Jude the Obscure

by Thomas Hardy

  Part Sixth

  AT CHRISTMINSTER AGAIN

  "... And she humbled her body greatly, and all the places of her joy she filled with her torn hair."--ESTHER (Apoc.).

  "There are two who decline, a woman and I, And enjoy our death in the darkness here." --R. BROWNING.

  I

  On their arrival the station was lively with straw-hatted young men,welcoming young girls who bore a remarkable family likeness to theirwelcomers, and who were dressed up in the brightest and lightest ofraiment.

  "The place seems gay," said Sue. "Why--it is RemembranceDay!--Jude--how sly of you--you came to-day on purpose!"

  "Yes," said Jude quietly, as he took charge of the small child, andtold Arabella's boy to keep close to them, Sue attending to their owneldest. "I thought we might as well come to-day as on any other."

  "But I am afraid it will depress you!" she said, looking anxiously athim up and down.

  "Oh, I mustn't let it interfere with our business; and we have a gooddeal to do before we shall be settled here. The first thing islodgings."

  Having left their luggage and his tools at the station they proceededon foot up the familiar street, the holiday people all drifting inthe same direction. Reaching the Fourways they were about to turnoff to where accommodation was likely to be found when, looking atthe clock and the hurrying crowd, Jude said: "Let us go and see theprocession, and never mind the lodgings just now. We can get themafterwards."

  "Oughtn't we to get a house over our heads first?" she asked.

  But his soul seemed full of the anniversary, and together they wentdown Chief Street, their smallest child in Jude's arms, Sue leadingher little girl, and Arabella's boy walking thoughtfully and silentlybeside them. Crowds of pretty sisters in airy costumes, and meeklyignorant parents who had known no college in their youth, were underconvoy in the same direction by brothers and sons bearing the opinionwritten large on them that no properly qualified human beings hadlived on earth till they came to grace it here and now.

  "My failure is reflected on me by every one of those youngfellows," said Jude. "A lesson on presumption is awaiting meto-day!--Humiliation Day for me! ... If you, my dear darling, hadn'tcome to my rescue, I should have gone to the dogs with despair!"

  She saw from his face that he was getting into one of histempestuous, self-harrowing moods. "It would have been better if wehad gone at once about our own affairs, dear," she answered. "I amsure this sight will awaken old sorrows in you, and do no good!"

  "Well--we are near; we will see it now," said he.

  They turned in on the left by the church with the Italian porch,whose helical columns were heavily draped with creepers, and pursuedthe lane till there arose on Jude's sight the circular theatre withthat well-known lantern above it, which stood in his mind as the sadsymbol of his abandoned hopes, for it was from that outlook that hehad finally surveyed the City of Colleges on the afternoon of hisgreat meditation, which convinced him at last of the futility of hisattempt to be a son of the university.

  To-day, in the open space stretching between this building and thenearest college, stood a crowd of expectant people. A passage waskept clear through their midst by two barriers of timber, extendingfrom the door of the college to the door of the large buildingbetween it and the theatre.

  "Here is the place--they are just going to pass!" cried Jude insudden excitement. And pushing his way to the front he took up aposition close to the barrier, still hugging the youngest child inhis arms, while Sue and the others kept immediately behind him.The crowd filled in at their back, and fell to talking, joking, andlaughing as carriage after carriage drew up at the lower door ofthe college, and solemn stately figures in blood-red robes began toalight. The sky had grown overcast and livid, and thunder rumblednow and then.

  Father Time shuddered. "It do seem like the Judgment Day!" hewhispered.

  "They are only learned Doctors," said Sue.

  While they waited big drops of rain fell on their heads andshoulders, and the delay grew tedious. Sue again wished not to stay.

  "They won't be long now," said Jude, without turning his head.

  But the procession did not come forth, and somebody in the crowd, topass the time, looked at the facade of the nearest college, and saidhe wondered what was meant by the Latin inscription in its midst.Jude, who stood near the inquirer, explained it, and finding thatthe people all round him were listening with interest, went on todescribe the carving of the frieze (which he had studied yearsbefore), and to criticize some details of masonry in other collegefronts about the city.

