i think i would rather have you open it,dearest," said she, turning over the
parcel."i don't like to break those great seals; they look so serious. please open it for me!"he undid the parcel. inside was a case of morocco leather, onthe top of which lay a note and a key. the note was for clare, in the followingwords: my dear son-- possibly you have forgotten that on thedeath of your godmother, mrs pitney, when you were a lad, she--vain, kind woman thatshe was--left to me a portion of the contents of her jewel-case in trust for
your wife, if you should ever have one, asa mark of her affection for you and whomsoever you should choose. this trust i have fulfilled, and thediamonds have been locked up at my banker's ever since. though i feel it to be a somewhatincongruous act in the circumstances, i am, as you will see, bound to hand over thearticles to the woman to whom the use of them for her lifetime will now rightly belong, and they are therefore promptlysent. they become, i believe, heirlooms, strictlyspeaking, according to the terms of your
godmother's will. the precise words of the clause that refersto this matter are enclosed. "i do remember," said clare; "but i hadquite forgotten." unlocking the case, they found it tocontain a necklace, with pendant, bracelets, and ear-rings; and also someother small ornaments. tess seemed afraid to touch them at first,but her eyes sparkled for a moment as much as the stones when clare spread out theset. "are they mine?" she asked incredulously. "they are, certainly," said he.he looked into the fire.
he remembered how, when he was a lad offifteen, his godmother, the squire's wife-- the only rich person with whom he had evercome in contact--had pinned her faith to his success; had prophesied a wondrouscareer for him. there had seemed nothing at all out ofkeeping with such a conjectured career in the storing up of these showy ornaments forhis wife and the wives of her descendants. they gleamed somewhat ironically now. "yet why?" he asked himself.it was but a question of vanity throughout; and if that were admitted into one side ofthe equation it should be admitted into the other.
his wife was a d'urberville: whom couldthey become better than her? suddenly he said with enthusiasm--"tess, put them on--put them on!" and he turned from the fire to help her. but as if by magic she had already donnedthem--necklace, ear-rings, bracelets, and all."but the gown isn't right, tess," said "it ought to be a low one for a set ofbrilliants like that." "ought it?" said tess."yes," said he. he suggested to her how to tuck in theupper edge of her bodice, so as to make it roughly approximate to the cut for eveningwear; and when she had done this, and the
pendant to the necklace hung isolated amid the whiteness of her throat, as it wasdesigned to do, he stepped back to survey her."my heavens," said clare, "how beautiful you are!" as everybody knows, fine feathers make finebirds; a peasant girl but very moderately prepossessing to the casual observer in hersimple condition and attire will bloom as an amazing beauty if clothed as a woman of fashion with the aids that art can render;while the beauty of the midnight crush would often cut but a sorry figure ifplaced inside the field-woman's wrapper
upon a monotonous acreage of turnips on adull day. he had never till now estimated theartistic excellence of tess's limbs and features. "if you were only to appear in a ball-room!" he said. "but no--no, dearest; i think i love youbest in the wing-bonnet and cotton-frock-- yes, better than in this, well as yousupport these dignities." tess's sense of her striking appearance hadgiven her a flush of excitement, which was yet not happiness."i'll take them off," she said, "in case jonathan should see me.
they are not fit for me, are they?they must be sold, i suppose?" "let them stay a few minutes longer.sell them? never. it would be a breach of faith."influenced by a second thought she readily obeyed.she had something to tell, and there might be help in these. she sat down with the jewels upon her; andthey again indulged in conjectures as to where jonathan could possibly be with theirbaggage. the ale they had poured out for hisconsumption when he came had gone flat with
long standing.shortly after this they began supper, which was already laid on a side-table. ere they had finished there was a jerk inthe fire-smoke, the rising skein of which bulged out into the room, as if some gianthad laid his hand on the chimney-top for a moment. it had been caused by the opening of theouter door. a heavy step was now heard in the passage,and angel went out. "i couldn' make nobody hear at all byknocking," apologized jonathan kail, for it was he at last; "and as't was raining out iopened the door.
i've brought the things, sir." "i am very glad to see them.but you are very late." "well, yes, sir." there was something subdued in jonathankail's tone which had not been there in the day, and lines of concern were ploughedupon his forehead in addition to the lines of years. he continued--"we've all been gallied at the dairy at what might ha' been a most terribleaffliction since you and your mis'ess--so to name her now--left us this a'ternoon.
perhaps you ha'nt forgot the cock'safternoon crow?" "dear me;--what--" "well, some says it do mane one thing, andsome another; but what's happened is that poor little retty priddle hev tried todrown herself." "no! really!why, she bade us goodbye with the rest--" "yes. well, sir, when you and your mis'ess--so toname what she lawful is--when you two drove away, as i say, retty and marian put ontheir bonnets and went out; and as there is
not much doing now, being new year's eve, and folks mops and brooms from what'sinside 'em, nobody took much notice. they went on to lew-everard, where they hadsummut to drink, and then on they vamped to dree-armed cross, and there they seemed tohave parted, retty striking across the water-meads as if for home, and marian going on to the next village, where there'sanother public-house. nothing more was zeed or heard o' rettytill the waterman, on his way home, noticed something by the great pool; 'twas herbonnet and shawl packed up. in the water he found her.
he and another man brought her home,thinking a' was dead; but she fetched round by degrees." angel, suddenly recollecting that tess wasoverhearing this gloomy tale, went to shut the door between the passage and the ante-room to the inner parlour where she was; but his wife, flinging a shawl round her, had come to the outer room and waslistening to the man's narrative, her eyes resting absently on the luggage and thedrops of rain glistening upon it. "and, more than this, there's marian; she'sbeen found dead drunk by the withy-bed--a girl who hev never been known to touchanything before except shilling ale;
though, to be sure, 'a was always a goodtrencher-woman, as her face showed. it seems as if the maids had all gone outo' their minds!" "and izz?" asked tess. "izz is about house as usual; but 'a do say'a can guess how it happened; and she seems to be very low in mind about it, poor maid,as well she mid be. and so you see, sir, as all this happenedjust when we was packing your few traps and your mis'ess's night-rail and dressingthings into the cart, why, it belated me." well, jonathan, will you get the trunksupstairs, and drink a cup of ale, and hasten back as soon as you can, in case youshould be wanted?"
tess had gone back to the inner parlour,and sat down by the fire, looking wistfully into it. she heard jonathan kail's heavy footstepsup and down the stairs till he had done placing the luggage, and heard him expresshis thanks for the ale her husband took out to him, and for the gratuity he received. jonathan's footsteps then died from thedoor, and his cart creaked away. angel slid forward the massive oak barwhich secured the door, and coming in to where she sat over the hearth, pressed hercheeks between his hands from behind. he expected her to jump up gaily and unpackthe toilet-gear that she had been so
anxious about, but as she did not rise hesat down with her in the firelight, the candles on the supper-table being too thinand glimmering to interfere with its glow. "i am so sorry you should have heard thissad story about the girls," he said. "still, don't let it depress you. retty was naturally morbid, you know.""without the least cause," said tess. "while they who have cause to be, hide it,and pretend they are not." this incident had turned the scale for her. they were simple and innocent girls on whomthe unhappiness of unrequited love had fallen; they had deserved better at thehands of fate.
