She had held so aloof of late that her trouble, never generally known, was nearly
forgotten in Marlott. But it became evident to her that she could never be really
comfortable again in a place which had seen the collapse of her family's attempt
to ''claim kin''Ц and, through her, even closer union-with the rich d'Urbervilles.
At least she could not be comfortable there till long years should have obliterated
her keen consciousness of it. Yet even now Tess felt the pulse of hopeful like still
warm within her; she might be happy in some nook which had no memories. To escape
the past and all that appertained thereto was to annihilate it, and to do that she
would have to get away.
Was once lost always lost really true of chastity? she would ask herself. She
might prove it false if she could veil bygones. The recuperative power which pervaded
organic nature was surely not denied to maidenhood alone.
She waited a long time without finding opportunity for a new departure. A particularly
fine spring came round, and the stir of germination was almost audible in the buds;
it moved her, as it moved the wild animals, and made her passionate to go. At last,
one day in early May, a letter reached her from a former friend of her mother's,
to whom she had addressed inquiries long before-a person whom she had never seen-that
a skilful milkmaid was required at a dairy-house many miles to the southward, and
that the dairyman would be glad to have her for the summer months.
It was not quite so far off as could have been wished; but it was probably far
enough, her radius of movement and repute having been so small. To persons of limited
spheres, miles are as geographical degrees, parishes as counties, counties as provinces
and kingdoms. On one point she was resolved: there should be no more d'Urberville
air-castles in the dreams and deeds of her new life. She would be the dairymaid
Tess, and nothing more. Her mother knew Tess's feeling on this point so well, though
no words had passed between them on the subject, that she never alluded to the knightly
Yet such is human inconsistency that one of the interests of the new place to
her was the accidental virtues of its lying near her forefathers' country (for they
were not Blakemore men, though her mother was Blakemore to the bone). The dairy
called Talbothays, for which she was bound, stood not remotely from some of the
former estates of the d'Urbervilles, near the great family vaults of her granddames
and their powerful husbands. She would be able to look at them, and think not only
that d'Urberville, like Babylon, had fallen, but that the individual innocence of
a humble descendant could lapse as silently. All the while she wondered if any strange
good thing might come of her being in her ancestral land; and some spirit within
her rose automatically as the sap in the twigs. It was unexpected youth, surging
up anew after its temporary check, and bringing with it hope, and the invincible
instinct towards self-delight.
Phase the Third: The Rally
On a thyme-scented, bird-hatching morning in May, between two and three years after
the return from Trantridge-silent reconstructive years for Tess Durbeyfield-she
left her home for the second time.
Having packed up her luggage so that it could be sent to her later, she started
in a hired trap for the little town of Stourcastle, through which it was necessary
to pass on her journey, now in a direction almost opposite to that of her first
adventuring. On the curve of the nearest hill she looked back regretfully at Marlott
and her father's house, although she had been so anxious to get away.
Her kindred dwelling there would probably continue their daily lives as heretofore,
with no great diminution of pleasure in their consciousness, although she would
be far off, and they deprived of her smile. In a few days the children would engage
in their games as merrily as ever, without the sense of any gap left by her departure.
This leaving of the younger children she had decided to be for the best; were she
to remain they would probably gain less good by her precepts than harm by her example.
She went through Stourcastle without pausing, and onward to a junction of highways,
where she could await a carrier's van that ran to the south-west; for the railways
which engirdled this interior tract of country had never yet struck across it. While
waiting, however, there came along a farmer in his spring cart, driving approximately
in the direction that she wished to pursue. Though he was a stranger to her she
accepted his offer of a seat beside him, ignoring that its motive was a mere tribute
to her countenance. He was going to Weatherbury, and by accompanying him thither
she could walk the remainder of the distance instead of travelling in the van by
way of Casterbridge.
Tess did not stop at Weatherbury, after this long drive, further than to make
a slight nondescript meal at noon at a cottage to which the farmer recommended her.
Thence she started on foot, basket in hand, to reach the wide upland of heath dividing
this district from the low-lying meads of a further valley in which the dairy stood
that was the aim and end of her day's pilgrimage.
