''But you used to be as good a dairywoman as I.''
''Yes; but I've got out o' that since I took to drink. Lord, that's the only
comfort I've got now! If you engage, you'll be set swede-hacking. That's what I
be doing; but you won't like it.''
''O-anything! Will you speak for me?''
''You will do better by speaking for yourself.''
''Very well. Now, Marian, remember-nothing about HIM, if I get the place. I don't
wish to bring his name down to the dirt.''
Marian, who was really a trustworthy girl though of coarser grain than Tess,
promised anything she asked.
''This is pay-night,'' she said, ''and if you were to come with me you would
know at once. I be real sorry that you are not happy; but 'tis because he's away,
I know. You couldn't be unhappy if he were here, even if he gie'd ye no money-even
if used you like a drudge.''
''That's true; I could not!''
They walked on together, and soon reached the farmhouse, which was almost sublime
in its dreariness. There was not a tree within sight; there was not, at this season,
a green pasture-nothing but fallow and turnips everywhere; in large fields divided
by hedges plashed to unrelieved levels.
Tess waited outside the door of the farmhouse till the group of workfolk had
received their wages, and then Marian introduced her. The farmer himself, it appeared,
was not at home, but his wife, who represented him this evening, made no objection
to hiring Tess, on her agreeing to remain till Old Lady-Day. Female field-labour
was seldom offered now, and its cheapness made it profitable for tasks which women
could perform as readily as men.
Having signed the agreement, there was nothing more for Tess to do at present
than to get a lodging, and she found one in the house at whose gable-wall she had
warmed herself. It was a poor subsistence that she had ensured, but it would afford
a shelter for the winter at any rate.
That night she wrote to inform her parents of her new address, in case a letter
should arrive at Marlott from her husband. But she did not tell them of the sorriness
of her situation: it might have brought reproach upon him.
There was no exaggeration in Marian's definition of Flintcomb-Ash farm as a starve-acre
place. The single fat thing on the soil was Marian herself; and she was an importation.
Of the three classes of village, the village cared for by its lord, the village
cared for by itself, and the village uncared for either by itself or by its lord
(in other words, the village of a resident squires's tenantry, the village of free
or copy-holders, and the absentee-owner's village, farmed with the land) this place,
Flintcomb-Ash, was the third.
But Tess set to work. Patience, that blending of moral courage with physical
timidity, was now no longer a minor feature in Mrs Angel Clare; and it sustained
The swede-field in which she and her companion were set hacking was a stretch
of a hundred odd acres, in one patch, on the highest ground of the farm, rising
above stony lanchets or lynchets-the outcrop of siliceous veins in the chalk formation,
composed of myriads of loose white flints in bulbous, cusped, and phallic shapes.
The upper half of each turnip had been eaten off by the live-stock, and it was the
business of the two women to grub up the lower or earthy half of the root with a
hooked fork called a hacker, that it might be eaten also. Every leaf of the vegetable
having already been consumed, the whole field was in colour a desolate drab; it
was a complexion without features, as if a face, from chin to brow, should be only
an expanse of skin. The sky wore, in another colour, the same likeness; a white
vacuity of countenance with the lineaments gone. So these two upper and nether visages
confronted each other all day long, the white face looking down on the brown face,
and the brown face looking up at the white face, without anything standing between
them but the two girls crawling over the surface of the former like flies.
Nobody came near them, and their movements showed a mechanical regularity; their
forms standing enshrouded in Hessian ''wroppers''-sleeved brown pinafores, tied
behind to the bottom, to keep their gowns from blowing about-scant skirts revealing
boots that reached high up the ankles, and yellow sheepskin gloves with gauntlets.
The pensive character which the curtained hood lent to their bent heads would have
reminded the observer of some early Italian conception of the two Marys.
