Phase the First: The Maiden, I-XI
IOn
an evening in the latter part of May a middle-aged man was walking
homeward from Shaston to the village of Marlott, in the adjoining
Vale of Blakemore, or Blackmoor. The pair of legs that carried him
were rickety, and there was a bias in his gait which inclined him
somewhat to the left of a straight line. He occasionally gave a smart
nod, as if in confirmation of some opinion, though he was not
thinking of anything in particular. An empty egg-basket was slung
upon his arm, the nap of his hat was ruffled, a patch being quite
worn away at its brim where his thumb came in taking it off.
Presently he was met by an elderly parson astride on a gray mare,
who, as he rode, hummed a wandering tune."Good
night t'ee," said the man with the basket."Good
night, Sir John," said the parson.The
pedestrian, after another pace or two, halted, and turned round."Now,
sir, begging your pardon; we met last market-day on this road about
this time, and I said 'Good night,' and you made reply 'Good
night, Sir John,'
as now.""I
did," said the parson."And
once before that—near a month ago.""I
may have.""Then
what might your meaning be in calling me 'Sir John' these different
times, when I be plain Jack Durbeyfield, the haggler?"The
parson rode a step or two nearer."It
was only my whim," he said; and, after a moment's hesitation:
"It was on account of a discovery I made some little time ago,
whilst I was hunting up pedigrees for the new county history. I am
Parson Tringham, the antiquary, of Stagfoot Lane. Don't you really
know, Durbeyfield, that you are the lineal representative of the
ancient and knightly family of the d'Urbervilles, who derive their
descent from Sir Pagan d'Urberville, that renowned knight who came
from Normandy with William the Conqueror, as appears by Battle Abbey
Roll?""Never
heard it before, sir!""Well
it's true. Throw up your chin a moment, so that I may catch the
profile of your face better. Yes, that's the d'Urberville nose and
chin—a little debased. Your ancestor was one of the twelve knights
who assisted the Lord of Estremavilla in Normandy in his conquest of
Glamorganshire. Branches of your family held manors over all this
part of England; their names appear in the Pipe Rolls in the time of
King Stephen. In the reign of King John one of them was rich enough
to give a manor to the Knights Hospitallers; and in Edward the
Second's time your forefather Brian was summoned to Westminster to
attend the great Council there. You declined a little in Oliver
Cromwell's time, but to no serious extent, and in Charles the
Second's reign you were made Knights of the Royal Oak for your
loyalty. Aye, there have been generations of Sir Johns among you, and
if knighthood were hereditary, like a baronetcy, as it practically
was in old times, when men were knighted from father to son, you
would be Sir John now.""Ye
don't say so!""In
short," concluded the parson, decisively smacking his leg with
his switch, "there's hardly such another family in England.""Daze
my eyes, and isn't there?" said Durbeyfield. "And here have
I been knocking about, year after year, from pillar to post, as if I
was no more than the commonest feller in the parish… And how long
hev this news about me been knowed, Pa'son Tringham?"The
clergyman explained that, as far as he was aware, it had quite died
out of knowledge, and could hardly be said to be known at all. His
own investigations had begun on a day in the preceding spring when,
having been engaged in tracing the vicissitudes of the d'Urberville
family, he had observed Durbeyfield's name on his waggon, and had
thereupon been led to make inquiries about his father and grandfather
till he had no doubt on the subject."At
first I resolved not to disturb you with such a useless piece of
information," said he. "However, our impulses are too
strong for our judgement sometimes. I thought you might perhaps know
something of it all the while.""Well,
I have heard once or twice, 'tis true, that my family had seen better
days afore they came to Blackmoor. But I took no notice o't, thinking
it to mean that we had once kept two horses where we now keep only
one. I've got a wold silver spoon, and a wold graven seal at home,
too; but, Lord, what's a spoon and seal? … And to think that I and
these noble d'Urbervilles were one flesh all the time. 'Twas said
that my gr't-granfer had secrets, and didn't care to talk of where he
came from… And where do we raise our smoke, now, parson, if I may
make so bold; I mean, where do we d'Urbervilles live?""You
don't live anywhere. You are extinct—as a county family.""That's
bad.""Yes—what
the mendacious family chronicles call extinct in the male line—that
is, gone down—gone under.""Then
where do we lie?""At
Kingsbere-sub-Greenhill: rows and rows of you in your vaults, with
your effigies under Purbeck-marble canopies.""And
where be our family mansions and estates?""You
haven't any.""Oh?
No lands neither?""None;
though you once had 'em in abundance, as I said, for you family
consisted of numerous branches. In this county there was a seat of
yours at Kingsbere, and another at Sherton, and another in Millpond,
and another at Lullstead, and another at Wellbridge.""And
shall we ever come into our own again?""Ah—that
I can't tell!""And
what had I better do about it, sir?" asked Durbeyfield, after a
pause."Oh—nothing,
nothing; except chasten yourself with the thought of 'how are the
mighty fallen.' It is a fact of some interest to the local historian
and genealogist, nothing more. There are several families among the
cottagers of this county of almost equal lustre. Good night.""But
you'll turn back and have a quart of beer wi' me on the strength o't,
Pa'son Tringham? There's a very pretty brew in tap at The Pure
Drop—though, to be sure, not so good as at Rolliver's."
