wohnzimmer farbe hellgrau

chapter xxxv her narrative ended; even its re-assertionsand secondary explanations were done. tess's voice throughout had hardly risenhigher than its opening tone; there had been no exculpatory phrase of any kind, andshe had not wept. but the complexion even of external thingsseemed to suffer transmutation as her announcement progressed. the fire in the grate looked impish--demoniacally funny, as if it did not care in the least about her strait.the fender grinned idly, as if it too did not care.

the light from the water-bottle was merelyengaged in a chromatic problem. all material objects around announced theirirresponsibility with terrible iteration. and yet nothing had changed since themoments when he had been kissing her; or rather, nothing in the substance of things.but the essence of things had changed. when she ceased, the auricular impressionsfrom their previous endearments seemed to hustle away into the corner of theirbrains, repeating themselves as echoes from a time of supremely purblind foolishness. clare performed the irrelevant act ofstirring the fire; the intelligence had not even yet got to the bottom of him.

after stirring the embers he rose to hisfeet; all the force of her disclosure had imparted itself now.his face had withered. in the strenuousness of his concentrationhe treadled fitfully on the floor. he could not, by any contrivance, thinkclosely enough; that was the meaning of his vague movement. when he spoke it was in the mostinadequate, commonplace voice of the many varied tones she had heard from him."tess!" "yes, dearest." "am i to believe this?from your manner i am to take it as true.

o you cannot be out of your mind!you ought to be! yet you are not... my wife, my tess--nothing in you warrantssuch a supposition as that?" "i am not out of my mind," she said. "and yet--" he looked vacantly at her, toresume with dazed senses: "why didn't you tell me before?ah, yes, you would have told me, in a way-- but i hindered you, i remember!" these and other of his words were nothingbut the perfunctory babble of the surface while the depths remained paralyzed.he turned away, and bent over a chair.

tess followed him to the middle of theroom, where he was, and stood there staring at him with eyes that did not weep. presently she slid down upon her kneesbeside his foot, and from this position she crouched in a heap."in the name of our love, forgive me!" she whispered with a dry mouth. "i have forgiven you for the same!"and, as he did not answer, she said again-- "forgive me as you are forgiven!i forgive you, angel." "you--yes, you do." "but you do not forgive me?""o tess, forgiveness does not apply to the

case!you were one person; now you are another. my god--how can forgiveness meet such agrotesque--prestidigitation as that!" he paused, contemplating this definition;then suddenly broke into horrible laughter- -as unnatural and ghastly as a laugh inhell. "don't--don't! it kills me quite, that!" she shrieked."o have mercy upon me--have mercy!" he did not answer; and, sickly white, shejumped up. "angel, angel! what do you mean by thatlaugh?" she cried out. "do you know what this is to me?"he shook his head.

"i have been hoping, longing, praying, tomake you happy! i have thought what joy it will be to doit, what an unworthy wife i shall be if i do not! that's what i have felt, angel!""i know that." "i thought, angel, that you loved me--me,my very self! if it is i you do love, o how can it bethat you look and speak so? it frightens me! having begun to love you, i love you forever--in all changes, in all disgraces, because you are yourself.i ask no more.

then how can you, o my own husband, stoploving me?" "i repeat, the woman i have been loving isnot you." "but who?" "another woman in your shape."she perceived in his words the realization of her own apprehensive foreboding informer times. he looked upon her as a species ofimposter; a guilty woman in the guise of an innocent one. terror was upon her white face as she sawit; her cheek was flaccid, and her mouth had almost the aspect of a round littlehole.

the horrible sense of his view of her sodeadened her that she staggered, and he stepped forward, thinking she was going tofall. "sit down, sit down," he said gently. "you are ill; and it is natural that youshould be." she did sit down, without knowing where shewas, that strained look still upon her face, and her eyes such as to make hisflesh creep. "i don't belong to you any more, then; doi, angel?" she asked helplessly. "it is not me, but another woman like methat he loved, he says." the image raised caused her to take pityupon herself as one who was ill-used.

her eyes filled as she regarded herposition further; she turned round and burst into a flood of self-sympathetictears. clare was relieved at this change, for theeffect on her of what had happened was beginning to be a trouble to him only lessthan the woe of the disclosure itself. he waited patiently, apathetically, tillthe violence of her grief had worn itself out, and her rush of weeping had lessenedto a catching gasp at intervals. "angel," she said suddenly, in her naturaltones, the insane, dry voice of terror having left her now."angel, am i too wicked for you and me to live together?"

"i have not been able to think what we cando." "i shan't ask you to let me live with you,angel, because i have no right to! i shall not write to mother and sisters tosay we be married, as i said i would do; and i shan't finish the good-hussif' i cutout and meant to make while we were in lodgings." "shan't you?" "no, i shan't do anything, unless you orderme to; and if you go away from me i shall not follow 'ee; and if you never speak tome any more i shall not ask why, unless you tell me i may."

