Tess of the dUrbervilles | Page 7

interior of the house,
occasioned by the violent rocking of a cradle upon a stone floor, to
which movement a feminine voice kept time by singing, in a vigorous
gallopade, the favourite ditty of "The Spotted Cow"--
I saw her lie do'-own in yon'-der green gro'-ove; Come, love!' and I'll
tell' you where!'
The cradle-rocking and the song would cease simultaneously for a
moment, and an exclamation at highest vocal pitch would take the
place of the melody.
"God bless thy diment eyes! And thy waxen cheeks! And thy cherry
mouth! And thy Cubit's thighs! And every bit o' thy blessed body!"

After this invocation the rocking and the singing would recommence,
and the "Spotted Cow" proceed as before. So matters stood when Tess
opened the door and paused upon the mat within it, surveying the
scene.
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 own hands.
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, unhistorical.
"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. To-night, 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.
"Ay!"
"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 shame!"
"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