Tess had never before visited this part of the country, and yet she felt akin
to the landscape. Not so very far to the left of her she could discern a dark patch
in the scenery, which inquiry confirmed her in supposing to be trees marking the
environs of Kingsbere-in the church of which parish the bones of her ancestors-her
useless ancestors-lay entombed.
She had no admiration for them now; she almost hated them for the dance they
had led her; not a thing of all that had been theirs did she retain but the old
seal and spoon. ''Pooh-I have as much of mother as father in me!'' she said. ''All
my prettiness comes from her, and she was only a dairymaid.''
The journey over the intervening uplands and lowlands of Egdon, when she reached
them, was a more troublesome walk than she had anticipated, the distance being actually
but a few miles. It was two hours, owing to sundry wrong turnings, ere she found
herself on a summit commanding the long-sought-for vale, the Valley of the Great
Dairies, the valley in which milk and butter grew to rankness, and were produced
more profusely, if less delicately, than at her home-the verdant plain so well watered
by the river Var or Froom.
It was intrinsically different from the Vale of Little Dairies, Blackmoor Vale,
which, save during her disastrous sojourn at Trantridge, she had exclusively known
till now. The world was drawn to a larger pattern here. The enclosures numbered
fifty acres instead of ten, the farmsteads were more extended, the groups of cattle
formed tribes hereabout; there only families. These myriads of cows stretching under
her eyes from the far east to the far west outnumbered any she had ever seen at
one glance before. The green lea was speckled as thickly with them as a canvas by
Van Alsloot or Sallaert with burghers. The ripe hue of the red and dun kine absorbed
the evening sunlight, which the white-coated animals returned to the eye in rays
almost dazzling, even at the distant elevation on which she stood.
The bird's-eye perspective before her was not so luxuriantly beautiful, perhaps,
as that other one which she knew so well; yet it was more cheering. It lacked the
intensely blue atmosphere of the rival vale, and its heavy soils and scents; the
new air was clear, bracing, ethereal. The river itself, which nourished the grass
and cows of these renowned dairies, flowed not like the streams in Blackmoor. Those
were slow, silent, often turbid; flowing over beds of mud into which the incautious
wader might sink and vanish unawares. The Froom waters were clear as the pure River
of Life shown to the Evangelist, rapid as the shadow of a cloud, with pebbly shallows
that prattled to the sky all day long. There the water-flower was the lily; the
Either the change in the quality of the air from heavy to light, or the sense
of being amid new scenes where there were no invidious eyes upon her, sent up her
spirits wonderfully. Her hopes mingled with the sunshine in an ideal photosphere
which surrounded her as she bounded along against the soft south wind. She heard
a pleasant voice in every breeze, and in every bird's note seemed to lurk a joy.
Her face had latterly changed with changing states of mind, continually fluctuating
between beauty and ordinariness, according as the thoughts were gay or grave. One
day she was pink and flawless; another pale and tragical. When she was pink she
was feeling less then when pale; her more perfect beauty accorded with her less
elevated mood; her more intense mood with her less perfect beauty. It was her best
face physically that was now set against the south wind.
The irresistible, universal, automatic tendency to find sweet pleasure somewhere,
which pervades all life, from the meanest to the highest, had at length mastered
Tess. Being even now only a young woman of twenty, one who mentally and sentimentally
had not finished growing, it was impossible that any event should have left upon
her an impression that was not in time capable of transmutation.
And thus her spirits, and her thankfulness, and her hopes, rose higher and higher.
She tried several ballads, but found them inadequate; till, recollecting the psalter
that her eyes had so often wandered over of a Sunday morning before she had eaten
of the tree of knowledge, she chanted: ''O ye Sun and Moon Е O ye Stars Е ye Green
Things upon the Earth Е ye Fowls of the Air Е Beasts and Cattle Е Children of Men
Е bless ye the Lord, praise Him and magnify Him for ever!''
She suddenly stopped and murmured: ''But perhaps I don't quite know the Lord
And probably the half-unconscious rhapsody was a Fetichistic utterance in a Monotheistic
setting; women whose chief companions are the forms and forces of outdoor Nature
retain in their souls far more of the Pagan fantasy of their remote forefathers
than of the systematized religion taught their race at later date. However, Tess
found at least approximate expression for her feelings in the old BENEDICITE that
she had lisped from infancy; and it was enough. Such high contentment with such
a slight initial performance as that of having started towards a means of independent
living was a part of the Durbeyfield temperament. Tess really wished to walk uprightly,
while her father did nothing of the kind; but she resembled him in being content
with immediate and small achievements, and in having no mind for laborious effort
towards such petty social advancement as could alone be effected by a family so
heavily handicapped as the once powerful d'Urbervilles were now.
