Under the Greenwood Tree; Or, The Mellstock Quire

by Thomas Hardy

  CHAPTER VI: CHRISTMAS MORNING

  The choir at last reached their beds, and slept like the rest of theparish. Dick's slumbers, through the three or four hours remaining forrest, were disturbed and slight; an exhaustive variation upon theincidents that had passed that night in connection with the school-windowgoing on in his brain every moment of the time.

  In the morning, do what he would--go upstairs, downstairs, out of doors,speak of the wind and weather, or what not--he could not refrain from anunceasing renewal, in imagination, of that interesting enactment. Tiltedon the edge of one foot he stood beside the fireplace, watching hismother grilling rashers; but there was nothing in grilling, he thought,unless the Vision grilled. The limp rasher hung down between the bars ofthe gridiron like a cat in a child's arms; but there was nothing insimiles, unless She uttered them. He looked at the daylight shadows of ayellow hue, dancing with the firelight shadows in blue on the whitewashedchimney corner, but there was nothing in shadows. "Perhaps the new youngwom--sch--Miss Fancy Day will sing in church with us this morning," hesaid.

  The tranter looked a long time before he replied, "I fancy she will; andyet I fancy she won't."

  Dick implied that such a remark was rather to be tolerated than admired;though deliberateness in speech was known to have, as a rule, more to dowith the machinery of the tranter's throat than with the matterenunciated.

  They made preparations for going to church as usual; Dick with extremealacrity, though he would not definitely consider why he was soreligious. His wonderful nicety in brushing and cleaning his best lightboots had features which elevated it to the rank of an art. Everyparticle and speck of last week's mud was scraped and brushed from toeand heel; new blacking from the packet was carefully mixed and made useof, regardless of expense. A coat was laid on and polished; then anothercoat for increased blackness; and lastly a third, to give the perfect andmirror-like jet which the hoped-for rencounter demanded.

  It being Christmas-day, the tranter prepared himself with Sundayparticularity. Loud sousing and snorting noises were heard to proceedfrom a tub in the back quarters of the dwelling, proclaiming that he wasthere performing his great Sunday wash, lasting half-an-hour, to whichhis washings on working-day mornings were mere flashes in the pan.Vanishing into the outhouse with a large brown towel, and the above-namedbubblings and snortings being carried on for about twenty minutes, thetranter would appear round the edge of the door, smelling like a summerfog, and looking as if he had just narrowly escaped a watery grave withthe loss of much of his clothes, having since been weeping bitterly tillhis eyes were red; a crystal drop of water hanging ornamentally at thebottom of each ear, one at the tip of his nose, and others in the form ofspangles about his hair.

  After a great deal of crunching upon the sanded stone floor by the feetof father, son, and grandson as they moved to and fro in thesepreparations, the bass-viol and fiddles were taken from their nook, andthe strings examined and screwed a little above concert-pitch, that theymight keep their tone when the service began, to obviate the awkwardcontingency of having to retune them at the back of the gallery during acough, sneeze, or amen--an inconvenience which had been known to arise indamp wintry weather.

  The three left the door and paced down Mellstock-lane and across the ewe-lease, bearing under their arms the instruments in faded green-baizebags, and old brown music-books in their hands; Dick continually findinghimself in advance of the other two, and the tranter moving on with toesturned outwards to an enormous angle.

  At the foot of an incline the church became visible through the northgate, or 'church hatch,' as it was called here. Seven agile figures in aclump were observable beyond, which proved to be the choristers waiting;sitting on an altar-tomb to pass the time, and letting their heels dangleagainst it. The musicians being now in sight, the youthful partyscampered off and rattled up the old wooden stairs of the gallery like aregiment of cavalry; the other boys of the parish waiting outside andobserving birds, cats, and other creatures till the vicar entered, whenthey suddenly subsided into sober church-goers, and passed down the aislewith echoing heels.

