The haggling business, which had mainly depended on the horse, became
disorganized forthwith.  Distress, if not penury, loomed in the
distance.  Durbeyfield was what was locally called a slack-twisted
fellow; he had good strength to work at times; but the times could
not be relied on to coincide with the hours of requirement; and,
having been unaccustomed to the regular toil of the day-labourer,
he was not particularly persistent when they did so coincide.

Tess, meanwhile, as the one who had dragged her parents into this
quagmire, was silently wondering what she could do to help them out
of it; and then her mother broached her scheme.

"We must take the ups wi' the downs, Tess," said she; "and never
could your high blood have been found out at a more called-for
moment.  You must try your friends.  Do ye know that there is a very
rich Mrs d'Urberville living on the outskirts o' The Chase, who must
be our relation?  You must go to her and claim kin, and ask for some
help in our trouble."

"I shouldn't care to do that," says Tess.  "If there is such a lady,
'twould be enough for us if she were friendly--not to expect her to
give us help."

"You could win her round to do anything, my dear.  Besides, perhaps
there's more in it than you know of. I've heard what I've heard,
good-now."

The oppressive sense of the harm she had done led Tess to be more
deferential than she might otherwise have been to the maternal
wish; but she could not understand why her mother should find such
satisfaction in contemplating an enterprise of, to her, such doubtful
profit.  Her mother might have made inquiries, and have discovered
that this Mrs d'Urberville was a lady of unequalled virtues and
charity.  But Tess's pride made the part of poor relation one of
particular distaste to her.

"I'd rather try to get work," she murmured.

"Durbeyfield, you can settle it," said his wife, turning to where he
sat in the background.  "If you say she ought to go, she will go."

"I don't like my children going and making themselves beholden to
strange kin," murmured he.  "I'm the head of the noblest branch o'
the family, and I ought to live up to it."

His reasons for staying away were worse to Tess than her own
objections to going.  "Well, as I killed the horse, mother," she said
mournfully, "I suppose I ought to do something.  I don't mind going
and seeing her, but you must leave it to me about asking for help.
And don't go thinking about her making a match for me--it is silly."

"Very well said, Tess!" observed her father sententiously.

"Who said I had such a thought?" asked Joan.

"I fancy it is in your mind, mother.  But I'll go."

Rising early next day she walked to the hill-town called Shaston,
and there took advantage of a van which twice in the week ran from
Shaston eastward to Chaseborough, passing near Trantridge, the parish
in which the vague and mysterious Mrs d'Urberville had her residence.

Tess Durbeyfield's route on this memorable morning lay amid the
north-eastern undulations of the Vale in which she had been born, and
in which her life had unfolded.  The Vale of Blackmoor was to her the
world, and its inhabitants the races thereof.  From the gates and
stiles of Marlott she had looked down its length in the wondering
days of infancy, and what had been mystery to her then was not
much less than mystery to her now.  She had seen daily from her
chamber-window towers, villages, faint white mansions; above all,
the town of Shaston standing majestically on its height; its windows
shining like lamps in the evening sun.  She had hardly ever visited
the place, only a small tract even of the Vale and its environs being
known to her by close inspection.  Much less had she been far outside
the valley.  Every contour of the surrounding hills was as personal
to her as that of her relatives' faces; but for what lay beyond, her
judgment was dependent on the teaching of the village school, where
she had held a leading place at the time of her leaving, a year or
two before this date.

In those early days she had been much loved by others of her own
sex and age, and had used to be seen about the village as one of
three--all nearly of the same year--walking home from school side
by side; Tess the middle one--in a pink print pinafore, of a finely
reticulated pattern, worn over a stuff frock that had lost its
original colour for a nondescript tertiary--marching on upon long
stalky legs, in tight stockings which had little ladder-like holes
at the knees, torn by kneeling in the roads and banks in search of
vegetable and mineral treasures; her then earth-coloured hair hanging
like pot-hooks; the arms of the two outside girls resting round the
waist of Tess; her arms on the shoulders of the two supporters.

As Tess grew older, and began to see how matters stood, she felt
quite a Malthusian towards her mother for thoughtlessly giving her so
many little sisters and brothers, when it was such a trouble to nurse
and provide for them.  Her mother's intelligence was that of a happy
child: Joan Durbeyfield was simply an additional one, and that not
the eldest, to her own long family of waiters on Providence.

However, Tess became humanely beneficent towards the small ones,
and to help them as much as possible she used, as soon as she left
school, to lend a hand at haymaking or harvesting on neighbouring
farms; or, by preference, at milking or butter-making processes,
which she had learnt when her father had owned cows; and being
deft-fingered it was a kind of work in which she excelled.

Every day seemed to throw upon her young shoulders more of the
family burdens, and that Tess should be the representative of the
Durbeyfields at the d'Urberville mansion came as a thing of course.
In this instance it must be admitted that the Durbeyfields were
putting their fairest side outward.

She alighted from the van at Trantridge Cross, and ascended on foot
a hill in the direction of the district known as The Chase, on the
borders of which, as she had been informed, Mrs d'Urberville's seat,
The Slopes, would be found.  It was not a manorial home in the
ordinary sense, with fields, and pastures, and a grumbling farmer,
out of whom the owner had to squeeze an income for himself and his
family by hook or by crook.  It was more, far more; a country-house
built for enjoyment pure and simple, with not an acre of troublesome
land attached to it beyond what was required for residential
purposes, and for a little fancy farm kept in hand by the owner, and
tended by a bailiff.

The crimson brick lodge came first in sight, up to its eaves in dense
evergreens.  Tess thought this was the mansion itself till, passing
through the side wicket with some trepidation, and onward to a point
at which the drive took a turn, the house proper stood in full view.
It was of recent erection--indeed almost new--and of the same rich
red colour that formed such a contrast with the evergreens of the
lodge.  Far behind the corner of the house--which rose like a
geranium bloom against the subdued colours around--stretched the soft
azure landscape of The Chase--a truly venerable tract of forest land,
one of the few remaining woodlands in England of undoubted primaeval
date, wherein Druidical mistletoe was still found on aged oaks, and
where enormous yew-trees, not planted by the hand of man grew as
they had grown when they were pollarded for bows.  All this sylvan
antiquity, however, though visible from The Slopes, was outside the
immediate boundaries of the estate.

Everything on this snug property was bright, thriving, and well kept;
acres of glass-houses stretched down the inclines to the copses at
their feet.  Everything looked like money--like the last coin issued
from the Mint.  The stables, partly screened by Austrian pines
and evergreen oaks, and fitted with every late appliance, were
as dignified as Chapels-of-Ease.  On the extensive lawn stood an
ornamental tent, its door being towards her.

Simple Tess Durbeyfield stood at gaze, in a half-alarmed attitude,
on the edge of the gravel sweep.  Her feet had brought her onward to
this point before she had quite realized where she was; and now all
was contrary to her expectation.

"I thought we were an old family; but this is all new!" she said, in
her artlessness.  She wished that she had not fallen in so readily
with her mother's plans for "claiming kin," and had endeavoured to
gain assistance nearer home.

The d'Urbervilles--or Stoke-d'Urbervilles, as they at first called
themselves--who owned all this, were a somewhat unusual family to
find in such an old-fashioned part of the country.  Parson Tringham
had spoken truly when he said that our shambling John Durbeyfield was
the only really lineal representative of the old d'Urberville family
existing in the county, or near it; he might have added, what he knew
very well, that the Stoke-d'Urbervilles were no more d'Urbervilles of
the true tree then he was himself.  Yet it must be admitted that this
family formed a very good stock whereon to regraft a name which sadly
wanted such renovation.

When old Mr Simon Stoke, latterly deceased, had made his fortune as
an honest merchant (some said money-lender) in the North, he decided
to settle as a county man in the South of England, out of hail of
his business district; and in doing this he felt the necessity of
recommencing with a name that would not too readily identify him with
the smart tradesman of the past, and that would be less commonplace
than the original bald, stark words.  Conning for an hour in the
British Museum the pages of works devoted to extinct, half-extinct,
obscured, and ruined families appertaining to the quarter of England
in which he proposed to settle, he considered that _d'Urberville_
looked and sounded as well as any of them: and d'Urberville
accordingly was annexed to his own name for himself and his heirs
eternally.  Yet he was not an extravagant-minded man in this, and in
constructing his family tree on the new basis was duly reasonable in
framing his inter-marriages and aristocratic links, never inserting
a single title above a rank of strict moderation.

Of this work of imagination poor Tess and her parents were naturally
in ignorance--much to their discomfiture; indeed, the very
possibility of such annexations was unknown to them; who supposed
that, though to be well-favoured might be the gift of fortune, a
family name came by nature.

Tess still stood hesitating like a bather about to make his plunge,
hardly knowing whether to retreat or to persevere, when a figure came
forth from the dark triangular door of the tent.  It was that of a
tall young man, smoking.

He had an almost swarthy complexion, with full lips, badly moulded,
though red and smooth, above which was a well-groomed black moustache
with curled points, though his age could not be more than three- or
four-and-twenty.  Despite the touches of barbarism in his contours,
there was a singular force in the gentleman's face, and in his bold
rolling eye.

"Well, my Beauty, what can I do for you?" said he, coming forward.
And perceiving that she stood quite confounded: "Never mind me. I am
Mr d'Urberville.  Have you come to see me or my mother?"

This embodiment of a d'Urberville and a namesake differed even more
from what Tess had expected than the house and grounds had differed.
She had dreamed of an aged and dignified face, the sublimation of
all the d'Urberville lineaments, furrowed with incarnate memories
representing in hieroglyphic the centuries of her family's and
England's history.  But she screwed herself up to the work in hand,
since she could not get out of it, and answered--

"I came to see your mother, sir."