she had deserved worse--yet she was thechosen one. it was wicked of her to take all withoutpaying. she would pay to the uttermost farthing;she would tell, there and then. this final determination she came to whenshe looked into the fire, he holding her hand. a steady glare from the now flamelessembers painted the sides and back of the fireplace with its colour, and the well-polished andirons, and the old brass tongs that would not meet. the underside of the mantel-shelf wasflushed with the high-coloured light, and
the legs of the table nearest the fire. tess's face and neck reflected the samewarmth, which each gem turned into an aldebaran or a sirius--a constellation ofwhite, red, and green flashes, that interchanged their hues with her everypulsation. "do you remember what we said to each otherthis morning about telling our faults?" he asked abruptly, finding that she stillremained immovable. "we spoke lightly perhaps, and you may wellhave done so. but for me it was no light promise.i want to make a confession to you, love." this, from him, so unexpectedly apposite,had the effect upon her of a providential
interposition."you have to confess something?" she said quickly, and even with gladness and relief. "you did not expect it?ah--you thought too highly of me. now listen. put your head there, because i want you toforgive me, and not to be indignant with me for not telling you before, as perhaps iought to have done." how strange it was! he seemed to be her double.she did not speak, and clare went on-- "i did not mention it because i was afraidof endangering my chance of you, darling,
the great prize of my life--my fellowship icall you. my brother's fellowship was won at hiscollege, mine at talbothays dairy. well, i would not risk it. i was going to tell you a month ago--at thetime you agreed to be mine, but i could not; i thought it might frighten you awayfrom me. i put it off; then i thought i would tellyou yesterday, to give you a chance at least of escaping me.but i did not. and i did not this morning, when youproposed our confessing our faults on the landing--the sinner that i was!but i must, now i see you sitting there so
solemnly. i wonder if you will forgive me?""o yes! i am sure that--""well, i hope so. but wait a minute. you don't know.to begin at the beginning. though i imagine my poor father fears thati am one of the eternally lost for my doctrines, i am of course, a believer ingood morals, tess, as much as you. i used to wish to be a teacher of men, andit was a great disappointment to me when i found i could not enter the church.
i admired spotlessness, even though i couldlay no claim to it, and hated impurity, as i hope i do now. whatever one may think of plenaryinspiration, one must heartily subscribe to these words of paul: 'be thou an example--in word, in conversation, in charity, in spirit, in faith, in purity.' it is the only safeguard for us poor humanbeings. 'integer vitae,' says a roman poet, who isstrange company for st paul-- "the man of upright life, from frailtiesfree, stands not in need of moorish spear or bow.
"well, a certain place is paved with goodintentions, and having felt all that so strongly, you will see what a terribleremorse it bred in me when, in the midst of my fine aims for other people, i myselffell." he then told her of that time of his lifeto which allusion has been made when, tossed about by doubts and difficulties inlondon, like a cork on the waves, he plunged into eight-and-forty hours'dissipation with a stranger. "happily i awoke almost immediately to asense of my folly," he continued. "i would have no more to say to her, and icame home. i have never repeated the offence.
but i felt i should like to treat you withperfect frankness and honour, and i could not do so without telling this.do you forgive me?" she pressed his hand tightly for an answer. "then we will dismiss it at once and forever!--too painful as it is for the occasion--and talk of something lighter.""o, angel--i am almost glad--because now you can forgive me! i have not made my confession.i have a confession, too--remember, i said so.""ah, to be sure! now then for it, wicked little one."
"perhaps, although you smile, it is asserious as yours, or more so." "it can hardly be more serious, dearest.""it cannot--o no, it cannot!" she jumped up joyfully at the hope. "no, it cannot be more serious, certainly,"she cried, "because 'tis just the same! i will tell you now."she sat down again. their hands were still joined. the ashes under the grate were lit by thefire vertically, like a torrid waste. imagination might have beheld a last dayluridness in this red-coaled glow, which fell on his face and hand, and on hers,peering into the loose hair about her brow,
and firing the delicate skin underneath. a large shadow of her shape rose upon thewall and ceiling. she bent forward, at which each diamond onher neck gave a sinister wink like a toad's; and pressing her forehead againsthis temple she entered on her story of her acquaintance with alec d'urberville and its results, murmuring the words withoutflinching, and with her eyelids drooping down.end of phase the fourth chapter xxxv her narrative ended; even its re-assertionsand secondary explanations were done.
tess's voice throughout had hardly risenhigher than its opening tone; there had been no exculpatory phrase of any kind, andshe had not wept. but the complexion even of external thingsseemed to suffer transmutation as her announcement progressed. the fire in the grate looked impish--demoniacally funny, as if it did not care in the least about her strait.the fender grinned idly, as if it too did not care. the light from the water-bottle was merelyengaged in a chromatic problem. all material objects around announced theirirresponsibility with terrible iteration.
and yet nothing had changed since themoments when he had been kissing her; or rather, nothing in the substance of things.but the essence of things had changed. when she ceased, the auricular impressionsfrom their previous endearments seemed to hustle away into the corner of theirbrains, repeating themselves as echoes from a time of supremely purblind foolishness. clare performed the irrelevant act ofstirring the fire; the intelligence had not even yet got to the bottom of him. after stirring the embers he rose to hisfeet; all the force of her disclosure had imparted itself now.his face had withered.
in the strenuousness of his concentrationhe treadled fitfully on the floor. he could not, by any contrivance, thinkclosely enough; that was the meaning of his vague movement. when he spoke it was in the mostinadequate, commonplace voice of the many varied tones she had heard from him."tess!" "yes, dearest." "am i to believe this?from your manner i am to take it as true. o you cannot be out of your mind!you ought to be! yet you are not...
my wife, my tess--nothing in you warrantssuch a supposition as that?" "i am not out of my mind," she said. "and yet--" he looked vacantly at her, toresume with dazed senses: "why didn't you tell me before?ah, yes, you would have told me, in a way-- but i hindered you, i remember!" these and other of his words were nothingbut the perfunctory babble of the surface while the depths remained paralyzed.he turned away, and bent over a chair. tess followed him to the middle of theroom, where he was, and stood there staring at him with eyes that did not weep.
presently she slid down upon her kneesbeside his foot, and from this position she crouched in a heap."in the name of our love, forgive me!" she whispered with a dry mouth. "i have forgiven you for the same!"and, as he did not answer, she said again-- "forgive me as you are forgiven!i forgive you, angel." "you--yes, you do." "but you do not forgive me?""o tess, forgiveness does not apply to the case!you were one person; now you are another. my god--how can forgiveness meet such agrotesque--prestidigitation as that!"
he paused, contemplating this definition;then suddenly broke into horrible laughter- -as unnatural and ghastly as a laugh inhell. "don't--don't! it kills me quite, that!" she shrieked."o have mercy upon me--have mercy!" he did not answer; and, sickly white, shejumped up. "angel, angel! what do you mean by thatlaugh?" she cried out. "do you know what this is to me?"he shook his head. "i have been hoping, longing, praying, tomake you happy! i have thought what joy it will be to doit, what an unworthy wife i shall be if i
do not! that's what i have felt, angel!""i know that." "i thought, angel, that you loved me--me,my very self! if it is i you do love, o how can it bethat you look and speak so? it frightens me! having begun to love you, i love you forever--in all changes, in all disgraces, because you are yourself.i ask no more. then how can you, o my own husband, stoploving me?" "i repeat, the woman i have been loving isnot you."