  The gallery of Mellstock Church had a status and sentiment of its own. Astranger there was regarded with a feeling altogether differing from thatof the congregation below towards him. Banished from the nave as anintruder whom no originality could make interesting, he was receivedabove as a curiosity that no unfitness could render dull. The gallery,too, looked down upon and knew the habits of the nave to its remotestpeculiarity, and had an extensive stock of exclusive information aboutit; whilst the nave knew nothing of the gallery folk, as gallery folk,beyond their loud-sounding minims and chest notes. Such topics as thatthe clerk was always chewing tobacco except at the moment of crying amen;that he had a dust-hole in his pew; that during the sermon certain youngdaughters of the village had left off caring to read anything so mild asthe marriage service for some years, and now regularly studied the onewhich chronologically follows it; that a pair of lovers touched fingersthrough a knot-hole between their pews in the manner ordained by theirgreat exemplars, Pyramus and Thisbe; that Mrs. Ledlow, the farmer's wife,counted her money and reckoned her week's marketing expenses during thefirst lesson--all news to those below--were stale subjects here.

  Old William sat in the centre of the front row, his violoncello betweenhis knees and two singers on each hand. Behind him, on the left, camethe treble singers and Dick; and on the right the tranter and the tenors.Farther back was old Mail with the altos and supernumeraries.

  But before they had taken their places, and whilst they were standing ina circle at the back of the gallery practising a psalm or two, Dick casthis eyes over his grandfather's shoulder, and saw the vision of the pastnight enter the porch-door as methodically as if she had never been avision at all. A new atmosphere seemed suddenly to be puffed into theancient edifice by her movement, which made Dick's body and soul tinglewith novel sensations. Directed by Shiner, the churchwarden, sheproceeded to the small aisle on the north side of the chancel, a spot nowallotted to a throng of Sunday-school girls, and distinctly visible fromthe gallery-front by looking under the curve of the furthermost arch onthat side.

  Before this moment the church had seemed comparatively empty--now it wasthronged; and as Miss Fancy rose from her knees and looked around her fora permanent place in which to deposit herself--finally choosing theremotest corner--Dick began to breathe more freely the warm new air shehad brought with her; to feel rushings of blood, and to have impressionsthat there was a tie between her and himself visible to all thecongregation.

  Ever afterwards the young man could recollect individually each part ofthe service of that bright Christmas morning, and the triflingoccurrences which took place as its minutes slowly drew along; the dutiesof that day dividing themselves by a complete line from the services ofother times. The tunes they that morning essayed remained with him foryears, apart from all others; also the text; also the appearance of thelayer of dust upon the capitals of the piers; that the holly-bough in thechancel archway was hung a little out of the centre--all the ideas, inshort, that creep into the mind when reason is only exercising its lowestactivity through the eye.

  By chance or by fate, another young man who attended Mellstock Church onthat Christmas morning had towards the end of the service the sameinstinctive perception of an interesting presence, in the shape of thesame bright maiden, though his emotion reached a far less developedstage. And there was this difference, too, that the person in questionwas surprised at his condition, and sedulously endeavoured to reducehimself to his normal state of mind. He was the young vicar, Mr.Maybold.

  The music on Christmas mornings was frequently below the standard ofchurch-performances at other times. The boys were sleepy from the heavyexertions of the night; the men were slightly wearied; and now, inaddition to these constant reasons, there was a dampness in theatmosphere that still further aggravated the evil. Their strings, fromthe recent long exposure to the night air, rose whole semit
ones, andsnapped with a loud twang at the most silent moment; which necessitatedmore retiring than ever to the back of the gallery, and made the gallerythroats quite husky with the quantity of coughing and hemming requiredfor tuning in. The vicar looked cross.

