Jude the Obscure by Thomas Hardy
Some little time before the date of this service in the cathedral thepretty, liquid-eyed, light-footed young woman, Sue Bridehead, had anafternoon's holiday, and leaving the ecclesiastical establishment inwhich she not only assisted but lodged, took a walk into the countrywith a book in her hand. It was one of those cloudless days whichsometimes occur in Wessex and elsewhere between days of cold and wet,as if intercalated by caprice of the weather-god. She went along fora mile or two until she came to much higher ground than that of thecity she had left behind her. The road passed between green fields,and coming to a stile Sue paused there, to finish the page she wasreading, and then looked back at the towers and domes and pinnaclesnew and old.
On the other side of the stile, in the footpath, she beheld aforeigner with black hair and a sallow face, sitting on the grassbeside a large square board whereon were fixed, as closely as theycould stand, a number of plaster statuettes, some of them bronzed,which he was re-arranging before proceeding with them on his way.They were in the main reduced copies of ancient marbles, andcomprised divinities of a very different character from those thegirl was accustomed to see portrayed, among them being a Venus ofstandard pattern, a Diana, and, of the other sex, Apollo, Bacchus,and Mars. Though the figures were many yards away from her thesouth-west sun brought them out so brilliantly against the greenherbage that she could discern their contours with luminousdistinctness; and being almost in a line between herself and thechurch towers of the city they awoke in her an oddly foreign andcontrasting set of ideas by comparison. The man rose, and, seeingher, politely took off his cap, and cried, ”I-i-i-mages!” in an accentthat agreed with his appearance. In a moment he dexterously liftedupon his knee the great board with its assembled notabilities divineand human, and raised it to the top of his head, bringing them on toher and resting the board on the stile. First he offered her hissmaller wares--the busts of kings and queens, then a minstrel, thena winged Cupid. She shook her head.
”How much are these two?” she said, touching with her finger theVenus and the Apollo--the largest figures on the tray.
He said she should have them for ten shillings.
”I cannot afford that,” said Sue. She offered considerably less,and to her surprise the image-man drew them from their wire stay andhanded them over the stile. She clasped them as treasures.
When they were paid for, and the man had gone, she began to beconcerned as to what she should do with them. They seemed so verylarge now that they were in her possession, and so very naked.Being of a nervous temperament she trembled at her enterprise.When she handled them the white pipeclay came off on her gloves andjacket. After carrying them along a little way openly an idea cameto her, and, pulling some huge burdock leaves, parsley, and otherrank growths from the hedge, she wrapped up her burden as well as shecould in these, so that what she carried appeared to be an enormousarmful of green stuff gathered by a zealous lover of nature.
”Well, anything is better than those everlasting church fallals!” shesaid. But she was still in a trembling state, and seemed almost towish she had not bought the figures.
Occasionally peeping inside the leaves to see that Venus's arm wasnot broken, she entered with her heathen load into the most Christiancity in the country by an obscure street running parallel to the mainone, and round a corner to the side door of the establishment towhich she was attached. Her purchases were taken straight up to herown chamber, and she at once attempted to lock them in a box that washer very own property; but finding them too cumbersome she wrappedthem in large sheets of brown paper, and stood them on the floor in acorner.
The mistress of the house, Miss Fontover, was an elderly lady inspectacles, dressed almost like an abbess; a dab at Ritual, as becomeone of her business, and a worshipper at the ceremonial church of St.Silas, in the suburb of Beersheba before-mentioned, which Jude alsohad begun to attend. She was the daughter of a clergyman in reducedcircumstances, and at his death, which had occurred several yearsbefore this date, she boldly avoided penury by taking over a littleshop of church requisites and developing it to its present creditableproportions. She wore a cross and beads round her neck as her onlyornament, and knew the Christian Year by heart.
She now came to call Sue to tea, and, finding that the girl did notrespond for a moment, entered the room just as the other was hastilyputting a string round each parcel.
”Something you have been buying, Miss Bridehead?” she asked,regarding the enwrapped objects.
”Yes--just something to ornament my room,” said Sue.
”Well, I should have thought I had put enough here already,” saidMiss Fontover, looking round at the Gothic-framed prints of saints,the Church-text scrolls, and other articles which, having become toostale to sell, had been used to furnish this obscure chamber. ”Whatis it? How bulky!” She tore a little hole, about as big as a wafer,in the brown paper, and tried to peep in. ”Why, statuary? Twofigures? Where did you get them?”
