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属类: 双语小说 【分类】世界名著 -[作者: 托马斯-哈代] 阅读:[31919]
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安琪尔骑着马,一路翻山越谷,在正午的太阳里走了二十多英里路,到了下午,走到了泰波塞斯西边一两英里地方的一个孤立的小山岗上,抬头望去,又看见了前面的低谷瓦尔谷,也就是佛卢姆谷,谷中水分充足,土地滋润,一片青绿。他立刻离开那块高地,向下面那片冲积而成的肥沃土壤走去,空气也变得浓重起来;夏天的果实、雾气、干草、野花散发出懒洋洋的芬芳,汇聚成一个巨大的芳香湖泊,在这个时候,似乎所有的鸟兽、蜜蜂、蝴蝶,受到香气的熏陶,都要一个个睡去了。对于这个地方,克莱尔现在已经非常熟悉了,所以他虽然从老远的地方望见点缀在草地上的牛群,也能够叫出每一头牛的名字来。他心里有一种享受的感觉,因为某些方面他现在和学生时代的他完全不一样了,认识到自己在这儿具有从内部观察生活的能力。虽然他深爱自己的父母,但是现在他也不禁深深感觉到,他回家住了几天,再回到这里,心里就有了一种摆脱羁绊束缚的感觉;泰波塞斯没有固定的地主,在这个地方,对英国农村社会的荒诞行为,甚至连通常的约束也没有。

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奶牛场上,门外看不见一个人。奶牛场里的居民,都在像平常一样享受午后一个小时左右的小睡,夏天起床非常早,中午小睡一会儿是不可缺少的;门前有一棵用来挂牛奶桶的剥了树皮的橡树桩固定在地上,树权上挂着带箍的木桶,木桶经过不断的擦洗,已经让水泡透了,洗白了,挂在那儿就像一顶顶帽子;所有的木桶都洗静了,晒干了,准备晚上挤牛奶使用。安琪尔走进院子,穿过屋子里静静的走道,来到后面,站在那儿听了一会儿。房里睡着几个男工,可以听见从房内传出来的他们的鼾声;在更远一点儿的地方,有一些猪热得难受,发出哼哼唧唧的叫声。长着宽大叶子的大黄和卷心菜也都入睡了,它们宽阔的叶面在太阳下低垂着,就像是半开半合的阳伞。

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他把马嚼松开,喂上马,再回到屋里的时候,时钟刚好敲响了三点。这是下午撇奶油的时候;钟声一响,克莱尔就听见了头上楼板的咯吱声,听见了有人从楼梯上下楼的脚步声。那正是苔丝走路的声音。又过了一会儿,苔丝下了楼,出现在他的面前。

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克莱尔进屋时她没有听见,也没有想到他会在楼下。她正打着阿欠,克莱尔看见她嘴里面红红的,仿佛蛇的嘴一样。她把一只胳臂高高地举起来,伸在已经被盘起来的头发上面,看得见头上被太阳晒黑的皮肤的上面部分,像缎子一样光滑白嫩;她的脸睡得红红的,眼皮低垂着,遮住了瞳孔。她的浑身上下都散发出女性成熟的气息。正是在这种时刻,一个女人的灵魂才比任何时候更像女人;也正是在这种时候,超凡脱俗的美才显示出肉欲的一面;女性的特征才在外面表现出来。

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接着,她的一双眼睛从惺松朦胧中睁开了,闪着明亮的光,不过她脸上其它的部分还没有完全清醒过来。她脸上的表情是奇特的、复杂的,有高兴,有羞怯,也有意外,她喊着说:

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“啊,克莱尔先生!你把我吓了一跳——我——”

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最初她还没有来得及想到,克莱尔已经向她表明了心迹,他们的关系已经发生变化了;克莱尔向楼梯跟前走去,苔丝看见他一脸的温情,这才完全意识到这件事情,这种意识随着又在她的脸上表现出来。

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“亲爱的,亲爱的苔丝呀!”他低声说,一边伸出胳臂搂着她,一边把脸朝着苔丝羞红了的脸。“千万不要再叫我先生了。我这样早赶回来,全是为了你呀!”