"but who?" "another woman in your shape."she perceived in his words the realization of her own apprehensive foreboding informer times. he looked upon her as a species ofimposter; a guilty woman in the guise of an innocent one. terror was upon her white face as she sawit; her cheek was flaccid, and her mouth had almost the aspect of a round littlehole. the horrible sense of his view of her sodeadened her that she staggered, and he stepped forward, thinking she was going tofall.
"sit down, sit down," he said gently. "you are ill; and it is natural that youshould be." she did sit down, without knowing where shewas, that strained look still upon her face, and her eyes such as to make hisflesh creep. "i don't belong to you any more, then; doi, angel?" she asked helplessly. "it is not me, but another woman like methat he loved, he says." the image raised caused her to take pityupon herself as one who was ill-used. her eyes filled as she regarded herposition further; she turned round and burst into a flood of self-sympathetictears.
clare was relieved at this change, for theeffect on her of what had happened was beginning to be a trouble to him only lessthan the woe of the disclosure itself. he waited patiently, apathetically, tillthe violence of her grief had worn itself out, and her rush of weeping had lessenedto a catching gasp at intervals. "angel," she said suddenly, in her naturaltones, the insane, dry voice of terror having left her now."angel, am i too wicked for you and me to live together?" "i have not been able to think what we cando." "i shan't ask you to let me live with you,angel, because i have no right to!
i shall not write to mother and sisters tosay we be married, as i said i would do; and i shan't finish the good-hussif' i cutout and meant to make while we were in lodgings." "shan't you?" "no, i shan't do anything, unless you orderme to; and if you go away from me i shall not follow 'ee; and if you never speak tome any more i shall not ask why, unless you tell me i may." "and if i order you to do anything?""i will obey you like your wretched slave, even if it is to lie down and die.""you are very good.
but it strikes me that there is a want ofharmony between your present mood of self- sacrifice and your past mood of self-preservation." these were the first words of antagonism. to fling elaborate sarcasms at tess,however, was much like flinging them at a dog or cat. the charms of their subtlety passed by herunappreciated, and she only received them as inimical sounds which meant that angerruled. she remained mute, not knowing that he wassmothering his affection for her. she hardly observed that a tear descendedslowly upon his cheek, a tear so large that
it magnified the pores of the skin overwhich it rolled, like the object lens of a microscope. meanwhile reillumination as to the terribleand total change that her confession had wrought in his life, in his universe,returned to him, and he tried desperately to advance among the new conditions inwhich he stood. some consequent action was necessary; yetwhat? "tess," he said, as gently as he couldspeak, "i cannot stay--in this room--just now.i will walk out a little way." he quietly left the room, and the twoglasses of wine that he had poured out for
their supper--one for her, one for him--remained on the table untasted. this was what their agape had come to. at tea, two or three hours earlier, theyhad, in the freakishness of affection, drunk from one cup. the closing of the door behind him, gentlyas it had been pulled to, roused tess from her stupor.he was gone; she could not stay. hastily flinging her cloak around her sheopened the door and followed, putting out the candles as if she were never comingback. the rain was over and the night was nowclear.
she was soon close at his heels, for clarewalked slowly and without purpose. his form beside her light gray figurelooked black, sinister, and forbidding, and she felt as sarcasm the touch of the jewelsof which she had been momentarily so proud. clare turned at hearing her footsteps, buthis recognition of her presence seemed to make no difference to him, and he went onover the five yawning arches of the great bridge in front of the house. the cow and horse tracks in the road werefull of water, the rain having been enough to charge them, but not enough to wash themaway. across these minute pools the reflectedstars flitted in a quick transit as she
passed; she would not have known they wereshining overhead if she had not seen them there--the vastest things of the universeimaged in objects so mean. the place to which they had travelled to-day was in the same valley as talbothays, but some miles lower down the river; andthe surroundings being open, she kept easily in sight of him. away from the house the road wound throughthe meads, and along these she followed clare without any attempt to come up withhim or to attract him, but with dumb and vacant fidelity. at last, however, her listless walk broughther up alongside him, and still he said
nothing. the cruelty of fooled honesty is oftengreat after enlightenment, and it was mighty in clare now. the outdoor air had apparently taken awayfrom him all tendency to act on impulse; she knew that he saw her withoutirradiation--in all her bareness; that time was chanting his satiric psalm at her then-- behold, when thy face is made bare, he thatloved thee shall hate; thy face shall be no more fair at the fallof thy fate. for thy life shall fall as a leaf and beshed as the rain;
and the veil of thine head shall be grief,and the crown shall be pain. he was still intently thinking, and hercompanionship had now insufficient power to break or divert the strain of thought.what a weak thing her presence must have become to him! she could not help addressing clare."what have i done--what have i done! i have not told of anything that interfereswith or belies my love for you. you don't think i planned it, do you? it is in your own mind what you are angryat, angel; it is not in me. o, it is not in me, and i am not thatdeceitful woman you think me!"
"h'm--well. not deceitful, my wife; but not the same.no, not the same. but do not make me reproach you.i have sworn that i will not; and i will do everything to avoid it." but she went on pleading in herdistraction; and perhaps said things that would have been better left to silence."angel!--angel! i was a child--a child when it happened! i knew nothing of men.""you were more sinned against than sinning, that i admit.""then will you not forgive me?"
"i do forgive you, but forgiveness is notall." "and love me?"to this question he did not answer. "o angel--my mother says that it sometimeshappens so!--she knows several cases where they were worse than i, and the husband hasnot minded it much--has got over it at least. and yet the woman had not loved him as i doyou!" "don't, tess; don't argue.different societies, different manners. you almost make me say you are anunapprehending peasant woman, who have never been initiated into the proportionsof social things.
you don't know what you say." "i am only a peasant by position, not bynature!" she spoke with an impulse to anger, but itwent as it came. "so much the worse for you. i think that parson who unearthed yourpedigree would have done better if he had held his tongue. i cannot help associating your decline as afamily with this other fact--of your want of firmness.decrepit families imply decrepit wills, decrepit conduct.
heaven, why did you give me a handle fordespising you more by informing me of your descent! here was i thinking you a new-sprung childof nature; there were you, the belated seedling of an effete aristocracy!""lots of families are as bad as mine in that! retty's family were once large landowners,and so were dairyman billett's. and the debbyhouses, who now are carters,were once the de bayeux family. you find such as i everywhere; 'tis afeature of our county, and i can't help it.""so much the worse for the county."
she took these reproaches in their bulksimply, not in their particulars; he did not love her as he had loved her hitherto,and to all else she was indifferent. they wandered on again in silence. it was said afterwards that a cottager ofwellbridge, who went out late that night for a doctor, met two lovers in thepastures, walking very slowly, without converse, one behind the other, as in a funeral procession, and the glimpse that heobtained of their faces seemed to denote that they were anxious and sad. returning later, he passed them again inthe same field, progressing just as slowly,
and as regardless of the hour and of thecheerless night as before. it was only on account of his preoccupationwith his own affairs, and the illness in his house, that he did not bear in mind thecurious incident, which, however, he recalled a long while after. during the interval of the cottager's goingand coming, she had said to her husband-- "i don't see how i can help being the causeof much misery to you all your life. the river is down there. i can put an end to myself in it.i am not afraid." "i don't wish to add murder to my otherfollies," he said.