  The idle crowd, including the two policemen at the doors, stared likethe Lycaonians at Paul, for Jude was apt to get too enthusiastic overany subject in hand, and they seemed to wonder how the strangershould know more about the buildings of their town than theythemselves did; till one of them said: "Why, I know that man; he usedto work here years ago--Jude Fawley, that's his name! Don't you mindhe used to be nicknamed Tutor of St. Slums, d'ye mind?--because heaimed at that line o' business? He's married, I suppose, then, andthat's his child he's carrying. Taylor would know him, as he knowseverybody."

  The speaker was a man named Jack Stagg, with whom Jude had formerlyworked in repairing the college masonries; Tinker Taylor was seen tobe standing near. Having his attention called the latter criedacross the barriers to Jude: "You've honoured us by coming backagain, my friend!"

  Jude nodded.

  "An' you don't seem to have done any great things for yourself bygoing away?"

  Jude assented to this also.

  "Except found more mouths to fill!" This came in a new voice, andJude recognized its owner to be Uncle Joe, another mason whom he hadknown.

  Jude replied good-humouredly that he could not dispute it; and fromremark to remark something like a general conversation arose betweenhim and the crowd of idlers, during which Tinker Taylor asked Jude ifhe remembered the Apostles' Creed in Latin still, and the night ofthe challenge in the public house.

  "But Fortune didn't lie that way?" threw in Joe. "Yer powers wasn'tenough to carry 'ee through?"

  "Don't answer them any more!" entreated Sue.

  "I don't think I like Christminster!" murmured little Timemournfully, as he stood submerged and invisible in the crowd.

  But finding himself the centre of curiosity, quizzing, and comment,Jude was not inclined to shrink from open declarations of what hehad no great reason to be ashamed of; and in a little while wasstimulated to say in a loud voice to the listening throng generally:

  "It is a difficult question, my friends, for any young man--thatquestion I had to grapple with, and which thousands are weighingat the present moment in these uprising times--whether to followuncritically the track he finds himself in, without considering hisaptness for it, or to consider what his aptness or bent may be, andre-shape his course accordingly. I tried to do the latter, and Ifailed. But I don't admit that my failure proved my view to be awrong one, or that my success would have made it a right one; thoughthat's how we appraise such attempts nowadays--I mean, not by theiressential soundness, but by their accidental outcomes. If I hadended by becoming like one of these gentlemen in red and black thatwe saw dropping in here by now, everybody would have said: 'See howwise that young man was, to follow the bent of his nature!' Buthaving ended no better than I began they say: 'See what a fool thatfellow was in following a freak of his fancy!'

  "However it was my poverty and not my will that consented to bebeaten. It takes two or three generations to do what I tried to doin one; and my impulses--affections--vices perhaps they should becalled--were too strong not to hamper a man without advantages; whoshould be as cold-blooded as a fish and as selfish as a pig to have areally good chance of being one of his country's worthies. You mayridicule me--I am quite willing that you should--I am a fit subject,no doubt. But I think if you knew what I have gone through theselast few years you would rather pity me. And if they knew"--henodded t
owards the college at which the dons were severallyarriving--"it is just possible they would do the same."

  "He do look ill and worn-out, it is true!" said a woman.

  Sue's face grew more emotional; but though she stood close to Judeshe was screened.

  "I may do some good before I am dead--be a sort of success as afrightful example of what not to do; and so illustrate a moralstory," continued Jude, beginning to grow bitter, though he hadopened serenely enough. "I was, perhaps, after all, a paltry victimto the spirit of mental and social restlessness that makes so manyunhappy in these days!"

  "Don't tell them that!" whispered Sue with tears, at perceivingJude's state of mind. "You weren't that. You struggled nobly toacquire knowledge, and only the meanest souls in the world wouldblame you!"

  Jude shifted the child into a more easy position on his arm, andconcluded: "And what I appear, a sick and poor man, is not the worstof me. I am in a chaos of principles--groping in the dark--acting byinstinct and not after example. Eight or nine years ago when I camehere first, I had a neat stock of fixed opinions, but they droppedaway one by one; and the further I get the less sure I am. I doubtif I have anything more for my present rule of life than followinginclinations which do me and nobody else any harm, and actually givepleasure to those I love best. There, gentlemen, since you wanted toknow how I was getting on, I have told you. Much good may it do you!I cannot explain further here. I perceive there is something wrongsomewhere in our social formulas: what it is can only be discoveredby men or women with greater insight than mine--if, indeed, they everdiscover it--at least in our time. 'For who knoweth what is good forman in this life?--and who can tell a man what shall be after himunder the sun?'"