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苔丝那颗容易激动的心紧靠着克莱尔跳动着,作为对他的回答;他们就站在门厅的红地砖上,克莱尔紧紧地把苔丝搂在怀里,太阳从窗户里斜射进来,照在他的背上;也照在苔丝低垂着的脸上,照在她太阳穴上的蓝色血管上,照在她裸露的胳膊和脖颈上,照进了她又浓又密的头发里。她是和衣而卧的,所以身上暖暖的,像一只晒过太阳的猫。她起初不肯抬头看他,但是不久就抬起头看着他,大概就是夏娃第二次醒来时看亚当的样子,克莱尔也看着她的眼睛,一直看到了她那变幻不定的瞳仁的深处,只见里面闪耀着蓝色、黑色和紫色的光彩。

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“我得去撇奶油了,”她解释说,“今天只有老德贝拉一个人帮我。克里克太太和克里克先生一起上市场去了,莱蒂不舒服,别的人也有事出了门,不到挤牛奶的时候不会回来。”

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他们在往牛奶房走的时候,德贝拉·费安德从楼梯上露面了。

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“我已经回来了,德贝拉,”克莱尔抬起头来说。“我来帮苔丝撇奶油吧;我想你肯定很累,挤牛奶的时候你再下来吧。”

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当天下午,泰波塞斯的奶油可能没有完全撇干净。苔丝宛如在梦里一样,平常熟悉的物体,看起来只是一些明暗不清、变幻不定的影子,没有特别的形体和清楚的轮廓。她每次把撇奶油的勺子拿到冷水管下面冷却时,手直发颤,她也可以感觉到他的感情是那样炽热,而她就像是猛烈燃烧着的太阳底下的一棵植物,似乎想避开逃走。

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接着他又把她紧紧的拥抱在自己的身边,当苔丝伸出食指沿着铅桶把奶油的边缘切断时,他就用天然的办法把她的食指吸吮干净;因为泰波塞斯毫无拘束的生活方式,现在倒给了他们方便。

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“我早晚是要对你说的,不如现在就对你说了吧,最亲爱的,”他继续温情地说。“我想问你一件非常实际的事情,从上星期草场上那一天开始,我一直在考虑这件事。我打算不久就结婚,既然做一个农场主,你明白,我就应该选择一个懂得管理农场的女人做妻子。你愿意做那个女人吗,苔丝?”

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他提出这件事的时候,他的表情不会让她产生误解,以为他是一时屈服于感情冲动而理智并不赞成。

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苔丝的脸上立刻愁云密布。他们相互接近,她必然会爱上他,她对这个不可避免的结果已经屈服了;但是她没有想到这个突然而来的结果,这件事克莱尔确实在她面前提出过,但是他完全没有说过会这样快就结婚。她是一个高尚的女子,嘟哝着说了一些不可避免的和发誓的话作为回答,说的时候带着痛苦,就像一个将死的人所遭受的苦难一样。

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“啊,克莱尔先生——我不能做你的妻子——我不能!”

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苔丝把自己的决定说了出来,从她的声音可以听出来,她似乎是肝肠寸断,痛苦地把头低着。

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“可是,苔丝!”克莱尔听了,对她的回答觉得奇怪,就把她拥抱得比先前更紧了。“你不答应吗?你肯定不爱我吗?”

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“啊,爱你,爱你的!我愿意做你的妻子,而不愿意做这个世界上其他人的妻子,”痛苦不堪的姑娘用甜蜜的诚实的声音回答说。“可是我不能嫁给你!”

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“苔丝,”他伸出胳膊抓住她说,“你该不是和别人订婚了吧!”

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“没有,没有!”

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“那么你为什么要拒绝我?”

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“我不想结婚!我没有想到结婚。我不能结婚!我只是愿意爱你。”

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“可是为什么呢?”

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她被逼得无话可说了,就结结巴巴地说——

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“你的父亲是一个牧师,你的母亲是不会同意你娶我这样的人的。她会让你娶一位小姐的。”

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“没有的话——我已经对他们两个人都说过了。这就是我回家的部分原因呀。”

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“我觉得我不能嫁给你——永远,永远不能!”她回答说。

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“是不是我这样向你求婚太突然了,我的美人儿?”