"I am afraid you cannot see her--she is an invalid," replied the
present representative of the spurious house; for this was Mr Alec,
the only son of the lately deceased gentleman.  "Cannot I answer your
purpose? What is the business you wish to see her about?"

"It isn't business--it is--I can hardly say what!"

"Pleasure?"

"Oh no.  Why, sir, if I tell you, it will seem--"

Tess's sense of a certain ludicrousness in her errand was now
so strong that, notwithstanding her awe of him, and her general
discomfort at being here, her rosy lips curved towards a smile,
much to the attraction of the swarthy Alexander.

"It is so very foolish," she stammered; "I fear can't tell you!"

"Never mind; I like foolish things.  Try again, my dear," said he
kindly.

"Mother asked me to come," Tess continued; "and, indeed, I was in the
mind to do so myself likewise.  But I did not think it would be like
this.  I came, sir, to tell you that we are of the same family as
you."

"Ho!  Poor relations?"

"Yes."

"Stokes?"

"No; d'Urbervilles."

"Ay, ay; I mean d'Urbervilles."

"Our names are worn away to Durbeyfield; but we have several proofs
that we are d'Urbervilles.  Antiquarians hold we are,--and--and we
have an old seal, marked with a ramping lion on a shield, and a
castle over him.  And we have a very old silver spoon, round in the
bowl like a little ladle, and marked with the same castle.  But it
is so worn that mother uses it to stir the pea-soup."

"A castle argent is certainly my crest," said he blandly.  "And my
arms a lion rampant."

"And so mother said we ought to make ourselves beknown to you--as
we've lost our horse by a bad accident, and are the oldest branch o'
the family."

"Very kind of your mother, I'm sure.  And I, for one, don't regret
her step."  Alec looked at Tess as he spoke, in a way that made her
blush a little.  "And so, my pretty girl, you've come on a friendly
visit to us, as relations?"

"I suppose I have," faltered Tess, looking uncomfortable again.

"Well--there's no harm in it.  Where do you live?  What are you?"

She gave him brief particulars; and responding to further inquiries
told him that she was intending to go back by the same carrier who
had brought her.

"It is a long while before he returns past Trantridge Cross.
Supposing we walk round the grounds to pass the time, my pretty Coz?"

Tess wished to abridge her visit as much as possible; but the young
man was pressing, and she consented to accompany him.  He conducted
her about the lawns, and flower-beds, and conservatories; and thence
to the fruit-garden and greenhouses, where he asked her if she liked
strawberries.

"Yes," said Tess, "when they come."

"They are already here."  D'Urberville began gathering specimens
of the fruit for her, handing them back to her as he stooped; and,
presently, selecting a specially fine product of the "British Queen"
variety, he stood up and held it by the stem to her mouth.

"No--no!" she said quickly, putting her fingers between his hand and
her lips.  "I would rather take it in my own hand."

"Nonsense!" he insisted; and in a slight distress she parted her lips
and took it in.

They had spent some time wandering desultorily thus, Tess eating in
a half-pleased, half-reluctant state whatever d'Urberville offered
her.  When she could consume no more of the strawberries he filled
her little basket with them; and then the two passed round to the
rose-trees, whence he gathered blossoms and gave her to put in her
bosom. She obeyed like one in a dream, and when she could affix no
more he himself tucked a bud or two into her hat, and heaped her
basket with others in the prodigality of his bounty.  At last,
looking at his watch, he said, "Now, by the time you have had
something to eat, it will be time for you to leave, if you want to
catch the carrier to Shaston.  Come here, and I'll see what grub I
can find."

Stoke d'Urberville took her back to the lawn and into the tent, where
he left her, soon reappearing with a basket of light luncheon, which
he put before her himself.  It was evidently the gentleman's wish not
to be disturbed in this pleasant _tete-a-tete_ by the servantry.

"Do you mind my smoking?" he asked.

"Oh, not at all, sir."

He watched her pretty and unconscious munching through the skeins of
smoke that pervaded the tent, and Tess Durbeyfield did not divine,
as she innocently looked down at the roses in her bosom, that there
behind the blue narcotic haze was potentially the "tragic mischief"
of her drama--one who stood fair to be the blood-red ray in the
spectrum of her young life.  She had an attribute which amounted
to a disadvantage just now; and it was this that caused Alec
d'Urberville's eyes to rivet themselves upon her.  It was a
luxuriance of aspect, a fulness of growth, which made her appear more
of a woman than she really was.  She had inherited the feature from
her mother without the quality it denoted.  It had troubled her mind
occasionally, till her companions had said that it was a fault which
time would cure.

She soon had finished her lunch.  "Now I am going home, sir," she
said, rising.

"And what do they call you?" he asked, as he accompanied her along
the drive till they were out of sight of the house.

"Tess Durbeyfield, down at Marlott."

"And you say your people have lost their horse?"

"I--killed him!" she answered, her eyes filling with tears as she
gave particulars of Prince's death.  "And I don't know what to do
for father on account of it!"

"I must think if I cannot do something.  My mother must find a berth
for you.  But, Tess, no nonsense about 'd'Urberville';--'Durbeyfield'
only, you know--quite another name."

"I wish for no better, sir," said she with something of dignity.

For a moment--only for a moment--when they were in the turning of the
drive, between the tall rhododendrons and conifers, before the lodge
became visible, he inclined his face towards her as if--but, no: he
thought better of it, and let her go.

Thus the thing began.  Had she perceived this meeting's import she
might have asked why she was doomed to be seen and coveted that day
by the wrong man, and not by some other man, the right and desired
one in all respects--as nearly as humanity can supply the right
and desired; yet to him who amongst her acquaintance might have
approximated to this kind, she was but a transient impression, half
forgotten.

In the ill-judged execution of the well-judged plan of things the
call seldom produces the comer, the man to love rarely coincides with
the hour for loving.  Nature does not often say "See!" to her poor
creature at a time when seeing can lead to happy doing; or reply
"Here!" to a body's cry of "Where?" till the hide-and-seek has become
an irksome, outworn game.  We may wonder whether at the acme and
summit of the human progress these anachronisms will be corrected by
a finer intuition, a closer interaction of the social machinery than
that which now jolts us round and along; but such completeness is not
to be prophesied, or even conceived as possible.  Enough that in the
present case, as in millions, it was not the two halves of a perfect
whole that confronted each other at the perfect moment; a missing
counterpart wandered independently about the earth waiting in
crass obtuseness till the late time came.  Out of which maladroit
delay sprang anxieties, disappointments, shocks, catastrophes, and
passing-strange destinies.

When d'Urberville got back to the tent he sat down astride on a
chair, reflecting, with a pleased gleam in his face.  Then he broke
into a loud laugh.

"Well, I'm damned!  What a funny thing!  Ha-ha-ha!  And what a crumby
girl!"

Distress looms in the distance because of the death of the horse. Joan Durbeyfield tells Tess about Mrs. d'Urberville living on the outskirts of The Chase, and tells Tess that she must go and claim kinship and ask for help. Tess is deferential, but she cannot understand why her mother should find such satisfaction in contemplating this enterprise. She suggesting getting work, but finally agrees to go. Tess leaves for The Chase, where she finds the home of the Stoke-d'Urbervilles, as they are now called. A young man with an almost swarthy complexion answers the door, and claims to be Alec d'Urberville. He does not allow Tess to see his mother, for she is an invalid, but she tells him that she is a poor relation. Alec shows her the estate, and he promises that his mother will find a berth for her. He tells her not to bother with the Durbeyfield name, but she says she wishes for no better. Alec prepares to kiss her, but lets her go. Tess perceives nothing, but if she had she might have asked why she was doomed to be seen and coveted that day by the wrong man.

The death of the Durbeyfield's horse is the event that motivates Tess to visit the d'Urbervilles and beg them for financial assistance. By going to claim kinship with the d'Urbervilles, Tess is in fact sent to find a husband; behind her mother's request is the assumption that Tess will marry a gentleman who will provide for the Durbeyfields. It is this aspect of the visit to the d'Urbervilles that disturbs Tess most, highlighting her particular sexual innocence. This introduces the theme of sexuality and innocence that will continue throughout the novel; at this point in the novel Tess represents a particular sexual innocence. She is unaware of her own sexuality and thus cannot perceive the danger that Alec d'Urberville presents to her. From his introduction in the novel, Alec d'Urberville represents a sexuality that contrasts with Tess Durbeyfield's innocence. However, as important as his sexuality is the danger inherent in his sensuality. His early attempt to seduce Tess only serves to foreshadow later, more serious attempts to infringe on his cousin's innocence. Hardy even explicitly notes the danger that Alec d'Urberville poses to Tess. The narrative thrust of the novel will concern Tess's reaction to the dangers that Alec poses for her

