feat_summary_path: finished_summaries/cliffnotes/Tess of the d'Urbervilles/section_14_part_0.txt
feat_book_id: Tess of the d'Urbervilles.chapters 57-59
feat_summary_id: chapters 57-59
feat_summary: {"name": "Chapters 57-59", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20201219151046/https://www.cliffsnotes.com/literature/t/tess-of-the-durbervilles/summary-and-analysis/phase-the-seventh-fulfilment-chapters-5759", "summary": "Angel hears from his parents via telegram that his brother Cuthbert is engaged to Mercy Chant. He leaves his hotel to go to the train station for a return trip home. At the station, Tess finds him and confesses to murdering Alec. Immediately, Angel formulates a plan to walk to the north of England, avoiding the more traveled roads, until they can reach a port city after the events surrounding the murder are forgotten. The two walk for miles, finally happy to be in each other's company. Along the way, they discover a vacant house, with only a caretaker occasionally stopping by. The great house, called Bramshurst Court, is empty of a renter, so the couple takes up residence. They spend five days in the house until the local caretaker sees them sleeping in the large bedrooms. Once discovered, Angel and Tess move directly north until they reach the ancient monoliths of Stonehenge. Tess feels that her freedom is limited and her end is near, so she has Angel promise to marry Liza Lu after her death. Now that it is night and the two are tired, Tess sleeps on one of the \"altars\" of stone. Near daybreak, the two are surrounded by police who take Tess into custody. For her part, Tess is glad that the end has come, and she goes with the police willingly. In the final chapter, Angel and Liza Lu journey together to Wintoncester to see that Tess' sentence, death by hanging, is carried out. They do not actually witness the deed, but know the enterprise is done when a black flag is hoisted over the town's tower. The two then return the way they came, \"As soon as they arose, joined hands again, and went on.\"", "analysis": "Hardy has brought the story full circle. Four years have passed since the day in May, in the beginning of the novel, when Tess and Angel met. At the story's end it is May again. Angel is in the process of leaving Sandbourne when he receives news that his brother, Cuthbert, has become engaged to Mercy Chant. As he is leaving town awaiting the next train, Tess appears with the tale that she had killed Alec. Angel is unsure about her story, but now that she is finally his, he takes no chances of her being discovered. One of their stops takes them to a vacant house, called Bramshurst Court. Their week together is uneventful in that Tess and Angel finally become a married couple. She seems to know that her time with Angel is limited, because she will soon be wanted for Alec's murder; \"My life can only be a question of a few weeks,\" she says. Her last wishes are for Angel to marry her sister, Liza Lu for \"'She had all the best of me without the bad of me.\" In Chapter 59, when Angel and Liza Lu join hands after Tess' execution, we understand that Angel will fulfill this request. The chase from Sandbourne ends at the historic site of Stonehenge, a collection of giant stones arranged in a circular form, dating from 2,800 to 1,500 B.C. The purposes for the monuments were to serve as an astrological calendar and a ceremonial place for religious or tribal worship. Because the original purposes of the ancient monuments have been shrouded in mystery, especially in Hardy's time, experts could only speculate as to the purpose of the megaliths. Tess and Angel stop in Stonehenge after they have traveled a long way and need rest. The stones are still warm from the sun, radiating heat all during the cool night. Tess realizes that her mother's family is from the area, \"One of my mother's people was a shepherd hereabouts, now I think of it. And you used to say at Talbothays that I was a heathen. So now I am at home.\" Angel recognizes that Tess is \"lying on an altar\" -- like a sacrifice to the ancient pagans who used to practice there. In a modern sense, Tess is sacrificed to the laws and morals of the nineteenth century. Hardy ends Tess' tale with the words \"'Justice' was done, and the President of the Immortals, in the Aeschylean phrase, had ended his sport with Tess.\" A bit of background is needed to understand this phrase. First, Aeschylus was an ancient Greek playwright who lived from 525-546 b.c. Aeschylus wrote plays that centered on individual will and the influence of divine power over mortals. In his play called Prometheus Bound, Prometheus is chained to a rock, and an eagle comes to devour his liver every day; each night, Prometheus' liver grows back. Hercules destroys the eagle and sets Prometheus free. Tess is like Prometheus in that she seems to have been a \"toy\" of the gods of morality and religion in Victorian England, and she had to be sacrificed for the good of mankind. All of Tess' life is the result of either an accident, fate, or the intervention of the gods. In fact, some critics feel that the circumstances leading to Tess' tragic life and death are too contrived, are unrealistic, and unbelievable. Whether realistic or not, Fate has intervened in Tess' world and shaped the course of her life. Glossary \"her Antinous . . . \" a favorite of the Roman Emperor Hadrian; like Apollo, the Greek god of sun and of music, Antinous was a figure of male beauty. Atalanta's race Atalanta was a Grecian huntress who refused to marry any suitor who could not outrun her; the penalty for those who lost was death. deprecated expressed disapproval of; depreciated; belittled. antiquity the quality of being ancient or old. \"Temple of the Winds\" also known as the \"tower of the winds,\" a temple in Athens used for telling time. Trilithon a monument consisting of two upright megaliths with a third stone serving as the lintel. taciturnity the condition of being silent or uncommunicative. integument a natural outer covering of the body or of a plant, including skin, shell, hide, husk, or rind. \"Giotto's 'Two Apostles'\" Hardy probably had in mind the fresco in the National Gallery in London that is now attributed to Spinello Aretino . wicket a small door or gate, esp. one set in or near a larger door or gate. Aeschylean phrase \"President of the Immortals\" translates a phrase from Prometheus Bound , by Aeschylus; Hardy finishes the novel by suggesting that the highest power in the universe uses human beings for \"sport.\""}
text: 
  