"i will leave something to show that i didit myself--on account of my shame. they will not blame you then.""don't speak so absurdly--i wish not to hear it. it is nonsense to have such thoughts inthis kind of case, which is rather one for satirical laughter than for tragedy.you don't in the least understand the quality of the mishap. it would be viewed in the light of a jokeby nine-tenths of the world if it were known.please oblige me by returning to the house, and going to bed."
"i will," said she dutifully. they had rambled round by a road which ledto the well-known ruins of the cistercian abbey behind the mill, the latter having,in centuries past, been attached to the monastic establishment. the mill still worked on, food being aperennial necessity; the abbey had perished, creeds being transient. one continually sees the ministration ofthe temporary outlasting the ministration of the eternal. their walk having been circuitous, theywere still not far from the house, and in
obeying his direction she only had to reachthe large stone bridge across the main river and follow the road for a few yards. when she got back, everything remained asshe had left it, the fire being still burning. she did not stay downstairs for more than aminute, but proceeded to her chamber, whither the luggage had been taken. here she sat down on the edge of the bed,looking blankly around, and presently began to undress. in removing the light towards the bedsteadits rays fell upon the tester of white
dimity; something was hanging beneath it,and she lifted the candle to see what it was. a bough of mistletoe.angel had put it there; she knew that in an instant. this was the explanation of that mysteriousparcel which it had been so difficult to pack and bring; whose contents he would notexplain to her, saying that time would soon show her the purpose thereof. in his zest and his gaiety he had hung itthere. how foolish and inopportune that mistletoelooked now.
having nothing more to fear, having scarceanything to hope, for that he would relent there seemed no promise whatever, she laydown dully. when sorrow ceases to be speculative, sleepsees her opportunity. among so many happier moods which forbidrepose this was a mood which welcomed it, and in a few minutes the lonely tess forgotexistence, surrounded by the aromatic stillness of the chamber that had once, possibly, been the bride-chamber of her ownancestry. later on that night clare also retraced hissteps to the house. entering softly to the sitting-room heobtained a light, and with the manner of
one who had considered his course he spreadhis rugs upon the old horse-hair sofa which stood there, and roughly shaped it to asleeping-couch. before lying down he crept shoelessupstairs, and listened at the door of her apartment. her measured breathing told that she wassleeping profoundly. "thank god!" murmured clare; and yet he wasconscious of a pang of bitterness at the thought--approximately true, though notwholly so--that having shifted the burden of her life to his shoulders, she was nowreposing without care. he turned away to descend; then,irresolute, faced round to her door again.
in the act he caught sight of one of thed'urberville dames, whose portrait was immediately over the entrance to tess'sbedchamber. in the candlelight the painting was morethan unpleasant. sinister design lurked in the woman'sfeatures, a concentrated purpose of revenge on the other sex--so it seemed to him then. the caroline bodice of the portrait waslow--precisely as tess's had been when he tucked it in to show the necklace; andagain he experienced the distressing sensation of a resemblance between them. the check was sufficient.he resumed his retreat and descended.
his air remained calm and cold, his smallcompressed mouth indexing his powers of self-control; his face wearing still thatterrible sterile expression which had spread thereon since her disclosure. it was the face of a man who was no longerpassion's slave, yet who found no advantage in his enfranchisement. he was simply regarding the harrowingcontingencies of human experience, the unexpectedness of things. nothing so pure, so sweet, so virginal astess had seemed possible all the long while that he had adored her, up to an hour ago;but
the little less, and what worlds away! he argued erroneously when he said tohimself that her heart was not indexed in the honest freshness of her face; but tesshad no advocate to set him right. could it be possible, he continued, thateyes which as they gazed never expressed any divergence from what the tongue wastelling, were yet ever seeing another world behind her ostensible one, discordant andcontrasting? he reclined on his couch in the sitting-room, and extinguished the light. the night came in, and took up its placethere, unconcerned and indifferent; the night which had already swallowed up hishappiness, and was now digesting it
listlessly; and was ready to swallow up the happiness of a thousand other people withas little disturbance or change of mien. chapter xxxvi clare arose in the light of a dawn that wasashy and furtive, as though associated with crime. the fireplace confronted him with itsextinct embers; the spread supper-table, whereon stood the two full glasses ofuntasted wine, now flat and filmy; her vacated seat and his own; the other articles of furniture, with their eternallook of not being able to help it, their
intolerable inquiry what was to be done?from above there was no sound; but in a few minutes there came a knock at the door. he remembered that it would be theneighbouring cottager's wife, who was to minister to their wants while they remainedhere. the presence of a third person in the housewould be extremely awkward just now, and, being already dressed, he opened the windowand informed her that they could manage to shift for themselves that morning. she had a milk-can in her hand, which hetold her to leave at the door. when the dame had gone away he searched inthe back quarters of the house for fuel,
and speedily lit a fire. there was plenty of eggs, butter, bread,and so on in the larder, and clare soon had breakfast laid, his experiences at thedairy having rendered him facile in domestic preparations. the smoke of the kindled wood rose from thechimney without like a lotus-headed column; local people who were passing by saw it,and thought of the newly-married couple, and envied their happiness. angel cast a final glance round, and thengoing to the foot of the stairs, called in a conventional voice--"breakfast is ready!"
he opened the front door, and took a fewsteps in the morning air. when, after a short space, he came back shewas already in the sitting-room mechanically readjusting the breakfastthings. as she was fully attired, and the intervalsince his calling her had been but two or three minutes, she must have been dressedor nearly so before he went to summon her. her hair was twisted up in a large roundmass at the back of her head, and she had put on one of the new frocks--a pale bluewoollen garment with neck-frillings of white. her hands and face appeared to be cold, andshe had possibly been sitting dressed in
the bedroom a long time without any fire. the marked civility of clare's tone incalling her seemed to have inspired her, for the moment, with a new glimmer of hope.but it soon died when she looked at him. the pair were, in truth, but the ashes oftheir former fires. to the hot sorrow of the previous night hadsucceeded heaviness; it seemed as if nothing could kindle either of them tofervour of sensation any more. he spoke gently to her, and she repliedwith a like undemonstrativeness. at last she came up to him, looking in hissharply-defined face as one who had no consciousness that her own formed a visibleobject also.
