The interior, in spite of the melody, struck upon the girl's senses with an unspeakable
dreariness. From the holiday gaieties of the field-the white gowns, the nosegays,
the willow-wands, the whirling movements on the green, the flash of gentle sentiment
towards the stranger-to the yellow melancholy of this one-candled spectacle, what
a step! Besides the jar of contrast there came to her a chill self-reproach that
she had not returned sooner, to help her mother in these domesticities, instead
of indulging herself out-of-doors.
There stood her mother amid the group of children, as Tess had left her, hanging
over the Monday washing-tub, which had now, as always, lingered on to the end of
the week. Out of that tub had come the day before-Tess felt it with a dreadful sting
of remorse-the very white frock upon her back which she had so carelessly greened
about the skirt on the damping grass-which had been wrung up and ironed by her mother's
As usual, Mrs Durbeyfield was balanced on one foot beside the tub, the other
being engaged in the aforesaid business of rocking her youngest child. The cradle-rockers
had done hard duty for so many years, under the weight of so many children, on that
flagstone floor, that they were worn nearly flat, in consequence of which a huge
jerk accompanied each swing of the cot, flinging the baby from side to side like
a weaver's shuttle, as Mrs Durbeyfield, excited by her song, trod the rocker with
all the spring that was left in her after a long day's seething in the suds.
Nick-knock, nick-knock, went the cradle; the candle-flame stretched itself tall,
and began jigging up and down; the water dribbled from the matron's elbows, and
the song galloped on to the end of the verse, Mrs Durbeyfield regarding her daughter
the while. Even now, when burdened with a young family, Joan Durbeyfield was a passionate
lover of tune. No ditty floated into Blackmoor Vale from the outer world but Tess's
mother caught up its notation in a week.
There still faintly beamed from the woman's features something of the freshness,
and even the prettiness, of her youth; rendering it probable that the personal charms
which Tess could boast of were in main part her mother's gift, and therefore unknightly,
''I'll rock the cradle for 'ee, mother,'' said the daughter gently. ''Or I'll
take off my best frock and help you wring up? I thought you had finished long ago.''
Her mother bore Tess no ill-will for leaving the housework to her single-handed
efforts for so long; indeed, Joan seldom upbraided her thereon at any time, feeling
but slightly the lack of Tess's assistance whilst her instinctive plan for relieving
herself of her labours lay in postponing them. Tonight, however, she was even in
a blither mood than usual. There was a dreaminess, a pre-occupation, an exaltation,
in the maternal look which the girl could not understand.
''Well, I'm glad you've come,'' her mother said, as soon as the last note had
passed out of her, ''I want to go and fetch your father; but what's more'n that,
I want to tell 'ee what have happened. Y'll be fess enough, my poppet, when th'st
know!'' (Mrs Durbeyfield habitually spoke the dialect; her daughter, who had passed
the Sixth Standard in the National School under a London-trained mistress, spoke
two languages: the dialect at home, more or less; ordinary English abroad and to
persons of quality.)
''Since I've been away?'' Tess asked.
''Had it anything to do with father's making such a mommet of himself in thik
carriage this afternoon? Why did 'er? I felt inclined to sink into the ground with
''That wer all a part of the larry! We've been found to be the greatest gentlefolk
in the whole county-reaching all back long before Oliver Grumble's time-to the days
of the Pagan Turks-with monuments, and vaults, and crests, and ''scutcheons, and
the Lord knows what all. In Saint Charles's days we was made Knights o' the Royal
Oak, our real name being d'Urberville! Е Don't that make your bosom plim? 'Twas
on this account that your father rode home in the vlee; not because he'd been drinking,
as people supposed.''
''I'm glad of that. Will it do us any good, mother?''
''O yes! 'Tis thoughted that great things may come o't. No doubt a mampus of
volk of our own rank will be down here in their carriages as soon as 'tis known.
Your father learnt it on his way hwome from Shaston, and he has been telling me
the whole pedigree of the matter.''
''Where is father now?'' asked Tess suddenly.