  Meanwhile Angel Clare had walked automatically along the way by which
  he had come, and, entering his hotel, sat down over the breakfast,
  staring at nothingness.  He went on eating and drinking unconsciously
  till on a sudden he demanded his bill; having paid which, he took his
  dressing-bag in his hand, the only luggage he had brought with him,
  and went out.
  
  At the moment of his departure a telegram was handed to him--a few
  words from his mother, stating that they were glad to know his
  address, and informing him that his brother Cuthbert had proposed to
  and been accepted by Mercy Chant.
  
  Clare crumpled up the paper and followed the route to the station;
  reaching it, he found that there would be no train leaving for an
  hour and more.  He sat down to wait, and having waited a quarter of
  an hour felt that he could wait there no longer.  Broken in heart and
  numbed, he had nothing to hurry for; but he wished to get out of a
  town which had been the scene of such an experience, and turned to
  walk to the first station onward, and let the train pick him up
  there.
  
  The highway that he followed was open, and at a little distance
  dipped into a valley, across which it could be seen running from edge
  to edge.  He had traversed the greater part of this depression, and
  was climbing the western acclivity when, pausing for breath, he
  unconsciously looked back.  Why he did so he could not say, but
  something seemed to impel him to the act.  The tape-like surface of
  the road diminished in his rear as far as he could see, and as he
  gazed a moving spot intruded on the white vacuity of its perspective.
  
  It was a human figure running.  Clare waited, with a dim sense that
  somebody was trying to overtake him.
  
  The form descending the incline was a woman's, yet so entirely was
  his mind blinded to the idea of his wife's following him that even
  when she came nearer he did not recognize her under the totally
  changed attire in which he now beheld her.  It was not till she was
  quite close that he could believe her to be Tess.
  
  "I saw you--turn away from the station--just before I got there--and
  I have been following you all this way!"
  
  She was so pale, so breathless, so quivering in every muscle, that he
  did not ask her a single question, but seizing her hand, and pulling
  it within his arm, he led her along.  To avoid meeting any possible
  wayfarers he left the high road and took a footpath under some
  fir-trees.  When they were deep among the moaning boughs he stopped
  and looked at her inquiringly.
  
  "Angel," she said, as if waiting for this, "do you know what I have
  been running after you for?  To tell you that I have killed him!"
  A pitiful white smile lit her face as she spoke.
  
  "What!" said he, thinking from the strangeness of her manner that she
  was in some delirium.
  
  "I have done it--I don't know how," she continued.  "Still, I owed it
  to you, and to myself, Angel.  I feared long ago, when I struck him
  on the mouth with my glove, that I might do it some day for the trap
  he set for me in my simple youth, and his wrong to you through me.
  He has come between us and ruined us, and now he can never do it any
  more.  I never loved him at all, Angel, as I loved you.  You know it,
  don't you?  You believe it?  You didn't come back to me, and I was
  obliged to go back to him.  Why did you go away--why did you--when I
  loved you so?  I can't think why you did it.  But I don't blame you;
  only, Angel, will you forgive me my sin against you, now I have
  killed him?  I thought as I ran along that you would be sure to
  forgive me now I have done that.  It came to me as a shining light
  that I should get you back that way.  I could not bear the loss of
  you any longer--you don't know how entirely I was unable to bear your
  not loving me!  Say you do now, dear, dear husband; say you do, now I
  have killed him!"
  
  "I do love you, Tess--O, I do--it is all come back!" he said,
  tightening his arms round her with fervid pressure.  "But how do you
  mean--you have killed him?"
  
  "I mean that I have," she murmured in a reverie.
  
  "What, bodily?  Is he dead?"
  
  "Yes.  He heard me crying about you, and he bitterly taunted me; and
  called you by a foul name; and then I did it.  My heart could not
  bear it.  He had nagged me about you before.  And then I dressed
  myself and came away to find you."
  
  By degrees he was inclined to believe that she had faintly attempted,
  at least, what she said she had done; and his horror at her impulse
  was mixed with amazement at the strength of her affection for
  himself, and at the strangeness of its quality, which had apparently
  extinguished her moral sense altogether.  Unable to realize the
  gravity of her conduct, she seemed at last content; and he looked
  at her as she lay upon his shoulder, weeping with happiness, and
  wondered what obscure strain in the d'Urberville blood had led to
  this aberration--if it were an aberration.  There momentarily flashed
  through his mind that the family tradition of the coach and murder
  might have arisen because the d'Urbervilles had been known to do
  these things.  As well as his confused and excited ideas could
  reason, he supposed that in the moment of mad grief of which she
  spoke, her mind had lost its balance, and plunged her into this
  abyss.
  
