The Return of the Native

by Thomas Hardy

  III

  The First Act in a Timeworn Drama

  The afternoon was fine, and Yeobright walked on the heath for an hourwith his mother. When they reached the lofty ridge which divided thevalley of Blooms-End from the adjoining valley they stood still andlooked round. The Quiet Woman Inn was visible on the low margin of theheath in one direction, and afar on the other hand rose Mistover Knap.

  "You mean to call on Thomasin?" he inquired.

  "Yes. But you need not come this time," said his mother.

  "In that case I'll branch off here, mother. I am going to Mistover."

  Mrs. Yeobright turned to him inquiringly.

  "I am going to help them get the bucket out of the captain's well," hecontinued. "As it is so very deep I may be useful. And I should liketo see this Miss Vye--not so much for her good looks as for anotherreason."

  "Must you go?" his mother asked.

  "I thought to."

  And they parted. "There is no help for it," murmured Clym's mothergloomily as he withdrew. "They are sure to see each other. I wishSam would carry his news to other houses than mine."

  Clym's retreating figure got smaller and smaller as it rose and fellover the hillocks on his way. "He is tender-hearted," said Mrs.Yeobright to herself while she watched him; "otherwise it would matterlittle. How he's going on!"

  He was, indeed, walking with a will over the furze, as straight as aline, as if his life depended upon it. His mother drew a long breath,and, abandoning the visit to Thomasin, turned back. The evening filmsbegan to make nebulous pictures of the valleys, but the high landsstill were raked by the declining rays of the winter sun, whichglanced on Clym as he walked forward, eyed by every rabbit andfieldfare around, a long shadow advancing in front of him.

  On drawing near to the furze-covered bank and ditch which fortifiedthe captain's dwelling he could hear voices within, signifying thatoperations had been already begun. At the side-entrance gate hestopped and looked over.

  Half a dozen able-bodied men were standing in a line from thewell-mouth, holding a rope which passed over the well-roller into thedepths below. Fairway, with a piece of smaller rope round his body,made fast to one of the standards, to guard against accidents, wasleaning over the opening, his right hand clasping the vertical ropethat descended into the well.

  "Now, silence, folks," said Fairway.

  The talking ceased, and Fairway gave a circular motion to the rope, asif he were stirring batter. At the end of a minute a dull splashingreverberated from the bottom of the well; the helical twist he hadimparted to the rope had reached the grapnel below.

  "Haul!" said Fairway; and the men who held the rope began to gather itover the wheel.

  "I think we've got sommat," said one of the haulers-in.

  "Then pull steady," said Fairway.

  They gathered up more and more, till a regular dripping into the wellcould be heard below. It grew smarter with the increasing height ofthe bucket, and presently a hundred and fifty feet of rope had beenpulled in.

  Fairway then lit a lantern, tied it to another cord, and beganlowering it into the well beside the first. Clym came forward andlooked down. Strange humid leaves, which knew nothing of the seasonsof the year, and quaint-natured mosses were revealed on the wellsideas the lantern descended; till its rays fell upon a confused mass ofrope and bucket dangling in the dank, dark air.

  "We've only got en by the edge of the hoop--steady, for God's sake!"said Fairway.

  They pulled with the greatest gentleness, till the wet bucket appearedabout two yards below them, like a dead friend come to earth again.Three or four hands were stretched out, then jerk went the rope, whizzwent the wheel, the two foremost haulers fell backward, the beating ofa falling body was heard, receding down the sides of the well, and athunderous uproar arose at the bottom. The bucket was gone again.

  "Damn the bucket!" said Fairway.

  "Lower again," said Sam.

  "I'm as stiff as a ram's horn stooping so long," said Fairway,standing up and stretching himself till his joints creaked.

  "Rest a few minutes, Timothy," said Yeobright. "I'll take yourplace."

  The grapnel was again lowered. Its smart impact upon the distantwater reached their ears like a kiss, whereupon Yeobright knelt down,and leaning over the well began dragging the grapnel round and roundas Fairway had done.

  "Tie a rope round him--it is dangerous!" cried a soft and anxiousvoice somewhere above them.

