Jude the Obscure

by Thomas Hardy

  VIII

  Michaelmas came and passed, and Jude and his wife, who had lived buta short time in her father's house after their remarriage, were inlodgings on the top floor of a dwelling nearer to the centre of thecity.

  He had done a few days' work during the two or three months sincethe event, but his health had been indifferent, and it was nowprecarious. He was sitting in an arm-chair before the fire, andcoughed a good deal.

  "I've got a bargain for my trouble in marrying thee overagain!" Arabella was saying to him. "I shall have to keep 'eeentirely--that's what 'twill come to! I shall have to make black-potand sausages, and hawk 'em about the street, all to support aninvalid husband I'd no business to be saddled with at all. Whydidn't you keep your health, deceiving one like this? You were wellenough when the wedding was!"

  "Ah, yes!" said he, laughing acridly. "I have been thinking ofmy foolish feeling about the pig you and I killed during ourfirst marriage. I feel now that the greatest mercy that could bevouchsafed to me would be that something should serve me as I servedthat animal."

  This was the sort of discourse that went on between them every daynow. The landlord of the lodging, who had heard that they were aqueer couple, had doubted if they were married at all, especiallyas he had seen Arabella kiss Jude one evening when she had taken alittle cordial; and he was about to give them notice to quit, till bychance overhearing her one night haranguing Jude in rattling terms,and ultimately flinging a shoe at his head, he recognized the note ofgenuine wedlock; and concluding that they must be respectable, saidno more.

  Jude did not get any better, and one day he requested Arabella, withconsiderable hesitation, to execute a commission for him. She askedhim indifferently what it was.

  "To write to Sue."

  "What in the name--do you want me to write to her for?"

  "To ask how she is, and if she'll come to see me, because I'm ill,and should like to see her--once again."

  "It is like you to insult a lawful wife by asking such a thing!"

  "It is just in order not to insult you that I ask you to do it. Youknow I love Sue. I don't wish to mince the matter--there stands thefact: I love her. I could find a dozen ways of sending a letter toher without your knowledge. But I wish to be quite above-board withyou, and with her husband. A message through you asking her to comeis at least free from any odour of intrigue. If she retains any ofher old nature at all, she'll come."

  "You've no respect for marriage whatever, or its rights and duties!"

  "What DOES it matter what my opinions are--a wretch like me! Canit matter to anybody in the world who comes to see me for half anhour--here with one foot in the grave! ... Come, please write,Arabella!" he pleaded. "Repay my candour by a little generosity!"

  "I should think NOT!"

  "Not just once?--Oh do!" He felt that his physical weakness hadtaken away all his dignity.

  "What do you want HER to know how you are for? She don't want to see'ee. She's the rat that forsook the sinking ship!"

  "Don't, don't!"

  "And I stuck to un--the more fool I! Have that strumpet in the houseindeed!"

  Almost as soon as the words were spoken Jude sprang from the chair,and before Arabella knew where she was he had her on her back upon alittle couch which stood there, he kneeling above her.

  "Say another word of that sort," he whispered, "and I'll killyou--here and now! I've everything to gain by it--my own death notbeing the least part. So don't think there's no meaning in what Isay!"

  "What do you want me to do?" gasped Arabella.

  "Promise never to speak of her."

  "Very well. I do."

  "I take your word," he said scornfully as he loosened her. "But whatit is worth I can't say."

  "You couldn't kill the pig, but you could kill me!"

  "Ah--there you have me! No--I couldn't kill you--even in a passion.Taunt away!"

  He then began coughing very much, and she estimated his life with anappraiser's eye as he sank back ghastly pale. "I'll send for her,"Arabella murmured, "if you'll agree to my being in the room with youall the time she's here."

  The softer side of his nature, the desire to see Sue, made him unableto resist the offer even now, provoked as he had been; and he repliedbreathlessly: "Yes, I agree. Only send for her!"

  In the evening he inquired if she had written.

  "Yes," she said; "I wrote a note telling her you were ill, and askingher to come to-morrow or the day after. I haven't posted it yet."