  It was very terrible if true; if a temporary hallucination, sad.  But,
  anyhow, here was this deserted wife of his, this passionately-fond
  woman, clinging to him without a suspicion that he would be anything
  to her but a protector.  He saw that for him to be otherwise was
  not, in her mind, within the region of the possible.  Tenderness was
  absolutely dominant in Clare at last.  He kissed her endlessly with
  his white lips, and held her hand, and said--
  
  "I will not desert you!  I will protect you by every means in my
  power, dearest love, whatever you may have done or not have done!"
  
  They then walked on under the trees, Tess turning her head every now
  and then to look at him.  Worn and unhandsome as he had become, it
  was plain that she did not discern the least fault in his appearance.
  To her he was, as of old, all that was perfection, personally and
  mentally.  He was still her Antinous, her Apollo even; his sickly
  face was beautiful as the morning to her affectionate regard on
  this day no less than when she first beheld him; for was it not the
  face of the one man on earth who had loved her purely, and who had
  believed in her as pure!
  
  With an instinct as to possibilities, he did not now, as he had
  intended, make for the first station beyond the town, but plunged
  still farther under the firs, which here abounded for miles.  Each
  clasping the other round the waist they promenaded over the dry bed
  of fir-needles, thrown into a vague intoxicating atmosphere at the
  consciousness of being together at last, with no living soul between
  them; ignoring that there was a corpse.  Thus they proceeded for
  several miles till Tess, arousing herself, looked about her, and
  said, timidly--
  
  "Are we going anywhere in particular?"
  
  "I don't know, dearest.  Why?"
  
  "I don't know."
  
  "Well, we might walk a few miles further, and when it is evening find
  lodgings somewhere or other--in a lonely cottage, perhaps.  Can you
  walk well, Tessy?"
  
  "O yes!  I could walk for ever and ever with your arm round me!"
  
  Upon the whole it seemed a good thing to do.  Thereupon they
  quickened their pace, avoiding high roads, and following obscure
  paths tending more or less northward.  But there was an unpractical
  vagueness in their movements throughout the day; neither one of them
  seemed to consider any question of effectual escape, disguise, or
  long concealment.  Their every idea was temporary and unforefending,
  like the plans of two children.
  
  At mid-day they drew near to a roadside inn, and Tess would have
  entered it with him to get something to eat, but he persuaded
  her to remain among the trees and bushes of this half-woodland,
  half-moorland part of the country till he should come back.  Her
  clothes were of recent fashion; even the ivory-handled parasol that
  she carried was of a shape unknown in the retired spot to which they
  had now wandered; and the cut of such articles would have attracted
  attention in the settle of a tavern.  He soon returned, with food
  enough for half-a-dozen people and two bottles of wine--enough to
  last them for a day or more, should any emergency arise.
  
  They sat down upon some dead boughs and shared their meal.  Between
  one and two o'clock they packed up the remainder and went on again.
  
  "I feel strong enough to walk any distance," said she.
  
  "I think we may as well steer in a general way towards the interior
  of the country, where we can hide for a time, and are less likely to
  be looked for than anywhere near the coast," Clare remarked.  "Later
  on, when they have forgotten us, we can make for some port."
  
  She made no reply to this beyond that of grasping him more tightly,
  and straight inland they went.  Though the season was an English May,
  the weather was serenely bright, and during the afternoon it was
  quite warm.  Through the latter miles of their walk their footpath
  had taken them into the depths of the New Forest, and towards
  evening, turning the corner of a lane, they perceived behind a brook
  and bridge a large board on which was painted in white letters, "This
  desirable Mansion to be Let Furnished"; particulars following, with
  directions to apply to some London agents.  Passing through the gate
  they could see the house, an old brick building of regular design and
  large accommodation.
  
  "I know it," said Clare.  "It is Bramshurst Court.  You can see that
  it is shut up, and grass is growing on the drive."
  
  "Some of the windows are open," said Tess.
  
  "Just to air the rooms, I suppose."
  
  "All these rooms empty, and we without a roof to our heads!"
  
  "You are getting tired, my Tess!" he said.  "We'll stop soon."  And
  kissing her sad mouth, he again led her onwards.
  
  He was growing weary likewise, for they had wandered a dozen or
  fifteen miles, and it became necessary to consider what they should
  do for rest.  They looked from afar at isolated cottages and little
  inns, and were inclined to approach one of the latter, when their
  hearts failed them, and they sheered off.  At length their gait
  dragged, and they stood still.
  
  "Could we sleep under the trees?" she asked.
  
  He thought the season insufficiently advanced.
  
  "I have been thinking of that empty mansion we passed," he said.
  "Let us go back towards it again."
  