Tess's guilt over having contributed to the death of Prince makes her more open to her mother's proposal that she go to the rich Mrs. D'Urberville. She's willing to visit her as a distant relation, but reluctant to ask for money. Tess would rather try to get work somewhere, but since her mother is so set on it, Tess agrees. Still, she tells her mother it is "silly" to think of the rich Mrs. D'Urberville setting Tess up with a rich man. The next day, Tess takes a passing cart to get to Trantridge, where "the vague and mysterious Mrs. D'Urberville" lived . As she leaves the village of Marlott, she looks back, and reflects on the childhood she's spent there. The narrator describes scenes of Tess with her girlish friends playing in the grass; he then describes Tess's growing "Malthusian vexation" that her parents should continue having so many children . Historical side note: The expression "Malthusian vexation" could use some explanation. Thomas Malthus was a political economist and philosopher who wrote an influential book called Essay on the Principle of Population in 1803. In it, he argues for the control of population growth through celibacy, because if the poorer classes continued to reproduce at the rate they were going, they would just perpetuate the cycle of poverty and starvation--they were reproducing faster than the food supply could support them. So Tess's "Malthusian vexation" refers to this consciousness that her parents were producing more little mouths than they were capable of feeding. Back to the story: Tess, the narrator informs us, is better educated and more sensible than either of her parents, and as she has gotten older, more and more of the family responsibilities have fallen to her. So it's a "matter of course" that she should be the one to go on the first visit to the rich D'Urbervilles. She climbs off of the cart and starts walking in the direction of the D'Urberville house, called The Slopes. The Slopes is a modern country house, without any farmland associated with it, or any tenants--it is intended for "enjoyment pure and simple" . The house itself, she finds, is almost new, but is set within a big piece of forest called The Chase--a reminder of the ancient and "Druidical" forest that once covered that whole region. Everything on the estate, from the stables to the greenhouses, is shiny and new--not at all what Tess expected. She begins to feel hesitant again. The narrator explains something of the history of the D'Urbervilles, or Stoke-D'Urbervilles, "as they at first called themselves" . Mrs. D'Urberville's husband, Simon Stoke made his fortune as "an honest merchant in the North" of England . He felt the need to change his name--the narrator doesn't explain why--and spends a while going through old family names in the British Museum before choosing "D'Urberville" as being appropriately old and aristocratic. And, importantly, there were no modern branches of that family--the name had virtually died out. So the rich branch of the D'Urberville family isn't related to the Durbeyfields at all, but of course Tess's parents don't realize that. They have no idea, the narrator tells us, that it's possible to change your name, or to choose an ancient name because you liked the sound of it at the British Museum. Tess is standing on the edge of the lawn hesitating when a tall young man comes out of a tent that's pitched on the lawn. He's smoking a cigarette, and has a curly black moustache . He greets her with, "Well, my big Beauty, what can I do for you?" . Tess doesn't know what to say, so he adds that his name is Mr. D'Urberville, and asks if she's there to see him, or his mother. She says she'd like to see his mother, but Mr. D'Urberville answers that that would be impossible, as his mother is an invalid and cannot see visitors. He asks what the business is. Tess becomes embarrassed--her errand seems ridiculous now. She stammers that her mother had sent her to say that they were of the same family. He at first assumes that she's part of his father's family, the Stokes, but of course she corrects him, and he glosses over his slip. She says that, since she can't visit his mother, she'll just catch the cart back to Marlott on its way back. He reminds her that the cart won't be by for some hours, and suggests that he show her around the grounds and garden before she goes. He calls her his "pretty Coz" , which is a Shakespearean shortening of "Cousin." Tess feels encouraged by this--she thinks he's acknowledging her as a relation. But she still wants to cut the visit as short as possible. But the young man is pushy enough that she feels that it would be rude to refuse. He takes her through the fruit garden, and feeds her strawberries, much to Tess's embarrassment--she says she would rather feed herself. But he insists. When she can't eat any more, he fills a basket for her, and then cuts her roses and pins them to her hat and dress, and piles more onto her basket. Finally, he looks at his watch, and suggests that they have something to eat before she has to catch her cart back to Marlott. They eat in the big tent as though they were at a medieval tournament. He smokes, and watches her eat with evident enjoyment, and the narrator tells us his first name: Alec. The narrator describes Tess's "innocence" of the "tragic mischief" Alec would cause her as she sits "munching" . As Alec walks Tess back to the road where she'll meet the cart, he asks her name, and for more particulars about her family. Tess explains about Prince. Alec says he'll try to do something, and that his mother will surely be able to find work for her. He concludes with the reminder that she is not really a D'Urberville, but a Durbeyfield--"quite another name" . Tess proudly answers that she "wishes for no better" name . Alec almost kisses her as they part, but thinks better of it, and lets her go. The narrator says that if Tess had realized the importance of this first meeting, she might have questioned the injustice of her fate, especially since Alec is so clearly the wrong man. The right man had seen her, but she had left no definite impression on him yet. The narrator doesn't say which man that is, but we're left to guess that it was the young man named Angel who didn't dance with her at the club-walking. The narrator then questions the bad planning of the universe, and shakes his fist at the tragic frequency of missed connections. Then Alec D'Urberville went back into his tent on the lawn, looks very pleased, and thinks about what a "charming girl" Tess is.

CHAPTER 5 Summary Initially, Tess is too proud to go to her distant relatives to seek help, but the misfortune that she has brought to the family by her negligence with the horse has to be atoned. With little choice left, she reluctantly goes to see Mrs. D'Urberville. Upon arriving, she meets the wayward son, Alec D'Urberville, instead of his mother, who she learns is an invalid. Tess tells Alec about the unfortunate situation with the horse, and he promises to help her. It is obvious that Alec is impressed and bewitched by this beautiful, young country girl. He fills her basket with strawberries and gives her flowers. Tess, feeling uneasy about Alec, quickly departs for home. Notes The readers are again shown Tess's innocence and her sense of responsibility. She accepts the fact that she must go to see the D'Urbervilles, even though she does not want to do it. When she arrives, Alec greets her. Tess is so naive that she has no understanding of the havoc her beauty is playing on Alec. He is totally smitten by her loveliness and country charm. His unwarranted attention puzzles Tess. Alec's intentions, however, are very obvious to the reader as Hardy begins to develop his villainous character


Tess went down the hill to Trantridge Cross, and inattentively waited
to take her seat in the van returning from Chaseborough to Shaston.
She did not know what the other occupants said to her as she entered,
though she answered them; and when they had started anew she rode
along with an inward and not an outward eye.

One among her fellow-travellers addressed her more pointedly than
any had spoken before: "Why, you be quite a posy!  And such roses in
early June!"

Then she became aware of the spectacle she presented to their
surprised vision: roses at her breasts; roses in her hat; roses
and strawberries in her basket to the brim.  She blushed, and
said confusedly that the flowers had been given to her.  When the
passengers were not looking she stealthily removed the more prominent
blooms from her hat and placed them in the basket, where she covered
them with her handkerchief.  Then she fell to reflecting again, and
in looking downwards a thorn of the rose remaining in her breast
accidentally pricked her chin. Like all the cottagers in Blackmoor
Vale, Tess was steeped in fancies and prefigurative superstitions;
she thought this an ill omen--the first she had noticed that day.

The van travelled only so far as Shaston, and there were several
miles of pedestrian descent from that mountain-town into the vale to
Marlott.  Her mother had advised her to stay here for the night, at
the house of a cottage-woman they knew, if she should feel too tired
to come on; and this Tess did, not descending to her home till the
following afternoon.

When she entered the house she perceived in a moment from her
mother's triumphant manner that something had occurred in the
interim.

"Oh yes; I know all about it!  I told 'ee it would be all right, and
now 'tis proved!"

"Since I've been away?  What has?" said Tess rather wearily.

Her mother surveyed the girl up and down with arch approval, and went
on banteringly: "So you've brought 'em round!"

"How do you know, mother?"

"I've had a letter."

Tess then remembered that there would have been time for this.

"They say--Mrs d'Urberville says--that she wants you to look after a
little fowl-farm which is her hobby.  But this is only her artful way
of getting 'ee there without raising your hopes.  She's going to own
'ee as kin--that's the meaning o't."

"But I didn't see her."

"You zid somebody, I suppose?"

"I saw her son."

"And did he own 'ee?"

"Well--he called me Coz."

"An' I knew it!  Jacky--he called her Coz!" cried Joan to her
husband.  "Well, he spoke to his mother, of course, and she do want
'ee there."

"But I don't know that I am apt at tending fowls," said the dubious
Tess.

"Then I don't know who is apt.  You've be'n born in the business, and
brought up in it.  They that be born in a business always know more
about it than any 'prentice.  Besides, that's only just a show of
something for you to do, that you midn't feel beholden."

"I don't altogether think I ought to go," said Tess thoughtfully.
"Who wrote the letter?  Will you let me look at it?"

"Mrs d'Urberville wrote it.  Here it is."

The letter was in the third person, and briefly informed Mrs
Durbeyfield that her daughter's services would be useful to that lady
in the management of her poultry-farm, that a comfortable room would
be provided for her if she could come, and that the wages would be on
a liberal scale if they liked her.

"Oh--that's all!" said Tess.

"You couldn't expect her to throw her arms round 'ee, an' to kiss and
to coll 'ee all at once."

Tess looked out of the window.

"I would rather stay here with father and you," she said.

"But why?"

"I'd rather not tell you why, mother; indeed, I don't quite know
why."

A week afterwards she came in one evening from an unavailing search
for some light occupation in the immediate neighbourhood.  Her idea
had been to get together sufficient money during the summer to
purchase another horse.  Hardly had she crossed the threshold before
one of the children danced across the room, saying, "The gentleman's
been here!"

Her mother hastened to explain, smiles breaking from every inch of
her person.  Mrs d'Urberville's son had called on horseback, having
been riding by chance in the direction of Marlott.  He had wished
to know, finally, in the name of his mother, if Tess could really
come to manage the old lady's fowl-farm or not; the lad who had
hitherto superintended the birds having proved untrustworthy.  "Mr
d'Urberville says you must be a good girl if you are at all as you
appear; he knows you must be worth your weight in gold.  He is very
much interested in 'ee--truth to tell."

Tess seemed for the moment really pleased to hear that she had won
such high opinion from a stranger when, in her own esteem, she had
sunk so low.

"It is very good of him to think that," she murmured; "and if I was
quite sure how it would be living there, I would go any-when."

"He is a mighty handsome man!"

"I don't think so," said Tess coldly.

"Well, there's your chance, whether or no; and I'm sure he wears a
beautiful diamond ring!"

"Yes," said little Abraham, brightly, from the window-bench; "and
I seed it! and it did twinkle when he put his hand up to his
mistarshers.  Mother, why did our grand relation keep on putting his
hand up to his mistarshers?"

