1
On an evening in the latter part of May a middle-aged man was walkinghomeward from Shaston to the village of Mar lott, 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 s mart 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 b eing 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 m are, who, as he r ode, hummed a wandering tune.
“Good nightt'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; w e 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 anc ient and kni ghtly fa mily of the d'Urbervilles, w ho derive their descent fr om Sir Pagan d'Urberville, that reno wned knight who came from Normandy with William the Conqueror, as appears by Battle Abbey Roll?”
“Never heard it before, sir！”
“Well, it's true.Th row 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 co nquest of Glamorganshire.Bran ches 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 y our 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 kn ighthood were hered itary, like a b aronetcy, as it practically was in old times, when men were knig hted 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 be en 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 h ev 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 knowled ge, and co uld hard ly 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 thed'Urberville family, he had observed Durbeyfield's name on his waggon, and had th ereupon been led to make inquiries about his father and grandfather till he had no doubt on the subject.
“At first I resolved no t to disturb you with such a useless piece o f information, ”said he.“However, our impulses are too strong for our judgment 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 Black moor.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 silv er spoon, and a wold graven seal at ho me, too; but, Lord, what's aspoon and s eal……And to think that I and th ese noble d'Urbervilles were one flesh all the time.'Twas said that my gr't-grandfer had secrets, and didn't care to talk of w here he came fro m……And where do we raise our smoke, no w, parson, if I may make so bold; I mean, where do wed'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 an d rows of you in y our 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 y our family consisted of num erous branches.In this county there was a seat of y ours at Kingsbere, and another at Sher ton, and another at 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‘howare the mighty fallen.'It is a fact of some interest to the local historian and genealogist, nothing more.There are several f amilies among the cottagers of this county of almost equal lustre.Good night.”
“But you'll turn back and have a quar t of beer wi'me on the s trength 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.”
“No, thank you—not this evening, Durbeyfield.You've had enoug h already.”Concluding thus the parson rode on h is way, with doubts as to his discretion in retailing this curious bit of lore.
When he was gone Durb eyfield walked a few steps in a profound reverie, and then sat down upon the grassy bank by the roadside, d epositing his basketbefore him.In a few min utes a y outh appeared in the distan ce, walking in the same direction as that w hich had been pursued b y Durbeyfield.The latter, on seeing him, held up his hand, and the lad quickened his pace and came near.
“Boy, take up that basket！I want'ee to go on an errand for me.”
The lath-like stripling fro wned.“Who be y ou, then, John Durbey field, to order me about and call me‘boy'?You know my name as well as I k now yours！”
“Do y ou, do y ou?That's the secr et—that's t he se cret！Now obe y my orders, and take the message I'm going to charge'ee wi'……Well, Fred, I don't mind telling you that the secret is that I'm one of a noble race—it has been just found out by m e this present afternoon, P.M.”And as he made th e announcement, Durbey field, d eclining fro m his sitting pos ition, luxur iously stretched himself out upon the bank among the daisies.
The lad stood before Durbeyfield, and contemplated his length from crown to toe.
“Sir John d'Urberville—that's who I am, ”con tinued th e pros trate man.“That is if knights were baronets—which they be.'Tis recorded in history all about me.Dost know of such a place, lad, as Kingsbere-subGreenhill?”
“Ees.I've been there to Greenhill Fair.”