  They retraced their steps, but it was half an hour before they stood
  without the entrance-gate as earlier.  He then requested her to stay
  where she was, whilst he went to see who was within.
  
  She sat down among the bushes within the gate, and Clare crept
  towards the house.  His absence lasted some considerable time, and
  when he returned Tess was wildly anxious, not for herself, but for
  him.  He had found out from a boy that there was only an old woman in
  charge as caretaker, and she only came there on fine days, from the
  hamlet near, to open and shut the windows.  She would come to shut
  them at sunset.  "Now, we can get in through one of the lower
  windows, and rest there," said he.
  
  Under his escort she went tardily forward to the main front, whose
  shuttered windows, like sightless eyeballs, excluded the possibility
  of watchers.  The door was reached a few steps further, and one of
  the windows beside it was open. Clare clambered in, and pulled Tess
  in after him.
  
  Except the hall, the rooms were all in darkness, and they ascended
  the staircase.  Up here also the shutters were tightly closed,
  the ventilation being perfunctorily done, for this day at least,
  by opening the hall-window in front and an upper window behind.
  Clare unlatched the door of a large chamber, felt his way across
  it, and parted the shutters to the width of two or three inches.
  A shaft of dazzling sunlight glanced into the room, revealing heavy,
  old-fashioned furniture, crimson damask hangings, and an enormous
  four-post bedstead, along the head of which were carved running
  figures, apparently Atalanta's race.
  
  "Rest at last!" said he, setting down his bag and the parcel of
  viands.
  
  They remained in great quietness till the caretaker should have come
  to shut the windows: as a precaution, putting themselves in total
  darkness by barring the shutters as before, lest the woman should
  open the door of their chamber for any casual reason.  Between six
  and seven o'clock she came, but did not approach the wing they
  were in.  They heard her close the windows, fasten them, lock the
  door, and go away.  Then Clare again stole a chink of light from
  the window, and they shared another meal, till by-and-by they
  were enveloped in the shades of night which they had no candle to
  disperse.
  
  
  
  
  The night was strangely solemn and still.  In the small hours she
  whispered to him the whole story of how he had walked in his sleep
  with her in his arms across the Froom stream, at the imminent risk of
  both their lives, and laid her down in the stone coffin at the ruined
  abbey.  He had never known of that till now.
  
  "Why didn't you tell me next day?" he said.  "It might have prevented
  much misunderstanding and woe."
  
  "Don't think of what's past!" said she.  "I am not going to think
  outside of now.  Why should we!  Who knows what to-morrow has in
  store?"
  
  But it apparently had no sorrow.  The morning was wet and foggy, and
  Clare, rightly informed that the caretaker only opened the windows
  on fine days, ventured to creep out of their chamber and explore the
  house, leaving Tess asleep.  There was no food on the premises, but
  there was water, and he took advantage of the fog to emerge from the
  mansion and fetch tea, bread, and butter from a shop in a little
  place two miles beyond, as also a small tin kettle and spirit-lamp,
  that they might get fire without smoke.  His re-entry awoke her; and
  they breakfasted on what he had brought.
  
  They were indisposed to stir abroad, and the day passed, and the
  night following, and the next, and next; till, almost without their
  being aware, five days had slipped by in absolute seclusion, not a
  sight or sound of a human being disturbing their peacefulness, such
  as it was.  The changes of the weather were their only events, the
  birds of the New Forest their only company.  By tacit consent they
  hardly once spoke of any incident of the past subsequent to their
  wedding-day.  The gloomy intervening time seemed to sink into chaos,
  over which the present and prior times closed as if it never had
  been.  Whenever he suggested that they should leave their shelter,
  and go forwards towards Southampton or London, she showed a strange
  unwillingness to move.
  
  "Why should we put an end to all that's sweet and lovely!" she
  deprecated.  "What must come will come."  And, looking through the
  shutter-chink: "All is trouble outside there; inside here content."
  
  He peeped out also.  It was quite true; within was affection, union,
  error forgiven: outside was the inexorable.
  
  "And--and," she said, pressing her cheek against his, "I fear that
  what you think of me now may not last.  I do not wish to outlive your
  present feeling for me. I would rather not.  I would rather be dead
  and buried when the time comes for you to despise me, so that it may
  never be known to me that you despised me."
  
  "I cannot ever despise you."
  
  "I also hope that.  But considering what my life has been, I cannot
  see why any man should, sooner or later, be able to help despising
  me....  How wickedly mad I was!  Yet formerly I never could bear to
  hurt a fly or a worm, and the sight of a bird in a cage used often to
  make me cry."
  
