《苔絲》是英美文學(xué)中一朵歷經(jīng)百年而不衰的奇葩，苔絲曲折多變的命運(yùn)、連連受挫的愛(ài)情、矛盾復(fù)雜的人物性格，一直都是文學(xué)評(píng)論家關(guān)注的焦點(diǎn)。小說(shuō)描述了一位純潔姑娘的不幸命運(yùn)�！短z》整篇小說(shuō)文筆優(yōu)美流暢，人物刻畫(huà)真實(shí)感人，景物描寫(xiě)栩栩如生。
Phase the First: The Maiden
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Phase the Second: Maiden No More
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Phase the Third: The Rally
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Phase the Fourth: The Consequence
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Phase the Fifth: The Woman Pays
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Phase the Sixth: The Convert
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Phase the Seventh: Fulfilment
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
On an evening in the latter part of May a middleaged man was walking homeward from Shastonto 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 eggbasket 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 Durbey field, the haggler?”
The parson rode a step or two nearer.
“It was only my whim,”he said; and, after a moment’ 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'Urbervilles, that renowned knight who came from Normandy with William the Conqueror William, 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.”
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