”Oh--I bought them of a travelling man who sells casts--”
”Two saints?”
”Yes.”
”What ones?”
”St. Peter and St.--St. Mary Magdalen.”
”Well--now come down to tea, and go and finish that organ-text, ifthere's light enough afterwards.”
These little obstacles to the indulgence of what had been the merestpassing fancy created in Sue a great zest for unpacking her objectsand looking at them; and at bedtime, when she was sure of beingundisturbed, she unrobed the divinities in comfort. Placing the pairof figures on the chest of drawers, a candle on each side of them,she withdrew to the bed, flung herself down thereon, and beganreading a book she had taken from her box, which Miss Fontover knewnothing of. It was a volume of Gibbon, and she read the chapterdealing with the reign of Julian the Apostate. Occasionally shelooked up at the statuettes, which appeared strange and out of place,there happening to be a Calvary print hanging between them, and,as if the scene suggested the action, she at length jumped up andwithdrew another book from her box--a volume of verse--and turned tothe familiar poem--
Thou hast conquered, O pale Galilean: The world has grown grey from thy breath!
which she read to the end. Presently she put out the candles,undressed, and finally extinguished her own light.
She was of an age which usually sleeps soundly, yet to-night shekept waking up, and every time she opened her eyes there was enoughdiffused light from the street to show her the white plaster figures,standing on the chest of drawers in odd contrast to their environmentof text and martyr, and the Gothic-framed Crucifix-picture that wasonly discernible now as a Latin cross, the figure thereon beingobscured by the shades.
On one of these occasions the church clocks struck some small hour.It fell upon the ears of another person who sat bending over hisbooks at a not very distant spot in the same city. Being Saturdaynight the morrow was one on which Jude had not set his alarm-clock tocall him at his usually early time, and hence he had stayed up, aswas his custom, two or three hours later than he could afford to doon any other day of the week. Just then he was earnestly readingfrom his Griesbach's text. At the very time that Sue was tossing andstaring at her figures, the policeman and belated citizens passingalong under his window might have heard, if they had stood still,strange syllables mumbled with fervour within--words that had forJude an indescribable enchantment: inexplicable sounds somethinglike these:--
”_All hemin heis Theos ho Pater, ex hou ta panta, kai hemeis eisauton:_”
Till the sounds rolled with reverent loudness, as a book was heardto close:--
”_Kai heis Kurios Iesous Christos, di hou ta panta kai hemeis diautou!_”
On the other side of the stile, in the footpath, she beheld aforeigner with black hair and a sallow face, sitting on the grassbeside a large square board whereon were fixed, as closely as theycould stand, a number of plaster statuettes, some of them bronzed,which he was re-arranging before proceeding with them on his way.They were in the main reduced copies of ancient marbles, andcomprised divinities of a very different character from those thegirl was accustomed to see portrayed, among them being a Venus ofstandard pattern, a Diana, and, of the other sex, Apollo, Bacchus,and Mars. Though the figures were many yards away from her thesouth-west sun brought them out so brilliantly against the greenherbage that she could discern their contours with luminousdistinctness; and being almost in a line between herself and thechurch towers of the city they awoke in her an oddly foreign andcontrasting set of ideas by comparison. The man rose, and, seeingher, politely took off his cap, and cried, ”I-i-i-mages!” in an accentthat agreed with his appearance. In a moment he dexterously liftedupon his knee the great board with its assembled notabilities divineand human, and raised it to the top of his head, bringing them on toher and resting the board on the stile. First he offered her hissmaller wares--the busts of kings and queens, then a minstrel, thena winged Cupid. She shook her head.
”How much are these two?” she said, touching with her finger theVenus and the Apollo--the largest figures on the tray.
He said she should have them for ten shillings.
”I cannot afford that,” said Sue. She offered considerably less,and to her surprise the image-man drew them from their wire stay andhanded them over the stile. She clasped them as treasures.
When they were paid for, and the man had gone, she began to beconcerned as to what she should do with them. They seemed so verylarge now that they were in her possession, and so very naked.Being of a nervous temperament she trembled at her enterprise.When she handled them the white pipeclay came off on her gloves andjacket. After carrying them along a little way openly an idea cameto her, and, pulling some huge burdock leaves, parsley, and otherrank growths from the hedge, she wrapped up her burden as well as shecould in these, so that what she carried appeared to be an enormousarmful of green stuff gathered by a zealous lover of nature.