  Everybody turned. The speaker was a woman, gazing down upon the groupfrom an upper window, whose panes blazed in the ruddy glare from thewest. Her lips were parted and she appeared for the moment to forgetwhere she was.

  The rope was accordingly tied round his waist, and the work proceeded.At the next haul the weight was not heavy, and it was discovered thatthey had only secured a coil of the rope detached from the bucket.The tangled mass was thrown into the background. Humphrey tookYeobright's place, and the grapnel was lowered again.

  Yeobright retired to the heap of recovered rope in a meditative mood.Of the identity between the lady's voice and that of the melancholymummer he had not a moment's doubt. "How thoughtful of her!" he saidto himself.

  Eustacia, who had reddened when she perceived the effect of herexclamation upon the group below, was no longer to be seen at thewindow, though Yeobright scanned it wistfully. While he stood therethe men at the well succeeded in getting up the bucket without amishap. One of them went to inquire for the captain, to learn whatorders he wished to give for mending the well-tackle. The captainproved to be away from home, and Eustacia appeared at the door andcame out. She had lapsed into an easy and dignified calm, far removedfrom the intensity of life in her words of solicitude for Clym'ssafety.

  "Will it be possible to draw water here tonight?" she inquired.

  "No, miss; the bottom of the bucket is clean knocked out. And as wecan do no more now we'll leave off, and come again tomorrow morning."

  "No water," she murmured, turning away.

  "I can send you up some from Blooms-End," said Clym, coming forwardand raising his hat as the men retired.

  Yeobright and Eustacia looked at each other for one instant, as ifeach had in mind those few moments during which a certain moonlightscene was common to both. With the glance the calm fixity of herfeatures sublimed itself to an expression of refinement and warmth:it was like garish noon rising to the dignity of sunset in a coupleof seconds.

  "Thank you; it will hardly be necessary," she replied.

  "But if you have no water?"

  "Well, it is what I call no water," she said, blushing, and liftingher long-lashed eyelids as if to lift them were a work requiringconsideration. "But my grandfather calls it water enough. I'll showyou what I mean."

  She moved away a few yards, and Clym followed. When she reached thecorner of the enclosure, where the steps were formed for mounting theboundary bank, she sprang up with a lightness which seemed strangeafter her listless movement towards the well. It incidentally showedthat her apparent languor did not arise from lack of force.

  Clym ascended behind her, and noticed a circular burnt patch at thetop of the bank. "Ashes?" he said.

  "Yes," said Eustacia. "We had a little bonfire here last Fifth ofNovember, and those are the marks of it."

  On that spot had stood the fire she had kindled to attract Wildeve.

  "That's the only kind of water we have," she continued, tossing astone into the pool, which lay on the outside of the bank like thewhite of an eye without its pupil. The stone fell with a flounce,but no Wildeve appeared on the other side, as on a previous occasionthere. "My grandfather says he lived for more than twenty years atsea on water twice as bad as that," she went on, "and considers itquite good enough for us here on an emergency."

  "Well, as a matter of fact there are no impurities in the water ofthese pools at this time of the year. It has only just rained intothem."

  She shook her head. "I am managing to exist in a wilderness, but Icannot drink from a pond," she said. />
  Clym looked towards the well, which was now deserted, the men havinggone home. "It is a long way to send for spring-water," he said,after a silence. "But since you don't like this in the pond, I'll tryto get you some myself." He went back to the well. "Yes, I think Icould do it by tying on this pail."

  "But, since I would not trouble the men to get it, I cannot inconscience let you."

  "I don't mind the trouble at all."

  He made fast the pail to the long coil of rope, put it over the wheel,and allowed it to descend by letting the rope slip through his hands.Before it had gone far, however, he checked it.

  "I must make fast the end first, or we may lose the whole," he said toEustacia, who had drawn near. "Could you hold this a moment, while Ido it--or shall I call your servant?"

  "I can hold it," said Eustacia; and he placed the rope in her hands,going then to search for the end.

  "I suppose I may let it slip down?" she inquired.

  "I would advise you not to let it go far," said Clym. "It will getmuch heavier, you will find."

  However, Eustacia had begun to pay out. While he was tying she cried,"I cannot stop it!"