"and if i order you to do anything?""i will obey you like your wretched slave, even if it is to lie down and die.""you are very good. but it strikes me that there is a want ofharmony between your present mood of self- sacrifice and your past mood of self-preservation." these were the first words of antagonism. to fling elaborate sarcasms at tess,however, was much like flinging them at a dog or cat. the charms of their subtlety passed by herunappreciated, and she only received them as inimical sounds which meant that angerruled.

she remained mute, not knowing that he wassmothering his affection for her. she hardly observed that a tear descendedslowly upon his cheek, a tear so large that it magnified the pores of the skin overwhich it rolled, like the object lens of a microscope. meanwhile reillumination as to the terribleand total change that her confession had wrought in his life, in his universe,returned to him, and he tried desperately to advance among the new conditions inwhich he stood. some consequent action was necessary; yetwhat? "tess," he said, as gently as he couldspeak, "i cannot stay--in this room--just

now.i will walk out a little way." he quietly left the room, and the twoglasses of wine that he had poured out for their supper--one for her, one for him--remained on the table untasted. this was what their agape had come to. at tea, two or three hours earlier, theyhad, in the freakishness of affection, drunk from one cup. the closing of the door behind him, gentlyas it had been pulled to, roused tess from her stupor.he was gone; she could not stay. hastily flinging her cloak around her sheopened the door and followed, putting out

the candles as if she were never comingback. the rain was over and the night was nowclear. she was soon close at his heels, for clarewalked slowly and without purpose. his form beside her light gray figurelooked black, sinister, and forbidding, and she felt as sarcasm the touch of the jewelsof which she had been momentarily so proud. clare turned at hearing her footsteps, buthis recognition of her presence seemed to make no difference to him, and he went onover the five yawning arches of the great bridge in front of the house. the cow and horse tracks in the road werefull of water, the rain having been enough

to charge them, but not enough to wash themaway. across these minute pools the reflectedstars flitted in a quick transit as she passed; she would not have known they wereshining overhead if she had not seen them there--the vastest things of the universeimaged in objects so mean. the place to which they had travelled to-day was in the same valley as talbothays, but some miles lower down the river; andthe surroundings being open, she kept easily in sight of him. away from the house the road wound throughthe meads, and along these she followed clare without any attempt to come up withhim or to attract him, but with dumb and

vacant fidelity. at last, however, her listless walk broughther up alongside him, and still he said nothing. the cruelty of fooled honesty is oftengreat after enlightenment, and it was mighty in clare now. the outdoor air had apparently taken awayfrom him all tendency to act on impulse; she knew that he saw her withoutirradiation--in all her bareness; that time was chanting his satiric psalm at her then-- behold, when thy face is made bare, he thatloved thee shall hate;

thy face shall be no more fair at the fallof thy fate. for thy life shall fall as a leaf and beshed as the rain; and the veil of thine head shall be grief,and the crown shall be pain. he was still intently thinking, and hercompanionship had now insufficient power to break or divert the strain of thought.what a weak thing her presence must have become to him! she could not help addressing clare."what have i done--what have i done! i have not told of anything that interfereswith or belies my love for you. you don't think i planned it, do you?

it is in your own mind what you are angryat, angel; it is not in me. o, it is not in me, and i am not thatdeceitful woman you think me!" "h'm--well. not deceitful, my wife; but not the same.no, not the same. but do not make me reproach you.i have sworn that i will not; and i will do everything to avoid it." but she went on pleading in herdistraction; and perhaps said things that would have been better left to silence."angel!--angel! i was a child--a child when it happened!

i knew nothing of men.""you were more sinned against than sinning, that i admit.""then will you not forgive me?" "i do forgive you, but forgiveness is notall." "and love me?"to this question he did not answer. "o angel--my mother says that it sometimeshappens so!--she knows several cases where they were worse than i, and the husband hasnot minded it much--has got over it at least. and yet the woman had not loved him as i doyou!" "don't, tess; don't argue.different societies, different manners.

you almost make me say you are anunapprehending peasant woman, who have never been initiated into the proportionsof social things. you don't know what you say." "i am only a peasant by position, not bynature!" she spoke with an impulse to anger, but itwent as it came. "so much the worse for you. i think that parson who unearthed yourpedigree would have done better if he had held his tongue. i cannot help associating your decline as afamily with this other fact--of your want

of firmness.decrepit families imply decrepit wills, decrepit conduct. heaven, why did you give me a handle fordespising you more by informing me of your descent! here was i thinking you a new-sprung childof nature; there were you, the belated seedling of an effete aristocracy!""lots of families are as bad as mine in that! retty's family were once large landowners,and so were dairyman billett's. and the debbyhouses, who now are carters,were once the de bayeux family.