"angel!" she said, and paused, touching himwith her fingers lightly as a breeze, as though she could hardly believe to be therein the flesh the man who was once her lover. her eyes were bright, her pale cheek stillshowed its wonted roundness, though half- dried tears had left glistening tracesthereon; and the usually ripe red mouth was almost as pale as her cheek. throbbingly alive as she was still, underthe stress of her mental grief the life beat so brokenly that a little further pullupon it would cause real illness, dull her characteristic eyes, and make her mouththin.
she looked absolutely pure. nature, in her fantastic trickery, had setsuch a seal of maidenhood upon tess's countenance that he gazed at her with astupefied air. "tess! say it is not true!no, it is not true!" "it is true.""every word?" "every word." he looked at her imploringly, as if hewould willingly have taken a lie from her lips, knowing it to be one, and have madeof it, by some sort of sophistry, a valid
denial. however, she only repeated--"it is true." "is he living?"angel then asked. "the baby died." "but the man?""he is alive." a last despair passed over clare's face."is he in england?" "yes." he took a few vague steps."my position--is this," he said abruptly. "i thought--any man would have thought--that by giving up all ambition to win a
wife with social standing, with fortune,with knowledge of the world, i should secure rustic innocence as surely as i should secure pink cheeks; but--however, iam no man to reproach you, and i will not." tess felt his position so entirely that theremainder had not been needed. therein lay just the distress of it; shesaw that he had lost all round. "angel--i should not have let it go on tomarriage with you if i had not known that, after all, there was a last way out of itfor you; though i hoped you would never--" her voice grew husky. "a last way?""i mean, to get rid of me.
you can get rid of me.""how?" "by divorcing me." "good heavens--how can you be so simple!how can i divorce you?" "can't you--now i have told you?i thought my confession would give you grounds for that." "o tess--you are too, too--childish--unformed--crude, i suppose! i don't know what you are.you don't understand the law--you don't understand!" "what--you cannot?""indeed i cannot."
a quick shame mixed with the misery uponhis listener's face. "i thought--i thought," she whispered. "o, now i see how wicked i seem to you!believe me--believe me, on my soul, i never thought but that you could! i hoped you would not; yet i believed,without a doubt, that you could cast me off if you were determined, and didn't love meat--at--all!" "you were mistaken," he said. "o, then i ought to have done it, to havedone it last night! but i hadn't the courage.that's just like me!"
"the courage to do what?" as she did not answer he took her by thehand. "what were you thinking of doing?" heinquired. "of putting an end to myself." "when?"she writhed under this inquisitorial manner of his."last night," she answered. "where?" "under your mistletoe.""my good--! how?" he asked sternly."i'll tell you, if you won't be angry with
me!" she said, shrinking. "it was with the cord of my box.but i could not--do the last thing! i was afraid that it might cause a scandalto your name." the unexpected quality of this confession,wrung from her, and not volunteered, shook him perceptibly. but he still held her, and, letting hisglance fall from her face downwards, he said, "now, listen to this.you must not dare to think of such a horrible thing! how could you!you will promise me as your husband to
attempt that no more.""i am ready to promise. i saw how wicked it was." "wicked!the idea was unworthy of you beyond description." "but, angel," she pleaded, enlarging hereyes in calm unconcern upon him, "it was thought of entirely on your account--to setyou free without the scandal of the divorce that i thought you would have to get. i should never have dreamt of doing it onmine. however, to do it with my own hand is toogood for me, after all.
it is you, my ruined husband, who ought tostrike the blow. i think i should love you more, if thatwere possible, if you could bring yourself to do it, since there's no other way ofescape for 'ee. i feel i am so utterly worthless! so very greatly in the way!""ssh!" "well, since you say no, i won't.i have no wish opposed to yours." he knew this to be true enough. since the desperation of the night heractivities had dropped to zero, and there was no further rashness to be feared.
tess tried to busy herself again over thebreakfast-table with more or less success, and they sat down both on the same side, sothat their glances did not meet. there was at first something awkward inhearing each other eat and drink, but this could not be escaped; moreover, the amountof eating done was small on both sides. breakfast over, he rose, and telling herthe hour at which he might be expected to dinner, went off to the miller's in amechanical pursuance of the plan of studying that business, which had been hisonly practical reason for coming here. when he was gone tess stood at the window,and presently saw his form crossing the great stone bridge which conducted to themill premises.
he sank behind it, crossed the railwaybeyond, and disappeared. then, without a sigh, she turned herattention to the room, and began clearing the table and setting it in order. the charwoman soon came.her presence was at first a strain upon tess, but afterwards an alleviation. at half-past twelve she left her assistantalone in the kitchen, and, returning to the sitting-room, waited for the reappearanceof angel's form behind the bridge. about one he showed himself. her face flushed, although he was a quarterof a mile off.
she ran to the kitchen to get the dinnerserved by the time he should enter. he went first to the room where they hadwashed their hands together the day before, and as he entered the sitting-room thedish-covers rose from the dishes as if by his own motion. "how punctual!" he said."yes. i saw you coming over the bridge," saidshe. the meal was passed in commonplace talk ofwhat he had been doing during the morning at the abbey mill, of the methods ofbolting and the old-fashioned machinery, which he feared would not enlighten him
greatly on modern improved methods, some ofit seeming to have been in use ever since the days it ground for the monks in theadjoining conventual buildings--now a heap of ruins. he left the house again in the course of anhour, coming home at dusk, and occupying himself through the evening with hispapers. she feared she was in the way and, when theold woman was gone, retired to the kitchen, where she made herself busy as well as shecould for more than an hour. clare's shape appeared at the door. "you must not work like this," he said."you are not my servant; you are my wife."
she raised her eyes, and brightenedsomewhat. "i may think myself that--indeed?" shemurmured, in piteous raillery. "you mean in name!well, i don't want to be anything more." "you may think so, tess! you are.what do you mean?" "i don't know," she said hastily, withtears in her accents. "i thought i--because i am not respectable,i mean. i told you i thought i was not respectableenough long ago--and on that account i didn't want to marry you, only--only youurged me!"
she broke into sobs, and turned her back tohim. it would almost have won round any man butangel clare. within the remote depths of hisconstitution, so gentle and affectionate as he was in general, there lay hidden a hardlogical deposit, like a vein of metal in a soft loam, which turned the edge ofeverything that attempted to traverse it. it had blocked his acceptance of thechurch; it blocked his acceptance of tess. moreover, his affection itself was lessfire than radiance, and, with regard to the other sex, when he ceased to believe heceased to follow: contrasting in this with many impressionable natures, who remain
sensuously infatuated with what theyintellectually despise. he waited till her sobbing ceased. "i wish half the women in england were asrespectable as you," he said, in an ebullition of bitterness against womankindin general. "it isn't a question of respectability, butone of principle!" he spoke such things as these and more of akindred sort to her, being still swayed by the antipathetic wave which warps directsouls with such persistence when once their vision finds itself mocked by appearances. there was, it is true, underneath, a backcurrent of sympathy through which a woman
of the world might have conquered him. but tess did not think of this; she tookeverything as her deserts, and hardly opened her mouth. the firmness of her devotion to him wasindeed almost pitiful; quick-tempered as she naturally was, nothing that he couldsay made her unseemly; she sought not her own; was not provoked; thought no evil ofhis treatment of her. she might just now have been apostoliccharity herself returned to a self-seeking modern world. this evening, night, and morning werepassed precisely as the preceding ones had
been passed. on one, and only one, occasion did she--theformerly free and independent tess--venture to make any advances. it was on the third occasion of hisstarting after a meal to go out to the flour-mill. as he was leaving the table he said"goodbye," and she replied in the same words, at the same time inclining her mouthin the way of his. he did not avail himself of the invitation,saying, as he turned hastily aside-- "i shall be home punctually."tess shrank into herself as if she had been
struck. often enough had he tried to reach thoselips against her consent--often had he said gaily that her mouth and breath tasted ofthe butter and eggs and milk and honey on which she mainly lived, that he drew sustenance from them, and other follies ofthat sort. but he did not care for them now.he observed her sudden shrinking, and said gently-- "you know, i have to think of a course.it was imperative that we should stay together a little while, to avoid thescandal to you that would have resulted
from our immediate parting. but you must see it is only for form'ssake." "yes," said tess absently. he went out, and on his way to the millstood still, and wished for a moment that he had responded yet more kindly, andkissed her once at least. thus they lived through this despairing dayor two; in the same house, truly; but more widely apart than before they were lovers. it was evident to her that he was, as hehad said, living with paralyzed activities in his endeavour to think of a plan ofprocedure.