  The next day Jude wondered if she really did post it, but would notask her; and foolish Hope, that lives on a drop and a crumb, made himrestless with expectation. He knew the times of the possible trains,and listened on each occasion for sounds of her.

  She did not come; but Jude would not address Arabella again thereon.He hoped and expected all the next day; but no Sue appeared; neitherwas there any note of reply. Then Jude decided in the privacy of hismind that Arabella had never posted hers, although she had writtenit. There was something in her manner which told it. His physicalweakness was such that he shed tears at the disappointment when shewas not there to see. His suspicions were, in fact, well founded.Arabella, like some other nurses, thought that your duty towards yourinvalid was to pacify him by any means short of really acting uponhis fancies.

  He never said another word to her about his wish or his conjecture.A silent, undiscerned resolve grew up in him, which gave him, if notstrength, stability and calm. One midday when, after an absence oftwo hours, she came into the room, she beheld the chair empty.

  Down she flopped on the bed, and sitting, meditated. "Now where thedevil is my man gone to!" she said.

  A driving rain from the north-east had been falling with more or lessintermission all the morning, and looking from the window at thedripping spouts it seemed impossible to believe that any sick manwould have ventured out to almost certain death. Yet a convictionpossessed Arabella that he had gone out, and it became a certaintywhen she had searched the house. "If he's such a fool, let him be!"she said. "I can do no more."

  Jude was at that moment in a railway train that was drawing near toAlfredston, oddly swathed, pale as a monumental figure in alabaster,and much stared at by other passengers. An hour later his thin form,in the long great-coat and blanket he had come with, but without anumbrella, could have been seen walking along the five-mile road toMarygreen. On his face showed the determined purpose that alonesustained him, but to which has weakness afforded a sorry foundation.By the up-hill walk he was quite blown, but he pressed on; and athalf-past three o'clock stood by the familiar well at Marygreen.The rain was keeping everybody indoors; Jude crossed the green to thechurch without observation, and found the building open. Here hestood, looking forth at the school, whence he could hear the usualsing-song tones of the little voices that had not learnt Creation'sgroan.

  He waited till a small boy came from the school--one evidentlyallowed out before hours for some reason or other. Jude held up hishand, and the child came.

  "Please call at the schoolhouse and ask Mrs. Phillotson if she willbe kind enough to come to the church for a few minutes."

  The child departed, and Jude heard him knock at the door of thedwelling. He himself went further into the church. Everythingwas new, except a few pieces of carving preserved from the wreckedold fabric, now fixed against the new walls. He stood by these:they seemed akin to the perished people of that place who were hisancestors and Sue's.

  A light footstep, which might have been accounted no more than anadded drip to the rainfall, sounded in the porch, and he lookedround.

  "Oh--I didn't think it was you! I didn't--Oh, Jude!" A hystericalcatch in her breath ended in a succession of them. He advanced, butshe quickly recovered and went back.

  "Don't go--don't go!" he implored. "This is my last time! I thoughtit would be less intrusive than to enter your house. And I shallnever come again. Don't then be unmerciful. Sue, Sue! We areacting by the letter; and 'the l
etter killeth'!"

  "I'll stay--I won't be unkind!" she said, her mouth quivering and hertears flowing as she allowed him to come closer. "But why did youcome, and do this wrong thing, after doing such a right thing as youhave done?"

  "What right thing?"

  "Marrying Arabella again. It was in the Alfredston paper. She hasnever been other than yours, Jude--in a proper sense. And thereforeyou did so well--Oh so well!--in recognizing it--and taking her toyou again."

  "God above--and is that all I've come to hear? If there is anythingmore degrading, immoral, unnatural, than another in my life, it isthis meretricious contract with Arabella which has been called doingthe right thing! And you too--you call yourself Phillotson's wife!HIS wife! You are mine."

  "Don't make me rush away from you--I can't bear much! But on thispoint I am decided."

  "I cannot understand how you did it--how you think it--I cannot!"

