The baby's offense against society in coming into the world was forgotten by the girl-mother; her soul's desire was to continue that offense by preserving the life of the child.However, it soon grew clear that the hour of emancipation for tha t little prison er of the flesh was to arrive earlier than her worst misgivings had conjectured.And when she had discov ered this sh e was plunged into a misery which tr anscended that of the child's simple loss.Her baby had not been baptized.
Tess had drifted into a frame of mind which accep ted p assively th e consideration that if she should have to burn for what she had done, burn she must, and there was an end of it.Like all village girls she was well grounded in the Holy Scriptur es, and had dutif ully studied the histor ies of Aholah and Aholibah, and knew the inferences to be drawn there from.But when the same question aro se with r egard to the baby, it had a very differ ent co lour.Her darling was about to die, and no salvation.
It was nearly bedtime, but she rushed downstairs and asked if she migh t send for the parson.Th e moment happened to b e one at wh ich h er fath er's sense of the antique nobility of his family was highest, and his sensitiveness to the smudge which Tess had set upon that nobility most pronounced, for he had just returned from his weekly booze at Rolliver's Inn.No parso n should come inside h is d oor, he declared, pry ing into h is aff airs, just th en, when, by her shame, it ha d become more necessary than ever to hide them.He locked the door and put the key in his pocket.
The household went to b ed, and, distressed beyond measure, Tess retired also.She was continually waking as she lay, an d in the middle of the nig ht found th at the baby was still wors e.It was o bviously dy ing-quietly and painlessly, but none the less surely.
In her misery she rocked herself u pon the bed.The clock struck the solemn hour of one, that hour when fancy stalks outside reason, and malignant possibilities stand rock-firm as facts.She thought of the child consigned to the nethermost corner of h ell, as its doub le doom for lack of baptism and lack of legitimacy; saw the arch-fiend tossing it with his three-pronged fork, like the one they used for heating the oven on baking days; to which picture she ad ded many other quaint and curious details of tor ment sometimes taught the young in this C hristian coun try.The lur id presentment so powerfu lly affe cted her imagination in the s ilence of the sl eeping house that her n ightgown became damp with perspiration, and the bedstead shook with each throb of her heart.
The infan t's breath ing grew m ore difficult, an d the mother's m ental tension increased.It was useless to devour the little thing with kisses; she could stay in bed no longer, and walked feverishly about the room.
“O m erciful God, have pity; hav e pity upon m y poor baby！”she cried.“Heap as much ang er as y ou want to upon me, and welco me; but pity th e child！”
She lean t a gainst the chest of dr awers, and m urmured incoher ent supplications for a long while, till she suddenly started up.
“Ah！perhaps baby can be saved！Perhaps it will be just the same！”
She spoke so brightly that it seemed as though her face might have shone in the gloom surrounding her.
She lit a candle, and went to a se cond and a third bed un der the wall, where she awoke her y oung sis ters and bro thers, all of who m occupied the same room.Pulling out the washing-stand so that she cou ld get behind it, she poured so me water fro m a jug, an d made them kneel aro und, pu tting the ir hands together with fingers exactly vertical.While the children, scarcely awake, awe-stricken at her manner, their eyes growing larger and larger, remained in this position, she took the baby from her bed—a child's child—so immature as scarce to seem a sufficient personality to endow its producer with the maternal title.Tess then stood erect with the infant on her arm beside the basin, the next sister held the Pray er-Book open before her, as the clerk at ch urch held i t before the parson; and thus the girl set about baptizing her child.
Her figure looked singu larly tall an d imposing as she stood in her long white nightgown, a th ick cable of tw isted dark hair hanging s traight down her back to her waist.The kindly dimness of th e weak candle abstracted from her form and features the little blemishes which sunlight might have revealed—the stubble scratches upon h er wrists, and the weariness of her eyes—her high enthusiasm having a transfiguring effect upon the face which had been her undoing, showing it as a thing of immaculate beauty, with a touch of dignity which was almost reg al.The little ones kneelin g round, their s leepy ey es blinking and red, awaited her prepar ations full of a suspended wonder which their physical heaviness at that hour would not allow to become active.
The most impressed of them said：
“Be you really going to christen him, Tess?”
The girl-mother replied in a grave affirmative.
“What's his name going to be?”
She had not thought of that, but a name suggested by a phrase in the boo kof Genesis came into her head as she proceeded with the baptismal service, and now she pronounced it：
“Sorrow, I b aptize thee in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and o f the Holy Ghost.”
She sprinkled the water, and there was silence.
“Say‘Amen, 'children.”