Her mother gave irrelevant information by way of answer: ''He called to see the
doctor today in Shaston. It is not consumption at all, it seems. It is fat round
his heart, 'a says. There, it is like this.'' Joan Durbeyfield, as she spoke, curved
a sodden thumb and forefinger to the shape of the letter C, and used the other forefinger
as a pointer, '''At the present moment,' he says to your father, 'your heart is
enclosed all round there, and all round there; this space is still open,' 'a says.
'As soon as it do meet, so,'''-Mrs Durbeyfield closed her fingers into a circle
complete-'''off you will go like a shadder, Mr Durbeyfield,' 'a says. 'You mid last
ten years; you mid go off in ten months, or ten days.'''
Tess looked alarmed. Her father possibly to go behind the eternal cloud so soon,
notwithstanding this sudden greatness!
''But where IS father?'' she asked again.
Her mother put on a deprecating look. ''Now don't you be bursting out angry!
The poor man-he felt so rafted after his uplifting by the pa'son's news-that he
went up to Rolliver's half an hour ago. He do want to get up his strength for his
journey tomorrow with that load of beehives, which must be delivered, family or
no. He'll have to start shortly after twelve tonight, as the distance is so long.''
''Get up his strength!'' said Tess impetuously, the tears welling to her eyes.
''O my God! Go to a public-house to get up his strength! And you as well agreed
as he, mother!''
Her rebuke and her mood seemed to fill the whole room, and to impart a cowed
look to the furniture, and candle, and children playing about, and to her mother's
''No,'' said the latter touchily, ''I be not agreed. I have been waiting for
'ee to bide and keep house while I go fetch him.''
''O no, Tess. You see, it would be no use.''
Tess did not expostulate. She knew what her mother's objection meant. Mrs Durbeyfield's
jacket and bonnet were already hanging slily upon a chair by her side, in readiness
for this contemplated jaunt, the reason for which the matron deplored more than
''And take the COMPLEAT FORTUNE-TELLER to the outhouse,'' Joan continued, rapidly
wiping her hands, and donning the garments.
The COMPLEAT FORTUNE-TELLER was an old thick volume, which lay on a table at
her elbow, so worn by pocketing that the margins had reached the edge of the type.
Tess took it up, and her mother started.
This going to hunt up her shiftless husband at the inn was one of Mrs Durbeyfield's
still extant enjoyments in the muck and muddle of rearing children. To discover
him at Rolliver's, to sit there for an hour or two by his side and dismiss all thought
and care of the children during the interval, made her happy. A sort of halo, an
occidental glow, came over life then. Troubles and other realities took on themselves
a meta-physical impalpability, sinking to mere mental phenomena for serene contemplation,
and no longer stood as pressing concretions which chafed body and soul. The youngsters,
not immediately within sight, seemed rather bright and desirable appurtenances than
otherwise; the incidents of daily life were not without humorousness and jollity
in their aspect there. She felt a little as she had used to feel when she sat by
her now wedded husband in the same spot during his wooing, shutting her eyes to
his defects of character, and regarding him only in his ideal presentation as lover.
Tess, being left alone with the younger children, went first to the outhouse
with the fortune-telling book, and stuffed it into the thatch. A curious fetichistic
fear of this grimy volume on the part of her mother prevented her ever allowing
it to stay in the house all night, and hither it was brought back whenever it had
been consulted. Between the mother, with her fast-perishing lumber of superstitions,
folk-lore, dialect, and orally transmitted ballads, and the daughter, with her trained
National teachings and Standard knowledge under an infinitely Revised Code, there
was a gap of two hundred years as ordinarily understood. When they were together
the Jacobean and the Victorian ages were juxtaposed.
Returning along the garden path Tess mused on what the mother could have wished
to ascertain from the book on this particular day. She guessed the recent ancestral
discovery to bear upon it, but did not divine that it solely concerned herself.