"Hark at that child!" cried Mrs Durbeyfield, with parenthetic
admiration.

"Perhaps to show his diamond ring," murmured Sir John, dreamily, from
his chair.

"I'll think it over," said Tess, leaving the room.

"Well, she's made a conquest o' the younger branch of us, straight
off," continued the matron to her husband, "and she's a fool if she
don't follow it up."

"I don't quite like my children going away from home," said the
haggler.  "As the head of the family, the rest ought to come to me."

"But do let her go, Jacky," coaxed his poor witless wife.  "He's
struck wi' her--you can see that. He called her Coz!  He'll marry
her, most likely, and make a lady of her; and then she'll be what
her forefathers was."

John Durbeyfield had more conceit than energy or health, and this
supposition was pleasant to him.

"Well, perhaps that's what young Mr d'Urberville means," he admitted;
"and sure enough he mid have serious thoughts about improving his
blood by linking on to the old line.  Tess, the little rogue!  And
have she really paid 'em a visit to such an end as this?"

Meanwhile Tess was walking thoughtfully among the gooseberry-bushes
in the garden, and over Prince's grave.  When she came in her mother
pursued her advantage.

"Well, what be you going to do?" she asked.

"I wish I had seen Mrs d'Urberville," said Tess.

"I think you mid as well settle it.  Then you'll see her soon
enough."

Her father coughed in his chair.

"I don't know what to say!" answered the girl restlessly.  "It is for
you to decide.  I killed the old horse, and I suppose I ought to do
something to get ye a new one.  But--but--I don't quite like Mr
d'Urberville being there!"

The children, who had made use of this idea of Tess being taken up by
their wealthy kinsfolk (which they imagined the other family to be)
as a species of dolorifuge after the death of the horse, began to cry
at Tess's reluctance, and teased and reproached her for hesitating.

"Tess won't go-o-o and be made a la-a-dy of!--no, she says she
wo-o-on't!" they wailed, with square mouths.  "And we shan't have a
nice new horse, and lots o' golden money to buy fairlings!  And Tess
won't look pretty in her best cloze no mo-o-ore!"

Her mother chimed in to the same tune: a certain way she had of
making her labours in the house seem heavier than they were by
prolonging them indefinitely, also weighed in the argument.  Her
father alone preserved an attitude of neutrality.

"I will go," said Tess at last.

Her mother could not repress her consciousness of the nuptial vision
conjured up by the girl's consent.

"That's right!  For such a pretty maid as 'tis, this is a fine
chance!"

Tess smiled crossly.

"I hope it is a chance for earning money.  It is no other kind of
chance.  You had better say nothing of that silly sort about parish."

Mrs Durbeyfield did not promise.  She was not quite sure that she did
not feel proud enough, after the visitor's remarks, to say a good
deal.

Thus it was arranged; and the young girl wrote, agreeing to be ready
to set out on any day on which she might be required.  She was duly
informed that Mrs d'Urberville was glad of her decision, and that a
spring-cart should be sent to meet her and her luggage at the top
of the Vale on the day after the morrow, when she must hold herself
prepared to start.  Mrs d'Urberville's handwriting seemed rather
masculine.

"A cart?" murmured Joan Durbeyfield doubtingly.  "It might have been
a carriage for her own kin!"

Having at last taken her course Tess was less restless and
abstracted, going about her business with some self-assurance in the
thought of acquiring another horse for her father by an occupation
which would not be onerous.  She had hoped to be a teacher at the
school, but the fates seemed to decide otherwise.  Being mentally
older than her mother she did not regard Mrs Durbeyfield's
matrimonial hopes for her in a serious aspect for a moment.  The
light-minded woman had been discovering good matches for her daughter
almost from the year of her birth.

As Tess leaves Trantridge Cross to return home, her fellow travelers in the van remark about the roses that adorn her appearance, the first time that she is aware of the spectacle she presents to them. Her mother greets Tess excitedly, and Tess shows her a letter written by Mrs. d'Urberville stating that Tess's services would be useful to her in the management of their poultry farm. Tess tells her parents that she would rather stay with them, but she cannot tell them why for she does not know the reason. Later, Alec d'Urberville visits the Durbeyfields to see whether Tess could come to manage the poultry farm. Joan Durbeyfield thinks highly of Alec as a mighty handsome man. John Durbeyfield is convinced that Alec will marry Tess, but Tess tells her father that she does not like having Alec there. Joan Durbeyfield finally prepares for her daughter to leave, assuming that she will marry, for she has been discovering matches for her daughter since she was born.

Hardy further establishes in this chapter that Tess is unaware of the sexuality that she presents to others. Although it is evident to all who see Tess that she is adorned to appear attractive, Tess does not realize the purposes for which she was sent to Trantridge Cross. This lack of awareness of her sexuality also appears when Tess cannot articulate her objection to going to stay with the d'Urbervilles. Her obvious reason for not wanting to stay at Trantridge is the presence of Alec d'Urberville and his advances toward her, but she cannot frame this in terms of sexual anxiety. Hardy also continues with the theme of Tess as the pawn of others around her in this chapter, in which establishes that Joan Durbeyfield uses her daughter specifically to make romantic matches in hopes of raising her own estate. Her explicit purpose is to find a gentleman for her daughter, and she has pursued this course of action ever since her daughter's birth. However, if this is a sign that Joan Durbeyfield is in some sense manipulative, it also indicates the lowly state in which Tess' mother lives; her one hope for raising herself from poverty is to have her daughter marry a gentleman. Joan Durbeyfield's attempts to find her daughter a gentleman to marry, if not commendable, are nevertheless the actions of a desperate woman

Tess takes the same cart back to Marlott that she had taken out to Trantridge that morning. The basket of roses and the bouquets that Alec had pinned to her hat and dress attract the attention of the other passengers, so she tries to hide them as though ashamed of them. As she removes one of the roses from under her chin, it pricks her skin. It's getting late, so she spends the night at a friend's house on her way back to Marlott . When she arrives at home the next morning, her mother looks triumphant--she's received a letter from Mrs. D'Urberville. The letter invites Tess to come stay at the house and look after a little poultry-farm there, which is Mrs. D'Urberville's special hobby. Mrs. Durbeyfield assumes that Mrs. D'Urberville is just asking Tess to work as a means of getting her there, but that she really means to bring Tess up in her own family and make a lady of her. Tess is confused, since she didn't actually meet Mrs. D'Urberville. Mrs. Durbeyfield asks whom she did meet, then--and when Tess reports that Alec had called her "Coz," Mrs. Durbeyfield is exultant, thinking that he's acknowledged her as a relation. Tess is still hesitant about going, and asks to see the letter. She isn't convinced that it was written by Mrs. D'Urberville, and would rather stay at home with her parents. She holds out for a week, looking for work in her own neighborhood. One day she comes home, and her younger siblings inform her that "the gentleman has been here!" . Mrs. Durbeyfield explains that Mrs. D'Urberville's son happened to be passing by, and stopped to ask whether Tess would come to manage the old lady's poultry-farm or not. Tess is pleased that Alec thinks that she would do a good job managing the poultry-farm, but is still reluctant to go--she doesn't know what it will be like, living there. Her parents and her younger siblings can't stop talking about Alec's moustache or his diamond ring. Tess wanders off to think it over in the garden, while her mother triumphantly asserts that Alec is in love with Tess, and will marry her and make her a lady. Jack Durbeyfield likes this idea--it flatters his vanity. Tess comes back, and says she still doesn't know--but she's the one who killed the old horse, and she feels responsible for helping to get a new one. But she can't help not liking Mr. D'Urberville. The younger children start crying because they want Tess to become a lady. Tess finally agrees to go. Her mother is relieved--it's a fine opportunity, she says. Tess says it's an opportunity for making money, and that her mother had better not tell the neighbors that it's any other kind of opportunity. Her mother understands her, but doesn't promise. Tess writes to Mrs. D'Urberville, agreeing to come whenever she is sent for. Mrs. D'Urberville writes back, saying that a cart would be sent to pick her up the day after tomorrow. The narrator notes that Mrs. D'Urberville's handwriting looks rather masculine. Tess is happy at the prospect of helping her father to buy a new horse, but would rather have been a teacher at the school. She doesn't take her mother's hopes that she would marry Alec at all seriously.

CHAPTER 6 Summary On her way home, Tess takes a van. She becomes the center of attraction with her flowers and berries. When she arrives home, she finds that a letter has already come from Mrs. D'Urberville, offering her a job. Surprised by the quickness of the offer, she is a bit suspicious of it, especially since the handwriting in the letter is very masculine in appearance. As an alternative to this offer of tending fowls for the D'Urbervilles, Tess looks for a job in Marlott and finds there is nothing available. As a result, she decides to go to Trantridge so she can earn enough money to pay for a new horse. Notes Enthralled with Tess, Alec does not waste time in making her an offer of employment in Trantridge. He sends a letter to her about the job and signs it as his mother. Tess feels uneasy about the offer, but the rest of her family rejoices at the good news. They are all delighted that Tess has favorably impressed their wealthy kinsfolk and believes that Tess's employment will relieve them of their impoverishment. A naive Joan foresees a wedding between Alec and her daughter; but passion, not marriage is on Alec's mind


On the morning appointed for her departure Tess was awake before
dawn--at the marginal minute of the dark when the grove is still
mute, save for one prophetic bird who sings with a clear-voiced
conviction that he at least knows the correct time of day, the rest
preserving silence as if equally convinced that he is mistaken.  She
remained upstairs packing till breakfast-time, and then came down in
her ordinary week-day clothes, her Sunday apparel being carefully
folded in her box.

Her mother expostulated. "You will never set out to see your folks
without dressing up more the dand than that?"

"But I am going to work!" said Tess.