she was awe-stricken to discover suchdetermination under such apparent flexibility.his consistency was, indeed, too cruel. she no longer expected forgiveness now. more than once she thought of going awayfrom him during his absence at the mill; but she feared that this, instead ofbenefiting him, might be the means of hampering and humiliating him yet more ifit should become known. meanwhile clare was meditating, verily. his thought had been unsuspended; he wasbecoming ill with thinking; eaten out with thinking, withered by thinking; scourgedout of all his former pulsating, flexuous
domesticity. he walked about saying to himself, "what'sto be done--what's to be done?" and by chance she overheard him.it caused her to break the reserve about their future which had hitherto prevailed. "i suppose--you are not going to live withme--long, are you, angel?" she asked, the sunk corners of her mouth betraying howpurely mechanical were the means by which she retained that expression of chastenedcalm upon her face. "i cannot" he said, "without despisingmyself, and what is worse, perhaps, despising you.
i mean, of course, cannot live with you inthe ordinary sense. at present, whatever i feel, i do notdespise you. and, let me speak plainly, or you may notsee all my difficulties. how can we live together while that manlives?--he being your husband in nature, and not i. if he were dead it might be different...besides, that's not all the difficulty; it lies in another consideration--one bearingupon the future of other people than ourselves. think of years to come, and children beingborn to us, and this past matter getting
known--for it must get known. there is not an uttermost part of the earthbut somebody comes from it or goes to it from elsewhere. well, think of wretches of our flesh andblood growing up under a taunt which they will gradually get to feel the full forceof with their expanding years. what an awakening for them! what a prospect!can you honestly say 'remain' after contemplating this contingency?don't you think we had better endure the ills we have than fly to others?"
her eyelids, weighted with trouble,continued drooping as before. "i cannot say 'remain,'" she answered, "icannot; i had not thought so far." tess's feminine hope--shall we confess it?--had been so obstinately recuperative as to revive in her surreptitious visions of adomiciliary intimacy continued long enough to break down his coldness even against hisjudgement. though unsophisticated in the usual sense,she was not incomplete; and it would have denoted deficiency of womanhood if she hadnot instinctively known what an argument lies in propinquity. nothing else would serve her, she knew, ifthis failed.
it was wrong to hope in what was of thenature of strategy, she said to herself: yet that sort of hope she could notextinguish. his last representation had now been made,and it was, as she said, a new view. she had truly never thought so far as that,and his lucid picture of possible offspring who would scorn her was one that broughtdeadly convictions to an honest heart which was humanitarian to its centre. sheer experience had already taught herthat in some circumstances there was one thing better than to lead a good life, andthat was to be saved from leading any life whatever.
like all who have been previsioned bysuffering, she could, in the words of m. sully-prudhomme, hear a penal sentence inthe fiat, "you shall be born," particularly if addressed to potential issue of hers. yet such is the vulpine slyness of damenature, that, till now, tess had been hoodwinked by her love for clare intoforgetting it might result in vitalizations that would inflict upon others what she hadbewailed as misfortune to herself. she therefore could not withstand hisargument. but with the self-combating proclivity ofthe supersensitive, an answer thereto arose in clare's own mind, and he almost fearedit.
it was based on her exceptional physicalnature; and she might have used it promisingly. she might have added besides: "on anaustralian upland or texan plain, who is to know or care about my misfortunes, or toreproach me or you?" yet, like the majority of women, sheaccepted the momentary presentment as if it were the inevitable.and she may have been right. the intuitive heart of woman knoweth notonly its own bitterness, but its husband's, and even if these assumed reproaches werenot likely to be addressed to him or to his by strangers, they might have reached hisears from his own fastidious brain.
it was the third day of the estrangement. some might risk the odd paradox that withmore animalism he would have been the nobler man.we do not say it. yet clare's love was doubtless ethereal toa fault, imaginative to impracticability. with these natures, corporal presence issomething less appealing than corporal absence; the latter creating an idealpresence that conveniently drops the defects of the real. she found that her personality did notplead her cause so forcibly as she had anticipated.
the figurative phrase was true: she wasanother woman than the one who had excited his desire. "i have thought over what you say," sheremarked to him, moving her forefinger over the tablecloth, her other hand, which borethe ring that mocked them both, supporting her forehead. "it is quite true, all of it; it must be.you must go away from me." "but what can you do?""i can go home." clare had not thought of that. "are you sure?" he inquired."quite sure.
we ought to part, and we may as well get itpast and done. you once said that i was apt to win menagainst their better judgement; and if i am constantly before your eyes i may cause youto change your plans in opposition to your reason and wish; and afterwards yourrepentance and my sorrow will be terrible." "and you would like to go home?" he asked."i want to leave you, and go home." "then it shall be so." though she did not look up at him, shestarted. there was a difference between theproposition and the covenant, which she had felt only too quickly.
"i feared it would come to this," shemurmured, her countenance meekly fixed. "i don't complain, angel, i--i think itbest. what you said has quite convinced me. yes, though nobody else should reproach meif we should stay together, yet somewhen, years hence, you might get angry with mefor any ordinary matter, and knowing what you do of my bygones, you yourself might be tempted to say words, and they might beoverheard, perhaps by my own children. o, what only hurts me now would torture andkill me then! i will go--to-morrow."
"and i shall not stay here. though i didn't like to initiate it, i haveseen that it was advisable we should part-- at least for a while, till i can better seethe shape that things have taken, and can write to you." tess stole a glance at her husband. he was pale, even tremulous; but, asbefore, she was appalled by the determination revealed in the depths ofthis gentle being she had married--the will to subdue the grosser to the subtler emotion, the substance to the conception,the flesh to the spirit.