The tiny voices piped in obedient response“Amen！”
Tess went on：
“We receive this child”—and so forth—“and do sign him with the sign of the Cross.”
Here she d ipped her hand into th e basin, and fervently drew a n immense cross upon the baby with h er forefinger, continuing with the cus tomary sentences as to his manfully fighting against sin, the world, and the devil, and being a faith ful soldier and servant u nto his life's end.She du ly went on with the Lord's Prayer, the children lisping it after her in a thin gnat-like wail, till, at the conclusion, raising their voices to clerk's pitch, they again pip ed into the silence, “Amen！”
Then their sister, with much augmented confidence in the efficacy of this sacrament, poured for th from th e bo ttom of her heart the th anksgiving that follows, uttering it boldly and triu mphantly in the stop t-diapason note which her voice acquired when her heart was in her speech, and which will never be forgotten by those who knew her.The ecstasy of faith almost apotheosized her; it set upon her face a g lowing irrad iation, and brought a r ed spot in to the middle of e ach che ek; while th e miniature c andle-flame invert ed in her eyepupils shone like a diam ond.The children gazed up at her with more and more reverence, and no longer had a will for questioning.She did not look like Sissy to them now, bu t as a b eing larg e, towering, and awful—a d ivine personage with whom they had nothing in common.
Poor Sorrow's campaign against sin, the world, and the devil was doomed to be o f l imited br illiancy—luckily perhaps for him self, considering his beginnings.In the blue of the morning that fragile soldier and servant breathed his las t, and when the o ther ch ildren awoke they cried b itterly, and begged Sissy to have another pretty baby.
The calmnes s which had possessed Tess since the chr istening rem ained with her in the infant's loss.In th e daylight, indeed, she felt her terrors about his soul to h ave been somewhat exaggerated; whether well founded or not sh e had no uneasiness now, reasoning that if Providence would n ot ratify such an act of approximation she, for one, did not value the kind of heaven lost by the irregularity—either for herself or for her child.
So passed sway Sorrow th e Undes ired—that i ntrusive cr eature, that bastard gif t of sha meless Nature who respec ts no t th e soc ial law; a wa if to whom eternal Time had been a matter of days merely, who knew not that such things as y ears and cen turies ever were; to whom the cottage interior wa s the universe, the week's weather climate, newborn babyhood human existence, and the instinct to suck human knowledge.
Tess, who m used on th e christenin g a good deal, wondered if it wer e doctrinally sufficient to secure a Christian burial for the child.Nobody could tell this but the parson of the parish, and he was a newcomer, and did not know her.She went to h is ho use af ter du sk, and stoo d by the gate, bu t could no t summon courage to go in The enterprise would have been abandoned if she had not by accident met him coming home ward as she turned swa y.In the glo om she did not mind speaking freely.
“I should like to ask you something, sir.”
He expressed his willingness to listen, and she told the story of the baby's illness and the extemporized ordinance.
“And now, sir, ”she ad ded earnestly, “can you tell me this—will it be just the same for him as if you had baptized him?”
Having the natural feelings of a tradesman at finding that a job he should have been called in for had been un skilfully botched by his customers among themselves, he was dispo sed to say no.Yet th e dignity of the girl, the strange tenderness in her voice, com bined to affect h is nobler im pulses—or rather those that h e had left in him after ten y ears of endeavour to graft tech nical belief on a ctual skepticism.The man and the ecclesiastic fought within him, and the victory fell to the man.
“My dear girl, ”he said, “it will he just the same.”
“Then will you give him a Christian burial?”she asked quickly.
The Vi car f elt hi mself cornered He aring of the baby's illn ess, he ha d conscientiously gone to the ho use after nightfall to per form the rite, and, unaware that the r efusal to ad mit him had co me fro m Tess's father and not from Tess, he could not allow the p lea of n ecessity for its irregular ad mini-stration.
“Ah—that's another matter, ”he said.
“Another matter—why?”asked Tess, rather warmly.
“Well—I w ould willingly do so if only we two were concer ned.But I must not—for certain reasons.”
“Just for once, sir！”
“Really I must not.”
“O sir！”She seized his hand as she spoke.
He withdrew it, shaking his head.
“Then I don't like you！”she burst out, “and I'll never come to your church no more！”
“Don't talk so rashly.”
“Perhaps it will be just the same to him if you don't……Will it be just the same?Don't for God's sake speak as saint to sinner, but as you yourself to me myself—poor me！”
How the Vicar reconciled his answer with the strict notions he supposed himself to hold on these subjects it is beyond a layman's power to tell, though not to excuse.Somewhat moved, he said in this case also—
“It will be just the same.”