"Well, yes," said Mrs Durbeyfield; and in a private tone, "at first
there mid be a little pretence o't ...  But I think it will be wiser
of 'ee to put your best side outward," she added.

"Very well; I suppose you know best," replied Tess with calm
abandonment.

And to please her parent the girl put herself quite in Joan's hands,
saying serenely--"Do what you like with me, mother."

Mrs Durbeyfield was only too delighted at this tractability.
First she fetched a great basin, and washed Tess's hair with such
thoroughness that when dried and brushed it looked twice as much as
at other times.  She tied it with a broader pink ribbon than usual.
Then she put upon her the white frock that Tess had worn at the
club-walking, the airy fulness of which, supplementing her enlarged
_coiffure_, imparted to her developing figure an amplitude which
belied her age, and might cause her to be estimated as a woman when
she was not much more than a child.

"I declare there's a hole in my stocking-heel!" said Tess.

"Never mind holes in your stockings--they don't speak!  When I was a
maid, so long as I had a pretty bonnet the devil might ha' found me
in heels."

Her mother's pride in the girl's appearance led her to step back,
like a painter from his easel, and survey her work as a whole.

"You must zee yourself!" she cried.  "It is much better than you was
t'other day."

As the looking-glass was only large enough to reflect a very small
portion of Tess's person at one time, Mrs Durbeyfield hung a black
cloak outside the casement, and so made a large reflector of the
panes, as it is the wont of bedecking cottagers to do.  After this
she went downstairs to her husband, who was sitting in the lower
room.

"I'll tell 'ee what 'tis, Durbeyfield," said she exultingly; "he'll
never have the heart not to love her.  But whatever you do, don't zay
too much to Tess of his fancy for her, and this chance she has got.
She is such an odd maid that it mid zet her against him, or against
going there, even now.  If all goes well, I shall certainly be for
making some return to pa'son at Stagfoot Lane for telling us--dear,
good man!"

However, as the moment for the girl's setting out drew nigh, when the
first excitement of the dressing had passed off, a slight misgiving
found place in Joan Durbeyfield's mind.  It prompted the matron to
say that she would walk a little way--as far as to the point where
the acclivity from the valley began its first steep ascent to
the outer world.  At the top Tess was going to be met with the
spring-cart sent by the Stoke-d'Urbervilles, and her box had already
been wheeled ahead towards this summit by a lad with trucks, to be in
readiness.

Seeing their mother put on her bonnet, the younger children clamoured
to go with her.

"I do want to walk a little-ways wi' Sissy, now she's going to marry
our gentleman-cousin, and wear fine cloze!"

"Now," said Tess, flushing and turning quickly, "I'll hear no more o'
that!  Mother, how could you ever put such stuff into their heads?"

"Going to work, my dears, for our rich relation, and help get enough
money for a new horse," said Mrs Durbeyfield pacifically.

"Goodbye, father," said Tess, with a lumpy throat.

"Goodbye, my maid," said Sir John, raising his head from his breast
as he suspended his nap, induced by a slight excess this morning in
honour of the occasion.  "Well, I hope my young friend will like such
a comely sample of his own blood.  And tell'n, Tess, that being sunk,
quite, from our former grandeur, I'll sell him the title--yes, sell
it--and at no onreasonable figure."

"Not for less than a thousand pound!" cried Lady Durbeyfield.

"Tell'n--I'll take a thousand pound.  Well, I'll take less, when
I come to think o't.  He'll adorn it better than a poor lammicken
feller like myself can.  Tell'n he shall hae it for a hundred.  But
I won't stand upon trifles--tell'n he shall hae it for fifty--for
twenty pound!  Yes, twenty pound--that's the lowest.  Dammy, family
honour is family honour, and I won't take a penny less!"

Tess's eyes were too full and her voice too choked to utter the
sentiments that were in her.  She turned quickly, and went out.

So the girls and their mother all walked together, a child on each
side of Tess, holding her hand and looking at her meditatively from
time to time, as at one who was about to do great things; her mother
just behind with the smallest; the group forming a picture of honest
beauty flanked by innocence, and backed by simple-souled vanity.
They followed the way till they reached the beginning of the ascent,
on the crest of which the vehicle from Trantridge was to receive her,
this limit having been fixed to save the horse the labour of the last
slope.  Far away behind the first hills the cliff-like dwellings
of Shaston broke the line of the ridge. Nobody was visible in the
elevated road which skirted the ascent save the lad whom they had
sent on before them, sitting on the handle of the barrow that
contained all Tess's worldly possessions.

"Bide here a bit, and the cart will soon come, no doubt," said Mrs
Durbeyfield.  "Yes, I see it yonder!"

It had come--appearing suddenly from behind the forehead of the
nearest upland, and stopping beside the boy with the barrow.  Her
mother and the children thereupon decided to go no farther, and
bidding them a hasty goodbye, Tess bent her steps up the hill.

They saw her white shape draw near to the spring-cart, on which her
box was already placed.  But before she had quite reached it another
vehicle shot out from a clump of trees on the summit, came round the
bend of the road there, passed the luggage-cart, and halted beside
Tess, who looked up as if in great surprise.

Her mother perceived, for the first time, that the second vehicle was
not a humble conveyance like the first, but a spick-and-span gig or
dog-cart, highly varnished and equipped.  The driver was a young man
of three- or four-and-twenty, with a cigar between his teeth; wearing
a dandy cap, drab jacket, breeches of the same hue, white neckcloth,
stick-up collar, and brown driving-gloves--in short, he was the
handsome, horsey young buck who had visited Joan a week or two before
to get her answer about Tess.

Mrs Durbeyfield clapped her hands like a child.  Then she looked
down, then stared again.  Could she be deceived as to the meaning of
this?

"Is dat the gentleman-kinsman who'll make Sissy a lady?" asked the
youngest child.

Meanwhile the muslined form of Tess could be seen standing still,
undecided, beside this turn-out, whose owner was talking to her.
Her seeming indecision was, in fact, more than indecision: it was
misgiving.  She would have preferred the humble cart.  The young
man dismounted, and appeared to urge her to ascend.  She turned her
face down the hill to her relatives, and regarded the little group.
Something seemed to quicken her to a determination; possibly the
thought that she had killed Prince.  She suddenly stepped up; he
mounted beside her, and immediately whipped on the horse.  In a
moment they had passed the slow cart with the box, and disappeared
behind the shoulder of the hill.

Directly Tess was out of sight, and the interest of the matter as a
drama was at an end, the little ones' eyes filled with tears.  The
youngest child said, "I wish poor, poor Tess wasn't gone away to be a
lady!" and, lowering the corners of his lips, burst out crying.  The
new point of view was infectious, and the next child did likewise,
and then the next, till the whole three of them wailed loud.

There were tears also in Joan Durbeyfield's eyes as she turned to
go home.  But by the time she had got back to the village she was
passively trusting to the favour of accident.  However, in bed that
night she sighed, and her husband asked her what was the matter.

"Oh, I don't know exactly," she said.  "I was thinking that perhaps
it would ha' been better if Tess had not gone."

"Oughtn't ye to have thought of that before?"

"Well, 'tis a chance for the maid--Still, if 'twere the doing again,
I wouldn't let her go till I had found out whether the gentleman
is really a good-hearted young man and choice over her as his
kinswoman."

"Yes, you ought, perhaps, to ha' done that," snored Sir John.

Joan Durbeyfield always managed to find consolation somewhere: "Well,
as one of the genuine stock, she ought to make her way with 'en, if
she plays her trump card aright.  And if he don't marry her afore he
will after.  For that he's all afire wi' love for her any eye can
see."

"What's her trump card?  Her d'Urberville blood, you mean?"

"No, stupid; her face--as 'twas mine."

The day that Tess is to leave, her mother scolds her for not dressing well, even though Tess dresses in proper clothes for working. Tess submits to her mother's wishes and has her hair washed. Although Joan expects her daughter to be married, she feels a slight misgiving as Tess leaves. The younger children cry when Tess leaves, but Tess scolds them for thinking that she will marry a gentleman. As Tess leaves, Joan remarks that Tess will do well as long as she plays her trump card. This trump card is not her d'Urberville blood, as her father believes, but her face.

Joan Durbeyfield continues to promote the idea of Tess going to Trantridge Cross to marry in this chapter, in which she dresses her daughter for attracting men, and not for her labor tending Mrs. d'Urberville's chickens. Her remark that Tess's trump card' is her face is the most explicit declaration that Joan is sending her daughter to find a husband and not to work in a job. Likewise, Tess continues to resist the idea that she is a sexual object sent for a commercial transaction that will save her family's financial situation. However, Joan exhibits her first signs of guilt and self-awareness concerning her actions toward her daughter. This further foreshadows the impending danger that Tess faces in going to Trantridge Cross

Tess wakes up early the day she is supposed to set out for The Slopes. Her mother insists that she wear her finest dress, and Tess objects that she's going to work, not for a holiday. Her mother presses her, and Tess finally agrees to let her mother dress her in any way she sees fit. Her mother washes and dries Tess's hair so that it's all soft and fluffy, and ties it back with a big pink ribbon. The narrator tells us that Tess's huge hair, combined with her... ahem, other assets--make her seem older than she is. Her mother is very pleased with how pretty Tess looks. Tess says goodbye to her father, who tells her that he's willing to sell the other branch of the family the rights to the family name for a thousand--no, a hundred--no, for fifty--okay, fine, for twenty pounds. Tess feels rather bitter as she turns to leave. Her mother and some of the younger children walk with Tess to where she's arranged to meet the cart. Tess is about to climb into the cart when they see a second one coming. This one is a fancy two-person carriage, driven by--you guessed it--Alec D'Urberville himself. Tess is hesitant to climb up with him--she would have preferred the plain country cart that is carrying her luggage. But, after a moment's hesitation, she climbs in with him. As soon as Tess is out of sight, the younger children start to cry. Even Mrs. Durbeyfield tears up. That night in bed, she expresses her misgivings to her husband--maybe, she thinks, she ought to have looked into the young man's character a bit before trusting her daughter with him so far from home. But then she comforts herself with the thought that "if he don't marry her afore he will after" .