propensities, tendencies, habits, were asdead leaves upon the tyrannous wind of his imaginative ascendency. he may have observed her look, for heexplained-- "i think of people more kindly when i amaway from them"; adding cynically, "god knows; perhaps we will shake down togethersome day, for weariness; thousands have done it!" that day he began to pack up, and she wentupstairs and began to pack also. both knew that it was in their two mindsthat they might part the next morning for ever, despite the gloss of assuagingconjectures thrown over their proceeding
because they were of the sort to whom any parting which has an air of finality is atorture. he knew, and she knew, that, though thefascination which each had exercised over the other--on her part independently ofaccomplishments--would probably in the first days of their separation be even more potent than ever, time must attenuate thateffect; the practical arguments against accepting her as a housemate mightpronounce themselves more strongly in the boreal light of a remoter view. moreover, when two people are once parted--have abandoned a common domicile and a
common environment--new growths insensiblybud upward to fill each vacated place; unforeseen accidents hinder intentions, andold plans are forgotten. chapter xxxvii midnight came and passed silently, forthere was nothing to announce it in the valley of the froom. not long after one o'clock there was aslight creak in the darkened farmhouse once the mansion of the d'urbervilles.tess, who used the upper chamber, heard it and awoke. it had come from the corner step of thestaircase, which, as usual, was loosely
nailed. she saw the door of her bedroom open, andthe figure of her husband crossed the stream of moonlight with a curiouslycareful tread. he was in his shirt and trousers only, andher first flush of joy died when she perceived that his eyes were fixed in anunnatural stare on vacancy. when he reached the middle of the room hestood still and murmured in tones of indescribable sadness--"dead! dead! dead!" under the influence of any strongly-disturbing force, clare would occasionally walk in his sleep, and even perform strangefeats, such as he had done on the night of
their return from market just before their marriage, when he re-enacted in his bedroomhis combat with the man who had insulted her. tess saw that continued mental distress hadwrought him into that somnambulistic state now. her loyal confidence in him lay so deepdown in her heart, that, awake or asleep, he inspired her with no sort of personalfear. if he had entered with a pistol in his handhe would scarcely have disturbed her trust in his protectiveness.clare came close, and bent over her.
"dead, dead, dead!" he murmured. after fixedly regarding her for somemoments with the same gaze of unmeasurable woe, he bent lower, enclosed her in hisarms, and rolled her in the sheet as in a shroud. then lifting her from the bed with as muchrespect as one would show to a dead body, he carried her across the room, murmuring--"my poor, poor tess--my dearest, darling tess! so sweet, so good, so true!"the words of endearment, withheld so severely in his waking hours, wereinexpressibly sweet to her forlorn and
hungry heart. if it had been to save her weary life shewould not, by moving or struggling, have put an end to the position she foundherself in. thus she lay in absolute stillness,scarcely venturing to breathe, and, wondering what he was going to do with her,suffered herself to be borne out upon the "my wife--dead, dead!" he said.he paused in his labours for a moment to lean with her against the banister.was he going to throw her down? self-solicitude was near extinction in her,and in the knowledge that he had planned to depart on the morrow, possibly for always,she lay in his arms in this precarious
position with a sense rather of luxury thanof terror. if they could only fall together, and bothbe dashed to pieces, how fit, how desirable. however, he did not let her fall, but tookadvantage of the support of the handrail to imprint a kiss upon her lips--lips in theday-time scorned. then he clasped her with a renewed firmnessof hold, and descended the staircase. the creak of the loose stair did not awakenhim, and they reached the ground-floor safely. freeing one of his hands from his grasp ofher for a moment, he slid back the door-bar
and passed out, slightly striking hisstockinged toe against the edge of the door. but this he seemed not to mind, and, havingroom for extension in the open air, he lifted her against his shoulder, so that hecould carry her with ease, the absence of clothes taking much from his burden. thus he bore her off the premises in thedirection of the river a few yards distant. his ultimate intention, if he had any, shehad not yet divined; and she found herself conjecturing on the matter as a thirdperson might have done. so easefully had she delivered her wholebeing up to him that it pleased her to
think he was regarding her as his absolutepossession, to dispose of as he should choose. it was consoling, under the hovering terrorof to-morrow's separation, to feel that he really recognized her now as his wife tess,and did not cast her off, even if in that recognition he went so far as to arrogateto himself the right of harming her. ah! now she knew what he was dreaming of--that sunday morning when he had borne her along through the water with the otherdairymaids, who had loved him nearly as much as she, if that were possible, whichtess could hardly admit. clare did not cross the bridge with her,but proceeding several paces on the same
side towards the adjoining mill, at lengthstood still on the brink of the river. its waters, in creeping down these miles ofmeadowland, frequently divided, serpentining in purposeless curves, loopingthemselves around little islands that had no name, returning and re-embodying themselves as a broad main stream furtheron. opposite the spot to which he had broughther was such a general confluence, and the river was proportionately voluminous anddeep. across it was a narrow foot-bridge; but nowthe autumn flood had washed the handrail away, leaving the bare plank only, which,lying a few inches above the speeding
current, formed a giddy pathway for even steady heads; and tess had noticed from thewindow of the house in the day-time young men walking across upon it as a feat inbalancing. her husband had possibly observed the sameperformance; anyhow, he now mounted the plank, and, sliding one foot forward,advanced along it. was he going to drown her? probably he was.the spot was lonely, the river deep and wide enough to make such a purpose easy ofaccomplishment. he might drown her if he would; it would bebetter than parting to-morrow to lead
severed lives. the swift stream raced and gyrated underthem, tossing, distorting, and splitting the moon's reflected face.spots of froth travelled past, and intercepted weeds waved behind the piles. if they could both fall together into thecurrent now, their arms would be so tightly clasped together that they could not besaved; they would go out of the world almost painlessly, and there would be no more reproach to her, or to him formarrying her. his last half-hour with her would have beena loving one, while if they lived till he
awoke, his day-time aversion would return,and this hour would remain to be contemplated only as a transient dream. the impulse stirred in her, yet she darednot indulge it, to make a movement that would have precipitated them both into thegulf. how she valued her own life had beenproved; but his--she had no right to tamper with it.he reached the other side with her in safety. here they were within a plantation whichformed the abbey grounds, and taking a new hold of her he went onward a few steps tillthey reached the ruined choir of the abbey-
church. against the north wall was the empty stonecoffin of an abbot, in which every tourist with a turn for grim humour was accustomedto stretch himself. in this clare carefully laid tess. having kissed her lips a second time hebreathed deeply, as if a greatly desired end were attained. clare then lay down on the groundalongside, when he immediately fell into the deep dead slumber of exhaustion, andremained motionless as a log. the spurt of mental excitement which hadproduced the effort was now over.
tess sat up in the coffin. the night, though dry and mild for theseason, was more than sufficiently cold to make it dangerous for him to remain herelong, in his half-clothed state. if he were left to himself he would in allprobability stay there till the morning, and be chilled to certain death.she had heard of such deaths after sleep- walking. but how could she dare to awaken him, andlet him know what he had been doing, when it would mortify him to discover his follyin respect of her? tess, however, stepping out of her stoneconfine, shook him slightly, but was unable
to arouse him without being violent. it was indispensable to do something, forshe was beginning to shiver, the sheet being but a poor protection. her excitement had in a measure kept herwarm during the few minutes' adventure; but that beatific interval was over. it suddenly occurred to her to trypersuasion; and accordingly she whispered in his ear, with as much firmness anddecision as she could summon-- "let us walk on, darling," at the same timetaking him suggestively by the arm. to her relief, he unresistingly acquiesced;her words had apparently thrown him back
into his dream, which thenceforward seemedto enter on a new phase, wherein he fancied she had risen as a spirit, and was leadinghim to heaven. thus she conducted him by the arm to thestone bridge in front of their residence, crossing which they stood at the manor-house door. tess's feet were quite bare, and the stoneshurt her, and chilled her to the bone; but clare was in his woollen stockings, andappeared to feel no discomfort. there was no further difficulty. she induced him to lie down on his own sofabed, and covered him up warmly, lighting a temporary fire of wood, to dry any dampnessout of him.