  They remained yet another day.  In the night the dull sky cleared,
  and the result was that the old caretaker at the cottage awoke early.
  The brilliant sunrise made her unusually brisk; she decided to open
  the contiguous mansion immediately, and to air it thoroughly on such
  a day.  Thus it occurred that, having arrived and opened the lower
  rooms before six o'clock, she ascended to the bedchambers, and was
  about to turn the handle of the one wherein they lay.  At that moment
  she fancied she could hear the breathing of persons within.  Her
  slippers and her antiquity had rendered her progress a noiseless one
  so far, and she made for instant retreat; then, deeming that her
  hearing might have deceived her, she turned anew to the door and
  softly tried the handle.  The lock was out of order, but a piece of
  furniture had been moved forward on the inside, which prevented her
  opening the door more than an inch or two.  A stream of morning light
  through the shutter-chink fell upon the faces of the pair, wrapped in
  profound slumber, Tess's lips being parted like a half-opened flower
  near his cheek.  The caretaker was so struck with their innocent
  appearance, and with the elegance of Tess's gown hanging across a
  chair, her silk stockings beside it, the pretty parasol, and the
  other habits in which she had arrived because she had none else, that
  her first indignation at the effrontery of tramps and vagabonds gave
  way to a momentary sentimentality over this genteel elopement, as it
  seemed.  She closed the door, and withdrew as softly as she had come,
  to go and consult with her neighbours on the odd discovery.
  
  Not more than a minute had elapsed after her withdrawal when Tess
  woke, and then Clare.  Both had a sense that something had disturbed
  them, though they could not say what; and the uneasy feeling which
  it engendered grew stronger.  As soon as he was dressed he narrowly
  scanned the lawn through the two or three inches of shutter-chink.
  
  "I think we will leave at once," said he.  "It is a fine day. And I
  cannot help fancying somebody is about the house.  At any rate, the
  woman will be sure to come to-day."
  
  She passively assented, and putting the room in order, they took up
  the few articles that belonged to them, and departed noiselessly.
  When they had got into the Forest she turned to take a last look at
  the house.
  
  "Ah, happy house--goodbye!" she said.  "My life can only be a
  question of a few weeks.  Why should we not have stayed there?"
  
  "Don't say it, Tess!  We shall soon get out of this district
  altogether.  We'll continue our course as we've begun it, and keep
  straight north.  Nobody will think of looking for us there.  We shall
  be looked for at the Wessex ports if we are sought at all.  When we
  are in the north we will get to a port and away."
  
  Having thus persuaded her, the plan was pursued, and they kept a
  bee-line northward.  Their long repose at the manor-house lent them
  walking power now; and towards mid-day they found that they were
  approaching the steepled city of Melchester, which lay directly in
  their way.  He decided to rest her in a clump of trees during the
  afternoon, and push onward under cover of darkness.  At dusk Clare
  purchased food as usual, and their night march began, the boundary
  between Upper and Mid-Wessex being crossed about eight o'clock.
  
  To walk across country without much regard to roads was not new
  to Tess, and she showed her old agility in the performance.  The
  intercepting city, ancient Melchester, they were obliged to pass
  through in order to take advantage of the town bridge for crossing a
  large river that obstructed them.  It was about midnight when they
  went along the deserted streets, lighted fitfully by the few lamps,
  keeping off the pavement that it might not echo their footsteps.
  The graceful pile of cathedral architecture rose dimly on their left
  hand, but it was lost upon them now.  Once out of the town they
  followed the turnpike-road, which after a few miles plunged across an
  open plain.
  
  Though the sky was dense with cloud, a diffused light from some
  fragment of a moon had hitherto helped them a little.  But the moon
  had now sunk, the clouds seemed to settle almost on their heads, and
  the night grew as dark as a cave.  However, they found their way
  along, keeping as much on the turf as possible that their tread might
  not resound, which it was easy to do, there being no hedge or fence
  of any kind.  All around was open loneliness and black solitude, over
  which a stiff breeze blew.
  
  They had proceeded thus gropingly two or three miles further when
  on a sudden Clare became conscious of some vast erection close in
  his front, rising sheer from the grass.  They had almost struck
  themselves against it.
  
  "What monstrous place is this?" said Angel.
  
  "It hums," said she.  "Hearken!"
  
  He listened.  The wind, playing upon the edifice, produced a booming
  tune, like the note of some gigantic one-stringed harp.  No other
  sound came from it, and lifting his hand and advancing a step or
  two, Clare felt the vertical surface of the structure.  It seemed to
  be of solid stone, without joint or moulding.  Carrying his fingers
  onward he found that what he had come in contact with was a colossal
  rectangular pillar; by stretching out his left hand he could feel a
  similar one adjoining.  At an indefinite height overhead something
  made the black sky blacker, which had the semblance of a vast
  architrave uniting the pillars horizontally.  They carefully entered
  beneath and between; the surfaces echoed their soft rustle; but they
  seemed to be still out of doors.  The place was roofless.  Tess drew
  her breath fearfully, and Angel, perplexed, said--
  
  "What can it be?"
  
  Feeling sideways they encountered another tower-like pillar, square
  and uncompromising as the first; beyond it another and another.  The
  place was all doors and pillars, some connected above by continuous
  architraves.
  
  "A very Temple of the Winds," he said.
  
  The next pillar was isolated; others composed a trilithon; others
  were prostrate, their flanks forming a causeway wide enough for a
  carriage; and it was soon obvious that they made up a forest of
  monoliths grouped upon the grassy expanse of the plain.  The couple
  advanced further into this pavilion of the night till they stood in
  its midst.
  