They worked on hour after hour, unconscious of the forlorn aspect they bore in
the landscape, not thinking of the justice or injustice of their lot. Even in such
a position as theirs it was possible to exist in a dream. In the afternoon the rain
came on again, and Marian said that they need not work any more. But if they did
not work they would not be paid; so they worked on. It was so high a situation,
this field, that the rain had no occasion to fall, but raced along horizontally
upon the yelling wind, sticking into them like glass splinters till they were wet
through. Tess had not known till now what was really meant by that. There are degrees
of dampness, and a very little is called being wet through in common talk. But to
stand working slowly in a field, and feel the creep of rain-water, first in legs
and shoulders, then on hips and head, then at back, front, and sides, and yet to
work on till the leaden light diminishes and marks that the sun is down, demands
a distinct modicum of stoicism, even of valour.
Yet they did not feel the wetness so much as might be supposed. They were both
young, and they were talking of the time when they lived and loved together at Talbothays
Dairy, that happy green tract of land where summer had been liberal in her gifts;
in substance to all, emotionally to these. Tess would fain not have conversed with
Marian of the man who was legally, if not actually, her husband; but the irresistible
fascination of the subject betrayed her into reciprocating Marian's remarks. And
thus, as has been said, though the damp curtains of their bonnets flapped smartly
into their faces, and their wrappers clung about them to wearisomeness, they lived
all this afternoon in memories of green, sunny, romantic Talbothays.
''You can see a gleam of a hill within a few miles o' Froom Valley from here
when 'tis fine,'' said Marian.
''Ah! Can you?'' said Tess, awake to the new value of this locality.
So the two forces were at work here as everywhere, the inherent will to enjoy,
and the circumstantial will against enjoyment. Marian's will had a method of assisting
itself by taking from her pocket as the afternoon wore on a pint bottle corked with
white rag, from which she invited Tess to drink. Tess's unassisted power of dreaming,
however, being enough for her sublimation at present, she declined except the merest
sip, and then Marian took a pull from the spirits.
''I've got used to it,'' she said, ''and can't leave it off now. 'Tis my only
comfort-You see I lost him: you didn't; and you can do without it perhaps.''
Tess thought her loss as great as Marian's, but upheld by the dignity of being
Angel's wife, in the letter at least, she accepted Marian's differentiation.
Amid this scene Tess slaved in the morning frosts and in the afternoon rains.
When it was not swede-grubbing it was swede-trimming, in which process they sliced
off the earth and the fibres with a bill-hook before storing the roots for future
use. At this occupation they could shelter themselves by a thatched hurdle if it
rained; but if it was frosty even their thick leather gloves could not prevent the
frozen masses they handled from biting their fingers. Still Tess hoped. She had
a conviction that sooner or later the magnanimity which she persisted in reckoning
as a chief ingredient of Clare's character would lead him to rejoin her.
Marian, primed to a humorous mood, would discover the queer-shaped flints aforesaid,
and shriek with laughter, Tess remaining severely obtuse. They often looked across
the country to where the Var or Froom was know to stretch, even though they might
not be able to see it; and, fixing their eyes on the cloaking gray mist, imagined
the old times they had spent out there.
''Ah,'' said Marian, ''how I should like another or two of our old set to come
here! Then we could bring up Talbothays every day here afield, and talk of he, and
of what nice times we had there, and o' the old things we used to know, and make
it all come back a'most, in seeming!'' Marian's eyes softened, and her voice grew
vague as the visions returned. ''I'll write to Izz Huett,'' she said. ''She's biding
at home doing nothing now, I know, and I'll tell her we be here, and ask her to
come; and perhaps Retty is well enough now.''
Tess had nothing to say against the proposal, and the next she heard of this
plan for importing old Talbothays' joys was two or three days later, when Marian
informed her that Izz had replied to her inquiry, and had promised to come if she
There had not been such a winter for years. It came on in stealthy and measured
glides, like the moves of a chess-player. One morning the few lonely trees and the
thorns of the hedgerows appeared as if they had put off a vegetable for an animal
integument. Every twig was covered with a white nap as of fur grown from the rind
during the night, giving it four times its usual stoutness; the whole bush or tree
forming a staring sketch in white lines on the mournful gray of the sky and horizon.