the noise of these attentions she thoughtmight awaken him, and secretly wished that they might.but the exhaustion of his mind and body was such that he remained undisturbed. as soon as they met the next morning tessdivined that angel knew little or nothing of how far she had been concerned in thenight's excursion, though, as regarded himself, he may have been aware that he hadnot lain still. in truth, he had awakened that morning froma sleep deep as annihilation; and during those first few moments in which the brain,like a samson shaking himself, is trying its strength, he had some dim notion of anunusual nocturnal proceeding.
but the realities of his situation soondisplaced conjecture on the other subject. he waited in expectancy to discern somemental pointing; he knew that if any intention of his, concluded over-night, didnot vanish in the light of morning, it stood on a basis approximating to one of pure reason, even if initiated by impulseof feeling; that it was so far, therefore, to be trusted. he thus beheld in the pale morning lightthe resolve to separate from her; not as a hot and indignant instinct, but denuded ofthe passionateness which had made it scorch and burn; standing in its bones; nothingbut a skeleton, but none the less there.
clare no longer hesitated. at breakfast, and while they were packingthe few remaining articles, he showed his weariness from the night's effort sounmistakeably that tess was on the point of revealing all that had happened; but the reflection that it would anger him, grievehim, stultify him, to know that he had instinctively manifested a fondness for herof which his common-sense did not approve, that his inclination had compromised his dignity when reason slept, again deterredher. it was too much like laughing at a man whensober for his erratic deeds during
intoxication. it just crossed her mind, too, that hemight have a faint recollection of his tender vagary, and was disinclined toallude to it from a conviction that she would take amatory advantage of the opportunity it gave her of appealing to himanew not to go. he had ordered by letter a vehicle from thenearest town, and soon after breakfast it arrived. she saw in it the beginning of the end--thetemporary end, at least, for the revelation of his tenderness by the incident of thenight raised dreams of a possible future
with him. the luggage was put on the top, and the mandrove them off, the miller and the old waiting-woman expressing some surprise attheir precipitate departure, which clare attributed to his discovery that the mill- work was not of the modern kind which hewished to investigate, a statement that was true so far as it went. beyond this there was nothing in the mannerof their leaving to suggest a fiasco, or that they were not going together to visitfriends. their route lay near the dairy from whichthey had started with such solemn joy in
each other a few days back, and as clarewished to wind up his business with mr crick, tess could hardly avoid paying mrs crick a call at the same time, unless shewould excite suspicion of their unhappy state. to make the call as unobtrusive aspossible, they left the carriage by the wicket leading down from the high road tothe dairy-house, and descended the track on foot, side by side. the withy-bed had been cut, and they couldsee over the stumps the spot to which clare had followed her when he pressed her to behis wife; to the left the enclosure in
which she had been fascinated by his harp; and far away behind the cow-stalls the meadwhich had been the scene of their first embrace. the gold of the summer picture was nowgray, the colours mean, the rich soil mud, and the river cold. over the barton-gate the dairyman saw them,and came forward, throwing into his face the kind of jocularity deemed appropriatein talbothays and its vicinity on the re- appearance of the newly-married. then mrs crick emerged from the house, andseveral others of their old acquaintance,
though marian and retty did not seem to bethere. tess valiantly bore their sly attacks andfriendly humours, which affected her far otherwise than they supposed. in the tacit agreement of husband and wifeto keep their estrangement a secret they behaved as would have been ordinary. and then, although she would rather therehad been no word spoken on the subject, tess had to hear in detail the story ofmarian and retty. the later had gone home to her father's,and marian had left to look for employment elsewhere.they feared she would come to no good.
to dissipate the sadness of this recitaltess went and bade all her favourite cows goodbye, touching each of them with herhand, and as she and clare stood side by side at leaving, as if united body and soul, there would have been somethingpeculiarly sorry in their aspect to one who should have seen it truly; two limbs of onelife, as they outwardly were, his arm touching hers, her skirts touching him, facing one way, as against all the dairyfacing the other, speaking in their adieux as "we", and yet sundered like the poles. perhaps something unusually stiff andembarrassed in their attitude, some
awkwardness in acting up to theirprofession of unity, different from the natural shyness of young couples, may have been apparent, for when they were gone mrscrick said to her husband-- "how onnatural the brightness of her eyesdid seem, and how they stood like waxen images and talked as if they were in adream! didn't it strike 'ee that 'twas so? tess had always sommat strange in her, andshe's not now quite like the proud young bride of a well-be-doing man." they re-entered the vehicle, and weredriven along the roads towards weatherbury
and stagfoot lane, till they reached thelane inn, where clare dismissed the fly and man. they rested here a while, and entering thevale were next driven onward towards her home by a stranger who did not know theirrelations. at a midway point, when nuttlebury had beenpassed, and where there were cross-roads, clare stopped the conveyance and said totess that if she meant to return to her mother's house it was here that he wouldleave her. as they could not talk with freedom in thedriver's presence he asked her to accompany him for a few steps on foot along one ofthe branch roads; she assented, and
directing the man to wait a few minutesthey strolled away. "now, let us understand each other," hesaid gently. "there is no anger between us, though thereis that which i cannot endure at present. i will try to bring myself to endure it.i will let you know where i go to as soon as i know myself. and if i can bring myself to bear it--if itis desirable, possible--i will come to you. but until i come to you it will be betterthat you should not try to come to me." the severity of the decree seemed deadly totess; she saw his view of her clearly enough; he could regard her in no otherlight than that of one who had practised
gross deceit upon him. yet could a woman who had done even whatshe had done deserve all this? but she could contest the point with him nofurther. she simply repeated after him his ownwords. "until you come to me i must not try tocome to you?" "just so." "may i write to you?""o yes--if you are ill, or want anything at all.i hope that will not be the case; so that it may happen that i write first to you."
"i agree to the conditions, angel; becauseyou know best what my punishment ought to be; only--only--don't make it more than ican bear!" that was all she said on the matter. if tess had been artful, had she made ascene, fainted, wept hysterically, in that lonely lane, notwithstanding the fury offastidiousness with which he was possessed, he would probably not have withstood her. but her mood of long-suffering made his wayeasy for him, and she herself was his best advocate. pride, too, entered into her submission--which perhaps was a symptom of that
reckless acquiescence in chance tooapparent in the whole d'urberville family-- and the many effective chords which she could have stirred by an appeal were leftuntouched. the remainder of their discourse was onpractical matters only. he now handed her a packet containing afairly good sum of money, which he had obtained from his bankers for the purpose. the brilliants, the interest in whichseemed to be tess's for her life only (if he understood the wording of the will), headvised her to let him send to a bank for safety; and to this she readily agreed.
these things arranged, he walked with tessback to the carriage, and handed her in. the coachman was paid and told where todrive her. taking next his own bag and umbrella--thesole articles he had brought with him hitherwards--he bade her goodbye; and theyparted there and then. the fly moved creepingly up a hill, andclare watched it go with an unpremeditated hope that tess would look out of the windowfor one moment. but that she never thought of doing, wouldnot have ventured to do, lying in a half- dead faint inside. thus he beheld her recede, and in theanguish of his heart quoted a line from a
poet, with peculiar emendations of his own-- god's not in his heaven: all's wrong withthe world! when tess had passed over the crest of thehill he turned to go his own way, and hardly knew that he loved her still.