Dismissing this, however, she busied herself with sprinkling the linen dried during
the daytime, in company with her nine-year-old brother Abraham, and her sister Eliza-Louisa
of twelve and a half, call '''Liza-Lu,'' the youngest ones being put to bed. There
was an interval of four years and more between Tess and the next of the family,
the two who had filled the gap having died in their infancy, and this lent her a
deputy-maternal attitude when she was alone with her juniors. Next in juvenility
to Abraham came two more girls, Hope and Modesty; then a boy of three, and then
the baby, who had just completed his first year.
All these young souls were passengers in the Durbeyfield ship-entirely dependent
on the judgement of the two Durbeyfield adults for their pleasures, their necessities,
their health, even their existence. If the heads of the Durbeyfield household chose
to sail into difficulty, disaster, starvation, disease, degradation, death, thither
were these half-dozen little captives under hatches compelled to sail with them-six
helpless creatures, who had never been asked if they wished for life on any terms,
much less if they wished for it on such hard conditions as were involved in being
of the shiftless house of Durbeyfield. Some people would like to know whence the
poet whose philosophy is in these days deemed as profound and trustworthy as his
song is breezy and pure, gets his authority for speaking of ''Nature's holy plan.''
It grew later, and neither father nor mother reappeared. Tess looked out of the
door, and took a mental journey through Marlott. The village was shutting its eyes.
Candles and lamps were being put out everywhere: she could inwardly behold the extinguisher
and the extended hand.
Her mother's fetching simply meant one more to fetch. Tess began to perceive
that a man in indifferent health, who proposed to start on a journey before one
in the morning, ought not to be at an inn at this late hour celebrating his ancient
''Abraham,'' she said to her little brother, ''do you put on your hat-you bain't
afraid?-and go up to Rolliver's, and see what has gone wi' father and mother.''
The boy jumped promptly from his seat, and opened the door, and the night swallowed
him up. Half an hour passed yet again; neither man, woman, nor child returned. Abraham,
like his parents, seemed to have been limed and caught by the ensnaring inn.
''I must go myself,'' she said.
'Liza-Lu then went to bed, and Tess, locking them all in, started on her way
up the dark and crooked lane or street not made for hasty progress; a street laid
out before inches of land had value, and when one-handed clocks sufficiently subdivided
Rolliver's inn, the single alehouse at this end of the long and broken village,
could only boast of an off-licence; hence, as nobody could legally drink on the
premises, the amount of overt accommodation for consumers was strictly limited to
a little board about six inches wide and two yards long, fixed to the garden palings
by pieces of wire, so as to form a ledge. On this board thirsty strangers deposited
their cups as they stood in the road and drank, and threw the dregs on the dusty
ground to the pattern of Polynesia, and wished they could have a restful seat inside.
Thus the strangers. But there were also local customers who felt the same wish;
and where there's a will there's a way.
In a large bedroom upstairs, the window of which was thickly curtained with a
great woollen shawl lately discarded by the landlady Mrs Rolliver, were gathered
on this evening nearly a dozen persons, all seeking beatitude; all old inhabitants
of the nearer end of Marlott, and frequenters of this retreat. Not only did the
distance to the The Pure Drop, the fully-licensed tavern at the further part of
the dispersed village, render its accommodation practically unavailable for dwellers
at this end; but the far more serious question, the quality of the liquor, confirmed
the prevalent opinion that it was better to drink with Rolliver in a corner of the
housetop than with the other landlord in a wide house.
A gaunt four-post bedstead which stood in the room afforded sitting-space for
several persons gathered round three of its sides; a couple more men had elevated
themselves on a chest of drawers; another rested on the oak-carved ''cwoffer'';
two on the wash-stand; another on the stool; and thus all were, somehow, seated
at their ease. The stage of mental comfort to which they had arrived at this hour
was one wherein their souls expanded beyond their skins, and spread their personalities
warmly through the room. In this process the chamber and its furniture grew more
and more dignified and luxurious; the shawl hanging at the window took upon itself
the richness of tapestry; the brass handles of the chest of drawers were as golden
knockers; and the carved bedposts seemed to have some kinship with the magnificent
pillars of Solomon's temple.