  When the singing was in progress there was suddenly discovered to be astrong and shrill reinforcement from some point, ultimately found to bethe school-girls' aisle. At every attempt it grew bolder and moredistinct. At the third time of singing, these intrusive feminine voiceswere as mighty as those of the regular singers; in fact, the flood ofsound from this quarter assumed such an individuality, that it had atime, a key, almost a tune of its own, surging upwards when the galleryplunged downwards, and the reverse.

  Now this had never happened before within the memory of man. The girls,like the rest of the congregation, had always been humble and respectfulfollowers of the gallery; singing at sixes and sevens if without galleryleaders; never interfering with the ordinances of these practisedartists--having no will, union, power, or proclivity except it was giventhem from the established choir enthroned above them.

  A good deal of desperation became noticeable in the gallery throats andstrings, which continued throughout the musical portion of the service.Directly the fiddles were laid down, Mr. Penny's spectacles put in theirsheath, and the text had been given out, an indignant whispering began.

  "Did ye hear that, souls?" Mr. Penny said, in a groaning breath.

  "Brazen-faced hussies!" said Bowman.

  "True; why, they were every note as loud as we, fiddles and all, if notlouder!"

  "Fiddles and all!" echoed Bowman bitterly.

  "Shall anything saucier be found than united 'ooman?" Mr. Spinksmurmured.

  "What I want to know is," said the tranter (as if he knew already, butthat civilization required the form of words), "what business people haveto tell maidens to sing like that when they don't sit in a gallery, andnever have entered one in their lives? That's the question, my sonnies."

  "'Tis the gallery have got to sing, all the world knows," said Mr. Penny."Why, souls, what's the use o' the ancients spending scores of pounds tobuild galleries if people down in the lowest depths of the church singlike that at a moment's notice?"

  "Really, I think we useless ones had better march out of church, fiddlesand all!" said Mr. Spinks, with a laugh which, to a stranger, would havesounded mild and real. Only the initiated body of men he addressed couldunderstand the horrible bitterness of irony that lurked under the quietwords 'useless ones,' and the ghastliness of the laughter apparently sonatural.

  "Never mind! Let 'em sing too--'twill make it all the louder--hee, hee!"said Leaf.

  "Thomas Leaf, Thomas Leaf! Where have you lived all your life?" saidgrandfather William sternly.

  The quailing Leaf tried to look as if he had lived nowhere at all.

  "When all's said and done, my sonnies," Reuben said, "there'd have beenno real harm in their singing if they had let nobody hear 'em, and onlyjined in now and then."

  "None at all," said Mr. Penny. "But though I don't wish to accuse peoplewrongfully, I'd say before my lord judge that I could hear every note o'that last psalm come from 'em as much as from us--every note as if 'twastheir own."

  "Know it! ah, I should think I did know it!" Mr. Spinks was heard toobserve at this moment, without reference to his fellow players--shakinghis head at some idea he seemed to see floating before him, and smilingas if he were attending a funeral at the time. "Ah, do I or don't I knowit!"

  No one said "Know what?" because all were aware from experience that whathe knew would declare itself in process of time.

  "I could fancy last night that we should have some trouble wi' that youngman," said the tranter, pending the continuance of Spinks's speech, andlooking towards the unconscious Mr. Maybold in the pulpit.

  "I fancy," said old William, rather severely, "I fancy there's too muchwhispering going on to be of any spiritual use to gentle or simple." Thenfolding his lips and concentrating his glance on the vicar, he impliedthat none but the ignorant would speak again; and accordingly there wassilence in the gallery, Mr. Spinks's telling speech remaining for everunspoken.

  Dick had said nothing, and the tranter little, on this episode of themorning; for Mrs. Dewy at breakfast expressed it as her intention toinvite the youthful leader of the culprits to the small party it wascustomary with them to have on Christmas night--a piece of knowledgewhich had given a particular brightness to Dick's reflections since hehad received it. And in the tranter's slightly-cynical nature, partyfeeling was weaker than in the other members of the choir, thoughfriendliness and faithful partnership still sustained in him a heartyearnestness on their account.