CHAPTER 7 Summary On the day of her departure, Tess dresses in her best clothes at the insistence of her mother, who is still dreaming about her daughter marrying Alec. Joan is delighted with Tess's appearance and feels confident that it will be difficult for Alec to ignore her beauty. Tess's younger brothers and sisters are jubilant about the thought of their sister marrying a gentleman. When Tess is ready to leave, Joan begins to worry about sending her daughter away. She walks with Tess for awhile, and some of the children follow along. As she approaches the cart that will take her luggage, Tess bids her family a quick good-bye. She then looks up and sees Alec, who has come for her. When she climbs up beside him, she can still see her family in the distance. As she thinks about their needs, Tess knows that she is doing the correct thing by going to Trantridge. It is now her family that is uncertain; they are unhappy and tearful about her departure. For the first time, Joan is apprehensive about sending her away with a stranger and regrets not having made inquiries about him. Notes Joan is fully aware of her family's plight in life. She also knows that Tess' rustic beauty is the only thing to save them from poverty. When Tess tells her mother about the D'Urberville's son, Joan thinks that Alec must have great admiration for her daughter. She, therefore, insists that Tess dress in her best clothes to go to Trantridge in order to impress Alec further. She wants her daughter to wed this wealthy young man, for matrimony is the most convenient way of gaining wealth and status. A D'Urberville marriage would benefit the whole family. Unfortunately, Joan is not sending Tess away to a marriage to Alec; instead, she her daughter will soon endure a seduction by this cruel man. It is important to note Joan's misgivings during the chapter. At first she thinks it is wonderful that Tess is going to Trantridge. Then she is saddened by the thought of losing her daughter. Finally, she feels guilty and nervous about sending Tess away with a stranger that she knows nothing about. Joan's misgivings are well founded and serve as a flashback to the feelings Tess has had upon meeting Alec. Joan's feelings also foreshadow the future trouble that Alec will cause


Having mounted beside her, Alec d'Urberville drove rapidly along
the crest of the first hill, chatting compliments to Tess as they
went, the cart with her box being left far behind.  Rising still, an
immense landscape stretched around them on every side; behind, the
green valley of her birth, before, a gray country of which she knew
nothing except from her first brief visit to Trantridge.  Thus they
reached the verge of an incline down which the road stretched in a
long straight descent of nearly a mile.

Ever since the accident with her father's horse Tess Durbeyfield,
courageous as she naturally was, had been exceedingly timid on
wheels; the least irregularity of motion startled her.  She began to
get uneasy at a certain recklessness in her conductor's driving.

"You will go down slow, sir, I suppose?" she said with attempted
unconcern.

D'Urberville looked round upon her, nipped his cigar with the tips of
his large white centre-teeth, and allowed his lips to smile slowly of
themselves.

"Why, Tess," he answered, after another whiff or two, "it isn't a
brave bouncing girl like you who asks that?  Why, I always go down at
full gallop.  There's nothing like it for raising your spirits."

"But perhaps you need not now?"

"Ah," he said, shaking his head, "there are two to be reckoned with.
It is not me alone.  Tib has to be considered, and she has a very
queer temper."

"Who?"

"Why, this mare.  I fancy she looked round at me in a very grim way
just then.  Didn't you notice it?"

"Don't try to frighten me, sir," said Tess stiffly.

"Well, I don't.  If any living man can manage this horse I can: I
won't say any living man can do it--but if such has the power, I am
he."

"Why do you have such a horse?"

"Ah, well may you ask it!  It was my fate, I suppose. Tib has killed
one chap; and just after I bought her she nearly killed me.  And
then, take my word for it, I nearly killed her.  But she's touchy
still, very touchy; and one's life is hardly safe behind her
sometimes."

They were just beginning to descend; and it was evident that the
horse, whether of her own will or of his (the latter being the more
likely), knew so well the reckless performance expected of her that
she hardly required a hint from behind.

Down, down, they sped, the wheels humming like a top, the dog-cart
rocking right and left, its axis acquiring a slightly oblique set
in relation to the line of progress; the figure of the horse rising
and falling in undulations before them.  Sometimes a wheel was off
the ground, it seemed, for many yards; sometimes a stone was sent
spinning over the hedge, and flinty sparks from the horse's hoofs
outshone the daylight.  The aspect of the straight road enlarged with
their advance, the two banks dividing like a splitting stick; one
rushing past at each shoulder.

The wind blew through Tess's white muslin to her very skin, and her
washed hair flew out behind.  She was determined to show no open
fear, but she clutched d'Urberville's rein-arm.

"Don't touch my arm!  We shall be thrown out if you do!  Hold on
round my waist!"

She grasped his waist, and so they reached the bottom.

"Safe, thank God, in spite of your fooling!" said she, her face on
fire.

"Tess--fie! that's temper!" said d'Urberville.

"'Tis truth."

"Well, you need not let go your hold of me so thanklessly the moment
you feel yourself our of danger."

She had not considered what she had been doing; whether he were man
or woman, stick or stone, in her involuntary hold on him.  Recovering
her reserve, she sat without replying, and thus they reached the
summit of another declivity.

"Now then, again!" said d'Urberville.

"No, no!" said Tess.  "Show more sense, do, please."

"But when people find themselves on one of the highest points in the
county, they must get down again," he retorted.

He loosened rein, and away they went a second time.  D'Urberville
turned his face to her as they rocked, and said, in playful raillery:
"Now then, put your arms round my waist again, as you did before, my
Beauty."

"Never!" said Tess independently, holding on as well as she could
without touching him.

"Let me put one little kiss on those holmberry lips, Tess, or even on
that warmed cheek, and I'll stop--on my honour, I will!"

Tess, surprised beyond measure, slid farther back still on her seat,
at which he urged the horse anew, and rocked her the more.

"Will nothing else do?" she cried at length, in desperation, her
large eyes staring at him like those of a wild animal.  This dressing
her up so prettily by her mother had apparently been to lamentable
purpose.

"Nothing, dear Tess," he replied.

"Oh, I don't know--very well; I don't mind!" she panted miserably.

He drew rein, and as they slowed he was on the point of imprinting
the desired salute, when, as if hardly yet aware of her own modesty,
she dodged aside.  His arms being occupied with the reins there was
left him no power to prevent her manoeuvre.

"Now, damn it--I'll break both our necks!" swore her capriciously
passionate companion.  "So you can go from your word like that, you
young witch, can you?"

"Very well," said Tess, "I'll not move since you be so determined!
But I--thought you would be kind to me, and protect me, as my
kinsman!"

"Kinsman be hanged!  Now!"

"But I don't want anybody to kiss me, sir!" she implored, a big
tear beginning to roll down her face, and the corners of her mouth
trembling in her attempts not to cry.  "And I wouldn't ha' come if
I had known!"

He was inexorable, and she sat still, and d'Urberville gave her the
kiss of mastery.  No sooner had he done so than she flushed with
shame, took out her handkerchief, and wiped the spot on her cheek
that had been touched by his lips.  His ardour was nettled at the
sight, for the act on her part had been unconsciously done.

"You are mighty sensitive for a cottage girl!" said the young man.

Tess made no reply to this remark, of which, indeed, she did not
quite comprehend the drift, unheeding the snub she had administered
by her instinctive rub upon her cheek.  She had, in fact, undone the
kiss, as far as such a thing was physically possible.  With a dim
sense that he was vexed she looked steadily ahead as they trotted on
near Melbury Down and Wingreen, till she saw, to her consternation,
that there was yet another descent to be undergone.

"You shall be made sorry for that!" he resumed, his injured tone
still remaining, as he flourished the whip anew.  "Unless, that is,
you agree willingly to let me do it again, and no handkerchief."

She sighed. "Very well, sir!" she said.  "Oh--let me get my hat!"

At the moment of speaking her hat had blown off into the road, their
present speed on the upland being by no means slow.  D'Urberville
pulled up, and said he would get it for her, but Tess was down on the
other side.

She turned back and picked up the article.

"You look prettier with it off, upon my soul, if that's possible," he
said, contemplating her over the back of the vehicle.  "Now then, up
again!  What's the matter?"

The hat was in place and tied, but Tess had not stepped forward.

"No, sir," she said, revealing the red and ivory of her mouth as her
eye lit in defiant triumph; "not again, if I know it!"

"What--you won't get up beside me?"

"No; I shall walk."

"'Tis five or six miles yet to Trantridge."

"I don't care if 'tis dozens.  Besides, the cart is behind."

"You artful hussy!  Now, tell me--didn't you make that hat blow off
on purpose?  I'll swear you did!"

Her strategic silence confirmed his suspicion.

Then d'Urberville cursed and swore at her, and called her everything
he could think of for the trick.  Turning the horse suddenly he tried
to drive back upon her, and so hem her in between the gig and the
hedge.  But he could not do this short of injuring her.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself for using such wicked words!"
cried Tess with spirit, from the top of the hedge into which she had
scrambled.  "I don't like 'ee at all!  I hate and detest you!  I'll
go back to mother, I will!"

D'Urberville's bad temper cleared up at sight of hers; and he laughed
heartily.

"Well, I like you all the better," he said.  "Come, let there be
peace.  I'll never do it any more against your will.  My life upon
it now!"