  Clym ran to her side, and found he could only check the rope bytwisting the loose part round the upright post, when it stopped with ajerk. "Has it hurt you?"

  "Yes," she replied.

  "Very much?"

  "No; I think not." She opened her hands. One of them was bleeding;the rope had dragged off the skin. Eustacia wrapped it in herhandkerchief.

  "You should have let go," said Yeobright. "Why didn't you?"

  "You said I was to hold on... This is the second time I have beenwounded today."

  "Ah, yes; I have heard of it. I blush for my native Egdon. Was it aserious injury you received in church, Miss Vye?"

  There was such an abundance of sympathy in Clym's tone that Eustaciaslowly drew up her sleeve and disclosed her round white arm. A brightred spot appeared on its smooth surface, like a ruby on Parian marble.

  "There it is," she said, putting her finger against the spot.

  "It was dastardly of the woman," said Clym. "Will not Captain Vye gether punished?"

  "He is gone from home on that very business. I did not know that Ihad such a magic reputation."

  "And you fainted?" said Clym, looking at the scarlet little punctureas if he would like to kiss it and make it well.

  "Yes, it frightened me. I had not been to church for a long time.And now I shall not go again for ever so long--perhaps never. Icannot face their eyes after this. Don't you think it dreadfullyhumiliating? I wished I was dead for hours after, but I don't mindnow."

  "I have come to clean away these cobwebs," said Yeobright. "Would youlike to help me--by high-class teaching? We might benefit them much."

  "I don't quite feel anxious to. I have not much love for myfellow-creatures. Sometimes I quite hate them."

  "Still I think that if you were to hear my scheme you might take aninterest in it. There is no use in hating people--if you hateanything, you should hate what produced them."

  "Do you mean Nature? I hate her already. But I shall be glad to hearyour scheme at any time."

  The situation had now worked itself out, and the next natural thingwas for them to part. Clym knew this well enough, and Eustacia made amove of conclusion; yet he looked at her as if he had one word moreto say. Perhaps if he had not lived in Paris it would never have beenuttered.

  "We have met before," he said, regarding her with rather more interestthan was necessary.

  "I do not own it," said Eustacia, with a repressed, still look.

  "But I may think what I like."

  "Yes."

  "You are lonely here."

  "I cannot endure the heath, except in its purple season. The heath isa cruel taskmaster to me."

  "Can you say so?" he asked. "To my mind it is most exhilarating, andstrengthening, and soothing. I would rather live on these hills thananywhere else in the world."

  "It is well enough for artists; but I never would learn to draw."

  "And there is a very curious Druidical stone just out there." He threwa pebble in the direction signified. "Do you often go to see it?"

  "I was not even aware there existed any such curious Druidical stone.I am aware that there are boulevards in Paris."

  Yeobright looked thoughtfully on the ground. "That means much," hesaid.

  "It does indeed," said Eustacia.

  "I remember when I had the same longing for town bustle. Five yearsof a great city would be a perfect cure for that."

  "Heaven send me such a cure! Now, Mr. Yeobright, I will go indoors andplaster my wounded hand."

  They separated, and Eustacia vanished in the increasing shade. Sheseemed full of many things. Her past was a blank, her life had begun.The effect upon Clym of this meeting he did not fully discover tillsome time after. During his walk home his most intelligible sensationwas that his scheme had somehow become glorified. A beautiful womanhad been intertwined with it.

  On reaching the house he went up to the room which was to be made hisstudy, and occupied himself during the evening in unpacking his booksfrom the boxes and arranging them on shelves. From another box hedrew a lamp and a can of oil. He trimmed the lamp, arranged histable, and said, "Now, I am ready to begin."

  He rose early the next morning, read two hours before breakfast by thelight of his lamp--read all the morning, all the afternoon. Just whenthe sun was going down his eyes felt weary, and he leant back in hischair.

  His room overlooked the front of the premises and the valley of theheath beyond. The lowest beams of the winter sun threw the shadow ofthe house over the palings, across the grass margin of the heath,and far up the vale, where the chimney outlines and those of thesurrounding treetops stretched forth in long dark prongs. Havingbeen seated at work all day, he decided to take a turn upon the hillsbefore it got dark; and, going out forthwith, he struck across theheath towards Mistover.

