by Thomas Hardy
III
How a Little Sound Produced a Great Dream
Eustacia stood just within the heath, straining her eyes in thedirection of Mrs. Yeobright's house and premises. No light, sound, ormovement was perceptible there. The evening was chilly; the spot wasdark and lonely. She inferred that the guest had not yet come; andafter lingering ten or fifteen minutes she turned again towards home.
She had not far retraced her steps when sounds in front of herbetokened the approach of persons in conversation along the same path.Soon their heads became visible against the sky. They were walkingslowly; and though it was too dark for much discovery of characterfrom aspect, the gait of them showed that they were not workers on theheath. Eustacia stepped a little out of the foot-track to let thempass. They were two women and a man; and the voices of the women werethose of Mrs. Yeobright and Thomasin.
They went by her, and at the moment of passing appeared to discern herdusky form. There came to her ears in a masculine voice, "Goodnight!"
She murmured a reply, glided by them, and turned round. She couldnot, for a moment, believe that chance, unrequested, had brought intoher presence the soul of the house she had gone to inspect, the manwithout whom her inspection would not have been thought of.
She strained her eyes to see them, but was unable. Such was herintentness, however, that it seemed as if her ears were performingthe functions of seeing as well as hearing. This extension of powercan almost be believed in at such moments. The deaf Dr. Kitto wasprobably under the influence of a parallel fancy when he described hisbody as having become, by long endeavour, so sensitive to vibrationsthat he had gained the power of perceiving by it as by ears.
She could follow every word that the ramblers uttered. They weretalking no secrets. They were merely indulging in the ordinaryvivacious chat of relatives who have long been parted in person thoughnot in soul. But it was not to the words that Eustacia listened; shecould not even have recalled, a few minutes later, what the wordswere. It was to the alternating voice that gave out about one-tenth ofthem--the voice that had wished her good night. Sometimes this throatuttered Yes, sometimes it uttered No; sometimes it made inquiriesabout a timeworn denizen of the place. Once it surprised her notionsby remarking upon the friendliness and geniality written in the facesof the hills around.
The three voices passed on, and decayed and died out upon her ear.Thus much had been granted her; and all besides withheld. No eventcould have been more exciting. During the greater part of theafternoon she had been entrancing herself by imagining the fascinationwhich must attend a man come direct from beautiful Paris--laden withits atmosphere, familiar with its charms. And this man had greetedher.
With the departure of the figures the profuse articulations of thewomen wasted away from her memory; but the accents of the other stayedon. Was there anything in the voice of Mrs. Yeobright's son--for Clymit was--startling as a sound? No; it was simply comprehensive. Allemotional things were possible to the speaker of that "good night."Eustacia's imagination supplied the rest--except the solution to oneriddle. What COULD the tastes of that man be who saw friendliness andgeniality in these shaggy hills?
On such occasions as this a thousand ideas pass through a highlycharged woman's head; and they indicate themselves on her face; butthe changes, though actual, are minute. Eustacia's features wentthrough a rhythmical succession of them. She glowed; remembering themendacity of the imagination, she flagged; then she freshened; thenshe fired; then she cooled again. It was a cycle of aspects, producedby a cycle of visions.
Eustacia entered her own house; she was excited. Her grandfather wasenjoying himself over the fire, raking about the ashes and exposingthe red-hot surface of the turves, so that their lurid glareirradiated the chimney-corner with the hues of a furnace.
"Why is it that we are never friendly with the Yeobrights?" she said,coming forward and stretching her soft hands over the warmth. "I wishwe were. They seem to be very nice people."
"Be hanged if I know why," said the captain. "I liked the old manwell enough, though he was as rough as a hedge. But you would neverhave cared to go there, even if you might have, I am well sure."
"Why shouldn't I?"
"Your town tastes would find them far too countrified. They sit inthe kitchen, drink mead and elderwine, and sand the floor to keep itclean. A sensible way of life; but would you like it?"
"I thought Mrs. Yeobright was a ladylike woman? A curate's daughter,was she not?"
"Yes; but she was obliged to live as her husband did; and I supposeshe has taken kindly to it by this time. Ah, I recollect that I onceaccidentally offended her, and I have never seen her since."
That night was an eventful one to Eustacia's brain, and one which shehardly ever forgot. She dreamt a dream; and few human beings, fromNebuchadnezzar to the Swaffham tinker, ever dreamt a more remarkableone. Such an elaborately developed, perplexing, exciting dream wascertainly never dreamed by a girl in Eustacia's situation before.It had as many ramifications as the Cretan labyrinth, as manyfluctuations as the Northern Lights, as much colour as a parterrein June, and was as crowded with figures as a coronation. To QueenScheherazade the dream might have seemed not far removed fromcommonplace; and to a girl just returned from all the courts ofEurope it might have seemed not more than interesting. But amid thecircumstances of Eustacia's life it was as wonderful as a dream couldbe.
There was, however, gradually evolved from its transformation scenes aless extravagant episode, in which the heath dimly appeared behind thegeneral brilliancy of the action. She was dancing to wondrous music,and her partner was the man in silver armour who had accompanied herthrough the previous fantastic changes, the visor of his helmet beingclosed. The mazes of the dance were ecstatic. Soft whispering cameinto her ear from under the radiant helmet, and she felt like a womanin Paradise. Suddenly these two wheeled out from the mass of dancers,dived into one of the pools of the heath, and came out somewherebeneath into an iridescent hollow, arched with rainbows. "It mustbe here," said the voice by her side, and blushingly looking up shesaw him removing his casque to kiss her. At that moment there was acracking noise, and his figure fell into fragments like a pack ofcards.
She cried aloud. "O that I had seen his face!"
Eustacia awoke. The cracking had been that of the window shutterdownstairs, which the maid-servant was opening to let in the day, nowslowly increasing to Nature's meagre allowance at this sickly time ofthe year. "O that I had seen his face!" she said again. "'Twas meantfor Mr. Yeobright!"
When she became cooler she perceived that many of the phases of thedream had naturally arisen out of the images and fancies of the daybefore. But this detracted little from its interest, which lay in theexcellent fuel it provided for newly kindled fervour. She was at themodulating point between indifference and love, at the stage called"having a fancy for." It occurs once in the history of the mostgigantic passions, and it is a period when they are in the hands ofthe weakest will.
The perfervid woman was by this time half in love with a vision. Thefantastic nature of her passion, which lowered her as an intellect,raised her as a soul. If she had had a little more self-control shewould have attenuated the emotion to nothing by sheer reasoning, andso have killed it off. If she had had a little less pride she mighthave gone and circumambulated the Yeobrights' premises at Blooms-Endat any maidenly sacrifice until she had seen him. But Eustacia didneither of these things. She acted as the most exemplary might haveacted, being so influenced; she took an airing twice or thrice a dayupon the Egdon hills, and kept her eyes employed.
The first occasion passed, and he did not come that way.
She promenaded a second time, and was again the sole wanderer there.
The third time there was a dense fog; she looked around, but withoutmuch hope. Even if he had been walking within twenty yards of her shecould not have seen him.
At the fourth attempt to encounter him it began to rain in torrents,and she turned back.
The fifth sally was in the
afternoon: it was fine, and she remainedout long, walking to the very top of the valley in which Blooms-Endlay. She saw the white paling about half a mile off; but he did notappear. It was almost with heart-sickness that she came home and witha sense of shame at her weakness. She resolved to look for the manfrom Paris no more.
But Providence is nothing if not coquettish; and no sooner hadEustacia formed this resolve than the opportunity came which, whilesought, had been entirely withholden.