Cobwebs revealed their presence on sheds and walls where none had ever been observed
till brought out into visibility by the crystallizing atmosphere, hanging like loops
of white worsted from salient points of the out-houses, posts, and gates.
After this season of congealed dampness came a spell of dry frost, when strange
birds from behind the North Pole began to arrive silently on the upland of Flintcomb-Ash;
gaunt spectral creatures with tragical eyes-eyes which had witnessed scenes of cataclysmal
horror in inaccessible polar regions of a magnitude such as no human being had ever
conceived, in curdling temperatures that no man could endure; which had beheld the
crash of icebergs and the slide of snow-hills by the shooting light of the Aurora;
been half blinded by the whirl of colossal storms and terraqueous distortions; and
retained the expression of feature that such scenes had engendered. These nameless
birds came quite near to Tess and Marian, but of all they had seen which humanity
would never see, they brought no account. The traveller's ambition to tell was not
theirs, and, with dumb impassivity, they dismissed experiences which they did not
value for the immediate incidents of this homely upland-the trivial movements of
the two girls in disturbing the clods with their hackers so as to uncover something
or other that these visitants relished as food.
Then one day a peculiar quality invaded the air of this open country. There came
a moisture which was not of rain, and a cold which was not of frost. It chilled
the eyeballs of the twain, made their brows ache, penetrated to their skeletons,
affecting the surface of the body less than its core. They knew that it meant snow,
and in the night the snow came. Tess, who continued to live at the cottage with
the warm gable that cheered any lonely pedestrian who paused beside it, awoke in
the night, and heard above the thatch noises which seemed to signify that the roof
had turned itself into a gymnasium of all the winds. When she lit her lamp to get
up in the morning she found that the snow had blown through a chink in the casement,
forming a white cone of the finest powder against the inside, and had also come
down the chimney, so that it lay sole-deep upon the floor, on which her shoes left
tracks when she moved about. Without, the storm drove so fast as to create a snow-mist
in the kitchen; but as yet it was too dark out-of-doors to see anything.
Tess knew that it was impossible to go on with the swedes; and by the time she
had finished breakfast beside the solitary little lamp, Marian arrived to tell her
that they were to join the rest of the women at reed-drawing in the barn till the
weather changed. As soon, therefore, as the uniform cloak of darkness without began
to turn to a disordered medley of grays, they blew out the lamp, wrapped themselves
up in their thickest pinners, tied their woollen cravats round their necks and across
their chests, and started for the barn. The snow had followed the birds from the
polar basin as a white pillar of a cloud, and individual flakes could not be seen.
The blast smelt of icebergs, arctic seas, whales, and white bears, carrying the
snow so that it licked the land but did not deepen on it. They trudged onwards with
slanted bodies through the flossy fields, keeping as well as they could in the shelter
of hedges, which, however, acted as strainers rather than screens. The air, afflicted
to pallor with the hoary multitudes that infested it, twisted and spun them eccentrically,
suggesting an achromatic chaos of things. But both the young women were fairly cheerful;
such weather on a dry upland is not in itself dispiriting.
''Ha-ha! the cunning northern birds knew this was coming,'' said Marian. ''Depend
upon't, they keep just in front o't all the way from the North Star. Your husband,
my dear, is, I make no doubt, having scorching weather all this time. Lord, if he
could only see his pretty wife now! Not that this weather hurts your beauty at all-in
fact, it rather does it good.''
''You mustn't talk about him to me, Marian,'' said Tess severely.
''Well, but-surely you care for'n! Do you?''
Instead of answering, Tess, with tears in her eyes, impulsively faced in the
direction in which she imagined South America to lie, and, putting up her lips,
blew out a passionate kiss upon the snowy wind.
''Well, well, I know you do. But 'pon my body, it is a rum life for a married
couple! There-I won't say another word! Well, as for the weather, it won't hurt
us in the wheat-barn; but reed-drawing is fearful hard work-worse than swede-hacking.
I can stand it because I'm stout; but you be slimmer than I. I can't think why maister
should have set 'ee at it.''