”Well, anything is better than those everlasting church fallals!” shesaid. But she was still in a trembling state, and seemed almost towish she had not bought the figures.
Occasionally peeping inside the leaves to see that Venus's arm wasnot broken, she entered with her heathen load into the most Christiancity in the country by an obscure street running parallel to the mainone, and round a corner to the side door of the establishment towhich she was attached. Her purchases were taken straight up to herown chamber, and she at once attempted to lock them in a box that washer very own property; but finding them too cumbersome she wrappedthem in large sheets of brown paper, and stood them on the floor in acorner.
The mistress of the house, Miss Fontover, was an elderly lady inspectacles, dressed almost like an abbess; a dab at Ritual, as becomeone of her business, and a worshipper at the ceremonial church of St.Silas, in the suburb of Beersheba before-mentioned, which Jude alsohad begun to attend. She was the daughter of a clergyman in reducedcircumstances, and at his death, which had occurred several yearsbefore this date, she boldly avoided penury by taking over a littleshop of church requisites and developing it to its present creditableproportions. She wore a cross and beads round her neck as her onlyornament, and knew the Christian Year by heart.
She now came to call Sue to tea, and, finding that the girl did notrespond for a moment, entered the room just as the other was hastilyputting a string round each parcel.
”Something you have been buying, Miss Bridehead?” she asked,regarding the enwrapped objects.
”Yes--just something to ornament my room,” said Sue.
”Well, I should have thought I had put enough here already,” saidMiss Fontover, looking round at the Gothic-framed prints of saints,the Church-text scrolls, and other articles which, having become toostale to sell, had been used to furnish this obscure chamber. ”Whatis it? How bulky!” She tore a little hole, about as big as a wafer,in the brown paper, and tried to peep in. ”Why, statuary? Twofigures? Where did you get them?”
”Oh--I bought them of a travelling man who sells casts--”
”Two saints?”
”Yes.”
”What ones?”
”St. Peter and St.--St. Mary Magdalen.”
”Well--now come down to tea, and go and finish that organ-text, ifthere's light enough afterwards.”
These little obstacles to the indulgence of what had been the merestpassing fancy created in Sue a great zest for unpacking her objectsand looking at them; and at bedtime, when she was sure of beingundisturbed, she unrobed the divinities in comfort. Placing the pairof figures on the chest of drawers, a candle on each side of them,she withdrew to the bed, flung herself down thereon, and beganreading a book she had taken from her box, which Miss Fontover knewnothing of. It was a volume of Gibbon, and she read the chapterdealing with the reign of Julian the Apostate. Occasionally shelooked up at the statuettes, which appeared strange and out of place,there happening to be a Calvary print hanging between them, and,as if the scene suggested the action, she at length jumped up andwithdrew another book from her box--a volume of verse--and turned tothe familiar poem--
Thou hast conquered, O pale Galilean: The world has grown grey from thy breath!
which she read to the end. Presently she put out the candles,undressed, and finally extinguished her own light.
She was of an age which usually sleeps soundly, yet to-night shekept waking up, and every time she opened her eyes there was enoughdiffused light from the street to show her the white plaster figures,standing on the chest of drawers in odd contrast to their environmentof text and martyr, and the Gothic-framed Crucifix-picture that wasonly discernible now as a Latin cross, the figure thereon beingobscured by the shades.
On one of these occasions the church clocks struck some small hour.It fell upon the ears of another person who sat bending over hisbooks at a not very distant spot in the same city. Being Saturdaynight the morrow was one on which Jude had not set his alarm-clock tocall him at his usually early time, and hence he had stayed up, aswas his custom, two or three hours later than he could afford to doon any other day of the week. Just then he was earnestly readingfrom his Griesbach's text. At the very time that Sue was tossing andstaring at her figures, the policeman and belated citizens passingalong under his window might have heard, if they had stood still,strange syllables mumbled with fervour within--words that had forJude an indescribable enchantment: inexplicable sounds somethinglike these:--
”_All hemin heis Theos ho Pater, ex hou ta panta, kai hemeis eisauton:_”
Till the sounds rolled with reverent loudness, as a book was heardto close:--
”_Kai heis Kurios Iesous Christos, di hou ta panta kai hemeis diautou!_”