Still Tess could not be induced to remount.  She did not, however,
object to his keeping his gig alongside her; and in this manner, at
a slow pace, they advanced towards the village of Trantridge.  From
time to time d'Urberville exhibited a sort of fierce distress at
the sight of the tramping he had driven her to undertake by his
misdemeanour.  She might in truth have safely trusted him now; but he
had forfeited her confidence for the time, and she kept on the ground
progressing thoughtfully, as if wondering whether it would be wiser
to return home.  Her resolve, however, had been taken, and it seemed
vacillating even to childishness to abandon it now, unless for graver
reasons.  How could she face her parents, get back her box, and
disconcert the whole scheme for the rehabilitation of her family on
such sentimental grounds?

A few minutes later the chimneys of The Slopes appeared in view, and
in a snug nook to the right the poultry-farm and cottage of Tess'
destination.

As Alec and Tess drive the carriage toward Trantridge, Tess becomes frightened by the quick movement of the horse as they go down the hill. She grasps Alec's arm, but he tells her to grasp his waist so that he can still control the horse. When the horse becomes calm, she reprimands him for driving so recklessly, but he tells her to put her arms around his waist again. She says never, but he persists. She says that she thought that he would be kind to her as her kinsman. He calls her rather sensitive for a cottage girl, and calls her an artful hussy.

The problems that Alec and Tess have on the carriage traveling toward Trantridge serve as a bridge between two of the most important events in the novel, simultaneously building on Tess's guilt concerning the death of the family horse and foreshadowing later events in which Tess finds herself in danger with Alec d'Urberville. In this chapter, Hardy intertwines the danger of their travel along with sexuality, as Alec demands that Tess grasp his waist as the carriage tumbles down the hill. Alec exploits moments of danger for his own sexual gain, presenting Tess with danger in order to use her as a sexual conquest. Alec himself symbolizes the confluence of these two qualities, a character who presents his sexuality along with a great capacity for violence. Alec's reprimand of Tess as "rather sensitive for a cottage girl" serves to shatter the idea that Tess may marry a gentleman. As Alec notes, no matter her distant family connections, Tess is of such lowly birth that she may consent to be the mistress of a gentleman but not his wife

Alec drives Tess up the first hill as they leave Marlott, "chatting compliments" to Tess as they go . Tess is rather nervous in carriages ever since the accident with Prince, so she asks Alec to go down the hill slowly. Alec says he likes going down quickly, and is surprised that Tess doesn't. When Tess persists, Alec says that Tib is a wicked horse, and does what she wants--he can barely control her sometimes. So the horse bolts down the hill , and Tess clutches at Alec's arm. Alec cries out for her to hold his waist--clutching his arm interferes with his ability to control the horse. She's pretty angry when they reach the bottom, and lets go of him. When they reach the top of the next hill, he takes off again. She clutches the side of the carriage this time, to avoid touching him. He tells her that he'll stop if she allows him to kiss "those holmberry lips" . Tess is surprised and pulls away from him as best she can, and he rocks the carriage even harder. She miserably agrees, but dodges at the last minute. He's angry, and swears he'll break both their necks if she goes back on her word like that. Tess agrees again, but complains that she thought he was going to protect her, as her "kinsman." Alec insists on the kiss. Tess doesn't want to be kissed, but allows it anyway. But as soon as he's kissed her, she rubs her cheek with her handkerchief. Alec is annoyed that she felt the need to wipe it off, so when they reach the top of the final hill, he threatens to race down it unless she allows him to kiss her again, and not to wipe it off. Tess starts to agree, and then her hat blows off. She asks to climb down to get it. Once she's down, she refuses to climb back up, even though it's still five or six miles to Trantridge. Alec suspects that she let the hat blow off on purpose. She doesn't answer. He scolds her and calls her names, and she yells at him for using bad words, and tells him she hates him, and will go back to her mother. Alec cheers up in response, and offers to allow her back into the carriage without pressing her for any more kisses. She doesn't trust him, even though she probably could at this point. So she walks the rest of the way to Trantridge, and Alec walks the carriage along beside her. She considers going back home to her parents, but is afraid that she would seem wishy-washy.

CHAPTER 8 Tess leaves with Alec for Trantridge. His reckless driving makes Tess uneasy. She asks him to be more careful, and he demands a kiss to oblige her, revealing his true nature. Tess immediately wipes her cheek after Alec forcibly plants a kiss on it. This action outrages Alec. Shortly afterwards, Tess's hat blows off, and she gets off the cart to retrieve it. Then she refuses to get back in the cart with Alec, for she is upset over his amorous advances and his anger. Tess is determined to walk the rest of the way, and Alec grows even more furious at her audacity. While walking, Tess ponders returning home, for she cannot trust her employer. Notes It is very obvious that Alec is infatuated with Tess, for he cannot keep his eyes off of her. Tess's constant requests to Alec to be more attentive towards the road rather than her go unheeded. In fact, he tries to show off more by urging the horses into a full gallop. The jerky ride leaves Tess on edge. When Alec demands a kiss in order to drive more cautiously, Tess is shocked and begins to realize what the real Alec is like. She protests his behavior by refusing to reboard the cart after retrieving her hat. Alec screams at her, and Tess angrily responds; but she still refuses to climb back up beside him. As Alec watches her trudge beside the cart, he feels somewhat guilty, for he knows he has caused the situation. At the same time, Tess wants to go home, but she feels no one would accept or understand her reasons. If Tess, at this point, had followed her instincts, she would have saved herself from the cruel hands of fate. At the beginning of the chapter, Hardy foreshadows that fate will not be kind to Tess. He states that she was leaving Marlott, "the Green Valley" of her birth, and moving towards an unknown "grey country"


The community of fowls to which Tess had been appointed as
supervisor, purveyor, nurse, surgeon, and friend made its
headquarters in an old thatched cottage standing in an enclosure that
had once been a garden, but was now a trampled and sanded square.
The house was overrun with ivy, its chimney being enlarged by the
boughs of the parasite to the aspect of a ruined tower.  The lower
rooms were entirely given over to the birds, who walked about them
with a proprietary air, as though the place had been built by
themselves, and not by certain dusty copyholders who now lay east
and west in the churchyard.  The descendants of these bygone owners
felt it almost as a slight to their family when the house which had
so much of their affection, had cost so much of their forefathers'
money, and had been in their possession for several generations
before the d'Urbervilles came and built here, was indifferently
turned into a fowl-house by Mrs Stoke-d'Urberville as soon as the
property fell into hand according to law.  "'Twas good enough for
Christians in grandfather's time," they said.

The rooms wherein dozens of infants had wailed at their nursing now
resounded with the tapping of nascent chicks.  Distracted hens in
coops occupied spots where formerly stood chairs supporting sedate
agriculturists.  The chimney-corner and once-blazing hearth was now
filled with inverted beehives, in which the hens laid their eggs;
while out of doors the plots that each succeeding householder had
carefully shaped with his spade were torn by the cocks in wildest
fashion.

The garden in which the cottage stood was surrounded by a wall, and
could only be entered through a door.

When Tess had occupied herself about an hour the next morning in
altering and improving the arrangements, according to her skilled
ideas as the daughter of a professed poulterer, the door in the wall
opened and a servant in white cap and apron entered.  She had come
from the manor-house.

"Mrs d'Urberville wants the fowls as usual," she said; but perceiving
that Tess did not quite understand, she explained, "Mis'ess is a old
lady, and blind."

"Blind!" said Tess.

Almost before her misgiving at the news could find time to shape
itself she took, under her companion's direction, two of the
most beautiful of the Hamburghs in her arms, and followed the
maid-servant, who had likewise taken two, to the adjacent mansion,
which, though ornate and imposing, showed traces everywhere on this
side that some occupant of its chambers could bend to the love of
dumb creatures--feathers floating within view of the front, and
hen-coops standing on the grass.

In a sitting-room on the ground-floor, ensconced in an armchair with
her back to the light, was the owner and mistress of the estate, a
white-haired woman of not more than sixty, or even less, wearing a
large cap.  She had the mobile face frequent in those whose sight
has decayed by stages, has been laboriously striven after, and
reluctantly let go, rather than the stagnant mien apparent in persons
long sightless or born blind.  Tess walked up to this lady with her
feathered charges--one sitting on each arm.

"Ah, you are the young woman come to look after my birds?" said Mrs
d'Urberville, recognizing a new footstep.  "I hope you will be kind
to them.  My bailiff tells me you are quite the proper person.
Well, where are they?  Ah, this is Strut!  But he is hardly so
lively to-day, is he?  He is alarmed at being handled by a stranger,
I suppose. And Phena too--yes, they are a little frightened--aren't
you, dears? But they will soon get used to you."

While the old lady had been speaking Tess and the other maid, in
obedience to her gestures, had placed the fowls severally in her lap,
and she had felt them over from head to tail, examining their beaks,
their combs, the manes of the cocks, their wings, and their claws.
Her touch enabled her to recognize them in a moment, and to discover
if a single feather were crippled or draggled.  She handled their
crops, and knew what they had eaten, and if too little or too much;
her face enacting a vivid pantomime of the criticisms passing in her
mind.

The birds that the two girls had brought in were duly returned to the
yard, and the process was repeated till all the pet cocks and hens
had been submitted to the old woman--Hamburghs, Bantams, Cochins,
Brahmas, Dorkings, and such other sorts as were in fashion just
then--her perception of each visitor being seldom at fault as she
received the bird upon her knees.

It reminded Tess of a Confirmation, in which Mrs d'Urberville was the
bishop, the fowls the young people presented, and herself and the
maid-servant the parson and curate of the parish bringing them up.
At the end of the ceremony Mrs d'Urberville abruptly asked Tess,
wrinkling and twitching her face into undulations, "Can you whistle?"

"Whistle, Ma'am?"

"Yes, whistle tunes."

Tess could whistle like most other country-girls, though the
accomplishment was one which she did not care to profess in genteel
company.  However, she blandly admitted that such was the fact.