  "Never mind that. He is a kind husband to me--And I--I've wrestledand struggled, and fasted, and prayed. I have nearly brought my bodyinto complete subjection. And you mustn't--will you--wake--"

  "Oh you darling little fool; where is your reason? You seem to havesuffered the loss of your faculties! I would argue with you if Ididn't know that a woman in your state of feeling is quite beyond allappeals to her brains. Or is it that you are humbugging yourself, asso many women do about these things; and don't actually believe whatyou pretend to, and only are indulging in the luxury of the emotionraised by an affected belief?"

  "Luxury! How can you be so cruel!"

  "You dear, sad, soft, most melancholy wreck of a promising humanintellect that it has ever been my lot to behold! Where is yourscorn of convention gone? I WOULD have died game!"

  "You crush, almost insult me, Jude! Go away from me!" She turnedoff quickly.

  "I will. I would never come to see you again, even if I had thestrength to come, which I shall not have any more. Sue, Sue, you arenot worth a man's love!"

  Her bosom began to go up and down. "I can't endure you to say that!"she burst out, and her eye resting on him a moment, she turned backimpulsively. "Don't, don't scorn me! Kiss me, oh kiss me lotsof times, and say I am not a coward and a contemptible humbug--Ican't bear it!" She rushed up to him and, with her mouth on his,continued: "I must tell you--oh I must--my darling Love! It hasbeen--only a church marriage--an apparent marriage I mean! Hesuggested it at the very first!"

  "How?"

  "I mean it is a nominal marriage only. It hasn't been more than thatat all since I came back to him!"

  "Sue!" he said. Pressing her to him in his arms, he bruised herlips with kisses. "If misery can know happiness, I have a moment'shappiness now! Now, in the name of all you hold holy, tell me thetruth, and no lie. You do love me still?"

  "I do! You know it too well! ... But I MUSTN'T do this! I mustn'tkiss you back as I would!"

  "But do!"

  "And yet you are so dear!--and you look so ill--"

  "And so do you! There's one more, in memory of our dead littlechildren--yours and mine!"

  The words struck her like a blow, and she bent her head. "IMUSTN'T--I CAN'T go on with this!" she gasped presently. "But there,there, darling; I give you back your kisses; I do, I do! ... And nowI'll HATE myself for ever for my sin!"

  "No--let me make my last appeal. Listen to this! We've bothremarried out of our senses. I was made drunk to do it. You werethe same. I was gin-drunk; you were creed-drunk. Either form ofintoxication takes away the nobler vision... Let us then shake offour mistakes, and run away together!"

  "No; again no! ... Why do you tempt me so far, Jude! It is toomerciless! ... But I've got over myself now. Don't follow me--don'tlook at me. Leave me, for pity's sake!"

  She ran up the church to the east end, and Jude did as she requested.He did not turn his head, but took up his blanket, which she had notseen, and went straight out. As he passed the end of the church sheheard his coughs mingling with the rain on the windows, and in a lastinstinct of human affection, even now unsubdued by her fetters, shesprang up as if to go and succour him. But she knelt down again, andstopped her ears with her hands till all possible sound of him hadpassed away.

  He was by this time at the corner of the green, from which the pathran across the fields in which he had scared rooks as a boy. Heturned and looked back, once, at the building which still containedSue; and then went on, knowing that his eyes would light on thatscene no more.

  There are cold spots up and down Wessex in autumn and winter weather;but the coldest of all when a north or east wind is blowing is thecrest of the down by the Brown House, where the road to Alfredstoncrosses the old Ridgeway. Here the first winter sleets and snowsfall and lie, and here the spring frost lingers last unthawed. Herein the teeth of the north-east wind and rain Jude now pursued hisway, wet through, the necessary slowness of his walk from lack of hisformer strength being insufficent to maintain his heat. He came tothe milestone, and, raining as it was, spread his blanket and laydown there to rest. Before moving on he went and felt at the backof the stone for his own carving. It was still there; but nearlyobliterated by moss. He passed the spot where the gibbet of hisancestor and Sue's had stood, and descended the hill.

  It was dark when he reached Alfredston, where he had a cup of tea,the deadly chill that began to creep into his bones being too muchfor him to endure fasting. To get home he had to travel by a steamtram-car, and two branches of railway, with much waiting at ajunction. He did not reach Christminster till ten o'clock.