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The twain cantered along for some time without speech, Tess as she clung to him still panting in her triumph, yet in other respects dubious1. She had perceived that the horse was not the spirited one he sometimes rode, and felt no alarm on that score, though her seat was precarious2 enough despite her tight hold of him. She begged him to slow the animal to a walk, which Alec accordingly did. `Neatly done, was it not, dear Tess?' he said by and by. `Yes!' said she. `I am sure I ought to be much obliged to you.' `And are you?' She did not reply. `Tess, why do you always dislike my kissing you?' `I suppose - because I don't love you.' `You are quite sure?' `I am angry with you sometimes!' `Ah, I half feared as much.' Nevertheless, Alec did not object to that confession3. He knew that anything was better than frigidity4. `Why haven't you told me when I have made you angry?' `You know very well why. Because I cannot help myself here.' `I haven't offended you often by love-making?' `You have sometimes.' `How many times?' `You know as well as I - too many times.' `Every time I have tried.' She was silent, and the horse ambled5 along for a considerable distance, till a faint luminous6 fog, which had hung in the hollows all the evening, became general and enveloped7 them. It seemed to hold the moonlight in suspension, rendering8 it more pervasive9 than in clear air. Whether on this account, or from absentmindedness, or from sleepiness, she did not perceive that they had long ago passed the point at which the lane to Trantridge branched from the highway, and that her conductor had not taken the Trantridge track. She was inexpressibly weary. She had risen at five o'clock every morning of that week, had been on foot the whole of each day and on this evening had in addition walked the three miles to Chaseborough, waited three hours for her neighbours without eating or drinking, her impatience10 to start them preventing either; she had then walked a mile of the way home, and had undergone the excitement of the quarrel, till, with the slow progress of their steed, it was now nearly one o'clock. Only once, however, was she overcome by actual drowsiness11. In that moment of oblivion her head sank gently against him. D'Urberville stopped the horse, withdrew his feet from the stirrups, turned sideways on the saddle, and enclosed her waist with his arm to support her. This immediately put her on the defensive12, and with one of those sudden impulses of reprisal13 to which she was liable she gave him a little push from her. In his ticklish14 position he nearly lost his balance and only just avoided rolling over into the road, the horse, though a powerful one, being fortunately the quietest he rode. `That is devilish unkind!' he said. `I mean no harm - only to keep you from failing.' She pondered suspiciously; till, thinking that this might after all be true, she relented, and said quite humbly15, `I beg your pardon, sir.' `I won't pardon you unless you show some confidence in me. Good God!' he burst out, `what am I, to be repulsed16 so by a mere17 chit like you? For near three mortal months have you trifled with my feelings, eluded18 me, and snubbed me; and I won't stand it!' `I'll leave you to-morrow, sir.' `No, you will not leave me to-morrow! Will you, I ask once more, show your belief in me by letting me clasp you with my arm? Come, between us two and nobody else, now. We know each other well; and you know that I love you, and think you the prettiest girl in the world, which you are. Mayn't I treat you as a lover?' She drew a quick pettish19 breath of objection, writhing20 uneasily on her seat, looked far ahead, and murmured, `I don't know - I wish - how can I say yes or no when--' He settled the matter by clasping his arm round her as he desired, and Tess expressed no further negative. Thus they sidled slowly onward21 till it struck her they had been advancing for an unconscionable time - far longer than was usually occupied by the short journey from Chaseborough, even at this walking pace, and that they were no longer on hard road, but in a mere trackway. `Why, where be we?' she exclaimed. `Passing by a wood.' `A wood - what wood? Surely we are quite out of the road?' `A bit of The Chase - the oldest wood in England. It is a lovely night, and why should we not prolong our ride a little?' `How could you be so treacherous22!' said Tess, between archness and real dismay, and getting rid of his arm by pulling open his fingers one by one, though at the risk of slipping off herself. `Just when I've been putting such trust in you, and obliging you to please you, because I thought I had wronged you by that push! Please set me down, and let me walk home.' `You cannot walk home, darling, even if the air were clear. We are miles away from Trantridge, if I must tell you, and in this growing fog you might wander for hours among these trees.' `Never mind that,' she coaxed23. `Put me down, I beg you. I don't mind where it is; only let me get down, sir, please!' `Very well, then, I will - on one condition. Having brought you here to this out-of-the-way place, I feel myself responsible for your safe-conduct home, whatever you may yourself feel about it. As to your getting to Trantridge without assistance, it is quite impossible; for, to tell the truth, dear, owing to this fog, which so disguises everything, I don't quite know where we are myself. Now, if you will promise to wait beside the horse while I walk through the bushes till I come to some road or house, and ascertain24 exactly our whereabouts, I'll deposit you here willingly. When I come back I'll give you full directions, and if you insist upon walking you may; or you may ride - at your pleasure.' She accepted these terms, and slid off on the near side, though not till he had stolen a cursory25 kiss. He sprang down on the other side. `I suppose I must hold the horse?' said she. `Oh no; it's not necessary,' replied Alec, patting the panting creature. `He's had enough of it for to-night.' He