  "It is Stonehenge!" said Clare.
  
  "The heathen temple, you mean?"
  
  "Yes.  Older than the centuries; older than the d'Urbervilles!  Well,
  what shall we do, darling?  We may find shelter further on."
  
  But Tess, really tired by this time, flung herself upon an oblong
  slab that lay close at hand, and was sheltered from the wind by a
  pillar.  Owing to the action of the sun during the preceding day, the
  stone was warm and dry, in comforting contrast to the rough and chill
  grass around, which had damped her skirts and shoes.
  
  "I don't want to go any further, Angel," she said, stretching out her
  hand for his.  "Can't we bide here?"
  
  "I fear not.  This spot is visible for miles by day, although it does
  not seem so now."
  
  "One of my mother's people was a shepherd hereabouts, now I think of
  it.  And you used to say at Talbothays that I was a heathen.  So now
  I am at home."
  
  He knelt down beside her outstretched form, and put his lips upon
  hers.
  
  "Sleepy are you, dear?  I think you are lying on an altar."
  
  "I like very much to be here," she murmured.  "It is so solemn and
  lonely--after my great happiness--with nothing but the sky above my
  face.  It seems as if there were no folk in the world but we two;
  and I wish there were not--except 'Liza-Lu."
  
  Clare though she might as well rest here till it should get a little
  lighter, and he flung his overcoat upon her, and sat down by her
  side.
  
  "Angel, if anything happens to me, will you watch over 'Liza-Lu for
  my sake?" she asked, when they had listened a long time to the wind
  among the pillars.
  
  "I will."
  
  "She is so good and simple and pure.  O, Angel--I wish you would
  marry her if you lose me, as you will do shortly.  O, if you would!"
  
  "If I lose you I lose all!  And she is my sister-in-law."
  
  "That's nothing, dearest.  People marry sister-laws continually about
  Marlott; and 'Liza-Lu is so gentle and sweet, and she is growing
  so beautiful.  O, I could share you with her willingly when we are
  spirits!  If you would train her and teach her, Angel, and bring her
  up for your own self! ...  She had all the best of me without the bad
  of me; and if she were to become yours it would almost seem as if
  death had not divided us...  Well, I have said it.  I won't mention
  it again."
  
  She ceased, and he fell into thought.  In the far north-east sky he
  could see between the pillars a level streak of light.  The uniform
  concavity of black cloud was lifting bodily like the lid of a pot,
  letting in at the earth's edge the coming day, against which the
  towering monoliths and trilithons began to be blackly defined.
  
  "Did they sacrifice to God here?" asked she.
  
  "No," said he.
  
  "Who to?"
  
  "I believe to the sun.  That lofty stone set away by itself is in the
  direction of the sun, which will presently rise behind it."
  
  "This reminds me, dear," she said.  "You remember you never would
  interfere with any belief of mine before we were married?  But I knew
  your mind all the same, and I thought as you thought--not from any
  reasons of my own, but because you thought so.  Tell me now, Angel,
  do you think we shall meet again after we are dead?  I want to know."
  
  He kissed her to avoid a reply at such a time.
  
  "O, Angel--I fear that means no!" said she, with a suppressed sob.
  "And I wanted so to see you again--so much, so much!  What--not even
  you and I, Angel, who love each other so well?"
  
  Like a greater than himself, to the critical question at the critical
  time he did not answer; and they were again silent.  In a minute or
  two her breathing became more regular, her clasp of his hand relaxed,
  and she fell asleep.  The band of silver paleness along the east
  horizon made even the distant parts of the Great Plain appear dark
  and near; and the whole enormous landscape bore that impress of
  reserve, taciturnity, and hesitation which is usual just before day.
  The eastward pillars and their architraves stood up blackly against
  the light, and the great flame-shaped Sun-stone beyond them; and the
  Stone of Sacrifice midway.  Presently the night wind died out, and
  the quivering little pools in the cup-like hollows of the stones lay
  still.  At the same time something seemed to move on the verge of the
  dip eastward--a mere dot.  It was the head of a man approaching them
  from the hollow beyond the Sun-stone.  Clare wished they had gone
  onward, but in the circumstances decided to remain quiet.  The figure
  came straight towards the circle of pillars in which they were.
  
  He heard something behind him, the brush of feet.  Turning, he saw
  over the prostrate columns another figure; then before he was aware,
  another was at hand on the right, under a trilithon, and another on
  the left.  The dawn shone full on the front of the man westward, and
  Clare could discern from this that he was tall, and walked as if
  trained.  They all closed in with evident purpose.  Her story then
  was true!  Springing to his feet, he looked around for a weapon,
  loose stone, means of escape, anything.  By this time the nearest
  man was upon him.
  
  "It is no use, sir," he said.  "There are sixteen of us on the Plain,
  and the whole country is reared."
  
  "Let her finish her sleep!" he implored in a whisper of the men as
  they gathered round.
  