you find such as i everywhere; 'tis afeature of our county, and i can't help it.""so much the worse for the county." she took these reproaches in their bulksimply, not in their particulars; he did not love her as he had loved her hitherto,and to all else she was indifferent. they wandered on again in silence. it was said afterwards that a cottager ofwellbridge, who went out late that night for a doctor, met two lovers in thepastures, walking very slowly, without converse, one behind the other, as in a funeral procession, and the glimpse that heobtained of their faces seemed to denote

that they were anxious and sad. returning later, he passed them again inthe same field, progressing just as slowly, and as regardless of the hour and of thecheerless night as before. it was only on account of his preoccupationwith his own affairs, and the illness in his house, that he did not bear in mind thecurious incident, which, however, he recalled a long while after. during the interval of the cottager's goingand coming, she had said to her husband-- "i don't see how i can help being the causeof much misery to you all your life. the river is down there.

i can put an end to myself in it.i am not afraid." "i don't wish to add murder to my otherfollies," he said. "i will leave something to show that i didit myself--on account of my shame. they will not blame you then.""don't speak so absurdly--i wish not to hear it. it is nonsense to have such thoughts inthis kind of case, which is rather one for satirical laughter than for tragedy.you don't in the least understand the quality of the mishap. it would be viewed in the light of a jokeby nine-tenths of the world if it were

known.please oblige me by returning to the house, and going to bed." "i will," said she dutifully. they had rambled round by a road which ledto the well-known ruins of the cistercian abbey behind the mill, the latter having,in centuries past, been attached to the monastic establishment. the mill still worked on, food being aperennial necessity; the abbey had perished, creeds being transient. one continually sees the ministration ofthe temporary outlasting the ministration

of the eternal. their walk having been circuitous, theywere still not far from the house, and in obeying his direction she only had to reachthe large stone bridge across the main river and follow the road for a few yards. when she got back, everything remained asshe had left it, the fire being still burning. she did not stay downstairs for more than aminute, but proceeded to her chamber, whither the luggage had been taken. here she sat down on the edge of the bed,looking blankly around, and presently began

to undress. in removing the light towards the bedsteadits rays fell upon the tester of white dimity; something was hanging beneath it,and she lifted the candle to see what it was. a bough of mistletoe.angel had put it there; she knew that in an instant. this was the explanation of that mysteriousparcel which it had been so difficult to pack and bring; whose contents he would notexplain to her, saying that time would soon show her the purpose thereof.

in his zest and his gaiety he had hung itthere. how foolish and inopportune that mistletoelooked now. having nothing more to fear, having scarceanything to hope, for that he would relent there seemed no promise whatever, she laydown dully. when sorrow ceases to be speculative, sleepsees her opportunity. among so many happier moods which forbidrepose this was a mood which welcomed it, and in a few minutes the lonely tess forgotexistence, surrounded by the aromatic stillness of the chamber that had once, possibly, been the bride-chamber of her ownancestry.

later on that night clare also retraced hissteps to the house. entering softly to the sitting-room heobtained a light, and with the manner of one who had considered his course he spreadhis rugs upon the old horse-hair sofa which stood there, and roughly shaped it to asleeping-couch. before lying down he crept shoelessupstairs, and listened at the door of her apartment. her measured breathing told that she wassleeping profoundly. "thank god!" murmured clare; and yet he wasconscious of a pang of bitterness at the thought--approximately true, though notwholly so--that having shifted the burden

of her life to his shoulders, she was nowreposing without care. he turned away to descend; then,irresolute, faced round to her door again. in the act he caught sight of one of thed'urberville dames, whose portrait was immediately over the entrance to tess'sbedchamber. in the candlelight the painting was morethan unpleasant. sinister design lurked in the woman'sfeatures, a concentrated purpose of revenge on the other sex--so it seemed to him then. the caroline bodice of the portrait waslow--precisely as tess's had been when he tucked it in to show the necklace; andagain he experienced the distressing

sensation of a resemblance between them. the check was sufficient.he resumed his retreat and descended. his air remained calm and cold, his smallcompressed mouth indexing his powers of self-control; his face wearing still thatterrible sterile expression which had spread thereon since her disclosure. it was the face of a man who was no longerpassion's slave, yet who found no advantage in his enfranchisement. he was simply regarding the harrowingcontingencies of human experience, the unexpectedness of things.

nothing so pure, so sweet, so virginal astess had seemed possible all the long while that he had adored her, up to an hour ago;but the little less, and what worlds away! he argued erroneously when he said tohimself that her heart was not indexed in the honest freshness of her face; but tesshad no advocate to set him right. could it be possible, he continued, thateyes which as they gazed never expressed any divergence from what the tongue wastelling, were yet ever seeing another world behind her ostensible one, discordant andcontrasting? he reclined on his couch in the sitting-room, and extinguished the light.

the night came in, and took up its placethere, unconcerned and indifferent; the night which had already swallowed up hishappiness, and was now digesting it listlessly; and was ready to swallow up the happiness of a thousand other people withas little disturbance or change of mien.

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