  "Hear, hear," said the populace.

  "Well preached!" said Tinker Taylor. And privately to hisneighbours: "Why, one of them jobbing pa'sons swarming about here,that takes the services when our head reverends want a holiday,wouldn't ha' discoursed such doctrine for less than a guinea down.Hey? I'll take my oath not one o' 'em would! And then he must havehad it wrote down for 'n. And this only a working-man!"

  As a sort of objective commentary on Jude's remarks there drove upat this moment with a belated Doctor, robed and panting, a cab whosehorse failed to stop at the exact point required for setting down thehirer, who jumped out and entered the door. The driver, alighting,began to kick the animal in the belly.

  "If that can be done," said Jude, "at college gates in the mostreligious and educational city in the world, what shall we say as tohow far we've got?"

  "Order!" said one of the policemen, who had been engaged with acomrade in opening the large doors opposite the college. "Keep yertongue quiet, my man, while the procession passes." The rain came onmore heavily, and all who had umbrellas opened them. Jude was notone of these, and Sue only possessed a small one, half sunshade. Shehad grown pale, though Jude did not notice it then.

  "Let us go on, dear," she whispered, endeavouring to shelter him."We haven't any lodgings yet, remember, and all our things are at thestation; and you are by no means well yet. I am afraid this wet willhurt you!"

  "They are coming now. Just a moment, and I'll go!" said he.

  A peal of six bells struck out, human faces began to crowd thewindows around, and the procession of heads of houses and new Doctorsemerged, their red and black gowned forms passing across the field ofJude's vision like inaccessible planets across an object-glass.

  As they went their names were called by knowing informants, and whenthey reached the old round theatre of Wren a cheer rose high.

  "Let's go that way!" cried Jude, and though it now rained steadilyhe seemed not to know it, and took them round to the theatre. Herethey stood upon the straw that was laid to drown the discordant noiseof wheels, where the quaint and frost-eaten stone busts encirclingthe building looked with pallid grimness on the proceedings, and inparticular at the bedraggled Jude, Sue, and their children, as atludicrous persons who had no business there.

  "I wish I could get in!" he said to her fervidly. "Listen--I maycatch a few words of the Latin speech by staying here; the windowsare open."

  However, beyond the peals of the organ, and the shouts and hurrahsbetween each piece of oratory, Jude's standing in the wet did notbring much Latin to his intelligence more than, now and then, asonorous word in _um_ or _ibus_.

  "Well--I'm an outsider to the end of my days!" he sighed after awhile. "Now I'll go, my patient Sue. How good of you to wait in therain all this time--to gratify my infatuation! I'll never care anymore about the infernal cursed place, upon my soul I won't! But whatmade you tremble so when we were at the barrier? And how pale youare, Sue!"

  "I saw Richard amongst the people on the other side."

  "Ah--did you!"

  "He is evidently come up to Jerusalem to see the festival like therest of us: and on that account is probably living not so very faraway. He had the same hankering for the university that you had, ina milder form. I don't think he saw me, though he must have heardyou speaking to the crowd. But he seemed not to notice."

  "Well--suppose he did. Your mind is free from worries about him now,my Sue?"

  "Yes, I suppose so. But I am weak. Although I know it is all rightwith our plans, I felt a curious dread of him; an awe, or terror, ofconventions I don't believe in. It comes over me at times like asort of creeping paralysis, and makes me so sad!"

  "You are getting tired, Sue. Oh--I forgot, darling! Yes, we'll goon at once."

  They started in quest of the lodging, and at last found somethingthat seemed to promise well, in Mildew Lane--a spot which to Jude wasirresistible--though to Sue it was not so fascinating--a narrow laneclose to the back of a college, but having no communication withit. The little houses were darkened to gloom by the high collegiatebuildings, within which life was so far removed from that of thepeople in the lane as if it had been on opposite sides of the globe;yet only a thickness of wall divided them. Two or three of thehouses had notices of rooms to let, and the newcomers knocked at thedoor of one, which a woman opened.

  "Ah--listen!" said Jude suddenly, instead of addressing her.

  "What?"

  "Why the bells--what church can that be? The tones are familiar."

  Another peal of bells had begun to sound out at some distance off.

  "I don't know!" said the landlady tartly. "Did you knock to askthat?"

  "No; for lodgings," said Jude, coming to himself.