  When they saw where she lay, which they had not done till then, they
  showed no objection, and stood watching her, as still as the pillars
  around.  He went to the stone and bent over her, holding one poor
  little hand; her breathing now was quick and small, like that of a
  lesser creature than a woman.  All waited in the growing light, their
  faces and hands as if they were silvered, the remainder of their
  figures dark, the stones glistening green-gray, the Plain still a
  mass of shade.  Soon the light was strong, and a ray shone upon her
  unconscious form, peering under her eyelids and waking her.
  
  "What is it, Angel?" she said, starting up.  "Have they come for me?"
  
  "Yes, dearest," he said.  "They have come."
  
  "It is as it should be," she murmured.  "Angel, I am almost glad--yes,
  glad!  This happiness could not have lasted.  It was too much.  I
  have had enough; and now I shall not live for you to despise me!"
  
  She stood up, shook herself, and went forward, neither of the men
  having moved.
  
  "I am ready," she said quietly.
  
  
  
  
  The city of Wintoncester, that fine old city, aforetime capital
  of Wessex, lay amidst its convex and concave downlands in all the
  brightness and warmth of a July morning.  The gabled brick, tile, and
  freestone houses had almost dried off for the season their integument
  of lichen, the streams in the meadows were low, and in the sloping
  High Street, from the West Gateway to the mediaeval cross, and from
  the mediaeval cross to the bridge, that leisurely dusting and sweeping
  was in progress which usually ushers in an old-fashioned market-day.
  
  From the western gate aforesaid the highway, as every Wintoncestrian
  knows, ascends a long and regular incline of the exact length of a
  measured mile, leaving the houses gradually behind.  Up this road
  from the precincts of the city two persons were walking rapidly,
  as if unconscious of the trying ascent--unconscious through
  preoccupation and not through buoyancy.  They had emerged upon this
  road through a narrow, barred wicket in a high wall a little lower
  down.  They seemed anxious to get out of the sight of the houses and
  of their kind, and this road appeared to offer the quickest means
  of doing so.  Though they were young, they walked with bowed heads,
  which gait of grief the sun's rays smiled on pitilessly.
  
  One of the pair was Angel Clare, the other a tall budding
  creature--half girl, half woman--a spiritualized image of Tess,
  slighter than she, but with the same beautiful eyes--Clare's
  sister-in-law, 'Liza-Lu.  Their pale faces seemed to have shrunk
  to half their natural size.  They moved on hand in hand, and never
  spoke a word, the drooping of their heads being that of Giotto's
  "Two Apostles".
  
  When they had nearly reached the top of the great West Hill the
  clocks in the town struck eight.  Each gave a start at the notes,
  and, walking onward yet a few steps, they reached the first
  milestone, standing whitely on the green margin of the grass, and
  backed by the down, which here was open to the road.  They entered
  upon the turf, and, impelled by a force that seemed to overrule their
  will, suddenly stood still, turned, and waited in paralyzed suspense
  beside the stone.
  
  The prospect from this summit was almost unlimited.  In the valley
  beneath lay the city they had just left, its more prominent buildings
  showing as in an isometric drawing--among them the broad cathedral
  tower, with its Norman windows and immense length of aisle and nave,
  the spires of St Thomas's, the pinnacled tower of the College, and,
  more to the right, the tower and gables of the ancient hospice,
  where to this day the pilgrim may receive his dole of bread and ale.
  Behind the city swept the rotund upland of St Catherine's Hill;
  further off, landscape beyond landscape, till the horizon was lost
  in the radiance of the sun hanging above it.
  
  Against these far stretches of country rose, in front of the other
  city edifices, a large red-brick building, with level gray roofs,
  and rows of short barred windows bespeaking captivity, the whole
  contrasting greatly by its formalism with the quaint irregularities
  of the Gothic erections.  It was somewhat disguised from the road in
  passing it by yews and evergreen oaks, but it was visible enough up
  here.  The wicket from which the pair had lately emerged was in the
  wall of this structure.  From the middle of the building an ugly
  flat-topped octagonal tower ascended against the east horizon, and
  viewed from this spot, on its shady side and against the light, it
  seemed the one blot on the city's beauty.  Yet it was with this blot,
  and not with the beauty, that the two gazers were concerned.
  
  Upon the cornice of the tower a tall staff was fixed.  Their eyes
  were riveted on it.  A few minutes after the hour had struck
  something moved slowly up the staff, and extended itself upon the
  breeze.  It was a black flag.
  
  "Justice" was done, and the President of the Immortals, in Aeschylean
  phrase, had ended his sport with Tess.  And the d'Urberville knights
  and dames slept on in their tombs unknowing.  The two speechless
  gazers bent themselves down to the earth, as if in prayer, and
  remained thus a long time, absolutely motionless: the flag continued
  to wave silently.  As soon as they had strength, they arose, joined
  hands again, and went on.
  