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“是的——我一点儿也没有想到。”

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“如果你想把这件事拖一拖,也行,苔丝,我会给你时间的,”他说。“我一回来就立刻向你提这件事,的确是太唐突了。隔一阵儿我再提这件事吧。”

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她又拿起了撇奶油的勺子,把勺子伸到水管子下面,重新开始工作起来。可是她无法像在其它时候那样,能够用所需要的灵巧手法,把勺子精确地伸到奶油的底层下面。她尽力而为,但是有时候她把勺子撇到了牛奶里,有时候什么也撇不着。她的眼睛几乎看不见了,悲伤给她的一双眼睛注满了泪水,模糊了她的视线;对于她这位最好的朋友,她亲爱的辩护人,她是永远无法向他解释的。

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“我撇不着奶油了——我撇不着了!”她转过身去说。

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为了不让她激动,不妨碍她的工作,细心体贴的克莱尔开始用一种更加轻松的方式同她说话:

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“你完全误解了我的父母。他们都是最朴实的人,也是完全没有野心的人。福音派的教徒所剩无几了,他们就是其中的两个。苔丝,你是一个福音教徒吗?”

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“我不知道。”

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“你是定期上教堂的,他们告诉我,我们这儿的牧师并不是什么高教派。”

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苔丝每个星期都去教堂听教区的牧师讲道,但是她对那个牧师的印象却十分模糊,甚至比从来都没有见过那个牧师的克莱尔还要模糊。

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“我希望能专心致志地听他讲道,但是我在那儿又老是不能专下心来。”她说着不会让人多心的普通话题。“对这件事我常常感到非常难过。”

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她说得那样坦诚自然,安琪尔心里相信他的父亲是不能用宗教方面的理由反对苔丝了,即使她弄不清楚自己是高教派、低教派还是广教派,这也没有什么关系。但是安琪尔知道,她心中混乱的宗教信仰,明显是在儿童时代受到熏陶的结果,真正说来,就使用的词句而论,是特拉克特主义的①,就精神实质而论,是泛神论的。混乱也罢,不混乱也罢,他绝没有想到要去纠正它们:

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①特拉克特主义(Tractarian),一种英国宗教运动,又称牛津运动,因这一派自1832年到1841年发表九十本小册子,主张英国国教归于天主教,反对新教,后因遭人反对而逐渐消亡。

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你的妹妹在祈祷,不要去打搅

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她儿时的天堂,幸福的观念;

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也不要用晦涩的暗示搅乱

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她在美妙岁月里过的生活。①

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①该诗引自丁尼生(Alfted Lord Tennyson)的诗《纪念阿塞·哈莱姆》(In Memorian)第三十三节。

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他曾经认为,这首诗的主旨不如它的韵律可靠;但是他现在却乐意遵从它了。

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他继续谈他回家后的种种琐事,谈他父亲的生活方式,谈他父亲追求生活原则的热情;苔丝也慢慢安静下来,撇奶油时手也不发颤了;他陪着她一桶一桶地撇着奶油,又帮她把塞子拔掉,把牛奶放出来。

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“你刚进来的时候,我觉得你情绪不太好似的。”她冒昧地问,尽量绕开与自己有关的话题。

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“是的——哦,我父亲跟我谈了许多的话,谈他的烦恼,谈他的困难,他谈的话对我总是有一种压抑的感觉。他是一个热情认真的人,遇到同他的想法不同的人,他们不仅冷淡他,甚至还动手打他,像他这样大年纪的一个人,我不愿意他遭受侮辱,尤其是一个人热心到那种程度,我认为并没有什么用处。他还告诉过我新近他遭遇的一件叫人非常不痛快的事。有一次他当一个讲道团的代表,到附近的特兰里奇去讲道,那是离这儿四十英里的一个地方,在那儿遇见了一个地主的儿子,妈妈是个瞎子。儿子是一个放荡狂妄的青年,我父亲就担负起教导他的责任,直截了当地教导他,结果竟引出了一场麻烦。我一定要说,我父亲太傻了,既然劝说明显是没有用的,何必去对一个素不相识的人费口舌呢。但是不管什么事,他只要认为是他的职责,他就不管什么时候,都要去做;当然,他结下了不少的仇人,其中不仅有绝对的坏人,也有一些容易相处的人,他们恨父亲多管闲事。他说,他的光荣就在发生的这些事情里,说善是在间接中实现的;可是我希望他不要老是这样自找苦吃,他已经渐渐老了,就让那些猪猡在污泥中打滚好了。”