  The householder scrutinized Sue's figure a moment. "We haven't anyto let," said she, shutting the door.

  Jude looked discomfited, and the boy distressed. "Now, Jude," saidSue, "let me try. You don't know the way."

  They found a second place hard by; but here the occupier, observingnot only Sue, but the boy and the small children, said civilly, "I amsorry to say we don't let where there are children"; and also closedthe door.

  The small child squared its mouth and cried silently, with aninstinct that trouble loomed. The boy sighed. "I don't likeChristminster!" he said. "Are the great old houses gaols?"

  "No; colleges," said Jude; "which perhaps you'll study in some day."

  "I'd rather not!" the boy rejoined.

  "Now we'll try again," said Sue. "I'll pull my cloak more roundme... Leaving Kennetbridge for this place is like coming fromCaiaphas to Pilate! ... How do I look now, dear?"

  "Nobody would notice it now," said Jude.

  There was one other house, and they tried a third time. The womanhere was more amiable; but she had little room to spare, and couldonly agree to take in Sue and the children if her husband could goelsewhere. This arrangement they perforce adopted, in the stressfrom delaying their search till so late. They came to terms withher, though her price was rather high for their pockets. But theycould not afford to be critical till Jude had time to get a morepermanent abode; and in this house Sue took possession of a back roomon the second floor with an inner closet-room for the children. Judestayed and had a cup of tea; and was pl
eased to find that the windowcommanded the back of another of the colleges. Kissing all four hewent to get a few necessaries and look for lodgings for himself.

  When he was gone the landlady came up to talk a little with Sue, andgather something of the circumstances of the family she had taken in.Sue had not the art of prevarication, and, after admitting severalfacts as to their late difficulties and wanderings, she was startledby the landlady saying suddenly:

  "Are you really a married woman?"

  Sue hesitated; and then impulsively told the woman that her husbandand herself had each been unhappy in their first marriages, afterwhich, terrified at the thought of a second irrevocable union, andlest the conditions of the contract should kill their love, yetwishing to be together, they had literally not found the courageto repeat it, though they had attempted it two or three times.Therefore, though in her own sense of the words she was a marriedwoman, in the landlady's sense she was not.

  The housewife looked embarrassed, and went downstairs. Sue sat bythe window in a reverie, watching the rain. Her quiet was broken bythe noise of someone entering the house, and then the voices of aman and woman in conversation in the passage below. The landlady'shusband had arrived, and she was explaining to him the incoming ofthe lodgers during his absence.

  His voice rose in sudden anger. "Now who wants such a woman here?and perhaps a confinement! ... Besides, didn't I say I wouldn't havechildren? The hall and stairs fresh painted, to be kicked about bythem! You must have known all was not straight with 'em--coming likethat. Taking in a family when I said a single man."

  The wife expostulated, but, as it seemed, the husband insisted onhis point; for presently a tap came to Sue's door, and the womanappeared.

  "I am sorry to tell you, ma'am," she said, "that I can't let you havethe room for the week after all. My husband objects; and thereforeI must ask you to go. I don't mind your staying over to-night, asit is getting late in the afternoon; but I shall be glad if you canleave early in the morning."

  Though she knew that she was entitled to the lodging for a week, Suedid not wish to create a disturbance between the wife and husband,and she said she would leave as requested. When the landlady hadgone Sue looked out of the window again. Finding that the rain hadceased she proposed to the boy that, after putting the little onesto bed, they should go out and search about for another place, andbespeak it for the morrow, so as not to be so hard-driven then asthey had been that day.

  Therefore, instead of unpacking her boxes, which had just been senton from the station by Jude, they sallied out into the damp thoughnot unpleasant streets, Sue resolving not to disturb her husbandwith the news of her notice to quit while he was perhaps worriedin obtaining a lodging for himself. In the company of the boy shewandered into this street and into that; but though she tried a dozendifferent houses she fared far worse alone than she had fared inJude's company, and could get nobody to promise her a room for thefollowing day. Every householder looked askance at such a woman andchild inquiring for accommodation in the gloom.

  "I ought not to be born, ought I?" said the boy with misgiving.

  Thoroughly tired at last Sue returned to the place where she wasnot welcome, but where at least she had temporary shelter. In herabsence Jude had left his address; but knowing how weak he still wasshe adhered to her determination not to disturb him till the nextday.