turned the horse's head into the bushes, hitched26 him on to a bough27, and made a sort of couch or nest for her in the deep mass of dead leaves. `Now, you sit there,' he said. `The leaves have not got damp as yet. Just give an eye to the horse - it will be quite sufficient.' He took a few steps away from her, but, returning, said, `By the bye, Tess, your father has a new cob to-day. Somebody gave it to him.' `Somebody? You!' D'Urberville nodded. `O how very good of you that is!' she exclaimed, with a painful sense of the awkwardness of having to thank him just then. `And the children have some toys.' `I didn't know - you ever sent them anything!' she murmured, much moved. `I almost wish you had not - yes, I almost wish it!' `Why, dear?' `Tessy - don't you love me ever so little now?' `I'm grateful,' she reluctantly admitted. `But I fear I do not--' The sudden vision of his passion for herself as a factor in this result so distressed29 her that, beginning with one slow tear, and then following with another, she wept outright30. `Don't cry, dear, dear one! Now sit down here, and wait till I come.' She passively sat down amid the leaves he had heaped, and shivered slightly. `Are you cold?' he asked. `Not very - a little.' He touched her with his fingers, which sank into her as into down. `You have only that puffy muslin dress on - how's that?' `It's my best summer one. 'Twas very warm when I started, and I didn't know I was going to ride, and that it would be night.' `Nights grow chilly31 in September. Let me see.' He pulled off a light overcoat that he had worn, and put it round her tenderly. `That's it - now you'll feel warmer,' he continued. `Now, my pretty, rest there; I shall soon be back again.' Having buttoned the overcoat round her shoulders he plunged32 into the webs of vapour which by this time formed veils between the trees. She could hear the rustling33 of the branches as he ascended34 the adjoining slope, till his movements were no louder than the hopping35 of a bird, and finally died away. With the setting of the moon the pale light lessened36, and Tess became invisible as she fell into reverie upon the leaves where he had left her. In the meantime Alec d'Urberville had pushed on up the slope to clear his genuine doubt as to the quarter of The Chase they were in. He had, in fact, ridden quite at random37 for over an hour, taking any turning that came to hand in order to prolong companionship with her, and giving far more attention to Tess's moonlit person than to any wayside object. A little rest for the jaded38 animal being desirable, he did not hasten his search for landmarks39. A clamber over the hill into the adjoining vale brought him to the fence of a highway whose contours he recognized, which settled the question of their whereabouts. D'Urberville thereupon turned back; but by this time the moon had quite gone down, and partly on account of the fog The Chase was wrapped in thick darkness, although morning was not far off. He was obliged to advance with outstretched hands to avoid contact with the boughs40, and discovered that to hit the exact spot from which he had started was at first entirely41 beyond him. Roaming up and down, round and round, he at length heard a slight movement of the horse close at hand; and the sleeve of his overcoat unexpectedly caught his foot. `Tess!' said d'Urberville. There was no answer. The obscurity was now so great that he could see absolutely nothing but a pale nebulousness at his feet, which represented the white muslin figure he had left upon the dead leaves. Everything else was blackness alike. D'Urberville stooped; and heard a gentle regular breathing. He knelt and bent42 lower, till her breath warmed his face, and in a moment his cheek was in contact with hers. She was sleeping soundly, and upon her eyelashes there lingered tears. Darkness and silence ruled everywhere around. Above them rose the primeval yews43 and oaks of The Chase, in which were poised44 gentle roosting birds in their last nap; and about them stole the hopping rabbits and hares. But, might some say, where was Tess's guardian45 angel? where was the providence46 of her simple faith? Perhaps, like that other god of whom the ironical47 Tishbite spoke48, he was talking, or he was pursuing, or he was in a journey, or he was sleeping and not to be awaked. Why it was that upon this beautiful feminine tissue, sensitive as gossamer49, and practically blank as snow as yet, there should have been traced such a coarse pattern as it was doomed50 to receive; why so often the coarse appropriates the finer thus, the wrong man the woman, the wrong woman the man, many thousand years of analytical51 philosophy have failed to explain to our sense of order. One may, indeed, admit the possibility of a retribution lurking52 in the present catastrophe53. Doubtless some of Tess d'Urberville's mailed ancestors rollicking home from a fray54 had dealt the same measure even more ruthlessly towards peasant girls of their time. But though to visit the sins of the fathers upon the children may be a morality good enough for divinities, it is scorned by average human nature; and it therefore does not mend the matter. As Tess's own people down in those retreats are never tired of saying among each other in their fatalistic way: `It was to be.' There lay the pity of it. An immeasurable social chasm55 was to divide our heroine's personality thereafter from that previous self of hers who stepped from her mother's door to try her fortune at Trantridge poultry-farm. 他们两个骑着马慢慢向前跑了一阵,谁也没有说话,苔丝一直搂着他,由于战胜了对手,心里还在怦怦直跳,不过在其它方面,她心里却有些疑虑。她看见他们骑的这匹马不是他有时候骑的那匹烈性马,所以她并不感到慌张,虽然她紧紧地搂着他还是有些坐不稳。她请他让马慢下来,改跑为走,亚历克照着办了。 这片美丽的女性织品,就像游丝一样的敏感,又实在像白雪一样的洁白,为什么就像她命中注定要接受的那样,一定要在上面画上粗鄙的图案;为什么粗鄙的常常就这样占有了精美的,不该占有这个女人的男人占有了这个女人,不该占有这个男人的女人占有了这个男人,好几千年来,善于分析的哲学家们都没有能够按照我们对于秩序的观念解释清楚。的确,一个人也许认为,在现在这场悲剧里,可能暗藏有报应的因素。毫无疑问,苔丝·德北菲尔德有些身披铠甲的祖先,在他们战斗以后嬉闹着回家的时候,对他们那个时代的农民的女儿们也有过同样的行径,甚至更加粗暴野蛮。不过祖先的罪孽报应在子孙的身上,虽然对诸神来说是一种再好不过的道德准则,但是普通的人类天性对此却不屑一顾;因而对这件事也就毫无用处。 点击 ![]()
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