So the baby was carried in a s mall deal box, under an ancient woman's shawl, to the churchyard that night, and buried by lantern-light, at the cost of a shilling and a pin t of beer to th e sexton, in that shabby corner of G od's allotment where he lets th e n ettles grow, and where a ll u nbaptized in fants, notorious drunkards, suicides, and others of the conjecturally damned are laid.In spite of the untoward surrounding s, however, Tess bravely m ade a little cross of two laths and a piece of string, and having bound it with flowers, she stuck it up at th e head of the grave one even ing when she could en ter the churchyard without bein g seen, pu tting at the fo ot also a bu nch of the s ame flowers in a little jar of water to keep them alive.What matter was it that on theoutside of the jar the ey e of mere observation noted the w ords“Keelwel's Marmalade”?The ey e of m aternal affection did not see th em in its vis ion of higher things.
15
“By experience, ”says Roger Ascham, “we find out a short way by along wandering.”Not seldom th at long wandering unfits us fo r further tr avel, and of what use is our experience to us then?Tess Durbey field's experience was of this incapacitatin g kind.At last she had learned what to do; but who would now accept her doing?
If before go ing to the d'Urbervilles'she had vigo rously moved under th e guidance of sundry gnomic texts and phrases known to her and to the world in general, no doubt she would never have been imposed on.But it had no t been in Tess's power—nor is it in any body's power—to f eel th e whole tru th of golden op inions while it is possible to profit by them.Sh e—and how many more—might have ironically said to God with Saint Augus tine：“Thou hast counselled a better course than Thou hast permitted.”
She remain ed in her father's house during the winter months, plu cking fowls, or cramming turkeys and geese, or making clothes for her sisters and brothers out of some finery which d'Urberville had given her, and she had put by with contempt.Apply to him she would not.But she would often clasp her hands behind her head and muse when she was supposed to be working hard.
She philosophically noted dates as they came past in the revolution of the year; the disastrous night of her undoing at Trantridge with its dark background of The Chase; also the dates of the baby's birth and d eath; also h er own birthday; an d every oth er day indiv idualized by inciden ts inwhich she had taken so me share.She s uddenly tho ught one afternoon, when looking in the glass at her fairness, that there was yet ano ther date, of greater im portance to her than those; that of her own d eath, when all thes e ch arms would h ave disappeared; a day which lay sly and unseen among all th e other days of the year, giving no sign or sound when she annually passed over it; but not the less surely there.When was it?Why di d she not feel th e chill of each y early encounter with such a cold relation?She had Jerem y Tay lor's thought that some time in the future those who had known her would say：“It is the—th, the day that poo r Tess Durbey field died; ”and there would be no thing singular to their minds in the statement.Of that day, doomed to be her terminus in time through all the ages, she did not kno w the place in month, week, season, or year.
Almost at a leap Tess thus changed from simple girl to complex woman.Symbols of refle ctiveness passed into her face, an d a note of tragedy at time s into her vo ice.Her ey es grew larger and m ore eloquen t.She becam e wh at would have been called a fine creatu re; her aspect was fair an d arresting; her soul that of a woman whom the turbulent experiences of the last year or two had quite failed to demor alize.But fo r the world's opinion th ose experiences would have been simply a liberal education.
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 com fortable ag ain in a pla ce which ha d seen the collapse of her family's attempt to“claim kin”—and, through her, even closer union—with the rich d'Urbervilles.At least she cou ld not be comfortable there till long years should have obliterated her keen consciousness of it.Yet even now Tess f elt the p ulse of hopefu l life still war m within her; s he might be happy in so me nook which had no memories.To escape th e past and all th at 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 p rove it false if she cou ld veil by gones.Th e r ecuperative po wer 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 spr ing came round, and the stir of ger mination 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 r eached her fro m 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 southw ard, and that the d airyman would be glad to have her for the summer months.
It was not q uite so far off as could have been wished; but it was probably far en ough, her radius o f movement and repu te hav ing b een so s mall.To persons of lim ited spher es, miles ar e as geogr aphical d egrees, par ishes as counties, counties as provinces and kingdoms.
On one point she was resolved：th ere 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 betw een th em o n the sub ject, th at she never alluded to the knightly ancestry now.
Yet such is human inconsistency that one of the interests of the new place to her was the accidental vir tue of its ly ing 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 grand-dames and th eir powerfu l husbands.S he would be able to loo k 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 w ondered if any strange good thing might come of her being in her ancestral land; and so me spirit wi thin her rose aut omatically as the sap in the twigs.I t was unexpend ed y outh, sur ging up an ew after its temporary ch eck, and bringing with it hope, and the invincible instinct towards selfdelight.