"Then you will have to practise it every day.  I had a lad who did it
very well, but he has left.  I want you to whistle to my bullfinches;
as I cannot see them, I like to hear them, and we teach 'em airs
that way.  Tell her where the cages are, Elizabeth.  You must begin
to-morrow, or they will go back in their piping. They have been
neglected these several days."

"Mr d'Urberville whistled to 'em this morning, ma'am," said
Elizabeth.

"He!  Pooh!"

The old lady's face creased into furrows of repugnance, and she made
no further reply.

Thus the reception of Tess by her fancied kinswoman terminated, and
the birds were taken back to their quarters.  The girl's surprise at
Mrs d'Urberville's manner was not great; for since seeing the size of
the house she had expected no more.  But she was far from being aware
that the old lady had never heard a word of the so-called kinship.
She gathered that no great affection flowed between the blind woman
and her son.  But in that, too, she was mistaken.  Mrs d'Urberville
was not the first mother compelled to love her offspring resentfully,
and to be bitterly fond.

In spite of the unpleasant initiation of the day before, Tess
inclined to the freedom and novelty of her new position in the
morning when the sun shone, now that she was once installed there;
and she was curious to test her powers in the unexpected direction
asked of her, so as to ascertain her chance of retaining her post.
As soon as she was alone within the walled garden she sat herself
down on a coop, and seriously screwed up her mouth for the
long-neglected practice.  She found her former ability to have
degenerated to the production of a hollow rush of wind through the
lips, and no clear note at all.

She remained fruitlessly blowing and blowing, wondering how she
could have so grown out of the art which had come by nature, till
she became aware of a movement among the ivy-boughs which cloaked
the garden-wall no less then the cottage.  Looking that way she
beheld a form springing from the coping to the plot.  It was Alec
d'Urberville, whom she had not set eyes on since he had conducted
her the day before to the door of the gardener's cottage where she
had lodgings.

"Upon my honour!" cried he, "there was never before such a beautiful
thing in Nature or Art as you look, 'Cousin' Tess ('Cousin' had a
faint ring of mockery).  I have been watching you from over the
wall--sitting like IM-patience on a monument, and pouting up that
pretty red mouth to whistling shape, and whooing and whooing, and
privately swearing, and never being able to produce a note.  Why,
you are quite cross because you can't do it."

"I may be cross, but I didn't swear."

"Ah!  I understand why you are trying--those bullies!  My mother
wants you to carry on their musical education.  How selfish of her!
As if attending to these curst cocks and hens here were not enough
work for any girl.  I would flatly refuse, if I were you."

"But she wants me particularly to do it, and to be ready by to-morrow
morning."

"Does she?  Well then--I'll give you a lesson or two."

"Oh no, you won't!" said Tess, withdrawing towards the door.

"Nonsense; I don't want to touch you.  See--I'll stand on this side
of the wire-netting, and you can keep on the other; so you may feel
quite safe.  Now, look here; you screw up your lips too harshly.
There 'tis--so."

He suited the action to the word, and whistled a line of "Take, O
take those lips away."  But the allusion was lost upon Tess.

"Now try," said d'Urberville.

She attempted to look reserved; her face put on a sculptural
severity.  But he persisted in his demand, and at last, to get rid of
him, she did put up her lips as directed for producing a clear note;
laughing distressfully, however, and then blushing with vexation that
she had laughed.

He encouraged her with "Try again!"

Tess was quite serious, painfully serious by this time; and she
tried--ultimately and unexpectedly emitting a real round sound.
The momentary pleasure of success got the better of her; her eyes
enlarged, and she involuntarily smiled in his face.

"That's it!  Now I have started you--you'll go on beautifully.
There--I said I would not come near you; and, in spite of such
temptation as never before fell to mortal man, I'll keep my
word...  Tess, do you think my mother a queer old soul?"

"I don't know much of her yet, sir."

"You'll find her so; she must be, to make you learn to whistle to her
bullfinches.  I am rather out of her books just now, but you will be
quite in favour if you treat her live-stock well.  Good morning.  If
you meet with any difficulties and want help here, don't go to the
bailiff, come to me."

It was in the economy of this _regime_ that Tess Durbeyfield had
undertaken to fill a place.  Her first day's experiences were fairly
typical of those which followed through many succeeding days.  A
familiarity with Alec d'Urberville's presence--which that young man
carefully cultivated in her by playful dialogue, and by jestingly
calling her his cousin when they were alone--removed much of her
original shyness of him, without, however, implanting any feeling
which could engender shyness of a new and tenderer kind.  But she was
more pliable under his hands than a mere companionship would have
made her, owing to her unavoidable dependence upon his mother, and,
through that lady's comparative helplessness, upon him.

She soon found that whistling to the bullfinches in Mrs
d'Urberville's room was no such onerous business when she had
regained the art, for she had caught from her musical mother numerous
airs that suited those songsters admirably.  A far more satisfactory
time than when she practised in the garden was this whistling by the
cages each morning.  Unrestrained by the young man's presence she
threw up her mouth, put her lips near the bars, and piped away in
easeful grace to the attentive listeners.

Mrs d'Urberville slept in a large four-post bedstead hung with heavy
damask curtains, and the bullfinches occupied the same apartment,
where they flitted about freely at certain hours, and made little
white spots on the furniture and upholstery.  Once while Tess was at
the window where the cages were ranged, giving her lesson as usual,
she thought she heard a rustling behind the bed.  The old lady was
not present, and turning round the girl had an impression that
the toes of a pair of boots were visible below the fringe of the
curtains.  Thereupon her whistling became so disjointed that the
listener, if such there were, must have discovered her suspicion of
his presence.  She searched the curtains every morning after that,
but never found anybody within them.  Alec d'Urberville had evidently
thought better of his freak to terrify her by an ambush of that kind.

Tess begins to care for the birds in Mrs. d'Urberville's poultry house. Tess meets the old woman, who is blind, and asks Tess if she knows how to whistle. Although she knows that it is not a genteel trait, Tess admits to knowing how to whistle, and Mrs. d'Urberville tells her to practice it every day so that she can whistle to her bullfinches. Mrs. d'Urberville is not aware that Tess is a relative. The next day, Tess tries to whistle to the bullfinches, but becomes cross because she finds that she cannot do so. Alec finds her frustrated, and offers to give Tess a lesson. Repeated interaction with Alec d'Urberville removes Tess's original shyness toward him, without implanting any feeling which could engender a more tender shyness. One day, when Tess is whistling to the bullfinches in Mrs. d'Urberville's room while she is absent, Tess hears a rustling behind the bed. Alec has been hiding behind the curtains.

Tess's first meeting with Mrs. d'Urberville further serves to place Tess back to her original place in the social order. Mrs. d'Urberville is impersonal and condescending, treating Tess as a mere rural servant girl and not as a relative; indeed, she does not even know that Tess is a distant relation. This implies that Alec has brought her to the house under false pretenses; he has not brought her to claim kinship with him and his mother, but rather for his own personal reasons. Hardy further establishes Alec d'Urberville as a sexual predator in this chapter, a man who even stalks Tess as she whistles to the bullfinches. Nevertheless, Tess begins to become more accustomed to Alec, despite the sexual danger he presents to her. Alec ingratiates himself to Tess by aiding her in her work. This is the first evidence that Tess has let her guard down around a man whom she inherently suspects. While Tess still does not care for the villainous Alec d'Urberville, she is becoming increasingly familiar with him and receptive to him

The chapter opens with a description of the poultry farm at The Slopes where Tess is going to work. The poultry house is an old cottage where tenant farmers used to live. But now it's all overrun with chickens. Tess begins to tidy the place up, when a maid comes in and tells her that Mrs. D'Urberville "wants the fowls as usual" . Apparently, Mrs. D'Urberville is a blind old lady, and likes to inspect the chickens individually each day by feeling them with her hands. So Tess and the maid bring the chickens and roosters to her, one at a time, and allow her to inspect them. Mrs. D'Urberville then "inspects" Tess herself--and unexpectedly asks if she can whistle. Whistling wasn't considered all that "ladylike" at this point in time, but Tess admits that she knows how. Mrs. D'Urberville wants Tess to whistle tunes to her pet finches. Because she can't see them, she likes to hear them tweet, and they learn tunes if someone's there to whistle to them. Tess goes back to the poultry farm and practices whistling alone. She hasn't tried in so long, she's having a hard time remembering. Suddenly she realizes she's not alone--Alec is watching her pucker up her lips through the fence. She's embarrassed. Alec offers to show her how it's done, and after a few tries she gets it again. So Tess starts whistling to the birds every day, and Alec continues to hang out near her and flirt with her, until she gradually gets used to his company. Although she still doesn't love him, she doesn't mind him as much. One day, as she's whistling to the finches in Mrs. D'Urberville's room, she notices Alec's feet sticking out at the bottom of Mrs. D'Urberville's canopied four-poster bed. Tess starts checking the bed every morning before starting her whistling routine, but apparently Alec has given up the idea of "ambush" her in that way.

CHAPTER 9 Summary On reaching her destination, Tess is shocked to discover that Mrs. D'Urberville is blind. She also finds the elderly woman to be cold and uncaring towards her. Tess learns from her that in addition to tending the Trantridge fowl, she is to whistle for the bullfinches every morning. Alec seizes this opportunity to teach Tess how to whistle and encourages her to practice. He tries to find reasons to spend time with her. Tess tries to ignore him and settles into her new existence. Notes The reader is introduced to the D'Urberville house, which Tess judges to be a bit unruly. She is shocked to find that Mrs. D'Urberville is blind and too naive to realize that the elderly woman knows nothing about who Tess is. She thinks that the woman's indifference to her is simply due to her wealth. Alec has obviously not explained anything to his mother, but he delights in calling Tess "cousin" when they are alone. In spite of Alec's all too frequent presence, Tess settles into her new routine and is happy looking after the birds