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苔丝的脸色变得呆滞憔悴了,红润的嘴唇露出凄惨的情态;但是再也没有看见她有颤栗的表现。克莱尔又想起了他的父亲,因此没有注意到苔丝的特别表现;他们就这样继续撇那一长排方形盆子里的牛奶,直到都撇完了,牛奶都放掉了才歇手。其他的挤奶女工也来了,拎起了她们的牛奶桶,德贝拉也下来刷洗铅桶,预备装新的牛奶。在首丝到草场上去挤牛奶的时候,克莱尔温柔地问她——

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“我问的问题你还没有回答呢,苔丝?”

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“啊,不行——不行!”苔丝郑重和绝望地说,因为她刚才听见克莱尔说的德贝维尔的故事,又引发了她过去的痛苦。“我不可能嫁给你。”

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她出了门,向草场走去,一步就跨进了挤奶女工的队伍中,仿佛要利用户外的新鲜空气,来赶走心中的不快。所有的女工们都向在远处草场上吃草的奶牛走去,这一群勇敢的姑娘身上带着野性的美,她们是一群已经习惯了不受任何拘束的姑娘,迈着自由随便的步子,在空旷的野外走着,就好像游泳的人去追逐波浪一样。克莱尔又看见了苔丝,现在他觉得,从无拘无束的自然中选择一个伴侣,而不是从艺术的宫殿里去选择伴侣,这都是再自然不过的。

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It was not till the evening, after family prayers, that Angel found opportunity of broaching to his father one or two subjects near his heart. He had strung himself up to the purpose while kneeling behind his brothers on the carpet, studying the little nails in the heels of their walking boots. When the service was over they went out of the room with their mother, and Mr Clare and himself were left alone.

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The young man first discussed with the elder his plans for the attainment of his position as a farmer on an extensive scale either in England or in the Colonies. His father then told him that, as he had not been put to the expense of sending Angel up to Cambridge, he had felt it his duty to set by a sum of money every year towards the purchase or lease of land for him some day, that he might not feel himself unduly slighted.

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`As far as worldly wealth goes,’ continued his father, `you will no doubt stand far superior to your brothers in a few years.’

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This considerateness on old Mr Clare’s part led Angel onward to the other and dearer subject. He observed to his father that he was then six-and-twenty, and that when he should start in the farming business he would require eyes in the back of his head to see to all matters - some one would be necessary to superintend the domestic labours of his establishment whilst he was afield. Would it not be well, therefore, for him to marry?

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His father seemed to think this idea not unreasonable; and then Angel put the question--

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`What kind of wife do you think would be best for me as a thrifty hard-working farmer?’

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`A truly Christian woman, who will be a help and a comfort to you in your goings-out and your comings-in. Beyond that, it really matters little. Such a one can be found; indeed, my earnest minded friend and neighbour, Dr Chant--’

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`But ought she not primarily to be able to milk cows, churn good butter, make immense cheeses; know how to sit hens and turkeys, and rear chickens, to direct a field of labourers in an emergency, and estimate the value of sheep and calves?’

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`Yes; a farmer’s wife; yes, certainly. It would be desirable.’ Mr Clare, the elder, had plainly never thought of these points before. `I was going to add,’ he said, `that for a pure and saintly woman you will not find more to your true advantage, and certainly not more to your mother’s mind and my own, than your friend Mercy, whom you used to show a certain interest in. It is true that my neighbour Chant’s daughter has lately caught up the fashion of the younger clergy round about us for decorating the Communion-table - altar, as I was shocked to hear her call it one day - with flowers and other stuff on festival occasions. But her father, who is quite as opposed to such flummery as I, says that can be cured. It is a mere girlish outbreak which, I am sure, will not be permanent.’

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`Yes, yes; Mercy is good and devout, I know. But, father, don’t you think that a young woman equally pure and virtuous as Miss Chant, but one who, in place of that lady’s ecclesiastical accomplishments, understands the duties of farm life as well as a farmer himself, would suit me infinitely better?’