  
  
feat_summary_name: Chapters 57-59
target: Angel hears from his parents via telegram that his brother Cuthbert is engaged to Mercy Chant. He leaves his hotel to go to the train station for a return trip home. At the station, Tess finds him and confesses to murdering Alec. Immediately, Angel formulates a plan to walk to the north of England, avoiding the more traveled roads, until they can reach a port city after the events surrounding the murder are forgotten. The two walk for miles, finally happy to be in each other's company. Along the way, they discover a vacant house, with only a caretaker occasionally stopping by. The great house, called Bramshurst Court, is empty of a renter, so the couple takes up residence. They spend five days in the house until the local caretaker sees them sleeping in the large bedrooms. Once discovered, Angel and Tess move directly north until they reach the ancient monoliths of Stonehenge. Tess feels that her freedom is limited and her end is near, so she has Angel promise to marry Liza Lu after her death. Now that it is night and the two are tired, Tess sleeps on one of the "altars" of stone. Near daybreak, the two are surrounded by police who take Tess into custody. For her part, Tess is glad that the end has come, and she goes with the police willingly. In the final chapter, Angel and Liza Lu journey together to Wintoncester to see that Tess' sentence, death by hanging, is carried out. They do not actually witness the deed, but know the enterprise is done when a black flag is hoisted over the town's tower. The two then return the way they came, "As soon as they arose, joined hands again, and went on."
feat_summary_analysis: Hardy has brought the story full circle. Four years have passed since the day in May, in the beginning of the novel, when Tess and Angel met. At the story's end it is May again. Angel is in the process of leaving Sandbourne when he receives news that his brother, Cuthbert, has become engaged to Mercy Chant. As he is leaving town awaiting the next train, Tess appears with the tale that she had killed Alec. Angel is unsure about her story, but now that she is finally his, he takes no chances of her being discovered. One of their stops takes them to a vacant house, called Bramshurst Court. Their week together is uneventful in that Tess and Angel finally become a married couple. She seems to know that her time with Angel is limited, because she will soon be wanted for Alec's murder; "My life can only be a question of a few weeks," she says. Her last wishes are for Angel to marry her sister, Liza Lu for "'She had all the best of me without the bad of me." In Chapter 59, when Angel and Liza Lu join hands after Tess' execution, we understand that Angel will fulfill this request. The chase from Sandbourne ends at the historic site of Stonehenge, a collection of giant stones arranged in a circular form, dating from 2,800 to 1,500 B.C. The purposes for the monuments were to serve as an astrological calendar and a ceremonial place for religious or tribal worship. Because the original purposes of the ancient monuments have been shrouded in mystery, especially in Hardy's time, experts could only speculate as to the purpose of the megaliths. Tess and Angel stop in Stonehenge after they have traveled a long way and need rest. The stones are still warm from the sun, radiating heat all during the cool night. Tess realizes that her mother's family is from the area, "One of my mother's people was a shepherd hereabouts, now I think of it. And you used to say at Talbothays that I was a heathen. So now I am at home." Angel recognizes that Tess is "lying on an altar" -- like a sacrifice to the ancient pagans who used to practice there. In a modern sense, Tess is sacrificed to the laws and morals of the nineteenth century. Hardy ends Tess' tale with the words "'Justice' was done, and the President of the Immortals, in the Aeschylean phrase, had ended his sport with Tess." A bit of background is needed to understand this phrase. First, Aeschylus was an ancient Greek playwright who lived from 525-546 b.c. Aeschylus wrote plays that centered on individual will and the influence of divine power over mortals. In his play called Prometheus Bound, Prometheus is chained to a rock, and an eagle comes to devour his liver every day; each night, Prometheus' liver grows back. Hercules destroys the eagle and sets Prometheus free. Tess is like Prometheus in that she seems to have been a "toy" of the gods of morality and religion in Victorian England, and she had to be sacrificed for the good of mankind. All of Tess' life is the result of either an accident, fate, or the intervention of the gods. In fact, some critics feel that the circumstances leading to Tess' tragic life and death are too contrived, are unrealistic, and unbelievable. Whether realistic or not, Fate has intervened in Tess' world and shaped the course of her life. Glossary "her Antinous . . . " a favorite of the Roman Emperor Hadrian; like Apollo, the Greek god of sun and of music, Antinous was a figure of male beauty. Atalanta's race Atalanta was a Grecian huntress who refused to marry any suitor who could not outrun her; the penalty for those who lost was death. deprecated expressed disapproval of; depreciated; belittled. antiquity the quality of being ancient or old. "Temple of the Winds" also known as the "tower of the winds," a temple in Athens used for telling time. Trilithon a monument consisting of two upright megaliths with a third stone serving as the lintel. taciturnity the condition of being silent or uncommunicative. integument a natural outer covering of the body or of a plant, including skin, shell, hide, husk, or rind. "Giotto's 'Two Apostles'" Hardy probably had in mind the fresco in the National Gallery in London that is now attributed to Spinello Aretino . wicket a small door or gate, esp. one set in or near a larger door or gate. Aeschylean phrase "President of the Immortals" translates a phrase from Prometheus Bound , by Aeschylus; Hardy finishes the novel by suggesting that the highest power in the universe uses human beings for "sport."