  It was an hour and a half later when he again appeared at the gardengate. The shutters of the house were closed, and Christian Cantle,who had been wheeling manure about the garden all day, had gone home.On entering he found that his mother, after waiting a long time forhim, had finished her meal.

  "Where have you been, Clym?" she immediately said. "Why didn't youtell me that you were going away at this time?"

  "I have been on the heath."

  "You'll meet Eustacia Vye if you go up there."

  Clym paused a minute. "Yes, I met her this evening," he said, asthough it were spoken under the sheer necessity of preserving honesty.

  "I wondered if you had."

  "It was no appointment."

  "No; such meetings never are."

  "But you are not angry, mother?"

  "I can hardly say that I am not. Angry? No. But when I consider theusual nature of the drag which causes men of promise to disappoint theworld I feel uneasy."

  "You deserve credit for the feeling, mother. But I can assure youthat you need not be disturbed by it on my account."

  "When I think of you and your new crotchets," said Mrs. Yeobright,with some emphasis, "I naturally don't feel so comfortable as I did atwelvemonth ago. It is incredible to me that a man accustomed to theattractive women of Paris and elsewhere should be so easily workedupon by a girl in a heath. You could just as well have walked anotherway."

  "I had been studying all day."

  "Well, yes," she added more hopefully, "I have been thinking that youmight get on as a schoolmaster, and rise that way, since you reallyare determined to hate the course you were pursuing."

  Yeobright was unwilling to disturb this idea, though his scheme wasfar enough removed from one wherein the education of youth should bemade a mere channel of social ascent. He had no desires of that sort.He had reached the stage in a young man's life when the grimness ofthe general human situation first becomes clear; and the realizationof this causes ambition to halt awhile. In France it is notuncustomary to commit suicide at this stage; in Englan
d we do muchbetter, or much worse, as the case may be.

  The love between the young man and his mother was strangely invisiblenow. Of love it may be said, the less earthly the less demonstrative.In its absolutely indestructible form it reaches a profundity inwhich all exhibition of itself is painful. It was so with these. Hadconversations between them been overheard, people would have said,"How cold they are to each other!"

  His theory and his wishes about devoting his future to teachinghad made an impression on Mrs. Yeobright. Indeed, how could it beotherwise when he was a part of her--when their discourses were as ifcarried on between the right and the left hands of the same body? Hehad despaired of reaching her by argument; and it was almost as adiscovery to him that he could reach her by a magnetism which was assuperior to words as words are to yells.

  Strangely enough he began to feel now that it would not be so hardto persuade her who was his best friend that comparative poverty wasessentially the higher course for him, as to reconcile to his feelingsthe act of persuading her. From every provident point of view hismother was so undoubtedly right, that he was not without a sickness ofheart in finding he could shake her.

  She had a singular insight into life, considering that she had nevermixed with it. There are instances of persons who, without clearideas of the things they criticize, have yet had clear ideas of therelations of those things. Blacklock, a poet blind from his birth,could describe visual objects with accuracy; Professor Sanderson, whowas also blind, gave excellent lectures on colour, and taught othersthe theory of ideas which they had and he had not. In the socialsphere these gifted ones are mostly women; they can watch a worldwhich they never saw, and estimate forces of which they have onlyheard. We call it intuition.

  What was the great world to Mrs. Yeobright? A multitude whosetendencies could be perceived, though not its essences. Communitieswere seen by her as from a distance; she saw them as we see thethrongs which cover the canvases of Sallaert, Van Alsloot, andothers of that school--vast masses of beings, jostling, zigzagging,and processioning in definite directions, but whose features areindistinguishable by the very comprehensiveness of the view.

  One could see that, as far as it had gone, her life was very completeon its reflective side. The philosophy of her nature, and itslimitation by circumstances, was almost written in her movements.They had a majestic foundation, though they were far from beingmajestic; and they had a groundwork of assurance, but they were notassured. As her once elastic walk had become deadened by time, so hadher natural pride of life been hindered in its blooming by hernecessities.