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His father persisted in his conviction that a knowledge of a farmer’s wife’s duties came second to a Pauline view of humanity; and the impulsive Angel, wishing to honour his father’s feelings and to advance the cause of his heart at the same time, grew specious. He said that fate or Providence had thrown in his way a woman who possessed every qualification to be the helpmate of an agriculturist, and was decidedly of a serious turn of mind. He would not say whether or not she had attached herself to the sound Low Church School of his father; but she would probably be open to conviction on that point; she was a regular church-goer of simple faith; honest-hearted, receptive, intelligent, graceful to a degree, chaste as a vestal, and, in personal appearance, exceptionally beautiful.

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`Is she of a family such as you would care to marry into - a lady, in short?’ asked his startled mother, who had come softly into the study during the conversation.

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`She is not what in common parlance is called a lady,’ said Angel, unflinchingly, `for she is a cottager’s daughter, as I am proud to say. But she is a lady, nevertheless - in feeling and nature.’

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`Mercy Chant is of a very good family.’

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`Pooh! - what’s the advantage of that, mother?’ said Angel quickly. `How is family to avail the wife of a man who has to rough it as I have, and shall have to do?’

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`Mercy is accomplished. And accomplishments have their charm,’ returned his mother, looking at him through her silver spectacles.

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`As to external accomplishments, what will be the use of them in the life I am going to lead? - while as to her reading, I can take that in hand. She’ll be apt pupil enough, as you would say if you knew her. She’s brim full of poetry - actualized poetry, if I may use the expression. She lives# what paper-poets only write... And she is an unimpeachable Christian, I am sure; perhaps of the very tribe, genus, and species you desire to propagate.’

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`O Angel, you are mocking!’

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`Mother, I beg pardon. But as she really does attend Church almost every Sunday morning, and is a good Christian girl, I am sure you will tolerate any social shortcomings for the sake of that quality, and feel that I may do worse than choose her.’ Angel waxed quite earnest on that rather automatic orthodoxy in his beloved Tess which (never dreaming that it might stand him in such good stead) he had been prone to slight when observing it practised by her and the other milkmaids, because of its obvious unreality amid beliefs essentially naturalistic.

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In their sad doubts as to whether their son had himself any right whatever to the title he claimed for the unknown young woman, Mr and Mrs Clare began to feel it as an advantage not to be overlooked that she at least was sound in her views; especially as the conjunction of the pair must have arisen by an act of Providence; for Angel never would have made orthodoxy a condition of his choice. They said finally that it was better not to act in a hurry, but that they would not object to see her.

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Angel therefore refrained from declaring more particulars now. He felt that, single-minded and self-sacrificing as his parents were, there yet existed certain latent prejudices of theirs, as middle-class people, which it would require some tact to overcome. For though legally at liberty to do as he chose, and though their daughter-in-law’s qualifications could make no practical difference to their lives, in the probability of her living far away from them, he wished for affection’s sake not to wound their sentiment in the most important decision of his life.

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He observed his own inconsistencies in dwelling upon accidents in Tess’s life as if they were vital features. It was for herself that he loved Tess; her soul, her heart, her substance - not for her skill in the dairy, her aptness as his scholar, and certainly not for her simple formal faith-professions. Her unsophisticated open-air existence required no varnish of conventionality to make it palatable to him. He held that education had as yet but little affected the beats of emotion and impulse on which domestic happiness depends. It was probable that, in the lapse of ages, improved systems of moral and intellectual training would appreciably, perhaps considerably, elevate the involuntary and even the unconscious instincts of human nature; but up to the present day culture, as far as he could see, might be said to have affected only the mental epiderm of those lives which had been brought under its influence. This belief was confirmed by his experience of women, which, having latterly been extended from the cultivated middle-class into the rural community, had taught him how much less was the intrinsic difference between the good and wise woman of one social stratum and the good and wise woman of another social stratum, than between the good and bad, the wise and the foolish, of the same stratum or class.

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It was the morning of his departure. His brothers had already left the vicarage to proceed on a walking tour in the north, whence one was to return to his college, and the other to his curacy. Angel might have accompanied them, but preferred to rejoin his sweetheart at Talbothays. He would have been an awkward member of the party; for, though the most appreciative humanist, the most ideal religionist, even the best-versed Christologist of the three, there was alienation in the standing consciousness that his squareness would not fit the round hole that had been prepared for him. To neither Felix nor Cuthbert had he ventured to mention Tess.