There was, it might be said, the energy of her mother's unexpected family, as
well as the natural energy of Tess's years, rekindled after the experience which
had so overwhelmed her for the time. Let the truth be told-women do as a rule live
through such humiliations, and regain their spirits, and again look about them with
an interested eye. While there's life there's hope is a conviction not so entirely
unknown to the ''betrayed'' as some amiable theorists would have us believe.
Tess Durbeyfield, then, in good heart, and full of zest for life, descended the
Egdon slopes lower and lower towards the dairy of her pilgrimage.
The marked difference, in the final particular, between the rival vales now showed
itself. The secret of Blackmoor was best discovered from the heights around; to
read aright the valley before her it was necessary to descend into its midst. When
Tess had accomplished this feat she found herself to be standing on a carpeted level,
which stretched to the east and west as far as the eye could reach.
The river had stolen from the higher tracts and brought in particles to the vale
all this horizontal land; and now, exhausted, aged, and attenuated, lay serpentining
along through the midst of its former spoils.
Not quite sure of her direction Tess stood still upon the hemmed expanse of verdant
flatness, like a fly on a billiard-table of indefinite length, and of no more consequence
to the surroundings than that fly. The sole effect of her presence upon the placid
valley so far had been to excite the mind of a solitary heron, which, after descending
to the ground not far from her path, stood with neck erect, looking at her.
Suddenly there arose from all parts of the lowland a prolonged and repeated call-''Waow!
From the furthest east to the furthest west the cries spread as if by contagion,
accompanied in some cases by the barking of a dog. It was not the expression of
the valley's consciousness that beautiful Tess had arrived, but the ordinary announcement
of milking-time-half-past four o'clock, when the dairymen set about getting in the
The red and white herd nearest at hand, which had been phlegmatically waiting
for the call, now trooped towards the steading in the background, their great bags
of milk swinging under them as they walked. Tess followed slowly in their rear,
and entered the barton by the open gate through which they had entered before her.
Long thatched sheds stretched round the enclosure, their slopes encrusted with vivid
green moss, and their eaves supported by wooden posts rubbed to a glossy smoothness
by the flanks of infinite cows and calves of bygone years, now passed to an oblivion
almost inconceivable in its profundity. Between the post were ranged the milchers,
each exhibiting herself at the present moment to a whimsical eye in the rear as
a circle on two stalks, down the centre of which a switch moved pendulum-wise; while
the sun, lowering itself behind this patient row, threw their shadows accurately
inwards upon the wall. Thus it threw shadows of these obscure and homely figures
every evening with as much care over each contour as if it had been the profile
of a court beauty on a palace wall; copied them as diligently as it had copied Olympian
shapes on marble FACADES long ago, or the outline of Alexander, Caesar, and the
They were the less restful cows that were stalled. Those that would stand still
of their own will were milked in the middle of the yard, where many of such better
behaved ones stood waiting now-all prime milchers, such as were seldom seen out
of this valley, and not always within it; nourished by the succulent feed which
the water-meads supplied at this prime season of the year. Those of them that were
spotted with white reflected the sunshine in dazzling brilliancy, and the polished
brass knobs of their horns glittered with something of military display. Their large-veined
udders hung ponderous as sandbags, the teats sticking out like the legs of a gipsy's
crock; and as each animal lingered for her turn to arrive the milk oozed forth and
fell in drops to the ground.
The dairymaids and men had flocked down from their cottages and out of the dairy-house
with the arrival of the cows from the meads; the maids walking in patterns, not
on account of the weather, but to keep their shoes above the mulch of the barton.
Each girl sat down on her three-legged stool, her face sideways, her right cheek
resting against the cow; and looked musingly along the animal's flank at Tess as
she approached. The male milkers, with hat-brims turned down, resting flat on their
foreheads and gazing on the ground, did not observe her.