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His mother made him sandwiches, and his father accompanied him, on his own mare, a little way along the road. Having fairly well advanced his own affairs Angel listened in a willing silence, as they jogged on together through the shady lanes, to his father’s account of his parish difficulties, and the coldness of brother clergymen whom he loved, because of his strict interpretations of the New Testament by the light of what they deemed a pernicious Calvinistic doctrine.

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`Pernicious!’ said Mr Clare, with genial scorn; and he proceeded to recount experiences which would show the absurdity of that idea. He told of wondrous conversions of evil livers of which he had been the instrument, not only amongst the poor, but amongst the rich and well-to-do; and he also candidly admitted many failures.

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As an instance of the latter, he mentioned the case of a young upstart squire named d’Urberville, living some forty miles off, in the neighbourhood of Trantridge.

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`Not one of the ancient d’Urbervilles of Kingsbere and other places?’ asked his son. `That curiously historic worn-out family with its ghostly legend of the coach-and-four?’

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`O no. The original d’Urbervilles decayed and disappeared sixty or eighty years ago - at least, I believe so. This seems to be a new family which has taken the flame; for the credit of the former knightly line I hope they are spurious, I’m sure. But it is odd to hear you express interest in old families. I thought you set less store by them even than I.’

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`You misapprehend me, father; you often do,’ said Angel with a little impatience. `Politically I am sceptical as to the virtue of their being old. Some of the wise even among themselves "exclaim against their own succession", as Hamlet puts it; but lyrically, dramatically, and even historically, I am tenderly attached to them.’

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This distinction, though by no means a subtle one, was yet too subtle for Mr Clare the elder, and he went on with the story he had been about to relate; which was that after the death of the senior so-called d’Urberville the young man developed the most culpable passions, though he had a blind mother, whose condition should have made him know better. A knowledge of his career having come to the ears of Mr Clare, when he was in that part of the country preaching missionary sermons, he boldly took occasion to speak to the delinquent on his spiritual state. Though he was a stranger, occupying another’s pulpit, he had felt this to be his duty, and took for his text the words from St Luke: `Thou fool, this night thy soul shall be required of thee!’ The young man much resented this directness of attack, and in the war of words which followed when they met he did not scruple publicly to insult Mr Clare, without respect for his gray hairs.

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Angel flushed with distress.

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`Dear father,’ he said sadly, `I wish you would not expose yourself to such gratuitous pain from scoundrels!’

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`Pain?’ said his father, his rugged face shining in the ardour of self-abnegation. `The only pain to me was pain on his account, poor, foolish young man. Do you suppose his incensed words could give me any pain, or even his blows) "Being reviled we bless; being persecuted we suffer it; being defamed we entreat; we are made as the filth of the world, and as the off scouring of all things unto this day." Those ancient and noble words to the Corinthians are strictly true at this present hour.’

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`Not blows, father? He did not proceed to blows?’

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`No, he did not. Though I have borne blows from men in a mad state of intoxication.’

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`No!’

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`A dozen times, my boy. What then? I have saved them from the guilt of murdering their own flesh and blood thereby; and they have lived to thank me, and praise God.’

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`May this young man do the same!’ said Angel fervently. `But I fear otherwise, from what you say.’

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`We’ll hope, nevertheless,’ said Mr Clare. `And I continue to pray for him, though on this side of the grave we shall probably never meet again. But, after all, one of those poor words of mine may spring up in his heart as a good seed some day.’

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Now, as always, Clare’s father was sanguine as a child; and though the younger could not accept his parent’s narrow dogma he revered his practice, and recognized the hero under the pietist. Perhaps he revered his father’s practice even more now than ever, seeing that, in the question of making Tessy his wife, his father had not once thought of inquiring whether she were well provided or penniless. The same unworldliness was what had necessitated Angel’s getting a living as a farmer, and would probably keep his brothers in the position of poor parsons for the term of their activities; yet Angel admired it none the less. Indeed, despite his own heterodoxy, Angel often felt that be was nearer to his father on the human side than was either of his brethren.

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